Fic: On My Mind
Title: On My Mind
Rating: R, for sexy daydreams and also some cussin’
Characters: Ensemble (including one S2 member), Will/Finn
Word count: 4,600-ish
Summary: Various times that Finn has totally sprung an inconvenient boner courtesy of Mr. Schue.
Notes: For the Winn prompt meme (like everything I write. I heart you, meme).
The first time was, Finn’s sure, just because he was going through a stage where his body responded to everything by getting a boner.
In class, Will had been walking down the rows, checking work, and when he got to Finn he saw some glaring mistake - Finn has no memory now of what the mistake was - and he’d put one hand on the back of Finn’s chair, and leant over, and used the other hand to point to something here and then point at whatever the fuck it was in the text book there and Finn had thought ’He has nice hands’ and ’he’s warm’ at the exact same time, and apparently that must’ve overloaded his brain or something, because all the blood in his entire fucking body got the hell out of there and wow, having Mr Schue leaning so close got awkward quick.
But, you know, that didn’t mean anything. It happened to everyone.
Right?
*
The second time Will was teaching him the steps for some performance with Accafellas. He stood behind Finn with one hand on his shoulder, and the other on his hip, and pretty much just pushed and pulled him into position.
And Finn, well, it’s not like Quinn was touching him a whole lot at that time, and Finn had been a pretty touchy-feely guy until he started shaving and it became gay to hug someone, and Mr Schue was just really patient and calm and close and warm. And it was easy to relax with him, just let those sure hands move him this way and that, and that really nice voice counting out the beat and the moves nice and low just behind Finn’s shoulder. And maybe the thought floated across Finn’s brain that he’d let Will move him anyway he wanted. And because he was a teenage boy, and he’d watched porn, maybe the image flashed across his mind of the hand on his shoulder pushing him forwards and the hand on his hip pulling him back against a tight body, and it was all ridiculous because Finn was a freaking giant, and no one was going to manhandle him.
But he’d still needed to fake a leg cramp and a sudden urge to pee in order to get the hell out of there before he Old Faithful’d right in his pants.
Anyway. That was just thinking about porn at the wrong moment. Nothing else.
*
The third time was totally the local fruit suppliers and Miss Pillsbury working against him. She liked to eat fruit, like, she lived on nothing but fruit. Everyone knew that. And then on the very day that Rachel dragged Finn to the staff room to complain about something or other, there had been a caterpillar hiding in Miss Pillsbury’s strawberries, which meant that she had to run out and go have a shower in bleach or something, and so she gave the strawberries to Mr Schue.
So Mr Schue had wandered over to hear Rachel out, with a little furry caterpillar sitting at the base of his thumb as he held the punnet, and a strawberry in the other. And as he held the punnet out, offering the strawberries to them, he bit into the strawberry in his hand. He bit, and sucked on it a little, his cheeks hollowing slightly and his lips plump and pink, and goddamnit if strawberries were the last thing on Finn’s mind right then.
He groaned, and bent over, and all but scurried to the nearest bathroom.
“I think he’s allergic to strawberries,” he heard Rachel tell Mr Schue.
As he heard from Rachel later, Mr Schue had replied with, “Maybe I should have offered him caterpillar instead.” Oh god, if that wasn’t cute and dorky and why the hell did Finn have to be such a freak?
*
The fourth time Finn had been fucking raped by slushies in the hall, and damnit why weren’t the guys on the team over that yet? And he’d been hustled off to the nearest lot of showers by Kurt and Rachel where he’d stripped off and stepped under the hot spray, because paper towel sure as hell wasn’t going to clean him off.
And he’d been nearly clean, just rinsing his hair out again and again when he heard someone knocking on the metal of a locker, and Mr Schue called out, “Finn, are you alright? Do you need anything?”
And Finn didn’t want to, but he was naked and wet and in the shower and how could his mind possibly not go there? Go to the idea of Will walking right up to the shower stall, and right into it, fully dressed and getting wet from the spray, and his hair getting wet and dripping into his eyes as he leaned in and licked water from Finn’s neck, and he kissed over Finn’s shoulders and down Finn’s chest, sinking to his knees and getting absolutely saturated as he started nuzzling at Finn’s hard cock - and fucking Christ was Finn hard - looking up at Finn with those big green eyes and that pretty mouth and-
“Finn?”
Finn shoved his fist into his mouth, silencing a moan, before choking out. “’m fine! I’ll be out in a minute!”
And if he fucked into the tight circle of his palm and fingers, well. He was still out within the minute.
*
The fifth time Will wasn’t even in the room. Not really. After their complete failure at sectionals Mr Schue had gone “Screw it, we got this far, that deserves a reward. Cake for everyone!” And since Finn was pretty much all about cake and eating it, that moment had cemented in his mind that Will was fucking awesome, and a source of cake as well as the already awesome hugs, good advice, and occasional weird masturbation fantasies.
Anyway, that moment was something like a week in the past when Finn had been checking his e-mail, and Kurt had said “Hey, have you seen the photos from sectionals?” and Finn had said “No?” and Kurt had come over and told Finn what to click to get to that little album online. And there had been photos of Finn with his hand on Rachel’s shoulder, and Kurt and Quinn and Mercedes all trying to bite into the same cupcake, and then there had been that one photo.
