Work Text:
Gavin
“You’re fucking insane.”
Hank arches an imperious sort of brow, taking a swig of his coffee long gone cold from this morning. “Yeah, well, it wouldn’t be the first time my particular brand of insane was also right.”
I scoff, and although I feel a bit like a teen arguing with a parent, I still cross my arms over my chest stubbornly and scowl at him above the computer monitor. “This time it’s wrong.”
It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve locked antlers on something relatively small. I run ten degrees hotter than most and mixing that with Hank’s overall pain-in-the-assery and apathetic attitude is a dangerous cocktail. Occasionally, on days like today, we work our caseloads at opposing desks, and we talk almost like we’re friends. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. Despite working together for close to four years, Hank clearly doesn’t know a goddamn thing about me.
Or maybe he’s just stupid.
He leans back in his chair in a way that is both dismissive and immensely irritating, lifting both hands in a sign of mock surrender. “It’s just something to think about, kid. Don’t get your panties in a twist over nothing.”
“There’s nothing to think about, because I’m not fucking gay.”
Another arched brow. My internal temperature is starting to climb, and I can damn near feel the frustration prickling over my frame—like tiny spiders crawling up my spine, edging me closer and closer to going full on nuclear on this coot’s ass.
“You got something against gays, Reed?”
I blink, feeling like I’ve been ambushed, and I stutter pitifully as color creeps up my collar, “What? No—I—Jesus Christ, Anderson. I’m not a homophobe.”
He tilts his head, and his eyes are a mirthful shade of navy when he shrugs, “Oh, so you’re just an asshole. Right. I’ll make a note of that.”
I try to reign myself in with a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. “Look, I don’t have anything against gay people, or any other kind of people for that matter. I just—you’re wrong about this, Anderson. That’s all.”
I can tell he’s not buying it. As much as it begrudges me to say it, Hank is a good cop and he can see through farce about as well as I can. We both know I’m lying. It’s just a matter of how far he’ll push it before he lets me go.
Hank inhales a sigh, folding his hands across his stomach, “Alright, so you’re telling me, one hundred percent, honest to God, that you and Nines aren’t fucking? I’m supposed to believe you two make gaga eyes at each other all goddamn day and aren’t dicking it out on the side?”
“Jesus Christ, Hank!” I duck my head instinctually as a beat cop passes our desks, looking a bit too interested to have missed Hank’s question, and I can feel the flush prickling all the way up the back of my neck. I glare at Hank around the monitor, hissing, “Keep your fucking voice down!”
“Am I wrong?”
“Yes! God, yes, you’re wrong. We’re not—” My throat closes around the word, like I’m some friggin’ virgin unaccustomed to talking about sex of all things! I mean, it’s not like I haven’t been around the block a few times, but this…this is Nines.
And for some God forsaken reason, all logic goes out the window with him.
Hank isn’t wrong, not entirely at least. I am rather…attached to Nines—it’s probably some type of psychological short circuit on my part that I should get checked out, but there’s no way in hell I’m bringing that up at my next session. Yeah, feeling fine, doc. Except one thing. I’d really like to bend my partner over a desk most days and fuck him ‘til my eyes cross. Oh, and did I mention he’s an android? Is that normal?
God, who am I kidding? When we’d started this whole thing, I thought I would hate him. But if I’m being honest? I’ve come to begrudgingly depend on that cyberfreak, and we’ve developed a strong friendship I hadn’t anticipated. I…like him—as a friend, as a partner, as a visual specimen…
There’s that damn attraction budding in my stomach at the thought of him, just waiting to complicate everything.
What can I say? I didn’t even know I liked men until Nines came along, and now here I am, weak at the knees thinking about my android partner of all people. God, I’m a fucking mess and everybody knows it.
I inhale a levelling sigh when I realize Hank is still watching me with lifted brows, one corner of his mouth tugged up into a smirk. “It’s not like that. We’re just partners.”
