I know, sweetheart. Glad there’s something about me you can keep with you like that.
[Hank can’t help but meet Connor’s tenderness with his own. It’s so easy to shift back to his gruff, evasive demeanor — his feelings on other people still very much boil down to “leave me the hell alone” — but with Connor, he wants to cling to the other side of the spectrum as much as he can.]
Suppose how much of that is “mutually exclusive” depends on how good you are. But all right: I’ll keep that secret prepped and ready to go for you.
[He takes his time touching Connor’s hand: rubbing his palm against him. The pads of his fingers run along each digit, so much more slender than Hank’s own. Defined with the strong curves of his knuckles where Hank’s are thick.]
Not making it easy on you, hmm? Sounds like you’re getting a taste of your own damn medicine.
[Hank melts at that tenderness again. Heart tugging.
Learning. Connor’s learning. Even if he never says the words, it’ll be okay. How many people have said the words to Hank and not meant it? This comes with its own sort of ache — he doesn’t deserve Connor, doesn’t deserve those three little words — but the intrusive thought is weak. Hank can fight back against it, batting away the uncertainty, because Connor makes him feel loved.
And that’s what matters, really.]
Lookin’ a little blue there, Con. You feeling okay? [Then, to clarify on the rules of their little game so as not to confuse Connor — and not goad him into being naughty — Hank says:] Didn’t say I had to keep my hands, or my mouth, to myself.
[Which has very sexy connotations, and Hank shouldn’t be indulging these thoughts right now, but he imagines Connor laying back in bed. Hank’s hands all over him: trailing up his thighs. Leaning down to kiss around his new cock.
Telling Connor to lie still. And maybe it’s a rule Hank mumbled out: “If you touch me, I stop.” Not that he would stop, but how good might that get Connor to behave? If at all? Or would he see right through Hank?
But again: he really shouldn’t be thinking about these things right now. If he could just unzip his pants, relieve some of that damn pressure...
No, of course. Not now.]
You’re doing great so far, Connor. [Hank says this with that tantalizing hair’s breadth of space between their lips. He could bridge the distance. He could. But then Hank would slip his tongue into Connor’s mouth, would grab his hand and press it against his still-clothed dick, and...
He curls one hand around the back of Connor’s neck. Holds him close as he smiles. Then, leaning up — lips like a whisper over the tip of Connor’s nose — Hank kisses his forehead.] So good. Even when you’re being a damn tease.
[Getting out of the car, and pulling away from Connor, is the last thing he wants to do, but alas. He still has his hand on Connor’s neck, his lips against his forehead. But everything good must come to an end.]
You don’t gotta thank me for all that. I want to do these things for you — whatever I can. Whatever makes things easier, or better. Whatever helps make this shitty world a little more tolerable for you. Because, Connor...
[Another kiss pressed to Connor’s forehead: soft. Sweeter than Hank has ever wanted to be with anyone. Then he finally is pulling back, albeit reluctantly. Looking down into Connor’s eyes.]
You make life... really goddamn special.
[Not “tolerable,” no: that isn’t strong enough. Hank will always have his issues. His demons. There’s no getting rid of those, only softening their blows. And sometimes, even with Connor and his kisses and his “I’m learning,” things will be hard. Some nights more than others: holidays. Birthdays. Random days where Hank just feels himself slipping away.
It’s a process, wanting to live again. But leaving Connor now, in any way — that terrifies Hank.
So he won’t. With everything Hank has in him, he won’t let himself leave: both in the context of death as well as him being an ornery asshole, trying to push Connor away on the days he’s convinced Connor could have better if Hank just distances himself.]
Should — [clearing his throat, gripping the door handle now as he pushes it open] — get you to that appointment, yeah?
no subject
I know, sweetheart. Glad there’s something about me you can keep with you like that.
[Hank can’t help but meet Connor’s tenderness with his own. It’s so easy to shift back to his gruff, evasive demeanor — his feelings on other people still very much boil down to “leave me the hell alone” — but with Connor, he wants to cling to the other side of the spectrum as much as he can.]
Suppose how much of that is “mutually exclusive” depends on how good you are. But all right: I’ll keep that secret prepped and ready to go for you.
[He takes his time touching Connor’s hand: rubbing his palm against him. The pads of his fingers run along each digit, so much more slender than Hank’s own. Defined with the strong curves of his knuckles where Hank’s are thick.]
Not making it easy on you, hmm? Sounds like you’re getting a taste of your own damn medicine.
[Hank melts at that tenderness again. Heart tugging.
Learning. Connor’s learning. Even if he never says the words, it’ll be okay. How many people have said the words to Hank and not meant it? This comes with its own sort of ache — he doesn’t deserve Connor, doesn’t deserve those three little words — but the intrusive thought is weak. Hank can fight back against it, batting away the uncertainty, because Connor makes him feel loved.
And that’s what matters, really.]
Lookin’ a little blue there, Con. You feeling okay? [Then, to clarify on the rules of their little game so as not to confuse Connor — and not goad him into being naughty — Hank says:] Didn’t say I had to keep my hands, or my mouth, to myself.
[Which has very sexy connotations, and Hank shouldn’t be indulging these thoughts right now, but he imagines Connor laying back in bed. Hank’s hands all over him: trailing up his thighs. Leaning down to kiss around his new cock.
Telling Connor to lie still. And maybe it’s a rule Hank mumbled out: “If you touch me, I stop.” Not that he would stop, but how good might that get Connor to behave? If at all? Or would he see right through Hank?
But again: he really shouldn’t be thinking about these things right now. If he could just unzip his pants, relieve some of that damn pressure...
No, of course. Not now.]
You’re doing great so far, Connor. [Hank says this with that tantalizing hair’s breadth of space between their lips. He could bridge the distance. He could. But then Hank would slip his tongue into Connor’s mouth, would grab his hand and press it against his still-clothed dick, and...
He curls one hand around the back of Connor’s neck. Holds him close as he smiles. Then, leaning up — lips like a whisper over the tip of Connor’s nose — Hank kisses his forehead.] So good. Even when you’re being a damn tease.
[Getting out of the car, and pulling away from Connor, is the last thing he wants to do, but alas. He still has his hand on Connor’s neck, his lips against his forehead. But everything good must come to an end.]
You don’t gotta thank me for all that. I want to do these things for you — whatever I can. Whatever makes things easier, or better. Whatever helps make this shitty world a little more tolerable for you. Because, Connor...
[Another kiss pressed to Connor’s forehead: soft. Sweeter than Hank has ever wanted to be with anyone. Then he finally is pulling back, albeit reluctantly. Looking down into Connor’s eyes.]
You make life... really goddamn special.
[Not “tolerable,” no: that isn’t strong enough. Hank will always have his issues. His demons. There’s no getting rid of those, only softening their blows. And sometimes, even with Connor and his kisses and his “I’m learning,” things will be hard. Some nights more than others: holidays. Birthdays. Random days where Hank just feels himself slipping away.
It’s a process, wanting to live again. But leaving Connor now, in any way — that terrifies Hank.
So he won’t. With everything Hank has in him, he won’t let himself leave: both in the context of death as well as him being an ornery asshole, trying to push Connor away on the days he’s convinced Connor could have better if Hank just distances himself.]
Should — [clearing his throat, gripping the door handle now as he pushes it open] — get you to that appointment, yeah?