Work Text:
Connor knows he has an issue with denial.
More specifically, he has an issue with denying himself what he wants.
(Honestly, just look at his track record. First, the whole deviant thing, yikes, and then his feelings for Markus, what a mess. )
It all could be chalked up to his overwhelming insecurity in his own self and his identity, yeah, except he doesn't really like thinking about that very much. He simply doesn't believe he deserves many things—like his friends' trust, Hank's care, and, to top it all off, Markus' unconditional love.
So most everyone around him is very determined to make him believe otherwise, when he would rather just curl up into himself and forget about it all. Markus, damn him, is not about that life. Which is why they're here now.
Androids don't sweat but Connor is feeling very close to it right now. His entire system overheats so to compensate his entire form intakes large amounts of oxygen in the form of shuddering breaths. The only blood in his system is blue so his cheeks are dotted with faint sploshes in a simulation of human embarrassment.
Markus' thumb is pressing against his lip. His touch burns. Jeez.
Ask for it, Markus had said, breathless between kisses, encouraging him to open up and ask for more, more, more. Except Connor had said nothing back, had only kissed harder, so here they sit now—Markus waiting for him to either work up the courage or force himself to blurt it out. His entire form is frozen, however, from Markus' touch, as if afraid that, if he were to move, his touch would leave, and Connor would trade the world if it meant having Markus' hands on him again.
He can't bring himself to say it. His body burns with shame.
"It's okay," Markus says, sensing his hesitation. "I want to do what you want."
Oh boy. Is he short-circuiting? Connor runs a quick diagnostic, but even that doesn't tell him much. He doesn't know what to do. This isn't in his programming.
It isn't as if he doesn't know what he wants. Oh, he definitely knows, and he hasn't been able to get it out of his head for weeks since he and Markus began their relationship. In an effort to try and understand the emotions he was feeling, he searched up thousands of movies and stories to figure out just what romance was (Hank teased him endlessly about it), but in the end nothing but trusting in himself and Markus could help him feel that for what it really was. It eventually moved onto... other sources of media, so to speak, where he accidentally came across very strange videos.
And then he couldn't stop thinking about it, thinking about Markus.
It's embarrassing, but the feeling of being torn apart, out in the open like this, under the spotlight—it's an exciting feeling, one that tightens up his abdomen and makes his diagnostics go wild.
He's being told to do something he would usually never do, and that in itself is a rush.
"I—" he tries, but cuts himself off a moment later. Markus' gaze on him leaves him breathless, and he feels his core heating up considerably. He opens his mouth to speak again, and this time the tip of Markus' thumb dips slowly into his mouth, and he shudders when it brushes his ever so sensitive tongue.
Markus raises his eyebrows at the action. "You're allowed to feel, " he says softly, scooting closer. His hand suddenly moves to the back of his head, tangling in the strands of his hair and pulling, so hard that Connor squirms and lets out the tiniest moan. Markus kisses the area where his jaw and neck meet and whispers, "Tell me. It's okay."
Right. It's okay. Everything is fine. Everything is—
"Your—hands," Connor eventually blurts, his sensory inputs overwhelming him with every stroke of Markus' hand. "Uh—your fingers. I want to—" His voice box glitches and gives out for a moment. Connor's eyes widen and he puts a hand on his throat.
Markus slowly shifts his hand back to Connor's mouth, and gently taps two fingers against his lips. "My fingers? Here?"
Connor closes his eyes and nods quickly, feeling his system expel a bit of heat to keep himself from shutting down. Feeling Markus' fingers prying his mouth open, he parts his lips and finally, finally, three of Markus' fingers are stroking at his tongue, the roof of his mouth, the inside of his cheeks. He squirms, and shakily opens his eyes to see Markus watching his fingers move around in his mouth, in awe, almost amazement, but with a definite hazy look across his eyes.
