(Author's note: while putting together the Youtube channel for this installment of the Donutverse - http:/ www. youtube. com/playlist?list=PLD240CD7441F64E8C, by the way - I was surprised to discover that three of the most important songs of the chapter were not available to listen to on Youtube. So I made lyric slideshows of them, complete with angsty pictures of Puck, Finn and Kurt. Don't miss Kristen Hall's smoky voice, and tell me you can't believe these songs weren't written JUST for Puck?

Chicago 5 AM - this is the song Puck sings for Finn in the middle of the night, before he takes off - http:/ www. youtube. com/watch?v=ij6I9Gu30c0

I Don't Need You Anyway - this is the first song he sang in the Denver coffeehouse, where he busted his E string - http:/ www. youtube. com/watch?v=8JxDiFcrOHE

Truth Hurts (Don't It?) - this is the second song from the Denver performance - http:/ www. youtube. com/watch?v=rmBbGtnAiQA

Enjoy some Sarah, Burt and Carole, some Toby/Will, some Glee and some Carl/Finn, plus bonus sex with Kurt! -amy)


"This is really great, Mr. Hummel, Mrs. Hudson," said Sarah, sipping her root beer float. "Thanks for lunch."

"Well, believe it or not, I remember being eleven," he said, smiling at Carole over his burger. "I figured if you had an excuse not to go back to school after meeting with the social worker, you'd probably take it."

"I like school," Sarah said. "It's the stupid kids I don't like."

Carole nodded soberly. Burt guessed she remembered being eleven, too. "Who was that girl who called you yesterday? I took you over to her house?"

"Frances." The fries on Sarah's plate were rapidly disappearing. As Burt had suspected, she hadn't had breakfast. He'd have to be sure to wake up early enough to make it for her, now that Puck wasn't making it anymore.

"She's the one I met on Saturday, at the service?" Burt made a noise of approval. "I like her."

"She's cool," Sarah said. "Her parents are, like, straight out of 50s reruns, but she's all right."

"So..." Burt glanced at Carole, then faced Sarah again. "Carole and I, we've talked this through, and we wanted you to understand our thinking before you made any decisions."

Sarah stopped chewing and sat back, watching them with cautious eyes. She nodded silently.

"Before all of this happened, when we were still planning to do the home evaluation for your mother, we'd talked about you coming to stay with me," said Carole. "But now, the way things are between Finn and Puck, I'm not sure if that's a good idea." Burt knew it hurt her to say it; she swallowed before continuing. "Sarah, you've always been welcome at my house, and that's still true..."

"They're going to get back together," Sarah said, with placid confidence. "I'm sure of it."

"Well, that may or may not be true, but right now, they're barely talking to each other. It's complicated, as you know." She put a gentle hand on Sarah's. "And... Sarah, you're going to have to be prepared. He might not ever come back."

"He will," Sarah insisted. "He didn't take any of Dad's records. That means he's coming back for sure."

Carole shot a startled look at Burt. He nodded thoughtfully. Good point. Sarah knows her brother. "Okay. So let's assume he'll come back sometime. So we thought, if you still wanted to stay with your brother, that it would be better if you came to live with me."

Sarah nodded back. "Like I have been."

"No, Sarah." Burt tried to convey every bit of what he was feeling in his gaze. "I mean permanently. No more moving around. For good."

Sarah's eyes widened. Then she directed her gaze at the table, staring hard, like she was going to solve all the problems of the universe with the power of her eyes. "Mr. Hummel..." she started, then stopped.

"There's a couple different ways to do it," he added, "and we don't have to choose one or another other now. I just need to know... if that's what you want."

Sarah looked at Burt with that expression every teenager has seemed to have perfected: like he was absolutely insane. "Yeah," she said with disdain. "Yeah, I want that."

Burt felt something settle inside him, and he let himself breathe. "Okay," he said.

Sarah reached across the table and nudged his hand with hers. "So what do we have to do?"

"Well... the first thing we have to do is to get your dad to relinquish parental rights. Don't look at me like that," he snapped, as Sarah made a face. "It's a legal thing, and I'm sure as hell not going to put you in the position to be taken away from me."

