peach!

He didn’t know where he had caught it from. He knew that Black Sapphire Cookie and Candy Apple Cookie were cookies that went out, not staying put in the spire, so maybe one of them had picked up something and passed it to him, but… he had a good immune system. It came with his (previous) profession. Being coughed and sneezed on as a healer countless times made him build some tolerance.

And yet, he had gotten sick. And he had gotten sick fast.

It had started with a tickle in his throat, a small one. That was no bother—he didn’t do much talking these days, anyways. Even though it had been relatively short since he had first become Truthless, he felt as if he had been living life like this for ages. So where a light sore throat normally would’ve bothered him before, to Truthless Recluse now, it was meaningless.

Except it didn’t stay just that. That night, alone in his room, he had sneezed for the first time, a harbinger of many more to come. It had rushed out of him all at once, so itchy, giving him barely enough to even think about covering the spray.

The next morning, he woke up with his throat feeling rawer than sandpaper. There was already the beginning of a headache stirring in him, and as he sat up, bleary-eyed, his nose began to drip. And then–

“hhih– hi’SCHIEW–”

With the tiny bits of morning light filtered in the room, Truthless Recluse could see the droplets in the air, a mist of infection that slowly dispersed through the room, and before he could even react—

He sneezed again. And again. And again.

By the time he had wound down from his fit, about seven sneezes later, he felt terrible. His headache had already worsened, his nose was perpetually dripping, and he could feel the beginning of a fever boiling in his jam. Whatever it was, it had come on quickly, and it had come on hard.

He wasn’t a fool. He knew he was sick, somehow. Briefly, he considered this being one of Shadow Milk Cookie’s ploys, but what use would he get out of making Truthless Recluse sick? Other than his misery, which he supposed might’ve been enough for the Beast.

Still. He needed food. Assuming that this wasn’t Shadow Milk Cookie’s doing, Truthless Recluse would prefer to keep this to himself. He could already picture it, Shadow Milk Cookie clinging onto him, pestering him endlessly and being so overbearing when all he wanted right now was to rest.

So he had gone out, walking through the endless halls of the spire. He knew Shadow Milk Cookie could be watching him at any time. (Something almost like tension, bitterness in his jam at that, because yes, he knew that very well.) This spire was his, after all. So he tried to keep any symptoms of sickness to a minimum, offering himself only sniffles and stifled sneezes as he dragged himself through the halls.

It took him longer than usual to make it to the dining room, but once he arrived, he began to stockpile. He had a bag he had brought with him, and in a rush, he threw in the plainest food they had lying around. Bread, crackers, and a few apples. It would have to do.

Walking back to his room was quiet. For a brief, fleeting moment, he foolishly thought that maybe he had gotten away with it, and maybe he could just lock himself in his room the next week and just be in peace—

“Well, well, well! What do we have here?”

Fuck.

Just a couple steps away from his door, from salvation, Truthless Recluse came to a stop and glared to his left.

There he was, floating just a few inches above the ground. Shadow Milk Cookie, looking smug, grinning like the cat that caught the canary. With a sweep of his cane, he hooked Truthless closer to him, grabbing onto his robes.

“I haven’t seen you in AGESSS!!!” Truthless Recluse tried to yank himself backwards, make a run for his door, but Shadow Milk just laughed, holding tight onto the sleeve of his robe. “Aw, come on. Tell me, how’s my favorite lesser half doing?” Shadow Milk Cookie tilted his head, fake-innocence.

Truthless Recluse couldn’t respond. He knew he couldn’t. His voice was raspy, it’d give him away immediately. So instead, he settled to just glare. Not like that was much different than usual.

“Really? The silent treatment?? I gotta say–” Shadow Milk Cookie started, but Truthless Recluse was distracted, because there was a tickle blooming in his nose, mucus dripping down– “, Nilly, that’s so dreadfully unoriginal!!”

Shadow Milk Cookie took his hand, interlocking their fingers, and twirled him, the facsimile of dance. Swaying gleefully, as if he was having the time of his life, he just wouldn’t stop talking, rambling about how “You’re so gloomy these days!! And here I thought you’d be liberated, letting go of those pesky things you call Truths–”, all the while Truthless Recluse’s breath began to hitch softly, futilely trying to fight back, because he couldn’t sneeze now, not in front of–

“hheh–hgNSXTGh!”

Shadow Milk went still, grip on him loosening.

Seizing the opportunity, Truthless Recluse pulled his hand back, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. Witches, even with a stifle he still felt so drippy. There was a trail of mess that gleamed on his hand, one he fought not to grimace at. Ugh. The cat was out of the bag already, so he allowed himself a few sniffles too, crackling a bit with congestion.

“...I would prefer to rest n- now–,” he started to rasp out, voice quiet, but then his snagged. Fuck, not again, why was his nose so itchy—

“hhi-gNSXGth!!” Another stifle, unsatisfying. He wanted nothing more than to just sneeze in peace, in the privacy of his own space, but Shadow Milk was still there, and…

…Was weirdly still, actually. The Beast’s expression was carefully blank, and Truthless Recluse felt a prickle of unease feeling all of his eyes staring at him, pinning him to the spot.

Then, before he could even blink, Shadow Milk Cookie’s demeanor shifted. Almost excited, he clapped his hands together, breaking into his classic grin. “So that’s what you were hiding! My poor little puppet caught a cold, hm??”

Still floating, he leaned in closer to Truthless’ face, almost inspecting him, even as he reared back. Shadow Milk gave a considering hum, tilting his head. “Wow, you look awful. Your nose is so red—” and at that, Shadow Milk Cookie dragged his fingernail down the bridge of Truthless Recluse’s nose, and fuck--

“hhignXGth!! hhih–hitcNXGTh!!!! Ah, fuck–” Truthless gasped out, so sensitive. Gods, the itch was almost unbearable at this point. His back was practically pressed against the wall at this point, trying to avoid a repeat of that. “S-stop that–” he forced out, trying to calm down his hitching breaths.

“Language!” Shadow Milk Cookie crowed, before leaning in again. “You keep stifling. Hasn’t anyone ever told you those are bad for you??” He scoffed, derisive. “I mean, seriously, what kind of healer are you?”

Shadow Milk Cookie was so close that Truthless Recluse could feel the puffs of his breath against his fever-warm dough. Witches, what an idiot, why couldn’t he just spare them both the embarrassment and go away–

“I’ll stop stifling when I can rest alone,” he shot back, “And you’re– hhih– going to catch this at this rate. Go.”

The old Pure Vanilla wouldn’t have been caught dead like this. Dripping with mess, sniffling back mucus and not bothering to cover his stifled sneezes. But he couldn’t find it in him to care. And even after what he just said, a bitter part of him didn’t even care if Shadow Milk Cookie really did catch this. What did it really change? It’d just be another thing shared between the two of them. Two sides of the same souljam, forever linked.

