When Joolie asks him why he's in such a sour mood on Saturday morning he tells her he's hungover from the party Quinn dragged him to the night before (Not entirely untrue). She offers to buy him a churro from the food cart at the end of the row when their lunch break comes round and the promise of sugary fried dough is enough for him to keep his temper with her as they spend the morning restocking the shelves.
"So does your hangover have anything to do with your plan to apologize to your friend with beer?" She inquires as she collects a misplaced Destiny's Child album from the pop section (It's not uncommon for customers to pick something up and put it down again in the wrong place) and passes it to him, so he can return to its rightful spot in the R&B/soul section.
"No," He answers, slotting the CD into place between Des'Ree and Diana Ross.
"But you did apologize to him?" She prompts, pushing the stock box along the ground with her foot as they move further down the aisle.
"No, it turned out everything was cool. The date went well, he had another one last night. I met his girlfriend, she's nice." Even to him ever word sounds false.
"Uh-huh," She remarks disbelievingly. "I'll buy you two churros if you stop the BS."
He stops in front of the pop sections, turning away from the *NSYNC and Backstreet Boys CDs to look over at Joolie. She's got a new streak of color in her dark hair and her t-shirt has the Sesame Street cookie monster on it, her eyebrow is cocked expectantly. He knows she is a woman with no time for crap and if he tells her the truth she'll just tell him to suck it up and deal, but she isn't going to back down either.
"I sort of don't want him to be dating her." (Or anyone).
"Yeah, I figured that," She remarks, turning back to the pop display and digging a few Christina Aguilera albums out of the supply box. "Why not?"
"Because I felt like total crap when his date dropped by and I just had to leave," He confesses, not revealing the deeper reasons that made him feel that way.
"He's allowed to have a life, right?" Joolie prompts, kicking the box another few paces.
"Well yeah," Finn agrees instantly. "But we've been hanging out for most of the summer and now he's got dates with Emma and I lose out if it comes down to call waiting." He knows that a lot of this hasn't actually happened yet, but he's been through GRISIS (Girlfriend-Related Intense Social Isolation Syndrome, but it sounds cooler as an acronym because it rhymes with crisis) before and knows what the symptoms will be. "I'm going to college in two weeks, I just want to spend some time with him before I go."
"So have you tried telling him that?" She phrases it as a suggestion because she correctly assumes that he hasn't.
"I don't want to-"
"Ugh," She cuts him off frustratedly. "What is it with guys and not being able to just tell someone how they feel. Suck it up, be a big boy and ask him to hang with you when he's got some free time. Is that really so hard?"
He's a little offended by her patronizing outburst, but she more than makes up for it with the churros.
When he gets home from work he decides to follow his colleague's advice and dials Will's number.
"Hello?" The sound of the older man's voice sends a little shiver through Finn.
"Hey Will. Puck found us a gig at a bar on Glenn Avenue, Wednesday night," The young man explains. "You want to go?"
"Glenn Avenue?" The older man repeats. "Off of Fourth Street?"
"Yup."
"With the 75 only about a thousand feet away. Don't you think that'll be a bit noisy?"
"Hey even better, nobody will be able to hear us play," Finn jokes.
The older man chuckles warmly, "I'd love to, Finn, but the middle of the week doesn't really suit me; I'd have to get up early for work the next day... Maybe some other time."
"Friday?" The young man prompts instantly.
"Huh?"
"Now that I'm done with summer school Puck has us booked solid," Finn elaborates. "We're playing at a place called Mangoes on West Street, just past the Northland Plaza."
"Emma and I have a date on Friday," Will interjects.
"Oh... Well, maybe you could bring her along," He suggests, twirling the cord of the phone with his finger hopelessly.
"I don't think she'd really appreciate your music," The older man comments. "But I'll tell her you were kind enough to make the offer."
"Sure." Finn bites his lip and goes for his last ditch effort, "So are you still gonna come to the Art and Culture Festival on Saturday?"
"Oh yes," Will remarks brightly and a small part of the younger man is dancing in triumph. "I have to see your masterpiece."
"And save me from my boredom," He reminds.
"That too," The older man agrees fondly. "So what time is-?"
"Open doors at 7pm sharp, closes at 11:30pm," Finn answers promptly. "There's gonna be a few exhibits in the art studio, but the main events are going on in the gymnasium."
"So I'll meet you in the art studio," Will deadpans.
"Hey!" Finn bites back playfully, "I'll have you know that my project is gonna be the main attraction of the Senior's, summer school class, community-identity project, art display."
"Wow, that really is an honor," The older man teases.
"I know right?" He keeps playing along, "I'm thinking of renting the tux I wore to Prom."
In the end he doesn't rent the tux he wore to Prom, but Quinn is pissed off, Puck is flirting with every girl he has a good rapport with (Not a large group), Santana is making mean comments about how everywhere she looks there is an eyesore and Brittany quickly grew sleepy and wants to go home; so in all the ways that count, it is like Prom.
Ms. Defoe finds him hanging about with his friends about an hour into the evening and gives him a quick rundown of the schedule.
"The younger students are presenting their work first, so you'll be making your unveiling at 9:30 with the rest of the Senior class."
"I have to make an unveiling?" Finn questions, not comfortable with the idea.
"It's nothing too serious," The teacher assures casually, sliding her loose bangles further up her slim wrists. "It's mostly an event to put on the official program. You'll just have to give a talk about your work and answer a few questions from the audience."
