For Eel

It's not every day that a straight guy finds himself balls deep in his best friend. Not that I'm really surprised.

Fucking Finn isn't like fucking Santana. Or Brittany. Or Quinn. It's more my speed, if you want to know the truth. There's no sweet talking or acting like I give a shit if it hurts. There's no making love, it's just pure, unadulterated fucking. So while I can't say I'm thrilled with the label it gives me, I can't really complain, either.

I remember the first time like it was yesterday. Quinn's pregnant bullshit was getting old. I love her, but if she thinks I'm going to sit around and listen to her whine, she's fucking crazy. I was pulling into Finn's driveway when I realized Finn was still mad at me for whatever it was he was mad at me for. He opened the door and looked at me like he wanted to kill me. Whatever. We used to be best friends and I needed somewhere to go to get away from the baby-mama-from-hell.

Our conversation went something like,

"Hey, I need somewhere to hang out…can I chill here for a while?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"You know why not."

Now, I'm not stupid. I know that Quinn was his girlfriend and I helped her cheat on him and blah blah blah. But let's get real for a second: he owes me a fucking muffin basket for claiming this kid. So the way I see it, he should be thanking me. And that's what I told him.

He looked pretty pissed. He got like, an inch from my face. I could tell he was about to punch me in the face, but shit! If I wanted to get into a fight, I would have stayed home with preggo. So I did the only thing I could think of that would keep me from getting Finn's fucking queer class ring in my eye.

I kissed him.

I know what you're thinking: What the hell, Puckzilla? But hear me out—I have it on good word that an anger fuck is the best kind of fuck you can get. I tried it with Quinn, but all she ever wants to do is cuddle, and quite honestly, if you put boobs on Finn, he's practically a girl anyway. He whines about everything and cries a lot. Also, I'm pretty sure he's gay with Kurt. When your mom tells you you're sharing a room with a guy who looks like Elton John threw up on him and then sprinkled glitter on it, you don't just LET IT HAPPEN. You raise hell until you get your own room or you sleep in your car.

"What the fuck, man?" Finn screamed at me.

Now, this could have gone several ways. If I played my cards right, I would get the anger sex I wanted AND get back on Finn's good side.

"You're a fag. I thought you would like it."

Finn's face went red, no lie. He fucking blushed like a milkmaid. So obviously, I was right. He shoved me.

"Let's take this downstairs. Burt scares the shit out of me, and I don't wanna knock you on your ass in front of him." I insisted. I had him right where I wanted him.

Down in the room he and Kurt shared, it was dark. Finn reached for the light, but I figured this would play out better in the dark, so I interrupted his mission and shoved him down on the bed.

"What the—"

I kissed him roughly. Like I might've knocked one of his teeth out, because it kind of really fucking hurt. But it hurt in the good way. I liked it. First, he was pushing me away, but I am nothing if not persistent, and I was far enough invested in this that I wasn't leaving without an anger fuck. After the first couple of tries, he started kissing me back.

Fuck, it was so good.

I pulled him up by his shirt and turned him around. I pushed his face into his pillows and jerked down his sweatpants. I undid my pants, spit on my hands to slick things up, and I fucked him straight into the mattress.

It stung like crazy. I was throbbing in all the right places, though. It was rough as hell and I gotta say—anger sex is fucking BOSS. When we were done, I pulled out, fastened my pants, and looked at Finn.

"So, we cool?"

Finn looked ridiculous. Mussed hair, lip bleeding from my teeth, pants around his knees. I could faintly make out his dumb little grin in the dark. He slapped me five. "We're cool."

Kurt rolled over in the next bed. "If you two are quite done, I'd like to go back to sleep."

Don't think I didn't notice the tent big enough for two cowboys to hump like rabbits that was pitched in your sheets, Kurt Hummel. I'm not stupid and I'm not modest—that was hot and you loved every minute of it.

…

So I pretty much thought that was it until a week later, when Finn asked the million dollar question.

"Wanna spend the weekend at my house?"

We locked eyes. We both knew what he meant. "Kurt?"

"Staying with Mercedes."

I nodded.

It's kind of complicated. I'm not gay. Finn is bisexual, or as I like to call him, half-fag. He doesn't like it, but it makes him mad.

And him being mad has its benefits.