Story: Saving Elliot

Type: AU

Word Count: 5k

Pairing(s): Christopher Finley/Benjamin O'Connor, Teagan O'Connor/Lana Finley (minor)

Summary: In which O'Connor can't stop defending the love of his life.

⇹

'Cause I see sparks fly whenever you smile
Get me with those green eyes, baby, as the lights go down
Give me something that'll haunt me when you're not around
'Cause I see sparks fly whenever you smile

⇹

"KOPOV, YOU DICKHEAD," O'Connor snaps, "What the fuck are you doing? We're supposed to be doing this presentation together."

Benjamin O'Connor made the horrible mistake of taking Sociology as an A Level. They've already started the second (and final) year so there is no way he can drop the subject. Plus he's only taken three A Levels (Sociology, Spanish and P.E) so, again, there's no way he can drop it since the sixth form requires a minimum of three subjects.

God. He's so fucked.

He's even more fucked because he was partnered up with Alex Kopov for this Sociology presentation on Family Ideology (or some crap like that). It's due in two weeks and neither of them have the foggiest idea what they're doing. The most frustrating thing about being partners with Alex Kopov is the fact the guy is smart and actually good at Sociology. He's probably the only person in the year who could rival Elliot Jensen's top grades in Maths. He's a lot smarter than people think.

"I told you I have a doctor's appointment," the Russian boy says on the other end of the phone.

O'Connor scoffs and pauses at the side of the road. He's about to step forward when a car zooms past him in a heated rush. Two more go by before he runs across the narrow road to the line terraced houses on the other side.

"I know for a fact you don't," he says as turns a corner onto a less busy street, "I know for a fact you're over at Jensen's right now house playing COD with her, Goodwin and Chaudhri."

"And how do you know this?"

"Jensen told me you were going over to hers today," he says, "I can bloody hear her swearing in the background."

"No...that's my cat."

He frowns, "So your cat just told Goodwin to fuck off and go die in a hole?"

"He's a very talented cat--"

"Alexander."

"Look," Kopov huffs, "I don't know why you're getting so pissy about it. We have two weeks and I've already done some research and made notes, I just need to type it all out and put it in some fancy presentation and then boom, we're all good. Don't worry about it."

"I'm not worried," he says. He's not, okay?

He doesn't do worry. That's for people like Jensen and Finley who are way too caught up in the future to enjoy the present. He's all about the here and now. Why bother with something that has no certainty of happening?

"Why don't you worry about the fact Finley is going to flip when he finds out you've been fighting Saunders again," Kopov says amidst the sound of gunshots and Jensen's swearing in the background.

"Well, since, Finley isn't my husband or my mother," O'Connor says, he comes up to a crumpled can of coke and kicks it into the bushes, "I don't need to worry."

"No," Kopov says, "but he is your boyfriend and you did promise him that you would stop fighting Saunders."

O'Connor nibbles on his lower lip, a nervous habit he picked up from his mother. Kopov's right. He did promise Finley but then he broke that promise no less than twenty-four hours later when he punched Saunders in the face for calling Finley a 'fucking gay boy'. He had to be punched, there was no way O'Connor could let Saunders get away with that. No way. No one talks about his boyfriend like that. No one. And if breaking that promise in order to keep homophobic arseholes like Saunders in check, means being faced with Finley's disappointed glare then he'll take it.

"What," O'Connor says, "So you're a relationship counsellor now?"

"I'll be whatever you and Fin need me to be," he says, "I don't want you two breaking up over Johnny Saunders of all people. Me, Tam, and Jensen went through a whole lot of trouble to finally get you and Fin together and we're not going to have Saunders ruin it."

"Saunders is a homophobic dick and I'll fight him as many times as I have to get that arsehole to back off."

Kopov lets out a low chuckle, "Ah, young love."

"Oh whatever," O'Connor says and ends the call. Honestly, trying to reason with Alex Kopov is the most futile thing he's ever experienced.

