Hank had thought he'd never work with Richard Perkins again, especially not after punching him in the face for no reason, at least none he knew of. He was honestly surprised he still had a job after that one, what with Richard being a celebrated FBI agent, and his own record being thicker than an antique family Bible. A few days after the revolution, while he was moping at home, wondering what he'd do about work, Fowler called and told him to come in. Apparently, the whole matter had been dropped. Hank had no idea what strings Fowler had to pull for that one, but he was grateful. All he had to do was write a reluctant apology to Richard, and that was the end of it. He didn't hear about him again for months.

They met again in early July when the FBI arrived for a case. His case. He almost punched Richard again when he first heard, but Fowler insisted this time. The FBI had better resources and more experience with this killer. What the DPD had was local input. Their officers knew the area and the people who lived there, with valuable contacts and networking options. With such significant resources, it only made sense for the FBI to keep them onboard, so that's what they did. Hank Anderson and Richard Perkins were leading a joint task-force. Richard was overseeing things, but he was a surprisingly good listener.

That wasn't what Hank had expected at all. He'd expected them to be at each other's throats constantly. After asking around, he found this was a common occurrence. If you got in his way, he was a jackal, but if you were working with him and bringing results, he was much more tolerable, even pleasant. The Jackal was his nickname at the FBI. He was a tenacious little bastard once he got his fangs into a case, aiming to succeed at any costs. Hank had seen that much during the revolution. He'd throw anyone under the bus, human and android alike, which at least put him a head higher than those in the Anti Android League. At least he hated everyone equally.

It was strange, working with Richard. The man was quiet and mostly kept to himself in the large meeting room they'd taken over. A huge corkboard had been set up along the windows, blocking prying eyes and giving them a surface to work with. There were pictures, pins, and papers scattered across the surface, with strings of multiple colours looping and crisscrossing in all directions. Unless he was in the field or at a meeting, Richard could be found caged in that room. He stood in front of the board for hours, glaring at it as if he could scare it into giving him answers. Though his dark eyes were severe, it was difficult to be intimidated when he was barely five foot four.

Hank hadn't noticed it before, but when they stood close, Richard barely reached his pecs, and he was almost half as broad. There were things he did to seem bigger, of course. He got about two extra inches wearing lift shoes, and the cut of his suit jacket was sharp and strong across the shoulders to make him seem wider, but when he took that jacket off, he was really quite delicate. At the beginning of the case, he'd looked immaculate. He'd arrived with his hair freshly cut and gelled, clean shaven, a tie knotted at his throat with his jacket fastened and a briefcase in hand. His chestnut eyes had looked bright and eager to get started, brimming with energy. Over the past two months, that clean cut facade had faded.

Where before he'd looked well rested, there were now dark rings around his eyes, making his skin look somewhat sallow. His stubble was growing in, offering the very first hints of silver. He hadn't gelled his hair for at least a week and was constantly running his fingers through the thick strands. There was even a little silver creeping in over his ears where the dye was washing out. His silk tie had been discarded long ago, along with his jacket, and the first button of his tailored shirt had been popped in the close air of the large room. Cocking his hip and folding his arms, he took up his usual stance before the board and stood there for hours. Tenacious didn't quite cut it. It was something Hank respected, grudgingly at first.

There wasn't a day he could remember where Richard hadn't been there when he left in the evening or arrived in the morning. He didn't know what hours he was working, but it felt like he seldom left. His once strong shoulders now sagged, and he shifted from foot to foot, antsy and irritated. His temper also suffered. Although he didn't yell, his tone was far sharper than it had been a few weeks ago, especially if he felt he was on the edge of a breakthrough and was interrupted. There were small marks appearing across his lips where he periodically chewed the skin, and his once manicured nails were getting picked and chewed with stress.

