#connorxhank

Hank: Fuck you

ConnorxHank

Inspired by the fanfic "The Virgin High" by Lady Amalthia on Ao3

image by ev3e

Our Hearts Are Compatible...

SHUT UP

Hank and Connor aren't related , it's not incest, it's not wrong to want to ship them. The majority of you bashing the ship think it's weird because Hank looks much older. If you see them strictly having a father son kind of bond, then THAT's OKAY.

The club, more of a 1950s styled lounge, housed a dance floor teeming with goers of all ages. Elderly men were dragging women in the early 30s out onto the dance floor, young children were swinging on their parents by the finger, and couples were swaying back and forth in their own galaxies. Each cluster was chaotic, yet in balance, like planets gravitating near each other. 

“So, we’re only here to gather information, Lieutenant?” Connor adjusted the lapels of his blazer; a smooth shade of chocolate brown, pulled together with a dark brown tie. The light cream of his dress shirt paired well with the darker undertones of his ensemble. He looked to Hank, waiting for a response as he watched the bartender prepare a cocktail. 

Hank leaned back against the bar, his weight constantly shifting against the plump leather seat of the bar stool. Somewhat disheveled in comparison to Connor, Hank’s suit was a midnight blue. His blazer was left unbuttoned, and his grey dress shirt was unbuttoned at the top. The dark blue fedora helped lift the outfit just enough for a formal gathering place such as this. “Yeah. The owner croaked under some shift circumstances, but an Android was seen leaving the club about 5 minutes after.”

Cursing under his breath, Hank tore of his fedora and tossed it onto the bar stand. The bartender peered up, and took a quick look between Hank and Connor. “How may I help you gentleman tonight?” He flashed a quick smile as he set down two cocktail napkins. Connor sat up straight, his hand balled up in a fist as it lightly tapped against the table. 

“Let’s see, Lieutenant Anderson will have a double whiskey on the rocks, please.” Connor looked over at Hank nervously. The tension in his face disappeared once Hank nodded slightly. 

“I’ll have that right up for ya.” The bartender grabbed a short glass, dropping two large ice cubes as he sped over to the other end of the bar. 

“You paying for me now?” Hank looked over at Connor with a smirk. The band was playing an energetic, and bombastic cover of “Great Balls of Fire,” a song from an era long gone that both Hank and Connor have no memory of. It didn’t stop Connor from trying to mouth the lyrics of the song, however. 

“Connor, you deaf or somethin’?” Hank tapped him on the shoulder. Physical contact was unusual for him; Hank was never one to break the touch barrier, but here is with a  Connor spun around, caught off guard by the touch. His eyes were wide, the light hung like small stars in his pupils. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was watching the dancers. What was your question, Lieutenant?” Before Hank could answer, Connor spun around to face the bartender as he made his way back to them. 

The bartender gently placed the glass on the napkin adjacent to Hank. “Enjoy. Let me know if I can get you gentleman anything else.” He winked at Connor, a gesture which warranted a bitter scowl from Hank. 

Connor looked back at Hank after quickly letting out a “thank you.” “What was your question, Lieutenant?” 

Hank downed his drink, slamming it against the wood. He let the whiskey burn his throat; it lingered on his esophagus, the alcohol blistering on contact. Fucking lover boy.

The atmosphere became heavy, an invisible pressure weighing down on them both. Connor, confused, pressed on. “I think we should try asking the bartender about the work schedules of the employees. I believe he has an idea of how the Androids of this establishment operate.” 

Hank only acknowledged Connor’s suggestion with a grunt, and a quick lift of his finger. Seemingly aware of Hank’s attitude, Connor promptly stood up while buttoning his blazer, and then walked over to the other end of the bar. There was a tinge of hopelessness in the way Hank watched him walk. His eyes rested on his shoulders, balanced and steady as he swayed from side to side with each step he took. Anger clouded his mind. He’s doing the right thing. Why the fuck am I pissed? 

Watching the way Connor spoke so properly, with a straight back and perfect eye contact, laid a burning lump of coal in Hank’s chest. The bartender was similarly charismatic; a dazzling smile constantly on his lips, his hands busy as they expertly polished a scotch glass. God, hurry up. 

