fifty frenchmen can't be wrong (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
some_stars) wrote2011-02-06 09:22 pm
some_stars) wrote2011-02-06 09:22 pm
Entry tags:
FIC: Too magical to touch (Glee)
Well, this isn't how I planned to spend my weekend. If this happens again I'm going to need a "fic: glee" tag. Then I'm going to need to assume a false identity. Out of shame.
Anyway, this is not the thing I was talking about earlier. This is just porn. Like, I feel kind of embarrassed to put an actual header on it, because seriously: just porn.
TITLE: Too magical to touch
FANDOM: Glee
RATING: adult
CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS: Kurt, imaginary Finn/Kurt, imaginary Finn/OFC...see the summary, basically.
CONTENT NOTES/WARNINGS: none that I'm aware of; any questions about content are always welcome.
SPOILERS: through 2x10
SIZE: ~3700 words
SUMMARY: Written for this prompt: "Kurt finds Finn's very straight, very filthy porn, and is instantly aroused by the fact that Finn has looked at exactly this, and gotten off to it. Cue Kurt's first experience with using pictures of girls as a masturbation aid." This version is edited a bit from the one posted there.
NOTES:
1. My second [genre]meme fill! These things are so awesome. Hopefully I will not abandon all my actual WIPs with plots and development and stuff to just write these all day. Also hopefully I will not abandon my actual life to just write these all day. We'll see.
2. I seem to be developing a consistent theme of "handjobs while thinking about anal." I am not entirely sure what to do with this tendency.
3. Title is from...oh, screw it, you all know what it's from. Just look at that prompt. I had no choice.
*
Packing up Finn's bedroom wasn't nearly as difficult--or unsanitary--as Kurt might have imagined. Primarily, of course, this was because it hadn't been lived in for weeks. All the unpleasant teenage-boy detritus, like dirty clothes and molding dishes, was absent. Much of it had been relocated to Kurt's bedroom, which seemed to boast a new stain or odor every weekend, and Kurt had only been remaining calm about this by reminding himself that he'd have a brand-new, unsullied room soon. It was in no small part the reason Kurt had volunteered to finish packing Finn's things while Finn and his dad and Carole unpacked the boxes that had already been moved, so they could move in by tonight. (He had also volunteered due to his natural helpfulness and generous spirit.)
The room Kurt was currently engaged in clearing out had some questionable odors of its own, and there was a generally grimy feel to every surface, but nothing Kurt was actually afraid to put his hands on. So in less than an hour, with the aid of one of his favorite "Upbeat Singalong" playlists, Kurt had gotten almost everything packed except for the drum set--which he was leaving for Finn to deal with, since it looked expensive, heavy, and highly droppable--and some boxes under the bed, which only needed to be moved into bigger boxes and presented no challenge.
They did, however, present a surprise, in the form of about a dozen extremely heterosexual, startlingly filthy, and obviously well-handled porno magazines. Kurt jerked his hand away so fast he banged it on the bedframe.
The box had been stacked under another, smaller one, and it wasn't taped shut. The cardboard flaps sprung up as soon as they were freed and waved gently, as if gesturing at their contents: Hello, I'm Finn Hudson's pornography of choice! Come take a look! Clutching his sore wrist, Kurt glared at the box. He was not going to take a look. He didn't even want to. Why would he? It would just be a lot of naked women, having sex either with each other or with men chosen specifically for their complete lack of attractiveness(couldn't be frightening the straight boys with any unexpected urges). Besides which, handling used pornography? That was just disgusting. The pages were probably stuck together. And who even looked at porn in magazines anymore, anyway? Kurt knew Finn knew how to use the internet; he spammed everyone's Facebooks with endless inanities whenever he got bored.
But there they were, in all their thoroughly-creased and exploitative glory, and despite every sane instinct he possessed, Kurt wanted to look at them. He really, really wanted to.
He was over Finn, there was no question about that. He'd been over him for a long time now. That stupid, humiliating crush had died with the Redecorating-and-Hate-Speech incident--but really, Kurt had realized in the weeks afterward, it had been withering for a while even before that, as Kurt had gotten to know Finn as an actual person and then, tentatively, as a friend. He'd clung all the more fiercely to what shreds of feeling had been left, because for a very long time, dreaming about Finn's inevitable coming-around had been the one and only good thing Kurt could count on in his life, and it had been hard to let go. But he had, and it was over, and Kurt didn't think about Finn that way anymore. They were brothers now, and they were starting to be easy together in a way Kurt had never expected, and wouldn't have thought to dream of back when brotherhood was the last thing he'd wanted from Finn.
