Title: Too Good to Be True (5/5)
Kurt felt cold air on his face first of all as his eyes began to shift back into focus. The room was softly lit, the sun just beginning to rise. Last night had exhausted him, physically and emotionally, and he just wanted to pull the comforter over his head and luxuriate a little while longer. Be himself, before another day of duplicity and simpering took its toll on him.
But, then, he wouldn't be telling a lie any more. He smiled, softly, at the thought.
"Finn," Kurt said, reaching out an arm, but all he touched was crumpled sheets. Oh, God. Finn wouldn't. Would he? Panic flooded his gut.
"Oh, hey. You're up," Finn said, muffled through the bathroom door, and Kurt sighed with relief as he turned his head towards the source of the noise.
The bathroom door was half-open, and Finn stretched, shrugging on a plain white undershirt, the muscles in his back rippling, a fresh wave of want running through Kurt again. Finn walked out of the bathroom and reached for his antiperspirant. Axe Recovery, Kurt noticed, the same one he'd worn since Freshman year of high school, lemon tart and cloying with a tendency to thicken the air like ice fog and bring out asthma attacks in the hardiest of people. Finn reached in his duffel bag for a blue plaid shirt and began buttoning it, fingers fumbling.
"Hey?" Kurt said, cautiously as he sat up. Glancing over at the clock, Kurt bit his lip and swallowed back a frown. "It's still early, maybe --" he blushed, but ploughed on. "Maybe you could come back to bed?"
Kurt met Finn's eyes briefly; they appeared motionless, useless lumps of coal. He patted the empty space beside him, but Finn merely stared at Kurt's hand, his gaze utterly unreadable.
"Breakfast," he said, tersely. "It's paid for with the room, so... no need to waste it. You coming?"
Dread settled on Kurt like a weight, and he could feel his entire self open and unarmed. "Finn, please?" Kurt's voice was a soft whisper as he drew the sheets around himself, like some ridiculous maiden in a James Bond movie. "What is it?"
“This.” Kurt gestured towards him. “Your, your… attitude! It’s as though you have no recollection of what happened last night."
Finn shrugged, his hands deep in his pockets and his body facing the window. Finn was looking at himself in the mirror. At his shoes. At the damn ceiling. Anywhere, except at Kurt's paling face.
His entire posture screamed for Kurt to leave it alone, to leave him alone.
Kurt didn’t listen. “Can we talk?”
“Marco texted earlier.” Finn said. “Do you know what a 'continental' isʔ”
Finn’s eyes snapped to him. “There’s nothing to talk about,” he said coldly, his face impassive. “Last night was—“
“What?” Kurt spat. “What was it, Finn?”
Finn sighed heavily. “Last night was... I – we… we screwed up, Kurt.”
It hit Kurt like a truck and he sucked in a deep breath in shock. He had forgotten what it was like to be this vulnerable, this exposed. He’d forgotten how much he could hurt, but quickly remembered how soon everything good in his life could be sucked out by way of Finn's big, unknowingly seductive, black holes of eyes.
“Oh,” Kurt said, said lamely. “I see.”
“Yeah,” Finn whispered. “Look, I, uh, see you downstairs. Yeah?”
Finn didn’t even wait for a response, just ran from the room like he was being pursued, but Kurt didn't know why because he wasn't about to chase him. He couldn't move even if he wanted to, fragile and trapped between the bed sheets, like a butterfly under a pin.
Kurt took a deep breath. He couldn't even cry. There was just a blank, empty, overarching numbness. Every time he buried his face in the pillow, he could smell Finn's aftershave. Every time he turned over, he could see the dip in the pillow, the dip in the mattress where they'd curled up only hours ago, where Finn has whispered clichéd, meaningless, awful sweet nothings about promises and love into the shell of his ear.
On unsteady feet, Kurt stood up, searching for his underwear. He dressed hastily, in the clothes he'd worn the previous night, not caring to shower, or iron, or do anything other than convince himself the sting on his face was from the icy air blasting through the window rather than imminent tears.
Finn had often told Kurt he was tired of putting up a façade, of being something he wasn't. Well. Poor, poor, Finn. It’s not like Kurt could relate to that.
Kurt walked over to the window, an icy halo winking around the sun, and it was supposed to be beautiful here, but it was just grey, and bleak. Uninviting, once white snow marred by the dirty, slushy tracks of heavy machinery. It was like a faded, frozen map. Kurt would never get married here; he'd never get married at all, not if he could help it. He inhaled a breath of the cool, crisp air, prickling against the tears he couldn't help but shed.
