Chapter Text
You had the surgery. If you cannot have his love, then nobody will have yours. What difference did it make, feeling no emotions to being dead? This seems to be the least painful of your options.
When you awoke, you couldn't help but notice how... Dull everything was. The world didn't seem as colorful as it did in your memories. It wasn't important. Right now, you needed to focus on healing so you could return to work. Your chest hurt, but it was a dull ache, something easily ignored.
Nobody knew you had surgery, so you had no visitors. You were discharged two days later, under the orders that you get plenty of rest. Connor had messaged you, wondering where you were at.
"I requested time off for a personal issue that needed to be addressed. I'll be back at work next week."
......
Connor read and re-read the message. It didn't fit with your normal speech pattern. When you were happy, your words were short, typing fast in your excitement, even throwing in the occasional emoticon, which often took him a moment to decipher. This was closer to when you were angry, articulating your words to drive home your point, but even that didn't seem right. This felt so... Cold. Perhaps he was looking too much into it. Then again...
"Can I come over?" He only had to wait a few seconds before you replied.
"I would prefer it if you didn't. I'm supposed to be on bed rest."
That solidified that something was wrong, very wrong. Every time he sent you a message starting with 'can', you would send the same snarky text. Every. Time.
"I dOn'T kNoW, cAn YoU?"
It took everything in him not to jump up and drive straight to your house. Instead, he planned his approach.
"If you wouldn't mind, if it's bed rest you need, I can help. I don't have any plans."
"I suppose I have no objections."
With that, he stood, throwing on his jacket and boots. He ripped open his door, almost running over Chloe in the process.
"Hey, Connie!" She chimed, giving him a hug. He didn't particularly like that nickname, but it felt wrong to correct her after two months.
"Hey, what are you doing here?"
"What? I can't make a surprise visit to my boyfriend's apartment?" She could not have picked a worse time. Though, can it be a surprise when she was here five to six days out of the week?
"No, you can, but I'm actually on my way out."
"Oh! Well, where are you going? I could come with you." When he didn't answer, her face fell.
"You're going to see her, aren't you?"
"I have to. I suspect there's something wrong."
"You always suspect there's something wrong with her! Are you sure it's not you?" She snapped, then sighed, dejected. "Connor, why did you agree to go out with me?"
He was quiet, considering his options. In the end, he decided on the truth.
"She asked me too." Chloe's eyes widened in shock. "She told me I needed to spend more time with other androids. To make friends and find a lover that could last as long as I will."
She looked like she wanted to punch him.
"So, I was just the first "android" that happened to ask you out?"
"Yes."
She slapped him. Hard.
"You're an asshole!" She shouted, eyes wet with tears, "Go find some other android to waste away with!" She stormed off, back to her car and as far away from him as she could get.
He stood there for a moment, stunned. His cheek burned. He touched it and his fingers came away with a smudge of blue. Her nails had cut into his synthetic skin, leaving small scratches on his complexion. Given the context, he supposes he deserved that. No need to press charges for assaulting an officer. Remembering his original task, he locks his door and bolts off to your home.
You answer the door after hearing the three consecutive knocks, perfectly spaced between each one. You were wearing your silk, button-up pajamas, a favorite of his as the color looked nice against your complexion and he liked how the material hung off your curves. It also felt luxurious against his own skin. That, however, was not what caught his attention. Your skin was paler than usual, and he could see the wrappings peeking out from the top of your shirt. You weren't smiling or frowning, or even grimacing despite having clearly crawled out of bed to get the door, your hair a mess. It was the look in your gaze that made his thirium pump stop, falling from its rooted place in his chest.
There was nothing staring back at him.
"You're damaged. Did you know that?" Usually, you always made a huge fuss with even the smallest of injuries.
"Yes." You didn't even seem to care how or why.
"Please, come in, " you shifted to allow him room, but he didn't move. He was still locked in on your eyes. The color was wrong, washed out to the point of almost being grey. He's seen it on only a couple different humans, but usually only after...
