Madcom Oneshots

Tense

SUMMARY:

Hank comes back from a mission, having nearly been torn in two (literally). After being stitched back up, all of his muscles are tensed and wont relax, though he wont admit it. Sanford and Deimos are out getting a new "package" that was delivered to a AAHW base. 2B walks in the front door, hair frizzy and out of place, brushing it back with a hand and setting a CP5 down, and pats Hank, who is sitting on a couch, on the back, which had become routine as of late for them. He hesitates, comes back, and pats again, feeling the unnaturally tensed muscles. He confronts Hank about it and Hank does not comment, turning his head away. 2B then demands him to lay on his stomach and he begrudgingly does with a hefty sigh. 2B massages him, then Hank feels the muscles starting to loosen all at once. And uh... You'll see what happens from there.

NOTE:

I do change what 2B is addressed by halfway through to try and un-confus-ify some sentences. Apologies in advance if this messes with the reading experience. I'd love some feedback on this in the comments, though, as it's been a good year or so since I last wrote smut and I still feel like I tend to drag stories on longer than they need to.

ALSO sorry if I make them a bit OOC I just needed to practice on writing style and story more than making sure the characters were 100% on point.

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The crunching of footsteps still echo in a room void of people, except for one tired mag. Hank was drifting in and out of consciousness the past few days, either from dehydration or his body still trying to piece itself back together. Could have been either, really. He basically lived on the couch for a week, having spent only 3 days being stitched together by the Doc, a new record as far as he was aware, though he was running out of awareness as the minutes ticked on, his vision fading again. The footsteps repeated in his mind one more time, remembering Sanford and Deimos' voices trailing off as they left the building, talking about a new mission they were stoked to go on. They showed pity to Hank, though. He made a mental note to "teach them a lesson" about pity later.

The footsteps didn't recede this time, but grew louder. Then they stopped. Right in front of him. He realized his eyes had been open for who knows how long. The information only just caught up to him. It was Doc, having walked in with a CP5 and tussled hair. He saved a mental image of that to tease the little grouch about later. Then Doc gave him a pat on the shoulder as he walked past. He did a double-take and spun on his heel, giving a firm clasp this time, gently squeezing. 

Hank, finally aware enough to acknowledge what was going on, brushed the doctor's arm off with an almost insufficient amount of force, his energy being almost naught, despite all the rest he's been getting. He grumbled, his voice fairly hoarse compared to how he remembered sounding, "What do you think you're doing?"

"You're tense. How long have you been sitting rigid?"

He didn't notice before this comment, but he was sitting upright, stiff and unmoving. His blood pooled in his legs, turning them to pins and needles. He wasn't about to admit it.

"I've been like... like this for as long as you've seen me. Sitting here, I mean, Doc." his words slurred a slight as the room gently turned in his mind, but he was able to right himself with his arm. He hated how frail and uncertain he sounded.

The Doctor rounded the couch, looking at the back of Hank's shoulders with a scrutinizing eye.

"Lie on your stomach," he commanded with confidence.