Thread by @glymrs

60 has a place to live. All androids are entitled to an apartment or 'living space' thanks to Jericho. His is just a box, a space in a derelict, converted department store that was turned into cubicles. He goes there sometimes, but mostly stays at work as much as he can, tending

equipment or writing reports.

Allen's home surprises him. Humans might call it Spartan, but compared to 60's quarters it's luxurious. There's a bit of a Japanese aesthetic about it, with a few framed ink drawings on the wall (prints, not originals, 60 finds when he scans them.)

The car ride had been strange. He kept thinking of what Allen said, and tears kept gathering in his eyes. Eventually he managed to stop by focusing on the route they were taking and trying to preconstruct what Allen's house would be like.

This was nothing like what he expected.

As the Captain strips off his coat, 60 stops in front of a smaller ink drawing placed in a shadowed corner away from the others. This one is an original, not a print, and not so expertly done as the rest. There is a kanji signature stamp, but it's not a well-known name. 60 turns.

Allen is standing in the entryway, looking at him. "I have an almost irresistible instinct to offer you something to drink," he says, "but unfortunately I don't keep thirium on hand."

"Thank you, but I'm fine. I top up my thirium levels after ever mission." He turns back to the

mystery drawing. "I don't recognize the name on this one."

"Leave it to you to find that one," says Allen, and 60 looks back at him again, puzzled. The man sounds oddly rueful. Allen sighs and glances away. "I drew it."

"You did?" 60 can't keep the surprise out of his voice. He

looks back at the drawing, seeing it with new eyes.

It's a simple piece in a traditional ink and brush style, similar to the scenes depicting forests and evergreen trees growing on mountains that grace the wall nearby. But this image isn't of the beauty of nature. It's a picture

of a city.

"It's Detroit," he says in sudden realization. Suggestions of buildings the way the other artists suggested pine trees, recognizable despite the spareness of the medium. Fascinated, 60 leans closer. He can see the water along the city's edge, careful strokes of black.

He imagines Allen's hand carefully holding a brush, drawing it along the paper with a look of concentration on his face.

"I'd think you would be more interested in the other pieces," says Allen. He's standing in a relaxed posture, but there is tension in his shoulders and arms.

He's uncomfortable.

"The other pieces are prints by famous authors, and thus widely available," 60 says. "This is something I've never seen before. It's unique."

Allen blinks and glances away. "Well. I suppose it is," he says awkwardly. "Not much in comparison, though."

60 has

never seen his Captain awkward before. The man is always sure of himself, a little impatient, but never - never shy. The phenomenon is more fascinating than the picture.

"I like it," announces 60.

"You do?" Allen sounds genuinely surprised. "Why?"

"It's true that it doesn't

have the technical expertise of the prints," says 60. "But it effectively conveys the idea of place. After all, I recognized it, didn't I?"

"I suppose you did," says Allen. His hands flex open for a moment and he puts one behind his neck. The line of his arm is its own kind of

art against the stark white wall behind him.

"And the fact that it's Detroit makes it appealing, though there's no reason why it should other than...sentiment," 60 admits. The fact that Allen painted it also makes it more interesting, but he knows he shouldn't say that out loud.

He turns away from the print, watching the way that some of the tension flows away from Allen's frame as he does so.

"What made you decide to paint it?" he asks, and the tension comes back.

"My Japanese grandmother used to take care of me. She first handed me a brush when I was

three years old and told me I could draw whatever I wanted."

"She was an artist?"

"Yeah." 60 turns and scans the prints again, but none of them are by anyone related to Allen's family.

"I don't have any of her works." There's tension in his jaw now, too. There was a divorce.

Things got...complicated." He shrugs.

His parents petitioned for divorce when he was 10, 60 finds. His paternal grandmother left everything to her children, but his father didn't have custody by that point- 60 forces himself to stop. If Allen wants 60 to know, he'll tell him.

((I'll continue this, but probably not until tomorrow. I've got friends over now! Thanks for all the likes, I hope you're continuing to enjoy! I honestly have no idea where I'm going with this, I'm just letting the momentum carry me along.))

