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honey buns

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Connor had been driving since they left Denver, only a little buzzed on caffeine after two gas station coffees and a bear claw he wolfed down at about 3 a.m. But now he’s sinking further down in the seat with every passing mile, eyes steadily drooping as he tries to focus on the everlasting road. Hank's been dozing on the passenger side the past hour and snores louder the closer they get to the heart of Wyoming.

There are fresh snow flurries falling all around the truck, adding to the high banks already plowed up on the roadside. Every weather man this side of the Mississippi can’t seem to shut up about how it’s one of the coldest January’s on record and looking at the wall of endless white ahead, Connor believes it.

When he closes his eyes for a second and then jolts back awake a half-moment later with his hands still wrapped around the wheel, Connor pinches himself under his shirt until there's a welt on his belly and hits the lodgings button on the GPS screen. They may run late if they stop but late is better than dead, after all.

Hank snuffles awake only when Connor slows the truck to hang a wide right into a little motel called The North Star with its neon vacancy sign lit up. They’re two miles outside Casper but this is where they’ll have to bed down; sleeping in the truck isn’t an option in this weather.

"Whas'rong?" Hank mumbles, scrubbing a hand across his face as he sits up, still partway asleep. "You want me to drive?"

"Nope," Connor says, jaw cracking into a wide yawn as he pulls around back to the empty parking lot and pops open the door into the flurrying maw of a storm. "We're both too tired to drive in the snow. It’s bedtime."

Connor swipes his credit card in the lobby and accepts the old-fashioned key tag the night attendant passes him through the metal slot. Queen bed, non-smoking room, probably no dogs allowed but Connor doesn't ask and fully intends on hauling Sumo inside to keep warm, no if's, ands, or but's.

The walk between the lobby and truck is enough to make his teeth chatter in his head, the icy wind so cold it makes his eyes stream and burn. Standing on the running board to lean back in the cab, Connor flashes the room key and a shivery smile at Hank. "Let's go, honey bun."

Only when they’ve bundled themselves, their shared toiletry bag, and Sumo into the motel room does Connor realize he can still see their breath fogging on the air. Hank goes over to fumble with the heater under the window, giving it a couple firm kicks with the side of his boot until it finally coughs to life. The warm air that comes out is feeble at best and he and Connor exchange a pointed look.

“It’ll heat up in a second,” Connor says, hopeful even though he’s trembling. All the other rooms are booked or closed off and full of storage for the season and this is the best they've got for the next twenty miles. It's been a day and a half since their last real shower in a Georgia truck stop and Connor wants to rinse some of the road wear off before he falls into bed.

"Come get in the shower with me," he says sweetly, tugging the zipper on Hank's jacket. "We’ll warm up fast in there."

It's not even 5:30 in the morning, still in that strange pre-dawn place outside, any inkling of daylight blotted out by the snow. The street lamps from outside cast gold through the window and make Hank's blue eyes shine like peridot. He looks tired, too, but leans in to press a whiskery kiss to Connor's mouth. "You got ulterior motives, huh?"

Connor smiles against Hank’s lips and wants to sag into his arms but bolsters himself. “If you mean ulterior in terms of keeping us from freezing to death, then absolutely.”

Hank hooks a finger in Connor’s belt loop after they get Sumo settled and follows him into the bathroom. It’s so cold the press of their bare feet on cold tile is agony, the both of them reluctantly undressing while the water heats up in the narrow shower. Connor tests the water with his fingers and feels Hank's bare body crowd up behind him, both of them covered in prickly goosebumps.

“In you go, hot stuff,” Hank says, nudging Connor behind the curtain before stepping in after him. They take turns under the hot spray, scrubbing up and rinsing their hair quickly, a little afraid the water heater may croak before they finish. Connor's body is dead dog tired but he’s only got eyes for Hank—and isn’t that always the way, god help them both.

Connor looks up at him with water clinging to his lashes and steals another kiss, one of his feet braced between Hank’s while the water slowly starts growing colder. Their little life isn't perfect and far from luxurious, but it's good. It’s good and Connor is more than happy to wake up next to Hank in the morning and know that no matter where they go, they'll be together. He kisses Hank again and hopes he knows that as much as Connor feels it.

When they get out and dry off they stand at the sink and brush their teeth together, dodging elbows, not because this is a normal routine but because the faster they move the faster they'll be under the blankets. When Hank goes to reach for his nightclothes Connor only gently tugs him toward bed.

