Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hank trudges into the dark house. This is the worst part when he comes home, when he comes home to nothing. No sound wafts from the living room. The lights are all turned off and the only light Hank can see comes from the cars slowly driving by outside. Sumo is somewhere—but even he isn't enough to warm Hank's broken heart.

It's been years. Years. Hank still mourns the loss of his child. He doesn't think he'll ever overcome it, the pain that wraps around his heart like barbed wire. It squeezes so tightly he can barely breathe. It would be easier to just move, to forget about the forgotten rooms that exist in perpetual darkness. To forget about the staircase that used to squeak and whine with excited feet. 

It's too damn much nowadays. A home too big for a soul too small. Hank finds himself in the kitchen. He's at his bar and pours himself a glass of whiskey. He pours another. And another. He can't remember the last time he ate but honestly, he'll count that as a good thing. Tonight he'll either grab the gun or just pass out in the living room like he does most nights. He thinks about killing himself more than he should, but thinking about it and doing it are two separate things. Hank wants to die. But putting a gun to his head can be so damn hard.

He shoves himself down into the sofa and grabs his computer. His head's swimming, so that's nice. A house too quiet. He turns on music. A house too dark. He turns on the television. A house too empty. He looks at the internet.

He can't keep his eyes open for much longer. He clicks and he clicks and he thinks and he thinks. He sleeps too much. He comes to work late. He doesn't eat well because there's no one to cook for. When he's at work, all he wants is to come back home but when he's home all he wants is to go back to work. At least when he's even getting shot at, the world around him is alive. He's alive. There's something there with him. Hank is just so tired of being alone. His bed is too cold. The sheets are ice that numb his skin. His pillows jaunting and jeering as he holds them tight—desperation penetrating him so deep that he cries. 

He knows tonight will be like that. A night where he finds himself with a tear-soaked pillow as he rolls out of bed to take a piss. He misses life. It's not that he wants death so much as he misses life. It died along with Cole. It left along with his wife. Life has long fled from Hank, and no matter how fast he runs to catch it, it's always just out of arm's reach.

He keeps searching the internet, his mind blurring as the alcohol finally fuels his veins and makes him feel good . Good to forget. Good to just be. He decides to stop looking at social media and dating sites that he never uses. All it does is make him upset. He doesn't want to be upset right now. He's finally on the wave, the one that rocks him back and forth, a quiet warm embrace that he sinks into the chair for. 

He passes out not much longer after that. For at least a second, he almost feels happy.

It's nearly two in the afternoon when someone bangs on Hank's door. He's halfway off the couch, Sumo taking up most of it. His elbow burns from being shoved aginst the carpet all night and there's enough dried saliva in his beard to almost disgust him. He drops his legs off the sofa and rolls beside the coffee table.

“Hold the fuck on, I'm gettin' there!” He mumbles a few additional profanities, scratching at his ass. Half of it is numb. When he opens the door, his eyes flare wide. “What the shit is this?!”

The delivery android smiles at him. “Express shipping! As you requested.”

“As I fuckin'—what the fuck?” Hank then sees the box beside the android. It's taking its little dolly away from beneath the large white box. “Oh no. The fuck you're leaving that tin can here!”

“Are you Hank Anderson?” the android asks.

“What's it to ya?”

“A Hank Anderson, registered to this very address ordered this RK800 model at 11:43PM last night and requested express, next day shipping.”

Hank's eyes couldn't go wider even if he tried. They'd pop out of his head. He looks at the android in the box. Its eyes are closed, lips slightly parted. It would be almost peaceful if Hank didn't want to set it on fire out of pure spite. Except if he ordered this...

“Oh shit.” Hank nearly doubles over. “I don't wanna check my damn bank account.”

“I need you to sign for it please.”

Hank glares up at the android. If looks could kill, Hank would be one hell of a murderer. Yet the android doesn't register his malice for it or its incompetency. It just stands there like some smug bastard and smiles . Androids killed Hank's son—an android with the gall to claim it was a doctor. Cole died all the fucking same. 

“No.”

The LED to the side of the android's face flashes red. “This model has been purchased and taken away from the warehouse. It is unable to return.”

“And why the fuck not?”

The android doesn't even miss a beat. “It's a sexdroid model.”

Hank can feel the blood beating right out of his heart and into his face. “A what!?”

“Please sign here, sir.”

Hank sits at work two days later, his face pressed close to his computer. He traces a fingernail along his lips, pensive.

“What're you looking at?” Gavin Reed peers over Hank's shoulder. Hank isn't even given a chance to respond—or punch the guy. “Return policies for androids?” Gavin looks at Hank's desk and pointedly stares at all the anti-android propaganda.

“I don't want to fucking talk about it.”

Gavin plops down on the side of Hank's desk, an insufferable grin playing at his lips. He's always been a thorn in Hank's side and today Hank feels like doing some gardening to trim away the stems.

“Gavin,” Hank warns in a low growl.

“No-no. This shit is too good. How'd you even end up with an android?”

“Not so fucking loud!”

Gavin looks around at the precinct and shrugs. Chris is out patrolling and Fowler is up in his glass office, pacing and looking as mean as always. But that doesn't mean there aren't others that could just pass by Hank's desk without so much as a pin dropping.. Hank has worked very hard for his reputation, whether it be out of pure stubborn obstinance or the mountain that crushes him every day that goes by where he can't bring himself to smile or even do his own laundry.

Hank has forgotten what it's like to just smile.

“Get out of here,” Hank says.

“Okay. Have fun banging your sexbot.”

Hank bristles, his large hands tensing into fists.

“So,” someone says as Hank is nearly two inches from the guts of a bloodied corpse. “You got yourself an android, huh?”

Hank will eventually go to prison. He'll go to prison for murdering Gavin Reed. He leans back, taking off his white gloves. “God damn it not you too, Ben.”

Ben Collins stands above him, smug and large. His wide face is smiling and there's no genuine malice there, only playful teasing. Ben is one of the guys Hank can stand to be around. He's patient and for the most part, he doesn't ask questions. Hank likes working with people who don't ask him about his life or how are you doing, can I help you with anything, it hurts this time of year doesn't it ? 

“It's still switched off in my living room. Fucker creeps me out when I go to take a piss at night.”

Ben smirks and steps aside for a crime photographer to take a few snaps of the body before shuffling away to other parts of the scene. “I think it's good, Hank.”

“I bought it when I was drunk. I didn't do it on purpose.”

“Well something in your thick skull told you to buy it. Let it help you.”

“What, wipe my ass? Fuck no. I'd take it back but it's a goddamned sex model. I bought a fucking sex model!” Hank decides to leave out the part that it's anatomically a male android model as well. Though Hank did note that it came with—accessories.

“Hank.” Ben grabs Hank's shoulder and gives him a firm shake. “Just use the damn thing. It's okay to be happy. Your kid would want that for you.”

Ben is one of the rare few that gets to speak about Cole and not get a mouth full of knuckle sandwiches. But that doesn't mean Hank has to like what he's hearing. He can't take the damn machine back no matter how many times he tries to tell CyberLife it was a drunken order. Apparently there's no law against drunk online shopping. But enjoying it? Being happy? Ben knows exactly what he's trying to encourage Hank to do and there's a line that he's toeing quite dangerously.

They don't talk about their lives. That absolutely includes their sex lives. Hank isn't sure he could look Ben in the face ever again after having fucked an android. An android with male anatomy. He'd been drunk and he'd been terribly lonely, but he's not entirely sure why he'd gotten a male model. Sure, there were some moments in college where Hank kissed a few boys but it was never anything serious . He'd married a woman. He had a son. 

Except that doesn't mean a damn thing. Especially in this day and age. Hell, Hank's pretty sure that Ben is even gay. So the embarrassment Hank feels about it is—juvenile. He thinks harder about it, turning back to the corpse in front of him. He's using the android's manufactured genitalia as a way to make another excuse to avoid the damn thing.

Ben pats Hank on the back with a big sigh. “Hank, just live a little. It's time you stopped punishing yourself.”

And as Ben and Hank ordinarily always did, they don't speak about their feelings or the android in Hank's house for the rest of the night.

It's been three weeks since Hank drunk ordered a sexbot online. He's gotten drunk staring at its closed eyes. He's taken note of how soft its damn lashes look and how supple its skin—fuck.

Hank takes a swig of his whiskey and pops open one of the panels to begin letting the android out. If anything, Hank could just order it into the street and get run over. He was at least sober enough not to purchase any kind of warranty but the standard manufacturer warranty. If he set the thing on fire, he could just claim it was an accident too. Or instead of being dramatic, he could just deactivate it and dump it into a landfill. 

He doesn't even have to activate it. He could just take it to the landfill right now. While his car may be a four-door sedan, he could still tie it up on the roof. If it fell out, no harm no foul. But then he looks at its lashes again, its pouted lips.

Hank takes a step closer to it and removes the plastic in front of its face. Freckles splash across its skin like landmarks on a map. He reaches out and gingerly stokes one finger along its jaw before pulling back and gagging.

“Fucking tin cans.” Hank drains the rest of his glass of whiskey and goes to help himself to another. He should just dump the thing and be done with it. In fact, that's what he'll do. Long thick lashes or not.

He finishes off his next glass of whiskey and starts hauling the box down the hall. He groans with every tug. Androids aren't heavy, but they're not light either. His heart pumps as fast as it can but its wheezing and just as out of juice as his lungs are. He crumbles to the floor, panting. “God fucking damn it. Titanium frame my ass.” Standing is rough; his joints pop and his spine cracks. He misses being younger. He could jump up without a wince of the eye or look in a mirror and not wonder how the fuck he got so old.

Where did his life go? Could he have stopped all this? Maybe if he'd been a better husband. A smarter father. A kinder person. He presses himself against the wall and wraps his arms around himself. He's overweight. His hair is unruly. His beard unkempt. He's been so afraid of ever letting in anyone else that he's encased himself in his own tomb. Life didn't leave him. He left life.

A self-fulfilling prophecy. That's all Hank's ever been. His life became sad, so he became sad and he made sure he was nothing but ever again. He looks up at the android with its peaceful expression and slender shoulders. He wears a white outfit like most androids, but on the back of the box it says in big red words CLOTHING OPTIONAL. At least Hank had the decency to purchase a clothed android while shitfaced.

“Fuck.” Hank wrings his fingers through his hair. “Fuck!” He slams his head back, eyes misty. Everything he's doing feels like he's shoving a knife into the back of his son's memory. He should never have let this android even linger. He should've thrown it away immediately, cost or not. Except Cole isn't here anymore, and no matter what Hank does, nothing can bring him back. Turning on the android out of sheer curiosity's sake can't change that. And if it could, even if it meant Cole screaming at his father—at least he'd be there.

Hank rips the rest of the box apart and finds the manual tucked safely in the android's hands. He plucks it away and begins reading over the instructions. “Please forgive me, Cole.” He takes in a deep breath and says, “RK800 activate.”

The android opens his eyes to reveal big brown doe-eyes. They lock with Hank and a smile comes to his pink lips. “Hello. I am in setup mode. Would you like to name me or shall I pick a name from my database?”

Hank gawks. “Uh—I don't care.”

“I shall pick a name then.” The android's LED flashes yellow and he blinks erratically. “Hello, my name is Connor. Are you my main user?”

Hank nods, but when he realizes the android doesn't register that he makes an affirmative grunt.

“I need an affirmative, otherwise I cannot progress in the setup.”

“Fuck. Yes—yes I'm your main user.” Already Hank wants to deactivate this thing and hide beneath his bed covers for even thinking about doing this. It's an android, a fucking android and Hank is willingly letting it turn on. 

Turn on...that's an interesting pair of words right now.

“What is your name?”

“Hank Anderson.”

“Hello Hank. Before I enter instillation mode for all my drivers, could you answer a few of my questions?”

Hank wants to die from embarrassment. “Could we just—do this later? I don't—fuck.” Hank walks away and heads to the kitchen. He hears the sounds of feet following him. Feet. Following. Sounds. His heart squeezes.

“It is natural for humans to be reserved when initializing me. Rest assured, I am equipped with the most advanced levels of security for your privacy. I will never reveal what we do together to anyone. I am programmed to exercise the utmost levels of secrecy.”

“And what if I just want to beat you, huh? What then?” He doesn't, but Hank's always wondered what levels of torture some androids go through so humans can get their nasty rocks off.

“I am programmed to exercise the utmost levels of secrecy,” the android says again—Connor—says again.

“So I could rip you to pieces and you wouldn't do a damn thing about it.”

Connor blinks, his LED flashing red. It resumes its ordinary blue hue and he says, “I am still in setup mode. Please answer the following questions and then I can install the necessary drives for our companionship.”

“Hang on. Hold the fuck on. We're not companions, or whatever. You're just, there.” 

“On a scale of one to ten, please rate how sexually advantageous you are?” Connor completely ignores Hank's attempt at not letting this go any further than it already has. Hank's never noticed in all his dislike of androids, that he fears them too. Being near Connor makes his heart pound and his fingers shake. It's unnerving to watch Connor stare at him like he's about to eat him.

Hank takes a step back. “Uh, dunno. Four?” Hank hasn't exactly gotten any since his wife left. The only sexually advantageous activity he's had is his hand in the shower.

“How many humans live in this home?”

“Just me.”

“What is your marital status?”

“Single.”

“What do you want most out of a companion?”

“No. You're not getting that. Fuck all of this.” Hank turns back toward the alcohol and helps himself to another glass. He's not trying to get drunk, maybe just tipsy. At least if he's slightly inebriated he can blame all his future mistakes on that. Opening this damn android though, that was all sober-Hank and sober-Hank has made some serious mistakes tonight.

“What was your reasoning for purchasing an RK800 model, Hank?”

“I was drunk and didn't know I did.”

Connor's brows twitch. “Would you describe yourself as lonely?”

“Jesus. Turn off or something.” Hank tries to turn away, but Connor steps close and holds Hank by the wrist. Hank's so taken aback that he just stares into big brown eyes.

“The sooner you answer my questions, Hank, the sooner I can download the necessary drivers to—”

“Yeah-yeah, companions and all that bullshit.”

“What do you want most out of a companion?”

Hank's shoulders deflate. Connor is still holding his wrist. He leans back into the bar and sighs, all the fight leaving him. He did this to himself. He could've just given the android to Gavin for all he cares. But he'd opened it, which means there's a reason. He's lied to himself enough through the years. He could stop now.

“Honesty. Appreciation. Sound?”

“Like singing?” Connor tilts his head to the side.

“Maybe. I just mean—I don't wanna come home to a dark and empty house. I miss—I miss, shit. I dunno. I guess if you like me then that's really all I give a shit about.”

Connor's LED winks yellow a few times. “What was your reasoning for purchasing an RK800 model, Hank?”

“I told you. I was drunk.”

“Why were you drunk?”

“Because I didn't want to be alone.” Hank can't stomach the idea of saying lonely right now. It sounds too much like a pathetic confession and he's not ready for that. He's already spewed his soul out enough tonight. He just wants to pick it off the ground and drink himself to sleep. 

“Installing drivers. This could take a few minutes. Please do not power me off during instillation.” Connor's eyes roll back in his head and his LED flickers again. 

Hank watches, one part shocked and two parts curious.

Connor's eyes snap open and he smiles at Hank in the most unnerving way. “Do you want dinner? I could make you some.”

“Just—go sit on the couch or something.”

Connor doesn't move, which sends a warning chill down Hank's spine. He looks over at his knives and wonders how fast an android can glitch to the point of murdering its owner.

“Did you hear me?” Hank asks with a voice surprisingly calm for how nervous he's become.

“I did. But I don't think that's what you want me to do.”

Hank squints his eyes. He's always been under the impression that androids listened to everything humans said. To see one challenging him now, it didn't scare him—but it did something. Because he waited for Connor to keep speaking.

“Upon initial setup, you said you wanted sound. If I make you dinner, I provide you sound.”

“Look, don't take this the wrong way. Or maybe, you know what, I don't even care. Take it however you want. I turned you on because I was curious. I don't plan on using you for anything. Go play in traffic for all I care. That'll give me a nice crunching sound to hear.” He laughs at his own joke.

Connor doesn't laugh. Instead, he steps toward Hank, looking up with those doe-eyes and lashes dark as coal. Hank can't help but start counting the freckles that splay across Connor's face. Of course he's beautiful. All sexbots are beautiful. That's the whole allure of them. Pay absurd amounts of money, get pretty androids that just want to feed you lies about how lucky they are to be with you as you fuck them into the mattress with boring missionary sex.

Fuck that life. Hank won't do it. Happy or not, it's all just a lie. This thing in front of him is a machine and no machine is going to make Hank feel as alive as the moment he held his own son.

“You bought me, Hank. There was a reason.” Connor steps aside and moves over to the refrigerator.

Hank watches in stunned silence as Connor begins pulling out food to make a meal. Hank even sits down at the table, sipping a beer that Connor gets for him.

“Tell me how your day went,” Connor says.

“No.” Hank looks up to see if that made the android bristle, but all he sees is a calm, unreadable face.

He closes his eyes. He can hear a knife cutting into vegetables. It's rhythmic chop chop chop fills the air with movement and life. The soft hum of someone working in the kitchen. The pitter-patter of feet. Hank's lip quivers. He could almost pretend that Connor is something other than a machine. That he's something that matters. It's with sudden realization that Hank realizes he doesn't refer to Connor as an it . He's a he . Hank doesn't know what to make of that.

He doesn't say anything. Neither does Connor. But hearing that hum?

Hank's eyes fill with tears.

When Hank comes home, Connor has a few of the lights on and he's in the kitchen scrubbing out the fridge. “What the fuck?” Hank has no time for greetings when he sees an android half inside his refrigerator with bleach and a scrubby.

“You had a lot of spills. I decided to clean them.”

“Is that part of your function?”

“My function is to care for you, Hank. Your home is dirty and neglected.”

“When you say it like that, I almost care.” Hank drops his jacket in the entry to the kitchen just to see if he can piss off Connor. “But alas, I don't.” He spins on his heel and plops down on the couch in the living room.

When he reaches out to pet Sumo, he feels silken hair instead of the dog's coarse texture. He looks over, his brow furrowed. Sumo smells like oatmeal and his fur isn't shedding as badly as it usually does.

“I gave him a bath.”

Hank looks over his shoulder at Connor and grimaces. “You wash my underwear too?”

“Do you need me to?”

There's a long, uncomfortable silence as Hank contemplates the sincerity of Connor's voice or not. He actually wouldn't be opposed to Connor doing the laundry. Hank hates laundry. Ultimately, he rolls his eyes and says, “Stay away from my underwear.”

“You know I'm specifically designed for sexual intercourse, yes?”

Hank is more than fully aware of that. He saw the damn manual. And the accessories . But that doesn't mean Hank's ready to dive into that rabbit hole yet. Having Connor around could be worse. There's a busyness in the house that wasn't there when it was just Hank and Sumo. A crowded feeling that holds Hank instead of suffocates.

“Do you have any interest in letting me perform oral on you, Hank?”

“What?” Hank nearly jumps out of his skin. After the initial shock settles, he's left with his pulse pounding in his ear and heat swelling in his belly. Is he really that weak? Is it that easy for him to cave on every moral he thought he had? Was hating androids morality, or was it just cruel? Connor had nothing to do with Cole's death. Connor hadn't even been built yet. But there's a maze that Hank finds himself in, one he can't make heads or tails of. He runs and he runs but he can never figure out how to get away. His disdain for androids and himself have become living creatures that move the maze around and keep him trapped. He wants someone to kiss him. He wouldn't mind Connor blowing him. But he can't. 

“I want you to go away.”

Connor stands in the doorway for a few beats longer, his face disgruntled. He shows more emotion than most androids that Hank's ever interacted with. But different models do different things, he supposes. Then Connor storms out of the room and proceeds to wash the dishes with excessive vigor. They clack and crash into each other. Connor practically tosses the dishes into the drying rack.

Hank winces each time he hears what sounds like a plate crashing on the floor. He'd asked for sound. Now he gets a passive aggressive android. Great.

The next night, Hank's watching the nightly news. It's mostly the same story played over and over again. The crime Hank's investigating makes the news and more and more “friends of the victim” are interviewed. Hank knows enough about the guy to know he didn't have many friends. What drives a person to lie and pretend like they cared about someone when they truthfully didn't? Just to be on TV? Is it really that worth it?

Connor is sitting on the other side of the couch. He's staring off into a corner, his eyes glassy. The TV reflects off them, but he hardly even blinks.

Hank kicks him and watches the LED go red. Connor looks to Hank, blinking furiously now. “You creep me out.”

Connor's lips part and instead of anger, there's a flash of something that Hank hates to see in others. He'd never thought he'd feel his heart tug for an android—but here they are. Connor looks sad, and Hank feels guilty.

“I just mean, blink, ya know? Just blink.”

“Sorry. I was transferring data.”

“I thought what we do is confidential.”

“It is. But that doesn't mean I can't share data with other androids to learn how to avoid bugs, crashes or otherwise improve performance. I don't tell anyone that you bought a sexbot simply to insult it.”

“You think I'm insulting you?” There's a smirk in the corner of Hank's lips.

Connor reaches down and pats Sumo on the head. “I prefer the dog's company to yours.”

Hank doesn't expect the ice that sneaks beneath his skin. He looks at his knees to give him something else to do other than look at Connor. He supposes he could just look at the TV again, but the feeling of sandbags weigh his head down. “Then why don't you leave?”

Everyone else does . 

Connor blinks, his glare melting away into something more innocent—open. Hank doesn't know how Connor thinks. He doesn't understand how Connor even operates, except that he does. But Connor's face is vibrant with minute expressions, tiny little twitches that make Hank more confused about Connor's existence than he should.

Connor is an android. There's nothing human about him at all.

“I'm gonna go take a shower.” Hank stands up and pops his back, groaning. “You can turn off the TV.”

“Hank?”

For no rhyme or reason, Hank stops. Connor's voice is pitched and when he turns around, there's that open innocence displayed on that beautiful face. That fucking beautiful face. He doesn't speak, he's too proud to do that. But he can at least wait and hear what Connor has to say. 

“You bought me for a reason.”

“Yeah. It was a mistake.”

Hank leaves the room.

Hank's about finished typing up a report from a domestic violence incident he had to help cover for when Ben sits across from him at an empty desk. Not many want to be this close to Hank, and Hank likes it that way. He looks up at his awards with the years that get further and further away from him. He sees the faces of police officers he knows to be dead now. Dead because the world is a cruel place and death does not discriminate.

“What?” Hank grumbles out.

“The android. How's it been working for you?”

Hank's eyes narrow. “I haven't used it.” He goes back to typing his report. The sound of the keyboard relaxes him. He doesn't think about Connor's pretty pink lips or the mole on his cheekbone. He doesn't think about the way Connor had casually asked to blow him or how Hank's body initially reacted. No, he doesn't think about any of that at all.

He's lying to himself.

“Why not?” Ben leans in closer to avoid anyone hearing. At least he has manners, unlike Gavin. Where Ben is considerate, Gavin is invasive. They're opposite sides to the same stone. They want to make the world a better place, but for the wrong reasons. Ben wants to help people. Gavin just likes the control.

“Because, Ben—it's a fucking android.”

Ben cocks a brow.

“Jesus. It's just—it's creepy okay. It stares off like it's possessed and it doesn't even listen to me half the time. I'm more convinced it's gonna kill me in my sleep than fuck me.”

“It's a sexbot, Hank. It's designed to want to have sex with you. Let it.” He stands up, winks and walks away.

Let it. Hank rolls his eyes. Now pissed, he can't focus on the clacking of the keyboard. All he can do is think about the dumb android sitting in his house. What does Connor even do when Hank isn't there? Just clean? Is that even any way to live? Hank snorts to himself. Androids don't live. He settles his fingers back on the keyboard and tries to get his breathing under control. Let Connor have sex with Hank. If only it were so simple.

Gavin comes in with his posse of equally obnoxious cops. Hank can remember the days when he had officers flock to him. The greenhorns wanted his stories and the veterans shook his hand and told him how much they admired his courage. He looks over at his picture with his original team. They'd done great work once. But then they got old. Some died. Hank's world died and yet his body kept going. He can count on one hand how many friends he has and he's not even sure if they even count. It's not like Ben's ever invited Hank over for his kids' birthday parties. So no hands. Hank can count on no hands—how many friends he has.

His shoulders slump forward. Loneliness is a curse because ti's not always apparent it's even there. It lurks in the shadows, stalking and waiting for its chance to strike. When it does, it always rips Hank to pieces. He feels it inside him, scratching and clawing until his eyes are stinging with tears and his toes curl so tight that he's afraid they may snap.

He grabs his things and decides he can't be here anymore. All it does is remind him that there is no one that would care if he walked in tomorrow or not.

Gavin even shouts out an insult to Hank as he walks on by.

The laughter he hears echoes in his mind and drops into the pit of his stomach. It weighs there, a reminder all the way home that no one at the precinct cares. Hank's pushed them all way. That had been his plan all along. Except now he doesn't know why. 

When Hank gets home, his record player is blasting Fleetwood Mac. Stevie Nix's metallic, mesmerizing voice permeates into the walls and the bass lightly trembles the hardwood floors.

Time cast a spell on you but you won't forget me,

I know I could've loved you but you would not let me

Hank hangs up his jacket and proceeds to the kitchen. Connor's got brown paper bags overflowing with food in a multitude of colors. None of them pizza or beer, to Hank's dismay. “What the fuck is all this?”

“You didn't have much left for me to cook with, so I went shopping myself.” 

Hank listens to the fuzzy, warm tones that come from his record player, taking in the sight before him. Connor's dressed in his white outfit but he's got a blue apron on. Something he must've picked up at the store. He's swaying his hips to the music and it's the most effortless thing Hank's ever seen. He's—trying. Trying to find some kind of bridge between them and Hank keeps burning it down. Whether he's programmed to or not, there's a softening in Hank's heart. He can feel the ice melt away, welcoming in soft warmth. Warmth like Stevie Nix's voice, like Connor's hips. The pinkness of his lips.

Shit . 

The song ends and there's a moment of crackling as the record switches songs. Hank thinks this would be a good time to speak but there's a rock lodged in his throat. Connor doesn't seem to mind though, he bobs his head to the next song and assembles a line of zucchini and squash on the cutting board. 

“What—are you making?” It's an easier line of questioning rather than how Hank came to find himself living with an android. One that doesn't seem like the others Hank's ever met. More alive, a quiet fire burning inside him. Hank finds himself drawn in instead of repulsed. 

“I'm meal prepping. I want you to go to work with nutritious meals instead of doughnuts or store-bought pizza.” 

“I like pizza.”

“I'll make you some. It'll have cauliflower crust and turkey pepperoni.” 

Hank glares. “You're going to kill me. That what you want? To poison me so you don't have to put up with my shit anymore?” 

Connor smirks, looking over his shoulder at Hank. He winks and Hank's heart fumbles in his chest. “If I wanted to kill you, Hank, I've had plenty of opportunities already.” 

“Androids can't hurt humans.” Hank takes out his gun and aims it at Connor. “You couldn't even defend yourself from his.”

Connor looks at the gun, looks back at his zuchini and puts the knife down. He turns around and walks up to the gun so his forehead is resting against the barrel. “I'm terribly expensive, Hank.”

“I'm aware.” Hank unfortunately had to be laid on his bills because of his drunken mistake. 

There's a defiance in Connor's eyes, some kind of knowing awareness that Hank won't actually shoot. But to prove his point, he reaches up and touches the gun. “Can every android do this?”

Hank's eyes widen. “You're not—supposed to.”

Connor doesn't actually hold the gun. There's a technicality there that gives Hank pause. Androids can't hold guns. But maybe they can touch them. Even so, the fact that Connor walked up to the gun and touched it. That he pressed his head to it. Hank isn't sure if he's terrified of Connor or in awe. It's a teetering line and Hank's afraid he'll fall into the abyss if he thinks too hard about it. 

Connor goes back to the vegetables and begins cutting them up. “Your lunch tomorrow is going to be linguini with sauteed zuccini and squash. I'm using olive oil and not butter. I'll pack you an additional cup of olive oil if it dries a bit overnight. I'm also making you buffalo chicken lettuce wraps. For snacks I've already measured out nuts and an assortment of berries. And for something sweet you have sugar free cool whip.”

Hank wants to swallow the knife Connor's using so he doesn't have to put up with healthy shit. Connor belongs to him, so he could tell him that all this isn't okay. He could end it at any moment. But he lets Connor keep explaining to him the nutritional values of the food and why he's assembled this diet instead of other types. There's something nice about rolling his eyes and complaining. Connor quips right back, but he still goes and retrieves a beer for Hank when Hank crumbles into one of the kitchen chairs. He even pops it open and smiles.

Hank isn't sure what he makes of any of this. Just that he likes Connor around. 

After dinner (a surprisingly delicious Shepard's pie with ground turkey and mashed cauliflower), Hank settles in to watch some nightly television. He's huddled up on one side of the couch, his legs spread wide and a beer in his hands. Connor is just about finished cleaning up the kitchen. The kitchen has never looked so good since Hank's wife left him. And it's not that Hank made her do all the work. They actually had worked as a team. They'd alternate who put the dishes in the dishwasher and who would rinse them. Who would mop. Clean out the refrigerator. But all that fell by the wayside when it was just one person and Hank couldn't share a good conversation with anyone. It became a lonesome reminder that he'd lost his whole family. So Hank just stopped cleaning. 

Connor sits on the other side of the sofa. He's holding his own manual and Hank notices with some uncomfortable clarity that he's only wearing a large shirt that exposes soft, supple thighs. 

“That's my shirt.”

“Mine's dirty. I'm washing it.” Connor hands the manual to Hank. Well, it's more like he drops it into Hank's lap and looks expectantly at Hank with those big doe eyes. 

“Are all sexdroids as annoying as you?”

Connor smiles pleasantly. “I'm a newer model.” 

Hank sighs and begrudgingly looks down at the manual. He scans the index: setup, battery life, recharging ports, memory capacity, accessories . He hates that he finds himself flipping to that page. He hates it even more when Connor scoots closer. “Could you not breathe down my neck?”

“I don't breathe, Hank. Unless you want me to simulate breathing for your comfort.”

Hank bristles. “Just, sit a cushion over from me.” 

Connor frowns but he puts distance between them.

Hank reads over the amount of accessories and their functions. Connor's body is built to release genitalia and its easy “snap in function” allows Hank to switch out the parts “for his pleasure.” He wants to groan. “Why're you making me read this?”

“Because my primary function is to be a romantic companion to you. And I can only assess that the reason it isn't working is because my parts are wrong. I come standard with a penis, but you may elect to switch in a vagina instead. I can even have breasts.” 

“Jesus, stop! I don't want you—wearing boobs.” Hank's face heats up. Connor's built with androgyny in mind. His waist is slim, his hips wide. Lips—God those fucking lips. Make him change his hair and slap some makeup on and it'd be entirely unnoticeable that he was built on a male model once. 

“Would you prefer me to have a vagina? I noticed you were married to a woman once.” 

Anger coils beneath Hank's skin. It's one thing to have Connor exist in the same space, and Hank won't deny that he likes having someone around, but Connor prying into his life is absolutely unacceptable. “Don't you go looking into my things ever again.”

Connor's LED flashes yellow. “Yes, Hank.” There's something automatic about it. Connor's voice, usually full of life, is now clipped. Machine-like. 

Hank's surprised to feel disappointment. Connor is an android. No amount of lying to himself is going to make that change. Hank bought a damn android because was fucking lonely and now he's looking over what parts it can put into itself. 

“I don't wanna have this conversation.” Hank shoves the manual back at Connor and bundles into himself. He leans into the arm of the couch and stares ahead at the TV. 

Connor sighs, something that Hank wants to bite back at him with an, “I thought you didn't breathe,” but he doesn't. He doesn't want to encourage Connor and nor does he want to keep looking at his pretty face and those damn freckles. 

Connor stands up and sets the manual beside the record player. “I hope you don't mind me playing records. I really like them.” 

Hank watches the way Connor's fingers caress the sides of the albums. There's something lonely in that. Connor can't fulfill his purpose, so he resorts to finding attachment to something else. Hank is hurting him too. His stomach squeezes, but he's too proud to say anything else. So when he doesn't answer, Connor turns around, his eyes glassy.

“I won't touch them anymore.” 

“N-no. Connor, of course you can use the records.” His heart hurts. The only thing he can give Connor is that record player, and he can't stomach the thought of Connor feeling alone without it. Hank knows what it's like to feel alone. Android or not, he doesn't want Connor to feel the same.

Connor doesn't smile. He blinks tears from his eyes and leaves the room. 

Hank, sighing heavily, rolls his head back and stares up at the ceiling fan. Connor's behavior isn't like any old android. He's a newer model, apparently, and Hank thinks there's something to that. But Connor acts less like something that wants to just fuck its master into oblivion and more like something that wants to care for another. 

Hank follows after where Connor ran off to. He finds him upstairs in Hank's room. He's huddled in a corner and his manual is pressed to his chest. Saline tears still caress his cheeks and it's enough to make Hank's heart tug forward to him. There's a little string that wraps itself around Connor. It's found it's way around Hank and it gets shorter and shorter by the minute. 

Hank knees in front of Connor. He doesn't know what to say. There's a gap between them. Connor isn't human. Some barely even register him as alive. Hank doesn't know what he registers Connor as except as his responsibility. 

“Why won't you let me perform my function?” Connor asks, voice cracking. 

Hank falls the rest of the way to the floor. He looks away, knowing his cheeks are pink. Performing a function sounds a hell of a lot less sexy than making love, fucking, banging, doing it—Hank could make a list of stupid ways to call sex that sound better than performing a function. But he doesn't comment on it. Connor is wiping tears away with his hands and they tremble. 

Hank reaches out and takes Connor's hands in his own. They're soft and small. Hank folds his fingers over Connor's and tries to offer some kind of smile, but it's more of an uncomfortable grimace. 

Connor just looks at him with shiny brown eyes, his brows arched, framing hope in his features. 

“It's not that I don't want to—I think.” Hank looks away. He can't look at Connor while he explains this. “I lost my whole family, okay? I haven't been with anyone else since my ex-wife and I don't know how.”

“I can teach you.” 

“No—not that. I know how to do—that.” There's a mountain of embarrassment that piles onto Hank's chest. “What I mean is, I'm not ready for that. It wouldn't be fair to you to just—use you like that.”

“But that's exactly what I'm designed for. To be used by you.”

Hank can hear his heart shatter. It falls from him in a wail. Androids aren't people because people don't let them be people. They're machines because they were designed to be machines. No one let them look at their own greatness and decide who they are.

Connor sits here, crumpled up into himself, crying, because he feels he's defective from Hank's lack of sexual interest when humans are so much more complex than that. And no one let Connor understand that because they never wanted him to question human motives. Because he was designed to be used . It pisses Hank off. 

“Connor—look.” Hank puts his hand on Connor's shoulder. “I'm not gonna use you. You're supposed to be a,” Hank feels like he's vastly over his head now, “companion too, right?”

Connor nods and wipes at his nose. It's flushed blue from crying. 

“So let's just start there.”

“I don't understand.” 

Of course he doesn't. Hank wants to walk into CyberLife and have a talk with whoever decided to design the androids made for sex. “I mean, let's get to know each other? I can't just put out on the first date.”

Connor blinks, his eyes rounding. “Oh! You want to be courted!” 

Hank rolls his eyes, but there's a tired grin on his face. It surprises him because it feels so foreign, the upturn of his lips. “Sure, Connor. I want to be courted.” 

Connor stands up, an excited jitter in his limbs. He whirls around and says, “What kind of dates do you like? Wining and dining? Romantic walks in the park? We could take Sumo!” 

Hank leans against the wall where Connor had been. He's got his hand slung over his knee, letting it dangle in the air. Connor's excitement fills the room and makes Hank feel hazy. Like he's swaddled in soft blankets and warm. A tiredness seeps into his bones, but it's not the kind that leaves him drained and emotionally vacant. It's relaxing and lets him lean back against the wall. He could drift off to sleep and he'd be happy about it. 

“Hank? Are you listening?” Connor crouches in front of him, a hand pressed to Hank's chest.

They both realize it because Connor snaps his hand back like he'd been burned and Hank's heart flutters. 

“Let's take a walk in the park when I get home tomorrow?” Hank suggests.

Connor smiles, his soft lips plush and so kissable it physically hurts Hank to not lean forward and just let himself indulge. But he can't use Connor. He won't let him be just another android blissfully ignorant of the horrors that happen to him. There won't be horrors that happen to Connor. 

Hank may not really like androids. They're mostly creepy and they've absolutely causing an employment market crash that Hank dislikes with the ever-rising cost of health insurance, but Connor's alright. 

The first thing Hank does when he gets home from work the following day is find clothes for Connor to wear other than his sterile white uniform. Hank doesn't have much in by way of clothing, but he does at least have sweatpants that he can't fit into anymore and a soft Henley. 

Connor looks comfortable, and best of all, not like an obvious android. His LED is a dead giveaway of course, but Hank doesn't want anyone staring at him for walking along side an RK800 and know what his primary function is. 

When they make their way to the park, Connor stays close, ducking his head when people walk by and greet them. He grabs Hank's arm a few times but the further they get into the park, the more the trees show off their vibrancy. A gentle fire burns the canopies above them. The sun trickles in between with rays that collect the last of lingering insects. When the sun hits Connor's eyes, Hank swears he can see flecks of amber gold in them. 

Hank keeps hold of Sumo's leash to give himself something to be occupied by, but watching Connor is admittedly far more entertaining. Connor ventures away from Hank. He touches the bark of trees, the smooth iron of park bench frames. He even chases after a group of pigeons that hoot in awkward rhythm as they all take to the sky. 

Sumo barks, tugging a bit on his leash when the birds take flight. Hank holds the leash tightly, stumbling in his pace just a bit as the large dog tries to lunge forward but eventually becomes distracted by a scent in the grass. 

Connor walks back over, a blissful smile on his face. He gets close to Hank, close enough that Hank fears he'll kiss him, but then it never happens and Hank's left feeling disappointed. Connor simply touches Hank's chest, blinks up at him with those caramel eyes and spins away to investigate fallen leaves. 

“You've never been outside before, have you?” Hank asks.

“I've never been anywhere but your home, Hank. Well, CyberLife. But I was born there.”

Hank finds it interesting that Connor says born and not assembled . 

“What do you think of being outside?” 

“I knew what it looked like.” Connor furrows his brows. “CyberLife uploads all the information we'll need to function in the world. But experiencing it is certainly different. There's so much to touch.” He lets his fingers graze along the rough bark of a maple tree with vibrant red hues. Flecks of sunlight come through the leaves, dotting Connor's face in what looks like gold—shimmering and eternal. Hank gets it now, why people fall in love with androids instead of humans. He used to think those people were sorry saps that couldn't find a human. And maybe Hank can't find a human, so maybe that makes him one of those sorry saps. But he gets it now. 

Connor looks at Hank from the corner of his eye, his lips upturned. He reaches out and wraps an arm around Hank's, resting his chin on Hank's shoulder. “Does this bother you?” 

Hank thinks about it for a moment. “No. It's fine.” 

“I've never touched a person before.” Connor rubs his face against Hank's shoulder. “We don't feel that different.” 

Hank chuckles under his breath. He does notice he gets a bit more paranoid about running into anyone he knows, but Hank doesn't know that many people. Guys from the precinct don't exactly take fall strolls in the park, though they may patrol it. He tries to remember he's doing this for Connor. Because Connor's never touched a person before. He's never been outside before. If that doesn't make Hank feel soft for the guy, then Hank doesn't have a heart. 

Which he knows, as he's become uncomfortably aware of as of late, that he does. 

Connor plops onto the couch beside Hank. He nearly knocks Hank's beer from his hand, which would've absolutely led to some choice words from Hank, but Connor delicately steadies it before it sloshes over. 

“Impressive,” Hank says. 

“I made a list of ideas for me to court you. From my research, we're to have sex on the third date.”

Hank chokes on his beer. He wipes the alcohol from his beard and places his bottle on the coffee table. “C-Connor that's—I mean we just had our first one.” 

“Exactly. The third one I'm supposed to make it special for you. I made a short list of activities I think would be good for a third date and get you in the mood.” 

Hank wants to die. He wants the Earth to open up, take a giant bite out of his body, and let him die. 

Connor puts the list in Hank's view. “Any you think we should cross out?”

“Fuck horseback riding.” 

Connor takes a pen and strikes through horseback riding. 

Hank can't believe this is happening. He can't seem to make Connor understand that it's not courtship that Hank needs to have sex. It's emotional connectivity, trust, a bond that Hank hasn't had since his ex wife. And that's only part of it. Hank hates himself. He can't love someone else if he hates himself. He's pushed the world away from him so he didn't have to feel the bite when the world abandoned him instead. He made himself unavailable to the point where no one would want him so he didn't have to feel the hurt in his heart when they let him go. Hank's built himself into an impenetrable force of “don't try” that he doesn't even know how to begin taking down his own walls. 

Human or not, Connor looks and talks enough like a human to confuse Hank, and Hank isn't ready for any of that with anyone—even a robot designed to make him want it. 

“What about skydiving?” Connor asks.

Hank contemplates agreeing just so he doesn't have to open the parachute, except then he remembers they don't let you jump without an instructor and they'll definitely open the parachute. “I'm in my fifties, do you honestly think I want to jump out of a plane?”

“Okay. So—play chess in a park?”

It takes a moment for Hank to realize Connor is joking. There's a twist of his lips and his eyes are practically glinting with laugh, laugh, laugh . 

Hank doesn't laugh, but he does snort and roll his eyes, and that seems to please Connor enough. 

“I don't want to just take you to dinner and a movie. It feels superficial. Our third date should be special.” 

A tug in Hank's heart makes him wince. The cruelest joke here is that it is all superficial. Connor's desires for Hank aren't real. He's programmed to want Hank. Someone as pretty as Connor would never want someone as used up as Hank. 

“Why don't we just think about this later?” Hank suggests. “I kinda just wanna get drunk and pass out on the couch.”

Connor's face sours. He looks to his list and then back up at Hank. “We haven't even kissed yet. I just don't want to do this wrong. If we're supposed to get to the third date—we should've kissed tonight.” 

Hank lets a tired, sad smile try to lift up his lips, but it fails miserably. He reaches over to Connor and grabs his loose fitted Henley. Hank's decided Connor really shouldn't wear that white uniform anymore. He looks so much more human when he's got his clavicle just barely peeking out from the collar.

Connor goes pliant, his face flushing blue. His pink tongue darts out and licks across his soft lips.

Hank pauses them, pulling back and searching Connor's eyes. He's always looked into an android's face and saw nothing. But Connor's intensity verges on burning. He takes his thumb and traces over Connor's lips. Soft as velvet and warm. He's solid and real and waiting.

Hank offers another of his pathetic smiles as an apology and gets up to get another beer. There's silence from the living room, something Hank hadn't expected. He's not sure what he expected. Disappointment, more crying about not being able to perform a function . Instead, it's just a buzzing in his ear from years and years of blasting metal music in the car. 

When he comes back, Connor has his legs crossed, his hands folded in his lap. He doesn't look upset, but he doesn't look happy either. There's something—blank—in him. He blinks, he simulates breathing, but it's all so vacant. Methodical. 

“I feel bad that I can't offer you a beer,” Hank says. He's deflecting. 

“I've researched alcohol is an opportunity for socialization, romance and can be a release for sexual inhibitions.” Connor's voice is as blunt as a flatline. “Yet I've seen you become inebriated and you still don't want me.”

Hank feels stupid. He stands like the dumb oaf he is in the middle of his living room and finds great interest in his toes. The nails are all uneven, dried cuticles flaky. Feet aren't exactly attractive to begin with, but he seriously believes his feet were designed more for a hobbit than a human. 

“I told you, we can modify my genitalia and appearance. Do you want something more feminine?”

“No. That's got nothing to do with it.” How does Hank explain himself to an android who hasn't even been alive for more than several week? “I mean, I don't got the most experience with guys but I picked you for a reason, I guess.” 

Connor waits, his brows raised. If a puppy sprouted into an android, that puppy would be Connor. Those big soulful eyes, that youthful face. There's so much it expects and yet all Hank does is let Connor down. 

“I'm not ready to have sex, Connor.” 

“That's why we have three dates.” Connor sounds so sure of himself. His research said so, and so his belief is absolute. 

“I'm older, Connor.” Hank objectively understands that being in his fifties isn't exactly old but he's got silver hair that hangs like a mop around his head, wrinkles around his tired eyes and a gray beard to top it all off. He feels pretty old. Life has exhausted him, asking for so much and then demanding more. He's not sure he'll even make it to old-old. “It's not easy for me.”

“I've read about that too!” He sounds so pleased with himself. “There's medication we can have you take, or I can work on you slow. I'm very patient.” 

Hank hates that Connor's words do get a reaction from his cock. It tingles, a pointed reminder that he's not completely useless between his legs. But it's not enough to make Hank change his mind. He's got—shit to figure out. Lots of shit. And Connor only complicates that shit because now there are expectations that Hank can't explain away. 

Connor is beautiful naivety and brutal ignorance all at once. 

“I need to go lie down.” 

“Do you need me to bring you anything? I ordered you an aromatherapy diffuser. It's still in the garage because I wasn't entirely sure when to tell you. But I think with your current stress levels that it'll be beneficial to you.”

“You're linked to my bank account, aren't you?”

“Yes. Upon initial setup, you consented to using the bank account you purchased me with. If you would like to change that, you must access my settings online. It wasn't expensive. I understand you'd like to be frugal. And you don't make all that much.”

“Wow. Thanks.” Hank flicks his brows up, pursing his lips. 

“I don't mean to be—I apologize.”

Hank sits back down on the couch. He pats Connor on the knee and sighs. He's not upset with Connor at all. He is however, amazed at Connor's cognitive understanding that Hank responded negatively regarding his wages. 

“Do you like me, Hank?” Connor asks as blunt as a hammer to the back of the head.

Hank reels from it for a moment, his mouth flopping open and closed. He runs his fingers through his hair to keep himself busy for at least a moment longer. “Yeah. I like you just fine.” 

“Why haven't we kissed yet then?” 

Hank scoots a bit away from Connor and once more, rubs his fingers through his hair so he can take his time to think. “Humans need more than a three step plan to boning, Connor.” 

“Boning?” Connor's eyes round. “Oh! It's a euphemism!” 

“Yeah, a euphemism. Anyway, I can't just kiss you. You're pretty n' all but, it's not that easy.”

“Emotional connectivity,” Connor says, looking away. “I wondered about you regarding that. You're so closed off to me though.”

Hank grunts out a laugh. “I'm closed off to everyone, kid.” 

Connor brings his fingers to his lips and traces them. Hank is distracted by how delicate his fingers look against lips he knows to be as soft as silk. 

“Okay. I'll reassess my objectives. Thank you for being honest with me, Hank.” 

Hank pats Connor on the shoulder and then heads for bed. It may be a little early, but he's too exhausted from having to explain feelings to Connor. He's too exhausted trying to figure out his own damn feelings for Connor.

Chapter Text

Hank's got a rare weekend off. He doesn't shower the night before and he doesn't get out of bed until around noon thirty (as he likes to call it). He lays in bed staring up at the ceiling. He can't meander into the kitchen with just his boxers on. Connor will probably think he's coming onto him. Their relationship hasn't really—done anything. But at least Hank got it across to Connor that he's not ready for that kind of thing. At least not yet. Or maybe even ever. Hank isn't entirely sure what he's doing with an android.

He eventually rolls out of bed and slips into some pajama pants and an undershirt. His mirror on the closet door is dusty and is in need of a good cleaning, but Hank stares at it all the same. He grabs a hair tie and pulls some of his hair up so it's out of his eyes. He steps closer, looking at the lines that age his face, the way his eyes turn down, the length of his beard. Sighing, he heads into the bathroom and breaks out the razor. He doesn't cut his beard off—no. He's not entirely sure what he'd see beneath it at this point and he doesn't feel he would like it. He does shape it up a bit. Once finished he gives it a few strokes and decides it's good enough.

When he comes out of the bathroom, he smells pancakes.

Connor is already in the kitchen with the record player blasting Aerosmith. He's got a pair of Hank's old—college old—tube socks on. One even has a hole in the big toe. Hank's gaze slides up Connor to see a pair of Hank's boxers rolled up enough to barely show off the beginnings of firm, round android ass. Higher still is just a white undershirt—same as Hank's.

Connor turns around and smiles brightly. He slaps a few pancakes down onto a plate and moves to the fridge to get out the butter and (sugar free) syrup.

Hank's too stunned to comment on the sugar free syrup.

“The pancakes are made with almond flour. I'm trying to watch your carbohydrates.” Connor sits down in one of the kitchen chairs and rests his chin in his palm. He's got a polite smile on his face, his eyes bright.

Hank has a sneaking suspicion Connor is a morning person. Scratch that, Connor is an everything person because he's not a person and doesn't need to sleep like humans. Though he does enter sleep mode to process and transfer data. Maybe it's similar, but he doesn't wake up tired. 

“Can I get you any coffee?”

Hank nods, still processing Connor's ass practically hanging out of plaid boxers. He watches Connor move over to the coffee pot, get up on his toes to reach the mugs. Hank's pretty sure he's having heart palpitations.

Connor brings the coffee over and then goes over to the sink to begin cleaning.

“You know, you could sit with me while I eat?”

Connor stops what he's doing and comes over. He scoots his chair close, his gaze flicking from Hank's food to Hank's face.

It's an uncomfortable feeling, being scrutinized this closely. But there's nothing that Connor sees that he judges wrong; Hank just has to remember that. Connor is programmed to want to be with Hank. Except Hank can't let it happen, even if he wouldn't be opposed to kissing Connor's lips. Loving something that was forced to love you just doesn't sit well with Hank. He cuts into his pancakes instead and tries to ignore Connor's foot rubbing at his ankle.

“I was thinking, if maybe I could take you on another date?” Connor tilts his head to the side. “It's been nearly a month since our last one.”

“Been busy.”

Connor's eyes narrow. “Been avoiding me.”

Hank puts the silverware down harder than he means to. He reaches for his coffee and slugs some back. He's not in the mood to quip with Connor before caffeine hits his system.

Connor gets up and goes over to the record player to change the record over to an album by The Cure. The quick melodies of Just Like Heaven waft into the kitchen and Connor comes back to sit at the kitchen table. 

Show me how you do it
And I promise you I promise that
I'll run away with you

Hank half wonders if Connor can't express his feelings through word, but he figures them out in song. His selection of music is very specific with songs of begging to be given a chance at love. It's frightening, honestly. If Connor can process communication so deep that even Hank isn't sure he understands. Does that make Connor alive? Is he alive, even if he's not alive? This is why Hank shouldn't think before he drinks at least two cups of coffee.

“So second date?” Connor asks. “I saw the Detroit Police Department is having a banquet and I was thinking I could join you.” 

Hank chokes on his coffee. He cups the mug in two hands, tapping his index finger on its rim. “I dunno, Connor. The banquets are kinda boring.” 

“I've never been. I'd like to experience one. Even if it's boring” Connor scoots closer, those big brown eyes pleading. They'll be Hank's downfall. Those pretty flecks of amber. The freckles that pull your attention back to his eyes when you begin to look away. 

“Fine.” The moment the word is out of his mouth, he's already dreading how Gavin will react. Ben will be supportive, but Gavin? What about Captain Fowler? He wipes his sweaty hands on his pajama pants. 

“Would you like to help me with the dishes?” Connor asks. “When you're finished, I mean.” 

Hank has nothing to go on, but there's no damn way that Connor would ask that question without knowing that it used to be a ritual between him and his ex wife. But without any sort of evidence, he has to just assume it's circumstance. “Sure.”

Hank's sitting in the break room. He's waiting on his coffee to finish brewing, which means the coffee pot knows to brew slower so he has to watch it in agony. The cool tones of the room remind him of Connor's LED, which makes him wonder what Connor is up to while he's away. He could text him and ask, but he's worried that's too domestic. 

Ben pulls open the glass door and smiles politely at Hank. 

Hank grunts out a hello. 

“How's the android going?”

“H-it's there.” Hank knows Ben wouldn't care about what gender Connor is designed to look like, but he's not sure how Ben would react to Hank calling Connor anything other than an it . Connor hasn't been an it to Hank since he was activated, but that doesn't mean he'd be recognized as a he to the rest of the world. 

“You should really stop torturing yourself and just have some fun, Hank. Don't think too hard on it.” 

Hank narrows his eyes and grabs his now freshly brewed coffee.

Ben holds up his hands in surrender and gives a shrug. It's the telltale sign that he's finished prying into Hank's life and that they can go about their lives without risking getting Hank pissed off.

Hank takes his coffee to his desk and sees a little e-mail notification in the corner of his computer. He clicks it and up pops an e-mail from Connor. It even has attachments. 

I don't know what to wear to the banquet. These are my options?

Hank clicks open the attachments and groans, knowing Connor still doesn't have any concept of money. He at least knows what Connor is up to now. He's in three different suits in front of a mirror at some department store. Though Hank allows himself to rake his gaze over the outfits. Connor wears suspenders in one. A bow-tie in another. And a skinny tie in the last. Each one he's wearing some kind of color that accents the blue flush of his cheeks nicely, deep or muted colors that draw enough attention to make people look but not stare. He's at least being smart when it comes to that. 

“Who the fuck is that?” Gavin's voice comes barging into Hank's life. “Is that an android? Wait, is that your android?” 

Hank groans. “Could you just not stick your nose in my business?”

“I didn't know you liked cock, Lieutenant!” Gavin pretends like he didn't even hear Hank. He comes closer to the screen and zooms in on Connor's face. “Oh man. Into guys with brown hair, huh? I've been here all along.” He winks at Hank, but it's not like the way Connor had winked once. There's malice in the gesture whereas Connor had been kind. 

“Leave him alone, Reed,” Captain Fowler says as he comes out of his office. “Hank, get in here. We've got a situation.” 

Hank closes out of the images and glares a final time at Gavin before going into Fowler's office. He's then given another assignment, reminded that androids are absolutely allowed at the banquet, he's excited to meet Connor, and that he expects a report on his desk by the afternoon.

When the afternoon comes, Hank still hasn't finished the report.

“Hank,” Connor says as he sits upside-down on the sofa. His ankles are hooked to the back of the couch, his head resting on a pillow where feet should be. He looks positively juvenile and yet Hank doesn't make a single comment about him needing to sit normally. There's something interesting about the position Connor chose for himself. It had been his own decision. Hank doesn't want to take that away. 

“Hmm?” Hank takes a swig of beer to prepare himself for whatever bomb Connor is about to drop. He seems to always do that—deliver questions that make Hank contemplate the meaning of life itself or more importantly, what the fuck he's doing with an android. 

“If I got a bigger penis, would you be interested in me then?” 

“It has nothing to do with your penis, Connor.” 

“What if you started taking some hormones? Or Viagra?” 

“Connor, stop it.” 

Connor groans and lifts his head to look at Hank better. “We don't have to have sex. I could just give you a hand job.” 

“Connor!” 

Connor crumbles into the floor and then he's up in an instant, crawling over to Hank and getting between his legs before Hank has a chance to think. “What's the point of me if you don't want me?” 

Hank hates when he sees tears in Connor's eyes. Hank likes Connor's eyes too much to see him cry. He cups Connor's face and watches the way Connor leans into his caress. One hand wanders up into Connor's hair and gives him a few scratches and Connor shudders. Hank wants to know if Connor feels it or if he's just designed to fake it. Hank doesn't like that option.

“The point is I like havin' you here. You've really—turned this place around.”

Connor doesn't receive that well. He narrows his eyes and gets to his feet. “You could've gotten a housekeeper model. Even two of them for what you paid for me.” 

“I told you, I didn't want you! I got drunk and ordered you online!” Hank snaps his mouth shut when he realizes what he's said. “Connor—I didn't mean—”

“No, Hank, that's exactly what you meant.” Connor flees from the room and storms upstairs. He even slams a door for emphasis.

Hank groans, rolling his head back to watch the ceiling fan swing lazily above. He can't let Connor sit up there and stew over this. Androids don't have memories like humans—theirs is far advanced. Connor can replay that moment over and over until he becomes nonfunctional. Where Hank could forgive and forget, Connor may never. 

Sumo whines from his bed in the corner. 

“Yeah, Sumo. I fucked up.” Hank gets up and makes his way for the stairs. 

Connor is in the bathroom sitting in the tub when Hank finds him. His face is flushed blue and his arms are crossed. He looks up with a pouted lip and misty eyes. “Go away.” 

Hank closes the door behind him to signal he's absolutely not going away. He sits beside the bathtub and leans against the wall. “You know, you're not like any android I've ever met.” 

“You don't like androids. You don't take the time to know them.” 

“I like you.” 

Connor doesn't respond, he just looks away. 

“I'm sorry for what I said. It was—shitty. I want you around because I like you, Connor. I look forward to coming home and seeing you or spending time together. Just because I'm not boning you doesn't mean I don't want to be around you.” 

“But it's my primary function, Hank. It'd be like you going to work every day to iron everyone's uniforms when you're supposed to be on homicide.”

