I never post anything unless I'm happy with it to a certain extent, but I'm often mostly ambivalent about my own stuff. However-this story, I really like. Given the quirks of fate, that prolly means I'll be the only one who does :-)

My sincere thanks to everyone over on Tumblr who answered my question regarding the fannish appetite for Finn/Cory bottoming. This pornspam is for youuuuu…

Title: Taking One For The Team

Author: Aristide, with some kibitzing from Mairead

Fandom/Pairing: Glee, Finn/Kurt

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Finn Hudson's Crusade For Justice

The thing was, it was the only thing that was fair—and fairness was important. Fairness was always going to be important, because so many, many things were already unfair. It wasn't fair that he and Kurt had been quietly messing around for… jeez, months now, but still Kurt was the one who got called names and pushed around and had his cafeteria tray knocked into his face, while Finn just got the standard non-gay-Glee-loser treatment. That wasn't fair at all.

The only thing that made it bearable was that Finn made damn sure that those things never happened to Kurt when he—Finn—was around to stop them from happening. Which was… still not fair. But it was the best he could do.

It turned out to be a good thing that their parents were married, because Finn discovered that you got a big, giant pass on the whole gay-by-association thing—as well as the whole fighting-in-the-hallways thing—when the gay kid you were protecting was the gay kid that everyone thought of as your brother. And it didn't seem to matter that Finn himself never, ever looked at Kurt and thought 'brother' (since mostly when he looked at Kurt he thought 'I really, really want to fuck that guy, because he's really fucking hot').

Which brought him back, once again, to the question of fairness. It had taken a while to work up to it, but in the three weeks since they'd gone beyond hand-jobs and blow-jobs and basic rubbing-against-each-other-while-making-out-until-they-came-jobs (which probably had some fancy name that Finn didn't know, but he didn't even care because he just called it 'awesome'), he'd fucked Kurt twenty-seven times. Twenty-seven times, and he could remember each one: every single moment, every single position, every single bit of what Kurt felt like and sounded like and tasted like and looked like when he came—and really, 'awesome' didn't even begin to cover all that, but if Finn ever found the right word for what all that was, it was going to be his new favorite word, for sure.

Kurt hadn't fucked him once. Not once. They hadn't even talked about it. And at first Finn had been silently, sneakily glad that they didn't talk about it, and then he'd felt kind of guilty that they didn't talk about it, and then he started to think that maybe they just weren't ever going to talk about it, and then that had started to make him sad, and then he just got sadder every time they didn't talk about it, which was always, so pretty soon he was always kind of sad—even though he never got close to considering not-fucking Kurt every time he had the chance, because he was guilty and sad, sure—but he wasn't a fucking idiot.

There was only one thing to do. He was going to have to man-up. He was going to have to grit his teeth and buckle down and grow a pair and stop being such a pussy and bend over and take it like… like a man.

It was only fair.

Kurt didn't seem to really get the whole 'fairness' concept. Granted, it could have been because Finn really couldn't talk about… any of what he had to say without mumbling and stuttering—and at one point he tried an analogy about how he'd had twenty-seven tacos when Kurt hadn't had any, which just made Kurt squint and ask him if he was trying to say he wanted Kurt to make some chicken machaca on the next Mexican night, which… yes, of course he did, he always did, but that totally wasn't the point and that totally wasn't what he was saying—but Finn kept going, because fair was fair.

"You want…" Kurt said finally, blinking. "You want me to fuck you."

Finn nodded hard, relieved, then suddenly realized what he was nodding 'yes' to and backed off a little. "Yes. You have to."

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "I have to?"

"I need you to," Finn said quickly, because goddamit, not only was he going to have to bend over and take it but it looked like he was also going to have to talk Kurt into holding up his end of the deal, which was just… jeez. "I want you to."

"You… want me to." Kurt didn't sound convinced.

Finn swallowed. "Yes. A lot."

Kurt rested his chin on his hand, staring at Finn. "Okay. When?"

When. When… There were like, a billion insane butterflies having a war in his stomach. "Um." He cleared his throat. "Well, mom and Burt said they won't be home until late tonight, so… now? How about now?"

Kurt got up out of his chair and came to him slowly, wrapping arms around his waist and looking up at him with eyes so huge and blue that all the butterflies backed off, if only for a second or two. "Finn… you're sure?"

It was all there, right there—Kurt didn't say it, but he didn't have to for Finn to hear it: it was okay to say 'no', it was okay to not be sure. It was okay. Kurt was telling him, without telling him, that it was okay. Finn closed his eyes for a second, squeezing Kurt's shoulders, and thought about fairness and manliness and what Kurt put up with every single day of his goddamn life just because some people were fucking morons. That did it. He opened his eyes. "Yeah. I'm… uh. I'm sure."

