Chapter Twenty-One

Hank

Now

So, apparently, he had a friend-with-benefits now. At least, that’s what the young folks called it, right? Because that was basically what they’d been reduced to, going at it all weekend since that first time in the kitchen. They’d been fucking, plain and simple, like animals. And it slowly dawned on Hank that he’d never done that before. Fornicated like Pastor Midlake would probably refer to it during his Sunday sermons. Sure, he’d had sex before. Lots of it. But what he’d had with Eugene had been gentle. A tender exchange of caresses and murmured endearments ending in post-orgasmic affirmations of mine and yours. It had been love-making because they’d been in love.

What he experienced with Finn was something else entirely. It was impulsive and rough. Sweaty and rushed. Hardly any words exchanged between them during the act itself. Moments later, after their clothes had been adjusted and their labored breathing had normalized, they would just go on with their day as if nothing had happened.

“You want another cup of coffee, Finn?”

“Sure. Thanks, Hank.”

“So, tell me about those whales. I never saw one.”

“You never saw one? Never?”

“Kid, not everyone has seen a whale. It would mean I’d have to go to the ocean, right?”

“You’ve never been to the ocean either? Jesus, Hank, you really are a small-town boy, aren’t you?”

“Never claimed to be anythin’ else, did I now?”

“Okay, so the gray whale…”

Their comfortable conversation and banter back and forth would flow easily until one look— that look —from his house guest would result in another round of famished kisses leading to hurried groping and finally an inelegant pounding. Nasty noises and lust-induced sounds. Like a race almost in who could beat the other towards that bliss-inducing finish line. How they could just go about their individual tasks afterward, talking like civil human beings, blew Hank’s mind. Like they hadn’t just devoured each other like feral animals against the kitchen counter or in the mudroom, Finn clinging to those ridiculous duck hangers, while Hank stole another orgasm from his insatiable hole. A few hours here and there, Rod asking Da Ya Think I’m Sexy? from the radio, where he felt almost normal, no trace of that all-consuming need. Just back to being the good old Hank again, tightening a screw, checking the brakes, and doing an oil check. Until it would strike again, Finn popping his head into the shop, asking some random mundane question like, ‘Do we have more canned tomatoes?’ or ‘Do you wanna watch that WWI documentary later?’ Then it would spring back to life, that internal hunger, from that one look or innocent tilt of the chin.

So, yeah, he guessed that the term friends-with-benefits was kind of fitting. At least, it had a more mature and less vulgar ring to it. And it was true. Because they had, in fact, become friends. Perhaps the best friend he’d had in ages. He was starting to notice small things about himself that had either gone unnoticed before or that were brand new. He would laugh more, joking around with Finn in a way that reminded him of Walter and him when they were kids. During their long afternoon walks in the woods before darkness wrapped everything in a black blanket, they would talk about everything and nothing in particular. And Finn was changing, too, sharing more about himself and his past, personal pieces of the puzzle, asking Hank questions in return.

Like right now, as he was sitting facing the creek, his back resting against the trunk of a massive pine tree, looking at Hank in that knowing way, like they were old friends. Like they went way, way back and had just recently reconnected, picking up exactly where they’d left off decades ago.

“So, it was because of Eugene that you and Walter fell out, wasn’t it?” Finn squinted pensively at the tops of the trees. Hank would bet his old hat that he was probably looking for those damn birds again, those mourning doves. But they would be difficult to hear over the continuous rush of the creek. Some days, it sounded like a rolling thunderstorm or a ravenous beast, so loud that all other noises were swallowed up and there was only the rush, rush, rush of the water left inside your head.

“I guess you could say so, although, in many ways, we were always very different. It just became clearer as we grew older, the gap too wide to bridge when I met Eugene.” It felt natural to meet Finn’s questions with raw honesty now that he knew that Finn, too, had experienced loss. Of course, he didn’t know the nature of Finn’s loss, but it had to be life-altering if he was to go by how Finn had reacted a few nights ago. The ugliness that he’d shown Hank was humbling, to say the least, pushing at Hank’s notion that his own suffering was unique and unparalleled. And perhaps sharing body fluids had helped, too, in creating vulnerability and trust between them. Hank winced at the thought of how many times he’d come inside Finn already. The filthiness of their exchanges. He’d only ever had unprotected sex with Eugene, and yet, as ridiculous as it might be, he trusted Finn blindly and Finn seemed to return that sentiment. Trust.

“And you never saw him again?” There was a wistful undertone to his voice, and it wasn’t the first time that Hank felt the urge to ask Finn about Cara in return. He’d long suspected that what had happened between Finn and his sister was the cause of his restless cross-country journey for the past eight years. And yet, something kept him from asking, afraid that he would cross a line that couldn’t be uncrossed. An act that would result in Finn withdrawing or disappearing from his life altogether. A thought that left him sick to his stomach, losing this friendship he’d just gained.

