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Connor runs his fingertips across the leather-backed spines of one of the hundreds of rows of books that encircle the room on every side. They had arrived at the house of renowned painter Carl Manfred early that morning, when Connor had still felt wound up and tense at the concept of meeting the man that had shaped Markus into the kind-hearted yet fierce leader that had captured more of the RK800s processing space that he thought reasonable or sane. He had initially been stunned into silence at Markus’ invitation to come and spend the weekend at Manfreds sprawling mansion, not wanting to intrude on the sparse amount of time the RK200 was able to find in his busy schedule to actually visit the man. But Markus’ insistence that he wouldn’t have invited the younger android if he hadn’t wished to spend that time with him, combined with Connors near-constant desire to be in the presence of the other had made saying no all but an impossibility.
The RK800s trepidation about meeting the painter, however, had dissipated quickly after the warm welcome he had received at the door. Which had included the old mad gently ribbing Connor, in a manner not dissimilar to that of Hank but with less cursing, about his ridged posture and stoic energy. Carl had spared no effort in trying to make the skittish android feel safe and at home in his sprawling mansion and it had resulted in Connor having one of the most relaxed and enjoyable days that he could remember having in his short life. The only negative emotion that entered his processors being the occasional mild stab of jealously towards how different he and Markus’ lives had been pre-deviancy.
Throughout the day they had had an impromptu art lesson in which Connor had quickly abandoned his sloppy painting of Sumo in favour of watching Markus place careful, skilled brushstrokes across the canvass. They had taken a walk through the properties impressive gardens where Connor had followed a small garden vole across the grass (fascinated as the creature was the first of its species he had encountered) for over twenty minutes before he realised that Markus and Carl had already returned inside. He then followed it for twenty more. They had talked, they had laughed, they had philosophised in front of the fire and Carl had let out a cheer of celebration when Connor had beaten Markus in a game of chess. More than once the RK800 found himself staring at the older android with a soft smile creeping stubbornly across his face only to tear his eyes away and into the knowing smirk of Carl Manfred who had appeared to have been watching Connor watching Markus.
The painter had retired to bed as the night was winding down, subdued as he was by the bottle of whiskey that Connor had brought him as a gift and the two androids are now enjoying the warm glow of the fire. Markus adds the finishing touches to his canvass that he had brought out of the studio and into the main room and Connor wanders the length of the bookshelves, occupying himself by examining the large collection of odd artefacts that decorate the space. His favourite being the bafflingly large stuffed giraffe that stands proudly in the corner.
A vintage rock song plays in the background from a collection of Carls favourite tracks from his youth. The android finds himself freezing in place to listen to the lyrics, hand still poised above the leather spines of the books as his LED whirls yellow, processing the words that he is listening to amongst the dreamy instrumentals. After another beat or two he mentally files the song away into a playlist that he has cryptically entitled “M” and hidden away in an obscure location in his memory files where no other android is likely to find it.
As the track that was playing fades a more upbeat tune takes its place. A rhythmic drumbeat begins echoing around the large room, accompanied by a repetitive high pitched synth rhythm that Connor is able to place as style popular in the 1980s from Hanks old-fashioned record collection.
The RK800 swivels in place to look at Markus as the sound of a chuckle escapes the androids lips in unison with a guitar kicking in amongst the synths.
”Carl loves this song” The older android explains, voice laced with fondness “I remember it came on once after he’d had one too many glasses of scotch and he made me push him around the studio in his chair in time with the music.” He breaks off with a laugh and a small shake of his head ”it was the first time I ever danced”
A wistful expression tugs at the corner of his lips and his eyes seem to unfocus for a moment, lost in the memory before snapping back to the present and locking with Connors. A mischievous edge has overtaken his smile now, pulling his lips up asymmetrically in a way that sends error messages coursing through Connors systems.
“Have you ever danced before Connor?”
The brunet presses his palms together in front of his chest in a nervous gesture.
“...not really, no” He answers but Markus doesn’t seem to have actually expected a verbal response as he’s already stalking across the room to turn up the volume on the expensive-looking media system as the vocals commence.
He begins stepping side to side with a relaxed bounce, eyes still locked with the other android and staring with that smirk that Connor finds difficult to look at for too long. Slowly he raises his arms, bent at the elbows as his small side steps begin to carry him forward and in the direction of the other android with a sway in his hips. He looks, objectively ridiculous as he shimmies his way across the hardwood floor, movements getting bolder as the verse progresses but Connor is nonetheless smitten.
He extends a hand out towards the RK800, feet still moving in place to the rhythm of the song, the smirk breaking into a full-blown grin at the sight of the brunets tense stance and flustered expression.
