Down to You

by winterlit

When things with Rachel don't go as planned in Senior Year, Finn finds himself growing closer to Kurt than ever before. It's up to him to figure out what he wants, but is it Kurt, or Rachel, who is worth fighting for? Finn/Kurt, spoilers for S3.

7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Tapping his fingers against the cool, cheap, fake marble counter of the reception desk, Finn met the receptionist's wary smile.

"Our car broke down", he said, gesturing frantically in the vague direction of the door, as though that would help his lie. "We need a room."

"Okay," she replied, the harsh points of her nails clacking against the keyboard like the rain pounding the sidewalk outside. Her name tag read 'Barbara', and it was flanked with a gold star, and Finn couldn't help but grimace. Trust Rachel's ghost to haunt him now, because he could all but imagine her standing beside him, arms folded across her chest, judging him, her beautiful face contorted into an ugly scowl.

"Yeah," he said, tightening his grip on the edge of the counter. "For the pair of us."

"A double?" She arched her left eyebrow, intrigue coloring her features, and Finn pondered whether management actually paid attention to those comment cards, because he was definitely going to fill one out. Why did people always have to assume? It had happened during their trip to Michigan over the summer, too, and the sound of his Mom's hiccuping laughter still echoed in his head.

"A double?" Kurt said, Finn biting back a laugh at the erratic, sweeping motions he made with his hands, like some overly inebriated mime artist. "No. No, no, no."

Kurt had stopped crying on their walk to the motel, and the bracing coldness of the icy air and rain had sobered him up a little, though his voice still wobbled uneasily, like his footsteps, as he paced around the lobby.

Finn slumped over the counter and groaned. "We're not, like, a pair pair. Don't you have something… larger?"

"I'd rather sleep in the car," Kurt said, through clenched teeth, swaying like a tree in a storm. "Or, alternatively, in the pool of shame, which is rapidly engulfing me at the prospect of this overly clichéd scenario."

Shaking his head, Finn wondered, not for the first time, how Kurt managed to be so articulate even when he was drunk, or tired, or ill. Why did words never come that easily to him?

"Sorry, Mr.?"

"Hudson," he replied.

"Well, Mr. Hudson, we only have a double, and oh, it comes with a water bed, too."

"What?" Finn realized he must have looked exactly as mortified as he felt, because she reached across the counter to pat his hand, gently and sympathetically.

"I was just trying to be funny; night shift's pretty dull around here. We do have a two queen room spare. Though something tells me your friend would rest his head anywhere tonight, huh?"

Two beds, yeah. That was good; he needed to make Kurt comfortable. He couldn't push anything, but hated the disappointment that coursed through him all the same. Yet, it would have been so easy just to smile softly, stroke Kurt's hair, kiss him again, and again. Wrap him up in his arms, letting his own warmth soak through Kurt's icy skin. That was what he wanted, wasn't it? Then, maybe he could do that, could do that whether there was one bed, or two beds, or, or ten beds. Couldn't he?

He was so ashamed he was even thinking that, he wanted to sink into the floor.

"Kurt? That cool with you?" He looked over his shoulder again. "Kurt?"

He suspected the receptionist was right; Kurt wouldn't care at all where he rested his tired body, because he was currently wriggling like a petulant child in the motel's cheap, unsanitary massage chair, his head lolling sleepily on his chest.

"Kurt?"

Finn frowned. Kurt wasn't usually this quiet, and it was unnerving. Glancing back to meet Kurt's eyes, he noticed Kurt's face wasn't showing the anger that had made Finn's heart contract with regret back in the club; he almost appeared contented. He was wrapped up in Finn's quilted jacket, the tips of his fingers just dipping from the cuffs, nose rosy red and hair wild, slightly tacky, and damp with darkness due to the rain.

"Yeah," Finn said, reaching for the paperwork as it was pushed over the counter. "We'll take it, thank you." He handed over his credit card, pocketing the room key with a smile.

