Thread by @CeilingKiwi

I know Hank breaking Connor (sexually) is a popular topic, but what about the other way around? Hank so full of the ugliness of the world that he needs Connor to take him apart. No, *tear* him apart.

#JustBottomHankThings, obvs

Connor’s body is smaller than his, but so strong and solid that he can do whatever he wants to Hank. When Connor holds him down, he might as well be bolted down by titanium bars. The power in Connor’s artificial muscles sends Hank reeling.

He can buck and writhe all he wants, but Connor’s grip on him is secure. Hands digging into him, fingers bruising Hank’s hips. The sharp pain is such a relief that it makes Hank hiss.

Connor always knows exactly how far he can push Hank’s body. He knows just how far to bend his arm behind his back, just how tightly to pull his hair. Skating along the edge of danger without ever touching it. And yet Connor always knows how to make it seem so very real.

The sharp sound of Connor’s hand across Hank’s ass reaches Hank a half-second before the pain does, the bright, blistering sensation of blood rushing to the surface of the skin. Another crack against his upper thighs has Hank gasping for breath, unable to draw in enough air.

Connor’s immovable weight on top of Hank, his solid hands bending Hank to his will, it’s everything Hank needs and more. This pressure, this anticipation, the earth-shattering force of it all chasing every unbearable thing from his mind. There’s only Connor now.

Connor hasn’t even entered Hank yet by the time Hank loses the ability to speak. His whole body trembling, alternatively moaning or snarling it spitting in response to the things Connor is doing to him.

Connor’s grip in his hair softens. He drags Hank’s face to him for a gentle kiss.

The tenderness of Connor’s touch forces a whimper out of Hank.

“Tell me what you need.”

It takes all Hank’s concentration for him to choke out, “I-Inside... me...”

Connor abruptly pushes Hank’s face down, resuming his steel-tight grip on Hank’s hips—and then before Hank can string two thoughts together, buries himself in Hank.

The pain, the pleasure, the *sensation* is overwhelming, and Hank cries out raggedly.

Connor’s pace is brutal. His body smacks against Hank’s raw, abused ass and upper thighs as he thrusts relentlessly. Hank isn’t aware of how he’s clutching at the sheets, scrabbling for purchase as his world comes apart around him. It’s too much. It’s all too much and all perfect

His whole body feels like it’s breaking, wrecked under Connor’s unyielding power. Crushing him, reforming him into something new, something better, something that belongs to Connor and Connor alone.

Connor forces him along, faster and faster, tearing him apart. Hank isn’t in control of himself any longer, and he can hear himself screaming, his limbs spasming even before he reaches orgasm.

When it finally arrives, it crashes into him with all the force of a truck, his body seizing as he he whites out, obliterated by the pleasure and the sensation.

It rolls through him in waves, and the aftershocks have Hank twitching even before Connor pulls carefully out of him.

Hank can’t think. He’s been utterly wrecked, and he doesn’t even realize that the warm pressure enveloping his body is Connor wrapping him up in his arms, murmuring soft words to him, kissing his tear-streaked face.