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It isn’t the first time one of Victor Frankenstein’s experiments has exploded. It won’t be the last, either. Abraham Van Helsing knows that well— unforeseen detonations are simply part of life with a mad alchemist and an even madder engineer around.
It’s usually no major incident. For all their eccentricities, both of their resident nerds are, in fact, quite skilled. Skilled enough to make serious accidents unlikely, even with their pet projects blowing up in their faces on a semi-regular basis.
That doesn’t stop it from startling Van Helsing every damn time.
The blast sets his nerves on edge— tension coiling in the pit of his stomach. His hands itch to reach for his guns, to have his weapons ready just in case this time it’s a legitimate threat.
But even from outside he can tell the detonation was small, too small to be a proper bomb. It came from the direction of the manor. Most likely Fran then, unless Impey had decided to try out something particularly flashy in the kitchen.
Van wills his hands away from his holsters as he jogs into the manor, making a beeline for Victor’s workshop.
The situation is about what he expected when he throws open the door. The blast did in fact come from Victor— a bubbling flask of foul-looking goop sitting next to a recently shut off Bunsen burner on the workbench. The room is smoky, air thick and heavy with a burnt, cloying smell that makes Van want to gag. Reflexively, he covers his face with his elbow. He’s seen Fran’s handiwork enough times to know it won’t offer him any real protection, but it’s better than nothing.
Waving the smoke away from his face, he takes a tentative step in, trying to get a read on Fran.
He spots him by the open window, sitting on the ground beside it, pressing his face into the sill as he breathes in fresh air from outside. Van can’t see any obvious signs of disaster— he’s awake, he’s not bleeding, and nothing’s on fire.
Though, he seems a little out of it. There’s a slight wobble to his posture even while sitting, and his hair is brushed back from his face with streaks of soot, as if he’d run a hand through it unthinkingly. Fran’s glasses are missing somewhere, though his safety goggles still hang around his neck. Van could see the faint impressions around his eyes where they’d been before. His face is concerningly flushed.
It takes Fran longer than Van Helsing likes to notice his arrival.
“Oi. Fran. You alright?” Van calls into the room, announcing himself.
Fran turns to blink at him slowly, and Van can see the gears turning behind his eyes. “Yeah, I’m alright.” He says after a long moment. “You shouldn’t be in here though. It’s going to take some time to dissipate.” He says, waving vaguely at the workbench, as if that was the only explanation needed.
“Don’t tell me you poisoned yourself again.” Van grumbles with a click of his tongue. “Can you move?
“It shouldn’t be poisonous. I think. But it also wasn’t supposed to explode…?” Fran says with a sheepish chuckle and a lethargic shrug. “I was trying to use a redox reaction to stabilize the—"
“Fran.” Van cuts him off, sharp. “Can you get up? Or do I need to drag your ass out?”
“Oh. Right. Yeah, I’m okay.” Fran says, though Van Helsing has his doubts with the way Fran has to put both hands on the windowsill to push himself to standing, propping himself up like an unsteady foal. He wobbles as he walks over to Van, hands reaching out to nearby furniture to stabilize himself as he crosses the room. Van Helsing catches him as he stumbles to the open doorway, ducking under his arm and yanking him out into the hall.
He kicks the door shut behind them.
In the hall, he gives Fran a once-over. The man is shaking—Van felt a full-body shudder run through the alchemist the second they touched, the shivers lingering even after the first tremor had passed. This close, Van can see the sheen of sweat on Fran’s flushed face, his bangs sticking slightly to his forehead where not pushed back. He’s breathing a little harder than usual, jaw slack, brows furrowed with something that might be focus, might be confusion. Might be both.
Van puts his free arm around his waist to steady him. Fran’s fingers dig into his shoulder seemingly on instinct— a grip that might have been painful if he wasn’t the human weapon and Fran wasn’t built like a fucking twig.
Van pulls him to a nearby guest room. He drags him over to the bed, depositing him unceremoniously— Fran falls back onto it with a soft oof. He starts to pull away, but finds that Fran doesn’t let go, fingers curling deeper into the fabric of Van’s collar.
Stay.
Van clicks his tongue. “Relax. I’m just opening the window.” He pries Fran’s hands away from his collar one at a time, but that just results in Fran clinging to his hands instead. Van sighs, pressing a kiss to the back of them. Tender. Reassuring.