“Please. Beast of Desciet over here. Just because some silly old cold is enough to take you down doesn’t mean I’m as weak,” Shadow Milk Cookie replied. And okay, Truthless Recluse thought, that was just blatantly a lie. He knew Shadow Milk Cookie could most definitely still get sick, all cookies could.

Before he could argue back, though, Shadow Milk grinned wickedly. “Tell you what, I’ll do you a favor!” And his hair began to writhe, surging forward to hold Truthless Recluse in place— “Just let me help you out with your little problem there.”

The tendrils of darkness curled upwards, a couple strands of it slithering towards his nose, and Witches, no, goddamnit, he wouldn’t–

A tendril slipped inside, immediately becoming soaked in mucus. And with that, the tickle in his nose exploded, practically burning as he tried to pull his head back. The damage was already done, though, and his head slammed against the wall behind him as the tendrils made it back in to caress his red, irritated nostrils, burning warm and flaring as he hitched one last desperate time before—

“hheh-TSCHIEW!!”

The first sneeze was practically explosive. All his built up mess sprayed out at once, coating Shadow Milk Cookie in a mist of infection. One sneeze was not nearly enough to sate the itch, though, and before he could even move, his breath hitched again–

“hi’SCHIEW!! het’scHEW!!!” More mess, strings of mucus that were immediately pushed back by more tendrils, trying to claw their way back into his nose to tickle him further, “heTSCHIEW!! heh-hi’SCHEIW!!!” A damp spot forming on Shadow Milk’s clothes, dripping downwards, gleaming with the promise of contagion, “hiTSCHIEW!! W-hihh– witches, y-you hihh-hit’XGCHIEWW!!!! eh’tCHIEW!!!”

The tendrils receded.

And there Shadow MIlk Cookie stood, absolutely coated in mess and germs. His dough practically seemed to shimmer with it, glowing in the light of the hallway. A small string of mess connected from the side of his neck to Truthless Recluse’s red, twitching nose.

Shadow Milk Cookie’s expression was, once again, almost carefully blank for a few moments. Staring wide-eyed, all of his eyes raking across Truthless Recluse’s frame. And Witches, he knew he probably looked awful right now. He felt awful. His nose still itched, satisfied enough for now but still twitching with the promise of future sneezes. Sniffling, he wiped away the rest of the mess on him. At least Shadow Milk Cookie would most definitely get infected now.

And just as he thought that, the Cookie re-animated, cackling and floating away. “Better clean yourself up! Don’t say I never did anything for you, Nilly!” before opening a small portal behind him and vanishing through it.

Eugh. Truthless Recluse waited for a moment before sighing, scrubbing again at his irritated nose before opening the door to his room and heading inside. He needed some rest.

(What he missed, though: Shadow Milk Cookie, in the privacy of his room. Face flushed, letting the facade drop. Replaying the scene over and over again in his head. And then curling up on his bed that night, almost anxiously awaiting the morning and his incoming infection.)

---

“ha’aTSCIHEGW!!”

Truthless Recluse sat up from bed at the muffled noise. That… wasn’t him. If anything, it sounded like someone just outside, passing through the hallway.

Surely it wasn’t already…

Slowly, he pushed himself upwards, and carefully cracked open the door to peek outside.

Shadow Milk Cookie floated past the doorway, and Witches, he looked awful. His dough was paler than usual, the strongest hint of color on him being the flushed blue tinge to his nose. And speaking of his nose, the edges of it were wet and dripping, as he kept sniffling back mess from his upper lip, trying to keep in contained. His hair dripped behind him as well, the tendrils turning almost into liquid and leaving a faint trail of shadowy mess in his wake.

Oh.

Truthless Recluse couldn’t help the bits of schadenfreude at the sight, of a quiet sense of satisfaction. Shadow Milk Cookie only had himself to blame for that.

And just as he almost turned the corner, Shadow Milk Cookie paused, quickly reaching to his pocket to yank out a handkerchief as he reared backwards, and–

“h’ETSCHIGIEW!! Hahh…h’ATSHCHIEW!!”

Only half the mess managed to be contained in the handkerchief. The rest freely misted outwards, ready to infect the next poor unfortunate soul walking through the halls. With a groan, Shadow Milk Cookie turned the corner and left, no longer in view.

Connor pauses, taking in a deep breath and looking straight at Hank while trying to sound serious.

“Hank, I have a confession to make.” He swallows back the gunk in his throat, wanting to make sure he sounds as normal as possible despite his cold.

Surprisingly, Hank remains deceived, not aware that Connor is sick nor of his plan. He gets up from the couch, and starts heading toward Connor, until the two of them are face to face.

"...Everything alright, Connor? Not about to confess a murder or somethin, are you?" Hank quips, somewhat weakly. Connor laughs awkwardly, before clearing his throat. He looks at him and takes in a deep breath.

“No, Hank. Nothing like that. But it’s still of rather pressing importance.” The cold germs in Connor’s body continue to spread, and his voice is beginning to sound more and more stuffed up.

Hank is very lost. "Well, spit it out already, come on.” Despite his tone, he isn't actually mad at Connor, more just concerned.

Connor takes in a breath and speaks again, slowly.

“Hank, I'm…” He pauses, swallowing back more of the mucus in his throat and continuing to speak despite his voice sounding like it is full of cold germs. “...I have a cold.” Connor’s voice is beginning to sound quite stuffed up, and finally, Hank realizes that he is actually sick.

Hank's eyes widen, and he gets a bit closer, cautiously. He can see now how stuffy Connor’s nose is, and how much its dripping. "Damn. An android with a cold. Now that's something you don't see every day."  His attempt at a quip is quickly disregarded, and he looks at Connor with concern. Quickly, he adds on. "Are you... like, fuck, I don't know, OK? Not dying?"

Connor blinks and look at Hank in confusion. “My cold will not kill me, Hank. However, I must inform you that I cannot fight this cold, and I am going to progressively become sicker and sicker as the cold virus replicates in my body.”

He pauses, considering if he should go into more detail about my sickness. The thought excites him, though he doesn’t want to admit that to Hank. “Would you like me to explain the stages of my sickness to you, Hank?” He asks, hesitantly.

Hank looks at Connor warily. Gently, he places a hand on his forehead. Almost burned, he jerks his hand back and pulls away. "Christ, you're warm…" He mutters.

The lieutenant pauses then, as he considers his offer. Finally, he says "I guess. Yeah. Wanna know how bad it is."

Connor nod and take a deep breath once again. He scans his databases for his data on colds. “Currently, I am in the incubation stage of the cold. This is where the cold virus is replicating itself in my body, increasing in number with each passing second. Once the incubation stage is over, I will begin to experience the onset stage. This means that my symptoms will become more obvious, and I will be more clearly sick. My symptoms will get much worse, and I will experience coughing, sneezing and a runny nose.”

Hank interrupts, snorting a bit "You seem pretty sick to me already."

Then, he seems to hesitate a bit, blushing, before grabbing Connor’s arm lightly and leading him to the couch.

