(Author's note: Continued angst warning, along with m/m/m sex, Dom/sub turnabout and handballing (anal fisting). -amy)
Blaine stood there watching and waiting for what felt like an eternity until Finn started his car and pulled out of the driveway. He'd hoped that Finn would have fought harder, because Blaine hadn't been able to fight at all once his father steered him up the stairs and into his bedroom.
It felt like winter all over again, like he was suddenly untethered and adrift. He had no idea how to be that Blaine anymore. What he got from Finn, the way he was with Puck and Kurt, it was like he was his best self, and maybe he was a little bit in shock but he couldn't even begin to see how to move forward alone.
"Blaine?" His father opened his door without knocking. "You have a phone call. Someone named Jeff, said he's in the Warblers with you."
"Yes." Blaine quickly wiped his eyes before turning from the window.
His father held out Blaine's cell phone, which he'd taken along with Finn's things. "You may talk for five minutes. I'll be back to get the phone when your time's up."
Blaine tucked the phone between his shoulder and ear and waited until his dad had closed the door. "Christ, Jeff. It's a mess," he began before Jeff could say a word.
"Yeah. Finn called me. Are you going to be okay for the night?"
Blaine sighed bitterly. "I don't really have a choice, do I?"
"No, you really don't." Jeff paused. "Do you want me to come get you?"
"That would be awesome, but I don't think I need to give my dad any more reasons to want to lock me in a tower. I suspect school is the only way I'm leaving this house."
"I'll see you on Sunday. But Blaine, I promised Finn I'd look out for you. Do you think . . . I mean, I think Trey and I should switch, so I can be your roommate."
Blaine thought about how it had been at the end of last year, knowing that he could rely on Jeff when he needed direction and focus. Blaine sighed and closed his eyes. "I think- I think I might need that."
"Okay. I'll make some calls and get it set up. You can, I don't know, tell your dad you need to be back early on Sunday because you're helping me mentor the new Warblers. I mean, as lead soloist it's part of your job. It's the next best thing to being on the Council."
Blaine flopped onto his bed. The sheets were still rumpled, and Blaine could smell Finn and sex, and it made him cry all over again.
"Oh, babe, you're not okay." Jeff's voice was full of concern.
"No," Blaine sniffled. "Not okay."
Blaine's door opened again, and his father was holding out his hand for the phone. "Tell Jeff it's time to go."
"I gotta go," he repeated doggedly.
"Blaine, wait. Just hold on, okay? For tonight. You're not alone. Finn's working on things on his end. We'll figure this out."
"Okay," Blaine sighed, afraid to say anything else. "Bye."
He ended the call and closed his phone, handing it over to his father in silence.
"How's your friend?"
"Fine." It was an automatic response, but he wasn't giving his father any more than that. He took a breath and let it out. "I have to go back early on Sunday. Since I'm lead soloist, I need to help with the new Warblers."
His father tsked, crossing his arms. "They can't do it without you?"
"It's part of my responsibilities. I should take care of it myself."
"Well, I think your escapades this weekend proved that you can't take care of yourself, so until I say otherwise, the rules are as follows: no Internet except for school work, and no phone calls from any of those boys. I'll be screening your phone before you can talk to anyone while you're here, and when you get back to school, I'm blocking their numbers from your account."
Blaine just nodded and turned back to the window, already feeling numb. Even though Finn was long gone, Blaine had an irrational hope that he'd see him there, maybe standing under the trees with a boombox in some grand romantic gesture.
"You said you needed structure, Blaine." His father's voice softened. "I don't know of another way to give you that."
The fear and sadness threatened to overwhelm him. He forced himself to look up at his father. "Let me keep seeing Finn," he pleaded. "He knows exactly what I need."
"No. Not an option. That boy, what the two of you were doing together? That kind of thing can ruin your life." His father jammed his hands into his pockets and leaned against the doorframe.
"But… Dad, you don't understand. What Finn and I do saved my life." Blaine had run out of words. He just stood there, waiting, willing his father to understand, but all his father did was shake his head and walk to the door.
"I understand all too well. You can't play games with this business. It'll wreck your reputation, and when you're an Anderson, your reputation is all you have." He gave Blaine a hard look. "You don't have to agree. You just have to obey. If you try to see Finn or Puck again, I'll send you to another school. I don't mean one in Ohio. I mean out of the country. Do you understand? No contact. You don't know them."
Blaine sat there, feeling caught by the command, hardly able to breathe.
"I'm waiting, Blaine."
He swallowed his tears and nodded slowly. "Yes, sir."
His father closed the door quietly behind him, leaving Blaine alone. Blaine went back to his bed and lay down, waiting for the tears, for some kind of emotional release, but neither one came.
