FIC: we all like it a little bit different | x-men: first class; sean/hank
Title: We All Like It a Little Bit Different
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Sean/Hank
Word Count: 1,826
Warnings: None.
Summary: Sean has some self-image issues. Hank helps him out.
A/N: For flwrpwr_vampyre. Title supplied by the best person.
--
Sean tells him all the time, “You need to relax.”
It’s a problem. Because Hank has to swallow his words every time. He has awkward lines all set up - You could help me. I’ve got all evening. - and he thinks about sliding one long-fingered hand up Sean’s freckled arms. He thinks too much about this, really. He knows it would never work out the way he sees it in his head. Sean will never just swoon into his arms, they won’t fuck against his table in the lab, and they won’t ride off into the sunset. Sean has too many options.
But when Sean tells him one night about the girl in the aquarium, and all the other girls who’ve blown him off in the past with one put-down or another, Hank can’t help himself. He blurts out, “But you’re beautiful,” and then tries with all his might to fall through the floor.
Sean slowly puts down the beer he stole from the kitchen and tilts his head. “I … okay?” he attempts. “I would also have taken dashingly handsome. But this is also a good lie.”
Hank’s blushing. He hates that he can always feel himself blushing. “You know what I mean,” he mumbles. “You’re just, you’re very attractive. Sorry. I should.” Stop talking.
“Funny,” Sean says, and his voice has a tinge of bitterness to it. He places the neck of the beer bottle against his full bottom lip, and Hank can’t stop staring. “You’re the first person’s ever said that to me.”
“It’s true!” Stop talking! Hank leans forward earnestly, then changes his mind and leans back in his chair.
Sean sighs and takes a sip. “This would mean more to me coming from someone who actually wanted to fuck me, you realize.”
The flush rises in Hank’s face. Then he falls off his chair.
“Shit!” Sean jumps out of his seat, slams the bottle down on the counter, and scurries around the table to where Hank is lying, red-faced, on the floor. “Get up, man!” He reaches his hand out to Hank, who takes it hesitantly.
“Sorry,” Hank says again once he’s on his feet, brushing himself off nervously.
“Geez,” Sean says cheerfully, “it’s like you want to fuck me or something.” He nudges Hank. “Eh? Eh?”
Hank just looks at his feet. And slowly, slowly, Sean stops nudging him.
“ … You serious?” he asks quietly.
“I’m sorry,” Hank says miserably and turns to go, but Sean grabs his arm. He turns to look into eyes that are … hopeful, pleading.
“You’re crazy,” he says. “But … I’m game if you are.”
Hank stares. It’s got to be a joke. But Sean’s looking at him like he’s a last lifeline, and he’s looking him up and down like hey, maybe he can do this, and Hank can’t help it: he surges forward and presses a messy, awkward kiss to Sean’s red lips.
His hand finds the small of Sean’s back, he nips at Sean’s mouth, and Sean crumples under him like he’s never done this before, not even once. He forgets sometimes that Sean is young, too, that Sean is not experienced just because he acts like he is, that smoking and acid don’t make him worldly.
Hank curls his tongue into Sean’s mouth and listens with satisfaction to the sounds that spill out through the space between their lips. There are fingers tugging at his hair and a hard-on pressing against his leg. He’s worried Sean might embarrass himself and never want to do this again, so he pulls at the hem of Sean’s shirt and tugs him towards his bedroom.
The hallways in this mansion are too long. Sean trips along behind him desperately, trying to keep as much physical contact between them as possible. He has a hand on Hank’s hip, his thigh, the small of his back. Hank shivers but walks determinedly. He’s got to get them there. He’s leading this time.
When they get there, finally, Hank undresses Sean, who’s grabbing at him and whining. His cock probably hurts. Hank doesn’t care. There’s so much to see and he has to catalogue it all, just in case this is the only time.
