Thread by @robofingering

A Kiss Day thread! 😘
Hank's staring blankly at the book in his hands, wondering if he should just put it down and watch tv instead of pretending he's able to focus enough to make sense of the words, when he hears the rattle of Connor's key in the door.
"You're home earlier than

I expected," he says.
Connor greets him with a brittle, forced smile. "Things didn't go as planned, I'm afraid. He--I think the two of us had very different expectations for the evening."
"Are you okay?" Hank sets the book aside and gestures to the couch. "You want to talk

about it?"
"I don't know," Connor says. "On either count, I suppose." He sighs and stares at the floor, seemingly unwilling to meet Hank's gaze.
"I won't push," Hank scrambles to say. "If you need time alone, or if you just want to keep me company and not talk about anything at

all, that's fine, too."
They're still learning, to some extent, how to share space together. Hank had been happy to let Connor move in with him, when it became clear that the hastily-built android housing he'd moved into shortly after the revolution hadn't been a great fit, but

just because he was happy to live with him didn't mean he knew how to make things work right off the bat. Hank is constantly torn between his desires to keep him close and to encourage him to experience the world outside of his tiny home.
They both need their space, sometimes,

but Hank often finds himself reluctant to reach out to Connor when he craves company. He doesn't want to smother him, or to push him towards the inevitable moment when he has to explain to Hank, so patiently it's bound to hurt more than it would if he was angry, that he finds

Hank's attention overbearing or inappropriate. He loves having Connor here, of course, but some part of him is always waiting for the other shoe to drop and he isn't sure what he needs to do in order to delay that moment for as long as possible.
"I need a moment," Connor says,

finally, as he nods towards his room down the hall. "I'm going to change, but I'll be out in a few minutes, and maybe..." he shrugs. "Maybe I'll want to talk about it. I'm not certain."
"No pressure," Hank says. "I'm sorry you had a bad night, though. I know you were looking

forward to it."
"I was," Connor agrees. He opens his mouth, as if to say something more, but then shakes his head and walks away, posture deflating as he leaves the room.
"Well, shit," Hank mumbles to himself, once he hears Connor's door click shut. He hauls himself up from the

couch and stares aimlessly out the kitchen window while he refills his glass of water and drinks it in three anxious gulps. This far into summer, sunset still hasn't hit yet; the long, golden afternoon has just faded into the cool light of evening. A pair of grackles bickers over

seeds dropped by an over-eager sparrow at the bird feeder, and Hank watches them, idly turning his empty glass in his hands, until he hears the soft sound of Connor walking barefoot down the hall.
"Feeling any better?" Hank asks, when Connor joins him in the kitchen. "You look

more comfortable, at least."
"My other clothing wasn't uncomfortable," Connor protests, "but yes, I do like this better." He smiles and fingers the worn hem of his oversized t-shirt, one he'd stolen from Hank long enough ago that Hank figured it was Connor's by right, now.

"Although you know how comfortable this is from personal experience."
"I sure do," Hank says. "Looks better on you, though."
A shadow flits across Connor's face, but he quickly smooths his expression into a soft smile. "I think I'd like to talk about what happened," he says,

"if you're still willing to listen."
"Yeah, yeah, of course," Hank says. He considers refilling his glass, then opens the fridge and pulls out a can of soda and one of Connor's thirium pouches. "You want a juice box while we chat?"
Connor rolls his eyes but accepts it with a

small nod of thanks, breaking the seal and taking a quick sip before settling himself nervously on one side of the couch. His posture is stiff and proper, which both makes Hank's back hurt to look at and is a clear sign that he's uncomfortable.
"I should start by apologizing for

being upset when you called this outing a date," Connor says, quietly.
"I mean, it was kind of shitty of me," Hank says. "I was joking, I guess, but I didn't mean anything by it. I didn't want to make you uncomfortable."
Connor hadn't presented it as one, exactly, but he'd met

Martin through some of the android advocacy work he was doing, and they'd seemed to hit it off from what Connor had said; it seemed only natural for Hank to assume that an attractive young guy with something in common with Connor would be fishing for a date, and since Connor

had put on his favorite sweater before heading out and seemed both excited and nervous, Hank thought he'd been angling to impress a potential new partner. He'd meant his comment innocently enough, but Connor had seemed hurt, almost offended, when Hank had wished him good luck on

his date a few hours previously.
"No, it's fine," Connor says. "I know you weren't trying to be hurtful. I was taken aback, because I didn't think of this evening as a date at all, but I can't be upset with you for that assumption. Martin made the same one, as it turns out."