“Are you crazy?" Hank laughs, even though he drops into the sheets and lets Connor pull the blankets up over them plus the clean one from the top of the closet. "We’re gonna freeze to death."

Connor hums lightly in his chest and immediately presses himself against Hank's back. "Not if I hold you."

Connor nuzzles into the fine, damp hair at the base of Hank's neck and breathes in the peppery smell of shampoo. He snakes an arm around his side and slides his narrow hips right up against the curve of Hank's ass, slotting their bodies together. They fit just-so, different as they are.

Hank lets out a long-suffering sigh but lets himself relax against Connor, touching the back of his hand when it strokes from Hank’s sternum down to the coarse hair low on his belly. "I thought you were tired," he says with an odd slant to his voice. "Warmed up quicker than expected."

"You have that effect on me," Connor murmurs, dropping a kiss on Hank's shoulder. He runs his palm up his belly again, then over Hank's side where the flowers for Cole are in permanent bloom. Chills well under his fingertips and Hank shudders a little, letting out a soft sigh. "Love your body, Mr. Anderson," Connor says, sinking into the bed. "Love you too."

It's quiet for a long beat, just the sound of the shitty old heater and Sumo's snores in the room, and then Hank says, a touch shyer than his typical deep bluster, "Why don't you do something about that?"

Connor has suddenly never been so awake in his life.

"What?" he rasps, dumbly, one hot word against the back of Hank's neck. "Run that by me one more time."

"What?" Hank echoes with a snort, pushing his ass back against Connor's groin. "You want me to send it in Morse code?"

"No," Connor stammers, flushing enough that he's almost too hot under the covers. "No, I just, I didn't think—we've never done that before and....Jesus, here? Right now?"

Hank goes still in his arms and Connor knows he's probably gone and royally fucked this one up for himself. "Maybe just forget I asked," Hank mumbles, trying not to sound pained about having shown his hand so easily despite everything they've been through together.

Connor only takes a deep breath and blurts out, "Hank, I haven't stopped thinking about fucking you since that night in your kitchen."

Hank laughs this time, bright and loud, and then rolls over until he's facing Connor in the bed. "You haven't?"

Connor has entertained the thought a thousand and one times but can't bring himself to say it aloud. "You always seem to underestimate how much I want you in every single way."

That makes Hank pause for a moment. He shifts under the blankets while he thinks and their knees brush together. “Well," he says finally, clearing his throat. "I don't mean to, Con."

"I know," Connor says. Suddenly he wants nothing more right now than to kiss Hank, so he leans closer and does. As soon as their lips meet it's like Connor's on fire. He knows exactly what he needs but the route to get there is still a jumbled mess in his brain. He slides a hand up Hank's chest, to his neck, then to cradle the back of his head before Hank opens his mouth and lets him in.

When he was with Markus, Connor had been content with bottoming because it’s what Markus wanted most of the time. That was the parameters of their relationship, cut and dry, simple enough. Now, a year into this thing with Hank, Connor knows exactly how Hank’s cock feels inside him and could live off that beautiful fullness forever, but maybe, now that Hank’s planted the idea in his head and made it easier to pursue the string of wanting—maybe he’s ready to go after something different.

It’s still him and Hank, same as they ever are, all Hank’s strength and easy encouragement. But Connor's curiosity simmers; he wants to know what it’s like to lie in the spread of Hank’s thighs and watch his face as they fit together like they haven’t before. He wants to know how it feels to push his fingers into that tight heat and crook them up just right until Hank groans and begs him for more.

Connor’s shaking while these figments of yearning flash through his head. His breath comes in short bursts between kisses and Hank’s the one who runs a soothing palm down Connor's spine, grounding him there in their chilly little motel room. “Easy, tiger,” he says, grinning when he feels Connor’s hand snake around to squeeze his ass.

“When’s the last time you did this?” Connor croaks. He’d keel over and die if he was the first, but he knows a younger shade of Hank has probably run circles around him in terms of sexual exploits with partners of every shape and size. “Do you...touch yourself sometimes?”

Why is Connor only thinking to ask this now? God help him. They’ve jerked off with each other before, too many times to count now, but he wants to watch Hank's big thighs strain as he straddled his own hand or a sleek toy. Even if that's all Hank would give him it'd be enough.

