“I was only twenty-one when I first met him. Eugene. I was running the shop with Walter. It was before Amy got sick. Colton must’ve been around five or six,” Hank spoke, his fingers trailing through the sweaty hair at the back of Finn’s neck, his thumb brushing against his earlobe, his gaze resting on the small cluster of freckles behind Finn’s left ear. The dirty blond strands would almost curl now when they were damp, Finn’s hair getting longer each day, reminding Hank that time was moving forward too. It filled him with regret, but he tried to tell himself that he’d known all along that there was an expiration date on their time together. And still, multiple times a day, he would catch himselfmaking plans for spring and summer that included Finn. Like replacing the small bushes that the deer had ravished with new saplings. He would tell Finn about the different types of trees—what kind of insects and birds they were good for. Or they could go through Walter’s old fishing gear hidden away in the attic to see if any of it was still useful—Finn would need it when they went fishing at the creek. Then, he would have to remind himself again that Finn needed to go back to Oregon. Heneededto be with his family. That was only right.
“How old was he?” Finn asked, his voice all drowsy. They were still coming down from their high. Finn had just ridden him into oblivion—his favorite position—riding Hank’s cock like the ground was on fire. To some, it might seem strange that Hank would talk about his dead lover—the love of his life—after just having railed his… his new lover? Was Finn his lover? But Hank had never been one to care much about what people thought of him. Eugene used to say that man-made rules were exactly just that—man-made—and if he, Hank, wanted to talk about Eugene during the aftermath of sex with Finn, then that’s what he would do.
“A few years older. Twenty-three.” At this moment, he saw Eugene so clearly before his eyes. Like he’d looked back then, young, healthy, radiant. It wasn’t the first time that being with Finn reminded him of Eugene. As if Finn somehow had the ability to make Eugene more vivid in his thoughts. It wasn’t specific things. No similar gestures or mannerisms. No particular frown or posture. It was just the sum of all things that was Finn that would somehow, occasionally, come together in a way that would remind him of Eugene.
“You were so young,” Finn chuckled against Hank’s right arm that was currently wrapped around Finn’s neck, his shoulders, back, and ass flush against Hank’s chest, stomach, and hips.
“We were.”
“I bet you were fucking eye candy in your twenties, Hank.” Finn nibbled at the coarse hair coating his arm, tugging at it with his teeth.
“Eye candy?” Hank laughed.
“Yeah. I mean, now you’ve got this whole mature, hot Daddy vibe going on, but I bet back then, you werefiiinetoo.” Finn wiggled his ass against Hank’s softening cock, purring like a kitten that had just licked the final drops of cream from the bowl.
“Fine, huh?” Hank smacked his left hand against the fleshy part of Finn’s left ass cheek, pulling a small hiss from him that reverberated back into his own body.
“Mmm, yes. Fiiine,” he moaned. “Do that again, but don’t stop telling me about him.” Sweet insanity, this wasn’t normal, was it? Spanking Finn while talking about Eugene. Then again… Brushing the palm of his hand against Finn’s flaming skin, soothing it with soft strokes, he asked, “What do you wanna know?”
“Did you know right—fuuuck!—” another loud smack tore through Finn’s question, air bursting from his lips, coasting across Hank’s arm. Tiny beads of sweat broke through the skin across Finn’s forehead as he ground furiously against the couch.
“What was that?” Hank chuckled, savoring the small tremors rippling across Finn’s ass, the last drops of Hank’s cum trickling from his hole, trailing down his thighs. “You’re leaking, sweetheart,” Hank blew into Finn’s ear, pulling another whine from his lips.
“Fuck…” Finn panted as the evidence of Hank’s touch bled across his pale skin, hot pink flowers in full bloom amid winter. It was snowing outside, white on top of white, but in here, it was suddenly summer. “Did you know right away that he was the one for you?” Finn sighed, the pleasure-pain rolling across his body as he rubbed his sticky thighs together, humming contentedly.
“I did. I think we both knew. There was this unspoken feeling of… what’s it called?” Hank searched his mind, the word escaping him.
“Inevitability?” Finn asked, wiggling closer against Hank’s body.
“Yeah. Yeah, I guess that’s the word. Inevitability. It was just… I know it sounds like some stupid Hallmark movie, but I guess you could say it was love at first sight.” It had been, hadn’t it? Insta-love, as the kids called it nowadays. Looking into Eugene’s eyes, the bluest of blue, everything had suddenly made sense. And it had been the same for Eugene. A done deal. The beginning of forever. Or at least thirty-one years together.
“Why was he in Hayley’s? He was from California, right?” It was almost like a kick to the gut, hearing Finn speak that name. Hayley’s. Only locals called it Hayley’s. Not someone just passing through. But even though Finn’s stay had been more than just passing through, it was still not permanent. Couldn’t be. “He was a West Coast kid, just like me, wasn’t he?”
“Yeah, he was from Palo Alto. His father worked in tech, if I recall right. His mother was queen of the country clubs.”
“Oh, yeah?” Finn’s voice came out sleepy, and Hank slammed his hand against his ass again, an edge of warning in his voice, “No falling asleep, kid.”
“I wasn’t,” Finn whined, his butt pushing back against Hank’s hand, chasing the heat. “Go on,” he stammered.
“Eugene had recently dropped out of Stanford Law and was kindapersona non gratain his childhood home. He’d always been a hobby photographer, with a special interest in nature and rural America.”
“Yeah, I saw his photos at the diner. They’re beautiful. ThatWoodsone?”
“Our Wild, Wild Woods,” Hank spoke. “Yeah, he took that from the porch.”
“Yeah, I really like that one.”
“The title is from one of his favorite songs.Wild Wood.By Paul Weller.”
“Never heard of him.” Finn buried a small yawn against Hank’s arm.
“Now, why would ya? You’re just a kid,” Hank teased, pinching Finn’s abused skin.
“Hey! Thirty-six, remember? Not a kid,” he pretended to protest.
“Oh, but it’s okay for you with all the Daddy references, is it now?”
“Obviously. Because they’re true. Facts.”
