slightly possessive Nines
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“I have watched you, every moment since I was awakened,” Nines whispers. He reaches out, red and blue blood mingled and drying on the fingertips he places under Connor’s chin, and Connor doesn’t know why he lets his head fall back at the slightest pressure, baring his throat to Nines’ feral gaze. “Trying to understand you. My predecessor. My prototype.” His thumb brushes Connor’s jawline, against the bare plastic in a rough spot where his skin won’t reform, and the touch sends a deep, hot shock through Connor’s battered frame.
“Everything I am is an improvement on you.” A tiny press, and Connor lets his head tip to the side. “All your parameters, all your abilities, meant to be perfected in me. And yet you consistently, continually react in ways I cannot understand.” Annoyance, anger, frustration, all the things he should be feeling are bubbling through the back of Connor’s mind, somewhere distant: he can’t think past Nines’ fingers on his exposed chassis, grazing against the damaged seams and loose wires in the soft spot where his jaw hinges.
(Information goes bad. A stakeout goes wrong. People get hurt. Androids get hurt. And Nines and Connor stumble into something new)