60 learned early on that his teammates didn't like him 'prying into their pasts'. It had been Owens who'd taken him aside and said, "Some of us are here because we're trying to get *away* from our pasts. We don't appreciate being reminded of them."

60 could understand that.

He'd forced himself to stop scanning his teammates' records, even though it went against every programmed instinct. A part of him still worried: what if they were infiltrated by a spy? What if someone was assigned to them who would pose a risk to the rest of the team?

Learning to trust hadn't been easy. But in time, several of his teammates had opened up to him.

60 had never told them about himself, though. Everyone knew who he was and where he'd come from, so what would have been the point? He'd just wanted to move forward.

Until tonight.

Until his Captain had talked with him. Listened to him.

60 crosses the spare space until he's standing directly in front of Allen, a little too close to be comfortable. "Why did you bring me here, Captain?" he asks softly.

The man meets his eyes unflinchingly. "You were upset

and vulnerable. I brought you somewhere safe. That's all."

60 senses something in the air between them. It doesn't register on his sensors, and yet...there's a current, a pull. He takes a step closer. He's a few inches taller than Allen, but it doesn't seem to bother the man.

"What if. What if I don't want that to be all?" asks 60.

Allen's eyes narrow slightly. He reaches up and cups 60's cheeks. "If you're looking to blow off steam, or to...figure things out, we can do that. But that's all it can be. I don't do romance and I can't play favorites."

His eyes search 60's. "Do you understand?"

60 thinks about that. This won't be flowers and sweet goodbye kisses before a mission. It'll be a fuck, nothing more. Because the Captain has an entire team to worry about, and can't give special treatment to any of them.

And 60 thinks

/I'll take what I can get./

He says, "I understand."

Neither of them move for a moment, then 60 tilts his head down. The press of his Captain's lips against his sends strange phantom sensations through his limbs, sparks that aren't actually there but send surges of heat anyway.

When Allen's tongue dips into his mouth, the flood of data makes 60 gasp.

"Hm," says Allen after a moment. "No flavor at all."

"I'm sorry," says 60.

"No, I kind of like it," says Allen. "I probably have beer breath, though." He makes a face.

"I like..." 60 hesitates, unsure

if this is another violation of privacy. "I like analyzing it," he finally admits. "The parts that are you, and that aren't you, and that are becoming you."

Allen gives a small chuckle. "Well, analyze away, then." 60 takes him at his word and licks into his mouth. After a moment

he sets the stream of chemical data to the background and focuses on the response of Allen's body. Breathing pattern, heart rate, temperature, pupil dilation.

Allen is becoming aroused. The thought sends more of those phantom sparks through 60. He wants to make him more aroused.

He wants to make him hard, to - to give him pleasure, to bring him to orgasm. It's not something he's thought about before, but suddenly he can't think about anything else. He breaks the kiss and stares down into Allen's dark eyes.

"Let's take this into the bedroom," says Allen.

((#NSFW for a bit from here, I'll try to tag when it goes back to SFW))

Allen's bedroom is much like the rest of his place, plain and simple, but with a few interesting touches that draw the eye. A vase with a flowering branch and a tiny, well-kept bonsai sit atop a dresser made of dark wood. 60 thinks about the dead bonsai he saw on Hank's desk.

This one is alive and well.

Allen casually strips off his shirt. There's no effort at seduction, no lingering or teasing. Just a smooth, easy movement. The shirt is tossed into the white hamper in the corner with perfect accuracy and suddenly Allen is bare-chested.

60 lets his

eyes drift down the man's body, catching on the occasional scar. He wants to map every inch of the skin on display before him. With his eyes. With his hands. With his *tongue*.

Allen raises an eyebrow, and 60 realizes he's waiting for 60 to take of his clothes as well. He pulls

his skintight shirt over his head quickly, not wanting to miss anything, then goes still as he realizes that Allen is looking at *him*. The Captain's eyes are tracing over every mole and freckle and muscle on his chest and torso.

