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Say Please

Summary:

“Fond memory?” Connor’s voice cuts through Hank’s reverie, startling him out of his silence. He feels a blush threaten to creep up his neck when he realizes he’s been quiet for an abnormal amount of time.

“Yeah,” he says gruffly, “You were in it.”

Connor tilts his head, brown eyes emanating warmth, his tone is soft, “Not all of your memories of me are pleasant, Hank.”

“They are now.” The smile that splits Connor’s face threatens to swallow Hank whole.

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Hank doesn't understand how Connor can enjoy sex without having genitalia. Connor helps him understand in creative ways.

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This contains a few references to part one. Part one also establishes how they got to here. You should probably read it first.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Chapter 1: Where to Go From Here

Chapter Text

There are times when Connor lets Hank forget he’s the stronger of the two. Like when Connor lets Hank struggle with a jar, prying it open on his own, or when Connor lets Hank take Sumo’s leash when the dog tries to take off after a squirrel, as if Connor doesn’t have the situation under control. This is not one of those times.

“Give it back, Hank.” Hank was fumbling with the coin while sitting on the couch, trying to make it dance across his knuckles as Connor often did. The end result was a lot of swearing and near drops. After a moment of further attempts to perform a coin trick, Connor makes a grab for it. By the luck of Hank’s poor dexterity and nearly dropping the coin again, he manages to keep it away from Connor. Connor, it would seem, couldn’t take Hank’s inexperience with the coin into consideration for his constructions.

“Hank.” He sounds mad, and it grabs Hank’s attention. Connor’s body is rigid, too severe for the situation.

“I was just…,” Hank’s not even sure why he picked it up. He saw the coin on the table and started fiddling with it, waiting for Connor to come out of the kitchen. He didn’t see the harm; it was just a coin. Irritation of his own at Connor’s absurd anger whirled to life in his stomach. He rises from the couch to gain the semblance of an advantage against the much shorter android.

Connor quirks an eyebrow as Hank raises the hand with the coin high into the air. A challenge of come and get it burning behind his blue eyes. Hank knows what will happen or at least has a very good idea. Within seconds, Connor’s hand clamps in an iron grip around Hank’s arm, yanking the much larger man’s arm down to his level.

They’ve been dancing this tango for long enough that Hank knows he can’t win a fair fight against Connor. When Connor pulls, Hank goes down with it, using the force and momentum of his body to bring Connor down onto his lap as he collapses onto the couch. It’s graceless and comical, this flopping of limbs, but it’s enough to lift Connor out of his bad mood.

Hank pulls Connor’s face to his with his free hand, foreheads lightly touching, then runs his fingers through Connor’s hair, “Wanna tell me what that was all about?” Connor’s eyes are still closed, but he makes an affirmative noise.

Hank still isn’t used to Connor’s odd approach to social decorum. Connor demands certain courtesies of Hank, but he adheres to those same standards as well. Most people like Connor were insufferable assholes who couldn’t hold up their end of the bargain. It provides a much-needed balance in Hank’s life.

Hank stays quiet a moment while Connor formulates a response. He leans back, away from Hank, his hand never leaving Hank’s arm. “It’s mine,” Connor finally says, but Hank can tell there is more to come. Connor is struggling with something, a new concept. This wasn’t all that unusual for them. Connor took time to process new experiences and new feelings before he could form a firm opinion on the matter.

At a nudge from Hank, Connor opens his eyes and sighs in irritation, “It’s silly,” he finally admits, “It was the only thing that was mine. From before.” Understanding flares to life in Hank’s mind. To an android, recently considered property himself, having possessions was a heady thing. Connor had several belongings now, but the coin was his first and only possession prior to his deviancy.

Hank hands Connor the coin before shaking at the iron grip on his forearm, “Oh,” Connor says it like he didn’t realize he still had a hold on Hank. Connor loosens his fingers and rubs gently at the skin. In the three months since Connor forced Hank to address his feelings, they’d had many moments like this. A gentle back and forth, attempting to learn more about the other without bungling the entire thing.

