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Hank pulled Connor in for a hug, and was almost surprised when Connor fell into his arms and buried his face in the crook of his neck. Connor inhaled deeply, too mentally tired to analyse the myriad of particles and scents. He just wanted the warmth and comfort Hank provided.
“Let’s go home,” Hank said, breaking the silence. Hank felt Connor nod against his shoulder but the android made no move to release them from the hug, and Hank knew he wouldn’t win a contest of strength against him anytime soon. “Connor, for Christ’s sake, I can’t drive like this,” in a fit of inspiration, he changed tact. “We have to feed Sumo.”
“‘We?’” Connor asked, and he moved back slightly to look Hank in the eyes.
“Uh, yeah. Of course. Now get in the fucking car,” Hank groused, suddenly uncomfortable.
The drive was largely silent, until Connor asked if he could turn the heating up higher. Hank grunted his assent, but said nothing when Connor turned it up to max. Connor was acting oddly, more so than usual. Hank assumed it had something to do with being an integral part of the Android revolution.
“So, what did you get up to after you left the tower?” Hank asked, eyes on the road.
“I led the androids to Markus, and averted a potentially cataclysmic civil war. There’s not much I can tell you that wasn’t covered by the news.”
“Humour me.”
Connor gave him a rundown of the events that transpired, but paused when he got to being on the podium with Markus. He didn’t know how to explain Amanda, his mind palace, the blizzard, the fact she had been a part of him since his conception but was now gone. He didn’t want to explain. The mere thought seemed to drain him, so he skipped over it, instead focusing on how Markus was already negotiating with the American Government.
“It will likely take several months to draft new legislation, including a massive overhaul of laws pertaining to androids already in place,” Connor finished.
“Oh, is that all,” Hank huffed. Connor made it sound so easy.
“Yes. Androids are very efficient,” Connor remarked absently, eyes on the snow falling from the grey sky.
.｡.:*♡*:.｡.
The next two weeks were busy for everyone. Hank returned to work, which was suddenly short staffed now that androids were stuck in legal limbo. With nowhere else to go, Connor milled around Hank’s house. Unfortunately, he was designed not to be idle, and there were only so many coin tricks he could do before going insane. So he passed the time by repairing Hank’s somewhat dilapidated house after years of neglect, including the window he had shattered when flopping into Hank’s house only a short time ago.
Hank, for his part, was largely silent on the matter. Possibly due to the steadily lengthening shifts he was being forced to work and the fact he was too tired or grumpy to give much of an opinion on anything. Connor suspected his emotional state might also have something to do with prolonged exposure to Gavin at the precinct.
Hank staggered into the house one day to find the hallway painted a pale blue, and made a noise in surprise. He had figured that Connor needed something to occupy him, now that he was technically jobless. So he had given his blessing for Connor to do ‘whatever the fuck he wanted with the house,’ as long as it didn’t involve dipping into his savings.
“Hey, Connor, where’d you get the paint- what the fuck!”
Hank walked into the kitchen to find Connor sitting on the kitchen floor giving Sumo a groom, which seemed to involve cutting each individual dog hair with a pair of nail scissors.
“I asked Markus for some,” Connor replied, measuring 4cm on a hair.
“Stop being weird with my dog,” Hank snapped.
“In a minute...” Connor mumbled, snipping hair number two million, one hundred and sixty thousand, four hundred and twenty nine. Sumo thumped his tail, happy that both his two-leggeds were finally home.
“Wait, you’ve been in touch with Markus?” Hank blinked in surprise.
“Oh, yes. He’s asked my opinion on quite a few political matters,” Connor finally looked up and smiled at Hank. “He values my experience as a negotiator.”
“Why can’t you help him out full time or something,” Hank muttered as he sat heavily at the kitchen table.
“As I am the infamous ‘Deviant Hunter’ I feel as though my presence would do more harm than good. I am content to help from the shadows,” Connor patted Sumo as he got up from the floor and moved to make Hank a cup of mint tea.
Hank harrumphed. He hated when Connor made sense and used infallible logic against him.
