Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There’s no need to move his head, Connor can already make out the rude scowl the girl next to him turns and makes every few minutes. He’s not completely undeserving of it, the small desk of his lecture hall seat bounces in tandem to his knee, and with it, so does the one next to him. The one this poor girl is sitting in. He fits awkwardly, legs far too long to accommodate his insistence on sitting with one knee folded over his thigh. As if it wasn’t enough of a ridiculous visual, there’s that even more unshakable desire to bounce his legs, flexing the points of his toes and moving at an anxious pace.

Connor had never been late to a class, he’d never been late to work. Today was the closest he’d ever been, and he can thank the laziness of the computer lab attendants for opening later than usual. Though Connor is rarely one to pass blame forward, he should always anticipate worst case scenarios and maneuver around them. He knew this especially well when it came to printing assignments on campus. He simply can’t bring himself to purchase the hundred dollar ink cartridge he needs to refill his home printer—not when his next tuition payment is on the horizon. 

But he did make it on time, he tries to remind himself. This seems to be good enough for the bouncing to stop. The girl doesn’t turn her head over towards him for the remainder of the lecture, even when it begins up again. She must have gotten the very correct impression that Connor is beyond soothing. No amount of social stigma would unravel whatever grip anxiety held deep enough in his chest to allow him to consider the effects his ticks had on those around him. 

By no means is Connor unaware of his habits. He’s been long described as genetically predisposed to chronic stick-up-his-ass syndrome. A good side effect of this would be Connor’s insistence on taking full responsibility for himself. Even after an entire childhood of encouraged neglecting of his mental health, a high school counselor stepping forward to put him in contact with a psychiatrist would offer him a more official diagnosis. His mother wasn’t too pleased to hear this, and even now, a medically emancipated Connor Stern would refuse any medication to treat his condition. Besides, nobody was born perfect. Amanda would say to strive for it, regardless. And—Connor rations—it would be admitting to an imperfection to utilize any medical assistance. 

He was an adult, completely capable of managing his flares of anxiety and bouts of overthinking and planning. It did him good to be so worried, he’d convinced himself. He’d be finishing off the first semester of his last year of university with the same grades he’d started with—perfect ones. Just as he’d done in grade school, just as he’d done in primaries. And this time, without any motivation from his mother. A pure, self driven, entirely holistic desire to make the most of his education. 

Of course, there were the non-academic elements of his condition to consider as well. But those were equally as straight edge and well maintained, thanks to Connor’s proficiency with a schedule and planning. He’d gotten himself a handsomely paid and honored internship position at a forensic laboratory right in metropolitan Detroit, just twenty minutes between his school and apartment. This welcomely received new paycheck had even allowed him said aforementioned apartment. Finally free of the adolescent cramping that living on campus had begun suffocating him with. Not that his new apartment was any less cramped. He’d still have a roommate—being humble and smart with his money came before his desire for total peace and quiet. Perhaps, if he’d been a little bit more to Amanda’s standards he’d gone and picked a better roommate. 

He’d met Markus early in his third year. They both lived on the same floor of their on-campus dormitory, but they rarely interacted outside of hallway run-ins— what with Markus being exclusively in classes that were in the Fine Arts Department and Connor exclusively residing in the school’s STEM campus. Somehow, those hallway run-ins were all they needed to blossom a slow growing friendship. 

Markus was magnetic, Connor could tell from their earliest interactions. He was carefully worded, soft and gentle spoken and insightful. An absolutely phenomenal artist that made Connor doubt the opinions on artists he’d internalized from Amanda. His social circle was large, but he and Connor became bonded in a particular manner he hadn’t noticed Markus doing with the rest of his friends. Connor was frequently invited to any group outing and celebration, but the plans he’d attend with Markus would more often be one on one. Working on assignments in silence, talking over a philosophical quandary, expressing social doubts and concerns. Either complete silence, or nonstop dialogue would be how their interactions would always go. 

Connor had been itching to find his own place for the entirety of his Senior year. Dorms were far too rowdy—even those of the upperclassmen, and he’d been making more money than he knew what to do with from his last internship. Markus was his obvious contender for a roommate, had he not been four years into his very serious committed relationship with another friend of theirs and decided this would be the year to take it to the next stage. 

By no means was Connor antisocial, far from it. He knew he talked too much once prompted, he was prone to over-explaining and talking over others if anything. For a long while, he wasn’t aware of these conversational issues. 

He would become extremely aware of his social shortcomings after only one single conversation with Gavin Reed. 

The lecture hall begins to empty. Students begin filing out with echoing sounds of zippers closing and laptops shutting. Connor follows suit, best avoiding any further inconvenience for the poor girl sitting beside him. He can tell she’s looking for his attention, as he stands and slings his bag strap over one shoulder. Uncertain if the interaction would be positive or negative, he opts to avoid any opportunity that would allow her to converse with him. 

‘It’s a real shame! You’re a cute one,’ North had said that to him once, albeit a few drinks in. He wasn’t sure how the conversation had turned to Connor’s dating life and his insistence on not having one.

He understood the importance of making connections during these years of his life, and he had been making them! Involving himself with another romantically during this stage of his life felt wrong and detrimentally unfair to anyone unlucky enough to seek him out. His focus was career and education—nothing came close in importance as that. He was socially competent enough to recognize how unpleasant that would be for any prospective partner. Besides, he had near no clue what he sought after in a partner, let alone what kind of partner that would be. 

He hates to admit that Gavin had actually been the one to make the biggest impact in his romantic development as a human being more than anybody else had. They’d met in a Civics class they shared in his third year. The night prior, Connor had the brilliant hindsight to let North sway him into going out. He wasn’t much of a drinker, but he’d neglected eating throughout that day and had very little to tide over the stream of drinks he was offered. 

Poor sleep and a hangover were not experiences Connor frequently had, or was equipped to handle when he did permit himself to let loose. He’d still made it to class early. Gave himself an extra hour to prepare in the morning to assure no hangover would ruin his perfect streak of punctuality. Gavin had been the only other student to arrive as early as he had. The bags under his eyes rivaled Connor’s own and there was a vague familiarity to his face that would be explained as soon as he’d open his mouth. 

‘You’re the prick that wouldn’t stop brown-nosing the prof in my toxicology class last year,’ he’d crossed his arms and announced from where he sat with his legs on the desk.

