Yes, Connor. Collars. All sorts of different colors. Materials. Could get your name on it, or — [Hank’s name is an option too, although they’re already dealing with the issue of his name being on something it shouldn’t be, so he avoids bringing that up] — well, anyway. Would say there are shops for these kinda things, but you might just go and order something online, huh?
[Online shopping is convenient, for sure. Might also give Hank a heart attack if they’re at home and Connor just pops on a leather collar with a little dangly heart, or...
Maybe Connor wouldn’t like leather. Maybe he would prefer another material. Hank doesn’t know, but he likes to think about it: Connor with an array of collars all spread out. Him getting to try each one, figuring out which he might like best.]
What a fucking question to ask. [Hank sucks in a breath. Presses his lips together. God, his heartbeat is so damn loud. Roaring.] Guess it depends on the day. The mood. The — you. Sometimes I just wanna let go, sure, but other times I’d like to... make you let go.
[Hank’s hands ache from all this steering wheel squeezing. Soon, though. Soon. Down Fifty-third Street.]
But whatever you might feel comfortable with. If you want me in a collar, you got it. If you want me holding the leash, you got that too. I wouldn’t say I’m hard to please when it comes to you. Not at all.
[There is something deeply arousing about Connor pointing out that he hasn’t even touched him that hits Hank at his core. This isn’t another grand kink awakening, is it?
...It is. Definitely is. Could he come untouched? It sounds impossible, but with Connor, that doesn’t seem to matter.]
I’m driving. [Hank says this as if Connor needs the reminder. Stealing a glance over at him, and, fuck.] Hey, hey, hey. You’re looking at me like — fuck. You just love torturing me, don’t you?
[Pointedly, Hank doesn’t ask for a change in topic. He considers it, but as flustered as he is, it’s nice. Talking about these things. Connor wanting to talk about them — and with Hank. Which sounds like an obvious thing, since they’re partners in a whole new sense now, but it will never cease to amaze him in a breathless sort of way.]
Can — you can talk about whatever you want. But. [Taking his right hand off the wheel to jab a finger in Connor’s direction.] Don’t try to make me come. A boner is one thing, and getting my pants all dirty is a whole other thing.
[Then, softer:] I’d like to come with you. Inside. If you’ll let me. For however far. However long.
no subject
Yes, Connor. Collars. All sorts of different colors. Materials. Could get your name on it, or — [Hank’s name is an option too, although they’re already dealing with the issue of his name being on something it shouldn’t be, so he avoids bringing that up] — well, anyway. Would say there are shops for these kinda things, but you might just go and order something online, huh?
[Online shopping is convenient, for sure. Might also give Hank a heart attack if they’re at home and Connor just pops on a leather collar with a little dangly heart, or...
Maybe Connor wouldn’t like leather. Maybe he would prefer another material. Hank doesn’t know, but he likes to think about it: Connor with an array of collars all spread out. Him getting to try each one, figuring out which he might like best.]
What a fucking question to ask. [Hank sucks in a breath. Presses his lips together. God, his heartbeat is so damn loud. Roaring.] Guess it depends on the day. The mood. The — you. Sometimes I just wanna let go, sure, but other times I’d like to... make you let go.
[Hank’s hands ache from all this steering wheel squeezing. Soon, though. Soon. Down Fifty-third Street.]
But whatever you might feel comfortable with. If you want me in a collar, you got it. If you want me holding the leash, you got that too. I wouldn’t say I’m hard to please when it comes to you. Not at all.
[There is something deeply arousing about Connor pointing out that he hasn’t even touched him that hits Hank at his core. This isn’t another grand kink awakening, is it?
...It is. Definitely is. Could he come untouched? It sounds impossible, but with Connor, that doesn’t seem to matter.]
I’m driving. [Hank says this as if Connor needs the reminder. Stealing a glance over at him, and, fuck.] Hey, hey, hey. You’re looking at me like — fuck. You just love torturing me, don’t you?
[Pointedly, Hank doesn’t ask for a change in topic. He considers it, but as flustered as he is, it’s nice. Talking about these things. Connor wanting to talk about them — and with Hank. Which sounds like an obvious thing, since they’re partners in a whole new sense now, but it will never cease to amaze him in a breathless sort of way.]
Can — you can talk about whatever you want. But. [Taking his right hand off the wheel to jab a finger in Connor’s direction.] Don’t try to make me come. A boner is one thing, and getting my pants all dirty is a whole other thing.
[Then, softer:] I’d like to come with you. Inside. If you’ll let me. For however far. However long.