O'Connor sighs and runs a hand through his blond hair. He notes how long its become, he reminds himself to go to the barber's this weekend. He glances up and spots Finley's home. He lives in Spring Manor, a large, modern apartment block that sits comfortably at the end of the street, decorated by ferns and evergreens. O'Connor walks up the pebbled path to the main entrance, his eyes momentarily flick up to the high-rising building as he tries to spot Finley's apartment.

Images of green, green eyes and floppy dark hair and a shy, lopsided smile flood into his mind. Butterflies swirl in his stomach. It's been such a long day and he wants nothing more than to fall into bed with Finley by his side.

He presses the flat number on the metal keypad and waits. There's a split second of static before a girl's voice comes through. It's one of Finley's sisters.

"Hello?"

"Hey Lana," he says, leaning into the small speaker above the keypad, "It's O'Connor. Can you open the door?"

"Oh, sure," she says, "come up."

Her voices cuts off and there's a low clicking sounds that tells him the doors are open. O'Connor pushes past them and steps into the lobby. The smell of recently dried paint hangs in the spacious foyer. He finds the sea green colour of the walls to be quite appealing. It brightens up the place. Now, that might because the shade reminds him so much of Finley's eyes. Whatever the reason, it is much better than the horrible beige wallpaper that plastered the lobby before. O'Connor passes the elevator and trudges up the stairs. The idea of being cramped into a small metal box as it slowly pulls you higher and higher from the ground makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. The stairs are better and anyway, Finley only lives on the fourth floor so it's not much of a walk.

(Jensen says he's going to have face his claustrophobia sometime and O'Connor responds with a laugh. He's going to make sure that never happens. She came up with this weird theory that O'Connor's claustrophobia is somehow linked to his fear of commitment. He always responds to that with a scoff and a simple 'what bullshit'. These days, Jensen thinks she's Sigmund Freud just because she does Psychology.)

O'Connor knocks on Finley's door. 103 is nailed into the burgundy door. The 3 is askew and just as he's reached up to put it back in place, the door swings open. Lana Finley stands on the other side. Even though she's the youngest member of the Finley clan, Lana does not look like she's fifteen. If anything, she looks like she's already in her third year of university. O'Connor puts it all down to her growth spurt (since she's sprouted up to a solid five foot nine) and the fact she's started wearing make-up and stopped dressing like Hannah Montana. It's no wonder his brother is so infatuated with her.

Lana smiles and it's so similar to Finley's - soft and sweet and with just the right amount of shy- it has butterflies fluttering in his stomach. She tucks a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear and glances behind him as if expecting someone to appear.

"It's just me today," he smirks, "Tiggs is back home."

His brother is most likely lying on the couch watching Breaking Bad since he's kind of obsessed with the show ever since Kopov introduced it to him it last week.

Lana and Tiggs are mates, well, they're friends but they're not close friends. Although lately, they have been hanging out a lot together in and outside school. They both just seem to light up whenever they talk to each other. More often than not when O'Connor decides to pop over to Finley's, Tiggs comes along. He always makes some lame excuse about needing to give Lana her book back or ask her for help on the latest English homework. And more often than not, when Finley comes over to his place, Lana is with him. Those two just can't seem to stay away from each other.

"So, when are you two gonna get it over with and start dating already?" he asks.

Lana blinks, "I...I don't...I don't know what you're talking about? I don't fancy Tiggs."

The pink blush dusting her cheeks says otherwise. O'Connor resists the urge to roll his eyes. Like, Finley, Lana is a terrible, terrible liar. "Sure," he says.

"I don't fancy Tiggs," she says and frowns, "damn it, I mean, Teagan...you're making me call him Tiggs."

His brother doesn't like to be called Tiggs by anyone else but O'Connor.

