fic: just a city boy (glee)
STATUS: Complete
SUMMARY: He knows he's faltering, screwing them up.
RATING: PG
CLASSIFICATIONS: Finn/Rachel
SPOILERS: Pilot (1x01)
ARCHIVING: Do not archive. Thank you.
THANKS TO: ijemanja and lowriseflare for the terrific betaing and encouragement. Much appreciated.
WORDS: 1,049
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Don't sue.
Copyright anr; July 2009.
* * * * *
Just a City Boy by anr
* * * * *
Mr Schue has an announcement.
"We're going to give a concert," he says, "a taste of what we can do to build up support and anticipation."
Everyone looks up.
"Wh-wh-when?" asks Tina.
"A concert what now?" asks Mercedes. "And for who for?"
"For the school," says Mr Schue happily, "and your families, three weeks from Friday."
There's a brief explosion of chatter, during which Finn suddenly realises Rachel has been uncharacteristically quiet ever since Schuester first bounded up onto the stage. Mr Schue seems to realise the same.
"Rachel?" he prompts.
She gives him -- gives them all -- a seriously calculating look. "Who's headlining?"
*
The line up of songs (three in total -- two group acts, Kurt and Quinn leading, and a duet between him and Rachel) isn't too bad -- he's already familiar with them all -- but the choreography will be a different story. Anything that promises an audience is guaranteed to put Rachel into overdrive, and with ticket sales (metaphorically speaking, of course; the concert will be free) tentatively estimated to be in the low hundreds, well.
Not much can really surprise him these days, but he's fast learning that Rachel is anything but 'not much'.
*
Then he starts waking each morning with sticky sheets, his dick half-hard and uncomfortable, dreams already forgotten, and maybe he was wrong about nothing except Rachel surprising him anymore.
Quinn, he thinks, because the itch under his skin needs a name and if there's any frustration in his life -- sexual or otherwise -- it's definitely got to be because of her.
"Damn it, Finn, concentrate," snaps Rachel five days later, roughly tying her hair back into a loose ponytail. "After a week's practice, we should have this down already."
"I'm sorry," he says, because he is, he knows he's faltering, screwing them up, "I haven't been getting much sleep lately."
The look she sends him is withering, a far cry from her usual compassion (sometimes hesitant, often over-dramatised). "Do I look like Dear Abby? My -- our fans won't care how much sleep you've had." Moving over to the CD player, she restarts the track and takes her mark. "And one, and two, and --"
And just like the first time she showed him the choreography, like every time since then, he doesn't move, hardly breathes, just watches her fly through her steps, her body spinning closer, his head counting down the beats he needs to wait before he moves, watching her come closer, closer --
She crashes into him, knocking him back two steps, three, his arms wrapping around her for balance.
He's instantly hard and he has a brief second to think that even she, in her blind focus, must be aware of that before deja vu slams into him like a freight train.
He pushes her away, stumbling. "You're not Quinn," he mutters stupidly, and knows, suddenly, I'm a dead man.
She's breathing heavily, and that's really not helping matters. "You," she manages, "are totally fired."
He blinks. "You can't --"
She crosses her arms and glares. "Try me."
*
He tries practicing all weekend instead, drumming the beats into his fingertips and wearing marks into the lawn in his backyard until his mom sits him down and asks him, quite seriously, if he's on drugs.
"There's a girl," he starts to explain, and she gets this oh look that makes him forget what he was going to say.
"Does Quinn know?" she asks hesitantly, and he blinks.
"About Glee? Of course."
"Her name's Glee?"
"What?"
"What?"
The conversation goes nowhere fast, and he's pretty sure they're both relieved when they finally give it up. Heading upstairs, he pretends not to notice how clean his room is.
*
On Monday afternoon he blows off practice in favour of making it to Glee on time and he thinks that alone might have saved him, but Rachel's smile when he proves he's learned the routine cements it.
"Told you you can't fire me."
She laughs, spinning away from him. "Oh, I so could."
