Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Connor wants to cry.

He doesn’t, though; his mother was way too insistent on the ‘boys shouldn’t cry’ mantra while he was growing up that it got etched into his mind for eternity. So he squares his shoulders and pointedly doesn’t cry as he looks at the… mess.

There’s frankly no other way to describe it. The Mess. In reality, it should be a farm. But it’s a mess.

He can’t even decide which looks worse, the overgrown yard, or the wobbly little house. If it can even be called a house. It seems like it has more holes than walls, really.

No, Connor is not going to cry.

“Well,” Mayor Jeff Fowler pats his shoulder jovially. “If you need help, just ask. The townsfolk are more than ready to help you out, I’m sure!”

Connor shudders at the thought. He hates asking for help, but it seems like he’ll have to.

“Thank you.”

“Luther can fix the roof for you! He lives up north from here,” Mayor Jeff says, pointing somewhere towards the mountains.

Connor nods, and mutters another ‘thank you’.

“I’ll leave you here, let you settle in. See you soon!”

Only after the mayor gets out of eye and earshot, Connor dares to collapse on the porch steps, head in his hands.

He was so stupid. Why did he think he could make this work? He doesn’t even know anything about farming. Or living in the countryside. Or living alone, really.

He scrambles to get a cigarette out of his pocket and lights it with shaking hands.

When he first found his late grandfather’s deed to this farm in his mother’s desk drawer as a teen (he was totally not snooping for anything), he didn’t think much of it. To be honest, he completely forgot about it for another ten or so years.

But when he found it again, just a week ago among a handful of personal documents in one of his mother’s locked cabinets (he was totally not snooping for anything this time either), it ignited something in his chest. Some kind of hope maybe, for a new life. A better life. Blissfully far from his mother’s scrutiny.

The images appeared fully formed in front of his eyes: a cute little farm somewhere in the countryside. Sunny summer days spent lounging on the porch, reading a book. He even bought a cutesy little sunhat to go along with his new cottagecore aesthetic.

That’s… not how he imagined the farm looking like.

A Mess.

(With a capital letter.)

He takes another drag of his cigarette and scratches the corner of his eye (still not crying).

He can’t even think about going back home. He can’t let his mother know that she was right, and he’s a coward who’s not cut out for doing anything than playing second fiddle in the Stern family business. He’s got disillusioned by it a while ago anyway; he can do programming alright, but Richard can have the whole thing if he wants. His twin brother is the favorite anyway, he always was; he’s taller, cleverer, more ambitious… and taller than him.

It’s fine. He can make it work.

But as he looks back at the Mess, he feels his stomach sink again.

Fuck. He needs a plan.

Task minus one: stub out the cigarette. It’s shit for his health, but fuck, he needed it like he needs air. Sweet, nicotine-filled air.

Task one: damage assessment.

As slowly and carefully as he can, Connor opens the front door of the Mess, fearing if he goes faster, the whole thing will collapse on him, like a house of cards. It doesn’t. Barely.

He steps inside to see a hole in the ceiling, a broken window, and several rotten floorboards. It looks depressing. Can he even sleep here with the broken window? It’s the middle of spring and the nights are still cold, especially in the countryside. He’s going to catch a cold. A pneumonia. He’s going to die on his second day of being independent.

“Fuck!” He drops down on the piece of furniture that most resembles a bed, only to stir up a cloud of dust. It makes him ride out a ten sneezes long series. Ugh, he needs to get these washed or something. Do people wash their mattresses? Connor has no idea.

Task one point five: does the electricity even work?

The answer is a miserable no. Probably something is busted, but the only thing Connor achieves by looking at the fuse box is getting a throbbing headache. As good as he is with numbers and computers, he’s awfully useless in anything related to electricity or wiring. He’ll need to find someone to fix this too. The list is rapidly growing.

Shit, his hand twitches for another cigarette, but he has more important things to do, like…

Task two: find this Luther person.

After about an hour of wandering in the forest (tripping on a fallen log and getting spooked by a bird included), he sees a building that resembles a house. Honestly, considering Mayor Jeff’s vague instructions, it’s a miracle that Connor even found his way here. “Up north, he said,” Connor grumbles under his nose, while he approaches the house.

When he rings the doorbell, a lovely little lady opens the door.

“Oh, you must be the new owner of the Stern farm! I’m Kara!” She beams, extending a hand.

Connor shakes her hand. “Connor. Nice to meet you!”

“Likewise! You must be here for Luther, that poor farm has seen better days, I’m sure.”

Connor winces but dutifully follows Kara into the house.

Luther turns out to be a robust man who definitely looks capable of fixing stuff, considering his appropriate cargo trousers with their eight pockets full of tools, so unlike Connor’s tight-fit jeans (inappropriate for any farmwork, but made with special ass-pushup features – Connor needs the pushup, alright; it makes his bottom half look like something at least).

“What can I help you with?” asks Luther, and Connor hurries to list all the damages he discovered in task one.

Luther hums and nods, and thankfully offers to fix the window today, at least (Ha! Take that pneumonia!). Connor assumes he won’t be this cheerful once he sees the bill for all the fixes Luther has to apply to the Mess, but he has time to worry about that later.

But still, he worries about it now. How the fuck is he going to make money? Why didn’t he think of this before? He was way too eager to leave the life behind that was draining his will to live that he forgot to think about the burdens he was about to face. Such an idiot.

No, he’s not going to cry in front of this nice little family either.

(He does light another cigarette after he said his goodbyes, though.)

Task three: find a way to make some fucking money.

Task four: introductions to the townsfolk.

Connor is good at introductions; he can put on a smile and make small talk. It’s something he learned along the way, but it helps that everyone seems to be so friendly here. Even overly friendly. It’s a little weird, to be honest.

He meets a self-proclaimed artist, Markus, a fiery blacksmith called North (who makes actual swords, what the fuck), teacher Simon, and shopkeeper Rose. Rose offers to buy any fruits and vegetables that Connor might end up growing, which information he mentally adds to task three as a side note.

True to his promise, Luther comes by the Mess to fix the window in the afternoon. Connor tries to help, but he mostly ends up staring at Luther’s bulging biceps.

So he decides to occupy himself with dusting and airing out his mattress instead.

The sun has almost set when Connor realizes how hungry he is. At some point, Mayor Jeff mentioned an establishment called Jimmy’s Saloon where one can get food.

Connor orders himself a pizza, and Jimmy just shakes his head, amused, when Connor asks if he can pay with coupons. Connor has no clue where he’s going to use these freaking coupons before they expire.

The pizza is heavenly, though. After wolfing the whole thing down, Connor leans back in his chair, letting out a satisfied sigh. His gaze wanders around aimlessly in the saloon, seeing now familiar faces everywhere.

Until he sees the man at the bar.

He must’ve arrived after Connor ordered his pizza, or simply he managed to blend seamlessly into the furniture. Because that’s what Connor thinks the man is trying to achieve as he hunches above his drink, motionless, at the bar.

Well…

Connor grabs his empty plate to bring it back to Jimmy, and plasters a smile on his face.

“Hello!” he addresses the stranger. “My name is Connor! I’m the new owner of the Stern farm!”

Slowly, the man looks up, squinting.

“Leave me the fuck alone.”

Ha! Connor huffs, irritated. It seems like he managed to find one rude person by the end of the day.

“That’s one way to welcome someone! I was just introducing myself!”

“And do I look like I care? Just fuck off already!” grunts the man, and turns back to his drink.

“Well, fuck you then!” Connor replies eloquently, then storms out of the saloon.

What an asshole, Connor thinks as he almost trips on the doorstep. If he wasn’t so pissed by the strange man’s lack of interest in him, Connor would even find the conversation refreshing after all the polite introductions he went through during the day. But alas, the guy is an irredeemable asshole.

Looking up, Connor realizes that it’s gotten completely dark. Of course, the damn road leading from Pelican Town to the Mess doesn’t have any lighting, so Connor has to turn on the flashlight on his phone to see anything, while also juggling a cigarette in his hand. He still manages to stub his toe on a random rock. Fantastic.

At least the damn window is fixed, so it’s only moderately cold in the Mess. Connor jumps in the bathroom to take a quick shower, only to jump right back out shrieking. There’s only ice-cold water coming from the tap. Gritting his teeth, he ends up taking that quick shower anyway, even if he comes out feeling like an ice cube.

As he nestles into the now thankfully clean sheets, a newfound determination comes over him. He can do this and he’s going to do this. He’s going to make it work, no matter what.

Three days later, the electricity is fixed.

Connor vows to erect a life-sized statue honoring Luther on his farm once he has the means, because he would be no-fucking-where without him.

When he finally gets to charge his damn phone, he’s met with several messages from his mother. He’s not going to look at them, no matter how hard his hand itches to do so.

He’s not looking at them for three hours and eleven minutes, before his resistance crumbles and he opens the messages.

And well. They’re exactly what he expected, his mother telling him that he made a ‘stupid decision’ and he should stop ‘acting like a child’, and also, he should ‘come back immediately’.

Yeah, well. He’s not going to go back, even if a part of him wants to; that stupid part of him that longs for the familiar things. But he knows he wasn’t at the right place; it already took him way too long to realize that. He made his decision and he’s not gonna go back.

His finger hovers over the block button as he takes a sharp breath, heart pounding. But he’s not brave enough to push it just yet. So he just closes the message thread and puts his phone away.

Fuck.

Time for a distraction. And a cigarette.

The first thing Connor does about the farming stuff is that he writes an algorithm that collects data about the topic from the world wide web. Half a day later, he ends up with a handful of contradicting information. The algorithm needs some fine-tuning, alright.

He also makes a program that will track the needs and growth of the plants.

Now he only needs the actual crops.

Ugh.

Fortunately, Rose is helpful enough; she sells him seeds and tells him what the seasonal crops are.

It takes him a day to plant everything because he still has no idea what he’s doing. And also because he keeps realizing that he’s missing essential tools, for example, a shovel, and he has to run multiple errands to Pelican Town to get them.

On one of these trips, he runs into Mayor Jeff, who invites him to a ‘welcome dinner’ at his house. Connor accepts, because, as he realizes, he’s been running on pure spite and nicotine for the past few days and it would be good to finally eat something that resembles food. And also because it’s the mayor, and it would be inappropriate to say no.

So that’s how Connor ends up in the Fowler family’s dining room on Friday night.

“So, Connor,” Mayor Jeff starts. “How are you settling in?”

“Great!” Connor lies between two bites of steak. The steak is crazy good, so Connor hopes to avoid any kinds of questions regarding the state of the Mess by stuffing his mouth full of it.

Not so surprisingly, he has no such luck. The story of his life, really.

“And how’s the farm? Did you manage to get everything fixed?”

Connor nods and tries to swallow everything that’s in his mouth at once. It sends him coughing. Mayor Jeff pats his back, and he just wants to sink into the ground in embarrassment.

“Yes,” Connor manages after coming back from the brink of drowning. “Luther’s been a great help.”

“That man is a treasure!” Melanie, Mayor Jeff’s wife says, and Connor couldn’t agree more.

“Yes, yes.” Mayor Jeff nods as well. “And are you getting along with Hank?”

Connor stops, his fork lifted halfway toward his mouth. Suddenly, some kind of panic comes over him that he missed meeting some important person, despite his best efforts. “With who?”

“Hank? Your neighbor?”

Well, fuck. Connor technically knows that he has one neighbor; he’s seen a ranch just south of his farm. But anytime he knocked on the door he was met with silence.

“Um… I don’t think I’ve met him?”

To this answer, Mayor Jeff’s face goes through several emotions, most of which Connor cannot identify. He suddenly feels like he failed something, so he mutters a sorry.

“No, no need to be sorry! Hank can be…” Mayor Jeff exchanges a glance with his wife. “A hermit. You’ll meet him eventually.”

Well, that doesn’t make Connor feel better at all. But the mayor barges on with more slightly invasive questions, so he has no time to overthink this one. Until he gets home, at least.

“Hank.”

“No.”

“It’s been two weeks.”

“No.”

“He’s your neighbor and you haven’t even met him!”

Jeff’s not right, though; Hank did meet the annoying new kid, but Jeff doesn’t need to know about that. Hank was way too drunk to be nice, and way too drunk to remember half the things he said to the poor fellow. Well, okay, maybe he’s not that poor; he came to bother Hank, – as far as he remembers, the little shit even talked back, – and he paid the price. But he’s not going to tell this to Jeff; his best friend cares too much about the wellbeing of the townspeople, and well, it wouldn’t be the first and probably the last time that Hank scares someone off. Although, if the kid is still here it couldn’t have been that bad.

“Please. Just introduce yourself for fuck’s sake!”

“He doesn’t need to know me!”

Jeff lets out a familiar tired sigh. “Just go visit him, introduce yourself politely, say goodbye. It’s ten minutes maximum.”

Hank grunts and reaches down to pet Sumo, who lolls out his tongue in satisfaction. Honestly, the only reason Hank considers it is because Jeff’s done plenty of things for him, and he doesn’t want to seem like even more of an ungrateful ass than he already is. The kid doesn’t need to know him, it wasn’t an exaggeration; he’s probably better off not knowing about Hank’s existence at all (sadly, it’s too late for that now). On top of that, after their first introduction, Hank’s sure the kid doesn’t want to do anything with him anyway.

But Jeff looks at him like he has no other choice, so Hank surrenders.

“Fine! But you can only blame yourself if the kid ends up hating my guts!”

Jeff smiles and pats his shoulder jovially, the fucker he is.

So that afternoon after an intense hour of convincing himself, Hank gets up and heads north.

The old farm is a mess and Hank is well aware of that, being its closest neighbor for over three years now. It was an honest surprise when Jeff told him weeks ago that a kid is moving here. Hank huffed then; honestly, these fucking city pricks and their great ideas of moving to the countryside like it’s all nice and easy.

He’s about halfway through the Stern farm’s yard when he spots the kid, who’s doing something weird in front of his house.

When he gets closer it turns out the weird thing is chopping wood in a rather ineffective and dangerous way.

Hank clears his throat, which makes the kid jump and turn around.

“Aaaaaah!” the kid shouts, holding the axe over his head with a maniacal expression, like he wants to chop Hank’s head off.

“Shit!” Hank shouts back, his voice reaching a higher pitch, taking a few steps back. “Put– put that thing down!”

“Ah,” the kid deflates and drops the axe dangerously close to his right foot.

“Thank god,” Hank mutters.

But when the kid realizes who Hank is, his gaze hardens.

“What do you want?”

“Um.” Hank clears his throat again. “I don’t think our first introduction was the best so…” He shrugs dumbly. “I’m uh, Hank Anderson. I live there,” he says, vaguely gesturing toward his own house.

The kid presses his lips together for a moment, and Hank feels the barely resistible urge to saunter off and never come back. “Connor Stern,” he says eventually, extending his hand.

Hank shakes his hand with some relief. Under his palm, he already feels blisters forming on Connor’s hand; the kid is seriously going to injure himself if he continues like this.

Connor steps back, reaching for the axe. “Well, if that’s all–“

“You’re holding that axe wrong.”

Connor looks up at him again, looking pissed. “I don’t need your help!”

“You’re going to hurt yourself!”

“I don’t need help!” he repeats, lifting the axe once again, and swinging it down. “Fuck,” he says when it gets stuck in the log he’s supposedly trying to chop.

“Fine,” Hank says. “I’ll just wait here in case you’ll need urgent transport to the clinic.”

“Fucking fuck,” Connor mutters under his nose, while Hank watches him struggling with the axe.

What a stubborn little fucker. Hank is surprised he can even lift that axe up at all; although he’s not short, he’s lean and lithe, looking more like an accountant than a farmer.

After about five minutes of intense struggling, Connor curses and kicks down the log, then continues kicking the other logs on the ground too. Hank waits patiently (and a little bemused) for him to finish his tantrum.

When Connor finally turns to face him again, his face is blotchy red, his hair is disheveled, and he looks at Hank with a fiery dark gaze. Suddenly, Hank thinks he’s never seen a more attractive man in his entire life.

That’s… probably not something he should be thinking about, for fuck’s sake.

“Show me the right way then, mister lumber master,” Connor points towards the axe.

Hank huffs; the mouth on his kid! But he steps beside Connor and lifts the axe with ease.

“You have to hold it here with your dominant hand, you see? And then with the other, here. You throw the axe like this.” He swings the axe, hitting the wood. “You want to hit it more on the edge, and not right in the center. See?” His second hit splits the wood into two.

He looks up at Connor and sees him looking back at him intensely.

“It’s about the technique.” Hank chops another log for good measure. Connor continues to look at him intensely. Hank is not sure what to think about it, but he might blush a little under the gaze. Fuck.

“Um, wanna try?”

