Summary: Intrigued by his new concierge doctor, Boris schemes on how to more fully integrate Hank into both the Hamptons and Boris' own life. One plan after the next leads to mixed failure and success. Poor Boris!
A/N: Chapter Fourteen continues the final part of the series. After this one, there should only be one more chapter—unless I divide it since it's getting so long! (I think it's about 8,000 words right now...which, apparently, this chapter is, too). If anyone has a preference (one long chapter or two shorter ones), just let me know!
I have to say my favorite line in this chapter has to be towards the end when Evan calls Boris a dick. The audacity! Boris was not pleased. :-)
Chapter Fourteen
Part E:
Give the Man Some Clorox
(Or Kill Evan as Painfully as Possible)
Breathing deeply and feeling much lighter than he had in quite some time, Boris finished his call to Japan and smiled. He had promised his love to stop by around noon. Hank was going somewhat stir crazy, stuck in bed, and the baron had pledged—with a fairly sly smile—to find ways to relieve Hank's restlessness. Now that he truly was recuperating, the young man was becoming increasingly impatient. Boris fully expected a battle of almost epic proportions to begin fairly soon when, fairly inevitably he supposed, Hank decided once again that he had had enough of bed rest and was ready to return to work. Between Boris and Evan, they had managed to keep the good doctor somewhat manageable—though he would certainly never use that word in Hank's presence—but every day seemed to erode that compliance.
Stopping in front of Hank's quiet room, he pushed the door open and looked inside. The lights were on, which was what he had expected, and music lightly filtered through the room. He thought it might have been jazz, but Boris was not positive. The music was not overly loud; a quick glance around the room found the source. It looked like Hank had somehow commandeered his iPhone once more. He had attached it to the speaker jack in the radio alarm clock on his nightstand. Boris was impressed. In all honesty, he had not even realized that the alarm had such an input device.
He would have to thank Dieter at a later date. The clocks had been his purchase.
However, he would like to know how his love had managed to obtain possession of his iPhone again. He was under the impression that Evan had locked it away in the guesthouse. A quick glance around the room showed him that at least Hank had not somehow contrived to get his hands on the laptop, too. Boris was doing everything he possibly could to keep his love from working for at least one week.
The German was rapidly finding such a task to be beyond even him, though, considering Hank's almost outrageous work ethic.
On the positive side, it looked like Hank was doing what he was told: relaxing. Instead of the medical journal someone had smuggled to him last night—he suspected poor Divya had been the culprit, especially since he doubted Evan even knew what a medical journal looked like—he found Hank reading what looked to be an unusually long novel. Hank was also lounging quite comfortably on the unmade bed, a blue bathrobe loosely tied over his pajamas. Nowhere did he see any jeans or shirts or, for that matter, anything even remotely wearable outside the bedroom. Dieter had been thorough in his removal of all such clothing.
As he neared his love, he finally got a better look at what his doctor was doing. He could have strangled the man. Stuffed inside Leo Tolstoy's rather hefty War and Peace was a photocopied and stapled stack of pages. Boris quickly walked to Hank's side before the doctor realized he was no longer alone; he wrenched the text right out of Hank's hands. Shocked, Hank looked up at him, his mouth slightly open. A guilty look quickly replaced his shock.
Without a word, Boris looked down at the eight pages of tiny print. It was an article from The Journal of the American Medical Association, the article itself entitled "Association Between Timeliness of Reperfusion Therapy and Clinical Outcomes in ST-Elevation Myocardial Infarction." [1] Even the graphics made Boris' eyes cross. Oh, yes, the doctor was certainly resting.
Annoyed, Boris dumped the eight-page article onto the nightstand and folded his arms, glaring down at an increasingly shifty-eyed doctor. Is this what Hank considered 'light reading'?
Well, there were ways to distract his love from his practice.
At this, Boris leered.
Seeing that leer, Hank's eyebrows quickly arched high. The guilty expression he had been doggedly wearing now became something morphing between anxiety and intrigue.
For a moment, he glanced at the room's furniture, eyeing the bedside chair. It would be the safer location to sit, one that was less likely to lead to temptation. Boris considered it for one moment before quickly dismissing it; it was simply too far from Hank's side. Instead, he clambered onto the bed until he was sitting right beside Hank, and he pulled the doctor to him. Hank readily obliged him, almost immediately, even. Boris wrapped his arms around his love's shoulders and tucked Hank's head against his chest, smiling at the content look that instantly spread across Hank's face.
They both sighed, happy to be silent in one another's presence for just a moment.
Hank eventually broke the silence, his hazel eyes looking at Boris with warmth. "Hey, you look good," he spoke softly, smiling. He wove his fingers in between the fingers of Boris' free hand, rubbing his thumb against the German's skin.
Boris was more than pleased to notice that Hank's skin was almost cool. He still had a slight fever, at least Boris thought so, but he was much better than earlier. His love also seemed to be breathing better. There was the occasional cough, but it was just that: occasional. With deep satisfaction, he leaned forward to kiss the tip of Hank's nose.
"I am very . . . pleased right now, Hank," Boris admitted, inhaling before again kissing the tip of the doctor's nose. As he held Hank, he could almost feel much of the day's stress sliding away from him. "You are getting well. The Matini family has been dealt with. Your brother is nowhere in sight." He listened as Hank snorted at his last statement. "I consider myself a very fortunate man, indeed, given these factors."