"Couldn't."
"Could."
"Totally --"
"-- could."
Mr Schue turns off the CD, a sheaf of music in his hands. "Okay, kids," he says, walking between them. "Let's try it with vocals this time."
*
He breaks up with Quinn on Tuesday.
She takes him back.
Quinn breaks up with him on Thursday.
He takes her back.
"I'm waiting," Rachel says, as he jogs into the auditorium Friday afternoon, hair still damp from his post-practice shower.
He tosses his backpack onto the front seats and takes the stairs three at a time. "I know."
*
He finally works it out -- Rachel scares him.
Not in a physical, I'm-going-to-cut-you-and-laugh-while-you-scream kind of way (though, when he thinks about it, she totally probably could do that too), but in an I'm-so-talented-and-I-know-it-and-I'm-going-to-remind-you-so-you-never-forget-it kind of way. Confidence alone is intimidating enough; self-confidence mixed with her own crazy brand of honest, ruthless determination is fucking terrifying.
"You scare me," he says as they wait in the wings. Mr Schue is on stage and welcoming the audience -- their audience -- their first audience -- their first audience consisting of what seems like their entire school, their reputations for the rest of their lives seemingly hanging in the balance of this one, sink or swim, performance. "You know that, right?"
Looking up at him, Rachel nods once. "I know," she says. "But better me than them."
"Them?"
"Everyone who ever told you no." She looks away and rolls her shoulders, flicking her hair back in a way that reminds him of her myspace videos. "It's easier to fail than it is to succeed."
"That's --" There's a faint smattering of applause as Mr Schue leaves the stage. Without hesitating for even a moment, Rachel fixes a beaming smile on her face and walks on, leaving him in the wings. "-- not exactly what I meant."
When she reaches her mark, she turns back and crooks her finger at him, her smile blinding.
Mr Schue slaps him on the shoulder. "Courage, Finn," he says, and gives him a little push.
The music starts.
* * * * *
The End.
FEEDBACK: Always appreciated. *g*
SUMMARY: He knows he's faltering, screwing them up.
RATING: PG
CLASSIFICATIONS: Finn/Rachel
SPOILERS: Pilot (1x01)
ARCHIVING: Do not archive. Thank you.
THANKS TO: ijemanja and lowriseflare for the terrific betaing and encouragement. Much appreciated.
WORDS: 1,049
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Don't sue.
Copyright anr; July 2009.
* * * * *
Just a City Boy by anr
* * * * *
Mr Schue has an announcement.
"We're going to give a concert," he says, "a taste of what we can do to build up support and anticipation."
Everyone looks up.
"Wh-wh-when?" asks Tina.
"A concert what now?" asks Mercedes. "And for who for?"
"For the school," says Mr Schue happily, "and your families, three weeks from Friday."
There's a brief explosion of chatter, during which Finn suddenly realises Rachel has been uncharacteristically quiet ever since Schuester first bounded up onto the stage. Mr Schue seems to realise the same.
"Rachel?" he prompts.
She gives him -- gives them all -- a seriously calculating look. "Who's headlining?"
*
The line up of songs (three in total -- two group acts, Kurt and Quinn leading, and a duet between him and Rachel) isn't too bad -- he's already familiar with them all -- but the choreography will be a different story. Anything that promises an audience is guaranteed to put Rachel into overdrive, and with ticket sales (metaphorically speaking, of course; the concert will be free) tentatively estimated to be in the low hundreds, well.
Not much can really surprise him these days, but he's fast learning that Rachel is anything but 'not much'.
*
Then he starts waking each morning with sticky sheets, his dick half-hard and uncomfortable, dreams already forgotten, and maybe he was wrong about nothing except Rachel surprising him anymore.
Quinn, he thinks, because the itch under his skin needs a name and if there's any frustration in his life -- sexual or otherwise -- it's definitely got to be because of her.
"Damn it, Finn, concentrate," snaps Rachel five days later, roughly tying her hair back into a loose ponytail. "After a week's practice, we should have this down already."
