Chapter Text
Night begins to settle over the woods with a wave of energy; it gives Connor a restless feeling.
Hank has been working inside, waiting for the last vestiges of sunlight to disappear, and it’s like he can feel the heat vanish. The world outside is covered in inches of snow, and Hank tells him it may stop humans, but it won’t do more than delay the supernatural. He doesn’t doubt that, after everything he knows now. It would be more surprising if it did anything to stop the beings from beyond.
Hank enters the bedroom and emerges wearing an all-black ensemble with a ruffled collar and flouncing sleeves. He’s handsome, and Connor can see how the clothes flatter his frame.
His fangs are exposed, his skin thinner and wrinkled, his circles dark and prominent. Connor realizes what’s happening as Hank keeps a safe distance from him. “I’ve got to feed tonight, I won’t be gone long.”
Connor feels a pit in his stomach. “What about—“
“I drank all of it, blue blood doesn’t sustain me very long in comparison to human blood.”
He stiffens and nods in disappointment. Hank sighs and walks over to Connor, who is standing by the bookshelf. His task of alphabetizing the shelves has been forgotten. Hank wraps arms around him, pulling Connor flush to his body so suddenly that it takes him a moment to reciprocate. Hank buries his face in Connor’s throat, arms finding his waist to hang on.
He can feel and hear Hank inhaling his scent like it’s the best thing he’s ever smelled.
Maybe he should be scared, but Connor gives in entirely to the temptation, tilting his head back so Hank can access his throat, closing his eyes, trusting, and surrendering.
“If it wouldn’t hurt you, I’d love to taste you, Connor.” His voice is husky and makes Connor’s artificial breath catch, passion warming him up instantly.
It’s true—he needs a certain amount of thirium to survive, but he can lose some without it affecting his functioning.
This shouldn’t feel so intimate or desirable, Hank could easily kill him in this situation, but Connor trusts him. Hank has saved his life multiple times now.
Connor grips his vest tightly as Hank grazes sharp fangs along his neck up to his ear, where his breath tickles the sensitive flesh. “Did you know there are locations where it’s easier for vampires to feed from an android?” Obviously, he wouldn’t know that, but Connor doesn’t say anything; he simply restrains a whimper. “I’ll be back, Con. Wait for me.”
Connor can only nod frantically, oddly eager to please. Hank releases him and leaves the cabin. Sumo is watching them judgmentally from the couch. Connor fixes his hair and straightens his clothes. “You wouldn’t get it.”
Sumo barks at him as if to sass, and Connor pets him. “Do you want to go play fetch?”
He plays outside with Sumo but stays close to the cabin, retreating inside at the slightest sign of danger. The atmosphere is alive; he can hear animals, the breeze, and sometimes other noises.
Howling, steps, rustling, giggles, like the world of supernatural creatures is just beyond the clearing in the forest. It leaves him uneasy and curious all the same, but he listens to Hank on this one—he is adamant Connor stay away. He will be a target for others now that he’s stepped through the veil.
He remains inside after that, tidying up. He sweeps and dusts; for how little Hank has to do to care for himself, he doesn’t spend a lot of time cleaning his house. Connor is appalled by the amount of dust and cobwebs he finds in the tiny space. He’s returned to reorganizing Hank’s books alphabetically by author and title when there’s a knock at the door.
Sumo doesn’t bark.
Connor’s eyes swivel to the door, and he scans, feeling like everything has slowed down.
They’re in the middle of the forest at 2:46 AM. There’s absolutely no reason for anyone to be knocking.
Hank has a key, which means it can’t possibly be him.
Then who, or what is there? Is it even a person?
Connor makes a calculated decision that he shouldn’t give any indication he’s here. Sumo doesn’t give them away, telling Connor he senses something off about the ominous visitor. He blows out the candles so there’s absolutely no sign he’s inside and leads Sumo into the storage room.
The knocking continues, and Connor tracks it, hoping that Hank doesn’t encounter whatever the source is.
The knocking goes on for 5 minutes before ceasing.
Then, they start knocking on the windows, and he hears a deep, authoritative male voice shouting. “Open up, Hank!”
Is someone looking for Hank ?
Are they planning on hurting him?
Connor debates what to do but decides against opening the door. Eventually, everything stops, and it’s silent again.
Connor sits as still and alert as possible in the dark, flicking his coin to calibrate in case he needs to engage in combat. It’s not until closer to 4:15 AM that he hears anything new, it’s two muffled voices yelling outside, one of which is Hank. Connor and Sumo emerge, and he creeps out to the front door.
A man is standing right in front of him, blocking the door. He’s about Connor’s height but bigger and broader, wearing period clothes like Hank, bald and dark-skinned. “You’ve gotten careless, Hank. Did you think I wouldn’t notice? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Hank looks agitated, to begin with. Then his eyes find Connor, and the man turns around, immediately putting some distance between them. It’s snowing lightly. Hank and the man are both covered in flakes, white on their black clothing. “Who the hell are you?”
Hank groans, rubbing his palms over his face. “Why don’t we just make this a goddamn party? Connor, get the wine glasses.”
That is how Connor ends up involved in the most awkward three-way conversations of his life, which is saying a lot since he’s an awkward individual himself.
It turns out his name is Jeffrey Fowler. He was Hank’s best friend for most of his human life and the one who turned Hank, though they’re both dodgy about that situation. Connor gives Hank a look like you owe me an explanation, and Hank avoids eye contact.
He’s a vampire, too.
Jeff has done much more with his life and travels around, but he always rounds back to check in on Hank at least once or twice a year, this time being an exception. His wife is also a vampire—as he calls her his mate—but she didn’t come along because she was busy with other obligations. From what he can gather, Jeff cares deeply for Hank but is used to his bullshit and doesn’t tolerate it. He seems particularly interested in Connor, though.
He can guess that has to do with Hank's declaration that no one has been close to him for over 40 years.
