Archive of Our Own

“You know, if it was anyone but you, I’d be getting a little nervous about how ‘middle of nowhere’ you’re taking me right now.”

Finn takes his eyes from the road, looking at you like he’s just now realizing how sketchy his plan of pick you up for a date somewhere secret and then drive for 45 fucking minutes into the woods sounds—which he probably is.

“I swear I’m not trying to murder you,” he says, which is exactly what someone who’s trying to murder you would say. You let him know that with a raised eyebrow and a skeptical look.

“Okay, I get this looks bad,” he agrees. “But we’re almost there! I promise, you’re gonna love this.”

You laugh. “I trust you, I trust you. But if you try to axe murder me, I’m not gonna not kick your ass just because you’re a good kisser, okay?”

He gives a smug sort of scoff, and you can’t pretend the sudden mischief in his eyes doesn’t make your stomach flutter. “Just ‘good?’ I thought you’d have some stronger adjectives after the way I had you—”

“Okay!” You flush, waving your hands wildly to keep him from speaking aloud the things he had you doing the other night. “Sorry, I take it back, you’re an excellent kisser, okay?”

Chuckling, he turns his eyes back to the road, the darkness ahead broken only by the brights on his ‘86 Porsche 924. He drives stick, because of course he does, and he shifts gears now as he slows, approaching an entrance sign for… a park?

You look at him quizzically as he turns into the gravel parking lot, the sign announcing that the park’s hours are sunrise to sunset. His energy turns a little nervous now, shy in a way that makes your heart squeeze.

“Are we… going for a walk?” You ask. It’s well past sunset, and it’s dark as fuck out here. But maybe there’s a scenic spot he wanted to show you?

He shakes his head, putting the car in park. “Hang on, stay right here!”

With a reassuring (if nervous) grin, he hops out of the car, rushing around to the back to grab something from the trunk.

Again, not beating the axe murderer allegations.

But you crane your neck to see what he’s doing and—oh, he has a blanket and a couple pillows? You watch him toss them up on the roof of the car, and then he comes around to the passenger side, opening your door for you and offering his hand like a real gentleman.

That fluttery feeling returns to your stomach as you take his hand—warm and steady and a little bit callused—and he says, “um, I thought we could… stargaze.”

As you step out into the warm night air, you look up.

Oh.

Oh, wow.

He’s fidgeting a little now, continuing, “I just, y’know, remembered a couple months ago, you were talking about being sad you couldn’t see the stars really well, so I looked it up and people said this was a good spot—”

You cut him off with a kiss. When you pull back, smiling, he looks a little dazed. “I would love to stargaze with you,” you say.

That dopey grin returns to his face, and you can’t help but giggle. “Cool,” he says, “yeah.”

“Cool,” you repeat, eyes crinkling with laughter. Honestly, after everything that happened the other night, he was nervous about taking you stargazing? He’s so adorable.

Though, if you’re being honest, you’re really hoping that stargazing isn’t the only activity on the docket tonight. Lingering soreness in your lower body be damned.

Finn helps you up onto the hood of his car, and you carefully crawl onto the roof as he cuts the headlights. He joins you as you lay back, getting comfortable, letting your eyes adjust to the darkness as you gush, “it’s beautiful.”

“Yeah,” he says, and you can really only see his outline right now, but you’re pretty sure he’s not looking at the sky.

You smile. “I can’t believe you remembered me talking about this.”

He hesitates, a tinge of embarrassment to his voice when he says, “I looked it up that day, actually. I, uh, saved it for later. I know how much you like space shit.”

That was a few months ago. He’s had this planned for that long?

It’s not like you didn’t know you’ve both been crushing on each other for ages, but every confirmation of that fact only makes you giddier. This really has been a long time coming.

To assuage his embarrassment, you blurt, “I have a note in my phone where I write down any time you mention something you like. I’ve been planning on making you blueberry pie for your birthday since you brought it up, like, months ago.”

He only laughs, but it’s the laugh of a joke shared between two people who have been very, very stupid. And very, very pent-up.

He settles in next to you, and you feel sparks at every point of contact as you press yourself to his side and take his hand in yours. Your heart is full to bursting, beating faster in your chest as he interlaces his fingers with yours and you look up at the whole universe above. The faint trail of the Milky Way is just barely visible here—not a true dark sky site, but the best you can get without driving hours. Still, it’s perfect. You squeeze his hand.