Finn wasn't here to take care of him. Puck wouldn't be coming anymore. None of them would be here anymore. He was going to have to save himself, now — the only way he knew how.
The drive home wasn't the worst thing Finn had ever done, but it was definitely in the top ten. He had to stop twice to pull over, once because he thought he might hyperventilate, and the second because he had to forcibly remove his phone from his hand before he tried calling Blaine. He ended up sitting on it for the last forty minutes of the drive back to Lima, and through town to the west side, up the winding road to Carl's neighborhood.
The spot around the back of the garage that had always housed Angela's car was occupied with Ms. Pillsbury's, and that was just about enough to provoke another bout of anxious tears. He parked two blocks down the street and walked, just as he'd always done, because his car couldn't be seen in Carl's driveway. Finn was amazed he was thinking clearly enough to consider that, because the only thing running through his head was: he's all alone, in that awful house, and I left him there.
Ms. Pillsbury found him on the porch, shivering in the heat of the August evening. She looked startled, and well she might, seeing as how Finn hadn't been there in weeks.
"Finn?" she said.
"I have to see Carl," he said, gritting his teeth. "I... I have to."
He didn't volunteer any more information, and she didn't ask. She just took his hand and led him into the study where Carl was working, no announcement or anything. Carl took one look and pushed the chair back from his desk, knocking over his coffee in his haste to get to Finn. None of them stopped to clean it up.
"Finn," he said.
That one word was enough to set him off. He stumbled into Carl's arms, blubbering incoherently, because, god, he knew it wasn't going to be okay. This was worse than it had been when Puck went away, because at least Puck had gone to be with people who loved him. Blaine was alone.
Carl took him to the couch and made calming, shushing noises. He stroked his hair and held him while he cried and shook, and didn't even bother to try to ask him to make any kind of sense.
"I'm here," he crooned, rocking him a little, and usually that would have pissed Finn off, but right now it was just about the only thing he wanted. "You're okay."
"No, I'm not," he sobbed. "And Blaine... he's not either, and I can't do anything."
"Tell me about Blaine. What happened?" Carl tightened his arms around Finn, and Finn didn't fight him. Maybe if Carl held him tight enough, he'd stop aching.
"We were supposed to be okay. His dad was supposed to be gone until Sunday, only he wasn't gone until Sunday, and it wasn't okay." Finn started crying again, at the thought of Blaine letting his father lead him out of the living room, how lost and helpless he'd looked.
"Oh, god," Carl muttered. "All right — okay, Finn, just sit up a little here. I want you to tell me, is Blaine safe? Do you think his father's going to —"
"No, no, it's nothing like that." He sniffed, trying to calm down enough to speak rationally. "But he told Blaine he couldn't - that Puck, and I, that we couldn't - couldn't ever - " Finn swallowed the next sob. "He's going back to Dalton, and that's... that's it. We're done."
"Was it..." Carl gave him a measured look. "Does he know, what you do for Blaine?"
Finn nodded. "We tried to explain. But we just couldn't make him understand that Blaine needs that." He was getting frustrated and angry all over again, thinking about it. "This is going to break him, sir. He's going to be worse than he was back in January, and I can't help him."
Carl took his hands and held them. "Finn. We'll solve this. We will. But - not tonight. Tonight you need..." He stopped, and took a deep breath. "Where are your boys tonight? Are they home?"
"What? Um. No," he shook his head. "It's their date night. They went down to Dayton, to Masque."
"Ah." Carl nodded. "Well."
"I have to call my mom," Finn said.
Carl pulled him in against his chest again, holding him close. "Emma will take care of that. You're welcome to stay tonight. That's not an invitation to... anything. But my house is open to you, Finn, if you need a place to be, and... I would feel better, knowing you're not alone."
"Carl's right," came a soft voice from the doorway. Finn opened his eyes through tears, and saw Ms. Pillsbury still standing there, watching Finn in Carl's arms. "You shouldn't be alone."
"Uh... Miss P..." Finn leaned back from Carl, feeling panicked. "This isn't what it -"
"It's okay, Finn," Carl said, giving him some space, but keeping his hand on Finn's knee. "It's just as we talked about this summer. You can be truthful with her about what you need."
"I don't- jeez. I don't need anything. I just — shit." Tears pricked his eyes again.
"This is about Patrick?" She smiled sadly at him, but she also looked a little uncomfortable, like she wasn't sure what to do with a student showing up at her boyfriend's house on a weekend.
"You've seen us play together in the band," Finn tried to explain. "But he's also my, um. My boyfriend."
"He's your boy, Finn," Carl said gently.
