Thread by @FastHankconSmut

Me indulging in Disaster Human Connor
———-

Exhausted, Connor falls asleep at his desk. Hk is annoyed, because he’s been trying to push a line from his list of ‘Detective Stern’s priorities’ that reads ‘Sleep more than 3 hours a night’ to him *every day* for the past 5 weeks.

Obviously, the brat hasn’t taken his advice.

GV is annoyed, because now he has to spend more time with Bear-bot, hovering around his handler’s loser for a brother’s desk whenever they go marching over there to check his progress.

Said handler, Richard, is annoyed, because he’s

been counting on Connor to follow this thread where he can’t- caught up under the stress of their captain’s expectations tearing him in several directions. Swamped with other cases he’s rarely struggled to close, before- as he usually doesn’t have to depend on a hapless fool like

Connor to pull his weight. Though his brother would argue mother gives him the purposely easier cases, and Connor can ‘prove it’. Richard’s martyr-like need to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders at all times has finally got the stress stacking against him.

They agree, like professionals, to turn a blind eye when ‘Gavin’ gets a little rough waking Connor up, after they find him with his face pressed down and drooling out onto his desk after he’s fallen asleep, again, on some important paperwork. It helps that his little bulletin

board and constant slouching- which HK has also done some fussing over- keeps him hidden from the captain’s chair most of the time. Which is convenient, if only so she can also pretend she doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing there.

Gavin smacks him with a folder he’s picked

off his desk, lest he put his angry, little android hands on him and get mean.

“Hello, superior Stern. *Wake up, now*.”

There’s no creativity in the way Gavin insults the human’s rank, but Hk snorts at what a doofus it makes him sound like.

Connor stirs, and Richard mentally

swears that if he’s drooled some of the print off the paper onto his face, he’s going to publicly disown him.

“Wake up.” Gavin says, again, voice sharp enough to bring Connor out of sleep’s deep lull, and force him to wallow right into an exhausted sort of haze.

His body feels heavy, his muscles weak, and his eyes burn.

“Huh?” He utters gracefully, staring down at the wet spot he’s made.

“Yeah. You fell asleep.” Gavin is, of course, standing there without an ounce of patience left in him.

Connor takes a moment to stretch his arms

languidly over his head and curb some of the tension in his shoulders. Richard mutters an ‘unbelievable’ from behind them, while the GV model suddenly gets a nasty idea.

“Were gettin’ real loud, too.”

“Wha-“

“Moaning in your sleep, and shit.” He gives a dirty little smirk as

he turns and looks over two very unamused, yet inclined to let him continue, faces, that stare right back wordlessly. Then all eyes are back on Connor who is scrambling to make sense of what kind of ‘mess’ he’s apparently made, now.

“You must be a screamer.” Gavin sniggers, sure

he’s quickly lost his partner’s approval. Gavins having fun, though- this asshole once threatened to have his wires recycled for lute strings in front of some airhead rookies when he made a shitty comment about Hk’s softer side for harp playing in his new found deviancy. Which

was already wild. This is payback.

Connor spins around in his chair, looking like he’s just woken up in bed with 5 minutes to spare before work. His eyes are wild, hair flopping over an eye and sticking up at the same time, and it’s then that Hk realizes he came into work with

the buttons of his shirt fastened out of sync. It’s both mildly amusing, and terribly frustrating. This boy does not take care of himself.

“I screamed?!” Connor’s heart is thrumming to life and nearly bursting from all the sugar he’s had for breakfast this morning.

“Nah- just writhed around and made some sounds like you were fckin’ dying.”

Richard hisses for the android to shut up, now. They’re both a couple of idiots, but Gavin is so by choice. Connor is so by poor diet, poor amounts of sleep, and poor decision making- like the ridiculous

things keeping him from said sleep. Such as midnight power hour with bang drinks and struggling to cope with all the relationships he’s chased off in favor of bitter isolation.

“Oh, and you kept talking about how *big* it was.”

Connor chokes out something indignant, as Nines

pushes his face in his hand. Connor’s cheeks are flared up and adding splotches to his already speckled skin. He’s beginning to sweat and is just now taking in the scene around him- more importantly *who* is around him.

Hk watches, lips parted, and raises a brow at Connor’s

flustered, extremely unnerved state. He looks more than just a little embarrassed about some accidentally public wet dream- which he hadn’t even have. He’s scared of something. Hk could chalk it up to the viscous anxiety that keeps a constant hold on the smaller man- keeps him a

doubting, terrorized mess. He perceives everything as infinitely more dire when he’s under its influence. Embarrassment becomes a matter of life or death, and Connor’s tendency to act a bit dramatic only worsens the effects. It’s reason enough why Hk wishes he could convince him

to rely on more than booze and the occasional box of zebra cakes to keep his anxiety in check. But, he can’t even convince the man to *sleep*.

Connor’s been seriously considering what he’s very afraid to ask, eyes wide and staring, and Hk decides it’s time they end their little

bout of teasing before he says something stupid. He doesn’t want a tired and mentally checked out human to deal with for the rest of the day, just because he let GV bust his chops a bit for drifting off... Again.

“I didn’t....I didn’t say any... names, did I?”

Connor stutters

out, unable to think quickly enough to divide his attention up between the three men in front of him after. He’s focusing on one man in particular, one android, and it’s all Richard can do to hurry and try and redirect everyone’s attention on his brother’s behalf.

The androids don’t miss the way it makes the Lieutenant’s heart rate jump, as he does.

“We both know you don’t know anyone that’s interested in you.” He says ‘smoothly’.

This time, his crudeness stems from his rising panic- a rare thing. He’s usually faster thinking than

this, but he’s had nightmares of Connor’s enormous self destruction taking affect after that night he came confiding in Richard about his crush, closely followed by a tirade of fear, and self hate, and embarrassment for it that resulted in a spontaneous Office binge watch on

Richard’s couch. He can’t stand to have another repeat of that level of ‘Connor-ness’, again. Not so soon.

Connor stares back at him, eyes frightened and pleading. Richard doesn’t intend to let his softer older brother be flattened under

the weight of his own blessed stupidity by almost outing himself.

