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“Fox—”
“Do it.”
“You sure?”
“Griffin, if you don’t fuck me right now—”
“Okay. Okay. Okay.”
He flips me over, and then he’s inside me.
It’s not slow. It’s not tender. This is us trying to merge into each other before the world starts pulling us apart again. Finn’s hips snap into mine. My hands are in his hair, then at his back, then gripping his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. He makes a sound I’m going to hear in my head for weeks.
“Fox. Fox, look at me.”
His face is inches from mine. His eyes are dark. His mouth is red and slightly open, and I can see everything on his face that neither of us has said aloud in ten years. Neither of us is looking away.
“Griffin—”
“Fuck.”
I come first, but he’s not far behind. He collapses onto me, his forehead against my collarbone, both of us shaking.
For a long time, we don’t move.
Then he shifts. Pulls out carefully. Rolls to the side and reaches for the tissues on the nightstand. I am too boneless to do or say anything as he cleans us both.
He drops the tissues in the bin and settles onto his side facing me.
Then his eyes widen, and I know what he’s going to say before he says it.
“We didn’t use a condom.”
“I’m negative,” he says. “I got tested three months ago as part of my standard checkup.”
I rest my hand on his cheek.
“I do the same. My last one was in September.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
He’s still watching me. A slight furrow forms between his eyebrows, and I can see him wanting to ask something but not quite knowing how until he opens his mouth.
“I haven’t been with anyone else, Fox.”
“Me neither,” I confess.
His eyes soften.
“Not just now. I mean for a long time.”
My throat closes a little. “Since when?”
“Since a year or so after we started. I don’t remember exactly. It just stopped feeling like something I wanted to do.”
His body tenses like he’s regretting his confession.
