The way the couch felt against his back.

The way Hank nearly folded him in half against the armrest.

They way Hank shoved his left leg out of the way, and their hips pressed together as he leaned down. The softness of the shoulders of his t-shirt underneath Connor's fingers.

The grip of Hank's hands on his hip and side.

The tongue in his mouth. (human; tongue - muscular hydrostat of: Lt. Anderson, Hank - criminal record: 0). The hot breath on his face. Hank's hair smelling of recent shampoo falling against his cheekbones, still damp from the shower. The shift and grind of their hips and erections together - the way his body reacted to that, and arched up with what little strength he could muster.

The absolute lack of pattern of Hank's tongue rolling into his mouth. The way Connor's own breathing had picked up, and every breath pressed his chest against Hank.

The way Hank's facial hair scratched against his upper lip and chin.

The little grunt Hank made when Connor pressed his hips up, and the delicious slide of their erections against each other.

It was so much.

The way Hank tore through the buttons of his shirt and wrenched it open, sending buttons flying everywhere, and then his rough/smooth hands were on his stomach and his sides and they were so warm as his chest expanded in a gasp and he had to pull away from Hank's mouth because some scared sound came out of him.

The way Hank wouldn't give him a moment, and the dual-sensation of his grip under Connor's ribs and the rough way he pushed his tongue back into his mouth made Connor a little grateful for it all just being so much.

Because it was so much.

The tongue in his mouth. Hank's erection pressed and grinding against his in an act that resembled sex so clearly Connor almost wondered if they were. The hot breath on his face. The smell of Hank's freshly washed hair. The scratch of his beard. The warmth of his hands. The way he smoothed them tightly up his sides.

The couch. The fabric. His shirt. His chest as he breathed. The rhythm of the grind. His UI flashing at him to TOUCH HANK. TOUCH. HANK!

Hank impatiently tugged at his belt through the loops and unbuckled it. Everything in him narrowed down to the rough brush of Hank's hands over the fly of his jeans, and he nearly jumped off the couch at the cup of Hank's wide palm over him.

It was warm, and tight. The friction of fabric made him press up so tightly to the human man over him that he nearly sent them both careening off the couch.

And he made this… noise as his skin raced and the receptors in his body sang, bouncing pleasure down through his hips and thighs and up his spine.

So good, so much, can't -

"-alright?"

Hank peeled himself off Connor just enough so they weren't chest-to-chest, and through a haze he looked up into steely blue eyes -

"... Hey," he rumbled, "you alright?"

Connor took a moment to assess. The receptors in his hips and thighs and stomach were still humming, everything against the couch and the ruined shirt against his arms made his skin tingle. His breath was rough. His mouth interior was a mixture of saline and Hank's saliva.

He wasn't in danger. His Thirium pump was hammering, but not enough to increase his stressor gauge.

"I'm okay,"

"Are you sure?" Hank pressed, "We can stop, if you wa-"

"No!" He found himself yelling in a panic, "No… I-I don't want to stop…"

Hank didn't look convinced, but he smiled slightly all the same.

With the momentary breather, Connor was able to pull his focus back to his original task, and his vision whitened for the briefest moment as his UI flashed at him. He had no internal control over the sensations being processed by his body, but he could still half-heartedly try to ignore the sweet pleasure he was experiencing.

Because he had wanted to touch Hank more, and even as his erection pushed against the fly of his jeans in want for Hank's hands again, he wanted Hank to feel it too.

There was a quirked grey brow when Connor managed to untangle his hands from the shoulders of Hank's t-shirt and raise them to cup his neck and jaw, but the Lieutenant didn't say anything. His eyes only strayed from Connor's when he mouthed a soft kiss against the side of Connor's thumb in an action that was so painfully intimate that it sent a tremor through Connor's body.

He'd never been so close to anyone - human or android.

And it struck him, as he flexed his fingers through the freshly trimmed beard on Hank's chin and marveled at how the grey caught the light from the ceiling lamps - Hank was so much older than him, and so much more experienced.

How many humans had Hank been with like this…?

