Work Header

spring a leak ((meet me in the powder room))

Work Text:

Connor had risen and wandered off to the empty powder room some time before the mayor got up to speak at the gala’s opening, elegant as a cormorant in the long gown clinging around his legs. Eyes turned from all corners of the room to follow him, human and android alike, and Hank had glowed with the gentle kind of pride that he never could seem to shake off when it comes to his husband.

There’s a low murmur of sound through the dining atrium and while the mayor is still gathering his speaker notes on a tablet Hank stands and excuses himself from the table with a few low words. Checks his phone in the hall and sees a photo of Connor’s spread legs in an ornate golden mirror, bare and inviting, not a stitch of underwear in sight.

Hank’s nostrils flare as he draws in a deep breath, fingers come up to tug around the collar of his dress uniform. He’s alone in the cool marble hall, thank fuck, and Connor’s next text points him in the right direction. Hank doesn't even hesitate before striding right over to the powder room like he’d intended to go there all along.

There's a velvet rope strung with an out-of-order sign clipped in the jamb and he hooks it back across the entryway before disappearing through the heavy oak door. Hank can catch the light fragrance of Connor’s cologne before he can see him, cock already beginning to fill and harden in his trousers.

When he rounds the corner, Connor is sitting on the decorated vanity in front of the tall mirror, perched gracefully in his blue gown with his legs crossed. The slit is open up to his pale upper thigh, a flash of silver strap at his ankle. He smiles, lashes deceptively demure. Hank growls appreciatively, catching sight of his own reflection in the mirror over Connor’s shoulder. He cuts a handsome enough figure in his uniform, feeling fresh and trim with his beard clipped and his hair pulled back.

Connor reaches for him like they've been apart for weeks. "Like what you see?" he murmurs as Hank leans in to kiss the long line of his throat, immediately parting his thighs to let his husband slide in between them.

Hank’s fingers catch the edge of the gown and skim along Connor’s legs, drawing the soft fabric up around his hips. Outside they can hear the muffled echo of the mayor's speech resounding through the high hall, droning on with no end in sight.

Hank smiles when his fingertips brush the heat between Connor’s thighs, gently teasing before pulling his hand away. "Getting a little bored with all that bureaucratic dick swinging, huh."

Connor whines and takes Hank's belt buckle in hand, unthreading the leather through the clasp with a clink that makes him ache with wanting. "There’s only one dick I'm interested in entertaining tonight," he says, getting a hand around Hank's heavy cock to pull it from his briefs.

Despite where they are and what they're doing, there's no fervent urgency or careless fumbling. Hank kisses Connor slowly and groans into his mouth as he feels himself get stroked up to full mast, big hands wrapped around Connor’s slim waist, skin bare where his gown dips low. Hank hitches one of Connor’s thighs up and presses him back against the tall mirror, mouthing at his throat and collarbones while Connor wraps his other leg around Hank's back. They laugh, dizzy with wanting and the thrum of excitement, watching each other in the golden light.

"You want it?" Hank rumbles, biting into his lip when Connor tries to physically press Hank's cock inside himself. "Haven't even said the magic words, baby doll."

"The only words I need to use as your husband are 'fuck me' and 'right now," Connor says, breath catching as he feels Hank's cockhead nudge forward an inch into his slick hole, just enough to make him gasp. They both groan and lean into each other, trying to adjust to the height of the vanity, the beaded fringe on the side of Connor's rucked gown gently swaying against the marble counter.

Hank's dress pants fall and pool around his knees but he pays them no mind, drawn in closer by one of Connor's ankles hooked around his ass. He lets himself be pulled down into Connor's arms and slowly sinks in the rest of the way, standing there on weakened knees with his cock buried to the hilt.

"Hank," Connor rasps, already clenching around him to try and urge things along. "Please."

"There you go," Hank murmurs, and then hoists Connor’s knees up into his elbows until his thighs are spread wide and obscene, hole stretched tight around his cock. "Now let me see."