The thing was, he had a whole strategy worked out. He called it (to himself, anyway, because God knows he wasn't about to share it with anyone else), the Finn Hudson Anti-Mailman/Not-Being-A-Pussy Strategy. It was awesome. The whole thing worked like this: while Kurt was fucking him, he was going to get to think about all the things he never let himself think about while they were doing it: about Kurt blowing him, about how hot and tight and fucking sweet it was to fuck Kurt's amazing ass, about the way Kurt hung onto him while he came, like he would die if he let go—all the stuff that was usually forbidden, for practical reasons. He would think about all of it, every hot-nasty-sweaty-sexy thought he could come up with, and then, well—it would work, because he'd be into it—even if he wasn't, really, into it.

It was a great strategy. A perfect strategy. There was only one tiny problem with it—it didn't work for shit. Because once he was naked and kneeling face-down on the bed and had Kurt's fingers going in where there had only ever ever in his whole life been things coming out—he just couldn't think about anything at all besides 'oh my God what the fuck am I doing—why am I—holy crap there's another guy putting his fingers in my ass—what the hell was I thinking I can't I can't I can't'—which wasn't really part of the strategy at all.

"Finn," Kurt said, petting his hair gently, so gently. "Finn, we don't… you don't—"

"Keep going," Finn said. Growled, more like.


"Keep. Going." He tried to make it sound not so much like he was talking through his teeth, but really—there was only so much he could do at one time.

But apparently it was enough, because Kurt kept going. He kept going until it wasn't just his fingers any more but actually his cock that was doing the stretching, and Finn had both fists knotted hard into the sheets because that was hands-down the weirdest fucking thing he'd ever felt in his life—full and stretched and a little bit like burning and a little bit like aching and basically every cell in his body shrieking at him that there was this giant, giant thing in his ass and could he please do something about that before there was some kind of collective cellular freak-out.

Just about the time that Finn had to admit that this was probably the stupidest idea he'd ever had in his entire life (including the time he'd had strep throat and had decided to put a quarter pounder with cheese in the blender so he could drink it), he heard Kurt make a noise. A soft, quiet, throaty noise, not quite a sigh and not quite a moan and with no words in it, but it didn't need words because there was everything else in it—everything that was good, and hot, and maybe a little overwhelmed by… by… oh.

It was just a noise, but it pulled Finn into his body in a whole new way, like someone had reached down and flipped a switch and all of a sudden he didn't have the body that was awkwardly sprawled and uncomfortable, but instead he had a new one that was… open, and wanting, and soft and hard and hot and tender and kind of about to explode with nerve endings that were just stuffed-full of sensation—so full, and good, and his fucking ears were tingling from it, and there was no time to get ready or adjust because Kurt gasped a little and squeezed his hips and Finn came all over himself, like he was coming from coming, shaking and shocked and he had to mash his face into the bedsheets because he could not… stop… groaning.

"Kurt…" he said, when he could, only it was barely a word.

"Uh. Huh?" breathlessly.

"Kurt… I just came."

"Yeah. Finn. Yes." Kurt moved in him, just a little, and they both gasped.



Finn closed his eyes, squeezed them tight shut. "Why didn't you… uh. Oh. Why didn't you tell me it was like this?"

"Like… what?" Kurt touched his back, stroked it, and sounded like he was orbiting the moon somewhere.

"So good—it's so good. This is… you didn't tell me."

Kurt made some sound that was either laughing or choking or both, Finn couldn't tell. "I kind of thought… maybe… the constant moaning and coming all over you might have been a clue."

He could feel underneath the goodness, now, intense waves of pleasure backing off to a warm, tingly glow, and under that there was… something that was deep. Scary-deep. He shivered. "Oh, God—Kurt. You're… you're with me, right? You're—"

Kurt's hands, warm and strong, squeezed his waist. Kurt's soft cheek touched his spine; and even with the way they were connected right now the closeness of that, the killing softness, made Finn shiver. "Right here—right with you. God, yes—Finn—"

"Okay," Finn breathed, and eased his legs apart a little. "Okay."

Kurt rocked into him, eased into him, and Finn just let go of trying to do anything at all except take it, because there was just no room for anything else. He tried to be quiet and careful and somehow in control, but all that only lasted about five seconds before he had to give it up, a freaky, falling feeling, only it felt so good, it was so, so good to give up and let everything go, let what was happening take him over and wring him out, squeezing words and cries and sweat and deep, deep pleasure out of him.

When Kurt's hand skidded down his stomach to his cock, Finn got his own hand down there as fast as he could, holding, lacing his fingers through Kurt's and holding back, because Kurt was fucking him with smooth, strong strokes, one after another that lit him up from inside, and he was panting and wet and all his muscles were fluttering but he wasn't, he wasn't done yet, he wasn't—

"Finn," Kurt's voice was soft, desperate and breathy and a little hoarse. "Finn, I can't—I have to—I—"

"Do it," Finn moaned, shaking harder. "Come in me—come on—fuck—"

Kurt's hips stuttered, sped up, and then shoved hard against him and held, and Finn managed two strokes with his and Kurt's hands together before he was coming hard, sliding forward and back and riding Kurt's throbbing cock and getting off so intensely that it almost hurt—maybe it did hurt, he didn't know, and it felt way, way too fucking good for him to care.

