Sina Libbu Ziana (Part 3d)
Title: Sina Libbu Ziana (Two Hearts Beating)
Rating: NC-17
Part: 3d/7
They settle for taking separate showers half an hour later, Finn goes first while Will strips the soiled covers from the bed and bundles them into the laundry hamper, then collects clean, pressed sheets from the linen closet. Finn appears in the doorway, dripping wet and bundled up in a towel, with a second one draped over his shoulders.
“Shower's free,” He says, pulling the towel up from his shoulders to tousle his hair.
“Thanks,” Will calls back easily, pulling the sheets down the last section of duvet and tying the togs.
Finn sinks down onto the edge of the bed, still drying his hair; he smells shower-fresh and amazing so Will indulges himself with a kiss to the flushed skin of Finn's cheek as he collects his discarded towel from the floor and heads through to the bathroom.
When he gets back, Finn is wearing his jeans again, but no shirt, and scuffing a bare foot against the carpet; he looks as lost as he had that morning when he was waiting out by the car.
“So, um, what are we gonna do now?” He asks, looking up hesitantly.
Will can see in Finn's eyes that he knows their day is winding down and so he answers gently, “I have some papers that I need to grade.”
“Right, yeah.” Finn nods like he was expecting something along those lines. He ducks down to find his shirt and he looks so downbeat that Will finds himself speaking again, “You could, uh- You could watch a movie or something, while I work.”
Finn's head pokes out through the hole in his t-shirt and he smiles softly, his brown eyes shining, “That would, um, that'd be cool.”
“You could stay for dinner too,” Will finds himself offering, to his own disbelief. “I mean, unless your mom is expecting you home.”
“No,” Finn shakes his head emphatically. “Mom's not home, she and Burt finally saved up enough to have a honeymoon; it's just a week at a hotel in Toledo but they were really excited about it.”
“Okay.” Will breathes out, “Then, do you want to-?”
“Of course.” Finn grins and crosses the distance between them quickly so that he can pull Will into an enthusiastic kiss.
Will pulls a clean pair of sweats from his dresser, then makes a lengthy search of the room to recover his briefs from wherever they'd migrated to during his and Finn's shared passions. He completes the outfit by pulling a hoodie on, taking care not to catch any chest hairs in the zipper, and goes to look for the younger man. Will finds Finn in the kitchen and scrounges about in the cabinets, managing to find a pack of microwave popcorn for him; he leaves Finn to manage the microwaving by himself and goes to collect his satchel.
Finn wanders back out of the kitchen a few minutes later bearing a big bowl of popped kernels; he stands in the doorway and chews a few, watching Will flipping through the stack of papers he needs to have done by Monday.
“Did you want something?” Will looks up at Finn.
“Just watching,” Finn answers with a shrug. “I, um, I think your glasses make you look sexy,” He adds, a hint of a flush to his cheeks, then he heads through to the lounge to find a movie.
Will smiles absently and looks back down at the first of the AP essays he should be focusing on. A few minutes later he is still rereading the first page of the first essay, without taking the answer in, when he hears drawn-out violins and the crashing of waves; he recognizes it as the opening sequence to Inception and glances over to find Finn watching the screen with rapt interest, his smile grows into a grin.
He struggles his way through the first few essays in the pile; it's not that the essays are bad, his AP class are smart kids and their work is actually pretty insightful, but the knowledge of Finn's presence, in plain sight just twenty feet away, is making it hard to concentrate. When he looks over at one point, he finds Finn watching him in return; Finn ducks his head at first, then glances back up and grins at him before turning back to the movie. Will looks back down at the essay he's three pages into and flips back to the start because suddenly he can't remember a word of it; his chest is thrumming and his common sense has come crawling out from whatever rock it had hidden under to remind him that it had warned him that letting Finn hang around was a bad idea.
Will glances up from the exact same essay ten minutes later to find Finn leaning on the table directly opposite him with a profoundly revelatory expression, “Dude!”
“What?” He prompts, mind racing as he tries to predict what has pulled Finn away from the movie.
“Are Arthur and Eames sleeping together?” Finn asks, sounding oddly eager.
Will blinks, honestly not sure what he'd been expecting but certainly not this, “You mean, like on the plane together?”
“No, are they-” Finn leans closer, dropping his tone as if the characters might somehow hear him through the television screen; and why Will finds that ridiculous notion endearing rather than downright insane like it actually is, he doesn't know, “Are they fucking?”
Will pushes his fingers up under his lenses to scrub at his tired eyes, “What brought this on?”
“I didn't notice before, but, Eames calls Arthur 'darling',” Finn answers.
“Are you basing this on the fact that I may have called you darling a few times today?” Will probes gently. “If so, darling is a common term of endearment in Britain; it doesn't always mean two people are in a relationship if one of them calls the other darling, or dear, or babe, or love... Some people just use those words casually.”
“So, you don't think they're together?” Finn asks, sounding a little disappointed.
“Oh please,” Will snorts. “They bicker like an old married couple but then warn each other to stay safe once the guns are out; they probably hit a hotel right after the credits roll.”
Finn grins and chuckles lewdly, Will looks down at the essay to mask his own smirk and finds himself observing the slanted handwriting on the page with abject apathy. He puts his critical red pen down and gets up from the dining table, stretching out the dull ache that's developed in his back. “I'm hungry, you ready to eat?” He's talking to a teenage boy, so the suggestion is more for the sake of being polite than an actual inquiry.
“Sure,” Finn answers and follows him through to the kitchen.
Will stares dejectedly into the mostly empty refrigerator; he really needs to go grocery shopping.
“We could just eat the leftover pizza,” Finn suggests, reaching towards the box left out on the counter.
“No.” He feels a flush of embarrassment at his effuse response because really, his justification regarding the remaining pizza is weak and he knows it, but he still finds himself saying, “Cold pizza is really more of a breakfast thing. I'll find us something.” It strikes him idly, as he reaches in to pull the leftover chicken parmesan from the fridge, that his words could be interpreted as an invitation for Finn to still be here for breakfast. He glances over his shoulder, but Finn is merely perusing the overripe bananas in the fruit bowl and doesn't seem to have reached the same conclusion; he feels a flicker of guilt for how grateful he is about that.
Will sets the oven to heat and observes the slice of chicken, cheese and tomato sauce in the baking pan, it would be enough for a large portion if he were eating alone but it's not going to spread to a full meal for the both of them.
“Can I help with anything?” Finn offers, appearing over his shoulder.
Will frowns and considers what he knows he has in the pantry, “How does baked potato to go with this sound?” There is a pause as Finn hums agreeably. “Okay, there should be salad stuff in the crisper. Do you know how to make coleslaw?”
“Technically,” Finn answers with a distinct lack of confidence. “I'm not great at anything that doesn't go in a microwave. I actually burnt salad once.”
Will pauses at the door to the pantry, looking over his shoulder in disbelief, “How did you burn salad?”
“It was a Greek salad and the feta cheese was really hard because it had been in the fridge and I wanted to melt it a bit...” He trails off, nipping his lip and looking sorry for having brought it up, “I didn't think vegetables could actually burn, okay?”
“Oh Zidda,” Will chuckles and tugs Finn close, teasing his frown away with a smattering of kisses. To ease Finn's embarrassment, he shares the anecdote of his attempt to cook lobster thermidor for Terri on their third wedding anniversary, an event that led to a lifelong pledge to never cook with live seafood ever again.
The light for the oven goes off to indicate it has reached the right temperature, so Will peels the cling-wrap away from the leftovers and slides the baking pan into the oven; he makes a note of the time and calculates roughly when it will be heated through.
“Do you want to handle the potatoes,” He suggests to Finn. “They're microwave friendly.”
“Okay.” Finn smiles at the remark and collects the bag from the pantry. Will takes cabbage and carrots from the crisper drawer, loads them into a colander and sets them to rinse under a stream of water from the faucet, then collects a chopping board and a peeler. Finn stands, holding the potatoes idly, watching Will's swift progress, “H-how long do the potatoes need?”
“Hm?” Will looks over from where he's started peeling a carrot, “About ten minutes should do, just make sure you microwave each one separately.”
