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much in common

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Hank's been alone in his lab for three days. Alex is all about giving people their space, and processing time, and whatever else the Professor likes to babble on about, but this is enough; Alex draws the line.

He doesn't bother knocking; he knows Hank will try and put him off, if he answers at all. Instead, he comes up behind Hank and puts his arms around his neck. Pushes his nose into the mane of hair that now surrounds his head, and just breathes. It still smells like Hank - his shampoo, his soap. The weird musk-man smell he'd always tried to hide is back in full-force, and Alex breathes in again, deeply.

Hank stills almost immediately. “What are you doing?” he asks, voice a half octave too high.

“I missed you,” Alex says. It’s not really his thing, talking about how he feels, but he knows it gets Hank where it counts, so he can suck it up for the moment. "You've been avoiding me, bozo --" So sue him, he's still Alex Summers -- "and I was giving you your space, but I'm done playing it your way."

Hank flinches, a little. "I haven't--"

"I'm not a genius, but I'm not stupid, Jesus." Hank's idea of subtle is a lot like a brick to the face. "I know you're - we're all - shit happened, okay, I get that, and when you look in the mirror your face isn't yours -" Big flinch there, good to know Hank still has all the same issues. "But I miss you, and I'm not letting you lock yourself away in here just because the Professor isn't up to kicking your ass yet."

Hank doesn't say anything, just places one of his hands on Alex's arm. The skin there is courser, thicker than normal, than it used to be. It still feels good.

"I'm sorry for hiding," he says. "I never thought -"

"Yeah, you do a lot of that for a smart guy," Alex snaps back, and hides his grin in the side of Hank's neck. "I get needing alone time, okay? And I know the lab's your space, or whatever, but you were sort of freaking me out."

"I'm sorry," Hank says again, and he's the sort of guy that would say that all night if you let him, but Alex has no taste for it.

"You're forgiven," he says easily, swinging around to sit on Hank's lap, and then laughs. "Jesus, you're so big." And he's not even talking about the obvious - just the stretch of his thighs trying to straddle Hank in his chair. He wants to call him a beast, really, but Hank's still touchy about, oh, everything, and Alex only pushes him so far. And not in moments like these.

He decides to kiss him instead. It’s not their first time doing this, just the first time since Hank’s transformation. And yeah, Hank's bigger, and bluer, and from the way he's sniffing Alex and biting his neck, its going to get a lot beastier too, but Alex doesn't care. He's definitely not afraid; he's never afraid with Hank. It sounds stupid, but its one of the things he likes best about him. Right now Alex just wants to work on figuring out the new shape of Hank's lips, the points of his teeth, the texture of his tongue.

I'm gonna figure you out, Alex thinks to himself. I'll relearn you, every bit, every inch.

"Come on," he says. "Hank, come on." He really doesn't fucking care that Hank's big and blue - they'll figure out the logistics as they go.

They run to Hank's bedroom; it's closer, and considering how much time Hank spends in the lab, almost immaculately clean. In contrast, the sheets on the bed are rumpled, tossed everywhere, like Hank failed to fall asleep and then took it out on the bed. Alex yanks off his shirt, pulls off his pants and in his peripheral visions watches Hank do the same. Hank's hands are clumsy, excessive; he fumbles twice with the zipper of his pants, he wrenches three buttons off of his shirt. Which Alex might make fun of him for if he wasn't so eager to take a look at Hank's dick.

He's just saying - Hank got bigger, maybe everything else grew proportionately.

His dick is blue now - which, big surprise there - but a darker shade than the rest of him, like his hair, or his lips. More purple. Especially around the head, which is big, and wet already. Alex wants to fucking choke himself on it, Hank's hands in his hair, pushing him down, greedy, while Alex gasps and swallows and swallows until he's got every last inch he can take, and he's not gonna stop sucking until Hank has gone soft and when his dick slips from Alex's mouth it leaves a wet trail of spit and come all down Alex' face. Alex - he knows he's staring, he feels the way his jaw dropped slightly, the drool pooling in his mouth. He wants, oh, he wants --

Hank catches him staring, and that's it, the awkward-face is back.

