Work Header

The Normal Imagination

Work Text:


It’s busy.

Busy enough to pump the breaks on a new relationship. Or at least slow things down to a crawl.  

Connor, in his beautiful lack of human pretension, is the one to bring up the question of sex. Hank admittedly hadn’t really thought that far, figuring that maybe Connor wasn’t programmed for that kind of thing. And he’d been going without it for years now, his libido a shell of what it used to be, so it just hadn’t felt a pressing enough issue to broach.

So when Connor asks him plainly when he’s going to be ready to have sex, Hank’s brain nearly flatlines. There’s an awkward talk over breakfast about what Connor’s even packing (“ I’m fully equipped with working genitals, Hank ”), if he can even feel anything (“ I have access to the full range of human sensation, Hank ”), if he even really has any drive for that kind of thing at all (“ I’ve been fixating on this for weeks, Hank ”), and Hank eventually waves him off with an awkward, “It’ll happen when we have time, I guess.”    

There’s too much to do to really get up to anything for a while, because the department has been flooded with new cases since the passing of the new android bills. There’s the anticipated spike in homicides and assaults on both sides of the fence, and Hank spends his time at the office more often than not. On the nights that Hank is even able to come home, he goes straight to sleep. Once, he hadn’t even made it to his bedroom and settled for collapsing onto his couch with his coat still on. He’d caught Connor’s questioning and hopeful looks every night since their conversation, but Hank’s body isn’t what it used to be. At most, there’s kisses at the front door before one of them needs to take off, and Hank is sure it isn’t his imagination that Connor gets more and more handsy each passing night.

Eventually, things slow down and come together, and they get to come home early for once. The two of them are shuffling in through the front door of his house, doused by rain, when Connor’s arms come up to hold him from behind. A chin plants itself into the fleshy part of Hank’s shoulder; Hank glances over and his eyes meet with the burning blue of the android’s LED.

“It’s early, and you have a day off tomorrow,” murmurs Connor, eyes searching. His fingers are toying with the damp collar of Hank’s shirt, slipping underneath to stroke at the bare skin of his collarbones. “I’d like to have sex tonight, if you’re willing.”

Hank hums, patting his hands and leaning over to peck at a sharp cheekbone. “Impatient, huh? Jumping me at the first chance.”

Connor releases him so they can take off their coats. “I try to take an opening when I see one.” Cheeky.  

Hank yanks off his soggy shoes and socks, tossing them gracelessly into a corner. The android tuts from behind him. Hank reaches up to shake out the water from his hair.

“All right,” he says, giving Connor a pat on the hip before making his way to the kitchen. He hears Sumo shuffling in from his bedroom and leans down scratch him behind the ears. “The two of us gotta eat first, though.”  

Connor gives him a dramatic sigh, amusement in his eyes. “The needs of organic bodies are incredibly inconvenient.”

Hank pulls the leftover chicken stir fry from the fridge, and snorts: “Careful, or I might not put out.”


They make their way to the bedroom at different paces: Hank is measured, while Connor nearly vibrates with restless energy. The excitement is cute, and Hank enjoys watching his partner’s zest for learning and experiencing new things. It makes him feel less worn out, but the self-deprecating part of him reminds him that this is a mid-life crisis waiting to happen.

Connor makes quick work of his clothes, placing them tidily onto the chair near the bed. Hank takes his time, laying back against the headboard and settling a brand new bottle of lube at his side. As he pulls his shirt off his arms, he takes a peek at what the android is packing.

It’s a nice and perfectly normal looking dick - uncut, too. Hank doesn’t really know what he was expecting. Somehow, he might’ve convinced himself that he’d find nothing there whatsoever, despite what Connor had told him. Or maybe he figured that Connor would have one that was implausibly large like the extreme dildos he’d seen on the internet.  

There’s no hair on him anywhere below the neck, and yet CyberLife somehow managed to bother with all the little moles and freckles. One more oddity after another, when it came to Connor. If it weren’t for the human-like texture of his skin, he’d look a lot like a doll.

And maybe that was the point - make them close enough to the real thing, but fake enough so that no one has to feel bad about the things they do to them. Hank looks up into Connor’s watchful eyes, and tramples down on a tiny feeling of guilt.

He’s drawn out of it by the sound of Connor’s voice.

“Is something wrong?”


“You look thoughtful,” he says, glancing down at himself. “Is it me?”

