Chapter Twenty-Three

Hank

Now

Three hours of sleep had been something he could get away with in his twenties, but over the years, having to be at the shop early, a good night’s sleep had become something he relied upon. But he hadn’t been able to go to sleep last night after the conversation he’d had with Finn after Thanksgiving dinner. Finn, tossing and turning next to him, hadn’t exactly helped either. Yeah, Finn had slept in his room, in his bed. It wasn’t something that had been voiced between them. Both worn out and talked out, Hank had just pulled Finn after him down the hallway, stripping him down to his boxers and tucking him in beside him.

After what had seemed like hours of Finn wrestling the sheets and battling his inner demons—because it was pretty clear by now that Finn had plenty, perhaps even more than Hank—he’d finally groaned loud enough for Finn to stop.

“Sorry.”

“Come here,” Hank had sighed, wrapping an arm around Finn’s chest, pulling him against him. He was cold, too cold, and his chest shivered, a layer of goosebumps covering his skin. “What do you need?”

Finn had frozen against him, his armor coming back up, and he’d tried to struggle free from Hank’s hold. “Hey, now, not so fast,” Hank had chuckled against his back, Finn attempting to get off the bed.

“I’m keeping you awake,” he’d murmured.

“True. Now answer my question, kid. What do you need?” Pulling Finn’s back flush against his chest, he felt him struggling, wiggling at first, then slowly relaxing and resigning to the fact that Hank wasn’t going to let him run off.

“I don’t know.” There was this familiar lilt to the end of the sentence that had become so typically Finn by now, Hank never really knowing if he was asking or stating something. Almost as if Finn was expecting Hank to tell him what he needed. Perhaps he was.

“Okay. You want me to guess? Is that it?” Hank grumbled against the patch of skin between Finn’s shoulder blades where he knew a small cluster of freckles resembling a flock of birds in flight was splayed across the skin. Finn’s shoulders were broad. Not as broad as his own, but he was solidly built around the shoulders and upper arms, his upper body resembling that of a swimmer’s.

“No.” That goddamn lilt again. Hank couldn’t hold back another chuckle. Finn was just too damn adorable when he was trying to be all difficult, when he truly wasn’t. In fact, he was easy. Not easy in a push-over kind of way or in a we’ll-just-do-whatever-you-want way. No, he was easy to like even though he would fight you on that one for sure in his usual Finn the Hun kind of way. He was easy to get along with, too. Even when he was moody and moping about, it wouldn’t take much to bring him around, making his face light up with excitement and youthful energy. Like the week before when Tilly had made a new topping—blueberry—for her famous French toast.

“Is it homemade, Til?” He’d pointed eagerly at the board behind the counter featuring this week’s special with the new topping.

“Of course it is, honey,” she’d smiled, patting him fondly, coaxing a shy blush from his cheeks.

“I love blueberries,” he’d near whispered, his voice mellow, wistful, telling tales of times when Finn was perhaps seven or ten, face smeared with blueberry jam, those brown eyes glowing, the morning sun pulling some red from his blond hair.

“Then I’ll fix you a plate. Hank, you want some too?”

“Hank?” Shit.

“Hmmm?”

“Maybe I do know what I want.” Finn’s voice was timid, unsure. As if Hank could ever deny him anything. That way he was a lot like Eugene, Hank going all soft and… what was it Eugene always used to say? Amenable? Yeah, that was it. ‘You’re always so amenable, my love. I think that’s my favorite thing about you.’

Turning in his grasp, Finn hid his face against Hank’s neck, breathing him in, inhaling deeply, followed by a long shaky sigh. Then his tongue dipped out, licking at the corded neck muscles, teeth just barely grazing the skin. The small hairs at the back of Hank’s neck rose like feeble straws of grass, reaching for the sun, chasing the warmth.

“I love how you taste,” Finn mumbled, licking lower until his tongue found the small hollow between Hank’s collarbones. “All salty and warm and just… just so fucking good.” Involuntarily Hank gasped, the teasing circular movements of Finn’s tongue combined with his moist breath sending shivers through his body, his cock stirring between his thighs, his nipples growing hard and pointy. Achy.

Scooting lower, Finn licked across Hank’s chest and left pec, just barely coasting the nipple, his teeth tugging teasingly at Hank’s chest hair. A groan built in Hank’s chest, a low rumble at first, then erupting into an impatient growl.