They argue back and forth for a while, sipping expensive wine and glaring at each other from opposite sides of Connor. Jeff mostly scolds Hank for exposing himself by making his kills so obvious. Hank is complaining and being his usually stubborn self. Connor can only listen to them prattle on for so long before he loses his patience.
“It doesn’t matter,” Connor says so suddenly that it silences both vampires. Their gazes are drawn to him like a moth to the flame. Connor isn’t intimidated. “I covered up Hank’s involvement; now he just has to avoid further scrutiny.”
Jeff sighs, the sound suffering. “Goddammit Hank, do you understand the kind of position you put your mate in? You’re supposed to be protecting him, dumb ass.”
Connor feels heat rising in his body at the intimate title. They haven’t discussed the nature of their relationship; both are so damaged from years of isolation, unraveling that has been their primary objective. Connor has to admit he likes the sound of it and has no intention of correcting it.
He’s more surprised Hank doesn’t.
“Jeff, for fuck’s sake, quit busting my balls. I already know how badly I fucked up, okay?”
Jeff seems happy to ignore that and speaks to Connor. “Tell me about yourself, I came in here and didn’t even ask your name.”
Connor straightens up. “Ah, so you’re done “busting his balls?”
Hank chokes, and Jeff chuckles loudly. “Never, but it can wait.”
Hank grumbles, and Connor decides for a moment what’s okay to share. Jeff has been ripping Hank a new asshole for the better part of the last hour, but he can’t deny Hank earned it. The whole thing was also pretty satisfying to listen to as well. The fact Hank seems so comfortable around Jeff tells Connor he must be safe to speak with openly. “I’m Connor, an investigative android prototype developed in 2038 to stop the android revolution. Obviously, I failed my mission. The Detroit police department has employed me since then. I currently work as a Lieutenant in homicides.”
Hank frowns, and Connor knows why. He didn’t know all of that, either.
Connor wants to say, you could try asking, but doesn’t, for now. “This guy stole your job,” Jeff jokes, chuckling into his glass of wine. Hank grunts but doesn’t dignify that with a response.
“I was assigned to finding whoever was draining bodies of blood in Witherell Park. While out investigating one evening, I was mistaken for an animal and shot. I would have died if not for Hank coming along and saving my life. We’ve been growing closer since then.”
“He won’t leave,” Hank corrects, then drains his drink.
“Doesn’t sound like you want him to,” Jeff retorts, and Connor smiles slightly, knowing that’s true. Hank can bury how much he enjoys Connor’s company as deeply as he wants, but it’s evident to anyone watching their interactions.
“I quite enjoy his company.” Connor pats Hank's thigh fondly. “It has been quite difficult keeping a good balance between being an officer and keeping Hank from being arrested, however.”
“Which brings me to why I’m here,” Jeff transitions seamlessly, and the air grows heavier. They all straighten up, tensions rising immediately. “Those cases are in the news, they’re going to find someone to take responsibility, and we all three know they don’t care if it’s the real perpetrator. Given that Hank would be too old to commit the crimes even if he were alive, I doubt they’ll go out looking for him, but they’re going to find this place.”
Connor stares at the deep red liquid in his cup, his head spiraling and his posture tightening. Hank presses his lips into a tight line. “I’ve had this place under a spell, so only people I bring here can see it, but that doesn’t always work.”
That answers another mystery Connor couldn’t solve—how they missed his cabin when doing thorough searches of the forest. “Why not?” He asks.
“If someone is spiritually in tune, it’s less likely to prevent them from seeing it. Also, if the veil is thinned, like right now.” Hank explains.
They all sit in silence, digesting Hank's likelihood of being discovered. Of course, Jeff has the least amount of investment in this, so he’s the one who speaks first.
“I think it’s time for a change anyway, you’ve been here 20 years, Hank. Go out and see the world. Take Connor with you.”
They don’t voice how big of a deal that is or how they’ve never even talked about their relationship before; they just nod. Either way, Jeff is right; Hank can’t stay here for much longer. The weight of the situation will hit them both once he’s gone.
“Tell me where you decide to go. Need anything before I leave?”
Hank shakes his head, pressing his lips into a tight line. “Bye, Jeff.”
He pats Connor’s shoulder. “Take care of this stubborn guy.” Then he’s gone, like a shadow in the night, as if he was never there.
Yet his words remain in the house.
Sumo finally rejoins them in the living room, glad their visitor is gone. Connor pets him behind his ears, and Hank watches them.
After a quiet minute, Hank speaks. “I’m not going to ask you to do anything for me.” Connor is unsurprised to hear Hank say that, it’s a big decision to make, and they don’t have a lot of time to think it through. “I’ll still come to see you if you want,” Hank offers, and Connor feels an ache in his chest, imagining them going their separate ways.
The thought of leaving behind Detroit doesn’t bring the same yearning or emotions, Connor runs through all the scenarios in his processors. Between staying and going, it’s clear what choice he wants .
Markus would miss him, but if Connor visited here or there, it wouldn’t matter if he lived in the city or moved away. Despite their long history, Connor had kept more of an emotional wall up than most of the other androids. This resulted in their distant friendship now. So, he isn’t too concerned about Markus missing his presence.
It’s been over a month since he and Hank started talking, closer to two, and Connor has spent more time with Hank than anyone else here.
What if Hank doesn’t want him around? If he has a heart, it will shatter. Connor has tried to give him space and let Hank come to him , hoping to understand his intentions and feelings, but he doesn’t. What’s going on in his head has remained blurry and unfocused.
Connor stands. The sun will be coming up in the next couple of hours, so their time is limited. He is brave and unafraid to have hard conversations, but when he sees Hank’s neutral expression, he has sudden doubts.
Does Hank not really want him? Is this a convenient excuse to get rid of him? “When are you going to leave?”
“Probably in a few days, I’ll need to gather what I can take with me.” Connor’s heart is in his throat. This arrangement is on borrowed time.
It’s what they say—if it’s too good to be true, it probably is.