I’m not going anywhere.
“…Okay. Thanks. Sorry.” Fran sighs, letting himself fall back onto the bed.
Van pushes the windows open, letting the soft afternoon breeze from outside seep into the stuffy room. He isn’t an expert in alchemical safety, but he figures it couldn’t hurt Fran’s recovery. With a sigh, he seats himself on the room’s small sofa, settling in for what would probably be a long haul. He crosses his arms over his chest, watching Fran.
Rather than settling in, Fran tosses and turns like he can’t quite get comfortable. He’d said he was alright, but… Van knew that Fran had a habit of saying a lot of things. Especially if the truth wasn’t pretty. Granted, he had gotten better about it recently— an effort that made something in Van’s heart swell with quiet pride— but it wouldn’t be unlike him to slip back into his sugarcoating at a time like this.
“All good?” he asks, eyeing Fran as he rolls onto his side for the fourth time since lying down.
Fran hums noncommittally. He turns onto his back. He turns onto the same side. He turns onto his other side.
Then he abruptly sits up. Fran tugs at his safety goggles, bringing them up over his head and setting them on the nightstand. He struggles for a moment to shimmy out of his lab coat, arm getting stuck in the sleeve at an awkward angle— but he finally shrugs it off with a sigh of relief.
“Yeah. I’m all good now.” He breathes out, flopping back with a small huff. “Just a little warm.”
“Hm.”
For someone ‘all good now,’ Fran still squirms a lot.
Van silently watches him until he’s close enough to settled— ergo, until Van Helsing gets tired of watching him try and repeatedly fail to find a comfortable position to rest in. He speaks up.
“So. Do you think this will pass on its own, or do I need to find you a doctor?”
“Mmm…it should be okay, I think. I wasn’t working with anything too noxious.” Fran hums, voice a little breathy. “I do feel alright. Just a little bit…out of it?”
“Out of it?” Van repeats when Fran doesn’t continue, prompting him to clarify.
“Yeah. I’m…foggy, kind of. A little dizzy. Maybe a little feverish...? Not sure. I feel warm.” Fran says. He raises an arm, giving a little wave of dismissal. “It’ll be fine, I think.”
“Nothing serious, then?” Van asks. It doesn’t sound serious, but he’s not the doctor here.
“No. Nothing serious.”
“Okay.” Van breathes a sigh of relief. “Tell me if that changes.”
“I can do that.”
They sit in silence for a time. Fran tosses and turns every ten seconds. Van Helsing is too preoccupied watching him do that to do anything else.
Suddenly, Fran sits up again.
Swaying, he reaches over to where he’d tossed his labcoat over the footboard of the bed, pulling out a handkerchief from one of the inner pockets to wipe off his still concerningly flushed face. When he’s done, he just sits there for a second. Breathing. Swaying.
And then he pushes himself to standing. He wobbles towards the door with intent.
That wasn’t going to happen. Van snags his wrist as he walks by, tugging him back. He pulls him down to the couch to sit next to him, but— Fran slumps onto him instead. Heavy and warm across Van’s lap.
“Where are you going.” Van asks, unamused.
“I should drink some water.”
“You should stay sitting so you don’t fall down. I’ll go get you water.” He says, patting at the empty seat next to him on the couch.
He waits for Fran to move.
He doesn’t.
“You’re going to have to let me get up.” Van sighs, soft and gentle, as he nudges Fran towards the open spot.
“Mm…could we…could we just stay like this for a while?” Fran says, his arms looping around Van’s neck. Despite this, he does shift his weight, and for a moment Van thinks he might actually move over. And then he settles back, straddling Van Helsing’s thigh.
He’s hard.
“Fran?”
“Just—just for a little while. Please. Sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize to me.” Van Helsing sighs softly, settling in. He wraps his arms around Fran’s waist, shifting him to a more comfortable position. Fran whines at the motion, and the sound sends a lone jolt of excitement straight to Van’s dick. He ignores it, pressing a chaste kiss to Fran’s hair.
Fran makes a small, grateful sound as he tightens his grip, pressing his face into Van Helsing’s clavicle. He can feel the heat of it even through the fabric. Fran’s heart thumps fast and hard, hard enough that Van Helsing can feel it where gravity presses them together.
