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“I believe that’s called assault.”
“But ye clearly want it.”
“Your rhetoric is also deeply problematic.”
With a small, puzzled smile, Finlay says in a patient voice, “Ro. Mate. Ye’re practically sweatin’ wi’ the urge tae come. It hurts tae look at ye. I’m right here, offerin’ up an act o’ kindness.”
Unfailingly polite, Rory says, “Thank you but no.”
Finlay stuffs his hands in his pockets, blowing out a frustrated breath that announces how stumped he is. He paces around the front of the classroom, thinking. “I mean, I always knew ye were mad —brilliantbut mad — but this takes the whole fuckin’ biscuit.” He glances over at Danny and me. “He’s been like this the whole time?”
Nodding, I confirm, “Hasn’t come once.”
And then Finlay stops in the middle of the room as if struck. Glittering with glee, he yanks me from my chair and brings me across to meet Rory, whose elbow he grabs, making us face each other and hold hands. “Get married,” Finlay instructs sharply. “Now. It’s the only way for a’ this tae end.”
I glance at our dismal surroundings, unconvinced. While I can scarcely picture what our wedding will actually look like, I can guarantee it won’t be taking place in our politics classroom.
But Finlay continues, relentless: “Danny’s dad’s a minister so that basically means Danny’s a minister, wi’ power vested in him. Father, son, holy spirit, amen.” He glances across at Danny, looking enthusiastic. “Think that basically means ye’re Jesus or somethin’.”
Danny blanches at the thought. “For the sake of the world, I dearly hope my dad isn’t God.”
“Okay, stop,” I say, feeling like this is getting way out of hand. It seems necessary to spell it out to Finlay: “No one is getting married today.”
For a brief moment, Finlay looks disappointed, but then his gaze flickers to mine with hope and he pipes up, “Tomorrow?”
“No. And no one’s getting married just because you’re bored and want to dismantle someone’s vow of celibacy.”
I glance at Rory, willing him to shut this whole absurd thing down, but Rory’s wearing a thoughtful expression as he considers Danny, as if something Finlay had said had never occurred to him. When I raise my eyebrow at him, he speaks nothing of it, only adds, “The saint’s right. I also won’t have a hedonist like you reducing our wedding to me being finally allowed to come.”
Finlay scoffs. “Butyou’rethe one reducin’ it tae that by no’ comin’ in the first place. It’s unnatural! And ye clearly want tae, otherwise ye wouldnae be orderin’ me tae kiss everyone under the sun. It’s obvious ye’re livin’ vicariously through the rest o’ us, so ye may as well gie up the whole celibacy thing noo.” When Rory shoots him a glare, Finlay holds up his hands, conceding defeat. “Fine. I’ll shut up. Ye like the tease.I get it. But it willnae be me, that’s whit I’m sayin’…”
“No, it won’t,” Rory drawls pointedly, before adding, “because I thought I told you to strip.”
“Sure, andI’mthe hedonist,” Finlay mutters through the flash of a bright grin, and without ceremony, he shucks off his jacket and the blazer beneath, dropping both onto the desk beside him. He quickly unknots his tie, sliding it from his collar and adding it to the heap. The room grows hotter with every item of clothing Finlay casually discards.
“Keep it aside,” Rory murmurs from the wall, and Finlay meets his sharp, silver gaze, intrigued. He picks up his tie again and hands it to me, his green eyes sparkling.
“For safekeeping, apparently.” His fingers return to his collar, fumbling over his buttons. “Oh bother,” he murmurs through a dramatic sigh, as he ambles back to Rory. “Just cannae seem tae get the knack…”
Rory’s glower slices through the innocent act. He steps forward, hands outstretched, and wrenches open Finlay’s shirt collar. A button pings free and clacks against the stone floor. Finlay follows its descent with a nervous lick of his lips, and stares down at it despondently. “Well, there was nae need for that.”
“Quit playing and get naked.”
40
With an arch of his eyebrow, Finlay slides off his crisp Lochkelvin shirt. It flutters down, pooling around his heavy black Docs.
His nipples harden in the freezing January air. Nevertheless, Finlay is emboldened, and he strips off the remainder of his uniform until he stands with his fingers coyly tucked beneath the waistband of his dark boxers. As gooseflesh pricks his skin, he double-checks Rory’s face, asking, “Ye really dae this in here?” At Rory’s answering silence, Finlay shrugs and then slowly lowers the strip of fabric.
Already his cock is at a hard diagonal, bobbing and yearning despite the chill in the air. I swallow, pinning to memory its shape, its unique differences. It has been too long. In the classroom, Finlay stands totally naked, his dark emerald eyes cutting across to Rory as if begging for permission and release.
But Rory ignores his nude best friend and looks at me instead. “Little saint,” he murmurs, his features entirely neutral in a way that I know his mind is busy processing ten steps ahead. “Come here. And bring that tie.”
I don’t miss the smug flicker across Finlay’s mouth. I don’t miss the sparkling eyes tracking my every move or the hopeful lurch of Finlay’s cock. As I stand between Finlay and Rory, trying to ignore the naked chief in the room, I hold the plaid tie outstretched between my palms like a gift and await further instruction.
“Bind his wrists,” Rory murmurs from his position by the wall. Finlay flashes a grin, looking like he’s enjoying all the attention and Rory’s determination to play it cool. As I step into his space, Finlay’s grin softens into a warm smile. But still, there’s something too laidback and cocky about his demeanor, at odds with the rest of a battered-into-submission Lochkelvin. Rory’s right: hedoesradiate the sharpness, the confidence, of a swaggering city boy. It buzzes from his skin, his easy poise. He suddenly seems more grown-up than any of us.
With a small, playful flourish, Finlay stretches out his forearms to present his wrists, more obliging than I expect he’s ever been with Baxter. I glance down at the red blotches stretched across his skin that Rory can’t have missed, and in the hush of our politics classroom, I gently wrap the silken tie around Finlay’s bony wrists. As I spread the loops into a neat bow, Rory politely thanks me and gestures for me to return to my seat.