“The only ‘man’ in your life, is that guy from the car commercial.”

Connor sputters, trying to force crushing embarrassment into ‘outrage’ and feed the distraction.

He could have done without Richard attacking

him with the painful fact that that mechanic with the wrench in his back pocket, fitting those tires on was, indeed, the only man in his life. If he wasn’t counting the fantasies about some certain android in place of him. Sleeves rolled up, collar popped, thick,skillful fingers-

“H-He looks strong! He just slings that tire around like it’s all loose rubber!”

“Can’t you lift a fucking tire? How weak are you?”

“You got all the good genes! I was left with frail bones, and a lisp, when I was younger!”

Richard feels like their little show is buying them

time, even against android perfect perception.

“You’re not frail, Connor. You just don’t workout.”

GV perks up at the thought of Richard in tight shorts and shirtless, pumping iron, by the way his tone suggests it. Effectively ending whatever interest he had in Connor’s

humiliating little love-lust for the thicker android standing right beside him- not that he’s aware of it. If he were, this would *definitely* not be the end of it.

Hk isn’t as eager to drop it. After all, Connor is his partner. And despite being the eternal bane of his existence, his thoughts can’t help but linger.

There were some peculiar cues there to make Hank think Connor’s dealing with more than his usual bout of unchecked

suppression, and a plethora of choices made in poor timing that suggest the brothers are trying to hide something. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s seen Richard cover for the fool.

Connor is thankful, not for the first time, for his brother rescuing him.

He relaxes back into his chair, face cooling down to a soft pink, instead of a blaring, painful red. He has no clue that Hank choosing to leave them the immediate second a stark revelation follows his confusion is not because he’s disregarded the whole ordeal.

It’s because months of shy looks, unprompted blushing, defensive tones, and precious little moments with Connor, has given him a sharp, sudden clarity of the situation, and...

What the fuck is he supposed to do about this?

He has no idea what he’s supposed

to make of Connor’s big, worried eyes staring at him. Or the fact he hadn’t denied Gavin claiming he’d been talking about the ‘certain sizes’ of ‘certain somethings’. Or, who they may belong to.

The way Connor’s eyes were immediately drawn to Hk after he asked

if he’d said any names- as interesting as that paradox was, as Connor was the one to give him his name- was enough to nearly restart his pump.

‘Hank’ was probably reading too far into this.

If he’s being fair, he’s had more than a few deviant thoughts about him, himself.

The only conclusion he can draw from any of this, is that he is 89.6% sure he wants to inject himself right into Connor’s chaos. If Connor wants to have a vague fascination for his large, often times sour, android companion, Hank, who had long since had his own infatuation for

the stubborn, nervous man, was not opposed to indulging him. Quite the contrary.

He makes himself scarce, until it’s time to go home, as he walks Connor to his car. It’s a miracle that Volvo hasn’t killed Connor trying to start it- sticking a goddam screwdriver

into the solenoid to get the starter going, until sparks fly up. He fought Connor about junking the damn thing, ending only in Connor promising he wouldn’t make the man of metal go putting his hands in any powerful wires instead- insinuating that weak, little Hank was at a

greater risk of electrocuting himself than Connor’s fleshy piece of ass of was.

Connor is popping the hood up when Hank confronts him, choosing to work against his premonition that this will go terribly. He’s come to expect that as the outcome anytime the young man feels the

slighter bit of pressure.

“So, I guess you’ll consider getting more sleep at night from now on.” Hank says slowly, almost in a drawl.

“With all the millions of other things I could be doing instead?” Like having these brilliant ideas to get his life back on track and making

structurally sound arguments about how much he’d benefit from going back to school and finishing his veterinary degree- all of which he’ll abandon when the sun comes up, and see he just spent another night sleepless and with half his living room clean, before he realizes darkly

that a neat home is a pointless objective for a man who lives alone.
“No way. I can sleep when I’m dead.”

Hank can practically see him live out his nightly transgressions in the single distant glimmer in his eye, and knows without much other evidence that his favorite disaster

does, in fact, have nothing better to be doing than sleeping. For the one-millionth time, Hank will try to influence it.

“You don’t want another repeat of what happened today, do you?”

Connor’s shoulders tense. Hank can hear rather than see him bite the tip of his tongue.

“You mean falling asleep at my desk, again?”

“Sure.” Hank doesn’t honestly know how much of what Gavin was teasing him about was true. Connor hadn’t denied a single thing from happening- the only facts that Hank had was that Connor hadn’t been loud about anything if

any of it were. God, this was such a mess.

Connor is silent as he considers everything that’s left between what Hank is and isn’t saying. He knows it’s mean to let Connor assume what has really happened, but, fuck. It was for science.

If he was interested, then Hank was

*definitely* interested, too. But, getting an answer out of the man was a serious challenge.

On top of that, operating his new found agency was confusing and often times horrifying. Hank wasn’t keen to feel so strongly attached to the dead beat, depressed and indignant, young

detective he’d evidently become so. Yet, here he was, 6 feet under and still digging.

Connor gets the screwdriver from out of his cup holder and slams the door.

“Yeah, Uh...about that... I’m pretty sure I made things weird.” He scratches his arm and tries painfully hard

not to look at him.
“Not the first time, heh. I just, uh, I...”

‘Won’t do it again?’

‘Am really sorry for being horny for a big, spacey android that ripped a phone book in half one time as a threat?’

‘Am really sorry that last thing made me wet.’

Connor’s lashes flutter.

“I just...I...um...”

Hank watches him carefully and considers the kind of man he’s trying to draw a confession from and decides Connor will need some ‘pushing’.

“Everything’s relative. It didn’t make me feel uncomfortable, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Connor has come to expect honesty in Hank’s bluntness. He knows he doesn’t say anything for Connor’s benefit.

He nods, relieved, and turns back to start his car, until Hank moves from his side to block him.

“If anything,” He boxes the man off, as Connor gapes.

“I’m *curious*.”

Connor sucks a breath into his lungs and holds it. His eyes flicker up at Hank’s for only a second before he realizes what a mistake that was. It’s January in Detroit, and Connor is sweating bullets.

