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Nerve Maps

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Connor didn't notice Hank acting odd for most of the day.

It was, admittedly, at least partially due to the fact that... well, he was Hank.

While Hank moved in patterns, he would occasionally deviate to such a degree that Connor couldn't always predict it.

Hank had been quiet, thoughtful, as the two of them went back to Hank's house.

Hank had eaten an actual meal - an actual meal, with vegetables in it, even! - and had loaned Connor a pair of clean pants.

Said clean pants were much too big for Connor, admittedly - they were a pair of sweatpants, and even with the drawstring cinched tight, they still drooped down Connor's waist, and they were at risk of falling down every step he took.

It wasn't until they had sat on the couch together in companionable silence, Sumo between them, that Hank finally said whatever it was that was on his mind.

"Hey, Connor, can I ask a... personal question?"

He sounded nervous.

"A personal question?"

"Yeah. I mean, you can tell me to fuck off if I'm being too personal or anything...."

"Of course," said Connor. "What would you like to ask me?"

“Never mind,” said Hank, and he made a dismissive gesture with one hand, then went back to petting the dog. “It’s not important.”

“Evidently it’s important, if you thought to bring it up,” Connor pointed out.

“Yeah, but I think about a lot of shit. That doesn’t necessarily mean that I want to talk about it.”

“Still,” said Connor, “if you were willing to say something about it, it’s obviously something.”

Hank gave a long, belabored sigh, and Connor was almost entirely sure that he was putting it on for the look of the thing.

Connor wouldn’t call him on it, though - Hank got prickly, when Connor pointed that sort of thing out to him. So he just listened.

"So, uh, remember when we went to that android brothel?"

"Yes?"

That seemed like an odd question to get all worked up over, but then again, Connor sometimes missed the intricacies of certain emotional nuances.

"All of those androids had... genitals. I mean, I assume the women did. I couldn't really see any of them, but the guys... they were definitely packing."

"Yes," Connor agreed.

"Do you... not have a penis?"

Connor looked over at Hank, and saw that his friend was looking anxious.

Hank wasn't one prone to anxiety, and Connor frowned.

"Hank, is something bothering you?"

And then Hank was... blushing.

That was unexpected.

Connor didn't realize that Hank could blush.

"I just... I mean, I'm a modern child of the twenty first century, I know that your junk or whatever don't have anything to do with if you're a dude or a chick or whatever, but at the same time...."

"Yes, Hank?"

"How do you... like, do you pee?"

"I don't ingest anything," said Connor, "so I have no need to excrete."

"Well, yes," said Hank. "But it's not just there for the... extracting stuff. Y'know?"

"I know genitals serve other functions, but that isn't usually viewed as vital."

"So you're saying you can't even, like, have an orgasm?"

Hank looked faintly scandalized.

"I could," Connor said, "in theory. The programming comes standard with this body."

"Oh," said Hank. "So you could have one, just not through a penis?"

"Why are you so concerned about my ability to have an orgasm in the first place?"

Connor was genuinely puzzled, and Hank was rubbing his hands together, looking nervous.

Sumo whined, and pressed closer to Hank, until his front legs were stretched over Hank's lap.

"Well," said Hank, and now he was looking faintly embarrassed. "I was thinking about how... it's kind of unfair."

"What's unfair?"

"You're missing out on a lot of the good things in life," said Hank. "If you can't eat, you can't really enjoy tasting things - I know you can put things in your mouth, but that's only for analysis. Versus being able to actually enjoy yourself."

"Oh," said Connor.

"I know there are things that you enjoy doing," Hank said quickly. "It's not that I was thinking you live some kind of joyless existence or whatever. I was just... well, I don't know what I would do if I couldn't eat, couldn't fuck, couldn't even enjoy a smoke."

"I can experience physical pleasure," Connor assured Hank. "You have no reason to worry about me, although I do appreciate the sentiment.

Hank looked at Connor sidelong, and yeah, no, he was still blushing.

That really was odd.

"So... what kind of physical pleasure can you enjoy?"

