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English
Series:
Part 3 of Detroit: Become Human Prompts
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Published:
2018-07-11
Completed:
2018-07-12
Words:
5,922
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2/2
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109
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Canvas

Summary:

Written for ceata88's prompt on tumblr:

A soft rk1000 prompt for you, Markus painting on Connor's back. Connor wants to try as well but, whether he takes it seriously or not is up to you.

Notes:

It clearly got slightly away from me.
I just
Idk I wanted to take a different approach on it?

I'm quite happy with how it turned out.

Hope you like it, my peeps. ♥

EDIT: I completely forgot. Here's a couple links to smear art to have a general idea of how the bedsheet turned out: one ; two
I just love the idea of Markus being a hopeless romantic and keeping the freaking thing. ♥

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

It surprises literally no one that they end up in bed together.

The deviant leader and former deviant hunter, it’s almost a book cliché.

Connor had been still struggling, with the concept of himself, independence; and the overwhelming feeling of emptiness that someone so used to being told what to do smacks their head against, once they have no more instructions. Markus had been a literal port in the storm, the person to look up to.

The deviant leader himself, instead, had found himself surprisingly alone in his crowd of friends and followers alike –he knew he could count on Josh, Simon and North, but as equal as their footing was he’d still be ‘Markus’; they still look for his eyes before making decisions and he’ll always be a guide before being an individual.  The irony of feeling ‘different’ after teaching everyone that they can be different if they want to didn’t escape him, but it didn’t make him laugh either.

And in that middle ground they met –the two surviving RK prototypes, ‘special snowflakes’ North would call them– slinking away in the shadows to discuss anything, from the concept of individuality itself to something as seemingly pointless as why the color red is called ‘red’.

They are kindred spirits in their uniqueness, processors tirelessly working much faster and on many more things compared even to other androids, and each is really the only person the other feels on equal footing with.

So really, Connor is not surprised that they do end up in bed together –he is a detective, he sees the clues, reads the body language, knows the RK technical specifics… from the very start of the day, he knew it would end with them together in bed.

But he is surprised when he wakes up alone.

‘Wake up’ in a loose sense of the word –androids can technically enter a sleep state that, while not entirely needed, is useful for de-cluttering processes and reorganizing memory banks; not unlike defragmenting a hard drive and quite similar to what dreaming does to the human brain. Before deviating, he only ever did it when necessary… last night, when Markus hugged him to his chest and whispered “stay” to the nape of his neck; Connor decided that entering sleep state could prove to be quite pleasurable.

Admittedly, he hadn’t really thought about the depths of his relationship with Markus, even as he recognized the flirting and welcomed it even— he just smirked at Hank the one time Markus came by the station and the Lieutenant just pointed out gruffly “Your boyfriend’s here”— but he didn’t think it would just be a ‘get in, get it done, get out’ sort of deal.

Not with Markus.

Recalling the previous night, Connor can almost still feel every kiss, every touch, the rare, beautiful loss of composure as he and Markus crashed down together with a passion –there’s still a tear in his hand from where he inadvertently smacked hard against the corner of the nightstand. To his credit, Markus had pulled back slightly at the crunching sound, but Connor just pulled him closer by the belt buckle with his good hand and all but growled “Leave it” against his lips.

And let’s not get started about what having Markus actually inside him felt like –not only physically, but in every sense of the word: they spent the entire time connected, hand in hand and with no barriers holding their emotions back, while their subroutines got more erratic and errors started briefly flashing at them as they lost control together—

He has to blink and shake his head.

Yes, those feelings were exactly why he didn’t expect he would wake up alone, sleeping face-down on the rumpled bed in the silence, the only trace of Markus being the discarded t-shirt on the floor.

And, well, the fact that this was technically Markus’s place.

So painfully evident by all the art supplies scattered here and there, unfinished sketches and tubes of color making him think of Markus with an almost aggressive intensity.

He is still new to emotions but… it’s definitely painful, to wake up alone.

Not wanting to dwell further on it, Connor retracts his good arm from where it was absently brushing the empty space Markus left behind –had he been doing that the whole time? That’s embarrassing, even for him– and goes to push himself up.

There’s a jolt of pain from the hand that’s still sporting the tear, and Connor flinches in place.

rA9, this is so pathetic.

“Oh, you’re awake. I thought you’d sleep longer, I have some bio-repair supplies for your hand.”

Markus?

“Markus?” of course— his mind offers, now that he’s not panicking anymore like the needy mess he most definitely is not; he should have had more trust in Markus and in what is actually going on between them.

Of course it wouldn’t just be about the sex, and of course Markus would still be worried about his stupid hand injury. It doesn’t stop Connor from inwardly cringing at how needy that sounded.

“Is something wrong?”

The RK800 is caught, his interface is evaluating between the option to be sincere or try to be casual. A few small moments of silence pass, slightly awkward, until Connor eventually shakes his head.

