“Yeah.” Finn was already working at Evan’s belt. “Do you want to stop?”
“No.”
“Then shut up and fuck me.”
Evan’s thumbs found the hollows above Finn’s hipbones. His blazer was on the floor somewhere behind him. His vehicle was in the lot and his phone was in his pocket and every piece of infrastructure that held his life together was somewhere else,and he was here, choosing this. Choosing Finn’s skin under his palms and Finn’s breath on his face and the wreckage that would follow.
Finn dropped to his knees.
Finn didn’t ask. Didn’t wait. He got Evan’s belt open and his slacks down and took him into his throat in one fluid motion, and Evan’s head cracked into the wall. His hand found Finn’s hair and fisted. Finn’s tongue pressed flat along the underside of his cock, and the wet heat of it made Evan’s thighs shake. Finn pulled to the tip, sucked once, then took him deep again, his throat opening, his nose brushing the base. Evan’s hips jerked forward and Finn took it, pressing Evan’s thighs wider apart, his jaw working, spit slicking down to where his fist wrapped around what his lips couldn’t reach.
Then Finn hummed around him and swallowed, and Evan’s vision went white at the edges.
“Finn.” His voice came out raw. “Finn, stop. I’m going to—”
Finn pulled off, looked up at him with spit on his chin and his eyes blown, and smiled. “Bedroom.”
Evan pulled him to his feet and kissed him, tasting himself on Finn’s tongue, salt and musk and the obscenity of it. Finn walked him down the hall without breaking the kiss, steering blind, one palm on Evan’s chest and the other fumbling for the doorframe. They hit the bed and Finn dragged him down.
“Turn around,” Evan said.
Finn rolled onto his stomach and looked over his shoulder with a grin that punched the air out of Evan’s lungs. “You going to fuck me in my own bed?”
“Yes.”
“About time.”
Evan worked him open with slick fingers. One first, watching it disappear to the knuckle, watching Finn’s spine bow and his breath hitch and hold. Evan had thought about this. In his office,in his bedroom with the lights off and his hand on himself. He had thought about what Finn would look like and what Finn would sound like and none of it had prepared him for the reality: Finn’s face turned to the side on the pillow, his lips parted, his eyes half-shut, the flush spreading from his cheeks down his throat to his shoulders.
Two fingers and Finn started rocking onto his hand. His breathing going ragged, his cock hanging between his legs, a string of precome catching the light as it stretched toward the sheets. Evan curled his fingers and found the spot that made Finn’s whole frame jolt, and he pressed it again, and again, until Finn was swearing into the pillow and his thighs were trembling and the cotton was damp with sweat where his torso pressed into the mattress.
“More.” Finn’s voice was cracked. “I can take more.”
Three fingers. Evan spread them and Finn groaned, guttural and low, his ass in the air, opening around Evan’s hand. The smell of him filled the room: warm skin and sweat and clean soap from the shower, and underneath it the sharper musk of sex. Evan pressed a kiss to the base of his spine and tasted salt.
He could feel Finn’s pulse through his fingertips. Could feel the way Finn gripped and released, the rhythm of it matching the rough pulls of his breathing. Evan twisted his wrist and Finn arched from the mattress, his cock jerking between his legs, his fists tearing at the sheets. The noise that came out of him was barely human.
“I’m ready.” Finn’s voice was wrecked. “Come on.”
“Patience.”
“Patience is over. I’ve been patient since sophomore year.”
Evan pulled his fingers out, slicked himself, and lined up. The head of his cock pressed to Finn’s rim and Evan held there, just the pressure, until Finn groaned and pushed onto him.
“Tell me if—”
“I will. So fuck me already.”
Evan pushed in. Inch by inch, watching himself disappear, and the tight heat of Finn was so intense Evan had to stop halfway just to breathe. His forehead dropped to the nape of Finn’s neck. His grip on Finn’s hips was bruising and he stayed there, trembling, buried halfway, while Finn’s frame adjusted around him. Not just his cock. His lungs, his ribs, the base of his spine, everything lit up at once. Finn was making small noises into the pillow, not words, just breath and need.
“More,” Finn said. “Give me more.”
Evan gave him more.
He bottomed out in one long thrust and Finn made a filthy, desperate noise that had Evan’s name somewhere in the middle of it. Evan held there. All the way in, flush to Finn’s ass, his grip shaking, and the weight of it landed on him like a physical thing. He was inside Finn Holloway. In Finn’s bed. And every disciplined thing he had ever built was on the other side of a line he was never going to be able to uncross.
He waited for the guilt. For the voice in his head that sounded like his father, or like Laura Rodriguez’s flowchart, or like Section 7.3 of his employment contract. The voice that was supposed to tell him to stop, to pull out, to get dressed and drive home and pretend he could still be the man who hadn’t done this. Evan waited for it the way you wait for a punch you know is coming.
