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My Old Man Is a Tough Man

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A cold burst of wind slams the door shut behind Connor, dusting him in a fresh coat of snowflakes that melt almost immediately. Connor drops his keys in the dish next to the door and unwinds his scarf, taking care not to drop the groceries as he shrugs off his jacket. After toeing off his shoes, he heads toward the kitchen. Hank tips his head back as Connor passes behind the couch and Connor carefully bends to meet Hank’s lips in a quick kiss.

Connor puts the groceries away as fast as he can. They’d both had the day off, but with the snow traffic had been horrible, and Connor was cold and damp and wanted nothing more than to let Hank warm him up. When he goes back to the living room, Hank is gone and the TV is off. Connor shrugs, deciding to head toward the bedroom to change out of his snow-damp clothes. He’s stopped by Hank emerging from the bedroom, towel in hand, a small smile gracing his lips.

“And here I thought you were just going to leave me to freeze,” Connor says, crossing his arms and leaning against the arm of the couch. Connor laughs as the towel hits his face.

“You’re such a little shit,” Hank grumbles, still smiling. “C’mere.” Connor closed the distance between them, Hank gently taking the towel back. And then the towel is on Connor’s head and Hank’s rubbing it around Connor’s wet hair. Connor scrunches up his nose and ducks his head a little, trying to escape. When Hank doesn’t stop, Connor reaches up and grabs Hank’s wrists.

Hank lets out a small gasp as he looks at Connor. The boy’s cheeks and nose are still tinged pink, his nose all scrunched, hair mussed, the corners of his lips turned upward. Hank loosens his grip a little, letting the towel slide down around the back of Connor’s neck.

Connor tilts his head, concern taking over his soft features. “Hank? Is something wrong?” He moves his hands lower on Hank’s arms, pulling back slightly to get a better look. When Hank didn’t respond, Connor tried to take another step back, but was stopped by the towel. Connor felt Hank’s arms tense, the older man’s fingers tightening back into the fabric around Connor’s neck, and then Connor was being yanked forward into Hank, their lips crashing together, Hank’s tongue entering Connor’s mouth almost immediately. Hank shifts his leg so there’s a thigh between Connor’s and Connor grinds down and his moan is swallowed by Hank’s greedy mouth, and Hank moves forward so Connor moves back until his knees hit the arm of the couch and Hank shoves him over it roughly.

Connor lands on the couch, bouncing slightly, and scoots himself back until Hank climbs over him. Hank pulls Connor so he’s sitting upright and wrestles the damp shirt off the slender torso and Connor’s chest is bare so Hank pushes him back down, moving to undo the button on Connor’s too-tight jeans, the melted snow causing them to cling to Connor’s legs. Connor whines, desperate, wiggles his hips as Hank is working Connor’s jeans and underwear down his legs. When Connor’s pants are around his knees, he bucks his hips up fully, earning a sharp slap to his hip.

“Daddy, please, touch me-” Hank slaps Connor’s hip again.

“Quiet. I’ll touch you when I’m ready.” Hank yanks Connor’s jeans the rest of the way off, pulling off the boy’s socks as well and tossing the tangled clothes over his shoulder. “Up,” Hank commanded. Connor scrambles off the couch. Hank sits in the middle of it, spreading his legs. On instinct, Connor drops to his knees, hands behind his back, brown eyes peeking up at Hank through long lashes.

“Shit, kid, you’re gorgeous like this,” Hank says, running his fingers through Connor’s hair. Hank tugs the brown locks lightly.

Connor lets out a low moan, another soft yet desperate please that only gets him a sharper pull to his hair which releases a yelp from Connor before Hank’s fingers are gone from Connor’s hair, working on Hank’s own pants. Hank gets his belt and jeans open and pulls out his cock, giving it a few slow strokes. “Ask nicely, Connor.”

Connor gives Hank his most innocent look. “Please may I have your cock, Daddy? I need it.”

Hank swears and Connor opens his mouth, tongue sticking out slightly. Connor looks too pretty and Hank is too old to wait any longer so he rests his cock on Connor’s tongue. Connor closes his lips around the head immediately, giving it a hard suck that causes Hank to shout. Hank pulls Connor’s hair again, pulling the boy off his cock so he can look Hank in the eye.

“Be. Good.”

