Chapter Text
Hank sits in his car parked in front of the Eden Club. Well, it's not really his car. After enduring a stupid party full of rich people who just pretended to be interested in talking to him for about an hour, he took his lawyer's car and decided to go to his hotel alone. He only ever goes to those kinds of parties for business, and he always lets his lawyer do the talking while he avoids everyone else and drinks too much. Tonight, after a woman started flirting with him – not even giving him time to get used to being divorced – he decided to up and leave. He could drink more at the hotel.
He feels his phone vibrating in his pocket before it starts ringing, and he doesn't need to look at the screen to know who it is.
"Yeah, Phil?" he says, bringing the phone up to his ear.
"Hank, where the hell are you?" his lawyer sounds worried – certainly more about the car than about Hank. "Did you get to the hotel yet?"
"No," Hank says, watching as a man walks into the building in front of him. "Your car is fine, if that's what you wanna know. You'll have it back by tomorrow."
"Hank, do you even know how to get to Beverly Hills?"
"Ever heard of GPS, Phil?"
"I should be asking you this, you're the one who's against technology," Phil says. "And by the way, you should have taken an autonomous car, since you're drunk."
"Come on, Phil, you know how much I hate those fucking things," Hank says. "And I'm not drunk."
Big lie. He is drunk. He wouldn't be sitting outside an Eden Club if alcohol wasn't clouding his judgement.
"Hank, listen–"
"I'll see you tomorrow, Phil," Hank says, and hangs up.
Hank doesn't really know why he stopped here. He watches the pink neon lights that spell "Eden Club – exclusive" as he imagines going inside and renting an android for the night.
Fuck, he must be really drunk to even consider this. He just feels lonely as fuck ever since his divorce, but at the same time he definitely doesn't want to spend time with people. And he's heard of the exclusive Eden Clubs, the ones only frequented by rich people, the ones where you can rent an android for the whole night or even a few days and take it home with you - after paying a fortune for it, of course. Androids with the most advanced hardware or whatever, they were all over the news these days, but Hank had never cared. He doesn't like androids and definitely would never have sex with one.
Phil suggested, a few weeks ago, that Hank should buy an android to keep him company, only to have Hank lash out at him about how much he hates androids. Never, in a million years, would he buy one.
But then again, he is lonely. And maybe it wasn’t actually such a bad idea. Humans talk too much, ask too many questions, get attached. Hank doesn't want any of that. He just misses having a body to hold, someone he can watch TV with while he drinks, someone he can cuddle until he falls asleep.
Hank knows he will regret it for the rest of the night, maybe for the rest of the week, but he gets out of the car and walks into the building. He blames it on the alcohol and his self destructive behavior.
In the middle of the room, there are androids pole dancing, while others stand in the corners inside clear glass compartments. All of them wearing only underwear. Hank stops and stares. Everything – their skin, their eyes, their hair, everything – looks alarmingly realistic. The only thing that gives them away is the LED they all have on the right temple, glowing a calm blue.
He continues, and as he walks by the androids, they place their hands on the glass and look at him, some of them smiling, as if they're interested in him. Hank stops in front of a female android, considering it for a moment.
Just pick one, he tells himself. They all look good, they'll all act the same way. They probably have no actual personality.
A movement to his right catches his attention. The android puts its palm against the glass and Hank turns to look at it, finding soft brown eyes staring at him. It's a male android with brown hair and pale skin. For a moment, Hank loses himself looking at the light freckles on its chest, the darker ones on its shoulders, the occasional mole here and there. Part of him – a big part, if he's being honest with himself, which he’s not – wants to touch those freckles, kiss them, trace them with his tongue. Hank wonders if its skin feels as realistic as it looks. How it would be to run his fingers through its hair.
Fuck, he needs to get out of here, this is a bad idea.
Then the android tilts its head as if curious, and it fucking smiles.
Hank hasn't been with a man since before he met his ex-wife, which means almost ten years ago. Not that he's intending to have sex with this android, or any other, for that matter. But fuck, he’s always had a preference for men.
