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You Are the Bluest Light

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Part I - You'll Find It Hiding in Shadows


 “My name is Connor and I have been designed for your pleasure. How can I please you today?”

Apparently, Hank’s so-called friends were a bunch of even bigger assholes than he had previously thought. They were juvenile dickheads with not an ounce of taste between them, and that’s why they decided that him turning half of a century deserved a really special present. A fucking sexbot. Named Connor, on top of that.

Who the fuck names a sexbot Connor? was the thing that inappropriately ran through Hank’s head as he stared at the android in front of him. Didn’t they all have names, like, Valentino, or Ricky? Alessandro? Victor, maybe? Connor seemed like a slightly old-fashioned, sensible name, suited maybe for an elderly gardener who fussed over his begonias.     

Definitely not for the ridiculously attractive boy android in front of him, with lips that appeared soft in a way Hank would never expected plastic to be and dark eyes that looked deceptively expressive.   

“My name is Connor and I have been designed for your pleasure. How can I please you today?” The android repeated in a slightly monotonous voice while his chocolate brown eyes scanned Hank for any reaction.

Hank groaned.

“You seem frustrated,” the android – Connor – observed. “May I interest you in oral intercourse? There is an 82% probability that it would help you relax,” he suggested clinically.

“No shit,” Hank muttered. His asshole friends not only bought him a sexbot, but one that was clearly malfunctioning. Weren’t these things supposed to sound seductive? Lusty? Sultry? This one’s invitation to sex sounded like a schoolteacher reading from a dishwasher manual.

“As far as I’m aware, defecation is not a standard part of this sort of interaction; however, if you so prefer, I’m sure we can-“

“Whoa!” Hank threw his arms in front of him. “Stop right there! That’s one mental image I really didn’t need.”

“I apologize. As I was designed for the specific purpose of copulation, not enough attention was paid to my vocabulary. I’m not used to human vernacular yet.”

“Your vocabulary’s just fine,” Hank muttered in defeat. It was actually everything else that was the problem.

What the hell were those idiots even thinking? If they were making fun of him, why didn’t they give him the bot during his birthday party earlier that evening, where everyone – everyone with a total lack of taste, that is – could laugh at the joke?

But having this thing delivered to his home in secret, so he could find it after his return, that was just – sick, Hank thought, I’m gonna be sick.

“Stay here,” he managed to say, before he made a run for the bathroom. As he hurled the contents of his stomach consisting mostly of alcohol into the toilet bowl, a far more depressing reason started to surface in his still somehow clouded mind.

Pity. They thought him so damn pathetic that they gave him an android to make him feel less lonely. Well, fuck them, Hank thought with a sudden burst of venom as he furiously scrubbed his face free of any traces of vomit. Fuck the whole lot of them for assuming that the gnawing hole in his gut could be filled with a piece of plastic.

Hank Anderson didn’t need charity. Especially not of this kind.

Shit, was Gavin behind this idea?  I’ll go and tell him where he can shove it, he thought, half-blind with righteous fury as he burst the bathroom door open. And almost hit Connor in the face.

The android was holding a steaming cup of something, which partly spilled over his fingers as he was forced to step back abruptly to avoid being hit. Hank thought he saw the android gave a minute flinch when the liquid touched those ivory fingers, but as everyone knew, androids didn’t feel pain, so it must’ve been a trick of his tired mind.

“Didn’t I tell you to stay?” Hank asked in mild puzzlement.

“I thought you could use some coffee,” the android replied, handing him the cup.

Hank took a sip. Black, just how he liked his metal. Perfect. His idiotic friends apparently bought him the most expensive coffeemaker on the market.

 “So you come with a morning-after routine, huh?”

“My protocols include some basic domestic tasks, yes,” Connor said flatly and then proceeded to lick his coffee-stained fingers clean with an unexpected swipe of a pink tongue. For the first time this evening, Hank felt tentative stirrings of arousal, as an unbidden image of that tongue licking Hank clean came upon him.

I’m getting the hots for my coffeemaker, he mused with wry amusement. And here I thought I couldn’t sink any lower.

“I’ll just hit the sack,” he said a little awkwardly after the pink tongue was safely hidden behind those soft looking – kissable, a treacherous voice in his head whispered – lips.

“I’m going to sleep,” he corrected himself a few seconds later, when he noticed the look of blatant incomprehension on the android’s face.

Connor blinked. For a moment, he reminded Hank of an animal suddenly exposed to bright light, dazed, confused and somehow vulnerable.  

“What are your instructions for me?” he asked and Hank really, really needed to sleep, because he thought he could hear a note of uncertainty in that voice.

 “Just go into stasis or do whatever you androids do at night,” he mumbled in response and dragged himself to his bedroom without a second look at Connor.

“Good night, Lieutenant. Stasis mode initiated in 60, 59, 58…”

It was to this robotic droning that Hank dozed off, his last waking thought being like counting fucking electric sheep. Startled by the unexpected coffee offering, he had completely forgotten about his intention to call Gavin and yell at him to take his stupid plastic toy back. In his exhaustion, he also didn’t think it in any way strange that the android called him Lieutenant.