Closing his eyes in utter relaxation, Hank nodded his head. He made a brief sound of agreement. It did Boris' heart good to see the younger man so fully relaxed, for Hank seemed to find it difficult to relax. He had often wondered if that was a common characteristic among doctors; he supposed that would make sense given the life-or-death nature of the field. On the other hand, it also seemed to be a Lawson problem since he had rarely seen Evan unwind. He simply allowed himself the time to enjoy the temporary peace and quiet.
Boris knew they had things to discuss . . . but, truly, discuss was about the least of the things he wanted to do with his handsome Hank right now.
He cleared his throat, looking down at Hank's upturned face. He could see the dark eyelashes dusting against the younger man's cheeks. There was a bit more color in those cheeks, and he squeezed Hank's shoulders at the encouraging sight. Carefully, he kissed Hank's temples and cheeks, enjoying the feel of his love's soft skin pressing against his own.
However, there was one issue he felt needed to be addressed. He stroked Hank's curly hair back, smiling at the young man's look of pleasure at his touch. Boris continued doing so until Hank was almost purring. "Hank . . ." he finally breathed, looking down. He did not mean for his love's name to sound like a sensuous caress, or even more the verbal foreplay one made before hoping to God there was a condom in the drawer, but as with so many things involving Hank, his wishes had little to do with what actually happened.
Or perhaps his tone was exactly matching his wishes.
Hank opened his eyes and looked up at him. The good doctor met his gaze, eyebrows slightly nudged upwards. His eyelids drooped heavily, lashes concealing the beauty of his irises. Judging by the quickening heartbeat Boris could feel as he stroked his wrist, the whispered sound of his name on Boris' lips struck right to the core of his love's body.
"Y-yes?" Hank finally managed in reply, his voice deep, throaty. That hoarseness, the baron knew, had nothing to do with illness.
Hearing his love's husky voice sent shivers up and down Boris' back. He could remember no time when merely hearing someone's voice had managed to do this to him, and he swallowed hard. Moments ticked by as he simply stared into Hank's hazel eyes.
What had he wanted to talk about, anyway?
Boris had to shake his head to regain any sense of control over his body's desires. He was only comforted by the fact that his doctor apparently was in the same situation, for Hank inhaled deeply, licking his lips.
The intense moment was only broken by Hank's sudden cough. The German was almost grateful for that cough, for it reminded him what he had wanted to talk about before his brains had completely melted into his groin.
"Hank," he whispered, his own voice hoarse, "you have not been entirely doing what I asked." Hank looked at him, dark eyes obviously curious—though Boris had a strong feeling that the doctor was not entirely paying attention to his words. He seemed to be paying a great deal more attention to Boris' mouth.
Lightly, he smacked Hank's shoulder, earning him a glare and a bit more attention than he had previously seen.
"You were supposed to relax. Take it easy. Sleep. Get better."
Just when had he lost the ability to string two sentences together? Here he was, speaking in only slightly connected fragments.
Hank would be the death of him—at the very least, the death of his ability to speak with anything approaching sense.
"Humph," came an equally articulate sound from Hank. It was truly a cross between a moan and a grunt. The doctor's eyes were glazed, and Boris swore he could see the pupil's expanding as he watched. "I was . . . you saw me. Sitting. Reading . . . something."
At this rate, Boris figured they would be lucky to speak any English. He hissed as Hank began to rub at his thigh, the doctor's brow furrowed.
If he wanted to have a real discussion with his doctor, it had better be now. He forced himself to speak seriously. "You were reading—" Boris reached for the article sitting ignored on the nightstand "—from 'Association Between Timeliness of Reperfusion'—"
Hank stared at the article with clearly uninterested eyes. Instead, he now seemed almost obsessively focused on Boris' hands.
"Whatever that is about, Hank," Boris continued even if he knew neither of them was interested in continuing this conversation. It needed to be said. At least he could honestly say he had had this argument on stupid-and-not-overly-helpful-to-recuperation-behaviors with his love before he tackled said love to the bed and kissed the breath right out of his lungs. "Whatever it is," he repeated, forcing himself to remain on task no matter how delectable Hank might now look, "it clearly is not restful."
"It's perfectly therapeutic," Hank mumbled, eyes now following Boris' lips with intensity. The doctor licked his own lips, and Boris helplessly stared at the shiny, wet, appealing . . . God. Hank's pink tongue forced the German to inhale sharply. As the baron was all but whimpering inside, his doctor continued to speak. "I find it very . . . relaxing."
Boris had to snort at this. Somehow he doubted that an article on heart attacks was overly therapeutic in anyone's dictionary. His love was just being stubborn, as usual.
Or maybe he was not even paying attention to what he was saying. Maybe Hank would say a paper on the Marquis de Sade was completely therapeutic, given how focused he seemed to be on Boris' mouth.
There was an arch look on his doctor's face when he rasped, "Do you know what else I find therapeutic, Boris?"
That slender body pressed against his made him want to take complete possession of his doctor, once and for all.
"Very, very relaxing?" the doctor continued, voice dropping, eyes holding him as strongly as any embrace. As he saw the outright seduction in Hank's gaze, he wondered if the medicine they were giving him was too potent at overcoming inhibitions—or if this was normal for his doctor. Hank had seemed so very shy earlier that this forwardness confused and alarmed him. Unfortunately, it also aroused him beyond endurance.
The noble thing to do would be to pull away and ask.
Right. Pull away and ask. Boris hazily considered this option for all of five heartbeats.
