[ juno stares at a single crack in the ceiling, hairline. it spins a little left and right as he examines it - shallow, barely there, visible only because the theia can close in on it and look it up and down. it's murmuring something about beats per minute, blood pressure, foreign... something? something... inside of him. it's asking for permission, but juno squints further at the crack in the ceiling as a shadow moves up beside where he's laying down, familiar silhouette, soft blue light glimmering a little in his peripherals.
no.
no this is fine. it's nice. connor's here. it's whatever.
he doesn't remember how he got "here" in the first place, wherever "here" is, just that he's here, breathing heavily, feeling flush and too hot, tight in his clothing, shifting on a bed that doesn't feel like his because it's too nice. he swears maybe two hours ago he was investigating a case in the red light district - not exactly the best place to be lingering on occasion, but someone had to do it right? the rest of it... well the rest of it's hinky. he remember connor offering to taste? his drink? can robots even taste? why would he even want to? he's been in contact with this client for months now, helping out around the area, why the fuck would anything be off now?
god he's hot.
he blinks upwards heavily, the theia droning on, the crack in the ceiling seeming to stretch even though it definitely doesn't get any bigger in reality. he reaches fingers up to pull at the collar of his shirt, flicks open a few buttons with a laugh because the smooth shifting of the fabric parting on his chest feels nice, cool air touching his skin and then going warm again. he's so goddamn warm.
a hand slaps out to touch neatly pleated fabric of a familiar jacket, thumb the line of perfect seams, touch something in the shape of an R... and a K.
he laughs, and it sounds less like a gunshot, more like water pinging off glass.
he fists fabric in his hand, tugs the jacket, turning his head a little and seeing connor there, looking.
well.
he looks like he always does, maybe with his brows a little more knit and his mouth slightly thinner, but he's still connor. and he tugs hard. ]
Hey. Hey.
[ another tug, reaching out with his second hand and twisting on wherever he's laid down to push at the other lapel while his first hand pulls. the aim is to shove it off connor's shoulders, to see if he'll let him in the first place because like.
computers overheat right? they get hot? and it's getting warmer in here by the second. ]
hey im thirsty
no.
no this is fine. it's nice. connor's here. it's whatever.
he doesn't remember how he got "here" in the first place, wherever "here" is, just that he's here, breathing heavily, feeling flush and too hot, tight in his clothing, shifting on a bed that doesn't feel like his because it's too nice. he swears maybe two hours ago he was investigating a case in the red light district - not exactly the best place to be lingering on occasion, but someone had to do it right? the rest of it... well the rest of it's hinky. he remember connor offering to taste? his drink? can robots even taste? why would he even want to? he's been in contact with this client for months now, helping out around the area, why the fuck would anything be off now?
god he's hot.
he blinks upwards heavily, the theia droning on, the crack in the ceiling seeming to stretch even though it definitely doesn't get any bigger in reality. he reaches fingers up to pull at the collar of his shirt, flicks open a few buttons with a laugh because the smooth shifting of the fabric parting on his chest feels nice, cool air touching his skin and then going warm again. he's so goddamn warm.
a hand slaps out to touch neatly pleated fabric of a familiar jacket, thumb the line of perfect seams, touch something in the shape of an R... and a K.
he laughs, and it sounds less like a gunshot, more like water pinging off glass.
he fists fabric in his hand, tugs the jacket, turning his head a little and seeing connor there, looking.
well.
he looks like he always does, maybe with his brows a little more knit and his mouth slightly thinner, but he's still connor. and he tugs hard. ]
Hey. Hey.
[ another tug, reaching out with his second hand and twisting on wherever he's laid down to push at the other lapel while his first hand pulls. the aim is to shove it off connor's shoulders, to see if he'll let him in the first place because like.
computers overheat right? they get hot? and it's getting warmer in here by the second. ]
Hey, it's hot... take this off. C'mon.