That last question zaps some of the wind out of Hank’s sails. “Not—not often since, uh, you and me...” he says, huffing a soft laugh against Connor’s cheek. “But it’s been a pretty long time for the rest, y’know. A young buck like you is gonna have to take it easy on an old man.”

Connor nods. Easy—he can take it easy even if he wants nothing more than to fuck Hank like a wild jackrabbit under a full moon. “Do we have anything in the bag?” he asks, dazed.

The gap between Hank’s teeth shines pearlescent in the dark when he grins. “Don’t we always, kid?”

The walk to the freezing bathroom is painful but worth it when Connor comes back holding condoms and their bottle of slick, quick as a flash. He scurries back under the blankets and Hank lets out a strangled noise when Connor’s cold toes press against his calves. They laugh and Connor squawks when Hank pokes him in the ribs. It helps dispel some of his frantic nerves and he looks at the clock over Hank’s shoulder, just a few minutes past six o’clock. It’s still dark outside, the snow flurries turning everything white while the wind howls a faint tune.

As it turns out, the goddamn heater doesn’t work for shit other than keeping Sumo and about a five-foot radius nice and toasty, and they’ll surely run behind in the snow after sleeping in late, but Connor knows that he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but here. Another small moment worth keeping and holding onto.

“I love you,” he says suddenly, the words tumbling out without much warning. This isn’t the first time he’s said it but the shine still hasn’t rubbed off yet. Connor’s whole chest swells with it until he feels like he may burst.

“Love you too, sugar,” Hank rumbles, then shifts over onto his back. “Come here."

Connor goes willingly, letting Hank take his chin and pull him into a deep kiss. But his direction stops there and his hands fall away, touch light as a feather in the dip of Connor’s back. “You wanna show me what you’ve got?” Hank asks, quirking an eyebrow.

A challenge, then.

“You know what to do,” he adds, and Connor can hear the soft smile in his voice. “I’ll be right here with you the whole time.”

Connor is already half-hard and a little lightheaded, heart hammering away. “I’m not learning to ride a bike,” he mumbles against Hank's shoulder.

“If this goes to plan you’ll be riding something, cowboy,” Hank says, and Connor doesn’t miss the touch of huskiness in his voice.

Hank goes to reach for the bottle of lube Connor brought and passes it over before pushing down both blankets so they’re only draped in the light sheet. They shiver in tandem and Hank's nipples immediately get hard in the cooler air. Connor bows over and puts his mouth on one, there beneath a black-inked name, and gently razes his teeth over it before kissing a line down Hank's chest as he moves southward. He reaches down and hitches two fingers under Hank’s knee, coaxing it up. He considers hunkering down between his thighs and then decides against it, laying there with his head pillowed low on Hank’s belly, one hand crooked around to raise up goosebumps on the backs of his thighs.

“Stop that,” Hank laughs, squirming a little. “M’ticklish.”

Connor smiles and kisses below his navel before popping the cap off the lube with his teeth, squirting some into his hand. He closes his eyes and tries to think about Hank gentling him through this part every time, easing his body through the ritual of getting ready.

Slick enough to feel it running down his palm, Connor presses his first finger into that tight pucker, feeling Hank's stomach muscles tense and tighten under his cheek before the air rushes out of his lungs.

"There you go," he says, strong fingers already tangled in Connor's hair and hot on his scalp. "Easy does it." They’re slow to start but Connor soon finds a steady rhythm, using Hank’s hand in his hair and the hitch of his breathing as unspoken direction. He’s two fingers deep when he strokes that sweet bundle of nerve for the first time, only once, and Hank makes a strangled sound Connor’s never heard before

“Fuck, Con, just like that,” he rasps, shamelessly pushing down on Connor’s hand even though he’s thrown an arm across his face to hide. The abdominal muscles under the layer of softness on his belly are strung tight as a bow, clenching every time Connor brushes his prostate. Connor kisses the bird on Hank’s hip and leaves a gentle love bite there, pulling his hand away just long enough to add more slick and push back in with three fingers.

“You’re doing so good for me, Hank,” Connor says, scissoring in and out of Hank’s hole with a shaky tenderness that’s almost painful. He presses his face into the clean musk in the crease of Hank’s thigh and laves his tongue up the hot seam of skin there, wanting to drown in it.

Hank groans and spreads his thighs apart under the tented sheet. His cock isn’t fully hard but it twitches with interest every time that balmy heat flares, heavy and thick where it bobs. As for Connor himself, he’s rock fucking hard and doing his best not to rut into the bed like an animal. He can’t even imagine what it will feel like when he’s finally inside Hank.

