Thread by @FastHankconSmut

✨NSFW
✨Trashy, smut, where I tapped into my gremlin brain just to see our boys be awkward about Connor getting urges
✨sorry bout that
✨Hank is very understanding🌟

The first time they ever do anything sexual, it isn’t at all how they expected.

Well, that is to say, Hank hadn’t given *that* part of their relationship any thought, yet. Maybe that was weird, since they’d been actively dating for a while now, and well into the ‘boyfriends’ stage.

In retrospect, Hank supposed he should have at least thought about how he would approach this. Sex was going to pop up, eventually, and if he hadn’t organized himself, Connor might be disappointed with his priorities.

While Hank hadn’t really considered the much more *physical* things, Connor had been very vivid in his imagining for quite some time.

Only, none of it was really anything fluid- no thorough preconstructions or explicit idea of what he wanted, just that he wanted *something*.

He doesn’t imagine Hank coming in and sweeping him off his feet, though he’d be just fine with that, and taking him from behind on his bed. Again, just fine.

But, no, it’s just this desire to touch, *however* it’s possible, and relieve some of this tension in his body.

This is all so new, still.

He tries to take care of it whenever the urge arises. He does pretty well, though he’s become very aware of Hank’s suspicions. Why would an android need to lock themself away in a bathroom for 10 minutes every now and then, after all.

It’s most likely that he’s being very obvious about his endeavors.

But, Hank doesn’t mention it. Because, the way Hank sees it, some self care isn’t part of this whole dating thing. Connor would have come to him, if it was meant to be more than just some ‘alone time’.

Right?

Maybe he was actually putting it off for reasons Hank couldn’t explain, but him avoiding the whole thing had ended up putting them in an unusual place.

An uncomfortable, humiliating, unusual place.

When he finds one of the pillows missing from the bed, Hank investigates for all of five seconds before he realizes the bathroom door is closed with the light on inside.

He tests the handle, and sure enough, it’s locked.

He stands there, teeth sinking into his lower lip, his feet getting cold, and a heat twisting in his gut. He doesn’t need to put his ear to the door to hear it- the rustling of fabric and an unmistakable *rhythm*.

Though, there’s no other sound beyond that, which Hank finds odd, until he realizes Connor’s stifling himself.

There’s no way to explain why it happens, but Hank simply feels guilty. Of course, he’s done nothing wrong, and neither has Connor.

But the fact remains that his boyfriend is in there, *using* his pillow and trying to keep quiet.

How enjoyable could that be?

If they’d been open about sex, Connor wouldn’t have to hide.

He could get comfortable on their bed and have some very important alone time, and Hank wouldn’t bother him. He’d make sure his boyfriend was relaxed and felt *good* while he was inside his own house, because that was only *right*.

Then Hank realizes that this isn’t some terribly great thing that’s too late to fix. That’s not how it is at all.

So, he sucks up the courage he needs to raise his fist, and knock on the door.

The rustling stops immediately, and there’s this tense moment where Hank can tell Connor is obviously afraid to answer. He’s been caught doing...things.

“Hey, Connor, you in there?” He says awkwardly, because they both know that Hank knows.

Of course, he does, he’s even seen Connor walk in there a couple times before.

“Do you need to use the bathroom?” Connor says with a weird scratch in his voice. Clearly trying to make himself sound the opposite of how he feels.

That doesn’t work so well anymore with deviancy- lying is much harder with feelings.

“Uh, no.... I wanted to talk.”

There’s no other way to read into that, and Connor knows, and *Hank* knows, that they’re about to address the elephant in the room, and take this head on.

And, it’s going to be quite a painful time.

Connor cleats his throat and gives a solemn, “Ok.”, like he knows he’s about to go walking through deep, freezing waters into his own doom. And that’s not at all what Hank wants.

Because, in the last few minutes of him discovering where his pillow went to, and what Connor was *doing* with it, Hank has suddenly gad a very clear revelation of what he wants to do here.

Despite putting all this sex stuff off with his socially inclined, cocky, but sweet, embarrassingly oblivious partner, Hank knows everything he ever needed to know when it came to this, and finds there was nothing there to worry about.

