Archive of Our Own ^beta

Connor isn't one to readily admit anything gets to him.

He's not terribly hard to read to those who know him well, but he takes a measure of pride in his ability to navigate tumultuous negotiations as Markus' right-hand man in dealing with human politicians. He was built for it, after all, and there's no reason not to turn Cyberlife's crowning achievement in integration and manipulation to serve his own people now.

(Said people vary in how they respond to his efforts — and to himself, now aware of what skills exactly he was programmed with and uses still.)

(Disgraceful, some claim, to forge a path in any way informed by the design imposed on them.)

(North rolls her eyes whenever such views come up where she and Connor can hear them. The two of them make a ferocious team, built on combined strengths and mutual trust.)

It's taken him years to find an outlet that let him work out his frustrations in a somewhat satisfying way, and a lot of trial and error. It might not be dignified, let alone logical, to send a text reading [DTW 6PM, be ready for 7?] as he boards his plane back to Detroit — but it is his.

His reply comes quick.

G.REED 16:16 [ill try.🔑?]

RK800 16:16 [Leave the door unlocked.]

G.REED 16:17 [that bad?]

Before Connor can settle on a reply he feels disinclined to give over text, another message arrives.

G.REED 16:19 [Yes.]

He smiles minutely at the proper punctuation. They don't need much to communicate their needs to each other anymore — not that there are many needs they keep this partnership for. Gavin knows what Connor visiting right after a round of politicking means. The implied sir is his way of agreeing to it.

RK800 16:19 [Thank you.]

He settles in for the flight. North is quiet at his side, exhausted in her own way. She gives him a knowing look — they're friends for a reason. She may find sex distasteful, but she knows it works for him as well as MMA does for her. They were the ones to introduce one another to their respective vices, after all, each exhilarated to discover uses for their knowledge that helped another in certain symmetry.

Tina picks them up from the airport, her and North's gym bag already in the back seat. She drops Connor off at Gavin's.

The door opens for him.

Connor wastes no time entering and pressing Gavin up against it as he turns the lock. Gavin returns the biting kiss with fervor, hands fisting in the lapels of Connor's jacket.

They don't exchange words. Connor slaps his hands away before Gavin can pull the garment off his shoulders, and presses the man's wrist to the door with a warning look. Gavin's nostrils flare, a defiant glint in his eyes, but he doesn't try to move beyond his rushed breathing.

Connor rewards him by pressing his hip into Gavin's erection, which earns him a beautifully bared neck.

"Safewords?" he murmurs into the skin moving over Gavin's carotid artery.

"Green, yellow, red, fahrenheit," Gavin answers. "Three taps if— ahh— mouth busy." His hips grind into Connor's slightly. "We're green."

"Good boy," Connor praises and replaces his mouth with a hand.

Gavin shudders under the pressure of Connor's thumb across his throat — a mere suggestion of force. He is flushed, worked up from their greeting and whatever he did to prepare himself in the last two and a half hours.

Connor studies him, the tells betraying the minutiae of Gavin's mood. This early into the scene, he's bright-eyed and cheeky, eager to test the waters and provoke a reaction to know where they stand. Connor makes a show of looking him over, feigning a distant expression. He needs to feel in control of something easy, yet complex enough to keep his mind in the moment. Already the tension plaguing him eases as he preconstructs getting his way with Gavin.

He leans in and kisses him, setting a languid pace that Gavin tries and fails to speed up. Connor's lips are slow and methodical, demanding compliance. When Gavin submits and lets him explore his mouth freely, Connor hums his approval. He bites Gavin's lower lip, just shy of too hard. Gavin moans, then pants when Connor pulls back.

"Follow me," Connor orders quietly, "don't break the kiss."

Gavin nods, licks his lips. Leans in. Follows.

Connor walks slowly backwards toward Gavin's bedroom, his hands falling to his sides after a few steps that Gavin manages to make without breaking their mouths apart. He fumbles and sways, feet unsteady and errant on the cold floor, but never pauses kissing Connor.

When they reach the bedroom, Connor pulls Gavin's head back with a quiet well done. The praise and earlier effort have glazed Gavin's eyes over with the first softness of submission.

He's almost beautiful, Connor thinks, scanning him again.

He's still learning to find beauty for himself, and doubts anyone would agree with him, looking at the scarred, blotchy skin and deep shadows under Gavin's eyes, or at his lips — ruddy, chapped, wet. Still, a possessive fondness colors Connor's vision, keeping him from slipping out of the moment.

"Pretty," he murmurs, and watches Gavin's cheeks darken. He reaches for his wrists, lets Gavin feel the strength in his fingers around the delicate bones. "Mine."

Gavin's breath hitches. He melts into the next kiss and presses himself up against Connor when it turns forceful.

Connor's mind clicks into the calm of domspace at last. Gavin fills his senses, drowning out the stress of the last few weeks. Nothing matters here beyond this man and his pleasure, written out in little gasps and the thumping of his heart, the heat of his skin, his sweat: a map for Connor to follow wherever he likes, familiar like the chassis seams at the back of his hand.