“Okay.” There's a short chorus of beeps and then the steady hum of the device, leaving Finn to hover absently.
“We're gonna need grated cheese too,” Will instructs, to give Finn something to do. “I think there's some in the fridge.”
There's a block of Wisconsin cheddar, about two-inches square; Finn collects it and comes to stand beside him, grating the entire block into a small bowl and humming quite contentedly. Will slices the cabbage into thin strips and tries not to think about how dangerously domestic this feels, tries not to recall how he and Terri had stopped sharing this kind of closeness towards the end of their marriage.
The microwave beeps to announce the first potato is done; Finn turns to retrieve it and Will pulls him back by the crook of his elbow to hand over the oven mitts.
“Uh, thanks,” Finn ducks his head a fraction, a twitch at the corner of his mouth that might be an abashed smile, then he spins round to collect the cooked potato and replace it with a raw one. “What should I do with this?” He looks down at the hot potato cradled in the oven mitt, “It'll go cold if we just leave it out.”
Will turns a dial to put the grill on a low heat, “The grill should keep it hot while we cook the rest.”
“Awesome,” Finn answers, putting the baked potato down gently and sliding the rack back under the heat. “What should I do now?” He prompts eagerly.
“You could go back to watching your movie and let me finish this,” Will suggests, rolling his eyes.
“That's no fun,” Finn mock-whines, coming up from behind and wrapping his arms round Will's waist, his chin resting on the older man's shoulder.
“I think I saw salad cream and mayonnaise in the fridge,” Will muses. “Pick which one you want and you can start mixing the coleslaw.”
“What's salad cream?” Finn asks.
“You've never...?” Will pushes the sliced cabbage aside with the flat of the knife. “That's it, we're using the salad cream,” He says decisively.
“You're the boss.” Finn actually salutes as he turns to collect the bottle from the fridge, how did Will end up bringing someone so ridiculous into his home? Finn sets the bottle down on the counter, then resumes his position pressed to Will's back. He stays steadfast there until the beep announcing that the second potato is cooked and when he comes back he picks the bottle up again and considers it, “So how much should I use?”
“Just use everything that's left in the bottle,” Will directs. “Add two tablespoons of oil, two of vinegar, a pinch of salt and it'll be ready to mix.” He slices the last of the cabbage as Finn obediently concocts the mixture, then slides the thinly sliced vegetables into a bowl and passes it across to Finn to mix together.
“You know, you'd probably make a good Home Ec teacher,” Finn says as he happily stirs the contents of the bowl to coat the vegetables with the creamy mixture.
“Well, you're taking to this more than the Spanish, at least,” Will answers dryly.
Finn gives the slightest of twitches, then his expression of discomfort flits away and is replaced with a default cheerful smile.
“Did you always want to be a teacher?” Finn asks, whisking the coleslaw perfunctorily.
Will places the chopping board, peeler and vegetable knife down with the pile of crockery waiting to go into the dishwasher and answers with his back turned, “What makes you think I ever wanted to be a teacher?”
“I dunno, you just seem to actually enjoy it... Some of my classes, it's like the teachers are waiting for the bell to ring as much as the rest of us. You aren't like that, you smile and stuff,” Finn stumbles through a rationalization.
Will bites his lip as he listens, because the Duranki is untouched and so he knows that Finn is reading him with his own innate understanding, and he's reading him so clearly. “When I was on Mul Apin, I just wanted to come to Earth. When I was in high school, I just wanted to go to college. At college, I was sleepwalking through the mathematics program because I'd spent my early teens learning to chart a gravity map from a single reference point; one day, someone offered me the chance to earn a few bucks tutoring them in trig and I found that I really liked teaching.”
“So, just... like that?” Finn prompts, raising his eyebrows skeptically.
Will shrugs, “I think most people have no idea what they want to do when they enroll, they just pick a course that interests them and somewhere between then and graduation they figure out what they want to do with their life.”
“That's... actually kind of reassuring,” Finn answers. Will can see the lack of a grand plan painted all over his face, in so many ways Finn reminds him of himself at that age. “So, if you'd never left Mul Apin, do you think you'd still have become a teacher?”
“Without doubt,” Will replies promptly. “There's no formal education system back home, kids learn by finding an interest in something and following an adult round to pick up an understanding of how they work. Sort of like an apprenticeship.”
“When you're kids?” Finn repeats. “I don't even know what I want to do now, how are you supposed to decide when all you want to do is play with your friends?”
“It's not a perfect system by any means," Will acknowledges, “But most kids have some idea of what they want to be when they grow up and they tend to take an interest in the things they're naturally good at, so we get by okay; and there's no pressure to settle on something until your early teens anyway.”
“Were you following anyone around, before Isten Baba, I mean?” Finn asks.
“There was one Dumuzi I spent a lot of time with. We don't acknowledge bloodline connections but rather, a sort of community spirit; but I guess you could say he was like an uncle,” Will muses. “He was a Rakbu, most Dumuzi are because we make good diplomats, and one day when I was about eight or so, I followed him out of curiosity and just fell in under his wing. I didn't take it all that seriously and I dropped him like a hot rock when I had the chance to go in for Isten Baba, but if I was still on Mul Apin I'd probably be carrying messages and getting tailed by some young kid myself.”
“Carrying messages, like by hand?” Finn asks, perplexed. “You have space travel but not the internet?”
“Sumer society is really segregated. Sometimes an expert in a particular field might leave to pass their knowledge onto others who could benefit from it but they wouldn't abandon their home without training a competent successor first. There was never a demand that made something like the internet seem necessary because most people only interact with the members of their own community and they can do that face-to-face,” Will explains.
“So why are there, uh, Rakoons?” Finn asks, furrowing his brow like he knows that isn't quite right.
“Rakbu,” Will supplies, “They maintain contact with other communities so that we can supply them with aid when they need it, or vice versa. Most communities specialize in a trade, like where I grew up, it was mostly farmers and fishermen; we could provide food to those who needed it and they'd offer their trade in return, medicine for instance, or contracted labor.”
“Hm, so you wouldn't exactly have been carrying Facebook pokes across the country?” Finn teases.
“Thankfully not,” Will agrees.
Finn grins and holds the bowl out for the older man to inspect, “Is this ready?”
“Looks great,” Will answers. “Put it in the fridge for now. We need beans to go with the cheese.”
Finn puts the coleslaw in to chill, then at the prompting of the microwave places the third potato in to cook. At the same time, Will retrieves a tin of Bush's from the cabinet and pours the contents into a saucepan, putting it to heat on the stove.
“So if you were tutoring people in math, why did you end up teaching Spanish?” Finn asks.
“Those teachers you mentioned, the ones who always look like they don't want to be there,” Will prompts. “How many of them teach math?”
Finn looks thoughtful, “I see your point.”
“The team monitoring radio waves from Earth picked up a lot of different languages and so I knew some snippets of Spanish before I came here, I took classes in high school to try and clear up some of the confusion that had arisen in trying to interpret it and found I liked the language so I carried on learning until I was fluent,” Will summarizes. “When I decided that I wanted to teach, I thought to myself; why learn a language for my people if I'm not going to share that language with the people on this planet?”
“Wait so... Do you, like, beam up to the mothership and give them the same lessons on the irregular verbs you teach in class?” Finn asks, face scrunched up in bewilderment.
“Nothing quite so ridiculous,” Will answers flatly. “Before I left Mul Apin I forged Ankida with a Dugnamtar, every Sumer traveling to Earth did. Anything I learn, everything I know, is shared through that connection.”
“So, you have a Duranki with someone back on your planet?” Finn accuses.
“What? No,” Will answers, appalled. “It's Ankida, it's not the same thing.”
“They sound like the same thing,” Finn retorts blithely.
Will takes a calming breath and reminds himself of how confusing the distinction between football and soccer had been when he'd first arrived on Earth, how alien concepts can seem indistinguishable when you don't fully understand them and that Finn's rudeness is a result of that, nothing more.
“Ankida is a bond of shared knowledge, it doesn't go beyond that. I formed mine for practical purposes; it means I can live my life here on the planet that I love, doing the things that I enjoy...” He puts down the spoon he's been stirring the beans with, turning to place a hand against Finn's cheek, “With the people that I care about.”