He pored over his notes for hours, going between multiple case files, re-reading witness statements, and reviewing pictures of the scenes and possible murder weapons. He was like a chess player staring at the board, planning his next three moves. As the days wore on, he blinked and squinted more and more, shaking his head at varying intervals to clear the heady fog. It seemed he couldn't stay still, constantly sitting, standing, pacing, and fidgeting. The man couldn't settle in one place for more than two minutes, and Hank was pretty sure he knew why. Unwilling to stop, eager for a result, he was pushing himself to his physical limits. If he stopped, he'd probably pass out within a few minutes. That would probably be a good thing at this point. The man was positively ashen.

Something else that occurred to Hank was how little he noticed Richard doing essential things. He was still showering, probably in the locker rooms down the hall, but not much else. Hank had never seen him leave the precinct, or even so much as put his head down on the table for five minutes. With those panda circles, it was easy to believe he hadn't slept in two months, though he knew he must have at some point. Sometimes he might see a bottle of water or a cup of coffee, which he sipped from time to time, but he couldn't remember seeing so much as a potato chip cross his lips for as long as he'd been there. Richard already looked small, but he couldn't help feeling he was getting a little smaller. He was like an emaciated ferret.

It started bothering him so much that he finally asked Connor to scan him to make sure he wasn't about to drop dead. Unfortunately, that brought about alarming results. Apparently, Richard hadn't slept in almost forty hours, hadn't eaten for at least a day, and he was dehydrated. It was a wonder he was still on his feet at all, which he was. Hank's brow furrowed as he looked through the glass door, tracing a path up and down his curved spine as he stood before the board. His shirt was the only thing that remained pristine. He'd never seen it untucked or even out of place, besides the single button at his throat. It sat tight on his waist, perfectly tucked in his tailored slacks.

"His temperature is also elevated, either from fatigue or stress." Both were likely. Hearing that, Hank had little choice but to intervene. If he was feverish, he'd certainly collapse if he didn't rest soon. "Should we have him relieved of duty?" Connor's nervous air was understandable. They'd seen how unpleasant Richard could be when things didn't go his way, however, it was unlikely he'd leave the precinct voluntarily. Unless...

"I don't think we need to go that far. He just needs a day or so to rest up." Connor could agree with that, but how were they going to convince him? Hank was still turning that over when Richard turned, and he saw for the first time that he'd foregone his contact lenses. Instead, he was wearing a set of rectangular glasses with a silver bridge and temples. The lenses themselves were frameless, perfectly fitted to his face. They weren't too big or too small, and the silver was a soft choice that didn't draw the eye too much. Expensive, but understated. They looked good on him, despite the purple shadows beneath his eyes. As usual, he had his nose buried in a file as he crossed to the table and all but collapsed into a leather chair. They weren't the most comfortable of chairs, but it was better than plastic. Richard almost seemed to know he was sick as he ran a hand across his pale forehead and pushed to his feet with a sharp breath, taking to pacing instead.

"Perhaps..." Hank looked at Connor as he spoke, finding his hazel eyes staring at Richard almost sympathetically. "Perhaps you might invite him home for the evening...Your house is closer to the precinct than his, and since I don't require sleep, I can fill in here." Hank gave a thoughtful nod. That sounded about right. Richard lived clean across the city. There was no way he'd agree to go that far. And since Connor would remain at work, his bed would be free for Richard.

"Alright...Maybe I should be the one to..." Connor nodded. Although Richard didn't seem to despise androids, he would likely be more receptive if the idea came from Hank with his superior rank and age. With that agreed, Connor retreated to his desk to give them some privacy. Taking a steeling breath, Hank pushed the door open and slipped inside. Richard didn't even notice him at first, too busy pacing and breathing through whatever episode he was having. He just about had a heart attack as he turned and noticed him looming in the doorway, visibly balking and resting a hand on his chest. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you."

