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The Android's Guide to the Galaxy

Chapter 12: The Undiscovered Country

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Hank fidgeted with the folded crease of paper, shoving it back in his jacket pocket as he saw Connor approaching the car. Maybe it had been a little much, printing it out. But forwarding Connor an email didn’t have the same dramatic flair. 

Connor’s eyes widened when he caught sight of their extra passenger, and as he sank into the front seat, he leaned back to greet him with a ruffle of his fur. “Hi, Sumo! I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” 

“I thought we might go for a drive,” Hank offered, leaning in to return Connor’s kiss of greeting before starting the car back up. He navigated carefully out of the crowded Spaceport parking lot, trying to avoid hitting one of the million-dollar sci-fi cars with their little rental sedan. 

“Certainly,” Connor agreed. “Did you have somewhere in mind?” 

“Yeah, I do.” 

When he failed to elaborate, Connor smirked, looking back at Sumo with a conspiratorial wink. “I think your papa has a surprise in store for us.” 

The phrase was unexpected, and pulled at Hank’s heartstrings. It was so easy to imagine Connor leaning toward Cole in the back seat, swapping guesses about today’s family outing. He took a slow breath in through his nose, trying to let the image wash over him without derailing him. “How was today’s assignment?” 

“Good,” Connor replied brightly as Hank navigated them onto the highway. “I believe we’ll complete the security mapping ahead of schedule, which the U.S.S. Lakota command are very pleased about. And I negotiated a per-project rate this time, so the early conclusion won’t affect my pay, and I may even end up with Friday off.” 

“That’s nice. You think you’ll try to pick up any extra work?” 

“No. My current schedule should more than cover our Lisbon trip, and I’d like to use the time off to research excursions. If we time it right, I think we could add a stop in Madrid on the way back.” Hank smiled, and resigned himself to another evening spent listening to Connor present potential itineraries. During his sabbatical, the android had been picking up freelance contract work at the Detroit Spaceport, using the pay to help fund their trips around the world. Hank had traveled more on Earth in the last five months than in his entire lifetime. He’d always found the logistics a hassle, but Connor seemed to enjoy planning a trip almost as much as the trip itself. And though he always asked for Hank’s input, Hank was more than happy to turn his brain off and let Connor ferry him around the planet wherever he pleased. The destinations didn’t always strike him as traditional vacations, but he was never disappointed when they arrived. 

“Were you able to find the issue with the Montenegro’s warp drive?” Connor asked. 

Hank snorted, shaking his head at the memory. “Yeah, get this. I’m elbow deep in the engine, banging my head against the wall looking for the problem, and I decide to call the owner one last time. Finally , after insisting over and over he ain’t touched the thing, the guy admits that his son’s an amateur electrician, and might have been fooling around with the power couplings. Boom, that’s it. Five minute fix. Guy coulda had his shuttle back three days ago if he’d just been upfront about it from the start.” 

“How bizarre!” Connor gasped. “What did he gain by concealing that?” 

“Right? Beats the shit outta me.” Hank laughed, feeling the remaining tension melt from his muscles. He’d actually been pretty pissed off about the whole ordeal just a few minutes prior, but after relaying it to Connor, it seemed so ridiculous. 

Sumo perked up as they began winding their way down familiar streets, and when they turned down a row of ranch-style houses, he sat up with his paws on the window, his tail wagging furiously. 

“Yeah, you remember where we are, boy?” Hank cooed. “My old house,” he explained at Connor’s quizzical look. “Just thought it would be neat to check out.” 

Connor began scanning out the window with almost as much eagerness as Sumo. As their car slowed, Connor pointed toward a blue house in the middle of the street. “That one?” 

Hank blinked as they slowed to a stop near his old mailbox. “Yeah. How’d you know?” 

“It’s a modest single family home, and the historical value is approximately what you and your wife could have afforded at the time. I think you would have sacrificed a bit less interior space to have access to a wider yard. And the blue paint matches your eyes.” 

Hank smiled fondly, taking in the house as he crossed around the car to get Sumo’s leash on. “Clever boy. The only miss is the paint job’s new—it was boring suburban white when I lived here.” In fact, much of the house was different than he remembered. The lawn had a vegetable garden with tomato plants climbing up tall trellises, and the garage had been converted into some kind of addition. It gave him a peculiar uncanny feeling, like a record spinning off-kilter on a wobbly table. 

As he opened the door for Sumo, the dog took advantage of Hank’s distraction to leap out of the seat, barreling across the yard with more speed than Hank had seen him summon in years. “Sumo! C’mere!” he called, but the dog was already a quickly disappearing ball of fur. 

“I’ve got it!” Connor was on his heels a second later, chasing Sumo as he wormed his way through the open fence to the backyard. 

Hank just stood there for a moment, the useless leash in his hands, before letting out a long, slow sigh. He started toward the front door, hoping to warn the homeowner about the two intruders, until he heard Connor’s voice calling to him. “Hank! Back here!” He didn’t sound upset, but Hank still put some pep in his step, and was embarrassingly out of breath by the time he emerged into the back yard. 

Sumo was sprawled across a female android’s lap, his tongue lolling out and tail thumping the ground happily as she pet him. She was blonde, young-looking and pretty (but then, so were most androids), and knelt in the grass beside a flower bed. Her jeans were stained with dirt, and she seemed to have set down a pair of pruning shears in favor of petting the wild beast. Connor stood above them looking cautiously intrigued, though not quite cozy enough to get his nice pants dirty. 

