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“Hank…” Connor starts, a slight waver in his voice.
“Shhh,” the man, Lieutenant Hank Anderson, shushes him gently, lips so close to Connor that Connor would have gasped at possible contact if not for the delicate sensors around where his pedal pulse would be.
It began simple enough.
“I want to have you,” Hank had said earlier. An hour and forty-one minutes before, Connor’s internal clock tells him.
He sat at the dining table in the kitchen, finishing the deconstructed lasagne dinner that Connor made him. The meat sauce helped the meal go down better, as the android had substituted the the noodles with zucchini. The ricotta had not liked that, and barely stuck to the sliced vegetable, sliding and leaking out on the sides when Connor cut into the sheet of veggie lasagne and served it to Hank. In essence, it was not so much a lasagne than it was a failed attempt at rustic ratatouille. Still, Hank has eaten his portion with minimal complaint, silent until he confessed his want to have Connor.
Connor smiled, LED spinning yellow.
“But lieutenant,” he replied, head cocking to the side like a curious dog. “You already have me.”
It is true; after the android revolution, Connor had willingly decided to move in and start a loving relationship with the man. The hug they shared turned into something more; a kiss, chaste and well awaited. Neither Hank nor Connor will ever forget it.
“Do I?” Hank asked, though it was clearly rhetorical.
Under the table, Connor could feel the man’s foot drawing close, toes rubbing up against his own before traveling up his pant leg. He kept his face fixed in an eased expression, though he could feel the flames beginning to kindle in the pit of his stomach. He would not dampen them this time around.
“You do.” His voice glitched, the volume of his sentence coming out more like a sultry whisper.
Something softened in Hank’s eyes then, the ocean in his eyes so serene and calming, even as Connor kicked his own leg out, finally trailing it up along the inside of Hank’s sweatpant-clad thigh. With dinner finished, there was no obligation to keep at the dinner table. Hank reached down to hold the android’s foot, stopping it in its tracks.
“Bedroom,” Hank said.
And this is how they ended up, but not without Hank pressing Connor to the hallway wall first and kissing him breathless. He pushed Connor down on the bed into a sitting position, legs swooped out and dangling off the mattress as Hank himself kneels like a knight in shining armor.
“I love you,” he whispers against Connor’s ankle, the beautiful synthetic skin covering strong endoskeleton.
“I love you, too.” Connor murmurs without a moment’s hesitation.
His lungs hitch in his artificial breathing, brown irises being eaten away by the ever-expanding pupil; so wide that Hank cannot pretend that he does not see the burning sienna of Connor’s lenses. Hank grins, kissing the same place once again before shifting upwards, just an inch, pressing his lips to approximately where Connor’s peroneal nerve would be. The android’s mouth, moderate but plush, parts the slightest bit, a lovely indigo beginning to creep up his cheeks and along his nose bridge as his witnesses Hank’s ministrations.
“Hank…” he reiterates, but it falls upon selective-hearing ears.
“Clothes off,” Hank lets up for a second to suggest. “All of it.”
Connor flashes him a gentle smile. “Should I strip tease?”
Hank stays silent, which might have been the right thing to do.
Connor hums, running his hands down his shirt. He knows the man can see his nipples hardening under the thin material, little pebbles that are just a silhouette there. His fingers find the hem, grasping it, then pulling it upwards, exposing his slim yet sturdy build, belly button cute along the expanse of creamy, mole-dotted complexion.
“God,” Hank shudders visibly in arousal. Connor can sense his vitals heightening at the same time Connor lifts his shirt.
“It’s just ‘Connor’, Hank.” He cannot help but tease the lieutenant. “But I appreciate the hyperbole.”
With a laugh, there is no malice in Hank’s voice when he chuffs, “Fuckin’ androids.”
“But you love me,” Connor retorts.
Hank grunts, but there is amusement clear on his face. He waits at Connor’s feet. “That I do,” he admits.
“Good,”
Connor stretches the article of clothing up and over his head then, pulling his arms out of it. He tosses it to the far corner of the bedroom, not an ounce of care to where it lands at the moment. He rolls his head once, as if to relieve some of the day’s tension in his strong column of neck, though he does not need to. He lets the muscles in his shoulders flex when he reaches for his waistband next, aural sensors picking up the smallest rattle of air that escapes the gap between Hank’s two front incisors.