"No, I should have noticed...Anything?" It was the same greeting as always. Rather than exchanging pleasantries, he jumped right to the point. He was disappointed, but unsurprised, as Hank sighed and shook his head. It had been the same for weeks! No clues, no progress, no new leads. It was something of a blessing that no more bodies had turned up yet. Cursing under his breath, Richard ran a hand through his hair and turned back to the board, tracing one of the red strings with a scowl. What am I missing?

"It's about time you packed it in for the evening, don't you think?" Richard waved it off with a tired huff. He couldn't just leave! They'd made no progress all week! He might be needed. What if a new body dropped? Or a lead came in? Or a witness? There were families out there who needed answers, and so did he. Why here? Why these people? What drove him to it? What was his motivation? Taking to pacing again, he almost stumbled into Hank's chest and found himself trapped as two brawny hands gripped his smaller shoulders. Hank almost winced at how bony they felt. "Come on. Come back to my place. We can both rest up, and Connor can keep an eye on things here. He's an android, remember? One of Cyberlife's finest. He's more than capable of manning for fort until we get back." Connor was right about Richard's temperature. Hank could feel it through his shirt. He was burning up.

"I don't need to stop! What I need is a fucking lead!" Hank was unsurprised as Richard twisted free of his grip and turned to glare at the board again. He folded his arms and started chewing his thumbnail, clearly distracted. Unfortunately, he was also wavering. Hank grew anxious as he watched him sway, worried that he might topple over. Being gentle, he slipped in behind and rested his hands on his shoulders, doing his best to seem supportive. He felt Richard stiffen, apparently surprised and unused to physical contact. "Where is he? Why here? What the fuck am I missing?" It was still odd, hearing Richard curse. He seemed so prim and proper it always took him by surprise. Doing his best to distract, Hank gently circled his fingers on his tight shoulder muscles, slowly making them loosen. He blinked, startled as Richard let out a small sound of approval and dropped his head for more.

"We're all working together to figure that out, Richard, but you can't go on like this." Richard all but shuddered at the gentle grumble of Hank's voice. It was rare for him to call him Richard. Usually, Agent Perkins sufficed. The fingers on his shoulder pressed a little harder, still circling as his head drooped against his chest. His eyes burned, almost too tired to open again. With the dull ache in his brow, he was even more reluctant. "You're exhausted. What use do you expect to be if something happens? You can't drive, you can't focus, you can barely even stand! You're dead on your feet!" Hank accepted the weight on his chest as Richard stumbled into it, breathing in the fruity spice of the cologne he always wore. It was nice; suited him.

"I'm fine, I can-" Now holding the majority of his weight, Hank scowled. Fine, my ass!

"You haven't slept in almost two days!" Richard fell silent at that, sleepily resting his head on Hank's arm as he held him. Had it really been two days? It was hard to keep track in this room. Being in the middle of the building, there were no windows to look outside. "And you haven't eaten for just as long." Opening his eyes and squinting at the table, he noticed Hank was right. The lunch box that was left each afternoon was still sitting there untouched. It would usually stay there until he slid it into the trash later. He just didn't feel hungry while working on a case. "Come on, you're burning up." Burning up? He felt a little hot, sure, but burning? Shaking his head, he pushed to his feet, only to find himself pulled back a moment later.

"If something happens, I need to be here! I'm the agent in charge!" With the way he was stumbling, barely able to keep his eyes open, he certainly didn't look like the agent in charge. Hank was a little firmer this time as he gripped his upper arm, trying to be gentle so as not to bruise his pale skin.

"No agent can work twenty-four hours a day! Connor can handle things for a few hours...Just long enough for you to put your head down and have something to eat." Eating would be a little difficult, with the sick feeling roiling in his stomach. The idea of eating while that son of a bitch was still out there churned his stomach. He could be doing anything! He might even have his next victim already. People were reported missing every day, especially in cities as big as this! "Trust me. Connor can handle it." A brawny arm slipped around his waist, all but holding him up at this point.

