The next time he kissed his way down his stomach. After that, Hanzo caught himself buried into his shoulder a bit too long. Soon they were meeting most nights, regardless of whether they had scheduled a quick screw. They would just, talk. Reminisce. Share a smoke or a drink. At every step Hanzo knew he should back out, set the boundary again, but god, why bother? Why reset whatever this was they had? He knew why, of course, but the prospect seemed so unappealing.