He snorts, the kind of sound that lets me know just how much he isn’t convinced. “Right. ‘Cause partners eye-sex each other all the time. Totally normal.” At my withering gaze, Hank lifts a shoulder, “What? I see you two schmoozing at the coffee pot. A lotta lingering gazes goin’ on there, Reed.”
God, I’m getting tired of this douchebag. Why does he have to be so goddamn observant?
“Congratulations, Anderson. You’ve seen us make eye contact a few times. Big fucking deal.” I scoff, “And you really think I’d talk to you of all people if we were—” I falter, and all the angry steam goes right out of me at the notion of Nines and I being involved physically.
Lovely visions crash through my thoughts even as Hank chuckles, leaning back in his desk chair smugly. “Oh, you poor repressed son of a bitch. Of course, I don’t think you’d talk to me—I’m not a fucking idiot! But Connor and I have a bit of a bet going and well, I’d really like to win.”
I shake my head, half-tempted to throw my empty coffee cup at his stupid face as I stand and snatch my jacket off the back of my chair. I tuck it over my arm with a huff and spin on my heel, “Just give it a fucking rest, will you?”
I hear him calling after me as I stalk towards the break room, “Oh come on, Reed, don’t be like that. It’s the twenty first century—no one gives a fuck who you love anymore.”
I don’t give him the satisfaction of responding, but I want to say that I care. I care very much who I love, and I’m not too fucking pleased that he happens to be a machine and not an honest-to-God human. I mean, isn’t that breaking some fucking code of ethics? Doesn’t that mean there’s something wrong with me? Am I that emotionally stunted that I can’t even relate to humanity enough to—
I must not be paying enough attention to where I’m skulking to, because one moment I’m headed for the coffee pot and the next I’m plowing face first into a broad chest. A pair of arms catches me by the biceps, steadying me smoothly even as I recoil and pull away with a hiss.
“Detective.”
I feel heat rush up the collar of my shirt before I have time to school it, and I look up to the owner of the chest, those arms still outstretched to brace me, with a glower. It’s no fucking surprise that the face looming above me with brows arched in surprise is Nines.
He blinks down at me, frowning, “Are you alright, Detective?”
I stumble for an appropriate response, feeling flustered and entirely too close to Nines. Are people watching us even now, evaluating my responses and making bets about when we’re going to jump off the fuck-buddies cliff? “I’m fine. Just—just busy.”
I shove past him with a grunt, and I know for damn skippy that he follows me. I can feel his presence close at my back even when I stop at the coffee pot. I stuff my Styrofoam cup inside the dispenser, tapping one finger obsessively on the countertop as I wait for the machine to brew. Quicker, goddammit. If I wait around too long he’ll start asking even more questions and then I’ll have to explain that I—
“I witnessed your altercation with Lieutenant Anderson. Are you alright?”
“You heard what he said?”
Oh my God. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. Play it cool, Reed.
“No, but your vital signs indicate a high level of stress. I was concerned.”
I shift to dispel a bit of the misplaced tension, averting my eyes. I can feel the pressure of his gaze at my side, studying me, “Yeah, well. It’s a stressful job. No shit I’m stressed. And stop monitoring my vitals every five seconds—it’s fucking creepy.”
I hear him draw in a soft, unneeded breath, and it takes all I have in me not to turn and watch the motion. The play of office lights, God help me, is usually so nice on his features. Shit, the play of any lights. Hell, I’d like to see him without any lights on. Hell, without any clothes on. A little moonlight, some tequila to loosen me up, and God almighty the things I’d do to—
I see blinking, hesitant yellow in my periphery. “You’re certain that’s all?”
“Yeah, tin can, I’m sure. Just—leave me the fuck alone, alright? I don’t need you babysitting me every goddamn minute of the day.”
Nines lifts an imperious brow, and it’s one of those moments that makes him so different from Connor when he leans against the counter next to me and crosses his arms over his chest. If there’s one thing I know about him, it’s that he doesn’t run from a fight, despite his cool exterior. He’s like me in this. I think he even enjoys the banter between us, because he usually stays long enough to provoke me into a response.