Two years and some change later, he’d find Reed to be an unlikely acquaintance. There’s still a struggle to use the word friend at times, but he supposes there’s not much else Gavin can be in relation to him. Connor’s balancing his phone on his shoulder against his ear as he fishes for his ID to unlock his way out of his department building.

“What?” He’d pick up the call as if he wasn’t called every Tuesday at this exact time like clockwork.

“I just got out of class, where are you?” Connor had finally tucked his ID back in his bag and was now properly holding his phone. 

“Finally,” Gavin sounds exasperated for someone who has to wait a loathsome ten minutes between his own class concluding before Connor’s. “I’m at the car.”

Connor rushes over, because he’s socially conscious and knows Gavin dislikes waiting on him, even if he knows Gavin would never return the sentiment. He finds him in the same place they’d parked that morning, resting against the hood of his car with a nearly dead cigarette hanging from his lip. 

He blows smoke from the corner of his lips before plucking it from between his lips, dropping it to the cement floor, and snuffing it with the toe of his boots. 

There’s no real conversation that takes place as they drive back home from school. Yes, Gavin would turn out to be a financially reliable person to have as a roommate, despite his seedy appearance and hostile attitude. And he had a car, which Connor lacked, so he thinks twice before complaining about Gavin’s cleanliness around the house. It’s a fragile but harmonious balance Connor treads lightly. 

“You look wrecked,” Gavin seems to only initiate conversations if it's to insult Connor, so he isn’t fazed by the faux concern. He’s gone and tossed his coat to the side and laid up on the couch with his shoes still on. 

“Thanks,” He doesn’t instigate, tries not to think about the effort he tried putting into his appearance today, too. He’s fussing with his hair in their entryway mirror, checking to see if Gavin’s claims ring true—and they do. He’s visibly exhausted and his pristine appearance isn’t to his usual standards. Standing next to Gavin, a stranger wouldn’t be able to tell how off his game Connor was.

Gavin replies with a pack of cigarettes thrown Connor’s way and a nonverbal invitation to follow him out to their patio. Connor takes the effort, of which Gavin has neglected, to change into household slippers and follow him outside. 

“You need those more than me,” His head nods to acknowledge the pack Connor’s cradling in one palm. But even with the less hostile verbiage, Connor can tell he’s asking for one. So, he obliges. Opens the pack, fishes one out and passes it to Gavin before taking one for himself between his lips. 

It was a nasty habit. One he never went into adulthood anticipating he’d develop. It wasn’t intentional by any means, some things were bound to slip between the cracks of Connor’s overworked schedule. There’s worse things he could be doing, he rations.

It had been Gavin to facilitate the habit, unfortunately. One night the first year they’d become friends, after insisting Connor go bar hopping with him, they’d taken to a corner of a bar patio to get away from the noise and Gavin had offered him one. He’d laughed his usual boisterous laugh when Connor replied saying he’d never smoked before and practically forced him to try one. He’d laugh again when Connor coughed to the point of wheezing, and when he’d admitted verbally that he was feeling dizzy. 

It took a few forced cigarettes from Reed before he got the appeal. Connor never actively sought out a relief to his stressors, only held them close as an assured motivator in getting things done. Only two things were truly reliable in Connor’s not so intentional seeking of stress relief: a schedule appropriate smoke break and a schedule appropriate hookup. 

The former would be his go-to, the latter would be a much rarer desperate option to turn to. The latter would also be a bad habit introduced to him by his roommate.

The topic of Connor’s inability to value romantic partnership had come up again, like it always somehow manages to when he’s not brushing people off to work on assignments. For the first time in his life, he’d been met with understanding and mutual agreement. Gavin turned to him with a shrug and look of ‘so what’ when he’d heard Connor express his unwillingness to seek out a romantic partner. It had been the first time anyone had reacted in such a way. He remembers how deep and cathartic it was to exhale all the tension in his chest as he confessed it to someone who seemed to understand.

Except Gavin didn’t understand.

‘I’d rather it be a one and done,’ he’d said. And with it, all the aforementioned tension returned to Connor’s chest as his face flushed over and his hands began to vigorously wave Gavin off.

‘Not like that!’ He’d exclaimed right back, to which Gavin’s brows furrowed with confusion before rising with realization. 

‘God, Stern, you've never even gotten laid?’ 

It was humiliating to realize his reputation as serially single did not automatically include the fact that he had never had intimate relations with anyone in any capacity. 

What followed was an outstandingly obnoxious insistence on Gavin’s end that they would go out that night together and find some girls to take home. Connor wasn’t even sure if he liked girls, but Gavin was the last person he’d trust with that information at the time.

It wouldn’t end up being a big deal. They wouldn’t come home with even a single girl for one of them that night. No—leave it to Connor’s blind luck to turn that night into the most humiliating outcome imaginable. He’d woken up in Gavin’s bed, one of his roommate’s arms thrown over his—extremely sore—chest. 

It’s a miracle either of them got past it and were able to retain a decently normal friendship; Connor took the brunt of the mockery and Gavin swore him to silence. At the very least, there was a mutual understanding that it was Connor’s first experience with sexual exploration and that if he needed to talk about it, Gavin would permit it with the best maturity he could muster—which wasn’t much. 

Connor learned a handful of things about himself that night, Gavin was forced to be a willing ear as he rambled his way through self discovery one evening. He liked men, exclusively. And getting bent over by them was the most effective method of resetting his never ending stream of thoughts and concerns. He remembers Gavin’s eyes avoiding him and the wise advice to ‘download a hookup app, stop making this my problem’ following soon after. 

Connor decided to do just that. He wouldn’t abuse it as a method, just reserve it for worst case scenarios, maybe as a special occasion during finals or during a rough project he’d be overseeing at work. Besides, there was never any guarantee he’d land a guy, right?

Except Connor was exceptionally attractive. ‘Ridiculously so’, North had put it once. Gavin had even made a comment on it once, that Connor was very obviously attractive to an especially gay demographic. He’d punctuated it with a roll of his eyes. And he was very correct. The first day of mindless swiping on the app had landed him a nearly guaranteed match with every man he’d given the slightest chance to. 

The only natural course of action was to delete the app at the first sexually charged message he’d received in an overheated haste and swear to never give it another chance. 