That he *was* afraid to give it thought, before, and now, he’s nothing but sure.

When the door opens, Connor tries his hardest, yet comes just short of looking Hank in the eye.

His eyes are worried and, yes, mortified, for the pillow he has clutched in one hand and the state of his hair are all dead giveaways.

So what if Hank knew? It wasn’t the same as *seeing*.

“Hey.” Hank wets his lips. Connor grimaces when he attempts to smile.
“You wanna talk here?”

“The bedroom is probably better.” Connor mutters, because Connor needs to dispose of the *evidence* at the proper place. He also may have found their bed to be his safe place.

The living room just felt too *open* sometimes, and especially for these kind of talks.

They’d first agreed to be boyfriends while Connor did his laundry in there.

He’d also had his first excruciating talk about Cole in there, too, where he found the room and the comfort of Hank’s bed to be Hank’s safe place, as much as his own. The bedroom was the best place to keep his peace of mind- whatever he could salvage of that, once this was over.

“Sure.” Hank backs away and leads them into the bedroom. The lights already off, which makes eye contact a little less intense, and talking a little bit easier.

Hank lets Connor find his place first, choosing to sit up by the head board and get comfy, while Hank takes the chair.

They’re not too far apart, but it’s enough to keep Connor some level of comfortable. He plops the pillow down where it belongs, on Hank’s side, and tucks his legs to his chest. There’s no hiding the shame written across his face.

The sooner Hank can get this out, the sooner Connor can ‘breathe’ comfortably again. So Connor sits there taut and stiff, looking nervously at the space between them.

“Um, so, I’ve been meaning to ask you this, but I never got around to it.” Hank tries to sound confident.

Connor responds well when he does, even he can read his heart rate.
“You know I’m a bit blunt, so I’ll just...I’ll just say it.”

He takes a breath and notices Connor’s turned pale and blue at the same time.

Hank takes that as his cue to move this along, brashness aside.

“This is new.” Hank gestures to the pillow lying on the bed and watches Connor slowly shift into a look of pure horror.
“And, it’s totally fine! It’s- it’s totally....ok.”

Hank clears his throat.

Connor looks like he’s close to turning purple and taking a bus to the next town over. He was. Hank hurried to find the right words.

“But, I, what I mean is, the other stuff isn’t. You’ve been going in there and....”

He shrugs awkwardly, moving his hand back and forth in a vague gesture and quickly throwing it back into his lap when he notices the euphemism.

Connor is lying like a block on his bed, completely unmoving. Hank stretches back into the chair.

“Well, you’ve been doing *that* for a while now, and, obviously, we haven’t.... We haven’t even... felt around each other, or anything.” That’s not exactly what he wanted to say, but-
“What I mean is,” Hank rubs his temples and tries to steady himself.

He knows Connor is watching him with wide, focused eyes, and Hank knows what he has to do.
“Do you....*want* to?”

Connor blinks a few times.

Hank...*wasn’t* going to reprimand him? Wasn’t he mad he used his pillow for...

Connor feels around for the pillow in question and fingers the edge of a wet spot. *He* had put that there.

Hank doesn’t know what to make of his silence and thinks maybe he could have added a layer of tact to all this.

Then, Connor squeezes his eyes closed for a second and Hank can see his ring settle back to yellow- much better than red.

“Hank?”

“Yeah?” He moves closer, practically slipping off of the chair cushion.

Connor touches the soft padding of the bed, trying to ground himself back to his safe place.

“I would.” He says sounding almost a little overcome.

Hank’s lips split into a grin.

“*Please*.” Connor says suddenly, and now Hank is worried it sounded a little too raw.

Connor’s looks away, brows furrowed as he stares at his feet, a little scowl on his face. Hank doesn’t like that one bit.

“Hey,” He stands and quickly closes the space between them.

He nestles down into his side, and slings his arm around him, weaving fingers into the hair at the back of Connor’s head. His light flickers red for a moment.

“Connor what’s wrong?” Hank makes circles with his fingertips into his scalp.

The pinch in Connor’s face relaxes a little at the sensation, as he leans into it.