For the first time since his deviancy, Connor has felt alive like he never did before, and it’s nonsense logically, but he has fallen for Hank over the short last two months. He’d do anything to preserve this feeling for even a moment more. He opens his mouth to say that, and Hank puts a finger over his lips. “Shhh, don't make any rash decisions, Con. I know what you want to say, but think about it, alright?”
But I don’t need to.
Before he can say that, Hank kisses him.
There’s a desperation in it, and Connor throws arms around his shoulders, drawing him in so they’re flush. He tries to show Hank how much he wants him with his mouth and his tongue, in how they kiss like they’re drowning. The taste of metallic blood hits his tongue, he analyzes everything he comes into contact with, filing it all away for later viewing, his fingers running through Hank’s long hair. It’s silky and smooth, threading easily between the digits.
Hank holds onto his waist, squeezing, especially when Connor does something he likes. He walks Hank to the couch and pushes him down onto it, though Hank only goes down because he wants to.
Maybe he can show Hank since he won’t listen.
Hank opens his mouth to speak, and Connor returns the gesture he used earlier to silence Connor, a finger over his lips. “Don’t ask me if I want this. You know I do.” He lowers his voice, holding Hank’s eyes. “I want you. ”
Hank’s jaw clicks shut, and Connor begins undressing in the warm, dancing light of the fireplace, starting with his socks and shoes, then rucking up his sweater. He smoothly caresses up his own body as skin is revealed, creamy, and dotted with freckles and moles. He folds it and places it on the floor, only for Sumo to sniff and promptly lay on it.
Standing there in just his pants, Connor traces his fingertips along the blue light of his thirium pump regulator. His skin receded to expose the inhuman nature of his body.
Hank follows every movement, his pants growing tighter. Connor smirks slightly, loosening his pants' drawstring, letting them pool at his feet, and stepping out to abandon them. He doesn’t have much need for underwear, so he didn’t bother wearing any. Now he’s in the light of the fire completely nude.
Hank’s eyes seem to glow with supernatural energy as they prowl over him from head to toe like Connor is a meal he’s about to devour.
Connor steps toe to toe with him, and the orange lighting dances on Hank's pale skin.
Since he just fed, his skin has fewer wrinkles, and he’s more youthful-looking than before. But it doesn’t matter if he’s gray and wrinkled or fit and youthful, Connor just wants Hank. He’s gorgeous, his hair full and wavy.
Connor trails his hi-tech fingertips down Hank’s thighs, then back up, hair falling into his face as he watches the pathway he carves out.
Caressing like a whisper, up, up, just barely dodging where Hank really wants him, over his abdomen to his neck, where Connor finally stops. There’s no concern or fear, only trust and respect. Hank tilts his chin back, smirking up at him. His fangs are still revealed, showing his true nature.
Connor’s temperature skyrockets, arousal pooling in his hips. He’s getting wetter, despite the presence of danger. Hank must sense something about him changing because he grabs Connor’s waist and guides him to straddle his lap.
Like this, Hank’s clothed bulge is pressed to his vulva, and it only takes Connor a second to brace a hand on Hank’s shoulder to grind their hips together.
They both react, gasping, Hank grips his hips. “Christ. You really wanna do this in front of the dog?”
Connor rolls his eyes, pressing down harder, knocking the air from Hank’s lungs with a wheeze. “You’ve been teasing me mercilessly; yes, I’m sure.”
That must be all the reassurance he needs, Hank digs his blunt nails into the meat of Connor’s ass, bracing his heels to grind steadily upwards. As they gasp and moan, he starts licking and mouthing Connor’s neck. The grazing of sharp fangs is only more alluring to him.
He guides Hank's hand down, and he slips a couple of fingers between his legs to join in the mess, swiping the digits along his slit and collecting the wetness that’s gathered there.
Connor whimpers, his pussy pulsing. That only happens again when Hank brings them to his mouth and greedily licks them clean, getting some slick in his beard. “You taste good, I knew you would.” Hank leans in close breath cool on Connor’s cheek. He flicks his tongue on the shell of his ear, his voice husky and gorgeous. “I want to taste you. Sit down, Baby.”
He obeys, scrambling to sit next to Hank, but that’s temporary because Hank is dropping to his knees in front of Connor. “Slick is a lubricant mixed with thirium for androids,” Connor recites, his energy bursting forth.
“Oh, I know.” Hank winks and grabs his thighs, spreading his legs wide, and then hauls them onto his shoulders so he can lean in closer to his target. “Fuck, I won’t hurt you, I promise.”
“I trust you.” Hank is unfairly attractive, kneeling between his thighs like that. He is still dressed in that ruffled shirt and vest, but his hair is messy—Connor gasps sharply at the pleasure that races down his spine at the sight.
Hank licks a line along his inner thigh, only grazing his clit on the way down. Connor’s breath catches, anticipation rising in him, only for Hank to move up the length of his other thigh, his large hands slide up the backs of his legs to grab his ass, pulling him to the edge of the couch so some of his weight relies on Hank.
It puts Connor at his mercy, he grips the edge of the cushions.
“Fuck yes,” Hank smirks before giving kitten licks up his vulva, then between his lips, making him clench with pleasure. He’s trying to show restraint and not crumble the moment Hank touches him. But his fingers are kneading Connor’s ass right where it feels good, and his wet tongue swiping along his hole has a pathetic moan escaping his lips. Hank meets his eyes, smug by the light in his eyes. “Come on, make some lovely sounds for me.”
His wicked mouth finds Connor’s clit to spread the wetness and lick over and over with more force each time. Connor feels his body lighting up, circuit boards going wild with the sensations combined with the sights. Every touch is heightened, Hank sucks it into his mouth and hollows his cheeks to suck, his tongue fluttering at the same time. “Oh my god.” Connor squirms, his hips and legs shifting and his head rolling back against the couch cushion. His breath fastens as his internal temperature rises, trying to help him stay cool.
It feels so good, he’s lost in Hank's touch.