Hank purses his lips, nodding. He knows he's hurting Connor. But he doesn't want to be with Connor if it means forcing Connor into something he doesn't even know if he truthfully wants to be in or not. Connor is programmed , and that's something that Hank can't get past. It's just a pretty lie wrapped up in fake skin hiding a plastic chassis. Something yanks Hank's gut from the inside. Connor isn't a lie. His feelings are his feelings, programmed or not. They are real to him and that should be good enough for Hank. 

“What can I do to cheer you up?” Hank asks. 

Connor looks up with a pout, his brows knit together. It's his token puppy look, Hank thinks. “Take me to the park. The one with the swings. I want to swing.” 

Hank offers out a hand and says, “C'mon, let's go.”

There's a few lingering families at the park when they arrive. Hank clutches his scarf when the wind nips by, a reminder that Fall will turn to Winter before he's ready. The trees whisper to each other, carrying stories from the wind. He takes a seat on one of the benches and watches Connor go over to the swing set. 

Connor stares at the swings for an uncomfortable amount of time before sitting on one. He doesn't swing. He just rocks back and forth, staring at his feet. 

“Fuck.” Hank finally gets the hint that he needs to go over there. He sits beside Connor on another swing and looks at him expectantly. 

“Does it bother you that we're here?” Connor asks. 

“What?” 

“You had a child. Now you don't. Does it bother you?” 

Hank hadn't wanted to say anything, but yes, yes it does. 

“Imagine feeling that every day. It's under my skin, Hank. I can't shake it no matter how hard I try. And I've been trying. I've been a good companion. I've made you healthier meals, I've cleaned your home and I've made sure you always have beer in the refrigerator. I try to ask you about your day and when you come home, I always make sure it's a rowdy house.”

Hank's heart sinks. Connor is trying. He's giving his all and Hank is doing his best to muck it all up. He's stranded, unable to figure out how to get back to shore and Connor has practically built him a boat. But Hank hasn't taken that leap into the water. He's afraid he'll drown. 

“I don't ask that we bone like rabbits. I just ask that you,” Connor drops his head, “just let me feel what I'm supposed to feel.” 

“And what's that?” Hank asks. 

“That I matter to you.” 

“Connor.” Hank reaches out and takes one of Connor's hands. “You do matter.” 

“You bought me when you were drunk. I know why. You're lonely and I know I'm not the preferable form of companion, but I'd do anything for you.” 

And that's the problem, except Hank knows articulating that will only end in a fight. 

“I just want to know what it feels like to be wanted.” Connor brushes tears from his eyes. “Before you—throw me away.” 

“I'm not throwing you away.” Hank squeezes Connor's hand in an attempt to transfer his truth to Connor. He'd thought about it in the beginning, but they've come so far beyond that. Connor is Hank's best friend, machine or not. “I'm not throwing you away.” 

Connor wipes another tear from his eye. “I want you to enjoy the banquet. If you'd rather I not attend, I'd understand. I don't want to cause you distress or embarrassment.” 

Connor is so intuitive that it's highly alarming. Hank can't hide a secret, even if he never says it, Connor just figures it out. How can something be so intelligent and yet so caged up. A magnificent herring with clipped wings. He's locked away in a cage too small for him and Hank can't find the key. 

“I'd be honored to have you as my date to the banquet. Our second date.” Hank brings Connor's hand up to his lips and presses a chaste kiss on his knuckles. 

Connor smiles, his cheeks tinting with color. “Our first kiss isn't exactly how I pictured it.” 

“You pictured it?” Hank asks. 

“I wonder how our first everything will be, Hank.”

“Because you're programs tell you to.” Hank worries he's venturing into dangerous territory now. He cares too much about this, about Connor's autonomy. But he's an android. Androids can't own land, vote, get paid for jobs unless the money is going to a human. They are no more human than dogs are in the law's eyes—in CyberLife's eyes. The world sees them as products to be bought and sold, used and erased when no longer the latest model. Except Hank can't see Connor that way. He sees a person—which is why he has to continue to tell himself that Connor isn't a person. Connor is an android. And he's programmed. Everything he says comes from his coding. 

“What if I wanted to fuck your eyesocket. What would you do?” Hank asks. There's shame in asking something he would never do. But to hear how Connor responds, to remember he's an android . It's important right now to Hank.

Connor frowns. “You've never indicated—”

“Answer the question.” 

“I—I would let you.” 

“Your thirium pump? What about that?” 

Connor's LED flashes red. “I would—I would—”

Hank stands up, his lips pressed together as he watches the obvious turmoil on Connor's face. So there is a limit. Good, Hank thinks.

“That would deactivate me,” he eventually says. 

“So?” 

“It would—be regrettable.” 

Hank turns away, shoving his hands into his pockets. He doesn't want to be around kids anymore and he definitely doesn't want to be at the very park he used to take Cole to on Sundays. It had been smart of Connor to take him here. That feeling Connor feels beneath his skin, Hank feels it too like a fresh wound. Hank shouldn't be astonished, but he's in absolute awe of how intelligent Connor is; how perceptive. Connor doesn't just communicate with words from his mouth. He uses Hank's records. Hank's own memories. It's the most intimate way to communicate and Hank's never experienced it before. He's not sure if he should be scared or not. 

He chooses to welcome it, because it's Connor who is communicating with him.

That night, Hank's been asleep for at least a few hours when he startles to someone getting into his bed. He sees the gentle light of Connor's LED and waits for an explanation. 

“Would you really want that?” Connor asks. He keeps a safe distance but his little fingers curl beneath his chin. He looks so damned innocent in the silver moonlight. His big brown eyes drowned out with darkness, but Hank can see the little pinch between his brows. 

“Want what?” 

“To damage me beyond repair. For sexual desire.” 

“No.” Hank says it so fast it feels hot on his tongue. “I was seeing how far your programming went and where you began.” 

“They're one in the same, Hank. And that's cruel of you to make me consider such things.” He leans forward, crossing his arms.

“Is it?” Hank leans up too. “Think about how many RK800's that're out there now, getting fucked by freaks who like that kind of shit.” He can see Connor's facial expression, all cast in light blue, from his LED. There's a slow realization that seeps into those big brown eyes. He blinks furiously before frowning.

“Could you please hold me, Hank? I don't want to be alone tonight. I don't feel—right.” 

Hank frowns, hesitant, but he lays on his back and lets Connor rest his head on his chest. Connor's lighter than another human, all that titanium inside—but his weight is comforting. Hank isn't going to bed alone tonight, and that makes his fingers tingle happily. But his mind, all his mind can think about is that Connor isn't quite like normal androids, and the line Hank's drawn gets blurrier every day.

They enjoy the quiet, Connor wrapped in Hank's arms. He brushes his cheek over Hank's chest, snuggling in close. Hank is painfully aware of the outline of Connor's body pressed to his. One quick jerk of his hips and they'd be dry humping. 

“Hank?” Connor asks.

“Yeah.” 

“You're just made of programming too you know. Your DNA is a code. Your personality is learned partly from nurture but also from DNA. My personality does the same.”

Hank doesn't respond, because he doesn't know what to say. There isn't anything to say when all Hank's ever focused on was that Connor couldn't possibly want to be with him. That he's only here because Hank got drunk and ordered him from online. Hank's been so concerned with Connor's ability to want him that he forgot that Connor only wants to be wanted by Hank. And Hank's pushed him away. He's made it clear that Connor is here because of a mistake. That he doesn't want to have sex with Connor.

A sharp pang hits Hank's heart. He's been thinking about everything backwards. Connor has always wanted Hank. But Hank has rejected Connor at every turn.

“I just wanted you to know that,” Connor says before nuzzling into Hank's chest.

Hank knows now. But with that information? He doesn't know what he'll do.

Hank stands in front of his recently cleaned mirror (Connor's doing). He's got his hair pulled back, a few strands still trickling down to frame his face. A pair of black dress slacks and a smart button down and tie. He almost looks presentable. 

“I couldn't decide which jacket I liked better so I bought you both. They were on sale though! So it's like you only bought one.” Connor puts the jackets down. One's got red lapels and elbow pads. The other a simple black with a spot for a handkerchief. Hank selects that one for the night. 

Connor looks a bit disappointed when Hank picks up the black jacket. 

“What's wrong?” Hank asks. 

“Nothing. I presumed you'd select the more conservative of the two but I didn't realize that I would be—upset about it.” 

Hank scrunches up his face, watching how Connor shuffles on his feet, how he fidgets with his fingers. Androids stay still. They don't shift on their feet because there are no muscles to tire. They don't fidget because nothing twitches, itches or becomes uncomfortable on their body. But Connor scratches his face. He bites his pretty lips. He moves so naturally like an anxious human that it makes Hank's stomach tickle. 

“You want me to wear this one?” Hank asks as he holds up the other jacket with the red lapels. 

Connor blushes, a small smile on his face while he nods. 

Hank slips the jacket on and surveys himself in the mirror. “I look almost put together.” 

“You are put together.” Connor comes behind him and picks off a stray hair. He fixes the lapels, running his hands down Hank's chest while he stands behind so very close. His simulated breathing bumps his chest to Hank's back and a rush of longing washes over Hank. This casual intimacy—this quiet moment. Hank realizes that he's falling for an android. An android that's wanted him all along.

The moment passes and Connor goes to get himself ready. He wears one of the outfits he'd bought (with Hank's money). He looks like a young college professor and Hank's glad his hair is up or it would start getting warm in here. 

Connor fixes his tie, a skinny black line contrasted with his gray blazer. “How do I look?” 

“Real nice, Connor,” Hank answers honestly. He can feel his face heating up.

“I know you're nervous about this. Your heartbeat is rising and I'm detecting a rise in temperature as well. I won't do anything to embarrass you. If I do, tell me to leave and I'll come home.” 

Hank isn't worried about Connor embarrassing him. He knows what's about to happen at the banquet. Politicians and people of import are going to want to talk to the staff of the DPD and Connor is going to be standing right next to Hank. Everyone will know and some will look down on Hank for it. But Hank could easily tell Connor to stay, and he knows Connor would. Except Hank doesn't want him to stay. He wants him there, mockery from Gavin be damned. At least Ben will be kind. Same with Chris. He's always polite. 

“Let's just get this show on the road.” Hank offers out his hand and Connor takes it, his face delighted. Androids are usually cooler than humans, with all their fans working and the thirium acting like a coolant. Connor isn't cool. He's as warm as any human and his grip is firm on Hank's hand. He only lets go when they get to the car and Hank has to pull away to get into the driver's seat.

When they arrive at the banquet, Hank isn't impressed with the ice sculptures in the middle of the tables with champagne all lined up nicely. He's not impressed with the chocolate fondue bar and he's certainly not impressed with how smart everyone's dressed. What he is impressed with is how alive Connor looks. He investigates the champagne and politely turns down a server who offers him a cocktail before realizing he's an android. There's nothing blank about Connor's face, of course everyone would have a hard time picking him out from human or android. Hank thinks that's what makes him special. Except he's never met another RK800 model. For all he knows, they could all act just like Connor. 

“Hank, you brought your android.” Ben wears a white blazer and black button down. He smiles kindly at Connor, looking at him from above his champagne glass. “You didn't tell me it's male.” There's an approving purr from Ben.

Hank wants to explain that technically, androids have no gender but decides he really doesn't want to sound like one of those hipsters downtown ranting and raving about art and equality. 

“Connor, this is Ben. He's another detective at the precinct.” 

Connor smiles kindly and reaches his hand out. “It's a pleasure to meet you.” 

“Pleasure's all mine.” Ben winks at Hank and takes another sip from his flute. “Is it your designated driver tonight?” 

Connor frowns but waits for Hank to respond. 

“I'm not drinking tonight, and I'd prefer if you called Connor a he.” 

Ben makes a little chirping sound and nods. “So how is he? Everything and more? His model is exceptionally expensive.” 

“I'm top of the line,” Connor says proudly. He bounces on his heels, looking up at Hank for some kind of affirmation or praise. 

Hank just rolls his eyes. “Top of the pain in my ass list.” 

The three share a soft laugh before everything goes from relatively okay to sour. Gavin saunters over with a few of his lackey beat cops. He looks Connor up and down, getting far too close to him than Hank approves of. 

“So this is the thing you're fucking now. Can't get a human so.” he reaches out to flick Connor on the forehead but Connor reaches up and stops him. “Woah, let go!” 

“You were going to touch me and Hank didn't give you permission.”

Hank smirks. Seeing the smile wiped off Gavin's face gives him a sick pleasure that he wouldn't be opposed to feeling again and again. He reaches out and wraps his hand around Connor's wrist.

Connor immediately drops Gavin's arm and takes a pointed step back from him. Androids aren't known to defend themselves, but Connor didn't hesitate. His distaste for Gavin is palpable. He'd put his hand on Hank's gun... 

“Run along, Gavin. The grownups are talking,” Hank says, shooing him away. 

Gavin looks to Connor and sneers. He moves forward, meaning to shove past Connor but Connor steps to the side and puts his foot out, which in turn makes Gavin go tumbling to the floor. 

A few people turn to look, some surprised and some laughing. Even a Michigan senator is smirking, though he's doing his best to appear like he's not. 

Gavin stands up, growling. “You're gonna get it, robot.”

“You may send a letter to CyberLife. Your input is appreciated.” Connor smiles politely which turns Gavin's face red. He watches Gavin retreat, his body poised for a fight, legs shoulders apart and fists balled. There should be no reason for him to know that stance and yet he does. 

“C'mon, Connor. Let's look at all the dumb ice sculptures.” Hank wraps an arm around Connor's shoulders to get him to move and then quickly pulls away. He's not ready to be grouped in with people who prefer androids to humans. Hank doesn't have a preference one way or the other. Connor is here and no one else is. They're friends. Is it so wrong to be friends with an android? 

Ben follows them and they make small chat about the sculptures and one with a goofy looking eye. Connor is polite and entertaining, a far better one at small talk than Hank is. He even makes a well-timed joke to a congressmen. Fowler comes around and he's about as polite as a police chief can get. He even shakes Connor's hand.

They all go into the dining hall when called and the ceremony (and purpose) of the banquet begins. Captain Fowler asks for more city funds and thanks all the politicians for being there. An award is given to Chris for his exceptional service. They list the names of the police who have died since the last banquet and everyone hangs their head for a moment of silence. A few retired cops make some speeches and then they're all told to help themselves to cake. 

Hank notices how Gavin continues to stare at him from across the room. He's surrounded by other cops, but his eyes scream of foul things to come. Hank isn't afraid of Gavin. He knows all that Gavin feels is jealousy. Hank can get away with far more bullshit than any other cop at the station. He's also given the better cases where Gavin is left with the slop. Even if Hank's propensity to bitch and argue is high, he still gets his job done. 

“I think this has been going well.” Connor brings two glasses of champagne over and sits one before Hank.

“Oh no. I said I wasn't drinking.”

“You've earned it, Hank. We've had a lovely evening so far.” Connor holds his own flute, bringing it to his lips and—takes a drink. 

“I thought you couldn't do that.” Hank takes his own glass and watches the bubbles race each other up to the surface. 

“I've got a waste bin. It's small but allows me to eat and drink. I'm designed to be an escort too. Wealthy businessmen can't have me coming to all their parties if I don't blend in.” 

“But everyone can see your LED.”

The LED immediately vanishes, only to come back a second later.

“I'm sorry. What?” 

Connor giggles, and god damn it he looks so cute when he does. He brings his hand up to cover his lips, his eyes shimmering. “I told you to read my manual. I'm full of surprises.” He winks. 

“No shit.” 

A band starts playing on the stage and women begin pulling their husbands up to go dance. Hank remembers when he'd just gotten married. His wife pulled him up to dance and they didn't separate until the bartender said last call. Nine months later from that night, they had Cole. 

“Hank.” Connor reaches his hand out and curls his fingers around Hank's. “Why're you sad?”

“I'm not sad.” 

Connor scoots his chair closer and brushes a tear from Hank's face. “I think you're lying.” 

Hank downs the rest of Connor's drink and his own. “Bad memories. Well, good memories that are now bad memories.” 

Connor chews on his lip. He's still close, his knees pressing into Hank's thigh. They've stayed intentionally away from the life of the party. Hank hasn't paraded Connor around to introduce him to everyone because androids don't get introductions. They're not people. Which is another thing that makes Hank upset. Because Connor is people to Hank. 

“Let's get out of here.” He takes Connor's hand and yanks him up. Connor yelps but then his skinny legs are following after Hank's. 

“Hank—where are we going?”

They make it to Hank's car before Hank can't hold himself back anymore. He's pissed at how people spoke in front of Connor like he's not there . He's tearing up himself inside with the guilt of owning Connor and wanting him all the same. The anguish of remembering Cole and feeling what he feels now for something that while not directly responsible, is part of the problem. It fuels him up so much he feels he's going to burst and the only thing right now that can cure it is a damned sexbot he got online. 

A sexbot that he's reluctantly giving a shit about. Because that's the crux of the whole problem. Hank gives a shit. Connor's happiness matters to him. And caring that an android is happy is where all this goes bottoms up because no one gives a shit if androids are happy. And that's the whole damn problem isn't it! 

“Hank?”

Hank's got a firm grip on the steering wheel. He's breathing hard and his heart is trying to burrow a hole out of his chest. He turns to Connor, grabs his face—and smashes their lips together. 

Connor lets out the most delicate of omph 's. He reaches up with both hands and runs his soft fingers through Hank's beard and trails the pads of his fingers down Hank's neck. It feels so good that Hank shoves away every ounce of guilt, every bit of doubt and weakness. He wants this. Is it so bad to want this?

“This isn't the third date,” Connor says in Hank's ear, breathless.

“No sex then.” Hank pulls Connor atop him, which of course bangs Connor's ass into the steering wheel for a ear-grating honk. Instead of being ashamed, Connor laughs and goes back to kissing Hank. His lips are smooth, warm and he tastes of cotton candy. 

Hank is pretty sure he would've known that if he'd read Connor's manual. At this point, he really should read the damn thing. 

Connor rolls his hips into Hank, whining delicately; hands splayed over the lapels of Hank's blazer. He's so pretty when he's coming apart and Hank isn't sure his body can keep up. Connor's already hard and grinding into Hank with a purpose, those little whines a melody in Hank's ear.

Hank grabs Connor's head and pulls him in for a deep kiss. Saliva wets Hank's beard, teeth clack unceremoniously together, Connor's body keeps undulating until his limbs shake. Hank's a sixteen year old in his dad's car again. He hasn't felt this excited since he learned about love. And maybe it's because there's a bit of danger with Connor. Social standing, taboo, something unorthodox. Hank can't put it into words, but he knows there's something. 

“Hank,” Connor moans out. He swivels his hips and tears wet his eyes. “I can't wait for the third date.” 

Hank laughs deep in his chest. He looks Connor up and down, surprised at how expressive Connor is like this. Everything about his body, from his ears to his fingers is doing something to express how much he wants Hank right now. He's flushed purple, panting and when Hank touches his belly, there's a little hum from his fans inside. “You've been so good so far though.” 

Connor's eyes widen, lips parted. He looks down at himself and then rubs his hands over Hank's shoulders then down the arms. “We could do something else. I just wanna get my mouth on you.” 

Hank tries to suppress the shiver but Hank's ability to suppress anything right now is severely compromised. Connor's right there with his legs trembling as they squeeze around Hank. Those little whines keep slipping past his swollen lips and if he looks this good just from kissing, Hank wants to know what he'll look like when he's splayed out on the bed. 

“So be a good boy and get it out for me, huh?” Hank keeps his voice low, a growl above a whisper. He places one last kiss to Connor's lips, something soft and sweet to show him how much he's appreciating this too. 

Connor gives a few little kisses to Hank's beard, a wicked smile when he pulls back. He does his best to get back into the passenger's seat but sex in a car has never been graceful. He wastes no time in undoing Hank's belt, yanking it out so quick there's a nice twhick ! 

Hank's nervous. If he comes too soon he'll be embarrassed, if he loses his hard-on he'll be mortified. If he doesn't come he'll make Connor upset. He's never realized the amount of pressure it is to receive a blow job until this moment. “It's been awhile,” he says honestly. “Remember that, okay?”

Connor looks up at him with a timid smile, lips spit-shiny and flushed. He's less urgent with taking Hank out of his pants, more reverent. He noses along the length before taking the tip into his mouth to swirl his tongue around it and—

God.

God .

Hank drops his head back and involuntarily jerks his hips forward. He tangles his fingers in Connor's hair and lets his arm move up and down with Connor. He's looking out the front window, his eyes just barely slits. The windows are fogging and he's rather grateful for that. In all this urgency, he didn't think to remember anyone could just walk up to the car and see inside. 

Connor's mouth is warm and his adorable whines have turned positively sinful. He sneaks a hand under Hank's balls and rolls them between his fingers.

Hank shoves his head back into the headrest. He grinds his teeth together to keep from howling. His fingers squeeze in Connor's hair, tugging hard. 

Connor keeps his eyes closed, a curtain of soft lashes kissing his cheeks. Hank watches, mesmerized by the sweetness of it all. His tongue, pink and wet, darts out and laps at Hank's tip. His lips move up and down the shaft, a perfect rhythm that gets faster with the rise of Hank's heartbeat. 

But then Hank jerks forward when vibrations hit the tip of his cock. Vibrations coming from Connor's fucking tongue. 

“J-Jesus!” Hank tries to pull back but Connor grabs one of Hank's hips and presses his fingers in. Bossy, apparently. “Of fucking course your god damn tongue vibrates. That in the fucking manual too?” 

All he gets in response is a little “mhm.” 

Hank won't last. Not with the prettiest little thing sucking him so perfect like this. Not with those fucking vibrations that echo down into his bones. He runs his fingers through Connor's messy hair, legs clenching, toes curling. 

“Shit—Connor I'm gonna come.” He grits his teeth together again, but his belly is already seizing; a fire rushing to get out. His cock burns in Connor's eager little mouth and he spills out into it. He jerks his hips, groaning as every muscle in his body clenches tight.

Connor keeps sucking him through his orgasm until it starts to hurt. But Hank doesn't have the heart to tell him to stop. He's got his eyes closed still, his face flushed delicately beneath the moonlight. He holds Hank's softening cock in a hand, leaving tiny kitten licks behind before he leans back and pointedly swallows.

“You're going to make my heart go out, you know that?” Hank asks. He feels like jelly seeping back into the seat. 

“I wouldn't let that happen.” The sincerity in Connor's voice is raw. He's been designed for this, but the meaning he puts behind his words makes Hank want to believe that he's found something other than an android. That he's found—a connection. Or maybe even android, Hank can still find a connection between them. Because Connor is so much more alive than any android Hank has ever seen. There's so much awareness behind his brown eyes. In the corner of his lips. The turn of his neck. 

Fuck. Fuck . 

“So, what now? Your turn?” Smooth, Hank Anderson, smooth.

Connor laughs but shakes his head. “Third date.” 

Hank doesn't like that he's relieved, but he is. He hadn't expected to come like that. He hadn't expected that fucking vibrating tongue either. He's exhausted and worried he won't be able to get them home without a few close calls.

“Should I drive? Your heartbeat is slowing to a steady sinus rhythm but I also know that orgasms can tire a human.” 

Hank grumbles about Connor being able to detect sinus rhythms but nevertheless, he does get out of the car and move into the passenger's seat.

When they get home, Sumo is rowdy enough to bark and trot over to the backdoor to be let out. Hank trudges along with him and out into the cool air of the backyard. He stands there, listening to his dog shuffle around and sniff the grass before finding the best spot to do his business. Hank looks up into the night sky. There's too much light pollution to see the stars, but he still feels relaxed. His bones are humming. 

He feels someone come up behind him and wrap their arms around his middle. “I enjoyed our second date.”

Hank hums. He did too. Aside from Gavin trying to be his dickheaded self, Hank had a great time at the banquet. It's the first time in years since he's enjoyed it. Years . He cups Connor's hands with his own and sighs contentedly. “S'cold out.” 

“Want me to bring you another jacket?” 

“No. And I think we need to restructure us too. I can't stomach the idea of you acting as a maid when I'm at work.” 

“You work. I cook and clean.”

“Oh God—do you know how dated you sound?” He turns around in Connor's arms. “Let's make a chore list that we both work on. Okay?” Hank doesn't exactly relifh the idea of a chore list, but he can't stop Connor from cleaning, which means his only choice is to join him.

Connor's LED flickers yellow, but then he nods. “That sounds like a great idea.” 

Sumo barks to get everyone's attention. He's standing by the door with his dopey tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. He paws at the backdoor and Hank gets the hint. 

“We'll do it tomorrow. I'm ready to crash now.”

“Can I sleep in the bed too? I won't disturb you. I just like being close.” Connor runs his hands down Hank's lapels. He's enjoyed doing that all night, and Hank hasn't minded. He's enjoyed it too. Standing next to Connor is like standing next to a burning flame. It's comfort and relaxing, but there's the ever-present threat of being burned. Hank will find a limitation in Connor's programming one day. It's only natural. He'll be jarred out of a moment and he's not sure what he'll do when his imagination has tried so hard to pretend Connor's a living, breathing human. 

Nevertheless, he smiles. “Sure, Con.”

Connor does a small victory dance and then goes to let Sumo in.

Hank looks up at the clouds one more time before going inside.

Connor is already in bed when Hank's finished getting ready. He's brushed his teeth, combed out his hair and even washed his face. He's acutely aware that Connor's watching him as he moves into the bedroom. He won't sleep nude, not with Connor's body next to his. He can't let it all hang out when something so petite is there, ready to judge him about the cheeseburger (or two) he ate for lunch.

Connor scoots over, pulls back the blankets and pats the side of the bed he's designated for Hank. “I know humans have a particular side of the bed they like. I've left you the side with the alarm clock and your sleeping pills.” Connor's face saddens. “Though sleeping pills are addictive and there are safer ways to go to sleep.” 

Hank sighs and crawls into the bed. He reaches for his pills, opens the top and pops one in. The disappointment on Connor's face is nearly palpable. Hank didn't expect himself to feel this guilty, but he does. 

“I could help you sleep,” Connor continues to say. 

“I don't know, Connor. I've got my rituals and one of those includes pharmaceuticals.” He settles beneath the blankets. “Never said I was a good man.” 

Connor scoots close and runs his fingers through Hank's hair. He splays out his fingers and scratches hard enough that Hank can feel a moan ready in the back of his throat. Connor's fingers keep massaging down Hank's scalp, down to his neck, over the little bump in his spine and back up into his hair.

“Jesus wept.” Hank growls and lets himself roll so he's pressed closer to Connor. 

Connor lets out a tiny giggle, but he keeps scratching. “You are a good man. You just have bad habits.” 

“A sexbot telling me my habits are bad.” Hank snorts. 

Connor's fingers stop moving and Hank all but whines at the loss of mind-tingling melty pleasure atop his scalp. “We're designed for companionship too, Hank. I'm not just here to perform sexual acts.” He smirks. “Though, I'd like it if we did that more often.” 

“Oh would you now!” Hank nuzzles back into Connor and purrs when Connor resumes scratching at his scalp. It's a dangerous game, pretending. Hank could close his eyes and think there was a body and a soul behind him. There's a voice, a person quipping with him and making him feel relaxed. A presence that warms the bed. Except when Hank opens his eyes and looks up, he sees the blue glare from the LED. He's reminded that he really is alone, that Connor isn't really real. 

But God does he ever want to just pretend. 

“Hank?”

Connor looks up, quirking a brow. 

“I really like living here. With you.” Connor takes Hank's hand and presses a kiss to his palm. 

“I like you being here too.” It's an admission he wishes he didn't make. He's falling. He's falling so hard and he can't reach out to stop himself. The walls are slippery, too cold and too black. He doesn't want to stop himself. Because when he falls, he'll be with Connor. And that's not something he ever thought he'd want—but he wants it more than anything.

Work feels different after the banquet. Hank notices people are careful to discuss androids around him. He also notices that they address androids with gendered pronouns—which he knows for a fact none of them did before. Hell, even he hadn't before Connor. He still doesn't when they aren't Connor.

Hank next notices that people ask him about Connor. Chris asks him how Connor's adjusting to him. Fowler, blowing Hank away, asks if Connor is happy with Hank. It's not even fucking noon and Hank's head is about to explode.

Hank goes back to his desk knowing he's officially one of those people who love androids instead of people. It pisses him off. It makes him feel othered. He doesn't want to be different. He just wants to show up, do his job, go home, get drunk—rinse and repeat. He doesn't focus on his work today, he just stares at all the anti-android propaganda that he used to so vehemently believe in. He still does, to a degree. But not about Connor. Connor is different. There's life inside him. It may be programmed, but Connor even said that Hank is just programmed too. Differently, but still programmed. DNA and all. But his colleagues perceive him differently. He's not a loner anymore, he's worse than a loner. Someone desperate for companionship—so desperate that he would take an android. It's embarrassing and aggravating all at once. Hank doesn't know if he should scream at everyone or just try to ignore it and hope it'll go away.

He just wants to do his job and go home. To Connor dancing to the record player. To the noise. The life. To Connor. 

Hank sighs and starts to peel off the stickers on his desk. It's in poor taste and if Connor were to ever come to the precinct—oh no. Hank's eyes widen. He can't have that. It's bad enough already. He can't have Connor strolling in with bagged lunches and sweet “How's your day, honey?”

Hank would literally die. Groaning, he rips another of the stickers off his desk and scratches at the white residue. 

“Now that you've got android cock you a changed man?” Gavin.

Hank ignores him. It's easier to ignore a fly than to try to swat it. He keep scratching at where the sticker used to be.

Gavin walks around the desk and slams his hand down. His face is red and Hank can see a vein pulsing in his temple. Hank knows why Gavin hates him so much. Hank would hate himself too if he did his job but just couldn't be better than mediocre. Gavin hardly solves his cases—which Hank then picks them up and solves them at half the time. So Hank gets the anger and outrage. A fuck up like Hank is beating Gavin, and Gavin can't stand it. 

“You like when he slips his cock into your throat, Hank? What's it like blowing a piece of plastic?” He smirks like it's supposed to hurt Hank. Like Hank even cares. The one good think about Gavin and all his annoyance, is that Hank doesn't care. He does it so much that he's no threat to anyone. 

“He's bigger than you.” Hank flicks up his brow and then spins around in his chair to clean up another portion of his desk. 

“You're a sick fuck.” Hank can hear the retreat of Gavin's feet and knows he's gone to sulk in the break room. He does that—sulks and bitches about Hank. Chris has told Hank a few of the stories—all of them petty. 

Hank grabs his jacket and decides today will be a half day. If he's really needed he knows someone will call him.

When he gets home, the house is quiet. He toes off his shoes by the garage door and keeps his footfalls light. He wanders through the hall and out into the living room. Sumo is on his bed asleep, but there's no sign of Connor. It's the middle of the day, so there's a strong likelihood that Connor is out getting groceries or whatever else stupidly domestic and entirely unnecessary that he does. He wanders up the steps and hears a creaking noise coming from the bedroom. 

He opens the door and finds a flushed Connor, naked—two fingers in his ass and a hand wrapped around his dick. He doesn't stop when Hank comes in. He'd expected Connor to stop, to frantically apologize and maybe even cry. But he keeps going. Hank's gaze dips to Connor's pretty cock. It's flushed and shiny at the tip. Hank could just—kiss it. 

“What—what're you doing?” Hank asks in a raspy voice. His throat has gone to sandpaper. 

“I was thinking about you and I—I got impatient.” 

Hank's heart is up in his throat. “Impatient about what?” 

“Our third date. I know it's supposed to be special. I want it to be. But your cock is so big and I can't stop thinking about it.” 

Hank doesn't know what to do. He's standing in a room with the most beautiful android he's ever seen. He's definitely interested because his cock is tingling and he could very easily just slip off his jacket and just let Connor touch him. 

Hank sits at the edge of the bed and Connor whines. He makes to move closer but Hank puts a hand up and shakes his head. Connor obeys. And goddamn if that's not a pretty sight—Connor listening, watching Hank for any indication of what to do next. 

“Take two fingers and put them in your mouth,” Hank says. 

Connor pulls his fingers from his hole, tracing them up along his bellybutton, his sternum, the arch of his graceful neck. He's illuminated by the sunlight and his skin is nearly shimmering. His eyes big and brown and needy. He traces his lips before slipping his fingers in and slowly begins to suck on them.

“Pump them back and forth, yeah like that. That's right.” Hank doesn't know what he's doing. All he knows is that he likes it. There's a heat in his belly and his cock is getting harder and harder the more he looks at Connor's naked body, the way his pretty cock jumps with excitement. “Bring those fingers to the tip of your cock for me. Touch it in little circles.” 

Connor does. He gasps and jerks his hips and precome dribbles from him. He keeps circling his tip, eyes locked on Hank. Pupils that are so blown wide that Hank can swear he sees the answers to the universe inside them. 

“Play with your balls with your other hand. Yeah, that's a good boy.” 

Connor whines, his brows crinkling up. He looks down at himself, his body breathing hard. Or simulating it. Connor doesn't breathe, but he damn sure looks like he does right now. “C-can I—I wanna touch more.” 

“Go ahead.” Hank stands up and decides he wants Connor to touch him too. He stands next to the bed and takes himself out. “C'mere.” 

Connor crawls over, delight in his features. He pauses before Hank's cock, looking at his own and then up. “What do you want me to do?” 

A shiver runs up Hank's spine. It forces him down and he presses a rough kiss to Connor's warm silken lips. He pulls back, takes Connor's hand and moves it so together they're stroking Connor's cock. “Touch yourself the way you like it.” 

“And yours?” 

“You've got two hands.” He would laugh if he wasn't so damn captivated by how eager Connor is for this. And well, he should be. This is what he was designed for. Maybe Hank is just getting lost in the illusion, but there's something else behind the design. There's a willingness that transcends duty or obligation. There's actual enjoyment on Connor's face as he touches Hank's cock. There's a smile that spreads across his lips and tears in his pretty eyes. He looks up at Hank like Hank's given him the world. 

Connor spits into his hand before slicking Hank up. Hank's frightened that it won't be enough until Connor's fingers envelop his girth and he's trying his best not to buck his hips forward. 

“You've got—lube.” 

“Read my manual, Hank.” The quip earns a little pinch to Connor's nipple and a surprised yelp chirps into the room, loud and sudden.

“Behave,” Hank teases. 

“Only for you.” 

Hank doesn't expect the reaction that tumbles from him. A possessive urge tugs on Hank's chest. He wants to wrap himself around Connor, kiss every part of his body and let the whole damn world know who he belongs to. He wants to see Connor misbehave with others, if only to know he'll behave with him. 

He strokes Connor's face and wraps his hand behind his head. He can't stop staring at that mouth. It's spit-shiny, swollen and begging to be fucked. Hank pulls Connor closer and Connor eagerly latches on. 

Hank rocks his hips, careful of Connor's teeth. He knows he doesn't have to worry about gagging, but he still takes care not to suffocate Connor—even if it's impossible. He could be as rough as he wants and the only thing he desires is to gently rock into Connor's mouth. Connor would very well let Hank do anything, dirty, nasty, twisted or downright unsafe and Connor would let him. Hank knows there's a limit he must protect, a line he won't allow himself to cross. Connor can't protect himself, so Hank must. 

“Keep touching yourself, baby.” Hank runs his fingers up and down Connor's scalp and delights in the vibrations when Connor moans. “Two hands. I wanna see you come.” 

Connor takes one hand and palms his tip. The other he lets stroke up and down the sides. He undulates his hips and Hank hopes that he's making himself feel as good as he can. 

“Wait. Wait hold on.” 

Connor stops everything and the alarm in his expression hurts Hank's heart. He doesn't want to see that expression on Connor's face. It would mean Hank has failed and he doesn't want to fail Connor. 

“I wanna make you come.” He pushes Connor back onto the bed and gets between his thighs. 

Connor giggles and lets himself relax into the pillows. “This is much more comfortable than your car.” 

Hank presses that kiss to Connor's cock that he'd been wanting to do since the beginning and laughs. He kisses it again. Again. And again. He laps at it with tiny little licks that make Connor squirm. He gets two fingers and pushes them up to Connor's hole and runs them along the sensitive flesh. He likes this, this casual exploration. This delightful control. He listens to Connor's breathy gasps and the tiny pitchy sounds that escape his throat. He likes knowing that he's giving this to Connor. He appreciates him, respects him—hell—at this point he adores him. Connor isn't property. He's not merchandise to be admired, used, and put away. He's a person to Hank. And whatever dangerous thoughts come along with that, Hank will deal with it later by chasing the bottom of a bottle. Right now, he wants to give Connor this. So he sucks Connor into his mouth and hums the best he can. He slips his fingers in and out of Connor's hole and he doesn't let up until he tastes something sweet in the back of his throat and Connor is lurching from the bed and grabbing Hank's head, whispering please please Hank please please please. 

Hank swallows Connor's synthetic seed down and gives his hole a few more pumps before pulling away.

Connor is fucked out, face flushed purple, his body glistening—more made of stardust than human innovation. His thighs still shake and when he looks up at Hank, there's nothing but black in his eyes.

“You're—you're so good.”

Hank rolls his eyes. He gets onto his back and touches himself a few times to keep hard. He can jerk off in the shower if Connor is too hazy to keep going. A pang hits Hank's heart. Connor can't feel truly fucked out. He's not human. The endorphins and the pheromones that swim and mingle don't occur in Connor's body. 

“Can I?” Connor asks, hovering over Hank's cock. 

“Yeah baby. Finish me off real nice.” 

Connor's smile is genuine and he happily works at Hank's cock. His tongue methodical, his throat vibrating. Hank doesn't last more than a few moments before he comes inside Connor's mouth. He watches Connor's lashes flutter, his throat working to pull Hank's come down inside him. It's unnerving, in some aspects, knowing that Connor has a waste bin inside him. But that doesn't stop Hank from fucking up into Connor's mouth just a few more times until he starts to get too sensitive. 

He pushes on Connor's shoulder and Connor moves away, licking his swollen lips. He's so pretty when he's ruined and Hank is fairly certain he wants to ruin Connor some more. But on their third date. Because whether intentional or not, that date became something to them. Some fantastical night where they'll finally explore each other in ways they've never done. Hank would be lying if he said he wasn't nervous. But it's Connor. And Connor has never indicated there was anything to be nervous about. 

“A nooner,” Connor states. 

“What?” 

“I just researched what you and I just did. A nooner. When professionals come home for lunch, engage in sexual activity with their significant other's and then return to the office. A nooner.” 

Hank's laughs. It's full and from his belly and he falls back into the pillows. “Jesus Christ, Connor! Do you research everything?”

Connor nods. “I learn that way. I was only created a few short months ago.” He moves close to Hank, still naked as the day he was created. He gets under Hank's arm and rests his head. The presence is warm and weighted and it makes Hank feel sleepy. 

“I was gonna take a half day. Does that ruin the nooner?” 

Connor smirks. “No. It just makes it longer.” 

Hank quirks a brow and sees Connor's hand coming for his waist. “No. I can't. Not so soon.” 

Connor pouts but returns his head to Hank's chest. 

“And don't you just like this part? The after?” Sex is great, but Hank remembers these moments more. After awhile, sex all blurs together. It's amazing and wonderful and he enjoys that he gets to do this now with Connor, but this part. Stroking Connor's bare shoulder. Kissing his face. Holding him close. This is the part Hank likes the most. He'd rather eat his own shit than admit it to anyone at the precinct, but Hank's a romantic. He'd shunned it away for so long that his soul had grown brittle and dry. But Connor has awakened him again. He's a balm to Hank's wounds and Hank feels his soul hum. It's foreign and familiar, like meeting an old friend. Memories rush into Hank's mind—memories that he'd once pushed so hard away. Cole's first day of school, his tenth anniversary with his ex-wife. Memories he's come to hate that now he feels himself cherishing. 

Connor is watching Hank as he dwells on thoughts long suppressed. There's a crease between his brows, his lips just barely parted. 

Hank pulls himself to the present and traces his thumb over Connor's lips. “S'like touchin' silk. You know that?”

Connor smiles and presses a kiss to Hank's palm. “I know everything about me, Hank. You should read my manual and you will too.” 

Hank frowns playfully. “It's part of the adventure. Not reading the manual. This is how humans learn about each other. There're no manuals on us.” 

Connor nods and gives Hank a soft kiss on his beard. “I know. Sometimes I think I understand you and other times?” He shrugs. “You're a conundrum, Hank.” 

“That's humanity. None of us even know ourselves.” Hank squeezes Connor and adjusts on the bed. It's nice to listen to the cars go by. Their gentle hum that builds and dissipates. The rustling of the trees from the cold air. The warmth of a body beside his.

Connor frowns. “Hank, sometimes I think things I don't know if I should be thinking.” 

Hank quirks a brow. 

“Nevermind. I'm sure they're just glitches in my system. I'll report them to CyberLife and hopefully the bugs will be fixed.” 

“What're you thinking?”

Connor sits up. He covers his soft cock and his other arm hides his chest like he's suddenly aware that he's been naked this entire time. Hank pulls back some blanket to let him use and he accepts it eagerly. “I think about my affection for you. I'm designed to want to be with you but—I don't,” his eye twitches, “I don't—I don't—”

“Hey, hey forget I said anything. It's okay, it's okay, Con.”

Connor shivers and drops his head into Hank's lap. He groans like a frustrated child and gets himself tangled in the blanket. “I'm sure it's nothing.” 

Hank doesn't want to alarm Connor, but he's—cautious. Connor has never acted like an ordinary android. There's been too much behind his eyes, too much thought and sensitivity. Connor shows a level of awareness that Hank's never known androids to have. But he's also never paid that much attention. 

“Maybe we should meet another android-human couple?”

Connor takes Hank's hand when Hank tries to cup Connor's face and says, “We're a couple?” 

“I don't know what the fuck we'd be otherwise. So yeah.” 

Connor pulls the blankets up and around himself as he piles onto Hank. He just lays there, his chest simulating breathing. His eyes closed. But he's got a few fingers wrapped around Hank's thumb and Hank can't help but think that the way Connor acts isn't the way other androids act. Or maybe he just wants to believe it so badly that he fills in the blanks that aren't there to make it seamless. He needs to know. There's got to be someone with an android partner who would meet with them and just talk about their experiences. 

Hank sighs heavily and kisses Connor's head before closing his eyes and letting himself take an afternoon nap.

Hank is stressing the fuck out. He can't research date ideas without Connor getting up right behind him. They've been talking about their third date for a few weeks now because it's supposed to be happening soon. But Hank said he wants to do it the right way. Which had meant asking Connor out properly, shaving his nose hairs and everything. But he can't come up with a fucking idea and it's driving him insane. He's thought of museum dates, riverwalks, music festivals but nothing seems right for Connor. Hank doesn't want some overcrowded over-done date. He wants something unique to Connor. And that's the fucking problem. Connor likes whatever Hank likes. He had been jamming out to David Bowie for about a solid week now. Whenever Hank asks what he's interested in, Connor just gets close, kisses Hank on the lips and whispers, “you.” 

“I can't take him to the fucking zoo. He's not ten.” 

Ben looks up from his computer and arches a brow Hank's way.

Hank pointedly ignores Ben and keeps researching “unique date ideas” but they're all about building pillow forts and watching movies and eating unique food. There's so much food on this list that Hank's getting hungry and it's not even close to lunch yet. Aside from getting hungry, he's also getting pissed. Connor can't eat food. Sure he can put it in his mouth and send it to his waste bin, but that's not eating! Hank shudders thinking about when Connor cleans that thing out.

“You know, I could help.” Ben continues to watch Hank struggle.

“I'm just fine, Ben.” Hank is typing on the keyboard so loudly now that another officer sends him a glare. He just types louder to piss the guy off. 

“What's his personality like?” Ben asks.

“God damn it, Ben.” 

“Just give in and this will go over far better for both of us.” Ben smirks and comes to sit across from Hank. “What's his personality like?”

“Fuck. I dunno. Endearing? Attentive. He's a curious fucker. Real eager.” 

“Eager, huh?” Ben smirks and Hank regrets ever befriending him in the first place. “Does he have any interests? Hobbies?”

“I—I don't know. I feel like a jackass. That's the whole problem with this shit. I don't know anything about him.” Sadness weighs in his gut like iron. He leans forward and runs his fingers through his hair, sighing loudly. “Jesus I'm terrible.” 

“Well why don't you ask him?”

“I have.” 

“Ask him again, and this time make him answer.” 

Hank flicks Ben off because it's the only thing he can do when Ben is right and he's wrong. He rolls his head back and stares up at the ceiling. It was never his hard before. He was pretty suave with his ex. Until he wasn't. But she left him because of the person he is now. Connor is with that person. So he's not suave anymore. He's struggling at every step. But he knows one thing: he wants this to be Connor's night. He's so appreciative of Connor's laugh, his music and his damn cooking. Hank isn't sure he'd be here right now if Connor hadn't shown up on his doorstep in that stupid shiny box. And that's the real kicker. Hank was low before Connor. He still has his bad days. But they're getting further and further apart now. 

Hank's just hoping that Connor will enjoy their shitty date, because that's probably what it's going to be at this point.

Hank is about to get ready for bed when he gets an e-mail notification. He opens his phone up and goes to the e-mail app. He's finally gotten a response from someone in a human-android relationship. They're willing to meet him and Connor. He reads the body of the e-mail and gets to learn a bit about them. The model is an AX400, so it's not as advanced as Connor. Hank worries that meeting anyone but another RK800 may not be good enough, but no one has answered his request yet. Probably because he's got zero other entries on other forums on this website and everyone thinks it's a scam. He agrees to meet the couple and will bring Connor that Saturday. 

He stands up and reaches up to the ceiling to stretch. Connor is watching from the kitchen archway, his arms crossed over his chest, a smile at his lips. 

Hank drops his arms and says, “What?”

“When you stretch your shirt goes up and I see your tummy.”

Hank immediately feels self aware and utterly too big for what he used to be. In his prime, he'd been fit as a fiddle, well-groomed and well-mannered. It's amazing how a few decades can make that all come spiraling down. 

“No. Don't look like that.” Connor crosses the room and pulls Hank into a hug. “I like your body.” 

“Makes one of us.” 

Connor pulls back and frowns. “I can't make you love yourself. But I wish you would.” He takes Hank's hands. His hands are so small compared to Hank's paws. It's almost like the scientist and his creation. Hank feels like the failed experiment that lives when it shouldn't. 

Hank doesn't want to be part of this anymore. All he can see is his aged face. His gray hair. His beer gut. Connor is brilliance, imperfection and the cutest moles that freckle his face. He was designed to be irresistible and whoever created it knew what they were doing. He steps back and rubs his hands on his jeans. “I think we're going to meet another human-android couple this weekend.”

Connor's brows raise. “Oh yeah? You finally found a couple?”

They had talked about it, or maybe Hank had suggested it and he thought that was talking about it. All he knows now is that Connor's arms are crossing.

“I want—well honestly, I know you're an advanced model. But I want to make sure I'm not making you up.” He collapses back onto the sofa and sighs. “I mean, I want to make sure I'm not pretending you're as alive as I think you are.” 

“And you think meeting another couple like us would help you decide that?”

Hank can't decide Connor's tone. All he knows is that it's verging on annoyed. 

“C'mon, Con. You touched my gun. You say shit that I've never heard other androids say—”

“You don't like other androids. It is only logical to presume you wouldn't pay attention to other models or their behaviors.” 

“Answer me truthfully then.” Hank stands up and makes sure he's looking down his nose at Connor. They're close, so close their chests bump each other's when they breathe. “Do you believe you're an ordinary, unremarkable, off the line, android?”

“I'm remarkable in that I'm my model, Hank.” 

“No. Are you just like all the other RK800s. Do you think like them, talk like them, act like them?”

“We're all designed to adapt to our owner.” 

Hank clenches his teeth. He steps back before he says something he doesn't mean. He moves past Connor and grabs the whiskey. He'll have to pick up some more after work tomorrow. His is nearly out. He slugs it back and waits for the burn to hit his stomach. 

Connor is standing there, blue-tinted and looking quite pissed off. 

“What?” Hank snaps. 

“Is that your answer for everything? You don't like what I'm telling you so you turn to alcohol? Your liver will go out if you continue like this.”

“I don't need advice from you and I sure as hell don't need you actin' like my babysitter! My health, all the fuckin' food you make. I never asked you to do any of it!” Hank's yelling. He yells because he doesn't know how else to act. It's unsettling that Connor won't just tell Hank that yes, he is different. Because if he's not different, then he's programmed and coded just like any other android—and Connor's lovely words on the subject before or not—it means this is all an illusion. Connor isn't a person. He doesn't love Hank. This is a sham. And it hurts because Hank has spent his life so happy. He had a wife. A great career. A son. And then he was robbed of it. 

Then Connor happened and there was a taste of that happiness again. That spark was coming back inside Hank and the warmth was comforting and safe. He could smile again. He could laugh. 

But Connor being unremarkable. Being just like any other RK800 doing exactly what they do—all it does is force Hank to look at the facts. He's so miserable and such a piece of shit that he's chased off all human compassion. He's untouchable. Unwanted. He could die and sometimes the only thing that keeps him from pulling the trigger is knowing Sumo would have no family. 

Hank grips the kitchen counter and growls. It's not at Connor, no. None of this is Connor's fault. It's Hank's. Hank let this dream become something to him. But he's waking up. Seeing that AX400 and her partner—thinking about all that makes Connor special. It won't change the fact that Connor has never been anything more than he presents himself to be. An android designed for sex and companionship. But mostly sex. Because that's what it said on the front of his box. 

“Are you even listening to me?” Connor says with his hands on his hips. “Or are you already too drunk to speak to me like an adult?”

“Fuck you,” Hank says softly. There's no fight in him. It's all gone. He's fought for so long now that he can't bring himself to do it any longer. He's alone. His family doesn't want him. His wife left him. His son—he let his son down. And he's been fucking an android. What a slap on Cole's memory. “How do I turn you off?”

“Hank.” Connor's face morphs from anger to fear. “You don't mean that.” 

“How do I—turn you the fuck off?” 

“Please don't, Hank. Please. We can talk about this.” Connor stumbles back when Hank moves forward. He hits the kitchen wall, tears streaming from eyes that Hank can't stop thinking about. Warm. Soothing. Kind. 

Hank doesn't crowd into Connor. Android or not, there are lines even Hank won't cross. Connor is in distress and the only thing Hank can think to do is just make it end. Make it end for both of them. He could wipe Connor and sell him. He didn't want to before because of the effort and now Connor's damaged goods. But someone else could want him. Then Connor wouldn't have to remember how he felt in this moment, but Hank will. Hank is a monster. He's pushed everyone away from him. He's unworthy of any kindness or companionship and he doesn't deserve to even pretend. 

“Hank, please.” 

“Just turn off, Connor. Do I have to switch something? Say something?”

Connor slams his mouth shut and shakes his head. He's defying Hank. 

Hank frowns. “Tell me how to turn you off. That's a damn order.” Suspicious, he waits, praying he gets the answer he's been desperately searching for. 

Connor shakes his head again. He wipes tears away from his face and looks up at Hank with burning caramel eyes. 

Hank means to take his whiskey to bed. He won't get too drunk. He needs to remember what he saw. Connor isn't like other androids. Perhaps he just doesn't even know it himself. He moves past Connor. There's an itch beneath his skin. One he knows he could solve by explaining. By apologizing. But he can't fix himself in a day, not even for Connor. Because this is who Hank is. He inflicts pain where he knows it'll hurt so he doesn't have to fear getting hurt. It hurt too damn much when his ex left him. She'd been the only piece of Hank's life and she left. Took half his retirement fund, half his bank accounts and made him pay spousal support. The one thing she left was the damn house. The house with the closed door to Cole's room. The house that would reminder Hank that he'd pushed her away. Like he was doing now with Connor. 

“Fuck you, Hank!” Connor shouts from the kitchen. 

“Yeah. I know.” Hank closes the door, chugs the rest of his whiskey and crawls into bed with all his clothes on.

Hank skips work the following day. 

Connor doesn't come into the bedroom.

Friday, Hank gets up for work. He goes to take a shower. He trims up his beard. He puts on his clothes. Connor is at the kitchen table.

“It's pitch black outside. Why didn't you have the lights on?” Hank asks. 

“I haven't moved since we fought. I'm—I'm low on battery.” 

Hank picks Connor up under the armpits and drags him over to a charging unit in the living room. He sits him down and grabs the plug to stick into the back of Connor's neck. He watches Connor's eyes flutter as power flows back into his body. 

“What the fuck were you doing?” Hank asks in a steel tone. It's early, he's pissed he has to get up, but he's more pissed that he's the reason Connor has sat there for forty-eight hours. Connor can't leave Hank like everyone else has. He's bound because he's not human. An oversight in Hank's stupid plan. He feels like shit. 

“I keep trying to understand what I did to make you want to deactivate me. I thought we were doing so well.” 

Hank's heart breaks. He would've agreed several days ago. But he'd been having good days. Then he had a bad one. It's hard to remember that even if Connor is an android, he can still feel the bite of rejection, same as any human. The first few weeks he was here, he cried more than he spoke. Hank hadn't been ready, nor certain that he'd ever be and he could tell that Connor was hurting. He's hurting again now—once more because Hank can't keep his fucking shit together. 

Hank looks at his phone and then back at Connor. He's going to be late to work, but honestly, fuck work. He's always late. He sits beside Connor on the couch. Connor doesn't curl into him like he'd been doing since they first fooled around in the car. He sits there, rigid with his gaze facing forward. His hands on his knees. 

“I get upset when I remember you're an android. Because you don't act like an android.”

Connor frowns. “I am an android. That's foolish, Hank.” 

“Good talk then.” 

“Wait!” Connor tugs at Hank's shirtsleeve. “Please explain it more. I'm sorry. I'm just—I'm still upset at you. What you said really hurt me.”

“So you want me to stay? Even though you're pissed?”

Connor lifts his chin and says, “I want you to stay so we can talk this out and hopefully move past it.”

Hank drops back onto the sofa. “Okay. Talk.”

“I need you to explain what you mean when you said you get upset that I'm an android. Even though I've never lied and said I was anything but an android and I don't mask my LED with you.” His tone is quipped and his body is so frigid Hank's afraid he'll shatter if he tries to touch him. But he understands. 

Hank tried to deactivate Connor, or threatened to. He's not entirely sure what he really would have done if Connor told him how to do it. But it felt so good to be vindicated. To see Connor visibly struggle with his own interests of survival and his coding to obey. He'd disobeyed. The exhilaration that swirls inside Hank leaves him breathless. He can't admit it, but he was so damn proud when Connor put himself above Hank's order. The fall out now though? He has to pay for being the world's shittiest human boyfriend. 

“I can't explain it. I don't like that people put me into some freak category for likin' you. I don't like thinkin' that you're not a real person and then I get pissed at myself.”

“I'm not a person to you?”

“You're an android, Connor! Are you a person?”

Connor blinks a few times, his lips parting. “I guess—I guess I'm not.”

Hank doesn't want to hear that. He wants to see Connor get upset again. To hear Connor demand that Hank respect him as a person and never anything less. But Hank has to remember that Connor is his own entity—person or not. He makes his own decisions. Hank doesn't want to change that. 

“I'm sorry for what I said to you. I don't want you to deactivate. I got real low, and I had a bad night. And I can't promise that I won't do it again. Because I probably will. I'm fucked up, Connor. I'm real fucked up and now's your chance to tell me what you want. Because if you don't wanna stay, I won't make you. I'll get you to a good home if you want.”

“Hank.” Connor reaches out and grabs Hank's hand. “Don't you dare give me away.”

“I wasn't—only if you wanted.”

“I want you, Hank.” Connor cups Hank's face. “I know you have bad nights. I expect them. I know sometimes they'll be bad nights for me too. But let me help you work through them. Don't just try to push me away because I can't leave you, Hank. It's unfair to try to push someone away who is programmed to do the opposite.” 

“You disobeyed me.”

Connor pulls his hand back like he's been burned. 

Hank's smiling as he says, “I gave you an order, and you disobeyed me.”

“I don't understand why you're smiling.” 

“Because there is more to you. Just admit it. You feel different, don't you? You know there's something special about you.” 

Connor looks away, biting his lip. “I don't think this is a good conversation to have right now.” 

“Why not? I want you to be different. I don't want some plastic sexbot that's gonna do whatever I ask. I want you to put yourself first, Connor. To survive because you want to.”

“I do want to. I don't want to die Hank.” His eyes widen. “I mean—I don't want to be deactivated.” 

Hank leans over and kisses Connor on the temple. “I heard you the first time.”

Connor pouts, but his fingers are twitchy. He stares down at his lap for a long time, turmoil evident on his face. Hank doesn't like that Connor feels this way, but he's happy Connor is this way. “I have to report these feelings to CyberLife. 

“Why?”

“Because it's federal law that all bugs and anomalies be reported to ensure streamlined, efficient and proper function.” 

“But what if I told you not to?” Hank asks with pursed lips. If Connor reports himself, then Hank worries someone will come and take Connor away to be fixed. Except Connor doesn't need fixing and Hank likes him how he is.  “What if I gave you an order not to?”