"Don't even," Alex says, and he launches himself at Hank for good measure. Literally launches, and he knocks Hank onto the bed more by surprise than force. "I can't wait," he slurs, because sex does this to him, it knocks him out, it makes him languid, it makes him want. He gets pushy and malleable all at once. "I want to suck your cock so bad," he croons, shoving one hand between Hank's legs, fingers sliding just over the head, and Hank makes a noise like he's been shot.

There's a growl, and then Hank's heavy on top of him, and solid.

And, shit, the fur against his skin; Alex could get used to this. He rubs up against Hank once more for good measure, a good long writhe, his hands on Hank's back moving through clumps of fur, his dick pressing up against Hank's, hot and sticky-wet, hard.

"Hmm," he mumbles, nearly a purr, though he'd never admit to it.

Hank smiles down on him with a sudden flash of teeth. "Hedonist," he says fondly, and Alex will be looking that up later, damn Hank and his two-dollar words.

He can't help but grin back though, and the flash of pointed teeth in Hank's smile isn't alarming in the least.

"Fuck me," he says. "I want you to fuck me." He can see all the reasons why-not forming in Hank's head, all the insecurities and the fear, the horrible things he's thinking, and Alex is going to break him of that habit if it kills him. "I keep thinking about it." The last time they did it the night before Cuba, when Hank was careful and oh-so-patient, until he wasn't, and any pain there might have been was worth it to see him break. "I keep thinking about you," he says, and its like a key, a secret password, like everything in Hank spills into his eyes.

Hank's mouth on his neck, his jaw, his ear. "I want to," he says, and he sounds anguished, like it hurts just to admit it. "I want to, Alex, I want to, but you have to –” he continues, voice cracking. “I can’t…”

Alex looks down to where Hank’s nails have torn through the sheets, more treacherous than a girl’s because they’re hard and sharp and made for tearing by design, not just accident. That is not something he wants in him, he gets that. But the idea of Hank's hands, his perfect and freakishly capable hands never touching Alex again, never getting fingerfucked until he begs - that doesn't exactly bear thinking about.

"Manicures," Alex says decisively, and thinks, briefly, of Raven. "Have Moira hook you up."

Hank laughs, something between a snort and a sob, and Alex twists around to kiss him again.

"We'll figure it out," he promises. "We'll figure everything out." And it's a bigger promise than their sex life, even if Hank doesn't know it yet.

One more kiss for good measure, Alex's teeth digging into Hank's bottom lip, before he slides away to scrabble in the bedside table. Hank is the very definition of a Boy Scout; everything they'll ever need in the top drawer. Alex grabs the lube and sits back against Hank's headboard, snug up against the pillows. If Hank can't do it himself, he'll at least get a show. He might not know what a hedonist is, but Hank's called him an exhibitionist before, and Alex'll cop to that one.

"Watch," he says, imperious, a command, and he likes the way Hank's eyes track his every movement. Spreading his legs wide, lube all over his fingers. "Open myself up for you," he says, and when Hank growls again he swears he feels it before he hears it. "One fucking finger at a time."

It's a kind of lie, when he pushes the first two in together, easy. He slides down a little, cants his spine. Spreads himself open. It’s shameless, how good it feels, twisting on his own fingers, the discomforting stretch that so quickly turns into waves of pleasure rocketing up his spine.

"Hank," he gasps, and it’s a struggle to form the words properly, to ask for what he wants. Alex is no good at asking, and Hank's no good with intuitive leaps. There's middle ground, and they've been searching for it, but it's a struggle.

Alex is the brash one. The one who doesn't always think it through. He's physical. He likes to fuck and he's not ashamed about anything he's wanted, ever. He's straightforward, and Hank complicates him, and he likes that.

Hank is the clever one. Cerebral, the Professor would call it, before laughing at his own joke. Hank's good with words, and logistics, and hang-ups. If left to himself Hank would die alone, wracked with self-imposed guilt and loathing. He's got walls upon walls of defenses, but once you break them he's a fucking juggernaut, and he'll take down whatever's in his path, he'll take whatever he wants. Alex lets the beast loose and brings him back home when they're done and Hank needs that, too.