Though, the fact that Fran’s erect makes it much more obvious. He can feel the thrum of the alchemist’s heartbeat there, too.
For a time, Fran seems to settle, melting into a leaded heap on Van Helsing’s lap. He brings his hand up to stroke Van’s hair, twirling it around slender fingers absentmindedly. Van Helsing closes his eyes and lets himself bask for just a moment, resting his cheek on the top of Fran’s head. But the stillness doesn’t last long. Fran squirms, restless, pressing apologetic kisses into Van’s shoulder— his neck— his jaw— every time he moves.
And then moves too far, drawing an unexpected gasp from his own lips at the friction. Almost reflexively, unthinkingly, he does it again—and again, and again, and again— and that’s when he abandons pretense to grind on Van Helsing’s thigh properly. He nuzzles his face into the crook of Van Helsing’s jaw, biting back a groan as he presses a longing kiss into his throat.
Well then.
Van hadn’t planned to address the elephant in the room. They had been in a relationship for several months already, but it was still hard for him to know what exactly would embarrass Fran. It often struck him that Fran didn’t know what would embarrass Fran until he did it, then immediately froze up in mortification of his own making. Sometimes he could be so bold, and yet, at others, mere suggestions of affection would reduce him to a stammering mess. Van Helsing had figured that acknowledging his obvious arousal would be just the kind of topic to petrify him.
But that was before Fran started humping his thigh. So.
Van Helsing clears his throat, willing his tone to come out casual. Unbothered.
“Was your project supposed to do this?”
“Mmmh…” Fran whines, an intoxicating sound that sends another jolt to Van’s dick. He was clearly still out of it, taking several seconds to formulate a reply. “…No…? I don’t…I don’t think so…? What was I working on again…?” he pants, hot breath tickling over Van’s neck.
“You said something about a redox reaction.”
“O-oh. Mm— Right. That’s right.” Fran says, stilling for a moment as clarity seems to return to him. “No— No, it wasn’t supposed to do this, I didn’t even realize it could. I should—” he sucks in a shuddery breath. “I should write this down. If I can remember what step the reaction went exothermic, I should be able to figure out what compound it made, and—” Fran shifts again, as if to reach for where his lab notebook would be if he were still at the bench—and lets out a guttural moan as his dick presses into Van’s leg just right, rolling his hips into the pleasure.
Van Helsing sucks in a deep breath. This was not good for his composure. He wonders for a moment if Fran would be able to get himself off just like this— untouched, desperately rutting against Van Helsing’s leg like a dog, cum leaving wet spots on his slacks where it leaks through from the inside—the thought of it makes his dick throb.
But one of them had to be clear-headed about this, and it wasn’t going to be Fran.
He swallows thickly before speaking again.
“Fran. Focus. You wanted to write it down?” Van says, grabbing Fran’s shoulders to unpeel him from himself. Fran whines, straining to press one last kiss against Van’s jaw before letting himself be sat up.
“Mmm…? I—what did I want...?” Fran’s eyelids flutter as Van Helsing cups his face, trying to force eye contact. He rolls into the touch, pressing a kiss against Van’s palm. Van softly paps his cheeks. Focus.
“To write it down.”
“Mm…right. I should… write it down…” Fran hums. For a moment, he stares at Van Helsing heavy and half-lidded. He shivers under Van’s palms, face radiating heat— Van can see the blush trailing all the way down Fran’s neck and over his collarbones. Then Fran groans, a low, guttural low sound, making a face that was uncharacteristically unabashed for Fran and very bad for Van’s sanity.
“Aah…forget it. Just. Forget it. I don’t— I don’t want to stop— Van, please—” He presses his lips to Van’s, desperate and pleading and hungry. For a long, long moment, Van gets swept up in Fran’s desire—desperation echoing in his own head and hands and the heady throb of his dick—
It takes all his self-restraint to tear himself away.
“Fran.” Van Helsing chokes, unable to hide the fluster in his voice any longer. Breathing heavy, he grips Fran’s shoulders tight. “Fran, wait—"
“Ah—” Fran gasps, hands freezing on Van’s body—hesitant, deliberating, only loosely holding on to the fabric of his shirt.
“This is a bad idea.” Van sucks in a deep, shuddery breath. His face is flushed now too and he knows it, he can feel it burning.