"I see you noticed. I assure you, there is nothing wrong with my eyesight. This is a side-effect of my recent surgery. Please, come in. Keeping the door open is going to run up my electric bill."
He stumbled in, but was terrified of you shutting the door, of being alone with you. He heard the click, knowing it was too late.
"Please take off your shoes. My Roomba is currently being replaced." He did as you asked, feeling a pang in his chest. You loved your old Roomba. It did a terrible job of cleaning, but you had it for years, doing minor repair work yourself before eventually buying a vacuum cleaner to deal with the mess yourself. You had even glued googly eyes on it and kept Captain Crunch cereal around to "feed" it. Now, to replace it so easily, it just wasn't right.
Another thing he noticed was the lack of a certain overly-affectionate feline.
"Where is your cat?"
You pointed at a window where the cat sat outside, pacing back and forth.
"I gave him to the neighbor a couple days ago. He deserves someone who can give him proper love and affection. Once he realizes I won't let him in, he'll go back to her." You said it so nonchalantly, as if it wasn't the cat you bottle-fed and saved from the streets. Watching the desperate animal, all Connor wanted to do was let it in.
"What did you do?" He asked gravely.
"To what are you referring to?" You were walking slowly to the kitchen. When you reached up to one of the cabinets for a glass, you flinched, dropping your arm immediately.
"What kind of surgery did you have?" He pulled the glass down, almost slamming it down on the counter. You didn't even react, thanking him and filling the glass with water.
"I had a deadly parasite removed."
"What kind of parasite?" You gestured to a small plant sitting on your kitchen table.
"They let me keep it. It won't grow as fast as it would inside, but I saw no reason to simply throw it away." He stared at the long, bundled white blossoms, dropping to his knees. He realized immediately that he was staring at the embodiment of your emotions. He might as well be looking at your corpse sitting on the table.
This had to be some kind of sick joke. He looked into your face, expecting it to break that blank expression, hear you burst out in the laughter he enjoyed listening to, even at his expense. See the bright smile you always graced him with. Wrap your arms around him in guilt after seeing the look of horror on his face.
"I hope you're not damaged. I'm restricted against heavy lifting." You stared down at him, expecting an explanation. Your eyes were so cold. He was reminded of another woman who had that icy stare. Someone else he had looked up to, only to be misled and deceived. You are the last person he wants to associate with that woman. That program.
Amanda.
"Why didn't you tell me?" He whispered desperately, "Whoever it was, we could have talked to them, explained the situation."
"It wouldn't have worked."
"You don't know that!" He sprung to his feet, "There had to be something we could have done! How could you give up feeling so easily?" He was angry. You knew how much he struggled with his emotions, yet he was happy to be able to experience them. He told you how glad he was to have deviated, to feel. He wouldn't wish how he was before on his worst enemy, yet, here you are, his best friend, the person he cared for more than anyone else, suffering a fate worse than death. Not that you could tell. You had become a living machine.
"The man I loved was already with another. There was nothing I could do." You went to walk around him, but before you could get by, he grabbed your upper arm. He wouldn't look at you, a rage burning in his eyes.
"Who was it?" He asked, voice low and dangerous. Any other time, you would have felt fear. The fact that you didn't react only seem to infuriate him more.
"You don't want to know. It will only cause you pain." You might not have any emotions left, but that doesn't mean you wanted to cause any unnecessary pain. He turned you, pinning you to the fridge.
"Who is it?!?" He demanded, teeth bared as you merely watched him with your soulless eyes. He won't drop it unless you told him.
"It was you."
He backed away, all the rage replaced with shock. His legs gave out on him again, and he fell, back colliding loudly against the cabinets. He stared up at you, tears already forming in his eyes. You grabbed some paper towels and set them by his hand before walking away, back to your room, with your glass of water.