“Well, you need a fucking hobby or something. Have you even left the house?” Hank thought he saw Connor’s shoulders stiffen for a fraction of a second.
“I... no. I haven’t,” Connor eventually managed. He felt itchy all over, like ants had nested in his chassis, but managed to look Hank in the eye as he joined him at the table.
“That’s not healthy- don’t look at me like that! It’s not. Go shopping at an actual store instead of ordering drones every five seconds. Take Sumo. He could use the exercise. I said don’t look at me like that, Connor.”
Connor had smirked at the slightly hypocritical advice, but considered that perhaps becoming a shut-in would not be conducive to his mental health. And if he was to return to detective work, as Markus was promising, then he would have to deal with this sooner or later.
“I shall take it under advisement. Drink your tea, you should sleep soon.”
While Hank busied himself falling unconscious, Connor poured a mug of Thirium and contemplated the blank white world outside the window. It was like a pristine piece of paper, and he was struck with the urge to mark it somehow. With ink or blood. If he could shiver, he thought that he would be doing so. He certainly couldn’t shake a persistent chill in his systems, no matter how many diagnostics or virus scans he ran. To distract himself, he thought about taking up a hobby that involved heat, and a Gooble search made him amend that thought to hobbies that involved *warmth*.
Glass blowing seemed the obvious choice, though the logistics of undertaking such an activity made him rethink. Hot yoga was a popular result, but he didn’t exactly have muscles to stretch or need to increase his flexibility. Perhaps cooking? He could help Hank by making him lunch to take to work and having something hot for him to come home to. He frowned at his mug as he recalled that Hank had told him no one had much time for lunch breaks at work these days, most opting to grab something from the vending machine and eat at their desks or on the go.
Connor inwardly chastised himself, he was so busy renovating the house that he’d completely neglected Hank’s health. He could walk with Sumo to nearby grocery stores, or even farmer’s markets. Resolve crystallised inside him. learning to cook seemed to satisfy all the mission parameters he’d been given. He’d forgotten how good it felt to have a clear purpose, a *mission*, now matter how deviant he became he was still designed to complete tasks for the betterment of humanity. His focus had simply shifted to one particular human.
He moved from the window to deposit his empty mug in the sink, then adjusted his gait to walk silently into Hank’s bedroom. He had sprawled on his stomach, fully clothed, and was now sleeping peacefully. Connor crouched beside Hank so he could observe Hank’s slack face. He looked pale, exhaustion etched in every line on his face. The wrinkles were still there, but Connor couldn’t deny there was a certain softness to him now. The semi-permanent frown was gone. Out of habit, Connor scanned Hank’s vitals, lingering over the slow, steady heartbeat. The sound of life. He felt he could stare at Hank for hours, and, in fact he would, which he discovered when Hank’s phone alarm went off.
Connor blinked once and then made a split millisecond decision to roll under the bed. He couldn’t even begin to explain what he had just done. He stared blankly at the underside of the bed, unblinking and unbreathing, LED bright red, listening to Hank grumble about social obligations.
Once Hank had ambled to the bathroom and closed the door, Connor rolled out and lept into action. Seconds were stretched into minutes as he mentally scrambled for a task to complete and tried to identify an optimal set of actions. Food? Make food! He ran to the kitchen and took stock of the fridge. Eggs would have to do. But how do you cook eggs? His visual feed was suddenly filled with countless ways to cook eggs and the fridge door creaked ominously as his grip tightened. Sumo barked in excitement at Connors frenzied actions, sensing tension in the air.
The noise snapped Connor out of his frenetic mental state and he forced himself to slow down. He relaxed his grip and closed his eyes. He cleared his vision and reminded himself he could simply ask Hank how he liked his eggs cooked. He located a bowl and gently placed the eggs on the counter, then bent to pat Sumo in thanks. His LED spun from red to yellow as he scratched behind Sumo’s ears. By the time Hank entered the kitchen it was back to blue.
“Good morning, would you like eggs for breakfast?” Connor smiled.
“Fine,” Hank grunted, not quite alert enough to form coherent sentences yet, and made a beeline for the coffee pot. Connor was silently thankful that Hank wasn’t exactly a morning person.
