The older man stared, his stern eyes gasting a soft glow in the room. Hanna looked away, unable to hold the gaze that tore into him like a knife. He would never admit it willingly, but the idea of making his undead partner this angry with him hurt a hell lot worse then any simple ghost attack or rune gone wrong.
There were no words to describe it, and all he could do was rub the back of his arm and avoid those damn eyes... keep all the things he should be saying to himself. The silence in the room was painful, and he had to cough to end it. But that didn't seem to make the anger in his zombie's eyes fade.
"I know. I- I mean, I had to do it. Its my job, Galahad! You can't make me stop..."
The silence dragged on. Hanna dug his teeth against his bottom lip, looking around, shifting his feet: doing everything he could to stay away from the eyes that refused to blink. It just wasn't fair. What was he supposed to say? the undead man already knew all the things Hanna wanted to say. He already knew this was his job, and he was going to get hurt, one way or another. Nothing he could say was going to save him this time, he could feel it. The tension that built during the past two weeks was too much, even for Jackson. Hanna knew he was ready to snap, like a twig. And he was ready to do everything he could to keep away from the zombie's rage.
"Hanna..."
He broke the distance between them, moving in closer. His long legs carried him across the small room within seconds, and before Hanna knew what was happening, he was staring up at his partner.
"Yes...?"
There was a long sigh, and the redhead forced himself to lock eyes with the older man. He didn't want to, of course, but there was really no choice in the matter. He just wasn't ready to face Galahad's anger like this.
The glowing eyes he'd come to love held something that looked like rage, just as Hanna expected. His eyebrows were narrowed ever so slightly, and his lip twitched, like a dog holding itself back from attacking. Hanna flinced, but he didn't break the stare down.
"I can't let you do this anymore. I have to punish you, Hanna. I can't let you risk your life like this everyday. I just... can't."
It took a few moments for Hanna to let the words sink in. He blinked once or twice, and backed away from his taller partner. He opened his mouth to question, but closed it again, then opened once more. He went back to rubbing the back of his arm instead.
Maybe if he'd spoken up in time, the next action wouldn't have happened. But it did... and it happened too fast for the redhead detective to fight it. He remembered the undead man gently gripping his skinny arm, the touch firm and solid, promising something that was going to happen no matter what Hanna had to say now. It was too late.
"Undress."
The command was rough, and the way it was said made a shiver run through Hanna's body. He felt as if he was in a trance, unable to pull away from the hold on his arm, swiftly letting his pants fall to the floor. He felt the cool air tickle his legs, snapping him out of his daze for a moment.
Now was the time to question, before this got any worse.
"I... what are you d-doing, Robert? I don't understand. You don't need to punish me, man. I'm twenty five. I think I can handle-"
He was cut off by a sharp tug to his arm.
"Don't talk, Hanna. This has to be done. You need to learn. I don't know what else to do with you anymore..."
For the first time, the zombie's expression twisted with worry, his eyes helpless. But he didn't pull away, he stood his ground, watching the redhead blink in wonder.
"Now take off your boxers. You don't need to remove your shirt."
Hanna shivered again, taken aback by the sterness of his partner. He wasn't used to another telling him what to do in this manner. He wasn't used to not having control over his own life, and it made him feel sick: But he didn't fight it. He let his boxers fall around his knee's, blushing redder than his own hair. He looked away, crossing his legs, as if to hide what was laid before his partner. But the grip on his elbow was gone, the long arm wrapping around his shoulders, leading the ginger boy towards the matress that served as a bed. Hanna still refused to meet the zombie's gaze again, because he knew what was taking place. He figured it out a long time ago... and it made him wanna throw up everywhere. He was too old for this. The last time this happened, he was six years old: And the memory wasn't a kind one. And to be giving the same treatment from the man he loved and trusted hurt a lot worse than the punishment had to offer.
The undead man turned and sat, tugging on the boy's arm. He made Hanna look at him, his eyes a bit softer, but they still held the firmness that was needed to pull through with his plan. He didn't want to do this anymore than Hanna wanted it, but it was for the best. There was no other way for him to get the point across, and once it was over, they could both rest in peace. And maybe Hanna's addiction to throwing himself in front of danger would die down...
For now.
"Bend over my knee, Hanna. Don't move..."
Hanna gulped, the cold air making his legs shudder. He held his ground for a moment longer, staring with wide eyes at the knee's waiting for him. A simple tug brought him to his stomach, spread across the long legs of the taller man.
"Its going to hurt."
Hanna closed his eyes, gripping the sides of the bed as hard as possible.
"I know."