( hank notices. there's really no way around that, the man is too observant by half. it's wonderful during sex, connor barely has to react to something before hank picks up on his interest and bends his behaviour to suit. it's less wonderful right now, because connor isn't good at talking about his feelings and that's exactly what hank wants.
how is he supposed to explain what's wrong right now? he doesn't really know himself, except for the fact that the break in momentum gave him far too long to consider all the reasons why this shouldn't be happening. or more accurately, the reasons why connor shouldn't be doing this.
the touch is still nice, but he knows that hank is concerned. concerned enough to let his cock lie untouched against his thigh and take up soft, soothing contact instead. that twists at a part of connor that he rarely allows himself to consider, and he can't quite tell if he's happy or sad about that. hank notices. hank is concerned. hank cares, he knows this, and yet – )
I don't want you to feel obligated to continue. ( he says finally, and it's about three feet from what he's trying to say and a mile from what he actually wants to say, but it's as close as connor can manage right now. he doesn't know how to explain to hank that this isn't something he's good at – feelings, but also relationships, and also, more relevantly sex. he doesn't know how to explain all the inadequacies he feels when hank can make him keen under a single touch and connor is just trying to keep up, much less act as an active participant.
he doesn't know how to explain any of this to a man that connor knows will understand all too intimately the experience of staring into the mirror and feeling the onslaught of negative thoughts deep in his bones, which means he hasn't got a hope in hell of explaining anything more complex than that. ) That was...not sexy. We can go to sleep now. We don't have to force it.
( you don't have to force it. things are no longer going well. this is not attractive. i am doing a poor job. he does not enjoy this. i'm the reason he isn't enjoying this any more, and so it spirals on, as connor keeps tugging on that thread. he can't not. )
[ hank would be a shit detective if he didn't realise the classic signs of someone he loves spiraling, as if his comment on connor drifting is a catalyst, pushing him further from him. hank might have his own inadequacies, but right here and now, he has never been more secure and sure of what he wants. his connor is shrinking back, letting in strange doubts that make him blink and pay extra attention.
his connor is telling him that that was not sexy, that he wants to stop, mired by his own thoughts and demons -- and oh, how hank wants to reach in and rend them all to shreds for him, to tear them from connor one by one and to show him what hank really sees. his hands come to cup his face now, his cock neglected for the moment as he tends to something much more urgent: his lover's bruised, broken heart.
he has no illusions that connor would come to him whole and proper -- there are too many signs that point otherwise, and what with the hint of an ex-boyfriend on the cards that hadn't been so great towards him (although hank hadn't quite gotten the details, nile's hostility towards him had been enough). ]
Hey. Hey, hey. [ he says softly, gently. ] I thought you were pretty sexy, and I'm sure as hell am not forcing anything.
[ hank's words, endlessly patient and gentle. ] You do realise that I'm the last person to do what I'm obligated to do, right?
[ he throws in a little joke there -- god knows connor has had a field day with hank's tardiness, the forms that hadn't been filled out proper, all that shit. he's laying soft kisses against his lips, his cheek, moving one hand down so that he can wrap an arm around him, splaying firmly over the small of his back. something's wrong, and connor's retreating into his shell. ]
Come back to me, Connor. Don't go where I can't follow. Be with me, mm? Why would you think this is forcing it...?
( it's a small smile but a genuine one that cracks connor's expression with a little quirk of his lips. hank's not wrong, he has had to make several phone calls to clarify details on paperwork, and during the frosty weeks of no contact it had been hell trying to find a workaround for phone calls to clarify missed or incorrectly completed sections of forms. hank really never did anything as he was supposed to.
it lifts the clouds hanging above his head, but not by very much.
connor sneaks his arms up to wind loosely around hank's neck, holding him close. when hank kisses him he kisses back, when the lips retreat to a different location he moves with the whim. connor runs his fingers through hank's hair, grips lightly, tugs a little harder. he likes to just hold it too though, feeling more comfortable with the hair wound between his fingers. )
I'm aware that this is an area I'm not as...talented in, ( he said finally, a little tersely. not with hank of course, it's just that the situation makes him tense, and being asked to talk about the situation makes him more tense.
but he turns to peck a kiss to hank's cheek, trying to be reassuring. all the moves are right – the arms around the neck, the kisses, the words are even...kind of right? but he can't make himself properly smile, at all. ) so I want to give you an out. That's all.
