Hank has the sharpest teeth Alex has ever seen. And he looks angry most of the time—probably is in his new body—with all the aggression and power that he doesn't know what to do with. Heh. Hank would be preaching to the choir if he would just talk to Alex.

Though, it's not like Alex was ever a good conversationalist to begin with. He's worked hard to be that way. But he hates to see Hank so bottled up.

If he gets past the silence, gets past the absence of at least an exchange of "Hellos" or "How are you doings?" that he's suddenly craving at inappropriate times like a pregnant mother craves pickles and ice cream, Alex's pretty okay with how things are going for now. That is, until it's not enough.

Which brings the subject 'round to Hank's pointed, white teeth. While they are not talking, something like this will happen: Alex will tilt his head back, just a little, maybe to catch his breath after a good amount of time sharing spit with this guy—getting coarse blue hairs on his sleeves if he tugs too hard at Hank's hips—and Hank won't catch his breath, not at all. He'll lean in and nip—well, not even, he'll graze those teeth—over that one spot on Alex's neck and Alex will shiver, gasp. Grip himself tighter against Hank's too hot stomach. Melt like butter in a pan when Hank laves at the blossoming bruise. His knees won't have time to buckle because Hank will be supporting his back, muscled hands pressed up against Alex's shoulder blades.

He's so gentle it sometimes hurts.

And when they've run out of time Hank will mutter something like, "Do you need some salve for those contusions?"

Alex is giddy, flushed red by then, so he usually has a hard time holding back a laugh.

Hank will shove him, albeit lightly, out of his way as he stalks from whatever room they've hidden in. Alex wonders if Hank still blushes under all that fuzz.

They don't talk much, no, but they spend an awful lot of time together.

Tonight, Alex has smarting little marks just below his collar to prove it. He smirks around his beer at the dinner table, feeling the ache in his jaw from too many panting, wet kisses. Even though they haven't really seen each other since yesterday.

"…to add, Alex?"

Alex blinks slowly, looking lazily at Charles with the bottle still at his lips. "What?" he asks, the sound bouncing off the insides of the brown glass. It makes a quiet windy tone around his consonant, which Sean repeats over at the end of the table—a low whistle that isn't enough to hurt anyone but still startles the tropical fish in the tank just behind Moira.

Charles ignores all that. "I was suggesting we get groceries tomorrow. Have you anything to add to the list?"

Alex shrugs, glancing at Hank. But Hank is already staring, lids low. "Steak?" Alex suggests after a beat. "I'll eat anything."

Hank coughs a little then sets down his cranberry juice, bright yellow eyes flitting to Alex's rumpled collar before returning to the chicken on his plate.

There's a debate over what greens to buy. Sean hates spinach but Moira's insistent that it's the best option (probably because she can't stand that green bean casserole Sean suggested in a fit of nostalgia).

Alex can't help but look back at Hank at least a hundred times before Sean shoves a fresh pie into the center of the table while an irritated Moira clears their plates. They've given up on Alex, who really doesn't give a shit about what they eat—anything's a feast compared to prison food—and the topic has evolved into recruiting plans when Charles passes strawberry rhubarb-laden dessert plates to those who ask.

Hank won't touch the pie—dairy products, like the butter in the crust, are no longer an appealing part of his diet—but adds another helping of herbed chicken to his plate, cutting it neatly and dabbing at the corners of his mouth with his napkin when he gets a bit of rosemary on his lip. His teeth flash as he sucks at them after the last sip of juice, all the while staring at the tabletop. When Hank is finished, he excuses himself and slinks off as quietly as he can. His shoulders hunch when he catches his reflection in the mirror over the mantelpiece.

Alex's chest hurts with some kind of fucked up affection so he stabs forcefully at a piece of rhubarb with his spoon, which isn't so satisfying.

He'll find Hank later. Maybe persuade him to kiss him senseless.

Instead, when Alex next sees him—Hank's stretched out on his bed, shirtless probably for comfort's sake with all that thick fur on his chest—he pauses in the doorway. Hank, as usual, looks troubled.