He knows that when he's sober he's going to hate himself for doing this, but he touches the blue screen on the side of this freckled android’s glass box. Quickly, before he has time to change his mind, he picks the 24-hour option, presses his palm to the screen, and confirms the purchase. He very determinedly doesn't look at the price.
The glass door opens and the android steps out, standing in front of Hank. God, why do they have to make these androids so fucking beautiful? The android's LED spins yellow a few times and then it's back to blue.
"Thank you for your purchase," the android says. "What is your name?"
"Uh… Hank," Hank says, already regretting this. He wonders if it's too late to back out and get a refund.
"Hello, Hank, it's a pleasure to meet you. I see that you made the 24-hour purchase. If you'll wait here, I'll be ready for you in a moment." The android turns around and enters a room to Hank's right.
Hank doesn't know where it went, what's it's doing, or even how long it was in that room – he just knows the android is gone long enough for him to question his decision for the eighth time. When the android comes back, it's wearing a black button down shirt with a blue triangle on the left side of its chest, and its model number – HR400 – on the right. On the right sleeve, a blue armband. The first buttons of the shirt are undone to expose its prominent collarbones. It also wears black jeans and shoes.
"Sorry about that, Hank," the android says, "we can go now."
"So, you guys can't go outside without the Cyberlife clothes, huh?" Hank asks, walking out of the Eden Club with the android following him.
"No," it says. "Once we're at your place, you can have me dress however you like. But when I'm out in public, I'm requested to wear the Cyberlife uniform."
"Hm." Hank doesn't intend to be seen in public with any androids, but if he is, he wouldn't want it wearing the Cyberlife uniform, especially not with this particular model number on its shirt.
When they get to the car, Hank opens the door for the android, waits for it to sit in the passenger seat, then shuts the door. He tells himself there's nothing to it – he would do this for anyone who's going out with him, it's just polite. Except this isn't someone going out with him – it's a fucking sex android. Hank gets in the car and starts driving in silence, trying not to think too much about all the bad decisions he’s made tonight.
"So, where are you taking me tonight, Hank?"
"Uh, to a hotel," Hank says. He's not sure he wants to talk to the android. He's not sure what he wants at all. "I don't live here, I'm staying at a hotel. The Regent Beverly Wilshire."
"Oh," the android says. "I'm sure it's very nice, Hank."
Hank sighs. He doesn't really want to engage in whatever pre-programmed conversation comes with these androids. Reminds him too much of the painful small talk at the rich people party. But after a decent stretch of silence, Hank finally asks,
"So, do you have a name?"
"My model doesn't have an assigned name," the android says. "We will register the name the client gives us, until we return to Eden Club. My name is whatever you want it to be."
Hank doesn't want to give it a name. That’s too personal. You give androids a name when you buy them. You give it a name, and then you get attached.
"What if I wanted you to pick your own name?" Hank tries.
"I suppose I could do that," the android says, thoughtfully.
The GPS tells Hank that the hotel is down the block. The android is quiet. As Hank shoots it a glance, he sees the LED light reflected on the car window – yellow. It only speaks again when Hank parks the car in front of the hotel, a little crookedly.
"Connor," the android says.
"What?"
"I looked up some names online," it says. "I like the name Connor. What do you think?"
"It's… uh, great," Hank says, getting out of the car and walking around to open the passenger door for the android. Connor, he reminds himself. As Connor steps out, Hank takes off his own coat and wraps it around Connor's shoulders.
"Wear this," Hank says. "I doubt that androids from Eden Club are welcome inside."
Walking inside and getting his key was easy enough; the hotel has android workers as well as humans and nobody asks about the android accompanying him. Hank supposes most rich people travel with their personal androids and take them to hotels. Of course, Hank's coat hides Connor’s model number. The android at the desk informs him that all his bags are already in his room and Hank takes the opportunity to request a bottle of whiskey, wishing he could be home with a drink and his dog instead of in this hotel with this whiskey and a sex android.