Hank shakes his head, looking at the sharp cut of his shoulders and the trim taper of his waist. The points of his nipples, hairless and pink, the size of dimes. Gorgeous and strange.

“Course not.” He gives him a small grin, trying to sooth his worry: “Don’t worry ‘bout me, just thinkin’ you look real cute.”

The android looks skeptical, and Hank rolls his eyes. “All right, all right, I just got distracted ‘cause you have no hair.”

“Oh,” Connor’s shoulders relax. “Yes - it was largely an economical choice, since it was deemed unlikely that anyone would have cause to see me undressed.”

He continues, “And in the event that I would find myself engaging sexually with a human, well…”

Hank raises an eyebrow, genuinely curious.

Connor shrugs, “Most of the force is male. Based on research of trends in pornography, the hairlessness adds to my particular kind of appeal...”

He’s doing his best to say it all very delicately, but Hank picks up the thread and blinks, “So they made you into even more of a fucking twink.”

Connor crosses his arms; he’s never noticed how nice they were, before. For how slender he is, they look strong. “Are you not into twinks, Hank?”

Hank pinches his nose, and wonders at the state of his life. He also thinks about his own internet search history and feels a very sudden urge to go and scrub it.

“No, I’m…” Hank clears his throat. “That’s not it. Uh…”

The side of Connor’s mouth starts to pull up, “So you are interested in twinks.”

“Can you stop saying that?” It’s a stupid thing to get all flustered over, especially when they’re going to be fucking any minute now.

Connor loves to tease him, but right now he relents, sitting down on the bed and changing the subject.   

“I have activated my pleasure sensors,” he says, looking down at his own hand. His other comes up to trail fingers along the inside of his forearm. There’s no faint blue streaks where veins would be, only endless pale skin. “Hm…”

Jumping right into sex when he’s never felt anything before seems like running before walking, Hank thinks. “Sure you don’t want to try out the goods first before going all the way to home base?”

Connor shakes his head and frowns. “I’m losing my patience, Hank.”


“Besides,” he continues, voice back to being chipper. He wraps his arms around his knees and rests his chin on them as he watches Hank with his big, bright eyes. “Waiting is arbitrary - why learn later what I can learn right now? You have experience...I think I’d rather learn from you.”

God , Hank thinks, taking in the sight of him with a feeling of intense wonderment and shame. I’m living a pervert’s wet dream right now .

There’s a whole lot that could go wrong with this, but Hank says nothing; he gets the feeling it’s not going to change his mind, anyway. Connor’s voice is firm, and he’s already shuffling over with an expectant look. Eager, too. It’s been a long time since Hank was young enough that sex felt like a tremendously urgent thing, but he sees echoes of that feeling on Connor’s face; it’s in the wideness of his eyes, the way they fly all over Hank’s form in desire. Connor’s pretty cock bobs between his thighs as he crawls over, and suddenly everything just feels so normal again.

“All right, c’mere,” Hank says, patting his lap and gesturing him over with a beckoning hand. “Let me look at you.”

Connor blinks, “You’re already looking at me.”

He’s still in that habit of taking him literally, sometimes. Most of the time it’s irritating, other times it’s real cute.

“I don’t mean actual looking,” Hank winks, feels a grin pulling at his mouth. Maybe it’s been some years for him since he’s really had to pull out the stops for someone new, but he’d like to think that he can still show him a good time. “Come on - ain’t often I get to feel up a pretty young thing like you.”

The smile Connor gives him is pleased and a little preening. A bit of an ego, this one. He settles his hands onto Hank’s shoulders and swings a leg over his thighs before perching down onto his lap. The wide V of his legs makes a good landing strip for Hank’s wandering hands, and he slides his palms up the length of them the second Connor’s rear plants itself near his knees. Smooth, smooth skin, like something out of a women’s razor commercial; even his ex-wife didn’t have legs this nice.

Still very strong, though. He can feel the power in them, and remembers watching the android dart across rooftops without so much as a flinch.

“Anything I should know?” he asks. As far as he knows, it’s all supposed to work pretty much the same way it would normally. Doesn’t hurt to make sure, though.    

Connor shakes his head, and says as much: “My functions are the same as a human’s - you can even ejaculate inside me, if you want.”

The back of his neck heats; Hank nods, eyes skipping away and clearing his throat, “Uh, good to know.”

Hank palms between his legs and watches the surprise suffuse Connor’s face.