"I can have something like an orgasm," said Connor. "It's part of my nerve map. It just doesn't work the way that a human's would."

"So do the androids in the brothel not have orgasms from their... you know, from their junk?"

"You mean their genitals?"

"Yeah, those."

"Well," said Connor, "they can, but that was a special attachment."

"An attachment?"

Hank looked surprised.

"Yeah," said Connor. "A bit like a vacuum cleaner."

"... right," said Hank, and then he snorted, and he took a swig from the bottle of beer by his elbow. "A vacuum cleaner."

"Right," said Connor.

"What does... like, how do you manage to give yourself an orgasm, without a penis?"

"My skin is very sensitive," said Connor. "I don't have... my nerve map is more sensitive than yours, and I can make it more or less sensitive than a human's."

"Oh," said Hank, then; "so have you ever done it?"

"Done what?"

"Made your nerve map stronger, or... whatever," said Hank. "Given yourself an orgasm."

"No," said Connor.

"No?"

Hank looked surprised.

"Why would I? What's the point of it?"

"... there's no point, Connor. That's partially the point in the first place. It's there to make yourself feel good."

Hank looked almost... offended, and a little spike of anxiety jumped into Connor's stomach.

"I'm sorry, Hank," said Connor. "Have I upset you?"

"I'm not upset," said Hank. "I just think... you need to enjoy yourself more."

"You say that a lot," said Connor.

"Did you think that might be a sign that I'm right?"

Connor shrugged.

"I could... I could help you, if you'd be interested," said Hank, and now he was blushing.

"Help me?"

"If you were interested in... if you were interested in experiencing an orgasm, or something like that," said Hank. "Or just in feeling good. Assuming... assuming you don't already have a person to do that with. I don't know the nitty gritty of your personal life."

"You do," said Connor. "I spend time with you after work, or I go back to my apartment."

Connor had an apartment now - since androids had been given rights, it was illegal to not rent to them.

Admittedly, Connor's apartment was pretty bare bones, but learning how to decorate took practice, didn't it? Personalities didn’t develop overnight.

"Jesus," Hank said, and he flopped back into the couch, staring at the ceiling. "When I was at your point in life, I was chasing tail as much as I could."

"By chasing tail, you mean -"

"Yes, yes," Hank interrupted. "I wanted to get laid. Have sex. Or I was jerking off all the time."

"Oh," said Connor.

"I mean," Hank said, "if you're not interested, that's, uh, that's fine too, but I figured you might want to try it."

"I would be honored to have you try to give me an orgasm," Connor said earnestly.

Hank made a sputtering, groaning noise, and then he was snickering.

"Connor," Hank told Connor, "you can't just say things like that."

"Why not?"

"Because you just... don't."

Hank made some kind of expansive hand gesture, and then he prodded Sumo.

The dog whined, but he squirmed, climbing down and off of the couch, trotting off to his own space.

There was now an empty space between Hank and Connor, and Connor could sense Hank's blood pressure going up, Hank's face turning red.

"Have I committed a faux pas?"

"Not any more than usual," said Hank. "So... how do you want to do this?"

"You would know more than I would," said Connor. "I only have the experience of what I know from media."

"Right," said Hank, and he laughed, self conscious, and he was rubbing the back of his neck.

"Hank, if you're uncomfortable with this -"

"I'm not uncomfortable," Hank snapped. "I'm just... you're a lot younger than the last person I did this sort of thing with."

"Why have you decided to do it with me, if my age is giving you this much distress?"

Connor was genuinely curious.

"It's not "causing me distress" or anything like that," said Hank, and now he sounded irritable. "I'm just... not used to it. Someone who looks as young as you, or who is as young as you."

"I'm not that young, maturity wise," Connor said.

"I know that," said Hank, and then he was scooting closer to Connor, until they were almost thigh to thigh. "I just need to get over the feeling of being a dirty old man. Give me a minute."

"You're not that old, comparatively," said Connor.

Hank groaned, and then he was wrapping an arm around Connor's shoulder, pulling Connor closer to him, until they were hip to hip, and Connor's hand was on Hank's thigh.