Maybe Hank wouldn’t have launched into a frenzy, had the bartender not touch Connor’s hand with the flirtatious caress of a doe eyed waif. If it were anything else, maybe even another wink, Hank would’ve allowed the animosity to fester before even thinking about reaching for Connor’s arm. But here was, stomping over to Connor much to the fear of the bartender. He took a step back as he watched Connor turn to Hank, his smile fading into shock as his arm was taken into Hank’s hand. 

“Lieutenant, what seems to be the problem? I’m still question-”

“Change of plans. Uh, come over here with me. Need you for something.” 

Connor didn’t protest, he simply allowed himself to be guided towards the dance floor by Hank. The band was joyous, and booming in their carefully coordinated suits. They looked like a picturesque, rat pack group of soldiers ready to take the world with synchronized sashays. Lights, ranging between bold rays of yellow and diffused beams of white, painted the dance floor. 

“What are we here for, Lieutenant? I was gathering vital information from that bartender.” 

Shame, and embarrassment swatted Hank’s judgement back and forth like a game of tennis. His thoughts wavered, skipping back and forth, unable to settle on one place. The music was booming, deafening Hank as he tried to make a snap decision. It became a challenge when Connor kept staring at him, waiting patiently for a response.  

“Lieutenant?” Connor reached out to Hank. “Is.. something the matter?” 

For once, Hank was scared. “Yeah, yeah there’s something wrong.” 

“Well, what is it? You can tell me.” 

Here goes the dive, the jump into infinity. Here goes nothing, I guess. “I.. didn’t wanna keep wasting time on the bartender. I was thinking we could, um..” Hank looked out onto the dance floor as he fixed his blazer. He could feel whiskey stains building on the wool. “I was thinking we could try blending in. Staying at the bar all night makes us look like cops, not clients.” Seriously, Anderson? 

For a second, Connor blinked, then he nodded as his eyes creased with sudden elation. “I understand now. You make a good point.” Before Hank could answer, Connor already had his hand on Hank’s. His heart was racing, jumping and beating at undetectable speeds as he watched Connor lead him to the dance floor. To Hank, he thought he caught a glimpse of what was nervousness in Connor’s eyes as he turned back to smile at him. The sea of people began to part, not paying attention to the two men who were too hesitant and stupid to get over their own pride. 

“So, what now, Lieutenant?” Connor mustered a coy smile, a physical action that he handled with the clumsy grace of a child. Tense, his hands started to find their way into Hank’s; at first resistant, but more scared than anything, Hank’s fingers began to mold to the shape of Connor’s palm. 

“I-I don’t think we need to dance-” Hank’s voice caught in his throat. He tried to shake his head to dispel the illusion; too bad it was reality. 

“Then why are we here, on the dance floor?” 

Shit. “You’re busting my balls, Connor.” He took Connor, his hand against the small of his back as he drew him in. Connor’s eyes widened with disbelief, surprised by the proximity. Were Hank’s eyes always that blue, and did he always look so vulnerable? Was he always this confident? Because Connor’s never seen him smile the way he did until now. The music shifted to something slow, a perfect tune befitting a lovers’ first dance. “I Only Have Eyes For You,” was delivered with the silvery baritone of a singer who was certainly enjoying his night. With a gentle lilt, the piano keys coaxed couples to the floor; the harmonized vocals of the back up singers were like a hypnotic hymn. 

They’ve looked at each other so many times before, but why is it that now was so new, and different? Hank barely drank, Connor definitely had nothing, so why did Connor feel himself settle into Hank’s arms as the night went on? Hank, despite his steps being like a drunken horse, felt like a strong partner as he led Connor to the siren allure of tonight’s entertainment. Nothing needed to be said; several months’ worth of secrets, hidden declarations, disregarded feelings were spilling out between them both as they stared into each other’s eyes. They could hardly keep eye contact for long to even carry on a conversation. Then, Connor found the courage to rest his head against Hank’s shoulder; his hand rested against his back as they swayed. 

Hank grinned as he whispered to Connor. “You think this is a decent front?”

Connor breathed him in, sighing against Hank’s blazer. “Yes, I would say it’s more than decent, Hank.” 

Heh, looks like I did something right. Hank didn’t need to do much, because his entire existence was effortless perfection for Connor. As the music swelled, Hank and Connor looked up at each other; they held their eye contact for longer than a minute this time, gauging the distance between their lips before closing the gap. When two people acknowledge their shared affections, you get the type of sheer love and commitment that was radiating off of them right this second. Like two celestial bodies in the light, they moved as a single unit as they weaved a picture of complete happiness through the lounge.