Then Boris looked into Hank's gaze and knew that there was no way short of a bloody world war that anything was tearing him away from his love. The look in those eyes made Boris' mouth dry instantly. They were hot, determined, and wanting. At that moment, they probably looked exactly like Boris' own eyes.
Moving so quickly that Boris could only register a blur, Hank reached an arm up, cupped his hand behind Boris' head, and yanked him down. His lips softly stroked the older man's until he started to lick and bite Boris' lips. He then crushed the billionaire's mouth to his own, bruising in intensity.
The hell with nobility. Boris' response was nearly instantaneous. He pushed Hank down, pressing him hard against the mattress. Only when his love was firmly pinioned beneath him did he stare at the younger man. Growling, he further opened Hank's mouth to exploration. The kiss became increasingly passionate, almost rough. Tongues dueled, teeth bit, lips bruised. He would never have guessed that Hank liked it rough, that his ardor would respond so readily to bruised lips and clashing teeth, but his love was avidly showing him otherwise.
Slowly, he lowered his groin against Hank's, rubbing against him until the good doctor gasped. His hazel eyes blinked rapidly, and Hank nipped the German's lip. Hank moaned, reaching for Boris and pressing him hard against the length of his own body. Those long fingers of his began to massage the baron's ass, and Boris could feel Hank's hips undulating beneath him.
Boris continued to kiss Hank, to thoroughly plunder the hot cavern of his mouth. His hands were roaming, searching—until he triumphantly found the belt to Hank's robe. Nimble fingers untied the loose belt, and then both of his hands were opening the doctor's robe, pushing it right off of his shoulders. A softly moaning Hank combed his hands through Boris' hair, pushing his groin against the older man's. His hands slid up and down Boris' arms, only stopping to help Boris move his arms through the armholes to his robe. The baron tossed the robe to the floor after tugging it out from under them.
Heat flashed through Boris, and he growled. With a flick of his arm, he carelessly flung the bed's pillows to the side, not even noticing when most of them hit the windows. One hit a fifteen thousand dollar vase; it shattered, but he completely ignored the costly wreckage. Instead, he focused on getting everything between him, Hank, and the mattress gone. He tossed the blankets to the side, piling them onto the floor. The alarm clock and Hank's iPhone went flying to the side, but neither cared. Only the final sheet beneath the doctor was left. Boris thrust his hips into Hank's when he had completely denuded the bed. Hank was now pressed flat against the mattress, his curly brown hair springing gently against the sheet—his body so pliant beneath him.
They both groaned at the feel of their groins rubbing against each other, their hips brushing in need.
Sweat dripped down Boris' forehead and neck as he continued to grind against his love. With one hand he supported himself, and the other hand he slid down Hank's chest. Hank was pulling the German's suit jacket off his arms, almost ripping its material, when Boris snaked one hand up his doctor's pajama top. He caressed the smooth skin, feeling the stomach shudder under his touch. His fingers lingered over Hank's ribs, massaging the flesh for several moments; he then traveled up. Boris' fingers were teasing, feather-light when they at last rubbed over his love's nipples. Hank arched against him, keening softly.
Boris ground his body against Hank again and again, increasing the rhythm and fervor. At the same time he continued to play with Hank's nipples, hardening the flesh. He could feel the heat building between them, and he placed all of his lower weight on Hank. Watching the doctor's head toss back, his hazel eyes shut and his breathing strained, Boris sucked at Hank's collarbone. He was almost shocked when his eager love all but jerked off the bed; had he not been pressed against him, Boris was almost sure the doctor would have found himself on the floor, a quivering mess.
Most certainly, he would have to remember that spot.
His mouth readily returned to the collarbone, sucking with increasing strength. Hank whined and whimpered and moaned, scratching at his back, yanking the baron's shirt out of his pants. The doctor's deft hands pressed into Boris' back, against his skin, and his love continued to arch helplessly against him the longer Boris sucked his collarbone.
When Hank began to cough, Boris pulled away—but Hank dragged him right back. The younger man breathed carefully before hoarsely growling, "Don't you dare stop, Boris. Don't you dare."
Boris smirked. As soon as Hank was clearly able to breathe without coughing, he set back to work.
Slowly, he worked his way down Hank's chest, kissing and devouring his love. He kissed over the pajama top, watching it became wet with his saliva. His collarbones, his nipples, his stomach all received equal attention. Hank pulled on the German's hair with the intensity of his reactions. Boris was certain he had never had a lover as responsive as Hank, and the thought made him grin wickedly. His entire goal tonight was to have that body writhing and squirming beneath him so much that Hank thought he would die with need.
Finally, he reached Hank's waist. He pulled the pajama pants down just enough for him to drill his tongue into his doctor's navel. Hank shouted, his chest panting crazily with the feelings pulsing through him. Helplessly, he coughed and wheezed—Boris made sure that Hank could easily breathe despite the inconvenient spasms—and his cheeks reddened the longer Boris played with his navel.
Boris leaned over and blew on the now-wet belly button before softly kissing it. He looked up at his love. "Are you okay, Doctor?" he inquired mischievously.
Hank mumbled something incoherent before finally calming enough to look at Boris. The German smiled at his overwrought doctor, now caressing his hips.
"Um-huh," he at last muttered semi-coherently. He met Boris' eyes, pleading. He was gasping when he begged, "Need you. Want you. Oh, God, please, Boris."
At these words, Boris gently edged Hank's legs open, sliding his hands up and down the thighs until Hank was literally wriggling beneath him. He could feel Hank's hardness digging into him, for the soft pajamas were all but useless in his doctor's current condition.
