Fic: Like Elves, Gremlins, and Eskimos, chapter three
Title: Like Elves, Gremlins, and Eskimos, chapter three
Pairing,Character(s): Will/Finn, Quinn/Finn
Rating: M
Word count: 2,000-ish
Summary: Mr Schue has a weakness. Finn has a plan.
Notes: This chapter contains bleeding and sexiness happening at the same time. It also contains Quinn. You are warned.
Chapter one
Chapter two
Finn has a new mission in life. And he has a cunning plan to achieve it. Finn figures that Mr Schue must be cutting back on his nomming sessions with Coach Sylvester, because he’s spending a lot of time looking tired and pale and ill. And Finn also figures that if he can nearly get Mr Schue to bite him just from showing some neck, then he can definitely get a bite if he shows something a little more... irresistible.
It takes some planning. He has to wait for the right day, the right signs. Mr Schue needs to be looking a little vague by lunch and exhausted by the end of the day. Finn carries a little kit around with him, as weird as that seems, but it’s a lot better and safer than relying on the environment. So, after a careful moment by his locker after his last lesson, that’s how Finn walks into glee practice on Tuesday with his hand bleeding.
“I fell over on the stairs,” he says, clutching his wrist. “I think there’s glass or something in it.” And there’s a moment where Mr Schue is looking at Finn’s hand with that little puddle of blood oozing across his palm the way a starving man looks at a roast chicken. And then Rachel has a wad of tissue pressed over the cut, and Finn tries not to be mad at her because she’s only helping.
“You need to go get cleaned up,” Mr Schue says.
Finn leans into him. “Can you help? I tried pulling the glass out and it felt really creepy.”
Mr Schue gives him this look before he takes Finn’s palm and lifts the tissue up, looking at the cut and the blotted blood. His tongue runs over his bottom lip, and Finn tires not to stare at it. “You should probably see the nurse about this.”
“She’s left already,” and Finn slips a whine into his voice.
Mr Schue gives him another of those looks, a little angry and a little worried, the kind of look that was pre-emptive regret. But he still darts into the music office to grab the first aid kit. “Come on then,” he says.
The boys’ bathroom is white and quiet, and Mr Schue positions Finn on one side of a basin, and leans against the wall on the other. The white sink is a cold barrier between them, the first aid kit perched precariously on its edge.
There is defiantly a piece of glass in the cut. Finn had boiled it in water twice at home, and carried it around in a neat little plastic bag since then. Mr Schue is very quiet, and very tense as he uses green plastic tweezers to ease the tiny chip of glass out, and drop it in the bin. He turns the tap on, and holds Finn’s hand under the running water. It’s cold, but Mr Schue’s hand is warm, and even with the sink between them their heads are close together.
“This was a really stupid thing for you to do,” Mr Schue says at last.
“You’re stupid,” Finn replies, and then has to justify sounding like a five-year-old. “You’re the one going around and being all blood-anorexic or whatever. You need to eat and I want to feed you. How is this any different from Rachel giving you sugar cookies?”
“It’s different because your body is not a cookie.” And there’s an irritated hardness in Mr Schue’s voice. He presses his thumb to the side of the cut in Finn’s hand, pressing blood and any dirt out, letting it get washed away. “You’re body isn’t... it’s not something that you should just throw away.”
“Why not?” Finn asks. “It’s mine.”
Mr Schue’s reply is a little too loud in the closed space. “Because you only get one.” Finn jerks his hand away, and Mr Schue rests both of his palms on the edge of the sink, staring down at the flow of water, watching it run down the basin and trickle out of sight. “You get one body, and one life, and you shouldn’t let it get... get all messed up like this.”
Finn swallows. And then he thinks carefully, before swallowing again. “This isn’t messed up,” he says at last. “You make me want to be better, you make my life better. I want to repay you for that. I want to give something back for you.” Finn looks at Mr Schue carefully, at the way his hands are gripping the white ceramic of the basin, at the way his head is bowed, how his body is held so taut. “And you want to take it.”
Finn lifts his hand up, the cut clean and fresh and damp. Mr Schue leans away, but Finn has long arms, and his blood is in his teacher’s face and that look from after practice is back.
“Finn,” he says weakly.
Finn takes a deep breath, touching Mr Schue’s lips with damp fingertips. “I want this.”