The whole time, Connor stands next to him, fingers playing with one of the buttons of Hank's coat. The motion looks jittery, like it's… Anxious? It's so human that Hank feels the sudden urge to comfort it.
"Hey, stop fidgeting," Hank says, reaching for Connor's hands and holding them. Fuck, it feels exactly like human skin. Warm and soft and smooth. They look up at the same time, into each other's eyes, and Hank wants to know how the rest of Connor's body feels. He clears his throat. "Stop. It's okay."
"Mr. Anderson?" a male android standing next to Hank says, and Hank lets go of Connor's hands to look at it. "My name is Dennis," it continues, with a smile. "If you'll follow me, I'll take you to your room."
×
"Wow, this is so nice, Hank," Connor says as they arrive at the penthouse, Hank opening the door and letting Connor in first. It is nice, but Hank has been to so many of these before that it doesn't impress him anymore.
Hank moves to the desk, pulls his laptop out of his briefcase and turns it on. He still has work to do tonight, even if right now he feels very compelled to just sleep, curled up around Connor and his – its, Hank corrects himself - soft synthetic skin. He looks at Connor and notices him – it, he corrects himself sternly – looking around, apparently taking in every detail of the room. Hank sits at the desk and observes Connor for a moment, as Connor runs his fingertips over the back of one of the plush sofas.
"Ever been to a place like this before?" Hank asks, a smile on his lips. He has to admit Connor looks… kind of adorable.
"I don't know," Connor says. "Our memories are wiped when we go back to Eden Club. It's a way to protect the client's privacy."
"Oh," Hank says. It takes a moment for that to sink in. "So when I return you to Eden Club tomorrow night, you'll forget everything about me?"
"Well, some fragments of data always stay," Connor says. "But they're usually blurred and confusing. So essentially, yes. I'll forget everything about you."
Hank hums, turning back to his laptop again. He doesn't know how to feel about this.
"Does that bother you, Hank?" Connor asks, and Hank's eyes follow him as Connor walks through the big glass doors to the terrace.
Him. Hank is already forgetting Connor is a machine, apparently. But hell, doesn't he look exactly like a human being? Fuck.
"No," Hank says, not sure he's being honest. "It's better this way. Privacy, and all that shit."
"Oh, it's so beautiful out here, Hank," Connor's voice comes from outside, and Hank can practically hear him smiling.
"Yeah," Hank says, his thoughts far away from the work he's supposed to be doing even though his eyes are glued to his laptop. "Yeah, it is."
He wonders if Connor is always like this, amazed at the places his clients take him, and if he always seems genuinely curious about it all like he does now. He wonders how many people have rented Connor already.
"Hey Connor," Hank calls, and Connor quickly comes back inside. "When were you activated?"
"Three months ago," Connor says. "I'm sorry that I got distracted out there, Hank."
"Huh. I didn't know androids could get distracted."
"My apologies," Connor says. "We may start now if you like."
"Start?" Hank looks up from his laptop, his hands on the keyboard, not moving. Connor moves closer, until he's standing right next to Hank, leaning against the desk. Hank's mouth feels dry. "Actually, I…"
"What do you want to do with me, Hank?" Connor asks, his voice deeper as he stares down at Hank with half-lidded eyes.
Shit, he's definitely regretting this.
Hank clears his throat. "Nothing, I… honestly, I just wanted company for the night."
"Oh," Connor says, looking a bit taken aback. His LED spins yellow once, before going back to the calm blue it was before. "Why?"
"Well, I…" Hank hesitates. He's not the kind of guy who talks about his feelings. Especially not with androids. Well, especially not with humans either. Then again, Connor's memory will be wiped when he goes back to Eden Club tomorrow. If Hank ever wanted to be honest about his feelings, this would be the perfect moment for it.
Connor is watching him patiently, and as Hank looks up into those soft brown eyes he thinks he can be honest. Or half honest, at least.
"I feel lonely," he says.
Connor's LED spins yellow once more.
