Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Finn liked to think of himself as a man of restraint, but he had his limits, and Noah—splayed across the mattress, ass arched—was a study in temptation. The room smelled like the medicinal tang of lube, the air thick with the low, syncopated slap of skin. Finn’s hands were numb from gripping Noah’s waist, nails leaving faint red crescents that would probably be visible for days—and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like that.

“Ah—Finn, more lube—” Noah said, his voice muffled, words jammed together.

Finn grunted, a sound that was more animal than human, and pulled out. He reached for the bottle of Wet on the bedside drawer, almost knocking over the lamp. Before he could grab it, his eyes caught on Noah's PennCard, snapped into the little plastic frame right next to the lube.

The photo was classic Noah—smirk cocked to one side, eyes wide and unguarded. Finn wondered if the girl at the card center had flirted with him, if her hands had lingered when she’d handed it over. He pictured Noah ducking his head, pretending not to notice, still clocking the attention. He picked up the card, thumb smearing a print over the laminate. The idea of Noah flirting back with anybody—even just for the game of it—twisted something in Finn’s gut. Even in a two-by-four headshot, Noah had a way of making you want to look again.

Noah twisted, still panting. "What are you doing?" The words came out chopped, half-laugh.

"You look cute on here," Finn said. He tossed the card onto the pillow, let it land inches from Noah's temple, then finally grabbed the bottle of lube. He squeezed a fat, glistening dollop onto Noah's skin, just above where his cheeks parted. It pooled there before beginning its descent. Finn caught it with two fingers, spreading it over the tight, flushed skin.

He coated himself, then lined up, and went in, too eager, the angle a little off. Noah made a noise, a sharp inhale through his nose, and Finn froze for a second, feeling the hot clamp of muscle.

“Easy,” Noah hissed, voice pitched high. His forehead pressed to the mattress. “It’s been, like, three weeks.”

“Sorry,” Finn muttered. “It’s just—I’ve been thinking about this every goddamn day.”

Noah made a noise that might have been a laugh, but as Finn set a rhythm—Noah’s ass clapping back with every thrust—it dissolved into a moan. Finn was zoning, almost outside himself, when he heard the whimper—Noah, not even trying to muffle it.

He reached forward, clamped a hand over Noah's mouth. "Dial it down," Finn said. "The whole floor's gonna hear."

Noah moaned into Finn’s hand, biting at the heel of his palm—not playful, but sharp, a little fuck-you for the shushing. Finn let his fingers drift up, cupping Noah’s jaw and pressing his thumb into the soft hinge behind his ear. The pulse there was frantic, fluttering against his skin. He wanted to draw it out, make Noah squirm, but he was already close, weeks of blue-balled anticipation burning through every nerve.

He slowed down, focusing on the sweat pooling in the small of Noah's back and the way his shoulder blades knifed out when he tensed. He slid two fingers into Noah’s mouth. Noah sucked them in, tongue working between the knuckles. God, he missed this. Missed the way Noah went all pliant and desperate.

Finn kept his hand there while his hips never stopped their rhythm. He gritted his teeth and kept going until the edge hit him so fast he barely had time to warn Noah.

He came hard, breath stuttering, vision going white at the corners. He let himself collapse forward, forehead pressed to the sweat-slicked skin between Noah’s shoulder blades. He felt like he’d been wrung out. For a second he just lay there, listening to the wet, ugly sound of their breathing.

Noah’s head was turned, one cheek mashed flat against the pillow. “You alive?” he said, voice hoarse.

Finn grunted. “Barely.”

He slid out, his knees still dug into the mattress, and let his weight sink back slightly as his spine uncurled. Noah rolled onto his side, then back, sheets twisting under him. His dick was at half-mast, sticky with precum, the tip pressed flat against his stomach. Finn watched him catch his breath and felt a flare of triumph at how destroyed he looked.

Finn wiped his hands on the comforter, chest still heaving. "Your turn," he said, voice ragged.

Noah didn't need to be told twice. He wrapped his hand around his cock and started jerking, fast and ruthless. Finn sat back on his heels, just watching. Noah's eyes met his, questioning, but Finn stayed where he was, transfixed by the sight of Noah's fist working, the way his stomach hollowed with each upstroke. After a few seconds, Finn finally reached down, let his own fingers hover, then slid two between Noah's legs.

Noah's thighs parted, almost involuntary, and Finn pressed in, feeling the lube-slick ring yield. He watched Noah's face: eyelids fluttering, jaw clenched, every muscle gone tight.