When he cants his hips upward, Connor slips the pants down his long, beautiful legs, allowing them to pool around the bottoms of his feet. They brush against Hank just briefly, enough to leave anticipation hanging in the oxygen around them. He keeps his eyes on Hank as he steps out of the pantholes, sliding the trousers away from their position at the bed.
For the umpteenth time in his life, Hank is thankful androids deem underwear as unnecessary.
“Gorgeous,” the man mutters, lips back on Connor’s skin, gliding smoothly like Tennessee honey.
It is like butterfly wings upon Connor’s leg, pressing upwards all the while Hank kisses up from his tibia to his knee. He only stops there for a moment, smoothing over the joint with a large palm before pecking the highest angle of it.
Connor tries to spread his legs, but Hank grips his calves then, shoving them next to each other in retaliation for the android’s movement. So, he endures it, lets Hank take his time up his thigh, getting closer and closer to where the excitement is beginning to throb. The fire burning in his core is beginning to shine bright, as bright as the LED cycling through the colors blue and gold. It licks at his thirium pump, his components tightening in reaction to it. The fire smolders more intensely, hotter, when Hank finally, finally kisses up to the fold where leg meets hip and belly.
“Oh,” The sound is soft, but Hank hears it just as clearly. He adds some nibbling into the mix, flat teeth scraping gently over soft, yielding skin in the most pleasurable of ways. “Oh, Hank.”
Hank laves his tongue over a spot before closing his mouth along the lower quadrant of Connor’s stomach. He creates a suction there, kneading his teeth into the flesh softly; popping off just moments later to see the android’s skin retract quickly, showing alabaster white endoskeleton for only a second. The creamy skin folds back, flooding the area to cover it once again.
Only then does Hank allow Connor to widen his stance; part his legs and spread them like one does butter on warm toast.
Hank has to breath out when the android exposes himself to Hank’s clear sea eyes, “Fuckin’ beautiful, Connor.”
“Hurry, Hank.” Connor casts him a daring look as he all but deadpans, “I’m about to bust a nut.”
Hank cannot stop himself from laughing out loud. All the while, Connor stares at him, but a small smirk makes home on his lips.
“‘About to bust a nut’...” Hank reiterates, “Where the fuck did you learn that?”
Connor shrugs. He is not surprised when both he and Hank conclude at the same time, “Gavin Reed,”
Hank shakes his head, grimacing temporarily at the detective’s infamous name.
“Let me never hear that name ever again in my bedroom,” he says, face scrunching.
“Sure, lieutenant,” quips Connor, who is lying back on his elbows now.
He looks completely divine, sprawled out like this. His chocolate eyes are ablaze as he creeps a hand down to his nether regions, nimble fingers adorned with polished, perfectly oval nails sliding through damp folds. Connor takes his index finger, and draws small, teasing circles around his prominent arousal.
The moan that drips from his lips is sweet like syrup.
Hank cannot help but chew on his bottom lip, the motion unconscious yet it helps him focus a little better as he takes in the sight of Connor and all his glory. He taste buds beg for a taste, salivary glands already on overdrive, seemingly to portray his want… his desire. His need to be on- in- Connor.
Placing his bigger hand over the android’s, Hank pushes Connor’s to the side.
“Allow me,” he says, voice low.
Nodding, Connor relaxes visibly, giving himself over to the man he so trusts… and mewls long and needy when Hank puts his lips over his mound, lips puckered like Connor’s own.
It becomes so hot and moist, Hank quickly finds. His tongue slides through the folds of skin, hands placing themselves on Connor’s thighs, which are on either side of his head. He slurps lightly, the taste exquisite and unique, like Connor is made of liquid gold. The tip of his tongue comes out to play with Connor’s now throbbing length, engulfing it with a particularly generous suck. He applies pressure, almost a vacuum in his hot cavern, setting to bob his head.
“Mm- yes,” Connor lies his back down against the bed, carding a hand through Hank’s long, messy hair, tousling it more.