“Okay, there’s the Big Dipper,” you point, orienting yourself in the sky, drawing your finger northward to Polaris. “And there’s the North Star, at the tip of the Little Dipper.”

“I’m with you so far,” Finn says, the familiar comfort of his voice tinged with a soft humor that makes you melt.

“It’s harder to pick out constellations when you can see so many stars,” you say, “but you see this sort of long string of brighter stars that curves around the Little Dipper?” You trace it with your fingertips.

“Uh, kinda?”

“Well that’s Draco, the dragon.”

“Oh shit,” he says, “nice.”

You laugh. “And look, if you follow the front leg of Ursa Major—that’s what the Big Dipper’s a part of—that’s Leo, the lion.”

There’s a beat of silence where you think he’s trying to follow your eyes, but finally: “I don’t get how you’re supposed to see a lion in that,” he says.

“I mean, you gotta think a little abstract, but,” you concede, circling one end of Leo with your finger, though you don’t know if he can quite see what you’re pointing at. You know he’s humoring you, but that alone means quite a lot. “That’s the head, like a mane. And just a little south, that really bright star is actually Jupiter.”

“Oh, sweet,” he replies, and bless him, he actually does sound like he’s interested in what you’re talking about. Usually, he’s not interested in much that doesn’t have to do with racing. Not that you thought he only cared about cars, but… he does mostly care about cars.

Cars, and maybe also you.

Butterflies again.

Maybe it’s the nerves of a second date making you talk this much, or maybe it’s just because he’s a good listener, but either way, he lets you go on and on about the stars above you, the universe, the existentialism that being beneath the night sky instills in you. You talk with him about the mysteries of the cosmos, the meaning of life, all the things you wish you could understand... and the night wears on like that until, eventually, you feel him turn toward you, propping his head up on his hand.

“You think a lot about some really deep shit, you know that?” he says.

You laugh, a little bit sheepish. “Yeah, sorry, I know.”

“No, no,” he says, “don’t apologize. I just mean, like… it kinda makes my head hurt. How do you do it?”

You hum, thoughtful, your eyes on the stars. “I dunno. I guess… if I don’t keep my head in the clouds, I get too bogged down by everything on the ground. The material world is stressful. The deep stuff’s an escape.”

“Huh,” he says. He’s silent for a moment, thinking, but finally he continues: “I guess that’s the opposite of how I think.”

You smile. You very much already knew that about him. It’s not that Finn is simple—sure, his area of expertise is completely different from yours, but he’s kind of a genius when it comes to cars—he’s just… got his feet on the ground. He doesn’t feel a pull to overthink everything like you do. He listens to his emotions, even if he doesn’t always know that that’s what he’s doing. And he gets enough excitement from his adrenaline-seeking behavior to make him pretty chill the rest of the time.

“You know I like that about you, right?” you ask him, because it feels important that he knows. “You keep me grounded.”

There’s an audible hitch in his breath that makes you think he wasn’t expecting you to say that.

“You don’t, uh, think it makes me a little dumb?”

Frowning, you roll onto your side to face him too. It’s dark, but your eyes have adjusted, and with the stars bright above you, you can at least somewhat see his expression.

“Of course not,” you assure him. “Do you worry about that?” You know he has a lot of insecurities, but he hides them so deeply beneath his veneer of confidence that sometimes you’re not sure even he knows they’re there.

(Listen, all these guys need therapy—you’re just still getting them used to the idea. Gently. So that they don’t really know you’re doing it. Undoing a lifetime of toxic masculinity is difficult, but you and Julia are determined.)

“I mean,” he says, and you can hear the uncertainty in his voice, though he’s trying to mask it with humor. “I didn’t exactly go to college, so…”

“And there’s nothing wrong with that,” you say sincerely. “You know you’re an amazing mechanic. We had different educational needs for what we wanted to do. I do not, have never, and will never think that makes you less smart than me.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, somewhat uncomfortable, and you know you’ve reached the limit of how much he’s able to think about his own insecurities for the time being. Still, you’re awfully proud that he can put these things into words at all. You don’t think he would’ve been able to when you met him. (You can’t help but feel like you’re a good influence on him, emotionally.)

