Chapter 4 #2
Evan worked him open with slick fingers.
One first, watching it disappear to the knuckle, watching Finn’s spine bow and his breath hitch and hold.
Evan had thought about this. In his office, in his bedroom with the lights off and his hand on himself.
He had thought about what Finn would look like and what Finn would sound like and none of it had prepared him for the reality: Finn’s face turned to the side on the pillow, his lips parted, his eyes half-shut, the flush spreading from his cheeks down his throat to his shoulders.
Two fingers and Finn started rocking onto his hand.
His breathing going ragged, his cock hanging between his legs, a string of precome catching the light as it stretched toward the sheets.
Evan curled his fingers and found the spot that made Finn’s whole frame jolt, and he pressed it again, and again, until Finn was swearing into the pillow and his thighs were trembling and the cotton was damp with sweat where his torso pressed into the mattress.
“More.” Finn’s voice was cracked. “I can take more.”
Three fingers. Evan spread them and Finn groaned, guttural and low, his ass in the air, opening around Evan’s hand.
The smell of him filled the room: warm skin and sweat and clean soap from the shower, and underneath it the sharper musk of sex.
Evan pressed a kiss to the base of his spine and tasted salt.
He could feel Finn’s pulse through his fingertips.
Could feel the way Finn gripped and released, the rhythm of it matching the rough pulls of his breathing.
Evan twisted his wrist and Finn arched from the mattress, his cock jerking between his legs, his fists tearing at the sheets.
The noise that came out of him was barely human.
“I’m ready.” Finn’s voice was wrecked. “Come on.”
“Patience.”
“Patience is over. I’ve been patient since sophomore year.”
Evan pulled his fingers out, slicked himself, and lined up. The head of his cock pressed to Finn’s rim and Evan held there, just the pressure, until Finn groaned and pushed onto him.
“Tell me if—”
“I will. So fuck me already.”
Evan pushed in. Inch by inch, watching himself disappear, and the tight heat of Finn was so intense Evan had to stop halfway just to breathe.
His forehead dropped to the nape of Finn’s neck.
His grip on Finn’s hips was bruising and he stayed there, trembling, buried halfway, while Finn’s frame adjusted around him.
Not just his cock. His lungs, his ribs, the base of his spine, everything lit up at once.
Finn was making small noises into the pillow, not words, just breath and need.
“More,” Finn said. “Give me more.”
Evan gave him more.
He bottomed out in one long thrust and Finn made a filthy, desperate noise that had Evan’s name somewhere in the middle of it.
Evan held there. All the way in, flush to Finn’s ass, his grip shaking, and the weight of it landed on him like a physical thing.
He was inside Finn Holloway. In Finn’s bed.
And every disciplined thing he had ever built was on the other side of a line he was never going to be able to uncross.
He waited for the guilt. For the voice in his head that sounded like his father, or like Laura Rodriguez’s flowchart, or like Section 7.
3 of his employment contract. The voice that was supposed to tell him to stop, to pull out, to get dressed and drive home and pretend he could still be the man who hadn’t done this.
Evan waited for it the way you wait for a punch you know is coming.
It didn’t come. What came instead was Finn pushing back onto him, impatient, greedy, alive, and the noise Finn made when Evan’s hips pressed flush was so raw and undone that Evan’s throat ached with something he wasn’t ready to name.
Then Evan was thrusting. Pulling out and driving in, finding a rhythm while Finn gripped the sheets and rocked into every stroke, asking for harder, faster, more.
The headboard tapped the wall. The sheets twisted under Finn’s fists.
Evan could see himself sliding in and out, slick and flushed, and the sight of it made his cock twitch inside Finn hard enough that Finn gasped and said “fuck, do that again.”
“You feel incredible.” His own voice, ruined and low. “So fucking tight.”
Finn’s face pressed into the pillow, his spine arching, the muscles along it standing out in the lamplight. “Yeah.” Barely there. “Yeah, you too. Don’t stop.”
Evan didn’t stop. He fucked him harder, deeper, one hand leaving Finn’s hip to reach around and wrap around his cock, stroking in time.
Finn was leaking over his fingers, swollen in Evan’s grip, making noises that were going to stay with Evan for weeks.
The pressure built low in his gut, tightening, and he buried his face between Finn’s shoulder blades and breathed him in.