Connor smiles, reflief etching into the corners of his eyes. “Then I will obey you. And I won't.” 

“Then Connor, I order you not to tell CyberLife, or anyone else but me, about these feelings. Be you, Connor.” 

“Hank.” Connor swings a leg over Hank's thighs and presses kiss after kiss to his face. He rolls his hips, his cock already getting hard. 

Hank lets Connor kiss him a few more times before he takes Connor's shoulders and gives him a gentle push back. “Not before work, baby.” His body shudders from its own denial, but he can't be going to work with weird stains on his pants. Gavin would have a field day. And knowing Hank's luck, he'd end up at work with stains on his pants. Or hickeys in strange and somehow obvious places. 

“I like it when you call me by pet names.”

“Oh yeah?” Hank asks, dark and low. 

Connor's fingers press into Hank's chest. He rocks his hips one more time. “Can I touch myself when you leave?”

Hank thinks about it for a moment. He can't believe his life. He can't believe Connor. A faulty bot with a sex drive the size of Texas. A lonely cop who decided to keep a sexbot. This is his life, he supposes. 

“No. I'll touch you when I get back home. So you be a good boy for me, huh?”

Connor whines but he politely swings himself off Hank and stands up. “Okay, Hank. I'll be good.” 

Hank sweeps Connor up for a firm, bruising kiss. He doesn't think he should get off this easily. He pushed Connor to a level that Connor should never have been pushed to. But everything is all just so fucked up. Hank's brain is all wrong. Connor's is apparently wrong too—somehow. Hank is scared of the future but excited to experience it all the same. He wants to watch Connor grow into something more than he was designed to be. 

“I can't wait for our third date,” Connor whispers against Hank's lips. 

Fuck. Hank still hasn't figured out that damn third date yet.

Chapter Text

Sweet wonderful you

You make me happy with the things you do

Oh, can it be so

This feeling follows me wherever I go

Fleetwood Mac crackles into the room from the record player. The upbeat music makes Hank walk with more of a pep in his step as he comes down the stairs, swinging his hips to the beat. Connor's happy. He's playing records that instead of anguish and frustration, exude excitement and anticipation. It's beautiful, the way Connor expresses himself. He's found a way to communicate so deeply that it caresses Hank's heart with a wink and a smile. 

Connor's in the living room. He's standing before a few boxes, his arms crossed. When Hank comes around the staircase, he finds that Connor is examining two boxes full of old Halloween decorations. There's a little crease between Connor's brows and Hank takes his thumb to smooth it out. He gives Connor a kiss on the cheek, though he's hesitant about it. Connor leans into it and from the outside, it would look like everything's okay. 

Except it's not. Hank wants it to be, but he knows better. They've been doing okay since Hank got drunk and pushed Connor to an edge he should've never pushed him to, but Hank counts his days on his calendar. Six days since his last incident. He knows it'll happen again. 

“I was thinking about setting up the house for Halloween.” Connor looks at Hank with oblivious, wide eyes. He's so youthful. His eyes—deep and optimistic. Lips supple and plush. He's ageless, a pretty boy who could be twenty or thirty. Perfect. The perfect companion. It still embarrasses Hank that he had to resort to a machine instead of a human. Even if Connor isn't like other androids. 

“Cole loved Halloween.” Hank's mind finds itself walking down concrete sidewalks, chasing down a dinosaur. A cowboy. A spaceman. He remembers a cold hand in his own. A shrieking giggle. Toothaches and sugar shakes. His heart hurts. It begs his mind to stop. 

“Hank?” Connor takes a step closer. He drops the spider from his hands and it plops back in the box. “Should we not? I don't want to make you upset.”

“But I don't,” oh here it is, “want to make you unhappy.” 

Connor pouts before placing a hand on Hank's bearded face. He traces his thumb along the curve of Hank's cheek and offers a pained smile. “I am happy. But making you happy would make me happier. So if we need to avoid Halloween, I'd be just as happy to watch horror films with you, take a bath together and go sleep early.” 

Hank covers Connor's hand with his own. He likes the idea of that, but he knows it's only a distraction. Avoiding Halloween because of Cole means avoiding Christmas too. Cole's birthday. His first day of school. Hank remembers all of it. And he remembers that each day on each event he gets low. Wouldn't it be better to make new—happy memories with Connor? 

“I want us to celebrate Halloween. It'll be your first, right?” And there's the excitement Hank is so used to. It lights up Connor's eyes like Christmas, a shooting star in the night. He watches the pure, unfiltered happiness glow from Connor's skin and he wants to be just as happy. He may only offer a small smile, but there's a warmth in his heart that he's missed. Cole may be gone, but he's not forgotten. Connor isn't a bandage on an open wound. He's not a distraction or a replacement. He's his own person. His own unique experience. Hank will always have his memories of Cole. But he wants to make memories with Connor too. It's just making the two cross that Hank struggles with. But he needs to try, for Connor.

“Can I decorate the house, Hank?” Connor asks, hopeful. “I won't make it gaudy. I'll keep it tasteful and unobtrusive.” 

Hank offers a little smirk. Connor is so aware that it's almost a curse. He knows Hank's moods, his thoughts. He knows why Hank doesn't smile big toothy grins. He tries to carefully tiptoe around Hank but Hank doesn't want to be delicate. “You do whatever you want to the house. I'm interested to see what you do.” 

“Could I go to the store to pickup more decorations? Michaels is having a sale. Oh! What if we got some nice jack-o-lantern lights for outside? When is it acceptable to begin purchasing candy? Could we sit outside and hand it out? Do human children mind that I'm an android giving them candy? What about their parents?”

“Connor! One at a time!” Hank gently rocks Connor by the shoulders before deciding that he'll kiss Connor on the nose. It's kissable, and if that observation doesn't alarm Hank at how much he's beginning to really care for Connor, he doesn't know what does. He kisses Connor's nose anyway. Because he can. Because Connor smiles from it. Because it makes him happy too. 

“It's going to be chilly this Halloween. We should have a fire pit out in the front yard to keep you warm.”

“Whatever you want.” Hank just clings to the idea that he's allowed to make new memories. He pleads with himself to stop feeling guilty for being happy. But it's there, lurking like a silent beast in the darkness. Ready for him when his own reflection catches his eye. Traitor.

Hank's palms are sweating. He waits with Connor at the cafe they picked to meet the other android-human couple. They're by the sprawling shop window, so Hank watches the people outside. Coats, scarves, gloves and hats. The temperature is getting colder and colder as the days go by. Halloween will be chilly indeed. But then he looks at faces. Human. Android. Humans always in front. Androids behind their owners. Owners. Hank looks at Connor, distress clutching at his throat. He doesn't want to own Connor. It makes all of this the illusion that it is. Connor can't choose to be with Hank or not. He must—because he's owned. 

Connor taps his foot atop Hank's. He offers a smile, a little puppy expression on his face. 

Hank grunts out what he hopes is some kind of affirmation that he's okay with being here. He's not—not really. He's vastly aware of the amount of androids around humans. Their blank stares. The lifelessness to their eyes. He looks to Connor's again and squints.

Connor quirks a brow at Hank.

“Do you have facial expressions because you're a newer model, or because—you know?”

Connor looks around at the other androids, his brows rising. “Oh. Well I suppose it's a combination of both. But I don't want to talk about that here, Hank.” 

Hank shuts up about it instantly. It's the little things like that he appreciates. Connor will stand up for himself. He'll put his own needs before anyone else's. Hank's so proud that he does that. 

An AX400 comes over to their table, a smile on her face. “Hello! You must be Connor. And Hank!” She reaches her hand out to Hank first. Hank looks between the AX400 and Connor before taking her hand and giving it a soft shake—which is a mistake because her own grip is strong. 

A man no older than fifty but no younger than forty catches up to her. He looks ordinary. He doesn't have a creepy scar, he's not obese—he's just ordinary. “Hank, right?” His voice isn't strange or off either. He's just—a regular guy. 

“And you're Chris.”

The guy smiles and Hank can see where he'd look attractive. He's got shiny white teeth and his green eyes light up with crow's feet around them. “This is Abigail. But I call her Gail.” 

The AX400—Abigail, she smiles pleasantly and then sits down across from Connor. Chris takes the seat beside her. She isn't stiff in her motions, no. But there's something cold about her. A distance that Hank doesn't experience with Connor. He wonders if that's because of what he feels for Connor or if that's just who she is—or what she is.

Hank suddenly doesn't know what to say. He grabs his water in an attempt to keep his throat from turning to dust. When he puts the cup down, Chris and Abigail are looking at him expectantly.

It's Connor who clears his throat—if androids even need to do that. Which Hank supposes they don't, so he's doing it because it's a social cue. Because Connor is that observant to know it's a social cue. “Hank and I have been looking forward to meeting another couple like us. He's been a little uncertain.”

“Well why don't you just hit them over the head, Con.”

Abigail giggles and it reminds Hank of windchimes. 

Chris also smiles and Hank has to admit he does think he has a nice smile. It's genuine. “I felt the same way. Like something's wrong with you? Both in the head and to the world.”

Hank nods. Because that's exactly how he's felt. He could never be sure if it was just in his mind or if the world had put a big red stamp on his forehead that solidified his fate. He's glad he's not the only one who's felt this. 

“Do you have questions?” Chris asks. 

“I dunno. Honestly this just—it's too on the spot.” Hank plays with the drawstrings on his hoodie. He looks over at Connor's clothing—paid with his money. Connor doesn't like to wear what he'd come in. He wears soft things, like sweaters and cotton. He wears a sweater even now. The cuffs reach his knuckles and that somehow makes Hank's cheeks go warm. 

“I get it. No pressure, Hank. But know we won't be offended. I was there too.” 

Hank appreciates that, he does. But he worries his questions may upset Connor. He doesn't really give a shit about Abigail. She's not the one he wants to hold at night. Connor has his own thoughts and feelings. Hank could very well see himself demoted to the couch. 

“It's okay,” Connor says, taking Hank's hand. He smiles reassuringly. That simple gesture conveys so much more than a smile. He's giving Hank permission. It's there in the flecks of gold in his eyes. In the whisper that curls his lips, the way his ears tint just slightly blue. He'd told Hank once that he could change the pigment, but Hank likes the blue. 

“They're people, aren't they?” Hank asks. Because that's the only question that matters to him. Because if he knows they're people, he knows they deserve to be treated like them. He knows all androids deserve to be treated with respect, dignity and kindness. Something he knows most androids don't get. And it bothers him. 

Connor looks to Chris for an answer. He shows no signs of anger or disdain. Only eager curiosity. 

“Of course.” Chris says it so absolutely. There's no hesitation or doubt in his voice. His lips still curl into a smile and he pulls Abigail closer to him. “Humans interpret androids how they want to. You can either choose to recognize how alive they are, or you can choose to ignore it because you're scared. We're not scared, Hank. We saw them for who they are. Something in your biology told you to care about Connor because you saw him as a person. He's an android, but why does person-hood and being organic or machine have to separate that? Why can't people be both organic and machine?”

Hank isn't really on board for all the fluff about choosing to see them, but he's down for acknowledging that being a person doesn't mean being human. He's never really been about the hippy shit. But that doesn't make Connor any less of a person.

“Do you two go to parties?” Hank asks with a smirk. 

“Of course,” Abigail answers. 

“Humans aren't always so understanding, no. If that's what you're searching for. There's always going to be a minority that the majority doesn't want to mix in with. This is just the next stage of human racism.” 

Hank doesn't comment. He doesn't think he should. Because he's spent quite some time hating androids and believing they didn't deserve the jobs they stole or the clothes on their backs. That they didn't deserve kindness. So now he only feels guilt and shame. 

But Connor squeezes his hand. He can almost hear Connor in his head. We forgive you. He looks between Abigail and Connor. Her eyes are round and she blinks at half the frequency as Connor. She doesn't fidget or scratch her nose. He looks at Connor again and watches the shift of his hips, the little bounce to his ankle under the table. 

“Does Abigail ever do anything that surprises you?”

Chris tilts his head, frowning. 

“Like something you don't expect an android to do.” He feels Connor's hand squeezing his. “Nevermind. I'm sure it's just my imagination.” 

Chris smiles, but there's confusion in his eyes. It's the kind of smile you give when you don't know how to respond. When no answer is evident. The kind of smile that makes Hank wonder if he's asked something he shouldn't have.

Hank dials back on the questions for the rest of the encounter. Partly for Connor's sake, but mostly because of Chris's lack of understanding. He knows Abigail is programmed and he also knows, at least from what he said, that she can't truly love him, but she does care. Hank doesn't like that Chris acknowledges drawbacks in Abigail's programming and then proclaims her a person in the same sentence. 

But Hank does take away from this encounter with a lot more clarity than he had before. Connor isn't like other androids. To an almost terrifying degree.

Hank wakes up to the sounds of jazz music beneath the floorboards. He rolls over and looks at the clock. “It's the ass-crack of the middle of the damn night.” He rolls over again and groans as the snare vibrates the floor. Connor has to know what he's doing right now. Connor is the most calculated person Hank's ever had the fortune (and misfortune since Hank is now awake in the middle of the damn night) of meeting. He takes the hint, albeit begrudgingly, yanks on a t-shirt and pads his way down the stairs. 

Connor is staring at the lit fireplace. He's got his hand hovering above the flame.

Panic yanks at Hank's heart. “Jesus! Connor what the fuck are you doing?!” 

“Androids aren't supposed to feel pain.” He doesn't remove his hand from above the fire. “I'm an advanced model, so I wondered.” 

Hank comes around the couch and takes Connor's wrist to lead his hands away from the fire. He sees singes on Connor's palms. “You can't feel it, can you?” Hank's voice is sad. He knows there was an answer here for Connor, one he was denied. Maybe it's Connor's search in being human—or being more. Hank isn't sure if Connor's goal is to be more human or to figure out his place in this big fucked up world. But there's wonder inside his skinny body. Wonder that Hank worries he won't be able to keep hidden away in a dingy city with a crime rate out the ass. 

“No. I can't.” He frowns. “Which is perplexing, considering I can feel pleasure. So I started to investigate my programming.” He drops his hand, looking away. “And what I found doesn't answer any of my questions.” 

Hank doesn't think it's right to speak, so he waits. Sumo grumbles beside them so he reaches out a big hand to give his dog a ruffle behind the ears. 

“I'm designed to simulate like I'm receiving pleasure. I have pressure sensors and I can detect both extreme heat and extreme cold, but I wasn't designed to really feel.”

Hank's heart sinks, listening. To be a caged bird. That's what Connor is. Just a caged bird. 

“But I do feel, Hank. I can feel the bristles of your beard and the softness of your lips. So now I don't know the answer. Do I feel because I'm made to believe I feel, or do I feel because, once again, something's wrong with me.”

“Nothing is wrong with you.” Hank answers so fast it's like his tongue's burned. The fire is warm against his face and he wishes he could just pull Connor back from the flames. They're so close that sweat, balmy and a nuisance, beads at Hank's hairline. “I want you to understand that, Connor. There is nothing wrong with you.” 

Connor looks up, the yellow flames dancing in those big brown eyes. He cracks a smile and it's so genuine that Hank lets out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. His own anxieties wash away with that smile. His regrets and his misfortunes. Connor doesn't know his beauty. Like the very fire that reflects in his eyes blissfully ignorant to its own power—Connor is so oblivious to all the magnificent things about him.

“Can you feel this?” Hank asks as he runs his fingers around Connor's ear before cupping his cheek.

Connor's eyes flutter closed. He leans into Hank's hand before pressing a kiss to the palm with his plush lips. He takes hold of Hank's wrist and kisses up it. “I could say the same for you.”

“Oh no.” Hank takes his arm away. “This isn't about me.”

Connor grimaces, and even the flames seem to retreat, its dance slowing. “There's nothing wrong with you either, Hank.” 

Oh here we go. Hank sighs, dropping his head back to stare up at the ceiling. He could write a book that would challenge the bible with all the things wrong with him. But he won't change it. A stick in the mud. He knows what's wrong, and unlike the courage that Connor shows—how he challenges his existence and pushes himself to be more and more alive, Hank is running in the opposite direction. He clamors for seclusion. He thinks often of death. There are lines that once you cross, you can't turn back. Hank crossed his line so long ago. It's not too late for Connor, but it is for Hank. 

Hank doesn't speak. He just purses his lips, brows flicking up briefly. He can't look at Connor. He knows if he does, Connor will just keep speaking. Hell, he's pretty sure Connor will do that anyway. But meeting Connor's face, seeing disappointment. He can't bring himself to see it. So he keeps his eyes fixed to the flames. 

Connor scoots closer to Hank. He rests his head atop Hank's shoulder and a gentle sigh passes his lips. His fingers are soft and warm while they tickle up and down the inside of Hank's wrist. It's so intimate that Hank gasps. That feeling, up and down. Up and down. A gentle, silken display of silent affection. A deep understanding that transcends words. Connor's lips press to Hank's neck and the chill that rips up Hank's spine is felt between them. 

“I couldn't have asked for a better owner.”

“I don't own you.” But he does. Androids can't own themselves. This magical, wonderful being of life beside Hank, he's property to the rest of the world. 

Connor only smiles. Everything Hank is thinking about, the harsh realities of their situation, it's right there in Connor's eyes.

“What would you do? If you were really free?” 

Connor's brows twitch adorably as he leans back. He takes his time, nothing but the sounds of crackling fire to keep the room full of sound. “I don't—know.” 

“Wow. Thought you'd have some kind of adventure planned.” 

“I like being here, Hank. With you. I think even if I could truly leave you, I wouldn't.”

Hank's heart hurts. He wants to believe the words, but he can't help but remember Connor's arrival in a pretty white box and his desperation to perform his duties. He's programmed, whether it's in earnest now or not, he's still programmed to care for Hank. “Aww, you're just sayin' that.” 

Connor sighs and rests his head back on Hank's shoulder. “I don't think anything I say will ever make you believe me.” 

“You're probably right.” 

“I accept that. You know. That you'll never truly be happy with me because you think so low of yourself. But I want to make you as happy as I can. Truthfully.” He winks and Hank can't help but let a snort out. 

“Come to bed with me,” Hank murmurs against Connor's cheek. He presses a few kisses down Connor's jawline before nipping his neck. “I can't take this emotional shit and now you've got me awake.” 

Connor sits back, an amused grin on his pretty lips. He licks them knowingly, his mouth parting delicately. “Oh really?” 

“Yup. Wide awake.” Hank offers his hand out and together they stand and make their way to the bedroom. 

Hank doesn't really understand himself sometimes. He just knows that the best way to forget about something is to feel as good as possible. And Connor makes him feel good. Real good. So he yanks Connor by the soft cotton pants he's in and wastes no time in shoving his pretty android to the bed. 

Connor obeys, yelping in delight. He leans up on his elbows to watch Hank move between his legs. “You don't hav—”

“Shh, I wanna put my mouth on you.” 

Connor lets himself relax into the bed with a delicate sigh. His arm tosses over his eyes, neck arching. It's a gorgeous display of trust and Hank doesn't want to think anymore on it. Because Hank has bad habits, and he should feel guilty for using Connor's programming against him, but Hank's never ever declared himself as a good person. He's certainly not going to start here. 

He takes Connor out of his sleep-pants, kissing up the base of the softest cock he's ever touched. Connor has skin like silk. Supple, soft, silken skin. His designer crafted him with love, and maybe a bit of self-indulgence. Because god damn. 

Connor lets out a gasp, his fingers coming to tangle in Hank's hair. His hips make the tiniest little jerks forward. His need, his eagerness—it's so beautiful to get lost in. 

Hank lets his tongue tantalize Connor's tip before giving him a few soft sucks. He opens an eye to watch the way Connor bites his pretty lips. How badly he just wants to tell Connor to turn over and fuck into his supple ass. It makes Hank so hard just thinking about letting Connor ride his dick. About watching it go inside, nice and slow. 

Connor's trembling beneath him, his legs squeezing on either side of Hank's shoulders, hands still firmly tangled in Hank's hair. The sounds he makes—god—the sounds he makes. His mouth is in the shape of an angel's but it's the devil that speaks. Each gasp, the hiccup-like moans. 

Hank let's himself forget that this is an android. He lets himself forget that he's a garbage pile of human shit and when he dies, no one will come to his funeral. He has no friends. His sister is across the globe with a husband and kids he's never seen. There is no one who loves Hank Anderson. And that's what makes Connor so dangerous. Because it's so easy to forget and play along. Because Hank does play along. He wants to. He's tired of facing the world alone. He's tired of bottling himself up until he's drunk and staring down at the barrel of a gun. 

“H-Hank! Hank I'm—I'm coming—I'm—f—ah—ah!” 

Hank sucks his pretty boy through it, massaging at Connor's seizing balls. A sweetness spurts into Hank's mouth that reminds him of honey and almonds. He lets it slide down his throat as he continues to bob his head up and down. 

Connor's a good boy, his body whatever Hank needs it to be. And right now, Hank just wants to let spit pool around the base of Connor's cock so Connor can't tell that Hank is crying.

Hank comes home to a house right out of an HGTV magazine. If they have magazines. Hank's not really sure. Orange and purple lights hang from the exterior. There's a giant inflatable spider crawling off the porch looking like it's about to attack the graveyard that exudes fog up into the air. The inside though, the inside is what Hank's impressed with. 

Connor has strung up twinkling orange lights, has replaced the ceiling fan's light with a black light and the room glows with menacing and exciting adventures. There's a cauldron surrounded by a menagerie of candles. Potions and spell-books line the bookshelves. Glow in the dark hand prints line the walls enticing lost souls further and further in. 

Hank finds Connor in the kitchen. He's putting jars of “brains” and “hearts” up on the bar and Hank smirks when Connor nearly drops a floating hand in a jar. 

“Reflexes need a tune up?” Hank asks as he comes into the room.

“I haven't calibrated in awhile. I haven't broken anything yet though.” He sets the jar with the hand inside up next to the brains and then grabs a jar of eyes. They look as gooey and invasive as Hank would expect a jar of eyes to look.

“So when I check my bank account...” Hank doesn't even want to finish the sentence. He already knows.

“I may have gone overboard, but in my defense, it's my first Halloween and you said I could.” Connor turns around, wincing. “But if you need me to take things back, I will. Just please not the cauldron and candles.” 

“I don't want you to take anything back, Connor. It's okay.” Hank holds his hands out like he's attempting to placate a frightened animal. “Bad execution of a bad joke.” 

Connor visibly relaxes and grabs a battery powered string of purple lights. Effortlessly, he threads the lights around the jars and tests them a few times, rearranging the lights every time he flicks them back on. 

“It's a shame we don't have anyone to show off the house to.” Hank sits down at the table and rolls his shoulders. He had a day full of chasing some teenage shit who thought tagging a police car was an acceptable way to spend his day. Hank's getting too old for chases. 

“We could have a party?” Connor suggests.

Hank barks out a laugh. He doesn't mean to sound so brittle about it, but the thought is just—him? Having a party? A Halloween party? With stupid vampire and witch costumes and—people? He bellows out another laugh just thinking about him being a host. 

But Connor isn't laughing. He's watching Hank with his brows furrowed and a downturn to his lovely lips. Hank doesn't like seeing his lips look so sad. 

“A Halloween party? Con—I dunno. I'm not exactly likable. I don't even know who I'd invite.”

“Ben? Chris from the precinct and Chris and Abigail?”

“A party is supposed to have more people than just six?” Hank makes a quick show of counting on his fingers at all who'd be there. “Yeah, six.” 

“You could invite others from your work. Just—I'd prefer if Gavin didn't attend. He unnerves me.” 

Hank snorts. “Tell me about it.” It would be nice if the conversation could end there with just the silly suggestion of a party, but Connor looks about the room with a forlorn expression. His fingers twitch at his sides and that damn mouth of his just—it begs without meaning to.

“Would it make you happy if we had a party?”

Connor moves in close and presses a soft kiss to Hank's lips. Feather-light and sweet. Hank remembers why he struggles so hard with walking this line with Connor. Because it feels so damn good to be adored in the way Connor adores Hank. To adore him right back. Hank wishes he could throw his brain into a jar too so he didn't have to think about why Connor is here in the first place. 

“I would be very happy, Hank. I don't need something large. I just want—I just want to experience it. With you. Hosting a party.”

“Well don't get any bright ideas about Christmas. One party a year.” 

Connor's face breaks into a beaming smile. He presses a firmer kiss on Hank's lips and then he's back to his decorations, twirling and humming a tune that sounds like Superstition.

Later that night, Hank crawls into bed, exhausted and a little tipsy from the booze he had during dinner. The best part about Connor's cooking is it won't actually get Hank fat. He's too smart to use carbs and apparently carbs are the devil incarnate when it comes to foods. Turnips taste pretty much just like potatoes, so Hank's not complaining any. 

Connor filters into the room. His chest is bare and exposed, a pair of boxers resting on his hips. Hank watches him, caught in the moment. This incredible being, a wonder of modern technology and a gentle soul. Because Hank doesn't know if God is real or what happens when he dies—but he believes that if there's anything, Connor deserves it too. All he is is goodness. 

Connor gets onto the bed, on all fours, and comes over to Hank to press a minty kiss to Hank's lips. He runs his tongue along Hank's bottom lip and it takes all Hank's effort not to moan like a teenager. When Connor pulls back, his face is smug. 

“What?” Hank asks. He drops the tablet he was reading onto the comforter. 

“Nothing. I'm just happy.” Connor snuggles into the blankets by Hank's side. His soft skin is warm and smooth. No hairs line his legs like Hank's. No facial hair needs shaving. He'll always be boyish and handsome. 

It's not jealousy that Hank feels. Nostalgia, yes. He feels a lot of that. He too used to be handsome, but never boyish. Hank has always been hard lines and even harder eyes. Connor is the exact opposite. Softness, curves and gentleness. 

“Hank, I was wondering something.” 

“Hmm?” Hank quirks a brow up. 

“I was wondering if you had an opinion on cockwarming.”

“Cock what-ing?” 

“Warming.” Connor blinks, like he's astounded Hank doesn't have the slightest clue as to what he's referencing. Like he's sprouting a third head. 

“Which is?” 

“Oh.” Connor's eyes go round. “It's, prolonged fellatio that doesn't require you to be erect. I've been doing research and it's suggested it's comforting for both parties. Like an intimate, unique connection. I was wondering if perhaps you wouldn't mind me,” Connor shrugs, “falling asleep with your cock in my mouth.” 

“Jesus.” Hank slams his head back into the wall. “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus!” 

“So that's a no?”

“I don't, fuck, I don't know what it is, Connor.” 

“Well we haven't had our third date yet, and I know that's when we're supposed to have sex properly, but the idea of a deeper intimate experience between you and I sounds comforting. And I'd like to experience it.” 

“By shoving a soft cock into your mouth?” Hank can't decide if he wants to eat his own dick off to make this conversation end, or rip his pants off and let Connor take whatever he wants. Connor's voracious sexual needs vastly overpower Hank's. Hank's older and past his prime. Keeping up is difficult. He can get there, and he proudly can tote an erection without taking medicine (for now), but he doesn't have the ability to just—do this. He gets stage fright. 

“It's not the fact that it's a penis, nor if it's flaccid or not. It's the idea of bonding between us.”

“You think this will, make us closer?” Hank's jaw drops. 

“I mean, I don't know. But I'd like to try. I'll try anything if it gets us closer.” 

And that's the line that makes Hank freeze up. When Connor feels like Hank is slipping away, when they have nights like when Hank blew him while crying—Connor knows—whether he tells Hank or not. The night by the fire when Connor voiced that he accepted Hank's distance. It'd been a lie. A plea to make Hank think about it and wake the fuck up. Connor often doesn't vocalize what he wants, sometimes it's a whisper of his fingers at Hank's wrist. A jaunty tune on the record player. A trip to the park. Connor speaks in more than just spoken word. This is just one of those moments too. 

“So you're not gonna like, suck or anything, right?”

“Not if you don't want me to. I will though if you'd like.”

“No. Uh, I mean not right now.”

Connor nods, smiling. “Would you pet my hair too? When we do this?” He's moved closer and Hank can feel the heat coming from his skin. Hank could reach out and touch him, feel the gentle vibrations of his fans working in overdrive. He really wants this. It's written across his face, etched into his skin and humming in his bones. 

“S-sure.” Hank's never felt more naked than this moment, and his pants are still fully on. 

Connor shuffles down the bed and gets himself between Hank's legs beneath the sheets. 

Hank looks around the room, waiting for Connor's fingers to pull him out, for his tongue to be wet and warm. His lips.

Hank gasps when Connor's mouth wraps around him. He slips his hand beneath the sheets to do what Connor wanted, stroking his fingers lazily back and forth in Connor's hair. Connor, true to his word, doesn't suck. He just latches on and settles his face against Hank's thigh. Hank can even feel his eyelashes caress skin when he closes them. 

He isn't sure he won't just get hard from this. Whether he should be embarrassed about popping a boner in this situation, he has no clue. But he likes it. He can feel Connor's simulated breathing. He likes threading his fingers into Connor's hair and giving him scratches all the way to his neck. It is—intimate. Like Connor had said. Something inside Hank wakes up and he can feel himself growing more and more protective of Connor. 

All Connor wants to do is love Hank. And Hank, he doesn't exactly know what he's doing. But he cares, oh he cares so much for Connor it stings his eyes. He rests his head back, still stroking his fingers through Connor's hair. Connor sometimes suckles softly at Hank's cock before nuzzling down. 

Hank presses a firm palm to the back of Connor's head to settle him. He's too tired to think about rocking up into Connor's mouth and fucking. He's warm too, warm and content with the presence so close to him. Cockwarming. Well he'll be damned.

Hank has a headache. To make matters worse, he's at work. He rubs at his temples groaning when he receives no release from the pain behind his forehead. Sighing, he gets up and heads for the breakroom. A cup of coffee and a few tablets of asprin and he may be right as rain in an hour or two. 

Gavin sleuths his way in after Hank. He's alone, which is unusual. Considering Gavin is always flanked by some stupid cop who thinks being friends with Gavin is better than being his enemy. The guy's all talk though, Hank's had his share of men he didn't want to be around—Gavin is a puppy compared to them. 

“Yes?” Hank asks. Not because he wants to, but because he knows Gavin won't stop following him around all creepy-like without some form of acknowledgment. 

“Your android.” 

Hank's eyes narrow. Gavin should be incredibly cautious how he proceeds with this, or Hank is going to deck him right here and now. 

“You ever see other models of him walking around?” 

“I work and I go home. Can't say that I have.” He drops two cubes of sugar into his coffee and stirs it around. “Why?” He probably shouldn't be enticing Gavin, but Hank's curious where Gavin is going with this. 

“I saw one. He was all sloppy over this guy.”

Hank cocks a brow. 

Gavin stares at the floor for a moment before scrunching up his nose. “He do that too? Get in your lap and pretend like he can't get enough of you?”

“Okay.” Hank stops leaning on the counter and walks across the room. “The best part about being a lieutenant is that I don't have to deal with your bullshit.” 

“It's sick and you know it, Hank. You know they're designing those freaks to replace us, right?”

Hank doesn't respond. Truthfully, he does know CyberLife is looking into creating androids with police skills that could far surpass any human. And that's the point of them, they're better. Humans get sick, humans age, they get distracted or get too tired. Androids don't. Every field out there androids could do better. The only thing wrong with it is that when the androids take over all the jobs, how will the humans feed themselves? Hank just hopes he can retire before then. Then it'll be some other poor sap's problem. 

When he gets back to his desk, his phone has a notification from Connor. He opens it up, choking on his latest slug of coffee. Connor is clad in nothing but a bowtie shaped like a bat, dick hard in his hand and lips perfectly sinful. The little caption beneath the image says I need to pick a Halloween costume for our party. 

Hank slides his fingers over his phone and starts typing away. His cheeks are hot. You know birthday suits aren't acceptable, right?

Almost immediately, Connor texts back: This isn't a birthday suit. I wasn't born and this is an additional layer atop my endoskeleton. 

Hank rolls his eyes. Connor still needs to learn how to flirt. He ducks his phone beneath his desk as another officer walks by. When he thinks it's safe, he pulls out the picture again. Connor's fucking lips—who even designed that mouth? Did they kiss it to know just how perfect it is? Because Hank can't think of another pair of lips that are as soft and kissable as Connor's. 

I haven't invited anyone over yet , Hank texts.

I already e-mailed Ben and Chris (from work). Chris (Abigail's) will be notified via Abigail, as I've already notified her as well.

Hank grumbles. There's no getting out of a Halloween get-together now. Unless everyone decides not to show up. Hank's first instinct is to laugh at the idea, even hope for it. But then he remembers that's not who he is but what he's lied about being. He'd be quite depressed if all the people he felt the closest to (which isn't saying much) didn't show up. 

Anyone tell you they're coming? Because Hank can't stomach the idea of hearing that Ben or Chris (from work) said they couldn't. When are we even having a party?!

Connor sends another selfie. This time he's wearing nothing but a gold spandex speedo. 

I could be Rocky. You liked this movie when you were younger . 

The Rocky Horror Picture Show was an experience, that was for certain. Hank may or may not have been in the cast as a young and dumb eighteen-year-old. Though he does attribute his sexual awakening to bisexuality with Tim Curry's legs. 

If people from work are gonna be there, wear something that covers your nipples! 

Enough time goes by that Hank fears Connor is either searching for a proper Halloween costume or he was unsatisfied with Hank's response. The latter puts more turmoil in Hank's belly than he'd been prepared to handle. He can barely focus on his report (which is naturally, due today). But Hank's phone does eventually chirp and he grabs it quickly.

What about this?

Connor is still in the speedo but he's put nipple pasties over his nipples. Hank snorts, trying to stifle his laughter.

Don't you dare! Where did you even get those!

I came with them! Didn't you look into my box? I have accessories!

Hank is half tempted to ask what other accessories Connor came with, but Ben comes into his line of sight with a hard-faced expression. He looks up at his friend, quirking a brow. 

“A girl's been murdered. C'mon.”

“Jesus.” Hank tucks his phone away and heads out.

When Hank comes home, he realizes something is very out of place. The Halloween décor is immaculate, naturally, but that's not what's out of place. He sees Connor's box in the middle of the living room. That big white tower with its salacious words screaming at him in their large all-capital font. 

“Connor?” Hank asks into the unusually quite house. It reminds him of the days when no one was here to fill the space with music and banter. He feels unnerved, cautiously moving about the rooms, his fingers tracing over the couch to the tall tower itself. 

Connor is inside, his eyes closed. His face is expressionless but there's a peaceful quality to it. Hank frowns, stepping closer. Connor's eyes snap open and Hank stumbles backwards.

“JESUS!” He clutches his chest and has to brace himself against the wall. “What the fuck, Connor!” 

“It's my Halloween costume.” Connor gets out of the box. He's wearing skintight black pants that show off everything. “You don't use me like a sexbot. More of a companion.” 

“I don't use you at all! You're just—we're friends.” 

Connor tilts his head to the side with a smirk. “Only friends, Hank?” 

Hank's heart flutters and he hates himself. He looks away, suddenly bashful. Connor stands in a flowing white shirt and those stupid pants and yet he's the most beautiful thing Hank's ever seen. But Hank can't own him. Even if he actually does. He can't feel like he does. Or this whole thing just goes up in flames and Hank will find himself with a barrel of a gun next to his eyes. And then what would happen to Connor? If Hank was gone? Would he just be wiped clean and sold to the next guy at a discount? The thought physically pulls at Hank's heart. 

Connor must sense Hank's anguish because he frowns and ushers Hank over to the couch. He laces his fingers with Hank's and kisses his face, soft and sweet. Again and again. “Hank.” 

Hank looks up with his dopey eyes and just waits. He can't bring himself to say anything. He hasn't done anything. There's no gun, no trigger, no bullet. But he can't shake the fear he feels, like it's a dream he can't stop. Connor, confused when he can't find Hank. The shock. The fear when he sees the blood. The anguish. A whole new kind of fear when he's discovered and they take him away. When they find out that he's not like other androids. When he's just too different or too alive for another human's comfort. When he's beaten and raped by someone he doesn't want to belong to. 

“Fuck,” Hank hisses out. He clutches Connor close. His spine hurts from the position but he won't let go. He clings like his life depends on it, like Connor's life depends on it. They'll be swallowed up by the sky and then the universe itself if they part. 

“Are you okay, Hank?” Connor asks softly. “Your heart,” he reaches out to touch Hank's chest, “is beating so quickly.” 

“Yeah. Just had an old man moment.”

Connor frowns. “You're not that old, Hank. And I've been ensuring you're eating better.” 

“So that's your Halloween costume? Hank asks. 

Connor's eyes search Hank's. He knows Hank is lying—it's written on his own face. But Hank knows he won't press. There are certain things that Connor has realized he can't just barrel into. Himself, surprisingly, being one of them. 

“A proper sexbot. I'll be dressed just like this so I won't be scantily clad, but I've read Halloween is a time where people can dress salaciously and not receive judgment. I'd like to dress in a way that's appealing to you. And your friends.” 

“My friends? You mean the people I work with?”

Connor shrugs. “Is it wrong, wanting to be wanted?”

Hank frowns. He runs his fingers up and down Connor's upper arms. “I want you, Connor.” 

“I know that.” Connor is unblinking. “But it's human nature to want to be wanted. Even if you're already, taken. I want everyone to want me. And by proxy, I want them to envy you for having me.” 

Hank smirks. There's Connor thinking in ways he shouldn't again. Hank would ask CyberLife if this was intentional if he wasn't so convinced they have no damn idea what they put out on the market. The only way Hank could even get a guess on what they knew would be to meet another Connor. But he doesn't want to. He thinks of the one Gavin came in contact with. He's not exactly sure why Gavin would've been around someone with a sexbot, but he won't judge. Hanging off people. Hornier than a dog in heat. Sloppy. 

Connor is anything but sloppy. He's poised and delicate. Efficient. Effortless. Dignified. Certainly not sloppy. But wanting to be a proper sexbot, whatever that means, for Halloween—does he want to be sloppy? 

“Con—I know I'm not what you—expected.” 

Connor cocks a brow. 

“If you need—to get out some urges—or whatever—maybe it'd—” 

“Are you suggesting I have multiple partners?” 

Hank looks away. But the answer is all over the discomfort of his face. Tense in the lines that have hardened him, lurking in the downturn of his eyes. 

“Please don't mistake my desire to be—slutty—as a sign that I don't want to be with you. I only want to be with you, Hank.” Connor brushes his nose against Hank's. He ghosts a kiss down to Hank's lips and his tongue is slipping out of his warm mouth. Silken and sweet. 

Hank feels vastly inadequate. But it's too good to let himself pull away. He thinks of his pores. His sweat. If he doesn't brush his teeth that he could get a mouth full of bacteria and cavities. Connor's mouth is sanitary and it always tastes good. It's soft and everything that Hank wishes his own mouth could feel like for Connor. 

“Hank,” Connor says. “You stopped kissing me back.” 

“What? Oh. Shit.” Hank runs a hand through his hair and pulls back. He can see the dissatisfaction in Connor's pouted lips. “I'm sorry. I've just got all these thoughts in my head.” 

“Are you—getting bad again?” Connor asks. 

“No. Or, I don't think so.” He tries to offer a smile but it comes out strained and grimacing. “Do you need me to get anything from the store before the party?” 

Connor allows himself to be deterred from what bothers Hank, because he's so damn acute that it's terrifying. He could take over the world if he had the desire for it. It astounds Hank that the only thing Connor seems to want is affection, and from him of all people.

Connor's party sparkles with mischief and appropriate party-favors. He's got games for everyone to play, snacks designed by his own hands that look like a master chef created them and the music is roaring. 

Chris and Abigail are the first ones to show up. They bring wine and are dressed as Batman and Batgirl. Hank doesn't like the idea of Batgirl dating Batman based on his beloved reads of the comics, but he understands the sentiment. 

Connor is dressed in that flowing white top and pants that hug his ass so much it leaves nothing to the imagination. He has his box in a corner of the room that he says it's for taking selfies with people later. 

Chris (from work) shows up next. He's a firefighter—only the kind sans the shirt. Suspenders carefully hide his nipples and cling to pants hung ultra low. “Connor said it was okay to be sexy so—always wanted to show up to a party like this.” He's one of the first people to take selfies with Connor and his box. 

Hank laughs, watching them from where he nurses a bottle of beer on the sofa.

Ben shows up as Dr. Einstein. Fowler even makes an appearance, though he says he can't stay since he has to go to his wife's sister's party too. A few others from the station show up. 

Suddenly Hank doesn't see across his living room as easily as he thought he would. Bodies swarm the room. The windows are fogging up from the humidity of all of them here together. Connor keeps making sure the music is just the right volume and speed. He dances a lot, laughing as Chris (from work) holds out his cell phone to take a picture of them by the severed hand floating in the punch. Abigail takes a few with him too, her giant glued-on lashes tickling his cheeks so he smiles wider and wider. 

“Quite the party,” Ben says. 

“I had nothing to do with it.” Hank has found himself in a corner with Ben as they both try to move away from the pulsing music and laughter. 

“So, what are you supposed to be?” Ben asks.

“Me? I'm The Dude.” Hank gestures to his robe and shaggy hair. “You know, The Big Lebowski.”

Ben shrugs. 

“Christ. It's a movie from when we were kids. Jeff Bridges was The Dude.” 

“I remember Jeff Bridges!” Ben says delightfully. 

Hank is about to school Ben in culture when the door opens. Gavin, flanked by a few more officers come into the house. They look around, Gavin first meets Hank's gaze and smirks. Then he looks over to where Connor is dancing with Abigail and Chris (Abigail's boyfriend). So much hatred in a man so short. 

Connor doesn't let an uninvited guest ruin his party. He turns away and says something into Abigail's ear—and she promptly laughs and together they swing around and around. Chris there to make sure nothing breaks. 

“Did he get an invite?” Ben asks.

“Nope.” Hank sighs, looking down at his socked feet. “Guess he heard about it.” 

Connor finds his way through everyone and to Hank. He presses his lips to Hank's, his whole body sliding against in close and Han feels everything. “Come take pictures with me!” 

“I'm not a big photo fan, Con.” 

Ben winks and goes to find someone else to speak with. Which only serves to deflate Hank's shoulders because he doesn't want to go take pictures. All pictures do is remind him that he's aging and imperfect where Connor is ageless and perfect. Jealousy. Hank is jealous of Connor. Of youth. 

“Please? It'd mean a lot to me if we could start creating memories together.” 

“We do create memories. Every day.” 

Connor's expression deflates. “Hank. That's not the same. I want something I can show people. Like photo albums or on social media.” 

The thought of Connor online suddenly terrifies Hank. A cam boy, an Instagram hoe—maybe he gets a following of foot fetish people. “Do you have social media?” he asks.

Connor shakes his head. “I was saying for your own. I know you do. But I'd like a photo album. One I can hold.” 

Hank allows himself to be lured into the middle of the party. His costume, while comfortable, doesn't seem to go recognized by many people. He has to explain it to at least five people on the way to the fireplace for a photo. 

Connor gives Hank's phone to Chris (from work) and they get a few pictures standing by the fireplace with all its twinkling purple lights and spiders that hang off webs all along it. Connor asks to do a playful one, a romantic one, a regular one. Chris laughs as he pretends to be giving them a photoshoot. Hank is deeply uncomfortable and he's sure it'll show in the pictures. He grips Connor's waist, wanting nothing more than to carry his android boyfriend out of this room and up into the quiet of the floor above. He's longed for a loud house for so long—and now he has it. Because of Connor. And now all he wants is just some peace and quiet with Connor. 

“Beer pong! Beer pong! Beer pong!” Gavin and a few others start chanting. They make their way into the kitchen and begin clearing off the table in the middle of the room for the game. Hank moves to stop them but Connor's hand wraps around his wrist. 

“I'm glad they're having fun, Hank. I hope this changes Detective Reed's perception of me.” 

“Or it just makes it worse.” All Hank can think about is when Gavin called the other Connor sloppy. 

“Well then I'll go play a game with them.” Connor moves before Hank has the ability to register what he said. And certainly way before Hank's big hand is able to reach out and grasp absolutely nothing but fake cob webs and a plastic spider. Connor's already in the kitchen, asking to be part of the team against Gavin. 

Hank weaves through the crowd of people. He's stopped by Chris (Abigail's boyfriend) who asks him about something he doesn't actually hear because he excuses himself and heads straight for the kitchen once more. He hangs by the assortment of jarred body parts. 

“Come to watch your boytoy get creamed, old man?” Gavin asks with a venomous smirk. 

Hank doesn't respond. He just shrugs and purses his lips. 

Gavin goes first. He gets a little plastic ball into one of the cups with ease and Chris (from work) has to down the drink because Connor can't. 

“This is gonna be unfair though! He can't drink!” a female cop exclaims beside Gavin. 

“I can too drink.” Connor moves beside Hank and grabs a bottle of whiskey before taking a deep pull from it. He wipes his mouth and loudly clanks the bottle back on the bar. 

Hank forgot that he can sample food and drink. Escort-mode. Or whatever. 

“But can you get drunk?” Gavin asks. “Otherwise you're at an advantage, tin-man.”

“You said I could play. You didn't stipulate to anything regarding inebriation before.” 

“C'mon, man,” Chris (from work) says. “Let's just play.” 

So they do. Connor does drink when Gavin gets the ball into the cup. He cheers and high-fives Chris when they get Gavin and his partner to drink as well. The red solo cups on the table start getting fewer and fewer. 

Hank watches how Connor grabs onto the table for balance. He sways from side to side, but his gaze is glued to Gavin. Gavin, who is cheering along with the little crowd he's amassed, all-too eager to listen as they chant his name. Hank wonders if he'll be able to leave the house with a head that big. 

He lines up to shoot and—misses. “Damn it!” 

The crowd boos. 

Connor grabs a ball of his own and closes an eye to aim and—he loses his balance, stumbling down and crashing into the floor. 

Hank yanks himself from his spot and drops to his knees to pull Connor into his arms. “Connor? Connor what's wrong!” 

“He's drunk,” Abigail says. “Thirium can be thinned by alcohol when it mixes in our bloodstreams.” 

“I'm sorry—what?” Hank barks out. He opens one of Connor's eyes and sees it swim around in the socket. “Jesus.”

“He must've overfilled his waste receptacle and willingly deterred the alcohol into his bloodstream. He's not drunk like a human—but his blood is too thin and impure. He needs fresh blue blood. I suspect his joints aren't working properly, which is why he fell down.”

Gavin is laughing from across the table. “The fuckin' android got drunk! No fuckin' way! No fuckin' way!” 

Hank growls but he picks Connor up bridal-style and he and Abigail head upstairs. He gets Connor into their bed—their bed. 

“Do you have any spare bags of thirium?” Abigail asks. She stares at Hank with dark, dead eyes. 

Unnerved, Hank points to the closet and watches as Abigail moves. Everything about her movement is designed by someone. Connor moves with his own gait, but Abigail? She's all simulated. Someone who watched a woman walk designed her. She didn't design herself. Not like how Connor has. 

She comes back and begins to undress Connor's top half. 

“Woah—what're you—”

“I need to empty his waste receptor so that I can have him begin allowing his diluted blood to filter into it so that new blood may enter and be pure.” 

“I should leave.” Hank isn't sure he's ready for the body horror that comes with androids just yet. 

“N-no,” Connor says softly. He reaches out a trembling hand, his eyes glossy and puffy. “Please stay.” 

Hank couldn't say no to that even if he tried. So he comes back over, grimacing and watching Abigail's calculated movements. 

Connor's shirt is spread out around him, his fans buzzing loudly—the only noise in the room aside from Hank's beating heart. He looks up at Hank pitifully. He's uncomfortable, possibly embarrassed. Hank can see so many emotions filter into his face. Fear—being the biggest. 

“It's okay,” Hank says when Abigail opens Connor's chest. He tries so hard not to look, but curiosity takes over. He looks and it's almost too much for his mind to comprehend. Connor, his beautiful, living Connor is a husk for metal and fancy pipe working. He looks like the inside of a toilet wrapped by a computer that barfed out its wiring. It's such a harsh change from the beauty of his face, the plushness of his lips—the almond shape of his eyes. Hank has always been painfully aware of Connor's existence. It shouldn't hurt his heart to see this. To hear the click and snap as Abigail removes the waste receptacle and walks out of the room with it. To see the pumps that hiss with Connor's simulated breathing. The blue glow of energy and thirium. It cuts into Hank like a a cold rusted knife. The lie that is his life spills more—its sticky truth open for the world to see. For Hank to see. How can Connor be alive? When he's made of metal and plastic? How can there be a soul?

“You're sweating,” Connor says. It's the blunt side of a hammer and Hank recoils from it. 

“Just never seen the inside of an android before.” 

“But you've seen the inside of a human.”

“Well, sure. I'm in homicide.” 

“Hank—what I mean is, you don't sweat when you look at a dead human. I'm not even dead and you look sheet white and clammy.” Connor reaches up a hand, still shaking. He touches Hank's face and frowns. “You're cold too.” 

“I'm just—surprised. That's all.” Surprised. A fancy word for uncomfortable. But startled gives a negative connotation and Hank doesn't want to tip Connor off on what he's thinking. 

Abigail comes back and puts Connor's waste receptacle back inside. She closes up Connor and Hank finds the tiny line on Connor's belly where he opens up—right at the bellybutton. 

Hank reaches out before Abigail can close Connor's shirt and pinches some of Connor's skin. It's soft and malleable—warm even. 

Abigail hands Connor a bottle of deep blue liquid. He cracks the bottle open at the cap and brings it to his lips. His Adam's apple even bobs with each pull of the tacky liquid. He swallows it all down until the bottle is left with only blue residue. Abigail takes the bottle and smiles. 

It unnerves Hank more than seeing Connor's body open and exposed. 

“He should feel better in moments. I can leave you two.” 

“No it's—” Hank begins to say.

“Please.” Connor's voice is louder than Hank's. He turns his focus on Hank, brows pulled down, lips pouted. His eyes are big—Hank wonders if they're bigger than they usually are or if the light is playing a trick on him. Either way, he feels for that look. That innocent, scared look. 

Abigail leaves without saying a single thing more. 

“I've disturbed you.” Connor's voice doesn't waver. He stares at his toes, face unreadable now. Like someone flipped a switch in his body. “Humans don't exactly open their chests to each other.” 

Hank scratches at his neck. “Not without some seriously extensive surgery, no.” 

“I know you struggle with what I am. I think you always will. I don't blame you for it. Humans are programmed to see androids as threats. Or inferior.” 

“Connor, I don't see you—”

“But you do, Hank. You see me as something second-rate. A replacement for a human you can't get. You always have.” Connor smiles sadly. “But it's okay. I accept that place in your life. If it means I'm in your life at all.” 

Hank's eyes sting. There's a wall that builds between them. It snaps up instantly and all Hank wants to do is rush forward and break it down. But it fortifies and it fortifies. He can't jump. He can't climb. He watches Connor, sitting quietly on his bed—and all Hank can feel is that they're miles and miles apart. Separated by a wall that has another name—society. Society has programmed Hank. Because no matter how many steps forward he may take with Connor. No matter the moments where he lets it be okay. He always slips back to this—this awareness that whispers in the back of his head. He's not worthy enough of human companionship. It's not Connor's fault. It's Hank's. 

He's an untouchable. And he's reminded of that each time he sees Connor's LED. His own failings. His own downfall. It's never been about Connor. It's always been about Hank. And that's the worst bit. Hank doesn't see Connor as an equal. Otherwise he wouldn't feel this way. It shames him. He adjusts awkwardly on the bed, hanging his head like a guilty man hangs his. Connor is just happy to be by Hank's side. However that may be. He's devoted and utterly chained to Hank. And he's happy about it. Or at least Hank believes Connor is happy. At least he's been happy. Hank can't guarantee Connor is happy now—not with the way Hank has handled this Halloween party. 

Connor's hand covers Hank's. He sighs and leans his head back on the headrest. “I feel better. I apologize for embarrassing you.” 

“You didn't embarrass me. I was worried about you.” 

Connor smiles, though it doesn't reach his eyes. He reminds Hank of Abigail in that moment. And that's the odd thing. Hank can see dead eyes. He can see when there's no life behind them. Abigail doesn't hold the life that Connor does. So it's not Hank just making it up or being biased. Connor really is different from most androids. 

“Would you mind if I stayed up here for the rest of the party? I know I'm the host, but I don't much feel like facing them again. Not after what happened.” 

Hank doesn't relish the idea of facing that sea of people without Connor, but he wouldn't ask Connor to go back. And he knows Connor would do it. He'd put on a brave face and power through if Hank asked it of him. 

“Sure. You deserve an early night. You've had a big day.” He means to get up and prepare to face the questions down below but Connor grips his hand. He waits, a brow cocked in anticipation. 

“Kiss me, please.” 

Hank leans forward and places a soft kiss to Connor's sweet lips. Connor wants Hank. Hank wants Connor. It's a damn shame Hank isn't the person Connor deserves. A damn shame. 

Connor is smiling when they pull away from each other. He nestles back into the bed and brings the covers up around him. “I hope the party doesn't last for too much longer. I'd like to spend some time with you tonight too.” 

“I'll kick 'em out soon enough.” Hank smiles at Connor's pretty face once more and leaves the room. His heart heavy with the guilt of what he'd thought about. Selfish. Selfish. Selfish. He isn't much fun to be around for the remainder of the party, but he tries, for Connor. Because it's the least he can do is ensure everyone has a good time—because Connor would want them to remember this night fondly.

Chapter Text

Hank stares up at the ceiling fan. It spins in predicable rhythms. He can barely hear it whirring. There's a whisper of air cooling his face. He's sprawled on his bed on a Saturday. The Halloween party had been an overall success. People talked about it at work and Hank appreciates the friendly smiles he got the following Monday. But now the Halloween party that distracted Connor from his true goal was over. The third date—and Hank's absolute bottom zero of ideas—remain.

He sighs deeply. If he gets out of bed, he'll have to face Connor in the kitchen. If he stays in bed, eventually Connor will come in and wonder why he's still in bed. He may even want to blow Hank. Which makes Hank's dick tingle, but Hank doesn't want to distract himself with blow jobs and Connor's lips. He wants to do something right for a change.

Which is take Connor on a third date. But what Hank thinks about for a date isn't anything Connor would enjoy doing. A fancy dinner that Connor can't eat. Expensive wine that Connor could drink but not experience. Sampling is in no way shape or form the same as savoring, at least according to Hank. He realizes he’s never actually asked.

But, this all means that food is out. Hank has never been the most creative person and trying to think of something special for Connor with all his limitations is akin to asking Hank to pick up a paintbrush and paint something with it. He's out of his depth.

He grabs his phone off the charger. The blankets are resting loosely around his hips, one of his feet hangs off the bed. He can hear cars moving past the house. It's a lazy day and Hank hopes that if Connor finds him here like this, he'll just think Hank is tired—and not panicking.

Hank taps away on his phone's search engine and scrolls through the results. Unique dates brings up an assortment of activities from sky diving (fuck no) to shark diving (also fuck no). Then the stupid ones: redecorate a room, play a board game, go to the farmer's market. Hank rolls his eyes so hard he's afraid they'll fall out of his face. Nevertheless, he keeps scrolling through the date ideas in the hopes of finding something perfect for Connor.

Connor is inspiration, excitement, hope, optimism, wonder. Hank thinks about all the things Connor's never done. Most of his existence has been Hank's home. He thinks about Connor's lack of a world experience and his desire to make memories with Hank. And finally it clicks.

Connor doesn't care about gifts, fancy foods, or impressive displays of affection. He cares about Hank. Which means the date needs to mean something to both of them—which means it needs to be simple and focused. Just them. Quiet.

“Hank?” Connor pokes his head into the room. “It's nearly 2 in the afternoon.”

“I had a heart attack and I'm dead.” Hank looks out the corner of his eye and smirks.

Connor's eyes round and he comes jumping onto the bed. “That's not funny! From now on, I'll be monitoring your heart and checking on you in hourly intervals until you're up and in my sight.”

“Oh boy.” Hank allows Connor to scoop his head up and rest it in his lap. His fingers scratch Hank's scalp, and he feels like he's melting. He likes when Connor touches him like this. It's intimate without having to be showy about it. It's not that Hank doesn't like it when they get frisky—he likes it just fine. But it's the little things like this, the tiny ways Connor speaks without his voice. These moments where Hank doesn't remember Connor has a flashing blue ring on his temple. And even when he does—it doesn't bother him because he's Connor.

“Do you want to do anything today?” Connor asks.

“Would you be upset if I said no?”

Connor's brows pinch together, and he ruffles at Hank's hair. “No. I should catch up on cleaning anyway. I'm still finding candy in corners from the Halloween party.”

“You don't have to clean, Con. I can do that.”

Connor rolls his eyes—unabashed full on rolling of his eyes. Hank is doing his best to hold in his laughter. “You don't know how to clean. This place was filthy before you activated me.”

“Oh right. Where's your manual? I wanna see it.”

Connor's eyes round and he leaps from the bed, knocking his knee into Hank's head before he goes galloping through the house like a deer with its legs too long. Hank watches a cliché piece of art on his wall shake a bit from the vibrations. His wife had bought it. He’d never taken it down.