[ who said that this isn't an area that he's not as talented in? hank has had a few partners before connor, but this young man just about blew them out of the water. there's a stiffness to connor's movements now, but hank knows that to stop the affections would make him extra tense, so he moves, large hands sliding underneath his back to gently knead and stroke at his shoulders, sliding down to cover every inch of him, mapping him out under is touch.
hank is leaning down to kiss him again, soft and sweet on the lips. ]
I think you're pretty damn great in bed, babe.
[ and no, hank definitely doesn't need an out, the way he's already growing half-hard against connor's thigh. he's hissing softly at the tug on his hair before he does the same to connor, tugging back so that he can lavish kisses over the white of his throat. connor seems to be following some sort of script, however, saying things that hank wants to hear -- not what he needs to say.
he shifts now, then, looking down at him thoughtfully. it occurs to him, in his years and years of police work, of interviewing suspects and victims that this might be -- ]
Hey. [ he says softly, gently. ] In your own words this time. Did anything about me give you the idea that I need an out?
( hank makes connor melt. even now, his insides twist and the words he can't say burn at his throat, but hank touches him and he sighs quietly at the hair tug. he can feel hank's cock against his thigh and his own stirs. he hasn't lost his erection, emotional turmoil apparently is only enough to soften him slightly. hank is good to him, he's so good to him–
he doesn't want that to be something that upsets him more, but he moves his hands to cup hank's cheeks and gazes up at him, and the words burn again and there's a strange lump in his throat that makes connor feel like he might cry. he doesn't cry, he hasn't for almost twenty years, and then situations with hank have brought about two situations now where it's threatening to happen.
he doesn't cry, but his throat chokes and there's a very real chance that the shine to his eyes is something threatening to spill. so he pulls hank in tightly for another kiss, shakes his head. breathes out slowly, and then another inhale exhale, and one more very pointed, deliberate breath. he's not going to cry while naked, not like this anyway. )
It's not– you didn't do anything wrong. ( he assures quickly, hands on his cheeks still as he thumbs over hank's cheeks. he doesn't quite want to look at hank but he forces himself, fingers twitching slightly before he rakes them through his beard again. it would be too weird if he fished his coin out now. ) My ex said it. A few times.
Your ex is a fuckin' asshole who doesn't deserve you.
[ his ex. god. what kind of guy tells someone he loves something like that? that he isn't very talented, that he should give him an out? what kind of jerk is that? connor, who is so precious to him, so beautiful and giving and who lights up his life and with smiles that make his heart race -- which asshole would want to wreck that?
his words are vehement, his own gaze flashing with anger, just briefly, before he softens and reaches down to cup his face, brushing kisses over his eyelids. connor's eyes shine, and his chest tightens in response, leaning into his hands.
his hand comes down to smooth up and down his chest, to soothe him the best way he knows how. ]
And he doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about. Look at you -- d'you know how long I've dreamed of this with you, how often? And you've just about surpassed every expectation.
[ he leans down to nuzzle him, other hand giving his ass a good squeeze. ] You, Connor, are the most gorgeous creature I've ever set eyes on.
( connor nods. and he nods again. and one more time, because he is listening, and comments deserve responses. especially compliments, they deserve acknowledgement, and what he really should say is "thank you, hank" or something to that effect.
what he does instead is open his mouth, and then abruptly shut it again. he's not going to cry.
connor has repeatedly found himself in situations where the people in his life – where the men in his life, really – have fed him negative beliefs and comments and thoughts until he had no choice but to believe it. hank's words are sweet, but they aren't strong enough to beat out the cumulative twenty odd years of damage. connor wishes they were. )
You're very kind. ( he says finally, and even that feels tough. he swallows, wriggles his hips slightly at hank's squeeze, and rubs his beard hair through his fingers again. it's nice, it's really nice. he wants to focus on that, not on david's comments – or worse, his fucking dad, because that's where this is rapidly going. ) That's why we're no longer together. We split up five years ago, he isn't relevant.
( except for the part where connor is still bringing up comments fed to him by the guy, but that's besides the point. )
I dreamed about this too, dreamed about you. Which is why I want it to be...perfect.
[ this isn't something that can be wiped away with just a few words, and hank knows it. it's only human and normal, but it doesn't make hank want to break connor's ex's face in any less. to think that someone would try to reinforce that shit to maybe keep him under his thumb is deplorable, but the person to focus on now is connor.
connor, who had been hurt and let down by the men in his life, who had opened up to let him in anyway, who loves him even though hank doesn't still get just why. he's here with him and that should matter.
and so he turns his full attention right back to him, intent and focused. ]
You don't think it's perfect now?
[ he asks with a crooked, small smile because god help him he's so weak for this twink of a teacher. ]
Because I do.