Connor laces fingers through Hank's hair so he can tug on it. He doesn’t seem to care about stopping when Connor is at his mercy. He whimpers, pressing the heels of his feet to Hank’s back despite the urgent speed of his tongue. “Hank, Hank,” he pleads, voice cracking. “I don’t—shit.”
Hank does give him a break because he moves down, arms shifting to pin Connor while still spreading him open. “God, you’re soaked,” he groans against his cunt, the vibrations making the muscles twitch. Connor manages to glance down just in time for Hank to start thrusting his tongue inside him.
Connor curses again, lifting his hips. Hank is dexterous and wet, and he knows how to press inside to make Connor sloppy and needy.
Before long, he’s being tongue fucked thoroughly, and Connor can’t even focus on anything else but Hank’s mouth on him and his tongue inside him. He’s not entirely sure what he sounds like, but it doesn’t matter.
The moans and whines being torn from his body aren’t voluntary anymore.
Connor moves his hips, meeting Hank halfway, as he pants so hard his chest heaves. As if it isn’t enough that Hank is thoroughly taking him apart with his mouth, he starts rubbing a thumb in slow, sensual circles over his clit, until Connor is beginning to tremble as he writhes.
Electricity is coursing through his veins, thirium pump pounding in his ears, and heat gathering in his pussy.
“Hank, ah-ah—I’m getting close,” he cries, fingers pulling so hard on Hank’s hair he thinks it must hurt.
The roughness of his beard scratching his vulva and thighs is a sensation he didn’t think could feel so good, but it only adds to the growing arousal in his hips, coiling like a spring. He’s going to be thinking about Hank’s beard rubbing on his inner thighs and cunt for the rest of his days.
“Don’t stop!” He pleads, voice turning static as he frantically humps Hank’s face, rubbing his cunt, all over the cold, pale skin and rough beard, covering him in slick.
Hank doubles his efforts but switches, his mouth sucking on his clit again but a couple of thick fingers pressing into his hole. Connor almost cums immediately feeling Hank’s fingers prod and open him up. His whole cunt throbs with how close he is, and he cries out, his thighs clamping around Hank's head as he tenses, his voice strained. “I can’t hold on, I—“
He’s lost on what he planned to say, his entire body taut and ready to snap. Hank presses those fingers to the last knuckle and crooks them, dragging right over the sensitive sensor inside him meant to simulate a g-spot.
It’s too much, Connor flies past his edge and wails, throwing his head side to side, arching his back, and making a valiant effort to kill Hank with his thighs.
For what it’s worth, Hank doesn’t care, and Connor is grateful because his vision is pixelated, and his motor controls are going haywire. Hank stimulates him through it as he spills and urgently fucks himself on Hank’s fingers.
It’s only when his trembling becomes outright shaking, and he shouts Hank's name to get him to stop, that Hank finally does.
Connor goes boneless, still twitching.
He barely keeps his eyes open to watch Hank undress, too. Connor curls up on his side as his body continues to pulse with the sheer force of his orgasm. Hank gets completely naked from the waist down.
He has a snake tattoo on his thigh, and his cock stands at full attention. He’s both longer and thicker than the average for his height, and Connor knows he’ll be absolutely thrilled to take it once he’s back in his body.
“Fucking hell, that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Hank, I—“
“Bask, Con. We’ve got a bit, so no rush.” Hank helps position them to lie down on the couch together. Really, Hank is so large that it’s just Connor lying on him, but still.
Hank’s arms are secure around him, the warmth of the fire and Connor’s orgasm making Hank feel more alive than before. It’s comfortable, he can almost pretend everything is exactly how it should be.
Connor closes his eyes, his systems cooling rapidly, and traces his fingertip along the eagle tattoo on Hank’s chest.
He takes in the crackle of the flames, the wind outside, and Hank’s infrequent breathing. It nearly puts him into stasis, except he wants to make Hank feel the same pleasure. He can feel the low, simmering arousal in his body as he starts to recover, with his refractory period turned so low.
He opens his eyes to see Hank staring up at the ceiling and slips a hand down to take Hank’s cock in hand. Immediately he groans, jerking up into the grip. Connor finds his ear through the curtain of hair and moans. “I bet you’ll feel perfect inside me.”
“Fuck.” Connor strokes him, then squeezes the base to make sure Hank doesn’t cum. He sits up and straddles him, or he tries, but there’s really no room.
Recalculating, Connor makes a quick decision. “Sit up, I’ll ride you.”
Hank drags himself up, and Connor positions himself against Hank’s broad body. He loops an arm around his neck to brace on a shoulder. They fumble around, whispering until they can get situated. Hank places a hand under his ass to help control how fast he lowers, and the other grips his own dick, making sure it lines up.
“Are you comf— fuck.”
Connor takes the tip effortlessly, and with their combined effort, he sinks onto Hank’s cock.
“You’re so—big,” he says, voice already static.
Connor squats so he’ll be able to fuck himself on Hank’s cock more easily. It’s not the deepest anyone has ever been inside him, but it’s still amazing. In fact, Hank is big enough and at an angle like this to press against his sensor with every shift of their bodies. “It feels good,” Connor moans, rolling his hips.
“Goddamn, you’re so hot,” Hank moans. Connor cups his jaw to kiss Hank passionately, their tongues surging together and devouring each other. Hank spreads his own thighs wider and rocks his hips, Connor moans into his mouth as it drags across every area in his passage, a noise Hank greedily swallows.
They can only do so much while kissing.
Eventually, they break it so Connor can lift up until only the tip is in, then drop back down. They both groan, and Hank lifts him right up, dropping him back down. This starts up a steady rhythm, Connor bounces on his cock with ease, his system heating up even faster than last time.
Pleasure races through Connor like lightning, Hank’s hair and clothes getting completely disheveled as he’s thrusting up into him as much as he can from this angle. It’s ripping sounds from Hank’s throat that Connor has never heard. Guttural noises, moans, and groans, even growls. His grip on Connor’s hip is tight enough to bruise if he were human.
It’s so desperate and primal.