He hands Connor the axe and their fingers brush for a moment, the touch sending a jolt through Hank’s fingertips. Fuck, Hank was definitely better off not knowing how Connor looked while chopping wood, because Hank is an old pervert, apparently.

At least he helped to show Connor the ways of avoiding chopping off his own limbs, so he declares his work done here.

“I’ll stop bothering you now,” he tells Connor and turns to leave towards his home (towards something strong to drink, hopefully).

“Hank?”

He turns back to see Connor looking at him again with that intense gaze.

“Thank you.”

“Eh, ‘twas nothing.” Hank waves and hurries off Connor’s property.

There’s something in the air that night. The stars are bright.

These are not the lyrics of the mildly popular ABBA song, Fernando, but Hank’s half-formed thoughts as he sits on the pier with a bottle of whisky in his hand.

It’s getting cold, but the booze warms him from the inside. If he gets pneumonia and dies, he won’t complain.

It’s one of those nights when he just misses Cole so fucking much. Not like he wouldn’t miss him on any other regular nights… or mornings, or days. He misses Cole every day all day.

But especially on these kinds of nights, he feels like the gaping hole in his chest where Cole once was just hurts too much. It feels like it’ll never heal, things will never get better. He’s not even sure anymore that the whisky helps; it may dull the pain, but it also makes him think about things he shouldn’t.

The dark water calls him like it always does. ‘Come here; let me embrace your cold body. It’ll be better this way.’

It really won’t, though. And Jeff would kill him if he hurt himself.

Also, the damn Egg Festival is in a week, and he needs to produce a few hundred eggs.

He lets out a tired sigh. It’s somehow always the little things that keep him here.

“Do you happen to have a book about the town’s history by any chance?”

Josh, the librarian looks up from the book he’s reading, smiling at Connor. It’s still a little strange that everyone is so friendly here. “I’m sure I do. Let me check!”

Connor watches as Josh puts a thick and ancient-looking notebook on the desk and starts searching.

While he’s waiting, Connor takes the time to look around in the library. It’s quite empty; he only sees the teacher, Simon in one corner, reading to the kids. It’s quite sweet and it must be a better way of learning things than in a class of thirty loud kids. He kinda wishes his upbringing was something like this instead.

Connor thought that he would miss the hustling and bustling of the city, the noises, and his usual places, but he can’t say he does. Okay, maybe he misses that nice kebab place near his ex-workplace. Man, that kebab was heavenly.

But only after slightly more than two weeks of living here, he already feels the fresh air and quiet country life doing something to him. Although he’s still worried about the Mess and the future, and the future of the Mess (is he ever not worried about anything?), but he feels rested when he wakes up in the mornings and his hair stopped falling out, so that has to mean something.

“Oh, right!” Josh says suddenly, which makes Connor startle. “It’s in the community center’s archive!”

“Community center?”

“Yeah.” Josh’s face saddens, and Connor obediently follows him to another room. “Have you seen that old, dilapidated building past Rose’s store? It was the community center back in the day. The previous mayor… he didn’t really care about the community as much. Never spent any money repairing the building, and now it’s too dangerous to use.”

They reach a shelf full of old books, and Josh drags his fingers through their spines. “These all used to be there. I loved reading them when I was a kid,” he says with a nostalgic undertone. “There.” He grabs a tattered book and hands it to Connor.

“Thank you.” Connor tries not to touch the book too firmly for fear of it falling apart in his hands. “Why didn’t Mayor Jeff get the community center repaired?”

Josh huffs, a little amused. “I guess you haven’t heard about how our previous mayor ran away with the town funds yet.”

“Shit!”

“Shhhh!” Josh points towards the little class Simon is holding. “Don’t swear where the kids can hear it!”

“Shit, sorry! I mean, sorry, without the shit… I mean…”

Josh shakes his head, and Connor winces in embarrassment.

“Yeah… Mayor Jeff tries, but most of these past three years were spent repairing the damages our previous mayor did. But maybe one day.”

Connor doesn’t know much about the town yet (that’s why he’s borrowing this particular book), but he feels a strange urge to help. He never really felt like he belongs anywhere no matter how hard he tried, but something about this town makes him want to belong here.

It’s weird. And scary. Connor doesn’t really know what to do with this feeling, other than trying to embrace it.

And brace himself for the inevitable disappointment when nothing works out in the end.

“Egg Festival?”

“Yeah, it’s kinda stupid, really. But the kids like the Egg Hunt, I guess.” North shrugs and she gets the iron rod out of the fire.

Connor watches in awe as North swings the hammer repeatedly to shape the hot iron.

“Can I try–“

“No.”

“But–“

“You can’t even stop hurting yourself with common household objects!” North huffs, pointing at Connor’s bandaged finger.

Connor hurriedly hides his hand behind his back. “I didn’t hurt myself! The knife decided to hurt me while I was chopping tomatoes!”

A dramatic eyeroll. “And whose fault is this? The vegetable’s?”

“Tomatoes are actually fruits–“

“Not the point!” North cuts him off and delivers another fatal blow to the iron. “I’m not giving any of my tools into your hand, Connor!”

Connor pouts, but he knows there’s no use; North won’t change her mind no matter what, he knows her enough by now to know that.

“So what can an adult man close to his thirties do on that Egg Festival?” he asks instead.

“You can eat eggs. And paint eggs. Shit like that?” North swings his hammer once again, and Connor notices the iron is shaping out to be a shield of some sort. Cool! “Anderson always brings like, hundreds of eggs, so you can do whatever you want with them.”

“Anderson?” Connor pipes up.

“Yeah, you know the gruff guy who lives near the forest.”

Of course, Connor knows; after that spectacular sexy lumberjack display, Connor couldn’t stop thinking about the man’s strong arms, and his expertise, and his broad chest, and his beautiful blue eyes. That single meeting provided Connor with more wank material than anything that happened to him in the past year. His sexual life leaves something to be desired, alright.

True, the guy might be an irredeemable asshole, but he’s also a sex god. Okay, that might be an exaggeration. He’s not that irredeemable as it turned out. Thanks to him, Connor now knows how to chop wood and lumber Jacks properly.

And yes, Connor is aware of the fact that Hank is the rancher; he spent some quality time snooping around his ranch, where he saw cows, sheep, and even chickens. And a very polite dog that he just had to pet.

“Yeah, I met him,” Connor provides when he realizes he’s been quiet for too long.

“He might be intimidating, but he’s fine. Helped me out once or twice.” North sighs and puts down the hammer. “I think this is done.”

“Nice shield!”

North looks back at him blankly. “It’s a tray.”

The Egg Festival turns out to be quite boring.

At least there’s a buffet table that Connor happily abuses (free food!).

Alice, – Luther and Kara’s shy daughter, – wins the egg hunt, but only because Mayor Jeff’s twins start wrestling with each other instead of looking for the hidden eggs. This is apparently common twin behavior, Connor muses as he remembers his and Richard’s various attempts to sabotage each other when they were kids. God, he thinks, something is really wrong with him if he fondly remembers anything related to Richard.

He shakes himself and tries to sneak out of the boring festival.

“Leaving so soon?”

Connor startles and barely manages not to fall into a bush. He looks back slightly annoyed at the source of the voice.

“Like you’re doing so much sitting here!”

Hank shrugs, sitting comfortably on the bench. “I’m just waiting for my crates; I’m not letting them out of eyesight. You know how much those fucking things cost?”

Connor doesn’t, but maybe he should; because where the hell will he put his crops once there will be something to sell? Fuck, even more unexpected expenses, it’s quite exasperating, to be honest.

“And what, you’re just keeping an eye on the crates?”

“Yeah?”

“That sounds boring.”

Hank cocks his head. “Maybe I like boring.”

And here it is again; that weird spark igniting in his chest like the last time Hank looked at him like this. It’s… something to think about.

“I don’t think you do,” Connor concludes.

Hank lets out an amused huff and mutters something about Connor being a little shit. And Connor has to turn around and remove himself from the scene before he does something stupid (like straddling those meaty thighs that are spread out invitingly on the bench).

“See you soon, Hank!”

Connor doesn’t expect the soon to be… that soon.

Also, he would’ve chosen different circumstances if it was up to him.

He spends the next day exploring, which means he gets lost in the forest and it takes him way too long to find his way back. It’s getting dark by the time he spots a familiar trail, and his stomach steadily protests about the lack of food. He didn’t dare to eat anything in the forest; as lucky as he is, he would’ve eaten something poisonous and died on the spot.

He’s fucking tired and cranky by the time he gets out of the forest, his only wish is to take a warm shower at home, and eat a lot of something.

He’s about to turn towards the Mess when he sees the weird light at the pier.

Well, Connor would be the last person to admit that he enjoys poking at things he shouldn’t, pestering people, and invading their privacy. But he feels the familiar urge to snoop around and check out what the fuck is going on. Maybe someone is in distress!

His stomach sinks when he sees the body lying motionless on the pier, only illuminated by a phone’s flashlight. It sinks even deeper when he realizes who the body belongs to.

“Shit, Hank!” he runs forward, and honestly? This is the one time he has to be right about something?

The lack of gruff response sends Connor’s panic into overdrive; he feels his heart beat faster as he crouches next to the body.

“Hank!” Connor shakes Hank’s shoulder. “Wake up, please!”

No response.

Shit, shit, shit! What if he died? How does one check for a pulse? In his desperation, Connor tries to look for something, anything, a sign, as he touches Hank’s face, his chest, and his arms with shaking hands. He has no idea what the fuck to do. Chest compressions? Rescue breaths? Bloodletting?

A sudden spark lights in Connor’s mushy brain that tells him to turn Hank sideways. So he struggles to do just that (god, he’s heavy as fuck), and suddenly, Hank starts coughing, coming back to life.

“Fuck,” Connor breathes out in relief as he watches Hank regain his consciousness among a string of colorful curses.

After his breathing calmed down a little, Connor has time to assess the environment, and well…

It’s fairly obvious what happened, considering the almost empty bottle of whisky lying next to Hank. Hank himself is still struggling, blabbering nonsense, and almost falling back into unconsciousness again.

Connor squares his shoulders and starts pulling Hank up from the ground.

“Come on, Hank.”

Seems like Hank only now realizes Connor’s presence. “The fuck ‘re you doing?”

“You were unconscious,” Connor grunts as he tries to make Hank stand. (He’s still heavy as fuck.)

Hank, the idiot he is, struggles against Connor. “Leave me alone!”

“No! I’m taking you home!”

Hank pauses at that, squinting at Connor. Then abruptly, he lets out a giggle. “Didn’t think you were that kind of a guy!”

Irritation flares up in Connor, and he considers just dropping Hank altogether. Preferably right into the water. “I’m not that… I can’t leave you out here!”

“No one would miss me,” Hank blabbers, and his words hit something in Connor’s chest, because it sounds a lot like something from his own thoughts.

“Don’t say that,” he mutters, because he has no idea what to answer; there’s probably no right answer to that anyway. “C’mon.”

Thankfully, Hank follows his lead, deflated. Connor’s hand itches for a cigarette, but his arms are full of a bear of a man, but at least Hank stopped fighting against him, so that’s something.

They reach Hank’s ranch, and miraculously, the door is not locked (these townsfolks don’t seem to care much about safety), so Connor assists Hank inside. Suddenly, the polite dog appears under their feet, and almost trips both of them in greeting.

“Sumo, sit,” Hank grunts, and the big lug obeys.

Connor continues inside and drops Hank into his bed. Connor is sure he’s going to get cramps tomorrow from this effort, but at least Hank is safe now.

In the messy kitchen, he grabs a glass that doesn’t look too dirty and fills it with water. Hank drinks it up eagerly, and Connor feels a little relief once more.

“Nothing can bring him back,” Hank weeps half-asleep, and Connor feels a strange urge to reach out, to comfort him, to try to understand what’s happening. To tell him that he’s here and he cares.

He doesn’t, though. He doesn’t know how to help people, how to comfort people, he’s never been any good at it. He’s not sure if he wouldn’t just make everything worse.

So he leaves, – but not without giving some pats to Sumo, – and as soon as he’s out of the ranch, he finally lights a cigarette.

The smoke calms him down a little as he heads toward the Mess. He only trips on something once, which is a serious improvement from any other time he went home this late.

He’s well aware that he won’t be able to sleep much after the night’s events, so he grabs his laptop instead, and does some research.

It can’t be that invasive, he thinks; it doesn’t take him too long to find the information he was looking for.

Apparently, Hank was a police lieutenant, and considering the several articles about successful drug busts, he worked in narcotics. Overall, it seems like a pretty successful career, and Connor totally doesn’t save some of Hank’s uniformed photos on his computer.

But then he finds the latest article from about three years ago.

There was an accident on the highway. A truck and a civilian car. A kid who never made it out alive.

Connor feels a phantom ache in his chest, and he closes the article.

He doesn’t sleep at all that night.

Chapter Text

Hank wakes up with a pounding headache. According to this, he’s still alive.

Unless you can have a headache in hell, which is a possibility. But he clearly feels his musty pillow under his cheek, so yeah. Definitely alive.

“Shit,” he curses and rolls off the bed.

As usual, he doesn’t really remember how he got home; to be honest, he usually doesn’t get home after he spends the night on the pier with a bottle of whisky as his sole companion.

While he makes his morning (well, it’s more like afternoon) coffee, he thinks, something is off. Something might’ve happened last night that he doesn’t remember.

He spikes his coffee and takes a sip. Reaching for his phone… shit, where did he put his damn phone?

Slightly dizzy, he goes for a phone hunt, but after about ten minutes, he gives it up. It’s not here. So he goes out to the pier, grunting and grumbling, but there it is, the bastard.

When he picks it up, he notices a text from Connor. He’s pretty sure he never gave Connor his number.

The text reads: ‘I hope you’re okay!’

And shit, this is when Hank realizes, the cloudy memories assembling themselves to some kind of form in his brain. Connor pulling him up on the pier. Walking him home. Shit, shit.

This is frankly mortifying. Although most of the townsfolk have seen him in various states of drunken condition, Connor doesn’t know jack shit about Hank, he doesn’t, he can’t understand.

‘im fine’ he texts back and tries to shove the uncomfortable thoughts to the back of his mind with sheer willpower and some more whisky.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get away with it that easily, because Connor, the little fucker, shows up on Hank’s doorstep later in the afternoon, while Hank is busy cleaning out the chickens.

“I just wanted to check if you’re okay,” he says, and Hank wants to do what he’s extremely good at: he wants to scare him off and push him away, because any other option would cause even more harm to all participants.

“I already said I’m fine!” Hank grunts.

“I was just worried about you.”

“I’m fine!”

“You could’ve died!” Connor argues, and seriously, at this point, Hank is tired of arguing and just wants him to fuck off already.

“But I didn’t!” Unfortunately, he doesn’t add.

“I just want to help–“

“You don’t know shit–“

“I know about your son!”

Hank feels the temperature drop in his living room, and in his heart. Connor looks back at him like a frightened animal, and Hank suddenly feels the urge to slap him.

“How dare you!”

“I just–“

“You don’t fucking know what you’re talkin’ about!” Hank bellows, making Connor startle. “How dare you talk about him?!”

“I– I’m sorry–“

“Get out! Now!”

Connor hurries for the door, and Hank hears another faint ‘I’m sorry’ before Connor slips out and closes the door behind him.

Hank collapses on the couch, clutching his heart. Connor had no right waltzing in here and just… saying things, and knowing things, and… and wanting to help. No one can help Hank. They tried and failed.

It should’ve been him instead of Cole. It was meant to be him and not Cole; Cole was there by accident, an unfortunate circumstance. It’s all Hank’s fault. He should’ve protected Cole, his family. It feels like a cruel joke from the universe that he got out alive and Cole did not. His wonderful, bright boy. He had his whole life ahead of him, and it was taken from him, so soon, so suddenly. And Hank will never be able to hold him again, teach him how to take care of the farm animals, or take him to a Gears game.

Cole will never be here again. And Hank is stuck where he is.

Sumo, being Hank’s ultimate mood radar, senses that something is off, and jumps on the couch next to Hank.

“You’re not allowed here,” Hank mutters, but Sumo doesn’t seem to care, as usual. He just lies down with his head on Hank’s lap.

Hank sniffs and obediently pets Sumo’s big head, his tears landing in soft fur.

Hank spends the next three days in his house, in various states of drunkenness. After all these years, he still has no idea how to stop himself from spiraling when it happens. He hates the lows, the neverending misery that he couldn’t escape even by moving far away from his old life. He hates the highs too; the false hope that things can get better. They can’t. He’s just too much of a coward to end it all. But is a pathetic life in sadness really better than ending it all?

It’s not. Still, it doesn’t change the fact that Hank is a coward. Also, Jeff would hate him for it.

So he just takes another sip of whisky.

And any time his phone pings, announcing a new message from Connor, he ignores it.

