Work Text:
Bitter blends, saccharine smiles
1.
It’s pouring outside, heavy sheets of rain beating unforgivingly down onto the concrete while the sun, had one been able to see it behind the dark clouds, would barely have risen this early in the morning.
A lone figure scurries across the streets, silently cursing himself for not bringing an umbrella. He’d thought, falsely, that he’d have enough time to walk to work before the rain began crashing down.
There’s light in the distance. A shop open despite the early hour and Connor hurries to seek shelter in its warm embrace. His arrival is signified by the cheery chime of a bell. He stands there miserably, half a step inside the door and drips water all over the welcome mat.
“Just a sec!”
Connor doesn’t answer, too focused on taking in the cozy, pastel tones of the place. An entire wall is covered in bookshelves filled to the brim and the odd scattering of decorations displayed on its shelves. A hand-written sign hangs on one of them, declaring it’s alright to borrow a book to read for the duration of the visit or even bring it home, should that be more your style. His fingers twitch with the urge to run them over the spines and it takes some effort to convince himself not to do it seeing as he’d make a mess in the process. Mismatched chairs and tables of a similar colour gives it a homely feel and there are succulents on every table — which Connor greatly approves of.
The sound of footsteps coming his way has him looking up to observe the morning staff. His eyes land on a man clad in a white t-shirt, soft black pants and a flour-covered, pinstripe apron in pastel pink. He’s scowling but even that isn’t enough to make him less attractive. Brown, messy hair, a sharp jawline sporting a five o’clock shadow and piercing grey-green eyes which bore into Connor’s own with fiery intensity.
“Well?” he asks, tone demanding, and Connor allows only a brief second of feeling saddened at knowing this man very likely isn't the nicest.
Not that it stops him from ogling anyway.
“I didn’t want to drip water all over your floor,” Connor says, raising his hands in a manner best described as placating.
“Bit late for that don’t you think?” A raised eyebrow and a pointed look at the puddle steadily growing around him from when the carpet had been unable to absorb any more moisture.
Connor flushes. “Well... in that case...” He steps forward and places himself in front of the till, scanning the man’s face as he does so. His name tag reads ‘Gavin’ (Gavin Reed. Age: 36. Criminal Record: none) and this close Connor can see freckles speckled like constellations over the bridge of his nose and cheeks. “Would you mind making me a coffee then?”
Gavin’s face twists through a series of expressions. So many that even Connor isn’t quick enough to process them before he settles back on mild irritation. He gestures vaguely at the big blackboard menus behind the counter and asks: “Which kind?”
“Surprise me. As long as it’s sweet,” Connor says, unable and unwilling to let his gaze stray from Gavin’s beautiful eyes — although he’s forced to when Gavin rolls his shoulders in a shrug and turns around. Then he pauses, paper cup in his hand.
“Name?” he asks over his shoulder.
“Connor.”
There’s only silence after their exchange, excluding the sounds of coffee beans grinding or milk steaming and the clicking of keys from the register. Far too soon his order is up and it’s shoved near violently into his waiting hands.
“Thank you.”
Gavin grunts at him and disappears towards the back without so much as saying goodbye. The android suppresses a wistful sigh at the very attractive ass he’s able to catch an eyeful of when Gavin walks away. Shaking his head slightly to clear it, Connor pauses by the door to brace himself. He’s got one hand on the handle when something pokes him hard in the small of his back. He yelps before whipping around. It’s no easy feat to creep up on him but he hadn’t even noticed the sound of Gavin’s footsteps.
“Here.” Clipped, still angry. Hell, Gavin isn’t looking at him, rather… he’s focusing on a spot above his left shoulder as if the wooden door frame yields anything of interest.
“I couldn’t-“
“Just fucking take it, dipshit!” Gavin interrupts as he shoves the umbrella into Connor’s hands, forcing him to accept it lest it clatter to the floor.
“I don— thank you!” Connor shouts at the retreating figure although he’s not terribly surprised when it goes unanswered.
Well then...
~-~
The receptionist, when he finally arrives at the precinct, looks at him funny for carrying an umbrella despite already being soaked to the bone. Connor gives her a wane smile and quickly disappears towards the changing rooms to towel himself off and put on some dry clothes. Once done, he picks up the cup and pauses to observe the messy scrawl there.
Conner
Huh. Guess he’ll have to correct Gavin the next time he sees him. For the sake of returning the umbrella of course.
~-~
2.
“Why the fuck is that your lock-screen?” Gavin asks, clearly uncomfortable, perhaps the slightest bit perturbed.