“So sorry,” Hank panted almost as heavily as the dog. “We used to live here. He got excited and I wasn’t fast enough.” 

“That’s quite alright,” the android replied warmly, still distracted lavishing Sumo with attention to reward him for bad behavior. “He’s a very welcome visitor. What’s his name?”

“Sumo. I’m Hank Anderson, and that’s Connor,” Hank rattled off hastily. The girl looked up, seeming to really notice them for the first time. 

“Siobhan,” she introduced herself. “And you all used to live here?”

Hank shook his head. “Just me and the pooch. And, uh, my wife and son. They’re not around anymore, but Connor’s a welcome new addition.” An awkward silence passed between them, and Hank cleared his throat. “Speaking of, I like the addition you put on. Must add a lot of space.”

The girl brightened. “Really? The contractor said it could damage the resale value to not have covered parking, but I just love having a sunroom. Would you like a tour?” 

Hank exchanged a sheepish look with Connor. He’d just imagined they’d look at the house from the outside and move on, but Sumo had other plans. “I hate to intrude. We really just wanted to stop by and—”

“Nonsense!” Siobhan got to her feet, brushing dirt and grass off her jeans. “You wouldn’t be intruding. I could use your opinion—I just moved in, and I’d like to host my human friends more often, but I’m not exactly sure how to make them comfortable. And I’m sure Sumo would enjoy the trip down memory lane,” she spoke in a simpering voice to the dog, who wagged his tail eagerly. 

“Well, if you’re sure…” Hank hesitated, then pointed an accusing finger at Sumo. “Don’t lick anything.” The dog cocked his head to the side and let out a low whine, as if offended by the accusation that he would be so impolite. 

Connor took Hank’s hand as they entered the house, giving him a reassuring squeeze that helped settle the nerves Hank hadn't noticed were mounting in his chest. Even with a few moving boxes scattered around the place, the house was far cleaner than it had ever been when Hank lived there. Open windows and a new skylight let in much more natural light than Hank had been used to—Elizabeth had often accused him of turning their home into a cave, and once the drinking and hangovers set in, Hank used to retreat even further into the literal and figurative darkness. 

“Since I don’t eat, I scaled down the kitchen to more of a kitchenette, and used the extra space for a home office,” Siobhan explained with barely concealed pride. Hank remembered how excited he’d been about the first place he got on his own, the thrill of shopping for IKEA furniture and secondhand artwork, like he was roleplaying as a grown-up. 

“That’s very clever. I enjoy the color scheme as well—it creates a visual harmony between the rooms,” Connor observed, following Siobhan through the kitchen into the living room. 

Sumo hesitated, sniffing warily before shooting Hank a questioning look. “I know, buddy,” Hank consoled him. “Kind of a mirror dimension, huh?” He glanced around the rooms, trying to overlay his own memories of the space. This kitchen used to have their sprawling antique dining table that never got completely cleared off, so they’d shove bills and papers and Cole’s toys into piles and eat around them. That living room was where Hank bounced Cole on his arm, desperately willing the baby to stop crying so his postpartum wife could get a few hours’ sleep. 

The memories appeared like ghosts as they walked around the house, but they didn’t sting as much as Hank expected. He could observe them with a kind of distance, like he was viewing them through museum glass, and he found himself oddly appreciative of the changes Siobhan had made. 

“What do you think? Is it like you remembered?” she asked as they finished the tour, emerging into the spacious sunroom. When it had been Hank’s garage, it was dark and musty, packed wall-to-wall with old case files and garden equipment he didn’t use. Now, the spacious room was filled with plants, sunlight playing across the colored glass and giving the space a jewelry-box feel. 

“It’s the same, and different, too,” Hank replied. “The improvements are clever.”

“Is there anything you would change? To make it more… human?” Siobhan asked. 

“I don’t see why you have to,” Hank mused. “It’s your house, right?” But both of the androids seemed to be waiting for his opinion, and Hank wracked his brain. “Maybe a medicine cabinet with some basic toiletries—aspirin, band-aids, toilet paper, y’know, all that stuff we need to stay on top of our messy biology.” 

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Siobhan replied with more genuine enthusiasm than Hank had ever heard for toilet paper. “It will be the Hank Anderson commemorative medicine cabinet!”

“I’m honored,” Hank replied dryly, though he couldn’t suppress a smile at her infectious energy. “Now we really ought to get out of your hair. Thanks for the trip down memory lane.”

“Anytime,” she replied warmly, leading them out the front door and giving Sumo a few more pats for good measure. 

After tucking Sumo into the back seat, Hank spared a lingering look at the old house. He felt arms wrap around his waist from behind, and Connor tucked his chin onto Hank’s shoulder. “I know that was unexpected. Are you feeling alright?” 

Hank squeezed Connor’s hands in his. “Yeah. Better that I thought I would be, honestly.” 

“I wondered if it might make you homesick.” 

“Nah. It’s a place I used to live, but it’s not really home anymore.” 

Connor hummed thoughtfully. “Is ‘home’ our apartment? Or Detroit?” 

Hank turned in Connor’s embrace, wrapping his hands around the android’s waist. “Home is right here. Wherever you are.” 