Something possesses Connor to peer down, and he nearly cums seeing how Hank's enormous cock is disappearing inside of him, covered in gushing slick. He cries out, dropping down harder and faster, and Hank shouts something incomprehensible.
The sounds of flesh on flesh with the obscene wet noises mix with the crackling fire and their shouts of pleasure.
Then, without warning, Hank grabs his waist, flipping so Connor’s face is pressed to the back of the couch. He’s spread open, bent over the sofa, elbows braced on the cushions. “Better angle,” Hank explains, practically holding him up as he demolishes Connor thoroughly . He is snapping forward hard enough to drive him into the couch and make his legs shake. Connor babbles, the drag of his cock hitting all the right spots. Connor clenches around him, and Hank makes a strangled shout.
“Connor, fuck—! I’m getting close.”
Hearing Hank broken and desperate makes Connor tremble; it doesn’t help that he has to be on his toes for this position to work. There’s that familiar building pressure inside, slick running down his thighs with how wet he is. Connor reaches down to start rubbing his clit; the other hand braced on the couch.
Hank presses his face to the nape of his neck, breath puffing out against his skin, and Connor’s body absorbs all the vibrations from his sounds.
The change in angle pushes Hank even deeper. Connor can’t hold on much longer. This is ideal, considering Hank slams into him and cries out, “Connor!” Then he’s cumming, burying himself to his balls, spilling. The feeling of him filling Connor up sends him over the edge again.
He slams his fist on the couch and cries out Hank’s name, his legs clamping shut as his vision pixelates and warnings fill his HUD.
The next thing he knows, he’s coming to feel weightless, his systems shutting down anything unnecessary to keep from overheating. He’s half on the floor with his face pressed to the cushion, chest heaving as he tries to cool down, and Hank is collapsed on the couch.
Connor peers up through his lashes at Hank, who is bleary-eyed, and grabs his hand. Hank’s hair is messy; his ruffles are crooked, his vest half falling off. He looks attractively debauched.
Hank doesn't try to escape, and Connor’s skin recedes, revealing the white underneath. It’s not as shiny and flawless as it used to be, worn with years of service, especially his hands. He presses their palms together like he’s done before to interface intimately with other androids, feeling a buzzing sensation.
Gradually, he starts to feel electrical energy, it’s Hank’s nerves firing off when he feels or moves.
It’s incredibly intimate. Connor didn’t know he could do this with someone who wasn’t an android.
He stares in awe at their hands, then up at Hank to see if he feels something, too.
His blue eyes are focused intently on him. Connor isn’t anticipating the sheer power in his gaze. He climbs to get closer, but Hank’s face falls, turns solemn, and he drops Connor’s hand. “You need to get home, Connor.”
The sudden shift in attitude leaves even Connor floundering, cold like he was thrown into a frozen lake.
“What?” He’s so shocked by the words that he has a moment of confusion, thinking he misheard.
“Don’t act like you didn’t hear me. You’re not meant for this world, and you know it.”
Connor opens his mouth to snap and tell Hank to quit being so ominous and making decisions for him. He’s got a full rant on the tip of his tongue, but the change in Hank’s energy gives him pause.
All this time, he’s chosen Hank, gone out of his way to be there, and Hank has never done the same.
[chance of reciprocating feelings 84%]
Hank is scared to go over that final hurdle and he can’t make him.
Connor’s chest aches and fear rushes through him like a river; what if Hank doesn’t want to? Or he’s too scared? How does Connor cope with that? They’re on the precipice of something once in a lifetime, but he can’t make Hank take that last step.
“Hank…” he whispers, his name like a broken promise. “I don’t want to. Are you going to make me?”
Hank grimaces but doesn’t meet his eyes.
Connor holds his breath, waiting for his answer while dreading it all the same. He expects it, but it still feels like it shatters him. “This time, yeah. I will.”
He presses his lips into a quivering line but stays composed as he gathers his things, cleans up, and dresses. Hank doesn’t move; he’s a statue. Connor hesitates before deciding he’s got nothing to lose. “If you want me,” he grabs a pen from his backpack and an old notebook; he writes his address and phone number, ripping it out and leaving it by Hank. “You know where to find me.”
With that, he leaves, and he stays composed until the cabin is out of sight, then he lets himself fall apart.
Connor waits to see if Hank will come to him.
It’s frustrating beyond words waiting for someone he knows loves him to finally admit it to himself. So many things run through his mind immediately after Hank kicks him out.
He replays over their memories together to get himself through the first couple nights, then he dares to go out to the forest again, desperately hoping Hank will be there and he can convince him to take Connor with him. But when he arrives, the cabin is empty, and nothing is left but his memories of what they used to have.
It’s an echo now, nothing more than that.
He doesn’t know where Hank went; his life has to go back to how it was before.
He tries that for the first week, just going back to before.
Their search teams discover the cabin, and it’s sanctioned off for full inspection. Connor watches their forensics team scour every inch of the space. The bedroom where Hank touched him for the first time, and Hank told him about Cole, and the living room where they touched, talked, and made love.
It’s all another crime scene now.
Connor tries to convince himself it’s for the best; no one can arrest Hank, and he’s back in the world Hank thinks he belongs, but it doesn’t work.
Everything seems different now.
It’s like he’s seeing the world for what it really is, and he can’t do it anymore.
He keeps up the act for two weeks.
“What the hell is this?”
His boss looks up from his glass desk where Connor has placed his badge. Connor folds his hands behind his back and stares at the shiny metal on the table.
It used to be his everything. He took pride in his work and felt it gave him purpose and meaning, but he doesn’t think so anymore. He’s not sure what’s next, but this isn’t where he wants to stay—waiting for a different outcome from the same actions.
“Thank you for everything,” he says. “But I’ve been doing this for over 50 years, I need a change.”
The hardened expression on the man’s face relaxes, and he gets up to hug Connor. “I was wondering when you’d do this. You’re always welcome back, but don’t come back before I’m retired, got it?”
Connor smiles and nods.