No. No! He was Kurt Hummel. Fuck Finn Hudson, and fuck his broken promises; he was not going to get the satisfaction. Kurt wiped his eyes with his fingertips, adjusted his cravat, clenched his hands into fists, and strode towards the door purposefully and slammed it behind him with so much ferocity he surprised himself. He’d done this before, and he would do it again.
Kurt swept the base of the seat with his napkin before he sat down and crossed his legs at the ankle. Finn was sat between Marco and Kyle, staring at his plate, idly stabbing a pallid almond croissant with his fork.
"Good morning, Kurt," Alan said in a teasing voice. "You look shattered, darling. Long night?"
"Do I?" Kurt shrugged. "I can’t think why." He glared at Finn. "Nothing of note happened that I can recall."
Kyle and Dean shared a look of surprise as Kurt began to cut into his toast savagely.
"Alan? Could you please ask Finn to pass the butter?" Kurt asked sweetly.
Really?" Alan raised an eyebrow. "Are we actually doing this?"
"Kyle," Finn sat back and crossed his arms. "Will you tell Kurt that he can come over here and get the butter him-freakin'-self?"
"Er, I’m Dean, Finn."
"Toby, will you please tell Finn that--"
"Oh, God," Marco dropped his head onto the table. "I cannot deal with The Waltons this morning. I just can’t."
"Hmm," Kurt tutted, taking a sip of his orange juice.
"What does that mean?" Marco lifted his head half an inch off the table, staring at Kurt with a pair of bleary eyes.
"It means hmm, Marco. Hmm."
"Oh, don’t you start, too," Kyle huffed. "I think you did quite enough stirring last night."
"Wow, so you did notice," Marco muttered into the tablecloth.
Kyle gave an offended gasp. "Passive aggressive, much?"
As Kyle and Marco made swipes at each other, Kurt stared into his plate, his stomach protesting at the thought of touching a single bite.
"-bother, Marco." Kurt looked up on hearing Finn’s voice. "Sometimes opposites don't attract. Maybe. I think."
"Um," Kyle said. "What?"
"I mean," Finn shrugged, "well. It’s not like you and Kyle have anything in common."
"That's ridiculous," Marco said. "We have loads in common. We were even in the same house on Pottermore."
"And what’s the point of ruining what you have?" Finn continued. "Maybe Kyle should understand that you two won’t work. That there’s too much history. That maybe--maybe this is for the best."
Kyle looked at Marco. "I am so lost."
"And yeah, the sex stuff may have been kinda awesome but--" Finn shook his head sadly as Alan choked on his toast. "But that’s not enough, is it?" He looked around the table. "Is it?"
Feeling the weight of eyes upon him, Kurt looked up into the pitying gazes of Alan and Dean, who were linking their pinkies under the table like giggling Elementary schoolers sharing a juice box, matching platinum rings glistening, and that was bad enough but Kurt then made the mistake of glancing sideways. Kurt could almost feel the ice from Finn’s stare, so cold was his regard.
The hurt punched into his gut like cement.
"Excuse me, boys," he said softly, pushing back the chair. "I need to pack."
This time when Kurt fled, no one called his name.
Kurt ran upstairs, stuffing handfuls of clothing in his suitcase without remorse.
What was going to happen next? Did Finn have a secret family, a secret fiancé stashed away back in Ohio? It wouldn’t surprise him if he had a two and a half bathroom with a white picket fence back in Lima, with Quinn dutifully waiting for him each evening like a Stepford Wife.
How could he have been so stupid, and hormonal? A nagging, sneaking suspicion in his gut told him that perhaps it was more his fault than he'd care to admit, thinking with his heart rather than his head again. They both had -- no. Finn didn't have a heart. He had a rattling tin can in his chest where a normal person's heart should be.
They had another day and a car journey to survive together. Maybe he could bolt, leave a note. Finn could take Greyhound, or hitch-hike, or walk across the cold, grey slush and sink in for all he cared right now. Yes. That is exactly what he could do.
Kurt’s fingers clutched deep into the shirt he was currently packing, his knuckles whitening. No, he thought, don’t you even dare cry over Finn again.
Images of himself in High School flashed in his mind. Kurt Hummel, the pathetic loser that had followed around the hot quarterback with wild hopes pinned on a smile or brief touch. The quarterback that had barely known he was alive, who had freaked out over being swiped with a moist towelette. Wow, imagine that. One night with Finn Hudson, one lacklustre experience of fellatio, a scattering of awkward kisses, and there he was: sixteen again, and about to draw hearts in his ledger and wonder how ‘Kurt Hudson’ would look surrounded with bright, winking lights.