Carefully, he stilled the hectic motions of his beloved by pressing on his hips. Their eyes met, and Boris lifted Hank's right hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles. When Hank looked a bit more rational, more capable of anything approaching lucid thought, he at last asked a question he had wanted to ask for some time: "Love, I need to know something. Have you ever been with another man?"
He gentled the question with a kiss to each of Hank's knees.
Hank sighed heavily. Wary hazel eyes watched him for a second and then, slowly, Hank shook his head. He cleared his throat. His voice was soft, almost inaudible, when he admitted, "No, Boris. I never felt . . . interested."
Boris stared at his love for a moment, giving him time to continue. He simply kissed Hank's stomach.
Hank coughed before clearing his throat once more. Again, that shyness Boris had seen earlier returned, and Hank actually blushed. "You're the only man I've ever wanted to be with. The only one."
Immediately, the baron rewarded his love with a passionate kiss. He poured everything of himself into that kiss, wanting his Hank to understand how much his words had moved him. When Hank was beginning to pant for breath, he pulled back, softly pecking at his cheek. "Thank you, love. You do not know what that means to me."
Those words meant everything to him. His Hank was putting his love and trust in him, giving his body to a man for the first time. It was a gift Boris did not think he had been given by anyone, and it was a gift freely offered by his doctor. He would be Hank's first male lover, the first man to enter the younger man's body and drive him insane with pleasure.
And he was damned determined to be the first and only.
He once more kissed Hank's collarbone, smiling at the intense reaction. That spot was rapidly becoming one of his favorites. After kissing Hank's nose—and after detouring to an ear for a minute—Boris looked back at his love. "I love you, Hank. With everything in me. The fact that I am your first only makes me love you even more."
Briefly, he ground his hips against Hank's, knowing his erection would make it very clear just how delighted he was in this new information. Hank's hips bucked against his own, and the doctor cried out in yearning.
"If I go too fast, let me know," he told Hank, meeting the man's eyes forcefully. They would have all of the time in the world to express their passion. Boris would make certain of it. If Hank needed the time, Boris would give it to him.
He hoped to God that his love would not need the time, but it was his if needed.
They kissed once more. Hank unbuttoned Boris' shirt and pulled up his undershirt until he could crush his lips against the older man's heated skin. When Boris felt those beautiful lips on his ribs, then on his nipples, he lost himself. Boris' hips ground into Hank's, pressing with increasing speed and desire. His mouth he roamed anywhere he could find bare skin, unbuttoning the pajama top as quickly as he could. One button even went flying when he moved with too much fervor. Ribs, nipples—anything on that smooth flesh was fair game.
At last, he gently pulled away from his love's hungry kisses on his chest. He tenderly kissed Hank, nibbling on the corner of his mouth, before he crawled downwards. Boris kissed over the pajamas and whatever flesh remained uncovered, smirking softly at the quivering body. Hungry lips then traveled further down, past his waist. His lips caressed the cotton pajamas still clothing his love's lower half, kissing all the way down to his pelvis.
Unabashedly, he stared at Hank's groin. His Hank whimpered, spreading his legs as Boris' shoulders pressed between them. Almost reverently, Boris allowed himself to touch Hank's obvious need. The doctor was hard, achingly so; wetness already stained the pajamas, leaking out from his swollen head. Boris stroked his hand up and down the doctor's shaft, his touch light, almost nonexistent. Hank moaned, biting his lip and tilting his head back. The baron thought he saw Hank's eyes roll into their sockets.
Boris followed his hands with his mouth. First, he kissed the top of his cock, lingering in his kiss, tonguing the cotton barely covering its prize. He pressed butterfly kisses up and down the length of his love's organ, and his doctor scratched wildly at the headboard. His love was completely falling apart, his control unraveled. One hand snuck down to caress at Boris' hair while the other continued to scratch at the headboard. Boris could not get enough of his love like this: open and wanting, needing him almost as much as he needed the breath gasping between his lips. He continued, now intensifying his movements. When he finally wrapped his lips around his hardened shaft and began to suck right through his pajamas, Hank arched into him, hips pistoning wildly and begging for more.
And then Evan walked in without knocking.
He was going to kill the man.
Slowly and painfully.
"Hey, Hank, how are y—oh, fuck!" He yelled, eyes practically falling out of their sockets.
Boris tried to cover the obvious erection—the obvious wet erection—but Evan had already seen.
Evan stared from Hank to Boris, clearly trying not to look between his brother's spread legs or at his heaving chest. He finally managed, "Hank, what the—?"
Hank cleared his throat, coughing slightly and slowly sitting up. With flushed cheeks, he dragged Boris' discarded jacket with him and edged it over his lap. He coughed again, glancing gratefully at Boris when the man grabbed him a glass of water. Boris suspected that drinking the water would at least give Hank a moment to gain some semblance of control over his nerves.
"I can't believe this, bro! You had a boner for Boris!" Evan stated almost hysterically. His eyes wandered downwards, and he quickly looked away. "Correction: you have a boner for Boris."
Hank groaned, one hand over his eyes in embarrassment. After a moment, he all but hissed, "Maybe you shouldn't just barge into my bedroom, Ev!"
Evan frowned. "I was worried about ya." He paced for a moment, eyeing the state of both Hank's and Boris' disheveled clothing. Again, his eyes quickly looked elsewhere. He sighed. "Apparently, we need to have a long, hard—" he groaned at his own unintentional pun "—talk."