It’s the first time he’s not had work obligations since his conception—no CyberLife, no police, he’s as free as a bird, for the first time, and it feels…
Exhilarating.
Change takes time, but Connor makes big decisions quickly.
He takes out his savings, buys himself a bigger car, which is more of a van, and starts making it a suitable vehicle to drive across the states. Maybe he’ll even go to Canada or Mexico, he can technically do anything he wants. Go and see the beautiful coast that Hank had told him about, or scour the landscapes of Canada. Maybe visit the mountains or see South America. Nothing is tying him down since Hank doesn’t want him.
That thought is like a knife in the back of his mind. Hank might be gone, but his influence will always remain.
Connor starts selling all the furniture he won’t need, mainly online, so people are coming by and picking it up, but he can’t leave until that’s resolved. Markus asks him if he’ll return, and Connor shrugs because he’s unsure what’s next. For once, he’s just trying to live in the moment.
When Markus asks him why, Connor says he’s finally awake.
It’s been several weeks since he quit and started moving towards his goal of leaving. All that’s left is this couch.
He’s standing in his nearly empty apartment, waiting for the woman who said she’d be coming over with her friend to pick it up. There’s a knock, and he answers immediately. “Hello.”
Standing there is a woman with blond hair and bright blue eyes, by all accounts, she looks completely normal. Nothing about her appearance is unusual or noteworthy; so why is Connor instantly on edge?
He can’t name any logical reason.
“Hi,” she greets. Her friend is just as generic, and there is nothing worth discussing. Yet, Connor has the instinctive feeling he needs to shut the door right now. Against his gut feeling, he lets them in, and they look at the couch.
“It’s in great condition, are you sure you only want $50 for it?”
He watches them inspect it, and a sickening feeling settles in his chest. He wants to be as far away from them as possible. “You can have it for free.”
She looks at him in confusion. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.” Connor fidgets because he’s practically willing to run out of the apartment if it’ll get him away from here.
“That’s really nice of you. Oh!” She holds out her hand. “I almost forgot to introduce myself, I’m Marcy Jackson, and this is my friend, James Cambridge. I’m so rude, what’s your name?”
“And if you meet one, don’t tell them your name.”
He hesitates.
“How will I know?”
“You’ll know.”
The conversation plays out in his head, including Hank telling him that now since he’s stepped through the veil, it’s open for him.
“Cliff Walker.”
They end up leaving shortly after, but Connor can’t shake the ominous feeling they gave him, he’s certain they weren’t human. Demons? Probably something along that path, and he realizes that even without Hank, he will have to navigate this world. He’ll have to protect himself.
He'll learn to defend himself as someone who also isn’t human.
Connor sits down in the middle of his once home, gets the massive book Hank gave him out of his backpack, and stares at it. He takes a moment to breathe in the familiar scent that lingered on Hank and feels saddened. He’s felt yearning and longing, but never like this. It’s a different kind for a romantic partner. His heart feels heavy, and his limbs feel weak. How ridiculous is it to feel this way just from the smell of a book?
The pages are fragile and written in ink. He scans the information and carefully studies it. Each one is signed by whoever wrote it, be it Hank himself or anyone who contributed to this knowledge.
Connor relives the moments in the pages as if they’re in front of him and weaves his own story of the words. With magic, terrors and fantasies come alive, it feels like he’s watching a movie. Werewolves, fairies, mermaids, and so many others. Connor can’t believe all of it is true, it feels so fake, but it’s there, written by those who have seen it with their own eyes.
It takes him hours upon hours to get through all the pages. The sun begins to sink below the horizon.
The last entries are written in Hank’s handwriting, titled vampires.
Connor reads about Hank’s personal journey through discovering his powers and the powers of others, and the disdain in his tone is reflected in his word choices.
There are vampire thralls, ranks, and shapeshifting. Their abilities seem to become stronger the longer they’re alive, and based on these notes, Hank still isn’t anywhere close to old .
He finds a note on mates.
Vampires feel an intense connection and are drawn to their mates, so much so that they will act possessively and emotionally to their mates.
I’ve never experienced this, Jeff told me Jenny isn’t my mate. But what am I supposed to do? Just wait around for this person forever?
Connor really wants to throat-punch Hank.
Why did he leave? He’s so stubborn and stupid. It explains everything, even if Connor doesn’t understand how he, a machine, can be bound to someone. The revelation somehow only makes him feel sadder because if Hank really is this world’s equivalent of a soulmate and he’s gone…
How can he ever love again?
It would be pointless, this is his fate—to be abandoned by even his destined mate. It makes him even more determined to get out of here.
He can’t stay here, waiting, wishing, hoping Hank will return to him. He told him to leave this world; it isn’t meant for him.
This might not be what Connor wanted, but at least he’s getting away and seeing the world, even if it would be better with Hank.
It’s 3 AM, the start of the witching hour, and Connor can’t think of a better time to get on the road. He thinks about Hank telling him the veil is thin now and how dangerous it is, and he gets up with his backpack, flips off the light, opens the door to leave, and is stopped.
Someone is standing there.
Connor immediately recoils and looks up at—Hank.
It’s been over a month since they saw each other. He’s dressed just like always in his ridiculously outdated fashion, looking young and fit; he must have fed recently. His hair is tied back, and he’s frowning deeply. Connor contemplates throat-punching him right now, but he decides to let Hank talk first.
He’s honestly shocked to see him at all. It feels like a ghost is standing in front of him.
Hank watches him in his apartment but doesn’t step over the threshold. “Connor, can we talk?”
He flips the light back on. “You’ve got a lot of talking to do,” he scolds, but Hank comes inside with Sumo, who rushes over to greet Connor. He softens up seeing the dog. He pets him and smiles slightly, enjoying the greeting.
Hank shuts the door behind him. It feels surreal and strange to be in a place like this with Hank, all their interactions happened at that cabin, and he’s never seen him anywhere but in the forest.
And frankly, with his manner of dress, he looks like he belongs in a different century.
