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Connor laughs on the way down, giggling into the hands on his face that slope down his jaw to his neck. Rough, calloused finger tips and palms rasping over the synthskin to his collar bones as Hank guides him over him on their bed. Their, plural, shared. It makes Connor’s chest swell with unnecessary air, forcing his cooling fans to run faster as his body acclimates to the sudden change in heat that rises with the joy he feels at being touched.
It’s a little clumsy, tossing his legs over Hank’s girth to straddle his stomach, nose at his face and facial hair, admiring the feel of it on his own face. It’s harsher than his hands, but it’s got a softness to it in some places that Connor can’t help pushing against.
“You’re rubbing on me like a cat,” Hank grumbles, the words lessened by the smile that curves his lips as he stokes from Connor’s chest to his waist, bringing them closer together as he shifts all the way onto the mattress.
“Actually, Hank,” Connor starts, earning himself a groan as he chuckles against Hank’s neck, “cats rub on objects, animals, and humans as a way to spread their scents, as their scent glands are stored in the pockets of their cheeks.”
Connor pulls away for a moment, staring down at the man under him, grinning warmly at Hank’s warm irritation with him. He’s not even upset, just exasperated with Connor’s continued ridiculous behavior of sharing his limitless knowledge that seeps into even this aspect of their relationship.
The fact that he’s developed habits, behaviors, patterns outside of his initial coding makes Connor irrationally happy. Technically, all of his emotions are irrational, but that’s beside the point. Hank is warm, pliant, and content under him, the soft smirk on his mouth proof that he still finds Connor’s little tics just as endearing as always, no matter when they decide to show themselves.
“Cats are unique like that,” Connor continues, leaning down again to mouth Hank’s jaw, trailing down to his neck, grinning against the skin when Hank sighs and lets his chin tip up toward the ceiling. “Seeing as they can mark territory and possession of objects without having to urinate on everything like dogs do.”
Hank groans and Connor laughs, muffling the sound in the other man’s shoulder as the hands on his hips tighten their grip. He’s effectively ruined the mood Hank was trying to set, but the grip loosens into a squeeze and then Hank’s kneading at his spine where his back dimples, a trait so specifically crafted for him like every freckle and mole that dots his body.
“That’s a very cat-like behavior as well, Hank,” Connors hums, tongue flicking out to lick up Hank’s neck. He’s not sure when this turned into a conversation about their behavior being similar to animals (yes he is, his memory is stored and recoverable at any time—he can’t be unsure), but he doesn’t really mind.
There’s a puff of hair that ruffles the curl on his head, and Connor shifts his gaze up to watch Hank’s mouth move as he speaks.
“As long as you don’t start peeing on me, I think I can handle this,” he grumbles, and Connor chuckles as he settles his weight fully against Hank. “Had enough of getting marked like that when Sumo was a puppy—I don’t need it from anyone else.”
Connor opens his mouth to respond that he is physically unable to urinate, so the likelihood of him doing so on Hank is literally zero percent, but he’s interrupted by a soft ‘boof’ to his left hand side that catches his attention.
Sumo sits primly on the bed next to the bed next to them, chin in his paws as he pants, drool dripping from his jowls as he watches them. As far as Connor is aware, he’s been there the entire time; it was the two of them who had disrupted his afternoon nap in the sunny spot that comes through the missing blind in Hank’s room at this time every day. He can feel his face heating blue, warm under the synthskin there as embarrassment settles in his chest where his pump regulator sits.
The dog had been there the entire time, watching them neck and rub on each other like teenagers. Rationally, Connor knows this is just Sumo, and there’s nothing weird about an animal observing these things, but humans had once assumed the same about androids, and Connor can’t take the risk.
He lets out another soft ‘woof’ sound and Connor stares for a moment longer.
It’s Hank who takes action and Connor laughs as he’s jostled, slipping down Hank’s chest as the man jerks up to chase the dog from the bed, shouting at him to scram. It’s hilariously domestic and even more comedic by how slow Sumo moves, gathering himself with a yawn before dropping off the bed and trotting out the open door. Hank’s gestures and shooing motions only move Connor around further, and he has to turn his face into Hank’s chest to stifle the giggles that bubble from his mouth.
As they calm down, Hank scoots about a bit, repositioning until he’s sitting against the headboard of the bed, Connor resting against his chest, still warm in his lap. He listens to Hank breathe for a minute, counting his heartbeat out and basking in the way his ribs expand in time with his lungs, entirely human and… his. Connor may never have the complexities in his chassis that Hank does, but feeling them like this is infinitely better.
“At least he didn’t uri—“
“Alright, off! You too, out! Go!”
Connor laughs louder now as Hank dumps him from his lap onto the other side of the bed, rolling in on himself as Hank grabs for his side, mouth finding his neck. The ticklish sensation is new and so sharp that Connor squeals along with the torture, loud hiccups of laughter falling from his lips as Hank chuckles into his skin, slowing his hands into a smooth glide over Connor’s own false ribcage, easing the tickling into something soothing and comforting.
It wasn’t how they started, but Connor is more than happy to end his evening curled up in Hank’s arms, warm and safe. It’s the moments like this that make him feel more real, the sharp bursts of emotion and humor in their relationship that remind him that everything will work between them, no matter their differences.
Sumo joins them again later, nosing his way under their feet to join the puddle they’ve melted into on the bed, wrapped up in each other. Connor chuckles into Hank’s chest as the man sighs, resigning himself to the fact that his dog isn’t going to leave them any time soon.
“I love you, Hank.”
“Love you, too, Con.”
Sumo barks at their feet, rubbing his wet nose on their sock clad feet.
“Yeah, yeah, stupid dog, I love you, too!” Hank grumbles down at him.
Connor laughs when the dog huffs loud and long against their toes, settling in again.
This is all he needs.