He’d sleep with Gavin twice more before he’d get cut off from ever getting the chance to again. It was already twice more than he’d expected given Gavin’s loud and proud rule of ‘one and done’. By the time the need had arisen once more, he’d lost his outlet, still far too intimidated to redownload the app and find another suitor to release stress with.

Cigarettes on his patio with Gavin would have to do for now. Except they didn’t have the same effect in the slightest. Quite the opposite. Watching someone as embarrassingly testosterone-fueled as Gavin lay leisurely against a car, or a railing, or legs spread in a chair, with smoke falling from open lips while his intense eyes glared back at Connor did very little for his libido. It didn’t help that he knew what the guy looked like naked—standing over him while he focused on getting himself off. Sometimes Connor’s excellent memory was more compromising than helpful.

In the span of a few months he’d gone from smoking exclusively with company, to chain-smoking in bitter solitude at the slightest inconvenience of his perfect schedule.

He’d settled on forcing conversation onto Gavin when they’d have these smoke breaks. Eyes on the horizon and as far away from whatever masculine show of display Gavin was putting on while he smoked. Living with the guy would have become torturous had Connor not been put off by his personality enough to view the fondness of their hookups for what they were: hookups. 

There’s an obvious solution to his issues, he knows it. He’d had the forethought to plan around his libido and allow himself more time in the evening to explore his body in solitude. Nothing seemed to match the way a third party could make his mind go numb with white noise. The closest he’d get to the sensation was the not even full minute bliss reached by orgasm—but with another person touching him it was longer lasting, it was residual, there was a weeklong deafening of the cortisol that ruled his nervous system. Nothing would be as effective as another body on top of his. 

He almost wants to resign, to crawl back to Gavin with his tail between his legs and beg for him to help. Letter of diagnosis in hand, explain that there’s something fundamentally wrong with his brain and that his dick is his only saving grace at peace. He knows Gavin well enough now to know he’d accept the offer if Connor worded it with enough boosting of his ego. But Gavin wouldn’t be a productive solution to his problem. They’d slept together thrice and Connor can hardly look at him existing casually around their apartment without getting worked up. He needed something on his terms, on his schedule, and with low visibility.

Connor reaches for his phone in his pocket as Gavin is going on about some professor playing favorites in his class. A new grade was posted, he winces at the score. He’d need to find resolution quicker than he had anticipated.

Chapter Text

There was nothing superhuman about Connor and his regimen, no matter what his peers would say about him. His body operated on the same baseline functions, he simply knew how to play to his strengths. He’d scheduled his less exciting classes early on in the week and would plan any internship work he could do from home to be completed before Wednesday rolled around, just to ensure he’d maximize efficiency from a weekend of better sleep. He’d put his most exciting classes on Wednesday and Thursday, to create a motivating push to continue with his best foot forward, regardless of energy output, and he’d scheduled most of his in person work at the  laboratory on Friday and into the weekend. It was always early morning, assuring him a guaranteed seven hours of sleep every night and a chance to get school assignments done while the sun was still up. 

Everyday his morning routine would be executed in the same fashion, without failure. His alarm would go off anywhere between 5 and 6 in the morning, depending on his exertion the night prior. He would make enough coffee to spare Gavin the need to make some as well, and he’d either go for a twenty minute run or make a light breakfast before showering. He’d been experimenting with intermittent fasting, but Gavin just accuses him of thinking food is a waste of time. There would be some truth to that.

Connor’s choice of cardio is different this Wednesday. There’s little need to incentivize himself to get out of bed, this would be his favorite class of the week. But, there’s hesitation when his eyes shoot open from the blaring of his alarm. He’d been tossing and turning all night, even with his assured, tried and tested, nighttime routine. His need for release was becoming insatiable and the need to practice self restraint felt just as necessary as practicing self care. 

Connor wasn’t a teenager, and even when he was one puberty never manifested in the form of neediness. Perhaps it was the militant strictness of his mother catching up to him in adulthood. There’s an obvious strain in his flannel pajama pants this morning. Even lightly grazing it with his palm is enough to elicit a gasp, forcing Connor to throw his head back with a sharp hiss. 

He’d have to sacrifice his plans for a run today if he wanted to keep up his minutely schedule. He rations: It’s still cardio, after all. He’s planked on one forearm while he thrusts into a slicked up fist against his mattress, chewing on a pillow to soften any noises he’s making—and he’s making noises. Connor’s never taken to regularly masturbating and it’s difficult to keep a courteous volume. Gavin wouldn’t be awake for another hour or two.

Connor’s self control in all faculties of his life seems to run dry when it comes to sexually stimulating himself. He’s sloppy, inexperienced and very noisy. Noisy enough that a someone dead asleep in another room may be awoken if he isn’t mindful of his volume. 

Release would be a poor way of wording it, there is no release in Connor’s orgasms when he’s brought to them on his own. His shoulders and core stiffen to hold his posture upright, he’s far too focused on preventing staining, reaching shakily for tissues when he’s getting close. And when waves of bliss crash, sending him over the edge, the noise he lets out is as close to traditional masculinity as he can manage. It’s a teeth gritting grunt followed by a whine and a sharp exhale, his forehead falls onto his pillow and his breathing is shaky. Every muscle is taught and tense and held tight. 

He orgasms like it’s on his todo list, because oftentimes it is—it’s not like his body desperately needs the endorphins and leisure. Sure, he’d prevent himself from going about his day with as many lingering feelings of neediness, but he wouldn’t be any closer to serenity as he’d convince himself he is. 

The shower that follows afterwards does more to release tension in Connor’s body than his little morning session of self care would. 

Connor is in his own head that day as much as he is every other day. Gavin makes another note of his strange behavior, but any self reflection Connor partakes in during their car ride over to campus registers as the usual everyday quirks he sports. There’s nothing special about how he feels past his impulsive, impromptu self pleasure. 

They share a cigarette for breakfast before going their separate ways. For all his insistence on riding solo and never being tied down, Gavin keeps impeccably to a schedule when he has the motivation to do so. Connor also supposes that’s his own doing. There may have been some Pavlovian influences in their home life. 

Connor doesn’t mean to not cook dinner whenever Gavin runs late, Connor doesn’t mean to do Gavin’s laundry only when he’s less hostile to him. Gavin’s ‘become a competent roommate and friend’ training is never intentional. 

