"Turn right, please," Connor says, just before Hank flicks on his blinker to turn left out of the parking lot.
"Home's the other way, hon," he says, but he turns on the right blinker anyway. He's comfortably full from his birthday dinner, Connor's been making doe-eyes at him

all evening, and frankly he's ready to get home and lay him out on the bed to show him how thankful he is for a nice night out; still, if Connor has something else in mind, he's happy to be led to it.
"It is," Connor agrees. "But we're not going home. Not yet, at least."

"You gonna tell me where we're headed?"
"Downtown."
"Thanks, wiseass," Hank grumbles. He turns onto the freeway that will bring them east towards the waterfront.
"I'll direct you when we get closer." Connor rests a hand on Hank's thigh and squeezes, the warmth and pressure just

this side of being too distracting for Hank to handle while he's driving. He's probably calculated the precise amount of groping Hank can be subjected to before his driving takes a hit from it. "I thought you deserved an additional indulgence tonight."
"You taking me out for a

nice dinner was more than enough," Hank says, covering Connor's hand on his leg with his own, "but I guess I won't complain if you have something else in mind."
"Oh, I have several more things in mind," Connor says, in the same tone of voice he uses to say things like "I'd like

to purchase a new genital component" or "I've been wearing that lingerie you bought me under my suit all day," and Hank feels the arousal that's been simmering under his skin all night--as Connor flirted with him over dinner and rubbed his foot against Hank's calf under the table

and pulled him in roughly by his tie for a kiss just before they'd gotten back in the car--flare up with a rush of heat that washes over him and settles in his groin. He shifts awkwardly in his seat and pointedly does not turn to look at Connor, who he's sure has noticed

his reaction. He always does.
Connor leads them gradually towards the river; Hank suspects he's directing them to some quiet and particularly scenic place on the waterfront, but before they can reach the water he squeezes Hank's thigh again to get his attention and points at a

bright sign ahead. "Turn in there, please."
"At the hotel?"
Connor nods.
"We're staying here tonight?"
"I dropped a key off with Tanya across the street; she's coming by tonight and tomorrow morning to take Sumo and make sure he's fed."
"This is..." Hank casts his mind back; he's

pretty sure he recognizes the name of this place from a news story a few months back about its luxury renovations. "This is the ritziest place in town, isn't it?" He makes the turn and pulls up to the valet stand.
"You deserve the best, Hank," Connor says, and this time his

fingers *do* slide up a little too high on his inner thigh for propriety's sake, especially considering the fact that there's a valet two steps away from their car who's doing his best to ignore Connor leaning so far into Hank's personal space that he may as well be in his lap.

Hank cuts the engine and hands the keys to the valet with a sheepish grin and a folded-up twenty from his pocket. When he turns around, he sees Connor swinging a small travel bag over his shoulder; he must have packed it and snuck it into the backseat without Hank even noticing.

"You really booked us a room here?" Hank asks, as they enter the front doors into the quiet, modern-looking lobby. There's a huge glass sculpture erupting from the ceiling over the reservation desk, angular shards and sinuous tentacles in deep green and stark white. He wonders

how the staff works underneath it without worrying they're going to get impaled if the damn thing falls, but he can't deny that it looks impressive.
"I did," Connor says. His pace slows, and he turns to Hank before they reach the desk. "Should I not have?"
"Oh no, honey," Hank

is quick to say, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pressing a kiss to his temple. "You did great. Just didn't expect to be somewhere so fancy tonight. I'm surprised, is all."
"I think you'll be very pleasantly surprised, when you see the room," Connor says, and before

Hank can ask for more details, Connor strides up to the desk and greets the receptionist with a smile.
"Good evening," he says, smoothly. "We have a reservation under Anderson; I have all the information here." He touches the small interface pad set into the counter, and the

receptionist smiles and nods as the reservation details come up on her screen.
"Of course, Mr. Anderson," she says. Connor doesn't correct her, of course; there's no reason to, and Connor has no official last name to provide instead. Hank rests his hand low on Connor's back and

wonders, for a moment, what it might be like if everyone called Connor that. If Connor would even want it. He's pretty sure he would, but shit, maybe he should ask.
The woman behind the counter continues speaking while Hank's mind drifts, and he tunes back in to hear her say "We

have you in our deluxe suite, and your extra request is ready to be brought to the room whenever you'd like; just ring down for it."
"Extra?" Hank asks, and she turns her dazzling customer-service smile his way to explain, but Connor cuts her off as politely as he can manage.