"But-"

"If you don't walk out of here, I'll carry you." Richard balked, cock twitching at the rough feeling of whiskers on his ear. The sharp intake of breath didn't go unnoticed either, as warm breath huffed against his ear. "Get your coat." Richard nodded, swallowing the objection on his lips. Much as he hated it, Hank was right. His head was pounding, a constant throb behind his tired eyes, and his vision was swimming with fatigue. His jacket felt surprisingly heavy as he grabbed it off the back of the chair and shoved his arm in the sleeve. He was a little surprised as Hank appeared at his shoulder to help guide him into it. "Come on, I'm driving." They both knew he couldn't.

"Are you sure this thing is road worthy?" Richard groused as they arrived in the parking lot. Hank looked positively outraged as he patted the battered bonnet of his old banger. Richard couldn't believe it was still road worthy. It ran on fuel for Christ's sake! What kind of car ran on petroleum in this day and age? The windows had fucking rollers! It had to be almost sixty years old, at least! How is it still on the road?

"I'll have you know she's a classic!" Hank insisted as he pulled the door open and disappeared. Richard joined him reluctantly, nose wrinkling at the smell of stale smoke and old food wrappers as he pulled the door shut. At least it has seatbelts. He was almost surprised. The interior looked like it hadn't been cleaned in years. There were empty cans and bottles on the backseat, cigarette butts and ash all over the centre console, and a cheesy old hula girl wobbling on the dashboard. From the smirk on Hank's lips, he could see what he was thinking. "Sorry about the mess. I wasn't expecting company." Richard closed his eyes with a withering sigh. With any luck, the rickety old bucket wouldn't start, and he could get back to work. Unfortunately, the car rumbled to life with a less than reassuring splutter, and Hank pulled out. Unlike his own car, Richard could feel every bump in the road as they trundled along. It bumped and rocked his tired body, lulling him into a troubled sleep. His head felt thick and heavy the next time he opened his eyes.

By the time they pulled up at Hank's house, his head was spinning, and his body was starting to shiver. The house was smaller than he'd expected. A shabby-looking bungalow in the outer suburbs. At least the street was quiet. It wasn't the best kept area, but it seemed free of trouble as they stepped out and headed for the door, where they were met with a hail of snuffles and low boofs. Richard couldn't help stiffening at the sound, putting himself a little further behind Hank's burly body as he unlocked the door. Something Hank noticed as he turned the key. Not a fan of dogs, got it.

"Sumo, down boy." Hank set a hand on the enormous dog's head as he entered, ruffling his ears and gently pushing him away from Richard as he slipped inside and shut the door. That he remained in the corner pressing himself against the wooden surface didn't slip Hank's notice either. "Go on, Sumo. Bed!" At Hank's firm order, Sumo let out another low woof and wagged his fluffy tail. Richard watched like a hawk as the old Saint Bernard lumbered its way into the open living area and curled up in a large plush dog bed. "Don't worry about him. He's friendly." Richard said nothing, but seemed less than reassured as he eyed the enormous dog, who stared back almost sadly. There was a new friend in the house and he'd been sent to bed without the chance to say hello.

Slipping out of his jacket, Hank hung it on the pegs and walked across to the cluttered kitchen to fill the kettle. What Richard needed most was sustenance, and there were few things he had that were as fast and light as a Cup-a-Soup. Connor had introduced him to the things as a low-calorie snack, something that regularly turned up in his lunch box to tide him over until dinner. The golden vegetable flavour was actually pretty good. There was also chicken and vegetable, potato and leek, and tomato to choose from, but he went with the golden vegetable. Richard seemed a little awkward and out of place as he joined him, skirting wide of Sumo's bed and hovering behind one of the wooden chairs at the round table.