And then a hot mouth is on his palm, eyes are closed and two hands are on his wrist and Finn makes a shaky gasping noise as a tongue swipes across that hot patch of pain, as the kiss turns to suction and Finn can feel the burn of blood pulled through skin. Mr Schue makes a noise low in his throat that goes straight to Finn’s cock, that makes his body hot with a warmness that feels like a fire in Finn’s palm that mellows and softens as it threads down his arm and through his chest. Mr Schue shifts his head, changing the angle, and Finn jerks his hand away.
“Wait,” he says, even though he doesn’t want to, even though the look on Mr Schue’s face and the colour of his eyes is doing things to Finn’s body that are all screaming don’t stop.
“The forgetting,” Finn says, “how does it work?”
Mr Schue’s eyes are already closing, his hands pulling Finn’s palm close again. “Teeth,” he says. “Sedative. Maybe.”
Finn pulls his hand back a little, just enough for those eyes to open again. “No biting,” he says. And there’s a long pause, where tiny streams of rationality are fighting against a wave of need behind Mr Schue’s eyes, and then the wave crashes down and lips are on skin, and Finn’s breath is coming in sharp gasps.
He doesn’t know what it is. Maybe it’s the thumb stroking back and forth across the sensitive skin inside his wrist, maybe it’s the thrilling weight of sharing a secret. It’s probably a lot to do with the way Mr Schue is making out with his hand, with the way his lips are sucking and his tongue is probing, and the way there are these little wet noises being made that sound totally pornographic. Finn’s breaths get harder, and get shakier, and when he moans Mr Schue is echoing it and Finn is coming in his pants.
Finn doesn’t even have time to be mortified, because Mr Schue is pressed up against him, pressing him into the wall and his nose is at Finn’s neck and his hand is down Finn’s pants, and he pulls it out all wet and sticky with come and starts licking it clean with long strokes of his tongue, and Finn’s whole body pulses and he makes this choked little sound that’s all high noises and his stomach fluttering. He could come again, he’s sure, just from the sight of Mr Schue liking his own fingers clean like they’re covered in vanilla ice cream.
And it’s all stopped short by a knock at the door.
“Are you okay?” Kurt calls, before sticking his head through the door. “That didn’t sound like a good noise.”
Mr Schue is on the other side of the basin again - and Finn has no idea how he get there so fast - washing his hands with liquid soap and looking for all the world like nothing has happened. He looks up at Kurt, and smiles. “It was a big piece of glass,” he says.
Finn nods and tries to get his head together. He feels gauze pressed to his palm, and some part of his brain notices the tape being wrapped around his hand, holding it in place.
“There,” Mr Schue says, and it feels like it comes from a long way. “Does that feel okay?”
Finn flexes his fingers. His hand feels warm, tingling from the inside. “Yeah,” he says.
“Right, I’d better get back and make sure Rachel isn’t terrorising anyone.”
Finn nods and quickly heads into a toilet stall, and does his best to clean himself off, painfully aware of Kurt still standing in the bathroom. He gets a sympathetic look when he finally emerges.
“I’m not good with blood either,” Kurt says.
“Right,” Finn replies as they walk down the hall together, and it takes him a moment to realise that he just kind of had sex with a teacher in a bathroom and - not only did they not get caught - that Kurt thinks that he’s all flustered and giddy from a little bit of blood. After a moment Finn decides that he’s perfectly okay with this. “Don’t tell anyone?”
Kurt smiles at him, brightly happy and a painful contrast to how scattered Finn is feeling. “I won’t.”
Finn nods, and takes a deep breath. “Cool.”
*
The next few days are amazing. Mr Schue is full of energy and smiles, and every time Finn looks at him there’s a little voice in his head that says I did that. It’s Finn’s blood pumping through those veins, it’s Finn’s body that’s given Mr Schue so much energy. It’s a train of thought that coils down through Finn’s chest, sitting hot and tight and pleasurable in his stomach. The cut in his hand had healed by the next morning, but when Finn masturbates, he can feel his pulse throbbing behind the new skin.
It’s a strange feeling inside him, like smug, sexy pride. Of wanting something and being wanted in return, and it doesn’t matter that according to the rest of the world nothing has changed. He made Mr Schue moan. He made him want and need and crack and take, and whenever Finn closes his eyes at school there’s a powerful confidence that surges through him, as he remembers a dark tongue licking thick semen from long fingers.
He’s staring at Mr Schue, trying to work out exactly what colour his eyes are, when Quinn drops a note on his desk.
We need to talk.
And Finn knows that they do.
*
They sit on Finn’s bed, and for once Quinn doesn’t tease him about the cowboy wallpaper. It’s only the fourth time she’s ever been in his room.
