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connorandersons-blog · 3 years ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Connor/Gavin Reed Characters: Connor, Gavin Reed Additional Tags: Connor Has ADHD, Oral Fixation, Stim Toys, Gavin Reed Being Less of an Asshole, Gay Disaster Gavin Reed, Gift Giving, Deviant Connor, Post-Pacifist Best Ending, Semi-Public Sex, Bathroom Sex, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Blow Jobs, Public Blow Jobs, Coming Untouched, Getting Together

Summary:

Everyone knew Connor put things in his mouth constantly, it was just a fact of life at this point. He mostly did so while investigating, which Gavin had had the curse (or pleasure) of seeing many times. It got Hank to curse, which was pretty funny, and it made Gavin think things he shouldn't, which was very much not funny.

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Gavin had complained too, trying not to stare at the android who just blinked innocently up at him, because of course he always crouched down when he did it. There was no way the fucker didn’t know exactly what he made people think of when he pulled shit like that.

Then came the pens and pencils Connor would stick in his mouth while at the precinct. It was actually pretty cute for the most part, not that Gavin would tell Connor that, but it was so very human of him to chew on pencils when he was thinking. It was always amusing when Connor would break a pencil, but it was absolutely hilarious when he’d break a pen.

The first time it happened Gavin hadn’t been able to hold back his laughter at the way the ink covered Connor and his mouth. He’d pouted so hard that Gavin felt pretty bad and even went to drag a few paper towels from the break room.

He came back to see Connor yanking his tie off and undoing the buttons on his shirt with his dainty fingers. Gavin was completely frozen, blue screened, for a few seconds before he shook himself and continued to walk the rest of the way. He shoved the towels at Connor before storming away, cursing about useless androids and their mindlessness.

He kept his head down, ignoring the fact that Connor was stripping out of his shirt right there in the middle of the bullpen. He saw a few other officers stop and stare, but Connor paid them no mind at all.

After the fifth time in two months, Gavin had had enough. It wasn’t the fifth time breaking a pencil, nope, this was just pens, and Connor chewed on those a whole lot less than he did pencils, so that was saying something.

He wasn’t getting him these things because he liked Connor (he didn’t), or because he wanted to be his friend (he really didn't, don’t look at him), it was just… pity and a bit of understanding.

Gavin remembered in school when he’d tap his pencil against the desk relentlessly, or bounce his leg until he thought it would fall off. His fellow students would glare at him and his teachers told him to go see the counselor about possible ADHD. Turns out it was more than just that because mental illness was a buy-one-get-three-free kind of deal.

So he saw a bit of himself in Connor with how he couldn’t sit still or would lose track of time so much that he would stay days and nights at the precinct when a case was hard and caught his interest.

Connor obviously liked using his mouth (which sounded so wrong and brought up so many ideas) but pencils and pens surely weren’t good for him either. Plus the precinct was running out of supplies and something needed to give.

The first one he'd bought Connor was a pencil that wasn’t actually a pencil. It was harder (he might have gotten this one specially designed) so Connor wouldn’t chomp through it (hopefully), but completely safe to stick in a mouth.

The next he got was a necklace that looked like a giant coin, because he’d seen Connor doing tricks with the coin he had. He hated to admit it, but the tricks were pretty damn impressive considering he could still do it absentmindedly and while walking.

The last was another necklace that looked almost like a black ouroboros, though the site called it a Phoenix. It was the hardest they had but also had texture too which he hoped Connor wouldn’t hate.

It was hard finding a time to drop them off at Connor’s desk, but one day he’d gone to lunch with Hank, so Gavin took his chance. He wrote a quick note, trying to disguise his handwriting but if Connor did his weird android analysis thing there would be no way he wouldn’t be able to tell. The note just explained these were chewable and wouldn’t make a mess. He didn’t dare add the stupid heart he was so tempted to draw like some blushing school girl.

Then he sat back at his desk and waited. He tried to appear busy at least when Connor showed back up, even as he was almost shaking with nerves. What if Connor hated it or made him self-conscious? What if Connor hated him for it, even if Connor had said he’d never hated him after Gavin had managed to apologize a year after the revolution.

He felt like he needed a stim toy with how he was gnawing on his bottom lip as Connor’s eyes widened when he saw the small box on his desk. He picked up the note that rested on it, tilting his head as he read it. He glanced up, scanning around the room never meeting anyone’s eyes. Gavin was watching from the corner of his and tapping at the computer in what he hoped to be a convincing mimicry of typing a case report.

Connor set the note down carefully before pulling the bow apart, because if Gavin was going to give a gift then he’d go all out. His mom taught him how to tie bows like that and he was rather proud, thank you very much. Connor lifted the lid and gasped, pulling out the coin first. He flipped it over in his hand, probably scanning it to see what it was made of.

He glanced around again but this time nervously as if thinking someone was watching him (Gavin was but he didn’t count), before bringing it up and biting down. He nibbled on it a few times, before grinning and setting it down. Ok, that was one and it went pretty well.

He picked up the pencil next and let out a small giggle, before covering his mouth. Fuck that was adorable, but Gavin made no move to show or tell Connor so.

He scanned over this one as well, before bringing it to his lips and into his mouth. He bit down, androlled it around in his mouth like he sometimes did with actual pens. Then he started to actually suck on it and Gavin realized this was a very bad idea.

Thankfully Connor didn’t waste too much time with that one, setting it down to pull out the last. He tilted his head again, rubbing his finger over the ridged designs before sticking this one in his mouth too. He let out a pleased sound that made Gavin have to shift in his seat slightly, almost choking on his own spit as he tried to swallow.

At least he seemed to like all of them, and when Connor actually put the necklace on for the black one Gavin felt a buzz of happiness that always came from giving a good gift.

Connor picked up the note again and fuck, Gavin stood and ran to the break room. Maybe if he wasn’t in view, then Connor would just ignore his existence and not figure out it was he who sent it.

He made himself a scalding hot cup of coffee, not adding anything at least for now. Though sometimes he’d add a bit of sugar from the packets he’d keep in his desk for the special occasion of needing it to be a little tastier. He hoped it was enough time for Connor to fuck off and get back to work.

He flopped down onto his chair with a huff, running his hand through his hair. It had been a long day and he’d barely even done any work, but maybe now he could get back on track. He did spare a glance at Connor who was–fuck, he was looking at him already.

