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sean diaz is afloat.
like a helium balloon with it’s string cut, he drifts in and out, phasing between memories sour with time and stained sanguine. his hands ache, his head pulses, and the white light encircling his head makes him look like some kind of angel with a shiny, pale halo, cresting about the shag of his bangs that desperately needed a trim. yeah. angel of weed. that’s fucking hilarious.
‘ i don’t wanna do this. ‘ pried from his idle daydream and fished back into the rock-solid present of now, sean follows the sound with his eyes, finding daniel across the table. he is still small, but there is a weariness in his face sean hadn't noticed before in their.. adventure. the bud of marijuana in his hand is half-trimmed, stems neatly piled for compost, but hugging leaves yet to be flayed from foliage; he was doing a good job for someone who didn't want to. ' i'm bored. ' sean's mouth tenses, wrinkles, makes him look older--makes him look like esteban, when he was overwhelmed with the responsibility of everything they put him through. daniel's brow twitches, and sean thinks it might be guilt.
' dude, ' he murmurs, his voice a sharp whisper as if to avoid the ire of the ever-annoyed big joe, who was currently investigating the screen of his cell phone with murderous intent, ' shhh. we don't have to do this much longer. besides, places get swapped every few shifts, so you're going out in the yard next time. ' at this, daniel seems to be abated, energy returning to his face and hands. he resumes his work with silent enthusiasm, and big joe bites his tongue, for the moment.
finn leans over in his seat, his thin latex gloves barely touched by residues, swishing his trimming scissors in his cleaning cup. sean hadn't asked what that stuff was, if it was just water or something else--it reminded him of the paint cups in art class, leeching out the excess color in order to select anew. ' listen to big bro, little pup. gonna be me and you out there clearing shit up. i could use the company. '
of finn, daniel had the highest of opinions. sometimes, sean wasn't sure why--he had a very particular, often crude sense of humor, enjoyed hitting the pipe with more enthusiasm than sean ever had, and always seemed one bad day away from tagging up the whole place, or burning it down. but, others, sean understood perfectly why daniel enjoyed his company: he had a magnetism, a charisma, that was difficult to deny. even their iron-fisted betters, merrill and big joe, seemed swayed to his persuasions at times. they would extend the work hour, or pull in a reproachful hand at his request, so long as he promised to 'get his shit in order', which sean thinks is finn's greatest fault. he was ever shifting, transfigurant, and this place wasn't meant to hold someone like that. but he needed money. he'd mentioned, once, something about being on his own, how he used to have a family and now he didn't. sean could relate to that. his stare drifts to watch finn at work, mimicking his movements thoughtlessly. finn doesn't pause, no hitches or apprehension in his ministrations; he knows exactly what he's doing, and is at ease with the monotony of cleaning buds. it seemed to sean that someone was always trimming.
' that's because they gotta dry after, dumbass. ' big joe had so kindly informed him on a tired morning, still languishing away on his slender android, tapping aggressively at the translucent screen. ' that's why you idiots have to trim every day. the demand never ends. you trim the buds, we hang them, dry them, and package them into pounds. the idiots who get them distribute them in ounces to potheads and college kids and your dear old granddad, and turn out a higher profit. ' sean wonders where lyla scored the strain they typically indulged in, if it came from some place like this, if it passed through the hands of teenagers and vagrants and travelers and children. he hopes not, but it seems like a futile hope.
daniel is happy that night, alert and alive until the waves of lethargy seize him with greed, and then he's asleep, rolled in his blankets and bag, clutching a stuffed animal sean had won him shortly after they'd left beaver creek. it was a small, fuzzy wolf with a tag attached to it's paw. although it looked more like a husky, he'd presented it to daniel as a dog, who accepted the gift as a memory of the dog he'd lost.
' we'll get another when we're safe, enano. i know that doesn't make up for what happened, but, still. ' daniel had accepted that, too, and hugged sean so tight he swore he could feel the bars of his arms digging through his ribs. ' you sound like dad. ' maybe he did.
sean can hardly believe what just happened.
he imagined his first kiss going a little differently. his first real kiss, anyway--the kiss lyla had encouraged him to give her in preparation for the future, to ‘make sure he had any idea what he was doing with jenn’, didn’t count, not really.
when lyla had kissed him, that slithering feeling hadn’t traced the walls of his stomach and settled in his gut the way it had when finn kissed him. with lyla, it was only a technicality: the movement of lips and teeth, but devoid of any grander feeling. it felt like what it was: practice.
but with finn--
his head and heart were still racing, neither set to hail victorious over the other; the anxious thrum in his chest was only met by the eager dash of thought in his head, slamming into every obstacle sean had carefully constructed since his departure from seattle.
nothing as arbitrary as romance had ever dared to peruse the spectrum of his many thoughts in this time--not until recently. out of the cold, and into the heat, he had recalled finn in the winter market and let his mind take him elsewhere, into the ebb and flow of what ifs.
finn had kissed him--or he had kissed finn? that was no longer a potential, and instead, a reality. he conceded: he wanted to do it again. he wanted to grip his future by the neck like an overzealous steer; he wanted the heat of finn’s face so close to his own.
‘ hey, ‘ sean says, and finn offers him a rhythmic wiggle of the fingers, and a soft laugh.
‘ am i smellin’ peppermint? ‘
so maybe sean had popped one of those hard candies. it hadn’t been to wash out finn’s taste or scent--it had been to bolster his own, perhaps a bit foolishly. sean’s ears fill with blood, heat radiating from nose to earlobe. finn’s wiggling hand boldly goes to the loop of his slacks, dragging him down to his seat: a downed log yet to rot, thick and broad, indicative of a tree that once stood mighty around this area, somewhere. ‘ i--had a candy in my pocket. ‘ sean murmurs, the weight of finn’s grip turning from the eager and encouraging tug of his belt line to fitting loosely in a pocket of space between sean and his hoodie. his fingers ball into the fabric, looking strange and pale in the depth of a deep navy blue-black.
it was covetous, possessive.
sean liked it.