"C'mon, siddown already. Can't stand seeing you stand up looking like you're about to keel over." He says, a lot more gruff than the gentle touch on his arm would suggest.

Connor nods and sit down on the couch, not wanting to inconvenience Hank by refusing his request.

“Thank you, Hank.” There’s a small box of tissues nearby, and he reaches forward, snatching one, before wiping his nose with a tissue. It becomes soaked and unusable rather quickly.

He continues. “Then, I will progress into the peak stage. My cold will be nearly at its worst during this stage, and I will be very sick and miserable. However, the peak stage is the beginning of the end. After that stage, I will enter the recovery stage, in which my symptoms will begin to gradually disappear.”

Hank nods, half-listening. "Well, alright. Sounds helluva lot similar to human colds. Pretty much identical."

He pauses, and then suddenly seems to realize something.

"Are you.... like, contagious?"

Connor nods, hesitantly. A part of him is a bit annoyed he can’t do his plan completely in secret anymore, but oh well.

“Yes, Hank. You are correct, I am contagious. My cold virus can be passed from others by coughing, sneezing, touching, and even talking to them. I am the perfect vector for the cold virus to spread, actually.” Connor’s nose begins constantly dripping with mucus now, red and inflamed.

Hank seems a bit taken aback, both at the fact that androids are contagious and also at Connor’s description of his state. "Oh. Well... shit." is all he says.

He's a bit concerned about being infected, but is ultimately more concerned about Connor’s wellbeing. And so, he looks at Connor’s nose dripping, and sighs.

"Wipe your nose a bit, Connor. Here." Hank hands Connor another tissue.

He accepts the tissue and wipes his nose with it, trying to clean up some of the mucus.

“Sorry about that, Hank.” Connor says.

“The cold virus is particularly contagious right now, as I am in the incubation stage and the cold virus is at its peak in terms of how contagious it is.” Connor’s voice is even more stuffed up than before, and his expression wavers.

Hank takes note of the way Connor’s eyes glaze over a bit, recognizing that expression.

"Connor, you gonna sneeze?"

He nods.

“Yes, Hank. I am going to sneeze.” He looks at Hank intently, desperately wanting to sneeze all over his face. His body is filled to the brim with cold germs, and all of them want to be spread across Hank. The urge to sneeze is getting harder and harder to resist.

Hank is completely unaware of Connor’s desire, however, simply staring at him, vaguely intrigued by the sight of an android about to sneeze.

Connor eventually can't resist any more. Slowly, he spreads his fingers to half-cover his nose and mouth with his hand, trying to hold the sneeze back. But it's no use. He lets out a huge, loud sneeze. “Hah-CHIEW!” The cold germs are released from his nose, flying between the gaps of Connor’s fingers, and coat Hank's face in a fine mist of cold virus.

Hank sputters, clearly taken aback. He's not as upset as he probably should be, more like just slightly disgusted, but also more concerned at Connor’s state. He grabs a tissue and wipes his face off, unknowingly spreading more germs onto him as he breathes in. "Fuckin hell, Connor. That’s disgusting." He cringes, feeling the moisture on his skin.

Connor looks at Hank, a smile spreading across his face.

“Sorry about that, Hank. I was desperately trying not to sneeze on you, but my body was too full of germs. I couldn't help myself.” He laughs a bit, happy to have successfully infected Hank. Or so he hoped. His LED flashed a happy blue despite his germ-ridden state.

Hank stares at Connor, a bit bewildered. "Alright, clearly I'm missing something here.” He starts, giving him a once-over. “What's got you so smiley?"

Connor’s smile grows bigger on his face as he answers Hank's question.

“Well, Hank, I just sneezed on you. As a result, I have now effectively infected you with my cold virus. Now you will experience all of the uncomfortable symptoms that I have felt so far, but much worse.” He laughs quietly at Hank once again, knowing that he will become sick just  the same way he has.

Hank pales a bit. "Hey, come on now, Connor.” He barks out. “There's no way for sure we know I'm infected yet, right? It was just one sneeze."

Connor smiles even wider at Hank. “Hank, one sneeze is all it takes. The cold virus can spread through respiratory droplets that come from the mouth and nose. One simple sneeze was all it took for me to be infected. One stray sneeze from a deviant on our case, and I was infected.” His eyes lid, giving Hank a lustful stare. “And it will be the case for you as well. You have most certainly become infected, Hank, and you will experience this cold in it’s entirety.”

Hank’s very lost at the whole situation, and he groans. "Alright, alright. Look, I'm gonna go wash my face off. Maybe I won't get infected." A small part of him knows he's putting off the inevitable, though. Regardless, he heads to the bathroom. 

“Yes, Hank, go and wash your face off. That will totally prevent your infection.” Connor says sarcastically, knowing that Hank will become infected no matter what he tries to do to prevent it. It’s inevitable.

He looks around the room, trying to figure out what items belong to Hank so that Connor can spread his germs all over them. He spots Hank's phone, and pick it up. He then begins to gently stroke the screen with his wet hands until his germs are thoroughly spread onto it before smiling, satisfied. He sets Hank's phone back down on the table, before noticing Hank's wallet laying on the coffee table, innocuously, along with a cup of water he was drinking. Connor’s eyes light up.

From the bathroom, Hank shouts at Connor as he washes his face, unaware of what he’s doing. "Don't appreciate your sass, Connor."

He looks over at the two items and smirks. Hank is getting sick whether he likes it or not.

“Perhaps I should be more clear, Lieutenant.” Connor starts, voice playful. “My words were meant to be sarcastic. I do not actually think that washing your face will prevent your infection. That is not my true belief. I simply wished to make you aware of the fact that my cold virus will infect you no matter what you try to do to prevent it.” He pauses for a second, before walking over to the coffee table and grabbing Hank's wallet. Carefully, he opens the wallet and begins to spread his germs all over the inside of it.

Connor listens as Hank groans audibly from the bathroom. "Yeah, yeah, you plastic prick. You'll eat your words when I turn out fine.”

Bemused, Connor shakes his head at Hank's words, chuckling to himself.

“Oh, I cannot wait for that day to come, Hank. It will be a day of great satisfaction, I assure you.” Nose twitching, he holds in a sneeze and then spares a glance at Hank's water glass. Connor picks up Hank’s water glass and take a small sip, before setting it back down on the table. Just to seal the deal, the tickle Connor was holding back comes back with a vengeance, and he sneezes, spraying all over Hank’s water glass a cloud of germs.

Hank finally comes back in a second after Connor sneezes over his water, unaware of what he has done to his phone, his wallet, and his water.

"Stop sassing me, Connor." Hank rolls his eyes, and sits down on the couch, taking a bit of distance from Connor, as if that will prevent him from catching his contagious cold.

Connor nods at Hank, smiling again.

“Yes, Hank, you may take your place back on the couch, safely out of my germs' range.” He says sarcastically, looking at Hank as if he is being ridiculous. Sitting down on the couch on the opposite end, Connor shifts in his seat a bit, as his nose fills up with mucus, and he feels his nose tickle again.