“Care to join me?” He asks with mirth evident in his voice “It’s a lot of fun you know”
Connor considers the offer for a moment, surprised to realise that the knee-jerk response his processors bring up is - yes. He does want to take Markus hand, he does want to be able to join him in his ridiculous dancing that is making his whole face light up with enjoyment, he does want to be able to let go and enjoy himself as freely, confidently and unapologetically as the other. But his body refuses to cooperate with this desire and he stays bolted to the spot, palms now rubbing together anxiously with a feeling akin to shame now blooming in his chest - embarrassment? - at his inability to have fun with the other android.
“no…thank you I’m - good”
“Suit yourself!”
The chorus kicks in just after Connor declines the offer and Markus suddenly throws himself into his dancing with renewed vigour, spinning on the spot in his sock-clad feet and adding his arms into the rhythm.
We gonna rock down to electric avenue
And then we’ll take it higher
Oh, We gonna rock down to electric avenue
And then we’ll take it higher
The RK800 is surprised to see that, as absurd as Markus’ movements first appear, he’s actually…a good dancer. The younger android can imagine that, should what he is witnessing now be happening in a public space, a bar, a club, an event - that humans would probably be flocking to the him right now, drawn in by the charisma and the synthetic muscles shifting under the others tight cotton shirt. The thought fills Connor with an uncomfortable stab of some other emotion that he can’t quite place.
The RK200 is still grinning at his friend as he bops his way about the room but his eyes are once more beginning to take on that mischievous glint. Connor soon learns why as the older model suddenly leaps up onto the red velvet sofa, continuing his dance across the plush cushions however looking noticeably less stable upon the soft surface than he did on the hard floor. The display draws a startled laugh from Connors lips, causing Markus’ grin to grow even wider and the brunet finds his feet slowly guiding him towards the sofa, drawn towards the deviant leader as he so frequently is without his conscious input.
“That's a good start!” exclaims the other android, heterochromatic eyes lighting up in excitement.
It takes Connor a moment of puzzlement to realise what Markus means. He had begun to nod his head and sway slightly to the music involuntarily. The feeling from before- that he is now definitely sure was embarrassment -rears up again briefly but is overpowered by the sheer endearment he feels watching Markus prance across the sofa and a soft smile creases the corner of his mouth which seems to egg on the RK200s excitement even more.
He jumps back down from the chair in one fluid movement and grabs the hands of the other android before Connor can protest or retreat back to his safe bookcase covered haven in the corner of the room. Returning to the gentle, bouncy sidestep he had been doing but this time dragging Connor along with him. The RK800 initially keeps his focus firmly on his feet, unable to meet the eyes of the charismatic presence in front of him. He feels oddly hyper-aware of each point of contact where his hands are touching the others as they are moved around in time with the beat. Gradually the movements of his lower body grow bolder, trying to copy the way the other is stepping with his feet. Another involuntary chuckle escapes his lips as realisation dawns on him that he is dancing!
He is dancing, and it was never something he was programmed to do. It was never something that the developers at Cyberlife ever thought to include in his database, never something that he was supposed to do. Yet here he is. Confidence blooms in his chest at the realisation as he finally looks up to meet Markus’ eyes with a grin, thirum pump reeling slightly as he sees that the other's face has morphed into a soft, wistful, longing expression that Connor himself is sure he has felt before on his own features while gazing at the other.
The expression slips away quickly however as Markus’ throws himself back into their dancing, this time with Connor in tow. The younger android is still not entirely sure what he is doing, or what he is supposed to be doing but he tries to copy Markus’ movements as best he can and it feels - good…it feels freeing. Awkwardness threatens to creep back in momentarily as the RK200 releases his hands, leaving them to dance together side by side without contact between them as the chorus comes back around. The deviant leaders movements grow increasingly goofy, probably in an attempt to put the other more at ease. If Markus looks absolutely ludicrous - he likely reasons - then Connor should feel less self-conscious about himself.
The ex-deviant hunter isn’t exactly sure what he is supposed to be doing with his arms initially and keeps them glued close to his chest as he experiments with moving his hips and legs. But slowly, beat after beat they begin to join in with the rest of his body as it moves to the rhythm, making different shapes and patterns that he has seen the older model doing earlier. One particularly silly looking move Markus pulls - elbows locked at right angles and moving mechanically in an imitation of a vintage robot - is all it takes for Connor to shed any last pretences of embarrassment as an almost hysterical laugh escapes him and he finally throws himself into the dance with as much enthusiasm as the other android.