Hank and Boris both stared at him like he has gone completely nuts. He wanted to talk right now?
Boris finally voiced it, "Now? Truly, Mr. Lawson?"
He stared at them both, looking increasingly uncomfortable. "Fine. I'll be back in five minutes."
Evan prepared to leave, but Hank's strangled gasp stopped him. "Five minutes!" The doctor shook his head. "What the hell, Evan? Surely, you take more than five minutes to—to—" Hank blushed so deeply that Boris could see the red flush stain his skin down to his stomach. Boris found it even more intriguing that his love, a doctor who seemed comfortable talking about all types of physical issues, could not look his younger brother in the eye.
Uncomfortably, Evan looked between the two almost-lovers and sighed. "Okay, ten minutes."
Boris stepped into the negotiations, his eyes dark. "Twenty. Or more unless you want to walk in on something you truly do not want to see." He paused before adding, "Again."
The image forced Evan to wince. "Thanks, Boris. You're scarring me for life, y'know." He glanced at Hank. "This is my brother, Boris—my still-coughing-his-lungs-up brother." He had the audacity to point a finger at the German. "Behave."
Hank rolled his eyes.
Boris merely grinned in a predatory, evil way that a shark would have envied.
Seeing that look, Evan rubbed his hands over his face. "All right, thirty minutes. Tops—oh, God, I did not just say that!"
Hank looked torn between snickering and ducking his head in embarrassment. Boris merely continued to grin, the gleam in his eyes becoming even more notable.
Evan was red in the face, but he still managed, "Thirty minutes, then, and I'm coming—coming, ugh, not again, damn it!"
At this, Hank started howling, coughing between chuckles. "God, Ev—" he rasped between coughs and stifled laughter "—get your mind out of the gutter."
Evan threw his hands up in defeat. He started opening the door and heading out, shaking his head. "How the hell would you suggest that after what I just saw? My brother with a fucking hard on. For a guy. Boris, at that! God, I need some aspirin. And some alcohol. And preferably some Clorox to whitewash my brain." He looked at them before leaving, again pointing his finger. "Thirty minutes, and you both better still be here."
Boris smirked, watching the door close. He then gently removed his jacket from Hank's lap and smiled, looking hungrily at his love's groin. "Let me take care of that for you, love," he whispered seductively. An already crimson Hank blushed even more, but . . . he did not say no when Boris' hot lips made their way back down his body. Or when those lips began to suck his erection. Instead, his hands scraped through Boris' hair, and they both moaned.
Thirty minutes passed far faster than either would have imagined. They had safely installed themselves in Boris' room, thinking it might be a bit less embarrassing, given what just happened in Hank's room. Boris forced his love to sit on his bed, back pressed against the headboard; he placed several goose down pillows behind his back to make him as comfortable as possible. The bed was made this time, and Boris was once more sitting at Hank's side. Hank had dressed in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt while Boris had changed into a different suit. Both had to since they . . . well . . .
Boris liked to keep some secrets to himself.
The baron had an arm around Hank and was also perched against the headboard. Hank was resting against him, his head on the older man's shoulder. Boris noticed that Hank was looking somewhat sleepy. He hugged him tighter, and Hank looked up at him and smiled that sweet, gentle smile that always tugged at Boris' heart.
This time, they had left the door open. Thus, they clearly heard Evan shouting, "What the—? Henry Lawson, if you've gone into hiding, I'm comin' after you!"
Boris shook his head, then calmly stated, "We are next door, Mr. Lawson. In my bedroom."
Evan walked in, glancing around the room curiously.
Hank opened his mouth to speak but ended up coughing for several long moments instead. Concerned, Boris contemplated his love's abruptly declining health. Boris imagined that the stress of being literally caught in the act was worsening his condition; without doubt, he was no longer as . . . relaxed as he had been earlier, before Evan trounced into Hank's room without so much as a knock. Maybe foreplay really was therapeutic.
He sighed darkly. Of course, the less desirable explanation was that the intense physical exercise Hank had just experienced had somehow overstrained his lungs. He truly did not like that explanation at all.
Carefully, Boris leaned Hank slightly forward and rubbed at his back. He glanced at Evan and, pointing at the door to his bathroom, asked him to bring a glass of water for Hank. Evan quickly did so, his eyes anxious as he gave his older brother the water.
Boris smiled slightly. "We thought you might be more comfortable here." The German shrugged. "Hank cannot walk far enough right now to go to more neutral ground, so this seemed an acceptable alternative." Of course, he did not add that his room did not smell like sex and it also allowed him to get Hank into his bed. He was not planning on anything too physically active, of course—not given the setback in Hank's health he was seeing right now—but the thought of finally having his love in his bed in his room in his estate filled Boris with possessive and protective pride.
Hank shivered slightly. Boris knew the room was slightly colder than Hank's—he preferred a colder temperature—so he pressed Hank closer to him. Carefully, he rubbed his hands up and down Hank's arms and shoulders, trying to warm him. After a moment, he looked at Evan. "Mr. Lawson," he began, "could you get the throw at the bottom of the bed?"
Evan looked around, then quickly grabbed the blanket draped over the edge of Boris' bed. He handed the blanket to Boris, who gently placed it over Hank. He even was careful to tuck in the doctor's cold and sockless feet, smiling at the slightly chagrined look on Hank's face.
