Sina Libbu Ziana (Part 1)
Title: Sina Libbu Ziana (Two Hearts Beating)
Rating: NC-17
Part: 1/7
Warnings: Slight dubcon, douching/enema, rimming, foodplay, angst, probable butchering of an ancient language, too many f-bombs to count and more smut than you can shake a prick stick at.
Will's last class on Thursday is Spanish 2 with the seniors. He cuts the lesson short ten minutes before the bell because it's the third day of his cycle and if he has to feel the youthful pheromones seeping into his pores for a minute longer he knows he'll strain something trying to hold himself back.
With the younger students it isn't so bad; they're active bundles of hormones, yes, but the majority of them are too young to have a handle on their desires and the waves pouring off of them hit Will like a tablespoon of chili powder mixed into a curry. The upperclassmen are more knowledgeable, more secure in their sexuality and so the intensity fades to reveal the rich, aromatic flavors underneath, settling with comfortable heat low in Will's belly.
Teaching thirty of them is nothing short of pure fucking torture.
Stuffing pens and papers into his satchel and swinging it over his shoulder, the teacher collects his empty coffee mug and cuts out into the hall ahead of his class; ignoring both the cheerfulness to be leaving early coming from most of the students and the irritable muttering about his poorly handled lesson from his more studious pupils.
The halls are blissfully empty, so Will breathes deeply to clear his head as he strides down the corridor towards the teachers' lounge and reconsiders his plan of action. On Tuesday it had seemed an easy task to make it to the end of the week, then he could simply call into work on Monday pretending to have caught a nasty bug that was going to leave him incapacitated for a few days and he could come back to school once the whole thing had blown over... but that was Tuesday, and round about third period today Will realized that he'd been stupidly overestimating himself.
Last cycle, and the cycle before that, he'd had Terri to help him through. This time he doesn't have his Irnini by his side and thousands of years of evolution are culminating inside him, instructing him to find a mate and he happens to be working in an environment teeming with fresh, attractive young things just hitting their sexual peak.
Pure. Fucking. Torture.
He pours a cup of the groggy coffee leftover from lunch, forcing himself to chug it down as he sets the machine to make a fresh pot. He leans against the counter, staring down into the swirling murky depths of the drink and rests a hand against the throbbing in his lower back, gingerly pressing against the swelling and letting out a soft hiss.
“Well hey there, buddy.” The attempt to massage the pain away is thwarted almost immediately when Sue speaks up and Will's spine goes stiff as a ramrod reflexively. He hadn't even seen her.
He sips at the awful coffee some more, trying not to eye her Starbucks takeout cup too enviously, and answers as politely as he can manage, “Hey Sue.”
She folds the sports section of the newspaper over, setting it down on the table and giving him her undivided attention; something that he really feels he could do without, “Are you okay, you're looking pretty stiff there?” She doesn't sound sympathetic, so much as like a wolf from one of those old Aesop's fables trying to trick the gullible goose into letting its guard down.
“My back's just a little sore,” He lies firmly, trying to convey that as far as he's concerned the conversation ends there.
“I can understand how that would happen, being sat at a desk all day must be very stressful on your unfit body,” Sue remarks, some strange blend of sarcasm and sincerity. He's torn between justifying the lie by pointing out that Figgins' ritualistic budget cutting means the school furniture offers little in the way of lumbar support, foolishly defending his pride against her 'unfit' remark, and laying the foundations of his excuse to call in sick tomorrow morning. Before he can decide however, Sue has stood up and is strolling towards the door, “I'd offer to let you join in with the stretching exercises I'm going to be putting the Cheerios through, but-” She stops and claps him on the shoulder familiarly, “I don't like you.”
Will can't stand Sue at the best of times, but he's on his cycle and he's hyper-aware of the baser instincts pumping through every person around him and Sue's Ni just feels wrong; a clusterfuck of mismatched hormones dueling inside her and he doesn't know if its her diet, her lifestyle or if she has some dark secret in her past that would explain it but whatever the reason, every nerve in his body is contorting itself away from the vile presence pouring off of her.
“Well, see ya.” She flashes her teeth at him, presses her hand down strongly on his shoulder again and turns to leave. He can't stop the bolt of neurochemical energy from shooting up his spine, makes a vain attempt to clamp down on it as it diffuses through his brain, but as she marches away with her head held high Sue's foot is swept out from under her by a whorl of invisible energy. She catches the doorjamb on her way down and pushes herself back upright, turning to glare at him. “That was very mature, William,” She snaps bitterly.
“I don't know what you're talking about,” He lies suavely, swallowing the dredges of his coffee to hide his smile.
“You tripped me,” She accuses boldly.
“From all the way over here?” He poses, lifting one eyebrow incredulously.
She observes the stretch of linoleum separating them, mentally calculating and quickly coming to the frustrating conclusion that he has a point, “I felt something,” She insists.
“You just tripped, Sue,” Will declares plainly. “I can understand how that would happen, falling over your own feet must be very easy to do with your uncoordinated body.”
She scowls as her own words are thrown back at her, her fingers clench into fists and for a moment he thinks she might genuinely start something; for a moment he hopes she will because he has enough pent up sexual frustration in his Eru Emuq to bring the roof down on top of her, but she contents herself with just the nasty look and leaves him be.
The clunky coffee pot has finished and so Will refills his chipped mug and sips at the blisteringly hot beverage, feeling his taste buds fizzle out under the molten strength. It's truly bad coffee, but the caffeine may be the only thing that helps him keep his wits through the next hour and a half.
*
Most of the club is assembled as he enters the choir room: Tina and Mike tucked away at the back, the goth girl giving out flowery little puffs as her boyfriend strokes over her palm with his fingertips. Mercedes and Lauren are talking, Puck slouched low in his chair beside them with a characteristically cocky grin and his Ni practically flaming. Rachel is leaning on the piano talking to Brad about a number she's working on, her plaid skirt hiked up over her butt so that the soft, milky skin of her thighs will be directly in Finn's line of sight and fragrant little bursts are rising from her skin like the steady tick of a metronome. Finn seems oblivious to her display as his attention is on Quinn, his arm hanging on the back of her chair but not quite confident enough to settle onto her shoulder.
The full force of it hits him in an instant; Will's knees tremble, nearly buckle, and then he's striding purposefully into the room. Nobody really pays attention to his arrival and so he heads over to the whiteboard and places a palm to the surface, when he realizes how cool the temperature is he repeats the process with his forehead.
He isn't sure how long he's been there, supporting himself against the smooth, dry-erase surface when Finn's voice calls out, “Mr. Schue?”
