Fic. The Least Difficult of Men
Title: The Least Difficult of Men
Author: alicebluegown16
Rating: NC-17 (So very, very, very NC-17)
Pairing/Characters: Will/Finn, cameos from Carole, Rachel, Puck, Santana, Kurt
Summary: There's Will and Finn's first time. And then there's the many, many, many memorable times after that.
AN: Sequel to Literary Criticism. Part of my series that includes Closer , Hollywood Ending, All in My Head , My Mind is Set on You , Tell the Truth Now, Subtext, This Side of Acceptance and Wisdom.
Poems quoted/referenced: Having a Coke With You, Steps, and Meditations in an Emergency all by Frank O'Hara. Song quoted The Joker by The Steve Miller Band. Info on FringeFest Summer Music Festival, Xavier University, University of Cincinnati College-Conservatory of Music, and The New School. Finn's tattoo is partially inspired by this picture of Cory Monteith. Shoutout to hopenight for being an awesome sounding board/cheerleader.
Word Count:8,440 overall. 4,170 for Part One.
Warnings: Smut. Sooooooo much smut. I have actually far exceeded my own expectations when it comes to writing sappy shmoopy porn.
***
They celebrate the one hour anniversary of Finn being his former student by having sex in the choir room. He fucks Finn on the piano bench because getting caught is suddenly the farthest thing from his mind when Finn produces the little tube of slick from his pants pocket, which means Finn planned this, was thinking about this while Figgins droned on forever during the commencement speech, while he posed for pictures and chatted with the rest of his classmates. The jangling discordant notes of hands struggling for purchase on the keys, the hitch of breath, every gasp and moan, all of it adds up to every song they had to pretend wasn’t for each other in this room, he kisses Finn and it’s every time he had to settle for just a look or a pat on the shoulder.
**
Another hotel room, another time at Nationals, and another coast. This time is because they are officially the seventh ranked show choir in the nation. Because this is the first time either one of them has ever seen the Pacific Ocean and it was with each other. Kissing Finn goodbye at the door and they seem to have pushed their luck judging from the stunned “Holy fuck” from Santana, who is apparently getting back from her own late night activities.
For the briefest half second after all this time sneaking around there’s the instinctual urge for self preservation, and he almost blurts out some ‘this isn’t what it looks like’ excuse but then he remembers this is June and Finn graduated in May and leaves for college in August which means Finn isn’t his student anymore and he makes himself meet the full force of Santana’s knowing gaze head on without flinching. After over a year of having to pretend Finn wasn’t the best thing in his life, he’s not going to make this into something to be ashamed of because it’s not.
The next morning is the complimentary hotel breakfast served with a heaping helping of awkward because there’s no way in hell something like this was going to stay quiet for long.
He has his shoulders pulled up almost to his ears as he tries and fails to ignore the varying degree of speculative glances from everyone as they not at all subtly attempt to timeline it out, theories running the gamut from Sam’s ‘Aliens made them do it. Or sex pollen.’ to Rachel’s not entirely accurate but far less offensive ‘Maybe Finn coming out inspired them to more closely examine the nature of their relationship.’
The only one not saying a word besides him or Finn is Kurt. With his ‘I am absolutely as shocked as the rest of you by this unexpected development’ expression which Mercedes clearly isn’t buying judging by her betrayed whispers of “How long have you known about this and how could you not let me in on this sort of Grade A gossip?”
And he would point out that this isn’t gossip, this isn’t entertainment, this is his no longer quite so private personal life but when he dares to look up he’s struck dumb by Brittany murmering into her Fruit Loops, “Wait, this was a no one else knows about secret? I thought it was a we all just don’t talk about it kind…”
When Puck finally wanders down from the room that Finn never actually made it back to last night (What? It’d be sort of useless for them to try to be discreet now, so what’s the sense in wasting a perfectly good king sized bed? And a hot tub that fits both of them.) Will almost sinks into the floor when he makes a beeline for Finn and, with a ‘you sly dog’ smirk, holds out his hand for a fist pump.
“Pound it, yo.”
“That’s what Mr. Schue said.”
He doesn’t even have the energy to glare at Santana for that one. (Small mercies. Finn has enough good sense to “leave a bro hanging.”)
LAX is like the seventh circle of Hell, their flight is delayed, the some focus group probably told them it was soothing recorded voice keeps reminding them every ten minutes about the current Terror Threat Level color, and he has a screaming headache that seems to be radiating from behind his eyes to the back of his skull.
Then Finn takes his hand and laces their fingers together. In front of everyone in Glee and anyone else in the gate area with them who’d care to notice. And just like that, it’s all worth it. Let everyone speculate on the when and whys and hows because his entire universe has narrowed to Finn’s thumb tracing back and forth along his palm.
It’s even worth Santana spending the entire flight attempting to pump him for details.
**
Sex in the locker room shower at McKinley is a lot of things; dangerous, horrifically cliché, and oh yeah, probably extremely unhygienic but they do it anyway because Finn leaves for Cincinnati next week and they’re both feeling just a little bit sentimental.
**
Finn elects to hold off his imminent panic attack over that night’s big scary ‘So, I’m dating your son’ dinner with Burt and Carole by dragging him back to the bedroom and because he clearly does not think this shit through, he decides going with this is a fantastic idea.