"Hank," he says again, and pushes his fingers in deeper, past the second knuckle. Practically pleading now. "Hank, just..." Touch me, he might say, but they can't do that, not right now. Not the way Hank wants to, and not with Alex putting on his little show. "Tell me," he grits out, finally. "Tell me what you want?"

"What I want?" Hank says, and for a moment he just sounds puzzled. Then his voice drops, he settles on his knees on the edge of his bed, one of Alex's feet a few inches away, flopping around, toes curled. "I think you mean what you want."

Jesus fucking Christ, yeah, that's pretty much exactly what he means.

"And what you want," Hank explains, simple, matter-of-fact, the same way he explains sensors or soundwaves or how to perfectly crisp bacon, the fucking freak. "Is my dick, isn't that right? Or not even mine, probably, just any dick, anything to fill you up." And Alex moans, spasms, caught somewhere between agreement and vehement denial. Trust Hank to get straight to the core of it.

"You're so needy," Hank says, and it sounds almost fond. "It's only been a week, Alex. Seven days. And you can't even control yourself for that long." Alex can't fight that one - a week, as far as he was concerned, was way too long. He ached last night, he'd fucking ached, jerking off in his bed, pressing two fingers just under past his balls - not even in, just over, just feeling himself spasm and want.

"Needy," Hank says again, eyes narrowing. "Desperate. One might even say gluttonous," he hisses, and it makes Alex writhe, somewhere between pleasure and laughter. Alex never knew anyone who could make him laugh so much during sex as Hank could. He'd never really laughed much before, period.

Hank doesn't do slang. He hardly ever uses obscenities. His idea of dirty talk started off sweet, and stuttering, and then ten minutes later Alex had his ass in the air with Hank's fingers shoved in his mouth while Hank fucked him so hard Alex had rugburn all over his knees and the side of his face. Hank blew the learning curve so far out of the fucking water it made Alex want to thank God personally.

"Yeah," he drawls, "gluttonous, that's me, I always want - more." And he works his third finger inside, hard, slamming his head back when he finds his prostate, bucking up into the air while Hank watches.

"You're so easy," Hank says, and they both know its not a bad thing, not with the way his mouth forms so carefully around the word. And he's getting worked up now, they both are, Alex twisting up and down on his own fingers, back and forth, his other hand darting up to pinch his nipples, one after the other, quick and hard.

"Yeah," Alex agrees. "I'm easy. I'm a fucking slut, you always knew that. I'm - I'm all wet, I'm ready, just, just need something to fill me up, somebody to fuck me."

"Specifics," Hank says. "Tell me what you want."

It almost makes him want to laugh again, except this time it feels much less funny. Hank the scientist should be so fucking unsexy, and he's not. "You," Alex says, priority one, the most important part of the whole equation. "I want you to fuck me. I want you, on top of me, holding me down."

"Open your eyes," Hank orders, and Alex starts. His eyelids fly up; he hadn't even realized he'd closed them. He crooks his fingers inside himself - wet, squealching noises, somehow crossing the line from sloppy-disgusting and making his dick even harder. Maybe a fourth finger, he thinks, just from the way Hank's looking at him - practically snarling, a growl caught just behind his teeth, like he's ready to pounce on Alex as soon as he gives the word but not one fucking moment before.

"I want..." he starts, and has to lick his lips. Alex is more of an action guy than a talking guy, but he knows exactly what he wants. He can do this. "I want you to fuck me. With that big beautiful dick of yours, until I scream so hard Sean hears it on the other side of the fucking Mansion. I want to fucking - bounce on your dick, Hank, I want it to hurt, I want you to come so hard --"

"You know what I want?" Hank interrupts, nonchalant, and Alex stills, instantly. His legs are cramped, a little, and he tries to stretch them a little, the heels of his feet scrabbling over the covers. "I want to see you." And, it's - Alex can't read Hank's new face as easily as the old one, even without the glasses. Hank's yellow eyes are mostly behind his hair, he's looking at Alex down a broader nose - he's lost his babyface, all his easy-to-read expressions.

