Chapter Twenty-Seven

Hank

Now

“I was only twenty-one when I first met him. Eugene. I was running the shop with Walter. It was before Amy got sick. Colton must’ve been around five or six,” Hank spoke, his fingers trailing through the sweaty hair at the back of Finn’s neck, his thumb brushing against his earlobe, his gaze resting on the small cluster of freckles behind Finn’s left ear. The dirty blond strands would almost curl now when they were damp, Finn’s hair getting longer each day, reminding Hank that time was moving forward too. It filled him with regret, but he tried to tell himself that he’d known all along that there was an expiration date on their time together. And still, multiple times a day, he would catch himself making plans for spring and summer that included Finn. Like replacing the small bushes that the deer had ravished with new saplings. He would tell Finn about the different types of trees—what kind of insects and birds they were good for. Or they could go through Walter’s old fishing gear hidden away in the attic to see if any of it was still useful—Finn would need it when they went fishing at the creek. Then, he would have to remind himself again that Finn needed to go back to Oregon. He needed to be with his family. That was only right.

“How old was he?” Finn asked, his voice all drowsy. They were still coming down from their high. Finn had just ridden him into oblivion—his favorite position—riding Hank’s cock like the ground was on fire. To some, it might seem strange that Hank would talk about his dead lover—the love of his life—after just having railed his… his new lover? Was Finn his lover? But Hank had never been one to care much about what people thought of him. Eugene used to say that man-made rules were exactly just that—man-made—and if he, Hank, wanted to talk about Eugene during the aftermath of sex with Finn, then that’s what he would do.

“A few years older. Twenty-three.” At this moment, he saw Eugene so clearly before his eyes. Like he’d looked back then, young, healthy, radiant. It wasn’t the first time that being with Finn reminded him of Eugene. As if Finn somehow had the ability to make Eugene more vivid in his thoughts. It wasn’t specific things. No similar gestures or mannerisms. No particular frown or posture. It was just the sum of all things that was Finn that would somehow, occasionally, come together in a way that would remind him of Eugene.

“You were so young,” Finn chuckled against Hank’s right arm that was currently wrapped around Finn’s neck, his shoulders, back, and ass flush against Hank’s chest, stomach, and hips.

“We were.”

“I bet you were fucking eye candy in your twenties, Hank.” Finn nibbled at the coarse hair coating his arm, tugging at it with his teeth.

“Eye candy?” Hank laughed.

“Yeah. I mean, now you’ve got this whole mature, hot Daddy vibe going on, but I bet back then, you were fiiine too.” Finn wiggled his ass against Hank’s softening cock, purring like a kitten that had just licked the final drops of cream from the bowl.

“Fine, huh?” Hank smacked his left hand against the fleshy part of Finn’s left ass cheek, pulling a small hiss from him that reverberated back into his own body.

“Mmm, yes. Fiiine,” he moaned. “Do that again, but don’t stop telling me about him.” Sweet insanity, this wasn’t normal, was it? Spanking Finn while talking about Eugene. Then again… Brushing the palm of his hand against Finn’s flaming skin, soothing it with soft strokes, he asked, “What do you wanna know?”

“Did you know right— fuuuck! —” another loud smack tore through Finn’s question, air bursting from his lips, coasting across Hank’s arm. Tiny beads of sweat broke through the skin across Finn’s forehead as he ground furiously against the couch.

“What was that?” Hank chuckled, savoring the small tremors rippling across Finn’s ass, the last drops of Hank’s cum trickling from his hole, trailing down his thighs. “You’re leaking, sweetheart,” Hank blew into Finn’s ear, pulling another whine from his lips.

“Fuck…” Finn panted as the evidence of Hank’s touch bled across his pale skin, hot pink flowers in full bloom amid winter. It was snowing outside, white on top of white, but in here, it was suddenly summer. “Did you know right away that he was the one for you?” Finn sighed, the pleasure-pain rolling across his body as he rubbed his sticky thighs together, humming contentedly.

“I did. I think we both knew. There was this unspoken feeling of… what’s it called?” Hank searched his mind, the word escaping him.

“Inevitability?” Finn asked, wiggling closer against Hank’s body.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess that’s the word. Inevitability. It was just… I know it sounds like some stupid Hallmark movie, but I guess you could say it was love at first sight.” It had been, hadn’t it? Insta-love, as the kids called it nowadays. Looking into Eugene’s eyes, the bluest of blue, everything had suddenly made sense. And it had been the same for Eugene. A done deal. The beginning of forever. Or at least thirty-one years together.

