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It was very kind of Ira to let Finn make an appearance in Season 2.
It’s only a brief thing, a quick scene of Aerion living his best life in Lys to contradict Dunk & Egg in Dorne, but it means flying out to Belfast, and getting back into costume, and tugging on the wig, and remembering how Aerion walks and talks and glowers at people.
Finn spends a lot of time worrying that he’s not as good an actor as he was in the first season, that he doesn’t know who Aerion is anymore. What if he can’t recapture the magic of Season 1? What if the fans hate it? What if it gets hate bombed on Twitter? What if Henry gets the James Bond gig and has to abandon them halfway through filming? What if, What if, What if?
He should also, probably, be on set right now.
“God you’re driving me fucking crazy,” Peter says, buried so deep inside of Finn that Finn's having trouble breathing. “Fuck, Finn.”
They’re in Peter’s trailer, Finn awkwardly stretched out on the couch, cock rubbing against the seat cushions, and he doesn’t want to think about how many people have fucked in the exact same spot, he only wants to think about Peter, and the slap of their bodies together. With every thrust, white hot pleasure explodes behind his eyes, and he's a stupid romantic who wishes they were fucking on his back so they could kiss at the same time.
And it’s not like they haven’t been fucking. Because they’ve been fucking a lot.
In Finn’s flat, at the many after parties, in a club in Soho where they almost got kicked out by a staff member, one of the bathrooms at Heathrow where Finn fucked Peter so good that he couldn’t sit down on the plane without wincing. They can’t keep their hands off each other. Finn doesn’t want to ever stop.
It’s the first time they’ve ever fucked in costume though. Or – as much costume as they can get away with. Finn’s naked apart from his long socks, wig firmly sewn into his scalp, and Peter’s in his full Season 2 outfit, like he’s stepped out of the pages of The Sworn Sword. Finn feels a little guilty, that the costume department are going to kill them if they find out what they’re doing, and then Peter murmurs You’re so fucking tight and Finn forgets everything.
“Yeah?” He says, in such a high pitched voice he sounds like a porn star, and then Peter grabs him by the hips and pulls him deeper onto his cock, continuing to fuck him like he’s got a point to prove.
“You’re so perfect,” Peter ducks his head, noses at the back of Finn’s neck, then licks him. “Jesus, the fucking state of you.”
Finn whines, because he started today's mess, a casual make out session on the couch whilst waiting to be called to set, and then he’d ended up on Peter’s lap and then they’d lost their clothes, and now Finn’s got Peter’s hand fisting in his hair and he’s leaking pre-come all over the cushions. He buries his face in the rough texture of the couch, unable to speak, and Peter covers him with kisses, teeth grazing his shoulders.
“Can’t believe you,” Peter says, voice low. “Think you were made for me, like, you’re so good for me – put up with me.”
“’M not-“ Finn says, as Peter’s cock rubs up against his prostate. “Fuck – I’m not just putting up with you. I like you.”
“Yeah?” Peter says, and his hips slap against Finn’s ass. “Promise?”
“Promise,” Finn says, his eyes shutting of their own accord, fuck he’s so close he’s going to die. “Peter – Yeah, I promise, you’re mine, you’re-“
“Cute,” Peter says, and somehow picks up the pace, and all the air gets punched out of Finn’s lungs.
He’s not sure how long Peter continues fucking him for, only that he stops thinking, brain dribbling out of his ears. Everything feels so good, he forgets that he needs to be quiet and sensible, only that a stream of noises are spilling from his mouth and he’s drooling down his chin.
"Fuck," Peter groans from above him. "God you're so tight - so good, Finn, fuck, you're killing me, spread your legs a little more honey-"
Finn thinks he might actually be crying. His cock is rubbing against the couch, over sensitive, and Peter keeps fucking him, deep thrusts that are driving Finn further into the pillows. He whines pathetically, and Peter runs his fingers through Finn's hair, and then tugs, dragging his head upwards.
"Fuck," Finn sobs out, and Peter buries himself so deep inside of Finn that he whites out for a moment.
"You're so good," Peter says, his voice low. "So good Finn, Jesus, look at you, all for me-"
"'M gonna cum," Finn gasps, toes curling, unable to stop himself. "Pl-ease,"
"Fuck that's hot," Peter says, his other hand gripping Finn's waist so tight that it hurts. "Come for me, I wanna feel it."
"Please," Finn says, not knowing what he's begging for. "Please-"
"I've got you," Peter says, voice low and deep and yeah, he has got Finn, they've got each other, they're Peter-and-Finn in such a short amount of time, and Finn drools down his chin and he's gonna cum, fuck-fuck-fuck-
He thinks he might say Peter's name. He cums all over the couch and his belly, and Peter groans thank you, like Finn's just given him a gift, an orgasm all wrapped up in a bow. Finn desperately humps the air, forcing himself through the last twitches of pleasure, and his thighs are shaking, like he's just run a mile.
He collapses forward onto the couch, giving a whimper as his sensitive cock rubs against the fabric. Peter pets his hair like Finn is some kind of small frightened animal, and then slides his big hand down Finn's back, all the way to his ass, which he squeezes lovingly.
"Pretty boy," Peter says, and Finn would laugh about it if he wasn't completely fucked out. "Look at you, like. So fucking handsome."
Finn whines, and Peter squeezes his ass again. He leans forward, just enough that Finn can feel his hot breath against his ear, and Finn shivers on instinct. He wants Peter to cover his body with his, wants to be underneath him like a bug.
