Thread by @FastHankconSmut

✨💦Squirting, HUMILIATION (seriously Connor can’t catch a break), Connor struggling with his place in the world, lots of poorly handled emotions, not quite ‘human’ genitalia, but most resembling a vagina, Hank is a sweetheart💖✨

—- ——

Here we are @Honeyhey1 (and the other person who wanted to be tagged that got deleted and I’m so sorry). The squirting thread.

I wrote and finished this (for ONCE) and kind of made it like a birthday present to myself, so I filled up on *lots* of self-indulging kinks in this.

Feelings and struggles galore. Connor is really taking a beating here, whether he shows it or not, but Hank’s just a sweetheart about it.

I took an *ass ton* of liberties while writing this- Lots of first times and emotions for poor Connor.

Anyway, NSFW slow-ish burn?
—- ——

“Are you sure I won’t open any old wounds being here? The last time you had a ‘roommate’ was when you were married.”
“I know, you giant magnet.” Hank couldn’t forget the last time he had another person over was his sister 3 years ago, and a housemate over 9. He remembers alright.

“And, I’m fuckin’ sure. You need a place to stay and I’ve got room.” Hank watched the road drag on ahead, still fairly empty from where lots of folks have evacuated.
He rubbed his beard, feeling a little sheepish. As sure as he sounded, Hank was still pretty nervous about this.

He liked Connor- he wouldn’t have risked losing his job punching Perkins if he didn’t. And the guy could cross a few lines every now and then saying whatever blunt, uncomfortable shit popped into his little head.

But, he was slowly becoming a bit more reserved, more introverted, since his deviancy.
Hank didn’t know whatever specific thing had changed that part of him, though, he suspected it was something to do with learning his place in the world-

his place with CyberLife as their neat, little toy. Whatever the reason, Connor was having a tough time connecting. Hank couldn’t be sure, but he didn’t think it was the craziest thing to believe that the other androids weren’t really trying to.

From what he’d heard, Connor was very fond of, Markus, but he was busy trying to ‘rebuild his people’. Hank was sure he’d make time for Connor if he’d ask, but Connor had taken to isolating himself- not unlike Hank had spent a decades worth of doing himself, he thought bitterly.

Hank pretended not to notice, but it wasn’t a stretch of the imagination to think Connor was actively avoiding most of his opportunities to make friends.
The point was, without friends, Connor didn’t have a place to go- and Hank *refused* to let him live in any android housing.

The rate of assault was at an all time high in those parts of town. That left one option.
“If I take your living room, won’t I be inconveniencing you? It’s the most lived in room of a house.”

“It’s not like you’d be laying on my couch 24/7. I know you, you’d go crazy doing nothing.” Hank turned onto another street, thankful to be that much farther from the fucking apartment he was taking Connor from.
The kid only had one box to fit all his things in...

Maybe once he had somewhere he wouldn’t have to worry about people breaking in and stealing shit, that’s be different.
“Anyway, I’ve got a little space in the carport. It’s definitely shit, and I’ll need to get you a space heater, but it’s not too bad. Been out there before.”

“You have?” Connor turned his head, looking perplexed about why Hank would holed himself up in a cold carport when there was a nice, warm bed inside. The answer was no less comforting.

“Yup.” Hank grumbled.
“Got in a fight with the wife and was sent to the ‘bad place’. That was when we used to throw around the word ‘divorce’ every few sentences. Such a fucking shit show...”

Connor listened quietly, and Hank wondered what the old, unfiltered Connor would have said. Maybe nothing- maybe Hank was remembering the guy he recalled to be a ‘stiff’, book-headed toaster oven was never so harsh, even when he’d had his ‘machine’ moments.

For all the times he’d asked Hank his ‘personal questions’, none were veiled with ill intent. Connor took care talking about Hank’s clouded history, even if his condolences didn’t perfectly translate.
He’d never judge Hank’s past as harshly as he feared-

as he had grown used to from others.
Maybe Connor, an android, was more human than all of those assholes.
He’d ran across a highway, completely illogical thing for a machine to do, broke into a restricted evidence room, and fucking *winked* at him like a cocky little shit.

He snarked and teased Hank into going to a strip club, and even admired the ‘merchandise’- probably purely out of curiosity, but Connor was... pretty human alright.
Hank cleated his throat.
“Uh, there’s a cot out there for you to sleep on. I’ll get the heater out of the closet.”

“Thank you.” Connor said quietly. He turned back to look out his window and watch the street lamps pass by. Yet, the reflection of his light from his temple had turned gold. He was anxious.
They’d been friends for a while now, Connor knew he could count on him.

But, shacking up inside someone’s house for the first time to have a *life* there was another level completely, and he felt like they’d skipped a few steps. Connor had only been exploring deviancy for a month or so now, and every different concept of living that came-

with independence was new to him. Living in a house, learning to do nothing- to be bored- learning to hold a conversation with someone that wasn’t work related- *Living*.
He’d get through it with Hank’s help.

He hated to say that Hank was becoming a bit like a crutch for him, but it was turning out to be true. Connor had become familiar with Hank being there all the time, and while he’d never known what it was and had no need for it before, he’d become Connor’s ‘security blanket’.

His answer to anything that confused him about being his own person, his rock to keep him in comfortable, to keep Connor in a little bubble where he didn’t have to learn things ‘the hard way’- and probably the right way.

But, behind every war he raged against his mental stability about the cons of being so severely independent vs needing someone with experience to guide him, was an even bigger problem.
It presented itself for the first time when Connor ‘lost’ his job.

@h0ney_bea
He didn’t have a place in the working world, anymore, and during an already exhaustingly confusing time, Connor felt upended with another ruthless realization. He’d been practically stripped of having any purpose he had in ‘life’.

He didn’t chase deviants anymore, because he was one. He didn’t have CyberLife to return to, because he’d never really had that anyway, and it belonged to the androids, now, being totally repurposed.

He didn’t have his place as an android detective, because androids didn’t have things like jobs- ‘yet’ Markus swears- and he doubted he’d be let back so easily if they did.

Hank walked out of the precinct with him, held him by his shoulder, and told him looking him dead in the eye, “It’s not over.”
Which he meant in a many ways and all quite seriously. The rise of androids had only begun, and Connor was going to find out who

and where he wanted to be. It’d only taken Hank 20 something years to do the same, switching his major 4 times, and ending up bailing to become a cop. Connor wasn’t going to figure out his life in one night, and that’s what Hank told him. Then he offered him the next best thing

“Fuck this, alright? How ‘bout I show you something that *really* matters.” Something to cheer him up, he hoped.
Connor agreed solemnly, for the first time struggling to hide his feelings about something since the last time he’d met with Amanda in the garden.

What Hank showed him *didn’t* matter. He took him to a bar not far from the precinct- one of the bars Connor’d been in the first time he’d gone looking for Lieutenant Anderson himself. He pushed him over to a pool table, told him to grab a ‘stick’ and roll up his sleeves.

That’s where it all started. Hank rolled Connor’s sleeves up for him, absently talking about how to win the game the whole time, like he was helping some kid. Connor could do it perfectly well on his own, folding the sleeves in to create a perfect, creaseless cuff

below his elbows. But somehow, when Hank took the initiative, a strange, undefinable exhaustion overtook Connor, and he was suddenly quite grateful Hank did the extra, menial work for him.

The weird feeling didn’t stop there- it went much deeper than the brush of fingers running along Connor’s forearms, reminding of that first he’d ever been hugged by the man.

Hank helped position him, give him the cue and line it up to hit an 8 ball-Connor’s favorite number he’d disclosed a week earlier, and rather surprised with himself he had one.
Connor could do this perfectly, too.

Calculate the force he’d need to hit the ball, and the trajectory after its bounce off a side. He could get every one of these into a hole in 5 shots. But, it felt soothing, relaxing, to let Hank push him along, angle him over different sides of the pool table and scratch

his fingers in the green felt. It was comforting to be touched *so much*, more than he’d ever been before.
His skills in calculating suddenly felt pointless in the instance of this precious moment, and all he had was Hank. Here lie the problem.

Connor’s constant dependency on Hank to teach him things could be overlooked if maybe he didn’t like the *attention* so much. It was a real problem- Connor *liked* the touching.
He eventually found an adequate way to stave off most of that wanting

all of which were sitting in the big box in Hank’s back seat, in fact. They helped, just like Simon said it would after Connor explained, and he was able to suppress those apparently ‘normal’, but totally unwelcome, urges until he could get some privacy, again.

He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to fit all that in to Hank’s carport, and especially with the source of these inconvenient urges waltzing around just outside it.
“I really don’t care, Connor.” Hank said softly, as softly as Connor‘s ever heard that gravelly voice go.

Misinterpreting Connor silence for something else.
“We’re friends, alright? You can stay until we figure things out.”
“Thank you...” Connor mumbled, sounding a little uncomfortable now, but Hank can hardly blame him.

As they pull up in his driveway, the air seems to settle around them. It’s hard to describe, but it’s sort of stiff and awkward. Hank watches him crawl out of the passenger side, looking like a ball of nerves if he wasn’t so good at camouflaging those things.

But, Hank’s gotten good at reading the way he balls his fists up and straightens his tie.
He exits the vehicle and stands idly behind the open door to watch Connor stark still, eyeing Hank’s house with dead, distant eyes. Hank knows what beneath.

He knows Connor needs assurance now more than ever. When he’d lost everything, he’d always had Hank- but, what if he loses him, too.
Hank wants to say that will never happen, that he’d sooner throw his badge on Jeff’s desk and sock all his life savings until

his kid could get back on his feet, but that would require acknowledging what Connor’s been trying dearly to hide. Hank can’t put him on the spot like that, he knows how it is having the things you just want to keep buried pulled out and shown for the whole world to see.

He’d known from the time Jeff caught him piss drunk in his shower having a meltdown over a tub of warm water- research says mimics human warmth- and his hand bleeding from crushing a shot glass.
No, actually, he’d rather not remember that today, or ever.

He still believes the push behind said meltdown was entirely reasonable, and Jeff had agreed.
No, instead of exposing him, he closes his door, casts Connor a weary look over the car roof, and opens up the back seat.

He bends down and pulls Connor’s box over with a grunt and hoists it up into his arms. It’s not terribly heavy, which reminds him of how little Connor’s had the chance to live. He closes the door with his hip and leads them up the stairs.

He doesn’t have to carry the box, Connor is far more capable, really. But, it’s just a little thing he can do, and Connor is finding, rather guiltily, that he likes when Hank does little things for him. If Hank knew how much it meant to him, he’d remind him that androids

aren’t maids anymore and that he’s allowed to be cared for.
Connor follows after a minute, his light a pulsing yellow. They stand together under the little awning while Hank fiddles with his keys.
“Let’s go inside and get you settled, hm?”

Hank fits the key in the slot and turns it. It unlocks with a pop and swings open, immediately followed by a big, mess of fur jumping off Hank’s sofa and filling the entire open doorway.
“Hey, Sumo.” Hank murmurs, voice all soft.

He scoots past with Connor’s box close to his chest and stands aside for him to follow.
He turns to see the thinner man being incapacitated by his giant hound, practically climbing himself into a hug.
“Oh, I see.” Hank says, eyes narrowed watching Connor coddle him.

“He gives you one bone and suddenly, you’re in love with the guy. I’ve been giving you bones every Christmas since you were a puppy.”
Sumo whines, too busy with his newest friend. Hank sees Connor’s temple go blue, and feels a burst of relief.

It’s the first time it’s changed color since he picked him up.
“I’m sorry, Hank.” Connor says between ruffling Sumo’s fur and bowing a bit to receive a lick to his cheek. Hank’s never seen him so handsy with anything before, excluding his personal relationship with stuffing junk

into his mouth. Connor usually keeps the touching light, and cautious- Hank suspects it’s due to the uncertainty he feels approaching anything ‘human’.
“Sumo still loves you most.” He assures him, and lets Sumo slobber on his jeans.

“Suuuure.” Hank knees at Sumo to get down and cuts his eyes at his supposedly ‘best friend’ as he positions himself on the couch again.
“I’ll remember that next time you need a bath.”
“What are you going to do to him?” Connor asks as he follows Hank to his new ‘room’.

“Well he hates getting his ass sprayed.” The man grumbles, knowing he’d lose the fight any day of any year when it came to fitting the colossal mutt in his bathtub for a wash.
Hank brings them out into a dark room at the end of the hallway and has Connor flip the switch on.