He closes his lips and sucks, one of his hands instinctively wrapping around Markus' wrist so he doesn't have the chance to pull back (if anything, he only pulls his fingers in deeper—androids can't gag, anyway). He drags his tongue on the pad of his forefinger, grazing his teeth against the three fingers before opening his mouth again and urging Markus to just—just—
"Connor," Markus breathes, eyes blown wide, hands trembling.
He pulls his fingers from Connor's mouth and the latter lets out a disappointed whine, making childish grabby hands to get him back, but then Markus pushes him down to the bed by his throat and holds him there. Connor freezes, his system giving him error reports every five seconds. He squirms against the bed, but Markus only pushes him down harder, and while androids don't need to breathe his body tries to expel all the overheating by forcing him to intake oxygen—the hand around his throat stops that, and makes him feel almost floaty with how warm he is.
Connor has never been more turned on in his life.
His hand is still wrapped around Markus' wrist, and he digs his nails into it, seeing the skin be shed away in favor of white. "Please, " he begs, opening his mouth again. "Please, Markus, I-I want it—" And apparently that was enough, for Markus leans over and shoves his other hand into his mouth, not even letting him control the movements. He's completely under the other's mercy, and, god, it's really hot.
There's four of his fingers in his mouth, one of them pressing on his bottom set of teeth to keep his mouth pried open, the others swirling around his tongue and scratching against the roof of his mouth. Something wet spills over his lips and slicks down his chin; Connor is sure he looks like a mess, but he doesn't care. He's too far gone to do anything else but moan and squirm and arch up against Markus' hands. When he closes his eyes all he sees are warnings and errors about his system overheating, about anomalies, and the big one, software instability detected.
(So be it.)
"Does it feel good?" Markus asks, his voice hushed, but how could Connor reply to that? Like this? He simply nods, far too fast and far too eager, and gives a shaky moan around Markus' fingers. He feels something hard press against his hip, and whimpers—god, he's so close, Markus has barely done anything and everything feels too much. Markus tightens the grip around his throat and Connor lets out a strangled whine, his voice glitching and skipping over—shit, shit, shit. "You're doing so good. Are you gonna come just from this?" Yes, he tries, but he can only toss his head back and furiously suck and bite at the hand in his mouth. Markus is lazily grinding against him, and every touch has him going wild, has him inching closer and closer—
"You can do it, baby," Markus says, kissing Connor's forehead. "You're so pretty when you come."
Fuck. Shit. Goddamn it. Connor shakes when Markus' other hand presses into his jaw and he strokes his fingers over his sensitive tongue over and over and over and over—
"Ah—sh—it—! "
His body spasms and his voice system malfunctions, it feels so good he thinks he's going insane, and he chokes and sobs as his body expels its own version of an orgasm. Even built without sexual modifications, the pleasure that overtakes his body and wracks through his wires has him seeing nothing but white for a moment, whining around Markus' fingers and letting what he now knows is saliva drool down his face.
It takes him quite some time to cool down—he breathes heavily and blinks rapidly, his system struggling to process what just happened. His LED shifts from yellow to red then back to blue. He feels Markus remove himself from his body, and he weakly protests, but sighs when Markus returns with something to wipe all the drool off his face. He shuts his eyes, wrinkling his nose when the rough surface of the wipe tickles his chin, and opens them again to see Markus looking down at him as if he were the most important thing in the world.
He's not, his mind immediately tells him, but he decides to ignore it. After all, it's just him and Markus right now. No revolution, no responsibilities.
Just love.
(He would have deviated a lot earlier if it meant having Markus look at him like this.)
Connor feels warm and fuzzy and he smiles lazily up at him. "Thank you," he slurs, his voice still a bit funky, static in its underlying tone.
Markus cups his face and kisses him, soft and slow. "Of course," he murmurs against his lips, and moves down to kiss at his jaw, his neck, his shoulder.
When he finally starts feeling more like himself again, Connor takes advantage of Markus' distraction and suddenly grips him between his legs, his hand smoothing around the hardness he feels there. Markus gasps sharply, his fists clenching at Connor's sides, and looks up at him with a confused, but not protesting look.
He grins.
"My turn."