sociallychallenged | (no subject)

You don’t smell bad.

[He has a comforting sort of smell. At least, Connor thinks so. He puts his hand on Hank’s when he rubs his side, though now he’s second guessing everything he does. Friends touch hands, don’t they? That’s safe to do. Oh no, he hates it. He hates this sudden confusion.]

I’d tell you if you did.

[And Hank knows it.]

You wouldn't tell me, you'd put me in the shower and turn the fuckin' water on. Don't pretend you'd just tell me.

[He sounds amused by the whole thing, though, even if that's the incident that will always call up his ire because Cyberlife didn't repair his fucking window.]

[He stops moving his hand when Connor puts his own over his, judging whether or not it's because Connor's irritated with the motion, or whether he just wants to rest his own there. After a few moments, he adjusts his hold, rather than letting his hand rest, to pressing his fingertips against the base of Connor's own fingers. A gesture asking silent permission to slip his through and twine their hands. Not exactly friendly, either. But also being that he's asking silent permission, one easy to pull away from.]

Maybe I would.

[Yeah, he would. He slowly slides their fingers together at the silent gesture, rubbing his thumb over Hank’s. He nudges their noses together again, smiling even though he’s still struggling a little with his feelings.]

If you smelled bad enough.

Aw, you'd give me a chance to do it myself? I'm impressed.

[Hank is smiling both at their terrible humor, and at the feeling of his fingers sliding between thinner ones. His own heart warms again and he enjoys the light touch Connor's giving him. Hell of a good birthday in these small gestures. He'd absolutely kiss him, though he's still respecting those barely existant boundaries. He can smell the cake on his breath as it tickles his beard, and he has no intention of making an effort to escape that.]

Maybe I should give you more credit than I do.

No, you shouldn’t.

[He smiles wider at the image his next sentence conjures up-]

Because if we were away from a shower, I’d push you into the nearest body of water instead.

[He’s wondering what Hank would do if he did kiss him. Would he be upset? He doesn’t want to ruin his birthday.]

[Hank laughs outright, knowing full well he would not be laughing if that actually happened to him and that it possibly could.] God, you can be such a prick. Luckily right now I could throw you in the lake, too. Like a twink frisbee.

[Despite having just called him a prick, he sounds incredibly fond of him, though. Maybe one of the reasons he came to care about him, even as an android, is that he wasn't perfectly accommodating, but still seemed to care in his own way.]

[Luckily he's distracted from the thought of kissing Connor with the thought of chucking him in a body of water like that dog from the Hulk Hogan gif from what feels like eighty-five years ago. He even squeezes his hand a little for cheering him up. But he's not even moved a millimeter.]

[It’s worth being called a prick just to hear Hank laugh. He shifts even closer, moving their hands to be between them rather than at Connor’s side, and looks down at them. They fit nicely. Or at least, Connor thinks they do.]

If you threw me in the lake I would make it my mission to get revenge. It would involve birds.

[He looks back up again, meeting Hank’s eyes.]

Lots of birds.

[When Connor moves their hands, he finally opens his eyes so he can look down at their fingers too, nicely meshed together at this angle. Similarly, he thinks they're well matched, somehow. Or maybe dimly he's just happy to be holding someone's hand, so it looks all the better.]

[But then the threat of birds comes into play, and Hank's blue eyes slide up to meet Connor's brown ones, that trickster glint that he imagines in them.]

Remember what I said I'd do if you brought in birds. I might have been drunk, but I'll stand by it sober.

[Why the fuck does he have to be so fucking pretty. He should just go throw this asshole in a lake right now.]

Maybe that wasn’t a very good threat.

[He does have a slight smirk going on, Hank isn’t wrong in seeing that gleam in his eyes.]

You’ve already done it once, and I didn’t find it upsetting at all.

Well there's at least gotta be a crick or a stream nearby, so, let's test this chain of events out.

[And finally Hank moves away. He let's go of Connor's hand, too, but it's all to playfully gather him up, pretending to pick him up as if he will, indeed, carry him outside while in his t-shirt and underwear and find the nearest body of water of any significance to throw him in.]

[Connor holds onto Hank tightly, laughing.]

You’ll have to get me to let go first. Unless you’d like to jump in too.

[In which case Hank gets wet and Connor still gets bird-related revenge, so it’s a lose-lose situation there.]

Ah. Good point. [Hank gives in easily, leaning over Connor as he puts him back down.] I'll have to plan better.

[But it gave him an excuse to pick up Connor briefly. And like any good beast of a man, he likes to pick up the occasional small person (much to their misfortune).]

You win this one.

[Even if he got a small birthday present there.]

[Connor doesn’t quite let go, only loosening his hold but otherwise still keeping Hank leaning over him.]