‘ and you didn’t share, sweetie? ‘ that was finn, always full of jokes and laughs. but there was no one else around to partake; hannah and jake were sharing letters at the fire, cassidy tuning a string on her acoustic, daniel seated at penny and ingrids feet. safe in the blanket of this strange, misfit community, and finn was only offering it to him. vivacious. funny. daring.
sean sticks his tongue out in jest, darkened just slightly with staining red dyes and the effort of bathing his mouth in the dissipating sugars and extract. finn’s gaze snaps with an immediacy to his palate. his snort is derisive, but lacks bite; he moves as he means to grab diaz by the exposed appendage, prompting sean to suck that pink muscle back between his teeth. instead, finn’s free hand goes to his cheek, swathing thumbpad over bottom lip to prop sean’s teeth open, and..
to kiss him, of course. again. those soft ministrations evolve, and sean yelps on the press of his tongue sliding between his parted incisors, prodding curiously and taking in the traces of mint. sean’s return is awkward, but tender, full of heart, effort, and finn cant find it in him to complain at evident inexperience.
salivate ropes between them on depart, and sean is the one to clean the mess, embarrassed when he palms at his lip with his sleeve drawn up. finn laughs low and quiet, drawing the tip of his tongue over his streaked lower lip. this only serves to redden sean’s face a deeper shade.
‘ sean? ‘
‘ uh.. yeah? ‘
‘ you .. wanna head with me in my tent with me, baby? ‘
the whites of sean’s eyes look like snow in this light, stricken by the swollen moon. sean was almost sure he was staring--and to avoid making an ass of himself, his gaze quickly diverts. ‘ i---i mean.. you ain’t gotta if you don’t wanna, sweetie. i won’t be mad. won’t change nothin’, not with us.’ the weight of finn’s hand on his shoulder was comforting. as if he could read sean’s mind, finn lifts his open palm to give him a few assuaging pats. ‘ just thought i’d offer.. seeing as you.. y’know.. ain’t done it before. and i like you, and i think you like me. ‘
swallowing his anxieties, sean finally dares to meet finn’s eyes with a steadying exhale. ‘ is that what you want? ‘
‘ sean, i--what i want? ‘
‘ tell me. ‘
‘ i wouldn’t make you-- ‘
‘ thats not what i asked. ‘
finn’s brows raise. in the dark, its hard to tell; they’re shapes on his skin, amorphous, blending into the swooping parts of his hair. sean thinks he might be blushing. the silence seems to last forever, until.. ‘ yes. if thats--what you mean, is that.. do i wanna.. fuck? sweetie, i wanna rock your world. ‘ in the ides of confession, finn’s leaned in close, as if anyone might hear and mock his vulnerability, his voice dropped to combat a whisper. sean reaches for his hand, sinking his fingers into the meat of his palm. ‘ okay. so.. yeah. yes. i--i think i want that, too. ‘
the walk to finn’s tent is the longest walk in sean’s life.
' so.. what are we doing? ‘
‘ huh? ‘
finn’s shirt is already halfway over his head, exposing a soft trail of hair from his belt line to his belly button, a litany of little scars earned over a young life time of stealing and scrapping cars, and a peculiar tattoo that sean couldn’t make out--it frames the area above his hip, beside his stomach. the ink was dark and mottled. finn looks at sean dumbfounded when the cloth comes away, soundlessly pooling in the corner of his tent when he casts it aside.
sean’s hoodie sits balled beside him, his undershirt rucked up. to finn’s surprise, sean’s decides to remove his pants first, his hips tilted at an angle to assist with the process. finn watches him in startled silence, watches the material bundle around his ankles and slip over his bared feet. watches, and yearns.
‘ we gettin’ together, ain’t we, pup? ‘
the lamplight touches sean’s cheeks, makes his skin look soft and resplendent. god. finn could get lost in him--even without the fucking. sean was, without contest, gorgeous.
sean sits up when he’s successfully removed his pants, the offending article folded with a little more care than his wolf hoodie, propped beneath it like a strange pedestal. ‘ unless you gettin’ second thoughts. you just tell me. ‘
‘ no -- yeah -- i mean. no second thoughts. what i mean is--well, its.. its different with guys, right? ‘
‘ uh.. yeah, a little, usually. i mean, some guys, naw, but, yeah, we both got dicks. ‘
‘ so, whose--..? ‘
the pause is filled by sean’s reluctance to name his concern, and finn’s budding realization. here, sean can see when he raises his brows, eliciting a line in his forehead, twitching some scars. he’s trying not to smile, but it hollows the dimples in his cheeks anyway.
‘ ohhh, i see. you’re askin’ whose fuckin’ who. ‘
sean feels like he could die.
before he can respond, finn closes some of the distance, switching from sitting on his knees to hovering carefully over him. his hands fall in place among his space, over his blanket, next to sean’s head. diaz eases into the floor.
‘ don’t worry too much ‘bout it, pretty boy. you’ll get your slice of cake and eat it too. for now, why dont i take the reins? i know a little more than you, and it’ll feel real nice. i promise. we won’t do nothin’ you won’t like. okay? ‘
sean swallows, and his saliva feels as if it’s congealed into a rock with razor edges. he nods in eager tandem with his flurry beat heart, and reaches carefully to dim finn’s camplight. finn offers no complaint, leaning down to press a soft, thoughtless kiss to the space where he thought he might find his pulse, circling to his adam’s apple and beneath it. sean flinches when he feels his hand slip beneath the bunched part of his shirt yet to be discarded. finn spreads his fingers like the legs of a starfish, taking in the planes of sean’s body, brushing the pads across his skin and over thin, sinewy muscle. his nails ghost his flanks, his thumbs trace the curvature of his ribs, then the separation of pectoral muscles, finding the buds of his nipples beneath polyester and cotton.
‘ what are you--’
but sean’s query is dampened by the sensation to follow: circular movements that tilt the bud of nerves, subtle ministrations. sean startles at the jolt of tingling pleasure that spreads through his sternum, almost like a tickle--it doesn’t last nearly long enough before finn retracts to his hindquarters.
sean leans up to inspect.