Seeing this, Evan rubbed at the back of his head. Finally, he pulled the overstuffed chair beside Boris' bed closer to the bed, sitting down in it while looking at his brother. His gaze was sharp, missing nothing. "So . . . are you all right, Hank?"
Hank looked at him, a bit nonplussed. He frowned. After a second, he replied in a slightly snippy voice, "I'm good, Ev—but, uh, Boris wasn't . . . hurting me. At all." Indeed, Hank's smile implied quite the opposite. The older brother nervously played with the edge of his blanket, smiling gratefully when Boris grabbed his hand and held it.
Evan actually blushed, looking down. Boris did not think he had ever seen the man blush; actually, he had imagined a blush to be virtually impossible for Evan, considering that a blush required some degree of self-consciousness. He made a face. "I didn't mean it that way, Hank." Again, he ran his hand over the back of his head, a nervous gesture. "I meant the pneumonia."
"Oh." Hank's eyes widened slightly before he nodded. "I'm good. Getting better every day." As if to disprove his statement, the doctor started coughing. He scowled at the annoying cough before shooting his brother a worried look. "How are you holding up?"
Evan shrugged. "'m fine . . . but I'm not the one wheezing and coughin' like an old lady," he stated with a snicker. He grinned cheekily at Hank's glare. The man only had seconds to dodge a pillow as it came flying at him. Hank grinned as it hit its target.
The laughter faded after a moment. Boris noted that there was a slightly haunted look to the younger brother's face, but, finally, Evan shrugged. "I could kill that bastard who calls himself our dad, but, other than that . . . yeah, I'm good."
Hank shot him a look that suggested quite obviously that he did not believe a word his brother had just said, but he eventually nodded. Boris thought it likely that Hank would be speaking to Evan when he was both feeling better and had had time to process what had happened—not to mention when he was no longer in Boris' bed after having been caught with Boris' head between his legs.
A fairly awkward pause passed between them. Boris thought this pause was even worse than the one that had happened early in Milford when he had been stretched against Hank's backside. He supposed they were just fortunate that this time, no one was shooting at them. Hopefully, Evan would not be shooting at Boris, either, for daring to touch his brother.
Finally, Evan leaned forward, hands clasped together. "So . . . you and Boris, huh? When did this . . . uh, start?"
For a moment, Hank was silent, biting into his lower lip. After some thought, he softly replied, "Well . . . I guess I started noticing it when Boris brought me to the main estate." When Evan shot him a confused stare, Hank quickly explained, "Because of the pneumonia, he didn't feel safe leaving me by myself in the guesthouse. He put me in the room next door, the one you saw us, uh—well, anyway." Hank was practically crimson the blush was so deep. "He kissed me. And I . . . I liked it."
Boris smiled triumphantly at this. Just to see Evan's expression, not to mention Hank's, he added, "It was not truly our first kiss, though, love. There was the kiss I gave you when we shared our bath."
If Evan had been drinking something, Boris felt fairly certain he would have spat out his drink at that moment. As it was, the man seemed to be choking on air.
Hank, on the other hand, just gave him a puzzled look. "What bath?" he asked.
Boris squeezed Hank's shoulders. "You were probably too ill to remember it—and you were not overly lucid. At the time, you were barely able to breathe, so I gave you a bath to help loosen the congestion in your lungs. It helped, I think."
Evan glowered at this. After a moment, he spluttered, "But you took it with him?" Boris suddenly realized that Evan looked angry. No, actually, the boy looked furious. "My brother wasn't even . . . mentally present, and you took a bath with him?"
Boris shrugged. "He needed the bath, Mr. Lawson. It was that or the hospital."
Hank seemed a bit surprised that he had been that ill. Boris smiled reassuringly at him, not at all shocked that his love did not remember the bath. Hank likely remembered nothing from that time; he had been too ill, the fever burning through him.
With a fierce glare, Evan stood up; his hands crossed over his chest and he literally stomped one foot. Boris could not help but think that Evan was five years old. His face was red with anger. "You were both naked, and he had no say in this? That's taking advantage, damn it, Boris, and this is my big brother. You expect me to—"
Annoyed, Boris interrupted the irate brother. "I do not expect anything of you, Mr. Lawson. And I was not naked." He wisely neglected to mention that Hank had been. He doubted that Evan would understand his reasoning. "Even more, I was not taking advantage of your brother. I would never do that to Hank."
He might take advantage of others, but definitely not his precious love. If Evan refused to believe that, Boris was sure he could still introduce the idiot to his shark.
Frankly, he was truly surprised that Evan seemed more concerned about the bath than what he had earlier witnessed. Maybe it was the issue of dubious consent?
As the impudent whelp continued to glare at him, Boris sighed. He forced himself to keep his patience. The shark tank would be messy to clean up, at any rate, and Hank definitely would not appreciate his brother being used as exotic fish food. Besides, he knew he had purposefully riled up Evan. Raising one eyebrow, he asked, "Would you have preferred I let your brother drown? It was unsafe for him to take a bath alone."
"No, I wouldn't prefer to see Hank drown. You gotta know that, at least." Evan prowled around the room for several minutes, then he returned to the chair. He scowled at Boris before slowly sitting down. He seemed to have accepted the bath happened, whether he liked it or not. "So . . . first kiss in a bath. Got it." He looked at Boris. "What about you?"
"What about me?" Boris asked, intentionally acting ignorant to what Evan was asking. He did love to see the brother annoyed, and it was always so very easy to annoy the man. Only Hank's presence kept him from an all-out baiting session.