Of course, once he’s actually there, at Finn’s house, after the wonderful moment of Finn opening his door and inviting him in and kissing him in the front hallway and maybe getting just a little bit carried away because Finn looks really, really good in his nice blue dress shirt and dark slacks, there’s the actual dinner and he regrets it all.
He’s trying hard not to sweat or fidget but he’s convinced they know exactly what he and Finn were up to earlier, that as of four hours ago he had his legs up over Finn’s shoulders as part of Finn’s oh so brilliant and clearly successful because he’s here isn’t he attempt at distracting him from his ‘forget about dinner with your folks and let’s just run off to Bolivia and become bank robbers’ plan. It only gets impossibly more mortifying when Finn hands him the sugar for his coffee without him even needing to ask and Carole makes a little hmmm noise under her breath. It’s all he can do not to blush because it’s like there’s big neon ‘Why Yes, We Are Totally Fucking’ sign over his head.
But no one screams at him to get the hell out of their home or accuses him of corrupting their boy and everyone compliments him on the dessert he brought.
There’s another bit of a rough patch after the meal when they all elect to move the awkward small talk portion of the evening into the living room. Settling down onto the couch and Finn puts an arm around him. He melts into Finn’s touch, eyes sliding shut when Finn’s thumb traces along the edge of his hairline because he’s been wound spring-tight all evening and it’s the only thing that helps him finally relax.
And then he suddenly remembers that there are other people here, people he’s trying make like him and that he’s scared of, so he should probably move over.
He leaps away from Finn like he’s on fire and instantly feels like an idiot for doing so and when Finn gives him the eyebrow quirk of ‘Oh my God, seriously?’ he moves back, not quite practically in Finn’s lap anymore, but close enough to settle comfortably against him, for Finn to let out a huffy little ‘That’s better.’ laugh under his breath.
The whole sequence of events takes less than twenty seconds, but it’s just long enough for Carole’s eyebrows to disappear up into her hairline, for her voice to go slightly strained and high as she chatters about the latest e-mail from Kurt and asks about how the new bunch of Glee kids sound, what he thinks their chances are at Sectionals.
But even that smoothes out eventually and by the time Finn’s making his oft repeated cheesy joke about how Kurt’s having a blast in New York “kicking it old school at the New School” he and Carole are exchanging matching indulgent eye rolls.
As he’s leaving, Carole corners him and speaks to him a low urgent tone.
“He’s an adult now and I can’t stop him from living his life. You make him happy and he loves you very much and I can’t deny that it’s extremely obvious you love him too and because of that I’m going to overlook the fact that you both are under the mistaken impression I was born yesterday and buy this ‘we just started seeing each other a couple of months ago’ bullshit. However, and I think it should go without saying, as much as I genuinely do like you Will, if you hurt him, I’ll destroy you. Oh, look. I guess I said it after all.”
It probably shows all over his face that he’s more than a little terrified by this (he has visions of Carole siccing the crew of To Catch a Predator on him the second he and Finn have any sort of lovers quarrel) because Carole takes pity on him and pats him on the arm.
“Oh honey, think of it this way. When Finn first announced he was bringing his boyfriend to dinner, I almost had a heart attack. Because when he came out he insisted he wasn’t seeing anyone and I didn’t push him on it since I figured he was entitled to share when he was ready, but a mother knows about these things and I just kept thinking about all those sleepovers at Noah’s and now with them living together...So, you were-tonight was not what I was expecting at all. And I may not be exactly jumping for joy right now, but honestly, it could be much, much, much worse. Not that I don’t love Noah. Under that ridiculous haircut and the chip on his shoulder is a very sweet boy, but--he’s not really good at the whole monogamy thing and I was worried. So. There you go. Thank you for not being Noah.”
Yeah, somehow that’s not much of a ringing endorsement.
He’s torn between wanting to die at being so blatantly called out on his lie and being horrified that the biggest point in his favor is that he’s not Noah Puckerman and it’s a strange roundabout blessing, but he takes it anyway.
It could be worse.
**
It’s Columbus Day weekend which when he was in college was always the big It’s Not You It’s Me holiday where everyone would go break up with their hometown girlfriend or boyfriend because it’s been almost two months away from each other and they just realized that this long distance thing was harder than they thought it was going to be. Or then there was the even more kick to the teeth version, the It’s Not You It’s Me and By Me I Mean I’ve Already Started Sleeping With Other People holiday.
So, he thinks he’s slightly justified for the icy cold trickle of dread down his spine when the first thing Finn says to him is, “Okay, you have to promise not to be mad cuz I kind of did something a little bit stupid.”
And he loves Finn and he trusts Finn, but he’s suddenly very inconveniently remembering that Finn is three hours away from him and surrounded by a lot of attractive people his own and age and honestly, this is such a bad time for all of his insecurities to decide to jump out from behind the bushes and yell, ‘Boo!’
It doesn’t help at all when his next words are, “I was with Puck and we were a little bit drunk…”
Oh, this just kept getting better and better.
But the next words aren’t “I cheated.” Or even worse, “I cheated with Puck.” (And where the fuck did that thought come from?), no instead they are, “I got a tattoo.”
He doesn’t freak out.
Much.