Throwing the last of his toiletries into the case, Kurt closed it, like he was slamming a door shut. Christ, this hurt. Kurt pressed the heel of his palm to his eye, as hot liquid prickled against his lids. The ache in his chest felt strong enough to fell him and his body felt like it was cast adrift upon a swamp, or sinking into quicksand.
He had to get out of there. Back home, to a glass of wine, some fat-free frozen yogurt, and Casablanca and his lonely, lonely apartment. The very room seemed to be conspiring against him. The bare white of the walls teased him; the ceiling bore down on him with a mindless determination and the bed?
Well, the bed was taunting him every time his eyes swept over it.
Yeah, he’d had enough alright.
Marching to the door, suitcase in hand, he flung it open with a flourish.
And was met with an armful of Finn.
"Let me past," Kurt snapped.
"What?” Finn stared at the bag in surprise. “You’re leaving? Why?"
"For you to even have to ask me that question? You really are as stupid as everyone says."
"Don't go," Finn sighed. "Please. We really gotta talk."
"Oh? And what prompted that? I'm repulsive and a mistake, Finn, so all I'm guessing is that you don't fancy the lack of leg room on a Greyhound. Well. Tough. You should have thought about that earlier. Perhaps I could take some bolt cutters to your legs if that’s your biggest problem?"
“No!” Finn grabbed Kurt’s arm. “You’re not repulsive, and you’re not a mistake.”
“And what prompted that paradigm shift?”
"Well. The guys kinda... chewed me out."
“Oh!” Kurt laughed. “Well, in that case. Let me drop to the floor and stare at you adoringly.”
“Will you just listen!” Finn moved into the room, closing the door softly behind him. Kurt made as if to go round him, but Finn blocked him. “Kurt, please!”
Kurt sighed. He dropped his bag on the floor and crossed his arms. “You have,” he looked at his watch, at the carpet, at anywhere but Finn’s persuasive, beautiful, dangerous eyes, “five minutes. Thrill me.”
“They know?” Kurt shrugged. “They know what? That—“
“That I’m not your boyfriend.” Finn cut him off, not even giving him the opportunity to make a pithy, hilarious comment.
“You—You told them!” Kurt couldn’t believe it. “It wasn’t enough that you made me feel like, like this!” Kurt covered his face, moving to the bed and dropping down with a groan. “I’ll have to transfer. Change my name. Oh, my God. Europe! I’ll have to go to Europe! I can’t pull off the backpacker look, Finn!”
“No, no!” The bed dipped as Finn sat down next to him with a sigh. Their bed. Their hateful, stupid bed. “You don’t get it. They’ve always known.”
"They clocked you when you first told them about me. You forget, some of them had already seen me on Facebook. You remember those videos I used to post on your wall? Until you threatened to skin me and make me into leggings?”
“There are only so many times I can watch a supermodel fall over, Finn,” Kurt said sadly. “I appreciate you trying to combine your love of people hurting themselves with my love of fashion, though. Kudos on that.”
“Yeah, you get why my stint at modelling for some extra cash lasted, like, two weeks?” Finn grinned, and then settled back into pained, as if it had just short circuited in his brain that this wasn’t the time. “And this was before you untagged me in all those photos.”
“I remember. You kept tagging even when it was just your damn elbow in the pictures.” Kurt played self-consciously with the comforter, his face reddening.
“So why did you erase me?"
“I… I don’t know.” Kurt shook his head. He searched his mind, remembering all the little ways that he had tried to remove Finn from his life. Had it been to perfect the lie, all to remove the temptation? Or had the biggest lie been the one he'd told himself?
Were they laughing at him? Mocking him? All this time he had been making a complete fool of himself. God, he had actually thought he was impressing them.
“Alan must be loving this,” muttered Kurt.
“Actually, Alan was more than a little scared, because he thought we were blood-related, but..." Finn shrugged. “I explained that we weren’t and that we knew each other at school and—“
“They...they don’t hate you. They really, really like you, Kurt, but they know that this isn’t just a stupid game anymore,” Finn said, his eyes cast away. “They—Oh, God. Why is this so hard?”
“They... what did they say?”
“That—that we care about each other. Have done for years. That it’s obvious and boring and if we actually talked to each other about it, we’d see it, too and have hot monkey sex.” Finn shuddered. “Marco wants to watch.”
