SUMMARY: Connor impulsively buys Hank a slutty maid outfit.
WORD COUNT: 2484
Connor was almost never one to act on impulse, but when he was browsing stores online- one of his favorite hobbies, though he jumped to new ones often- something caught his eye. It was one of those skimpy maid outfits and Connor remembered Hank had talked about how there'd been a craze for them years back. People often put their significant others in maid costumes, and when Connor simulated Hank in one, both he and his dick decided they definitely saw the appeal.
Connor had ordered Hank the maid outfit, but it arrived while Connor was out running errands. He had been alerted of its delivery and hurried, but not before Hank found the package at the doorstep.
Hank waited for Connor to get back though, and Connor looked fearful as he entered the house.
"Looking for something?" Hank teased as he shook the box gently in his arms. Connor was relieved that Hank at least hadn't opened it yet.
"You open it," Connor told him and he seemed to be bracing himself. Hank did as asked and just laughed past the blush on his face when he saw the folded maid costume.
"Really, Con? You gonna get all dre..." Hank trailed off as he took it out and his face fell.
It wasn't Connor's size. Even though Hank had no right, he felt upset.
"Why would..." Hank started, before sighing and trying not to snap at Connor. He'd never been very good at controlling his anger, but he knew Connor didn't have bad intentions with the gift. If anything, Connor probably had some extremely thought out explanation that Hank hadn't even let him give.
Connor told him to forget about it and apologized, and it'd be abandoned in their closet. Or, at least, that's what the plan was until Hank started fantasizing more and more about it, then realizing how much he really did want it. He tried it on and he couldn't say he loved how he looked but the idea of serving Connor was enough to ignore it. He'd had to get himself off in the costume when his fantasies became too overwhelming, the outline of his erection blatantly visible through the skirt where he'd sat on his bed. Connor was visiting Markus to discuss android politics or some shit– shit that Hank would normally care about, but couldn't bring himself to do so at the moment.
Hank bit his lip and jerked himself off, still in the damn outfit, and imagined Connor's hand was on him instead. It wasn't exactly realistic; Connor's hands were much smaller, his fingers were slender and soft. It worked enough, though, and Hank came with a shout that he muffled with his other hand.
Since then, Hank always found himself drawn back to the costume when Connor would go out, leaving Hank alone. Alone with the exception of Sumo, but Hank always made sure to keep the door closed for that reason... Except when he didn't.
He'd been quite careless, in retrospect, but in his defense, Connor was the one who'd given him a deep kiss before leaving the house, hand dangerously close to Hank's ass where it had gripped his lower back.
Unbeknownst to Hank, Connor had noticed the use of the costume, though he'd never spoken anything of it. It'd be hard for Connor, of all people, to not notice the minute movements in its location and traces of semen, sweat, and DNA that lingered on the fabric. Connor kept it quiet, though; If Hank wanted it to be discussed, he'd discuss it, said the logical part of Connor.
But another part of him knew that Hank would never communicate any sort of want of that sort, especially one that came with such vulnerability. Connor knew him well enough to know exactly what he had to do to corner the lieutenant and he struggled to regulate his thirium flow when he pre-constructed it. He began deliberately scanning groceries in the store just to distract himself, his grip needlessly tight as he steered the cart.
When the hacked taxi pulled in front of their house, Connor was grateful he'd hijacked the cab in order to get home faster. He opened the front door without a sound, suddenly grateful for the stealth he'd forgotten was programmed into him. He'd stopped entirely as the door clicked shut behind him and he could hear Hank from their bedroom.
Connor quietly set down the groceries on the table, deliberately having made sure to not buy anything that needed to be refrigerated. He'd removed his shoes at the door and now padded silently into the hallway toward their bedroom, as though he were stalking Hank, prepared to pounce.
Connor watched through the crack in the door that Hank had helpfully left open slightly. Hank was palming his erection with his eyes scrunched shut and the costume on. Connor's attempts to keep his thirium flow stable inevitably fell apart at that second and he stumbled as his cock quickly filled against his thigh, thirium redistributing and making him dizzy. He held his artificial breath and stayed completely still, though Hank luckily didn't seem to hear the way he'd almost fallen into the room.