O'Connor's mouth quirks up into a smile. His brother has always been Tiggs to him, for as long as he could remember. His mother says it's because he couldn't pronounce Teagan when he was a kid, it came out as Tiggs instead of Teagan.

"Anyway," he says, "Good afternoon, Lana."

"It's five o'clock," she says, stepping aside and letting him walk into the narrow hallway, "so, technically, it's evening."

He feigns shock, "Oh forgive me, Lana."

She laughs as she shuts the door. "Chris' in the kitchen."

He nods and walks down the hallway. He passes the living room where he sees Farah, one of Finley's older sisters laughing at a bad audition on X Factor. Lana soon joins her on the sofa and Farah updates on her on what just happened. The hallway is heavy in the scent of spices and chicken. O'Connor heads into the kitchen. He's not surprised to find Finley's cooking something. If the boy isn't on a game console or playing footy, he's usually cooking something. He's dressed in a flowery apron that's most likely his mother's (although he wouldn't be surprised if it was Fin's) and he stands before a stove, one hand on the pan and the other on a wooden spoon he uses to stir peppers and onions.

O'Connor pauses in the doorway to smile at his boyfriend. His lovable, dorky boyfriend who he still can't believe is actually his. Finley has earphones in and he's singing to some vaguely familiar indie song. Christopher Finley's music taste is made up of obscure bands he's never heard of, electronic keyboards, guitar riffs and songs that make you want laugh and scream at the same time. It's odd but brilliant.

O'Connor walks up behind him, slow and measured like he's watching a rare bird in the wild. He clasps Finley's shoulder and squeezes it. Finley jolts for a moment, head snapping back to see who it is. His confused expression softens to warm recognition when he meets O'Connor's deep brown eyes. A smile pulls at the corners of his lips. He lowers the heat on the stove and turns to face him.

"O'Connor," he grins, "what are you doing here?"

He shrugs, "I wanted to see you obviously."

Finley's smile is doing that thing to his stomach, where it flips it and flips it until it's knotted.

O'Connor pulls an earbud out of Finley's ear and pops it into his own ear. As expected, he's met with the sound of guitars and drums and a mellow voice singing about an ex-girl and a painful dance. He smirks, "You and your weird indie bands, Fin."

"The Black Keys aren't weird," he says, "you just wouldn't know good music if it bit you in the arse."

O'Connor hits his arm. Finley laughs.

"Shut up," he says and nods at the pan behind him, "what're you cooking?"

"Fajitas," he says.

O'Connor's eyes light up. "Oh my God, really?" he grins, "Fucking yes, Fin!"

It's a well-known fact that Christopher Finley makes the best fajitas in Manchester, if not the entirety of the United Kingdom. O'Connor steps forward to get a better look at the peppers cooking on the pan when Finley grabs his chin with his thumb and index finger turns O'Connor's face towards him. For a heart fluttering moment he thinks Finley is going to kiss him but he just stares at him, a slight grimace on his lips.

"What happened to your eyebrow?" he asks, "there's a cut on it."

Ah shit.

O'Connor brushes his fingers away and shakes his head, "It's nothing, don't worry about."

It's only when those last three words leave his mouth that he realises he made a mistake. Of course it's going to make Fin worry about it. Finley's eyes narrow, green irises swimming in suspicion.

"What?" O'Connor says, trying his best to keep a straight face. "it's nothing Fin, I fell in P.E today."

"Damn it, Benjamin," he frowns at him, "have you been fighting with Saunders again?"

There are only two occasions Finley ever calls O'Connor by his first name. When they're in the middle of a make out session and he's all flushed and flustered from all the kisses and he calls him Benjamin in laboured whisper. Or, when, he's pissed off with him. O'Connor prefers the first occasion.

O'Connor is about to deny it and stick to his story about falling in P.E. but knows it wouldn't work and would only serve in pissing Finley off even more.

So, he returns Finley's frown. "Yeah! I did!" he snaps, "Saunders is a fucking dick! He keeps talking shit so I'm going to keep hitting that little arsehole."

