Title: (Don't) Put A Ring On It
Rating: R for this chapter, NC-17 eventually
Summary: Finn is getting married and Kurt is the best man. But Kurt wants to kiss the
A/N: Thanks go to rebness for beta-ing this! Also, check out the second chapter of mothergoddamn 's twin story here.
Previous: Chapter 1
Two hours later, they were sitting at the counter of a nearby bar with a considerable amount of empty shot glasses in front of them, the bitterness and tension melted for the time being.
Kurt was feeling tipsy and happy in a surreal kind of way, and Finn was laughing and drunkenly recounting some adventure or other that happened back in Lima, featuring Artie, Brittany and a huge rubber duck, and for a moment Kurt could see the old Finn again – carefree and honest and enthusiastic – instead of bitter and washed-out at the age of 21. And God, had he missed the sight.
They stumbled back into their old apartment, trying and failing miserably to keep quiet for Miss Bartlett’s benefit, and collapsed on the couch, still giggling. Well, Kurt was, at any rate, because Finn seemed to have suddenly grown very quiet, and kept just looking at him.
After a while, Kurt noticed and snorted in a rather undignified manner. “What? What’s the matter? Do I have salt on my nose?” He went a little cross-eyed trying to look down at it. “I’m terrible at drinking tequila, you know that, I just…” his voice trailed off, because Finn was still quiet and strangely sombre for someone who was completely drunk – although to be fair it took a considerably bigger amount of alcohol to knock the giant dork on his ass.
Kurt wanted to ask again, but his throat had gone strangely dry. Finn was still looking at him with an almost scary intensity, his eyes very dark and his cheeks very pink, and then he licked his lips once and said quietly: “I like guys.”
Kurt frowned minutely. Three totally common words, but combined together like that they made no sense whatsoever. “Finn, you…”
“I don’t know when it started. I don’t know if it was all the time, or if… And I’m totally blown – like hurricane-plus-tornado blown – but it’s true. I like guys.”
Kurt shook his head, because really, it was always up to him to fix Finn’s mistakes. “You don’t like guys. You like girls. Because you’re straight!” he said, poking Finn in the chest, pretty proud of his logical abilities even when drunk. “And straight guys like girls.” The old pang somewhere between his ribs. It never really went away, did it?
Finn nodded, frowning a little, but obviously agreeing. “Yeah. Girls are… I like girls.” Kurt smiled pleasedly. There. All fixed. “…I like guys, too.”
Kurt did such a powerful double-take he almost fell off the couch. “Finn!” he squeaked. “Stop it! It’s not funny.”
“Dude. You’re telling me. It’s like poet… poem… epic justice.”
“Poetic. And you don’t like guys. Really, Finn!” he scoffed.
“Yeah, really. I’ve had these dreams, you know… so vivid, it’s like being 15 all over again, except with the wrong gender. In one of them--”
“I don’t want to know!” Kurt covered his ears, then dropped his hands when he realised he couldn’t hear his own voice. “I don’t want to know about your… your wet dreams. Look, Finn…” he took a cleansing breath. “All of this stuff…? It’s just because you’re messed up!”
Finn shook his head, still strangely composed, which was irritating, considering he was usually unable to move without his limbs flying all over and producing casualties. “No,” he said shaking his head. “No—other way ‘round. I think actually that I’m messed up because of this.”
“Oh, don’t be an idiot. Look, it makes sense. Say you’ve been feeling trapped by your life; by your impending wedding, which is about the epitome of everything straight. Say you feel unsatisfied with yourself. Say your brain – whose functioning I gave up trying to understand years ago – decides to convince you of this just so you have an excuse for feeling so confused--”
“Say I went to this gay bar and made out with a dude and got hard from it?”
Kurt choked on his spit. “What?!” he shrieked, because what!
Finn nodded solemnly. “Totally. I know it was wrong ‘cos I was dating Quinn and everything, but I had to—I had to know. And… yeah. I guess I’m, uh, yeah. Bi.”