The porn, though. The porn was like a giant, flashing neon sign, reading FINN JERKS OFF TO THIS (and below, in slightly smaller letters, RIGHT HERE IN THIS BED). Kurt might not be in love with Finn anymore, but he was still gay. And he was still seventeen, and Finn was still ridiculously good-looking--and as long as Kurt was admitting things to himself, he was also getting really tired of frantically jerking off to his imaginary borderline-nympho version of Blaine while being constantly, politely denied by the real thing day after day, no matter how many embarrassingly blatant signals he tried to send. At this point, rubbing one out to thoughts of his former-crush-and-reformed-homophobe-turned-stepbrother sounded like a refreshing vacation.
Everyone would be busy at the new house for hours, still, but Kurt closed and locked the bedroom door anyway. He pulled the box the rest of the way out from under the bed, and his hand hovered over it for a minute. It didn't matter which one he chose, of course, since the content of the magazines themselves didn't remotely interest him. But there was a danger, Kurt realized, that he might learn something far more specific about Finn's preferences than he really cared to know. Kurt had spent his fair share of time looking at internet porn (and possibly Finn's fair share of time as well, and several other people's, because being the only out gay teen at his school, and for all he knew in his whole town, was kind of frustrating sometimes), and he'd seen enough to be wary of the possibilities. A quick flip through the covers, however, revealed nothing more bizarre than some gangbangs and a general fixation with anal.
Kurt's hands tightened on the magazine he was holding as he felt himself get suddenly, uncomfortably hard. A rush of heat spread over his face, and he stared at the cover, only half-seeing the woman with her fingers spreading her cheeks apart as she gazed back over her shoulder at him, his cutting reflections on the rampant misogyny of the straight male porn industry dying quietly before they had a chance to form.
Did Finn like that? Kurt was certain he'd never done it--Santana would never have let him, and if Finn had managed to sleep with anybody else, everyone would already know about it--but did he like thinking about it? He had to, Kurt decided, or he wouldn't have kept these; they wouldn't get him off. Finn must have jerked off to this exact picture, or at least been turned on by it. Without really thinking, Kurt traced his fingers reverently across the glossy surface. Finn had looked at this, holding it with one hand and the other wrapped around his cock--or maybe just pressing himself through his jeans, since it was only the cover. Maybe he liked to take his time, tease himself a little and build it up, turning the pages until he couldn't wait anymore and he had to get his jeans open and take himself in hand, he had to--
"Oh, fuck," Kurt breathed, and fumbled his pants open as he lunged for the bed. He kneeled on the bare mattress and wrapped a hand around his cock, squeezing a little too hard and trying not to think about anything.
If he was going to relapse after nine months of being virtuous and jerk off to thoughts of Finn while staring at pictures of naked women, he at least wanted it to last.
After a few more deep breaths, the immediate danger passed, and Kurt loosened his grip a little. The magazine had fallen open to a two page spread near the back. The photo showed a woman and a man, of course, and the shot centered on her(also no surprise). She was bent over some mysterious prop that looked sort of like a half-size pommel horse, her face contorted into an expression that was clearly supposed to denote unbearable delight. Behind her, the man was fucking her in the ass, but they were maintaining that uncomfortable-looking distance between their bodies that Kurt recognized from his own porn. It was the space left for the camera, to make sure the viewers could clearly see the penetration happening.
Kurt could see it quite clearly. So could Finn, when he looked at this--and judging by the magazine's condition and the deep crease in the spine, he looked at it plenty. Probably this page was one of his favorites.
Kurt felt a shiver of heat run up his spine, and he bit his lip, his hand starting to move on his cock without any conscious intention. His eyes skated over the woman in the photo, trying to figure out which parts Finn liked best. Her predictably enormous breasts, of course, Finn would like those, but that probably wasn't too important to him--he had the hots for Rachel, after all, who had precious little to offer in that department. Definitely not her face, because Kurt would never be able to successfully jerk off to a guy who found porn face genuinely sexy.
Inevitably, his gaze landed on her ass. That was clearly the draw here; there wasn't much else distinct about the model, except a certain soft chubbiness that Kurt actually found intriguing. His own exposure to naked (or mostly-naked) women was largely limited to arty photo shoots in fashion magazines and the ubiquitous array of Maxim-type magazine covers on supermarket newsstands. Those women were never soft.
