The performance at the club in St. Mary's on Sunday night goes about as badly as Finn had expected it to, it's a welcome return to the norm for the Dirty Muthafuckas and a truly awful start to the week. They don't finish their performance until half past one in the morning, so by the time they've loaded up the van and driven back to Lima it's seriously late. The hour hand of the alarm clock on his bedside table is creeping close to the 3 by the time Finn scrambles underneath the blankets.
Having to get up early the next morning is a thoroughly unpleasant experience and he's grouchy to everybody in Art class. He snaps at Tina when she says hello and the shy girl flinches visibly and avoids him for the next four hours. His exasperation with Ms. Defoe's unhelpful critique boils over and he tells her sharply that he's trying his best and it isn't his fault if he can't express his inner artistic soul like she keeps telling him to. Lastly, he barks at Brittany to get her own ride to work when she asks if he'll drop her off at the coffee shop again; he feels a twinge of regret as he sees her standing alone looking downtrodden in the rear view mirror, but pushes it down. At home he falls asleep on the couch and doesn't wake up until his mom gets back from work.
He spends Tuesday locked away in his room with his US History textbook and a hoard of snacks liberated from the pantry, playing records and studying for the test he'll be taking the following day. When Puck phones to ask if he's free to rehearse, there's enough residual anger left over that he can spread it out through their argument like the last scrapings of margarine from the bottom of the tub. He tells the lead guitarist that he's too busy reviewing the Reconstructive and Progressive eras to have time to make noise pollution in the Puckerman's garage and repeats the warning he'd already given on Sunday night that he'll be busy on Friday, so won't be able to play any shows. The mohawked teen swears a blue streak down the phone line at him and as he hangs up and heads back to his textbook Finn idly wonders if he'll look back on the conversation in years to come as the breaking point that ended the band.
By Wednesday morning his irritability has run its course and he's dreading the test coming up after the two hour session of Art. Part genuine regret for his actions and part fear of karmic retribution in the form of an F on the exam spurs him to apologize.
"Tina?"
The goth looks up from her work meekly, "Hi Finn."
"What are you working on?" He inquires, nodding at the busk she's painting.
"It's a representation of m-me," She answers, putting her paintbrush down and turning the mannequin torso and head to face him. There's an anatomically correct heart with dove's wings painted onto the chest and the face is made up to resemble her own.
"That's... pretty," He offers lamely.
"The wings are for p-p-purity," She asserts, turning her busk back toward her. "I s-shouldn't be so a-ashamed that I'm a virgin."
He blinks, a little surprised to hear her acknowledge the conversation they shared at the community center, but glad to know she's listened to his advice. "Listen, I'm sorry if I was a jerk on Monday. Are we still cool?"
"When were we c-cool before?" She challenges.
He realizes that she has a point and so decides to leave her be. Even though he didn't regard her much before, he feels a pang of regret that they won't be able to have another conversation like they did at the community center.
He apologizes to Ms. Defoe next. She tells him that his outburst, though vulgar, was freely allowed by the rules of her classroom which encourage open expression of emotion; and she suggests he try channeling his frustration into a creative outlet through his artwork. Brittany tells him that girls get grumpy once a month, so he shouldn't feel bad for having an off day just one time. He gives her a hug and they return to their customary Art class routine.
He only scored a 69 on the last test, so Finn knows he'll have to make up the difference this time. He keeps up the determination he had on the long answer question from the second test and writes a lengthy, detailed description of the thirteenth, fourteenth and fifteenth amendments and the impact they had, discusses the importance of the Interstate Commerce Act and writes about the progression of women's suffrage through the late 19th and into the early 20th century until his wrist aches. For the first time all summer, when he leaves the classroom he is confident that he's passed the test.
There's a blinking light on his answering machine when he heads up to his bedroom to drop off his backpack. He presses the playback button and smiles when he hears Will's voice.
"Hey Finn. So, Bryan just called me to say he's got some buddies stopping over for a poker night and I need somebody to defend me from their raucous behavior, naturally I thought of you." Finn laughs at the dry tone. "No, seriously. If you're not doing anything already, do you want to stop by tonight. Call me back, okay."
He waits for the click of the message ending, then picks up the phone and dials Will's number. He listens through the dials until the other man's own messaging machine picks up and plays the greeting message. "Hey Will, I got your message. I'm free for the evening so I'll stop by at the usual time. See you then."
Finn's beginning to grow used to being known as 'Yard sale guy'. Bryan introduces him as such to his buddies at the kitchen table: an overweight, dark-haired man wearing gym shorts and sweating heavily in the low-heat of the apartment, a tipsy brunette woman with rectangular glasses and the top two buttons of her blouse undone, and a short-haired blonde in a tracksuit. The last of these is recognizable to Finn as Sue Sylvester, a life coach and local celebrity with a segment on the WOHN news; Quinn, Brittany and Santana idolize her as an example of a strong, modern, independent woman. Finn (Whose mom had managed to keep a respectable job and make it to his little league games, while remaining softhearted and courteous) wonders why she has to be so harsh, caustic and critical in her television appearances.
He nods politely to the group of gamblers and collects two cokes from the fridge, taking them back to Will's bedroom and shutting the door behind him to muffle the noise.
"Raucous is certainly the right word," Finn comments, passing one of the chilled bottles to the older man.
"Hold on," Will comments. Sliding a black disc from it's sleeve and setting it gently on the turntable. Moments later the argument that's broken out over Bryan's accusations of cheating is drowned out by the smooth recording of Eric Clapton's famous cover of the JJ Cale song Cocaine. "That's better," The older man remarks, taking the bottle-opener being offered to him by Finn and popping the cap of his soda.