"Do you, uh... would you be interested in kissing?"

Now Hank sounded faintly embarrassed.

"You mean on the mouth?"

"Yeah," said Hank. "Or anywhere else. But... I dunno. It feels weird to just touch you, without kissing you."

"I'd be willing to try it," said Connor. "Although I should probably turn up the sensitivity of my nerve map."

"You do that," said Hank.

He didn't get spooked by Connor doing things with his body anymore, at least - it had originally unsettled Hank, to the point that he winced whenever Connor mentioned it.

Now he just went along with it.

Connor closed his eyes, and he concentrated carefully, accessing the programming that kept his nerves more or less in check.

He kept concentrating, as he turned up the sensitivity, the way someone would turn up the dimmer of a particular kind of light, and then he shivered.

He was... aware of his skin, aware of it in a way he wasn't normally.

It didn't make sense to have his skin turned up this intently, for obvious reasons - he'd never be able to get anything done, if even the brush of Hank's fingers on the side of his neck was enough to make him shudder.

Then Hank was leaning in, and Hank's hot breath was on his face.

Hank pressed his mouth to Connor's, and it was... it was wet.

It was wet, it was hot, and Hank's lips were dry.

Connor had seen enough movies to know what kissing was supposed to look like, at least from the outside.

He could, in theory, backwards engineer it, right?

Hank was very still - he had one hand on Connor's thigh, and the other one was still on Connor's shoulder.

That was enough to make Connor shake, just a bit, and then Connor was opening his mouth, letting Hank's tongue into his mouth, and he was analyzing Hank's saliva, just a bit.

He couldn't really help it - he couldn't refrain from analyzing something in his mouth, any more than Hank could stop tasting anything.

He could sense the acidity of the tomato sauce that Hank's tomato sauce had, he could sense the amount of alcohol in the beer that Hank had drunk, he could tell the exact type of mushroom that had been in the pasta sauce.

He cupped Hank's face, and Hank's beard was almost ticklish against the palms of his hands; with his nerves this tuned in, it was enough to make his whole body break out into goosebumps, and he was actually shaking.

Hank pulled back, and his cheeks were red, his eyes dark.

"You okay, kid?"

Hank sounded genuinely concerned.

"Yes," Connor said. "Yes, I'm... alright."

"What's up? You look kinda out of it."

Hank cupped Connor's cheek, his thumb on Connor's cheekbone, his middle finger pressed to the sweet indent behind Connor's earlobe.

Hank's palm was rough, the tips of his fingers surprisingly soft.

Connor was still shivering.

"I'm... good," Connor said, and he was working very hard not to slur.

“Yeah? You’re shaking.”

“I’m currently feeling a lot of things all at once,” said Connor, and his voice was still thick. “If you would like to… to continue, I would like to as well.”

“What do you want me to do, Connor?”

Hank sounded faintly worried.

“Treat this as if I was any other person you were kissing,” Connor said firmly. “I’ve got a different sort of body, but I am curious as to how you would normally do this.”

“You mean you want me to treat you like I’d treat anyone else I was messing around with?”

“Yes, basically.”

Hank gave an awkward laugh.

“I haven’t messed around on the couch with someone else in a very long time,” he told Connor, but then his hands were going to Connor’s hips, and he was pulling Connor into his lap.

He grunted, and he kept Connor in his lap, his arm around Connor’s waist, and Connor sat there, sidesaddle.

“You’re heavier than you look,” said Hank.

“I’m sorry,” said Connor.

“It’s fine,” said Hank, and he looked faintly amused. “I just figured, since you’re made of plastic, it’d be like picking up an action figure.”

“It’s not just plastic,” said Connor. “And even an action figure my size would probably be heavy.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Hank, and then he was kissing Connor again, and Connor was shifting, until he was straddling Hank, his knees pressing into Hank’s sides, and he was cupping Hank’s face, marveling at the texture of Hank’s beard against the palms of his hands.

