Since Connor left for work, Gavin and Hank haven't spoken a word to each other. Not as the result of a fight or anything, they were just- each lost in their own thoughts. Mostly about the tin man and the ongoing mystery of the party.
Hank needed to talk. That was obvious by the fact he was currently hand washing their week’s worth of neglected dishes even though they have a perfectly functioning dishwasher. Don’t get him wrong, Gavin is glad he’s chosen hand washing dishes over Black Lamb and a revolver, but, well, now that Connor’s out for the night, maybe they can actually talk through some shit.
“Hey Hank, you good?” Gavin asks, knowing the answer well before its spoken.
“Absolutely fucking not,” Hank huffs, tossing the sponge into the bath of warm bubbles before turning around, “I’m worried outta my fucking mind!”
“Yeah, I know,” Gavin sighs, he gets it, he’s feeling it too. He’s been feeling it since Connor fleed the party then came back looking even more traumatized. Connor hasn't brought it up again. And neither have either of the humans. Til now. “Want a beer?”
Hank sighs and turns back to the sink to rinse suds off his hands.
“Got any of that weed left?” Hank asks instead.
Gavin’s eyes raise in surprise but he nods.
“Yeah, actually. Gimme a sec.”
Hank nods.
“I’ll make us some coffee.”
-
The beginnings of their mutual high is just what the two of them needed. They haven't taken one second to prioritize self care over the past three weeks and the wear is evident.
This shared joint is doing the job wonderfully. Gavin can feel muscles in his body that have been tight for years finally relax.
They smoke in the shared silence in the kitchen until they finish their coffee.
They don't talk again until they move to the bedroom, and Hank says what they've both been thinking.
“We're not really gonna let that asshole get away with it, are we?”
“Which one?” Gavin asks. Because in reality they still don't know any additional details of Connor’s potential assault last night. And from what Connor exposed to Gavin, neither does he.
“Reynolds,” Hank answers, anger clenching his jaw tight and turning the end of the name into a hiss.
“Fuck no,” Gavin growls, “I got half a mind to finish what you started as soon as we get back. I know I’m a quicker draw.”
“Gav,” Hank sighs and Gavin really doesn't know what Hank expected him to say.
“Come on Hank, you know he deserves it!”
“He deserves to have his dick cut off and fed to him. But, well, there's a right way to do things and a wrong way. Revenge is the wrong way. Or so I’m supposed to believe.”
“Yeah?” Gavin scoffs hatefully, “then what the fuck is Justice then?”
Hank sighs, nodding his agreement.
“Restoring order, not, furthering chaos. It only makes shit worse.”
Gavin snorts.
“I think you're going insane trying to be the civil, level headed monk you’ve had to be the last three weeks. That’s not you Hank. You may have convinced Connor but I’ve known you too damn long.”
“You're right. Which is why I need your help to make sure we don't get caught.”
“Fuck yeah, there he is,” Gavin chuckles before biting hungrily into Hank’s lower lip.
-
Gavin really didn't expect the premeditated murder of a coworker to get them both worked up like this, but neither of them were particularly well adjusted individuals.
He's grateful for it, because Hank’s fucking him hard. Harder than they have in years. He’s seen Hank fuck Connor like this, but he has yet to have his own turn with this brand of Hank.
“Phck, come on,” Gavin gasps, holding onto their headboard for some illusion of stability as Hank gripped his hips harder and doubled down. “Hank…” Gavin begs, gaining only a warning bite into his neck for his trouble.
“Try again,” Hank says, licking over the wound before biting another claim into his throat.
Gavin swallows in a desperate attempt to get his breathing under control. In addition to Hank’s teeth that are driving him insane, Hank’s huge hand is wrapped around his cock now, the tip of his pointer finger running across the piercing and making Gavin delirious with pleasure.
“Daddy,” Gavin pants, fingers itching to touch but his throbbing throat reminds him he’s not in charge. “Phck- phck, please.”
“There’s a good boy,” Hank growls and Gavin is warm putty in his hands. It never takes much. Hank Anderson has always been one of his biggest weaknesses. Hank’s other hand goes into his hair and grips it, yanking it back until Gavin’s back is flushed with his sweaty, hairy front.
“Phuuccck,” Gavin wheezes, “come on, I can take it, fuck me,” Gavin’s ass clenches hard around the thick muscle, taking pleasure in the fact Hank’s following moan is as strung out as he feels.
”Yeah, you can. Always been able to. Almost like your ass was made for me.”
Each of Hank’s hands engulfs Gavin’s hips again. His only warning is a single squeeze before Hank angles Gavin’s hips where he wants and snaps into him.
Gavin chokes for more reasons than one.
“Maybe I was,” Gavin whispers before another series of thrusts have his tongue unable to form anything but moans.
“Yeah, maybe you were baby.”