Hank wasn’t always the best with words, but every once in a while he hit the nail on the head and managed to get that look from Connor—the one that was so painfully fond that it seemed like the android was about to melt right in front of him. 

Connor let out a mechanical trill, burying his face in Hank’s collar and squeezing him tightly. When he pulled back, he seemed full of renewed energy. “Would you like to stop by Chicken Feed for dinner?” 

Hank must have really been good—Connor wasn’t especially a fan of the restaurant’s calorie-dense menu or health code grade, but he knew it was Hank’s favorite. The drive from his old neighborhood to the restaurant was familiar, but Hank almost missed a turn several times: he was used to navigating by landmarks that weren’t there anymore, from the little corner stores to weird-shaped trees. He’d left, and Detroit had moved on without him. 

But Chicken Feed had remained stubbornly, deliciously unchanged. As he sank his teeth into a fried chicken sandwich, the oil still hot enough to burn the roof of his mouth, he barely suppressed a moan. Connor raised an inquisitive eyebrow, but didn’t comment as they strolled over to the standing tables. Sumo wandered near their feet, sniffing the ground for any dropped offerings. 

“Better than replicator food?” Connor teased. 

“No contest,” Hank mumbled around a mouthful of chicken, shoving a few fries in his mouth with hedonistic enthusiasm. “Sorry, hon, but it doesn’t even compare.” 

Connor looked briefly disappointed, but managed to cover it up pretty quickly. “Did you come here with Cole and Elizabeth?” 

It took Hank a minute to scroll back over his memories, trying to remember when Chicken Feed had first become a habitual dinner spot. “Just once, I think. It was ‘Take Your Kid to Work Day’ and Cole and I stopped here on the drive home. But Liz got pissed when she saw the greasy wrappers in the trash, said I was feeding our kid garbage.” 

Connor hummed noncommittally. Even when Hank complained about his ex, the android was careful neither to defend her or disparage her, which Hank found pretty honorable. “Anyway,” he continued. “I didn’t start coming here regularly ‘til I lost them both. I was too depressed to cook, and it was on my drive home, fast, and cheap. There were some days I could barely get through my shift, and the only thing I looked forward to was a chicken sandwich and pineapple soda.” 

“I had no idea this place was so important to you,” Connor replied. “I know taste and smell are very tied to memory for humans. Do you find the food here reminds you of that difficult period in your life?” 

Hank considered the question as he savored the last bite of his sandwich. “Yeah, kind of… but it’s not a bad feeling. It’s weird, but it’s sort of nostalgic. Not that I’d want to go back to then, but it was a bright spot in a sea of shit. Like you,” he joked. 

Connor smirked, dapping at a ketchup stain on Hank’s collar with a napkin. “I’m honored to rank as high in your affections as fried chicken.” 

The affectionate gesture gave Hank the courage to reach into his jacket pocket, pulling out the folded page that had been burning against his chest all evening. “Hey. I know we’re getting toward the end of your sabbatical. I was thinking we could talk about what’s next.” 

“Of course,” Connor replied. He looked like he was about to continue, until he noticed Hank nervously turning the paper in his hands. “What’s that?” 

Hank shoved the paper toward Connor before his sweaty palms soaked it completely. “Got my results back. I already read them, but—”

“Hank!” Connor exclaimed, grabbing his partner’s hand. “You passed your warp engine repair certification! I’m so proud of you, darling.” 

Hank didn’t bother hiding his dopey smile; Connor didn’t use pet names as often as him, but they always seemed laden with meaning. “I was thinking, if you want to stay here, I can look for a full-time gig. Or if you’d like to go off-planet—”

“I’ve been offered a position as the captain of the U.S.S. Tritonia,” Connor blurted out rapidly, like it was a confession. “It’s an emergency response vessel, with a mission to assist planets facing natural disaster or conflicts requiring rescue.” 

“Oh,” Hank stuttered, and Connor shifted on his feet. He got the sense that Connor had been sitting on this for a while. “Do you want to take it?” 

“It’s much smaller than the Jericho,” Connor continued, and Hank didn’t miss the evaded question. “With a crew of only about 40. It will be limited to Sector 1 of the galaxy, and make more frequent returns to Starbase on Earth than other vessels, for resupply and crew respite.” 

“You sound pretty excited about it,” Hank encouraged him. Slowly, Connor nodded. 

“I would be helping people, and getting to visit other planets again. At first, I wasn’t sure how you would fit—but Hank, you’re a warp technician,” Connor’s voice swelled with pride as he squeezed Hank’s hand. “And I’d be responsible for hiring an engineering staff.” 

“I… I’m glad you believe in me, sweetheart,” Hank stuttered, trying to avoid pissing out Connor’s flame, “but I don’t think I’m qualified to be a Chief of Engineering.”

Connor sniggered, covering his mouth. “I’m sorry, Hank, but I have to agree. However, I think Simon would be interested in the position, and I’m sure you’d be his first choice as an assistant technician.” 

Oh. Well, that was a neat idea. Though Hank wasn’t exactly sure how he’d feel about reporting to Simon. “Trying to keep all the people you’ve slept with on one ship?”

Connor tilted his head to the side, as if thinking hard. “Last I heard, Taylor Marlowe dropped out of Starfleet Academy to start her own earring design business. But I could reach out to her about a role as ship’s jeweler—” Connor teased, and Hank snorted. “When we get home, I can show you the offer letter, and we can review the specific terms, and discuss the pros and cons—”

“I’m in,” Hank interrupted him. 