“You like that?”

“Yes, I-” Connor’s voice is breathy with shock. His cheeks are already getting pink, and he’s blinking fast. “Yes.”

Hank chuckles.   

The cock in his hand feels like any other he’s touched before - not many, admittedly. A one-off handjob or two between friends in college that certainly never wanted to mention it outside the private sanctity of the bedroom, where experiments were hushed, secretive things. Or, sometimes during the occasional hook-up with a girl where another guy would somehow get into the mix, and they’d feel each other up to get her going.

Connor’s face is a nice sight, but Hank looks away to watch as his cock swells in his grip. There’s even precum, already starting to bead at the tip of the rosy crown. He swipes his thumb through it and more takes its place. He wonders what it’s made of, if it was safe to swallow.

There’s little noises coming from Connor’s throat, half-moans and clipped gasps all tinged with tones of surprise. Hank’s never been into the whole virgin thing but there’s some appeal to this, he thinks.

He reaches with his other hand and lightly touches his balls; Connor shivers. The good kind. Not everyone’s into that, but it seems like Connor is .

“You gonna go off like a shot as soon as we get going for real?” he asks. He hadn’t thought of it until now, but maybe they wouldn’t even get to the good part tonight.  

Connor shakes his head, “I don’t know -” Hank slows his hand just in case, and Connor stiffens almost in panic. “No, don’t stop moving!”

“Relax, we got time.” Hank lets him go entirely and Connor sags, frowning.

“I was enjoying that,” he says. “Why did you stop?”

“Just got to make sure things don’t finish too quick.”

Connor gets an impatient look to his face, LED flashing, before he snatches Hank’s hand to bring it back between his legs, “I’ve turned down my sensitivity levels. Now please continue.”

Hank chokes down the urge to laugh, mostly because it’s bad manners when holding someone’s dick. And also because he finds the lack of restraint kind of hot. Connor rests his forehead against the crook of Hank’s shoulder, sighing as he rocks his hips into Hank’s fist. The movements are graceless, unpractised; he’s figuring out what he likes, and Hank thinks he could be just fine with sitting back and watching the show.

His partner has other plans though - he reaches down and pulls insistently at Hank’s ratty old boxers. Hank braces his feet on the mattress and lifts the both of them up with his hips so that Connor can tug them all the way off and toss them.

Connor’s smooth hand comes down to circle around his cock and feel him up, grip loose with inexperience. Hank isn’t as riled up, but as Connor drags his fingers at the heavy hang of Hank’s foreskin, he feels a familiar, anticipatory heat start pooling in belly. Hank sets his free hand over Connor’s and shows him how tight he likes it, how hard he likes to be tugged; Connor shivers, and learns perfectly.

“You’re…” Connor almost stumbles over his words, but then gets his bearings. “Remarkably above average, according to the studies.”

Hank laughs, letting go of his hand to stroke at the smooth skin of his thigh, “Nice sweet talking, honey.”

He gets a nice little squirm of the hips at that.

Admittedly, it doesn’t take much once Connor’s hand is working at him for him to get fully hard and ready to go. Hank takes his own hand off of Connor’s cock and motions for them to reposition.

They shuffle Connor onto all fours, palms flat on the bed and facing the headboard. He makes a pretty picture, and Hank finally gets to appreciate all the nice lines and slopes that make up his body for the first time: he’s got shapely legs, good arms, an attractive back. A tight, perky little ass.

Hank gives it an appreciative grope and spreads the cheeks, running his thumbs along the dusky, crinkled skin. No hair there, either; smooth as though freshly waxed.

Fuckin’ perverts , he thinks at CyberLife, equal parts affronted and aroused. If he thinks too much about his own taste in porn he’d have to take himself to task for the hypocrisy, so he says nothing.

He circles the bare little rim, and finds himself licking his lips without thinking.

Connor makes a considering sound. Hank raises a brow, “Yeah?”


Hank presses, teasing at the flesh - he watches it twitch, as well as the embarrassed hunch of Connor’s shoulders. Where’s all that pushiness gone to now?

When Connor speaks, his voice sounds far away: “You’re not doing much yet, but I can feel you looking…”

Hank feels a purr creep up his throat.

“And you like being looked at, don’t you?”