He knows they must look ridiculous but Connor can’t bring himself to care. He can’t remember ever feeling lighter than he does at this moment right now. Its as if everything falls away around them. The house, the city, his worries, his thoughts. Replaced entirely the warmth of a fire, the beat of a drum and the sound of shared laughter as they jump, dance and shimmy their way around the room. At some point, Markus once again takes hold of the others hands and begins spinning them around and twirling Connor on the spot - tangling them up slightly as he himself tries to twirl around the RK800s hand who fumbles the movement due to inexperience. They simply laugh harder at the mistake.
As the music begins to fade out and the chorus repeats, Connor realises that he had closed his eyes at some point during their dance, lost as he was in the unfamiliar feeling of letting go completely. Intoxicated by the RK200s proximity and joy. When he eventually reopens them he’s startled to find the others face much closer to his own than expected, gazing slightly down at him with that soft beautiful expression he had caught gracing his features earlier when making his way towards the sofa. His movements abruptly stop, all focus now directed solely towards the blue and green eyes just inches away from his own.
He feels another sliver of awkwardness encroaching in on him - no - not awkwardness this time. Nervousness. Yes, it’s an electric nervous energy that now shoots through his circuits in rhythmic bursts, no longer in time with the fading music but in time with the beating of his own thirium pump. Instinct is telling him that he should say something to break the ice but somehow he knows that to speak now would only shatter this delicate atmosphere that has shrouded them like thin, breakable silk.
Connors CPU input jumps up dramatically as he feels the other androids right hand release his own and slide up his outer arm to wrap around the back of his neck. Fingers leaving a phantom sensation of warmth in their wake everywhere where they make contact on their journey. The song they had been dancing to has ended, replaced by a gentle twanging guitar emitting from the speakers. Connors, however, can barely hear it over the static that has begun to fill his audio-processors, zoning out from the outside world as he notices Markus’ face begin to inch closer to his own. Eyelids flutter shut over amber-brown iris’ in anticipation as the RK800 feels a gentle pressure at the back of his neck, pulling him slowly forward.
As their lips connect both let out a quiet buzz of static, the android equivalent of a gentle sigh. Connor now feels the same warm tingling sensations on his lips that he had felt creeping up his arm and the back of his neck where the other had touched him - but now instead of staying confined to the points of contact, they begin to spread out. Setting alight the sensors down his throat, across his chest, around his back and down his torso and legs until his entire being feels as If it is thrumming with electricity.
Tentatively the younger androids hands leave the RK200s and reach up to cup the back of his neck, mirroring the movement Markus had made only seconds before. Markus takes this as a cue to deepen the kiss. Taking a half step forward to press their bodies flush against one another as he moves to wrap both hands around Connors waist, eliciting another crackle of static from the brunets throat. The movement of their lips is tender, delicate. Tongues only darting out from behind pink lips for the briefest of explorations before retreating as hands massage small circles of comfort on one another bodies.
Fuck, it was perfect.
Connor is the first to break away with a shaky breath, wanting to look the other in the eyes again and get another glimpse of that soft expression that makes him feel as if his chassis is about to split apart and break from the pressure of the feelings trying to escape his body. The expression that he now understands is one of love. Reciprocated love.
Neither android makes any move to break the delicate silence that has fallen between them. Instead, Markus reaches his hand up towards his own neck to retrieve one of Connors, skin now paperwhite and shining. The younger android understands the request without needing to be asked and quickly withdraws the synthetic skin from his own palm to accept the interface request blinking bright blue in his peripheral vision.
The brunets head drifts slowly down to rest on the others shoulder as a cascade of warmth and love and comfort flows through their shared connection. Slowly they recommence swaying side to side to the now tranquil and whimsical song that has overtaken the last. Connor isn’t sure if what they are doing now would also count as dancing, it is more of a gentle, stationary sway of two bodies. But it is perfect.
[I love you]
Connor feels Markus tense slightly at the declaration and the RK200 pulls his pale hand from the others grip in response to the words uttered directly into his mind. Connor is milliseconds away from reeling back in apology when the hand that Markus had extracted from his own instead clasps with his other at the small of Connors back, pulling him into a tight and crushing embrace.
“I love you too Connor” He replies aloud “Shit - I’ve wanted to say that for a while now - I love you.”
With the silence finally broken all Connor can find it within himself to do is laugh again. A small, joyous, almost hysterical sound as he tries to pull the deviant leader even closer towards his chest, pressing his nose into the crook of his neck. They continue their gentle sway as the new song continues, intermittently sighing, or laughing or kissing as they hold each other through the music.
Connor decides at that moment that he likes dancing.
Yes. Connor likes dancing a lot.