“Why…?” Fran whines, curling inward to rest his head on Van Helsing’s shoulder. He lets his hands press back into Van—not groping him now, just holding him.
“You’re not in your right mind.” Van says, pulling Fran tighter to him. Tethering him.
“But you want me…?” Fran breathes, feather soft and nervous and hopeful.
“Fuck’s sake— you’re not making this easy for me, are you.” Van Helsing sighs. He rests his cheek against the top of Fran’s head. “Of course I do. Don’t ask stupid questions.”
“Oh. Good. Because I want you.” Fran sighs wistfully, blissfully— sounding so relieved that it makes something in Van’s chest ache.
“Fran…”
“I want you so badly.” He softly whines, nuzzling his face into the crook of Van’s neck.
“You’re high.”
“I don’t care. I trust you.” Fran says, voice tense and heady with desire— it’s more effective against Van Helsing’s self-restraint than he cares to admit.
“Fran. Are you sure.”
“Please, Van—” Fran sighs into Van Helsing’s neck, hot breath tickling over it. His hips roll against Van’s thigh once more, pressing his erection in in a way that draws a small, strangled sound from his throat. “Please.”
“What am I going to do with you…?” Van mutters in a voice heavy with exasperation and fondness alike.
“Anything— everything— please, just touch me—”
Well. Who was Van Helsing to deny that request?
The only response he gives is to yank Fran into a desperate, forceful kiss. The alchemist reciprocates in earnest, one hand balling in Van’s hair and the other digging into the back of his shirt, pulling him as close as he physically can. Fran rolls his hips against Van’s lap enthusiastically— grinding his cock into the meat of Van’s thigh. Every so often, he nudges Van’s crotch with his leg as he moves, sending sparks of pleasure shooting to the base of Van’s spine.
Van drags his hands roughly up over Fran’s hips, his stomach, slipping them up beneath his sweater. He feels Fran shudder beneath his palms, feels the hum of him moaning against Van’s lips as he brings a hand up to Fran’s chest. He takes his nipple in between his fingers and squeezes.
Fran breaks away from the kiss with a delirious gasp.
“Van—” he pants, letting his head fall back as he groans. “Nngh— Van, don’t stop— more—"
He pushes his sweater upwards. It doesn’t take long for Fran to get the memo, peeling the damn thing off and tossing it out of the way somewhere.
Van’s eyes trail up Fran’s body. His mouth waters as his gaze traces up over Fran’s hipbones, his stomach, his chest— before finally lingering on Fran’s face. His head hangs back slightly, eyes pressed shut, jaw slack as his chest rises and falls in ragged gasps. Van squeezes his chest and he cries out beautifully.
He drinks in the sight. He savors it.
He knows Fran— he loves Fran. He loves that he’s gentle, he’s kind, he’s generous. He loves that he flusters so easily, the adorable way he stammers when Van Helsing whispers sweet nothings in his ear. He loves the way Fran likes to pamper him whenever they fuck, the earnestness with which he says that it makes me happy when you’re happy, Van—
This is not that Fran. This Fran is desperate, demanding, unabashed. This Fran moans free and loud and without a hint of shame.
It’s a new side of him.
And Van Helsing loves this Fran too.
He leans in, pressing a kiss to Fran’s collarbone. Hands on Fran’s hips, he guides him to sit up on his knees so he can straddle Van’s lap a little taller. Fran makes a frustrated noise as he loses the friction of Van’s thigh, but obliges—knee pressing into the couch dangerously close to Van’s crotch as he shifts his weight on to it.
Van wastes no time pressing a kiss into the crook of his neck, nipping at it softly. He leaves a trail of kisses down until he gets to his nipple, dragging his tongue over it before taking it in his teeth. Fran twitches. He stammers Van Helsing’s name like a prayer, like a lifeline, petting his hair with trembling fingers.
With a pop, Van lets go, and Fran’s prayers trail off into breathing hard. His hand stills, cradles Van Helsing’s head close to him. Van gives him a moment to catch his breath.
He drags his hand feather-light down Fran’s ribs, his stomach, his hips— before hooking two fingers in his waistband and tugging.
“Get your pants off. Unless you plan to get off like that…?” Van says, though he couldn’t deny that the thought had a certain appeal. From the way Fran shudders at his words, it would seem the alchemist thinks so too.