It’s a shot in the dark, but one that hits the target: Connor nods. Hank has seen him checking himself out in mirrors more times than he can count. It only makes sense - he is supposed to be the best of the best, isn’t he? And who doesn’t like to be looked at? Hank looks at him all the time. Maybe from now on he should be more obvious about it.

He pushes firmly with his thumb, stroking the little pucker with intent, spies the way that Connor tries to rock back into it. He reaches down between the android’s legs and feels the slick precum dribbling shamelessly through the slots of his fingers. He whistles.

“This hard already, huh? All from a little playin’ around?” he grins at the offended shake of Connor’s shoulders.

“That’s not very nice, Hank,” Connor retorts. His cock is heavy in Hank’s hand and at Hank’s squeeze he moans.

“Am I ‘nice’, Connor?” Hank’s never thought so; most of the precinct probably doesn’t, either.

“...No.” How can one word sound so satisfied? “You’re not.”

Connor makes his point with a buck of his hips into Hank’s hands - the one at his ass, the one at his cock, like he’s gunning for whatever he can get.   

Hank figures they’ve messed around enough, working his fingers into Connor’s ass and asks: “We still gotta prep you, right?”
How much did androids mimic humans when it came to this kind of thing? He’s heard the office banter from guys who’d gone to places like Eden Club before, either about how much better fucking androids was or how much they didn’t compare to the “real deal”. Never any details though, even if some small part of him was always a little curious.

Connor’s voice is an excited murmur: “You won’t need to stretch me like a human - I should be able to accomodate you easily, and quickly. The only necessary step is the lubrication…”

Convenient. Almost too much - he’d been kind of looking forward to opening him up.

He pulls away, ignoring Connor’s frustrated little grunt, and picks up the lube. He peels off the plastic seal under the cap and tosses it onto the nightstand to dispose of later, and squirts it onto his hand. It’s cold. He hopes Connor won’t mind too much.

True to the android’s word, his fingers slide in with ease. The tight ring of muscle pushes back against the intrusion, but Connor doesn’t flinch. He even sighs, head canting sideways like he’s considering the sensation.

“How’s that for you?” asks Hank.

“I like it…” says Connor, through a velvet, heady sigh.

Hank takes his cock in hand, indulging in a few firm strokes with a groan. One of Connor’s heels kicks at his shin, and he stops to drizzle more of the lube into his hand and slicks himself up. Connor’s eyes are watching him again, intense over the crest of his shoulder and zeroing in on where Hank’s got his hand on himself.    

He holds Connor open with one hand, getting expensive lube all over that pristine skin - and lines the head of his cock up against that slick, twitching little hole with the other. He drags himself all along the crack of his ass in a mean little tease, until Connor’s kicking at him again and snapping his name in tones heated with impatience. When Hank finally pushes his way inside, he thinks he might go dizzy.

Connor is tight enough to be almost alarming. Hank spares a moment to wonder if the kid up and lied to him about prep.

“Shit, you’re fucking small,” he breathes, watching muscles in Connor’s back tense. Watches the way his body is breaching Connor’s with trepidation and a hot swell of desperation.  

One of Connor’s hands leaves the bed and slaps onto the headboard, and his shoulders hike up to his ears. “Ah…”

The shock in his voice makes Hank stop and narrow his eyes. “Hey, you okay?”

“I…” Connor’s brow furrows.


“It would seem that it wasn’t built to easily accommodate one of your size…”

Hank nods. And maybe, smiles just a little bit. “Huh.”

He’s been out of the chest-puffing stage for a long time, but he feels a familiar flare of pride at that. Really, really familiar. He used to get this all the time, back when he was on the market. Once or twice, there had even been someone who would change their mind when he took off his pants. It was frustrating before he learned to lean into it.

He gives Connor’s hip a squeeze. “Need me to go slow, then?”

Connor shakes his head, “No, I mean I can’t...stretch any further…”


Now, it’s just awkward.

As much as it strokes his ego, he’s not enough of an asshole to be into hurting his partners. Hank settles tingling fingers on Connor’s hips, and says, “Shit, all right - we can put this part off until later…”

He’s not sure what that’s going to mean exactly, if Connor might have to buy himself a new asshole or if it means that this particular thing is off the table for good - either way, they can make it work, despite how the tight expression on Connor’s face and the unyielding clench of his body makes Hank terribly turned on.

But instead of conceding, Connor’s lean body is pushing back, straining at the thighs. His arms shake where they prop him up. Lord, the whole sight hits him somewhere dark.