A photo of Will, looking up and a little surprised, like he had only just noticed that someone was looming over him with a camera, and he was biting a smudge of dark thick cake off his thumb - Finn had a slice of the same cake, it was thick and soft and even if he didn’t know exactly what ‘decadent’ meant, he was pretty sure that cake was it - and there was the tiniest dark smear of chocolate frosting on Will’s bottom lip, and Finn wanted nothing more than grab his face and tilt his head back and suck that frosting away, and then grab Will by the wrist and lick and suck and nibble the cake off his fingers, one at a time, so slowly and carefully, and Will’s face would change from startled and surprised to calm and hot and intense, the way that slice of cake would look if it were having eyesex with you in a bar, and oh fucking damn why was Kurt still standing there, peering over Finn’s shoulder?
“Hey, can you hop up? I just thought of something I need to link to Mercedes.”
Finn had nearly died. “You know, I kinda want to look through the rest of these. Can it wait?”
He had to click to the next photo without looking at that picture again, out of fear that he’d come in his freaking pants. Sharing a room sucked.
*
The sixth time was in winter. They’d all been feeling silly and stupid, and when glee ended and it was pouring with rain outside, well, who didn’t like running around in the rain every now and then? And Puck had picked Quinn up, making her squeal, and carried her out into the rain before dumping her, and Finn did the same with Kurt - with an equal squeal - and then he’d doubled back and grabbed Will by the arm and hauled him out there with them, running around and shoving and tackling. And oh wow did Will get tackle-hugged by everyone at once, leading to a pile of glee kids in the rain and the mud, and Will lying back, propped up on his elbows and laughing, and not caring about being filthy and getting soaked and just, just looking at him like that made Finn feel warm inside. Made him want to reach out and hug him and roll around in the mud and just make him keep laughing like that forever.
And then Puck had tackled him, and Will had rubbed dirt into Finn’s hair, and it had been all out war then. Jumping and pinning and shoving, and in all honesty it was a sexy pair of underpants away from being mud wrestling. And yeah, Finn got kind of hot thinking about it, about wrestling and getting dirty and maybe washing Will off after, hot water and lathered soap and oh god so much skin.
And then Puck got him in the side of the head with a mud pie, and half-mast or not, Finn wasn’t going to let that lie. Between the cold and the running around it went away on its own. But for the next few days, whenever Finn walked past that messed up patch of grass, he got this odd little thrill.
*
The seventh time was totally the fault of the stupid Show Choir of America board for deciding that putting Sectionals near exams was a real fucking bright idea. Between the extra rehearsals (because they were not going to lose out this year) and Finn studying his guts out (because that scholarship was a possibility, if he could just keep his grades up) Finn was getting worn out and strung out, and if he fell asleep in the back of glee while Will was teaching them about something to do with sound that sounded an awful lot like physics, well, that was hardly his fault.
And, okay, when Finn was stressed out he tended to... you know before bed to get some of that tension out, and maybe his body had just gotten used to that pattern, because whenever he got sleepy his body got a little interested, and it never occurred to him before that if he didn’t do anything before he fell asleep, maybe something would happen while he was snoozing. And between Will’s voice providing a pretty earnest, intelligent soundtrack to his dreams and the fact that it was the choir room, with that piano, and in Finn’s mind Will was pushing him over it, saying, ”Each natural frequency that an object or instrument produces has its own characteristic vibrational mode or standing wave pattern.”
And strong hands would run down Finn’s (naked) back, fingertips digging hard into the flesh before hands settled at his hips, pulling him back an inch so Will could grind forward against him, the feel of tight denim against Finn’s naked flesh driving him crazy and Will leant forwards, murmuring ”At any frequency other than a harmonic frequency, the resulting disturbance of the medium is irregular and non-repeating,” into Finn’s ear like to was a dirty little secret.
And then Rachel snapped “Finn!” right next to his ear, and Finn jumped so suddenly that he fell off his hair into a jarred, clumsy pile onto the steps at the back of the choir room, yanking the sleeves of the jumper tied around his waist down a little lower, and hoping to god that his blush and clear mortification could be passed off as embarrassment at getting caught sleeping in glee.
“Sorry,” he said, sliding awkwardly up off the ground and back into his seat. “Sorry.”
He didn’t learn a thing about harmonies that day. But he was figuring a lot out about some of the kinks he apparently had.
*
The eighth time was at Nationals. Fucking Nationals, they’d finally made it! They were in New York, and camped out in some hostel, boys in one room, girls in the other, and they were sharing with their chaperones because, to be perfectly honest, Mr Schue didn’t trust Puck or Santana not to get them thrown out without supervision. Which meant that Mr Schue was sleeping in the same room as them.
Will and Finn, in their jammies, completely alone except for six other boys, and oh god if that wasn’t driving Finn wild.
His brain just wouldn’t stop. The idea of waiting until the others were asleep, of slipping out of his bunk and over to Will, trading hot silent kisses in the dark. The idea of Will coming over to him, crouching down beside the bed, his hand sliding under the sheet and him whispering ”Shhh,” as Finn arched up into his touch. The idea that maybe Finn couldn’t keep quiet, that Will would lean over and press their mouths together, sucking all of the sounds out of Finn as fingers slipped below the elastic of his boxers, of him pulling his shirt off and stuffing it in Finn’s mouth, gagging him with soft white cotton as his hand curled around Finn’s cock, not even stroking, just holding him, just sending him slowly insane.