"Oh." Hank isn't sure what else to say; he takes a long sip to buy himself some time. "Is that what cut the evening short?"
Connor nods, fingers picking restlessly at the label affixed to the foil thirium pouch. "He didn't--he wasn't pushy about it, once he understood that I

wasn't interested, but it was clear that he was more interested in physical intimacy than he was in introducing me to his cats and watching a movie, as he'd suggested when he made the invitation."
"You got netflix-and-chilled, huh?"
Connor deflates beside him, slumping back into

the couch. "I know that such invitations can be sexual in nature, but I genuinely thought Martin wanted a friend. We've had several conversations that I enjoyed, and we seem to share several interests, so I was looking forward to spending time with him. I thought a more casual

environment would give us the opportunity to know each other better." He sighs. "I feel a bit silly about it, now, but I was so excited to be making a new friend."
Hank can't blame the guy for being interested in Connor, but rejecting his friendship just because he didn't

reciprocate that interest seems short-sighted; by that token, Hank would have to stop being friends with him as well. He doesn't think he could manage it, even though he knows it'll sting when Connor does eventually start going on dates. Hell, he'd felt the hurt of it tonight

already. The fact that he'd been wrong when he assumed Connor was off on a date doesn't change the ache he'd felt, or the shame the followed close behind it. He knows he has no right to object to Connor starting a relationship with someone. It's his choice to make.

"It's not silly," Hank says. "It sounds like an awkward night. He didn't--" he shakes his head. "Sorry, you said he wasn't pushy, and I know it--it isn't my business."
"I wouldn't call it pushy," Connor says, slowly. He takes a final sip from the pouch and sets it aside, clasping

his hands tightly in his lap. "Confident, maybe. Overconfident. He didn't exactly ask before he tried to kiss me. He was very sure of himself, and sure of what I wanted, as well."
"Shit, Connor, that's--"
"It's fine," he says, sharply. Hank can see the faint glow of his LED

reflected in the glass of the photos on the wall, a slow pulse of warning red, but he holds his tongue; it won't help matters to point out how clearly not-fine it is.
Connor takes a deep breath. He'd told Hank, once, why it worked to calm him, how it had slowed some processes

down or triggered some sort of response that helped with his emotional state, but Hank had immediately forgotten the details. Whatever it does, it seems to help.
"I apologize," Connor says. "I don't mean to snap at you. I've been thrown off-balance by this entire experience."

"I get it," Hank says. "You don't need to apologize to me."
Connor doesn't seem convinced of that, but he isn't interested in arguing the point. "As I said, once he realized the attraction he felt wasn't mutual, he didn't push the matter. He seemed..." he takes a moment to

consider his next words. "Frustrated, I might say? Confused?"
"What, he thought he was such hot shit that there's no way you wouldn't be into him?" Hank knows it isn't fair to build this guy Martin into a villain; he sounds careless (and a little pushy, no matter what Connor

says, for going for a kiss with zero discussion beforehand), but not like a complete asshole. Still, it's easy to think poorly of him in the moment, when Connor seems so shaken by the experience. He's not sure what part of it has him so worked up.
"It wasn't that, I don't think.

He may be a bit overconfident, but it wasn't that he thought he was irresistible." Connor tugs on a loose thread from the hem of his shirt. "He said I've been flirting with him since we met. He couldn't understand why I wasn't interested when I've been 'coming on to him nonstop,'

to quote him directly. His conclusion was that I was leading him on deliberately."
"That doesn't sound like you."
"It's not!" Connor's hands are two tight fists on his thighs. "But it makes me second-guess every interaction I've had with him. Every conversation in which I thought

I was being friendly, showing my interest in him as a person. Every attempt to get to know him better, to ask about his interests and opinions. How did I do it so wrong that he interpreted all of this in a way I didn't intend?"
"Some people will see what they want to see,"

Hank says. "It doesn't mean you did anything wrong. Probably if you had all those same conversations with someone who wasn't attracted to you, they wouldn't think anything of it at all, beyond, you know. Thinking you're a sweet guy."
"Perhaps not," Connor says, quietly.