If you were to ask Connor what was so special about his Wednesday class, he’d be lying in saying he ‘just had a fond and gentle affinity for the study of crime scene microbiological analysis’. He enjoyed the analysis part, sure, but biochemistry was notably one of his weaker fields of study. When he and Reed had begun speaking to each other more, he was honest about his intentions for a career lying strictly in the laboratories and out of police precincts. Gavin, on the other hand, would make very constant and frequent remarks about how going straight into a police academy would do his career goals much better than school would. He wanted to be a detective, not a ‘corpse residue enthusiast’. 

Gavin had been the first to catch on to Connor’s odd affinity for the class, despite his distaste for the subject matter. They were in the same term, following the same course outline with minute differences but vast schedule changes—Gavin refused to be in the same classrooms as Connor. He shared the same class and professor, simply on a different day of the week. Actually, they’d both had this professor for a previous course a good few years prior: the first class they’d ever shared together. Not the one where Gavin would formally introduce himself with a jab at Connor’s academic prowess, but rather the one in which that jab had been referencing. 

When Connor liked something, it was made known. Little room for expression in childhood made him that way, he supposes. He’s incapable of liking anything a normal amount. Nearly every domestic item in his repertoire is themed to dogs, despite him never owning one. His affinity for this professor was made known, so much so that Gavin had caught it from where he sat in the far back of the class. 

Perhaps he was just genetically predestined to become a detective, or perhaps it was just difficult to look away whenever Connor approached his desk with hands clasped behind his back and a wide smile painting his face, awaiting any praise he’d already been anticipating for a job well done on their latest assignment. Gavin thought it was sick—until he got to know Connor, then it became amusing ammunition.

It wasn’t ridiculous, after all. The professor was astoundingly attractive—for his age. Tall, gentle-faced, hair always quaffed with a pomade, not a single hair or thread out of place on his person, an immaculate knowledge of formal menswear and all its rules—an interest in common with Connor. Gavin recalls how horrifically flushed Connor was left when his loafers got complimented one day.

When Gavin was keyed in on Connor’s childhood, the pieces came together in an instant. Connor had grown up without a father, or any male role model at that. It was only natural he’d stick to the first middle-aged man to show him praise and desperately claw for as much of it as possible. He’d vocalized this many times in the form of jokes, of course. 

‘Whatever gets you off,’ He’d replied when Connor pondered out loud if he should take the teacher’s assistant position he’d been offered by said professor. 

And get him off it did. Connor would never admit to it and was under the naive impression nobody knew in the slightest. His orgasms did provide some relief on nights where he’d come home from campus late after helping his professor finalize grades for his freshman classes. He can recall one night in particular where he’d gotten his hair ruffled as thanks for his creative insight, that memory produced what was likely Connor’s best orgasm yet. One that rivaled Gavin’s assistance and made him reconsider the futility of jerking off as stress relief. 

It was odd to return as a pupil once more in his final year. There was some advantage to the bond he’d created with his professor, Connor had begun excelling in microbiology. Who knew proper motivation and guidance was all he truly needed. Since Gavin’s near constant ridicule, he’d put in a little effort in not being the class favorite so obviously. Still, the habit of being the last one to leave the room stuck to this day.

“How are they treating you at Wayne County?” His head would shoot up from where it was buried in his school bag, packing up. 

“Oh, wonderfully. It’s been such an insightful experience. Thank you, again.” 

It had been by his recommendation that he got the internship to begin with, after all.

“I’m glad to hear it. I’ve been meaning to check in, but,” He motions the stack of folders on his desk. He was insistent on physical submissions when it came to papers, despite their inconvenience and hassle. It was often why he required assistance so regularly. “Nobody stood out enough in my sophomore class to warrant helping me out.” 

Connor can feel a lump forming in his throat and a smile creep onto his lips. “I—” he tries to begin but is swiftly interrupted. 

“I know you’ve got way too much on your plate without even asking. Don’t even offer, Con.” 

He swallows harshly and laughs softly to relieve the tension in his body. 

“Besides, this year is about building your resume, stick with Wayne and doing your work.” He smiles as he grabs the first folder from the stack. 

“Speaking of—” He tosses the folder on the table before him, “Impressive work. I know this kind of stuff isn’t exactly your forte. Truly, I’m floored, Connor.” 

Connor’s mouth feels terribly dried, and he’s hardly spoken a word. They shouldn’t be expecting grades back for this assignment for another week or two, which means he’d been grading out of order, and with Connor’s work as priority. 

“Thank you,” It’s exasperated and he immediately regrets not swallowing once more before talking. He’d be exaggerating if he said it sounded pornographic, but it did. Hushed and needy and breathless. 

“No, thank you.” He smiles softly, patting Connor’s back rough with encouragement before retreating back to his desk. 

So much for continuing the day without an unprovoked sexual dilemma. Connor’s sweating by the time he’s reunited with Gavin. 

“Jesus, Connor. Did he dismiss class early to bend you over his desk, finally?” Gavin is talking far too loud, and in an echoing parking structure no less. 

“No! He just wanted to ask me about work, don’t be gross.” Connor doesn’t hesitate in climbing into the passenger’s seat. 

“Should have known you’d go for older guys,” Gavin laughs as he turns the ignition. “Does he miss his little personal assistant?”

“Yes, actually. He did make a point to tell me nobody can replace me. How have you been doing in his class?” Connor replies. He wasn’t immune to getting sassy.

“Man, I’m not the one who’s gonna be some fuckin’ blood and guts shrink. This class doesn’t mean shit to me.”

Gavin’s teasing is enough to kill the growing hardness in his pants, at least. Or—it’s enough to delay it until Connor gets home and is immediately back to his unsheltered thought spirals. 

He’s chewing on the inside of his cheek, staring at a blank document—save for a header and page number. He’d anticipated more progress than this in an hour of time. It’s difficult to write an analysis of directional variation in blood splatters and how timeframe affects visibility when all he can think of is a large hand clasping his back. Running down his spine as it arches, landing at his waist and high hips, pulling him backwards against the frame of a large body. 