"There's going to be questions?" The young man repeats apprehensively.
"Nothing too complicated or long-winded," She remarks. "Just some questions from the parents and, I think there's some reporters from the local newspaper..." She looks around and then points to Jacob Ben Israel and a spindly older man with thick stubble and a camera equipped with a lens the size of a small telescope. "So you'll be sure to come to the art display by twenty-past, just to be ready?"
"Yeah, I'll be there," He agrees.
"Great." She claps her hands together, producing a tinkling scale from the bangles at her wrists, and drifts away.
"Ms. Defoe," Finn calls after the teacher, reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket for the papers he'd put there to keep them safe, but she wanders away without hearing him. "Fine, I guess I'll give her them later," He mumbles to himself, putting the papers back in his pocket.
He continues down the makeshift walkway of open space left between the various exhibits and finds his friends amid a scattered audience seated in foldout chairs before the faded cloth background and cardboard scenery leftover from last year's school performance of Once Upon A Mattress. He takes a seat beside Quinn and gladly accepts the paper plate of canapes he'd asked her to hold onto while he was talking to the art teacher.
"So what's going on?" He whispers his question.
"A poetry recital," She answers dully.
"It's not even fun to make fun of people anymore," Santana laments as they watch Mr. DeMartino assisting Mr. O'Neill's poetry demonstration (The History teacher has a tendency to stress the wrong word in every sentence, so the sonnet he's reading is a peculiar thing to listen to). "I mean, we're never gonna see these people again. What's the point in mocking them?"
"It's funny," Puck reminds.
"Oh yeah," The Latina grins at the young man beside her.
"What's a larken?" Brittany asks with obvious puzzlement.
"Some kind of tree?" Finn guesses wildly, eating canapes from the paper plate on his lap. He doesn't pay much attention to the recital and keeps checking his watch. It's a little after eight and Will promised he'd be here, but there's another two and a half hours for the older man to show up so he tries not to be impatient.
"So this officially blows," Someone remarks, dropping into the seat besides Finn.
The young man turns and sees a long streak of blue dyed into sleek black hair. "Hey Tina," He greets, surprised by her presence.
"What do you want, Morticia?" Santana demands, glaring at the Asian girl.
Finn decides to intervene smoothly before the situation can turn ugly. Standing up, he holds a hand out to pull Tina out of her chair too. "We're gonna go get drinks," He declares. "Anybody want something? Santana," He looks at the Latina specifically, narrowing his eyes, "You want anything, like maybe some coke?" She narrows her own eyes in response, but heeds the warning and keeps her mouth shut.
"So what was that about?" Tina remarks, looking over her shoulder as they circulate away from the poetry reading and pass Rachel Berry dressed in full Renaissance get-up.
"Don't worry about it," Finn dismisses, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets. "So, you were saying about how this thing totally sucks balls..."
She grins at his open remark, but there's a shared sympathy between the two of them in the knowledge that they'll be stuck here at least another hour and a half so they can make their presentations, "So what are you doing now that summer school's over?"
"I've been working weekends at the record store at the West Elm Mall," He answers. "I'm just gonna stick to that til I leave for OSU next Monday." They walk in silence past a booth where a Freshman girl is scratching out a tune on a violin. "How about you, did you hear back from any of the colleges you applied to yet?" He inquires as they blessedly pass outside the noise range of the violin and head out to the soda machine in the hall.
"Not yet," She answers with a sigh. "There's still a chance of late acceptance, but it's starting to look like I'm gonna have to apply again next Fall."
Finn winces at the notion of having to stay in Lima for a year while others in their graduating year will be escaping to greener pastures. He barges the machine with his shoulder as he puts the last quarter in the coin slot and, with a deep rumble, two cans drop into the slot. He holds one up to Tina, it's a small token of his sympathy, but she accepts it appreciatively nonetheless.
"There's something different about you," He comments as they sip from the refrigerated cans and head back into the gym. "But I can't figure out what it is."
"That's no big surprise. You never really talked to me before," She responds, shrugging.
(That's it!), "You're not stuttering," He declares loudly.
She grins impishly and taps a finger against her nose, "You'll find out why later." With that, she spins on her heel and heads over to the art display.
"Why were you talking to her?" Quinn demands when he sits back down at the poetry reading.
"What, Tina?" He queries. "She was in my art class, we talked a couple of times."
"You talked to her?" The blond repeats disbelievingly. "The quarterback just happened to have a conversation with the weird funeral girl?"
"I'm not the quarterback anymore," He reminds, picking up the plate of canapes. "High school's over."
"Are you sleeping with her?" She accuses flatly.
Finn chokes on a cheese cracker, "What? No!"
"Admit it," She hisses, slapping him on the arm repeatedly. "You've been cheating on me with some freaky goth chick and that's why we hardly see each other anymore."
"We've not seen each other because I've been in summer school," He reminds her. "Which is where I know Tina from, as a friend."
"School ended a week ago and the first thing we've done together since then is come to this dreadful thing," She argues.
"I've been busy with the band." He turns to Puck for support.
"Hey, you could still find time to take Quinn somewhere," The mohawked teen argues.
"Yeah, well you would say that," Finn snaps. "You certainly found the time to take her, even though she was my girlfriend."
"Oh dude!" Puck recoils, "Low blow."
"No, it was a low blow when you slept with my girlfriend behind my back," He retorts pedantically.