"I'm realizing that now. Maybe a person's reaction to me has more to do with their feelings for me than with how I act around them."
"That's what it sounds like," Hank says. "This guy was too into you to pay attention to the signals you were sending. He saw what he wanted to

see, instead."
"Or what he thought he should see," Connor replies, finally turning to face Hank.
"Same thing, right?"
"It's not," Connor says. "Not for everyone, I don't think."
"Anyway," Hank says, taking another drink so he has an excuse to avoid Connor's suddenly very intent

gaze, "it sounds like a rough night. I'm sorry that you didn't get to meet Martin's cats or just hang out with him and have a good time. And shit, I'm sorry he didn't ask before he tried to kiss you."
Connor makes a small, non-committal noise. "I don't mean to make a larger issue

of this than it needs to be."
"It's okay to be upset about this. I get that this wasn't a date, not for you, but if you do have a bad date, it sucks! It sucks to have a bad hangout that's secretly a date, too."
"I'm more worried about how my words and actions were misinterpreted

than anything else," Connor admits. "It makes me wonder--"
There's a long pause, during which Hank can't hear anything but Sumo's soft, wheezing snore from the other side of the room. Connor sits frozen in place, eyes wide, as if he's said something he didn't mean to say at all.

"What is it?" Hank asks. It's none of his business, he's sure. If Connor brushes him off, he won't ask again; he doesn't want to push him more than that, not tonight, but--
But something about the way he said those few words made Hank feel like he has to know.

"Hank," Connor says, voice small and cautious. He pulls his feet up onto the couch, turning his entire body to face him. "Do you--" He closes his eyes, and takes another deep breath, waiting a moment to let it do whatever it does to him. "When I flirt with you, do you not respond

because you aren't interested in me that way? Or is it because you haven't noticed that I'm doing it at all?"
"When you--" Hank's frozen in place, trying to parse the questions Connor's asking. "When you do what?" Which is, he'll realize later, a crystal-clear answer on its own.

"When I flirt with you, Hank." Connor leans forward, eyes searching Hank's face for an answer. "When I try to show you that I find you attractive. That I'm interested in a relationship with you."
"You, uh." Hank's blood roars in his ears. He knows his hands are resting on his

thighs, but he can't feel them. His tongue is heavy in his mouth; he tries to respond and can't quite find the shape of any of the words welling up in his mind.
"I must not be any good at it," Connor says ruefully, "if you're this taken aback by the idea. Or am I that unappealing

as a partner?"
The small flicker of hope in Connor's eyes fades with Hank's continued silence, and he sighs and leans away, tucking himself back into the far corner of the couch.
"I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable with my earlier actions, or with this conversation,"

he says, rising to leave. "I won't bring it up again."
"No, shit, hold on," Hank gasps, finally able to find his voice. He stands and places his hand on Connor's forearm, not a grip to hold him in place but an offering, a request to stay. "Please. I'm just--yeah, I'm surprised,

but I'm not--please," he says again. "Let's talk about this."
"I was trying to," Connor says. His eyes are wet with tears, and one slips down his cheek as he tentatively turns back to face Hank. "It won't work if you won't talk to me."
"You caught me off-guard," Hank protests.

He reaches out, slowly enough to give Connor a chance to move away if he wants to, and brushes the tear off his cheek with his thumb. Connor's eyes flutter shut, and Hank can't help but cup the side of his face in his palm, fingertips grazing the underside of his jaw as he pulls

his hand away. "It's taken a moment to sink in. If it isn't obvious, I, uh. I didn't notice it. The flirting."
Connor allows himself to be led back to the couch; he sinks down next to Hank, regarding him warily. "None of my compliments gave you a clue? None of the times I touched

you unnecessarily?"
The truth is that Hank had wondered, at one point, if Connor knew how some of his behavior might be interpreted. If there was some element of interest behind it. But those thoughts had been followed immediately by his own self-doubt--a much louder voice than

the one that had wondered, from time to time, if Connor could ever return Hank's affection--which drowned out those brief moments of possibility with a flood of reminders that Hank was too old, too washed-up, too undeserving, too pathetic for someone like Connor to be interested