"It's a surprise," he says, placing a hand on Hank's arm while offering the receptionist a conspiratorial wink, "for the birthday boy."
"Of course," she says. "We're glad you chose to celebrate your birthday with us, sir, and if there's anything else we can do to help make it

memorable, just let us know."
"Uh, sure," Hank says. He rarely spends enough money on anything to remember how intense the service is at expensive places, and he never knows how to react to it. "Thanks."
Connor, of course, navigates it as smoothly as he navigates any other

conversation of this nature, and before Hank has a chance to feel too much like an awkward lump beside him, Connor's pocketing the keycard and nudging Hank towards the bank of elevators at the far side of the lobby.
"Birthday boy?" Hank tries to shoot Connor a scowl for that, but

his heart isn't in it. "You don't think I'm too old for that?"
"'Birthday distinguished gentleman' doesn't have the same ring to it," Connor says primly.
"No one's going to believe I'm distinguished any more than they'll believe I'm a boy," Hank says, as he jabs the up button.

"Birthday old fart, maybe."
"Hmm," Connor says. The elevator arrives and he hits the button for floor 15. "'Birthday bear?" He slides a hand inside Hank's jacket and gropes him through the thin fabric of his shirt.
Before Hank can decide how he feels about that particular

endearment, the elevator chimes gently as it arrives at their floor, and Connor pulls his hand away, smoothing the front of Hank's jacket before stepping out to lead him down the hall.
"Here we are," Connor says, at the end of the hall. He fishes the keycard out of his pocket and

grins, still holding it up, as he touches his fingertip to the card reader and it turns green.
"No one likes a showoff," Hank says, but he stops Connor in the half-open doorway and kisses him before he can step inside. "Except me," he murmurs, tugging Connor's earlobe with his

teeth and relishing the soft gasp it pulls out of him. "So keep showing off for me, sweetheart."
"Well," Connor says, sounding a little breathless, "I did bring you to a luxury hotel room with a private rooftop balcony, if that counts."
"A private--" Hank whistles as he pushes

the door the rest of the way open and hits the switch, and sure enough, at the far end of the room he can see a sliding-glass door with a set of chairs outside it and a view of the river at night and the Windsor city lights beyond it. "Shit, look at the view!"
"You're missing

something," Connor says with a laugh, and Hank pauses halfway to the balcony to take in the rest of the room.
It's large and tastefully decorated; there's a set of plush chairs and a desk off to one side, a nook with a minibar and a coffee machine, and a decadent, pillow-strewn

king-sized bed Hank can't wait to pull Connor into.
But what Connor is clearly waiting for him to notice, while aiming a suggestive grin his way, is a gigantic marble bathtub tucked behind a wall of thick glass blocks that separates the bathroom area from the living space.

"Oh, honey," Hank says, slipping the bag off Connor's shoulder and tossing it on the bed before he pulls him close. "Look what you found for us." He nuzzles into Connor's neck and feels rather than hears his sigh as he relaxes into Hank's embrace.
"You like it?"

"I'll like it better when I have you naked and in there with me," he murmurs into Connor's ear. "There's plenty of room for both of us to stretch out in there, looks like."
To be honest, it looks like Hank could clone himself and still have room to fit Connor in the tub with both

of him; it really is huge. They'd tried to bathe together once, months ago, but Hank could barely fit into his tub at home, as tall and broad as he was, and with Connor in there as well, there'd hardly been any room for water; they had laughed and given up after a few crowded

minutes together. Hank had apologized, at the time, that he didn't have the space for it, even though he knew a tub the size they'd need wasn't exactly standard issue in most homes. He'd thought that was the end of it, but clearly Connor had been making plans in the background.