Fuck sake. He swears way too much and it's all Jensen's fault. She's a bad influence.

"I mean for fuck sake, Fin," he says, "we've been dating since we were fifteen and everybody is alright with it except that stupid, ginger arsehole."

Finley stares at him and there it is. There's that disappointed glare. That mixture of hurt and anger and dejection. It makes his hands curls into tight fists, so hard his fingernails dig into the palm.

"You said you would stay away from him!" Finley says, frown deepening into a scowl. "For God's sake, Benjamin, if you keep fighting him you're either going to get yourself really hurt, expelled or arrested. Please stop. Saunders knows Richter and if he gets Richter's mates on you, they could really..." his voice lowers, "They could really hurt you."

And for the first time, O'Connor sees something else in that disappointed glare. Worry. It etches Finley's features. It draws his eyebrows together and presses his mouth into a fine line.

O'Connor's clenched fists loosen and he sighs. "Shit," he mumbles as he takes a step closer to him, close enough that he can smell Finley, sandalwood and soap and a hint of a cologne. "Shit, I'm sorry, Fin."

Finley lifts a hand and gently grazes the cut that strikes through O'Connor's right eyebrow. The grimace is still there but the hard glare in his eyes has softened to something close to reverence. "Please stop fighting," he whispers.

O'Connor's eyes flit down as he nibbles on his lower lip, "I know, I know...it's just, God, he says the most fucked up things about us...about you, and I know he says it to piss me off but...I can't, I can't..." he looks at Finley then, his brown eyes lock with his, "I can't let him get away with that. Some days I want to keep hitting him until he's bloody and he's choking on his own tongue."

Finley's eyes widen, "Jesus, O'Connor...this...this is what I mean, you have to stop before you do something you regret."

"That's the thing," he says, "I don't think I would and it scares me."

Everyone has this image of O'Connor as being this funny womaniser who doesn't really care about anything or get angry. It's half true but you see, O'Connor's rage is terrifying when it's unleashed, darker and more searing than you could imagine. Not many people have seen that side to him and he's thankful for that. He likes being seen as cool and relaxed. He wants people to remember him like that. He can't let anyone see the sick smile that spreads across his face whenever he punches Saunders in the face.

Finley lets out a soft sigh as he lays a hand on O'Connor's cheek, his thumb grazing his skin. "I know he's a dick and believe me, I hate him too but you're just giving him what he wants by reacting like that," he says, "Just...don't fight him anymore, okay?"

"Fin-"

"Please."

Finley might be the only person that understands just how deep O'Connor's rage runs. Finley sees the chasm in him and it should make him run or squirm but he runs head first into it with that smile and those bright eyes.

And O'Connor doesn't know what he did to deserve someone like Christopher Finley but he's going to make sure he never loses him.

"I...Yes, okay," he says, leaning into him.

"I'm serious, O'Connor," he says in a low, gravelly voice that does things to him, "Promise me this time."

It takes him a few seconds to respond, the way Finley is looking at him makes feel scattered, like he's not quite here. "Yeah, I...I promise I'll stop fighting Saunders."

Finley's hand slides from his cheek to cup the back of his neck. He looks into O'Connor's eyes, his green gaze is penetrating. He leans close and O'Connor waits with baited breath, Finley's lips are millimetres from his when Farah's voice cuts through the crackling silence.

"Are the fajitas ready or..." she says, "Are you just going to snog each other's faces off?"

Finley and O'Connor practically jump apart. They glance at Farah. The nineteen-year-old is standing in the doorway with folded arms.

"Farah, chill," O'Connor says, throwing her the most charming smile he can muster. "We'd all like some fajitas."

"I'd really like some fajitas but you're distracting my brother."

"I'm not."

Farah looks unimpressed. She quirks an eyebrow at him and scoffs, "Jesus, I could cut the sexual tension in here with a knife."