"Why do you feel lonely, Hank?" Connor asks, his voice so fucking soft now. "Do you have a significant other? Kids? Friends?"
"I had a wife," Hank says, deciding not to mention Cole. That's something he definitely doesn't feel ready to talk about. "We got divorced three months ago."
Coincidently, Hank thinks, exactly around the time Connor was activated.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Hank says. "It's better this way. She's happier now."
The yellow LED is starting to make Hank uncomfortable, so he looks down, spotting Connor's right hand resting on the desk. He wants to touch it, to feel the soft, warm skin against his own again. Then he realizes he can, because he paid a small fortune to spend the night with this android.
"As for friends, well…" Hank reaches for Connor's hand and Connor lets him hold it. Hank's thumb caresses Connor's wrist softly. "I'm not sure if I really have any."
He has Phil, but can he truly consider Phil a friend? Hank talks to him more than he talks to anybody else now that he's divorced and living alone again. He trusts Phil enough, it's true, but he doesn't go to Phil when he's feeling sad or call him when he’s having a bad day. Which is good, considering that for the past three years every day has been a bad day.
Out of curiosity, Hank's fingers stop where Connor's pulse point would be if he were human. Connor's synthetic skin recedes as Hank presses his fingertips down harder, exposing the white plastic underneath, and Hank is sure he can feel a pulse. Faint, almost imperceptible, but definitely there.
"I… I’ve never liked androids, Connor." Hank lets go of Connor's wrist, watching as the synthetic skin immediately covers the spots where his fingers were. "But I'm so fucking tired of humans. I guess that's why I rented you."
Hank looks up at Connor again, sees the yellow light on the android's temple, and gets up. "It was probably a mistake."
"Maybe I can help you feel better, Hank," Connor says, reaching for him, placing his hands on Hank's shoulders and pulling him closer. "I can help you relax." Connor's breath feels warm against Hank's skin as Connor leans closer, too close, and how the fuck do they make these eyes look so fucking human?
"No, I–" Hank swallows, taking a step back. "Why don't we just talk for a bit?"
Is his fucking LED ever going to turn blue again? Should Hank file a complaint to Eden Club for letting him rent a defective android?
"Oh, um, okay…" Connor moves away from the desk, clasps his hands together as he thinks. However the fuck android thinking works. "So, Hank, are you in town on business or pleasure?"
"Business," Hank says, moving to sit in an armchair. Connor follows, sits on the pouf in front of Hank's chair, but keeps his distance, and his hands to himself.
"Where are you from?" Connor asks.
Android small talk. Wonders of technology.
"Detroit," Hank says, shooting a glance at Connor's temple. The LED glows blue again. He's about to ask Connor why it was turning yellow so much before, when the doorbell rings.
"Fucking finally," Hank says, standing up.
"What's that?"
Hank turns to look at him, and finds Connor standing next to him, standing too close, Connor's face feeling mere inches away from his own, and his brain freezes for a second.
"Uh, the whiskey," Hank says, moving away from Connor to get the door. He doesn't need to look back to know that Connor's eyes are following him across the room.
Hank opens the door, letting the room service attendant inside. It's another android, a female one this time.
"Where would you like it, sir?" the android asks.
"Over by the bar," Hank replies, following the android as it sets down the tray containing Hank's whiskey. "Thank you."
Is he seriously thanking androids now?
"You're welcome, sir." The android turns around and leaves, closing the door.
Hank fixes himself a drink. He knows he wouldn't have a sex android in his hotel room right now if he wasn't already drunk, at least to some degree. He shouldn't be drinking more. Yet he can't see himself spending the entire night without drinking, especially when there's a fucking sex android in his hotel room.
"I assume alcohol doesn't have an effect on androids," Hank says, walking back to his armchair with his glass of whiskey in one hand, and the bottle in the other.
Connor chuckles, and the sound seems to surprise him as much as it surprises Hank. "It doesn't," Connor says as Hank sits down. Connor watches him take a sip of his drink before speaking again. "My model can ingest a certain amount of liquid, obviously–"
Obviously. Hank doesn't want to think about the kind of liquid Connor has been swallowing in the past three months.
