14. Chapter 14 #2
“Oh God,” Hank muttered as he typed in Max’s door code. That might be even more embarrassing. “No. No. We’ll . . . we’ll figure it out. There’s always a hotel.” Though that felt trashy and unnecessary in a way that he didn’t want.
“A hotel when we have two apartments at our disposal?” Ethan shot him a knowing look as he walked into Max’s apartment, probably feeling more at home here than Hank did. From so many things he’d said over the last season, he’d spent a lot of time here, because Charlie spent a lot of time here.
But he didn’t head towards the guest room, but to the living room. He flopped down on the couch, looking up at Hank, who was still standing there feeling uncertain.
It was so stupid he wasn’t pulling Ethan up and leading him to his room now. It was even stupider he’d said they’d figure it out—what was there to figure out, when they both wanted each other so much and had been wanting each other so much?
“Come on,” Ethan said, patting the couch next to him. “We’ll watch something.”
“But—”
Ethan shot him a look, which didn’t just make him hot under the collar, but somehow reassured, too. Made him feel less like he was fucking all of this up.
“No,” Ethan said. “Come sit down, and we’ll watch something. There’s no rush. We can take it slow.”
Hank made a face, but Ethan smacked him on the leg. “Stop it,” he said. “We can. You’re going to be up for the rest of the season, and you’ll make the roster after this. We’ve got nothing but time. No reason to rush.”
Hank sat. He wasn’t that stupid. “Except the three-plus months I spent thinking about exactly this and wanting it and now that I’ve got it, not doing it,” he muttered.
Turning to him, Ethan put a hand on the back of his neck, tugging him a little closer. “Babe, you’re my friend, too. I like you. I just want to be here, with you, like this. And more, too, at some point, if you’re down for that.”
Hank was so down. He was just thinking too much. Overthinking, really. But maybe Ethan was right; there was no reason to rush.
“And, I wanna say,” Ethan said, drifting more into Hank’s space, which he was never, ever going to complain about, “it was really kinda hot and sweet, how you told Charlie that we wouldn’t be having dinner with him and Max tonight.”
Swallowing hard, Hank looked into Ethan’s eyes. Had they always been this blue? He felt mesmerized by the depth of them. Wanted to see them go blurry and honeyed with pleasure. Pleasure Hank gave him.
“I’d been waiting for awhile to take you out.”
“Still,” Ethan said, reaching out and squeezing Hank’s knee through his jeans. “Sweet.”
Hank nearly kissed him then—wanted to, the desire a white-hot spear through him—but before he could, Ethan reached for the remote and flipped the TV on.
The answer was Ethan was more comfortable in Max’s apartment than Hank. Knew exactly how to work his entertainment system. How to flip over to the streaming services and pull up Netflix.
“Charlie’s watching this show.” Ethan gestured at the screen. “It’s not great, but you might like it?”
Hank raised an eyebrow. “You think I’d like The Vampire Diaries?”
“Well, no,” Ethan said, barking out a laugh. “But I’m trying to find something we wouldn’t mind missing, so we can make out a little.”
A little or a lot—Hank was okay with both.
“Sure, put it on,” he said and slung an arm around Ethan’s shoulders, tugging him against him the rest of the way.
They made it ten minutes into the first episode before Ethan’s head tipped over onto his shoulder, his curls brushing Hank’s cheek, soft and sweet-smelling. He tucked a hand into them and Ethan nearly purred, like a cat.
“You know,” Ethan said, twisting and tilting his head a little so he could look at Hank, “all fall, this was all I really wanted. To just be. Like hanging out together, on the couch, watching one of Charlie’s stupid shows.”
“Are they all stupid?” Hank asked, because that was easier to get out through the lump in his throat than, Me too. Feels like I’ve been craving just this, too. Forever.
“Um, pretty much. And you know, Max watches them all without complaint.”
It was a really stupid show; kind of interesting, Hank supposed, from a sociological angle, that vampires who were powerful and immortal apparently wanted to spend all their time around dumb teenagers.
But even if it was stupid, Hank got why Max always agreed to sit through it.
He’d watch paint dry if he could feel Ethan’s warm weight against him, the smell of his hair in his nose.
“Well, duh,” Hank murmured into Ethan’s hair, squeezing him in that much tighter. They’d never gotten to do this. Not really. Not while they’d both known what this was, but more importantly, acknowledged what this was.
They’d watched TV and movies and game tape together on Barney’s couch some in September. But not cuddled up like this, even though Hank had wanted to.