(He still takes the effort to tend to his animals; god knows he doesn’t want to let them down.)

Jeff comes over on the third day to tell Hank off. It’s never a serious scolding, but somehow it always helps. It also helps to talk about what happened, Hank realizes. Jeff listens to it patiently, then supplies that Connor probably didn’t want to cause any harm. He still did, though.

And Hank thinks he hates Connor.

Then he thinks he doesn’t hate him that much.

Hank doesn’t know how he feels about Connor, to be honest. On one hand, he’s angry with him, yes, because he looked up things without his permission, and just… threw it into a conversation without knowing anything, and it made Hank’s blood boil. But on the other hand, as he realizes… Connor probably did it because he cared about what happened to Hank. It’s a weird mix of things, really.

One afternoon, when he’s deep in thought, thinking about this and other vaguely Connor-related things, something collides with him in front of the clinic. Shit, he reaches for the person in panic, who’s about to go down like a bowling pin, but there’s only another yelp when he grabs their arm, so he lets them go instead.

“Fuck, sorry!” he barks out, then looks up.

The someone, coincidentally, turns out to be Connor himself, who’s sporting a thick bandage on his forearm, looking spooked. Shit.

Time freezes as they look into each other’s eyes, the rest of Hank’s angry resolve crumbling under the intense gaze.

“Can… can we talk?” Connor asks after he righted himself. “Please?”

Hank surrenders with a deep sigh. “Okay, but let’s go somewhere private,” he says, pointing at Kara’s head that pokes out from behind the building, no doubt listening in for gossip.

So they end up near the old, abandoned community center where no one comes anymore. It’s a pretty sad sight; Hank’s heard many stories about it being the center of town life from those who’ve been living here much longer than Hank, but now it’s empty, with crumbling plastering and broken windows. He faintly thinks that he’s just like this community center, lonely and broken.

He shakes his head before his mind could sink into a dark place. It’s not the right time.

“I’m sorry,” Connor tells Hank when he stops and turns to face him. “I didn’t mean to invade your privacy. I shouldn’t have looked.” He sighs. “It’s just… something I foolishly do sometimes, even when I had numerous problems from it in the past. I’m sorry.”

Connor seems to be genuinely sorry, and well. If Hank listens to his heart, he’s already forgiven Connor, no matter what.

“It’s okay, Connor. You didn’t do anything wrong, just… I don’t like to talk about… about Cole.”

“Understandable. I’m sorry.”

Hank lets out a sigh. Now that it’s settled, he just feels like going home and drinking something to ease the pain that the mention of Cole’s name, his memories of him cause.

So Hank waves Connor away without any further comment and starts toward his ranch.

Connor’s little garden is… not shaping up too well.

Despite all the algorithms, planner programs, and careful tending, only a handful of crops survived up until now. It probably didn’t help that a sudden icy cold gust reached the valley a couple of days ago. The plants were doomed.

A sudden lethargy comes over him as he watches his measly crops from his porch as they’re soaking in a spring downpour. He doesn’t know what he’s doing here, he’s not good at any of this, and he will never be. Even the stupid weather is against him. He feels like a useless piece of shit and he smokes way too many cigarettes about it.

Miraculously, as it turns out a few days later, the parsnips did survive the weather and the adversity; they don’t look pretty, but they’re recognizably parsnip-shaped. Maybe it’s a sign, he thinks while he loads them into a freshly bought crate. Rose buys them and tells him they look fine, but Connor’s not sure it wasn’t just a generous lie.

On a happier note, by the end of the month, most of the things are fixed on and in the Mess, thanks to Luther, of course. The man is a treasure. Connor even tells Kara as much, and he gets a slice of lemon pie in exchange. Thousand-hundred percent worth it.

“Moooom, can I do the Flower Dance this year?” Alice begs, making puppy eyes at Kara. “Pleasepleaseplease!”

Kara smiles at her and tucks a stray lock behind her ear. “You’re still too young for that, sweetie.”

“But I’m already ten!”

“Give it a few more years. You can still dance with the Fowler twins!”

Alice’s face saddens at this. “But I want to dance with Markus.”

Kara lets out a chuckle. “I’m sure you can ask Markus to dance with you a little – after the Flower Dance.”

“But it’s not the same!”

“I know. But you’ll be able to do it soon!”

Alice continues pouting, and although Connor has no fucking clue what this Flower Dance thingy is, he would definitely let Alice take part. Unfortunately, – or thankfully, – he’s not the one who has to make the decision.

“Will Connor dance?” Alice asks eventually, surprising Connor.

“I don’t know. What is the Flower Dance exactly?”

Alice perks up at this. “It’s a dance! It’s every year when the flowers bloom! People dance with their sweeeeetheaaaaarts!” she singsongs and starts performing something that Connor assumes is the choreography of said Flower Dance.

“It’s an old tradition,” Kara explains. “The singles from the town dance with each other. It used to be some kind of matchmaking event, but now it’s just tradition.”

Alice stops and turns her attention back to Connor. “Soooo, will you dance?”

“I don’t think so, Alice. I don’t have a sweetheart,” Connor admits.

“You should ask Markus! He’s very handsome!”

“Alice!” Kara chides her. “Connor can decide who he wants to dance with!”

Well, when Connor thinks more about this Flower Dance on his way to the Mess, he knows the person he wants to dance with is definitely older and burlier than Markus.

One thing everyone should be aware of about Connor is that he’s extremely prone to hurting himself in the dumbest ways possible.

It wasn’t really a problem in the city when he spent his days sitting in front of a computer, writing code. But now that he’s doing much more manual labor, and he’s acquainted himself with various (sometimes straight-up dangerous) tools, it’s now a daily part of his life.

And sometimes he doesn’t even need any of the aforementioned tools to get hurt. Like now, when he manages to pull his back while weeding his crops.

It hurts like hell; he can barely stand up straight. Nurse Chloe just smiles at him amiably (bless her for not being judgmental), and tells him to soak it at the spa.

So that’s how Connor ends up taking the (in his current state, slightly painful) trek up north to this establishment. It looks quite rundown, to be honest, also it seems empty. It’s for the best, really, no one needs to see Connor in his current state. He enters one of the changing rooms to change into his swimwear.

What he doesn’t expect is the view that welcomes him when he steps into the pool area. Which is Hank sitting in the water in full display from tits up.

Connor feels something frying in his brain when he looks at those beefy arms and strong chest, and oh god, he even has a tattoo. Connor is staring.

“Hello, Connor,” a voice greets him, and shit, he finally snaps out of his reverie.

“Hi!” he says awkwardly and straightens his back, only to let out a pained yelp. Fuck, he forgot about his back pain for a blissful, Hank-filled moment.

“Are you okay?” Hank looks at him with some concern.

“Y-yeah, I just pulled my back. Chloe said I should soak it.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” Connor cries before his brain catches up. “I-I mean you can stay.”

“Okay.”

Connor feels Hank’s eyes on him while he clambers into the pool as gracefully as he can in this state. Which is not graceful at all. Honestly, this is the worst moment to be seen by Hank. Maybe he should’ve told him to leave. Connor is clumsy and awkward most of the time, but especially now, and he doesn’t want to make a bad impression.

Well, it’s probably way too late for that now; they started off with the worst impressions anyway. It shouldn’t matter, but somehow it does.

The water is pleasantly warm, and as Connor sits down opposite of Hank, he already feels his muscles loosen up. He should come here more often. Especially when Hank is here.

“Do you come here often?” Connor asks, and it sends Hank sputtering. Connor winces; he didn’t mean it to sound like a bad pickup line. “That’s not how I… I’m just curious.”

After Hank collects himself, he answers. “Not very often. A few times a month. Water’s nice.”

Connor nods, and then silence blankets them.

Although Connor tries his hardest not to stare outright, it’s pretty hard. Especially when Hank decides to sink lower in the water and puts his arms behind his head, his biceps bulging. Connor feels a strange urge to swim up to him and touch. He wants to feel those muscles and the pliant parts under his fingers.

Well, now something else is also bulging, right in Connor’s swimming shorts. Fuck, he really shouldn’t pop a boner in a public place like this, even if it’s only the two of them. Anyway, what if Hank finds out? This is embarrassing.

Connor straightens his back again, hoping that the pain will send him back to the earth from the horny hell he’s gotten himself into. It helps, but only a little.

Fuck. He lifts his arms to stretch some more, and it hurts, but Connor already feels so much better than an hour ago. Bless Chloe and her medical knowledge. He lets out a sigh, then looks back at Hank.

Hank, who looks alarmingly red.

“Are you okay?” Connor asks, confused.

Hank gapes at him for a few moments before he collects himself. “Y-yeah, I just… this water is a little too hot.”

“Is it not the point of it?”

“Yeah, but… y’know… I’m a big man, I run hot…”

Mhhhh, big hot man indeed, Connor’s mushy brain supplies unhelpfully. Fuck, he’s being extremely inappropriate. He makes a futile attempt at adjusting his dick in his swimming shorts without being obvious. Think of something disgusting… cockroaches!

It doesn’t help, at all. Shit. He then thinks about that one time when he messed up his part in a school play and even the parents kept laughing and ridiculing him.

Yeah… this does help.

“Um, I think I should go,” Hank announces out of nowhere. “Bye, Connor.”

“See you later,” Connor says, and he shuts his mouth before he says something inappropriate.

Instead, he watches with bated breath as Hank gets out of the pool, his wet swimming trunks clinging to his backside, leaving no-fucking-thing to his imagination. Connor’s hand itches to grope those ass cheeks and grab those love handles. God.

When Hank closes the door behind himself, Connor lets out a sigh, deflating like a balloon.

God.

As his blood flow returns to normal and back to supplying his brain, he thinks about this situation he’s gotten himself into. Because, for the love of god, this cannot go on like this.

He either has to stop pining for Hank (unlikely to happen) or has to do something about it.

Soon enough it turns out that the Flower Dance is only two days away, and Connor starts to panic.

He shouldn’t, and everyone he asks tells him that it doesn’t matter if he dances or not, but that weird want of belonging is in the way.

Although, maybe it’s for the best if he doesn’t dance. He doesn’t even know the choreography. In retrospect, he should’ve asked Alice to teach him; she clearly knows the whole thing by heart. Also, knowing his own lack of talent, he would just destroy his dance partner’s feet anyway.

Yeah, it’s better this way, he tells himself.

But as he puts on his best shirt that doesn’t make him look too much like a nerd, he can’t help thinking about large hands on his hips, guiding him, showing him the steps.

Hank sees a now familiar lean figure by the edge of the clearing, leaning against a tree.

“Didn’t know you smoked.”

Connor looks back at him with raised eyebrows. “We all have our vices.”

“Fair,” Hank says.

Connor looks… good. He’s wearing a white shirt, tucked into his slim black pants. His sleeves are rolled up on his forearms. The ensemble does something to Hank’s blood flow.

“You clean up nice,” Connor tells him between two drags, and Jesus. That’s all Hank’s blood flow needs to redirect itself into his cheeks instead.

Although he doesn’t think he looks any different, really, but he took the effort to comb his hair and put on a clean shirt. He mutters a ‘thanks’ and does not think about Connor’s smug lips wrapping around that damn cigarette. He clears his throat instead.

“Aren’t you going to dance?”

“With who, exactly?” Connor motions towards the clearing full of people. “They’re all paired up.”

“True.” Hank looks at the others, and he sees the usual pairings, be they lovers or best friends.

“Unless you want to dance with me.”

Hank’s head whips back so fast he hears his neck crack. Connor’s gaze is intense and beautiful. “Me?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t dance,” Hank says reflexively.

Connor shrugs, averting his eyes and he mutters, “Suit yourself.”

Fuck. Hank watches Connor, feeling something sinking in his stomach. Was this an honest invitation? Is Connor just making fun of him? Won’t be the first time someone does. Why would Connor want to dance with him anyway?

That’s when he notices Connor’s cigarette burning at his fingers. “Uh, your cig–“

“Shit,” Connor yelps, dropping it and stubbing it out with his foot. He sighs and picks it up from the ground (at least he’s not littering).

Hank turns when Connor passes him. “Wait.”

“Hm?”

“Do you want to dance with me?”

Connor lets out a huff. “That wasn’t the question.”

“It was my question.”

Connor opens his arms and starts walking backward. “What do you think?”

Even if Hank had an answer to that (which is not the case), he has no time to say anything as he watches Connor collide with Josh, who’s too busy leading Simon into the dance area to notice the imminent danger.

“Shit, sorry!” Hank hears Connor apologize before he hurries to the other side of the clearing.

Fucking hell.

Connor is a beautiful enigma, and Hank can’t fucking figure out what’s his deal. He can be harsh and caring; he’s way too invasive (although he did say sorry for that multiple times, and it’s not like the… accident is classified information or anything); he might’ve been flirting with Hank even though Hank can’t imagine what Connor could see in him. And fuck, has Hank already mentioned that he’s beautiful? His dreams are haunted by dark, blazing eyes, and endless freckled skin. Jerking off in the spa’s shower wasn’t his proudest moment. And what the fuck was up with this whole conversation about dancing?

If he wanders to the buffet table and spruces up his punch with something from his flask after that, it’s no one’s business. These community events are much more tolerable when you’re tipsy.

By the time he’s pleasantly buzzed and his belly is full of slightly stale finger sandwiches, he gets to the conclusion that Connor is probably playing with him. It must be a joke at his expense, some kind of bet. He spots Connor on the other side of the clearing, laughing with North, and he just feels thoroughly pissed.

He’s pissed at Connor for playing with him, but mostly he’s just pissed at himself for falling for it. So easily falling for those doe eyes and sweet lips. He’s such an idiot. He mixes himself another whisky punch about it.

The dance starts, but Hank only faintly registers it happening; just another something that passes him by without affecting him.

“I guess that’s all we have left,” Connor says before shoving a cupcake into his mouth. He somehow teleported himself next to Hank while he was busy brooding.

Hank grumbles something back, because the last thing he wants is to communicate with people, especially with Connor.

Connor doesn’t seem to notice anything about it, though. He licks the icing off of his mouth, and Hank doesn’t fucking want to think about his tongue. “Mhhh these cupcakes are so good! You want one?” Connor asks and holds a cupcake in front of Hank’s mouth.

And this is really the end of Hank’s patience because he might be an idiot, but he’s not going to be the victim of this surreal play.

“No,” he grunts and starts walking towards the path that leads away from the clearing.

“Hank! Wait!” Connor shouts after him, and Hank doubles up his steps. “It was just a cupcake!”

“I don’t fucking care about the cupcake!”

“Then why are you leaving?” Connor asks, trailing behind him.

“This is a free country! I’m allowed to leave whenever the fuck I want!”

“But I want you to be there!”

To these words, Hank’s anger boils in his veins. The audacity! “I don’t want to be a part of your sick play! Did you plan this whole thing ahead?”

“What?”

“How long the town drunkard can resist you? Did you make a bet as well?”

“The fuck–“

“Because I won’t be your laughing material! Do you think I haven’t noticed what you’re doing?”

“I’m not doing anything like that!” Somehow Connor managed to catch up with him. Damn, the kid has long legs. “I’m not… toying with you or whatever you think!”

“Har fucking har.”

“Is it so hard to imagine that I’m interested in you?”

“Yes!”

Connor gapes for a moment. “And why is that?”

Hank grunts; he’s not gonna spell it out when it’s so obvious. His house finally comes into view and he tries to speed up again. Fuck, he’s not in the best shape.

“Fine!” Connor shouts from behind him. “Fuck you!”

Hank’s hands curl into fists, and he needs all his willpower to not turn around and do something that he’ll regret later.

“If you want to be alone and miserable, then fine! Continue to push people away for all I care!”

“Shut up!”

“But then don’t be fucking surprised if really no one will miss you!”

“I said, shut! The fuck! Up!”

Hank turns around, grabs Connor by the collar, slams him to his front door, and kisses him. Hard.

Shit. When he realizes what the fuck he’s doing, he tries to move away, but Connor winds his arms around his neck and pulls him even closer.

And that’s enough for Hank to forget everything, his mind full of Connor. The way he presses himself against Hank, his soft but insistent lips that taste like smoke and cupcake, the little desperate sounds he makes. It’s all driving Hank crazy, and fuck, the little shit’s been driving him crazy for weeks now.

Connor is clawing at his back and grinding against Hank’s thigh, and he feels Connor’s erection pressing against him. Jesus. Connor is something else when he’s horny.

When he surfaces for air and starts trailing kisses along Connor’s jaw instead, he’s rewarded with more of those desperate sounds. He feels Connor’s fingers fiddling with the buttons on his shirt, and he has enough sense of mind to grab Connor and move him over the threshold. God knows, no one needs to see them like this; there are too many gossip-mongers in this fucking town.