“So it's not like- You don't have someone waiting for you?” Finn asks uncertainly. “Someone you're going home to once you get bored of living in fucking Nowhere, Ohio.”
“Didn't I tell you that I'm not leaving Earth,” Will reminds, moving his hand up to Finn's ear to run his fingers softly around the shell of it. “I want to spend the rest of my life here and when I die, the Ankida will sever and everything I learned can be used to help my people form a mutually beneficial alliance with humanity.”
“So, it's- You're here for the greater good,” Finn surmises.
“I made Duranki with you, Finn; there's nowhere in the whole universe I want to be right now other than here with you.”
Finn keens and pushes Will back into the counter, placing an arm on either side to crowd him in, and leans close to initiate a demanding, desperate kiss. Will climbs up onto the edge of the counter, sliding his legs round Finn's thighs, tangling his fingers in the dark hair at his nape, pulling him closer and returning the kiss earnestly. The beans will probably congeal without him stirring them, but Finn needs to assert his alpha male instinct and he's happy to make that sacrifice if it will soothe his partner.
Finn pulls back when the microwave beeps, lowers his gaze and looks like he's trying to mentally articulate an apology, but Will understands and tries to convey through a thin smile that he's already forgiven him. He waits for Finn to place the baked potato under the grill with the others, then smoothly steps back in front of the stove to stir the beans.
“If I-” Finn's hands settle on his hips, but he doesn't press himself close like he had before. “If I were from Mul Apin, what do you think my job would be?”
“Sharur, maybe,” Will answers, picturing Finn bare-chested and dripping with sweat, with a slab of game meat over one shoulder and a proud grin stretching out his cheeks. “O-or maybe Etlu,” He continues, trying to quash the swell of heat inside him, “I know you don't like fighting, but I've seen how much you care about people, how much you try to protect them, so I think you'd be good at it.”
He feels chapped lips press at the patch of skin behind his earlobe, “You really think so?” Finn sounds hesitant, uncertain.
Information is pouring through the Duranki because of their closeness and Will realizes that Finn had been expecting him to choose something degrading, had been expecting an insult so that he could be forgiven; he mentally curses Quinn for the poisonous effect she'd had on Finn's self-esteem.
“I know so,” He assures confidently, leaning back trustingly into Finn's embrace.
Finn goes to collect the fourth and final potato when the microwave beeps a final time, Will steps aside and pulls a plate from the cabinet for the baked potatoes to go on. He stirs the saucepan and keeps a watchful eye on the younger man as Finn cuts into the crispy skin and spoons a knob of butter into the rich golden innards of the four potatoes; despite his lack of confidence in his own ability, Finn manages it without cutting his fingers off.
Since the dining table is still laden with Will's unfinished grading, Finn puts the plate down at the breakfast nook then turns to collect the coleslaw and makes an exploration of the drawers until he uncovers the cutlery. Meanwhile, Will pours the beans into a bowl and places them alongside the baked potatoes; then retrieves the chicken parmesan from the oven and slices the bubbling, cheesy dish in half, serving up onto two plates.
“This looks amazing,” Finn says, observing the meal ravenously.
To Will, it looks like an overdose of carbohydrates, but he has spent the day having a lot of energetic sex which has got to be worth a few hundred calories.
“What do you want to drink?” He asks, opening the fridge to observe the choices, “I have... OJ and milk.” He pulls the cap from the milk, sniffs at it and promptly pours it away. “Make that OJ,” He rectifies; he really needs to go grocery shopping.
“Juice sounds good,” Finn accepts cheerily, spinning his fork and waiting for them both to be seated at the table before he starts eating, out of good manners.
Will pours a drink from the carton and then fills a glass with tap water for himself, setting them both down at the table and then taking his seat.
Finn takes a bite of the chicken parmesan and immediately purses his lips round the mouthful, swallowing forcefully with his eyes watering as he makes a grab for the orange juice.
“That's hot,” He gasps after he's gulped down half the drink.
“Well of course, you moron,” Will answers affectionately. “It just came out of the oven.”
“I know, but I'm hungry,” Finn answers, nipping at his lip. He looks like he's willing to risk another hot cheese burn just to get some food in his stomach.
“Here.” Will spoons coleslaw into one of the baked potatoes and slides it onto Finn's plate.
Finn considers it tentatively, then picks up a small amount on the end of his fork and tastes it. “Hey, that's not bad.” His eyes light up and he takes a bigger bite, digging down to get some potato on the fork too.
Will narrows his eyes playfully, “Is there a reason it should be?”
“I haven't had salad cream before, I thought it might be, y'know, gross and British,” Finn explains.
“Don't insult the food of my people,” Will declares.
“You're not even English, you big faker,” Finn retorts.
Will tries to hide his amusement by sipping at his water, but when Finn sticks his tongue out at him he snorts and some water slips from his mouth. He swipes across his jaw and mock-glares at Finn, who is beaming across the table at him.
Will scoops beans into his own baked potato, sprinkles grated cheese on top and waits for Finn to throw out another barb, but Finn seems far too busy with his food to keep the banter going. He's very expressive in his enjoyment of the meal: he makes happy little sounds as he chews at the crispy potato skin; he chases every last dollop of coleslaw around on the plate, even going so far as to abandon the fork and scoop it up with his fingers; and he pauses every once in a while to tell Will how great everything is. Will observes it all, recalling the old saying about the way to a man's heart; he flinches at the thought and focuses back on his own food, barely tasting the rich tomato sauce and creamy potato as he reminds himself that Finn's heart is not something he should be seeking to claim.
They finish up the meal with minimal conversation; Will still lost in thought and consequently taking a more leisurely pace than Finn, who gets through the chicken parmesan rapidly once it's cooled down, and he sacrifices three of the four baked potatoes to appease Finn's appetite.
Will collects the empty dishes, carries them across to the mound of stained crockery that needs to be cleaned and contemplates making a start on them now; but he recognizes the instinct for what it is, yet another procrastination tactic to avoid sending Finn home, and if that's the case he has something else to do that he'd greatly prefer.
“So, uh, what're we gonna do now?” Finn taps his fingers on the table and avoids Will's eye, anticipating the dismissal that's been lingering like the Sword of Damocles all afternoon.
“Well, I'm going to have dessert,” Will replies, enunciating specifically as he stalks closer.
“There's dessert?” Finn repeats obliviously. “Is it cake?”
Will chuckles and leans down to whisper in his ear, “It's something delicious and creamy that you're going to help me with.”
“So, it's... not cake,” Finn concludes, and fuck but he actually looks disappointed.
“I'm going to blow you, Finn,” Will lays the truth bare and is pleased by the tingle of pheromones that rises when Finn finally gets on the same page.
They kiss lazily and Finn's mouth carries traces of the tang of salad cream and tomato sauce underneath his own personal flavor, Will thinks it's delicious and finds his kisses growing deeper and more probing as he searches out every last hint of the taste. Finn groans his approval, his hands coming down to cup Will's ass and pull him onto his lap. Will slides his hands down, rubbing over the taut skin of Finn's belly to reach the rising bulge in his jeans.
He leaves Finn's scrumptious lips red and swollen as he slides down to the floor to bury his face in Finn's crotch. Will rubs his nose along the line of Finn's cock, standing out against the denim; the musky scent of it reaches his nose but the aroma grows stronger when he pops the button of his fly and pulls the zipper down. Finn gives a pleased moan as his cock is freed from constraint and the slack length tenses and grows in Will's grip, stiffening into it's full glory.
Finn's balls are tucked away inside his boxers, the sensitive skin of his thighs is buried under denim and his prostate is out of reach to everything but Will's ZE; all he has to work with are the thick inches of cock poking through the open flap of Finn's underwear, so he goes at it with everything he's got.
He runs his tongue along the frenulum, feeling the tiny ridges lining the glans close to it; he laves the area for a prolonged moment before he encompasses the rest of the swollen cockhead in the warm, wet suction of his mouth.
