Thread by @FastHankconSmut

✨Mob! Boss Hank isn’t in love with Connor.

He’s undoubtedly the best boy he’s ever kept, and he’s sharp as a whip- A nice change to all the one dimensional cock sleeves he’s had in his life, though Jeff would like to remind him he’d have kicked them

curbside if any of them were. So, Connor was special, absolutely, but Hank wasn’t in love with him.

He liked the way Connor looked in spun silks and extravagant, heavy jewelry. He liked that when he came sneaking in to Connor’s bedroom to get his rocks off after a stressful

meeting with a load of fuckwads, he could pull back the comforter and find him naked, save for some toe rings and bracelets. Connor was always ready, always obedient, always eager, and he’d wake to him with open arms and open legs. He always seemed to know exactly what

Hank wanted, and when. Whether it was seeing the stiff line of Hank’s shoulders and moving to rub it out, or crawling off the sofa to sit like a good little dog at his feet in a room full of hungry eyed, powerful men, Connor knew his ‘owner’, and he knew what he wanted from him.

Hank appreciated that he would always put Hank’s needs first. Despite his chest flaring with heat and his face burning, effectively killing any ‘visible excitement’ he could get out of it, he’d still climb into Hank’s lap, naked, sometimes with an audience, and pose as his little

trophy. Sometimes, he did it as Hank’s idle paperweight, sitting perched or with legs spread on the corner of his desk, knowing he was just a desk ornament. Sometimes being so objectified, Lord save him, *did* excite him, and Hank could *definitely* tell. But, each time he’d

wait explicitly for Hank’s permission, before he did anything as rash as touch himself and cream all over Hank’s important documents.
Connor was so good. While others before him had been made to do similar things, it just felt *special* somehow when he did them.

He enticed Hank in ways that no one else had, nobody- but, Hank wasn’t in love with him.

Connor also liked to play house for Hank, an interesting part of their routine Hank had never indulged before. For a while, he didn’t even know about it. He thought the maids were taking

care of his clothes, making his suits and removing those nasty ‘red wine stains’, but it was all Connor. Hank caught him on a whim, looking for Mildred to sew up a rip in his late mother’s handkerchief, when he found Connor instead, clad in that blue collar button down

Hank had found him in, and pressing Hank’s his shirts with an iron in the laundry room a few floors down. He was singing to himself, so soft Hank couldn’t hear it, completely oblivious he’d been caught.

His first urge was to tell him *promptly* to get out of those clothes, those

unacceptable, low life, really nicely fitted when they were rolled up to the elbow like that, clothes. But, the words died when the thought of finding his suits in his closet, colored, coordinated, and complete with jewelry painted a pretty picture in his mind’s eye, thinking

about Connor putting them there.

And, maybe a little bit of it was that smile on his face, happy and humming along, hanging Hank’s shirts once they were ironed and stepping back to admire them. Like Connor had done some great thing.

He also had a slightly presumptuous habit of telling the cooks what Hank’s meal should be that night. He overheard them talking about Connor causing a little fuss over oil substitutes, and what dishes Hank would prefer- like he knew. Well, he wasn’t wrong, actually, Hank could

tell his little toy had been very observant of what his favorite foods were. But, that was still a problem- he couldn’t have his personal cock sucker playing wife like that, and making a reputation of it. So, Hank told the chef under no uncertain terms that he was not to take

advice from his brainless plaything about his preferences, as he couldn’t speak on Hank’s behalf. He failed to extend the same stern talking to Connor, though, and turned a blind eye to him stopping by the kitchen each afternoon.

He didn’t know what the appeal of that was

for Connor, but he also didn’t know why the boy made Hank’s gifts to him into these grand displays. Diamond earrings stayed in their original boxes, popped open and set on shelves rather than making it to the jewelry box. He coveted his downy, feathered pillow, rarely

using it the way Hank had intended him to and keeping it looking pristine on the bed- likely due to a life without luxuries. Connor didn’t come from poverty, but he knew quite a bit about having nothing.

Hank liked to splurge on him because of this, and liked to buy him

things he caught Connor staring at too long. But, each time, he’d find those elegant gowns and sheer babydolls hung up in his giant closet, looking perfectly untouched and only wearing them at Hank’s specific request. He treated things Hank gave him like they were worth every

bit of the price tag they came with, and *more*, despite most all of Hank’s expenses being little more than his pocket change.

It finally clicked one day, Connor treated his gifts with such care, and, whether he used them or not, he loved them. But, Hank didn’t love Connor.

He didn’t know why Connor looked at him like he spun the world on his very fingertips. He had him stand naked at his side, hold his wine glass for him, treating him like a glorified drink holder. He demeaned him, objectified him. He made sure Connor kept his mouth zippered shut

in front of guests and his eyes on the floor. He wore whatever Hank wanted, knowing full well many of the outfits the maids helped squeeze him into were uncomfortable. He had Connor stay cooped up in his mansion all day long practically, keeping himself available to him.

But, Connor in turn never failed to treat Hank with the utmost respect. He supposed the kid was grateful to have any of this, even though Hank had thought he’d been here long enough to learn how to indulge in the luxuries- he’d earned them well.

These were just the perks his obedience deserved. And while he’d gotten better about enjoying them, it wasn’t when Hank was around that he needed to worry about it. Connor never turned his nose away from an order Hank had given him.

“Throw out that ring. I want you to wear this cut of Emerald only.”

“Don’t bother having this fitted, buy a new one. Get both colors, this time.”

“I know you despise looking at them, but I want another painting of you here.”

“Don’t use the pantry in the maid’s quarters....”

Connor did everything he was told, some deep, primitive part of him he was seriously repressing probably screaming out about the magnificent waste he was generating by doing so. Which, fair enough, Hank was rather lax with his money. But, Connor did it all, anyway.

It was behind closed doors that there was an issue.

Hank found cheap bottles of shampoo in Connor’s shower. Shoes with worn out soles under his bed. A broken watch he held on to because it was one of Hank’s first gifts to him, though, totally useless now.

And, the damn kid was hoarding money, again. Hank threw cash at him to buy things he needed, things he didn’t want to bother with, like bath soaps, and brushes, and lotions, and expected him to spend every cent of it.

In fact, Hank made sure he knew that he didn’t want whatever was leftover, because he wanted Connor to *spend* it all. Now, Connor was breaking the rules. He was buying cheap things and storing up the money- for what, Hank didn’t know, not for a long time.

Until, Connor approached him one evening after dinner, telling him that he would like to spend his money on something unconventional, something Hank wouldn’t want it funding, but Connor had saved for it.