Alex shudders. "Hank, I--"

In the dim light Hank's just a shadowy blur at the foot of the bed. "I want," he says, slow and deliberate, voice rough, "to see you orgasm. To see you come. And I want you to do it now, before I fuck you, because you're going to come again while I do it." He pauses, for a moment. "On my dick."

Yeah. A fucking juggernaut. Game fucking over, Alex thinks, so fucking pleased his toes curl.

"Just my -"

"Just your fingers," Hank says, and shifts onto the bed. Still not touching, but so close Alex can feel the heat his body gives off, like a furnace, and thinks about what it's going to feel like, Hank on top of him, hot and sweaty, fur clumping together with sweat and Alex's come. Bruises on Alex's wrists and hips, maybe scratches if he's lucky, if he can get Hank to forget himself just enough. Marking him all up, biting him --

Alex pivots his hips again, grinding down, all four fingers pushing in and out, rubbing over his prostate as best he can. "Hank," he forces out, pleading, his brain under this sweaty, hazy mess of burning pleasure.

"Alex," Hank says, smooth and calm except for the thread of really, really not under it, the threat of impatience and need nearly at the surface. "I can't fuck you until you come," and a promise, and a rebuke, and Alex is halfway to a frenzy, halfway to sobbing, bottom lip puffy from where he's been biting on it, when it's just - it's too much, it's so good, sweating and itchy, and he shoots all over himself, hard pulses, hot and wet all over his stomach. He hears Hank growl, and the pinprick of Hank's nails in his ankle, holding him down.

He feels loose and shaky, over-touched. When he goes to pull his fingers out, he feels himself clench reflexively, like he can't stand to be empty, and he knows Hank sees - he'd blush, if he could, but he already feels hot all over, and so fucking ready for Hank to fuck him.

"I'm ready," he says, around big gasps of air. He wipes his hand on the covers, still shaky, like his spine is slowly melting. "I'm ready, Hank, come on, please -"

"Shh," Hank says, and crawls up onto the bed next to Alex. "Yeah, I've got you, I'm going to fuck you," and Alex practically yanks Hank on top of him.

"Promises, promises," Alex says, as breezily as he can, and reaches down to run his hand over Hank's dick. It's hard, and more than sticky - so wet Alex probably could have forgone most of the lube. "Been awhile?" he murmurs - Hank's so good at denying himself - and Hank ducks his head in what might be a blush; hard to tell, now, under all that fur. Alex's gonna have to figure it out. "New fucking meaning to blue balls," he says, running his hands over them. Lightly furred, hanging heavy, and hot. "Jesus. You better fuck me now, 'cause I'm blowing you later." He's not even joking about the shit, and the way Hank growls makes him shiver.

He's flat on his back a second later while Hank lifts Alex's legs up, one knee over Hank's shoulders. Carefully, so Alex doesn't feel the bite of his nails, not once. This Alex knows. This is easy, the slide of Hank's cock into him, forcing himself to bear down and relax because, yeah, he's pretty sure Hank got bigger.

Two thrusts, three, four, maybe five, and Alex is shaking, his arms around Hank's neck, Hank's face buried in the side of his neck, licking and biting. The slow and steady of rhythm of Hank's thrusts grinding to a halt, even as he thrusts harder and harder to keep going.

"Jesus Christ," Alex gasps, laughing, "are you getting bigger?" He runs his fingers through Hank's mane, tugging gently on the hair on the nape of his neck.

"I - I think I am," Hank says, and he's not laughing, a grimace on his face that might be approaching horror. He starts to pull back and Alex yelps, because holy fuck, that is not coming out, and it is, it is getting bigger, his body is - he can feel the inside of him rippling, trying to adjust, he doesn't know how he thought this was all in his head.

"Oh," he says, "oh fuck, Hank, stop moving, don't fucking move.” And Hank stops there, shoved all the way in, his dick pulsing inside Alex's ass. It's so - it's hot, literally fucking hot, and Alex moans a little, because his body and brain are really fucking confused about what he should be doing right now.

