the twink in black tights - hank x connor

Private Lessons, Huh?

SUMMARY: Hank arrives early and warms up with Connor.

Hank put on a jacket before exiting the house and getting into his car. He was practically buzzing with anticipation. He put in the address Connor gave him for the building in his GPS. He drummed his fingers to the jazz music he chose to play, a contrast to the heavy metal he usually blared. It helped to just listen to the almost calming, smooth voices as he attempted to quell his nerves. He made his way to the yoga place Connor had told him about, arriving and just then realizing he had no idea what room Connor was in. He also realized that he had Connor's number- also realized he could have been spared some late-night pining- and could just ask what room he was in. So he did. He asked and got a very quick response.

"Room 8 :)", it read, so Hank walked down the hall until he found Room 8. He hesitated for a moment, smoothing his clothing out a bit and taking a deep breath. He then decided fuck it and knocked and heard Connor's sing-song voice from inside.

"You can come in!" Connor had called. Hank opened the door and almost fucking died.

Connor was wearing a baggy shirt that practically hung off his shoulder and TIGHTS. Fuckin' TIGHTS. He was wearing extremely short, skin-tight black shorts over them just so you couldn't see his boxers. Not only that, but he was also doing a fucking split and Hank had quite the view of Connor's perfect ass. He could even see the hem of Connor's boxers through the tights. He meant to speak, but his words caught in his throat as he tore his eyes from Connor's ass. He looked to Connor's face, as Connor had just turned his head around, still doing the fucking split.

Connor seemed as stunned as Hank was, eyes on Hank's hair being back specifically, eyes wide as he noticed the piercings. He shook his head lightly, and it was such a small movement Hank might not have noticed it had he not been forcing his eyes on Connor's face, knowing if he hadn't, they'd definitely... travel. Connor blinked and tilted his head slightly, smirking.

"Hello, Hank~," He greeted, emphasizing Hank's name in a way that shouldn't be legal. And Hank had no fucking idea why Connor was talking like this or if it was just him, but Christ, why was it getting to him as much as it was? Hank was just standing there, at a complete loss for words. When he did speak, it had absolutely nothing to do with whatever the fuck he just witnessed.

"Hey, Con. I, uh, I just realized I don't have a mat." Hank said, not wanting awkward silence to fall just after they greeted each other.

"Oh, that's quite alright. I have one you can use." Connor replied and walked up to a door. Hank was definitely not looking at his ass. He felt a twinge of guilt and tore his eyes away. Connor opened what seemed to be a supply closet and pulled out a navy blue mat. He closed it, but not before Hank noticed that the closet could probably fit both of them. Some food for thought. Connor was walking over to Hank with the mat and for whatever reason Hank's heart was fucking slamming against his chest so hard and fast that he swore it was trying to escape. Was it really just because he was in a room alone with Connor?

Oh, God, he was in a room alone with Connor.

In the back of his mind, he wondered when it got this bad. He had some long nights of pining, but he never really let that get to him when he was actually around Connor. "You sure I'm not totally gonna embarrass myself in front of people who are, like, ten times better at yoga?" Hank asked, self-conscious for obvious reasons.

"This is only my 3rd class, Hank," Connor told him. Oh. "Even so, I've noticed that you've already lost some weight," Connor commented and brought his hands to Hank's chest before pulling them away. Hank actually blushed like he was a fucking teenager and he cursed at himself internally for doing so.

"Uh, yeah... Just cuttin' back on alcohol," He admitted sheepishly. "And dieting..." He added in a mutter. Connor smiled and grabbed his hand with that same, intense look in his eyes that Hank could never seem to figure out.

"You'll be fine, Hank," Connor assured with such certainty that Hank wanted to pull away out of fear that Connor could feel so strongly. He then remembered the certainty that Connor lacked earlier that morning.

"What were you going to say to me this mornin'?" Hank asked, genuinely curious now what it was that Connor was going to say.

"Maybe one day I'll grow the balls to tell you," Connor repeated what Hank had said that morning. He was smiling, but it didn't look happy. He pulled his hand away and Hank's hand fell to his side. Hank couldn't keep looking at that pained smile, so he looked at his shoes, suddenly finding them extremely interesting. Connor spoke again to break the silence. "I'll just... I'll just see what you can do," He said and sat back down on the mat. Hank figured he was supposed to sit down as well, so he did. He sat on the navy blue mat Connor had pulled out and looked up at him now.

"You sure you're willing to teach me?" Hank asked, knowing how much he might frustrate Connor.

"Positive. Now, uh... Touch your toes." Connor started with something simple, then demonstrated as though Hank didn't know how to touch his toes. Despite Connor touching his toes with ease, his expression was concentrated. Hank bent his knees and touched his toes, knowing he was doing it wrong. Connor gave him a 'really?' look. Hank sighed and straightened his legs, reaching as far as he could with a low groan. He couldn't even reach his fuckin' toes. Connor seemed fine with this, though. "At least you're cooperating..." He muttered, standing up. Hank stood up too. Connor stretched his arms up. Hank did too, feeling his age all of a sudden. He actually stretched rather than just holding his arms up like he was tempted to do. Connor gave him a little nod with a small smile on his face. Hank smiled too because that bastard's smile is contagious. Connor stretched his arms behind his back and Hank followed, despite his protesting body.

About 20 seconds later, Connor stopped.

"Lunges. 10 of them." Connor commanded. Oh, fuck . Hank silently wished he was behind Connor solely for the view he would be receiving. "Like this," Connor said and demonstrated.

Yeah, I fuckin' know, Hank thought but didn't say out loud, just nodded. Connor started counting quietly and with each one, the pain got worse. Hank let out a brief string of "oww"s by the final one. Connor gave him a soft smile. Hank was surprised he didn't melt at just how cute Connor was. He was horrified when Connor spoke again, though:

"Hmm... Ten squats."

When Hank didn't budge, Conor rolled his eyes. "Do I need to demonstrate?" He asked sarcastically. Hank's cheeks flushed slightly and he shook his head. Hank hadn't done a squat (or a lunge) in well over ten years, but when Connor started counting, he did them anyway, despite many protests from his already aching muscles. When they finished, Hank was tempted to flop on the ground and die.

"Ow." He groaned. "Ow" was the biggest understatement of the fucking year. Connor's expression softened, less concentrated, and more gentle.

"Thank you for actually doing it," Connor laughed, giving him a grateful smile. Hank raised a brow, surprised Connor was thanking him.

"You're offering it for free, it's the least I could do," Hank replied honestly. It hurt like hell, but he didn't totally hate it. He was starting to get used to the pain of being unfit.

And then, Connor said: "Ten push-ups."

I totally hate this, I hate this - Hank's body screamed NO but he got into a push-up position anyway. Just as Connor opened his mouth to start counting, there was a knock on the door. "My savior," Hank muttered as Connor sighed and made his way to the door. Hank's eyes rested on the clock, which read 5:00.

He didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed that that's all there was to their "private lesson."