Fin&Matt

by Charlie Winters

  “Do you want to spend the day together tomorrow?”

  Matt’s hair was a disheveled mess, fanning out around the pillow. He looked so beautiful in that moment; I wished I could take a photograph. If he was really my boyfriend, I could do that. I could photograph him a thousand times. Knowing the fantasy may never live up to the reality, a slight frown creased my forehead.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  “Nothing. I guess I just… anyway, you look beautiful.”

  “Thank you,” he replied. “You do too.”

  “I’m too skinny.” My hand traced over my bare chest, outlining a few ribs. “You’re so – I don’t know – masculine.”

  Matt laughed aloud. “You’re masculine, Fin. Jesus.” His hand lowered across my underwear, lightly cupping over my growing dick. “This is pretty fucking masculine.”

  I stared up at the ceiling, breaking eye contact with him. “You know what I mean,” I mumbled.

  He quickly cupped one hand to my chin and turned it to face him. “No. I don’t. Don’t say that stuff. You can be beautiful and still be a man. You know that, right?”

  “Whatever.”

  “Do you know what happened to me when I first saw you that day? In the lounge?” he asked.

  I turned to the center of the bed. “What?”

  “I got hard,” he said with a laugh. “I couldn’t remember the last time just seeing someone made me hard. You were so fucking gorgeous that I lost my ability to think rationally. I mean it.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Go to bed.”

  He pulled me close and kissed my shoulder lightly. “I mean it.” Taking one of my hands, he guided it to the front of his underwear. “See?”

  Shit.

  I ran my thumb over the sheer material, feeling a hint of fluid pooling around the tip. As I massaged gently, Matt let out a low growl and craned his neck back. “Fin… fuck,” he whispered.

  “Do you want me to…? I don’t know…”

  “Do that. God, just do that.”

  My hand continued to move over his (oh-my-God-enormous) cock as he writhed beneath me. “Is this okay?” I asked, slipping my fingers inside the band of his briefs.

  “Yes,” he choked.

  I couldn’t help it. I looked – well, more like stared – at it as my fingers gripped him. The foreskin was shiny, almost purple, and near bursting. The heat in my hand was palpable as Matt slowly ground his hips. He had more hair than I did – a thatch of black curls around the base. My own hair was finer, blonder; I’d contemplated having it lasered off at one point but chickened out before the appointment was made. It seemed to be something of a hot-button topic on some of the blogs I’d followed. I knew the bears kept theirs, of course, but that was kind of their thing. I, on the other hand, was practically hairless everywhere – even on my backside.

  “God… Fin… I’m gonna… oh shit. I’m gonna come,” he announced.

  One last pump and he did just that, leaving a ropey white trail over his stomach and my hand. I drew a finger through it and lifted it to my lips, curiosity getting the best of me. It was warm and salty, but not awful, per se, regardless of what some of the blogs spouted.

  “Did you just taste me?” Matt asked, his chest heaving. “You’re so fucking hot. Kiss me.”

  I leaned in and pressed my lips to his before quickly pulling away. “Let me grab a washcloth.”

  “Stay.”

  I shuffled out of bed and into the connecting bath. “One second.” I studied myself in the mirror, smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles at the sides of my eyes before soaking a washcloth with hot water. I wrung it out, the stinging liquid nearly burning my skin. “Shit,” I grumbled.

  Matt was lying with his hands behind his head, a wide grin stretched over his face. His briefs were pulled back up, just inches below the sticky mess I’d left behind. Climbing into bed, I carefully erased all evidence of my first hand job.

  “You’re good at that.”

  I jerked my hand in jest. “Lots of practice… on myself, of course, but the logistics are the same.”

  He twirled a piece of my hair, staring at it as he pulled it from my scalp. “Your hair is amazing. Anyone ever tell you that?”

  “My mom,” I teased. “Good thing she doesn’t count.”

  “So, about tomorrow. Well, I guess it’s today now, right? You want to do something?”

  “Actually, I told my mom I’d have breakfast with her. That’s happening in—” I looked at my phone. “Five hours.”