Gavin steeled himself, ready for whatever that tin can had to say about the gifts, but instead, Connor smiled a bit lopsidedly before turning to talk with Hank. That was… not what he was expecting. It made his stupid heart flutter a bit seeing that adorably dorky smile directed at him, but he chugged some of the coffee and it made it better.

He should have realized how bad of an idea it was to get Connor those toys because the man never let them go and always had them in his mouth as long as it wasn’t at a bad time. No one commented, all of them used to seeing weirder shit, and they all knew this was better than pens breaking. Plus plenty of them was gen z and just as mentally weird as everyone else so stim toys were pretty damn normal.

But Gavin was regretting it because of the blissful look on Connor’s face as he sucked on the fake pencil or held the black phoenix in his mouth. He was probably tracing over the lines with his tongue which wasn’t a thought he needed to think about in detail.

Sometimes Connor would even make these small sounds like a pleased cat or dog when he was chewing on the toys. Gavin was very glad he liked them (the hot cups of coffee with sugar in them that was left on his desk showed just how grateful Connor was), but watching him was killing Gavin.

He was getting boners more than some teenagers did and it was hard not to just do something about it. He’d imagined yanking Connor in to kiss him, making him make those damn sounds because of Gavin’s lips and tongue teasing him and not some toy. He had dreams of Connor initiating and asking if he could use his mouth on Gavin in every way possible. Those mornings when he comes in he can’t even glance Connor’s way, terrified he’d somehow know what his mind was filled with.

But Connor was ever innocent and unknowing, which was just plain weird. Wasn’t he supposed to be some high-tech android that could pick up on the tiniest bits of information? If so then was he just willfully ignoring how bad Gavin was lusting after him?

And no it wasn’t a crush, he absolutely totally did not think about taking Connor on dates, holding his hand, moving in together. He didn’t think about curling up on the couch with Connor as Doa cuddled with them too, her purring loud and clear. There were no feelings of romantic nature, and he would keep telling himself that until he genuinely came to believe it.

So it was just him being a friend (he still wasn’t sure they were even friends) and wanting to celebrate finishing his case when he invited Connor to get a drink with him. He’d stuttered over his words, cursing himself for not thinking that Connor might not be able to drink, but he’d said yes anyway.

So while work was finishing up, he was on his phone trying to find a suitable place that was android and human-friendly. There were apparently android drinks that could make them drunk but who knew if that would work on Connor, given he’s a prototype and the best of the best. Gavin wasn’t sure if he had very high standards or just a love for guys who could kick his ass.

He found a place thankfully, the ratings were pretty high and it seemed it was a very popular place for dates, not that this was one. So when Connor walked up to his desk, asking if he was ready, he wasn’t scrambling to figure things out still.

“Yep, got a nice place we can try out. ‘S got some android drinks that make you drunk, which is cool. You don’t gotta drink those if you don’t want to, obviously.” He shrugged on his leather jacket, having taken it off since the damn AC had broken once again, making the whole precinct practically a sauna.

Connor had his own sleeves rolled up, his tie hanging low and the first two buttons on his shirt undone. It was a damn good look on him and Gavin was close to drooling, but he was a little too dehydrated to actually do that, thankfully.

“Oh, I might have one but I’d rather not get drunk.” Connor glanced back at Hank and, oh right. That made sense. “Is Ms. Chen or Mr. Miller joining us?”

Fuck. “Uh, nah neither could make it. Chris has his kids you know? And uh, I think Tina has a date.” He had absolutely no idea if any of that was true given he hadn’t even asked his friends to join them, but it probably wasn’t too far off the mark.

Connor tilted his head before smiling slightly. Damn android and his creepy face that Gavin just wanted to punch in the mouth with his mouth repeatedly and very gently. “Very well, will we be taking your car or a taxi?”

“Uh, I mean you can ride on my bike with me if you want I guess.” It would be another thing to drive Gavin insane but hey, if he’s lasted three months with Connor and those stim toys he could last the fifteen-minute ride with him pressed against his back. Maybe. That, that actually sounded pretty hard to deal with, but surely it wouldn’t be that bad.

It was absolutely terrible. Connor had his arms wrapped around him, his whole front pressed against him with his damn chin on Gavin’s shoulder. At one point he shifted slightly to rest his cheek on Gavin’s back as they waited at a red light and Connor would most definitely be able to hear how Gavin’s heart was racing.

Gavin hoped he’d take it as just the bike being thrilling but Connor had squeezed him just slightly before relaxing again.

Connor didn’t even hold his own hands together in a fist like most people, no he splayed a hand over Gavin’s stomach, the other one far enough around to hold his side a bit. At one red light, Connor had sat back and stretched his arms a bit as his joints would lock up, and when he went to put his hands back the breeze finally decided to kick up. Of course, that meant Gavin’s shirt moved with the wind, and Connor’s hand landed on skin instead of fabric.

He tried not to react but Connor didn’t apologize or move his hand away either, so he surely wasn’t the only one who didn’t mind. His mind strayed to the idea of Connor just slowly trailing his hand down to rest over Gavin’s crotch where there would no doubt be a tent. Gavin would lean back into him, feel Connor's breath on his ear and the warmth of his lips when he’d–he was jolted out of that thought process by a honk that let him know the light turned green a few seconds ago.

He sped off, and thankfully nothing else of notice really happened the rest of the ride, but Connor’s hand did stay against his stomach under his shirt, holding him close.

Connor moved back when they finally parked and neither said a word as they made their way into the bar. The bouncer had barely even glanced at their IDs (or Gavin’s, Connor didn’t need one) before stamping their hands with a green circle.

The bar was dimly lit by modern-looking lights, the music loud enough that people felt the need to dance but not too loud that Gavin would need to shout either. Like all bars, it smelt of beer, sweaty bodies, and food that most only ate so they wouldn’t get overly drunk. A pretty typical-looking bar and Gavin led them over to a few open stools. He’d find them a table once they got their first drinks.

He ordered a beer, though he actually hated drinking beer, because it’s what everyone expected. Maybe he’d toss back something harder later to impress Connor a bit at how well he could take it down. Fuck, he wasn’t even drunk yet and he was already thinking these things.