Hank’s tongue was almost ticklish, and it was soft, hot, enough to make Connor’s whole body hum, and Hank was shaking a bit too, clinging Connor closer, and then his hands were sliding under Connor’s shirt, and Connor was arching his back, moaning, because… oh wow.

That was intense.

“Your skin feels weird,” said Hank, and he was looking at Connor, his eyes wide and dark.

“I’m sorry,” said Connor, because what else was he going to say?

It wasn’t that his programming wasn’t working, exactly. It was that there was now so much extra input crashing into his sensors that it was hard to get a handle on what, exactly, was happening.

“It’s fine,” said Hank. “It’s just very smooth. And I can’t feel any hair.”

“I don’t have hair growing anywhere but my face,” Connor said.

“Huh,” said Hank. “So that’s why there aren’t any androids with beards walking around, huh?”

“I’m sure there are some custom ones with beards,” said Connor.

Hank snorted, and he pulled Connor closer to him, so that they were belly to belly.

Hank’s heart was beating against the cage of his ribs, and Connor put a hand over it, the thud of it rumbling under his palm.

Hank sighed, and he covered Connor’s hand with his own, squeezing Connor’s fingers. His expression looked something approaching sad.

“Am I doing alright, Hank? Would you prefer -”

“You’re doing fine, Connor,” said Hank, and yeah, there was definitely something sad in his face. “It’s… it’s been a while, as I said. And you’re much, much different from the last person I did this sort of thing with.”

“If this is too much for you, I’d be alright with stopping,” said Connor.

He didn’t want to cause any sort of distress to Hank.

“No,” said Hank, and then, again, “no. It’s fine. Give me a minute to adjust.”

“Do you need me to do anything?”

“Nah,” said Hank, and then he was stroking along Connor’s face, tracing the line of Connor’s jaw, down the column of Connor’s throat, to the collar of Connor’s shirt. “Can I take this off?” He tugged at the fabric of Connor’s shirt for emphasis.

“Yes, of course,” said Connor, and he lifted his arms, as Hank pulled the shirt up and off of him, leaving him shirtless.

Hank was looking at him with a hard to read expression, and he looked back at Hank, trying to understand whatever his friend’s face was doing.

“Hank?”

“Yeah?”

Hank was snapped out of whatever trance or mood or whatever it was that he had fallen into, and he blinked up at Connor.

“I would like you to remove your shirt as well.”

“Any particular reason why?”

Connor paused.

Why did he want Hank to be shirtless as well?

“I’m curious as to what it would feel like, to feel your skin against mine,” said Connor, because it was true.

Hank snorted, and he looked amused.

“I don’t know if that was sexy, or if you sounded like a serial killer,” said Hank. “Lean back for a second.”

And then Hank was just… pulling his own shirt off, and there he was.

Hank was a big guy - his chest was covered in the same thick, grey hair on his face, and his stomach was soft, with silvery stretch marks along the sides. His nipples were stark against the paleness of his skin, and there was some sort of scar along his ribs - it looked like someone had tried to knife him in the kidneys at some point. The muscles of his chest were still well defined, and the contrast of fat to muscle was fascinating - soft versus firm, all covered by the same skin.

All the sensory information was coming in little flashes - Connor was mostly just feeling it, even as his processors whirred away, cataloging data. He’d be able to access all of this memory in perfect clarity. For now, he was just experiencing it.

Connor reached down to feel along the scar, and then he pressed himself closer, until they were chest to chest, and he kissed Hank, as Hank’s fingers ran up and down his sides.

Connor shuddered at the flood of sensory information - the softness of Hank’s stomach, the firmness of Hank’s muscles, the way Hank’s wiry chest hair rubbed against his hairless chest, the way Hank’s fingers were digging into his sides, the heat of Hank’s tongue in his mouth.

When Hank pulled back, he was panting, still looking up at Connor.

“I know you don’t have a dick, but do you have a… is there something you want me to… to do for you? LIke… I don’t know, a port I could finger you with, or something like that?”

Connor blinked at him, trying to get his thoughts in order, trying to process everything he was feeling.

