Fic post, part the third

[ariastar]

Co-written with Polaris. ^^ Before all else, we should probably apologise for the insane length of this fic. If you don't want to read it all at once, you are probably sane. ^^ In any case, here be the chronicles of Finn's first three or so days in the land of llamas with Lord Alden. This is rated probably around high PG-13, for swearing and vague sex and excessive use of the word 'fuck' and the fact that these are not very happy boys. Um. Enjoy. ^^

It’s the Fall that Kills You
Part Three

It had been a terribly productive day.

Alden kept that in mind, and tried very hard not to consider the emotional toll the last forty-odd hours had taken. Alive and dead and alive again, and the boy was walking cheerfully beside him up the fading gold-green slope as the sun set behind them.

“Tired?” Alden asked quietly as they reached the entrance to the cave.

“Somewhere at the back of my mind.” Finn gave him a warm smile. “The magic in those places, it doesn’t let me be tired.”

“True,” Alden acknowledged, and waved over a couple of oranges, because he could, because Finn was right; the magic in those power points they had visited was buzzing through him, and he felt an overwhelming need to burn away the excess power. “Here.” He tossed the boy an orange. “I expect your natural cycle will kick in soon enough, and when it does, you’ll want to have had something to eat.”

Finn threw an apple at his head and dropped down onto a pile of llama-wool blankets that hadn’t been there previously. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Clever,” Alden muttered, and sat down beside him. Whether it was still out of a want to watch the boy’s health, or purely for the proximity, Alden didn’t care to examine. He began peeling an orange.

Finn laughed happily and sprawled over backwards while he ate his own.

Alden gave him a little smile. “Glad to see you’ve perked up, lad,” he murmured. “No more trouble from your back?”

“Not really. I think the magic took that away too for a bit.”

“Like being drunk,” Alden muttered.

“That’s a good idea!” Finn said brightly.

“Getting drunk?” Something like panic bubbled up in Alden. “Like hell that’s a good idea.”

He paused, then, and looked down at Finn. The boy’s eyes were overbright, and he was trembling very slightly, staring up at the ceiling. The bright tone in his voice was a lie.

“Finn?” He set aside his orange peel, panic forgotten.

“Sorry,” Finn whispered. He shut his eyes.

“What the hell are you apologising for?” Alden shoved a few alpaca blankets aside to get closer to the boy.

“Almost dying,” Finn said softly.

Alden clenched his fists tight. He didn’t want to remember that-choking panic, the inability to think anything but, helpless and angry, Finn, over and again. He couldn’t forgive that.

“Alden?” Finn whispered.

Alden didn’t know what possessed him then, but “Sit up,” he whispered.

The boy obeyed him, though his hands were shaking horribly and Alden could see that everything had just come crashing down on him; the cold awareness that had so frightened Alden and which might never leave.

“Here,” Alden said pointlessly, and wrapped his arms around Finn, drawing the boy to him, holding tighter than he needed. He-never did this. He’d never quite understood the panic in people’s faces, the panic after the fact; he was too good at storing bad experiences away, visiting them in increments or in sleep. But he remembered the suffocating panic of a few days before, remembered being utterly unable to fight it, and if this was not the reason he held Finn close now, it was the best excuse he could manage.

Finn gasped and buried his face against Alden’s neck, so that Alden was acutely aware of the tears streaming down Finn’s cheeks, soaking his shirt. The boy’s fingers were digging into his sides, but he didn’t care, couldn’t care, because it meant Finn was alive. Hurting but somehow that was good.

“Finn,” he murmured, stunned and ecstatic. Alive. Of course he’d known that before, but perhaps the numbness had worn off for himself and for the boy at the same time. “Finn.” Hands on the boy’s back, rubbing small helpless circles, healing nothing, only for touch.

He didn’t get any response to that; Finn was too caught up in his sudden misery, and maybe that was a good thing. There was a certain guilty pleasure in being the one to comfort him, in holding Finn as the sobs turned to whimpers and then simply quiet shivering.