“Damn,” Finn hisses as Will runs the flat of his tongue over the slit of his dick, swallowing around the glans every few heartbeats.
Will glances up as a hand settles gently in his hair, encouraging without forcing; Finn looks like the personification of hedonism: stuffed full of good food with his thighs parted comfortably as he's getting his cock sucked. He feels a surge of arousal run through him as he breathes in pheromones and takes in the exquisite sight of the younger man, so he relaxes his throat and sucks the full length of erection available to him deep into his mouth, until he can feel the cotton flap of Finn's boxers brushing against his lips.
“Fuck.” Finn's breath catches at the unanticipated movement and his fingers tighten in Will's hair. A long groan escapes him as the lips stretched round his length withdraw slowly, the drag of his foreskin driving him wild. “Best dessert ever,” He mumbles, choking off into a satisfied hum as Will dives down the length of his dick again.
“Hm, yeah?” Will inquires, sliding his lips free and starting to lick languid strokes along the hard shaft.
“Yes!” Finn says and Will can't tell if it's a reply or just a response to his latest ministrations until Finn continues, “Better than- than apple pie, or ice cream or- Fuck! Better than triple chocolate fudge cake.”
“High praise indeed,” Will says, dryly amused. He knows better than to trust a word somebody says when he's going down on them, but he can't fight the swell of pride in his chest at the very unique compliment.
He strokes along the spit-slick length, keeping his grasp deliberately looser than Finn really needs, keen to see him beg for it.
“Goddamn, Will please... Please just let me come.” Finn looks down at him, thin rims of chocolate brown lurking on the edge of engorged pupils.
He'd really been meaning to tease, he'd been planning to drag this last sexual act out as long as he could to suck up every last delicious pheromone Finn has to offer him, to last him until the end of his cycle, but Finn looks so wrung out after his brief attentions that Will takes pity on him and decides to end it quickly.
“Yes, oh... Oh man, like that, with the- that thing with your tongue,” Finn starts to babble as Will works.
It's partway through that quick, dirty blowjob with Finn's pheromones and gratified sentence fragments hanging in the air that Will has his revelation.
“Will, I'm gonna...” He can feel the hot pulse of Finn's Ni, smell the pheromones right on the verge, so he pulls back and tugs at Finn's cock.
“Do it! Now Finn, come for me,” He instructs hungrily.
Finn looks down at him in awe, then his eyes squeeze shut as the first burst of ejaculate shoots from his tip. Will catches the first spurt on his tongue, then leans in close to suck the head again so he can swallow down the secondary bursts, but the technique is messy and he spills a fair amount, having to lick and suck at the softening length to get it clean. When he's done, he looks up at Finn and finds the young man watching him in return; his eyes are fixed on the line of spunk coating Will's chin and he groans as his spent cock twitches at the arousing image. Finn rubs his thumb to collect the spattering, but Will grabs his wrist before he can withdraw it and sucks the digit into his mouth, slurping up the last droplets of Finn's release.
“Fuck, that's hot,” Finn mumbles, the fingers of his other hand still stroking through Will's hair.
Will lets go with an audible pop, letting the hand go and falling forward to rest against Finn's thigh. He watches the receding length of the young man's dick, pillowed on the fabric of his open fly, and lets slip a satisfied groan as Finn's fingers massage over a particularly receptive spot on his scalp. “Stay here tonight,” He offers quietly.
“Huh?” Finn looks down at him blearily.
Will lifts his head, reaching up to cup his hand against Finn's cheek and holds his gaze, “If there's nobody at home waiting for you, do you want to spend the night with me?”
“Yeah, that's-” Finn smiles shyly, “I mean, if you don't mind.”
Will struggles to his feet, the ache in his knees really making itself known, and leans over to ruffle Finn's hair affectionately, “I wouldn't have offered if I didn't want you here.”
Finn smiles again, ducking his head to watch his hands as he fumbles his cock back into his jeans.
It's evening and the light outside is fading, but it's still too early to go to bed and Will doesn't even want to consider the pile of essays he still needs to read, so he finds himself following Finn into the lounge.
“Budge over,” He instructs, waiting for Finn to comply so that he can take the spot on the couch next to him. The bowl of popcorn is still sitting on the coffee table so he leans over to grab it and settles back into the couch, one leg up with his ankle tucked under his other knee and the bowl balanced on his thigh.
“You want to watch Inception?” Finn suggests, settling an arm round Will's shoulders and tapping the remote against his knee.
He really just wants to be here, comfortable against Finn's side for the next two hours before they fall into his bed to spend the night together, so he shrugs and shovels a handful of slightly stale popcorn into his mouth, “Sure, sounds good.”
Finn takes the television off standby and selects play from the main menu, “Okay, movie time.”
“You don't have to start from the beginning just for me,” Will offers. “You could start from the scene you got to before.”
“Actually, um-” Finn looks over sheepishly. “Could we start at the beginning? I'm still trying to figure this movie out.”
“Oh.” Will smiles reassuringly, “No problem, I'll walk you through it.”
Finn smiles and takes a few popcorn kernels, “It's not that I don't get it, I do... I think, most of it anyway. There's just stuff that confuses me.”
“Like what?” Will prompts, assuming that he'll be able to clear things up.
“Like, how come Ariadne is the first person to notice Cobb is out of control when Mal shows up and shoots Arthur in the kneecap right at the start of the movie? If their subconscious is what produces projections, then why don't the team make any appear when they're working the job? Why does the hotel have zero gravity, but the mountain doesn't? What made Arthur miss the first kick? Why doesn't the kick at the hospital pull Cobb out of Limbo? And why didn't Cobb just move his kids to France?”
Will sits dumbly, feeling slightly stunned, in the wake of the questions pouring out of Finn; every question is justified and something he hadn't considered before. Will realizes that, in his struggle to make sense of the plot, Finn has exposed almost every inconsistency or faulty explanation in the screenplay.
He looks over to the screen where Leonardo DiCaprio has washed up on a beach, “Jack survived the Titanic sinking,” He remarks.
Finn blinks, looks over at the screen and then chuckles. The weak joke paves the way for them not taking the film seriously at all; they chat and only pay attention intermittently, they dub over Arthur and Eames' dialogue to make their scenes all about their domestic disputes and they sit close together, hands and fingers brushing as they finish the popcorn.
All the while Will can feel the knowledge of his epiphany back in the kitchen weighing down on him: The pizza in the box, the other methods of procrastination, the self-assurance that he wouldn't let himself get attached; it's all for nothing because he's already attached, he was in too deep the moment he asked Finn to visit him today, maybe even before that. He can postpone reality from crashing down on them a little longer, but it just means that when it does fall, it's going to crush them harder than ever.
Yet somehow, Monday looks like a long way away when he's resting his head on Finn's shoulder and listening to him explain the reasons why he thinks Yusuf is actually a secret badass.
“Hey, you okay?” Finn reaches down to ruffle his hair. Will realizes that he's slumped over with his head resting in Finn's lap; the credits are rolling and he doesn't remember what scene they'd been on the last time he looked over at the screen.
It's a very open question, one open to changing circumstances, but for now he has the answer, “I'm good.” He sits upright and stretches, “I think I'm about ready for bed though.”
“Yeah, I think you're right,” Finn agrees, getting up to take the DVD out of the player.
They brush their teeth, strip down to their underwear and crawl into the bed they'd spent so much of the day in. Finn's clothes litter the floor, both from when he'd first arrived and when he'd gotten undressed just now, and Will thinks they're like a representation of the way Finn has made his mark on Will's life; tomorrow Finn will pick up his clothes and leave the apartment, tomorrow Finn will reclaim the parts of himself he's given to Will and leave the older man to grow used to being lonely all over again.
“What are you thinking about?” Finn asks, watching him in the dim light.
Will pushes his heavy thoughts aside and tucks himself against Finn's side, an arm resting on his chest and picking idly at the gray t-shirt, “Nothing really.” He sits up so he can lean over and kiss Finn lightly, then lies his head back down on his shoulder and breathes steadily.
“Night Will,” Finn whispers, pressing a butterfly kiss to the shell of his ear.
“Goodnight,” Will answers, shifting to find a more comfortable position.