[ he's rubbing his beard against his fingers, grasping connor's cock in his hand with a low moan before lining both of them up together and grinding. ]
I think you're the best damn thing that's ever happened to me. Well, aside from Cole. You're tied for first place.
( connor nods again, but this time it's because he's too weak to do anything else. he nods and moans, lips pressed together tightly to try and stay quiet as he rocks his hips up against hank's. his eyes flutter shut and he grips at the hair before moving back to his shoulders to dig his fingers in harder there. they'll be able to take more than hank's beard, he thinks. )
You're perfect. ( he says, and that part is easy, those words come without difficulty because he believes them wholeheartedly. ) And you're kind, attentive. Thoughtful. Very, very attractive. And the best thing that's happened to me, as well.
( he wants to be present for this. he doesn't want old, dusty poisonous words to pull him away from everything that is happening right now. hank is wonderful at that, at keeping connor occupied so his brain can't take over, and it's mostly working right now. he still feels– choked, for lack of a better word, but when their cocks grind together and he looks at hank's face, slightly slack and very clearly enjoying himself, he can't help but think i'm doing that – in equal parts pride and a vicious little 'fuck you' to the ex that told him he couldn't do exactly that. )
[ hank says quietly. he might have a bad temper and a penchant for swearing and bad decisions, but in this moment he doesn't want to fuck anything up. he's patient, gentle, because connor is wounded in ways hank is yet discovering, and he will never turn him away. so he kisses his mouth softly, gently, trailing heated little kisses down his throat, over his collarbone.
he's enjoying this and it's obvious, and he shifts to meet his gaze, his eyes lidded from pleasure as he rolls his hips and rubs up properly against him, shivering at how good it feels. ]
And God, you feel so fucking good like this, already so hard for me so quickly.
[ he takes a breath, humming. ] Wrap your legs around me, babe.
( by the time connor is receiving the kisses along his collar bone – clavicle, he would gently correct a student – he;s really struggling to keep watching hank's reactions. so he gives up, he won't force it, he just closes his eyes and writhes under hank. it's loose and fluid, his movements, and there's no hesitation when connor parts his legs wide.
there's plenty of space for hank to fit against his body, and when his legs wind around, connor crosses his ankles behind hank's back. like this he can very easily anchor his hips up, grinding slowly into hank's hips and sighing long and slow in contentment. he's getting out of his head, it's working. god knows how, but it seems to be working.
connor doubts that this will be the last time hank mentions this, but for now he's happy to press his heels into hank's lower back insistently, because he is hard, and he has been sporting some level of boner for nearly an hour now. a harsh exhale could probably get him hard right now. )
You're so good at this, ( connor says, and he means everything – sex, sure, but also managing connor, managing his weird damage and issues, managing connor, he's good at everything. it's got to be why connor loves him. just one reason in the saga of all the things connor loves about hank. ) Hank, please do something. I want to come.
( he wants hank to fuck him very badly, but he's not sure hank will agree to that so soon after his spiral down memory lane. )
[ giving up and just enjoying what hank gives him is the name of the game here, and hank is pleased that connor's capitulating to him so sweetly. he's rocking into him more steadily, reaching between their bodies and closing a hand around both their dicks, creating more delicious friction.
he groans, low and soft and yearning, and he's licking into his mouth gently, tenderly. he's grinding back against him, squeezing a little tighter and chuckling against his mouth when he begs so openly, more vulnerable than he's ever seen him. but he knows he has to take this carefully, he has to make sure he's entirely all right, and he's nuzzling against him when he breaks the kiss.
more than their dicks, hank cares about his well-being, the state of mind he's in. ]
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how is he supposed to explain what's wrong right now? he doesn't really know himself, except for the fact that the break in momentum gave him far too long to consider all the reasons why this shouldn't be happening. or more accurately, the reasons why connor shouldn't be doing this.
the touch is still nice, but he knows that hank is concerned. concerned enough to let his cock lie untouched against his thigh and take up soft, soothing contact instead. that twists at a part of connor that he rarely allows himself to consider, and he can't quite tell if he's happy or sad about that. hank notices. hank is concerned. hank cares, he knows this, and yet – )
I don't want you to feel obligated to continue. ( he says finally, and it's about three feet from what he's trying to say and a mile from what he actually wants to say, but it's as close as connor can manage right now. he doesn't know how to explain to hank that this isn't something he's good at – feelings, but also relationships, and also, more relevantly sex. he doesn't know how to explain all the inadequacies he feels when hank can make him keen under a single touch and connor is just trying to keep up, much less act as an active participant.
he doesn't know how to explain any of this to a man that connor knows will understand all too intimately the experience of staring into the mirror and feeling the onslaught of negative thoughts deep in his bones, which means he hasn't got a hope in hell of explaining anything more complex than that. ) That was...not sexy. We can go to sleep now. We don't have to force it.