Connor nips at Hank's mouth and then kisses his bottom lip, lacing his hands around his husband's neck while he tips his hips up and lets Hank get a better look. Hank hums low in his chest and reaches between them to do something with his thumb that makes Connor buck on his cock.

"You gonna be loud, baby?" Hank murmurs, rubbing Connor again until he lets out a whimper. "Might outdo the mayor if I get you going good enough."

Connor’s LED shifts between gold and scarlet, flushed chest standing out stark against the royal blue of his gown. He leans back on the cool counter and Hank follows, thrusting into him hard enough that the decoration on his dress jacket jingles.

"Fuck," he grunts, already broken out in a sheen of sweat. Connor's still spread open, legs tucked against Hank's sides, looking down to watch under his lashes as he takes every inch of his husband's shaft.

"Fuck me harder, lieutenant," Connor whines, reaching between them to touch Hank's cock where it slides out and rams back into his hole. When hank feels Connor’s fingers he swears and his hips stutter before pounding in faster than before. "I've been so wet for you all night."

"Know you have, honey," Hank growls, moving his hands to cup under Connor’s ass where his gown has bunched up, angling his hips just right. "Surprised you didn't leave a damp spot in the lounge."

"I want everybody to know what you do to me," Connor whispers. "That you're mine."

"Let them hear you, then," Hank says, grinning like a rouge, and then bites into the softer flesh between Connor’s neck and shoulder at the same moment he fucks into him hard enough to knock and rattle the mirror against the wall.

Connor wails just as applause erupts in the atrium outside.

Another speaker takes the podium as the clapping slowly dies down, but in the powder room Connor's only just getting started. One of his strappy shoes is twisted around his left foot, long legs practically draped over Hank's shoulders while the split on his thigh pops a stitch. His gown is hiked up to his navel and Hank bends him at the waist, crushing Connor against the mirror while he fucks him for all he's worth.

Connor’s given up on rubbing himself between them, clutching at Hank and babbling a glitchy mess of things that may be prayers or curses. When Hank's hips start to jerk, thrusts gone fast and shallow, he grunts and digs his fingers into Connor’s thighs hard enough to make the synth-skin recede away.

"Don’t want to ruin your pretty dress," he rasps, leaning down for a filthy kiss. "Else I'd come on your chest."

"No, no, no," Connor gasps, mouth bitten pink from trying to keep quiet. "Inside me—Hank, oh f-fuck, please. Lieutenant!"

Hank growls at that, searing words pressed against Connor’s throat. "You’re gonna leak all over the floor, baby."

"Want it, want you to," Connor croaks, squeezing his eyes shut as Hank pounds into him again. Even this stretched and full he still wants more, insatiable with how much he needs that sticky wetness to fill him up.

Hank’s and no one else's. He knows the other androids will smell it.

"Jesus fuck, Connor," Hank gasps, rapidly spinning out toward his ending. "I'll let you have it, sweetheart. Anything you want."

Connor’s thighs and lower belly are all chassis-white now, skin receded everywhere heat gathers between them to expose his body underneath. His gown makes a gentle hushed sound wherever it lays against the plastic, but his patience is wearing thin now, mission directive focused on one thing and one thing only. His fingers skitter over Hank's jacket and then find the buttons underneath, and with an efficient pop the blazer falls open. He rends at Hank's dress shirt and then touches the softer cotton beneath, having made it down to the undershirt.

Hank swears at the loss of a button but fucks into Connor hard enough that his balls slap under the hole he's thrusting into, the sound of skin slapping plastic harsh and lewd. He's so far gone he doesn't realize what Connor’s hunting until he finds it, and when his husband takes Hank's pink nipple between his fingers and pinches it hard enough to bruise, Hank lets out a sound like a wounded bull and goes rigid from the top notch of his spine to the tips of his toes while he comes.