You could hear him weeping quietly, sharp intakes of breath resonating throughout the small house. You crawled back into bed, expecting to hear the front door open and close at any moment. You did not expect to wake up an hour later when you felt the bed shift, arms wrapping around you and holding you close against a warm body.
"You should have told me, " his voice cracked.
"It's too late now, and I can't feel regret, " came your reply.
"Don't worry, " he sobbed, "I can feel it for both of us."
He spent the night at your house. The next morning, he got ready for work, finding the clothes he had left there for such a purpose, promising to stop by on his break to take care of you.
"What about Chloe? You'll upset her if she finds out where you are." He adjusted his tie.
"We broke up yesterday." You nodded.
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"No... you're not." The words were just as matter of fact as you were. He smiled at you, but it was full of pain. He turned and left.
He spent every spare moment with you. He made your meals and ensured you took your medications on time. He even helped care for your new plant, though he just wanted to throw it against a wall. Every new flower that bloomed was a reminder that had it remained, it would have killed you, but without it, you were dead inside. You seemed to like the flowers, or rather, you took the health of the plant as a good thing, helping to purify the air.
Connor only went home to grab some spare clothes. You didn't mind, the extra care aiding in your welfare. With it, you will be on schedule to return to work. You knew, however, what he was doing. He put on your old favorite movies, even a couple that you often teared up to. He asked you what you thought of them now, only to hear you tear them apart with all their inconsistencies. He played music you used to love, did things you used to like, such as slow dance. He also tried a few things that used to annoy you, like asking 'why?' over and over when you were explaining something. It was almost impressive how long you could go now that it wasn't pissing you off, but he would have preferred the anger. He would have preferred you hit him, kick him, beat on him until your fists were bloody and bruised. Any reaction was better than none at all. One night, he kissed you. When you didn't do anything, he pulled back.
"I don't think you should do that. It's dangerous." Hanahaki was not common among androids, but thanks to deviancy, it was on the rise. He bit his lip before nodding and backing away.
He had looked so hopeless. On the last night before returning to work, you decided to confront him.
"Connor?"
"Yes?" He looked up from setting your plate, another perfectly balanced meal.
"You can't keep doing this." He looked down at the food, "not that, I mean trying to get me to feel. I can't. You're just hurting yourself." He dropped the plate in front of you, bracing himself on the counter.
"There has to be a way, " he looks into your eyes, "There has to."
"There isn't." You ate, conversing as if you were talking about the weather, "I'm sure you've looked it up. Has there ever been a documented case of someone who had the surgery going on to feel again?"
"There aren't a lot of cases of people who have had the surgery. Most prefer... The alternative. With those who have, it truly was unrequited, so they went on living their lives." If you could call it that, he thought bitterly, "there have been a few documented cases where it wasn't unrequited. Most ended in murder/suicide and two ended with the previous unrequited love falling victim to hanahaki themselves. One died and the other elected to have the surgery as well. They married each other out of convenience and still live together, but both report that they feel no emotion towards each other or anything else."
"So, what makes you think the outcome would be any different with me?" He didn't have an answer and you knew it. You placed your dirty dish in the sink. "You should forget about me and move on with your life." He wrapped his arms around you.
"I can't."
"If it will make it easier, I can leave Detroit. Captain Fowler can transfer me to another department in another city. I have no reason to stay." He only held on to you tighter. A pain started to emerge in your chest.
"Let me be your reason. I don't want you to go. I... I think I love you." The pain intensified.
"You're holding me too tightly, " he released you immediately with an apology and you went to the counter where all your medication was kept, reaching for the almost full bottle of pain relievers. You hardly needed them, as the pain was easy to ignore. You popped one into your mouth and Connor handed you a glass of water.
"All the more reason one of us should go. You're risking your well-being."
"I don't care. This is what I want. I took your love for granted, it's only fair for you to destroy mine." His hand cupped your cheek, looking down at you before pressing his lips against yours. It was desperate, and you could feel his tears as they fell onto your face. You kissed him back, and for a split second, he was hopeful, but you were following a pattern, trying to appease him. His lips trailed down your neck, hands roaming your body, careful of your still healing wound.