Like he usually does when he feels awkward, though, he turns the conversation away from himself, opting for the tried-and-true defense of flirtation: “man. Hot, smart, and nice—what can’t you do?”

You giggle, allowing the change of subject, the compliment, the lightening of the mood. But you can’t help but turn it around on him: “I still can’t believe someone so gorgeous thinks I’m hot.”

“Are you kidding?” he asks, and you can hear the growing smile in his teasing voice. He leans in a little closer, warm breath fanning your lips, and your heart rate skyrockets. “I must not’ve said it enough the other night, then.”

Your cheeks suddenly feel very, very hot. You bite your lip, nervous and horny, and you know your voice comes out uneven when you say, “I wouldn’t mind if you said it some more…”

“Yeah?” he asks, breathy. “What if I show you?”

The entire cosmos above you is suddenly a lot less interesting than what’s happening here on the ground.

“I’d like that,” you manage to squeak.

And that’s all the invitation Finn needs.

He reaches for your cheek as he closes the distance, pressing a soft kiss to your lips that leaves you entirely breathless—but that was just the warning. When he returns for another, it’s with parted lips and a desperation that betrays the cool demeanor he’s been trying to wear all night. That’s perfectly fine with you, though; you’re tired of playing it cool, too.

You want him. Badly.

In one fluid motion, he’s braced himself atop you, his sparkling eyes replacing your view of the stars above. You know that every emotion is plain on your face: desire, adoration, bashfulness, lust—and he drinks it all in with a grin that sets you aflame, cockiness not entirely hiding the wonderment underneath.

He’s not used to being looked at like this, and neither are you.

You can’t get enough.

“Finn,” you breathe, and his name on your lips makes him shudder. He answers with a searing kiss, heavy and warm like his flannel wrapped around you, as comforting as it is exciting. It’s strange to realize that the rush of adrenaline beneath your skin has become something of a familiarity, associated with him in Pavlovian fashion, but here you are, the speeding of your heart paradoxically soothing as his tongue meets yours. You part your lips for him, again and again, each kiss deeper than the last like he intends to devour you whole—and you’ll gladly let him; anything to be closer, to destroy the space between you until there’s nothing left.

He moves to your jaw, the space just below your ear, and you lean your head back for him, baring your neck as your toes curl in your shoes. He clearly enjoys the enthusiasm, your silent plea for more, unable to keep his grin in check as he peppers your skin with kiss after kiss, and when you fail to hold back a small, pleasured noise, his rumbling laugh in return sends heat pooling low in your gut.

His teeth brush your neck with a teasing nip. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this,” he murmurs, low against your skin.

“Me neither,” you confess breathily. The events of your first rendezvous have been playing on loop in your mind ever since—and a couple days was a long time to wait for a second date. If you’re being honest, you were trying not to seem too thirsty, too clingy… but looking at him now, you realize you were worrying way too much. “I need you.”

He gives a quick, sharp inhale at your admission, your honesty. “Shit,” he says, his smile shaky as he pulls back to meet your eyes, “you’re—you’re really gonna drive me crazy, you know that?”

You can only bite your lip in response, the sentiment mutual.

But the roof of his car is not the best place for a makeout session. Your legs are half hanging down over the windshield, and even with the blanket, it’s hard on your back.

“Wanna take this inside?” he asks.

With an excited nod, you do your best to scramble down onto the hood, then all the way to the ground, Finn clambering after you. The internal lights come on when he opens up the passenger door, and in the sudden brightness, you can see the flush of his cheeks, the eagerness in his eyes. You know you’re mirroring his expression perfectly.

His Porsche is a coupe—there’s very little in the way of a back seat, and there’s not gonna be any good way to lay down. You’re kind of wishing the two of you had taken your sensible sedan… but this car is his baby, and you’re pretty sure he’s really into the idea of fucking you in it.

You can make it work. You’ll just have to sit on his lap.

A thrill runs up your spine.

He seems to have come to the same conclusion—actually, he’s probably had this exact scenario in mind all evening, if not way before then—and as he slides into the passenger seat, he holds out a hand to pull you in, too. Your stomach is twisting itself into exhilarated knots as you carefully climb in, kicking off your shoes and settling with your knees on either side of his hips, and oh fuck, he’s already hard, thank god—

“Comfy?” he asks with a smile that makes your spine tingle, his hands resting at your hips.

