Fic. Put a Ring On It
Title: Put a Ring On It
Author: alicebluegown16
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Hey, look. It's the inevitable cliche wedding fic!
Character/Pairings: Will/Finn, Puck, Terri, Santana, mentions of Santana/Brittany, Artie/Tina, past Will/Terri, Rachel, Kurt, and my OMC(Max)/I'm Not Telling It'd Give It Away.
AN: For the winn prompt meme: Puck calls Will/Finn a boring married couple and they don't mind it.
Lyrics to the song Kiss Me I'm Sh**faced. The organization New Directions is real. It's purpose is to find housing/jobs/education for kids who used to be wards of the state. And for my personal enjoyment this is what I picture Will wearing as the Emcee. As usual, this is part of my big ol epic Winn AU series.
Warnings: Way too much fun writing Drunk!Finn. First time writing Puck, so hope you like. Second person pov. Sappiest sap that ever sapped.
Put a Ring On It
You still wouldn’t ever go to Puck for anything remotely resembling romantic advice, but you have to concede that he has grown up a lot since high school: a place of his own, a job (although you still have moments where you stop and think ‘Holy shit, Noah Puckerman’s a cop’), occasionally what can even be loosely defined as a semi-steady girlfriend.
So when Puck drives down from Dayton and insists on taking Finn out for the evening and cheerfully informs you that you’re not invited, you don’t worry too much. They won’t get into that much trouble, right?
Of course you realize you are clearly an idiot when Puck brings home a completely drunk off his ass Finn, who is loudly (and still mostly on key) singing a very enthusiastic cover of Kiss Me I’m Shitfaced.
As Finn insists that he can bench press a car, he’s an ex-football star, with degrees from both Harvard and Yale, you glare at Puck.
“This is your version of boys night out? You getting him plastered and then dumping him on me?”
You gesture in a vaguely ‘the prosecution rests’ kind of way when Finn flings out his arm and almost smacks you in the face with it.
“Jesus, Puck. What the hell were you thinking?”
You’re surprised that Puck looks sort of pissed off at you.
“I was thinking that he’s my best friend and he’s already a pathetic boring married dude at twenty-four and I didn’t even get a wedding and a chance to bang a bridesmaid out of the deal.”
Finn, totally oblivious the brewing argument, throws his arms around your neck and you briefly stagger under the weight.
“Will, we went to a bar!”
“I can see that.” And smell it. The tequila on his breath has your eyes watering slightly.
Finn turns around with slightly more momentum than necessary and gets your legs tangled together, almost going down like a house of cards and taking you down with him.
“S’kay, m’clumsy. Toootally woulda done that sober, swear. Puck, y’know Will and I met in a bar.”
Puck rolls his eyes.
“No you didn’t, idiot. You met him in high school.”
“Did so!” Finn argues with the absolute sincerity and intensity of the truly inebriated. “A hippo-hypo---a fake bar. ‘N then we fucked on Will’s kitchen table. That part was real and it was aaaaaawwwwesooooome.”
Puck’s screaming “Dude, brain bleach!” and you’re saying “Oh my God, Finn” or at least trying to but can’t quite manage it because Finn chooses this moment to shove his tongue in your mouth.
“Woulda done that sober, too.” He insists when you push him away.
You and Puck end up half dragging half carrying Finn back to the bedroom and when you start getting Finn’s clothes off so that he’ll be more comfortable when he wakes up in the morning with the mother of all hangovers, Puck makes a noise of protest. You tell him to grow the hell up because really, this is all his fault.
It takes a while to get Finn down to his boxers what with him constantly attempting to go for your belt and asking if you want to kiss him in the trousers. You reminding him that Puck’s still in the room has him screwing up his face and telling you not to be so gross, he’s not that drunk.
At this point Puck makes a tactical retreat, yelling over his shoulder something about sending Finn his therapy bills.
Then damn it if Finn doesn’t give you the most absolutely adorable big dopey grin and tells you he loves you.
“I love you too.” You let him pull you down on the bed next to him and rest his head on your chest, because God help you, it’s true.
“Will, are we married?” Finn sounds vaguely confused and he looks as if he’s trying really, really hard to remember the details of the event.