Connor crashes their lips together once again and frantically tries to wind his legs around Hank as they stand, like he wants to climb him like a tree. Hank pushes Connor up to the fridge, and something clinks dangerously, but Hank doesn’t fucking care. He only cares about Connor’s hot mouth, his hot touch, his hot… being. Connor’s fingers start fighting with Hank’s shirt buttons again, and Hank reaches to untuck Connor’s own shirt from his trousers, touching hot, smooth skin. Oh god. It feels so good.

Connor lets out a frustrated sound, but before Hank can ask, Connor just rips Hank’s shirt off, buttons flying everywhere, while he mutters something about fucking buttons.

Something in the back of Hank’s mind knows that they shouldn’t do this, but all the blood in his body is now directed southwards, leaving his brain empty of coherent thoughts. And Connor is so fucking frantic, he tries to touch Hank everywhere at once, and Hank has no choice but to leave his body to Connor’s mercy, and grope him back as well as he can.

The next thing Hank knows is that he’s backed into one of his kitchen chairs where he sits down with a thump, and Connor straddles him with such force that they almost topple the chair.

Connor’s mouth is immediately on his, licking and biting his lips. Hank finally manages to undo one fucking button on Connor’s shirt (these buttons are way too small for Hank’s fat fingers), but Connor gets impatient and rips the shirt off of himself too, then returns to grinding their hips together, and Jesus. Hank hasn’t been this turned on in years.

Hank’s hands explore more of Connor’s smooth skin, and he feels him shiver under the touch. God, he’s perfect, so beautiful, fiery, and responsive. If Hank didn’t lose his goddamn mind minutes ago, he would definitely lose it right now.

Hank reaches up and yanks on Connor’s hair, and he’s rewarded with a loud moan. He leans closer to playfully lick a nipple and Connor goes frantic on his lap, his hips stuttering, searching for more friction.

Connor seems to finally regain control of his body somewhat, because he reaches down to undo Hank’s belt, slender fingers working their way into his pants, and shit, Hank’s hips involuntarily buckle up to chase the touch, and the chair creaks precariously.

“Connor—“ he tries to say, but only something muffled comes out. “Connor.”

Connor lets out a frustrated groan. “Yeah?”

Fuck, he’s gorgeous. Hank momentarily forgets what he wanted to say, because Connor’s looking down at him with a dark and dangerous gaze, cheeks blotchy red, chest heaving. And Hank wants him, fuck, he wants him so much he’s going insane.

“Bedroom,” Hank croaks eventually.

Connor clings to him as they approach the bedroom, and tries to push him up to every surface in existence. They collide with the couch, a wardrobe, and the wall next to the bedroom door.

“Haaaank,” Connor whimpers, and drops to his knees, scrambling to free Hank’s aching dick from his pants, and holy shit. This cannot be happening. Hank probably got so drunk at the fucking flower shit that he’s hallucinating. But Connor’s touch is hot and real on his cock as he strokes him with agile fingers, and Hank lets out sounds that are probably embarrassing, but they just invigorate Connor even more.

When Connor starts sucking on his tip is when Hank decides that it can’t go on like this. Hank’s going to come embarrassingly early and probably die of a heart attack (what a way to go that would be, though). He mutters a ‘fuck, baby’ before he grabs Connor’s hair once again and yanks his head away from his dick. Connor whines, but follows when Hank pulls him up from the ground.

They kiss again, and Hank tastes himself on Connor’s tongue, and it shouldn’t be as hot as it is. But well, it’s Connor, and everything is fucking hot about him.

Finally, they make it to the bedroom only with minor injuries (mostly bite marks). Hank pulls Connor onto the bed, and Connor is way too eager to climb on top of Hank, pressing every single inch of his being to him, trailing his tongue down Hank’s chest.

“Fuck, Hank,” Connor whimpers into Hank’s boobs, while his slender fingers find Hank’s dick again. “You’re so hot, you have no idea!”

Hank really has no fucking idea, but his brain is unable to form his usual self-deprecating thoughts due to previously discussed things, so he just lets out a deep moan as an answer. Connor’s hands are a fucking miracle on Hank’s touch-deprived dick.

In his eagerness to remove his own pants, Connor almost falls off the bed, but Hank catches him at the last moment. Then Hank reaches down and takes Connor’s dick into his own hand and fuck. Connor goes frantic again, thrusting into Hank’s hand impatiently.

“Fuck me, please, fuck me,” Connor begs, and it’s so much, and Hank is harder than he ever remembers to be, but…

“Connor, fuck, I don’t have a condom! I don’t have anything!” Hank admits with a sinking feeling.

But Connor just shakes his head. “It’s fine, keep touching me, keep touching me!”

And this is the moment when something flips in Hank’s alcohol and arousal-fogged brain. He’s not gonna let Connor down, he can’t.

So he flips Connor underneath him, spits in his palm, and takes both of their dicks into his hand. They both gasp at the touch, and Connor arches his back in pleasure. His neck looks so inviting that Hank just has to bite down on it and he feels Connor’s fingers digging into his back.

And when Connor’s hand joins his around their dicks, Hank has no means to stop coming immediately. He tries, though, fuck, he really does, but the wave of pleasure hits him like a train, Connor’s touch igniting something in his whole body, and the next thing he knows is that he’s coming so hard he gets dizzy, with Connor’s name on his mouth.

“Hank,” Connor whines underneath him, and Hank speeds up his hand on Connor’s cock.

It doesn’t take Connor long to follow, and Hank watches his beautiful face as he guides him through his orgasm.

Hank arrives next to Connor on the bed with a thump, lightheaded and exhausted. Fuck. He hasn’t had an orgasm like this for ages.

After his breathing evens out a little, the post-orgasm haze subsiding, everything comes back to Hank. Shit. This was the worst idea ever. He’s a fifty-three-year-old depressed alcoholic, who lives alone on a ranch and hates people. Connor is… fuck, Hank doesn’t even know how old Connor is; for all he knows he can be anywhere between twenty and thirty-five. He’s a fiery little shit, who has all his life ahead of him, and… and Hank would just drag him down.

He looks at Connor, who’s lying beside him, cheeks pink, hair ruffled. God, he’s beautiful.

A beautiful mistake. He shuts his eyes.

“We shouldn’t have done this,” Hank says, then looks back at Connor when he feels him shifting beside him.

“What?”

“We shouldn’t have done this,” Hank repeats quietly.

Connor’s gaze turns icy cold, and Hank feels the temperature drop. “Yes, I understood it the first time, but… fuck.” He sits up and shakes his head. “What’s this… shouldn’t? Please, Hank, you can just tell me if it was just one time, I can take it! No need to be so dramatic about it!”

Something swirls in Hank’s stomach painfully, possibly a mix of shame and alcohol. “I’m not dramatic–“

“Yes, you are!” Connor looks properly angry now, and Hank just wants to sink into the mattress and disappear forever. “What do you think was so wrong about it that grants the usage of the word shouldn’t?”

And Hank could go on and tell Connor that he doesn’t deserve nice things like Connor in his bed, and Connor deserves someone much better than Hank. That the problem is that he won’t be able to stop thinking about the way Connor’s body fits into his arms. He doomed himself because he was too horny for Connor’s soft mouth and slender body.

But of course, he doesn’t say any of these. Hank’s not good at talking about his feelings, he never really was. Connor wouldn’t understand him either way.

“It’s not you,” he mutters instead, but it seems like it just makes Connor even angrier.

“Then what? I like you, Hank, is it so hard to comprehend?”

“You don’t know shit about me, Connor.”

“But I want to! It’s pretty fucking hard if you keep pushing me away!”

“Connor–“

“Don’t!” He reaches for his clothes and starts dressing. He trips while putting on his pants, and Hank reaches out to steady him, but Connor flinches away.

Hank feels the urge to say something, anything to make it better, but he doesn’t know what. Anything he could say would just make things worse; he’s pretty sure about that.

“I… I’m sorry.”

Connor is standing with his back to Hank, but he visibly deflates. Hank hopes it wasn’t the wrong thing to say.

“It’s okay,” Connor says stiffly, still not looking back at Hank. “I see myself out.”

Hank listens to the sound of the door closing, and he’s never felt so alone.

Chapter Text

Hank goes out to the saloon at night, because he can’t bear being alone right now, and even if he continues to drink by himself, at least the buzzing of the saloon makes him feel like he’s part of this community.

There aren’t many people tonight, though, everyone got tired at the stupid Flower Dance, or they’re still there for all Hank knows; he’s never stayed until the end to know how long it is. But there are still a few people, like the youngsters playing pool as they usually do.

He can’t stop thinking about Connor, no matter how much he drinks; how he said he wants to know Hank, and Hank thinks it’s stupid, but some forgotten part of him longs for being… seen. Understood. But he has no idea how to do that anymore. How to let people close. His only friend is Jeff, but they’ve been friends for decades. Hank doesn’t know how to make friends anymore.

People say thoughts have manifesting power, and maybe they’re right, because Jeff materializes next to Hank all of a sudden.

“Is everything alright?” Jeff asks, patting Hank’s back.

“Nothing’s been alright, since–“

“Nope, we’re not going down that path,” Jeff interrupts, and Hank sags lower in his chair. Jeff sits down in the booth, across from him. Then keeps staring at Hank.

Hank stares back. “What?”

“The birds told me that you left the Flower Dance with Connor.”

Fucking hell. He has a slight feeling that the bird was vaguely Kara-shaped. “I didn’t leave with him. I left by myself and he kept following me for some goddamn reason!”

Jeff just waves at this dismissively to Hank’s irritation. “Figures. What happened?”

And Hank considers it. He considers telling Jeff, and he also considers not telling Jeff. At the rate the gossip spreads in this town, Jeff will know something by tomorrow. Unfortunately, it’s still better if he knows it directly from Hank.

After he reaches this very unsatisfying realization, Hank lets out a defeated sigh. “Can we go somewhere more private?”

“So, if I understand you correctly, you accused him of playing with you, then you fucked him, then you kicked him out without an explanation?”

“I know it sounds bad–“

“It doesn’t sound bad, it is bad!” Jeff points out, and Hank feels like an asshole.

“Look, I… I was drunk; you know how much stupid shit I do when I’m drunk! And he was flirting with me! It just… happened.”

“I’m not talking about the fucking part! Why did you kick him out?!”

What? Hank is taken aback by the sudden change of focus. “Why aren’t you talking about the fucking part?”

Jeff sighs. “Because you’re both adults and if you want to fuck each other, good for you. But if you hurt his feelings, that’s another story.” He says it in a condescending tone that Hank supposes, he uses with his children.

“And what about my feelings?”

“Are your feelings hurt right now?”

Hank furrows his brows. “Well–“

“That’s what I’m talking about. So. Why the fuck did you kick him out?”

“Jeff, you cannot be serious. Look at me!”

Jeff raises an eyebrow. “I’m looking.”

“And then look at Connor.”

“I don’t really understand where you’re going with this.”

“We… he can’t possibly want someone like me! I’m too old, and too fucked up!”

“Hank.” Jeff sighs. “You’re not old. And you know you keep complaining about things only you can change, right?”

Hank huffs, shaking his head.

“You know, you can take care of yourself. Go to therapy. Don’t look at me like this, I’m saying it as your friend. You’re not going to get better if you don’t do anything about it!”

Hank huffs again, now a little louder, to fully express his disbelief.

“Just think about it, okay?”

And Hank’s been through this same fucking talk several times already, but somehow this is the first time it actually makes him think.

Would it be really hard to try? To seek out help? Would it be worth it?

After Jeff leaves he fishes out the phone number of the therapist Jeff gave him three years ago from the bottom of his desk drawer. He stares at the numbers with a thumping heart.

Can he do this? Does he want to do this? Does he want to get better?

Something in him awakens, like a forgotten part of himself, somewhere deep. Maybe… maybe he does. The numbers stare back at him, and sweat drips down his forehead. Maybe he does, but not today.

He shoves the number back into the drawer, sighing in relief.

Connor spends the next day tending to his crops, chopping wood, and cleaning out his house, just so that he doesn’t have time to think about Hank.

He still does, though.

He thinks about Hank’s lips on his, Hank’s large hands wrapped around his dick, Hank’s warm, powerful body enveloping his.

Fuck.

He knows that he should just accept the rejection like the mature adult that he supposedly is, no matter how hurt he feels. Hank has the right to set boundaries, but Connor can’t help wishing he had an explanation. The only thing Hank said was that it wasn’t Connor, but still. Connor can’t help feeling that he’s not enough.

Maybe it’s his own damn fault for pushing Hank. He’s sure that the whole thing wouldn’t have happened if he just shut his goddamn mouth and left Hank alone. He clearly wanted to be alone. With a cigarette in his hand, he leans on his porch railing and looks at his measly crops, illuminated by the setting sun. He takes a drag.

Hank has issues, he’s aware of that. Maybe it’s on both of them.

He watches the smoke vanishing in the wind. He can do this. He can be completely normal about Hank. He can leave Hank space if that’s what he wants, and he can give Hank time if that’s what he needs. He can give up on him… for now. It’s fine.

There are many other things he can, – and should, – concentrate on, like finally installing that new sprinkler system he bought, or adding some more furniture and upgrades to the Mess. He has a plan, a detailed one that he made not long after moving in here, about how to make this thing profitable. One, that he kinda abandoned when things didn’t start too well on the farm. But he will make a new plan, a better one, now that he has some experience, and he’ll put all his effort and energy into it, to his farm, and his crops.

Being hung up on a guy is not something Connor does anyway. Or at least he tries to tell himself that.

That’s when his phone decides to start ringing.

Connor scrambles for it, hoping to see Hank’s name on the screen, but to his utter disappointment, it’s someone else entirely. His mother.

Fuck.

He debates not picking it up, he really does. They haven’t talked for weeks now, not even in text. Would it be extremely rude to not pick it up? Probably.

After letting out a defeated sigh, he picks it up. “Mother?”

“Connor! You finally answered.” As usual, Amanda’s cool voice comes through the phone, sending a chill down his spine.

“Yeah, well. What do you want?”

“It’s time for you to stop being ridiculous and come home.”

Connor barely stops himself from groaning out loud; that would just make everything ten times worse. He needs to keep his cool, no matter what. “I’m not being ridiculous. I live here now.”

“We start interviewing people for your position next week. You still have time to change your mind,” she says, completely ignoring Connor’s answer.

“And that’s why you called? Really?”

“Yes, why else would I call you?” comes the answer exactly as Connor thought it would. Still, his heart hoped, just a little. He’s so stupid.

“Maybe to ask how I’m doing?”

There’s only silence coming through the receiver for a couple of long moments. Something threatens to overcome Connor, but he pushes the feeling down.

“… how are you doing, Connor?”

Connor lets out a huff. “I’m doing well, mom. I’m growing stuff. And I got the house fixed. And… everyone is friendly here.”

“Well. I’m glad to hear that. But still. Please think about us and the company. You can still come back.”

“I would like to stay here,” Connor says, his voice shaking. He really hopes it’s not that obvious from the other end of the line.

“Fine. Please notify us if you change your mind,” his mother says, all business. “Bye, Connor.”

“Bye.”

Connor puts away his phone with shaking hands, sits down hard on the porch steps, and lights another cigarette.

Is he making a bad, stupid decision? Would he be better off at home? He has no fucking clue.

Truth be told, he kinda misses being with his family, but he’s not sure if it’s not his stupid brain and time sweetening his memories. He still remembers all the all-nighters he pulled just to finish a project and how many times he got reprimanded for his tiniest mistakes.

He knows it’s better here. Everything is better (even with… whatever is going on with Hank). But his stupid heart doesn’t stop longing for things that never were. He knows his mother loves him, even if she’s not good at expressing it. He wishes things were different back then, but he can’t change the past, and his future is not there.

So he shakes himself out of these thoughts and stubs out his cigarette. He reminds himself of the new and improved plan that he still has to make. Time to get to work.

“Connor, is that you again?” nurse Chloe asks, even before Connor closes the clinic’s door behind himself.

“Um… yeah?”

Chloe emerges from the backroom then, looking a little exasperated. “What did you do this time?”

Well, Connor looks down at his bruised shin. “It’s not that bad! Just… bleeding a little too much for my taste?”

She shakes her head, and reflexively reaches for bandages. “Sit there.”

With his head hung, Connor sits down on one of the chairs and stretches his injured leg. Chloe starts cleaning up the wound professionally. Connor is sure it’ll leave a mark; it’s deep enough that at some point he thinks he’s able to see the bone. The thought makes him nauseous, so he turns his gaze elsewhere instead.

“How did you even manage to do this?”

It’s frankly embarrassing. “I, um, I was trying to assemble a bench, and dropped one of the planks?”

Another exasperated sigh from Chloe. It makes Connor want to sink into the ground. “Why didn’t you just ask for help? I’m sure Luther would’ve been happy to lend a hand!”