In answer, you pull the door shut, placing your palms flat against his chest and leaning in close. “Mmhmm,” you hum, as the lights dim again.

“Good,” he breathes, and then his lips are on yours and his hands are slipping beneath your shirt and your focus is narrowed to nothing but pure sensation.

Clearly, he took mental notes on the things you enjoyed last time, because he’s immediately tracing his fingers softly up your spine, making your breath catch in your throat. He grins into the kiss as your back arches slightly, and you bite his lip in retaliation, feeling gratified when it makes him groan quietly. There’s no room for embarrassment with him—not at how quickly he riles you up, how needy you become in his embrace—because it’s evident how much he’s loving it; both in how hard he is and in the sounds he makes for you, low and unashamedly horny.

You wrap your arms around his neck, enjoying the slight amount of height you have on him when you’re on his lap like this; and by the way his pretty eyes are already a little glazed when he looks up at you, you’re pretty sure he likes it, too. Joe did mention that he’s always had a thing for tall women. Or maybe he just likes it when you’re on top.

Good to know.

His kisses are quickly becoming more desperate, messier, and you can’t help but giggle at his enthusiasm; especially when you can feel the tension in his thighs as he tries to keep himself from rutting up into you. To make sure he knows he doesn’t need to hold back, you grind your hips down against him, and his answering gasp turns into something low and dangerous.

He pulls away from your kiss, but it’s only to press his lips to the shell of your ear, his breath tickling as he grins, “careful, babe. I’m tryin’ to take my time with you.”

The teasing pet name zings right up your spine, settling like a buzzing at the base of your skull, and you give him a pout that makes him chuckle.

“What if I don’t want you to take your time right now?” you ask him, trying for a sultry tone but ending up a little closer to whiny. “What if I want you inside me?”

You feel him tense all over.

“Shit,” he shudders, and his voice cracks a little when he says, “okay, yeah, whatever you want—”

You giggle at how quickly he acquiesces; the way he goes from teasing to wide-eyed, unable to keep his excitement in check. But that’s perfectly alright with you; you don’t want him to keep it in check.

You want to ride him.

Not that it’s going to be easy to undress while you’re sitting on his lap in the passenger seat of his car.

At least getting your shirt off isn’t much of a challenge.

He wrestles his own shirt off too, cursing at the tight quarters, and then his hands are all over you, squeezing and groping everything that can be squeezed or groped. You’re so tempted to sink back into his embrace and let him touch you and touch you and touch you, but your need to meet him skin-to-skin is greater. You raise yourself up on your knees, fumbling with your button and zipper, but it’s difficult to focus on anything but the feeling of his warm hands kneading your chest. When you finally get your fly undone, you attempt to shimmy your shorts down—but you’re still straddling his lap, and it’s just not going to work.

You give an impatient huff, putting your hands on his shoulders to keep your balance as you awkwardly climb off of him. “Let me—damnit—I need to—”

He laughs, but he’s watching you hungrily as you manage to get your feet on the floor of the car, half bent over him with one hand on the armrest, the other attempting to get these fucking shorts off of you, goddamnit—

Thankfully, you don’t have to ask Finn to do the same; he’s got his pants unzipped and off his hips in a fraction of the time, kicking them down to his ankles and giving you a perfect view of the tent in his boxers. You wish it wasn’t so dark, because you wore some very cute underwear for him tonight... but, then again, you don’t think this date is ending when he drops you off at home, so you’re pretty sure you’ll have a chance to show it off later.

Though, even in the darkness, he’s staring pretty intently.

You meet his eyes with a blushing smile. “Like what you see?”

“C’mere,” he says, his voice strained and deep, almost growling in sudden impatience, and you give a surprised squeak as he grabs your hips and hauls you back onto his lap, grinding himself hard against your lingerie and—oh. He has a thing for this, doesn’t he?

Yeah, you can work with that.

Giggling, you recapture his lips, reveling in the feeling of him so hard against you, so little fabric remaining between your bodies. If he keeps moving like this, he’s gonna feel how wet you are through both your underwear and his. That’s probably exactly what he wants.