He pushes back abruptly, turning to look at the club members and finds most of them are watching him cautiously, “Sorry, I'm a bit tired,” He apologizes promptly. There's the groundwork for tomorrow's mystery illness put down, if he really milks it he could probably cancel rehearsal early and be at home in a bathtub full of ice in an hour.
He sees Finn frown thoughtfully, open his mouth to make a suggestion; and part of Will is pleading for the young man to suggest he go home and get some rest, but at that moment the last four members of the club arrive and so Finn halts whatever he'd been about to say.
Brittany's pushing Artie, neither of them registering too strongly, but then Santana waltzes in behind them and Will feels like he's been punched between the eyes. Her Ni is split down the middle, sharp, daggery lengths jutting decisively behind her towards Sam and misty tendrils swirling around Brittany's blonde tresses, yearning.
Will turns back to the board and scrawls across the surface, biting down on his numb tongue while the sharp scent of the marker pen fills his nostrils.
“Who knows what this word means?” He asks, underlining the word with a flourish.
“She's the dog that leaves the clues,” Brittany answers with misplaced confidence.
Having grown used to this, Will skips over the blonde and points to Mercedes, “Blues is the music of my people.”
“Well, it started out that way,” Will accepts. “But the Blues are really all about the musical expression of personal pain. It's said that pain and love are the two things people feel most deeply and that's what blues music is all about.”
“I thought we were rehearsing the big group number today,” Rachel speaks up.
“Well now we're doing this,” Will asserts, setting his satchel down on top of the piano and rooting through it for the sheet music he'd printed out on his lunch hour. He has a choice: he can let a group of teenagers get hot and sweaty performing together and have to fight his biological response to it, or he can give them songs about melancholy to mull over and reduce the chance that he'll want to claw into his own flesh to dig out the pulse of his sexual appetite.
The diva's face sours with her disapproval, “Mr. Schuester, I really don't think-”
“I didn't ask for your opinion Rachel,” The teacher snaps, the slight relief he got from his ZE burst at Sue has faded and the throbbing is back with a vengeance.
“Don't worry Mr. Schue, I got this,” Mercedes intercedes, stepping up to the front.
“Great,” Will steps aside readily and with visible relief.
“I'm feeling At Last,” Mercedes says over her shoulder to the pianist; Brad gives a twitch of a smile and compliantly starts playing the opening bars.
Rachel takes a seat one down from Finn and Will circles round away from her and ends up in a corner at the back, shuffling through the stack of papers to get the sheet music in order. When Mercedes is done nailing the Etta James classic he claps politely along with the rest of the club and catches movement out of the corner of his eye, looking over in time to see Finn's head turning sharply back towards the front and he realizes that the young man might have been watching him.
“There's five songs to choose from, so pick one in groups of two or three and see what you can make of it,” Will presents the day's challenge, spreading the sheet music out on the piano, and then steps aside to let the squabbling commence. Artie wheels in and steals Red House out from under everybody, Quinn is appalled when Finn partners up with Puck and Lauren to make a go of Fleetwood Mac and she finds herself left with only Rachel to pair up with, Will hopes they'll actually make an attempt at the Dinah Washington hit and not simply degrade to hitting each other.
He helps Artie practice strumming, because Hendrix is the standard that almost all guitarists aspire to and tackling one of his works can be intimidating, while Tina leads Mike through some vocal runs in preparation to sing back-up and in the background the concentration of pheromones in the air reduces as everybody sets to work. They practice for an hour, then Will calls for everyone to present what they've accomplished in that time. Sixty minutes isn't really enough to put a solid performance together so everyone is a bit rough around the edges, but they really get into it and seem to be enjoying themselves.
When their turn comes Finn takes a seat behind the drums while Puck swings his guitar strap over his shoulder and, with a nod shared between them, they launch into Black Magic Woman. Puck sings lead and Lauren only contributes by crooning out the title whenever it comes up in the lyrics while she dances beside him, swinging her ample hips to the beat and leaning in close. Puck's vibrant Ni sways like a naked flame under her influence and the appearance of it itches under Will's skin. He turns away from the couple to watch Finn pounding out the steady drumline and once again gets the impression that the young man may have been watching him a split second before.
It's almost five by the time they're done and so Will gathers up the sheet music from where it's been left strewn across the room and gives permission for everyone to head home; Brad has vanished in that peculiar way he always seems to, so Will lets himself fall back onto the bench seat and quickly grimaces when the position presses uncomfortably on his Eru Emuq and for the second time today a burst of neurochemical energy is traveling up his spinal column and bursting out. The club watches as the neat stack of sheet music, without visible provocation, tumbles off the piano and the papers scatter across the floor.
“Well... See ya later Mr. Schuester,” Santana remarks after a heavy pause. A murmur of mutual consent ripples through the others and they scurry off towards the door before they can be labored with the task of helping clear up.
Will sighs heavily and digs the heel of his palms into his eyes wearily, before getting up and bending down to start gathering the discarded pile. He's picked up three or four sheets when a pair of hands appear in his eye line, assisting him, and he looks up to see that, unlike the others, Finn has remained behind to help.
“Thanks Finn.” He gives the young man a tight, but earnest smile.
“No problem,” Finn answers, sliding some papers into line on the floor before scrambling with the tips of his fingernails to pick them up. “Are you okay though, Mr. Schue?”
“I'm fine,” He insists quickly, pausing to think of how to continue his assurance but finding that his mind grinds to a halt an instant later when both he and Finn reach for the same sheet of paper and their fingers bump together.
It's like someone injected battery acid into his veins, battery acid laced with morphine. He gasps and feels a charge growing at the base of his spine. Finn's pupils are dilated, his eyelids half-lowered, his mouth slack.
“Will, what's-?” He pauses, confused; nips at his upper lip. He knows there's something wrong with what he just said, but can't seem to determine what.
“Finn, you...” Will's fingers tighten, taking the younger man's hand in his grip. Sensations are rising and falling through his consciousness: the taste of grilled cheese, the pain of skinned knees, the acrid scent of old aftershave, the rush of air leaving tackle-flattened lungs.
Finn's other hand comes down to rest over their joined fingers, for a moment Will thinks he means to pry them apart but Finn's palm just circles his wrist, fingertips pressed against the rush of his pulse. Will reaches up with his free hand, placing it against Finn's neck through his open collar, and draws their faces closer until he can feel each of the young man's exhalations against his lips.
“Mr. Schuester,” Finn speaks a moment later, seeming rather triumphant to have made it that far, but then runs out of steam and simply rubs his thumb along Will's pulse point.