He glanced up at Ms. Pillsbury. He must have made some signal with his eyes, because she came around to the couch and sat across from the two of them. She looked even more terrified for a moment, but then she nodded, her hands fluttering in her lap.
"Okay," she murmured. "That's - okay. Yes. And is that a new development? Because I believe at school I saw you were dating... Rachel?"
Finn could barely think to form coherent words about the situation with Rachel. "Yeah. Right. Rachel. This is- it's separate from her. Patrick's dad caught us tonight, and now we're not gonna be able to see each other, and I can't take care of him, and he needs it so badly. We both do."
Emma nodded, looking troubled. "That sounds terrible, Finn. I can only imagine how difficult it would be to have to have that conversation with your... boy's father. I don't think I could do that." She looked at Carl for permission, and when he nodded, she rose to her feet. "I'm going to go to bed. The two of you take all the time you need." She made a little determined nod with her head, not quite a bow, then exited the room, leaving them alone together. Finn looked helplessly at Carl.
"I really don't know why I came here," he said.
Carl nodded. With great care and deliberation, he reached out and touched Finn's knee again, watching his face the whole time as he did it. Finn felt his body respond instantly to the touch. He muffled a noise between tight lips.
"I think that's why you did," Carl said. "You were looking for somebody to tell you what to do."
"Maybe." Of course, Carl was right, but Finn could feel himself resisting Carl's lead, trying to hold onto the control he'd maintained all summer. "You're not going to tell me what to do."
"I thought I might try to help you figure it out for yourself." Carl's voice was mild. His hand, resting on Finn's knee, wasn't applying any pressure, but Finn thought it might be having a greater impact for all of that. "You have a lot to deal with here. Blaine's situation is only one part of it. I'm not intending to make it more complicated."
Finn scrubbed his hand over his face and blinked at Carl. "Sometimes it feels like there's just too much to handle. But I can't just act like you don't mean anything to me, because you do. And I..." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "I need you, okay?"
Carl's face trembled, and for a moment, Finn thought he could see behind the mask, where suddenly Carl was bubbling over with relief and frustration - and, overwhelming everything else, desire. But then he closed his eyes and took a short breath, and when he opened them, he was calm again. Finn wanted to cry please, let me see you, just let me in. But he couldn't say anything at all.
"That's... good news," Carl murmured. He reached out and took Finn's hand, and smiled at him. Carl's smiles packed a significant wallop. All Finn could do was smile back, helplessly.
Finn squeezed Carl's hand. "You think? Because I'm not... I mean... god. I don't think I'm thinking real clearly right now."
"No, it's good," Carl assured him. "Finn, you're the one in charge of so many other people. You have to think about how to take care of yourself. And if you know what you need, then you owe it to yourself to find a way to get that. It's part of being a responsible Top." He reached out and stroked the side of Finn's cheek.
It was such a simple gesture that Finn almost didn't react, but then he realized there were tears running down his face. He sniffled, and patted at his pockets trying to find his handkerchief, but Carl was quicker. He leaned in, wiping away the tears for him. Finn felt the flush of his skin like a blast furnace, and he found himself trembling with the effort not to react.
"I need -" he whispered. Then he launched himself forward into Carl's arms, pressing their lips together in desperation.
He worried for half an instant that Carl might push him away, but instead Carl's hand was strong on the back of Finn's head, keeping him close. Carl's mouth was hard and insistent, and Finn felt himself begin to crumble into pieces under its pressure.
"Yeah," he muttered, when he pulled away for a breath. "Yeah, let me…" He surged forward again, scrabbling with his hands to tug fruitlessly at Carl's belt. "Please. I need—"
Carl set a hand on Finn's shoulder. "No," he said firmly. "I'm not the answer tonight."
He leaned back, his heart racing and his cock rock-hard. "But - but I -"
"Finn." Carl's Voice jolted Finn back to himself, and he stared at his lap, his face burning.
"Yes, sir."
"You need to call your boys and ask them to come home. They're who you need tonight." He took their joined hands and pulled Finn off the couch, encouraging him to follow. Finn stumbled after him, almost losing his balance.
"I don't think I can be by myself," he admitted. "I feel - I can't do this alone, sir, it's just too hard."
"You're not alone." Carl put a strong arm around his shoulder and guided him down the hall. "I'm right here, and I'm not letting you leave until I know you've got someone to watch over you."
"I can't do that to them," Finn sighed in frustration. "I'm supposed to take care of them. I don't know how to ask them for that."
"You've done it before." Carl gave him a pointed look, and Finn had to nod, reluctantly. "They love you, and they're both capable of giving you what you need. You just have to ask. There's no shame in that." He took his own phone out of his pocket and touched the screen. "I'm calling Kurt."