Sarah broke into a flushed smile, and Carole laughed breathlessly. Burt looked disgruntled. "What?"

"You're sweet when you're possessive," Carole said, and leaned over to kiss his cheek.


The bedroom of Will's apartment was still new, and Toby had never before slept on this particular mattress with him, but after fifteen years together, the moment together felt as familiar as Will's laugh.

"I still can't believe you're here," Will murmured, stroking a hand over Toby's chest.

"Mmmmm," Toby said, stretching luxuriously. "That would have been a difficult act to complete if I hadn't been."

Will struggled up onto his elbows. "I mean, this whole thing. Here, in Ohio. You, the job, the house..." He stared at Toby, barely seeing him. "God. Things are going to be... really different for us."

"That's part of me fighting for you, darlin'," Toby said, trailing a finger down the shadow of Will's jaw. "We both needed a change, and this will give us the time we've never had before. Different, yes, but not inherently bad."

"Oh... no," Will said, looking shocked. "I don't think it's bad. Not at all." He mirrored Toby's gesture on his face. "I can't tell you how touched I am that you would come out here for me. For us." Will's gaze was desperately determined. "I want... I want so much to make it work this time."

Toby let out a gentle sigh. "I have to tell you, though, at least a little bit of the reason I did this so quick an' dirty was to prove to myself that I could. That I didn't need the same kind of life I live in Denver."

Will's brow wrinkled as he struggled to understand. "Do you mean, the way things were for you in Denver - that was good, but it wasn't enough?"

Toby didn't meet Will's eyes. "That life was just me passin', sugar. Passin' time waiting for you, killin' hours with men who weren't you. Cobblin' together the work, the shows, even the teachin'. All of it was just me in a holding pattern. And now I feel like I'm flying." He closed his eyes and rolled in closer to the long-familiar feel of Will's chest, warm and strong and everything he'd always wanted.

Will nodded soberly. "The life I had with Terri... I can see it now for what it was. That was me, wanting a normal life, wanting - god, I can barely remember what I thought it was, back then, but it always seemed so important that I had it. I wanted it for my parents, for my place in the community. A wife; a family. It was the way I always thought it should be." His lips twisted. "Seems pretty trivial, now."

Toby felt tears threatening, and he blinked them away. "I always knew it was you I wanted. I just never thought I'd get it, not completely, not out in the open. But when things started to shake loose, I had to take the chance."

Toby leaned in and kissed Will, hard, and Will responded immediately, their arms wrapping around each other, the easy give and take of years of history flowing between them like water. "I still don't know how much out in the open I can handle," Will said into his neck, his voice low with desire. "But you, here, in my bed, God, Toby... it's worth anything. Anything."

"The out in the open, that's yours to decide, and you don't have to decide anything right now. As far as me in your bed, well. I'm your captive audience until Friday." Toby trailed a row of hot, wet kisses down Will's neck, and Will shivered in response.

"Mmm," Will groaned at the slide of Toby's hand down his side and around to his back. "I could get used to this."

"You bet your sweet ass you will," he purred, plastering his lithe body against Will's, making him quiver in response. "I negotiated for every other Friday off. That means three nights and two days of this... every... week." He punctuated his words with sloppy, open-mouthed kisses along Will's shoulder and down onto his chest, his hands moving skilled and fast and without preamble along the length of Will's cock.

Though the walls of the apartment were likely cardboard-thin, Will didn't seem to care. He threw his head back and moaned, loud and with the kind of honest passion that Toby had always appreciated about him. Will might be scared, he might be confused, but one thing had always been certain: he wanted Toby, and he wasn't able to hide it. And no matter how many lovers had spent the night in Toby's queen-sized bed, he'd never been able to quench his reciprocal desire for Will. To be here, tonight, the two of them, felt like the sweetest conclusion of a scene that had been coming for so long.

"God, Toby," Will said, his voice breaking. "I love you... and this is exactly what I want. Just this."