He’s so warm to the touch—his lightly callused hands, the lean planes of his chest, his mouth against your lips and neck—and you must be the same; you feel feverish in his hold, growing hotter with every moment you spend entwined, every shift of his hips beneath yours. Lust and affection turn you pliant in his hands, amenable to the pace he sets with his kiss, his caress; and gently, you start to rock your hips in time, rolling into him with every meeting of your lips. You feel him respond as he pulls you tighter and then eases up, rhythmic movements creating an ebb and flow between you, a tidal cycle pulled by the gravity of your desire. It’s so natural, so effortless, that it almost strikes you as funny, the way you’ve been dancing around each other for ages when this is what your bodies were meant for.

You were made for his heavy, desperate kiss, the press of his hands against your heated skin, the coiling warmth in your core that he stokes with every slow grind of his hips.

Your breath comes out in a shivering sigh, and he pulls back just to watch your face, his lips parted and eyes half-lidded as his hands come to your ass, aiding in your slow, purposeful movements.

“Yeah,” he breathes; a warm, quiet exhale. “That’s it, baby.”

He has to know what his voice does to you—that low, easy cadence that’s so uniquely his—but you feel the need to show him anyway, humming out a whine in response and fixing him with a half-glazed look that you hope conveys the depth of your desire.

“You’re... incredible,” he continues with a little huff that’s almost a laugh, shot through with so much unmitigated want that it makes your stomach clench. “Look at you.”

“Look at you,” you laugh in return, making a show of dragging your hungry gaze up and down his body. The words don’t come as easy to you, the verbal confirmation of just how much you want him, but you know that he needs to hear it, so you do your best. “You—you’re everything to me, Finn.”

He freezes, and even in the darkness, you can see the way his eyes widen at your words. Thankfully, you only have a brief moment to think, oh shit, was that too much? before he’s crashing his lips to yours once more, hands gripping your ass hard as he pulls you into himself with the force of a man who’s trying to show you what he can’t say out loud. If you had any lingering fears that you feel more strongly about this than he does, they dissipate instantly at the desperation in his kiss, the tension in his body beneath you.

The relief of it is a rush of euphoria, an effervescence in your chest; it’s permission to give him everything you have, and take the same in return. It’s his face in your hands, his chest against yours, and his hard cock pressed to your aching core.

“Finn,” you whine, your patience entirely exhausted, “please, can I—do you want—”

And he’s nodding without breaking the kiss, a low noise in his throat that says yes, yes, yes. As you raise yourself up on your knees again, his lips move to your neck, your chest, teeth and tongue against any skin he can reach, and his hands are tugging at your panties, helping you shimmy them down at least a little bit—

He doesn’t wait for you to get them all the way off to slip one hand between your legs, making you jolt as he finds you wet and desperate. His groan is deep, appreciative, and he only takes a moment to slick his fingers against you before easing one inside.

The feeling has you sighing out a moan, pleasure shivering up your spine.

“Yeah?” he asks breathily, wasting no time in adding another finger, pushing in knuckle-deep before slowly pulling out again. “Feels good?”

It feels better than good, but your vocabulary is somewhat diminished at the moment. You can really only manage a trembling noise of affirmation in answer. Luckily, that’s plenty for him, and he curls and scissors his fingers inside you, weakening your knees as you attempt to hold yourself up. God, what a gentleman, making sure you’re ready to take him like this, but your dildos have been getting plenty of use lately, and you don’t need any more preparation. You need him.

“Finn,” you whine, “Finn, I’m good, I promise I’m good, I want you in me—”

“Fuck,” he breathes, “okay, hang on—”

And the loss of his fingers is agonizing, but it’s only so you can maneuver yourself to get your underwear off and he can do the same, lifting his hips and pushing his boxers down and freeing his cock. Yes, thank god, yes—

You scramble back onto his lap and his hand is back between your thighs, brushing your clit as he gathers your slick and Jesus Christ, is he—yep, yeah, he is definitely using it to lube himself up as he wraps his hand around his cock, giving a groan that makes you shiver.

Finally, finally, you can rise up to position yourself above him, pressed to him completely with the head of his cock at your entrance. You meet his fever-bright eyes and he’s looking up at you in awe, smiling like he’s never been so happy, never felt so alive.