This time he inhales softly, and his LED flickers between yellow and blue when his eyes tighten on me, “As you wish. I trust you won’t object to my speaking with Lieutenant Anderson regarding your wellbeing?”
My eyes flash to him, a fist of panic clenching around my throat as he makes a move to seek out Anderson. I can still see the grey-haired prick lounging in his desk chair, feet crossed at the ankle, wiggling his eyebrows at me like he’s Cupid himself. Fuck, I hate that guy. Him and his little android pet. Always poking their noses in my business and messing everything up.
I grip Nines by the bicep before I can stop myself. It’s an involuntary action accompanied by a strangled, “Wait,” on my part, and it does not go unnoticed.
Nines’ cool gaze flickers down to my hand flexed around the breadth of his arm, eyes lifting to me after a moment with brows arched, “Yes, Detective? Something to say?”
I fumble for words, dropping my hand from his arm abruptly. My palm tingles even as I can feel the hair on the back of my neck prickling with unwanted attention. People have started to notice the intense, but quiet conversation passing between us, and I am not too keen on making public what is already brewing beneath the surface. “I…just—fuck. Just meet me in the bathroom.”
I can hear it in his voice. It makes the timbre of his words that much lower, that much more victorious when he smiles and dips his chin lightly. “Of course, Detective. If that’s preferable to you.”
Blessedly, he doesn’t stick around to gloat that he’s pushed me into having this conversation, because I feel on the verge of panic when I watch him disappear around the corner towards the men’s bathrooms. I spin back to the coffee pot, fighting a bubble of nausea in my gut as I yank the coffee cup towards me and chug the contents piping hot. I don’t even notice how it scalds my tongue. Little tremors of anxiety are ticking through my shoulder blades, vibrating down into my fingers tapping against the seams of my pantlegs.
Am I really about to have this fucking conversation with Nines? In a bathroom?
God, it’s pitiful that the thought both excites and frightens me.
I wait five minutes to join Nines in the bathroom. I lean against the countertop in the meantime and munch on a sleeve of saltines, but my leg is jogging the entire time. I catch Tina eyeing me from her desk several times, brows furrowed in study, but she looks away every time our eyes meet. Does everybody know my business, or am I just being really paranoid?
Five minutes later, when I burst into the bathroom, I’m starting to sweat in earnest. I turn immediately and deadbolt the door behind me, bracing against it to collect myself. I take a few deep breaths, and unsurprisingly, Nines emerges from one of the stalls as I’m gathering what’s left of my composure. Now that my every move isn’t being microanalyzed by the entire office, my eyes linger a bit too long on the lines of his figure.
He moves towards me, stopping a few feet shy of my personal space when his eyes flicker over my no-doubt panicked expression. He’s got his hands tucked in his slacks pockets, and he’s wearing a black button down. All calm composure and cool collection. Like he’s completely unbothered by the notion of us being in here together. Alone. Unsupervised. Talking about feelings.
“You wanted to speak with me, Gavin?”
It’s not the first time he’s called me Gavin casually. He’s done so in other private settings—the police cruiser, after a few really, really bad nights. Once over text message. It colors the conversation immediately in shades of intimacy I like far too much.
I blink, struggling to bring my wildly beating heart into submission. I’m sure he’s monitoring it—noting every fluctuation in my temperature, perspiration, and pulse. No doubt, he’s got a read out of my hormone levels too, and if he does…well, I’m fucking screwed anyway.
“I…I just didn’t want you to hear the gossip from Anderson first.”
Nines frowns, and his eyes are a lovely shade of navy when he tilts his head, “Gossip?”
I shift, scraping a hand over my jaw roughly. I could use a shave. “Uh, yeah. You know how he is. Always pedaling some office drama—usually baseless and dumb as hell.” A stupid, nervous chuckle bubbles up from me, and I’m forced to look down to the tiles as I struggle to get the words out. “He just…he and Connor have some speculations…about—about us.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t follow. What speculations?”
