We fell asleep that night with no more words or motions or asks. This became a new addition to the routine over the following weeks in November even on nights that I wasn't driving him home; drink, smoke, sleep, not always in that order and sometimes two but not all three, but always basic. I was careful to stop myself from kissing him too fiercely. I was disappointed in part, but I wasn't going to push. He'd still ask me what the fuck I was doing, but it was more a tease than a serious question, albeit lined with lingering apprehension.

With each moment of intimacy during that period, his fingers tightened slightly more against the fabric of my shirt or jeans, lips picked up a rhythm but still hesitant and resistant of a full-on session. No more trips to jerk off in the bathroom, because, as much as I did want to fuck him into that dog-hair riddled arm-chair, he still wasn't ready and so I'd force myself to stop before it got to that point. I had enough curses from him whenever I'd lean against him or splay a leg over ( 'The fuck are you doing' ) that I didn't want to make him actually angry. The curses and hesitancies were just a bit of foreplay. He had accepted I wasn't going to stop.

On a couple nights when I was off-shift, we'd find a new bar close to the edge of the city. He'd fall inebriated to the sidewalk and I'd heave him against the ashen brick and stained siding while waiting for the taxi. His rebukes of 'Can't do that here, gotta badge' held no sway once we were in the backseat.

One night closer to the winter holidays, I let myself into his house on a day off and treated myself to his bed. He greeted me with his gun drawn from the bedroom doorway.

"What the fuck, Hank. Didn't you see my car outside?"

"Don't do that again. Fuckin' wait for me."

No more additional scars dressed my limbs and I swore that once, so briefly, Hank broke a smile as we sat on the bed together sharing a smoke. Him and his damn robe. I was fairly certain by now he was doing this on purpose. Goddamn jackass.

He was holding my bare thigh when I told him I wanted to take him out somewhere, somewhere that wasn't a fast food restaurant.

"You asking me on a fucking date? I don't do that."

I nudged him in the ribs. "Oh screw you. No, not a date."

He chewed on the thought.

"Like a buffet?" he asked.

"Maybe a buffet. Maybe… sushi. Maybe a brewery if you can control yourself. They always have good food."

"Yeah maybe. Long as there's no fucking pretentious assholes. Remember going to all those microbreweries and shit when they were getting popular. These douchebags stand around and have to taste test and sniff everything."

"Were you one of those douchebags, Hank?"

He scoffed. "Unfortunately, yeah, I knew my way around a menu."

"Well, you think about it. Something different."

I took his hand from my leg and held it in my lap for a half second before shifting around to sit on his legs, my own bent under myself to either side. I wouldn't dare move but I was in a good position to do so. My hands idled on the knot as I spoke.

"What're you doing?"

"Tell me about what you said before. Why don't you want to fuck."

For the first time given all our crude talk, this must have been the first time I saw a slight blush rise to Hank's cheeks. He grimaced before responding. "Not answering that."

"You're not attracted to me? You run out of Viagra? Got a third nut you're ashamed of?"

"No."

"'No', what , Hank."

"Don't have a third nut."

"Again, you answer every question except the one I'm asking."

I reached forward to take some strands of his hair through my fingers, leaning in to steal a kiss. I scooted forward to sit flush against his pelvis, but again wouldn't dare move , and it took all of my power not to do so for the solid thirty seconds I was able to extract shaky bourbon-tainted breaths from the man. I released before he could push me away, cognizant of the twitch I felt from him between my legs.

His hands held my back, slightly parted lips granting me permission to resume. I was not about to question this, breath ever slowly rising in sordid exhales and I reservedly moved my hips in time, extracting a suppressed groan from the man.

He allowed this, even daring himself to adjust his own legs so I could push down harder in a slow grind.

But again, he withdrew suddenly and urged me off so he could run (waddle) to the bathroom. This time he turned the shower on.

For godsakes.

I waited in the living room stretched out on the sofa as he finished.

Seriously?

I heard him mutter from the hallway, then louder as he approached. " Fuck did she.. what the fuck you doing out here." He was leaning against the room divider.

I sat up cross legged to look at him. "I'm wondering why the fuck you're so opposed to getting off with me. That's the second time you've gone to jerk off in the bathroom after I got you going. I'm just confused, Hank, that's all…"

Like our previous conversation in the car, it was another few moments before he replied. "It's been a while, okay. That's why. Hey, look, it's not you. You're, uh, a good-looking girl, okay. You're very attractive. I just uh, fuck...yeah." He pushed off the wall and headed back to bed. I followed to find him stretched out on his side facing the window. I crawled over and urged him to look at me with a light pull on his bicep.

"Didn't I just -"

I muffled his words with another kiss, coaxing him to turn to his back so I could wrap a hand around his face.

"I swear to Christ, Hank, stop being so fucking hesitant. It pisses me off. You doubt yourself. Cut that shit out. You said you were scared of me. I think you're scared of yourself, to let yourself maybe try to move past your shit. Just for a little while. You're allowed to do that, you know. I don't know if you still feel some messed up sense of loyalty to your ex-wife or that you don't deserve this, don't deserve to move on, or something else. But you're wrong. And I don't really give a flying fuck whether or not you believe me, but it's the truth. I know you're looking for something. And I'm a little insulted that you have to go take care of business in the bathroom instead of letting me do it for you."

