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Chapter Text

It was a typical wrestling match in the rooms above the betting office between friends, like they usually did, mostly after a couple of shots at the Garrison. All for shits-and-giggles, sometimes struggling huffs of air laced with whiskey as one of them managed to kick or punch the other particularly hard, but never more than a typical wrestling match between friends. Well, it would have been your typical wrestling match, if Isaiah hadn’t decided to straddle Finn, squeezing his wrists above his head, victorious. It would have been your typical wrestling match if Isaiah hadn’t brushed Finn’s (rapidly) growing erection on accident. It definitely would have been typical if Finn didn’t suck in a breath when he did, and it would have been even more typical if Isaiah didn’t shift on top of him and do it again.

“Isaiah,” Finn said, barely above a whisper, just because the silence was too loud.

“Finn,” Isaiah whispered back, heart thudding a violent beat in his throat.

Finn was rapidly becoming aware of every detail of Isaiah. The soft skin of his palms over his wrists. The smell of whiskey dancing in Isaiah’s breath. The dip of his chest, and the slight thud of his heartbeat in his throat. The warmth pooling south, then the warmth all over, up his neck, in his hair, on his cheeks. He didn’t know what to do, his brain feeling fuzzy and light, but not the kind of muddled fuzzy that comes after too many drinks. It was a nice fuzzy feeling, one he hadn’t gotten from anyone but Isaiah and the baker’s boy years ago.

Isaiah licked his lips, chest heaving more than it should be for a typical wrestling match (he was also trying to convince himself it’s entirely typical for this to happen during heated wrestling matches between friends. It happens to everyone, he lied, telling himself anything to hide the fact this was most certainly not what happens to everyone). He slowly dragged his hands down Finn’s arms, until one was palming his own erection and the other was sliding himself off of Finn’s groin. Eyes carefully trained on Finn’s, Isaiah slowly shuffled backwards, until he was propped against Ada’s favorite plum-purple armchair.

Blushing furiously, Finn propped himself up on one elbow, the other arm also frantically pleading his erection to go
down.

“Finn-,” Isaiah began to start.

“It’s locked,” Finn blurted out, cutting him off. Ears and cheeks glowing crimson, he didn’t dare look Isaiah in the eye. “Just if you were wondering. It’s- the door,” he added sheepishly. “It’s locked.”

Isaiah glanced over his shoulder, even though he knew it was locked because they always locked it, but just so he could have something to fill the seconds stretching by with.

“It is,” he whispered, swallowing hard.

“I don’t think,” Finn said, “I don’t think Tommy is expecting us for an hour, and we aren’t needed anywhere else for much longer.”

“Yeah,” Isaiah tried to say, but his voice came out raspy and husky. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “Yeah, I think you’re right,” he said, voice trailing off at the end.

Looking up at Finn, Isaiah decided to be bold. Besides, didn’t some wrestling matches end up leading to unsure feelings and awkward kisses?

Finn scooted forward, kneeling in front of Isaiah. Cheeks glowing even more, Finn lowered down to his eye level. Slouched against the chair, Isaiah’s nimble fingers suddenly shot out and looped behind Finn’s already loosened tie. Tugging him forward, Isaiah could feel the heat radiating off Finn’s face, nestling itself in Isaiah’s hair and eyelashes and lips. Finn made a low noise in the back of his throat, his brown, brown eyes boring into Isaiah’s. It was just enough for Isaiah, just enough to pull him forward that last bit and mash their lips together. Finn made a small noise of surprise, but didn’t pull away (a good sign, Isaiah hoped).

At first, it started chaste. Small, light pecks soon led to deeper, more hungry kisses until Finn made another small noise and scooted onto Isaiah’s lap. He toyed with Isaiah’s curls, his fingers sewing in and out of the soft coils until they ran down the back of his neck lightly. Goosebumps broke out along the nape of Isaiah’s neck, all of his hairs standing on edge. Finn smiled against his lips, a small sense of victory persuading him to dart his tongue out and tease Isaiah’s lips.