  “Breakfast with Mom.” Matt nibbled my ear lightly as his arm wrapped around my back. “Can I crash it?”

  A shot of panic raced up my spine. “You want to meet my mom?”

  I could feel his head nod in the crook of my neck. “I do. Is that a big deal? Come on, Fin. I know you’re scared, but even if you don’t see us as dating, we’re still friends, right? Friends meet the parents, don’t they?” His lips gently suckled into the hollow of my throat.

  “Friends don’t typically kiss,” I muttered.

  “You want me to stop kissing you?”

  I rolled onto my back and pulled him up for a quick tongue lashing. “No. Don’t ever stop.”

  ♂♂

  After a long shower (together), Matt and I dressed and called the car to be brought around.

  “Valet service,” he said with a pause. “Nice.”

  “It’s extra.”

  “I bet it is. This place is insane, Fin.” He looked around. “A Starbucks?”

  I looked down at my well-worn boots. It was embarrassing. I’d done nothing to deserve what I had. I just… did. My father worked eighty-hour weeks so that I could have fucking groceries delivered if I didn’t feel like walking.

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  “Don’t be weird. I just haven’t had a decent place in a while. I live in a studio in the Gate District.”

  “Seriously?”

  “It’s what I can afford right now.” He shrugged. “Things will get better in a few years.”

  The car pulled in and I opened the door for Matt. He leaned over and kissed me before climbing into the seat. It was a small gesture, but I took my time walking around the car, desperate to shed the shit-eating grin plastered across my lips.

  He held my hand while I drove, lifting to kiss my knuckles before we pulled into a parking space. The restaurant was one of my mother’s favorites; she loved the croque madame and no one made it like Scape, according to her.

  She was sitting, studying her lipstick in the tongs of a fork, when we arrived.

  “Baby,” she bellowed, not looking up from her fork. When she did, she corrected herself, “Or should I say babies plural? Are you Matt?”

  “God, Mom,” I responded, my face flushing. “What if it wasn’t him?”

  “Well, it is him, thank God. Right? I mean, it is him, isn’t it?” She whispered the last sentence.

  I nodded. “Yes, Mom, this is Matt.”

  “Hi,” he said, outstretching his hand.

  She batted it out of the way. “We’re MacAuliffes. In case you don’t know what that means, we’re huggers. Come on, honey. Bring it in.”

  Matt embraced her tightly, even giving her a sweet rub across her shoulders before letting go. “It’s great to meet you, Mrs. MacAuliffe.”

  “Chloe. Or Mom. Whatever you prefer.” She winked at him.

  “Jesus, Mom,” I scoffed. I placed the napkin on my lap just as Matt squeezed my hand under the table.

  “God, Mom, you’re embarrassing us,” Matt returned. Sarcasm looked good on him; she was melting in her seat.

  She placed both hands on the table and leaned in. “What did you boys do last night? And don’t leave out anything.”

  “Well—”

  “Your father and I rented The World’s End,” she interrupted.

  “The Edgar Wright one?” I asked. “With the robots?”

  “Yes. Hilarious. Dad fell asleep. I watched it twice.”

  I turned to Ma
tt. “My mom’s a big Edgar Wright fan.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know him.”

  She gasped. “You don’t know him? Shaun of the Dead?”

  He shook his head. “Sorry, no.”

  “Hot Fuzz? Scott Pilgrim?”

  “Nope.” He lifted his water glass to his lips and took a short drink. “You’re saying I should though, right?”

  “For shame, Finlay,” she scolded. “Take this man home and have a marathon. This afternoon. Hell… now. Just go now.”

  I laughed quietly. “Maybe later.”

  “Matt, I fear you’re in for a long night,” she teased.

  “I welcome it.”

  “You are gorgeous,” she blurted. “Simply gorgeous. No wonder why Finlay hasn’t been able to talk about anything else. Not as gorgeous as my baby, of course, but pretty damn cute.”

  My face heated, surely flushing a bright red.

  “No, you’re right, Chloe,” he said sweetly. “No one is more gorgeous than Fin.”

  Fuck me. She was toast.