Connor blinked. “Are you sure? We don’t need to decide right away.” 

Hank covered Connor’s hand with his own, rubbing his thumb across his love’s palm. “We’ll go over the paperwork, ‘cause I know it’s important to you. But you should know now that I’m all in.” 

“Why?” 

“Cause of the way your eyes light up when you look at the stars. Just like that—” he brushed a thumb on Connor’s cheek, and the android leaned into his touch, looking positively dreamy. 

“That’s because I’m looking at you,” he sighed. He leaned over, kissing Hank soft and steady, and Hank exhaled into his embrace. “I love you, Hank.”

“Love you too, baby. Now c’mon, let’s get home, and you can give me a fashion show of all the outfits you’re packing for Lisbon.” 

That got Connor up and moving. He started toward the car, and Hank lingered just long enough to sneak Sumo a piece of chicken he’d pulled aside. “It will almost be a shame to go back to a Starfleet uniform after discovering cashmere,” Connor mused. 

“You can fill our cabin with sweaters,” Hank promised as he started the car, and they began navigating back to the apartment. “I’m gonna insist you strip off the uniform and change into that blue Tom Ford number the second you’re off-duty every night.” 

A hand rested on Hank’s thigh, and when he glanced over at a red light, he was met with a positively sinful smile. “I hope we’ll find a way to enjoy ourselves in the space between undressing and redressing.” 

Hank chewed his lip, and wondered at what point he’d stop getting flustered the minute Connor fluttered those dark eyelashes at him. At this rate, it wouldn’t be anytime soon. 


One Month Later 


Connor sighed as he extracted a hefty package of semolina flour from the pantry, placing it on the growing pile atop the counter. “How did we manage to acquire this much food?” 

He heard Hank’s laugh from the other room. “Because your eyes are bigger than your stomach. Almost literally.” Connor sighed—it was a fair accusation. He had taken an almost hedonistic pleasure in trying all kinds of Earth foods and experimenting with cooking, but the chamber in his abdomen couldn’t hold much, so it often fell to Hank to finish the rest. The human had gained weight in the last few months that had nothing to do with the higher Earth gravity (not that Connor had any complaints).

As Connor was wondering how much food he could convince Hank and Sumo to eat tonight, he heard two pairs of footsteps approaching—one sock-footed, the other with blunt claws that tapped on the linoleum. Broad arms wrapped around him from behind, and he melted into the embrace. “I really thought I would make a lot more pasta,” he sighed. 

“I liked your bow-tie noodles. And the ones shaped like hearts,” Hank assured him. 

“I can make you more tonight?” Connor offered eagerly, but Hank just laughed, the motion shaking his chest against Connor’s back. 

“I’m stuffed. Been eating as many of the fridge foods as I can. Most of the pantry stuff we can probably drop off at the food bank on our way out tomorrow.”  

Connor gave Hank’s hand a squeeze before slipping out of his embrace, opening the refrigerator to peek inside. “Do you think we can finish the brie and prosciutto tonight?” 

Hank’s hand pressed to his lower back, rubbing the fabric of his shirt and dropping his voice almost imperceptibly lower. “Maybe if I can manage to burn off a few more calories first.” 

Connor felt his face start to flush, smirking as he closed the refrigerator and turned nonchalantly toward Hank. “Have you finished packing? The process can provide some beneficial exercise.” 

Hank narrowed his eyes almost mischievously. By now, it was a well-worn dance they went through, but Connor still found it endlessly amusing, the excitement starting to burn low in his torso as Hank looked exaggeratedly around the room and toward the bags and suitcases stacked near the door. “Think I got most of it. Just a few essentials to finish up in the morning.”

The weight of their agenda the following day was enough for Connor to veer off script, casting a nervous look toward their luggage. “How much is left? If we want to beat traffic, we should—”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Just stuff I need in the morning—toothbrush, clothes. I won’t make my captain late for his first command.” Hank braced a hand on Connor’s shoulder, his grounding touch settling some of the nerves, but not quite enough. 

“What if I’m forgetting something?” Connor practically whispered. “There was so much paperwork, I could have missed—”

You missed something? Where’s my passport right now?” 

Connor didn’t hesitate. “In the right-hand pocket of my blue satchel, next to mine.” He’d already checked it twice this evening, and even as he replayed the memory of his last confirmation, he had to fight the urge to go check again. It was irrational—his memory was flawless. But he was about to be the captain of a starship—there was no room for error.

Hank wrapped an arm around his hips, pulling Connor against his side, and Connor leaned into the warmth. “I’m sure you’ve got everything handled. But if not, we’ll deal with it. It’s a crew of professionals, honey. Everyone wants you to succeed. And you will.” 

Connor pressed his cheek to the flannel of Hank’s shirt, inhaling the warm smells of his laundry detergent and soap and his own unique scent. All the other luggage was unnecessary—Hank was the only essential Connor needed aboard. 

“Hey, c’mere. I’ve got an idea,” Hank took him by the hand, dragging him down the hallway toward their bedroom. Connor felt a momentary flash of guilt mingled with gratitude—this is where the evening had been headed before his nerves took them off course.

But Hank’s expression as he unbuttoned Connor’s shirt was more giddy than aroused. “We used to do this thing as kids—I’ll bet you’re really good at it. Sit on the bed?” Confused, Connor did as he was asked, shrugging off his shirt. He felt Hank sink onto the bed behind him, and a moment later, warm hands pressed against his back. “See if you can tell what I’m writing.” 