Isaiah sucked in a breath as he did, thumbs rubbing across Finn’s cheeks. Arching up into Finn’s chest, he moaned lightly, desperate to relive some of the tightness in his trousers. Finn responded with a whine in his throat, puffs of air getting more and more shallow.

Isaiah slipped his tongue into Finn’s mouth, surprised at how soft it was. Suddenly, it felt as if all the women he kissed seemed like a waste of time. All a waste of time when he could have been snogging Finn Shelby. Finn with the softest, sweetest mouth and the curious tongue, now prodding at his own.

Finn felt like his brain had completely given up on him. He couldn’t think of anything, anything but Isaiah’s mouth. Dipping his tongue into his cheeks, he felt Isaiah’s chest heave, arching up again into his own. Another surge of victory through his veins urged him to do it again. So he did. Sucking at Isaiah’s lips and tongue and neck felt like the only thing he was good at and he would be damned if he didn’t teach himself how to perfect his craft.

Kissing Isaiah felt like doing snow for the first time again, but instead of the heavy head and aching limbs after, Finn only felt light and free. Kissing Isaiah felt like he was doing something he wasn’t supposed to, getting the same rush as when he held a gun and cocked it. He loved it. He felt like throwing caution to the wind just for one second. He was so tired of always being so careful, so Tommy wasn’t on his back, so Arthur wasn’t hounding him, so Polly wasn’t chiding him. With Isaiah, there was none of that. He was on a high that for once, wouldn’t end in blurry memories and a bleeding nose.

Kissing Finn felt like something familiar, something he’s done before but he couldn’t remember from where. It felt like Isaiah was supposed to be kissing him. In fact, now that he was, Isaiah couldn’t believe it had taken this long for it to finally happen. Finn tasted what he thought spring would, light and airy and new. He smelled sweet, despite the rancid stench of Small Heath nestling itself everywhere. Finn was an escape from the grimy junkyards and the Cut and the shit-filled streets. Finn was everything Small Heath was not. Finn felt like home.

Suddenly the no-man’s-land in between them was filled with hands, fumbling with shirt buttons and tie knots. Ragged breaths smelled less like whisky and more like a taunt, laughing at them for still being clothed.

“You’re sure about this?” Finn mumbled, heart racing so fast he was worried it would explode inside him.

“Of course I am,” Isaiah responded, feeling more confident. He found that funny, because when he felt this confident, he was usually four drinks in. Now, he felt dead sober. “Are you?”

Isaiah felt Finn smile against his lips and nod, pulling him down onto the scratchy rug.

Isaiah pushed the rest of Finn’s shirt off, fingertips tracing the constellations of freckles across his shoulders. His fingers skirted down his sides, watching, surprised at how his dark skin looked darker against Finn’s milky white torso.

Head lolling to the side, Finn moaned as Isaiah tasted his neck, sucking the ghostly skin until it bloomed with purple love bites.

Just as Finn was going to yank off Isaiah’s shirt too, the door handle suddenly jiggled furiously.

“Finn? Isaiah! Are you in there? Family meeting at the Garrison, you’ve got to come quick!” Ada shouted, trying the door again. “Somethings wrong with the door,” she muttered, kissing her teeth. “Never mind that then, just please hurry up! Tommy’s getting impatient; then we’ll all be fucked,” she added, sounding flustered.

Finn’s stomach lurched as panic seeped through his body, frantically grabbing his shirt. Isaiah watched him, amused as he laughed quietly.

“Lucky it’s locked, Finny boy, eh?”

“Shut up, Isaiah,” Finn muttered, but his blushing smile gave him away. “Yeah Ada, we’ll be there in a minute,” he called out. “Meet you there!”

“Fine, then. But hurry!” Ada said, footsteps receding.

“Jesus Christ,” Finn muttered, palming his racing heart. He was convinced Ada just took five years off his life. Isaiah snickered, then laughed more as Finn batted him away. “Come on then, here’s yours,” he said, blushing as he handed Isaiah his tie. Shakily standing up, Finn tried fixing his own tie, but his hands betrayed him. He hoped they would stop trembling by the time they were at the Garrison. Tommy would snap at him to be a man.

