The thugs. The way his pulse had spiked so fast it drowned out everything else. The way his legs had gone numb, not from running, but from fear.
His parents had been gone for a short time, and he’d already slipped into something he couldn’t claw his way out of alone. The memory pressed against him like an icy hand.
Maurice moved closer, and Finn’s breath hitched. Not out of fear—out of relief he didn’t want to admit. Maurice’s shadow fell across him, and something inside Finn steadied, like his body recognized safety before his brain did. He wasn’t sure what scared him more: the memory of those men,
or the way Maurice’s presence made that memory feel farther away.
Finn’s gaze dropped to Maurice’s hands—broad, sure, capable. He imagined those hands pulling him out of danger, shielding him, grounding him. The thought made his chest tighten in a different way, warm and aching.
He wanted that.
He wanted him.
But wanting meant trusting and trusting meant stepping into something he wasn’t sure he deserved. A small shiver ran through him, barely noticeable, but Maurice’s eyes caught it anyway. Finn looked away quickly, afraid that if he held Maurice’s gaze too long, everything he was trying to hide would spill out.
He wasn’t sure he could move. Not because he didn’t want to, but because the idea of stepping away from Maurice’s steadiness made his stomach twist.
He stayed still, breathing slowly, trying to quiet the intrusive thought whispering at the back of his mind: You won’t make it alone. He didn’t say it. He didn’t have to. His body already had.
And Maurice, sitting close enough that his warmth radiated off him, seemed to understand more than Finn could put into words.
Finn’s thoughts were broken by Maurice rubbing Finn’s cock through his slacks, then he slipped his hand inside, and sure enough, Finn’s cock grew into Maurice’s hand. “What a beautiful cock.”
“I want to feel yours inside me,” Finn whispered.
“I know you do. Let me play with you first.”
Maurice yanked Finn’s shirt up over his head. He licked Finn’s nipples and playfully tugged on his small gold rings, leaving his nipples hard.
“I love these nipple rings. So sexy.”
“Your tongue makes me hard.”
Maurice pulled down Finn’s slacks and tossed them on the chair with his shirt. Finn’s cock woke up from Maurice touching his sensitive areas. Finn wanted more, more than his touch.
“Black lace underwear? Wow, you really are so hot.”
“Do you like them?”
“On you I do. You’re full of surprises.”
“I want to please you.”
“You already did the day I first saw you.”
“I want you,” Finn whispered.
“I want you too. Do you want to wash your body for me?” Maurice said.
Finn nodded, fully aware of how sweaty he was after the chaos of the Dance Car. His shirt had clung to his back, and the air in the tiny cabin felt too warm, too close. He followed Maurice into the cramped bathroom, the two of them nearly brushing shoulders in the narrow space.
He turned on the shower, letting the water run until steam fogged the mirror. When the temperature settled into something warm and steady, he stepped inside the stall. The water hit his skin in a comforting rush, washing away the heat and noise of the night. He scrubbed quickly, wanting to rinse offthe sweat, the alcohol, the jealousy—everything that had tangled him up.
By the time he finished, the room was thick with steam. He pushed open the shower door, droplets sliding down his arms.
Maurice was already there, waiting with a towel in his hands.
He said nothing at first. He just stepped closer and began drying Finn with slow, careful movements—starting with his shoulders, then his arms, then the back of his neck. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as if he were trying to soothe more than just damp skin.