Alden said nothing, simply held the boy, hands still moving against his back. He could touch Finn like this. Because the boy was alive.

“I need to rest now,” Finn whispered after a while. “Stay with me?”

“Of course,” Alden said without thinking, and was quietly horrified. Of course. As though there was no other thing that could be said.

Finn drew back, leaving Alden’s neck sticky and cold with his tears. He gave Alden a sheepish, watery-eyed smile and rose, offering his hands.

Alden shook his head. “No use pulling your muscles, lad,” he pointed out, and got up by himself.

Finn dropped his hands and made his way over to the cot, dragging a few extra blankets with him.

Alden followed him rather helplessly. Finn. You need-

Something. Alden wouldn’t let himself think what. Couldn’t even bring himself to consider what comfort Finn might need.

Finn dropped down, burying deeply in the blankets without waiting for Alden. Didn’t need to. Assumed he would be there; knew he would follow.

Alden swore inwardly. Damn it all, the boy was right. He sat.

Some strange desire was pushing at the back of his throat. It wasn’t quite something that needed to be articulated, though it was nearly a sob. Alden had remembered, with sudden clarity, what he’d thought when he’d known Finn was going to die.

So many things I should have done for you.

That was all nonsense. He and Finn had owed each other nothing then, but perhaps the value of friendship. Alden had been thinking something entirely different. Damn it all; Finn, just there, easily within reach, and the whole damn world, and most of all himself.

He saw again, with pained exactness, the list of things Finn had wished for. Wish I could have seen you, drunk chocolatl with you, rescued you from the llamas, played cards with you; all the things we talked about...

And some of the things we haven’t, Alden thought helplessly, and lay down beside the boy, a few painful inches between them.

Finn wasn’t having any of that. He rolled over, pressing close again. And what right did Alden have to push him away?

In fact, Alden realised in some horror as his arms went round the boy without a thought, he didn’t want to push Finn away.

The power points had to be getting to him. Like being drunk. Damn it all.

“Safe,” Finn whispered, half-asleep.

Hell, Alden thought, and squeezed his eyes shut tight.

He fell into sleep with a thought burning in his mind, mercifully possible to ignore until waking.

Finn wasn’t there when he woke.

Alden sat up, immediately wide awake, and looked around in something approaching panic.

“Alden!” Finn’s voice, a loud whisper, drifted to him from one of the food piles, and then Finn was there, touching Alden’s shoulder lightly, quiet reassurance. “Sorry. I was hungry. I didn’t think you’d wake.”

“I work for the same people you do,” Alden pointed out, smiling crookedly. “Of course I woke up, lad.”

“Ah. Right.” Finn pressed an orange into his hand, a bit apologetically.

Alden stared at it rather blankly. “Not really hungry.”

“All right.” The orange vanished and Finn polished off his own, licking a bit of juice from the corner of his mouth.

Alden stared at that, too, for rather too long, then winced and looked back at his hands. The thought was back, and terribly persistent, and he needed to be rid of the damned thing.

He felt Finn hesitate, and the boy scooted closer, pillowing his head on Alden’s shoulder. “Not tired anymore,” he murmured.

“Good.” Alden’s hands curled into loose fists. Get off my shoulder. Don’t ever leave. Damndamndamn.

Finn caught one of Alden’s hands in both of his own. “Going to punch me again?” he murmured dryly.

“No,” Alden whispered, and swallowed hard. Couldn’t look up. If he looked up, Finn would know exactly what he was thinking.

“I suppose I deserve it, if you do,” Finn said anyway. His fingers gently pried apart Alden’s fist, then twined together with the loosened digits.

Alden’s fingers curled again, this time round Finn’s. Don’t. Don’t. “I like you, lad,” he said quietly, and swallowed. “Don’t do this.”

“I like you,” Finn whispered fiercely, tightening his hold. “Dammit, Alden, I do.”

“And don’t say that,” Alden returned with equal fierceness, and then he made the mistake of looking up at the boy’s face.