“Curious?”

“Certainly. I’ve never seen you work so hard to pull off a bit fibbing- or do it so poorly.”

Connor looks for an outlet. He doesn’t know where Hank’s going with this, but he’s sure it’s somewhere unpleasant. The man can be as ruthless, if not worse, than Gavin.

He’s got Connor pinned to the car, and he’s done little more than stand there- this solid, unmovable thing. Connor feels a traitorous pull in the pit of his stomach as something warm begins to spread.

Hank fights the urge to roll his shoulders and release some of the tension.

“Who were you thinking about?” He hums, as if he doesn’t know. He knows Connor is acutely aware he knows, too.

His blood pressure propels.

“T-the car from the guy commercial- I mean! The guy from the car commercial-“

*Fuck*.

Hank does a scan to see who is in the parking lot, and who might see their detective scrambling around a car hood, speaking garble and turning pink. Hank tries his best to keep his partner’s scuffed reputation from any more tarnish, though he’s equally qualified to make it worse.

“Hm. It’s like Richard said then, is it?”

Connor didn’t know they were on a first name basis. He thinks maybe it’s solely to feed his anxiety- bringing his brother into this.

“Yup...like Rich said...” Connor definitely does not stare at the spot if skin between Hank’s colorful

button up mostly hidden behind his jacket.
“It’s-It’s getting late, I think- I think I should-“

“You don’t intend to catch up on any sleep debt, do you? I can’t imagine you’ve changed your mind about that in the last three minutes.”

True.

“P-Princess is waiting for me.”

Hank had given up making that dog like him a long time ago and is more than fine to be the cause of her further disdain. He needs Connor’s attention more than she does at the moment-

Because, *Connor* needs Hank‘s attention more at the moment.

“I wonder something, Detective.” Hank practically purrs at him. He’s far more gone than he realizes when he doesn’t notice he’s put a hand on the hood and is officially keeping Connor caged.

Connor sucks cold air in his lungs, as Hank bends down only inches from his face.

“How ‘big’ is it?”

Connor’s head tips back.

“Oh, God~”

Whatever he suspected Hank knew before, there’s nothing as damning as hearing him physically say it.

Hank knows exactly what he’s doing, and, perhaps, has finally realized what Connor has been thinking about since the first time he’d caught him staring a little too long at the thickness of his fingers, and the creases on his face.

*Oh, God*.

*Hank* is *propositioning* him.

He should have known his thing for crass older men might cost him his future one day.

“I...I don’t know.” Connor says weakly. He can’t imagine what the appropriate response for this is.

Nights of practicing saying something a bit spicy in retaliation to

Hank’s constant teasing, a dumb fantasy Connor liked to indulge in, pale and wither now in the face of the reality of it. He sounds anything but confident and looks dangerously close to bolting for safety back inside the station. It wouldn’t do any good, Hank could follow him.

But, Connor rarely thought things out rationally in situations like these. Hank, big, strong Hank, was coming on to him.

*God*.

This was about every wet dream he’d ever had, in his bed or at the station, wrapped up into one. The only thing missing was Hank immediately following

their little agreement to entertain some physical fun with pushing Connor down on his knees.

As it was, the android couldn’t possibly come any closer without their hips touching. Still, Connor could feel him invading his space, pushing him further into the cold metal car at his

back with a single look from those ice blue eyes. Heavy and daring Connor to try something.

Hank had his answer by the flex of Connor’s fingers, twitching with want. He wanted to *touch* *Hank*.

He wanted this.

“Do you want to find out?” Hank murmurs so low and deep, it’s

practically a growl. Connor makes a noise that dies in his throat before he can let the entire department know he nearly just blew his load in his pants.

“Han-“ His voice cuts out. The blood pounding in his ears makes it hard to focus on much of what he‘s saying, but he can tell

he‘s blabbering.

He decides its a blessing Hank can still look at him without even a bit of disgust at the display, while Connor thinks he can’t get enough space between them.

“Hank,” He starts, again. “I’m- I’m...I don’t think I...”

Hank considers him for a moment, then looks

him up and down- sizing him up. Connor shivers from more than just the exposure to the cold.

“Maybe I should drive you home, Detective. You seem a bit impaired.”

Which is fair, because Connor couldn’t stand to think of much else right now then the throbbing in his slacks. And also unfair, because Hank’s the reason that’s become an issue.

“Hank,” Connor catches him off guard by how quiet he’s suddenly gone. He looks as timid as a lamb,

shaking pitifully under Hank’s burning gaze.
“If... if you’re saying what I think you’re saying...I don’t think I can make it ‘til we get home.”

“Oh.” Hank’s honestly surprised. There’s no way Connor’s suggesting what he thinks he is.

He waits for Connor to say as much, but he

never does.

A beat passes, and then-

No matter.

Hank recalibrates and adjusts to the new options that have presented themselves. If Connor can’t wait like he says, there’s the car. The station bathroom. There’s also the blind spot outside where day shift

takes their smoke breaks. It’s too dark out there, now, no one would know.

But, Hank doesn’t like the idea of Connor outside in the dark and cold. Not with his drawers around his ankles.

Oh, what a fucking lovely thought that *that* is.

He only just realizes he might be

jumping the gun a bit. He’s had less than a day to accept that Connor indeed has a sexual fascination for him, and to make their first time somewhere as indecent as a public restroom, seems rather abhorrent of him.

That certainly complicates things.” He says slowly.
“What should we do about that?”

Connor is almost too sex-brained to realize Hank is asking *him* for answers.

He quickly looks around, debating if he has the audacity and self-deprecation to let Hank take him right there on

the hood of the car where anyone can look out a window, and see them. He has enough brain power left to realize his wish to be squished inside a bathroom stall with his legs hiked up over Hank’s shoulders isn’t as tangible an idea as slipping into the car right now. Hank follows

his hazy eyed gaze to the car and finds his answer. Fuck.

“It’s risky.” He warns, but Connor is far too gone for that.

“I *need* it. I need to- I-I need to...”