‘ lift your arms, sexy, lets get this shirt out the way. ‘
so he does. his shirt joins his other removed articles, and the shift of cool air around his bared skin makes him shiver. finn is quick to take note, and quick to alleviate his discomforts. instead of his hands, its his head: sean watches as his nose bumps his chests, watches him press loving little kisses to the apex of his breast bone. his tongue swipes a testing swipe across the flat of one dark nipple, circling the bud as he had before--only, this time, it was hot, wet, more.
sean brings a hand to his mouth to quiet his sounds when he hears just how pathetic they sounded, quick and sharp hitches that reminded him of stuttering. finn either doesn’t notice or allows him his own comforts, interspersing his nibbles and curious licks with attentive kisses, twice leaving trails to find sean’s lips instead. he liked those.
finn stops to spit in his own hand. sean remains ever unclear, until finn wiggles his hand under the elastic of his boxers and palms his dick.
if sean had enjoyed the teasing about his chest, this stops him in his tracks. his breath stammers at the feel of finn’s fingers wrapping carefully around the shaft of his cock, his palm wet and warming. finn’s mouth goes to his throat, suckling marks into his skin that would bruise in the morrow, possessive and thoughtful. his hand slides to the head of sean’s hardening dick, thumb curling over a healthy bud of precum to smear the fluid around the seam of bare glands. his breaths labor to huffs under finn’s dutiful strokes, neither too tight nor too loose, and pleasure sneaks up on him.
pleasure is a ninja with a vendetta. pleasure takes him blind. it bites into his throat and rips it open.
sean’s hips jerk thrice when he comes, spilling hot and white and--still into the cotton of his boxers. finn’s lips curl into a grin, his voice rumbling against sean’s skin as the fluid pearls, dribbling over his knuckles. ‘ god, virgins are so fuckin’ cute. ‘
if he were a little more aware, sean would want to hide. somehow, he is accutely aware this is wrong, that he's supposed to last longer, be more. ‘ i.. i’m.. i.. sorry--- ‘
finn leans up, shakes his head. sean notices the way his belly folds on itself when he’s angled like this, and thinks its cute. ‘ nothin’ to be sorry for. we ain’t done, baby, fuck. you got a lot more for me than that. ‘ finn rises to his knees, and sean notices for the first time the impression of his dick, stiff in his shorts, tenting out the fabric. somehow, that was flattering, powerful: the idea that he could make someone want him, and all that entailed, to such a physical extent. with some effort, finn wriggles out of his shorts, leaving only a pair of boxer-briefs that hugged his thighs and bore the severity of his erection with more prominence than before. sean’s legs tilt instinctively, a knee hiking. he could--
‘ lie back, sweetie. ‘
when finn had retrieved his lube, sean doesnt know, but he sees the silvery bottle uncapped, fingers on one hand coated to the knuckle. with the other, he sneaks to the band of sean’s boxers, and tugs them down his long, spindly legs, casting them aside. he takes a moment to take sean’s nudity in, sighing pleasurably, his unprepared hand dragging over his thigh. ‘ god, you’re fuckin’ beautiful. ‘
sean is sure he’s as red as a tomato. ‘ you’re hotter than i am. ‘ finn smiles dimly. ‘ now, that.. ain’t true. alright, this.. is gonna hurt a bit, baby. but we’ll go slow. it.. it wont hurt too long. ‘
finn unfurls a wet finger, prodding ever so gently at the ring of sean’s entrance. diaz feels roots of anxiety pulse through his belly, but he tries to relax, breathing slowly. the sensation was new, and strange, and terrifying. the pressure of his finger blooms from subtle touches to a searing breach, index finger slipping to the first joint into the depth of his virgin hole. sean hisses around the pain that accompanies it. the sensation of being slowly stretched was.. unpleasant.
it reminded him of the sting of a needle, albeit not quite so oppressive.
‘ how you doin’? ‘
ah, finn. always so sweet. sean wasn’t sure what to possibly say in response to such an open query. i have a finger in my ass?
‘ fine, ‘ sean elects to respond, biting his lower lip. the little twinge of pain induced by his teeth was, somehow, making it easier to manage. ‘ don’t worry about me. ‘ sean could feel himself fluttering around the joint of finn’s finger, trying to acclimate to it. finally, he relaxes, and finn wastes no time pushing in to the second joint. the sear of his finger makes sean squirm, feeling like a pig on a spit. he wonders how this could possibly be pleasurable to anyone, could possibly be what he or any other boy could want.
not very sexy. he must have winced, because finn stops entirely, seated unmoving. he was sweet, and that concern was almost too sweet. sean grinds his teeth. ‘ i.. i’d prefer it if you--just stick another in. it.. ugh.. wont that be easier? ‘ finn spreads his leg with his opposite hand, pushing his thigh to the angle he desired. that hand traipses to his slackened dick, petting about sensitive flesh as if to stiffen it up again. and sean, responsive, twitches.
‘ not quite like that. it ain’t like taking off a bandaid. that’d just hurt. ‘
sean frowns. ‘ well. try it. ‘
‘ are you sure? i mean-- ‘
‘ just do it, finn. ‘
‘ .. okay. ‘
he does. finn’s middle finger works out space, and he wastes little time sinking it to the same depth, brushing both digits to knuckle level. sean gasps, groans with the sudden, splintering sting, his legs flexing in protest. fuck, fuck, fuck, he should have listened to finn. he clenches about the intrusion, and thinks about how ridiculous this is: he feels like he’s going to cry over a pair of fingers in his ass.
this pain must be why esteban always used to make jokes about prostrate exams.
sean wasn’t even really sure what a prostrate did.
the wait is long and torturous, but slowly, the pain begins to subside. finn takes notice when sean relaxes, and spreads his fingers like a pair of opening scissors. the sensation unleashes new aches, and feels--bizarre, like being pulled in two. sean whines, smothering his agony on his tongue.
finn is in his face, and kissing him again. sean relishes the kiss, and wishes he could kiss him forever.
after an eternity locked with finnegan mcnamara, finn adds a third finger. sean feels the pressure, but no longer feels the desire to complain over it; the splinters of burning pain it sends through him feel secondary to the sense of fullness, a new sensation he could not possibly hope to explain. finn rakes his fingers like claws at a particular angle, and--
oh, oh fuck.
sean’s legs jump when finn hits that sweet spot, nudges all those sensitive nerves. finn’s grin is white and with chipped teeth. ‘ thats it, baby. thats it. ‘
when finn retracts his fingers, they make a subtle popping sound, a lecherous sound that reminded sean only of sex, a world he'd only ever investigated on his own through lewd imagery and clips. he was empty. pathetically empty, weak, like he’d had a hole drilled into him. it was uncomfortable and bizarre, like he had never thought about not feeling so stretched and full, when it had been his norm moments before. he disliked this feeling, this emptiness, he decides, in the spare handful of seconds he is forced to endure it, and he’s almost about to raise his voice to complain--until finn bends his legs back and replaces his fingers with the hot, pressing head of his slicked up cock.
sean loses his voice.