He slams into Connor and shoves him up the mirror, cock buried to the root. Connor isn't even capable of words anymore, voice box humming with a keening mewl while he clenches around Hank's cock and lets himself go, arms and legs scrabbling to keep Hank sheathed in as far as he'll go.

Hank bites at Connor’s Adam’s apple, softer than before, and gently grazes his teeth over the delicate shape of it while he gets milked for all he's worth into that tight heat squeezing him dry. It’s maddening and it makes him see starbursts, the way Connor wrings every pulsing drop out of him until he feels like a used dish rag.

"God damn, baby," Hank rasps, mouthing against Connor’s throat, sucking a rosy love bite there before nuzzling into the hollow between his collar bones. "One day you're gonna tear me apart."

"One day," Connor promises, cradling Hank close while they both come to their senses and breathe.

Hank slowly lets Connor’s legs ease back down, knees still bracketed there for now around his waist. He braces a hand against the marble countertop to hold himself up on weak legs, making a soft, broken sound when Connor, relentless as ever, clenches around his softening cock again.

"Ah!—think you got it all, babe," Hank murmurs, tipping Connor’s face up for a proper kiss this time. "Jesus Christ. Fuck me. I can't believe we just did that."

"I can," Connor says, smiling against his husband's mouth. He lets out a tiny gasp when Hank's cock finally slips free with a wet sound, the shaft glistening there in the powder room's amber light. Connor immediately reaches between his legs to spread himself open, shivering when he feels that milky wetness dribble out onto his fingertips. Hank watches as he pushes his middle finger back inside himself, moaning softly when two more fingers still aren't enough to fill the emptiness Hank left behind.

"You’re something else, Con," Hank says, even if his poor dick gives a feeble twitch at such a sight. He licks his lips without thinking, a haze clouding over his eyes.

"Think I'll save this for later," Connor says, lowering his legs and pressing his thighs together before he brings his wet fingers up to his mouth to suck them clean.

Hank groans, devastated, and tries to put his cock away while Connor shimmies his gown back over his bare thighs. Hank’s only just starting to thread his belt back together when the low murmur of sound shifts and quiets outside.

"Tonight’s special honoree has been with the Detroit Police Department for over 30 years and remains one of Detroit’s finest and brightest," the speaker says. "He told the committee he 'didn't need any laminated kindergarten awards or fancy bullshit like that,' which speaks volumes toward our honoree's humble and grounded approach to upholding this great city's justice based on hard work alone. Please welcome our very special guest, Lieutenant Hank Anderson!"

Hank's hands freeze on his belt in the same instant he and Connor look up at each other.

"Oh," hank says simply. "Fuck."

Connor practically leaps off the vanity and somehow doesn't slide in his strappy silver shoes, hands gone straight to Hank's half-done belt. "Your public awaits, darling," he says, cinching the leather and pressing a light kiss to Hank's cheek.

"I'm missing half the buttons on my jacket," Hank hisses, but Connor only does up the one left in the middle and gently steers him toward the powder room door. Hank nearly trips over the velvet rope he'd clipped in the doorway and has to vault over it so he doesn't face plant on the floor.

The speaker at the podium is peering out across the audience with a hand over his eyes, waiting while the rest of the crowd murmurs and waits. The last thing Hank sees as he glances back over his shoulder is Connor leaning in the doorway like a tall blue drink of water, one long leg popped out of the slit of his gown. He blows a kiss and Hank reddens but stomps up to the stage with as much humble grace as he can muster.

"Sorry to keep you good folks waiting," Hank says into the microphone, tucking an errant piece of hair behind his ear as he tries on his best 1000-watt smile and hopes to God there's not any jizz on his pants. "When duty calls, the Detroit force is always there to answer."

Any of the nerves he had before the gala started are gone, his voice and movements full of ease and quiet confidence. The audience laughs with him and when the mayor comes out for a handshake, Hank only grasps his hand and grins into the camera when the flash goes off.