O'Connor's heart jumps in his chest as he glances back at Finley in time to see strawberry red blush sweep across his cheeks. His smile widens in a bright grin. It might just be a little perverse how much he enjoys making Finley all hot and flustered. Finley brushes his dark hair out of his eyes and turns back to the stove, acting like the pan is the most fascinating thing in the world.

O'Connor laughs and looks over at Farah, she's smiles like she's trying to stop herself from laughing as well.

"The fajitas will be ready in fifteen minutes," Finley says not looking back at either of them.

"Shouldn't you be at uni?" O'Connor asks.

Farah is in her first year at the University of East Anglia, where she studies Psychology. It's early November, so she's been there for about a month and judging from her Twitter and Facebook, she's been having the time of her life. Honestly, the only reason O'Connor is even considering university is because of Fresher's Week. One week comprised of nothing but parties, alcohol and getting out-of-this-universe-drunk. It sounds like heaven.

(Jensen says this is a stupid reason to want to go to university. She's even threatened to beat him up if she founds he's applied to uni only to party and get drunk. O'Connor doesn't doubt that she will.)

"I'm back for the weekend," Farah replies, "what, did you miss me?"

O'Connor chuckles, "I actually miss Mary more...when is she coming back?"

"God knows," Farah says, "she's busy doing whatever it is they do at banks."

At twenty-two, Mary is the oldest out of the four Finley siblings, and unlike Farah she decided not to go university. A few months after she finished sixth form, she bagged an internship as some sort of an accountant. (Although, he did hear Finley called it something like 'Internal Auditor for Financial Affairs'). Despite not going to university, Mary is already earning money and in a few more years, she's going to be making big bucks.

Hm. Maybe, O'Connor got involved with the wrong Finley. Mary Finley is where the money is. Just as the thought flits across his mind, he looks at Finley, who has his tongue peeking out of mouth as he stirs the strips of chicken with the peppers. He looks at Finley, all sweet smiles and pretty green eyes and he thinks, nah, he's the only one.

"Right, I have some essays to finish," Farah says, "Chris call me when it's ready, and O'Connor," she half-heartedly glares at him, "Don't finish all the fajitas before I have a chance to have some."

"I can't promise anything."

Once Farah's gone, Finley turns to him and says, "You always do this."

"Do what?"

"You know Lana heard us last week?" he says, momentarily glancing at him before he turns back to the pan.

"Fin, what are you on about?"

"Last...last week, O'Connor," he says, his cheeks are already turning red for some reason, "y'know, on Wednesday night, when you stayed over after the footy match?"

"Wednesday...?" he says, his mind travels back to that night and a grin stretches across his face. "Oh. Oh. Wednesday night...wait, oh my God," he pauses to laugh, "Lana heard us?"

"Yes."

Wednesday night was a heated blur. Earlier that day they'd won a match against St. Endellion (they were completely annihilated, Jensen scored a goal and sprained three boys' ankles in the process), so to celebrate Kopov threw his usual post-match party. It must have been close to midnight when O'Connor and Finley came back to his flat. It was clashing mouths and ragged breaths as they yanked each other's clothes off and stumbled into Finley's room and onto his bed.

"It's not funny, O'Connor," Finley frowns but his face is bright red, "my little sister shouldn't know what I sound like when I'm-"

"Getting laid?"

O'Connor just about dodges the fork Finley chucks at his head.

*

"No way."

"What?" Finley glances up from the book he's reading. It's Crime and Punishment by some Russian guy whose name O'Connor can't pronounce. Finley has to read it for an essay that's due in a few weeks. O'Connor can't grasp why Finley chose to do English Lit for his A Levels. Why anyone would willingly subject themselves to two more years of that crap is beyond him.

O'Connor points to the laptop screen, "Look."

