(no subject)
Who: Finn Hudson and Kurt Hummel
What: What indeed. 8D;
Where: Locker room.
Rating: GONNA HAVE TO SAY NC-17.
Aesthetically speaking, this was all wrong. The locker room reeked of sweat, cheap soap and cheap men's body spray (Axe? no, cheaper yet, the knockoff brand), the air stagnant and heavy with steam. The steel of the lockers was cold and slick with condensation against Kurt's bare back, and he could feel the handle of one digging into his hip through the towel he wore about his waist. Even the lighting was terrible; only the couple of florescent lights on either end of the room that never shut off were still running, as everyone else had long since left already. (Yes, he took long showers. What of it?)
But that didn't matter at this particular moment. It had been a buildup of things, really--things that had been gathering for years now, if he really stopped to think about it--that had pushed him into this situation, not the least of which being the frustration of the strange love-triangle(square? trapezoid?) that had developed within the Glee Club, nor the fact that Mercedes had been goading him for days to just get it out in the open. Well. Perhaps he'd taken her advice a bit too literally.
Because at this particular moment, Kurt's fingers were laced behind Finn's neck; he had tugged the taller boy sharply down to him and clasped their mouths together in one swift, decisive move, and right now nothing else mattered. Even if it was under...extremely weird circumstances (or if not weird, certainly weirdly sudden), he'd ached for this, even just a taste of it. It was entirely possible that this would monumentally backfire on him, but he wasn't really thinking that far ahead at the moment. He couldn't. All he could think about was the warm body he held against him, and the surprising plushness of those lips against his own.
What: What indeed. 8D;
Where: Locker room.
Rating: GONNA HAVE TO SAY NC-17.
Aesthetically speaking, this was all wrong. The locker room reeked of sweat, cheap soap and cheap men's body spray (Axe? no, cheaper yet, the knockoff brand), the air stagnant and heavy with steam. The steel of the lockers was cold and slick with condensation against Kurt's bare back, and he could feel the handle of one digging into his hip through the towel he wore about his waist. Even the lighting was terrible; only the couple of florescent lights on either end of the room that never shut off were still running, as everyone else had long since left already. (Yes, he took long showers. What of it?)
But that didn't matter at this particular moment. It had been a buildup of things, really--things that had been gathering for years now, if he really stopped to think about it--that had pushed him into this situation, not the least of which being the frustration of the strange love-triangle(square? trapezoid?) that had developed within the Glee Club, nor the fact that Mercedes had been goading him for days to just get it out in the open. Well. Perhaps he'd taken her advice a bit too literally.
Because at this particular moment, Kurt's fingers were laced behind Finn's neck; he had tugged the taller boy sharply down to him and clasped their mouths together in one swift, decisive move, and right now nothing else mattered. Even if it was under...extremely weird circumstances (or if not weird, certainly weirdly sudden), he'd ached for this, even just a taste of it. It was entirely possible that this would monumentally backfire on him, but he wasn't really thinking that far ahead at the moment. He couldn't. All he could think about was the warm body he held against him, and the surprising plushness of those lips against his own.