Finn rolled over, and bit into his pillow, trying to keep from making any sound, from even breathing too hard just in case any of the others were awake to hear him. Fantasy Will was there beside him, running his hands over Finn’s ass, tugging boxers down and caressing the bare skin, before pulling a hand back and slapping him with a short sharp spike of pain, and somehow the sound of flesh on flesh was completely silent in the room, but oh no, Finn wasn’t allowed to make a single sound or this would all be over. Wasn’t allowed to do anything but inhale sharply through his nose and grind against the just-too-hard mattress as Will dipped his head down and licked gently at the hot patch of dull pain left behind by the blow of his hand, as he kissed and licked over Finn’s skin as his hands pushed Finn’s legs apart, as they tilted Finn’s hips up and his mouth moved down and down, pressing and licking and sucking and kissing that hot little private place, as his tongue pressed into Finn and Finn nearly suffocated on his pillow from pressing his face into it, trying so damn hard not to made a single. Damn. Sound.
He came in his pants, grinding against his mattress, and Finn would be embarrassed, but he fell into a deep sleep full of dreams he couldn’t remember. And, he rationalised in the morning, creaming his pants at night was a hell of a lot less embarrassing than dealing with a boner in the morning.
*
The ninth time was during the swimming lessons the PE class had to go through once a year, and through the magic events of one teacher getting convenient food poisoning, and Mr Schue having a gap in his teaching schedule just big enough, he got roped into supervising a bunch of boys and girls getting yelled at to lift their damn hips already while swimming freestyle.
And the pathetic thing was that he didn’t even get his shirt off. Just sat on the side of the pool in the white tee he wore under his button up shirt, and red swimming trunks, watching idly just in case someone happened to start drowning. And maybe Sam, despite being good on the field, just happened to be a total klutz in the pool and smacked into the wall at one end too hard and proceeded to get himself tangled in one of the lane ropes. So Will executed a very tidy dive into the water and dragged Sam over to one edge, and asked him very calmly if he was okay and if he could get out by himself and did he think his head was bleeding. Then he planted his hands on the edge of the pool and hauled himself out, and then turned and helped pull Sam out, and he didn’t even have the decency to be shirtless and glistening wet in the light of the swimming centre.
But Finn still looked. Looked at the way the material clung to his shoulders, and the muscles in his upper arms, and the way his hair still curled when it was wet, darker now and dripping into his face, the way the shirt stuck to his stomach and chest, and dark circles of two nipples just visible through the thin, wet material.
“Is he okay?” Kurt asked.
He’s better than okay, Finn thought, and then realised that Kurt was talking about something else entirely. “What? Sam? Yeah, I think he’s okay.”
And Kurt gave Finn a long look then, that Finn could only avoid by going back to his laps.
*
The tenth time was when Will was singing, and fuck was Finn happy it never occurred to his dick to be into that before, because he really liked it when Will sang. Which, yeah, possibly was the problem. And you know what, it was Katy Freaking Perry who broke Finn’s brain. And while Will didn’t have anything near the room needed at the upper end of his range, he just shifted the song down to fit him well enough, because it was all about teaching Tina and Santana to hit the words out at just the right time and to suck in a sharp breath just here, and he was tapping the beat with one foot, his knees relaxed and bouncing, and he’d hit his thigh to punctuate the words (Tee-Nage-Dream) and he just... he was never still when he was singing, he was always moving and reaching out and coaching and he could switch from a serious ‘come on, you can do this’ face to a ‘oh god this is fun’ face within nanoseconds.
And it certainly helped that he’d strip those million layers of teacher-clothes off, down to his jeans and a tee that fit and Finn never really figured that he had a thing for forearms, but he sure liked seeing them.
And watching his body move, watching him sing and bounce and yes, he’d slide one leg out over the smooth floor, and shift his weight so he slid back into place over it, leading with his hips.
”My. Heart. Stops. When you look at me. Just. One. Touch, now baby I believe.”
And Finn was fucking gone, a soft kind of hard, hidden safe and secret behind the drum kit. What the hell was Will doing in Lima? Why hadn’t he gotten out and found somewhere to just... shine?
Will looked up and caught his gaze, and smiled in such an open and unabashed way.
Would Will sing during sex? Probably, little snatches of dark dirty lyric between mouths pressing and lungs gasping and tongues exploring. Finn didn’t feel guilty, getting aroused from such pure enjoyment. Finn let himself be warm and loose and relaxed as he watched and enjoyed. The hard, fast, shameful would come later.
*
The eleventh time was at Nationals (again) when Finn was pumped from being on stage and freaking out because when they went home he’d be packing up for freaking college, because he fucking graduated a few weeks ago and this was going to be one of their last moments together.
And because fuck Will looked good in a suit.
And Finn knew that maybe his dick was just grasping at straws, because hell, maybe he’d never ever see Will again once they got back to Lima, maybe this was his last chance to look him over and drink him in and gobble the sight of him up to store for later. And Finn knew that it was also kind of wrong, that he should be over the habit of cracking one at the drop of a hat, and that there was going to be hugging whether they won or lost and, well, hello awkward, and that in all honesty he was probably only half-hard because it was a welcome distraction from feeling like he needed to breathe into a paper bag for a moment because when the hell did things start changing so quickly?
So he snuck off to the bathroom, and felt an odd kind of melancholy that this would possibly be the last time he’d jerk off over his Spanish teacher in a public restroom. There were some good memories there. And in a way Finn was glad that he’d learned to be quiet, because holy shit Kurt was standing right outside his cubicle waiting for him, arms crossed over his chest and a determined look on his face.
