Thread by @FastHankconSmut

Connor likes to where little surprises under all his work clothes. Oh boy

🌟Trash ahead🌟
Smut, garbage, awkward feelings
*misinterpretations
*lingerie

“Shit, Connor! There’s blood everywhere!”

“Not to worry, Lieutenant, it’s only a spare line. I’ll just need to replace it.”

“Holy *shit*.” Hank said again. His hands hovered over the wound in Connor’s leg, afraid to touch it.
“You sure?”

Connor adjusted himself on the hood of Hank’s car, turning his knee out to get a better look. The damage was less serious than the amount of blood implied.

One bullet wound right through the femoral- such a place wasn’t fatal for him as a human, thankfully.

“I’m sure. It’s just a mess. I can open the panel in my thigh and pull it out to stop the leakage.”

Hank tried not to buckle at the sight. The explanation didn’t make him feel any better, but he wouldn’t pretend to understand the phenomenon that was Connor.

“Ok...Let’s...do that.”

He stepped forward, shielding Connor from view.

The android blinked, more than a little surprised.

Hank wanted to help?

He’d never dealt with Connor’s components before.

The closest he’d come was pushing his pump back in, but that was only a matter of Connor being too physically compromised to do it himself.

Still, that little bit was much more different than their current situation.

He would have to open Connor up and that prospect always seemed to make Hank sort of...queasy.

Connor was aware that Hank was uncomfortable with his android anatomy- it was easy to see.

He also knew Hank didn’t *mean* to come off that way. He just didn’t know what to do with something- someone- so different. And Connor knew Hank didn’t find him quite....natural.

At least he *thought* that was the issue.

His brows pinched together, matching the worry in his voice.

“Let’s?” He murmured.
“As in ‘us’?”

Hank stared at him dumbly a moment, trying to process. He didn’t know what Connor was asking of him, so he just shrugged.

“Yeah. *Let’s* fix it. *Us*. Let’s go.”

Connor swallowed feeling nervous, but equally as surprised.

Normally, Hank would try to avoid awkward confrontation at all costs. He was a practical guy, but a private guy, and Connor preferred to give him time to rethink things that might extend beyond his comfort zone.

Especially since he often second-guessed himself out of doing things that way.

He seemed sure now, though. Not moving from his place in front of Connor, keeping him hidden.

If hank wasnt going to shy away from this, then Connor’d take the help.

It‘d be the first time Hank had made the first move on anything exclusively involving Connor’s anatomy.

After everything they had been through- the long nights, the longer cases, and the terrifying sea of emotions the pair were constantly navigating for -very different reasons-,

this was kind of a big deal for Connor.

Hank saw him in a different light now, a human one.

He understood Connor was a being with feelings and needs and his own ideas and opinions, but Connor couldn’t ignore the parts of himself that made Hank uncomfortable.

The parts that made him be seen as a machine.

Hank had come a long way and wasn’t dumb enough to think for a second that that was all Connor amounted to.

Of course he didn’t- he knew Connor was real the moment he’d let those Tracis go.

That information just didn’t translate to his brain so well when Connor’s functions and fatality were a matter of flipping open a panel and pushing on some buttons.

So of course this was a big deal for him, but a nice step forward.

And Connor was eager to show his appreciation.

Hank was willing to put the effort into this, and it would only bring them closer.

The thought made some uncomfortable warmth settle in Connor’s chest, as a smile briefly split his lips.

“Sure, Hank.” Connor practically beamed.
“Thank you.”

Hank nodded, made an off handed comment about it being ‘no biggie’, and spread himself out a bit more from any wandering eyes.

Considering where the wound was located, it was no mystery what he’d have to do next. Hank would do his best to protect Connor’s decency.

It wasn’t dark enough yet for the street lights to turn on, and they should probably do this inside Hank’s car. The punk who’d started the shoot out was being hauled off my Miller in his cruiser and the threat was secure.

It was just them now,

and Hank was finding it harder and harder to put conveniency over his partner’s health.