Finn was surprised enough by the idea that Carl had Kurt's number stored in his phone that he didn't respond until it was too late. "Uh -"
"Kurt? It's Carl." They stopped in the hallway, and Finn watched him with mild trepidation. "Yes. I'm sorry to interrupt your evening with Puck. Finn has something he needs to ask you."
He held out the phone to Finn, who regarded it like Carl was instructing him to pick up the business end of a scorpion. Carl gave him a chiding look. "What did I tell you? You just have to ask, Finn."
Finn sighed and took the phone. "Kurt?"
He could hear music in the background, and the thumping of the bass was heavy enough that he could feel it in his head even through the phone. "I thought you were spending the night with Blaine. What's going on, Finn?" Kurt's voice was rising sharply.
"I'm... I can't say, not over the phone. Just, something bad happened. Please, baby. I need you and Puck to come home. I need - I need you guys to..." He glanced up at Carl desperately, and his voice shifted into a loud whisper. "To take care of me."
"Oh — yes. Okay. We'll leave right now. We can be home in an hour and a half."
Carl was gesturing for Finn to hand the phone back to him, which Finn did without question. He put it back to his ear.
"Kurt, I'm going to keep Finn here with me until you and Puck get home. Why don't you call me back at this number when you hit the edge of town, and I'll send Finn home to you." He paused, then smiled, such a patient, loving smile that Finn had to look away. "Yes, he's safe. He's had a difficult night, but he'll be okay. Drive safely, Kurt. I'll talk to you soon."
Carl thumbed at the screen and disconnected the call, tucking the phone back into his pocket before taking Finn's hand again.
"Come with me, now. We'll be more comfortable in here."
Finn followed Carl the rest of the way down the hall to his own bedroom. Finn had half expected him to choose something in the other wing of the house, where there were rooms for scenes and equipped with beds and other furniture, all perfectly serviceable. But he felt an overwhelming sense of relief to see Carl's own furniture, to smell his own scents, to be back in the room where they'd spent so much time together earlier that year. It was so intense and raw that he started crying again, and this time he couldn't stop.
Carl didn't ask him to. He sat him on the edge of the bed and unfastened Finn's jeans, helping him take them off with gentle, clinical hands. He unbuttoned Finn's shirt the same way. Then he shed his own shirt and jeans, pulled the covers back and helped Finn lie down, cradling him from behind.
"I've got you," he said, holding him tight with one arm tucked over Finn's and the other tucked under. "You just go ahead and let it out."
The permission was too enticing to resist, and Finn let go, allowing the sobs to take over. They racked his body hard enough to make his head throb and his stomach clench, but he couldn't have prevented them if he'd tried. Through it all, he could hear Carl's patient whispers, feel the strength in his arms, the warmth of his chest against his back, and the persistent pressure of Carl's erection against his ass.
This last began to supersede all the others as his tears subsided, and he found himself moaning and thrusting back against Carl, not caring how ridiculous or desperate he sounded.
"Please," he begged.
"I'm here, Finn," said Carl, his voice tight. "You ask all you want. I'm just going to hold you. I know what you need."
"I need you," he said, and he could hear the sound of his own voice, knew exactly what it implied, but he was too far gone to restrain himself.
"You need a good spanking, that's what you need," Carl said. He cinched his arms more firmly around Finn's, holding them down. "You're going to get it, too. But not tonight. Right now, this is what I can manage, without... " He let out a sound that was a cross between a gasp and a groan as Finn thrust back against him again. "God... without letting myself down."
That gave Finn pause, and he sighed, still tingling from head to toe, as hard as he'd ever remembered being, but feeling the weight of responsibility. "Okay, yeah," he muttered. "I know. And... I'm sorry."
"Not your responsibility, Finn." Carl stroked one hand down his arm, and even that was almost too much stimulation. "You can be anything you need to be, right here. I'm not going to stop you from expressing your desires."
"Yeah, only your own." He tried not to sound bitter. "I get it."
He felt Carl's sigh more than he heard it. "Listen to me, my sweet boy. I'm not going to let this be our next time. Not like this. You deserve... everything. Not a night of desperate fumbling. When we're ready, Finn, you can bet you're going to feel every bit of this energy we've been holding on to, all summer. And I'm going to give it to you just... like... that."
Finn whimpered, hearing Carl's words, feeling his breath against his neck, so warm, so perfect.
"God, I miss you," he cried, and clutched at the strong hands holding him.
Carl's voice was almost too low to be heard. "I miss you, too."
The garage was already shut and locked when Finn pulled up, so he had to park in the driveway. He was jittery all over, wrung out from crying, and still so unsatisfied. He kind of hated Carl, a little bit, for withholding everything, even though he understood why it had to be that way.