“Why not? I mean-” she tilts the phone at Gavin, “-just look at the cute! Hey! You agree with me right?!”
Next thing Connor knows, the female barista (Tina Chen. Aged: 35. Criminal record: none) shoves her phone right underneath his nose. Gently, Connor takes it from her fingers to look over the picture displayed.
It’s Gavin. A much younger Gavin, somewhere in his late teens to early twenties, sitting cross-legged on a short-cropped plain of grass; recognisable from the crooked grin stretching his lips and the squinting, greyish-green eyes gazing into the camera. His cheeks a rosy pink from the sun and freckles standing out clearer than ever.
He seems at ease, in the picture, and happy... carefree in a way Connor hadn’t seen before during their limited interactions. Balanced precariously on his brown locks, slightly lopsided, rests a flower crown. Daisies, forget-me-nots and roses twining through green leaves.
Connor’s LED spins yellow, processing the image, and unbeknown to him a small smile quirks his lips upward.
The phone is snatched from his hands.
“For fuck’s sake T!” Gavin rounds on him after shoving the phone in Tina’s chest, letting it go without bothering to check if she has a firm grip on it or not. His cheeks are flushed red and the blush is climbing steadily higher to encompass the sharp cut of his cheekbones. “And you!” He pokes a finger into Connor’s chest with force. “Stop laughing at me!”
“I am not laughing at you,” Connor replies dutifully though his tone belays his confusion.
“What-the-fuck-ever! Are you going to order something or not?!”
“The customer-service in this place is appalling,” Connor says mildly. He ignores Tina’s snickering in the background and continues quickly when it looks like Gavin is gearing up for a fight. “Two lattes. One large with an extra shot of espresso and one small with caramel-and hazelnut syrup.”
Gavin mutters underneath his breath as he forcefully ticks the prices into the register. “That all?”
Connor scans the wide variety of baked goods on display and figures Hank would be in a considerably more agreeable mood if he got something sweet to nibble on. “A red velvet cupcake.”
Gavin shrugs and places the pastry in a bag before starting on the coffee. “Name?”
“Connor, with an o. It hasn’t changed since yesterday, or the day before that.” A dismissive flap of the hand is all he receives in turn and from the angle he’s standing it’s impossible to read whatever he’s writing on the cup. His name isn’t called, Gavin merely shoves his order into his hands as usual while Tina rings up the customers after him in line.
“Thank you. See you later, Tina, Gavin.”
“Yeah, yeah... not like I have much choice in the matter.”
It’s not until he has a hand on the door-knob that he turns back to face Gavin, who’s eyes had definitely been following his retreat seeing as they snap to the side when he turns. Curious. “It’s a very adorable picture, Tina is right in that!” and then he races out the door to the sound of incoherent spluttering and a towel slamming into the glass of the door before sailing down to land on the floor with a very distinct splat. Connor permits himself a cheeky wink and a wave through the window as he runs down the street.
Gavin flips him the bird.
He’s still smiling by the time he sets the goodies down on Hank’s desk. His pseudo-father gives him a weird look but shrugs good-naturedly and makes grabby hands at the coffee.
Priorities.
Connor swipes a finger through the cream-cheese frosting and pops it in his mouth before pushing it at Hank. It’s curious how something so sweet can come from the hands of a man as surly as Gavin. He takes off the protective cardboard sleeve on his drink and lets out a startled laugh. It reads:
Oonnor.
That little shit.
-~-
3.
“So what do you even do?” Gavin asks. There are dark circles underneath his eyes, darker than usual anyway, and he looks exhausted. It sends a flicker of worry through him oddly enough. They’re not friends. Gavin is usually rude and unaccommodating at the best of times with brief glimpses of flirtation thrown in between. They’ve only ever spoken when Connor passes through to get his daily fix. A habit he’d picked up all those weeks ago when he first stumbled into the shop seeking shelter from the rain.
It takes him an additional three seconds to realise he’s been asked a question. “Oh. I’m a homicide detective with the DPD,” Connor replies with no small amount of pride colouring his tone.
“No shit?” Gavin says, one eyebrow raised. “Why’d you choose that of all jobs?”
“I was designed as an investigative android, the very first of my kind. After the revolution, despite being free to choose whatever-“ Connor pauses, searching for the right words, “I wanted to stay. I like it there. It feels like I’m making a difference, I suppose.”
Gavin drums his fingers over the counter top in an unsteady rhythm while he waits for the coffee to grind. He pauses and a grin breaks out over his face. Taking the customary marker from the counter, he lifts the cup and blackens out the name already there, replacing it with something else. He’s snickering quietly and Connor feels... like he’s malfunctioning, warm at the sight to a point where his cooling fans kick in. Additionally, his thirium pump stutters for a beat and he’s quick to run a diagnostics.
