[ 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. ]
a very, very private indulgence, one that juno takes his time with. he doesn't own many pieces - he's not that kind of lady, he's got better things to spend his money on - but what he does have it well-made, flattering, soft, made of material that presses against his skin like it was meant to be there, like it bloomed over his skin. what he's wearing today under his clothes is a deep maroon color, something he'd found in one of the olympian shops that he couldn't pass up (it's an weakness, sometimes.)
so here he is, undressing for the day to find something softer to wear and fall asleep in. he's slow about removing his clothing initially, maybe because he knows what he's wearing underneath and doesn't want it to catch or pull in any way. he's pretty sure he's alone in the room in any case, starting with his shoes and his socks, kicking them to the side, letting his trousers pool at his ankles and stepping out of them and starting to work loose the buttons on his shirt.
now would be a pretty inopportune time to walk in.
sometimes she wonders why connor keeps coming back to jericho. markus appreciates him, simon forgives him, josh seems to get along with him surprisingly well, but that's about where the generosity ends. the survivors of the revolution are mostly split down the middle - half in fearful reverence of the deus ex machina leading an army into save them, half just in fear of the deviant hunter that led the FBI to them in the first place.
it's maybe not a fair judgement to make, they all performed tasks they didn't want to before breaking their programming, but it's one that they make all the same.
north for her part just doesn't trust him that much. he's so close to that cop still, working back at the DPD still, living in the city in a nice little apartment with a nice little window box, and it's all so quaint and human. it sickens her, and every time she thinks about connor sitting in his stupid apartment it burns at her.
( maybe it's envy. he's assimilated so well, he has human friends, where all north has is rage, rage, rage. )
so the first time she kissed him he left with thirium leaking from his lip and tiny, near imperceptible dents in his chassis that gave connor shaded marks almost close enough to look like bruises once his synth skin was put back in place. and he came back, and she wasn't kind. and it just keeps going.
now the rage has settled somewhat in her stomach but it's easy enough to find it. it's never far from the surface, and she doesn't need the anger to make this pleasurable for the both of them but there's no denying the sweet satisfaction lasts so much longer when she does.
she tugs slightly on connor's tie, steps in to crowd his space and she might be significantly shorter but north feels like she towers over him right now. she's in charge here, no question about it. she smiles slightly and winds her hand around the tie now, twisting it in her hand and holding tight. she doesn't pull hard, not yet, but she's holding the material taut, holding him just close enough that she can lean in and brush her lips against his jaw. )
Did you wear what I asked?
( she's tempted to tug his collar back, drag his shirt down enough to see for herself, but she wants him to answer. the items were light, delicate little pieces that she could already picture against connor's skin. when she made the request she'd half-expected connor to refuse. more than half, actually, she'd thought they might have finally found his limit. but he'd agreed readily, and now here they are.
she hadn't expected connor to be capable of surprising her. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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.
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hey im thirsty pt 2
[ lingerie is...
a very, very private indulgence, one that juno takes his time with. he doesn't own many pieces - he's not that kind of lady, he's got better things to spend his money on - but what he does have it well-made, flattering, soft, made of material that presses against his skin like it was meant to be there, like it bloomed over his skin. what he's wearing today under his clothes is a deep maroon color, something he'd found in one of the olympian shops that he couldn't pass up (it's an weakness, sometimes.)
so here he is, undressing for the day to find something softer to wear and fall asleep in. he's slow about removing his clothing initially, maybe because he knows what he's wearing underneath and doesn't want it to catch or pull in any way. he's pretty sure he's alone in the room in any case, starting with his shoes and his socks, kicking them to the side, letting his trousers pool at his ankles and stepping out of them and starting to work loose the buttons on his shirt.
now would be a pretty inopportune time to walk in.
which is why someone definitely does walk in. ]
hi thirsty im dad
ur android is updating 1%....
estimted time remaining: 163 minutes
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when will we be quenched
sometimes she wonders why connor keeps coming back to jericho. markus appreciates him, simon forgives him, josh seems to get along with him surprisingly well, but that's about where the generosity ends. the survivors of the revolution are mostly split down the middle - half in fearful reverence of the deus ex machina leading an army into save them, half just in fear of the deviant hunter that led the FBI to them in the first place.
it's maybe not a fair judgement to make, they all performed tasks they didn't want to before breaking their programming, but it's one that they make all the same.
north for her part just doesn't trust him that much. he's so close to that cop still, working back at the DPD still, living in the city in a nice little apartment with a nice little window box, and it's all so quaint and human. it sickens her, and every time she thinks about connor sitting in his stupid apartment it burns at her.
( maybe it's envy. he's assimilated so well, he has human friends, where all north has is rage, rage, rage. )
so the first time she kissed him he left with thirium leaking from his lip and tiny, near imperceptible dents in his chassis that gave connor shaded marks almost close enough to look like bruises once his synth skin was put back in place. and he came back, and she wasn't kind. and it just keeps going.
now the rage has settled somewhat in her stomach but it's easy enough to find it. it's never far from the surface, and she doesn't need the anger to make this pleasurable for the both of them but there's no denying the sweet satisfaction lasts so much longer when she does.
she tugs slightly on connor's tie, steps in to crowd his space and she might be significantly shorter but north feels like she towers over him right now. she's in charge here, no question about it. she smiles slightly and winds her hand around the tie now, twisting it in her hand and holding tight. she doesn't pull hard, not yet, but she's holding the material taut, holding him just close enough that she can lean in and brush her lips against his jaw. )
Did you wear what I asked?
( she's tempted to tug his collar back, drag his shirt down enough to see for herself, but she wants him to answer. the items were light, delicate little pieces that she could already picture against connor's skin. when she made the request she'd half-expected connor to refuse. more than half, actually, she'd thought they might have finally found his limit. but he'd agreed readily, and now here they are.
she hadn't expected connor to be capable of surprising her. )