He shut the car door quietly, and then proceeded to drop his keys three times before he made it into to the house. The hallway light was on, and the rest of the house was silent, so he moved silently up the stairs.
"Sweetheart, is that you?" Kurt's voice from the top stair was tender, gentle, and tinged with a hint of worry.
"Yeah," he whispered. He reached the step below Kurt and reached out for him, pulling him close and kissing him passionately.
"Wait," Kurt said, pulling away. "Slow down. What happened with Blaine?"
"I -" Finn paused, and then shook his head. "I can't. Not yet. Jesus, Kurt." He pressed their bodies together, desperate. He was still hard, frustrated from the lack of all kinds of release. "Please." He was begging again. It felt like that was all he'd been doing all night: begging Mr. Anderson for understanding, Carl for release. And now Kurt, for… something. But Kurt seemed to understand.
Puck appeared at the foot of the stairs. He was still wearing a black t-shirt and the eyeliner he'd put on for the club. His face was cautious, but when he saw Finn's distress, it grew strangely calm.
"Hey," he said quietly. He climbed the stairs, one step at a time, and slid up behind Finn, wrapping arms around his waist and tucking his head into the space between Finn's shoulder blades.
Kurt sighed. "Okay... it's okay. Let's go in my room."
He led Finn, and when they were all inside, he closed the door behind them. Then he took Finn's face in his hand and kissed him gently.
"What do you need, man?" Finn felt Puck's hands at the hem of his t-shirt, and he shivered a little.
"Maybe that's the wrong question," Kurt said, stroking Finn's face. It felt so much like what Carl had done earlier that Finn winced and twisted away. Kurt looked at him in surprise. "Hmmm."
"He needs something, that's for sure." Puck swept his hands up under Finn's shirt, over his head, and discarded it on the floor. Finn glanced over his shoulder at him, startled by Puck's hands gripping his biceps.
"What-" he began, and Kurt pressed a finger to his lips.
"Shhhh," he soothed. "We're going to take care of you."
"Now get on the bed," Puck growled into his ear.
For a moment, Finn was caught, almost unable to move. Kurt's smile was kind, but it was Puck's little shove that got him in motion. Numbly, he climbed up onto Kurt's bed, and the clenching in his gut wasn't entirely unpleasant.
"Let me," he said, pulling Puck toward him and tugging at the button on Puck's jeans. But Puck pulled away and shook his head.
"Someone needs to be taught some patience, Kurt." There was something slightly disapproving in Puck's voice. Finn felt immediately uneasy.
"I'm sorry," he said, but neither one of them seemed to be paying attention.
"You're right," Kurt said, sitting on the bed next to Finn. "He really should be naked, though. You want to take care of that?" He looked at Puck and Puck nodded.
"Yeah," he replied, his voice rough. Puck's hands were warm and gentle at Finn's waist as he made quick work of Finn's shorts and boxers, then slid his hands down to frame Finn's hard cock. He smiled at Kurt. "He's so ready, baby. Look at him."
"Guys," Finn protested, but his word was cut off by the pressure of Kurt's hand over his mouth.
"I think he needs you to give him something, sweetheart," Kurt said matter-of-factly. "I think he needs to be fucked."
Finn's gasp was echoed by Puck's delighted laugh. He could felt himself slipping away, into the current of Kurt's words and the rumble of Puck's voice.
"That's totally what I was thinking," said Puck.
Finn felt hands coaxing him into a familiar position, on his hands and knees, and then down, his face low enough to brush against the pillowcase.
"He's just begging for it," Puck added, and two fingers breached him suddenly, dry and rough. Finn cried out at the same time that he pressed back into them, seeking more, needing it.
I am begging for it, he thought in amazement, and the thought felt like the sweetest freedom. He chased after it, opening his mouth and letting himself say - unbelievable things.
"Please," he said, and then again, a little louder. "Please, I need..."
Kurt's voice was low and intense against his skin. "We know just what you need." He kissed him, tenderly. "Be a good boy, let Puck take it from you, or we'll have to tie you up."
Finn closed his mouth on the words that threatened to escape, because they were just too embarrassing to contemplate, and he felt a third finger join the first two. He whimpered.
"So amazing," Puck said. "And so fucking hot, baby. I can't believe how hot he looks like this."
"Do you think he's ready, sweetheart? Ready for you to fuck him until he screams?" Kurt stroked his hand up and down the length of Finn's spine, and Finn felt his body almost buckle at the sensation.
"Oh, yeah," Puck hummed. "He wants it hard, I can tell."
"Fuck," Finn moaned, because it was the only word he could summon.