Even lit, it’s not much. The floor is concrete and the little cot he’d promised is a bunch of loose threads and chaffed cotton. He’d gotten it ready for Connor the night before, and he could admit now that his wish to see him someplace safer might have put a rosy lense over the

state of things here. It looked a lot better before.
He turned, ready to apologize to Connor for essentially giving him another shithole to shack up in, when he saw Connor smiling that ever so slight smile. Just a pull at his lips, right at the corner.

The real smile was in his eyes. They managed to grow bigger somehow, warmer and deeper. The brown iris turned black nearly and swallowed up Hank’s face looking back at him both stunned and relieved in each one. Hank could practically see himself in them, likely because they were

essentially cameras beneath a looking glass, capturing each movement with crystalline clarity. But, he didn’t care, Hank still thought they were striking, and still human.
Yet, as quickly as it was there, the smile was gone, leaving Hank still reeling even after those eyes

had dulled.
“Thank you, Hank.” He surveyed the room, as if he hadn’t already scrubbed down every crack in Hank’s drywall and chip in the paint job in the time it took Hank to blink.
“This will do nicely.”

Hank snorted, trying not to stare at how terribly out of place he looked in Hank’s carport. ’Nice’, huh? It looked like the dwelling of a cave troll, clutter boxed up and pushed against the walls to give him some space,

and Connor, the latest and most advanced piece of technology, standing tall amongst the wares of yesteryear, looked like something Hank was going to stuff into a box of forgotten birthday presents he’d never learned to use.

Hank took a moment of silence for the poor portable DVD player his sister had got him.
“Well, it’s not much. Obviously.” Hank mumbled, letting his hair fall over his face as he bent down to sit the box on the edge of the cot.

“I mean, if you’d be comfier on the couch, you’re welcome to it...I just...thought you’d like a room with a door on it.”
“It’s great.” Connor hummed. He looked so content just to be here, and Hank was sort of crumbling under all this sincerity.

He supposed Connor wasn’t used to much in the way of compassion, Hank being his only source of it. And this, sadly, might be the best someone had given him in the way of kindness. Hank’s shitty carport with his equally shitty cot.

“Right.” Hank shoves his hands in his pockets and levels Connor with a look that’s more serious than playful, while he attempts to shed some light on his dark thoughts.
“Sumo will probably share his bed with you if it gets too cold out here. There’s totally room for two.”

Connor shakes his head, but he’s smiling, again. Definitely unimpressed with Hank’s crappy humor for all the times he’d gotten onto Connor about his.
Hank swallows, heart in his throat, because he’s never been good at intimacy, even between friends, and the next part is

a little much.
“You can...borrow my blanket and shit. And a pillow.”
Connor’s brows shoot up, then he blinks a few times before bowing his head, looking unusually uncomfortable. Few things ever fluster him, even with this whole ‘having feelings for the first time’ thing he’s

working through.
“Thank you.” He says quietly.
“I appreciate it...I appreciate what you’ve done for me.”
Hank shrugs, but he hasn’t found the strength to make it convincing.
“Shit, it’s nothin’. What are friends for?” He supposes Connor wouldn’t know.

Maybe he should be grateful, too, because he’s going to get the opportunity to show him exactly what he shouldn’t settle for. If his wonderful, lively, thoughtful, though complicated, ex-partner isn’t getting the very best out of the people he makes friends with, he should know

that they aren’t worth his time. He needs friends who’d whisk him away to a place much brighter, less cramped, and less dirty than this place when he‘s in need of a home. He needs friends who can talk to him about the android shit that throws Hank for a loop

anytime Connor tries to explain it.

Suddenly, there’s a loud crunching noise, followed by a heavy thump.

Hank looks for the source, eyes landing on his pitiful looking cot now crumpled over with its frame all twisted up and flattened at odd angles, crushed beneath the weight

of Connor’s box.
Really, it’d just been a matter of time, and he’s thankful Connor hadn’t been lying on it when it happened.
But, then, Hank looks over at the box, turned on its side and spilling out Connor’s few worldly possessions, and prove to be quite a shocking array.

There’s Connor’s only suit lying on the floor with several pairs of street clothes. His precious tie and clip, and what looks like maybe a journal. Then several brightly colored toys of the *adult* variety- all rather impressively large- and a magazine.

Hank doesn’t get a chance to see what kind of things Connor ‘reads’ about before his brain comes back on line and he scrambles to look away from the carnage.
“Uh-“ He adds helpfully.
Connor hisses something and dives down, pushing everything back into the box.

His pump is beating hard and if androids could sweat, he’d be a nervous mess right, now, face blooming.
“This isn’t anything important, I don’t-“ Connor doesn’t hone how to finish that.

Hank stands there awkwardly, unable to help him gather his things, because said things are...private. And he feels like a dumbass just standing there with his mouth gaping. He should leave, give Connor the privacy that he *clearly* understands he needs now- he had no idea

*how* much a ‘room with a door in it’ was dearly needed- but he’s practically rooted there. Wanting to stay and salvage some bit of dignity for them and play it off, before he runs away with his face red and heart beating to make this an even bigger mess later.

He decides future Hank will thank him for being ‘a bro’ about it, *now* and finds the courage to stay, *somehow*.
“Uh, well, you might have to take the sofa-“
“I don’t need to lie down during stasis.” Connor says. It practically runs together, but Hank has to commend

his dedication to annuncing each word. He’d be a bunch of bumbling stutters- not that Connor isn’t on the verge of a factory reset. But, Hank remembered the time he’d talked himself into an early grave turning down that Traci, and Connor’s heard ever word of that train wreck.

This was inarguably worse on nearly every level, but if Connor could manage to respect Hank after that- or pretend to- Hank could assure him, too, embarrassment be damned.
“Its, no problem. I can push it out here for you.”

“Not necessary.” Connor said slower this time, as he stood up with his box folded tight in his arms. He moves it his hip and stares intently at the space between their feet.
“It’s not necessary, but, thank you.” He says, obviously feeling guilty for his behavior.

As if Hank could blame the guy, Jesus.

“It’s no big deal...I mean give me a minute to figure out how to fit it through, but I promise...it’s no big deal.” Hank scratches the back of his neck.
“Maybe tomorrow. If that’s alright.” Connor wets his lips, incredibly human.

He’s still struggling to *look* at him.
“Yeah, shit. Of course it is.” Hank says earnestly, nipping at the skin of his lip.
“Uh, just make yourself at home.”
As much as he can at this point. He’s already been put through the emotional wringer, and now he’s got

his shredded dignity to deal with. Hank knew about *that* quite well, too. Really, there was no limit to the amount of times Hank had been at his lowest point. Jeff helped, and Connor helped, but he was sure he’d be making more bad memories for many months to come, still.

He reminded himself, forcefully, *not* to say ‘sorry’, *not* to make this more awkward than it already was. He’d done what he could do here, just exit slowly.
“I’ll be inside if you need anything.”
“Thank you.” Connor gave him a brief smile, full of discontent, but it

gave Hank some distant hope. It was a smile at least. Connor looked pointedly at the box on his hip, it was impossibly to tell from here, but Hank thought he could see some color in his face.
He didn’t know androids could do such a thing, but now wasn’t time to go digging.

Hank left to give him some fucking peace finally, the poor kid.
He didn’t like the idea of Connor standing around his dim carport in cold weather all night- which *fuck*, he’d forgotten to give him that space heater- but he didn’t think he could handle seeing Connor lounging on

his couch with that *box* sitting idly at his side, either. Not now that he knew what was inside of it, holy hell....
Hank tried not to think about it, he really did. But, the thoughts kept worming their way back into his brain. The *images* they conjured.

Some of those toys were clearly battery operated. Hank remembered his ex-wife’s, he knew what he was looking at. Bright pinks, and blues, and purples, and black- thick bases and thick heads.
He had no business delving further, but he could stop his mind from

wandering, and with it came the most terribly invasive questions.
Connor had *toys*. Vibrators and dildos and- where did he *put* them?

What did he...?

Hank felt like punching himself. Friends didn’t think about other their friends’ genitals, *holy shit*.

Why was he even entertaining this? The poor kid was humiliated enough, probably standing in his carport with his ring lit red and wondering what Hank must think of him right now. Well....nothing bad per say...
Hank didn’t think....well, *everyone*!had urges. Most everyone.

And they’d decided long ago that Connor was very much human and very much real, and real humans definitely had to take the edge off sometimes... uhh...

But, where did they go? Hank had no idea Connor had anything going on down there.

*Jesus*- No more thinking about that, for *fuck’s sake*! That wasn’t his fucking business.
When Connor eventually does slink out later, he finds Hank at the kitchen table, neglecting to eat something nutritious and snacking on chips.

He quickly pushes the bag away, sitting straight and swallowing his mouth full. He doesn’t know where he should look. If he cuts his eyes away, Hank thinks he’ll look uncomfortable- and yeah, that’s not exactly untrue, but he’s not, like...suffering, either.

He gets it, he’s only human himself. He knows all about those urges, and he doesn’t think bad of Connor for having them.
He’s just... ‘surprised’ he does. That’s it.
So, to sum up as much confidence as he can and seem sincere, he pushes the chair out across from him

with his foot, and gestures for Connor to join him.
If the other is surprised, he hides it in the way he dips his head and relents. Hank doesn’t know what to offer him. He doesn’t eat and he doesn’t drink, so how’s he supposed to be a good host, and try to ease him a bit?

“Hey,” His voice is suspiciously gruff. The way it kind of gets when you sit quietly, mouth pursed, contemplating your past greatest mistakes. Like how to handle seeing your friend’s dildos.
Connor only nods as he takes his seat. It’s quiet for a moment while

Hank decides whether now is a good time to talk about something he’s been wondering for some time, or if it will just add to the stress. He decides that it’s something else to think about, at least, and maybe it will take Connor’s mind off of this- though if it were

Hank, it certainly wouldn’t. The hypocrite he was becoming.
First he says he ‘hates’ androids, now this.
“So, I was thinking.” He starts, and gives Connor a once over before he continues. “We should get you a hobby. Find you something to do.”

Connor’s brows raise a fraction, as he finally manages to look at him.
“A hobby?” He parrots, but he doesn’t seem to be giving it any real thought. Hank guesses he wouldn’t know much about this subject, either. When would Connor have had time to?

“Yeah, something that interests you. Coin collecting, bird watching, fucking anything.”
Connor watches him, maybe perking up a bit at the mention of coin collecting. He doesn’t point out that a hobby would be even more interesting if he is able to share it

with someone, and Hank’s Ornithophobia would make anything bird centric impossible.
“Whatever sounds good to you.” Hank pushes.
“You gotta put all that energy somewhere, y’know?”
Connor, suddenly, looks even worse off.
“What energy?” He says quickly.

It takes Hank a moment to answer, because he’s trying to figure out what’s changed in his tone and why.
“All this frustration.” He shrugs.
“Like...losing your job, and just... learning how to live.” He opens the bag again, and starts stuffing chips in his mouth.

Connor stares for a split second longer than he actually needs for it to set in, but once it does, he leans back, shoulders slouching again where they tended up. Hank definitely notices.
“What kind of energy did you think I mean?” He swallows, not sure he’ll like the answer.

He folds the chip bag back over and clips the end. If he doesn’t stop now while he’s full, he’ll end up finishing the whole thing, and he’s mostly sure he’s just started stress eating, again. Old habits die hard.

Connor can hardly look at him, which is strange, and the poor kid looks positively guilty, eyes downcast—
“Oh, shit!” Hank almost chokes on his own spit.
*That* kind of every. Hank had definitely not meant *that*. *Shit*.

“No, not that kind of- I didn’t mean...” He doesn’t want to say exactly, because he thinks it’d kill him. Why in the ever hell would he mean that? Obviously, Connor was still hung up on this.
Connor nods, knowing it was a stupid thought the moment he’d had it.

“I didn’t think you would be so crass, but I wasn’t sure...”
Hank sighs, as they now have this giant elephant in the room they need clearly to address, and he’s not sure he won’t make things worse when does. Connor is looking at his hand on the table, studying each nail- looking

anywhere but Hank. Hank nearly sighs, again. Handling embarrassing situations is not one of his strong points.
“Look, Connor. Awkward things happen when you start living with somebody.” He says carefully. He doesn’t mean it to sound harsh, it’s just the truth.