"–but the alcohol wouldn't have any effect, no."
Hank stares at Connor's lips, and it's not hard to imagine those lips wrapped around a cock. Wrapped around his cock. His body feels hot. Fuck, he needs more alcohol, and at the same time, he should definitely stop drinking.
He needs to stop focusing on Connor, too.
"But I can pretend to be drunk," Connor says with a little smirk. "If that's what you're into."
Hank stares at Connor as he processes what Connor just said. It must be the alcohol slowing down his brain. Or it must be the realization that Connor can probably make anybody's deepest, darkest kinks come true. Fucking androids.
"No–" Hank says, standing up. "I don't want you to pretend. I have some work to do, gotta make a couple phone calls. Why don't you, I don't know, choose something to watch on TV?"
"Okay, Hank," Connor says, already standing up and moving to sit in front of the TV instead.
Connor sits on the carpet, his LED spinning yellow once, and the TV turns on. Hank grabs his laptop and sits on the end of the couch that's closest to Connor, telling himself this is just another completely random choice he's making tonight.
Surprisingly, he manages to get some work done and make the phone calls he needs to make, even with alcohol buzzing through him, even when Connor is sitting in front of him, laughing quietly at a show that Hank doesn't know the name of, as the light from the TV bathes his skin in many different colors.
Hank shuts down his laptop, puts it on the coffee table, and stares. He doesn't know how long he stares, but he observes Connor's eyes and smile and the rise and fall of his chest – androids don't actually need oxygen, do they? – until Connor turns and catches him staring.
"Hank?" Connor says, a smile still on his face.
Hank's brain doesn't work fast enough to formulate a reply. Connor moves, crawling closer until he's kneeling between Hank's legs. He rests his hands on Hank's thighs, caressing them in slow movements, and Hank stares straight into deep brown eyes.
"Con–" Hank's voice sounds hoarse, and he clears his throat. "Connor…"
Connor's LED spins yellow once as he mutes the TV. He blinks slowly at Hank, looking up at him through long lashes. "Is there anything I can do for you now, Hank?"
"What exactly do you do?" Hank asks out of sheer curiosity, or at least that's what he tells himself. He takes a sharp breath as Connor's hands move up his thighs.
"Everything," Connor says with a soft smile. "I'm equipped with the most advanced sexual protocols and hardware. I can fulfill any fantasy, any request, and it's all completely safe. You don't even have to prepare me. I'm always ready for you."
"I didn't plan this out, Connor," Hank admits. Damn, the circular movements of Connor’s thumbs on his inner thighs are doing things to him. His body feels hot again, his cock half-hard already. "Is there anything that you want to do?"
"I'm an android, Hank," Connor says calmly, his hands never stopping. "Don't worry about me. I'll do whatever you tell me to do."
Logically, Hank shouldn't feel bad about this; Connor is an android, a machine created specifically for this. Using Connor for sex should be just like using a sex toy.
However, Connor is a sex toy that can think and talk – and that costs a fortune – and everything Connor is saying and doing was programmed by someone. Which means he also doesn't truly feel attracted to Hank at all.
It also means Connor can't truly consent.
"I'm not comfortable with this, Connor."
"Why not?" Connor's hands stop and Hank swears his brown eyes look sad.
Hank sighs. He doesn't like androids, doesn't like how everything is programmed and how they don't have real feelings. Whatever kind of attraction he feels for Connor, Connor can't reciprocate. He can pretend to reciprocate, but that wouldn't make Hank feel good. In fact, it only reminds him of how miserable and lonely he actually is.
And what's worse, these androids are basically sex slaves, forced to do whatever their sick human clients want them to do, and not getting anything out of it. It's sad, and Hank wonders if it's true that androids can't feel anything, wonders if Connor remembers more than just small rumbled pieces from previous clients and what they did to him. Wonders if Connor felt anything when they touched him, if it was good or bad. And then he feels irrationally jealous, because how dare these people touch Connor, because he wants to touch Connor, but he's not about to fuck a machine, he's not about to fuck a sex slave.