( you don't have to force it. things are no longer going well. this is not attractive. i am doing a poor job. he does not enjoy this. i'm the reason he isn't enjoying this any more, and so it spirals on, as connor keeps tugging on that thread. he can't not. )
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his connor is telling him that that was not sexy, that he wants to stop, mired by his own thoughts and demons -- and oh, how hank wants to reach in and rend them all to shreds for him, to tear them from connor one by one and to show him what hank really sees. his hands come to cup his face now, his cock neglected for the moment as he tends to something much more urgent: his lover's bruised, broken heart.
he has no illusions that connor would come to him whole and proper -- there are too many signs that point otherwise, and what with the hint of an ex-boyfriend on the cards that hadn't been so great towards him (although hank hadn't quite gotten the details, nile's hostility towards him had been enough). ]
Hey. Hey, hey. [ he says softly, gently. ] I thought you were pretty sexy, and I'm sure as hell am not forcing anything.
[ hank's words, endlessly patient and gentle. ] You do realise that I'm the last person to do what I'm obligated to do, right?
[ he throws in a little joke there -- god knows connor has had a field day with hank's tardiness, the forms that hadn't been filled out proper, all that shit. he's laying soft kisses against his lips, his cheek, moving one hand down so that he can wrap an arm around him, splaying firmly over the small of his back. something's wrong, and connor's retreating into his shell. ]
Come back to me, Connor. Don't go where I can't follow. Be with me, mm? Why would you think this is forcing it...?
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it lifts the clouds hanging above his head, but not by very much.
connor sneaks his arms up to wind loosely around hank's neck, holding him close. when hank kisses him he kisses back, when the lips retreat to a different location he moves with the whim. connor runs his fingers through hank's hair, grips lightly, tugs a little harder. he likes to just hold it too though, feeling more comfortable with the hair wound between his fingers. )
I'm aware that this is an area I'm not as...talented in, ( he said finally, a little tersely. not with hank of course, it's just that the situation makes him tense, and being asked to talk about the situation makes him more tense.
but he turns to peck a kiss to hank's cheek, trying to be reassuring. all the moves are right – the arms around the neck, the kisses, the words are even...kind of right? but he can't make himself properly smile, at all. ) so I want to give you an out. That's all.
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[ who said that this isn't an area that he's not as talented in? hank has had a few partners before connor, but this young man just about blew them out of the water. there's a stiffness to connor's movements now, but hank knows that to stop the affections would make him extra tense, so he moves, large hands sliding underneath his back to gently knead and stroke at his shoulders, sliding down to cover every inch of him, mapping him out under is touch.
hank is leaning down to kiss him again, soft and sweet on the lips. ]
I think you're pretty damn great in bed, babe.
[ and no, hank definitely doesn't need an out, the way he's already growing half-hard against connor's thigh. he's hissing softly at the tug on his hair before he does the same to connor, tugging back so that he can lavish kisses over the white of his throat. connor seems to be following some sort of script, however, saying things that hank wants to hear -- not what he needs to say.
he shifts now, then, looking down at him thoughtfully. it occurs to him, in his years and years of police work, of interviewing suspects and victims that this might be -- ]
Hey. [ he says softly, gently. ] In your own words this time. Did anything about me give you the idea that I need an out?
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he doesn't want that to be something that upsets him more, but he moves his hands to cup hank's cheeks and gazes up at him, and the words burn again and there's a strange lump in his throat that makes connor feel like he might cry. he doesn't cry, he hasn't for almost twenty years, and then situations with hank have brought about two situations now where it's threatening to happen.
he doesn't cry, but his throat chokes and there's a very real chance that the shine to his eyes is something threatening to spill. so he pulls hank in tightly for another kiss, shakes his head. breathes out slowly, and then another inhale exhale, and one more very pointed, deliberate breath. he's not going to cry while naked, not like this anyway. )
It's not– you didn't do anything wrong. ( he assures quickly, hands on his cheeks still as he thumbs over hank's cheeks. he doesn't quite want to look at hank but he forces himself, fingers twitching slightly before he rakes them through his beard again. it would be too weird if he fished his coin out now. ) My ex said it. A few times.