He didn't remember Kurt pulling out of him, didn't remember turning over, but he remembered lying in Kurt's arms with his heart pounding and everything still kind of exploding everywhere and he was pretty sure he said some really stupid shit while he was coming down, whispered words running over each other like something in him had broken loose, and he was grateful when Kurt cupped his face in shaking hands and kissed him, finally shutting him up except when they both had to gasp for air.

He felt completely amazing, and also ridiculously awkward, but in the quiet and dark he felt Kurt's tears on his cheeks, so he pulled Kurt down and put their foreheads together and just hung on, sharing breath and sighs and sweet, slow, drugged-dreamy kisses, until it was time to let the world back in.

Mom and Burt were late getting back from their night out, so they brought home a pint of ice cream from the place where they made it from scratch. "I'm sorry we were late, boys," his Mom said while she was getting two bowls out of the cabinet. "I swear, it's hard to know where the time goes when you're having fun."

"Tell me about it," said Finn, sitting at the kitchen table and trying not to stare at Kurt.


"Nothing. I… uh. I'm glad you guys had fun. You know. Tonight." Kurt's knee pressed his under the table, just for a second.

"Yes. That we did." Mom sounded kind of distracted, but that was maybe for the best. She looked up, ice-cream scoop in hand. "I take it I should dish this out in the usual portions? Kurt with his judicious and moderate single scoop, and my strapping young Viking of a son with three?"

Kurt nodded, but Finn shook his head. "No, mom. I think… we should split it." His turn to nudge Kurt's knee. "I think… sometimes it's important to go fifty-fifty. You know. To be fair."

His mom gave him a look. "You wait until seventeen years of age to learn this?" she asked, waving the ice-cream scoop around for emphasis. "You couldn't have maybe figured this out when you were in the preschool sandbox, mauling Jimmy Stevenson for who got to play with the Tonka truck first?"

Finn shrugged. "Jimmy Stevenson was a total tool."

"Finn Hudson!"

Kurt cracked up.

Things were different after that. Finn knew it, but he wasn't sure why, and he wasn't sure what to do about it, so in the end he did the easiest thing and just did nothing.

The full extent of how different things were didn't really become clear to him until Tuesday at school, when he took the back stairs on his way to Social Studies and came through the door to find Kurt surrounded by a couple of hockey jocks. They were pushing him from one to the other, and his bookbag was spilled all over the floor, and there were buttons everywhere because his new military wool jacket had been torn open. Finn saw everything through a kind of red haze, and then there was a few minutes there when he didn't see much at all, but when he came back to himself all three of the assholes were sprawled on the floor bleeding from various locations, and there appeared to be a tooth lodged between his fucking knuckles, and Kurt had him by the back of the shirt, telling him to please, please stop.

"Get up," Finn said to the biggest of the three fuckwads on the floor—Harry Mullet, Finn remembered all at once, flicking blood off his hand. "Get your ignorant ass up off that floor, Mullet, and I'll—"

"Finn." Kurt said, his voice low and urgent. "Finn, no. Enough. You'll get expelled—"

"You should be expelled," Mullet said, scooting back to a safe distance before he got up. "You and your pansy-ass fag brother—"

"He's not my brother," Finn said, shaking, shaking hard, all of him. "He's my fucking boyfriend."

Everything in the hallway went quiet. He heard Kurt gasp behind him.

Mullet was staring at him, the other two were staring at him, like they didn't believe it. "Your… Are you saying you're a fag too, Hudson?"

Finn pulled the tooth out of his knuckle, wincing, and threw it at Mullet. It bounced off his forehead. "That's right." He stood up straight. "I'm a fag." He took a step towards Mullet, clenching his fists. "But I'm a fag who's a foot taller than you, and I'm a fag who's totally not afraid to tear off your dick and feed it to you, if you fuck with me." He blinked. "Or my boyfriend."

He remembered the three of them backing away slowly, then turning and running, and he remembered a buzz of half-whispered chatter from all the students who'd seen what went down, but he didn't really pay attention to much of anything until Kurt had herded him into the stairwell and sat down next to him on the top step, holding his bleeding hand. Kurt looked like he was going to cry, and Finn wanted to kiss him so badly—and then he remembered, and so he did, one soft kiss that was both sweet and bitter.

"Oh, Finn," Kurt said, pale and shocked-looking, his lashes wet. "Finn… what have you done?"

Finn tucked his head into the curve of Kurt's neck—carefully, mindful of the fact that he hurt pretty much everywhere—closing his eyes when Kurt's cool, trembling fingers cupped the back of his head. He was suddenly, terribly tired. Tired, but also glad. "I just… I just made things a little—" he swallowed. "A little bit less unfair." He heard Kurt make a noise that was either a laugh or a sob, and even though it hurt like hell to do it, he squeezed Kurt's hand with his own. "I love you, Kurt."

Kurt kissed him then, so sweetly that Finn forgot all about everything that hurt. He let the world and time and worry and fear and pain slip away, let it all go, lost in Kurt's soft kisses and the feel of slender, strong arms around his neck. He let it all go, knowing that he'd be back in it all too soon—but until then, he had this, he had Kurt, he had—

He had everything.