There are a few bruises in new places that Connor reads in involuntary jumps of Gavin's muscles, the barest stutters of his breath. He presses a finger into one, gauging the reaction. When Gavin tenses instead of leaning in, he lets go, pets his sides to soothe. Gavin squeezes his waist in thanks.

He's come a long way from seeking out every bit of pain Connor could give him. Connor never asked why, and didn't care at first, but he could make an educated guess about the change, when Gavin asked to tone down the verbal humiliation and the anti-android stickers vanished from his car.

That their drops were fewer and further apart after that was not insignificant.

"Stay," Connor commands. He leaves Gavin to browse his stash of toys. He pulls out the strap-on. His eyes catch on the neatly coiled length of rope beside it.

He hangs it from his forearm as he returns to Gavin. His hands find the man's wrists again, and he holds them together in front of Gavin's torso.

Gavin watches the rope with a furrowed brow. Connor's hands tighten. "Color," he demands.

Gavin's lips part, but he struggles to answer for a moment.

"Yellow," he finally says, voice rough. His eyes flick to Connor's. "Not... tonight, please. Sir."

"Not tonight," Connor confirms. He rubs the spots his fingers dug into Gavin's flesh and lets him see his smile. "Very good. Kneel for me."

Gavin's posture relaxes and he goes down eagerly. "Undress me," Connor tells him in a low tone and guides Gavin's hands to his belt.

He's nude before long, and lets Gavin look his fill as he walks around him to pick up the discarded strap. He has no particular feelings about how he looks — it is but a tool in his arsenal, on most days — but the open desire in Gavin's gaze stokes the vanity he keeps buried.

The featureless mound of his lower abdomen doesn't faze the human anymore. Connor doesn't need genital components to give Gavin what he wants — and what he gets in return goes beyond carnal pleasure. Connor doubts he could feel it even if he did equip a cock for Gavin to suck. It's the rush of satisfaction when his order is being obeyed without question he's after.

The incessant back-and-forth of stubborn negotiation, the undermining for what he is at every turn that plagues his day-to-day life, are barred from entry into this room, this dynamic.

Gavin fastens the straps around his hips and legs in practiced motions. He doesn't try to tease now, the fingers caressing Connor's skin almost perfunctory in checking if everything sits in the right place. The look in his eyes as they meet Connor's is content, seeking approval.

Connor runs his hand through Gavin's hair, an expression of satisfaction on his face. He guides the man up, then crowds against him until he falls on the bed. Connor maneuvers him to lay in the center with confident hands, then kneels above him and takes in the sight.

He tilts his head. Gavin is still dressed, the clean loungewear pleasant against Connor's skin, but he's not here to admire the stretch of cotton over hardened nipples and the tease of hipbone peeking from the waistband.

"Up," he commands curtly, and wastes no time on pulling Gavin's pants off. The shirt follows quickly after.

Gavin flops against the pillows, waiting. His breath quickens, chest rising and falling in anticipation. His throat works on a swallow and he wets his lips.

Their eyes meet and Gavin slowly lifts his hands to lay flat besides his head, where Connor could hold them down.

"You're so beautiful for me," Connor murmurs and watches the words wash over him.

Gavin still fights compliments as much as he craves them. His eyelids flutter, but he holds Connor's gaze. Waiting. Listening.

"So good."

Connor strokes an appreciative hand across Gavin's chest, and his skin hunger returns. He moves between Gavin's thighs and covers him with his body, the tip of the strap-on nudging his cock. Gavin meets his lips eagerly, and they become lost in one another.

Connor's movements turn rough and demanding. This is what he came here for: the closeness, the submission. Gavin is pliant and responsive under him, moans and whimpers spilling between their mouths. His hands move to Connor's shoulders when the android tests his entrance.

"'m ready," he says weakly, and his head lolls to the side. "Go for it— Sir— Please."

Connor ignores him. For all that their fucking is geared toward Gavin's orgasm, Connor is the one in control here. He teases two fingers inside, finding that Gavin was generous with lube. He revels in the way the body under him moves with each stroke, Gavin writhing impatiently until his prostate is touched. He bucks against Connor's stomach with a hoarse plea.

Connor sneaks his free arm under Gavin's back and grips his nape. His mouth closes on Gavin's throat.

His every sense is focused on the man in his arms as he smears lube from his fingers on the silicone cock and lines up. For a brief second, he's distracted by the fear that he's being selfish, going too fast, hurting someone—

Gavin hooks a leg around his, open and waiting.

Connor presses closer and pushes in. Being selfish is what he's here for. Gavin gets off on being a plaything, a body for Connor to wring of pleasure, to pick apart and devour as he wants. If Connor were truly harming him, he knows his safewords.

Gavin stiffens, a long groan shaking loose from his chest as Connor enters him in one long stroke. He gasps, tenses, and shudders, but doesn't tap out.

"Easy," Connor murmurs, mind filled with analysis of each tiniest reaction. He keeps speaking, quiet reassurances and commands interspersed with nips and kisses to Gavin's shoulder. When he bottoms out, he doesn't stop, rocking slightly, unable to stop himself. Gavin keens and paws at his arms, conscious enough not to scratch even now, and the wealth of feedback courses through Connor, intoxicating.