"Shhhh," Kurt whispered again, right into his ear that time, and Finn shivered. Puck's fingers disappeared, and Finn pressed back into open air, seeking the friction and fullness he was missing. He'd never felt so much like crying at the same time he was desperate to come. There was a momentary pause, during which time he could only feel Kurt's breath on his cheek, his lips on his mouth and face. Then there was a tight, warm pressure against his hole. He moaned again, with more force, while Puck wedged his thighs under Finn's knees.
"Beg me for it," he demanded.
"F-fuck me," whispered Finn. And then, again, louder, he said it again, feeling the dizzying force of his own desire. "Fuck me. Please."
Even after they were in action, he kept saying it, letting the words be his mantra. Even after Puck was inside him, even after he'd set up a steady, brutal rhythm that threw him forward into the mattress. Fuck me, please, fuck me. He wasn't sure what they were doing, what need was being met, because he couldn't think clearly, he could just plead for them not to stop. Fuck me, please, fuck me.
"He's not going to scream." Kurt sounded regretful. "I don't think you can fuck him hard enough. Maybe you should stop."
"No," he moaned. He mashed his face into the pillow and reached back with his own hands, pulling his ass cheeks apart. Deeper, harder, more. Fuck me.
"Remember when we were both inside you at the same time, sweetheart?" Kurt asked. The question was directed at Puck, but Kurt ran his hand up and down Finn's spine as he spoke, stuttering a little on each impact of Puck's body against him. Sometimes he let his hand run underneath Finn, stroking his cock just enough to accelerate him into a new plane of wanting, but then stopping before he could get close to coming. Finn heard himself whimpering.
"I bet he would like that too," said Puck.
"Your hand," Finn heard himself saying. "Please. Your whole hand."
Kurt and Puck both slowed down, apparently contemplating this. The four fingers of Kurt's slender hand, compressed into a cone shape, was absolutely as far as Finn had gone toward Carl's goal of stretching him wide enough to accept an entire fist. But he knew he could take it now. He'd continued with Carl's plug regimen a few days each week, and he only had a few plugs left now to last him until his birthday. That wasn't until January, so he'd slowed down the pace. The largest plug was smaller than a fist, but definitely bigger than a small apple at its widest point. He'd come to relish the fullness of having a plug inside him most of the time all year, and had learned not to let himself appreciate it sexually. Now, the idea had come to represent exactly what he wanted and couldn't have. He'd never asked Kurt to go beyond four fingers — because he'd wanted Carl to do it first.
But Carl had told him he needed Kurt and Puck, he thought, in a haze of desperation. He knew what I wanted, and he… he told me I should do this, instead. It could have hurt, to know Carl was giving away that experience with him, but instead it just made him cry harder, to know Carl was still taking care of him in every way he could.
"You want Kurt's hand?" Puck asked, speaking directly to Finn for the first time that night. "Are you sure?"
Finn nodded vigorously. "Yeah. Please, just — I'm sure."
Puck's voice dropped into a seductive purr. "Before or after I come inside you?"
"Oh, god," cried Finn.
"I think that means after, sweetheart." Kurt sounded so satisfied. "Go ahead and fill him up, and then I'll take over."
Puck ran a big, broad hand over Finn's back, right between his shoulder blades, and pressed him forward, hard, forcing him prone. Leaning forward on top of him, he was as commanding as Finn had ever seen him.
"You'd better not even think about coming."
"No, god, no, I won't, just — don't stop, please."
It felt like Puck took his time after that, but it was probably less than thirty seconds before he slammed hard into Finn, jerking his hips and groaning through his own release. Finn bit his own lip hard enough to make it bleed, although he didn't realize he'd done that until the next day.
"All right." Kurt touched Finn with his fingertips again, only this time he was wearing a rubber glove. It felt slick with lubricant. Finn never wanted that, but Carl had informed him that any time he had more than a dick inside him, he would use lube to help guard against microtears inside his body.
Kurt worked one, then two fingers inside, then tucked his thumb under and began the slow, intense pressure of getting past the bulge of his thumb. Finn groaned and squirmed, leaning into it.
"Oh, Finn," Kurt breathed. "You… I had no idea this would look so good."
There was no pretense of anonymity now. Of course Kurt knew him. He knew exactly what Finn had been wanting for months, and now, apparently, he wasn't going to stop until he gave it to him. Even in the midst of pain and chaos, Finn felt the reverberation of thanks for Kurt in his bed, in his ass, in his life. He clutched for Puck's hand with his own.
"I love you," he said, his voice breaking. "I love you both. And — god, I'm so scared."
"It's going to be okay," Kurt said, but Finn was crying now, crying into the delicious amazing pressure of Kurt's fist inside him, because he knew it wasn't going to be okay.