It isn't until 900 slinks over afterward in his dark suit, head held high and left eyebrow arched, that Hank learns his mistake.

"Evening, Nines," he says, extending a hand. The android looks down at it held between them and quietly sniffs, neatly folding his arms behind his back.

"I see you've been indulging in some merriment this evening, lieutenant," 900 says, silver eyes flickering up to Hank's face. He watches as his predecessor walks up from behind and presses himself against Hank's shoulder, gown glittering like beetle wings under the chandelier.

"Oops," Connor says, laughing coyly.

Hank stiffens. "Don’t breathe a word, Nines," he growls, eyes gone dangerous.

The RK900 only shrugs, unbothered. "There’s no use in hiding what every android in this room already knows, lieutenant," he says, mouth twitching up at the corner. "Congratulations."

If the tips of Hank's ears flush red, the carefully neutral expression on his face doesn't give anything away. "Appreciate the update, Nines," he says, clapping 900 on the shoulder with a thin smile. “Good to see you here tonight.”

He turns to Connor and whispers hoarsely in his ear. "There’s cum. All over me."

"I, uhm, hadn't thought about that part," Connor says sweetly even though his eyebrows and forehead furrow. "Oh dear."

Hank hustles to the washroom and scrubs his hands down before blotting around his face with a damp towel. His human counterparts are all smiles and laughter, but somehow every android in attendance still looks skeptical.

The rest of their evening at the gala goes over without a hitch, save for the fact that Hank's thoughts keep straying back to the inner part between Connor’s legs, branded there at the forefront of his mind. His husband is suave and charismatic as ever, prim and handsome—nothing about his appearance belying what they'd done in the bathroom.

On the drive home Hank can't contain himself anymore. They get two blocks from the gala before they hit a red light, and Hank looks over to find Connor looking back at him, lashes casting spidery shadows across his cheeks.

Hank wordlessly reaches over the console and Connor immediately parts his legs. The android sighs with pleasure and hitches his gown up, pulling the slit back to his upper thigh to give hank better access.

“Twenty-seven seconds to green," he says, which is more than enough time for Hank to push two thick fingers back into that wet heat and feel his own come leak out. Connor makes a tiny noise in the back of his throat that turns mournful when Hank pulls his hand back and wipes it across the untucked tail of his shirt, something they can worry about later.

"Don’t want to ruin the upholstery," he says, winking when Connor swears and pouts.

The light turns green. Connor squirms in his seat, LED pulsing yellow, but Hank drives the speed limit the whole way home.

He comes around to the passenger side when they pull into the driveway, opening Connor’s door and holding down a gentlemanly hand. Connor takes it and hauls himself up with a graceful movement, momentum not stopping until he's securely anchored in Hank's arms, bodies pressed together in one long line from their chests to their thighs.

A car passes on the street but neither move until Connor inclines his head for a kiss. They’re the same height when he's wearing his shoes, nose to nose, mouths gently slotting together in something chaste.

"I'm going to take you inside, bend you over the first thing we find, and fuck you until you can't walk," Hank murmurs.

"Yes, lieutenant," Connor breathes. Their hands stay linked as they pull each other up the walkway to the front door. Hank doesn't fumble his keys, moving with confidence and ease as he turns the knob and walks inside to the lit foyer with Connor at his shoulder.

The rest of the house is dark and they leave it that way. Hank’s promise to fuck Connor open on the first flat surface they find falls short when they find Sumo, mostly deaf now at 12, snoring away on the couch in the living room.

"Bedroom," Connor says, squeezing his hand.

Wherever he leads them Hank will always fall into line and follow, and in the end he's thankful for the bedroom carpet when he lays Connor across the side of their bed and pushes that pretty gown back up. He kneels there on the floor on aching knees but doesn't mind it at all when he spreads Connor’s thighs and sees the sticky slick running there.