A shuddering sigh escapes soft, slick lips as he experimentally palms himself through his pants. He’s fantasizing about the near future. He wouldn’t be a pupil in another semester, there’d be nothing wrong or compromising about propositioning his professor. Except that Connor had absolutely no experience in both courting someone with serious intentions or propositioning someone for casual sex. He didn’t even know his professor’s sexual preferences. He did know, for certain, that his left ring finger sported a wedding band. That enough, was a deal breaker for Connor. 

Besides, he needed a father figure, not a hookup. Well, from him at least. He was absolutely in desperate need of a hookup.

He’s not entirely sure when he shut his laptop and began redownloading the app Gavin had recommended, but he’s certainly doing it now. A voice in the back of his head hopes to find his professor there, unsatisfied in his partnership, desperate for a fresh lay. It’s driving enough for Connor to face his fears and log back in. 

It’s hard to swallow down any concerns and swipe through a feed of men trying to put their best foot forward; Connor doesn’t enjoy that it feels like window shopping. Surely, all of these men have dreams and aspirations and things they dedicate their spirit to. He’s starting to second guess having the mental fortitude for his, but he persists. 

Living so close to campus doesn’t make it much easier, either. Most of the men he’s being shown are he and Gavin’s age range, going to his school, or posting without a face but including just enough information that Connor can determine they’re students as well. It doesn’t seem smart to hookup so locally, and with peers. 

But Connor doesn’t have the time to commute for scarce fucks. The solution is to change his desired age range, obviously. He ignores every part of his body that does this out of sheer desire to find someone that can emulate the heat his professor sparks in him. It’s only to avoid classmates, he insists! 

It’s a bit of an exaggeration to set his youngest desired age at 40. He’s simply experimenting! There’s no backward intentions here at all. 

He’s just opened a floodgate of opportunity without even realizing it. 

There’s something charming about older men and their inability to take photos of themselves. Barely filling out all of the account information and typing without abbreviations. It sparks a flame in Connor’s core he fears will never be unlit. 

An hour of swiping passes without Connor even realizing it. Gavin loudly slamming the door closed upon his return from the gym is what snaps Connor out of it. 

He’d gotten a few initiating messages, same as the first time he’d given this app a try. But, still no courage to reply. Besides, his assignment needed him. He was bleeding into the time he reserves for making dinner, and he’d hate for Gavin to revert back to poor behavior because Connor wasn’t upholding his end of their unspoken deal. 

Connor’s phone is face down on their coffee table when it buzzes for the third time over dinner. Gavin is shoveling food into his mouth, hunched over his plate, like it’s the first meal he’s had in days when his eyes immediately dart to the phone and back to Connor with a single brow raised. 

“What?” Connor’s tone is annoyed, only because he knows where this conversation will lead in a matter of minutes. 

“Who’s texting you so much?” Gavin says, food still in the corners of his cheeks. “Nobody texts you.” 

‘Except for you,’ Connor wants to reply. To remind Gavin they are very much friends and talking over a meal he made for him without asking. 

“I don’t know, Gavin. Have you seen me get up to check?”

“Seems important.” He’s finally swallowed properly, teasing with a smile on his lips. 



“Well, I’m busy right now.” 

Gavin’s already gotten up from the table before Connor concludes his statement.

“Gavin!” He’s out of his chair by the time Gavin’s gotten hold of his phone.

“Wow, you’re popular on this thing. I didn’t think you’d actually give it a shot.” Gavin scrolls through the preview notifications on his lock screen. “These guys want you bad, Con. I’m almost jealous.” 

Connor’s face is flushed as he snatches his phone back from Gavin’s grasp. 

“I don’t even know if I’m going to reply to anyone, stop it.” He’s sitting back down, desperate to remain composure on the subject in front of Gavin.

“Well, you should. To tell you the truth, I’m genuinely concerned about your teacher-crush ruining your life.” Gavin expressing concern almost warms Connor’s heart, if he knew it wasn’t entirely just words for mockery’s sake. 

“I’m not crushing on any professor, nor do I have intentions of getting intimate with anyone on campus.” 

“Is that why all those guys were so old?” Gavin leans in across the table, eyeing Connor carefully as he tries to continue eating as if undisturbed. “So you don’t run into anybody from school? If I remember correctly, we were classmates when I took your virginity.” Gavin points out his lie.

“Thanks for reminding me, you don’t think maybe that’s how I learned my lesson?” Connor hates when Gavin words it like that. That he ‘took his virginity’. Like it means something to either of them. The thought turns him on to a ridiculous degree, but ever enough to ruin his promise of never touching Gavin again. 

“That doesn’t explain the second and third time,” his voice is venomous. If Connor hadn’t been familiar with Gavin’s affinity for being incredibly difficult and mean, he’d assume he was propositioning Connor for sex again. 

“Are you just mad you won’t be the only one who’s ever had sex with me soon enough?” Connor accuses with furrowed brows. 

“God no! I’ve been waiting for the day you got your shit sorted out, I’m the one encouraging you to go fuck anyone already!” He laughs. “I’m just making fun of your taste. I thought you’d go for someone…”

“Like you?” 

Gavin doesn’t reply, just shrugs and keeps eating his food.

It takes a herculean amount of self control to return straight to his assignment after dinner, but he’s Connor, so he manages to. Despite all his bothering, Gavin resigns to do the dishes when asked. 

He allows his phone to sit upright at his desk, making passing glances if a notification ever were to pop up, but they seem to be slowing down in the later hours of the evening. Connor makes an internal note about the likely bedtime of men of that age range and cringes. 

He almost assumes they’ve stopped coming in entirely, just as his phone lights up once more.

11:13 PM: If you’re just on here for something casual, you’ve got way too much information on your profile.

Connor avoids letting it get to him as he continues to work, but his body feels impossibly warm. Had he been going about this the wrong way and only now someone had the heart to let him know he looked ridiculous?

11:16 PM: I’m guessing this is your first time looking for anything like this.

11:16 PM: Am I assuming right?

Connor picks up his phone to reread the three messages, nerves suddenly in overdrive that he hadn’t maybe asked Gavin to look over his profile sooner. His assignment is quickly neglected in his list of priorities as he moves from his desk to sit on his bed.

11:20 PM: Is it that obvious?

He bites his lip as he sends it. 

11:21 PM: Very.

Connor groans and falls backwards onto his bed, suddenly breaking out into a stress induced sweat.