"You ready for me to take this off so I can get you wet and get my hands on you?" Hank asks, fingering the top button of Connor's shirt. "Or you got anything else up your sleeve first?"
"I did arrange a few things to enhance the experience," Connor says, "if you'd like to take a

look in the bag I packed."
"Hmmm, in a minute," Hank says. He undoes the button under his fingers and then next few after that, and pulls Connor's tie from its knot so it hangs loose around his neck. "I got something better to take a look at right here." He kisses the expanse of

Connor's chest he's just revealed and pushes his shirt to the side enough to allow him to swipe his tongue over his nipple.
Connor moans and tightens his grip on Hank's biceps. "Oh," he breathes, "Hank, you can't take my clothes off yet."
"Why's that?"
"Because I--"

He's interrupted by a gentle knock on the door.
"I need to be presentable enough to answer that," he huffs, but while he straightens his shirt so his nipple is no longer hanging out, he doesn't bother to button up before he opens the door.

Hank shuffles over to the bed to look through the bag while Connor answers the door; he's learned through experience that the cut and drape of these pants does nothing to hide an erection and while it'll be obvious, given the state of Connor's clothes, what they were up to, he

doesn't need to be quite *that* obvious. He hears the quiet murmur of Connor conversing with a staff member and the sound of a tray being set on the table as he pokes through what Connor had packed: toiletries for Hank, clothes for them both to sleep in, and--ah. There's a little

bag tucked into a corner that smells like pine and citrus when he opens it to peek inside, and it holds an assortment of bath supplies.
"I found your bath stuff," he says, coming up behind Connor to peek over his shoulder. "What's this?"
"I ordered you a little dessert," Connor

says with a smile, "since I didn't have a chance to make you a cake."
"I could go for something sweet," Hank says. He sets the bag on the table next to the tray and presses close to Connor's back while he kisses the side of his neck. "Was thinking of getting you in my mouth, but

if there's something else you want me to eat, we can do that too."
"There's time for both," Connor says. He eyes the bag Hank set on the counter and leans back into Hank's chest. "I admit I had a very particular plan in mind, so I hope you can indulge me."
"Does your plan involve

you and me getting in this tub together before I lay you out on the bed over there and have some fun with you?"
"It does, yes."
"Then lay it on me, sweetheart. What do you need me to do?"
"Don't peek in there," Connor says mock-sternly, as Hank's hand makes its way to the covered

tray to try and do just that. "Do you want to get the water started? It'll take a long time to fill up."
"Sure thing, boss," Hank says. He shrugs out of his suit jacket first and throws it over the back of a chair where it'll at least look semi-presentable in the morning.

Up close, the bathtub is even larger and more ridiculous; it even has two faucets next to each other for the water to pour out of so it fills more quickly. He fiddles with them for a minute until water just this side of scalding comes pouring out, then reports back to Connor, who

is outside taking in the view from the balcony.
His shirt's fully unbuttoned, now, and his tie is gone, but it's a good look on him, Hank thinks. He's so used to seeing Connor completely put together; even when he's wearing less formal clothing there's a neatness to his

appearance that's rarely absent. It means that moments like these, when he's half-dressed or disheveled at all, feel extra precious and, okay, Hank can admit it: extra hot. Any time he sees Connor a little messy, he just wants to get him messier.
"Nice view," Hank says, as he

joins him outside. "You want to have a seat and watch the lights with me?" He eases himself into one of the chairs and pats his lap. "Tub's going to take a long time, I think, so you could come sit with me for a minute."
"You'll distract me," Connor says.
Hank shrugs. "So set a

timer. I bet you can guess when it'll be ready, can't you?"
"So long as I'm not so distracted I ignore it entirely." Connor says, eyeing Hank's lap warily. He knows as well as Hank does where things will go if he winds up there.
Hank decides to play dirty. He lets his legs splay

wide and drags his palm over his cock, still only half-hard but easy enough for Connor to see. "You sure you don't want to come here and keep me company? I got a nice seat here just for you."
"You're terrible," Connor says, but he sinks down into Hank's lap and kisses him.