He undoes Sean’s flannel slowly, one button at a time instead of just ripping it off (although he could; he’s stronger than he looks). He pulls off Sean’s t-shirt, presses his lips to a freckled shoulder. Then he kneels down (Sean whimpers, pushes his hips forward) and undoes his jeans, pulls them down, and nudges Sean’s feet so he’ll step out of them.
Then Sean’s standing before him in just his boxers, wet at the front where his cock’s pushing against the fabric. Sean looks cold and small and beautiful in the middle of the room. Hank presses his nose to the tent in Sean’s boxers; they both whine.
He licks at the crux of thigh and crotch, then straightens up, lifts a wailing Sean in his arms, and drops him gently on the bed.
“I’m not your fuckin’ ragdoll, man,” Sean grumbles.
Hank kisses him again, and Sean goes limp.
Hank reflects that there is so much you can do with a kiss. Sean pushes his boxers down and shunts his hips up against Hank’s still-clothed erection, but Hank presses one big hand against Sean’s hip and holds him still. He kisses him, letting his wet lip stutter against Sean’s, which are red and swollen now. He bites them, just for good measure, gently at first and then hard, tight, pulling away as Sean whines and pants against his mouth.
When he lets go, Sean yanks at his shirt voicelessly, and he pulls it off over his head. Sean runs hesitant fingers over his chest; Hank’s flush goes south at the scrutiny. When Sean flicks a nipple, Hank squirms, his cock aching.
“Let me suck you,” Sean begs, but Hank just shakes his head.
“Later,” he says, “definitely later,” and he hooks his fingers in the elastic of Sean’s boxers and pulls them down, slow, around his knees, ankles, and off his curling toes. They fall from his hands into some corner of the room when he sees Sean all before him.
He has freckles everywhere. Literally everywhere. Even places that never see the sun: his thighs, the bottoms of his feet, his dick.
His dick has freckles. Hank almost passes out. He’s going to count every one.
“What’re you looking at?” Sean snaps.
Hank raises his eyes to see an angry flush on Sean’s face.
“Let’s just do this,” he growls and lowers his eyes.
“No,” Hank says, and folds Sean in half to reach his mouth, lick at it, until his eyes fall shut and his cock leaks against Hank’s pants. When Hank pulls away, he wants to say, Let me love you, but it’s too cheesy, so he just gives a half-smile and kisses Sean’s neck.
Sean’s never been kissed on the neck, he can tell. Sean was probably one of those guys who thought, “Oh yeah, that might feel okay.” It doesn’t. It’s amazing. The first time a girl kissed Hank’s neck he almost died. And Hank’s been told he has nice lips.
Anyway. Back to business. He bites Sean’s ear, licks his neck, his hands running slowly up and down his chest, kind of like a massage. Sean says, “Oh, man,” but Hank thinks it’s a good thing, and then Sean is, well, he’s kind of humping Hank’s leg.
“Cool it,” Hank murmurs into his ear, which actually might not have been the best idea. Except
Sean bites down on his shoulder, hard, and actually it was the best idea, it was the best idea Hank ever had. He thinks he might be bleeding, but he’s also sort of rutting against Sean’s leg and he doesn’t want to come but Sean’s … well, he’s fucking gorgeous right now.
Hank kisses his way down Sean’s chest. He smells like sweat; his nipples are hard and sensitive, if his yelps at the soft touch of Hank’s tongue are anything to go by.
“Shit,” Hank says into his skin without looking at him, “you’re so fucking beautiful, Sean.”
Sean’s blushing; his hand reaches down to grab hold of his cock. “Hank,” he pants. “Hank, you’re killing me.”
“I just, I’m sorry, just give me a minute.” He’s sounding a little wrecked - so early? - but he has to make his way down Sean’s body with his mouth, or what’s the point? He lets his tongue explore Sean’s belly button, relishing the sensation of Sean’s cock bobbing against his chest. And Sean’s hips, he pays attention to them too, nipping and rubbing them with wide eyes, hair in his face as he watches Sean’s reaction: all muttered curses and sweat in his eyes.