"I appreciate it," Kurt called out, but he crinkled his nose with faint disgust as Finn walked over to him and reached for his arm. "You're giving me your pillow if they don't have more than one on each of the beds, though. And if there's so much as one cockroach in that room, Finn Hudson, you're carrying me back to the car yourself."

Finn knew that there was hardly a five-star hotel room awaiting them, but couldn't quite bring himself to care. He wasn't exactly sorry about the situation. It was like kissing Rachel at Nationals; he'd known it had been a bad idea, known he was being selfish, but he wanted to pump his fist and burst into song nonetheless. Though, he suspected, not even Kurt's extensive repertoire could provide something apt for this particular situation.

000

The stairs were slippery under his feet, and Finn rubbed his shoulder with a grunt. He'd had to carry Kurt part of the way, and Kurt was surprisingly solid for such a small bundle of energy. He walked to the vending machine, grumbling as the crinkled dollar bill in his pocket was repeatedly spat out at him like a lolling tongue. Kurt grumbled in response; Finn had handed him the room key, but he seemed unable to work out the finer points of the doorknob.

"Just a moment," Finn said, shaking his head. Collecting the bottle of water he'd selected with Kurt's needs in mind, he walked over to the motel room door and gently placed his right hand over Kurt's before pushing it open with his knee.

"Huh," Kurt said. "How did you know it wasn't locked?"

"Because there's like, nothing to steal? And in movies I..." Yet, he didn't even have time to finish his sentence before Kurt tore through the door, ripping off his jacket and tossing it on the floor. Finn frowned as Kurt muttered a prayer of please-be-okays under his breath, pacing around, boot laces flapping behind him in a trail of drunken shame.

Finn walked through to the bathroom. "Kurt? Are you okay?"

"No," he replied, voice small and scared. "I feel really nauseous."

"You want some water?"

Taking Kurt's silence as a yes, Finn rummaged around the sink and found a flimsy paper cup. He ripped the wrapping open with his teeth and filled it with water, because he knew Kurt didn't like to sip from the bottle; he'd looked after Kurt when he was sick before, and Kurt was always so grateful when Finn remembered the small touches.

"You'll be okay," Finn said, reassuring the pair of them, pressing the cup of water into Kurt's hands. "Sit, or, or lie down, and shut your eyes if you're feeling dizzy." He grimaced, pausing to gesture towards the bathroom. "And yeah, it's gross, but... if you have to."

Sitting down on the bed, Kurt merely sighed. "No. I... I think I'll be okay."

"Good," Finn replied. "But let me know if I can get some juice, or, I dunno, see if the front desk has aspirin or something, or?" he turned around, hearing a broken sob. "Kurt? Are you crying?"

"No," he said, quietly, the palms of his hands covering his face. "I'm just a little worse for wear. I'm just... grateful you still care."

Finn sat down beside him and patted his knee gently. "Of course I care. Why wouldn't I, huh?"

Kurt placed his hand over Finn's and squeezed it in response. The silence allowed Finn to survey their surroundings. The room was fairly small, even by the standards of his old shoebox of a room, and, yes, it did have two beds, but one of them was so small that even Rachel's tiny feet would have hung over the edge, and the other was huge. It was like some sort of twisted, real-life Goldilocks scenario. Finn realized he'd either wronged the receptionist in a past life, or he wasn't as subtle as he thought he'd been and she had quickly looked past his false indignation and decided to throw him a lifeline. Huh. It was basic, but warm and clean enough.

"So," Kurt said, breaking the awkward silence between them. Finn glanced sideways, realizing Kurt's eyes were fixed on the floor, and he was nervously thumbing his brooch.

"So?" Finn echoed.

Kurt's voice lacked its usual confidence. "So. Why did you do that, Finn?"

Taking a deep, heavy breath, Finn could merely sigh. "I was... you just seemed so upset over Blaine, and I just wanted to comfort you, and... it just kinda happened, okay?"

Wait, did Kurt just laugh? As if this situation wasn't grave enough; did he really deserve to be made to feel worse about himself than he already did?