“Nothing’s wrong-“

“Connor, c’mon. I invented lying.”

Connor sniffs, feeling a glitch enter his matrix.

There is no point in lying to Hank, especially now when they were throwing all the cards out on the table.
“I just feel sort of,” Stupid.

Hank takes a good guess when Connor goes quiet.

After a moment, he manages to meet Hank’s gaze.

He’s sitting there, watching him, and listening patiently- waiting for Connor to get settled again.

The android feels a distinct tingling in his ‘gut’.
“And...I’m worried. I don’t know where this will go.” He says softly, afraid Hank will feel the same.

One of them needs to keep their head on their shoulders.

Hank frowns at him. All he knows, is that whatever Connor means by that, he had jumped onboard the moment he opened that bathroom door.

He didn’t want to go back, now.

Hank put a hand on Connor’s knee, where Connor can see it, and squeezes.
“We can go wherever you want to with it. Just talk to me.”

If they’d done that sooner, maybe Connor wouldn’t feel so bad about talking now.

It’s obvious Connor wants to, and Hank worries he’s made this uncomfortable for him by avoiding the topic for so long. They’d had plenty of chances to, before, after all.

Connor’s fingers flex into the bedding. Hank has already made a warm spot since joining him.

Hank watches him fidget. At the risk of putting him on the spot, Hank thinks maybe a little push might set them straight, again, and decides to move this along- spare Connor from embarrassing himself anymore. He’d done enough of that confronting him in the act.

“What do you *want* to do? Anything at all.” He smiles.

Hank might have been reluctant to say something so dangerous before, when Connor could be in to *anything*. But, he’d already fallen too deep into this than he’d only just realized.

Now, He was ready to do whatever was necessary.

Connor picks a thread in the sheets. Hank sure *sounds* sincere, and Connor doesn’t want to miss his chance. He’d waited *so* long.

“I could show you...” He stops. Connor doesn’t want to mess this up, either.

There’s a pause where he starts to doubt he’s chosen the right path.

“Show me what?” Hank says in a voice that’s gone a bit too low.

“Well, I don’t really see how it could be conducive-“

“Lay it on me!” Hank squeezes his knee, again. They’re so close to a break through here.

He can visibly see Connor heating up, as the android smothers his face into the side of his shoulder, hiding away.

“It was very poorly constructed, but I had the idea to...show you what I did...” Connor bites his lip, the words stirring so many heady feelings in his belly.

Hank just sits there confused a minute, before a flip seems to switch.

“To the pillow?” He asks cautiously. If that’s what Connor’s talking about, he doesn’t want to sound swayed into one direction. But, yes, he’s a little surprised.

“Yes.” Connor relents.

Hank has to take a breath for a minute, because, Jesus... *Wow*.

‘What he did to the pillow’ could be any number of things, and Connor looks particularly queasy about it.

Maybe they should start with something smaller, like fingering. Or undressing.

Hank knows he’s on thin ice with Connor reading every jump of his heartbeat, and there’s no denying the spike in his blood pressure.

Connor suddenly feels that he had been the blunt one.

“I didn’t think it through,” he tries to explain, pulling his cheek from Hank’s shoulder.
“it was just the first thing that popped into my head, and this is all still new to me.”

“The first thing, huh?” Hank says, willing his voice to go steady.

He doesn’t spare Connor a look, though the other man shies away from it, because, Hank’s honestly curious.

*That* was really the first thing?

Connor fumbles, not knowing what the right answer is here, though he doesn’t need to say anything. Hank can already *see* it.

“You sure you wanna just jump in there like that? Could you even handle it?” Especially with *Hank* as his audience.

Connor’s definitely starting to look more purple than blue.

“I told you, I didn’t think it through. I just...I don’t want to wait any longer.” He says sourly, but it’s nothing to do with Hank. He’s mad that he’s let this affect him all so much.

Hell, he was to the point of stealing pillows!

He knows saying that must make Hank feel guilty, and that’s even worse than having to deal with all these nearly unbearable urges alone.

He chews on his lip, almost afraid to look at him.
“I’m willing to try, if you are. But, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He murmurs.

