11. Finn
ELEVEN
Finn
“You can do this.” I told my reflection. I’d taken my meds, found my center, drank herbal tea, worked through all the worst-case scenarios, and then dressed as my nerd-fantasy, Thor.
It was movie-Thor, or at least my version of Chris Hemsworth’s Thor, who was staring back at me now, complete with fake hammer, long blond wig that Jimmy-K had weaved into my own hair, and make-up that accentuated my cheekbones.
Or that was what Jimmy-K said the makeup did, and as he reminded me that he was an artist to the stars. He’d made me look good in all three Rapid films, so I had to trust him. He’d just left, after assuring me that naked chest was a good look on me, and that I’d be pushing people away with a stick.
Or a hammer.
The man had jokes.
I swear there should have been more to this outfit—Chris Hemsworth had a black bodysuit under the swirling cape, whereas all I had were snug dark pants along with bare chest?
I guess I should have been thankful that at least the groin was covered with this leather flap thing, because otherwise people would be able to tell which way I dressed.
“I’m sure Hemsworth wasn’t naked from the waist up,” I pointed out to my reflection, and readjusted the cloak over the bondage-like leather harness that was all I had to cover any of my front and sides.
Thankfully, the cloak was big, and I could pull it around myself, but I was second-guessing going to this party dressed like this.
Only, Cameron had said Viking chic, and this was my best interpretation, and with me being similar in size and build to the Thor actor, it should work out okay.
“People will look at you and see a poor second to Chris freaking Hemsworth,” I muttered. “Maybe I shouldn’t go as Thor.” Hell, I was second-guessing going at all.
“Fuck you!” I snapped at my indecisive self, wishing I could muster up some impulsive confidence to carry me through this.
Instead, I was a bundle of nerves at meeting the entire Storm hockey team.
Or at least whoever of the team was left in LA right now, and wondering if maybe—hopefully—this might be the start of something real with Cameron.
As real as it could ever be when I’m in the fucking closet.
“Suck it up, Kerrigan!” I warned, then practiced smiling and giving the hammer a few swings. Jimmy-K had smeared some kind of shimmery oil on me, and god, way to look like an idiot.
The buzzer sounded for the gate, and I headed to one of the house screens and buzzed in Cameron, who was coming to pick me up.
He was driving a convertible; the camera angle was bad, but he pulled on fake Viking horns as he clambered out and walked up the steps to the door.
I should have gone downstairs and let him in, but instead I wavered.
He was dressed in simple black, no cloak, no bare chest, whereas I’d called in makeup and wardrobe.
Fuck my life. Why am I so extra?
Maybe if I didn’t go down, he’d leave after a while, and I wouldn’t have my Thor-persona seen by anyone at all.
He knocked, and I knew he expected me to be there, but as usual, my brain decided to ramble and mess things up, and instead of being down there like a sensible buddy, I was up here staring at a mirror. I grabbed my phone and sent him a quick message.
Have to cancel. Sorry.
He didn’t reply, but he didn’t knock again, and his car was still there. What was he doing? Sitting on the porch waiting for me? I rolled my eyes at half naked me and placed the hammer with great care on my vanity.
I heard footsteps, a door opening and closing, and knew he’d let himself in.
I really should go downstairs.
“Holy fucking Gretzky, and hell, no!” Cameron exclaimed from my bathroom door, causing me to lose at least three lives as I spun to face him, my scarlet cloak billowing around me and my hand on my chest right over my heart.
I smoothed the cloak. “Cameron!”
“No way am I letting you go to the party looking like that!” He turned to leave the bathroom, and I didn’t follow him, my heart sinking. I’d seen that look before, when I’d fucked up with something that seemed fine at the time of doing it. Awkward Finn is awkward.
“I’m sorry!” I called after him.
Fuck, I’d had so many years with people dressing me for parts I’d never even thought that—
“You need to put this on! Stat.” Cameron returned, and I got a real eyeful of the sexiest Viking I’d ever seen.
Of course, I hadn’t seen many Vikings at all, apart from on the silver screen, but Cameron -- in his tight black shirt and hip-hugging pants, with his stubble and god, was that eyeliner?
-- was a walking advertisement for sex. He held out a black T-shirt, but as I reached for it, he cursed under his breath, dropped it to the floor, and tugged me into his arms, then kissed me, pushing me back into the vanity and pinning me as he went to his knees.
“I’ve never seen anything like you…” He unzipped my pants and eased them over my hips.
“I didn’t fuck up?” I asked him as he yanked at the leather as it stuck to my skin, and inhaled sharply when he tugged aside my thong—the only thing keeping my cock in place.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, and cradled my balls as he licked from the base to the tip of my cock.
He kept talking, and praising, and telling me that I was too much for others, and that he wanted me himself, and then, I couldn’t hear him at all as I was moaning and writhing, and when he swallowed me whole, I shoved away the horns and gripped his short dark hair, holding him still so I could get my head straight, then releasing a little as he slid his fingers to my ass, one tapping my hole, his lips and tongue hot.
“Close,” I warned.
He groaned around my cock, and it was game over as he swallowed everything I gave him. I scrabbled to hold on, lost in my orgasm, aware he was still holding me in place, one hand on my chest, the other pulling his cock out, getting himself off as he kissed me.
“Fuck,” he leaned on me where I could feel his hand stripping his cock, and then he was arching and coming, then stumbling away, his back hitting the far wall.
He waited, breathing heavy. I tossed him a towel, which he caught in midair with his mad reflexes. He tucked himself away, but I didn’t move to do the same—it had taken oil to get me in these pants and I wasn’t sure I’d get them up again.