Knowledge is running through Will's mind, facts he can't quite recall when or from where he learned them: details from the first six Animorphs books, the Indians' batting stats from last season, the entirety of the Dirty Harry 'Five bullets or six?' monologue, the life cycle of a bullfrog. The charge at the bottom of his spine reaches critical mass and burns through his nervous system, summoning up a small hurricane of ZE that scatters the pages they'd been gathering across the room once more.
The artificial breeze dies down and Will's body stops feeling like it's a power box that was hit by a lightning bolt, he's left trembling and listening to the beat of his own heart, still feeling each of Finn's breaths against his skin.
“What was that, Will?” Finn finally manages to articulate the question that had been on his mind throughout the brief phenomenon, not seeming to realize until several seconds later that he has again made the unidentified error of speech.
“Duranki, I think,” Will answers.
Finn nods, unexpectedly understanding the word, “You're an alien.”
“Yes I am,” Will agrees, feeling a strange urge to laugh at how surreal this moment feels.
“Okay,” Finn accepts placidly and releases his hold on Will's wrist. “Okay,” He repeats, edges of hysteria creeping into his tone as he takes deep breaths.
Will lets his palm fall away from Finn's neck and the pair climb to their feet, fingers still entwined.
“Are you okay?” Will inquires cautiously.
“I...” Finn steps back and as he lets go of the older man's hand the tentative physical connection grounding them into that ethereal moment snaps like a brittle twig. Everything sharpens, comes into focus, and at the same time Will can feel all those details that appeared in his mind mere moments ago start to wink out like stars in the dawn sky, can feel Finn's Shi leaving him: the aftershave was spicy, or was it more like cinnamon? Jake was the Andalite, or was that Marco?
“You're an alien,” Finn repeats, the panic still audible in his tone but only through the cracks in his bold stance, his posture is stiff and ready to attack at a moment's notice.
“I'm your Spanish teacher,” Will answers instead. “I just happen to have been born in a different galaxy to you.”
Finn scuffs the sole of his sneaker against the floor and presses a hand against his forehead, “This is insane.”
“It's a lot to take in,” Will agrees diplomatically. “Are you okay?”
Finn scowls at him, “You're seriously asking me?”
“Okay, I see your point,” Will accepts, holding his palms up apologetically. “I meant your head, does it hurt?”
“Yeah, it's... I have a headache,” Finn answers.
“Here, let me.” Will reaches out, waiting for permission to press his hand against Finn's neck again.
“What is this?” Finn asks as skin-to-skin contact is established between them again and his headache vanishes.
“Duranki,” Will answers again, more decisively this time. “An empathic bond shared between two sentient organisms. Humans don't take to it very well, I'm sorry.”
Finn frowns as Will reaches up with his other hand and swipes across the young man's brow, “You're not human.”
“That would be what 'alien' means,” He answers, lips twitching up on one side.
“But you look human,” Finn insists.
“You look Sumer,” Will returns sharply, a little defensively. “You couldn't tell one from the other until you sliced them open.”
“So you're different inside?” Finn prompts. Will is about to answer in the affirmative when he feels a pull at the Duranki, a groping for information that's rather lacking in finesse, but then Finn lowers his hand to Will's waist and hovers his fingers over his lower back.
“Eru Emuq,” He answers the unspoken question.
“It's what made the papers blow about?” Finn says, tone somewhere between a statement and a question.
“We call it Zumru Emuqa,” Will answers. “ZE for short.”
Finn's hands withdraw and he steps out of Will's embrace, “I don't understand why you're doing this, I mean, making the papers blow about and this weird 'Dronki' thing.”
“Duranki,” He corrects automatically. “And the answer is that they're both inadvertent results of my mating instinct.”
“Wait...” Finn's eyes go wide, “You want to mate with me!”
Will pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales in a long, thin stream, “Not exactly, no.”
“You... don't?” Finn presses, confused.
“My species mate on a strict cycle. My body is all pumped up to assist in reproduction at the moment and you happen to be a physically appealing partner,” Will explains. “I had a little slip in my vigilance but I don't intend to act on it.”
“Oh.” Finn seems to deflate slightly, “Why not?”
He balks and runs the question over in his mind a few times, certain that he's misheard, then reverses it and throws it back, “Why would I?”
“You're horny and need to get laid, and I'm, y'know, seventeen. Seems like we could help each other out,” Finn summarizes.
Will's being propositioned by his student, how the hell is this his life? “I appreciate the offer, but-”
“It's affecting you,” Finn overrides. “I could tell there was something wrong with you today; this is what's causing it, isn't it?”
“That may be true, but-”
“Let me help you,” Finn steps closer, his face open and honest. “Please.”
“You're my student, Finn,” Will answers dismissively. “I'm in control of myself and this isn't happening.”
*
They stumble through the door to the office, lips pressed together, with Finn's hands cupped at the teacher's waist, digging his eager fingers into the flesh above the alien organ, and Will's hands pulling the young man's shirt up from his waistband so that his hands can touch the heat flushed skin of his abdomen.
“This isn't happening,” Will repeats, trying to convince himself. “This isn't- Oh!” He lets slip a defeated groan as Finn's lips switch to sucking on his earlobe. His spine turns to butter and he thinks he might just die if they stop this now, his Eru Emuq engorged and hungry. He pushes Finn up against the wall and brings their lips together again, a groan rising in his throat as the young man's hands slide down to palm his ass. He ruts forward, digging his insistent erection into the solid body beneath him, and delights in the feel of a similar hardness within Finn's jeans. Waves of fragrant heat are rising enticingly from the young man's Ni, like tropical sunshine, and Will honestly feels like he could just bring them both off like this; as if he's the teenager.
Trailing his fingertips down from Finn's navel to the waistband of his boxers, which are poking out above the top of his jeans, Will reluctantly steps back; “Stay here.”
“Where are you-” Finn starts to ask.
“Stay here,” He repeats, punctuating the command with a firm kiss.
“Okay,” Finn nods obediently, his ravaged lips tilting upwards in an easy grin, and gives Will's ass a final squeeze before letting go.
Will reluctantly peels himself away from the warm body against him. Right now anybody walking past could just stumble in on them, so he picks up the chair meant for students to sit at and uses it to barricade them into the room. It won't do much, but it means they're a little less likely to be caught with their pants down.
He turns back to Finn and finds the young man watching him, massaging the bulge in the front of his pants; and Will really means to take the three steps needed to have them kissing again, but before the first is even through he finds himself sinking down and he arrives in front of Finn at waist height.