“I’m sorry.” Connor’s ability to apologize far surpasses Hank’s. Anytime Hank makes a mistake, it almost takes an act of God to get him to admit it. Sometimes, Connor sits on his chest, an immovable weight, until Hank apologizes. On other occasions, Connor finds more interesting ways to pass the time. The memory of the first time Connor made Hank apologize plays in the back of both their minds. A slow smile spreads across Hank’s face, “Forgiven,” he mumbles gruffly before pushing Connor out of his lap.

Emotions and dealing with them may never get easier for Hank, but he’s trying.

Hank’s phone vibrates obnoxiously and he reaches for it, pressing various buttons to unlock it. He knows he could have a newfangled whatever the fuck phone implanted into his goddamned head, but that still freaks him out.

“Fucking hell, Fowler,” Connor’s sudden erect posture tells Hank that Connor is receiving the update as well straight to his brain. Connor’s LED circles a vibrant yellow several times, drawing Hank’s suspicion, “What’re you saying to him about me?”

Connor hesitates, clearly put out at being caught in a private email exchange about Hank, “He’s asking if you’re well.” Hank snorts in derision. He knows what that means. Fowler wants to know if he’s drunk.

“And?” Connor raises an eyebrow and twists his mouth down, unamused. “Alright, alright,” Hank waves him off; he knows Connor is honest. Hank is sober and ready for whatever bullshit case Fowler is sending his way.

It turns out to be much worse than he thought. The case itself is no big thing, but it requires Hank to work with Gavin Fucking Reed. Fowler asked Connor to stay behind to process evidence in case the officers who arrived at the scene missed something. It takes all of five minutes for Gavin to get under Hank’s skin.

Living with the plastic prick now, eh?

Does he have one, Anderson? A prick?

Hank is amazed when he makes it through his shift without killing Reed and hiding the body. Connor is waiting for him at the station, and a pang of warmth spikes through him. Gavin makes a loud, disgusted sound, but Hank ignores him in favor of getting the hell out of there.

“You didn’t have to wait for me,” Hank mumbles quietly on their walk to the car. Connor makes a tsk sound, as if not waiting for Hank was a ridiculous notion.

The case hadn’t been particularly difficult nor the day overly long, but Hank can feel exhaustion consuming him. Probably the after effects of restraining himself from turning the breaking and entering scene into a homicide courtesy of Gavin’s stupid commentary. He shakes the half-cocked daydream of ridding the world of Reed from his head and parks his car.

Hank makes it through the front door before he feels Connor’s hand on his shoulder halting him, “Are you ok, Lieutenant?” The use of his rank sent a shiver through him. Connor doesn’t use it often outside of the station. Truth be told, he avoids referring to Hank at all at work for the primary reason that Connor saying Lieutenant has very erotic implications for Hank.

I want to see you come, Lieutenant whispered at the back of Hank’s mind. Feeling Hank go tense, Connor eases his grip, “You seem upset.” Hank exhales and leans backward into Connor’s chest, feeling firm arms wrap around him.

“Not stressed, just annoyed with office politics.” Hank can feel Connor wrinkle his nose next to his ear.

“Hank, you haven’t been political in several years. Your voting record—,” Hank’s soft chuckle silences Connor.

“I meant it would probably look bad if I killed Reed,” Connor lets a pleased hmm run through his body before responding.

“Probably, but I would help you dispose of him in the most efficient manner possible.” Hank barks out a single HA at that statement before unwinding Connor’s arms from his torso and sauntering off to the kitchen in search of something resembling dinner. Connor settles himself at the table, picking up Hank’s partially filled in crossword puzzle. He is halfway through it before asking, “Hank, you do realize an eight-word answer for ‘Words after Oh, No!’ is not, ‘Fuuuuuck’?”

Hank snorts before replying, “Don’t let the crossword tell you how to live your life, kid.” Hank tries to settle into the easy silence they usually share. Still, something Gavin said nagged at the back of his mind.

“Connor?” The android doesn’t respond right away. When Hank pulls his head out of the refrigerator to look at him, he sees Connor’s nose is half an inch away from the puzzle.