“Here,” Isaiah said softly, “I can.” Standing too, he gently pulled Finn closer by the collar, head dipping down to fix his tie.

Finn watched Isaiah’s quick fingers fold the fabric over, knotting or twisting it until it looked the same as when they had gotten there.

Finn paid attention the whole time, soaking up every detail to remember this forever. He would remember Isaiah’s breath against his face, the way Isaiah kept biting his lip, the way he was trying so hard not to show Finn his hands were trembling too.

“Done,” he whispered. He patted Finn’s tie, too nervous to look him in the eyes.

Finn craned his head up, forcing Isaiah to look at him. “Thank you,” he whispered back.

Isaiah lightly touched his forehead to Finn’s, slowly pressing into him, a solid wall of comfort.

“We need to go,” Finn mumbled, looking away, even though he would have rather stayed here cocooned in Isaiah forever.

Pressing a small kiss to his forehead, Isaiah pulled apart and grabbed his coat.

“I think you’re right, Finny,” he said, pulling him towards the door.

Chapter Text

“You’re late,” Polly said, eyebrows raised and drink in hand.

“I told them to come a while ago,” Ada sighed, exasperated. Bent over, she rubbed her temples in slow, methodical circles.

“Sorry Pol, we just lost track of time,” Finn mumbled. She was onto them, he just knew it. Polly was a witch. Of course she could tell something was different.

“Yeah, sorry Polly,” Isaiah added, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“I would ask where you were, but we’ve wasted too much time already,” Tommy said, lighting a cigarette. “To summarize, it’s the fucking Angels. They’re the ones sending the letters.” He threw back his drink and cleared his throat. “Finn, Isaiah and Aberama are going to find him. Here’s the address.” He tossed a wad of paper to Aberama.

“Chinatown. The Angels,” Aberama said, eyebrows raised. He pursed his lips, looking at Tommy through skeptical eyebrows.

“I know there have been incidents there in the past,” Tommy said, “but I can guarantee this will go smoothly. Finn, I don’t want you in the middle of this. Leave the dirty work to Isaiah and Aberama. You’re just there in case you need to pull rank.”

Finn huffed, kissing his teeth. Despite knowing he wasn’t going to listen to Tommy anyways, he always felt the urge to argue bubble up inside him and threaten to spill out.

“Fine,” he said, crossing his arms. He stole a glance at Isaiah. His mind kept wandering back their foreheads together, and just how soft Isaiah’s hair was. Finn wanted him to tie every tie he ever wore for the rest of his life.

“Alrighty then boys, we best get on our way,” Aberama said. “Curly and Charlie have our stuff at the yard. Off we go, then!”

The three of them marched out of the Garrison, Isaiah’s hand on the small of Finn’s back, hidden under his coat so no one could see. Except maybe Polly, who’s eyes had lingered a moment too long on the pair as they left.

All the while, Aberama was chattering about Bonnie. Bonnie and the upcoming matches, Bonnie and how quick he is, how Bonnie could win but he doesn’t because Tommy says so, how Bonnie hated throwing the matches because it made him look weak, Bonnie being the best welterweight champion he’s ever seen, and how Bonnie is as fast on his toes as a stray bullet kills. Aberama talking and talking makes for good conversation blocker, it seems, as he didn’t hear a word Finn and Isaiah were speaking.

“I think your Aunt Polly is onto us,” Isaiah whispered into Finn’s ear, skirting past some running children, then dodging a newly tamed horse in the street.

“Probably. Can’t keep secrets for shit when your aunt’s a witch,” Finn replied, scooting around a pile of horse dung. A great boom of machinery rumbled through the alley they were now marching through, while golden sparks showered the street behind. “She won’t say anything. She’s too busy fretting over Gina and Michael anyways.”

