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The Finn Review by dee
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The first time Logan met Finn, Finn was wearing Logan's date like a cape.

Well, no. Technically, the first time Logan met Finn, it was the summer before his senior year and he was at this completely disorganised thing that he hadn't even wanted to go to but Mother had wanted him to do something with "that nice McCrae boy". So Logan was looking for Colin to kick his ass and go home, and someone said, "Dude! Man! Huntzberger, have you met Finn?"

Logan stuck his head into the room and said, "What?" and the guy - someone he knew from the year he spent at Andover, Mc-something-or-other - said, "Finn," and this guy in a dinner shirt and black tie and a red miniskirt raised his right hand like he was going to swear to tell the whole truth and nothing but, and said, "How, white man."

Logan said, "Hey. Why you wearing a skirt?"

And Finn lifted his eyebrows, said, "Why am I what?" then looked down and said, "Shit!"

But Logan didn't connect that memory with Finn until ages later, so really the first time he met Finn was the second time he met Finn, which was a pool party at his place summer before college, when he was having the most overwhelmingly shit day, mostly because his mother had called that morning because they'd been rained out of Vomo, and if she was suffering, everybody fucking had to. There'd been an incident with the fishtank and another with his father's single-malt collection, and basically the only redeeming feature was that he had the hottest date there - her name had been something with more Ls than anyone had a right to, but she'd been blonde and had the most ridiculously tiny green string bikini, which had seemed like an asset until Logan came out onto the deck and saw her on Finn's back with her legs (and man, they were long) wrapped around his waist and his hands tucked under her thighs, just not quite high enough to be indecent. Lola (or whoever) was playing with his hair, but Finn wasn't paying any attention, talking with a couple of guys Logan knew vaguely from the country club. That didn't, actually, improve his mood.

When he stalked over, Finn glanced up and said, "Hey."

Logan said, "Hey."

And Finn's eyebrow went up again, and he jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Lulu. "Oh, this yours?" He let go of her other leg, and pried her hands from off his collarbones and Leyla went, "Hey!" and sort of slithered off him. She glared at Logan, and stalked off towards the house. Finn had a damp back to his looseweave shirt from where she'd been and none of this - none of it - was helping Logan's mood.

"She's kinda clingy," Finn said, and someone laughed, and Logan swung.

He caught Finn solidly on the cheek and they both went staggering. Finn's flailing response got Logan on the chin and while he was still seeing stars, Finn's shoulder caught him in the solar plexus - two years on the starting fifteen for rugby at his school in Australia, Logan would find out later - and they both went over into the pool.

In that moment when they were airborne, before he hit the water, Logan thought, right, so, I'm going to hate this guy. Fine.

The third time he met Finn was late that summer, beach party, and someone was singing Gilbert and Sullivan at the top of his lungs, which of course turned out to be Finn with his arm slung around a laughing Colin. Logan was just turning around to go somewhere else, but Colin had spotted him, and pointed and said, "You!" which made Finn do likewise. Colin frowned, and said, "You two have met?"

Finn waved his hand, laissez-faire. "No."

Logan snorted, coming closer. "Actually, we have."

Finn almost fell over squinting at him. "Oh!" he said, like he'd just received an epiphany equal to Aristotle's. "The pool party. The guy who went for me." He lurched in Logan's direction, and Logan braced himself, but Finn just wrapped his other arm around Logan's shoulders, releasing Colin to wave his hand in front of Logan's face. "It was... Rouden?"


"That's it." Finn laughed, tilting his head back. "Fucking brilliant, man. I had a black eye for a week. I'm Finn."

"I knew that," Logan said, but all his powers of not-caring - and they were considerable, he'd been informed by no fewer than four people - weren't making the slightest dent in Finn's largesse.

"You know what's wrong with the world?" Finn said, leaning into Logan like he was sharing the inner secrets of the universe. He held up his beer bottle. "This is empty. Fucking debacle."