“Alright, alright.” Hank’s voice, thick with want, smooths over him.
“Whatever you need, honey, I’ll give it to you.”

That does anything but calm him.

Connor jerks, head falling back as he lingers on Hank’s coaxing words.

“Hank~”

Jesus, he’s an excitable one.

Hank knows it wouldn’t be wise to keep him waiting- Connor’s liable to alert everyone to their position the longer they stay out here,

stoking the fire in his belly- even if that‘s not what Hank meant to do.

“Shh, shh- get in the car.”

Hank demanding him to move, to move himself somewhere to be *fucked*, makes Connor want to howl with his need. The tone Hank’s using- so rough and gentle at the same time.

Hank moves Connor himself when his knees try to give out. He does another thorough scan to see who is watching them, and is satisfied when the couple of people roaming the lot are either hopping in their cars to go home, or moving into the building. It helps that Connors parked

them towards the edge.

“Come on- in the back.” Hank pats his hip to get him moving.

Connor stops mid crawl over the console and looks over his shoulder at the big man crowding him.

“W- will there be room?” He asks lamely, but Hank finds his concern endearing.

He intends to *make* room. In more ways than one.

“We’ll make it fit.” He promises.

Connor groans and takes a minute to gather himself before he scurries back into the seat. He isn’t sure how Hank wants him, and hopes he’s not being to presumptuous by getting on his hands and

knees. Hank buries any doubt he has with a low, sultry growl of approval.

He’s happy beyond all measure he didn’t let that little flicker of worry he felt before stop him from pursuing this man- Connor has proven to be more than just receptive of his advances.

He’s coming alive under them. More alive than Hank has ever seen him. So much so, that Hank honestly curses himself for not looking into this sooner.

“What are you gonna do?” Connor whines. He feels incredibly vulnerable like this. The man of his wildest dreams, who could crush

under a single finger, is staring at him with hungry eyes, while Connor ‘presents’ himself like a show dog.

“Hopefully nothing you aren’t agreeable to.” Hank says carefully.
“Tell me if I need to stop.”

He doesn’t make another move until he’s sure he’s got Connor’s approval.

He needs him to hear him say that he understands.

Connor feels like he’s going to either melt into the seat or burn alive, if he has to wait another fucking second.

Just what the hell is Hank planning to do? And what makes him think Connor would ever ask him to stop?

“Ok.”

He breathes the word out, sounding like he’s already spent. And, they haven’t even done anything.

“Ok, Hank.”

Good.

Hank decides Connor looks comfortable enough to continue.

The android is far too big to crawl like Connor did across the console, and leaves to enter through

the back door-the one opening up towards the younger man’s backside.

*Fuck*.

Connor tries to still his breathing, tries to focus on the faint creaking of the leather under his fingernails. But, just as he’s willing himself to stay calm, Hank turns the tables on him.

A pair of large hands are on his ass, feeling him out. Connor’s got quite a perky one that Hank has taken the liberty of crunching the numbers on. Once his pants and underwear are pulled down, Hank knows he’ll find soft, taut cheeks that will do nothing to cover the pink, rippled

hole between them, or the dip and subtle bump of where his taint begins and ends.

Hank is going to lavish those tender bits with every ounce of spectacular android precision he is capable of. If Connor cums from that alone, it’d be a glorious reward.

“Hank?” Connor lets his head dip down between his shoulder blades. Hank’s been staring at his clothed backside while his hands grope his ass for a little longer than anyone with a working cock can handle.

For Hank’s perfect calculations, though, Connor might as well be bare.

Save for determining where any random freckles might be, Hank *knows* this man, now. Outside, and soon, in. Fortunately for them both, that’s not enough for him.

“Sorry, honey.” He gives each cheek a quick, rough squeeze, drawing a sweet, little yelp out of him.

“These need to come off, now.”

Connor can’t agree fast enough.

He arches his back and stuffs his face in his hands. Hank’s asking him to bare himself and put his most intimate parts on display. He’s distantly aware of what he knows Hank’s going to find down there, and he tries

his hardest not to pull away. He needs to be naked and with Hank’s hands on him more than he wants to hide his embarrassment.

Hank’s already there, reaching around to undo his belt and zipper, and pulling gently at the fabric. He doesn’t want to pull too hard and catch that

flushed little cock inside.

Connor’s breath hitches when he feels the band push down over the swell of his ass, exposing a delightful array of freckles and spots on Connor’s delicates. It earns him an honest to fuck groan from one Hk800 as he stops a moment to appreciate

the tight, pink hole and speckles of skin he’s got a front row seat to. Connor wiggles his ass on instinct when he feels the embarrassment of being sat stationary with his goods up in the air for too long.

“Oh, Connor~”

That quickly draws a whine from the smaller man, who

buries his face further into the upholstery. Hank can see *all* of him. Even the small sliver of pink poking out between plush lips.

Then- Hank sees *it*.

“....Connor...” Hank sounds plain dumbfounded as he stares very unexpectedly at the thing on Connor’s lower ass cheek.

Jesus...

“I-it...I was in college, and I was...”

As young and dumb then, as he is, now. He’s sure the gaudy- as in trashy- little thing he’s got seared on there for eternity paints quite an ugly picture. His mother called it ‘a girl’s tattoo’ when she had the misfortune

of seeing it after Connor was fished out of a near fatal shoot out and hospitalized for a month. She had plenty of opportunities to see it when she had to help him to the bathroom more times that he’d like to recount.

A pale red strawberry with soft edges, and a faint attention

to detail is tattooed on his lower ass- small enough to almost be overlooked among the hoard of freckles there, but put where it’d stick out under the cheek of a pair of panties. It wasn’t the first time Connor regretted getting the thing, but it was the first time he

felt a terrible churning in his already twisted stomach at the way Hank kept staring.

“Just pretend it isn’t there- you’re software can do that, right?”

Block out and erase its existence from Hank’s memory bank? Distort his perception of reality to cover up a little bubbly piece of fruit art?

Hank doesn’t bother with an answer. His mouth is needed for far more

important things at the moment.