"Hey bozo," Alex murmurs. (This is the most obvious reason why they don't talk, because Alex can't manage to utter a single endearment—this is one—without sounding like an ass).

Hank's lips twitch, and he sits up.

"Nah, don't even budge."

"Sorry, was it my turn for dishwashing duty?"

"I took care of it." Alex shrugs, watches Hank sigh before shutting the door behind him and approaching the bed.

They've never hung around in Hank's room before, or Alex's, probably for the reason he can see etched into Hank's expression. Alex sets Hank on edge even though they've moved past the angered bickering and into different territory. Alex tries to channel calm because he knows Hank can sense his nervousness.

Hank looks confused as Alex drops his leather jacket on the floor and toes off his high tops. He doesn't move a muscle when Alex puts a knee up on the mattress and curls against Hank's warm body.

There's silence as Hank adjusts to this new development. Meanwhile Alex notices that the coarse fur across Hank's chest thins and tapers into a fine blue coat as it travels down his torso until, against his stomach, it is a sleek coat, which begins a coarser trail below his navel. His abdomen is solid and toned, and Alex can't resist smoothing his hand across Hank's left ribs and over to the right.

"Alex," Hank says. His voice is soft, stirs the hair at the top of Alex's head.

He grunts softly to signal he's listening, pretending he can't hear the worry in Hank's voice. And also, maybe he doesn't want Hank to see… whatever he would see if they made eye contact.

"How can you…"

Alex knows the end of that question, even if it doesn't make it past Hank's gritted teeth.

"You're nice 'n' warm," Alex offers after a minute. He can practically feel Hank counting his breaths to stay calm. "And fuckin'… Just—you're gorgeous, you know? Still gorgeous."

Hank's eyes are always surprisingly yellow when Alex looks into them, but since his transformation they haven't lost their expressiveness. Hank's frowning, a sharp tooth catching at his bottom lip.

Alex can't get enough of those teeth. Clearly.

"Would it be narcissistic to say I miss my old face?"

"No, but…" I like this one just fine.

Hank traces the rough pad of a finger over an exposed hickey near Alex's clavicle, biting his lip harder when Alex shivers.

Alex answers by palming over Hank's twitchy stomach.

When they kiss, Alex tastes cranberries and restraint on Hank's tongue, can feel the tension humming under Hank's skin. Hank twitches again when Alex stretches out along his side and cranes his neck to loom over Hank and weave a hand into the coarse hair over his ear.

Hank looks away again before gaining whatever courage he had to stand up to Alex before. He's almost glaring.

In a moment of weakness, Alex traces Hank's eyebrows, nose, lips, like Hank had his collarbone.

Hank grabs at Alex's hips, frowning again, and flips them over in a swift movement that knocks Alex's heart around his chest.

His pulse is hammering as he catches a quick breath, closing his eyes as Hank kisses him just above the loose neckline of his T-shirt. He licks into the hollow of Alex's throat.

"Your neck," Hank states gruffly.

Alex breathes deeply as Hank rucks up his shirt for him, exposing his pale stomach. Alex watches the play of muscles under the skin on Hank's back as he kisses his sternum then noses it for good measure.

Alex wrestles out of his shirt as Hank rearranges his legs and pets them cautiously, because even though it's hard to see this burly guy unsure of himself, the old Hank is still in there.

Alex scratches through the fur over his shoulders when Hank comes back to lick into his mouth. When he tries it again against Hank's sides, the guy lets out a funny giggle that turns into a groan. That's when Alex feels the weight of the situation, so to speak, half-hard in Hank's trousers.

Not that he isn't almost there, too. Being pinned down does have pretty immediate consequences.

Alex doesn't realize Hank has frozen above him until just now, with his hands just touching the leather of Hank's belt.

"C'mon," Alex nudges, wanting.

"Once the novelty wears off you won't want anything to do with me," Hank says.

"What? Don't be stupid. You think I'm here because you've turned blue 'n' fuzzy all of a sudden?"

It's not a surprise to see that Hank hates the reminder.

"I don't give a shit about what color you are, ass." Alex rolls his eyes and brushes Hank's hair back, thumbing across his creased forehead. "Although the higher body temperature is fun."