“What are you-?” Inquisitive brown eyes look down at him; but when Will bats aside the hand over Finn's crotch so that he can press his cheek to the lump in the young man's jeans, that must be answer enough because Finn gasps and lets his head fall back against the wall, “Fuck.”
Will knows that he hadn't meant it like that, but he finds himself answering anyway, “Hm, if only...” And he sounds so damn needy that he's mad at himself for an instant, but it's the third day of his cycle and he's been assaulted by hundreds of pheromones throughout that time and Finn is giving off so much of his fucking amazing pheromone right now and he's so damn handsome, and kind, and funny that it's no wonder the girls have been fighting over him; so if there's ever a moment that Will is allowed to be an insatiable cockslut, this would be it. “This is going to have to be quick,” He declares, apologetic.
“Seventeen,” Finn responds. “Pretty much the only option.”
Will chuckles at the truth in that self-deprecating remark and yanks the zipper down, shuffling the denim down Finn's thighs until he has enough room to maneuver and then peels back the elastic of his underwear. Finn's dick flops out, three-quarters hard and grows instantly to full size once it's free from the confines that had been holding it in. Will pulls the boxers all the way down to tangle in the denim caught at Finn's knees, then wraps steady fingers around the young man's length and strokes experimentally, watching the slide of foreskin and noting the little hiss that escapes from Finn's lips.
...and then he leans forward to engulf the bulbous head of Finn's cock in the damp heat of his mouth.
“Fucking Hell!”
Will pulls back sharply and Finn whimpers, actually fucking whimpers, at the loss of sensation.
“For fuck's sake, Finn,” Will hisses up. “There are other people in this building.”
Finn looks across to the door and seems to realize that a chair tucked under the door handle isn't going to stop sound from carrying, and in a choir room designed to have good acoustics the sound could carry really far.
“I'm sorry, I'll be quiet,” He promises. “Just please, please...” Will needs this just as badly as Finn does, but he thinks anybody would have a hard time not giving in to the deadly combination of pitiful pleading and soft, brown puppy-dog eyes.
Finn gives a breathy little gasp and then presses his lips together tightly; his fingernails scrape over the flaking paint against the wall. Will smiles around the sensitive flesh in his mouth and slowly slides the full length past his lips, settling for a moment with his nose pressed in Finn's pubic hair breathing in the sweat and musk, listening to the erratic breathing patterns coming from above as Finn fights to keep quiet and damn he has missed this; it may have only been a week, over a decade ago, but some secret part of himself has wanted to do this again.
“Will, I mean, Mr. Schue... I mean, oh-” Finn bucks forward, earning himself a scant slide of motion against his hard length.
Will pulls back abruptly, sucking up the entire length and letting go with an audible pop. He takes pity on the younger man by replacing his mouth with his hand. “Don't do that without my permission, Finn,” He instructs firmly, rubbing a hand across his lips distastefully to remove a stray pubic hair that has caught there. “I'll make you feel good, just be patient.”
“Thought this was gonna be fast,” Finn pants, his erection twitching in Will's grasp.
Arching an eyebrow in challenge, Will begins to jack him purposefully, rubbing his thumb over the slit to gather up and spread any slick precome. With a physical connection to an intimate part of Finn, Will reaches along the Duranki inquisitively and what he finds is interesting but unhelpful: Quinn and Rachel seemed to think kissing occurred exclusively at the lips and Santana's idea of sexual connection wouldn't look out of place in an instruction manual from IKEA.
So he is flying blind, no matter; Will has a trick up his sleeve he's sure will be well-received. He continues to slide his hand along the slick length of Finn's cock, leaning down beneath it to wrap his lips around one of the young man's balls.
“That's...” The word is a long, low, pleased hiss that slides past Finn's lips.
Will laves the sac around the sensitive testis dutifully, then withdraws and repeats the process with its neglected partner; from their tense drawing up and the fact that Finn has resorted to biting down on his knuckles in an effort to keep quiet, he gets the impression that he ought to be finishing up. He pulls his hand down to the root of Finn's cock, circling it with his fingers, and then sucks the whole thing in until his lips press against his own knuckles.
“Oh man, oh man, oh man...” Flakes of paint are showering the floor behind Finn as he scrabbles for purchase on the wall and the rush of hormones going through him hasn't escaped Will's notice. Purposefully concentrating neurochemical energy, Will retreats until the head of Finn's leaking erection is sitting on his tongue and uses a pulse of ZE to press firmly on the young man's virgin prostate.
Finn bites down on his knuckles and gives a muffled scream as a hot, bittersweet load of ejaculate rushes out of him and into Will's waiting mouth. Will catches it, swallowing it down and pulling Finn's length deep into his mouth again to preserve the orgasm and wring out every last drop he can because it feels like his Eru Emuq has just split open and endorphins are pouring out like water from a broken dam.
Will comes down from his orgasmic high some indeterminate stretch of time later to find himself panting for breath with his forehead resting on Finn's thigh. He spots a drop of translucent precome still clinging to the tip of the young man's flaccid dick and leans forward to savor it, delighting in the startled little moan the contact against his oversensitive flesh pulls from Finn. He smiles contentedly up at Finn, then untangles his bunched underwear and pulls it back up his legs, tucking his penis away carefully. Finn reaches down to pull up and button his jeans himself, so Will lets himself fall back onto his butt and then further back until he is flat on the floor looking up at the ceiling. It is the first time since Tuesday he has been able to lie on his back without pain; it is heavenly.
Finn leans over him, his pants are now back in order but his shirt is wrinkled around the bottom and there's a noticeable flush to his cheekbones. “Do you want me to help you with that?”
Will blinks, brain still not up to speed, “With what?”
Finn kneels down to join him on the floor and places a big, warm hand over the bulge in Will's slacks, “This.”
It's such an afterthought that he'd forgotten it entirely, “No, that's okay. Just leave it.” Will sits upright and smiles pleasantly, already starting to command his erection down.
“You're sure?” Finn presses, “I mean, I don't mind.”
“It's fine,” Will assures. “Look, Finn, this thing; it can't-”
“I'm not going to tell anyone,” Finn interrupts. “I'm not stupid.”
“No, no you're not,” He tactfully agrees. “But you should probably be heading home now.”
“Right, yeah...” Finn averts his eyes at the dismissal, then turns back to Will and surprises him by pressing a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. “See you tomorrow, Mr. Schuester.”
“Tomorrow, Finn,” He returns, watching the young man remove the chair from in front of the door and leave the room.
He should be going too, he has things he needs to do at home, but for now he lies back down on the floor with his fingertips pressed to his lips and is at peace with himself.