If I get to have it my way, Toby thought, as he lost himself in his lover, this is just the beginning, darlin.'


"Mr. Schue," Kurt heard Artie say, as he wheeled into the choir room, "why aren't we going caroling?"

Mr. Schue looked startled. "Um... I guess I hadn't really thought about it," he said. "You think we should do that? I mean, it sounds like fun, but not everybody in Glee celebrates Christmas. I wouldn't want anyone to feel left out."

Rachel smirked knowingly, leaning on her knees. "Mr. Schue, I must say your inclusivity is touching, but any singer who belongs to a religion other than the one in the majority knows that to sing the great works means a compromise must be met. It's impossible to avoid Christianity when you're singing choir music. Likewise, it's impossible to avoid Christmas carols in December. I think I know most verses to at least three dozen carols." She shrugged. "I'm in. But not this Friday. It's the Hanukkah service at Temple Beth Israel."

"Okay," Mr. Schue said, smiling slowly. "Well... how about next Tuesday, then? You'll all be out of school, and we can get together to rehearse this week before we go door to door."

"We can get together at my house, Mr. Schue," Mercedes said. "Cocoa, the works. I'll announce it on Facebook."

"Thank you, Mercedes," he agreed, then glanced at Brad, rubbing his chin. He looked a little embarrassed. "Um... how would you all feel about an impromptu rehearsal tomorrow night?"

They passed the puzzled look around for several moments before Mr. Schue sighed, definitely pink now, and said, "Toby... would love to sing with you again."

After that announcement, everyone agreed to be there. Mr. Schue smiled in relief, saying, "My apartment is pretty small, but I have a little keyboard, and I could borrow some folding chairs... unless anyone else wants to volunteer their place?"

After a pause, one person raised his hand. Silently.

"Brad?" Mr. Schue looked completely floored. Kurt smiled at him, and Brad just scowled back.

"It makes sense, Mr. Schue," Kurt spoke up. "He has a piano, and lots of space, and Duncan and Cory would love it."

"You sure?" Mr. Schue asked one more time, and Brad nodded. Mr. Schue blinked, then smiled again, nodding back. "I guess we're on for tomorrow, then - after dinner, whoever can make it. I'll print up directions."

"How about an assignment?" Tina said brightly, and when Artie glared at her, she just smiled back. "No, you'll like this one. We do a Secret Santa - but instead of giving presents, we sing songs for our chosen person. Everybody does a song."

This idea got general positive acclaim, although Mike Chang argued that nobody would want his song (this was booed down), and Finn frowned hard enough Kurt thought he might decide to pass. But he wrote his name and dropped it in the hat. So did Mr. Schue, and, to everyone's amusement, Brad.

"He can play a song on the piano," Mercedes pointed out quietly. "That's just as good." Everyone drew a name. Kurt glanced at his: Mercedes. Easy.

Mr. Schue hovered by the door and caught Kurt on the way out, Finn walking alone a few steps behind. "Have you heard from Puck?" he asked, voice low.

"No," Kurt said, not looking at Finn. "We're trying to give him some space. To figure things out."

Mr. Schue nodded. "Probably wise, though I'm sure it's incredibly hard. If there's anything I can do - "

"You've done it, Mr. Schue," Kurt said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Glee is just about the only thing getting me through right now. And - thank you, for a chance to get together with Toby again. He's pretty amazing, and I'm not the only one who thinks it."

Mr. Schue's face shifted from muted concern to the most incredible, breathtaking joy that Kurt had ever seen him express. He laughed in surprise, and Mr. Schue laughed back. "Yes, well... I guess I'd have to agree there."

"I'm kind of impressed," Kurt added. "You being so... open, about Toby."

Mr. Schue nodded seriously. "I don't think I could have hidden it on Tuesday if I'd have tried," he said. "He just caught me completely off guard, showing up like that. And nobody even blinked." He shook his head. "I guess that just shows me that I could have trusted Glee all along."

Then Mr. Schue reached out and pressed a piece of paper into his hand. "I thought you might want an opportunity, yourself," he said. "To tell the group something."