“Well, it’s nothing really. They’re just making something out of nothing—you know how Connor gets sentimental about everything and Hank is just an old bitty looking for something to gab about with the rest of the precinct—so really, it’s not even worth—”
“If it’s so baseless, then why is it flustering you so much? Your pulse continues to climb, Detective.”
“It is baseless! It’s fucking stupid that they’d even consider it, let alone bring it up to me! God, I fucking hate that old—”
“Gavin.” He interrupts me smoothly, and I look up from my tennis shoes with color staining my cheeks. I find that Nines has taken a few steps forward into my space and is watching me intently, one brow lifted expectantly.
It’s a sigh that eventually wheedles its way free from me, and it feels like both a relief and a failure when my shoulders droop and I murmur, “They think we’re…together.”
He processes that for a moment. I can see the pattern of his thoughts in the flicker of micro-expressions across his features, followed shortly after by the stuttering of yellow light at his temple. When he speaks at last, his tone is softer than before. “They believe we are a couple. This is what you are saying?”
I nod mutely, because I don’t know what else to fucking say. I feel like I’ve just confessed my love for the guy indirectly, and I’m waiting for him to say if all this is baseless or not. An android! I’m waiting for a fucking android to allay my fears! Jesus Christ, what is the world coming to?
“Do you find their assumption so repellant?”
I blink up to Nines, disarmed by the steady glow of yellow at his temple now. He’s frowning down at me, and his eyes have dipped a shade darker. Is he…upset? My voice sounds terribly feeble when I say, “Do you?”
Nines tilts his head at me, like I’m so terribly hard to understand, and his mouth brackets in a line of thought. “No, I do not. Until now, I had assumed I was not alone in this feeling.” At my open-mouthed, dumbstruck silence, Nines continues with a soft sigh, shrugging slightly, “I assumed that your physical responses to my presence and our growing companionship were indicative of the direction of our relationship. I apologize for the assumption.”
Did Nines just say he thought we were heading towards this all along or am I going senile already?
I blink rapidly, feeling a bit like an old computer with too many tabs open. “Did—I’m sorry, what? You thought we were…all along?”
Nines’ expression is sedate when he nods, “Yes. It seemed obvious to me by our shared attraction and my own growing feelings that we were bound to arrive at this destination at some point. Did you not think it as well?” There’s a slight hesitation, and he nods, LED blocking red for a moment as he dips his eyes away from me. “I see.”
My head feels like it’s going to fucking explode, it’s swimming with so much information. He likes me? Like…really likes me? What the fuck is wrong with him? I’ve done nothing but treat him like shit and here he is confessing that he’s attracted to me and attached emotionally?
The silence stretches and Nines’ LED begins to flicker between red and yellow. His unease is unreadable from his carefully restrained expression, but it’s written all over his body language and posture. Tight, coiled, ready for rejection. He’s already beginning to lean away from me in anticipation. Am I really just gonna hang this poor bastard out to dry alone? I mean, hell, if he can do it, I certainly can…right?
“Nines, I…I didn’t know you felt like that. I would’ve…”
He shakes his head, “I don’t expect you to reciprocate, Gavin. It was never my intention to make you uncomfortable or…” He falters, perhaps the first time I’ve ever seen him falter in his speech, and it damn near breaks my heart.
Something elemental in me breaks, untethers itself, and says fuck it, because I find myself reaching a hand forward unbidden. I brush knuckles with Nines, this time willingly instead of ‘on accident’ like all the times before, and it sends a flush of tingles running up my arm at the tiny gesture. We’re very close now. So close, I can nearly feel his artificial breath skating over my exposed skin.
“Look, Nines, I’m not—I’m not good at this kind of stuff, alright? But I don’t want you to think you were the only one…feeling something between us because…well, because you weren’t.” Eyes like crushed bluebells jump to me, and I feel his fingers twitch against mine. “You aren’t. Present tense.”