Connor shivered as Hank dragged a fingertip away from the top of Connor’s spine, curling back down to the center of his back before returning to the start. He followed its progress easily, smiling as the image Hank traced on his skin became clear. “A heart.” 

“Too easy,” Hank remarked, his voice light and tinged with laughter. “Try this one.” Again, Hank’s fingertip glided across the planes of Connor’s back. It reminded him of the beads of Hank’s sweat that would transfer to his skin when they made love, running down his body in warm rivulets. 

The pattern was more complicated this time, but he recognized it with a warm buzz. “Our initials inside the heart. C plus H.A.” 

Hank hummed happily, adding absentminded swirls to the edge of his invisible artwork. “Hey. Can you control where you pull your skin back? To, I dunno, maybe follow where I touch you?”

Connor hadn’t thought of that before. There was no program for that specific operation, but with a few adjustments… He closed his eyes, his LED blinking in concentration, and slowly peeled back the pseudo skin where Hank’s finger had dragged, revealing the chrome body underneath. 

Hank gasped, then exhaled slowly, the breath ghosting against Connor’s bare chassis and making him shiver. “Wow. My artwork’s shit. Surprised you could even guess.” 

“I like this game,” Connor assured him, reaching back to find Hank’s hand among the sheets. There was a playful intimacy to it that was loosening the knotted feeling in his chest. “Give me another.” Connor returned his skin in place, providing Hank with a blank slate. 

Hank studied the canvas before him. With a slower, more precise touch than before, he began drawing an abstract pattern across Connor’s back. Pulling back the skin in Hank’s wake, Connor could easily visualize the design, but had trouble deciphering what it might represent. Jagged lines trailed and connected across his skin, a mishmash of freeform shapes. It wasn’t until the wobbly little circle was traced just above his right hip that the image began to cohere. 

“Oh! It’s a flat rendering of Earth’s continents!” Connor announced triumphantly. He frowned as he pulled up a world map alongside Hank’s drawing. “Your proportions are all over the place. And you forgot Greenland.” 

Hank snorted, hastily smudging the island in on the nape of Connor’s neck. “I ain’t a cartographer. And you don’t exactly present an easy canvas.” 

“How rude.” Connor turned over his shoulder to pout, which earned him a pinch on his earlobe and a kiss on the chin. 

Hank’s touch moved lower, his beard ticking against the exposed skin of Connor’s back until he pressed a warm kiss toward the top of his map. “What was your favorite part about here?” he whispered, the warm breath ghosting against Connor’s exposed chassis. 

It took Connor a moment to catch on, and he compared Hank’s map to a real one again. “Of Norway? Seeing the humpback whales.” They had embarked on a boat trip into the sea, enduring icy rain and wind whipping against their skin, almost ready to give up before a pod of whales emerged, cresting gracefully as if they’d arrived just to perform. 

Hank shivered, as if reflexively remembering the cold. Connor had held him close, a single scarf wrapped around the both of them and Hank’s hands shoved into Connor’s jacket, warming them against the android’s torso. “That was a hell of a thing. Though I think I preferred the hot mulled wine by the fire afterwards.” 

Connor hummed at the memory, just as Hank pressed a tickling kiss lower down his back. “What about here?” 

“We didn’t visit Samoa, Hank.” He reached back, a gentle hand on Hank’s chin guiding his lips to the correct location a few centimeters higher. “But here, in Hawaii… I think I most enjoyed relaxing on the beach.” 

“Really, Mister Itinerary? You had us hiking a mountain, snorkeling with sharks, and helicoptering over a volcano, and your favorite part was chilling out ?” Hank wrapped his arms tight around Connor’s middle, wrestling him onto the bed in mock fury as the android fell into peals of laughter. 

“I liked those parts too!” 

“What the hell did I get all those bug bites for, huh?” Hank straddled Connor’s hips, pinning him prone on the mattress. 

“So I could rub calamine lotion on you,” Connor countered, wriggling his hips just to feel Hank’s weight on top of him. 

“Hmm, that wasn’t so bad,” Hank mused. He leaned forward, letting Connor feel the fabric of his shirt press to his bare skin before another kiss was placed just to the side of his spine. “And here?” 

“Detroit?” Hank nodded, letting his hands trace slowly down Connor’s sides and distracting him rather thoroughly. The city had become so much their home, it was hard to pick a single moment. But a few stood out from the last few months, and there was one which Connor revisited often in his memory. “I liked visiting the Harmony Pavilion with you. As strange as it may seem, I hadn’t considered how meaningful marriage could be until that day. The act of committing to one another, of a union between two different species being recognized by the law and community.” 

Hank’s hands froze briefly in their tracks. Connor began to worry he’d gone too far, when Hank spoke barely above a whisper. “I think about marriage a lot, actually.” 

Connor turned on his side to face him. “You do?” With the way Hank spoke about his divorce, he had always assumed Hank was done with the institution. 

But Hank just nodded steadily, a flush rising on his cheeks, and couldn’t quite meet Connor’s eye. He inhaled slowly, and Connor could practically hear him thinking, the tension crackling between them with emotions felt but not yet spoken. Connor felt practically jittery with excitement, but knew that tonight, on the verge of leaving the planet, wasn’t the time to dig deeper. And he was more than willing to steer their evening back in the direction it had been heading. 