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[ his ex. god. what kind of guy tells someone he loves something like that? that he isn't very talented, that he should give him an out? what kind of jerk is that? connor, who is so precious to him, so beautiful and giving and who lights up his life and with smiles that make his heart race -- which asshole would want to wreck that?
his words are vehement, his own gaze flashing with anger, just briefly, before he softens and reaches down to cup his face, brushing kisses over his eyelids. connor's eyes shine, and his chest tightens in response, leaning into his hands.
his hand comes down to smooth up and down his chest, to soothe him the best way he knows how. ]
And he doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about. Look at you -- d'you know how long I've dreamed of this with you, how often? And you've just about surpassed every expectation.
[ he leans down to nuzzle him, other hand giving his ass a good squeeze. ] You, Connor, are the most gorgeous creature I've ever set eyes on.
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what he does instead is open his mouth, and then abruptly shut it again. he's not going to cry.
connor has repeatedly found himself in situations where the people in his life – where the men in his life, really – have fed him negative beliefs and comments and thoughts until he had no choice but to believe it. hank's words are sweet, but they aren't strong enough to beat out the cumulative twenty odd years of damage. connor wishes they were. )
You're very kind. ( he says finally, and even that feels tough. he swallows, wriggles his hips slightly at hank's squeeze, and rubs his beard hair through his fingers again. it's nice, it's really nice. he wants to focus on that, not on david's comments – or worse, his fucking dad, because that's where this is rapidly going. ) That's why we're no longer together. We split up five years ago, he isn't relevant.
( except for the part where connor is still bringing up comments fed to him by the guy, but that's besides the point. )
I dreamed about this too, dreamed about you. Which is why I want it to be...perfect.
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connor, who had been hurt and let down by the men in his life, who had opened up to let him in anyway, who loves him even though hank doesn't still get just why. he's here with him and that should matter.
and so he turns his full attention right back to him, intent and focused. ]
You don't think it's perfect now?
[ he asks with a crooked, small smile because god help him he's so weak for this twink of a teacher. ]
Because I do.
[ he's rubbing his beard against his fingers, grasping connor's cock in his hand with a low moan before lining both of them up together and grinding. ]
I think you're the best damn thing that's ever happened to me. Well, aside from Cole. You're tied for first place.
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You're perfect. ( he says, and that part is easy, those words come without difficulty because he believes them wholeheartedly. ) And you're kind, attentive. Thoughtful. Very, very attractive. And the best thing that's happened to me, as well.
( he wants to be present for this. he doesn't want old, dusty poisonous words to pull him away from everything that is happening right now. hank is wonderful at that, at keeping connor occupied so his brain can't take over, and it's mostly working right now. he still feels– choked, for lack of a better word, but when their cocks grind together and he looks at hank's face, slightly slack and very clearly enjoying himself, he can't help but think i'm doing that – in equal parts pride and a vicious little 'fuck you' to the ex that told him he couldn't do exactly that. )
I want to be here. I'm trying, I swear.
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[ hank says quietly. he might have a bad temper and a penchant for swearing and bad decisions, but in this moment he doesn't want to fuck anything up. he's patient, gentle, because connor is wounded in ways hank is yet discovering, and he will never turn him away. so he kisses his mouth softly, gently, trailing heated little kisses down his throat, over his collarbone.
he's enjoying this and it's obvious, and he shifts to meet his gaze, his eyes lidded from pleasure as he rolls his hips and rubs up properly against him, shivering at how good it feels. ]
And God, you feel so fucking good like this, already so hard for me so quickly.
[ he takes a breath, humming. ] Wrap your legs around me, babe.
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there's plenty of space for hank to fit against his body, and when his legs wind around, connor crosses his ankles behind hank's back. like this he can very easily anchor his hips up, grinding slowly into hank's hips and sighing long and slow in contentment. he's getting out of his head, it's working. god knows how, but it seems to be working.
connor doubts that this will be the last time hank mentions this, but for now he's happy to press his heels into hank's lower back insistently, because he is hard, and he has been sporting some level of boner for nearly an hour now. a harsh exhale could probably get him hard right now. )
You're so good at this, ( connor says, and he means everything – sex, sure, but also managing connor, managing his weird damage and issues, managing connor, he's good at everything. it's got to be why connor loves him. just one reason in the saga of all the things connor loves about hank. ) Hank, please do something. I want to come.
( he wants hank to fuck him very badly, but he's not sure hank will agree to that so soon after his spiral down memory lane. )
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he groans, low and soft and yearning, and he's licking into his mouth gently, tenderly. he's grinding back against him, squeezing a little tighter and chuckling against his mouth when he begs so openly, more vulnerable than he's ever seen him. but he knows he has to take this carefully, he has to make sure he's entirely all right, and he's nuzzling against him when he breaks the kiss.
more than their dicks, hank cares about his well-being, the state of mind he's in. ]
You want me to fuck you...?