He’d let his fears hold him back then, and maybe he was letting his fears hold him back now.
It wasn’t just that Ethan was a guy, though he was, and Hank didn’t have any experience—because Ethan didn’t either—it was that Ethan was serious. Serious in a way that Hank had never felt before.
And that, truthfully, was kinda scary as shit.
Hank thought they were almost through the episode, though it felt like he’d actually barely taken in what was on the screen, too focused on working through his own overthinking and then just enjoying the feel of Ethan like this, before he finally gave in.
His hand tightened in Ethan’s hair and he tugged him gently to where he wanted him. Pressed his mouth to Ethan’s.
Ethan groaned into the kiss, like he’d been wanting it, been expecting it. But it didn’t feel impatient. Or like he’d been waiting too long.
It started slow and tender and a little tame, like they were still just feeling each other out. And they were, Hank realized. They hadn’t kissed enough times to really know each other yet.
They’d get there, eventually, Hank knew, and that was the moment he finally understood what Ethan had been saying. They would get there. There was no reason to rush, no reason to worry, no reason to push past either of them feeling uncomfortable.
He knew Ethan liked him, and he sure as hell liked Ethan.
Hank could just . . . relax.
Enjoy the way Ethan’s lips felt moving against his.
The way the muscles in his broad shoulders tensed and then released as Hank stroked them with one hand.
The soft, easy, hot way Ethan’s body went pliant as he tilted his head exactly where he wanted it, a better angle so he could slip his tongue into Ethan’s mouth.
Ethan groaned into his mouth a little as the kiss grew more and more heated. Hank tipped him backwards against the couch and kissed him deeper.
“So good,” Ethan murmured, breath coming out in hot pants. Hank kissed him again, fingers winding more forcefully through his curls. When he pulled a little more, Ethan arched into him, like he couldn’t even help it.
And there was something incredibly addictive to slowly getting to learn all of Ethan’s tells.
He’d gotten to know the distant version of Ethan.
The text version. Even a version on FaceTime.
But it wasn’t the same as leaning over him, touching and kissing him.
So many thoughts and theories had gone through Hank’s brain over the last eighteen months, and now it was time to finally test them all.
Ethan’s fingertips dug into Hank’s shoulders and his hips stuttered again, his cock obviously pushing up against Hank’s. He was making these needy little gasps against Hank’s lips, and Hank tugged harder on his hair.
It was still just kissing—a pretty hot and steamy makeout, sure, but only kissing at this point—but the thought crossed Hank’s mind that he wasn’t going to want to keep it there.
He’d thought maybe. But this road only really had one ending, no matter how much of a meandering scenic route they took.
Hank had thought maybe when it came down to it, he’d still feel weird.
But now he only felt flushed. Not with want, but with need.
And if they were going to do something about that need, he wasn’t doing it on his captain’s couch.
In his guest room, sure, but not on his couch.
Not after the whole sex-on-Barney’s-couch thing.
That had been almost an accidental slide down a slippery slope, but this he could be deliberate about.
Hank lifted his head. Stroked Ethan’s scalp beneath his fingertips. “You wanna go to my room?”
Ethan smiled, a small private thing that didn’t even say I told you so. Just looked so pleased and so fucking eager. “Yeah,” he murmured and pushed up, kissing Hank again. “I want to. If you want to.”
“Want to.” Hank wasn’t going to pretend; was so far beyond that. “Want you.”
Ethan arched underneath him again. “Yeah,” he panted, agreeing.
Hank’s knees were unsteady jelly, but he managed to get himself off the couch, and tug Ethan up, too. Pull them both down the hallway without tripping or running into anything, even though Ethan, apparently been given the green light, already had his hands snaking underneath Hank’s shirt.
His touch was soft but insistent, warm fingertips stroking all the skin of Hank’s he could find, and their curious exploration was making his cock pulse.
After closing—and locking—the door behind them, Hank gently pushed Ethan onto the bed. He gazed up at Hank, blue irises almost swallowed by pupil.
“What do you want?” Ethan asked, wetting his bottom lip. It was plump and pink from Hank’s mouth. He leaned in and kissed him again, unable to resist the siren call of it.
“Just wanna touch you. See you.” Hank tugged on the hem of Ethan’s T-shirt, pulling it off him.
Groaning in the back of his throat at how fucking gorgeous Ethan was.
He’d seen it before, of course, but it was one thing to see it on a screen or in the locker room, when he was trying not to look, and another entirely to see it like this.
Spread out on his bed, all just for him.