"I think it's, it's a - a knot," Hank grits out, "like for breeding," and at that word its like Alex's whole brain goes blankly white hot - or red, maybe. Like when he lets loose a shot of plasma, so hot it's like someone skinned him with a poker iron. Everything else burned away.

"Fuck," Alex says, hissing, trying to ignore the way his dick is getting a little prematurely re-interested in the procedings, "fuck, fuck, fuck..."

"Like - like a dog," Hank continues, voice creaking and cracking, and sweet Jesus, like he wasn't self-hating enough already. Alex feels hot tears on the side of his neck, the press of Hank's teeth, like he's bared them in a snarl. Hank's stopped trying to pull out, but his hips are still moving, little tiny movements that drag the - the knot, or whatever, across Alex's prostate, over and over, and between Alex's thighs is completely slick, hot, like Hank is pumping him full of come, gallons of it, more than Alex can keep clenched in –

"Ohhh," he moans - and yeah, its a fucking moan, like something out of a really bad porno, or when Sean makes faces at them and thinks he’s being funny.

On top of him Hank stills. Then he pushes his hips forward, just once, deliberately. Just a little shove, but it makes Alex whine in the back of his throat. Makes his dick rub up against his stomach, sticking on the come and the sweat already there. Feels so good against Hank's fur, the skin of his stomach. Alex is so full it hurts, it does, but its not too much for him to handle.

"You like this," Hank says slowly, pushing up on his arms to stare Alex in the face, like Alex is the only freak in the room, okay. “You like this," he repeats, incredulous, and Alex will let him have the moral high ground if that is what he wants, but Jesus fuck.

"Yeah," he pants out, "yeah, I do, I do, just..." He trails off, because he's not sure what he wants. Hank to move? Alex is barely holding on as it is, Hank's freakish animal dick pulsing inside of him, filling him with so much come he can feel hot trails of it making their way down his thighs, puddling underneath him on the bed.

"Hurts," he says, honest, and Hank makes a broken noise, like an animal. "But - good," he continues, because that's true too. "Full. So fucking full, Hank, and, and wet, I can feel you coming," and this time its his voice that breaks, and he rocks back, and clenches, and sees fucking stars. "Oh," he says, "oh, Hank, Hank..."

"Tell me if it's too much," Hank growls, hands in Alex's hair, yanking Alex's head back so he can lick the sweat from his temples, his throat, his collarbones. "Tell me if you need me to stop. You have to."

"Yes," Alex says, fervently, "yes, I promise, just - just keep fucking me, Jesus." He whimpers every time Hank moves, every time he feels Hank's dick twitch inside him. He rocks a little, back and forth, clenching in tiny movements. He feels hazy, soft-focused, a little like he's high except the little twinges of pain keep pulling him back.

"Could be half an hour," Hank says, and his hands are on the headboard now, gripping around the edges, like he'd tear Alex to pieces otherwise. "L-longer, maybe," he growls, and thrusts, and Alex will fucking die after a half hour of this, but he will probably die the happiest man in at least five states. Possibly all of New England.

Alex has one hand on own dick, tugging at his balls - he's not coming, not now, even with his prostate lighting his brain up like a Christmas tree, Hank's spunk all over him, slick and hot. This is - this is enough jerk off material for the rest of his life, he is not blowing this load prematurely.

He tugs at Hank's head with his other hand, until brings his face down to Alex's. "Come here," he says, "stop paying so much attention to the fucking wallpaper and kiss me," and Hank does, because his transformation didn't affect his genius brain. Hank's tongue is rough, rougher - like a cat's, maybe - and he grips Alex's jaw hard, licking inside. He stops, sometimes, to duck down and bite Alex's nipples, lick them, and when Hank thrusts again they stick and scratch against Hank's fur.

Alex has stopped moving, mostly, just taking the gentle grind of Hank's hips against his, the swell inside him. Like fucking bliss, the way Hank feels right now, the hard weight of Alex's own dick against his stomach. Could do this all night, he thinks, hazily, and inhales deeply, Hank's scent mingling with that of sex.

Above him Hank grunts, and stills. "I think," he says, and his hips stutter. "I think I can pull out now," and Alex hisses.