Hank looks so good this way, he thinks, sucking on him and humming around him like this. It is unlike anything Connor has ever felt and, sometimes, he battles with which is better: Hank with his mouth upon him like this, or Hank inside him, pressing upon the sensitive cables and wires that send him reeling, the comfortable weight of the man’s body over his. Connor moans at the combination of the fantasy that plays out in his mind and Hank’s tongue that wiggles its way into his passage.
“Please,” Connor flexes his toes, feeling them curl when Hank obliges, dipping deeper into the android’s entrance.
When Hank brings one of his fingers into the mix, the digit wiggling through some of the collective slickness of saliva and Connor’s own solution. He traces the android’s soft folds then, slipping it alongside his tongue into Connor. He would smile if his mouth was not so preoccupied making a mess out of Connor’s sex.
He makes a trick of twisting both his finger and flicking his tongue, leaving Connor gasping and writhing on the bed.
Hank starts slow, pushing in slowly to the knuckle, then out, relishing in the wet sound that elicits from the movement. It is not nearly as smooth as Hank would like it to be, but he figures they will work up to it. He withdraws his tongue in favor to lick over Connor’s twitching arousal again, but not before he collects a few more groans from the android. Pressing in another digit, Connor’s voice, riddled with silken static, is music to Hank’s ears. His beard scruffs up against Connor’s skin, and the man faintly wishes that Connor could sustain beard burn. The android would complain about it for days.
He receives a whistle of complaint when he pulls his tongue and finger away completely. With a desperate arch of his back, Connor tries to entice Hank back into fingering him, but to no avail, because Hank already has something in store for both of them.
“Patience, baby,” the lieutenant chuffs.
He cannot help it, teasing Connor with a pet name that melts the android’s thirium pump to lovey-dovey goo. He stands from his kneeling position, and this is the first time tonight that Connor realizes that the man is utterly overdressed for all of this. He scrambles to tug at Hank’s pants, not trusting his voice to convey the message he so wants to communicate.
Hank flicks him away again, stripping himself without Connor’s help. He says, “Why don’t you get the lube, babe.” The apples of his cheeks fatten with a smile at Connor’s immediate movement, ungracefully rifling through the nightstand for their shared bottle of lube. “Eager, aren’t you?”
Connor huffs indignantly, “You are taking too long.”
“Wrong,” Hank replies. “I haven’t taken long enough on you.” He almost laughs when Connor glowers at him. He stretches out his hand, climbing onto the bed now. “Give it here; the lube.”
Connor slaps the lube in Hank’s hand, already repositioning himself onto his stomach, his knees and hips up, ready for what is to come. His circuitry quivers at the sound of the lube bottle’s cap pops open, the viscous liquid probably being spread along the grooves of Hank’s fingerprints.
“This better be good,” is all he says before Hank is at his entrance again with, not one, not two, but three thick fingers pressing against the puckered flesh.
It comes like a comet, smashing into him and whittling away at his resolve completely. Connor feels like he has caught fire, synthetic muscles clenching down on Hank’s digits like he is holding on for dear life. His biocomponent stretches to accommodate, but he does not think he will ever get used to it; the closest thing to initial discomfort. But then Hank is thrusting them in and out, not giving Connor one second to catch a moment to himself.
He nearly sobs when Hank pulls from him again, leaving him empty, though only just for a few seconds. Connor is rolled onto his back again, legs shoved up against his chest so Hank can thrust in…
“Hank!” Connor cries, eyes wide for a second.
They droop half-lidded in another moment, Hank’s cock feeling huge within him. His internal fans whir to cool his processing core. He and Hank stay like this, the man sheathed in Connor, letting the android adjust.
Hank is much more than three fingers. More, but Connor cannot bring himself to compare the man’s width and size right now with everyday items. The head of Hank’s member is pressed up against a rough patch, the wires there, small as the android equivalent of capillaries, sending a jumble of data up his spine lightning fast.
All that he can process into coherent thought is: Hank big.
Thankfully, Hank’s big hands are there, stroking his sides in attempts to soothe. Connor wills himself to relax, focusing intently on Hank’s breathing and the way his heart beats steadily beneath his ribs.
“You good?” When Hank speaks, Connor ruts his hips in nonverbal response. Hank chuckles, “I guess that’s a yes.”
“More than a yes.” Connor says, “Move.”