It’s a highly controlled freak out that’s a very complex mix of ‘What the hell were you thinking?’ and ‘God, way to be every immature college freshman stereotype’ and ‘If you got a tramp stamp, I will kill you.’
And then Finn takes off his shirt.
It’s definitely not a tramp stamp.
Wrapping around his bicep in black Old English script, the words “I am the least difficult of men. All I want is boundless love.”
Oh.
It’s that O’ Hara quote they both loved, that quote from almost a year ago, but it’s more than that, it’s a promise, it’s a declaration, it absolutely is Finn being kind of stupid, stupid and optimistic and wonderfully hopelessly romantic and he can’t stop staring at it because it’s also hitting every possessive mine, mine, mine baser instinct within him because fuck, Finn might as well have Property of Will Schuester tattooed on him.
Clearly taking his silence as disapproval, Finn starts frantically explaining that despite, according to Puck’s somewhat questionable recollection of events, stumbling into the tattoo parlor with a handful of cash yelling about how he wanted to feel pretty, he actually did give this some thought.
“I knew I didn’t want some douchey frat boy wannabe tribal thing or Japanese script that the artist swears means Courage or Strength but probably actually translates as White People Suck and this was like, meaningful without being cheesy or tacky at least that’s what I’m hoping for since it was two a.m., there was Jose Cuervo involved, and I was really, really missing you.”
His hands are actually shaking a little when he reaches out to touch it and Finn barely gets the words, “Do you like it?” out of his mouth before he’s practically leaping at him, climbing Finn like a goddamn jungle gym, rough desperate kiss that Finn’s apparently more than okay with judging from the buttons flying in the air when he rips his shirt. But who cares? It’s not like it was his favorite or anything and same goes for that lamp, he’s been meaning to replace it anyway.
Frantic, I love you and I love that we can be like this sometimes sex. Kisses that are more like fucking and fucking that’s more like fighting, Finn spread out underneath him like a buffet, a beautiful wreck, hair mussed, mouth swollen, eyes fever bright. He leaves tattoos of his own on Finn, scratches, bruises, bite marks. A hickey on the back of Finn’s knee, his hip bone, the small of his back, the juncture where shoulder meets neck and that one he promised to give him, silver dollar sized and about two inches below his jaw line.
And when they finally both collapse in a sweaty exhausted heap, Finn curls around him with animal snugness, legs tangled together, arm slung around his middle, nose buried in the back of his neck.
He falls asleep with his hand wrapped around Finn’s bicep and a smile on his face because the last thing he hears is, “Of course, this totally means we’re never allowed to break up.”
**
This last time, the most recent, is because Finn fights dirty.
He’s stayed the night at Finn’s place. He has a key to Finn’s place. He has a toothbrush and even a few changes of clothes. He has not had sex with Finn at Finn’s place. Because while he’s grateful (and more than a little surprised) at how blasé Puck is about his relationship with Finn, Puck is this complicated combination of being Finn’s roommate and best friend and his former student which adds up to some strange math of too familiar and not familiar enough and less than friends but more than acquaintances and it may sound really stupid to still be hung up on something like this (especially considering that he clearly has no qualms about Finn also being a former student what with them being involved since back when Finn was his current student) but it just doesn’t get him in the mood when Puck makes a point of telling them that he’s heading out, you know, in case the two of them want to ‘knock da boots.’
Which means that when Finn invites him to stay at their place for the entire run of FringeFest (twelve glorious days of music and art and theatre and just general people being weird-ness) he says yes with a big ‘But under no circumstances will we have sex’ disclaimer. No matter what Finn says about it serving Puck right for all those times he’s brought random skanks back to the apartment and kept him up all night.
And Finn just smiles and nods and all but pats him on the head.
As if he’s humoring him.
As if Finn doesn’t think he could be at all serious about it, because what? Finn thinks he’s that irresistible?
Which just pisses him off to no end because really, Will is an adult. He has self-control and he is perfectly capable of being around Finn and not having sex with him and he resents the implication otherwise.
So he stays with them and he holds back any comment beyond a polite ‘no thanks’ when Puck offers him a beer because he remembers being in college too and it’s not his place to lecture anyone about underage anything, now is it, and he debates music and movies and George Carlin versus Lenny Bruce with Puck (who is apparently in between sure things at the moment and is thus around a lot more than usual) and also, once, politics. Which ended up being more fun than he ever would have guessed. All while Finn darts his head back and forth between them like it’s a tennis match.
And he listens to more new bands than he has in years and he loses track of how many times Finn has introduced him to people with “this is my boyfriend, Will” and he uses his toothbrush that sits in the holder next to Finn’s and still makes him smile after all this time and he sleeps in Finn’s bed at night, just sleeping, and he wakes up with Finn’s morning wood digging into the small of his back, Finn kissing him and then smirking at him as he climbs out of bed just as things start to get interesting, and he very much does not say anything to Puck about how maybe he could find somewhere else to stay for the rest of his visit or anything to Finn about how he’s changed his mind on this whole no sex thing because by now it’s the principle of the matter.
He makes it to the fifth day.
Finn wears an orange shirt.