Two guys in one house, in close quarters. One of them abnormally pretty. It’s a miracle Hank hasn’t been the one to break first.
“I mean, we’re sharing a roof,” He looks over at Connor who’s fiddling with the coin in his pocket. Hank recognizes the motions.

“Its...it’s going to happen. I’m just sorry it had to happen on the first day.”
Hank reaches under the table for Sumo to come sit there so he can do something with his hands. The big dog sees him making motions and pads over to get his ears scratched, nuzzling his giant head

into Hank’s lap.
Connor listens, eyes focused on the heavy tail that keeps wagging into view near his feet, and nods.
What he doesn’t express to Hank is his terrible worry that it’s about to happen a lot more often than Hank realizes.

—— -
Connor’s right, of course.

That enormous super computer in his brain calculates several painfully uncomfortable moments bound to stumble into their near future. Some of them, have been realized already.

Like, finding Hank, thankfully, mostly dressed, after coming out of a shower- only Connor’d just nearly

missed running into him without a shirt on. Not that it was any real stretch of his imagination what Hank would look like underneath. He’d gotten his measurements and judged how much of him was fat vs muscle in case he suffered any damage on

the job, but...*seeing* was a different matter. Connor forced himself to discard the memory, but keep an alert on Hank’s bath times- avoid any future run ins.
Then, Connor almost broke an entire shelf of dish ware, when Sumo licked a stripe up his calf- he was sensitive

there, it seemed, and that it, sadly, was the most exotic location he’d ever had contact to. His first touch below the belt was a dog looking for a belly rub.
Then, things almost completely went under as Hank came miserably close to seeing him skinless, while he had

a weird, existential breakthrough in the bathroom mirror over his barcode. If Hank had seen him like *that*, Jesus. He’d be scarred worse than finding his sex toys.
For his part, Hank played everything off pretty damn well, considering how flustered Connor’d seen him

before. He hated to keep referring to the instance of the Traci, but Connor supposed Hank’s stuttering was because he was attracted to her. That was probably it.
It suddenly occurs to him that Hank may have tapped into some sort of long buried caregiver mode, a side of

Hank where he’s able to push away his embarrassment in order to keep Connor feeling assured and safe. Not unlike a parent having their fingers squeezed to death by a child about to get a shot. The parent remains calm, despite the bruising.

Connor isn’t sure he *likes* being treated so delicately. He’s anything but fragile, even if he feels lost half the time, and he’s still a capable machine even in his most basic state.

But, then that all turns into big talk.

It’s a couple weeks after settling in there when Connor breaches the final barrier that’s standing between them, and he feels more fragile than he’s ever felt before.

More like the porcelain doll he’s been made to resemble in beauty and perfection.

“Do you think I’m alive?” He was pretty sure he‘d avoided ever having these feelings, and especially voicing them, but then he sees where his old apartment on the news has wracked up a death count on androids residents higher than Hank’s as a policeman on the force for over 30

years.
It could have been him. Even with his super advanced fighting skills, if there were enough of them- enough android haters- it could have been him.
If Hank’s heard about it, too, he hasn’t said anything. No ‘Glad you weren’t there’, because all those

other androids who died were.
He looks at Connor while he’s wrapping up in a scarf and boots, preparing to take Sumo for a walk, and stops, hand hovering over the doorknob. Connor feels kind of childish for waiting until Hank’s about to leave before broaching the

subject, and especially because he’s hoping to keep it a short one. He knows it won’t be, because Hank is staring at him with his lips parted, showing his little tooth gap, and completely quiet.

“Yeah.” He says, and it sounds sincere enough- so there’s Connor’s answer- but he’s not finished mulling over Connor’s question.
“Of course I do.”
“Are you comfortable with me here?”
Connor cringes. He knows he should have stopped while he was ahead.

Hank would want to ask where the first question came from, and what other dark thoughts he’s been having, but now he’s only complicated it by adding another layer of doubt.
“Yeah.” Hank says again, but his eyes narrow as he frowns.

Connor nods and tries to leave when he knows the probability of that is about 20%.
“Connor, hold on.”
He does, as he’s predicted Hank would ask him to and turns to find Hank coming *over*. He knew this would be a touchy subject before he’d even asked that.

“What brought all this on?” Hank mumbles.
If Connor’s being honest, mostly the deaths on the news, but he makes a vague gesture like he doesn’t know, and Hank buys it.
“That’s, I mean...Of course, I think you’re alive, Connor.” He says again, his voice gone soft like it had that

time in the car that. Hank’s looking at him a bit too intensely for the android’s liking. Since deviancy, his ability to keep a mask on his emotions has slipped a good bit.
“That’s pretty serious.” Hank hums.

Connor nips his lower lip, and nods, but that’s apparently not good enough.
“You *are*,” Hank says firmly and shakes him by the shoulder. Connor can dissect every pigment of blue in his eye that turns subtly into grey at this distance.

The color is so icy and piercing, and it distracts him to this point he almost doesn’t notice Hank is talking, again.
“Have I...said something to make you think I don’t?”
“No!” Connor practically shouts and shakes his head frantically. Hank is, in fact, the *only* person

who has ever made him feel alive. He’s given him a house, extra thirium once he knew he needed it, companionship. He’s *taught* Connor almost everything, and has always treated him like he deserves Hank’s respect. They had a rocky start, absolutely, but if Hank had

been trying to atone for his sins in those days, he’d done in a hundred times over, and Connor was pretty sure he wasn’t ready to stop, either.
“No. You’ve never made me doubt your intentions or your treatment of me. Ever.” Now, Connor feels nervous.

He has Hank’s utmost attention, looking so sincere, and he feels like he’s wasted such a precious thing on this. Connor shouldn’t have let his insecurities poke holes in this great thing they had going.
“I’m sorry.” He wrings his hands together, and turns away.

“No, Hank. You’re the only human that’s ever made me feel like I’m alive. I know you believe it, too. I just...”
Those androids on the tv...
“Have doubts?” Hank hums, feeling closer somehow than he was a moment ago. Perhaps it’s the way his

thumb pushes firmly into Connor’s shoulder.
“Yes. Sometimes.”
“Well, shit, so do I. All the fuckin’ time, in fact.” Hank’s hand slides down to grip his arm, never breaking contact.
“But, never about this, Con.”

‘Con’.

It’s the first time Connor’s ever heard him use a nickname on him before. It’s...Connor has a *nickname*...

“And as for you bein’ here,” Hank smiles, knowing nothing about the heat crawling up Connor’s chassis and seeping into every place his hand has touched.

“I’m as comfortable as any old, slouch can be, having a bookhead, textbook
overachiever in his house.”
Connor gives a shy little smile, the warmth getting the best of him, but he wants to say something.

He wants to mention how great Hank is, too and that he’s far from being ‘any old slouch’- that he’s wonderful, and kind, and in tune with others, particularly Connor. But, it’d be weird to focus on him belittling himself when he was clearly using humor to

deflect the intimacy of the subject. Connor couldn’t stand much more of things being ‘weird’ between them.
He lets it go, since there’s only so many outbursts of feelings he and Hank can handle, and Sumo really needs his walk.

“Sure, Hank.” He says wryly, a hint of playfulness in the way he pats Hank’s hand before they part. Sumo practically runs Hank over as he walks back to the door, not keen on being cut short, again.
Hank thinks about inviting Connor along, but the risk of running into

trouble doubles. Connor’s a target so long as he keeps that little blue halo on his temple and rights for androids are a mockery.
Connor watches them go, noting the fresh snowfall behind the door, and decides he’s glad he’s staying. He has something he really needs to attend to.

Once Hank’s walked Sumo past the neighbor’s house, and he’s sure Hank hasn’t forgotten anything, Connor hurries to the carport.
At first ‘the urges’ stayed hidden, probably due to the stress of his new lifestyle, and he almost considered the possibility they were

this one dimensional thing, existing solely, because Hank was his only companion and only source of physical touch.
Then they came back, strong and wild as ever and every bit as pure and real as he’d tried to convince himself otherwise.

He’d put them off for as long as he could manage, but this was his chance to curb the cravings.
He sifted through his box, most of his things already laid out around little tables- except his toys. He kept them stuffed inside and under a shirt

to provide some sense of security, although a weak one. Deviancy acted very illogically at times.
He felt a pang of embarrassment, something he was becoming familiar with, as he pulled out a simple toy with a rubbery, shiny finish that grew slick *quickly*.

There’d be zero resistance fitting this one in. He supposed the shame came from the memory of Hank seeing it. He was much more experienced with sex than Connor was, and he’d know immediately what Connor was doing with it.
Connor froze, probably looking ridiculous

with a thick dildo in his hand, kneeling down and staring at it.

Did Hank think about him like that?

Did he think about Connor playing with his toys?

Connor felt shame, then another rush of embarrassment. Then, while he’d hate to admit it later, heat.

A particular kind of heat that rose up in inconvenient places and gave one inconvenient thoughts. Dirty, humiliating thoughts, if anyone knew.
The heat began to fill the space between his hips, and traveled *down*. Connor sucked his lip.

Did Hank *like* to think about that?

Did he *like* to think about Connor pleasuring himself? Could he?

Connor undid his zipper with much more haste than before. He reached in and hooked his thumbs beneath the band of his boxers and pulled everything down, pants and all, in one fluid motion.

He stopped at his thighs, his center now exposed, and took a moment to gather himself.

This next part was tricky.

He’d been reading his magazine more often, trying over and over again to decide on what he should do about this.

It lists the genital components ‘new management’ at Cyberlife intends to produce soon- like the war on android-kind with threats and murders and *worse* can take a back burner long enough for them to have the sexual components they desire. Some of them can afford

to think about it, though, like Connor, who has a home and someone to care for him. A security blanket to keep him safe. He can afford to think about having a say in what he has down there, because he has shelter and no children to look after.

Though the facts still make him he feel guilty.
Perhaps, that’s the point of his existence, and the entire point of the sex he’s been given. It was not designed to bring him pleasure, only the user.
Deviancy took care of that, giving him the power to touch himself

and use tools, but both required a bit of innovation to make any progress.
Using vibrators cheated the system by forcing enough friction and movement in there to give him what he needed to activate his pleasure receptors. They don’t seem to like his fingers too much, and he knows

exactly why that is, ‘not for *his* pleasure’....
It’s frustrating and demeaning, both to him, and who he suspects the design was intended for in the event sex was necessary to spur on some kind of relationship between them- meaning Hank. He’d never, never, never use Connor like

that, and Connor can’t help believing androids were designed to replace Cyberlife’s lost faith in humanity when he thinks about it. Or perhaps he means one Elijah Kamski’s.
For now, he has this- a slit to mimic something crudely resembling a vagina. There’s no ‘outside’, no place

for him to derive any pleasure from something like a clitoris or cock. It’s perfect for Hank to stick his business in and go, no worrying about satisfying Connor. He’s a machine after all, a piece of tech created to serve, and if this route was necessary, he’s easier to use

this way.
But, he manages to get it right most of the time. He angles the toy, cants his hips, and poorly stifles the automated response he’s been programmed with- the moan. It’s usually enough of the right things in the right mixture to get him off, stave those urges.

It was a lot less complicated before he knew what attraction was. He was glad Simon had pointed it out it him and made it so easy to understand what was wrong, but he’d spent the better half of his first month deviant denying such things. Denying what -who- gave him those urges.

He let his hand come down and cup himself there. It wasn’t much more than a soft, smooth mound, and a nearly seamless slit, but inside was another story. It was fleshy and ribbed, and he suspected rather tight. He had nothing to compare it to

in the way of sex toys and real vaginas. But, he could be certain the slick he produced to aid penetration was *excessive*. Perhaps, to add allure.
He touched his fingers to an edge, where something like lips and labia might be.Simon had told him not to compare himself like that.

The fact was, he was android, and what he had couldn’t be contrasted to that of a human’s. It might even be temporary if the ‘new’ Cyberlife pulled through.
He still cringed, feeling unwelcome in his own skin as he slipped a finger inside, judging his wetness.

Thinking about the Lieutenant thinking about *him* had really done the trick, apparently.
Connor didn’t play around much. What good was dragging things out with so little to work with- not to mention the *frustration* of actually achieving an orgasm.

He picked up the toy, wiping it with what slick he had on his fingers, and lined the head up to his ‘lips’. He pushed *up* and instantly, the edges parted, and met the tip of the toy with a bead of slick that rolled down the smooth side. He was already so wet.