"Comfort? Is that what they call it nowadays?" Kurt paused to take a sip of his water before setting it down on the bedside table. "Impressive improvisation skills, Finn. I would have assumed you were going to say you were rehearsing for a play, or perhaps thought I was choking on a pretzel."

Yet, the nerves weren't hidden by the confident tone of his voice. Kurt's fingers toyed inelegantly with his suspenders, flicking them back and forth against his chest, and Finn wasn't entirely sure what to say in response. After all, he suspected nothing he could say would help him make things right again.

"Okay, yeah, I kissed you, but," he paused, taking a deep breath. "You started it."

"What are you," Kurt said, tipping his chin up haughtily. "Five?" Then, he shook his head, the corners of his mouth dipping down. "I suppose I did, didn't I?"

"And then some." Finn shook his head. "You were, well. Breathing against my ear, and grinding, and." He frowned, rubbing at his neck. "I also think you gave me a hickey, dude."

Kurt slumped over again, winding his fingers in his hair. "Oh God. Tonight was all fun and games until I mistook your ear for a Belgian praline, hm?"

"Hey," Finn replied, gently running his finger under one of Kurt's suspenders. "At least it won't appear on YouTube."

Shivering against him, Kurt circled his thumb against Finn's wrist. "Did you know a journalist from Europe found My Headband and Red Eyes and a bunch of Rachel's awful original songs through that? She wants to interview her, apparently. I'm not sure whether to be amused, or jealous." He paused. "On reflection? Both, I think."

Finn blinked. "Wait, wasn't Red Eyes that ballad she wrote about the time she took me on that date to the animal shelter?"

"Yes, that one. I remember her spending the better part of a week attempting to find a word which rhymed with 'vivisection'. Anyway, Finn. I'm not letting you change the subject." Kurt sighed. "What was going through your mind back there?"

Steeling himself, Finn took a deep breath, trying to compress his hesitancy, crushing it down like a soda can underfoot, because it had happened. He'd wanted it to happen, and couldn't deny the effect it had on him, want and arousal running through his veins. Kurt had felt it, too, so what did he have to gain by lying? On the rare occasions he could convince himself to tell a white lie, his emotions were always etched across his face, and granted it made him a rather poor poker player, but...

He wished he'd had more to drink, far more, because this was hard. This made Algebra, or 360 degree turns, or even washing out two pints of slushy from his football uniform seem like a walk in the park.

Tilting Kurt's head towards his with his fingertips, he took another breath. He counted to five, and exhaled. "I don't know, but... I liked it, alright? It was nice."

Kurt raised his head and rested it on Finn's shoulder, pressing his nose behind Finn's ear. It was a gesture they did quite frequently, usually when they were sat on the couch together watching a movie, or listening to music, and it was intimate but comfortable. Finn swallowed the lump in his throat; this time, it seemed charged with so much more.

"Nice?" Kurt said, Finn breaking contact in shock at hearing his voice imbued with so much bitterness. "Do you even realize the implications of this? You can't just kiss me because it feels nice."

"I can't?"

"Finn? Do you..." Kurt's breath was so warm Finn could feel it prickle the hairs on the back of his neck. Then, Kurt shifted away from him, folding his hands together solemnly. His voice was barely a whisper. "Do you like me, Finn?"

Finn's heart sped up, and he opened his mouth, but then quickly closed it. The words would come out easily, but the last thing he wanted was for them to sound callous and cowardly, and... No. He wasn't going to be that person. He owed that much to Kurt. He felt like his head was stuck on stop-motion pause as he nodded, head weighing itself down like lead, then pressed a soft kiss against Kurt's forehead.

"Yeah, Kurt. I do." He flopped back against the headboard, folding his arms against his chest, bracing himself for impact because he had no idea how Kurt would react to his clumsy words. "Does that, uh, answer your question?"