His tactics apparently worked. Evan gave a frustrated growl. "You know what I'm asking. Quit being a dick."
Hank stared at this, shaking his head before looking at Boris' reaction with something strangely close to concerned amusement. Boris smiled at his love, running a gentle hand through his hair.
In all honesty, Boris did not think anyone had ever had the temerity—or was it the idiocy?—to call him a dick to his face. Boris was almost impressed.
Finally, he answered Evan's question. Hank needed to hear this, anyway. "I have wanted your brother since I met him," the German spoke softly. He glanced at Hank, knowing that they had not had the chance to have this conversation yet. He would not let Evan ruin it. "The longer I knew him, the more I felt for him. I think I fell in love, or at least I realized it, when Hank was so ill." Completely ignoring Evan, he kissed Hank's forehead, then his love's nose. "You are everything I want, Hank. And I love you deeply."
Hank's eyes widened, and he leaned into Boris to kiss him soundly on the mouth. Boris could feel the doctor's slender arms wrap around him, one hand behind his neck and the other on his shoulder. Hank pulled back just enough to whisper, "I love you, too, Boris. I didn't know it until we were running for our lives, but I do." He got a quirky smile. "Even if you drive me nuts sometimes." They kissed once more, Boris deepening the kiss and Hank more than willing to plunge further into the baron's mouth.
To their side, Evan suddenly cleared his throat: quite noisily, in fact. Boris finally broke away from his love, but he kept him closer than he had before, wrapping his arms firmly around him. In fact, he pushed himself further to the side until he was behind Hank; gently, he lifted the doctor and placed him between his legs. The good doctor—his good doctor—now leaned against his chest, and Boris' hands clasped over his love's heart.
Evan was simply staring at this, mouth hanging open.
"God, get a room, you two," Evan mumbled, sighing and looking at them with annoyance.
Hank stared at his brother. A second later, he shook his head, eyebrows lifting pointedly. "We did. You barged in."
Evan groaned, hanging his head for a moment. A long silence stretched between them—Boris rubbed his hands over Hank's chest and Evan did his best to ignore the German's actions—before Evan seemed to recover enough to glare at the baron. His question, though, had both Hank's and Boris' eyebrows shooting up. "What are your intentions for my brother, Boris?"
At this, Hank stared at his brother, brow furrowed. He was about to speak, but Boris gave him a gentle kiss to distract him.
The German then looked at Evan and asked, voice as calm as he could make it, "My intentions? Are we suddenly in the nineteenth century, Mr. Lawson?"
After asking such a ludicrous question, the man actually had the gall to look angry. "Just answer the question, Boris. You're practically stalking my brother, who, I might add, is now conveniently living right next to you. Answer me."
Boris sighed. That protective streak towards his brother that he had often seen in Evan had obviously emerged, kicking and screaming for a fight. While it was one of Evan's few redeeming qualities, it was also outright annoying. What, the idiot thought he would just have his evil way with Hank and then leave him?
Judging by the supposedly menacing glare that Evan was throwing him—though it honestly was more amusing than menacing—Boris thought that was exactly what was running through Evan's perverse little brain. Maybe he was judging Boris' actions based on his own tendency to move from one person to the next with alarming speed. Or perhaps it was Boris' own reputation as a ruthless billionaire who let very few people get close to him.
"My intention, Mr. Lawson," Boris began, refusing to look away from the infuriated brother, "is to make Hank happy, in any way I can. I plan to care for him and love him, to give him unconditional support when he needs it, and to make him want for nothing. I plan to completely spoil him rotten and to make sure there is never a day that he does not know I love him."
He paused, gently hugging Hank to him when the younger man squeezed Boris' hands. Lovingly, he kissed his doctor's temples, then his eyelids.
"And as for stalking him . . . Mr. Lawson, allow me to assure you that I have chased him non-stop only because I love him deeply." He kissed Hank's cheeks, then his mouth. His fingers even glided beneath the gap in his shirt to rub Hank's nipples until the younger man was unable to stifle a soft moan. Hank arched his back into the touch, eyes closing softly. "What I want to do with him, I want to do for as long as he will have me."
Hank blushed furiously, and Boris was delighted to see that even Evan had blushed. The younger brother made a face. "Ee gads, you're killing me here, Boris, really. Do you think you could say something that doesn't lead to me wanting to gouge my ears out?"
Smirking, Boris thought the answer was probably no.
Evan was shaking his head when he finally stood. He looked at Boris. "Can I see you for a moment?" He glanced at his older brother, smiling slightly. "Don't worry. I'll send him back soon. Maybe even in one piece."
Hank rolled his eyes, but he nodded. His love seemed to need comfort, so Boris squeezed his shoulders gently. He then quickly slid out from behind Hank's back. However, he gave his doctor a quick kiss, pushing his hair back from his eyes and smiling, before following Evan out the door.
Evan pointedly shut the door.
The two stared at each other for some time. After a moment, Boris prompted, "Mr. Lawson? You wished to speak with me?"
Evan began to pace. He seemed to be getting increasingly frantic. Boris simply continued to watch him pace up and down the hall.
"You know, Boris . . . I don't think that . . ." Evan paused, his face slightly red. It was obvious he was uncomfortable with what he was about to say. He cleared his throat before meeting Boris' gaze. "I don't think Hank has ever . . . uh . . . expressed interest in men before. Not this way, that is."
Ah. Evan was either trying to warn him to be cautious—or trying to get him to stay away from his brother. Or both. Of course, he was not quite sure which might be true, but he smiled slightly. "Yes, I know. He mentioned it." When we were much more happily occupied, he thought sourly.