“I want to… I want to keep feeling things,” Connor said, because that was the best way he could described what it was that he was feeling. “With my skin.”

Hank let out a barking laugh, which made his stomach jiggle, the deep sound resonating through Connor’s chest, making Connor’s skin vibrate.

“You sound like a serial killer when you say it like that,” he told Connor.

“When I say what like that?”

Connor blinked down at Hank.

“Never mind,” said Hank. “But… you can do whatever you want to do to me. Go crazy.”

Hank was looking more relaxed than Connor had ever seen him, sweat beginning to soak through his grey hair, his eyes at half mast, his chest going up and down as he breathed deep and even.

His heart was beating very fast.

Connor ran his hands up and down Hank’s chest, feeling the wiry hair ruffle under his sensitive palms. His other hand went to Hank’s face - two fingers slipped into Hank’s mouth, and his fingers pressed down on Hank’s tongue.

It was slippery and flexible, hot, and Hank awkwardly curled it around Connor’s fingers, then closed his lips around Connor’s fingers and began to suck.

Connor cried out, the new sensations flooding him, and his whole body went stiff.

That was… oh, that was something.

That was a lot of something.

Connor wasn’t sure if he had the words to describe what it felt like, except he felt all of it, and there was a lot of it.

His whole body was begging to go stiff, as his palm curled over Hank’s chin, the hair of Hank’s beard ticklish against his palm, and his other hand was moving across Hank’s chest and belly, going from the softness of fast to the firmness of muscle and back again, as the skin shifted and moved under his fingers.

Hank’s hands were moving up and down his back, gentle, barely there touches, and the feelings that were flooding through Connor were enough to carry him away.

There was a pressure, building and building along his neural pathways, building enough that he thought that he was going to possible break in half, or overload, or… something.

The pressure kept building, and Hank was murmuring something to him, and he couldn’t put his finger on what it was, because who cared what it was, when his words were vibrating along Connor’s fingers, when his chest was resonating enough to make Connor’s own chest vibrate, and when he was grinding up and into Connor’s as.

Something happened.

Something good - something so good - and Connor only had time to think oh, this must be an orgasm - and then it was just happening, washing over him like a wave, carrying him away.

He cried out, his eyes screwing shut, and he was shaking, clutching at Hank’s shoulder, pulling his fingers out of Hank’s mouth before he held Hank too tightly.

Hank had his arms wrapped around Connor, and he made soothing noises, as Connor kept clutching at him, still shaking.

It was torture, in its own way - each brush of Hank’s hands prolonged the orgasm (or whatever it was), until he was so completely wrung out that he couldn’t move.

The pleasure just kept coming, until it was pain, until it moved back out of pain and into pleasure, until Connor was actually crying, and he hadn’t been aware that he could cry from pleasure.

Hank seemed faintly nonplussed, although he kept holding on to Connor, making vaguely soothing noises.

“It’s okay. I know it’s a lot, but it’s okay. C’mon, you’ll be alright, catch you breath, it’s okay….”

Connor pulled back to look Hank in the face, and he was still shaking, his eyes wide, if wet.

“Hank?”

Connor had his hands on Hank’s shoulders, and he was still shaking.

He would turn that off.

In a minute.

“Yeah? How you doin’, Connor?”

“Is that… is that an orgasm?”

Connor’s voice shook, just a bit.

There was still so much sensory information racing along his nerves, filling his whole mind and leaving no room for anything else.

“Sure seemed like one,” Hank said.

“Is that what it feels like when you have an orgasm?”

“Well,” said Hank, and he cleared his throat, looking faintly embarrassed, “I, uh, I don’t really know what you felt, but if it was really fuckin’ good and kinda overwhelming, then yeah. Yeah, that’s an orgasm.”

“Right,” said Connor, then; “can I give you an orgasm?”

Hank wheezed, clearly surprised.

“Um,” he said.

“I understand that in situations like this, reciprocity is important,” Connor said.

HIs skin was still on high alert - his everything was on high alert, his whole body on edge, teetering and waiting for… something.

