💬 Simon, and the subject is pillow talk
"All right, Wondy, so it's like this."
They're stuck on monitor duty again. Well, 'stuck' is a strong word - Hank actually really likes monitor duty, but only if it's with Simon (mysteriously), and Simon seems to like it just because it means he doesn't have to go out, risking life and limb.
He's only recently back from the dead, after all. Hank can understand.
They're about halfway through the jumbo pack of Chinese food they've ordered, and Hank, in particular, insists on delivering his words through mouthfuls of a really rather nice beef chow mein. Go figure.
"Say you've got a girl with you. In your case, it's almost certainly a girl you've managed to charm with my assistance, so you're welcome, well in advance. Say she's really got a thing for the Uncle Elmer Sh - ALL RIGHT, ALL RIGHT!" Hank giggles like a fool as Simon makes to hit him with a scallion pancake.
"Say she's got a thing for . . . okay guys with lantern jaws and B tier movie star looks - that's you, Wondy, by the way. You get to holding hands, you read the signals, you put your hands where she wants you to - I find they usually really like it when you bring your hand up like this and squeeze."
It's very heterosexual, the way Hank brings a hand up to grasp at Simon's side and squeeze, thumb stroking over the muscle. Hoo, there's a lot of muscle.
"You lean in, and - oh yeah, this is probably the point where I have to clarify, she's probably gotta be all right with the eyes, or you're gonna have to do your focus thing to make that go away, 'cause chicks do not dig it when you have shades on when you're intimate. So, you make eye contact, like this."
Hank casually whips off Simon's sunglasses. The eyes don't bother him one bit. Why would they? It's never bothered Simon that Hank's blue, has it? He's never even said a word about it.
There's a crackle in the air that has absolutely nothing to do with the ions that make up Simon's form.
"You lean in, and you give them this look."
It's a very soft, warm, loving look that Hank gives Simon now. Tender. He's such a good actor, he makes it look really quite real, down to that little melancholy tinge of pining and wanting but never quite having.
"They go nuts for that. Then you have to start talking, because that's another thing, chicks do NOT dig it when you're just silent in bed, it creeps them out and they don't like it. Tell a joke, choke out a, 'huhhhh you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen,' even just a quiet little, 'god,' you know, in that way where you bite your lip and it's like you're a little stunned they're there with you? Like this."
Hank lets out a shuddering, heated little breath, his tongue darting out to very gently card over his lips, and he exhales shakily, squeezing at Simon's side again, letting out an awed little 'god.'
"The squeeze is good if you can do it in concert, that's real good. Action to the words, Wondy, action to the words. Where you go from here is kinda up to you, everyone does their own sort of thing. I like to go a little poetic, especially if the girl's particularly knock out gorgeous."
He leans in close, his nose practically buried in Simon's collarbone. They both stink of Chinese takeout. This is a weird way to do monitor duty. But Hank's voice, which is usually so mile a minute, is all kinds of soft and slow and sumptuous and warm in a way Simon never hears it. It's - kind of - distracting, honestly.
"Busy old fool, unruly sun, why dost thou thus, through windows, and through curtains call on us? Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run?Thy beams, so reverend and strong, why shouldst thou think? I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink, but that I would not lose her sight so long."
Hank hasn't blinked. Not once. Simon has. Plenty.
"If her eyes have not blinded thine, look, and tomorrow late, tell me, whether both th' Indias of spice and mine be where thou leftst them, or lie here with me. Ask for those kings whom thou saw'st yesterday, and thou shalt hear, all here in one bed lay."
This is - really detailed. Simon thinks he's learning a lot. Hank's even showing him how to reach up and gently tuck a stray hair behind his ear, just like you would for your girl. Of course. Good friend, Hank. The best.
"He's all states, and all princes, I. Nothing. Else. Is."
There's a silence between them. Hank's . . . all but draped across Simon, now, their chests pressed against one another, blue fingers cupping a Hollywood cheekbone while blazing red eyes trace the contours of a jawline that every woman this side of the Hudson loves to bits.
Hank clears his throat.
"She's, all states. Sorry. Flubbed the line."
They withdraw.
"So yeah, that's basically how you do it. Pass me the szechuan dumplings, would you, Wondy?"
Simon does, even as he thinks.
Hank never flubs a line.
"I mean, that's how I'd do it, anyway."