They fall asleep not long after.
Part 4a
Rating: NC-17
Part: 3d/7
They settle for taking separate showers half an hour later, Finn goes first while Will strips the soiled covers from the bed and bundles them into the laundry hamper, then collects clean, pressed sheets from the linen closet. Finn appears in the doorway, dripping wet and bundled up in a towel, with a second one draped over his shoulders.
“Shower's free,” He says, pulling the towel up from his shoulders to tousle his hair.
“Thanks,” Will calls back easily, pulling the sheets down the last section of duvet and tying the togs.
Finn sinks down onto the edge of the bed, still drying his hair; he smells shower-fresh and amazing so Will indulges himself with a kiss to the flushed skin of Finn's cheek as he collects his discarded towel from the floor and heads through to the bathroom.
When he gets back, Finn is wearing his jeans again, but no shirt, and scuffing a bare foot against the carpet; he looks as lost as he had that morning when he was waiting out by the car.
“So, um, what are we gonna do now?” He asks, looking up hesitantly.
Will can see in Finn's eyes that he knows their day is winding down and so he answers gently, “I have some papers that I need to grade.”
“Right, yeah.” Finn nods like he was expecting something along those lines. He ducks down to find his shirt and he looks so downbeat that Will finds himself speaking again, “You could, uh- You could watch a movie or something, while I work.”
Finn's head pokes out through the hole in his t-shirt and he smiles softly, his brown eyes shining, “That would, um, that'd be cool.”
“You could stay for dinner too,” Will finds himself offering, to his own disbelief. “I mean, unless your mom is expecting you home.”
“No,” Finn shakes his head emphatically. “Mom's not home, she and Burt finally saved up enough to have a honeymoon; it's just a week at a hotel in Toledo but they were really excited about it.”
“Okay.” Will breathes out, “Then, do you want to-?”
“Of course.” Finn grins and crosses the distance between them quickly so that he can pull Will into an enthusiastic kiss.
Will pulls a clean pair of sweats from his dresser, then makes a lengthy search of the room to recover his briefs from wherever they'd migrated to during his and Finn's shared passions. He completes the outfit by pulling a hoodie on, taking care not to catch any chest hairs in the zipper, and goes to look for the younger man. Will finds Finn in the kitchen and scrounges about in the cabinets, managing to find a pack of microwave popcorn for him; he leaves Finn to manage the microwaving by himself and goes to collect his satchel.
Finn wanders back out of the kitchen a few minutes later bearing a big bowl of popped kernels; he stands in the doorway and chews a few, watching Will flipping through the stack of papers he needs to have done by Monday.
“Did you want something?” Will looks up at Finn.
“Just watching,” Finn answers with a shrug. “I, um, I think your glasses make you look sexy,” He adds, a hint of a flush to his cheeks, then he heads through to the lounge to find a movie.
Will smiles absently and looks back down at the first of the AP essays he should be focusing on. A few minutes later he is still rereading the first page of the first essay, without taking the answer in, when he hears drawn-out violins and the crashing of waves; he recognizes it as the opening sequence to Inception and glances over to find Finn watching the screen with rapt interest, his smile grows into a grin.
He struggles his way through the first few essays in the pile; it's not that the essays are bad, his AP class are smart kids and their work is actually pretty insightful, but the knowledge of Finn's presence, in plain sight just twenty feet away, is making it hard to concentrate. When he looks over at one point, he finds Finn watching him in return; Finn ducks his head at first, then glances back up and grins at him before turning back to the movie. Will looks back down at the essay he's three pages into and flips back to the start because suddenly he can't remember a word of it; his chest is thrumming and his common sense has come crawling out from whatever rock it had hidden under to remind him that it had warned him that letting Finn hang around was a bad idea.
Will glances up from the exact same essay ten minutes later to find Finn leaning on the table directly opposite him with a profoundly revelatory expression, “Dude!”
“What?” He prompts, mind racing as he tries to predict what has pulled Finn away from the movie.
“Are Arthur and Eames sleeping together?” Finn asks, sounding oddly eager.
Will blinks, honestly not sure what he'd been expecting but certainly not this, “You mean, like on the plane together?”
“No, are they-” Finn leans closer, dropping his tone as if the characters might somehow hear him through the television screen; and why Will finds that ridiculous notion endearing rather than downright insane like it actually is, he doesn't know, “Are they fucking?”
Will pushes his fingers up under his lenses to scrub at his tired eyes, “What brought this on?”
“I didn't notice before, but, Eames calls Arthur 'darling',” Finn answers.
“Are you basing this on the fact that I may have called you darling a few times today?” Will probes gently. “If so, darling is a common term of endearment in Britain; it doesn't always mean two people are in a relationship if one of them calls the other darling, or dear, or babe, or love... Some people just use those words casually.”
“So, you don't think they're together?” Finn asks, sounding a little disappointed.
“Oh please,” Will snorts. “They bicker like an old married couple but then warn each other to stay safe once the guns are out; they probably hit a hotel right after the credits roll.”
Finn grins and chuckles lewdly, Will looks down at the essay to mask his own smirk and finds himself observing the slanted handwriting on the page with abject apathy. He puts his critical red pen down and gets up from the dining table, stretching out the dull ache that's developed in his back. “I'm hungry, you ready to eat?” He's talking to a teenage boy, so the suggestion is more for the sake of being polite than an actual inquiry.
“Sure,” Finn answers and follows him through to the kitchen.
Will stares dejectedly into the mostly empty refrigerator; he really needs to go grocery shopping.
“We could just eat the leftover pizza,” Finn suggests, reaching towards the box left out on the counter.
“No.” He feels a flush of embarrassment at his effuse response because really, his justification regarding the remaining pizza is weak and he knows it, but he still finds himself saying, “Cold pizza is really more of a breakfast thing. I'll find us something.” It strikes him idly, as he reaches in to pull the leftover chicken parmesan from the fridge, that his words could be interpreted as an invitation for Finn to still be here for breakfast. He glances over his shoulder, but Finn is merely perusing the overripe bananas in the fruit bowl and doesn't seem to have reached the same conclusion; he feels a flicker of guilt for how grateful he is about that.
Will sets the oven to heat and observes the slice of chicken, cheese and tomato sauce in the baking pan, it would be enough for a large portion if he were eating alone but it's not going to spread to a full meal for the both of them.
“Can I help with anything?” Finn offers, appearing over his shoulder.
Will frowns and considers what he knows he has in the pantry, “How does baked potato to go with this sound?” There is a pause as Finn hums agreeably. “Okay, there should be salad stuff in the crisper. Do you know how to make coleslaw?”
“Technically,” Finn answers with a distinct lack of confidence. “I'm not great at anything that doesn't go in a microwave. I actually burnt salad once.”
Will pauses at the door to the pantry, looking over his shoulder in disbelief, “How did you burn salad?”
“It was a Greek salad and the feta cheese was really hard because it had been in the fridge and I wanted to melt it a bit...” He trails off, nipping his lip and looking sorry for having brought it up, “I didn't think vegetables could actually burn, okay?”
“Oh Zidda,” Will chuckles and tugs Finn close, teasing his frown away with a smattering of kisses. To ease Finn's embarrassment, he shares the anecdote of his attempt to cook lobster thermidor for Terri on their third wedding anniversary, an event that led to a lifelong pledge to never cook with live seafood ever again.
The light for the oven goes off to indicate it has reached the right temperature, so Will peels the cling-wrap away from the leftovers and slides the baking pan into the oven; he makes a note of the time and calculates roughly when it will be heated through.
“Do you want to handle the potatoes,” He suggests to Finn. “They're microwave friendly.”
“Okay.” Finn smiles at the remark and collects the bag from the pantry. Will takes cabbage and carrots from the crisper drawer, loads them into a colander and sets them to rinse under a stream of water from the faucet, then collects a chopping board and a peeler. Finn stands, holding the potatoes idly, watching Will's swift progress, “H-how long do the potatoes need?”
“Hm?” Will looks over from where he's started peeling a carrot, “About ten minutes should do, just make sure you microwave each one separately.”
