[ The owner looks like he's about ready to stick a fork in his own eye to finish this conversation if he needs to. Clearly, he's done this dance with a few different people now. He almost looks like he has some snarling little quip to stab-back with, but swallows it at the last second.
Connor, meanwhile, appreciates having his typical brand of humor returned by Hank with such easy familiarity; it felt strange to him that the club's owner should react like he was being aggressive. Connor's not used to considering himself a threatening creature, he failed too much at his own job for that. It would be easy for him to second guess himself, but he doesn't feel the need. Not with Hank here with him. ]
No, please don't be sorry. You haven't done anything wrong. You didn't put your name on that form. A series of errors, they said? [ Connor glances to the bespectacled person and they nod, a little too quickly, as though eager for any ally in smoothing the scenario. ] ... you're sure it wouldn't make you uncomfortable? Signing for me? It... it doesn't need to mean anything
[ Connor is on very unfamiliar ground here; he's not sure how it feels, bending to the seemingly frivolous formality. He isn't incorrect exactly, these people and that paper have no real sway on his and Hank's relationship. Something about the concept of ownerships sits oddly across from his self-crafted personhood, and they are not... mutually exclusive. Does thinking about somehow being owned by Hank make him feel like less of a person? Should it? How exactly is he supposed to feel about this?
Before Connor can ask himself too many questions (just before his LED would have flickered to yellow from the sheer mass of spiraling hypotheticals) Hank says that sweet little phrase and Connor feels suddenly so very light and whimsical. His sour mood severely flips and he feels almost-- drunk? Punch-drunk? The words are poor approximations of the fluttering feeling he can barely grasp or contain.
... Oh fuck it. ]
Maybe... you could sign for me [ His words don't mirror Hank's but his sentiment is enormously enamored. So what if it feels kind of strange in a way he's struggling to define? Hank loves him. Hank respects him. And Connor would like to keep to his original plan for the day, if at all possible. Suddenly Connor finds himself feeling strangely flustered, almost like he admitted something he shouldn't, so he cordially clears his throat and his fingers coil a little tighter on the inside of Hank's arm. ]
If it doesn't make you feel too uncomfortable [ he insists. It's certainly... a level of uncomfortable. Among other feelings. Why are kinks involving self depreciation so difficult to understand? ]
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Connor, meanwhile, appreciates having his typical brand of humor returned by Hank with such easy familiarity; it felt strange to him that the club's owner should react like he was being aggressive. Connor's not used to considering himself a threatening creature, he failed too much at his own job for that. It would be easy for him to second guess himself, but he doesn't feel the need. Not with Hank here with him. ]
No, please don't be sorry. You haven't done anything wrong. You didn't put your name on that form. A series of errors, they said? [ Connor glances to the bespectacled person and they nod, a little too quickly, as though eager for any ally in smoothing the scenario. ] ... you're sure it wouldn't make you uncomfortable? Signing for me? It... it doesn't need to mean anything
[ Connor is on very unfamiliar ground here; he's not sure how it feels, bending to the seemingly frivolous formality. He isn't incorrect exactly, these people and that paper have no real sway on his and Hank's relationship. Something about the concept of ownerships sits oddly across from his self-crafted personhood, and they are not... mutually exclusive. Does thinking about somehow being owned by Hank make him feel like less of a person? Should it? How exactly is he supposed to feel about this?
Before Connor can ask himself too many questions (just before his LED would have flickered to yellow from the sheer mass of spiraling hypotheticals) Hank says that sweet little phrase and Connor feels suddenly so very light and whimsical. His sour mood severely flips and he feels almost-- drunk? Punch-drunk? The words are poor approximations of the fluttering feeling he can barely grasp or contain.
... Oh fuck it. ]
Maybe... you could sign for me [ His words don't mirror Hank's but his sentiment is enormously enamored. So what if it feels kind of strange in a way he's struggling to define? Hank loves him. Hank respects him. And Connor would like to keep to his original plan for the day, if at all possible. Suddenly Connor finds himself feeling strangely flustered, almost like he admitted something he shouldn't, so he cordially clears his throat and his fingers coil a little tighter on the inside of Hank's arm. ]
If it doesn't make you feel too uncomfortable [ he insists. It's certainly... a level of uncomfortable. Among other feelings. Why are kinks involving self depreciation so difficult to understand? ]