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Old Dogs Learn New Tricks

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“I want you to fuck me,” Hank says abruptly, one night at dinner.

On the other side of the table, Connor snorts and nearly chokes on a piece of chicken. He swallows thickly, hand over his chest as he tries to not continue laughing.

“Excuse me?” Connor raises an eyebrow. “We already have sex, don’t we?”

“I want you ,” Hank pauses, for emphasis. He even points his fork at Connor. “To fuck me.”

Realization hits Connor visibly. A rosy blush colors his cheeks and neck. And that fizzy citrus scent of his flares up.


Hank sits back in his chair. He lowers his fork, watching the gears turn in Connor’s head. “What’s going on in that big head of your’s babydoll?”

“I’m thinking about it,” Connor sets his fork down on the edge of his plate. Then he leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, and his chin in his palm. Hank reaches across the small table to take Connor’s free hand. Connor glances down at it, then back up at Hank.

“Would I be good?” He asks, voice so small that Hank’s heart aches. The citrus sours just a bit. “I’m… I’m tiny-- and I don’t think I’d--”

“Connor,” Hank cuts in gently. But there’s still enough firmness to his words that Connor shuts up. He’s still blushing, looking awkward as all hell. “Anything you do will be incredible. So do you want to try?”

He squeezes Connor’s hand. Connor immediately squeezes back.


Hank smiles, and so does his Omega.




Hank rests back against the pillows, all half-dozen of them under his back. (Connor’s a nester. It’s adorable, really, but there’s far too many pillows for just the two of them.) In front of him, Connor is knelt on the bed, tucked between Hank’s spread thighs.

Both are completely naked. Connor’s flushed from nerves, but Hank’s doing just fine. He’s lounging like a goddamn king, feeling content to watch his Omega get all adorably nervous.

“How do I even…” Connor whispers.

Hank laughs softly, loving just how shy his mate gets. “Babydoll, just like what I do with you.”

Connor seems to have difficulty with such a simple concept. It’s adorable to watch Connor’s face twist up in confusion before it melts into understanding.

“Do we even have lube?”

Hank laughs again; it’s a deep belly one this time. “Yeah, probably in the bottom of the nightstand drawer.”

Connor nods a little, leaning over Hank’s leg to reach for the nightstand. Connor’s question is kind of a good one… Connor’s always soaked when things get hot and heavy, so Hank just scoops up the slick and uses that. He doesn’t even remember the last time he used a bottle of lube.

Connor must’ve found it. He makes a little happy noise, pulling out the bottle and shutting the drawer. He sits back on his heels, popping open the cap. Hank watches with hungry eyes, his cock starting to stir.

“Do you want me to start with one finger?” Connor asks, squirting some lube onto his fingers. Hank nods. He shifts, moving down just a bit so Connor has better access. He also spreads his legs wider, planting his feet on the bed so he can bend his knees.

Connor exhales slowly. His eyes flick up to Hank’s, and the flush brightens once again. Then he leans in, pressing his lips to Hank’s big belly as he circles a finger around Hank’s hole. Hank huffs. It’s been a long, long time since he’s been touched like that.

He’ll admit, gladly, that when he masturbated more frequently in his thirties, he’d slick up a finger or two and press them in while he tugged at his cock. The angle was never right though, he never got his fingers in deep enough to feel good. But this… this feels good. Connor’s fingers are naturally chilly, and the lube isn’t helping, but it feels good.

Then Connor pushes a finger in. Just one-- his narrow index finger. He goes slow, just like Hank does with him. He gets to the second knuckle when Hank groans.

“Shit…” Hank murmurs.

Connor’s still pressing lazy kisses into the pudge of Hank’s belly, and he doesn’t stop even as his eyes flick up to meet Hank’s.

“Been awhile,” Hank continues. “And you’re getting deeper than I ever did.”

Connor snickers against Hank’s stomach. He takes it as a compliment, pushing the rest of his finger in. He lets it sit still for a few seconds, then he’s starting to move again. Hank groans again, thanking whatever deity has blessed him with an Omega this beautiful, this loving, this good.

Connor’s open mouthed kisses trail down the side of Hank’s stomach, over the dip where his belly turns into hairy upper thigh. He’s worshipping the skin-- kissing every scar and coarse hair covered inch he can reach. It’s got Hank already melting, even at just one finger.

He relaxes perfectly, Connor’s hand picking up pace. His cock’s getting hard, starting to perk up and curve up towards his stomach. Connor kisses around the base, nose tickling against the tight, curly body hair. But he doesn’t touch Hank’s cock-- just letting his warm breath fan over the shaft.