Kurt closed his eyes, trying to think beyond the tidal wave of freak-out that was building behind them. “Okay. You… you’re bi. What does this even have to do with anything? Quinn will be okay with it, as long as you don’t bring it up in front of her mother, her friends and possibly any shared acquaintances you have. So she’s the one you should be telling. Why are you here at all? Why are you telling me?”
Finn’s mouth did that thing where his lips quirked up, except it was too rueful to really be called a smile. He leaned closer, only a little, and when he spoke his voice was softer. “Don’t you know? Kurt… can’t you tell?”
“Tell what?” Kurt complained, annoyed, except a moment later it all clicked into place. The intense way Finn had been looking at him. The fact that the tips of his ears had been blushing all the time they were out drinking, something which was usually reserved for particularly interesting reruns of Baywatch. His shy, awkward posture on the couch right now and--
“Oh my God. Oh my sweet, sweet Gaga!” he gasped, feeling suddenly painfully sober. “Finn, you’re not—you aren’t—you’re not attracted to me, are you?
“Dude.” This time it was a real smile, the trademark Hudson smirk. “Took you long enough.”
Kurt shot up from the couch, clutching a pillow to his chest. “No. This is a joke. It’s sick. You’re sick. What do you even think you’re doing, getting engaged and then crashing through my door with your identity crisis and your sob-story of broken dreams and your newly embraced bisexuality? I don’t want to be in this mess!”
“Kurt, man, calm down, I just…” Finn got up in turn, his hands raised in a peace offering. “I’m not gonna make you do anything! I just thought maybe… I know that you used to like me, you know, way way back, and so I figured that maybe…”
“Maybe? Maybe what, Finn?!” Kurt could feel his shock turn into anger. “Oh, I see it now! You’re dealing with the scary, evil non-conventional sexuality, so you thought you’d come here and get your kicks from the faggy stepbrother, because of course I’m so desperate that I have nothing better to do than pander to your hard-ons, and furthermore I’m friends with both you and Quinn, so I won’t say anything--”
“Stop it!” Finn yelled, grabbing him by the arm. It was done in desperation more than actual anger, but the height and bulk of the other man were still enough to shut Kurt up momentarily. “That’s not what… it’s not… it’s not a fucking experiment! Didn’t you listen? I already have experimented! Do you think I would do that to you? Think I would just, I would use you like that? After… after everything?”
Finn sounded genuinely hurt, and Kurt, irate as he was, had to admit it didn’t sound like something the other man would do. He ran his hands across his face, sighing wearily. “No, I don’t think that. Sorry. But… this is crazy. Totally, totally crazy. Let’s just… let’s go to sleep and forget all about it, and tomorrow you’re going to go back to Lima and to your fiancée.”
Finn’s face fell and his mouth worked soundlessly, like he was trying to get something out but it hurt too much to make sense. “But… but I miss you!” he whispered eventually, his voice breaking a little. “I didn’t even know at first, because I was so used to being around you, but I miss you so freaking much…! I’ll be doing something – anything – just watching TV or talking to Quinn or our parents, and then I realise you’re not there and it’s like—it’s like all the air got sucked out of the room.” He looked at Kurt, totally lost.
Kurt swallowed, feeling his eyes start to sting, and no, he really had to avoid this, truly. He couldn’t let Finn get to him. That wasn’t something he did anymore. So what if he felt exactly the same way? So what if he missed even the stupidest littlest things like drinking warm milk together at the kitchen counter? It didn’t matter. None of it mattered.
“Finn, I…” he tried to say as much, but his locked throat would not cooperate, and Finn moved closer, a way-too-tall presence in his personal space, taking Kurt’s hands in his large, impossibly warm ones, thumbs rubbing soothingly.
“Please, Kurt...” He really needed to stop being so devastatingly, annoyingly earnest. He also needed to stop leaning forward like that because it was way too close, way too close. “I know you still like me. I can tell…”
Kurt considered slapping him across the face for the sheer arrogance of that, except it wasn’t arrogance, not really, it was just Finn being Finn, running his mouth with whatever his heart was feeling. And God, he was right, too, wasn’t he?
He didn’t realise a tear was rolling down his cheek until Finn’s fingers dried it, and then he was standing up on tiptoe and tilting his head back and Finn was leaning down and they were kissing.