Finn’s eyes were wide and unguarded, all mixed up and full of desire and fear and fondness and something else Alden couldn’t-or didn’t dare-name. His lips formed Alden’s name, but he didn’t speak.

Alden didn’t care to guess what was in his own face. It probably mirrored Finn’s own, and that didn’t bear thinking about; he couldn’t look so, couldn’t look so raw, full of want and terror and that unnamable thing. Couldn’t.

Finn’s free hand came up, stroking his cheek lightly, the touch almost painful in its intimacy.

“Finn,” Alden murmured. It came out sounding like a plea. No, nonono-

Finn must have seen the protest, there behind the want. His fingers trembled, did not leave Alden’s face, but slipped around to cup his chin, becoming a silent question.

“Finn,” Alden whispered again. He didn’t even know what he was asking for now. Absolution. “Please...”

“Alden,” Finn whispered. “Alden, please-just this once? Or for-for keeps, Alden?” There was something desperate in his eyes now, hunger and desire and a need to know.

“I don’t know,” Alden said, and slid his hands into Finn’s shoulders, curling there. But there was one thing he knew, solidly, fiercely enough that it nearly scared him-“I won’t be throwing you aside, lad. Never that.”

Finn swallowed, hard, eyes shimmering. “Okay,” he whispered, and leaned forward and oh-

For a moment Alden couldn’t even remember how it was done. Then Finn’s mouth was warm against his, and he only had to tilt his head a little, just so, and lean forward a bit more, hands tightening on the boy’s shoulders, heart hammering nearly painful in his chest. Too long. Oh. Oh Finn.

There was something perfect about this, despite or because of their desperation and the hungry, overwhelming want in every touch. They fit; Finn’s mouth to his, Finn’s fingers in his, Finn’s body against his own.

And he needed to be closer. Alden pressed forward more urgently now, pinning Finn up against the rough wall behind them, hands skating down and then up under the boy’s shirt. Finn. Finn.

Hot skin, smooth and unmarred; he had done that, he had fixed it, and now Finn was moaning softly into his mouth, muffled encouragement, the boy’s fingers working deftly at the buttons of Alden’s shirt until it hung loose and was shoved off his shoulders.

Wait, Alden thought distantly. He wanted-he wanted-oh, oh Finn-but there’d been something in the boy’s eyes. Something unreadable-impossible-he couldn’t give of himself like that. Panic rose suffocatingly in his throat, and Alden pulled away, breathing too hard, trembling.

Finn’s hands ran soothingly over his back. “Alden,” he whispered. “Alden.”

“I can’t,” Alden muttered feverishly. “I can’t be both, Finn. I can’t.”

Finn blinked, drew away. “What?”

Alden bowed his head, eyes squeezed shut. “I like you too much for this,” he whispered miserably. Wanted to reach out, pull Finn to him again. Couldn’t.

“Alden,” Finn said gently. “Look at me.”

Alden steeled himself and looked up.

It was still there, everything, all mixed up and unreadable. But there was something else he did recognise, something like-oh, shit-anger.

Finn punched him. Hard.

Alden swore, clapping a hand to the side of his face. “What the hell was that for?”

“What the hell do you think it was for?” Finn’s hands caught his shoulders, brusingly hard. “Why the hell am I here, else; why’d you care so much if I died; why’d you work so hard to save me? People don’t do that and then push each other away!” he shouted.

Alden gritted his teeth. “I have to,” he ground out.

“The fuck you do!” Finn’s hands tightened, and then all at once the fight went out of him, and he slumped. He touched Alden’s cheek, and the pain dulled and vanished.

Alden shuddered, eyes sliding closed again at the touch. “Look,” he said quietly. “Do you really want me to fuck you and then pretend we didn’t do a damn thing?”

“No. I want you to fuck me and work with me and stay with me,” Finn said, voice matching his, shot through with longing.

Alden winced. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“It does if we want it to. Hell. You’ve been wanting me. We still got things done.” Finn’s hands rested on his shoulders, shook him lightly. “It can work like that, Alden.”