“No.” he says softly, “I just thought you were gone for a moment. Software instability, you know how that goes, don’t you?” He closes it off with a wink, and enjoys immensely the way Markus bites at his own lip, made bashful by Connor’s bold-faced honesty and yet visibly pleased by the statement.

He managed to play it off a little with a joke, but he’s still grateful when the other lets him save face: “Let’s just get that hand of yours patched up.” Markus says, and then proceeds to crawl onto bed towards him, as opposed to walking until he was by his side, which would have been both more efficient and practical.

But then Connor wouldn’t have enjoyed the vision that is the RK200 crawling into bed for him while wearing only his unbuttoned trousers, never once taking eyes off him.

Practicality can go fuck itself, to borrow a few choice words from Hank.

“Come here, let me see that.” Right… why is he even remotely thinking about Hank right now?

Connor doesn’t resist when Markus motions to take his hand, relishing in the gentle touch even as polymer skin makes way to pristine white.

Markus is nothing but careful as he opens the packet in his hands, unfolds the heating pad and removes the protective membrane. “This will heat up enough to melt the myomer surface and merge it with the liquid polymer from the pad.” He feels the urge to explain, even though he’s well aware that Connor knows perfectly how to perform such minor repairs, “The excess substance will evaporate in a couple of hours.”

A cheeky smile finds its way on the RK800’s lips. “Any idea on how to spend that time?”

There’s something just so natural about hearing Markus laughs softly, equal part amused, exasperated and aroused. “I’d rather you took it easy and rested.” It feels like the missing piece of his identity.

“But I will be so bored…” Connor looks at the other and tilts his head, in that ‘innocent’ way of his that sometimes is actually not innocent at all and Markus knows it.

Still, there’s a reason why they click together so well, and Markus doesn’t let him have it this easy. “I’ve got just the thing.” He assures, with the type of wink that makes Connor want to say ‘yes’ to anything.

…he didn’t quite expect Markus to make him lay face-down on the bed and start painting on his upper back.

He has to admit, though… it’s surprisingly relaxing. He doesn’t know how much time passes, he feels the paintbrush roam over his shoulder-blades several times over, dip down towards his lower back and come back up, sees Markus change color over and over… his back is probably a complete mess right now, but… “This feels nice.” So much so that he’s closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the experience solely through his touch sensors and the soft sound of the brush tracing along his back.

Markus only hums in agreement at first, and Connor chances a sideways look at him. “Yes, I imagine it would.” He says, voice whisper-quiet as he concentrates on his task, mismatched eyes focused and beautiful, watching over Connor with something akin to reverence, as if Connor is the extraordinary one out of the two of them.

He is, in his own way, but the sheer adoration in Markus’s eyes makes him feel a burning need to reciprocate, to put him on the receiving end of such a look, because, oh boy, does he deserve it. “You’ve never felt it yourself, before?”

The RK200 minutely shakes his head. “Not really. I would sometimes paint on my arms, to soothe myself in moments of high stress, but…” he shrugs a shoulder, “I doubt it is exactly the same.”

“How about I have a go at you, then?” Connor proposes, pushing himself up with his good hand, “I’m no genius painter, but I think I can run a paintbrush down your naked back. In fact, I think I’ll be quite good at it.”

Markus would ask him where on earth did he learn to be such a flirty little shit, but they are literally in bed after having sex and sleeping together in the verbatim sense of the word, so it’s not like he can fault him about that kind of humor. “Well… if you want to…”

Connor wants to.

He takes the palette and brush while Markus snakes himself to lay face-down –yes, snakes. Markus doesn’t simply shift; he’s way too sinuous in every single movement to compare him to anything but all things graceful and silent. Connor would know, they fought side by side during the Jericho raid and those brief moments of teamwork were the most seamless cooperation of his entire life, before and after deviancy.

The temptation to just forego the painting altogether and just dive down for his prize and show Markus exactly how much he missed him, in the brief moments he thought himself seduced and abandoned, is very, very strong… but Connor always completes his mission, and right now his interface is alight in a corner with the prompt ‘Paint on Markus’… which is not at all unpleasant.

With a slight smirk, he smears the brush in both green and blue before starting a line following the curve of Markus’s right shoulder-blade.

“Mm…” the brush almost falls from Connor’s hand at the pleased little hum that his lover makes –there’s no two ways about it, they are lovers. They left early from the inauguration of the first business to be owned by an android they all were attending to, spent the night at Markus’s place and were now… well, not ‘sleeping in’ per say, but spending time in bed doing nothing just for the sake of being together just a little while longer.

Connor himself will admit to quite a few naïve moments, but he isn’t stupid. They’re lovers.

The very thought stretches a smile across his lips, and he dips the brush in the red –only it was still dirty with the greeny-blue mix, so the final color comes out purple– and draws a tiny little heart on the RK200’s other shoulder.