"Can I see the sleeve?" The younger man requests. He reads over the songs listed on the back of the white card, impressed by the familiar titles. "I've got a copy of From the Cradle," He remarks, passing the empty sleeve back. "It was one of the first records I bought."
Will inclines his head towards the turntable, "This was my fifth album. Second edition print, got it in '78."
Finn smiles as he imagines a young, teenage Will walking into a record store and picking out an album that's first song is about drugs. "They just sold it to you?"
"It was a different time," The older man remarks, a tinge of nostalgia in his smile as he sips at his soda.
The student uses the comment to turn the topic to the History exam he'd taken that morning. Will listens with polite interest to the Cliffs Notes version of the answers he gave before confessing that History wasn't his strong subject at school and so he probably knows even less than Finn. The younger man responds that the very idea is improbable and the pair chuckle at the joke until We're All The Way finishes playing and Will gets up to change the record.
Finn has uncovered numerous titles in the trunk of singles and albums that he wants to listen to, so rather than change the Clapton record to the second side Will swaps it for something new.
"So." Will returns to his spot on the carpet next to the Finn, sitting with his back against the bed, "My romantic life may be dead in the water, but how's yours going?"
He's a little bemused as to why Will is asking, but answers the question regardless, "Quinn made me take her to this awful chick flick last Saturday."
The older man winces, "You have my sympathy. What movie was it?"
"Legally Blonde," He answers.
Will peels at the label of his bottle thoughtfully, "I think I've heard of that one."
"I wish I hadn't," Finn quips.
The older man gives a bark of laughter, "Surely it can't be that bad."
"The whole movie is about a girl learning she doesn't need a man to be happy," Finn surmises. "Not only is it annoying that it takes her an hour and a half's running time to learn that despite the fact that the guy she likes is the biggest dollop of dickcheese on the planet, but it's a lesson learned by other girls in a bunch of other movies already. Why do most films about independent, modern women focus on them learning to be independent? Why can't there be more films like Aliens? I mean, Ripley didn't spend an hour worrying whether she could support herself, she was up in the marine dude's face telling him that shit was about to get real."
"So you're saying you'd like more movies where the female protagonist gets to fight a giant monster in a mechanical suit?" Will surmises wryly.
"Or just toasts some gooey alien spawn with a flamethrower," Finn agrees, grinning crookedly.
"So, if not a climactic battle with an alien queen; how does Legally Blonde end?" The older man prompts.
"Some court room stuff, I don't know; I'd stopped paying attention," He answers. "I mean, most of the movie is just people talking, oh and boobs."
"Boobs?" Will prompts, eyebrows raising with intrigue.
"Yeah, there's scenes with Reese Witherspoon in a bikini and one where she's dressed as a Playboy Bunny." The younger man shrugs and drinks his soda.
"Well, wasn't that worth paying six bucks to see?"
"I don't know," Finn grimaces and thinks about the movie again. "I know she's hot, but the character was so shallow and annoying; it was sort of a turn off." He bites his lip and thinks out loud, "I like that Quinn's smarter than me, but I didn't think I was into smart girls in general. Does it make me a greedy jerk if I want to date girls who are smart and sexy?"
"It makes you more discerning than most guys your age," Will declares sagely, clapping a hand on Finn's thigh. "Most would settle for just the latter."
The first song on the LP finishes and leads into a cover of the famous Jennifer Rush song, The Power of Love.
The older man grins, "I love this song."
Finn nods his head in return, but doesn't speak. The spot on his thigh the older man touched is tingling and the lurch in his gut he's felt a few times in the past weeks has returned. He watches Will's thumb circling the top of his soda bottle and the slight movements of his lips as he quietly sings along to the first verse of the song. As the chorus approaches, the other man seems to notice his attention and turns to face him. They're sat side-by-side, only a short distance away from each other and Finn's eyes are still fixated on the gleam of his friend's lower lip, shiny from where he's been sucking on the soda bottle.
"Finn?" Will prompts.
The younger man looks up into gray-green eyes (Why does he hate green again? Green is such a great color) and licks his own lips reflexively. The older man's eyes follow the movement and Finn feels him lean a little closer. His pulse is pounding in his ears, his lungs are pushing against his chest, there's a thrum of blood coming from between his legs.
The moment breaks to shards when the door slams open.
"Schuester, where are the paper towels?" Sue barks fiercely. "Brenda hurled and we need to clean up before it sticks to the linoleum."
Will looks up at the woman in the doorway. "In the cabinet over the dishwasher," He informs her calmly.
When the door closes again Finn has shifted several perceptible inches away from the older man and is glugging at his coke to try and calm the sudden increase in his temperature. He feels tense and feverish, painfully aware of the half-mast he's still flying below the waist.
Will peels at a loose corner of the soda label and broaches the silence boldly, "Finn, we should-"
"So, Air Supply," Finn overrides, gesturing to the turntable. "I mean, they're one of my all time favorite soft rock bands. How about you?" He gulps as he watches the older man weigh his reaction, then breathes a sigh of relief when the older man doesn't push the point further.
The album ends and Will stands up to change to the next record in the stack they've set aside while Finn looks through the trunk as a distraction. He's wondering if it would be better to make up an excuse and leave when the phone rings.
"Are you gonna answer it?" The younger man prompts as Will sets the needle into the groove.
"The machine can pick up," Will dismisses.
They both turn back to their business as the phone rings off and the machine's message plays.
"Hi," A hesitant female voice speaks after the tone, drawing both their attention. "I don't know if you remember but- Well I- I saw your message in the paper, but I was in a- in a relationship at the time... I, um, I saved the article and I'm not in that relationship anymore so I thought... Oh this is so-" She takes a heavy breath and speaks more confidently, "If you still want to meet up, call me." She leaves her number and hangs up.
"Did you leave a message in the personals or something?" Finn inquires, aiming for nonchalance.