Finn could feel his own dick twitch at the sight of Noah’s hand working his cock and the obscene, hungry way his asshole clenched around Finn’s fingers. He curled his fingers deeper, pushing against that spot that made Noah’s voice crack.

There it was. Noah’s whole body went rigid, chest caving in as he jerked once, twice, then came, painting his own stomach in uneven stripes. Finn watched his abs flex under the splatter, a few drops catching in his navel. He felt the wet, spasming clutch around his fingers, like Noah didn’t want to let go of him, ever.

Finn slid his hand free, slow, dragging out the last tremor. “Fuck, babe,” he said, voice completely shot.

Noah snorted, too spent to move. “Don’t call me that,” he said, almost a reflex.

He was grinning, though, Finn could see it in the twist of Noah’s mouth. Finn trailed his fingers up, not bothering to hide the wet sheen of lube and come, and swiped them slow over Noah’s belly, drawing a lazy, wet arc just above his navel. The motion left a comet tail of pearly streaks.

Noah twitched, tried to catch Finn’s wrist, but Finn laughed and dodged him, three fingers now glistening. He wiped them deliberate, slow, up the center of Noah’s chest, painting a sticky stripe over his sternum.

“You’re such an asshole,” Noah said, but his voice was ruined, somewhere between a moan and a laugh.

Finn regarded the mess he’d made like an artist admiring a canvas. “That’s what you like about me.” Then, without any warning, he rolled off the bed, feet landing solid on the cold linoleum.

He padded across the freezing floor, the skin of his shins prickling as the sweat cooled and dried in streaks. He yanked open the black plastic shower curtain and cranked the tap. For a minute the pipes only rattled, then the water coughed out. He stepped in and let the heat blast him, the world fuzzing into a wet, roaring blur.

There was a smear of Noah’s cum on his thigh, already drying to a gloss. Finn pressed his palm to it, smoothed it into the skin, then watched it sluice away under the spray. He braced both hands on the tile and let his head drop, water pounding the nape of his neck. His body felt hollowed out, every muscle gone soft and loose. He wondered if this was what it felt like to be genuinely content—not just the animal daze after sex, but something quieter. He tried to hold onto it, the way he’d been told to in therapy: catalog the sensation, memorize the shape of it, so he could find his way back later.

He rinsed off, scrubbed a palmful of the pink body wash over his chest and pits. He caught himself humming, some bastardized version of a song he’d been working on, the melody snagging in his head like a splinter. The shower curtain rattled and Noah stepped in, shivering as the steam hit him. He looked dazed, hair clumping to his forehead, the marks Finn had left already starting to bloom on his hips.

Noah closed the curtain behind him and crowded into the narrow stall, bumping Finn's shoulder. "Gonna use all the hot water," he said, voice rough but light. "Selfish."

Finn grinned, didn't bother to deny it. He shifted sideways, creating a sliver of space beneath the showerhead, their hips knocking against the cold tile wall. Noah tilted his head back, angling for the stream, water catching only half his face. Finn watched droplets trace the line of Noah's neck.

He squeezed a dollop of the cheap pink body wash into his palm, worked it into a lather and started making slow circles over Noah's chest. The skin was flushed and goosebumped, a few stray hairs flat against the pecs. Finn liked the feel of him, the way Noah's ribs flared under his fingers, the way his breath caught when Finn traced over the nipple, then pinched it, just to see what he'd do.

Noah made a sound, not quite a protest, and caught Finn's hand, twisting their fingers together. "You're such a menace," he said, but he didn't let go. Finn ducked his head, navigating the cramped space, and kissed the inside of Noah's wrist, then the sharp ridge of his collarbone.

They washed each other in an awkward dance, trading off the soap and the meager spray, Finn's hands sure and direct, Noah's more methodical.

Noah was the first to break the rhythm, setting the soap on the small plastic caddy suctioned to the tile and bracing his palms flat against the wall. “I wish you didn’t have to leave tomorrow,” he said, not looking at Finn.

Finn rinsed the last of the suds from his hands, watching the pink-tinged swirl vanish down the drain. "You know I'd stay if I could," he said, and he meant it, but the thought of the studio, the way his inbox was already a disaster, made his chest clench. Kai had given him exactly one week off and had already sent three "not to be annoying but" texts.

Noah pressed his forehead to the wall. “My roommate’s not even back until the eighteenth,” he said. “It’s just me and this—” he waved a hand at the shower, at the whole dorm, “—for another week. You could just, like, move in. Crash here, eat all my food, never wear pants.” The pitch of his voice went up, mock-hopeful.