Connor’s voice is breathy and trembling. He’s still trying, and Hank tries to still him at the hip.

“Yeah okay, we’re pumping the breaks.”

It’s not worth it if Connor can’t enjoy himself, and he wants to be firm about that, even if it looks like the android doesn’t seem to get it.

He starts to push Connor off him but a strong hand clamps around his wrist. On instinct, he tries to yank away but the hand doesn’t budge. Connor looks back at him over the slope of his shoulder, gaze intent. His mouth is parted, wet and lush. His LED is a whirl of blue.

“It hurts , Hank,” there is something like wonder in that gentle voice. Awe.


Connor snaps his hips back with a ragged gasp; his eyes are shining and they don’t leave Hank’s at all.

Something like relief floods his body at the look. He’s seen this before too, been with people into this exact kind of thing. There’s comfort in seeing something so familiar on Connor’s face, inhuman LED and all: a taste for something rougher, a little thrill-seeking, a need to push some limits.  

Still - excitement wages war with concern in his head, and Hank almost grinds his teeth. He might be the wrong guy to be teaching Connor these sorts of lessons, but he’s going to try his best, even if he’s so hard he could hammer nails: “It shouldn’t hurt.”

Connor doesn’t even blink, though his voice hitches as he reaches back and trails his fingers at the base of Hank’s cock, “You think it should.”

He’s reading him, doing that thing where he analyzes Hank’s reactions and making it next to impossible to lie.

“You’re makin’ me sound like a creep,” Hank says. “Look, a guy just likes to feel big sometimes…”

“You feel big,” Connor’s hand flattens back against the pouch of Hank’s stomach. He strokes his palm against the coarse, thick hair at Hank’s groin, tacky with lube. “ Too big.”

He’s squirming now, rocking away and then back again, trying to take a little more with each pass: “Do you feel flattered when this happens, Hank?”

“Hey, easy…

Connor’s head drops down, and Hank can’t see his eyes anymore. He can, however, hear how his voice becomes reedy with want. “I’ll flatter you as much as you like…”

His ass gives a cheeky clench and they both groan. Hank wants to shut his eyes and bask in it, that hot pull of his body, the way he can feel his partner straining to take him, but Connor’s shoulders are rolling in the most distracting way so he watches that instead.  

“Fuck- we can try again some other time…”

Hank’s mouth is talking in weak protests but his hands do nothing to stop it, stroking all along Connor’s flank and kneading at the hips. Groping at the thighs. Feeling up the tight swell of his ass.

“But I want to,” comes the lurid little whisper. “Don’t you want to?”

“‘Course I fucking want to…I just want you to have a good time, too.”

He’s making it hard to be a gentleman, even harder not to lean into being the dirty old man that lives in Hank’s head. The one that rears up and thinks the worst kinds of thoughts sometimes, when Connor is around.

Connor thrusts back harder, movements getting more sure even as he’s panting with the effort and the strain: “I’m having a very good time, Hank.”

Hank groans.

“Fuck, okay,” he pats at a bony hip. “Here - I can get on my back.”

Connor shakes his head.

“Come on,” urges Hank. “You can run the show that way.”

“I don’t want to run the show,” he murmurs, and Hank is certain that he must be pouting. “That’s the opposite of what I want.”

“Then what’re you aiming for?” Hank really has no idea, and it’s real tough to think.

Connor sighs and gives him a significant look over his shoulder.

“I want you to be in charge,” he says, as though Hank were very, very dim.

Hank can feel the whirring of components under his hands, the quick beat of his pump. The drying, tacky lube left in the wake of Hank’s hands, and the way his insides clutch at Hank with a palpable want. He may not have state-of-the-art analytical tech in his head, but he can feel the truth in the fine tremors of Connor’s body.

Still, he snorts, leans down to kiss at the base of his neck: “Not like you ever listen to me all that much.”

Connor sighs at the touch. Moves into it. “You do give in a lot.” He’s amused.  

Hank wants to protest for the sake of his pride, but he’s still got his dick inside him and figures he can let that one go.

Connor moves his legs a little further apart, arching his back: “I’d like you to give in again.”

An arm whips back and Hank feels fingers sinking into his hair. Before he can so much as yelp Connor is wrenching him forward and flush against his back. He’s strong enough not to buckle under Hank’s weight, and the tight grip he has on the fistful of Hank’s hair has him seeing stars. The sound that rumbles out of him is downright embarrassing.

