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I nod slowly. “You’re right,” I admit, knocking my selfishness and impatience down a notch. Finlay’s given me a much-needed dose of reality about the state of our union, and though it pains me that certain ones are jagged and raw, likely out of self-preservation, I should take stock in the fact that I know deep down my guys care enough that they’d still die to protect each other.
“Never thought I’d be in a relationship thing wi’ three other lads, though,” Finlay murmurs, elbows on his drawn-up knees, his gaze unseeing on the lights of the standstill traffic in the winter air. “That’s different. But here we are. I’ve never really told anyone… about… y’know…”
I try to catch his meaning. “That… you like guys?”
Finlay laughs slightly, a self-deprecating sound. “That I’m in love wi’ a fuckin’ Tory.” There’s a wry twist to his chapped lips and I can’t tell if he’s serious. “I’m Scotland’s symbol for a brighter future or whitever, and I’m in love wi’ an English Tory toff. Trustmetae have a weakness for suited posh boys, especially ones wi’ the sweetest laugh.”
Rory’s laughter, I remember, is a sound to be treasured: when it’s not his usual mean mocking sneer, given in performance, his real, honest laughter is a rare gift, beautifully bell-like and boyish. A personal preference it seems both Finlay and I share.
Finlay holds out his can in another toast. “Tae bein’ a simp for Rory Munro,” he mutters, and with an empathetic snort of laughter, I clink my drink to his.
Lager doesn’t knock me off-balance in the same way as whisky. It’s akin to being coddled by blankets, unlike the striking whip of a powerful spirit. I grow accustomed to the flavor, warmed up from the chilled air, the golden city lights a soft mellow blur. It’s a state of tipsiness, of relaxation, that I enjoy. I decide, like a responsible person, that one drink is enough for now.
When I lean back onto the ground, a breeze picks up, and with it is carried the snatched, faded melody of a familiar song. Finlay’s ears prick up in recognition and he raises his head, listening.
“Flower o’ Scotland,” he identifies with a grin, enjoying the melody as it whispers over to us. He lies back, staring up at the stars, and provides a full rendition of the song, his eyes closed, his mouth whispering the lyrics like an enchantment. “Proud Edward and his fuckin’ army… Brutal English bastards. If only we could justtellAntiro tae think again. It’s a pity they dinnae have minds tae dae the thinkin’ wi’.”
He looks so delectable at that moment, his black hair shaggy and falling into shining, determined green eyes, his mouth a sarcastic slant. I surge forward and kiss him, his lips cool beneath my desperate heat, the citrus of alcohol vital between us.
“I wish we weren’t at war,” I murmur against his skin, breathing him in. “I wish we could just be.”
“I dunno,” Finlay confesses quietly, his eyes twinkling up at me. “Kinda exciting, isn’t it? Us against them. The things we do in secret, in the dark, away from everyone else…” His smile widens, his hand lingering over the waistband of my jeans. Swallowing, I look around but no one’s paying us any attention, too caught up in their own couples. With one eye on the people closest to us, the ones most at risk of catching us, I take Finlay’s hand and gently guide it underneath my jeans. I cover the bulge of his hand with the corners of my jacket, but there’s no way to disguise the bright, gleeful flash of Finlay grinning at the stars.
We both lie back as though the rocky ground were a four-poster bed, and I dare to meet his eyes. His broad grin is infectious, and I find myself smiling back at him, my hips arching the tiniest amount to claim friction from Finlay’s fingers.
“I love you,” I mouth into him as he strokes the fabric above my clit in minuscule circles. I feel myself sinking into the hard rocks, becoming one with the earth. This is what I want, what I need: grounding. Air floods my lungs, sweat slicks my skin, fire licks my cunt. When his hand dives beneath the fabric, all at once, I’m the combination of elements, built and re-built and chiseled into my surroundings. Finlay stares at me in fascination, his mouth slack with hunger, as though this will never grow old, the sensation of me pliant and wet, opening beneath his fingertips. His ring finger circles my cunt and slides slowly inside the heated sheath of me. It takes every effort not to cry aloud, a soft needy whimper crushed by my throat. I screw my eyes shut and purse my lips tightly, my whole body seizing around Finlay’s knowing hand. He toys with a stray lock of my hair as he plunges steadily into me, his fingers icy cold yet exhilarating against my inner heat.