It comes back clean much to his discontent.
Gavin pushes the finished product across the counter before resting his head back on his folded arms, leaving him in much the same position Connor found him, face buried away from sight and leaning heavily on the counter top.
“Are you alright?” Connor can’t help but voice, lingering even though he knows it’ll make him late.
There’s an answering mumble. It’s muffled but sounds somewhat close to “peachy”.
In a split-second, Connor pre-constructs several scenarios and despite having a sixty-three percent chance of being pushed away and yelled at, he runs his fingers once through the hair on the back of Gavin’s head. It’s smooth and cold and the strands glide through his fingers in a pleasing manner.
There’s a stuttered breath from the man below him and a pair of eyes lock onto his. He doesn’t push Connor away, most likely from shock, even if the gentle touch seems to have had the opposite effect of what Connor was aiming for. Gavin is tenser than ever before when Connor meant for his action to be relaxing. “I- make sure to get some sleep, Gavin. You look tired,” he says before beating a hasty retreat, quietly screaming at himself for meddling with things he had no business meddling with.
Gavin isn’t his friend.
His chest aches at the thought and, too caught up in his own swirling thoughts, he doesn’t notice the contemplating frown twisting Gavin’s features as he stares at his retreating back.
Robocop.
At least Hank gets a laugh out of it even if Connor himself doesn’t understand the reference.
-~-
4.
"Hey Connor, sup Nines?” Gavin greets them as soon as they walk inside despite being busy with another customer. He’s bustling around behind the counter with barely contained chaotic energy. Tina is there too and she gives them a quick wave before motioning the next person forward.
Connor blinks, turning his head to look up at his successor. “I thought you said you hadn’t been here before?”
“I haven’t,” Nines replies, monotonous, looking around the place with an air of quiet disapproval. Crowds aren’t his strong suit at the best of times and he nearly grimaces in disdain when someone brushes against him on their way out the door. He wipes a hand down his arm to rid himself of the crawling feeling of unwanted touch that lingers behind.
“So how do you-?” Connor begins to ask, cutting himself off when he can’t figure out what else to say.
Nines raises an eyebrow and steps up to the till. “We take knitting classes together.”
“You what?”
“Knitting,” Gavin chimes in, deadpan and brow furrowed seriously; even if his eyes betray his amusement. “It’s great. Gives me something to do with my hands. Nines sucks at it though.”
Connor looks between them and takes in the way they’re glaring at each other. They’ve also fallen into some weird type of ribbing which must be born from routine.
He tries very hard not to feel jealous.
“I- I can’t tell whether you’re joking or not,” he settles on instead and Gavin turns to him instantly.
“Sounds like a you problem,” he quips. “You two gonna order or not?”
“Heated thririum. We’ll be sitting here but I’d rather have it in a to-go mug in case we need to leave.”
“I’ll have the same,” Connor says, handing over a twenty dollar bill and stuffing the access in the tip jar. All the while, Nines had decided a better use for his time would be to procure a table so Connor is left by the register alone with Gavin since Tina had also disappeared.
“So what’s with the change in routine? You’ve never stayed before,” Gavin remarks, drumming an irregular beat on the counter top while they wait for the thirium to heat.
“Ah. I’ve been temporarily assigned to a new partner and he’s a massive prick and I need some time away from him before I do something unprofessional. Like break his hands... or neck.”
Gavin looks genuinely taken aback by the sheer vitriol in Connor’s voice and he lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Dude must really be a piece of work if he’s managed to piss you off this much. What did he do? Other than being a dick I mean?”
“Apart from treating me like an object and belittling my feelings? He can’t take criticism and refuses to acknowledge my input or opinions whenever we work a case together. I’m well aware that he’s a more experienced officer, given his seniority, but I was made for investigating crime scenes. You’d think that would be reason enough for him to listen to me instead of tracking dead-end leads until he reaches the same conclusions I drew from the start!” Connor realises his voice had grown louder with frustration over the course of his explanation until he was practically yelling.
You could hear a pin drop in the silence left behind of his outburst so he ducks his head down with a blush and mutters an embarrassed “sorry” to the other patrons. He’s still kicking himself mentally when the quiet murmur of conversations slowly starts back up again.
Gavin writes something on his cup and fills it in silence, offering the two beverages with a sympathetic twist of his lips. Their fingers brush during the exchange and Gavin takes hold of his sleeve with his thumb and pointer finger when Connor moves to slink away.