Kurt looked down at the piece of paper. It was one of the Secret Santa slips. On it was written the name Noah. He looked up quickly at Mr. Schue.

"I wrote it," Mr. Schue said. "But if you wanted to sing for him, I'll take the slip you drew."

"He won't hear me," Kurt protested.

"Does that really matter?" Mr. Schue said.

Kurt clutched the paper tight on the way out to his car, where Finn was waiting for him inside, his earbuds on, leaning back against the seat with his eyes closed. He sighed, a great gust of air.

"Neil Diamond?" Kurt asked.

"Not today," Finn said, and his voice was tight and controlled. "Today it's our date night CD."

Kurt nodded, understanding. The CD had hardly left Finn's sight since Puck had taken off. Kurt suspected, though Finn wasn't letting him into his room at night, that Finn listened to it as he was going to sleep. Finn still spent most of his time alone, either in his room or sitting by himself, listening to his headphones. Kurt found himself doing the opposite - he'd put away all the music, except for Glee, and was trying to stay connected to as many people as possible.

He felt like he was mostly doing an admirable job of keeping things together. Until something unexpected would hit him, and he would just lose it, and right now it was Finn's letterman jacket, and wondering what might have happened to Puck's, and - wasn't there something wrong with driving and crying at the same time?

"Baby," Finn said in desperate unease, but Kurt wiped his eyes and held up a hand.

"It's okay," he insisted. "Don't worry about it."

Whatever it was that Finn had left to offer as support, it wasn't forthcoming to Kurt. He supposed it was good Finn was talking to him at all. He had to assume this was just a natural part of the mourning. Like he's dead, he thought dully, watching Finn settle back in with his earbuds into his private silence. Like he's never coming back.

He considered the folded piece of paper that read Noah, now waiting in his pocket for his decision. Maybe that could be my memorial offering.

Finn climbed out of the car onto the corner by Dr. Howell's office. "Are you sure you don't want me to pick you up afterwards?" Kurt tried, but Finn just shook his head.

"I'll see you for dinner," he said. "Thanks for the ride."

Kurt watched him trudge through the snow toward the glass doors. Whatever Noah had gotten from spending time with Dr. Howell, Finn didn't seem to be getting in equal measures, but he kept going back. Kurt didn't dare to ask to see his behind, and he hadn't yet seemed to be in any significant discomfort, but maybe that just meant he was of sturdier stuff than Puck?

He sighed to himself, and dug out his iPod. Now to choose a song to give to Noah for Hanukkah.


Finn sat in the waiting room with his earbuds on, after a brief nod to Angela, but he hadn't realized she was trying to get his attention until the song came to an end for the thirteenth time, and he could hear her say, "Sir."

He took the earpieces out and gave a wan smile to Angela. "You don't have to call me that," he said.

"Yes, sir," she said, not looking directly at him. "I do." She bit her lip. "Please forgive me... but I'm worried about Puck. Is he...?"

"I don't know where he is," Finn interrupted. I'm worried about him, too.

She nodded, her eyes still on the floor in front of Finn. "I'm sorry," she said softly.

He leaned forward, resting his chin in his two cupped hands, trying not to break down in the waiting room. It didn't take much, even when he was with Carl. At least he didn't feel guilty about it anymore - after that first time, it had just been so easy to let things go. Now, even though he couldn't quite trust that everything would be okay tomorrow, or ever, at least there was this space in which things could be easy, just for a brief moment.

Carl met him with a grave face. He was dressed in dark blue scrubs today, though Finn wasn't sure if that was because he'd had a client who wanted something from Dr. Carl, or if he was actually coming from his other office. Finn didn't even know where that office was. He decided it was probably just as well.

"Finn," he said, and Finn rose and followed him up the stairs.

The routine was familiar by now, this being the fourth time he'd come to see Carl since that first time last week. I'm making him earn every penny of that huge check I wrote him last month, he thought with some bitter satisfaction. Then he felt guilty for that. He sighed in frustration.