"So is that it?" Quinn asks, "Are you still punishing me for a mistake I made two years ago?" She leaps up out of her seat, "I'm going home. Call me when you learn how to be a man and forgive people when they do something wrong."
As the former-cheerleader storms away, Finn becomes slowly aware that the sparse audience for the poetry recital have turned their attention towards them.
"Finn, um, is everything alright back there?" Mr. O'Neill inquires timidly.
Spontaneously, Finn stands up and pulls Puck with him; directing the mohawked teen to mimic him in bowing grandly. "Just some improv theater Mr. O," He lies.
"Oh well, my word; splendid." The literature teacher leads the small audience in giving a round of applause, though he seems to be the only one who actually bought the excuse.
"Wait, so does that mean Puck and Quinn didn't sleep together?" Brittany asks bewildered. (Okay, so maybe Mr. O'Neill isn't the only one.)
Puck bluntly tells Finn that he'll call with news about their next performance and then leaves. Finn can tell that the slow progress they'd made towards repairing the cracks in the band have been made redundant with that one brief fight, it seems that any time Quinn comes between the two of them there will be damage done to their old friendship.
"... and so, I like to think that the sun in the corner represents hope for the future of America." The girl (Finn was in class with her ten hours a week for six weeks and yet he doesn't have a clue what her name is) presenting her piece bows to the small crowd and gets down from behind the podium. Finn is sat with the other students waiting to make their five minute presentations and he's watching the assembled crowd for some sign of Will. The older man still hasn't arrived and unless he materializes in the next five minutes he's going to miss Finn's moment in the spotlight.
"My p-p-piece is made from an old m-m-mannequin torso I p-purchased at a clothes salon," Tina introduces her busk and Finn notes the return of her stutter. "I painted the f-face to mirror my own because my w-work is a reflection o-of me." She's looking down at the podium with her face obscured by her long hair, so Finn figures the audience is gonna have to take her word on that. "The i-image on the chest is a d-design I created to reflect my wish for f-f-freedom, both p-physical and c-creative."
"So what about the bandage over its mouth?" Ms. Barch questions.
"The b-bandage represents..." The artist stops short and everybody seems to think the tension has gotten to her, but with a dramatic flash of her hand she reaches out and tears the bandage from the busk. "The bandage is a lie!" She declares boldly. She straightens her shoulders and looks out to the audience with a noticeable change in her tone and posture, "I've been faking a stutter since grade school because I learned that it made people leave me alone. I was a wallflower throughout high school and I said more with the way I look and dress than I did with any words."
"So what's your point?" The physics teacher asks.
Tina turns back to the mannequin and draws the audience's attention to an intricate symbol drawn onto the chin. "This symbol is dào, a word in Chinese that means not only speech, but refers to a path; a way of living with reason and direction. I won't hide behind the easy lie anymore, I'm a new person."
"How does that feel?" A woman at the front prompts.
"It feels amazing," The Asian girl answers, smiling abashedly and flushing slightly as the group applaud her. "Thank you." She curtsies and returns to her seat.
Finn is up next and so he reluctantly takes his place at the podium, "Uh, hi... I don't really have a speech prepared, so..." He trails off and looks across to the corkboard being placed on the display easel by one of the Junior students who'd volunteered to help out with the festival, looking to earn extra credit for next year. "This is my piece."
He rocks back on his heels and watches the audience observe his project. "What are you trying to say with this work?" Ms. Defoe spurs him on from the sidelines.
"Well... The guys on the football team, we all had one of these jackets and we wore them so much that we were recognizable in them. Now that school's over, we're not on the team anymore and so the jackets have lost that meaning."
He leaps upon the chance to stop his rambling when a woman near the back raises her hand to ask a question, "Don't you think the gore in this piece could be seen as offensive?"
Finn blinks and looks to the ruined jacket again, "I'm not sure what you mean."
"There are kids who get beat up in high school, kids that get killed. A bloodstained letter jacket could be a nasty memento for some people," She elaborates.
"That isn't what- That isn't what I was trying to say," He answers. "I wanted to show that the person I was in high school is dead, but there's somebody else underneath?"
"She has a point." A man in one of the middle rows speaks up, "Don't you think the kids who were killed by some crazed classmate who'd listened to too much Marylin Manson would much prefer to be you. What makes your life so bad?"
"I'm- I'm sorry," Finn speaks up profusely. "I didn't mean to offend anybody."
As a bout of whispering passes through the crowd and the mood turns nasty, Ms. Defoe makes her way to the front and collects his corkboard from the display easel, gesturing for the first of the students who took art class during the school year to come up and present their piece.
"I'm sorry about that," The teacher apologizes once she's led him away from the crowd. "I didn't anticipate that reaction."
The young man shrugs, "It's not a big deal."
"No, it is," She asserts, "And it's my fault. I should have seen the other ways your piece could be interpreted and given you enough time to write a speech that would explain the true beauty of your message."
"There's no beauty, it's a stained jacket pinned to a corkboard," He returns levelly. Reaching into his jacket pocket he pulls out the pamphlet and application form she'd given him a week before, "I don't think I'm cut out to be an artist, Ms. Defoe."
"You're sure?" She inquires, eying the forms sadly.
"I sent my summer school grades to OSU. Their admin office called to confirm my place yesterday," The student answers. "I'm moving into the residence halls next Monday."
"Well, I wish you the best," She declares, smiling kindly.
Finn hands over the forms and makes one final remark, "I think you should give your recommendation to Tina."