"Blaine was right," he sobbed, "it's so, so bad."
Kurt's fist, as it happened, was the opposite of bad, was inspiring him to new sensations every time he nudged a little further inside him. Eventually, Finn braced his hands on the bed and pushed back, forcing Kurt to take it the rest of the way, because he didn't want Kurt to think he was hurting him. They both exclaimed a little at the experience of having Kurt's hand swallowed up by his body.
Suddenly, Kurt was wrist-deep inside Finn. The intense pressure was gone, replaced by new sensations, ones that made him beg for more.
"Would you… please… fuck me like this?" he asked carefully.
Kurt made a noise, a hungry one. "I won't hurt you? Are you sure?"
"No," Finn admitted. "I'm not. But I really want to find out."
"This is new territory for me. I don't think I can do anything except listen to you and go… really… slowly." Kurt pushed a little, then pulled out a little, and did it again, trying different angles each time. When Kurt adjusted his fingers — Finn couldn't tell exactly how, not from the outside — he could suddenly feel each knuckle.
"Can I tell you what I want?"
At Kurt's emphatic nod, he looked over at Puck, who was eye level with him off the edge of the bed.
"Puck, your hand, around me, lubed up. And Kurt, real slow, drag your knuckles up — like that, then back in, then — ohh, god, ohh." He closed his eyes, feeling momentarily nauseated, but it passed in another wave of sensation. "Like that. Thank you."
"Okay if I kiss you?" Puck's question was thick with his own emotions. Finn could hear worry and love and excitement, and so much desire.
Finn nodded hard, a wordless plea. When he felt Puck's lips on him and Puck's hand around him and Kurt's knuckles inside him, all at once, and he started crying again because he was going to come in five seconds.
"Wait," he gasped, and all motion ceased. He let out a few sobs, held his breath, and then said, "Okay, go again."
This time he couldn't resist the slide off the cliff, and he fell into pulsing, shooting orgasm within seconds of Kurt's hand moving. The most amazing thing was, he didn't stop coming for about thirty more seconds. Every time he thought he was done, there'd be another wave of sensation, and he'd feel his cock jerk in Puck's hand, and he would squeeze out another dribble of fluid — and the sensation would travel into where Kurt's hand was inside him, and begin all over again. Every time Kurt would stop, Finn would beg, "More, no, keep going," and Kurt would oblige.
Finn continued the cycle a few more times, but finally it did stop. They helped Finn lie down on the soaking wet sheets while Kurt stripped off his glove.
"Wow," Kurt said eventually.
Finn nodded, breathing as hard as though he'd run a marathon. It wasn't the haze he usually felt at the end of an intense scene. He was oversensitized, feeling every little ache, magnified inside, but he was entirely present to all of it.
Kurt lay down beside him, one leg thrown over Finn's hip, hugging him with his entire body. Finn could feel Kurt's cock, hot and twitching against his hip.
"You're not done," Finn said.
Kurt shook his head. "I was too worried about you. But that… was incredible, Finn. I feel like I almost don't need to come after that."
"Almost," Puck echoed. He tucked a hand between Kurt and Finn, wrapping it around Kurt and starting the rhythm that Kurt liked.
"Talk to me about how it felt," Kurt said, already breathless and thrusting into his hand.
"Your knuckles," said Finn. "I could feel them inside, rubbing, every time you went in, and then when you — when you shifted a little, I could tell I just wanted it really hard and really fast, right in that spot. You could have made me come, like Noah does, just with your hand inside there. But — " He paused his words while Kurt ground up against his leg, and slipped a hand down between his cheeks to press against him, not quite inside but very close. "But I really liked the hand on my cock too. It made it a lot quicker."
"Finn," Kurt cried, reaching for his neck to pull his mouth closer. Finn could feel every last shudder in Kurt's body through the pressure of his lips, the moans he captured in his own mouth as he came. Finally, Kurt relaxed, limp, in his arms. Finn gathered him up and held him tightly, feeling the tears beginning again.
"Puck," he said.
"Here." Puck was climbing into the empty space in Kurt's bed behind Finn. Finn turned and kissed him hard, bringing forth more moans.
"You guys took such fucking good care of me," he said. He could hear the way his own voice came out jagged, like broken glass. "I gotta tell you what happened tonight, but… I wanted you to know how much that meant to me. You were so totally in charge. And Carl… Carl knew you would know what to do." He paused. "How did he know that?"
Kurt lifted his head off Finn's chest, looking across him at Puck. "We, uh. We may have had this conversation with him already. He predicted someday you might need that from somebody other than him, and that it should be us."
Finn screwed up his face and held in the tears, trying to keep breathing evenly. "Yeah. He's always taken good care of me, too."