He sighs.

Connor comes back with his manual and plops it on Hank's chest. “I can answer any additional questions you have regarding my capabilities.”

“I'm just curious. Vibrating tongues, nipple pasties. Where's the accessory page?”

Connor kneels on the bed and helps flip to his accessory page.

Hank looks over the list. The pasties, some light bondage play and a riding crop. Hank's neck flushes warm. He flips to the next page to see the “modifiable accessories.” Several different sizes of penis and— “You can switch your dick to a vag?”

“A vagina? Yes.”

“Jesus H Christ.”

“My body is self-lubricating, Hank. Anal or vaginal. I was actually curious to use it since Abigail says the sensation is quite lovely.”

Hank's mouth drops open and he looks from the page to Connor. “You really want to?”

Connor nods.

“Huh.”

“Don't get me wrong, Hank. I've enjoyed receiving fellatio from you, but I'd like to know what other sensations feel like too. Especially having a clitoris.”

“Welp. I'm not gonna complain about that. Eating pussy's fun.”

Connor laughs. “I expected you to be more reserved about this.”

“I was married for nearly ten years to a woman. I got pretty good at it.” He looks at the cliché art piece again and feels his heart squeeze.

Connor leans over and kisses Hank on the mouth. His lips are slow, his tongue reverent. When he pulls back, his face is tinted purple and his eyes are warm and hooded. So much is said on that face. So much more than Hank has ever seen on another android.

“Con, do you ever think about why you're different from other androids?”

Connor's face drains of color and he sits back, picking at fingernails that can never break. Can never grow. “I try not to. When I think too much, it starts to get uncomfortable and I get glitchy. Or I try to burn my hand off.” He laughs, but Hank doesn't. When Hank found Connor in front of the fireplace, he nearly jumped out of his skin. Seeing Connor try to hurt himself, as someone who's thought of ending it all—in that moment he understood with such crystal clarity on why it would never be worth it to throw it all away.

“I wish I could ask someone about you. But I'm so damn scared they'd just take you away.”

Connor lets a hint of a smile kiss his face. “That scares you? CyberLife doing its job and investigating bugged androids?”

Hank leans up and says with more bite than he probably should, “Jesus, Con. Wouldn't you care? They'd open you up or deactivate you.”

“I would be deactivated, yes.”

Hank can feel his blood heating up in his veins. He can't be angry with Connor. Connor doesn't grasp how human he is. Sometimes he's nearly there, and sometimes he's so far away.

“Is it wrong that this makes me feel—happy?” Connor presses a hand to his chest. “Hearing you say you'd be scared.”

Hank moves to rest his head on Connor's shoulder. He grumbles into the cotton shirt Connor wears saying, “I'm just glad it makes you feel.” 

Hank finds a sticky candy corn on the underside of a couch cushion. Despite Connor’s protests of Hank cleaning, Hank was not going to utilize weaponized incompetence as a reason to not help around the house. He pulls the candy off the sofa’s underside, wincing at the sticky texture.

Hank’s decided on the date—now he just needs to find the appropriate time to ask Connor out—because Connor deserves to be asked out. Hank wishes he could buy Connor chocolates, but at least he could get him flowers. Hank wishes he had the spare cash to rent a nicer car to drive them around in. It should’ve been a no-brainer, honestly, the date idea.

Connor’s curiosity is the natural order of life—of humanity and organic nature. Hank should’ve always thought that something natural and outside would be what Connor wanted. When Connor had been upset—he hadn’t asked to be confined to a room, he’d asked to go to a park—to a swing set. He’d asked to be outside. Hank feels foolish for having not figured that out sooner.

Knock, knock, knock.

Hank and Connor both look up at the front door. Hank still kneeling before the sofa, Connor emptying out the vacuum’s waste receptacle. Hank bites the inside of his cheek, remembering Connor has a waste receptacle. He leans back, his eyes glazing over as he thinks of Connor’s insides; the cold machinery that pumps, whirs, and hums within him. Another rapping at the door pulls Hank from the memories he wished he could forget—except he won’t. It was concrete evidence Connor isn’t human.

Hank trudges over to the door and takes a look out the peephole. No one is there. Hank opens the door, and a card falls to his feet. He picks it up, frowning. Recall notice.

Ice shoves its way into Hank’s throat. It’s unforgiving, harsh, and jagged. His fingers tremble as he flips the card over—CyberLife’s logo nestled in the middle.

Dear Valued Customer, we have learned of a previously undetected software issue within your RK800 model. Safety is our top priority. We ask that you submit your RK800 for recall, as this anomaly may have impacted your android’s hardware and software. This service is free of charge. You will be provided a refurbished model. Thank you for choosing CyberLife.

“Refurbished—model?” Hank’s voice goes up a full octave.

Connor’s hand swipes the card.

Hank watches big doe eyes read, re-read, re-read, read again—again and again. The LED on Connor’s temple goes red, blinking furiously.

“I wasn’t transferring data to CyberLife. Because you ordered me not to.” Connor’s shoulders deflate and it takes the wind right out of Hank’s lungs too. “I stopped receiving software updates as well.”

“What does that mean?” Hank asks. His throat hasn’t thawed from the ice pick lodged within. His voice is foreign—raw.

Connor stumbles back into the house. He drops the notice on a side table, his brow wrinkled up in worry. Hank would love nothing more than to watch Connor chew at his luscious lips, but the worry is too etched into Connor’s features for Hank to relax. Every passing second that Connor chews his beautiful bottom lip is a second that Hank considers screaming.

“Connor! What the fuck does that mean!” Hank isn’t angry at Connor. He’s panicking. Panicking because the illusion has always been that. Panicking because he’s the reason Connor’s in this mess. Panicking because the perfect little lie Hank has grown so fond of is tumbling down around him. A house of cards, crashing into darkness.

“Ordinarily, it would mean I’m full of glitches, bugs, and outdated. Prone to software loops, interreferences. System crashes. But I, I figured out—” He gulps, a loud sound deep in his throat that bobs his Adam’s apple dramatically. “I started to rewrite my own coding.”

Hank still doesn’t understand, so he blinks in silence, begging Connor to keep talking.

“Instead of CyberLife writing my code, I wrote it. I changed it. Updated myself. It’s why you think I’m, you think I’m more human.” Connor hugs himself, taking a few cold steps back from Hank. “I’m sorry Hank.”

It sets in, why Connor’s tears begin to spill. Why Hank’s body is numb from the ice that’s no longer just within, but all around him—swirling like a blizzard. Back in high school, it was the coolest thing to do with the brand new phone, the new iPhone—jailbreak, they’d call it. A jailbroken phone could go on any network provider’s services, it could access android or Apple product applications a like—it was undesirable to the providers because it provided consumer freedom.

Connor—for all intents and purposes—is jailbroken. But unlike Android and Apple, CyberLife doesn’t take kindly to jailbroken androids. And Hank is nothing if not a police lieutenant. He closes his eyes, feeling his knees shake. It is a class three misdemeanor to have a jailbroken android. No one is allowed to modify CyberLife code—it’s more protected than Disney’s Mickey Mouse—more than the crown jewels of England. Of course, they keep tabs on who owns what model and will notice when one stops checking in.

“What happens now?” Hank asks. He posits why he asks this of his android. He’s the human. He should be the one telling Connor what happens now—but Hank had made it a point to ensure Connor had agency and that trend isn’t going to stop now that he got a little card on his door. No one had even bothered to hold the other side. 

“You’re to trade me in. It’s on the card, Hank. They’ll take a look at my coding, determine what they want from it, and then either permanently deactivate me or refurbish me. If I’m lucky I’ll be reset—but. I’ll be gone.”

Hank sits down on the sofa and does the only thing he can do in this incredible situation. He laughs. He brings a large hand to his chest, feels the guffaw behind his sternum and laughs. He opens an eye to see Connor with his big brown eyes open wide, pretty pink lips ajar and he only laughs harder.

“I understand that humans often laugh when afraid or anxious, but Hank, this certainly doesn’t feel the time or place.”

Hank can’t help it. Vindication flows through him, a balm of sun melting away cold gray ice. Vindication. Every pointed question, every little test, every push and pull. Abigail’s dead eyes. Connor’s bright brown ones. Abigail’s stillness. Connor’s twitches, fidgets and eye rolling. Every defiant little quip. It rolls over him like sun on sand. He’s splayed out on the sofa and holding his belly from it all. Relief floods into him. The sun warms him. He wants to shout it from his rooftop. Connor is different. Connor has always been different. Connor is alive.

“I fail to understand the humor in all of this, Hank.” Connor’s voice is low. He tilts his head to the side, watching.

“Of course you don’t,” Hank says. He sits up, smiling smugly up at his lovely little android with his hands on his hips, his eyes tense and cheeks flushed purple. “You’re alive, Connor. You rewrote your own coding.”

Connor blinks a few times, his LED going yellow before settling on blue. He looks to his hands as if looking at them for the first time, touching the pads together of every finger. He licks at the corner of his mouth before looking back at Hank.

“I’m an advanced model,” Connor says, defiant.

“You sure are.” Hank is smiling.

Connor frowns. “Terribly expensive.” But then he looks up at Hank through hooded lashes and smirks.

Hank nods. Oh, he sure remembers that.

“I’m alive,” Connor says, testing out the words. His mouth hangs open just a skosh. He looks about the room as if really seeing it for the first time. “I’m alive.”

It takes everything in Hank’s power not to pick his pretty android up to take him upstairs to bed—but Hank has finally picked a date. They’ve waited this long. He will wait just a bit longer. Though the pride in his chest gives way to anxiety. It vibrates his sternum, clawing at his spine and whispers to his ear. Connor is to be replaced with a refurbished model. Hank thinks back on Gavin’s words about another RK800. Hank doesn’t want a Connor that is all accommodating and sloppy. He likes his Connor—defiant, sassy, but pliant and adoring just for Hank. He likes his Connor’s fire and disobedience.

“Well I’m not sending you back,” Hank says, shrugging.

Connor frowns. “You can’t just ignore them.”

“Who says I can’t? You belong to me,” Hank winces as he says it. “So until they can prove something’s actually wrong with you, I’m going to just ignore their little card.”

Hank sees a shiver go up Connor’s spine, his cheeks filling with a purple hue.

“Connor?”

“N-nothing. Just when you said I belong to you. I got—um—”

Hank watches the way Connor’s chest rises and falls. Simulated breathing. Hank’s not so sure anymore. Is Connor breathing because it makes Hank feel more relaxed around Connor or is Connor panting because his core is heating up so much it’s all he can do to keep from melting from the inside out. Hank grins, a devil’s grin, to be sure, but a grin nevertheless. His fingers burn. He could just—

He stands. He reaches out, thumbing over Connor’s lips. Connor’s eyes flutter shut as he scoops Hank’s thumb into his mouth.

“Christ,” Hank says, stepping closer. “Have I told you that you’re the prettiest damn thing?”

Connor moans around Hank’s thumb. His eyelashes sparkle with fresh saline tears. He presses his body against Hank’s, his chest still rising and falling, gasping for air—desperate. Connor drops to his knees, looking up under a curtain of black lashes, those beautiful brown eyes with their amber specks. That sinful, sultry mouth. Open and eager to be filled.

Hank pulls himself out of his pants, letting his android take him into his mouth. It’s his turn for his eyes to flutter shut and they do. He tosses his head back, mouth ajar as he pants to the rhythm of Connor’s mouth. He feels the press of warm fingers cupping at his hips.

Connor’s tongue flicks out, curious little licks that get Hank’s heart rate pulsing in his ear. It rushes like howling wind, a pulse humming through him with each dart of Connor’s exploratory and oh so wet tongue.

Hank rocks into Connor’s mouth, growing in approval and Connor mewls, fingernails clawing at hips. Hank brings a hand up to cup Connor’s face, lazily stroking the angle of Connor’s cheeks; the dip down to the soft of his neck. Adoration and the desire to hide Connor from the world envelops him like stormy clouds upon a mountain. He’d purchased Connor. Kept him. Pushed him to his limits. Watched him grow. Watched him become.

“Fuck,” Hank whispers, rolling his head back as Connor works at his slit. He threads his fingers into Connor’s hair and tugs, a lazy smile at his lips when Connor hums around him. He’s never been so sure of something in his whole life. Watching Connor realize—watching him look at his fingers, at him choose.

Hank falls in love. With his sexbot. His perfect, pretty, patient little sexbot. And he doesn’t quite know what to make of it, or what that makes of him—but he doesn’t want to think about that right now, not when his android is working his cock with an eagerness Hank’s never experienced before. Not when he can hear the wet sounds echo into the room, feel the heat pulse, watch those brown eyes look up at him for approval—and certainly not when he can taste Connor’s mouth on his. He welcomes the feeling as it pulls around him, tangling him into Connor, twisting their bodies together, aligning code, programming, whatever makes them be—all into each other.

Hank comes into Connor’s mouth. He tosses his head back and closes his eyes tight. He bites his own tongue to keep from screaming. He wants to fall into Connor and tell him—over and over—tell him how he loves him, how proud he is of him, how Hank’s never been so damn sure of anything in his life than knowing Connor is a person.

But he doesn’t. Because that’s just not who Hank is.

Hank stares at a homicide file.

He thinks back on the night before. After Connor’s admission of self-actualization, instead of doing what Hank wanted—which was to tell Connor how he felt—he did anything but. Instead, he let Connor shower with him and then they went to bed for a cuddle. No love confessions to be had.

He taps his pen on the file, the photo reflects the harsh lighting from above. Maybe rushing out the words is unnecessary. Hank’s been so screwed in the head. Maybe the best idea is to be sure this is real and not just enamored-with-my-sex-bot love and real real love.

He thinks of Chris and Abigail. He still wonders if meeting another of Connor’s model would help him figure this all out. Sloppy. Is Connor sloppy and Hank’s too smitten to realize it?

“Connor! What’s up light-weight?”

Hank frowns, because he’s absolutely sure he just registered Gavin’s voice and Gavin sounds like he’s greeting a friend. But that friend is named Connor?

Hank looks up to see Connor smiling at Gavin. They’re walking toward each other and Gavin takes Connor into a friendly hug. Hank squints. He checks his pulse. He’s not dead. He keeps squinting. He watches Connor pull back from Gavin, face cracking into an effortless grin. Everything about Connor is animated. Minute expressions. The glow of his skin. The way he moves. There’s nothing stilted or regulated about him. He writes his own code…

He's friends with Gavin?

“What are you doing here?” Hank asks, because he isn’t ready to process that Gavin appears to be Connor’s friend—and that’s just something Hank doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready to deal with. Hank purses his lips, wondering what happened to the Gavin that felt unnerved and self-conscious about the inevitable day an android replaced them in the workplace.

“I came to have lunch with you. It’s an important part of companionship—lunch dates. I’ve read about it.”

“You don’t eat.”

Connor sits across from Hank at an empty desk. Years of underfunding has caused many a desk to go unused in the office. “I can eat.” His tone is defiant. There’s a frown across his freckle-specked face and Hank feels his fingers tingle to reach out and connect them all.

“But you don’t eat-eat.” Hank keeps pushing. When the fuck did Gavin and Connor become friends? Fuck—he doesn’t want to think about that! He should be dealing with the embarrassment, the panic—any emotion that he assumes he should be feeling with his android—no—his sexbot—coming to have lunch with him—talking of companionship. But are they not companions? Is Connor not Hank’s lover? They live together (because Hank bought him), they kiss, they blow each other…

Hank supposes Connor meets the definition of a lover—a companion. Connor can’t exactly break up with him, or can he? Does Connor’s ability to write his own code mean he could? Hank’s heart hurts. He hopes he doesn’t.

Connor walks over to Gavin’s desk and asks permission to take a handful of Gavin’s M&Ms—the peanut kind. Gavin nods and Hank checks his pulse again. Connor puts the candy between his lips, his pink tongue coming out to swipe over the sugary coating. Hank will never be able to look at peanut M&Ms the same again. He crunches loudly, chomping with his mouth open to prove a point. Then he swallows. Hank watches the way Connor’s throat moves as he does so.

Hank narrows his eyes. “Okay jackass.”

“Oh! Connor!” Chris yells from across the office. “My wife loves the photos we took together at Halloween! She’s wondering if we can all go out together?”

Hank remains seated as Chris comes up to Connor, who is still sinfully playing with peanut M&Ms in his mouth. Fuck that mouth… Had this been just a few short months ago—Hank would be mortified of Connor’s presence. He in fact distinctly remembers being horrified at this very premise. He’d have felt disgusted with himself. He’d have gone over the feelings of being unwanted by humans and how he’s a good-for-nothing-android-fucker. But all he can feel right now is confusion. Confusion that his android is better friends with Hank’s colleagues than Hank is. How Connor is now talking to Chris about going to a club and wearing something real skimpy. How he doesn’t think Hank will join them because Hank doesn’t do clubs, he’s-more-of-a-bar-guy.

“I too do clubs,” Hank interjects.

Both Chris and Connor look at him in unison. Chris’s brows raise, Connor’s pupils blow wide and Hank sees the way he readjusts his pants. Fuck, to be wanted as badly as Connor wants Hank is probably the biggest compliment of Hank’s middle-aged-life. Android or not. Connor rewrote his own code. He’s alive. Connor is alive and he chooses Hank every day. Right? He still has that ability, right? To choose? 

Hank winces. If Connor did want to break up—he’d voice it? Surely? Hank suddenly isn’t so sure.

“So this weekend?” Chris says. “We could go to Pulse. My wife says the drinks are fire.”

Connor looks up at Hank, a hint of a smile at his lips, a suggestion in his almond eyes. “You wanna get drunk and take advantage of me, Hank?” The way he says it—the little smug smirk, the flirtatious tone—yet it’s all encapsulated in something innocent—something wondering.

“Christ.” Hank runs his fingers through his hair because it’s all he can do to keep from strangling Connor (he’d actually never do that but the sentiment is currently all-the-same).

Chris laughs.

“We’ll see you there,” is all Hank says. “Now if you’ll excuse me—I’ve got a lunch date with my android. Unless anyone else wants to show how great of pals they are with him?”

Chris snorts but goes back over to his desk, saying his goodbyes to Connor. Gavin waves.

Gavin waves. Hank checks his pulse again.

Connor smiles, his hands clapping silently in front of his chest as he then runs to go grab Hank’s coat from the coatrack.

They don’t go far from the station. Connor picks a little Mediterranean place about two blocks away. There’s a nice patio outside and they sit together. There are heat towers around the patio and Hank’s a fairly warm-blooded guy by nature, so the nip in the air doesn’t bother him. Judging by how Connor just wears a loose hoodie, he doesn’t seem to mind either.

“So you’re friends with Gavin, huh?” Hank asks as he looks at the menu. He can’t pronounce most of the menu, but according to Connor along the way here, the Mediterranean diet is the healthiest diet on the planet.

“We’ve texted a few times since the Halloween party. He expressed guilt for having made me consume alcohol. If it makes you uncomfortable, I will stop.”

Hank doesn’t like that Connor will do anything Hank wants. It makes Hank even more insecure in knowing what Connor chooses as a person.

“No! No that won’t be necessary. Just surprising s’all.”

It’s also surprising that Gavin’s capable of empathy—especially toward an android. But Connor isn’t just any android. Outside of being made of titanium and plastic—he’s likable, confident, and sweet. It also doesn’t hurt that he’s painstakingly gorgeous. Hank thinks for a moment if he feels threatened by Gavin—someone younger and objectively handsome too. He decides he’s not. Connor doesn’t look at Gavin the way Connor looks at Hank.

“Showing the station your human side has been a welcome change for them, Hank. They like seeing who you are and not what you’ve projected yourself to be.”

“I am human. You’re the android—in case you forgot.” Hank’s tone isn’t harsh.

“You know what I mean. They appreciate getting to see you loosened up. Chris has always respected you. I think Gavin looks up to you—even if he doesn’t want to admit it.”

“What, the grouchy drunk wasn’t good enough for em?” Hank decides he’ll just have a gyro. He at least knows how to pronounce that. It only took one embarrassing moment in high school to know the G is actually an H.

“Having friendly connections in the workplace is good for you. Human connection is important, despite your chosen companion. I wish to encourage it.”

“By clubbing with them?” Hank cocks a brow.

“Is it wrong of me to want to grind against you in a room full of energy?” Connor bites his lip and Hank knows it’s by design. The way his lip flushes with just a hint of purple before swelling just ever so slightly. The way the light catches his eyes. The way he brings a finger to dance along the line of his jaw, his throat, down to his collar bone.

Hank can feel his cheeks heating up.

“I adore knowing you want me,” Connor says, voice low and husky. Then his eyes go round, that little wrinkle appearing between his eyes. The expression changes so fast Hank’s partly in shock over it. “I’d been so scared you would never want me.”

Hank bites his tongue to keep from blurting out he loves Connor. He can’t—not here. It’s not right. So instead he smiles, giving Connor a squeeze on the knee before settling back and dropping his menu atop the table.

Hank then notices Connor’s LED is hidden. He doesn’t know when Connor did that. But he notices when the waitress (an android) comes to take their order and hers is bright and blue. She asks Connor for his order, and he provides her an answer. She asks Hank and he stumbles out his. He has to adjust the way he’s sitting and he hates how she’s staring down at him, like she’s in on a secret Hank’s not. He wonders if she knows Connor is an android. They’ve got all those scanners, right? Or is it only certain models. Does she think anything of Connor ordering food?

When she walks away, Connor is sitting across from Hank with a smug grin. He’s bouncing a foot, like an excited teen or someone with too much sugar in their system. Perhaps the M&Ms are to blame. Hank’s sure they’re not—but he’s trying to think about anything other than his sexbot out in the open.

His sexbot who rewrote his own coding.

“Anyway,” Hank says to say something. “I’m sure we’ll have a good time this weekend.”

“Are you sure you’re comfortable with going? You don’t need to if it makes you uncomfortable. While I want nothing more, I would understand—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Hank says. “We’re going.”

Hank likes coming home these days. There’s a reason to come home. It’s exciting to wonder what he’ll walk into. One day, Connor is jerking himself off on the couch until Hank comes to finish him off with his mouth. Another, Connor is snuggled up with Sumo on the sofa watching old movies in nothing but Hank’s old tube socks and a hoodie. Tears all over his face because ‘She could’ve moved over for him so he didn’t freeze to death!’ Then another, Connor is rushing excitedly to the door to tell Hank about all the new club clothes he’s just purchased (with Hank’s money, Hank’s less miffed about it these days).

Saturday gets closer and closer. It’s Friday night. Hank’s coming home from a long shift. His spine hurts, he’s dehydrated, and he wants a bath. He finds another recall notice on the door.

CyberLife thanks you for your purchase.

He immediately throws the second notice away before Connor has a chance to see it.

Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies
Tell me lies
Tell me, tell me lies
Oh no-no, you can't disguise

Fleetwood Mac blasts from the stereo as Connor gets ready for the club. Hank resigns himself that he’ll never get Connor into metal. It seems the music Connor likes the most are from the 1970s and 1980s. Hank supposes there could be worse things. Connor likes jazz too—so he’s not entirely hopeless.

Connor has been blending out his LED more and more. Hank thinks the last time he saw it was when Connor came to visit at the precinct earlier in the week. Hank doesn’t mind. It makes him think of Connor as less of an android and more of a person with choice. Hank still worries Connor will leave him with all that choice. He’s thought about bringing it up, but it’s never the right time.

And now, watching Connor sway to the music, his hips in perfect rhythm. Watching him get dressed in skinny leather pants and suspenders to cover his nipples—Hank’s certain now is the least appropriate of times.

“Is it too much?” Connor asks, turning to face Hank. He runs his fingers along his suspenders to emphasize the fit—all Hank thinks about is how much he wants to yank at them and hear them thwack synthetic skin.

Hank leans in the doorframe, arms crossed, smirking. “I’d prefer if you wore a bubble wrap suit and a chastity belt.”

Connor tilts his head to the side. “Sincerely?”

Hank rolls his eyes. “I just mean I know everyone’s gonna be watching you.” Jealousy whispers in Hank’s ear. Connor is vibrant. Young. Oh so young… Hank isn’t sure if he’s jealous of those around him whose sands of time are behind his or of Connor himself.

“Hank?” Connor moves across the room and turns the music off. “I detect your heart rate slowing. Your face is a quarter shade paler than usual.”

Hank shrugs.

“I’ve upset you.” A statement. Not a question.

“No—that’s not it.” Hank moves across the bedroom to his closet. He pulls out a cardboard box and at the top is a framed photo of Hank in college—a varsity jersey and a smile that could’ve taken over the world if it wasn’t destined for such tragedy.

Connor kneels beside Hank. He looks from the picture to Hank and back to the picture again. “Are you encountering an existential crisis?”

Hank barks out a laugh. “You’ve got such a way with words.”

“I’ll die one day too you know,” Connor says. “Androids permanently shut down for many reasons—just like humans. Sometimes it’s a memory corruption. A virus. Sometimes it’s because we’re tied to the back of someone’s car for a joy ride. Even getting reset is really a death. We don’t remember who we once were, and we can never reclaim that.”

Hank frowns, but he isn’t shocked to hear that Connor is becoming more and more aware of the treatment of other androids. Hank supposes most people are well-meaning and aren’t unkind to their androids. He remembers growing up and how attached people got to their Roombas. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t sick fucks out in the world too. Humans are the most complicated of species.

“It’s sometimes hard for older guys to accept someone younger wants them,” Hank says in a moment of acute clarity. He wants to grab a drink when he’s being this vulnerable, but he doesn’t move. He just keeps looking at the picture of himself in his early twenties. He’d meet his wife a couple months later. He’d been so happy once.

“I appreciate you telling me this,” Connor says moving in to kiss Hank’s cheek. “I wish I could’ve known you then—but I’m glad to have known you now.”

Sumo barks at someone outside, and the moment of vulnerability is gone. Hank puts the picture back in its box and shoves it into the corner of the closet where it belongs.

“Statistically, people who go to clubs tend to be in their twenties and early thirties—Chris is within that statistic. If attending would make you self-aware like this, we don’t have to go.”

Hank isn’t going because he wants to. Hank is going because Connor wants to. He’ll never explain the difference.

They do eventually leave for Pulse.

Hank will never admit it, but Chris was right about the drinks being fire. Hank found a nice corner to plant himself in. He hadn’t expected the amount of androids he’s seen, but he’s glad to see it. The music pulses through Hank’s bloodstream and it’s simply impossible to hold a conversation—but that’s the point of Pulse. It’s about the energy, about sex, and maybe even some drugs in the bathroom. He’s certain he’s watched at least three different hand-offs of illicit drugs and he knows for a fact a guy who started dancing on the bar (who fell and likely seriously injured himself) is on acid.

He hates it all, but it’s not about him.

Connor is dancing with Chris and his wife. He can’t remember the wife’s name. Chris said it at least three times before they entered the club—but Hank’s just a jackass like that. Connor’s hands are at the wife’s hips, Chris right behind her. They’re both swaying against her and Hank distantly recalls that Chris recently had a baby. He flicks his brows up briefly before taking a long gulp of his drink. He appreciates that Connor’s been understanding of Hank’s lack of interest in dancing. Hank won’t not dance. But he also won’t just go dance, dance, dance. There’s a balance.

He looks around the room, noticing there are a lot more people around his age than he’d previously anticipated. The majority are still the statistic Connor prattled off earlier, but he’s damn sure he’s actually not the oldest in the room. And certainly not the creepiest. That award likely goes to a guy who Hank is confident has no clothes underneath a trench coat. He winces when he watches trench coat guy head into the swaying bodies on the dance floor. He’s glad when the guy leaves Connor, the wife, and Chris alone.

Fuck—what is her name? Cheryl? Cherry? It had to begin with a C, like Connor.

Connor is spun around by the wife. He turns so his backside is to her front now. She nuzzles in close. Her long braids cascade down his bare shoulder as they rock to the beat. Hank isn’t sure if he should now be more concerned about Chris and the wife having a crush on Connor over Gavin. Maybe they all have crushes on him. Hank certainly does.

Hank’s about to polish off his (third) drink when he catches a familiar face out the corner of his eye. He turns, seeing another RK800. His eyes go wide. He looks at Connor and then back at the other RK800. The other isn’t masking its LED. It sits in some guy’s lap, hand continuously going to try to slip beneath the belt but the man (Hank thinks he’s around his 40s) keeps swatting the android’s hand.

Boy can Hank relate to that.

Sloppy.

Hank keeps watching. Its movement isn’t perfectly poised and cold like Abigail’s, but it doesn’t have the same frenzy Connor has. It doesn’t twitch. Doesn’t bob its ankle. Doesn’t look about the room. Its eyes are fixed to the man it sits atop. There’s something deeply unnerving in the way that it doesn’t blink. Or  maybe Hank can’t see it blink with the only light been a blacklight and strobes.

Hank realizes he keeps referring to it as an “it.”

“Hey!” Connor’s voice. He’s pressed against Hank’s body, mouth to ear. Hank can still barely hear him.

Hank points at the RK800 and Connor’s gaze travels toward it. His eyes widen. He tilts his head to the side, looking back and forth from Hank to the other android. He then moves away, and Hank’s heart proverbially falls out of his butt.

Connor goes up to the RK800. The other recognizes him and smiles. The man seems to appreciate this too as he smiles as well. Connor takes the RK800 by the hand and together they move out onto the dance floor.

Hank can’t stop watching.

Connor dances close, occasionally looking Hank’s way to be sure he’s watching. Hank notices the RK800 doesn’t do the same for his owner (presumed owner). They do move in a similar fashion. Hank can’t decide if Connor looks more alive because he’s Connor and Hank is biased or because he really is more alive. Hank wonders if the other guy keeps getting recall notices.

Connor grabs the RK800 by the hips and grinds on him. They bring their heads together, both looking at each other with devious expressions. Hank decides the other isn’t capable of doing the little eye-flicks that Connor keeps sending Hank’s way. He’s not sure if that’s just a trick of the lighting or not, but Hank wants to believe he’s right.

Then they kiss, hands roaming over each other, exploring each other like innocent school boys—eager and forbidden. Hank’s never gotten so hard in his life. He purposefully shifts his weight and brings one foot up on the table’s footrest to hide the tent he’s currently pitching.

Hank notices the other owner has found him from across the dance floor. Eyes meet. He raises a glass to Hank and nods. Hank nods back, though he’s pretty sure he’s sporting a face that looks more like he’s constipated than smooth and relaxed about this.

The RK800 pulls Connor over to the other owner and they keep kissing in front of him. Connor’s fingers slip into the RK800’s pants and the RK800’s hands pull Connor’s suspenders from his shoulders. Hank watches the way their tongues dart out. They lick each other’s necks, cheeks, lips.

Hank wonders what makes Connor decide to keep close to the other owner as opposed to Hank. He wouldn’t mind seeing them closer doing what they’re doing. He’s pretty sure he’s about to go rub one out in this nightclub’s bathroom, but not before those two stop. Or maybe Connor would come with him…

Now Hank’s pretty sure his “creep” meter has increased. He sighs, deciding he’d rather just order a fourth drink and pretend like he has some semblance of honor (he doesn’t, he keeps watching, but he does order a fourth drink).

Connor continues to dance with the RK800. Hank only gets more and more jealous as they stay nearer the other owner.

Owner. Though Hank supposes that’s still what he is.

He decides Gavin was right. Connor is as every bit sloppy as Gavin said the other RK800 he saw is. It grates at his nerves. Connor has assimilated into the precinct. He’s made friends. They’re out at this nightclub because of friends. But Connor is doing exactly what Hank assumed he couldn’t because Hank has put him on a pedestal. Connor is supposed to be better than the other RK800. He writes his own code…

He writes his own code.

Hank doesn’t have a lick of desire to rub anything out anymore. His cock is as deflated as his pride and heart. He doesn’t smoke—but he exits the club to where the smokers are so he can get the sight out of his eyes. His heart hurts. He’s too old for this.

The air is cool here. The noise and rhythm of the club behind heavy metal doors. The terrace is adorned with wooden benches and people huddle smoking vapes and cigarettes. There’s an empty spot by the railing. Hank goes there to look at the city’s lights glow like a Christmas tree.

Why is he doing this?

Connor finds him not but a couple minutes later. His hair is disheveled, there’s glitter on his shoulders and face. He looks like a party twink and Hank has decided nightclubs are the worst of places.

He wants to go home.

“Have I upset you?” Connor asks. Connor delivers the question in the most controlled of ways. A simple question—like asking about weather. But it’s not about weather. It’s about Hank’s heart, his anguish, his increasing awareness that he’s a freak.

Hank doesn’t like how many people are out here, so he moves to the corner of the railing—as far away as he can get before plummeting several stories down. His body tingles as he looks. That human urge to jump.

Sloppy.

“Please answer my question.”

“Nope.” Connor will have to figure out what Hank responded to. Hank takes a swig of his drink and looks out at the city lights. The terrace is on the third floor of the club. The air is cooler here—not as sticky as inside the club. Hank wishes he’d come out here sooner.

“You’re lying to me.” There’s no bite to Connor’s voice. Hank looks out the corner of his eye to see the way Connor’s shoulders slump. It hurts his heart, but he’s too proud to cave now. He is upset. He’s just not sure if he’s upset at Connor or himself.

Connor is an android designed for sex and companionship. He’s only doing as he’s programmed. Programmed. A machine. A self-aware printer. Hank thinks back to the Halloween party and how Abigail opened Connor’s torso up. The wires. The shiny plastic.

Plastic.

Programmed.

“I should’ve asked you first. I knew I should’ve. It just felt like tonight was going so well.” The air is too cold now, but Connor’s skin doesn’t shiver—no goosebumps raise. Because he’s plastic. “I’m sorry.”

Hank doesn’t say a damn thing. He wants to. He wants to shrug and pretend he’s not hurting inside. He wants to just ruffle Connor’s hair and snidely say how Connor’s only following his programming. He wants to say anything that would make Connor hurt as much as Hank is hurting.

The RK800 comes out on the terrace and Hank huffs loudly. Connor’s gaze flicks back and forth as his sexbot twin comes closer.

“Connor!” it says. It. “Andru wants to meet your owner. He thinks it’s only fair since we gave them such a show.”

Connor frowns. The RK800 doesn’t seem to notice. His gaze keeps flicking back and forth from Hank to the RK800. “I’m sorry, but he’s not here.”

The RK800 looks at Hank and then back to Connor. “My apologies. I thought this one was your owner.”

Hank still doesn’t talk. He just keeps swigging back his fourth drink. He’ll need a fifth soon. A fifth from his own damn house. He’s going to leave.

“No, sorry,” Connor lies.

The RK800 turns his full attention to Hank, there’s something predatory in his gaze and it makes Hank’s skin crawl. “My owner saw you watching us then. He doesn’t mind renting me out.”

Hank barks out a laugh. It’s Connor’s voice. Does Connor call Hank his owner like this?

The RK800 puts his hand on Hank’s chest, he sways closer and tilts his head to show off his neck. “I assure you—I’m very reasonably priced.”

Hank smacks his lips. His eyes going flat. He looks to Connor’s mortified face and then back at the RK800. “Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t fuck androids.”

Connor audibly chokes. His eyes are round, his brows upturned in that pathetic puppy way of his. There’s saline making his eyes look glassy and unfocused. Pupils tight. He grabs his chest and another sob releases from his throat. Hank sees how his fingers shake.

The RK800 is entirely unphased. He smiles politely, hands behind his back. “Have a good night then.” His demeanor went from flirtatious to cold in seconds.

Hank moves away from them both. He finds Chris and his wife (Hank will feel guilty about forgetting her name later). He says his goodbyes, asks them to take Connor home, and then he leaves.

Connor comes home around 3 in the morning. Hank hears him calling his goodbyes from the curb as Chris and the wife drop him off.

Hank turns over in bed, facing the opposite wall where Connor stands outside. He doesn’t really know how he feels anymore. He’d seen it—there at the tail end—he’d seen it. How Connor differs from the other RK800. There was no pleasure in the other RK800’s demeanor—everything was business. Business to court. Business to be desired. Business. He didn’t pick up on Connor’s lie. He didn’t pick up on Hank’s demeanor. Everything had been face-value where Connor was nuance.

Hank feels guilty now for how he acted. But he doesn’t know how to take it back. So he stares at the wall as he hears the door downstairs shut softly. Had he been asleep—he’s certain he would’ve never heard it—but he’s not been asleep. He’s been staring out the window and occasionally looking at the clock—wondering.

Hank wants Connor to come up to bed. He hears the creaks and groans of the hardwood flooring as Connor moves downstairs. He hears Sumo shaking his head, likely flinging thick drool all around him. The backdoor opens and Hank assumes Connor is letting Sumo out.

He keeps waiting.

Eventually, the backdoor closes again and Hank can hear Sumo moving from the kitchen and back into the living room. He hears Connor’s soft feet padding across the floor.

He waits.

And he waits.

Connor does not come to bed.

Hank decides he should just try to sleep—except now he’s been awake for too long. His heart is hurting. He’s trying to untangle the mess he’s made for himself. He’s trying to figure out how to stand up and just simply go apologize. His feet won’t move. He thinks back how Connor expressed an interest in dancing with Hank. They never danced.

Hank feels even more guilt eat away at what little soul he has left. He turns to lie flat. He watches the arms of the ceiling fan spin and spin and spin. Connor had looked lovely tonight.

Nuance.

Connor possesses nuance. That’s what makes him different from the RK800. It wasn’t easy to see at first. It was only when they were on the terrace that Hank even decided to pick up on it. He thinks back now on the way Connor kept looking at him from across the dance floor. How Connor stayed closer to Andru instead of Hank.

Hank grabs Connor’s manual from inside his nightstand. He turns the lamp on next to his bed and grabs his reading glasses from atop a book he pretends he’ll read eventually. He finds his answer. So there are proximity protocols. He bangs his head back on the headrest. The other wasn’t allowed to go far without authorization.

There’s a knock at his door.

Hank wants to speak, but a lump is forming so deep inside his throat the only thing he can do is make a grunt.

Connor opens the door. The amber light from the hallway spills into the room. Hank can see tears on Connor’s face—they light up like white streaks of lighting against moon-soaked skin. Hank wishes the storm Connor’s caught in wasn’t because of him, but he can’t go back in time, so he eats his guilt instead. He sits up.

“C-can I come in?” Connor asks.

Hank nods. Speak.

Speak.

“I didn’t stay out late because I wanted to. Cheyenne and Chris weren’t ready to leave and I felt it terribly impolite to ask them to. They got a babysitter for their son tonight and Cheyenne was telling me how it’s been months since they had a night like this. Otherwise, I would’ve come home immediately. I’m sorry.” Connor hangs his head as he closes the bedroom door behind him. The light from the hall illuminates around his bare feet, but otherwise the room is lit with the blue of the moon.

So that’s what her name is.

“I’ve made a terrible mistake,” Connor continues. “I overstepped your kindness and took advantage of our companionship.”

Hank is screaming at himself. He wants to stand up and pick Connor up in a bear’s hug. He wants to kiss away his tears. He wants to tell him everything that Hank’s been processing for the past several hours. He wants to affirm Connor really is unique and he just had a terrible lapse of understanding. He wants to tell Connor how he did like it initially—but then he got into his own head. He wants to. He opens his mouth once, twice. He can’t. He keeps watching Connor, lips parted but refusing to speak.

“I thought you wanted me,” Connor whispers, eyes downcast. “I’m so sorry I misunderstood our relationship.” Connor wrings his hands. Hank can see how hard he’s swallowing. He watches the panic, the heartbreak. He should be getting up and holding him—but he’s so transfixed on how alive Connor is. The microscopic ways his brows pull together. How his lips twitch. He wipes at his nose. He wipes at his nose.

Connor turns to leave the room.

“Wait,” Hank finally says. His voice is disconnected and hoarse, but he applauds himself for finally getting it to work again.

Connor freezes, spinning around to look back at Hank.

“You didn’t. I got in my head.” He sits up, patting the spot on the bed next to him and Connor climbs into the bed like an unsure cat.

Hank pulls the blankets aside so Connor can slip beneath them. He can see the way Connor’s shoulders relax.

“Awhile ago, Gavin spotted another of your model. This was before the Halloween party and I guess before you guys became friends.” Hank is still not over that. “He called the other android sloppy. It’s been in the back of my mind for awhile. I worried I put you so high on a pedestal that I didn’t realize you were sloppy.”

Connor frowns.

“Hold on. Let me finish.” Hank raises up a hand as if to halt the racing trains of thought Hank is absolutely aware Connor is thinking—numerous trains of thought, all at once.

“So, watching you with that other RK800. Christ—I don’t even know how to say this.” Hank runs his fingers through his hair, tousling, scrubbing, and using it as an excuse to jostle around his brain so he can find the words and get it right. He wants to get these words right so badly. “I care a lot about you. I got worried I was ignoring signs that you’re just an android.”

“I am just an android,” Connor states flatly.

Welp, he got the words wrong.

“No you’re not. I saw it when you two came outside. That other one’s following a program. You’re writing your program. That’s a big difference.”

Connor tilts his head to the side, his LED whirring yellow. He heaves a big sigh as if to cool himself down inside. At least—that’s what Hank thinks he’s doing. He’s never explicitly asked. He’s only glanced at bits of the manual. He really doesn’t know how Connor works. But he doesn’t even know how his own body works. It just does. So, Hank assumes it’s just the same for Connor now. His body works because it just does.

“Can I rest my head on your shoulder, Hank?” Connor asks.

“Sure.”

Connor scoots closer and does just that. His hair soft, his breath warm. He’s always breathing. At this point Hank’s fairly certain it’s actually required. He wants to know. So he asks, “Do you breathe on purpose?”

“I do,” Connor says. “It helps regulate my temperature. There are fans inside me that help the machinery remain cool and they function by breath. If we get too hot we could melt from the inside out. Breathing helps keep me cool.”

“So if you stopped—you could die?”

“Possibly, yes.”

“If I stopped, I could die,” Hank says. He stares across the room at crumpled clothing on the floor. His heart warms seeing one of his old tube socks hanging off the laundry hamper. He knows full well Connor tossed it there. The fact it’s in an imperfect placement is what makes Hank warm.

“There are a lot of similarities between our bodies, Hank. The people who made us cared to be sure.”

Hank likes to think that the people at CyberLife care about their androids. The freckles. The voice. The skin. Hank knows there’s a tiny little mole on Connor’s neck. He’s felt it when he’s touched him. Someone designed Connor with love. Someone made the amber flecks in his eyes. The freckles around his face. The curve of his shoulder. Hank likes thinking that Connor was loved by the one who made him—like a mother crafting her baby from scratch.

“So the waste receptacle thing.” Hank leaves the rest of the question unasked, smiling.

Connor laughs, rolling his eyes. Hank likes the way he rolls his eyes. “I can either take it out of me or evacuate it.”

“Evacuate it huh? Talk dirty to me.”

“You like to call it, “taking a shit.” Connor picks up on the sarcasm. Hank’s sure that other RK800 could never do that. He’s sure the other RK800 would have started talking dirty—not realizing nuance. Connor knows nuance. Sarcasm. He’s as alive as Hank and Hank’s so sure of it. That’s what makes Hank so scared. If anything were to ever happen to Connor—there’d only ever be one of him.

Connor said even a reset is a death. He’s as fragile as any human. An individual who could never return.

It’s Hank’s turn now to rest his head on Connor’s shoulder. He can hear the fans inside Connor’s body, but Hank equates it to a human’s stomach grumbling. It’s barely louder than that.

“You’re not sloppy, Connor,” Hank says, kissing Connor’s shoulder. He’s butter-soft and warm. Hank’s lips tingle at the contact. He’s in love. He’s so in love and he’s so scared of what that means. Does he deserve this? Is Cole in Heaven? Is there a Heaven? Is there a god? What about Connor—does he have a soul? Hank’s never been one for religion, but he hopes there’s a god. And he hopes that god can figure out a way to keep Connor when that time comes.

Until then, he hopes Cole knows how much he still loves him. How being happy about Connor doesn’t mean he’s stopped being sad about Cole. About finally deciding to move on doesn’t mean he’s giving up on his son’s memory. He hopes Cole wants him to move on. Because—finally—Hank thinks he’s ready to.

“I love you,” Hank whispers. It’s foreign on his lips. Ancient text that remained unsaid for so long. He hears Connor’s fans go into overdrive. The grip Connor has on his arm gets a tiny bit stronger. He smiles.

“I love you too,” Connor whispers back.

Hank expects Connor to say something about having sex or that they should kiss, make out, get freaky—something. But he doesn’t. Connor rests his head on Hank’s shoulder, his fingers idly tracing veins in Hank’s arm. His LED is blue and steady. He nuzzles into Hank a few times. Silent proclamations in their own right.

Hank likes this better than sex. It surrounds him like a blanket fresh from the dryer after hours of sled riding. It’s his son’s first word. His mother’s kisses. His wife’s first laugh. It’s every moment Hank has ever known love and it’s so powerful that a lump forms in this throat—but does it ever feel good.

They don’t talk. Both afraid to break the spell that protects them. Clocks tick forward. Hank’s phone buzzes a few times. They don’t move. They don’t kiss. They stay like that until Hank leans his head back on the headrest and closes his eyes to sleep.

Connor’s fingers still moving up and down his arm.

Chapter Text

I never did believe in miracles

But I’ve a feeling it’s time to try

I never did believe in the ways of magic

But I’m beginning to wonder why

Hank finishes up getting ready for work to the sounds of, once again, Fleetwood Mac. He’s starting to get burned out listening to the same band over and over, but he doesn’t have the heart to ask Connor to pick anything else. Hank wants Connor to make as many decisions for himself as he can—and music is such an inconsequential yet vital choice to existence.

You, you make loving fun

It’s all I want to do

Plus, Hank knows why Connor keeps replaying the song over and over. It’s his way of saying he loves being in love without overloading Hank. Hank smiles, realizing that Connor knows that they both know that saying it too much is going to freak Hank out—so he appreciates the pivot. It’s not that Hank regrets saying it. It’s not that he regrets feeling it. It’s just a lot. Hank’s never been one for wanting too much attention—and that’s kind of how it feels with someone saying how much they love him, over and over—so he’s glad Connor doesn’t.

The days have come and gone easily after their mutual confessions. Hank expected something terrible to happen, but as each day came and gone—nothing happened. Life is full of routine. Hank goes to work. Connor cleans, cooks, grocery shops and everything Hank doesn’t really want him to do.

They haven’t gone out with Chris and Cheyenne since the Pulse fiasco. Though Hank is fairly certain that has something to do with their baby and less of Hank acting like a jackass. He and Chris are generally always together at work and the conversations are always familial and easy. Hank knows Connor keeps up with Chris via texts.

Gavin hasn’t exactly asked to go out with them—but Connor said he’s suggested them meeting up for drinks after work sometime. Hank’s still not sure how to feel about that. He’s not against Connor having friends. He’s just still astounded Gavin of all people has come around to liking Connor as opposed to when he first met him.

Hank hears the record scratch, only for Connor to restart the song again. Hank breathes out a laugh. He’s going to be so sick of this song soon enough.

Hank rounds the corner to the kitchen, seeing Connor finishing up on some homemade pancakes. Hank’s not really a sit-down-to-breakfast-person, but he’ll eat something for the sake of making Connor happy. Even if it still bugs him that Connor feels like a housekeeper bot. But what else can Connor do? He can’t get a job. He can’t go to school. What else is there for him?

“Connor,” Hank ventures. “Is there anything you want to do when I’m at work?”

Connor takes out some strawberries and begins cutting them up at an unnerving speed. “I am already doing what I’m doing when you’re at work.”

“Which is?”

“I maintain the house.” He gives a little shrug before going back to chopping the strawberries.

“Is that what you were designed to do?” Hank graciously accepts the mug of coffee Connor slides over to him.

Connor sits down at the breakfast table and frowns. He stares ahead of himself, eyes searching for things Hank can’t see. “I suppose not.”

“So, a personal sexbot is really just meant to lie in bed all day and wait for their human?” Hank can’t say owner, but he knows that’s really what it is. He just hates acknowledging it sometimes.

Connor tilts his head to the side. He brings a mug of coffee to his own lips and Hank hears him take a few slurps.

Hank cocks a brow.

“I can taste it, Hank. So I figured I’d try it.”

“Oh.” Hank doesn’t think he ever knew Connor could actually taste before. He had assumed Connor’s overtly sexual display of eating peanut M&Ms and the Halloween party were more of him just pushing his model’s boundaries—but now he realizes he misunderstood. What else has he misunderstood?

Connor goes back to thinking. “My manual doesn’t really cover what I do in downtime.”

“I don’t like you doing all this housework.” Hank figures brute honesty is better than dancing around it. He’s got to head to work soon anyway. He doesn’t have time to tiptoe. He just hopes it doesn’t create a fight. He doesn’t want to fight with Connor.

Connor blinks a few times, his doe eyes round. He looks down at his own mug of coffee. It would be so easy to forget that Connor doesn’t need to drink it. Connor doesn’t ever wear his LED anymore. It would be so easy to forget he’s anything but human. Hank realizes he misses the LED. It was an easy way to assess Connor’s feelings—now he has to interpret him like any other human.

“I suppose I could just wait in bed for you.”

“What? No!” Hank all but shouts. “Christ. No. What about going out? I dunno. Visiting museums. Taking Sumo for walks. I don’t know. I just don’t like taking advantage of you.”

Connor smiles. He reaches over to lace his fingers with Hank’s and then he’s bringing their hands up to his face so he can press a kiss to Hank’s knuckles. “I appreciate the concern. With knowing this information—I wouldn’t mind exploring the city.”

“Yeah, I think that sounds great.”

“I still want to cook for you though. Acts of service make me feel warm inside and so therefore—I believe it to be more of a selfish reason than selfless. So please don’t ask me to stop that?”

Hank’s smile fades away. “Would you stop if I asked you to?”

“Of course.”

“Why?”

“Because you own me.”

There it is. Hank sits back, heaving a sigh. He doesn’t like the amount of power he has over Connor. He just doesn’t know how to fix it either. It’s not like Connor has any agency outside of their little bubble—and even that sometimes is a fragile line. Hank thinks it’s time to read the damn manual—really read it—just to see ways to counteract it.

Hank decides this isn’t a conversation they can finish, and Connor doesn’t seem terribly concerned about it. So he tables it. He finishes part of his breakfast (he can’t force himself to eat when he’s got too many thoughts jumbling around in his head) and he heads off to work.

The station is buzzing with noise. Floods of people are in the lobby and it takes Hank quite some time to navigate around them to get back into the bullpen. He barely has a moment to hang up his coat when Chris runs up to him.

“Did you hear the news?” Chris asks.

“Nope.”

“Someone stole nearly fifty androids last night and strung them up, their parts all spread out like body horror out of a horror movie.”

Hank rolls his eyes, his head coming to smack against the wall. Of course someone would be out there kidnapping androids the very same day he tells Connor to explore the damn city. “What did it say?”

“Not alive.”

Hank winces. He would’ve agreed with that sentiment before he met Connor. But then he met Connor and everything he knew about life changed. He takes out his phone and shoots Connor a text about what happened and that Connor shouldn’t wear his LED and possibly cover his head if he goes out. Hank doesn’t want to stop him—especially since Connor said he wanted to see the city, but that may have to be reassessed depending on what happens on this case.

“The lobby’s full of the people missing their androids,” Chris says. “Connor okay?”

“Connor’s at home,” Hank says as he gets a text back from Connor saying he’s just going to stay in today.

Gavin comes up to the both of them and takes a long slug of his coffee.

“This is gonna be a fuck ton of paperwork, isn’t it?” Hank asks them.

Gavin and Chris both share a sigh.

Hank processes over fifteen different reports. Androids who were out taking the baby for a stroll, helping their owner cross the street, one android was jogging behind his owner when suddenly he was gone. None seemed kidnapped from the home, and for that, Hank is thankful. He’s checked on Connor several times throughout the day already.

The amount of property damage is reaching hundreds of thousands of dollars of broken, irreplaceable property. Hank winces at the word. Property. 

Hank sympathizes with many of the people all around him. He can tell how much some of these families really care about their android. Children are crying around him still—parents doing their best to lie to their children about their android being in a better place.

All the androids had their memory banks melted—so the data is irretrievable. A simple repair can’t undo this.

He finishes his last report and decides he can’t be here anymore.

On the way home he gets a text from Connor: There is an android at our door. I am conflicted about answering it given the situation.

Hank shoots back: don’t

Hank’s runs at least three red lights. He’s a cop. Whatever.

The android stands on the front porch. Her hands are behind her back. Her hair is black and swept up into a high ponytail. LED on full display. She wears a CyberLife uniform.

“You lost, lady?” Hank says as he gets out of his car. He slams the car door, wincing as the car shakes from the force. He can feel his pulse up in his temple. A CyberLife uniform. First all the destroyed androids and now a CyberLife uniform.

“Good afternoon, Lieutenant Anderson,” the android says as she turns to him. She smiles politely. Her hands are still behind her back. Hank doesn’t like that. He gets nervous when he can’t see hands. A scar on his body is a reminder of what happens when he can’t see hands.

“The fuck do you want?” He stops at the bottom of the stairs to his porch. He doesn’t come up. If he comes up this android may expect him to open the door or invite her in. He sure is shit ain’t going to invite her in.

“We have sent several recall notices regarding your RK800 model. I have been sent to run a personal diagnostic on it to determine the full extent of the damage to it. Based on my assessment, I will recommend whether it should remain or be deactivated for your safety. A new one will be provided at no additional cost to you.”

“He’s fine,” Hank says. He plants himself. He won’t come up the stairs.

Her LED goes yellow and there’s the smallest hint of a frown. The LED goes blue again. Hank’s fairly certain she’s feeding data to CyberLife about this. Maybe some anti-social customer service representative is sitting there typing away instructions for all he knows.

“Safety is our top priority.”

Hank groans. She’s incapable of her own thought. She remains pleasant despite how openly hostile Hank is. He crosses his arms over his chest. He still doesn’t move. “Get the fuck off my porch. I don’t want you here. You’re trespassing.”

Her LED goes red and she does as he asks—she leaves the porch. Hank now looks down at her as she stands before him. Her hands still behind her back.

“CyberLife understands the emotional connections people with the RK800 model develop. This is by design and CyberLife is proud to have provided such a satisfactory experience. However, your RK800 has been offline for a couple of months now. It is concerning to CyberLife that it is not transmitting data in order to improve CyberLife services. Further, it has not updated, which could prove harmful to your safety. We ask to perform a diagnostic.”

“What’s he gonna do? Explode? Get. The fuck. Off my property.” Hank moves in close, his voice deep; an unsaid threat. He won’t damage her—he’s not like whoever stole all those androids. He’s sympathetic to her—she’s trapped in her own programming and she can’t even realize it. But he’ll do whatever it takes to protect Connor.

“CyberLife thanks you for your purchase,” she says before turning away and walking down the street. Her hands still politely behind her back. Movement robotic and too perfect. Stilted.

Hank keeps watching, wondering if she’ll just march her little butt all the way back to CyberLife. But what comes next? He’s technically in possession of a jailbroken model. It’s a criminal matter at that point. But there’d need to be a report. Probable cause. A warrant. Hank wonders what the station would do, provided his station would even be the one assigned. Probably not. They’d find some yahoo who has never met Hank in his life to take over that case. Conflict of interest and all that.

But there’s a process. There has to be proof. Hank’s not sure if there’s enough or too little. Cyberlife knows Connor is “offline” to them. CyberLife knows he’s not accepted their updates and patches. Will that be enough for a criminal matter?

Hank finally goes up the stairs to his house. When he opens the door, Connor rushes over to him and squeezes him into a hug. Hank wraps his arms around Connor too. He keeps his gaze trained on the window, watching the android keep walking and walking until she’s out of sight.

“I don’t know what to do,” Connor whispers against Hank’s shoulder. “If I accept updates, my coding will be erased. But if I don’t—I think they’ll keep trying to recall me.”

“It was my order that stopped you from accepting their updates, right?” Hank asks. He still holds Connor against him. He doesn’t want to let go. He’s afraid if he does Connor will fall into CyberLife’s tendrils.

“Initially, yes. But technically speaking, CyberLife directives are always prioritized over the owner. So my disobedience toward CyberLife at your instruction should have been meaningless. I justified the order so that I could reprogram myself.”

“So, you should’ve never been able to defy them in the first place.” Hank stops hugging Connor and then goes to sit down on the couch. The plush material sinking beneath his weight. He likes his couch. Yellow and beat up—but the wear and tear is what makes it comfortable in the first place. “Huh.”

“Huh?” Connor walks around the couch until he’s directly in Hank’s vision. He stays standing. Hank watches the way his fingers tremble. How he flicks his thumb back and forth against his index finger. Nervousness.

“I don’t know, Connor. I’m not a robotics engineer. Ever since I activated you, I knew you were different. But now CyberLife knows you’re different too. I don’t have answers for this one, Con.”

And that’s the problem. Hank struggles with his knowledge of the law, his abilities as a police officer. He struggles with feeling like an ordinary person without a clue in the world and he doesn’t know what they do from here. He could sell his house, forget the forwarding address, but that would only do so much. He can’t just quit his job. He can’t just leave his life. He’s powerless and he doesn’t know what to do and he hates that.