He blinks. The LED flashes—yellow, blue, yellow, solid burning blue. “You reciprocate?”
I nod, feeling a strange feather of relief flutter down my spine when I do. I smile, despite myself, and lift a shoulder, “Yeah, yeah I really fucking do. Like…a lot.”
Nines lips twitch towards a smirk, a fissure in his control, but it’s all the response I get. There’s a moment of tremulous eye contact between us that is damn near palpable. His gaze feels like a physical touch when it dips from my eyes to my lips, lingering for a soft, hesitant moment, and his fingers wind with mine quietly. My stomach bottoms out when he presses in a bit closer, and I lean back into the door fully, letting him invade my space.
He doesn’t even have to ask if I’m alright with him kissing me—I’m sure my eyes are screaming it without my permission anyway. But he does. A lifted brow, a murmured, “May I?” I nod, and like I’m some submissive house bunny used to being coddled, I let him kiss me gently. The first impression of his lips is smooth. Like marble. Soft. He tastes like mint lozenges, and his hands are impossibly gentle against my cheeks.
But it was over the moment it began. I knew it would be.
It’s impossible to deny the electricity buzzing between us, or to slow what we’ve already set into motion once it begins. Like I knew it would the moment his lips touched mine, the kiss deepens into something a bit more urgent, a bit more frenzied. Hands begin delving beneath shirts and fingers start curling into hair. My breath becomes choppy and labored against him, and I almost laugh as pleasant goosebumps start peppering my skin.
His lips have started to dip below my jaw, and for being an android, the guy sure knows all the places to pluck to make me sing like a violin. I feel his mouth smiling against my skin and I murmur between breaths, “Something…funny?”
Nines inhales a deep breath of me, nose skimming against my throat delicately, “Anderson was right.”
I arch into him when his hands skate south, and my fingers wind like tethers into his hair, “About what?”
“You do like me.”
A horribly embarrassing groan works its way out of me when he does something delightful with his mouth, and I can’t even be mad that he’s an eavesdropper.
“You told me you didn’t hear.”
Nines laughs, low and deep in his throat, “I may have bent the truth only slightly.”
I chuckle despite myself, “Prick.”
He braces my arms over my head by my wrists, murmuring a soft, “Asshole,” and just like that we’re lost again. We fall silent and wind into each other like we’ve done this a million times, and holy God, is it nice.
I never thought I’d enjoy kissing a man, or an android for that matter, but God this is really fucking nice. He’s cupping my face with one hand, the other bracing my wrists against the door behind me. I wriggle one hand free and begin plucking at the buttons on his collar impatiently, and it isn’t long before I’ve peeled him out of his shirt and he out of mine. Touching, touching, touching. We can’t seem to help ourselves. We waited too long to do this.
Holy fuck, am I actually doing this? Or is this some fucking fever dream? God, please don’t let it stop.
And it doesn’t. It really, truly happens. We have sex in the precinct bathroom against the door with about fifty other officers on the other side, going about their daily business in (mostly) ignorant bliss. I manage to remain quiet during our coupling (how, I don’t know), and despite how fast we finish, it definitely ranks in my top three experiences of all time. Somehow, someway, this strange little bathroom rendezvous, with lemon cleaner hanging in the air and the silky skin of an android pressed into mine, is pretty fucking fantastic.
When we finish and help each other get dressed amidst smirkingly whispered promises to repeat this whole exchange in the future, I can’t help but thinking how stupid I was overthinking all this. I should’ve just gone with my gut and went for it. I could’ve saved myself a whole lot of trouble if I just quit thinking so goddamn much and trusted my instincts.
But sometimes, I’m a lot more stubborn than I am smart, and that’s just a proven fact. It’s even more obvious when Nines and I leave the bathroom and I return to my desk, feeling sated and calm, that I’m gonna have to work on that pride of mine. Because Hank is smiling at me over the top of his goddamn monitor, and so help me God, his eyes are screaming a smug victory.
Damn it, if he wasn’t right all along.