Hank groans, running a hand roughly through his hair. “Oh baby…”

Connor hums softly, lips trailing back over to one of Hank’s thighs. His teeth come out, nipping at the skin and making Hank’s leg jolt. Then he laughs, something light and airy. Hank watches his mate, wanting to remember this moment forever. This picture of Connor, all long limbs and pale, hairless skin, nestled between Hank’s broad thighs, giving attention to every bit of Hank he can reach? It should be painted in fine oil and hung in a gallery.

“Another?” Connor asks after a few minutes of slow pumping. Hank nods shakily. He brings a hand up, running it through Connor’s hair. Connor preens under the touch, pressing back against Hank’s wide palm. His eyes slip shut, reminding Hank of a pleased, purring kitty.

Gently, Connor pushes in another finger. Hank exhales deeply, the stretch burning a bit. But it’s not bad-- don’t get him wrong. It’s all kinds of incredible.

“You’re incredible,” Connor murmurs. Hank huffs out a laugh, head rolling back against the pillows lazily.

“Don’t say that…” he replies, scratching lightly at the back of Connor’s head. Connor whines just a little bit, and Hank can’t tell if it’s from what he said, or the touch. It’s probably both, but the two fingers in his ass has ruined all coherent thought.

“Why not? You compliment me all the time,” Connor says. Hank can’t bear to lift his head and meet his mate’s eyes.

“I’m so lucky to have you,” Connor continues. The fingers keep pumping, turning Hank into putty. He moans weakly, half tempted to throw an arm over his face. He’s an Alpha for god’s sake , but with the fingers in his slick ass making him melt, he feels like anything but.

“So handsome,” Connor murmurs, kissing one of Hank’s large fat rolls. Hank’s always been insecure about that-- fearing that being an overweight, aging, alcoholic Alpha will keep him alone forever. But then there’s Connor, adding a third finger when Hank whines.

Hank’s free hand tangles up in the bed sheets.

“Fuck,” Hank moans. His grip on Connor’s hair is tightening, but Connor doesn’t seem to mind at all.

“You’re doing so good,” Connor laughs airily.

Hank’s eyes are closed, but Connor can see everything.

And Connor wonders if this is what he looks like when Hank fucks him. He now understands why Hank loves Connor like this, because Hank is a work of art. Sprawled out on the messy bed sheets, chest flushed and sweat gathering in the dips of his body. His legs are spread, letting Connor watch as his own fingers sink into his mate. Sitting just above, he gets to watch Hank’s cock harden, wide and long with a thick base that hints at a large knot that’d plug anybody up so good.

Connor moans a little, even though he’s not being touched. He can feel slick between his thighs. He clenches them together, feeling a few beads roll down the back of his legs.

“God-- more baby,” Hank moans again. Connor lazily kisses the meat of Hank’s thigh. Hank lets another weak noise fall from his lips.

“I’m running out of fingers,” Connor says teasingly. He slips out his three fingers, brushing them against Hank’s entrance. Hank whines at the sudden emptiness. His hand slips from Connor’s hair.

“Then fuck me,” Hank growls. His eyes open, head lifting just enough for them to make eye contact. There’s pure Alpha heat in his eyes, and that goes straight to Connor’s crotch. Another wave of slick rolls down his thighs.

“I doubt I’m much bigger than my fingers--” Connor starts to joke, but Hank’s low, almost pained, whine makes him shut up.

“Con, I love that mouth of yours, but please, please shut the fuck up.”

Connor happily obliges. He always will. And he knows that no matter how much of a gruff, Alpha facade Hank puts on, he never means anything malicious.

He reaches for the lube again, squirting some onto his palm. He sits up on his knees, finally touching himself. He bites his bottom lip, holding back a moan as he strokes himself just enough to be slick. Then he positions himself, one hand coming to rest on the bed, and the other lining himself up with Hank’s entrance.

Hank watches the whole time, hunger in his blue eyes.

But when Connor starts to push the head of his narrow, Omega cock in, the hunger dissipates as Hank moans wantonly.

Connor is not big by any means-- he’s much narrower and smaller than Hank in every way. All lean and long, but his cock is still perfect. Hank loves it so fucking much.

Connor rocks his hips forward carefully, pushing in inch by inch. Hank takes it beautifully.

“Fuck,” Hank curses. His hands shoot up from the bed, grabbing at Connor’s forearms. Connor buckles, having to suddenly slap his hands onto the mattress on either side of Hank’s hips in order to keep himself upright.

His hips jolt at the movement, pushing in as deep as he can go.

Hank moans, so fucking loud that it nearly echoes back at them. Connor’s just pushed in but Hank feels like he could cum right then and there. Connor’s so fucking incredible--

Then Connor starts rocking. Pulling his hips back far enough to nearly slip out, then pushing all the way forward. Just like Hank does.

The thrusts are deep and have Hank moaning like he’s in heat. Fuck, he feels like he is-- there’s so much pressure in his gut, sweat on his chest, and heat in his body.