  She clutched her hand over her chest. “Paddy and I will adopt you. Would you like to come live with a strange older couple on the Mississippi? It sounds horrible right now, but we’ll feed you. We have lots of booze and you’d never have to work again.”

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “Mom… I want to see him again. Can you please stop?”

  “I love booze,” Matt teased. “And not working sounds awesome.”

  He squeezed my hand again before resting it just above my knee. I could feel his thumb drawing lazy circles there, slowly advancing north.

  Oh God.

  “We went dancing,” I blurted, quickly moving his hand back to his lap. “You asked what we did last night. We went dancing. I mean, Emily and I went dancing and then we saw Matt. He was there and—”

  “You danced!” my mom finished. “Is Matt a good dancer?”

  “Yes,” I lied. I’d never seen him dance. I’d seen him at the bar and outside in the alley where I’d proceeded to let him pull my belt loops and kiss me against a wall. “He’s a great dancer.”

  She sighed. “He certainly looks like a great dancer. Matt, do you eat meat?”

  “Um, yes.”

  “Do you like Beef Bourguignon?” she asked.

  Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

  “I think so. Is that the one with the wine?”

  She turned to me. “I make the best Beef Bourguignon, right, baby?”

  “Yes, Mom,” I mumbled.

  “After the movies, come. Please. Tonight, I’m making it for Dad. He’d love to see you and meet your new man.”

  “Mom, he’s not—”

  Matt leaned over and kissed me (right on the mouth). “We’d love to.”

  ♂♂

  “Can we swing by my place really quick?” Matt asked. “If we’re going to go to your mom’s, I need a change of clothes.”

  “Sure.”

  His fingers entwined with mine as we pulled into a small lot behind an ancient, squalid brick building. “This is it,” he mumbled. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  The carpet in the hallway was like an old casino rug; wild colors hiding dank stains below. Inside was (a little) nicer – hardwood floors, at least – but tinier than the spare bedroom at my parents’ house. There was a kitchenette with barely enough room to move. A single sink for dishes. A loveseat in the quasi-separate living space. A gray, prison-like bathroom housing a single-stall shower and pedestal sink.

  “Where do you sleep?” I asked.

  He pointed to the loveseat. “It pulls out.”

  “Jesus, Matt. You’ve gotta move out of here.”

  “Five more years,” he replied.

  “No, Matt. I mean now.” I looked around again. “You’ve got like ten things. We’ll take them to the Goodwill and you can move into my place. My couch pulls out too. You can sleep there if you want.”

  He smiled. “If I’m going to stay with you, I don’t want to sleep on the couch. But… that’s a null point because I’m not moving in with you.”

  “Oh.”

  He leaned over and kissed me gently, a wet sound arising from our lips. “Not because of you, Fin. It’s because I don’t need fixing.”

  I gestured to the small apartment. “Oh, yes, you do. This here? This needs fixing. Even if we did fix it? The neighborhood is still shit, Matt. I don’t feel safe with you here. Stay with me. You can save your money.”

  “No, Fin. I’m fine.”

  “Matt—”

  “I said I’m fine!” he clipped.

  I lifted my hands in defeat. “Fine.”

  He moved close and wrapped his arms around my waist. “I’m sorry. Listen. I don’t want help. I hope you don’t think I’m not grateful. I’m just… broke. I told you that. I don’t want you for the money, don’t you get that? I want you.”

  I nodded. “Okay. Just… pack something. Just a bag, okay? I’m not asking you to move in, but just a few things.”

  “What, you don’t want to stay here tonight?” he teased.

  I snorted a short laugh. “Just pack.”

  ♂♂

  Matt brushed his hand against mine, his fingers tickling the inside of my palm. I shivered before picking up a small bar of plastic wrapped soap and lifting it to my nose. “This is nice,” I said, holding it out to him.

  He took it from my hand, brushing our fingers together purposefully. “It is nice, but I like the body wash you use better. It goes with that scent you wear.”

  I scoffed. “How do you know what scent I wear?”

  He lifted his wrist and extended it for me to smell. “It was on your counter. I used it this morning. Then I googled it and found out you paid over a hundred bucks for less than an ounce. I nearly died.”