When he gets to Sean’s cock he almost faints. Yeah. Freckles everywhere. He can’t handle it. He takes it in his hand and presses his lips to the head, letting his tongue slip out a little, just to taste. Sample. His eyes slip shut. “You taste amazing,” he says, and Sean writhes at the feel of his breath.
“Please, Hank,” he begs, broken, “I need to come, man, you don’t get it, I never - it’s been a long fucking time, right?”
Hank kisses the inside of Sean’s thigh. “Okay, Sean.” And he licks one long stripe from balls to head, lets his lips close around Sean, and chokes when Sean twitches and comes all over his tongue.
He wasn’t expecting that, but he can deal with it, especially the way Sean’s hand fists in his hair and won’t let him move until he’s soft and gasping.
Hank sits up on his elbows and grins. Sean looks down at him with one open eye, his arm flung across his forehead, and groans. “Don’t look so smug, you bastard.”
“I wasn’t!” Hank protests, but he was. He’s not ashamed.
Sean stretches. “I guess I promised you something, didn’t I?” He yawns, lips stretching. Hank finds his eyes drawn to Sean’s pointed pink tongue. His pants are so fucking tight.
“Yeah,” he croaks. “I guess you did.”
The thing is, Hank thinks in a daze, once his pants are off and Sean’s on his knees, Hank’s hand on the back of his head, guiding, virgins shouldn’t be this good. But something about
Sean’s mouth - Hank never needed awkward lines because somehow when you put their awkwardness together you got something that worked.
He always has weird revelations during sex.
Sean’s tongue is velvet and his lips are hot and he’s bobbing up and down and Hank’s coming too fast, but at least Sean can’t make fun of him. Sean’s fingers lock with his in ginger curls.
When his cock falls from Sean’s lips, he pulls him up, kisses him. It’s a promise. “This is not the last time,” he commands.
Sean nips at his mouth playfully. “Obviously.”
His smile, it’s fucking beautiful.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Sean/Hank
Word Count: 1,826
Warnings: None.
Summary: Sean has some self-image issues. Hank helps him out.
A/N: For flwrpwr_vampyre. Title supplied by the best person.
--
Sean tells him all the time, “You need to relax.”
It’s a problem. Because Hank has to swallow his words every time. He has awkward lines all set up - You could help me. I’ve got all evening. - and he thinks about sliding one long-fingered hand up Sean’s freckled arms. He thinks too much about this, really. He knows it would never work out the way he sees it in his head. Sean will never just swoon into his arms, they won’t fuck against his table in the lab, and they won’t ride off into the sunset. Sean has too many options.
But when Sean tells him one night about the girl in the aquarium, and all the other girls who’ve blown him off in the past with one put-down or another, Hank can’t help himself. He blurts out, “But you’re beautiful,” and then tries with all his might to fall through the floor.
Sean slowly puts down the beer he stole from the kitchen and tilts his head. “I … okay?” he attempts. “I would also have taken dashingly handsome. But this is also a good lie.”
Hank’s blushing. He hates that he can always feel himself blushing. “You know what I mean,” he mumbles. “You’re just, you’re very attractive. Sorry. I should.” Stop talking.
“Funny,” Sean says, and his voice has a tinge of bitterness to it. He places the neck of the beer bottle against his full bottom lip, and Hank can’t stop staring. “You’re the first person’s ever said that to me.”
“It’s true!” Stop talking! Hank leans forward earnestly, then changes his mind and leans back in his chair.
Sean sighs and takes a sip. “This would mean more to me coming from someone who actually wanted to fuck me, you realize.”
The flush rises in Hank’s face. Then he falls off his chair.
“Shit!” Sean jumps out of his seat, slams the bottle down on the counter, and scurries around the table to where Hank is lying, red-faced, on the floor. “Get up, man!” He reaches his hand out to Hank, who takes it hesitantly.