It's about an hour and a half after they've finished the fajitas and the two boys are hanging out in Finley's bedroom. O'Connor's sat on the bean bag by the bed with Finley's laptop resting on his lap. For the past half hour he's been researching for the presentation but he got bored and decided to take a quick look at his Facebook.

"Come here," he says to Finley, "look."

Finley slides off the bed and kneels down next to O'Connor to look at the laptop. His eyes widen, "No way!"

Elliot Jensen is in a relationship with Elliot Fintry.

You, Rahim Chaudhri, Dane Sow, Violet Fintry, Arthur Jensen and 67 others like this.

"Wait, wait," O'Connor says, not quite believing what he's seeing. "When did this happen?"

He glances down at the date below the status.

[November 4, 2011 at 4:04pm. Manchester, England]

"Two days ago?" He says, "How....how am I only finding this out now?"

Finley hums, "'Come to think of it...Tam has been teasing Fintry a lot recently."

There are exactly thirty-two comments that all range from "I knew it!" to "About time" but O'Connor's personal favourite has to be West's.

Ted West: I fucking knew u two were banging. I was just wondering when u'd make that banging official. [41 people like this.]

O'Connor laughs, "Oh my god."

Elliot Jensen: Well done, West. You've just earned yourself a punch in the mouth, you pervert. [19 people like this.]

"I swear West likes being beaten up by Jensen," Finley says.

"He does," he says, "it's the only way he can get Jensen to touch him willingly."

Finley laughs as he pushes himself up. O'Connor's gaze flicks up from the laptop and over to him. The dark-haired boy yawns and stretches his arms, as he does his shirt rides up to reveal the waistband of his Calvin Klein boxers. Seeing Finley's tan skin makes O'Connor's mouth water.

Finley must notice him staring because he stops stretching and flicks an eyebrow at him. "What?"

O'Connor just shakes his head, a small smile on face. "Nothing."

"How's the presentation going?" he asks, "Are you done yet?"

O'Connor groans, "Don't talk to me about that damn presentation."

Finley moves forward and slumps down onto the edge of the bed next to him. "What? Isn't Kopov doing any work?"

"Neither of us are doing anyway work," he chuckles, "we are going to fail..." he glances up at Finley and pouts, "Why didn't you wanna work with me?"

Finley rolls his eyes, "Because you are way too distracting, we would get no work done and I guarantee we'd fail."

O'Connor can't argue with that. They both made the mistake of taking Sociology. The only plus side of that subject is he's in the same class as Finley (and Kopov), so lessons are never too painful.

"And, anyway, Kopov might like to procrastinate but he gets the work done in the end," he says, "he's probably the smartest person in our class, the guy keeps getting A's in his tests even though he never revises or listens."

He sighs, "Hm. Maybe."

"Are you staying over?" He asks.

O'Connor nods and Finley grins in a way that makes him want to kiss him.

It's a Friday, there's no school or footy practice tomorrow, so O'Connor is looking forward to having a lazy day with Finley. Yeah, he's got that stupid presentation but he'll deal with that on Sunday. (He has, like, eleven days until it's due and anyway, he prefers doing his work last minute, the pressure makes him work. He always ends up with a decent mark so there's no need to stress.)

O'Connor shuts the laptop and pushes himself off the bean bag.

"Fuck me," He says with a groan as he stands up.

"Mm...Maybe later," Finley says and when O'Connor looks at him, Finley is smirking down at his book.

The memory of Finley's tan skin flashes in his mind. O'Connor licks his lips, "Oh. So you think you're funny?"

Finley doesn't look at him as he turns the book's page, "Very."

O'Connor takes a step forward and knocks the book out of Finley's hand. Green (green like the sea under an evening sky) eyes flick up to him, confusion pulls his eyebrows together.