“Gah, damnit, Kurt. We had a rule about this!”
“I don’t see a sock on the door,” Kurt snapped back.
Which, okay. Fair.
“I’ve spent a lot of time looking in the mirror, Finn. I know lovesick when I see it.”
Finn washed his hands and didn’t look up at Kurt at all. “I prefer to think of it as horny puppy love.”
Finn glanced up just in time to see Kurt grimace. “You’re my brother. I really don’t need that image in my head.”
Finn grinned at him. “A few years too late.”
“Pathetic,” Kurt corrected.
Finn shrugged, and dried his hands off. “You would know.” That was them talking about it. Done and dusted.
Expect Kurt grabbed his arm as Finn brushed past him, and stared at him hard. There was some message there, but Finn had never been great at reading Kurt. He put the incident out of his mind, and was just in time to line up on stage and get the greatest news of his life.
*
The twelfth time was hours and hours later, while everyone was still jumping on beds in the hotel room and laughing and screaming and hugging one another hard enough to crack ribs (hotel management had given up telling them to calm down). Finn was slumped in one corner, exhausted and happy and buzzing from the stupid amount of cake he’d eaten, the litres of cola he’d drunk, and the cheap booze that Puck had managed to sneak into everyone’s plastic cups.
Alcohol, the great enabler.
And then Will had come over and crouched by the arm chair that Finn was lazing in, his body stretched out and his legs spread, and feeling so damn good.
“It hasn’t sunk in,” Finn replied to whatever question about why he wasn’t joining it. “I’m just waiting for it, you know?”
And Will had laughed and Finn had been quite unashamed in raking his eyes over his teacher’s face. The wide mouth and white teeth and bright eyes, and cheekbones that Finn wanted to lick, a jaw line he’d like to mouth down, hair he’d give his firstborn to tangle his fingers in. And his brain said ’how can one person be so amazing?’ and his body said ’this may never happen again’ and he was just too warm and relaxed to care that he was getting hard and saying dumb things like “You’re amazing, seriously. You’re the best,” to the man who now wasn’t his teacher, and never would be again.
And Will grinned back and looked easily over Finn’s face, and down to where Finn’s hand was resting hot and heavy on his wrist, and then it was just a few inches to the right and he was looking at...
Finn didn’t even have the energy to be mortified. He just squeezed Will’s wrist and said “I think Rachel wants to dance with you,” and let him make his escape. He pulled one foot up onto the chair, curled against his thigh and rested his chin on his knee, watching the room and feeling so good, and eventually falling asleep.
*
The thirteenth time should have been made of bad luck. That was how numbers worked, right? And the potential for embarrassment was certainly there, at an afternoon party at Mr Schue’s to celebrate their win, the glee kids and their families and the odd other student who turned up. The last warm heat sliding in through his wide windows, and everyone had brought a plate so there was enough food to feed a nation of teenage boys, and Finn and Kurt were both half-packed, even if their parents thought they hadn’t started.
And then Tina and Artie left because she had an early flight, and then Kurt and the Hudmels (thankyou, Rachel, for that nickname) left to buy the list of things Kurt had come up with while talking to Mercedes and Quinn. Then Santana and Brittany were never seen again, and people drifted off and broke away with called out goodbyes and happy voices fading out of the building. Then Rachel gave her favourite teacher and her favourite ex-boyfriend parting hugs, and it was just Will and Finn, talking easily and tidying up, and arguing about what to do with all of the food.
And then things were mostly cleared away, with Will putting cling wrap over the food, while Finn rinsed plates and cups under the sink, and Will looked over at him and said “Okay, now you’re definitely my favourite.”
“You’ve always been mine,” Finn replied easily, and looked over at Will and their eyes held for a moment that stretched just too long. And then Will stepped close to Finn, reaching past him to slide an empty plate into the sink, and Finn couldn’t help but reach out and wrap his wet fingers around the warm, firm skin of Will’s forearm. Finn slowly turned around, so they were standing chest to chest, breathing the same air. And then he brought his other hand up, and slowly touched his damp fingertips to Will’s jaw.
“You’ve always been my favourite,” he said softly.
And when Will didn’t pull away, didn’t put distance between them and talk about barriers and appropriateness, Finn tugged him closer and tilted his head up, and Will closed that last bit of distance and kissed him.
And of all the things Finn fantasised about, he never built and perfected their first kiss in his mind. Which was a good thing, because nothing could have ever lived up to the soft, slow press of lips in the warm, August light of Will’s kitchen, with Finn’s hands damp and cold from the tap water and Will holding a garbage bag in one hand right up until the moment he dropped it to put both hands on Finn’s shoulders, gripping the material and pressing forwards and turning the kiss into something hard and needy.
Finn grabbed Will’s hips and pulled their bodies together, pulled Will close and ground against him and goddamn it was so much better in real life, even with a kitchen bench pressing into his back. Will pulled back then, breathing shakily and pressing kisses against Finn’s mouth, softer and more chaste, before settling his forehead against Finn’s and just being close, just breathing.
Slow down, he was saying. Slow down.
And Finn could handle that. He could handle the idea of taking it slow and making it sweet, and long hours of kissing on the couch, exploring each other the way he’d been exploring Will for fucking years.
Lucky thirteen, when Will arched and gasped again him, and for once it was entirely appropriate.