As soon as he registers that Gavin has started to relax, he picks up the pace. His sensors are alight, mind razor-focused on keeping Gavin on that edge between pain and bliss. He picks up a dozen cues from the body beneath his in each second, calculations singing with shifting variables in his head. He responds to the smallest signals before Gavin even has a chance to realize he's giving them, his body a familiar instrument under the android's hands.

Connor slows down to give himself more time in this state when Gavin is seconds away from coming. He chuckles at the frustrated groan and squeezes the back of Gavin's neck.

"You're doing wonderful," he says, leaning back to watch his face. "Is there anything you want?"

Gavin's face is red, eyes misty, lips bitten. He shakes his head, but puts one clumsy hand against Connor's jaw and pulls him into a kiss.

Connor indulges him, Gavin's tongue against his always a welcome sensation.

He resumes thrusting, this time with long, deep strokes that graze Gavin's prostate and punch the breath out of him.

They go on like this until Gavin has to break for air. Connor buries his face in the man's neck, one hand moving to stroke around his entrance. They shouldn't need more lube, but he checks anyway.

"I'm good," Gavin says softly when he regains his breath. "Don't stop. Please."

Connor doesn't stop. He focuses now on drawing a variety of responses from Gavin, this time sacrificing the full-body contact to touch his chest with his free hand. There's precome smeared on their stomachs and sweat matting Gavin's chest hair, but Connor doesn't mind yet.

He rolls one nipple between his fingers, then the other, angling his hips to roll the tip of the toy over Gavin's prostate in measured strokes. Gavin's hands tangle in his hair.

Connor knows he's close when he starts calling Connor's name between guttural moans.

That's alright. Connor could spend all night drowning himself in Gavin, but he has no interest in causing harm — and there's only so much Gavin can handle, despite what he might claim.

He times his thrust to keep his lover away from the edge yet and takes his cock in hand.

Gavin clings to him when he picks up the pace, hand working in counterpoint to his quickening hips. A litany of sweet noises and the slap of skin on faux skin fills the air, Gavin coiling like a spring under Connor's unforgiving touch. He licks the tears that escape Gavin's eyes.

To Connor, they taste like relief.

Gavin's orgasm washes over them precisely when Connor bids it to. Gavin's body sings to him, a perfect conclusion to the cacophony of sensation he's been meticulously navigating and tuning.

For the first time this evening, he allows himself a physical reaction: as Gavin's strength leaves him and he melts into the bedding, legs splayed and head thrown back, Connor pulls out with care and goes lax in his arms.

"You good?" Gavin asks. His voice is raspy, but fond.

"Very," Connor answers quietly. He wipes his hand on Gavin's hip — it earns him a half-hearted grumble — and removes the strap, tosses it aside impatiently. "How are you feeling?"

Gavin takes a moment to answer. "Wiped," he says. "I need a shower."

Connor rises to his elbows, but Gavin holds him down with a weak grip. "Stay," he murmurs. "It can wait. Get some rest, dipshit."

Connor smiles at the fond insult and settles down. Gavin's hands immediately find his neck, tracing idle patterns through the short hairs there and up and down his shoulders.

"You gonna soft reboot?" Gavin asks.

It's not precisely what he does on some nights like this, but the technicalities are irrelevant. The process Gavin means clears Connor's memory of unpackaged data, and he needs a few hours of stasis first to properly index and save everything he achieved — and failed to achieve — in DC. Besides, feelings tend to be hit-or-miss in it — and he feels deeply content in the moment. He wants to linger in this state, carry it home with him.

"I need stasis," he explains shortly, "but it would cost you an arm and a leg." He shifts slightly, emphasizing his weight resting on the mentioned limbs.

Gavin's chest rises and falls in a long yawn. "Help me change the sheets and you can snooze right here," he slurs through the end of it, then winces.

Connor's never spent the night before.

The thought... is odd. Their relationship outside of sex is... awkwardly polite at best, pretending Connor isn't regularly visiting Gavin to rut into him until he feels better about dealing with humans in overpriced suits. Connor isn't sure he knows how to approach Gavin in his home if he doesn't have a role to step into, a shadow in himself to exorcise. When they wake in the morning, what do they do? What do they say?

Gavin's back has gone tense against Connor's arm still underneath him, but his hands haven't stopped in their meandering paths on Connor's fading skin. He's having his own doubts about his words, but he isn't taking them back, relaxed and trusting enough to wait for Connor's move.

Connor doesn't want to move. Maybe the morning will be like this, their demons and their differences still banished for as long as they're together.

"Alright," he says softly. "Go take your shower. I'll make you something to eat."

Gavin begins to protest, but the rumble of his stomach betrays him. He snorts and obeys. "Thanks."

They pause briefly as they are sitting up, their faces near. Gavin hesitates, but when Connor stays in his space, body language somewhere between loose and daring, he closes the distance for a slow, chaste kiss.

"We're gonna be okay," he says, but it lilts into a question.

Connor studies him, then lets their foreheads meet. "I think we will," he assures, yet finds his usual confidence lacking.

But it's okay. They know each other. They'll manage.