With that, Hank does not bother to hesitate. He slides out slowly, almost exiting Connor completely, save for the head of his cock still securely lodged within Connor’s passage. Then, he is going back in, inch by inch. Sheer will is the only thing that propels him forward as he repeats it and, this time, it gets a little easier.
It feels amazing, inside of Connor, and Hank rolls his hips sensually, in no hurry to chase final ecstasy. He brings his head down, locking lips with the android as they ride each other in a constant, smooth rhythm. It is reminiscent of their first time, when Connor and he were still timid around each other, though now is a little, or a lot, different. They are so much more comfortable with one another; with themselves.
Connor’s touches on Hank’s skin are more like a sloppy massage, his hands grappling onto the man, as if to anchor himself. When Hank thrusts forward, Connor slams his hips back, meeting the lieutenant halfway.
In, out, in and out again.
Unadulterated moans escape from Connor’s voice box. The data he receives from each one of Hank’s thrusts is overwhelming, and he has to shut off the pop-up notifications on his optical display. Right now, he does not care to know his statistics, or the temperature he is at before imminent reboot. At this moment, he wants to feel with what he has been created with. He wraps his legs around Hank’s waist, ankles at the small of the man’s back, hands ever roaming his body.
He earns a hefty groan from Hank when he pinches down on his ample nipples.
“Fuck, Connor,” Hank hisses, sweat collecting on his brow.
His hips speed up, piledriving harder into Connor. The sound of skin slapping and fluids squelching fills the humid air. It does not take away any of the arousal that hangs in the forefront of each Connor’s and Hank’s minds. Pleasure is beginning to build on itself, and Hank finds it harder and harder to concentrate on consistency. His thrusts are beginning to go erratic, though he is not yet on the coattails of release.
Hank almost doubles over when Connor brings one of his hands down to his sex, folds spread open from being speared by Hank himself. He locates the bud between them, fingering along the length of it, listening to the pretty little mewls that he punches out of Connor, so hyper focused on this new task set before him that he almost forgets to thrust in again.
“Haaank,”
Connor’s voice is glitching out now, eyes unfocused as Hank rolls him in his grip. He cannot handle much more; his system is malfunctioning, and it is impossible to find where he ends and where Hank begins. He is coming apart at the seams, about to burst…
The bedroom lights flicker as Connor succumbs to orgasm. His eyes, already hazy, roll back in their sockets. His mouth stays open, fixed in an “o” shape as he comes. His component’s muscles spasm around Hank, fluttering the way a butterfly’s wings would do. Wet splashes upon Hank’s digits, up along his palm and even his wrist. Connor’s legs squeeze him hard enough to hurt, only to fall from his waist and onto the bed, leaving the android quite literally limp.
“Oh my god,” Hank is about to freak out when Connor comes back full force, running his nails down Hank’s back.
He is tight as a vice around Hank, body trying to milk him for everything he is worth. Hank is so close to coming, of toppling over, and if Connor wants him to, then that is what he will do.
It is like all time stops when Hank gives in to the pleasure. His ears are muffled, filled with the equivalent of cotton, mouth eternally dry as a desert. Behind his pupils, he swears he sees stars, the Northern Lights putting on a sped up show of their ethereal hues of colors. His head swims in the ocean, as blue as the sky, water sloshing the same time his body empties into Connor. Hank is suspended from his shoulders, he feels, in ecstasy, unable to do anything but revel in the feel that races through the very fiber of his being. He floats down from the clouds slowly, spirit being siphoned back into his vessel back on earth, where Connor smatters his face in a thousand kisses, calling him back to present time.
Hank takes in air for the first time since his orgasmic rapture, feeling like it has been ages since his last, though it has only been mere seconds. Soon, he stills in Connor, meeting the android’s lush lips with his.
They stay there, kissing each other until Hank is soft enough to slip out. He has made an absolute mess of Connor, but it is not unexpected. They will clean up later but, right now, all that matters is their time together.
Connor gives one last kiss to Hank’s lips, rubbing noses with the man afterwards in compromise. They smile at each other.
“I love you,” Hank cannot help himself but say.
Connor intertwines their fingers, never once ignoring the warmth blooming in his core.
“I love you too, Hank. You know I do.”