‘ i got you, sweetie. you ready? ‘
he was. he nods.
finn holds him in place with one hand, guiding his dick with the other. he aligns appropriately with sean’s prepped hole, and, on a silent three-count, glides himself inside with such an ease, it was like fitting a key in a lock. the long, pressing sear of his dick reaches deep, deeper than his fingers ever had, and sean feels like he’s about to be torn in two, like the wishbones he and daniel used to fight over. he cannot even think to resist or argue, feeling half-numb and scalding. his mouth hangs open, wordless; the burn is pleasant. ‘ fu-huh-huh-ck, you’re tight. ‘ he waits, for the incessant squeezing of his contracting muscles to loosen up, for sean to come to terms with what was happening: that he was inside of him. he pushes sean’s legs back so far he thinks theyre going to touch his own head, his hips flush with sean’s backside--if only to swallow up his complaints in a flurry of kisses, wet and open-mouthed and full of love. finn tastes like his weed.
again, sean adjusts. again, the stinging pain subsides into half-there twinges, nerves no longer screaming--but perhaps submitting a full length complaint to the young man who’d accepted, who vied for, a chance to find himself. it felt like he could feel finn in his guts, twisting him up. it felt impossibly deep.
fuck. the first shaking thrust of finn’s hips answers all his questions about how it will feel. his cock drags along his walls, burrows until he hits that same point he’d touched before. that feeling was--everything. it was like a rush of adrenaline, a lightning bolt straight to his skull. ‘ oh, my god. ‘
like a gift, finn paws for sean’s half-stiff dick between them, giving it a few attentive tugs. sean’s breath is more like a moan, and it leaves him so suddenly that sean himself can hardly believe it was his own. it felt good.
the imparting pain turns to pleasure, and sean wants more. finn hovers over him, a hand beside his head, the other gripping the bar of his hip. he drags his pelvis back and propels them forth, bare flesh slapping bare flesh, driving his dick back into that pocket of nerves. finn finds his rhythm, and to sean, it felt like he was pounding a button inside of him, inducing waves of shattering euphoria. he forgets that it ever hurt to begin with, forgets everything but the rocking thrust of finn fucking him. his thoughts felt jumbled, incoherent--he couldn’t conceptualize anything else, just the weight of him, his smell, the heat of his skin, and that impossible feeling each time it speared through his belly, the hunting push of finn’s cock lighting his insides aflame.
‘ good? ‘ finn pants, and through the delirium of sex, sean can see--all of his attention is on him.
‘ yeah, ‘ sean mumbles, his voice thick and lethargic.
‘ how good? ‘
‘ s’real good. ‘
‘ that's just -- ‘ mcnamara punctuates his voice by speaking in time with the collide of his driving thrusts. ‘ what i wanted -- ‘ smack. ‘ to hear. ‘ smack.
sean could feel that familiar edge approaching in new and unfamiliar ways. he felt the ache like a heart beat, drumming into his stomach through the perusal of finn’s dick, culminating somewhere around his spine. everything was tense--he was beginning to feel like an overstuffed toy.
‘ c’mon, sweetie. ‘ finn’s voice was in his ear, his lips pressed into the shell. the shiver that goes down sean’s spine is full of goose pimples and risen hairs. finn’s voice felt like it was stirring up his brain. ‘ come on my cock. thats it, baby boy. let go. ‘ his breath hastens, soft pants and sharp inhales marking the spaces between his filthy encouragements.
sean meets that precipice, and as commanded, he lets go. his hips buck thoughtless in tandem with finn’s dutiful strikes, two ribbons of ejaculate shooting across his belly, settling in streaks. finn’s thrusts devolve into shaky, rhythmless pistons, satisfied with sean’s release. the dull waves of white pleasure continue to roll like sea water at a sandy shore, lapping up and slipping back; with a little more clarity in his orgasm, sean tucks his arms about finn’s shoulders, dragging his nails through the valley between them. the marks he leaves will heal easily, little red furrows bitten by his nails.
finn curses when he comes, tucking his face into the junction of sean’s neck and shoulder. he bucks a few thoughtless ruts into sean as he spills inside of him, the culmination of his excitement and efforts bringing forth a distant buzzing pain in his skull. but he could hardly care about the budding migraine: all that mattered was the joining part of his and sean’s bodies.
even as he stills, he stays there, breathing low and deep. sean’s legs relax, though they settle to a hike. the numbing agent of his satisfaction begins to tide away, and sean is left with a sticky and hot feeling, sweat and come, exerted hearts. still, he felt--good. when finn pulls out, sean feels the leak of fluid trail the curvature of his cheek. it feels lewd, and nearly shameful. if finn notices, he says nothing, the only sound the wet pop of his dick. sean grunts, his toes curling in time with the sore and feeble flex of well worn muscle. he was spent, and tired, and..
‘ so? i know you ain’t got nothin’ to compare to, but.. where does the old mcnamara land on the scoreboard, laddie? ‘
the fake accent gets a sputter of giggles out of sean. he distantly wonders what generation his family is, if his father, or his fathers father, had spoken with a genuine brogue, and ate boxty. finn falls in beside him, laying on his back. ‘ shut up. you were.. it was.. i.. it was good. really .. good. better than anything i ever did by myself. ‘ no, his acts of self exploration had not compared. not at all. finn had known where to touch, and what he hadn’t, he’d improvised so well that it hardly mattered. sean had an idea of what to expect, now, and that bar that had been set was ultimately all he’d needed. it felt like cosmic luck that finn had really known what he was doing. ‘ you, um.. weren’t lying, about.. having an idea of what to do. i.. liked that. ‘
finn finds his hand, slinking his fingers between sean’s. he locks them into the webbing. ‘ aw, sean.. that makes me feel all special. but.. good. thats what sex is supposed to be about, yknow? not just for fun, but.. givin’ the other person a good time. i.. if theres.. a next time, between us? you can take the reins. figure out.. what you wanna do. what you might like. that sound good? ‘
sean nods, though the effort springs an ache in his neck. ‘ ow. yeah. yeah, that sounds.. awesome. but i.. i dont know if i’d last as long as you did, i mean, i.. erm. its still new to me. ‘ finn’s laugh, cutting through the lowlight, is comforting. sean never feels like he is being made fun of.