Rating: R, for sexy daydreams and also some cussin’
Characters: Ensemble (including one S2 member), Will/Finn
Word count: 4,600-ish
Summary: Various times that Finn has totally sprung an inconvenient boner courtesy of Mr. Schue.
Notes: For the Winn prompt meme (like everything I write. I heart you, meme).
The first time was, Finn’s sure, just because he was going through a stage where his body responded to everything by getting a boner.
In class, Will had been walking down the rows, checking work, and when he got to Finn he saw some glaring mistake - Finn has no memory now of what the mistake was - and he’d put one hand on the back of Finn’s chair, and leant over, and used the other hand to point to something here and then point at whatever the fuck it was in the text book there and Finn had thought ’He has nice hands’ and ’he’s warm’ at the exact same time, and apparently that must’ve overloaded his brain or something, because all the blood in his entire fucking body got the hell out of there and wow, having Mr Schue leaning so close got awkward quick.
But, you know, that didn’t mean anything. It happened to everyone.
Right?
*
The second time Will was teaching him the steps for some performance with Accafellas. He stood behind Finn with one hand on his shoulder, and the other on his hip, and pretty much just pushed and pulled him into position.
And Finn, well, it’s not like Quinn was touching him a whole lot at that time, and Finn had been a pretty touchy-feely guy until he started shaving and it became gay to hug someone, and Mr Schue was just really patient and calm and close and warm. And it was easy to relax with him, just let those sure hands move him this way and that, and that really nice voice counting out the beat and the moves nice and low just behind Finn’s shoulder. And maybe the thought floated across Finn’s brain that he’d let Will move him anyway he wanted. And because he was a teenage boy, and he’d watched porn, maybe the image flashed across his mind of the hand on his shoulder pushing him forwards and the hand on his hip pulling him back against a tight body, and it was all ridiculous because Finn was a freaking giant, and no one was going to manhandle him.
But he’d still needed to fake a leg cramp and a sudden urge to pee in order to get the hell out of there before he Old Faithful’d right in his pants.
Anyway. That was just thinking about porn at the wrong moment. Nothing else.
*
The third time was totally the local fruit suppliers and Miss Pillsbury working against him. She liked to eat fruit, like, she lived on nothing but fruit. Everyone knew that. And then on the very day that Rachel dragged Finn to the staff room to complain about something or other, there had been a caterpillar hiding in Miss Pillsbury’s strawberries, which meant that she had to run out and go have a shower in bleach or something, and so she gave the strawberries to Mr Schue.
So Mr Schue had wandered over to hear Rachel out, with a little furry caterpillar sitting at the base of his thumb as he held the punnet, and a strawberry in the other. And as he held the punnet out, offering the strawberries to them, he bit into the strawberry in his hand. He bit, and sucked on it a little, his cheeks hollowing slightly and his lips plump and pink, and goddamnit if strawberries were the last thing on Finn’s mind right then.
He groaned, and bent over, and all but scurried to the nearest bathroom.
“I think he’s allergic to strawberries,” he heard Rachel tell Mr Schue.
As he heard from Rachel later, Mr Schue had replied with, “Maybe I should have offered him caterpillar instead.” Oh god, if that wasn’t cute and dorky and why the hell did Finn have to be such a freak?
*
The fourth time Finn had been fucking raped by slushies in the hall, and damnit why weren’t the guys on the team over that yet? And he’d been hustled off to the nearest lot of showers by Kurt and Rachel where he’d stripped off and stepped under the hot spray, because paper towel sure as hell wasn’t going to clean him off.
And he’d been nearly clean, just rinsing his hair out again and again when he heard someone knocking on the metal of a locker, and Mr Schue called out, “Finn, are you alright? Do you need anything?”
And Finn didn’t want to, but he was naked and wet and in the shower and how could his mind possibly not go there? Go to the idea of Will walking right up to the shower stall, and right into it, fully dressed and getting wet from the spray, and his hair getting wet and dripping into his eyes as he leaned in and licked water from Finn’s neck, and he kissed over Finn’s shoulders and down Finn’s chest, sinking to his knees and getting absolutely saturated as he started nuzzling at Finn’s hard cock - and fucking Christ was Finn hard - looking up at Finn with those big green eyes and that pretty mouth and-
“Finn?”
Finn shoved his fist into his mouth, silencing a moan, before choking out. “’m fine! I’ll be out in a minute!”
And if he fucked into the tight circle of his palm and fingers, well. He was still out within the minute.
*
The fifth time Will wasn’t even in the room. Not really. After their complete failure at sectionals Mr Schue had gone “Screw it, we got this far, that deserves a reward. Cake for everyone!” And since Finn was pretty much all about cake and eating it, that moment had cemented in his mind that Will was fucking awesome, and a source of cake as well as the already awesome hugs, good advice, and occasional weird masturbation fantasies.
Anyway, that moment was something like a week in the past when Finn had been checking his e-mail, and Kurt had said “Hey, have you seen the photos from sectionals?” and Finn had said “No?” and Kurt had come over and told Finn what to click to get to that little album online. And there had been photos of Finn with his hand on Rachel’s shoulder, and Kurt and Quinn and Mercedes all trying to bite into the same cupcake, and then there had been that one photo.
