“Sure, you can,” Finn laughed. “You’re not just gonna stick it in there. We’ll practice. Practice makes perfect.” He popped thePs, his ass wiggling, hole clenching around Hank’s fingers. “You know, with prep and stuff.”Shit.He was serious.
“Why?” Hank managed to ask. Because how would someone in their right mind want an entire hand up their ass?
“What do you mean,why?”
“Look, kid, if you expect me to put my fist in your ass, I at least wanna know why.”Shit, he couldn’t believe he was having this conversation. That he was even entertaining this idea.
“Because I wanna feel full. So full that everything else goes away. So full that there isn’t room for anything else. No noise.”Well, fuck me.He hadn’t expected this… this rational reasoning. When Finn put it that way, it made sense in some strange way. It did, didn’t it? And he sounded sure that Hank wasn’t going to hurt him…
“Okay,” Hank hummed.
“Okay, what?”
“I guess we can do that sometime,” Hank mumbled. “I mean, if you’re sure I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”
“You won’t.” There wasn’t a single trace of doubt in Finn’s voice. Like it was an unfathomable concept to him—Hank ever hurting him.
“Okay, then.”
“Just like that?” Finn asked, surprised.
“Yeah, why not? I mean, if it matters to you, I don’t see why not.”
“I love when you’re like this,” Finn sighed happily against Hank’s stomach.
“Like what?”
“So…amenable,” Finn blew at the hair dusting Hank’s groin. “Just going along with what I say.”
“Look, kid, I don’t care one way or another. As long as it makes ya happy.”As long as it makes you happy.Shit. Because that was what it came down to, wasn’t it? He just wanted Finn happy and if he could somehow contribute to that, then what did it matter if he was to stick his hand up the kid’s ass?
“Awww, that’s so sweet,” Finn teased. “See? Amenable.” Hank couldn’t help laughing loudly.
“Eugene used to say that a lot, too. About me.Amenable.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Didn’t know what it meant at first. Had to look it up.”
“What, you had Google back then? In theOlden Days?” Finn laughed, biting at Hank’s thigh.
“Shut up, brat.”
“Okay, Daddyyyy.”
Shit.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Finn
Now
“I don’t wanna.” The girl, who couldn’t be more than five or six at the most, looked pleadingly at her mother, her small hands tugging insistently at Mrs. Ingalls’ burgundy winter coat.
‘Please, Aunt Molly. I don’t wanna. I’ll be good. I promise. I’ll be a good boy now.’Funny how, after all these years, he still couldn’t understand what he’d done wrong that day some thirty years ago. What could possibly make a grown woman—who’d been found fit by the state to take care of him—lock him into a dark closet for God knows how long? Maybe it was because Aunt Molly had gotten a new boyfriend that she wanted to impress and there was nothing impressive about ‘a snot-nosed toddlerthat isn’t even my own kid but some throwaway bastard.’Or maybe it was because she had a suspicion that a rowdy—violent—fight would break out later that night once her dealer found out that half the meth she was supposed to sell had disappeared into her own veins. Who knew? As it turned out, it was only the first time out of many that Finn was shooed—sometimes dragged—into that dreaded closet until, at some point, it became his preferred place to be, the outside world just too chaotic to wrap his small child mind around.
“Finn?” Henry looked at him, a patient smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