Connor winces, partly because he still feels embarrassed about asking for help (especially from Luther who helped him out tremendously already), and also because the tincture that Chloe is applying on his shin stings like hell. He ends up muttering something about next time.

Thankfully, she leaves it then, finishing up the bandage neatly.

“Thank you, Chloe.”

Chloe smiles. “Just try not to hurt yourself even more.”

It’s not like Connor has ever tried to hurt himself (even when he um… had some unpleasant thoughts in his early twenties), but these things just happen to him. He cannot control the god of injuries to strike down on Connor from time to time.

“Ah, shit.” He hears Chloe curse, which startles Connor out of his thoughts.

“Can I help?”

“Not really. It’s just this stupid EHR program. It keeps crashing!” Chloe grumbles as she starts vehemently clicking on the computer. “It must be from the previous century or something!”

Connor saunters closer to where Chloe is struggling with technology. “Can I take a look?”

“You’re not allowed to see the patient records!”

“I don’t want to see them! It’s just… I’m a programmer. I can take a look at the crashing issue?”

“Oh.” Chloe considers it for a moment. “Okay!”

So he does, and hoo boy, isn’t this program a relic from the dawn of computer programming? Connor’s never thought he’ll see something written in pascal these days, but here it is.

“I don’t think I can help too much with this,” Connor concludes, which makes Chloe deflate. “But I could write a much better one that actually uses an up-to-date language and runs much better on modern computers.”

“Oh… I’m not sure about that Connor, you would need to talk to doctor Lucy about it first.” She chews on her lips for a moment. “And isn’t that like… a lot of work?”

Connor shrugs, finally feeling in his element for once. “A couple of weeks max. Depending on what kind of features you want me to add.”

Chloe’s face visibly brightens at the mention of new features, and Connor smiles.

“Consider this offer as thanks for helping me.”

“Oh, Connor, there’s really no need; I’m just doing my job! Honestly, the biggest thanks would be if you didn’t hurt yourself once every week!”

Sadly, it’s not something Connor can promise, but he does promise that he will be more careful in the future.

Connor is busy weeding out his crops when North shows up on his property, with a volleyball under her arm.

“Hey, Con, we’re heading out to the beach with the guys, wanna come?”

Connor looks out from behind his tomatoes. “Now?”

“Yeah! The weather is good and you’re working too much lately!”

Well, that might be true, Connor guesses, but it has results; his crops started to resemble healthy plants that you can see on gardening websites and stuff. Moreover, Connor is now able to differentiate them from each other.

But maybe North is right, and he needs some time to relax.

So they end up on the beach, and they play volleyball with Chloe, Markus, Josh, and Simon. At first, Connor is worried about his participation because he’s totally awful at volleyball, and his team keeps losing, but the others are not laughing at him, which never really happened to Connor, but it’s a welcome change from any other time he participated in sports.

It’s nice, and Connor enjoys the afternoon, more than he expected.

“What do you guys think I should bring to the Luau?” Chloe ponders once they sit down in the sand, played out. “I thought about baking something!”

North huffs, amused. “Chlo, the Luau is a month away!”

“I like to be prepared!”

“What’s this Luau thing?” Connor asks.

“It’s a festival!” Chloe pipes up. “There’s a huge Luau pot, where everyone can add something to the potluck soup! You should bring something too, Connor! And then the Governor comes and tastes the soup!”

Another festival? Connor is losing count of them at this point. “Huh, how many festivals do you guys have?”

“Eight,” Simon supplies. “Nine if you count the Night Market.”

“The Night Market is not really a festival, though, it’s a market,” North argues.

“It’s kinda festival-ish, though.”

Connor leaves them to argue and looks out to the sea. He feels… content. Almost happy. But happiness is not something Connor feels, not entirely. He feels fine, he feels cheerful sometimes, satisfied – not so much. But he’s okay with it; he learned how to handle his emotions. This almost happiness though, it throws him a little off-balance.

Before he has time to do a deeper analysis of his own confusing emotions, he notices that Simon and North’s argument now developed into a physical confrontation, as they’re currently wrestling each other in the sand (North seems to be winning, though).

It only takes one word from Markus to make them stop. The magic word is ‘stop’, by the way.

Josh produces sandwiches then out of thin air, and they have a little picnic right there and then. Thankfully, they drop the festival topic for the remainder of the day.

They watch the sunset together, and Connor realizes that even if he’s been living here for months, he never took the time to just stop and look at the sunset. It’s beautiful.

By the time they head home, it’s already dark.

Connor decides to go on the southern route (totally not because he wants to snoop around the ranch again). Unfortunately, said ranch is dark, its owner is out somewhere. Connor sighs. At least he can pet Sumo.

But when he turns towards his property, he notices someone at the pier again and his stomach drops immediately. His legs bring him closer to the pier as he squints to determine if Hank is in danger again. The mysterious person seems to be sitting, though.

The moment he realizes that and sighs out a relief, something collides with him, and he goes down letting out a very unmanly shout. Fuck!

“Who’s there?” he hears Hank’s voice.

“It’s me, Connor,” he shouts back while he gets up from the ground and rubs his throbbing head.

“You okay?”

“Yeah just… crashed with a tree,” Connor admits with some embarrassment.

“Shit, come here! I have something cold to put on it!”

And Connor goes without thinking, because… well… because something cold on his head sounds heavenly, and not because after everything, Hank still attracts him like a magnet.

He feels rather than sees Hank’s gaze on him while he approaches him and sits down next to him on the pier.

“Here.” Hank hands him the cold thing, which just turns out to be a can of beer. Apparently, Hank has a whole cooler of them next to him.

“Thanks,” Connor says, then winces when he puts it on his injured forehead.

It’s weird as fuck, because they haven’t really talked after the… um… incident, two weeks ago. Connor doesn’t know how Hank feels about it. Does he still regret it? Probably.

“Look,” Hank starts quietly. “I’m sorry for the shit I said at the festival. I, uh, wasn’t really thinking.”

“It’s okay, I said shit too.”

“It’s really not okay! I accused you of stuff I shouldn’t–“

“No.” Connor shakes his head. “I pushed you too much–”

“–and then I pushed you away–“

“I understand, I was–“

“Are we really going to continue arguing about which of us takes the blame?”

Connor pauses. “What do you want to do then?”

“Dunno. Can we start with a clean slate?”

Connor tries hard not to feel hurt by this sentence. “Do you want to forget about it?”

“That’s not what I…” Hank sighs and drags a hand across his face. “I just want you to know… about Cole. Before you… well.”

“You don’t have to talk about it.”

Hank lets out a sigh. “But I want you to understand.”

Connor watches with bated breath as Hank takes a sip of his beer, lit up by the moonlight, and god, he’s so handsome. That’s not something Connor should be thinking about right now.

Unfortunately, it’s too late, because, in his distraction, he drops the beer from his hand. He startles, but manages to catch it just before the edge of the pier. Phew!

Hank looks at him, a little amused. “You can keep it. God knows I shouldn’t drink that much.”

Connor then obediently opens the beer and takes a sip. It’s still cool on his tongue.

“How much do you know about what happened?”

“It was an accident,” Connor dutifully recites the information he found. “A truck skidded on a sheet of ice and hit your car.”

Hank winces. “Yeah.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“It was.” Connor’s heart sinks, but before he could say anything, Hank lets out a sad chuckle. “You know, when you work in narcotics, it’s easy to step on someone’s toes who can make things look like an accident.”

Connor’s heart sinks even lower, if it’s possible. “Shit.”

“Yeah… shit. I should’ve quit when Cole was born; Sarah told me a thousand times, but I wanted to… I wanted Cole to grow up in a world where there’s a little less of this shit… And look where it led us.” He shakes his head and takes another sip.

And Connor has no idea what to say to that, but somehow, he wants to reach out. He has no idea how it feels to lose someone important – he and Richard were too young when their father passed away, Connor doesn’t really remember him besides a few hazy memories. He has no idea how to comfort people either, but he wants to, even if he knows that nothing he could say would make it better for Hank. But still, he wants to make it better for him, or at least try.

So he reaches out and lightly brushes his fingers to Hank’s hand. Hank doesn’t look back at him, but he laces their fingers together.

They sit like this for a while, in companionable silence, slowly sipping their beers. It’s a clear night, and as Connor looks up at the sky, he wishes he knew more about stars. He never really had the opportunity to just look at them; they were barely visible in the city. He thinks he sees the Polaris, but it might just be a satellite.

A sudden cold breeze comes, and Connor shivers a little. It catches Hank’s attention.

“You cold?”

Connor shakes his head, and he barely stops himself from letting out a disappointed sound when Hank draws his hand back, the warm connection lost.

But Hank starts shedding his shirt and oh god. Connor’s eyes got used to the dark enough to get a very good look at his bare, muscled arms. (Unfortunately, he has an undershirt on.)

“There,” Hank says when he covers Connor’s back with his discarded shirt.

“Thanks,” Connor whispers. The fabric is not very thick, but it warms Connor from the inside anyway.

Hank looks away and takes another sip, and Connor has to light a cigarette to stop himself from doing something he shouldn’t. He should give Hank space and time, he reminds himself.

“Well, how’s the farm coming along?” Hank asks suddenly, and the casual question after all this serious talk surprises Connor so much that he almost drops his cigarette into the water.

“Um… it’s coming along,” he answers dumbly, then takes a drag to calm his nerves. “I, uh, installed sprinklers. The crops are growing. But it’s a lot of work.”

Hank hums thoughtfully while looking at him. Connor is suddenly very thankful for the dark, so that Hank can’t see him blushing like crazy under his gaze.

“Y’know,” Hank starts. “If you ever need a hand… uh, I mean at the farm… you can um, ask me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Hank shrugs simply.

This is the exact moment when Connor’s slightly tipsy brain decides to replay the memory of Hank chopping wood on his farm, all powerful and sexy. He shivers a little at the thought.

“T-thanks,” he manages to blurt out before the silence gets too weird.

“It’s really getting cold,” Hank says, thankfully mistaking the reason why Connor shivered. “Time to head back.”

Connor quickly stabs out his cigarette and follows Hank toward their houses.

Only when Connor gets home he realizes he’s still wearing Hank’s shirt on his back. He grips it, drawing it around himself, imagining Hank’s arms wrapped around him.

Just a few days later, Connor invites Hank to help him out on the farm.

Hank didn’t expect that; he wasn’t wasted enough to not remember his offer, but he thought Connor still holds a grudge. Although, now that he thinks back on it, he doesn’t think Connor held a grudge at any point in time. He didn’t even properly accept Hank’s apology. Connor’s a weird little shit, alright.

Anyway, he’s now busy helping Connor assemble a little wooden shed; but mostly he just tries to stop Connor from hurting himself. Honestly, seeing the way he does physical work, Hank’s surprised that he still has all his limbs.

Although there’s a huge plaster on his left shin, and when Hank asks about it, Connor only gives an evasive answer. Fine, he’s not gonna pester him about it then, but it doesn’t help him get less worried about Connor’s wellbeing.

Also, he’s not sure why Connor didn’t ask Luther to do this; this is literally the man’s job as the town’s carpenter. But he’s not gonna bring it up; maybe Connor didn’t want an apology, but Hank wants to feel like he compensated him somehow for his previous shitty behavior.

When the shed finally looks like it’s not in danger of falling apart anymore, Connor invites Hank in for a drink. It’s not alcoholic, but well. It’s getting hot outside, the summer coming in full force, so hydration is important.

Connor’s little house is cozy; although most of the furniture seems to be leftovers from the previous owners, there are some bits and bobs that were clearly added by Connor. There’s a little painting that Hank assumes is by Markus, a pretty high-tech coffee maker, and a patchwork blanket that’s definitely by Kara, because Hank has a very similar one at home.

“Nice place,” Hank says lamely, but he’s met with a smile.

“We can all thank Luther for that, he’s the sole reason this house hasn’t fallen apart yet. But it’s livable now. It’s enough.”

This is not the first time Hank thinks Connor is out of place here, but it’s the first time he thinks about why he came here. People don’t just… move to an abandoned farm. Hell, the only reason Hank is here is that he wanted to leave everything behind. He couldn’t though; the most painful stuff never left him and probably never will.

Connor doesn’t seem like he has anything to run from, but again, Hank doesn’t know many things about him. He kinda wants to prod, but he doesn’t, because he knows exactly how it is to be on the other side of it, and after his outburst about Connor figuring out things about Cole, it would be extremely hypocritical.

So he doesn’t ask; if Connor wants to tell him, he will, or so he hopes.

It doesn’t stop him from mulling over it, though.

When Hank enters the library, he gets spooked by the doorbell as it plays a quite dissonant sound. Hank is not even sure that libraries are supposed to have doorbells. And he’s not even sure it’s called a doorbell. Well, it’s a bell. On the door.

“What can I help you with?” Josh asks from behind the counter.

“I, uh,” Hank starts, then finally remembers why he came here. “Do you have Dorian Gray?”

“Let me check!” Josh says then starts typing on his little computer.

“Huh, the library has entered the digital age?” Hank muses. The last time he was here, everything was on paper. Truth be told, he hasn’t been here for a long while.

“Yes, it was Connor’s doing.”

“Connor’s?”

“He made a database program for the library, so it’s much easier for us now to know what books we have and who borrowed what!”

Huh, Hank thinks, the little shit knows his craft after all.

Later, it turns out it wasn’t the only thing Connor did in the past couple of weeks.

At the clinic, Chloe is more than ecstatic to show off their new medical… something program, when Hank visits to get his usual prescription blood pressure medicine. (He also gets scolded once again to ‘eat healthier’ and ‘cut back on the alcohol’, blah, blah.)

Besides these, Jeff tells him that Connor made some kind of learning program for the kids, and now apparently they ‘speak better French than native speakers’. (Not like Jeff speaks any French besides a good-natured bonjour, so Hank is not entirely convinced by that.)

And that’s when Hank realizes, Connor fits in the town like a missing puzzle piece. He integrated himself so organically, that Hank didn’t even think anything about it until now.

When Hank is out in the town, he sees Connor’s fingerprints everywhere. People talk about him like a friend, he apparently managed to grow something on his farm that now Rose sells with a warm smile, and every time Hank sees him… he’s so radiant, so full of life that Hank has to look away in case he gets burned.

Looking away is pretty hard, though, because Connor keeps walking into inanimate objects every time he spots Hank, and god help him, now he’s a little worried for the kid.

Like now, when Hank is busy fishing him out of the river, where he managed to fall after an overeager wave in Hank’s direction.

“Shit, are you okay?” Hank asks when Connor is finally on solid ground again.

Connor coughs and spits out some water. “Yeah… I think I caught a tuna,” he says, lifting a struggling fish in his grip.

Hank chuckles at the weird display. “Tuna is a saltwater fish, Connor, this is a bass.”

“Oh.” Connor looks curiously at the fish, and he looks like a mess, his usually styled hair soppy slicked on his head, his white tee clinging wetly and translucently to his chest, and oh god. Hank fights his eyes to divert from his hard nipples that are clearly visible under the fabric.

“I can make a mean roasted bass if you want to.”

Shit. Hank didn’t mean to say that, it just came out of his mouth, uncontrolled. Connor grins up at him from under his lashes, mischievous and beautiful.

“I’ll see when I taste it!”

So that’s how they end up at Hank’s ranch, Hank making food and Connor playing with Sumo. The whole thing is so domestic that Hank has trouble processing it.

At least the air is warm enough that Connor doesn’t have to take off his shirt to dry; that would be the death of Hank, that’s for sure.

“So, how are the summer crops?” he asks to distract his wandering thoughts from Connor’s nipples.

“They’re alive. I have some more stuff to plant when I get home. I got some hot pepper seeds!”

Shit. “Am I holding you back?”

Connor hums. “No. I have to eat something anyway.”

That eases Hank a little. He spares a glance at Connor, who’s now sitting at the dining table, looking at him with bright eyes, smiling.

Hank feels something constrict in his chest. “What are ya smiling at?”

Connor averts his gaze but doesn’t stop smiling. “Nothing.”

“Nothing.”

Connor bites his lip. “I just like a man who can cook.”

The heat rises in Hank’s cheeks, and he quickly turns away, because there it is again; that easy way how Connor flirts with him. Hank still doesn’t understand why. Connor is a catch, obviously, and Hank is kind of an opposite of a catch. But he has no right to question Connor’s taste or actions, learning from the last time. He just has no idea what to do with this kind of attention anymore.

At least it brings him a small relief that he didn’t completely blow the whole thing with what happened after the Flower Dance. Whatever the thing would be. It’s complicated.

Hank serves the food and they start eating.

“This is delicious, Hank,” Connor says, his mouth full of food. “I haven’t eaten anything so good since that kebab place in the city.” He stares in the distance, clearly imagining the tasty kebab in front of his mind’s eyes.

