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Maybe it was a mistake to take Connor to the beach.
Not because of his safety; Hank asked him if sand getting into his chassis could be a problem which Connor vehemently denied. No, it’s because of Hank’s sanity.
Because Connor is all smiles and endless, smooth skin in teeny-tiny swimming trunks. At this point, Hank is sure Connor got these speedos just to fuck with Hank’s aforementioned sanity.
They drove all the way up to Lexington, to the beautiful, sandy beach on the shore of Lake Huron. The summer sun is shining, blazing hot, and Hank naively thought it would be nice to spend the day next to a body of water.
But he wasn’t prepared for Connor looking like the newest star of Baywatch when he came out of the changing booth.
Lord help Hank.
Finally, he manages to tear his eyes away from Connor and his devilish grin to finish setting up the parasol.
The bastard knows what he’s doing.
Connor grabs the blanket he bought specifically for this event (it has flamingos on it), and lays it down under the parasol. Hank kicks off his slippers and plops down in the shade. Ah, it feels nice to be protected from the sun’s hot rays.
A quiet pop goes off behind him, and Hank’s horny brain instantly associates the sound with a lube bottle being opened. Horrified, he turns to Connor–
– who’s holding a bottle of sunscreen in his hand.
“Hank, you need to use protection against the sun!” Connor chimes. “I don’t want you to get a sunburn!”
Hank can’t even get himself to be annoyed before Connor’s nimble, creamed-up hands are on his body, spreading the sunscreen.
Innocently, he starts at Hank’s shoulders. His hands are a little cold (they’re always cooler than a human’s), and it feels nice on Hank’s sun-heated skin. Maybe the sun protection is not such a stupid idea, even if Hank’s skin is already old and wrinkled and kind of like a rhino’s.
Meticulously, Connor drags his hands over Hank’s shoulderblades, then down his back. He creams up Hank’s sides and arms too.
Then his hands slide around Hank, over his pecs. And he grabs.
Hank groans. “Connor.”
“Hank?” The grin is audible in his voice, the bastard.
“Are you feeling me up in public?”
“No. I’m coating your skin in sunscreen.”
“Of course.”
Despite this, the suspiciously intense touches don’t end; rather, the opposite. Connor’s fingers pinch Hank’s nipples, dance down his stomach, grab his love handles. And Hank is left at his mercy, heat pooling in his belly, trying his hardest not to pop a boner where innocent beach-goers can see.
Jesus.
Connor wraps his long arms around Hank, pressing their bodies even more together if it’s possible, before he places a kiss on Hank’s cheek.
Yeah, it’s rather hot in here.
A relieved breath escapes Hank when Connor unplasters himself from his back. Although, Hank now almost misses the closeness.
However, the sunscreening doesn’t end here, even if that’s what Hank thought. Because Connor moves on to Hank’s legs.
“Do we really have to do the legs too?”
Connor shoots him a look. “Yes. You have skin on your legs. And where you have skin, you can get a sunburn.”
Well. Hank can’t argue with this, eh? So he watches as Connor smears the sunscreen on his calves, then moves upward… and upward. Hank flushes from the wandering touches that reach suspiciously close to his groin.
“You don’t have to do it under my swimming trunks, right?” Hank asks in a strained voice.
Connor looks up, mischief shining in his amber eyes. “I guess not.”
Thankfully, his hands leave Hank’s thighs (for now, at least). Instead, he sits back on his heels between Hank’s spread out legs and squirts a little cream on his long index finger.
Yeah, apparently Hank’s face also needs to be protected. Connor gently works the sunscreen on his cheeks, forehead, nose. His funky brows furrow in concentration. It’s kinda cute.
“There!” Connor exclaims when he deems his job finished. The cap of the sunscreen bottle clicks shut.
“Thank you, babe,” Hank tells Connor.
And Connor grins, that satisfied expression of a task well done. A mission accomplished. He throws the bottle onto the blanket and it bounces once.
But if Hank thought Connor’s handsy touches would end after he’s done, he was clearly wrong. Because Connor puts his hands on Hank’s thighs and leans in for a kiss.
It’s just a chaste one, a sweet one; their lips touch for a moment. Kissing Connor is always like a little taste of heaven.
Well, until Connor’s hands slide up once again, and he leans away with a grin. “Let’s go to the water!” he announces.
Hank barely has time to recover when Connor’s already sprinting, halfway toward the lake.
“Bastard,” Hank mumbles with a smile before he stands up and follows him.