“Okay.” There's a short chorus of beeps and then the steady hum of the device, leaving Finn to hover absently.
“We're gonna need grated cheese too,” Will instructs, to give Finn something to do. “I think there's some in the fridge.”
There's a block of Wisconsin cheddar, about two-inches square; Finn collects it and comes to stand beside him, grating the entire block into a small bowl and humming quite contentedly. Will slices the cabbage into thin strips and tries not to think about how dangerously domestic this feels, tries not to recall how he and Terri had stopped sharing this kind of closeness towards the end of their marriage.
The microwave beeps to announce the first potato is done; Finn turns to retrieve it and Will pulls him back by the crook of his elbow to hand over the oven mitts.
“Uh, thanks,” Finn ducks his head a fraction, a twitch at the corner of his mouth that might be an abashed smile, then he spins round to collect the cooked potato and replace it with a raw one. “What should I do with this?” He looks down at the hot potato cradled in the oven mitt, “It'll go cold if we just leave it out.”
Will turns a dial to put the grill on a low heat, “The grill should keep it hot while we cook the rest.”
“Awesome,” Finn answers, putting the baked potato down gently and sliding the rack back under the heat. “What should I do now?” He prompts eagerly.
“You could go back to watching your movie and let me finish this,” Will suggests, rolling his eyes.
“That's no fun,” Finn mock-whines, coming up from behind and wrapping his arms round Will's waist, his chin resting on the older man's shoulder.
“I think I saw salad cream and mayonnaise in the fridge,” Will muses. “Pick which one you want and you can start mixing the coleslaw.”
“What's salad cream?” Finn asks.
“You've never...?” Will pushes the sliced cabbage aside with the flat of the knife. “That's it, we're using the salad cream,” He says decisively.
“You're the boss.” Finn actually salutes as he turns to collect the bottle from the fridge, how did Will end up bringing someone so ridiculous into his home? Finn sets the bottle down on the counter, then resumes his position pressed to Will's back. He stays steadfast there until the beep announcing that the second potato is cooked and when he comes back he picks the bottle up again and considers it, “So how much should I use?”
“Just use everything that's left in the bottle,” Will directs. “Add two tablespoons of oil, two of vinegar, a pinch of salt and it'll be ready to mix.” He slices the last of the cabbage as Finn obediently concocts the mixture, then slides the thinly sliced vegetables into a bowl and passes it across to Finn to mix together.
“You know, you'd probably make a good Home Ec teacher,” Finn says as he happily stirs the contents of the bowl to coat the vegetables with the creamy mixture.
“Well, you're taking to this more than the Spanish, at least,” Will answers dryly.
Finn gives the slightest of twitches, then his expression of discomfort flits away and is replaced with a default cheerful smile.
“Did you always want to be a teacher?” Finn asks, whisking the coleslaw perfunctorily.
Will places the chopping board, peeler and vegetable knife down with the pile of crockery waiting to go into the dishwasher and answers with his back turned, “What makes you think I ever wanted to be a teacher?”
“I dunno, you just seem to actually enjoy it... Some of my classes, it's like the teachers are waiting for the bell to ring as much as the rest of us. You aren't like that, you smile and stuff,” Finn stumbles through a rationalization.
Will bites his lip as he listens, because the Duranki is untouched and so he knows that Finn is reading him with his own innate understanding, and he's reading him so clearly. “When I was on Mul Apin, I just wanted to come to Earth. When I was in high school, I just wanted to go to college. At college, I was sleepwalking through the mathematics program because I'd spent my early teens learning to chart a gravity map from a single reference point; one day, someone offered me the chance to earn a few bucks tutoring them in trig and I found that I really liked teaching.”
“So, just... like that?” Finn prompts, raising his eyebrows skeptically.
Will shrugs, “I think most people have no idea what they want to do when they enroll, they just pick a course that interests them and somewhere between then and graduation they figure out what they want to do with their life.”
“That's... actually kind of reassuring,” Finn answers. Will can see the lack of a grand plan painted all over his face, in so many ways Finn reminds him of himself at that age. “So, if you'd never left Mul Apin, do you think you'd still have become a teacher?”
“Without doubt,” Will replies promptly. “There's no formal education system back home, kids learn by finding an interest in something and following an adult round to pick up an understanding of how they work. Sort of like an apprenticeship.”
“When you're kids?” Finn repeats. “I don't even know what I want to do now, how are you supposed to decide when all you want to do is play with your friends?”
“It's not a perfect system by any means," Will acknowledges, “But most kids have some idea of what they want to be when they grow up and they tend to take an interest in the things they're naturally good at, so we get by okay; and there's no pressure to settle on something until your early teens anyway.”
“Were you following anyone around, before Isten Baba, I mean?” Finn asks.
“There was one Dumuzi I spent a lot of time with. We don't acknowledge bloodline connections but rather, a sort of community spirit; but I guess you could say he was like an uncle,” Will muses. “He was a Rakbu, most Dumuzi are because we make good diplomats, and one day when I was about eight or so, I followed him out of curiosity and just fell in under his wing. I didn't take it all that seriously and I dropped him like a hot rock when I had the chance to go in for Isten Baba, but if I was still on Mul Apin I'd probably be carrying messages and getting tailed by some young kid myself.”
“Carrying messages, like by hand?” Finn asks, perplexed. “You have space travel but not the internet?”
“Sumer society is really segregated. Sometimes an expert in a particular field might leave to pass their knowledge onto others who could benefit from it but they wouldn't abandon their home without training a competent successor first. There was never a demand that made something like the internet seem necessary because most people only interact with the members of their own community and they can do that face-to-face,” Will explains.
“So why are there, uh, Rakoons?” Finn asks, furrowing his brow like he knows that isn't quite right.
“Rakbu,” Will supplies, “They maintain contact with other communities so that we can supply them with aid when they need it, or vice versa. Most communities specialize in a trade, like where I grew up, it was mostly farmers and fishermen; we could provide food to those who needed it and they'd offer their trade in return, medicine for instance, or contracted labor.”
“Hm, so you wouldn't exactly have been carrying Facebook pokes across the country?” Finn teases.
“Thankfully not,” Will agrees.
Finn grins and holds the bowl out for the older man to inspect, “Is this ready?”
“Looks great,” Will answers. “Put it in the fridge for now. We need beans to go with the cheese.”
Finn puts the coleslaw in to chill, then at the prompting of the microwave places the third potato in to cook. At the same time, Will retrieves a tin of Bush's from the cabinet and pours the contents into a saucepan, putting it to heat on the stove.
“So if you were tutoring people in math, why did you end up teaching Spanish?” Finn asks.
“Those teachers you mentioned, the ones who always look like they don't want to be there,” Will prompts. “How many of them teach math?”
Finn looks thoughtful, “I see your point.”
“The team monitoring radio waves from Earth picked up a lot of different languages and so I knew some snippets of Spanish before I came here, I took classes in high school to try and clear up some of the confusion that had arisen in trying to interpret it and found I liked the language so I carried on learning until I was fluent,” Will summarizes. “When I decided that I wanted to teach, I thought to myself; why learn a language for my people if I'm not going to share that language with the people on this planet?”
“Wait so... Do you, like, beam up to the mothership and give them the same lessons on the irregular verbs you teach in class?” Finn asks, face scrunched up in bewilderment.
“Nothing quite so ridiculous,” Will answers flatly. “Before I left Mul Apin I forged Ankida with a Dugnamtar, every Sumer traveling to Earth did. Anything I learn, everything I know, is shared through that connection.”
“So, you have a Duranki with someone back on your planet?” Finn accuses.
“What? No,” Will answers, appalled. “It's Ankida, it's not the same thing.”
“They sound like the same thing,” Finn retorts blithely.
Will takes a calming breath and reminds himself of how confusing the distinction between football and soccer had been when he'd first arrived on Earth, how alien concepts can seem indistinguishable when you don't fully understand them and that Finn's rudeness is a result of that, nothing more.
“Ankida is a bond of shared knowledge, it doesn't go beyond that. I formed mine for practical purposes; it means I can live my life here on the planet that I love, doing the things that I enjoy...” He puts down the spoon he's been stirring the beans with, turning to place a hand against Finn's cheek, “With the people that I care about.”