Connor got himself a drink, naming off something from the board that was labeled for androids, and then the two found themselves a table a little ways away from the music.

Gavin took a few sips, trying not to scrunch up his face at the terrible taste and smell. Honestly, how could anyone stand this stuff?! “How’s your drink?”

Connor took a careful sip of his before jolting slightly, staring down at his drink in awe before taking another sip. This one he holds in his mouth for a few seconds, eyes wide before swallowing. “It feels good!”

Gavin blinked at him before scoffing. “I think you mean it tastes good.” Stupid android already getting tipsy from one small sip.

“No, I mean it feels good. It’s kind of tingly and I can feel all of the sensors on my tongue lighting up.” He grabbed his drink, cradling it in his hands and keeping it close to his chest.

“Oh,” Gavin said dumbly. Of course, it would be different for androids, Connor might not even have any way to taste it like humans did so sensations were the next best thing.

Connor was obviously trying not to gulp it down, and the way he held it in his mouth was adorable. His cheeks were puffed out and he’s staring down his nose like he’d be able to see the liquid. “Do you like yours?” Connor finally asked after he swallowed that mouthful.

Gavin swirled his beer around in the bottle wishing he could spill it somehow so he wouldn’t feel the need to drink it. “Uh, yeah sure. It’s not the worst.” That was true, it wasn’t the worst beer he’s had at least.

Connor frowned and leaned forward a bit so he wouldn’t have to speak too loud. “You know if you don’t like it you should get something else. This is a celebration for you, you should enjoy what you drink.”

Damn, was he really that transparent? Part of him was screaming to keep the act up, that beer and hard liquor were what was expected and what he had to drink. “Fuck it. Yeah this shit sucks, I hate the taste of beer. I’ll go get something else.”

Connor beamed at him and nodded, sitting back and taking another long sip of his drink and holding it in his mouth.

“You want another one of those, Con?” The nickname slipped out but at least it wasn’t some lovey-dovey shit like honey or dear.

Connor frowned before shrugging and then nodding. Gavin gave him a thumbs-up as he made his way back over to the bar and ordered what he actually wanted to drink. The bartender didn’t comment on it, which he’s thankful for.

He headed back to their table only to find someone standing there, talking to Connor. Gavin cleared his throat and slid into his seat, handing the drink to Connor and then glaring at the man. “Can I help you?”

The man shifted, looking between the two of them. “Was just suggesting some drinks, sorry to interrupt.” The man put his hands up in surrender, taking a step back from the table. Gavin knew very well what this guy was trying to do, and Gavin would not let Connor be taken advantage of.

“Thank you for the suggestions, I’ll keep them in mind,” Connor grinned, but it looked a little too fake to Gavin. Gavin got to see the true smiles that lit up Connor’s face and no matter how weird and awkward he looked Gavin couldn’t help but fall a little farther with each one.

The dude glanced down, but wisely made no comment on Gavin’s choice of drink and how out of character it looked for him. So what he loved a good cherry bourbon smash, beer tastes like piss water and this actually had flavor.

Gavin brought his glass up and took a sip as the guy walked off back to wherever he’d been originally before Gavin left. The drink was damn good and mixed just right so that all the flavors were even and not too overpowering. This was the kind of drink he could easily get wasted on.

“Is that one good?” Connor asked, looking between Gavin’s drink and him.

Gavin chuckled and nodded, taking another swig. “Yeah, it’s damn good. Wish you could try it.” Connor still hadn’t confirmed if he could drink human shit or not, but he was going off the assumption that he couldn’t.

“I’m sure it’s wonderful if you like it.”

That statement didn’t actually hold up for much, but it did when it came to Connor. So he maybe liked him a lot and Connor was indeed very wonderful. It’s incredible how kind and patient he was, and yet he’s so headstrong and stubborn. The way he looked so innocent and pure but then Gavin remembered what he’s made for and how easily Connor could kill him if he wanted. He’d get away with it too, and Hank might even help dispose of his body.

He pulled out a cherry and pulled it off the stem before eating it, and twirling the stem around. He glanced at Connor, then back at the stem before grinning widely. “Hey Con, can you tie this with your tongue?” He held it out to him, and their fingers brushed together as he took it.

“Why would I?” He copied Gavin’s movements of twisting the stem around.

Gavin shrugs, drumming on the table. “Means you're a good kisser or something. It’s just a fun trick to impress people.” Gavin could do it, though he looked pretty stupid while moving it around his mouth.

Connor raised an eyebrow, probably wondering why Gavin wanted him to do it, then. But he shrugged and stuck it in his mouth, after five seconds he spit it back out and held it up for Gavin to see.

Gavin was expecting a normal knot, that’s what everyone could achieve if they practiced enough, but no. Of course, Connor was extra and within five seconds had the stem tied into a pretty bow. “Holy shit,” Gavin hissed, taking the little bow.

He was desperately trying not to imagine that very talented tongue could do on his dick. It wasn’t working, because he had to shift in his seat a bit to try and adjust himself. “Consider me impressed.”

“So this makes me a good kisser?” Connor tilted his head, his eyes shining in the light. Gavin gaped at him, trying to figure out if Connor was flirting or really that naive.

“Could always test that theory,” Gavin tried to say nonchalantly.

Connor tapped his chin, before reaching forward and grabbing the other cherry. He held it up towards Gavin, who took in a shuddering breath. He wrapped his lips around the cherry and pulled the fruit off the stem. For some reason, this one tasted even better than the last.

Connor then stuck the stem in his mouth and scooted over to close the distance between them. Gavin stiffened for a second as Connor was definitely kissing him. He finally got his brain in order and kissed back, bringing a hand up to hold Connor but the back of the neck.

Gavin couldn't help the moan that slipped out as Connor’s tongue brushed against his, and he opened his mouth eagerly to him. It’s hot and needy and fuck, maybe Connor wasn’t naive at all. Maybe he knew exactly what he was doing all the time.

Something that wasn't Connor’s tongue was in his mouth and then Connor was kissing down his jaw over to his fluttering pulse that gives away just how affected he was by this.

“Oh shit, baby,” Gavin groaned, his hand going up to Connor’s hair to tug gently at the soft strands. Connor shivered and nipped a bit harder before sucking at the spot. It would no doubt leave a big mark, and Gavin couldn’t wait to press against it and feel the ache.