Connor waits impatiently for Hank to explain why he’s here. After kicking him out right after making love to him, he’s got some nerve.
“Don’t jump up and down, please, contain your excitement,” he states sarcastically, sighing when Connor doesn’t laugh or even roll his eyes.
He knew Hank would play down his discretion if he ever showed up again, and this is just how he is. He clears his throat awkwardly, adjusting his ascot. “I uh…fucked up.” Connor glares at him, and Hank averts his eyes. “I…just wanted to protect you. But in the process, I hurt you.”
“You did. You hurt me more than anyone ever has before.” Hank winces but dares to glance up at his face, which Connor keeps composed. “You tried to make a decision for me without even getting my input. You ignored my wants and needs to complete your self-fulfilling prophecy. Why should I forgive you?”
Hank averts his eyes, eyebrows threading together in clear contrast to his usual confidence. He doesn’t seem to have a good answer, and Connor doesn’t have anything that’s not emotionally based, but…maybe they don’t need one.
“You have no reason to,” Hank admits, sighing heavily.
Connor can see the distraught expression on Hank’s face; every bit of the pain he’s been feeling is reflected there. The thread of his eyebrows, the downturn of his mouth and the darkness in his eyes.
“I read your book,” Connor whispers, fighting the deepening of his frown. Hank’s eyes flash with recognition, but he walks to the big windows overlooking the city, the lights flickering like little stars around them. Connor wants to see the universe expanding overhead, not hidden behind smog.
Connor watches him, illuminated by the moon and a single light left in Connor’s former home. He steps close enough to touch Hank if he just extends his arm, but he doesn’t for now. “Why didn’t you tell me?” The words come out strained, like he’s forcing them through a constricted throat.
He hopes Hank will understand what he’s asking.
If he does, he doesn’t turn to face him or otherwise acknowledge, he merely shoves his hands in his pockets as he continues to stare at the cityscape. Connor does what he’s been doing—waits for Hank until he joins him and looks out the windows.
“You have no reason to want me,” Hank says plainly, his crystal blue eyes directed out but unfocused. He doesn’t really care about the view, it’s just a good way to take the pressure off both of them. “I’m well aware you should tell me to leave. But…If you give me a chance, I’ll make it up to you.”
At last, his eyes fall onto Connor with a sense of anxiety, like it’s tearing him apart knowing they can’t be closer. And Connor wants it so badly it feels like it’s eating him inside.
A prideful part of him wants to tell Hank to leave for the sheer number he did on him. But ultimately, Connor wants Hank, and he knows that regardless of anything, they’re meant to be together. So, hurting both of them over pride would be ignorant.
He sighs. “I’ll give you a second chance, on one condition.”
Hank fully engages, face to face, eyes wide with innocent attentiveness, and Connor takes his hands and squeezes. “Anything, Con.”
He smiles. “I want to see Ireland.”
Hank lightens up, a smile dominating his handsome features. “Ireland is on the long list of places I want to show you, Sweetheart.”
Connor’s heart swoons, he’s pretty sure, a swooping feeling lancing through him, thirium pump skipping beats. “And the beach. I want to see the mountains too.”
“Alright, alright. We can do all that. What about your job? Why’s your place so empty?”
“Well,” Connor glances around at the empty space. “I decided I was going to travel, with or without you. I quit.”
“Oh.” Hank’s face grows serious, and he studies Connor’s to determine if this is a good or bad development. Enough of all this, though, he cups Hank's jaw in his hands.
“We should leave, I don’t want to hang out in this place. I’ll show you my van.” He knows there’s more to talk about, but here isn’t the place he wants to do it.
They exit the complex hand in hand; Sumo leashed next to Hank. Connor leads him to his van, which he had removed the seats in the back from and made into a bed. It’s perfect for long-distance trips without needing a hotel.
He opens the back, and Hank whistles low, seeing the bed with storage underneath and string lights hanging along the back. “It’ll be a bit cramped with you, but I hope it’s alright.”
“It’s fine, Con.” Hank grins, the gap in his teeth charming. Sumo gets into the front seat and they climb in together to shut the doors. Inside, it’s silent and peaceful, the string lights just enough illumination to see properly. They lie in the back together, surrounded by pillows and blankets.
“If you have anything you want to bring, I’m sure we can fit it underneath, I made sure to build it efficiently so there is 33 sq ft of space for—“ he’s cut off when Hank grabs him by the waist and tugs him flush so he can kiss him. Connor relaxes and breaks the kiss after a moment. There’s one thing more urgent than the storage. “Why didn’t you tell me about being your mate?”
Hank huffs and scratches the back of his neck. “I was scared if I’m being honest. I’ve never felt like this about someone. Jeff was right, I guess. I still don’t regret Cole, but…I’m glad I found you.” Connor closes his eyes because the warmth and security that washes over him are the thickest emotions he’s ever felt. Hank strokes fingers against his smooth cheek, and Connor smiles. Hank is so caring and loving for such a big man, it’s misleading.
He thinks about them traveling together, seeing the world, exploring woods, fields, and beaches where the stars stretch infinitely above. That’s about to become his reality.
“If we’re going to do this, though, we have to do it right. That means me marking you.” Connor knows what Hank is talking about, there was a section about that, too. It’s how other supernatural beings recognize that someone is claimed—the process varies from species to species though.
“I want that.”
Hank laughs softly, a devilish, deep, and ominous sound instead of the light one he should be making. Connor already feels the heat in his chest, his thirium pump beating faster.
The air seems still around them.
Hank breathes in his scent with a deep inhale, and a hand creeps up his spine. Connor does nothing to stop him; he simply grasps his shirt and gives in, submits. Hank’s fingers thread through his short hair and tug his head back to reveal more of his throat.
He can’t fully comprehend all the intricacies of marking until it’s already happening.
There’s some sort of smell coming off Hank, something Connor can’t recognize or place. It's organic yet old, like a mixture between pine and old books. It’s stronger than ever, wafting off Hank in powerful waves.
