(cold grey);

the-darklings:

“Are you glad he’s gone?”

Turning slowly from your phone, you glanced at Connor who was standing facing away from you.

“I won’t exactly call it ‘glad’. I didn’t hate him,” you mused faintly, watching Connor carefully. “I don’t think he was evil either. He was just following orders. Like you did once upon a time.”

Connor turned to you, eyebrows raised like what you said surprised him, “And if he’d killed me?”

You licked your lips, thoughtfully glancing away for a moment. Connor’s been…different ever since the final confrontation with RK900; a newer model sent by CyberLife to destroy Connor for his deviancy. There was a certain roughness to his touch now, a desperation that you knew was born from the thought of almost losing his life, of losing you.

“The only ones I hate are CyberLife for forcing you all into being their slaves,” you answered resolutely, blinking when he took a few brisk steps in your direction, coming to a sharp stop in front of you.

“Well I hate him,” he told you coldly, “for trying to separate us. I’m glad he’s gone.”

Your lips parted when he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him. The warm, loving gleam in his eyes was missing, leaving a more intense, hungry look behind. He leaned down leisurely, his nose skimming over the sensitive skin of your neck, awakening a tremble in your hands and knees. You almost jumped when you suddenly felt a cold, wet tongue slowly trace down the juncture of your neck, making you gasp weakly.

“Connor,” you pleaded desperately, hungry for more as you gripped his forearm tightly.

“I’m glad he’s gone,” Connor repeated again lowly. “Because now, no one will get in our way,” he whispered against your ear hotly, his arm tightening possessively around your waist.

And if you had looked up in that exact moment, you would have noticed that his eyes were a burning, cold grey instead of familiar warm brown.

.

.

(ii) endgame