Inside the car would mean less prying eyes, if any were around, but despite Connor’s insistence, Hank couldn’t help treating this like a real medical emergency.

There was blood oozing from a hole in his leg, and Hank would rather they handle this quickly.

Connor slid forward until his feet touched the ground, and he was propped against the hood of Hank’s car.

Some explaining was in order if Hank was going to help him.

“I can open my thigh piece manually, but the tubing inside his very delicate. You’ll need to shut off the supply on both ends of the wire before it can be pulled out.”

‘Can’t you do that?’ Nearly left Hank’s mouth in a grumble if he hadn’t caught himself.

He *wanted* to help, he wanted to know *how* to, and being shy about it, trying to cover it up with impatience and sounding short, weren’t going to help him get there.

So he shut his mouth and swallowed his nerves, willing himself to stay calm.

Shoving his fingers in Connor’s thigh and playing around with his delicate makeup wasn’t the most relaxing thing to think about.

This was *Connor*, afterall. His partner. His socially awkward, mood-killing baggage with a cute face and goofy voice.

Connor who was currently having trouble with his belt.

His hands were soaked in his own blood and slipping over the leather uselessly. He struggled to hold the buckle long enough to push the prongs through and after a few agonizing minutes,

Hank conceded that he wasn’t going to get anywhere like this. He sighed, knowing what he needed to do.

They were big boys.

He could handle it.

He beckoned for Connor to move his hands and started undoing his belt for him. The leather unfolded easily enough and hung at the sides of his jeans.

To keep things moving, Hank quickly undid the zipper, grabbing the open sides.

He tugged the fabric forward to motion for Connor to lift his hips. He obeyed, arching them off the hood while Hank pushed his pants down to the middle of his thigh in an effort to keep him some modesty.

Connor sat back down with the damaged thigh turned out

and probed the hidden panel.

The skin receded around the wound site and the panel sprang free, exposing the excess of thirinium and tubing underneath.

A ‘mess’ was an understatement, but it was no more dangerous than spilled milk. This could be fixed.

The injured tube was easy to pick out, and he waited for Hank to reach in and secure the endings like he’d explained-

Yet, Hank never did.

Connor could easily manage it himself in even half the time, but the agreement was for Hank to assist him.

But, now, he wasn’t.

He was hoping, maybe a little selfishly, that Hank wouldn’t change his mind so soon. He’d only just opened the panel.

Connor looked up, trying to keep the hurt from his eyes when he realized Hank must be more disgusted by the whole thing than he’d let on.

If he wasn’t ready, Connor wouldn’t force him to be.

It just.....stung.

This was supposed to be a building experience. Hank really sounded like he had gotten past everything, and maybe Connor wasn’t so.......unnatural.

“Here, I can do this.” Connor mumbled, hoping he’d disguised the hurt well enough.

Hank looked perfectly speechless, staring at him in a strange mixture of shock and...*something* else. It was a little more intense than Connor would like,

considering Hank had seen far worse. Several android suicides and more than a healthy dose of homicides, and yet they somehow paled in comparison to Connor’s open thigh panel.

Now it *really* stung.

Hank didn’t say anything. He gave no fake apologies or half-hearted attempts to go through with his promise.

He just stood there looking increasingly more tense.

Yet despite his obvious discomfort, he made no attempt to turn away from him and leave, either.

Connor decided to do a quick analysis on his vitals, and found his unusual behavior proved to have an equally unusual response.

Arousal level was high, a startling upward spike by about 68%. *Very* high.

There was always a hint of attraction there- a 23% positive appreciation for Connor’s good looks that he had only found out about a few months. To be fair on Hank’s behalf, Connor was designed rather attractively. It wasn’t the strangest thing for Hank to agree with that.

Most would.

The elevated heart rate was weird, though.

Suddenly, Connor got an awful feeling.

That feeling when you remembered something truly horrible- something that he’d forgotten he’d done.

He turned white as a sheet, then blue, and quickly snapped his legs together.

*Fuck*.

Why today?