“I don’t want you to feel like this is a situation like this, whatever the fuck that means,” said Hank, and now he looked uncomfortable. “I know I’m not an android or some kind of Adonis.”

“Adonis was a hero in Greek mythology,” said Connor, as he accessed the information. “Why would you be a Greek hero?”

“It’s an expression,” Hank said, and he made a dismissive hand gesture. “I’m just saying, if you want to have a sexual experience with a human, maybe you’d want someone -”

“I like you, Hank,” Connor said, cutting into Hank’s self loathing cycle.

Connor had been getting good at spotting them at this point - they usually led to excessive alcohol and belligerence.

“I like you too,” Hank said awkwardly. “I’m just saying, if you’d prefer -”

“Hank, there is nowhere I would prefer to be,” said Connor, keeping his tone firm. “If you would be comfortable with it, I would love to attempt to bring you to orgasm.”

“Put it a little drier, why don’t you,” Hank groused, but it seemed more grousing for the sake of grousing than any actual annoyance.

“Would you like me to make you come,” Connor said, “Lieutenant,” he added, on a hunch.

Hank’s breath caught in his chest, and then he expelled it in a long, low sigh.

“You play dirty,” Hank told Connor, but his expression was affectionate. “So what would you, uh… what would you be comfortable with doing?”

“What would you like me to do?”

“I’m checking what’s physically possible,” Hank said. “I know you don’t, uh… have anywhere for me to put my dick, if I wanted to.”

“I’ve got a mouth,” Connor pointed out, ever helpful, “and I can use my hands.”

“Yes, I know that,” said Hank, and then he groaned, covering his face with both hands. “I think that this may be the most awkward conversation I’ve ever had, Connor. Thanks for that.”

“I’m sorry,” said Connor. “Is there anything I can do to help alleviate the awkwardness?”

“... I’m going to kiss you some more,” said Hank, and then he suited actions to words, his hands going to Connor’s face, pulling Connor closer, so that they were kissing again.

Connor was modeling his kissing after all of the romantic movies he had stored in his database, and mixing it with the kissing that Hank was doing, tongues stroking together, lips moving.

Hank’s hands were moving across Connor’s body again, but less exploratory this time - feeling things, but touching for the sake of touch.

Hank was clearly taking pleasure out of touching Connor, and Connor was getting pleasure from being touched, as he moaned into Hank’s mouth.

Some of it was to get Hank more worked up, admittedly, but… well, that was part of being intimate with someone, wasn’t it?

Doing things that made them excited, doing things that aroused them.

And then Hank’s hands were on Connor’s shoulders, and Connor was shaking again, because his nerves were still turned all the way up, and he was on the brink of another overloaded orgasm.

Hank pulled back, and his forehead against Connor’s.

He was panting, hard, his chest rising and falling.

“Would you, uh… I mean, if it’s not too much trouble and not too weird or whatever, if you’d be willing to… to….”

“I would be willing to do anything, Hank,” Connor said, and he meant it, too.

Hank was one of his favorite people in the world - he’d do almost anything in the world for Hank.

Hank shuddered, his skin rippling like water in a pond.

“God, Connor,” he mumbled. “Okay. If you’d be okay giving me a blowjob, if… if that’d be okay, I’d… I’d be okay with that. I’d like it.”

“Of course,” Connor said, and then he was sliding down, so that he was on his knees between Hank’s knees, his hands on the insides of Hank’s thighs.

The soft fabric of Hank’s sweatpants was heavenly against Connor’s palms, along the sensitive skin of his arms, and he shuddered, his toes curling, his mouth falling open.

God, all of him was just… wound tightly, like a wire.

“Let me just,” Hank mumbled, and then he was fumbling with the waistband of his sweatpants, shoving them down, and... there was Hank’s penis.

It was thick, hot, almost purple at the tip, shiny with pre-come, the foreskin drawn back.

Connor wrapped a hand around it, squeezing from base to tip, and Hank groaned, a low, deep sound.

Even the feeling of Hank’s penis in his hand was enough to send Connor shivering, because… he was still so on edge, so primed.