Finn in an orange shirt that stretches out just right across his shoulders with his tattoo peaking out from beneath the sleeve. Finn touching him all day, a finger through his belt loop, a hand on his thigh, his hip, sliding into the back pocket of his jeans, arms thrown around him in a backwards hug. Finn smiling at him, Finn sweaty with his hair standing on end after a truly horrifying attempt at moshing, Finn being Finn and all of it making his blood hum, low steady thrum of want in the pit of his stomach.
Getting back to the apartment, after nearly swerving into traffic when Finn reached over and lazily started groping him on the drive home, and almost sprinting out of the car.
Grabbing Finn’s hand and in the mad dash to the bedroom he’s distantly aware of Puck playing video games on the couch and doesn’t care because fuck the principle of the matter, he may be perfectly capable of being around Finn without them having sex, but why should he if it’s what he wants?
The second the door’s closed Finn’s managed to get a hand in his pants and bite his throat and his collarbone and the hollow underneath his jaw and get his shirt off, all without stumbling once in the very determined backwards walk towards the bed.
(And who ever said that Finn wasn’t coordinated?)
Clothes hastily tossed aside, pausing for a moment at Finn’s Superman boxers, “Seriously? I’m going to be really disappointed if this ends up being a faster than a speeding bullet kind of thing.” and then it’s just greedy hands and Finn grinding against him, a rhythm that’s not smooth at all, but more than a little nasty and also just about perfect. Right up until Finn pulls away.
He’s not at all ashamed of the high desperate whine of frustration that slips out.
“Don’t want this to be too fast, right?” And that is, really the only word to describe Finn’s smile is evil.
Finn pushing him over onto his stomach and then oh, licking a long meandering path from the top of his spine down, down, down to the swell of his ass and then he keeps going.
Opening him up with his fingers and his tongue, out over the rim and then licking deep until he doesn’t know whether he should push back into it or pull away it’s all so much. That low steady thrum of need in the pit of his stomach that’s been building all day is now more intense, sharper, a shot to the gut, Finn is killing him slow and mean with how good this is.
He’s rutting frantically against the mattress, overwhelmed, can’t really wrap his mind around it, the patience Finn has, coaxing him open, making him weak with wanting, weak with wanting him. Gasping and moaning about how he loves Finn’s mouth, Finn’s hands, loves Finn and soon that just devolves into a steady stream of obscenities that ends in a barely muffled scream when Finn slams into him to the hilt with one quick thrust.
By the time Puck’s got the television blasting at top volume to drown out the sound of the headboard banging into the wall, he’s really stopped caring about anything beyond Finn’s body a warm welcome blanket all around him, Finn shifting him up higher for a better angle, deeper, harder, sending him skittering forward on the sheets with each snap of his hips, Finn’s hand wrapped around his cock, huge and hot and callused and the perfect dirty rough slide, nails dancing ever so slightly along the length, Finn’s voice in his ear, “Come on, just like that, fuck, so fucking good, come on, just let go, Will.”
So, he does.
There may be more screaming involved, not so muffled this time.
He’s not even embarrassed the next day when he stumbles out of the bedroom looking like every morning after cliché in Finn’s Superman boxers and that much loved orange shirt, Puck scowling at them over his coffee mug when Finn asks him if he slept well.
He doesn’t even get flustered at Puck complimenting him on his “truly epic JBF hair.”
Instead he cheerfully flips Puck off and pours his own cup of coffee (reaching instinctively for the mug with the music notes on it that has been unofficially designated as ‘his’) and doesn’t complain in the least when Finn tugs him down to sprawl in his lap.
At Puck’s dry as dust comment of “So much for Santana’s theory that all you two ever do is hold hands and sing to each other.” Finn doesn’t hesitate to take both of his hands, look deeply in his eyes, and begin an enthusiastic rendition of Let’s Get it On.
It’s probably a case of those lingering truly epic just been fucked (and just fucked, too. They had a busy night) endorphins but he doesn’t even stop to think about it before he’s blurting out, “Jeez, again? I’m not a machine, Finn. At least let me finish breakfast first.”
Absolute complete and utter shocked silence.
Until Finn cracks up. Throws his head back and just howls.
And after a fairly impressive spit take, Puck isn’t far behind him.
Will allows himself the briefest half second to think ‘Why didn’t we do this sooner?’ and then forgets about it favor of laughing too and stealing toast off of Finn’s plate and not minding in the least when Finn cops a feel and while he’s filling Puck in on some of the bands he missed yesterday and arguing that bluegrass is not just a bunch of useless hillbilly crap and that harmonica’s are a deeply underappreciated instrument, holding Finn’s hand under the table because sometimes that’s nice too.
**
The reason for their first time (and all the times after that):
Because he would rather look at Finn than all the portraits in the world.
Because Finn puts up with him even when he’s being a neurotic idiot.
Because Finn keeps him from thinking too much.
Because Finn says and does the sweetest dirty things.
Because they shouldn’t fit but they do.
Because Finn is his unexpected happily ever after.
Because Finn is a hopeless romantic. No, scratch that. Hopeless implies blind devotion. Finn knows him, the good, the bad, and the ugly and loves him for all of it.
Because Finn is a hopeful romantic and he makes him hopeful too.
Because it turns out Finn actually is that irresistible.
Because with Finn he doesn’t need reasons.
Because it’s actually not all that complicated.