Finn snorted. “I’d like that,” he said. “I could get really into dorm life. Eat nothing but Hot Pockets and steal all your hoodies.” He pressed his lips to the wet skin of Noah’s shoulder. “Maybe fail a class or two, just for the full experience.”

Noah turned, water dripping down his cheeks. “You’d last two days,” he said. “You’d get bored and start a punk band with those guys who vape outside the library.”

Finn considered this. He could see it—himself, screaming lyrics on Locust Walk while campus security pretended not to care. He could see Noah in the front row, smiling so hard his face might split. “You’d be my groupie.”

Noah laughed, a short burst that echoed off the tile. “I’d be a really good groupie. I’d make merch. You’d hate it.”

Finn leaned close, forehead bumping against Noah’s. “I don’t hate anything you do,” he said, which was a lie, but a sweet one. He let the water run over both of them for another minute, then turned off the tap. The sudden quiet was a shock.

He reached for a towel, found the one with the blue stripe, and tossed it to Noah. They dried off in silence.

Finn watched Noah scrub at his hair, the way his arms flexed up, the little shiver that ran through him when the towel bunched at his neck.

Noah wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped out first, leaving a trail of footprints. Finn followed into the main room, rubbing his own hair dry. The sheets were still tangled, the air still thick with the ghost of what they’d just done.

Noah stood in front of the mini fridge, towel hitched low on his hips, and rummaged for a bottle of water. He cracked it open and drank half in one go, then handed the rest to Finn. “You dehydrated?” he said, deadpan.

Finn drank. He let the bottle dangle from two fingers and dropped onto the edge of the bed, towel barely holding on. He watched Noah move, the way he went around the room picking up pieces of clothing, tossing them into a pile on the desk chair, then pausing when he reached his phone. He checked the time, thumb flicking over the screen, then looked up at Finn.

“What are we doing for Valentine’s next month?” Noah said. He tried to make it sound casual as if he didn’t care, but Finn knew him too well.

Finn grinned. “You’re the romantic. That’s what I have you for.”

Noah snorted. “I thought you were the creative one.”

“Only when it comes to music," Finn said. He leaned back, elbows propped behind him, watching as Noah's thumb paused mid-scroll, his expression clouding over slightly. Noah's other hand stopped patting at his damp hair, fingers curling into a loose fist that rested against his temple.

Finn watched the way Noah’s thumb hovered over the phone, not moving, like he was trying to will a different reality onto the screen. The silence stretched, heavy and prickly, until Finn gave up on subtlety. “Hey.” He let the word out soft, a little raw. “You good?”

Noah looked up, the blue of his eyes sharper with the overhead light. He hesitated, then shrugged, not even trying to fake a smile. “Yeah. Fine. Just…” He let the sentence hang, then shook his head. “Never mind.”

Finn snorted, then leaned forward, elbows on his knees, towel bunched in his lap. “You should really stop reading that online shit.”

Noah let the phone flop face-down on the desk. "It's not that easy. You know what it's like." He scrubbed his hands over his face, then let them fall to his knees. "I thought it would get better after a while, but it's just—" He made a vague, circular motion. "Worse. Every time I open my phone it's just, like, a thousand people arguing about who I am or what I stand for."

Finn tried for a smile, for something easy and breezy, even as his stomach twisted with that familiar helpless feeling. “Well, you know what they say about online hate—it means you’ve made it.” He shrugged. “Nobody bothers flaming nobodies.”

Noah’s mouth twitched, but it didn’t last. “It’s not funny.” He exhaled, shoulders slumping. “It’s going to be so bad when we start the press tour again. I feel sick just thinking about it.”

Finn crossed the room, carefully stepping over a textbook splayed open on the floor, and sat next to him on the desk chair, crowding Noah’s space on purpose. He reached up and cupped the back of Noah’s neck, thumb tracing the line where the hair met skin.

“Stop spiraling,” he said, making his voice as steady as he could. “You’re fine. We’re fine.” The words came out firmer than he meant, but Noah didn’t flinch. Finn could feel the pulse just under the heel of his hand. “Let everyone else scream about it. You and me, we actually know what’s real.”

Noah tipped his head, not quite nodding, just yielding a little to the pressure of Finn’s hand. Finn meant to say something clever, but instead he kissed Noah, slow and deep. Noah let himself be kissed, yielding and soft at first, then tugging Finn a little closer by the damp notch above his elbow.

He broke the kiss with a gentle pop, then pressed his forehead to Noah’s, noses mashed together. “Let’s order a pizza,” Finn said. “Watch something with the lowest possible Rotten Tomatoes score. Then I’m going to fuck you again. We have to make the most of this tragic window before you become insufferable with actual schoolwork.”