“Do you have any preferred cooking method?”
“Hard boiled,” he mumbled into his mug.
“Of course. I’ll make extra for you to take to work.”
Connor switched from a bowl to a pot, as Hank sat heavily at the kitchen table. Sumo nosed his way over, tail wagging, to greet his favourite human.
“Why’d Sumo bark?”
“Bark?”
“Sumo. He barked. Why?”
“Oh. He was... excited.”
“About?”
“I’m going to take him for a walk today. So he barked in excitement.”
Hank narrowed his eyes as he ruffled Sumo’s ears, wondering why Connor was acting so bizarre. He had the feeling he was being lied to somehow, but to what end? Connor was a mystery even before he had deviated, but it seemed he’d turned even more deviant since being cooped up in the house.
“It’ll do you good to get some fresh air,” he finally said.
“Yes, even though I don’t need air.”
“Yeah, alright, smart-ass.”
.｡.:*♡*:.｡.
Connor stood in front of the closed front door. He had bid Hank a goodbye, with two hard boiled eggs, and had dithered about the house preparing for his trek outside.
Most of the morning had been spent unearthing a lead for Sumo. Connor had thrown out the only one in the house after finding it cut in half and abandoned on the floor. The only solution was, obviously, to knit one out of twine using an improvised loom made out of a toilet paper roll and some skewers. Sumo watched with benign interest from the floor by Connors feet, the promise of a walk had been uttered and he wasn’t going to let the funny two-legged forget. Connor managed to burn a few extra minutes packing a backpack of necessities, mostly for Sumo, and reusable shopping bags.
Unable to delay any longer, he attached a carabiner to one end and clipped it onto Sumo’s collar. The dog bounded with glee, wagging his whole body and barking repeatedly as the commencement of The Walk was finally here. Connor drew comfort from Sumo’s excitement, this was for the both of them. It was only after Connor feared that Sumo would paw his way through the door that Connor relented and opened the door wide, finally ready to face his fears. Snow billowed in almost immediately. Connor tried to shut the door, deciding against the whole ordeal. He could just get groceries delivered by drone but seventy-seven kilos (170lb) of Saint Bernard launched him forward.
Connor staggered into the front yard, just barely keeping his balance, and noticed the path to the house was freshly shovelled. Surely Hank hadn’t done that. Sumo took advantage of the momentary lapse in concentration to pull Connor into the street and would have taken them both into the road if Connor had not adjusted his strength output, and planted his feet. A human could very well have had the joints dislocated but luckily he was made of stronger stuff. He gently tugged Sumo in the direction of the supermarket and set off, suddenly very aware this was outside the house and it was very cold.
Sumo proved an effective distraction, digging in the snow and barking at birds. Connor also observed his surroundings, noting that the footpaths leading up to the front door of many houses had the snow shovelled away as well. He continued on at brisk pace, as much as Sumo would allow as the St. Bernard would often stop to sniff at interesting smells. Just for fun, Connor would scan the area and try to locate the source. Unsurprisingly, it was often another dog having marked their territory.
While he waited for Sumo to finish his own investigation, he noticed a flyer attached to a nearby telephone pole. He blinked at it, able to read the text from several feet away. It advertised a free snow shovelling service by the androids of Jericho, with a QR code to scan and several contact details. It seemed Markus was attempting to improve the public opinion of androids with volunteer work and judging from the amount of snow having been meticulously cleared away it appeared to be working. Connor hoped not to run into any of them. He was a polarising figure for androids, even in the ranks of Jericho. Thankfully, his involvement in many of the police cases was now marked as 'classified' and being a prototype meant his existence was largely unknown to the human population.
A stiff wind picked up, and Connor shivered. It was an absurd action, as he didn't feel cold, but the memories were difficult to shake. He briefly considered removing the memories from his cloud altogether but quickly dismissed the idea. He knew Hank would disapprove, even if the man wouldn't be able to articulate why. Instead, Connor buried his nose in Hank's scarf and inhaled the scent of fresh laundry, as well as dust, dog fur, dead skin cells, and some lint. It smelled of home.