“So it's not like- You don't have someone waiting for you?” Finn asks uncertainly. “Someone you're going home to once you get bored of living in fucking Nowhere, Ohio.”
“Didn't I tell you that I'm not leaving Earth,” Will reminds, moving his hand up to Finn's ear to run his fingers softly around the shell of it. “I want to spend the rest of my life here and when I die, the Ankida will sever and everything I learned can be used to help my people form a mutually beneficial alliance with humanity.”
“So, it's- You're here for the greater good,” Finn surmises.
“I made Duranki with you, Finn; there's nowhere in the whole universe I want to be right now other than here with you.”
Finn keens and pushes Will back into the counter, placing an arm on either side to crowd him in, and leans close to initiate a demanding, desperate kiss. Will climbs up onto the edge of the counter, sliding his legs round Finn's thighs, tangling his fingers in the dark hair at his nape, pulling him closer and returning the kiss earnestly. The beans will probably congeal without him stirring them, but Finn needs to assert his alpha male instinct and he's happy to make that sacrifice if it will soothe his partner.
Finn pulls back when the microwave beeps, lowers his gaze and looks like he's trying to mentally articulate an apology, but Will understands and tries to convey through a thin smile that he's already forgiven him. He waits for Finn to place the baked potato under the grill with the others, then smoothly steps back in front of the stove to stir the beans.
“If I-” Finn's hands settle on his hips, but he doesn't press himself close like he had before. “If I were from Mul Apin, what do you think my job would be?”
“Sharur, maybe,” Will answers, picturing Finn bare-chested and dripping with sweat, with a slab of game meat over one shoulder and a proud grin stretching out his cheeks. “O-or maybe Etlu,” He continues, trying to quash the swell of heat inside him, “I know you don't like fighting, but I've seen how much you care about people, how much you try to protect them, so I think you'd be good at it.”
He feels chapped lips press at the patch of skin behind his earlobe, “You really think so?” Finn sounds hesitant, uncertain.
Information is pouring through the Duranki because of their closeness and Will realizes that Finn had been expecting him to choose something degrading, had been expecting an insult so that he could be forgiven; he mentally curses Quinn for the poisonous effect she'd had on Finn's self-esteem.
“I know so,” He assures confidently, leaning back trustingly into Finn's embrace.
Finn goes to collect the fourth and final potato when the microwave beeps a final time, Will steps aside and pulls a plate from the cabinet for the baked potatoes to go on. He stirs the saucepan and keeps a watchful eye on the younger man as Finn cuts into the crispy skin and spoons a knob of butter into the rich golden innards of the four potatoes; despite his lack of confidence in his own ability, Finn manages it without cutting his fingers off.
Since the dining table is still laden with Will's unfinished grading, Finn puts the plate down at the breakfast nook then turns to collect the coleslaw and makes an exploration of the drawers until he uncovers the cutlery. Meanwhile, Will pours the beans into a bowl and places them alongside the baked potatoes; then retrieves the chicken parmesan from the oven and slices the bubbling, cheesy dish in half, serving up onto two plates.
“This looks amazing,” Finn says, observing the meal ravenously.
To Will, it looks like an overdose of carbohydrates, but he has spent the day having a lot of energetic sex which has got to be worth a few hundred calories.
“What do you want to drink?” He asks, opening the fridge to observe the choices, “I have... OJ and milk.” He pulls the cap from the milk, sniffs at it and promptly pours it away. “Make that OJ,” He rectifies; he really needs to go grocery shopping.
“Juice sounds good,” Finn accepts cheerily, spinning his fork and waiting for them both to be seated at the table before he starts eating, out of good manners.
Will pours a drink from the carton and then fills a glass with tap water for himself, setting them both down at the table and then taking his seat.
Finn takes a bite of the chicken parmesan and immediately purses his lips round the mouthful, swallowing forcefully with his eyes watering as he makes a grab for the orange juice.
“That's hot,” He gasps after he's gulped down half the drink.
“Well of course, you moron,” Will answers affectionately. “It just came out of the oven.”
“I know, but I'm hungry,” Finn answers, nipping at his lip. He looks like he's willing to risk another hot cheese burn just to get some food in his stomach.
“Here.” Will spoons coleslaw into one of the baked potatoes and slides it onto Finn's plate.
Finn considers it tentatively, then picks up a small amount on the end of his fork and tastes it. “Hey, that's not bad.” His eyes light up and he takes a bigger bite, digging down to get some potato on the fork too.
Will narrows his eyes playfully, “Is there a reason it should be?”
“I haven't had salad cream before, I thought it might be, y'know, gross and British,” Finn explains.
“Don't insult the food of my people,” Will declares.
“You're not even English, you big faker,” Finn retorts.
Will tries to hide his amusement by sipping at his water, but when Finn sticks his tongue out at him he snorts and some water slips from his mouth. He swipes across his jaw and mock-glares at Finn, who is beaming across the table at him.
Will scoops beans into his own baked potato, sprinkles grated cheese on top and waits for Finn to throw out another barb, but Finn seems far too busy with his food to keep the banter going. He's very expressive in his enjoyment of the meal: he makes happy little sounds as he chews at the crispy potato skin; he chases every last dollop of coleslaw around on the plate, even going so far as to abandon the fork and scoop it up with his fingers; and he pauses every once in a while to tell Will how great everything is. Will observes it all, recalling the old saying about the way to a man's heart; he flinches at the thought and focuses back on his own food, barely tasting the rich tomato sauce and creamy potato as he reminds himself that Finn's heart is not something he should be seeking to claim.
They finish up the meal with minimal conversation; Will still lost in thought and consequently taking a more leisurely pace than Finn, who gets through the chicken parmesan rapidly once it's cooled down, and he sacrifices three of the four baked potatoes to appease Finn's appetite.
Will collects the empty dishes, carries them across to the mound of stained crockery that needs to be cleaned and contemplates making a start on them now; but he recognizes the instinct for what it is, yet another procrastination tactic to avoid sending Finn home, and if that's the case he has something else to do that he'd greatly prefer.
“So, uh, what're we gonna do now?” Finn taps his fingers on the table and avoids Will's eye, anticipating the dismissal that's been lingering like the Sword of Damocles all afternoon.
“Well, I'm going to have dessert,” Will replies, enunciating specifically as he stalks closer.
“There's dessert?” Finn repeats obliviously. “Is it cake?”
Will chuckles and leans down to whisper in his ear, “It's something delicious and creamy that you're going to help me with.”
“So, it's... not cake,” Finn concludes, and fuck but he actually looks disappointed.
“I'm going to blow you, Finn,” Will lays the truth bare and is pleased by the tingle of pheromones that rises when Finn finally gets on the same page.
They kiss lazily and Finn's mouth carries traces of the tang of salad cream and tomato sauce underneath his own personal flavor, Will thinks it's delicious and finds his kisses growing deeper and more probing as he searches out every last hint of the taste. Finn groans his approval, his hands coming down to cup Will's ass and pull him onto his lap. Will slides his hands down, rubbing over the taut skin of Finn's belly to reach the rising bulge in his jeans.
He leaves Finn's scrumptious lips red and swollen as he slides down to the floor to bury his face in Finn's crotch. Will rubs his nose along the line of Finn's cock, standing out against the denim; the musky scent of it reaches his nose but the aroma grows stronger when he pops the button of his fly and pulls the zipper down. Finn gives a pleased moan as his cock is freed from constraint and the slack length tenses and grows in Will's grip, stiffening into it's full glory.
Finn's balls are tucked away inside his boxers, the sensitive skin of his thighs is buried under denim and his prostate is out of reach to everything but Will's ZE; all he has to work with are the thick inches of cock poking through the open flap of Finn's underwear, so he goes at it with everything he's got.
He runs his tongue along the frenulum, feeling the tiny ridges lining the glans close to it; he laves the area for a prolonged moment before he encompasses the rest of the swollen cockhead in the warm, wet suction of his mouth.
“Damn,” Finn hisses as Will runs the flat of his tongue over the slit of his dick, swallowing around the glans every few heartbeats.