He pushed a bit more and the toy goes up and *in*, catching on the ribbing and rubbing. He stops to gather himself. Unfortunately, getting started is the easiest part- everything from here would be a bunch of calculations and good timing. He clenches instinctively

around the intrusion in his hole. He wonders if he’d get the same pleasure, or better, if he had a hole behind him- maybe a cock to go along with it.

‘Don’t compare yourself’, Simon’s words echoed in his head. Easy advice to take considering his disdain for the humans who’s designed him like this, but ultimately hard to take in the grand scheme of things. They were probably having a grand old time thinking about all the

androids like Connor learning about sexual frustration with a poor conductor to relieve it with.
He swallows, feeling a dull pulsing in his sensors coming online. It was time to get moving.
He pulled the toy back out and fiddled a bit, trying to get a good angle on

the weighted plates in his -what he’d prefer to call hole than vagina-, and started thrusting. He pumped the toy in and out, looking to mimic the thrusts of a human with a phallus inside him. It was easy enough, their hips would put the angle of the toy at just so, and

the slap of their balls would put the pressure *here*- he snuck his other hand down towards his ‘taint’ and pressed- and Connor was already clenching in pleasure, *hard*.
The problem was when the pleasure set in- the real pleasure. Not the touch activated, pre-programmed

stuff, but the stuff that lit his sensors up and made them scream, made him feel what went beyond just knowing there existed the electric pulse his body was designed to ‘feel’ and react to, but to be able to appreciate them. They meant nothing as a toy, a machine.

But, as a person, they meant power and pleasure. He could delight in those raw receptors sending tingles to his brain. Sharp, rapid tingling, poking around the plastimetal of his spine, and *down*.
It sent a thrill through him, physical and psychological, because

whatever he was ‘made to do’ would be damned tonight. He was *going* to have that orgasm. He was going to do it this time.
Willpower alone wouldn’t get him there, though. He looked around the room and realized he was going to need to lie down.

As the sensations become stronger, the ability to focus lessened. There’s no where in here he can lay down, though, not since he’d insisted against the sofa after the poor cot ate it.
His wrist doesn’t stop moving, pumping the toy in and out.

He thinks about it and is slightly horrified by what solution pops into his head next. He is *not* going to do such a horrible thing in Hank’s *bathroom*. It’s a complete breach of trust.
He pumps the toy faster, legs quickly becoming unsteady. It feels good to be full like this.

Warmth blooms in his chest and face, making a maintenance alert about his failing ventilators pop up which he throws away with abandon.
He thinks about when Hank’s hand was on his shoulder. How warm, and big, and strong it was, just how he remembered it when they were

playing pool. Pushing him around by the dip in his back, a couple times by the hips.
Connor had to stop thrusting and let the toy ease into his hole. The thought coupled with the mounting pleasure made his knees nearly buckle. It’s too much. He *needs* to lie down.

Suddenly, Connor has the fleeting thought of doing it on *Hank’s* *bed*.
Lubrication production increases triple-fold, and Connor doubles over, hand on the dildo going stark still as flood of wet, liquid heat spills out and coats everything from the toy, to his

hand, to his thighs. It drips down, puddling in his pants and drenching his boxers. They‘ll have to be washed, now, but he’s got bigger things to think about.
That was *definitely* some sort of malfunction he’s never encountered before, and he’s not sure if it’s a dangerous one.

He should do a maintenance check to see what’s damaged or missing, maybe a whole line of analyzer fluid, God forbid, but he hasn’t had his orgasm, yet. He wants to finish, as abhorrently brainless as that may be. He *wants* to kill this energy, this energy that threatens

to burst from him and rip him to shreds every time he gets so close like this only to fail. It’s brutal, and while it isn’t always like this, tonight it is, and he can’t be patient. He needs this to work, *now*.
He’s standing there, debating about taking his pants off

and getting them washed in case Hank comes back before he can finish scanning himself, or fight his way to orgasm and ruin- permanently?- the pair of pants he’s in now. Or find it in himself to wait even longer to have this opportunity, again, if he doesn’t attempt to do

more tonight, when Hank’s definitely asleep.
A fourth option presents itself when the door to the car port clicks open.

“Connor, you in here?” Hank asks, stepping out onto the concrete and finds him easily enough. He’s still bent over, hiding his half nakedness

from view, and Hank hasn’t yet noticed the state of things he’s walked into, as he takes a few more steps in.
“I brought you something back,” He gestures behind him, likely somewhere in the kitchen, but Connor’s a little preoccupied right now.

“I didn’t like how things went, earlier-“

He stops cold.

“Oh- Oh, Shit I- Uhh,”

He should be humiliated in a way that he’s never felt before, and it should transcend all levels of shame he’s ever known. Instead, the feelings spike and subside quickly to make room for something

he never saw coming. He sits on the floor, rear against the freezing cement and moves the toy out and away. He draws his knees up and holds himself steady. He needs to stay calm.
Meanwhile, Hank is a mess of apologies and cursing, head turned away and hands out to shield

Connor from view.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know! Fuck!”
Connor sits there, trying to keep a lid on the massive meltdown that’s teetering on the edge of spilling over. It’s so unexpected, and he doesn’t even know what’s triggered it, but it’s coming.

The hand tremors, the glitch in his audio, the flickers in his vision. It’s definitely coming.

Hank’s backed himself up to the door and he’s halfway out it when he checks to make sure Connor’s perfect silence isn’t anything serious. He doesn’t know what to make of it

when he sees Connor sitting with his pants rolled down on his dirty car port floor, never mind that he swept it, and a solemn, distant look in his eye as he stared at his arms wrapped over his knees.

“Connor? I’m-I’m sorry...”

Connor tries to nod, to tell Hank he’s heard him and is simply beyond it at the moment, but his movements are too jerky.

“Are you ok? Did I break you?”

Connor can’t offer him anything this time.

“Connor, shit...” Hank turns away, but he doesn’t leave. Present Hank making yet another great sacrifice for future Hank.
“Remember that talk we had about awkward things happening when you live with someone?”

“Hank, I can’t.”

He stills. His eyes move briefly over Connor across the room to see what his status is, and it appears he hasn’t moved an inch.

“I can’t do it.” He says, again- this time it’s heavy with emotion.

“What, what can’t you do?”

Connor isn’t sure, but he thinks his voice might have just glitched out when he attempts to answer him.
Hank stands there, lips parted and feeling useless. He should really leave, and he’s about to, when suddenly, the flood gates open.

It’s metaphorical and literal, some ultimate karma of the universe kind of double jeopardy, because he’s about to let loose a panic attack more charged and emotional than he’s ever had to deal with in his short life as a deviant that’s going to possibly drown Hank in a wave

of raw emotion, and, Jesus Lord, there’s the pressure of another wave of slick is there, threatening to come out.
He cups his hand over his slit, as if that will dam up something of the magnitude he made before Hank arrived- his poor pants.

But he holds himself, grateful he’s sitting, and cringes at the gush of fluid leaking between his fingers.
Nightmarish is an understatement- this is just brutal. The feeling like he’s being overwhelmed to the point of bursting busts out as he spills his guts- maybe literally, if

he didn’t find the source of the malfunction soon- and with *Hank* as his audience.
“I can’t- I can’t figure out why everything is so hard for me.” Connor’s voice definitely glitches that time. Hank stands there, thinking how glad he is he hadn’t ran out on him when a storm of

this size had been brewing under the surface.
Connor’s hands have that little tremble in them they get when his wires feel all tangled up inside.
“I can pick things apart and make sense of them to their most basic level, but when I try to do them, I fail.”

That’s not even the whole of it. Whether it was his fault he broke something inside himself or not, things just seemed to always go badly for him lately, and he didn’t know why he had lucked out so hard, but it was starting to wear at him.
Hank stands there at a utter loss.

“What are you, like, what are you talking about?” He says lamely, but he doesn’t know where else to start with this mess.
Connor bows his head.
“I can’t pet Sumo without counting every strand of hair that I touch, and I can’t control it.”
Connor can’t explain it any better

than that, and Hank’s already looking lost. He doesn’t blame him, this all came out of *nowhere*. The problem was that it was still coming.
“I judge the texture of each strand, I feel each split end. It’s so *much* and I’m supposed to be doing so little.”

Hank wants to ask him what that means, but when Connor explains it, he can hardly stand to hear it.
“Humans don’t do those things.” Connor murmurs.
“I can’t even say Sumo’s name without hearing that *voice* in my head!”
That catches Hank‘s attention.

“What voice?” His face his full of worry
“*My* voice.”
Connor can feel Hank watching him, pity probably written all over his face, and probably more than a little freaked out. Connor hates it, he wishes he’d gotten a grip on these feelings weeks ago when they’d started building.

“I know what it sounds like to you, but everything in here,” Connor touches his temple where his light’s gone red.
“It’s mechanical and disjointed.”
Hank had no idea about this. He can’t imagine. People sound different to themselves vs other people, but what Connor’s describing

sounds maddening.
“...Is that uncomfortable for you?”
Connor shrugs, but his face is tight and his shoulders are tense.
“Only because I’m trying to be something I’m not. When I was a machine, no.”

Be something he’s not?....

“Connor...” Hank murmurs. It practically pours out of him, warm and sure, and dripping with worry.
“You’re *alive*, Connor. You’re as human as I am-“
“Even with this voice in my head?”
Well, if this was about appearances, something as superficial as blending in with humans

for their comfort, and it’s not hurting him, than honestly, Hank sincerely means it when he says *fuck* *that*.
“I said what I said.” He hums. He knew absolutely nothing about this serious complex Connor had about ‘being perceived’ as human.

He’d only just brought the topic up for the first time today.
Then he thinks about everything Connor’s said.
“What else do you think you ‘fail’ at?”
Connor briefly locks eyes with him and feels a heady rush run him over when their eyes meet. Hank looks so serious, and all

Connor feels like is a big joke. It’s hard not to when he imagines Cyberlife rejoicing in his constant frustration. But, Hank’s still waiting for an answer- he’s even come closer. Well, if he really wants to know.
“I...I fail at being sociable.” Connor says softly.

Hank remembers thinking about it in the car ride. Connor was socially inclined, yes, and he wasn’t doing a great job of making friends. But, Jesus, they just had a *fucking* android revolution not long ago, and he’d only just been given a fucking *life* with which to socialize.

“Yeah?” Hank ducks his head.
“I drank my wife away and put a wedge between me and Fowler.” He can admit that, now. If Connor was going to make a bad rap sheet for all his ‘failures’, Hank was going to outdo him in the first half of the page.

“At least you had friends, what you chose to do with them doesn’t derive from that. People just don’t like me.”
Hank snorts.
“What the fuck am I, chopped meat?”
“No, Hank, I didn’t mean-“
“I like you, alright?” Hank says a little gruffly, but intimacy was still kind of tricky.

He still gets the point across.
“And, y’know Sumo is over the fucking moon about you. You think he gets off the couch for just anybody?”
Connor’s shoulders lose some of their tension for the first time since they’d started this whole shitshow.

“You’ve got a friend, alright? So, what else?”
Connor looks at his hands on his knees and decides at this point, he can handle confessing his most humiliating failure yet.
“....I can’t write in cursive.”
Hank throws his hands up and huffs.
“*Jesus*.”

The stuff about being hyper-aware whenever he pats Sumo, and the text-to-speech voice chirping away in his head, those were legitimate. But, the rest of this shit couldn’t possibly be worth having a breakdown over with his pants half off.

Hank has to smile at him.
“Do you think *I* was born knowing how to do all those things?”
The look on Connor’s face is an obvious ‘no’.
“Exactly.” Hank says, shaking his head.
“I don’t know how to sheer a fucking sheep, or make a cherry pie, or cut my own hair! Damn, Connor.”

“One of those seems specific.”

Good. That was the first time he’d heard Connor be a sarcastic little ass since he’d lost his place at the DPD. Hank‘s smile widened, thankful there was still hope.

“All I’m saying is I don’t know a lot of shit, and that’s totally *fine*. I’ve made my peace with being bad at English forever.”
“That’s because you’ve substituted most of your’s for cursing.”
“Listen here, smartass, I’m trying to have a moment with you.”

