for all your shiptrash needs

Connor sighed heavily as he entered the house, the sharp thunk of the analog lock reassuring as he shut the world out of his personal sanctuary. No wonder Hank preferred not to upgrade it - there was something so visceral about the sound that it instantly lowered his stress levels at least 4% as he kicked off his shoes.

With more clicking sounds came even greater stress relief: Sumo had noticed his arrival home and was rapidly headed his way from the kitchen where he’d been napping. Connor felt a smile come to his lips as he knelt down to greet the huge dog in return, burying his face in Sumo’s soft fur as he scritched behind his ears and down his back.

“Jesus, Connor, you look like shit,” came a voice. The android initially sent by Cyberlife looked up, his pleasure at being home failing to hide the exhaustion in his eyes and the still slowly whirling yellow of his LED. Hank offered him a hand to help him up, which Connor gratefully accepted. The lieutenant didn’t release him as he stood, pulling him closer instead and wrapping Connor in a tight embrace. Connor sighed again, though much softer this time, pressing his forehead against Hank’s collarbone. “Really running you ragged down at the tower, eh?”

Now that the revolution was finished - finished, ha! - there was an incredible amount of what Hank termed “diplomatic bullshit” to wade through. Markus was the leader, of course, but with so many androids either so new to freedom as to be completely clueless what to do or simply unequipped to process the kinds of high level strategy, psychoanalysis, and legal intelligence required, it was no surprise that it fell to Connor to become his second in command. The Jericho crew assisted, of course, but none of them were as capable of navigating the tensely charged political tightrope the newly birthed android nation now found itself walking.

“You have no idea. I wish I could just stop running simulations and projections for five minutes,” Connor huffed. Hyperbole was another habit he’d picked up from Hank, but as the human often noted, ‘bitching may not solve a problem but it sure feels good.’ Connor didn’t truly begrudge the workload - he preferred having something useful to do, after all, and it was his duty to his people besides.

“Five minutes, huh? I think I could handle that, at least.”

Connor shuddered - Hank’s vocal tone had dropped down into that deep, husky range that made him incredibly weak in the knees, sending frissons of electricity down his spine. His slim fingers dug slightly into Hank’s back as the older man’s own thick digits slid down Connor’s sides, squeezing his hipbones slightly before ghosting across his ass to pick him up by his thighs. Connor reflexively brought his legs up, tightening them around the detective’s waist as Hank kissed the android on the temple and then edge of his jawline, pushing Connor’s head to the side for better access to his neck. Connor hummed appreciatively, eyelashes fluttering on his perfect, freckle-dusted cheeks as Hank carried him down the hallway to the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind them so Sumo couldn’t interrupt. For all the detective’s unhealthy habits, he’d been ridiculously fit in his prime and continued to be deceptively stronger than his slight paunch might indicate. He moved onto their bed, gently lowering Connor to the mattress as he hovered over him, one large hand cupped behind Connor’s head as the other worked industriously at the tie and shirt buttons covering the rest of the android’s nearly flawless skin while his mouth explored everything available, nipping at Connor’s jawline and gently teasing his earlobes before suddenly, hungrily devouring his mouth.

Connor moaned against his lips, spine arching up against Hank’s solid bulk and pushing them both into a sitting position, Hank straddling Connor’s waist and grinning wickedly as Connor pulled back slightly, shirt half unbuttoned and hanging loosely on his shoulders.

“You know my mouth is sensitive,” he said reproachfully, and the glint in Hank’s eyes proved that he did indeed know that and thoroughly enjoyed using it against him. Particularly since the blue of Connor’s LED betrayed that he really didn’t mind that much.

“Must’ve forgot,” Hank lied airily, both hands now pulling at Connor’s clothes, removing the white button-down and jacket in a few swift, practiced motions. He leaned forward to capture Connor’s lips a second time, the android’s eyes fluttering closed again before he scowled in mock anger as Hank smirked, noses still touching. “Whoops, forgot again!”

Connor surged forward, inhuman reflexes and combat training allowing him to grab the hem of Hank’s ratty sweatshirt and drag it up over his head to the exact point where his hands were still bound by the sleeves, twisting the shirt elaborately into makeshift bindings around them as he flipped his assailant cheeky partner right over, pinning him to the bed with his arms thoroughly trapped over his head. Hank grunted at the sudden shift in position, the flush in his cheeks and tenting in his pants showing Connor exactly how fucking hot he’d thought that was.

“Christ,” he breathed, and the look of unadulterated admiration and affection sent another warm surge through Connor’s circuits. Connor released his hands, Hank tugging free of the sweatshirt fairly easily and bringing his hands down to frame Connor’s face, pulling the android down to kiss his forehead gently. “Lemme take care of you, though, yeah?”

Connor nodded, averting his eyes down to Hank’s broad chest, running his fingers through the lieutenant’s chest hair as Hank undid the buttons on his pants, pushing his fingers under the waistband of Connor’s boxer briefs and sliding them down over his smooth, firm ass, leaving him in nothing but his socks and garters. He shivered slightly as Hank’s hands ran up and down his sides, rough skin and thick calluses dragging against his sensory inputs and causing his synthetic skin to fade in a trail of delicious tactile pleasure, tracing the touches across his body.

