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This is a Pre-Endgame inspired fic, taking place imideately after Kurt and Blaine's wedding. It has sex, and angst like woah. But those of you who know me aren't surprised by either of these things.
Finn sat at the bar, still wearing the nicest suit he'd ever worn, and tossed his shot back. He signaled the bartender for another, and tossed it back just as quickly. He'd only had a single glass of champagne at the wedding, to toast the happy couple, and now that the party was over and everyone was gone home, he didn't have to worry about what the alcohol might loosen him up to saying. He was hoping that maybe if he kept drinking enough it'd help him forget the whole day, or at least numb the pain of it away for just a few hours. As he tossed back the third in a row a voice next to him said, half laughing, "You know if you don't pace yourself you'll get alcohol poisoning before the hour is out." He thought about that for a moment and shrugged. "It's been one of those years." He replied with an attempt at a smile that turned out uncharacteristically bitter.
The guy who'd spoken gave him a understanding look. "Yeah, I've been there I think. So what, she leave you standing at the alter or something?" Finn laughed with no humor and shook his head. "Actually he just got married today to someone else." He looked at the newcomer carefully to try to gauge his reaction. The guy winced in sympathy, "Oh, even worse. Here, next one's on me."
It wasn't terribly long after that things started taking on the soft-around the edges blur that being well on the way to drunk has. He wasn't quiet sure how he'd ended up in a hotel room with the other man, or even if he'd ever learned his name, but it wasn't so terribly important as it would have been a few hours ago. So much nicer to go with things and let the buzzing numbness wash away everything else. He vaguely recalled helping the guy strip away the gorgeous suit Kurt had put together for him, but ohnono he wasn't thinking of Kurt at all now. He wasn't, he wasn't. And he certainly wasn't disappointed in this stranger's lack of dancers muscles, or how the man's eyes were brown like Finn's not a sparkling grey-blue. Why would he be, when there was no one to compare him to? No one at all.
The man is very, very good with his hands and mouth. His fingers stroke over Finn as he sucks a dark mark on his neck, making Finn arch and moan, wanting more of both, but not able to remember how words work well enough to articulate that. Never mind that his hands are ever so slightly calloused, and his voice in his ear as he asks, "Have you ever been fucked before pretty boy?" is rough and deep. It's fine, because there's no one he wants with soft hands and a softer voice, he thinks as he shakes his head, no.
The man swears softly, and Finn doesn't know or really care if it's in a good or bad way. The man pulls away for a few, and Finn lays on the bed gasping, hating to lose those hands on himself, but it's not a major concern. Nothing is really, in this blank haze. He's back again, possibly quickly, maybe not who really knows? His fingers have a slickcool something on them as they move somewhere far lower then before. "If you want to stop at anytime, just say so, okay?" He waits for Finn to acknowledge that he understands, before sliding the first finger in. It... Doesn't really feel like much of anything. A little bit later when the second finger is added it's not much different. Any pain is washed away by the alcohol and they're just kinda, there, moving in and out, but not really doing anything for him one way or the other. That's fine, no reason it really needs to, Finn thinks, before the third finger is added.
Now he can kinda feel something like pain, but it's still so far away he isn't really bothered. But then the man twists his fingers and there's a definite spark of something that is not pain. Finn gasps, his body responding with out checking in with him first. His legs spread just a little wider and he rolls his hips into it, causing more of those not-hurting sparks. "Oh, have I finally found it then?" The stranger asks, twisting his fingers a bit more strongly and making Finn cry out and move his hips again. "I'll take that as a yes..." He works Finn open like he has done everything else, in an almost methodical manner, only now Finn can actually feel something through the alcohol, something good and distracting and yes, please yes, oh fuck please yes. Theres a deep and dirty chuckle in his ear before he's told, "Oh most definitely. Spread your legs wider and I'll give you something even better then my fingers."
Finn shudders, and lets his legs fall open. His eyes have screwed tight shut st some point before that he hadn't even noticed, he'd been so focused on the glorious bright sparks that had been shooting through his body from the man's fingers. The fingers are gone now as the man settles between his legs, and so his eyes open again. The fact that the man's eyes are still brown isn't at all jarring. Because what else would they be? When Finn's eyes snap closed again as the man pushes inside, it's from the pain, not because of the picture in his mind of someone else. He has no one else. Only this. The man's asking if he's okay does he need to stop and Finn tells him no, the only thing that needs to stop is him asking. Finn doesn't mind the pain, when it's physical it's always easier to deal with then the emotional. And this pain comes with the promise of pleasure later, he can deal with that easy.
A slightly work-roughened hand has him in hand, working over him in rhythm with his thrusts and Finn isn't moaning from the image of another, well manicured hand doing this instead. How can he, when there is no one for the hand to belong to? And suddenly the sparks are back, only now they are so, so much more then just sparks. He lets out a shout and his hands are twisting the sheets under him. It feels good, so good, god yes, this, this was what he'd been needing, because for several moments there are no thoughts, no emotions, just pleasure, pure physical feeling.