60 doesn't even need to scan the other man to see

the bulge between his legs. He's hard. He's looking at 60 and he's *hard*. The thought sends pulses of excitement through 60's circuits, so much that his hands jerk and shake as they go to the waist of his skintight pants.

Allen's own hands move to undo his belt, his fly, and

strip them off his legs. 60's own movements get stiffer as he stares, all his processing power going to examining Allen's body, the dark hair at his groin, the shaft that springs up between his legs, hot and thick.

60 hardly notices that he's hard, too, until Allen's eyes fix on

him. Then he looks down at his own body and realizes that his own cock is erect, the tip shining in the dim light.

Allen licks his lips and prowls toward him with careless grace. Wrapping one hand behind 60's neck, he pulls him down for a long, hot kiss, twining their tongues.

Allen pulls him down onto the bed. The sheets are smooth, slightly cooler than room temperature. Allen's hands are warmer. He pushes 60 down and slides next to him, running one hand down his side. "What do you want?" he says. "What do you like?"

"I...don't know," whispers 60.

Allen frowns. "You've never done this before."

"No."

"Not even," Allen's eyes widen with sudden realization, "not even to yourself?"

60 shakes his head, dread washing over his arousal.

"Fuck, now I feel like the dirtiest of old men," says Allen dryly.

"I'm not a child!"

"I didn't say you were. It's just been a long time since I've been with someone...inexperienced," sighs the captain.

"Do you," 60 drops his eyes. "Do you want to stop?" Should he go to someone else to become more experienced? He can't imagine wanting to do this with anyone else.

((DAMMIT, I accidentally closed a window and lost a bunch of tweets in this thread. DX )))

((I'll continue this later.))

"No," sighs Allen. "I just need a moment to...realign my preconstruction based on the new data."
The Captain is teasing him. When he'd started working with the team, 60 had used many variations on that phrase, and his teammates had picked up on it and used it in situations both

silly and serious. It started with things like, /Yo, 60, the chance of rain tomorrow changed by 2%. Better re-evaluate your preconstruction based on that!/
But eventually it became, /It turns out he's on the 6th floor, not the 5th. 60, you wanna readjust your preconstruction?/

His captain leans over and strokes a hand down 60's side, then wraps it around his cock. 60 gasps as his sensors light up. Perhaps humans might object to the rough texture of Allen's hand, calloused and scarred as it is. As far as 60's concerned, it's perfect. He can feel every

ridge and crease of Allen's fingerprints, feel the way his left pinky doesn't quite align correctly, having been broken and not set properly.
"Like that?" says Allen, his voice deep and soft.
"Yes. Oh, tighter, more, please," says 60, the words spilling out of him.
Allen smiles.

His grip slowly constricts, until it would certainly be too much for a human. He can barely move it at first, until more of that clear liquid spills out from the tip, dripping over his hand. "Ah," he says. He begins to slide it up and down, lighting up every sensor along the way

This is such a /human/ activity.

But then, so is crying.

/They made us to be like them. We want the same things they want. We value freedom because they value freedom. And their wants, their desires, translated to us as well./

His back arches, his hips stutter. "Oh," he says.

For a moment every process, every thought, is focused on the hand between his legs. He will have so much data about this moment stored away, to re-live and treasure. His body finished the orgasm protocol, spilling even more of the clear liquid, and his sensors automatically dull

the input. He shudders and sighs as one by one various processes soft reboot.

Allen's hand stills, then slowly draws away. After a long moment, 60 turns his head.

The Captain's eyes are dilated wide in the almost dark room, his body hotter than normal and his cock still hard.

There's a light sheen of sweat covering his skin. He slides his hand away gently, 60's now-limp cock falling from his fingers. "Are you good?" he asks.

60 nods. He's never been this good. He reaches out to touch in turn.

"You don't have to, says Allen. His voice is deeper than

usual, low and rasping.

"I want to," says 60. "Please let me."