"Slow," Hank promises, "so very slow." One hand on Alex's hip, gentle as a touch can be. "You know I'd never --" And there's a slick wet noise, not quite masked by Hank's groan, and Alex feels - feels empty; feels bereft, he's got two dollar words of his own to describe his own fucking feelings.

Hank practically collapses on top of him, arms shaking, and it's too much, Hank's too heavy, the press of him on Alex's aching body, his full dick, and Alex is trying to gather enough air to protest when Hank rolls off of him and slides between Alex's legs.

"I have to see," he hisses, and he wrenches Alex's legs apart, knees up, and he sets the tips of his fingers pressing just inside, just the edge, and Alex can feel himself still clenching and unclenching, the hot spill of Hank's come sliding down his thighs, the crack of his ass.

"Hank," he says, and its desperate, its embarrassed.

"I want," Hank says, and he pushes his head into the inside of Alex's thigh, biting, biting, and scraping his tongue over the red patches that emerge. "I want to - I want to taste you," he says, "I want to shove my fingers in here, my whole fist," and Alex's eyes practically roll the fuck back in his head. "I could," he continues, "you're so wide, you're drenched in come, I could do anything to you right now," he hisses, his tongue swiping over Alex's balls, just enough teeth that Alex isn't sure if he meant it, before swallowing Alex nearly whole.

Alex comes again, spectacularly, and he might - he might have, he will never actually admit to this, not under pain of death - greyed out for a second. Point is, when he wakes up, he's cradled to Hank's chest like a fucking child, and he can't even dredge up enough energy to care.

"We're doing that again," Alex says, he doesn't know how many minutes later. "I mean it, I don't care if I can't walk for a week, or I have to throw myself on your dick, it's happening." He pulls Hank in for a kiss, like a promise, or a punctuation to the end of his statement, just to show he means business.

"I wouldn't recommend throwing yourself on anyone's dick," Hank says.

"Hold up there, bigfoot, we're just talking about you--"

"-- at least not without the proper preparation first."

Goddamn Boy Scout.

After a while Hank goes to the bathroom for a washcloth, and he cleans Alex, carefully. Alex can already feel how sore he's going to be, not that its much of a surprise.

"I - I need to go shower," Hank says, ducking his head again, and yeah, that's definitely embarrassment. Not that Alex blames him for the shower, because Hank's fur is matted with sweat and spunk and spit and lube, fuck knows how uncomfortable he must be. But sometimes Hank thinks too much, and that is to be avoided at all costs.

"Hurry back," Alex says, instead of all the other things he wants to, and tugs the hair on the back of Hank's neck just a little. "Not sleeping without you."

While Hank disappears into the bathroom, Alex briefly contemplates fixing up the bed, because there is a puddle of come he refuses to sleep in. Then he thinks about making Hank carry him across the Mansion to his own room, but that's way too fucking girly all in all, so when Hank gets out of the shower - mildly damp, smelling not at all like wet dog - he lets Hank rip off the top cover instead, and settle them onto the mostly undebauched sheets.

Hank spoons up behind Alex, snuffling at the top of his head, the back of his neck. His arms wrap around Alex protectively, one set of nails scratching at his hipbones, his stomach; the other across Alex's chest, just grazing a nipple. It's the best Alex has felt in a week, if not a lot longer. Probably a lot fucking longer, if he's being honest.

Alex knows he's going to have to be the one to bring up the l-word. He just does. Hank's too afraid he's, who knows, overstepping his bounds, or something else stupid, which means it's all on Alex. It's not that he doesn't think Hank feels it - its not that he doesn't know he feels it - he's just going to say it when they're not in bed together, or whatever. Hank seems like the kind of guy who could take that the wrong way, and Alex wants everything about this to go the right way, freaky sex life or not.

"You're stuck with me," Alex says, about to sleep, sticky and dazed and basically fucked completely out of his mind. One of his hands clenched in Hank's huge-ass paws. "I mean that literally. Or metaphorically. You know which."

"Yeah," Hank says, the rumble of his chest already so comforting. "I know what you mean."