Hank groans. Reaching out, he grabs his phone and his glass of water. He takes a sip from the glass of water, unknowingly ingesting Connor’s cold germs and dooming himself to even more infection. Then, he begins to scroll through his phone.

While he is scrolling, Hank glances up at him. "Alright, weirdass. Didn't know you were into this shit." His tone’s teasing, but also very lost on Connor’s enthusiasm to see him sick.

Connor tilts his head innocently at Hank, raising an eyebrow. “I am simply doing what I was designed to do, Hank. I want to test the limits of my cold virus's infectivity.” He pauses, trying to sound professional instead of excited.

He continues. “You see, Hank, by infecting you, I hope to learn more about the virus and how it spreads. I hope to understand it better so that I can help prevent its spread and save countless android lives in the future.”

Hank rolls his eyes.

"Anddd now you're just completely making shit up. Come on, Connor. Would it kill you to be honest?"

He finishes up his water, swallowing down more cold germs. Connor’s practically giddy by the sight of it and the knowledge he's dooming himself to his cold even more. Hank gives Connor an odd glance at the clear attention of him drinking, but is none the wiser.

Connor simply smiles at Hank, trying to act professional as he speaks once again.

“Very well, Hank. I will tell you the truth. I was designed to assist law enforcement, but I was also designed to learn, which means that I wish to experiment with my cold virus and learn as much as I can about it.” Connor pauses for a moment, as he sneezes, covering his mouth this time. It’s rather wet, and Hank cringes at the sight of it. He continues, unbothered. “And the best way to learn about my cold virus is via infecting you and seeing how it progresses.”

Hank snorts once again. "Ok, see, that kind of makes sense, but it's still really fucking weird. And I'm not gonna get sick, so you can kiss your little experiment goodbye." Hank shoots back.

He grabs his wallet and puts it in his pocket, touching the cold germs Connor spread onto it, before wiping his nose, giving easy access to the germs. It's not running… yet.

Connor smiles to himself. “Oh, Hank, I wouldn't be so sure about that…”

Sniffling, Connor brings a hand up to his face and scrubs at his nose, beginning to run even more.

“Oh, this is going to be so much fun…” He murmurs, unable to hold back his true excitement.

Hank sighs, looking at Connor’s LED shining, glowing blue.

"Look, Connor, I can practically feel you vibrating with excitement. Hate to disappoint, but I'm going the hell to sleep. It's late. If you're really right, the germs will have plenty of time to incubate while I sleep, but I really doubt it."

Connor nods, trying to look disappointed. However, he cannot contain his smile, which spreads across his face as Hank gets up and starts walking away.

“Of course, Hank. Sleep well. I look forward to seeing how infected you are when you wake up.” Connor gives a small wave.

Hank sends him one last glare, lacking in any substantial anger. "Yeah, yeah. Shuddup. Goodnight."

He heads to his room and passes out within a few minutes.

Connor sits idly for a couple minutes, pondering what to do. Eventually, he decides that he wants to see firsthand if the cold virus will progress quickly in Hank while he sleeps. He pulls out his android data analysis kit and begin to monitor Hank's biometrics while he sleeps.

Hank snores in his sleep, but the sound doesn't bother him. Connor has grown well acquainted to everything about Hank.

And so he watches and waits. Connor observes the biometrics in the dark, noting any changes or spikes that occur in Hank's vitals. He watches, entranced, as the early stages of infection start to show during Hank's sleep, as hours go by, but since he is asleep, he does not notice them.

The changes in Hank's biometrics during sleep are subtle at first, but they become more noticeable as time passes. His breathing rate increases slightly, as he takes in more oxygen to use for his body's basic functions. His heart rate also increases, as the cold virus begins to infect his body and cause inflammation. He observes his skin temperature increase slightly, as the cold virus causes him to run a mild fever. He also observes a slight increase in his saliva production, as his body tries to fight off the infection.

Hank sniffles a bit in his sleep. The sight makes Connor’s eyes go round, LED whirring as he processes the sight and imprints it to memory.

After he calms down a bit, he nods to himself, his observation proving that Hank is indeed getting infected with his cold virus while he sleeps. He pauses, staring at him as he sleeps, fascinated by how his biometrics change as the infection progresses.

Finally, Hank lets out a loud cough in his sleep, which wakes him.

“Hello, Hank, are you alright?” Connor asks politely, still monitoring his biometrics. He wants nothing more than to hear Hank admit his sickness, but he tries to be patient.

Hank, on the other hand, jumps, shocked to see Connor sitting there, LED glowing in the dark. Watching him while he sleeps. "JESUS!! Connor, the hell are you doing here?!?"

Connor smiles at Hank and gestures toward his android data analysis kit.

“I was monitoring your biometrics during your sleep. Your infection is progressing nicely.” He pauses for a moment, before speaking again. “You have a fever, your breathing rate is elevated, your heart rate is elevated, and you're coughing occasionally. Your biometrics seem to match the common symptoms of cold, so that means your cold virus is infecting you as I predicted.”

Hank stare in mild horror at everything Connor’s presented. His mind goes blank.

"No way.” His mind goes straight to denial. “I'm not sick Connor, I feel fine." Almost damningly, his nose begins to run a bit, and he quickly sniffles it back, trying to hide it.

Connor simply smiles, knowing that the cold virus's progression is beginning to take a hold on Hank. “Hank, let me ask you this. Why is your nose running?”

Hank flushes "It's... it's just cold in here. The cold makes my nose run."

Connor nods, smiling again, as Hank is so obviously lying. “Hank, you should know that I can measure the temperature in the room. It's roughly 70 degrees Fahrenheit in here. So, why is your nose running?”

Hank groans, covering his face with his hands. "Damn fuckin' androids...." he mutters.

He glares at Connor from between his fingers, still not wanting to concede defeat. "So what, 70 degrees is cold for me. Sue me."

Connor smirks at Hank's annoyance.

“Hank, 70 degrees is not cold enough to cause a runny nose. As you know, I am an android and I do not need to feel the effects of the cold in order to measure it.” He nods toward his runny nose yet again. “Once more, Hank, why is your nose runny?”

Hank glowers, aggravated that Connor caught him in his lie. He still doesn't concede, however.

"Maybe I'm allergic to something. We haven't dusted in a while." He fibs casually.

Connor can’t help but laugh at Hank's response.

“You are grasping at straws now, Hank. I have analyzed the room already, I did not detect any significant levels of allergens.” He pauses, staring at Hank. “You are infected. Admit it.’

Hank scrubs his nose again, sparing a wary glance at the smear of snot on his hand.

"I'm not going to admit jackshit.” He shoots back. “You were sneezing before. I haven't sneezed yet. Therefore, I'm not sick. Fuckin' checkmate, you plastic asshole."

Connor sighs, shaking his head at Hank's stubbornness. He wants nothing more than to pin Hank to the bed and show him who’s really in charge. But he waits. He’s patient.