Because he loves Finn.
Author: alicebluegown16
Rating: NC-17 (So very, very, very NC-17)
Pairing/Characters: Will/Finn, cameos from Carole, Rachel, Puck, Santana, Kurt
Summary: There's Will and Finn's first time. And then there's the many, many, many memorable times after that.
AN: Sequel to Literary Criticism. Part of my series that includes Closer , Hollywood Ending, All in My Head , My Mind is Set on You , Tell the Truth Now, Subtext, This Side of Acceptance and Wisdom.
Poems quoted/referenced: Having a Coke With You, Steps, and Meditations in an Emergency all by Frank O'Hara. Song quoted The Joker by The Steve Miller Band. Info on FringeFest Summer Music Festival, Xavier University, University of Cincinnati College-Conservatory of Music, and The New School. Finn's tattoo is partially inspired by this picture of Cory Monteith. Shoutout to hopenight for being an awesome sounding board/cheerleader.
Word Count:8,440 overall. 4,170 for Part One.
Warnings: Smut. Sooooooo much smut. I have actually far exceeded my own expectations when it comes to writing sappy shmoopy porn.
***
They celebrate the one hour anniversary of Finn being his former student by having sex in the choir room. He fucks Finn on the piano bench because getting caught is suddenly the farthest thing from his mind when Finn produces the little tube of slick from his pants pocket, which means Finn planned this, was thinking about this while Figgins droned on forever during the commencement speech, while he posed for pictures and chatted with the rest of his classmates. The jangling discordant notes of hands struggling for purchase on the keys, the hitch of breath, every gasp and moan, all of it adds up to every song they had to pretend wasn’t for each other in this room, he kisses Finn and it’s every time he had to settle for just a look or a pat on the shoulder.
**
Another hotel room, another time at Nationals, and another coast. This time is because they are officially the seventh ranked show choir in the nation. Because this is the first time either one of them has ever seen the Pacific Ocean and it was with each other. Kissing Finn goodbye at the door and they seem to have pushed their luck judging from the stunned “Holy fuck” from Santana, who is apparently getting back from her own late night activities.
For the briefest half second after all this time sneaking around there’s the instinctual urge for self preservation, and he almost blurts out some ‘this isn’t what it looks like’ excuse but then he remembers this is June and Finn graduated in May and leaves for college in August which means Finn isn’t his student anymore and he makes himself meet the full force of Santana’s knowing gaze head on without flinching. After over a year of having to pretend Finn wasn’t the best thing in his life, he’s not going to make this into something to be ashamed of because it’s not.
The next morning is the complimentary hotel breakfast served with a heaping helping of awkward because there’s no way in hell something like this was going to stay quiet for long.
He has his shoulders pulled up almost to his ears as he tries and fails to ignore the varying degree of speculative glances from everyone as they not at all subtly attempt to timeline it out, theories running the gamut from Sam’s ‘Aliens made them do it. Or sex pollen.’ to Rachel’s not entirely accurate but far less offensive ‘Maybe Finn coming out inspired them to more closely examine the nature of their relationship.’
The only one not saying a word besides him or Finn is Kurt. With his ‘I am absolutely as shocked as the rest of you by this unexpected development’ expression which Mercedes clearly isn’t buying judging by her betrayed whispers of “How long have you known about this and how could you not let me in on this sort of Grade A gossip?”
And he would point out that this isn’t gossip, this isn’t entertainment, this is his no longer quite so private personal life but when he dares to look up he’s struck dumb by Brittany murmering into her Fruit Loops, “Wait, this was a no one else knows about secret? I thought it was a we all just don’t talk about it kind…”
When Puck finally wanders down from the room that Finn never actually made it back to last night (What? It’d be sort of useless for them to try to be discreet now, so what’s the sense in wasting a perfectly good king sized bed? And a hot tub that fits both of them.) Will almost sinks into the floor when he makes a beeline for Finn and, with a ‘you sly dog’ smirk, holds out his hand for a fist pump.
“Pound it, yo.”
“That’s what Mr. Schue said.”
He doesn’t even have the energy to glare at Santana for that one. (Small mercies. Finn has enough good sense to “leave a bro hanging.”)
LAX is like the seventh circle of Hell, their flight is delayed, the some focus group probably told them it was soothing recorded voice keeps reminding them every ten minutes about the current Terror Threat Level color, and he has a screaming headache that seems to be radiating from behind his eyes to the back of his skull.
Then Finn takes his hand and laces their fingers together. In front of everyone in Glee and anyone else in the gate area with them who’d care to notice. And just like that, it’s all worth it. Let everyone speculate on the when and whys and hows because his entire universe has narrowed to Finn’s thumb tracing back and forth along his palm.
It’s even worth Santana spending the entire flight attempting to pump him for details.
**
Sex in the locker room shower at McKinley is a lot of things; dangerous, horrifically cliché, and oh yeah, probably extremely unhygienic but they do it anyway because Finn leaves for Cincinnati next week and they’re both feeling just a little bit sentimental.
**
Finn elects to hold off his imminent panic attack over that night’s big scary ‘So, I’m dating your son’ dinner with Burt and Carole by dragging him back to the bedroom and because he clearly does not think this shit through, he decides going with this is a fantastic idea.
