he hasn't. not ever. he doesn't invite anyone to stay the night, he hated strangers, friends, bed buddies, experiencing the unique pleasure of memory foam and 800 - count egyptian cotton sheets. finn lived on carrots for two weeks to afford his sleeping arrangements, and he be damned if he let just anyone off the street enjoy it. but clay wasn't anyone off the street. he wasn't just his friend or bed buddy. if that were true, their lives would have been a lot easier. clay's words made him feel just as awful as he felt stirred. thinking, for even a moment, about their treachery made him nauseous; seeing the way he was looked at by his co - conspirator, feeling the way the pad of his thumb charts his flesh, savouring how he's still being kissed like he's wanted, made their treachery feel a little less treacherous. how could something so earnest come from something truly treacherous? every day he faces the trivial concern that one of them will come to their senses and decide that they shouldn't commit betrayal, but being kissed assuages those concerns. some of them, anyway. so mouth chases the kiss, hands enveloping the other's own, and he kisses him again once more before muttering, " skip it. let her think you're going, and stay here. please? "