"Doesn't sound like you think I'm terrible," Hank rumbles, in between kisses. He eases Connor's shirt off and kisses him across his now-bare shoulders as he whines and shifts restlessly in Hank's lap. "Sounds like this is where you wanted to be, all along."
"Of course it is,"

Connor says, "but if we flood the bathroom because I got distracted by your hands on my ass, this will be a much less relaxing evening than I'd hoped for."
"Then don't get distracted." Hank gives Connor's ass a squeeze for good measure, then goes back to kissing his neck. "You

can multitask, baby, I know you can."
It's mean, maybe, to press the issue when Connor doesn't want to be distracted, but Hank loves getting him wound up, he loves him on his lap, and hell, maybe he wants to be a little self-indulgent, since Connor's already set on indulging him

tonight. If Connor's aim is to spoil Hank, maybe he'll spoil himself for a minute.
"Think we'd get in trouble if I fucked you out here?" He turns Connor on his lap until he's facing out over the river, and palms the front of his slacks. Connor bucks into his hand and moans loud

enough that Hank wonders if he'd already been thinking about it, maybe from the moment he booked the room. Hank's pretty sure Connor has an exhibitionist streak he hasn't been ready to tell Hank about yet; he's just leaving some breadcrumbs in case Connor wants to follow them.

"I think--ohh--I think we could manage to get away with it," Connor pants, rolling his hips into Hank's hand. "But we can't, not now."
"Oh, is our time up?" Hank asks. He kisses the back of Connor's neck and enjoys the little shiver he gets in response.
"It is," Connor replies,

but he makes no attempt to get up.
"You sure?" Hank kisses Connor's neck again and strokes his cock more deliberately through his pants. "We don't have another minute?"
"No, Hank, we need to go check," Connor protests. With great reluctance, he wriggles off of Hank's lap and

disappears into the room; a moment later, Hank hears the sound of the taps being turned off and decides to follow him in.
"We didn't flood the room after all, huh?"
"No," Connor says, "but it was a close call. My alarm went off two minutes ago." He dips his hand into the tub and

smiles. "It's the perfect temperature; are you ready to get in?"
"Guess I gotta take all this off first, unless you want to help me out?"
Connor sinks to his knees in front of Hank, and fuck, he has to admit it's a beautiful sight. He lifts Hank's feet one by one and removes his

shoes and socks, sliding his hands up Hank's legs to knead at his calves afterwards. He sits back on his heels, holding Hank's gaze as he unbuckles his belt and slowly undoes the button and zipper.
Connor doesn't bother to push Hank's pants down farther than mid-thigh before he's

mouthing at Hank's cock through his boxers, LED fluttering as he moans blissfully at the feel of it through the soft fabric.
Hank can't help himself; he buries his fingers in Connor's hair, gently holding him in place as he rocks forward against the hot press of his mouth.

"You're pretty eager, huh?" he asks.
"Of course," Connor says, his eyes wide and hungry. He licks his lips as he eases Hank's boxers off, but stands up and starts unbuttoning his shirt without leaning in for a taste. "I don't want the water to cool," he says, when Hank gives him

a questioning look, "and as you've already established, you're good at distracting me." He slips behind Hank to slide his shirt off, then slaps him on the ass, hard enough for Hank to bark out a small, sharp "hey!" of surprise.
"Get in the tub," he says. "I'll be right there."