“Hot monkey sex?” Kurt frowned; this was a new level of crudeness, even for his friends.
“Hey! Last night was totally hot. Right, Kurt?”
The tips of Kurt’s ears were on fire at the memory, but he wasn’t going to give Finn any credit. “Not especially.”
“But I’m awesome at making out!”
“No. You’re not. I was surprised I didn’t end up having to put a band-aid on my penis. You fell asleep. That wasn’t the best compliment I’ve ever received.”
“I’m sorry. I… I don’t even have much experience with girls, let alone...”
“But, you said last night, that it wasn’t the first time. You know, with a guy?”
A flush flooded Finn's face, and he looked away. “Er, yeah, that’s right.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “I mean, nothing like, heavy or anything but once or twice.”
“Once or twice?” Kurt gaped.
“My roommate. Micah. We… kinda fool around from time-to-time.”
“Are you two –“
“No. Of course not! We just get, drunk, and lonely, and… it’s kind of a friend with grinding benefits sorta thing. Nothing serious.”
“So, what about the twice?”
“The first time, I was just a kid. Fifteen.” Finn looked at him, his face sheepish. “Puck.”
Somewhere inside of Kurt, beyond the anger and the seething rage, his teenage self was cartwheeling in pornographic joy.
“Go on. Don’t spare me any details. Be specific.” Kurt looked around the room. “There’s some stationery in the bureau; you should probably draw me positions.”
“You little perv!” Finn laughed. “No, it wasn’t like that. It was—We were just being jerks, you know? Fighting over a remote or, I don’t know, a sandwich, it's not like that matters, and we—we landed on the bed. And I—I felt strange you know. It was nice and I liked being close to him so I kissed him.”
"And he kissed you back? I can't imagine -- well, I suppose I can imagine anyone, but Puck? He's certainly not a homophobe, and it was all empty posturing, but it was never overcompensation, at least in my opinion. He's not... is he?"
"No." Finn’s expression darkened. “It was one sided.”
“Oh, Finn,” Kurt said softly. “What happened?”
“Nothing. He pushed me off. He went home. The next day he came into school and began shoving around any fey kid he saw. With added commentary. Fag this. Fag that. I—I got the message. We never spoke about it again.”
“Is that why...that time in the basement?”
“I liked the way you looked at me,” Finn whispered. “I did. But I can’t—“ he stopped, “couldn’t be like you. It was nice to just, sort of pretend. I’m pretty good at pretending, but then I ruined it. I said those, those things and you stopped looking at me like that. Then we were brothers and it was gone, and you loved Blaine so much, and I couldn’t get it back!” Finn turned and grabbed at his hands. “I’ve tried to let it go. I have.”
"Don't." Kurt placed his hand on Finn's arm. "Is it really gone?”
“It’s been years Kurt; I don’t think it’s ever gonna go. I just… I wish I met you at college, or at work, or… or in some random bar, because I just…”
“I let it go. You should, too.”
“I had to.”
“But you said last night all this stuff about flames, and burning, and I… Look. Do you, uh, is there any part of you that still likes me. Like that?”
Was there? Kurt thought about it. He had buried those feelings so long ago but, well, buried them. They were still there, deep in his bones. Perhaps they didn’t burn with the same embers as before but they weren’t gone. And if Kurt unearthed them, he knew it wouldn’t be long before they restored to their original intensity, but would he really gain anything from telling Finn that?
Perhaps some things were best left buried, but… Kurt studied the whorls in the carpet, nodding slowly, unable to meet Finn’s searching gaze.
Finn exhaled loudly. “That’s good.”
“Well. Yeah. I don’t know what this is, Kurt. I just know I want you. Not just for sex stuff, but you. I want you all the time and I don’t know if I even deserve you. I’m not, like, good at this relationship stuff.” Finn laughed bitterly. “You know that, though.”
“So, what does this mean?” Kurt asked tentatively. He was scared to venture a guess. All he knew was that when he had first walked in that door, Finn had been nothing but a favour, and now he was scared to walk out of it without being what his heart desired.
Finn wiped a hand over his face, looking older, more tired, lines creasing between his eyebrows. “I wish to god, I knew.” He took Kurt’s hand, the warm pressure seeming to ease the tension in Kurt’s spine. “You’re the one who knows a good label. You choose.”
“That pun was terrible. I’m not sure I want us to be a thing with a name if I have to hear you say things like that.”