She looks thoughtful, then gives a small nod. "I think that's a very good idea." As he turns to walk away she holds up the sheet of corkboard, "Do you want this back?"
Finn looks down at the torn, stained jacket and acknowledges that if he doesn't take it then it's probably going to end up in the trash. He smiles thinly as he thinks about what the art project has meant to him over the past fortnight and decides that ending its life at the bottom of a dumpster is fitting with the message he wanted to make.
As he's making his way out of the gym, Jacob Ben Israel jogs over to him with a tape recorder.
"How does it feel to have your piece removed from the display?" The wannabe reporter asks, holding the tape recorder out to him.
"No comment," Finn answers blandly.
"Do you have any response to the controversies raised by the insensitive concept of your artwork?"
"I didn't mean to offend anybody," The young man repeats his apology.
"What do you have to say about the rumor that your supposedly staged argument with Quinn Fabray earlier this evening was entirely genuine?"
Finn frowns down at the tape recorder, "Aren't you meant to be a real reporter now, don't you have better things to do than spread gossip?"
The ginger teen pouts and makes to reply, but at that moment his friend with the camera appears, "Jacob, you gotta come take a look at this."
The scandalous delight in the photographer's voice makes Finn follow the reporting pair back to the art display and observe the latest piece being presented. The wheelchair kid Puck used to torment (Alvin? Artie? R.V.?) is discussing his prolonged documentation of the drug and underage drinking that goes on among the youth of their town. On the display easel beside him is a large poster board of photos, they vary in size but the centerpiece shows Santana Lopez snorting cocaine at Matt Rutherford's house party and has been tagged in graffiti-print style with the phrase 'Wasted youth?'
"I think we've found our story," Jacob declares with delight. He turns to see Finn watching the presentation too and holds his recorder out again, "Do you have any comment to make about the activities shown in those photographs?"
He thinks about his own evidence of what Santana got up to at that particular party and how easy it would be to let Jacob have the prints. He knows that if their positions were reversed the Latina would sell him out in a heartbeat, but it is that knowledge that leads him to reply, "No comment."
He walks away, leaving Jacob Ben Israel to collect quotes from anybody who will talk to him and his partner to take photographs. He's comfortable in the knowledge that he's better than Santana Lopez and that security is worth more than a million points on the cosmic scale.
There's no message waiting on the answering machine on Sunday evening and Finn feels affronted. He'd expected Will to have phoned to explain why he hadn't shown up to the Art and Culture festival like he'd promised to, but has to reflect that Will's presence in the gym wouldn't have stopped him from falling out with Quinn or make the audience appreciate his 'offensive' artwork; so perhaps it is for the best that the older man wasn't there to see him lose his cool and follow it up by gaping like a goldfish in front of a crowd of amateur art critics. Still, he has a compulsive desire to know why his friend blew him off.
The dial tone stretches on at such length that Finn is expecting the machine to pick up and starts mentally articulating the message he's going to leave, but at the last possible moment the call goes through, "Hello?"
"Hey Will," He aims for light and breezy.
"Finn... Hi," The older man replies. "How are you?"
"Sorta sucky," He confesses. "The Art and Culture festival was a total bomb." (You know, the Art and Culture festival you said you'd be at).
"Yeah, I'm sorry I wasn't there; I had some work that came up at the last minute. I called to tell you I couldn't make it but you must have already gone."
"Look, if you spent the night with Emma you can tell me. I won't be mad," Finn assures.
"Emma?" Will repeats, confused.
"Ever since you and her got together I hardly see you," The young man explains.
"Yeah, well..." The older man coughs uncomfortably. "Emma is a little confused about how you and I are friends and, well, I didn't exactly know how to explain it."
"So you have been avoiding me!" Finn says, part triumphant that he'd been right, but mostly despondent that he'd been right.
"No, I-" Will's denial dies on his lips.
"You aren't the first guy to put a girlfriend ahead of everything else," The young man assures. "I mean, I get it. I just thought we were closer than that."
"It's just- Well- When Emma asked why an eighteen-year-old would want to hang out with me, I sort of had to wonder myself," The older man explains.
"Uh, because I like hanging out with you," Finn provides the obvious answer. "I didn't realize there was an age limit of the friends you're allowed to have, but I guess I must not be sophisticated enough for you or something. Maybe I should just-"
"Please don't," Will interrupts, he sounds sincerely apologetic. "I've been a jerk and ignored you all week which is totally unfair to you. Please, let me make it up to you."
The younger man pauses, his anger swiftly fading, "How?"
"What are you doing right now?"
"Nothing," He answers honestly.
"Bryan's on a date tonight, so the apartment is free. Do you want to come over? We'll play some records or watch a video; whatever you want."
Finn's hurt softens as he listens to his friend's earnest offer. "I'll pick up some pizza on the way," He answers.
"I'll get the peas out of the freezer," Will responds and the joy is audible in his tone.
Will greets him with a friendly hug at the door to apartment no. 7.
"Is that for me or the pizza?" Finn jokes.
"You of course," The older man answers, rolling his eyes. He sets a hand onto Finn's shoulder, his eyes full of sincerity, "I'm sorry for the way I treated you this week. You didn't deserve it."
The young man's stomach performs backflips as he looks at the depth of emotion in his friend's expression and he waves off the apology readily, "It's okay, Will. Now let's eat this before it goes cold."