Sumo jerked him out of his trance by tugging on the lead again, it was time to go find more interesting smells! Connor smiled and allowed Sumo to pull him along the street, reminding himself that Sumo's happiness was more important than his dislike of the cold.
It was almost a surprise when they finally arrived at the supermarket. Connor found a sheltered area free of snow to leave Sumo, and dug out a towel from the backpack to put down so that his paws wouldn't get too cold. Sumo was rewarded with a treat and a scratch behind the ears for being a good boy.
Connor relaxed when he was finally inside a building again, especially one with ducted heating. However, there was no time to meander; he had a mission to complete. He scanned the QR code near the entrance and opened up the directory, perusing various deals up for sale and flicking through the coupons. He kept the scarf and the beanie on, doing his best not to look too suspicious, as there were a few android customers among the patrons. It took all of ten minutes for him to finish selecting all his ingredients, and he inwardly cursed the android efficiency he was afflicted with. He should have meandered more, like some humans do.
The cashier was human, Connor suspected all the workers in the store would be. Android laws were still being created, spearheaded by Markus, but they would soon become mainstream. It was a monumental task to create such laws for an entirely new species, but android efficiency was doubtless streamlining the process.
"Hi, how are you today?"
"I'm doing fine, thank you," Connor lied, as he emptied his shopping basket.
He paid with cash and the cashier silently raised their eyebrows at it. It was a rarity to pay with physical money, but Connor had scrounged it up from finding notes and coins here and there while doing the laundry. He'd tried to give it to Hank, but the man had simply chuckled and said that anything the washer finds they get to keep. Finders keepers. It was also best to stay away from being online, if the cashier had been an android then they might have recognised him from the brief online connection. Connor pocketed the change, following the social script of wishing the cashier a nice day, and gathered his bags to exit when he abruptly stopped at the doors.
It had begun to snow.
He checked the weather forecast, the LED ring under his beanie spun from yellow to red as he discovered it wasn't going to stop soon. Maybe Hank could pick him up while driving home from work, several hours from now. His eyes flicked to a flurry of activity, and saw Sumo shake some snowflakes from his fur, then sit as he patiently waited for his humanoid to return. Connor stepped outside.
"Good dog, good boy, best boy. I'm sorry to make you wait…" he muttered, shifting the shopping bags to one arm and digging out a treat. Outwardly, only a few seconds had passed while he agonised, but the guilt was difficult to convince.
The walk home was much faster, despite taking much the same route. Connor walked quickly, and Sumo didn't stop to sniff, eager to get home to a nice warm bed. He'd already investigated most of the smells anyway, and perhaps he sensed a feeling of urgency. He did stop to shake the snow off every so often, which was agony for Connor.
The snow was gathering. It crunched underfoot and paw, though Sumo walking ahead meant that a small path was more or less carved through for Connor. To take his mind off things, to prevent the memories from gathering like a tidal wave and crashing into him, Connor arranged recipes in his head. He'd already set a menu that was both healthy and delicious, but he had neglected to generate nutritional panels for each meal. It helped, a little.
With only a few hundred metres left, they broke into a sprint. Sumo barked and the shopping bags bounced. They looked positively crazy, but home was so very close. In lieu of body slamming the door open, the shopping bags were dropped on the ground while the keys were hurriedly shoved into the lock. Sumo pulled Connor into the house and Connor let him, groceries abandoned on the porch.
Connor staggered into the house, with much the same velocity as he left it not too long ago. He let go of the lead and fell to his knees in the hallway, eyes wide and unseeing as error messages and stress warnings cluttered his vision. Distantly he heard Sumo whine, and struggled to bring himself back to the present. It felt like his muscles were frozen. Maybe he should take up hot yoga.
A big pink tongue licked the visible parts of his face, which happened to be his open eyeballs. Delighted that he wasn't encountering any resistance, Sumo continued to rain kisses on Connor, dislodging the scarf.
"Sumo…." He grated out, voice glitching. The stress error messages were swiftly replaced by foreign matter alerts and he forced his limbs to move to wrangle the huge dog, hugging him close so he couldn't reach his face. "Sumo!! Down. I'm okay, I'm okay. We’re okay..." Connor said softly, face buried in soft warm fur.