“God, baby I love you,” Hank babbles, barely aware that he’s speaking. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Connor exhales. He’s picking up the pace, starting to snap his hips against Hank’s ass. Their thighs are making obscene noises-- skin on skin. Hank’s moaning, Connor’s deep thrusts drawing them out of him. And Connor’s watching, mesmerized.

He moves one of his hands, gripping the back of one of Hank’s large thighs. He’s able to lift the leg a little bit, giving him a better angle. Hank whines at being handled, too delirious to make a comment about Connor’s strength.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” Hank continues talking, words flowing out of him like an endless stream. “God, I love you-- you’re so beautiful and I’m so lucky.”

Connor’s a little less out of it. He laughs, snapping his hips forward in a sharp thrust. It rocks Hank, the fat on his tummy jiggling. Connor’s other hand moves to rest right on top, massaging at the pudge.

“I’m gonna cum,” Hank bites out.

“Yeah?” Connor huffs. His eyes flick between watching himself sink into Hank, and Hank’s face. His mate’s eyes are clenched shut, lips parted and almost constantly making noise.

“Yeah,” Hank nods.

“Then cum for me, I want to see you.”

With a shaky hand, Hank starts to stroke himself in time with Connor’s sharp thrusts. Connor watches the sight, loving the fact that Hank’s wide fingers curl around himself so perfectly. Connor, even with his long fingers, has some trouble curling around Hank’s cock completely.

It only takes a few strokes for Hank to cum. He tugs a handful of times, his back arching away from the mound of pillows. He moans, his other hand gripping Connor’s bicep like it’s all that’s keeping him grounded. Then he spills onto his stomach. Fat, white ropes of cum cover his belly, and it keeps going. His knot threatens to swell, but never quite does it.

Connor’s lost his rhythm at the sight, hips faltering. He starts to rut-- half thrusts that have the tops of his bare thighs rubbing against the back of Hank’s hairy ones. The touch is chafing, almost burning, but it feels so fucking good. And Hank’s gone all tight from his orgasm-- walls clenched up. Connor moans at the godlike sensation.

On the bed below, Hank’s lost in his high. His cock lays flat against his belly, starting to soften. Connor keeps rutting though, nearly at his end.

It only takes a minute.

Then his hips still. A sharp moan rips from his throat. He falls over the edge-- weak Omega cum spilling deep in Hank. Hank watches lazily, mind starting to pull itself back together.

Connor almost collapses, slipping out of Hank. He rolls off to the side, landing on his back next to Hank with a soft oof.

The two lay there panting for a minute.

Then, in the first sign of life since the best orgasm of his life, Hank runs his fingers through Connor’s hair. The Omega hums quietly, pushing back up against Hank’s touch. He shifts too, resting his cheek on Hank’s hairy thigh.

Both are flushed and sweating. They’re in desperate need of a shower and a change of bed sheets.

“Fuck,” Hank murmurs. Connor’s head tilts a little, just enough for them to make eye contact. He smiles, something warm and tiny. Hank returns it easily. His chest is still warm. It’s not lust this time though.

“Did you like it?” Connor asks. Hank snorts. Connor can be so clueless sometimes, it’s so sweet Hank could get cavities.

“Did I? Connor I think you fucked the soul outta me. Haven’t cummed that fast in years.”

Connor blushes, turning to hide his face in the meat of Hank’s thigh. Hank laughs louder this time.

“I’m gonna have to get you a fleshlight.”

That simple, (partially) joking sentence makes Connor’s head shoot up. His eyes are wide like dinner plates, lips parted in surprise.

“What?” He croaks out.

“I’m never gonna be able to keep up with you babydoll. I’ll get you one so you can rut,” Hank’s calloused fingers brush through Connor’s sex-mussed hair. They brush stray locks out of Connor’s eyes, revealing glossy brown eyes.

Connor knows he shouldn’t be embarrassed by the suggestion. They’ve got a pretty good collection of toys in a box in the closet… but he’s still embarrassed. Hank finds it cute, mostly likely teasing Connor on purpose just to get this reaction.

But Hank’s eyes are dead serious. As serious as a fucking heart attack.

“I could put you on my cock. You’re so good at warming it up…” Hank continues. A smirk crosses his lips, something flaring up in his eyes. “Then have you fuck up into that fake ass. You’d feel so good… overwhelmed too. I bet you’d cry.”

Connor whines. He presses his face back into Hank’s hairy thigh, trying to ignore the twitch that jolted through his cock, and the slick threatening to drip out of his hole. Connor knows he cries when overwhelmed during sex-- he just feels so fucking incredible-- and Hank seems to have made it his purpose to get tears out of his Omega every damn time.

“What do you think babydoll?”

The whine Connor lets out speaks louder than any words ever could.