"Yes, uh, about six weeks ago," The older man answers, sitting down on the edge of the bed.
"Well, are you gonna call her back?" He prompts.
Will hesitates, passing the coke bottle back and forth between his hands. "It's probably just a prank call."
"It didn't sound like a prank call," The young man insists, fully aware of the reason for his friend's hesitance and feeling a twinge of guilt for being partially responsible for it.
"So she just happens to ring six weeks after I put the ad out?" The older man remarks.
"She said she was in a relationship at the time," Finn reminds. "But she kept the article, that has to mean something." He stands up and sits down on the bed beside Will, reaching up to place a supportive hand to his shoulder and then halting. "You might as well give this a shot, it's not like my advice is really helping you all that much." He makes a circular gesture to excuse his aborted hand movement.
The older man smiles shakily at him, "Okay. I'll call."
Finn sits on the periphery of the phone call and tries to appear distracted by the titles on his friend's bookshelf and not like a total eavesdropper. The older man speaks to his chance acquaintance pleasantly and after ten minutes Will has a date for Friday evening. Finn makes the other man promise to call him once it's over and give him a full report, preferably with lots of juicy details; but as he drives home through the darkened streets there's a heaviness upon his heart he didn't expect to be feeling when the older man finally got himself a date.
Finn wears the dress shirt bought specially for his aunt's second wedding (Sadly, the shirt has outlived the marriage) for the dinner on Friday. The four of them spend the first twenty minutes of the evening in the lounge making polite, if tense, conversation about the amateur dramatics workshop Kurt has been taking three days a week all summer, Burt's most recent fishing trip to the Lost Creek Reservoir, Finn's job at Ringo's and the weather.
His mom has cooked crab cake starters (Because as much as she's insisting this is a casual dinner, she's looking to impress) and spaghetti bolognese. Finn is content to stay quiet throughout dinner in favor of filling his face and so calmly listens to Kurt's story about winning the 'Rising Star' Dance and Movement Arts scholarship to UCLA for his videotaped performance of an interpretive dance act that he choreographed, directed and starred in. He doesn't feel half as envious as the other teenager seems to think he is, if the smugly superior tone of Kurt's voice when he asks where Finn is going to college is any measure.
"I got a football scholarship to OSU," He answers levelly.
"Ah yes," Kurt remarks. "The Barbarians did so well in the games last season, didn't they?"
"We're the Titans," Finn corrects, but he suspects Kurt already knew that.
"So, what does your scholarship cover. Rooms, meals?" Burt inquires.
"Both," He answers, "So long as I play for the team and keep my grades up."
"That's good," Burt remarks.
There's a short silence while everybody twirls spaghetti on their prongs or sips at their drink.
"So Kurt," Finn's mom breaks the quiet. "Are you seeing anybody at the moment?"
"Unfortunately not, Carole," Kurt answers, smiling beatifically at her. Finn holds his breath that there won't be anymore, but Kurt continues. "Some people in this town don't want people like myself to be happy."
Finn grits his teeth at the sly look sent his way and throws down his fork. "You know, dude, I never said I have a problem with you being gay."
"Oh please let's don't," His mom mumbles with a despairing sigh.
"So there was some other reason you got your caveman buddies to corner me in the parking lot and fire paint balls at me?" Kurt accuses.
"Okay, one, I never asked them to do that," Finn argues. "Two, I payed half your dry cleaning bill; and three, I was only freaked out because you were acting like a stalker, it's not because you're a dude."
"I was acting like a stalker?" Kurt echoes in disbelief. "I was the one having to look over my shoulder everywhere I went."
"I didn't have to look over my shoulder, I knew you'd be there eyeballing me."
"We went to the same school, of course I was going to be around," Kurt insists. "I wasn't trying to terrify you."
"Well you did a good job anyway," Finn bites back. "Watching me eat from across the cafeteria, pretty much molesting my face with skin cleanser when you talked me into letting you sort out my zit outbreak, stealing my jock strap out of the locker room-"
"You never proved that last one was me," Kurt interrupts the list of accusations, "And you know what, I bet you wouldn't have a problem with any of this if it was a girl doing it."
"Have you never heard of Rachel Berry?" Finn retorts (Because if Kurt was behaving like a stalker, Rachel had cranked it all the way up to 11). "It's not that you're a guy, I just don't like you that way." Sometimes, especially now, he doesn't like Kurt all that much, but when he watches something crumble in the other boy's eyes Finn feels a stab of guilt. "Thank you for the pasta, Carole. It was delicious, but I shall be leaving now." He dabs at his mouth with a napkin and rises serenely.
"Kurt," His father calls.
"I'll meet you at home, Dad. Stay here with Carole, have a nice time." The cracks are starting to show in Kurt's voice and as the front door slams closed behind him, the sound of a faint sob can be heard.
His mom pushes the remaining spaghetti on her plate around with her fork despondently. Burt looks torn between going after his son and tearing into Finn.
"I'm sorry," The young man apologizes. "But I only told him how I feel."
The harshness in Burt's eyes flickers and then dies down to something smoother. "He's a good kid, can achieve anything he sets his mind to... Except some things, and when he comes up against those things he kicks off." The father sighs and Finn can see the weight of parenting on the older man's shoulders (The same weight he sees in his mom's eyes when she's disappointed in him).
"Will you tell him I'm sorry?" The young man requests.
"Sure, I'll let him know." Burt nods.