Hank grabs his wrist before Alex can ruffle his hair. "You weren't interested before."

"Boy, you must be a real idiot to think that. I thought you were smart."

"Are you telling me," Hank spits out, "that the whole time you were insulting me—calling me names I've heard all my life—you were attracted to me?"

Alex looks away for a moment before smirking. "Charles calls it pulling pigtails."

"God damn it, Alex!" Hank chokes out, shoving him against the pillows and kissing a bruise into his mouth. He's shaking. "Do you have any idea—you don't—" he says against Alex's jaw.

Alex frowns, shame blooming small and uncomfortable in his stomach. "Hank," he begins.

"You have no clue how much…" Hank whispers, nipping at his ear.

Alex swallows the lump in his throat. He hates this. Hates it when all the guilt rushes up humming just under his skin. "M'sorry," he mumbles finally, kissing at whatever he can reach, which happens to be Hank's eyelid. He pretends he meant to do that, clenching his jaw awkwardly.

Hank rests his forehead against Alex's neck, breathing quickly. "Want," he mumbles, and Alex notes it's the first incoherent thing he's heard him say. "Want you," Hank tries again, big hands squeezing at Alex's hips.

"M'sorry," Alex repeats before kissing Hank again. He wants to wipe the pained expression off Hank's face. He wants him, too.

Hank fumbles at Alex's belt and manages to get his jeans over Alex's ass before he apparently can't hold back and dives in for another kiss. Alex is happy to oblige. It isn't long before Alex realizes Hank is stalling, however.

"Hey, hey," he mutters. He smiles when Hank whimpers and presses a palm to his erection. Alex pushes his hand away and unbuckles Hank's pants, making sure he touches every inch of skin on his hips as he pushes the trousers down only to be pleasantly surprised that Hank isn't wearing any briefs. "Wow," Alex huffs.

"I'm blue," Hank states unnecessarily.

Alex shrugs, unconsciously licking his lips, "You're big."

"Oh." Hank rubs unconsciously at his neck, looking like debauchery personified with his khakis shucked to his knees, kneeling up on the bed in all his blue, trim planes. "That's the same."

Alex laughs. "Course it is."

"I'd really like it if we evened the playing field, Alex."

Alex shakes himself—'cause he was distracted, okay?—and shoves his jeans off.

"You've done this before."

"No quite," Alex answers the question that isn't. "I like all this talking," he says after Hank barks out a laugh.

Hank smiles, teeth glinting, which makes him look more like he wants to eat Alex than talk. Which is probably more accurate, anyway.

Hank gasps like his old self again when Alex yanks him down to lay next to him. Their cocks align when Hank pulls him even closer, and Alex watches fascinated as Hank's prick gives a little jump, dribbling pre-come. Hank has his eyes closed and his lip captured in his teeth when Alex looks back up.

"Nice and hard," Alex murmurs. Hank shudders against him. "I don't want you to hold back, you know."

Hank's eyes are slits of yellow when he says, "I could hurt you."

It's a lame argument. "And I could blast you into smithereens," Alex says nonchalantly, "but I'd really rather come all over you and keep you for later."

"Unh," Hank replies. He's squeezing a hand over Alex's ass and pushing a thick thigh between his legs. Coarse hairs brush against Alex's balls, making his own dick pulse happily.

"Yeah," Alex agrees breathlessly.

Of course, they're kissing again, because it's probably the best idea right now if they don't want to arrive too early. Hank moves his hands to Alex's face, cupping it—he's too sweet sometimes—while Alex presses his foot against Hank's calf.

"You still have your socks on." Hank smiles when Alex refuses to open his eyes.

"Forgot."

"It's fine," Hank chuckles, moving one hand between Alex's shoulder blades.
Alex feels kind of warm, but not because he's embarrassed. His chest hurts a little.

"Not so suave when you're naked with a man between your legs," Hank jokes, body rumbling with his gravelly, lust-soaked laugh, which makes Alex's hips judder weakly. "Mm," Hank hums.