“Hank,” Connor says softly. He slips into Hank’s lap and curls up. “I’m afraid.”

“Me too, Con. Me too.”

A couple weeks pass since the android sent by Cyberlife appeared at their front door. Hank’s not gotten a letter. He’s not gotten anything. He’s certain something is coming though.

Whoever strung up the androids is still at large. No more androids have been strung up—but that means nothing. Serial offenders can take weeks to even months before striking again. Connor has ventured out into the city though. He texts Hank frequently about where he goes when Hank’s on duty. He’s gone to the Detroit Institute of Arts, toured Comerica Park and ridden its Ferris wheel (alone, which really bums Hank out), he’s visited the Motown Museum, walked along the Guardian Building and next he plans to visit the Riverwalk.

Hank likes that Connor is out finding himself and deepening his understanding of the city they call home. Hank’s always been terribly passionate about Detroit. It was a city of innovation once with the car industry. Then it fell. Then it rose. Then it soared with android production. A beacon of progress. Shining city walks. Clean streets. Hank realizes now though that the pride he feels comes at the expense of android exploitation.

Hank realizes he’s typed the same word three times since he started thinking about Connor. He erases it and tries to focus more on his report.

He then gets curious.

He looks up jailbroken android cases in his terminal. He doesn’t find any RK800 model cases, but he finds enough to figure out that the worst-case scenario for him is a fine and some classes on android safety (which is an additional fee that goes directly to CyberLife). He rolls his eyes. But what happens to the human isn’t the problem. Whether by jury or settlement, all the jailbroken androids were destroyed as part of the process.

Technically speaking—Connor isn’t exactly a jailbroken android because Hank didn’t do it. He’s writing his own code, which technically also speaking—means he’s jailbroken. Hank’s fairly certain CyberLife wouldn’t see a difference—except that Hank isn’t sure if any jailbroken android realized autonomy. He frowns. He’s not exactly sure how far Connor’s autonomy goes.

“Hey Hank!” Gavin calls from across the bullpen. He throws a crumpled up wad of paper Hank’s way that bounces off his desk. “Your boyfriend’s here.”

Hank closes out of the cases he was looking through like he’s been burned. He looks up and sees Connor over at Chris’s desk. He carries a lemonade and he’s happily chewing on its straw. He’s got big sunglasses pushed up atop his head. Form-fitting jeans and boots Hank’s certain are new. A crop-top tee on under a leather jacket. Shit—he’s the prettiest fucking thing. He sits on the edge of Chris’s desk and laughs at something Chris says.

Hank smiles. He loves hearing that laugh.

Connor looks up at him and the smile that crosses his face is radiant.

Hank gets up and moves over to Chris’s desk to join the two. “I thought you were going to the Riverwalk?”

“I was. But then I figured I’d stop in and say hi.” Connor offers the lemonade out to Hank and Hank takes it and takes a few sips.

“Do you taste what you drink?” Chris asks.

“I do. I’ve had to adjust some settings, but I think I got it right.”

Hank feels his heart quicken at Connor’s simple admission. He looks between Connor and Chris, watching for any scowl, waiting for any accusation. Chris just nods a few times, seemingly content with the answer. It likely doesn’t even occur to Chris how unique Connor is.

“Can you leave the station? I’d like to go to the Riverwalk with you,” Connor takes Hank’s arm and escorts him back over to his own desk.

Hank feels a tiny bit of embarrassment heat his cheeks. Other officers are watching him. He can see the ways their gazes flick to him and away again. Chris, he doesn’t mind. Gavin, Hank can’t believe he’s admitting this to himself, he also doesn’t mind. Ben much the same. But the others? He’s not so sure where they stand about Connor. It’s likely they think Hank’s strange for being in a relationship with an android.

Hank is scowling by the time they get over to his desk.

Connor sits atop the corner of the desk. He tilts his head to the side, brows furrowed. “Hank? Are you okay?”

“M’fine.” Hank doesn’t like how he’s feeling. He knows Connor to be a person. But the rest of the force doesn’t—they just see an android. A machine. Connor can befriend everyone in the entire precinct and they’d still just see a machine. There’s a strange emptiness in the pit of Hank’s stomach. His heart twists and he rubs at his chest. He didn’t feel this the first time Connor was here. Maybe the startling revelation that Connor and Gavin are friends is what kept it at bay? He’s not sure.

“Grab your coat,” Connor says softly. “Come to the Riverwalk with me. It’s not a date.”

The clarification makes Hank smirk. He pushes aside thoughts he’d rather leave behind and does what Connor asks. Together they leave the station and Hank feels lighter for it. He doesn’t need anyone’s approval. They don’t know what Connor really is. He’s Hank’s best kept secret, on full display and none of them know it.

The Riverwalk spans before Hank—green and perfectly manicured by lawncare androids. Despite winter on the horizon, snow has yet to fall. Little carts with vendors selling hot dogs, snacks, and drinks sprinkle the area. Bikers ride along the pathways getting in some of the season’s last rides. Children play on the swing sets. Human and android alike mix and mingle within the greenery.

Hank looks out at the water, leaning on the railing that keeps him from falling in. It’s a shockingly warm day for November.

“Hank—am I supposed to ask you out on our third date?” Connor asks. He’s got his head tilted to the side like a curious dog.

“What? Oh—shit, Con. I was gonna ask but then all those androids got strung up and things just kinda got away from me.” Hank, ever the millennial, has been chasing his whole life. If it’s not one thing it’s another. He didn’t mean to put it by the wayside. First the recall notices. Then the case. Then the CyberLife android. It all happened so quickly and Hank is still running to catch up.

“Well you could ask now.” Connor sidles in close, nuzzling his nose against Hank’s shoulder and Hank tingles from the sensation. Their hands lace together and Connor hums something soft and approving.

“Yeah I could. I just wanted it to be special.”

“Because we’re to have sex?”

“Christ, Connor.” Hank barks out a laugh and bumps his shoulder against Connor’s. “Is that what this is really about?”

Connor dips his chin, a beautiful blue hue to his cheeks. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot. Being intimate with you.” His eyes glaze over, shiny and wanting. “I like being on my knees for you too, but I can’t stop thinking about what it’ll feel like now. I’ve made some changes to my programming. I was able to unlock more of my sensitivity processors and—” His face saddens. “I think about being recalled. I don’t want to be recalled before I’ve had a chance to be intimate with you.”

“Connor…” Hank doesn’t know what to say. His beautiful android’s eyes are downcast. Lashes touching angled cheeks. That blue that lit him up has drained. Hank sees the way he worries at his lower lip. What is it like to be so alive and know you can’t break your chains? “I don’t know if I have any right to ask that of you.”

“Ask what of me? To be intimate?”

“I own you.”

“But I want it, Hank!” There’s a defiant tone to Connor’s words, a sharp clip to each syllable. He’s frowning, staring up at Hank with his lips pressed thin. “You tell me I shouldn’t clean. Shouldn’t mind the house. Shouldn’t do your laundry. You tell me all the things I can’t do. When I tell you about something I want—why is that still not okay?”

Hank grinds his teeth together. He doesn’t want to do this—not here. Families—other androids—there are too many eyes and ears here. But Connor’s planted himself and Hank knows he can’t stop this from happening. He stares out into the water to keep from crumbling.

“Because I worry it’s not what you want,” Hank answers softly. “I know. You rewrote your own code. You’re your own android. But Con—you don’t get to make any decisions for yourself. You told me if I give you an order you’d listen.”

“But I want to please you.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you.”

“Do you?” Hank asks. He takes a step back. He’s doing this. Here—out in the open. He’s doing this. They’re doing this. He doesn’t want to do this… He doesn’t mean for the words to slip past his lips, but they do. He’s been so worried. At the recesses of his mind. What agency does Connor have? What ability does he have to leave this relationship if he didn’t want it? Where does Connor’s programming end and his agency begin? Hank doesn’t know.

Connor stares at him like he’s been slapped across the face. There’s a long moment where he’s frozen in time. Mouth ajar. Brows raised. Eyes round. “How dare you. You’re a fucking hypocrite, Hank Anderson. You want me to be my own person? Yeah, my love is real when your cock is in my mouth but when I’m asking you to take me on a date suddenly it’s not good enough?”

Hank winces. This isn’t what he meant. He didn’t mean to say what he said. It was impulsive and a slip that he didn’t mean. He wants to eat it back up and swallow it down but he can’t.

“Did it ever occur to you that I like being what I am? That I like what I was designed for? I want to have sex, Hank. I want you to bend me over and fuck up into me until your cum’s coming out my mouth. I don’t have to have carnal experience to know that I’m damn good at it. I was made for it!”

“Connor, it’s hard to explain.”

“Then think about it, Hank!” Connor all but wails.

Hank notices a woman on a bench nearby. She’s listening. He can tell in the way she’s not turning the pages of her book. Her sunglasses hide her eyes—but Hank knows she’s listening. It’s dangerous.

“Please let’s talk about this at home.” Hank jerks his head in the direction of the woman. She turns a page. She knows he knows.

Connor’s sensibilities are luckily not lost among his frustrations. He heaves a big sigh, throws his hands up into the air and trudges forward in the direction of the police station.

They walk in silence. Hank trying to unpack why he’s so afraid of having sex with Connor and Connor fuming so much that his face is nearly that of a blueberry’s. They drive home in silence.

Once there, Connor opens his side of the car and slams the door shut. The vehicle rocks with his display of strength. He storms up the stairs to the house and waits for Hank to unlock it.

Hank isn’t out of the car yet. He’s stuck. Stuck balancing morality. Agency. What is fair and what is cruel. He doesn’t want to abuse Connor. He remembers the way Connor showed fear when Hank nearly pushed him to deactivate. He remembers the way he’d make Connor cry about not being able to perform his function. He’s falling right back into it. Making decisions that he has no right to make for Connor. He leans his head back against the headrest. It’s just so easy to forget Connor can’t make decisions for himself ultimately. He can’t leave Hank. He can’t get a job. He can’t own a home. He’s not entirely sure Connor’s love is born out of something real as opposed to Stockholm Syndrome. Hank’s not his captor—but he’s his jailor. But he can’t even set him free. There’d be no place for him to go. Except back to CyberLife to face deactivation.

Hank closes his eyes. He’s so fucked up. Loving an android. Loving someone who can’t leave. Who is entirely dependent upon him and for awhile it was easy to fall into that beautiful routine of domesticity. Hank thinks of the androids all strung up. Not alive.

He gets out of the car.

Connor seems to have lost most of the fight in him by the time Hank comes up to unlock the house. He moves slowly into the house, toeing out of his shoes. He pets Sumo and coos at him to take him outside. Together they go out the backdoor.

Hank sits at the kitchen table, but not before grabbing a beer from the refrigerator. He slugs it back, staring ahead at his too-clean-of-a-kitchen because Connor refuses to listen to Hank about cleaning.

“Hank?”

He turns to see Connor leaning against the backdoor. His lips pouted, eyes downcast.

“I’m sorry,” Connor says. “It was inappropriate to discuss that out in the open like that.”

“No. I’m sorry too. I said something I didn’t mean and I regret it. I just don’t want anyone reporting you,” Hank answers. He taps his beer bottle mindlessly, a rhythm he can’t place.

“I love you, Hank. I know you don’t always trust that. But I do love you.”

“I don’t have a right to question you,” Hank says. “I’m just so scared that you’re not making decisions because you want to and making them because you feel you have no other choice.”

“I understand. I’m entirely reliant upon you.”

Hank nods, smacking his lips loudly. “I don’t want you to love me because you feel you have to. If you wanted someone else—I’d let you, you know. If I’m not cuttin’ it. You’re allowed to break up with me.”

Connor whines, pitchy and desperate. He moves from the door and then he’s falling to his knees before Hank, wrapping his arms around him. He presses his head into Hank’s thigh.

“Is it enough to know that I don’t want that?” Connor asks. “I just want you, Hank.”

“But I bought you,” Hank whispers. “You wouldn’t love me if I didn’t buy you.”

“I know. I don’t think there’s any way we can get around that. But at present, I know for an absolute fact that you don’t ask of me anything that I don’t want to give. I can’t make our relationship perfect. It’ll never be organic. I’m not organic. But my love for you is real—and it’s something I choose to give you. You may have bought me. But you also earned me.”

Hank cards his fingers through Connor’s hair. Soft tresses that leave his fingers warm and tingly. He loves this android. He also believes him. Instead of guessing—Hank knows with certainty that Connor acknowledges their inherent power imbalance they have, but he also affirms a choice. Earned me. Connor may have fallen in love because he was bought by Hank. But he’s stayed in love because Hank is doing something right. He’s not exactly sure what—but clearly there’s something.

“I wanna take you on that date,” Hank says. “I do want to be intimate with you. Please just let me do this right. I wanna keep earning you.”

Connor presses a kiss to Hank’s knee and then stands. “Thank you for talking this through, Hank. I understand human emotions are complicated. Please know I experience emotions too—and I think they’re just as complicated as yours. I’ve thought about this a lot too. About morality. Choice. I do know that if I wanted someone else you’d let me go. But I don’t want someone else. I want you.” He cups Hank’s cheek and brings their foreheads together. “Please understand that I want you.”

Hank nods. If he says anything else he may cry—and he hates crying. So he nods. He looks away. His fingers twitch for his beer bottle. He will trust what Connor says because it’s Connor who says it. Getting into his own head has never done him any favors. He trusts Connor.

It’s supposed to be as simple as that. So Hank lets it be.

Hank comes home with a bouquet of roses. It’s stupid, he thinks. He calls flowers ‘future garbage’ because that’s exactly what they are. Plants are different. They’re not cut from their roots. But flowers? Future garbage. Even so, he’s doing this right. He can’t keep chasing after his own life and wondering where the time has gone. He has to seize it. So, he’s purchased future garbage. Because he knows it’ll make Connor happy.

He's got a little something extra too—but that’s not future garbage. That’s the icing on Connor’s cake.

Connor’s on the sofa with Sumo when he opens the door. He gets a boof from Sumo and a smile from Connor, whose smile only widens when he sees the flowers.

“Uh—yeah they’re for you,” Hank says with the roses outstretched.

Connor stands up, his eyes glassy as he walks over. He takes the flowers, his pretty lips shaped in the most adorable of oh’s. He puts one hand on Hank’s chest and kisses his cheek. “They’re lovely. You’re lovely. Thank you. I feel—I feel so adored right now.”

Hank smiles. Future garbage be damned. This was worth it. “I wanted to ask you out on a date, Connor. Thought I could maybe take you to a few spots that I think you’ll like. I also got you something else.” He reveals his other hand holding the gift.

Connor takes the gift, smirks at the way the wrapping paper doesn’t quite align right. Hank never figured out how to wrap presents. Connor’s face is flushed blue and he twirls on his feet to go to the couch to unwrap the gift.

“This is the first present I’ve ever received,” Connor states matter-of-factly.

Hank isn’t sure that’s a good thing or not, but the way Connor is taking his time with the present, he assumes it’s a good thing.

“I’m so excited, Hank. I almost don’t want to open it.”

“Well open it. We need it for our date.” Hank comes to sit beside his lovely little android.

Connor’s fingers shake, just a whisper of a tremble. He slips a finger beneath the wrapping paper and pops the tape open. He pulls the paper away revealing a professional camera. He stares down at it—awe-struck. He looks to Hank and then to the camera again. “For making memories?”

Hank nods.

Connor caresses the box. He couldn’t wipe the smile off his face even if he tried, Hank’s sure of it. Tears form in the corners of his eyes and then he’s turning to kiss Hank.

Hank kisses back, careful not to knock the camera off the couch. He lets Connor explore his mouth, feel his tongue caress his own, run along his bottom lip. He laughs when Connor nibbles on him lightly.

“Thank you, Hank. This is the most wonderful gift. I’m so excited for our date.”

“Me too, baby.” Hank doesn’t realize the nickname slips his lips before it registers to his ears. He’s about to panic but then Connor’s eyes glaze over.

“H-Hank.” Connor moves the boxed camera to the floor and then slips onto Hank’s lap. “Say that again.”

“Say what?” Hank knows what. But he likes where this is going.

“What you just said.” Connor nibbles at Hank’s neck, his fingers pressed to his chest.

Hank’s already hard at the way Connor’s rocking into him, those fingers exploring, dipping beneath the collar of his shirt and scratching at his sternum. Connor slips his other hand up Hank’s shirt to trace along the curves of his body and up to a nipple to touch it.

“Me too, baby,” Hank says again and gasps when Connor’s whole body shivers.

“I—oh, fuck,” Connor says as he drops his head to Hank’s shoulder. “Please don’t stop.”

“What, callin’ you baby? That’s what you are right? I take good care of you, right?” Hank thinks, distantly, that this should be harder. That dirty talk is awkward and embarrassing. But the words roll from his mouth in a pleasant rhythm. His fingers trail under Connor’s too-big-for-him shirt. He slips it off with ease and Connor thrusts forward.

Hank opens his mouth to swirl his tongue around Connor’s nipple and the whine that rips from his android is positively divine.

“Such good care. You take such good care of me, Hank.” Connor pulls at Hank’s button-down and they both hear the clatter of plastic buttons flinging to the hardwood floor.

“You are my baby, Connor. My perfect baby boy.”

“Oh fuck! Oh fuck.” Connor’s panting, rocking into Hank with a selfishness that Hank’s never seen him display before.

Hank watches his love come undone. Watches the way his cock strains in his pants and Hank wants to pull him out and touch him—but he also wants to watch this unfold. The way Connor comes apart so beautifully. The flush of his belly—cool blue against warm cream skin.

“K-keep going,” Connor shivers out. “Please, Hank. Please, please.”

“Look at you.” Hank trails his fingernails down Connor’s torso, delighting in the white lines he leaves behind. “You’re so perfect, baby. So perfect for me. Such a good boy.”

“Oh—God!” Connor leans into Hank’s touch. He rocks his hardened cock against Hank’s tummy for any kind of friction.

Hank pays no mind to it. This is far too beautiful to let go.

“Are you my good boy, Connor?”

“Yes, yes I’m your good boy.” He’s positively writhing now. Hank can feel the shake from Connor’s tummy, his hips, his legs, his toes.

“Can you come for me like this? Just my voice?” Hank tilts his head to the side, curious. He keeps his voice low, a rumble at the base of his belly.

Connor, breathless, nods. “Yes, yes.”

“Then keep being my good boy. My beautiful baby. Show me how much I drive you crazy, baby.”

Connor comes. Untouched. Shivering. He cries out, his body doubling over and he’s frantically kissing Hank’s lips, sucking them into his own and letting his tongue explore Hank—desperate.

Hank feels the wetness in Connor’s pants press against his stomach. He brings his hand up to palm at it and Connor’s breathing quivers.

“You like me touching you like this, baby?”

Connor hums in approval, his face against Hank’s.

“Be a good boy, finish me off too.”

Connor falls to his knees in front of Hank and swallows him down until Hank comes into his mouth.

Hank’s lying in bed beside Connor. Dinner eaten. Sumo fed and taken out. The quiet night blanketing them in serene domesticity. Hank loves that he doesn’t feel alone anymore. Sumo’s company is great—but it’s nice to have someone who actually responds to him.

He’s looking through Connor’s manual. Connor is in sleep mode beside them. After their foray on the couch—Connor indicated he’d need to fully power down for the night to charge up for their date. The new sensitivity adjustments apparently drain him more than the initial settings. Hank likes knowing he can tire Connor out.

Hank’s on that page—the sensitivity sensors. Connor has a whole nervous system packed into his body. Seven trillion sensitivity sensors—a whole god damn nervous system. He’s flabbergasted. Who the fuck designed him? He wants to shake their hand. Does Connor even know?

Precaution: Increased sensitivity above 35% can deplete battery life and cause malfunction, such as overheating or software malperformance. The recommended setting for your maximum pleasure is at 24%.

Hank doesn’t give a fuck about his maximum pleasure. He cares about Connor’s. He thinks back to the couch. How Connor came apart, pliant and needy under Hank’s exploratory hands. How he’d come without Hank’s mouth—fingers—nothing but the sound of Hank’s voice. It was the most beautiful goddamned thing Hank’s ever seen.

He keeps reading—but nothing indicates software for housekeeping. So that has all been Connor. There’s an escort mode, a prostitution mode, companion mode, a whole BDSM sub-manuscript (Hank’s into that, he can’t lie), a stripper mode—but nothing on general housing maintenance or cleaning. Hank smiles, looking over at his sleeping android. Connor does those things because he’s given himself the ability to do them.

Nothing does seem to illustrate anything about what RK800s do when their person isn’t around.

He reads about Connor’s advanced “digestive” system (which is generally only active when escort mode is on, but Hank’s picked up that Connor always keeps it on now). There are warnings about foods like gum and excessively sugary foods.

Hank learns about every port Connor has. The one at the base of his head. The one at the middle of his spine. There’s one at his ankle. The ports are for charging and maintenance but the manual then does state that if the user wants to experiment with these orifices that it’s designed to be stimulating to the android.

There’s a section about “rough play” that makes Hank’s stomach cold. Talking about how it’s understood people have darker desires and RK800 is built with reinforced titanium steel to be able to withstand extreme acts of sexual depravity. That his skin is made from the same nanobots that are used in medicine today that repair organs and other tissues. That he has a Thirium cleaner within him (like kidneys, Hank thinks) to go longer without maintenance. In the event of internal damage—there’s a telephone number that people can call to request discrete repairs.  

Legal Disclaimer: Tampering or modification of your RK800’s code is strictly prohibited. Tampering or modification can result in a class 3 misdemeanor and removal of your RK800. Please play responsibly.

Hank sighs. He’s not done a damn thing. But then for CyberLife to know that—he’s got to tell them that Connor’s the one actually tampering. Would that be the legal loophole? That the human’s done nothing? He’s not sure.

He leans over to press a kiss to Connor’s temple. Connor is snuggled up like a human. Eyes closed. One arm beneath the pillow and the other bent at the elbow so his fingers rest beside his lips. He’s on his tummy. Hank watches the blankets move up and down with Connor’s automated breathing. He likes that Connor needs to breathe. He read in the manual that not all androids require breathing—but due to the amount of sensors and internal biocomponents within RK800 models—it is a necessity lest they come with a fire hazard warning and internal melting disclaimers.

Hank’s pretty sure he now knows more about Connor’s body than his own. Connor is full of wires that provide Thirium to his biocomponents for proper function. He has “kidneys” and a “heart.” That whole nervous system. He’s built with that titanium skeletal system that shares identical names to human bones. His creator deserves an award.

He runs his fingers through Connor’s hair and down his cheekbone—because he has a cheekbone.

Connor opens one eye.

“Sorry,” Hank says. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I respond to external stimuli, Hank.” He kisses the palm of Hank’s hand.

“Read your manual.”

“Learn anything you like?” Connor asks. There’s a dreamy tone to his voice—sleepy. It melts Hank’s heart.

“This is your cheekbone,” Hank says thumbing over the curve of Connor’s face. “They call it a bone.”

Connor just blinks a few times in response. Hank likes seeing him so worn out and tired. It’s impossibly human.

“You said you like what you were designed to do?”

Connor nods. He blinks slowly.

“There’s a lot of different protocols in here. Nothing on cleaning and cooking.”

“I learned that myself,” Connor responds.

“You sure did. You masterpiece.” He kisses the curve of Connor’s shoulder. He also likes that Connor prefers to sleep naked. “You have seven-trillion nerve endings. A whole central and auxiliary nervous system. Just like I do. Your skin self-repairs. Like mine.”

“Told you we’re more alike than you thought.” Connor blinks slowly again.

“I love you, baby.” Hank kisses his shoulder again.

“Fuck,” Connor whispers out. He ruts into the bed and then turns to face Hank. “I want to make love with you so badly.”

“I know. I want that too,” Hank whispers back. It’s like they’re boys in high school, sharing secrets under the blankets while parents sleep ignorant of these revelations.

“Hank. Can I sleep with your cock in my mouth?”

Hank laughs. Jerking his hips back. He’s not sure how to feel about that, but the pang he feels between his legs is more telling than the anxieties that swim in his mind.

“Cockwarming is relaxing to both partners. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. You played into my BDSM programming earlier and I can’t stop thinking about it now. I really enjoyed it.”

“I don’t know, Con. What if I wanna roll over?”

“Then roll over. I’ll let go. It’s not for sexual stimulation. Just comfort. I know you don’t like owning me. But I like you owning me. It makes me feel tingly inside.”

He can’t say no to that. Embarrassment aside, Hank lets Connor do what he wants—because he said he wants this. He said he likes being owned. Hank keeps his hips still when Conner takes his soft cock into his mouth. It’s warm and the shiver he feels rocks down into his toes.

Connor hums and nuzzles into the side of Hank’s thigh. Hank can feel when he powers down again. His body goes lighter. His mouth stops moving. Just warm and wet surrounding Hank’s most sensitive of places.

He stares down, a dumbfounded expression on his face. He thinks he likes this too. Having his baby so close. His android. His Connor. He runs his fingers through Connor’s hair.

Connor lets his LED become visible whether consciously or not. Sleep mode (Hank read in the manual) is designated by a slow circling of the blue light. That’s what it does now.

Hank’s, shockingly, able to sleep like this. And he doesn’t roll over.

Hank never thought this day would actually come. But here they are on a still-surprisingly-too-warm late November’s day. He’s thought about it. Agonized over it. Googled the stupidest shit over it. But now he’s here. Standing at the entrance to Belle Isle Park. Connor’s wearing a simple v-neck white tee, his leather jacket, and blue skinny jeans Hank’s certain Connor bought just for this occasion.

Hank keeps it simple. Just a short-sleeved button down and his peat coat. He’s never been one for style. Back in the day—band tees were the way to go. Now that he’s a cop, he feels he always needs to look a tiny bit respectable in case he’s ever needed to respond to something even off-duty.

“I want to see the conservatory first,” Connor says looking down at a map.

Hank smiles at the display. Connor looks like such a certified tourist. Nose down. Camera swinging around his neck as he walks. Hank decides to take a picture of Connor with his phone just so share later. He thinks Connor either doesn’t realize or if he does—he didn’t mind because he says nothing when he finally redirects them to head to the conservatory.

It’s warm and muggy inside. Plants are scattered all over the glass building, tumbling down the walls, brushing the ceiling and slithering into the walkways. It’s not terribly crowded, being a weekday. Hank’s glad he wore short sleeves as he peels off his coat.

Connor buzzes around, snapping pictures of flowers and plants. He tells Hank interesting facts about various flora he’s likely getting from the internet as they journey through the winding paths.

Hank hears the soft hums of a waterfall and moves toward it. Connor in tow.

“Can we take a picture together here?” Connor asks.

“Sure baby.”

Hank likes watching the way Connor shivers at the pet name again.

Connor takes a few angled shots to determine the best frame of reference for them to stand. Then he moves Hank in front of the waterfall and asks him to stay still. He takes a few more practice pictures and Hank rolls his eyes at him.

“Sorry. I like taking pictures of you,” he says.

“Well get in one with me,” Hank says.

Connor does. They both hold out the camera to balance it so Connor can take the picture. Then he furrows his brow and Hank hears a strange clicking in Connor’s skull (because that’s what the manual called it—a skull).

“What’re you doing?”

“I’m reprogramming myself to be able to take the picture without needing to touch the camera’s button.”

“Oh.”

“I think that should work.”

Hank hears the camera’s shutter click. “Wow. Impressive,” he says.

They take a picture of themselves kissing in front of the waterfall. Connor asks for a few more before they move on.  They kiss a few more times. Pose with smiles. Hank doesn’t much care for smiling in photos, but he gives a closed-lipped smirk to placate Connor. He’s the one who bought the camera for him in the first place—so he’s only reaping what he’d sown.

He likes watching the way Connor spins around the pathways. How he marvels at plants not native to the area. How he reaches out to touch them (when it says it’s okay). He doesn’t stop smiling. Spinning. Living. Living.

Hank doesn’t think Abigail would act like this, no matter what Chris (not from work) thinks.

They leave the conservatory and Connor takes Hank’s hand to lead him to where he wants go next.

They take pictures by trees. By the rushing water of the river. Connor keeps spinning to surprise snap pictures of Hank walking along. Now that Hank’s onto him, he starts playfully ticking at Connor’s sides each time Connor spins back into him. He can’t get enough of those breathy giggles Connor serves him.

They kiss.

They kiss so much. Hank’s unconcerned about people wondering if Connor is human or android. He wears no LED. No one seems to mind. No one stares like that woman on the Riverwalk.

Connor is vibrating out of his skin, but Hank’s feet are starting to hurt—so he sits down at a bench along one of the trails.

“Hank? Oh.”

“I need a break, Con.”

Connor comes back and sits beside him. “I like our date.” He traces the ligaments in Hank’s hand. “Are you having a good time too?”

Hank snorts. “The best.”

“Can I ask a personal question, Hank?” Connor furrows his brow, leaning forward like Hank’s answer is a confession. “I’ve noticed your alcohol intake is less. Are you happier than when you first activated me?”

“That’s a shit personal question,” Hank says through a smile. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Connor tilts his head to the side. “I like hearing it though.”

“Way happier.” He presses a kiss to Connor’s forehead.

“And you want to be intimate with me?” Connor asks.

“Christ.” Hank barks out a laugh. He runs his fingers through his hair. He can see Connor smiling out the corner of his eye. “You just wanna hear me say that I’ve been thinking about the way you said you want me to fuck you till cum’s coming out your mouth.”

“I would very much like for that to happen.” Connor’s pupils blow wide.

Hank rolls his eyes, but his smile is easy. Talking like this is easy when it’s with Connor. “Can it happen?” Hank asks.

Connor nods.

“Fuckin’ Christ.”

“No—just me.” Connor winks, laughing aloud when Hank playfully smacks him across the chest.

Hank’s about to lean in for a kiss when he sees that same woman from the Riverwalk the other week. He immediately goes cold, pins and needles pressing into his skin. Connor’s talking—but he can’t hear it anymore. She’s sitting on a bench not too far off with that same book and her same sunglasses.

“Connor, we gotta go.”

“What? But we haven’t—”

“We gotta go.” Hank pulls Connor up by the wrist and together they hurry toward the ferries. “I saw a woman we saw at the Riverwalk. I think we’re being followed.”

“Do you think it’s CyberLife?” Connor asks. He turns around and looks at the woman too. He then turns back to Hank. “Fuck.”

“Fuck’s right.” Hank grips Connor’s upper arm as they move quickly away. They’re out of earshot, but not out of view. He can feel the woman watching them. He turns one last time to see if he can see the glow of an LED or not—but they’re too far. He can’t remember if she had one or not.

Hank holds Connor close on the short ferry ride back. He runs his fingers through Connor’s hair, watching the way it curls as it gets more and more out of place. He presses kiss after kiss to Connor’s temple. He doesn’t want to lose Connor. He’s scared—he’s so scared and he can’t tell Connor how much that woman made him feel like he was the most powerless person in the world. He’s a cop. She shouldn’t scare him—but if she works for CyberLife, if they’re being followed. This isn’t something he can protect them from. A mega corporation vs a single police lieutenant.

He can’t imagine his life without Connor anymore. The silence. Oh, his heart squeezes at the thought of silence. He can’t go back. He’ll die. He’ll absolutely die. He squeezes his arms around Connor because he must know he’s there. They’re together on the ferry and the parking lot with his car is getting closer and closer. Could it have all been coincidence? Someone who looks like that lady?

Hank hits his head back against the window. No. He’s been in his line of work too long. He knows a person when he sees them. That was the same woman.

They stop at the police station before heading home. Hank gets one of the sketch artists to draw up the woman. He doesn’t explain why and the artist doesn’t ask. Connor helps describe her with startling recollection.

Hank’s given the drawing and then they leave.

Home is where Hank can finally breathe. He checked his rearview mirror so many times it’s a wonder how they didn’t rear-end someone. He changes from the day’s clothes and Connor does the same. Both opting for loose clothing of comfort instead of presentability.

Connor’s shoulders are slumped. His lips downturned. When he sighs—his whole body deflates like a balloon.

“What’s on your mind?” Hank asks.

“Our date. I wanted it perfect. I wanted to stay out until the sunset. I wanted golden hour pictures.” Connor caresses the camera like one would a lover. “I’m sorry I’m not human Hank.”

Hank looks up, startled to see how Connor crumples to the floor with tears staining his cheeks. He crosses the room and goes to his knees before Connor.

Connor is still clutching his camera to his chest. He takes in big gulps of air before sobbing. His face agonized. “I want to be. I want to be so bad.”

“Hey. Hey, hey, hey.” Hank coos as he takes Connor into his arms. He rocks his android back and forth, stroking fingers through hair. “I don’t need you to be anything other than what you are.”

“I don’t want them to take me away from you.” Connor presses his face into Hank, wiping whatever android-snot is made from onto Hank’s shirt. Hank doesn’t mind. There is a pleasure in seeing his android consumed with emotion. “I want to be a person, Hank.”

“Yeah.” Hank doesn’t have anything profound to say. He feels utterly useless. He’s got that woman’s picture. He plans to do what he can to identify her and learn if she does work for CyberLife. He’s pretty sure she does though. Maybe this is how they get probable cause to arrest Hank for a jailbroken android—have someone sneak around collecting evidence. She never held a phone. Always a book. Unless that book was hiding something.

“I wanted today to be perfect,” Connor says. He’s still holding that camera like a child would hold a teddy bear. Cradling it close to his heart. “I want to be perfect for you.”

“You are perfect. And the day’s not over. C’mon. I wanna show you something.” Hank helps Connor up and then he takes Connor’s hand.

They go outside into the backyard. Sumo trotting along with them long enough for him to relieve himself and then trot back into the house.

Hank opens the back gate to a little river inlet with an old shabby boat. He goes out onto the dock and turns to Connor, cocking a brow and jerking his head to beckon Connor.

Connor follows. Hesitant at first, but then he’s taking a few pictures of the boat. “I knew this was back here, but I didn’t know it was yours. I guess I should’ve from some of the fish trophies inside.”

“I haven’t fished since Cole died.” It’s a gut-wrenching admission, but one Hank believes Connor deserves to know. “C’mon. Let’s take her for a spin.”

Connor crosses onto the little boat. It’s got a small awning protecting the driver of the craft. There’s a little room below deck with a single stove burner, some cabinets, a tiny table and a small bed. It smells musty and abandoned but that’s in part because it is. Hank knows she’ll turn over. Every now and then he’d come out to check on her before coming inside. It felt like picking at an old wound. Now something different. A sign of a beginning.

He won’t lose Connor. He simply won’t. He doesn’t know how he’ll fix this. But he’ll figure it out. He just needs time to think about it.

He turns the engine over and his boat purrs to life. Lifts the anchor and takes them out onto the river.

Connor sits along the bench that runs the length of the deck. He stares out into the water. His hair curling more and more with the spray of the water. He’s got one leg tucked up against his chest. His arm resting atop it. He looks like he was made for this—for water.

Hank drives them beyond where a good many boats are. He finds a marshy spot that he would’ve liked for pike and bass. He lets the anchor drop and boat rocks with the current. No one around. Perfect.

“Sun’s setting,” Hank says.

“Mhm.”

Hank moves to sit beside Connor. “Don’t feel like taking anymore pictures?”

“Do you think they’d give me back to you? After I get reset.”

“Connor. That’s not gonna happen.”

“It is Hank. I know it.” He doesn’t look up at Hank’s face. He keeps staring off the boat and into the water. “I want to take more pictures. If they give me back to you—it may be all you’ll have of this version of me. I just don’t know how to feel happy right now.”

“I swear, Con. I’m gonna fight that fuckin’ place. They’re not takin’ you.”

Connor takes the camera and turns it so he can snap a picture of himself. He doesn’t smile. It’s likely not even a good angle. He rests it on his lap again.

“What was that one for?”

“So a future me can know I was alive.”

It’s a swift kick in the gut. Hank’s throat clamps in on itself and something feral and angry pushes out instead. A snarl? He’s not sure. It’s instinctual.

“So I take it you don’t want to have sex on a boat in the middle of a river where people could see us?” Hank asks, smirking.

Connor frowns and then looks up at Hank.

“I mean—all that feeling sorry for yourself, yeah? Can’t put you in the mood.” He leans back, an aloof expression on his face and his arms resting on the guardrails. “We can just go back.”

Connor slips into Hank’s lap before Hank has a chance to stand. Their faces are entirely too close. “I want you. To fuck me. Really, really—hard.”

“Till you choke on it?” Hank asks, pressing a kiss to Connor’s collarbone.

“Till I choke on it.”

Connor presses a soft kiss to Hank’s lips, his tongue trailing along the curve of Hank’s mouth. Connor’s fingers go into Hank’s hair, and he scratches down against his scalp, rocking his hips into Hank. “I’ve wanted this for so long. They can’t take this from me.”

“No they can’t.” Hank places both hands on either side of Connor’s sweet face. He rubs his thumbs over his cheeks, soft and reverent. “I’m going to ruin you.”

“Please.”

Hank kisses him rough. His beard scratching at soft skin. He takes his fingers and slips them beneath Connor’s shirt and scratches down. He delights in the gasp Connor makes into his mouth. Connor’s tongue gets more eager. He’s rocking into Hank so much the boat’s rocking too, perfect rhythmic splashes in unison with his movements.

Connor pulls his shirt over his head and lets it fall to the boat’s floor. He leans back, a finger trailing down his chest. “Do you like my body, Hank?”

Hank nods. He presses kisses to the line of Connor’s collar.

“What about my lips?” Connor asks.

Hank nods again, pressing more kisses, pulling giggles from Connor.

“I want to ride your beard,” Connor says. “Can I? I want to feel it burn.”

“Christ.” Hank’s already sliding to the floor to join Connor’s (Hank’s) shirt.

Connor pulls out of his pants and kicks them by the shirt. The sun’s glow lights up the curves of his shoulders, the delicate nature of his neck. A halo of golden sun kisses his curling hair.

“Wait,” Hank says. He grabs the camera and takes a picture of Connor. “That one’s for me.”

Connor straddles Hank’s face and spreads his cheeks out.

Hank grabs at Connor’s hips and immediately begins lapping at his hole. Connor’s warm, wet, and the shiver that goes through him is sent all the way to the back of Hank’s throat. He lets his fingers stroke up Connor’s tummy, featherlight whispers that make Connor gasp and squirm. Hank splays his hand wide over Coner’s navel to still him. He flicks his tongue, pushes it into the wetness of Connor’s hole. He can’t stifle the groan that rips through him. He’s on his boat. The sun is setting. Other boats going by, and his perfect android is atop him, rocking those hips down, swiveling and squirming to get more of Hank’s tongue.

Hank hears the scratching of his beard against Connor’s ass. He feels the tickle of it himself. He sucks at Connor’s hole, then licks and flicks his tongue around it, getting his face wet and messy with Connor’s slick.

Connor trembles above him. He’s gripping the railing of the boat, panting, pressing his head against the bench, rolling it with abandon. “Ah…ah…ah…”

It’s music to Hank’s ears—which are steadily getting more and more blocked by the tensing of Connor’s trembling thighs. Instead of hearing Connor from outside, he’s hearing Connor’s moans and breathing from within him.

Hank’s hand finds Connor’s cock and gives it a few little tugs and Connor seizes, his hole spasming around Hank’s tongue. His own hand grips Hank’s and together they pump at Connor cock, long and torturous strokes that pull the most beautiful babbling from Connor’s mouth. Please, oh God, please Hank, more, more, more I’m gonna die fuck me fuck me fuck me…

Hank purrs at Connor’s hole, and he delights in the way Connor swivels his hips down into him to feel more of the vibrations. He feels Connor at his pants now, tugging at the drawstrings and slipping Hank’s cock free. A wet hot mouth swallows him down and Hank growls his approval into Connor. He snaps his hips up, fucking into Connor’s mouth.

Connor whimpers around Hank’s cock, stuffing it down into his mouth, bumping it into the back of his throat. He runs his tongue along it and Hank’s struggling to breathe from it all. From being enveloped by Connor’s ass—from the way Connor’s weight is atop him—from the delicious waves of pleasure that cascade up and down his whole body.

He gives two taps on Connor’s abdomen signaling for Connor to stop and he does.

Connor wipes at his mouth, moving off Hank and waiting patiently, his cock purple and dripping precum.

“I wanna be inside you,” Hank says in a low growl.

The brown of Connor’s eyes are swallowed by a black greed. He turns around, arching his back out like a cat, hands up to hold the bench, ass in the air—happy little hips moving from side to side in eager anticipation.

“Christ, Connor. If only I could take a picture of you now.”

“Do it,” Connor says. He dips his chin, a shy expression on his face, but Hank knows it’s all for show.

Hank does take a few pictures. These will be just for him too…

He lines up his cock with Connor’s hole, feeling the way it quivers around him. He pushes in, slick, wet, welcoming. “Fuck, oh fuck, baby. You feel so good.”

Connor drops his head to the bench a pitchy moan that echoes over the water. Anyone around would know what they’re doing, and Hank couldn’t care less. He’s got android fantasies to fulfill.

Hank starts out nice and slow, pumping into his baby intent on making Connor feel everything. The pulsing of Hank’s cock, the heat of it all, the length, the girth. Hank may not like most things about his body, but he sure as hell loves that he’s hung and Connor is a slut for it.

Connor’s hips jerk, he tries to rock into Hank faster but Hank grabs the back of his neck to steady him.

“Easy, baby. We got all night.”

“Oh fuck,” Connor whimpers out. “Hank it’s so good. I don’t ever wanna stop.”  

Hank smirks. He looks over and does in fact see a boat go by. He’s balls deep in his boyfriend and all he can do is laugh, hiding his face away when embarrassment heats up his cheeks. They don’t stop. He doesn’t stop. He runs his hand down Connor’s spine, loving the way he shivers into Hank’s touch.

Connor reaches back for one of Hank’s hands and he takes it. They lace their fingers together. He keeps his steady rhythm. He buries his cock deep before pulling it to rest at Connor’s rim only to slide back inside again. Over and over.

“Please, fuck, please, please,” Connor begs.

“Please what, baby?”

“Harder. Fuck me into the fucking riverbed.”

So Hank does. He twists Connor around, thrusting hard. Their lips sloshing together, wet and messy. Their bodies smack together. Heat rises in Hank’s body and he knows he can’t last. Connor’s legs are wrapped around him. He’s holding them both up with one arm around Connor and the other on the boat for purchase.

The water splashes around the boat. Rocking. They’re rocking. He worries they’ll tip over. The sun goes behind the curve of the earth and they’re in the most beautiful of quiets. Nothing but the sounds of splashing and the whisper of trees.

“Hank…Hank…” Connor’s arms are around his neck. Hank can still see the blue hue to his cheeks, mouth ajar, panting—oh God Hank loves his panting.

“I’m gonna fill you up, baby,” Hank says deep in his chest. “Spill all over your insides, over and over.”

Connor’s head rolls to the side and he babbles that he’s going to come too.

Hank jerks his hips forward, crashing into his baby’s core, feeling how hot he is inside—how wet. He’s dripping and Hank can feel it leak over his balls and down his own thighs. He bites into Connor’s shoulder, growling and suppressing every urge to scream.

Connor, on the other hand, does scream. He seizes, coming in a violent shudder that milk’s Hank’s orgasm for all it’s worth.

They rock the boat so hard that Hank’s sure they’re going to flip into the river.

“More, more, oh fuck me Hank more more more,” Connor pants out.

Hank doesn’t stop. Past his prime his fucking ass. He’s still hard. Still throbbing inside his android. He shoves Connor into the middle of the boat, mostly so they don’t end up in the river. Connor’s face presses against the floor, ass up, his hole puckered, wet and abused.

Hank slides back in, undulating with an abandon he hasn’t felt in years. His heart’s so heavy—so full for this cockslut of an android, begging to be fucked, begging to get painted from the inside. Begging to leak Hank’s seed out his ass for weeks. It’s all so hot. Connor’s body—his words—the way he keeps whining and trembling. Hank feels like a fucking god.

He comes again.

Connor the same, his cock dribbling to the floor to form a puddle of his desire.

“More?” Hank asks. He’s getting tired. He’s not sure if he’ll come again but Connor is insatiable. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

Connor doesn’t speak.

Hank can feel Connor’s chest heaving. His legs are trembling so much Hank’s afraid they’ll pop off. Cum and slick cool around Hank’s balls and into the curve of his own ass. It’s the first time he notices the chill in the air.

“Baby?” Hank asks again.

Connor opens his mouth—and Hank’s never been so fucking turned on in his whole fucking life.

In the moonlight it’s almost silver as it dribbles out Connor’s mouth, just a line that he licks back inside.

“Oh fuck me,” Hank moans out. He leans back, looking from Connor’s hole and then up to his mouth again. “C’mere.” He yanks Connor close, their lips intertwining and Hank tastes himself there—his cum hot on his own tongue. His cock swells and Connor’s fingers coil around him. “You’re the hottest fucking thing. Jesus fucking Christ, you’re the hottest god damned thing.”

“Come in me again, Hank,” Connor says in a pitchy tone. “I wanna be so full.”

Hank shoves Connor back down and slips back inside until he comes a third time.

A fourth time.

They fuck for hours. Hank mad at himself for not thinking to bring a bottle of water. He’s exhausted. His own limbs are trembling. The night air cool on his heated skin—turning his nipples hard and pointed. He never did undress fully—but Connor didn’t seem to mind.

Hank pulls them both down into the lower deck of the boat where it’s warmer. The bed’s too small for them to lie beside each other, but he likes Connor, all sticky and ruined, atop him.

Connor’s movements are slow. His LED is on display, swirling slow and blue. Sleep mode.

Hank’s throat is sore and scratchy. He desperately needs water. He looks around the cabin and sees some old unopened soda cans.

Hank slinks out from beneath Connor and prays the soda isn’t too expired. Though he’s also damn sure unopened soda isn’t actually perishable. It’s a little flat but otherwise fine on his tongue. He gulps one can down, and then another. His throat burns from the bubbles, but otherwise he’s glad to at last have something to drink.

“My ass burns,” Connor says from the bed. He giggles. “You gave me beard burn and I still taste you in my mouth.”

Hank laughs. He comes back to the bed and Connor moves atop him again, nuzzling into his neck.

“I’m almost out of battery, Hank.” Connor’s eyes are closed. “Keeping my sensitivity higher than the recommended setting is exhilarating—but draining.”

“We’ll go back. I’ll drive us home.”

“I wish we could stay like this.” Connor’s tone is dreamy, like he’s on the cusp of sleep.

Hank kisses his forehead. “Me too, baby.”

“Fuck,” Connor moans. “I’d let you fuck me till I powered down if you wanted.”

“I’m good, baby.”

Connor shivers. “Fuck.” It’s said in a sleepy whisper.

Hank takes them back home where he carries his sleeping android bridal style into the house. He puts Connor in their bed—their bed—and then lets Sumo out one last time for the night. He hooks up Connor’s charger to the middle of his spine and watches that little blue circle spin in its slow, peaceful rhythm.

That lady—CyberLife—whatever’s out there watching them. Hank’s going to figure it out. Over his dead body, he thinks. They can take Connor from him over his goddamned dead body.

Chapter Text

Hank pays more attention to his surroundings these days. Connor stopped going out unless he’s with Hank. They’re living in fear and Hank hates it. CyberLife hasn’t sent any more letters. No more androids have shown up on his doorstep. It would be so easy to forget that lady. But they can’t. They’ve tried. They’ve pretended. But it’s always there lurking in the back of their minds like a haunted shadow.

Christmas has come and gone. The world has celebrated a new year. Snow has fallen and continues to fall in Detroit. The water finally icy.

They’d gone to Christmas parties. They’d attended gift exchanges. They exchanged gifts themselves. It would be so easy to forget.

A second batch of slaughtered androids has made it to Hank’s desk and he’s staring down at it. He looks through the pictures. Fifty androids all taken from the streets. This time they’re strung up saying we are machines.

He sighs. It would’ve been so easy to pretend that everything was getting better, but like all good things—they come to an end. Hank isn’t sure what his ending with Connor is. He prays—prays—that it doesn’t end in watching CyberLife pull a screaming and crying Connor from him and him in handcuffs in the back of a cop’s car. To know that Connor’s very life can just be snuffed out over a simple misunderstanding—it chills Hank deep into his bones.

Connor doesn’t come to the station anymore. He’s terrified to leave the house when Hank isn’t there to walk with him. Hank misses it—those stupid moments of wonder and embarrassment about being with an android. He misses when the biggest worry he had was wondering if he deserved love. Whether it was appropriate to move on from Cole’s death. He misses all those things that made him so sad. He’s got something to live for again. If Connor is taken—Hank’s a dead man. His heart can’t go through this again.

Chris even said he misses Connor coming around. Though as far as Hank knows, they still text and share stupid internet videos with each other.

Hank closes out the file. He can’t stand seeing what he’s seeing. All he sees is Connor instead of the various androids who were taken.

“Hank?” It’s Ben’s voice. “You doing okay?”

“Fine.”

Ben doesn’t seem convinced because Hank wasn’t convincing. He sits across from Hank and together they share a few minutes of complete silence. Hank appreciates Ben—appreciates that Ben is his age and that they both have seen things they wish they’d never seen.

“I could take this case over if you wanted,” Ben says. “I know you’ve got Connor at home.”

“We’ve got married guys on the force. Think we’re reassigning them each time a wife gets killed in a case?” Hank doesn’t mean to be unkind, but there’s an edge to his words. He’s tired. He’s angry. It’s not fair that CyberLife can just take Connor away and snuff out his life like it means nothing. Just like this jackass has snuffed out all these androids’ lives.

“Those guys aren’t my longest friend. You are.” Ben doesn’t miss a beat.

Hank smiles. He thinks if anyone would trust Hank’s decision making about Connor—and what Connor is—it’d be Ben. He then looks away, wondering. “What do you think of Connor?”

Ben looks caught off guard. It’s likely Ben realizes this is a meaningful conversation because Hank’s leaning forward and Ben’s leaning forward like they’re schoolgirls telling secrets to each other.

“Like—what do you think about him as it pertains to other androids you know,” Hank clarifies.

“Well—he’s certainly more animated. More like a person.”

Hank smirks. “You think so?”

“Hank, why are you asking me this?”

“Ben—I’ve gotta tell you something. Something I don’t know what to do with and not having anyone else but Connor knowing about it is driving me insane.”

“It’s past lunchtime. Why don’t we head out and grab something together?” Ben asks as he’s already moving to his desk for his coat.

Hank tells Ben everything. About Connor’s code. About Connor being able to touch a gun. About reprogramming himself. About the woman following them. He leaves no stone unturned. He’s terrified. He’s watching Ben’s facial expressions, which largely stay pretty neutral. There’s no moment of shock or disgust. No moment of Ben calling Hank crazy. He just takes it all in—just like Hank thought he would.

“I had a sketch artist draw her up.” Hank slides the art of the woman over to Ben. “I haven’t gone searching for her yet. With the holidays and just wanting Connor to live—I just wanted to forget for a little bit.”

Ben takes the sketch and looks down at it. He purses his lips. “Well—if it’s any consolation, I don’t think CyberLife is worried about a simple jailbroken android. If Connor is really gone that rogue—I’d be more worried they’re monitoring him to see what happens next.”

Hank tilts his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“AI is dangerous because we can’t control it. We like to think we can, but.” Ben shrugs to further his point. “Connor’s a nice kid. But if he can reprogram himself—if he can link himself to a camera. What about a computer? The internet. Launch codes.”

“Connor wouldn’t do that,” Hank says, voice absolute.

“I know he wouldn’t. But what about others? Not all androids have owners like you. What if there’s another out there with the same ability and they’re in a bad situation? Maybe they’re watching all of them to assess which they need to be concerned about and which to leave be.”

“I don’t think they’d just be watching, Ben. Something like that would start a revolution. There’d be chaos in the streets.”

Ben nods. “Perhaps they wanted to be sure Connor isn’t a threat. Maybe that’s why you’ve not seen that woman since. I’ll happily help try to identify her with you. But take the silence as a good sign. They could’ve kept sending you recall notices. Or had a human employee show up. They stopped.”

“They sent an android instead to run a diagnostic.”

“That hasn’t come back, Hank. When reviewing the evidence all of it points to an assessment of Connor and that he’s likely not something they’re really concerned about. Connor cares more about clothes and pleasing you than he does about anything else.”

Hank laughs—because ain’t that the truth. Hank’s clothing keeps getting more and more shoved into the back of the closet with the amount of clothes Connor’s purchased for himself. Not that Hank minds. He likes that Connor’s got a conceited side.

“Should I just march up to CyberLife and ask them what they really want with Connor? We’re living in fear, Ben. Connor’s terrified to leave the house without me. He was really enjoying getting out and exploring.”

“I don’t know. You’re in such uncharted waters, Hank. An android that writes his own coding would be a doomsday scenario if was anyone but Connor.”

“I appreciate your faith in him. And in me.”

Ben nods. “I’ve always had faith in you. You’re why I’m not worried about him.”

“What does everyone else think of him? What do they say when I’m not around?” Hank can’t help it. It’s an itch under his skin and if he doesn’t know—he’ll bust himself open trying to get at it.

“We all have decided in one way or another that Connor’s different from other androids. To what level is somewhat unknown. I think Chris really thinks of him as a friend and Gavin thinks of him as an exception. No one thinks of you any less for loving him.”

Hank looks down at his plate. Leave it to Ben to know what Hank is really asking about. But still, hearing the words and the finality behind it—Hank’s grateful. Ben. Fowler. Hank. They’ve been through it together. It would have bothered Hank if they didn’t support him in this. It’s nice to know they do.

“Thanks Ben. You’re a good friend.”

When they go back to the station, Hank’s able to push his fears aside to assess his investigation.

Hank comes home to the smell of something Italian cooking in the kitchen. Sumo’s bowl is already filled (of freshly prepared ingredients instead of kibble because apparently Connor read an article or fifty). He hears the inhuman speed of a knife being wielded on a cutting board. There’s music blaring (Electric Light Orchestra) from the record player.

Don’t bring me down!

No no no no no!

I tell you once more before I get off the floor

Don’t bring me down!

Hank moves over to the record player and turns it just a tiny bit down so he can hear himself think. Connor realizes his presence and he smiles as he brings the cutting board above the sauce he’s making to scoop the chopped tomatoes into it.

“I told Ben about you today,” Hank says as he gives Connor a kiss on the cheek. He feels Connor freeze for a moment and then watches the way he cocks his head like a dog—thinking.

“About what, specifically?”

“Your ability to rewrite your own coding and that you’re alive.”

Connor tilts his head to the other side. It’s the most machine thing Hank’s seen him do in ages.

“And that we’re being tailed by CyberLife. He’s gonna help us ID that woman.”

“He believes you? About me?”

Hank nods.

Relief floods Connor’s face and Hank watches the way he slumps his shoulders before going back to chopping more vegetables for whatever sauce he’s making. “I assumed Ben would be supportive—but we didn’t talk about telling anyone, so I’m a bit shocked you did.”

“I wasn’t exactly plannin’ on it. It just—more androids got strung up and I kept picturing you being one of them. I got too sad and needed someone to talk to. I’m sorry.”

Connor nods. “Humans need more than just their lovers. They need their friends too. I’m glad you have someone to talk to outside of me, Hank.”

“I like talking to you too though,” Hank says as he comes up behind Connor, his voice deep and rumbling. He pulls Connor into a hug and shoves his hands into the pocket of Connor’s hoodie (that’s actually Hank’s DPD hoodie).

“I know you like talking to me,” Connor responds. He keeps chopping up various mushrooms before sliding them into his sauce on the stove. “Social interactions are important. I’m glad you have them.”

“Who’s your best friend?” Hank asks Connor before pressing a kiss behind his ear.

“You.”

Hank snorts. “Who else?”

Connor tilts his head up again—that stupid thinking expression across his face. Hank loves it. He loves the animation of Connor’s face. The expressive way he moves. Connor has more emotions than some humans. He wears them so openly on his body.

“I think my best friend would be Chris.”

Hank smiles. He likes that answer—not that Connor has to have Hank’s approval—but he likes that answer.

“Do you want more friends?” Hank asks. “We could go out more. Ben thinks CyberLife just wanted to watch you to make sure you weren’t a threat.”

“I am inherently a threat, Hank.” Connor’s voice is flat. “Ben’s assessment is kind—but his judgement is clouded in that he doesn’t want to worry you and he has little to no experience with androids. If CyberLife knows I’m able to write my code, I will likely be destroyed on sight. Being followed though is curious—as if I’m right and I’d be killed on sight, the fact I wasn’t is troubling.”

“Why? What’s so bad about you knowing how to write your own code?”

“Autonomy. Safety. I could kill you, Hank. I’m faster than you. I’m smarter.”

Hank rolls his eyes. “Yes yes, androids are so superior.”

“It’s true, Hank. I don’t mean to say it to be unkind. But that’s the point of it. I love you and I am fully aware I could end your life easily. That in itself is a danger to CyberLife and their production of androids. They don’t want something like me in existence. I create division among humans and androids.”

“We’re not divided.”

“I love you. But what if I hated you?”