Finn stomps upstairs to his bedroom and throws himself down on his bed feeling rotten to the core. He knows that if he hadn't told Kurt exactly what he was thinking the other boy would've continued on with his snide insinuations and given Finn an ulcer from holding in his outburst, but he still regrets having ruined the pleasant dinner his mom was hoping for. His letter jacket is hanging on the back of his desk chair and as his gaze wanders the room it catches his attention. His thoughts turn to all the stupid, mean things he did to people like Kurt just because they weren't his friends and to people like Tina just because he never took the time to stop and have a conversation with them. He thinks about the cruel pranks the football team pulled on the chess club, Freshman he helped Puck give patriotic wedgies to, slushies he's thrown and all the times he's stood by and watched his friends do the same things without intervening.
He feels a slow-burning rage at himself boil up inside and all the leftover adrenaline and anger from his argument with Kurt comes pouring out of him in a burst of violence. He grabs the scissors from his abandoned art project on the desk and slashes the W off of the jacket, he tears the hole in the boiled wool wider and adds a few deep cuts to the leather sleeves. When his anger is vented he drops the jacket to the floor and sinks down onto the bed.
At first he regrets the outburst and feels foolish for having destroyed the memento of his time on the McKinley High football team, but then his thoughts turn to Ms. Defoe's suggestion that he channel his frustration into his art project and he gets a burst of inspiration. Picking up his car keys and wallet, he rushes down the stairs and into the Aries. He just hopes the art supply shop on West High Street is still open.
He took his camera along to Prom, but after his girlfriend's mood turned sour he had stopped taking photographs and so there was a lot of film left in the camera for his artistic pursuit. He drops the film in at the one hour photo store on the way into work on Saturday and asks for standard 6x4s of the entire reel, then ten black and white copies of each of the last eight images on the reel. The girl behind the counter remarks that there's not much chance that his order can be prepared in an hour because of the extra processes involved in printing multiples, but he assures her that isn't a problem and makes the payment.
When Joolie asks him why he is almost late to his shift he explains that he was busy with artistic stuff. She cocks an eyebrow and replies, "Well the display of new releases needs restocking, Rembrandt."
He folds his arms over his chest and pouts, "Can't I be one of the ninja turtles?"
"Nope," She declares, turning her back on him.
"Michelangelo?" He suggests, following after her as she heads towards the stock room.
"No."
"Raphael?"
"Not happening."
"Leonardo?"
"Nuh-uh."
"Michelangelo?"
"You already said Michelangelo," She points out, turning to face him again as she holds the door to the stock room open.
"He was my favorite," Finn explains with a wide grin.
Joolie tilts her head considerately, "I always liked Donatello."
"Can I be Donatello?" He queries hopefully.
"In your dreams," She snorts, passing over a box full of CDs and collecting one for herself.
He collects the photographs after his shift is finished, ignoring the look the girl behind the counter gives him, and heads home to add them to the project. He checks the answering machine for a message from Will and is annoyed to find that his friend still hasn't called (Or if he has, he hasn't left a message about how his date went). He stays up until close to midnight sticking photographs to the sheet of corkboard he bought at the art supply shop, but when he turns in for the night the phone still hasn't rung.
As he lies in the dark, breathing calmly and waiting to fall asleep, Finn wonders whether Will is avoiding him after what happened in his bedroom on Wednesday. The young man has avoided thinking about it as much as possible since it happened because trying to explain the sudden, impulsive desire he had to kiss Will leads to all sorts of thoughts he just isn't comfortable with. It's possible that the other man feels the same, but maybe he's not just avoiding thinking about it; he might have decided to start avoiding Finn completely.
With worry gnawing at his gut at the very idea of it, Finn decides that if the older man hasn't called with an explanation and a detailed description of his date by the time he gets back from Ringo's tomorrow he'll bite the bullet and phone Will himself.
"So what's up with you?" Joolie inquires as they're working behind the counter towards the end of the Sunday shift.
"What do you mean?" Finn tries avoiding the question.
"You've been chewing your nails for the last hour," She replies. "Either you're nervous about something or you took the starving artist role too literally and didn't get anything to eat at lunch."
He watches her expectant expression and decides that she's impartial enough to give some honest advice. "I think one of my friends is mad at me," He explains.
"That guy from your band?" She questions with a flicker of revulsion.
"No. He's definitely mad at me," Finn replies. He's been so busy with his new project that the band haven't been able to play a gig this weekend, Puck isn't pleased and the frostiness between them is growing.
"Oh, well that's good," Joolie decides, smoothing over her fringe. "So who do you think is mad at you?"
"Will," He answers. "The older guy who came to see me on my trial shift."
He sees the spark of recognition in her eyes, "Okay, so what did you do to piss him off?"
The answer is sitting at the front of his mind (It's become too difficult to push it away) but he doesn't dare say it aloud, instead he omits it neatly from the story and skips to the end, "I'm not sure, but I asked him to call and tell me how his date on Friday went and I haven't heard from him."
"Hm." She taps her fingers against her chin thoughtfully, "I can't think why he'd be angry. I mean, unless you set him up on the date and it was a total bust."
Finn feels a nauseous lurch when he thinks about how he strong-armed the older man into returning the phone call, "I may have pushed him a little bit."
"Then there is a strong chance he's sitting in an armchair with wounded masculine pride, hating you for being the one to unleash a vicious hell beast on him," Joolie opines. "I'd suggest ice-cream as an apology token, or whatever the manly version of ice-cream is."
"Beer," He informs casually.
"Huh." She raises an eyebrow, "So your transformation into a bohemian is complete."
He flips her off (He isn't sure what a bohemian actually is, but her biting tone is enough for him to tell it was meant as an insult) and thinks about what she's said. He hopes the date wasn't a bust, but if it's a choice between that and Will being mad at him for their... incident on Wednesday, he knows which he'd prefer.
There's still no message on the machine when he gets home, so he picks up the phone and dials Will's number, clenching his fingers for courage and conviction.
"Hello?" It's not Will.
"Oh, hey Bryan." Finn breathes out his tension, "Is Will there?"