"What are you-"

He dips his head down and presses their lips together. Finley lets out a small, faint gasp before he fists his hand into O'Connor's shirt and pulls him closer. He's kissed Finley more times than he can count but each time is like the first time, each time it's butterflies swarming in his belly, it's his heart hammering in his chest, it's the feeling of free falling into the wide open sky. He pushes Finley back onto the bed and straddles his waist, just as Finley grips his hips. Finley slips his fingers under O'Connor's shirt and coasts his hands up his back. It makes O'Connor's breathing stutter.

The kiss has liquid heat pouring down his mouth and pooling into his belly, spreading and spreading until he can feel it in his toes. Finley has just pulled off O'Connor's shirt and they're both breathing hard and things are just getting interesting when the door springs open.

"Chris, Mum wants to know if - Oh my God."

O'Connor and Finley look up to find Lana standing by the door with wide eyes and a slack jaw. Finley looks just as freaked out as she does. He gasps, "Lana!"

"Oh my God," she says, "Oh my God, s-sorry! I'm gonna...Oh my..." she spins around and practically runs out of the room, the door slams shut behind her.

O'Connor's head drops onto Finley's shoulder as he starts laughing. Finley groans. "Oh for fuck sake...not again." He glances at O'Connor, the Irish boy is silent but shaking with laughter and he frowns, "Damn it, Benjamin, it's not funny! This is the second time Lana's walked in on us!"

O'Connor rises up so he can rest on his elbows. He tries to fight a grin as he looks down at Finley but a smile ends up breaking through. "It kind of is."

"Why don't you ever shut the door when you come into my room?" he asks.

"Sorry, I'm a little preoccupied with the fact I have your tongue down my mouth."

O'Connor's smile widens into a grin as he watches Finley's cheeks redden. Finley sighs, "Oh God."

O'Connor cups his face and kisses him so deeply it has him stuttering for breath in his mouth. When he pulls away Finley stares at him with flushed cheeks and wide green eyes. O'Connor grins. He brushes his thumb across Finley's lips.

He rolls off of Finley and walks over to the shirt he threw across the room in the middle of their heated make out session. He yanks the shirt on and checks the time on Finley's laptop.

"Come on," he says, "the match is on in, like, five minutes and I don't wanna miss it. I bet Man U would win against West Brom."

Finley pushes himself up so he's sitting up on the bed. "How much did you bet?"

"Twenty quid," he says and Finley scoffs. "Yeah, I know but Jensen can be such a smug little shit. Man U better win, there's no way I'm giving her twenty quid."

He walks over to Finley and takes his hand in his, intertwining their fingers together before he pulls the dark-haired boy off the bed and tugs him out of the room.

Finley is still wearing this dazed look, like he's just found the gold at the end of the rainbow, like he's finally found the piece to a puzzle he's been long trying to solve. It has O'Connor's breath hitching in his throat.

He bumps Finley's shoulder, wondering what could possibly be going through his mind. "What is it?"

Finley just grins at him, bright and bold, "Nothing."

O'Connor sees the days behind and the days ahead and he feels delight, nothing but pure drunken delight coursing through his veins. And oh, oh. So, this is love. This is the kind of love that made Shakespeare write over one hundred sonnets. It's the sound of children laughing in the summer air, the waves lapping against the ocean, it's Finley's nimble fingers tracing patterns across his back.

A smile spreads across his face as he glances at his boyfriend. The realisation of love is not as frightening as he thought it would be, if anything it's freeing.

So, he might just be in love with Christopher Finley and it might just be the best thing that's ever happened to him.

_____________________________________

A/N: I love writing fluffy, cute fics. I'm not gonna lie, I really ship Finley and O'Connor (and I also ship Fin with O'Connor's cousin, Jamie) so that's why I wrote this at like 3am last night. But sadly since Finley and O'Connor aren't canon, this had to be an AU where they're a couple and so are the Elliots. This was also for those people who ship Finley and O'Connor and really wanted to see them in SE. Remember, if you have any requests (since this was inspired by a request from anon on my ask) don't be afraid to send them.

- Rose xoxo