Isaiah huffed out a chuckle and prodded Finn forward, Charlie and Curly just ahead. Lanky as a bean and stout as a pea, they were easy to spot from a distance. Smoke swam in a halo around Charlie’s eyes, the dim glow of his cigarette butt barely visible through the haze.

“‘Ello Charlie,” Aberama boomed, stretching his suspenders. “I believe Tommy told you why we’re here?”

“W-well, he doesn’t say much, you know,” Curly interrupted, nodding vigorously, “but he did say you needed extra bullets.” Curly quickly ushered the trio to Charlie's workbench, making himself busy with the bullets.

“Finn, I know you aren’t going to listen, but you should stay out of it,” Charlie said, his cigarette dangling lazily off his lip. Blowing smoke to the side, Charlie pointed to Aberama with a dirty finger. “Keep this one in check. You know how he is.”

“Of course I will. Tommy would have my neck!” Aberama chuckled heartily, because the thought of Tommy Shelby slitting your neck while Arthur bashed your head in was terribly funny.

“Charlie, you don’t even know what we’re doing,” Finn grumbled.

“I don’t need to. All I know if you’re going into Chinatown. You know that’s bad news, isn’t it Curly?”

“Oh yeah, yeah Finn,” Curly looked up from the boxes he was moving. “You’ve got to be very careful there. One of the Lee boys went with Johnny Dogs to pick up something for the horses and they very nearly came out in shreds. Esme would have had to sew them back together!” He laughed to himself, burying his soot-covered nose back into the boxes. Charlie nodded, tapping the butt of his cigarette with a grimy finger, sending a shower of ash floating into the air.

“Well, in case you did want to know,” Isaiah said, “Tommy found the sender.”

“Of the letters? Really?” Charlie mused, leaning against a pole.

“Is-is he sure? You know how he can get,” Curly said, eyebrows raised in skepticism. “Always rushing to conclusions, all willy-nilly like that,” he added, sniffing.

“He’s certain it’s the Angels,” Isaiah said. He lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, then passed it to Finn. His stomach flopped as their hands brushed, the tips of Finn’s ears erupting a light pink. He hissed out his mouthful of smoke, watching it swim through the air before saying anything else.

“Besides, even if it is a mistake, normal people don’t just get mixed up with the Angels by accident. He’s probably better left fucking dead,” he added.

Isaiah squinted into the canal, watching the boats float by. He could feel the pre-fight jitters start to get in. He rolled his shoulders, taking a deep breath of the ashy air. Lungs aching a little, he thought of Finn, and the way he smelled so sweet. The faster this was over, the faster he could give Finn a proper snog. He could feel Finn getting ready too, the way his fingers curled as if he was holding an invisible gun and how he bounced on the balls of his feet, light and ready to run. Lightly, Isaiah knocked his shoe against Finn’s. He looked up, his ears still a dull red. Isaiah raised his eyebrows, as if to ask, ‘ready?’

Finn grinned a cheeky grin and knocked his shoe back against Isaiah’s.

“Yes,” he whispered.

“Ah, right here, Mr. Gold! Got them bullets right here,” Curly exclaimed, rising from the boxes and passing a small box to Aberama.

“Thank you both! Well,” Aberama said, “wish us luck! Come on then boys, we’ll be on our way.”

They began their trek to Chinatown, but Finn was stopped by a soft voice.

“Finn,” Charlie called, pointing the butt of his cigarette at him, “trust your brother. Stay out of this one.”

“Yeah Finn,” Curly added, nodding vigorously. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this one, I do.”

Finn rolled his eyes, waving them off. He ran to catch up to Isaiah, leaning against a brick wall, cigarette in mouth. He took a drag, and before passing it to Finn, gave him a long look, eyebrows raised.

“Not you too,” Finn muttered, snatching the cigarette and breathing in deep.

Chapter Text

The light danced across Finn’s face, teasing the specks of gold and pulling them out to play. Isaiah couldn’t get enough of his golden eyes. His skin also seemed to have a glow to it, not it’s usual milky pale. His freckles stood out even more, and Isaiah wished he could count them or kiss them or both. He looked ethereal.