"I wish," Peter says, voice low. "I could tug on that earring of yours with my teeth."
Finn makes a very stupid noise and Peter huffs out an embarrassed laugh, like he's gone too far, like they've broken through the fourth wall and been too open, too much.
"Sorry," Peter says. "I'll stop."
"Don't stop," Finn croaks out. "I like it."
"Sure, like?" Peter says, and traces the shell of Finn's ear with his tongue. Finn squirms, panting out against the couch. He wants Peter's tongue inside of him - he'll take anywhere.
"Yeah," Finn says. "I'm sure."
He pushes himself against Peter, back to chest, both of them sweaty and flushed. Peter rolls his hips, and Finn whines, clenching around him. He can't cum again, but god he can fucking try.
"You're just perfect, you know that?" Peter says, sounding oddly fond. "I'm so lucky to have you."
And then he gently shoves Finn back against the sofa and continues fucking him. Finn's jaw goes slack and easy, eyes squeezed shut, and he's floating, he's floating above them, and he's watching Peter fuck him, and from this angle they look like Dunk and Aerion, and Finn really needs to stop looking at fanart on twitter and -
"Christ Finn," Peter grunts out and cums hot and sudden inside of Finn, filling him up.
Finn whimpers out, grinding himself filthily against the couch cushions, and Peter drops his head down against Finn's shoulder, mouthing like a dog. Finn can practically taste Peter in his throat, and he can't stop the movement of his hips, pushing through the final aftershocks until his thighs tremble.
Once Peter has his brain back, he litters Finn's skin with kisses, every little freckle, and then finally nuzzles into the nape of his neck, and Finn can feel Peter smiling against his skin. They breathe in tandem, and Finn thinks about doing stupid like begging for more.
Luckily it's Peter who speaks first.
"I want you to come stay with me, the next time you visit Ireland." He says, and then licks his tongue flat across Finn's skin, almost in apology.
"Yeah?" Finn says, gently pushing his shoulders back against Peter so that he'll pull out. "Next time I'm going over is for a family holiday so-"
"Yeah," Peter says, voice a little croaky. "I know."
Finn pauses. "What?"
"You told me," Peter says, and hides his face in Finn's shoulder. "Couple of months ago. Just, thought it might be nice, like. If I met your dad and sister."
"Are you asking to meet my family whilst you're still inside me?" Finn says stupidly and feels Peter's face burn.
"It was just an idea mind!" Peter protests. "You don't have to-"
"You really pick your moments," Finn says, but then he's laughing, their bodies shaking as one. "You're such - Peter."
"'M sorry," Peter mumbles and gently eases himself out of Finn. Finn can't help the whimper that escapes from his mouth, and then promptly rolls over so they can look at each. Fuck, Peter's face is incredibly red, and he looks so anxious.
Finn sits upright abruptly and kisses him. Peter kisses back, ever so soft, like he's scared he'll break Finn, and Finn cups Peter's face between his hands. They lick into each other's mouths, and Peter's lips are chapped enough that Finn can taste it.
"You can hang out with my family," Finn says. "If you really want to."
"Yeah?" Peter says, cautiously. "I'm not, being weird like?"
"You are very strange," Finn teases, unable to stop the smile spreading across his face, and kisses Peter again. "That's why I like you."
"Grand," Peter says, and flushes. "I mean cool. I like you too."
Finn grins, and Peter smiles back, a little goofily, a little earnest, just the way Finn likes him. The way Finn really really fucking likes him, and oh god, he's going to meet Finn's parents. And it's not like his parents don't want to meet Peter; the whole cast have adopted each other as one big family, and Shaun's hanging out with Dexter's parents and Peter and Henry have their weird thing going on, and Sam texts Finn's Dad all the time about work and writing and Irish independence. Finns never been part of anything like it. He didn't know cast mates could be like this.
He didn't know - that he could fall in love like this.
It's at that moment that Finn's phone rings. It's a loud blaring sound in the quiet room, and they both flinch, like a gunshot has gone off. Finn scrambles to get it from his jeans pocket, discarded hastily on the floor, and checks the caller ID. Ira. Fuck.
Finn presses answer before he has a chance to think, holding the phone up to his ear. "Hi!" He says brightly. "Everything okay?"
"Everything's fine dude," Ira says, cheerful as ever. He's another member of the team that Finn is lucky to have, someone who cares so much about the story, who looked at Peter and knew he was a hero, and looked at Finn and knew he could play a homocidal maniac. "I'm just walking over to Peter's trailer to go over the scenes for today. Want to join us?"
"Uh," Finn says, and looks down at himself. Naked and covered in cum. He looks over at Peter, who stares back with wide eyes. He's also very pink and sweaty. "Give us five minutes!"
"You're both in Peter's trailer?-" Ira starts and Finn hangs up the phone like the idiot he is and throws it back onto his pile of clothes.
He turns to Peter frantically. "We're in trouble. Ira's on the way. You need to get dressed, like now."
"Fuck me," Peter says, launching himself off the sofa in a surprisingly sprightly way. He tucks his soft cock away in his trousers, runs his fingers through his long hair. "Fucking dead men walking we are-"
Finn covers his face with his hands and groans. Of course a romantic moment between the two of them would be interrupted like this. Nothing in his life is ever be simple, never easy. Finn wants to bang his head against the wall.
Then he takes a deep breath, and scratches the drying cum off his stomach, and tries to remember where his underwear ended up.