“Hank, please," Connor says tightly when Hank groans long and low again. “I want to fuck you so bad.”

“Get on up here then, baby,” Hank says, already sounding vaguely winded. He gets a hand around the back of Connor’s neck and bites his lip around a whine when Connor’s fingers slip free.

“How do you want me?” Connor asks as he fumbles around for a condom wrapper, and Hank laughs.

“I think the question of the hour is how you want me,” he says, heaving out a big, grateful sigh. “I’m no fuckin' acrobat these days but tell me what you wanna see.”

Connor doesn’t even have to think. “You,” he says right away, blushing despite how desperately he wants it. “I want to watch you.”

Hank’s features are soft in the dim light, and when he pulls Connor down between his hips he’s never felt so blessed. “Anything you want, ” Hank murmurs against Connor’s lips.

Connor somehow has the presence of mind to roll on a rubber and snag his pillow, silently coaxing Hank up enough to slide it under his hips. He wishes they could do this without the condom but that’ll have to wait for another time, hopefully when they’re in the comfort of their own bed back home.

"I want you to be comfortable," Connor whispers, crowded up between Hank's legs again. His cockhead brushes the soft inner part of Hank's thigh and he almost sees stars from that contact alone. His heart’s going to explode out of his chest before they even start, hands shaking with nerves and need. “Hank, I—”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Hank says, unbearably patient in that way of his, even when he’s flat on his back with Connor draped between his knees. He licks his bottom lip, though, and reaches down between them to gently tug on Connor’s cock, teasing. “Let me have it, honey.”

Connor nods and takes himself in hand, getting one more palm full of slick before he pushes the head of his cock into Hank’s hole. It takes everything he’s got to not buck all the way into Hank’s ass, and the only thing stopping him is watching Hank’s mouth part open with a soft sigh. Another inch and Connor's sweating in this freezing room while winter rages outside. His arms are already shaking where he's braced himself on either side of Hank's rib cage, fingers digging into the soft bedding. It’s torture. It’s wonderful. He wants, oh he wants—

“Alright, enough pussyfooting around,” Hank says, getting both hands around the meat of Connor’s ass and yanking him all the way in. It punches the air out of both their lungs and Connor almost cries, it feels so good being buried this deep inside Hank.

“Fuck, kid, don’t stop now,” Hank rasps even as his chest heaves. “C’mon.”

Connor can’t even hold himself up anymore, just drops against Hank’s chest and lets his hips move on instinct. He doesn’t know who’s holding onto who anymore, but he thrusts fast and sloppy, humping Hank hard enough that the motel bed creaks and their skin slaps lewdly.

“Jesus, Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Hank grinds out, letting his bulk get rutted up the bed. He braces one palm against the headboard and keeps the other clamped around Connor’s ass, knees still spread while Connor pistons into him, panting wetly with his damp curls tickling Hank’s shoulder.

Connor slams into Hank’s hole with a thrust so wild it makes Hank’s teeth clatter in his head. He slaps the back of Connor’s thigh hard enough to leave a pink welt and rolls his hips up, trying to angle his lover’s slender body just right.

“There you go,” he growls, urging Connor along with murmured praise and his heavy hands. Connor pulls all the way out, shaking like a leaf in Hank’s arms, and thrusts back in balls deep in one sharp motion—and from there seems to forget every word he knows except Hank’s name.

“I c-can’t hold it back,” Connor moans, tears at the corners of his eyes that Hank would reach up and thumb away if he wasn’t getting jackhammered into the mattress. “Hank, Hank, oh god—oh fuck.”

Hank holds on best he can while Connor fucks into him a handful more times, and then he knows it’s all over when Connor sobs out his name and goes rigid, sunk as deep inside as Hank’s body will take him while his cock pulses with release. Connor weakly humps him through it, chasing spent bliss, drool shining on his bottom lip. He hadn’t touched Hank’s cock once throughout all that and it’s still half-hard, caught there between their bellies.

Hank breathes out like bellows and aches for more friction, just a little slide to send him on his way. For now he pets Connor’s hair, pulling him down to press a kiss to his temple. “You did good, baby,” he says, smiling when the pads of Connor’s clean fingers reach up to trace his mouth. Even though Connor’s all of six feet and weighs more than he did when they met, Hank could ignore the own tiny coil of need in his gut to hold him here like this, still filled up with that hot stretch.