Part 2
Rating: NC-17
Part: 1/7
Warnings: Slight dubcon, douching/enema, rimming, foodplay, angst, probable butchering of an ancient language, too many f-bombs to count and more smut than you can shake a prick stick at.
Will's last class on Thursday is Spanish 2 with the seniors. He cuts the lesson short ten minutes before the bell because it's the third day of his cycle and if he has to feel the youthful pheromones seeping into his pores for a minute longer he knows he'll strain something trying to hold himself back.
With the younger students it isn't so bad; they're active bundles of hormones, yes, but the majority of them are too young to have a handle on their desires and the waves pouring off of them hit Will like a tablespoon of chili powder mixed into a curry. The upperclassmen are more knowledgeable, more secure in their sexuality and so the intensity fades to reveal the rich, aromatic flavors underneath, settling with comfortable heat low in Will's belly.
Teaching thirty of them is nothing short of pure fucking torture.
Stuffing pens and papers into his satchel and swinging it over his shoulder, the teacher collects his empty coffee mug and cuts out into the hall ahead of his class; ignoring both the cheerfulness to be leaving early coming from most of the students and the irritable muttering about his poorly handled lesson from his more studious pupils.
The halls are blissfully empty, so Will breathes deeply to clear his head as he strides down the corridor towards the teachers' lounge and reconsiders his plan of action. On Tuesday it had seemed an easy task to make it to the end of the week, then he could simply call into work on Monday pretending to have caught a nasty bug that was going to leave him incapacitated for a few days and he could come back to school once the whole thing had blown over... but that was Tuesday, and round about third period today Will realized that he'd been stupidly overestimating himself.
Last cycle, and the cycle before that, he'd had Terri to help him through. This time he doesn't have his Irnini by his side and thousands of years of evolution are culminating inside him, instructing him to find a mate and he happens to be working in an environment teeming with fresh, attractive young things just hitting their sexual peak.
Pure. Fucking. Torture.
He pours a cup of the groggy coffee leftover from lunch, forcing himself to chug it down as he sets the machine to make a fresh pot. He leans against the counter, staring down into the swirling murky depths of the drink and rests a hand against the throbbing in his lower back, gingerly pressing against the swelling and letting out a soft hiss.
“Well hey there, buddy.” The attempt to massage the pain away is thwarted almost immediately when Sue speaks up and Will's spine goes stiff as a ramrod reflexively. He hadn't even seen her.
He sips at the awful coffee some more, trying not to eye her Starbucks takeout cup too enviously, and answers as politely as he can manage, “Hey Sue.”
She folds the sports section of the newspaper over, setting it down on the table and giving him her undivided attention; something that he really feels he could do without, “Are you okay, you're looking pretty stiff there?” She doesn't sound sympathetic, so much as like a wolf from one of those old Aesop's fables trying to trick the gullible goose into letting its guard down.
“My back's just a little sore,” He lies firmly, trying to convey that as far as he's concerned the conversation ends there.
“I can understand how that would happen, being sat at a desk all day must be very stressful on your unfit body,” Sue remarks, some strange blend of sarcasm and sincerity. He's torn between justifying the lie by pointing out that Figgins' ritualistic budget cutting means the school furniture offers little in the way of lumbar support, foolishly defending his pride against her 'unfit' remark, and laying the foundations of his excuse to call in sick tomorrow morning. Before he can decide however, Sue has stood up and is strolling towards the door, “I'd offer to let you join in with the stretching exercises I'm going to be putting the Cheerios through, but-” She stops and claps him on the shoulder familiarly, “I don't like you.”
Will can't stand Sue at the best of times, but he's on his cycle and he's hyper-aware of the baser instincts pumping through every person around him and Sue's Ni just feels wrong; a clusterfuck of mismatched hormones dueling inside her and he doesn't know if its her diet, her lifestyle or if she has some dark secret in her past that would explain it but whatever the reason, every nerve in his body is contorting itself away from the vile presence pouring off of her.
“Well, see ya.” She flashes her teeth at him, presses her hand down strongly on his shoulder again and turns to leave. He can't stop the bolt of neurochemical energy from shooting up his spine, makes a vain attempt to clamp down on it as it diffuses through his brain, but as she marches away with her head held high Sue's foot is swept out from under her by a whorl of invisible energy. She catches the doorjamb on her way down and pushes herself back upright, turning to glare at him. “That was very mature, William,” She snaps bitterly.
“I don't know what you're talking about,” He lies suavely, swallowing the dredges of his coffee to hide his smile.
“You tripped me,” She accuses boldly.
“From all the way over here?” He poses, lifting one eyebrow incredulously.
She observes the stretch of linoleum separating them, mentally calculating and quickly coming to the frustrating conclusion that he has a point, “I felt something,” She insists.
“You just tripped, Sue,” Will declares plainly. “I can understand how that would happen, falling over your own feet must be very easy to do with your uncoordinated body.”
She scowls as her own words are thrown back at her, her fingers clench into fists and for a moment he thinks she might genuinely start something; for a moment he hopes she will because he has enough pent up sexual frustration in his Eru Emuq to bring the roof down on top of her, but she contents herself with just the nasty look and leaves him be.
The clunky coffee pot has finished and so Will refills his chipped mug and sips at the blisteringly hot beverage, feeling his taste buds fizzle out under the molten strength. It's truly bad coffee, but the caffeine may be the only thing that helps him keep his wits through the next hour and a half.
*
Most of the club is assembled as he enters the choir room: Tina and Mike tucked away at the back, the goth girl giving out flowery little puffs as her boyfriend strokes over her palm with his fingertips. Mercedes and Lauren are talking, Puck slouched low in his chair beside them with a characteristically cocky grin and his Ni practically flaming. Rachel is leaning on the piano talking to Brad about a number she's working on, her plaid skirt hiked up over her butt so that the soft, milky skin of her thighs will be directly in Finn's line of sight and fragrant little bursts are rising from her skin like the steady tick of a metronome. Finn seems oblivious to her display as his attention is on Quinn, his arm hanging on the back of her chair but not quite confident enough to settle onto her shoulder.
The full force of it hits him in an instant; Will's knees tremble, nearly buckle, and then he's striding purposefully into the room. Nobody really pays attention to his arrival and so he heads over to the whiteboard and places a palm to the surface, when he realizes how cool the temperature is he repeats the process with his forehead.
He isn't sure how long he's been there, supporting himself against the smooth, dry-erase surface when Finn's voice calls out, “Mr. Schue?”