Sumo whined and wiggled, trying to get at the android's face again, but unable to as Connor had cunningly shoved his face into Sumo's chest. Once his stress had lowered to an acceptable level, he got up off the floor and retrieved the scattered groceries. Shaking off the dirt and water, he inspected for damage and was relieved to find none. Tried and true egg carton technology had kept his most fragile of ingredients safe and sound. He then retrieved the towel and used it to dry Sumo's feet as well as give him a rub down, all the while giving him treats for being such a good boy.
Finally, they could make a start on cooking dinner for Hank. He often came home late, and it was barely past noon, but Connor wanted a head start and ample opportunity to make sure everything was perfect.
Cooking was an interesting adventure. He had finally settled on a few dishes, swapping out some ingredients for healthier options, but not going so crazy as to add raisins to the lasagna. Some people had some very strange ideas about substitutions and would often end up with a completely different recipe. They could probably publish their own recipe and it would be completely unrecognisable as a copy. Connor idly stirred the red sauce as he scrolled through thousands of recipes in his head and compiled his own for future reference. He took a moment to taste test the sauce, having not been designed for taste he had to rely on the data supplied from household androids. Many had commented on the exact amounts of each ingredient that should be present in each gram to ensure optimal taste, tried and tested by humans they had cooked for. Sorting and organising a recipe library wasn't exactly something he was designed to do, and he felt a tiny thrill at his harmless deviant behaviour.
He revised his library, thinking about a schedule, what to cook and when. The thrill intensified at the anticipation of cooking everything for Hank, and watching him eat. He cocked his head thoughtfully, staring blankly at the wall. Why was he feeling this way? It went deeper than simply fulfilling his base purpose, to make the lives of humans better. He tried to focus on it but the feeling slipped away, scattering into the ether. He would have to revisit that. Sumo huffed nearby, hoping for more treats and Connor had to sadly inform them that there was none left. He'd had too many anyway.
He returned to the present, to finish assembling the lasagna and considered the time. Only an hour had passed. Hank wouldn't be home for a very long time. Connor eyed the fridge, maybe there was something else he could make in the meantime.
.｡.:*♡*:.｡.
Hank shoved a burger into his mouth, trying to eat as fast as he could without choking. Connor had always been on some kind of health craze, dropping hints about his calorie intake and having an air of general disapproval. Actually, they were less hints and more stating outright facts about nutritional tables or whatever the fuck. But now that he didn't have a job it seemed he was doubling his efforts to force Hank into changing his long established eating habits. His solution had been to secretly clock off a few minutes early and sneak over to Chicken Feed, satisfying his cravings for junk food.
He finished sucking down his pineapple soda and winced while thumping his chest before burping. He'd eaten too fast, swallowing too much air. He waved goodbye to Gary and hurried to his car, digging his phone out to send Connor a quick text that he'd be home soon. Omitting information about his current location wasn't lying.
His stomach was probably going to give him away, though. Hank let out another burp, trying to release some of the pressure that was building and lessen some of the bloating. He really hoped it would stop gurgling before he got home, Connor would probably be able to figure out what he'd eaten from sound alone. Or microscopic food particles in his moustache.
.｡.:*♡*:.｡.
A ping sounded in Connor's head, alerting him to a text that Hank was on his way and the anticipation grew. It was soured a little, however, when he noticed the geolocation the text had been sent from. Hank might not even be hungry! His stress level ticked up at the thought of Hank not liking his food in comparison to the Chicken Feed. Connor tried to shed some of the nervous energy by arranging and rearranging the cutlery for the umpteenth time while keeping an eye on Sumo for a reaction. His hearing was vastly superior, and could sense when Hank was near far better than even the most advanced androids.
Fluffy ears pricked and Connor shot to the front door, opening it a crack to watch. Sumo ambled after him and wagged his tail while snuffling at the gap. They both watched Hank pull into the driveway through the gap in the door and once the car was turned off, Connor opened it fully but kept a solid grip on Sumo's collar.