“Do you miss it? The city?” Hank can’t help himself asking.

Connor scrunches his nose adorably. “Not really. I mean… the work was fine, but… I never really… I don’t really miss it.”

“Don’t you miss your family?”

Connor’s face darkens a little at that. “It’s… complicated.”

Hank understands it as Connor doesn’t want to talk about it, so he leaves the family topic for now.

“Do you miss the work then?”

“Well… I liked the challenge, but I guess the um, environment wasn’t ideal for me.”

“What did you do exactly?”

Connor raises a curious eyebrow. “Do you know those delivery robots that got popular in the past few years?”

Hank nods; he can’t say he knows them too well, technology is not his forte after all, but he has heard about them at some point.

“I wrote their base programming. And stuff like that. Robotics.”

“Shit,” Hank exclaims, shocked. “That’s huge, Connor.”

“Eh.” Connor shrugs. “It’s not as difficult as you think. And… you know, when I started the whole thing I thought we were doing stuff that helps people. So naïve of me. But we just made stuff that made rich people even richer. Honestly, I’d rather be here doing stuff that actually matters than be back there doing what I did. There are many people who can do the same shit as I did. I’m not like um… special.”

A sudden urge comes over Hank, and he wants to reach out and tell Connor that he’s special, because, oh, he is. He wants to do good things for good reasons, something that Hank used to think he did, although that part of him is long gone and buried in a cemetery next to his son’s grave. But he doesn’t know how to tell him that without offering his heart on a plate for him, and Hank’s sure he’s not ready for that.

He does reach out in the end patting Connor’s hand without a word, hoping that Connor would understand the meaning.

They lock eyes for a moment, Connor’s warm gaze boring into Hank’s soul.

Sumo boofs, ruining the moment (damn you, Sumo). Connor’s attention swiftly gets captured by the big lug, who’s begging for scraps.

“Who’s a good boy? Yes! You are!” Connor coos, patting Sumo’s head. Sumo puts his large paws on Connor’s lap and licks his face. It makes Connor giggle, and Hank’s heart constricts.

And Connor is bright as the fucking sun and so alive, but maybe Hank can open the shutters around his heart for once.

Summer is in full swing by the time the Luau arrives. This means that it’s scorching hot, probably like five thousand degrees, and Hank is sweating out of his fucking skin.

He still makes the effort to put on a decent, short-sleeved shirt, even if he sweats through it in mere minutes. He also makes the effort to show up sober and more or less on time.

He’s… been trying.

He’s been trying to cut back on the drinking even if it’s fucking hard. And he’s been trying to spend his nights doing something else than moping. He read a book. He cleaned his bedroom. He learned two new recipes while totally not thinking about cooking them for Connor.

It’s a work in progress, alright.

As expected, most of the townsfolk are already on the beach, preparing the pot and setting up the decorations.

“Hank! You showed!” Jeff approaches him, holding a mini handheld fan directed at his own sweaty face, and Hank finds some solace in the fact that he’s not the only one melting away.

“Yeah, there’s food.” Hank shrugs.

“Well, you’re welcome to help out with the pot!”

It really wouldn’t be Jeff if he didn’t try to lure him into building the community spirit or whatever.

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“Connor is there by the way,” Jeff grins, of course, he does, because he can read Hank like a fucking open book, and Hank kinda hates him for it.

Slight frustration aside, Hank’s eyes flick to where the pot is and he spots Connor, who’s swinging a batch of carrots in his hand. Fuck, he looks good out there with his Hawaiian-patterned shirt, his sunglasses, and oh god, his inappropriate booty shorts.

Jeff fucking winks at him and pats his shoulder and Hank gulps.

He somehow manages to double his sweating by the time he approaches the pot.

“Um, hi, Connor,” he says lamely.

Connor looks up from the cutting board where he’s chopping carrots to rather inconsistent slices with a wide smile. “Hi!”

“Can I help?”

“Oh,” Connor says, and Hank has to grab his wrist to stop him from cutting his own fingers off.

“Careful.”

“Oh.” Connor looks down at where their hands are touching, his cheeks getting a little pink. It’s probably from the heat.

Hank lets go before it gets too weird, or at least he hopes, but when he looks up, he sees Kara from the other end of the table smirking at them. Damn her, really.

“Here.” Connor hands him a knife and Hank starts chopping the carrots in a much safer way.

They continue working in a companionable silence, which is kinda nice. He doesn’t even get frustrated by how close Connor is standing to him, for some reason (he knows the reason, but so far he’s refusing to put a name on it).

What he gets frustrated about is the heat. They could’ve erected some parasols or a tent at least, because standing in the sun, working on the pot (which has an actual fire going on under it for fuck’s sake) is going to cause all of them heat stroke.

“Fuck, it’s fucking hot,” he declares, wiping the sweat off his forehead.

“Well, you could take off your shirt,” Connor says, then freezes. “I-I mean…”

Fucking hell, now Hank is blushing, a little breathless. “I’d rather skip public indecency in front of the whole town.”

“Yeah, sorry, that’s not what I… fuck,” Connor mutters, and that pink tinge on his face is definitely not from the sun.

And this is the point when his traitor of a mind decides to remind him of that night from about two months ago when Connor all but climbed him and buried his face in his boobs. Fuck, this little shit is really into that isn’t he?

Thankfully, they’re saved by Rose, who comes over to add the carrot slices to the pot.

Connor follows her and peeks into the pot. Hank follows Connor because he’s afraid that he’s going to fall right into it, knowing him. And definitely not because he wants to be close to him.

“Smells good,” Connor says when he finally clambers down from the steps around the pot to Hank’s relief.

Eventually, they find some shade at Markus’s shack, thank fucking god.

By the time the governor arrives, Connor’s been dying of hunger. He’s been salivating for that soup for hours now. He’s also been salivating for Hank, but that’s not the main point here.

Anyway, the governor is a broad man, sporting an impressive mustache. He hums, satisfied when he tastes the soup, and Mayor Jeff is way too happy about it.

Connor is mostly just glad that he can finally eat, and he only slightly burns his tongue in his hurry. He gets a second bowl of the soup; it really is delicious.

People scatter across the beach then, doing whatever they want. North and Chloe are tearing up the small dancefloor, the Fowler twins are burying each other in the sand, and Connor gravitates toward Hank because that’s what he does now, apparently.

Hank, who’s busy fanning himself with a paper plate while standing with his feet in the sea. He also undid the top two buttons on his shirt, public indecency be damned. Connor couldn’t be happier about it, the opening allowing him a little peek of that maddening chest hair and the tattoo underneath.

Damn, Connor thinks a little light-headed, Hank really is an incredibly attractive man. He still remembers how Hank feels under his touch, how hot his kisses are, how strong he is when he puts Connor where he wants him. But he promised himself that he’d give Hank space, so he stops himself from saying something outright flirty.

What he does is that he kicks off his slippers and walks into the sea to join Hank. The water is warm near the coast, but it’s still cooler than the air. It feels nice around his ankles.

“How didya like your first Luau?” Hank asks.

“It was fine, I guess. Would’ve been a little better if the main point of the festival was something else than licking up to the governor.”

Hank snorts. “Maybe it’s something like… celebrating the crops or some shit? Dunno, I never paid attention to the folklore.”

“I did read a book about the town’s history, but this particular festival wasn’t listed… It was an old book, though. Did you know that Pelican Town was founded because of the mines? They mined ores and stuff here. There’s still a quarry up north. They closed the mines after the entrance collapsed.”

“Just please, don’t go near those mines. I want you to stay in one piece.”

A surprised laugh bursts out of Connor. “Yes, it’s probably for the best if I stay away from that.”

As it gets later, the townsfolk leave the beach one by one. Connor and Hank help take down the decorations, and Connor enjoys working alongside Hank, just like he did when they were assembling his shed, or preparing the pot.

They sit down in the sand after that to watch the sunset. It’s just as beautiful as always, perhaps even more now that Hank is here. (That’s not how it works, but Connor allows himself a moment of sentimentality.) But the glow of the setting sun makes Hank’s features softer, and Connor can’t stop looking at him.

Also, he’s so fucking close; they were close to each other all day, and Connor feels almost dizzy by the proximity. He could easily lean on Hank’s broad shoulders. He could take his hand. But he doesn’t; he can’t yet. He’s too afraid of getting rejected, too afraid of pushing Hank too much once again.

Instead, he sighs and lights a cigarette just to divert his attention and calm his nerves.

“Y’know,” Hank starts. “I’ve never taken part in these damn festivals like this before. Jeff will mock the fuck out of me.”

Connor smiles, flicking ash on the sand. “Is there any particular reason you changed your mind?”

Hank looks down, almost shy, but then he locks eyes with Connor. “Yeah.”

Something blooms in Connor’s chest, but he’s hesitant and slightly afraid to inspect it. He takes a drag instead, then coughs rather unattractively.

“You okay?”

“Fuck, sorry,” he wheezes and clears his throat. “I should really quit, but it’s not that easy. I’m uh, a stress smoker.”

“Are you stressed now?” Hank asks, concern written on his handsome face.

“More like… nervous.”

“Nervous?”

“You know, like… a guy around his crush,” Connor admits, then winces. “Fuck, I shouldn’t have said that.”

But Hank just lets out a sigh and puts a hand on Connor’s shoulder, squeezing, and warmth blooms where they touch. “Connor,” he says softly, and it sounds like a promise.

They sit there almost until the sun goes down, talking nonsense about movies. (Hank doesn’t agree that The Matrix is the best movie ever, and he’s clearly wrong.) Connor is reluctant to go home, but Hank insists that he needs to feed his animals, and obviously, Connor doesn’t want the poor things to die from hunger.

But when Hank stands up, someone shouts at them.

“Hey! Could you stay there for a little longer?”

Eyebrows raised, they both look at the source of the voice, who turns out to be Markus. Who’s sitting at his little shack, busy sketching something.

“Markus!” Hank groans. “I didn’t consent to be drawn!”

But Markus just waves at them. “The setting looked too good, I had to.”

A tired sigh later, Hank sits back down next to Connor, muttering something about artist weirdos.

Connor tries to stifle a laugh, but it bursts out of him when Hank looks at him. Actually, it bursts out of both of them, and they laugh until their faces hurt.

Chapter Text

Connor is content.

His summer crops are turning out nicely, even though they’re far from perfect and he still has a lot to learn about farmwork, but considering the circumstances and where he was only a few months ago, he thinks it’s the best he could do.

On a completely different note… he’s in love.

It’s been a long time coming, really. Day by day he’s more attracted to Hank, he can’t fucking stop thinking about him, his hands, his deep voice, his touch... Hank cares about him, Connor knows that, and it ignites something in his chest.

It’s also getting increasingly frustrating that he has to restrict himself around Hank. At this rate one day he’ll just combust from sheer repressed lust. (He tries to work out the lust from his system at night; sometimes it helps, but most of the time it just leaves him yearning for more.)

It also doesn’t help that he’s obvious as fuck, considering the looks North shoots him every time Hank walks by and Connor makes a clown out of himself. He acts like a schoolboy with a crush around Hank, but he can’t help it. Hank just has this effect on him, and Connor has no means to resist.

Like now, when he sits down next to Hank at Jimmy’s Saloon, ordering a pizza (Jimmy’s pizza is still the best in town), and he sees Hank sporting something that’s decidedly not alcoholic.

“Soda, huh?” Connor points at the drink.

Hank shrugs. “Yeah. I um… trying to cut back.”

Honestly, Connor must have a very twisted taste, because it just makes him want to kiss Hank full on the mouth. He doesn’t, though. He stuffs a slice of pizza in his own damn mouth instead.

And Hank walks him home with some stupid reasoning (‘it’s dark and the forest road can be dangerous’), not like Connor hasn’t walked home countless times at night in the past few months. He’s not gonna complain though, he’s just happy to spend more time with Hank.

And the first time since Hank told him they shouldn’t do this, he dares to hope. He didn’t understand at the time what Hank meant by it, but he thinks, now he does. Connor thinks Hank looks better (not that he didn’t look smoking hot already), his skin looks healthier (although, it might be just the sun), and there’s something in the way he carries himself. He’s changing… or at least he’s trying. Connor feels something in his chest when he thinks about it.

“Well, good night,” Hank tells him at his door, and Connor hardly resists taking his hand and inviting him in. But he doesn’t. He just wishes him good night in return and goes inside.

Only when he’s about to fall asleep he realizes that he didn’t even have a smoke all day.

It is one of those days.

Sometimes it’s not even triggered by anything; Hank just wakes up missing Cole like crazy. He does his work dragging his feet and missing Cole like crazy. He eyes the whisky bottle in his cupboard while missing Cole like crazy, but he only takes one sip.

At night when he’s sitting on the pier (missing Cole like crazy and nursing a beer), he thinks of the things Jeff tells him all the time. That he doesn’t have to do this alone, that he can call Jeff if he needs someone to talk to. But it’s the middle of the fucking night and Jeff is a family man; he’s probably already sleeping or doing the do with the missus (well, that’s definitely not something Hank wants to interrupt with his stupid melancholic episode).

As he thumbs his phone, he finds a message from Connor he missed earlier today. It’s a selfie picturing him and a weird creature with a sunhat. The text says ‘made a scarecrow do you think he looks like me?’.

A surprised chuckle escapes Hank. Connor is also a weird creature, an endlessly endearing creature. Also, he’s so fucking beautiful as he cheekily smiles in the picture.

His finger hovers over the call button, hesitating. Would it be too weird? Is it too late?

Maybe. But for once, Hank wants to reach out.

Connor picks up on the second ring. “Hi, Hank,” he says cheerfully, then his voice darkens. “Is everything okay?”

“Um…” Hank now feels a little silly, but well. “Could you come out to the pier?”

“On my way,” Connor announces and there’s the sound of something breaking and some intense cursing. “Fuck. I’ll be there in a moment!”

And Hank feels bad for bothering Connor so late at night, he really does. But Connor could’ve easily said no if he didn’t want to deal with his sorry ass, so he tries to find some solace in that.

Barely ten minutes later, Hank hears footsteps on the pier. He lets out a sigh when Connor touches his shoulder softly and sits down next to him.

“What’s the matter?”

Hank shakes his head. “It’s just one of those days.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

And Hank realizes with a start that he wants to. Maybe it’s a sign; a good one. He wants to believe it is.

So he talks about Cole, about his love of animals and stars; that he wanted to have a different profession every day, and how he tried to teach Sumo to sniff out where the candies are. And Connor listens to him and holds his hand, and Hank doesn’t feel so alone anymore.

This is the day when he’s gonna ask Connor out, Hank tells himself the third day in a row.

It’s ridiculous, really; it’s not even like… a date or something, he’s just gonna ask him if he wants to go to the Dance of the Moonlight Jellies. This will sound ambiguous enough that if Connor says no, Hank can say he was just asking casually.

It’s really not that serious, so why is Hank on the edge of panicking? Especially when he knows damn well that Connor is… into him?

(Well, being into him does not equal wanting to be in a relationship with him, probably that’s why.)

He spends the morning tending to his animals and making useless tasks for himself just to delay the moment further. Unfortunately, he even finishes said useless tasks way too early, and now… now he just has to head north.

So he does, then turns back to brush his hair, and floss; he hasn’t been drinking for a couple of days now, but still, he doesn’t want to smell bad.

(What he also wants is to get that alluring bottle of whisky out of the cabinet and drink the whole thing up to ease his nerves.

He doesn’t, though, but it’s extremely hard to resist.)

When he finally heads north again, he promises himself that he’s not gonna turn back this time.

The sun is blazing down at him as he walks, making him sweat. Fuck. Why does Connor live so far?

But when he sees Connor, something is weird about him.

He just lingers in front of his house, looking around, observing. The strange behavior is not even the weirdest thing about him. He’s wearing a fucking dress suit.

“Connor?” Hank asks when he gets closer.

Connor turns to look at him with an icy gaze, and Hank can’t stop himself from reeling back a little. Something is very wrong with Connor. He’s too uptight, too cold, too serious.

This is not Connor, Hank realizes after a beat. It’s still fucking weird though; the man looks just like Connor, but without all the Connorness. All his charm and attractiveness gone.

“I’m not Connor,” the strange man supplies.

“Um, yeah, well, I’m looking for him…”

“That makes two of us.” The Connor clone gives him a scrutinizing look, and Hank suddenly feels like running away, but for entirely different reasons than what he expected half an hour earlier. “Do you know him?”

“Y-yeah, I live… south from here.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“Not right now?”

The clone lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Well, I, um… come back later, then,” Hank mumbles, and turns to leave.

Fucking hell.

“If you see him, tell him I’m waiting for him!” The clone shouts after Hank.