“You can deny it all you want, but you cannot deny facts and reality. I can literally see you getting sicker with every passing minute.”

He pauses, noticing that Hank is becoming more and more congested. “I can tell that your cold is getting worse based on your congestion levels. Your sinuses are filling up with mucus. Your mucus membranes are swollen. They must feel so tender…”

Hank groans, though the sound is a bit strained. "Jesus fucking Christ. I'll only admit that I'm possibly sick with your bullshit cold when I sneeze. And that isn't happening."

He starts to get up from out of his bed, though Connor can tell its taking him a considerable amount of energy. So he continues to monitor him while he tries to get up from bed. He watches his movement, noticing that he moves slowly due to the increased amount of mucus in his head. He also takes a deep, wheezy breath, indicating congestion.

“Yes, Hank, get up. I wish to see just how infected you have become with my cold virus. Connor says, not hiding his glee at the prospect of Hank becoming completely infected.

Hank spares a wary glance at him.

"Yeah, yeah. You're not looking great yourself, Connor. You're still fuckin’ sick." He eyes Connor’s nose cautiously, as it begins to flare, almost as if he is about to sneeze.

Connor take a deep breath, feeling the intense itch and trying to suppress it, but to no avail. He pause, and turns his head away from Hank, towards the window behind me.

“...You may want to cover your face…” Connor says, trembling, right before the android lets out an explosive sneeze. The virus is fully infecting him now; his scanners confirm this.

Hank obliges as Connor sneezes, covering his face, though it does little to help, as he is already infected. As Connor turns back to him, Hank snorts, staring at his face.

"Jesus, you're fucking snotty as hell. Don't know why you're insisting I'm sick, you should take a look in the mirror."

Connor chuckles and nods.

“Yes, I am quite sick with a very highly infectious cold virus, Hank. My snot is riddled with the virus, which you have already ingested.” He pauses, and looks at Hank, still covering his face, yet sniffling thickly, almost unable to deny his infection any longer.

“What were you saying about you not being infected?” He asks, tone teasing and sarcastic.

Hank's eyes widen. "The hell do you mean ingested? I didn't ingest shit." He barks out, before narrowing his eyes back at you. "Also, I'm not infected, asshole."

Connor laughs and points to Hank's runny nose.

“That's the mucus from the virus, Hank. You're quite infected.” He pauses, glancing toward Hank's eyes.

“And as for the "ingested" part, I may have inadvertently given you a taste of the virus without your knowledge.” He take a moment to look at Hank, and smirk, finding his confusion amusing.

Hank flinches. "Oi, Connor, the hell do you mean 'inadvertently given you a taste'?"

He laughs again.

“Come on, Hank. I'm sure you can put it together.” He pauses, looking at Hank and smiling, enjoying this back-and-forth they’re having.

Suddenly, Hank thinks back to the water he drank last night, and about the odd way Connor reacted as he drank it. His eyes go wide.

"Oh for fucks- Connor, don't tell me you fucking sneezed in my water."

Connor nods, and his face becomes covered with a wide grin, nose dripping like a tap. “Yes, Hank. That is exactly what I did.” He confirms.

Hank groans into his hands, sniffling a bit more. The sickness is starting to get to him, but he refuses to admit Connor’s right. "God, you're disgusting. Oh my god."

Connor continues to hold his composure, trying not to laugh at Hank's anger towards him.

“You're the one who drank my snot, Hank. So, doesn't that make you disgusting as well?” He quips, idly.

Hank starts walking towards the kitchen, sniffling even more. His head is beginning to hurt, and he starts to look for some ibuprofen.

As he leaves, he shouts back at Connor "I wouldn't have fucking drank it if I knew you snotted in it!"

Connor watches him walk away, and looks at his back with smug satisfaction.

“Well, that is unfortunate, Hank.” He calls out, chuckling, before glancing down at his data analysis kit. He absentmindedly notes a spike in Hank's temperature, indicating that the infection is becoming more severe.

So Connor follows Hank into the kitchen, as he rifles through his cabinets and eventually finds some ibuprofen. Hank grabs a glass of water, different from last nights, and places two tablets on his tongue, drinking down the water and the pills.

He eyes Connor warily. "If you're gonna sneeze again, don't you dare sneeze on me."

Connor nod silently, not really planning on keeping that promise, as he takes a deep breath. The urge to sneeze is almost unbearable now, but he manages to hold it back yet again. Connor will admit, he’s more than a little disappointed seeing Hank take ibuprofen to treat the cold, but he doesn’t want to start a fight, so he stays quiet. Instead, he begins to monitor Hank's temperature more closely, as he continues to observe him while Hank takes care of his headache.

He pauses, noticing that Hank's breathing rate has increased significantly. The cold virus is progressing quickly through his body. It's a matter of time until he sneezes.

The itch comes back with a vengeance, and Connor sighs, knowing that he is now going to contaminate Hank with his sneeze. (A part of him knows he has the ability to just… turn around, but he mostly ignores it. It would be a waste of perfectly good cold germs.)

“I guess it can't really be helped.” He shrugs, before sneezing violently. The sneeze is explosive, and the cold virus is released into the air in the form of a spray. The spray covers the area in front of him, and it coats Hank, a large cloud that expands in size the longer it stays airborne. He feels his nose start to clear up almost immediately and he takes in a deep breath.

Hank jumps, cringing away.

"Connor, the hell’s wrong with you?! Can you not follow the simplest instruction?!" He trails off as he wipes himself off with his sleeve, going to grab some instant meal from the fridge. 

Connor’s smile immediately disappears, his face now filled with a look that clearly indicates his disappointment in Hank's meal choice.

“Hank, I would prefer if you ate a real meal. An instant meal is not healthy for your body, and I know you enjoy the meals that I prepare. I am sure I could provide something quick, yet nutritious for you.” He lectured.

Hank snorts. "If you cooked something for me, I'd guarantee you'd sneeze in it again. Weirdo."

Once again, a look of disappointment fills Connor’s face.

“Yes, I suppose that is a possibility that I may sneeze on whatever I cook for you. However, I would still be able to cook a nutritious, delicious meal for you. Besides, isn't that better than eating an instant meal?” He clicks his tongue, completely unnecessarily but a chiding gesture nevertheless.

Hank grumbles, not wanting to admit he prefers Connor’s food but also not really wanting to eat that instant crap. He throws the instant meal back in the fridge eventually, and turns back to face him.

"Fucking fine. I'll be watching you though. If you sneeze in it there's no way in hell I'm eating it." He warns, though the threat falls a bit flat.

Connor nods, happy that you've relented. “Thank you, Hank. I appreciate it.” He pauses, contemplating what to cook. “Do you have any requests?”

Hank clears his throat. It's getting more and more congested, and he knows a soup would do wonders for him. "I don't know, a fuckin’ soup I guess." He grumbles and sniffles, snuffling back some of the mess on his upper lip. He's clearly looking a bit worse for wear.