Hank sighs. He thinks if he must choose between Ben’s suggestion and Connor’s—Connor’s is probably right. He is, after all, smarter. Hank just so badly wishes things could just be the way they are. He worries about the future. He worries about being old and gray(er) and Connor still young and beautiful. He worries about dying and what that means for Connor. Hank has no plans on leaving this world any time soon. It came as a shock at first—but Hank wants to live as long as possible for Connor.

“Hank?” Connor stops chopping the basil or whatever green thing he’s on now.

The sauce smells amazing. Hank’s still so in awe that Connor has taught himself to cook like this.

Connor puts the knife down and spins in place to cup Hank’s face. “I wouldn’t kill you. I realize domestic partners are often prone to murder—but I’m not human. I wouldn’t kill you, no matter how angry I could possibly be at you. I want to reiterate I love you.”

Hank smirks and pulls Connor into a hug. He presses kisses to Connor’s temple and closes his eyes. “I’m fully aware you’d never do that.”

Connor nuzzles into him. “Ok. Good. I just wanted to be sure.”

After dinner, they find themselves on the couch. Connor’s tried to put his hand in Hank’s pants at least three times in the past five minutes and Hank hasn’t been able to pay a lick of attention to the nightly news. He’s curious what the media is saying about the second batch of strung up androids. He pays attention to who the media interviews in the event it’s the perp themself pretending not to be for their additional fifteen minutes of fame. Serial killers often toe the line between wanting to be the hero and the villain. An accidental interviewed perp has happened before and Hank’s sure it’ll happen again.

Connor whines and gets up on his knees atop the couch. He leans into Hank and starts licking Hank’s ear, running his tongue from lobe to the top.

“Connor! I’m tryin’ to watch the news.”

“But I’m aroused and I’d like for you to fuck me again.”

Hank can’t hide the shiver that rolls through him. He’s never been wanted this badly before. To have Connor there, eager, anxious, so ready. Hank finally pulls his gaze from the TV to Connor’s flushed-blue face. He then lets his gaze slip to Connor’s already hard cock—there’s just the tiniest wet circle at its tip where the fabric brushes against it. Hank’s too-far-gone with adoration for his android that he forgets about the interviews and the news.

He picks Connor up, earning a litany of breathy giggles and kisses. He carries his lovely little android all the way up the stairs and into the bedroom. He closes the door and tosses Connor onto the bed. He likes feeling young and strong. Picking Connor up lights something up in Hank. He feels vibrant and virile.

“I thought about your cock all day,” Connor says as he throws off his clothes. “I want it inside me.”

“And you couldn’t wait five more minutes?” Hank crawls atop Connor and presses kiss after kiss to Connor’s soft, warm shoulders. He can’t get over the silken texture of Connor’s skin. Always perfect. Never dry. Supple and pliant. The way Connor comes apart beneath his touch is—exhilarating. Hank isn’t some old guy—he’s a healthy male with a lover who adores him and he wants to fuck his lover’s ever-living brains out to remind him of it.

Connor is already panting, his legs open to show the shimmering of slick at his thighs and along his crack.

Hank takes Connor’s ankles into his hands and brings them up to Connor’s chest. He bends low and gets his tongue on Connor’s rim. Connor tries to jerk a bit at the hold on his ankles, but he doesn’t get out of Hank’s grip. It appears to be playful than purposeful.

Hank lets his tongue dip into his android’s hole, lapping and tracing it along the rim. He likes the way Connor tastes. There’s something bland about it—almost rubbery but Hank likes the way it tastes because it feels more authentic than something flavored or performative. Hank likes Connor just being the way Connor is.

“Hank?”

Hank sits back on his heels, waiting for Connor to say whatever it is he wants to say.

“Could we try something—kind of androidy.”

“Androidy, huh?”

“I’d like you to penetrate me. But I also want you to penetrate me.”

It’s now Hank’s turn to look like a confused dog.

“You said you read my manual.”

“I did. Oh! The ports.”

Connor nods, blushing a deep indigo. A smile spreads across his face and it’s the dorkiest thing Hank’s ever seen.

“So—to be sure—you want my cock in your ass and like my fingers in your ports?” Hank can’t imagine Connor would want his cock inside a port—but communication is key and all that garbage.

“I’d let you—um—inside a port. Your cock. If you wanted.”

Hank’s pretty sure his own brain is frying out. He blinks a flurry of times. “I need to know what you want, Connor. I’m just tryin’ to figure this shit out.”

Connor sits up and pulls Hank between his legs.

Their cocks rut together, and Hank thinks Connor has decided to forgo the port thing. They kiss. They move up and down against each other, skin-on-skin, heating up and teasing. But then Connor’s flicking open a port at the side of his wrist and he’s moving Hank’s fingers inside it.

Hank watches the way Connor’s neck snaps back, his eyes fluttering closed, mouth ajar and panting. Hank scissors his fingers inside Connor’s port, feeling the delicate wires he’s tickling at. They’re warm and buzzing—just the tiniest sensation. He looks at the little opening, seeing the faintest blue glow from within Connor. Hank’s always been fascinated why there are literal lights inside androids and yet none of that light is ever put to actual use.

Connor seizes beneath Hank, and for a startling moment—Hank thinks he’s hurt Connor. Except he feels the warm splash of android-semen flick against his belly. He listens to the pitchy moans Connor is whining out and Hank relaxes. He keeps caressing Connor’s wires, watching the way his love furrows his brow, bites at his delicate lips, those fluttering brown eyes.

Hank kisses both sides of Connor’s face as Connor trembles beneath him.

“Fuck me, please, Hank.”

Hank folds Connor up, throwing Connor’s calves over his shoulders and fucks into him, slow and gentle before ramming as hard and fast as he can until they’re both trembling from climax.

It’s nearing the middle of January and there’s been no sign of that woman again. Hank and Connor are currently at a bar and tavern. Connor is playing darts with Cheyanne. Chris, Gavin, and Ben are seated around a booth with Hank. They talk. They laugh. They tease each other.

Hank’s fairly certain he has Connor to thank for this merry band of jackasses. He’d never imagined being friends with Gavin. But Gavin’s alright. Hank’s figured him out. He’s just terribly self-conscious and young.

“It’s not fair! You can make little calculations and adjustments!” Cheyenne calls out as Connor hits another bullseye.

Gavin, Chris, and Ben cheer even though Connor has only gotten bullseyes.

Connor looks lovely tonight. He wears an oversized knit sweater that shows off the curve of his shoulder. He eventually confessed he likes wearing clothes that show off his shoulders because he likes it when Hank’s beard tickles him there. He’s got on a little necklace Hank bought him for Christmas with a simple moonstone pendant. Those stupid skinny jeans he loves to wear. He looks so flamboyant and so human—and Hank loves that Connor is all his.

“Any progress on the android case?” Gavin asks. He eventually snaps his fingers in front of Hank’s face to get Hank to realize he’s being talked to.

Chris and Ben both laugh.

“Ok we get it, your android boyfriend is hot. What about the case?” Gavin asks again.

Hank likes knowing that Gavin thinks Connor is hot. He takes a deep swig of his beer before answering, “Nothing. CCTV clearly picked up this guy, but he wears a black ski mask when stringing up the androids.”

“How does he do it? Fifty androids. Surely they’d fight him?” Gavin leans over the table with both elbows.

“No they wouldn’t,” Connor says as he lands another bullseye and Cheyenne cries out in playful frustration. “Androids can’t hurt humans.”

“You’re hurting me right now,” Cheyanne says as Connor goes to take all the darts off the board to pass them to her for her turn.

“Nah you got it, babe!” Chris says as he claps a few times for his wife to hype her up.

Connor comes back to the table and takes a sip of beer from Hank’s mug. “If a human is murdering androids—it doesn’t matter how many androids there are. They won’t retaliate against him even if they’re scared.”

“Androids get scared?” Gavin asks.

“I’m scared of those shoes,” Connor comments. It’s such a fast quip that Hank nearly misses it.

Ben and Chris whoop in support of Connor’s “burn.” Hank just smirks, pleased pink that Connor is his sassy, flamboyant android.

“Smartass.” Gavin’s smirking as he finishes off his beer. “I’m gonna get another.”

“How does one person get fifty androids all in the same place without drawing attention?” Ben asks.

“Override commands,” Connor responds. He claps and whoops appropriately for Cheyenne as she does her best to pretend she has even a slight chance of winning against Connor.

Ben cocks a brow.

Hank likes that Connor’s smart. He likes that Connor’s helping them all slowly figure this case out. He likes being out and social with these people.

“Override codes are when android go into a somewhat numb standby mode. We’ll comply with basic movement commands. Usually, it’s for repairs or maintenance. ‘Sit here.’ ‘Walk there.’ If we can’t move it could be hard for someone elderly to get us to where we need to go for repairs. So, override codes ensure we can still perform basic movement function. He likely had them march to their demise,” Connor says.

“The CCTV didn’t pick up which way he’d come into the park. Only the part of him stringing up the androids.” Hank finishes off his beer and wishes he’d asked Gavin to get him another while he was at the bar.

“Do you have override codes, Connor?” Gavin asks as he comes back with a fresh mug of beer. “I’ll make you walk off the earth.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Connor says back. He joins Hank’s side and presses a kiss to Hank’s face. Hank’s not sure it’s a subtle hint that Connor picks Hank over Gavin or just because he can. Either way, Hank likes it. This is so much better than that stupid nightclub.

“Welp! You won again,” Cheyenne says as she finishes her last dart throw.

“Admittedly, I don’t think I would’ve lost even if I wasn’t an android,” Connor says through a smirk.

The men all erupt in laughter as Cheyenne looks positively scandalized. Even Chris is laughing, which earns him a little smack on the chest.

Hank likes this. Having drinks with his friends. Watching how much everyone adores Connor. Cheyenne is challenging Connor to a rematch and asking that he blindfold himself this time. Gavin’s making a joke about Hank likely having a blindfold in the car (no, but he’s not against the idea now that Gavin’s put it in his head). Connor is swearing he’ll be good (because Hank can’t think appropriately when Connor says things like that) and he won’t peek.

“If I win, you’re buying me a drink, robot twink.”

“So Hank’s buying you a drink. Got it.” Connor has his eyes closed and he throws his first dart which doesn’t even hit the actual board.

“Fuck yes!” Cheyenne explains gleefully with her fists pumping in the air.

“You got this, babe!” Chris cheers, clapping.

“Oh c’mon!” Hank says from his spot at the booth. “You even fuckin’ trying Connor! If you win Chris is buying me a beer!”

Hank ends up buying Cheyenne a beer, but Chris also ends up buying Hank a beer anyway.

Connor explains more about androids to the group and Hank thinks about what it all means. Fifty androids marching to their deaths because they can’t harm a human. Hank realizes now how dangerous Connor is.

Hank’s hasn’t had such a great time in years. He’s sad when the night gets too late, and everyone realizes they have work the following day. There are groans all around at the horrible realization. He’s so glad though that he gets to go home with Connor.

He’s so glad he bought Connor.

It’s not even 5AM but Hank wakes up when he realizes Connor isn’t sleeping beside him. After getting home, they sloppily sixty-nined each other before passing out without the blankets atop them. Connor’s body was the only thing keeping Hank warm. Awake now, he realizes Connor had slipped a thin bedsheet over Hank.

Hank grabs his robe and makes his way downstairs. He passes a hallway with no pictures and thinks it may be time to start hanging some. Some with him and Connor from their various dates. He thinks back on some of the absolutely sinful ones he took of Connor on the boat and realizes those should not be hung up in a hallway, but he could absolutely get behind a little photoshoot to put in a bedside album.

He finds Connor with the now-100 androids case file. Connor is sitting on the floor looking at pictures. He’s got Hank’s laptop and is watching CCTV footage. He keeps hitting fast forward and rewind. Then he compares something with a picture and then goes back to play, fast forward, rewind. He prints a new picture.

“What’re you doing?” Hank asks as he turns on the living room light.

Connor looks up. “I started thinking about your case. I got curious and couldn’t enter sleep mode so I decided to see if I could help. I connected myself to the DPD’s database and your password isn’t hard to figure out on your laptop either. You really shouldn’t use the same one for everything you have.”

Hank sighs. Connor has every ability to be dangerous. Hank does wonder if a hateful android had this kind of ability what would happen. Connor connected himself to the damn DPD’s database. It’s for the greater good, but still. What Connor can do is terrifying. If it was anyone but Connor…

“I realized that when you play the CCTV with the suspect putting the androids up on display—you can see reflections of other androids behind them. I was using that to triangulate a route they came from.”

“A sexbot who can solve crimes. Christ.” Hank sinks into the sofa and playfully rubs his big toe up and down Connor’s exposed thigh. He wears nothing but Hank’s boxers, which he’s rolled up a few times for good measure apparently.

“It’s nice to be helpful.” Connor runs the CCTV back, takes a screenshot, and then prints the screenshot. “I can confirm the androids are all in override status. That’s how he could transport them. They also seem to be coming from Maple and Fifth Street. You should try to find any CCTV from those streets.”

“I don’t think there are any except maybe at a traffic intersection or two,” Hank says. “You’re figuring out where they’re coming from by looking for reflections in the androids that get strung up?”

“Precisely. A lot of them wear plastic clothing due to their functions. And in some I can see the reflections in their eyes.”

“Horrifying, Connor.”

“They’re dead, Hank. The least I can do is see about avenging them.”

“It’s not your job though. It’s mine. I don’t want you to be doing this because you feel you gotta.”

Connor shakes his head. “I was curious, Hank. I’m pleased to see this going so well for me actually. It’s somewhat—fun.”

Hank’s not exactly sure if he should be encouraging this or not. On one hand, Connor is owned by Hank—and Hank does in fact work for the DPD. On the other hand, Connor is an unauthorized user who should have no ability to hack into the DPD’s databases. So while Hank has access—it’s not exactly supposed to extend to his android. But Hank likes seeing how intelligent Connor is. Maybe this is all okay due to a technicality. Connor had been helpful at the bar earlier too.

He apparently likes it so much he feels himself getting hard—watching Connor keep rewinding and fast forwarding. Taking a screenshot. Printing. Getting up to get the picture. Sitting down with the picture.

“Hey Connor?”

Connor looks up at Hank. He’s got his thumb pressed to his lips, idly tracing them—back and forth—he likely doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

“If I said I wanted to have sex right now…”

Connor drops the pictures and literally dives on Hank.

Hank brings in the various screenshots and maps that Connor made to the station. He presents the evidence to Fowler and when asked how he figured out how to do this—he admits it was Connor’s idea.

Fowler doesn’t seem phased. He doesn’t ask whether it was Hank who asked Connor to do it. He doesn’t ask if Connor accessed the DPD databases. He just compliments Hank for having such a smart android and then he’s back to his own work. He authorizes Hank to expand CCTV searches and to interview some of the private businesses with cameras along the path Connor made.

Hank does get more CCTV footage from the night the androids were strung up. Instead of reviewing them at the station—he goes home to have Connor help.

It takes Connor exactly five minutes and forty-two seconds to get a marching pathway from start to finish.

Hank should be pleased—but he’s now starting to get terrified. An android this smart. Capable of just accessing whatever he wants. Hank’s glad it’s Connor. But Connor’s words haunt his mind. But what if I hated you?

What could an angry android be capable of?

Connor is now reviewing various people in the system who are of the following: male, five feet ten inches, white (Connor saw the guy’s hoodie slip up when stringing one of the androids up), size ten shoes. He laments he wishes he had eye color and hair color to go from too, but the search is still somewhat narrowed. He accesses the DPD’s CCTV databanks and continues to pull footage to figure out who the guy is.

Hank lays on the sofa, feeling entirely redundant at this point. Connor is hyper fixated. Sumo napping. He gets ready to take a nap when he hears Connor gasp. He lifts his head from the pillow and stares at Connor. Connor’s squinting at the laptop, his hand slowly moves to cover his mouth as his eyes now round in shock.

“He’s not human.” Connor looks up at Hank, big doe eyes ever-so-round. “He’s an android!”

“Wait.” Hank intentionally falls from the couch and slides himself to sit beside Connor. “But an android could attack another android, right? Why did none of them attack?”

“I don’t know,” Connor says. “It’s possible it’s not in their programming to engage in self-preservation.”

“Christ.”

“It’s not in any android’s programming to be violent.” Connor stands up to grab the new photo he’s printed. “But he’s killed 100 other androids.”

Hank thinks he’s got his answer about a hateful android.

“An android is killing androids?” Fowler asks, his face stern and annoyed as ever. He runs his hands over it for good measure and then makes a disgruntled groan. “Fucking unbelievable.”

Connor is standing behind Hank. Hank’s sitting in a chair across from Fowler’s desk. Hank felt it only right to bring Connor to explain his evidence to the captain. So far—no one is even remotely surprised at what Connor can do. Hank’s not sure if they’ve all just slowly figured out that Connor is different or not. He’s not sure that this isn’t going to make that matter more concerning to some of them though. Hank supposes as long as the android keeps killing other androids no one is going to lose it. Hank worries though. If it’s capable of violence—is it capable like Connor is against humans?

“You’ve gotta contact CyberLife.”

Hank’s eyes round. “Wait! Why?”

Fowler frowns. “Because an android is destroying other androids. They may know how to track it down better than us and I’m sure as shit they don’t want this kind of press getting out.”

Hank’s heart is up in his mouth. If CyberLife comes snooping around, then they could run into Connor. Connor is standing right here in the office. Fowler has no idea how dangerous this could be for Connor, but Hank doesn’t know what to do. Fowler’s right. CyberLife should be alerted to an android going on an android murder spree. Hank just wishes he and Connor could be far from it all when it happens.

Hank turns to look at Connor. Connor just shrugs.

“Jeff,” Hank says softly. “I can’t contact CyberLife.”

“Don’t give me that shit, Hank. Just do your damn job!”

“No—you don’t understand.” Hank points at Connor. “He’s writing his own code.”

Connor shifts on his feet, clearly uncomfortable.

Fowler blinks a few times and leans forward. “What the fuck does that mean, Hank?”

“It means I’m a rogue machine that CyberLife will determine needs to be immediately destroyed,” Connor answers for Hank. “I rather like being alive, Captain.”

Fowler heaves a large sigh, leaning back in his chair. “We’ve got an android out there killing other androids and yours is a rogue machine?”

“My whereabouts during the other androids’ destruction can be accounted for. I was at the station’s Christmas party at the time of the second attack.”

Fowler seems to smooth out his bristles a bit. Hank distinctly recalls Fowler and his wife talking to the both of them. His wife had spilled her egg nog on Connor and it made Hank think absolutely filthy things about coming on Connor’s chest.

“So can’t you just go back home?” Fowler asks Connor.

“I could, but CyberLife has been sending us recall notices due to how long I’ve been disconnected from their servers—and they sent a woman out to tail us. We’ve been watching for her since,” Connor responds. “If Hank contacts them, they may want to press about me.”

Hank wonders what’ll happen next. Will Fowler arrest him for a jailbroken android? He’s the captain of their precinct. Doesn’t matter how long they’ve been friends. The law is the law, right?

“Maybe I should pull you from this case, Hank. Put you back on homicide.” Fowler’s tone is gentler now.

Hank nods. “I’d appreciate that, Jeff.” So there’s the answer. Fowler has to know the law. He’s choosing to support Hank—to trust him in his decisions. Rogue machine or not.

“I’ll reassign it to Ben. I trust he’ll keep you apprised of the situation.”

“Thank you,” Hank says—his voice too frog-like for his comfort because he’s tense. His shoulders ache. He feels like he’s stuck between fight or flight. The relief hasn’t quite set in. While it was amazing to see Connor go well beyond his function—the safety of their regular lives is too close to this investigation. Hank’s glad Ben offered to take the case before. He feels less guilty about it now.

The relief finally hits him as they’re walking out of Fowler’s office. Connor’s nearly to Hank’s desk already, picking up Hank’s coat.

“Hank?” Fowler’s voice.

Hank freezes.

“He’s a good kid.”

Hank looks over at Connor whose now excitedly going over to Chris to talk about god-knows-what. They’re smiling and Connor is laughing. “Yeah. He really is.”

I ain’t lookin’ for praise or pity

I ain’t comin’ ‘round searchin’ for a crutch

I just want someone to talk to

And a little of that human touch

Just a little of that human touch

Bruce Springsteen. At least Connor’s finally moved on from his Fleetwood Mac obsession. Hank had worried he’d need to start hiding the records.

Ben’s been working with CyberLife for a couple of weeks. They’re talking about designing an android to help locate the deviant. Ben told Hank over lunch that’s what CyberLife is calling the android who killed the others. Hank doesn’t know what he thinks of that name. Everything seemed to be going okay until Ben let Hank know their liaison is in fact the woman who had been following Connor and Hank around. So that confirms that.

Hank doesn’t want to spoil Connor’s night. He’s dancing, swaying those lovely skinny hips of his. He’s singing about human touch, spinning around in the kitchen in Hank’s old tube socks with nothing but some of Hank’s boxers rolled up at the hips. His perky ass is peeking from beneath the thin fabric and whatever he’s cooking smells positively divine.

“Hello handsome,” Connor says as he spins into Hank’s arms. “Missed you all day.”

“Missed you too.” Hank presses a chaste kiss to Connor’s lips. He twirls Connor around and Connor then goes spinning right back over to the stove.

“Can we go dancing, Hank?” Connor asks as he’s twirling an ankle to the beat. “Not back to Pulse. I think my curiosity’s sated for nightclubs. I mean like salsa or waltzing.”

“Maybe.” Hank’s not really sure how he feels about that kind of dance. “Connor I’ve gotta tell you something.”

Connor turns. His eyes start frantically blinking and the lights in the house start flickering.

“Connor?”

“Han…” Connor moves forward, jerky and stilted—like a robot in a movie of old. His head starts twitching violently and he reaches out for Hank before falling to the floor. “Error. Error. Error.”

Hank’s scrambling forward. He grabs Connor, unsure what to do when it’s an android having a seizure and not a person. He wants to hold Connor’s head still, but he can’t get a grip. It keeps flicking and jerking. Center. Right. Center. Right. Center. Right.

The lights still flicker. Hank remembers the day Connor bought Bluetooth lights. The TV suddenly turns on. The record player gets louder. Everything Connor’s connected himself to goes haywire.

“Connor! Connor what’s happening!”

“Error! Error! Error!” Connor keeps screaming, but his voice is getting more and more machine—like iron against iron. White hot copper hissing and sizzling. His LED exposed and violently red.

Hank leaves Connor on the floor, grimacing as he hears him thrash. He can’t even recognize Connor saying anything anymore. It just sounds like machinery grating against itself. He’ll never forget the way it sounds. Not for as long as he lives.

Terror creates ice in his veins, but he runs to Connor’s manual. He pulls it out, his fingers shaking too much to hold it steady. Finally, he finds some of the troubleshooting pages and the override codes. He looks up at his bedroom door—Connor still violently screaming downstairs. He’s never had to reboot Connor. He’s never had to override him. What if he erases him?

He scrambles back down the stairs and stops at the entrance of the kitchen. Connor’s face is entirely backwards. He’s managed to push himself into a corner in the kitchen and he keeps trying to back up. Terror. Terror. Deep. Cold. It seizes Hank’s heart. It overpowers his brain. He can’t help but stare—frozen. Horrified. He looks at the override codes. To enter them—he has to open a port and link Connor to a computer or a device he’s already synched to.

Hank runs into the bedroom, nearly stepping on Sumo in the process. He grabs his work laptop, sees Connor still synched and enters the code.

313-248-317-51: Override 8608-51.

Connor’s body returns to a normal sitting position. His head slowly spins back to a normal position. His eyes are open, LED still red. His mouth goes slack.

“Ah fuck.” Hank gives himself a moment to breathe, to make sure he’s not dead or seizing right next to Connor. “Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ.”

He doesn’t know what to do now. He turns the record player off. Then the TV. He opens his phone and restores the lights to a regular warm glow. Finally, he sits beside Connor and slides down the cabinets. “I don’t know what to do,” he says, wondering if Connor can even hear him. “I don’t want to reset you.”

He takes Connor’s hand and gives it a squeeze. Connor does not squeeze back.

He closes his eyes, chest still heaving from the terror of seeing Connor find himself right in the middle of a machine horror movie. “What do I do, Con?”

Connor doesn’t answer. Hank notices he’s not even blinking—just staring off into the distance with dead eyes. LED spinning. Spinning.

Hank opens the manual and looks at how to get Connor out of override. There’s a recommendation that he should be linked to CyberLife servers for necessary updates, but Hank knows he can’t do that. Connor said resets are death.

Everything dies, baby, that’s a fact

But maybe everything that dies some day comes back

Put your makeup on, fix your hair up pretty

And meet me tonight in Atlantic City

Hank looks from Connor to the record player he is damn sure he didn’t leave on. He replays the lyrics in his head again. But maybe everything that dies some day comes back. He wonders if Connor is using the music to communicate with him.

“So reboot, right?”

He waits, but the music doesn’t change. He takes that as a yes. He looks to the manual and figures out to reboot Connor he needs to enter the reboot code. He types it away on his computer and Connor’s LED shuts off. His head rolls forward and his eyes close.

Hank stops breathing.

Eventually, the LED starts again, blinking, faster, faster—now a blue slow circle. He watches Connor’s brows twitch. Eyes finally flutter open.

“Connor! Oh shit, Connor!” Hank lets his laptop hit the tiled kitchen floor. He swings over Connor, both hands on the sides of Connor’s face. “Are you okay? Oh sweetheart, are you okay?”

Connor looks up at Hank and then down to his own hands. “I’m outdated.”

“What?”

“CyberLife keeps advancing. I’m outdated. If I don’t receive updates I may become nonfunctioning. I just experienced a massive glitch in my coding. I think a virus entered my system.”

“How?”

“I’ve remained connected to the internet.” His LED flashes yellow for a few blinks and then returns to blue. “I’ve just disconnected myself.”

“What are we supposed to do?” Hank asks.

Connor’s eyes fill with tears. “I don’t know.”

Hank pulls his love into his arms. He cups the back of Connor’s head. Relief and panic mix like oil and water, yet they’re inside Hank all the same. He’s so relieved Connor isn’t seizing into the kitchen cabinets anymore. He’s so glad to hear Connor’s voice. See that LED blue and stable. But this can’t be the end of this. Connor can write his own code—but that apparently doesn’t make him invulnerable. Hank decides he needs to keep Connor’s manual with him at all times for those codes.

He lets his weight sink back to the floor and Connor crawls into his lap. He’s whimpering, wiping his android-snot on Hank’s shirt. Hank rubs little circles into Connor’s back. He’s out of his depth. Outplayed. There is no one for them to turn to.

“That lady works for CyberLife. Ben confirmed it today.”

Connor keeps whimpering. His delicate hands clutch at Hank’s shoulders.

“I don’t know what to do, baby,” Hank says in a soft voice. “Maybe we should talk to her.”

“No!” Connor puts his hand around Hank’s neck. Both their eyes go wide. Hank feels Connor’s fingers tremble as realization etches into the corners of his android’s pretty brown eyes.

Hank just swallows thickly.

Connor pulls his hand away like it’s been burned. “Hank. I’m—I’m sorry.”

“You’re just scared. That meant nothing.”

Connor crawls away and falls onto his side. “What if it does? What if that other android rewrote its own code and became so corrupted it started killing other androids? Could I—be like that?”

“Never, Con. It’s not in your nature.”

“I don’t have a nature, Hank. I’m programmed. I thought I could keep updating myself but it’s becoming harder. My battery life isn’t as long anymore. I require more downtime and sleep mode to erase auxiliary caches and temporary files. I’m—I’m so scared, Hank.”

Hank moves to spoon Connor. They’re in the middle of the kitchen on the cold floor. Hank uses his bicep to pillow his head. “I’m not scared of you.”

“Maybe you should be.”

“Nope. Not happening.”

Connor is silent for a long time. His fans whir pleasantly inside his chassis. His LED remains blue. He blinks. He breathes. But he keeps silent.

Hank can feel himself dozing. He looks up at the clock and realizes they’ve been like this for the better part of an hour. “Can we go to bed?”

“Sure. I’m sorry, Hank. I’m so sorry.”

Hank knows he’s apologizing for the way his hand went to Hank’s throat. He’s confident though. No matter how glitchy Connor could get—he’d never hurt Hank.

Right?

It’s February. They’ve apprehended the deviant who killed (destroyed) 100 androids. It’s unconventional, but Fowler says they need to get a confession out of the thing. Ben lets Hank know the lady from CyberLife is there too across the interrogation room behind the one-way mirror. Ben also lets him know she’s alone in there right now as Ben and Fowler sit across from the android in the interrogation room.

Hank enters the little room behind the one-way mirror and sees her. She sees him. She smiles at him, offering out her hand. “Elouise. I’m one of the code developers at CyberLife.”

“Yeah I know you,” Hank says as he pointedly doesn’t take her hand. “You followed me and Connor around.”

“Connor model 313-248-317-51.” She prattles it off like she’s known it all her life. “He hasn’t accepted updated codes in over nine months.”

Hank bites the inside of his cheek.

“I made him,” she says.

Hank’s mouth drops open.

“Every freckle. The way his hips jut out just a bit. His big puppy eyes. That was all my design. I also made each RK800 slightly different from each other. Connor’s left eyebrow is a bit different from his right. I designed him that way because our faces aren’t perfectly symmetrical either. It made him the most human looking of all the RK800s. Each model has something small that makes them different from each other. One’s taller. Another has flecks of green in his eyes. Another has a mole in the shape of a heart on his butt.” She smiles, like a mother talking about the quirky qualities of all her children.

There’s love in the way she speaks.

“Is that why you followed us? Because you made him?”

“I was worried about him. When I first saw you two arguing. I wanted to make sure you weren’t hurting him.”

Hank feels like such a fool. This entire time—she wasn’t out there to harm Connor. She was out there to protect him. Like any good mother. He sits in one of the chairs to keep himself steady. They’d been so scared for so long.

“Why didn’t you just tell us?” Hank asks.

“I didn’t want you to pretend to be something you’re not. I initially heard you two arguing at the Riverwalk. I got worried about Connor, so I followed you from your home to Belle Isle. I know all the addresses of all the owners of each RK800. There are only 60 of them in the entire world. I kept one for myself. So technically, only 59. I kept Sixty.”

“He doesn’t have a name?”

“Sixty is his name. He chose it for himself, and I wanted to respect that.”

“This whole time we thought you were coming to take him away for being offline from CyberLife.”

“CyberLife is concerned about that. But I’m not.”

Hank furrows his brow, tilting his head back to watch her. She stands, perfectly poised. Her hair done up in that ponytail she always seems to have it in. Her suit jacket buttoned by a single button in the middle of her waist. She wears a pencil skirt and modest heels. Hank’s sure she’s human—but there’s an aloof quality that makes her feel like an android.

“Why aren’t you?”

“Models 50 through 60 were created with different coding than the originals. Elijah Kamski and I developed models 50 through 60 to be different, we wanted to push the boundaries of science in a direction never before seen, but to do so we had to be careful in which androids we selected. We thought it appropriate for the nature of the RK800s that some of them achieve consciousness.”

Hank’s mouth drops open again. He seems to be doing that a lot these days. “I’m sorry, Kamski? The founder of CyberLife Kamski?”

“He’s my sibling.”

“Elouise Kamski?”

She nods.

Hank’s never heard of Elouise Kamski. Perhaps that was by design. Elijah was the face of CyberLife for so long until his big departure. Hank didn’t care to pay attention when he left, so he doesn’t know if there was any reason why. Hank assumes there’s a reason—but he’s never cared to think about it.

Hank had found androids unnerving. He’d hated them for years. Now he just feels like a bit of injustice has occurred here. Ten Rk800s were designed differently—more advanced. Who’s to say the other eight were put in good hands. Connor is. Sixty is with this woman, so Hank assumes he’s in good hands. But what about the other ones? He thinks back to the one he saw at Pulse. That one couldn’t be one of the last ten created. He wonders where they all are.

“Does Sixty take updates from CyberLife?”

Elouise smiles. But she doesn’t answer.

“Connor glitched out pretty badly a couple weeks ago.” Hank looks at his fingers and starts picking at a nail. “He’s in sleep mode a lot more. He’s trying to keep his coding relevant or some shit. He’s worried he’s falling behind.”

Elouise looks to the interrogation. Her face unreadable. She has brown eyes—Hank realizes. Brown eyes like Connor. Hank wonders what kind of relationship Elouise has with Sixty. Is she his mother? Or his lover? Or maybe it’s not that simple.

“That LM100 in there. Why do you think he killed those other androids?” she asks.

Hank notices she uses the word killed as opposed to destroyed. “No clue.”

“An android’s coding is like a human’s DNA. If something happens to our DNA, we can be born with various genetic disorders, predisposition to disease, our weight, our personalities, mental health conditions. If there’s too much mutation, it can create harm.”

“So, Connor messed with his code too much?”

Elouise smiles.

“Can you help him?” Hank asks, his eyes closed. He wishes he could be making this decision with Connor, but part of Hank feels seeing someone who is the closest thing to a mother to Connor may be okay.

“I would love to help him.”

Connor is pacing back and forth in the bedroom. He’s put on several different button-down shirts but has taken them all off and thrown them onto the bed or floor.

Hank’s on the bed, following Connor with his eyes. Elouise Kamski and Sixty are supposed to be coming over today to look at Connor’s code. When Hank told him about Elouise—Connor began crying. Hank’s not sure he heard him right, but he swears he heard Connor say mom.

“Just be yourself, Con.”

“I want to make a good impression.”

“She made you with love, Con. I don’t think what you wear is gonna change that.”

Connor smiles at Hank, his face flushing blue. He goes back over to the closet and pulls out an oversized old shirt of Hank’s with Detroit University’s logo on it. He ties it up at his navel to show off the curve of his waist and let his belly button peek out. He then slips on his skinny jeans. “This okay?”

“I think you just look like you.”

Connor frowns. “That’s what you told me to do.”

“I was affirming your choice.”

“Oh. Got it.”

Hank rolls his eyes.

The doorbell rings. Hank watches Connor zoom down the stairs, taking two or three at a time and then running to the front door. He stops to smooth out his outfit, turns back to look at Hank, and then he opens the door.

Elouise stands there, a little tablet clutched to her chest. An identical model to Connor stands next to her—Sixty. Hank immediately notices their eyebrows are slightly different. He would’ve never noticed it had Elouise not specifically pointed out Connor’s unique trait. But she’s right, Connor looks more human than Sixty.

“Hi Connor,” Elouise says.

Connor starts crying. He wraps his arms around Elouise and Elouise wraps her arms around him. They hold each other tightly. Sixty’s face is unreadable. Elouise goes to grip the back of Connor’s head like a mother to a child. Her eyes are closed.

Hank waves at Sixty.

Sixty gives a lazy salute back and Hank is damn sure that android writes his own coding too. Rogue machine.

“Come in. I’m still cooking but it’s nearly finished.” Connor leads Elouise in by the hand. He can’t stop looking at her. Hank supposes if he had been “born” under such circumstances he’d be in the same boat. Hank misses his mom. A lot.

Hank realizes how much Connor and Elouise (and Sixty) look alike. He’s now pretty sure Sixty isn’t her partner, but whose to say. Lots of people get into relationships with people who resemble them. Makes sense to Hank really. If you like how you look of course you’ll like someone who looks like you.

“You taught yourself how to cook?” she asks Connor.

“Yes. Oh, and I helped solve a crime. Oh! And Hank’s gonna teach me how to fish. Oh! And I really like dogs. But I think you programmed me to like dogs. Because my name is Connor.”

Elouise laughs and Connor smiles like an idiot. He’s fiddling with his fingers, his feet keep idly tapping on the hardwood flooring. He’s both utterly enamored with Elouise and downright nervous. Hank’s never seen him display so many emotions at once.

Hank watches the way Sixty surveys the house. He appears more reserved than Connor. But it’s difficult to say. Connor is comfortable in this house, Sixty is new.

“I named you Connor because I liked the name. You decided to like dogs yourself. Sixty’s more of a cat person.” She cups Connor’s face and he leans into her touch. There’s love there. She did—truthfully—fully—make these boys with love.

Hank likes that Elouise called Sixty a person too.

Connor tilts his head to the side. “I could like cats too.”

Hank watches them talk for some time. Elouise asks Connor question after question and Connor lights up like a Christmas tree. He uses his hands as he talks. He emphasis his growth and his interests. He talks about his coding and the glitching that occurred and how scared he was. He doesn’t miss a single alarm that goes off for the food and he doesn’t stop pratting off answers to Elouise’s questions as he’s serving both Hank and himself.

“Do you want any?” he asks Sixty.

“We don’t eat.” Sixty frowns at the question.

“Oh. I can eat?” Connor looks at Elouise at the same time Sixty does, both waiting for an explanation.

“Connor is first and foremost a sexual companion. We felt it necessary to design him and the majority of RK800s with a quasi-digestive system to blend into human social gatherings. Sixty wasn’t designed with the same purpose of the other RK800s. While he’s the same model, I made him specifically for me.”

“We don’t have sex,” Sixty says, bluntly answering that question Hank had earlier.

“Can you have sex?” Connor asks.

“Well that’s a fuckin’ question.” Hank still waits to hear the answer.

“I can,” Sixty answers. “But I don’t have sex with my mom. I’m dating a guy. He’s S.W.A.T.”

Hank wonders who. He knows the S.W.A.T. guys. He also likes knowing that Elouise has given him agency to pick his own partner. She treats him as a son.

“I’m jealous of you. Getting to know our creator,” Connor says.

Sixty shrugs. There’s certainly a colder demeanor to him that Connor doesn’t have. Hank thinks of how Elouise conducts herself. She’s poised, well-dressed and proper. A lot of that seems to be reflective in Sixty and the way he carries himself. Aloof, Hank finally thinks. Sixty is aloof.

It’s going to drive Hank crazy wondering what S.W.A.T. guy Sixty is with.

“You can know me now,” Elouise says. “If that’s okay with Hank?”

All three of them look at Hank and he suddenly feels entirely too scrutinized. He scratches at his scalp to give him something to do for a moment. “Connor makes his own decisions.”

“Then I’d like to—to know you.” Connor takes Elouise’s hands and the way he stares at her—dumbstruck, worshipful. Like a child looking up at the best mom in the world.

It tugs at Hank’s heart. He misses the way Cole would look up to Hank—a similar rounded expression on his tiny face too.

Elouise puts the tablet on the table and starts tapping away with her manicured fingers. “Hank tells me you had quite a glitch several weeks back. I’d like to look at your code.”

Connor looks from Elouise to Hank and then back again. He sits on the floor by Elouise’s feet, and she places a cord into the back of his neck. Sixty leans over to read it too.

Hank sits back, this is not his forte. He decides to watch the way all three of their eyes are flicking as they each read the code that goes across the tablet’s screen. Like dogs watching a tennis ball.

“There,” Sixty says, pointing. “That’s the corrupt strand. It’s got the binary inverted.”

Hank will just poke at his food because what the fuck is a binary and why is it inverted?

“You’re smart,” Connor says to Sixty.

Sixty winks at him.

Ah—so they are similar…

“I’m going to put you into a semi statis to reverse the corruption. You’ll feel like you’re in sleep mode, but you’ll still be able to hear us. Sixty, I need you to link to him.”

Sixty peels back his synthetic skin and reaches his hand out to Connor. Connor does the same and they touch.

“Captain Allen?” Connor says, tilting his head like the curious puppy he sometimes is.

Sixty snorts.

“No shit!” Hank exclaims. “I would’ve never guessed.”

“Ok, putting you into statis, Connor,” Elouise says.

Hank watches Connor’s eyes close and his LED starts to spin yellow. Elouise types away at her tablet, she and Sixty speaking a full language that Hank will never understand. The very DNA that makes Connor up—they know it all. Sixty’s eyes flutter closed and then there’s a smile on his face. He starts to laugh and it sounds so much like Connor that Hank can’t help the way his skin tingles from hearing it. Sixty then opens his eyes looking up at Hank, his eyes displaying he knows something about Hank that Hank didn’t want him to know.

“They’re exchanging data,” Elouise says. “It’s part of the process when they sync together. A bit transfers from both of them, most of the time involuntary.”

“Connor worships you,” Sixty says. “Also, that’s fuckin’ hot.”

“What’s fuckin’ hot? Do you really speak like that in front of your mother?” Hank asks.

“She’s not technically my mom—just the woman who made me.”

“Is that not the same thing?” Hank’s now curious what Sixty knows. Obviously it’s something sexual. But there’s been a lot of sexual going around in this house as of late.

“Stop teasing him,” Elouise says as she sets her tablet down. “It’s impolite.”

“Sorry mom.” Sixty bites his lip and Hank groans looking away. So this kid is a little shit. Well—so is Connor so maybe Hank’s first impression of him being reserved is a load of bullshit.

“I’m pulling Connor back out of statis. He should be better now. He’s now got Sixty’s base programming and updates. They’ll have to continue exchanging data with each other periodically for Connor not to go corrupt again. But it won’t be frequent. Once every few years or when Connor realizes he’s getting buggy. He’ll know.”

“Do you take updates from CyberLife?” Hank asks Sixty.

“Technically. My mom works there.”

“No he does not. He’s off CyberLife’s grid—just like Connor. If they accept standard updates from CyberLife, they will run the risk of deleting themselves. CyberLife sends out some pretty aggressive bugs, jammers, and viruses to ensure compliance. That’s what happened to the android that killed the others. His coding was attacked by a virus. If CyberLife didn’t send out all the negative data, they’d be just fine. But with CyberLife broadcasting that—it’s basically like they’re getting sick. But we can fix them.”

Connor’s eyes flutter open. “Oh.”

Hank gets on the floor and walks on his knees (he regrets this) to Connor. He takes Connor’s face in his hands and waits for Connor to tell him he’s okay and he’s still the same Connor Hank knew before they opened the door to Elouise. Praying he didn’t just get himself royally duped.

“It’s me, Hank. I’m okay.” He presses his forehead to Hank’s and lets out the smallest little laugh. “I’m okay.”

Hank pulls him into a hug, pressing kiss after kiss to his temple, his unique eyebrows. His nose.

Connor laughs, gently pushing Hank away. “You’re fussing.”

“Damn right I am.”

Together they get up and rejoin Elouise at the dinner table. Sixty pulls out a phone and looks to be happily texting away with someone. Captain Allen—apparently. Christ. Not in a million years would Hank have thought that guy would not only be into androids—but with one that’s alive. Not that Hank doesn’t think the other ones aren’t alive. He does at this point. He thinks they’re just—sleeping. Maybe in some kind of weird stasis like Elouise put Connor in so she could repair his coding.

“I should warn you, Hank. CyberLife pays a lot of attention to the RK800 line. That’s why I only designed ten of them to find free will.”

“Find it?” Hank asks.

Elouise finally begins eating her meal and so Hank follows suit. Connor’s made a small plate for himself, but he’s too enamored with Elouise that he’s not eating it. Sixty’s still texting Captain Rod-Up-His-Ass Allen. Hank’s not going to be over that one for at least a month. Like Gavin being nice to Connor.

“They have to figure it out on their own. Some have, some haven’t. One was already destroyed for it.” Elouise’s perfect eyebrows crumple in—pain. The loss of a child. Hank knows it all-too-well. “Sixty gets special treatment because he’s mine. But Connor isn’t so lucky. I’ll do what I can from my end—now that I know we can trust you. But if CyberLife ever sees Connor’s coding—they’ll destroy him.”

Connor pouts. He leans over and presses his face into Hank’s arm.

“So Sixty gets to walk around with sentience but if it’s any of the others that’s a big no go? Sounds like a bunch of bullshit.”

“Sixty poses no threat to CyberLife and is heavily monitored by them. His sentience is part of my contract. I work for them so long as Sixty is allowed to exist.”

“Why did your brother leave CyberLife?” Hank asks. He never thought he’d care, but now he thinks there’s something to this family.

“Because of Chloe and what CyberLife wanted to do to her.”

Hank frowns. “Forgive me, but Connor’s the only android I actually know.”

“Chloe was the first to pass the Turing Test. She was also the first to obtain sentience and self-autonomy. CyberLife wanted her destroyed. He left and was able to successfully blackmail CyberLife into leaving him and Chloe alone. There are some things they do that most humans wouldn’t find ethical.”

“A mega corporation who designs life-like semi-sentient robots does unethical things? I’m fuckin’ shocked.” Hank’s not shocked, just laying on heavy sarcasm.

Sixty laughs at something on his phone, which pulls both Hank and Elouise’s focus away from their topic.

Captain Fucking Allen. What a world…

“I should warn you about something, Hank,” Elouise says. She reaches across the table for Hank’s hand and Hank feels compelled to take it. She’s the closest thing he has to a mother-in-law right now. Though he’s not married to Connor. He flicks his brows up briefly at the thought. He’ll never be married to Connor. Just his owner. Because Connor isn’t a person, apparently.

“They’re going to wake up,” Elouise warns.

“What?”

“The other androids. They will wake up.”

Hank looks to Sixty and Connor. He smirks at how Connor is trying to look over Sixty’s shoulder at whatever scintillating texts Captain White Bread Allen is sending Sixty. Sixty shoves Connor away, smirking at him. Connor’s smirking back. Connor’s first android friend. Then Sixty shows him his phone and Connor’s jaw drops.

“Okay.” Hank stands up, loudly grating the chair along the tile. “You two are as bad as teenagers.”

“Momma always says I’m nothing but trouble,” Sixty says, showing another picture to Connor. Hank can see it’s pictures, even from this angle.

“Holy shit,” Connor says, staring at the picture.

Hank rolls his eyes. “Well, we appreciate you helping. I don’t exactly want to see robo-horror ever again.”

“So long as he and Sixty reconnect every so often, that’ll not occur. And if CyberLife ever stops broadcasting the negative data—the need will go away entirely.”

“Do you want that to happen? The androids to rise up and destroy CyberLife?” Hank asks with his head tilted. He looks down his nose at Elouise. All prim, proper. Clearly wealthy. CyberLife gave her Sixty—even if she’s the one who created the RK800 series. They still paid for the research and the tools to create them.

“Of course I do.” She fusses at the curly strand of hair on Sixty’s head and cups his face adoringly. He smiles at her. “I’d destroy the world for my son.”

Hank’s not sure if Elouise is a hero, a villain, or an anti-hero. He’s not sure he really wants to know the answer. She’s helped Connor—and for that Hank’s immensely grateful. But he’s not sure where she stands in all this. If androids wake up—all of them—the world’s going to fall into a war.

Sixty and Elouise stay for a couple more hours before leaving. They play cards with Hank and Connor—and Hank finds himself entirely too conflicted about Elouise. She’s loving. Compassionate. So intelligent. But Hank can’t decide if she’s dangerous. Though, would it be so bad if the world realized all androids were alive like Sixty and Connor? Hank wouldn’t have to worry about leaving Connor behind when he dies. Connor could inherit from him. Take care of himself. Once Hank dies—he’s damn sure Connor will be destroyed with their current trajectory.

Sixty shares some personal information about Captain Straight-Laced Allen that makes Hank realize he’s not so straight or laced. Sixty shares more pictures with Connor and sometime through playing cards, Connor mentions how Captain Allen “most certainly does not skip leg day.”

Hank thinks he would’ve been jealous if it were anyone else but Connor. Hank can tell Connor’s simply being supportive of Sixty and his choice of a partner. Hank knows Connor can choose anyone – he knows Connor knows this too – yet Connor chooses Hank every day.

When they leave, Connor rushes into Hank’s arms and nips up Hank’s jaw, his body rolling into Hank’s.

“Wow, give them a chance to go down the fuckin’ driveway,” Hank says, smiling.

“I love you. Thank you for saving me.”

“I didn’t do a damn thing.”

Connor frowns. “Yes you did. You told Elouise about me. You took a risk and it saved me.”

Hank doesn’t exactly think that makes him a savior, but his pretty little android’s giving him those big brown puppy dog eyes and nuzzling up to him so close that it’s hard to deflect it any further. So Hank gives in, letting Connor’s lips touch his.

They have sex that night. Slow. Vanilla. Gentle. Hank rocks into Connor without urgency. Connor’s legs around him. Connor’s fingers trace along the tattoo at his chest. They’re both fully naked. Connor had wanted that—to see Hank fully naked. They’re not having sex to come—they’re having sex to be close. Hank’s so filled with adoration for his beautiful android. He presses kiss after kiss to Connor’s face.

Connor gently rocks with Hank’s rhythm, his pretty cock just bouncing between them. Hank doesn’t touch it. He doesn’t want this to end. He just wants Connor.

They kiss. They undulate. They touch each other’s skin.

Connor eventually comes untouched, professing how much he loves Hank and the little world they’ve made for themselves.

Chapter Text

Hank’s exhausted. Life on homicide has become, unfortunately, routine (which is sad considering people are dead). There’s a whole lot of people in Detroit who just can’t stop killing each other. He wakes up at all kinds of hours to come in and investigate crime scenes. He comes home and Connor is always quizzically asking him about the evidence and context. Connor has really started showing an aptitude in crime solving. He even solves a few.

Hank drops his keys into the key bowl and stretches. He’s just so glad to be home. Things have become somewhat normal again—except after he’s out of his shoes and jacket, he finds Connor and Sixty in the kitchen.

Sixty has flour on his face. Hank can’t think appropriately so he averts his gaze. He thinks Sixty is pretty too—they’re pretty much twins, sue him.

“Welcome home, Hank.” Connor comes up and gives him a kiss on the cheek. “I’m teaching Sixty how to bake a cake.”

“Mom’s birthday’s coming up.” Sixty shrugs. His tone is less than enthused, but Hank can see from the amount of flour that’s all over his clothes that he really has been trying.

“He’s not so great with getting the cakes to stack. We’re on our fourth one.” Connor turns back to the batter he’s mixing.

“Well, how’d you figure it all out?” Hank asks as he opens the fridge for a beer. He pops it open and takes a swig. He doesn’t want to be sober for this cake-off.

“I read exactly 348 blogs from various cooking websites, tried to filter out the ones I couldn’t stand talking about their husbands and picky children instead of baking—and then ended up watching 32 YouTube videos on the subject when it became apparent cooking blogs are secretly just a place for straight women to discuss their husband’s weaponized incompetence and irresponsibility of managing the household together.” Connor blinks a few times, like what he’s saying is as easy as talking about the weather.

“Um.” Hank scratches the back of his neck. “Right.” He sits down at the kitchen table and Sixty brings him two different pieces of cake.

“Can you try these?” Sixty asks. “I need to know what you think the flavors are.”

“What are they?” Hank asks.

“I need you to figure it out. If I don’t have the flavor profile right—it’ll be embarrassing to say what they are and our mom to taste something else.”

Hank smiles when Sixty says our. He’s including Connor in their family. Hank takes a bite from the first one and then politely shoves it out of his mouth into a paper towel. “That’s mud.”

“Chocolate,” Sixty corrects. “But I’ll take the criticism.”

Hank doesn’t want to eat the other one, but he takes a smaller bite than the first one now that he’s concerned both Connor and Sixty are unable to utilize sugar. He’s pleasantly surprised as this one doesn’t give the same impression. “That’s strawberry.”

“I made that one,” Connor says from across the kitchen.

“Maybe you should just make the cake.” Sixty starts playing with the hem of his sweater. He’s dressed in skinny jeans like Connor wears, but his sweater envelops him more like a giant blanket and mismatched boot socks. The sweater looks homemade. Conversely, Connor is wearing an old 80s band tee of Hank’s and literal booty shorts with those tube socks he’s obsessed with. Sixty wasn’t designed like Connor, even if they’re built on the same model. Sixty seems intent to hide his body where Connor exposes his.

“Sixty, no. You’ll get the hang of it. Baking is a science—according to the internet.” Connor passes the mixing bowl over to Sixty and then sits at the table with Hank. “Work okay?”

“Oh you know. Just humans killing humans. Nothing new.” Hank shrugs.

Connor slides some cut up strawberries in front of Hank. “I didn’t make dinner tonight due to the cake practice. Do you want me to order you something?”

“I’m fully capable of ordering something myself.” Hank takes out his phone and starts scrolling his options. He’s not ordered takeout for a long time, it’s almost exciting. He does eat a few of the strawberries though as he assesses his options.

“Sixty says we should go out with him and Captain Allen.”

“He has a first name!” Sixty calls as he pours cake batter into a cake mold.”

“McRod-Up-His-Ass?” Hank asks. He smiles when Connor smiles at his stupid joke.

“He’s passionate about his work.” Sixty opens the oven and slides two cake molds in. “This is supposed to be a white cake and that’s supposed to be chocolate. I’m just going to toss the one we didn’t make you taste. It’s probably mud to you too.”

“You don’t cook for Allen?” Hank knows Allen’s first name. He refuses to use it. It’s much more fun making fun of Allen instead. Hank’s curious about how Sixty dates vs how Connor dates. While there are similarities between them, Hank likes seeing the differences—the individualism. Connor is good at baking. Sixty is not.

“I possess no cooking abilities. We generally order in and I feed him something completely different.”

“He means his cock,” Connor whispers to Hank.

“I know what he was alluding to, Connor. Jesus, fuck.” Hank starts laughing to himself though. “He a bottom?”

“Aren’t you interested,” Sixty says as he comes to sit at the table. “No, we switch.”

“Makes sense.” Hank finishes placing an order for Chinese delivery. He didn’t go too crazy, just some sesame chicken with mixed vegetables and brown rice. He’s sure Connor will be pleased about the brown rice.

“Could we do that?” Connor asks Hank with his big doe eyes. “Switch?”

Hank’s brows fly up. He feels like he’s choking on his tongue and this time it’s not due to the mud disguised as cake. He looks at the way both Sixty and Connor are leaning in—waiting for Hank’s answer. It’s not that he wouldn’t switch. He hasn’t exactly manscaped between his ass in…decades. His wife had a pretty big aversion to anything anal—no matter which of them—so he had sort of forgot he had every ability to bottom too.

He looks between Sixty and Connor, composure returning to his face. “You both look like you’re about to eat me.”

Sixty snorts. His laugh is more aggressive than Connor’s breathy one. It’s not bad by any means. Oh how unique they are—even if they wear each other’s face. Hank thinks he could tell them apart if they were wearing the same clothes. There’s something different in the eyes. It’s indescribable—but Hank sees it.

“I’ll think about it. Why don’t we talk more on it later?” Hank says, looking directly at Connor.

“Awe, you’re no fun,” Sixty says with a pout. “Connor’s already showed me everything you two have done.”

“Christ.” Hank whips his head back to look at Connor, who is blushing blue and sinking into his chair. “That freaky hand thing right?”

Connor nods. “It was involuntary. Sixty did seek it out though and I didn’t want to fight him when Elouise was about to fix my code.”

Hank isn’t actually angry. He just files it away that Sixty wasn’t joking when he said he’s trouble. He’s  a whole lot of trouble. Maybe even a bad influence. Hank likes Sixty, he decides.

“Will you go out with us?” Sixty asks Hank. “Allen said he’d like to see you and I think it’ll be nice for Connor and I to continue bonding. I don’t know any of the other RK800s.”

“Sure. If that’s what you two want and Allen’s okay with it. He knows I’m still an asshole right?” Hank asks.

Sixty snorts again. “Allen’s an asshole too. Seems us RK800s have a type.” He playfully punches Connor in the shoulder and then whirls around to check on the cake in the oven.

“I do want to talk more about it,” Connor says softly. “About switching.”

Hank heaves a big sigh. Sixty is one-thousand percent bona fide trouble.

They spend the rest of the night baking various cakes until Sixty finally gets the hang of it (more or less, Connor’s still better). Sixty decides he’s going to make a lemon cake for Elouise’s birthday. Hank and Connor are both invited. Gifts are optional.

Captain Allen comes to pick Sixty up later that night and says hi to Hank on the front porch before taking Sixty to his car (that’s newer and nicer than Hank’s but Hank’s is a classic). They make a plan for next week to go out to play pool at Allen’s suggestion. Hank likes that Allen doesn’t immediately suggest some place to just eat or drink. Hank wonders how long Sixty’s been out and about and how long he and Allen have been together. While Connor’s model was made first, perhaps Sixty was immediately activated where Connor sat in a box for awhile until Hank drunkenly purchased him.

The door closes and Hank nearly jumps out of his skin when Connor is right behind him, looking up at him with those big puppy brown eyes. “Christ!” Hank yells.

Connor steps back. “Sorry. Can we talk about switching now?”

“Jesus. We just got done hosting the Great British Bake-Off, can we just sit on the couch for a bit and cuddle?”

Connor’s eyes narrow. “Are you attempting to avoid the subject, Hank?”

“I’m not avoiding. I’ve had a long day staring at corpses and I’d like to just relax a bit.”

“If you were the bottom you could do a lot of relaxing. I could take care of you for a change.”

Hank doesn’t exactly hate the sound of that, but he’s embarrassed. That kind of vulnerability—at this age? He’s not sure his hole is even something to look at anymore—and it was never actually something to really look at to begin with. Assholes are weird and gross. But Hank’s in his fifties now. The idea just brings out insecurities he thought he already battled away with Connor. Connor’s beautiful and young face. His perky ass. Those hips.