“Do you think we’re in love?” Finn asks.
“No,” Quinn replies. “We’re sixteen. We’re having a baby. Love doesn’t come into it.”
“It should,” Finn replies. He stares down at his hands, and tries to sort his feelings out into neat little piles, but they won’t let themselves be organised. Envy and jealousy and want and need and shame and remorse, all writhing and tangling like snakes.
“Are you breaking up with me?” There’s that sharp anger in her voice, the voice that seems to scream I can’t believe you’re doing this no matter what Finn’s doing.
“I think,” Finn says slowly, “that what you need right now isn’t a boyfriend.” He looks up at Quinn, and wills her to understand. “You don’t like me touching you, you don’t like it when I have thoughts about this, or feelings, and if I’m your boyfriend then those things need to be important.”
“You are,” Quinn says, a little disbelieving. “You’re breaking up with me.”
“What you need right now is a friend,” Finn says levelly. “And that’s what I need too. And when we’re boyfriend and girlfriend, for some reason we’re not friends anymore. It’s too messy.”
“I’m pregnant with your child, Finn,” Quinn snaps. “That is the very definition of messy.”
Finn wraps an arm around her shoulder, and pulls her against his side. “I’m still here for you,” he says. “Just as much as I was before. It’s just that now you don’t have to worry about me trying to touch your boobs.”
“Is this about Rachel?”
“No,” Finn replies, and for once it’s true. “This is about us. If we’re going to lie to everyone else about this baby, then let’s not lie to ourselves about us. It’s just... it’s too many lies.”
Quinn leans her head against Finn’s shoulder. “I was going to break up with you once the baby’s born anyway.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want to break up,” Quinn says, her voice small. “We were going to be so good together - we had it all laid out in front of us. Then you had to go and join glee, and I had to go and get pregnant.” She pauses, sniffling. “I could have been prom queen. I could have gotten a scholarship.”
“I still think you’re pretty cool,” Finn says. “You’re strong, and brave.”
“I’m stupid,” Quinn replies, turning to press her face into Finn’s shirt. “I’m stupid and scared and I have only myself to blame.”
“You’re not stupid,” Finn replies, tightening his arm around her. There’s a long silence, while Quinn cries against Finn’s shoulder.
“Finn,” she says at last. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
Pairing,Character(s): Will/Finn, Quinn/Finn
Rating: M
Word count: 2,000-ish
Summary: Mr Schue has a weakness. Finn has a plan.
Notes: This chapter contains bleeding and sexiness happening at the same time. It also contains Quinn. You are warned.
Chapter one
Chapter two
Finn has a new mission in life. And he has a cunning plan to achieve it. Finn figures that Mr Schue must be cutting back on his nomming sessions with Coach Sylvester, because he’s spending a lot of time looking tired and pale and ill. And Finn also figures that if he can nearly get Mr Schue to bite him just from showing some neck, then he can definitely get a bite if he shows something a little more... irresistible.
It takes some planning. He has to wait for the right day, the right signs. Mr Schue needs to be looking a little vague by lunch and exhausted by the end of the day. Finn carries a little kit around with him, as weird as that seems, but it’s a lot better and safer than relying on the environment. So, after a careful moment by his locker after his last lesson, that’s how Finn walks into glee practice on Tuesday with his hand bleeding.
“I fell over on the stairs,” he says, clutching his wrist. “I think there’s glass or something in it.” And there’s a moment where Mr Schue is looking at Finn’s hand with that little puddle of blood oozing across his palm the way a starving man looks at a roast chicken. And then Rachel has a wad of tissue pressed over the cut, and Finn tries not to be mad at her because she’s only helping.
“You need to go get cleaned up,” Mr Schue says.
Finn leans into him. “Can you help? I tried pulling the glass out and it felt really creepy.”
Mr Schue gives him this look before he takes Finn’s palm and lifts the tissue up, looking at the cut and the blotted blood. His tongue runs over his bottom lip, and Finn tires not to stare at it. “You should probably see the nurse about this.”
“She’s left already,” and Finn slips a whine into his voice.
Mr Schue gives him another of those looks, a little angry and a little worried, the kind of look that was pre-emptive regret. But he still darts into the music office to grab the first aid kit. “Come on then,” he says.
The boys’ bathroom is white and quiet, and Mr Schue positions Finn on one side of a basin, and leans against the wall on the other. The white sink is a cold barrier between them, the first aid kit perched precariously on its edge.