But clearly the sex act was the main attraction here: the woman's ass, held open by her delicate fingers, and the man's bigger hands digging into her hips, and his (frankly implausible) cock pushing inside her, latex-covered and glistening with lubricant. That's what Finn would look at, sitting on this bed, right where Kurt was now. He'd stare at her ass stretched around his cock--not the man's cock, Finn would be imagining it was himself in there, his own hands on those soft hips. He'd stare and imagine and stroke his erection, and how would he do it? Go slow at first, maybe--Kurt forced himself to slow his own pace--long lazy strokes, root to tip, not quite satisfying. He'd imagine standing behind her, rubbing his hands over her ass and squeezing. Dragging the tip of his cock over her vulva--though that wasn't the word Finn would think, of course. He'd think pussy or maybe even cunt, and he'd stare at it in the photo, the bare pink folds peeking open just a little. He wouldn't fuck her there, though, just tease her for a moment before moving up to where he really wanted to be.
He'd be stroking himself faster, now, his breath speeding up, twisting his palm over the tip at the top of each upstroke. No, Kurt decided--and he was faintly aware that this entire thought process was insane, but that seemed very unimportant--no, Finn would do it differently, not the way Kurt liked it. He'd be more sensitive, his grip a little bit looser.
Kurt dialed his own grip back somewhat. A sudden, shocking burst of arousal slammed him hard as he did it, despite the reduced stimulation, and he let out a low moan, the sound bringing a fresh wave of heat to his face. Finn would jerk off just like this, he thought, and glanced at his own hand, dizzily imagining it bigger. Finn would stroke himself and look at this picture and think about spreading her tight hole with his thumbs, nudging the head of his cock past her entrance--and Kurt had spent enough time picturing himself on the other end of this act that despite his mounting urgency, he hastily imagined Finn slicking up his fingers and stretching her first, because: ow. Of course, that image was pretty distracting in itself, and Kurt had to remind himself, with a painfully tight squeeze of his cock, that he was not going to imagine Finn doing that to him instead.
That would be just too far, that was all. Kurt was done with all that, had to be--and he was sure that if he gave in, Finn would know. Somehow he'd look at Kurt and he'd just know Kurt had been imagining his fingers, thick and callused and a little clumsy, slippery wet and pushing inside just a bit too fast, making him whimper and tighten around the sudden stretch. The noise would make Finn stop, make him ask if Kurt was okay and Kurt would have to tell him, yes, keep going, don't stop--
Kurt squeezed himself so hard his eyes began to water, and bit his lip. He couldn't do this. He absolutely could not do this, and what he really needed to do was just stop, put the magazine back in its box and pull his pants up and play his usual mental reel of particularly vivid roadkill memories until he was back in his right mind again.
Of course, if he was strong enough to do any of that, he'd never have picked up the porn in the first place. But he did force himself to focus on the photograph again.
Finn would think about fucking that woman. He'd imagine his cock sliding deeper, imagine her ass so unbelievably tight and hot around him as he worked his way in, and his breath would hitch just the way Kurt's was doing right now. He'd want to go faster--he'd lick his palm, sloppy and wet as he could get it(Kurt groaned shakily against his own hand), and start to stroke himself firmly, giving up the tease.
He'd imagine the sounds she'd make as he fucked her, the breathy moans and purrs each thrust would force from her mouth. Finn would want that, he'd want to know that she was enjoying it, that he was doing it right. Probably he'd imagine some ridiculous porn dialogue too, because he wouldn't know any better: Oh Finn, I love your big cock in my ass, I love it when you fuck me hard, that feminine voice keening out endless dirty praise and begging him for more. He'd give it to her, he'd thrust up into his fist and moan low in his throat, trying to keep himself quiet but failing utterly.
Alone in the empty house, Kurt didn't even bother trying. The noises that spilled out of him should have been embarrassing, grunting little uh uh uh sounds with every jerk of his hips, but even as they slid higher and higher Kurt could only hear them in Finn's voice. That was how he'd sound, that was how he sounded all the time. Sitting or kneeling or lying right here and looking at this picture, a thousand times before and maybe--oh fuck maybe a thousand times again, in his new bed, after unpacking that last box and taking out his favorite magazine, turning to his favorite page.
Kurt's free hand shook wildly as he dragged it across the picture. He felt his chest grow tighter as his other hand worked frantically, and his vision seemed to dim around the edges, narrowing to the glossy pages spread out in front of him. Finn would look at this: that was all Kurt could think, over and over, like any idea more complex than that was just incomprehensible anymore. Finn would look at this, and he'd make himself come, and he'd never know. He'd never have any idea.
Kurt rubbed almost viciously hard over the head of his cock. His spit had mostly dried, but he was so close now that he was leaking steadily, drop after drop of precome pearling beneath his fingertips. Everything had vanished from his mind but that single image of Finn bent over the magazine and jerking off just like this, feeling just this way. Staring right where Kurt was touching as though Kurt's fingers were guiding him there, pointing him to the woman's hole stretched tight around that thick cock--pointing Finn toward his orgasm, making him come.
