Wes, enchanted, ran his tongue along Finn’s arm, and then bit, lightly, which made Finn say, “I know I’m delicious, thanks—” and then stop, because Wes had kissed the edge of his wrist, beside the loop of blue.
Wes paused to look. His boyfriend’s eyes had gone softer, surprised, dreamier; Finn blinked and admitted, “I liked that one.”
“You like me reminding you,” Wes said.
“Something like that. Kiss me more?”
“That was the idea. Which you said you liked.”
“Love,” Finn said. “I said I love you.” He was breathing slightly faster, cheeks more pink: a portrait of want.
“Here and mine,” Wes said, an echo. “I love you, Finn Ransom.” He leaned down to cradle Finn’s head, this time: to hold Finn in place and bring their mouths together, sweet and deep. His hand in Finn’s hair, against the be