Hank doesn’t pull away. If anything, he pulls Connor a little closer.

“*Me*?” He snorts, though Connor doesn’t see how it’s funny.

“Con, honey,” Connor’s ‘stomach’ does a little flip at the pet name.

“I’m not uncomfortable. I just- I put this whole thing off for so long, because I didn’t know how to talk about it. I didn’t give it a lot of thought.”
Which he’d come to terms with, now, that he should have, as soon as Connor started occupying his bathroom.

Hank brushed his knuckles over Connor’s knee. He was ready to take the final leap.

“And if you want to kick this thing off with me watching you fuck a pillow, I’m here for it.”

“I-I didn’t *fuck* it, Hank!” Corner shouts, voice close to breaking.

Hank looks down and sees horror shine bright in the poor android’s eyes, looking perfectly horrified, with his face awash.

“Oh.” Hank reels back, thrown back from the moment.
“Ok, then...uh, what did you...?”

Connor turns pale, moving out of Hank’s reach.

[✨I’m activating my gremlin card everyone, put up your forcefields]

Hank frowns, not happy about the space that’s now between them. He can’t help but worry that he’s driven him away, and has to stop himself from reaching out.

“Con?”

He can see the flush slip below the collar of Connor’s shirt.

The thing is, now that he’s had his little outburst, Connor is terrified to realize what he actually had done was *worse* than what Hank predicted.

So. Much. Worse.

“Connor?”

The android shuffles to the edge of the bed and stands, while Hank watches and feels a block of ice settle in his gut. He slowly turns to the bigger man, not quite meeting his eyes, yet.

“Would you be mad if I said it was something kind of...presumptuous?”

While Hank has been weirded out, before and teetered the edge of having a breakdown from some of the crazy shit Connor’s said, he’s never been mad at him. Yet, with no way to predict what Connor has to say, he’s admittedly rather worried.

Hank reminds himself for the last time that he’s here to ride and die- and he probably will.

“You can tell me.” He says softly, followed by a nervous swallow.

“Even if you might not like hearing it?”

“Well, I can tell you, now, I’ve already heard you say plenty of things I didn’t wanna hear, and I still care about you.”

Connor flushed a bit harder, detecting a serious compromise in his cooling systems.

He knows those things he probably said weren’t nearly as bad as *this*. He knows now that he should have just went along with the ‘fucking’ thing, because the truth was completely mortifying.

“Hank, I didn’t exactly...mean to. I just got caught up in the moment.”

“Ok.” Hank sits a little straighter, bracing his hands on his thighs. Connor could never explain why the sight stirred such a fierce heat in his ‘gut’, and he likely never would. There was just something about him with his legs spread like that that just *did* things to him.

Hank noticed him staring.
“Maybe you should fill me in on what you’re talking about, ‘cause this whole thing has kinda derailed a bit.”

“Yes, I guess it has.” Connor nodded.

There was no going back after this, and, considering how it‘d been going so far, he definitely regretted mentioning the pillow for their first run.

The one time he let himself indulge it something more than just his hand...

Connor runs a hand through his hair, leaving it looking messier than Hank often sees it. When he finally speaks, his voice fails to stay steady through a single syllable.

“Sometimes....I pretend....when I’m....touching myself...” He hates the way the hot thirium collects in his face.

It’s evidence of his vulnerability, and he wasn’t made to feel such a way.

Hank knows while his staring is probably burning Connor alive, he can’t tear his eyes away. He’s already said *too many things* that make Hank’s stomach flutter.

‘Touching himself’.

Connor refrains from stalling any longer, as it’s becoming almost painful to do so.

“Sometimes, I pretend that it’s *you*.”

Connor can’t stand how quickly his resolve crumbles. He’d been way over his head as soon as he’d offered to give Hank a show.

*Why* had he done that?

They’d waited longer than either of them would have liked to get this far, but throwing up every bit of his business to the man he’d only ever kissed was beyond him. He hadn’t calculated this right at all, and it showed.

“I like to imagine it’s you that’s touching me down there, and...rubbing me. I...”

