“Fuck you, Hank!” Finn’s eyes shot daggers at him behind his glasses, which were now slightly askew from their struggle. With a quick peck to his lips, Hank slid down Finn’s body and buried his face in the soft musky-smelling hair beneath his belly button. He loved that Finn was extra hairy down here. It stood in striking contrast to his otherwise smooth, hairless chest and pecs. Like walking across a barren field and then suddenly entering the wild woods, engulfed by a whole new world of smells and sensations. Yeah, Finn was like the goddamn wild woods down here. Vast and all-consuming. A man could disappear down here for days, forgetting entirely about time and place, and live in undisturbed bliss.
Tugging at the strands with his teeth, he started pulling his favorite tunes from Finn’s lips. There was the ‘just a little harder Hank’ that he’d come to appreciate so much; because Hank had realized he loved being rough. Another thing that he hadn’t known about himself until recently. Then there was, of course, the ‘get the fuck on with it, old man, and stop avoiding my cock.’He sure was an impatient creature, his Finn, always chasing his orgasm, directing Hank exactly how and where he wanted him.
But his favorite—because there was no doubt it was his favorite by now—was the divine sound Finn made when Hank licked his inner thighs, smearing them with his saliva, biting at his skin again and again until the pale complexion was bright red, pink indentations marking Finn all over from Hank’s teeth. It was like a song; a low, unpretentious hum at first, until it slowly grew in confidence and in volume, rising above Hank’s famished slurping sounds. He’d never heard anything like it, so piercing and primal, as if it wasn’t even Finn’s voice anymore butthe sum of all beings when they surrendered to their instinctual urges.
When he was done torturing Finn’s thighs, pleased with the pretty pink painting splayed across the pale canvas, he moved to his ass, pushing the back of his thighs as far back as they would go. An embarrassed yelp flew from Finn’s mouth, his cheeks clenching in a dirty version of hide and seek. It was never really a fair fight, though, Hank always finding exactly was he was looking for in the end.
Spreading the two pale globes of flesh with his hands, the calloused surface of his palms stood in sharp contrast to the smoothness of Finn’s delicate skin. The small, puckered hole peeked from behind a layer of downy blond hair and Hank leaned in, blowing at it like one would blow at a dandelion on a summer day. The sensitive skin shook, the tiny muscle clenching and unclenching, whispering its sexy secrets. Leaning further in, Hank buried his face in the tangy-smelling softness, a mix of heady arousal and sweet submission entering his nostrils. As much as he enjoyed fighting the fiery version of Finn, he preferred him like this, all compliant and calm beneath him.
Brushing the tip of his nose against Finn’s crease, he started pulling a wide range of sounds from him. Like a conductor directing his own orchestra, a string of moans and sighs filled the air, Finn occasionally cursing when Hank attempted to breach his hole with his nose or his tongue. He could fucking live down here, his face smeared with their combined scents and juices, the only nourishment he needed. They could be like those symbiotic creatures, and when some biologist found them one day on the bed of the forest, no one would know where Hank ended, and Finn began. Somewhere, through this lust-induced haze, some small voice warned him that these were dangerous thoughts. That he shouldn’t get used to this. But when the tasteof Finn’s arousal exploded on his tongue, he just couldn’t seem to give a damn.
“I’m gonna come like this, Hank,” Finn warned, his hands finding their way down to Hank’s hair, tugging at the strands desperately. “I’m gonna come.” He really wanted to fuck Finn, but he really wanted to taste his orgasm on his tongue, too, and swallow it down. In a way, it would then belong to him. This little part of Finn that was so forbidden and elusive, there one moment and gone the next. If Finn came on his tongue, perhaps this feeling would linger a little longer.
“Hank!” The edge of desperation grew as Finn struggled beneath him. Shit, he was just going to take him again later, wasn’t he? Because this was too damn good to pass on, Finn coming hands-free on his tongue.Hands-free. It sounded like he was in freefall. Perhaps he was. Perhaps they both were jumping off the cliff, unaware and uncaring of how deep the waters ran.
“Come for me,” Hank spoke against the vibrating bud. “Come.” And Finn came, trembling and crying out all around him, the sound of his sobs drowning in the trickling creek. Echoing against the trunks of the trees that would be here long after they were gone. Perhaps if you cut down the tree one day and carved it open, it would still be there, that devastatingly beautiful sound.
Lapping at the clenching pucker, Hank swallowed down the part of Finn’s orgasm that wasn’t absorbed by the woods and carried away by the water. Finn’s thighs squeezed around him, cool and soft against his heated skin.
“Hank?” a sob drifted towards him, hands fumbling blindly through his hair.
“I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” he murmured against Finn’s taint, reluctant to let him go, but also aware of the near darkness around them.
“Fuck, Hank… that was so…” Finn shifted beneath him to raise his head, but he’d gone all limp and sated. “That was just so…”
“Yeah, I know, kid. I know.” Pulling away, he scooted up Finn’s body, licking him clean as he mapped him out with his tongue. Dipping the tip of his tongue into every curve and hollow, he swallowed down every last drop, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind across Finn’s stomach and obliques. Afterward, he tugged Finn’s pants back up his legs, covering the bright scarlet marks on his thighs and the saliva-glistening globes of flesh. Getting up on his knees, he winced, a small preview of how his body was going to make him pay for this later.