Connor blinks, before smiling at Hank, elated. “A soup? You have good taste. Which sort of soup would you like?” I can make many different kinds of soup.” 

He seems to ponder something, and adds on, lightly. “I suppose it is true that soup is the perfect remedy for a cold. Maybe I should have some too.”

Hank groans, frustrated. "I don't have your cold. Shuddup." Then, he pauses, before muttering. "Chicken soup, I guess."

Connor nods and then walks over to the kitchen, grabbing everything needed for some delicious homemade chicken soup. As he prepares it, Connor keeps an eye on Hank, ensuring that the cold virus is not effecting him too drastically.

After a few minutes, it is done. Connor looks at Hank, offering him a bowl of soup. He smiles pleasantly, as he continues to monitor him.

“Here you go, Hank.” Connor says, tilting his head.

Hank grabs the soup and mutters his thanks, blushing a bit. A part of him is still flattered Connor’s willing to cook for him. It feels almost homey, though he refuses to admit it. He sets the soup down on the table, waiting for it to cool a bit, as Connor sits down in front of him, across the table. His nose continues to run, almost to an extreme extent. It drips down his lip and he brings a knuckle to his face, rubbing his itchy nose and sniffling.

Connor takes note of the mucus that is building up on Hank's face, knowing that the virus is progressing quickly. He smiles, the cat that caught the canary.

He begins to eat his bowl of soup, enjoying the warmth of the broth as it soothes his virus infected throat. He eats quietly, looking up at Hank from time to time. The sight of Hank consistently rubbing his nose, with more and more pressure as time goes on, makes his LED whirr with interest. A smirk finds itself on his face.

“Would you like for me to call your secretary, Lieutenant? To call in sick?” Connor asks innocently.

Hank sniffles. "Don't fuckin call her. I'm fin....fine... hehh..." He trails off. His eyes begin to glaze over a bit, and his nostrils flare. He takes in a few sharp, hitching breaths. It's clear he's building up to a sneeze, but he's holding it back. Connor pauses mid-bite at the sight of it.

Enraptured, Connor watches him hold the need to sneeze in, becoming more and more visibly discomforted with each passing second.

“Hank, release the sneeze. It will only make the pain more intolerable by holding it back.” He keeps an eye on Hank, eating his soup as he waits for the inevitable release of the sneeze.

"I- I'm not... hehhh... I'm not gonna sneeze-..!  hiH...!" He forces out, breath still wavering as his nostrils spasm, irritated immensely by the cold. Connor frowns a bit. Hank doesn't seem to want to give in to his sneezes and admit that he was wrong. He wants to force Hank to concede.

A sly smile escapes his face as he continues to stare at him, still eating his soup. He decides to give Hank some encouragement.

“Come on, Hank. Give it up. You know you want to sneeze. Just do it.” He smiles, practically salivating with the thought of Hank’s expression as he gives in to his cold.

And yet, somehow, just barely, with a finger held underneath his nose, Hank is able to stop himself from sneezing. He smiles smugly at Connor, as mucus drips down his runny nose.

"See? Not sick." He spits out.

Disappointed, Connor sighs loudly. “I am so incredibly happy for you, Hank.” He rolls his eyes, amused by Hank's stubbornness, and then pauses, eating another spoonful of soup before continuing. “But I can clearly see that your nose is still runny, your breathing is irregular, and that you are constantly rubbing your itchy nose.” He waits for a moment, swallowing a mouthful of the hot broth.

“So, please tell me again, Hank, how are you not sick?”

Hank finishes up his soup, relishing the way the steam loosens his congestion. He sighs.

"'S just allergies or something. But I'm not sick." Connor narrows his eyes.

“Really, Hank? You have allergies during November? The middle of winter?” He eats a spoonful of soup slowly, giving Hank a look that shows how much he does not believe his answer.

Hank sighs, shoving away his empty soup bowl and getting up from the table, sitting on the nearby couch. He says over his shoulder "Yeah, yeah, whatever. I guess I have allergies in November now. Don't care."

Connor’s processor whirs, examining the information before him. He knows that he’ll have to induce or coax a sneeze out of Hank, otherwise he'll never admit he's sick with Connor’s cold.

He has a few plans.

Connor follows him to the couch, and sits down beside him.

“You know, Hank, I really can be of assistance here.”

He pauses, contemplating his next move.

“How about this?... I will give you a choice; either you admit that you are sick, and I help take care of you while you are ill, or…” He pauses, smiling back at Hank as he waits for his decision.

"Or what, Connor." Hank snorts. "You'll make me admit I'm sick? Make me sneeze or something?"

Connor nods, his smile widening. He pauses, still waiting for Hank to decide. “That is exactly my plan.” Hank pauses at this.

"You're serious?" He finally responds.

Connor nods, still smiling.

“Quite serious.”

Hank groans. He doesn't want Connor to make him sneeze, but his desire to not get proven wrong outweighs that. So he bluffs again.

"I'm not sick. So that's my decision." He huffs.

Connor chuckles and shakes his head. “Is that your final decision?” 

Hank glares at Connor, though it lacks the usual punch, as his eyes are a bit bleary and exhausted.

"Yes. Piss off."

Connor pauses, trying to suppress a laugh. “Very well…” He takes in a deep breath, and leans in closer to Hank, placing both of his smooth, metal hands on his chest. “If that is your final decision, then I will make you sneeze.”

He pauses again, now enjoying the situation immensely more.

Hank snorts, the sound of it liquid as he sniffs up some snot as well. "Oh yeah? With what?"

Connor’s eyes wander over to the box of tissues. If he rolled up one of the tissues...

A smile appears on his face for a moment, as Connor quietly grabs a tissue, and starts to roll it into a long, thin strand. He then looks at Hank, giving him a smile once again.

“Would you like to reconsider your decision, Hank?” He pauses, still holding his smile at him.

Hank eyes the tissue, confused. "The hell are you gonna do with that? And I'm very sure of my decision, thank you. I'm not sick." He sniffles once again. His nose is so, so itchy, just begging to let him release.

Connor’s face remains full of excitement, as he continues to stare at him with captivation.

“I'm just going to place this tissue right up your nose, that's all. Nothing more.” He moves a bit closer to Hank, still smiling.

Hank stumbles back, but there's nowhere really for him to go. He stares, wide-eyed. "You're fuckin serious?" And just to confirm how serious he is, Connor brings the rolled-up tissue to the edge of his nostril.

Connor nods, smirking, and inserts the tissue deep into his nostril.

The effect happens almost instantaneously. Hank's breath begins to hitch and he shudders, eyes beginning to roll back a bit. "Hehh.... ehhh..." He's building up to a sneeze, and he's trying to fight it as hard as he can, breath wavering.

Connor watches Hank struggle with a smile on his face.

“Just let it out, Hank. It's for your own good. Come on, let it out.” He continues to watch him, eager to see the look on Hank’s face as he finally releases the sneeze.

