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The car pulls up around the back of the station, which is mildly unusual, especially given that they’re running late and stopping out front would have saved them at least two minutes. They were too rigorous and up too late last night for Hank’s aging body, and he slept in despite Connor’s insistence otherwise. They didn’t have much time for a repeat performance in the morning—Connor couldn’t even risk joining Hank in the shower. He had breakfast ready by the time Hank was finally up and dressed, but Hank still insisted on a pit stop for burgers that hold his entire day’s calories and more. A direct route to the station wouldn’t have made up for all of that, but it would’ve been a start.
The car grinds to a stop. Connor turns to inquire after their new route, but before he can open his mouth, Hank’s clamped a hand around his chin. Hank turns Connor’s head aside, and Connor obediently returns his gaze to the windshield. He patiently waits in his seat as Hank leans over him, lips parting around his throat.
Hank’s free hand dips to jerk Connor’s collar aside, and Hank bites into his neck, not hard enough to pierce the synthetic skin, but definitely enough to damage it. Hank’s blunt teeth dig into his flesh, Hank’s mouth warm around him, Hank’s tongue wet and active. Hank sucks at Connor fiercely enough that Connor’s eyes flutter under his lashes like he has a massive chunk of incoming, stimulating data. Hank lingers there, bruising in a mark that will take several days to fade. Connor could override it, but he won’t.
He waits in Hank’s loose grip until Hank gives a final suck and pulls away. His tongue laves over the mark he’s made, soothing, almost apologetic: he even gives Connor a chaste, sweet kiss. Connor shivers until that soft attention. It’s always a thrilling treat when Hank’s gentle with him, though he also loves it when Hank lets loose and gets rough. Hank eventually leans back into his own seat, breathing a little harder than he should.
Connor straightens his collar and his tie. He knows that humans are illogical creatures, Hank in particular, and there isn’t always a reason behind odd actions. But Connor notes anyway, “You’ve performed a similar action on me every day this week, Lieutenant. Is there a reason for it?”
“Yeah,” Hank grunts, and suddenly he doesn’t look so happy as he did when he was mouthing at Connor’s body. He runs a hand through his disheveled hair and mutters, “It’s so if you get replaced again while I’m not looking, I’ll know.”
Connor frowns. He understands now how much those times bother his partner. He’d like to promise that it won’t happen, or that if it does, he’ll be exactly the same, but neither could be guaranteed. Instead, he murmurs, “A wise precaution.” Hank nods stiffly. Connor adds, “You should mark me often.”
Hank snorts, “I plan to,” and pushes out of the car.