In fact, Hank hadn't even flinched, groaning into his hand as he rocked his hips up into the other, the costume still on. The costume that looked absolutely delicious on Hank, hugging his curves in all the right places.
Connor felt a strange eagerness– something he found was probably comparable to adrenaline in humans– and he couldn't help but recreate his metaphor of a predator pouncing. He pushed up on the door the rest of the way, movements calculated and unheard by the man lost in his own pleasure. Hank's eyes were still closed even as Connor stood near him, and Connor drank in the sight of Hank falling apart before his eyes.
"Beautiful," Connor decided he had the nerve to speak, and Hank quite literally jumped. His eyes snapped open and he had begun to move his hand away, before realizing that this was quite incriminating as it was. Hank's pupils were blown wide and his pale blue eyes were darker than Connor had ever seen them and it was magnetizing.
"Um, fuck," Hank blinked, and Connor didn't dare tear his eyes away for a second. He made a show of looking Hank up and down, though he didn't enjoy the way Hank had curled in on himself when he did this.
"Hank," Connor muttered, slipping a hand over Hank's. "I never told you to stop."
"Shit," Hank said as Connor got onto the bed with him.
"Come here, baby," Connor ordered, though his tone was patient. Hank looked where Connor had his hands on his thighs, legs open as he offered up the space between them. Hank shifted to do what Connor asked of him and Connor could hear his breath catch when he felt Connor's length pressed against his lower back, prominent despite the layers that separated them.
"Thank you, pretty boy," Connor praised, wrapping one arm around Hank to trace his hand across Hank's chest. He dared to slip his fingers underneath the dress at the collar, easily finding Hank's nipple and rolling it between his fingers skillfully and leaning in, muttering, "My pretty boy."
"Ahh, Con," Hank strained and Connor could feel Hank trembling.
"Relax, love, I've got you," Connor whispered into Hank's ear, kissing his bearded jaw. Even with one arm wrapped around Hank, Hank was secured there, though he certainly squirmed when Connor's free hand roamed the opened backside of the skirt.
"Even the panties, mm?" Connor hummed, finger tracing the lace torturously lightly. "I need to see you in those."
Connor turned Hank around with surprisingly little effort. Hank's legs splayed on either side of Connor and he was only being held up by his own hands.
"Fuck," Connor groaned, hands on either side of Hank's ass and admiring the view. "Just begging for me to fuck it."
"It is- ah," Hank pushed back into Connor's hands, which were now white plastic rather than synthskin. "It is begging."
"So needy," Connor said, though really he was glad for Hank relaxing and asking for what he wanted. "I might just have to give you what you're asking for."
"Please," Hank breathed, his face buried in a pillow and words barely audible. Connor smirked, deciding to give no warning before pulling the pretty lace down. Hank made a startled sound and Connor found that even with his face hidden from view, Hank looked so pretty from this angle. He leaned forward and, to Hank's surprise, pressed the flat of his tongue against Hank's asshole.
"Connor!" Hank gasped, his face leaving the pillow to look back at the scene. Connor kept one hand spreading him and the other held Hank's hand while he gently licked along his entrance.
"Relax for me," Connor mumbled against him and Hank did the opposite for a moment, twitching and moaning, but managed to take a deep breath and calmed himself. Connor's tongue pushed past his entrance with little resistance then, making Hank's knees buckle. Connor used the stark white hand on Hank's ass to keep him up, having no trouble redistributing the man's weight while focusing on the movements of his tongue.
"Connor," Hank mumbled, repeating it as though it were a mantra. Connor got a thrill out of it, hearing his name in that hoarse, pleading voice over and over again. He had taken it upon himself to essentially fuck Hank's ass with his tongue and Hank was pushing back on him desperately like an animal in heat.
"Want my cock, pretty baby?" Connor asked when he briefly pulled his tongue out, immediately going to put it back in and make it difficult for Hank to answer. As expected, there were three pathetic sounds before Hank could form any coherent words.