A loud shrill laugh made them jump apart, remembering where they were. Right, a bar and the thing in his mouth was the cherry stem. Gavin almost choked on it when he realized it was tied too. They were both panting with wide pupils as they stared at each other.

Gavin glanced down and oh, yep, that answered one of his questions at least. The tent in Connor’s pants gave away that he very much enjoyed that too and indeed had a dick. Gavin wasn't in a better state and he had to shift a bit to try and make his not so obvious. “Well fuck.”

Connor chuckled and ducked his head, rubbing his hands together. “I agree. Admittedly I’ve wanted to do that for some time, but I wasn’t sure how to initiate or if you’d actually want to.”

Gavin’s jaw was practically in his lap at the confession. “You wanted… fucking, how long!?!”

Connor looked bashful, the blue blush adorably dusting his cheeks. “Um, well you know the first time I broke a pen? I well, I might have been thinking about you instead of the case.”

Unlike Connor who blushed like a goddamn anime, just across his nose and cheeks, Gavin’s face was completely red all the way to his ears and neck. “And so you crushed a pen, great way to make a guy feel good.” He was teasing, trying to bide time to wrap his head around that.

“I just got overwhelmed! Pens are very fragile and, I just, I’m sorry,” Connor whined, covering his face with his hands.

“Oh no, no, no, you don’t get to hide, pretty boy.” Gavin pulled Connor’s hands away to see his cute face. “I’m damn happy just thinking about me gets you that distracted, that's a fucking ego boost if I’ve ever heard one.”

Connor sputtered but didn't pull his hands away from Gavin’s. “Don’t let it go to your head, I have a very vivid imagination.”

“Oh? Well, you can always tell me about those fantasies you’re having at work no less. Maybe I can fulfill a few of them.” Gavin smirked, leaning in so they were a breath away again.

Connor licked his lips and Gavin followed the motion with his eyes, wanting to close the distance but very much not wanting to get them kicked out. “Maybe I can show you one now?”

Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck fuck. Where the hell did this confidence come from? Had Connor even had sex yet? Had he kissed anyone before Gavin? He was damn good at kissing so either he was a natural or Gavin wouldn’t be his first. He wasn’t sure which he wanted more. He knew he very much wanted Connor, though.

“Yes, definitely, hell yes.” He gave Connor’s hand a quick squeeze, and Connor did it back before pulling him up. Right, yeah ok, he meant now.

He followed Connor back to the bathroom and he felt like a teen about to get his first blowjob. Connor pushed the door open before going to one of the five larger stalls. He momentarily praised the bar for having more accessibility, but that thought went out the door when he was pressed against the stall door as Connor closed it behind them.

Their lips locked again, and Connor slid his leg between Gavin’s. Connor’s hands went under and up Gavin’s shirt, pushing him harder against the door as he touched every bit of skin he could.

Gavin gasped, trying to muffle his moan as he rocked his hips against Connor’s thigh. “What, what were you thinking?” He managed to ask as Connor kissed and nipped down his neck to give Gavin a chance to breathe.

Connor glanced at him, a smirk on those beautiful lips. “I was thinking I could put my mouth to good use, get down on my knees for you.”

Gavin shuddered, nodding quickly. “Yeah, sounds good to me, pretty boy.” All those times he'd imagined this, and now it was finally happening.

Connor’s hands started trailing down lower and lower until they were resting over the zipper. “Thank you for the toys,” Connor whispered. He glanced down at where it hung around Connor’s neck, and Gavin beamed at him.

“You make it sound so dirty, Con, but yeah, of course. Glad you like them.” Now wasn’t the time, but at least he knew Connor had really figured it out. Not that it was hard, but still, it was kind of nice to hear a thank you though none was needed.

Connor hummed and sank down gracefully, unzipping Gavin’s pants as he went. It was a damn good sight, Connor looking up at him through his lashes as he rubbed him through his boxers.

“Fuck,” Gavin sighs, banging his head back on the door as he ran a hand through Connor’s curls. He was obsessed with how Connor let his hair be curly, made him look even cuter and more delectable.

Connor leaned forward, his tongue lolling out as he licked over the bulge. Gavin gasped, tightening his hold on Connor’s hair. The man’s eyes fluttered as he tilted his head back into his hand. “I want it, please?”

Gavin bit his lip, scratching at Connor’s scalp. “Of course, all yours, baby.”

Connor pulled him out of his pants, the cold air hitting him and making him tense slightly. The weight in his gut from pure lust grew heavier when he saw how hungrily Connor was looking at his length.

He banged his head back again as Connor took him in hand and slowly licked from the base to the tip, his tongue swirling around the head and pushing into the slit. “Have you done this before?” He agreed, trying to pull him closer.

“A few times, but I’ve heard I don’t need all that much experience,” Connor smirked as he took him into his mouth and they both moaned at the same time. Gavin couldn’t help but giggle, smiling down at Connor who looked even more blissed out than when he’d suck on the toys.

All the air left him as Connor bobbed his head, taking him all the way down with absolutely no resistance and Gavin tried hard not to buck into that talented mouth. He gripped his hair tight enough that it no doubt hurts but Connor seemed pleased as his eyes closed and he continued to bob and suck.

They both jumped at the sudden amount of sound that filled the bathroom as the door was slammed open and someone stumbled into a stall. The man was singing very poorly and it would have been hilarious if Connor didn’t have his mouth around Gavin’s dick and was still going.

He should have known Connor wouldn’t stop, and it was only the man’s awful singing that was just loud enough to cover up the lewd noises the two were making that let the man continue his business without any knowledge.

Gavin brought a hand up to bite at his knuckles, trying to keep himself silent as Connor took him all the way and then swallowed around him while his skillful tongue did things to the underside of his cock. His hips grinded forward, trying to get deeper and deeper even though he’s as far in as possible.

The sound from the bar hit their ears again as the man left after not washing his hands (fucking ew), but then it’s almost silent again. Gavin dropped his hand back to Connor’s hair and used his grip to push him back just slightly. It’s enough that Gavin had room to fuck his throat roughly, not holding back.