Markus can feel the lines being drawn, and even with his eyes closed, he smiles. “Tell you what—” he says, turning suddenly ad tugging at the leftover plaster on the other’s hand, “I think that’s plenty of time for your hand to be all better.”

“Markus, the sheets—”

Connor’s protest his feeble at best, even though he sees the light-coloured cotton immediately get stained in the paint from Markus’s back –the other android doesn’t seem to mind in the least, as his hands find Connor’s waist to tug him close. “I don’t care, I can wash them.”

“Whatever happened to ‘resting’?” oh he’s a huge hypocrite. Especially because he readily follows the tug without a fight and happily straddles Markus’s lap. But that doesn’t mean he will make it that easy.

Then Markus purposefully bucks his hips upwards to punctuate his answer: “Fuck resting.”

Well.

That’s a welcome change of heart. And Connor always gives into Markus eventually. It’s a thing.

It’s his favorite thing, actually –not having to be rational and controlled all the time.

Markus has ways to make him lose himself that go well beyond the physical gratification of sex.

Which is saying something, but here’s the thing: just as he suspected, sex with Markus is not just sex… taking now, for example; they’re both covered in paint and they know it will make an absolute mess, but does either of them care?

Markus laughs wholeheartedly when, after running both hands down Connor’s back, he brings one up to caress his lover’s neck and face as they kiss and inevitably covers the side of the RK800’s face in a messy smear of colour; and Connor is no better once he sees a bright green handprint of his own hand just under Markus’s left pectoral.

If he could be bothered to search his database, it would tell him that yes, having sex can incite laughter to the point of being hilarious, provided that the emotional connection between the individuals having intercourse is deep, intimate and comfortable.

But Connor doesn’t care to look it up; and he doesn’t really have to –he’s fine with just feeling, more and more until everything loses meaning except one name, Markus, Markus—

It’s only their second time together, but Connor knows that he will always love to come with Markus’s name on his lips.

By the time they’re done, the bedsheet looks like a Jackson Pollock painting and they’re still laughing while they redress themselves. “You know… I’m sorry for ruining it for you.” Connor eventually mumbles, once the last of his giggles die down.

“What?” Markus is still falling from cloud nine, “Connor it’s just a bedsheet—”

“No, not that…” it’s his turn to be slightly bashful, now –they do seem to take turns a lot in being insecure. It’s a rather sweet thought, to have such a give-and-take relationship. “The painting thing… you said it soothes you when you’re distressed…”confusion turns into realization in the RK200’s mismatched eyes, and before Connor can blink away from their beauty Markus is already in front of him, clasping both his hands.

“It’s okay. Your presence soothes me more than any paint ever could.”

“That’s a lie and you know it.”

“True, you drive me absolutely crazy.” Markus concedes easily enough, stealing a quick, chaste last kiss, “But in the good way.”

“You, smooth talker.” Connor rolls his eyes at his lover’s antics, and reluctantly breaks their embrace, “I really have to go to work, now.”

Right. The outside world is still a thing. Silly Markus. “Same.” He sighs, “Can I come see you when I’m done?”

“I’ll tell you if I get some downtime.”

They seal the deal with a kiss –“the very last one, Connor, I promise”– and then each goes about his own day.

Hank has a field day when Connor turns up in his perfectly pressed and pristine uniform, but with streaks of paint still on the side of his face and poking out from his collar, not to mention the small smear of light green on the corner of his lower lip, as if someone ran a paint-smeared thumb over it.

Connor can actually see the different stages of confusion, realization, shock and finally amusement.

“You look like you had a fun time.”

“I did!” he chooses to reply cheerfully, not even remotely rising to the Lieutenant’s teasing tone, “Markus and I were—”

“Yeah! I know!” Hank physically throws his hands out in a ‘stop’ motion. “Or rather, I can imagine. But I don’t want to. Please.”

“—painting.” The android finishes, looking at his friend with slightly raised eyebrows and a radiant, perfectly innocent smile. “It got a little bit away from us.”

Hank just shakes his head, visibly done with the day already. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s what the kids call it these days.”

Connor wishes he could sympathize, but for him it’s the best day ever purely on account of the warm memories that will forever fill his core.

The next time he goes to see Markus they’re not alone, North, Simon and Josh were already there hanging out; but Connor sees a new painting that looks suspiciously like the ruined bedsheet from their morning together, carefully stretched out on a wooden canvas frame and left out to dry.

Even as the other androids express curiosity over it and compliment Markus, who keeps a surprisingly straight face through the whole thing, Connor shakes his head, smiling secretly to himself with a mutter. “So much for washing the sheets.”

He loves it.

If it always ends like it did today, Connor is more than willing to be Markus's canvas for the foreseeable future.

Or, you know... forever.

Forever is good.