Chapter Text
Things were over, for now. With everyone important out of purgatory... Hell, maybe? And Deimos freshly resurrected into a much stronger form, it was arguably the biggest victory the crack team had in stopping the AAHW for a while. The Auditor was still out there somewhere, but not having to worry about Tricky or Jebus was reassuring for the fringe group. Despite this half-victory, half-respite however, Hank couldn’t sleep. He was too large for his bed, and the floor was concrete. He normally wouldn’t care, but the searing pain of his newly-metastasized arm wasn’t doing him any favors. He knew who was lucky enough to get a bigger bed because “they sleep as teammates.”
Deimos awoke to an almost unearthly pounding at the door to his room. Unlacing himself from Sanford’s grasp and going to open it, he saw none other than the towering and somehow even more terrifying countenance of Hank. He wasn’t wearing any of his typical gear, just his black tanktop and the only pair of boxers that survived the magnification he went through.
“Trade beds with me.”
“What?”
“You two get a big bed. I can’t sleep in mine because I’m… look at me. Trade beds.”
“Uh, okay. Lemme go get Sanford.”
Gingerly half-closing the door and turning around, Deimos walked over to his “combat partner”, shaking the other man a little. “Hey... Ford, uh, Hank wants our bed.”
Sanford snapped awake, turning around with a gaze of rage in his eyes. “Fuck that. I just got to sleep. Renegotiate.” Deimos sighed, knowing that Sanford would still feel reluctant to speak to Hank after all the trouble he went through to ensure everyone got out okay. That mixed with the sleep deprivation he experienced made him thoroughly prickly.
Deimos turned around and walked back to the door. “Uh, We can’t give you the bed… but if you want you can sleep next to us on it.”
Hank looked angry for a moment, then he raised an eyebrow. “That’s fine. Are you okay with that?”
“I don’t care. Just don’t wake Sanford, he’s pissy.” He whispered, opening the door all the way and beckoning Hank inside.
Hank ducked into the room, still not used to the clunky navigation his new body managed in the laughably small environments most of the bunker’s rooms had. He looked around for a moment, noting the band posters taped to the concrete walls and the metal desk that sat Deimos’ old agency laptop on it. Even here, some of the moron’s personality is shown.
Hank couldn’t stand some of Deimos’s more unprofessional practices, but he was approachable and obedient, which was probably something he got from being a clone, so that was appreciated.
Sanford angrily scooted over as Hank sat on the edge of the mattress next to Deimos, who buffered himself between them because he didn’t want there to be a fistfight. Hank set his pillow down and rolled over, facing away from the pair and almost immediately going quiet. Deimos turned around and held Sanford, more because Hank’s back was crushing him, than from a romantic standpoint. Hank’s breathing shuddered awkwardly, and he was almost warm to a feverish point, but Deimos was already fast asleep because of how exhausted he was from everything else.
Deimos could only see black, his ability to have dreams had been gone ever since he came back from purgatory, which was a surprisingly welcome development compared to what kind of traumatic abominations his mind usually mustered before his death. He was always aware of the state his body was in, and because of this, he was never fully dormant or unconscious. But, something about pretending to be asleep as Hank turned around and wrapped his arm around his waist made him feel kind of… amazing? Hank was always the tallest out of everyone and certainly dwarfed Deimos even before his revival. Sanford was nice to cuddle, too, but he usually wasn’t very receptive to the things Deimos did because they had been close for a long time and San was admittedly claustrophobic, making it even more difficult for Deimos to reach him besides being the big spoon.
Deimos wasn’t sure if Hank was awake and slowly shifted to face him. Hank’s grip tightened on him a little more urgently, which made the smaller man squeak from the contact. Looking up, he saw a bizarrely peaceful-looking man, perfectly serene in whatever dream world he was in. Deimos knew that Hank didn’t feel much remorse for the things he did, he would simply get too giddy thinking about it and not be able to sleep, probably. Deimos went to place a hand on the larger person, but saw Hank’s eyes open and looked down at him tiredly.
“S-sorry. Is this okay?” Deimos stammered out.
Hank made a little grunt of acknowledgment, eyes half-lidded as he slid his hand to Deimos’s back, pulling the little man into his chest.
So, Hank liked cuddles?
Deimos never took that to be the turn of events tonight. Hank smelled really good, kinda like peppermint and campfire smoke. His whole body was hard but undeniably warm. Deimos breathed a sigh of relief that Hank wasn’t angry at him. He curiously placed his hand on Hank’s side, feeling the other man shudder a little from the contact.
“This okay?” Deimos whispered, now even more curious about this development.