He groaned desperately, shoving the magazine a safe distance away, and then he was coming, nearly doubled over with the force of it. His hips worked mindlessly for what felt like hours as he huddled, tense and trembling all over. At some point--Kurt had no idea why--his eyes locked onto the model's right hand, her small slender fingers and garishly bright fake nails digging into her skin, and that was what he looked at until he was finished. Then he closed his eyes and waited for his breathing to slow, and flipped the magazine shut without another glance.
The sight of his come splashed across Finn's mattress sparked a twist of heat at the base of his spine. Kurt swallowed hard against it and stood, hitching his pants back up, and got a tissue from his bag. He wiped up the mess and started toward the bathroom to flush it before remembering that the water had been turned off; with a grimace, he balled another few tissues around the dirty one and stuck it in his bag, in one of the inside pockets that zipped shut. There'd be a stain on the mattress, of course, but Kurt was pretty sure it was slated to be thrown away soon--and anyway, sixteen-and-some years of use (and apparent abuse) had left it in such a state that another stain would blend right in.
There wasn't much left to pack. Kurt replaced the magazine and taped the box tightly shut. He put it in one of the large packing boxes he'd brought, along with most of the other stuff under the bed, which consisted of several more boxes filled with magazines(non-pornographic), old notebooks, even older toys, and--in one beat-up shoebox that looked ready to come apart at the seams--a bunch of cassette tapes with handwritten labels. They'd probably belonged to Finn's dad, Kurt realized, and felt an entirely different sort of warmth bloom in his chest as he skimmed his hand lightly over the pile of tapes.
It all fit into two boxes with room to spare. Just like he'd done with the others, Kurt labeled each one with FINN'S ROOM in large, neat letters. On the other side of the box with the porn, he drew a thick black X. Then he started carrying them all out to the car.
*
"This one's yours," Kurt said, pointing at the box with the X, as soon as his dad and Carole went inside. Finn glanced at it, already in the process of picking up another, bigger box.
"Okay."
"You should probably take it up to your room now." Kurt tried to imbue his voice with an air of unquestionable authority, because he really didn't want to have to explain to Finn exactly why he shouldn't open this box with his mom or Kurt's dad around.
Naturally, Finn remained oblivious. "Yeah, I'll get to it," he said absently, and shifted his grip on the box he was holding, starting toward the house. Kurt grit his teeth and resigned himself to the inevitable.
"It's the stuff from under your bed," he said pointedly. "All the stuff I found under your bed."
Finn stopped. Then he turned around slowly, a frown creasing his face. "The stuff--oh." He checked back over his shoulder, reddening slightly. "You mean, the porn."
Kurt opened his mouth, closed it again, sighed. "Yes. The porn. I'm assuming you'd prefer to open that particular box in private."
"Well, yeah," Finn said, and flashed him a not-particularly-embarrassed grin. "Thanks, man. I totally forgot that stuff was there."
It hadn't looked very forgotten, Kurt thought and did not say out loud, but his eyebrows shot up without meaning to, and Finn shrugged.
"Artie showed everyone how to find porn online without getting a million viruses last year," he explained. "It's been months since I looked at those things."
"Everyone?" Kurt repeated, knowing he shouldn't encourage this conversation but unable to help it. "Did he hold a seminar?"
"All the guys, I mean. Not that you should feel left out or anything," Finn added quickly, looking concerned--and a little guilty, Kurt realized, feeling slightly hysterical. "I'm sure he'd show you how to find gay stuff if you wanted. He can find, like, any kind of porn ever made. It's actually kind of creepy. Like this one time, Puck asked him to find something with a horse and three chicks, just to see if he could do it? And Artie sent him this video with four--"
"Don't," Kurt said loudly, breaking free of his horrified paralysis, "don't finish that sentence. Please." It was too late, though. He was already thinking about it.
"Sorry," Finn said, not sounding sorry at all. Then his forehead started to wrinkle. "I think it was just to see if he could do it. I'm pretty sure. I..." The face he made would have been hilarious if it had been about absolutely anything else. "Oh, man."
"I'm ending this conversation," Kurt declared. "I'm ending it right now. Go put your porn away before our parents find it."
"Okay," Finn agreed, still grimacing. He picked up the X-marked box. "But dude, for real, thanks. You're a total lifesaver."
"Well, you can owe me one," Kurt said, and felt himself blush white-hot with dizzying suddenness. Hopefully Finn would just assume he was embarrassed from thinking about the horrifying porn choices of all his male acquaintances.
Finn nodded. "Definitely." He walked off across the front lawn, cheerfully ignoring the concrete path. Only after Finn had disappeared through the front door did Kurt allow his burning face to drop into his hands with a strangled whimper.