"Nope," The roommate answers apologetically. "Do you want me to take a message?"
"No, it's-" The young man sighs and tries not to feel too disappointed. "Could you ask him to call me back?"
"Can do," Bryan confirms.
Finn drops the phone back into its cradle and falls back onto the bed. He wonders idly, as he stares at the ceiling, whether Will really wasn't there or if he's using his roommate as a call-screening service to make sure he doesn't have to talk to Finn.
He thinks back once again to the tiny shared moment: the flush of his skin, the glisten of saliva on the older man's lip and the slight movement Will had made towards him that might have made the moment into something much more. He feels a familiar stirring below the belt as he thinks about it and the reaction is enough to make him back away from the thought. He sits up and thinks about painting another coat onto his project for tomorrow, but his cock is already half hard inside his underwear and eager to be played with.
He closes the bedroom door and pulls out the Playboy he has hidden under the mattress. There's a model on page 19 that looks a lot like Quinn and he's spilled frustrated hormones over it hundreds of times. He strokes himself as he runs his eyes over the familiar curves, but the pouty lips and round breasts aren't exciting him like they normally do and the mental image of how Wednesday night could have ended keeps flickering to the forefront of his mind like a porn film run through a faulty projector.
He peels back the mattress again and retrieves the genuine dirty mag that Puck gave him for his birthday; no tasteful artistry or articles to conceal its purpose, just flat out pornography. He flicks through the pages in search of something to get him off, gritting his teeth as his traitorous mind keeps thinking about how the traces of Coca Cola would taste on Will's lips. He finds a photo spread set up to look like a corporate office, the lead model is a women in her thirties with a rack he honestly doubts any legitimate lawyer would be endowed with. In one shot she's sucking off a man wearing half-moon glasses and it brings Will Schuester back to him in a flash.
He thinks about Will getting his dick sucked, he'd be sweaty and panting with his curls mussed, maybe cursing in Spanish and begging for more in English. Finn speeds up the pace of the hand on his erection, thumb smearing precome across his swollen cockhead and now the woman is gone from the fantasy entirely; it's him that has the taste of the older man's cock on his tongue and he moans at the sensation of the solid length stretching his lips out and it's him pulling needy little whimpers out of Will's mouth.
The thought of it isn't enough and he's too far gone with desire to pull back from his thoughts of Will now, so he lets his mind turn back to Wednesday night and the things that might have happened if he'd bridged that infinitesimal gap between them and caught the older man's enticing lower lip between his teeth. It would probably have been slow and cautious, a tender connection to match the love ballad that had been playing on the turntable; but right now Finn needs to come and so he pictures it hard and dirty. He lies back on the bed and imagines Will knelt over him, biting at his jaw and tugging on his cock with skilled fingers, whispering that he's wanted to own him like this since their eyes met in Peggy-Lu's diner.
It's that final thought that undoes him, Finn spurts out his release and stains the front of his t-shirt with pearlescent droplets. He jacks his softening dick to coax the last drops of his spunk out and wipes the sticky head with the hem of his t-shirt since it's already soiled. He's lying there waiting for his breath to come back to him when the phone rings.
He gives it a wary look and then reaches over and lifts it from the cradle, "Hello?"
"Hey Finn."
A flush rises to his skin at the sound of the familiar voice, "H-hi Will." He hopes he sounds natural and not like someone who's just jerked off.
"Bryan said you'd called," The older man prompts.
"Oh, yeah..." He struggles to kick his post-orgasmic brain into gear. "I was wondering how your date went. You never- You never called." He tries not to make the last part sound too accusatory.
"It went well," Will surmises.
"So, are you gonna tell me anything or-?"
"Her name is Emma," The older man responds fondly (Finn can't tell if it's because he's thinking about her or because of his impatient prompting. He feels a little pathetic for hoping it's the latter). "We met in the park and then went for coffee. I kissed her goodnight at her door. She's very nice and I'm seeing her again next Friday. Is that enough information for you?"
"Yeah." The last question lacks any bite, so the young man hopes he'd overreacted in assuming Will was angry with him. "Thanks for calling."
"It's no big deal. So, is there anything else?" Will asks.
(I just jerked off thinking about you), "N-no, nothing."
He bids goodbye and hangs up, then rubs his hands across his eyes tiredly. Shucking off his pants and turning the shirt inside out so the stains won't transfer onto any other clothes, Finn drops them both in the laundry hamper and grabs a towel so that he can shower off the sheen of sweat clinging to him.
Even if he wanted to think about the implications of his fantasy about Will (Which he really doesn't), the last week of summer school starts today and so he's far too busy to stop and think it over.
He shows his weekend project to the class on Monday. His torn letter jacket is pinned to a large sheet of corkboard and the cuts he made in the letter jacket have been dabbed with dark red paint to resemble bleeding, especially around the gaping hole where the W had been. Pinned into the board surrounding the jacket is a border of 6x4, black and white shots of him sat on his bed, hugging his knees to his chest, totally naked and looking downcast.
"What are you trying to tell us with this piece?" Ms. Defoe questions, looking it over calmly.
"I, uh-" He squints as he tries to articulate the thought process behind his work. "I played on the football team from the start of Freshman year and I wore this letter jacket pretty much from the day I was given it. The jacket showed I was on the football team, being on the football team was why people knew me, so in a way the jacket was my identity."
Ms. Defoe nods, intrigued. "So why is the jacket torn, are you trying to say that your identity has been damaged?"
"I guess," He answers uncertainly. "I think this summer I've sort of been coming to terms with the fact that high school is over. I'm not this person anymore." He gestures to the jacket.
"This person no longer exists, as if they've been destroyed," The teacher remarks, beginning to understand the meaning behind the piece.