“That’s it, big guy. Let me hear you,” Finn coaxed, and Hank couldn’t help but wonder how they’d gone from Finn being all lost and pliant to Hank now suddenly being the one completely at his mercy. Because he was. He was completely at the younger man’s mercy. Closing his mouth around Hank’s nipple, Finn lapped at it, sucking noisily, small sounds of contentment spilling from his lips and echoing inside Hank’s chest. No one had ever touched Hank like this before, making a meal out of him, worshipping his body like this. When he’d made love to Eugene, Hank had mostly been the assertive one, although it had never been anything like this. Sweet for sure. Loving, absolutely. But never with this hungry undercurrent, threatening to pull him out to sea where his feet could no longer touch the bottom. This feeling of being devoured. Consumed inside and out.

Placing his hand behind Finn’s head, he cradled, nearly smothered him against his chest, Finn riding his thigh in long, lazy movements. With each suck and moan reverberating around his abused nipple, Hank grew harder, his balls resting heavily between his thighs. It almost reached the point where it became torturous—a sweet kind of torture, but still. And Finn must’ve felt it, too, because an outdrawn whine fell from his lips as he released Hank’s nipple.

“Fucking hell,” he panted against Hank’s bruised bud before he laughed breathily. “I guess we found out what I needed.”

“Hmmm, happy to oblige,” Hank chuckled too, his chest tingling. Hell, his entire body buzzing with need. He shortly entertained just flipping Finn around on the bed and ramming himself inside him, fucking him into kingdom come. Then Finn dipped his face back down, trailing his tongue meticulously across Hank’s left pec muscle as if he was drawing a map, tracing a road, or marking a river. Reaching Hank’s armpit, he pushed his arm above his head and buried his face in the generous dusting of hair. Sniffing audibly, Finn rubbed his face back and forth, the tickling sensation sending waves of desire shooting all the way down into Hank’s loins, further along his thighs and legs, until settling in his feet. Squeezing his toes, he let the want settle inside, embracing the sensation of being wanted back.

When he was younger, Hank had often been self-conscious about the thick layer of dark hair covering his chest, spreading further up across his shoulders and neck, leaving his back bare, only to start again at the bottom of his spine and his ass. In the summer, when he’d bathed at the creek with his friends, he’d always compared himself to their lean, mostly hairless bodies with small patches of hair between their pecs and below their belly buttons. There’d been the occasional remark referring to Hank’s body hair, adolescent banter with no malice, yet still, he’d always felt like the odd one out. Now, with the way Finn was so obviously showering those parts of him with attention, he preened inside. It made him feel desired. Although Eugene had used to run his slender fingers through his chest hair, teasing that Hank was his fuzzy bear, it had been nothing compared to the level of adoration that Finn treated his body with. Like Hank’s was deserving of being worshipped, plain and simple.

“Fuck, you smell good, old man,” he moaned, his teeth closing around Hank’s coarse hair, pulling at it. “Such a pretty armpit, you’ve got,” he hummed. “I could live down here, build my own little cabin, and just…” The rest of the sentence drowned in small animal-like purrs as Finn disappeared inside said pit, burying his entire face in there, nuzzling his nose against the small hollow, as deep as he could go. Hank squirmed beneath him, the ticklish sensation spreading across his skin like an army of ants on patrol. His fingers reached for Finn’s hair in a strange battle, not sure if he was trying to push this horny incubus away from him or trying to pull him even closer. In the end, it didn’t matter. He was too engrossed with everything that was Finn, the weight of his body on top of him, grounding him, the feel of his damp skin against his own, gluing them together. Licking lower, Finn mapped out his obliques and his soft belly, giving the belly button some extra attention until it was covered in saliva, dripping down his stomach. A small overspilling lake in the middle of the bushy grasslands.

Without another word, Finn rose on top of him, scooting further down his body, pulling Hank’s boxers with him. His cock sprang free, and with it, a heady, pungent scent filled the air.

“Fuck me,” Finn groaned appreciatively right before he dove in, burying his face in Hank’s pubic hair, sniffing loudly. He had no damn inhibitions, this… this wild thing. The fact that he almost went out of his way to not touch Hank’s twitching cock was just so damn sexy. The way he focused on the wild landscape surrounding his length instead, drawing out the arousal until Hank could no longer feel where he ended, and Finn began.

“Mmm,” he licked at Hank’s balls, sucking first the one into his mouth, laving at it with his tongue, pulling at it hungrily. When he released it from his mouth, drool slipped from his lips too, landing on Hank’s inner thighs. Sucking the other ball into his warm mouth, he continued to grind against the mattress, small whimpers intermingling with sloppy licks. By now, he appeared to be completely in his own little world, pleasuring himself as much as he was pleasuring Hank. It was mesmerizing—especially because Finn’s golden hair was hiding the act itself, leaving it up to Hank’s vivid imagination to envision what he looked like.