“Sorry,” Hank says again once he’s on his feet, brushing himself off nervously.
“Geez,” Sean says cheerfully, “it’s like you want to fuck me or something.” He nudges Hank. “Eh? Eh?”
Hank just looks at his feet. And slowly, slowly, Sean stops nudging him.
“ … You serious?” he asks quietly.
“I’m sorry,” Hank says miserably and turns to go, but Sean grabs his arm. He turns to look into eyes that are … hopeful, pleading.
“You’re crazy,” he says. “But … I’m game if you are.”
Hank stares. It’s got to be a joke. But Sean’s looking at him like he’s a last lifeline, and he’s looking him up and down like hey, maybe he can do this, and Hank can’t help it: he surges forward and presses a messy, awkward kiss to Sean’s red lips.
His hand finds the small of Sean’s back, he nips at Sean’s mouth, and Sean crumples under him like he’s never done this before, not even once. He forgets sometimes that Sean is young, too, that Sean is not experienced just because he acts like he is, that smoking and acid don’t make him worldly.
Hank curls his tongue into Sean’s mouth and listens with satisfaction to the sounds that spill out through the space between their lips. There are fingers tugging at his hair and a hard-on pressing against his leg. He’s worried Sean might embarrass himself and never want to do this again, so he pulls at the hem of Sean’s shirt and tugs him towards his bedroom.
The hallways in this mansion are too long. Sean trips along behind him desperately, trying to keep as much physical contact between them as possible. He has a hand on Hank’s hip, his thigh, the small of his back. Hank shivers but walks determinedly. He’s got to get them there. He’s leading this time.
When they get there, finally, Hank undresses Sean, who’s grabbing at him and whining. His cock probably hurts. Hank doesn’t care. There’s so much to see and he has to catalogue it all, just in case this is the only time.
He undoes Sean’s flannel slowly, one button at a time instead of just ripping it off (although he could; he’s stronger than he looks). He pulls off Sean’s t-shirt, presses his lips to a freckled shoulder. Then he kneels down (Sean whimpers, pushes his hips forward) and undoes his jeans, pulls them down, and nudges Sean’s feet so he’ll step out of them.
Then Sean’s standing before him in just his boxers, wet at the front where his cock’s pushing against the fabric. Sean looks cold and small and beautiful in the middle of the room. Hank presses his nose to the tent in Sean’s boxers; they both whine.
He licks at the crux of thigh and crotch, then straightens up, lifts a wailing Sean in his arms, and drops him gently on the bed.
“I’m not your fuckin’ ragdoll, man,” Sean grumbles.
Hank kisses him again, and Sean goes limp.
Hank reflects that there is so much you can do with a kiss. Sean pushes his boxers down and shunts his hips up against Hank’s still-clothed erection, but Hank presses one big hand against Sean’s hip and holds him still. He kisses him, letting his wet lip stutter against Sean’s, which are red and swollen now. He bites them, just for good measure, gently at first and then hard, tight, pulling away as Sean whines and pants against his mouth.
When he lets go, Sean yanks at his shirt voicelessly, and he pulls it off over his head. Sean runs hesitant fingers over his chest; Hank’s flush goes south at the scrutiny. When Sean flicks a nipple, Hank squirms, his cock aching.
“Let me suck you,” Sean begs, but Hank just shakes his head.
“Later,” he says, “definitely later,” and he hooks his fingers in the elastic of Sean’s boxers and pulls them down, slow, around his knees, ankles, and off his curling toes. They fall from his hands into some corner of the room when he sees Sean all before him.
He has freckles everywhere. Literally everywhere. Even places that never see the sun: his thighs, the bottoms of his feet, his dick.
His dick has freckles. Hank almost passes out. He’s going to count every one.
“What’re you looking at?” Sean snaps.
Hank raises his eyes to see an angry flush on Sean’s face.
“Let’s just do this,” he growls and lowers his eyes.