The one day he decided to indulge one of those ever present urges he had. *Today*, when he’d get shot in the leg.

*Fuck*.

Like a spell had been lifted, Hank finally tore his eyes away from Connor’s lower half. He wouldn’t have managed if Connor hadn’t shut his legs.

Yet, the image was already there, etched into the grooves of Hank’s brain to last until the end of his days, and possibly eternity.

“T-THESE AREN’T MINE!”
Genius. 100% pure, state of the art, Artificial Intelligence *at its best*.

And he only cost his creators a hundred-thousand to make.

Hank was able to acknowledge the insanity in that statement, too- even with his other head trying to think for him.

“Really? That’s the best you can do?” He grinned wryly.

The blood flow to his brain had been severely compromised, right now. He didn’t share Connor’s neat little ability to push every warning and error that popped into his head away, and Hank had already had a lack of a filter.

It was taking some titan amount of strength not to look down again.

*Stark-white, lace panties, adorned with little blue bows on each hip, and a garter belt that ran down cream colored thighs was wedged inside Hank’s brain forever.

There was no need to look again.

The image flashed like neon lights at the forefront of everything else-alluring and blinding and impossible to ignore.

“I-I didn’t have anything else to wear!” Connor tried again, knowing that his explanations were becoming increasingly unbelievable.

“Why did you have them to begin with?”

“I don’t know!”

The grin washed from Hank’s face. He pulled away and looked around to see if they were still alone, then turned to face the giant mess they’d made.

Connor sat there, looking perfectly upset with himself.

Hank couldn’t help but feel like he was responsible somehow, despite the fact he couldn’t have known about...well...

Hank had been out of his area since he’d offered to help, and this was getting entirely too personal.

Connor clearly seemed to be struggling with something the longer they stood there.

Hank was about to cool things down, take it a step back, when Connor spoke again- eyes fixed carefully on his hands in his lap.

“They just...make me...feel.....”

His voice faded out.

Hank waited patiently for him to continue as Connor began to roll his bottom lip in his teeth. It was impossible to tell, but Hank thought he could see a hint of color in his cheeks.

It brought some of the interest stirring back in his gut, which he dutifully pushed down.

“Well...I’m still trying to...figure it out, honestly.”

As he spoke, the android tried to focus on something that wasn’t the ringing in his ears, staring off at the dim glow of the street lights finally coming on.

Hank looked away, too.

He tried not to think about how quickly everything had escalated in the last 15 minutes, but his head was practically spinning. He felt like he had all the power here, fully clothed and functional- more so. Prodding and poking at a vulnerable Connor, exposed in more ways than one

Hank couldn’t take another minute of time just awkwardly passing by and jumped headfirst into the emotional abyss.

He tried to sound as reassuring as possible when he finally caught his eye again.

“‘S fine, Connor.” His voice was gentle. Careful not to sound patronizing.

“You do what you want to do. Ya know. That’s all tha-”

“No.”

Whatever heat was in Hank’s face turned cold, as a block of ice settled in his stomach.

He thought vaguely about Connor’s explanation of what he felt in such temperatures. It wasn’t anything like what Hank felt it,

but being half naked, leaning against the hood of Hank’s car in October, couldn’t possibly be good for him.

“It’s weird.” The hoarseness in Connor’s throat cut the crisp autumn air, making each word sting.

“I *know* it’s weird....I should have talked myself out of it.”

Hank stared at him- lips parting uselessly.

Connor decided if he was this deep, he might as well fill him in.

“I read about...me. People like me. I’ve seen plenty of warnings to keep this kind of thing private.”

For *this* exact reason. And many more.

Connor had a feeling Hank wouldn’t be disgusted by it, exactly, but he’d definitely not want to know. Connor was right, as usual.

“I *knew* it wasnt normal, but I...”

“Connor.”
Hank‘s tone changed so suddenly as he had finally come to understand.

He reached out, against all better judgement, and gave Connor’s knee a squeeze.

He sighed hard when he looked at the unnecessary damage they had done, written plainly over Connor’s face.