They went to find more beer. Later, Logan would realise he'd spent most of the evening - all the bits worth remembering, actually - within easy distance of Finn.

The next time he saw Finn was in the street one evening when he'd done his social duties and was on the hunt for better entertainment. Someone hollered from across the road. Not his name, just a holler, and when he looked across it was Finn and someone else. They crossed, Finn in front and stopping traffic, making rude gestures as the motorists sped off.

"You!" he greeted Logan, and this was getting repetitive, except this time he clicked his fingers, pointing both hands at Logan like he was a quickdraw and finally coming up with, "Logan?"

"Good guess," Logan said.

"Excellent!" Finn declared. His companion came sauntering up, and Logan realised it was a girl, taller than Finn, with big buckled boots and a nosering and ink coiled up the forearm that was holding the case of beer she had on her shoulder. "Come with us."


"Hi," the girl said.

"Why should I come with you?" Logan continued, ignoring her because being annoyed at Finn was currently taking all of his attention.

"This is Ada," Finn said, pointing.


"Exactly." Finn looked expectantly at Logan. "We're having a party. Come on." And he grabbed Logan's sleeve and pulled him in his wake as he kept walking along the footpath, flicking out his cellphone.

"Hi," Logan said to Ava. "I'm Logan."

Ava tilted her head against the beer. "Does he know that?"

Logan laughed and said, "Sometimes." She grinned at him, an expanse of teeth that made some primal part of him sit up and pay attention.

"Colin!" Finn said into his phone. "Five minutes! How should I know where? Show some fucking intiative!" And he hung up, throwing the phone through the open window of the biggest fucking silver Humvee Logan had even seen. "In yer get."

Logan blinked as Ava opened the back door, unloading the case of beer onto the back seat. "This is yours?"

"Wait," Finn said, both hands out; hold everything. Looking around like he was suddenly uncertain about the state of the entire world, and that was when Logan remembered the skirt incident, slotting it like a bead onto the necklace of his Finn incidents. Then Finn blinked, and straightened his collar. "Yes. Of course this is mine. Get your arse in the car."

Even Logan could reach a point where he admitted that further resistance was futile. Besides, Ava was swinging up into the front seat, showing off long legs in ripped fishnets and giving Logan a look that said she was watching him watching her... and not minding a bit. Logan climbed into the backseat as Finn turned the ignition over, the driver's side door still open. Hardcore metal pinned Logan to his seat, and he figured Finn owed him for Lily. Lola. Whatever the hell her name had been.

They ended up in the middle of a fucking country club golfcourse, half a dozen people Logan knew and another dozen he knew only by sight and half a dozen more he'd never even seen in his life. Finn and some jerk from Boston started fencing with flags and no one even noticed when Logan took Ava into a stand of trees and ripped her fishnets some more. He'd actually been planning on going somewhere comfortable and, y'know, indoors, but Ava wasn't interested, laughing when he made the suggestion and shoving her hand down the front of his trousers. They ended up rolling around on the ground, the buckles on her boots scratching his thighs and her hands scrabbling in the leaves scattered around them. It had its own sort of charm.

He came sauntering back afterwards and went to get himself another beer. Seeing movement out of the corner of his eye, Logan was ducking the moment Finn's hand landed on his head, brushing a leaf out. Logan turned, taking a step back, setting himself, but Finn just tipped over to help himself to a bottle from the case. He opened it on his forearm like Logan had noticed he tended to after about three. Slung his other arm around Logan and tinked their bottle necks together.

"She ain't precisely beautiful," he said philosophically, "but she's a fucking grand ride."

Logan watched Finn drink his beer. He wasn't quite sure why he wasn't getting his face smashed in, but he'd never seen the point of certainty. He said, "You talking about Ava or the Hummer?"

Finn sniggered, something like pure mischief in vocal form, and Logan smirked, swigging his own beer.

