“Sure, we can. But it ain’t gonna go away just because you don’t face it. The truth.” Hank took another step towards him, reaching for his hand, tangling their fingers together. He started deflating, the anger slowly dissipating, exhaustion taking over.
“Fuck, Hank,” he chuckled bitterly. “Just because I take your cock from time to time doesn’t mean I have to take your advice, too. I don’t want it. Okay?”
“Okay, kid.” Hank wrapped his other arm around him, pulling him close and tucking his head against his chest. His heart was beating steadily against Finn’s ear,dadum-dadum-dadum. Resting his chin on top of Finn’s head, he blew a warm breath against his hair. “And you take it so damn fine, too…” Hank rasped. And just like that, he was back to being putty in Hank’s hands.
“Hank…” He whispered.
“You’re alright, kid. You’re alright,” he hummed.
“Look, can we just…” Finn spoke against the softness of Hank’s sweater.
“Yeah, of course we can.” Tears pressed behind his eyelids, the cool night air wafting along his neck, making him shiver. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed,” Hank pressed a quick kiss to his temple. “It’s late.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Hank
Now
Three hours of sleep had been something he could get away with in his twenties, but over the years, having to be at the shop early, a good night’s sleep had become something he relied upon. But he hadn’t been able to go to sleep last night after the conversation he’d had with Finn after Thanksgiving dinner. Finn, tossing and turning next to him, hadn’t exactly helped either. Yeah, Finn had slept in his room, in his bed. It wasn’t something that had been voiced between them. Both worn out and talked out, Hank had just pulled Finn after him down the hallway, stripping him down to his boxers and tucking him in beside him.
After what had seemed like hours of Finn wrestling the sheets and battling his inner demons—because it was pretty clear by now that Finn had plenty, perhaps even more than Hank—he’d finally groaned loud enough for Finn to stop.
“Sorry.”
“Come here,” Hank had sighed, wrapping an arm around Finn’s chest, pulling him against him. He was cold, too cold, and his chest shivered, a layer of goosebumps covering his skin. “What do you need?”
Finn had frozen against him, his armor coming back up, and he’d tried to struggle free from Hank’s hold. “Hey, now, not so fast,” Hank had chuckled against his back, Finn attempting to get off the bed.
“I’m keeping you awake,” he’d murmured.
“True. Now answer my question, kid. What do you need?” Pulling Finn’s back flush against his chest, he felt him struggling, wiggling at first, then slowly relaxing and resigning to the fact that Hank wasn’t going to let him run off.
“I don’t know.” There was this familiar lilt to the end of the sentence that had become so typically Finn by now, Hank never really knowing if he was asking or stating something. Almost as if Finn was expecting Hank to tell him what he needed. Perhaps he was.
“Okay. You want me to guess? Is that it?” Hank grumbled against the patch of skin between Finn’s shoulder blades where he knew a small cluster of freckles resembling a flock of birds in flight was splayed across the skin. Finn’s shoulders were broad. Not as broad as his own, but he was solidly built around the shoulders and upper arms, his upper body resembling that of a swimmer’s.
“No.” That goddamn lilt again. Hank couldn’t hold back another chuckle. Finn was just too damn adorable when he was trying to be all difficult, when he truly wasn’t. In fact, he waseasy. Not easy in a push-over kind of way or in a we’ll-just-do-whatever-you-want way. No, he was easy to like even though he would fight you on that one for sure in his usual Finn the Hun kind of way. He was easy to get along with, too. Even when he was moody and moping about, it wouldn’t take much to bring him around, making his face light up with excitement and youthful energy. Like the week before when Tilly had made a new topping—blueberry—for her famous French toast.
“Is it homemade, Til?” He’d pointed eagerly at the board behind the counter featuring this week’s special with the new topping.
“Of course it is, honey,” she’d smiled, patting him fondly, coaxing a shy blush from his cheeks.
“I love blueberries,” he’d near whispered, his voice mellow, wistful, telling tales of times when Finn was perhaps seven or ten, face smeared with blueberry jam, those brown eyes glowing, the morning sun pulling some red from his blond hair.
“Then I’ll fix you a plate. Hank, you want some too?”
“Hank?”Shit.
“Hmmm?”
“Maybe Idoknow what I want.” Finn’s voice was timid, unsure. As if Hank could ever deny him anything. That way he was a lot like Eugene, Hank going all soft and… what was it Eugene always used to say? Amenable? Yeah, that was it.‘You’re always so amenable, my love. I think that’s my favorite thing about you.’
Turning in his grasp, Finn hid his face against Hank’s neck, breathing him in, inhaling deeply, followed by a long shaky sigh. Then his tongue dipped out, licking at the corded neck muscles, teeth just barely grazing the skin. The small hairs at the back of Hank’s neck rose like feeble straws of grass, reaching for the sun, chasing the warmth.
“I love how you taste,” Finn mumbled, licking lower until his tongue found the small hollow between Hank’s collarbones. “All salty and warm and just… just so fucking good.” Involuntarily Hank gasped, the teasing circular movements of Finn’s tongue combined with his moist breath sending shivers through his body, his cock stirring between his thighs, his nipples growing hard and pointy. Achy.
Scooting lower, Finn licked across Hank’s chest and left pec, just barely coasting the nipple, his teeth tugging teasingly at Hank’s chest hair. A groan built in Hank’s chest, a low rumble at first, then erupting into an impatient growl.