A photo of Will, looking up and a little surprised, like he had only just noticed that someone was looming over him with a camera, and he was biting a smudge of dark thick cake off his thumb - Finn had a slice of the same cake, it was thick and soft and even if he didn’t know exactly what ‘decadent’ meant, he was pretty sure that cake was it - and there was the tiniest dark smear of chocolate frosting on Will’s bottom lip, and Finn wanted nothing more than grab his face and tilt his head back and suck that frosting away, and then grab Will by the wrist and lick and suck and nibble the cake off his fingers, one at a time, so slowly and carefully, and Will’s face would change from startled and surprised to calm and hot and intense, the way that slice of cake would look if it were having eyesex with you in a bar, and oh fucking damn why was Kurt still standing there, peering over Finn’s shoulder?
“Hey, can you hop up? I just thought of something I need to link to Mercedes.”
Finn had nearly died. “You know, I kinda want to look through the rest of these. Can it wait?”
He had to click to the next photo without looking at that picture again, out of fear that he’d come in his freaking pants. Sharing a room sucked.
*
The sixth time was in winter. They’d all been feeling silly and stupid, and when glee ended and it was pouring with rain outside, well, who didn’t like running around in the rain every now and then? And Puck had picked Quinn up, making her squeal, and carried her out into the rain before dumping her, and Finn did the same with Kurt - with an equal squeal - and then he’d doubled back and grabbed Will by the arm and hauled him out there with them, running around and shoving and tackling. And oh wow did Will get tackle-hugged by everyone at once, leading to a pile of glee kids in the rain and the mud, and Will lying back, propped up on his elbows and laughing, and not caring about being filthy and getting soaked and just, just looking at him like that made Finn feel warm inside. Made him want to reach out and hug him and roll around in the mud and just make him keep laughing like that forever.
And then Puck had tackled him, and Will had rubbed dirt into Finn’s hair, and it had been all out war then. Jumping and pinning and shoving, and in all honesty it was a sexy pair of underpants away from being mud wrestling. And yeah, Finn got kind of hot thinking about it, about wrestling and getting dirty and maybe washing Will off after, hot water and lathered soap and oh god so much skin.
And then Puck got him in the side of the head with a mud pie, and half-mast or not, Finn wasn’t going to let that lie. Between the cold and the running around it went away on its own. But for the next few days, whenever Finn walked past that messed up patch of grass, he got this odd little thrill.
*
The seventh time was totally the fault of the stupid Show Choir of America board for deciding that putting Sectionals near exams was a real fucking bright idea. Between the extra rehearsals (because they were not going to lose out this year) and Finn studying his guts out (because that scholarship was a possibility, if he could just keep his grades up) Finn was getting worn out and strung out, and if he fell asleep in the back of glee while Will was teaching them about something to do with sound that sounded an awful lot like physics, well, that was hardly his fault.
And, okay, when Finn was stressed out he tended to... you know before bed to get some of that tension out, and maybe his body had just gotten used to that pattern, because whenever he got sleepy his body got a little interested, and it never occurred to him before that if he didn’t do anything before he fell asleep, maybe something would happen while he was snoozing. And between Will’s voice providing a pretty earnest, intelligent soundtrack to his dreams and the fact that it was the choir room, with that piano, and in Finn’s mind Will was pushing him over it, saying, ”Each natural frequency that an object or instrument produces has its own characteristic vibrational mode or standing wave pattern.”
And strong hands would run down Finn’s (naked) back, fingertips digging hard into the flesh before hands settled at his hips, pulling him back an inch so Will could grind forward against him, the feel of tight denim against Finn’s naked flesh driving him crazy and Will leant forwards, murmuring ”At any frequency other than a harmonic frequency, the resulting disturbance of the medium is irregular and non-repeating,” into Finn’s ear like to was a dirty little secret.
And then Rachel snapped “Finn!” right next to his ear, and Finn jumped so suddenly that he fell off his hair into a jarred, clumsy pile onto the steps at the back of the choir room, yanking the sleeves of the jumper tied around his waist down a little lower, and hoping to god that his blush and clear mortification could be passed off as embarrassment at getting caught sleeping in glee.
“Sorry,” he said, sliding awkwardly up off the ground and back into his seat. “Sorry.”
He didn’t learn a thing about harmonies that day. But he was figuring a lot out about some of the kinks he apparently had.
*
The eighth time was at Nationals. Fucking Nationals, they’d finally made it! They were in New York, and camped out in some hostel, boys in one room, girls in the other, and they were sharing with their chaperones because, to be perfectly honest, Mr Schue didn’t trust Puck or Santana not to get them thrown out without supervision. Which meant that Mr Schue was sleeping in the same room as them.
Will and Finn, in their jammies, completely alone except for six other boys, and oh god if that wasn’t driving Finn wild.
His brain just wouldn’t stop. The idea of waiting until the others were asleep, of slipping out of his bunk and over to Will, trading hot silent kisses in the dark. The idea of Will coming over to him, crouching down beside the bed, his hand sliding under the sheet and him whispering ”Shhh,” as Finn arched up into his touch. The idea that maybe Finn couldn’t keep quiet, that Will would lean over and press their mouths together, sucking all of the sounds out of Finn as fingers slipped below the elastic of his boxers, of him pulling his shirt off and stuffing it in Finn’s mouth, gagging him with soft white cotton as his hand curled around Finn’s cock, not even stroking, just holding him, just sending him slowly insane.