Connor tried to reason that it was money Hank had already spent in a way when he’d given it to him, and promised Hank he’d make up for it. He’d make sure he wouldn’t miss that money, promising him things that Hank was already entitled to as his ‘keeper’.

But, he’d bite, because he dearly wanted to know what was so important it would possesses his boy to go behind his back like this. He’d been so good for him until now.

“I want to send the money to my brother.” He said slowly, fingers laced together over his stomach turning in knots.
“He’s going through a divorce, and he’s too proud to ask our mother for money.” Not that Connor blamed him.

But, it wasn’t really his money to give.

Hank knew Connor would have hoarded that money and bought that cheap shit, anyway, but it was the principle of the thing.

So, with great frustration, he stuffed his money into the account of some stranger he’d never met, and had no desire to, because, it needed doing.

It wouldn’t do to have Connor’s strict loyalty go unrewarded, but this break in Hank’s confidence would be taken quite seriously.
Connor was forced to keep his money and ordered to spend every dime of it the next time Hank flipped a hundred his way.

He didn’t care if he had to buy that Acqua di Cristallo shit to rinse his toothbrush in, he wanted that money spent or he’d regret Hank’s generosity.

Connor composed himself and left him to his dinner, as Hank wouldn’t want him making a big deal out of this. It was a one time

thing, but he felt indebted now more than ever, and was determined to make sure Hank *didn’t* regret his charity. He’d done him a great favor, and while the man had probably expended more than Connor had saved in an effort to keep from hearing about the matter again, Connor

was determined to make it known that effort was appreciated.

Hank knew that’d be the case.

He fucked Connor later, making sure when he came, hole raw and stretching blissfully tight around his fat prick, that he didn’t touch himself- that he came, screaming himself

hoarse, from Hank’s cock alone and the hand squeezing his ass.
Not yet satisfied, Hank had him wait on hands and knees outside his bedroom door while he attended a meeting over dinner. He didn’t tell Connor when he’d be back, only that he’d better be right where Hank left him

when he did- a brutal test to see if Connor could handle earning back Hank’s faith. Sitting there for hours, stripped of any jewels or gowns until he could prove he deserved such kind gifts. Just waiting.
Connor’s test of loyalty won true, and the boy prevailed with tired, aching

knees, head hung low when Hank returned. He doubted after that display he‘d be hoarding money from him, again- not if he wanted something worse. And, Hank sent him to bed immediately, tucked in and pillowed up.

He felt he should be doing more, make Connor beg for him, but he

knew Connor would do that if Hank simply asked. He’d been so obedient, taking care to keep quiet about the matter. Hank threw him a bone. He knew Connor was as eager to atone for himself as Hank was to see it, and after a few days, he just ‘forgot’ about the whole thing, and

they’re routines went back to normal.

Hank bought him a new watch with real sapphires, and had him wear it before he sent him off to go wine tasting in a vineyard Hank frequented- it was a rare instance where he’d decided to bring Connor along on some business. There was no

particular danger here- why not bring the company? Connor had earned his place back.

He brought a sun hat, floppy and soft, framing his face rather cutely, but clashing horribly with the rest of him with its practicality. Hank didn’t know he had such a thing stashed away

somewhere, but he wasn’t surprised-Connor was a practical guy.
Hank had learned to look past it, sometimes, and just let him be. It wasn’t worth Connor’s discomfort in this case to have his pale, freckled skin burnt, and Hank still got to enjoy watching him walk around, admiring

his lithe, wiry shape. Thinking about those long, toned legs wrapping around him.

When it got a little colder outside, Hank had to leave for a few days to attend to some old affairs of his. Nothing so dramatic, but he did make sure Connor was kept indoors until his return.

The morning he left, he noticed ‘the maid’ had left his 4 threaded suit out for him to wear- it was by far the most comfortable to travel in.

It was a stupid thing to indulge in, and Hank *hated* to waste time on stupid things, but he felt compelled to as he picked up a piece of

card stock and scribbled out a little thank you to ‘the maid’, leaving it where they could see it the next time they put his suits up.

He was vaguely aware that Connor was in his personal closet, snooping around his personal belongings every time he did.

But, he trusted Connor- maybe not to buy himself the things Hank expected him to. But, with his own things, yes. At least his clothing.

And, that was *a lot* to think about. Hank didn’t even trust his own thoughts when left to them, yet he trusted Connor? His skinny boy toy who

had some weird beef with the cooks downstairs?

It made him think. While he was gone, Hank thought about how Connor had laid his new watch next to his broken one on his nightstand and wondered if he knew his pet well enough to assume it’d become another bookmark of Connor’s life

there. The first time Hank had ever bought him something, lying beside ‘the day he’d earned Hank’s trust back’.

Hank had had plenty of pets fall in love with him before, and some who’d only thought they had. This business of Connor’s profound appreciation and infatuated behavior

wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen.

Though, Hank believed these kinds of feelings were dangerous. It made the little throat fuckers forget their place and that Hank was their *boss*.
He didn’t suspect that would ever happen to Connor, the kid had a better head on his shoulders

than most of Hank’s best men, but then he’d also expected the same thing wouldn’t happen to Laurie when she was here.

Still, it didn’t seem *so* terrible imagining Connor like that- the worst he could do was scramble on hands and knees and work himself to exhaustion for

Hank’s forgiveness for it, and he’d do that sincerely.
But, Hank wasn’t a fool, he’d be dead by now if that was the case.
He knew thoughts like that were even more dangerous than Connor believing himself to be in love, and Hank didn’t like how easy it was to keep turning a blind

eye. Sooner or later, he’d have nothing left to see the truth with.

He came back with luxury cocoa and a quilted, faux-fur coat at Connor’s delight.
Hank was pretty pleased himself, as it was one of the few things Connor would wear without him saying so- the kid did not fair

well in cold weather. Connor, always trying to coax Claud and Brutus into letting him pet them, wore it out in the early evening, his hands stuffed in a little matching muff, and posing a pretty picture. Neither dog would come, as per usual, and watched, as did Hank from his

window, as Connor paced around, enjoying what he could of his ‘owner’s estate before he strayed too far and turned around. He looked darling in that little thing. Warm and fluffed with his waist accentuated.

Hank bought him a plated glass dildo with a faint blue sheen as an afterthought. He’d liked what he saw prancing around his yard and couldn’t resist buying the thing at the image of Connor looking perfectly apt for a good fucking, wrapped up, fluffed and looking soft like that.