Connor's running the show, so Hank does as he's told. He can't hold back a little groan of pleasure as he steps into the tub; he can't remember the last time he had a warm soak like this. The water's very hot, and the moment he sinks into it he can feel the tightness in his lower

back start to unwind. "Fuck, honey," he murmurs, sinking back until he's fully submerged. "This was a good idea."
"I'm glad you think so," Connor says. "I suspect you'll like it even more once I've joined you." He shucks off his clothing quickly; Hank likes when he gives him a

little tease, peels it off layer by layer or shows off some cute underwear he's been hiding away under his clothes all day, but right now he just wants Connor naked and in his lap again, and Connor seems to have the same goal in mind. He pulls something out from under the metal

lid of the tray that was delivered, and brings it and the small bag of bath items to the side of the tub.
"Close your eyes," he says.
Hank parts his lips, half-guessing where things are going, and sure enough, he feels Connor press something small against them and then into his

mouth. He presses it against the roof of his mouth, and it bursts against his tongue, a tart rush of flavor.
"Raspberries?" he asks. "How did you manage that?" The growing seasons have changed, since he was younger, and they're a bit harder to come by than they once were. Still,

they're his favorite; he must have told Connor that, once. It's been a few years since he's had them.
"The hotel gets a small weekly supply from a local farm," Connor says. He hasn't gotten in the tub yet, and he looks gorgeous perched on the edge of it, leaning over Hank with a

sweet smile on his face and a little silver bowl in one hand. "I was able to persuade them to set some aside for us." He plucks another berry from the bowl and pops it into Hank's mouth. "I thought you'd enjoy them."
"I'll enjoy them more if you get in with me before you feed me

any more," Hank says. He mirrors his posture from earlier, spreading his legs wide and leaning back; this time he grips the base of his cock, for good measure, and gives it a long, slow stroke while watching for Connor's reaction.
"Oh, first I need to--" Connor sets the bowl down

and fusses with the bag, pulling out a pair of bath bombs and a little jar of salt. "Let me put these in first."
"Nope," Hank says, gently grabbing Connor's wrist and tugging him forward. "Get in first, then you can drop whatever else you want in after." He kisses the underside

of Connor's wrist, then his palm, then he sucks a finger into his mouth and swirls his tongue around it.
Connor is suddenly much less concerned with the items he's piled around the tub than he is with joining Hank in it. He slips in, as neat and soundless as a seal, and settles

himself between Hank's thighs. "Don't distract me yet," he fusses, when Hank wraps his arms around Connor's chest to pull him close. "I need to make everything perfect, first."
"You're here, I'm here," Hank says. "We're naked and the water's nice and hot. Sounds perfect to me."

"Mmm," Connor agrees. "That is the most important part, yes." He manages to reach far enough to grab the bath bombs and the salt without leaving Hank's embrace. The bombs are dropped unceremoniously into the water and the bath salts follow suit, once he opens the jar; immediately

the tub is filled with an effervescent hiss and a fresh, resinous scent. "I think you'll find perfection can be improved upon, though."
Hank swishes his hand lazily through the water, watching the trails of green and gold fizz their way around the surface. Already he can feel

some sort of oil making the water feel softer. A little slicker, maybe. "What's in all that, honey? It smells good."
Connor turns and perches on Hank's lap much like he had out on the balcony; one arm drapes over his shoulder so his fingers can tangle in Hank's half-wet hair,

while his other hand traces lazy circles on Hank's chest, drawing closer and closer to a nipple with every brush of his fingers. "Cedar and juniper and sweet orange oil," he says, "plus cocoa butter and almond oil to keep you nice and soft." He squeezes the plush give of Hank's

chest as if to demonstrate what softness feels like.
Hank groans a little at Connor's touch. They've been working each other up all night, starting when Connor started flirting so shamelessly over dinner, and while he knows he doesn't want to move things along too quickly yet,

wants to tease things out a while longer, he's at that point where every touch from Connor leaves him wanting more. Hank gets so greedy for him, sometimes.
"Soft, huh? You saying I'm too rough?" he growls into Connor's ear. He sucks his earlobe into his mouth, then gives it a

pull with his teeth, just hard enough to make Connor gasp. "You usually don't complain about that."
"No, I--" Connor starts to protest, but his words die in his mouth when Hank grabs his ass and hauls him up far enough for Hank to take one of his nipples in his mouth and suck at

it messily. Connor whines and ruts his hips forward, pressing his cock into the curve of Hank's gut. There's just enough oil in the water to make things a little slippery; he squirms at the feel of it, the ease of his cock sliding against Hank, and thrusts against him again.