Finn rolled over, and bit into his pillow, trying to keep from making any sound, from even breathing too hard just in case any of the others were awake to hear him. Fantasy Will was there beside him, running his hands over Finn’s ass, tugging boxers down and caressing the bare skin, before pulling a hand back and slapping him with a short sharp spike of pain, and somehow the sound of flesh on flesh was completely silent in the room, but oh no, Finn wasn’t allowed to make a single sound or this would all be over. Wasn’t allowed to do anything but inhale sharply through his nose and grind against the just-too-hard mattress as Will dipped his head down and licked gently at the hot patch of dull pain left behind by the blow of his hand, as he kissed and licked over Finn’s skin as his hands pushed Finn’s legs apart, as they tilted Finn’s hips up and his mouth moved down and down, pressing and licking and sucking and kissing that hot little private place, as his tongue pressed into Finn and Finn nearly suffocated on his pillow from pressing his face into it, trying so damn hard not to made a single. Damn. Sound.
He came in his pants, grinding against his mattress, and Finn would be embarrassed, but he fell into a deep sleep full of dreams he couldn’t remember. And, he rationalised in the morning, creaming his pants at night was a hell of a lot less embarrassing than dealing with a boner in the morning.
*
The ninth time was during the swimming lessons the PE class had to go through once a year, and through the magic events of one teacher getting convenient food poisoning, and Mr Schue having a gap in his teaching schedule just big enough, he got roped into supervising a bunch of boys and girls getting yelled at to lift their damn hips already while swimming freestyle.
And the pathetic thing was that he didn’t even get his shirt off. Just sat on the side of the pool in the white tee he wore under his button up shirt, and red swimming trunks, watching idly just in case someone happened to start drowning. And maybe Sam, despite being good on the field, just happened to be a total klutz in the pool and smacked into the wall at one end too hard and proceeded to get himself tangled in one of the lane ropes. So Will executed a very tidy dive into the water and dragged Sam over to one edge, and asked him very calmly if he was okay and if he could get out by himself and did he think his head was bleeding. Then he planted his hands on the edge of the pool and hauled himself out, and then turned and helped pull Sam out, and he didn’t even have the decency to be shirtless and glistening wet in the light of the swimming centre.
But Finn still looked. Looked at the way the material clung to his shoulders, and the muscles in his upper arms, and the way his hair still curled when it was wet, darker now and dripping into his face, the way the shirt stuck to his stomach and chest, and dark circles of two nipples just visible through the thin, wet material.
“Is he okay?” Kurt asked.
He’s better than okay, Finn thought, and then realised that Kurt was talking about something else entirely. “What? Sam? Yeah, I think he’s okay.”
And Kurt gave Finn a long look then, that Finn could only avoid by going back to his laps.
*
The tenth time was when Will was singing, and fuck was Finn happy it never occurred to his dick to be into that before, because he really liked it when Will sang. Which, yeah, possibly was the problem. And you know what, it was Katy Freaking Perry who broke Finn’s brain. And while Will didn’t have anything near the room needed at the upper end of his range, he just shifted the song down to fit him well enough, because it was all about teaching Tina and Santana to hit the words out at just the right time and to suck in a sharp breath just here, and he was tapping the beat with one foot, his knees relaxed and bouncing, and he’d hit his thigh to punctuate the words (Tee-Nage-Dream) and he just... he was never still when he was singing, he was always moving and reaching out and coaching and he could switch from a serious ‘come on, you can do this’ face to a ‘oh god this is fun’ face within nanoseconds.
And it certainly helped that he’d strip those million layers of teacher-clothes off, down to his jeans and a tee that fit and Finn never really figured that he had a thing for forearms, but he sure liked seeing them.
And watching his body move, watching him sing and bounce and yes, he’d slide one leg out over the smooth floor, and shift his weight so he slid back into place over it, leading with his hips.
”My. Heart. Stops. When you look at me. Just. One. Touch, now baby I believe.”
And Finn was fucking gone, a soft kind of hard, hidden safe and secret behind the drum kit. What the hell was Will doing in Lima? Why hadn’t he gotten out and found somewhere to just... shine?
Will looked up and caught his gaze, and smiled in such an open and unabashed way.
Would Will sing during sex? Probably, little snatches of dark dirty lyric between mouths pressing and lungs gasping and tongues exploring. Finn didn’t feel guilty, getting aroused from such pure enjoyment. Finn let himself be warm and loose and relaxed as he watched and enjoyed. The hard, fast, shameful would come later.
*
The eleventh time was at Nationals (again) when Finn was pumped from being on stage and freaking out because when they went home he’d be packing up for freaking college, because he fucking graduated a few weeks ago and this was going to be one of their last moments together.
And because fuck Will looked good in a suit.
And Finn knew that maybe his dick was just grasping at straws, because hell, maybe he’d never ever see Will again once they got back to Lima, maybe this was his last chance to look him over and drink him in and gobble the sight of him up to store for later. And Finn knew that it was also kind of wrong, that he should be over the habit of cracking one at the drop of a hat, and that there was going to be hugging whether they won or lost and, well, hello awkward, and that in all honesty he was probably only half-hard because it was a welcome distraction from feeling like he needed to breathe into a paper bag for a moment because when the hell did things start changing so quickly?
So he snuck off to the bathroom, and felt an odd kind of melancholy that this would possibly be the last time he’d jerk off over his Spanish teacher in a public restroom. There were some good memories there. And in a way Finn was glad that he’d learned to be quiet, because holy shit Kurt was standing right outside his cubicle waiting for him, arms crossed over his chest and a determined look on his face.