Kurt sucked in a breath as Finn smiled, leaning towards him and placing a soft kiss to the corner of his lips. Kurt’s hands came up and rested, woodenly, against Finn’s cheek as his lips met his and sought more. A thousand worries were lodged in Kurt’s stomach but they were ebbed in a quiet thrum as Finn pushed him backwards onto the bed, the kiss deepening and quickly becoming heated.
Kurt broke away. He had to have answers. Needed them. “Um, how much do you remember from last night, Finn?”
“Well, first I felt so nervous like, I had to pee. And then I thought you should eat more pineapple. I read it in Men’s Health once. It makes your, your stuff taste nicer.”
"Okay." Kurt couldn’t help but choke with laughter. “I'd... I’d really like to try that again.”
“I dunno. I don't think I would have done that without the drink, I mean I’ve…fooled around a bit before, but I think I’m going to have to work up to that. It’s a big step.”
“The grinding works for me, too?”
“If you insist, Kurt.” Finn laughed. “I thought there’s no use getting into heavy petting, but… You need a friendly hand?”
“Oh my. We did not just say that.” Kurt shook his head. "God bless Rocky Horror. I, uh, I might have a picture of you walking down the hall in those not-so-tighty whities stashed away on my phone somewhere.”
“God, you really are a perv. Wanna see ‘em now?” Finn waggled an eyebrow.
Kurt nodded. “Can I gag you beforehand so you’ll shut up?”
“That’s actually kinda hot,” Finn’s eyes went a little darker, his palm resting over his own crotch. “Yeah, I think you should.”
“That…” Kurt paused. “No!”
“God. Seems like you’re the little perv. Next you’re going to tell me you want me to bend you over a chair and spank you with one of my drumsticks.”
“You must have had some pretty dirty thoughts about me during high school, though, huh?”
“Not really. Mostly just... kissing. Holding hands, and sharing milkshakes. Awful, clichéd things like that. My brain wasn’t really able to process what went on from there, didn’t really have the ability until Blaine. Oh, apart from…”
Kurt blushed, turning his face away. “No, no. Well, actually… My time on the football team was an eye-opener.” Kurt swallowed. “Especially in the locker rooms. They, er, furnished my imagination for awhile.”
Finn smiled. “Me, too, I mean, uh, during your cheerleading phase, fuck. I was having cold showers daily.”
“Yes,” Finn was practically burgundy now. “I used to have this one fantasy that we were in my room and you were showing me this cheer that had all this bending in. And, like, you were spelling out everything you wanted me to do to you. God, I loved that.” Finn frowned. “Except when you’d go, like, too fast and I couldn’t keep up with what you were spelling. I liked when you kept it short. Like, ‘give me a B, give me J.’”
“Oh, my god, you’re insane! Anyway. Your turn, man.”
Okay, Kurt thought, what the hell. He leaned towards Finn, his eyebrow at an arch. “I’ll tell you one.” He closed his eyes. “Unlaced football pants, me on my knees, gripping your waist, and the… the lingering smell of bio freeze and musk in the air, and... I think I want to die right now.”
“I think I still have that kit somewhere. Hm. You’d look amazing down on your knees, wide eyes staring up at me, licking those sweet red lips…” And now Finn was palming himself through his pants, oh, sweet mother of god.
Finn pulled him in for a kiss, all flicking tongue, trailing wet kisses down the line of his neck.
“Finn,” Kurt said, “we're... we're never going to leave this room on time if you keep that up.” Finn took a deep breath, as Kurt reached for his hand and squeezed it tightly. "Before we go… May I ask you something?
Finn's thumb breezed its pad over Kurt's knuckles. "Yeah?"
"When you and, uh, Puck, you know?"
"He was shirtless, I take it?"
"What? No, dude, he was wea--"
"Shirtless and sweaty," Kurt shook his head sadly. "From all the wrestling."
"But we weren't--"
"Why would you wrestle in a heat wave, Finn? And why were you both eating popsicles?"
"Oh, my God!" Finn clapped his hands in delight, and then frowned down at them. "Argh, the gay's starting already. Anyway! You've seen the same Queer as Folk episode! And then the pool boy comes in--"
Kurt blinked. "Wait, when you watched this with Leroy and Hiram, was Rachel there?"
"Yeah... wait, no, actually. She was, like, yelling at me and I went downstairs and just watched it with them while I waited for her to get over whatever it was."
"Did they seem-- uncomfortable?" Crossed legs and large pillowcases covering groins filled Kurt's head. "Oh, god. You sat in between them, didn't you?"