He sets the thin-crust chicken, red pepper and onion pizza down on the coffee table next to the sweetcorn and baby carrots Will prepared. The older man pushes a copy of Alien: Resurrection into the VCR and picks up the remote so that he can fast forward through the piracy warnings then claims his place on the couch. Finn spoons vegetables onto a plate and slides a slice of pizza alongside, handing it to Will. The older man smiles his thanks and watches with wry amusement as Finn loads his own plate up with three times as much pizza.
They speak very little for the first hour of the movie, simply eat their meal and watch quietly. Both of them have seen the film before and Finn finds his interest in Call, Ripley and the others waning the more time goes by because he's aware of the older man sliding closer to him on the couch every few minutes.
"Will?" Finn whispers.
The older man sits up, looking across to the younger man and in the low light of the evening his eyes look more gray than green, "Yes, Finn?"
"Do you-?" His tongue feels thick and heavy, like a slab of old meatloaf in his mouth and he chickens out. "Do you want to watch something else?"
"Okay," Will stands up and collects their dirty plates, bowls, cutlery and the empty pizza box from the coffee table. "The videos are in the cabinet, pick whatever you want."
Finn stops the fourth installment in the Alien franchise and sets the video to rewind while he looks through the collection of VHS tapes; he suspects that anything he chooses won't hold his interest any better..
"Made your mind up yet?" The older man asks, returning from the kitchen with drinks for them both.
"Aliens was always my favorite in the series," Finn remarks, gesturing to the box set still sitting out on the coffee table.
"For it's strong female protagonist," Will remarks with a lopsided smile. He slides the case from the box set and kneels down to switch it with the previous movie as the VCR clicks to indicate the end of the rewind process.
Finn settles back onto the couch and picks up the bottle of Dr. Pepper Will bought for him. The older man has a Corona for himself and the minor eyes the chilled alcohol longingly, some Dutch courage wouldn't go amiss for him right now. When he turns his attention back to the television he sees Will knelt before the VCR with his butt up in the air, the denim of his jeans is stretched sinfully across his muscled backside and the semi Finn's been sporting in his pants for the past hour dribbles a few drops of precome that feel cold against the overheated skin of his thigh.
They don't even make it to the scene with Bishop showing off his android reflexes before Will is more or less snuggled up against the younger man once more.
"Will?"
Rather than move away, the older man turns his head slightly, "Yes, Finn?"
Finn runs a hand up and down the neck of his soda bottle, then leans forward and places it on the coffee table. He turns back and finds that Will has put his own drink down and scooted a few inches away on the couch, watching him guardedly.
"Will, I-" The younger man reaches out hesitantly and cups a hand to Will's jaw, the rasp of stubble beneath his palm is an unfamiliar sensation but his dick pulses at the feel of it.
A glimmer of realization appears in the older man's gaze and his lips twitch nervously, "You don't have to say it." He leans closer and runs his fingers through Finn's hair, "I know." They lean in slowly, measuring each others' reaction right up to the point where their lips connect for a brief, soft moment of total clarity. "See," The older man whispers against Finn's cheek, "This is okay. We're fine."
They kiss again, keeping their lips together this time. Will's mouth tastes like beer and onions; the tip of his tongue teases Finn's lower lip and draws a little shiver out of the younger man. Finn lets himself fall back on the couch as the older man settles over him, he moves his hand from Will's jawline to the back of his neck and strokes the soft hairs of his nape with his fingertips; his other hand slides down the older man's body and slips into the back pocket of his jeans.
"Shit! This is-" The older man's lips cut off his exclamation and he moans happily into his mouth, squeezing with the hand in Will's pocket.
"Yes, yes it is," Will breathlessly agrees with the unfinished statement and rubs his knee between the young man's legs.
"Oh," Finn gasps at the pressure against his yearning erection. "Oh..." (Please, please no. Not like this!) "Oh!" He feels his mouth go slack, falling totally limp to the couch cushions as he erupts in his pants.
"Finn?" The older man questions worriedly. "Are you-"
"'m okay," He assures, letting of Will's neck and gesturing downwards. "I sort of, uh..." He trails off, feeling the blush on his cheeks.
"Ah," The older man remarks. "Hey, well that's okay."
Finn opens his eyes as Will runs feather soft kisses down his neck, the slight scratch of stubble a contrast to the satin lips. "It is?" (Normally when this happens Quinn pulls back in disgust).
Will leans back and shrugs gracefully, he looks like a content cat sitting up from a bowl of luxurious cream, "You're going to have to take your pants off anyway." Even with the glow of his orgasm making his loins feel fatigued, the older man's words set off a blazing arousal in Finn's belly. "Come on," Will coaxes, getting up from the couch and walking backwards in the direction of his bedroom. He reaches to the hem of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head as he goes.
The younger man watches the unveiling of Will's rippling abs from his spot on the couch and licks his lips in devious anticipation. Pushing up from the couch, he crosses the room at speed and pulls the object of his desire into his arms again, pressing hungry kisses against Will's pliant lips. The older man slips his fingers through Finn's belt loops and pulls the young man along, grinning into their kiss.
Finn moans as his hands cup warm, hard muscle and breaks the lip lock, "So what are we-? I mean, I've never..."
Will's hands cup either side of his neck and he makes a shushing sound, placing a fresh, gentle kiss to the younger man's lips, "Just trust me."