Isaiah found it funny. Chinatown was one of the dangerous places, one of the places you only went if you were picking up a Shelby suit, getting a spell for a horse, or if you absolutely had to. But for a dangerous place, a place even the Shelbys tried to avoid, the light it brought was beautiful.

From the red, ballooning lanterns swinging off the night ships, or the ornate wood carvings over glass windows, reflecting patterns of flowers or fireworks, Chinatown was filled with light hiding in every dusty corner. Dragon lanterns of all colors lazing in the breeze, glowing a rainbow of colors. Even the simple lanterns the Garrison had seemed even more beautiful and hauntingly enchanting. The light was everywhere, and Isaiah wished he could find it all.

Some of the light was easy to find. Some of the light just so happened to be flickering across Finn Shelby’s face. Finn was crouched by a stairwell, the stairwell he was about to climb because it would send Tommy into a frenzy, and sometimes, Finn needed to do things he wasn’t supposed to.

Isaiah couldn't stop staring at Finn’s eyes, wishing they would find his own. They never did, Finn instead keeping them on Aberama as he passed off their guns.

Isaiah watched the light as it crept up the walls of the stairs, sometimes shaking with the stomps of the residents’ feet. He watched as the window across from the banister tossed light haphazardly into the dingy hallway, scattering it everywhere.

He watched as small specks of light danced on the walls of the floor above them, the very floor with the door they were about to burst open and kill whoever was inside.

“Ready?” Aberama asked quietly.

“Of course I fucking am. Not a blinder for nothing,” Isaiah muttered, pulling his cap low over his eyes.

Finn nodded, and started up the stairs slowly, his gun cocked and aimed at the doors above.

The three of them creeped up the rickety stairs, who seemed to understand they needed to be quiet because they didn’t creak like they should have. Coming up to the door, Isaiah quickly passes across it, crouching on it’s right, Finn on it’s left. Aberama stayed at the top of the stairs, keeping an eye down below, just in case any other Angels decided to say hello.

Taking a deep breath, Finn nodded at Isaiah, prodding the door open with the tip of his gun.

BAM!

A gunshot ripped through the air, exploding through the door. Finn leapt to the side, heart racing. He crept back to the door, edging it open just a little more, teasing with death. Almost a game of chicken, if you will.

BAM!

Another shot flew through the air, this time hitting Finn’s upper arm.

“Shit!” he cried, clutching at his arm. His bicep burned, as if someone took a hot poker from the fire and weaseled it into his arm. He swore again and squeezed his arm, feeling a familiar panic slip into his stomach.

Narrowly dodging another bullet, Isaiah flew to the side of the door, pressing into the corner of the wall and door frame. Just then, Aberama burst through the wallpaper of the back wall, brandishing his gun and shooting three deadly bullets. They cracked through the air, faster than a whip at a horse. The attacker in the room cried out, then silenced, a dull thud affirming his death.

“Fuck!” Finn gritted out, squeezing his eyes shut. His arm was burning a mean fire, heat licking up to his shoulder.

“Get his arm! Under him!” Isaiah shouted, ducking under his shoulder and pulling him up. Aberama did the same on his bad side, and as fast as they could, they rushed to Ada’s.

They burst through the door, setting Finn down in another plum-purple armchair. The same armchair he and Isaiah- not now. Not while he felt like his arm was going to fall off.

“Ah! Watch it!” he grimaced, Aberama ripping his shirt open.

“Isaiah! Go get towels and a bottle of liquor,” Aberama instructed, crouched in front of Finn.

“But not the good towels,” Finn called after Isaiah. “Ada would fucking kill me if I got blood on those ones.”

Isaiah returned quickly, a bottle of gin in one hand and a pile of towels in the other.

“Give that to him,” Aberama said, pointing a finger at the bottle.

Finn grabbed it, taking a big swig. Coughing, he gulped down another, desperate for the burning in his throat to distract from his arm.

“Isaiah, hold him down. Give me your cap,” Aberama muttered.