Who was Connor to say no?
He wouldn’t want to, anyway, and promptly took a seat on it after Hank had finished warming him up in one go- like a good little cock sleeve.
Hank could see his hole stretch open like this, swallow around the thick tip poking him open.

He angled it, looking to see where the widest point of Connor was with him lying on his belly, face buried deep into the pillow he clutched close. All Hank could see was how quickly he adjusted to it, fluttering hole trying to keep it pressed around his opening as best as

it could- tight little thing. Hank continued to twist it and pump, angling it to bump against his sweet spot, making his legs shake and knees bend, until Hank hand to push them apart by his thighs to get a good look, again. The toy sitting idly inside for Connor’s

quivering, sensitive hole to hold the weight of.

On the first snowfall of the season, Hank came home with more of those nasty ‘red wine stains’ on his cuffs. His suit was wrinkled where it’d been rolled up, hair down, and slinking into his bedroom with none of his usual grace,

He was just a man tonight, tired, and grieving, remembering his life before all this- remembering the people he’d lost.
No one came knocking when he skipped dinner and went straight to bed. No one came sticking their nose in while he tried to escape for a few hours- Most people.

It didn’t surprise him that Connor would try to reach out for him like this, he always did, but the timing was poor. Hank didn’t want to think about where he fucked up with this, either- the way he treated the only good thing in his life, and Connor was sternly done away with.

He was so wrapped up in his own head, he was lucky for both their sakes that was all he‘d done. There was this tiny part of him that wanted to tell Connor to just go. Forever.

He didn’t fight Hank, as much as he’d wanted to this time, but Connor was upset to see him like this.

While he hadn’t broken any rules exactly, he’d gone against Hank’s wishes when he found out Connor had spent most of the night outside his bedroom door. Angelo told him about it the next day, when he said he’d come to tell Hank they’d fixed that ‘creaky door’ in the basement, and

found Connor in a chair outside his bedroom. He presumed Hank would not want to be disturbed- like Connor’s presence was a guarding one. Or that they were playing another one of their kinky games- Connor’s display as Hank’s personal, naked coffee table a few weeks ago had not

gone unnoticed. But, it seemed he would have to remind everyone that Connor’s place here was as Hank’s fuck toy, and he would never be so involved with Hank to the extent people should worry about ‘bothering them’. He was just Hank’s piece of ass, for fuck’s sake.

He didn’t speak to Connor that evening, or the next. Hank didn’t join him for dinner or lunch, or visit him for any rough fucks to kill all this frustration.

Connor was good about it, he didn’t come knocking on his door, even after the third day had passed.
But, then Hank had to

remind himself that he’d spent longer than that from previous pets and hadn’t thought to praise their ‘good behavior‘ for it.
They were *supposed* to do that, Hank *expected* them to- and it was high time Connor be held to the same standard.

Hank assumed Connor knew he‘d found

out about the hovering, and why it had crossed a line.
He assumed Connor knew why Hank was punishing him with his absence, as hard as it was to accept his presence in Connor’s life was such a joyful one that it’d affect him that way.

He was right, Connor did know.

Smart as a whip.

So, then why was Connor acting out at him *again*?

Hank didn’t really have to wonder- there was only one explanation for Connor’s egregious behavior, yet *again*.

When Hank woke to find him sitting on his floor, fast asleep with his head propped against his

bed, adorned in Hank’s favorite diamond ring and wearing a sheer, black robe, Hank knew exactly what had possessed his good, little toy to be so brazen.

He’d found out what Hank had done.
Connor knew that Hank had paid for his brother’s lawyer, and, with his brutal powers that

be, had wrote a very ‘convincing’ letter to his employers on why he should keep his job, despite the conflicts from working with his now ex-husband and current boss. And, that they should absolutely consider removing *him* from the picture and putting Connor’s brother

in his place. That didn’t mean Hank loved him, just that he could look the other way, *again*, for Connor acting out of line.

He pulled him into bed and fucked him nice and slow, until Connor got all those wily, love sick emotions that were screwing up his senses out.

Hank could stand to let Connor use him like that, thrusting down on his massive cock and cupping himself in time with each bounce. Hank could stand to hear the things Connor screamed in the heat of the moment.

“You’re so good to me, sir! I’ll be so good for you, too!”

Forever. For as long as Hank would let him stay.

“Thank you, sir! I owe you everything!”

Ironically, it wasn’t anything Hank hadn’t heard from him before, but it was how close each outburst had come to wanting to confess something much more *important*, much more *serious*.

He’d never heard Connor make such sounds before- he was trying so hard to hold something back in them. Something precious and raw. Hank fucked him through it, every moan punched out of the man above him when Hank took him by the hips and pounded him into seeing stars.

Connor came with a muted cry, stuck between a sob and a choke, and scrambling to hold on. When he came down, he rolled over to Hank’s side, lying in a panting heap with his hair mussed up.

They’d never done this in Hank’s bed before, though the reason wasn’t because the sheets

were worth more than Connor’s designer handbag.
Hank didn’t want to *think* about the reason. The one he’d practiced telling himself wasn’t a threat, and he’d rather stick to that.

He waits until Connor catches his breath, first because it’s only fair after a display like that,

before he has to kill the mood.

“Why did you wait outside my bedroom the other night?”

“I was worried you needed someone.”
He knows Hank won’t like that answer. It makes this ruthless man sound ‘vulnerable’.

Hank would like to turn over and bury his face in Connor’s

throat and give him the scruffy, little nibbles that got him squealing whenever he thought Connor’d been thinking too much. Right now, though, Hank’s fighting against a sinking feeling.

Why would Connor think that? What Hank had needed that night was some *space*, that’s all.

“Needed someone to what?”

“Just to have them...Someone who could be there for you... I know that *I* need that, sometimes.”

Where in a place like *this* was Connor getting attention like *that*? Everyone steered clear of the boss’s pup out of fear of ending up like that

‘creaky basement door’.

He knew Connor didn’t bring any ‘friends’ here, whoever the kid could call that, nor family- not that Hank would probably allow either. It was too risky.

He was overthinking this- the answer was ‘Connor wasn’t getting it’. Even if he needed it.

It was that simple.

“Well, I’ve got you to fuck my worries away if I ever get the urge to go spilling my guts.”

“Maybe, you’d do better talking about them, instead.” Connor knew he was pushing it, even fucked out and full of Hank’s cum, he was still susceptible to punishment

like this.

Hank snorted.
“Then I’ve got you for that, too.”

This extremely hypothetical event wasn’t worth giving him a good answer to.

“I’m not your companion, sir.”