“Stop thinking, Hank,” snaps Connor, aroused and impatient. Demanding, just how Hank likes. “Stop fussing. I want you to fuck me and we’re not leaving this room until you do.”

It shocks laughter from Hank and he nuzzles his nose into Connor’s hairline just behind the ear. His partner tips his head back, baring his throat to the rough scrape of Hank’s beard. The last of Hank’s protests dies in his throat, sloughs off him like rainwater.

“All right, all right,” he rumbles. “Fuckin’ pushy. I was just trying to look out for you.”

“Noted,” says Connor. “Now, please…”

Hank gets to work, moving with a languid and reasonable pace. Working himself as best as he can into the tight clutch of Connor’s body. He feels the pinch of his own brows, even as his mouth drops open as his breathing melts into panting. The tightness doesn’t ease at all, doesn’t stop feeling less like trying to fuck into a vice. If it weren’t for Connor’s heady little cries, Hank would’ve been certain the whole thing couldn’t have felt good for him at all.

Something prompts Connor to lift himself up to press against Hank’s front.


“Yeah?” Hank’s voice sounds like a wreck to his own ears, gravelly with strain.

“I just need to…”

Connor’s hand disappears around his front, and Hank hears the click and hiss of his stomach panel opening. “Wait, what’re you doing?” he asks, horrified, and all his movement comes to halt.

“No, don’t stop, Hank,” Connor rushes to say, grabbing at Hank’s side. He looks over his shoulder again, eyes big and pleading. “I just need to adjust some internal components, but please keep going.”

“This isn’t - I don’t know - dangerous? Should you be doing that now ?” Hank imagines digging around in his own guts during sex and it’s a miracle he doesn’t go soft in seconds .

Connor puts his hand back into his stomach; Hank hears the hard clattering of wires and the wet sloshing of his blue blood. “It’s not dangerous. Trust me, Hank.”

Of course he trusts him, Hank would trust him with his life.

Keep going .”

“I...fuck, all right, fine.”

He moves slower than before. More cautious, despite the assurances. Connor shivers, little moans caught in his throat as his arm works at something that Hank can’t see. All he can see is his elbow and the way the muscles of his arm strain as he moves.

Hank feels a distinct sensation grazing against his cock from inside Connor’s body. It hits him, then, that he’s feeling Connor’s fingers through whatever membrane that separates his ass from the rest of his insides and his stomach clenches.

“Holy shit that’s your fucking hand,” he chokes. His hips stutter to a stop, but he’s so hard it should probably hurt . His grip on Connor’s hips is tight enough to whiten his knuckles.   

“Is that too weird?” his eyes are big. Worried. Shy. Hank can still feel his fingers, grazing at the head of his cock.

Yeah . “No.”

Too fucking weird for how much it turns him on. Hank won’t think about it, can’t think about it.

Instead, Hank wraps an arm across Connor’s chest and brings his back snug against his front. He bites at Connor’s hairline, murmurs with a voice like gravel, “Just caught me by surprise, is all... fuck ...”

The skin under his mouth is already damp with his breath, and he gives it a messy lick. Connor shivers. “Good,” he sighs in relief and leans back into the touch. “Then let me…”

There’s the sound of something snapping and the unbudging tightness of Connor’s hole loosens a bit. They both shudder and sag in relief, and Connor grinds back, movements fluid and comfortable, working out the new and easy spread of his ass.

“Fuck, yeah…” Hank groans, eyes slipping closed. He’s still tight, so tight, but it feels less dangerous now. Like he can push forward without breaking the kid in half.

“Mm,” Connor nods. Humming as he rocks himself on Hank’s cock with zeal, testing the waters. His pace picks up and the sound of their slick skin slaps loudly in the quiet of Hank’s bedroom. “So that’s what it feels like…”

The weirdness of Connor opening up his own guts and nearly begging for it broke the dam, it feels like, and Hank shoves aside any remaining vestiges of caution and pushes Connor roughly back onto his arms. Connor goes along with it, hanging his head low and panting as he bucks his hips back against Hank’s thrusts, faster than before.  

He watches those back dimples, the soft squish of his cheeks against Hank’s hips when they snap together. He reaches down to tug them apart with his thumbs, and stares at the glistening stretch of Connor’s pink little rim as he pounds into him, pulling greedily at his cock on a slow drag back.