“Hi?” I was saying hello, but it was also a question, and he raised an eyebrow, his breathing ragged.
“Hi?” he repeated. “You’re in here wearing bondage gear and literally nothing else, and that’s all you have to say.”
“It’s not bondage.” I peered at the harness. “At least I don’t think it is.” I swirled my cloak a little, the material brushing my naked ass. “I have this.”
He stalked over to me, kissing me as he unbuckled the harness holding the voluminous mass of scarlet material and let it slip to the floor.
Then, he picked up the T-shirt, taking his time pulling it over my head, careful not to touch the hair, then lifting the mass of twisted blond wig out of the way and smoothing the dark cotton over my chest. He examined the harness, buckled it, clipped the cloak, and stepped back.
I wiped cold cum from my skin then inched up the leather pants until they were at least over my hips.
I was way too sensitive to tuck my cock back in, and I sent him a rueful smile.
“We probably need to wait.”
“You’re so beautiful,” he muttered. He stepped into my space, helping me close the fastener on the pants, smoothing my cloak.
“I don’t want to share with the rest of my team.
” He rested his forehead on mine. “Some of the team would have eaten you alive, not to mention anyone else that got to see all that skin, you should have a warning tattooed on you.”
“Um, thank you?”
“Shit.” He stepped back again, and even though I tried to reach for him, he avoided me as if he were on the ice, smooth and fast and untouchable. “I just went all beast mode on you.”
“Yep.”
“I did that.” He waved at me, then at the hammer, which was now on the floor split in two. “And that.”
“It was great.”
“I don’t get territorial like that,” he half-whispered. “I’m sorry.”
Now it was my turn, and I crowded him against the wall, cupping his groin and pressing there. “Mine,” I muttered against his lips. “All mine.”
He groaned, I sagged, and we were kissing again, but this time it was lazy, changing the tempo, learning the things we liked, taking our time. His cell vibrating pulled us from the stupor of post-orgasm loving, and he pulled it out with a rueful smile as he read the message.
“We’re late,” he said, and kissed me again, slowing the licks and sucks until we just hugged. He was small in my arms, and he wasn’t a small man at all, he was strength and corded muscles, and he was all mine.
For the moment.
“So much for indestructible metal, forged in the heart of a dying star,” he muttered as he picked up the broken hammer where Styrofoam blocks from the interior had fallen out.
“Wait, what?”
He tried to slot the two main pieces together, then gave up and dropped them into the trash can.
“I might have this thing for super heroes,” he admitted with a grin. “And now, when I think of Thor, all I’ll see is you oily and shiny, half naked and wearing leather.”
That deserved another kiss, and I had words I wanted to say on the tip of my tongue.
That I liked superheroes.
And that when he’d sucked me off, it was clear he had a super-tongue.
But how awkward would that make me?
Way too awkward.
The house we pulled up at was an expanse of white, with a landscaped turning circle and probably a million gorgeous cars lined up. Cameron’s low-slung Porsche wasn’t out of place as he parked it next to a stunning scarlet Ferrari, which I stopped to admire after we climbed out.
“Nice.” I let out a low whistle and bent as much as I could in these unforgiving pants to check out the dash and the acres of butter-soft cream leather. “SF90 Spider,” I added and ran a hand gently over the paintwork.
“That’s Prez’s new baby.”
“Prez?”
“Brett Kennedy aka Prez; he’s a buddy, and all we heard two months back was the sad sorry story of how a bird pooped on the seat.
If he corners you, ask him about it. Also, I’m warning you now, Charlie loves his movies, and I know he’s watched the Rapid movies, so I’m sorry in advance if he asks too many questions—”
“I can handle questions,” I interrupted.
He reached for me on instinct, then dropped his hand. “Buddies,” he muttered to remind himself. “No touching.” He leaned toward me, but not so close it would seem odd to anyone who cared to notice. “But I can still taste you on my tongue.”
“You can’t say things like that,” I whined. “My cock likes it too much, and these pants don’t stretch.”
He chuckled, then squared his shoulders as if he was going into battle.
“So, yeah, this is Charlie’s place. He’s like the captain of the cheer team, always optimistic and talking the guys up.
Good guy who loves hosting the big meet-ups, families, kids, the whole team.
His brother is Zeetoo, adopted brothers before you ask, so they don’t look alike—he’s a big Harlequins fan. ”
I stared at him blankly. “Harlequins?”
“Y’know, the LA Harlequins. Football. Funny-shaped balls.”
“Oh, yeah,” I felt foolish because even I had heard of the city’s much lauded football team.
“Oh, and Phillipe is our goalie, and he’s just this insane mess of nonsense at times, and comes off as grumpy, but he’s a teddy bear really and loves talking books.”
I parsed all the data. “Okay so Prez is cars. Zeetoo is a football fan, specifically Harlots.”
“Harlequins.”
“Sorry, Harlequins. Charlie movies. Phillipe is a grumpy teddy bear and likes books. Anyone would think you’re offering me conversation tips.” I was joking, but he regarded me with soft affection.
“I want you to enjoy this, and I thought some of that might help. I want you to meet my friends.” He smiled. “But not in a super creepy this-is-the-guy-I’m-messing-around-with kind of way, just in a…” He shrugged. “You know what I mean. Buddy.”
I wasn’t sure I did. Part of me wanted more than the messing about part and to walk in as something more important to Cameron.
Like a partner, boyfriend, kind of thing.
Go figure.