Connor moaned around him, keeping himself nice and pliant while also sucking and swallowing around him. He looked up at Gavin through his lashes and he’s just too damn pretty like this. His lips were red and slick, his face flushed blue, his curly hair an absolute mess from Gavin’s hands, and he looked almost high. He’s not even trying to touch himself, though the tent in his pants hadn’t gone down. Instead, Connor held onto Gavin’s hips, his thumbs brushing against his sharp hip bones.

Gavin was lost in the sensations, and, before he knew it, that cord was almost about to snap. “Fuck! Close, I’m so close, want me in your mouth?”

Connor hummed and made it very clear how much he wanted Gavin to come. It didn’t take much else, and he soon couldn't hold back any longer. He pulled Connor close, squeezing his eyes shut as he bit down hard on his bottom lip to stop from screaming. He’s always been loud with sex, and trying to hold back was hard.

Connor whimpered below him as he swallowed it all down. Gavin panted quickly, rubbing soothingly into Connor’s hair, while he experienced one of the best orgasms of his life.

Connor sat patiently as Gavin came down from it, and once he let go of his hair, slowly pulled off. It’s a huge contrast from Connor’s warm mouth to the coolness of the bathroom, but he carefully put himself away.

“You good? Want me to do something for you?” Gavin asked, glancing down at Connor who looked just as much of a mess as Gavin probably did.

Connor stood up carefully, shaking his head. “No need, I came from that.” He wiped his mouth before grinning widely. Well, fuck, that’s hot and if he didn’t just come he’d be tempted to try and go for another round.

“Huh, that’s good. Um, so thanks I guess, for that.” It was always awkward after but now it felt even more so. Was really it just lust with Connor? Did Connor want to do this again and only this?

Connor tilted his head and followed Gavin as they left the stall and went to the sink. “Of course, it was fun, I very much enjoyed myself.” That didn’t answer any of his questions.

Connor washed his hands and Gavin tried to fix his appearance somewhat to not look like he just had the life sucked out of him from his dick. “Would you uh, wanna do that again some time?”

Connor perked up and nodded quickly. “Yes! I’d love that, but… as a date or just sexual?” Well damn, he just went right out and said it.

“Either way, I guess. Whichever you wanted, you know?” He tried not to get his hopes up, but damn did he want this more than he wanted to have sex again.

“I would like to go on a date with you if that’s ok.” Connor looked sheepish saying this, his head ducked and that blue blush ever-present.

Gavin reached out and gently cupped his cheek. “I’m more than ok with that.” Then he leaned forward and kissed him gently and with as much passion as possible. Connor melted into it, resting his hand on Gavin’s waist and the other on the small of his back. He pulled him in like that and it made Gavin’s heart flutter and his stomach twist with butterflies.

They pulled back slowly and they really needed to not make out in the bathroom, though both of them were grinning. Connor reached down and brought the stim toy up, holding it in his mouth slightly.

“You really can’t get enough uh? Let’s go back, I’ll order you another drink too, and you can have all my cherry stems.” He offered his hand which Connor took. Ok, so maybe Connor driving him insane wasn’t the worst thing ever, if it got him to date Connor then it would be worth it. Plus, now Connor had something to put in his mouth whenever he wanted.

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hldailyupdate · 4 years ago

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Playtime With Harry Styles

THE MEN’S BATHING POND in London’s Hampstead Heath at daybreak on a gloomy September morning seemed such an unlikely locale for my first meeting with Harry Styles, music’s legendarily charm-heavy style czar, that I wondered perhaps if something had been lost in translation.

But then there is Styles, cheerily gung ho, hidden behind a festive yellow bandana mask and a sweatshirt of his own design, surprisingly printed with three portraits of his intellectual pinup, the author Alain de Botton. “I love his writing,” says Styles. “I just think he’s brilliant. I saw him give a talk about the keys to happiness, and how one of the keys is living among friends, and how real friendship stems from being vulnerable with someone.”

In turn, de Botton’s 2016 novel The Course of Love taught Styles that “when it comes to relationships, you just expect yourself to be good at it…[but] being in a real relationship with someone is a skill,” one that Styles himself has often had to hone in the unforgiving klieg light of public attention, and in the company of such high-profile paramours as Taylor Swift and—well, Styles is too much of a gentleman to name names.

That sweatshirt and the Columbia Records tracksuit bottoms are removed in the quaint wooden open-air changing room, with its Swallows and Amazons vibe. A handful of intrepid fellow patrons in various states of undress are blissfully unaware of the 26-year-old supernova in their midst, although I must admit I’m finding it rather difficult to take my eyes off him, try as I might. Styles has been on a six-day juice cleanse in readiness for Vogue’s photographer Tyler Mitchell. He practices Pilates (“I’ve got very tight hamstrings—trying to get those open”) and meditates twice a day. “It has changed my life,” he avers, “but it’s so subtle. It’s helped me just be more present. I feel like I’m able to enjoy the things that are happening right in front of me, even if it’s food or it’s coffee or it’s being with a friend—or a swim in a really cold pond!” Styles also feels that his meditation practices have helped him through the tumult of 2020: “Meditation just brings a stillness that has been really beneficial, I think, for my mental health.”

Styles has been a pescatarian for three years, inspired by the vegan food that several members of his current band prepared on tour. “My body definitely feels better for it,” he says. His shapely torso is prettily inscribed with the tattoos of a Victorian sailor—a rose, a galleon, a mermaid, an anchor, and a palm tree among them, and, straddling his clavicle, the dates 1967 and 1957 (the respective birth years of his mother and father). Frankly, I rather wish I’d packed a beach muumuu.

We take the piratical gangplank that juts into the water and dive in. Let me tell you, this is not the Aegean. The glacial water is a cloudy phlegm green beneath the surface, and clammy reeds slap one’s ankles. Styles, who admits he will try any fad, has recently had a couple of cryotherapy sessions and is evidently less susceptible to the cold. By the time we have swum a full circuit, however, body temperatures have adjusted, and the ice, you might say, has been broken. Duly invigorated, we are ready to face the day. Styles has thoughtfully brought a canister of coffee and some bottles of water in his backpack, and we sit at either end of a park bench for a socially distanced chat.