“No,” Hank says, and folds Sean in half to reach his mouth, lick at it, until his eyes fall shut and his cock leaks against Hank’s pants. When Hank pulls away, he wants to say, Let me love you, but it’s too cheesy, so he just gives a half-smile and kisses Sean’s neck.
Sean’s never been kissed on the neck, he can tell. Sean was probably one of those guys who thought, “Oh yeah, that might feel okay.” It doesn’t. It’s amazing. The first time a girl kissed Hank’s neck he almost died. And Hank’s been told he has nice lips.
Anyway. Back to business. He bites Sean’s ear, licks his neck, his hands running slowly up and down his chest, kind of like a massage. Sean says, “Oh, man,” but Hank thinks it’s a good thing, and then Sean is, well, he’s kind of humping Hank’s leg.
“Cool it,” Hank murmurs into his ear, which actually might not have been the best idea. Except
Sean bites down on his shoulder, hard, and actually it was the best idea, it was the best idea Hank ever had. He thinks he might be bleeding, but he’s also sort of rutting against Sean’s leg and he doesn’t want to come but Sean’s … well, he’s fucking gorgeous right now.
Hank kisses his way down Sean’s chest. He smells like sweat; his nipples are hard and sensitive, if his yelps at the soft touch of Hank’s tongue are anything to go by.
“Shit,” Hank says into his skin without looking at him, “you’re so fucking beautiful, Sean.”
Sean’s blushing; his hand reaches down to grab hold of his cock. “Hank,” he pants. “Hank, you’re killing me.”
“I just, I’m sorry, just give me a minute.” He’s sounding a little wrecked - so early? - but he has to make his way down Sean’s body with his mouth, or what’s the point? He lets his tongue explore Sean’s belly button, relishing the sensation of Sean’s cock bobbing against his chest. And Sean’s hips, he pays attention to them too, nipping and rubbing them with wide eyes, hair in his face as he watches Sean’s reaction: all muttered curses and sweat in his eyes.
When he gets to Sean’s cock he almost faints. Yeah. Freckles everywhere. He can’t handle it. He takes it in his hand and presses his lips to the head, letting his tongue slip out a little, just to taste. Sample. His eyes slip shut. “You taste amazing,” he says, and Sean writhes at the feel of his breath.
“Please, Hank,” he begs, broken, “I need to come, man, you don’t get it, I never - it’s been a long fucking time, right?”
Hank kisses the inside of Sean’s thigh. “Okay, Sean.” And he licks one long stripe from balls to head, lets his lips close around Sean, and chokes when Sean twitches and comes all over his tongue.
He wasn’t expecting that, but he can deal with it, especially the way Sean’s hand fists in his hair and won’t let him move until he’s soft and gasping.
Hank sits up on his elbows and grins. Sean looks down at him with one open eye, his arm flung across his forehead, and groans. “Don’t look so smug, you bastard.”
“I wasn’t!” Hank protests, but he was. He’s not ashamed.
Sean stretches. “I guess I promised you something, didn’t I?” He yawns, lips stretching. Hank finds his eyes drawn to Sean’s pointed pink tongue. His pants are so fucking tight.
“Yeah,” he croaks. “I guess you did.”
The thing is, Hank thinks in a daze, once his pants are off and Sean’s on his knees, Hank’s hand on the back of his head, guiding, virgins shouldn’t be this good. But something about
Sean’s mouth - Hank never needed awkward lines because somehow when you put their awkwardness together you got something that worked.
He always has weird revelations during sex.
Sean’s tongue is velvet and his lips are hot and he’s bobbing up and down and Hank’s coming too fast, but at least Sean can’t make fun of him. Sean’s fingers lock with his in ginger curls.
When his cock falls from Sean’s lips, he pulls him up, kisses him. It’s a promise. “This is not the last time,” he commands.
Sean nips at his mouth playfully. “Obviously.”
His smile, it’s fucking beautiful.