"What she said," Fin says, his hand on my belt, "about me being your..." He laughs in embarrassment and I reach a hand to cup his jaw, finding bravery I didn't know existed.
"She has no idea. The way she made it sound, ignore that. She isn't a good person."
"But you want to- something. With me?"
I hadn't been expecting this side of Fin. Shy and uncertain. It still fits though, like there are all these sides to him, each one distinct but amazing.
"I do," I say, hushed, like his shyness is passing on to me, except it's my own and was there from the start.
He smiles though, brief and starlight-blinding.
I'm not expecting him to stretch up though, one hand still on my buckle, the other sliding into the tiny curls at the very nape of my neck, cool lips pressing to mine. When he sits back onto his haunches and meets my eyes, there's a semi-calmness: a determined stare still undercut by worry, and I'm reminded of his unknown history.
"You don't need to do this, Fin."
It's not like I'm certain what his motivation is, and I doubt it's anything like what mine could be if I allowed myself to hope.
But he doesn't stand up and walk out. He leans into my hand instead, closing his eyes, relaxing against me.
"I want to."
"Oh... Open your eyes," I tell him, barely pitched above a whisper.
He does, but he also nudges forward. "Let me." It doesn't sound like an insistence, more a plea.
I lean back, though I keep my hand resting against his jaw, as a reassurance for us both. He keeps watching me as he dexterously flips my belt and jeans open. The extended eye contact's borderline awkward, but the soft crinkles at the corner of his eyes help, even more when he tips forward enough to lick up the side of my cock, released from my boxers and already hard.
He makes a humming sound which has me reflexively twitch up.
"Eager," he says with a chuckle, and I rush an apology.
He stops then, sitting back on his haunches before pressing a hand firmly against my thigh. Grounding me again, like he does when he holds my wrist, and I wonder if he knows the effect.
"I like it," he insists. "Please don't-"
"What?"
"Don't devalue necessary apologies. And don't, don't think you owe someone an apology for existing."
He sees a lot. Minutes watching Lauren and me: he's seen too much.
As if he's determined that I forget any discomfort, he licks another line up my cock before taking the head into his mouth, working his hand to gently roll the skin in a way that makes me see stars behind closed lids. He sucks the tip, already sensitive and wet, and I gasp, eyes flicking open to catch his, wide and deep blue, cheekbones sharp.
He pulls off with a little slurp that has my thighs stretching wider as he takes the opportunity to tuck himself even closer to me, coming in harder and faster. His mouth feels made for me, like it's hardwired to know every spot of sensitivity, hit every point of pleasure, building so naturally I almost don't see it coming, floating in his wide and encouraging eyes. I mumble, tapping his arm resting against my thigh to tell him I'm close and I feel the movement of his mouth as he grins at me, before pushing down, going deeper until I feel the spongy resistance at his throat, and that's what sends me over.
He's fastened me away in seconds, jumping up, straddling me and kissing forcefully, something almost desperate in it, hard and needy. I can taste myself and pull him closer by the back of the head, fingers stroking the short hair to distract myself from wanting to grab and thrust and own.
"Thank you," he whispers, nipping under my ear as I make a confused sound in my throat. "For letting me."
That clarification doesn't exactly help, but before I can ask, there's a rattling wallop on the door.
We jump up, red-faced and panicking, before turning to each other and bursting out laughing. I want to hug him, but the door goes again.
I swing it open, irrationally annoyed at this person interrupting, though worried it's Lauren. It's not though. It's some tall, smooth-looking man who looks like some kind of movie star. Salt and pepper in his temple, stern dark eyes, and a smug smile.
"Mr. Brewster?"
"Uh, yeah. Can I help?"
"My name's Nielsen. Richard Nielsen."
I wait. I have no idea... except it comes to me then. He's the creep who was watching the place - and Fin - yesterday.
He looks around, his eyes slowly casting over everything. It's awkward. It doesn't look like much. The tables are kind of battered, and most have uneven legs. The chairs don't match, but not in that eclectic cottage way Nyora wanted me to go for. They're just old, like everything else. The only good things are my machines, and their shiny fronts make everything else look even more decrepit.
"I had a surveyor look over the building," he tells me, and his smirk gets even smugger when he sees the confusion on my face. "Oh, did your landlord not tell you? He's selling."
My landlord hasn't said a whole lot of anything to me in the three years I've had the lease. I don't complain about dripping taps and broken floorboards, and he doesn't increase my rent. But I'm more confused about when this survey happened. I'm here seven days.
"Have you bought it then?" Fin asks, one hand on his hip.
"Not yet. But it's only a matter of time. Just getting everything together. It's a great location. And there's a few big-name coffee shops looking to open up here."
"You already have a deal?"
"No, but it's pretty much guaranteed as soon as I've fixed this place up. It's a mess, isn't it?"
Fin glances at me. "I think you need to leave now," he tells Nielsen. "It's not yours yet."
"Defensive, aren't you?" Nielsen leers, leaning towards Fin, who presses back but is trapped because I'm in his way. "Maybe I could talk you round if we spent some quality time together. I'm sure I could find a position for you."
I go to move so Fin can get away, but he does that thing again, where his fingers reach back to circle my wrist, gently, but with intent. It makes me feel warm, and the sharp tone he uses on Nielsen doesn't change that.
"You should leave. And don't come back."
Nielsen grimaces, glaring, but he storms out, slamming the door wide and sending one last vicious look before he strides off down the street.
Fin turns to me. "That was weird, right?"
"Yeah. I guess I need to call my landlord."
He seems suddenly brittle, distanced compared to how we were before that guy turned up, regardless of his fingers still touching my wrist. I want nothing more than to soothe the sharp edges, but the shards keep me away.
At home, after I walked Fin to the station, I'm surprised when Nyora turns up just after I get off the phone to the landlord.
"You should be getting an early night. You can't be tired on your first day," I tell her.
"Babe, it's barely eight. Besides, I'm not going to sleep tonight, I'm too excited. Now, order pizza and tell me your woes."
"I didn't want to bother you."
"Oh shush, I'm here because I want to be. Besides, Fin was worried."
She explains in a pleased voice that Fin had messaged her.
"How did that happen?"
"He's sweet. I'm sure you'd be able to see that for yourself if you opened your eyes. I'm going to help him find an apartment."
I want to tell her what happened before Nielsen turned up. Just how sweet Fin really is, but it feels wrong to flout it without his knowledge.
Besides, Nyora's more interested in what the landlord said.
"It's true. He says he wants to retire, and some estate agent approached him saying the building's worth so much. It's insane."
"How much though?"
I whisper it to her because it's crazy anyone would pay that much.
"You should buy it instead."
"What?"
"Listen, Callum, I hate to play this card, but you know your mum and grandparents would have wanted you to. And not just that. They would have wanted everything for you."
I wince, because she's right, and I don't want her to be. I have this house because of my grandparents, who bought it when the area was down-at-heel and nothing like the gentrified, tree-lined suburbia it is now, and because they were smart enough to leave it to me and not mum. My dad would have sold it for grog money before they were in the ground. As it was, he was pressuring me to sell it right up until he died a couple of years after mum. I didn't though, no matter the words and fists, because I wasn't going to piss on their memories like he was so willing to.
And they wanted better for me. They'd hate seeing how I live life so scared now.
"I won't pressure you, Callum. But think about it, at least. Please. Besides, Fin said that Nielsen guy was a proper twat, so really, you should buy it just so he can't."