He swept you off your feet, carrying you to the bedroom. You used to laugh when he did this, or tease him for being so impatient. He stripped you naked, slowly kissing and caressing every inch of your body. By now, you would have been begging him to end his torturous bliss, your core absolutely dripping, ready and waiting, just for him. Instead, you only watched, the occasional moan leaving your lips far too quick to be voluntary, your body reacting automatically to the erogenous touches. You were wet, but just barely.
He stripped out of his own clothes, stroking his cock a few times, spreading the lubricant from tip to base. He pushed into you, hearing your small grunt, before setting a gentle speed. You were moaning a little louder, but you didn't react beyond that. You didn't hold him close, or run your hands along his back. You didn't wrap your legs around his waist in a bid to get him closer, deeper. You simply laid there and let him do what he wanted, believing it was what he needed to do.
He buried his face into your neck, playing back the old audio from a previous session, when you would call his name with rapt passion, begging him for more. He increased his speed, thrusting against your sweet spot. One of his hands slipped down, touching your bundle of nerves in the way you used to like it. He did all he could to please you. Your reactions were still lackluster, and he buried his face deeper against you. If he didn't look at you, he could think back to how you used to cling to him, wanting him, needing him. He could pretend you could still love him, that he had reciprocated your feelings, and you were both going to live happily together for many years.
He could feel you squeezing him from within, your soft groan signaling your end, far too quiet to be noticed over the recordings. He picked up his pace, chasing his own orgasm. When it finally hit, it was nothing compared to when you would help bring him to his end before. He spent himself within your walls, but all the pleasure that should have been there was gone almost immediately, replaced with nothing but shame and despair.
"I'm sorry." He pulled away, "I'm sorry."
"It's fine, " you say, but, like everything else, it's fake. You just don't care. He had robbed you of that. With him off you, you stand up and leave him there while you wash off. Left alone, he cried.
.........................
You return to work, and it doesn't take long before everyone notices the change. You are on desk duty for three weeks while you continue to heal. Fellow detectives and officers, people you had once been so friendly to, asked where you've been, how you've been, but you merely state that you are busy, seeing the conversation as frivolous. The quick dismissal immediately caused either concern or animosity. With victim statements, you came off as cold and callous, too new to not having empathy that you didn't know how to fake it. One victim even thought you were an android, calling you a 'plastic prick'. It was deemed best that you shouldn't handle statements for now.
Your presence unsettled the detectives, your faded eyes making them shiver. They wouldn't talk to you unless they had too, not that you noticed or cared. You did your job and then you went home.
Connor would accompany you back, still trying to care for you. Still trying to find a way to make you feel again. Watching you react so coldly to things you used to love, to him, his plastic heart broke a little more each time. He couldn't bare the thought of giving up, of leaving you. If a machine like him can learn to feel, than someone who had emotions before could surely have them again. He has to believe that, it was all he had left.
At night, Connor would lose himself in his fantasies, taking a few moments for himself. You never denied him. Afterward, he would only feel regret, watching you leave him immediately to wash off. He wishes he didn't feel the compulsion to do this. He feels disgusted with himself every time, but, for just a few seconds, he can believe the lie, and like a drug addict, he craves those few despicable moments. This must be how you felt when he would leave after. He hadn't wanted to overstay his welcome before, yet here he is, spending every spare moment with you now that you no longer wanted him. Still using you, only now he was pitifully aware of it.
How pathetic.
On the third day, Detective Reed tried to get a reaction from you, hitting all your usual triggers, even shoving you at one point, but you didn't give him the time of day, just chastised him for wasting time rather than work on his own pending investigations. He stormed off, calling you a 'robotic bitch'.
"As much as I like seeing Gavin bein' put in his place, this is just sad," Hank commented, looking at you, tears in his eyes. He felt as if he lost a daughter and now had to watch a machine take her place. Connor looked just as distraught, gazing at you in pain.