“Gah, damnit, Kurt. We had a rule about this!”
“I don’t see a sock on the door,” Kurt snapped back.
Which, okay. Fair.
“I’ve spent a lot of time looking in the mirror, Finn. I know lovesick when I see it.”
Finn washed his hands and didn’t look up at Kurt at all. “I prefer to think of it as horny puppy love.”
Finn glanced up just in time to see Kurt grimace. “You’re my brother. I really don’t need that image in my head.”
Finn grinned at him. “A few years too late.”
“Pathetic,” Kurt corrected.
Finn shrugged, and dried his hands off. “You would know.” That was them talking about it. Done and dusted.
Expect Kurt grabbed his arm as Finn brushed past him, and stared at him hard. There was some message there, but Finn had never been great at reading Kurt. He put the incident out of his mind, and was just in time to line up on stage and get the greatest news of his life.
*
The twelfth time was hours and hours later, while everyone was still jumping on beds in the hotel room and laughing and screaming and hugging one another hard enough to crack ribs (hotel management had given up telling them to calm down). Finn was slumped in one corner, exhausted and happy and buzzing from the stupid amount of cake he’d eaten, the litres of cola he’d drunk, and the cheap booze that Puck had managed to sneak into everyone’s plastic cups.
Alcohol, the great enabler.
And then Will had come over and crouched by the arm chair that Finn was lazing in, his body stretched out and his legs spread, and feeling so damn good.
“It hasn’t sunk in,” Finn replied to whatever question about why he wasn’t joining it. “I’m just waiting for it, you know?”
And Will had laughed and Finn had been quite unashamed in raking his eyes over his teacher’s face. The wide mouth and white teeth and bright eyes, and cheekbones that Finn wanted to lick, a jaw line he’d like to mouth down, hair he’d give his firstborn to tangle his fingers in. And his brain said ’how can one person be so amazing?’ and his body said ’this may never happen again’ and he was just too warm and relaxed to care that he was getting hard and saying dumb things like “You’re amazing, seriously. You’re the best,” to the man who now wasn’t his teacher, and never would be again.
And Will grinned back and looked easily over Finn’s face, and down to where Finn’s hand was resting hot and heavy on his wrist, and then it was just a few inches to the right and he was looking at...
Finn didn’t even have the energy to be mortified. He just squeezed Will’s wrist and said “I think Rachel wants to dance with you,” and let him make his escape. He pulled one foot up onto the chair, curled against his thigh and rested his chin on his knee, watching the room and feeling so good, and eventually falling asleep.
*
The thirteenth time should have been made of bad luck. That was how numbers worked, right? And the potential for embarrassment was certainly there, at an afternoon party at Mr Schue’s to celebrate their win, the glee kids and their families and the odd other student who turned up. The last warm heat sliding in through his wide windows, and everyone had brought a plate so there was enough food to feed a nation of teenage boys, and Finn and Kurt were both half-packed, even if their parents thought they hadn’t started.
And then Tina and Artie left because she had an early flight, and then Kurt and the Hudmels (thankyou, Rachel, for that nickname) left to buy the list of things Kurt had come up with while talking to Mercedes and Quinn. Then Santana and Brittany were never seen again, and people drifted off and broke away with called out goodbyes and happy voices fading out of the building. Then Rachel gave her favourite teacher and her favourite ex-boyfriend parting hugs, and it was just Will and Finn, talking easily and tidying up, and arguing about what to do with all of the food.
And then things were mostly cleared away, with Will putting cling wrap over the food, while Finn rinsed plates and cups under the sink, and Will looked over at him and said “Okay, now you’re definitely my favourite.”
“You’ve always been mine,” Finn replied easily, and looked over at Will and their eyes held for a moment that stretched just too long. And then Will stepped close to Finn, reaching past him to slide an empty plate into the sink, and Finn couldn’t help but reach out and wrap his wet fingers around the warm, firm skin of Will’s forearm. Finn slowly turned around, so they were standing chest to chest, breathing the same air. And then he brought his other hand up, and slowly touched his damp fingertips to Will’s jaw.
“You’ve always been my favourite,” he said softly.
And when Will didn’t pull away, didn’t put distance between them and talk about barriers and appropriateness, Finn tugged him closer and tilted his head up, and Will closed that last bit of distance and kissed him.
And of all the things Finn fantasised about, he never built and perfected their first kiss in his mind. Which was a good thing, because nothing could have ever lived up to the soft, slow press of lips in the warm, August light of Will’s kitchen, with Finn’s hands damp and cold from the tap water and Will holding a garbage bag in one hand right up until the moment he dropped it to put both hands on Finn’s shoulders, gripping the material and pressing forwards and turning the kiss into something hard and needy.
Finn grabbed Will’s hips and pulled their bodies together, pulled Will close and ground against him and goddamn it was so much better in real life, even with a kitchen bench pressing into his back. Will pulled back then, breathing shakily and pressing kisses against Finn’s mouth, softer and more chaste, before settling his forehead against Finn’s and just being close, just breathing.
Slow down, he was saying. Slow down.
And Finn could handle that. He could handle the idea of taking it slow and making it sweet, and long hours of kissing on the couch, exploring each other the way he’d been exploring Will for fucking years.
Lucky thirteen, when Will arched and gasped again him, and for once it was entirely appropriate.