It worked like this, Logan figured out eventually. Colin, who Logan had known from the time they were first tipped into a playpen together so their parents could drink vodka martinis uninterrupted, had been at Zugerberg with Finn for eight months in freshman year before Finn got himself politely asked to leave (they didn't go anything as gauche as expulsion in Swiss international schools) for an incident involving a stripper and the principal's wife's African Violet collection. Finn had then been shuffled off by despairing parents to a boarding school in the capital of Australia (which it turned out wasn't Sydney) under the nominal observation of his aunt.

"'Cept the aunt," Colin said, "is a lesbian. And her girlfriend was a total fox."

"Ah, Canberra," Finn said, leaning against his hand dreamily like a bobby-soxer with a poodle on his skirt. "All the porn and fireworks you can eat and half the suburbs sound like deviant sexual acts."

So it seemed that, in becoming friends with Finn, Logan had also lumped himself with Colin, who he'd successfully avoided continued association with for the past eighteen years. He wasn't actually sure how someone like Colin had endeared himself so tremendously to Finn in the first place. Then again, he had improved a bit since that whole thing with accidentally setting the cat on fire back in '95.

"Plus," Finn added, lifting his cocktail (bright green; size of his head; adorned with a plastic monkey), "drinking age is 18 in Australia."

"I can drink to that," Logan said, and did.

That night, from what he could remember afterwards, there were more cocktails - a lot more, in the most lurid colours imaginable, and a succession of clubs (also lurid) with a succession of girls (not much less so). Logan lost count, but he hadn't really been interested in leaving with any of them - two of them had been there with someone else anyway. By the time Logan had had enough, Finn had disappeared with a leggy, spangled blonde and Logan figured he was a big boy who could find his own way home.

Then five metres from the door, Finn loomed out of the crowd and fell into stride beside Logan, shoving shoulders. "We leaving?"

"What about...?" Logan waved a hand.

"Done and dusted, good sir!" Finn declared. Snapped his fingers and pointed to the door. "Taxi!"

It was getting close to dawn when he and Finn fell out of the towncar back at Logan's house, shushing each other inside where Finn suddenly said, "Fuck!" and Logan clamped a hand over his mouth, other hand coming up to brace his head and stop them both falling over.

"Sshh," Logan hissed.

"We lost Colin!" Finn whispered against Logan's palm.

Which tickled, and that started Logan giggling as he said, "The girl in red."

"Oh yeah," Finn said, laughter stretching his mouth against Logan's hand, and they both lost it after that, Logan laughing helplessly with his forehead on Finn's shoulder and Finn's back against the wall.

Logan woke up early in the afternoon with Finn sprawled out on the couch in his room and a hangover the size of Wyoming.

Everybody and their big, angry boyfriends went to Florida for spring break, so Logan got hold of a boat and they went to Bimini instead. They dived the Sapona and the Atlantis Road and went big game fishing. Finn turned out to know "The Old Man and the Sea" off by heart and Colin caught a marlin bigger than himself. He went drinking with the fishermen and Logan and Finn went back to the boat, smoking a joint on the sheltered deck in the late afternoon before settling into a bottle of Wild Turkey and a game of Texas hold 'em.

Logan blamed the weed, but he absolutely sucked tonight. Impaired judgement or something, and he held on for a little while, but then it was just a slippery slope down until Finn was raking the last of his chips across the table, crowing, "I own you, boy!"

Logan drained his glasss. "Fuck you."

Finn sprawled back in his chair, laughing low and liquid. "Mouth where your money is, Huntzberger."

And Logan blamed the weed, the liquor, something, for the lurch that got him out of his chair, nudging the table aside (chips clattering onto the deck) to go down on his knees, sliding between Finn's spread legs. Hands under Finn's knees to tug him a little lower in his chair, and though Finn said, "Logan," like an escape clause, he also lifted his hips a little as Logan worked his zipper, tugging his khakis down.