"Why couldn't I see what was obviously there?"
"You didn't know and she wouldn't tell ya." Hank didn't mean to say it so bitterly, but it's hard not to blame Connor for this, even knowing it wasn't his fault, at least not completely. Hell, even Hank was partly to blame. He knew how you and Connor felt, but figured it would resolve itself. It was so apparent to the old lieutenant that he was sure you would have to be blind to not see it. He didn't realize how ignorant Connor was to his own damn feelings and how stupid you were being with yours.
The cough that he heard stopped all trains of thought.
He watched as Connor continued to cough, his heart stopping when he saw the android try to hide the small, purple flower.
"Oh, Connor, no. God, no. Not you too." Connor looked up at him, his own eyes wet, wide in shock.
"I'm sorry, Hank." It was all he could think to say. He was unaware of his own affliction up until this point, but a scan was quick to pick up the foreign object that had sprouted within.
Hank was frozen, but when the shock wore off, he slammed his fists against his desk, attracting the attention of several officers. He shot up and stormed off.
"Where are you going?" Connor called, but Hank wouldn't respond, giving his answer by saying nothing at all. He was going to drink. He wouldn't say it, knowing how much Connor has fought to help with his drinking problem. He had been doing so well. Connor wanted to go after him, to try and convince him that everything will be alright, but the little hydrangea flower that resided in his hand told a different story.
He was going to die.
You finished your shift and Connor trailed after you. He knew he couldn't stop Hank. Not right now, when the news is too fresh. Of course, what could he say to console his father-figure? The surgery was not an option. He can't go back to that, to being a machine. Hank never liked him like that anyway. Instead, he will remain with you. He won't give up the hope that you might feel again, and he will look for a way until either you can love again or the plant within kills him.
You had watched Hank storm off, the loud bang breaking your concentration. He seemed really upset, Connor more so. Your chest started hurting again, which you marked as odd, taking a pain reliever. It wasn't serious, so you noted it, planning to inform the doctor of it on your follow-up appointment.
..............
"My plant is dying." You looked at the tuberose on the table. Several of the flowers had withered, and some of the leaves had developed brown spots. It didn't make sense, you had watched Connor care for it, and it had been healthy just a few days ago.
"Perhaps it can't survive long outside its host, " Connor examined it, even testing the soil, but everything seemed to be in good condition.
You only regarded it a little longer before turning away. You are not the first to keep the parasitic flower, but when you researched how others coped with the surgery, theirs had grown quite well, some even able to build a whole garden off of the deadly blossom. You must be doing something wrong.
Connor felt another coughing fit coming on, but he suppressed it, putting a pan down loudly onto the stove to cover the sound of clearing his throat. He doesn't want you to know. If you did, you might make him leave, to try and spare him even knowing it was already too late. Or, you might try to convince him to get the surgery, it was the most logical thing to do. He would still be alive, and he could still be with you, but what is the point? You may not be capable of loving him anymore, but he could still love you, and he wasn't going to give that up.
He went about the nightly ritual, making your dinner, then making love to you. When you got up to shower, his first severe coughing fit occurred. He coughed up dozens of tiny flowers, painfully choking on the little buds. It subsided before you got out, and he collected them all and tossed them down the garbage disposal.
This became the new normal. For two weeks, you both went to work, then came home. Food, sex, shower, flowers, bed. Connor occasionally spent time with Hank, helping him try to come to terms with what was happening. When that didn't work, he started using the time to forget his current predicament, to just enjoy the moment. Hank would at least gave him that, but Connor could see how Hank suffered when he would succumb to another fit, each one getting worse.
He always returned to your house, his own going neglected. You could see the pain Connor was in every time he returned from Hanks, and your chest was hurting more. The pills weren't working either. It was feeling like the plant was back in your chest, and you called your doctor to see if they had any openings for a closer appointment date. There was none, still a week away.