It sounded wonderful. Which was, of course, why it couldn’t possibly work, but Alden wasn’t going to tell the boy that. Perhaps... at least while they were here-

“Hell,” Alden said angrily, and kissed Finn again.

Finn let him, returned it fiercely, and when they pulled back he whispered, “Alden, it can-”

“Don’t,” Alden interrupted fervently. “Don’t, Finn. Just this.”

“Alden, please-”

He kissed Finn again, to shut him up.

Don’t talk about this, he pleaded the boy silently. Don’t talk, and I won’t ask questions, and we can both have this. At least this.

He kissed Finn again and again, and the boy’s protests faded into little noises of enthusiasm; gods, how he wanted this. The intensity with which they hungered for this was frightening.

And there was the panic again. Slow down, Alden realised. Slow down, or they would somehow miss it all; slow down or it wouldn’t be Finn, just someone, anyone at all. So Alden stilled his hands, curled his fingers in the boy’s hair, nearly cradling his head, and kissed him slowly and thoroughly.

Finn liked that. Liked it a lot, when he was gentle that way, because he knew, Alden could tell he knew, that it meant he wasn’t just another fuck.

The panic was being replaced by something else, though Alden wasn’t sure he liked this new emotion any better. Whatever it was, it felt inexorable and inevitable, and Alden ignored it as best he could, hands exploring Finn’s body, shaking with the effort of not moving too fast. Finn seemed to have given himself over to it entirely; his hands and mouth glided over Alden’s body, finding the places that sent intense waves of pleasure straight through every nerve.

Alden swore, only half-heeding what he was saying, Finn’s name somewhere, returning Finn’s motions touch for touch. Forever since anyone had touched him like this.

Forever since anyone had wanted anything more than a night.

Forever since he’d wanted it, too.

Forever was a dangerous thing, and Alden was drunk on it, drunk on Finn who he knew, as easily as breathing, would always be this; alive and fervent and beautiful in this moment and that was what Alden would always remember no matter what else came to pass.

He wouldn’t have thought that at any other time. Too many years of cynicism, and any other time-anyone else moving against him, fervent kisses and frantic murmurs echoing his own-Alden would have dismissed such thoughts as not only foolish but dangerous.

Not like this.

Not like this, Alden thought dazedly, tangled up with Finn, one hand absently stroking the boy’s damp hair, their breathing beginning to slow. “Finn,” he murmured, just for the sound of it.

“Alden,” Finn whispered in return, with an exhausted little chuckle. He kissed Alden’s neck, licking away a little of the sweat that glistened on both their bodies. “That was wonderful,” he added softly.

“No pillow talk,” Alden murmured amusedly. “We’ve both punched each other enough lately.”

“Why would you want to punch me this time?” Finn murmured, a bit plaintively but mostly amused.

“As I said. For pillow talk.” Alden gave Finn a lazy grin. “I intend to cure you of it forthwith.”

“Oh?” Finn curled closer. “This is nice, though. You must admit.”

“I must do nothing,” Alden returned with sleepy indignation. “Are you fishing for compliments, my lad?”

“No. I meant, being together like this is nice, and you have to agree.” Finn looked up at him curiously.

Just this once. “Yes, it is.” Alden tugged his hair gently. “And again, I have to do nothing.”

“Very well, you needn’t.” Finn smiled. “But it is.” He kissed Alden again and relaxed against him, eyes drifting shut.

“Mff,” Alden agreed, and yawned, then looked closely at the boy’s face. “Hey,” he said quietly.

“Hmm?” Finn opened his eyes again.

“I’m so fucking glad you didn’t die,” Alden whispered. “Now to go sleep, you daft madman.”

Finn’s eyes widened, and then he smiled slowly, a bit smug and a little embarrassed and very, very happy. And then, good boy, he did just as instructed, and Alden held him and listened as his breathing became quiet and even.

I’m in so much fucking trouble, he thought, but not in a very worried way. He was almost certain to panic later, but for now, odd though it was, just this, right here, was enough.