”Listen...you don’t *have* to do anything you don’t want, and you don’t have do anything for other people. That means *me*.”

Hank pulled his hand away and scratched the back of his neck. He felt hot again, but he pushed on.

“The only person you owe is yourself, and you should do what you want to.....for you.”

Connor visibly relaxed, shoulders drawing downward. Yet the sadness in his eyes remained. They turned back to the street lights- a subconscious reach for warmth.

“I understand, Hank. I do. But,”

He fumbled for a minute before Connor remembered to close his legs. He didn’t know when he’d forgotten to in all their conversation, but he forced himself not to focus on that now.

“I‘m tired of being so...weird to you.”

There was a beat between them where Hank forgot how to speak, and Connor forgot how to control himself.

It was probably worth mentioning that the spare line had long since dried out, and Connor was just sitting near naked in garters on his car hood- having a heart-to-heart.

“What does that mean?”

“Exactly what I said. That I’m weird. I’m strange, *unnatural*. The more I learn about myself...”

Hank stood in freezing weather looking completely lost. Why did Connor think these things? Because he was, um, *interested* in lingerie? Was that it?

“I think you’re looking at this the wrong way.”

Hank swallowed his nerves when Connor finally turned to look at him.

For the second time that night, Hank wondered how they’d managed to fuck up so bad that they’d ignored a bullet wound in favor of being embarrassed idiots about

some pantyhose.

*Shit*

*Was there* hose attached down there???

Hank was suddenly struggling to keep his eyes from running downward to stare at the flash of frill and bows adorning Connor’s hips-as if it was wrapping paper on a present.

Those garters really did frame his thighs very, uh, nicely....

Connor watched him curiously, the exhaustion slowly turning into interest.

“Uh, so, I know you’re, um, different.” Hank forced himself to make eye contact again and kept it long enough to get his point across.

“And that’s...that’s a good thing.”

Connor noticed him swallowing again. A nervous habit? But Hank usually ran his hands through his hair when he was nervous. It was a minor detail, but Connor looked for signs like that when reading him. Hank didn’t make feelings ‘easy’.

But what was this feeling?

Connor scanned his heart rate once more and concluded something interesting.

-Arousal 70%

It’d spiked.

“Being different is *good*- I like you different.” Hank mumbled on.

“But I’m *too* different, aren’t I?”

Despite the growing heat settling inside him, Hank was able to find and ask the right questions.

“How so?”

Connor shrugged, but he knew exactly what he wanted to say. Emotions were never easy, though, and especially not so discussing them.

He decided he’d rather show Hank instead.

He looked pointedly toward the open panel in his thigh.

Hank followed his gaze, not prepared for what he did next.

Connor’s legs slowly opened what little more they could with his pants to his thighs.

“This an issue,” he said gesturing to the white lace between his legs. ‘

“But this’,” He raised the thigh with the exposure a little higher.
“Is *far* worse.”

Something touched base with the recess of Hank’s mind through all the dirty thoughts trying to force their way up, and

he was able to decipher what Connor had been trying to get at.

His machinery, his android anatomy.

The blue wires and codes that kept him together- and Hank was suddenly upset with himself more than ever.

At what point had he failed to explain that the red veins and hormones, the things that simply made him an organic thing, keeping him together, were no more important than Connor’s makeup?

They were both people, and *yes* those things made them different.

But Hank was *not* afraid of that or put off by it.

It hadn’t stopped him from wanting to be Connor’s friend or treating every bullet wound like an emergency. It wasn’t stopping him from gawking at the things between his thighs right now, either.

It hadn’t stopped him from thinking about the pretty man in the next room lying on his couch while he was in bed, and by GOD, after tonight, it never would again.

But, *fuck*, it was hard to say any of that.

It was hard enough to focus on his shoes, or the stars, or-

Or *anything* that wasn’t Connor spreading his *legs* for him.

How was he supposed to explain all those feelings now?

And Connor had started to look at him strangely, and *that* wasn’t helping.