"Yes, please," Hank said, and while Connor thought it was sweet, there was more he wanted.
"Yes, please, who?" Connor challenged. Connor could see the metaphorical cogs turning in Hank's head, his face changing several times before settling back on the flushed, lustful and embarrassed expression he had hitherto worn.
"Please, master?" Hank spoke it like a question, but it was all Connor needed. His hand left Hank where it was holding him up and shot out to instead grab a bottle of lubricant. Without the stabilization, Hank fell into the bed entirely, and Connor took it upon himself to use his other hand to turn Hank over on his back. He lifted the skirt of the dress and gave himself leeway. He freed his aching cock, covering its eight inches in slick lube; what he lacked in girth, he made up for in length.
"Say it again," Connor muttered darkly, one hand on Hank's thigh and the other aligning himself against Hank's entrance.
"Please, master," Hank begged, and his words were much clearer without the pillow against his face. Which, in retrospect, was obvious, but it was a very pleasant change, and Connor couldn't help but give him what he was asking for that time, pushing in slowly.
"Hank," Connor gasped at the way Hank took him so well, and he was so tight it felt like he was trying to milk Connor's cock. He didn't want to hurt Hank, but he was far too impatient to sit there all day, and the moment he could feel Hank relax around the little bit of him he'd managed to put in, he eased more of himself inside of him. "You're okay, right?"
"Yeah," Hank breathed, and despite his quick answer, he seemed to be comforted that Connor checked in. Connor made a note to do that more often, though he'd usually double-check with Hank as it was; the man wasn't exactly the best at communicating what he really wanted, but Connor knew he was trying. "Connor, damn it."
"What is it?" Connor asked teasingly, knowing that his lack of movement was irritating and that Hank's patience was likely wearing thin.
"Move already," Hank snapped and by the looks of it, he immediately regretted it.
"I think you've forgotten who's in charge here," Connor muttered. "I could pull out of you right now and leave you to finish yourself off. Ask nicely or get nothing at all."
"Please, master, move," Hank whined. Connor was glad he could teach the man some manners since he clearly needed to learn. Even with the error messages in his vision and a blaring red LED, Connor was still in control, and he loved it.
"That's more like it," Connor said. "Good slut."
"Mhm," Hank hummed, mindless as soon as Connor slid home and filled him entirely. It was a tight fit, but it was just enough, and Connor couldn't resist picking up the pace. Hank's eyes were scrunched shut and he blindly reached for Connor's hand, which Connor held comfortingly, a real contrast to the movement of his hips that was growing to be sporadic.
"You look so pretty in that, you know," Connor whispered, giving Hank a long look up and down. He really did look pretty. Hank's eyes opened and they were genuinely teary. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but every time he'd part his lips to speak, all that would come out is another pleasured sound. Connor wrapped his hand around Hank's cock that had gone neglected, stroking fast to match his uneven pace. Connor could tell Hank was close. "Let go, pretty slut."
Hank came with a whimper, white plastic painted with more white as it milked Hank of his climax. Hank's eyes opened and looked right into Connor's and that's what did it. Connor leaned down and kissed Hank's neck, muffling his mechanical cry in the warm skin there as he filled Hank with artificial android semen. A minute passed of them laying in bed, attempting to catch their breath, though, for Connor, it was hardly necessary. He just needed to cool his systems, relieved to see error messages fade as his processors caught up. He slid out of Hank with a quiet breath and Connor picked his head up from the crook of Hank's neck. His lips parted slightly in surprise when he saw the dark bruise he'd left there.
"I'm sorry," Connor blinked. "Does that hurt?"
"It's okay, really," Hank insisted, his face flushing with more color. "Trust me."
Hank likes bruises Connor noted, knowing he could use his strength. He got tissues from the bedside table and cleaned them up, tossing them in the trash bin with obnoxious precision. Hank rolled his eyes at Connor's pride and Connor grinned at him.
"C'mon," Connor mumbled, leaning back in bed. "Take that off so I can hold you properly."
Even in telling Hank to take it off, though, Connor found that any regrets about the maid costume were gone.