in him that way.
"Well, we're friends, aren't we? Friends say nice shit to each other all the time. And I figured you're, you know, kind of a touchy guy. You told me that first time I hugged you that no one had touched you before, right? Not like that." Hank's still haunted by

the memory of how he'd added to the number of humans who'd touched Connor in anger, within twelve hours of meeting him. How could he deserve to be with him, after that? "So it stands to reason that you'd be the kind of person trying to make up for lost time, being kind of touchy

like that. Like Ben, you know?"
"Ben pats everyone on the back, Hank. He touches everyone's forearm when talking to them." Connor looks at Hank expectantly, waiting for him to draw a conclusion he isn't coming to. "Have you ever seen me touch anyone else the way I touch you?"

"Well sure, I--" Hank casts his mind back, certain he'll be able to pull out memories of Connor standing close to other people, touching their arms or shoulders while laughing, walking so close their hips bump from time to time, and...
"Huh."
There's nothing.

"I thought I was being obvious," Connor says, quietly. "I thought perhaps you were uncomfortable with the idea of rejecting me directly, or that you were too kind to acknowledge my attempts at showing how I felt, since you didn't reciprocate my feelings."
"Wait, that's not--"

"But now I wonder," Connor presses on, smoothly interrupting Hank's protest, "if I wasn't obvious enough at all. If perhaps I was fighting the entire time against your own reluctance to see yourself as worthy of affection from others."
"It was easy enough to explain away," Hank

admits. "Easier than believing you wanted me."
Connor tugs at his stolen t-shirt. "I wear your clothing around the house as often as I can! Multiple sources assured me that humans find this arousing, especially if the stolen clothing is too large. Have you not noticed at all?"

"I noticed," Hank says, face burning. "I just didn't think you meant it like that."
"Let me guess," Connor says. "You told yourself that I was wearing your old clothes because they were worn-in and comfortable, and because they were some of the first articles of clothing I had

that weren't my Cyberlife uniform."
"It's annoying when you're right all the time, you know that?"
"I don't think it is," Connor says. He leans towards Hank, so close now that their knees touch. "I think you like it."
"I do," Hank breathes, reverently. "You know I do. Come here."

He pats his chest, and Connor responds immediately, tucking himself against Hank's side and leaning his head on his shoulder. He settles his hand over Hank's, pressing it into his chest enough that Hank can feel the frantic thump of his racing heart.
"I'm sorry I didn't notice,"

Hank murmurs, wrapping his arm around Connor's shoulders. "It wasn't that I wasn't interested, and it wasn't that you weren't flirting hard enough. I just couldn't let myself hope you'd want me like that. It would have hurt too much when it didn't pan out."
"I don't want to hurt

you. I want to be able to be close to you like this."
"I'm here," Hank says. "You stay like this as long as you want."
They should talk about this more, he thinks. About just what it is that Connor wants from him. What he thinks Hank can provide. Hank knows, though, that he'll do

what he can to give Connor whatever he wants. All he needs to do is tell Connor yes when he asks; he's happy to hold Connor close and pet his hair for now, instead of ironing out all the details.
Connor seems to feel the same way; they both fall silent for a minute, soaking in

each other's warmth. Connor slides his fingers in between Hank's, holding his hand over the rush of his heart.
A thought occurs to Hank, then. "You weren't just upset because you didn't want to be on a date with Martin," he says. "It upset you when I called it a date because you

wanted to be on a date with me."
"I did."
"And if you thought I was too chickenshit to turn you down, it must have felt like a real shitty move on my part."
"I hoped you wouldn't be so cruel. I don't think I truly believed you could be. But it hurt, still." Connor reaches up and

tugs Hank's beard gently. "Before you apologize, I know you didn't intend any of it." He combs his fingers through the coarse hair. "It's all right, because now I can do this."
"What," Hank snorts, "pet my beard? That's what you've been thinking about?"
"I've thought about a lot

of things." Connor licks his lips. "First, though--it's proper to ask for what I want, isn't it?"
"You don't need to," Hank says. "There's just one answer I want to give you."
"I want to hear you say it."
"So ask."
"Hank." Connor tugs his beard again, guiding him closer.