detroit: become human oneshots

one touch is never enough - hank/connor [nsfw]

SUMMARY: Connor has a fixation on Hank's hands and can't help himself when Hank's cooking.
WORD COUNT: 2993

Connor had a problem. And it wasn't a software problem, either, but something inarguably worse. Ever since meeting the man, and especially since being slammed against the wall, Connor had developed a certain fixation on Hank Anderson's large, strong hands. He often yearned to feel those hands on his body, inside of him wherever they could fit– or even if they couldn't fit, he could make them fit, and that thought, in particular, made Connor shiver.

Connor had already developed romantic feelings for Hank, though he was unsure of what they were for a frustratingly long amount of time; he had little to no knowledge of what his feelings meant. He was fairly new to feeling things, after all, he was only three months into his deviancy. Any touch from Hank– which was common, because Hank was fairly touchy with those he was friendly with– would make Connor almost literally short circuit, unbeknownst to Hank.

Although, sometimes Connor would consider Hank's touches to be more than friendly, and it was nothing short of intoxicating. Hank would let his hand linger on the back of his neck for a little too long and surely feel the way Connor's body heated up at the touch. He would let a pat to the shoulder become something more that caused Connor's synthetic skin to melt away under his clothes where Hank touched.

Connor never quite knew how to tell Hank about any of these things, though, and his sexual attraction to Hank only made him even more unsure of what to do with these feelings. Part of him worried that if Hank found out, he would get upset with him, tell him he's disgusting– it wouldn't be the first time either, though Connor did take samples with his tongue, so he supposed it was fair– and kick him out of the house. So he never had acted on these feelings, despite almost doing so multiple times. Until a late February night, at least.

Connor was eagerly watching Hank cook– which he didn't even know Hank could do– and just when Connor was thinking this cannot be worse , he was inevitably proven wrong.

Connor, already packing a semi at the sight of Hank with an apron and messy hair, watched in horror as Hank dipped his pinky into the sauce he had been simmering. Hank sucked in a breath- presumably at the temperature of the sauce- and quickly popped the finger into his mouth. Connor watched helplessly from the couch, LED burning red, as Hank's tongue swirled around his pinky and didn't miss a single drop of the sauce. Connor longed to put his mouth on those fingers too, knowing he'd be a good boy and get them very clean for Hank. He squirmed where he sat on the couch, whining at the thought, and despite Hank's focus, it didn't go unnoticed.

"The fuck?" Hank grumbled, turning to Connor, but the spike in Hank's heart rate and minute pupil dilation didn't slip past Connor. Connor, who kept constant track of Hank's vitals, felt his cock twitch when he caught arousal symptoms.

"I'm sorry, Hank," Connor apologized in a relatively neutral tone, though his voice was higher than intended. "I didn't mean to do that."

"What, you didn't mean to moan on my fuckin' couch?" Hank scoffed, and Connor's LED was spinning yellow-red-yellow-red as he fought off errors.

"No," Connor said a little too quickly, and a little too defensively. Hank raised his eyebrows, looking ultimately unconvinced. Connor's gaze fixed on the sauce on Hank's lips, his LED back to a dangerous red, cock hardening between his legs as his pre-construction software booted up unprompted.

"You, uh- You wanna help or somethin'?" Hank offered, looking at Connor with a face that Connor has learned to be his analyzing face. Connor felt himself burning up under Hank's watchful gaze. Hank's pinky hovered just below his lip and Connor stared at it, perhaps for too long.