Evan's eyes widened fractionally. The look was slightly comical, but Boris did not think Evan would appreciate his laughing at him. Since this was Hank's moronic brother, he had to at least moderately behave. Unfortunately.
"He did?" Evan asked, moving around and all but smacking into the wall. Boris rolled his eyes. The younger brother was a certified idiot. And, based off that odd reaction to his words, Boris would be willing to bet that Evan had been hoping to discourage his pursuit of Hank. It figured, he supposed. "Well, that's . . . uh, good, I guess."
Boris remained silent. He had absolutely no idea where Evan was going with this.
After a moment, Evan at last stopped in front of him. They met each other's eyes, and Boris was amazed to see determination and protectiveness in that gaze. He knew Evan was protective of his brother, but he had not known exactly how protective he might be.
"So, that's good, Boris, because it means I have less to explain to you." His eyes wandered to Boris' bedroom before looking back at the German. "You'll need to go slowly, then. Can you do that?"
There was a definite challenge in the brother's voice. Boris suddenly got the feeling that Evan was testing him. Perhaps the young man was testing just how committed he was to the relationship?
"Yes, I know that, Mr. Lawson," he replied slowly. He widened his own stance to look as intimidating as possible. Evan blinked at the change in stance, backing up slightly but not completely removing himself from Boris' personal space. Secretly, Boris was impressed with Evan's determination. It reminded him of Hank when he was angry. "Let me assure you that I will go as slowly as Hank needs. I would never risk harming your brother. I promise this."
Evan gave a short nod, and then began to pace once more. Boris was not sure, but he thought Evan was working up to something.
The silence had stretched fairly uncomfortably when Evan stopped pacing. He once more moved into Boris' space, refusing to look away. "Good. Because if you hurt my brother, I will kill you."
Boris was silent for a shocked moment, meeting the brother's eyes.
Without missing a beat, Evan continued, "You're rich, you're powerful, and you're nastily scary." Boris stared at this, eyebrows arching steeply. Nastily scary? Would it be best to take that as a compliment? "But it doesn't matter. You hurt him, you're goin' down. I don't know how, I don't know when, but I will do it. No one hurts Hank, Boris, not on my watch."
Evan glared fiercely at him, and Boris slowly nodded. He would give this to his love's brother: he was certainly dedicated to protecting him.
"I highly agree, Mr. Lawson," Boris spoke softly, and for once he was not mocking the man. "If I hurt your brother, you should come after me. I never want to hurt him, ever."
Seeming somewhat startled at this, Evan cleared his throat, running a hand over his head in what Boris took to be nervousness. Gone was the determined, confident man; replacing him was the usual super-charged, annoying Lawson that Boris could barely stand. However, the fact that the other persona existed made Boris respect him enough to nod. Perhaps he would call the younger Lawson Evan one day.
Of course, the fool spoiled the moment almost immediately.
"Okay . . . cool. I'll see you later. Got a hot date with a hot tub." Evan nodded his head, seemingly agreeing with himself.
Watching this complete metamorphosis into Evan's usual stupidity and vaguely feeling like he had mental whiplash, the baron shook his head. Boris wondered if the abrupt change in Evan was because the man was exceedingly uncomfortable with the topic. He supposed speaking of his brother's interest in a wealthy noble—a wealthy man, actually—could be somewhat unnerving. Or perhaps Evan Lawson had an undiagnosed case of multiple personality disorder, a possibility in which he was most inclined to believe.
Evan smiled goofily, moving away from him. "Bye, Hank!" the man shouted, rapping his knuckles against the door to Boris' room. "Don't do anything I would do!" He then trotted down the hallway, almost running into several priceless antiques.
Boris clasped his hands behind his back, shaking his head. On second thought, maybe he had been too hasty in reconsidering his position on Evan R. Lawson. Evan was a pest. He could see no reason to call him anything but Mr. Lawson.
At least the hot tub got the cretin out of Boris' sight so he could pay attention to the only Lawson he could give a damn about.
Surely, Hank had to be adopted.
It was the only logical explanation.
With that thought in mind, Boris turned towards his bedroom. He smiled. As he recalled, there was someone very special waiting for him behind that door, and he more than planned to take advantage of a day spent with his love when Evan Lawson was nowhere in sight.
[1] Attribution: Lambert, L., Brown, K., Segal, E., Brophy, J., Rodes-Cabau, J., & Bogaty, P. (2010). JAMA 303(21), 2148-2155.
Next Chapter: Hank is quite . . . happy. Oh, yes, very, very happy. And a madly leering Boris is very, very happy, too. Smut abounds, and—though you probably are shocked that it finally happens—our journey through love/lust's trials and tribulations finally reaches its horny conclusion.
Thanks for all of the fantastic and uplifting reviews! The last chapter was interesting to write, especially since I've never done a spanking scene (and wasn't planning on it until Boris kept bringing it up, that evil man!). Thanks, hermajesty1987, for saying it gave you goosebumps! I'm tickled to hear that! I wasn't sure how people would view the spanking, so it's good to hear that it seemed to work. I loved the commend, Murder Rose, that it was sexy as hell.
A few of you have mentioned another Boris/Hank fic. I have a few plot bunnies hopping around right now...there will be something. I just have to figure out which one I want to start on first! The latest episodes have also given me some ideas that I might play with. At least one of the stories I have in mind will probably be another long one, too.