Hank had gone a bit green by this point, and seemed to want to argue further, but he just nodded.
"Are you willing to help me, if I'm not able to reach the damaged components myself?"
Hank's hands tightened further on the wheel, and Connor noted a quick elevation of his heartrate.
"Shit, Connor, you think I know how to do any of that?"
Hank was quiet for a moment. They were nearly home.
"Connor, I'm good at fucking things up, if you haven't noticed. I don't want you to be one of them."
Hank blanched at that. "Jesus, am I going to be covered in your blood after this?"
"Should I, I don't know, wear latex gloves or something? Am I going to get electrocuted from sticking my hand in--inside you?"
"What the - Connor, why are you naked?" Hank sputtered, nearly dropping his armful of supplies.
"Okay, sorry," Hank mumbled. "I was just surprised is all."
"Huh, ok. So can you--" Hank cut himself off, shaking his head. "Jesus, sorry. It's none of my business, and I need to fix you up, not get nosy."
"I'm going to deactivate the skin on my leg and remove the access panel, then we can look at the damage, all right?"
"That'll be fine," Connor said. "Are you ready?"
"It'll be fine," Connor said.
"Shouldn't I be the one comforting you? I'm not the one who got stabbed. You worry about you, Connor, I'll do what you need me to."
"It is," he agreed.
Hank closed his eyes, took a breath, and reached inside.
"Shit," Hank says. "He fucked you up good, huh?"
"The fuck is that thing?" Hank asks, tentatively prodding at it. Connor shifts the light for a better look, but the angle's wrong.
"I think that's it, but it's not like I know what you normally look like in here."
"No, it's. It's fine. I've never been conscious for this, so it feels strange, that's all."
Connor braces himself. "First, can you remove that broken piece? There should be tweezers in the kit if you need them."
"Nah," Hank mumbles, "I got it."
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Hank asks, staring at the unassuming, generically-labeled tube in his hand.
There's a pair of tiny scissors and an even tinier scalpel in the first-aid kit, and Hank tries to be as delicate as possible as he removes the damaged section.
"I'm all right, Hank," Connor said, and if he sounded a bit out of breath, well. No one could blame him.
Connor feels odd asking Hank to massage the area as well, but it's necessary to activate the gel.
"No, it's fine. It's nice, actually."
"Better than the alternative, I suppose," Hank says. "If my leg got this fucked up I'd be miserable."
"Because it wasn't severed completely, the odds are in our favor for this technique to work. If it doesn't, I can get to a repair center tomorrow; it won't cause permanent damage."
"Just - just water or something," he adds quickly. "I'll be careful not to spill any inside you."
Hank's changed into an undershirt that clings tightly to his torso and exposes his thick arms. He has a pair of simple wire-rimmed glasses on.
And he's tied his hair back.
He's so glad Hank is going to touch him again, even if it's not for the reason Connor wants.
"Connor, you still ok?" he asks. "Do you need to rest before we do anything else?"
"I'm all right, Hank, sorry. I just got distracted."
Hank looks up at him with an expression so fond Connor isn't sure, at first, he's interpreting it correctly.
"All right," Connor says. "Still. Thank you."
Connor's already having to steady himself as he feels the heat of Hank's hand in him and the first tentative
"It would be better for you if I had smaller hands, I bet," Hank says, but Connor disagrees.
"I like your hands."
"Ah~!" Connor makes an incredibly undignified sound. He's sure if he had the ability to blush he'd be beet red.
Hank smooths the pad of his thumb over the place where his nail scratched the cable and Connor whimpers.
He's still massaging, and Connor ignores the notification that pops up to inform him the gel was sufficiently applied two minutes ago. It won't hurt to continue.
"I--I didn't want to make you uncomfortable," he says.
"Oh! Yes, that's fine, thank you. Do you want to move on to those smaller wires?"
"You should be able to proceed in any order, just please be careful; crossing those wires could be unpleasant."
Connor nods. He gets the sudden impulse to record this moment; he knows he has video recording capabilities, included in his design for surveillance purposes.
He could watch Hank's hand inside him, in a small window in the edges of his vision. Every day. He could study the column of Hank's neck without his hair in the way, stare at his bare, thick arms.
Connor realizes Hank's waiting for a response. "Yes, Hank," he says. "It's--it's all felt amazing, but these components are much more--oh!--more sensitive."
"More sensitive, huh? You've been holding back this entire time because it felt too good, right?"