He pushes back abruptly, turning to look at the club members and finds most of them are watching him cautiously, “Sorry, I'm a bit tired,” He apologizes promptly. There's the groundwork for tomorrow's mystery illness put down, if he really milks it he could probably cancel rehearsal early and be at home in a bathtub full of ice in an hour.
He sees Finn frown thoughtfully, open his mouth to make a suggestion; and part of Will is pleading for the young man to suggest he go home and get some rest, but at that moment the last four members of the club arrive and so Finn halts whatever he'd been about to say.
Brittany's pushing Artie, neither of them registering too strongly, but then Santana waltzes in behind them and Will feels like he's been punched between the eyes. Her Ni is split down the middle, sharp, daggery lengths jutting decisively behind her towards Sam and misty tendrils swirling around Brittany's blonde tresses, yearning.
Will turns back to the board and scrawls across the surface, biting down on his numb tongue while the sharp scent of the marker pen fills his nostrils.
“Who knows what this word means?” He asks, underlining the word with a flourish.
“She's the dog that leaves the clues,” Brittany answers with misplaced confidence.
Having grown used to this, Will skips over the blonde and points to Mercedes, “Blues is the music of my people.”
“Well, it started out that way,” Will accepts. “But the Blues are really all about the musical expression of personal pain. It's said that pain and love are the two things people feel most deeply and that's what blues music is all about.”
“I thought we were rehearsing the big group number today,” Rachel speaks up.
“Well now we're doing this,” Will asserts, setting his satchel down on top of the piano and rooting through it for the sheet music he'd printed out on his lunch hour. He has a choice: he can let a group of teenagers get hot and sweaty performing together and have to fight his biological response to it, or he can give them songs about melancholy to mull over and reduce the chance that he'll want to claw into his own flesh to dig out the pulse of his sexual appetite.
The diva's face sours with her disapproval, “Mr. Schuester, I really don't think-”
“I didn't ask for your opinion Rachel,” The teacher snaps, the slight relief he got from his ZE burst at Sue has faded and the throbbing is back with a vengeance.
“Don't worry Mr. Schue, I got this,” Mercedes intercedes, stepping up to the front.
“Great,” Will steps aside readily and with visible relief.
“I'm feeling At Last,” Mercedes says over her shoulder to the pianist; Brad gives a twitch of a smile and compliantly starts playing the opening bars.
Rachel takes a seat one down from Finn and Will circles round away from her and ends up in a corner at the back, shuffling through the stack of papers to get the sheet music in order. When Mercedes is done nailing the Etta James classic he claps politely along with the rest of the club and catches movement out of the corner of his eye, looking over in time to see Finn's head turning sharply back towards the front and he realizes that the young man might have been watching him.
“There's five songs to choose from, so pick one in groups of two or three and see what you can make of it,” Will presents the day's challenge, spreading the sheet music out on the piano, and then steps aside to let the squabbling commence. Artie wheels in and steals Red House out from under everybody, Quinn is appalled when Finn partners up with Puck and Lauren to make a go of Fleetwood Mac and she finds herself left with only Rachel to pair up with, Will hopes they'll actually make an attempt at the Dinah Washington hit and not simply degrade to hitting each other.
He helps Artie practice strumming, because Hendrix is the standard that almost all guitarists aspire to and tackling one of his works can be intimidating, while Tina leads Mike through some vocal runs in preparation to sing back-up and in the background the concentration of pheromones in the air reduces as everybody sets to work. They practice for an hour, then Will calls for everyone to present what they've accomplished in that time. Sixty minutes isn't really enough to put a solid performance together so everyone is a bit rough around the edges, but they really get into it and seem to be enjoying themselves.
When their turn comes Finn takes a seat behind the drums while Puck swings his guitar strap over his shoulder and, with a nod shared between them, they launch into Black Magic Woman. Puck sings lead and Lauren only contributes by crooning out the title whenever it comes up in the lyrics while she dances beside him, swinging her ample hips to the beat and leaning in close. Puck's vibrant Ni sways like a naked flame under her influence and the appearance of it itches under Will's skin. He turns away from the couple to watch Finn pounding out the steady drumline and once again gets the impression that the young man may have been watching him a split second before.
It's almost five by the time they're done and so Will gathers up the sheet music from where it's been left strewn across the room and gives permission for everyone to head home; Brad has vanished in that peculiar way he always seems to, so Will lets himself fall back onto the bench seat and quickly grimaces when the position presses uncomfortably on his Eru Emuq and for the second time today a burst of neurochemical energy is traveling up his spinal column and bursting out. The club watches as the neat stack of sheet music, without visible provocation, tumbles off the piano and the papers scatter across the floor.
“Well... See ya later Mr. Schuester,” Santana remarks after a heavy pause. A murmur of mutual consent ripples through the others and they scurry off towards the door before they can be labored with the task of helping clear up.
Will sighs heavily and digs the heel of his palms into his eyes wearily, before getting up and bending down to start gathering the discarded pile. He's picked up three or four sheets when a pair of hands appear in his eye line, assisting him, and he looks up to see that, unlike the others, Finn has remained behind to help.
“Thanks Finn.” He gives the young man a tight, but earnest smile.
“No problem,” Finn answers, sliding some papers into line on the floor before scrambling with the tips of his fingernails to pick them up. “Are you okay though, Mr. Schue?”
“I'm fine,” He insists quickly, pausing to think of how to continue his assurance but finding that his mind grinds to a halt an instant later when both he and Finn reach for the same sheet of paper and their fingers bump together.
It's like someone injected battery acid into his veins, battery acid laced with morphine. He gasps and feels a charge growing at the base of his spine. Finn's pupils are dilated, his eyelids half-lowered, his mouth slack.
“Will, what's-?” He pauses, confused; nips at his upper lip. He knows there's something wrong with what he just said, but can't seem to determine what.
“Finn, you...” Will's fingers tighten, taking the younger man's hand in his grip. Sensations are rising and falling through his consciousness: the taste of grilled cheese, the pain of skinned knees, the acrid scent of old aftershave, the rush of air leaving tackle-flattened lungs.
Finn's other hand comes down to rest over their joined fingers, for a moment Will thinks he means to pry them apart but Finn's palm just circles his wrist, fingertips pressed against the rush of his pulse. Will reaches up with his free hand, placing it against Finn's neck through his open collar, and draws their faces closer until he can feel each of the young man's exhalations against his lips.
“Mr. Schuester,” Finn speaks a moment later, seeming rather triumphant to have made it that far, but then runs out of steam and simply rubs his thumb along Will's pulse point.