Of course, once he’s actually there, at Finn’s house, after the wonderful moment of Finn opening his door and inviting him in and kissing him in the front hallway and maybe getting just a little bit carried away because Finn looks really, really good in his nice blue dress shirt and dark slacks, there’s the actual dinner and he regrets it all.
He’s trying hard not to sweat or fidget but he’s convinced they know exactly what he and Finn were up to earlier, that as of four hours ago he had his legs up over Finn’s shoulders as part of Finn’s oh so brilliant and clearly successful because he’s here isn’t he attempt at distracting him from his ‘forget about dinner with your folks and let’s just run off to Bolivia and become bank robbers’ plan. It only gets impossibly more mortifying when Finn hands him the sugar for his coffee without him even needing to ask and Carole makes a little hmmm noise under her breath. It’s all he can do not to blush because it’s like there’s big neon ‘Why Yes, We Are Totally Fucking’ sign over his head.
But no one screams at him to get the hell out of their home or accuses him of corrupting their boy and everyone compliments him on the dessert he brought.
There’s another bit of a rough patch after the meal when they all elect to move the awkward small talk portion of the evening into the living room. Settling down onto the couch and Finn puts an arm around him. He melts into Finn’s touch, eyes sliding shut when Finn’s thumb traces along the edge of his hairline because he’s been wound spring-tight all evening and it’s the only thing that helps him finally relax.
And then he suddenly remembers that there are other people here, people he’s trying make like him and that he’s scared of, so he should probably move over.
He leaps away from Finn like he’s on fire and instantly feels like an idiot for doing so and when Finn gives him the eyebrow quirk of ‘Oh my God, seriously?’ he moves back, not quite practically in Finn’s lap anymore, but close enough to settle comfortably against him, for Finn to let out a huffy little ‘That’s better.’ laugh under his breath.
The whole sequence of events takes less than twenty seconds, but it’s just long enough for Carole’s eyebrows to disappear up into her hairline, for her voice to go slightly strained and high as she chatters about the latest e-mail from Kurt and asks about how the new bunch of Glee kids sound, what he thinks their chances are at Sectionals.
But even that smoothes out eventually and by the time Finn’s making his oft repeated cheesy joke about how Kurt’s having a blast in New York “kicking it old school at the New School” he and Carole are exchanging matching indulgent eye rolls.
As he’s leaving, Carole corners him and speaks to him a low urgent tone.
“He’s an adult now and I can’t stop him from living his life. You make him happy and he loves you very much and I can’t deny that it’s extremely obvious you love him too and because of that I’m going to overlook the fact that you both are under the mistaken impression I was born yesterday and buy this ‘we just started seeing each other a couple of months ago’ bullshit. However, and I think it should go without saying, as much as I genuinely do like you Will, if you hurt him, I’ll destroy you. Oh, look. I guess I said it after all.”
It probably shows all over his face that he’s more than a little terrified by this (he has visions of Carole siccing the crew of To Catch a Predator on him the second he and Finn have any sort of lovers quarrel) because Carole takes pity on him and pats him on the arm.
“Oh honey, think of it this way. When Finn first announced he was bringing his boyfriend to dinner, I almost had a heart attack. Because when he came out he insisted he wasn’t seeing anyone and I didn’t push him on it since I figured he was entitled to share when he was ready, but a mother knows about these things and I just kept thinking about all those sleepovers at Noah’s and now with them living together...So, you were-tonight was not what I was expecting at all. And I may not be exactly jumping for joy right now, but honestly, it could be much, much, much worse. Not that I don’t love Noah. Under that ridiculous haircut and the chip on his shoulder is a very sweet boy, but--he’s not really good at the whole monogamy thing and I was worried. So. There you go. Thank you for not being Noah.”
Yeah, somehow that’s not much of a ringing endorsement.
He’s torn between wanting to die at being so blatantly called out on his lie and being horrified that the biggest point in his favor is that he’s not Noah Puckerman and it’s a strange roundabout blessing, but he takes it anyway.
It could be worse.
**
It’s Columbus Day weekend which when he was in college was always the big It’s Not You It’s Me holiday where everyone would go break up with their hometown girlfriend or boyfriend because it’s been almost two months away from each other and they just realized that this long distance thing was harder than they thought it was going to be. Or then there was the even more kick to the teeth version, the It’s Not You It’s Me and By Me I Mean I’ve Already Started Sleeping With Other People holiday.
So, he thinks he’s slightly justified for the icy cold trickle of dread down his spine when the first thing Finn says to him is, “Okay, you have to promise not to be mad cuz I kind of did something a little bit stupid.”
And he loves Finn and he trusts Finn, but he’s suddenly very inconveniently remembering that Finn is three hours away from him and surrounded by a lot of attractive people his own and age and honestly, this is such a bad time for all of his insecurities to decide to jump out from behind the bushes and yell, ‘Boo!’
It doesn’t help at all when his next words are, “I was with Puck and we were a little bit drunk…”
Oh, this just kept getting better and better.
But the next words aren’t “I cheated.” Or even worse, “I cheated with Puck.” (And where the fuck did that thought come from?), no instead they are, “I got a tattoo.”
He doesn’t freak out.
Much.