Slowly, Hank starts undressing him, his button-up, jeans, shoes, and socks, until Connor is lying bare on the sheets, his pale, freckled skin laid out. His LED paints the walls in yellow, the matching color of his thirium pump regulator in the center of his chest.
Hank is poised, the stray hair falling into his face, silk ascot brushing Connor’s bare skin, and his blue eyes dark and consuming. Lips and tongue make a pathway up Connor’s thigh and hip, the fabric grazing Connor’s already hardening cock on the way up. Hank doesn’t stop, and as he reaches Connor’s chest, Connor recedes the skin around his regulator, revealing white. “Beautiful,” Hank murmurs roughly, the vibrations seem to reverberate through Connor.
Without any warning, he dips his tongue into the space of his regulator, gathering the thirium there. The sensation has Connor crying out in surprise, a wave of arousal sweeping him away. “Hank,” he whispers, breathless despite himself.
Blue smears Hank’s beard, glowing nearly the same color as his eyes. Connor grabs onto his ascot and yanks him into a deep, crushing kiss that has them both desperately tasting each other. The mixture of thirium and blood in their mouths, alongside their tongues exploring, fills Connor’s senses. That scent is somehow taking over, commanding in its natural form, and he moans into the kiss.
He knows from that book.
Hank is putting his scent all over him to make sure anyone who smells Connor knows who he belongs to.
Hank pulls away, tilting Connor’s head back with a hand in his hair again. “Stay still.” That’s the only warning he gets before Hank licks along the side of his throat and then bites him. Connor whimpers, Hank's fangs getting through the softer exterior to get to his thirium supply. It should hurt, but it feels so nice…so warm, erotic, Connor parts his lip in soft sounds of pleasure, lighter from the lessened flow of thirium to his head.
Hank is somehow gentle even as he drinks from him, it doesn’t feel invasive or scary at all.
Connor trusts Hank with his life.
The inherent power is handled with care by Hank, who draws back, face smoothed and content, gently stroking Connor’s face. “So good, Connor. Beautiful.”
There’s a rush of euphoria that makes Connor want more, he starts undoing the buttons on Hank’s vest. “Hank, finish, make me yours.”
They both work together to get Hank undressed, this time completely. Revealing the plains of perfect skin, pale and covered in gray hair, every scar that may have come has faded with his corporeal form.
Connor doesn’t think they’re so different; both immortal and imperfectly perfect, and they are made to blend in just enough to achieve their purposes. One man-made, another created from beyond understanding or comprehension.
They touch, neither warm nor human, skin to skin, tangled in a single dance, joined by their mutual suffering.
It’s tight where they’re at, but not too much for Hank to turn him over and spread his legs. Connor presses into his large hands as they slide up his thighs, hips, and waist, tugging him up until Connor is pliant and lying with his face pressed into the mattress.
Hank opens him up enough to press his dick against Connor’s soaked hole, and he growls. “The wonders of technology.”
Connor would smirk if it wasn’t for Hank pressing into him, he loses focus on that particular task feeling how big he is. Hank doesn’t stop until he’s fully seated, and it’s so easy, despite that Connor knows he’s tight enough to feel amazing. “Fuck, Con…”
He smirks this time, rolling his hips like he’s trying to take Hank in even deeper, it draws a deep moan out of them both. “It feels good, finish what you started,” Connor commands, despite his position.
“Bossy ass android.” But he complies, covering Connor’s body with his broader and bigger one, nipping and kissing along his bare skin, and thrusting into him with purpose. His paws grip Connor’s wrists and pin them to the mattress, until he’s completely at Hank’s mercy. He can’t bring himself to care, this is what he wants.
The van is filled with moans and cries, Connor is sort of glad Sumo is likely in stasis up front.
He only offers that thought minimum processing power though, focused on how good Hank feels hitting every sensor inside him, over him, and making him his.
His scent is absolutely overwhelming, even suffocating. Connor writhes, desperate for more. “Hank, please, I need—“
He presses Connor down, grabbing his wrists in one hand and shoving him down until his back arches into the bed. With his next thrust, he hits that sensor inside Connor meant to simulate a prostate. It makes him shout, “There!” The sheets muffle his voice.
“I’ve got you, Baby.”
Hank shows no mercy, pounding into him until Connor is falling apart, errors flooding his vision and his building orgasm making his artificial muscles tighten. He’s so close. He tries to beg Hank to touch him, it’s all he needs, but all that comes out is nonsense pleas of, “Please! Hank! I need—!”
Then, Hank takes him in hand, pumping his dick to the same brutal pace until Connor wails out his orgasm.
He spurts, cumming all over the sheets, his own body, and Hank’s hand, twitching and tightening. Hank moans loudly, and Connor feels as he cums, too, twitching inside him and filling him up.
Finally, that strong scent breaks and Hank pulls out, breathing hard and lying down next to him.
Connor can’t help smiling and carefully rolls over to lie on his back, his limbs shaky and weak. He’s content, but he still reaches over to grab wipes for cleaning up and starts trying to get the fluid disposed of. It takes a bit of effort, and the sheets will need to be washed to deal with the mess, but it’s alright for now.
Hank helps, and then he holds Connor close once they’re clean. “So, thought about where you want to go first?” Connor smiles, nuzzling under Hank’s chin and licking his skin. He gets more data to nestle away for analysis later.
“I’ve considered multiple routes to all the places I desire to visit, and I’d like to start with the beach. It makes the most sense to travel along the eastern coast before heading anywhere west. I’ve researched and I believe Florida will still be quite nice this time of year.”
Hank chuckles. “Quit analyzing so much. Just take it in. We’ve got forever, don’t we?” Connor brightens up even more.
“Yes, we do. However, that doesn't mean efficiency isn’t important.”
“Alright, alright,” Hank relents, kissing his head. “Let’s draw the curtains since it’s getting bright, and we can leave at sunset.”
Connor feels exhilarated, he’ll finally get to see all the places he’s only seen in photos. And with Hank, the most important part of his life.
That’s all he could ever want.