Huh, apparently he had been more aware of his surroundings than you thought.
“No, Finn. Puck was just trying to be funny.”
“Aww, too bad.”
And of course immediately after saying this, he passes out.
The next morning is Finn worshipping at the porcelain god, praying for the sweet release of death and you putting a cold wet compress on the back of his neck and in an admirable show of restraint, not making too much fun of him.
When he flops back against you in a boneless heap, croaking something about how he’s pretty sure he just threw up that Lego he ate as a toddler, you hold him, brushing the sweaty hair off his forehead and think ‘In Sickness and in Health.’
**
You’re talking on the phone with Terri one day and you jokingly tell her “So, I think Finn and I are married.”
She laughs and calls you an idiot for just now figuring it out.
“You’re not freaking out, are you?”
“No actually. I think that’s the odd thing for me. That the idea doesn’t freak me out at all. You’d think it would, but it doesn’t.”
“Sweetie, not every marriage has to be like ours.”
The two of you share a brief but comfortable little moment of silence at that assessment and then she’s quickly back with a lighter note.
“Does this mean you’re going to have a big fabulous gay wedding? Oh, can I give you away? It’d be so funny---“Take my ex-husband, please!” Or maybe I could be your best man? I’d throw you the best bachelor party. Strippers, Will. Lots of strippers. Penis as far as the eye could see.”
You’re fairly certain if this conversation were occurring in person, she’d be jumping up and down with excitement right now.
“Terri, as…uh, thoughtful as the offer is, I think the whole point of being married to Finn is only wanting to see the one penis.”
“Aw, Will…that’s so romantic.”
**
That night there’s a delay on the subway, so when you get home Finn’s actually already there first. And yeah, Finn like this, with his loosened tie and shirt sleeves rolled up is definitely one of your favorite things about his job. You think it’s sort of full circle that not only are you the one spending most of your time in t-shirts and jeans now but that you’re also very quickly developing a definite tie kink of your own.
After a very, very enthusiastic, ‘it’s good to be home’ kiss (that may have ended with your hand wrapped up in Finn’s tie) you are informed that dinner’s already been taken care of. You have to laugh when you see the take-out Chinese cartons.
“Oh, Honey. You dialed.”
Finn wiggles his eyebrows and leers at you.
“Baby, for you, I actually went into the restaurant.”
As much as you love being in a show, sometimes this is your favorite time, when you’re between performances and working the more steady hours teaching and you and Finn get to do this, sit and eat dinner and talk.
Finn fills you in on his cases, the good, the bad, and the ugly. Today it’s mostly good which you consider a blessing. The best is that Omar, one of ‘his kids’, is about to graduate from high school. Finn’s excitement and pride at this has you melting.
He also gives you the latest update from Max, the projects he’s working on, the classes he’s not surprisingly acing. “I don’t like the sound of this new boyfriend of his, though. He’s some wannabe triple threat actor/dancer/musician type. That’s not at all stable. And he’s way too old for him.”
“One: They just started dating, so I don’t think you have to worry about Max being forced to support him any time soon. Two: It’s a six year difference and Max is almost twenty-one. And three: Are you actually listening to the words coming out of your mouth?”
Finn elects to distract you from his blatant hypocrisy by instead asking about how your day went.
“So, how were things at-wait, where were you again today?”
“Lincoln Park. And it was pretty good, all things considered.”
“Ah yes, Lincoln Park, the school. Not to be confused with Linkin Park the band, right? Who are actually from California, so what the hell that’s all about…Anyway, I guess the next relevant question is: Who were you today?”
You smile at his way of phrasing it and put on your best teacher-voice.
“Hello, my name is Mr. Schuester and I’ll be your history teacher.”
“Huh, you haven’t been that one in awhile. How’d it go?”
A shrug and you wave your hand in a so-so motion.
“I may or may not have cribbed part of my lesson plan on President Garfield from what I remembered from the plot of Assassins.”
(When you first moved to Chicago, you had figured substitute teaching was just something temporary until you got your state accreditation up to date. Two years later, you still enjoy the freedom of it, being able to teach when you want, the fly by the seat of your pants nature of it feeling like the rush of an audition and a performance for the toughest of tough crowds all in one. And the added bonus of it giving you time for actual auditions.)