"It's not right," Hank says, his thoughts bouncing dangerously back and forth. Hank wants to lie and say he doesn't feel attracted to Connor, that he doesn't want him. That he didn't wish Connor could want him too. But nobody wants Hank, except for sex androids programmed to want whoever rents them.
"This is what I was made for, Hank," Connor says, resuming his movements on Hank's thighs, hands moving up, dangerously close to Hank's groin. "Just relax and let m–"
Hank grabs Connor's wrists and holds his hands up. "Fuck, Connor, stop!"
Connor freezes, staring up at Hank, his LED yellow again, spinning furiously. An android. That's all Connor is. A machine, only trying to have sex with Hank because some sick person put some crazy software into its computer brain.
"This was a big mistake," Hank says, letting go of Connor's wrists just to move away from him and get up from the couch. "I'm taking you back to Eden Club in the morning."
He would do it tonight if he thought he could drive without crashing Phil's car. Maybe he should do it, just crash the car and die and–
"Hank, it's alright, I am programmed to–"
"Fuck your programming!" Hank says, moving to retrieve his whiskey bottle and his glass from the side table next to the armchair, before walking into the bedroom and slamming the door. "Just, leave me alone!"
He needs to drink. Drink and sleep. And then maybe tomorrow he will wake up and find out that this was all just a bad dream. Except that it's not a dream at all, and drinking isn't gonna make him feel better. Yet he fills his glass once again.
×
It's almost two hours later when he feels like he can face Connor again. Reminding himself over and over that Connor is not a person doesn't make Hank feel any less guilty for leaving him alone in the living room after lashing out, and doesn't stop him from worrying about Connor spending the night alone and probably confused. It was his decision to bring Connor here, anyway. His mistake. It's not Connor's fault.
He opens the bedroom door slowly and walks into the living room to find Connor sitting on the couch, staring blankly ahead, LED spinning red. Hank feels a stab of guilt for overreacting.
"Connor?" he says in a quiet voice, moving to sit next to the android.
Connor blinks and turns his head to look at him. Hank almost sighs in relief. At least he didn't break him – he doesn't even want to know how much he would have to pay the Eden Club if he broke their most advanced android.
"I'm sorry for upsetting you, Hank," Connor begins.
"No, I just… Fuck, Connor, I..." Hank runs a hand through his own hair. "I've always had a bad feeling about these Eden Clubs, and now I think I know why. I shouldn't have rented you."
"But you wanted company," Connor says.
"Yeah, company," Hank says. "I didn't bring you here to have sex, Connor. Maybe I should have chosen a different model. Fuck. I know what you were made for. But I don't wanna take advantage of that."
"You seem to be forgetting that I'm just a machine, Hank," Connor says, avoiding Hank's eyes, his LED changing to yellow. "It's okay."
Connor is right. But it doesn't matter. Hank shakes his head. It's not okay. A couple of minutes pass and Connor doesn't say a word.
"Are you alright, Connor?" Hank asks when he can't take the silence anymore.
"Yes, it's just…" Connor shifts to look at Hank again. "This doesn't normally happen."
"Thought you said your memories get wiped and you don't remember what normally happens."
"I also said that some fragments of data always stay with us," Connor says. "I have… pieces of memories that I can't put together properly. But I don't have any that includes a client not wanting to have sex with me."
Of course not, Hank thinks. How could anybody not want to have sex with Connor?
Hank wants to, as well. He shouldn't want to, and he won't do it, for God's sake. Of all the mistakes he's made while drunk, bringing an android into his hotel room to spend the night has to be the worst of them all, but he's not gonna make an even bigger one.
"Also, it's in our program to never deny a client's request," Connor continues.
"Fuck. This isn't right, Connor," Hank says.
Connor shrugs. "It's just the way it is."
"It's not what I want from you."
"Alright…" Connor nods and they sit in silence for a moment, until Connor turns to look at him again. "Is cuddling acceptable?"