“Well, I saw him around town, of course, but he mostly kept to himself. Especially when his wife Amy, Colton’s mother, died the following year. He pretty much became a recluse after that.”

“That’s really sad,” Finn murmured. Yeah, it had been. Really sad. It was sad when people were hurting, and they wouldn’t let you in and allow you to share their pain. At one point, it had been like that with Colton, his nephew, close to walking in his father’s footsteps, turning away from the world, suffering in silence. Luckily, he hadn’t. He’d fought his way out of that pit and Hank was damn proud of—even humbled by—him for it.

“Yeah, I guess it is. Never really thought about it like that before. I was just pissed off for a long time after that. And after a while, I stopped caring and focused on my life with Eugene.” Because he had, hadn’t he? Eugene had been everything, his days beginning and ending with him, everything else just footnotes, really.

“So, when did you reconnect with Colton?” Finn looked down at the ground, picking up a half-eaten cone and twirling it between his fingers. The same fingers that had been grabbing the kitchen counter so tightly that his knuckles had turned white when Hank had fucked him with his fingers this morning.

“When he was discharged from the army. He’s got PTSD, you know. It was worse back when he first got here. He came to stay with me for a while. In your room, actually…” Your room. “Started workin’ with me at the shop. Always been great with engines, that boy. Then he met young Henry, of course, and they shacked up. Best thing to ever happen to that boy, meeting Henry.” At first, he’d been jealous of the two of them. Not because he wanted Henry for himself. Hell no, that kid was too polished and preppy for Hank’s taste. No, he’d been jealous of their world of two where nothing and no one else mattered. It didn’t stick for long, though. It was hard to stay jealous of something that was just so right. In the end, he’d done what the rest of the town had done—just stood back and witnessed their happiness, a stupid-ass grin on his face. Yeah, happiness was contagious. So was love.

“It’s a strange coincidence, isn’t it? That you’re both gay. Don’t you think?” Finn looked up, his brown eyes almost black now as the sun retreated behind the tree line.

“I guess you could say so. Then again, I’m not sure Colton considers himself one way or the other. He was never much of a relationship kinda guy, I think. Not until he met Henry.”

“Hmmm…” Finn brushed a hand through his hair in a poor attempt at flattening it. The frost in the air had made it frizzy and electric these past few days, leaving it in a permanent state of disarray. Probably didn’t do him any favors that Hank had made a habit out of grabbing it roughly during their extra-friendship activities.

“What hmmm?”

“I think I realized I was bi when I was in high school. I had a girlfriend, and she was cute and sweet, but I always ended up checking out the other jocks in the locker room, admiring their lean bodies, wondering how they’d feel.”

“You were a jock?” Hank couldn’t help the surprised snort that slipped from his mouth.

“Yeah, why?” Finn stretched his long, toned legs out in front of him on the ground. The snow had disappeared as quickly as it had hit them, the lingering frost a reminder, though, that winter was still only just starting.

“Nothin’. Just didn’t figure you as a jock, is all.” Hank brushed at his beard, hiding a smirk behind his hand.

“What’s that supposed to mean? I ran track,” Finn countered.

“Track?” Hank laughed, unable to contain himself any longer. “Yeah, you’re a regular jock, alright.”

“Shut up, old man,” Finn spat, his eyes fiery, challenging. Jesus, he loved it when Finn got all fired up like that, the crazy-ass Hun coming out to play.

“Yeah, yeah, kid, easy now.” Hank shook his head, the aftermath of his laughter lingering in his chest like a deep, warm rumble.

“I was the best in the 800m in Lane County two years in a row, just so you know.” Finn pouted, throwing the cone at Hank and hitting him square in the forehead.

“You little shit!” Hank blurted, scrambling to his feet and closing the gap between them. Lunging at Finn, who in return squeaked while attempting to crawl backward on his hands and feet like a hermit crab, Hank grabbed his left boot around the ankle and hauled Finn towards him. “You’re gonna get it now, you damn hellion.”

“Let go of me, you brute,” Finn laughed breathlessly, struggling to break free from Hank’s solid grasp. “Get your hands off me!”

“Why?” Hank panted, equally out of breath. He was getting too old for this shit. “I thought you liked my hands on ya. At least, that’s what it sounded like this mornin’. ‘ Please, Hank. Please.’” He imitated Finn’s pleading voice, although he couldn’t get it exactly right, the breathy little gasps clinging to each syllable, evading him now.