You’re regaling Finn with one of your ‘Why do students think they can get away with dumb shit when it’s a substitute?’ stories and he is laughing so hard you’re slightly worried he might choke to death on an eggroll.
“Will, seriously, you did not actually make some poor kid read that out loud in front of the principal.”
“I am dead serious. And he totally deserved it. Who the hell passes a note right in front of the teacher that says ‘So, here I was balls deep in this bitch…’”
Finn snorts.
“Oh my God, that is…” He trails off, seemingly at a loss for words.
“Pure poetry?” You suggest, your eyes wide open, the very picture of innocence.
This sends him on fresh fit of laughter and all of it, his smile, the way he sprawls in his chair and wipes tears from his cheeks, the way he’s pretending not to notice that you’re stealing the shrimp from his fried rice, it’s just too much, you want to hold onto this feeling of complete and utter rightness forever and you can’t help it, you suddenly blurt out “So, I think we should get married.”
Finn makes a distracted ‘Oh, really now?’ noise as he digs through one of the bags, hunting for the fortune cookies.
“Why? You knocked up or something?”
Despite yourself, you can’t help joking back.
“If I were, would you do right by me?”
“Depends. It’s not Puck’s, is it?”
Now you’re the one snorting with laughter, but you quickly get yourself under control and try again.
“Finn, I’m serious. I love you and I want to be married to you. What do you say?”
You really hadn’t known how attached you were to the idea until Finn grins and shakes his head.
“God no, Will.”
You must look absolutely devastated because Finn’s almost leaping across the table and putting his arms around you.
“Jesus, Will. Yes-I didn’t mean---no, I just…I don’t want a wedding, okay? I don’t want…Kurt taking over and planning some huge production and Puck sleeping with one of the guests or possibly Terri if he gets her drunk enough, and Rachel wrestling the minister out of the way so she can sing, and us getting like, five blenders we don’t even need, and it not even being legal since Illinois, and this is the only time I’ll ever say this, since Illinois isn’t as cool as Iowa. I might want that sort of thing someday, but now….”
Finn kisses you and it’s comforting and familiar and perfect and you want to kiss him like this every single day. When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, his hand still at the base of your neck, absently tracing at your hairline. You can’t help idly noting that he’s actually sort of kneeling in front of you.
“Fuck it. Let’s just…let’s just be married, okay? Let’s just be who we are, Will and Finn. And we love each other and we have a life together but instead of being boyfriends, we’re husbands now. Is that-could that be enough for you?”
And oddly enough, yes, that is enough for you. The acknowledgement that this isn’t going away, that what the two of you have is real.
“The only thing is and this is really stupid, I know but…I want a ring. And I want you to wear one too. Would that be…are you okay with that?” You’re slightly embarrassed by this streak of sentimentalism and can’t quite meet Finn’s eyes.
A quick indrawn breath, something that sounds like “Fuck, Will.” in a low growling whisper and you look up.
Finn’s pupils are blown wide, he’s biting his lip and his kiss, not at all comforting and familiar, this time needy and raw and want you right now possessive (and still perfect) tells you that yes, he would possibly be amendable to the idea.
You toast your just being married status with fortune cookies.
Later that night, which might be described as technically being your wedding night as you and Finn are very much doing wedding night related activities; he leans down and whispers in your ear “So, here I was balls deep in this bitch…”
You grab a pillow and hit him in the head with it.
“Oh, is that how it’s gonna be? Three hours in and this is already an abusive marriage? Do I need to call a hotline or something?”
**
So, this is what just being married means.
It means Terri being pissed off that you robbed her of the chance to be your best man until you point out the fact that nothing’s preventing her from going to strip club all on her own and that she’ll probably have way more fun without you.
It means that when you get knocked on your butt by a bad case of the flu, Finn stays home from work and pours orange juice down your throat and makes you stay in bed.
It means that when, by some hugely impossible to comprehend what are the odds coincidence, it turns out Max’s new boyfriend is actually one Jesse St. James, you’re in charge of tactfully reminding Finn that not everyone stays the exact same person they were in high school and that Max is an adult and he can make his own decisions and if the relationship doesn’t work out, his own mistakes. And that if Finn does give into the impulse to fly out to LA and kick Jesse’s ass, he won’t be getting any for at least a month.