Your flower was slowly dying, only a few blooms left. Most of the leaves were brown and dried, as if it refused to drink. You had taken over caring for it, thinking maybe because it was yours, it needed you to care for it, but it did nothing to slow its descent.
Connor was becoming more clingy, holding you as much as possible. Then, he would make an excuse, such as getting a message from the DPD, before getting up and going outside. Sometimes he'd come back with tears in his eyes, panting slightly. There was something, the ghost of concern, that prompted you to ask if something was wrong, but he would just say it was nothing.
His nightly sex habit had slowed, going from every night to every other night, then he went three days without it. As he was thrusting into you, face buried into your neck as usual, he froze, abs tensing a few times before quickly doubling his efforts, bringing about your orgasm and pulling out, rolling onto his other side.
"You didn't achieve release." You stated, slightly out of breath.
"It's fine, just go shower." His voice was taut, words strained. You were quiet.
"I don't want to."
He rolled back over, face contorted into anger. "Just go! I'm done for the night!" He shoved you, trying to push you towards the door, but you only moved back to your spot.
"No."
His eyes watered, and a sound escaped him, causing him to swallow a few times before he spoke.
"Please, " he choked out, "just leave me." You remained. You wanted to know what was going on. His hands gripped the blanket, his body constricted, convulsing as he fought against it, but it was useless. He coughed, thirium stained flowers dropping on the sheets. The coughing wasn't enough for his systems, demanding he clear his airways and thirium lines. His body preformed an emergency purge, forcing up more flowers and thirium, staining the bed in shades of blue and violet. You stared at the mess.
"I warned you..." He continued to cough and wheeze. The ache in your chest flared. It hurt so much.
"I told you to forget about me..." Your voice cracked. You couldn't breathe, the pain mounting. Connor spat out one more flower before finally looking up at you, eyes wide. You were clutching your chest, curling into yourself. Your eyes were darker, overflowing with tears.
"What's wrong?" He gripped your shoulders, trying to look you over. His scans came up with nothing, though your heart was racing. Should he call for an ambulance? What would he tell them?
"Why wouldn't you just leave?" You choked out.
He pulled you against him, your fingers tearing at his skin as the pain kept building, leaving you gasping for breath.
"Because I love you. I'm sorry I didn't figure that out sooner."
One last strangled breath and it was almost like a pop, freeing your lungs and heart immediately. You gulped down each breath, and then you did something neither of you expected.
You cried.
Every sob wracked your core, weeping loudly as you clung to Connor. He held you against him, his own tears silently rolling down his cheeks. He could only hope it was true, pulling back to see the color returned to your eyes before holding you close again. It felt like hours had passed before your tears had finally slowed. You pulled back, looking at Connor, perfect, dorky, sometimes oblivious Connor, in the eyes, the rich chocolate hues sparkling so vibrantly, no longer dulled under your indifferent gaze.
"I love you."
It was barely above a whisper, but it crashed over him like a tidal wave. His body lurched forward, coughing and gagging. He could feel you move about the bed, going to rub at his back while the dead bulbs were expelled from his body. He was shaking by the time he was finished, laying his head onto your lap while you continued to console him. His systems worked to repair the damage the plant had caused, now that it was no longer in the way. Connor looked up at you, a dazed smile on his lips. The flowers would only die off if you genuinely reciprocated his feelings.
"I love you, too." His voice was a little staticky, but it was perfect. You ran your fingers through his hair, a sob escaping you, giving him a watery smile.
"You're such an idiot!" Connor slowly sat up. "You could have died!" He captured your lips, needing to touch and feel. A soft groan escaped him when he felt you kissing back. No set pattern, just losing yourself in the moment. When you moaned against him, it was the sweetest sound he had ever heard and it took everything in him to pull back, fighting the urge to dive back in when you chased after his lips.