When he’d had his fill, he released himself from Hank’s groin, leaning up, cheeks crimson, lips puffy and bruised, glistening with saliva. His brown eyes had taken on a golden hue, hooded and feline. He did look more animal than human at this point, blissed out and otherworldly as he sat there between Hank’s thighs, his chest heaving.

“Place your hands above your head,” he instructed, his voice hoarse and drowsy. Hank immediately did as he was told, a satisfied smile ghosting across Finn’s pink lips. “No touching,” he whispered. Hank nodded, his hands clenched around his pillow. Straddling him slowly, every lean muscle seemed to flex all at once in Finn’s body and Hank couldn’t recall ever having seen anything more beautiful. Not even Eugene. Finn was beautiful in his own right as he sat there, his entire body vibrating with need. Holding his right hand in front of him, he spat into the palm once, then twice. Lifting himself to his knees, he placed his saliva-covered hand around Hank’s cock and covered it carefully, smearing the stickiness from the base to the crown, until it was entirely covered, glistening, the fat ruby red head spilling precum, adding more slick to the mix.

Moving slightly, thighs still straddling Hank, Finn lowered himself down on top of his cock, swallowing it in one go. Sucking in a quick breath, a small frown appeared between his dark-blond brows as he wiggled his ass, adjusting to accommodate Hank’s length. Lips pursed, he closed his eyes, the moths spreading their golden-brown wings across the frail skin beneath them. Tilting his head back, his slender neck bared, he swallowed audibly, a long, outdrawn sigh leaving his lips.

“Shit, Finn, that’s it,” Hank moaned, his fists squeezing the pillow, when it was really Finn’s hips and ass that he wanted to grab. It took everything he had not to do it once Finn started moving up and down his length, excruciatingly slow at first, until he found his rhythm and began riding Hank like it was the sole purpose of his existence. As if he was born to pleasure Hank and ride him into oblivion. Perhaps he was. It sure felt like it. With a focused crinkle across his forehead, his bottom lip sucked into his mouth and his eyes squeezed tight, he bounced up and down on Hank’s cock, his sweet tightness bringing Hank closer to that special place where all thoughts ceased to exist and there was only pleasure.

He was so beautiful, his arousal so absolute, as he rode Hank past that wall of control. His cock slapped against his stomach every time he slammed his ass against Hank’s groin, small cries bursting from his lips every time Hank hit that spot deep inside him. Untouchable. That’s what he was. So consumed with his own pleasure, taking from Hank what he needed, that serene look on his face. In that moment, he was everything and Hank realized then that there was no way out of this thing between them that wouldn’t hurt.

“Hank,” he began chanting, eyes still closed. “Hank, Hank, Hank.” As the final k flowed into a loud guttural groan, Finn’s cock started twitching, strings of white hot cum landing across Hank’s stomach while he continued to ride out his orgasm. It was the most spectacular thing that Hank had ever witnessed, Finn so lovely and peaceful as he came without ever touching himself, Hank’s name on his lips. In an instant, his eyes opened wide just in time for their gazes to connect as Hank spilled inside him, shouting out his own orgasm.

Collapsing on top of him, Finn’s body shivered against his, his warm breath hitting Hank’s neck in small puffs.

“Can I touch you now?” Hank blurted, unable to go another second without wrapping Finn in his arms.

“Mmhmm,” Finn nodded against his chest, his sated and sleepy body heavy on top of Hank’s. It didn’t matter, though. He could easily fall asleep like this, Finn’s solid warm body on top of his, small noises coming from his lips at short intervals. “Thank you, Hank,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

“You’re good, kid,” Hank replied, his voice gruff. “You’re good.” He was about to protest when Finn released himself from his hold, afraid he was headed back to his room so soon. However, he didn’t break their contact as he slid down Hank’s body, licking up their combined juices on the way, until he finally reached his goal. Without another word, he lay his head against Hank’s left thigh, purring contentedly before sucking Hank’s spent cock into his mouth. Quietly suckling it, his breathing evened out, his head growing heavier on top of Hank’s thigh.

Reaching for the comforter next to him, Hank tucked it around Finn’s body, then his own, as he felt sleep pulling at him. He’d never slept like this before, another man buried against his crotch, sucking on his cock like a pacifier. But no matter how much he searched his mind and his soul, at this moment, he couldn’t seem to find anything remotely wrong about it. Only right. So very, very right.