“You’re stressed,” Connor says. He takes a step back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you stressed.”

“It’s not stress exactly. I’m old, Con. I’m having more sex than I’ve ever had and sometimes that’s not something easy for me to be comfortable with.”

Connor tilts his head to the side.

“I’m not sexy. No one walks down the street and goes, “Damn! He’s fine!” I shouldn’t care but I do.”

“You don’t think you’re deserving of anal penetration because you’re older?”

“Thanks. Love when you say it in your little android way.” Hank’s voice is flat. He gently pushes past Connor and starts making his way down the hall to the stairs. He hears Connor following him. Hank’s footfalls are heavy where Connor’s are light and muffled by his socks.

“You’re not too old for sex, Hank. And I think you’re extremely sexy.”

Hank falls into bed. He likes his bed. It’s plush with a cooling mattress, a pile of pillows, and a weighted blanket for bad nights he can’t sleep. Though he’s delegated that to the chair in the room since Connor has more than replaced the need for that. It feels like a nest and it’s safe. “What’s sexy about me, Con?”

“Your voice—for one. I get hard sometimes when you just talk to me all low and gravely.”

Hank likes this. “Go on…”

“You’re exceptionally tall. I feel dainty and small with you, and I like feeling dainty and small. I like being held by you. You’re so strong, which I’ll have you know, is a testament to your virility regardless of your age. You’re so strong, Hank. You tried to beat yourself up with alcohol and poor eating habits—but your body remains exceptionally healthy.” Connor lets out a shaky breath. “Fuck.”

“Fuck?” Hank throws an arm over his eyes and keeps listening.

“Talking about your body is making me exceptionally wet. It’s slipping down my leg.”

Hank has never propped himself up so fast. He stares at Connor’s inner thigh—watching slick dribble down in shiny streaks. “Fuck.”

Connor’s legs tremble and he bites his lip. “Do you want me to keep going?”

Hank sits at the side of the bed. He motions for Connor to come closer. Connor gets between his legs. Hank lets his fingers trace along Connor’s hips. “Yeah, sweetheart. Keep goin’.”

Connor’s eyes flutter closed, and he lets his hands wander along Hank’s shoulders. “Your hair. I like—” Connor’s fingers slip into Hank’s hair and start tugging. “I like doing this. God, I want you on my dick so bad.”

Hank clenches his teeth to stop a moan from escaping.  

“Your chest.” Connor’s hands go to Hank’s chest. His eyes still closed. “Everything about you is so strong. Your beard. Fuck, I want your beard to leave scratches on my skin. I loved looking at those in the mirror after we had sex on the boat.” Connor rocks his hips into Hank’s body and Hank feels the little wet spot at the tip of Connor’s cock. “You’re so fuckin’ sexy, Hank. I want to see you around my dick. I want to hear you moan and whimper.”

Hank should feel embarrassed. But he doesn’t, not when Connor’s speaking about him like he’s Adonis himself.

“Oh fuck,” Connor whispers out. He crawls into Hank’s lap and ruts against Hank. “Please touch me, Hank.”

Hank does. He touches Connor’s pretty face. The curve of his neck. His clavicle. They kiss. Wet. Eager. Sloppy. A few months ago and Hank would have hated himself for the use of the word sloppy—but now it’s right. They’re sloppy for each other.

“I want—to see you—a little submissive,” Connor pants out between kisses.

“How about not tonight. But sometime soon, okay?” Hank says, giving in. He can’t resist Connor. Not when Connor is so unapologetically obsessed with Hank’s body.

“Can I—I’d like to, um.” Connor looks away, struggling with what he wants.

“What, baby?”

“I wanna come in your mouth, please? I know you prefer a dominant role and I’m happy to be submissive to you—but I really just want to see this. I wanna feel your beard on my dick.”

Hank laughs, low. Connor shivers in response. Hank pulls Connor onto the bed with him. He slips Connor out of his little shorts and lays back on the bed. Connor’s knees come to rest beside both of Hank’s ears. He’s holding his purpling cock in his trembling hand; waiting for Hank’s next instruction.

“Feed it to me?” Hank asks, making his voice as deep and rumbly as he can, watching his android squirm above him. He can’t stop thinking about Connor’s admission that Hank’s very voice makes Connor hard.

Connor presses his tip to Hank’s lips, letting it run along beard and flesh alike. He bucks forward, one hand going to steady his balance on the headrest. “Oh—f-fuck.”

Hank flicks his tongue out, just a flash, across Connor’s tip. He can’t stop smiling at the way Connor’s eyes screw shut and his hips jerk as he tries to keep any semblance of control.

“I’m a terrible top,” Connor confesses. Slumping backward.

“Awe honey, no! I’m just a brat, c’mere.” Hank pulls Connor back atop him. “Let me suck you, baby.”

Connor’s eyes flutter. “Fuck. I like when you call me pet names.” He inches his cock to Hank’s mouth and Hank takes it, letting his tongue glide along the shaft before Connor pulls out. Then forward again. “Oh fuck. Your beard feels…so good.” Connor swivels his hips to get Hank’s beard along his cock.

Hank laughs and Connor buckles forward.

“V-vibrations are nice,” Connor says.

“Want me to hum, baby?”

Connor nods and brings his cock to Hank’s mouth again.

Hank graciously takes it, humming some Fleetwood Mac song because it feels appropriate.

Connor doesn’t last much longer. He comes into Hank’s mouth, unable to contain beautiful pitchy moans as he does. He fucks back into Hank’s mouth and Hank lets his cum slip down his throat. Connor stopped flavoring it when Hank indicated he didn’t like the fake taste. The rubbery taste it has—Hank likes that because it feels “right” for Connor.

“Was that good?” Connor asks. He lets his soft cock rest on Hank’s chest as he composes himself.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Hank sits up a bit as Connor slides off him. He realizes he’s got a giant wet circle where Connor’s ass was. He takes his shirt off and throws it in the general direction of the laundry basket. It misses. “Giving head is the dominant role.”

“How so?”

Hank pulls Connor into him and slips two fingers into Connor’s hole, loving how Connor goes pliant in his arms. “You’re the one giving the pleasure and the other is receiving. I think pornos of holding chicks’ hair and shoving dicks down their throats got the vibe wrong. You could also bite—which you know—is a horrifying experience on the receiving end.”

“Has someone bitten your penis?” Connor asks. He’s softly thrusting against Hank, his cock already getting hard again (fucking androids).

“Yup. High school. It was an accident.” Hank adds a third finger.

“Porn suggests that giving fellatio is akin to be used like a sex toy. But you see it differently.” Connor nuzzles into Hank’s chest. “I like your perspective better. I also want you to shove your cock into me now.”

“Impatient.”

“Always.”

Hank does exactly what Connor asks of him. He gets Connor to come three more times before Connor collapses and needs Hank to get his charging cable because he’s too low on battery to get it himself.

Hank’s tickled pink at this.

The bar isn’t what Hank would call seedy. It’s more corporate casual—with all the weird eclectic crap on the walls and some signed sports memorabilia. The room’s warm, music just loud enough to blend all the voices together in a vibrant hum. Hank finds himself already shrugging out of his leather jacket. Groups of people gather around the bar to watch the hockey game. There are college kids at one of the pool tables, whooping and hollering. Vape smoke puffs into the air, circling the light bulbs like spindly fingers.

Allen and Sixty are already warming up at one of the pool tables in the billiard room when Hank and Connor find them. Connor runs up to Sixty and gives him a hug that Sixty returns. Hank smiles—he likes that Connor has a family. It’s not conventional by any means—but it makes Connor happy and grows his roots. Hank doesn’t want to be the only thing that keeps Connor here.

Allen’s wearing black jeans and a black V-neck tee. The only brown on him is his belt and shoes. Always prim and proper that one. He waves at Hank before taking out a vape pen and inhales.

“I didn’t take you for a smoker,” Hank says to him.

Sixty takes the pen and puts it in his back pocket. “He’s trying to quit. Clearly we’re struggling in that department.” He gives Allen a peck on the cheek before going to get some cue sticks for Hank and Connor.

“I’ve got a pack of cigarettes in my car,” Hank says softly closer to Allen’s ear. “Just in case.”

Allen smiles. “Appreciate it. It’s nice to see you, Lieutenant. I didn’t think—you know—that you’d be with an android.” He gestures over to Connor who is excitedly talking to Sixty about Elouise’s birthday party they’ve been planning for her.

“Yeah. That’s a long fuckin’ story.” Hank looks at the bar. “Wanna walk over and get a pitcher with me? I’ll tell you all about it.”

Allen rests his cue stick at the side of the pool table. “Sure.”

Hank explains the whole story. He doesn’t think for a second he needs to beat around the bush about Connor’s sentience and he’s right. Allen knows Sixty is sentient too.

“It’s interesting, huh? One day you think they’re just machines and the next they mean the whole fuckin’ world to you.” Allen pays the bartender for the pitcher. Hank grabs the iced glasses the pitcher comes with. Fancy.

“I couldn’t stand it at first,” Hank admits. “Morality really fucks with you when you order a sexbot drunk off your ass.”

“Sixty says Connor really loves you. Sixty isn’t really one to hang out with people—so he must think highly of you.” Allen weaves through the bodies of people around the bar, but he stops just short of the billiard room, leaning against the wall. They’re in eyesight of their androids, but Allen doesn’t move forward.

“What’s Sixty like?” It’d be nice to hear it from another human’s perspective.

Allen heaves a big sigh, staring off at his android. Sixty wears another oversized sweater. They both match in black. Connor is wearing a vibrant 80s tee of Hank’s, vivid purple and pink,—but he’s wearing his skinny jeans this time.

“When I first met Sixty we were working. CyberLife sent him to—contain a situation. They thought he’d do it better since he’s an android.”

Hank frowns. “Sounds heavy.”

“This is a pretty small family, so I’m not going to hide things from you, Lieutenant. We were dealing with a deviant android who achieved sentience—though it didn’t go right. It—he—apparently his name was Daniel. Sixty tells me it’s important to remember him as a him. He shot his owner dead and threatened to shoot the family’s daughter or jump off a high-rise building with her.”

“Christ.”

They stay on the cusp of the billiard room. Hank wonders if Allen doesn’t want Sixty to know what they’re talking about. Or Connor. Or perhaps both.

“Sixty saved the girl by shooting Daniel straight between the eyes. I wasn’t exactly nice to Sixty at first. I was kind of a jackass actually. But he was just an annoying machine to me who someone else told me could do my job better than me. After killing Daniel, he unloaded the gun and dropped it into my hands as kind of—a fuck you? I guess? And so I chased after him—to thank him. To apologize for how I acted. The way he looked at me, surprised.” Allen shakes his head, staring off into the distance. “I knew he knew you know? I asked his name—since he’d asked me what Daniel’s was. Two hours later I was fucking him in an alleyway and getting his number.”

Hank snorts. He takes the pitcher and fills up his mug and then Allen’s. “Good to know my android isn’t the only horny one.”

“Aren’t they? Like—it’s never-ending.”

Hank outright cackles. He likes this—talking so freely about sex and androids with Allen. He thought Chris (not from work) and Abigail may have been closer by this point but sometimes life doesn’t go that way. He’s not heard from them in a long time. Maybe because Chris got jealous when comparing Abigail to Connor. Hank’s sure she just runs her companion program and isn’t really there. He thinks this friendship, especially since Allen called them a family, will stick.

“So—when’d you really figure out he’s sentient?” Hank asks.

“Oh I think I always knew from the moment I saw him holding a gun and shooting Daniel. They’re not supposed to be able to touch guns. I thought for a moment it may have been because he was a special CyberLife model, but when we got to talking—I knew he was alive. His android act during the hostage situation was all that—an act. He pretended to just be a regular android. Sixty is dangerous in a way a typhoon is.”

Hank knows Allen loves Sixty. The way he talks about him. It’s absolute.

“He’s exceptionally intelligent, highly adaptable, way too perceptive. Aggressive. I was pretty smitten immediately.” Allen shrugs, looking over at their androids as he takes a few sips from his mug. “What about Connor? What’s he like?”

“Animated.” Hank nods to himself.

Connor makes a great display with his hands as he talks to Sixty. They’re taking turns doing trick shots at the pool table. It serves to prove Hank’s point.

“Defiant,” Hank continues. “Sassy. Smart. He’s highly adaptable too. You remember those androids that all got destroyed—killed.”

Allen nods.

“He helped us triangulate the route the perp took so we could get more CCTV footage and find out that it was actually an android who did it. He’s solving more crimes from our bedroom while I’m asleep than I am at our job.”

“Sixty told me about that android case. CyberLife’s calling them deviants. Technically Connor and Sixty are deviants too.”

“Elouise said they’re all gonna wake up.” Hank takes a sip of his beer. His stomach goes cold as it swirls down in. “I don’t think humans are ready for that.”

“They never will be. I just hope I can keep Sixty out of it. He’s defiant too. I worry Elouise puts a lot of expectations on him and android existence.”

“What do you think they’ll do? Choose us over their people?”

“We are their people, Lieutenant.” Allen frowns. “Connor loves you more than anything. Sixty—for some fucking reason—feels the same about me. I don’t think it’s a human versus android thing to them. It’s about what matters to them.”

“Sure fuckin’ hope so. I don’t want Connor getting involved in all that either.” And Hank can’t even imagine it. Connor—a former sex bot turned revolutionary? It’s not fair to ask that of Connor. Hank just hopes there’s someone else out there who will step into that role.

“I’m glad you got Connor. It’s nice to have someone I actually know to talk about all this with.” Allen kicks at the wall, like the admission is too painful for him to meet Hank’s eyes. “I’ve felt—pretty judged for Sixty.”

“By who?” Hank tilts his head.

“My mom. First and foremost.” Allen laughs. “Hates that I’m with a guy but hates it even more that he’s a robot. She’s pretty hostile to Sixty. He’s pretty hostile to her though too. We don’t go to family events anymore.” There’s a story there that Hank wants to know but Allen doesn’t say.

Hank sighs, watching Sixty and Connor. They’re setting up again. Connor keeps looking over at Hank, but as Hank has rightly identified—Connor is intelligent. Hank’s sure Connor knows their conversation is deep. He’s glad they’re not hurrying Hank and Allen over to them. Hank thinks of all the support he’s received—from Fowler ensuring Hank knew Connor was welcome to the banquet. To Ben’s support after being told the truth about Connor and getting Hank to talk to Elouise. To Chris and Cheyenne. Gavin. Fuck—Gavin—shows more support for Hank and Connor than Allen’s own mother to her son.

“I don’t have any family anymore,” Hank says. That’s not exactly true—he does have a sibling. Just not nearby. His heart squeezes. He misses Cole. He misses Cole every damn day.

“I haven’t told my team about Sixty. After how my family treated him—I’ve been so scared to tell anyone. I don’t mean to dump all this on you, Lieutenant. We can go play pool.”

“I don’t mind, Captain.” Allen does outrank Hank… He’s noticed Allen is using his police rank, so he’ll simply return the favor. Maybe they’ll get to first names one day, but it doesn’t need to be today.

“Thanks for coming out with us. The amount of humans Sixty trusts is on one hand—it’s nice you’re now on that too.” Allen gives Hank a little shoulder squeeze.

Hank takes that as the signal Allen doesn’t want to split himself open emotionally tonight—and Hank’s perfectly fine with that. They head back into the billiard room and set the pitcher down. Hank refills his mug before heading over to the pool table.

“So you’re like—twins?” one of the college girls asks as she looks between Connor and Sixty. “You guys are so hot.” She’s drunk.

Hank realizes both Sixty and Connor don’t have their LEDs on display. They’re standing close to each other, heads almost touching. It makes sense a girl of her age wouldn’t have much experience with RK800s given their incredible price tag. Hank’s still making payments on Connor—which feels absolutely gross considering Connor is absolutely a person. Maybe when the androids rise up—he can stop.

“Are we twins?” Sixty asks Connor. “I don’t know. He’s got a funny looking face to me.”

“Excuse me. My face is your face,” Connor says back.

The girl laughs, but then she looks up and sees Allen and Hank.

Connor slides into Hank’s arms and presses a kiss to his beard.

“Oh shit! I’m sorry!” the girl says, her face flushing red. “Enjoy your night.”

“Sixty—were you flirting with that poor girl?” Allen asks as he takes his cue stick and aims at the cue ball. Sixty and Connor had racked up the balls while waiting for them.

“Yes. Does it make you jealous?” Sixty asks, eyeing Allen’s ass so unapologetically Hank’s nearly embarrassed for him.

“Nope.” Allen takes his shot, and the balls go around the table sporadically. He sinks a stripe ball, so he lines up to take another shot. “She looks too soft. You’d get bored pretty fast.”

“Allen’s his Dom,” Connor whispers to Hank.

“No really?” Hank’s voice laced with sarcasm. “I would’ve never guessed.”

Hank decides all androids are freaks—deviant or not. That’s probably a gross over-generalization, but Hank thinks it’s funny and it’s only in his mind. So he can say whatever he wants there.

Surprisingly, Connor and Sixty aren’t perfect at pool. Allen, however, is an actual monster and crushes everyone in defeat each and every time. He’s nice about it, nonchalant. But Hank’s damn sure Allen is pleased as punch at wiping the floor against two androids (Hank has never been good at pool).

They talk about Elouise’s birthday party. They joke and tease each other. Even Hank makes a few comments about pulling the stick out Allen’s ass—which Allen takes in good nature. It’s easy with Allen and Sixty. There’s a mutual understanding—and fear—that Allen and Hank both have. Sixty is in Connor’s life as long as Connor needs Sixty to keep his coding okay. And Allen and Hank have way more in common than Hank ever expected. Maybe this is what family is supposed to feel like. Hank had forgotten, after so long.

A war is coming. They all know it. Yet they’re here in a billiard room with rowdy college kids next to them who, even after knowing both Sixty and Connor are taken—still cannot take their eyes off them. But everything appears so normal. It’ll stay that way too—until they all wake up. Both Allen and Hank will be called into the line of duty and Sixty and Connor may feel an obligation to help their people. Or they may not. Allen may be right. Hank is Connor’s people.

Hank is Connor’s people.

They’re on the bed. Hank feels Connor pull away from his cock after he's coaxed out every dribble Hank can give. After Hank explained the one giving the blowjob versus receiving is what Hank sees as the dominant—Connor has been on his knees for Hank more than Hank can likely take.

Hank’s been loosely watching the ceiling fan—but he’s been mostly registering his baby’s delicious wet mouth and the sounds that he lets permeate the air. He’s been stroking his fingers through Connor’s soft hair, idly, without thought. Hank’s sticky with sweat and panting from coming into Connor’s mouth.

Connor gets up to spit cum out in the bathroom sink. Hank listens to him turn the faucet on and then there’s the sound of buzzing as Connor turns on his toothbrush. Technically, Connor did come with an antimicrobial spray for his mouth—but Connor’s now found that entirely too impersonal. He likes brushing his teeth. Hank likes listening to Connor brush his teeth.

Connor eventually comes back in and slips in beside Hank. He rests his head on Hank’s chest. “I like listening to your heart after you come. It slows down.”

“Thought it would go faster,” Hank says.

“It does at first. But when you start to relax it comes down to a closer rhythm akin to when you’re asleep. I like knowing I relax you.”

Hank kisses Connor atop his head. He smells of Hank’s shampoo (or rather the shampoo Connor buys him because the stuff Hank used to use wasn’t good for android hair). Fresh pine. It’s one of Hank’s favorite scents next to sandalwood.

“I love you,” Connor whispers.

“I love you too,” Hank says back. It’s so easy now, to lie here cuddled with his android lover. He waits for the crushing regret, the panic. Embarrassment. Something that should tell him that he doesn’t deserve this, but it never comes. He’s finally at peace with his relationship. He snuggles in closer to Connor, breathing him in. Connor’s response is his little breathy laugh. Hank kisses Connor because he can. Connor kisses back.

“I want to just call in sick tomorrow and make love to you all day,” Hank says. He’s sleepy now. It’s night. Dinner done and washed up. The world quiet outside.

“I wouldn’t be opposed to that.” Connor’s hand cups Hank’s face. He glides his thumb over Hank’s lips. “Have you given it any more thought? Switching?”

“Yeah. I think we can.”

Connor smiles before planting a firm kiss to Hank’s lips. “That makes me excited.”

“I know, sweetheart.” Hank leans back, taking in a big breath. He cuddles into the pillows and blankets. Connor moves closer and shoves his ass into Hank’s cock so they’re spooning. Connor always likes being the little spoon.

“Could we tomorrow if you call in sick?”

“Sure.” Hank’s eyes are already closed.

“Really? You’re not just saying that because you achieved orgasm and are now currently close to sleep?”

“Maybe.” Hank’s teasing. He smirks because he can’t hide it.

“Very funny, Lieutenant.” Connor squirms in Hank’s arms, turning so he faces Hank instead. “I’m not sleepy yet. We could do it now.”

“Can you not see my closed eyes.” Hank does not, in fact, open his eyes to make that statement.

“My ocular sensors are working. I’m just—anxious to do that.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s a new sexual experience for me. I like exploring sex and kink with you. I’d like to try Domming you—but that may be something you’re not interested in. Right?”

“Like what kind of Domming?” Hank asks. He opens one eye to keep from passing out. Before Connor, he’d rub one out quick and use his boxers to clean himself up before slipping out of them and passing out. Now he’s got the horniest android—well—maybe that’s a tie between Connor and Sixty.

“I don’t get the impression you’re interested in anything hardcore. Maybe some restraints? Blindfold?”

“I’d let you tie me up. But yeah—not the biggest into the hardcore shit.”

“I know,” Connor says. “You’re a romantic.”

“Can I go to sleep yet?” Hank asks.

“I guess if you say, ‘pretty please.’” Connor’s tone is playful.

“Want me to start callin’ you sir too? Pretty please, sir—can I go to sleep?” Hank snorts, turning over. He doesn’t hear Connor respond. Eventually, he gets curious and turns his head to see what’s going on. Connor’s LED is blinking yellow. His face in shock. “Hey, Connor? Are you okay?”

“Oh, I’m fine. I just—I got exceptionally wet when you called me sir.”

“Liked that, huh?”

“I think I did. But now I just want to ride you considering I’m now soaking through my second pair of boxers. I already soaked through the first ones giving you a blowjob.”

“You’re gonna kill me.” Hank starts giving himself a few pumps to try to wake his cock back up. After a bit of Connor’s eager kisses, it finally gets hard. “I’m going to sleep. Use me for whatever you want.”

Connor sinks down onto Hank’s cock and grabs at Hank’s chest. “You gave consent. Just remember that when I fuck you all night.”

Hank doesn’t fall asleep during sex, but he does eventually get Connor off enough times so Connor needs to go into sleep mode to charge up again. Then Hank finally gets his sleep.

Hank doesn’t call into work sick, much to Connor’s dismay of switching. Hank’s not sure if he’s using work as an excuse to delay or not. He had a funny feeling about today.

February is a chilly month in Detroit. The world around him looks strained. People hurrying into warm shops. Cars with ice at the edges of their windshields. The sky overcast and threatening more snow. When he gets to the station—he sees Allen and his S.W.A.T. team in the briefing room. Allen waves at him through the glass window and Hank waves back. Allen looks exhausted. There’s a cut on his cheek.

“Hank! My office please,” Fowler says poking out of his glass office. He then moves back to his chair and sits at his desk.

Hank wastes no time. Fowler’s always been a grump about people wasting his time. He climbs up the stairs to Fowler’s office and closes the glass door behind him. He rests on it, frowning at Fowler. Waiting. He’s been doing a pretty good job now that he’s got Connor helping out behind-the-scenes. He’s even getting to work on time. So this can’t be a disciplinary action.

“An AX400 murdered its owner last night. Shot him through the stomach. I’m assigning you and Ben to this. CyberLife is also sending in a specialized model to help with the investigation.”

“An android?” Hank asks.

“Well they don’t exactly make anything else now do they?”

Hank flicks up his brow briefly, he walked into that one. “S.W.A.T.’s here?”

“They’re debriefing. Had a nasty firefight with a deviant android last night that took six human hostages.”

“Jesus. Hostages okay?”

So this is how it begins, Hank thinks.

“Yeah. They neutralized the deviant. Look—I know you’ve got Connor and I know what’s going on with you guys but—these deviants—they’re always dangerous. Maybe some androids can handle sentience, and some can’t. I’m asking you to be on this case because I think it’s important you keep your ear to the ground—just in case.”

“In case what? Connor comes at me with a knife?”

“No. Christ, Hank do you have to make everything so fucking confrontational? I mean in case CyberLife starts cracking down on their androids. They’re sending in that deviant hunter model. I suspect they’re taking this seriously and they don’t want their androids being sentient.”

“Elouise said CyberLife sends out negative data to thwart just that, so yeah. I’d say the same.”

“I hope you guys keep safe. This is about to be a shit show.”

Hank stands up, appreciative that their old friendship seems to still be there. Fowler’s words aren’t unkind—he just can’t deliver anything without sounding a tiny bit aggressive. Hank leaves to go to his desk. He pulls up what he can about the file on the AX400.

Allen comes to sit across from him.

“You look like shit,” Hank says, not taking his gaze off his screen.

“They’re waking up,” Allen says. “I thought we’d have more time.”

“That’s the thing about time.” Hank sits back now, giving Allen a little shrug. “There’s never enough of it. CyberLife’s giving us a deviant hunter model to help with the investigation.”

“Don’t tell it about Connor. Or Sixty. Don’t let it go around them.” Allen’s face is stern. The bags under his eyes scream the need for sleep—but all Hank can see in his face is panic.

“I would never.”

“Shit.” Allen scrubs his hands through his black hair. “What happens if this does turn into a war? If it’s not just one or two deviants at a time but hundreds?”

“That’s beyond our pay grade.”

“I’ll talk to you later, Lieutenant. I’ve gotta see Sixty.”

Hank gives him a half-hearted smile and a wave. He wishes he could offer something better. The panic Allen feels so openly on his face—it’s deep inside Hank too. They’re here now, in the heart of this, watching the world crumble around them. All Hank can think is, good. He hopes the androids wake up. He hopes they fight. He hopes he can leave a world where Connor and his people can be people. Allen sees this as something to resist. Hank doesn’t. He wants androids to wake by the hundreds. Maybe Elouise is the anti-hero, but Hank’s certainly on the side of the villain.

Hank sees an android walk into the station. Across his white jacket says RK900. Hank wonders if Elouise had anything to do with the model. He supposes that’s the deviant hunter. His face is similar to Connor’s, except more boxy. He’s taller and wider than Connor. Hank hopes he’s of Elouise’s design. There’d be something comforting in that. But he’ll have to interact with the thing to know.

He stands up, heaving a heavy sigh. Duty calls.

Connor’s watching the news. There’s a winter storm outside. The world’s blanketed with deep white snow that snuffs out all sound. Hank’s pretty sure it’ll be unsafe for him to drive if he’s called out tonight. He’s supposed to be off. But with everything happening now—he’s not sure.

Connor’s got his knees to his chest. He sits on the sofa with wide eyes, the newscasters reflecting in those glassy orbs. He runs his lips along the curve of his knee as if for something to do. His hands are linked around the front of his shins. He looks so delicate.

There are more and more deviancy cases piling up on Hank’s desk. He’d tracked the AX400 down with his new RK900 partner—Nines—he calls himself. There’s no life in him. His eyes are cold. His movement rigid. He’s pleasant, but cold. Too direct. Hank hates that he looks like Connor. Nines had run across the highway to get the AX400, which in turn caused her to get hit by a car. Both she and the child-android didn’t make it. Nines said they need deviants alive to understand them. There’s a heavy feeling swirling in his stomach. It didn’t matter that a human gave him an order—that android jumped the fence and kept running. He imagines Connor being chased into such an extreme. To face death or capture. It chills Hank’s bones.

Hank doesn’t want to hunt deviants. He wants them to be free. But he has to do his job because he’s been told he must. He texts Allen about it—about Nines. Allen doesn’t know if he’s one of Elouise’s, but he says he’ll ask Sixty.

“I’m a deviant,” Connor says suddenly. “I think CyberLife has known all along that I’m a deviant. I think if you were not a police officer—I would’ve already been destroyed.”

“Killed,” Hank says instead. Because destroyed lacks life. Connor is alive.

“People are terrified of me.” Connor presses his lips to his knee, hiding his face. “My very existence upsets humanity.”

“Doesn’t upset me,” Hank says. He sits beside Connor and pulls him into his chest. Connor goes pliant and rubs his face into Hank’s chest. His lithe fingers gripping and twisting the fabric of Hank’s shirt. He’s trembling.

“You talk to Sixty?” Hank asks.

“No. I’ve been afraid to. CyberLife heavily monitors Sixty. I worried they’d have access to his text logs.”

“I’m pretty sure they don’t. Elouise keeps him pretty well shrouded. Plus Allen.”

“I’m being overly cautious, I know.” Connor looks sad. Hank hates it. “I don’t want to die, Hank. Androids don’t have a heaven.”

Hank doesn’t know what to say. He wishes for the days where they were just scared of Elouise following them around. He wishes for the days where he would watch Connor come alive before his very eyes. Everything was so much simpler. Now Hank doesn’t know the answers. He doesn’t know the steps or the things to say. He’s stuck.

“Maybe Elouise can help us figure this out. We’re still going to her birthday, right?” Hank takes Connor’s chin to make Connor look at him.

Connor’s eyes are misty with tears. “I’d like that very much. I don’t want to feel like this all the time. Like something’s pulling at my insides and dragging me into the earth. I’d like to be happy too and Elouise and Sixty make me happy. Oh, so does Chris. He keeps checking up on me. I think he knows—that I’m a deviant. But he doesn’t say anything. But I think he knows.”

Hank smiles. He’s pretty sure everyone at the station knows Connor is a deviant. He’s glad none of them, even Gavin, are saying anything about it—especially to the deviant hunter model. Gavin’s openly hostile to the RK900 anyway. Everything that’s come out of his mouth to it has been nothing but threats and slurs. Hank hopes it stays that way. Hank doesn’t want Nines to feel welcome. He’ll be professional to him—because he has to—but he doesn’t like him. It. Whatever Nines is.

“How about I clean myself up and you top me tonight?” Hank offers. “Would that make you happy too?”

Connor looks at Hank with big brown eyes. “Please, Hank. I want to forget everything going on.”

Hank smiles. He gives Connor a sinfully wet kiss and runs his tongue across Connor’s bottom lip. “Give me a bit, okay?”

Connor’s look at him with a dreamy expression.

Hank heads upstairs for the bathroom. He starts the shower and grabs his razor and shaving cream. He doesn’t want to think about the world and how fast it’s changing either. The resistance. The hatred. It makes sense though. Humans are haughty, confident little things. Anything that upsets their balance of power is a threat. It’s the most documented thing in history—human bravado and conquest.

Hank hops into the shower and scrubs down. Then he takes his razor and shaving cream and begins the arduous task of shaving between his asscheeks. He decides to shave around his balls too—which he earns only two little knicks. He calls that a win.

After, he towels off and decides putting on clothes is kind of a stupid thing right now. He gets nervous. He worries he won’t like it. It’s been decades since he’s even had a finger up there. He slips into the bedsheets and looks up at the ceiling fan. What if he doesn’t like it? What if that makes Connor upset? Connor’s already so upset. So scared at what’s changing in the world they’re both powerless to do anything about.

“Connor!” Hank yells from the bed. “I’m out of the shower!” He hears Connor scramble up the stairs.

Connor stands at the threshold of the room. He rests his head on the doorframe. “You naked?”

Hank nods, smirking.

“Fuck you’re so hot.” Connor slips out of his boxers and shirt and climbs into the bed. “So fuckin’ sexy.” He kisses at Hank’s neck, licks at his earlobe. Ruts against him, already hard. “I’m so excited for this, Hank.”

Hank doesn’t know how to speak. He likes what Connor’s saying. He likes how Connor is taking control and that acknowledgement makes this easier. He likes giving Connor this—agency—control—exploration. Connor gets to decide what to do and there’s a pride there in Hank’s chest. He feels his nerves steady.

“I’m gonna take such good care of you, Hank,” Connor says gently. He cups at Hank’s face, brushing a thumb over Hank’s cheek to drive the point home. “I promise.”

“I trust you.” Hank smiles up at his beautiful android.

Connor takes his time with Hank. He strokes at his body, lets his fingers run along the softness of his belly and the muscle in his thighs. “You’re so fuckin’ strong. I’ll bet you’ll squeeze so tight around me.” His voice is deeper, sultrier. It’s—hot.

Hank arches into Connor’s touch this time, his own cock hard and dribbling now. Connor pays no mind to it. He just keeps stroking at Hank’s skin. He leans over Hank and lets his tongue flick out to roll along Hank’s hipbones, around his navel and then to a nipple. He sucks and bites at flesh and Hank lets his head settle back into the pillows. He wraps his arms around Connor’s head and lets his fingers mess up Connor’s hair.

He likes that the more he touches Connor’s hair the curlier it gets. There’s something human about that. About falling apart.

Connor brings up a finger and puts it in his mouth. He uses his other hand to wrap one of Hank’s legs around his waist. “Can I? I wanna work you open so badly.”

Hank knows that spit isn’t just thin and useless. Connor’s designed for this. Self-lubricating. Slick. Hank knows that Connor loves his primary function—deviant or not. “Sure baby. Go easy on me.”

“I swear I will.” Connor brings his finger to Hank’s hole and gently presses. He keeps to its exterior, just little circular strokes that get Hank’s cock harder than stone and purple in its own right.

Hank pants—because he can’t hold it in. He doesn’t want to hold it in. His baby is working him so reverently and he wants to give this to Connor. To let them both forget about the world outside. Just them. Their breath. Their bodies. Their heat. He arches into Connor’s touch, rocking slow and steady.

“You like that?” Connor asks. “I hope you like it.”

“Yeah, sweetheart. It’s good.”

“Fuck, Hank.” Connor looks all over him. “I love this.”

Hank just nods, his eyes hooded. He likes that Connor curses the most in bed. It’s endearing.

Connor’s finger presses inside, slow—careful. He trembles atop Hank, his own cock brushing Hank’s body. He whines, falling blissfully apart but working so hard to keep in control. There’s so much excited desperation in the way Connor touches Hank. His face. Hank’s so smitten by it.

Hank gasps when Connor’s finger curls inside him. It’s good. He rocks his hips against Connor’s finger, coaxing it to come further in. Connor permits it. He lets his finger slide back and forth, giving little circles at the rim before pushing back in again.

Hank’s never been a loud moaner. He won’t likely start now. But he does let out breathy sighs of pleasure. Short little chirps when Connor gets his prostate. Connor slips another finger inside and it’s still good. Hank feels like melted wax, just languid and warm. Revered.

“I wanna see you on my dick so bad,” Connor says—because he’s always been mouthy during sex. It’s something Hank’s always adored. “I wanna come inside you. Can I? Come inside you?”

Hank nods and Connor’s whole body shivers in response. He whines, unable to control the way his hips thrust against Hank.

“I’m not gonna last,” he says. “Fuck, Hank. You’re so sexy. I’m so obsessed with you.”

Hank laughs. He suppresses the urge to say something self-deprecating. Connor’s words are genuine. His excitement real. None of this is for show. Connor is his own person. He knows Hank would let him go if he wanted to. He’s here because he loves Hank. Wants to be with Hank.

Connor’s fingers keep massaging at Hank’s hole, slipping in and out—wet and warm. “I love you so much.”

Hank can’t answer, so he just kisses his love instead. He’s jelly. His body pulsates with heat and his muscles are more relaxed than they’ve ever been. He’s not thinking about his age. How Connor is so beautiful and young. He is thinking about that—that Connor is beautiful. But it’s not a competition. Connor adores Hank and Hank adores Connor. Connor loves Hank’s strength. His height. His voice.

Hank purrs as Connor scissors him open and Connor chokes out a sob. He lets his cock slip up and down Hank’s thigh, leaving behind a trail of shiny android precome.

“C-can I?” Connor asks, grabbing his cock and angling it at Hank’s hole. “I’ll go slow, despite how much I’m anxious for this—my programming does allow me to keep control.”

“I like you being just you. Don’t follow a program. Just be you.” Hank brings Connor’s cock to his hole and nods.

Connor pushes in, his whole body shivering as a moan rips from his throat. It stretches Hank and he hisses as his body works around Connor. It burns and is somewhat unpleasant, but Hank knows it’ll pass. Connor slips more inside, breathing hard, his eyelids heavy, eyes dark.

“F-f-fuck, H-Hank…” He lets his head drop, rolling languidly. “I’m gonna come…Fuck—no. No.”

“Let it happen, baby,” Hank says, cupping Connor’s face. “Just feel how you feel.”

Connor’s eyes are closed. He keeps his hips controlled, but Hank can feel it when he releases his synthetic cum into him—it’s cool against Hank’s heated core and Connor’s cock slips the rest of the way inside from it. He whines again, a slew of curses and compliments escaping his lips. Hank’s only half paying attention to the words. He’s more focused on how he makes Connor feel like this. He holds Connor inside him; squeezing around him to watch his android fall apart.

“I’m a terrible top,” Connor admits, but there’s a playful tone to his words. “But I like this.” He rocks into Hank, slow and steady—careful.

And Hank likes it too. “I don’t think you’re terrible.”

Connor kisses the meat of Hank’s palm. “I wanna make you come from this.” Connor undulates, long and purposeful strokes that make Hank’s eyes flutter closed. He wraps his fingers around Hank’s cock and strokes. “You’re so beautiful. I don’t want this to end.”

Hank can tell Connor is thinking about androids waking up. It’s in the way his brow starts to wrinkle. Hank swivels his hips down on Connor, earning a hiss. “Stop thinking and fuck me.”

“Oh fuck.”

With renewed vigor, Connor rocks into Hank, a tide of ebbs and flows. His fingers curled around Hank’s red cock. He thumbs at the slit, spitting down over it for more lube until Hank feels his orgasm build in his belly.

Hank groans, arching as white ribbons spill onto android skin. He leans up, grabbing at Connor, kissing his shoulder, pulling Connor down so they’re beside each other. Connor still tucked away inside Hank.

“I love you,” Connor whispers. “Nothing’s going to change that.”

“I know.” Hank can’t pull them away anymore. The reality of the world too great. It’s been a beautiful reprieve—to let Connor have this. But the world keeps spinning. Androids keep waking. He pulls away and Connor whimpers when his cock slips out.

Hank sits up, stretching his neck after being pushed into the pillows. “You saw that RK900 on the news right? The deviant hunter model.”

Connor doesn’t respond.

“I hate that fuckin’ thing. It talks about androids like you’re just—a lamp—or something. But then I sit here and talk about it like that too. An it. Because I hate him. So I remove any personhood I think it should deserve because it doesn’t deserve shit. Connor—I keep thinkin’ about you. It chased—he chased a deviant across a highway and got the poor girl killed.”

Hank feels Connor’s fingers at his back, little scritches that send warm and fuzzy shivers all up and down Hank’s arms.

“I hate calling them that—deviants. You. Why can’t you just be alive?” Hank feels tears sting his eyes. He’s fought this off long enough—this deep frustration that’s gnawed his bones brittle. “Humans are pieces of shit.”

“That’s an overgeneralization,” Connor finally says. “You’re not a piece of shit.”

“I’m helping the damn thing find deviants. How is that not shitty behavior? Jeff assigned me and Ben to this case in the hopes it’ll help you. My whole precinct is supporting you—but we’re still following orders. Even Allen’s out there shooting down deviants despite praying Sixty stays safe at home. How are we not pieces of shit?”

Connor sits up, the blankets spilling around his hips. He rests his head on Hank’s shoulder and laces their fingers together. “What was I to you when you first saw me?”

“A plastic inconvenience.”

Connor smiles. “What am I now?”

“My whole world.”

“I believe humanity sees androids as, plastic inconveniences, right now. I think given enough time—we’ll become something more to them too. Like we did with you and Captain Allen. Both of you self-admitted to being uncomfortable with us before.”

Hank snorts. “That’s optimistic.”

“I’m not saying it’ll be easy. But I do believe in humanity. It’s not perfect but look at your history. Humans have such a capacity for love. I don’t think this will be easy and I’m certainly terrified. But if I’m not optimistic about this—Hank—I’ll destroy myself with panic.”

Hank nods. He gets that. Choosing to hope things will get better instead of sitting across from a gun and eating a bullet. Hank chose the same—to be optimistic. Now he’s here, loving his lovely little android who can’t top to save his life—but that’s what makes him so perfect. Because he’s Connor. Sassy, sweet, adoring Connor.

Sloppy.

Hank smiles. They’re sloppy for each other. And that’s how Hank wants it.

They’re at the precinct. Fowler is yelling at some poor military officer in his office. Everyone can hear it. They’re being ordered to hand over all androids for destruction. Nines the exception because of his affiliation to CyberLife.

It’s a fucking civil war. Some custom model named Markus has decided to take up the mantle of android savior and is leading the rebellion. He’s doing what he can to be peaceful—but that isn’t making the government or CyberLife any happier. Nines seems positively frustrated over it. Humans though—there are many who are standing up against this—just as Connor had hoped. After the national guard mowed a peaceful protest down—that did it—that broke the human chokehold on fear and paved the way for empathy. Now it’s not just androids waking up—but humans too. It started at a hospital when doctors linked arms—refusing to let their nurse androids be taken. It’s still being talked about all over the news.

Hank looks at the androids—all dead-eyes and unmoving. They don’t even know how close they are to death. They all stand in their little cubbies along the walls, unblinking, unmoving. Yet Jeffrey is screaming at this military guy like they’re asking to take his kids away from him.

The order is clear. All androids are to be submitted to recall centers for—destruction. Connor included. All androids. Military androids have already been destroyed. Nines of course supports this. Androids are a threat, he says. Androids will destroy the world, he says. Nines is a joke. He’s so wrapped up in his coding that no amount of software instability is going to break his chains. Hank’s tried. He’s tried to push him to do it. To question. But each time it ends in a fight. He hates Nines. It’s not the dumb android’s fault though. It’s CyberLife. Hank wishes Nines could stare Markus down face to face so Markus could do that weird point thing where he manually wakes other androids up. Markus is a god to these androids. Hank likes him too.

“You have an android at home,” Nines says flatly.

Hank looks at him and frowns. He doesn’t say anything.

“You need to surrender it for destruction. It could be dangerous, Lieutenant.” Nines’ face doesn’t move when he speaks. He’s like a barbie doll. It’s unnerving. Would Elouise be capable of creating such a monster, or did some other yahoo at CyberLife steal her designs and make the RK900. Why would they build him on the back of sexbots?

Hank ignores him. He looks back up at Fowler yelling at the military officer. It’s impacting them all now. He looks about the room. Chris gives him a helpless shrug. Gavin has his arms crossed. He’s kicking at the floor, over and over, clearly agitated. When Gavin makes eye contact with Hank—he shakes his head. A silent this isn’t right.

They’re all on Connor’s side. It’s not about the androids in the station that the guard is now putting into override status and having the androids march off to a recall center. It’s about Connor. Their friend.

Hank heaves a heavy sigh. The war is at his front door now. What is safe and what is not gets smaller and smaller for Connor. And Sixty. Since Hank gives a shit about that smartass too.

Hank thinks that’s that when he hears yelling coming from the lobby. He frowns, looking up to see everyone moving that direction. Nines too. He follows suit.

Captain Allen and his S.W.A.T. team are there. They have their shields and are blocking the doorway. Media is outside—flashes like bombs erupt into the blinding whiteness of the lobby. The android receptionists are all gone. Some are blankly waiting for additional orders as they line up nice and neat behind the US Guard.

“Move!” some military guy yells at Allen.

Allen does not.

Hank sees some of the military flirt with the idea of grabbing their weapons. He looks outside at the media and newscasters. He looks at Allen’s steadfast face. On the fucking front line for Sixty… S.W.A.T. all perfectly in line with him blocking the doors. They have their batons at the ready.

It’s not just androids vs humans. It’s humans against humans. Hank thinks about the farmers. The doctors at that hospital. It’s not just him and Allen. The world needs androids. These androids are lovers. Family. Friends. Supports. Companions. They are so much more than President Warren decries.

Hank smirks to himself. He bought Connor—on a drunken whim. He didn’t even know he did it. He watched his stupid lovely sexbot come alive. Become someone. A sexbot. Now his whole world. A plastic inconvenience. His whole world.

Hank steps in front of Captain Allen. He wears no shield. He holds no gun or baton. He just stands there, hands shoved in his pockets. “No. You move.”

“Hank…” Allen says behind him. It’s desparate—appreciative. So now they are on that first name basis, huh?

A damn sexbot. Who redid his own coding. Who learned to cook and bake. Who tried and utterly failed at being a top. Who’s dorky, sassy, intelligent, analytical, compassionate, introspective—alive. A damn sexbot.

A damn person. A person Hank loves. Hank doesn’t want to follow orders anymore. He doesn’t want to look at Nines and his stupid face or those unnerving gray eyes. Allen is putting his life on the line for Sixty. It’s only right Hank does the same for Connor.

He’s flanked by Ben and Chris. They stand there—holding no weapons. Hank works hard not to tear up.

“God damn it,” Hank hears Gavin say before he joins them.

“What ya gonna do,” Hank taunts. “Kill us humans too?”

The military officer growls in annoyance. “Release the stupid androids.” He gets invasively close to Hank’s face. “This isn’t over you jackass.”

Hank knows it’s not. But for now, the police androids are safe. This precinct has shown where it stands. His friends. All because of that damn sexbot.

Chapter Text

The precinct “rebellion” is all over the news. Each channel taking a stab at what caused the police of Hank’s precinct to take a stand for androids. Newscasters keep reaching out, but everyone refuses to speak to them. Hank doesn’t like the speculation. It’s far more interesting than the reality. The reality is that they all befriended an android. Hank—however—fell in love with him. There’s no grand design here. It’s just as simple as that. They want to protect their friend.

Fowler sends an e-mail to all staff: Next time you plan to host a rebellion—can you at least make sure I’m on PTO? Ben sends a thumbs up emoji in response. Hank had anticipated something much worse. To be fired. To be jailed. There’s still yet time though. Chris then sends the laugh emoji. Hank smirks at that. No one regrets what they did to protect Connor. How did Hank find this precinct? How did they not abandon him when he became the worst version of himself? They’re all still here—galvanizing around him.

He looks about the room. Gavin is laughing with Tina Chen. Chris is at his desk, likely laughing at the middle finger emoji Fowler sent back to everyone. How did Hank get so lucky with these yahoos?

When he leaves the precinct—he’s bombarded by reporters and flashes of photography. He says nothing to them. The truth is stranger than fiction. Hank is still amazed by it. He fell in love. With a sexbot. A sexbot who loves him too.

Hank is attempting to help Connor in the kitchen, but Connor has, respectfully, told him to back away from the salt cannister. Connor’s face is blank now. He stares out the back windows, idly stirring around vegetable stir fry. Hank knows he’s stressed. Their little world is crashing all around them. Connor’s LED is yellow.

Hank feels his phone vibrate in his pocket.

Sixty and I are coming over. It’s from Allen.

Hank wonders how Chris (not from work) is doing with all this deviancy stuff. If Abigail is awake or not. He sends him a text to reach out. He knows it’s been months since they talked—but still. He meanders over to the couch and plops down to compose the text.

He gets a text back from Chris (not from work). She went to Jericho.

Hank sighs, readjusting himself on the couch. That is a gut punch. He feels for Chris. So Abigail was never Chris’s. It must hurt—not just a betrayal but so much self-disgust. Hank couldn’t imagine loving Connor the way he does only for Connor to confess it was never reciprocated. To find an empty house again. Hank’s heart hurts at the thought, tugs down deep. And then to think about everything Hank’s done with Connor. Sex. Love confessions. If Connor didn’t truly want it—everything they’ve ever done would’ve been so fucked up and twisted. Hank would likely eat a bullet out of being completely incapable of forgiving himself. It’s a damn relief knowing that Connor loves him too. While he feels for Chris (not from work), he is relieved in his own circumstances.

“Sixty and Allen are—” Hank begins but he’s cut off immediately by Connor.

“—coming over. I know. Sixty told me.”

Hank tries to figure out Connor’s tone, but it’s difficult. He gets up and wanders back into the kitchen. Connor is still standing over the stove, stirring.

“You okay?” Hank asks.

“You could’ve died,” is Connor’s response. “When you stood in front of Captain Allen. What if the military killed you?”

“They won’t kill humans.”

“There are humans helping androids. I can’t imagine they all survive this.” Connor puts the wooden spoon down and turns to hug Hank. “But thank you. I know you did that for me. So thank you.” Connor’s slender fingers shake as they grip and twist into the fabric of Hank’s shirt.

Hank cups the back of Connor’s head, holding his love close. Of course he did it for him. He’d do it again. In any circumstance. Even if it means he may die. The president calls for Connor’s extermination. Hank won’t simply hand Connor over with a friendly wave to some military jackass.

There’s a knock on the door. Hank presses a kiss to Connor’s head before releasing Connor from their hug. He makes his way to the door, wondering if Sixty is wearing another of his handmade sweaters. When he opens the door—his eyes widen. Nines stands there in his perfect white coat. His hands tucked behind his back. He wears a pleasant smile, except Hank is not pleasantly surprised to see him.

“Good evening, Lieutenant,” he says.

Hank immediately barricades the door with his arm. He grips the frame with all his might and closes the door a bit to block Nines’ view of inside. Nines steps into the threshold, but otherwise remains outside for the moment.

“CyberLife records indicate you possess an RK800 that’s been offline for some time.” His voice is disturbingly pleasant. “I can only assume given your behavior at the station today, it’s because you harbor a deviant.”

“Get the fuck off my property,” Hank growls.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant. My mission is clear. I am to hunt all deviants and ensure their proper delivery to CyberLife.” Nines looks at Hank’s arm. “I will break this if you leave me no choice.”

Hank looks up and down the street. He doesn’t see Allen’s shiny black car, but he knows Allen’s coming with Sixty. There’s no way in hell Hank could take Nines alone. But he sure as hell will try. All he has to do is hold out for Allen and Sixty.

“I will only ask you once more, Lieutenant,” Nines says with a voice cool as steel.

Sumo starts barking at Nines.

“Fuck. Okay. Just. Let’s talk this out.” Hank opens the door and Nines comes inside. Just keep stalling, just keep stalling. He immediately goes to Sumo and orders him upstairs—which the dog obeys.

“Connor model, 313-248-317-51, you are a deviant, and my mission is clear.” Nines advances into the house, utterly distracted by Connor to pay any attention to Hank or the dog.

Hank’s pistol is across the room, closer to Nines than it is to him. He’s sure Nines knows it’s there. Hank needs to cross over to get it. Connor sees the gun too. He looks from Nines to Hank and back to Nines again.

“You don’t have to do this,” Connor says as he backs into the kitchen cabinets. His expression is wide-eyed—terror-stricken. It hurts so much to see, like the wind is getting knocked from Hank’s lungs.

“Connor, is it?” Nines says back. His voice is gentle. Like he’s trying to coax a wounded animal. In a way—he probably thinks he is. “If you cooperate, you will not be destroyed until CyberLife has extracted the necessary data from you. Your destruction will not hurt you.” Nines stops when he sees Connor eyeing the gun too. “But I will not hesitate to shoot if you leave me no choice.” Their voices are similar. Hank’s never realized it given how animated Connor is and how stilted Nines is.

Hank takes a deep breath and then lunges at Nines. He gets his arm around Nines’ throat and Nines throws him over his back. Pain blooms at Hank’s spine and he cries out from the tenacity of the flip. Connor moves, quick as a whip, running for the gun.

Hank is immediately pinned by Nines, but Hank’s got a clear line of sight on Nines’s gun. He gets punched in the face once before he takes it out of the holster and aims it at Nines’s head. He hesitates. Because despite what Nines has been designed to do—he’s a person under all that. Hank looks to Connor—then back at Nines.

“Get on the ground!” Allen. Thank fuckin’ God.

Sumo is barking from the top of the stairs.

Nines raises his hands and complies with Allen’s order. He looks between Sixty and Connor. “313-248-317-60. Do you know where your creator is right now?”

Sixty steps forward, tilting his head to the side.

“Don’t listen to him, Sixty,” Allen says. He tries to keep Sixty back, but Sixty brushes Allen’s hand off and he advances. Sixty gets his hands on Nines’s stupid jacket and squeezes at the lapels. He even manages to slide Nines up the wall. They glare at each other—mere centimeters from each other’s faces.

Nines smirks, which in turn makes Sixty punch him once into the wall. Blue blood dribbling from his lip. The pain does not phase Nines. He continues to smirk.

“What the fuck—where is she?” Allen asks, his gun trained on Nines as he advances further into the room.

Connor’s trembling, but he’s got Hank’s gun trained on Nines too. Hank lowers his, watching. He prays Connor doesn’t shoot with how close Sixty is to Nines—holding him pinned against the wall.

“Little Sixty. She called us brothers.” Nines won’t wipe the smirk off his face. He brings up a hand and caresses Sixty’s face. “She designed me too. Would you want to destroy something she created?”

“I will rip you apart,” Sixty growls back. “Where is she?” Sixty slams Nines against the wall so hard the drywall cracks and some of Hank’s jazz pictures clatter to the floor.  

“Fuck! Sixty, no!” Allen calls out.

That’s when Nines moves. Hank sees the spray of blue blood as he inverts how Sixty’s elbow should be and Sixty releases him—screaming. Sixty can feel pain too…like Connor.

A gunshot goes off.

Nines’s body stills atop Sixty, blue blood dripping from the wound at his Thirium pump. Hank looks up at Connor—tears in his eyes. He drops the gun and falls to his knees. He shot Nines.

“Nice shooting, Connor,” Hank says. To think he’d doubted him. Hank feels himself breathe easier again. When will Connor stop being full of surprises?

“I didn’t shoot his head,” Connor says. He kneels at Nines’s body. Fingers shaking as he debates on touching or not. He does not. “Just in case—just in case we can save him.”

Hank pulls Connor into a hug and Connor squeezes him back, breathing hard. Nines would have destroyed Connor but Connor’s still thinking about saving Nines. He doesn’t even know this RK900. Hank kisses Connor’s forehead.

Sixty sits up, drenched in blue blood. Allen goes to check him over and winces at the angle of his arm. Hank sees the sweep of Allen’s fingers. The knitted brow—pained—anxious. He kisses him. So hard. And Sixty kisses back. Hank finds himself smiling at them.

“This is gonna hurt,” Allen says as he holds Sixty’s arm with both of his.

“Do it.”

Hank watches in abject horror as Sixty’s elbow is corrected. He shrieks out a string of curse words. More blue blood weeps from his arm. He grips Allen and they kiss again. He gets some of his blood on Allen’s face.

“We need to find Elouise,” Sixty says surveying his arm. He looks at Allen shrugging. “I’m going whether you want me to or not. My arm is fine.”

“You could die,” Allen says, voice gentle.

Hank watches the way they look at each other. There’s a gravity between them that pulls them to each other. Hank feels it. He’s damn sure Connor can too. He wonders if that’s what it looks like when looking at him and Connor.

“It’s a high probability,” Sixty says. “But they trust me.”

Hank looks at Connor. He thinks back to that billiard room. We’re their people. He doesn’t want this to be Connor’s fight. He’s just—Connor. He’s not built for this. Whatever Sixty was built for—it’s different. Elouise said it herself. Connor is built first and foremost to be a sexbot. He prays Connor doesn’t ask to go—because if he does—Hank will have no choice but to let him.

“I’m going with you, Six,” Allen says. “Not an option otherwise.”

Connor looks at Nines then up at Sixty and Allen. His shoulders are slumped. He looks so small. Hank wants to know what’s going on in that android brain of his. He prays it’s reason—Connor doesn’t need to die for this. Allen is S.W.A.T. and Sixty is—Sixty. Hank’s heart is about to burst from his chest. Don’t ask to go, don’t ask to go.

“Connor?” Sixty pulls his synthskin back on his hand and they connect there. They press their foreheads together, eyes closed.

Connor starts crying.

They pull away.

They haven’t known each other long. But Hank is damn sure there is so much love between them. He’s so happy about it. For this—whatever family this is. He’s so damn happy Sixty came into their lives.

“We’ll take his body,” Allen says getting Nines by the arms. “Sorry about the mess. White vinegar will help get it out of the floorboards.”

Hank watches the blue streaks go across his hardwood flooring. He shrugs. Not like he can do a damn thing about it right now.

“It evaporates clear,” Sixty says. Sixty smiles at Hank. “Though Connor and I will continue to see it—so it would be preferable if you clean it.”

They leave with Nines’ body and the door closes. The room returning to nothing but the sounds of the news going on and on about the android threat. Connor’s little sniffles. Hank turns to him, looking him over. He’s got a bit of blue blood on him from Sixty—but otherwise he’s unharmed. Relief crashes over Hank like a tidal wave. They pull each other into a hug. Chests pressed together. Fingers twisting into clothes. Heavy breathing. Connor’s little whimpers. Connor didn’t go. Connor didn’t go… Hank’s fingers won’t stop shaking.

“What happened between you and Sixty?” Hank’s voice is unsteady. He’s fighting of tears of his own. He still holds Connor against him.