So he took Hank’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “Me too.” He looked coyly at Hank over his shoulder, dropping his voice into honeyed darkness. “I also liked sucking you off in the hotel hot tub,” he said casually, almost offhand, and drank in the way Hank’s skin flushed almost as red as it had been that day. Not needing to breathe had its benefits, and the memory of fingers tangled in his hair, warm jets of water caressing his body, and Hank filling his mouth kicked off a whirlpool in his chest. 

Hank’s expression darkened, and he wrapped a firm hand around Connor’s hip, gripping possessively. “I couldn’t believe you. Anyone could have walked in on us. But I think you liked that—the sneaking around.” 

Connor had. He didn’t mention to Hank that he’d hacked the security cameras, and would have had plenty of warning before any intrusion. Because it was fun to pretend, to imagine. He sighed, leaning back into Hank’s chest 

Hank’s touch moved farther, skating over the cotton fabric on Connor’s thighs and gripping tightly. “Think you liked being held under, me using your mouth and moving you wherever I want—”

Hank… ” Connor keened

“—Just like a good little whore.” 

That opened the floodgates. Connor’s hands flew to cover Hank’s, gripping them tightly and desperately trying to move his touch higher, but his human wouldn’t budge. “Take me,” Connor sighed, “please.” 

One of Hank’s hands came up to palm over Connor’s torso, pulling him closer against Hank’s chest until he could feel his lover’s heart hammering. Hank’s skin was hot against his and warming by the second, the spicy smell of sweat already sparking across Connor’s sensors. “Tell me what you need, baby,” Hank purred. 

Connor was familiar with this game, knew how Hank could draw him out and make him beg and whine until he was a shuddering mess before he gave in. There was nothing he wanted more. And thankfully, Connor could play a few games of his own in the process. 

He rocked back, pressing his ass against the rising swell in Hank’s jeans. “Need you, Hank. Want your cock. Want you to fuck me hard. ” 

He heard Hank groan, felt the hand on his thigh tighten as his human fought for self control, and let out a satisfied purr. “Now doesn’t that sound nice.” Hank rolled his hips lazily against Connor’s ass. The hand on his chest rose higher, circling one nipple and then the other. “Oh, sweetheart. All worked up at just the thought of getting fucked.” 

“Fucked by you ,” Connor added. He hitched his hips forward and managed to press the swell of his clothed erection against the back of Hank’s hand, but it wasn’t nearly enough. “Only you can touch me like this,” he huffed, and knew he’d struck true when Hank mouthed against his neck, a possessive growl rumbling in his chest. “Take me, please. Claim me, make me yours.” 

“Mine,” Hank snarled, and all of a sudden Connor’s pants were yanked roughly downward. He lifted his hips, and Hank shoved the offending clothing just far enough down his thighs to grab at his ass, pulling his cheeks apart and groaning contentedly at what he found. “Look at you. So wet for me.” 

“For you,” Connor echoed, descending into a tremulous sigh as Hank dragged a lazy thumb across the slick lubricant dripping from his hole, sliding it up and down his cleft before circling the entrance teasingly.

Connor shuddered, thrusting once against the sheets before Hank’s other hand seized his hip, holding him maddeningly in place. Part of him wanted nothing more than for Hank to breach him with his cock now , rough and fast and urgent. Yet the other part loved the tease, the drawn-out tension that made arousal pull taut and burn to his core. It was an intoxicating push and pull, leaving him feeling uncontrolled and hazy in the best way. 

“Huh,” Hank murmured as he began to press a finger inside. It took Connor a moment to catch on as he felt Hank’s hand press against his back, and realized that he’d unconsciously kept up their game, pulling back his skin wherever Hank touched and leaving his back a mottled mess of peach skin and chrome. He was embarrassed about the oversight, until Hank drew another miniature heart on his skin and sighed contentedly. 

With more resolve, Connor replaced all the skin on his back, smoothing it into place until he was left with a blank canvas, and craned over his shoulder to look at Hank. “Mark me.” 

It was Hank’s turn for his mental processors to stutter. He just blinked at Connor, one finger still up to the knuckle inside him, until it finally clicked. “Yeah,” he muttered softly, the dominant persona slipping for a moment. “Yeah, I got you.” 

He studied Connor’s back, biting his lower lip in such an adorable way that Connor wanted to kiss him again, but wouldn’t risk breaking his concentration. He brushed Connor’s prostate slowly, buying himself time, until he leaned forward with a determined smile. 

Connor held himself frozen as he felt Hank’s delicate touch trace across his shoulder blades, a fingertip dragging in an elegant, looping script. His mouth fell open as he realized, and Hank signed his own name in cursive across his skin. 

Hank studied his handiwork with a sigh, leaning back just enough to press a second finger into Connor and crook them triumphantly. “There. Can you be a good boy and keep that in place while I fuck you?” 

Connor’s concentration was already wavering, the edges of Hank’s writing going fuzzy as his skin tried to slide back into place, but he nodded hastily. “That’s good, sweetheart. I wonder how long you could keep my name on your skin? Show everyone exactly who you belong to.” 

“Hank… ” he whined, reaching back blindly for Hank’s hip, urging him forward. 