He owed Finn one. He really, really owed him. If he could ever look him in the face again.
Kurt took a few deep breaths, letting the sensation of the cold air biting at his throat drag him gradually back to sanity. He picked up one of the heavier boxes and headed for the house, entirely and totally calm.
He paused in the doorway before going inside and made himself think about horse porn for a while, though. Just to be safe.
-end-
And then Kurt finds out about Finn's mailman problem and is bitterly, bitterly disappointed.
Anyway, this is not the thing I was talking about earlier. This is just porn. Like, I feel kind of embarrassed to put an actual header on it, because seriously: just porn.
TITLE: Too magical to touch
FANDOM: Glee
RATING: adult
CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS: Kurt, imaginary Finn/Kurt, imaginary Finn/OFC...see the summary, basically.
CONTENT NOTES/WARNINGS: none that I'm aware of; any questions about content are always welcome.
SPOILERS: through 2x10
SIZE: ~3700 words
SUMMARY: Written for this prompt: "Kurt finds Finn's very straight, very filthy porn, and is instantly aroused by the fact that Finn has looked at exactly this, and gotten off to it. Cue Kurt's first experience with using pictures of girls as a masturbation aid." This version is edited a bit from the one posted there.
NOTES:
1. My second [genre]meme fill! These things are so awesome. Hopefully I will not abandon all my actual WIPs with plots and development and stuff to just write these all day. Also hopefully I will not abandon my actual life to just write these all day. We'll see.
2. I seem to be developing a consistent theme of "handjobs while thinking about anal." I am not entirely sure what to do with this tendency.
3. Title is from...oh, screw it, you all know what it's from. Just look at that prompt. I had no choice.
*
Packing up Finn's bedroom wasn't nearly as difficult--or unsanitary--as Kurt might have imagined. Primarily, of course, this was because it hadn't been lived in for weeks. All the unpleasant teenage-boy detritus, like dirty clothes and molding dishes, was absent. Much of it had been relocated to Kurt's bedroom, which seemed to boast a new stain or odor every weekend, and Kurt had only been remaining calm about this by reminding himself that he'd have a brand-new, unsullied room soon. It was in no small part the reason Kurt had volunteered to finish packing Finn's things while Finn and his dad and Carole unpacked the boxes that had already been moved, so they could move in by tonight. (He had also volunteered due to his natural helpfulness and generous spirit.)
The room Kurt was currently engaged in clearing out had some questionable odors of its own, and there was a generally grimy feel to every surface, but nothing Kurt was actually afraid to put his hands on. So in less than an hour, with the aid of one of his favorite "Upbeat Singalong" playlists, Kurt had gotten almost everything packed except for the drum set--which he was leaving for Finn to deal with, since it looked expensive, heavy, and highly droppable--and some boxes under the bed, which only needed to be moved into bigger boxes and presented no challenge.
They did, however, present a surprise, in the form of about a dozen extremely heterosexual, startlingly filthy, and obviously well-handled porno magazines. Kurt jerked his hand away so fast he banged it on the bedframe.
The box had been stacked under another, smaller one, and it wasn't taped shut. The cardboard flaps sprung up as soon as they were freed and waved gently, as if gesturing at their contents: Hello, I'm Finn Hudson's pornography of choice! Come take a look! Clutching his sore wrist, Kurt glared at the box. He was not going to take a look. He didn't even want to. Why would he? It would just be a lot of naked women, having sex either with each other or with men chosen specifically for their complete lack of attractiveness(couldn't be frightening the straight boys with any unexpected urges). Besides which, handling used pornography? That was just disgusting. The pages were probably stuck together. And who even looked at porn in magazines anymore, anyway? Kurt knew Finn knew how to use the internet; he spammed everyone's Facebooks with endless inanities whenever he got bored.
But there they were, in all their thoroughly-creased and exploitative glory, and despite every sane instinct he possessed, Kurt wanted to look at them. He really, really wanted to.
He was over Finn, there was no question about that. He'd been over him for a long time now. That stupid, humiliating crush had died with the Redecorating-and-Hate-Speech incident--but really, Kurt had realized in the weeks afterward, it had been withering for a while even before that, as Kurt had gotten to know Finn as an actual person and then, tentatively, as a friend. He'd clung all the more fiercely to what shreds of feeling had been left, because for a very long time, dreaming about Finn's inevitable coming-around had been the one and only good thing Kurt could count on in his life, and it had been hard to let go. But he had, and it was over, and Kurt didn't think about Finn that way anymore. They were brothers now, and they were starting to be easy together in a way Kurt had never expected, and wouldn't have thought to dream of back when brotherhood was the last thing he'd wanted from Finn.