He looked at Hank’s penis, and then he looked up at Hank.

Hank was looking down at him with a slightly far off expression.

“Hank? Are you alright?”

“Connor,” said Hank, and he was still panting. “I’m absolutely fantastic.”

“Do you want me to continue?”

Connor gave Hank another stroke, and Hank’s hips rolled forward.

His pubic hair was wiry and grey, almost ticklish against Connor’s fist.

“Do what you want, Connor,” said Hank, and then he was resting a hand on top of Connor’s head.

It activated all of the nerves in Connor’s scalp, and Connor gave a full body shudder, opening his mouth wider, leaning in.

Connor took Hank’s penis into his mouth, and he sucked on it, his lips closing to form suction, his tongue tracing along the underside of it.

Hank swore, and his hips twitched, then went still.

“Fuck, Connor, you… oh….”

Connor analyzed Hank’s pre-come - he couldn’t really help it. It was how his mouth worked.

Hank’s body was tensing up, and he was beginning to shake, just a bit, as Connor took more of him in.

Hank was still swearing, as Connor explored the sensation of Hank’s cock in his mouth.

It was thick and hot, resting on his tongue, the foreskin soft against the tip of his tongue. Hank’s pre-come was dripping down his throat, mixing with Connor’s saliva, and that might be a problem at some future point, but Connor would worry about that then.

He bobbed his head a bit, the way he’d seen in a few of the dirty movies he’d watched (for research), and then Hank’s hands were on his face, and he was shuddering, beginning to suck a little harder, as Hank’s cock swelled under his tongue.

He didn’t know if he was doing a good job - he more or less understood the principles of it; keep his mouth slick, keep sucking, when a particular action made Hank groan keep doing it - but he was worried he wasn’t really getting it. He would have pulled off of Hank’s cock to ask, but Hank’s hand was resting firmly on the back of his head, and he had a feeling that if Hank wanted him off, he’d be off.

He’d felt the muscles in Hank’s arms - the man was strong.

And besides - Hank’s fingers in his hair was like heaven, Hank’s cock in his mouth was satisfying some urge he didn’t know he had, and Hank was moaning more, as Connor ran his hands up and down Hank’s sides.

Hank was babbling at Connor, something about how he wanted to touch all of Connor, how he wanted to have Connor on his bed, and that was a nice idea, it really was, but Connor wanted to stay here, with Hank’s cock in his mouth, Hank’s hands in his hair.

He was on edge, but not as on edge as Hank - he could feel Hank’s whole body tensing up, Hank’s thighs hard as marble when Connor ran his hands over them.

And then Hank was pulling his cock out of Connor’s mouth, and Hank’s hot, wet come was hitting Connor’s face, and Connor kept his eyes on Hank’s face, as it opened like a flower, then went slack, ugly and endearing.

“Did I do a good job, Hank?”

“I mean,” Hank panted, “you are covered in my jizz.”

Connor paused, torn between letting the moment sit, and asking for what he wanted.

Hank’s semen dripped down his face, across his chest, to land on his lap.

Hank was going to need to wash his pants.

“Get up here,” said Hank, and he was pulling Connor back into his lap, running his hands across Connor’s chest the same way he had been earlier, and Connor was hit with another… break, like before.

Another wash of sensation that left him limp in Hank’s arms, as his nerves sparked and crackled, sending pleasure all over him, from his toes to the top of his head, until he was flat on his back and twitching, staring up at Hank with wide eyes.

When the shaking and the twitching finally broke down, left him lying there.

Hank was staring at Connor with a slightly nervous expression.

“You doing okay there, kid?”

One of Hank’s fingers wiped some of the semen off of Connor’s face, then wiped it on his own pants.

“Yeah,” Connor said, and he closed his eyes, concentrating, dimming his nerves, until they were back to normal parameters.

“That’s good,” said Hank. “I’m glad I could help you feel good.”

“Of course,” said Connor. “I had every faith that you could.”

Hank snorted, but he looked pleased in spite of himself.