“There are two errors in this puzzle—,”

“Yeah, Connor, I’m shit at the crossword—,”

“No, I mean, the publisher made two mista—is something the matter?” The abrupt transition takes Hank by surprise. He’s spent the last several months trying to get his heart rate under control for a resemblance of balance in their relationship. He didn’t feel the telltale pounding of blood in his ears that presaged a spike in his heart rate.

“Yeah, m’fine. Why d’you ask?” Connor appears to consider him for a moment before declaring,

“You are making your sex face.” Hank splutters horribly, trying to reconcile his musings about Gavin Reed with Connor’s interpretation of his sex face.

“I do not make a sex face. This is just my face, Connor.” Connor smiles toothily at him and Hank isn’t sure if the android is trying to get a rise out of him or being serious, “…Do I?”

Hank’s regret is immediate as Connor nods enthusiastically and pulls a grumpy, brooding expression, “It sort of looks like this, but your eyes do something I cannot imitate. You usually pursue sex within fifteen minutes of making the face.” Hank groans at the realization that he looks like an ill-tempered grouch when he’s aroused. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Pushing his embarrassment away for another time, Hank shakes his head, “No, Connor. Nothing is wrong, and I’m definitely not thinking about sex…well.” He stops abruptly. He was sort of thinking about sex. Connor was waiting for him to continue, looking at him expectantly, “I was thinking about something Reed said. Most of what he says is…worthless, but it did make me wonder…” Hank’s voiced faded off into nothingness, unsure how to pose the question.

When Hank’s brain fails him like this, Connor usually supplies the next cue for their conversations. He does not disappoint. “What did he say, Hank?” Having the crux of his struggle to formulate words thrust under his nose wasn’t as helpful as usual, however.

“Fuck it. Fine. He asked me if you have a dick.” Connor wrinkles his nose at the term; he still struggles to use slang, particularly profane slang.

“You know I don’t, Hank.”

“I know, I know.” Hank waves his hands to indicate that’s not what’s on his mind, “It just got me thinking. You say you like sex, that you enjoy it, but I don’t see how.” Connor tries to suppress a sigh and fails. The simulation of irritation catches Hank’s attention. Connor’s well for patience is about ten times deeper than Hanks, but they’d had this conversation several times before.

Hank’s initial consternation with Connor’s lack of familiar sex organs quickly devolved into concern that Connor couldn’t possibly enjoy sex. Connor pointed out on several occasions that he initiated their first sexual encounter, not Hank, but it couldn’t take root in Hank’s brain.

He’s had several months to mull over what his actual problem was with their situation, but putting the thought into words was proving more challenging than usual.

“I mean…Jesus, fuck, all right. When I say I enjoy sex, you can see it. You have irrefutable evidence. When you say you enjoy sex, I can’t see it. There is no sign that it’s doing anything for you at all. It’s…fuck, kid. It makes me feel like a lecherous old man taking advantage of someone who doesn’t know the first thing about sex.” Connor’s mouth pulls down slightly in the way it always does when Hank makes self-deprecating comments, but he makes a hmm sound as he considers his words.

“I know a lot about sex, Hank.” This earns the android an eye roll, but he continues undeterred, “I think I understand your issue. My lack of erections and ejaculation confounds your ability to comprehend how I enjoy sex.”

There is a brief moment of silence before Hank says weakly, “Sure, you can put it that way, too.” Connor has the unnerving habit of discussing sex like a technical manual for troubleshooting a computer. He’s methodical and almost clinical at times, unbalancing Hank. Of course, the discomfort could also be the result of Hank’s proclivity to avoid talking about sex or relationships at all.

“I’m not sure if there is an easy way to show you that I enjoy it.” Hank isn’t sure why he feels disappointment. It’s not new information that there isn’t anything between Connor’s thighs other than a fucking drainage system in case of accidental internal damage or leaking fluids. He’s seen Connor naked often enough to know where every freckle dots his body like a puzzle meant for Hank to solve. He’d traced them often enough, pressing constellations into Connor’s skin.

Connor’s ease with his own body made Hank uncomfortable at first, even a little jealous. Connor’s body was firm in all the right places, lacking flaws or other conventionally unattractive marks. Hank’s body was a slew of tattoos, scars, and other imperfections inflicted by life.