It’s a highly controlled freak out that’s a very complex mix of ‘What the hell were you thinking?’ and ‘God, way to be every immature college freshman stereotype’ and ‘If you got a tramp stamp, I will kill you.’
And then Finn takes off his shirt.
It’s definitely not a tramp stamp.
Wrapping around his bicep in black Old English script, the words “I am the least difficult of men. All I want is boundless love.”
Oh.
It’s that O’ Hara quote they both loved, that quote from almost a year ago, but it’s more than that, it’s a promise, it’s a declaration, it absolutely is Finn being kind of stupid, stupid and optimistic and wonderfully hopelessly romantic and he can’t stop staring at it because it’s also hitting every possessive mine, mine, mine baser instinct within him because fuck, Finn might as well have Property of Will Schuester tattooed on him.
Clearly taking his silence as disapproval, Finn starts frantically explaining that despite, according to Puck’s somewhat questionable recollection of events, stumbling into the tattoo parlor with a handful of cash yelling about how he wanted to feel pretty, he actually did give this some thought.
“I knew I didn’t want some douchey frat boy wannabe tribal thing or Japanese script that the artist swears means Courage or Strength but probably actually translates as White People Suck and this was like, meaningful without being cheesy or tacky at least that’s what I’m hoping for since it was two a.m., there was Jose Cuervo involved, and I was really, really missing you.”
His hands are actually shaking a little when he reaches out to touch it and Finn barely gets the words, “Do you like it?” out of his mouth before he’s practically leaping at him, climbing Finn like a goddamn jungle gym, rough desperate kiss that Finn’s apparently more than okay with judging from the buttons flying in the air when he rips his shirt. But who cares? It’s not like it was his favorite or anything and same goes for that lamp, he’s been meaning to replace it anyway.
Frantic, I love you and I love that we can be like this sometimes sex. Kisses that are more like fucking and fucking that’s more like fighting, Finn spread out underneath him like a buffet, a beautiful wreck, hair mussed, mouth swollen, eyes fever bright. He leaves tattoos of his own on Finn, scratches, bruises, bite marks. A hickey on the back of Finn’s knee, his hip bone, the small of his back, the juncture where shoulder meets neck and that one he promised to give him, silver dollar sized and about two inches below his jaw line.
And when they finally both collapse in a sweaty exhausted heap, Finn curls around him with animal snugness, legs tangled together, arm slung around his middle, nose buried in the back of his neck.
He falls asleep with his hand wrapped around Finn’s bicep and a smile on his face because the last thing he hears is, “Of course, this totally means we’re never allowed to break up.”
**
This last time, the most recent, is because Finn fights dirty.
He’s stayed the night at Finn’s place. He has a key to Finn’s place. He has a toothbrush and even a few changes of clothes. He has not had sex with Finn at Finn’s place. Because while he’s grateful (and more than a little surprised) at how blasé Puck is about his relationship with Finn, Puck is this complicated combination of being Finn’s roommate and best friend and his former student which adds up to some strange math of too familiar and not familiar enough and less than friends but more than acquaintances and it may sound really stupid to still be hung up on something like this (especially considering that he clearly has no qualms about Finn also being a former student what with them being involved since back when Finn was his current student) but it just doesn’t get him in the mood when Puck makes a point of telling them that he’s heading out, you know, in case the two of them want to ‘knock da boots.’
Which means that when Finn invites him to stay at their place for the entire run of FringeFest (twelve glorious days of music and art and theatre and just general people being weird-ness) he says yes with a big ‘But under no circumstances will we have sex’ disclaimer. No matter what Finn says about it serving Puck right for all those times he’s brought random skanks back to the apartment and kept him up all night.
And Finn just smiles and nods and all but pats him on the head.
As if he’s humoring him.
As if Finn doesn’t think he could be at all serious about it, because what? Finn thinks he’s that irresistible?
Which just pisses him off to no end because really, Will is an adult. He has self-control and he is perfectly capable of being around Finn and not having sex with him and he resents the implication otherwise.
So he stays with them and he holds back any comment beyond a polite ‘no thanks’ when Puck offers him a beer because he remembers being in college too and it’s not his place to lecture anyone about underage anything, now is it, and he debates music and movies and George Carlin versus Lenny Bruce with Puck (who is apparently in between sure things at the moment and is thus around a lot more than usual) and also, once, politics. Which ended up being more fun than he ever would have guessed. All while Finn darts his head back and forth between them like it’s a tennis match.
And he listens to more new bands than he has in years and he loses track of how many times Finn has introduced him to people with “this is my boyfriend, Will” and he uses his toothbrush that sits in the holder next to Finn’s and still makes him smile after all this time and he sleeps in Finn’s bed at night, just sleeping, and he wakes up with Finn’s morning wood digging into the small of his back, Finn kissing him and then smirking at him as he climbs out of bed just as things start to get interesting, and he very much does not say anything to Puck about how maybe he could find somewhere else to stay for the rest of his visit or anything to Finn about how he’s changed his mind on this whole no sex thing because by now it’s the principle of the matter.
He makes it to the fifth day.
Finn wears an orange shirt.