I searched his eyes for some type of answer, finding only dreaded sorrows. I couldn't offer much, just favors and company and friendship. I offered once more, seeking his approval for another kiss, receiving it with a light grip to my side.

He allowed me to crawl atop again and gradually, almost painstakingly so, he responded with full kisses and hitched breaths and tightening fingers on my sides. I grabbed one hand at a time to push down to my hips, and resumed the grueling back and forth I had begun previously. He had his turn already. I needed mine.

"Woah, hey hey hey, hold up."

I knelt back, dragging my hands with me to rest on his stomach, and rolled my eyes so far into my head they could have propelled me into the floor. "What now?"

"Take those off," he said.

"Excuse me?"

"Fucking do it."

I crawled off and tossed aside my panties without shame, though still curious what the fuck he was planning. As I stood with crossed arms, he took a deep swig from his tumbler on the nightstand, and scooched down a couple inches on the bed.

"Up," he grunted.

I got back up on the bed, first with knees to either side of his hips.

"No. Up," he said again.

Oh .

I scooted forward to gently nestle over Hank's mouth, supporting myself with palms against the pleather headboard. He wrapped one arm over my thigh, the other still tightly holding his glass over the side of the bed. Warm breath played between my legs, quickly devolving to firm sucks on wet flesh, pulling me down tight, his beard delightfully itchy. I leaned into the headrest immediately, circling to take his tongue deeper, biting my forearm to stop myself from yelping at the contact. I was already shuttering, jolting into his mouth, his tongue rolling magic tricks with curled fingers. He must have finally set the glass down at some point to use both hands. One set of fingers to spread, another to penetrate, mouth ungraciously and unceremoniously fucking me dry. My legs were already beginning to buckle; I couldn't suffocate the man. I managed to curl back just enough to grab the back of his head, squeezing him from all sides as I came into his mouth, hard .

That must have been a record setting orgasm and holy fucking shit . I repeated myself aloud as I tried and failed to catch my breaths. I couldn't move immediately. I barely managed to pull back on shaky legs; he wiped his mouth on my leg before indicating I needed to get off with a light push to my hip. He pushed up completely to grab another smoke.

"Hank, what the flying fuck was that," I managed, now collapsed at his side, one leg strewn over his stomach.

"Maybe you'll shut the hell up now and stop trying to analyze me."

"No fucking way. How can I shut up after that? You going to let me return the favor or what." I accompanied this by sliding my foot down and over a not- completely flaccid cock, managing to curl into him enough with crossed arms over his chest.

"Jesus, Alex. Figured that would knock you down."

I pushed up to pick the cigarette out of his mouth, extinguishing it on the table, to replace with a firm kiss.

"Only a little while," I said upon release.

He started to complain again about the cigarette I just wasted, his bitching cut short with a hitched breath as I managed to sneak a tight squeeze under his shorts.

Bravo, Hank .

He slapped a hand around my wrist, clamping tight and hissed for me to Stop it . I gave another squeeze in a taunt which just ticked him off further.

"Alex ."

Testing a stroke, he didn't release his fingers from my skin, only making sure a thick bruise would surround my wrist when I was done. I didn't meet his eyes, instead burrowing my head in his chest, focused on my motions and not even completely revealing to the room what I was up to. For as much as I wanted to look , even that would be too much for him tonight.

Except he just fucking ate me out. Whatever you say, Hank…

With another dare, I curled and scooted down, basically forcing him to relinquish his grip, his arm falling to the side unsure where to go or what to touch next.

He hissed my name again, to stop me, encourage me, confuse me, who the fuck cared. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on, Hank Anderson .

He didn't assist as I tugged down the elastic just enough to swipe his tip with my tongue. I heard the clink of his glass from the table as I continued, taking another couple inches in my mouth.

How a dick could also taste of scotch and smoke was a question I'd have to ask another night.

A suppressed and restrained sigh escaped his mouth as I continued, light fingers in my hair and no more insults or complaining. After a couple whispered utterances of fuck , I pushed away and pivoted myself over. He still clutched his glass in a red-knuckled grip, mouth barely parted, watching, considering these motions without telling me to stop.

I lowered myself in one very filling take, a mutual collective sigh of mixed words, including, but not limited to, Geezus fucking shit holy fuck, emanating from us both. I could have sworn at one moment Sumo contributed a very pointed bark from the hallway as his dad's increased grunts disturbed his nap.

He finally dropped his glass to the floor, both hands gripping my thighs, hesitant along the scars. He didn't meet my eyes immediately, rather taking in every inch of what was occurring over him, still not entirely comfortable or accepting, but we were in agreement that this would reach a finale.

He craned back into his pillows, indicative to me it was time to swap. I leaned forward to steal a breathy kiss, "You need another drink for courage or you gonna fuck me already."