Tilting his head sideways, Finn found it difficult to read Kurt's expression. His brow was creased and he looked angry yet sympathetic at the same time. Finn felt the soft brush of fingertips against the hem of his shirt and then Kurt reached up to twirl a strand of hair between his fingertips. Nervous. That was it. But why was Kurt nervous now? He hadn't been nervous back in the club, at least not outwardly so.

"How…" Kurt's voice stuttered, tripping over itself. "How long?"

Finn idly scratched his own cheek. "I really don't know." He reached over to the bedside table, picked up the cup of water and watched the liquid tip back and forth. "I just wanted to kiss you so bad. Back in your room the other day, when I just… couldn't say what I should have said and spilled my drink over the floor like the clumsy idiot I am, I just couldn't even really admit I liked you to myself, and," he paused, taking a sip of water, letting it coat his throat. "I regret so much what I did last year, and there was the wedding, then with Burt in the hospital, and Rachel and Blaine, and I just… I couldn't even let myself think about it, I…"

"Breathe, Finn. It's okay."

"It's not!" He replied, his hands clenching, cracking the plastic of the cup in his hands. "I… look. Maybe you don't like me back. Why would you? Yeah, I get that, but…" His eyes stung, and he wanted to rub them roughly until they itched and prickled like the rest of his body did. "You have to break it off with Blaine, Kurt. You have to."

"Yes," Kurt said, sighing into the palms of his hands. "I do. I will. Right now, I can't, I… I care about him so much. He deserves so much more than a drunken break up over the phone."

"What made you change your mind? You were so upset earlier?" Finn paused, sighing. "Well, before I kissed you. And after. God, I just can't do anything right. I just wanted to cheer you up, and…"

Kurt was in his arms without a moment's pause. That was good, wasn't it?

"I can't pretend, Finn. I'm sick of pretending. I like spending time with you so much. More than I like spending it with him, and I hav- had this gorgeous, wonderful, brilliant boyfriend. Blaine loved me, but it wasn't enough for me. Does that make me a bad person?"

"No," he replied, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I always preferred spending time with you over Rachel."

"Finn," Kurt said, his voice clipped with frustration. "That's not much of a compliment. Anyway, it's really late and I'm still not feeling too great. I can't talk about this right now, okay?"

Looking across the room, Finn eyed his surroundings warily. "So who's going to take the midget bed? Coin toss?"

Kurt's boot dropped to the floor with a heavy crash, and Finn heard a dull click as he began to unbuckle his suspenders. "Neither of us are," he said, patting the bed beside him and meeting Finn's eyes.

"Are you sure?"

Standing up, Kurt began to unbutton his shirt, and as difficult as it was to look away from that, Finn met Kurt's eyes instead. There was so much trust there in his ocean-colored eyes that he couldn't even think of the words to describe it. Kurt merely smiled softly, nodding at him. "Yes. I'm sure. I want to be close to you tonight."

Kurt slid under the covers, and even under the layers of fabric, Finn could feel the heat radiating from his skin. He was so close Finn could smell his cologne, could almost taste him dipping across his tongue, and god, he wanted to tangle his hands in Kurt's rain-damp hair and drag him down, feel the slide of that cool, velvety skin against his bare chest, but Kurt had bared enough of himself already. So, Finn learned over, and gently pressed his lips against Kurt's like a whisper. He broke away, and kissed him on the forehead, hoping the soft brush of his lips would give Kurt more reassurance than his words could.

"I'll be right back, okay?"

000

Walking into the bathroom, Finn stretched and removed his t-shirt. He'd kissed a boy. He'd kissed Kurt. He took a deep breath and looked at himself in the icy, accusing glare of the mirror. Same as before; there was a smattering of stubble on his cheeks which hadn't been there that morning, and the shadows under his eyes were a little darker, but nothing else was amiss. He wasn't quite sure what he was expecting, a neon sign over his head or something? Then, he thought back to the first bar they'd been to. Men, liking men, and how normal it had seemed.