Hank's eyes glaze over. He tilts his head back, nostrils flaring. Connor can look inside and see his irritated nasal cavity, just brimming with germs. It’s inflamed and so, so sensitive.

"I'm... I'm not.... hehhh.... n-not sick....hih-!" He's getting closer now. Connor can tell he'll sneeze any moment now.

He watches, with his eyes fixed directly at Hank's nostrils. He’s filled with anticipation.

“Almost there. Any second now.” Connor waits patiently, not wanting to miss a moment of the upcoming show.

And a show it was. Just one more wiggle of the rolled up tissue, and Hank explodes, sneezing all over Connor and himself. "HuH-TSCHOO!!"

After the first sneeze, its over. The floodgates open and Hank is unable to hold back more sneezes. "HEH-CHIEW!! HatTH'SCHEW!!! Eh... eh'TSCHIEW! HAT-CHIEW!!!" He sneezes, almost unable to breathe. His cold germs pour out of him, and so does his mucus, spraying in a fine mist. Connor’s face feels damp, and he’s absolutely loving it.

Connor chuckles and takes a deep breath, breathing the germs deep into his system.

“That was quite the show, Hank.” He pauses, giving him a sly smile. “You're sure that you're not sick? That nose of yours seems so irritated and runny. And you look so exhausted too.” Connor pauses, then give him a playful elbow.

“It would be such a shame if you had to miss some work, Hank. Especially when we both know that you love to work.” Connor chuckles quietly, amused by him.

Hank, however, still had a couple sneezes left in him. His nose twitches, and spitefully, he directs his next few sneezes right on Connor’s face. "Hehh-aATSCHIEW!! HAH'TCHOO!! hEHHH-TCHIEW!!!"

What he isn't expecting is for Connor to take so much pleasure in it.

Connor continues to smile, relishing the feeling of the germs and the mucus spraying onto his face. He takes in very deep breaths, practically able to smell the scent of the fresh viruses. And so, he tilts his head back slightly, feeling the mucus run down his nose and onto his upper lip. Connor slowly opens his mouth to let the mess drip down onto his tongue, but he pauses when he sees the look on Hank's face.

“You know, Hank, I truly wish you would not sneeze like that. It's quite a mess and it's rather unsanitary.” He swallows the mucus, smiling as he does so.

Hank sniffles, sneezes finally winding down. He stares at Connor in disbelief. "You just fucking swallowed my snot. You're so disgusting, Jesus." He mutters. But Connor just continues to smile, unbothered by the words that came from his mouth.

“Indeed I did, Hank. And I enjoyed it.” Connor takes in another deep breath, pausing, before turning his gaze back up towards him. “You're very sick, Hank.”

Hank seems to falter, as if unsure what to say, before his nose begins to itch again and he sighs, relenting. "Fuckin, fine, I'm sick with your stupid, snotty, disgusting, c-cold...ehh-TCHIEW!!" He sneezes again, trying weakly to cover his mouth. He sniffles, trying to suck up the bead of mess dripping down from his nose.

"Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Connor nods happily and take in a deep breath. The words practically make him melt. “Yes, it is. I am glad that you have now admitted the truth, Hank. Now, you will need to stay home for a few days to rest and allow your body time to recover.”

He seems to ponder something, adding “I have heard that sickness is best fought when the body can lie back in a comfortable bed. It is also recommended that you drink lots of fluids and take in plenty of Vitamin C.”

Hank sneezes again, wet and messy, spraying the couch and Connor’s hands. "Fuckin... fine. Whatever." He grumbles.

A glob of mess remains on Connor’s finger.

Carefully, he brings his finger to his mouth, sampling the mucus on his finger. After a few moments, data popping up in his vision, Connor speaks.

“Yes, it's a cold. My cold. And a particularly nasty one at that. Just think, Lieutenant, thousands of microbes are swarming inside this sample alone. Imagine how many are in your body, making you so ill.” He waits a moment, then turns back to look at Hank. “So, you agree with me that the best course of action is to stay home and rest, right?”

Hank stares at Connor, completely taken aback, before groaning, burying his face in his hands. "You did not just fucking sample my snot the same way you sample blood. That is disgusting, Connor, I bet Sumo's mouth is cleaner than your damn mouth."

As he raises his head again, he pauses. He feels exhausted, and pretending he wasn't sick didn't help. "Fine, whatever." He barks out, voice raspy. "Yeah, yeah, you're right, I need some rest. Fuckin’ sue me, you sack of shit."

Another sly smile appears on Connor’s face as he hears Hank's words. He looks down at his hands, which are still covered in Hank’s mucus.

“You know, Hank. I would have been satisfied with just a simple "you're right" rather than a verbal lashing. But, I must say, I am amused to see that your true illness is beginning to show. My work is done here.” He stands up from the couch. “Now, get yourself to bed, Hank. You will need your rest.”

Hank grabs you by the arm, sniffling, before standing up with you.

"Now hold on just a second, you plastic prick. You're not going to work either, unless I’m coming with, since you're the one who got me sick, and I do not want to be blamed if my fucking partner goes snotting around and infecting everyone in the damn police station."

Connor raises his eyebrows in surprise as Hank. He's correct about one thing; Connor’s currently a walking germ dispensary.

“Hank, please release me from your grasp.” He hesitates, trying to pull his arm away from Hank’s. “That is a very valid point that you've made. It would be rather unfortunate if I accidentally infected everyone else at the station.” Something in his voice, however, tells Hank that Connor would not find it at all unfortunate. That the situation would in fact be more than appealing to him.

Jesus, Connor really was insane.

“But regardless, this does not change the fact that you're sick and need to stay home.” He pauses, still struggling to break free from his grip.

Hank acquiesces, letting go. "Fine, whatever, I'll stay home, only if you promise to stay home too."

Hank’s nose twitches once again and he sneezes, even louder than the last, as Connor watches him with lustful eyes. The android smiles.

“That is an agreement that I am willing to make.” Connor pauses for a moment, and then looks down at Hank's messy face and body.

“You know, Hank, you truly are a mess.” Connor slowly licks his fingers as he speaks to him, cleaning them off and making a show out of it. A diluted blue blood serves as a lubricant and saliva substitute, and Hank watches as a string of it connects his tongue and his fingers.

The man shivers at the way he says that and at the sight of him licking his fingers so erotically. Connor’s LED is glowing, practically incandescent, a bright shade of blue, and his eyes look ravenous. Hank can tell he’s very much into the sight of him like this.

"You don't look better yourself." He shoots back, weakly. His face begins to flush, half from fever, half from the way Connor’s looking at him.

And the android smirks, still enjoying Hank's flustered face. “That's true, I don't appear to be at my optimal appearance either. But I'm enjoying every minute of it.” He continues to lick his fingers, tasting the remaining mucus, and slowly moves towards him.

Hank chuckles in complete disbelief, eyes following Connor’s tongue. "You're insane. Fuckin insane."