Connor, however, seems to have other plans.

He pulls out and gets rid of the used condom before sliding back in next to Hank to press a sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth. His hand wraps around Hank’s thick cock, stroking him a few times, and then those long fingers dip lower to cup his balls.

“Let me,” Connor murmurs before scooting back down the bed. Hank wraps a hand around his wrist, more guiding than restraining, and lets his eyes fall shut as Connor’s fingers press back into his used hole. He's not as full as before but he groans when that sweet bundle of nerves ignites again.

“Right there, Con,” Hank says with his eyes clenched tight, bearing down on Connor’s fingers. He's sweating now, too. "Oh Christ."

“Here?” Connor says, sweet as cherry pie, and then relentlessly presses into Hank's prostate with two fingers the same moment he bows over and swallows his cock. Connor’s mouth is sublime, his clever tongue gentle and coy as it swirls around the head of Hank’s shaft. If Hank wasn’t hard a minute ago he sure as hell is now, stars bursting in front of his eyes as he gets milked from the inside for all he’s worth. It builds like a gasoline fire and as soon as the terrifying urge to piss himself starts low in his groin he knows Connor’s going to kill him here in bumfuck Wyoming.

Connor looks up from between Hank’s legs with those sleepy brown eyes, hair still plastered to his forehead with a mouthful of cock, and keeps his fingers deep in Hank’s ass as he works him over from the inside and out.

Hank grunts and has to bite his lip raw so he doesn't shout himself hoarse. His orgasm overspills all at once, punching thru him like a cannonball, and when that balmy heat crests and his legs stop working he shoots a load down Connor's throat that doesn't seem to end. Hank cries out brokenly this time, unable to stop himself as his muscles clench in a full-body vice and he keeps pumping cum out like he hasn’t fucked anything in years.

Connor sucks him dry, only gagging once at the very end, and grins like a loon while he laps up what pearly slick he missed off Hank’s belly. It's the most beautiful and obscene thing Hank's ever seen, even with Connor still knuckle-deep in his hole, and he can't do anything but collapse while his spent cock flops against his thigh.

"Jesus fuck, kid," he rasps, sides heaving like a wounded bull, and grimaces when he feels Connor's hand slip free again. The bed dips and Connor's gone for a moment to run the faucet in the tiny bathroom, coming back to tuck them both under the covers and himself firmly against Hank's side.

"I hope nobody heard you," he says with a tiny laugh, kissing Hank's chest and neck like he can't get enough, running the tip of his tongue over the salt-slick shape of Hank’s Adam’s apple.

"Heard me what?" Hank asks, absolutely too fucked out to know what the hell Connor's talking about.

"You yelled my name there at the end," Connor says. "Woke Sumo up." As sure as anything, the big dog lumbers over from where he'd been sitting at the foot of the bed, butting his wet nose against Hank's shoulder with a snuffle. "He probably thought you were dying," Connor says, giggling again when Hank pops his ass through the blankets.

"Thought I was too for a second there," Hank grouses, feeling like his body weighs a thousand pounds in the best way. He'll sink right here into this mattress with Connor and not move again for two days, thank you kindly. "You and that fuckin' mouth of yours, honey. God damn."

"All for you," Connor says, giving Hank one last sleepy, sweet kiss.

Dawn is starting to brighten in the thin crack between the motel curtains, faint through the overcast sky, but Connor only snuggles closer and hums when Hank wraps an arm around him. Sumo sighs and goes to lay back down by the heater, content to keep warm and start snoring again.

The road and the rig will wait for them, Hank knows. He noses into the curls at Connor’s temple and closes his eyes, smiling until a quiet laugh huffs between them.

“What’s so funny,” Connor asks, poking Hank’s belly under the blankets until Hank finds his palm and draws it up to rest over the tattoos on his heart.

“Nothin’,” he rumbles, covering Connor’s hand with his own. He loves him so much it’s hard to put words to the feeling, sometimes. “Maybe I’m already looking forward to next time.”

Connor practically purrs at that, tucking himself further into the crook between Hank’s neck and shoulder, so close they’re sharing one pillow between them. “Me too,” he says, a little shyly despite the smile in his voice. “Love you.”

The tip of his nose skims the underside of Hank’s jaw as their breathing slows and mellows out, both eventually drifting off as the storm quiets to a gentle hush outside.