"I wanted to--" he starts, sounding as overcome with desire as Hank feels, "you keep distracting me, Hank, I'm--oh!"
Connor thrashes in the water when Hank bites his nipple, then flings an arm out to save the raspberries before the dish gets flooded by an errant splash.

"I'm doing this for you, but you're so..." Connor's valiant attempt to monologue about his intentions is eventually defeated by Hank's mouth on his chest, trailing bites and messy kisses up to the sensitive column of his neck and the place just under his jaw that he knows will

make Connor melt.
"I'm getting you off-track again," Hank says, and Connor nods. "Baby, you put all this work into setting things up tonight, I think you should let yourself be distracted for a little while. Your mind's always going, you're always trying to make things so good

for me."
"You--you deserve it," Connor says. He tightens his hand in Hank's hair, tilting his head back for a deep, frantic kiss. "Everything."
"But maybe you deserve a break, for a moment," Hank murmurs. He kneads Connor's ass, teases one finger down his cleft and back, and

chuckles at the low moan he gets in response. "This is all for me, right?"
Connor nods.
"I'm your birthday bear?"
"Oh, Hank, yes."
"You did so much for me already, honey, so you know what I think?"
"What?"
Hank nuzzles Connor's neck while he drags Connor's hips forward so that

their cocks brush against each other. "You know I only got one go in me, but you, baby, you can come all night if you want to. So I think I need to take care of you for a little while, wear you out a bit, and then you can pop some berries in my mouth while you recover."

"Then," he says, low and sweet and right in Connor's ear, "I'll lay you out on that big bed over there and see about fucking you so hard you gotta go offline for a few minutes. How's that sound?"
Connor lets out a long, shaky exhale, squeezes his thighs around Hank's, and comes.

Connor's beautiful when he comes, Hank thinks, shaking and rubbing himself against Hank until he whines from overstimulation and has to stop. He doesn't flush, doesn't sweat, but he still manages to look wrecked; his eyes are wide and he pants quietly, venting excess heat against

Hank's shoulder.
"Think about it this way," Hank says, holding Connor close while he slumps against him, loose-limbed and pliant after his climax. "What better gift can you give an old man like me than to make him feel like hot shit getting his partner off a handful of times in a

fancy hotel?"
"You don't need," Connor begins, so drunk on pleasure he almost sounds sleepy. Hank wonders how fucked-out he'll sound when he's through with him and his cock twitches in anticipation. Connor moans softly and rubs his own cock, already stiffening again, against it.

"What's that, honey?" Hank asks.
"You don't need to convince me any more," Connor says. "If that's what you want."
"To make you come so many times you black out for a bit? Hell yeah, that's what I want. Come here."
Connor's already about as close as he can get, but Hank

repositions him, spreading his legs wide and settling Connor between them, back leaning against Hank's chest. He loves having Connor like this, loves to hold him close and touch him all over and rumble praise into his ear about how good he feels in his arms, how gorgeous he is.

All the cheesy shit that somehow doesn't feel cheesy, when he's with Connor. It just feels right.
"How's this?" he asks, nosing into Connor's damp hair. "You comfy? Feeling good?"
"Of course," Connor replies. He shifts in Hank's embrace as if he's settling into a more comfortable

position, but Hank's pretty sure he just wants an excuse to grind back against his cock.
"You'll get that later," Hank says, squeezing him tighter to keep him still. "Right now I just want to touch you."
"Please," Connor says. He tips his head back onto Hank's shoulder, baring

his neck in invitation; it would be rude, of course, not to accept, so Hank places slow, wet kisses across the bared expanse of his neck and shoulder and grins against his skin when he moans and grips Hank's thighs tighter.
"Touch me," Connor whines. He nudges Hank's hands where

they're settled low on Connor's waist.
"My mouth isn't enough for you?" Hank asks. "You need more than that?" He sucks a kiss into Connor's shoulder; it would be enough to bruise, if Connor was a human, but instead he's rewarded with a deep moan and the stark white of