Will glances up as a hand settles gently in his hair, encouraging without forcing; Finn looks like the personification of hedonism: stuffed full of good food with his thighs parted comfortably as he's getting his cock sucked. He feels a surge of arousal run through him as he breathes in pheromones and takes in the exquisite sight of the younger man, so he relaxes his throat and sucks the full length of erection available to him deep into his mouth, until he can feel the cotton flap of Finn's boxers brushing against his lips.
“Fuck.” Finn's breath catches at the unanticipated movement and his fingers tighten in Will's hair. A long groan escapes him as the lips stretched round his length withdraw slowly, the drag of his foreskin driving him wild. “Best dessert ever,” He mumbles, choking off into a satisfied hum as Will dives down the length of his dick again.
“Hm, yeah?” Will inquires, sliding his lips free and starting to lick languid strokes along the hard shaft.
“Yes!” Finn says and Will can't tell if it's a reply or just a response to his latest ministrations until Finn continues, “Better than- than apple pie, or ice cream or- Fuck! Better than triple chocolate fudge cake.”
“High praise indeed,” Will says, dryly amused. He knows better than to trust a word somebody says when he's going down on them, but he can't fight the swell of pride in his chest at the very unique compliment.
He strokes along the spit-slick length, keeping his grasp deliberately looser than Finn really needs, keen to see him beg for it.
“Goddamn, Will please... Please just let me come.” Finn looks down at him, thin rims of chocolate brown lurking on the edge of engorged pupils.
He'd really been meaning to tease, he'd been planning to drag this last sexual act out as long as he could to suck up every last delicious pheromone Finn has to offer him, to last him until the end of his cycle, but Finn looks so wrung out after his brief attentions that Will takes pity on him and decides to end it quickly.
“Yes, oh... Oh man, like that, with the- that thing with your tongue,” Finn starts to babble as Will works.
It's partway through that quick, dirty blowjob with Finn's pheromones and gratified sentence fragments hanging in the air that Will has his revelation.
“Will, I'm gonna...” He can feel the hot pulse of Finn's Ni, smell the pheromones right on the verge, so he pulls back and tugs at Finn's cock.
“Do it! Now Finn, come for me,” He instructs hungrily.
Finn looks down at him in awe, then his eyes squeeze shut as the first burst of ejaculate shoots from his tip. Will catches the first spurt on his tongue, then leans in close to suck the head again so he can swallow down the secondary bursts, but the technique is messy and he spills a fair amount, having to lick and suck at the softening length to get it clean. When he's done, he looks up at Finn and finds the young man watching him in return; his eyes are fixed on the line of spunk coating Will's chin and he groans as his spent cock twitches at the arousing image. Finn rubs his thumb to collect the spattering, but Will grabs his wrist before he can withdraw it and sucks the digit into his mouth, slurping up the last droplets of Finn's release.
“Fuck, that's hot,” Finn mumbles, the fingers of his other hand still stroking through Will's hair.
Will lets go with an audible pop, letting the hand go and falling forward to rest against Finn's thigh. He watches the receding length of the young man's dick, pillowed on the fabric of his open fly, and lets slip a satisfied groan as Finn's fingers massage over a particularly receptive spot on his scalp. “Stay here tonight,” He offers quietly.
“Huh?” Finn looks down at him blearily.
Will lifts his head, reaching up to cup his hand against Finn's cheek and holds his gaze, “If there's nobody at home waiting for you, do you want to spend the night with me?”
“Yeah, that's-” Finn smiles shyly, “I mean, if you don't mind.”
Will struggles to his feet, the ache in his knees really making itself known, and leans over to ruffle Finn's hair affectionately, “I wouldn't have offered if I didn't want you here.”
Finn smiles again, ducking his head to watch his hands as he fumbles his cock back into his jeans.
It's evening and the light outside is fading, but it's still too early to go to bed and Will doesn't even want to consider the pile of essays he still needs to read, so he finds himself following Finn into the lounge.
“Budge over,” He instructs, waiting for Finn to comply so that he can take the spot on the couch next to him. The bowl of popcorn is still sitting on the coffee table so he leans over to grab it and settles back into the couch, one leg up with his ankle tucked under his other knee and the bowl balanced on his thigh.
“You want to watch Inception?” Finn suggests, settling an arm round Will's shoulders and tapping the remote against his knee.
He really just wants to be here, comfortable against Finn's side for the next two hours before they fall into his bed to spend the night together, so he shrugs and shovels a handful of slightly stale popcorn into his mouth, “Sure, sounds good.”
Finn takes the television off standby and selects play from the main menu, “Okay, movie time.”
“You don't have to start from the beginning just for me,” Will offers. “You could start from the scene you got to before.”
“Actually, um-” Finn looks over sheepishly. “Could we start at the beginning? I'm still trying to figure this movie out.”
“Oh.” Will smiles reassuringly, “No problem, I'll walk you through it.”
Finn smiles and takes a few popcorn kernels, “It's not that I don't get it, I do... I think, most of it anyway. There's just stuff that confuses me.”
“Like what?” Will prompts, assuming that he'll be able to clear things up.
“Like, how come Ariadne is the first person to notice Cobb is out of control when Mal shows up and shoots Arthur in the kneecap right at the start of the movie? If their subconscious is what produces projections, then why don't the team make any appear when they're working the job? Why does the hotel have zero gravity, but the mountain doesn't? What made Arthur miss the first kick? Why doesn't the kick at the hospital pull Cobb out of Limbo? And why didn't Cobb just move his kids to France?”
Will sits dumbly, feeling slightly stunned, in the wake of the questions pouring out of Finn; every question is justified and something he hadn't considered before. Will realizes that, in his struggle to make sense of the plot, Finn has exposed almost every inconsistency or faulty explanation in the screenplay.
He looks over to the screen where Leonardo DiCaprio has washed up on a beach, “Jack survived the Titanic sinking,” He remarks.
Finn blinks, looks over at the screen and then chuckles. The weak joke paves the way for them not taking the film seriously at all; they chat and only pay attention intermittently, they dub over Arthur and Eames' dialogue to make their scenes all about their domestic disputes and they sit close together, hands and fingers brushing as they finish the popcorn.
All the while Will can feel the knowledge of his epiphany back in the kitchen weighing down on him: The pizza in the box, the other methods of procrastination, the self-assurance that he wouldn't let himself get attached; it's all for nothing because he's already attached, he was in too deep the moment he asked Finn to visit him today, maybe even before that. He can postpone reality from crashing down on them a little longer, but it just means that when it does fall, it's going to crush them harder than ever.
Yet somehow, Monday looks like a long way away when he's resting his head on Finn's shoulder and listening to him explain the reasons why he thinks Yusuf is actually a secret badass.
“Hey, you okay?” Finn reaches down to ruffle his hair. Will realizes that he's slumped over with his head resting in Finn's lap; the credits are rolling and he doesn't remember what scene they'd been on the last time he looked over at the screen.
It's a very open question, one open to changing circumstances, but for now he has the answer, “I'm good.” He sits upright and stretches, “I think I'm about ready for bed though.”
“Yeah, I think you're right,” Finn agrees, getting up to take the DVD out of the player.
They brush their teeth, strip down to their underwear and crawl into the bed they'd spent so much of the day in. Finn's clothes litter the floor, both from when he'd first arrived and when he'd gotten undressed just now, and Will thinks they're like a representation of the way Finn has made his mark on Will's life; tomorrow Finn will pick up his clothes and leave the apartment, tomorrow Finn will reclaim the parts of himself he's given to Will and leave the older man to grow used to being lonely all over again.
“What are you thinking about?” Finn asks, watching him in the dim light.
Will pushes his heavy thoughts aside and tucks himself against Finn's side, an arm resting on his chest and picking idly at the gray t-shirt, “Nothing really.” He sits up so he can lean over and kiss Finn lightly, then lies his head back down on his shoulder and breathes steadily.
“Night Will,” Finn whispers, pressing a butterfly kiss to the shell of his ear.
“Goodnight,” Will answers, shifting to find a more comfortable position.
They fall asleep not long after.
Part 4a