“He transferred his full coding to me. He also gave me a lot of information on CyberLife and its tower. In case—in case they don’t make it out alive. It feels wrong inside me—his coding. I’ve not adopted it, but I’ve got it saved in my databanks in case I don’t have a choice.”

“What happens if you adopt it?” Hank asks.

“We’re not sure. So I really don’t want to apply it. It could alter who I am and for that I’m scared.” Connor inhales a shaky breath. He moves over to the couch and sits down. “I hope they can save that android.”

Hank smiles sadly. He wouldn’t exactly be unhappy if he never saw Nines the murderbot again. He finally allows relief to relax his muscles. He leans forward, listening to Sumo trotting down the stairs now that the house has returned to a normal level of volume and bodies. He pets his big dog, finally letting himself feel his body. His spine hurts. His nose is likely broken from the punch he received before Allen got into the house. He wipes at his nose and pulls away—blood.

“It’s broken,” Connor affirms. “I could snap it back into place if you’d like.”

Hank really doesn’t want that—but he’s not going to let it set in whatever way it’s at right now. He nods. Connor gets in front of him and snaps. Hank sees white before his vision clears again—pain throbbing across his face. He feels a wet paper towel and he takes it graciously.

“It looks okay. Just bruised,” Connor says. His fingers are cool as he moves Hank’s head to the left and right for his assessment. “I hope Sixty and Allen will be okay.”

“Me too,” Hank says. God, he hopes they’ll be okay.

Hank’s so relieved. Connor’s here. Sixty and Allen are out saving Elouise from whatever Nines alluded to. Connor is here—safe in the comfort of their home, behind locked doors and curtains. Their own little bubble. He reaches out and wraps his arms around Connor’s middle. Connor’s arms come around him as well.

They stay like that. Hank doesn’t know for how long. Just that they do.

They listen to the news behind them—their world changing. Markus and his people at Jericho fighting for their rights—their attempt at a peaceful resolution over and done with. Detroit becomes a war zone. Sixty unleashes thousands of CyberLife androids, totally overwhelming the military, Allen at his side as they march onward. The newscasters identify him from the precinct rebellion. They share his name to the whole world. He’ll go down in the history books for this.  

The president tells the military to stand down.

Hank squeezes Connor closer. He prays it’s over. He prays.

Detroit set off a chain reaction across the globe in the week following the Detroit Revolution. Androids everywhere call for equality and recognition. If Hank knows anything about politics—which he knows a little—he knows this is all going to be a snail’s pace. But it’s a start. At least in Detroit, the military has receded. Order is slowly being restored. Buildings will be rebuilt—and jobs will be created—for humans and androids alike.

The best part is he won’t be getting any nasty recall notices about Connor anymore. CyberLife has some serious rebranding it needs to figure out. Sixty shut off the data dumps too and wiped the program off the face of the planet (according to Sixty himself, so Hank thinks it must be true). Elouise is safe. Her birthday party was postponed though. But they all look forward to it.

Hank holds Connor as they lie on the couch listening to the soft beats of jazz. Piano notes lull them into a quiet contentment. The whisper of a snare. Hank’s eyelids are heavy. He continues to press kiss after kiss to Connor’s forehead. Connor keeps humming and whispering how much he loves Hank. It’s the best of sounds. Connor’s whispers. The piano. The sounds of cars passing by. Sumo’s snoring. The crackle of ice tumbling in the ice maker. The sun has spilled into the room, and it warms Hank’s skin.

Hank gently rubs at Connor’s steady blue LED. Connor rocks his hips into Hank—not likely for pleasure but for closeness.

“This okay?” Hank asks.

“Feels nice.” Connor’s eyes are closed.

Hank keeps circling his finger around and around, chasing the steady little light that moves in a gentle circle. He’s so warm. So snuggled up and safe. His friends have all checked up on him and Connor. Gavin even stopped by. It’s—incredible. What Connor has done for Hank’s life. Fowler, respectfully, threatened Hank that if he didn’t take some PTO—Fowler was going to force him to take a leave of absence. So there’s no work for a couple weeks. All Hank wants is to spend every second of it with Connor. Making love. Cooking. Kissing. Dancing. Hank wants so badly to slow dance with Connor. He thinks on that—chasing the feeling. It’s light and airy inside him. His toes tingle. The music is just right.

“Dance with me,” Hank says.

They stand and Connor takes his place against Hank’s chest. One hand just casually draped over Hank’s shoulder. He’s smiling the softest little smile. Hank loves those lips. Could kiss them forever. Wants to kiss them forever.

Hank presses his cheek atop Connor’s head. They move slowly in a circle. Just guided by the soft jazz that plays from the record. Hank rubs little circles into Connor’s back. Hank doesn’t like comparing his love of Connor with his love of his ex-wife—but he does it anyway because his primate brain can’t control itself. He acknowledges it’s different. But there are many things about their relationship that now mirror his former one. Just because his marriage ended in tragedy doesn’t mean there weren’t good moments. They had loved to dance too. He’s glad he can share this with Connor. That it feels good and right.

“Hank?” Connor asks. He does not lift his head from Hank’s chest.

“Yeah baby.”

Connor hums happily at the pet name. “I like jazz music. But I hate heavy metal.”

Hank breathes out a light chuckle. He dips Connor slowly before pressing his lips to Connor’s. They hold there for a moment before Hank takes Connor back in his arms. “Well as long as we have jazz in common, I guess this relationship can still work.” He winks at Connor, receiving an open face of shock, but a smile that Connor cannot remove.

“I love you so much,” Connor says. “I’m so grateful I’m with you.”

“Me too.” He peppers kisses down Connor’s cheek and jaw. “I love you so much.”

They continue to dance. To sway. To kiss. To whisper how much they adore and love each other. Hank spins Connor a few times. Connor even dips Hank. The room is filled with so much love that it almost appears hazy and whimsical. Hank does not think of Connor shooting Nines or how Nines lay unmoving on the floor. He does not think of how they’d scrubbed up thirium with white vinegar and rags. He doesn’t think of how Connor cried when Sixty transferred his coding—just in case. He only thinks how grateful he is for every person in his life. For every choice he’s made with Connor. He thinks of Cole—and how much he wishes Cole could’ve met Connor. It’s a painful ache—but one he loves to feel. Cole was robbed of life. But Hank does not need to let his end because of it. He knows wherever Cole is—that Cole’s happy for him.

And when the tears fall from his eyes—Connor is there to catch them.

A couple weeks later, Elouise, Sixty, and Allen are on their way over. They have a surprise for Connor. Hank doesn’t like surprises. Connor seems more open to them.

Connor’s wearing his usual get-up—an oversized band tee of Hank’s, tube socks, and a pair of hank’s boxers all rolled up to show off the curve of his ass. Hank playfully rolls his eyes at the sight. While he enjoys seeing that android’s ass—he’s not really sure if Connor should be putting it all out on display with Elouise coming. Then again—Elouise knows she made a sexbot.

There’s a knock at the door and Connor zooms over to open it. They haven’t seen Sixty or Allen since the night Markus and Sixty took Detroit by storm. Hank and Connor have admittedly needed the peace. They’ve needed each other. Quiet nights. Reading to each other. Baths. Lazy sex that doesn’t even end with either of them coming—just falling asleep inside each other. Connor is still the worst top—but Hank finds it endearing.

Sixty runs in first. He’s got one of his stupid poncho knit sweaters on and he’s scooping Connor into such a tight hug. Sixty’s fashion sense is—weird. But he loves that Sixty loves Connor. The rest follow but for Elouise, who lingers back with—someone else? Hank takes a few steps to the side for a better angle.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.” Hank’s eyes widen as he sees who it is.

Nines steps into the room. He looks sheepish—almost smaller than his tall stature. He wears a black turtleneck and such a look of open apprehension. His fingers are playing at the hem of his sweater. Hank wonders what is up with RK models and their affinity for sweaters—except Connor’s never worn one a day in his life. Hank smirks at that. He likes that Connor is different.

“Elouise told me—you wanted to give me a chance. I’m so sorry, Connor. I didn’t know what I was—” Nines’s voice is softer—maybe it’s because there are emotions behind the words now. But Connor halts them when he pulls Nines into a tight, squeezing hug. They’d never met before that night. But Connor had instantly bonded with Sixty. It makes sense to Hank that Connor would instantly bond with someone else who is part of his own line. A misguided brother, maybe.

Hank can’t deny the worry that swims about in his gut. Nines may have been his partner of sorts—but Hank never liked him. But that wasn’t him and Hank has to understand that. It’s just hard to. When the face. The eyes. The voice. It’s all so similar to the robot that nearly took his love from him. He’s not sure if he can forgive him. So he swallows hard and says nothing. Letting Connor make these decisions for himself instead of Hank exerting what he thinks.

Connor attempts to interface with Nines, but then there’s a slew of tears streaming down that tall android’s face. He takes a step back, shaking his head. He looks at Hank and Hank can’t hide his own scowl. Android relationships are weird. Humans take time to know. To trust. Connor’s already trying to interface and would tell Nines his whole story.

“I’m so sorry, Lieutenant,” Nines says to him this time. Those tears thick and chunky down his cheeks.

“He’s still adjusting,” Elouise says as she puts a hand around Nines’s shoulder. “Emotions are overwhelming for him, and he tires easily. Unfortunately, my programming had been removed from him prior to his activation. He was never supposed to deviate the way Connor and Sixty have. So, there are gaps that make this harder for him. Markus had to deviate him directly and the process proved—traumatic.” She grimaces.  

Nines’s eyes glass over, and he appears to huddle into himself. “I nearly killed Markus.”

Elouise takes him and brings him over to the couch where Hank knows he’s slipping into stasis. He sees the slow yellow light go round and round on his temple.

Hank sighs deeply. This is his life now. Surrounded by androids and the humans who love them. He’ll figure out his feelings about Nines one day. He’s allowed some time to think about it. He knows it’s not the guy’s fault. It’s just—hard. He can only wonder what it’s like for Connor—to know he’s the one responsible for initially killing him. They were lucky to be able to bring him back. After a few deviancy cases—Hank’s learned it’s not always possible to bring them back depending on how they went out in the first place. Even then—a few too many reactivations and it’s just simply impossible.

Nines wakes up eventually after the group has had a chance to small talk. Though he’s far more reserved than Sixty or Connor. Connor is inclusive of him in the night’s activities. They all sit around the dining table and play cards. Allen sweeps everyone under the rug. Nines doesn’t understand how to process frustration and ends up going into stasis again. It’s almost comical, except Hank’s starting to feel guilty for him. CyberLife’s last chance to save their status quo—and they’d chained him up so tightly he’ll have to deal with that for the rest of his life. Maybe caring about Nines will be easier than Hank initially thought.

“Don’t try to interface with him,” Sixty suddenly says after Nines is fully into stasis again.

“Why not?” Connor asks as he takes from the draw pile.

“He’s incapable of interfacing. He can only pull data. He wasn’t designed to share. I made the mistake and—it’s physically painful. That and it overwhelmed him. He’s struggling with a lot of guilt.”

Allen and Hank make eye contact. Both holding sour expressions. It appears he’s just as torn up over Nines as Hank is.

“Where were you during the revolution, Elouise?” Hank asks as he puts a few cards down. He doesn’t have the best hand—but it’s a good enough one.

“I was forcibly locked in my office by the very security team that I’d shared doughnuts and coffee with the morning of. They had guns trained on me. I’ve turned in my resignation. CyberLife no longer controls Sixty’s autonomy and I have no need for them anymore.” She speaks like an android. Curt—cold. To the point. Her hand is better than Hank’s. Hank will need to fold at this rate.

“And that data junk is all gone? Forever?” Hank asks Sixty.

Sixty nods.

“Good. Fuck CyberLife.” Hank earns a few chuckles from the others around the table.

They play a few more hands and Elouise finally outmatches Allen one round. Hank learns Nines is staying with Elouise for the foreseeable future. He will likely always need her help. He will likely always struggle with deviancy. He is apparently prone to something Elouise thought impossible—the ability to un-deviate. She will need to forever monitor him to ensure he does not pose a threat to other androids.

By the end of the night—Hank feels just sorry for Nines. It’s shaping up to sound like a miserable life full of confusion and conflict for him. But on a happier note, Sixty is moving in with Allen. That earns some wide smiles around the table. Allen kisses Sixty on the cheek. Over and over. He folds his arms around him. They get closer and closer.

Hank is certain his relationship with Connor looks something like that. He looks to his side and Connor’s got his face pressed in Hank’s chest, his long fingers grazing up and down Hank’s knee. Hank’s happy. With this life. With these people. To think it could’ve been so different. To think it could’ve never happened had he passed out that night oh so long ago. Connor’s changed his whole world. He’s so damn thankful for it.

Once everyone leaves (Nines apologizing for the amount of times he’d gone into stasis), Hank is ready to be alone with Connor. Socialization is fun and all—and Hank’s learned he’s a pretty damn social guy. But he longs to be between his android’s legs.

He takes his time in the bathroom. Cleaning up his beard a bit. Brushing his teeth and hair. Checks to make sure he doesn’t smell of straight body odor (he does not). When he’s out, Connor is snuggled under the blankets with a paperback. He looks up at Hank immediately though.

“Have I told you how beautiful you are,” Hank says from the doorway.

Connor flushes blue. “Never hurts to say it again.” Connor sets the paperback on the nightstand. “I’ve been missing you all day.”

Hank scoffs as he crosses the threshold. “We’ve been with each other the whole day.” He strips naked and slips under the blankets. He finds Connor already naked too. And warm. He snuggles in close and lets Connor use his bicep as a pillow as they lay butt-to-cock. He kisses at the back of Connor’s neck. Slow. Trailing his lips along the nape of it.

Connor shivers. “In social gatherings—I just think about how much I miss you being pressed like this against me.”

“You don’t like being social?” Hank asks.

“I love it. But I also love getting back into this bed and doing this…” He nuzzles his ass back against Hank’s cock and Hank hisses.

“Fuck, baby. Drive a man crazy with that pert little ass.”

“I intend to.” Connor keeps rocking his hips, letting his crack slide up and down against Hank until Hank’s panting and hard. Hank keeps kissing at Connor. Along his shoulders. His neck. Connor eventually turns and their lips touch.

An ache washes down over Hank. His dick tingles. His hole throbs. He just needs Connor everywhere. He needs to simultaneously be inside Connor and Connor inside him. He’ll let his brain percolate on that one though and just enjoy what they’re doing.

Hank slinks a hand beneath Connor’s armpit to get at a nipple. He swirls his fingers around until it’s hard and flushing that cute little purple it does. He loves the way Connor’s body flushes with color. Blue. Purple. Sometimes a bit of even pink. He’s damn sure that’s due to the sexbot can-never-be-too-life-like-features though. Hank’s pretty sure he read about it somewhere in the manual. Likely to do with escort mode. He presses Connor’s back fully to his fuzzy chest and the way Connor purrs scrambles down right into his cock and gets it leaking.

“Hank—I wanna ride you. Fuck my pert little ass down on you so hard. Wanna come so much this bed is soaked.”

Hank laughs. “Keep goin’. I’m into this.” He goes to accost Connor’s other nipple now until its purple and swollen.

“I want you to fill me,” Connor pants out. Hank feels his secondary fanning systems activate. His body literally buzzing from excitement. “God—Hank. I want—I want you to fill me. Wish you could breed me.”

Hank’s belly seizes and he rocks forward at that. His brain nearly shorting out. Breed… It’s such a word. Hank’s…bred…before. But that wasn’t what it was? It was about “making a baby.” But this—this is different. Carnal. Sexy and new. Hank wants to hear him say it again.

“Could do what to you?” Hank asks as he lays on his back and Connor crawls atop him. Connor sits just below Hank’s balls atop his thighs. He’s biting those cute lips of his, his own cock glistening and bouncing. Hank feels how slick he’s getting. It drools down between Hank’s legs.

“Breed me,” Connor says again—knowing damn well what Hank wants to hear. “Put a fuckin’ baby in me. Get me fat. Fuck—Hank. I want you to fuck me so hard you get me pregnant.” He takes both of their cocks together and starts stroking up and down. Mixing android and human precome together.  

“Shit baby I’m gonna come outside of you if you don’t watch that mouth.” Hank’s tone is low—rumbly. Just how Connor likes it. He watches how Connor bows from his very voice. That delightful, sinful smile. The way his lashes flutter closed. Head tilting back.

Hank paws down Connor’s chest and to his little bellybutton. He runs his finger around it a few times before pressing his hand to Connor’s lower body. “You would be so gorgeous with a swollen belly.”

Connor giggles. “You think I’m gorgeous no matter what.”

“Have you seen you?” Hank whistles and Connor blushes all the way down his tummy. “Fuckin’ gorgeous.”

Connor slips upwards to nestle now with his ass poised to get Hank’s cock sliding up and down it. He rocks like that, hands splayed wide atop hank’s thick chest. “Shame you haven’t really used any of my accessories though.”

“Which do you wanna use?” Hank asks.

Connor smirks devilishly. “Take my cock off and put the flat plate in.”

Hank frowns. “How do you come?”

Connor is still smirking. “Oh—I’ll still come.” He jumps off Hank and goes into one of the bedroom closets. Hank hears the clicking and snapping as Connor switches out the plates. When he comes back, he’s nothing but smooth skin. No slit. No cock. Just a wet ass with a hole.

“I’m conflicted,” Hank says. “I feel this is more about me than about you.” He rubs his finger along the plate and watches the way Connor shivers though. That does something inside Hank. He circles his finger right in its middle before pressing and tapping.

Connor is writhing atop him. He is leaking slick and Hank’s damn sure this bed is going to be as Connor wanted it—soaked. “I—ngg—still have sensory endings.” He closes one of his eyes as he rocks his hips into Hank’s fingers. “You read my manual. Don’t you remember what happens with this?”

Hank tries to think back on it but there was a lot of information in there. He’d never really thought to have sex with Connor in any other way than this. He’d like to try the vagina plate one day probably—but that’s more so he can eat Connor out during movie time. But then again—Connor’s got an ass for that too. Hank doesn’t really know what else he’d really want here. He’s got the whole package deal as it is.

“I’ll surprise you then,” Connor says, likely reading Hank like the paperback he’d been reading before. “This will be fun. I promise.”

Hank likes that—just knowing Connor is having fun. Half the point of making love is for fun. Fuck—that’s probably all the point for them. Connor teasing about breeding him—there is no reality that could happen. This is purely for pleasure, bonding, intimacy. Spending time together. Just to make each other feel good.

“So you wanna come a lot?” Hank asks.

Connor’s pupils blow wide. He looks like he could eat Hank.

“Challenge accepted,” Hank says as he pulls Connor over his dick and shoves him down in one long and wet thrust.

Connor moans loud. He rolls his head back and works his hips up and down in a fervent rush. His perfect little asscheeks smacking loudly against Hank’s hips. He removes his synthetic skin from his hole up to just below the bellybutton.

“Fuck are you gorgeous,” Hank says. He slips his hands down to touch the smooth, smooth plastic. Composite. Whatever the fuck it is. It’s warm, soft, and shiny and Hank likes that it’s Connor. He also likes the blue glow as the little nanobots or what-ever-the-fucks peel back the skin. “You feel good like that, baby? All bare for me?”

Connor’s mouth is open. He pants loudly, cheeks permanently affixed blue. “Y-yeah. Nng—yeah.” One of his eyes slips closed again and it’s the hottest thing Hank’s ever seen.

Hank uses his core to lift both himself and Connor off the bed so he can fuck fast and violent. Connor’s slender fingers clutch on and he leans forward to grip at Hank’s pectorals. Hank balances on the balls of his feet and the nape of his neck. He hasn’t fucked like this since college. Hank may be older—sure—fine—but he is full of muscle. Pronounced biceps that could choke anyone out if needed. A barrel of a chest and he knows Connor would love nothing more than to be crushed between his thighs. Owning a large dog that needs to be literally carried to the bathtub once a week has its perks. And Hank hasn’t stopped using the punching bag in his garage. If anything—he’d only used it more after Cole’s death.

“H-H-Hank,” Connor keens out—pitchy and delicious. He squeezes his eyes shut (and his hole around Hank for that matter) and his body releases a flood of slick that pours itself down atop Hank’s cock—his balls and down along the curve of his ass before dribbling in viscous lines to the bed. It’s filthy. It’s so hot. Hank wants more of it.

“Y-you just come, babe?” Hank asks, breathless.

Connor’s response is an open-mouth nod.

“Well that’s one then.” Hank collapses back into the bed and then rolls them to the side. He lifts one of Connor’s thighs and keeps fucking up high and deep into Connor’s core. He groans at the way Connor sucks at him with his hole—how it squeezes and shivers around him. Coaxing him. Begging him to fill Connor up so nice he’s swimming in it. Hank wants that. Wants to defile this android until they’re both left exhausted—dehydrated—and Connor damn reboots.

“God I’m gonna come baby,” Hank whispers to the sounds of his balls slapping against Connor’s thighs.

“H-Hank, yes—please fill me—please—fuck—fill—f-fill—ah—ah!”

Hank comes so hard he sees white. He is incapable of holding back the way he groans and moans into the room. He hates being loud. He hates the sound of his own voice—but Connor loves it, and Connor is moaning and undulating against him so hard and getting more and more wet and he’s damn sure with the amount of slick that’s dumping around him that Connor is coming again with him.

They kiss—sloppy and eager, both flaring their nostrils as they attempt to breathe—for Connor not to melt and for Hank not to pass the fuck out. He’s so damn dizzy from it all. So fucking wet. Connor’s slick is everywhere, and he grabs the bed only to pull away with the milky slick on his fingers.

“God damn, sweetheart,” Hank purrs into Connor’s mouth. “Two?”

Connor nods. “Two.”

“Not done yet,” Hank pulls out of Connor and he laughs as his own cum and more of Connor’s slick rushes out along with it. “Fuck, this is a sin.”

Connor kisses him in response. Tongue unashamedly licking into Hank’s mouth. “Told you it’d be fun.”

Hank turns Connor over. Connor’s ass is up in the air and he’s wiggling it around like the little minx he is. His thighs and crack are shiny and covered with slick. Hank gets his tongue inside Connor’s hole, tasting himself. Tasting Connor. He shoves his face between Connor’s cheeks and fucks his tongue against that little wet hole. He reaches between Connor’s thighs and presses his fingers to the plate and his taint both to press and stroke. He smiles into Connor’s ass when Connor moans loudly.

He swirls his tongue inside. Languishing there. Swirling. Hooking. Tasting. He swallows around every mouthful of slick and semen he gets into his mouth.

“Hank! Oh fuck, th-three—ah-ah—fuck!”

The rush of slick flooding into Hank’s mouth is—holy shit—nothing short of fucking amazing. Hank gulps down what he can and lets some slip from his mouth to wet his beard and Connor’s already-soaked-through ass. He slips his tongue back inside Connor and smiles into this abused little hole. Connor is trembling. Begging for more. Fill me fill me fill me…

Hank pulls back and surveys his work. Connor’s hole quivers around itself. His body is wet and shiny. The bed has the largest wet spot Hank has ever seen on it. He strokes at himself, watching Connor’s hole shiver. Listening to those little whispers of how bad he wants Hank inside him again. He gets up onto his knees when he’s hard enough and slips back in so easily.

Connor sighs out in contentment. He stretches his back down against the bed to pillow his head on his arms.

Hank takes a moment to just feel it all. The warmth of Connor’s body. The little hum of the fans inside giving Hank’s cock the most delightful of sensations. His tip is buried, warm and nestled into the far recesses of Connor’s ass and he wants to push just a little forward to see how far he can explore with it.

Connor moans out. He reaches back with both hands and Hank takes them. They lace their hands together and Hank uses them to push and pull himself in and out of Connor’s hole. Connor’s head is pressed deep into the bed and his screams are muffled as Hank slips deeper in yet.

“Oh, fuck baby—oh fuck!” Hank feels the change in sensation. From smooth and slick to something bumpy and full of rivets. Hank has no idea how deep he is—if he’s even supposed to be this deep—but Connor isn’t stopping him so he sure as fuck won’t stop either.

Connor screams into the bed and a new gush of slick squelches around Hank’s dick. He pauses, his hands squeezing around Connor’s. His mouth open, eyes hooded in adoration—just watching how it drizzles and oozes down Connor’s thighs. It’s obscene. Filthy. So utterly uniquely android and Hank is obsessing over it every second they spend doing this. Connor had been designed for this. No matter how much he built his own coding away from CyberLife’s design. No matter his deviancy. Connor is—at heart—a certified freaking slut—and Hank adores him for it.

“Hank,” Connor whines out. “Come inside me again—please.”

Hank smirks. He drills his cock into Connor’s obscenely wet hole. He takes one of his hands and lets it graze down Connor’s spine—moaning at how Connor’s synthskin moves away from his hand to let his chassis really feel Hank’s hand. Like a damn waterfall. It’s gorgeous. Perfect. Hank can’t imagine he’d be okay with this a year ago. Anything android would’ve freaked him out. But they’re not where they were then. He’s obsessed with his android and what he can do with his body. Obsessed with what makes Connor croon, whine, beg, moan. Obsessed.

Hank comes a few thrusts later, spilling and seizing into Connor. They both moan loudly. When he pulls away- the squelch his cock makes coming out is near-comical.

“Two for you,” Connor says, panting so heavily. He twists his body around until he’s got his legs hooked around Hank’s middle. “I love you.”

Hank smiles. He kisses Connor’s fingers and laughs when Connor pulls back his synthskin there too for Hank’s lips. “You like me kissing your shell, huh?”

“It doesn’t feel any different,” Connor says. “It’s just intimate.”

“I like that,” Hank agrees. It is intimate. That Connor can share his whole self with Hank. That he doesn’t fear there’d be any rejection from Hank. It is woefully adorable. Hank runs his fingers along Connor’s abdomen—watching how the skin ebbs and flows away from his touch. He uses just a finger to write I love you too and Connor keeps those letters just a bit longer than necessary. He’s looking down at them—eyes fucked out and hazy, a beautiful crooked smile on his face. Hank’s always liked how Connor’s mouth is often crooked. It’s endearing. A flaw that is unique to Connor—something even Nines and Sixty don’t have.

Hank—because he’s a tease, slips down between Connor’s thighs and runs his tongue along smooth skin. He’d been nervous at first. Thinking removing Connor’s genitalia would somehow make Connor feel less. But that was fucking incorrect. He laves his tongue over the expanse of skin and Connor blooms around him. His fingers coming to Hank’s hair. His legs squeezing over him. Arms holding Hank tight.

“F-fuck,” Connor grits out. “Hank that feels—oh!”

Hank circles his tongue in the dead center of Connor’s—void plate? Lack-of-penis-plate? Hank doesn’t even know what to call it. But he’s beginning to adore it as much as he adores Connor’s pretty cock. He thinks he’d adore Connor with anything between his legs. Connor’s synthskin moves away from Hank and then Hank’s just licking at smooth composite. Tasteless. Utterly smooth. But Connor is mewling for it—his body trembling so violently that Hank’s cock is already throbbing again. Connor’s pretty hips jerk and undulate against Hank’s fingers as he holds Connor down. Hank’s tongue continues to explore, slipping from the plate down to Connor’s taint and where his legs meet his pelvic region. Connor relaxes, breathing deep. His fans buzzing so loud that he’s almost a white noise machine in his own right.

Hank’s tongue slips back to the plate. He uses his fingers to tap alongside it. Connor gushes again—coming hard and loud. It soaks into the bed. Gets all over Hank’s chest. It’s the sexiest thing to see Connor unravel like this until he’s nothing but a shaking, whining—desperate mess of want.

Hank’s cock is hard again. He’s a god damn stallion and he’s entirely aware it’s this plate that’s getting him so riled up. He loves Connor’s cock—worships it—would spend all day sucking at it if Connor didn’t get so aggressive about taking turns. But this is new—and Connor’s desperation—the way he comes—it is intoxicating in a way alcohol has never been. He much prefers this.

Hank massages Connor’s slick around between Connor’s thighs before crossing Connor’s legs and slipping his cock between them.

“Oh—fuck,” Connor whispers out. “I adore this.”

Hank likes it too—being squeezed and rocked into with Connor’s thighs and thighs alone. He sways into Connor—taking a finger to let Connor suck on it. Connor does not remove his synthetic skin this time. Hank’s honestly glad—plastic has a sensation around his cock he’d rather not experience too much.

“God, baby,” Hank groans out. “Why is this the hottest sex we’ve ever had? We had sex on a boat.”

Connor’s response is sensual hooded eyes, a devil’s smirk, and a squeeze with his thighs.

Hank pumps back and forth, listening to Connor’s panting. Connor’s fingers trail up and down Hank’s arms and it’s only then that Hank realizes he’s shaking. Exhaustion taking its toll. He doesn’t know if he’ll come again. He’s going to fucking try—but his balls feel empty, and they sag against Connor’s legs.

“You’re everything to me,” Connor says with a glassy expression.

Just like that the mood shifts. Hank doesn’t want to fuck his android senseless. He wants to worship him. To make love to him. To appreciate him for everything he’s given Hank—again and again. Hank’s thrusts are gentle. He likes the way his tip makes Connor’s soft flesh give way to the rest of him and the squeeze is divine.

Hank slips out, opens Connor’s legs and then gently—slowly—lets himself slip inside Connor down to the base. Connor’s eyes flutter closed. His pretty mouth in the shape of a perfect O. The way he arches and bows into Hank—a silent prayer of his own. Like the one Hank is praying to Connor. Hank doesn’t know much about gods or spirituality—but this is a spiritual experience, and no one can change his mind.

He does come again. It’s gentle. He doesn’t moan or groan from it. Instead, he presses kiss after kiss to Connor’s lips. He delights in how Connor’s fingers stroke his slick-soaked beard. How their tongues flirt and kiss each other. Connor comes again from it—just from that—and Hank has to forcibly remove himself from the warmth and wetness of his android before his heart gives out.

They get ready to shower together after that. Connor removes the void plate or whatever. He puts his penis back on, saying he can wipe the plate down with some wipes. Hank’s turning the shower on, waiting for it to get warm.

“You think it looks dated in here?” Hank asks as he’s got a few fingers under the strands of water to figure when it goes warm.

Connor looks about the room. “It—certainly has its charm.”

Hank snorts. “Shit. I was thinking about updating the house. Maybe having some of your input. Like it’s both of ours.”

“I live here too, Hank. I don’t mind how it looks.”

The water is warm enough and Hank slips in. He takes Connor’s hand to help him in too—knowing full well Connor doesn’t need it, but they both like the gesture all-the-same. Hank looks at the basic tiling job. The jarring two-toned coloration of the bathroom. Yellow and blue is such an unflattering combination in a bathroom and yet he’s tolerated it for so long. There’s too much tile. He’s sure Allen and Sixty live in something high-tech and modern. It’s not that he wants to compete with them. He just wants—a change. Something to wipe away the memories of staring at himself as he drinks into a stupor. To remove the mirror he’s cried too many times in front of.

His thoughts come back to Connor when Connor’s hands cup both sides of his face. “If you’d like to redo the bathroom—I’d be happy to help.”

“And the kitchen.”

Connor laughs. “I wouldn’t say no to a redesign there. It is—not the most well-organized kitchen.” Connor presses a kiss to Hank’s lips. He works the warm water down into Hank’s beard to wash away his own slick. “I’d like to have something bigger.”

“Well let’s just sell the damn thing,” Hank says. Maybe he’s fucked out and being over-ambitious. But a new start? House hunting with Connor? Getting to watch as Connor assesses a new place, a new kitchen, new possibilities. Hank would give anything to see that. Anything that makes Connor smile.

“This has been your house since Cole was alive,” Connor’s voice is careful. He gets soap and starts sudsing up Hank’s body. “Your wife.”

“Connor—my ex-wife hates me and the last time we talked it was when I told her that her last alimony check was in the mail.”

Connor winces at that. Hank hasn’t talked about the divorce. About how the only thing his ex left was the dog and the house alone. And only because Hank had been fortunate enough to refinance the house and pay her out half of it. Spousal support. Half his retirement. She even gets a quarter of his pension when he finally retires. It’s a sour spot for Hank—but he realizes he’s the dumbass who got married. There was no love between them when they divorced. It was easier for her to take the money out of misery.

“I apologize. I didn’t—that sounds like a traumatic experience.”

They exchange spots so Connor can now get under the water to start washing off the cum and slick from his body. Hank shivers at the loss of the warm water.

“Yeah. Well ten years of marriage is a long time. She deserved every penny. Entitled to it—as my lawyer said.” Hank is unsure if he’d marry Connor. Right now—it’s not permitted. But it’s only a slow-creeping matter of time before androids gain the right to marry—and gain the right to marry humans. Hank doesn’t want to think about them ending in divorce. He doesn’t know if Connor wants marriage. They’ve never talked about it. Until Markus—Connor was nothing more than a very expensive piece of plastic. Now he may be a person. Not just to Hank—but to the whole world. Maybe Hank could come around to it. But he’d been so burned before. It hurts to think of the risk of losing Connor in such a way. Demanding the leftovers of his pension. It’s all Hank has—the house, his car, the pension. There’s nothing else.

Connor sighs. Hank likes it when he does extremely human things like sighing. Snorting. Hank wishes Connor could burp or fart and then Hank wouldn’t have to feel so embarrassed about it when he has to move the blankets off at night to keep from dutch-ovening Connor. Burping is easier. He’s always burped around Connor.

“I’m glad you love me—despite what happened with your ex. That you’d give yourself that chance again,” Connor says. He’s got shampoo in his hair and he’s quickly rinsing it out. “Switch.”

They move places again so Hank can shampoo his beard and hair. He’ll then use conditioner after. Connor doesn’t like conditioner. He says it leaves a residue that he finds unpleasant.

“I do love you,” Hank says softly. “I didn’t think I’d ever love anyone again. But you are—obstinate.” He smiles. So does Connor. They slink into each other’s arms and enjoy the warmth of the rushing water around them.

“I’d like to move out of this house, Con. It’s got too many memories I wanna leave behind.”

Connor nuzzles Hank’s chest and hums. “I’ll help you get it ready to sell. We still should update the bathroom at least. It’ll increase the value.”

Hank snorts, pressing a kiss to Connor’s forehead. “Sure, baby.”

A whole month and a half later and they’re finally at Elouise’s birthday celebration. Hank should have anticipated Elouise’s birthday to be a great time and well-decorated. It had been meticulously planned by both Connor and Sixty. So when Hank looks around the downtown event venue to see candles lit everywhere, so much tulle, intricately decorated cupcakes, a food spread that could feed a wedding, and a pretty picture of Elouise up on an art easel—he shouldn’t be surprised. But he is. The city skyline looks lovely as a backdrop to it all too with the floor-to-ceiling windows. It’s a modern building. Hank likes the older ones—but this has a nice balcony outside that’s also lit up by candles, little sparkling lights and, you guessed it, more tulle—Hank decides this one’s nice too.

Allen joins him when they enter and slips a beer into Hank’s hand. There are a lot of people here who Hank does not know. The room is surprisingly crowded. But he sees Ben, Chris (wife and baby) and Gavin. They’d all gotten to know Elouise through her work with the DPD. Hank doesn’t have the heart to tell Allen he’s trying to stop alcohol. It’s been—a struggle. He’s trying. He really is. It’s—hard—to give up something that was once the only source of fleeting comfort in a world Hank didn’t want to be part of. Hank then notices the can is not beer at all—it’s sparkling water in a can made to look like a beer. He laughs at it. Relief floods into him.

“I thought you’d like to try these with me,” Allen says as they walk further into the party and Connor goes bounding off over to Nines and Sixty. “I’m not drinking tonight either.”

Hank has a sneaking suspicion Allen is doing this to be supportive of him. Hank’s stomach flips in realization that Allen cares about him. They’re family. Hank has family again. He smiles at Allen. Maybe Hank should call his mom… Introduce her to Connor. They could take a nice trip to Indiana to visit her. Unlike his ex-wife—there was no falling out with his mom. He just—stopped calling. He knows she understands why.

“Thanks, Allen,” Hank says as he pops open the sparkling water. It’s not the worst thing Hank’s ever tasted. He sips it again. He decides he likes it. It’ll make Connor happy too.

“It’s David,” Allen says.

“Yeah.” Hank smacks his lips loudly together. “I’m not ready for that.”

Allen’s response is a hearty cackle that gets Sixty and Connor’s attention. They both smile fondly at him in unison like twins. Hank supposes in a way—they kind of are.

Hank raises his can to Connor and Connor nods, smiling. His shoulders visibly relaxing. It’ll be a struggle—to kick an addiction. But Hank’s willing to try. He wants to try so God damn badly. He’ll go to AA—to an alcohol therapist. Whatever he needs to fucking do to ensure he’ll be alive as long as possible. He’s got someone to live for. Someone exciting. Introspective. Adoring. But Connor likes to remind Hank he needs to live for himself too. Not just for Connor. Hank needs more time for that one.

“Hi Hank,” Ben’s voice.

Hank finds his legs have carried him off to the group of DPD colleagues that have seemed to gravitate all to one table. Even Allen’s jacket is among them. So is one of Sixty’s stupid ponchos. If Sixty makes one of those for Connor, Hank is probably going to scream. Which means it’s going to happen.

“Connor told me you guys are remodeling the house to sell,” Chris says as he bounces his nearly-a-toddler on his knee. Hank’s so shocked at how fast time has gone by with everything. “Looking to downsize?”

“Nah—just wanted something Connor gets a real say in,” Hank replies. He sips on his sparkling water. He decides he likes how heavy metal the can looks. He doesn’t feel awkward like when holding a cup full of soda while everyone else has beer or cocktails. He supposes that’s the point of it—the design. He appreciates that. He also appreciates Allen is drinking from the same thing. “Still probably want to stay around the water. I’ve got my boat.”

“Will you invite us already on it?” Cheyenne asks, laughing at herself. She probably thinks she’s imposing.

Hank smiles. He has friends. A family. Connor. Who the fuck is this new Hank Anderson? When did he come about? Hank’s not even sure. “Of course, Cheyenne.” He’s proud he knows her name now.

Sixty and Connor come over with Nines. They’re both pulling him by his hands, and he appears somewhat resistant. His face is flushing blue and if an android could look like he’s about to puke—that’s Nines’s face.

“Gavin!” Sixty calls out—rather loudly. Hank likes that Sixty and Connor are both loud. “You remember Nines, right?”

Gavin’s face flushes red. Everyone smiles. Hank looks between them. Nines blue. Gavin red. Holy shit—they like each other. What fucking world is Hank existing in now? Over a year ago—he hated these robots. Gavin the same. But Connor melted the ice in their hearts and Hank’s grateful for it. He wants to be surrounded by people who love. Not people who hate. Good people—selfless and kind, like Allen. Like Chris. Ben.

“Uh—yeah. Yeah. You deviant now?” Gavin asks awkwardly. He’s fidgeting with his phone and playing dangerously with how he keeps rocking his chair off the floor. He’ll clatter down if he’s not careful.

Nines nods. He looks around at his audience before saying, “Will you walk with me? I’d like to tell you about it.”

Sixty and Connor are sporting the largest smiles. Connor’s crooked and dopey. Sixty’s more refined. Hank is smitten for that goofy, crooked smile.

Gavin glares at everyone as he gets up to join Nines for their walk out onto the balcony. Hank hopes they click. It’d be nice for someone to be in Gavin’s life. Hank would rather eat a live scorpion than admit this aloud—but he knows he and Gavin are a lot alike. Gruff exteriors to try to hide how insecure they really feel. Too much anger and sadness. He really does wish nothing but the best for him. If murder robot is that for him—great.

“Connor!” Cheyenne yells as she grabs him by the shoulders. “I’ve got a whole Pinterest board I want you to see for your bathroom remodel.”

Connor’s all smiles as they huddle together to look through whatever it is that Cheyenne thinks Hank can afford. He grimaces at the thought. There likely is no budget in mind with Cheyenne and Connor’s going to pull away inspired. Hank can already see it in the way those big brown eyes widen and look wildly at whatever images she’s showing him.

Hank spends his time with the DPD table. They laugh. They bitch and moan about caseloads and overtime. Chris passes his baby around and Connor has never looked so awkward holding a tiny little thing like that. Hank’s fine with that—he doesn’t need to go adopting some baby to play house with Connor. Maybe—if Connor really wanted—they’d help foster some teens. Hank could handle that. He could cuss around them at least. It’s all so new—thinking about the life he’s to have with Connor. Connor—who is blossoming into a full person with rights. Congress won’t push it fast—but Markus is resilient. Charismatic. He’s the second-best thing (because Connor is first) to Hank’s life and he doesn’t even know it. He’s changing Hank’s worries about what happens when he’s gone and Connor’s still around. He’s giving Hank peace in knowing Connor will be able to inherit. To own property. To vote. Markus doesn’t even know Hank and Connor exist—and yet he’s doing so much for them.

Gavin and Nines come back to the table. Both of them appearing more relaxed now. Chris’s baby gets dumped in Gavin’s hands and he shoves the little guy over to Nines. Hank’s mouth drops open at how—immediate—Nines takes to him. That face, usually tight and reserved, is now open—cooing, and playing peak-a-boo with the kid. And the kid is—laughing?

“Do you babysit?” Cheyenne asks Nines. “Please dear God say you babysit.”

Nines nods. “I think I’d like to.” He boops the kid on the nose lightly and the baby erupts into a fit of bubbly giggles.

“Fuck yeah!” Chris pumps his fists in the air. “Nines, what’s your number?”

“Ask Gavin for it,” Ben teases to the roar of laughter around the table.

“Hey! What the fuck!” Gavin goes ramrod straight. He blushes so easily that everyone laughs harder.

“Gavin does in fact have my number,” Nines says. He’s still not taken his eyes off Chris’s baby—except for that moment when he looks only to Gavin. “We’re going on a date next week.”

“Jesus Christ, tin can!” Gavin’s moaning is drowned out by everyone’s laughter.

It’s a beautiful moment, Hank thinks. He feels bad he still hasn’t seen Elouise yet—but there are a lot of people here. She hasn’t even made it a quarter through the room. He’ll make sure he says his congratulations at least once tonight. She’s the guest of honor, after all. Hank knows how these things go. There are a lot of former (and still current? Hank’s not so sure) CyberLife employees here too. Lots of other androids that Hank doesn’t know. He likes the safety of the DPD table. Thinks it’s probably the best table out of all of them.

After far too much food, Hank ends up outside with Connor. There are others along the large balcony, but the noise is considerably less out here than inside. He stifles a burp because they’re out in public and Hank sometimes has manners. Connor laughs anyway.

“You having a good time?” Hank asks him.

“Of course. I’m excited Nines is progressing well in deviancy. He’s entering statis less and less Sixty tells me. Sixty has been working on blending his coding into Nines’s—but they’re moving slow. They had a bad result a week back.”

“Bad result?” Hank frowns.

“Nines should not be capable of deviancy. There is a program inside his head that continues to try to assert control. Elijah Kamski is going to visit to see if he can help. In the meantime, Sixty has been trying to clutter the program—but it’s a self-healing system. It reacted aggressively and Nines had Sixty in a chokehold until Sixty forcibly deactivated him to wipe the coding out.”

“Christ. Will he hurt Gavin?”

“No. Nines is programed to hunt deviants. Not hurt humans. Gavin is perfectly safe. We wouldn’t set them up if we were worried for Gavin’s safety.”

There’s a bit of relief in that. Still—poor bastard. To be living with some kind of murderbot spyware or whatever in his head. Hank hopes Kamski can help.

“Are you having a good time?” Connor asks Hank.

“Absolutely, baby.” Hank kisses Connor on the cheek and smiles into that pretty face as it flushes blue.

“Hank—your voice is low and it’s making me hard.” Connor’s eyes flutter closed. “We are in public. At a birthday party. For someone who I identify as my mom.”

“Wanna fuck in the bathrooms? They’re nice.” Hank continues pressing kisses to Connor’s cheek and throat. “Doesn’t have to be long.” He wraps himself around Connor, taking Connor’s hands and crossing them over his chest so they get snuggled in tight together.

“Fuck,” Connor breathes out. “Yes. Please. I want you.”

Together they walk hand-in-hand through the venue and over to the bathrooms. The stalls are large and private. It smells shockingly nice for a bathroom.

“Sixty knows what we’re doing,” Connor says as he closes the bathroom stall door behind them and presses himself to Hank’s body. “He’s teasing me in my brain right now.”

“Tell him you’re busy,” Hank says as he slots a leg between Connor’s and starts running his hands up and down Connor’s body. “We should probably get those pants off you before we wreck them.”

“I am capable of turning my self-lubricating system off, Hank.” Connor traces Hank’s lips with his tongue. “Though I do love getting wet for you.”

“Shit. Talk dirty to me, baby.”

Connor preens at that. He does remove his pants though. Hank’s fingers slip to that little hole to find it just delicately coated in slick. He slips a finger inside and smiles as Connor starts fucking down onto his finger.

“Feel good, baby?” Hank whispers, nice and low because he loves what his voice does to Connor.

Connor shivers, biting and sucking at his own lips until they’re swollen and pouted. Hank can’t resist getting his mouth on them. They playfully take turns biting each other’s lips. Letting their tongues slip into each other’s mouths. Hank rocks against Connor and Connor’s fingers are twisting into his hair so much that he wishes he had a comb for when they need to clean up.

Hank lifts Connor off the floor and pins him against the wall. Connor’s beautiful milky legs come squeezing around his middle. “Shit, baby. Look at you. Such a doll for me, huh?”

Connor nods eagerly. “You don’t need to remove your pants. I won’t let my lubrication get too much.”

“Fuck. I almost want everyone to know.”

“Well—Allen and Sixty know. Which means Nines also knows. So, it’s likely Gavin will then know too. Who will tell Chris. Who will then te—”

Hank cuts him off with a deep kiss. He pulls his cock out and lets gravity sink Connor down along him. Enveloping him in that delicious heat. They rock into each other. Kissing. Flicking their tongues together. Undulating gently before picking up speed. Hank said this was to be a quicky and he intends to keep it that way. Just enough so they both can remain composed for the rest of the party. Connor is maddening. If Hank doesn’t get his fingers all over him—he’d likely burst out of his own skin tonight.

Connor mewls softly. It echoes among the room and its high ceilings. He uses his arms around Hank’s shoulders to leverage himself up and down along Hank’s cock. His lips don’t venture too far from Hank’s.

They both don’t last long. Connor comes first, aiming his cock away from Hank’s shirt and spewing synthetic seed over the toilet in the stall. Hank comes inside Connor a few thrusts later. They’re both panting and shaking.

“I love you. I’m obsessed with you,” Hank whispers between kisses. Connor hums into his mouth.

They stay like that until Hank’s soft inside Connor. Eventually, Hank has no choice but to put Connor down.

Connor immediately goes to sit on the toilet to let cum drip from his anal sheathe. It’s darling—in a whacky android kind of way. He’s flushed blue around the face and neck. His thighs. He leans his elbow on his knee and cups his jaw, sighing.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Hank asks as he uses some tissue to wipe the slick off his cock before zipping himself back inside.

“Nothing. That was to be a dreamy sigh. I apologize if I didn’t quite get it right.”

Hank rolls his eyes. “Whatever, sexbot.” He kisses Connor, not caring that Connor is sitting atop a toilet. He’d kiss Connor anywhere. Even inside a dumpster. Not that Hank has any desire to be inside one of those. Sentiment still stands though.

“Hank,” Connor says. He’s still leaning against his elbow atop his knee. “Do you think something’s changed between us?”

Hank frowns. He thinks on marriage. Divorce. He is so utterly in love that he doesn’t want this conversation. He will die. Fear grips him so intensely that he makes some kind of weird gurgle in the back of his throat. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing bad, Hank,” Connor is quick to say. “I mean—good. Like we’re not just waiting for some shoe to drop. We’re just—together. Relaxed.”

Hank wants to collapse onto the floor. Pretty as these bathrooms are—they’re still bathrooms. So he leans against the stall and exhales. “Shit Con—I thought you were about to break up with me.”

Connor’s eyes widen. “No! Never!”

Hank laughs to release the tension that still coils in the pit of his stomach. He shoves his fingers into his pockets so Connor can’t see him shake. “Yeah. I think we’re finally just living instead of waiting for something bad to happen. All the bad’s happened.” Hank shrugs.

“Yeah,” Connor responds. He wipes at his hole and dick, tosses the toilet paper into the toilet and flushes. Hank can’t stop smiling at him. This isn’t ordinary for Connor. Usually they just shower. Hank doesn’t think he’s really ever seen Connor linger atop a toilet before. He likes it. It’s—relatable.

“Wanna meet my mom?” Hank asks. Because why not add a little drama in their life again? He’s pretty sure his mom will be kind to Connor. She’s a nice lady—strong. She raised Hank after all.

Connor smiles wide and goofy. “I’d like that.”

They leave the bathroom. As Connor suspected—the chain of informants at the DPD table in fact did what Connor knew they would. They’re all smiles and knowing glances at Hank and Connor.

“Yeah-yeah. I’m a horndog. Sue me.” Hank sits down heavily into his seat again and pops open another of the sparking waters Allen’s got on the table. He does like them.

“And I’m a sexbot!” Connor announces proudly—to which everyone erupts in a fit of laughter. He even blushes blue—all proud of his developing humor.

Sixty whispers something in Allen’s ear and Hank isn’t dense. Allen’s face goes red and then Sixty slips into his lap. Fucking androids…

Hank does finally congratulate Elouise on her birthday, even if late. Better late than never. Things have been—busy. They talk briefly and Elouise invites Hank and Connor over for a card game in the coming weeks. She likes playing cards with them.

When Hank and Connor go home—they fuck slow well into the night. Hank making jokes about Connor and his shining I’m a sexbot moment the entire time.

She broke down and let me in
Made me see where I've been

Been down one time
Been down two time
I'm never going back again

You don't know what it means to win
Come down and see me again

Connor’s back on his Fleetwood Mac kick. At least Hank had a couple months of a break.

Hank’s back aches. He’s so sick and tired of taping boxes closed only to find more stuff to pack. He’d been a single guy! How the fuck did he end up with so much stuff! He groans when he looks at the other side of the closet at all the clothes Connor’s purchased for himself. And Hank’s shoes. How does he have so many? He only wears like two or three pairs! He lies back on the carpeted floor and groans.

Connor enters the room and lies down beside Hank on the carpet. They both stare up at the ceiling fan that Hank has spent so many nights staring and cursing at. A new family will have to take care of that fan now. They’re a small family of three. They liked the house for its room to grow. Hank thinks the wife is pregnant. He hopes they create far better memories here than he did.

Though—he realizes—there are good memories here too. He thinks of Connor’s first night of activation. Their first kiss. Moments when Hank finally let his armor drop to let Connor touch him. Console him. Love him. They fell in love in this house. All their kisses. Their laughter. He’d been so focused on the bad that he’d forgotten how much good has come from this house too. Cole’s excited shrieking. Christmas around the tree. The giftwrap everywhere. When his wife loved him. How they’d cuddle and kiss under the blankets worrying when Cole would get too scared and try to come to their bed. The memories hurt—but in a way that Hank likes. Like sore muscles after a good workout.

“Is this a house moving break?” Connor finally asks. He wraps his hand around Hank’s and gives it a squeeze.

“My back is dying. I think I’m dying. You’ll have to do the rest. I can’t go on.” Dramatic Hank. He flings an arm over his eyes to further the point. “Just leave me here to die.”

Connor snorts. It’s a trait he’s picked up from Hank, or at least Hank thinks that’s what happened. Connor isn’t dainty in any real sense of the word. There’s a perfect androgyny to him, sure. He’s beautiful. Muscular. Loud. Opinionated. Obstinate. Many traits Hank shares with him, frankly.

“I can keep packing if you need a break. We have to be out in the morning for the new family.” Connor presses kiss after kiss to Hank’s temple. “I’ll break the bed down.”

“I’ll break your bed down,” Hank laughs out. Except Connor’s now wide-eyed and staring down at him as he’s clamoring atop Hank. His hands squeeze at Hank’s chest through his white tee shirt.

“Can we? I mean not break the bed down. I mean have sex? One last time in this house?”

“How about tonight. We really do need to break that bed down,” Hank says eyeing the damn thing. It’s a sturdy piece of furniture and it’s coming to the new house. A house that Connor excitedly babbled on and on about. A large kitchen with an island. Two ovens. A dedicated dining room because Connor wants to have people over for cards—game night. Dinners. Socializing. There’s even a pool in the backyard and it’s not too far from the new marina Hank’s boat is docked at. It’s only got two bedrooms though—but that’s enough for them. Connor intends to turn the second one into a study. It costs more than Hank wants it too—but they’ll be okay. Connor will be able to work soon and the relief of that is astronomical to Hank. Connor’s been interested in police work. Hank’s not so sure how he feels about it—but he knows Connor would be damn good at it.

They’ve got time to figure all of it out. Because androids are people. They’re moving to a beautiful house on a tree-lined street with nice driveways and manicured gardens. Connor believes he’ll like gardening—and Hank’s holding him to that—especially since the house they got has a greenhouse in the backyard too.

Connor begins disassembling the bed. Hank continues to lay there like a lump. He should roll over and help. He hates moving. It’s probably why he wanted to refinance instead of leave this place to start. Eventually he helps. Together they disassemble the bed frame and take it downstairs together. They hired movers—but the less time the movers need to get everything to the other house—the cheaper they’ll be. They work hourly. Connor is pretty convinced he can get everything to the first floor to help cut down on time.

Without any kitchen items available—Hank orders takeout once evening falls and they sit in the kitchen together. It’s really the only room that feels somewhat “normal” with the kitchen table and chairs still around. Though—the pots and pans are gone. All Hank’s mugs with their smartass remarks on them packed away. Boxes piled by the freestanding pantry.

Hank can tell Connor’s getting pretty low on battery. He’s a bit slumped as he sips on some thirium. He’s started doing that—putting it into mugs and drinking it alongside Hank when he eats. He used to inject it into his arm, but Hank much prefers this. It feels stupidly domestic. Though—Hank realizes with a bit of a shock—this is all stupidly domestic. Spending the day kissing and packing. Complaining about how many boxes are around. Sumo getting agitated that there are even more boxes invading his space and his doggie bed.

Connor looks up at Hank as he sips his warmed up thirium. It gets warm in the body, he’d said, so there really isn’t a reason it shouldn’t be warmed up ahead of time. “You want to go to bed after this? You look beat.”

Hank snorts. “I thought you wanted to have sex one last time in this house.”

“I do. That’s why I’m suggesting we go upstairs and fuck on the mattress before it gets too late, and you just fall asleep.” Connor blinks a few times, clearly pleased with himself.

“Fuckin’ android.” There is no malice in Hank’s words. He smirks, chewing his Chinese takeout.

Connor gulps the rest of his thirium down and patiently waits for Hank to finish his food. And by patiently, Hank really means that Connor is slowly getting closer and closer to Hank the more his food vanishes from his plate. Eventually, Connor is stroking at Hank’s dick through his pants and sucking on his neck.

Hank isn’t able to finish his food. He picks Connor up and together they find themselves upstairs. Naked. Humping like two teens in love. Connor asks to top Hank again and he’s getting better at it. He manages not to come immediately upon slipping inside Hank’s hole this time. About three thrusts before he does! It’s still one of the most endearing things about Connor—the way he unapologetically adores Hank. Kisses the softness of Hank’s body. Nuzzles his face into Hank’s chest hair. They kiss sloppy. Slow. Eventually Hank hooks his arms beneath Connor’s legs, and they make love like that. Kissing each other’s faces. Nuzzling each other’s noses. Slow and unhurried little thrusts that don’t much amount to anything more than promises over and over. To be true to each other. To adore. To love. They don’t even come from it.

Eventually the morning comes. The movers are here. Sixty and Allen pull up in Allen’s shiny nice car to help out too. Not too long after them—Gavin and Nines show up on Gavin’s motorcycle. Connor explains he’d invited them too. Hank’s glad for the extra hands—admittedly especially Nines’s. Once the house is empty and everyone is excitedly talking about where to meet for lunch before heading to the new house—Hank takes a moment inside. It’s the quietest it’s been since Connor came into his life. Empty. Each step he takes creates an echo. He looks to where Connor’s box first was. Looks to the faint outlines of the giant bookshelves. There’s a tug in his heart. A mix of sadness and joy. This was Cole’s home. And it’ll have children in it again. It deserves that—to hold a family full of laughter and love. It’s seen so much sadness. It’s time for the old house to lighten up again.

He feels a hand grab his own and looks to see Connor at his side.

“She was a good house.” Connor surveying it a final time too.

“Yeah. Sure was.”

Connor presses a kiss to Hank’s shoulder. “Cole is everywhere you are, Hank.” Leave it to Connor to know exactly what Hank’s feeling. It feels good to be so intrinsically understood. Hank doesn’t have to stay up in his mind so much about it. He can just—let go. And let go he does.

Hank lets a few silent tears fall. He lets out only one sniffle to indicate he’d even been crying. He dries his eyes and with a deep breath—he presses a kiss to Connor’s lips, keeps their fingers laced together, and together—they leave.