Carl considered Finn for a moment, pausing outside the room they'd used the last three times. Then he turned him around and pointed him in another direction entirely. "Come with me," he said, and placed his hand on Finn's back, guiding him through a doorway and down the hall before emerging into the most beautiful bathroom Finn had ever been in.

"You've been here four times this week, Finn," he said quietly, beside him, watching him as he gawked. "And you're asking for more. I dare say it might not be a punishment you need."

Carl kept steady eyes on him the whole time Finn wrestled with this idea, staring down at his hands. "You mean... something else?" He was almost afraid to ask what it might be - what might be worse than a spanking at the hands of Carl.

"Do you trust me?" he said, and Finn snapped his gaze to Carl's, feeling the impact like a rubber band.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm not sure I should... but I do."

It was more honest than he'd thought he was going to be, but Carl seemed to appreciate it. He nodded, and began to undress Finn, quickly, without much attention to what he was uncovering. Finn, on the other hand, felt unusually exposed, and he could feel his face heating when Carl reached hs boxers. It was just another piece of clothing, though, and that's the way he treated it. By the time Finn was stepping into the large sunken bathtub into to scalding hot water, hotter than Finn would usually like it, he was nearly relaxed.

It was why the words hit him like a ton of bricks - that, and Carl's firm hands on his neck, putting pressure on knots that needed loosening - when he said, "You need somebody to take care of you."

Finn found himself sobbing wordlessly into his own hands for several moments before Carl was there next to him in the water, his arms holding him up, giving him support and comfort, his voice soft and calm. "That's it. Just let it go. Come on, I'm right here."

Then Finn was saying things, things he hadn't even realized he was thinking about. About Puck when he was eight and he'd been suspended for some heinous eight-year-old deed and Finn had loyally pretended to be sick so he wouldn't have to be the only kid staying home. About when they were eleven and Finn had broken his wrist on the skateboard, and Puck had taken his own board, something his family could barely have afforded to begin with, and set it in the garage to wait until Finn's wrist was healed enough to skate again. About the night at Puck's house, when it had been Puck's hands on him, massaging his feet and helping him relax, and he'd awoken with horrible nightmares, and Finn had held him in his lap for the first time. All through the barrage of words, Carl was holding on, listening in silence, just the occasional noise to show he was still paying attention.

When the words finally ran dry, and Finn found a towel close at hand to wipe his eyes, he glanced down to see that Carl was still wearing clothes, there in the bath with him. "Dude," he said, somewhat weakly. Carl smiled dismissively.

"I didn't think it warranted the time it would have taken to take them off," he said. "But wait there, while I put on some dry scrubs now, okay?"

Finn nodded, leaning back into the warm water, grateful for its embrace now. When Carl came back, he had a great big towel, bigger than any towel Finn had ever seen, and it felt like an inordinate luxury to have something that large to wrap up in. Carl dried him off, calmly and with gentle hands, then helped him dress in clean scrubs that were a little big, but fit all right. He made him drink an entire bottle of water before they left the bathroom.

It wasn't the recovery room they went to, but a different room, one that was less clinical and more comfortable. For one thing, it had a fountain running in the corner, and a great half-circular couch with pillows. Finn sat on the couch, finding it not too deep for his long legs, but Carl sat cross-legged next to him, facing him. The room was warm, and Finn yawned almost immediately.

"Are you hungry?" Carl asked, then laughed. "Oh, yes, I forgot, you're sixteen. You're always hungry."

"I'm almost seventeen," Finn said, then he wondered why he'd said that. Carl picked up a phone and gave Angela some directions for sandwiches. "I'm having dinner at my house," he added, but he didn't get up.

"You're not done yet," Carl said, with a hand on his knee. "This kind of catharsis needs just as much aftercare as other kinds. Don't discount your boys' needs when they break down. Kurt, he's a sensitive one? He cries easily?"

"Yes," Finn said, startled. Carl nodded.

"He needs special attention. Don't skimp on the aftercare. It might be the only time he really accepts that kind of care from you, and you can make him really hear you during those moments. Do you understand?"