“I’ll just tell you when it’s not. Do whatever.” Hank LOOKED warm, too. His face was a little red, but Deimos wasn’t about to comment on that.
Hank felt like he was going to die. He figured he didn’t like cuddling or really being touched at all. He couldn’t remember the last time he experienced intimacy with anyone that wasn’t rooted in him watching the life drain from their eyes, so this was not only foreign but completely overwhelming. He had woken up to being turned around, with Deimos… touching him? He didn’t HAVE feelings (especially not romantically), towards him, but the other man had felt so small and soft in his arms... That it almost reminded him of a plush toy he had as a young child. He decided that the contact was fine since it felt surprisingly good. What he didn’t expect was for Deimos to flip up the little ending to his shirt to touch his skin. Hank stifled out a small gasp as his mind went haywire. It didn’t feel okay to be this vulnerable towards someone, but his mind was screaming for more.
Deimos felt bolder towards his ally, realizing how completely touch-starved Hank was, which had activated some kind of urge to remedy his ailing and help him relax again.
“Have you EVER been cuddled, Hank?” Deimos whispered, looking up at him.
Hank didn’t respond.
Deimos already knew the answer from the way he was acting.
“Get on your back,” Deimos whispered to him, pushing him slightly by his shoulder. “I’mma cuddle you, okay?”
Hank nodded, turning and laying on his back. Deimos lifted his arm and laced it under his head so it would rest on his back. Squeezing in closer to the larger man, he threw his leg over his waist, because he couldn’t actually lay on his chest and put his leg on his at the same time. Hank sighed quietly, settling into the newfound contact with someone. While it was stifling and he felt underprepared, it was almost natural and innate to hold him. He used his free hand and placed it palm-side down on Deimos’s jaw. Hell, his hand was almost as big as Deimos’s face. Deimos made a sound similar to that of a purr, taking Hank’s monstrously proportioned hand and placing it on his mop of brown curls, usually hidden in the bandage wraps. Deimos smelled pretty nice, residual tobacco smoke mixed with a familiar scent of burnt caramel that usually came with working on explosives with Sanford, presumably. Hank then proceeded to pet the other man, lacing his fingers in his soft hair. Deimos was still kind of fiddling with the bottom hem of Hank’s tank top but didn’t dare reach lower.
Suddenly, Hank could feel Deimos’s small hand run up underneath his shirt and rest on his stomach. He clenched out of instinct, feeling the little hand circle around and touch his abdominal region. Deimos gasped in amusement.
“Holy shit, you’re cut. I mean... Not unexpected, but nice!” Deimos said kind of excitedly.
“Thanks.” Hank didn’t even really know how to process that, but he felt himself getting even more flustered at the smaller man’s advances.
“Just so we’re clear… You’re not… hitting on me, are you?” Hank asked, actually feeling a little nervous to know the answer.
“Haha! Nah, brah, I’m just saying what comes to mind!” Deimos was pathetically unguarded around him, but Hank didn’t necessarily have any guard up around the smaller man, either. Hank let out a low chuckle, still petting the smaller man and finally closing his eyes as Deimos’s hands wandered. Cuddling was actually pretty pleasant, but he was certain this wasn’t helping him sleep at all. Deimos reached higher, resting his warm hand on Hank’s steely pec. Hank prickled, slightly gripping Deimos’ hair in a sudden shock of pleasure.
“Was that nice?” Deimos cooed.
“Yeah, it’s actually kinda tense. Would you wanna…?”
“Sure. Anything for a pal.” Deimos started using his fingers to massage Hank’s sore chest. Hank softened, relaxing back more into the mattress. Hank suddenly felt more like an idiot the better the massage got.
“Deimos?”
“Yeah?”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Uh… Relax? You can do whatever, there’s no script.”
Hank extended the arm that Deimos was resting on, wrapping it around and settling it on the other man’s hip, gently touching him as a returned favor. Deimos was an idiot and snuggled deeper into Hank’s chest while still massaging his muscles with his free hand. Hank couldn’t deny how nice this felt, which made him untense more and relax his jaw. Deimos pressed into a sensitive spot in his chest, however, causing the larger man’s breath to hitch as the tough part in his pec was being worked out. He forced himself to relax as the other man massaged away the tender spot. Deimos… turned out to be good for more than just owning a computer, it seemed.
He really didn’t mean to do it, but when Deimos shifted his attention to Hank’s pec connecting to the rest of his new arm, he let out a groan. It was audible and embarrassing. Deimos froze for a moment and then giggled.
“You ain’t horny, are ya?” Deimos whispered.
“What? No, I didn’t do anything.”
