The don't know you, not truly, not really; all you do is walk your dog past the station every day. But, you say hello, you wish them good afternoon, you let your sweet little dog waddle over and say hi too. Sometimes, they're washing the truck in a tight white t-shirt and those brown trousers all firefighters wear, and you are a bit weak at the knees for the suspenders that sit tight and heavy over their wide, broad shoulders.
But what makes Hange feel like they know you the most is the fact that you're happy whenever you see them; you wave and you chirp, and your dog gets far too overexcited for you to control, dragging you across the road with a wagging tail and a big, slobbery smile.
However, when the call comes in, when the street sounds a bit too familiar and the apartment block bears a name that tickles something in the back of their mind; Hange dreads what they might see upon arriving at the scene. The fire was only small, something electrical, some silly stone students in the flat below you and Hange nearly crumples to the ground when they find you sat in the backdoor of an ambulance, cuddling your teary dog. You're stained with soot and smoke and clearly upset and shaken, bottom lip wobbling and telling the police officer everything that was in your apartment, everything that you lost.
And it takes Hange seconds to make up their mind, baring their way through the medics and police to scoop you up with a careful hug. They're so tender with you, checking you over like they were a medic instead of a firefighter, giving you oxygen when your voice gets croaky, feeding your dog water and wrapping a blanket over its back. You don't want to leave their side, crying when their superior tuts and calls them away for a debrief, immediately grabbing their hand and burrowing into their scratchy, heavy brown jacket.
"I'll take you home angel, Levi'll take your dog to the vets to get checked over okay? he'll keep an eye on her I promise - let me get you somewhere safe,"
You follow Hange without a question, tall and lean and so so strong, keeping you tight to their side and keeping a big veiny hand on your thigh the whole car ride home. You're only in pyjamas, some old gym shorts and a sweater and Hange can't get enough of your soft skin.
At first it's not sexual, not at all when they're feeding you water in the kitchen having hoisted you onto the counter - a firm hand on your thigh and slipping up under your shorts, moving to your fleshy hip and then squeezing your waist. they're so gentle, so soft with you and how you keen and press yourself closer, seeking comfort and touch and care -,
"I got you angel, I got you I promise," you're kissing them all small and breathy, swallowing mewls and arching your back when Hange pries your legs open and cups your neck, your shoulders, your breasts. They're so strong, so hardy and so lithe with the way they lick into your mouth and suck on your tongue, hard and sloppy and messy enough to leave a trail of saliva down your jaw when they move to lathe at your neck. the noises you make - god - Hange wants to hear everything you have offer, wants to prompt more purrs and whimpers and gasps from your pretty lips. They're eager, smart with their touches, letting you drop from the counter and walking you back to the couch, discarding their shirt and trousers, towering over you, crowding closer and closer till you're stuck for breath and sharing theirs.
No part of your body is left untouched, thumbs digging into your beaded nipples and nails catching on the delicate skin, dragging down the wet path left by their lips.
"Oh! Please - Hange, please!" your voice is scratchy, so croaky from the smoke that talking hurts, moaning hurts but their lips tracing your labia and their tongue swirling your clit only makes you cry out louder and louder. Your thighs are strung over their shoulders, squeezing their head, hands threading through their hair and pulling it back into a messy, tragic ponytail so you can see - fuck - so you can see the way their pointed tongue darts back and forth and over and over your clit, zigzagging through your pulsing pussy and catching on your entrance. Hange moans too, god - they practically whine into your cunt when you start subtly moving your hips, jerking and twitching to follow their tongue, reaching out, crying out, sobbing out for them.
Hands collide, tightening together, fingers lacing and squeezing and you tense with how hard your back arches, toes curling when their tongue hits deep, so fucking deep. Your entire body feels like it's on fire, sweat gathering on your temples and thighs trembling with how hard you're tensing, belly quivering and god - you can feel their tongue curling, dipping in and out, hardly pulling away to breathe and for a split second, you feel a puff of air on your aching clit and it's too much.
Hange drinks and slurps and noisily moans through your orgasm, never stopping, never slowing down, never speeding up because your hips cant into their face and their nose bumps against your slippery clit and -,
"s'too much, too much!" a kitten kiss to your clit has Hange pulling away, but - something thick prods at your entrance, eyes bleary and tongue heavy in your mouth. Looking up, you begin to make out the looming figure of Hange, panting like a rabid dog and biting their lip as they prop one knee beside your hip, hand dragging up your sternum and cupping your quivering breast,
"One more, gimme one more angel and I'll stop I promise - shhh, it's okay, I'll take care of you, I got you honey," two thick fingers slide into you, long and crooking, probing, searching for the spot that makes your entire body jump and your mouth to drop open with a teary whine,
"Come on angel girl, give it to me," their pace is unforgiving, not entirely fast but hard, hard and deep and jolting, bicep flexing beneath your clawed hand and you lift your head for a kiss, receiving their tongue and their lips with a wanton grunt. your feet are planted on the floor, giving you momentum to grind your hips, circle them, hitching their fingers deeper, harder - a third joining and stretching you with lewd squelches and dribbles of creamy white. Hange seems just as torn as you, just as ruined as you, mouth open and panting into yours, gasping with you, following the contours of your body and every writhe and twitch it gives them.
"So close - s'close Hange I'm gonna cum, gonna cum! fuck!" little ah, ah, ah's escape your lips and they drink them down like fine wine, the heel of their palm digging into your clit, not enough, too - not enough,
"Touch yourself then," you hadn't even realised you'd said the words out loud, Hange's dark eyes boring into yours and god, their thick fingers hook into your spongy walls with a precision that had you barely holding on, "Go on - show me, play with your clit angel, make yourself cum,"
It takes three hard swipes of your budded clit for you to gush down their arm, fluttering and lifting on to your tiptoes to follow the slippery slide of fingers abusing the sweetest, puffiest parts of your cunt. You think it's strange how quiet you are during it all, until you find your bearings again and find Hange eagerly sucking your bottom lip and taking little care for the saliva stringing between the two of you. You're limbless when they finally pull out, finally pull away with a moan at how your cunt tries to swallow them back in, lifting their shining fingers and parting them,
"Look at that, look at what we did to you,"and you can't bare to look at the slick webbing between her fingers, curling into their chest and whining in embarrassment, squealing even when the telltale sounds of slurping and smacking alerts you to Hange cleaning themselves up.
"C'mon angel face, let's run you a bath yeah? I made my own mixture of bath salts for achy muscles and soothing tension,"you don't miss the clear pride in their voice when you grumble and groan, but accepting their word for it. And god - do they get the balance right, sinking down into the bubbles that smelt like rosemary and olive, the water a deep green and seemingly melting away the stress of the last few hours.
Hange sits on the toilet beside you, towel unfolded in their lap and holding a cup of steaming tea, another concoction of theirs that smells pleasantly warming. It is peaceful while the two of you mull over the past events. content, calm, a little amusing when Hange admits to cumming untouched while eating you out, but that's what has you - never really leaving. there's no home left to return to, and what belongings were salvaged from the fire fit in easily alongside Hange's.
It was easy, it was natural, the three of you; it just was.