‘ thats alright, sweet heart. ‘
it’s a beautiful day in mexico.
finn talks all the way from the gas station sean had picked him up at, but not before greeting him with a spine-crushing hug. ‘ god damn, you got hot, ‘ he jokes, his voice bubbling thick and drawly into the crux of sean’s throat. and he cant help but laugh, letting his fingers bed into the small of finn’s too-tight tee shirt, his weight evermore innocuous than it felt in the past.
in the car, finn slings his bags into the backseat, sticks his face out the window like an excitable puppy to catch the breeze. sean slaps his shoulder with all the affection he can muster.
‘ what are you, carino, a dog? ‘ the hot air beats around the frame of his car, a modest bmw m3, it’s paint recently recoated. finn ducks his head back unto the threshold, adjusting the angle of his hips in his seat.
‘ ain’t that what you drew me as? ‘
sean’s grip on the wheel stutters momentarily, fingers curling again about the lower ridge of leathers. he glances at finn as he turns the car around a steep incline, the mid day sun catching reflective in his eyes, burning pretty golden slats across his skin. ‘ i.. yeah. it was. i did. ‘ wild dogs, cousins to wolves, sean couldn’t help but think of a barking terrier when he thought of finn, with all the affection that entailed. finn crosses his feet over the dash, and gives sean an excuse to forget that year. ‘ hey. get your stinky feet off the dashboard. you’ll scuff it up. ‘ with an exaggerated puff of air through the lips, finn obliges, his acid washed jeans grumbling as he unfolded his ankles and dragged his feet to the floor of the car. ‘ alright, ma. ‘
finn delights in the quiet stretches of desert, the burgeoning life of pit stops and road communities, his observant wonder warm and childlike. the smell of ocean air and salt rolls in from the coast, and finn greets the diaz house with a pleased whoop. the view of the ocean, the shore line, the sun refracting off the water and the roll of clouds--sean had sent him photos, but he couldn’t imagine it in person.
the back door slides open, prompting mcnamara to turn where he stands, and bear witness to the youngest diaz all grown up. daniel is a hell of a lot taller than finn remembers, bits of ropey muscle seated around his bared shoulders. daniel’s brows hike up into his bangs, his grin splitting the planes of his face. ‘ finn! ‘ he calls, his voice drawn into the depth of his chest. finn splays his arms in invitation, and daniel rushes to meet his enthusiastic hug, taking him into a half circle. ‘ hey, little man! you got big! ‘ still, finn has a few inches of height on the youngest diaz, and tilts him back into his embrace, lets his toes rake the ground.
sean maneuvers about the two to invite finn inside, and daniel takes care of his luggage, floating it effortlessly through the air like trailing balloons. sean says nothing, the door shuts soundly, latching via a polished stick of wood that jams in the mechanisms. the small AC unit in the living room chugs away on a day like this, but sean made good money working in the chop shop, and needed no other assistant than his brother.
they chatter about idle things, about school, and work, and sean’s art, and the auto repair business, and their safety, and the weather, and the beach, and the ocean, and the cane corso they’ve adopted, who comes on cue--black as midnight and practically as big as daniel, he pets the hound without fear. finn extends his hand with care, his palm pointed out, and the massive dog snuffles at his palm, inhaling his scent, before swiping a lick around the outskirt of his thumb. rightly taking the gesture as approval, mcnamara nudges the fat and fur around the canid’s neck with the breadth of his fingers, devolving to attentive scratches. ‘ good boy, ‘ finn hums, drawing his thumb beneath the dog’s broad cheek. ‘ big ol’ dog. whats his name? ‘
‘ tiny. ‘
‘ you shittin’ me? ‘
‘ nah. we thought it was funny. ‘
sean rifles through the kitchen, producing a soda and two beers. daniel pouts, but accepts his carbonated treat without further complaint, watching sean pass finn the other bottle of modelo. the cane corso rises from his seated position to make room by the sliding door, sprawling out with ease across the mat that marked the exit-way. ‘ finn, are you staying with us? like.. forever? ‘ daniel inquires, the soft crackling pop of his favorite root beer sounding into the open air. finn’s gaze turns to sean, as if seeking affirmation, who merely raises a subtle brow in response. ‘ thats the plan, little man. back then.. uh. since i helped bring down merril--i don’t really like feelin’ like a fuckin’ snitch, but, i guess it was comin’ eventually--they lightened my sentence, and i got off on extended parole. i’m a free man, and i don’t really got anything keeping me in the states. my daddy and my brothers are still in jail, and everybody else scattered. i took care of myself for a few years, but.. your big bro and i kept in contact with letters. ‘
this isn’t a secret to daniel. though they never had any real conversation about it, he had noticed the letters going out, and had noticed when sean would look a little happier that day, always off to some P.O box he wouldn’t tell him about to collect their mail.
‘ i guess after all that time, we still liked each other. right, seanie-boy? ‘
the nickname feels strange. it reminds sean abruptly of esteban, but he doesn’t ask finn to stop, doesnt shadow him with any reproachful look, doesn’t even manage to look hurt or sad. he takes a swig of his modelo and flinches at the sour streak, swallows it down with a grunt. ‘ yeah. guess i got you stuck in my head. ‘ playful, impish, he knocks finn’s sneaker with the tip of his own, and finn nudges back, pressing at the wall of his foot with his heel. ‘ thats just the kinda pest i am. takes a hell of a lotta effort to get rid of me. ‘
‘ c’mere, sweetie. ‘
their hi-fi is paid for, but daniel had almost insisted they just take it, no one would notice, and if they did, what are they going to say? it floated out of the store? sean couldn’t help the bubble of father-like vitriol that had bubbled up acidicly in response, his finger accusatory but gentle. we are not thieves.
it took an extra commission piece and some body work on a bent up humvee, but he’d managed the funds to comfortably secure a luxury item like this without stress--it reminded him of the one that esteban had given him for his tenth birthday, still aching over the departure of their mother, trying to find something to accrue sean’s budding interests into solid stems of thought. he liked music, that wouldn’t change, even if what he listened to did.
the hi-fi was shiny and black, well kept, seated in their aerated living room in a corner with recently repainted walls. finn shimmies vaguely in the open space between leather sofas, and sean thinks he might be dancing, or trying to.
he must have picked the music, as it’s nothing sean would listen to. in fact.. it was country, actually, among the broad category of genres sean didn’t particularly care for. but the singer, a man who sounded like whiskey was his closest friend, sang with a drawl that reminded sean entirely of finn. irish, he may have been, but southern, he could be no less.
sean relents with a cracking sigh-laugh, like he was taking pity, daintily accepts finns hands like some belle of the ball, stepping on his bare toes to close the distance between them.
finn doesn’t hesitate to careen him into his hold. the sun outside beats down on glass windows and the sliding door, illuminating their makeshift dance halls in golden-pink plumes.