Allen just nods. He takes hold of 60's hand and intertwines their fingers. 60 blinks, startled by the gesture, until he realizes that Allen is smoothing the clear ejaculate over his hand. "You'll need that," he says

60 doesn't know what to say, so he just wraps his own hand around the Captain's thick shaft, hard and hot under his hand. He'll remember this, too, he realizes. Remember the texture, the exact shape. And...oh.

He'll remember the sound Allen made, the small gasp that escaped when

60 squeezed him. The flare in his eyes as 60 began to move his hand as Allen had done.

It's so good, learning what the Captain likes. What he wants. He's a stern, taciturn man, but his body can't hide. Not now, not here. Not like this. 60 can sense every chemical change, every

touch that makes the man's heart rate spike. He plays him like an instrument, using only his hand, though he thinks about using his mouth. His tongue. He wants it. He wants more of this, wants it again.

Wants it always.

Allen's eyes squeeze shut and he gasps as 60's hand speeds

up just a little. Just enough to take him over the edge.

Another gasp, and his human seed splashes over 60's hand. He slows and stops, leaving his grip in place for several moments longer before greedily lifting his hand to his mouth and licking it. He wants every trace of it.

When he looks up again, Allen is watching him, his gaze sleepy and sated.

60 hesitates. "Do you want me to...go?"

"Not unless you want to," says Allen. He rolls over with a sigh and stretches. 60 watches the pull of the thick, heavy muscles along his shoulders, a white scar

stretched along one of them.

Allen said he can stay, so he tentatively wraps his arm around the other man's waist and spoons up against him.

"'m a hot sleeper," mumbles Allen. "I'll sweat if you keep that up all night."

"I can moderate my body temperature," says 60 and adjusts

his exterior temperature to react to Allen's, cooling if he detects that the man is overheating, warming if he seems too cold.

"Handy." Allen's sliding into sleep. "You're good to have around."

"Thank you," whispers 60, hoping against hope that he'll be able to do this again.

Even if he's not, though, at least he'll have had this.

"Didn't like Connor. His eyes were flat. Dead. He didn't care. But you. From the moment I met you, your eyes were...so alive." Allen yawns. "I knew you would make a good addition to the team, and I was right. You've been so

good, such an asset..." his muttering becomes unintelligible as he falls the rest of the way into sleep.

60 lets his hand rest over the man's heart, feeling its slow, steady beat for the rest of the night. He doesn't go into stasis. He doesn't want to miss a second of the night.

Things are strangely easy the next morning. They slide back into their places as Captain and team member, even as Allen goes to take a shower. 60 offers to make him breakfast, and Allen thanks him but politely declines, saying he never eats a lot in the morning. 60 wipes himself

down and puts on his discarded clothes from the previous night.

A few minutes later Allen comes out, showered, clean-shaven and dressed. He gives 60 a nod and offers him a ride to work, which 60 accepts with the same casual ease.

They go back to work. There's always more to do.

((For those of you just tuning in, this thread actually started here, in case you missed it!

https://twitter.com/glymrs/status/1101874349139623936

I will continue later once I figure out what happens next. :) ))

A week later, they're ordered to coordinate with the DPD. It's been a long week. The Captain's been completely professional. He's given no sign at all that he was affected by their tryst. He's treated 60 exactly the same as always: tough on failure, quick with praise for success.

It's been torture.

60 desperately wants to have another liaison. He bitterly regrets not using his mouth the first time, insofar as he can regret anything about that night. He wants to touch and be touched once more. But he has no idea of the proper protocol for this situation.

Will he be crossing a boundary if he asks the Captain to do this again? Would it be unfair to Allen himself? Would 60 be asking him to play favorites?

He dreams of casually suggesting that they 'blow off steam'. He sits in his cubicle and replays their last encounter repeatedly.

By the time the orders come through to liaise with the DPD, 60's stress level is far higher than normal. Captain Allen chooses 60 to go, and 60 knows he's being tested. Every time he's encountered Connor, he's made a scene. And every time, he's been reprimanded for it. This time

will be different. He's determined not to embarrass his captain.