Finn nods and holds up his arms obligingly when the older man pulls his polo shirt up, casting it aside when it's free from his arms. Will presses his fingers to the younger man's chest, tracing the line of his pectorals and then cupping his waist to bring their lower bodies flush against one another. For the first time Finn feels the solid length of the other man's arousal pressed against him and gasps at the shiver it shoots up his spine; he's so used to feeling his own desire towards other people, but knowing that he's having the same effect on somebody else makes his head swim with sexual craving.
"We should-" Will pushes away to prevent himself writhing against Finn's solid frame and notices the movie still playing. "We should turn off the TV."
"Fuck the TV!" Finn declares passionately, encircling Will's waist from behind when the older man makes to head back to the couch and holds him in place.
"It'll waste power," Will argues, letting his head roll back onto Finn's shoulder and grinds back against the body holding him close.
"Leave it," Finn whispers against his captive's ear.
"It's-" He chokes off with a pleased moan when the younger man sucks a hickey onto his neck, "-bad for the environment."
"Okay, that does it." Finn lifts the other man up by his waist and turns them round in the direction of Will's bedroom. The older man shrieks, then laughs and squirms playfully in Finn's grasp as he's carried.
"I'm going to turn the TV off," Will declares defiantly when the younger man drops him down on the bed.
"Oh really?" Finn cocks an eyebrow and unbuckles his belt. The older man's eyes drop to watch and he abandons his move to get up. The younger man's dick is perking up ready for round two and swells quickly as Will watches Finn pulls his jeans down with darkened eyes.
"Fuck," The older man groans, pushing a hand into his own pants and squeezing his erection at the sight of Finn's cock pushing at the cum-stained material of his boxers. The younger man pauses with his jeans at his thighs and falls onto the bed over Will, batting the older man's hand away and tearing the zipper down so that he can get to the prize. "God damn!" Will curses as Finn rubs him through his briefs, he surges up and claims the younger man's mouth again in a searing kiss; his hips bucking up into the gratifying touch.
The young man pulls back to strip the denim away from Will's legs completely and spills two dollars, a penny in change and a receipt from the pizza place onto the floor when he turns his own jeans inside out in his haste to strip bare.
The older man kneels on the edge of the bed and presses their lips together again, his hands sliding down to cup Finn's ass and grind their hardened lengths together. The young man groans into the kiss and tangles his fingers in the older man's curls, thrusting his hips into Will's; desperate for the friction on his eager erection.
"We should-" Will gasps, his thumbs tucked into the band of Finn's boxers with obvious intent.
"Yes." Finn steps back and unceremoniously pushes his underwear to the floor. Simultaneously, Will pushes his briefs down to his knees, then sits back on his butt to disentangle them from his legs. The older man's dick is bigger than Finn's, but with less girth. The head is rose-flushed and shaped like a bell, unlike the mushroom tip of the younger man's swollen length. Finn wraps a hand round it experimentally and tugs, Will grunts and thrusts up into the touch; reaching for the younger man's erection to return the favor.
They jack each other off on the edge of Will's bed for several moments that feel like long, pleasurable eternities to Finn with each slide of the older man's fingers on his rigid dick. Without stopping, the older man reaches up with his free hand and pulls on Finn's shoulder, guiding him onto his back on the bed.
"Fuck, Will!" The young man groans as the other man kneels between his parted legs and brings their erections together.
"You're so damn sexy," Will grunts, thrusting against the younger man's stomach and licks a stripe up his neck.
"Not half as sexy as you," Finn returns, replacing Will's hand in stroking their precome slick lengths together. "When you smile, I just..." He cuts off with a gasp as the older man sucks at the patch of skin where his neck and shoulder join. His hand travels from the small of Will's back to palm one of the smooth globes of his tight ass, his pinky finger accidentally traces along the hairy cleft between the two cheeks.
"Jesus!" Will whispers the word onto the damp patch of skin he's left on Finn's neck, a tremble running through him. The young man withdraws and then runs his index finger over the crack experimentally. "Oh god, don't tease!" The older man arches up, making shallow thrusts into Finn's hand, his control over the pace restricted by the tight grip.
The young man looks up into the debauched face of the other man, circling the ring of sensitive flesh; "Can I?" His rigid cock twitches in his grasp at the thought of being balls deep inside Will with the older man crying out his name in ecstasy.
Will looks down at him, chewing on his lower lip with his handsome face contorted by indecision. "It'd take too much work, take too long," He shakes his head and makes more shallow thrusts. "I just want to come!" He whines.
Will's desperate plea is Finn's undoing, he feels the flow of his orgasm coming and so starts up his stroking again in time to shoot out a healthy spattering of spunk across his stomach. When he's masturbating, this is the point at which he'd stop, but with the older man still whimpering for his own release Finn keeps up the rhythm. His load lubricates the process and Will places his own hand over Finn's, guiding the pace and pressure that gets him off best until his own slick release has burst from the tip of his cock and mixed with the droplets already coating the younger man's abdomen.
They slump down onto the mattress together, Finn laid out on his back and Will curled beside him with one leg hooked over Finn's.
"The TV is still on," The young man reminds, pressing a kiss to Will's hairline.
"Fuck the TV," The older man groans.
"You've changed your tune," Finn notes teasingly.
"I need to change these sheets," Will responds, indicating the sticky patches where they've wiped the come from their skin.
"Hey, don't tell me you think we're done for the night," Finn nudges the older man.
Will sits up to face the younger man, cocking an eyebrow at his alacrity. "Teenage hormones," He speaks the words like an insult.