Connor returns his smile, fingers digging in his kneecaps when that little flutter that got him into this whole mess heats up his insides. The smile fades when he recalls the position he’s currently in. He swallows- he wants to tell Hank everything, but this part will be harder

to admit to, because this part actually hurt.
“I’m failing at *this*, too.”
Hank looks him over, noting his bare ass on the floor, and coughs, turning his reddening face away.
*This*, Connor’s referring to, he wouldn’t know about. This was strictly for Connor to bear witness

and pass judgement of, and Hank would have no way of assuring him about it.
He thinks about the scene he’d walked into- Connor hunched over, looking distressed from the brief glance Hank got of his face, one of his toys sitting idly inside him.

He supposed that if he didn’t walk into the guy jerking off or riding the thing- Jesus, save his soul from the images running wild in his head- then Hank could assume he hadn’t come in on Connor having too good a time of it.
Hank suddenly feels like his life has become

the script for a bad movie. One where the old man suffers near a heart attack brought on by his beautiful, doll-like roommate every few scenes.
He scrubs at his face. There’s no right way, or subtle way, to attack this without getting his hands dirty.

“Alright,” He sighs, jumping headfirst into the deep end without dipping his feet first *again*. But there’s no helping it, was in this for the long haul when he decided to stay.
“Lets hear it.”
He takes a seat at Connor’s side, despite his knee’s protests, and

tries to level their positions, make him more comfortable.
Connor pulls his knees in tighter and gives Hank a worried look.
“...I think I might have broke something while trying to,” he searches for a moment. ‘Orgasm’ is accurate, but it’s hard to say.

His other options, all in slang, look equally as terrible, so, he has to settle.
“While I was trying to ‘finish’.”
He feels himself getting hot below the collar. He knows he should have at least pulled his pants up when he’d felt the ensuing panic attack

begin to fill out his wires, and now the mess he’d made was getting tacky. The cold weather making quick work of whatever heat had flushed from his body. Hank, Ra9 bless him, was still there, ready to listen. Connor dipped his chin, lashes casting dark shadows over his cheeks.

“I believe it might be some sort of malfunction with my thirium reserve, or possibly some loose tubing. It could be any number of things, really.”
“Can’t you do a scan thing?”
“Yes.” Connor looked away. Shame and sorrow seemed to be his latest fashion.

He definitely could have conducted a scan on things, and he *should* have before it’d come to this. Though, he’s positive they would have had one of those near miss awkward moments they keep finding themselves in, where Hank would have probably caught him

without pants, and underwear, on.
Hank looks him over, takes everything in- there’s that guilty look on Connor’s face he’s seen before. He puts his detective skills to work and comes to find that Connor has made the interesting choice *not* to.

“You could of, but you didn’t.” He says thoughtfully.
But, Connor says nothing, he doesn’t need to.
“Should I ask why?” Hank imagines there’s a reason for it, and whether it’s a good one or not, it’d made sense to Connor at the time.

Connor looks for a way to explain how exhausting chasing orgasm is, how much easier it’d be if a human touched him, and how Hank is the only person he’s ever wanted to do that with.

‘Security blanket’, echoes in his head and makes the guilt seep deeper.

Hank wouldn’t judge his condition-he’s pretty sure. And he’d help Connor however he could if he knew. Connor certainly wouldn’t ask him to do anything...drastic. Even if Hank would, that’d only complicate things, considering Connor had been harboring feelings

for his strong-willed, compassionate companion since he gunned down his double at the Cyberlife tower and told Connor to chase his freedom- an impossible, nonexistent concept for an android at the time, yet Hank had always believed. How could Connor not get emotional about it?

Not become *attached*?
While he doesn’t like the possibility of being seen as some fragile thing, he’s willing to think forward and accept the probability that this was going to be a problem for the future. One he’d be better off explaining to Hank to avoid anymore of these

godforsaken, humiliating moments- if fate would ever allow it. Though, he’d definitely leave out the part about his feelings for him.
“This isn’t easy for me- finishing I mean.” Connor has to swallow his pride.

“I wasn’t designed to enjoy sexual acts. That pleasure was meant for the user, so to speak.”
Hank flinches, hardly able to wrap his head around it. It’s cruel to put it bluntly, and now that androids are self- aware...what they must be suffering.

Connor tries, and fails, to look at him, and settles for staring at the knee nudging his.
“Orgasm is hard for me to achieve without human contact, and it creates many frustrating situations for me.”
“I bet.”
Connor’s chest is full of heat, and his face is running hot.

“I just... I struggle with what to do sometimes- most times. And honestly, it’s exhausting. I just want to-“
Finish. Have some peace of mind. Find some relief. Not get caught with his pants down trying to get off after inducing a serious malfunction. *Possibly* serious.

“Yeah.” Hank agrees. He totally gets it, and Connor’s grateful, but it’s all out there, now, and Hank can think and do with it what he will.
The older man hums and rests his chin in his hand, while Connor’s stomach forms a knot. Flip-flopping and squeezing and sending

obnoxious little flutters to his pump. Then Hank thinks he’s got an idea.
“Why don’t you just find someone to do that with? Like a partner or ‘friend with benefits’? It’ll take some work with the way things are with androids right now, but it’s something to look forward to.”

Hank knows how pathetically unappealing that idea sounds. Waiting won’t fix the problem for now.
“I don’t want to.” Connor scowls.
“You don’t think you’ll like doing that with anybody? Is that it?”
Connor swallows. From this distance, Hank is now positive that androids

can, in fact, turn color in their cheeks. It’s a surprising and exciting revelation, because there’s so much he’s finding he has to learn about him, and everything, including the frustrating shit, is a wonderful addition. Hank likes all of him.
So, Connor can blush, and he *is*.

His knuckles turn white as his hands ball into fists over his knees, and Hank’s worried he’s struck a nerve. This isn’t going to be an easy fix, even if it’s pretty black and white. He can’t do ‘it’ without a partner, but finding the right one was hard enough for humankind.

Hank wants to keep trying, though- Connor *deserves* this. If he just wants to fucking come, he should be allowed to- fucking Cyberlife bastards.
“I do like someone.” Connor blurts out and has to steady himself.

Hank’s surprised to hear it. He doesn’t even know when Connor’s had the time to make eyes at someone, and Hank can’t help wondering if he’s met whoever it is. He was pretty sure Connor spent most of his time with him at his house. Maybe, it’s someone Connor

met through Hank- maybe he knows them?
He waits for him to say who, but he never does, just sits there looking at his nails and turning colors. Hank doesn’t feel like he has the right to go digging, so he lets it slide and takes a deep breath.

It definitely complicates things a bit, because something like this should really be done with whoever Connor’s caught feelings for.
It’s probably a bad call on Hank’s part, but he decides he’s going to throw his offer out there, anyway.

“Connor,” He says as he tries to catch Connor’s gaze- it’s futile, the android is still sitting there looking awash with embarrassment, but he’s definitely listening.
“I can...probably...help.” Hank says slowly.

Connor goes stiff. He sucks his lower lip between his teeth and focuses on the beat of his pump hammering in his chest. A tinge of warmth flickers to life in his belly.

Hank clears his throat.
“Yeah, I know I’m taking a big leap here, and it’s probably the world’s biggest turn off, but...I,” He shrugs, staring at the curtain of silver hair clouding half his vision when he dips his head.
“I could try.”

The heat in Connor’s belly gets bigger, licking at his insides and activating his pleasure receptors in a way they’ve never been activated before- without touch.

He blinks, trying to focus on the things Hank is saying and differentiate them from the things he’s heard him say in his ‘dreams’. The things he’s twosted to fit his fantasies in the heat of his ‘urges’. Connor looks over at him, mouth gaping.

“I mean, just tell me what to do, I guess.” Hank feels stupid, but he also feels like if he can help somehow, he’s got to try. Connor is the *best friend* he’s had in years.
“It doesn’t have to be a big thing. And, if it makes you feel better-“

“T-That’s a lot to ask of you.” Connor‘s voice catches on nearly every syllable. He almost imagines he’s stuck in one of his own self-indulging preconstrucrions of how a scenario like this might go.
When Hank gives him a look, Connor tries to explain himself.

“I’ve been relying on you to do everything for me for too long. I can’t accept your offer to- to...“

“Yeah?” Hank’s voice has gone all soft. He watches Connor’s light go red, then yellow, then red.
“You looked like you wanted to for a second there.”

Connor chokes on thin air, feeling incredibly weak all at once beneath the fire flaring in his belly.
“You’re face got all dark and, I mean, if you’re just saying no for my sake...it’s not like it’d be some great burden.”

Hank murmurs. His face has gone pretty dark, too.
“It *wouldn’t* be an issue for you?” Connor thinks his audio feed is failing him.
Hank snorts as if he hasn’t lost evwry bit of confidence he’s carried with him through all the years.

It’s pathetic, and he feels very small, right now.
“No, it’s not. I mean,” Hank swallows when he turns to see Connor’s looking him straight in the eye.
“You’re- you’re really something, Connor, and I care about you.”

The fire in Connor’s stomach practically roars, as heat goes pooling *lower*. He kicks his fans on high, no doubt audible in the cramped, quiet little room where there’s just Hank’s increasingly heavy breathing.

“You’re my friend, and I hate seeing you like this.”
“Half naked and having a crisis in your car port?” It’s meant to ease the pressure off his incredibly uncomfortable situation, but Hanks admiring smile at Connor’s lame attempt stokes the flames inside him even higher.

“You said it, not me.” Hank pushes his hair away and cuts Connor a look that makes him remember precisely how he fell for those sharp, icy eyes in the first place. Were other deviants this hopeless or was it just Connor?
“Look, if I can do something about all this, then I will.”

Hank nips his lower lip, feeling far too warm, and it’s something Connor’s never seen him do before- pleases to find they share a ‘tick’. It showcases the little gap between his teeth. Hank sounds much more sure about this than he probably is, but he’s slowly gathering up

the courage to do good on his promise with every shy little look Connor sends his way.
The smaller man dips his head, feeling like the heat as finally gotten to him.
“If you really mean that...then I think I should be honest with you.”

“How much more ‘honest’ can you be after spilling your guts about the most private part of your life to me?”
Hank doesn’t seem to believe him, but he’s going to. It can definitely get more raw and real in this dirty, little room, and Hank’s about to eat absolutely those words.

“I have feelings for you.” Connor says. His face pinches up, then smoothes, reminding himself that this needs to be said.
“*You’re* the person I like.”

“Do you now?” Hank whispers, sounding like he’s hardly even there. He doubts he is- his spirit probably leaving

his mortal form completely, and floating around cloud nine. Playing Connor’s words over and over, again, but louder.
Connor nods, eyes downcast, and hears Hank give a little curse.
“Do you like me?” He says carefully, trying not to crumble under the heavy silence thats ensued.

Hank can feel his unease, see him tense from the corner of his eye, and hear the little wave of uncertainty in his voice when he asks him that. He doesn’t keep Connor waiting for long, forcing himself back into the moment and giving Connor another look.

This one full of something deep and dear, and nearly carnal with *desire*. What Connor sees is all real and it’s only meant for him, whether Hank had meant to show him all of all that or not- the feelings had simply made themselves known.

“I’m pretty sure I already told you.”

“You have, I guess...several times now.” Connor furrowed his brow.
“But, how I meant it is something... more.”
His lashes flutter. He never made a preconstruction for this- a confession. He never allowed himself to dream this far, and he’s woefully unprepared, and is sure he’s

hardly making enough sense. However, Hank seems to understand perfectly.
“Well, maybe I did, too.” He says, voice thick, and unable to hold Connor’s gaze- he turns his head, cheeks stained pink, as he’s never thought this far ahead, either.

Connor’s ring cycles every color, then a crude mixtire of all three. While he can’t believe what he’s hearing, this moment feels more real than any ever has. It makes Connor feel *alive*.
“You like me?” He says louder than he intends, but he can’t control it.

Hank makes a vague gesture that means ‘yes’, and Connor feels like he could do a flip.
“Romantically?” He adds quickly, just to be sure, and then Hank confirms that, too.
It begins to set in that this is really happening. Connor’s heavy metal skeleton feels impossibly light all

Of a sudden, and his pump feels full.

“For how long?” He must know, he *needs* to.
He needs to know how long these urges he’s been having have been valid and natural, and totally ok to be having about his most closest, bestest friend.

“I’d rather not say.” Hank chuckles, it’s dark and discouraging, and Connor can’t imagine why he sounds so upset about it- unless, perhaps, he‘s felt the same for some time, now. Maybe that was wishful thinking, but so was having feelings for him, and look how that turned out.

