Thread by @CeilingKiwi

Connor was created with the functionality to analyze all sorts of fluids and materials, organic or inorganic, so it only makes sense that he’s have a certain........ fascination with Hank’s fluids. And his hair. And the rest of him.

It didn’t start with Hank. Connor has always had a habit of assessing all materials he sees to determine whether it would be appropriate for him to analyze any particular components. And it has always satisfied him when he’s gotten the opportunity to put something in his mouth.

Even when he wants to, it’s easy to refrain. It isn’t polite to go around licking everything one wishes to lick.

But then he moves in with Hank. And then he falls in love with Hank.

And Hank is there. All the time.

And one night, Hank is weeping. Quiet, broken sobs that terrify Connor because he’s never heard such delicate, pitiful sounds come out of the man he adores.

When Hank lowers his hands from his face and looks at Connor with achingly sad, wet eyes, Connor leans in and thinks he’s going to give Hank a gentle kiss.

Instead he licks away one of the tears rolling down his cheek

Hank blinks—and a certain awareness comes into his eyes that hadn’t been there a moment ago. His nose wrinkles... and then he lowers his head and laughs, soft and strangled. He opens his arms for Connor.

Connor smiles faintly with relief as he leans into Hank.

Before he deviated, Connor would only analyze the chemical makeup or identifying data of whatever he’s analyzing. And that was satisfying enough on its own. But now he’s tasting something that is of Hank.

Humanity is more than he sum of its parts and Hank’s tears are more than just fluids and enzymes. His tears are the essence of his sorrow and his heartbreak. Connor has seen Hank cry when he laughs. He saw Hank’s eyes moisten when Connor told him he loved him.

The information Connor derives from them is so much more than data integrating into his system. A piece of Hank is inside him.

Connor tilts his head up to kiss Hank’s damp face and catch more of Hank’s tears on his lips. Hank laughs again and calls him a weirdo.

From that point on, tasting Hank becomes an obsession for Connor. Not just his fluids, though those have a special appeal for how they coat themselves on Connor’s tongue.

The first time he pulls a lock of Hank’s hair into his mouth, Hank makes a noise of disgust and jerks away.

Hank doesn’t tell Connor not to do that, though, and the second time Connor attempts it while they’re cuddled on the couch together, Hank just sighs.

“You and that mouth of yours.”

Connor removes the hair from his mouth, sad to lose that soft texture. “Do you want me to stop?”

A short pause before Hank says, “Nah. I probably need a haircut anyway.”

“I wasn’t going to eat it.”

Hank snorts and just pulls Connor closer. “How was I supposed to know that? You’re so fucking weird.”

Hank is weird to Connor too, and it only makes him want to know Hank as intimately as possible.

The faded tang of the shampoo Hank used that morning. Dust particles from the places he’s been. Skin cells and oils.

Hank’s hair is feather-soft. Connor wants to bury himself in it.

Connor gently coerces Hank into exercising more, and sometimes when they get back from their evening jogs, Connor can convince Hank to lounge around the house for an hour or so before he showers so Connor can enjoy the pungent taste of Hank post-workout.

Once when they’re at work together chained to their desks by paperwork, Hank gives himself a papercut. Connor can see the tiny bead of blood well up and he aches to know he can’t put Hank’s finger in his mouth right there in front of all their coworkers.

He runs his hand along Hank’s thigh in the middle of the night and thinks about all the parts of Hank that will probably stay sealed off from him forever. The fat under Hank’s skin, his powerful muscles, most of his organs.

“What did you do today, baby?”

“I took Sumo for a walk, and then I spent 47 minutes thinking about your bone marrow.”

Hank just smirks and kisses the side of Connor’s head.

He loves Hank. He loves Hank so much, he wants to crawl inside of him and know every pulsing, organic part of him. All the precious bits and pieces that constitute the man he loves. He wants to take them inside of him and know what Hank knows, feel what Hank feels.

“I wish I could take you apart,” Connor whispers one night when he’s in bed with Hank.

Hank smiles softly. “I know.” He pulls Connor into his arms, and Hank’s warmth enveloping him, the beat of his heart echoing though Connor’s core, allows Connor to imagine he’s inside him.

He wants to interface with Hank more than anything. Sometimes he lets himself imagine that if he could touch Hank’s brain, he could translate those electric signals that are the manifestation of Hank’s whole being into something compatible with his system.