Isaiah obliged, wrapping an arm around Finn’s shoulders and passing Aberama his cap.

“This might sting,” Isaiah whispered, leaning into Finn’s ear as Aberama poured the gin on his arm.

Finn cried out, thrashing against Isaiah’s arms. “Fuck! Just hurry up, for fuck’s sake, hurry up!”

Aberama poured some gin on Isaiah’s cap, soaking the blades nestled in the front. He grabbed below Finn’s wound, and swiftly got to work.

“It’s okay Finny, it’s okay,” Isaiah whispered in his ear as Finn grunted and jerked under his arm. He lolled his head back, suddenly dizzy as Aberama carved the bullet out.

“This one got ya’ good, Finn. Lucky it wasn’t three inches to the right, eh?” Aberama chuckled.

“Fuck, just hurry up, before Ada-” he started.

“Before fucking what? Before Ada fucking came home?” A shrill voice suddenly filled the room, making Finn’s heart sink.

“Hello, Ada!” Isaiah said cheerfully.

“What the fuck happened here?” she cried. “And those better not be my good towels!”

“You -ah!- wouldn’t believe it,” Finn grunted. “An Angel got me before Aberama -fuck!- got him.”

“Jesus, Finn. What is Tommy going to say?” Ada bustled over to the couch, brow furrowed.

“Fuck Tommy,” Finn muttered, sagging against Isaiah’s arm.

“Not when he told you to stay out of it and now a bullet’s being dug out of your fucking arm!”

With a final grunt from Finn, the bullet was out. Aberama dropped the tiny cylinder into an ashtray, sticky with blood. Gripping his arm with a rag, Finn breathed in deep, not ready to face the storm that is Tommy Shelby.

Chapter Text

Isaiah’s cigarette couldn’t calm his nerves. Usually they did, the smoke settling in a comforting haze around him. But this time, he still felt the butterflies in his stomach and the shake in his hands. The nicotine just couldn’t calm him.

He paced outside the room he was supposed to meet Finn, the very same room they had first kissed. He peeked out the hall window, hoping to see Finn hunched over, walking out of the Garrison. Isaiah was expecting a low head and a quiver in Finn’s lip. He always got like that, after Tommy or Arthur yelled at him. It made Isaiah’s heart ache. But there was nothing, no sign of Finn yet. He sighed, stubbing out his cigarette. Not like it was working anyways.

The thrill of seeing Finn was settling in, the adrenaline rolling through his shoulders. Isaiah pressed his head against the window, his breath fogging up the window with little clouds. Finally, finally he saw Finn stalk out and look up at the window Isaiah was peaking out of. His heart soared, and watched as Finn disappeared below him. Seconds later, the door squeaked open, and Isaiah heard the shuffle of Finn’s feet.

“Hello?” Finn called to the empty room.

“Finally,” Isaiah said, peeking around the banister. He kept his eyes on Finn’s stance, carefully trained on the way his shoulders rolled into himself. “Do you want to talk about it?” Isaiah asked quietly.

“Fuck no.”

They walked up the stairs and into their room. It looked the same. It smelled the same. It made Isaiah’s pulse pound even harder in his ears. His mouth suddenly felt dry. He needed a whiskey. He needed Finn.

Finn prodded him forward, locking the door behind them. He turned slowly, eyes raking up and down Isaiah. He opened his mouth to say something witty, even though he couldn’t think of anything because Isaiah just did that to him.

But before he could stutter out something incoherent, Isaiah slowly tipped forward, pushing him against the door. He grabbed Finn’s wrists, just like he had done before, and lightly trapped them above his head, pressing into him.

Finn could feel the heat of Isaiah’s body radiating off of him, could smell the smoke from his cigarette, could practically taste him. He could feel a blush climbing up his neck, leaving a blotchy mess in its wake as it made its way up to his cheeks. He couldn’t believe he was still sober. Usually after Tommy or Arthur yelled at him he nursed away the dirty feeling that seemed to settle over him with some good old fashion snow. But now, he realized Isaiah was one hell of a fucking drug himself.