Logan couldn't possibly look up at him at this point, and while this wasn't precisely his first time with another guy's dick in his hand (boarding schools; don't ask) he wasn't going to give himself time to think about this. Two strokes, three, and Finn was hard in his hand and Logan just lowered his head and went for it. Finn breathed in hard as Logan took him deep as he could - which wasn't all that far, so this business wasn't as easy as some girls made it look. His mouth seemed too dry, skin sticking, so Logan licked along the underside, up over the head, salty and musky, and tried again, easier now.

There was a dull, skittering clink above him - Finn setting his glass down on the table - and then a hand on his head, fingers tangling in his hair. Logan took a breath, shifted on his knees, and worked into a rhythm. Must've been doing something a little right, because Finn's fingers curled tighter in Logan's hair, and under the hand Logan braced on Finn's hip he could feel the flex of muscle in tandem. Finn was twitching a little, like he was restless, his knee brushing against Logan's shoulder, his breathing unsteady, and it made Logan's skin tingle, made him feel powerful, distracted him from the pain in his jaw and the twinge in his knees.

And then Finn tugged at his hair, said, "Logan," more urgently, but he wasn't going to pussy out at this stage. Sucked him deeper and pushed against his hip and sort of managed to swallow and only choked a little bit, sitting back on his knees and finally glancing up at Finn, slumped and boneless with his head back and his chest heaving.

Logan wiped his face on his shirtsleeve, was just rubbing his knee when Finn slid off his chair completely. He came down half on top of, half around Logan, their knees meshed and Finn's hand skimming up Logan's in-seam to palm the erection he hadn't, until that moment, realised he had. Finn curled around him more, one knee behind Logan and his hand in the small of Logan's back as he fumbled at the button one-handed and ineffectually. Grumbled, "fucking pants," in Logan's ear and Logan huffed a little laugh and helped him, Finn's hand darting past and inside and stroking hard enough to make the world blur in front of Logan's eyes. He went fast and unrelenting, and it didn't take that long at all until Logan was coming, eyes closed, one hand fisting in the loose slump of Finn's khakis on his thigh, Finn's breath hot and damp against his ear.

"All right, love?" Finn murmured, his accent even thicker than usual, and Logan just nodded, skin still skittering as Finn chuckled and unwound himself, standing up.

Logan opened his eyes to see Finn disappearing into the cabin in the gathering dusk, refastening his khakis. Alone on the deck, Logan sat back, levering his legs out from under him and letting his knees scream. Did up his own pants, not caring right now how much of a mess he still was. Leaning up against one leg of the table, he realised this edge - this thing cutting through his post-orgasmic chill - was panic.

Not over the fact he'd just sucked a guy's dick, not a sexuality crisis. Don't be stupid; like he cared. Over the fact he'd just got off with his best friend.

Logan had never had a best friend before. It had always seemed like something girls did, or maybe girls and people who weren't engaged in some sort of neverending one-up-man-ship with their roommates. But one-upping Finn was fruitless, even when it was possible, because he didn't even bloody notice.

This shit was why Logan didn't like thinking about what he did, but there it was: the idea that Finn would write Logan off as just another someone he'd fucked and didn't care about, the idea that Logan would be shucked as easily as Lulu (or whatever the fuck her name had been), the idea that he could have fucked everything up right here... It made him screw his eyes closed, thump his head back against the table leg.

"Jesus, don't turn into a sheila on me." Logan opened his eyes in time to get hit in the face with a damp handtowel. He yanked it off and looked up at Finn, standing in the cabin doorway with his hands on his hips and a grin on his face. "Clean the fuck up or I'll tip you into the drink."

Logan grinned back, the biggest grin of his life, bigger even than the time the vice-principal's daughter had actually met him in the art room like he never thought she would. "Yeah?" he shot back. "You and whose army?"

They both ended up overboard that night, fully clothed, and Logan's shirt was completely ruined, and the sea was littered with cards and gambling chips, like a casino had sunk beneath the waves. Who gave a fuck? The world was full of shirts and decks of cards; Logan could get more.