Noah let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-groan, and Finn could feel the vibration of it in his own chest. “You literally only want me for my body,” Noah said, but he was smiling now.

Finn shrugged. “It’s a good body,” he said, and gave Noah’s thigh a squeeze. “I’m a simple man.”

Noah sniffed, exaggerated, and wiped the back of his hand under his nose. “God, you’re going to make me cry again. Is that the plan? Are you trying to emotionally manipulate me into ordering pizza?”

“Maybe.” Finn grinned. He didn’t let go of Noah’s knee, just squeezed it again, then leaned in and bit softly at the curve of Noah’s ear. “You know you love it.”

Noah rolled his eyes, but the color was back in his face, the tension gone from his jaw. He flopped back onto the bed, towel slipping dangerously low, and reached for his phone. “What do you want?”

“Pepperoni and jalapeño,” Finn said, then added, “and maybe a salad.”

Noah punched the order in, then tossed the phone aside and pulled Finn down beside him. They lay there, bodies still damp and sticky, limbs tangled. Finn rested his chin on Noah’s shoulder and stared up at the ceiling.

“Hey,” Noah said after a minute, voice soft. “Thanks for… you know.” He didn’t finish the sentence, but Finn got it.

He reached over, brushed a thumb along Noah’s cheekbone. “That’s what—” He paused, felt the word catch like a fishhook in his throat. He almost said it, almost let the “boyfriends” word go, but it stuck. Noah had made a joke of it last month, said that if they weren’t going to be out to the whole world, the least they could do was call each other boyfriends. Finn still had trouble with the label, but he could see how much Noah wanted it, like a badge or a shield.

He forced it out, though it nearly strangled him on the way up: “That’s what boyfriends are for, right?” The word felt awkward, too heavy on the tongue.

Noah’s face did a weird little stutter. He blinked, too quick. Then he made a wounded, theatrical gasp. “You said it,” he said, and clapped a hand over Finn’s mouth. “Oh my god. You’re going to ruin your indie cred.”

Finn snorted and shoved Noah’s face away, palm smearing across his cheek. “Alright, you ruined the mood,” he said, but he was grinning, the words lazy and fond. He rolled onto his back, arm flung over his eyes, towel sliding off his hip and landing somewhere on the floor.

Noah twisted beside him, propped on one elbow, and just watched Finn for a minute.

“I miss being on set,” Noah said, quiet. “Not the hours or the people or any of that. Just… seeing you all the time.” He nudged Finn’s thigh with his knee, a little jab. “It’s weird, going back to normal life and not having you around.”

Finn let the words sit between them. He picked at a loose thread in the comforter, mouth twisting. “We’ll make it work.”

A long stretch of nothing, just the radiator tick and the faint hum of traffic through the window. Then Noah said, “My mom’s been asking about you, by the way.”

Finn blinked. “Oh?” He didn’t know why the word came out so cautious, but it did.

“She wants to get to know you.”

Finn groaned and pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes. “She already knows me,” he said. “We’ve talked before.”

Noah snorted. “That was before she knew you’re my boyfriend,” he said, the word landing with a little extra weight, like he wanted Finn to notice him using it. Which—of course, Finn noticed.

Finn cracked one eye, then the other, and let his head drift sideways until he could see Noah. “Do I have to? I literally saw her last month at the wrap party.” He closed his eyes again, waiting for Noah to change the subject.

Noah didn’t. “That doesn’t count,” he said. “She wants to spend time with just you and me.” Finn could hear the smile in his voice, but also the stubbornness, the way Noah’s tone always got just a little heavier when he was digging in his heels.

Finn grunted, noncommittal. He felt the mattress shift as Noah rolled closer, the heat of him crowding up against Finn’s side. There was a pause, then a hand on Finn’s thigh—light, but not casual. Noah traced a finger along the line of Finn’s hip. Finn’s body twitched, not quite a flinch, not quite a shiver.

“You’re not going to guilt me into brunch with your mom by fondling my junk,” Finn said, but the words had no bite. He could feel his own traitor body starting to respond, the lazy thud of his pulse picking up as Noah’s fingers crept into his pubes, then lower, down to his balls. Finn let his head tip back, eyes closed, breath leaking out in a slow, unguarded sigh.

Noah had never been the most subtle, but he made up for it in persistence. He cupped Finn’s balls, thumb stroking up the seam, then let his hand drift, coaxing Finn’s dick to half-mast. Finn went with it, not moving, just letting the sensation spool out.