“Can we change the subject, please? I’m kind of… really hard, here, and I didn’t bring a clean pair of underwear.” Finn paused. “Anyway. This Frank. On a scale of one to Adele, how much do you hate him?"
“Frances Ruffelle. He’s off all and any charts. I think I would literally dance on his grave, although the review of his performance in the New York Times comparing him to the Happy Hands Club from Napoleon Dynamite was rather gratifying.”
“See, Kurt. That just makes it harder. I’m… I’m not gay. I don’t know what I am, or even who I am, but… I promise I’d never do that to you. I can’t promise I’m not gonna mess up, I –“ He scratched his head. “But I’ll try.”
Kurt kissed him softly, gently, full of promises, and trailed his hand down Finn's chest, resting it on his inner thigh.
"Wh--what are you doing, Kurt?"
"What I wanted to do last night." Kurt licked his lips, softly, and reached down to the zipper of Finn's pants. And, Finn Hudson was a liar. He was hard, sure, but he wasn't wearing any underwear.
"Are-- are you s--"
"I've never been more sure. God. You're aching for this right now, aren't you?"
"Uh-huh," Finn said, arching up against Kurt. "Please."
Kurt leant down, his eyes never breaking from Finn's, God, this was happening. This was real. He was completely unfueled by alcohol, but he didn't care. Kurt had never felt particularly sexy, yet in this moment, with Finn's eyes wide, and pupils blown, he had never felt more attractive or as turned on in his whole entire life. He swiped his tongue against Finn, experimentally, and soon Finn was pulling his pants to his ankles as though his life depended on it, making these hitching, wanting, breathy moans that sparked fire all over his body. And, Kurt wanted to, with every fiber of his being. The salt, the sweat, the twitch of Finn's cock against his tongue, heavy, velvet-soft, and warm in his mouth was beyond description.
Kurt was lost in the sensation, absolutely done for, and he sensed Finn was, too. Kurt's hand tightened in the material of the comforter, and a spark of lust twisted in his gut. He looked up to a flicker of Finn: deep, brown eyes, scrunched in pleasure, chest flushed, curling his toes and... it was too much.
"Kurt, please-- I can't-- I'm going to--" Finn choked on his own breath, fingers tightening at the crown of Kurt's head.
Kurt licked the slit of Finn's cock once, twice, and swallowed everything as Finn's whole body arched as he came, hands tangling in Kurt's hair.
Kurt breathed, deeply, and kissed Finn's blissed-out form softly, between his eyebrows, then on the very tip of his nose. They pulled back, Finn’s head dipped down, and --
"I’m sorry! Oh, God."
"You were doing romance fairly well until you poked your nose in my eye. God, do you want to turn me into a pirate so we can role-play?"
"I’m... not quite sure we should do that this early in our --" he searched for the right word.
Friendship? Relationship? Kurt couldn’t find anything that defined where they were at right now.
"Damnit, Kurt. I’m awful at the boyfriend thing already!"
“Can we… not call it a boyfriend thing? We both have a lot of thinking to do, but… do you want to explore Hampton Bays and get some actual breakfast? I was thinking waffles.”
"I know this has been a bit of a journey for us. Like, Geauga Lakes water slide journey, but… waffles? Actual breakfast? Are you feeling okay?"
"Um, no. Uh. You might not want to go out there like --" Finn gestured at the zipper of Kurt’s pants. "Like that."
Kurt shrugged. "Let them think what they want."
“Yeah, dude, but let’s not traumatise them.” Finn paused. "I meant what I said. I can't change overnight, but I really want to try."
Kurt gripped Finn's shoulders tightly as he stared into Finn’s face. "Please. Just… just promise me. You have to promise me you won't bail, otherwise, I just can't."
Finn buried his head in his hands and looked up. "Damn it, Kurt. This is so hard for me; all I can promise is that I’ll try to be good for you. I can’t… I’ll screw up, probably. It’s what I do, but… isn’t it gonna be so much worse if we go through our lives never knowing what might have been?"
For a moment, all Kurt could feel was panic. His mind screamed out its fear. If he got hurt this time, he might never be able to put the pieces back together again. But, if he turned Finn away. Stopped the ride before it got too dangerous for him to disembark, maybe he could lose out on something great? Something wonderful?
Kurt took Finn’s hand in his, squeezing it tightly, and took a deep breath, because he had waited this long, whether he had realised it or not. He could wait a little longer. Sometimes, it was worth the risk.