"Guilty as charged," He retorts with an unapologetic grin. The older man rolls his eyes and kisses him sloppily in reply.
Finn wakes to the sound of Lady Marmalade, before he even opens his eyes he know something is wrong with that scenario. Rolling over on the spacious double bed, he sits up and stifles a yawn; the vocal runs of the pop starlets' collaboration is coming from the radio alarm clock on Will's nightstand and so he silences the song with the application of the snooze button. He lies back down and rubs his eyes, wincing a little at the soreness in his groin from last night's vigorous exertion of his refractory period. He feels wrung out, tired from too little sleep and the stirrings of a panic attack creep up on him as he thinks over the things he and Will did together.
As he's debating in his head whether he'll be able to gather his clothes and sneak out of the apartment without being caught, the bedroom door opens and the older man appears. He's fully-dressed in a v-neck sweater, plain tie and gray slacks. His hair has been brushed hurriedly and there are faint circles under his eyes.
"Oh hey, you're awake," The older man observes as he crosses through to the bathroom.
"Um, yeah," Finn replies dully, gathering the blankets over himself modestly.
"I was going to leave a note," Will continues, squeezing toothpaste onto his brush and scrubbing his teeth hurriedly. "I have to go to work."
"Right, yeah."
The older man spits, rinses and returns from the bathroom, "I put your clothes on the chair." He nods towards the folded pile by the desk. "Take what you want from the cabinets, we've got cereal and stuff..." He pauses uncertainly by the edge of the bed and then leans down. Finn opens up under the kiss; Will's mouth tastes like mint and traces of black coffee. "I'll call you, we can... We'll talk," The older man assures as he pulls back.
"Okay." The young man forces a smile as Will heads out the door and leaves to go do whatever stuff it is that accountants do on Monday morning after they've just gotten laid.
The radio sounds again a couple of minutes later and Finn spares a few moments fumbling with the alarm clock in an attempt to silence the device properly and cut off the babbling of the irritating radio DJ. The effort he makes is enough to have him upright, so he clambers out of the bed and picks up his clothes. His boxer shorts are stiff with the dried remains of his first ejaculation of the previous night and they're uncomfortable to wear, but he makes do. He looks at the disheveled bedspread and acknowledges all the similar stains that will have dried into the bed linens; he wonders if it's proper etiquette to bundle the bedsheets into the washing machine before he leaves, but since he isn't sure he simply closes the bedroom door behind him with the bed still unmade.
He finds a box of muesli in the cabinet and pours a serving into a breakfast bowl. He manages two mouthfuls before the sickly sensation in his stomach removes any trace of his appetite, pushing the bowl away he stumbles out of the door and down onto the street. He sucks in deep breaths of clean, summer morning air and fights the desire to vomit in the tidy flowerbed. Climbing into the Aries, he drives away from Will's calm little neighborhood; leaving behind an unmade bed, a bowl of soggy muesli and all his assurance that he wasn't attracted to the older man.
Finn slumps low on the Puckerman's old couch, the sun is setting and there's a brilliant view of the dusk sky through the open garage door. Puck sits beside him, picking at a spot on the upholstery that's been sewn over dozens of times.
"So when do you leave?" The mohawked teen inquires.
"On Monday," He answers plainly.
"That's not long," Puck remarks sorrowfully.
"I can still make Conrad's on Friday," The drummer promises. The lead guitarist has finally convinced the lounge's owner to let them headline and now they're facing the fact that it's the last performance the Dirty Muthafuckas are ever going to give.
"Yeah, that oughta be good," Puck agrees, sipping from his can of Coors. When Finn arrived that afternoon there were six left over from the party last Friday, Puck has had four and Finn the other two.
"So what are you going to do?" He asks, trying to break his friend from his melancholy mood.
"I don't know." The mohawked teen shrugs, "Trent Lane's band has like, three guitar guys. I'm sure they'll let another one in." He leans his head back on the couch, smiling wistfully over at his friend, "We were going to be so great."
"The best," Finn agrees, holding up his can to toast their middle school fantasy one final time.
"We were gonna see the whole country," The guitarist continues, looking out the open door to the blazing sky and stretching a hand out to encompass it all. The string-callused hand slumps back down onto the decrepit two-seater, as deflated as their once great dreams.
"You could come see me in Columbus," He offers.
Puck sighs, "Maybe." He doesn't sound overly hopeful.
"When did life start sucking?" Finn questions gloomily, he drains the lingering drops of his beer and then lets the empty can drop through his fingers to the floor.
"Hey, you're getting out of this dead-end town," The other teen reminds him.
"I don't know," The young man worries his lower lip. "I kind of think I'm gonna miss it when I'm gone."
Puck snorts and slaps him on the back of the head, "Don't be a moron. What is there in this craphole that would be worth sticking around for?"
Finn thinks of slender fingers on his chest, husky accented Spanish whispered into his ear, tiny creases at the corner of gray-green eyes, playful banter that comes so naturally, the scent of magnolia and woodsy aftershave, a warm chuckle of laughter spilling over from soft, pink lips.
… He thinks of the dozen unanswered messages from Will on his machine at home and feels an uneasy stirring of guilt low in his belly.
On Friday, he brings Quinn half a dozen red roses. She puts them in a glass vase and puts the vase on her vanity table. They hold hands amid the cardboard boxes filling up her room and she reaches up on tiptoe to press a single apologetic kiss to his forehead for all the pain she's caused him. He tucks her golden hair behind her ear and kisses her cheek in a similar act of apology.