“Why was he in Hayley’s? He was from California, right?” It was almost like a kick to the gut, hearing Finn speak that name. Hayley’s. Only locals called it Hayley’s. Not someone just passing through. But even though Finn’s stay had been more than just passing through, it was still not permanent. Couldn’t be. “He was a West Coast kid, just like me, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah, he was from Palo Alto. His father worked in tech, if I recall right. His mother was queen of the country clubs.”

“Oh, yeah?” Finn’s voice came out sleepy, and Hank slammed his hand against his ass again, an edge of warning in his voice, “No falling asleep, kid.”

“I wasn’t,” Finn whined, his butt pushing back against Hank’s hand, chasing the heat. “Go on,” he stammered.

“Eugene had recently dropped out of Stanford Law and was kinda persona non grata in his childhood home. He’d always been a hobby photographer, with a special interest in nature and rural America.”

“Yeah, I saw his photos at the diner. They’re beautiful. That Woods one?”

“ Our Wild, Wild Woods ,” Hank spoke. “Yeah, he took that from the porch.”

“Yeah, I really like that one.”

“The title is from one of his favorite songs. Wild Wood. By Paul Weller.”

“Never heard of him.” Finn buried a small yawn against Hank’s arm.

“Now, why would ya? You’re just a kid,” Hank teased, pinching Finn’s abused skin.

“Hey! Thirty-six, remember? Not a kid,” he pretended to protest.

“Oh, but it’s okay for you with all the Daddy references, is it now?”

“Obviously. Because they’re true. Facts.”

“Are they now?” Hank chuckled against Finn’s neck.

“You know you say now a lot, Hank?”

“I do?” Did he?

“Yeah,” Finn laughed. “Like all the fucking time, Hank.”

“Huh.”

“Tell me more, Daddyyyy ,” the damn brat purred impatiently. That was new. Daddy . Finn had hinted at it occasionally that Hank had a so-called Daddy vibe going on, but it was the first time that Finn actually called him that. Unsure how to feel about it, he sucked in a shallow breath before continuing.

“He’d started working freelance for Footprints . They were doin’ a series of travel guides of North America. He’d come to Nebraska and South Dakota to take photographs of the grasslands. He was headin’ toward Buffalo Gap when his car broke down five miles outside of Hayley’s.”

They’d often talked about it over the years. How lucky they’d been that Eugene’s old Citro?n DS 19 had decided to break down closer to Hayley’s than to Whitney. ‘ Who in their right mind goes on a road trip in a French car?’ Hank had often joked. ‘ Aren’t you glad I did, though?’ Eugene had batted his eyelashes, a pretend pout curling along his lips. ‘ Yeah, sweetheart. Mighty happy.’ Just like he was happy Finn had decided to huddle up in Colton’s shelter, of all places.

“And he just stayed?”

“Yep. Couldn’t get rid of him,” Hank chuckled. “Like someone else I know.” Finn froze in his arms, his limbs suddenly stiff. Alert. “Hey now,” he cooed. “What’s wrong?”

“You’d… You’d tell me if you wanted me to leave. Right, Hank? I mean, before spring.” Jesus.

“Now, why would I want ya gone?” He wrapped his arm around Finn’s waist and turned him around. As he rose, sitting up on the couch, he pulled Finn with him into his lap. Finn avoided his gaze, the moths spreading their wings restlessly across the translucent skin beneath his eyes, teeth worrying his bottom lip. Pinching Finn’s chin between his thumb and index finger, Hank tipped his head up. “Look at me,” he coaxed. “Look at me, kid.” Opening his eyes slowly, Finn blinked up at him, the muddy brown all moist and wary.

“You know I like havin’ you around, right? It ain’t gonna be easy for me to let you go come spring.” Shit , it was the first time that he’d admitted to Finn—hell, to himself even—that he wasn’t looking forward to saying goodbye to Finn. For all he cared, winter could go on forever.

“It won’t?” Finn’s voice trembled, and that hint of uncertainty was back with an edge of… hope.

“’Course not,” Hank smiled, brushing his lips against Finn’s, tasting his sweetness and his sadness, too. Finn nodded slowly, leaning closer, chasing Hank’s lips.

“So, you’re not tired of me yet?” There was a neediness in those seven words that nearly made Hank’s heart burst from his chest. Yet. At that moment, it was the loneliest, saddest word in the English language. An entire world of pain contained in what was hardly a word, more like a sound. Yet.