In the months between where Hank and Connor began to where they are now, Hank’s discomfort with his body had waned slightly. He ate better, took Sumo for longer walks, and drank less. His body was less soft than it had been, but he still felt intolerably unattractive next to Connor’s pristine perfection.

The first time Connor had tried to join him in the shower, Hank had shrieked like a proper southern belle who’d been caught naked by a suitor. If he’d had any, he would have clutched at his pearls in horror. What he had managed was to yank the shower curtain around his body like a makeshift dress. The fact that it was clear dashed any attempt at concealing his nakedness.

Recognizing Hank’s discomfort, Connor asked ahead of time before attempting to join him in the shower again. Hank had tried to wear a t-shirt then, swearing it was normal. Connor had pursed his lips and leveled a look at Hank that made him feel about 10 inches tall. He took off the shirt and threw it grumpily to the floor.

“Fond memory?” Connor’s voice cuts through Hank’s reverie, startling him out of his silence. He feels a blush threaten to creep up his neck when he realizes he’s been quiet for an abnormal amount of time.

“Yeah,” he says gruffly, “You were in it.”

Connor tilts his head, brown eyes emanating warmth, his tone is soft, “Not all of your memories of me are pleasant, Hank.”

“They are now.” The smile that splits Connor’s face threatens to swallow Hank whole.

It’s a simple statement, but a significant one for him. Hank Anderson does not do grand gestures or make profound declarations of love but sometimes he lets his feelings have their moment in the sun.

Connor clears his throat, an unnecessary action that indicates he’s uncertain about something, “What I meant was I can’t be sure. I have to do some research.” Hank’s face must look as confused as he feels because Connor continues on to clarify, “How to show you that I enjoy sex.” Hank feels a small smile tug at the corners of his eyes.

“Ok, kid. Knock yourself out. Let me know what you find.” Connor’s posture changes, righting itself to an unnatural straightness. His face goes blank as his LED begins a constant slow churn of yellow. “I didn’t mean right now,” Hank huffs gruffly, muttering about overeager androids. Connor shakes his head slightly as if his train of thought came loose like dandelion seeds in a summer breeze. His LED returns to its usual serene blue as he makes a small sound of acquiescence for Hank’s comfort.

Hank almost forgets Connor’s research in the days that pass. Not that he doesn’t want to know what the android can dig up on his ability to have sex, but work consumes most of his focus. With the revolution in the not-so-distant past, anti-android sentiment is still strong; so is android-on-human crime. Hank knows it was inevitable. The president declared androids as equals to humans, but that didn’t mean the human population took the message to heart.

Hank saw a lot more of his desk than he cared to that week. The break room ran out of coffee on the fourth day of the entire precinct pulling overtime to deal with the sudden slew of cases, Gavin Reed smelled like a walking ashtray, and Connor’s LED was stuck on a perpetual rotating yellow.

“It doesn’t mean I’m distressed, Lieutenant. It can mean any number of things. It can mean I am analyzing, processing, communicating—,” Hank interrupts with a wave of his hand.

“I know that,” he sighs, feeling resigned, “But it can also mean you’re upset. You’ve been working with that fucking prick all day.” Reed’s name goes unmentioned as Hank runs a large hand over his face, feeling the unevenness of his bristly chin. “Fuck, I need to shave.” Connor’s hand ghosts up to Hank’s face, tugging slightly on his beard.

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t.” Hank’s heart hammered in his chest. He resisted the initial urge to frantically look around to see if anyone was watching, but embarrassment began to creep up his body none-the-less. Connor leaned in a fraction and whispered, “No one can see us, Lieutenant.” A full body shiver gripped Hank’s body.

Hank wasn’t hiding whatever he and Connor were doing—relationship was too difficult of a word for him to say—but he wasn’t broadcasting it at work either. He was pretty certain there were rules about dating subordinates, and laws about androids in the workplace weren’t set in stone yet. He didn’t want to get Connor or himself into trouble so they maintained a professional demeanor at work.

The touch wasn’t overtly intimate, but Hank wouldn’t let just anyone stroke his goddamned beard.

