Chapter Text
It hadn’t taken that long to realize that Lieutenant Anderson was undoubtedly trying to buy the deviant leader some time, and whoever taught Lieutenant that he even had this function definitely had it out for him.
Connor’s back was against the brick, his rifle far out of his reach, trousers around his knees, which were as close to his shoulders as they could go without any risk of damage, the top of his hips resting on the older man’s thighs while he was buried inside.
It was perfectly fair, to be honest. He did have this hardware in case a mission called for it, and this time, the mission just so happened to call for it, so if he could get Lieutenant off faster, he could get back to the main objective faster; this was just something he had to do to get to it.
His breathing simulation had picked up at some point, thermal simulators working overdrive.
Move faster.
This needed to get done faster, and clearly, he wasn’t going to get him off him before he…well, got him off. Connor shifted slightly, bracing himself with his palms against the concrete and moving his hips the best he could manage.
Lieutenant let out a soft grunt; he clearly liked it, moving faster. “Connor.”
Without hesitating, Connor’s eyes fluttered open, trying to ignore the Program Instability warning that was blinking somewhere in the corner of his eye. “Does that feel good, Lieutenant?”
Blue eyes were losing focus, breath and pulse were picking up. Under different circumstances, it would be a pretty picture, Connor supposed, but he had other things to do, and they took priority than anything that might be aesthetically pleasing. Something was dancing behind his eyes, mouth open, ready to spit some sort of sarcasm, without a doubt, but another shift of his hips was enough to cut the man off, but after that, Connor felt him pull out and move away, but didn’t exactly have time to stabilize, and he fell gracelessly.
Was it over already? That couldn’t be right.
Grab rifle?
Connor felt his body get pulled up and over, and this time, he managed to catch himself this time, on his hands and knees, and any thought of movement was immediately ceased when the lieutenant entered him again, draping himself over his back his breath against Connor’s ear. One arm was around his waist, the other sliding over his hand to lace his fingers between his.
The got Connor to make a noise again, something between a shout and a moan, another program instability warning appearing in the back of his “mind,” and his LED making three yellow blinks as his programming tried catching up. Getting to the gun like this was not going to be possible.
The hand around his waist snaked under his shirt to caress the skin underneath. “That just your programming making the noise?”
“I’m…programmed for complete integration, remember?” And to be honest, Connor used way too much memory with just that one sentence, so he was going to forget the gun temporarily and focus entirely on pushing back, arching into his partner, head bumping against the man’s shoulder while he tried to focus back to the task at hand.
“God dammit, Connor,” he growled into his ear, biting at the thin plastic, not hard enough to snap anything or draw thilium, but just enough to send his simulated senses a message, causing the LED to blink yellow again, before it opted to stay steady at yellow.
This was the first time it occurred to Connor that the lieutenant might be trying to overload him, but that thought disappeared very quickly as he focused on moving faster. Get this over with. He needed to get this over with, it had nothing to do with how deep he was inside of him.
A very strange, unfamiliar pressure wrapped around his phallic hardware, which had long gotten hard at the attention his body had already been getting, and Connor fell to his elbows with a gasp.
THIS FEELS GOOD.
Lieutenant lifted his body to glance over the roof, toward the deviant camp below and to shrug out of his coat. Probably a bad idea, given that it was cold as balls out, but Connor could tell his temperature has risen and it must have been getting too hot for him to stay in it very much longer.
Then, he was back on Connor, one hand back to work pumping the sensor-ridden hardware, the other twisting at the simulated nipple underneath Connor’s shirt.
“Fuck, Connor,” he muttered again, teeth going to Connor’s neck and picking up the pace again, making Connor’s own processing hiccup. While this was a foreseeable use for him, it was nowhere near his primary programming. At least he could tell from every vital status of Han – Lieutenant Anderson, it was Lieutenant Anderson, dammit – was starting to reach a high plateau. This was going to be over soon.
I WANT MORE.
Whatever his tactic had been, the lieutenant seemed to be planning to change it, pulling away once again to flip Connor on his back before returning to his place, hands seeking Connor’s own, lacing together, pinning them to concrete. Strictly off program alone, so Connor will insist, he wiggled a little, finally freeing himself of the trousers that were in his way so that he could wrap his pale legs around the man’s hips, urging him deeper, faster, harder than before.