  “I like it on you better,” I responded, picking up a bottle of shaving balm.

  He leaned in close and pressed his nose to my neck. “Trust me. It works on you.”

  I watched as he walked over to a wooden rack, fingering various cotton briefs before checking the price tags. The overly snug fit of his jeans sent a flush over my body. He picked up a pair of periwinkle Paul Smith microfiber low-rise underwear and held them over the front of his jeans.

  “What do you think?” he asked. “I’ve always wanted a pair of these.”

  I swallowed heavily and cleared my throat. “Nice.”

  “Not as nice as the ones you were wearing last night. The obscene Armani trunks.” His voice was low, oozing sex and virility.

  Jesus.

  “I need a new duvet,” I responded, changing the subject.

  Matt walked behind me, his hand tracing my spine. “Bedding?”

  “Are you hungry?”

  Matt laughed. “We ate an hour ago.”

  “Coffee?” I suggested.

  “Mexican hot chocolate?” he countered. “It’s my favorite. Cinnamon… hot pepper…”

  Shit.

  “Bedding?”

  He chuckled again. “I just said that.”

  I ran my hand through my hair. “Yeah, sorry. You want to help me pick something out? I just have that old blanket now. My old duvet is at my parents’ house. I don’t want to take it – they might need it for guests or something.”

  I was babbling and I knew it. Matt knew it.

  “Why are you acting nervous?” he asked. He moved close, looking down into my eyes as he entwined his fingers in mine. “I’ve had your cock in my mouth. It’s hardly time to get shy.”

  His words were low, but I glanced around regardless. “I’m not nervous,” I lied.

  “You are.” He leaned in and kissed me softly, resting his hands on my shoulders. “It’s just a bed cover.”

  “I know—”

  “Then let’s pick one out… together. And if you’re a good boy, I’ll buy that underwear you liked.”

  ♂♂

  We kissed more than we watched the first film. Regardless of our differing sizes, our bodies aligne
d together perfectly. Our limbs tangled as my lips found his every minute or two, a symphony of vibrations and moans from our mouths.

  “I don’t even know what’s happening,” he admitted, gesturing to the screen. “What if your mom quizzes me?”

  “Okay.” I sat up and moved to the side of the couch. “Let’s separate for a few. Watch the next scene. Memorize it. We’ll watch it twice if we have to. You can talk about the scene and she’ll move on. She’s less attentive than most humans. She changes subjects every fifteen to twenty seconds.”

  Matt watched the screen, committing the epic fight between Scott and Todd Ingram to memory. The bass fight, the coffee, the telekinetic vegan powers, and the imminent stripping of said powers. Once defeated, I replayed Scott’s line to Matt.

  “You once were a ve-gone, but now you will be gone.”

  Matt laughed aloud. “Can we go back to making out?”

  ♂♂

  “Matt, this is my dad.”

  Matt stretched out his hand, welcoming my father in a warm handshake before pausing to look at my mom. “Are we hugging?” he teased. “I’ve heard that the MacAuliffe family hugs.”

  My dad put his arms out and pulled Matt in for a tight squeeze. “We do.”

  “It’s great to meet you. I feel like I already know you. Chloe gushed for an hour this morning about how you met.”

  “She was a knockout,” my father answered. “Prettiest girl in all of New York. Still is.” He swatted her on the backside, causing her to yelp.

  “Patrick!” she scolded. “Not in front of the kids.”

  “Later then,” he promised. “Matt, what’s your poison?”

  He looked at me. “Um… beer?”

  “I went down to the Bottleworks and got some of that new Oktoberfest. You like it?”

  “I can’t say that I know much about beer, actually. Most of the time, I just drink domestic. I drank porter for the first time last night.”

  I pictured our kiss. The way his tongue tasted of coffee when it touched mine.

  “I’ve got some of that too, if you like,” my dad answered.

  “Yeah, that sounds great.”

  When he walked away, Matt brushed his hand against mine, barely touching.

  “You don’t need to hide that here, Matthew,” my mother said. “We are keeping it all out in the open these days. Right, Fin?”