“Now, will ya stop with that nonsense?” he said. “You’re good company, kid. Besides, where would I find a top-tier cockwarmer like this?” He pushed his thumb inside Finn’s mouth, prying it open, pushing against Finn’s tongue. Finn moaned, sucking it into the wet heat of his mouth, his eyelashes fluttering closed. His hips searched for Hank’s blindly, his length pushing against Hank’s stomach. “Best damn cockwarmer this side of the Missouri River,” Hank gritted against Finn’s ear as he pushed two fat fingers into Finn’s gaping hole. “Best damn hole, too,” he spat.

“Mhhmmm,” Finn protested against Hank’s thumb, his hole on the other hand trying to suck Hank’s entire hand inside if he wasn’t careful.

“What, sweetheart?” Hank hummed. “You tryin’ to tell me somethin’?” Pulling his saliva-covered thumb from Finn’s mouth, he eyed the younger guy, his eyes blinking open, an—offended?—frown on his freckled face.

“Just this side?” Finn pouted, his brown eyes beckoning.

“Hmmm, let me think?”

“Hank!” Finn whined.

“I guess I gotta test it again. You know, bein’ an old man ‘n all. My memory ain’t that good no more,” he winked.

“You’re such an ass,” Finn laughed, slapping his hand halfheartedly at Hank’s chest. “I don’t think I like you anymore,” he pushed out his bottom lip, eyes fiery.

“Awww, you like me just fine, kid.”

“Maybe,” Finn shrugged as he started moving down Hank’s body. “Maybe.”

“One day, I want your entire hand in there,” Finn spoke sleepily, sated, burying his nose against the hair surrounding Hank’s flaccid cock. He’d almost thought Finn had fallen asleep, suckling on his dick, small content moans and sighs sending waves of pleasure through the rest of Hank’s body.

“What?” Hank blurted, pushing his fingers slowly in and out of Finn’s well-fucked hole. He must’ve misheard the kid. His entire hand? He threw a quick glance at his other rough hand, splayed across Finn’s shoulders. Ouch. He couldn’t possibly have meant that.

“Your fist. Inside me.” Finn licked at his balls languidly, pushing insistently against Hank’s fingers buried deep in his hole. So, he hadn’t misheard him.

“Jesus, Finn. I can’t fit my whole hand inside ya. I’ll split you in half, kid.” He winced at the image. As gaping as Finn’s hole was right now, he couldn’t imagine a whole fist going in there.

“Sure, you can,” Finn laughed. “You’re not just gonna stick it in there. We’ll practice. Practice makes perfect.” He popped the Ps , his ass wiggling, hole clenching around Hank’s fingers. “You know, with prep and stuff.” Shit. He was serious.

“Why?” Hank managed to ask. Because how would someone in their right mind want an entire hand up their ass?

“What do you mean, why ?”

“Look, kid, if you expect me to put my fist in your ass, I at least wanna know why.” Shit , he couldn’t believe he was having this conversation. That he was even entertaining this idea.

“Because I wanna feel full. So full that everything else goes away. So full that there isn’t room for anything else. No noise.” Well, fuck me. He hadn’t expected this… this rational reasoning. When Finn put it that way, it made sense in some strange way. It did, didn’t it? And he sounded sure that Hank wasn’t going to hurt him…

“Okay,” Hank hummed.

“Okay, what?”

“I guess we can do that sometime,” Hank mumbled. “I mean, if you’re sure I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

“You won’t.” There wasn’t a single trace of doubt in Finn’s voice. Like it was an unfathomable concept to him—Hank ever hurting him.

“Okay, then.”

“Just like that?” Finn asked, surprised.

“Yeah, why not? I mean, if it matters to you, I don’t see why not.”

“I love when you’re like this,” Finn sighed happily against Hank’s stomach.

“Like what?”

“So… amenable ,” Finn blew at the hair dusting Hank’s groin. “Just going along with what I say.”

“Look, kid, I don’t care one way or another. As long as it makes ya happy.” As long as it makes you happy. Shit. Because that was what it came down to, wasn’t it? He just wanted Finn happy and if he could somehow contribute to that, then what did it matter if he was to stick his hand up the kid’s ass?

“Awww, that’s so sweet,” Finn teased. “See? Amenable.” Hank couldn’t help laughing loudly.

“Eugene used to say that a lot, too. About me. Amenable .”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Didn’t know what it meant at first. Had to look it up.”

“What, you had Google back then? In the Olden Days ?” Finn laughed, biting at Hank’s thigh.

“Shut up, brat.”

“Okay, Daddyyyy.”

Shit.