It’s not meant to sound snide, and it doesn’t. Just sad.

It shouldn’t be, because it’s true- but, it is.

Hank doesn’t want to lay there thinking about how lonely they both are, so he rolls himself out of bed. Connor follows, because his time here is about to infringe. They’ve fucked, Connor’s poured his deflected affections out to him, and they‘ve had a moment. Their time was over.

For now, Connor’d have to go back to his own room, the one Hank so graciously provided for him, and go about his life, until Hank called for him, again.

He takes an oath not to intrude anymore.

He’s sure beyond a doubt that he can give himself to Hank, and kept safe.

Connor can follow his every command without fear, because he knows he will take care of him- just like he took care of his brother.
Connor can wait, and be patient, and remain unseen, until he’s wanted, again.

Because, Connor loves him.
He’s loved him for so long.

He doesn’t care that Hank doesn’t feel the same.

His only wish is that he didn’t retreat into himself the way he does- it’s not healthy. And, he feels so much farther like that then when he’s just busy with work.

Connor tries to occupy himself with menial things, until he’s

needed. He keeps the dust out of Hank’s room and his suits pressed, thinking about the note Hank left for ‘the maid’ each time he does. He’s tucked it safely away in his wallet where Hank won’t see.
He continues to fuss with the cooks for not serving Hank’s favorite dishes more

often, and learns a new song to hum as he does the laundry.

He keeps busy, until his time comes, again. Hank wants him to attend a small dinner party between ‘friends’. He’s happy to do so, and sits quietly on Hank’s thigh with little more than a pair of frilly undies on.

For once, Connor doesn’t think about the hungry eyes in the room- watching him, imagining doing horrible things to him. He feels so at ease in Hank’s lap, where he’s *supposed* to be, and safe with his warm breath against his neck.

Hank’s thick fingers drum idly on his back, promising him he‘s not far, and Connor is happy. He can hardly wait for the next time they’re alone.

He loses another round of ‘pet the guard dogs’ that evening wearing his quilted coat- though at least Claud has started to look when

he calls his name.
Hank doesn’t come for so much as a quick fuck for longer than Connor had hoped- not since that morning Hank found him on his floor. Connor begins to worry he’s been unavailable in all his efforts to keep himself busy and approaches him the following afternoon

wearing a green gown with a split going well past his hip,showing off the way his thigh creased when he sat. The flimsy straps were terribly sorry at keeping his broad chest tucked in, but that only added to the appeal of how much like a little slut he looked- meaning Hank

would love it. He slipped into his office and took a seat at the edge of his desk, trying not to seem too eager.

If Hank had wanted him, he’d of come looking, but Connor just wants to remind him that he‘s there. The bigger man stops writing long enough to look up, and tell

Connor rather tiredly that he isn’t in the mood, and that he’ll be busy well past dinner.

‘So, don’t bother him.’

Connor smiled, a small, shy smile, in an effort to show Hank that his wish was Connor’s command, and he was *happy* to accommodate him. He kept his seat on the

corner of his desk with his mouth promptly shut, until Hank told him to go.

He never did, and Connor sat right there with his legs crossed, Hank’s precious paperweight, until his ass and back began to hurt.

Despite Hank saying so, they *did* have sex that night- right on that

desk. Though, it seemed to feel less enthusiastic on Hank’s end.

The next time Connor was told to sit in Hank’s lap while he talked business, playing as his ‘stupid’, pretty fuckhole, Hank had him wear a short, lacy robe that covered *quite* a bit of him. Then again the next

time, except that time with a camisole underneath.
Connor quickly decided to cut carbs from his diet, afraid he was beginning to ‘lose his figure’, or something. He’d never had Hank feel ashamed of him. He’d never been told to cover up- not when Hank used to enjoy looking at him.

Connor tried not to fixate, but he’d prided himself on Hank’s attention to his body. Without it, what did he have? What would Hank want out of him?

It’s irrational, but Connor wants to curl up in Hank’s bed, again, in a frail attempt to be close to him. To calm the desperate need to find validation and security through proximity. Connor loves Hank more than anything, and, as guilty as he feels for needing him like this, he

simply can’t push away the impending sense of dread. Without his body, he’s replaceable, without his looks, there’s no mask of ‘romance’ for Hank to indulge him in- as laughable as that is. And, Connor needs to connect, to reach out, but an empty bed is all he has.

He knows there’s danger in it and caving to such temptation will lead to viscous punishment. But, he thinks so long as Hank is working late again, he can keep this a secret.

Connor’s never been so careless before, not without a good reason. Providing Hank with his company

when he had holed himself up, and slipping into his room unannounced to show Hank his eternal ‘appreciation’ sounded like good reasons to him, and felt important enough to give him the courage to do them. But, this wasn’t like those times- he couldn’t justify himself trying

to smother his worry and frustration about something more or less a personal problem, and Hank would likely agree- it was unjustifiable.

Connor thinks about the way he’d been made to cover up. How he’d let a shoulder slip free and expose his smooth speckled skin, only for Hank

to promptly pull his robe back in place and pat his ass. Connor wanted this. He needed to feel like Hank still appreciated the only thing Connor could give him. He needed to feel like Hank still thought he was worth his place here.

Ignoring the voice telling him he should leave,

he slipped through Hank’s door, facing off the giant risk in favor of dulling the ache in his heavy heart.

He moves through his bedroom without making a sound and buries himself in Hank’s sheets, breathing in his scent. It’s always a warming one, something like autumn and

campfire, and whiskey, and it never fails to make a heat of its own curl in Connor’s belly. He doesn’t move the pillows around or pull the sheets up to slide under. He only lies there on top, trying to keep his hands to himself as much as he can and pressing his cheek into the

comforter, until he’s fast asleep.

He only stays long enough to snuff out the worry that’s chilling him.

Hank catches the tail end of his little escapade when he comes face to face with the man just as Connor’s closing his door. Connor nearly jumps out of his skin, hand

wringing the handle. Connor immediately feels guilty for doing such a sneaky thing while Hank is hard pressed with work, terribly stressed as it is, and now he‘s got this to deal with.

Connor expects to have a verbal lashing before the physical one, and to be begging for Hank’s

forgiveness on his hands and knees before the day’s even begun.

“Putting my suits up again, maid?”

Connor’s eyes snap open, jaw dropping and heart hammering in his surprise. There’s nothing he can think to say, as nothing seems right in this situation. He’s just been

caught snooping, and even if Hank knew, which it sounds like he does, Connor’s sure he didn’t want to have caught him.