“That’s not what I sound like!” Finn protested, his legs still kicking, his hips wiggling wildly. “You missed the last part, you old man. Your hearing was probably failing you.” Finn was half-laughing now, half-growling, and it was just too damn adorable, his cheeks flushed a deep cherry red, eyes wild and wanton.

“Oh, yeah?” Hank asked, grabbing Finn’s junk behind his worn jeans. “Could’ve fooled me,” he winked, rubbing the palm of his hand roughly against the thick outline of Finn’s hard-on. “What did you say then? Tell me!”

“I said…” Finn squirmed beneath him, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead in his now half-hearted attempt to break free from Hank’s forceful grip. “‘ Please, Hank. Please, get off me !’”

“You sure?” Hank started tearing at the zipper impatiently, an equally impatient moan spilling from Finn’s lips. “You sure it wasn’t ‘ Please, Hank. Please get me off ?’” Tugging determinedly at the hem of Finn’s jeans, he held him in a tight hold by the hip with his other hand. They were both worked up by now, Finn’s pelvis vibrating beneath him, Hank’s own pants feeling like an unwanted second skin he just wanted to shed.

Tearing the jeans down Finn’s shivering thighs, Hank smirked at the sight in front of him.

“No briefs?” He raised an eyebrow knowingly. “Ain’t it a little cold for that?” Shit, it was cold. Too damn cold for naked outdoor activities, but Hank couldn’t seem to care.

“ Someone forgot to do the laundry,” Finn quipped, his naked cock twitching, precum leaking from the slit, the curly blond hair at the base of his cock already damp, a heady smell wafting towards Hank. Two fat thumb imprints— his thumbs —decorated Finn’s pale skin just where his thigh ended and his groin began. The deep violet looked obscene against the paper-white skin, the contrast so loud that Hank felt a possessive groan build inside his chest. A groan he absolutely shouldn’t try to decipher because its meaning could disrupt his life as he knew it, resulting in even more dangerous ideas.

“ Someone kept getting interrupted,” Hank gritted, grabbing Finn’s balls mercilessly, squeezing them tightly in his fist. The blush across Finn’s cheeks deepened, his eyes glistening with intoxication, his tongue peeking out, licking hungrily at his bottom lip.

“Please, Hank,” he moaned, his hips struggling to create friction, the angry-red cockhead slapping against his stomach, his happy trail glistening, short strands all golden and delectable.

“Please, what?”

“Hank!”

“Say it!” he demanded, not letting Finn off that easily. He’d rather blow in his own pants like a goddamn teenager than let the kid do that.

“Please!” His panicked voice tore through the woods. “Please make me come.”

“That’s a good boy,” Hank praised, his eyes not leaving Finn’s. The moths were back, fluttering in the dim light of the late afternoon, drops— tears —clinging to their muddy-brown wings, giving them a golden hue. Golden. He was, wasn’t he? Golden, as he lay there beneath Hank in all his goddamn gilded glory, his entire body shaking with arousal. “I’ll give you what you need. All you had to do was ask,” he chuckled.

“Fuck you, Hank!” Finn’s eyes shot daggers at him behind his glasses, which were now slightly askew from their struggle. With a quick peck to his lips, Hank slid down Finn’s body and buried his face in the soft musky-smelling hair beneath his belly button. He loved that Finn was extra hairy down here. It stood in striking contrast to his otherwise smooth, hairless chest and pecs. Like walking across a barren field and then suddenly entering the wild woods, engulfed by a whole new world of smells and sensations. Yeah, Finn was like the goddamn wild woods down here. Vast and all-consuming. A man could disappear down here for days, forgetting entirely about time and place, and live in undisturbed bliss.

Tugging at the strands with his teeth, he started pulling his favorite tunes from Finn’s lips. There was the ‘ just a little harder Hank ’ that he’d come to appreciate so much; because Hank had realized he loved being rough. Another thing that he hadn’t known about himself until recently. Then there was, of course, the ‘ get the fuck on with it, old man, and stop avoiding my cock. ’ He sure was an impatient creature, his Finn, always chasing his orgasm, directing Hank exactly how and where he wanted him.

But his favorite—because there was no doubt it was his favorite by now—was the divine sound Finn made when Hank licked his inner thighs, smearing them with his saliva, biting at his skin again and again until the pale complexion was bright red, pink indentations marking Finn all over from Hank’s teeth. It was like a song; a low, unpretentious hum at first, until it slowly grew in confidence and in volume, rising above Hank’s famished slurping sounds. He’d never heard anything like it, so piercing and primal, as if it wasn’t even Finn’s voice anymore but the sum of all beings when they surrendered to their instinctual urges.