Or maybe you’re just projecting, because that’s exactly how you feel right now.

You grin to match. “Ready?” you ask, as if you don’t know the answer already.

His laugh is a desperate shudder. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

And you move. You sink down on him slowly, taking him inch by inch as his grip on your hips tightens to near-bruising. Both of you exhale in a long, ecstatic sigh, and when you finally seat yourself on him, your chests are heaving.

Oh god, that’s so good. The feeling of him buried deep inside you makes that coiling warmth surge like kindling set aflame. You’re biting your lower lip, brows pinched as you adjust to the slight stretch of him, and you can feel him trying to relax himself beneath you, rubbing circles on your hips with his thumbs as he realizes how hard he was holding on.

He lets out a shaky curse, tinged with humor, affection, and lust. “You feel... so fucking good,” he manages.

You echo his tone as you laugh, “that’s—that’s my line.”

He’s nearly trembling now. “Please,” he says with a grunt, “I’m gonna go fucking crazy if you don’t move—”

With a fervent nod of agreement, you raise yourself up just a little and sink back down, and the strained noise he makes in response makes your thighs clench.

“Scratch that,” he says, “I’m gonna go crazy either way.”

The air around you is almost cloyingly thick with your combined desire, heat and lust literally fogging the windows, but your heart is feather-light even as it pounds like a bass drum in response to his touch, the movement of your hips.

“Is it—” you say, raising yourself up again, sinking down a little farther, a little faster. “Is it way too fucking thirsty if I beg you to never make me wait 72 hours to get your dick back inside me ever again?”

His head falls back with a laugh-tinged groan, and you can feel the way your words make his pride swell. “Careful what you wish for,” he grins. “I could keep you here like this forever.”

Another rise-and-fall, another thrill racing up your spine. “What I wouldn’t give,” you sigh.

“I didn’t know you were gonna be so... insatiable,” he teases, nipping at your neck as he squeezes your ass. “I must be the luckiest guy in New York.”

“Just in New York?” you ask cheekily, punctuating the question with a slightly rougher stroke.

He gasps, then amends: “the whole world.”

You hum happily. “I’m luckier.”

And then, as if promising to prove you right, Finn holds your ass tighter as you raise yourself up again, and when you start to sink back down, he drives his hips up into you with a soft grunt, forcing a gasp of surprise and pleasure from your lips. The effect is like the breaking of a dam. You didn’t quite realize how much he was holding himself back to keep things slow and steady, but you can tell now that that control is fraying, ready to snap. His fingertips dig into the plush skin of your thighs and ass like he’s afraid you’ll float away if he lets you go, and he’s pulling you down onto him with every thrust, no longer able to keep still as you ride him. And god, does it feel good.

You adjust to the change of pace quickly, excitedly, taking everything he gives you with a gasped-out little laugh that makes him growl in return.

Insatiable. Yeah, he’s got you there; but the same could be said about him. If your first date was any indication, you’ll be going a good few more rounds after this—until you’re both just too damn exhausted to keep going (and then hopefully more first thing in the morning).

The look on his face as he takes you harder makes you fight to keep your eyes open even as pleasure rushes through you like a tidal wave: pretty, parted lips still half-smiling even as he groans in time with the percussion of your skin against his. He’s trying to hold your gaze too, but he can’t stop his lashes from fluttering, getting lost in the feeling of being buried deep in your cunt.

That’s perfectly fine with you; you’re just enjoying the view.

And, you know, the slam of his cock right into your g-spot. You’re very much enjoying that, too.

Before long, you’ve completely surrendered control, letting him practically bounce you on his lap with a growing recklessness that drives all the thoughts from your mind. Neither of you bother to hold back the noises you make, staccato groans and sighs of each other’s names, broken praise, yeses and pleases and oh god right theres coalescing into a symphony of your own making. There’s no room to do anything but hold on tight and let him take what he needs—and you take what he gives in return with twin desperation, each drive of his hips bringing you higher, further from reality and into this hazy, shared galaxy of pleasure in which only the two of you exist; and as you finally lose the battle to keep your eyes open, the stars bursting behind your eyelids only intensify the illusion: this is a universe all your own, one of sensation and ecstasy and—do you dare to put the name to it?—love.