But, Hank just smiles at him, one brow raised and looking perfectly mischievous without all the venom. Connor gawks at him like a fool, and, before he knows it,

Is being backed flat against the door.

“Now, that would paint a pretty picture, wouldn’t it? You in a little maid dress without any panties underneath.”

Connor’s heart restarts in his chest. His legs press together in a futile attempt to dull the throb now pulsing between them.

“With a little frilly headpiece, too...Might make you fuck the handle of a feather duster.”

Hank’s hands hike up Connor’s short little babydoll. It sounds ridiculous, now, but at the time, Connor had felt the need to look presentable for Hank’s bed, as if it was an extension

of Hank himself and deserved Connor’s proper courting. His face goes ruby red, his chest feels splotchy, and Connor is precisely aware of the knee coming up between his thighs to trap him there.

Hank hadn’t said anything as filthy as *that* in a long, long time. Not with how

stressed he’s been and the strange intensity that’s been building in their time together.

Then a sharp pinch tugs at Connor’s jaw and has him gasping. Hank’s caught it in one big paw and squeezing ever so slightly.

Connor blinks, eyes wide and worried, as Hank looks suddenly

more serious than he had a moment ago.

“But, you’re not a maid, are you Connor? And, I don’t pay you to do that sort of thing.” His other hand reaches down to play with the trim hanging over Connor’s thighs.
”Why do you do it? Are you trying to make yourself feel ‘useful’?”

“No, sir, that’s not why.” Connor grits out when that knee’s pushes itself a little higher.

“I...I just like doing things for you.”

Though, a small part of Connor knows it’s both- it’s just harder to explain that his desire to take care of Hank is greater than his insecurity

about this.

“Why?”

Hank hums, husky and deep, right in Connor’s ear. He already knew why. Hank knew quite well why Connor did anything that required such care and his attention. Hank’s always known.

Connor frowns, sincerely confused.
“Because, you take care of me.” He mumbles.

Hank didn’t think Connor‘d forgotten everything he’d done for him in the last few months alone, had he? He didn’t think Connor wasn’t eternally grateful for all the things he’d done, as if the majesty of Hank’s generosity could ever wear on him— had he? Had Connor not been

showing his appreciation enough?

Hank’s fingers clenched a little tighter, though not enough to hurt.

“Do I?”

Connor stalls out for a moment, trying to understand the question.

Hank doesn’t really want him to answer it- either the boy is biased from not having known what a

life without the struggle for money was and was humbled to simply be here, or he was so horribly in love with this false image of Hank, it had ruined his good senses.

“Without money, and food, and shelter...what do I do for you?” Hank‘s voice is sharp. It counters the feeling

he’s getting that he’s losing whatever grip he has on the situation. He stares down at Connor with cold, piercing eyes, swallowed up by much warmer brown ones.

“Aren’t those things enough, sir?”

“No.”

Never.

Connor deserved more.
He deserved someone who could love him back.

“Then what-...” Connor was losing that rosy red in his cheeks Hank was so fond of- becoming stiff in his arms.

Hank looked down at him in a way he’d never looked at anyone before, and most certainly not one of his pets. He looked at Connor like something so much

more, because, he *was*. Since the beginning, Connor had always proved himself to be more than Hank could have anticipated. He provided him with loyalty and affection that went well beyond what was expected of him, more than Hank deserved, and while he’d never failed to see

Connor for who he was, this compassionate man, Hank had failed to accept it. It was easier not to think about the sweet, little soul wrapped tight around his finger, eager to please.

Hank needed to make a point here, one that he wasn’t sure wouldn’t break one of them by the end

of this. He tilted his chin back and pulled away, just enough to prove to himself that he could handle the horrors he’d soon see.

He took a moment to enjoy those deep, dark depths, so good, and kind, and longing, for one last time.

“I’ve been thinking about getting a new pet.”

Connor felt like all the blood had drained from him, words sticking in his throat. He looked up at Hank to see if he’d heard him right, and found that his face was cold, impassive- the look Connor’d expected to see when Hank finally ‘let him go’.

“A replacement?”

Connor‘s voice, half hoarse, and half choked, made it hurt to speak. It’s almost too much to think about, but to say it out loud makes it all too real.

Hank was afraid of this. This hurt and betrayal that hung heavy in the air around them. Connor’s miserable attempt to fight

back tears, his hands shaking at his sides. This was precisely what Hank was worries about.

“Of course, not...” He dropped his hand from Connor’s waist and pulled away- the distance leaving insult to injury.

“Why would I replace Brutus or Claud, when they can share a pen?”

Connor stares at him for longer than he should before it clicks. Then he’s on the cusp of blinking back tears nearly falling as they catch on long, dark lashes. He feels like an absolute fool, because-

“You thought I meant you.” Hank says, knowing that he would.

Connor doesn’t want to confirm that. He doesn’t want to lose his place in this already shambling role he has.

He’s supposed to be understanding, obedient, and void of any... ‘attachments’.
He’s here to be professional, and keep Hank’s prick wet when he’s told to- nothing more.

Nothing more.

So, Connor doesn’t say, if only because he doesn’t *want* to be professional, right now. Between his own conscience and God, Connor can admit that he just wants something *more*.

“You did.”
Hank admits for him, because it’s so painfully obvious.

Of course, he did.

Connor’s throat feels like it’s closing up. Yes, he thought Hank meant him, and Hank knew that’d be the case.

That was the problem. That exactly.

“Connor...you’re not a dog.” He says slowly, and there’s an edge of anger in it- ‘why’, Connors not sure.

“How have I been ‘taking care of you’ when you assume my opinion of you is nothing more than my dog?”

Connor wants to ask him what exactly he is, if he’s *not* some replaceable thing. He knew that was what he’d signed up for when Hank took him in.

Then Connor wants to tell him that he’d accepted whatever Hank saw him as, man or lap dog, as long as he could *stay*.

How do you tell someone you’d stay there happily ever after, seen as nothing more than their naked footstool or little show dog, if it meant you could *stay*?

Because, you *loved* them.

And how could you love someone who degraded you like that?

Niles was right, Connor was sick. He was so, so, so sick.

And, he had made his peace with that *long* ago when Hank had pulled him into the lap of luxury and kept him fed, and warm, and

*touched*. It didn’t matter that that touch was a selfish one, treating Connor as a tool for Hank’s pleasure. It never crossed any lines, it was never anything Connor didn’t want, because, Niles was right- he *was* sick.

And, Connor just wanted to *stay*.

If Hank didn’t think

he was taking enough care of Connor, that was *his* problem.
Connor didn’t want to worry about all the things he did unprompted going unappreciated, because he simply loved a heartless man. He didn’t care, he *didn’t*.