“Shhh,” Finlay whispers with a careful glance around us, before leaning forward to brush his lips against mine. “It’s no’ like we’re alone.”
My cunt pulses at the idea of it, of his clear lascivious craving to be caught. His warm breath fogs the corner of my mouth as his lips trail across the bridge of my nose. My eyes flutter closed and I tilt my head backward, my skull rolling helplessly against the rock.
“Are ye enjoyin’ yerself?” Finlay asks huskily in my ear, nuzzling my neck with hot kisses. “I think ye are. It’d be a shame if everyone here found oot how much.”
My legs tremble beneath me at the gleeful threat in Finlay’s voice as my heart pounds wildly in my chest. The world spins around me; the dim stars, the scent of alcohol, even the faint sound of other people’s whispers.
“You talk o’ equals, and that’s awfy egalitarian o’ ye,” Finlay murmurs darkly, almost mockingly, against my ear, “and yet ye must know there’s naebody else like you.” He thrusts inside me, hard. “Nothin’.Nothin’is as good as bein’ wi’ you.”
My body tautens like a bowstring. My thighs clench, clutching Finlay’s hand as close to me as physically possible. He continues his agonizing assault on my body, as my temperature rockets in the winter chill, and my mind grasps at the music of the street party carried by the wind. The closer I get and the wetter I grow, Finlay shuffles toward me and slides a languid palm across my mouth. He presses down firmly, and that small pressured push is enough for my body to tighten beneath him like a stretched rubber band, for my cunt to clench and swallow his hand in greed. Wetness gushes from me so hard around Finlay’s pumping fingers that his eyebrows raise. He continues fucking me with his hand, causing more juice to sluice and pour out of my ruined hole. All of me is sopping.
The speed at which I came… It felt different then, my breathing hard and ragged and riotous, my naked heart a projectile, the space between my legs slick in ways I’m not sure I’ve ever known. When I sag into the rocks, tension seeping from my body, Finlay begrudgingly frees his hand from the confines of my jeans and inspects the thick, slippery, clear release coating his pale skin with the same attention as a scientist. I’d redden at his concentration but I realize now, having done this in the open and not for the first time, just how shameless I truly am.
“Did you squirt?” Finlay asks in a low murmur, his voice slightly breathless as he realizes the desire behind his question. “Ye’re so fuckin’wet, sassenach.”
“It felt different,” I acknowledge, all of me still dripping as I slump into the rocks. I squeeze my thighs together, missing Finlay inside me. I watch him study his dripping hand, and then gasp as he licks a long, thick stripe up his fingers with his tongue. His eyes flare with darkness, the onyx-bright shine of them blackening them with private fantasies.
“You taste incredible,” he remarks, and my stomach burns low with sizzling, swooping heat. He diligently tastes all of me on his skin, supping me like it refreshes and restores him. I can’t take my eyes off him or his feasting pink lips, glossy with me. “You’re beautiful. You’re beautiful and I’m so fuckin’ in love wi’ ye, sassenach.”
We stare at each other, caught in mad, deepening bliss. And then, moments later, comes the unexpected chant of the new year countdown.
“THREE! TWO! ONE!”
Our heads turn, and with delight we see fireworks shooting into the air. Purple and pink globes blossom in the sky, fat crackling carnations and sweet dainty tulips, and I realize at once why Finlay brought me here. The city skyline had been beautiful enough, and I thought it’d been the reason for our ascent. But this… This is the cherry on top. Hundreds of crimson petals bloom and blitz before winking into the ether. I’m too stunned to speak, too stunned to even breathe. Fireworks career off into the black sky, directly in front of our eyeline, and I watch Edinburgh light up in blasts and bangs of color like angels we meet head-on. It’s so beautiful I feel myself tearing up. I don’t take my eyes off it, my whole body sated and flush with pleasure.
When the ceremony ends after long minutes, and loud cheers fly into the air from the revelers, I turn to Finlay with a watery smile on my face. It’s only then that I realize he’s been looking at me the whole time.
“What?” I ask, surprised. “Why weren’t you watching?”
Finlay shrugs. “I preferred the fireworks I gave ye.”