“He’ll come around. I’m sure you’re a great Detective, Con, and he’ll be forced to see it eventually. And if not-“ Gavin shrugs again with a carefree grin, “I’ll kick his ass for you.”
It startles a laugh out of him. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, Gavin. For the offer and for letting me ramble,” Connor says, sincerely.
“Anytime.” Gavin tosses a friendly wave over his shoulder and disappears to the back.
Nines wears an expression of silent judgement mixed with a healthy dose of bemusement once he sits down across from him. Connor sticks his tongue out at him and they proceed to discuss work and Connor’s partner. Their progressively more convoluted plans of murder eventually brings a smile to his face, from the utter ridiculousness of them, and the tension in his shoulders slowly saps away. In the end, Nines' quiet company manages to cheer him up and the day suddenly seems far easier to get through.
His cup, once he looks it over, says Dorian and beneath it is a scribbled recommendation for a television show.
He understands why Gavin chose that particular name after watching the first and only season later that evening.
-~-
5.
“You’ve got something on your face.” With carefully telegraphed movements, Connor reaches forward to wipe a streak of flour from one of Gavin’s cheekbones. “There.”
“Not gonna lie, Data, that was kinda gay,” Gavin snarks though the words are mitigated by the radiant smile he wears. Connor feels nothing but slight, tired amusement at Gavin’s antics instead of any real hurt or confusion. The man in front of him has little to no filter on the best of days; a fact Connor had learned early in their acquaintanceship.
“Well... according to the sign posted outside you’re a flaming homosexual-“ Connor’s barely halfway through the sentence before the blood drains from Gavin’s face and he vaults over the counter to rush outside, “and that interested parties should give you their phone number for today’s special!”
Through the closing door, he hears a long line of loud, vehement cursing and then Gavin comes stomping back inside. “I am going to murder her!”
“You say, loudly, in front of a police officer who works in homicide.”
“And what of it?! You gonna cuff me?” Gavin lets out an over-exaggerated gasp. “Strip-search?” he wiggles his eyebrows with a devilish grin. “If anything I say can and will be held against me, I’m going to have to say Con-“
“Oh my god! Shut up!” Connor interrupts with a laugh, blushing furiously while Gavin gathers up some cleaning supplies to wipe off the board with. A poorly executed wink is thrown his way when Reed bustles past and Connor really shouldn’t find it as endearing as he does. He watches through the window as Gavin crouches down to clear the board off, lingering on the slip of skin visible from where his shirt had ridden up, and trails his gaze over the corded muscles of his upper back and biceps. Fuck, he’s strong enough to heave him up for sure and Connor’s focus slips into daydreaming.
Lost in thought, he startles when Gavin rises to his feet again because now, suddenly, they’re looking each other dead in the eye. So, like the coward he is, he turns back to the well-memorised menu albeit with a faint blush staining his cheeks.
When Gavin is back behind the counter (a safe barrier between them, as it should be) Connor hastily orders a drink since that’s the only reason he’s there in the first place. He thinks he might have cut off whatever remark had been on the tip of Gavin’s tongue since the rest of the transaction is done in complete silence. When he reaches forward with a ten-dollar bill, Gavin shakes his head.
“It’s on the house. Last time Tina did something similar-“ he nods towards the door, “-I had to endure countless of people trying to flirt with me which is annoying as fuck. Especially when there’s only one person I’m really interested in.”
“Oh,” Connor says, whispers really, with the weight of Gavin’s expectant gaze boring into his own. “I-“ the shrill sound of his work-phone ringing cuts the sentence off before it can gain traction and Connor offers an apologetic smile. It’s Hank and it’s important so he slowly walks backwards, towards the door, still deep in conversation. With a last rueful grimace, Connor turns and rushes to the car parked on the curb outside.
Through the passenger seat window he’s able to spot Gavin’s hunched over figure, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers, and the disappointment surrounding him is palpable. Something within Connor aches when he sees the downtrodden tired expression on his face right before he disappears from view.
Con is written on the cup in careful calligraphy and Connor’s heart flutters at the sight of the nickname.
-~-
+1.
A paper mug is unceremoniously slammed down in front of him on the desk and Connor startles at the suddenness of it. His combat protocols kick in before he can stop them and he jerks backwards with his chair, crashing it into the person standing behind him, before turning. He has a hand fisted in fabric, the other one flying forward, before he slams on the metaphorical brakes.