“I -ah- missed you,” Finn said as Isaiah licked his way up his neck. “Didn’t hear a thing Tommy said, just, -fuck-, just thought about you,” he breathed, chest heaving.

“Don’t talk about Tommy,” Isaiah mumbled, sucking at his neck, mesmerized as the purple bruises bloomed across the blush glowing against his neck. He teased the old bruises with his tongue, a stab of something he hadn’t quite felt before rushing through him as Finn let out a breathy moan.

Finn wriggled out of Isaiah’s grasp, fingers fumbling as fast as he could to unbutton Isaiah’s shirt. Isaiah did the same, first loosening his tie and pulling it forward. Moving with his tie, Finn leaned forward and kissed Isaiah, sucking at his lips and tongue and cheeks. He could taste him for real this time, old smoke mixing with a lick of rebellion.

Isaiah unbuttoned Finn’s shirt with the same speed and urgency at which he would load a gun, but with the delicacy of holding a songbird. His fingers shook lightly, and not being able to unbutton Finn’s shirt fast enough drew a whispered obscenity from his lips, an obscenity Finn quickly kissed away.

Finally undoing Isaiah’s shirt, Finn pushed it off, starting what they hadn’t been able to finish the first time they were here. Isaiah did the same, kissing the freckles splayed across Finn’s broad shoulders. That taste was there, the taste of what he imagined France before the war smelled like, peaches and something so fresh it could only be Finn himself. He fumbled with the button of Finn’s trousers, the jut of his cock thick against his thigh.

Finn did the same, working off Isaiah’s trousers with fingers too slow and too shaky, so slow and so shaky Polly barely trusted him with a gun (though Tommy did and apparently it only matters what Tommy says because what Tommy says fucking goes).

Finn paused for a second, hesitating against the waistband of Isaiah’s trousers.

“Yes?” Isaiah asked, his voice so low he almost didn’t think it could possibly be him.

“You want to do this?” Finn whispered, almost afraid to ask it aloud because what if Isaiah said no? What if that damn Jesus boy broke his heart before they even started? What would it be like without him? Finn could barely remember this kind of thing before Isaiah. He couldn’t go back to quickies in the office, with some whore whose name he couldn’t remember. He couldn’t go back to blowjobs that nearly bored him to death and left him wondering who else thought about the races and tomorrow’s round of drinks from the Garrison during a blowie.

Isaiah left his hands on Finn’s waist, thumbs rubbing what he hoped were reassuring circles over the jut of his hip bones.

“Isaiah,” Finn whispered. He was going to cry. Isaiah wouldn’t answer him and it was his fault and he was going to cry. He didn’t cry when he had a stupid bullet three inches from his heart but Isaiah not answering him would make him cry like a fucking kid.

“Of course I want to,” Isaiah said, praying Finn still wanted to because he was falling in love with this boy and there was nothing he could do to stop himself, shattered heart or not. “Finn. Look at me,” he said, heart hammering. One arm abandoning Finn’s hip, he cupped his cheek instead. “I want to do this. With you. I really, really want to fucking do this with you.”

Finn huffed out a laugh, relief immediately warming him. Tears still pricked at his eyes, much to his embarrassment, because the thought of losing Isaiah almost scared him as much as when his brothers came back from France.

Isaiah returned to Finn’s waist, slowly unbuttoning his trousers. He pulled them down around his thighs, then sunk down onto his knees.

“Is this okay?” Isaiah whispered. Finn stared a second too long, not understanding what Isaiah was asking at first.