He shook his head at the thought, and watched his reflection brighten up; trust him to have an epiphany now. Of course it was normal. Because if he thought that wanting a man like that made him different, someone to be ashamed of, someone other people would be ashamed of, then wasn't he implying the exact same thing about Kurt?

Averting his eyes from his own reflection, he bent down to remove his shoes and his pants. It wasn't as though he could sleep in them, after all. He briefly debated removing his socks, too, but it was December. Taking a deep breath and feeling oddly proud of the Finn staring back at him, blooming hickey on his neck and all, he fought the reflex to cross his arms over his chest and walked back over to the bed.

"Hey, Kurt," he said, softly.

"Well, hello there." Kurt's voice was dark and rough and Finn blushed as he felt Kurt's gaze take everything, all of him, in. "Am I dreaming?"

What was it Sam had said to him before the Rocky Horror debacle? That the sexy would flow through if he was just himself? Yeah. There was some truth to that. Kurt all but looked like he wanted to eat him at the moment, and it would have been a little scary if it wasn't so, well. Hot. Kurt was sat up in bed, covers pooled around his waist, and he swept back the covers and moved over, encouraging Finn to join him, his eyes half-open yet even so, still just so beautiful and bright.

"Dunno, dude," he replied, slipping under the cool bedsheets with a hiss. "If you are, I'm sharing the same dream."

Turning towards Kurt, he felt warm, heavy breath on his face and Kurt was wonderfully close, so close Finn could have counted each of his eyelashes if he'd wanted to. He cupped Kurt's head gently, before pressing their lips together, opening his mouth slightly before breaking away.

"Mmm…" Kurt said, softly, touching his finger to his lip with a smile.

Finn scratched his head. "Do you," and he could never remember feeling this awkward, not even with Santana. "Do you wanna make out with me?"

Kurt fell back against the pillow and draped an arm over his face. "Not tonight, Finn. I'm not going to be a cheater. If anything happens between us, it happens after I break up with Blaine."

"Shush. You're not a cheater," Finn said, and hoped he didn't sound predatory; he was just trying to help Kurt, after all. "You're going to break up with him tomorrow. And if you have to blame it on someone, then blame it on me."

"Finn," he said, softly. "I'm not going to blame anything on you. Tonight was wonderful, and I'm not sorry it happened."

Reaching for Kurt's hand, Finn squeezed it tightly. He was so used to holding tiny, delicate hands, but Kurt's fingers lined up almost perfectly with his. It was different, but nice. Just like Kurt, he realized, and then immediately hated himself for even thinking that. What was he, some sort of cheesy romance novel?

"Does this… does this mean we're together?"

"I don't know," Kurt said, curling into Finn's arms. "I need some time to think about this, because part of me thinks this is a stupid, cruel joke, and any moment now the hockey team's going to burst out from behind that gaudy chair over there and yell 'surprise!' and you'll rip off a mask and be Jacob Ben Israel underneath it all, brandishing that stupid video camera."

"I'd never joke about this, Kurt. You're amazing and… I'm glad this happened. You're beautiful, Kurt."

Kurt simply laughed. "Well, look at that. Ten points to Hummel, because I think I just turned the quarterback gay."

Finn poked him in the arm. "Shut up! I'm not gay!"

"Really? Because the way you were pressing against me back at the club?" Kurt exhaled, whistling through his bottom teeth. "Let's just say I can understand why the football team call you 'Hard On'"

"Shut up! That's so not what happens in the locker rooms! I never knew you could be so," Finn knotted his brows together and searched for the correct word. "Covert."

"Don't you mean overt?"

"No, I've never heard you say anything so dirty before. You cover your eyes during the PG-13 bits of Desperate Housewives. Definitely covert, dude."

"Whatever you say," Kurt raised his fingertips, enunciating his words with air quotes. "'Hard On'."

Huh. Kurt Hummel was more than a little flirty when he was drunk. Finn would have to file that titbit away for future reference.

"I'm not gay, Kurt. It's just you. I guess I'm a Hummelsexual, man."