Connor's chassis flickering into view. "More than this?"
"Your know I love your hands," Connor says, slipping his fingers between Hank's. "Please."
Hank slides one hand down to Connor's thigh, then to encircle the base of his cock. "Like this?"
"Yes, yes," Connor pants, thrusting

up into Hank's grip. Water sloshes onto Hank's chest and splashes his beard.
"Careful, sweetheart," Hank says. "Don't get too excited."
"I'll get as excited as I want," Connor huffs. "You can't stop me."
"Guess I can't." Hank draws his other hand out of the water and dries it on

a towel folded on the ledge around the tub before gently cupping Connor's chin. "Guess I don't really want to stop you." He brushes his thumb over Connor's lower lip and laughs when he opens his mouth eagerly. "You want both hands, huh?"
Connor nips his thumb in reply.

"You better open wide for me, then."
Connor nods and parts his lips, letting his jaw hang slack as Hank pushes his first two fingers into Connor's mouth. He's still leaning against Hank's shoulder, slumped down so that the water laps at his collarbone, and Hank can see his eyes

roll back a moment before he squeezes them shut. He moans around Hank's fingers, a deep, broken sound, and sucks them in as far as they'll go, stroking and licking between them with his tongue.
Connor's cock throbs in Hank's loose grip, and Hank tightens his hand, giving it a

squeeze before he sets a slow, teasing pace, stroking Connor only firmly enough to make him desperate for more.
"You really do love this," Hank says, his voice rough with his arousal. "Fuck, look at you." He presses against Connor's tongue and grips his chin with his thumb,

tilting his head to the side so he can watch his thick fingers disappear into Connor's mouth and slide halfway out again, matching the pace his other hand has set. "Can't decide if I like the look of you with my fingers or my cock in your mouth more," he says. "You're so pretty

either way."
Connor hums around his fingers, a muffled, pleased sound.
"I know you like hearing that," Hank murmurs, close to his ear. "How good you look with something in your mouth. You know it's true, but it's nice to be reminded, isn't it?"
Connor nods. He's rocking his hips

into Hank's hand, now, meeting each stroke and driving the pace faster as he sends small waves rippling and colliding across the surface of the tub. Hank tries not to think too much about the mess he's sure they're going to make of the bathroom; surely a hotel like this is used

to guests going overboard with bathtub sex, though, right? It'll be fine.
He has more important things to think about, too; Connor reaches for the hand shoved in his mouth and unfolds Hank's ring finger from where he's curled it to his palm.
"This one, too?" He nudges it against

Connor's mouth and waits for his eager nod.
Connor's lips stretch obscenely around his fingers; it's a bit of a struggle to fit them all in his mouth, Hank knows, but Connor's never been one to back down from a challenge.
"Gorgeous," he says, as Connor slurps and licks at his

fingers and bucks into his fist. Saliva trickles from his mouth and down Hank's wrist, but Connor's too far gone to care about making a mess and Hank doesn't mind at all.
"You love my hands so much," Hank says, "I bet you wish I was three fingers deep in your ass right now, too."

Connor whines and arches his back, pressing back against Hank's erection where it's trapped between their bodies.
"I need more hands," Hank groans, his arousal increasing the louder and more uncontrolled Connor becomes. "Need to touch you everywhere at once, make you feel so much

you can't process it all." He licks Connor's neck, the shell of his ear. "Are you thinking about what's going to happen when I take you to bed later? How loud you'll get when you don't have anything in your mouth to keep you quiet? How good it's gonna feel when I--jesus, Connor--

when I bottom out in you?" Hank can't help but groan and rock against Connor's ass, now. "Fuck, baby, I can't wait to feel you, but I want you to come for me first. You're close, aren't you?"
Connor nods and makes a low, incoherent sound around Hank's fingers.