"That's sort of what I was thinking, yeah," He agrees.
"Then the photos..." She taps a finger against them.
"They're sort of who I am without the jacket," He answers. "I'm not that person anymore, but I haven't quite figured out who I am instead."
"The fetal position," Ms. Defoe comments on his posture. "To show that you're scared and alone-"
"Um, yeah?" Finn offers hesitantly. (Really he'd just not wanted to show his junk).
"-the black and white to represent the bleakness of your uncertainty," The teacher continues raving enthusiastically.
"Yeah." (And the black and white prints were cheaper than color).
"The killing blow." She reaches up and touches the tiny hole in the back of the cloth Finn had cut by accident when gouging out the hole left from the W. "An entry wound from behind, a gunshot that blows your heart right out of your chest." She flexes her fingers out as she withdraws her hand, to mimic the visceral spray, "As if society hasn't prepared you for the change, it's come at you unexpectedly." She takes a few steps back and looks the project over, tilting her head to either side and then making a rectangle with the thumb and forefinger of each hand and looking at the jacket through it. "This is a really impressive piece," She praises. "I assume this is the work you want to submit for grading?" Since the teacher's reaction to the project seems so favorable Finn confirms that this is the piece he'll be resting the majority of his grade for the class on.
It means he's more or less finished the art course and so the time he'll spend in the next two classes this week will be free time... but that still doesn't mean he has time to contemplate whether one bout of masturbation while thinking of a guy makes him gay or not, (It totally doesn't!) because he has the last of his History exams on Thursday and so he'll be busy reviewing the Great Depression and World War II. He scored an impressive (By his standards anyway) 87 on the third test, so as long as he stays focused for the final hurdle and answers all the questions with the same focus and drive he's put into the previous papers he'll get the grade he needs to graduate. Then he can forget all about the stupid class and never have to take the subject ever again.
There's a buzz of excitement in the air on Friday that hasn't been present among the unenthusiastic summer school art class at all for the past six weeks. Everyone knows that after today they're finally free from McKinley High, free to take on full time shifts or to enjoy the last weeks of the summer before they leave for college. Finn and Brittany are among the leaders of the crowd pushing towards the door when the clock hits ten to twelve, but before they can make their getaway Ms. Defoe asks Finn to wait behind.
"Did I do something wrong?" He frets as he returns to the classroom and stands by the teacher's desk.
"Not at all," She assures, collecting up pencils that have been left scattered about the room and returning to the desk herself. "Your project is going to be one of those displayed at the Art and Culture festival."
Finn nods, "You already told me that."
"Well..." The teacher forces open a stiff drawer on her desk and rummages around inside, "Every year I'm permitted to recommend two Senior students for placement at Antioch College. Normally those recommendations go to students who complete the class during the standard school year, but I happen to have one left over." She finds a pamphlet for the school in the drawer and hands it across to Finn, along with an application form.
"You're giving this to me?" He questions, confused.
"Your piece was inspiring," Ms. Defoe declares, with a passionate gleam in her eyes. "You have some good technical skill too that could be really honed if you studied under the right tutor."
"But, well, the new semester starts in under a month," Finn points out.
"You'd be accepted on a late placement, of course," She agrees. "But if you send your portfolio in by the end of the week, they can evaluate it and if you get in you'd have your place by the end of September."
"Thanks, Ms. Defoe." The young man looks over the pamphlet uncertainly, but takes it with him when he leaves.
He drives Brittany to work and goes into the cybercafe with her, looking over to the computer booths on the right hand side of the store.
"So, how exactly do you use the computers here?" Finn questions.
"Oh." The blond looks at him wide-eyed, her lower lip trembling slightly, "I don't know how to turn on a computer."
"No, I mean- How much do I have to pay to use one?" He rewords his query.
"Two dollars for half an hour," She speaks cheerfully, sounding entirely rehearsed from some training exercise. "If you pay for two hours, you get a free croissant."
He pays for half an hour and she gives him a laminated login card. He takes a seat at one of the empty booths and types the details from the card into the login menu, the screen loads into a standard desktop layout except it has the coffeehouse's logo as the background instead of the default Windows 98 wallpaper.
He searches 'Antioch College, Ohio' on Yahoo and clicks a link from the list of results to open the school's website. The computer automatically logs him out after his half hour is up and he isn't done browsing, so he returns to the counter and buys another computer session. He ends up earning himself the free croissant and buys a hot cocoa to go with it.
"So what are you looking at?" Brittany slides a chair over from the empty booth next to Finn's and watches the text on the screen.
"Ms. Defoe thinks I should apply to this liberal arts college in Yellow Springs," He answers, scrolling down the page. "I'm looking for information about it."
She hums thoughtfully, "Most guys look up porn."
It's mid-afternoon when he gets home and he spends the next few hours doing housework as an apology to his mom for Friday's dinner. As he works his way through the chores his mind is still focused on the application form and he wonders who he can turn to for advice. He briefly considers his mom, but she just seems to want him out of the house by the end of the summer and so he can't really expect her to weigh up the choices fairly. Quinn wants him in Columbus so they'll only be a three and a half hour journey away from each other for holidays and long weekends. Telling Puck he's thinking about applying to a liberal arts college would be an open invitation to gay jokes from now to the end of eternity...
Will would listen, he wouldn't judge and he'd offer honest advice. The only problem is that Finn isn't sure if he can look the older man in the eye when he spent his morning shower palming his cock and imagining he had Will pressed up against the condensation of the clear plastic door.
He pounds out his frustration making dough from scratch and then spreads tomato sauce from a jar and shredded cheddar over the smooth base. There isn't enough ham, pepper or mushrooms in the fridge to serve as a decent topping so he decides plain pizza will do fine and puts the baking tray into the oven. His mom arrives home just as it has finished baking and finds him at the kitchen counter, shaping the finished meal into a foldover.