"A what?" Kurt sat up, his eyes widening in shock. "Oh, no. No, no. Please don't be Hummelsexual, Finn. That would encompass my Dad. Or an attraction to those weird china figurines. Or, or bees."

Finn merely slung an arm around him, meeting his sleepy eyes. "Get some rest, okay?"

"No goodnight kiss?"

Well, if Kurt insisted. Finn pulled him close until their faces were level and kissed him, breaking away to trail wet kisses down the line of his neck, painting a silvery stripe with his tongue that shimmered against Kurt's pale skin in the darkness, and Kurt arched his back, moaned, deeply, his chest rising and falling quickly.

"Finn," Kurt said, his soft breath of sigh charged with want. "You need to stop that."

Grinning, Finn flicked his tongue against Kurt's neck and was rewarded with a soft, beautiful moan, Kurt's hands clutching his back reverently. God, making out was going to be awesome. He'd never had anyone react to him like that before, and he had the feeling it would be somewhat addictive.

"Finn," Kurt repeated. "You need to stop. Now."

Pulling away, he sighed. He really didn't want to stop, but then he remembered what Rachel had done with Puck, and how much it had hurt him, and even if it was Blaine whose feelings would be crushed like shards of glass, he just couldn't do that to somebody else. It would be more than hypocritical of him. Anyway, this was more than he thought he'd get; he thought Kurt would never have wanted to talk to him again after what had transpired earlier that evening. His hormones would just have to grin and bear it.

"Just so you know," Finn said, running his fingers through Kurt's hair, "I'm doing this because I want you. Not because I have something to prove to myself. I just, I wanted to make you feel good, because maybe this is it, and it won't happen again?"

Kurt sighed, snuggling closer. "If you want it to happen again, it will."

"But?"

"But you really have to want it, Finn, and we need to talk about this, about us. There's a world of difference between doing this behind closed doors, and giving me what I need, and, and…" He snorted and flicked Finn's nose with his fingertips. "It's so hard to think rationally when we're cuddling in our underwear."

"Okay, I. Look, you know I can't give you all of that right away, but I can try. I, I think I want to fight for this, Kurt."

Kurt yawned, the corners of his eyes creasing, and pulled the corner of the sheets over the tip of his nose. "Don't make any promises now, okay? And I want you to fight for yourself, first and foremost."

"Kurt? Have I… have I ruined everything?"

"No," Kurt said, pressing a light kiss to his forehead. "Nothing's ruined. Quite the opposite, in fact."

"That's, that's good. Goodnight, Kurt."

"Goodnight, Finn. And don't ever try to kiss me again after drinking cheap beer. Your breath smells like a dumpster."

Finn chuckled against Kurt's head gently. "You just tasted like, like chocolate milk. Kind of delicious, so, uh, sorry you got the rough end of the deal."

"No, Finn," he said, yawning again. "I really didn't. I got the family I wanted, and I got you. Looks like my elaborate schemes do work out in the long run."

"Yeah," Finn murmured. "And, you know what? This is gonna be your year, Kurt. Our year. I'm gonna make sure of it."

Kurt curled into his body, making such an adorable noise that Finn couldn't help but smile. Yeah. They'd shared a bed before, usually when they'd fallen asleep in each other's rooms, but, never so intimately, and yes, he wanted more than that, but he'd take this, for now.

He had no idea what the morning, and a more sober Kurt would bring, hoped the guilt, and regret, and shame didn't flood in to their room like the harsh early morning light would, but if he had to fight for Kurt? God. He would.

"Kurt? Are you awake?" He poked Kurt lightly on his arm, but only soft snoring met his ear. He smoothed the front of Kurt's hair down and knew just what he could do. Yeah. Sectionals. Screw Blaine, and screw Rachel, because he was going to stand up for himself. That Finn was going to make a comeback. Nodding to himself, he felt freer somehow, like the weight and the pressure had lifted, and he lightly ran his index finger over Kurt's lips before he shut his eyes and let sleep overtake him.