hold on me; Glee
Kind of angsty, kind of incesty drabble.
Title: You really gotta hold on me
Pairing: Finn/Kurt.
Summary: Finn stops by, again. Futurefic.
YOU REALLY GOTTA HOLD ON ME
Finn obviously doesn't know what to do when he drops in, still looking lost after he's found his way to Kurt's door, as he's staring, blinking down at Kurt's face. The noise of New York has always confused him, the sound of a city alive; Lima's always been so quiet.
"Hi," he murmurs, voice low and rough like gravel, tired sounding. He rubs his eyes on the sleeve of the three year old sweater Kurt bought him - red, with a picture of Santa Claus and the words, Don't Stop Believing across the back - and Kurt wants to push him away, send him to a hotel, send him back home, tell him just to stop, but in the end, all it takes is one look at Finn's sad, desperate eyes, and he's ushering Finn back inside the apartment, even if he knows it's a wrong move for the both of them, it's the worst possible idea, just like it was before.
-
Finn sleeps on the couch but climbs into Kurt's bed at midnight. They've been restless for two hours now, and it's so awful and terrible and stupid when Finn pads barefoot across his bedroom floor and curves - still warm, still soft - over his back and it makes Kurt sick to know that if Finn hadn't made this move, he would have had to. It's just too much, having Finn back here, hiding his hickeys from Kurt in his baggy layers with those dark, shamed eyes; too much, having Finn back here staring at the scattered photographs of Kurt's boyfriends (Blaine, Sam, Jason - Kurt never loved them, anyway) looking as lost and hopeless as ever.
There's dead silence. Finn's big hands catch, carefully on his hips, and he strokes the skin there with his clumsy fingers, kisses the base of Kurt's neck with his clumsy mouth and they were always a mess, always, and the way they just never fit used to break Kurt's heart; the hesitation on Finn's face like a bad stain; the way Kurt's hands would catch in that ugly sweater and squeeze in the one moment with the chance to be perfect that would always slip out from under them; spending those cold, tense mornings in Finn's room, in absolute silence, waiting for the sound of his father heading to work with his heart hammering in a faltering staccato, Finn's beating wild and scared against his back. It all comes rushing back, slow and dreadful, a head on collision with the past ten years and the stupid, sixteen year old Finn Hudson he first fell in love with. Sometimes all Kurt wants is the ability to love someone, anyone other than the boy who used to hold his hand at the back of the auditorium in highschool, behind the rest of their friends, out of sight from the rest of the world, squeezing Kurt's fingers tight enough to bruise each of them.
Title: You really gotta hold on me
Pairing: Finn/Kurt.
Summary: Finn stops by, again. Futurefic.
YOU REALLY GOTTA HOLD ON ME
Finn obviously doesn't know what to do when he drops in, still looking lost after he's found his way to Kurt's door, as he's staring, blinking down at Kurt's face. The noise of New York has always confused him, the sound of a city alive; Lima's always been so quiet.
"Hi," he murmurs, voice low and rough like gravel, tired sounding. He rubs his eyes on the sleeve of the three year old sweater Kurt bought him - red, with a picture of Santa Claus and the words, Don't Stop Believing across the back - and Kurt wants to push him away, send him to a hotel, send him back home, tell him just to stop, but in the end, all it takes is one look at Finn's sad, desperate eyes, and he's ushering Finn back inside the apartment, even if he knows it's a wrong move for the both of them, it's the worst possible idea, just like it was before.
-
Finn sleeps on the couch but climbs into Kurt's bed at midnight. They've been restless for two hours now, and it's so awful and terrible and stupid when Finn pads barefoot across his bedroom floor and curves - still warm, still soft - over his back and it makes Kurt sick to know that if Finn hadn't made this move, he would have had to. It's just too much, having Finn back here, hiding his hickeys from Kurt in his baggy layers with those dark, shamed eyes; too much, having Finn back here staring at the scattered photographs of Kurt's boyfriends (Blaine, Sam, Jason - Kurt never loved them, anyway) looking as lost and hopeless as ever.
There's dead silence. Finn's big hands catch, carefully on his hips, and he strokes the skin there with his clumsy fingers, kisses the base of Kurt's neck with his clumsy mouth and they were always a mess, always, and the way they just never fit used to break Kurt's heart; the hesitation on Finn's face like a bad stain; the way Kurt's hands would catch in that ugly sweater and squeeze in the one moment with the chance to be perfect that would always slip out from under them; spending those cold, tense mornings in Finn's room, in absolute silence, waiting for the sound of his father heading to work with his heart hammering in a faltering staccato, Finn's beating wild and scared against his back. It all comes rushing back, slow and dreadful, a head on collision with the past ten years and the stupid, sixteen year old Finn Hudson he first fell in love with. Sometimes all Kurt wants is the ability to love someone, anyone other than the boy who used to hold his hand at the back of the auditorium in highschool, behind the rest of their friends, out of sight from the rest of the world, squeezing Kurt's fingers tight enough to bruise each of them.