Because, to him, Hank was his protector.

Pushing the wicked things Hank did outside of their relationship into the deepest recess of his mind, Connor could fiercely believe that Hank was anything if not his loyal, forgiving care taker- and he had the memory or receipt of every selfless, earnest thing Hank had ever done

for Connor when he didn’t have to to prove it.

“Sir,” Connor’s voice breaks, drawing Hank’s attention to where the rest of his resolve is slowly cracking behind those big, doey eyes. If he looked small under Hank’s heel before, now he looked plain pathetic, so fragile and mild.

Not what a viscous crime lord would hope to see in his favorite cock sleeve.

Connor cringes.

“Sir, I know that I’m...that I’m losing sight of what’s important here- which is remembering what’s expected of me.” He fails to rise under Hank’s heavy gaze, something he normally

covets. But right now, Connor can’t stand it- those icy blue eyes seeing *everything*. Watching him crumble.

“It seems I haven’t been playing my part in all this, if I‘ve given you thoughts like these-“

“What are you talking about?”

Connor sucks his lip at Hank’s curious look.

For one, Hank doubted *immensely* that Connor was forgetting what Hank expected of him.
For two-

“You’ve always ‘played your part’ just fine.”
*Better* than ‘fine’, even when Connor’d acted up every now and then.

Hank reached up to thumb away a tear that managed to slip past

Connor unnoticed, moving on instinct. Connor moved into his touch, asking for more.

“What are you talking about?” Hank says, again, and while he doesn’t expect Connor to play by their rules right now, the other is compelled not to make him repeat himself a third time.

“I... My figure.” He pushes out. His voice gritty and chapped. Hank’s never seen him cry before, and he‘s surprised by how deep his voice has gotten.

Now that it’s out there, Connor just feels like an idiot- he was *fixating*, again, dammit, and now more than ever was *not* the

the time. Hank scowled, somehow more confused. What did ‘his figure’ have to do with anything?

“What about it?”

“I know that I’ve gained some weight...it’s been very stressful here lately between my brother,and...”
His blinding, crushing infatuation with a cold hearted bastard.

“I...It’s just that you’ve had me dress more modestly these past few weeks....You even covered me up when I got a bit flashy at one point.”

Hank felt a strange twinge of warmth at Connor’s shyness as he ducked his head, but the drying tears and heavy tension snuffed it out.

He wanted to linger on the heat the smaller man produced, wanting to be close to it, again. But now was the most inappropriate time possible to force Connor into a subspace- impulsive behavior had gotten him here.

“When did this happen?” Hank tried to recall when he’d ‘covered’

Connor up, but nothing came to mind.

“When you were talking with that man in the turquoise suit. The one who, um, ‘feeds’ your...uh-“

Hank knew he was referring to, and there was no way for sweet, innocent Connor to word his way around describing the man Hank paid to ‘dispose’

of Hank’s ‘loose ends’ ends for him.

Then he had the sudden revelation that Connor knew more about the ‘creaky doors’ in the basement, and the pigs that ripped the bone and skin off those ‘loose ends’ than any other ‘pet’ Hank had had before. Too much. And, yet he was willing to

look the other way, despite his clear discomfort. It was obviously some kind of safety blanket for him to try and sugarcoat it, but Connor, smart as a whip, knew *exactly* what Hank was really up to, and had decided to stay loyal.

And, that was yet another problem Hank’s

bloodied conscience needed to address.

Recalling his meeting with that man, Hank remembered he‘d had Connor on his lap with more clothing than he’d normally allow. It was almost a subconscious choice, and he hadn’t thought Connor would focus on it- deep down, Hank knew exactly

why he’d wanted Connor to be clothed.
Hank swallowed.

“So, I covered you up, and you think...what exactly?”

“T-That you don’t find me attractive.”

Hank could only stare.

“And, If I’m slipping up all the time- sneaking into your room, keeping extra money, losing my figure...”

Connor chewed his lip some more.
“Then I can see why you’d feel like you’re not ‘taking care of me’. I should have no problems being obedient to you, otherwise...yet, here I am.”

Hank looked him over, taking him in like he was trying to find the evidence for what Connor was

talking about, as Connor’s chest burned. He didn’t want Hank to see him like this. In all the time Hank had kept him here, they’d *never* had a talk like this, *never* one so personal. He’d made sure he didn’t let his feelings impede his performance, and he’d prided himself

on his success. Things changed, unfortunately, and Connor was once again going against the rules, breaking the biggest one.

‘Don’t get attached’.

“I checked, and I have definitely gained some weight.” Connor rambled on when the silence became too much for him.

“And, I’ve been snooping through your closet.” Which Hank apparently knew, but-

“And, worst of all,” Connor wet his lips for the tenth time, feeling them tight from too much spit.

“I came in here last night, and I...I...slept in your bed...Without your permission.”

Because, he knew Hank wouldn’t have given it to him, and that only made it *worse*.

Hank held up a hand for Connor to be quiet, his face perfectly blank, while he *tried* to pull this all together.

“You think...I’m having doubts about the way I treat you, because you’ve been ‘acting up’ lately?”

“Aren’t you? When I didn’t assume things from you, you never expressed any concerns like these.”

Hank frowned.
“Do you *think* I *should* treat you badly then, Connor?”

The other man cut his eyes to the floor.

“I understand what are relationship is, I...understand what I’m here for.” And, what kind of image Hank had to uphold. His ‘treatment’ of Connor was, though unfortunate, to be expected. A man of power.

Hank still wasn’t happy with his

explanation.

“So, you think it’s your fault my guilty conscience is catching up to me?...because, of your *figure*?”

“Not, just that... I’ve done plenty of other things I regret.”

Hank looked as baffled at that as he did two minutes ago, becoming increasingly aware Connor

lacked *any* kind of self esteem.

“You thought I was talking about *you* when I said I was getting a new pet.”

Which was the point of the experiment, the point Hank was *trying* to make here.

“You do so much more for me Connor...you’re a good man.” Hank steppes close, again,

and looked down at him, never one to shy away from some good old fashioned honesty, even if it made him sound soft. Connor was the best damn thing to ever happen to him, and the boy thought Hank’s revelation of his horrid abuse was his fault. Because, he ‘hadn’t been obedient’.

“Yes, I feel guilty,” he said slowly.
“And, yes....I think you deserve better.”

Which Hank knew sounded ridiculous.