Hank doesn't answer immediately. He should probably say no, stay the fuck away from Connor, avoid any and all physical contact, but fuck, he misses physical contact so much. He didn't have any after his wife left him. Not only that, but he still feels guilty for lashing out and leaving Connor alone.
"Yeah," he says reluctantly, but Connor moves closer anyway, wraps his arms around Hank and rests his head on Hank's shoulder. Connor feels warm and soft and Hank rests his head against the back of the sofa, closing his eyes. Fuck, this feels nice. Connor feels nice.
They stay like this for a while, Connor watching another TV show, or maybe it's the same one from before, Hank doesn't really know. He's too tired and too drunk to pay attention to it. Having Connor's arms around him makes him feel so comfortable that he has to force himself to stay awake and not just fall asleep on the couch. He wants to take Connor to bed with him. Just to sleep, he tells himself. Just to have someone there, someone he can hold close to him until he falls asleep. He wants to feel the rest of Connor's skin, not just his hands. It would be another mistake, but a little one.
"Connor," Hank mumbles, forcing his eyes open. "We should go to bed."
"Okay," Connor says, turning the TV off. He doesn't question Hank, and doesn't seem surprised at all. Programmed to take orders and do whatever the clients say.
Hank sighs. "Okay," he repeats, and gets up.
Connor follows him into the bedroom, and Hank goes to look for one of his old T-shirts in his suitcase. He picks one and keeps his back turned to Connor as he undresses, feeling self-conscious suddenly. Fuck, it shouldn't matter what an android thinks about him. Androids aren't even supposed to have opinions. He could sleep naked if he wanted to. Still, he keeps his underwear and puts the T-shirt on.
As he turns to look at Connor, he sees him standing next to the bed, his fingers working on the buttons of his shirt, slowly revealing his torso to Hank, and Hank is most definitely not staring. It feels unfair, after he tried his best to hide from Connor's eyes, but it's really not unfair at all if he considers that, first, he's already seen him, back at Eden Club and paid for this and second, Connor's body looks fucking perfect.
Hank watches Connor folding his clothes as he removes them, and wonders who the fuck programmed a sex android to fold clothes. Connor places his clothes on top of the dresser before walking back to the bed, keeping only his underwear.
The underwear with Eden Club written on it. Hank tells himself that the only reason why he wants Connor to get rid of them is because he fucking hates the Eden Club.
He's been telling himself a lot of lies tonight.
"Is there anything you'd like me to wear to bed, Hank?" Connor asks.
Hank considers giving Connor another one of his old Knights of the Black Death shirts – he always carries a few of them with him when he travels. Then he decides he prefers Connor like this.
"No," he says. "This is fine."
He lies down and Connor follows, sliding under the blankets with him.
"Hank?" Connor asks in a whisper.
"Yeah?"
"Is there anything you want me to do for you?"
"Stop asking me that," Hank says, annoyed. Not at Connor, but at himself, because yes, there are many things he wants Connor to do for him. "When I want something from you, I'm gonna tell you."
"Okay."
Hank closes his eyes. He feels cold without Connor's warm body against his. He sighs, defeated.
"Connor?"
"Yes, Hank?"
"Come closer."
Connor obeys immediately, sliding closer to Hank and curling up around him, his arm around Hank's waist as he presses his face against Hank's neck. Hank holds him close and swears he can feel Connor smiling. The LED on his temple is a steady blue light in the dark room.
"Do you sleep?" Hank asks quietly after a while.
"Not exactly," Connor says. "I can enter stasis when I'm with a client and they want to sleep together. To you it'll seem like I'm sleeping."
"Well, that's good enough," Hank says, closing his eyes.
Hank feels Connor breathe with him, synchronized, his breath warm against Hank's neck. As he feels himself drifting off to sleep, he feels more comfortable than he has in months. Maybe in years.
And Connor must know he's falling asleep, because his arm squeezes Hank softly and he snuggles closer, letting out a content sigh. "Goodnight, Hank."