Because what else could it be? You’ve known for a while now; you’ve felt the euphoria of it simmering in your heart. You love him. And maybe it’s not yet time to say it out loud, but you sure can show it.

It feels like he’s doing his best to show it, too.

You can feel it when his rhythm starts to stutter. Forcing your eyes open once more, you watch him with unconcealed adoration, his face all screwed up in pleasure like he can hardly take it anymore. Your hands are at his shoulders, holding on tight as he keeps you bouncing on his lap as fast as he physically can, and even as sweat drips down your temple, your legs and core already aching, you try to help him keep pace.

“There you go,” you murmur to him, every sound he makes going straight to the base of your spine and curling there insistently. “So good for me, huh?”

The praise makes him twitch, and between curses and groans he attempts to convey his pleasure with words: “shit, I can’t, I’m so close, I’m—I’m gonna—”

He’s on the edge now, and just that knowledge is enough to make you clench around him. “That’s it, baby,” you soothe, voice low and breathy, “I want you to come in me. I wanna feel it—”

His eyes snap open too, meeting yours with a hunger that almost knocks you dizzy. He’s so pretty, so wrecked. For you. Because of you. In you.

Your name is a prayer on his tongue, frantic and beseeching like you hold his salvation in your hands; and maybe, right now, you do.

You hold his stare with soft eyes crinkled in pleasure, and although your voice shakes with every rough thrust, you say, “it’s okay, baby. Come for me, Finn.”

And with your permission, he does; hips twitching as he tenses, groans deeply, and breaks beneath you. You feel the warmth of it first, deep inside you but starting to make a mess as you slow but don’t stop the movement of your hips, taking him again and again through his pleasure. He holds to you tightly enough to bruise, shuddering with little gasps in the aftermath.

“Good job, baby,” you pant, your own chest heaving from exertion and arousal. “You did so good. You’re so fucking hot, Finn.”

He laughs weakly, shivering, brows knotted as you keep moving against him, around him. “I—oh, god, you’re so—” he cuts himself off with a whine, oversensitive and spent. Ruined.

With a self-satisfied grin, you slow even more; long, languid strokes to make sure you’ve given him all he can take—and when he finally goes half-boneless against the seat, you come to a stop with trembling, sticky thighs, and breathe.

After a long, quiet moment, the silence only broken by your twin panting breaths, you raise your hand to his jaw, thumb stroking across his cheekbone.

“You okay?” you ask softly.

He nods, though his smile is somewhat self-conscious. You can’t have that.

“That was so good,” you praise; then, somewhat cheekier, “you look so hot when you come.”

A last, desperate twitch inside you at the praise. You grin.

He still looks absolutely exhausted and wrecked, but the spark of mischief comes back to his eyes as he moves his hands to your back, pulling you tight against his chest and just barely brushing your lips with his own. “You look so hot when you ride me.”

He’s softening inside you now, so you raise up off of him just to watch the oversensitive wince he makes. You lean in to kiss him gently, then smile again. “Sorry we made such a mess in your car.”

That cocky look on his face is gonna drive you crazy. “I kinda hope it leaves a stain. That way, every time I see it, I’ll think about you bouncing on my dick.”

Your face goes red, and he laughs at the embarrassment his words bring to your expression.

“Besides,” he adds, letting his fingers trace your spine, “I’m not done making a mess yet.”

“A-ah,” you stutter. Pleasure tingles in the wake of his touch.

His voice drops to a near-whisper, teasing again now that he’s clear-minded. “Why don’t you turn around and let me get you off?”

You just got a damn good dicking down, so his suggestion is enough to make you clench around nothing, stomach fluttering. “Okay,” you breathe, “that, uh—that sounds good...”

His laugh rumbles in his chest.

But as you start to climb off of him to maneuver into a better position, a sudden burst of light makes you startle.

And then more light. This time, red and blue.

Your eyes go wide.

“Shit,” he curses.

“The pigs,” you squeak.

You can’t see more than the light through the heavily-fogged-up windows, but you can hear the crunch of the cop pulling into the gravel lot.

The sign did say the park closes at sunset.

You start to scramble off of him, searching for your clothes, and he does the same. “I do not want a fucking cop to see me naked,” you hiss.