"Yes - yes," Finn said, and he did. He thought of all the times that Kurt had cried in his arms, and he hadn't taken the time afterwards to really make him feel loved - to feel cherished. "God," he began, anguish surfacing, but Carl's voice was like a lash.

"No, Finn. That's not what this is about. I'm not here to make you feel guilty for what you haven't done. You're new at this. Nobody expects you to know what to do all the time."

"I do," he choked, and Carl's gentle hand reached around to his neck and carded through his hair - and then grabbed a handful and yanked, forcing a gasp out of Finn's mouth as he jerked his head back.

"I won't stand for self-pity, Finn," he said severely. "There's no place for that here. We're men of honor, and we stand by our boys, but we're not perfect, and nobody in the world can ask that of us."

"All right, no, I - " He struggled for the right words to say, because he didn't want to apologize again, and he wasn't sure if the phrase yes, sir would ever be okay for him to say to Carl. The hand released just as quickly as it had gripped him, and he reeled a little, bracing himself against the couch.

"All right," Carl echoed. "Yes. It's all right."

Finn leaned back into the pillows, feeling his face flushing. "I'm not sure how I can stop feeling guilty for what I promised him," he said. "I said I would stand by him. I said I wouldn't ever leave him. I did both of those things - how do you recover from that?"

"You don't," Carl said simply. He reached out and took Finn's hand. "You don't recover. You start over. You try again. You can't go back and fix it. You can apologize, and you can meet your own penance. But it'll never go away. Mistakes happen, Finn, and you have to live with them."

Finn watched Carl's handsome face move into shadow, and for just a moment, he had a glimpse of some of the memories weighing on Carl's own conscience. He's probably made more mistakes than I would be able to count, Finn realized. And he's still here, being this for me. For countless others, too.

"How do you keep going?" he whispered. "How do you do it?"

Carl squeezed his hand. "This," he said. "This, what you give me back, by being here in this office. It's what I need, just as it's what you need. I'm here to take care of it."

Carl looked meaningfully at him, and his gaze penetrated down into Finn, where he'd thought nobody would ever be able to see. He saw, and he didn't judge. He just accepted him for who he was, flaws and all. It was - intoxicating.

"God," he said, hiding his eyes behind his hand. When he came out, Carl was still there. "Really?"

"Really," he said, nodding. "You're not always going to know what your boys are going to need, but you can start to see trends. If what you're giving them isn't helping them to be their best selves, you know you've got to try something new." He beckoned Finn in, toward him. "Come here. Try this."

Finn moved in slowly, uncertainly, but Carl beckoned again, and he settled into the space between his legs, leaning back on Carl like he was a pillow, and accepting his arms around him, the embrace comforting and intimate at the same time.

"I hold Kurt like this," he said, remembering. "He... he loves it."

"Yes," said Carl, and his voice was just a whisper in his ear, but it was close enough to make him shiver. "You can help your boys relax, like this, or hold them afterwards. Sometimes it's easier to talk when you're not looking them right in the eye. And your words don't have to be loud to have an impact from here. You don't have to try, to affect them."

Finn felt a strange, sharp pain in his chest. He didn't quite recognize it at first, but it stayed with him, just a pinprick, but present nonetheless. "No," he said. "I haven't been giving them this. Not either of them. It's been... too long."

"You need this," Carl agreed. "You need to give, as much as you need to receive it. This kind of care - everybody does. Our culture doesn't teach men to nurture one another, Finn, even as brothers or friends, much less as men who love men. We don't get taught these things, and we have to muddle through on our own. It doesn't have to be that way."

Finn felt his traitorous eyes leaking again, but this time he didn't deny them; he just let them be. Carl handed him a tissue, and he blew his nose after a little while. He accepted a bottle of water, and drank that.

"My mom took care of me like this," he said after a time. "It was a lot like this. But I never had a dad to give it to me."

"We need men, just as much as we need our mothers," Carl said solemnly. "We, especially."

