Chapter 4 #3
“Hank.” Chad placed a hand on Hank’s chest. He could feel the heartbeat under his palm—fast, hard. “Whatever it is, it can wait. We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. We can just go back to your place and talk. Watch a movie. Whatever you want.”
“That’s not—” Hank stopped. Took a breath. “I want this. God, I want this. I just don’t want to mislead you.”
“Everyone has secrets, Hank. You’ll tell me when you’re ready.” Chad squeezed his hand. “Right now I just want to be with you. Is that okay?”
Hank’s shoulders dropped. “Yeah. Yes. That’s more than okay.”
He opened Chad’s door, waited until he was settled, closed it, and walked around to the driver’s side.
As they pulled into traffic, heading east toward Capitol Hill, Chad’s hand found Hank’s thigh, and he felt Hank’s muscles tense beneath his palm.
“Why so nervous?” Chad asked.
“I’m not—” Hank stopped himself. “Okay, I am. I’m terrified, actually.”
“Of me?”
“Of disappointing you.”
He said it without elaboration. Just the bare thing.
Chad’s hand moved higher on Hank’s thigh, and he heard Hank’s breath catch.
“It already matters,” Chad said. “That ship has sailed.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
They drove in silence for a few more blocks. Chad could see Hank’s jaw working again, his hands tight on the wheel. Then Hank opened his mouth like he was about to say something else—something about work, maybe, the thing he kept circling—and closed it again. Swallowed. Let it go.
Whatever it is, it’s eating him alive.
“You can still change your mind,” Hank said instead. “If you want to go home, I’ll take you home. No questions asked.”
Chad leaned over the console and put his mouth close to Hank’s ear.
“Hank,” he whispered. “Drive faster.”
Hank laughed—rough, startled out of himself.
The car accelerated.
Hank’s building was a modest mid-rise on South Capitol Street, brick and functional. Underground garage, key card gate, a parking spot marked with his unit number.
They sat in the car after Hank killed the engine. Neither moved.
“This is it,” Hank said.
“This is it.”
“We can still—”
Chad kissed him. Meant it to be brief—reassuring, a period at the end of a sentence.
But Hank’s hand came up to the back of Chad’s head, fingers in his hair, and the kiss kept going.
Chad made a sound he didn’t plan, and Hank tried to pull him closer, defeated by the console between them.
Probably for the best. They were in a parking garage under fluorescent lights, and Chad was already hard.
When they broke apart, breathing rough, Hank rested his forehead against Chad’s.
“Come upstairs,” Hank said. “Please.”
“Okay.”
The elevator. Fourth floor. Doors closing.
The moment they were alone, Hank pressed him against the wall and kissed him deeper—more confident now, his body against Chad’s in a way that made standing difficult. Chad could feel him through his khakis. Could feel his own body answering.
The elevator dinged.
They broke apart, both adjusting as the doors opened onto an empty hallway.
Hank led him to 4C. Fumbled the key. Got it on the second try.
“Hey Google, den lights on, please.”
The lights came up. Couch, coffee table, desk with a laptop. Bookshelves along one wall—hardcovers, policy reports, a worn Invisible Man, Langston Hughes. Everything neat. Everything impersonal.
No photos. No art on the walls.
First Kiss is going to look good in here.
“Can I get you something to drink?” The formality was back, cranked up. “Water? Bourbon? I have some wine, I think, though I’m not sure how old it is.”
“Water’s good. Splash of bourbon.”
Hank disappeared into the kitchen. Clink of glasses, running water, cabinet. Chad stood in the middle of the room and listened to the sounds of a man trying to compose himself by handling glassware.
Hank came back with two glasses. Their fingers brushed in the handoff.
“Hey Google, play soft classical.”
Piano filled the apartment—slow, contemplative. The sound equivalent of that woodsy cologne.
They sat on the couch, not quite touching, sipping.
Hank opened his mouth. Closed it. Took a drink. Opened it again.
“I—” he started and then stopped. Shook his head once, like he was arguing with himself. Whatever he wanted to say, he chose not to. “Never mind.”
Chad watched him swallow the words. Watched the effort it cost.
Tell me. Whatever it is, just tell me.
But he didn’t push. Instead, he set his glass on the coffee table and turned to face Hank.
“I’m here,” Chad said. “That’s enough for right now.”
Hank searched his face. Then he set his own glass down and kissed Chad—slow, deep, tasting like bourbon. His hands came up to frame Chad’s face, thumbs along his jaw.
Chad kissed him back. Then shifted, swung a leg over, and settled into Hank’s lap. Hank’s hands went to his hips, gripping, eyes going wide.
“Is this okay?” Chad asked.
“God, yes.”
Chad rolled his hips. Hank groaned—head back against the couch, throat exposed, fingers digging in.
“I want you,” Chad said against his neck. “Do you want me?”
“So much.”
“Then show me.”
Hank’s hands slid up his back, pulled him down, and kissed him.