"You cooked?" She cocks an eyebrow.
"I also mowed the lawn, vacuumed and cleaned the bathroom," He informs, slicing the pizza in half and serving it up onto two plates.
"You know you don't have to do all this," She points out, collecting a bag of Fresh Express from the crisper. "I'm not angry with you."
"Don't complain if I'm actually doing housework," Finn teases. He eats quickly and then heads out into the hall to collect his keys, "I'm going out."
"I don't suppose you'd wash the dishes before you go?" His mom inquires.
He grins as he leans down to kiss her goodbye, "You said I didn't have to do everything."
She responds with a jesting sigh, "Well it was nice while it lasted, I suppose."
As he stands outside the door to apartment no. 7 Finn tries to calm his nervous heartbeat. He reminds himself that he's seen Will lots of times before and there's no reason to assume he'll be struck by the insane desire to kiss the older man again the second he opens the door.
"Finn, what are you doing here?" Will questions, leaning on the door and looking baffled (Okay, so maybe he wants to kiss him a little bit).
"I just wanted to talk to you about something," He answers, shrugging with the shoulder that's carrying his backpack.
"Okay." The older man steps aside and they cross through to the lounge. "So what is it?" He prompts, arms crossed over his chest guardedly.
Finn can see from his friend's body language that their shared moment of over a week ago has been on the older man's mind too, but when he thinks of having a conversation about it his mental state is reminiscent of his reaction to a haunted house during second grade; namely a lot of terrified screaming and fleeing in terror.
"I wanted your advice," He answers instead, going with the plan he'd made and handing over the pamphlet he'd been given that morning.
"I know this place," Will remarks, looking at the cover page. "Yellow Springs, just east of Dayton, right?"
"Yeah."
"So why are you looking into it?" The older man inquires, "I didn't think this is the kind of place you'd be interested in going."
"It's not really," He answers honestly. "But Ms. Defoe gave me this after class today, she said she's allowed to give two recommendations a year and she was giving one to me."
"She must think highly of you," Will remarks.
"I don't know, maybe," Finn replies humbly. "I'm not the kind of guy that teachers expect to do well; the only academic achievement I've got is a bronze medal for coming third in Chem Lab last year." He picks at a hole in the knee of his track pants where the lining is showing through, uncomfortable with admitting his mediocre academic performance.
"For me an achievement in Chem Lab was making it through a lesson without blowing anything up," The older man chuckles, self-deprecatingly.
Finn looks up from the hole in the material and grins in return, consoled to hear his friend sympathizing rather than judging him. "But hey, now I've got my art project I can throw that medal in the trash," He jokes.
"I'll have to see it some time," Will replies.
"The medal?" The young man lifts an eyebrow, perplexed.
"The art project," The older man clarifies, rolling his eyes.
"Oh. Well, you can," The student assures. "It's gonna be on show at the Art and Culture festival. I've got to be there and it's gonna suck, so you'd save me from death by boredom if you came along."
Will nods mildly and reads over the first page of the school pamphlet, "So are you seriously thinking about applying to this place?"
"It'd be cool to go somewhere without having to play second string on the football team until the starting squad graduates," He answers, then moves onto the couch beside Will and shifts close to look through the pamphlet. "And some of the classes look really cool." The student runs a finger down the course list, "'Percussion in Art', I mean; that'd be perfect for me."
"Do you want to study art?" The older man questions.
Finn squints as he thinks about it. "I haven't really thought about it before."
"Don't you have that football scholarship to State?" Will questions. "Are there any courses there that interest you?"
"Not really," He dismisses. "Why, do you think I should go to State?"
"Antioch was Terri's first choice when she came to choosing colleges," The older man answers. "She'd been working on her portfolio all through high school but they still rejected her. This place is small, exclusive and even if you do get in; their rates are so extortionate you'll get yourself into debt until you're my age just taking a four year course."
"Quinn wants me to go to State," Finn says openly. "Mom just wants me to go somewhere. Puck wants me to be a dropout like him so we can drive across America, living out of a van and playing shows wherever we can find them until we get to LA and get a record deal."
Will listens patiently and then asks the question, "Where do you want to go?"
The student hangs his head (Because isn't that the million dollar question?), "I don't know."
"Then did you ever think that maybe that's what you need to be asking?" The older man remarks kindly.
"So you don't think I should bother sending in an application to Antioch?" He questions cynically.
"If you decide that you'd be happy studying for a BA at a school of under 500 students, then there's no harm in sending off a sample of your work to see if they'll let you in," Will encourages. "For all I know, you're gonna be the next Michelangelo."
The younger man grins, "He was always my favorite." At the blank look he receives, he clarifies his statement, "Ninja turtle."
Will mirrors his grin when he realizes, "I liked Raphael."
They argue about the merits of their respective favorite turtles and then move on to talking about the ThunderCats. The conversation is a return to the easy, familiar discussion style they've shared in the past and Finn begins to realize that he's been treating Will a lot like a horror movie monster since last Wednesday. A tiny glimpse of something had scared him and he's been fretting over it and letting the shadows of his imagination feed that fear, but now that he's stood up and looked unflinchingly he can see that the original scare was blown out of proportion.
About an hour into their discussion Will catches sight of the clock. "Oh damn, is that the time?" He exclaims, comparing it to his wristwatch. "Emma's going to be here in half an hour."
"Oh right, you have your date tonight," Finn recalls. He squashes down the flicker of disappointment when he thinks about it, (He's beginning to recover from his freakout about Will and he doesn't need anything to set it off again).
"Yes, and I haven't even started getting ready," The older man comments, bordering on panic as he leaps up from the couch.