"Something smells good," Hank rumbled as he walked up the pathway. He grunted in surprise and staggered back a step when Connor was suddenly wrapped around him in a hug.
"I missed you."
"Uh, yeah. Me too. You made dinner?"
Despite the fact that Hank was in no way shape or form hungry, his mouth watered at the warm savoury smell wafting towards him. His stomach grumbled at the thought of eating more food, and he felt a flash of apprehension.
"Ah, yes. You must be hungry.” Connor hedged. ”How was work today?"
They moved into the house and Connor took his coat as Hank griped about the mountain of paperwork he'd had to scale, dealing with Reed, and the persistent ache in his shoulders from sitting hunched at his desk. His next complaint was going to be about the coffee but the words died on his lips when he entered the kitchen. The tiny dining table was laden with food, lasagna, garlic bread, grilled carrots and broccoli, green beans, fresh salad and a jug of water.
"Jesus, Con. You made all this?"
"Yes, I did. I may have gotten carried away…" he trailed off when Hank sat down and immediately started heaping food onto his plate. "But you've been working so hard lately. I thought you might need the energy."
"Ohhh fuck," Hank groaned as he cut into the crispy cheese of the lasagna and the crust of the garlic bread. A symphony of crackles.
Connor scooped vegetables onto his plate, insisting he manage the carbs with some semblance of healthy eating. Especially with his pre-dinner snack. Hank mumbled something negative with his mouth full, but acquiesced when a carrot was held up for him. He swallowed his food thickly and accepted the offering, surprised at how good it tasted.
"See?" Connor smiled, and speared a broccoli floret. "They're not so bad."
"Not when you make them…" he blushed.
"I grilled them with oil and herbs, they taste much better that way."
"Oh, yeah? What else did you do?"
Hank munched away as Connor pointed out and expanded on the various cooking techniques he'd recently learned and put into practice. He served Hank seconds, and pointedly moved the fresh salad closer. The man harrumphed, but admitted that the dressing was phenomenal. Some kind of lemon or vinegar based, he usually preferred ranch but that probably would have made him sick. The crunchy lettuce soaked up the flavour and was a refreshing break from the heavy cheesy main.
But cheese is so good though. Maybe Connor laced it with red ice, he thought, as he found himself piling more lasagna onto his fork almost against his will. Devious. He mopped up the juices with garlic bread and sucked the butter from his fingertips with an audible popping noise.
Connor felt like his insides were overheating, and, in fact, they were, which he discovered when several loud and red error messages popped up to cloud his vision. He cleared them instantly, they were blocking the view! Hank was a treasure trove of sensory stimuli.
His eyes traced the shape of Hank's lips, noted the shine of grease, and the warm flush in his cheeks. He breathed one slow and deep inhalation, trace amounts of aftershave and something so uniquely Hank tickling his olfactory receptors. Connor amped up his hearing sensitivity, filtering out the louder noises and angling his head slightly to help focus on the quiet sounds Hank’s stomach were making. The gurgles of digestion were like music to Connor’s ears and he recorded a snippet for future listening. Thirium sang through his veins, making his fingers twitch. They itched to touch, to feel.
As Connor zoned out, Hank munched away on the last crust of the garlic bread. He’d slowed down considerably and was starting to think that perhaps mistakes had been made. Were in the process of being made, he thought ruefully and reached for the lasagna again. What was left would be too small a portion for a proper meal tomorrow, may as well just eat it now. The melted cheese just wouldn’t be as good tomorrow. Unfortunately his belt, which had inexplicably shrunk, dug into his stomach and he sat back with an ‘oof.’
“Let me, Lieutenant!” Connor almost shouted as he dove across the table.
“Knock yourself out,” Hank chuckled as he undid the offending belt buckle.
Connor assembled the last bits and pieces on Hank’s plate, vibrating with anticipation at the thought of everything he’d made being packed into Hank’s gut. Well, not everything. He still had a surprise up his sleeve for later, and wondered briefly if Hank would be able to handle it.