It means that when you get the offer to turn one of your substitute gigs into something permanent the same week you get offered the part of the Emcee in Cabaret, you go home and talk it over with Finn. And he cuts through all the halfhearted justifications about more reliable hours and steadier pay and tells you to forget all that, the two of you will make it work no matter what you decide and that the important thing is you being happy.
You take the part.
And a couple of months later when Finn gets a chance to head up a program working with foster kids, you do the same thing for him.
“There’s going to be meetings, Will. That they’re going to want me to run. And people asking me questions and expecting me to actually know what I’m talking about. I’m way too young. They can find someone better, someone who’s been doing this longer, who knows how to play the game.”
“You’ll be helping kids who need it. You’ll be able to talk to them on their level, be a friend and an advocate, not just a bureaucrat or a game player. That’s why you’re so perfect for this. The other stuff you’ll learn as you go. And the programs called New Directions. Tell me that’s not a sign.”
He takes the job.
It means that when the guy playing Cliff mentions that his boyfriend is a lawyer, you and Finn going to him to take care of all that ‘kind of scary to think about but still very necessary’ stuff like wills and powers of attorney and medical proxies.
It means Finn cornering you backstage after your opening night and kissing the ever loving hell out of you (and your cast mates are far more receptive to the sight of Finn sticking his tongue in your mouth than Puck was.)
When you point out that you’re sweaty and gross and still in your stage makeup, he licks your neck and grabs your ass, muttering about how he loves you all sweaty, and holy shit, you’re wearing eyeliner that is so fucking sexy we need to get home right the fuck now before he has to shove you up against a wall and give everyone a real show.
But you would have done all that stuff anyway, so basically just being married means things are pretty much exactly the same, except now you both have rings.
Which are very nice by the way, and the sight of them still turns Finn on to a ridiculous degree.
And okay, they do the same for you, too.
***
When it finally happens, the ceremony is perfect.
Yes, even Rachel singing.
You and Finn both get teary eyed, but who can blame either of you? It’s been so long in the making.
You’re dancing with, of all people, Santana when Finn asks to cut in.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to borrow my husband for awhile.”
To your shock, Santana actually lets out a sound that might possibly be described as an honest to god giggle and passes you over with a nod and a “But of course.”
And then just to make things even more bizarre she hugs both of you.
“I say this with nothing but love and four---wait no, make that five flutes of Champaign in my system. You two are so fucking adorable it hurts. I was totally secretly rooting for you, even back in the day when it would have gotten you arrested, Mr. Schue. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go find Brittany. Weddings make her horny and I’m not gonna let that opportunity pass me up.”
You stare after her retreating back, jaw hanging open.
“That was…”
“Pure poetry?” Finn suggests as he loops his arms around your neck.
“Yes. Exactly.” You agree with a laugh, your own arms moving instinctively around Finn’s waist, sliding underneath his suit jacket to rest at the small of his back. “Why didn’t we just keep her drunk all those years? She’s much more agreeable that way.”
Finn’s still not much of a dancer, so the two of you are cheating by mostly just wrapping around each other and swaying to the music.
“See, didn’t I promise you a wedding?”
“Finn, this is Artie and Tina’s wedding.” You gesture to the blissfully happy couple; Tina curled up in Artie’s lap as he spins them around on the dance floor, pausing every so often to untangle her train from the wheels of his chair.
“Well, that just makes it better, doesn’t it? All the booze and dancing, none of the stress and thank you cards.”
The two of you are passed by Puck, who to your surprise is currently forgoing bridesmaids entirely and instead is dancing with the flower girl, one of Artie’s cousins you think. The little girl is standing on his feet and chattering away a mile a minute, clearly having the time of her life. When you raise your eyebrow at him, he just shrugs his shoulders.
“So, are we still good? Or are you feeling a need for a new blender?”
Finn’s tone is light but his eyes are serious. You realize that if you said the words, he’d make it happen, never mind the hassle, never mind the not being legal.
It’s the sure knowledge of this that has you kissing his palm right at the ring and twining your fingers together so that the matching one on your hand touches his.
“Nah, I’m pretty good.”