“You don’t wanna come, too?” Finn squinted at him behind his glasses, his hair messed up, cheeks on fire.
“Na, I’m good. It’s too fucking cold, anyway. Best be gettin’ home.”
“Okay.” Finn licked his bottom lip, taking in the bulge behind Hank’s zipper. Scrambling to his feet, he brushed off the pine needles and damp dirt from his pants. “You can fuck me later, old man,” he chuckled, pushing at Hank’s shoulder with his own.
“Jesus, kid.” Hank shook his head, ruffling his hand through Finn’s hair. “What am I gonna do with you?”
“Oh, I can think of plenty of things,” Finn smirked, pressing a quick kiss to Hank’s temple. “Besides, not a kid, remember?” he said, winking. “All man.” He pounded his chest suggestively in some ridiculous Tarzan imitation.
“All brat, you mean?” Hank groaned, swatting at him, his back complaining too.Shit, he wasn’t cut out for this.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Finn
Now
Thanksgiving.The first year he’d celebrated the all-American holiday away from his family he’d treated himself to a sad truck stop version of the sacred meal, only to puke it up hours later when he’d chased it with a bottle of some no-brand bourbon. The following years he’d avoided any and all holidays that even remotely reminded him of what he’d had and lost. No need to dig himself even deeper into that hole of misery and regret. Some days, he hardly felt human anymore, avoiding everything that made him a member of their so-called superior species. Why not be like a beast instead? They didn’t give a fuck about days, months, and years one way or the other. Their instinctual urgeto survive and reproduce was all that drove them onwards, day after day, year after year. And since Finn had no intention of reproducing anytime soon, if ever, it became survival that his entire world revolved around.
And there was something simple and freeing about that, everything else fading away. No past, no present, just the here and now. If he was hungry, he went looking for food. If he was tired, he slept. It didn’t matter what time of day it was or where exactly he happened to be. There was always a small bridge that he could huddle up under if it was raining, and if the sun was out and the weather mild, he would find a field or clearing and just lie down. When he ran out of money, he went searching for a job. There were always the kind of jobs that didn’t require papers. Where no one asked questions as long as you didn’t ask any in return. As long as you could use your hands and didn’t mind getting a little dirty and working when everyone else was asleep.
Over the years, he’d encountered an entirely different America than the one he’d become used to in Oregon. An America he, of course, knew existed. That he’d been born into, but that he’d been lucky enough to escape. How easy it is to forget how the other half lived when you were no longer part of that half. When your feet were suddenly touching the greener grass, your belly was full, and the yelling retreated. But then they’d been back, the blank faces with the hollow eyes and he’d been just another ghost among them, no name, no past, no purpose.
And now it was Thanksgiving again, and for the first time in eight years, it meant something because he was someone again. He was going somewhere, with someone to go there with. Apparently, it was a tradition that Vernon, the good-natured diner owner, cooked up a storm, and everyone who wanted to or had nowhere else to be was welcome.
“You wanna go?” Hank had asked him last night, Finn’s head resting against his thick warm thigh, the worn denimsoft against his cheek. It had been no easy task to reply, theyesturning into a gurgled noise instead. It was quite a challenge to speak when his mouth was preoccupied elsewhere, his lips stretched, wrapped around Hank’s soft, flaccid cock, cradling it against his tongue. With the bittersweet aftertaste of Hank’s cum pooling in his belly, he’d felt tired suddenly, sated. And somehow, it had seemed impossible to release himself from Hank’s cock. Like his entire life depended on that physical connection with the other man. And Hank hadn’t seemed to mind, one hand brushing through Finn’s sweaty hair absentmindedly, the other resting between Finn’s sticky thighs, two fat fingers buried deep inside Finn’s well-fucked hole.
It struck him with a newfound clarity that things with Hank were different. Fundamentally different. Because Finn had never allowed anyone of his previous sexual partners to touch him like this, usually out the door before the condom came off. He’d never been a cuddler, avoiding intimacy at all costs, following sex. He was a get-your-cock-inside-me-leave-your-load-and-get-the-fuck-lostkinda guy. It wasn’t like him to be this needy, this clingy. Fuck, he’d hardly recognized the succession of sounds spilling from his lips a few minutes earlier when Hank had shifted beneath him, stretching to reach for the remote, and he’d almost—almost—removed his fingers from Finn’s hole. It’d felt like someone had torn off one of his limbs, the emptiness bordering on unbearable.
Hank had just chuckled good-naturedly, restarting the WWI documentary that’d been interrupted for the third night in a row, this time a few minutes into the Battle of the Somme. Pathetically, he’d melted into the couch, Hank’s index finger brushing repeatedly against that sensitive spot inside him, while the French and the British fought the Germans on both sides of the Somme River. Hank had joked that Finn could soon earn a master’s degree in whining with a minor in whimpering, causingFinn to laugh so hard around his cock that he’d nearly choked on it. What a way to go that would’ve been. Death by cockwarming. Yeah, he could think of worse ways to leave this planet.