Knowledge is running through Will's mind, facts he can't quite recall when or from where he learned them: details from the first six Animorphs books, the Indians' batting stats from last season, the entirety of the Dirty Harry 'Five bullets or six?' monologue, the life cycle of a bullfrog. The charge at the bottom of his spine reaches critical mass and burns through his nervous system, summoning up a small hurricane of ZE that scatters the pages they'd been gathering across the room once more.
The artificial breeze dies down and Will's body stops feeling like it's a power box that was hit by a lightning bolt, he's left trembling and listening to the beat of his own heart, still feeling each of Finn's breaths against his skin.
“What was that, Will?” Finn finally manages to articulate the question that had been on his mind throughout the brief phenomenon, not seeming to realize until several seconds later that he has again made the unidentified error of speech.
“Duranki, I think,” Will answers.
Finn nods, unexpectedly understanding the word, “You're an alien.”
“Yes I am,” Will agrees, feeling a strange urge to laugh at how surreal this moment feels.
“Okay,” Finn accepts placidly and releases his hold on Will's wrist. “Okay,” He repeats, edges of hysteria creeping into his tone as he takes deep breaths.
Will lets his palm fall away from Finn's neck and the pair climb to their feet, fingers still entwined.
“Are you okay?” Will inquires cautiously.
“I...” Finn steps back and as he lets go of the older man's hand the tentative physical connection grounding them into that ethereal moment snaps like a brittle twig. Everything sharpens, comes into focus, and at the same time Will can feel all those details that appeared in his mind mere moments ago start to wink out like stars in the dawn sky, can feel Finn's Shi leaving him: the aftershave was spicy, or was it more like cinnamon? Jake was the Andalite, or was that Marco?
“You're an alien,” Finn repeats, the panic still audible in his tone but only through the cracks in his bold stance, his posture is stiff and ready to attack at a moment's notice.
“I'm your Spanish teacher,” Will answers instead. “I just happen to have been born in a different galaxy to you.”
Finn scuffs the sole of his sneaker against the floor and presses a hand against his forehead, “This is insane.”
“It's a lot to take in,” Will agrees diplomatically. “Are you okay?”
Finn scowls at him, “You're seriously asking me?”
“Okay, I see your point,” Will accepts, holding his palms up apologetically. “I meant your head, does it hurt?”
“Yeah, it's... I have a headache,” Finn answers.
“Here, let me.” Will reaches out, waiting for permission to press his hand against Finn's neck again.
“What is this?” Finn asks as skin-to-skin contact is established between them again and his headache vanishes.
“Duranki,” Will answers again, more decisively this time. “An empathic bond shared between two sentient organisms. Humans don't take to it very well, I'm sorry.”
Finn frowns as Will reaches up with his other hand and swipes across the young man's brow, “You're not human.”
“That would be what 'alien' means,” He answers, lips twitching up on one side.
“But you look human,” Finn insists.
“You look Sumer,” Will returns sharply, a little defensively. “You couldn't tell one from the other until you sliced them open.”
“So you're different inside?” Finn prompts. Will is about to answer in the affirmative when he feels a pull at the Duranki, a groping for information that's rather lacking in finesse, but then Finn lowers his hand to Will's waist and hovers his fingers over his lower back.
“Eru Emuq,” He answers the unspoken question.
“It's what made the papers blow about?” Finn says, tone somewhere between a statement and a question.
“We call it Zumru Emuqa,” Will answers. “ZE for short.”
Finn's hands withdraw and he steps out of Will's embrace, “I don't understand why you're doing this, I mean, making the papers blow about and this weird 'Dronki' thing.”
“Duranki,” He corrects automatically. “And the answer is that they're both inadvertent results of my mating instinct.”
“Wait...” Finn's eyes go wide, “You want to mate with me!”
Will pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales in a long, thin stream, “Not exactly, no.”
“You... don't?” Finn presses, confused.
“My species mate on a strict cycle. My body is all pumped up to assist in reproduction at the moment and you happen to be a physically appealing partner,” Will explains. “I had a little slip in my vigilance but I don't intend to act on it.”
“Oh.” Finn seems to deflate slightly, “Why not?”
He balks and runs the question over in his mind a few times, certain that he's misheard, then reverses it and throws it back, “Why would I?”
“You're horny and need to get laid, and I'm, y'know, seventeen. Seems like we could help each other out,” Finn summarizes.
Will's being propositioned by his student, how the hell is this his life? “I appreciate the offer, but-”
“It's affecting you,” Finn overrides. “I could tell there was something wrong with you today; this is what's causing it, isn't it?”
“That may be true, but-”
“Let me help you,” Finn steps closer, his face open and honest. “Please.”
“You're my student, Finn,” Will answers dismissively. “I'm in control of myself and this isn't happening.”
*
They stumble through the door to the office, lips pressed together, with Finn's hands cupped at the teacher's waist, digging his eager fingers into the flesh above the alien organ, and Will's hands pulling the young man's shirt up from his waistband so that his hands can touch the heat flushed skin of his abdomen.
“This isn't happening,” Will repeats, trying to convince himself. “This isn't- Oh!” He lets slip a defeated groan as Finn's lips switch to sucking on his earlobe. His spine turns to butter and he thinks he might just die if they stop this now, his Eru Emuq engorged and hungry. He pushes Finn up against the wall and brings their lips together again, a groan rising in his throat as the young man's hands slide down to palm his ass. He ruts forward, digging his insistent erection into the solid body beneath him, and delights in the feel of a similar hardness within Finn's jeans. Waves of fragrant heat are rising enticingly from the young man's Ni, like tropical sunshine, and Will honestly feels like he could just bring them both off like this; as if he's the teenager.
Trailing his fingertips down from Finn's navel to the waistband of his boxers, which are poking out above the top of his jeans, Will reluctantly steps back; “Stay here.”
“Where are you-” Finn starts to ask.
“Stay here,” He repeats, punctuating the command with a firm kiss.
“Okay,” Finn nods obediently, his ravaged lips tilting upwards in an easy grin, and gives Will's ass a final squeeze before letting go.
Will reluctantly peels himself away from the warm body against him. Right now anybody walking past could just stumble in on them, so he picks up the chair meant for students to sit at and uses it to barricade them into the room. It won't do much, but it means they're a little less likely to be caught with their pants down.
He turns back to Finn and finds the young man watching him, massaging the bulge in the front of his pants; and Will really means to take the three steps needed to have them kissing again, but before the first is even through he finds himself sinking down and he arrives in front of Finn at waist height.