There is defiantly a piece of glass in the cut. Finn had boiled it in water twice at home, and carried it around in a neat little plastic bag since then. Mr Schue is very quiet, and very tense as he uses green plastic tweezers to ease the tiny chip of glass out, and drop it in the bin. He turns the tap on, and holds Finn’s hand under the running water. It’s cold, but Mr Schue’s hand is warm, and even with the sink between them their heads are close together.
“This was a really stupid thing for you to do,” Mr Schue says at last.
“You’re stupid,” Finn replies, and then has to justify sounding like a five-year-old. “You’re the one going around and being all blood-anorexic or whatever. You need to eat and I want to feed you. How is this any different from Rachel giving you sugar cookies?”
“It’s different because your body is not a cookie.” And there’s an irritated hardness in Mr Schue’s voice. He presses his thumb to the side of the cut in Finn’s hand, pressing blood and any dirt out, letting it get washed away. “You’re body isn’t... it’s not something that you should just throw away.”
“Why not?” Finn asks. “It’s mine.”
Mr Schue’s reply is a little too loud in the closed space. “Because you only get one.” Finn jerks his hand away, and Mr Schue rests both of his palms on the edge of the sink, staring down at the flow of water, watching it run down the basin and trickle out of sight. “You get one body, and one life, and you shouldn’t let it get... get all messed up like this.”
Finn swallows. And then he thinks carefully, before swallowing again. “This isn’t messed up,” he says at last. “You make me want to be better, you make my life better. I want to repay you for that. I want to give something back for you.” Finn looks at Mr Schue carefully, at the way his hands are gripping the white ceramic of the basin, at the way his head is bowed, how his body is held so taut. “And you want to take it.”
Finn lifts his hand up, the cut clean and fresh and damp. Mr Schue leans away, but Finn has long arms, and his blood is in his teacher’s face and that look from after practice is back.
“Finn,” he says weakly.
Finn takes a deep breath, touching Mr Schue’s lips with damp fingertips. “I want this.”
And then a hot mouth is on his palm, eyes are closed and two hands are on his wrist and Finn makes a shaky gasping noise as a tongue swipes across that hot patch of pain, as the kiss turns to suction and Finn can feel the burn of blood pulled through skin. Mr Schue makes a noise low in his throat that goes straight to Finn’s cock, that makes his body hot with a warmness that feels like a fire in Finn’s palm that mellows and softens as it threads down his arm and through his chest. Mr Schue shifts his head, changing the angle, and Finn jerks his hand away.
“Wait,” he says, even though he doesn’t want to, even though the look on Mr Schue’s face and the colour of his eyes is doing things to Finn’s body that are all screaming don’t stop.
“The forgetting,” Finn says, “how does it work?”
Mr Schue’s eyes are already closing, his hands pulling Finn’s palm close again. “Teeth,” he says. “Sedative. Maybe.”
Finn pulls his hand back a little, just enough for those eyes to open again. “No biting,” he says. And there’s a long pause, where tiny streams of rationality are fighting against a wave of need behind Mr Schue’s eyes, and then the wave crashes down and lips are on skin, and Finn’s breath is coming in sharp gasps.
He doesn’t know what it is. Maybe it’s the thumb stroking back and forth across the sensitive skin inside his wrist, maybe it’s the thrilling weight of sharing a secret. It’s probably a lot to do with the way Mr Schue is making out with his hand, with the way his lips are sucking and his tongue is probing, and the way there are these little wet noises being made that sound totally pornographic. Finn’s breaths get harder, and get shakier, and when he moans Mr Schue is echoing it and Finn is coming in his pants.
Finn doesn’t even have time to be mortified, because Mr Schue is pressed up against him, pressing him into the wall and his nose is at Finn’s neck and his hand is down Finn’s pants, and he pulls it out all wet and sticky with come and starts licking it clean with long strokes of his tongue, and Finn’s whole body pulses and he makes this choked little sound that’s all high noises and his stomach fluttering. He could come again, he’s sure, just from the sight of Mr Schue liking his own fingers clean like they’re covered in vanilla ice cream.
And it’s all stopped short by a knock at the door.
“Are you okay?” Kurt calls, before sticking his head through the door. “That didn’t sound like a good noise.”
Mr Schue is on the other side of the basin again - and Finn has no idea how he get there so fast - washing his hands with liquid soap and looking for all the world like nothing has happened. He looks up at Kurt, and smiles. “It was a big piece of glass,” he says.