It seems that he has had a productive year. At the onset of lockdown, Styles found himself in his second home, in the canyons of Los Angeles. After a few days on his own, however, he moved in with a pod of three friends (and subsequently with two band members, Mitch Rowland and Sarah Jones). They “would put names in a hat and plan the week out,” Styles explains. “If you were Monday, you would choose the movie, dinner, and the activity for that day. I like to make soups, and there was a big array of movies; we went all over the board,” from Goodfellas to Clueless. The experience, says Styles, “has been a really good lesson in what makes me happy now. It’s such a good example of living in the moment. I honestly just like being around my friends,” he adds. “That’s been my biggest takeaway. Just being on my own the whole time, I would have been miserable.”

Styles is big on friendship groups and considers his former and legendarily hysteria-inducing boy band, One Direction, to have been one of them. “I think the typical thing is to come out of a band like that and almost feel like you have to apologize for being in it,” says Styles. “But I loved my time in it. It was all new to me, and I was trying to learn as much as I could. I wanted to soak it in…. I think that’s probably why I like traveling now—soaking stuff up.” In a post-COVID future, he is contemplating a temporary move to Tokyo, explaining that “there’s a respect and a stillness, a quietness that I really loved every time I’ve been there.”

In 1D, Styles was making music whenever he could. “After a show you’d go in a hotel room and put down some vocals,” he recalls. As a result, his first solo album, 2017’s Harry Styles, “was when I really fell in love with being in the studio,” he says. “I loved it as much as touring.” Today he favors isolating with his core group of collaborators, “our little bubble”—Rowland, Kid Harpoon (né Tom Hull), and Tyler Johnson. “A safe space,” as he describes it.

In the music he has been working on in 2020, Styles wants to capture the experimental spirit that informed his second album, last year’s Fine Line. With his debut album, “I was very much finding out what my sound was as a solo artist,” he says. “I can see all the places where it almost felt like I was bowling with the bumpers up. I think with the second album I let go of the fear of getting it wrong and…it was really joyous and really free. I think with music it’s so important to evolve—and that extends to clothes and videos and all that stuff. That’s why you look back at David Bowie with Ziggy Stardust or the Beatles and their different eras—that fearlessness is super inspiring.”

The seismic changes of 2020—including the Black Lives Matter uprising around racial justice—has also provided Styles with an opportunity for personal growth. “I think it’s a time for opening up and learning and listening,” he says. “I’ve been trying to read and educate myself so that in 20 years I’m still doing the right things and taking the right steps. I believe in karma, and I think it’s just a time right now where we could use a little more kindness and empathy and patience with people, be a little more prepared to listen and grow.”

Meanwhile, Styles’s euphoric single “Watermelon Sugar” became something of an escapist anthem for this dystopian summer of 2020. The video, featuring Styles (dressed in ’70s-flavored Gucci and Bode) cavorting with a pack of beach-babe girls and boys, was shot in January, before lockdown rules came into play. By the time it was ready to be released in May, a poignant epigraph had been added: “This video is dedicated to touching.”

Styles is looking forward to touring again, when “it’s safe for everyone,” because, as he notes, “being up against people is part of the whole thing. You can’t really re-create it in any way.” But it hasn’t always been so. Early in his career, Styles was so stricken with stage fright that he regularly threw up preperformance. “I just always thought I was going to mess up or something,” he remembers. “But I’ve felt really lucky to have a group of incredibly generous fans. They’re generous emotionally—and when they come to the show, they give so much that it creates this atmosphere that I’ve always found so loving and accepting.”

THIS SUMMER, when it was safe enough to travel, Styles returned to his London home, which is where he suggests we head now, setting off in his modish Primrose Yellow ’73 Jaguar that smells of gasoline and leatherette. “Me and my dad have always bonded over cars,” Styles explains. “I never thought I’d be someone who just went out for a leisurely drive, purely for enjoyment.” On sleepless jet-lagged nights he’ll drive through London’s quiet streets, seeing neighborhoods in a new way. “I find it quite relaxing,” he says.

Over the summer Styles took a road trip with his artist friend Tomo Campbell through France and Italy, setting off at four in the morning and spending the night in Geneva, where they jumped in the lake “to wake ourselves up.” (I see a pattern emerging.) At the end of the trip Styles drove home alone, accompanied by an upbeat playlist that included “Aretha Franklin, Parliament, and a lot of Stevie Wonder. It was really fun for me,” he says. “I don’t travel like that a lot. I’m usually in such a rush, but there was a stillness to it. I love the feeling of nobody knowing where I am, that kind of escape...and freedom.”

GROWING UP in a village in the North of England, Styles thought of London as a world apart: “It truly felt like a different country.” At a wide-eyed 16, he came down to the teeming metropolis after his mother entered him on the U.K. talent-search show The X Factor. “I went to the audition to find out if I could sing,” Styles recalls, “or if my mum was just being nice to me.” Styles was eliminated but subsequently brought back with other contestants—Niall Horan, Liam Payne, Louis Tomlinson, and Zayn Malik—to form a boy band that was named (on Styles’s suggestion) One Direction. The wily X Factor creator and judge, Simon Cowell, soon signed them to his label Syco Records, and the rest is history: 1D’s first four albums, supported by four world tours from 2011 to 2015, debuted at number one on the U.S. Billboard charts, and the band has sold 70 million records to date. At 18, Styles bought the London house he now calls home. “I was going to do two weeks’ work to it,” he remembers, “but when I came back there was no second floor,” so he moved in with adult friends who lived nearby till the renovation was complete. “Eighteen months,” he deadpans. “I’ve always seen that period as pretty pivotal for me, as there’s that moment at the party where it’s getting late, and half of the people would go upstairs to do drugs, and the other people go home. I was like, ‘I don’t really know this friend’s wife, so I’m not going to get all messy and then go home.’ I had to behave a bit, at a time where everything else about my life felt I didn’t have to behave really. I’ve been lucky to always feel I have this family unit somewhere.”

When Styles’s London renovation was finally done, “I went in for the first time and I cried,” he recalls. “Because I just felt like I had somewhere. L.A. feels like holiday, but this feels like home.”