The porn, though. The porn was like a giant, flashing neon sign, reading FINN JERKS OFF TO THIS (and below, in slightly smaller letters, RIGHT HERE IN THIS BED). Kurt might not be in love with Finn anymore, but he was still gay. And he was still seventeen, and Finn was still ridiculously good-looking--and as long as Kurt was admitting things to himself, he was also getting really tired of frantically jerking off to his imaginary borderline-nympho version of Blaine while being constantly, politely denied by the real thing day after day, no matter how many embarrassingly blatant signals he tried to send. At this point, rubbing one out to thoughts of his former-crush-and-reformed-homophobe-turned-stepbrother sounded like a refreshing vacation.
Everyone would be busy at the new house for hours, still, but Kurt closed and locked the bedroom door anyway. He pulled the box the rest of the way out from under the bed, and his hand hovered over it for a minute. It didn't matter which one he chose, of course, since the content of the magazines themselves didn't remotely interest him. But there was a danger, Kurt realized, that he might learn something far more specific about Finn's preferences than he really cared to know. Kurt had spent his fair share of time looking at internet porn (and possibly Finn's fair share of time as well, and several other people's, because being the only out gay teen at his school, and for all he knew in his whole town, was kind of frustrating sometimes), and he'd seen enough to be wary of the possibilities. A quick flip through the covers, however, revealed nothing more bizarre than some gangbangs and a general fixation with anal.
Kurt's hands tightened on the magazine he was holding as he felt himself get suddenly, uncomfortably hard. A rush of heat spread over his face, and he stared at the cover, only half-seeing the woman with her fingers spreading her cheeks apart as she gazed back over her shoulder at him, his cutting reflections on the rampant misogyny of the straight male porn industry dying quietly before they had a chance to form.
Did Finn like that? Kurt was certain he'd never done it--Santana would never have let him, and if Finn had managed to sleep with anybody else, everyone would already know about it--but did he like thinking about it? He had to, Kurt decided, or he wouldn't have kept these; they wouldn't get him off. Finn must have jerked off to this exact picture, or at least been turned on by it. Without really thinking, Kurt traced his fingers reverently across the glossy surface. Finn had looked at this, holding it with one hand and the other wrapped around his cock--or maybe just pressing himself through his jeans, since it was only the cover. Maybe he liked to take his time, tease himself a little and build it up, turning the pages until he couldn't wait anymore and he had to get his jeans open and take himself in hand, he had to--
"Oh, fuck," Kurt breathed, and fumbled his pants open as he lunged for the bed. He kneeled on the bare mattress and wrapped a hand around his cock, squeezing a little too hard and trying not to think about anything.
If he was going to relapse after nine months of being virtuous and jerk off to thoughts of Finn while staring at pictures of naked women, he at least wanted it to last.
After a few more deep breaths, the immediate danger passed, and Kurt loosened his grip a little. The magazine had fallen open to a two page spread near the back. The photo showed a woman and a man, of course, and the shot centered on her(also no surprise). She was bent over some mysterious prop that looked sort of like a half-size pommel horse, her face contorted into an expression that was clearly supposed to denote unbearable delight. Behind her, the man was fucking her in the ass, but they were maintaining that uncomfortable-looking distance between their bodies that Kurt recognized from his own porn. It was the space left for the camera, to make sure the viewers could clearly see the penetration happening.
Kurt could see it quite clearly. So could Finn, when he looked at this--and judging by the magazine's condition and the deep crease in the spine, he looked at it plenty. Probably this page was one of his favorites.
Kurt felt a shiver of heat run up his spine, and he bit his lip, his hand starting to move on his cock without any conscious intention. His eyes skated over the woman in the photo, trying to figure out which parts Finn liked best. Her predictably enormous breasts, of course, Finn would like those, but that probably wasn't too important to him--he had the hots for Rachel, after all, who had precious little to offer in that department. Definitely not her face, because Kurt would never be able to successfully jerk off to a guy who found porn face genuinely sexy.
Inevitably, his gaze landed on her ass. That was clearly the draw here; there wasn't much else distinct about the model, except a certain soft chubbiness that Kurt actually found intriguing. His own exposure to naked (or mostly-naked) women was largely limited to arty photo shoots in fashion magazines and the ubiquitous array of Maxim-type magazine covers on supermarket newsstands. Those women were never soft.