He shifts on his knees, trying to find the optimum position to stuff his tongue into Connor’s holes, and is painfully aware that he’s at full hardness, now. Leaking thick beads of precum into his boxers. He’d sooner shut out his audio input than

erase *this* from his files- this embarrassing and infuriatingly cute thing Connor had the indecency to put on his backside.

Connor cries out when a set of sharp teeth in a warm, wet mouth close over the little tat and nip at it. He surges forward, trying to save the unbearably

sensitive skin from Hank’s assault on it and is met with two large hands gripping him around the hips and holding him- Hank’s fingertips are able to touch and then some over the small space of Connor’s slender torso. He’s no match for Hank’s size and force.

“Hank! Hank!”

The android playfully traces the edge of a mint green leaf, enjoying the way each lap of his tongue makes Connor want to jump out of his skin.

“S-Stop! Hey!”

Hank fits the offending piece into his mouth once more and gently licks. Connor would kick him right off the seat he’s

sloping over if he wasn’t trapped there, feeling more demeaned and humiliated than ever. He shouldn’t have let Chloe pick the damn thing, and he really shouldn’t have let her talk him into it.

Hank hums.
“I’ll stop- there are more important matters to tend to, it seems.”

Connor doesn’t miss the way Hank smiles against the soft yellow seeds of the berry before pulling away. He doesn’t think it’s nearly as funny, and decides he’ll finally take some time to look into laser removal.

Those big hands on his hips slide down over the sides of his thighs

and hook their thumbs in Connor’s waistband. He pushes them the rest of the way down, until they pull around Connor’s knees.

Connor’s‘anger’ dies instantly. A new kind of raging fire kindles at his core. The heat from it rises all the way to his throat and cheeks and makes

Connor shudder. His hole is wet and fully exposed, and the thought makes his back arch and curve. Hank can see his little dick twitch with interest between their folds. Connor *knows* that he’s watching and it turns his blood boiling. He begins to wish against all odds that the

tat was the center of Hank’s attention, again.

“Fuck, sweetheart. Look at you.”

“Hank~”

“You’ve been having *very* wet dreams I see.”

“Don’t-don’t tease me.”

Hank croons at him, admiring the slight tremble in his thighs. He’s got a lovely set of holes here and Hank’s not

sure which one he wants to stir first.

“Oh, honey~”

His ass might be a good first place.

Connor’s heart skips a beat the second he feels warm breath ghost over him *there*. Oh, Christ, is Hank going to-

“Ohh~”

Hank’s tongue gives a tentative lick over Connor’s silky,

puckered hole. His hips jerk and try to pull away while trying to get closer- confusing signals of something intrusive attacking his intimates are being sent to his brain and fraying his priorities. Pull away, come closer, pull away, relax. Hank puts a warm, comforting hand on

top of Connor’s ass. The other on his calf, rubbing patient circles into his desk-sore muscles.

Hank’s tongue sweeps over the little hole, tracing each ripple in the ring of muscle and delighting in the way Connor keens.

This...this is not like any wet dream Connor’s ever had.

This exceeds his wildest expectations.

He imagined Hank would be the thoroughly detailed bastard he always is, but he never imagine it’d be with so much care, so much enthusiasm. Hank is practically worshipping his hole, nibbling the incredibly sensitive skin with an indulgent

kind of vigor- like this is a *treat* for him.

He works hard to keep Connor out of trouble and as healthy as the stubborn young fool can be. But, how was Connor supposed to know that he‘d be so faithful to that work when they brought to the ‘bedroom’.

There isn’t any of the business Connor’d expected in Hank’s approach, just admiration.

A sheen of slick is gathering on the cut of Hank’s chin where he’s rubbing against Connor’s cunny. It’s practically dripping down onto the upholstery, he’s so wet. So eager.

Hank can’t resist a little *taste*.

In one fluid motion, Hank moves down and licks a long stripe from that sweet wet cunt to his taint, up to his other hole. His poor straining cock is too far forward to catch on Hank’s tongue, causing Connor to writhe back and try in vain to

bring some attention to him there. Hank fully intends to cooperate.

The taste of Connor settles on his tongue, and extracting the physical components that make up the younger man’s essence, Hank focuses on how *sweet* it is. It’s warm and slippery, and it spreads

beautifully over his tongue.

All that time he spent laving at his ass got Connor’s pussy absolutely drooling.

“Oh, fuck, Baby. Your honey is divine.” Connor moans from somewhere in his chest. It’s a pitiful, broken thing that makes Hank want to scoop him up and bring him close.

“It’s ok, I’ve got you.” He coos as he tentatively runs his hands over the backs of Connor’s thighs. He’s definitely got him, and a mouthful of honey, as well. He slots his mouth over the slender pink slit to sip from the source. Connor’s so wet, he needed Hank’s attention far

more than he knew.

Hank hums, again, his lips moving along Connor’s, as he decides now might be an appropriate time to spare his little cock a few kisses.

“On your back- I have more in store for you.”

Connor can’t cognitively process his request and is even less adept to make

the motions happen. Hank doesn’t need him to. He takes Connor’s legs and pulls, pushing him on his stomach so that he can roll him over.

The man doesn’t put up an ounce of fight, as he lets Hank forcefully maneuver him however he pleases.

Hank settles for him flat on his back

with a leg over each of his broad shoulders, lifting Connor’s pert little ass up. Good, perfect.

Hank zeros in on his mission- Connor’s untouched cock, desperate for some care. He looks up at Connor who is trying to claw his way up the seat to try and get a good look.

Hank is definitely opposed to that. His hands cup his ass in each palm and hoist him by the hips up into his mouth. The stiff, pink cock that’s nestled sweetly beneath Connor’s hood is pulled right into warm, wet heat, and soaked in Hank’s spit. He wants this precious part of him

cozy and wet so that it will slip easily through his fingers when he goes to rub him off.

The noises Connor’s making are ethereal. His already breathy voice sounds hoarse.