At least one, he surmised, when Connor concluded that his son was at least evidence of a female partner, although he supposed that there were plenty of other ways that Cole could have been conceived. Still, it was comforting somewhat to think that Hank was not new to the idea of sex and pleasure, because Connor wasn't handling it very well in comparison.

His breath caught a little at the smooth, wet pull of his index and forefinger against the fleshiness of Hank's lower lip. The lieutenant was warm, and soft. He smelled of shaving foam and the detergent he used on his clothes. His mouth hung open slightly when Connor carded his hands through his still-damp hair.

Are you feeling this?

Human skin was so much tougher than he was expecting. At least… Hank's was. It didn't crease and fold like his synthetic one did, or squash like his did. It bounced back from pressure, as was evident when he pressed his thumb against the bulb of his rather prominent nose and the imprint went from white as the blood flow halted to red as blood rushed back under the skin there.

Hank shook his hand away with his head, and murmured some confused swear. Connor supposed he was not being very forthcoming.

With a moment to process what to do next, Connor surmised that it would be easier to touch Hank more if he coaxed him out of his t-shirt, and something twisted in his lower navel when he saw Hank's Adam's apple bob as Connor slipped his hands under the hem of the soft grey cotton t-shirt.

Several things happened in succession. Each small, and individual. Hank's hips and flanks were so warm under his palms. At the flex of his fingers, he watched Hank's pupils widen, and his back curled as he braced himself against the couch on his hands - the curl rolled gently through his hips that sent him rolling his erection deliciously against him. Connor's mouth parted in a quiet gasp as the pleasure stole his concentration.

But Hank's eyes never left his. He just watched. It left Connor feeling very bare, even though the idea of nakedness had never crossed his mind until that moment.

Are you feeling this?

The warm, soft expanse of Hank's back and stomach was dusted with hair and felt so good underneath his palms, wrists and part of his forearms. But Hank's expression hardened at his slow exploration in a manner that Connor recognised as his irritation. Eventually losing his patience, Hank grabbed Connor's left wrist and pulled it out from underneath his top.

"What are you doing?" He breathed.

"I…" in his search for words, Connor pulled his other hand out from under the human man's t-shirt, "I am touching you."

In a moment of self-consciousness, Connor found himself mumbling - "I want you to feel this, too…"

Hank puffed air out of his nose and said; "I uh… I don't think I can feel this the way you do."

He's not feeling this. A sinking feeling settled in him despite the effects of the device as a small (failed) notification dropped from his UI and his objective filed itself away sadly.

But Hank's grip tightened a little around Connor's wrist, and with a shift he slowly, gently rolled his hips against him again, and the sensors in his thighs and hips raced. "But you want to touch me, right?" Hank asked, his voice deepening around the sentence.

"... Y-yes," Connor found it difficult to answer .

"Well if you're gonna touch me anywhere," Hank's voice was edged with impatience as he guided Connor's hand down to the hem of his sweats, "touch me here,"

He watched as Hank's expression softened from empathetic irritation to something else, as he took Connor's hand past the waistband, down through wiry pubic hair to close his fingers over his as he helped him find Hank's half-hard erection. The end of Hank's stomach pressed against his forearm, his fingers tightened over his when he experimentally increased his grip-

Hank's mouth parted again, Connor could feel him suck his stomach in, could see his eyes grow hazy and lazy as Hank's penis thickened and pulsed against his fingers-

/TOUCHHANK/-

-and could feel it grow in his palm to a girth and length that surprised him. Hank was… exceeding the average size for his height, weight and age that Connor expected. His social programming told him he should be impressed, or marginally more excited.

He panicked briefly as this new sensation took hold and he didn't know how to proceed. Connor shut his eyes and searched for a solution to the situation, looking up answers on how was best to touch Hank to help him feel pleasure, and experimented with his new-found knowledge by tightening his grip and shifting his hand down, and then back up, pulling the foreskin up in a slow slide against the pulsing shaft, and started with that slow rhythm.

Hank rode the movement with an almost practiced ease. Connor found himself swallowing a little when the erection in his hand grew a bit bigger.

"Yeah," the lieutenant breathed, pulling his own hand out from his sweats to hold himself up against the couch, "like that. That's it,"

Connor's hips rolled up, his back bowing. He moaned. Whatever way Hank said that-

Hank's hand came up to cradle his face and he moaned again, his ocular controls struggling to focus on him and what he was saying as he leaned down, thrusting into the slow rhythm of his moving grip.