"I'm sorry," he says, because he is, he knows he's faltering, screwing them up, "I haven't been getting much sleep lately."
The look she sends him is withering, a far cry from her usual compassion (sometimes hesitant, often over-dramatised). "Do I look like Dear Abby? My -- our fans won't care how much sleep you've had." Moving over to the CD player, she restarts the track and takes her mark. "And one, and two, and --"
And just like the first time she showed him the choreography, like every time since then, he doesn't move, hardly breathes, just watches her fly through her steps, her body spinning closer, his head counting down the beats he needs to wait before he moves, watching her come closer, closer --
She crashes into him, knocking him back two steps, three, his arms wrapping around her for balance.
He's instantly hard and he has a brief second to think that even she, in her blind focus, must be aware of that before deja vu slams into him like a freight train.
He pushes her away, stumbling. "You're not Quinn," he mutters stupidly, and knows, suddenly, I'm a dead man.
She's breathing heavily, and that's really not helping matters. "You," she manages, "are totally fired."
He blinks. "You can't --"
She crosses her arms and glares. "Try me."
*
He tries practicing all weekend instead, drumming the beats into his fingertips and wearing marks into the lawn in his backyard until his mom sits him down and asks him, quite seriously, if he's on drugs.
"There's a girl," he starts to explain, and she gets this oh look that makes him forget what he was going to say.
"Does Quinn know?" she asks hesitantly, and he blinks.
"About Glee? Of course."
"Her name's Glee?"
"What?"
"What?"
The conversation goes nowhere fast, and he's pretty sure they're both relieved when they finally give it up. Heading upstairs, he pretends not to notice how clean his room is.
*
On Monday afternoon he blows off practice in favour of making it to Glee on time and he thinks that alone might have saved him, but Rachel's smile when he proves he's learned the routine cements it.
"Told you you can't fire me."
She laughs, spinning away from him. "Oh, I so could."
"Couldn't."
"Could."
"Totally --"
"-- could."
Mr Schue turns off the CD, a sheaf of music in his hands. "Okay, kids," he says, walking between them. "Let's try it with vocals this time."
*
He breaks up with Quinn on Tuesday.
She takes him back.
Quinn breaks up with him on Thursday.
He takes her back.
"I'm waiting," Rachel says, as he jogs into the auditorium Friday afternoon, hair still damp from his post-practice shower.
He tosses his backpack onto the front seats and takes the stairs three at a time. "I know."
*
He finally works it out -- Rachel scares him.
Not in a physical, I'm-going-to-cut-you-and-laugh-while-you-scream kind of way (though, when he thinks about it, she totally probably could do that too), but in an I'm-so-talented-and-I-know-it-and-I'm-going-to-remind-you-so-you-never-forget-it kind of way. Confidence alone is intimidating enough; self-confidence mixed with her own crazy brand of honest, ruthless determination is fucking terrifying.
"You scare me," he says as they wait in the wings. Mr Schue is on stage and welcoming the audience -- their audience -- their first audience -- their first audience consisting of what seems like their entire school, their reputations for the rest of their lives seemingly hanging in the balance of this one, sink or swim, performance. "You know that, right?"
Looking up at him, Rachel nods once. "I know," she says. "But better me than them."
"Them?"
"Everyone who ever told you no." She looks away and rolls her shoulders, flicking her hair back in a way that reminds him of her myspace videos. "It's easier to fail than it is to succeed."
"That's --" There's a faint smattering of applause as Mr Schue leaves the stage. Without hesitating for even a moment, Rachel fixes a beaming smile on her face and walks on, leaving him in the wings. "-- not exactly what I meant."
When she reaches her mark, she turns back and crooks her finger at him, her smile blinding.
Mr Schue slaps him on the shoulder. "Courage, Finn," he says, and gives him a little push.
The music starts.
* * * * *
The End.
FEEDBACK: Always appreciated. *g*