"Okay, dude. Relax," The younger man instructs. "I've been helping you with the dating thing for weeks now, so I can help out now too."
"Okay, you're right." Will breathes out deeply.
"Is that what you're wearing?" He prompts.
The older man looks down at the ratty white t-shirt and sweatpants he'd worn to the gym on his way home from work, "Does this look like the kind of thing I'd wear on a date?" He challenges, a note of hysteria creeping into his voice again.
"Well, I don't know where you're taking her," Finn retorts. "Maybe you were going somewhere casual."
"We're going to see a movie," Will answers, calmer and contrite.
"Not Legally Blonde?" He prompts warily.
The older man grins and relaxes significantly, "Thankfully no. Emma has a thing about sticky cinema floors, so we're going to the drive-in theater in Dayton. There's a double feature of classic musicals playing; Singin' in the Rain and My Fair Lady."
"Sounds like fun," The younger man comments with false cheer. "So what are you going to wear?"
"I haven't decided yet," Will answers.
"Okay," Finn decides. "You go shower and I'll pick something out for you."
In Will's bedroom, the young man opens the doors to the wardrobe and spends some time searching through the assortment of blazers, sweaters, dress shirts and slacks. He finally picks out a clean, pressed shirt and spends a few extra minutes selecting a mahogany-colored vest to go with it. (A voice in his head points out that he's never this particular when choosing his own outfits and questions why he cares about Will's appearance, but he brushes it off forcibly). Setting them down on the bed gently, so that he won't crease the meticulously ironed fabric, he checks in the dresser for a pair of the jeans he knows Will is so fond of matching up to smart shirts and ties.
He can hear the older man singing Talk Dirty To Me at a muted volume (Most likely trying to stop him hearing, obviously a failed venture) over the sound of the shower running and as he takes a seat at the desk he can't help but smile softly. He rocks back on the chair and drums a mindless beat out against his thighs as he listens to the sound of the water turning off.
Finn makes an effort not to stare (Or drool, or pop a boner right there) when the older man appears in the doorway because Will is even fitter than he'd anticipated. Of course, he knew that the older man kept trim and in shape, but the sight of his chest, abs and the furry trail leading from his bellybutton down into the hemline of the towel knotted at his waist stirs something up inside of Finn.
"I, uh, didn't know if underwear was going to be important for your date or not, s-so you should pick some for yourself."
Will chuckles and droplets run enticingly down his flushed skin as the sound makes his stomach muscles spasm, "Don't worry, I'm not planning anything that exciting."
Finn nods mutely and chews his lip, fingers twitching with the desire to touch, tweak and tug the older man's nipples (Hardened from the cool air in the room and dusky brown like a penny) and see if he can wring a startled groan from Will's throat.
"I'll just wait outside," He declares, standing up and fleeing the room so that Will can get dressed in privacy. He hopes the older man will assume the lump in his pants was just a crease in the material and wonders if he should stand in front of the open freezer for a few minutes.
The older man returns to the lounge a few minutes later, still running the towel over his hair but fully dressed.
"Do I look okay?" He inquires, setting the towel down and tugging on the bottom of the vest fastidiously.
He looks amazing, he looks edible, he has those tiny creases in the corners of his eyes from where he's smiling subtly, he smells of magnolia shower gel and woodsy aftershave, Finn wants to tear off the clothes he picked out and press kisses to every bare inch of the older man's body.
"You look great," He answers, a little hoarsely and regrets not having followed through on the freezer plan.
There's a timid pattering at the door and Will looks across to it in alarm. "Can you stall her for me?" He requests, retreating back to the bathroom with the towel. "I've still got to do my hair."
"Okay, sure," Finn agrees. He heads over to the door and finds a short woman with vibrantly red, wavy hair and a canary yellow, ruffled blouse waiting on the doorstep. He does a double take, "Ms. Pillsbury?"
"Oh?" She takes a tiny step back and her brown eyes go wide (Wider than normal). "I'm sorry, I must have the wrong apartment."
"No, erm. If you're Emma, Will will just be a few minutes." He gestures over his shoulder and stands aside to let her in.
"So are you-?" She starts and then stops. They're standing about in the lounge and the awkward meter keeps going up a notch with each passing moment. "Will said he had a roommate," She remarks.
"Oh no, I'm just a friend," Finn answers. "Bryan is- Bryan's not here."
"Right... So, uh, how do you and Will know each other?"
"Oh, we, just y'know, hang out and stuff," He answers lamely.
The conversation is saved from a climactic arrival at the summit of the awkward meter when Will returns from the bathroom with his messy shower curls neatly tamed and returned to their usual style.
"Hey." He smiles and leans down to press a kiss to Emma's cheek. She flushes a little and her whole face is a beacon of intensive joy; Finn tries not to hate her too much.
"I should leave you to your date then," The younger man comments. He collects his backpack, claps a hand to Will's shoulder and leaves the apartment with a final remark of, "Have a nice night." He keeps the insincere smile on his face all the way down the stairs and out the front door, then lets it slip from his face as he crosses the darkened road to where he's parked the Aries.
He slams the driver's side door behind him fiercely as he gets behind the wheel and fumbles around in his pocket for the keys. His breast feels like it's full of Siamese fighting fish, while the little voice at the back of his brain has stepped up onto the soapbox with a megaphone and is shouting at him to acknowledge the biological reaction he had to the sight of a dripping wet, compactly muscular, lovable but dorky, thirty-six year old man.
"It was nothing," He proclaims aloud, sliding the key into the ignition and starting the car. "I don't think about him like that. I don't think about guys like that. I'm not gay!"
(Then why did he feel like his insides had frozen solid when Will kissed Emma in front of him?) He doesn't have an answer to that question, so he promptly knocks the little voice back into the ignored corner of his mind and guides the Aries out of the parking space.