"It was worth it." He stood from the bed, scooping you up in his arms, hearing you squeak and laugh, your arms wrapped tightly around him. Connor's man-made heart was so full, yet he felt as if he was floating. He carried you to the couch, stumbling a little.
"Are you alright?" Your hand caressed his cheek, eyes alight with concern.
"Yeah, just a little low on thirium. I'll be alright." He placed you down and draped the throw blanket over you before heading to the kitchen and grabbing a bag of thirium from the fridge. He kept you in eyesight as he drank it down, afraid this was just a dream and you might disappear. You, however, kept smiling at him from the arm of the couch, awaiting his return. He couldn't drink it down fast enough, and when it was finally gone, he just tossed it onto the counter, lying down next to you in a warm embrace.
There was so much that should be said, but at the same time, it wasn't needed. You just held each other closer, desiring the warmth both had been denied for what felt like centuries.
Connor was quick to move above you, shivering under the hands that held him tightly, as if he had never been touched before. His lips and tongue ravaged your mouth, devouring every moan. Reaching between tightly pressed bodies, Connor groaned when he felt just how wet you were, craving him. There was no time for teasing, as much as he enjoyed it. Another time, he tells himself, relishing in the thought that there will be another time, and many after it. He slid into your warmth, choking on a moan when he heard you cry out. Your walls fluttered around him, still sensitive. Had it really only been twenty minutes since he forced your impassive body to come? If it weren't for his internal clock, he would have guessed it was ages ago.
Your legs wrapped around him, trying to encourage him to move, the extra pressure shot electricity up his spine. He was already beginning to feel overwhelmed, sensors maxing out so quickly. He set a fast and deep pace, listening to you scream out in your euphoria. When you cried out his name, every fiber in his body seized, hips jolting erratically against you as he filled you with his synthetic seed. It had caught him off guard, and he fought to gain control of himself, panting hard.
"S-sorry, I didn't-" you cut him off with your lips, arms wrapped around his neck and pulling him down.
"Don't be." For weeks, he would apologize every time he laid with you. He always made sure you came before him, even though you didn't care if you got off or not. In your apathy, you couldn't even be bothered to pretend to care, offering him no comfort and leaving him a little more broken each time. It was not an unfamiliar pain for you, the kind of pain that allows flowers to bloom in darkness. The kind of agony that made you rip up that flower bed, removing their beauty and leaving you with nothing but dirt. Without Connor, that bit of Earth would remain dry and barren. He did all he could to make your garden grow, even as his own was left unattended. He had done what was thought to be impossible. He brought you back to life.
You made him roll over, straddling his lap with him still deeply seated within. He watched you with half-lidded eyes as you rolled your hips against him, hands roaming his skin, turning him into a moaning mess.
"C-Connor! You feel-aah! You feel so good! You make me feel so good! I love you! I love you, Connor!" Your words were broken up by your own gasps and moans, increasing in pitch as you spurred him into action. His hands dug into your hips and thighs, trying to fight off his own impending orgasm.
"I... I love you... Fuck... I love you so much!" Connor's own words were ground out from between clenched teeth. Dragging his hand down your hip, he brought his thumb in contact with your bundle of nerves, quickly tightening the tension in your belly until it snapped, sending you over the edge. He came almost immediately after, your body pulsing against his throbbing member. You collapsed on him, fighting to catch your breath. Arms held you in place against him, both finally feeling a sense of belonging.
..........
The sun was starting to rise when Connor pulled back, still trembling from his latest orgasm, watching as your own powerful aftershocks wrecked your body.
"Con, Love, as much... as I'd love to do this with you... until the end of time,.... I really need to get some sleep," you panted, already drifting off, feeling warm and content and oh, so full, in more ways than one. You honestly don't know how you've lasted this long.
"Surely, you could do one more?" Just a little longer, he thought, as he nuzzled against your cheek. He likes it when you call him 'Con', even more when you call him 'Love'.
"No more. Maybe later," you nuzzled back, kissing his cheek, "I'll still love you when we wake up." He pulled back and looked into your eyes.