"You been holding this for me all night, sweetheart?" Hank murmurs, pressing a whiskery kiss to a mole on the inside of Connor’s knee.

"Yes," Connor sighs, draping one calf over Hank's shoulder. His tight stomach quivers with anticipation. "Hank...please."

"That's my good boy," Hank rumbles. It’s filthy, but he drags his tongue though some of the wetness on Connor’s inner thigh, grinning there when Connor whimpers and reaches down to try and grab at any part of Hank he can get.

"Patience," Hank tuts, shrugging out of his dress jacket and tossing it over the chair behind him. It’s too dark to admire the view, so he twists on the lamp and drapes Connor’s leg back over his shoulder. Hank gently takes the hand that's reaching down for him, swiping a thumb across Connor’s gold band before threading their fingers together.

Their combined taste lingers on his tongue, and Hank could sit here and draw this out, but his knees are already starting to hurt and the night isn't as young as it was a few hours ago. He huffs out a pleased sound and presses three fingers right into Connor’s messy hole, then leans in to lick from his buried knuckles upward.

Connor immediately bucks like he's touched a live wire, crossing both legs around Hank's neck and locking his face there between his thighs. Hank curves his wrist and strokes and scissors his fingers, feeling the sloppy mixture of his and Connor’s come leak down around his hand.

"You wanted everybody to know you're a dirty little thing, huh," Hank growls before diving back in with fervor, nose grinding hard into Connor’s mound. "Full of my come....just dripping with it."

"H-Hank," Connor whines, grinding down. "Not enough—fuck! Need more, I need you."

Hank quickly withdraws his fingers and pushes Connor further back on their bed, legs still wrapped around his shoulders. He squeezes Connor’s hand and feels himself released enough that he can crawl up to loom there above him, staring down into brown eyes while he fumbles one-handed with his belt.

"Insatiable," he grunts, letting Connor’s nimbler fingers undo his button and fly before getting his cock back out. It hangs there, already heavy and hardening again. They’re both still dressed but Connor merely spreads his knees, making room for Hank to sink right down into him with hardly any effort at all.

It's so hot and wet that Hank groans and squeezes his eyes shut, sheathed fully back inside his husband's body. He can't believe how much come there is, some of it already squelching out around his cock when he thrusts back in and lowers his weight onto Connor’s body.

"Oh," Connor says, just one word, like he's come back into brighter clarity now that Hank's above him and all around him.

Hank braces himself on his elbows and kisses Connor softly, smiling there as he rolls his hips, belt buckle jingling with each deep thrust. "You good, honey?" he grunts, tipping his face into the crook of Connor’s shoulder.

Connor’s hands are on his back, holding him there as if Hank would rather be anywhere else on this earth. "Yes," he sighs, brows drawn with easy pleasure. "God, Hank. Just like that."

"Change of plans from earlier," Hank rasps. "Think I'll probably be the one who can't walk in the morning."

"Good," Connor says, soft lips somewhere near Hank's ear. "That means I get to keep you to myself all day."

It’s not a hard or fast fuck, but it's honest. It’s them.

And as the warm wetness leaks down Connor’s ass and dampens the front of Hank's slacks, he can't imagine this night ending any other way. Good food, good friends, good people in a growing city trying to do its best—and Connor. Just Connor.

"Love you, baby," he whispers.

Connor’s answer is to loop his arms around Hank's neck and hold him close, tipping his hips up to meet Hank halfway, urging them both along toward some beautiful collision.

"So proud of you, Hank," he says, voice a low rasp. "My love."

Without all the urgency and raw heat from before, Hank lets his second climax of the night come as it may, more of a shuddering release than something that rips through him. He means to reach between them and help bring Connor off first, he really does, but everything feels like they're wading through deep water together, sluggish and a little imprecise. Hank grunts and goes quite still, feeling his cock twitch and pulse where it’s buried inside Connor. Everything feels so goddamn good, his eyes burn and prickle a little bit.

