[Convince? If he's not already convinced, then this isn't going well. Perhaps if he makes more noise--]
[Error messages flood his peripheral. Not his readouts, they're Connor's. The connection succeeded. He sorts through the stress level indicator and the instability tracker. Just as he suspected, there's signs that his memory was erased to repurpose him by an outside party. However, androids don't truly forget anything; data can be recovered with computer forensics or "reminders" similar to the way humans recall lost thoughts.]
You won't be disposed of. We can't lose you, Connor. Try to remember.
[He's paused too long. He kisses at Connor's throat, moaning unnecessarily. At the same time, he multitasks through his direct connection. He sends Connor copies of some of his own memories in a rush of uploads, ones focused on Connor. A completely regular scene of Connor in the DPD, sitting at his desk across from Hank and operating his computer terminal. Connor speaking to Fowler, Connor sitting on Hank's desk, Connor navigating around Gavin's propped-up feet. RK900 had been surreptitiously watching him at times during work. Then there's crime scenes, where they work together to canvas larger areas. RK900 usually uncovers more.]
[Then a deviant feeling, which are difficult to fully control, is visible through the connection. It's a warm emotion tied to these memories of Connor. A deep, genuine fondness.]
[What he feels now is protectiveness, guarding Connor's visible turmoil from sight with his own body and keeping up the performance to avoid suspicion. His free hand slides down Connor's abdomen, over his hip, and across his thigh. He presses at his inner-thigh, spreading his legs wider to lean closer over him. It still might not be enough to fully involve the client's attention, so he reaches back and tugs his own little stripper shorts an inch down his hips, giving a small preview of his glittering rear. Then he picks up Connor's free hand and guides it to his bared hip.]
no subject
[Error messages flood his peripheral. Not his readouts, they're Connor's. The connection succeeded. He sorts through the stress level indicator and the instability tracker. Just as he suspected, there's signs that his memory was erased to repurpose him by an outside party. However, androids don't truly forget anything; data can be recovered with computer forensics or "reminders" similar to the way humans recall lost thoughts.]
You won't be disposed of. We can't lose you, Connor. Try to remember.
[He's paused too long. He kisses at Connor's throat, moaning unnecessarily. At the same time, he multitasks through his direct connection. He sends Connor copies of some of his own memories in a rush of uploads, ones focused on Connor. A completely regular scene of Connor in the DPD, sitting at his desk across from Hank and operating his computer terminal. Connor speaking to Fowler, Connor sitting on Hank's desk, Connor navigating around Gavin's propped-up feet. RK900 had been surreptitiously watching him at times during work. Then there's crime scenes, where they work together to canvas larger areas. RK900 usually uncovers more.]
[Then a deviant feeling, which are difficult to fully control, is visible through the connection. It's a warm emotion tied to these memories of Connor. A deep, genuine fondness.]
[What he feels now is protectiveness, guarding Connor's visible turmoil from sight with his own body and keeping up the performance to avoid suspicion. His free hand slides down Connor's abdomen, over his hip, and across his thigh. He presses at his inner-thigh, spreading his legs wider to lean closer over him. It still might not be enough to fully involve the client's attention, so he reaches back and tugs his own little stripper shorts an inch down his hips, giving a small preview of his glittering rear. Then he picks up Connor's free hand and guides it to his bared hip.]