But clearly the sex act was the main attraction here: the woman's ass, held open by her delicate fingers, and the man's bigger hands digging into her hips, and his (frankly implausible) cock pushing inside her, latex-covered and glistening with lubricant. That's what Finn would look at, sitting on this bed, right where Kurt was now. He'd stare at her ass stretched around his cock--not the man's cock, Finn would be imagining it was himself in there, his own hands on those soft hips. He'd stare and imagine and stroke his erection, and how would he do it? Go slow at first, maybe--Kurt forced himself to slow his own pace--long lazy strokes, root to tip, not quite satisfying. He'd imagine standing behind her, rubbing his hands over her ass and squeezing. Dragging the tip of his cock over her vulva--though that wasn't the word Finn would think, of course. He'd think pussy or maybe even cunt, and he'd stare at it in the photo, the bare pink folds peeking open just a little. He wouldn't fuck her there, though, just tease her for a moment before moving up to where he really wanted to be.
He'd be stroking himself faster, now, his breath speeding up, twisting his palm over the tip at the top of each upstroke. No, Kurt decided--and he was faintly aware that this entire thought process was insane, but that seemed very unimportant--no, Finn would do it differently, not the way Kurt liked it. He'd be more sensitive, his grip a little bit looser.
Kurt dialed his own grip back somewhat. A sudden, shocking burst of arousal slammed him hard as he did it, despite the reduced stimulation, and he let out a low moan, the sound bringing a fresh wave of heat to his face. Finn would jerk off just like this, he thought, and glanced at his own hand, dizzily imagining it bigger. Finn would stroke himself and look at this picture and think about spreading her tight hole with his thumbs, nudging the head of his cock past her entrance--and Kurt had spent enough time picturing himself on the other end of this act that despite his mounting urgency, he hastily imagined Finn slicking up his fingers and stretching her first, because: ow. Of course, that image was pretty distracting in itself, and Kurt had to remind himself, with a painfully tight squeeze of his cock, that he was not going to imagine Finn doing that to him instead.
That would be just too far, that was all. Kurt was done with all that, had to be--and he was sure that if he gave in, Finn would know. Somehow he'd look at Kurt and he'd just know Kurt had been imagining his fingers, thick and callused and a little clumsy, slippery wet and pushing inside just a bit too fast, making him whimper and tighten around the sudden stretch. The noise would make Finn stop, make him ask if Kurt was okay and Kurt would have to tell him, yes, keep going, don't stop--
Kurt squeezed himself so hard his eyes began to water, and bit his lip. He couldn't do this. He absolutely could not do this, and what he really needed to do was just stop, put the magazine back in its box and pull his pants up and play his usual mental reel of particularly vivid roadkill memories until he was back in his right mind again.
Of course, if he was strong enough to do any of that, he'd never have picked up the porn in the first place. But he did force himself to focus on the photograph again.
Finn would think about fucking that woman. He'd imagine his cock sliding deeper, imagine her ass so unbelievably tight and hot around him as he worked his way in, and his breath would hitch just the way Kurt's was doing right now. He'd want to go faster--he'd lick his palm, sloppy and wet as he could get it(Kurt groaned shakily against his own hand), and start to stroke himself firmly, giving up the tease.
He'd imagine the sounds she'd make as he fucked her, the breathy moans and purrs each thrust would force from her mouth. Finn would want that, he'd want to know that she was enjoying it, that he was doing it right. Probably he'd imagine some ridiculous porn dialogue too, because he wouldn't know any better: Oh Finn, I love your big cock in my ass, I love it when you fuck me hard, that feminine voice keening out endless dirty praise and begging him for more. He'd give it to her, he'd thrust up into his fist and moan low in his throat, trying to keep himself quiet but failing utterly.
Alone in the empty house, Kurt didn't even bother trying. The noises that spilled out of him should have been embarrassing, grunting little uh uh uh sounds with every jerk of his hips, but even as they slid higher and higher Kurt could only hear them in Finn's voice. That was how he'd sound, that was how he sounded all the time. Sitting or kneeling or lying right here and looking at this picture, a thousand times before and maybe--oh fuck maybe a thousand times again, in his new bed, after unpacking that last box and taking out his favorite magazine, turning to his favorite page.
Kurt's free hand shook wildly as he dragged it across the picture. He felt his chest grow tighter as his other hand worked frantically, and his vision seemed to dim around the edges, narrowing to the glossy pages spread out in front of him. Finn would look at this: that was all Kurt could think, over and over, like any idea more complex than that was just incomprehensible anymore. Finn would look at this, and he'd make himself come, and he'd never know. He'd never have any idea.
Kurt rubbed almost viciously hard over the head of his cock. His spit had mostly dried, but he was so close now that he was leaking steadily, drop after drop of precome pearling beneath his fingertips. Everything had vanished from his mind but that single image of Finn bent over the magazine and jerking off just like this, feeling just this way. Staring right where Kurt was touching as though Kurt's fingers were guiding him there, pointing him to the woman's hole stretched tight around that thick cock--pointing Finn toward his orgasm, making him come.