Still, Fran does stand up, slowly pulling himself away from Van’s lap. Van watches him closely, hand hovering an inch above his hip, ready to steady him if he stumbles. Fran’s hands shake, fumbling with the top button of his slacks— It takes him several seconds and a curse under his breath to undo the simple clasp. When he finally gets it, he tugs his zipper down eagerly, stepping out of his pants and kicking them off to wherever his sweater had gone.
Van lets his hands trail around Fran’s hips to his ass, watching his bulge twitch in response.
And oh, Fran is desperate. It’s obvious, even through his underwear— a prominent spot of precum around the head of his twitching dick. Van squeezes his ass again, watching his cock jump in response.
“Van…” Fran whines. He tugs at Van Helsing’s hair with gentle urgency.
Van Helsing hums a low note of acknowledgement.
“When you get those off, sit down on the bed.” he says, drawing his hands away. Fran’s hand lingers on his hair, so he softly adds “I don’t want you to fall over” as he loosens his tie. With this, Fran makes a small noise of assent, peeling off his very last layer.
As Van thought, he’s already dribbling.
His hands reach out to Van again.
“Sit.” Van Helsing reminds him.
“R-right…” Fran blinks. He takes a couple of steps back before he can forget again, sitting down on the edge of the bed. His hands grip the sheets, wanting, while he watches Van pull off his tie.
Van feels his gaze burning over him as he disrobes, hears the hitch in his breath as Van unbuttons his shirt. He takes his time sliding it off—letting it slip slowly down over his biceps, pooling at his elbows for a moment before he shrugs out of it completely. If Fran wants a show, he’ll give Fran a show—and from the way he stares at him, mouth agape, hips absentmindedly rocking slightly upwards into nothing—Fran likes the show.
Van takes his time undoing his belt, drawing out the sound of leather dragging across the metal buckle. Fran swallows hard as he starts unbuttoning his pants. By the time he’s set his clothes and glasses on the nightstand, Fran looks about ready to pin him to the bed. Or at least try to.
His hands shoot out to grab Van’s the second he’s within range, tugging him forward.
Van Helsing obliges, letting Fran lead him to laying down on the bed.
As he expected, Fran rolls on top of him the second he gets the chance, lacing their fingers together and kissing him over and over and over— his mouth, his cheekbones, his forehead, his jaw. When he gets to Van’s throat, he drags his teeth along it, softly nipping at the sensitive flesh.
Van feels a tremor run up his spine as Fran sucks a hickey into him, and then another— until Fran pulls away from his neck with a wet pop.
“Can I fuck you—?” Fran breathes heavy in Van’s ear, pressing a kiss just beside it.
“You don’t have the patience for that right now.” Van tells him, as if he has patience for that much prep either.
“Mmgh— yeah, you’re right— sorry—” Fran says, grinding down onto Van’s thigh again, leaving a slick trail of precum.
“Don’t apologize.” Van says. He pulls Fran into another needy kiss before he can do it again.
Penetration might not be an option, but Van Helsing has plenty of other ideas.
He pulls one hand free, reaching down to grab Fran’s dick. Fran reacts like he’s been shocked as Van circles his fingers around the shaft. He runs his thumb over the head and Fran bucks, fucking into Van Helsing’s hand.
Van leads him like this, guiding him down to his own cock. Fran’s hips stutter with a soft please— as Van loosens his grip on him, only to roll deliciously in when Van Helsing wraps his precum-slick fingers around both of them. Fran makes a guttural noise of approval as starts fucking in earnest, dragging his dick over Van’s again and again and again—
Van lets himself sink into the pleasure, groaning. His other hand—fingers still laced under Fran’s—squeezes, digging his nails in. Fran gasps a small stuttery noise and doubles down.
He frots against him him rougher—harder— until he starts losing his rhythm in the desperation and he suddenly stills, gripping Van’s hand tightly. He rapidly presses a series of sloppy, desperate kisses into Van’s neck.
“Please— please please please—” Fran mutters between each kiss— fast, frantic, close. “Let me suck you off— please—”
“Yes,” Van breathes, hips twitching upward reflexively at the thought. “God, Fran— yes.”
Fran scrambles down to the foot of the bed, sinking onto his knees. Van Helsing moves with him, guided by Fran’s hands tugging urgently on his hips, positioning him just so at the edge. Fran leans into him, pressing hungry kisses into the crux of Van’s thigh as he takes Van’s cock in his hand and pumps. He drags his tongue over, licking up along the length of it once— twice— three times. And then he takes him into the tight, wet heat of his mouth.
