Finch: Friendly Turn

“Hey, Finch.”

“Hm?” Finch didn’t turn to look but scraped another splinter off the sloping truss above him. He could reach it even lying down on his cot - the ceiling was that low.

“Remember that day when I met you?”

He grimaced up at what was supposed to be a carving of a cat. How could he ever forget that? Worst fucking day of his life. “Mhm.”

“And you promised to teach me whatever the hell I wanted if I could get your hands fixed?”

If ever anything sounded like a trap, it was this. Ah, fuck. Whatever would come after that, he supposed it’d still be better than being stuck in this cramped attic space Larkin called her “place” with no job to do and no money to spend. “Uh-huh? I showed you what I know about break-ins, remember that?”

“Yeah, but I got something else.”

Finch sighed and let his hands fall to his chest. He turned his head to look at Larkin then. She lay on her own cot a few feet away, gnawing at a piece of bread and watching him. He raised his eyebrows in a way he hoped conveyed “get to the point”.

Larkin put down the bread. “Show me how to kiss.”

Finch kept the look for a second, then scoffed. “Fuck off, Lark.” He focused back on his cat. Maybe it was going to be a pig after all. The shadows thrown by their small gas lamp made it hard to be precise.

“No, I mean it.”

It sounded sincere enough to make Finch glance over again. “You fucking serious? Why?”

“Does it matter?” She scowled at him, then stuffed the bread back in her face.

Fuck, was she blushing? He couldn’t really tell; in the gloom, her reddish complexion gave little away but - he could swear she was getting flushed.

“I just - y’ know, wanna know,” Larkin muttered between chews.

Ah, fuck. Okay. Fuck. He’d feared something like this might happen since he’d moved in with her about a year ago; even more after he’d realized Larkin was, in fact, a girl. But it wasn’t like he’d had much of a choice at that time. Not so many options for one who’d just sold out his gang and owned only the coins in his pockets on the bruises on his body.

Finch opened his mouth, fumbling for words. “Uhm… look, I, uhm,” he felt his face getting hot and he coughed. “I like you, but not… well, not like - hey!” A bread heel came flying and bounced off his temple.

“Fuck you, Finch, “ Larkin snarled. “I’m not fucking into you.”

Then what the hell was she getting at? At least the indignated grimace she made convinced Finch she meant it. He laughed and bent over the side of the cot to pick up the bread. “So, what you’re saying is you want me to,” he snorted, “show you how to kiss for no reason at all? That what you’re saying, huh? Just feeling like it?”

“If I tell you, you’re just gonna laugh at me.”

“I won’t. Promise. What is it?” Finch propped himself up on one elbow and took a bite off the bread. It was tough as leather.

She was silent for a moment, chewing on her lower lip while she stared up at the wooden rafters. Then she sighed and waved her hand as if dismissing something. “I wanna know so I don’t fuck up when I do it with Ivah.”

Finch blinked at her, processing. “Ivah? Like, Ivah from the Blue Mariner?” The boy with the yellow eyes and four curving horns was a sailor on one of Renar’s smuggling traders. And a complete jackass, as far as Finch was concerned. Ivah had tried to cut Finch’s purse once and not even apologized after getting caught. Also, he was a lightweight who tilted over after only two cups of rum.

“Yeah. That Ivah.” Larkin said it with that testing, warning tone of hers and squinted at him.

Oh, damn. Finch tried his best to keep a straight face but - he clapped a hand to his mouth before snorting air out between his fingers. Took a deep breath, then tried to look serious but one glance at Larkin’s scowl and he fucking lost it. His snorted efforts to hide his laughs turned into grunts and he bent over the cot, head hanging down and heaving with laughter.

“Fuck you Finch, you promised.”

“All right, all right.” Finch caught his breath and rolled himself onto his back, then held out his hands to Larkin. “Sorry. Fuck, man. I’m sorry.” He chuckled again. “But seriously, Ivah? That guy’s a dork. And an ass.”

“Yeah maybe.” Larkin grinned, showing pointed canines. “But he’s hot.”

“Mask, I can’t believe I’m having this conversation.” He put a hand over his eyes, then let it fall down after a moment and sighed. “Uhm. You know, I’m not sure this is such a good idea. I mean, you gotta have… uhm, feelings n’ stuff. To do it right.”