The sight of it pulls a rumble from his throat, straight from the inner filth of him, and Connor answers with a breathy whine of his own. One of his slender hands comes back to nudge Hank’s away and takes over, holding himself open like a prize; wanting to be looked at, always.

He’s peeking over his shoulder again, watching Hank fuck him, and the flush on his cheeks is so delicate Hank thinks about coating them in come just to mess him up a little. Maybe get some on that LED, too. The thought of it grinds hot down in the pit of his stomach, so he files it away for future reference. Hank’s never minded being watched either, and Connor’s heated stare burns his blood.   

Hank decides to slow it down and keeps his strokes deep; makes Connor’s pert little ass slap against his pelvis when he bottoms out. When he does glance up again, he sees something a little longing in Connor’s eye, in that upward twitch of his brow and the gleam of his teeth sinking into his own lip.

Hank runs his hands along his sides, fingers skirting the edge of the open space in his stomach.

Connor rears back and cranes his head around to take Hank’s mouth in a kiss. He shuts his eyes to melt into it, feeling Connor’s fingers, sticky with lube and blue blood, come up to thread through his beard. He hasn’t had a fuck quite this messy in a long while.

“How can you not want this all the time ?” Connor murmurs, almost dazed when they separate.

Hank chuckles, a touch out of breath. He’s too hot all over to think straight or come up with some charming retort: “Makin’ me wonder.”

“This is really good,” he says and Hank almost wants to laugh again, but then Connor turns and leans his forehead against Hank’s, gaze seizing his as he whispers, “But right now, I actually think I want this -”

There’s another click, and he’s clenched up all tight like before; Hank grunts as Connor’s eyelashes flutter, as his brows draw close again and a small grimace overtakes his face. Quick as it comes, it settles back into heady pleasure, making his sharp features slack and soft. The tightness in his jaw remains.

“You feel stronger like this,” Connor says, through gritted teeth. “Like you could just break me.”

He’s squirming into him, away from him. Like he can’t decide.

Hank wants to tell him that this is messed up, that they should probably go at it like before, but it doesn’t come out. Instead, his hands go down to pull on Connor’s waist and he yanks him back into a harsh thrust, watching that mouth part around a pained gasp.


Connor pulls his hand out of his belly and roughly shoves the panel shut with the heel of his palm. Hank hears the whoosh of his skin fusing back over the plastic.

“Yes,” Connor shakes his head, like he’s trying to focus. Maybe shaking stars out of his eyes - Hank hopes so. “Hard, please - just like that.”

Connor reaches back and wipes his bloody blue hand on Hank’s cheek, getting it in his beard, his hair, the side of his mouth. Some of it gets on his nostril and he finds it smells a bit like house cleaner. Connor slaps his clean hands onto the headboard, bracing himself. There’s still blue underneath his fingernails.

Hank slides his thumb over one of those cute little nipples and rolls over it until it’s nice and tight on his chest. “We’re gonna have to have a fuckin’ talk about this pain thing, kid.”

Connor, through gritted teeth, snaps, “Later.”

They stop talking, after that; Hank fucks him in earnest, with a hard grip on his waist.

One stroke hits too deep or too hard and Connor jumps, trying to squirm away. On instinct, blood hot, Hank snatches him by the hips and hauls him back, pulling him deeper onto his cock until it sounds like Connor is nearly sobbing, clawing at the sheets and twitching at the thighs like he can’t decide what to do with himself.  

Hank reaches up and snaps both hands onto Connor’s straight, tense shoulders for leverage, digging his fingers into android flesh as hard as he can, arms bulging with it. The skin recedes under his palms, his fingertips; white like marble, already starting to get streaky under Hank’s sweat. Hank holds onto him tight and fucks him harder than he’s ever fucked anyone, it feels like.

The pained and pleasured moans pitch into desperation, and pridefully, Hank thinks that Connor probably couldn’t close his mouth anymore if he tried at this point.

Connor is babbling - and his voice is slurred and messy in a way that Hank has never heard - about how it feels like Hank could tear him apart, about how they should do this always, about how much it hurts and wasn’t pain supposed to ward off the chase? Hank isn’t listening, distracted by the hot clench of Connor’s impossibly tight little hole. So much tighter than anything he’s experienced, and then there’s the sound of their skin, of the lube, of Connor’s loud, shameless voice. He hopes to God that his neighbors are sleeping right now.