Finn nods and tries to get his head together. He feels gauze pressed to his palm, and some part of his brain notices the tape being wrapped around his hand, holding it in place.
“There,” Mr Schue says, and it feels like it comes from a long way. “Does that feel okay?”
Finn flexes his fingers. His hand feels warm, tingling from the inside. “Yeah,” he says.
“Right, I’d better get back and make sure Rachel isn’t terrorising anyone.”
Finn nods and quickly heads into a toilet stall, and does his best to clean himself off, painfully aware of Kurt still standing in the bathroom. He gets a sympathetic look when he finally emerges.
“I’m not good with blood either,” Kurt says.
“Right,” Finn replies as they walk down the hall together, and it takes him a moment to realise that he just kind of had sex with a teacher in a bathroom and - not only did they not get caught - that Kurt thinks that he’s all flustered and giddy from a little bit of blood. After a moment Finn decides that he’s perfectly okay with this. “Don’t tell anyone?”
Kurt smiles at him, brightly happy and a painful contrast to how scattered Finn is feeling. “I won’t.”
Finn nods, and takes a deep breath. “Cool.”
*
The next few days are amazing. Mr Schue is full of energy and smiles, and every time Finn looks at him there’s a little voice in his head that says I did that. It’s Finn’s blood pumping through those veins, it’s Finn’s body that’s given Mr Schue so much energy. It’s a train of thought that coils down through Finn’s chest, sitting hot and tight and pleasurable in his stomach. The cut in his hand had healed by the next morning, but when Finn masturbates, he can feel his pulse throbbing behind the new skin.
It’s a strange feeling inside him, like smug, sexy pride. Of wanting something and being wanted in return, and it doesn’t matter that according to the rest of the world nothing has changed. He made Mr Schue moan. He made him want and need and crack and take, and whenever Finn closes his eyes at school there’s a powerful confidence that surges through him, as he remembers a dark tongue licking thick semen from long fingers.
He’s staring at Mr Schue, trying to work out exactly what colour his eyes are, when Quinn drops a note on his desk.
We need to talk.
And Finn knows that they do.
*
They sit on Finn’s bed, and for once Quinn doesn’t tease him about the cowboy wallpaper. It’s only the fourth time she’s ever been in his room.
“Do you think we’re in love?” Finn asks.
“No,” Quinn replies. “We’re sixteen. We’re having a baby. Love doesn’t come into it.”
“It should,” Finn replies. He stares down at his hands, and tries to sort his feelings out into neat little piles, but they won’t let themselves be organised. Envy and jealousy and want and need and shame and remorse, all writhing and tangling like snakes.
“Are you breaking up with me?” There’s that sharp anger in her voice, the voice that seems to scream I can’t believe you’re doing this no matter what Finn’s doing.
“I think,” Finn says slowly, “that what you need right now isn’t a boyfriend.” He looks up at Quinn, and wills her to understand. “You don’t like me touching you, you don’t like it when I have thoughts about this, or feelings, and if I’m your boyfriend then those things need to be important.”
“You are,” Quinn says, a little disbelieving. “You’re breaking up with me.”
“What you need right now is a friend,” Finn says levelly. “And that’s what I need too. And when we’re boyfriend and girlfriend, for some reason we’re not friends anymore. It’s too messy.”
“I’m pregnant with your child, Finn,” Quinn snaps. “That is the very definition of messy.”
Finn wraps an arm around her shoulder, and pulls her against his side. “I’m still here for you,” he says. “Just as much as I was before. It’s just that now you don’t have to worry about me trying to touch your boobs.”
“Is this about Rachel?”
“No,” Finn replies, and for once it’s true. “This is about us. If we’re going to lie to everyone else about this baby, then let’s not lie to ourselves about us. It’s just... it’s too many lies.”
Quinn leans her head against Finn’s shoulder. “I was going to break up with you once the baby’s born anyway.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want to break up,” Quinn says, her voice small. “We were going to be so good together - we had it all laid out in front of us. Then you had to go and join glee, and I had to go and get pregnant.” She pauses, sniffling. “I could have been prom queen. I could have gotten a scholarship.”
“I still think you’re pretty cool,” Finn says. “You’re strong, and brave.”
“I’m stupid,” Quinn replies, turning to press her face into Finn’s shirt. “I’m stupid and scared and I have only myself to blame.”
“You’re not stupid,” Finn replies, tightening his arm around her. There’s a long silence, while Quinn cries against Finn’s shoulder.
“Finn,” she says at last. “There’s something I need to tell you.”