Well, it would be hard, because he didn’t even introduce himself. Although, joke's on Hank, he didn’t introduce himself either. But when the clone looked at him with his cold stare… Hank felt a shiver down his spine, and it was a shiver completely different from what he feels when Connor looks at him.

Hank is not sure what to make out of the strange encounter, but he hopes that Connor won’t be exchanged for this strange man.

Connor walks home with a spring in his step, holding Kara’s chocolate cookies close to his heart.

She insisted he took home a full box of them, and Connor didn’t complain; the cookies are delicious.

The sun is shining bright, the air is full of the smell of pretty summer flowers.

Connor feels… happy-ish. He smiles to himself. There’s something about this town that makes him feel things more freely. He’s allowed to feel things more freely. It’s invigorating and addictive.

Unfortunately, his unprompted kind-of-happiness only lasts until he spots the shiny black Ferrari parked on his property.

Fuck.

He looks at his garden in panic, fearing that somehow his brother sabotaged him meanwhile he was too busy being happy-ish. His gaze finds the lone figure walking away, and fuck. Maybe he did get sabotaged if Hank…

Shit.

“Connor! You turned up!”

“What are you doing here?”

“Can’t I just visit my dear little brother?” Richard says with that awful sleazy smile of his. Connor hates how he can always rub in that he’s older, even if it’s only by three or so minutes.

“That’s not something you do, Rich. Did mother send you to check on me?”

Richard shrugs. “We just want to know how you’re doing!”

“Typical.” Connor huffs. “I’m doing fine! I got the house fixed! And I have crops and… stuff.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Honestly, I thought you’d be running back after a week.”

Fuck, it stings, it stings so much, even if it shouldn’t. Connor promised himself that he won’t care about what his family says or thinks, but somehow he still does. There’s still that weird urge in him that wants to please them, even after he removed himself from that environment. He never met any of their expectations anyway, and he knows he never will. But still. It sucks.

“Well, I’m still here, aren’t I?” Connor says with gritted teeth.

“It seems so. Even if you would be more useful at home.”

Home. Connor is not sure anymore he wants to call it that. He hasn’t been back in months.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I know you found a replacement lead programmer.”

“We had to hire three people.”

“Oh, so you’re worried about the cost–“

“No. You’re important to us. And we miss you.”

Connor shakes his head. He feels his heart constrict because fuck. He would’ve believed this only a few months ago; that he’s important to his family, even if they don’t show it, even if he always feels like falling behind Richard in everything. Now, however, he’s not sure if they’re missing him, or just the idea of him.

And Connor wants to belong; he always wanted so bad to belong in his family, to belong somewhere. To feel like he’s enough. To feel loved. His traitor of a heart still longs for it, still wants to go back and try again, one more time.

But he won’t. There’s no use doing the same rounds and expecting a different outcome. It’s something he learned in his first month of programming, and he foolishly shoved it away for years to come.

“I’m not going back,” Connor declares and stops Richard when he wants to speak up. “And you can’t change my mind.”

“Fine. You were always amazing at being stupid and making bad decisions.”

“I hope you got your answers and this is the end of your check-up. The exit’s that way,” Connor points toward the road, trying very hard to regulate his voice because he feels like shouting and crying and he can’t do any of that in front of his brother.

Irritation flickers through Richard’s face, and somehow it makes Connor feel better. “Very well, Connor. See you later.”

Connor waits until his brother’s car is gone, and scrambles for a cigarette. Fuck. He inhales so hard it sends him coughing up his lungs. Double fuck.

After he overcomes this near-death experience, he looks out to his yard, gazing at his crops (the hot peppers are shaping up nicely), and he just feels weird. It’s weird to see something that he made, out of basically nothing, for himself and not for anyone else to take the credit for it. Even though, it’s not much. It’s something. It has to be better than it was.

He takes a cookie. It’s still delicious.

At this point, he knows exactly why Richard is acting like this, saying the things he says. He was always the obedient one who followed their mother’s every word. And if their mother says that Connor is being ridiculous then so will he. Connor sincerely wishes that one day his brother would be able to see the other side of the coin, to see the reasoning behind Connor’s actions, and understand him on some level. Just… Connor is just too tired to try to make him understand.

Maybe one day.

When his head clears a little, he suddenly remembers the sight of Hank leaving his property before he talked to Richard. With his brows furrowed, he stubs out his cigarette and heads south.

“Is that you?”

“Who else would it be?”

“Dunno, your corporate clone?”

Connor rolls his eyes and Hank stands aside to let him in.

“He’s not my clone, he’s my twin brother.”

“I had no idea you had a twin brother,” Hank mutters.

“Would’ve been for the best if you never met him, to be honest.”

Hank doesn’t know many things about Connor’s family; he’s always been pretty tight-lipped about them. But, he realizes with a start, he wants to know more about them. Or whatever Connor is willing to share. It’s a strange feeling, wanting to care about other people after all these years, and Hank is not sure he wants to dwell on the why-s too much.

“He seemed like kind of a prick, yeah,” Hank says as he watches Connor drop himself into one of the kitchen chairs.

“You also thought I was a prick when I came here,” Connor says, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, you were kind of a prick, to be frank,” Hank jokes and sits down across from Connor.

Connor huffs, then his face falls. “He thought I was going to run back home after a week.”

“But you’re still here.”

“Hank… I wanted to run back home after a day,” Connor whines and buries his face into his hands.

“But you didn’t!”

“I didn’t,” Connor repeats quietly. “Richard said they were missing me. And then he continued to say I was stupid.”

“Uh, seems like giving mixed signals is a family trait.”

Connor looks up, affronted. “Shut up!” Then he deflates. “I know I shouldn’t care about what he says, but… What if–“

“Connor,” Hank starts firmly. “You’re not stupid, not even close. You’re great. You already helped so many people here.” Without a thought, Hank reaches for Connor’s hand and pats it gently. “You belong here.”

Maybe that was the wrong thing to say, Hank thinks in panic, because Connor lets out a sob, then quickly buries his face in his hand. “I’m sorry!”

“Connor, hey, it’s okay,” Hank says, and rounds the table to kneel down next to him.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t–“

With an aching heart, Hank pulls him into an embrace. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

Hank holds Connor while he continues to sob into his neck. He feels so fragile like this, and Hank wants to protect him from everything that ever hurt him.

“You’re going to hurt your knee,” Connor weeps.

“Eh, it’s fine,” Hank grunts with aching knees, but there’s no way he’s going to pull away.

Hank feels something prodding his side, whining, and it turns out to be Sumo. He really is the ultimate mood radar, huh. Connor sighs and reaches down to bury his fingers into the soft fur, and Hank’s heart aches.

After who knows how much time, Connor calms down, his sobs subsiding. He pulls away, leaving a phantom feeling on Hank’s chest where he was pressed up.

“Sorry,” Connor pouts, rubbing his eyes. “I really needed that. I haven’t cried in years.”

And god, isn’t this just something that breaks Hank’s heart a little?

“Connor.” Hank reaches out, cupping his face, and Connor leans into the touch. Hank would very much like to kiss those pouty lips, but it’s really not the right time.

Suddenly, Connor furrows his brows. “What did you want?”

“Huh?”

“You were at my house. When Richard showed up.”

“Um.” Fuck, Hank is not going to tell him, because as he established previously, this is not the right time for things like… asking Connor out. “It was nothing. I forgot.”

Connor looks back at him, squinting, like he tries to read his mind and figure out what he wanted. Time for a diversion.

“Um, could you help me stand up?”

“Shit, yeah, sorry!”

Once again, Hank is surprised by Connor’s strength, as he pulls Hank up from the ground. Fuck, his knee is going to hurt for hours, but well. Priorities.

When they’re finally upright, Connor sneaks under Hank’s arms once again, and Hank can only think about how perfectly he fits there.

Hank’s inability to ask Connor out continues for days afterward. There’s always something that’s not right. Either it’s too hot, or too windy, or too early, or too late. Or his daily horoscope says that he shouldn’t initiate anything romantic today. Or Connor is accompanied by someone (the person being mostly North), who keeps giving Hank the look. Hank’s not entirely sure what’s up about that, but he decides it’s better to stay away from her and her iron-wielding tools.

It also doesn’t help that as the weather turns hotter, Connor starts wearing even less clothing (like his booty shorts at the Luau weren’t highly dangerous to Hank’s health already). All Hank can see is long, freckled limbs, and his hands itch to touch and explore.

But before he can touch, he needs to use his mouth first (no, not like that). Maybe he should compose a speech, but he has no idea how to do that well; he’s never been a man of many words, especially pretty ones. So he ditches the idea.

What he does do is that he shamefully travels out to the fucking Calico Desert, because he wants to buy some stuff without the whole town knowing about it. The ‘some stuff’ includes a pack of condoms and a bottle of lube. Y’know. Just in case.

Kara swings by Hank’s ranch on a fine afternoon.

“I brought you some pineapple tart! I know that’s your favorite!”

Hank eyes the dessert suspiciously. “And what’s the occasion?”

“Do I need an occasion?” Kara smiles sweetly. Hank’s old detective senses start to tingle; there’s something going on here. “Oh, c’mon Hank! Take a bite!”

As expected, Kara’s tart is heavenly. She keeps smiling. Hank really hopes that the tart is not poisoned.

“Soooooo,” she starts when Hank finishes the first slice. There we go. “What’s going on between you and Connor?”

Hank feels his face heating up. “We’re um… friends,” he mutters, shoving some more tart into his mouth.

“Do you like him?”

“Of course, I like him Kara, everyone does! What kind of question is this?”

“But do you like like him?”

Hank shoots her a look, but she keeps looking at him expectantly. “I’m not going to feed your gossip factory.”

“I promise I’m not going to tell anyone!”

“You will, though.”

“I won’t!” Kara says, but Hank just keeps quiet. After a full minute of silence, Kara gives up with a sigh. “You see, there’s a bet going on–“

“A… bet?”

“– and if you make the first move, I win fifty bucks–“

“Wait, wait, wait!” Hank shakes his head incredulously, with a sinking feeling in his stomach. “What the fuck?”

“You have to see; this is the most interesting thing going on in town this year!” Kara chirps.

“Oh, god,” Hank grunts. “But why Connor?”

“You two are so obvious!”

“Obvious?”

“Yeah!” She grins. “You two are always together–“

“Because we’re friends!”

“And you look at each other like–“

Hank lets out another loud grunt. He doesn’t want to know how sappily he looks at Connor. Fuck, if he knew he was so obvious, he would’ve just avoided him instead.

No, Hank thinks, he couldn’t have avoided Connor even if he wanted to. Connor came into his life like a fucking tornado; Hank was a lost cause from the beginning.

“Don’t you think it’s rude to bet on other people’s lives?” Hank asks as a last futile attempt.

Kara cocks her head. “Well, only if they wouldn’t get together anyway!”

Hank doesn’t really want to know why Kara is so sure about this. Connor could definitely do much better than Hank. But Hank reminds himself that Connor repeatedly showed interest in him for some fucking reason. He even called Hank his crush at the Luau for fuck’s sake. Maybe it’s high time he stops sabotaging himself.

He feels Kara’s tiny hand patting his paw on the table. “Just do me and yourselves a favor and ask him out! We’re all rooting for you!”

And well. It doesn’t fucking help that apparently the whole town is watching them like birds of prey. But maybe… maybe.

When Kara leaves, he can’t stop himself from drinking about it, but he stops at two beers.

He’s trying, or at least he’s trying to try, even if it’s fucking hard sometimes.

Connor is lying on the ground.

Surprisingly enough, it’s not because he tripped and fell, but because it’s hot as hell here, and – due to the lack of air conditioning in his house – as he found out, the best way to cool himself is to lie among his cabbages and let the sprinkler well… sprinkle him. It’s not the prettiest thing, but no one sees him here anyway.

“Con, you gotta help me!”

Fuck. So much about no one seeing him. Connor groans, lifts up his sunhat from his face, and sits up to shoot a look at North. Who looks back at him with an incredulous expression.

“The fuck are you lying there?”

“I’m… cooling myself.”

North lifts an eyebrow. “We have a beach, you know. And a spa.”

Well. Connor is not gonna disclose to North that he hasn’t dared to visit the spa since he bumped into Hank here. Too many horny memories, and he’s still trying to be completely normal about Hank.

“Uh, didn’t feel like walking?” Connor waves at her with his sunhat then places it back on his head and stands up. “What do you need help with?”

It takes North a few seconds to recover from what just happened. “Oh… it’s my computer! I think it broke.”

Connor furrows his brows. “I didn’t know you had a computer?”

“Of course, I have a computer! It’s the twenty-first century!”

“And what’s wrong with it?”

“I don’t fucking know! That’s why I’m asking you!”

“North, I’m a programmer, not like… a computer tech.”

“But you’re the most qualified person in town! Please!” North begs, making puppy eyes at him, which doesn’t look too convincing, instead, it looks weird on North’s usually stoic face.

But North is his friend, so, of course, he’s gonna help her. “Fine, I can take a look at it.”

“Yesss! I mean…” She clears her throat awkwardly. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me just yet,” Connor says as they start walking toward Pelican Town. “Couldn’t you bring it here, though?”

“Oh, no. It’s an old computer, y’know. It has a house and shit?”

“Hmm.” Something is very odd about this whole thing, but Connor decides to go along with it, whatever it is.

He doesn’t manage to get more out of North about the supposedly broken computer, instead, North tells him about Markus’s newest painting that Connor just has to see. Apparently, it’s some kind of nude of Josh, who ‘looks like a fucking sea god’, which is well… good for him, and them, and the art, but if only it was Hank in the nude…

He tries to force his mind back to the conversation just when they reach the town.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOUUUU!”

Connor startles at the sudden shouting and almost runs into a lamppost before North catches him by the neck of his shirt. The whole town is here at the town square…

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU, CONNOR, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!”

… wishing him happy birthday? He feels something bubbling in his chest, something threatening to burst out of him. He lets out a wet chuckle and covers his mouth, still not fully comprehending what the fuck is happening. North pats his shoulder. People are clapping. His heart feels like a helium-filled balloon, and he grins so much that his face hurts.

Kara steps ahead, holding a cake in her hands, that sports one candle and a beautifully written 30 on it.

“Happy birthday, Connor!” She beams. “I figured you’d like a berry cake.”

Oh, it’s Connor’s favorite. He has no idea how Kara knows this, but at this point, he’s not surprised.

“Thank you, Kara. It’s wonderful!” He says, touched.

“C’mon, make a wish!”

He steps closer to the cake, and his eyes involuntarily flick to Hank. He stands a little farther, hands casually in his pockets, smiling at Connor. Connor beams back at him then blows out the candle.

“Thirty, huh?” Hank muses when Connor approaches him with a slice of berry cake.

“Be careful, I’m gonna catch up to you soon!”

Hank lets out a bark of laugh, and it’s kinda intoxicating, really. Connor wishes he could hear him laugh more often.

“That’s not how it works.”

His only answer is a shrug. But man, Hank looks good; he’s wearing a dog-patterned shirt that fits him well, and there’s a glint in his eyes that makes Connor’s knees weak. And he looks even more handsome than before if it’s possible.

“Um, Connor?”

“Yeah?”

Hank clears his throat, looking nervous. But before he can get any words out, someone calls out to Connor.

“Come here!” says Markus. “I have something for you!”

“One moment!” Connor shouts back, before turning back to Hank. “What is it?”

But Hank just shakes his head. “Nothing. Go ahead!”

Connor eyes him suspiciously for a long moment, but Hank doesn’t look like he wants to elaborate, so he starts towards the little group where Markus stands.

“I have a gift for you!” Markus beams, ignoring the murderous look Kara gives him. Connor has no idea what the fuck is going on with that, but he has a slight feeling that he’s better off not knowing.

When Markus hands him the gift, his breath hitches. It’s the sketch from the Luau, Connor and Hank sitting next to each other on the beach, watching the sunset. It got refined since then, subtle watercolors blending into each other, giving the piece a soft look, just as soft as Connor remembers that moment to be.

“It’s beautiful,” Connor whispers reverently. “Thank you!”

“I’m glad you like it!”

Indeed, Connor likes it so much that he can’t stop looking at it, and the intensity of his feelings for Hank overwhelms him. He wants to touch Hank and hold him and get lost in his beautiful ocean-blue eyes. He wants to feel safe in his embrace. He wants to kiss him and card his fingers through his hair. He wants to wake up next to him in the soft morning light. He wants to bite him and bury his face in his chest.

“Earth to Connor,” North waves a hand in front of his eyes.

“Hm?”

“So… when are you gonna ask Hank out?”

Connor sighs. He wishes it would be so easy, but they don’t know what happened between them. So he just shakes his head.

“It’s complicated.”

North rolls her eyes. “I’m just so tired of you two making heart eyes at each other!”

“North!” Josh elbows her, which she answers with a rude hand gesture.