11:23 PM: Not that there’s anything wrong with that. It just felt remiss not to tell you.

11:23 PM: I have no clue what I’m doing.

11:24 PM: I can see that. 

11:24 PM: Thank you, that is extremely encouraging.

Connor had been so wrapped up in his concerns regarding social practices on gay hookup apps that he’d neglected to consider who it was he was even talking to. The honesty was cathartic and a welcome change from his strictly managed day to day appearances. He wasn’t usually so open to admitting his inabilities.

He presses on the stranger’s profile and memory fills in the gaps between the myriad of profiles he’d swiped through.

His main photo is with an alarmingly large Saint Bernard, Connor recalls this grabbing his attention during his incoherent swiping. He likes Saint Bernards. His information is vague. Mostly his music interests and sexual preferences, though Connor now supposes that's an error on his own part for not doing the same. His age is listed as 53, though he’s gone fully grey—his beard suggests that’s natural and not a cosmetic choice. Connor likes that more than he cares to admit. His tone is sarcastic, as if he’s not here by his own choice, it’s amusing to Connor. 

He can’t help but feel his profile is a bit too robotic and stale next to… he scrolls up once more…Hank.

Hank’s listed sexual preferences do little to lessen the backflips Connor’s stomach has taken upon beginning. He’s virtually describing Connor. He’s honest in wanting a younger guy, but not being picky. There’s a comment on liking them cute and nice, not looking for hostility or much rough play. 

He seems exhausted and looking for exactly what Connor wants.

He’s never had a conversation with someone in which the shared intention of sleeping together hung over them. It’s hard to dance around, but offers some unexpected catharsis nonetheless. 

11:26 PM: I’m just trying to be helpful. Don’t shoot the messenger.

He’d gone and messaged again during Connor’s examination of his page.

11:31 PM: You doing this as a dare? What’s the catch?

Connor’s rushing to reply, he’s poor at timely texting.

11:32 PM: Catch?

11:33 PM: Kid, you look like a supermodel. Can’t find a boyfriend at school or what?

It’s enough for Connor to forget about his homework entirely. Opting to flip over, lay on his stomach and dedicate his fullest attention to replying to whatever messages this stranger would send his way. 

11:35 PM: No catch! Not looking for a boyfriend.

11:35 PM: What are you looking for then?

11:36 PM: I’m not even sure I have the strength to put it into words.

11:36 PM: How very cute. You’ve made it this far, gather some courage.

11:38 PM: I know I’m not good at this, go easy on me, okay? I’m just stressed and looking for help managing it. 

11:38 PM: Looking at your join date you’ve been stressed for a while.

11:38 PM: You don’t need to act so shy, we’re both looking for the same thing after all.

11:38 PM: Oh god, it shows you that?
11:39 PM: I have no clue what I’m doing, is it weird that I feel wrong doing this?

11:40 PM: Not at all, it’s only natural if you’re new to this stuff.

11:40 PM: Boys your age couldn’t do the trick?

11:41 PM: Oh god. Don’t say that.

11:41 PM: I’m just trying to avoid classmates, that’s all.

11:41 PM: I mean, 53 is an extreme age to match with if you’re really just trying to avoid classmates.

He spends an embarrassing amount of time aimlessly talking with him. He’s glued to his phone as he’s brushing his teeth, preparing the coffee machine for the morning, and packing his school bag. It’s okay, he thinks as he looks over his calendar, today was supposed to be a day to get ahead on work, but he was by no means behind schedule if he took the rest of the night to himself. 

There’s no real reason why he’d gone and replied to only one of the many messages he’d received. But he’s glad he did. There was something intoxicating about the way he communicated, so lax and casual and honest. Everything Connor was not and never exactly sought out to be at any point in his development as a person. 

The conversation isn’t even vulgar, unlike most of the other propositions Connor received. If anything, most of their conversation is Connor being gently teased. Not in the way Gavin usually does it, but in an oddly comforting way where he feels involved in the joking. They talk about what Connor’s been stressed out about, to which Connor keeps it vague after the initial messages he’d received. Actually, a large part of their conversation surrounds the dog in his profile’s central photo.

1:28 AM: So what caught your eye about a man old enough to be your dad if the intention isn’t to find an older guy?

1:29 AM: It’s ridiculously stupid. And very unsexy. 

1:29 AM: I take it that a lot of things you say come off unsexy. 

1:29 AM: Shoot.

1:30 AM: I thought your dog was really cute.

1:30 AM: Wow, that is extremely unsexy. Was the plan to just use me to get to know him?

1:31 AM: What’s his name?

1:31 AM: Ouch, I see how it is.

1:35 AM: Sumo.

1:35 AM: Can I ask to see more photos of him?

1:36 AM: That depends on your intentions with me.

1:36 AM: You seriously think the dog is the only reason I matched with you?

1:37 AM: I only know what you tell me.

It stumps Connor for a good while, looking for a response to that. What wasn’t there to like about how he presented himself? Even on a dating app, there was a sense of lighthearted charm to the guy. Connor supposes it doesn’t help that he does, genuinely, find the guy attractive. He’d always had a bit of a particular taste in what he found attractive. 

1:44 AM: I think you’re very attractive. Is that what you’re looking for me to say?

1:45 AM: I want you to say whatever you want to say.

1:45 AM: Well, I’m saying that. I think you’re very attractive. Your profile made me smile and I like dogs, so I was hoping to match with you.

1:46 AM: So any sad middle aged man with a dog gets a shot with you? Your inbox must be flooded.

1:46 AM: I won’t deny that it is.

1:46 AM: But I haven’t replied to anybody else yet. So maybe Sumo’s just a very special dog.

——————————————

Work ran late tonight, to a diabolical degree, Hank could comfortably say. They’d been a bit short staffed at the precinct after a detective was caught saving some of the drug unit’s evidence for personal use. Now Hank knows what made the guy so productive when it comes to filing reports. He’d picked up on some signs of usage, but he wasn’t in any place to judge. Even with the role of Lieutenant, he doesn’t feel enough authority to exert discipline. 