He talked about it as if these thoughts were the most obvious thing, but he had made no indication that he’d believed such before. He’d even been doing a shitty

job of spoiling Connor lately, the least Hank had promised in return for such loyalty.

Actually, no- the ‘least’ he could do was explain to Connor that he was wrong about his figure. *Dead wrong*. But, that was only a start.

“You’re figure is fine.” Hank began, but was quickly

interrupted.

“But, I’ve gained an inch around-“

“I don’t care! I wouldn’t care if you fucking gained 20!”

Connor promptly shut his mouth in shock. He’d never seen Hank lose his cool, at least not in front of him, but the things he was saying... These *good* things...

Would Connor be a bigger fool for believing them? He wanted to, but everything sounded far too good to be true.

“You are *not* a dog Connor,” Hank repeated.
“And, you’re not my maid. You don’t have to hover over me, looking for my attention, when you could just...*ask* for it.”

Connor felt heat make his cheeks turn rosy, again. His mouth hung open as his mind flailed to find something out of all this to grab onto, to trust in.

Hank couldn’t believe he‘d let this go on without his attention fir so long, when he was a precise and insightful man.

Connor deserved so much more than this- than these pitifully repressed emotions Hank was forcibly having to come to terms with he’d barely fleshed out.

“I assume that was why you were in my bed,” He hums.
“Because, you wanted my attention.”

Connor tried to hold Hank’s gaze,

eager to give him the dignity of that as he couldn’t quite answer- face turning red. The larger man gave him a look Connor couldn’t recall seeing before, and that would worry him, if it didn’t look particularly...docile, perhaps?
Whatever it was, it was in Connor’s favor.

“You aren’t just a plaything, and I *realize* I’ve never said that before. I know I’ve never treated you like you weren’t...but, I’ve got enough sense in this fucked up brain of mine to know this is wrong.”
Worse than putting holes in scumbag’s heads or cutting their throats with

wine glasses. Hurting Connor, reducing him to some sex thing, a mutt, was more vile and despicable than anything Hank had had to come to terms with.

Connor batted his lashes up at him, a little pout forming.
“So, what do you suggest? That I leave?”

Yes- Hank thought so.

“I could pay for everything.” He crooned.

“I could buy you a house anywhere you want-and a car. You’d never want for anything, again, and then some.”

He’d have enough money to spend on his cheating brother who’d earned that divorce, and his youngest who seemed to be the only

of the three with any sense of self respect. He’d have enough to move back to the coast beside the sea, enough to have a baby, and raise a family, and fall in love, and get that little duck pond he overheard Connor cooing about to the head maid.

“You really want me to...to go?” Connor was surprised to find he could even get the words out. As it was, he felt like his heart was breaking into pieces in Hank’s hands and his chance at ever being happy would be soon torn away from him.

Connor was already happy, *here*.

“It’d be better, Connor. *You* would be better.”

“But, I love you!”

Hank bowed his head, arms crossing over his chest with hands clenching.

“I know.”

He could hear Connor swallow, and tell that it’d hurt him to. His breath was coming out in harsh puffs, his eyes were

turning pink with fresh tears. Hank had made him cry, *again*.

“I’m sure I’ve been o-obvious, but I’ve,” Connor swallowed, trying to get it all out while he still physically could.

“I’ve never intended to hide that from you, sir-“ He had to stop to take a shuddering breath, but

Hank had heard enough.

It didn’t make it right, even if Connor ‘didn’t care’ about the state of things. He shouldn’t stay here, miserable, wishing for something more, just because he was ‘ok’ that his love for Hank wasn’t a mutual thing. He shouldn’t have to be ok without his

ardent, selfless feelings returned.

Hank figured this could go one of three ways.

He could keep him here and pretend the way Connor threw himself into every exhausting thing he did for Hank in the name of love wasn’t going to affect his already suffering conscience, while

draining whatever was left of Connor’s compassion, until the boy was just another well kept house pet with no future- which Hank had already explored how much he despised *that* idea. That was how things felt now, and why hevwas *trying* to fix them.

He could send Connor away and live without another financial struggle for as long as he lived, family included, and continue life in the ‘fast lane’ with every bit of luxury as Hank had to offer him here- excluding the degrading trophy shit. Maybe, find himself someone to

hold him and kiss him right, instead of all of Hank’s uncomfortable bullshit.

Or, Hank could decide after days of drinking himself half-dead, weeks of poor attempts to give him some dignity back in laughably small ways- like *trying*, and failing, to keep his dick in his pants more often, and Connor in decent clothes- and many, many months of longing

disguised as ‘regret’ that this thing he’d been sitting on top of in the darkest depths of his cold, black heart, was worth losing just enough of his grip on his powerful reputation to accept that loving Connor back was the least he could do in return.

Since he already did.

He had to let go and choose to believe that fighting his feelings for him wasn’t as important as giving *in* to them, if he was doing it for Connor.

Hank had never had to deal with this problem before, he’d never had to make this choice for someone.

It’d be easier not to. His iron grip on this ferocious little empire of his would continue to thrive, and he wouldn’t have to worry about Connor getting hurt in the process. He could keep from going soft and bending to whatever thing his heart demanded of him in the heat of the

moment. It’d mean Hank could go to sleep at night with his demons for bed mates instead of keeping Connor, this sweet, innocent man, warm with his cold, black heart. Hank could be his own man, but only if he didn’t give in to this.

It was worth mentioning that Hank had already failed miserably at all of that.

When had Hank ever told Connor no to something?

He was lucky Connor in particular was very considerate and very obedient and strived to keep any requests at a bare minimum. But, when he did come

asking for favors, Hank had never turned him down- not even once. Not when Connor wanted to send money to his brother, not when he snuck into his bedroom, waiting for Hank to wake up. Not even when he’d asked for a ring with his mother’s birthstone- the only material thing Connor

had ever wanted.

Hank didn’t want to tell him no, which was well over half of the problem, but the other was that he would bend so easily and so quickly at Connor’s will- whether he mea for Hank to, or not.

As far as sleeping with him, Hank had never put up a fight in the

couple of times Connor had locked his legs behind his back in the throws of passion, silently asking for Hank to *stay*.
Admittedly, having Connor for a bedmate instead of those whiskey bottles and bad memories was infinitely better- even if Hank hadn’t stayed there long.

And, since when hadn’t their relationship already compromised his reputation here? His own men were looking for Connor’s approval on things, like having a simple conversation with their employer, in case Connor was ‘busy’ with him. Not to mention how long Connor had kept the

cooks under his thumb, ordering Hank’s food for him- and the maids were like his own personal army.