They look through the tiny collection of photographs from Prom. Quinn delights in remembering the happier moments of a night she spent almost entirely in a foul mood, cooing over her champagne gown and salon styled hair. Finn leaves grubby thumbprints on the corners of the glossy paper and squints down at the grinning goofball carrying condoms in the pockets of his rented tuxedo in the hope of getting lucky some time before the last dance. Back then he didn't know he was capable of going through more than two rounds in a single night, didn't know the feel of a man's chest hair against his skin or how good it would feel to have a delicate finger trace the skin behind his balls; two months ago, a lifetime ago, before he knew Will Schuester.
He asks Quinn to come to the Dirty Muthafuckas final performance that evening, she promises to be there and stays true to her word; standing by the edge of the stage and cheering them on as they run through their best material. Brittany buys everybody drinks with the money she's earned working full time hours at the cybercafe for the past two weeks and gives everybody several emotional hugs. Doc. Lopez wasn't particularly pleased to see Jacob's story on page 5 of the Wednesday paper and so Santana is completely absent from the last celebration before they leave their hometown behind them. By all measures it is a good night.
Franc orders cake on Sunday, much to Joolie's frustration. The rest of their co-workers spend their lunch hour alternating between working the shop floor and hanging out in the backroom with Finn and Joolie, wishing them luck at college and saying how happy they've been to work with them over the summer. The young man meets at least three people he's never seen before who all enthuse about how polite he was to work with, Joolie assures him it is common practice for people on different shifts to stop by if there's a chance of cake.
"So are you going to be back here next year?" Finn queries, peeling the icing away from his slice of cake and cutting it into chunks with his plastic spork.
"That's the plan," She answers, sipping on her grape soda glumly.
"I was thinking I might come back next summer too."
"Allow me moment to contain my unimaginable joy," She deadpans. He glares and jabs her with the dull prongs of his spork, she sprays sponge cake crumbs with the first genuine laugh he's heard from her.
"But seriously, you've been a cool work-person, sorta-friend," He professes. "I like you about ten times more than I like any of these people, especially that guy."
She looks towards the guy he's indicating; he's wearing a Snoopy t-shirt and combat boots, "Who is that guy?"
"I don't know, but my point stands," He insists.
She shakes her head, lips curled up into a Mona Lisa smile, "If you're in Cincinnati in the coming year, look me up. If not," She steps down from the shelf they're seated on and holds a hand out formally, "I shall see you again right here in June." He wipes crumbs from his hand onto his pants leg and takes her mock handshake, they pump arms over-zealously and the motion knocks Finn's party hat from his head. "Come on," She gestures to the clock. "Last shift, then we're free."
Finn lays on the tiny bed, that's only felt smaller in the past week, and looks up at the cowboy wallpaper covering the walls and slanted ceiling of his childhood bedroom. Most of the furniture is still in place but it's been cleared of all his belongings, tucked away into boxes ready to be loaded into the car tomorrow morning: his trophies, his VHS tapes, his free weights, his clothes, the few books that he actually reads rather than leaving to gather dust on the shelf; all of it has been stripped from the room until the only part of him left behind is the cowboy wallpaper he picked out from Sears when he was eight.
The answering machine is sitting at the bottom of one of the boxes with a clean tape in it, but Will's messages are still weighing heavily on the younger man's mind. As the sun sets low over the western sky on that perfect, mid-August Sunday he finds himself getting up from the bed and heading downstairs with the keys to the Aries. The green sedan cruises smoothly onto the 65 heading south because his guts may be churning nervously, but Finn isn't going to lie to himself and pretend he's just out for a nostalgic drive through town.
He stops the car outside the cubist apartment block off of St. John's, taking steady breaths as he enters the building and climbs the stairs up to apartment no. 7.
Will answers the door and his face lights up when he sees who it is, "Finn." The young man accepts the sudden embrace awkwardly and lets himself be pulled into the apartment. "I thought you- Well after I came home- And you weren't returning my calls..." He trails off and smiles faintly, "But that doesn't matter now; you're here."
"I'm here," He acknowledges. "Will, there's something I-"
"Me first," The older man talks over him. "I broke it off with Emma. I wasn't planning on two-timing you if that's what you were worried about."
"That isn't it," Finn answers.
"Is it that we went too fast?" Will queries swiftly, "We can cool off, take it slow for a few weeks-"
"Will, I..." Finn chokes on the words and has to force them out. "I'm leaving for Columbus tomorrow morning." The stunned look on the older man's face makes him feel like something petty and gross that needs to be choked with Raid and stomped flat onto the kitchen floor. "I just wanted to say goodbye."
"I... I see," Will's devastated expression smooths over rapidly, but the sheen of pain in his eyes doesn't wipe away as readily.
"I... uh-" Finn lifts a clumsy hand to squeeze the older man's shoulder, but Will flinches away.
"Just go," He instructs monotonously, turning his back to Finn.
The younger man yearns for something he can say or do to fix the pain and anger radiating from the older man's tensely held form, but there is no way to stop the pain he's caused; he's blown a dam to smithereens with ten tonnes of cowardly bastard TNT and now the river is going to wash Will away. As he closes the door to no. 7 and heads down the shadowy hall to return to his car, the echo of a tiny sob rings in his ears and tears gory chunks from his heart with every repetition.