“There’s so much joy to be had in playing with clothes. I’ve never thought too much about what it means—it just becomes this extended part of creating something”

Behind its pink door, Styles’s house has all the trappings of rock stardom—there’s a man cave filled with guitars, a Sex Pistols Never Mind the Bollocks poster (a moving-in gift from his decorator), a Stevie Nicks album cover. Fleetwood Mac’s “Dreams” was one of the first songs he knew the words to—“My parents were big fans”—and he and Nicks have formed something of a mutual-admiration society. At the beginning of lockdown, Nicks tweeted to her fans that she was taking inspiration from Fine Line: “Way to go, H,” she wrote. “It is your Rumours.” “She’s always there for you,” said Styles when he inducted Nicks into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 2019. “She knows what you need—advice, a little wisdom, a blouse, a shawl; she’s got you covered.”

Styles makes us some tea in the light-filled kitchen and then wanders into the convivial living room, where he strikes an insouciant pose on the chesterfield sofa, upholstered in a turquoise velvet that perhaps not entirely coincidentally sets off his eyes. Styles admits that his lockdown lewk was “sweatpants, constantly,” and he is relishing the opportunity to dress up again. He doesn’t have to wait long: The following day, under the eaves of a Victorian mansion in Notting Hill, I arrive in the middle of fittings for Vogue’s shoot and discover Styles in his Y-fronts, patiently waiting to try on looks for fashion editor Camilla Nickerson and photographer Tyler Mitchell. Styles’s personal stylist, Harry Lambert, wearing a pearl necklace and his nails colored in various shades of green varnish, à la Sally Bowles, is providing helpful backup (Britain’s Rule of Six hasn’t yet been imposed).

Styles, who has thoughtfully brought me a copy of de Botton’s 2006 book The Architecture of Happiness, is instinctively and almost quaintly polite, in an old-fashioned, holding-open-doors and not-mentioning-lovers-by-name sort of way. He is astounded to discover that the Atlanta-born Mitchell has yet to experience a traditional British Sunday roast dinner. Assuring him that “it’s basically like Thanksgiving every Sunday,” Styles gives Mitchell the details of his favorite London restaurants in which to enjoy one. “It’s a good thing to be nice,” Mitchell tells me after a morning in Styles’s company.

MITCHELL has Lionel Wendt’s languorously homoerotic 1930s portraits of young Sri Lankan men on his mood board. Nickerson is thinking of Irving Penn’s legendary fall 1950 Paris haute couture collections sitting, where he photographed midcentury supermodels, including his wife, Lisa Fonssagrives, in high-style Dior and Balenciaga creations. Styles is up for all of it, and so, it would seem, is the menswear landscape of 2020: Jonathan Anderson has produced a trapeze coat anchored with a chunky gold martingale; John Galliano at Maison Margiela has fashioned a khaki trench with a portrait neckline in layers of colored tulle; and Harris Reed—a Saint Martins fashion student sleuthed by Lambert who ended up making some looks for Styles’s last tour—has spent a week making a broad-shouldered Smoking jacket with high-waisted, wide-leg pants that have become a Styles signature since he posed for Tim Walker for the cover of Fine Line wearing a Gucci pair—a silhouette that was repeated in the tour wardrobe. (“I liked the idea of having that uniform,” says Styles.) Reed’s version is worn with a hoopskirt draped in festoons of hot-pink satin that somehow suggests Deborah Kerr asking Yul Brynner’s King of Siam, “Shall we dance?”

Styles introduces me to the writer and eyewear designer Gemma Styles, “my sister from the same womb,” he says. She is also here for the fitting: The siblings plan to surprise their mother with the double portrait on these pages.

I ask her whether her brother had always been interested in clothes.

“My mum loved to dress us up,” she remembers. “I always hated it, and Harry was always quite into it. She did some really elaborate papier-mâché outfits: She made a giant mug and then painted an atlas on it, and that was Harry being ‘The World Cup.’ Harry also had a little dalmatian-dog outfit,” she adds, “a hand-me-down from our closest family friends. He would just spend an inordinate amount of time wearing that outfit. But then Mum dressed me up as Cruella de Vil. She was always looking for any opportunity!”

“As a kid I definitely liked fancy dress,” Styles says. There were school plays, the first of which cast him as Barney, a church mouse. “I was really young, and I wore tights for that,” he recalls. “I remember it was crazy to me that I was wearing a pair of tights. And that was maybe where it all kicked off!”

Acting has also remained a fundamental form of expression for Styles. His sister recalls that even on the eve of his life-changing X Factor audition, Styles could sing in public only in an assumed voice. “He used to do quite a good sort of Elvis warble,” she remembers. During the rehearsals in the family home, “he would sing in the bathroom because if it was him singing as himself, he just couldn’t have anyone looking at him! I love his voice now,” she adds. “I’m so glad that he makes music that I actually enjoy listening to.”

Styles cuts a cool figure in this black-white-and-red-all-over checked coat by JW Anderson.

Styles’s role-playing continued soon after 1D went on permanent hiatus in 2016, and he was cast in Christopher Nolan’s Dunkirk, beating out dozens of professional actors for the role. “The good part was my character was a young soldier who didn’t really know what he was doing,” says Styles modestly. “The scale of the movie was so big that I was a tiny piece of the puzzle. It was definitely humbling. I just loved being outside of my comfort zone.”

His performance caught the eye of Olivia Wilde, who remembers that it “blew me away—the openness and commitment.” In turn, Styles loved Wilde’s directorial debut, Booksmart, and is “very honored” that she cast him in a leading role for her second feature, a thriller titled Don’t Worry Darling, which went into production this fall. Styles will play the husband to Florence Pugh in what Styles describes as “a 1950s utopia in the California desert.”

Wilde’s movie is costumed by Academy Award nominee Arianne Phillips. “She and I did a little victory dance when we heard that we officially had Harry in the film,” notes Wilde, “because we knew that he has a real appreciation for fashion and style. And this movie is incredibly stylistic. It’s very heightened and opulent, and I’m really grateful that he is so enthusiastic about that element of the process—some actors just don’t care.”

“I like playing dress-up in general,” Styles concurs, in a masterpiece of understatement: This is the man, after all, who cohosted the Met’s 2019 “Notes on Camp” gala attired in a nipple-freeing black organza blouse with a lace jabot, and pants so high-waisted that they cupped his pectorals. The ensemble, accessorized with the pearl-drop earring of a dandified Elizabethan courtier, was created for Styles by Gucci’s Alessandro Michele, whom he befriended in 2014. Styles, who has subsequently personified the brand as the face of the Gucci fragrance, finds Michele “fearless with his work and his imagination. It’s really inspiring to be around someone who works like that.”