There's no mental pictures now, no thoughts of another with bluer then blue eyes, a harder body and softer hands. No recollections of a higher, clearer voice saying his name, no imagining it saying it the same tone this man is using, sex-needy and slightly desperate. He's not biting his lip to hold back anyone's name, because he doesn't know his partner's name, so who's could there possibly be to hold back? It's only because this feels so, so fucking good that he's getting closer to the edge. Nothing else at all. The man is thrusting to fast and too hard to leave any room for thoughts of anything or anyone else. Especially not for thoughts of how that never thought of person might be doing this same thing with another, or wondering if this is the way that their lover makes them feel when they do. Finn's gasps and moans aren't for them, because they aren't in his mind at all. This isn't cheapening or wrong at all, because there isn't anyone else for there to be, so how else could it happen? If it was any of those things, then how could he be riding just on the edge of coming?
The people next door were apparently inspired by their on going performance, and a shout of 'I love you baby' as the headboard on the opposite side hits the wall is even louder then anything they've said. It doesn't send him over that edge to hear it said in another's voice in his mind. No other person exists to do so. After shocks are racing through him as the man keeps going for a few more thrusts, making him jerk and twitch from being over sensitive. The man groans low in his throat and stops, resting his head against Finn's shoulder as he tries to catch his breath.
When he pulls away from Finn he grabs a handful of tissues from the bedside table and pulls off a condom Finn can't remember him putting on, but is so, so glad that he used and tosses it all in the nearby trash can. He tosses Finn a few more from the box as he gets up and starts getting dressed. "The room's paid for until tomorrow night so feel free to stay in it as long as you need till then." He pulls out a card and places it on the bedside table near the almost empty tissues box. "Call me sometime if you ever feel up for a repeat." And then he's gone, and Finn's alone in the room. He uses the tissues to wipe himself off as best he can, wanting a shower but unable to actually get up to do it, so he lay there instead, pulling the sheets back up from the foot of the bed and curling up in them.
Of all the things that didn't happen the biggest was that he most definitely didn't have to fight away tears as he fell asleep. What was there to shed any for? All that had happened was he'd fucked another man in the same hotel his stepbrother had gotten married in hours before. People did similar all the time at weddings. And it wasn't like he had anyone else he'd rather it have been. No one at all. Because there couldn't be. Would never be.
Finn sat at the bar, still wearing the nicest suit he'd ever worn, and tossed his shot back. He signaled the bartender for another, and tossed it back just as quickly. He'd only had a single glass of champagne at the wedding, to toast the happy couple, and now that the party was over and everyone was gone home, he didn't have to worry about what the alcohol might loosen him up to saying. He was hoping that maybe if he kept drinking enough it'd help him forget the whole day, or at least numb the pain of it away for just a few hours. As he tossed back the third in a row a voice next to him said, half laughing, "You know if you don't pace yourself you'll get alcohol poisoning before the hour is out." He thought about that for a moment and shrugged. "It's been one of those years." He replied with an attempt at a smile that turned out uncharacteristically bitter.
The guy who'd spoken gave him a understanding look. "Yeah, I've been there I think. So what, she leave you standing at the alter or something?" Finn laughed with no humor and shook his head. "Actually he just got married today to someone else." He looked at the newcomer carefully to try to gauge his reaction. The guy winced in sympathy, "Oh, even worse. Here, next one's on me."
It wasn't terribly long after that things started taking on the soft-around the edges blur that being well on the way to drunk has. He wasn't quiet sure how he'd ended up in a hotel room with the other man, or even if he'd ever learned his name, but it wasn't so terribly important as it would have been a few hours ago. So much nicer to go with things and let the buzzing numbness wash away everything else. He vaguely recalled helping the guy strip away the gorgeous suit Kurt had put together for him, but ohnono he wasn't thinking of Kurt at all now. He wasn't, he wasn't. And he certainly wasn't disappointed in this stranger's lack of dancers muscles, or how the man's eyes were brown like Finn's not a sparkling grey-blue. Why would he be, when there was no one to compare him to? No one at all.
The man is very, very good with his hands and mouth. His fingers stroke over Finn as he sucks a dark mark on his neck, making Finn arch and moan, wanting more of both, but not able to remember how words work well enough to articulate that. Never mind that his hands are ever so slightly calloused, and his voice in his ear as he asks, "Have you ever been fucked before pretty boy?" is rough and deep. It's fine, because there's no one he wants with soft hands and a softer voice, he thinks as he shakes his head, no.