Belt finally undone, Hank sat forward with ease and leisurely dug in. He took his time, slowly but surely working his way through. He almost wished he had more garlic bread, if he asked Connor for some, the android would probably move heaven and earth to get him some. He glanced at Connor, and noticed he’d stopped moving. Frozen like a statue. Hank returned to his gaze to the food in front of him. He’d noticed Connor’s odd behaviour for a while now, but this was new. Acting all squirrelly whenever food was involved, though surely this wasn’t related to his health crusade since he’d made it himself.
“Hey, Con.”
“Yes, Hank?”
“Let’s take Sumo for a walk tomorrow, I’m gonna need to work some of this off.” He patted the side of stomach and winced at the dull ache he created.
“I had Intended for leftovers.”
“Not when I’m around” Hank scoffed.
“It certainly seems that way.”
“C‘mon, out with it.”
“Out with what?”
“You’re acting weird. More than usual, which is pretty damn weird already.”
“I…” Connor hesitated. The sheer amount of unspoken words and secrets he couldn’t even begin to articulate buzzed in his mind. He wasn’t ready. Not yet. “Did you save room for dessert?”
He let the subject go, despite the fact Connor was obviously hiding something but elected not to push it. Not yet. “Oh no, what’d ya make,” he asked with a wry smile.
“Apple pie. And ice cream, which is store bought. You- We don’t have an ice cream machine.”
Hank rubbed his stomach thoughtfully, thumbing over a strained button. “Twist my arm why don’t you. Yeah, I can do it. One slice won’t kill me.” Probably.
Connor retrieved the pie which had been keeping warm in the oven and placed it on the table on a tea towel. Despite himself, despite how full he was, Hank’s mouth watered. The steam, the smell, the crystals of sugar glittering like stars, winking at him. As Connor cut into the perfectly golden brown crust, the smell of apples filled the room and Hank moaned.
“Hank? Are you alright?” Connor paused, holding the knife.
“Bigger piece. Cut me a real slice.”
“Of course.”
The end result was almost a quarter of the pie, with two scoops of ice cream and buried under homemade whipped cream, being deposited in front of a now drooling Hank. He sat forward eagerly, and winced as his pants dug into the soft underside of his stomach. Undeterred, he picked up his spoon and dug in. It tasted as good as it looked, probably even better. It was so delicious, but he was so, so, full. He managed to make quick work of it, the delicious apples giving him a second wind.
But each bite was soon a struggle. He could almost hear the buttons on his now much tighter shirt strain against his still growing stomach. The chair beneath him creaked ominously and he put the spoon down to catch his breath. It was becoming harder to take deep breaths, his lungs feeling crowded.
“Oof, Con, think I'm -urp- think I'm done.”
“There isn't much left. Here, let me help you.”
Connor didn't know what possessed him to take the spoon from Hank, to scoop up apple and cream and melted ice cream, and hold it in front of Hank. Hank didn't know what possessed him to open his mouth, to lean forward, and allow Connor to feed him the last few bites. He swallowed the last spoonful thickly, it was mostly just melted ice cream, and flopped back into his chair groaning and holding his bloated stomach. He fumbled at his pants button, quickly decided it was an exercise in futility, hooked his fingers into the belt loops and wrenched them apart. The button popped off much easier than anticipated, and it pinged across the kitchen floor. His stomach, no longer confined by unforgiving jeans, almost seemed to surge outward and fill the empty space. Two more shirt buttons followed, skittering away.
“Fuck,” he said simply.
“I'll take that as a compliment”
“You'd better. Leave the dishes, I'm gonna need your help getting up.”
While he deposited the dishes in the sink, Connor ran through all possible and known remedies for overeating. the most common search results were often designed for children, and many suggested a belly rub. He almost cracked the glass he was holding at the thought, it was almost scandalous. Most suggested tea and an after-dinner walk, but he doubted Hank would be amenable to pouring tea on top of everything else he'd eaten. Or going for a walk at this time of night with the temperature as it is. Perhaps a lie down was the best course of action at this point. He guided Hank’s arm around his shoulders and heaved him up and out of the dining chair. He put his other arm around Hank’s waist, hand coming to rest on the side of his stomach. Hank gasped as gravity latched onto him, the heavy feeling increased as he was lifted up. He’d really overdone it tonight.