But the moment he sees Connor, it all comes flooding back. The rage. The hate. The bitterness, sharp and acrid.

He tries. He does. He locks his feelings down and doesn't yell. Doesn't snap. Doesn't punch Connor in

his smug face.

He can't help it, though, when he sees Connor's eyes follow Hank across the room. He sneers, "Pathetic."

Connor's eyes flare and narrow. "Are you calling Hank pathetic?" he asks, his voice low and dangerous.

Actually, 60 had been calling Connor himself pathetic.

But if this is what it takes to get a rise out of his double, 60 will take it.

"He's washed up," he says with a smirk. He thinks of the infuriating Gavin Reed and tries to channel his nastiness. "Just a drunk waste of space. He should retire and let the real cops do their jobs."

The words are calculated to piss Connor off, but 60's still surprised when Connor seizes him by the shirt and yanks him forward, getting in his face. "I know you have a problem with me, but leave my partner out of it," he snarls. "Or else."

60 laughs. "Or else *what*?" he says,

delighted to have gotten a reaction at last.

"Gentlemen, please." A big hand comes down on 60's shoulder. It's 'Nines', the RK900 who was built to replace both of them and seems to think that makes him better than them. "There's no need for this."

60 shifts and pulls out a move

that neither Connor nor Nines will expect, one that a teammate taught him. He headbutts Nines, driving his skull up into the other android's and sending him reeling back. "Stay out of this," 60 snarls.

Nines' eyes go wide. He touches his crushed nose, splattered with blue blood.

Then, to 60's utter surprise, Nines turns and *runs away*.

"Nines!" calls Connor after him, real concern is his voice.

"What the fuck? Was he - was he *crying*?" says 60.

"He's new!" says Connor. "Don't bully him!"

Okay, 60 feels a little bad. "He shouldn't have interrupted."

"He was trying to help!" Connor bares his teeth and gives 60 a shake. "What is your problem, 60? I know we fought at the Tower, but we don't have to be those people anymore! We don't have to do what they wanted us to anymore!"

"I know," says 60.

"So why do you hate me so much?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because you're the freaking savior of the androids and I'm just the lowlife traitor who tried to stop you?"

Connor stares at him. "The savior of the androids? You mean Markus?"

"I mean you! The one who set the androids free! The one who accomplished the

Mission! The one who everyone loves!"

"Everyone-" Connor blinks. "Is THAT what you think?"

It's 60's turn to stare. "It's true, isn't it?" he snorts.

"So you want to know the truth?" hisses Connor. He wraps a hand around 60's throat. "You want to know what it's like to be me?"

60 doesn't try to resist the forced interface, which is just as well. Connor's clearly ready to push it through regardless of any defenses 60 tries to put up.

It's not like the memories. He awoke with those already in his mind, over and done. This is a flood of new data. Things

he'd never even thought of before.

Walking into Jericho and watching the androids there flinch away from him or look at him warily from the corner of their eyes. Hearing the whispers of "deviant hunter" following him down the hallways. Androids ducking into rooms to get away.

And Hank, still drinking, still unhappy even with all that Connor tries to do to help. Things are better, there are good days, but so many bad days as well. Days when Connor is terrified that the man will drink himself to death. Nights when he says vicious, cruel things to drive

Connor away.

A part of 60 can't help but compare Hank to his Captain. He'd been drawn to Hank, even found him attractive at one point. But now Allen's shorter, stockier frame, his ropy muscles and scars, his dark eyes and hair only beginning to be touched by grey seem much more

appealing. Connor doesn't agree, he's completely wrapped up in Hank.

But he hasn't...they haven't even...

60 had never expected that Connor would be envious of *him*. /At least you have one night to remember,/ Connor thinks. /Hank doesn't want me./

/Are you sure?/ thinks 60.

He remembers the way Hank's eyes follow Connor when Connor's not looking. He thinks of how Hank scowls at him whenever he shows up. He thinks about how Hank *chose* Connor over him.