“What are you-?” Inquisitive brown eyes look down at him; but when Will bats aside the hand over Finn's crotch so that he can press his cheek to the lump in the young man's jeans, that must be answer enough because Finn gasps and lets his head fall back against the wall, “Fuck.”
Will knows that he hadn't meant it like that, but he finds himself answering anyway, “Hm, if only...” And he sounds so damn needy that he's mad at himself for an instant, but it's the third day of his cycle and he's been assaulted by hundreds of pheromones throughout that time and Finn is giving off so much of his fucking amazing pheromone right now and he's so damn handsome, and kind, and funny that it's no wonder the girls have been fighting over him; so if there's ever a moment that Will is allowed to be an insatiable cockslut, this would be it. “This is going to have to be quick,” He declares, apologetic.
“Seventeen,” Finn responds. “Pretty much the only option.”
Will chuckles at the truth in that self-deprecating remark and yanks the zipper down, shuffling the denim down Finn's thighs until he has enough room to maneuver and then peels back the elastic of his underwear. Finn's dick flops out, three-quarters hard and grows instantly to full size once it's free from the confines that had been holding it in. Will pulls the boxers all the way down to tangle in the denim caught at Finn's knees, then wraps steady fingers around the young man's length and strokes experimentally, watching the slide of foreskin and noting the little hiss that escapes from Finn's lips.
...and then he leans forward to engulf the bulbous head of Finn's cock in the damp heat of his mouth.
“Fucking Hell!”
Will pulls back sharply and Finn whimpers, actually fucking whimpers, at the loss of sensation.
“For fuck's sake, Finn,” Will hisses up. “There are other people in this building.”
Finn looks across to the door and seems to realize that a chair tucked under the door handle isn't going to stop sound from carrying, and in a choir room designed to have good acoustics the sound could carry really far.
“I'm sorry, I'll be quiet,” He promises. “Just please, please...” Will needs this just as badly as Finn does, but he thinks anybody would have a hard time not giving in to the deadly combination of pitiful pleading and soft, brown puppy-dog eyes.
Finn gives a breathy little gasp and then presses his lips together tightly; his fingernails scrape over the flaking paint against the wall. Will smiles around the sensitive flesh in his mouth and slowly slides the full length past his lips, settling for a moment with his nose pressed in Finn's pubic hair breathing in the sweat and musk, listening to the erratic breathing patterns coming from above as Finn fights to keep quiet and damn he has missed this; it may have only been a week, over a decade ago, but some secret part of himself has wanted to do this again.
“Will, I mean, Mr. Schue... I mean, oh-” Finn bucks forward, earning himself a scant slide of motion against his hard length.
Will pulls back abruptly, sucking up the entire length and letting go with an audible pop. He takes pity on the younger man by replacing his mouth with his hand. “Don't do that without my permission, Finn,” He instructs firmly, rubbing a hand across his lips distastefully to remove a stray pubic hair that has caught there. “I'll make you feel good, just be patient.”
“Thought this was gonna be fast,” Finn pants, his erection twitching in Will's grasp.
Arching an eyebrow in challenge, Will begins to jack him purposefully, rubbing his thumb over the slit to gather up and spread any slick precome. With a physical connection to an intimate part of Finn, Will reaches along the Duranki inquisitively and what he finds is interesting but unhelpful: Quinn and Rachel seemed to think kissing occurred exclusively at the lips and Santana's idea of sexual connection wouldn't look out of place in an instruction manual from IKEA.
So he is flying blind, no matter; Will has a trick up his sleeve he's sure will be well-received. He continues to slide his hand along the slick length of Finn's cock, leaning down beneath it to wrap his lips around one of the young man's balls.
“That's...” The word is a long, low, pleased hiss that slides past Finn's lips.
Will laves the sac around the sensitive testis dutifully, then withdraws and repeats the process with its neglected partner; from their tense drawing up and the fact that Finn has resorted to biting down on his knuckles in an effort to keep quiet, he gets the impression that he ought to be finishing up. He pulls his hand down to the root of Finn's cock, circling it with his fingers, and then sucks the whole thing in until his lips press against his own knuckles.
“Oh man, oh man, oh man...” Flakes of paint are showering the floor behind Finn as he scrabbles for purchase on the wall and the rush of hormones going through him hasn't escaped Will's notice. Purposefully concentrating neurochemical energy, Will retreats until the head of Finn's leaking erection is sitting on his tongue and uses a pulse of ZE to press firmly on the young man's virgin prostate.
Finn bites down on his knuckles and gives a muffled scream as a hot, bittersweet load of ejaculate rushes out of him and into Will's waiting mouth. Will catches it, swallowing it down and pulling Finn's length deep into his mouth again to preserve the orgasm and wring out every last drop he can because it feels like his Eru Emuq has just split open and endorphins are pouring out like water from a broken dam.
Will comes down from his orgasmic high some indeterminate stretch of time later to find himself panting for breath with his forehead resting on Finn's thigh. He spots a drop of translucent precome still clinging to the tip of the young man's flaccid dick and leans forward to savor it, delighting in the startled little moan the contact against his oversensitive flesh pulls from Finn. He smiles contentedly up at Finn, then untangles his bunched underwear and pulls it back up his legs, tucking his penis away carefully. Finn reaches down to pull up and button his jeans himself, so Will lets himself fall back onto his butt and then further back until he is flat on the floor looking up at the ceiling. It is the first time since Tuesday he has been able to lie on his back without pain; it is heavenly.
Finn leans over him, his pants are now back in order but his shirt is wrinkled around the bottom and there's a noticeable flush to his cheekbones. “Do you want me to help you with that?”
Will blinks, brain still not up to speed, “With what?”
Finn kneels down to join him on the floor and places a big, warm hand over the bulge in Will's slacks, “This.”
It's such an afterthought that he'd forgotten it entirely, “No, that's okay. Just leave it.” Will sits upright and smiles pleasantly, already starting to command his erection down.
“You're sure?” Finn presses, “I mean, I don't mind.”
“It's fine,” Will assures. “Look, Finn, this thing; it can't-”
“I'm not going to tell anyone,” Finn interrupts. “I'm not stupid.”
“No, no you're not,” He tactfully agrees. “But you should probably be heading home now.”
“Right, yeah...” Finn averts his eyes at the dismissal, then turns back to Will and surprises him by pressing a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. “See you tomorrow, Mr. Schuester.”
“Tomorrow, Finn,” He returns, watching the young man remove the chair from in front of the door and leave the room.
He should be going too, he has things he needs to do at home, but for now he lies back down on the floor with his fingertips pressed to his lips and is at peace with himself.
Part 2