It took Kurt’s brain a good few seconds to catch up with the rest of his body; to register that Finn’s lips were warm and full and a little chapped, and his mouth was wet and inviting, and—wow, he sure could use his tongue. Of course it made sense that Finn would be a practiced kisser, considering his girlfriends always took an insanely long amount of time before even letting him get to second base, but Kurt hadn’t expected him to be quite that good.
Not that it would have mattered, really, because when your longest-standing, never-fulfilled crush – who incidentally happens to also be your first love – lays one on you out of the blue, chances are you’ll think it’s the most amazing kiss ever, even if he has all the technique and finesse of an orang-utan. Kurt, it turned out, was no exception to the aforementioned rule, if the shaky feeling in his knees was anything to judge by.
Finn had one arm around his waist, holding him steady, and Kurt’s hands found their way to the back of his t-shirt and made fists there, clinging tightly as he licked into Finn’s mouth, tasting, discovering.
They really should stop, Kurt knew as much. They should at least stop to breathe, if nothing else. Except he didn’t want to stop, not ever. Finn’s lips left his with a soft, wet ‘smack’, and he kissed the line of Kurt’s jaw before catching his bottom lip between his teeth and nibbling on it, and Kurt actually moaned.
His hands dropped to Finn’s hips, sliding under the t-shirt to caress hot skin. A pant escaped from Finn’s lips into his own, and Kurt felt himself get aroused, just from that. It was unacceptable, that’s what it was. This hadn’t happened to him since he was sixteen, for heaven’s sake, back when he was lusting over—oh. Right, yes.
“Finn… Finn, I--” he tried weakly pushing the other guy away, because he was not going to face the humiliation of being freaked out on when Finn realized he was hard, but Finn was apparently having none of it.
“It’s okay. We… it’s fine, totally fine…” he mumbled, in-between sucking at Kurt’s neck, slowly working his way towards the hickey of the century; he started maneuvering Kurt away from the living room, and they stumbled and shuffled towards the kitchen, not really knowing why.
Finn pushed him with his back to the kitchen counter – still kissing, always kissing, tongues touching, open-mouthed and dirty – and when he pressed his body flush against Kurt’s it became painfully clear that he had good reason to be okay with Kurt’s arousal, a very obvious, very concrete reason currently poking into Kurt’s thigh.
“You’re--” Kurt half-gasped into the kiss.
“Told ya,” said Finn, lightly, but the pink in his cheeks grew one shade darker. “Is it, um, are you…?” he inquired, probably reliving every indignant shriek he’d ever received from outraged girlfriends.
“Totally,” Kurt reassured quickly, slinging his arms around Finn’s neck and pulling him back down into the kiss. A moment later, Finn’s fingers were undoing his shirt buttons, fumbling a little and oh my God, Finn Hudson was stripping him.
And okay, that maybe unhinged his reason a bit, because maybe, just maybe, his hand snuck down all by itself and started palming Finn through his jeans, and then Finn was groaning and kissing along his exposed collarbone, and this was so, so wrong but oh, it felt so fucking right.
Kurt hooked his thumbs into Finn’s t-shirt, tugging determinedly. “Off. Now.”
Finn immediately raised his arms, but by the time the fabric hit the floor he already had his hands all over Kurt’s chest, stroking, squeezing his hips, mapping out the pale expanse.
A shiver ran through Kurt’s body as he kissed down Finn’s jaw, every sensation shooting straight to his groin. He made a noise in the back of his throat that he hoped didn’t fully qualify as a whimper, because he needed to be touched like yesterday.
Finn looked a little dazed, pupils blown wide with desire, but eventually he accomplished with the indirect plea. Strong arms wrapped around Kurt’s waist, hoisting him up on the counter, moving in even closer when the slighter man spread his knees apart, their erections finally pressed flush together.
And Kurt was about to take control, he really was, but apparently Finn, although coming from a life of straight-like-an-arrowness, was familiar enough with the concept of grinding, and – oh,fuck, yes! – so he tightened his hold on the other man’s neck and just went with it, shifting, arching, as Finn drove his hips into Kurt’s over and over, faster, harder and then—
--and then Kurt moaned and threw his head back, helpless, and he came. In his pants. In his expensive, expensive pants, and he would have been beating Finn to death with a kitchen spatula right then, if he hadn’t still been tingling with the post-coital buzz.
