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“You need to stop coming back so late,” Doc spoke, annoyed at Hank. “Especially in this state.” Hank was gently gripping the lower-right half of his torso, shedding his jacket as he trudged toward Doc. He’d worry about it later.
“It doesn’t hurt,” Hank said quietly.
“Bullshit, Wimbleton,” Doc rolled his eyes and sighed, removing his glasses and massaging the bridge of his nose. He usually wore his mask and goggles all throughout the day and night, but there would be rare occasions where he’d be found without them, a set of rectangular glasses sitting resting on his face.
Hank pulled himself onto the small examination table, removing his torn-up sweater. Doc’ll fix it later. The shorter man started examining the wound, his hands ghosting over the area as he took a set of forceps and an alcohol coated cotton ball to begin gently cleaning the damage. Hank slightly winced whenever he’d be touched by the alcohol. The cotton was tossed out and the forceps clattered softly against the metal tray they were placed into. Hank watched Doc work at a steady pace, nearly finished with his work, simply wrapping gauze around Hank’s torso to protect the wound. He was always silently impressed by how quick Doc worked, even though this time around it wasn’t too much to deal with in the first place.
“Seriously, it’s like you’re getting hurt on purpose at this point.” Doc pinned the gauze and set the roll down next to Hank. “If you want to see me, there are better ways to do it,” Doc chuckled softly at his own joke. Hank pushed his goggles up to his forehead and grabbed the dog tag necklace Doc had on, pulling the shorter closer to his own face. He tugged his mask down, his metal jaw revealing itself.
“Yeah, but this is far more interesting, wouldn’t you agree?” Doc could feel Hank’s warm breath on his face, his piercing red eyes staring into the medic’s honey-colored ones.
“Yes, but we use up materials we could be saving up.” Doc moved slightly closer to Hank, his hands moving to rest on Hank’s thighs.
“I’ll just go get more. You worry too much, Doc.” Hank spoke as their lips finally met.
Hank tasted more metal than man, which didn’t really bother the other all that much— he was just lucky Hank was still alive after everything that happened to him, which was really all that mattered to him. Doc on the other hand tasted overwhelmingly of coffee, a subtle hint of whiskey poking its way through the dominant taste. It was Hank’s favorite . Nothing in the world compared to it.
“Mm… I worry… just the… right amount,” Doc said slowly between kisses. Hank let the necklace in his grasp go to let his hand rest on Doc’s cheek, his other hand moving to hold his lover’s waist.
“Alright,” Hank pulled back gently. “Whatever you say, Doc.” A soft kiss followed. And another. And another. If anyone else were here, they’d find it strange seeing Hank act so soft around someone. For an ill-mannered killing machine, he cared immensely for the people close to him. Doc pulled back this time, staring lovingly at Hank.
“When you go out with Deimos and Sanford again soon,” He spoke, slightly out of breath. “Come back in a better state than you are now.” Hank stole one last kiss from the medic before retracting his hands and throwing his sweater back on.
“No promises.” A small, rare, smile crossed Hank’s face. He stood from the table and pulled his mask back up. He scooped up his jacket from where he dropped it on the floor, and stopped in front of the exit to the medical bay, turning back toward Doc. He raised his hand, gesturing something in sign language— the secondary language he used to communicate with.
It was ‘ I love you. ’
Doc cracked a small smile, returning the gesture before Hank left.
‘ I love you too. ’