“I discovered something interesting, Lieutenant. In my research.” It takes Hank’s floundering brain several seconds to decipher what Connor means. Hank can’t suppress the panicked flit of his eyes, searching for anyone who might be close enough to hear this conversation. The more sensible part of his brain knows that Connor won’t put them in a problematic situation, but the rest of his brain, the part that controls all the swearing, is losing its shit.

“What, uh, what did you find?” His brain screams traitor at the question, but his heart pulses in a singularly pleasing way. The corner of Connor’s mouth ticks upward in a manner that Hank recognizes. Activating Be a Little Shit protocol in 3…2…

“You will have to wait until we get home to find out.” The air wheezes out of Hank, who is painfully aware they won’t be going home for several more hours.

“Why in the fuck did you mention it at all then?” He meant for it to come out as a hiss, but, to his horror, it sounds much more like a whine.

“I like to watch you when you’re like this.” The comment shoots through Hank’s body, pooling just below his stomach. He makes a soft sound somewhere between a groan and a sigh, “Careful, Lieutenant. We don’t want our colleagues to find us in this state.”

“What state?” He says it gruffly, but it lacks intimidation.

“Aroused.” Connor’s smirk broadens into an impish smile as a blush suffuses Hank’s face. His fingers drift up again, stopping just shy of stroking Hank’s cheek. His voice remains low, “You blush such a pretty color, Lieutenant.” Having never received a compliment involving the term pretty before, Hank can feel the flush extend to the roots of his hair.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters at Connor’s pleased expression before stomping back to his desk in high agitation.

The rest of their shift feels like it drags on into eternity. Connor works as if they hadn’t just discussed having sex later tonight within a stone’s throw of Fowler’s office. It’s not as if they’re new to sex, but there’re several things they haven’t done or tried. Most of it came down to Hank being stubborn and confused about Connor’s lack of genitalia.

Connor’s use of the term sex was rather undefined as well. Connor disliked using terms like blowjobs or jerking off as if his processors rejected the crude terminology. He used it to indicate any sexual activity, and Hank never bothered to correct him. As it was, they hadn’t had sex in the traditional sense Hank was used to. Connor’s demeanor and tone promised something more than getting to second or third base and Hank isn’t entirely sure which he feels more: terror or desire.

He drifts from case to case, unable to focus, willing the clock to pick up speed and fast-forward them to the end of their shift. With an aggravated sigh, he pushes away from his desk to wander to the break room for some coffee. He’s already wired, but he has to do something kinetic to keep from exploding. The walk to the break room does nothing to ease his nerves, but at least he’s not sitting directly across from Connor.

A soft click hammers down his spine. He turns to see Connor remove his hand from the now-closed door and make his way over to the small refrigerator containing extra thirium packets for the androids that still work at the station. With predominately glass walls, the break room isn’t private, but the proximity to Connor and the shuttered off silence of the precinct overwhelms Hank’s senses.

“Connor, what’re ya doing?” Connor’s hand pauses over a third packet of thirium.

“I’m replenishing my thirium supplies, Lieutenant.”

Curiosity creeps in and crowds the tension in Hank’s body. “You’re not running low. You haven’t done anything to need all that.”

With an exaggerated look at the closed door, Connor turns his head back to Hank, a slow smile taking over his face. “My research has indicated I will need it.”

Hank swallows hard, equal parts confused and terrified, “Why?”

Connor’s smile is almost predatory and Hank takes several steps back until his hips are pressing into the counter behind him. Connor takes a moment to consider him before answering, “Because it will be different this time.”

Hank opens his mouth to ask why again, but the word refuses to come out. His jaw hangs open stupidly as Connor advances, “You often use colorful language to explain yourself, Lieutenant. I don’t typically swear myself, but I feel it fits the situation.” He says it simply as he examines the thirium packets, waiting for Hank to take the bait.

“What the fuck, Con—,” Connor’s eyes snap up to meet Hank’s, the breath stuttering to a halt in the larger man's chest.

“Yes, that.” Confusion wars in Hank’s head, trying to find a foothold among the chaos of his overworked brain. Connor waits a beat before continuing, “I plan to fuck you, Lieutenant,” he says the word softly, but the meaning is different from his normal casual use of the word sex, “and I want you to watch me enjoy it while I do so.”