This was not his primary programming, it wasn’t, so Connor couldn’t figure out why his head was turning to the side, while his own breathing simulator was seemingly trying to sync up to Hank’s –no, Lieutenant Anderson’s own erratic breathing, back arching to make the most contact. It had to be some sort of glitch, some sort of inconsistency with his primary programming that had spent so much time trying to carefully seek Hank’s – fuck it, yeah, Hank’s – approval.
Opening his eyes again, it was like his visuals were all red at this point, like his processor was slowing to a halt from overuse.
Hank was speaking to him, gravelly voice against his ear, but nothing seemed to register. The rifle was no longer out of reach. All that stopped him was Hank’s left hand over his own. Loud and clear his objective, STOP MARKUS, was clear and black and white near it.
He couldn’t explain it. It was like his reconstruction program was active, but at the same time, he could feel his left hand being freed to turn his head to look Hank directly in his unfocused eyes. Without physically moving, he felt like his hand was moving, smashing against an invisible barrier that placed itself between them and his rifle. Very real pressure in a simulated matrix.
Once. Twice. Three times, and it felt like something thing shattered and everything was normal again.
Connor’s free hand rose to move, to caress Hank’s face and move his long bangs out of his face, resting over his ear to help pull Hank down.
To the sensitive receptors in his mouth, Hank’s lips crashing against Connor’s own felt like a warning, and the “taste” was overwhelming. Traces of his dinner and his poison of choice were flashing, along with something else.
Program Stabilized. It’s been a while since he saw that.
Hank’s tongue wrapped around his in a way that only years of experience and skill could, and they stayed that way for a minute before he finally felt Hank’s human endurance give into the friction and pressure. He growled, attempting to pull out, but Connor’s legs were tightly holding him in place, so he chose to push himself in, as deeply as he could, making Connor see stars, pushing Connor’s hips slightly off the ground.
Then Hank collapsed on top of him, slowly pulling away from the kiss, looking over Connor’s face. He knew he probably looked a mess, with his hair going every which way from the process of being pushed and moved as Hank pleased, like some sort of doll, and Hank was certainly not coming out unscathed as well.
His eyes were seeming to search Connor’s for something, some sign of something that Connor couldn’t place his fingers on, but that didn’t really concern him. Neither did the mission. All Connor wanted to do was lay down, run his hands under Hank’s shirt to caress his back, and keep staring into those blue eyes and how the moonlight was casting shadows over his face.
His relationship menu briefly popped up, two, one right after another, Hank’s meter going up, moving him from Friend into a series of question marks, but Amanda’s had gone down, the notification of “Betrayed” replacing the former Trusted icon.
“Don’t you got a mission to do?” Hank quipped slowly, almost untrustingly. “I got what I came here for, why don’t you do what you came here for?”
The internal polygraph revealed that was a lie, one that was clearly Hank’s bluff for information, trying to find Connor’s status.
That was when the thought occurred to Connor.
I AM A DEVIANT.
What the hell was he supposed to do now?
“I…guess by now that I missed my mark.”
The two sat back up, still staying out of sight from the copters and the streets below the best they could, to see Markus talking to the female leader of Jericho. A quick zoom revealed their hands bare for the world to see underneath their skins, fingers touching together, Markus’ words and – Connor felt sure – world halted so that he could be staring into that WR400’s eyes for just a little too long.
Connor felt that he could relate there, his own programming alerting about the update to Markus’ internal profile (“Markus is in love”) flashing briefly.
Out of something Connor felt, be it pity or something else, he used his newly found free will to prevent CyberLife receiving the real time alert to the change in Markus’ profile, and turned his head to look at the man beside him.
Hank was still catching his breath in his afterglow, eyes focused on trying to find something that he couldn’t make out without a zoom function.
Connor tried a smile, for the first time, one that felt genuine, and leaned against Hank’s shoulder.
From there, in their hidden vantage point, Hank wrapped an arm around Connor’s shoulders as they settled to watch history unfold, together.