"Are you gonna be able to keep it together if I touch you again?"

In comparison, Connor touching Hank didn't nearly have the same effect as Hank touching Connor; while it left Connor a writhing, moaning mess, Hank's cheeks merely flushed, his breathing deepened, his eyes went dark. He couldn't say how he would react, and the suggestion started an interesting war in his directive as his pulse picked up.

/TOUCHHANK/-I-want-Hank-to-touch-me-

Above all else, he wanted Hank to be happy, and healthy - and touching him was a fast-becoming factor… but it also felt good when Hank touched him in return, and Connor admitted to himself that he wanted more.

Could they do both? It was an interesting question.

"I-I… I don't know," his skin blazed at the brush of Hank's fingers over his stomach towards the fly of his jeans, "but I will try,"

The top button on his jeans was pulled undone, and he trembled at the jittering pull of the zipper of his fly. The erection in his hand pulsed against his palm as he struggled to keep concentration on his pace and grip.

Hank did not help matters, but Connor supposed he might have thought he was when he started kissing him again, and the sensations only increased, stacking on each other. The fabric of the couch against his back. His inner thighs pressed against Hank's legs and sides. The tongue in his mouth, warm and languidly rolling against his. The heat of Hank's breath on his face. The feeling of Hank's erection in his hand as he slowly, carefully stroked him. Hank's fingers finding the waistband of his underwear, fingertip warm and smooth against his lower stomach… the way his synthetic skin seemed to rise to Hank's touch - Hank's hand slipping past that waistband with some difficulty against the elastic-

"Hah-Hank!?"

Are you gonna be able to keep it together if I touch you again?

Oh he was not keeping it together. Not when he tore his mouth away from Hank in a manner that made him wonder if it would be considered rude, just to stutter his name.

The close and shift of Hank's wide, warm palm over his erection was beyond anything he'd experienced so far. He'd jerked up into Hank with the man's weight bearing down on him, one heel braced against the couch and the other against the back of Hank's left thigh as pulses of pleasure pleasure pleasure nailed him from chest to thigh.

With nowhere to go, Connor buried his face in the crevice of Hank's neck and tried to draw his focus back but couldn't. His hand that wasn't around Hank's length was gripping his t-shirt at the shoulder-

And without a kiss to be returned, Hank started kissing and sucking at his neck and ear as his hand moved and gripped him, and Connor was caught in the sea of sensation that he both struggled towards and against.

IS this how humans feel? - He found himself wanting to ask again, but couldn't control his face enough to form the words. Considering Hank's level of sensitivity compared to his own, Connor doubted it somewhat.

He marvelled momentarily at the tangle of limbs and breaths and groans they had become, in their mutual masturbation of each other. He was losing sight of how and where his hands and legs were placed and what Hank was doing beyond fisting and stroking his erection in a tight grip, and how he'd even manage to keep his pace around Hank in return.

It was no wonder humans lost themselves in sex. In other people. In pleasure, or touch.

"Enough," Hank growled impatiently, pulling Connor's hand out from his sweats and letting it go where it may, "just let me… fuck, just let me touch you, okay?"

He found himself nodding, pressing his face against Hank's hair just for something grounding.

Hank moved him, or rather climbed further on him, shifting his hips up further so his neck and back were bent against the armrest, almost like he was being cornered, and the man settled his weight on him fully in a way that was strangely comforting, and he wound both hands through Hank's t-shirt. None-too-gently Hank nudged his head around to kiss him again, shoving his tongue into his mouth so that it made the sensations grow from his head to his knees.

And it was so much.

In an almost instinctual way, to increase the friction or to resemble sex, Connor wasn't sure entirely, but he started to roll his hips up as the tunnel of Hank's hand reached the base of him; thrusting into his grip.

Almost as if to encourage him, Hank's other hand smoothed down his lower back, under his waistband and down to grab a handful of his buttocks, squeezing on the upswing.

Connor could feel Hank smiling against his mouth, and a small, self-satisfied chuckle breathed out of him.