When the ringing in his ears subsided and his eyes regained focus, he noticed Finn was still standing close, very much not freaking out, looking like a cat who ate the entire fucking supply of cream, and with a mess in his jeans to match Kurt’s.
They were breathing heavy, arms still encircling each other, lips less than an inch apart—and that should have been the moment when they started kissing all over again, slow and heady, but…
As Finn leaned in, Kurt stopped him, his hands vice-firm on the other man’s shoulders.
“Finn,” he whispered, mortified. “What are we doing?”
“Well, we…we… you know…?” Finn made a terribly vague gesture, looking honestly amazed that he had to explain this to Kurt.
“No, Finn!” Kurt gave him a little shove, hopping down from the counter. “I mean, what are we doing? You’re getting married! In three days!”
“Three and a half,” Finn protested, sullen.
“It doesn’t matter!” Kurt hated the way that the more heated his voice got, the higher it rose, and it was doing nothing to lessen his frustration. “What the hell are you thinking? You can’t just, can’t just—you’re going to walk down an aisle and say vows and--”
“But I don’t want to!”
“I don’t care! You should have thought about it before—and what, do you think you can just show up here and expect us to, expect me to—you’re an idiot!”
“Back the hell up, I didn’t hear you say ‘no’ or anything, so--”
“So what, Finn? It doesn’t make it okay for you to screw everyone’s lives up because of your eternal indecision! Your problem, Finn, is that you don’t know what you want!” Kurt bent to retrieve Finn’s t-shirt from the floor, trying – somehow, someway – to fix the mess, make it disappear.
“Yes, I do!” Finn was getting angry too, his voice louder, his jaw set hard. “It seems pretty damn obvious to me, that this is what I want. And you know it, so stop being such a hypocrite!”
“Yes, fine. Of course. This is what you want. I’m sure it’s your deepest aspiration to be my boyfriend and march in the annual gay parade.”
“I’m—I’m getting there, okay? This is still pretty new to me, all I know is that I want to be with you and…”
Kurt didn’t let him finish. “Exactly, Finn! This is new to you! You’ve been feeling this way for, how long now? One week? Two? Three, tops? It’s not the same for me, Finn! It’s not weeks for me! Try months. Try years. And I’m not even sure I ever—God!” He wasn’t sure when he’d started shouting, but he couldn’t seem to stop.
“You don’t know what it was like, Finn! You can’t even imagine—just… just watching you everyday and… well I’m not going back there! I’m not going to let you in, only to fall on my ass and watch you go back to the comfortable straight life the moment you get tired of this!” he yelled, his eyes stinging dangerously, his chest heaving.
Finn was staring at him wide-eyed, open-mouthed, any fight blown out of him under the weight of Kurt’s distress. He looked like he was aching somewhere, and had no band-aid to make it better.
“But Kurt…” he said, weakly, his voice raw with feeling. “Kurt, I lo--”
“Don’t!” Kurt’s eyes widened in fear, as if Finn were about to fling a curse at him. “Don’t,” he repeated in a whisper. He took the step separating him from the tall man and shoved the crumpled t-shirt in his hands.
“Go sleep in your room,” he ordered, his voice carefully even. “You’re getting on the first plane back to Lima tomorrow morning.”
He headed towards his bedroom, ignoring the way Finn was clutching at his t-shirt like a little kid whose dog had just died, and the quiet defeat in his simple “I’m sorry.”
“Me too. Go to bed, Finn. It’s the right thing to do.”
But later on, as he lay awake in bed, waiting for tears that wouldn’t come, he couldn’t help but wonder, right for whom?
The next morning neither of them talked much. Kurt made coffee, and Finn managed to finish all of Kurt’s cornflakes, which Kurt was pretty sure had been more than half the box.
Then Finn called a taxi, picked up his backpack, and in a matter of minutes Kurt was closing the door on him, slumping against it.
That was when the tears came.