“Fran—” Van Helsing chokes, feeling electric— he pushes his hand through Fran’s bangs roughly, watching him bob. He moves jerkily, unsteady, the hand working over Van’s shaft out-of-synch with the rhythm of his mouth. It doesn’t matter. It’s killing Van Helsing all the same.
Fran watches him as he sucks— gaze half-lidded and fluttering as he works Van with one hand and pumps himself with the other. The face he’s making is nothing short of obscene— a rivulet of drool and Van’s pre running down his chin as he stares up at him with eyes pressed almost shut from how much he’s enjoying himself. Van can feel the vibration of Fran moaning in his dick, he can feel his own vocalizations rumbling in his chest. He cards his fingers through Fran’s hair in the way he knows he likes.
Fran’s messy rhythm falters, falling apart quickly— he’s so, so very close, furiously beating his own dick as he stares pleadingly up at Van. Do you like it? Do you? Do you? Do you?
Van flicks his wrist and tugs, and Fran unravels.
He pulls away from Van’s cock with a strangled cry of release, spilling into his own hand. Van tugs on his hair again as Fran pumps himself through his orgasm. He’s trembling, gasping, shuddering— making noises that can only be described as utterly obscene.
It’s gorgeous—he’s gorgeous— Van feels dizzy, breathless, static in his brain as he brings his free hand to his dick to chase his own release, staring at Fran’s blissed out face kneeling beneath him— he tugs at Fran’s hair again and he cries so beautifully, looking up at Van with such a grateful, loving gaze— and—
Van comes undone. His body convulses, hips bucking up involuntarily as he rides the wave of it, his cum hot and slick where it spurts into his own hand. He gives himself a few final pumps as the intensity ebbs, and lets himself fall back onto the bed.
He lays there, catching his breath, allowing himself to linger in the afterglow for a long, long moment. His consciousness is fuzzy around the edges, saturated with bliss in his post-orgasmic haze. He floats. He breathes. He would very much like to keep laying there, soaking in the feeling, but the fact is that Fran’s still intoxicated, and he’s still on the floor. Van Helsing feels Fran lean into his leg as he comes down from his own little death, pressing his cheek into Van Helsing’s knee.
Van pulls himself up to sitting. He opens his mouth to say something, but immediately loses his train of thought when he sees Fran’s euphoric face.
“Holy shit, Fran.”
He’s… pretty sure that wasn’t what he was trying to say. But it’s what comes out.
“Was it good?” Fran hums happily, pressing a sleepy kiss into the side of Van’s knee.
“Yeah. You did good.” is all Van can think to say. After a moment, he adds “Better than good.”
“I’m happy then.” Fran hums, pressing another two kisses into Van’s thigh, trailing slowly up towards his groin. Instead of letting him crawl his way up, Van reaches down for him, hooking his hands under Fran’s arms. He guides him up to the bed with a gentle pull.
Fran follows him easily, happily. He flops down beside Van with a breathy laugh, curling in towards him immediately.
“How are you feeling?” Van asks, as his brain finally remembers what he originally wanted to say.
“Good— great. Really great. I’m happy.”
“And your head? Are you still feeling out of it?”
Fran takes a moment to think about it, eyes fluttering open in consideration. It’s answer enough for Van Helsing, but he says nothing as he waits for Fran to finish his train of thought.
“Mm… yeah. I think so. I still feel fuzzy.” Fran laughs sheepishly. “Whoops.”
“Great.” Van Helsing huffs. “Not that I didn’t enjoy this. I did. But we need to get you back to normal soon.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’ll wear off eventually.” Fran says, unbothered. He nuzzles into Van Helsing’s collarbone, pressing a kiss and a sleepy nibble to it. “I’d have to look at my lab book, but it probably won’t last more than a few hours…? I think?”
“A few hours meaning…?” Van asks, fingers carding through Fran’s hair absentmindedly. The alchemist hums under his touch.
“Not sure. But probably enough time for a round two, if you’re up to it. Maybe more.” Fran says with an audible smile.
Van Helsing sighs. Good Lord, Fran.
Though. He can’t deny his heart skips a beat at the idea.
“Drink your water first.”