And maybe North is right; he should make a move, but… he wants to be sure. After all that happened, he wants to be sure that Hank wants it too. He has no idea what he would do if he got rejected again.

He glances at Hank, who’s busy talking with Mayor Jeff, looking more alive than Connor’s ever seen him.

There’s an ache in Connor’s chest, but it’s the good kind of ache, he thinks.

Tonight is the Dance of the Moonlight Jellies, and Connor is excited.

He’s never seen such a natural phenomenon before, and Chloe couldn’t stop gushing about how beautiful it is for the past week, and Connor is eager to experience it.

But also…

Hank will be there – or at least, he really hopes; when they parted ways yesterday, Connor told him to see him at the festival, and anyway, Mayor Jeff would make him attend, right? So Hank will be there and Connor hopes he’ll have the opportunity to initiate… something. He’s been mulling over it for a while now, and at this point, it kinda feels like they’re just dancing around each other, none of them being brave enough to ask the other out. Maybe it’s finally time to do something about it.

As he stands in front of the mirror, putting on his almost forgotten ass-pushup jeans and a nice shirt that accentuates the color of his eyes (maybe it’s for nothing as there’ll be dark there, but well), he pauses for a moment to take in his reflection.

It’s obvious that he changed since he arrived to the valley all those months ago. He looks healthier. He feels healthier. His skin is tanned from the hours spent working in the sun, so he doesn’t resemble a vampire anymore, and he even has muscles now (who would’ve thought!). He’s still the same nerdy kid who loves programming, the same workaholic adult who doesn’t stop until things get done, the same clumsy idiot who has to visit the clinic once a week. But also. He’s freer, he feels more freely, he loves, and he has friends. And he belongs.

“Hello, Hank!” He beams when he spots Hank at the beach.

“Hi, Connor!”

Hank smiles at him, and Connor’s breath hitches. Hank looks incredibly handsome. His hair is pulled back into a small ponytail, and his ocean-blue eyes glint in the low light of the torches set up on the beach. Connor wants to do unspeakable things to him.

They lock eyes for a moment, and Connor feels himself blushing under the intense gaze.

“Khm.” Hank clears his throat and gestures toward the docks. “Should we?”

Connor nods and they walk out to the end of the docks. The darkness envelops them, making the whole setting even more intimate as they stand close to each other.

“It should start soon,” Connor says, looking at his phone. “I’m very curious!”

“Me too. I, um, never came to this festival before.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Hank sighs. “I wasn’t really in the mood, I guess.”

Something constricts in Connor’s chest, and he moves to stand even closer to Hank, their arms brushing.

Connor is the first one to spot a faint light in the water. “Hank! Look!”

The jellyfish comes closer to them, and then many more little lights appear, illuminating the water in a blue glow. Connor watches in awe as the jellies swim, dance under the water. It’s even more beautiful than he imagined it would be, and suddenly a wave of gratefulness hits him, to be here, to witness this.

Something brushes his hand, like a question, and he interlaces his fingers with Hank’s, squeezing. He tears his eyes from the jellies for a moment to look at Hank, his face illuminated by the soft light coming from the water. Connor faintly thinks he’s almost as beautiful as the migration of the jellyfish.

Sadly, the whole thing lasts about five minutes, ending way too soon in Connor’s honest opinion. When he expresses it to Hank, he’s just met with an amused huff. It’ll happen next year too. And Connor thinks he can be patient for once.

They head home after that, still hand in hand, not really caring if anyone sees them. Hank tells him more about the jellyfish and why they migrate, but Connor is too focused on watching Hank’s handsome face to comprehend much from it.

Hank stops at his house, facing Connor. “Well.”

“Well?”

“I thought about making a speech, but um.” Hank takes Connor’s other hand too, and Connor watches with bated breath, sweet anticipation coursing through his body. “Connor, you’re incredible. I know you think you’re not special, but you are. I know you said you pushed me too much, but you just pushed me the right amount to realize… that I wasn’t going in the right direction. That there’s so much more to life still. And I’m very grateful for that, and I, uh, I think I love you,” he finishes endearingly, and Connor feels his whole body light up and float away like a moonlight jelly.

He steps closer to cup Hank’s face, smiling wide. “I love you too!” he says, the words bursting out of him before he kisses Hank.

Hank huffs into the kiss, relieved, and kisses him back, and it’s everything. It’s hot, and soft, and loving; kissing Hank is even better than Connor remembered. He doesn’t want to stop kissing Hank for the rest of his life.

To Connor’s dismay, they have to surface for air at some point, panting. And Connor just now realizes what happened; he loves Hank and Hank loves him back. He has no idea what to do with himself, other than grin like an idiot, but Hank grins right back at him, and it’s amazing.

And Connor never thought that he could feel like this, this… happy. He’s in love and he’s happy. It’s quite overwhelming, really, so he leans in and kisses Hank once again to avoid an existential crisis right here and now. And because kissing Hank is the best thing in the world, period.

Hank’s hands are steady on his waist, and Connor positively melts into the touch.

“Connor,” Hank whispers between two kisses.

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry that it took me so long–“

“It’s okay–“

“There was just this fuckin’ bet on us and I was nervous–“

Connor leans back to look at Hank, frowning. “Bet?”

“I’m not sure who was in it other than Kara and Chloe, but…”

Connor shakes his head in disbelief; how could he miss this whole bet thing? Maybe he was too busy making heart eyes for Hank that he lost his usual awareness. “I’m going to kill them. Or make them a fruit basket, I haven’t decided yet.”

Hank chuckles and smiles, He’s so fucking handsome. “Sooo… Wanna come in?”

Connor grins. “Thought you’d never ask!”

So they go inside, and Connor pets Sumo, then Sumo gets ushered out, while Hank grumbles about ‘the fucking dog stealing his date’. Connor has to pull him into a searing hot kiss just to stop his complaints.

They make it to the bedroom faster this time, but only because Connor lets himself be dragged here. Unlike last time, he’s not so desperate. Okay, he’s quite desperate, but they have time. They have all the time in the world.

He straddles Hank’s thighs and kisses him again. Hank’s big, warm hands are back on his waist, grounding him and pulling him closer. Connor grinds down his hips, rubbing their half-hard dicks together through their pants, and smiles into the kiss when Hank lets out a groan.

“Connor,” Hank says when they part for a moment, his voice deep with desire, and Connor fucking shivers at the sound. “Baby. I hope you know that you’ve been driving me insane for months.”

Connor grins. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ve wanted you since you almost chopped off your limbs with that damn axe.”

And Connor is giddy, because he’s been wanting Hank for too damn long too, that frantic night they spent together only increased his desire for more. As unbelievable as it sounds, Connor can now get all of Hank. It’s intoxicating.

So he moves on to undo the buttons on Hank’s shirt, and also to card his fingers through his hair, and also to wind his arms around his neck, and grope him wherever he can. There are too many possibilities; he doesn’t even know what to do with himself.

But Hank grounds him, with a hot touch on his face, kissing him deep and meaningful, and Connor melts into the kiss.

Hank moves on to trail kisses along his neck, and it feels amazing, the touch of his hot lips and the slight scrape of his beard. They manage to remove their shirts, and Connor takes his opportunity to touch. He palms Hank’s tits and flicks his nipples playfully, coaxing a deep groan out of him.

Hank’s hand moves between Connor’s thighs, cupping his dick through his pants, and Connor groans, grinding down into the hot touch.

“Look at you,” Hank murmurs darkly. “So eager for me.”

“Haaaank,” he whines back. “Touch me, please!”

Bless Hank, he tries, he gets as far as undoing the zipper, but his thick fingers just don’t fit in there.

“Why are your pants so fucking tight?” Hank complains after several unsuccessful attempts, frustrated.

“It’s my ass-pushup jeans.”

Hank looks back at him flatly. “What do you need them for?”

“You know… to make my ass look like an ass and not like a pancake?”

“Baby,” Hank says softly, sliding his hands around to cup Connor’s ass. “There’s nothing wrong with your ass. It fits right here, see?”

There’s a weird feeling in Connor’s chest as he deflates and buries his face into Hank’s neck. “I love you,” he mutters, and up until this point, he had no idea he’s capable of loving someone as much as he loves Hank.

“Yeah, love you too,” Hank says, and Connor will never be tired of hearing it from Hank. “But could you remove these fancy pants? I’m getting a little impatient here.”

Connor chuckles and grinds down once more on Hank’s lap, making him groan and mutter something about Connor being a little shit.

He makes a show pulling down his pants, and he’s sure it’s more awkward than sexy, but Hank’s dark eyes follow his movements intently, so all in all, it can’t be so bad.

And Hank looks so hot like this, his strong arms and barrel of a chest on display, and the handsome smile on his face. Connor is going to combust right here and now; he’s wanted this, wanted Hank for so long.

So he tackles him, and they arrive on the bed, kissing hotly and rutting against each other desperately. Connor scrapes at Hank’s pants until they manage to remove them somehow. And finally, finally, he has access to that wonderful, flushed dick he’s been salivating over for months now, so he reaches into Hank’s boxers and takes the matters into his hand.

It’s so good to feel the weight of Hank’s dick in his hand again; the feeling is a little familiar, but now he has the opportunity to fully enjoy the experience. He feels his own dick getting harder too with every stroke of his hand, so he grinds down on Hank’s meaty thigh in tandem.

Suddenly, Hank grabs Connor and turns him underneath him, and god. Hank is so strong and it’s so hot when he puts Connor where he wants him to be. And well, Connor can’t say he doesn’t want to be under Hank, so it works perfectly.

Hank looks down at him with dark eyes, face pink and beautiful, hair disheveled (his hairband from earlier got discarded somewhere along the way), and Connor feels hot anticipation coursing through his body. It feels weird and good to be wanted, to be accepted. Connor can’t get enough of this feeling; he faintly thinks he can get drunk solely on Hank’s gaze.

“God, Connor, you’re gorgeous” Hank whispers in reverie, smoothing a hand down Connor’s torso. Connor shivers. “I’m going to make you feel so good.”

Hank pulls down Connor’s briefs and wraps his hand around Connor’s cock. Connor gasps, the touch making him hot all over.

Connor whines Hank’s name while he thrusts up into his hand. It’s a lot, but it’s not enough. Connor might die if he doesn’t get more.

He tries to wrap his legs around Hank’s waist and pull him closer, but it doesn’t help much, because Hank still has his boxers on and it’s fucking frustrating.

“What do you need, baby?”

“You, to be naked,” Connor says, and it makes Hank chuckle, and god, even Hank’s chuckle is attractive. This is highly unfair.

Thankfully, Hank complies, getting rid of the offending piece of clothing. Connor pulls him close again, feeling their dicks rub together, then they melt into another searing hot kiss.

“Fuck me, please,” Connor begs a little more desperately than he intends, but he’s only met with a warm smile.

“Anything you want.”

Connor lets out a disappointed sound when Hank pulls away, but when it turns out he only did it to retrieve a bottle of lube and a condom from his nightstand, it only excites Connor more.

He grins. “I see you prepared.”

Hank opens the lube, slicking up his fingers. “Yeah.”

“Did you expect something like this to happen?”

“Maybe,” Hank says before reaching down between Connor’s legs and circling a lubed finger around Connor’s hole. God, this is really happening; Connor can’t help but let out a moan. But Hank is slow and meticulous; it’s maddening and Connor is fucking impatient.

“I don’t need prep, just, uh… fuck me, please!” he whines, and frankly, he’s over the point of caring about how desperate he sounds.

Hank stops and looks back at him incredulously. “Don’t you, now?”

Connor shakes his head, angling his hips invitingly.

“I don’t wanna hurt you.”

And it’s so sweet, but sweetness is not what Connor needs right now. He needs that throbbing dick that’s currently situated way too far from his hole, in his honest opinion.

“I’m used to, um… I bought a dildo that roughly matches your size? After the… happenings.” Connor admits while he feels his cheeks warming up.

“Yeah?”

Connor cringes. “Yeah.”

“Holy shit.” Hank’s eyes widen before he bursts out laughing.

In his embarrassment, Connor hides his face in his hands. “Don’t laugh at me!”

“I’m not… Connor.”

Connor feels Hank’s hand on his own, prying it off of his face. As he comes into sight again, there’s a soft expression on Hank’s face.

“I wanted you so bad,” Connor whispers into the space between them.

“Baby… you can have me. However you want.”

“Can I ride you?”

“Yeah… yeah. It’s probably better for my old back anyway.”

Connor shoots Hank a look. “You’re not old!”

“My back thinks differently.”

Connor shakes his head but pulls in Hank for another kiss anyway. It’s impossible to kiss Hank too much.

Finally, Connor gets on top, straddling Hank and smoothing his palms over Hank’s chest and belly, scraping at the thick hair coating his torso.

“I really love how you look,” Connor says, and it makes Hank blush, and it’s the sweetest thing ever. Connor has so much love for this man, it’s insane.

“From the two of us, you’re the attractive one,” Hank mutters under his nose.

“This is factually wrong,” Connor declares.

“I know there’s no accounting for taste–“

“Hey!” Connor starts, affronted, but then realizes that Hank is not actually wrong. “Well, just so you know, you’re exactly my type. So you better accept it.”

Connor leans down to nibble at Hank’s jaw, and Hank sighs. “I did. Even if it wasn’t an easy task.”

“Good.” Connor bites an earlobe. “Because you’re incredibly hot, and attractive, and handsome–“

“Okay, okay, jeez! I thought you wanted to ride me not give me a pep talk!”

Oh! Connor perks up at the reminder. “Yeah!” He reaches for the condom and grins. “Here I come!”

Hank snatches the condom out of Connor’s hand and rolls it on himself, but Connor gets to lube it up after that so he’s fine with this compromise. Especially when Hank also reaches down to stroke Connor’s dick.

Connor returns to straddling Hank, lines Hank’s hard, throbbing cock towards his hole, and looks down at him. He’s beautiful, his face flushed, hair ruffled from Connor’s fingers, gaze intense, never leaving Connor. Connor’s never felt so wanted in his entire life.

Hank’s large, warm hands move up on his thighs, making him shiver. “C’mon, baby!”

And that’s all the encouragement Connor needs to lower himself on Hank’s dick. He lets out a gasp at the sensation.

“Fuck,” he breathes out. “You’re bigger than the dildo.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, ah…” It takes him a few moments to get used to the stretch, but it feels amazing.

“You’re doing great,” Hank tells him and it makes him whimper, the praise running through him like an electric shock.

He braces himself on Hank’s strong chest and starts moving. They quickly find a comfortable pace, and god, it’s everything. The feeling of Hank’s dick in him, his large hands groping at Connor’s thighs, the way he looks at him, both loving and full of desire.

Connor already knows he won’t last long like this; he’s already close to the edge. But then Hank grabs his waist with sure hands and starts pounding into him in earnest, and holy shit. He whimpers, digs his nails into Hank’s pecs, and bites his own lips, drawing blood.

He faintly thinks he’s about to die and ascend to heaven, but then Hank reaches down to touch his cock, the touch sending a shiver through him, and it takes about two strokes of Hank’s hand to make him come with a moan, painting Hank’s chest with his come. Hank continues to stroke and pound into him until he rides out his orgasm, then he collapses on Hank, boneless and fucked out.

He faintly registers Hank filling him, coming with a deep (and deeply sexy) groan. Warm hands stroke his back while he basks in the fuzzy feeling, burying his face into Hank’s neck, smiling.

He feels Hank gently lift him up and move him onto the bed. Mhhhhh he’s so fucking strong, but Connor is too tired to do anything about it. He manages to open his eyes a little, though, and watches Hank swipe at the mess they made with a towel.

“Come back,” he mutters, reaching out a hand, and smiles when Hank slides under his arm. There’s a kiss on his forehead and Connor feels warm and loved and he’s exactly where he wants to be.

As expected, everyone knows by the next day. They also try to pry information out of Hank and Connor about how it happened, not so subtly, probably to settle their bets. But Hank’s and Connor’s lips are sealed. Some things are only theirs to know.

While love is magic, it does not magically fix everything. They’re trying and it has to be enough. Hank finally gets himself to go to therapy and Connor is very-very proud of him. Connor goes to visit his family to once again tell them, eye to eye, that he’s staying in the valley. It helps a lot that he can hold Hank’s hand during the whole ordeal. His mother is not pleased but accepts it, and Connor can finally breathe.

Change is slow, but it is change, even if there are ups and downs. And they pull through no matter what.

“Do you think we could get the community center fixed?”

“Shit, dunno, Con, it’d be a lot of work. Might take years.”

“Well, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yeah… me neither.”

“So… when do we start?”

“It’s the middle of the night, the only thing I want to start is sleeping.”

“But Haaaaank!”

“Fine, we can talk about it tomorrow. Go to sleep, babe.”

“Mmhh love you, honey.”

“G’night, love you too.”