“And don’t you forget it,” 

Hank caught his hand, squeezing it tightly, before setting to work unfastening his own belt. The sound of a zipper pulling downwards was the most delightful noise Connor had heard, but he surprised himself by pulling away when Hank made to grab his hips. “Wait—I want… can you undress completely? I want to feel your skin on mine.” 

Hank’s expression softened, and he pressed a warm hand against Connor’s cheek. “Of course, baby.” He leaned back enough for Connor to wiggle the rest of the way out of his pants, and shucked off his own clothing with hasty carelessness, tossing the discarded articles aside. Connor took a moment to admire the sight of his cock, swollen and brushing against his soft stomach. In the early days of their relationship, Hank might have shied away from the scrutiny, but by now he knew exactly what effect his appearance had on Connor. “Like what you see?” 

Connor could only nod, licking his lips and gazing up at Hank between dark lashes. Hank’s cock twitched, and he gave himself a few lazy pumps as he threaded his fingers through Connor’s hair, his touch loving and firm as he pressed Connor down into the pillows. 

Connor groaned, pushing his ass up toward Hank, who kept one hand fisted in his curls as he dragged the head of his cock down the cleft of his ass and hissed. “Fuck, Con. Feel what you do to me?”

Connor moaned, rolling his hips back into the contact. “Need you.” 

“You want this cock? It’s yours, baby. Everything I’ve got, it’s yours.” And with that, Hank thrust into him completely, a single, smooth motion that had them both crying out. 

Connor reached back, holding Hank’s hip in a silent plea to stay there, just for a moment. Hank seemed to understand, wrapping his arms around Connor’s chest and pulling him up off the bed, leaning back until Connor was speared on his lap. 

“Fuck,” Hank gasped almost in disbelieve, right into Connor’s ear. Desperately, Connor nodded in agreement. They had had sex 67 times now (counting the present moment), and it still always seemed like a miraculous impossibility, that their bodies could come together like this, that they could create so much pleasure from nothing but themselves. 

Carefully, Hank began to move, and Connor matched his pace, their bodies rocking together in seamless rhythm. The position was perfect for Hank to nail his prostate with practiced ease on every thrust, and Connor knew he was making a mess of them both, lubricant and pre-ejaculate dripping from inside and making an obscene squelching noise as Hank pistoned into him. 

A steady moan rose from Connor’s throat, wanton and uninhibited, tinged with static. Hank’s careful hand wrapped around his throat, feeling the vibrations of Connor’s voice and guiding his body as his thrusts grew more forceful. “Imagine what your crew’s gonna think,” he growled “They’re gonna hear you through the walls, know how good their captain is getting fucked.” 

“Let them hear,” Connor cried. He could feel himself getting closer, and grabbed Hank’s wrist desperately. “Please—on my back.” 

Hank didn’t need to be told twice. He took hold of Connor and flipped him over, pressing his legs apart and lifting his ass up. He gripped Connor’s chin, pressing a desperate, sloppy kiss into his lips as he guided his cock back into him. 

Connor groaned into their kiss, tightening his legs around Hank’s waist to pull him impossibly closer. Hank leaned forward, leveraging all his weight to press Connor back into the mattress, and oh… that was very nice. There were a lot of things Connor would miss about Earth, but the gravity was near the top of the list. He adored the feeling of Hank’s bulk on top of him, securing him, grounding him. 

Hank ground his cock deeper inside and took hold of Connor leg, caressing the inside of his thigh before hooking it over his shoulder. It was wonderful, the way Hank moved his body, guided him where he wanted. In moments like this, giving up control was a release so blissful that his mind went fuzzy and calm, filled with nothing but Hank’s touch, his warmth. 

“I love you,” he sighed, locking gaze with a pair of bright blue eyes that stared back at him with blatant adoration. 

Hank moaned, his thrusts becoming fast and erratic. “I love you too. I’m so close, baby. Fuck , you feel so goddamn good.” 

“Come in me, please—” Connor had barely gotten the words out before he felt Hank shudder and groan, the warmth of his release flooding him. He liked it better this way—to orgasm with Hank’s cum inside him, knowing he had done that, had made Hank feel that good. It only took a few more thrusts until Connor was crying out, clenching around Hank’s cock and spurting across both of their chests. 

Hank slumped on top of him completely, a mess of fluids squishing between their bodies in a way that delighted Connor more than he wanted to admit. Hank’s weight was a warm anchor, and Connor kept his legs wrapped tight around him, holding Hank inside as long as he could until he finally softened and slipped out. 

That seemed to wake the human up enough to roll onto his back, still sticky and panting. “Fuck. I think we already packed the laundry stuff.” 

“Blue suitcase, bottom right corner,” Connor replied automatically. He curled himself against Hank’s chest. “We’ll get it later.” 

Hank managed a nod, brushing his fingers through Connor’s hair and letting his eyes drift close. Just when Connor was starting to think he’d fallen asleep, he heard a quiet murmur. “Hot damn. My name looks good on you.” 

He blinked, following Hank’s gaze to the writing on his back. He’d managed to keep it mostly intact, albeit with some blurring at the edges. “I really could keep it on indefinitely, you know,” Connor said. “Under my clothes. No one would know but you.” 

Hank tried to keep his expression of interest mild, but the way his pupils blew out gave away the possessive streak that Connor was so good at arousing. “Now wouldn’t that be something.” 

An idea struck Connor suddenly, and in a moment he was on his knees, scrambling out of the bed. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere!” 