Connor makes a pleased sound and wiggles his hips, petting Hank's hair away from his face, walls tightening around his cock whether he came or not. There’s a hot pinprick of pain in Hank's thigh that he slowly begins to discern now that he's back in his body; one of the stilettos on Connor’s shoes, pressing into his skin like the flat head of a nail.

"Baby," he says, reaching down to touch the offending leg. "Ow."

"Oh, I—sorry," Connor murmurs a little meekly, leaving a half-dozen kisses on Hank's face and jaw in quiet apology. "I suppose I got a little carried away again."

Hank laughs, feeling himself smile. "A little." He tries to shift, eager to take the weight off his forearms, but Connor only pulls him back down so they're chest to chest.

"Your dress," hank mumbles, even though it feels so nice to be held.

"I'll get it dry cleaned," Connor says against his temple, and then clenches around Hank's softening cock again to make his point. "Stay here so I can marinate."

"That's gross," Hank snorts, but doesn't dare move. He doesn't want to. "Nines is going to tell everybody we're exhibitionists."

"He won't," Connor purrs. "Considering what I know about him."

"And what's that?" Hank hums, tickling Connor’s throat with his mustache.

"I'm sworn to brotherly secrecy," Connor says, sneaking long fingers up under Hank's undershirt to touch his bare skin. "Kill switch level stuff."

Hank pinches Connor’s thigh, teasing. "You’re no fun."

He doesn't know how long they're going to lay here, fully clothed, making an utter mess of themselves. Hank’s not sore but he's tired and it's hard to keep his eyes open. If it weren't a goddamn health hazard, he'd be tempted to fall asleep right here locked in Connor’s embrace with his feet hanging off the side of the bed.

Hank doesn't even realize he'd dozed off until he gently jerks back awake, Connor’s fingers threading through his hair.

"Gotta get up, babe," he says, pressing a kiss to Connor’s jaw as he tries to raise up. "Oh—fuck me, my back."

"Tomorrow, dear," Connor quips, eyes bright. The cheeky look on Connor’s face disappears as Hank pulls out at last, and he immediately flushes rosy, making a kittenish sound followed by a deeper groan.

"Fuck," Connor moans, thighs still spread wide so Hank can admire his handiwork. His hole twitches, empty now, and a pearl of milky slick dribbles out. Hank bites into his bottom lip and pulls his undershirt over his head, stuffing it there between Connor’s legs.

"You’re making a goddamn mess," he moans, scandalized, even though he still can't look away. He puts a broad hand on Connor’s pelvis and is amazed by the artificial muscles and mechanisms contracting underneath, then how they clench down, expelling most of Hank's spend from his body.

It’s filthy but he loves it. His dick gives another feeble twitch but Hank knows he's a lost cause for the rest of the night. Connor only smiles, gorgeous, a sight for sore eyes if Hank's ever seen one. He raises one long leg up in the air and waits until Hank wraps a hand around his ankle to unbuckle the delicate strap, letting the shoe fall to the floor.

"Other one," Hank rumbles, taking Connor’s other foot. It’s a process, but they manage to get Connor unzipped and naked without making too much of a fucking mess of things. Hank eyeballs the wet spot on the bottom sheet and knows that if Connor gets his way, there's no use in changing them until tomorrow.

Naked except for his wedding ring now, Connor walks past him into their new master bathroom and turns on the light with nothing more than a thought. He starts the shower and then steps back out to look at Hank, making no secret of the wetness running between his thighs.

"Coming, lieutenant?" Connor asks, winking as his LED cycles a serene, beautiful blue.

Hank can't help but laugh as he undresses the rest of the way and joins his husband in the shower, letting the fogged door swing shut behind him.

"Oh I'm coming, all right,” he murmurs, crowding Connor up under the hot water for another kiss. "You little shit."