The man swears softly, and Finn doesn't know or really care if it's in a good or bad way. The man pulls away for a few, and Finn lays on the bed gasping, hating to lose those hands on himself, but it's not a major concern. Nothing is really, in this blank haze. He's back again, possibly quickly, maybe not who really knows? His fingers have a slickcool something on them as they move somewhere far lower then before. "If you want to stop at anytime, just say so, okay?" He waits for Finn to acknowledge that he understands, before sliding the first finger in. It... Doesn't really feel like much of anything. A little bit later when the second finger is added it's not much different. Any pain is washed away by the alcohol and they're just kinda, there, moving in and out, but not really doing anything for him one way or the other. That's fine, no reason it really needs to, Finn thinks, before the third finger is added.
Now he can kinda feel something like pain, but it's still so far away he isn't really bothered. But then the man twists his fingers and there's a definite spark of something that is not pain. Finn gasps, his body responding with out checking in with him first. His legs spread just a little wider and he rolls his hips into it, causing more of those not-hurting sparks. "Oh, have I finally found it then?" The stranger asks, twisting his fingers a bit more strongly and making Finn cry out and move his hips again. "I'll take that as a yes..." He works Finn open like he has done everything else, in an almost methodical manner, only now Finn can actually feel something through the alcohol, something good and distracting and yes, please yes, oh fuck please yes. Theres a deep and dirty chuckle in his ear before he's told, "Oh most definitely. Spread your legs wider and I'll give you something even better then my fingers."
Finn shudders, and lets his legs fall open. His eyes have screwed tight shut st some point before that he hadn't even noticed, he'd been so focused on the glorious bright sparks that had been shooting through his body from the man's fingers. The fingers are gone now as the man settles between his legs, and so his eyes open again. The fact that the man's eyes are still brown isn't at all jarring. Because what else would they be? When Finn's eyes snap closed again as the man pushes inside, it's from the pain, not because of the picture in his mind of someone else. He has no one else. Only this. The man's asking if he's okay does he need to stop and Finn tells him no, the only thing that needs to stop is him asking. Finn doesn't mind the pain, when it's physical it's always easier to deal with then the emotional. And this pain comes with the promise of pleasure later, he can deal with that easy.
A slightly work-roughened hand has him in hand, working over him in rhythm with his thrusts and Finn isn't moaning from the image of another, well manicured hand doing this instead. How can he, when there is no one for the hand to belong to? And suddenly the sparks are back, only now they are so, so much more then just sparks. He lets out a shout and his hands are twisting the sheets under him. It feels good, so good, god yes, this, this was what he'd been needing, because for several moments there are no thoughts, no emotions, just pleasure, pure physical feeling.
There's no mental pictures now, no thoughts of another with bluer then blue eyes, a harder body and softer hands. No recollections of a higher, clearer voice saying his name, no imagining it saying it the same tone this man is using, sex-needy and slightly desperate. He's not biting his lip to hold back anyone's name, because he doesn't know his partner's name, so who's could there possibly be to hold back? It's only because this feels so, so fucking good that he's getting closer to the edge. Nothing else at all. The man is thrusting to fast and too hard to leave any room for thoughts of anything or anyone else. Especially not for thoughts of how that never thought of person might be doing this same thing with another, or wondering if this is the way that their lover makes them feel when they do. Finn's gasps and moans aren't for them, because they aren't in his mind at all. This isn't cheapening or wrong at all, because there isn't anyone else for there to be, so how else could it happen? If it was any of those things, then how could he be riding just on the edge of coming?
The people next door were apparently inspired by their on going performance, and a shout of 'I love you baby' as the headboard on the opposite side hits the wall is even louder then anything they've said. It doesn't send him over that edge to hear it said in another's voice in his mind. No other person exists to do so. After shocks are racing through him as the man keeps going for a few more thrusts, making him jerk and twitch from being over sensitive. The man groans low in his throat and stops, resting his head against Finn's shoulder as he tries to catch his breath.
When he pulls away from Finn he grabs a handful of tissues from the bedside table and pulls off a condom Finn can't remember him putting on, but is so, so glad that he used and tosses it all in the nearby trash can. He tosses Finn a few more from the box as he gets up and starts getting dressed. "The room's paid for until tomorrow night so feel free to stay in it as long as you need till then." He pulls out a card and places it on the bedside table near the almost empty tissues box. "Call me sometime if you ever feel up for a repeat." And then he's gone, and Finn's alone in the room. He uses the tissues to wipe himself off as best he can, wanting a shower but unable to actually get up to do it, so he lay there instead, pulling the sheets back up from the foot of the bed and curling up in them.
Of all the things that didn't happen the biggest was that he most definitely didn't have to fight away tears as he fell asleep. What was there to shed any for? All that had happened was he'd fucked another man in the same hotel his stepbrother had gotten married in hours before. People did similar all the time at weddings. And it wasn't like he had anyone else he'd rather it have been. No one at all. Because there couldn't be. Would never be.