"Yes." Connor isn't sure what else he can say. He doesn't think there's anything he wants to say to Hank right now but yes, yes, yes.
"What do you need right now?" Hank asks. He wipes his forehead with his free hand and Connor can see a trace of sweat left behind. He wants to kiss it away.
"Please keep going," he says. "Another wire. Please."
"All right, I get it, it's done," Hank laughs.
"It's still good, though?"
Connor has no idea how Hank could read his reactions as anything else, but. Sometimes he needs a little help, as intelligent as he may be.
"Hank, you feel amazing inside me."
"I'm going to say things you may interpret as sexual. Please be forewarned."
"Oh fuck off," Hank mutters, but there's no heat to it. His cheeks are flushed and his heartrate's increased again. Connor trails his fingers along Hank's collarbone.
"Of course it's all right," Hank says, "but I shouldn't get distracted."
Connor's hand stays draped over Hank's shoulder, fingers brushing his chest.
"Stay inside me," Connor blurts out.
"Just keep touching me. Anywhere. If you're gentle like that you won't hurt me."
Hank nods. "Like this?"
"Yes," Connor whines, "Yes."
"Just tell me what else you want, ok?" Hank glances at the hand still resting on Connor's thigh.
Connor closes his eyes and focuses on the overwhelming sensation surging up from his leg. His newly-restored components are flooding him with data. He whimpers again.
"Do you want me to touch you here too? Outside?"
He cries out as Hank sucks gently and rubs his tongue against it; he'd imagined this, of course, or something like it, but he had no idea it would feel like this, hot and wet and intimate.
"I said anywhere, didn't I?" Connor replies; he realizes this may be rude, but hopes Hank'll correctly interpret his bluntness as enthusiasm.
Connor doesn't know, of course, what it feels like to be touched if one has genitalia. Everything he's seen suggests it can be intensely pleasurable.
He's been staring at Hank's hand, but he shifts focus to his face; more hair is coming loose from its ponytail. He's breathing heavily.
Connor has no idea what he's talking about, but he sees Hank grin and thinks "I'm in trouble."
This means he doesn't see Hank lean in.
And because he's anchored, Connor lets go; he closes his eyes and loses himself in the feeling of Hank in him, on him, kneeling before him.
Even if this never happens again, Connor thinks, I had him for this perfect moment. I had this.
On Hank's bed.
One of Hank's large, warm hands is clasped around his own, and the other is gently tapping the side of his face.
"Hold up, Connor, what? You think *you* took advantage of *me* just now?"
"Hank, you're talking like you made that decision for me, like you used my injury to push for sexual contact. You know you didn't."
"I should probably be offended that you think I'd initiate sexual intimacy because of something called 'robo-adrenaline,' you realize."
Hank winces. "Fuck. Sorry."
Hank sighs. He still looks guilty, but he nods. "Yeah, all right." He props himself up against the headboard.
He stretches a hand out so it rests next to Hank's leg, palm up, close but not quite touching him. An invitation.
As uncomfortable as Hank seems to be, he doesn't hesitate to take it.
Sets it back down.
Picks it up again.
He brushes his lips over the back of his hand, an echo of the kisses from before.
"You really don't feel like I pushed you into anything?" he asks cautiously.
"Oh." Hank strokes his thumb over the back of Connor's hand. "You too, huh?"
Connor knows this is partially a deflection from further emotionally-weighted conversation, but he doesn't mind.
"I can do that," Hank murmurs, and closes the distance between them. He cups Connor's cheek with his free hand, angling him just so, and does as he's been told.
Connor can walk at this point, most likely; he can flex his leg and feel it respond.
Hank leans over him and presses a hand to his chest, and the message is clear: stay here. Connor closes his eyes, his protest dying as he focuses on the warmth of Hank's hand.
Hank's hovering awkwardly by the bed, so Connor pats the sheets next to him.
"If you want me to, yeah," Hank says. He kneels on the bed and tentatively places his hand just below the injury. "What do I do?"
Connor winks. He's noticed that Hank tends to get flustered when he does it, and this time he's rewarded with a blush.
"Of course it does," Connor says. "That's why I was hoping you could help me with it."
He whines quietly at the thought of it, and Hank chuckles.
"When you touch me like this, I just want more," Connor breathes. "Any time you touch me, that's all I think about."
Connor shifts over and sits in between Hank's legs, leaning back against his broad chest. It's perfect.
"Feels right to be like this," Hank says, so quiet Connor almost thinks he's imagined it. He reaches up and holds his hand over Hank's where it's tracing circles over his chest.