Connor nods enthusiastically and Hank lets him go back to work. Connor decides to listen and be good this time, slowly working his way down until the head hits the back of his throat. Hank’s fingers tighten in Connor’s hair again and Connor hums around Hank’s dick, the vibrations making Hank’s hips thrust up into Connor’s mouth and tears mist over brown eyes as Connor chokes a little bit. Connor keeps his pace, steady and even as the pressure builds in Hank’s abdomen. Hank lets out a choked off moan, and Connor sucks him hard once, twice, then pulls off as Hank comes, letting it splatter across Connor’s face.

Hank takes a moment to catch his breath, softly stroking Connor’s hair. “Fuck, Connor, so fucking good for me.” Hank swipes some of his come off of Connor’s face with his thumb, resting it on Connor’s lower lip. Connor takes it in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the digit until it’s clean, then releases it. “Shit. Get up here, come on.” Hank yanks Connor up into his lap so Connor is straddling one leg.

It takes all of Connor’s self control to sit still and wait for Hank’s instructions, wanting to be good but also Connor’s hard and needy and he just wants to come already. But he sits and he waits because if he’s good, then he’ll get to come sooner. Finally, Hank finishes adjust how Connor is sitting on his leg and leans back into the couch. Connor looks at Hank, confused.

“Daddy?”

“What, Connor?”

Connor squirms in Hank’s lap. “I thought I was good?”

Hank hums. “You were good. Very good. What do you want?”

Connor’s mouth drops open in shock. What does he want? Hank must be losing his mind. “I wanna come.”

“Then make yourself come.”

Connor huffs and rolls his eyes, reaching one hand down toward his own dick, but Hank slaps his hand away before Connor can touch himself.

“Nuh-uh, sweetheart. No hands.”

“Then how-”

“You’re a smart boy, Connor, figure it out.”

Connor thinks for a second, then pushes himself further up Hank’s still-clothed leg. “Daddy?” he asks, sweetly.

“Yes, baby?”

“Can you take your shirt off, please? I wanna feel you.”

Hank gives Connor a small smile. “Of course, sweetheart, since you asked so nicely.”

Connor tries not to look smug as Hank pulls his t-shirt over his head.

Connor pushes himself forward one last time, until his dick is pressed between their stomachs. Connor gives one experimental thrust, but he doesn’t get enough friction, so he whines. Hank rolls his eyes at the sad look Connor gives him.

“You can put your hands on my shoulders, Connor.” Connor’s arms are around Hank’s neck before he finishes his sentence, and then Connor is moving his hips as fast as he can, desperate, needy, careless, but it’s not enough.

“Daddy, Daddy, please, need more, need more, need you to touch me,” Connor keeps babbling as he rubs against Hank’s stomach and Hank chuckles, not making any moves to touch Connor, and Connor’s still going, still begging, still waiting, still hard .

And then tears roll down his cheeks, frustration evident on the boy’s face as he ruts against his partner.

Hank takes pity on Connor, moving one hand to cup Connor’s ass and the other to wrap around Connor’s dick and Connor mewls, still begging “more, more, Daddy please more” and Hank twists his wrist and Connor comes hard, his vision going black.

Connor finally comes down from his high, tears staining his pretty face, come streaked up his chest, Hank holding him close and running his fingers through Connor’s soft hair, whispering soft praises about how Connor was “so good for me, shit, baby.” Connor turns his head to peer at Hank.

“You back with me, kid?”

Connor nods, eyelids heavy. “M’sleepy.”

Hank chuckles at that, and gently lifts Connor off his leg, sitting the boy down on the couch. “I’ll be right back, okay, sweetheart?” Connor nods again and Hank is off, collecting Connor’s discarded clothes. He returns a few minutes later, in just some pajama pants, wet towel and Connor’s pajamas in hand. Hank wipes down Connor’s chest before gently cleaning the come off Connor’s cheeks and nose. Connor shivers as the cloth is removed from his skin, and Hank quickly helps Connor into his pajamas.

Connor raises his arms slightly, eyes half-closed, and Hank smiles, scooping up the boy. Connor’s arms wrap loosely around Hank’s neck, Connor’s face buried in his shoulder, and Hank takes care not to knock Connor into any walls or doors on the way to their bedroom. He lays Connor down on the bed, but Connor doesn’t let go, so Hank gives him a soft kiss. Connor lets go then, curling up on his side and falls asleep almost immediately. Hank looks at him a little more than fondly, leaving Connor to sleep while Hank makes dinner.