Finn lay like that for quite a long time, but just as before, it was easy, just being there with him, stretched out together, so much the way he'd lain with his boys. It should have felt painful, to do that, to remember how easy it had been - but, miraculously, it was just simply good. It was just what he needed.

I don't have to feel bad for getting what I need, he thought, before falling asleep in Carl's arms.


Kurt startled awake to find Finn beside him in the dark. "It's a school night," Kurt began.

"I got permission from your dad," Finn said in a whisper, as he took off his clothes. He climbed in beside Kurt, under the warm covers, and pressed his body against him, not with desire, but with great intention and deliberation. Kurt found himself moaning.

"God, Finn," he said, in sleep-broken tones, "you feel so good."

"I haven't been taking good enough care of you, baby," he said, his broad hands stroking Kurt across his back. Each touch roused him a little more, until by the end, his body was wide awake and wanting.

"What - what happened?" he said, stroking Finn's face, bringing their eyes level with one another. "Did - did he-?"

"No," he said, and he sounded almost awed. "No, he didn't, not this time. He just - took care of me. Gave me a bath. Let me cry, and held me. Talked to me, told me I was all right, that it was okay to make mistakes."

"Finn," Kurt said, sounding sad. "Didn't you know those things already? I could have -"

"No, baby," he said. "That's not your job. I'm here to take care of you. You just need to let me do it, and to depend on me - and you do. You always have. You give me - just what I need."

His mouth dropped to cover Kurt's, gentle and insistent, and Kurt felt himself relax into Finn's touch. He hadn't realized just how much he had needed this.

"Thank you," said Finn, stroking his body like it was the most amazing thing he'd ever touched. "Thank you for being exactly what I need. Thank you for - everything. God, Kurt."

Kurt felt him shuddering, felt the tears fall hot and wet on his chest, even as he knelt above him, using his slick fingers to reach inside him and make him ready. "Finn -" he gasped, thrusting against the long fingers, already ready, already wanting him. Finn seemed to understand, and he quickly stroked himself with his fingers to make him slippery, and within moments, he'd replaced his fingers with his cock.

"Not too much, baby?" he said, anxiously curtailing his movements, his breath coming short and harsh.

"No," Kurt groaned, pulling their hips together with one strong thrust, and they both cried out to feel the heat and connection of their bodies. "Just like that, Finn - just like that."

"I can do that," Finn said, smiling, and pulled out and slid back inside, so easily, while their mouths and hands completed the connection.

It was remarkable, Finn thought, lost in the sensations of Kurt, how different it was, this same act, with different people. Such a simple act, with so many layers of possibility. He drew his hands down between their bodies, feeling the way they fit together so perfectly, and wrapped a hand around Kurt's erect cock, making him stutter and beg for more.

"I love you, baby," he vowed. "I'll never stop. I'll always take care of you, just like this."

Kurt's cries were nearly incoherent by now, although Finn heard his name more than once, and the word yes, over and over. It was inconceivable how good it made him feel, to know he could care for Kurt - not only like this, but in so many ways. The two of them accelerated slowly toward climax, awash in the joy of their shared desire. Finn knew what he could give was exactly what Kurt needed, and that was the greatest comfort he'd ever known.

Afterwards, in the dark, he told Kurt about how Carl had cared for him, and Kurt accepted it all, completely secure in this moment of love and bliss. "You don't feel weird, getting that from him?" Kurt said, one hand twined together with Finn's.

"No," Finn said. "Not at all. I wasn't sure at first, but it's - easy. It's as easy as anything I've ever done."

"That's good, then," Kurt said, kissing him.

They slept, uninterrupted, until just before morning. It wasn't the alarm that woke Finn, though, and it wasn't Kurt or Burt or anybody else. It was himself, his hand stroking to match the dreams in his head, and they hung on just long enough to spur him to completion.

"Mmmm," said Kurt, stretching. "Is it morning already?"

"Not yet, baby," Finn said, panting, his mind reeling. Shit. No. This is - no. Not him.

"Well, come back to bed, then, silly," Kurt murmured, drawing him back down under the covers. "Let's enjoy this while it lasts."