The two first met in London over a cappuccino. “It was just a kind of PR appointment,” says Michele, “but something magical happened, and Harry is now a friend. He has the aura of an English rock-and-roll star—like a young Greek god with the attitude of James Dean and a little bit of Mick Jagger—but no one is sweeter. He is the image of a new era, of the way that a man can look.”

Styles credits his style transformation—from Jack Wills tracksuit-clad boy-band heartthrob to nonpareil fashionisto—to his meeting the droll young stylist Harry Lambert seven years ago. They hit it off at once and have conspired ever since, enjoying a playfully campy rapport and calling each other Sue and Susan as they parse the niceties of the scarlet lace Gucci man-bra that Michele has made for Vogue’s shoot, for instance, or a pair of Bode pants hand-painted with biographical images (Styles sent Emily Adams Bode images of his family, and a photograph he had found of David Hockney and Joni Mitchell. “The idea of those two being friends, to me, was really beautiful,” Styles explains).

“He just has fun with clothing, and that’s kind of where I’ve got it from,” says Styles of Lambert. “He doesn’t take it too seriously, which means I don’t take it too seriously.” The process has been evolutionary. At his first meeting with Lambert, the stylist proposed “a pair of flares, and I was like, ‘Flares? That’s fucking crazy,’ ” Styles remembers. Now he declares that “you can never be overdressed. There’s no such thing. The people that I looked up to in music—Prince and David Bowie and Elvis and Freddie Mercury and Elton John—they’re such showmen. As a kid it was completely mind-blowing. Now I’ll put on something that feels really flamboyant, and I don’t feel crazy wearing it. I think if you get something that you feel amazing in, it’s like a superhero outfit. Clothes are there to have fun with and experiment with and play with. What’s really exciting is that all of these lines are just kind of crumbling away. When you take away ‘There’s clothes for men and there’s clothes for women,’ once you remove any barriers, obviously you open up the arena in which you can play. I’ll go in shops sometimes, and I just find myself looking at the women’s clothes thinking they’re amazing. It’s like anything—anytime you’re putting barriers up in your own life, you’re just limiting yourself. There’s so much joy to be had in playing with clothes. I’ve never really thought too much about what it means—it just becomes this extended part of creating something.”

“He’s up for it,” confirms Lambert, who earlier this year, for instance, found a JW Anderson cardigan with the look of a Rubik’s Cube (“on sale at matches.com!”). Styles wore it, accessorized with his own pearl necklace, for a Today rehearsal in February and it went viral: His fans were soon knitting their own versions and posting the results on TikTok. Jonathan Anderson declared himself “so impressed and incredibly humbled by this trend” that he nimbly made the pattern available (complete with a YouTube tutorial) so that Styles’s fans could copy it for free. Meanwhile, London’s storied Victoria & Albert Museum has requested Styles’s original: an emblematic document of how people got creative during the COVID era. “It’s going to be in their permanent collection,” says Lambert exultantly. “Is that not sick? Is that not the most epic thing?”

“It’s pretty powerful and kind of extraordinary to see someone in his position redefining what it can mean to be a man with confidence,” says Olivia Wilde

“To me, he’s very modern,” says Wilde of Styles, “and I hope that this brand of confidence as a male that Harry has—truly devoid of any traces of toxic masculinity—is indicative of his generation and therefore the future of the world. I think he is in many ways championing that, spearheading that. It’s pretty powerful and kind of extraordinary to see someone in his position redefining what it can mean to be a man with confidence.”

“He’s really in touch with his feminine side because it’s something natural,” notes Michele. “And he’s a big inspiration to a younger generation—about how you can be in a totally free playground when you feel comfortable. I think that he’s a revolutionary.”

There are references aplenty in this look by Harris Reed, which features a Victoriana crinoline, 1980s shoulders, and pants of zoot-suit proportions.

STYLES’S confidence is on full display the day after the fitting, which finds us all on the beautiful Sussex dales. Over the summit of the hill, with its trees blown horizontal by the fierce winds, lies the English Channel. Even though it’s a two-hour drive from London, the fresh-faced Styles, who went to bed at 9 p.m., has arrived on set early: He is famously early for everything. The team is installed in a traditional flint-stone barn. The giant doors have been replaced by glass and frame a bucolic view of distant grazing sheep. “Look at that field!” says Styles. “How lucky are we? This is our office! Smell the roses!” Lambert starts to sing “Kumbaya, my Lord.”

Hairdresser Malcolm Edwards is setting Styles’s hair in a Victory roll with silver clips, and until it is combed out he resembles Kathryn Grayson with stubble. His fingers are freighted with rings, and “he has a new army of mini purses,” says Lambert, gesturing to an accessory table heaving with examples including a mini sky-blue Gucci Diana bag discreetly monogrammed HS. Michele has also made Styles a dress for the shoot that Tissot might have liked to paint—acres of ice-blue ruffles, black Valenciennes lace, and suivez-moi, jeune homme ribbons. Erelong, Styles is gamely racing up a hill in it, dodging sheep scat, thistles, and shards of chalk, and striking a pose for Mitchell that manages to make ruffles a compelling new masculine proposition, just as Mr. Fish’s frothy white cotton dress—equal parts Romantic poet and Greek presidential guard—did for Mick Jagger when he wore it for The Rolling Stones’ free performance in Hyde Park in 1969, or as the suburban-mom floral housedress did for Kurt Cobain as he defined the iconoclastic grunge aesthetic. Styles is mischievously singing ABBA’s “Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight)” to himself when Mitchell calls him outside to jump up and down on a trampoline in a Comme des Garçons buttoned wool kilt. “How did it look?” asks his sister when he comes in from the cold. “Divine,” says her brother in playful Lambert-speak.

As the wide sky is washed in pink, orange, and gray, like a Turner sunset, and Mitchell calls it a successful day, Styles is playing “Cherry” from Fine Line on his Fender acoustic on the hilltop. “He does his own stunts,” says his sister, laughing. The impromptu set is greeted with applause. “Thank you, Antwerp!” says Styles playfully, bowing to the crowd. “Thank you, fashion!”

#harry styles #harry update #article #vogue #november 2020

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