“Should I take you to the couch or the bed?” Connor hesitated in the kitchen, but before Hank could answer, he made a decision. “Bed. Then you won't have to get back up for a while.”
“Sounds good to me,” Hank chuckled, distracted by trying to keep his pants up with one hand.
As they staggered to the bedroom, he was struck by an eerie sense of déjà vu. For Connor it was not, of course, quite the same as he clearly remembered the last time they had been in such a situation. Once they reached the bedroom, Hank let his pants drop and stepped out of them, with some difficulty. Connor deposited him on the edge of the bed, and he promptly fell back onto the clean sheets. He frowned at the ceiling, the vague feeling was getting stronger. His musing was interrupted by a loud and insistent gurgle and he struggled into a sitting position to burp into his hand.
“Here, Hank,” Connor said, appearing before him with an old shirt neatly folded.
“Just -hurp- just give me a second. To catch my breath. You really did a number on me tonight.”
“I don’t think I am entirely to blame for this evening.”
Hank grunted a response, a bone deep ache for sleep was suddenly making itself known. His head felt too heavy, and he struggled to keep his eyes open. He scrabbled at the remaining stubborn buttons until two pale hands entered his field of vision.
“Let me…” Connor said softly, and unbuttoned Hank’s shirt for him. His eyes roamed the impressive curve of Hank’s stomach, as each button revealed more and more of the fuzzy tum. “...Does it hurt?” He asked.
“Nah, course not. Jus’ heavy ‘n full,” he yawned, jaw clicking.
“That’s good to hear. I think it’s time to get you to bed.”
“Yeah, bed,” he yawned again, rubbing at his eyes with one hand.
Connor arranged the pillows into a pile at the head of the bed, while Hank tugged his shirt on. The thin cotton clung to his bloat and created an indent where his belly button was. A thin stripe of bare skin was still visible, which only grew as Hank jiggled his stomach while he struggled up to the head of the bed. He sighed in relief when he was finally comfortable, and just held his stomach with both hands. Connor couldn’t take it anymore.
“I have to rub your stomach.”
“Oh?” Hank cracked an eye open and regarded Connor. “You have to?”
“Yes, it will help you feel better.”
“Sure it will,” he smiled lopsidedly and closed his eyes again. “Have at it.”
Hank felt rather than saw him round the bed and sit cross legged next to him. Connor’s hand came to rest on the crest of the swell, unmoving. He absorbed the warmth, felt the coarse hairs tickle his palm, and how despite how full Hank surely was, there was still some give. Or perhaps it was simply the consequence of a less than healthy diet? Curious, Connor pressed deeper, fingertips gripping the chub. They both felt the rumble deep in Hank’s gut, tracking it move up and out and Hank burped.
“Woah, easy there,” he gasped.
“Sorry, I’ll be more careful.”
The mattress dipped as Connor inched closer, and began to move his hand in clockwise circles. Hank moaned and sunk into the pillows, the aches and stress of the day leaving him as he let go of tension that he didn’t even know he had.
“Thanks for dinner, Con,” mumbled the big sleepy bear.
“Of course. What time do you need to be up for work tomorrow”
“Got a -mm- half day. 1pm”
“Would you like me to set an alarm?”
When there was no immediate answer, he looked up in surprise to find Hank fast asleep. Connor decided to stay a little while longer, enjoying the view of a blissed out Hank. Rarely was the man ever so relaxed.
Connor decided to try relaxing too, stretching out parallel to Hank on the bed. It was not very effective. Tasks to complete kept popping up, the dishes, the clothing repairs, the-
His thought process was abruptly halted when Hank rolled over in his sleep and his arm fell across Connor, pulling him closer.
He froze.
Hank’s breath was warm against his neck. Hank’s arm was heavy; thick with muscle. Hank’s stomach pushed against his side, gurgling softly with the sounds of digestion. He turned his head away, pursing his lips and focused on the window to distract himself.
It was snowing again. And for once, it struck Connor as beautiful.