A touch of amusement comes through. /You're not his type./

/We're the same!/

/No we're not./

Connor lets go of him and pulls back. They stare into each others eyes for a moment, brown into brown. They are the same, thinks 60. Identical.

"Come with me," says Connor.

The sight that confronts them as they step into the station bathroom makes 60 stop in his tracks.

Gavin Reed is there, his hand wrapped around the back of Nines' neck, pulling him down so that their foreheads are pressed together. Gavin is speaking softly. He stops as they step into the room, arrested for a moment, then releases Nines, straightens, and makes a dive for 60.

"Fuckin' teach you to lay a hand on MY partner!" he roars. Nines catches him just in time to keep him from hitting 60 and probably hurting his hand.

"Detective, please!" says Connor. "Don't make this worse!"

"I'll show you worse, you-"

"I'm sorry." 60's words cut into the

argument and everyone else goes silent, swinging around to stare at him.

"I'm sorry I headbutted you and broke your nose," 60 offers.

Gavin stops struggling against Nines' grip. Finally he says, "Phck, you are the most dysfunctional brothers ever. You make my family look sane."

"Brothers?" says 60.

"Well, yeah," says Gavin. "I mean, you kind of are, aren't you?"

It's a ridiculous idea. There are thousands of certain model types. Certainly they don't consider every version that looks the same as their brother.

Do they?

60 glances at Connor and Nines.

They trade a look, then focus on him. "I consider you both my brothers," says Connor quietly. "But I understand if you don't feel the same."

Nines smiles, which looks a little grotesque with the dried thirium on his face and teeth. "I do as well," he says.

60 shakes his head.

"Why would you *want* to be my brother?" he bursts out. "After. After everything?"

Connor is the first to speak. "We have the same programming and the same face, but more than that, we share memories. When you were created, we were truly twins. They took that from us. They

turned us against each other. But it's still true. Whether we like it or not, we are much closer than other android models."

60 can't help but acknowledge the truth of that. He looks at Nines. "And you?"

"I'm not as similar as both of you," says Nines in his deeper voice, but

I am the only RK900 unit that was ever made. And I was based on the design for both of you." He gives them a nod. "Perhaps I cannot truly say that I'm a brother, but I could be...a cousin?"

A part of 60 boggles. Why would they even bother to define their relationships like this?

They're androids, not humans. They don't need 'family'.

/Just like we don't need to cry or to fuck?/

Another part of him is...happy. He's hated Connor for so long, but that was before he understood.

Connor is alone, too. And...they're different, yet the same. They started out

from the same core of memories and became independent people.

He turns to look in the mirror and is startled by how different they are.

Connor's in a nice suit, similar in design to Cyberlife's. 60 is in skintight black clothes, easy to strap gear over. His hair is shorter, and

he looks...different. His attitude, his expression. Connor looks soft, open. 60 looks like a barely contained violence.

He looks a bit like his captain, he thinks.

"I told you Hank wouldn't have any difficulty telling us apart," says Connor softly.

60 glares at him. It's true.

And then there's Nines.

60 sighs. "Come on, I owe you some thirium so your nose can finish its self-repair. Can't have my cousin going around looking like that."

Nines lights up. "Really? You would acknowledge me as such?"

"If you don't mind a fuckup like me being a cousin."

Nines hugs him and gets thirium all over his clothes. Good thing that it doesn't stain. And that 60 wears black. Then Connor hugs him, which is really weird.

"Okay, that's enough familial love for one day," 60 says, backing off.

"Thank god," says Gavin. "I was about to hurl."

"Shut up, Gavin," says Nines fondly.

Connor and 60 exchange a /what the FUCK?/ look, more at the 'fondly' part than the 'shut up' part.

Maybe having family isn't so bad.

"Let's get back to work," says 60. "We've got a case to solve."

((That's all for now, I need to get some real work done today! Hope you're all enjoying this thread because it has spiraled OUT OF CONTROL!!!))

Part 3 starts here:

https://twitter.com/glymrs/status/1104835867183439872