"Finn," said Puck, and his voice was sober. "What happened with Blaine?"
It took the better part of twenty minutes to get the whole story out, but most of Finn's debilitating emotions were under control now. Kurt and Puck listened in shock, holding tight to Finn's hands.
"No contact?" Puck said. His face was pale gray, and he looked like he might want to leap out of bed that moment and go kidnap Blaine from his house. "You and me, nothing?"
"No. His dad made that clear. He's got ears and eyes everywhere at Dalton." He touched Kurt on the shoulder. "You're going to have to be the one to call him, Kurt. His dad doesn't know about you, or if he does, he thinks you're just Blaine's friend."
"Right now," Kurt said, reaching for his phone, but Finn shook his head.
"His dad took away his phone, but I bet we could find a way to smuggle him one of those pay-as-you-go phones? And we have to talk to people on his floor, ask them to keep an eye on him. I'll try Jeff. Maybe some of the other Warblers can help, I think I remember their names."
"Fuck. He must be totally freaking out." Puck looked hard at Finn. "His dad saw the flogger?"
"Yeah, that was what did it," he sighed. Now that the adrenaline was running its course, he could feel a headache beginning. "I need some water and something to eat."
Puck hopped up obligingly, reaching into Kurt's drawer for a clean t-shirt. "On it."
"Thanks. Kurt, can you come in the shower with me?"
Kurt helped him off the bed, watching him as he carefully tried standing up. "You're trying to manage your own aftercare," he pointed out.
Finn chuckled. "Yeah, I guess I am. You want to help take care of me?"
"I'll do my best." He walked beside Finn across to the bathroom that joined their two rooms, then when he was seated on the toilet, went back and stripped the soaked sheets off his bed. "I could use a new set of sheets. I vote we all sleep in your room tonight."
Finn was grateful for a few moments of solitude, because cleanup after an activity like the one they'd just done was maybe a little more messy than he really wanted to share with Kurt. By the time Kurt returned to the bathroom, he was standing and gingerly walking around. He gave Kurt a rueful grimace.
"You okay?" Kurt asked. "I mean… inside."
"Sore," said Finn. "But wow, that was so worth it. Give me a week to recover and we are totally doing that again."
Kurt wrapped his arms around Finn, resting his head on Finn's chest, and sighed. "Yes, sir."
Finn hugged him back. "You're going to have to be the one to take care of Blaine, you know."
"I will," Kurt said immediately. "Whatever he needs, I'll make sure he gets it."
"I know you will. You love him as much any of us. It's just…" Finn stood back to look seriously into Kurt's face. "I think he can't say no to his father. Even if he wants to, he's not capable of it. I watched them together and it was a little scary. More than a little."
Kurt nodded. His face was a little scared, too. "I'll keep that in mind."
They showered as quickly as they could, appreciating the enormous shower stall, and relocated to Finn's room to eat the cheese and crackers and paté and juice that Puck brought up from the kitchen. Puck took a turn in the shower before joining them, seating himself on the floor next to Finn's knee. Whatever Toppish tendencies he'd exhibited earlier, they seemed to be dormant again.
Finn rested a hand on Puck's head, and he sighed.
"I'm really sorry I ruined your date night," said Finn.
"Hey, no!" Puck shook his head, just as Kurt said, "Don't be ridiculous, Finn."
Finn smiled sadly. "Maybe we can try another date night again, someday?"
There was a silence while they considered just how long someday might be from now.
"I just can't deal with thinking about him all alone at his dad's," said Puck. "He hates being alone."
"Jeff said he'd watch out for him when he gets back to school."
Puck looked down at his hands. "Do you think, uh, it would be okay if I prayed for Blaine?"
Kurt gave Finn a swift, distressed glance, but Finn said, "Yeah, absolutely. You can do that."
Kurt got to his feet and wrapped his robe around himself. "I'm going to turn out the lights and lock up downstairs."
Puck watched him go unhappily. "I knew he wasn't going to like that idea."
"Yeah, it's okay, though. Kurt doesn't have to agree with everything you do." Finn watched him curiously as he climbed onto the bed and sat there, legs crossed, with his elbows on his knees. "You want me to… go somewhere else?"
"Maybe," Puck said apologetically. "It's not like I'm performing. It's just between me and God."
"Sure, yeah." Finn went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him, and brushed his teeth for a particularly long time. He flossed, even though he never did that, thinking about Carl's visit. That led to thinking about Carl, and about what Carl had said to him earlier that night.
He held the words close to his heart: I'm not going to let this be our next time. You deserve... everything.
Blaine does, too, he thought. I'm not going to let tonight be our last time, either. I'm going to handle this.