There’s a stiffness that runs down his spine as he unlocks his front door. Fall was picking up in Detroit, which meant unpleasant things for his joints. But, he’s welcomed by one of the only things that gives him motivation during rough periods. Sumo’s not the jumper he once used to be, his hellos are mellow and mostly a ploy for dinner as soon as possible. Lazy son of a bitch learned it from somewhere, he presumes. It’s not like Hank was very exciting to have as an owner. He comes home late more often than not, barely does anything around the place besides eat takeout or watch TV before going to bed.

Hank’s not in any mood to complain. There’s a sense of purpose in what he does, even if it’s slipping from the forefront of his thoughts with every passing day. He’d gotten into police work to at least be the change he wanted to see in the world. Nowadays he’s not too sure he’s contributing to much more than a healthy revenue stream for the liquor store a few blocks away. 

He doesn’t have any issues, not like he used to. Not like when things were worse. But he certainly wasn’t the perfect image of sobriety that society expected of recovering alcoholics. And maybe sobriety was never the goal for him. What, he overdid it a few years and now he’s lost all access to finding a comfortable middle? He doesn’t bother to ask anyone to answer that question out of shame or perhaps knowing the answer isn’t what he’d like to hear. So for now, he’ll just rationalize that he’s got a strong affinity for scotch and it’d do him wrong to deny himself a flavor profile he enjoys. Whatever effect on his state of consciousness the drink provides has nothing to do with the appeal. 

He’s too exhausted to even think about pouring himself something tonight. Even a beer, only a bottle cap away, feels like a mountain of labor. If he was regulated, he’d put his final ounce of strength into a shower, but he can’t find anything left to muster up. He makes sure Sumo has dinner and promptly throws himself onto his bed right after.

There’s no placing what feels off about tonight. Monotonous days of unexcitable work and an empty home were simply getting to Hank and he’s more than eager to admit it even if a resolution feels distant and impossible. His house feels extra empty when he gets introspective about it, but any prospects of long term partnership he’d had died alongside his marriage to his ex-wife. If he wasn’t bitter enough to drive away every single person he’d met—if there even was a person to come around worth marrying—Hank knows divorce to be too much of a hassle to even consider remarrying.

Locker room talk was well and alive even in places like the precinct break room and at age ranges as supposedly mature as Hank’s. The thought of finding someone online to fill his half empty bed had come up multiple times, but shame got the better of him. He wasn’t put together by any means, physically or mentally. Though, only the former would be of relevance in such a case. Still, he needed something to keep himself awake if on his bed during the little free time work was giving him. 

There’s no real reason why he decided it should be boys. Maybe there’s a subconscious connection his mind makes to long term partnership when he thinks of sleeping with women, a byproduct of his marriage and some fun hookups in college with men. Regardless of why, he settles on men. He’s not picky. Hell, he barely touched the preference sliders when he’d set up his account. Any of this being on Hank’s terms over a third party’s feels, frankly, very wrong to him. 

Issues with self esteem come in surprisingly handy when swiping on a dating app. He’d never filter men more age appropriate for him from his search results, but his bias for younger men seems to be quite evident. Whenever the rare later-twenties year old would come across his feed, swiping right was a no brainer. Poor thing either forgot to filter out the old creeps or was actively searching for them. A few have the right idea, texting first with pornographic intentions and a vernacular that rivals the books he’d catch his wife reading on occasion. But it always struck Hank as inauthentic. He presumes he’d get a better orgasm watching porn than fucking any twink in desperate enough need for someone to call ‘Daddy’. 

Connor’s profile makes him laugh, a single audible chuckle. The poor kid sounded like he was putting together a resume, polished and pristinely worded. When the app had indicated mutual interest, he’d honestly only messaged first because he was near certain Connor couldn’t be a real person. It had to be a bot or phishing scheme of some kind. 

To be fair, he’s still not entirely certain, even this far deep.

1:46 AM: But I haven’t replied to anybody else yet. So maybe Sumo’s just a very special dog.

1:50 AM: The hell’s that supposed to mean?

He’d gotten so wrapped up in their mindless messaging that it almost snaps him out of his disbelief and skepticism. 

1:50 AM: ?

1:50 AM: What do you mean?

1:51 AM: You haven’t messaged anybody else on here?

1:52 AM: No… Is that a bad thing?

1:52 AM: Just having a hard time believing someone that looks like you would look at my profile and go: Yeah, that's the one guy I’ll reply to. 

1:53 AM: I’m coming to terms with a lot of things about myself, you got a problem with that?

Hank scoffs at his phone. The kid’s warmed up enough to talk back to him. It’s cute. He looks carved out of marble and he’s spent the last thirty minutes in the private messages of a hookup app asking Hank about his dog and now he’s admitting that’s about all he’s done on said hookup app. Wonderful.

1:54 AM: You even real? 

1:55 AM: Very. Do you need proof of some kind? I can understand the hesitation.

1:55 AM: Christ, of course I do. I’m starting to think I’m hallucinating right now.

1:56 AM: What should I do? You want a photo?

Yes, Hank wants photos. But not the kind he assumes Connor would be comfortable with right now. Seriously, what kind of guy talks like this? Has he even ever slept with another man before? Anyone? His exhaustion isn’t helping his thoughts spiral any less, wondering about Connor’s sexual experience– and likely lackthereof–  is making him more turned on than he’d like to admit to himself.

1:57 AM: Seems reasonable to ask. Looking the way you do, you outta get used to people asking for verification.

1:57 AM: You comfortable sharing what you’ve got on for bed? You’re a student right? Shouldn’t you be going to sleep soon for class anyways?

1:58 AM: You’re the one keeping me up. But, yes.

Cute. 

1:59 AM: Just give me a second.

Hank can feel the tightness in his chest as he waits for the next notification. It can’t seem to come any slower. 

Barely lit, only enough in view to show his face and upper body, laying on a plush comforter, Connor proves himself to be very real. And sporting glasses, he hadn’t seen those on his profile. 

Very Cute.

2:03 AM: Good enough?

2:04 AM: Hmm, I’m not sure. Might have to take it again without the shirt, just to be sure.

2:04 AM: Gross. 

2:05 AM: You’re saying that like our intentions aren’t mutual.

2:05 AM: Who said I’m decided on that?

2:06 AM: You’re giving me a headache.

The notification that follows is another image, a breathtaking one. Hank can only see as far down as the midsection of his pectorals, most of his sternum and collarbones. He’s never been so grateful to have his perverted concerns about the beauty marks stopping at his neck be relieved. A perfect triad of them decorates the right side of Connor’s chest right under his collarbone. 