"I think," he says cautiously, "my neck is a sensitive area, so if you could--" he trails off into an incoherent wail as Hank kisses the back of his neck.
"I want to learn every way there is to make you make that sound again," he growls. He slides his free hand to Connor's pubic mound and rubs against it, prompting another wail.
"You want my mouth here again, next time?" Hank asks, rubbing the heel of his hand against Connor's smooth crotch.
He can't think of what to say, but thankfully Hank knows the answer. "Give me your hand, sweetheart, I know you're sensitive there."
Connor sobs as Hank takes two of his fingers into his mouth and sucks.
"Hank, if I--if I installed a phallic component, would you..."
Connor shudders and whines; he can tell he's close to his limit again. "Would you? If I did?"
"Every fucking day, if you wanted."
It's too much.
Hank starts to pull back, but Connor grabs his arm and holds him in place. "I may be out for a bit, but. Touch me until then."
So Hank does.
"Orgasm will probably not cause a reset of my systems in most cases. After a significant injury, it was enough to do so, but I should be fine moving forward."
Connor's reminder to be frustrated with Hank pings to life in the corner of his vision. He doesn't dismiss it. "Didn't we just have this conversation?"
(It's hard to ignore, but he has to for now.)
He leans in close and speaks quietly in Hank's ear.
"Holy shit," Hank wheezes beneath him.
Connor can feel how hard Hank's become, and rocks his thigh against his cock. "You like it though, don't you?"
"Fuck, I...yeah." Hank flexes but doesn't move to escape Connor's grip, so Connor doesn't let go.
Connor kisses Hank again; he tries to pour all of his longing, his frustration, his affection into it.
Hank winces. "I don't--I'm doubting myself, here, not you."
"So," Connor says, "let me show you. Please."
"Oh fuck," he gasps, when Connor's teeth graze his earlobe. "Yeah, show me. What do you want?"
Connor drinks in the sight of Hank beneath him.
There's just so much to look at on a human body. He knows androids are meant to be "perfect," free of blemishes or faults, but in comparison to
He runs his fingers through Hank's chest hair and notices how his breathing hitches when he brushes against a nipple. "Is that good?" he asks, even though the answer's obvious.
He leans in and nuzzles his face in the soft valley of Hank's chest where the hair's thickest.
Connor has access to photos of those years, of course. He's seen them.
"Hotshot Hank was attractive, I'll admit," Connor says. "But."
Hank's red in the face, but he nods.
He does, eventually.
Hank wolfed down his meals when they were on the clock, but at home he was more likely to slow down and enjoy a meal, especially lately.
"What do you want, Hank?" Connor asks, but even as he does so he's working his underwear carefully over his erection and down his thighs.
Hank seems to have registered the question but doesn't have an answer.
"What do you want?"
"For the love of god, please touch me. I'm--" his voice cuts off into a rough moan as Connor wraps his hand gently around Hank's cock and gives it a tentative stroke.
"This is all new to me," he says.
"You--nnghh--you're perfect," Hank says, as he licks him again. "Five stars."
He blinks lazily up at Hank and nods.
"Want to come up here?" Hank pats his chest and holds an arm open in invitation.
Connor presses a kiss to Hank's thigh, then scoots up the bed and cuddles up to Hank in the space he's made for him.
"How do you feel?" he asks Hank. It's a big question, he knows, but he has to ask. A lot's happened since this morning.
"Not just the sex, Hank," Connor protests, but he does like to hear that part as well. Compliments always spark something inside him.
"That's all right."
Connor shakes his head, which in his position just presses his face further into Hank's chest.
"Having you in bed with me. Holding you just like this. Hearing you say you want me to feel good, and letting you get me there."
"I have no idea what I'm doing," he says into Hank's beard.
"I don't think I deserve that," Hank says quietly, "but thank you."
"Any time you want," Hank says, "you can touch me. Maybe not always at work, but when we're here? Go nuts."
"Do you want to stay here with me tonight?"
He somehow hadn't expected this.
"Hey, hey, are you crying? It's all right if you'd rather do your thing on the couch like you have been."
"Big, I think," he replies. "I want both, but tonight I want to hold you."
"I had trouble thinking about anything else," Connor replies.
But he doesn't.
Connor lies still, in the soft morning light, and watches the rise and fall of Hank's chest beneath his hand.
Connor rests his hand on Hank's chest and thinks about daybreak, and green and growing things, and love.💕