Cedar was gone, replaced by sweat and sex and the raw animal heat of Finn’s skin, and it was better. It was real.
“I’m close.” Finn’s voice cracked. “Evan, I’m—”
“Come for me.”
Finn came, spilling hot over Evan’s fist, his whole frame clenching around Evan’s cock. The clench was too much. Evan buried himself deep and groaned into the curve of Finn’s spine as he came inside him, his hips stuttering through it, both of them shaking.
They stayed like that. Evan draped over Finn’s spine, his lips pressed to the knob of vertebra at the base of Finn’s neck, both of them breathing hard, the sweat cooling between them.
Evan could feel Finn’s heartbeat through his ribs.
Fast and slowing. His own tried to match it.
The headboard had stopped tapping the wall and the room was just the two of them and the distant thump of someone’s music through the shared wall.
Finn laughed. Short and wrecked.
“Holy shit.” His voice was destroyed. “We just did that.”
Evan pulled out and rolled onto his side.
The bed smelled like both of them now, sweat and sex and cum and the cool air coming through the window Finn must have cracked before his shower.
The ceiling fan turned overhead, clicking faintly on every rotation, and Evan stared up at it and catalogued the damage.
His blazer was on the floor by the entrance, fallen when Finn pulled him inside.
His slacks were somewhere in the hallway.
His belt was by the front wall where Finn had dropped to his knees.
The infrastructure of his life, scattered across a twenty-one-year-old’s apartment like debris from something that had detonated.
When Evan finally sat up, his elbows on his knees, his head in his palms, Finn was watching him from the other side of the bed with an expression that was neither expectant nor resigned. Just waiting. Patient. The same patience that had brought them here.
“I should go.”
Finn propped himself up on one elbow. His hair was wrecked, his cheeks flushed, his eyes blown. His chin came up, the same angle it had at the entrance when Evan said this is a mistake the first time.
“Evan.”
“This was—” He stopped.
“If you say this was a mistake, I swear to god.”
“It was.” Evan dragged a hand through his hair. “A spectacular, incredible mistake that I am going to regret in the morning.”
Finn’s chin stayed up. “So that’s it? You fuck me and then you leave?”
“I don’t—” He stopped. Took a breath. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know how to do this.”
Finn said nothing for a long moment. Then he reached over and put his palm on Evan’s chest, right over his heart.
Warm and dry, and Evan’s heartbeat pressed up into it, fast and exposed.
Evan had been touched by this person in every way a body could be touched in the last hour, and this was the thing that made his throat close.
Finn’s palm. Over his heart. Not asking for anything.
Not demanding a promise or an explanation or a plan.
Just resting there, the way you’d rest your hand on something you were afraid might disappear if you let go.
“Hey.” Finn’s voice had gone soft. “I’m not asking you to have all the answers tonight. I’m just asking you not to run.”
Evan looked at him. At the mark on his throat, the flush fading from his cheeks, the steadiness in his eyes that had been there since the first time Finn walked into his office and said you watch me like it was a fact so obvious it didn’t require evidence.
“Stay,” Finn said. “Just tonight. The rest can wait.”
Evan should say no. Should get up, find his clothes, drive home to his clean kitchen and his empty bed and the version of himself that knew how to not do this. He had a very clear list of reasons why.
“Okay,” he said instead. “I’ll stay.”
The line of Finn’s shoulders dropped. He exhaled through his nose and reached over and pulled the sheet up over both of them and pressed into Evan’s side.
Evan let him.
Finn’s arm was across Evan’s chest, his inhales already starting to even out.
His hair was damp at Evan’s shoulder. His knee hooked over Evan’s thigh like his frame had already figured out the geometry, even if neither of them had discussed it.
Evan lay there and felt the weight of him and waited for the panic to arrive, the voice that said get up, get dressed, you have a six AM meeting and this is the worst decision you have ever made.
The voice didn’t come.
Instead, there was Finn beside him and the distant sound of traffic on the street outside, the sheet pulled up to their waists and Finn’s palm flat to Evan’s sternum, fingers curled slightly, like even in sleep he was holding on.
The blazer was on the floor by the entrance, and Evan did not get up to hang it.
For the first time in years, Evan did not want to be anywhere else.