“Yeah you did, you just moaned like-”
“Nah, you’re hearing stuff. Anyways, massage me or I’ll strangle you.”
Now, Hank felt comfortable and in control again. When he felt a situation was getting out of hand, he knew the best way to get the reins on it was threatening violence.
Deimos gulped but abided by the other man by continuing to rub his chest on the other side. He knew that Hank was -probably- kidding, but no one has been the same since running through purgatory. Using his rock-hard hand to work the other pec, he noticed the other man threw his head back and closed his eyes, kinda like a dog getting a good itch. Deimos didn’t mind doing this for friends, but doing this for Hank under the dubious implication that he would kill him if he didn’t… was hilariously insecure to him. He felt the part of the muscle where Hanks’ regenerated limb connected to his pectoral, and it felt strange, like it wasn’t quite a naturally enwoven apparatus into the rest of his muscle structure, but placed haphazardly and incorrectly rooted. He still massaged it, feeling how it tensed even harder than the rest of Hanks’ body. After some more persistent kneading, the muscle loosened, easing… and then shifting? What the fuck? Deimos wasn’t certain if Hank had even felt that, but something was deeply wrong with his new arm. He continued to massage the area, then shifting to Hank’s ribs and intercostals just to ensure that the brute would be satisfied with his work. Sanford was still peacefully asleep and didn’t stir.
As he pulled away from Hank’s chest and rested his hand on his stomach, he couldn’t help but stroke the muscles a little more. Deimos was relatively well-built, but underneath the rock, he was lean and almost asthmatic from the sheer amount of lost lung capacity. While Sanford was surely more brawny, he was still more leaning to a classic buff dad bod. Deimos couldn't deny that it was hot to see a man in an apocalyptic setting still able to maintain a thicker body, it's a necessary thing for survival, after all. But Hank had almost always hidden himself in layer after layer of black leather, so pinpointing that he wouldn't be insecure about what was underneath was surprising. As he kept stroking the other man's body, he grazed an abnormally large scar. It wasn't foreign to have battle scars, but the fact that it was clean through the center part of his body, woven over by a catastrophic lump of tissue, made him wonder. Hanks' hands wobbled a little from the contact.
God damn it, that's embarrassing. Hank was lost in the confusing euphoria of being lovingly touched when Deimos hit another sweet spot of his. He remembered fondly when he finally murdered the Sheriff, so the scar was a memento to one of his favorite times in his early resistance years. He couldn't begin to even steady the shake in his hands, it was absolutely degrading. Hank knew he was only open about the strangest things, and since his joy was sparse, it was uncontainable when it came out. He thinks he did it as a child, but it was probably even sooner when he expressed elation in such an awkward fashion. Deimos's hand gently passed over the scar again, emitting the same intense hand tic.
"Stop that."
"Okay, okay." Deimos moved away from the scar and finally rested his hand on Hank's side. Hanks' left hand was still twitching a little. But…
Deimos still felt a vibration coming from Hanks' hands, yet he wasn't really wandering around his body anymore.
"Do your hands shake when you're nervous?"
"No."
"Then why are your hands shaking?"
"Because I'm trying to resist the urge to choke you."
The truth felt uncharacteristic and awkward to say, why would Deimos need to know that he was happy to be touched?
"I'm not very convinced you would," Deimos said, smiling into his chest.
"Do I not have the credentials?"
"Nah, it's not that, it's just that I know your hands shake when you're extremely happy."
Hank froze.
"How do you know that?"
"Just a hunch. When I was able to torrent an actual English version of Full Metal Jacket on my laptop, your hands were wobbling the entire time you had your eyes on the screen."
Hank couldn't contest that. He never got sick of that movie, and basically watched it whenever he could obtain Deimos's laptop. He felt his hands shake more. Why was his body betraying him?
"It's… not like that…"
"There's literally nothing wrong with feeling happy about stuff, Hank. Like, I genuinely don't care. Just don't pretend to be all hard and shit when you rolled over to spoon me."
Hank was silent. He couldn't even debate that logic, and it's certainly not like Deimos flipped him.
"Okay. Fine. You're not mad at me, are you?" He really didn't wanna let go of Deimos, all of a sudden. He liked having him tucked close. His hands still vibrated at their own discretion.
"Nah. You're good. I'm passing out." Deimos's body almost instantly slumped, and he was asleep again. Must be something about being dead a couple of times that makes you sleep like a baby. It was at the point in the night where the bunker just made old-rattly pipe noises and was trying not to pop a breaker from all of the power 2B used to keep his machines running at night. The ambiance drained out as he felt himself slipping back into that sweet, sweet darkness, Deimos by his side.