His hips move slowly at first, rubbing his cock up against the smooth hair of Hank's stomach, feeling Hank's thick erection between them, too hot and slickening with each thrust. Alex is leaking now, so he opens his mouth to Hank's tongue and sucks on it. Hank makes a sound in the back of his throat and clenches Alex to him, fucking for three hard strokes against Alex's stomach before he realizes what he's doing.

"Oh, God, Alex," he moans when Alex mewls at the loss of friction. "Can you?"

"Uh-huh," Alex says quickly.

"Touch—" Hank chokes out, and Alex wraps his fingers around Hank's prick. He thumbs at the head when more pre-come squeezes out.

"You like that?"

"Yes," Hank groans.

Alex pumps his fist twice before: "I'll do you one better."

He moves quickly down Hank's twitching body, still holding his dick, and settles with a breath against the wet head.

"Alex!"

"Shh," Alex replies, and ignores Hank's protests as he laps from the base to the tip, salt on his tongue and lust blurring his surroundings. He chokes when he sucks down too far, but it's worth it the way Hank's whimpering and gritting out half-curses. Instead he focuses on the vein up Hank's hairless, hard cock and sucks wetly at the places he remembers he liked before solitary confinement.

"Alex! Alex, wait, I'm—I'll come! Stop—no, I want," Hank babbles, and Alex listens only when Hank whimpers, "I want to kiss you." Pained, like he hates to admit it, or like and he wants to be close to him more than he wants to come all over Alex's face.

"Such a romantic," Alex says. His voice is wrecked.

Hank whimpers again when Alex straddles him and grabs a handful of hair at the back of Hank's head. He's still got a loose grip on Hank's angry prick, and realizes he's wet, too, cock weeping. They kiss, and Hank licks at Alex's mouth like a man starved, gasping with want.

Alex moans, tortured.

He bares his neck.

Hank grazes his teeth over an exposed tendon, making Alex twitch violently. And then he's planting his big feet on the bed and thrusting up.

"Oh, fu—"

"Yeah," Hank growls against his ear.

"Hank," Alex groans. Fuck it; of course he'd turn into a whore, moaning wantonly when Hank finally got around to taking charge.

"Hunh!" Hank seems to agree. His nose is pressed against Alex's neck and his hands grip red marks into Alex's lower back.

He writhes overtop Hank, slowing only so he can grab the headboard and lean in for a filthy kiss.

"God," Hank gasps again. He doesn't shut up much.

Alex likes it.

"Gonna come?" he teases, slowing again when Hank gets so restless he can't keep his grip on Alex's hips.

Hank opens his eyes, and there he is again, sex hurt and saying everything they haven't said since they met.

Alex gasps, startled, and whimpers, "Hank," before he comes explosively over Hank's blue chest.

"Jesus," Hank mutters. Alex is too blissed to care about arriving before the virgin below him. Hank thrusts only a couple more times, the sweaty, come-slick space between them even better, Alex imagines, than it was before he came. Alex feels arms wrap around his waist and he collapses, tucking himself under Hank's chin.

Hank growls like he's angry when he comes, squeezing the breath from Alex's chest and locking up, toes curled and thighs taut. Alex pets over those tense blue muscles until Hank settles edgily onto the mattress, cock wet and still half-hard between them.

"Hank. God," Alex whispers finally.

Hank hauls Alex across his chest like a ragdoll until he's got Alex nestled into the pillows next to him. They're facing each other, still a bit breathless and hazy, but Hank is staring at him like his eyes alone will hold him there. Alex knows that, superpowers or no, those yellow irises can do just that. He'd let Hank keep him there, anyway. He's very content to stick around right now—especially if what just transpired will transpire again, and soon.

"That was…" Hank begins.

Alex gathers the top sheet with his feet and struggles a little droopily to pull it up over them both when he can reach a corner without stretching too far.

"That was nice," Hank finishes.

Alex burrows closer, ignoring the stick of his cock for the pleasant planes of Hank's torso. "Not bad," he says, and receives a nip with those sharp, sharp teeth to his shrugging shoulder in reply.

Hank grins and mumbles, "You know, we should try talking when we're neither really angry nor lust-laden and see how that goes."

Alex laughs. It sounds like a fantastic idea.

-Fin-