“Rude,” Gavin sniffs while rubbing at his upper chest, where Connor had hit him, seeming wholly unconcerned with the death grip Connor has on his shirt and the fist he’d stopped a hair's-breadth away from his face. Well... apart from looking decidedly grumpy that is. It’s difficult, given how lagging his processors are from lack of proper maintenance, to keep himself from staring openly. Part of him wonders if this Gavin, and him being here, is somehow a figment of his imagination.
“So from what I’ve heard,“ Gavin continues, “you’re absolute shit at taking care of yourself. So go on, pack it up and come along.”
“What?” Connor says, rather ineloquently, when he strings enough of a thought together to reply.
“Come along, dumbass. I’m making you dinner and then you’re going to get a minimum of eight hours of sleep, alright?”
“What?”
Gavin stares at him for a moment longer, expression morphing from mild irritation to confused-and-done-with-this, before he turns towards Nines and makes a helpless gesture with his hands. When Connor follows his line of sight, he can clearly see his brother trying exceedingly hard not to laugh, betrayed only by the insistent twitching of his lips. Nines offers a shrug in response, LED swirling wildly at his temple, before he turns back to his own screen.
With a frustrated huff, Gavin blows an errant strand of hair away from his forehead, and crosses his arms defensively over his chest. “At least allow me to drive you home? According to Val, you’ve been here for almost a week straight.”
“Have not,” Connor protests mildly. “It’s only-“ he breaks off to double-check the date and almost staggers, “Thursday,” he finishes lamely.
“And when were you home last?”
“Thursday,” Connor grumbles and pries his hand away from Gavin’s shirt to reluctantly close the open windows and tabs on his monitor. He shrugs his jacket over his shoulders, starting a little when Gavin unwinds the, frankly, very ugly knitted scarf around his neck to drape it around Connor’s throat instead. He burrows into it, the material softer than anything he’s ever felt before, with a small grin. It smells like him.
“You know androids don’t feel cold, right?”
“Shut up~” Gavin sing-songs before nudging him forwards with his shoulder. Connor tries, and fails, not to think about how natural it feels to fall into step beside him. At the very last moment he remembers the cup on his desk and he swipes it up in his hands. It tastes like liquid gingerbread cookies, the perfect balance between spice and cream, and a small moan of satisfaction wheedles its way past his lips. He happily goes in for another sip and too focused on his own thoughts completely misses Gavin’s fond eyeroll and small smile.
“How did you get them to let you in?” Connor asks, once they’re halfway to Gavin’s vehicle.
“Hm? Oh, y’know, Tina and Valerie are married so I bribed her,” Gavin says with a shrug. “Pretty sure they’ve been conspiring to lock us in a broom closet together sometime in the near future. Figured I’d save them the trouble.”
“They watch a tad too many rom-coms.”
Gavin snorts. “Tell me about it.”
He unlocks the car door and makes a grand gesture of holding it open for Connor like an absolute dork and Connor is helpless to stop the small smile curving his lips. Gavin settles into the driver’s seat and turns the key in the ignition. “Where to?”
“I was promised dinner,” Connor reminds him, “but I don’t have a kitchen.”
“What kind of person doesn’t have a kitchen?” Gavin mutters, scrunching his face up as if the mere suggestion offends him.
“Most androids aren’t capable of ingesting large quantities of food. I can ingest various fluids, apart from large quantities of alcohol or other detrimental substances, because it’s easy to drain. Food on the other hand is both more difficult to turn into fuel and also tedious to clean. I don’t mind small amounts to taste but the easiest meal to consume would be thirium-based.”
“So...?”
“Liquid dinner,” Connor laughs. “You can make me another one of these.”
He finishes the statement with a wink and Gavin is suddenly very interested in watching the road. They settle into comfortable silence and while they’re cruising around the mostly desolate streets of Detroit, Connor glances down at his cup. He twists it a few degrees and where Gavin would usually write silly nicknames or bad puns CONNOR is spelled out in bold letters followed by an asymmetrical heart.
With his thirium pump fluttering in his chest, Connor reaches over the centre console and grabs hold of Gavin’s hand. His audio processors pick up on Gavin’s elevated heartbeat and sharp inhale so at the next red light Connor leans over to plant a lingering kiss against his stubbled cheek.
He giggles when a car honks its horn behind them and Gavin rushes to drive forward, blush staining his cheeks a delightful pink. It’s impossible not to break into laughter. Loud and carefree and eventually his friend boyfriend Gavin joins in with his quiet chuckles of his own while stroking his thumb over the back of Connor’s hand.
As first dates go, a shared nap on the couch after a quiet conversation isn’t all that bad, especially when Connor wakes up the morning after, sprawled over a broad chest, with fingers carding through his hair.