It makes Hank feel like his wires are melting and filling with plastic gunk. Here’s Connor, nervous, shivering Connor, coming undone in his arms. He’s burning under Hank’s touch, he’s *thriving* on it, and that’s all it takes for Hank to feel the hunger to

do this again. And often. Connor needs this- it might even be the thing to help Hank gain some leverage to convince him to get some sleep. Promise him a good fucking, so that Detective Stern might roll over and behave.

Connor wiggles onto his elbows to peer down over his heaving

chest, just in time to see Hank dive *down*. His eyes lock with Connor’s at the first brush of his lips on his swollen cock. The effect is immediate. Connor wants his legs to spread wide, as much as he wants them draped over Hank’s sturdy shoulders, pulling him closer.

“Hank~ I- Oh!”

“That’s it... In my mouth, honey.”

Hank sucks a tight little ring around Connor’s nub. By now, Connor is *more* than ready to take something inside- he’s slicking up his backseats and clenching so hard around nothing that Hank fears all this soft touch has knifed

out the recess of Connor’s mind, the part that is only a man, and whittled it down to turn Connor into a feral, famished beast that only knows to mate and be mated. The android doesn’t look any further into how increasingly carnal his thoughts have become, lacking much of the

mechanical, inorganic perception that previously made Hank’s being. Now it’s all about mounting and fucking his human him like some fertile doe.

That’s how Hank wants it to be. Sadly, he isn’t putting the fucking bit into motion, yet.

Connor arches up into his mouth.

Hank’s tongue laves over the head of his little cock and runs underneath, and lower, until he’s mouthing at that *sopping* wet entrance. Connor is definitely ready for something more.

“Hank! P-please! I feel like I’m losing my- Ah! My-“ His mind. As well as his ability to remain

comprehensible. Good.

Hank takes in the scent of him. Despite its subtly, Connor overwhelms his senses harder than any blood at a crime scene or chemical ever could. He’s intoxicating. He decides, probably like a delusional fool, that he is the only one who has ever taken the

time to breath in Connor’s essence, that he is the only one who has ever appreciated this heavenly mark that Connor carries. This, in turn, makes Connor’s scent special only to Hank.

He ignores his programming which forces him to think rationally, the part that tries to work out

how illogical even thinking that surely is. Still, Hank would rather be a walking malfunction than believe anything other than this secret little bond he’s created for them.

“Is everything ok?” Connor asks timidly. He’s struggling to keep Hank’s gaze before his head falls back

onto the upholstery.The android realizes he’s stopped licking and is idly kissing around Connor’s hole. The nervous man rarely misses a chance to overthink when given the opportunity, and Connor must be brewing up a fine batch of paranoia in that overworked head of his right now.

Hank doesn’t want him to start thinking just yet.

“It’s perfect. I could do this all night, I could make you cum just from this.” He purrs. So certain.

That makes the smaller man go rigid. His breath hitches as his legs unintentionally widen, as well as his large, brown eyes.

His hair is an adorable mess, as he’d failed to ever tame it after his mid-shift nap.

“But, I’m open to suggestions.”

“An-An-“ Connor clears his throat, and comes back with a voice rougher.
“Anything?”

Hank smiles. He doesn’t often, and it’s an utter crime, Connor thinks.

“Anything, and then some.” Hank promises. He moves Connor’s legs from his shoulders and does a quick look around the area through the windows.

The stars are beginning to come out, now.

“What do you want, Detective?” He can take a pretty good guess. He’s programmed to do that.

But, Connor eyeing his crotch and giving a shuddering gasp are also pretty good indicators.

“Well, I...Would you like to recreate one of my...dreams?”

Hank crawls over top of him, pinning him below with his arms on either side of his shoulders- careful to keep his weight off.

Though, Hank gets the unusual feeling Connor wouldn’t be totally opposed to that.

“Just what do you get up to in these dreams of yours, Connor?”

Hank’s cock straining to rip through his slacks make it difficult for him to keep the pinch of need from his voice. He wants control.

“Oh, God!”

Being trapped like this with Hank leering over him seems to really be doing it for the man. Hank can’t help but find it endearing.

“I...sometimes I think about *you* just...” Connor swallows, heart in his throat. “‘Opening’ me up.”

Hank honest to God *growls*.

He doesn’t know where a feature like that even started in his system. He didn’t learn it from deviancy, and he’d never done anything particularly sexual more than unknowingly flirting at times. And, only with Connor.

Looking back, now, Jesus. He should have thought about the

things he had to say in retaliation to Connor’s occasional brattiness. He wonders if those things were also part of Connor’s fantasies. Did Hank being a domineering force wind him up at night? Did the thought of Hank barking at him to be good make him wet?

Hank wants to believe

so, and he wants when more to reward him.

“Open you, huh?With my fingers?”

Connor suppresses a groan. If he can’t get through this without sounding like a virgin on his wedding night, he can just forget about ever getting laid, again. What a sad display he‘s making.

“No.”

No.

Not fingers. Hank just needed to hear it.

“Oh...with my cock then, honey?”

Connor can’t answer with more than a whine. Hank is overcome with how *badly* he suddenly needs this. He needs to help, he needs to fill. For Connor’s sake, and his own. And thank fuck, not with fingers.

“That, I can do.”

He leans down and, with his permission, peppers Connor’s throat with kisses.

He doesn’t have any difficulty undoing his zipper and removing himself like this. He can angle himself just so- isn’t limited by the same restrictions a terribly eager Connor might be

with adrenaline pumping through him. He’s happy to pull his prick out and go from there, but the detective hooks a finger in the band of his boxers and urges him to keep pulling.

There’s no time for that. If anyone does happen upon them, and it’s not totally unlikely someone

won’t, Hank needs to be ready. He’d rather cover Connor without his bare ass on display, as he decided quite quickly that that was only meant for his human.

Hank doesn’t think it’s too far a stab in the dark to assume a little bit of teasing will sate Connor, instead.

He’d worked out that some of his appeal for the younger man was his ability to control a situation- as well as perhaps stripping Connor’s power of such.

“Why do you want these off, baby? You want to feel my balls slapping against your ass?”

“~Oh, *fuck*!”

Connor’s hands land on Hank’s forearms and digs sharp little nails in his skin.
“Hank, *please*!”