"Why don't you go on and take a shower? The bathroom is just down the hall. I'll slip in a towel and something to wear in a bit." That sounded more like an order than a request, making Richard wonder if he smelled. He didn't think so. He'd showered in the precinct that morning, but he had been shut in that room in the same clothes all day, so he felt a little dirty. A shower wouldn't hurt, and it might at least warm him up and stop the shivering. Mumbling his thanks, Richard skirted his way around the corner and into the small hallway that led to the bedrooms and bathroom. Not knowing which door led where, he opened the first he came to and found a large bedroom with messy covers and an open, cluttered wardrobe. The saturated smell of the room, musk and cigarettes, was enough to tell him it was Hank's.

Backing out and gently clicking the door shut, he moved across to the opposite door and found the bathroom. Though a little grubby, with mould setting in between a few of the tiles, it was mostly clean. Everything was neat and tidy around the sink at least, and that had been recently cleaned, as had the toilet. Rather than a shower, Hank had a large bath with a shower attachment. It took a little fiddling to figure out how to make the water come from the head and not the tap, but Richard soon had the shower going. He stripped as he waited for it to warm, starting with his slacks. Unsure where to leave his clothes, he settled for closing the toilet and neatly folding the items on the lid. He'd barely put his trousers down when the door softly clicked open and Hank appeared, blue eyes widening as he noted his state of undress.

"Sorry, I should have knocked." Silence fell between them as his gentle gaze roved over his frail body. The reason his shirt always looked so neat was revealed in the form of shirt garters, thick black straps around his thighs with elasticated clips that held his shirt down. Those weren't his only garters. Around his calves were sock garters to keep his socks in place. His legs were bare besides those straps, revealing a layer of soft black curls on his skinny legs that trailed all the way up to his pert ass, which was hugged by a set of tight briefs. "I found these...They're Connor's, so they'll be a little long, but still smaller than anything I have," Hank offered apologetically. Richard felt a little exposed as he accepted the worn white towel and pale blue pyjamas. They looked comfortable at least, a nice soft cotton with a hint of silk.

"It's fine, I'm used to it." Being on the short side, it was hard to find men's clothes that went that short without being tailored. He usually had to turn up the hems until they could be altered anyway. He could last one night in Connor's pyjamas. Hank left him to it, letting him finish undressing in peace so he could climb into the shower. The water was good and hot, making him sigh as he pulled the grimy curtain across and stood beneath the spray. He could almost fall asleep on his feet it felt so good. There wasn't much to choose from in the shower, just an all in one shampoo and conditioner and an old bar of soap, but it was enough to get clean. Richard shivered as he worked, feeling unnaturally cold despite the hot water, especially as he stepped out.

Hank was right about the pyjamas. The pants pooled over his feet until he rolled them up, and the shirt hung loose on his frame, almost covering his entire hand. It was like being a kid wearing his father's clothes again. The thought made him huff as he pushed the sleeves to his elbows. It wasn't that bad, though it was a little weird picking up the faint hint of thirium underneath the scent of the detergent. Gathering his clothes, Richard headed down the hall to the last room. Connor's room was next to the bathroom, and much smaller than Hank's.

There was enough room for a comfortable double bed, a desk, a closet and some drawers, which was really all it needed. On the desk was a small family photo of Connor, Sumo, and Hank that had been taken somewhere away from the city, maybe in the mountains. They were dressed right to be hiking or camping, so it was probably a vacation. Not being one to snoop, Richard placed his clothes and glasses on the desk and stepped out into the hall, only to press his back against the door as Hank's huge hound came lumbering towards him. His voice stuck in his throat as he stared, turning his body slightly and holding his hands out of reach. The dog seemed oblivious to his fear, happily snorting and wagging his tail as he snuffled his bare feet and pants. It seemed Connor's scent confused him somewhat.

"God, Sumo! I thought I told you to go to bed. Go on now, get!" Hank's firm tone recalled Sumo to the living room and allowed Richard to leave the door with a relieved sigh. "Sorry about that. He's always curious when someone new is in the house." It made sense. This was his territory, after all. Richard considered himself lucky that Sumo wasn't overly protective of that territory. He might look cute and fluffy, but those teeth could do some serious damage. The thought made him shiver as he followed Hank into the kitchen and took a seat at the round table.