He gasped as the hands slid down to his ass again and began kneading and squeezing the soft pseudo-flesh there, pushing Connor down insistently until he was pressed right up against Hank’s body, his hot, thick length pulsing between them as Hank kissed the very edges of Connor’s mouth. He groaned, jaw dropping open, LED flashing yellow between the whirling blue and synthetic skin flickering in and out like vitiligo as Hank continued to kiss him, one hand coming up to tangle in Connor’s hair as the other felt blindly for the lube on the side table. He flicked the cap open and poured a generous amount between Connor’s asscheeks, spreading it thoroughly over the plastic with his thick fingers, across his ass and down the inside of his thighs. Connor whined desperately as Hank slicked his member between them, knuckles brushing against the ridge of his groin.

“Hank... H-Haank...” he pleaded, voice rough with static as his fingers spasmed against Hank’s chest and shoulders, hands bare and glowing as if he could interface with his human partner, the hairs on the back of Hank’s neck and arms rising in response anyway, his skin tingling with the faint electricity.

“I gotcha, Con.” His own voice barely more than a growl, the detective lifted Connor by the hips just enough to settle himself between the well-oiled thighs before he began thrusting in earnest, Connor’s legs clamped tightly together around him. Connor warbled with the sensory overload, made worse (better?) when the hand not still wrapped around his waist came up and pressed against the back of Connor’s head, pulling him back down for another searing kiss, leaving him moaning with the agonizing pleasure of it.

“H-Hank, a-aah, H-H-Haaank!”

“Ah, fuck, Con, you’re so fucking perfect. Fucking... fuck!” Hank panted, hips juddering and shaking as he lost his rhythm, coming with one final thrust up against Connor’s willing body, painting his thighs and ass with thick white ropes as he squeezed Connor tight against his shaking body. Connor shuddered as well, the sensory input nearly causing him to white out as he felt every inch of Hank against him and on him and around him. He nuzzled into the side of Hank’s neck, licking up a bead of sweat and shivering with the pleasure of it.

On clear, warm nights, Luffy and Usopp occasionally liked to sleep out on the lawn and watch the stars as they fell asleep. Luffy, who tended to sprawl haphazardly in his sleep, sometimes felt a little confined by the suspended bunkbeds. Usopp, for his part, had always enjoyed camping out and listening to the night sounds. In Syrup Village the croaking of frogs and the chirping of insects had helped to ease the loneliness of sleeping in an empty house, but here on the Thousand Sunny he had the lapping of the waves, the gentle creaking of the ship, and the beating of his captain’s heart. Nestled up against Luffy’s side, the strong, steady thumping was a pleasant backdrop as the sniper king pointed out constellations both real and made up, spinning stories about the peoples who had first designed them and the characters they were supposedly meant to represent.

Luffy listened drowsily, fingers running idly through Usopp’s hair, catching lightly at the occasional tangle. It had grown so long while they were apart, but it was still just as soft and curly. He dragged his hand all the way down to the ends, brushing against Usopp’s shoulder and bicep, feeling the slight ridges of the scars there. It seemed almost every other inch of Usopp had thin pale lines crisscrossing at intervals, standing out ever so slightly against his tanned skin. Some were larger, like the souvenirs he’d picked up from the fights in Alabasta and Water 7. Some were tiny, like the myriad of scratches spiderwebbed across his hands and fingers from tinkering with inventions in his Usopp Factory and repairing the Going Merry. So many of them were new and unfamiliar, acquired during their time apart when Usopp had undergone training in the Boin Archipelago. The rubberman brought his other hand up, fingers tracing the newest pathways across Usopp’s arm and chest, marveling at how much more the other boy seemed now. Usopp had always been ever-so-slightly taller than him but he had filled out now as well, muscular where he had once been almost as much of a beanpole as Luffy himself.

Not that Luffy hadn’t changed, either. Usopp let his words die out, sentences trailing to nothing as Luffy’s hands explored his skin. He sighed, enjoying the warmth of the fingers pressing against him, nuzzling into Luffy’s chest. His own fingertips fluttered skittishly around the edges of Luffy’s new scar, only the second one to have ever stayed. Luffy’s skin was usually too elastic to retain any marks from his battles, and that was before one took into account how swiftly he could bounce back (and Usopp grinned quietly to himself at the pun) from death’s door anyway. For the longest time, the scar under his eye had been the only mark on the captain’s skin. His smile vanished, hand balling into a fist as he remembered too the not-so-visible scars Marineford had left and the pain Luffy had endured afterwards.

“Oi.” Luffy’s voice cut into his thoughts as a gentle hand traced along his jawline, pushing his chin up and playing with his goatee at the same time. Luffy smiled down at him - not his usual giant grin, but just a happy, content sort of smile. “I have you. I have them. And we still have the stars.”

Usopp smiled lopsidedly back before nodding agreement. “That’s true. Speaking of true, that star there, just above the lookout room, is the eye of a constellation called the Truth Rabbit. See how its ears are there, and its tail there? Anyway. Hundreds of years ago, people believed if you wished on it, a messenger rabbit from the moon would come and deliver the truth about something important. Of course, it still works today! Why, when I was six years old…”