“I think I want you like this. I want you bare beneath me with your shirt stuffed in your mouth.”

Honestly, that was a bit because he was worried Connor was about

to exercise his vocals once all the excitement started. Call it a hunch.

He keens, sure that this is how he’s going to die. With Hank cooing at him and humiliating him almost worse than when he spotted Connor’s strawberry.

As if they share a wave length, Hank grabs a handful

of Connor’s ass, squeezing the cheek with the little berry on it.

“I’m going to take you with my prick sticking out- I’m going to push your legs up to your chest,” Hank’s hands move swiftly up the line of Connor’s ass and thighs to the back of his knees, and *push*.

Up they go, knees forced to touch his chest and punch another whine out of him.
“And, I’m going to take you just like this. I’m going to open that sweet, soaking pussy up on my-“

“Then do it!” Connor yells in a moment of weakness, not sure if he’s going to regret losing his

patience while Hank’s got him doubled in half.

If he considers Hank shoving his cock to the hilt inside him a punishment instead of pulling away, then yes, he’ll regret it. If only because Hank is determined to set a brutal pace that reduces Connor to little more than a

blubbering puddle of pleasure.

When it actually registers that Hank has got his fat prick stuck in his hole, Connor focuses on the way the head nudges around at his insides- at his sensitive ridges- and fails to stifle the scream that follows.

“Shit.” Hank hurries to make good

on stuffing his mouth up. He should have known the screaming would start sooner than later.

He pulls the hem of Connor’s button up over his lithe belly and pushes it into his mouth. If it surprises him, his mouth was already open on a moan and it stunts the effect.

He looks down at his handiwork, as well as the natural beauty that is one Connor Stern. His legs are spread and pulled apart, a sliver of that soft chest exposed to him, and the smattering of dark and light freckles. They run in every direction. His legs, his arms, his

stomach, and throat. Hank looks up and admires he drool stain he’s soaking into his shirt. This needy, gorgeous man.

Satisfied, Hank shifts around and gets a better angle on Connor’s ‘special spot’. He gives a few experimental thrusts, vaguely aware of what he’s doing and what

he’s looking for. He wasn’t made for this, and he hasn’t spent any time uploading information on it. He’s got a mild understanding, but the longer he goes, the more knowledge he retains. He’ll become a self made expert by the end of this.

“Oh, GOD, HANK!”

Bingo.

He adjusts and drives home with more force, attacking *that* place that makes Connor’s legs shake and his whole body go rigid.

This- it’s definitely not enough.

Hank is already searching to quench his thirst, craving to see Connor on the verge of a physical collapse.

He looks

back to Connor’s throbbing cock that gives a slight jump every now and then when Hank slams his head into his sweet spot. It needs his attention, again, it seems.

“Jesus, Con. you’re *tight*.”

“Oh, Oh, Oh, OH~ Oh~”

Hank pushes his face into Connor’s throat and reaches between

his legs, trapping him under Hank’s heavy hand, and whatever pleasure he chooses to give him. Some sweet, quick strokes over his pulsing cock in this case.

“HANK! Ha-AH!”

“That feel good, little one?”

Connor swoons. His knees flex, like he’s trying to widen his legs, again.

It’s a pitiful gesture and Hank feels for him.

It wouldn’t be any strain on his end to grab a thigh and hold his leg out for him- get a better angle to plunge straight down into Connor’s cunt until his confined balls slap against his ass anyway. So he does, with a soft

smile and all.

How’s that for service.

Connor claws at him, as he scrambles to keep some semblance of his sanity. He fails epically when Hank thrusts his sweet spot thrice in a row.

Hank memorizes the lines on Connor’s face- as if he hasn’t already- only not like this.

Eyes screwed shut and gasping for air in this hot car. Flushed and splotchy, and sweating in frigid winter weather. Hank is working in and out of him so hard and precisely that Connor has forgotten he has any part of himself that isn’t just an aching cunt stuffed full of

his ‘dream daddy’s’ thick cock.

“Ha- Oh, God! I can’t~” His voice has gone weak and somber, like he’s accepted defeat- resigned to feel pleasure that makes his legs quiver and the spring in his gut coil tight. He’s so *hot*. He can’t stand it-

“I’m close!”

Hank doubles his

efforts, the car rocks. Connor holds on for the ride, only mildly horrified this is going to go public later. Right now his brain is needed to process how heavy the drag on Hank’s cock is along his wet walls.

“You don’t have to dream ever again baby.” Hank says in a low whisper.

He dips down so that Connor can properly hear him coo at him- the way hardworking, headstrong, constantly at the root of his mother’s exhaustion, Detective Stern deserves.
“I can make this real- anytime you need it.”

“You can just rest easy from now on.”

Hank adds as an afterthought. He really wants this to add up to some quality sleep time after all his efforts.

Connor thinks he’s not nearly as affected as he ought to be. Hank’s pile driving him through the fucking car seat, and the most he’s done is growl and grunt and string

some filthy sentences that make Connor’s knees weak and cheeks heat way too easily. Fuck.

“Just let me take care of you, Detective. Honey.”

“I’m gonna cum!”

*Fuck*. Hank picks it up just when Connor didn’t think he could fuck him any harder.

“Let go on my cock, baby. Cum on me- I’ve got you.”

“Hn- Ha-HANK!”

Connor’s head shoves back into the seat, hips stuck in place, deigned to take the brutal orgasm Hank pushes through him without any give. Hank’s palm smoothes over his flushed, twitching cock in time

with Connor’s quick breathing. The space between his legs burns as slick pools out below his ass and onto the leather seat. The sound of his skin sticking to the seat then coming off of it is obscene- it makes him blush harder than every time Hank had bothered to call him

‘Honey’ combined. It makes him feel loose and tight, and closed and open all at once.

Hank groans louder with every passing second Connor pulses his tight cunny around his shaft. It’s like a wet vice. A drooling, honey flavored wet vice.

“Sweetheart~” Hank moans, drowned by

Connor’s frantic screaming.