Either Connor’s arms give out or Hank is going hard enough to knock him down, because Connor falls flat onto the bed and Hank finds himself tipping down to crush Connor as deeply into the mattress as he can go. Connor turns his head flat to the side, mouth gaping open against the pillow. His eyes are screwed shut, but the blue of LED signals to keep going.

Hank reaches up to sweep that flyaway hair off his forehead, and gets a pleased moan for his trouble. He presses his ear to Connor’s back, where rests his head and listens to the wild pace of the android’s thirium pump as he pounds his body right into the bed. His mattress is expensive, yet the springs still shriek like one from a cheap motel at the force of it.

It’s good - the closeness, the rough pace; the way he can feel his own sweat and the wetness of his breath on Connor’s skin, the way that Connor gives up moving with him and simply takes it, legs falling limp and open like it’s all he can do. Soon enough he’s getting close and with a ragged voice, asks Connor where he wants it; if it comes out a little gruff, a little rude, his partner doesn’t object.  

Instead, he gets a jumbled murmur in response, muffled by the pillow. It sounds like a question.

“Gonna come,” Hank rasps, clearly as he can and a touch impatient. “Want me to pull out?”

Connor tries to shakes his head, face still mashed into the pillow. He reaches back with a trembling hand to hold onto Hank’s hip and urging him to stay put.

Hank wraps his arm around the front of Connor’s shoulders, keeping him tight against himself, feeling Connor’s throat vibrate against his forearm as he moans. Hank comes with a bitten off gasp, crushing his forehead into the space between Connor’s shoulder blades, his eyes almost watering. He feels Connor’s ass clench around his cock as he does, as though wringing him dry.

He sags for a moment, catching his breath, before gingerly moving off Connor’s body and slowly pulling out. The android shuffles onto his back, throwing open his legs, drawing his knees back almost right up against his chest. His face is flushed, frustrated.

“Please, Hank,” he gasps, reaching down to finger the puffy, wet mess of his hole. “I think I’m close.”

“Yeah,” Hank’s pretty fucking done for the night, but the sight in front of him is hot enough that it’s going to keep him up at night for a long, long time. He pushes Connor’s hand away, and replaces Connor’s finger with three of his own. “Yeah, I got you...”

The sweet tone makes Connor’s hips buck, his jaw clamp down on a whimper. Hank pumps his flushed, dripping cock with one hand and works his ass harshly with the other. He spilled too much lube, and when they’re finished he’s going to have to change the sheets; the wet sound of it when Hank’s palm smacks against Connor’s ass is loud enough to be obscene.

Connor’s got a death grip on the pillows behind him and he throws his head back with a moan. Hank thinks he might hear the pillowcase tearing a little. He’s too flattered to care.

Just when his arms are starting to cramp, Connor finally comes. It streaks onto his twitching belly, and his ass clamps desperately onto Hank’s fingers. The breath shudders out of Connor’s mouth, a quiet little sound, as though the android’s voice just isn’t capable of anything more. Hank strokes him through it, letting go when his body finally falls flat and boneless onto the bed.  

He wipes his hands onto his sheets and reaches up to sweep back his sweaty hair, breathing hard. Hank shifts and slowly maneuvers himself to collapse onto the bed beside Connor, sinking back into his pillow and sighing, feeling like he could sleep for a week. He strokes mildly at Connor’s thigh, “How was that?”

Connor hums, opening his eyes. “Mm,” he shifts close enough to rest his head against Hank’s shoulder. “Do you think it would be appropriate for us to quit the force and spend all our time in here?”

Hank chuckles, ruffling his hair; Connor smiles brightly against his chest. The kid doesn’t look tired at all, and Hank has to remind himself that he’s an android in order to keep his pride from deflating.

“Fuckin’ A,” he murmurs, settling back down. “I could sleep for a week.”

Connor runs his fingers through the hair on his chest, “I would be disappointed if you did.”

Hank glances down at the pointed tone, brow raised, “What, don’t tell me you’re up for going again?”

The android gives him an angelic flutter of the eyelashes and a small smile.

Hank drops back against the pillow and sweeps his hand down his face, “Oh, fuck me.”

“That’s the idea, yes.”

He slaps his hand over Connor’s wicked little mouth and makes a show of grumbling to himself. His partner grins into his palm, and gives him a cheeky grope between the legs in retaliation.