‘ you know this song? ‘
‘ aw, yeah i do, doll. my daddy’d play this one when he was thinkin’ ‘bout my mama. but he listened to a lotta music like this. i mean.. you hear the way i talk. ‘
sean shrugs. ‘ i guess so. ‘ he hadn’t put much thought into that, especially since he’d met finn out in humboldt fucking california. but he hadn’t asked where he grew up, what it was like, what his daddy and his brothers were like. finn shared what he was happy to share, and sean never asked for more. he wasn’t greedy, barring a few special places. finn’s face stills into something calm, giving pause, then, ‘ jus’ dance with me. please. ‘
‘ i am, amado. ‘
‘ just follow my lead, alright? ‘
he’s a good boy--knows how to listen. when finn moves one way, sean moves with him, and though his feet are clunky, and his knowledge of dancing was limited to aimless thrashing, he follows along well enough. finn dips him so low he thinks he’ll fall, but mcnamara hauls him back up before his spine tilts back too far, touches the bud of his nose with the stiff bridge of his own. their lips come tantalizingly close--and finn swings him on the end of his arm.
‘ i don’t know how to dance that well. ‘ sean admits, feeling the sweat beginning to stick to his brow and hug the mess of his bedhead. he didn’t think finn knew how to, either, but apparently he was full of surprises--he wouldn’t be competing on television any time soon, but his footwork was impressively smooth, and where sean would snag or stutter, finn never staggered once. he must have done a deal of this growing up. sean wonders what the story is. maybe it hurt, the way his memories of karen once had. maybe it was torn up with loss the way his was.
‘ you’re doin’ real fine, though, sweetheart? ‘ finn hums, his grip on sean’s hand tightening. he swings his arm over his head and prompts a smooth twirl, his opposite arm going to catch the small of his back. ‘ maybe i’ll teach you some day, for real, instead of this. ‘ he draws sean in, and diaz goes happily, meeting at the curve of their tummies beneath their slept in shirts. finn greets him with a level kiss, and sean nearly crumbles into it.
the electricity of this physical intimacy was interesting. he hadn’t thought of dancing as particularly invigorating, but what the fuck did he know?
‘ it’s called swing, sean. ‘
sean’s brows incline up into the mess of his bangs. ‘ oh. ‘
‘ yeah. my mama was a professional. ‘ the music bleeds into a different tune, and finn lets his grip on sean relax, his busy legs halting in their place. ‘ its how she met my daddy. she stopped competin’ when she had her first.. but they still danced together for the hell of it. ‘sides, made her look cool at picnics. ‘ he glides to the hi-fi to lower the volume, and the music dins into a subtle background note. ‘ you weren’t half bad for your first time. ‘
the line of the dimple that cuts into sean’s cheek is a step below mischievous. ‘ i feel like i’ve heard that line before. ‘
flinn blinks dully, and the way his eyes light up with recognition after a moment or two was completely and utterly priceless to sean. ‘ ... yeah, well, you got time to practice, big man. ‘
that night goes about how one might expect.
finn calls sean sexy, bites him when he kisses him, lets his thumb trail the grooves and slit of sean’s missing eye filled by the inky ball of his prosthetic. his guilt is abated by sean’s nervousness, and his eagerness--two aspects he possessed still in abundance, albeit without the clumsy energy of his teenage self.
sean palms two handfuls of finn’s ass through his jeans, dragging him down into his lap. this earns a weak string of giggles from finn, who splays his hands over sean’s chest, curving his weight into his sternum. sean’s grip felt so different, yet entirely the same; polite, but hungry, the way he’d always been. full of want, in its many varieties. sean’s kisses are sweet pecks to the underside of finn’s inked throat, gentle nips around his collar bones, appreciative. ‘ i really fuckin’ missed you, sean, ‘ finn mumbles, dragging his digits over sean’s chest through his shirt. there was more muscle, more fat, more man; he was excited to see him without it.
diaz pauses where he’s buried his face, taking in finn’s scent--a recent shower, and cologne that he wore too much of, and something wooden and heady, something earthy and bitter. weed and wood. he cant stop the wander of his grasp, how it slides up finn’s hips and cups delicately at his spine, tracing the dips of venus unrestricted by the seam of his jeans or hug of his shirt. he was strong and beautiful as ever, and time had done nothing to weather him. ‘ i missed you too. ‘ sean’s voice is distant in the burrow of finn’s flesh and polyester, his body heat radiating through the thin separating layer. finn drags an encouraging hand through his hair, pets the choppy cut with warm enthusiasm.
‘ what are we-- ‘
‘ i wanna take care of you. ‘
finn’s belly trembles with his laugh, though it isn’t exactly a laugh--more like a warm sigh, a disbelief and welcome reprieve from the harshness of the world. he loves the sound of that, loves the idea of letting sean diaz instill that sense of camaraderie and boyish obsession he had offered by merit of his presence alone so many years ago. sean had dug into his brain matter and sat there--finn was possessed with him, and he couldn’t ask for anything more than him in his most pure form. this, mechanic and brother and artist, daring motherfucker who’d taken all his bullshit in stride, was concentrated diaz. finn loved that--and as sure as he’d been then, he was sure now, he loved sean, too.