Then he’s pumping artificial cum in the tiny channel that makes up his Connor’s pussy, washing his insides in Hank’s hot essence. They’re finally mixed together. What his cock rests idly inside of now is full of their own creation- this is the product

of him mating Connor like his fertile doe while the other works tired muscles to keep every drop of it from slipping out.

“Fuck.” Hank composes himself only seconds after his climax, but the heady knowledge that he’s claimed his human, now, remains.

He’ll *never* be over that.

“Fuck.” He mumbles, again for good measure. He doesn’t want to pull out just yet, though thankfully, Connor doesn’t seem to want that either.

He tentatively reaches up and wraps his arms around Hank’s neck, sucking on his lower lip. This is

the most intimate he’s ever gotten with someone before, and of all the people in the world, it’s with his hard ass android partner. He can’t help but feel a little self conscious. The logical part of him knows that moment should have ultimately been when his pants were yanked

off, and his intimates exposed. Or the tattoo...

But, this kind of intimacy scares him.

Hank doesn’t pull away or ask any questions, just lets Connor hold him while he monitors his breathing- it’s slowly returning to normal.

“How- how much of that was the heat of the moment?”

Connor asks carefully. There’s a hint of ‘amusement’ in his voice, and Hank worries it’s to give himself an out.

“What do you mean?” He turns his face into Connor’s neck and delights in the shudder it produces.

“All that stuff you said.... How much of that did you, uh...”

Hank is still for the space of a millisecond. Just long enough that he’s caught processing this longer than it’d normally take him. Connor looks so tense, like he’s waiting to breathe until he hears what Hank’s going to say. He’s expecting the worst.

“....All of it.” Hank says

like it’s obvious. For him, it is. Connor is his closest friend, he always has been. If Hank’s being fair, though, he’s also this thing, human, android, or other, that he’s become *fiercely* protective of. He teases and taunts him, he even rides his ass from time to time, and

that’s not to mention the few times he’s outright lost his cool with him.

Though everything, unfortunately, all seems to stem from a place of.....well, love.

He worries like a parent might about their awfully irresponsible child. Like a friend about their best mate who has *zero* skill in preserving himself. Like a worried wife, God help him.

Connor lays there beneath him looking like Hank’s caught a rock in his cogs.

“You can’t have- I...you can’t mean all of that-“

“Yes, sir. *All* of it.“

Connor’s hormones get the better of him and test his ability to keep up a good argument.

He’s not honestly all convinced about what Hank’s saying, but he’s got other issues at the moment.

“Ooh, Jesus. N-not here- don’t day that now.” Connor shivers at the thought of his aching cock trying to swell back to life.

Hank files that away for later, not completely sure

how he’s going to work in the title of authority when Connor so clearly prefers to be dominated. He’ll figure it out- he’s a highly advanced talking computer. He can work out another of Connor’s odd kinks.

“Just trust me when I say how much I absolutely mean it.” Hank insists.

He lets himself indulge in a little nuzzle of his beard against Connor’s jaw line.
“I’m here for you, partner.”

Connor’s walls tighten around Hank’s member. There’s a longing look in his eyes, as his face flushes with something softer than passion. His arms around Hank’s neck

tremble at the renewed feeling of fullness.

“Anytime you need me, Con.”

The smaller man nods and chokes out a little “Ok.”

Hank smiles, lashes downturned, and thinks maybe now might be a good time to officially disclose their relationship with the captain.

“HEY! HEY!”

Both mens’ heads snap up to see Richard rapping on the window of the car with a look of horror and fury.

*Fuck*.

“Don’t fuck in the car!” He hisses through the window.

Too late.

“Jesus, Connor! Go home- what the fuck!”

“I- I didn’t- I-“

Before Connor can even begin to

defend himself, Richard is stomping off, mumbling something about *doing it with his android*. The pair are left there with their jaws hanging open, and a queasy feeling wrapping around Connor’s guts.

Why...?

“Great.” He sighs as his head leans back onto the seat. He’s turning

scarlet, and Hank can’t help but enjoy the view from up there- as if this doesn’t entirely affect him. It does.

As much as he hates it, it’s time to pull out. He disengages the flow to his shaft so it will soften and come out easier. Connor whimpers all the same when it drags

inside of him through the lake of fluids and cum they’ve left behind.

“I’ll clean this up later.”

“Ugh, nah. I gotta do it before it sets in.”

“Is waiting until we get you home not soon enough?”

“Well, no. That’s when I was going to....”

Oh.

Hank’s coming with him.

“We need to go, now, Detective.” Before Lieutenant Stern petitions to have him scrapped for parts.
“Get dressed.”

Connor cringes at the thought of putting clothes on over the nightmare mess between his legs, but it’s stamped out by the certainty with which Hank dresses and

climbs into the driver’s seat. He’s taking Connor home.

Holy *shit*, maybe they’ll cuddle. That gets Connor jumping into his pants with a dopey smile on his face instead of the painful cringing he expected. Who can be upset at a time like this?

Cuddles with the big Hk800, sitting in his lap and carding fingers through his beard, and- Oh!

“Do you have food at home, Detective?”

“Uhh, GummyWorms and... milk. Yeah.”

Hank stares holes through him from his seat as he turns the keys. The car doesn’t start, of course. All

this feral fucking has left Hank’s processors a little sluggish, and he’s forgotten that the damn thing needs the screwdriver in the solenoid first.

“We’re getting food on the way, and grocery shopping tomorrow.” He grunts.

Connor pouts at the thought of having to sift through

isles of food looking for gluten-free shit to avoid his allergies, but doesn’t fuss. *Too* much.

“Fine, whatever. Just hurry up...*Princess* is waiting.” He cuts his eyes over at Hank, wearing an evil little grin.

“Fuck...That fucking dog.”

“What was that?”

Hank growls.

“Just buckle up, already. You need some sleep.”

Connor watches him leave with he screwdriver, admiring the fullness of his ass as he walks over to pop the hood up. Maybe he can convince Hank to let him spoon it tonight, and decides that will be his payoff for agreeing to

go to sleep for once.

✨Thanks everyone for indulging in this thread with me.

My Hk800 smut needs were on their maximum setting.