"I can tell you are," Hank says. "I want you to." He slows the speed of his hand on Connor's cock and smiles when he gets an impatient, muffled whine in reply. He adjusts his grip, sliding his thumb over the head of Connor's cock on the upstroke, and teases Connor with slow,

deliberate strokes until he's desperately rocking his hips up into Hank's hand, trying to encourage him to speed up.
"You need more?"
"Mmm," Connor moans. Hank tries to remove his fingers from his mouth, in case he wants to say more, but Connor's hand clamps down on his wrist,

keeping him in place, and he sucks harder. A sound that could just as easily be "please" or a meaningless moan rises from his throat a moment later.
"You'll get more than this, soon," Hank says, jerking Connor faster once again. "I won't put anything in your mouth when I fuck you

because I want to hear you scream. That's how good I want to make you feel, Connor, so good you can't help but cry out for me."
Connor moans around Hank's fingers again. One of his hands squeezes Hank's thigh while the other scrabbles for purchase at the edge of the tub, gripping

it for leverage as he thrusts up into Hank's hand.
"If we did this outside," Hank says, very quietly, "everyone could hear you. They'd all know how much you love this."
Connor's hips stutter and he gasps around Hank's fingers. Hank's sure he's hit his mark. "You'd like that,

wouldn't you?"
He nods once, a jerky motion nearly lost in the movement of his entire body as he fucks into Hank's fist.
"Maybe I should, then." Hank bites down on the sensitive place where Connor's neck meets his shoulder and squeezes his thighs more tightly around Connor,

holding him in place. "Once everyone hears you moaning for me, they'll be jealous knowing I'm the one who gets to touch you like this. They'll all want you but they can't have you."
Connor's entire body tenses, back arching as he wails around the fingers in his mouth and comes.

Hank helps him ride it out, slowing his hand on Connor's cock until he's gently teasing the last shudders of pleasure out of him.
"That's it," Hank murmurs, so quietly it's little more than a soft rumble in Connor's ear. "Look at you, sweetheart. Beautiful."

When he comes back to himself, Connor stirs from where he's slumped back against Hank's shoulder and turns to face him, straddling one of Hank's thighs and cupping his cheek to hold him still for a kiss. It's a gentle kiss, at first, nearly chaste if Hank ignores the way Connor's

squeezing Hank's thigh between his legs or how loudly he moans into Hank's mouth when Hank rests his hands low on his back. Connor's refractory period can be pretty damn short, Hank knows; he wonders he's ready for round three already.
"Sounds like you might need some more

attention," Hank says, when Connor breaks away from the kiss. His eyes are still wide, and his LED flutters rapidly, stuttering and flashing like it does when he's overwhelmed with data. "You're still pretty worked up, looks like, which means I haven't worn you out enough yet."

"Not yet," Connor says, with a wink. "But I want--"he breaks off with a sigh as Hank kneads his ass, gently spreading his cheeks apart. "Ohh, I--I want the next time I come to be when you're inside me."
"Inside you," Hank says, thoughtfully. He teases the pad of a finger over

Connor's hole, circling it without dipping inside. "You don't mean my fingers, do you?"
"No."
"Maybe my tongue?" He licks into Connor's mouth and feels his cock twitch where it's pressed against Hank's belly. "You don't need to breathe underwater, I can flip you upside down right

now and eat you out, if you want."
Again, Hank can tell the idea's landed in fertile ground. Connor pauses for a moment, lips parted, as he considers, but Hank already knows his answer. The rest of it is just for fun, just to see how impatient Connor's feeling.

"I want this," he says, wrapping his hand around Hank's half-hard cock. He licks his lips as he feels it swell in his grip.
"I can't--I don't want to wait any longer," he says, finally. "Take me to bed. Please."
"Hmm," Hank says, as if he's considering the question. Weighing the

pros and cons. "You had a whole berry plan though, right?" He plucks one from its dish, which had miraculously avoided being flooded by bathwater, and pops it in his mouth before Connor can protest. "Fuck, these are good. You sure you don't want to take care of that first?"

"I've amended the berry plan," Connor huffs. "Bed, then dessert. That's the plan."
"You *are* in charge of the evening's activities," Hank admits. "Bath's getting a little cold anyway, but I'll be sad to leave it." He nuzzles Connor's neck. "You did good, finding this for us."