‘ yeah? ‘
‘ yeah. like you took care of me. ‘
well, color him all red, like some kind of school girl--the idea ignites a buzzing nest of butterflies in his stomach. finn grips the tag of his shirt and effortlessly slides it over his head, baring skin paled and reddened, a handful of new tattoos, new piercings. metal glinted about his right nipple, and sean realizes it’s a bar piercing. he draws up the cloth about sean’s abdomen, scratching through dense hairs. ‘ okay. then i’m all yours, sweetie. ‘ sean doesn’t stop finn from his explorative excursions, lets him feel up his belly and muscle, soft fats and thickets of hair, definition sharp around his bones and subtle around his gut. finn didn’t mind at all. in fact, he thought every inch of sean was devastating, beautiful, gorgeous, like he always was, like he always would be.
sean lifts his shoulders when he removes his shirt, casts it aimlessly to the pile finn’s inadvertently created with the discard of his own offending article. he smooths his hands over mcnamara’s impressive jaw, through scratchy side burns and stubble, across the side of his neck. over his bare shoulders, regathering under his arms to appreciatively cup his pectorals; as if in due recompense, sean swipes his thumbs over finn’s bare nipples, careful not to snag his piercing, and finn doesn’t bother to swallow his sounds, a grunt following. ‘ did that hurt? ‘ worries diaz, though he is quickly assuaged by a shake of the head, finn’s messy hair cut shorter and half buzzed bobbing with the movement. ‘ jus’ a little sensitive, s’all. ‘ sean’s hands open to spread wing-like at finn’s back, crawling his spine. he pulls him in, leaving a trail of kisses down the forefront of his sternum, his tummy, stopping only when it hurt to bend his neck. finally, he pulls at the seat of finn’s jeans, and the effort it takes to remove them is nearly tremendous, acrobatic--finn leans on one leg, then the other, drawing out his knees and pulling his belt with his thumb. his dick presses impatiently into the stitching of his cotton boxers, his hips mere inches from sean’s face when he rises up to shimmy off his denim.
so, its decided.
‘ woah, hey-- ‘
‘ relax. ‘
finn’s cock pops over the gripping lip of his boxers with relative ease when sean tugs him free, pink and flushed and standing proud. finn pretends he isn’t embarrassed when sean’s grip goes to his ass and hip, dragging him so close he could feel the hot puffs of his breath. although he twitches, anticipation thorough and long-reaching, he stalls, bringing a hand to thread through sean’s hair and gingerly grip his skull. ‘ you know what you’re doin’, sweetie? i don’t wanna ... ‘ hurt him? finn wasn’t sure. he drifts off, enamored with the look on sean’s face, his hair matted to his brow, his lips cresting the crown of his dick. sean’s response is a flick of the tongue that runs the seam of his urethral opening, collecting smeared precum and swathing it about the head of his cock. finn wants to shove him down on it, watch him gag, but sean was in control tonight, and thats how he’d have it; sean’s lips part about the girth of his head and suck.
the warm fan of finn’s sigh is earned. sean tests himself on the length of his cock, suckling carefully at the tip of his dick, only to swallow a greedy mouthful of him. finn feels him hit the back of sean’s throat, threatening to blockade his uvula, and he groans lecherously, pressing into sean’s head--and working his dick just a little deeper into the hot grip of his throat. sean breathes out hard through his nostrils, flaring them, letting finn settle in his mouth before going to work.
his head bobs back up, paces down, swallowing the brunt of his stiff dick with a professional ease. finn has to wonder where and when he got so damn good at this--though he hadn’t had time to practice with him all those years ago, sean learned on his own, it seemed. the pull of his tongue and hollowed cheeks was incredible, and finn felt like he could die here--the only thing holding him up being sean’s unmoveable grip on his ass, his hip bone, and the tight socket that was his throat.
‘ sean.. baby, i-- ‘
climax was approaching quick. perhaps it would be kind to give him forewarning, to allow him to decide where exactly he wanted it--finn thought it might’ve been rude to blast down his throat without warning, to choke him. his hold on sean’s hair tightens, tugging him down the hard bobbing thrust of his cock. ‘ i’m gonna come. where do you.. ugh. fuck. ‘ sean feels finn’s opposite hand curl around the underside of his throat, and at first, wonders what he’s doing--until he realizes he wants to feel the bulge of his dick through every lap of the tongue and intrusive thrust into his soft palate. that was hot. despite his warning, sean resigns himself to his position, his relentless motions never slowing. finn’s belly jumps as he feels himself winding up, pushing until sean gags around his cock, messy and white hot.
he comes with a deep, rumbling moan, thick load pulsing down the back of sean’s tongue. when sean retreats to get air, a glob of cum dribbles from his lip, messying the bristly hairs on his chin. he swallows audibly, opening his mouth to demonstrate the emptiness left in the wake of finn’s orgasm. through the rippling echoes of finn’s post-orgasm, sean mouths at his balls, licking a stripe about the fullness of his sac still spasming.
‘ god, ‘ finn mumbles, his slackening cock shifting only when sean moves him, ‘ how did i luck out with such a fuckin’---ngh--sexy ass boyfriend? suckin’ like a hoover, too. ‘ as faux punishment for the crudeness of that statement, sean squeezes the handful of muscle and fat of finn’s ass still in his hold, earning a yelp from the older man that reminded sean of the terrier he’d conceptualized him as. he carefully draws finn into his lap once more, folding his arms around his nude form. ‘ irish luck. ‘ sean hums. they linger in bliss only for a moment: finn suddenly remembers sean’s own pressing issue unresolved, and tuts reproachfully. ‘ its your turn, sweetie. i could really use a good fuck. ‘
sean ignores the burning in his ears, and unfastens his zipper. finn wates no time freeing his neglected dick, prompting a sound that was almost sad. ‘ aw. i totally ignored your little guy. sorry, baby. ‘ the heat and snug fit of finn’s grip was wonderful. ‘ little? ‘ sean teases, biting his lip to stifle a whiny sound. ‘ alright, ‘ finn concedes, tilting his chin into his chest, ‘ it does look pretty sizeable. you got any--uh.. i don’t want you goin’ in me dry. ‘ sean blinks dumbly. finn can’t help his smile. ‘ it’s fine, sweetheart. think i still had some in my pants. ‘ with sean’s hold to stabilize him, finn contorts oddly to reach his jeans, dragging them toward his person to investigate. as predicted, a small little container of lube still resided in his pocket. looking at it, sean wonders how the hell that would last very long, but maybe that was the point: that it wouldnt. ‘ last guy was lucky, huh? ‘
finn leans forward, skin to skin, reaching an arm behind him. ‘ i dunno, i was the one doin’ the fuckin’. nothin’ compared to you, though, sweetie. and i guess we got all the time in the world for you to tell me if i’m still on top of my game. ‘
they did. sean imagines finn's hands around his hips, pressing him into a wall, his legs trembling in equal measures with effort and pleasure. he imagines finn's mouth at his spine, tracing his tattoos and scars. he imagines so much.