Connor stamped barefoot into the living room, rummaging in the desk until he found a washable marker. It was almost dried out, but he touched it to his tongue and managed to re-wet the sponge. From his dog bed, Sumo raised his ears and shot him an inquisitive look, and Connor shushed him. “Don’t tell Hank.” At least this time he was putting weird stuff in his mouth after kissing. 

He returned to the bedroom to find Hank sitting up on his elbows, watching him curiously. The bed bounced as Connor hopped back up, kneeling beside him. “Turn over.” 

Hank raised an eyebrow, but did as he was told, stretching his arms languidly above his head as he lay on his stomach. Connor took a moment to admire the way his muscles shifted under his skin before pressing a steadying hand to Hank’s back. “Your turn to guess.” 

Hank laughed as he felt the first press of the marker’s tip to his skin. He closed his eyes, breathing slowly with concentration as Connor carefully dragged the ink, line by line, and watched his name appear in clear Cyberlife sans across Hank's skin. It was imperfect, the ink bleeding with sweat and marker shaking with Hank's breath, but that somehow made it more beautiful. 

Connor had all but forgotten about the game until Hank peered back over his shoulder and caught him staring. 

“Look at us,” Hank murmured. “Couple of assholes with names on our backs, like a kindergartener’s backpack.” 

Connor laughed too loudly. “If lost, return to Connor.” He rubbed his eyes before a tear could spill over, narrowly avoiding inking his cheek with the marker.

“I’m okay with that,” Hank said with a smile that could melt the surface of Neptune. “Get down here.” 

Connor nestled against Hank’s chest as they settled on their sides in a tangle of limbs and sheets. He listened to Hank’s heart beat slow, his breathing grow steady. After a minute, the mattress practically buckled as Sumo bounded onto the bed, releasing a cloud of fur. The two of them managed to shove him away from all the wet spots, and with a satisfied huff, the Saint Bernard plopped above their heads, happily drooling on the pillow. “Oh well. We’ll have to do laundry anyway, I guess,” Hank groaned, reaching up to ruffle the dog’s fur. 

“I had additional air purifiers installed on board the Tritonia to catch the dog fur,” Connor said. “But Sumo won’t be the only pet on board. Our medical officer is bringing a ferret, and the communications officer has an Ardra—it’s a kind of large bird-lizard.” 

Hank whistled. “Is this a bad time to say that I’m afraid of birds?” 

Connor laughed, pulling him closer and smearing ink across his fingertips from Hank’s skin. “Sumo and I will protect you.” The dog whined as if in agreement, licking eagerly at Hank’s cheek. 

Hank pushed the dog aside, but even the show of annoyance couldn’t hide the fond sparkle in his crinkled eyes. “Have I told you how excited I am?” 

Connor sat up, replaying their conversations of late. “Not exactly. I know you’re supportive, and we’ve discussed logistics, but… excited? Truly?” He hadn’t been able to shake the nagging feeling that their commission on board the ship was something Hank was doing for him, a concession to make their relationship work. 

“Yeah,” Hank said earnestly. He sat up against the headboard, throwing a comforter over both of them before pulling Sumo onto his lap. “Never thought I was much of a spaceman, but the closer we’ve gotten to launch, the more antsy I am to get up into the stars. I like the idea of helping people, getting to know the crew, working with my hands in the engine. And shit, Connor. The sights we’re gonna see together.” 

“I’m looking forward to that the most,” Connor admitted. He felt like the more noble pursuits of the mission should win out, but when he imagined the months ahead, his fantasies returned again and again to the strange new worlds they could encounter. “And to sharing the experience with you, especially.” 

They were quiet for a moment, lost in thought, when Connor spoke again in a smaller voice. “How long do you think this will work? What if you don’t like it, or I don’t like it, or the strain of constant travel becomes too burdensome—”

“Then we change course,” Hank replied calmly, taking Connor’s hand in his. “We’ll figure it out together. I think we’re strong enough to handle a few bumps in the road.” 

“I believe you, Hank. And I agree, it’s just…” Connor sighed, struggling to find the words, and Hank stroked patient circles down his side. “I’ve always imagined a career in a straight line. At one point, I had a hundred-year plan—” Hank snorted like it was a joke, which it was not. “And now… I know what the next year will look like, at least. And knowing you’ll be with me provides a great deal of security. But beyond that… I can’t help feeling a bit lost.” 

Hank nodded, considering the words carefully. It wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation, and Connor knew it wouldn’t be the last. He would likely always struggle with some degree of anxiety about the future, just as Hank would move through life with a streak of defeatism he’d have to constantly work against. But there was a relief in their acceptance—of themselves, and each other. Neither battle would be fought alone. 

“You’re not lost,” Hank replied finally. “You’re in uncharted territory. You and me, Con, are on a mission of exploration. Only way to know what’s ahead is to hit the engines and fly into it.” 

Connor didn’t bother to hold back the tears that welled in his eyes. He wrapped himself in Hank’s arms, and laughed and cried, and felt his love’s body shake as Hank did the same. His universe was vast, but his North Star was here in his arms, and the galaxy seemed to stretch out before them, waiting to be discovered.

Notes:

Thank you so much for reading, and an especially huge thank you to those who have commented along! This has been such a fun, silly idea to explore, and I'm so grateful I get to share it with you all! I hope you enjoyed!