The guards outside had stopped asking for Hank’s approval to let Connor talk to the dogs, not since the third time they found Hank staring out his window and watching the display.

How could those things *not* have affected people’s opinions of them?

Not that Hank cared about some lowly housemaids, either, but what must they think about Connor insisting on doing Hank’s suits?

What they had pretended they were at first was just a game they played, a role

that came when a man like Hank had all this power- showcase the cute, little slut, demean and humiliate him to project his power. Treat the most caring, compassionate, sweetest, decent human being Hank’s sick soul had ever had the courtesy of knowing like his dog.

Call him a pet and a cock sucker, and convince himself at one time that was *really* all he was.

The irony was that Hank had grown tired long, *long* ago of Connor sitting quietly like his little paperweight, or a pup at his heel, while ‘the men talked’.

Hank tried not to think

about it, but he kept imagining something different for them, something he wanted *more* than that shit.

He wanted Connor to come in and take a seat somewhere *comfortable*, maybe in a seat next to *him*, and talk to him.

He wanted Connor in that blue collar button up Hank was

determined to have burned some day, and look up at him while he pressed his suits, smiling at Hank the way he did when he was finished and admiring his ‘good work’.

He’d rather Connor walk in in one of those beautiful, ornate gowns Hank had bought him and pour him a whiskey, and

murmur something saucy in his ear, whenever they had some business present..... Like a wife or some shit. *Jesus*.

His stomach felt like a block of ice had settled at the bottom of it. There was no outrunning this shit, anymore.

“I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”

Hank looked up, searching deep in Connor’s heavy, glassy gaze, hoping the endless warmth in those eyes would give him an answer. There was one, but Hank had wanted to avoid it.

“Can you really be happy here with the way things are?”

“Yes, sir, I *swear*.”

Connor didn’t look

away, his jaw set in a way he hoped looked convincing. Words weren’t enough, now.

Hank didn’t need convincing, he believed that, and he believed that *Connor* believed that. But, where did that leave them?

All he knew was that he wasn’t willing to go on like this. He hadn’t

been in a long time.

“It’s not right...” He mumbled, talking low so as not to disturb the headache he had forming. He took a step back and stared at the empty space it made.

Connor was quick to feel the heat of fresh tears pricking behind his eye and threatening to fall, as

panic rose in his chest. He made to move and reach out for him, to try to make Hank see reason through his touch alone, but Hank had other plans.

“Go back to bed.” The tone of his voice left no room for discussion, and Connor felt like something had a vice grip on his heart.

Until, he spoke again.

“My bed...I need to think.”

Connor looked from Hank, to his feet, then back, trying to process.

“Your’s?”

“Yes. I’ll be back later-“

“So, I can stay?”

“Connor, that should be the least of your concerns.”

Connor didn’t look any less determined to hear

him *say* it, and the way his eyelids had swelled a bit from all his crying had Hank feeling obligated to answer.

“If you want to stay, I won’t make you leave. But, something has got to change.”

Connor’s brows raised a fraction, a thousand questions swarming, but now wasn’t the

time. Hank needed to do something about all this energy built up inside him, though, whatever it was wouldn’t be productive.

“Now, go. I‘ve got shit to do.”

Hank opened the door for him and pushed Connor in by the small of his back- just to be sure the little runt was in there.

He had a good idea of what was going through Connor’s head right then. Alone in Hank’s room, this time with *permission*, probably celebrating his little ‘victory‘ at being allowed to stay.

How ‘lucky’....

Hank went straight to his office and took the entire bottle of rum from

out of a drawer in his desk. He forced himself not to think about everything they’d said to one another, about everything it meant for them, and what it’d be compromising. The drinking helped with that, but it was only early morning and he had a whole day ahead of him- one he

planned to spend under his blankets, pouting like any good 53 year old man who was just coming to terms with their inconvenient infatuation, and with a warm, eager brunette to share under his covers with.

There was probably a way to balance the side he shared with Connor and the

one he threw at rest of the world, but he didn’t have much faith in himself to figure it out. He hadn’t even considered walking away from that conversation, or just shipping Connor off. He’d stayed and dug himself an early grave, because he *wanted* to hear Connor’s opinion-

and if that didn’t tell him all he needed to know about his position here, then nothing would. Hank had lost the war.

How could Connor have the audacity to ask if he could stay, when Hank couldn’t even tear himself away from a little quarrel with his trophy boy.

That was Connor, though- never assuming, always looking for Hank’s approval where it mattered most.

Hank didn’t drink until he couldn’t stand properly, but he still felt dead on his feet by the time he put the bottle back, tired of his thinking.

He slunk down the hallway, imagining burying his face in the pillows and forgetting he had he weight of the world on his shoulders.

He couldn’t help thinking somewhere in the back of his mind that he should have done something about this sooner.

He should have addressed everything one piece at a time when it’d presented itself. Like Connor sitting in his lap for too long, or fucking him to exhaustion, rather than just saying a simple ‘thank you’ for his gift.

But, it was wishful thinking Hank couldn’t help indulging

in- after all he’d just single handedly complicated his already crushingly complex existence maintaining an ice heart.

Maybe he could have avoided letting Connor fall for him- by all accounts and reason, it made no sense to him why Connor did. It wouldn’t be crazy to think

Hank’s very few unprompted ‘acts of kindness’ weren’t the only thing keeping Connor tethered to him. He recalled that he’d only just warmed up to to the boy some time between their first time having sex, and Connor accidentally addressing him as Henry after his old landlord, and

Connor seemed happy to be there, even when Hank gave him the cold shoulder quite often back then- long before Hank had started properly caring for him.

Though, if he’d really been properly caring for him, his guilty conscience wouldn’t be bending him over right now.

When Hank reached the door to his bedroom, it was light outside, and he had no intention of battling the day like this.

He briefly remembered the night he came home with someone‘s blood on his sleeve and his thoughts a mangled

mess, and Connor kept watch outside his door all night- as unnecessary as that was.

This time, he would be allowed *in*, waiting for Hank with open arms.

That was exactly the sight Hank came in to. Connor’s head poppig up beneath the covers, in that fluffy babydoll

Hank loved- how hard it’d been to have that brutal conversation with him in that. Jesus.

The smaller man didn’t say anything, but gave a surprised smile. Hank hadn’t said he’d be coming to join him, so he’s supposed the flush coming to color Connor’s cheeks was warranted.

He was an excitable one, especially when it came to intimacy. His eyes were more alert and body thrumming with this kind of energy that Hank had hoped he’d have been sleeping off, while he was away. But, he should have known better.