He felt much more awake since the shower, though he knew fatigue would soon catch up to him again, especially now that he was dressed more comfortably. Hank had already set two steaming mugs on the table, and Richard was surprised to catch the smell of broth. Looking into the large mug, he found a thick, creamy soup with crusty croutons floating on top, along with herbs and tiny bits of what looked like carrot. It wasn't usually the sort of thing he'd consume, but the growl of his stomach was enough to prompt him into acceptance.

"It isn't much, but it should be easy on the stomach, at least." After not eating for so long, it was sensible to start small and light. Once he finished rummaging in the cupboard, Hank joined him at the table with a tall glass of water and a packet of pills. "Here, you're running a temperature, too. These should help clear it up a little." It was an over-the-counter cold and flu medication, which was better than nothing. Richard accepted with grumbled thanks, teasing the foil packet in one hand as he sipped his soup. It was nice. Light and tasty, but not too punchy. The starchy broth also calmed the churn of his stomach.

Hank watched as Richard sipped his soup, dark eyes fluttering now and then as he nodded in his seat. He never thought back in November that he'd ever feel sorry for Richard Perkins, but shit, he looked terrible. He ran himself down more than Gavin, and that was saying something. It took a marked amount of restraint not to reach across the table and finger through his tousled hair. Richard was fighting to keep his eyes open by the time he finished his soup, so much so that Hank reached across and popped two pills out for him. Stepping across, Hank gently roused him and handed him the pills, urging him to get them down before he fell asleep. Richard didn't even argue, sleepily taking the pills and gulping half his water.

"Come on, let's get you to bed..." Richard looked dead on his feet as he stood and stumbled through to Connor's room. Hank followed close behind, ready to catch him if he fell. They made it into the room, and Richard slipped beneath the covers without a word. Hank was almost certain he was asleep before his head hit the pillow. Even in sleep, he was shivering from the fever. Hank was pretty sure it had to be the fever anyway. The house wasn't cold at this time of year. But he is a little smaller than me, so maybe he feels it more...Just in case, Hank hurried through to his room and pulled out a thick woollen blanket. With that over the top of Connor's sheets, he was pretty sure it would be enough to keep him warm.

With that done, he returned to his own room, doing no more than pulling off his jeans and shirt before falling on the bed. That should have been the end of it. He should have slept through until morning with no further thought, however he was woken by a low woof in the hall a few hours later. Cursing and grumbling under his breath, Hank put his head outside to find Sumo scratching the bathroom door in the darkness. Connor's door had been left open, so Hank assumed Richard had gone to the bathroom.

"Sumo, bed! Go on now!" He doubted Richard would appreciate being scared half to death when he stepped out. Despite Hank's call, Sumo stayed where he was, scratching at the carpet and huffing at the bottom of the door. That wasn't like him. "What is it, boy?" With another low boof, Sumo raised his head and looked at him before scratching the door. It was only as he got closer that Hank realised the shower was running. "Richard? Are you alright in there?" he called as he knocked on the door, pressing his ear against the wood as he got no response.

It would usually be rude to barge in, however Richard had showered barely a few hours ago, it was the middle of the night, and he wasn't getting any response. Trying the door, he found it unlocked, and before he could even announce himself, Sumo had already burst in and hurried to the tub, where he grabbed the curtain and gave a firm tug, almost bringing the whole rail down. Hank lurched across the room to save the curtain in three quick steps, pushing Sumo back as he barked and leapt at the tub. Hank's heart almost stopped as he fount Richard sitting naked on the bottom with water pooled about three inches high, fast asleep with his head on the edge of the tub.

"Richard! Hey! Richard, are you alright?" Shaking his shoulder, Hank turned off the freezing water. Although feverish, his skin was now cold from the shower, and he was shivering as he forced his tired eyes open. Cursing under his breath, Hank lifted him out of the tub so the water could drain through the plughole, which had been blocked by his ass.