To his great and endless surprise, the best it possibly could have.

Connor’s face breaks into a grin. They’re a couple of fools, probably, but at least they’re in this together.
It’s hard to explain, but he feels like he’s high on emotion, something

he’s never experienced before, and it’s decidedly very ‘human’- despite lacking any endorphins to be so organic. It’s still real.
“You’re turning blue.”
Hank’s voice snaps Connor out of his reverie, and he looks to his side to lock eyes with his companion, seeing him

for the first time in a whole new light. One that’s warm, and special, and sacred.
He replays what Hank’s just said, and takes a moment to decide what the issue is.
If it’s possible, he supposes the features that mimic his response to psychological stimuli have been

running hot for too long. He hasn’t quite had a break from feeling like an embarrassed idiot in the 17 minutes they’ve been out here confessing their secrets and batting lashes at one another.
Thankfully, Hank doesn’t seem disgruntled by the odd coloring.

“I’m sorry. I’m just excited.” He murmurs and Hank gives a little pleasant hum.
“I can tell.”
Hank leans over, pressing their shoulders together. It’s not subtle, but it’s not assuming, either. It’s a start and a request, and Connor wastes no time putting

the most disarrayed, confusing night of his life behind him in order to accept it and start anew.
He presses back, reveling in the heat their touching generates.
Hank feels like a teenager again, one who‘s never been kissed. Too bashful and guarded to be

the experienced, 50 year old man he actually is. This is far from his first rodeo, yet he’s ashamed to admit that it’s affecting him so much and making it hard for him to move things along in fear of messing something up.
Connor is just so special.

*Incredibly* special. He’s so many things Hank is wild about, from adoring the brilliant man he is, to falling for his passion and sincerity. A feature Hank finds most desirable in a companion, someone with a good heart, not unlike like his own.

Someone to share his thoughts, and worries, and interests with. Connor makes his own choices and decides his own fate, and Hank is just lucky he found someone operating on the same radar. A man who is soft underneath and cares about the world he’s in, the one he shares

with Hank, and wants to fix it- do good things for them. Because he’s a good man.
Hank can appreciate this about Connor, appreciate him in every light and every angle.
*Every* angle.
Fuck he’s lucky.
Hank notices that Connor’s been staring at him under half-hooded lashes.

“How soon did you want me to help with that little problem of yours?” He says gently. Connor cuts his eyes away, feeling vulnerable.
“Well, not to be crass,” He says, as he wets his lips, touching their ring fingers together and observing how broad Hank’s hand is.

It’s practically a bear paw.
“But, um...as soon as you’re available to.”
“You make it sound like its an appointment.” Hank snorts, easily accepting Connor’s fingers lacing together with his.
“But, right now might be a little fast.” Even with the kid’s pants half down.

Connor deflates.
“Yes, probably.” The heat in his belly is nearly too hot for him to stomach, no pun intended, as well as his desire to see more of his love-lust day dreams come to life. Perhaps it’s greedy, but he’s not settled with their little romantic confessions- he wants

to *do* something about it. Hank’s feelings come first, though.
“I certainly don’t want to rush you.” He says softly.
“Rush me?” Hank parrots and pulls away, looking perfectly offended.
“Jesus, you have *no* idea...” He mutters, and Connor dearly wants him to elaborate on that.

Instead, Hank untangles their fingers and pats Connor’s shoulder, moving to stand.
“I said I would help, and I’m ready whenever you are. But, I think you should *really* do that scan, first.”
Connor sags- relieved, tired, and frustrated at the same time.

Yes, he *probably* should, though it will take a moment for him to figure out what‘s wrong exactly and how he’s supposed to fix it. At least by what he can tell, Hank doesn’t intend to keep him waiting, he’s only worried about Connor’s health.

But, it’s still painfully unfortunate being bothered to spend his time on this when what he *really* wants is to have Hank’s attention. Maybe, hear a few more confessions of sweet nothings.
Hank helps him stand, legs taking a moment to coordinate after sitting on the cold floor

for so long, then turns his head away while Connor shucks his pants the rest of the way off. He’s better off doing his diagnostics up here, despite the way the heat in his aching belly unfurls as he stretches out, making him shudder.

Hank’s careful not to look at anything, standing dutifully at his side with an arm around his waist, although unnecessary, while Connor does his check up.
A general scan of things comes up empty.
Connor narrows his search, looking for leaks or severs in his tubing and finds

nothing, still. He tries the little cylindrical tank around where an appendix would be to see if the tiny reservoir of thirium has a bust in it, and is leaking there. Interestingly, it’s clean, too.
He frowns, looking at Hank from the corner of his eye, and sees that

he’s deep in thought. It relieves a bit of the pressure off his conscious.
Connor sets a 30 second timer to see if gravity might end up pulling any extra fluid from inside him that’s sloshing around and track the source that way. Nothing slips out- thank God.

But, he still doesn’t have his answer.

Process of elimination: he discerns that this is an issue with his ‘sex’ components, as nothing else that deals with the fluids making up his body is in distress.
Connor feels uncomfortable, again, heat filling up the lines in his chassis

where the plates of him weld seamlessly together and make tiny divots in his smooth, perfect plastimetal. He’s warming in the strangest places.
He has to do something he’s not going to like with Hank’s audience about.

Connor runs a finger through his slit, feeling rather sensitive down there, and collects a small sample of the fluid. It’s clear and especially slick, but there’s no tinge of blue. The fluids in his mouth are clear, too, but thicker, and possess a slight smell of disinfectant.

He checks that away from being the thin, slippery substance running over his finger- not that he’d have much of an idea how the fluids could mix like that.
There was one way to be sure of what it was, but Connor, for once in his whole factory made life, was *not* willing

to bring the sample to his mouth. Not with *Hank* there.
There’s a pulsing in his ears from where his pump’s beating so hard in his chest, its almost deafening.
“I believe it’s just lubricant.” Connor finally says.
“Oh,” Hank hums.

He sounds distant, head still wrapped around trying to unpack everything that’s happened this evening, and he hardly registers what Connor’s saying.
“Right then. Soooo, what does that mean?”

“Well, since everything appears to be normal, I can only assume I somehow activated an unusual feature in my programming.”
Hank‘s not sure he knows where this is going, but when Connor takes another stab at solving their ‘mystery’, it almost knocks him back off his feet.

“I think it’s possible the biocomponent that aids in my dispensing of sexual discharge is especially ‘hyperactive’.”

Hank understood most of that. Connor produces more than the average bit of slick-
Which makes him stop, clear his dry, burning throat, and push away the

indecent thoughts that are sitting dangerously on the edge of the good ones.
Connor, *slick* down *there*, is a *hell* of a lot to take in, but particularly so as Hank has no idea how much he’s actually produced, nor does he know about the extent of flood he’d made earlier,

puddled in his pants. Hank is in for *quite* the thrill before the night ends.
He sees that Connor’s light has gone red, noting his distress. He’s obviously not content with this revelation, though Hank’s not sure he

knows how he’d be taking it, either, if it were him.
He wants to help him work out whatever thing‘s knotting the wires in his head, causing him to look so lost, and try to find some clarity about this whole mess.
“Well, you’re not broken.” He says and gives Connor’s side a shake.

“That’s good, isn’t it?”
“Yes, that’s a relief. But, it still seemed so excessive.” Connor’s lashes flutter, a little frown creasing around his mouth.
“Maybe that’s normal for you?”
“All the evidence would suggest so.”
Nothing was out of place when he’d ran maintenance on himself

“It just doesn’t make a lot of sense. I’ve never had this issue before.”
“Hm. Well, how did you activate it?”
Connor recalls it had started when he’d thought about using Hank’s bed.

Then he goes still.

He flushes hard in places he‘s never flushed before, chest, shoulders, and *down*, nearly disrupting the surface of his skin with warm splotches, and he’s sure he’s on the verge of turning purple. It makes sense now that

he’s taken the time to flesh it all out, and it’s pretty simple.

Thinking about Hank made him ‘wet’.

“Uh, I...” Connor stutters, blushing hard when Hank locks eyes with him.

“Yeah?” The older man loosens his grip, trying to offer some space to his stricken looking Connor.

The other man sputters unintelligibly for a moment, and Hank doesn’t know what to make of it.
“Here, why don’t we go inside and get you cleaned up?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, shuffling Connor over to the door, his pants lying in a heap, forgotten, and being careful

to keep his eyes straight ahead. Connor let’s himself be led, fighting down the heat in his belly now raging and burning with new abandon. His thoughts are swarming inside him, making it hard to focus on much else but his startling new discovery, and the searing warmth

of Hank’s big hand on the dip of his back.
Connor expects to find himself in Hank’s bathroom, wiping down with a towel and putting on a clean pair of boxers, and instead, winds up in Hank’s room.

Hank’s *bedroom*.

There’s a single second of consciousness before he feels himself short out and restart the moment his backside hits the bedsheets.

*Hank’s* bedsheets.

“Alright,” the older man says after es sure Connor’s good and steady there.
“I’ve got some clothes you can borrow.”

Connor watches him in a daze, as he moves over to his dresser and sifts through the back of a drawer. He shovels clothing around, looking for something to fit the smaller man at least moderately. There’s a pair of pajama bottoms that won’t look so much like a circus tent

once Connor puts them on that he sets aside. The kid could use a shirt, too, something to get him out of that button down and a bit more comfy.

“Here we are.” Hank folds the clothing over his arm and approaches the jittery android on the bed.

Connor opens his mouth, a gasp escaping him when he tries to thank him. His vocals aren’t working, and his brain, the highly advanced supercomputer it is, is reeling.

“You alright, Con?” Hank says as he offers him the clothing. Connor manages to take them, and hold

them in his lap, looking at Hank with his jaw slack and flushing.
“Connor?”
“I- I can’t wear these.”
“What? Why not?”
Connor looks down at the pair of sleep pants in his hand and the shirt on his lap. Hank’s been in these, he’s worn these to sleep in, to make breakfast in.

He could have worn them to do particularly *intimate* things in. Maybe, not anytime soon, but at some point.
And, now he’s offering them for Connor to wear. To press his slit against the same place Hank’s length has been. His musk, his thick, silver hair, his balls.

Connor makes an embarrassing squeak.
The heat that’s settling in his core is turning into molten, hot liquid, slick gathering inside him and threatening to bead around the cusp of his slit. Turn Hank’s sheets wet, and warm, and gooey.

“I-I’m going to, I-I’ll ruin them-“

“What do you- Oh...”

Connor presses his legs together, trying to trap the wet inside. Hank sees the way he fidgets and wraps the pair of pants that’s in his hands tighter in his fists.
“I’m sorry, Hank.”

He means to tell Connor that it’s ok- that he knows what’s going on, although maybe not *why*, and that it’s all ok. He can change the sheets if it’s really an issue and, honestly, he doesn’t see how it could be. He’s...more than a little ok with it.

“It’s alright, really.” Hank mumbles. There’s heat in his face, too, the same kind of magnetism pulling him towards his smaller companion- the same kind of want. Heat coiling up in his belly like it is Connor’s, but without the same side effect of slicking up his sheets.

“It’s...It’s totally ok. I understand, I mean.” Hank scratches the back of his neck, and makes no move to take his clothes back when Connor offers them.
“Uh, there’s been a lot of excitement, tonight.”

“That’s not the only reason.” Connor says softly. He feels stupid, probably missing the point of Hank choosing to be vague. He still knew abundantly more about sex than Connor did, and had probably drawn his own conclusion to how Connor had gotten ‘messy’ again without

needing it spelled out. He’d probably been trying to save Connor the humiliation of explaining it, but then he had to go and open his mouth.
“It was more than just ‘excitement’.”
“Yeah? What else then?” Hank wet his lips, feeling positively dirty.

He puts a little space between them, and tries not to stare at the long, pale lines than make up Connor’s tall legs.
“I really like you, Hank. *Very* much so.” Connor’s fingers trace around the waist band of Hank’s pajama bottoms, admiring the image of how thick his stomach

would look pushing against the thin band, pooling at his hips. Hank was considerably larger than Connor in this area, most areas in fact. The thought did *things* to him-made his much smaller, trimmer tummy do flips just thinking about being pressed down by that big girth.

“The truth is...” Connor almost stutters, ‘heart’ in his throat.
“*You* make me excited, Hank. You make me get...I-“ He chokes off, feeling practically faint with the heady rush of slick crashing hard against the line of his slit. Wanting to come out, *prepare* him.