He looked at him, on his knees, about to ask what on earth he was doing down there until it clicked. He sucked in a breath, then nodded vigorously, worried if he tried to speak nothing would come out. He, Finn Shelby, was about to get a blowie from none other than Isaiah fucking Jesus. Heart thudding, he watched as Isaiah took out his cock, already weeping at the tip. His knees felt weak, so weak he wanted to warn Isaiah he might collapse any second. But he couldn’t say anything because a second later, Isaiah’s mouth was on him. On him. His cock was inside Isaiah’s mouth, and Isaiah was sucking and licking as if he’d done this a million times before. For a second Finn worried he had, anger and jealousy stabbing his heart, but Isaiah’s tongue licked the fear away, spit mixing with pre-come mixing with sweat. The flat of his tongue dragged across the vein underneath his cock, teasing his tip. Finn moaned, fingers weaving through Isaiah’s hair.

Isaiah slid his cock further into his throat, pillowy lips pursed around velvety skin. His tongue was a ribbon, twirling around Finn’s cock, prodding his foreskin back. He sucked harder, head tilted up as Finn grabbed at his hair. He thrusted into his mouth, hips bucking awkwardly at first, but then falling into a steady pace. And they stayed like that, only the sound of soft sucking and Finn’s panting filling the room.

Isaiah curled his tongue around the head of Finn’s cock, lapping up even more of the pre-come. Finn thrusted harder, faster, until he felt himself start to tense up.

“Isaiah, I, ah, I-” Finn began to babble. “Isai- you h-” he mumbled, just about to come. But right before he could, Isaiah pulled away. Mouth agape, Finn stared at him.

“Hold on,” Isaiah muttered.

“You just-” Finn stammered. “I was about to- you just stopped. What the fuck?”

Isaiah hurriedly pushed the rest of his trousers off, blushing as he caught Finn watching him. His eyes raked down the line of hair trailing from Isaiah’s belly button, reaching out and dragging a finger lower and lower until he was toying with the waistband of Isaiah’s underwear. He slipped his hand under the band, his fingers ghosting over his cock. Finn slid a finger over his slit of the head, eyes never leaving Isaiah’s. He moaned, stepped forward, thrusting into Finn’s hand.

“Fuck, fuck, Finn, fuck,” he panted, dropping his head onto Finn’s shoulder. He withered helplessly as Finn rubbed his hand over his cock faster and faster. Finn gave hot, open kisses along the top of Isaiah’s shoulder, feeling him start to tense up. Just as Isaiah was about to come, Finn stopped moving.

“Fuck!” Isaiah exclaimed. “You fucker!”

“Yeah, now you know what it’s like,” Finn grinned, dodging a lighthearted slap from Isaiah. He grabbed Isaiah’s cock again, dragging a finger down the underside. He held his own too, joining both of them together. The tips brushed, eliciting a moan from both of them.

Isaiah placed his hand on top of Finn’s, beginning to slide their hands together, tips grazing each other again and again. In between hurried strokes, Isaiah murmured into Finn’s ear, things that made Finn’s heart (and cock) flutter.

“Faster, fuck, go faster,” Finn whispered, thrusting his hips into their hands harder and harder. Isaiah sped up, Finn matching his pace, and soon they both cried out, their orgasm washing through them. Slumped against his chest, Finn listened to Isaiah’s heart. His hand was sticky and his neck hurt from craning it, but listening to Isaiah’s heart in his ear and breath on his hair, he decided he would sit in every uncomfortable position just to hear Isaiah be.

Isaiah kissed the top of his head, breathing in Finn. The peachy scent was there, warming his stomach. He untangled himself from Finn and dragged them to the couch.

“Here,” he whispered, voice croaky. He pulled Finn on top of him, wrapping his arms around his trembling torso.

Finn nestled his head in between the dip in Isaiah’s shoulder, thinking he belonged here, in Isaiah’s arms, forever. They lay like that, just listening to each other’s breath, both imagining a life outside Birmingham where they could live together forever. Maybe they were thinking of a big house with peach trees, a whole orchard just so Isaiah could smell Finn all the time, or maybe the ocean was their front yard, waves rolling in, then rolling out, only to do the same thing again forever, like Finn listening to Isaiah’s heart.

“I love you,” Finn whispered. “I- I just love you.”

“And I love you,” Isaiah replied, drawing lazy circles on Finn’s back with his finger. “I’ll love you forever.”