"H-hot..." It was a feeble whine as Richard squinted up at him, a sound that launched Hank into action immediately.

"That's no reason to come and sleep in the shower, Christ!" Leaving him on the cold tiles, leaning against the bath, Hank hurried through to grab another towel from his wardrobe. From the way Richard was shivering on his return, it was hard to believe he felt hot. He didn't even hesitate before wrapping him up and carrying him through to Connor's room, where he set him on his feet and rubbed him down. Richard was too tired to object to the firm handling, even as Hank bundled him naked beneath the covers. Laying a hand on his forehead, he found the skin already searing. "Shit, don't move." He was pretty sure Richard was already asleep again as he hurried to the kitchen to grab more water and pills, along with a large tub of cold water and a cloth. He needed to get that temperature down.

Richard grudgingly roused himself long enough to chug some water and swallow more pills before laying down and letting Hank place a cool cloth on his feverish brow. He was still shivering in a way that suggested he was cold, but his feet kept trying to kick the covers off because he felt hot. Hank sighed as he pulled the covers up again, giving him some modesty and rinsing the cloth. Shaking off the tired sting in his own eyes, Hank settled in for a long night. It felt like he was replacing the cloth every two minutes as Richard hummed and turned his head. He hadn't done this sort of thing since Cole. He'd expected Richard to be better at taking care of this sort of thing, though to be fair, he'd seemed fine when they went to bed, just tired.

It may have been his imagination, but it seemed he settled down after thirty minutes or so, possibly the work of the pills. Hank sighed, replacing the cloth and gently running his fingers through his thick hair. It was a lot softer than he first expected, free of the gel he'd plied it with in those first few weeks. He wasn't the most handsome man he'd met, by any stretch, but there was something almost cute about his ferrety looks. There were marks in his cheeks where he'd have dimples if he smiled. A rare occurrence in their line of work. Lines were setting in around his eyes and across his brow where he frowned and worried so much. Considering the stress he was under, he looked remarkably good for forty-three when he was rested. Right now, tired as he was, he looked more like he was pushing fifty, minus the grey hair.

Judging by the silver creeping in at his ears, Hank assumed he used hair dye. It always seemed a waste to Hank. You were going to get old, whether you liked it or not. May as well accept the grey and get on with it. Maybe he shouldn't be surprised about Richard dying it though. He always looked so prim and proper with his tailored suits and clean-cut facade. He even wore garters for Christ's sake! Who wore garters in this day and age? Connor did, but he didn't count. It was in his programming to dress like a prissy boy, but Richard Perkins? He had no excuse. It was either pomp or kink, and he knew which was more likely. Then again...

Less than pure thoughts entered his mind as he recalled how he'd looked in the bathroom earlier with all those straps just begging to be pinged. He couldn't help but wonder what sort of noises he'd make as the elastic slapped his skin. Would he look indignant? Would he blush? Richard seemed the prudish type that might blush. But you know what they say about the quiet ones...He might be the filthiest little kink hoarder you ever met. The idea made him snort. He just couldn't imagine Richard being the kinky type, which might bring its own rewards. Imagine being the one to introduce him to such things.

Rinsing the cloth again, Hank found his train of thought derailed as Richardturned over in his sleep. The hand still laced in his hair was summarilytrapped beneath his temple as he nuzzled into his touch, and a hand came up torest on his wrist. A sleepy hum slipped out, gentle breaths teasing his palm asRichard settled down again, having claimed his hand. Cute...It took Hanka full minute of staring at his sleeping face to realise what he'd justthought, making his brain grind to a halt. Cute? When the fuck didRichard Perkins become cute? When did he stop being that no good, arrogant prissyboy he'd punched in the nose all those months ago? I am not popping a bonerover Richard fucking Perkins! It seemed his body disagreed, making him resthis free hand over his tired eyes. This is going to be a long fuckingnight...