2:10 AM: Apology accepted.

2:11 AM: Goodnight. 

——————————————

Connor had little crushes here and there throughout high school. Boys who’d been unnecessarily kind to him, that’d shyly ask him for help and thank him in spades. He’d never made any attempts at acting on them, they were never anything serious. Besides, his mother was strictly opposed to any of Connor’s free time being dedicated to anything other than his scholastic endeavors. 

He hasn’t felt this feeling in a long while. It’d come up from time to time when he’d get an email from his favorite professor or a staunch pat on the back— the warm heat that builds from a pit in his stomach and grows to suffocate his whole body, the acrobatics his guts decide to begin shortly after. He’s sat on his bed kicking his feet like a high school girl getting attention from the star quarterback, and over what? A man over fifty he knows he can do better than? What even makes a guy that age seek out younger men, anyways? There’s a successful attempt to not dwell on it, his stomach’s latest gymnastics do a great job at pushing aside any concerns and second thoughts. It’s dangerous. 

When he wakes up the next morning, it’s earlier than usual. He absolutely cannot sacrifice another day with his schedule being set off, especially not after he’d neglected his usual run yesterday. 

There’s calm and leisure in how he executes his morning routine, his coffee is minimal today, it’s not fun to run all jittery and with a dry mouth. Everything up until his walk to the front door is executed properly and calculated with precision. Only one thing is amiss. 

5:39 AM: Good morning. 

He isn’t sure why he sent it. This sort of menial texting and checking in isn’t what this app is made for. Maybe this is Connor’s idea of a mating ritual: showing off his inhumane schedule and self discipline. Inhumane might not be the right word for it anymore. If his discipline was still to be accurately described as such, one would venture to assume he’d have the strength to deny the obviously inappropriate relationship he was developing. 

His phone goes ignored until he’s returned from his run and is walking back up the stairs of his apartment complex. The passing glance he takes is more-so to check the time, but it’s hard to ignore the first new notification he’s received since waking up.  

6:13 AM: Jesus, what kind of classes do you have to take to be up this early?

Connor damn near runs into his front door as he types back.

6:21 AM: My classes start at 8, a very normal time.

Fall is starting its descent into winter, it’s nice to get out of the wind and into the warmth of his apartment after a run. He’s slick with sweat and looking forward to nothing more than the next step in his routine.

6:25 AM: So you get up before 6 am by choice? 

Connor doesn’t see the reply until he’s out of the shower.

6:30 AM: Yes, it gives me time to get my day started without rushing.

The reply is near instant. 

6:31 AM: Wow, having trouble believing you’re a real person again.

6:31 AM: What are the odds I get some proof to remind me?

There’s no fighting the way his teeth sink into his bottom lip. What wonderful timing. That heat is building in his stomach again. It is certainly an enticing offer. He’d never gotten to experience this part of adolescence. Sneaking photos of himself for a prospective sexual partner and basking in the attention it’d grant him. He doesn’t see an alternative reality where he’d partake even if he had someone to send them to in adolescence, Connor was born paranoid. 

Surely there’s no threat if he does something this childish, right?

His hands are already holding his camera up to his bathroom mirror, even as he attempts to talk himself out of it. It produces an, admittedly, very alluring photo. Connor can even admit that to himself. His towel is draped low on his hips, but not so much that it exposes any pubic hair—not that Connor had much hair at all. 

Gavin had pointed it out once, while completely bottomed out inside of him, at that. How Connor had so little body hair you’d think he was genetically predisposed to take cock. Looking at himself in the mirror now the difference is clear, he can clearly recall the way Gavin has a fuller trail of hair starting even above his navel.

6:45 AM: Jesus christ, it must be my birthday.

6:48 AM: When am I gonna get to see you?

Something about that phrasing makes things all too real, all too suddenly for Connor. His phone goes on the bathroom counter with a hastily slam as he begins to shave down what little facial hair begins to sprout on his jaw. Anything to distract himself away from the fact that this little session of digital flirting does have consequences. 

It all just feels too good and so sudden. Connor’s not used to being spoken to like that, it’s different from the usual attention he’d get for his appearance. It’s warm, genuine and honest. Not littered with the usual PR-heavy talking and concerns for saving face. He supposes that’s what he gets for replying to a guy old enough to have nothing to lose. 

What if this was all Connor could manage? He’s deep in thought as he trims up his side burns and washes his face. What a selfish and arrogant piece of work he turned out to be. Only able to manage a pseudo-hookup if it’s online and entirely at his disposal whenever he feels like picking up his phone. And with a middle aged man.

Gavin shoves his way into the bathroom, knocking Connor against the sink on his way to the toilet. 

“G’morning,” his voice is groggy and heavy with sleep as he untucks himself from his boxers.

“Jesus Gavin, you couldn’t wait like five minutes? I’m almost done.”

There’s no shame in his bliss, eyes closed and head hung back as he relieves himself. Connor should be used to this by now. Gavin was a professional at forcing his way into the bathroom at Connor’s inconvenience. 

His phone goes neglected, remaining on the bathroom counter as Connor continues through his mental checklist of morning routine tasks. His breakfast that morning is a piece of toast with jam and another cup of coffee. Gavin’s is a cigarette on the balcony, his mug almost abandoned next to the ashtray had Connor not noticed and brought it back inside.

“You’re the one who gets up at five, can we hurry it up please?” Gavin calls out as Connor rushes to his room and then bathroom in search of his phone.

“Found it, sorry.” 

7:28 AM: Should I have worded that differently?

Connor stumbles down the stairs in chase of Gavin, who’d gone on ahead without him. He knows him well enough to know he’ll leave Connor without a ride if he’s been annoying enough.

He hadn’t asked if he wanted a piece of toast after his behavior in the bathroom and it seems he was getting it paid right back in the form of impatience and attitude. Seemed about right for the way things usually went between the both of them.

7:39 AM: When can I take you out? 

They get to campus ten minutes later than they usually do, and it’s Gavin’s turn to note it this time, for once not being the reason why. He stomps the cigarette they share under his shoe before they go their separate ways before Connor gets the chance to check his phone for the time.

8:56 AM: And here I was getting Sumo excited to make a new friend.