Work Text:
"You know your secretary thinks I'm your toyboy?"
"Whatever Diana thinks about you is her own business, not mine," Hank says, and only once the words are coming out of his mouth does he register precisely what Logan has said. Unfortunately, judging by the manner in which Logan smirks as Hank glances up, there's little chance that he didn't notice. Logan always does have the most inconvenient habit of choosing to be obtuse and insightful in turn depending on when Hank wishes for the opposite.
When Hank does nothing to cover himself – still trying to make sense of the insanity of such an idea – Logan raises a cigar to his mouth between two fingers and says, "You're the one who calls me 'boy'."
"There's no smoking in here." Hank really must stop responding so automatically to Logan's actions. After all, Logan is just about the only person who actually understands the strength of Hank's feelings about smells. It isn't simply following the rules or being – how did the senator put it yesterday – 'prissy'. In Hank's experience, smoke embedded in a room reveals it to be precisely the sort of room he has little interest in, particularly in a political sense. A useful shorthand, as it were. "And if it bothers you, Logan, I'm sure you're capable of informing her otherwise – unless, of course, you'd prefer me to spare her feelings?"
To his surprise, Logan chokes a little – covered up poorly, but Logan always does treat that cigar as if it's a toy for a fidgeting child. "You'd – You really want her believing that?"
Hank frowns a little. He can't say that he relishes the idea of Logan flirting with Diana but, given that she's a happily married woman (to another happily married woman), he doubts either of them will end up taking it too far. "My secretary's taste in men has very little impact on her work, other than informing me of when I'm wasting my time."
Extraordinary. Logan does have the most expressive face, yet Hank doesn't think he's ever seen him literally open-mouthed before. With his lips parted like that, it brings thoughts to mind which he really shouldn't be entertaining in his place of work. Instead he focuses on the clear rebooting of Logan's brain, and wonders what precisely warrants such a thorough reconsideration.
"'Wasting your time'," Logan echoes, finally.
"Oh, you know," Hank says, although he's quite aware that the intricacies of diplomacy and negotiation do not come easily to Logan, "those politicians who have already made up their minds, the lobbyists only flattering me to my face while regaling their friends with all manner of quaint observations about the color blue – that sort of thing. Politics is as much about knowing when not to talk to someone as what not to talk about."
"Politics." Logan chews on his cigar, leaning against the doorframe at a slightly more precarious angle as he crosses his arms, hip slipping distractingly to the side. "Right. Didn't figure you were that sort – at all, really."
"'That sort'?"
"Those people who – " Logan makes a very vague and unhelpful hand gesture in midair. When Hank fails to respond with anything other than general bemusement, he rolls his eyes and makes a decidedly less vague gesture. Hank recoils, naturally. "Yeah. That."
"I – " Hank snatches the glasses from his face, if only to have an excuse to look away. Oh my stars and garters, he thinks, but mercifully doesn't say. Instead, he does his best to draw himself up and stand tall, as if his mind isn't whirling. To his surprise, he's more hurt by the presumption than angry. "My boy," he says, voice flat, "I assure you that I have never once besmirched my position with such...relations. I believe that such carnal engagements have no place in the runnings of our nation."
"'Carnal engagements’," Logan echoes faintly, because of course he does.
"Furthermore, the very insinuation that I would lower myself – enough for it to matter whether my secretary approves – "
"Whoa, whoa." Logan raises his hands, finally stepping further into the room. The door slams behind him and Hank can't help flinching, because Logan was the one who introduced the subject and Hank had quite forgotten in the face of...whatever this is. "Hey, it's fine, she was just stepping out – told us kids to have fun, that's all."
"Diana has a curious notion of 'fun'," Hank says, still seething.
"Well, yeah, obviously. She figured we'd be doing...stuff, and we're not gonna do that." Logan smiles with precisely the necessary amount of awkwardness for Hank to become more concerned than anything else. It isn't that he isn't still angry, just that he's now also wondering whether Logan requires medical attention. 'Awkward' is hardly a natural state of affairs. "Given. You know. 'Carnal engagements.'"
Hank frowns. "I beg your pardon."
Logan blinks. Slowly he takes the cigar from his mouth and carefully places it in his breast pocket. "Okay," he says. "Let's just – step back a bit, here."
"Is there any way that could involve you stepping out of my office?" Clearly there has been some manner of misunderstanding somewhere in this conversation, and Hank rather suspects it was the moment he deemed it a good idea to ever let Logan inside in the first place.
Logan smirks, just a flash of something far more familiar. "Cute," he says, with just the right intonation to make Hank flash his teeth but not go for Logan's throat. "See, I came in here saying that your secretary thinks I'm your toyboy, figuring we'd have a good laugh and all, only then you act like it's true. She jokes about it, and then you say I should say otherwise." He crosses his arms again and cocks his head to the side. "That sound about right, furball?"
That does not sound right in the slightest. Nothing has sounded less right. However, Hank is struggling somewhat with conveying this, given that all the air in his windpipe has decided to simply stop moving. When Logan offers him the glass of water left sitting on the table, Hank can only accept it and drink the contents rather faster than he usually would.
"Better?"
"Enough to contemplate that Diana thinks it's appropriate to joke that you're my bit on the side?" Hank asks incredulously.
"Actually, I was joking," Logan tells him. "She's dead serious."
"What?"
"Well, I assume it's dead serious," Logan says. "She definitely seems really invested in me not keeping you up late – says I should go easy on you, that you're ‘experienced’ but you ‘might not have the stamina these days’ – "
"Oh, my stars and garters," Hank breathes, because at this point one rather outdated phrase is nothing.
"She never mentioned your garters specifically." He would deeply love to glare at Logan, but that is rather impossible with his head buried in his hands. "But hey, at least you're not sleeping with half the Senate either."
"I don't just deal with the Senate – " Hank forces himself to stop; to attempt to make sense of the last few minutes. A long time in an international debate, occasionally; something of an eternity where Logan is concerned. "This is quite out of control."
With far too much confidence, Logan says, "This is nothing. You should see what happens when people start storming out of the room."
"I believe that's your style, Logan, not mine."
"I was thinking about it."
"Then you clearly have more idealistic views of politicians than I ever gave you credit for."
"No. Just you."
Hank looks at him. Logan looks back, with no trace of humor in his face.
Very carefully, Hank leans backs against his desk and asks, "Logan, is this your extremely convoluted manner of requesting the official role of my 'toyboy'?"
Logan pauses, cocking his head again and smiling to himself. "Okay, you ruined it. You never get to say that again, ever. It just sounds weird, coming from you."
Of course. Well, that's politics, isn't it? You guess at where the line is but you're never quite certain, and Logan has such a way of pushing Hank into the most inappropriate situations. He makes him quite forget himself. No doubt anyone bugging his office (as surely they must be) must have a field day whenever Logan comes by. "My apologies, Logan. That was completely – "
"The way I see it," Logan says, voice louder to make it quite clear that yes, he is indeed interrupting, uncouth as he is, "what with the not-aging and all, you'd be my toyboy." He grins, all teeth. "Only fair."
Hank's fingers tighten against the desk. "Should I agree to this proposition," he says, and inwardly groans before the salacious edge even reaches Logan's smile, "I will insist that neither of us utters that word, ever again."
"Does the same go for 'Daddy'?"
"I will throw you out of the window."
"Sure thing, daddy."