The dancer noticed. He leaned in close to Finn, murmured something that made Finn’s grin widen. Then he moved to Evan, his mouth near Evan’s ear, his voice low enough that Finn couldn’t hear.
“He’s been looking at you all night. Not at me.”
He stepped back and kept dancing, and the words settled into Evan’s bloodstream alongside the whiskey.
Finn’s hand found Evan’s thigh.
Not tentative. His palm pressed flat against the inside of Evan’s leg, his fingers curling around the muscle, and Evan’s whole body responded at once, his pulse jumping, his cock hardening against his zipper, his hand coming off the couch and landing on top of Finn’s and pressing it harder into his thigh. Finn’s fingers tightened. The dancer was three feet away, stillmoving, and Finn’s hand was on Evan’s thigh and Evan was holding it there.
Finn leaned in. His mouth found the side of Evan’s neck, just below his ear, and his lips moved against the skin. “You okay?”
“No.” Evan’s voice came out rough. “I’m not okay.”
“Good.” Finn’s hand slid higher. His fingers found the ridge of Evan’s cock through his slacks and pressed, a slow drag of pressure from base to tip, and Evan’s breath punched out of him. His hips rocked up into Finn’s hand before he could stop them. The dancer was right there. Three feet away. Still moving. And Finn’s palm was grinding against Evan’s cock through his pants with an unhurried rhythm that matched the bass coming through the walls.
The dancer turned his back to them, giving them the couch. Evan looked at Finn, this twenty-one-year-old with his sleeves rolled up and his hand on Evan’s cock and his mouth an inch from Evan’s jaw, and seventeen years were right there, present, accounted for, and none of it mattered because Finn’s fingers were working his belt open and Evan was letting him.
Evan kissed him.
Not carefully. Not testing. He took Finn’s face in both hands and kissed him on a couch in a strip club while a dancer performed three feet away and the bass shook the walls. Finn made a sound against his mouth, surprised and hungry, and his hand came off Evan’s cock and gripped the front of his shirt and pulled him closer. Evan’s tongue found Finn’s and the taste of whiskey was there and underneath it Finn himself, and Evan lost time.
Finn’s hand went back between Evan’s legs. Got the belt the rest of the way open, got the zipper down, got his hand inside and wrapped around Evan’s cock, skin on skin. Evan groaned into Finn’s mouth and his hips jerked up hard and Finn stroked him once, twice, his grip tight, his thumb swiping across thehead, spreading the wet there. The dancer was still performing. Evan could hear the music and the shift of the dancer’s body, and Finn’s fist was around his cock and his tongue was in Finn’s mouth and he was going to come in a VIP room in a strip club in Ferndale if Finn didn’t stop.
“Finn.” Evan broke the kiss. His breathing was wrecked. “If you don’t stop I’m going to—”
“I know.” Finn squeezed once more, his thumb pressing into the slit, and Evan’s vision went white at the edges. Then Finn pulled his hand out, slowly, his fingers trailing up Evan’s stomach, and brought his hand to his own mouth and licked his thumb clean. Held Evan’s gaze while he did it.
Evan stared at him. His cock was out, hard, leaking against his stomach, the belt undone, and he was sitting on a couch with his pants open in a room with a curtain and a dancer three feet away and Finn Holloway was licking his thumb and the careful part of his brain had not just lost the argument. It had left the building.
He got his belt done. Barely.
Finn’s lips were swollen and his breathing was wrecked and his own cock was straining against his jeans and his hand was still fisted in the front of Evan’s shirt.
“Car,” Finn said. “Now.”
The parking lot was cold, the night air sharp against Evan’s flushed skin. Their breath came visible under the streetlights. Finn was walking too fast, fishing his keys out of his pocket, and Evan followed him to the truck at the far end of the lot, half-hidden by a delivery van.
“You okay?” Finn threw it over his shoulder.
“I have no idea.”
“That’s a yes.”
Finn got the back door open. Evan followed him in.
The door slammed shut and the cold cut to nothing. The back seat was cramped, the cab smelling like hockey tape and the pine air freshener swinging from the rearview. Finn climbed onto his lap before Evan had finished sitting down, his knee pressing into the seat beside Evan’s thigh, his hands bracing on Evan’s shoulders.
“Hi,” Finn said, looking down at him.
“Hi.”
Finn kissed him, slower this time, his mouth tasting like whiskey, his thumb finding the hinge of Evan’s jaw. Evan’s hands found his hips and pulled, and the friction of Finn settling onto him made Evan groan against his mouth. Finn’s cock was hard against Evan’s stomach through the denim, and Evan palmed it, rubbing the heel of his hand against the ridge of it until Finn’s breath broke and his hips stuttered forward.
“Tell me what you want,” Finn said against his lips.
“You. I want you.”
“Specific.” Finn rolled his hips once, a grind that made Evan’s head drop back against the seat. “What do you want me to do?”