“Hang on,” he says, “I got this—”

He rolls down the window slightly as you hear the cruiser come to a stop, and yanks the corner of the blanket that you’d been laying on on the roof, pulling the whole thing through and handing it to you as you find his flannel on the floor. You shrug it on, buttoning it as he frantically tugs his boxers and pants back up—thank god they were still around his ankles—and zips himself up.

A knock on the passenger door window.

Finn rolls it all the way down and smiles like there’s no reason not to, despite the fact that he’s still shirtless, and the cop’s flashlight shines in, half-blinding you. “Can I help you, officer?”

You smooth the blanket over your lap, trying to match his confidence.

There’s no reality in which this guy doesn’t know exactly what you were just doing. The flashlight flicks back and forth between you as he says drily, “this park’s closed.”

“S-sorry, officer!” you manage, squinting against the brightness. “We were—we were just stargazing, we’ll leave right now.”

“Uh-huh,” says the cop, backlit by his own flashlight. He sighs. “Listen, I’m gonna let you kids off with a warning, but I’d better not see you back here again.”

“Right, of course,” you say, willing Finn to keep his mouth shut and not say anything antagonizing. Regardless of the fact that it’s stupid that a public park would close at night like this. “Thank you, officer.” Ew.

He focuses his attention on Finn. “Next time, you’ll get a public indecency charge. Got it?”

“Loud and clear,” he says, and goddamnit, would it kill him to not sound sarcastic as hell right now?

Thankfully, the cop doesn’t seem to be in a bad mood tonight, and he nods before turning back around to his cruiser. Finn rolls the window back up, and you heave a massive sigh, leaning your head against the steering wheel. “Fuck. I think my life just flashed before my eyes.”

He only laughs as if you didn’t just barely avoid disaster. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

You nod, and he opens up the passenger door, climbing out to grab the pillows that fell when he pulled the blanket in. You climb over to that side—ah, the seat is wet. Gross—and he goes around to the driver’s seat, settling in and starting the car as the cruiser idles nearby, watching.

It isn’t until you’re out of the parking lot and halfway down the road that you finally start to laugh.

Finn looks at you, amused, and all you can say is, “damn, that was a turn-off, huh?”

He barks out a laugh too. “I think he was jealous.”

“They must be pretty fucking bored, if we’re the only ones he could find to harass tonight.”

With a grin, Finn revs the engine, speeding up like he has something to prove, and you swat him on the shoulder.

“Quit it!” you tell him. “He’ll fucking come after us!”

He rolls his eyes, but does as you say, easing off the gas as you shake your head at him.

“Come on,” he says, “I’m kidding! ‘Sides, he’d never catch us.”

“You are not allowed to get in a car chase while I’m here. In fact, I’d prefer it if you never got into a car chase.”

“Too late for that,” he laughs.

Adrenaline-for-brains. You sigh, but you’re still smiling. How could you not be, after all of that? In fact, just thinking about what happened before the cop showed up makes you flush with heat all over again.

Ugh. It’s going to be a long 45 minute drive back to your place.

You ride in companionable silence for another few minutes, though your mind is on a single track. At least you’re fairly sure that Finn’s thinking the same thoughts—

Suddenly, he starts to slow the car. You look around, turning to him quizzically as he pulls onto the shoulder, finally coming to a stop and cutting the lights.

“What—?” you start to ask, but then his lips are on yours and he’s climbing over the console and you’re laughing incredulously— “Finn! What if he comes this way!”

Between kisses, he says, “he turned into the parking lot from the other direction.” Kiss. “He’s probably gonna sit there” —kiss— “for a while, anyway. Gonna have some” —kiss— “midnight donuts or some shit.”

You try to protest again, but one of his hands slides up your thigh, and your words die on your tongue.

His kiss moves to your neck, and you feel your resistance slipping away.

“Relax,” he murmurs, a hum against your skin. “We’ll be back on the road in a couple minutes.”

“A couple minutes?” you laugh, though that laugh quickly turns to a strangled whine as he slips his hand under the blanket on your lap and immediately starts rubbing at your clit.

“Yup,” he grins, smug as ever. “Couple minutes.”

God, he really is going to be the death of you.

Maybe he’s not the only one with adrenaline for brains.