" Dammit, Al. "

And for once, he obeyed. In one solid flip of arrangements and a crack from his lower back he kicked off his shorts finally and reinitiated. One brutal thrust and I clawed at his arms, stretching back, being pushed ever further against the headboard. He knelt without pulling out and held my hips, tugging me closer, and lifted both my legs to rest against one shoulder, enabling deeper bruising penetration.

I was tight and he could tell but gentle was never how I wanted this. I took back my legs and with a push to his chest, he lifted up just enough so I would roll over to my stomach and arch up my hips for him. I burrowed my face into the sheets, preparing myself with fistfulls of fabric at my sides. He taunted me for a moment, running his fingers to massage my warm and reddened flesh, tongue flicking one final path in mock apology, before pressing in again, quickly resuming the pace, pummeling me into his bed. Between our rising gasps, guttural outbursts, and my heightened whimpering, I managed something along the lines of, " Took you long enough. "

" Fuck. You. "

I reached down a hand to assist myself but he was already coming, open gasps along my shoulder blade, one arm stretched along my ear, the other gripping my breast under my disheveled shirt.

His hair tickled my neck as he paused in recovery, slipping out from between my legs in a final exhale. I was actually shocked that he lingered against my back for a while, even more surprised when he brushed my cheek and allowed me to turn over slowly and take him in a deep and needy kiss. He released first, pressing his forehead to mine for just a second before pushing away completely to pad off to the bathroom and take a piss.

I gave him the courtesy of flushing in private before I joined him in the bathroom. He was popping one of his pill bottles over the sink so with no forewarning, I sat.

"What the hell, Alex."

"Either this or I drip your jizz all over the house, Hank. And that would be pretty damn gross. Just imagine if Sumo found that."

"Hey! What the fuck did I tell you about being weird."

"Absolutely nothing," I said as I wiped and stood. "Just that I was. And deep down, deep deep down, it turns out you actually like it."

"Never said that."

"No? Must have just imagined the past hour then. That's too bad."

He had found a half-empty bottle of whiskey in his bathtub, and now sat on its edge taking a couple swigs.

I finished washing up with a few splashes from the sink and joined him on the cold porcelain with hands tight between my knees. We passed the bottle back and forth a few times in silence. I was freezing and covered in goosebumps but I wasn't ready to move yet. I liked it in here. The simplicity of it. The bathroom was a sanctuary in a way, a collection of Hank's shirts and old food containers I had forgotten to throw out, a mop that needed replacing. We heard and then watched Sumo slowly trudge past and turn into the bedroom to splay on the floor atop a magazine. Sorry for waking you boy, I tried to be quiet. I had a flickering thought of fucking Hank again in the shower, but that would wait for another night. Not now.

"Hank."

"I really don't want to talk, Al."

"Too bad." I took the hand not responsible for transferring the liquid to that mouth and placed it, splayed palm, over the scars on my thigh.

"I'm really trying not to do this any more, Hank. I'm not ashamed of them, but I know I need to stop. I know that you're disappointed when I do it. And yet you still touch me. And I'm grateful. And I would like to think, that maybe - maybe you finally accept that I'm okay with your shit, too."

After a beat, he clanked the bottle to the tile, more forcefully than I expected and I started.

He gripped my leg tight, and under a breath he said, "Do you think I hate you? That I'm using you? We're using each other, Al. That's definitely true. But you were right about what you said before. I don't deserve this. I don't deserve you. I fucked up. Everything was fucked after...after…. You're a good woman. No clue what you're doing here with me. And yeah, I'm fucking scared. Haven't been with anyone since my ex-wife and wasn't really planning on it. But you're always here, fucking driving my ass home, coming in uninvited, you're god damn annoying. I do... want you here. Okay? I - I'd be fucked if you weren't here."

It was probably the hormones and the alcohol and freezing my ass off in my partial nudity but I felt like crying. And because I could never be serious, I said, "Hank, do you have a crush on me?"

He scoffed and grabbed the bottle from the floor and made off for the bedroom again. I trailed him and took his hand in the hallway, forcing him to pause and peer at me through exhausted red eyes.

"Thank you. For finally admitting that," I said. "Can I stay?"

"You wouldn't leave if I said no anyway." Something barely resembling a smile broke his features and he said, softer, "Course you can stay. Just put on some damn pants."

Hank softened that night, whether it was the cold air that broke through in drafts from his windows that forced us closer, or the alcohol that destroyed his inhibitions and turned me into a giggling mess, or the tobacco and pot that relaxed us on top of unmade and unwashed bedsheets, I wasn't sure. Could have been the similar tragedies and deaths that guided our actions into self-destruction, my own lack of control exhibited the following morning on his stained straight-edge, maybe it was every maddening fuck in the back seat of his Oldsmobile after each write-up from his superior. We were guiding each other to something inevitable. This new coping mechanism was something else he could hold onto at night, something else to supplement his other habits and resist that temptation to blast a bullet though his brain. We were enabling each other and as the end of 2037 approached, I knew through my own denials, that this wouldn't last either of us much longer.