I thought so.

[He looks content with that, though.]

Now just agree not to throw me into any water and we’ll be good.

[After a moment of indecisiveness, torn between rolling off to the side of him, or pulling back completely, or going ahead and just laying down on Connor, he decides to continue testing his luck. But propped up on his elbows so he's not completely crushing him, knees between Connor's so he doesn't put his legs to sleep.]

[Things average friends don't do, #925.]

[But, now he has him pinned.]

Mmmm. No. Can't agree to that, sorry.

Then I can’t promise I won’t catch the meanest bird I can find and let it eat your hair.

[Hair which he fondly pushes out of Hank’s face, tucking it behind his ear.]

And I don’t think you want that.

[His ears are not strong enough to stand up to this hair. It's immediately disobedient, wanting to fall loose.]

Aw, come on. You can do better than that. At least threaten to have it nest in it.

[In the meantime, he shifts just enough so he can push at that one little sprig of unruly hair on Connor's perfect fucking head. Because his hair always seems to do what he wants. It's his third most enviable quality.]

If you keep pushing me I’m going to make this room look like the apartment that deviant was hiding in.

[And he’ll do it with pigeons, don’t think he won’t.]

I see what you're getting at. [Hank says with solemn faux firmness. And again, wonders what he can get away with. Also wonders if he wants to get away with it.]

[He decides to do it, reaching to take Connor's hands one at a time and pin them on either side of his head.]

I can't let you get out of here. It's the only guarantee...

[He lets Hank pin his hands, chuckling quietly.]

Oh no, you’ve got me.

[He does his best to look innocent, but that smile is anything but.]

What are you going to do to me?

[Yup. He's made a terrible mistake. Hank Anderson, youngest lieutenant on Detroit's Police Force, highest scores at the Academy, legend in narcotics and homicide. And the stupidest fucking man alive.]

[He should really start planning ahead when he pulls this shit, because he puts himself in these situations where he just really wants to kiss Connor. And what happens. Oddly enough, he remembers being asked, 'what are you going to do with that'? He's still not sure.]

I haven't decided yet.

[So the answer right now is just lay on him and pin him and look at him. And that's almost enough, even if that's not what he'd originally intended when he'd reeled him in to lay quietly with his nice warm partner. Almost, because Connor can destroy worlds with that no-good smile, and he wants to press his mouth to it so badly.]

[He's basking in the view when that little Pichu decides to come see what's going on, and there's nothing that can make a man feel caught in the act like a precursor Pikachu watching you contemplate how hot his owner is. So, grudgingly, he lets Connor go.] I think your shockrat wants its dad.

[He might have given in and pulled Hank down for a kiss if his hands were free. Just looking up at him like this is a form of punishment in itself. Because he has to look at him and think about how badly he wants Hank to close the gap. He’s almost at the point where he’d lean up himself, when Buntz comes to see what they’re doing. Right. He’d forgotten about him.]

Come here, Buntz.

[He picks up the Pichu and plants a kiss on top of his head, before glancing over at Hank.]

I expect I haven’t gotten off that easily.

[Oh, he hopes he hasn’t. Which is a weird thought.]

[About thirty jokes having to do with getting off enter Hank's mind at once and he hates all of them, because he ends up with an awkward, stammery, bashful look at the question.]

[And finally a little bit of a grin.]

Not on your life. No way am I letting you go.

[But he climbs properly under the sheets in the meantime.]

[He lets Hank climb under the sheets while he cradles the Pichu, and when it eventually falls asleep in his arms he gently lays it down on a pillow with a fond smile. Then he lays himself beside Hank again, eyes on the TV. There’s some kind of jazzy music playing, and it reminds him of their date. He gets comfortable and looks up at Hank with a far more innocent look than before.]

I can see why you like this music.

Yeah. I wish I could have dragged out some old albums for us to listen to.

[Hank stretches out his arm, gesturing for Connor to come close again and lay against him again. He thinks of that date, too. Of how fucking awkward he'd turned when he felt his heart twist up. The panic in him. At least he's less worried about losing him now.]

Whatever I've ever felt about something or for someone, I've always been able to find a jazz song that perfectly describes it. Maybe not in lyrics, but in the way the music just... [He lightly pats his own chest.]

Going to work was always like going to war. Metal's my battle music. What I use to think on the fly. ...It's my coin. [He finally finds the right way to describe it.] Jazz was how I let all emotions I had leftover out at the end of the day.

[He has an adoring kind of look about him as he listens to Hank speak about something he's passionate about. He drapes his arm over his stomach and smiles up at him, fiddling with his shirt.]

Do you think there's a song out there that describes us?

[A song for above-average friends, as Hank called them?]