#chloquettes

he huffs out a quiet laugh, but it fades fast. his hand comes up, hesitating for half a second before it settles at your waist, like he’s asking without asking. you don’t move away.

the space between you disappears in a breath. his mouth finds yours like it’s instinct, like it’s been building all night and finally gets to exist. it’s warm, steady, certain, pulling you closer until your back presses lightly against the counter and your hands curl into the front of his jacket without thinking.

finn’s hand finds the back of your neck, urging you into a kiss feverishly like he’s been holding back. like this is the only place he can let out what he’s been holding in all morning. your fingers slide up to his collar, grounding yourself there, he exhales softly against your mouth. the sound barely there but enough to make your heart stutter.

the kiss deepens, his lips moving against yours with a quiet desperation-like he's been waiting for this all day—he has.

the hand on the back of your neck tightens slightly, tilting your head just right to give him better access. his other arm wraps around you completely now, pulling you flush against him. you can feel the rapid thud of his heartbeat through his shirt-matching yours. the counter digs lightly into your hips as finn crowds closer, swallowing every tiny sound you make.

the kiss breaks just enough for finn to trail his lips down your jaw, then along the side of your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses that are equal parts soft and hungry. when he reaches the slope of your shoulder, he nips lightly before soothing it with his tongue.

without warning, his hands slide under the back of your dress, warm palms gliding up soft-bare skin. the sensation makes you shiver. his fingers knead gently at first, then press in slightly firmer as if memorizing every dip and curve. a quiet hum vibrates from him against your shoulder-approval?

adoration? attraction? it’s impossible to tell when all you can focus on is how good it feels.

suddenly, you feel the counter dig into your stomach as finn crowds you against it, his body pinning yours. his hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise, lifting you slightly so he can press closer-so there's no gap between you at all. when he finally thrusts in, it's with a ragged groan muffled against your neck.

you arch instinctively, fingers scrambling for purchase on the cold marble behind you as each movement sends shocks through every nerve. the dress is hiked up now. the fabric bunched around your waist while finn moves with desperate precision, like this ten minutes might be all they ever get.

your breath hitches in little punched out whimpers. high, helpless sounds that finn immediately tries to swallow with his mouth. he kisses you deeply, swallowing every noise as if the publicists outside might hear through the door. but it's hard.

every time he rolls his hips just right, a tiny gasp escapes you anyway-tiny and breathy and obscene in this quiet space. finn grits his teeth against it, pressing his forehead to the back of your head while panting softly.

"shh," he murmurs between stretched kisses, "they'll know." his voice is rough but laced with amusement-like he can't believe they're doing this either.

your whisper is so quiet it's almost just breath-lips brushing his ear as you murmur, "cum inside me."

finn freezes. for a second, he doesn't even move. doesn’t blink. like the words short-circuited his entire brain. then, his hips jerk violently, a broken moan tearing from him as he loses all control. His arms lock around you like a vise, forehead dropping to your shoulder while his body tenses with release.

"fuck, y/n-," he gasps out, voice cracking in that desperate way that means it hit him too hard and too fast. every thrust stutters now; shallow and uneven as pleasure rips through him in waves. completely overwhelmed by what you just said. by how much it undid him.

finn exhales shakily, still recovering as he carefully pulls out. his movements are slow now. more gentle, almost reverent, as he grabs a handful of tissues from the counter.

he kneels slightly (ignoring how his legs teel like jelly) and dabs at your thighs with surprising tenderness. when he's done, finn presses a kiss to your inner knee. then another to your hipbone through the fabric of your dress before standing again. he cups your face and kisses you properly: sweet, lingering...like an apology for all the feverish desperation from moments ago.

“we have to go out there,” you whisper, but you don’t move.

“i know,” he says, just as quiet, like he doesn’t believe it either. his forehead rests against yours for a second, a pause that feels almost dangerous, like if you stay there too long you won’t leave at all.

then he kisses you again, softer this time, slower, like something he doesn’t want to rush through even if the clock is already running out. voices pass by the door, closer now. reality knocking he pulls back just enough to look at you, his hand still at your waist, thumb brushing absentmindedly against the fabric like he’s trying to keep you there a second longer.

“we’re gonna have to pretend we didn’t just do that,” he says, a quiet, almost amused disbelief in his voice.

you let out a breath, a small laugh slipping through, “you’re gonna be terrible at that.”

he smiles, just a little, like he knows you’re right, “maybe,” he admits.

“two minutes,” he reminds, like it’s the only thing keeping everything from spilling over.