When he was done torturing Finn’s thighs, pleased with the pretty pink painting splayed across the pale canvas, he moved to his ass, pushing the back of his thighs as far back as they would go. An embarrassed yelp flew from Finn’s mouth, his cheeks clenching in a dirty version of hide and seek. It was never really a fair fight, though, Hank always finding exactly was he was looking for in the end.

Spreading the two pale globes of flesh with his hands, the calloused surface of his palms stood in sharp contrast to the smoothness of Finn’s delicate skin. The small, puckered hole peeked from behind a layer of downy blond hair and Hank leaned in, blowing at it like one would blow at a dandelion on a summer day. The sensitive skin shook, the tiny muscle clenching and unclenching, whispering its sexy secrets. Leaning further in, Hank buried his face in the tangy-smelling softness, a mix of heady arousal and sweet submission entering his nostrils. As much as he enjoyed fighting the fiery version of Finn, he preferred him like this, all compliant and calm beneath him.

Brushing the tip of his nose against Finn’s crease, he started pulling a wide range of sounds from him. Like a conductor directing his own orchestra, a string of moans and sighs filled the air, Finn occasionally cursing when Hank attempted to breach his hole with his nose or his tongue. He could fucking live down here, his face smeared with their combined scents and juices, the only nourishment he needed. They could be like those symbiotic creatures, and when some biologist found them one day on the bed of the forest, no one would know where Hank ended, and Finn began. Somewhere, through this lust-induced haze, some small voice warned him that these were dangerous thoughts. That he shouldn’t get used to this. But when the taste of Finn’s arousal exploded on his tongue, he just couldn’t seem to give a damn.

“I’m gonna come like this, Hank,” Finn warned, his hands finding their way down to Hank’s hair, tugging at the strands desperately. “I’m gonna come.” He really wanted to fuck Finn, but he really wanted to taste his orgasm on his tongue, too, and swallow it down. In a way, it would then belong to him. This little part of Finn that was so forbidden and elusive, there one moment and gone the next. If Finn came on his tongue, perhaps this feeling would linger a little longer.

“Hank!” The edge of desperation grew as Finn struggled beneath him. Shit, he was just going to take him again later, wasn’t he? Because this was too damn good to pass on, Finn coming hands-free on his tongue. Hands-free . It sounded like he was in freefall. Perhaps he was. Perhaps they both were jumping off the cliff, unaware and uncaring of how deep the waters ran.

“Come for me,” Hank spoke against the vibrating bud. “Come.” And Finn came, trembling and crying out all around him, the sound of his sobs drowning in the trickling creek. Echoing against the trunks of the trees that would be here long after they were gone. Perhaps if you cut down the tree one day and carved it open, it would still be there, that devastatingly beautiful sound.

Lapping at the clenching pucker, Hank swallowed down the part of Finn’s orgasm that wasn’t absorbed by the woods and carried away by the water. Finn’s thighs squeezed around him, cool and soft against his heated skin.

“Hank?” a sob drifted towards him, hands fumbling blindly through his hair.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” he murmured against Finn’s taint, reluctant to let him go, but also aware of the near darkness around them.

“Fuck, Hank… that was so…” Finn shifted beneath him to raise his head, but he’d gone all limp and sated. “That was just so…”

“Yeah, I know, kid. I know.” Pulling away, he scooted up Finn’s body, licking him clean as he mapped him out with his tongue. Dipping the tip of his tongue into every curve and hollow, he swallowed down every last drop, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind across Finn’s stomach and obliques. Afterward, he tugged Finn’s pants back up his legs, covering the bright scarlet marks on his thighs and the saliva-glistening globes of flesh. Getting up on his knees, he winced, a small preview of how his body was going to make him pay for this later.

“You don’t wanna come, too?” Finn squinted at him behind his glasses, his hair messed up, cheeks on fire.

“Na, I’m good. It’s too fucking cold, anyway. Best be gettin’ home.”

“Okay.” Finn licked his bottom lip, taking in the bulge behind Hank’s zipper. Scrambling to his feet, he brushed off the pine needles and damp dirt from his pants. “You can fuck me later, old man,” he chuckled, pushing at Hank’s shoulder with his own.

“Jesus, kid.” Hank shook his head, ruffling his hand through Finn’s hair. “What am I gonna do with you?”

“Oh, I can think of plenty of things,” Finn smirked, pressing a quick kiss to Hank’s temple. “Besides, not a kid, remember?” he said, winking. “All man.” He pounded his chest suggestively in some ridiculous Tarzan imitation.

“All brat, you mean?” Hank groaned, swatting at him, his back complaining too. Shit, he wasn’t cut out for this.