sean only realizes what finn’s doing when he hears him hiss into his shoulder, groaning under the pressure of his own slicked up fingers. ‘ i could--’ he begins, feeling the gust of his breath across his neck. ‘ do it for you. ‘ finn breaks his quiet with a soft, sweet sound, a laugh half swallowed. ‘ oh, i know you could. its alright. i’m a big boy, sean, i.. can handle it. fuck. ‘ in the mean time, sean uses the meager amount of space between them to finesse whats left into his hand, wedging space to idly wet his cock. finn was being kind, to do it own his own--he knew his limitations, and would not take as much time as sean might, insistent that he open him up proper before they fuck.
finn’s hand joins him where it lands, gently prying sean’s dick out of his hold to guide him to his prepped hole. he eases down slow--the prod of sean’s cock, the hitch at his hole, was a tantalizing experience--until he’s fully sheathed, and the pressure, the warm plush of him, is unlike anything sean’s experienced before.
sure, he’s fucked a few guys since he was with finn--crawled inside them with the passion of a boyfriend, let them hold him down against the bathroom stall in little bars. he’s taken the time to figure things out, what he liked, what he didn’t. he’s taken the time to figure out what most men needed in terms of preparation, how to make sure he could stretch enough to take a night of release, and how to make sure sean could, too. he’s been with boys who were overzealous and made it hurt, who slowed down only when sean forced them to. he’s been with boys who were nervous and slow, like the virgin he’d been when he’d lost his--it made him grateful finn had decided to take control all those years ago and show him what was in store for him.
sex was fun, it felt good. but they’d never made him feel like finn had. he’d never felt lost in the other person’s body; he’d never pictured himself happy. it just wasn’t the same thing. but, with finn--perhaps it was a blase comparison, but it just felt like riding a bike. he’d done it before, and he liked all the bumps and thrills; he just had to get back on and let it come back to him. finn would probably like to hear that, yeah, would laugh at the irony of his phrasing, you my bike, baby?
ah, fucking christ.
finn braces into him, lifts his hips, and rolls them forward. sean’s cock tilts and angles inside him in an unimaginably pleasurable way, rubbing at his insides. ‘ jesus fuck. thats--you feel-- ‘
he watches his hair bob against the side of his brow as he pumps up and slams down, watches his muscles strain with the effort of doing the work. ‘ you’re fucking big, sean, ‘ finn concludes, moving suddenly to press his nose against the pulse in his jugular. sean’s palms spread across finn’s spine, finding their place again across the swell of his round ass; he drags his weight up with each upward motion and lets him drop it back. ‘ real fuckin’ glad i got to-- ‘ finn is interrupted by a short and sudden sound sean could only think of as a squeal, and sean knows he must have hit that perfect, delicious angle, must have jammed his dick right into finn’s sweet spot, an area that seemed slightly different with every boy he’d ever slept with.
‘ ride it. damn. right there. ‘
sean watches finn’s dick bob with undulation, pinkish and half-hard again. he’d love to have it in his mouth again, but settles instead on capturing it in his grasp, letting finn’s movements ruck his cock into his grip. finn’s head falls back, mouth agape, and the symphony of sounds he pulls out of him strikes a hot nail of pride in sean’s chest. ‘ fuck, yes, sean. ohhhh, fuck. fuck. fuck me--- ‘ finn’s babbling is met with thrusts in time with his bounces, pushing him up.
and although sean comes first, finn simply cannot blame him, his release second to sean’s oral talents; diaz holds him down and fucks into him in a steady rhythm, stilling only when he’s spent, his release like crackling electricity, wires balled up in his belly. finn rocks himself to that precipice yet again, painting sticky ropes across sean’s chest, the rest dripping over diaz’s fist.
finn buckles forth, near immediate in his ragdoll-esque slackening, flattening into sean where he can. its only with his closeness that sean notices the accrued sweat sticking between them, messy and hot where flesh meets--not to mention the culminate of their actions, viscous and sticky. sean didn’t mind. the subtle flutter of finn’s beating heart through the pass of their chests could triumph over any discomfort. sean couldn’t imagine being apart from him anymore. he eases out of finn with delicate care, his dick limp with use--though he cant imagine it’d be very difficult to finn to get him going again, he’s tired after a day of moving finn in, introducing him to the house, the garage, and this side of puerto lobos. the trust finn was putting in the potential life he could have here with sean was touching, and deeply grounding: sean felt like he was adding another responsibility to his shoulders, but he didn’t mind so much. daniel was his brother, and simultaneously, his son; to have a helping hand in that, even if finn was a stranded island, yet to speak fluent spanish, yet to know the lay of the land, was a great enough gift.
sean rubs his back, admiring the curvature of his muscle and spine, tendons and joints flush to the skin where finn was less than athletic. he had a little more heft than finn, but sean would like to think that was because of his job.
‘ i love you, man. ‘
it’s what sean’s been waiting to hear. that sentiment had driven him crazy when they were teenagers--that he could feel warm and welcome and safe in the company of anyone but his little brother.
‘ i love you too. ‘
the following morning is a syrupy reckoning, pancakes hand-made by daniel’s dutiful skills--he has the day off of school, and celebrates in an incredibly mundane fashion: chocolate chip pancakes. the recipe had been estebans, once, but after the first few times sean had shown him how to make them, pancakes were a simply crafted breakfast. and with the aid of his ability, never were they overcooked, nor did they fall apart, or splatter when flipped. he doesnt even bother with a spatula. they’re light, fluffy, spotted with dark recesses of cocoa. finn shuffles around at the table, leans forward and winces at odd angles. it takes sean time to process, but when he deduces the reason, he cannot help but feel like the cat that’s swallowed the canary.
finn catches him looking, and jams his heel into sean’s bare toes beneath the table. sean groans aloud, retaliating with a jabbing pinch to the side of his ribcage.
‘ hey! ‘ daniel exclaims. sean’s left hand, and finn’s right, fly simultaneously into the air, a pair of ragdolls at the extent of their muscular stretch. daniel is precise. neither of them are hurt with the movement. ‘ no fighting at my damn table. ‘ and as swift as they were captured, daniel releases them. sean rubs at his wrist, huffing and pouting. ‘ he kicked me. ‘
‘ an’ i’d do it again, brat. ‘