Connor holds his legs together, fighting valiantly to keep his ‘excitement’ from trickling out between them.
Hank gapes at him. Either the room is ungodly hot all of a sudden, or *he* is.
Too riled up and fancied by Connor’s unknowingly sweet words, as sincere

and earnest as they were, with the affection that rests in such a raw confession as that.
He’s basically told Hank that he is at the core of all Connor’s desires.

“Yeah?” Hank croaks, probably sounding both ridiculous and sexed up, all at once.

Connor confirms with a simple little lip bite.
“I’ll ruin these.” He says again, now that he’s gotten his point across, and tries to hand his close back once more. Hank takes them, and sits them aside on the bed, next to where he’s taken a seat.

“Hank?” Their shoulders are touching, again. Connor’s so focused on their proximity and the tightness in his belly, he doesn’t think to pull his shirt down over himself- not that Hank’s looking. He isn’t rushing to do anything just yet, giving Connor all the time he needs first.

Though Connor, ripe with want and those ever pressing urges hitting back at him in full swing, is quite done with ‘taking his time’.
“Hank?” He says again, tensing at the thought of how incredibly real this was all about to become.
“When can we do something about my problem?”

“Whenever you’re ready.” Hank purrs. Connor snags his lip between his teeth again, wearing the poor, supple skin down to almost breaking, and Hank decides he has his answer right there. And a raging need to kiss his abused lip.

“If you find it acceptable, I’d *really* like to now, Hank.” Connor’s voice drones a bit, feeling sluggish with all his processors on high alert and over loading.
“Are you sure? I feel sort of shitty. I mean, we haven’t even kissed before.” Hank admits how pointless

that must sound- he’s walked in on Connor trying to pleasure himself, had a whole conversation with the kid pants-less, and talked in great detail about with him about slick. And now he was sitting on his bed, pump thumping audibly and, apparently, becoming wet on top of

his bedsheets.

This was definitely dream.

It doesn’t matter, either way. He presses his shoulder into Connor’s, keeping them close while keeping his hands from wandering. He wants to be *sure* first.
“Yes, well...we could do that...now...”
Hank feels his blood pressure spike.

“Would you like that?” He just wants to hear him say it, confess that he wants Hank the way Hank wants him- in a heated lip lock. Connor obliges him, bless his heart.
“Yes, I would like that.” It’s so soft and coy, his legs squeezing together subconsciously.

Hank doesn’t make him beg. He pushes back and puts one big paw behind Connor’s head and pulls him in. Their lips just barely touch, taking a moment to discern the brush of skin on skin and become familiar with one another. This is Connor’s first kiss.

His first time feeling another’s lips on his own, and it’s *Hank’s*. It’s the man of his dreams. His circuits light like fireworks, just as Hank settles their lips together in a shallow, sucking kiss. Connor’s lower lip, weathered from biting and nipping at it

rather restlessly, is pulled into Hank’s mouth, so the older man can suckle on the little afflictions it’s suffered- treat and pamper the poor skin from all of Connor’s abuse.
Connor mewls. Is *this* what kissing has been like this whole time? He’s been missing out on*this*?

Connor’s mews grow louder.
Fuck, he had no idea.
This is divine- Hank’s beard scuffing up his cheeks as he tilts his head to kiss him better to and thro.
The fire cooking up in Connor’s belly pulses between his thighs and makes him feel feverish.

A moan escapes him, the first one of many tonight, and it makes him fierce with want.
“H-Hank?”
“Mm?” He pulls away, a little shock swapping between their mouths just as they part. It’s cliche, but Hank can’t help thinking that it’s ‘electric’.

Then he notices Connor’s puffy, pink lip, wet with his spit, and those big, brown eyes blown wide.
“Was that good?” He murmurs, cheeks red.
“Very.” Connor huffs, sounding breathless despite not needing the air.
“Very good.” He adds, making a little gesture with his eyes

down to his ‘unfortunate enthusiasm’. His legs are spread just a bit, shirt pulled over his delicates to hide them from view, and showcasing the obvious wet patch he’s left on Hank’s bed in between his naked thighs. When Hank looks back up, he finds Connor looking guilty and

very apologetic- which won’t do at all.

“I’m sorry.” He rumbles, chest feeling unbearably warm.
Hank whispers something in total awe. There’s quite a bit of slick down there, and just from *kissing*. Holy shit, he had no idea what he was in for with this.

“Look at you... fuck, Con....”

“I’ll clean it up, of course. I-“

“I don’t think I’ll let you.”

“H-Hank?”

“There are so many better things for you to do with your time. Ain’t nothin’ but a little wetness, this bed’s had worse.”

No, it definitely hasn’t- not in the way of sexual fluids. Maybe mud from Sumo crawling into bed dirty, but certainly not anything like *this*.
“I don’t want to ruin your bed, Hank. You’ve been so accommodating and hospitable, I can’t leave you with such a mess.”

Hank thinks that enough of that.
“Shh, don’t worry, Connor.” The hand at the back of Connor’s head moves down to cup his neck.
“It’s not gonna hurt anybody.”
Connor ducks his head, face sweltering. His lips are tingling and his slit is growing wetter.

Even with Hank’s attention on him somewhere he’s enormously uncomfortable exposing, he can’t seem to close his legs. He wants them wide, wants to make it somewhat breathable down there with all the slippery mess he’s creating, sticking to the edge of his ass and Hank’s bedsheets.

And, he wants Hank to *see*. It makes the sensors in his sex roar to life and scream out for more, though completely untouched like Hank had somehow done to him before.
“You make me so excited.” Connor reiterates, the sticky disaster between his legs the obvious proof.

“I can’t help it. I had no idea you would effect me so.” The headiness of kissing has seem to make him bolder- his need to be touched and kissed again outweighing his bashfulness. Some ‘malfunction’ this all turned out to be.

“Me, either. Thought I was old news by now.” Hank grinned, leaning in to plant another kiss to Connor’s Cupid’s Bow, this one deeper. The press of their mouths forming a tight seal. The android shuffled closer, one leg bending at the knee as he tries to push *closer*, turn

his waist towards Hank to get deeper. Hank has a solution for that.
His hands come out and stroke Connor around his hips, waiting for his permission- a moan and frantic flutter of lashes from the smaller man- before pulling him into his lap.

He’s careful not to touch anywhere he shouldn’t. Connor practically throws himself at the bigger man, arms coming around his neck and pulling him down into the kiss.
Connor’s insides are so hot, now, hips trying to move on their own. Hank stills him easily enough, big, heavy

hands holding him still.
“Hank~”
It’s the first time Hank’s ever heard him whimper like that. It’s small and desperate, and Connor thinks he’s going absolutely crazy with need. He has Hank’s attention, *all* of it, but he needs it in other places, too- he needs to curb those

cravings. Dull the awful ache.
“Can’t believe how lucky I got with you.” Hank hums, kissing around his jawline. Connor responds beautifully, sitting obediently still in Hank’s lap and receiving his affection. His pump picks up, his fingers twitching into where they’ve dug into

Hank’s jacket.
He hates how much more clothed Hank is, yet, at the same time, it makes Connor weak with need. He’s got a thin, little button up on, naked from the waist down, and he’s pressing himself into Hank’s heavy hands, waiting. Taking whatever Hank will give him.

His slit throbs, sensitive and overstimulated, even without Hank’s touch. He hadn’t needed to touch him in order to get Connor so riled- he’d done everything right just from talking to him, telling him sweet little secrets- in his car port of all places- but, that alone

had done the trick. It made Connor hot with need and turned the android’s insides to goo.
Now, though, Connor could *really*, really do for some actual touching.
“Hank?” He doesn’t know what to ask for. Hank’s promised to help, but it’s almost too much for him to

even think about asking for it- to ask Hank to pleasure him. They’d only just had their first kiss.

Luckily, Hank feels every shuddery, little twitch Connor makes in his lap, seeing the need in his eyes, and has the perfect remedy for both.

“I’m going to touch you, now. Is that alright?”
Connor flat out moans.
Hank’s fingers curl around his hips, purely on instinct.
Connor nods his assent, as if Hank wasn’t sure he’s definitely in favor of it after that eager little display, and shifts in Hank’s lap, fever

filling up every bit of his silicone.
“Tell me if you don’t like something.” Hank murmurs. He decides a quick survey of the ‘playing field’ is in order.

He puts his hands between Connor’s legs and watches his face intently for any objections, his hand flattening out to carefully

cup around him. He hadn’t known what to expect, a cock, balls, or other, and was hoping to get the general scope of things with a little feeling about.
Hank’s glad he chose to feel before looking. It’s not that he’s unhappy with what he’s found, not in any way, shape, or form-

No, sir, absolutely *not*. But he’s definitely *surprised* by it.
And, he certainly doesn’t want Connor to see him like that- not after all the tremendous uncertainty he’s had to face between society’s expectations of him, and even himself.

He doesn’t need Hank thinking this part of him is undesirable, unappealing. ‘Inhumane’.
Hank is the farthest he could possibly be, physically and other, from finding this bit of Connor ‘undesirable’. Holy shit, *no*.

In fact, the longer he feels down there, the wilder Hank’s fascination becomes. Exploring Connor is *exciting* him- it’s making him want to know *more*. What he’s finding between those smooth, speckled thigh is unexplainably enthralling.

It’s fairly flat, and a terribly sticky mess. Hank’s fingers run through the wetness covering most of Connor’s bottom half, practically sliding around in the slick stuff. His fingers skim right over the edge of Connor’s slit a couple of times it’s so slippery, before

he sticks a thumb out and starts prodding around the entrance.

Connor, straining to keep calm, can hardly sit still in his own skin. He tries to open his legs a bit more, the sensations tutning him brain dead as all sensible thoughts leave him- as well as his modesty.

But, it’s hard to get them any wider. He’s trapped on Hank’s lap, turned at the waist a bit so they can kiss with his legs struggling to make room for his hand.
It’s futile, but doesn’t mute the pleasure he feels. *Hank* is still *touching* him, touching his most sensitive

parts. Parts that have been the bane of existence for so long, causing him so much misery any time the pressure built up, only to stay trapped. Those urges to have some relief, to touch himself and be at peace the way others can and make all the stress so away, had cut him

deeper than he’d even realized. Having Hank’s hand on him, cupping him, slipping around his slit, *talking* to him, is more pleasurable than his wildest dreams could’ve conjured.
He couldn’t have predicted this, never having been touched this way before, and he can’t compare

this feeling to any other he’s ever known. He can hardly log it away under any specific neurological database, practically thrumming to life under Hank’s hand and all blurring his senses and synapses.
Hank’s thumb strokes along the ‘fold’ of his slit, admiring the beads of

slick that gather against his thumb and smearing little circles into Connor’s soft edges- judging the stickiness. Hank feels like he’s going *insane*.
Connor is sitting in his lap, opening his legs for him- or trying to, bless him- and *soaking* his hand with his wet heat.

“*Shit*...” Hank feels dizzy all of a sudden. He certainly doesn’t want to do anything Connor’s not accustomed to, though that’s pretty much all of this, but there is a distinctly visceral thought that comes creeping into Hank’s head.

He knows Connor’s touched himself, and he knows he’s had things thicker than fingers inside of him, but those weren’t the same as having ‘it’ with a partner. There was much more pressure to perform and appease with a partner, and Hank was worried Connor’s first time putting these

horrifically difficult urges to bed would be complicated and less pleasurable with Hank trying to ‘get it in’, so to speak.

No, he was *not* going to push this.

Truthfully, Hank would be quite content sitting here with his new romance riding on his finger-

*Shit*.

*Shit*.

He’d done pretty good controlling himself so far, but he’d apparently reached his limit.
Connor gasped, eyes opening and head tilting forward to lock eyes with the big man beneath him.

“Hank?” Connor utters in a ragged, heaving breath.

It takes him a moment to fully realize what’s happened, but when he does, Connor‘s pump almost stops.