“Oh.” It came out flat but he could hear the smirk in her voice. “So, do your whores all love you or are you just into shitty kisses?”

Finch blinked, opened his mouth to protests, then closed it again. “...that’s fucking different,” he managed after a moment.

“How so?” Larkin was facing him squarely now and he could see the tip of her tail lashing. She was teasing him, the tiny fuck.

“Because they- it’s their damn job and most of them don’t -” Finch stumbled and made a frustrated noise. “Fuck, listen!” he threw up his hands. “This is fucking weird. Why aren’t you asking… I don’t know, literally anyone else?”

“Who? Sabac? Fannigan? Or the Shrew?”

He grunted. “Well, okay, maybe not -”

“Reason I’m asking you, Finch, is I know I can trust you not to snitch this to anyone. And you know I’ll shank you if you do. I know where you sleep.”

“Yeah, it’s right here on this cot, good fucking job, miss master spy.”

This time, he saw her throwing it but the pillow still hit him square in the face. He picked it up and hurled it back at her, scoring a hit and a yelp.

“So, will you now?” She asked while stuffing filling back into her pillow.

“You’re really fucking serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Dead serious.”

Finch groaned and rubbed his face. This was the weirdest fucking thing someone had ever asked of him. Ah, dammit. “Fuck. Alright, but just this once.”

He moved over to sit beside Larkin on her cot. She straightened up and he awkwardly put one hand to her shoulder and the other to her cheek. “So, uhm...okay. Okay.”

He bent down and kissed her. He could feel her insecurity then, despite the flippant attitude she put up. It was in the way she shied away from the touch, just for an instant, and how she mimicked his movements rather than take initiative.
It was damn easy to forget she was still a kid -barely sixteen years old - with this vicious little mobster who bossed grown men around and cut off fingers without flinching. But she felt so small under his hands now and for a moment, his consciousness nagged at him for laughing at her. He felt her raise a hand and lay it on his arm, giving it a light squeeze.

They broke the kiss and let go of each other.

“And?” Larkin asked, putting the back of a hand to her mouth

“Yeah, uhm.” Fuck, what was he to even say here? “Don’t be so... tense,” he tried. “Just, y’know, relax. And open your mouth a little more.”

“Man, you’re tense like a fucking tripwire and you’re telling me to relax?” She gave him a lopsided smile but the remark lacked its bite.

“Ugh, I don’t fucking know.” He put his hands to his face, feeling the heat of his skin and hoped for fucks sake the gloom of the gaslamp would cover how red he must’ve become.

“That’s not helpful at all.”

“What’d you expect? A fuckin’ diagram or what? I don’t fucking know how to teach kissing.” He groaned again and let himself fall onto his back.

“Or maybe you’re just bad at it,” Larkin teased.

She’d recovered faster than he had but he was prepared this time. He crossed his arms, still lying on his back and scowled at her. “Yeah, listen you little shit, I’m not the one who asked to practice kissing like a fucking virgin.”

Larkin pressed her lips together, squinting at him. Then she huffed and got up.

Wait, what? It took him a moment to process, then he perked upright.. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait.” He reached after her and caught her arm. “Larkin. Don’t tell me you’re a- ahh.”

“Alright, not telling you.” She twisted out of his grip.

Finch gasped in a breath and hopped up from the cot to go take her by the shoulders. “*Oh*. Oh, man, don’t fucking tell me - was that your first kiss?”

Larkin poked a finger into his face, looking ready to tear out his throat. “If you fucking say one fucking word to fucking anyone-, ”

“Damn, calm down.” Finch laughed and raised his hands in defense. “ I won’t tell. I just kinda assumed - shit. I guess you’re still pretty young, though. Nevermind.” He scratched the back of his head. “So uhm. Do you, ahh, you need me to give you the speech, or -”

“Fuck off.” She flopped back down on her cot and muttered into the blanket. “I know about sex. Just haven’t done it yet.”

“Alright. Okay. Fuck.” He raised his hands, then let them fall to his sides, fucking done with this. “Yeah. I need a drink now.”

“We’re broke, remember?”

“Yeah, so? We’re thieves.” He walked over and hauled her up by the back of her shirt. “Come on. Let’s go fucking steal something.”