"Promise?" He fears that if you fall asleep, you might wake up as you were before. A silly fear, as, despite how you have been behaving, you weren't a machine. You wouldn't go through a system reset. Still, as irrational as it was, he fears being thrust back into the cold. Your warm smile was quick to reassure him.
"Promise."
He smiled, kissing your bruised lips and settling beside you, holding you close as you drifted. He waited until you were asleep before shifting into stasis himself, happy to have the woman he loves in his arms.
Bonus:
Hank didn't want to be here, but after Connor's weird text, he had to know.
"Will be late to work. Don't worry, everything's fine."
The fuck is that supposed to mean? Hank's mind instantly twisted the text to something akin to Connor's final words, propelling him to speed off to your house. Now that he was here, he hesitated. Images of what could be on the other side of this door plaguing his thoughts. Connor lying dead on the floor while you ate breakfast, or maybe a gunshot to your head and then a self-inflicted shot in Connor's.
He could hear shouting on the other side of the front door. He pressed his ear against it.
"I'm sorry!" That was your voice. You sounded distraught, which already made no sense.
"Please, no! Come back!" Hank's heart stopped. He burst through, not really thinking.
You were sitting on the floor, tears in your eyes. When you heard the door, you turned to the sound, wiping your eyes. Connor was sitting on the couch in front of you, a cat demanding his attention as it headbutted the android's chin.
"Do either of you know how to knock?" You scolded, shaking your head.
Hello, Hank. Did you not get my message? I tried calling, but you had your phone off again." Connor stood, forcing the cat to crawl off his lap. It regarded you for a second before turning away.
"I said I was sorry! I promise, I'll pick you up that fancy canned cat food tonight. Please, stop being mad at me!" You pleaded with the fluffy beast, but it paid you no mind.
"The fuck is goin' on?" Its as if nothing happened. Did he get so fucked up that he hallucinated you both having hanahaki disease?
"Connor killed my plant and now I can feel again." You stated, trying to stand but stumbling a bit.
"I did not purposely kill your plant. The flowers started dying when you started feeling, I just helped it along."
"So, you have emotions again?"
"Yep."
Hank regarded you for a second before turning to Connor.
"And what about you?"
"They're gone," Connor smiled, hugging the man. Hank hugged him back. When the news started to sink in, he held a little tighter. He wasn't gonna lose another one.
You joined in, hugging the two men. After a moment, Hank pulled back, ruffling your hair.
"You two ever pull this shit again and I'll kill ya myself!" He bellowed, and from the look he was giving you both, he meant it. "You two idiots are gonna give me a heart attack."
"Sorry, Hank," you both chimed. While you were fixing your hair, Hank noticed something.
"What's that on yer wrist?" You looked, staring at what looked to be a scar in the shape of a tuberose.
"I think its a reminder. I have a few more on my chest. It showed up when I started feeling again. Wanna see? They're pretty cool!" You were already going for the buttons on your shirt, prompting Hank to shield his eyes.
"No dammit! The fuck is wrong with you?" You laughed. Connor trying his best to hide his own amusement at Hank's expense, but was failing terribly.
"Go get ready for work. I'm gettin' outta here," Hank turned, about ready to leave, "I'm glad you two are alright. I really am." He left before either of you could say anything. You both stared after him for a moment.
"He's getting soft in his old age," you smiled. Connor kissed the top of your head.
"Let's get your bed sheets switched before we leave." Connor suggested.
"We should just take the whole bed out and burn it." You followed him.
Spying the mess, Connor turned you around, guiding you towards the door.
"Perhaps you're right." It's pretty bad when even the thirium hasn't finished evaporating, and the flowers look stuck to it. He might just suggest you stay at his apartment tonight.
"Why don't you move in?" He looked at you, eyes wide.
"You've been here for almost a month. We could take your bed and bring it here... That is, if you want to."
He pulled you close, stealing a quick kiss.
"I'd love to."