Finn in an orange shirt that stretches out just right across his shoulders with his tattoo peaking out from beneath the sleeve. Finn touching him all day, a finger through his belt loop, a hand on his thigh, his hip, sliding into the back pocket of his jeans, arms thrown around him in a backwards hug. Finn smiling at him, Finn sweaty with his hair standing on end after a truly horrifying attempt at moshing, Finn being Finn and all of it making his blood hum, low steady thrum of want in the pit of his stomach.
Getting back to the apartment, after nearly swerving into traffic when Finn reached over and lazily started groping him on the drive home, and almost sprinting out of the car.
Grabbing Finn’s hand and in the mad dash to the bedroom he’s distantly aware of Puck playing video games on the couch and doesn’t care because fuck the principle of the matter, he may be perfectly capable of being around Finn without them having sex, but why should he if it’s what he wants?
The second the door’s closed Finn’s managed to get a hand in his pants and bite his throat and his collarbone and the hollow underneath his jaw and get his shirt off, all without stumbling once in the very determined backwards walk towards the bed.
(And who ever said that Finn wasn’t coordinated?)
Clothes hastily tossed aside, pausing for a moment at Finn’s Superman boxers, “Seriously? I’m going to be really disappointed if this ends up being a faster than a speeding bullet kind of thing.” and then it’s just greedy hands and Finn grinding against him, a rhythm that’s not smooth at all, but more than a little nasty and also just about perfect. Right up until Finn pulls away.
He’s not at all ashamed of the high desperate whine of frustration that slips out.
“Don’t want this to be too fast, right?” And that is, really the only word to describe Finn’s smile is evil.
Finn pushing him over onto his stomach and then oh, licking a long meandering path from the top of his spine down, down, down to the swell of his ass and then he keeps going.
Opening him up with his fingers and his tongue, out over the rim and then licking deep until he doesn’t know whether he should push back into it or pull away it’s all so much. That low steady thrum of need in the pit of his stomach that’s been building all day is now more intense, sharper, a shot to the gut, Finn is killing him slow and mean with how good this is.
He’s rutting frantically against the mattress, overwhelmed, can’t really wrap his mind around it, the patience Finn has, coaxing him open, making him weak with wanting, weak with wanting him. Gasping and moaning about how he loves Finn’s mouth, Finn’s hands, loves Finn and soon that just devolves into a steady stream of obscenities that ends in a barely muffled scream when Finn slams into him to the hilt with one quick thrust.
By the time Puck’s got the television blasting at top volume to drown out the sound of the headboard banging into the wall, he’s really stopped caring about anything beyond Finn’s body a warm welcome blanket all around him, Finn shifting him up higher for a better angle, deeper, harder, sending him skittering forward on the sheets with each snap of his hips, Finn’s hand wrapped around his cock, huge and hot and callused and the perfect dirty rough slide, nails dancing ever so slightly along the length, Finn’s voice in his ear, “Come on, just like that, fuck, so fucking good, come on, just let go, Will.”
So, he does.
There may be more screaming involved, not so muffled this time.
He’s not even embarrassed the next day when he stumbles out of the bedroom looking like every morning after cliché in Finn’s Superman boxers and that much loved orange shirt, Puck scowling at them over his coffee mug when Finn asks him if he slept well.
He doesn’t even get flustered at Puck complimenting him on his “truly epic JBF hair.”
Instead he cheerfully flips Puck off and pours his own cup of coffee (reaching instinctively for the mug with the music notes on it that has been unofficially designated as ‘his’) and doesn’t complain in the least when Finn tugs him down to sprawl in his lap.
At Puck’s dry as dust comment of “So much for Santana’s theory that all you two ever do is hold hands and sing to each other.” Finn doesn’t hesitate to take both of his hands, look deeply in his eyes, and begin an enthusiastic rendition of Let’s Get it On.
It’s probably a case of those lingering truly epic just been fucked (and just fucked, too. They had a busy night) endorphins but he doesn’t even stop to think about it before he’s blurting out, “Jeez, again? I’m not a machine, Finn. At least let me finish breakfast first.”
Absolute complete and utter shocked silence.
Until Finn cracks up. Throws his head back and just howls.
And after a fairly impressive spit take, Puck isn’t far behind him.
Will allows himself the briefest half second to think ‘Why didn’t we do this sooner?’ and then forgets about it favor of laughing too and stealing toast off of Finn’s plate and not minding in the least when Finn cops a feel and while he’s filling Puck in on some of the bands he missed yesterday and arguing that bluegrass is not just a bunch of useless hillbilly crap and that harmonica’s are a deeply underappreciated instrument, holding Finn’s hand under the table because sometimes that’s nice too.
**
The reason for their first time (and all the times after that):
Because he would rather look at Finn than all the portraits in the world.
Because Finn puts up with him even when he’s being a neurotic idiot.
Because Finn keeps him from thinking too much.
Because Finn says and does the sweetest dirty things.
Because they shouldn’t fit but they do.
Because Finn is his unexpected happily ever after.
Because Finn is a hopeless romantic. No, scratch that. Hopeless implies blind devotion. Finn knows him, the good, the bad, and the ugly and loves him for all of it.
Because Finn is a hopeful romantic and he makes him hopeful too.
Because it turns out Finn actually is that irresistible.
Because with Finn he doesn’t need reasons.
Because it’s actually not all that complicated.
Because he loves Finn.