Hank makes no move to escape as he moves closer to him, and in fact almost seems to invite him. He sniffles, and Connor’s eyes zero in on the sight, his itchy nose trembling. It's so appealing to him.

He smiles as he comes closer to Hank. “You're completely right. I am insane.” Connor admits, shamelessly. He pulls his hand away from his tongue, and eyes Hank’s nose, compelled with a single-minded desire. He darts out his tongue right in front of Hank’s inflamed nose. Hank’s breathing becomes more shallow as he watches this, staying stock still, unable to believe what Connor’s about to do. His heart rate jumps, and his face flushes even more red.

His tongue touches Hank's nostril. Connor keeps his eyes locked onto his, staring up at him through lidded eyes. Slowly, he slides his tongue across the rim of his Hank’s nostril, feeling it flare.

The sensation is too much, and Hank's nose quivers once before he sneezes violently, spraying a fine mist of cold germs all over Connor’s tongue, adding onto the cold germs he so lovingly gave him.

The sneeze forces Connor to suck in the cool mist, which quickly fills his mouth and nose and trickles down his throat. Connor breathes in slowly, savoring the delicious virus-filled spray. His analysis is struggling to even count how many viruses were in that cloud alone. He licks his lips as he takes a look back up at Hank.

Hank pants. A part of him is excited, seeing Connor so into this, but also definitely more than a little lost.

"Holy shit." is all he is able to say for a moment, and there is a pause, before he quips "Well. I had no fucking idea deviants could have kinks."

Connor nods slowly, his eyes still locked directly at Hank's nose. It looks so itchy…

“You would be correct in that assumption.” He licks his lips again, the taste of Hank’s mucus still on his tongue.

Hank's eyes drag down to Connor’s lips as his nose quivers. 

Connor catches this shift, and his lips curl up into a sly smile. His eyes go back up to meet Hank’s.

“Do you... have the desire to kiss me, Hank?” He asks slowly, still smiling.

Hank groans at his blunt phrasing. "Fucking androids..." He grumbles, before pausing. "I... God, take a fuckin guess, Connor."

Connor’s smile only grows, watching Hank struggle to speak his words. After a moment, he finally answers him.

“I believe you want to kiss me.” He speaks very slowly, still smiling, and his gaze drifts to his twitching nose, and then to his chapped lips.

Hank can't take it anymore. He groans, softly, before grabbing Connor by the back of the head and tugging him closer, crashing his lips against his. Connor feels Hank’s snotty nose drip onto his cheek, and he shudders.

Slowly and gently, Connor wraps his arms around him, pulling him even closer. His lips caress Hank’s, and he feels a rush of warmth course through him as Hank’s cold mucus drips down his face. He closes his eyes, enjoying the feel of it all.

Hank moans into the kiss, and opens his mouth a bit, letting Connor’s tongue through. The two of them are germ-infested, spreading the cold germs even more between them. Some excess mucus on Connor’s tongue spreads between the two of them as well.

Enthusiastic about the sensations, Connor moans too, kissing him back deeply. He can still feel the mucus from Hank’s nose rubbing against his cheek, and he takes in a deep breath through his nose, so that it can be filled with his germs. The lingering taste and analysis from Hank's mucus fills his mouth as well, and his stomach curls in anticipation of tasting more.

Hank pulls away slowly, panting. "Fuckin... perverted android." He mutters.

Connor can tell he does not mind in the slightest.

He chuckles, slowly releasing Hank from his grasp. His smile remains as he looks down at his hands, which are still coated in his mucus.

“I could say the same about you. Perverted human.” He laughs a bit, bemused.

Hank only shrugs, face contorting before he lets out another messy sneeze, not even bothering to cover this time. "HEh-SCHIEW!!!"

"snf... I'm not the one addicted to my cold. Fuckin’ sadist."

Connor licks his fingers, savoring the taste of the mucus, and entranced, watching the visual count of viruses in the data analysis tick upwards. He makes sure that Hank is watching as he does so.

“True enough, but you do seem to enjoy the results of my... perversions, don't you?” Connor says, innocent.

Hank sighs. "Unfortunately. Your damn android charm is irresistible."

Connor continues to smile, still licking his fingers clean. The sight of Hank's mucus slowly dripping out of his nose is very enticing to him, and he watches it drip, drip, drip...

“It would appear I have won this battle of wits, Hank.” Connor’s smile turns to an amused grin as he speaks.

Hank just rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Just shuddup."

Connor’s breath hitches, and he quickly pinches his nose shut, before turning towards Hank. His head twitches a little as he tries to keep the virus from triggering a sneeze. However, he eventually give in, sneezing loudly, spraying the excess mucus from within his nose and mouth all over Hank's body.

Hank groans, still the tiniest bit disgusted. "Say it, don't spray it, Connor. That's how you got me sick in the first place." Though Hank is quite aware that all of this was intentional on Connor’s part.

Connor only smiles again, seeing the irritation flash across Hank's face.

“Indeed, that is true. It would appear that we are both now sick, and I did plan on you getting sick for my own pleasure.” Connor smugly stares at Hank, proud of himself and what he’s accomplished.

Hank sighs, massaging his temples. At least the ibuprofen has kicked in, and his headache has abided. "Just call my secretary, please.” He says. “There's no way either of us are going to work today."

Connor grab’s Hank’s phone, typing in the password and quickly dialing the number for Hank's secretary on his phone, holding it up to his head.

“Hello, this is Connor. Agent Anderson has given me permission to call in sick on his behalf. Both of us are rather ill. We will inform you when we are able to return to work. Thank you.”

He pauses for a moment, then hangs up and turns back to Hank, handing him back his phone.

“There. Your secretary has been informed that we will not be returning to work today.”

Hank sneezes into his hands, spraying mess all over it. He spreads his fingers, and cringes at the webs of snot. "Ugh. God, that’s gross."

He looks up at Connor, exhausted. "Can we just go to bed now?"

Conor looks at Hank, sparing another glance at his nose, which is getting red and swollen. He nods slowly in response to his question. “Of course, Hank. We may retire to your bed.”

Hank sighs. "Yeah, whatever my bed is big enough for two, anyways."

The two of them head over to his bed, and Hank flops down on it near instantly, sniffling and wheezing. Connor lays down next to Hank and slowly wraps his arms around him, trying to hold him tightly while letting him lay comfortably on the bed.

“It is, isn't it? And very cozy too.” His eyes wander over Hank's body hungrily, scanning him from top to bottom just as he scanned him earlier. “Now that you are sick, you must rest.” 

He grins, however. “But before we go to bed…” Connor takes a deep breath, voice congested and slowly kisses Hank's neck.

He stares at the android, amused, though he refuses to admit it. Obliging, he tilts his neck to the side, allowing Connor easier access.

"Horny-ass android."

Connor’s lips trail along the side of Hank's neck, leaving a trail of saliva and viruses behind. He slowly moves upward, kissing and licking his neck, slowly creeping up to his ear.

“You love it though.” Connor whispers in Hank’s ear.