Hank’s confidence is quickly wearing thin.

He can’t help but feel a stutter in his chest at Connor’s confession, and it’s making his own face feel warm.

Connor keeps his eyes trained on the floor, but wills himself to continue. Mentally chanting how they should have had this talk before it’d gotten this bad.

“I like to imagine you *doing* things to me that I do with my hands.” Connor murmurs, his pump roaring into his audio feed.

He shuts his eyes tight when he catches the light of his ring reflecting off the bottom handle on Hank’s nightstand. It’s red, and obvious, and embarrassing. And while Connor feels dizzy from it, Hank might just be entranced.

His heart is pumping furiously, and though his brain is struggling to keep up, he‘s heard every word of this loud and clear.

“What did you do to the pillow?” His voice sounds kind of shot, and he has his sex starved imagination and the image of a tall, thin ‘twink’ standing in his bedroom, confessing away his lust to thank for that.
“What did you ‘pretend’ to do with the pillow?”

Connor takes a seat in the chair Hank sat in before, his legs almost giving out on him. This feeling is not a new one, though he’s only ever rode the edge of it, never the precipice, and didn’t know it could become this *powerful*.

It’s something like anxiety, his software destabilizing and attacking his central hardware, impairing his judgment and rewriting his response time to something borderline hyper-alert.

Connor’s on a hair trigger, seconds away from either confessing himself, or imploding from the stress of it.

He swallows the extra lubricant that’s formed in his mouth, and licks his lips.

Hank’s watching in a weird mix of awe and horror, and only because he’s beginning to get a suspicious feeling in his gut that makes him feel a second-hand embarrassment he’s sure is coming.

Connor’s already said so much but he suspects it can only get dirtier from here.

“Tonight,” Connor says with his voice near to glitching.
“I just imagined that, since the pillow was so soft....I wanted to pretend it was....your face-“

He chokes out, fully aware he’s just told his best friend, and partner, and recent romantic interest, that this whole deviancy thing had turned him into an actual pervert.

Curiosity be damned- Connor knew this was almost certainly inexcusable.

Honestly, he felt *terrible* for using Hank in such a way. Turning him into some service tool to fuel his fantasies without his consent.

Hank takes a swing at what he’s certain he’s just heard, and yet his brain won’t let him comprehend.

“You *pretended* *I* *ate* you *out*?”

Hank can see Connor mentally check out, now that he’s said what he had to.

Something similar happens to Hank where he feels himself shorting out the more he replays his words, and he wants desperately to stay grounded.

Hank doesn’t think the proper protocol right now would be to touch him, but he can’t let Connor go to far, either.

“H-hold on, this is a lot to process, but...” Hank reaches back for the pillow that’s been the bane of Connor’s existence for the last half hour.

He takes hold of it without a moments hesitance, surprising Connor as he pulls it into his lap.
“I’m not lying when I tell you it’s *ok*.”

He runs his hand over the pillow, catching on the damp spot.

Hank can only imagine how Connor was using it, though it’s more like he used it on himself. And while they’ve just jumped 10 steps ahead and into deeper waters, Hank doesn’t think he could bear to go backwards.

“It’s actually *more* than ok.” If a tad overwhelming.

“In fact,” Hank scoots the pillow towards the end of his lap like he’s offering it up, and braces himself for his next few words.
“I’m still willing if you are.”

Connor is more than a little shocked.

He’d come into this thinking Hank was going to be mad at him for taking his pillow like that, sneaking it into the bathroom where they both knew what Connor did in there- obviously.

But, then for him to tell Hank what he’d been doing with it and Hank just...accepts it?

*Encourages* it, even? Connor can’t totally believe it.

He looks at the pillow resting on top of Hank’s thighs. The scratchy cotton cover with a gray stripe pattern the very thing that’d drawn him in- reminding him of Hank’s beard with its scent and the way it caught on his skin

Through many whiskery kisses and scruffy make outs, Connor had put together a very accurate reconstruction of what that beard would feel like...lower.

He pushes a hand through the flip in his bangs.
“I-I don’t think so.” He stutters out, a hint of static breaking through.