Hank is there, pressing against his ass. His hard cock settled right against the swell of his cheeks. Connor runs the measurements, judges the incredible thickness, and finds

the toys Simon’d suggested he try were a pretty accurate, though rough, estimate of Hank’s likeness, and *fuck*
Connor knows perfectly well how his body responds to those, despite his struggle with sex in general. If Hank is willing, Connor would have

no difficulty in...’accommodating’ him.
“Fuck...Sorry, Connor.” Hank moves to shift him away from his hardness, probably poking the poor kid in the ass and giving a fright. He doesn’t get very far, though.
Connor stops him with a moan, it’s a bit choked sounding, though also

pleasantly so. His head falls back, arms wrapped around Hank’s neck and clinging.
Then Hank’s lap is growing incredibly warm, and incredibly *wet*.
“H-Hank~” Connor huffs, pushing himself as close as he can at this angle into Hank’s chest and clams his thighs shut, trapping

Hank’s hand.
He rides the enormous high that’s flushing out his systems, washing over him powerful, pleasurable waves, and envisioning Hank’s hard cock fitted snuggly someplace more yearning. Hank is *hard* for him, *Connor* did that. He excited the man of his dreams, the

one he’d lusted after so painfully long, since his first sexual thought. Connor excited him enough to *want* him, and all he’d done was sit there with his knees turned out for Hank to fit a hand between.
“Hank~” Connor mewled, rocking his hips so that the edge of his slit

caught on Hank’s thick fingers. Slick pools around the big man’s lap and drenches the tops of his thighs through his now ruined jeans. Connor can’t keep the ‘flood gates’ closed, despite his legs clamped tight together.
Hank sits there with his hand smashed between them, and his

cock rubbed against Connor’s flank. The android is stuck, and frustrated, wanting to release Hank’s hand in order to swing a leg over his hips and get that hard, bulging cock closer. Push it against someplace that could *desperately* use the attention, and keeping them shut, to

grind him and ride out this high.
Hank sits there, *wet* with *Connor’s* essence.
“*Fuck*, baby...” His voice is hoarse, and he must be quite a sight.
Connor keens at the word ‘baby’. Another pet name, an endearing one, that Hank thought he deserved.

It makes his wires feel all twisted.
“Hank! Hank, Please!”
“Shit,” Hank scrambles to sit Connor up in his lap where he’s almost rocked himself off it. His hand between Connor’s thighs, which he *refuses* to move, makes it difficult, but he manages.

“What do you want, baby? Tell me what you want.”

“I’ve never felt like this before.” Connor bursts, voice watery and a little shaky. Hank feels a little twinge of worry in his gut.
“It’s, it’s never been this easy.” He whimpers. Flat out *whimpers*.

*Shit*.

Hank feels the way Connor’s fingers curl around his coat and at the back of his neck. He sees the tiny bit of despair in Connor’s face before he buries it under Hank’s chin, trying to ground himself under all the pressure. The pressure to keep riding this amazing feeling and stay

here in this moment long enough to enjoy it.
Hank pets over his slit, focusing on the way the grooves just inside his ‘lips’ cling to his fingertips near the bottom. Where Connor’s hole is.
“Con? Is...is this still ok?”
The android nods, pushing Hank’s head up

as he does, and makes a fist in his coat.
“Yes, it’s ok.” Hank’s not so sure that it is, judging by the waver in there.
“Just please...Please, don’t stop.”
Hank has absolutely no intention to- not so long as Connor’s begging him.
But, he’s worried. Connor sounds conflicted

about something, and with his hand up Connor’s business like this, Hank can’t help but feel that they’re connected.
“I won’t. I promise.” He strokes along the ‘folds’, pulse hammering almost dangerously when he snags the ridge and parts the skin back- exposing Connor’s hole.

*Jesus*. He could slip a finger in right now.
“You just seem a little tense. You sure this is ok?”
He expects Connor to give him a little half assed nod, too focused on the pleasure building than really answering, but what he gets is another little surprise- a tearful confession.

“I’ve never felt this good, before...” Connor gasps, body going stiff.
“I never get this *far*.”
Hank’s hand slows down, but he promised not to stop. He simply blinks a few times, trying to gather his wits about him, and feels Connor’s faux lungs fill with air

against his chest- just zoning in on the shallow little breaths he takes. Hank rubs his fingers idly over Connor’s delicates, rubbing his hand around his smooth, little mound and ghosting uncomfortably close to that little hole.

“I’m sorry, Connor. That’s fuckin’ terrible...I’m sorry.” It’s a lame attempt to condole him. He knows, even as Connor sucks in a shaky little noise that’s a strange pinch of pleasure and hurt.
He just hopes that his touch will prove much more rewarding.

“You deserve to feel good, y’know? You don’t belong to anyone.” Hank murmurs as he nibbles the tip of Connor’s ear that’s poking out from under his chin. The other curls deeper into Hank’s chest, breath hitching.

“You’re your own man.” Hank’s finger slides down Connor’s split further and further, until he can tap around his hole at the very bottom.
Connor gives a sharp, shuddery gasp, and jerks. His hips move *up*, trying to take more. Hank intends to give it to him.

“It’s ok if you want to feel good. You should feel as good as you want to, and as much as you need.”
“Hank! Oh, Hank!”
He slides his finger over his hole. Finally, he ribs at Connor’s entrance, trying not to get choked up on the way slick beads out of it and drips down.

“Just tell me what you want, Con. I’ll give it to you. We’ll go as far as you want.”
“In-inside!” Connor bursts, chest heaving.
“Please~ Inside, me, please?”
Hank swallows.
“You want my finger, baby?”
“Anything, Hank! Please! I just need you to touch me!”

“Here-“ Hank pushes at his hole. Slowly, the tip of his finger parts back the edges of his slit, and stops at his first knuckle. There’s not as much time as he’d like to process the feeling of Connor’s insides, plushy and silicone, and ribbed, because Connor is

mewling, and rutting, and shivering against him. He needs *more*, and Hank feels like there’s no more time left to linger. Whatever uncertainties there’d been before had drained out of him the moment Connor grinded into his hand with full abandon and wet the tops of his pants.

“Oh, God....” Hank feels dizzy by the time he sinks his finger all the way in. There’s grooves and tight synthetic muscles clamping down around him, *sucking* him in.
And, the *noises* Connor’s making. If Hank thought it was wet before, he had no idea.

He felt like he was stirring the inside of a honey pot, slick fluids slipping out of Connor’s hole where Hank’s finger had split him and drenching his hand.
“Ha-Ha-Han-!” Connor can’t get the words out. He’s never had this feeling before- the pleasure has never been this *good*.

Never. It’s never been so easy to enjoy himself. His slit being stroked by Hank’s hand, his warm, calloused, *human* hand. It’s ethereal. It’s nearly out of body, it’s so intense. The ridges that ring his hole pull on the thick digit inside him, rubbing something *delicious*, and

taut, and heavy. The fire that’s been roaring ferociously in his little belly has turned to hot, sticky syrup that soaks Hank’s hand and makes the way his finger prods inside him messy and loud.
The noises humiliate him, turning his chassis hot all over every time Hank’s finger

moving slowly in and out, causing a little ‘squelching’ sound.
Slick dribbles out of him and splashes on Hank’s poor jeans, while Connor clings for dear, precious life to his jacket.
“Hank! Haaaank!”
“*Fuck*.” Hank sounds absolutely breathless, which he is.

Connor is a fucking vision, and his delicates feel like the world’s warmest, wettest, wildest fucktoy- exotic and sacred. Like Hank has his hand in the most precious, purest treasure.
“Oh, shit...Baby, your so *wet*.”
Connor cries something in Hank’s chest, his legs forcing

themselves wider.
He’s not going to get anywhere with that in this position.
“*Shit*. Baby, can I lay you back?”
“Don’t pull out!”
Fuck... He really needs to lay him down. Hank can take him like this- can twist his knuckle around that slick, simmering hole until Connor

feels the tight coil in his gut spring and snap and he’s gushing like a fountain around Hank’s finger. But if he wants his legs wide, Hank wants to give him that, too.
He can *do* this. He *can*.
“Fuck!” He sits his finger up as deep as it can go, feels Connor pull away

from his chest and yelp, trying his hardest to *buck* before Hank pulls him back close and helps him down onto the bed in a tangle. He rolls them off their sides, hand still bottomed out right against Connor’s slit, and has Connor on his back, finally able to spread his legs out

with Hank above him.
Hank barely has anytime to gloat about his amazing sex skills he’d thought he’d lost some years ago, because Connor is pulling him down, burying Hank’s face into the bedding in his desperation and forcing his legs wide.

Hank scrambles to right himself and pull his face from the mattress to get some air, without breaking his rhythm. He manages it, taking a moment to gather himself and shift around to get a better grip in this position. From here, Hank

can see all of Connor’s face in glorious, gorgeous detail. His head tilted back, eyes fluttering closed and screwing shut while Hank’s finger dives all the way in and *out* and *in*. He can thrust faster like this. He can pound into Connor’s

quivering, tightening little slit as hard and fast as he wants to, and see *all* of the wreckage in his wake. Connor moans in Hank’s ear like he’s wounded and dying. It’s raw and carnal and Hank didn’t think an Android was capable of a sound like that.

He thinks that even if he had chosen to use Connor like this before he’d deviated, *this* wouldn’t have been in his programming.
*Holy Shit*.

“Connor, does this feel good?”
“Hank~ Hank~ Hank~”
“Do you need more? Do you need another finger?”

Connor stalls out. In all this pleasure derived straight out of divine intervention, having *more* of *Hank* *inside* him had never crossed his unraveling mind. Connor sobs something incomprehensible, embarrassing himself, and feeling a gush of his essence rush out of him and

wash over Hank’s bedsheets. It pulses from him, making his legs scramble to lock themselves around Hank’s back and pull him *down*, while the pleasure of wet heat flushes past is clenching- unclenching hole.
It feels like there’s so much more

than when he’d flooded Hank’s car port. Connor’s mind goes numb, his body focusing on the thrumming of his pump beating in time with Hank’s thrusts. Then a familiar tinge of pressure licks sharply at his insides.

“Oh, God!” Connor howls, throwing his head back.

He’s vaguely aware Hank’s on the verge of panicking from the sound he’s made and the way he’s moving frantically against him.
But, he seems to get the message loud and clear, as he had finger delve as deep as it can go, knuckles pushing against the flat ‘lips’ of

Connor’s slit, and *hooks*.

He makes a motion with it, stroking over a pressure plate, and Connor’s legs shake. His breathing subroutine boots off as he finally plunges over the edge of something otherworldly.

Electricity shoots around the wires in his segmented ‘spine’. It makes them feel tight and loose as they throb with data, the physical sensation of his body reacting perfectly to Hank’s human form stimulating his sex, and the purely informational data that makes him tremble.

Receiving Hank’s scent, the texture of his skin, the thickness of each digit, his fingerprint. The tendons in his finger curling and straighten as Hank makes a ‘come hither’ motion and works that plate.

The little bundles of nerves Cyberlife had given him to simulate a response the minute Hank struck one were supposed to be make him a perfect mimic of faux pleasure- but, they weren’t functioning like that anymore. This was all real, all raw, and

entirely for Connor’s pleasure- swallowing him in sensation and making his head spin with the weight of this realization.

Connor was really cumming. He unwrapped his arms from around Hank’s neck and dug his nails into the sheets, twisting them into his fists and pulling.

He had no recollection of the sound that he made when his orgasm was ripped from him, nor the look on Hank’s face as he watched above him in full wonder. Connor looked like a doll that’d come to life, carved of pale porcelain and given a voice that was whimsical and raspy.

Hank thought he was truly this celestial thing- one Hank feared he could fall in love with, if he hadn’t already.

It was probably the endorphins, probably the head rush of being clung to by this beautiful creature that was mad with pleasure and want.

One that wanted *him* no less. Maybe it was everything they’d been through up to this point, all the hardships and hate where Connor’d found and saved Hank from a lifetime of loneliness with a gun to his head, and Hank who’d pulled Connor from the wreckage of his

own self-doubt and the weight of a world turning violently against him, rejecting him for who he was. Maybe it was all their confessing in Hank’s dingy car port where they declared their feelings of adoration for one another and let it make their faces too hot.

Whatever it was, Hank was seeing stars every second he spent looking down at his best friend, his partner, unhinging at the seams of his sanity, bless his heart, right before Hank’s very eyes, under his very touch.

When Connor’s breathing finally came back online, coupled by

a few heaving coughs, Hank pulled his finger carefully out from the grooves and ridges keeping him seated deep inside and admired the mess his bed had become. He didn’t fucking care, Connor was so damn worth it.

“Oh, baby...” He whispered, petting Connor’s hair back.