“Come on,” Noah said, voice gone low and persuasive. “Spring break. We could all meet up in New York. Just a couple days. She’ll be so happy.”

Finn made a sound, part groan, part laugh. “Maybe,” he said, but it was hard to sound convincing when Noah had his cock in a loose, insistent grip, thumb grazing the slit with every upstroke.

Noah squeezed, then let go, and Finn felt the sudden absence like a slap. He forced his eyes open, met Noah’s gaze. Noah was grinning, lips pink and a little swollen, eyes bright with the kind of challenge Finn knew never to underestimate.

“What if I told you,” Noah said, “that after you come to brunch with my mom, you get to make me do whatever you want.” He let the sentence hang, like a dare.

Finn arched a brow, letting the silence stretch. “Anything?” He put a little menace into the word, just to see if Noah would flinch.

Noah shrugged, but there was a flush up his neck that betrayed him. “Anything.”

Finn considered it, the thousand possibilities, the leverage. He could feel the choices stacking up, all the things he’d wanted to ask for but never did.

He grinned, wide and slow. “Deal,” he said. “But you’re gonna regret it.” He let his hand drift down, cupping the back of Noah’s thigh.

Noah laughed, a real one this time, eyes crinkling at the edges. “Can’t wait to see what you come up with.”

Finn yanked the towel off Noah’s hips and tossed it somewhere behind the bed. He pulled Noah into his lap and let his hands roam, slow and greedy, up the backs of Noah’s thighs, then around to grip his ass, fingers digging in just to feel the way the skin gave under pressure. Noah leaned in, forehead to Finn’s, and for a second they just breathed each other’s air.

Noah’s voice was a whisper, lips brushing Finn’s ear: “The pizza’s gonna be here in twenty minutes.”

Finn grinned, teeth scraping Noah’s jaw. “Plenty of time,” he said, and pinched the inside of Noah’s thigh, just to watch him twitch. “You want to wait for the delivery guy, or…”

Noah’s hand caught Finn’s wrist, thumb circling the sharp bone. “You’re so bad,” he said, but it was all affection. He kissed Finn, open-mouthed and slow, and Finn felt the last of his resistance evaporate. He reached for the lube, barely looking, and Noah laughed into his mouth, the sound bright and reckless.

He slicked his fingers and reached down, working slow, and Noah squirmed in his lap, already hard again. He tracked the flicker across Noah’s face with each new sensation and wondered if it would always be this easy to get lost in him.

Noah made a sound, half-moan, half-laugh. "You're gonna make me answer the door like this, aren't you?"

Finn’s lip curled, a flare of something bright and hot slicing through his skull. Like hell he'd let anyone else see Noah like this—flushed, the skin on his hips blooming with faint marks that said, mine. He shoved the thought out but it stuck, a burr under the skin.

“No fucking way,” Finn said. He reached up, fingers brushing the side of Noah' s face, and brought their foreheads together, close enough to taste the sugar on Noah’s breath.

He slid his other hand down, greedy, over Noah’s chest and belly; he squeezed hard, half to steady himself, half to prove a point. Noah froze, lips parted, eyes wide and shining, and Finn felt it—the quiver in Noah’s thighs, the microtremor in his jaw, the way he didn’t pull away but didn’t push it, just waited.

Finn pressed his mouth to Noah’s, hard, then softer, then not at all, just holding there, breathing the same scrappy air. “You’re mine.” He hadn’t meant to say it like that—like a line out of a bad movie, or worse, like a threat. Stupid.

Noah let out a sound, not quite a laugh, not quite a yes, and Finn felt it vibrate in his teeth. He gripped the base of Noah’s cock, thumb circling slow, and watched the way Noah’s breath faltered. He liked the way Noah leaned into him, heavy now, the way he didn’t say anything else, just let the silence do its work.

He could feel the jealousy still there, but it settled when Noah grabbed Finn’s wrist and held it, not to stop him, just to anchor. Finn let himself sink into the pressure. For a second it felt like they could stay here forever, the pizza and the world outside the door a thousand miles away.

Noah pushed his nose to Finn’s cheek, lips grazing his ear. “Okay. You win,” he said, voice hoarse. Finn didn’t answer, because he knew that was only partly true.

The knock came ten minutes later, frantic and aggressive, but Finn ignored it. He didn’t let go, not even when Noah started to shake with laughter, the two of them pressed together, sweaty and tangled, until the world shrank back down to just this: heat, the taste of salt, and the proof of each other.