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Old Dog	By : Prentice Category: -Misc Video Games/RPGs > Slash/Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 775 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Detroit Become Human or its characters and I do not make money from the creation of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Old Dog
- 1
Title: Old Dog
Author: Prentice
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: ADULT+
Warning: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics. Self-Esteem Issues.
Pairing: Hank Anderson/Connor
Author's Note: Written for #14 - Alpha/Beta/Omega on my Romance & Porn prompt list. Also, I'm throwing out a trigger warning for Hank's self-esteem issues. He doesn't think he deserves Connor in this and thinks some pretty crappy thoughts about himself. Which is dumb because Hank is hot AF and Connor wants him like burning.
Summary: It’s only later, when the sweat is cooling on his skin and his knot is caught good and snug inside the now-resting omega, that Hank can admit that he might’ve fucked up.
It’s only later, when the sweat is cooling on his skin and his knot is caught good and snug inside the now-resting omega, that Hank can admit that he might’ve fucked up.
It’s not the first time in his life, obviously. He has plenty of experience with fuckups, his personal life having always bordered on being nothing more than a series of shitty mistakes and fucked up decisions. That’s been especially true in recent years, with his job and his drinking blurring out the edges of so much of his time, and while some of said fuckups have been, admittedly, better than others, they’re still not exactly shining examples of good decision-making.
Even so, this one feels somehow worse. If worse is even the right word for it. He’s not really sure anymore; can’t think properly with his knot still fat and swollen inside the – his – inside Connor. The synthetic smell of an omega – his omega, a part of him he’d thought long since dead, corrects, possessive and vehement all at once – in heat clouding his thoughts far better than any drink ever has.
Which is…
He’s not a fool, all right. He knows this isn’t – whatever it is his body is trying to tell him it is – because that’s just not… it isn’t possible. Not for him. A washed-up old fuck who drinks too much and eats too much and who is so far from his prime that he’s long since given up trying.
Nobody should want that. Could want that. Not even Connor, whose body’s been radiating heat and want for hours now, expression wrecked as he rides Hank’s cock like he’s never felt anything so good.
And who knows, maybe he hasn’t. The build-up had happened too quickly for Hank to ask, the strange sweat-like stickiness of Connor’s skin an all-consuming distraction. The steady stream of slick leaking down the kid’s thighs a ready-made wet dream for anyone, much less an old broken-down piece of shit like him.
Still, Connor is – has been – he wants it.
Wants Hank.
Has done since all this started, a blue-tinged flush stealing across his cheeks every time he begs his Alpha – begs Hank – for his knot, his delicately proportioned cock twitching and drooling on his perfectly pressed Cyberlife uniform shirt as he fists himself frantically in the passenger seat of Hank’s Oldsmobile. The sudden powerful flood of Omega hormones pumping into the air so fast and thick that Hank’s fingers are white around the steering wheel as he screeches out of the DPD parking lot and heads towards home.
How he manages to get them there in one piece, he still doesn’t know. Can’t remember, especially with the memory of Connor’s whimpers and pleading and – Jesus fucking Christ – moaning still ringing in his ears. His hole, so wet and slick and perfect, still squeezing tight around Hank’s knot every time he moves.
And he does move, legs shifting and shuffling against Hank’s own, fingers skimming over his arms, his chest, the soft swell of his stomach as Hank pumps more and more of his come inside him. His expression nearly blissful as he rocks and shifts, riding Hank’s knot gently as they both wait for it to go down. His own cock still half-hard and wet and he looks…
Christ, he looks like he walked right out of every fucking fantasy Hank has had over the last few months. His hair tousled, his cheeks flushed, his skin sticky-wet with synthetic sweat and come and so much slick that Hank can feel it dripping down his balls and god-fucking-dammit he fucked up. He knows he did.
Because this is – he’s – Connor’s his now.
His.
And that’s…
Fuck.
Just fuck.
Hank hopes the kid can forgive him for that one day.
- 1
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Old Dog