He groaned desperately, shoving the magazine a safe distance away, and then he was coming, nearly doubled over with the force of it. His hips worked mindlessly for what felt like hours as he huddled, tense and trembling all over. At some point--Kurt had no idea why--his eyes locked onto the model's right hand, her small slender fingers and garishly bright fake nails digging into her skin, and that was what he looked at until he was finished. Then he closed his eyes and waited for his breathing to slow, and flipped the magazine shut without another glance.
The sight of his come splashed across Finn's mattress sparked a twist of heat at the base of his spine. Kurt swallowed hard against it and stood, hitching his pants back up, and got a tissue from his bag. He wiped up the mess and started toward the bathroom to flush it before remembering that the water had been turned off; with a grimace, he balled another few tissues around the dirty one and stuck it in his bag, in one of the inside pockets that zipped shut. There'd be a stain on the mattress, of course, but Kurt was pretty sure it was slated to be thrown away soon--and anyway, sixteen-and-some years of use (and apparent abuse) had left it in such a state that another stain would blend right in.
There wasn't much left to pack. Kurt replaced the magazine and taped the box tightly shut. He put it in one of the large packing boxes he'd brought, along with most of the other stuff under the bed, which consisted of several more boxes filled with magazines(non-pornographic), old notebooks, even older toys, and--in one beat-up shoebox that looked ready to come apart at the seams--a bunch of cassette tapes with handwritten labels. They'd probably belonged to Finn's dad, Kurt realized, and felt an entirely different sort of warmth bloom in his chest as he skimmed his hand lightly over the pile of tapes.
It all fit into two boxes with room to spare. Just like he'd done with the others, Kurt labeled each one with FINN'S ROOM in large, neat letters. On the other side of the box with the porn, he drew a thick black X. Then he started carrying them all out to the car.
*
"This one's yours," Kurt said, pointing at the box with the X, as soon as his dad and Carole went inside. Finn glanced at it, already in the process of picking up another, bigger box.
"Okay."
"You should probably take it up to your room now." Kurt tried to imbue his voice with an air of unquestionable authority, because he really didn't want to have to explain to Finn exactly why he shouldn't open this box with his mom or Kurt's dad around.
Naturally, Finn remained oblivious. "Yeah, I'll get to it," he said absently, and shifted his grip on the box he was holding, starting toward the house. Kurt grit his teeth and resigned himself to the inevitable.
"It's the stuff from under your bed," he said pointedly. "All the stuff I found under your bed."
Finn stopped. Then he turned around slowly, a frown creasing his face. "The stuff--oh." He checked back over his shoulder, reddening slightly. "You mean, the porn."
Kurt opened his mouth, closed it again, sighed. "Yes. The porn. I'm assuming you'd prefer to open that particular box in private."
"Well, yeah," Finn said, and flashed him a not-particularly-embarrassed grin. "Thanks, man. I totally forgot that stuff was there."
It hadn't looked very forgotten, Kurt thought and did not say out loud, but his eyebrows shot up without meaning to, and Finn shrugged.
"Artie showed everyone how to find porn online without getting a million viruses last year," he explained. "It's been months since I looked at those things."
"Everyone?" Kurt repeated, knowing he shouldn't encourage this conversation but unable to help it. "Did he hold a seminar?"
"All the guys, I mean. Not that you should feel left out or anything," Finn added quickly, looking concerned--and a little guilty, Kurt realized, feeling slightly hysterical. "I'm sure he'd show you how to find gay stuff if you wanted. He can find, like, any kind of porn ever made. It's actually kind of creepy. Like this one time, Puck asked him to find something with a horse and three chicks, just to see if he could do it? And Artie sent him this video with four--"
"Don't," Kurt said loudly, breaking free of his horrified paralysis, "don't finish that sentence. Please." It was too late, though. He was already thinking about it.
"Sorry," Finn said, not sounding sorry at all. Then his forehead started to wrinkle. "I think it was just to see if he could do it. I'm pretty sure. I..." The face he made would have been hilarious if it had been about absolutely anything else. "Oh, man."
"I'm ending this conversation," Kurt declared. "I'm ending it right now. Go put your porn away before our parents find it."
"Okay," Finn agreed, still grimacing. He picked up the X-marked box. "But dude, for real, thanks. You're a total lifesaver."
"Well, you can owe me one," Kurt said, and felt himself blush white-hot with dizzying suddenness. Hopefully Finn would just assume he was embarrassed from thinking about the horrifying porn choices of all his male acquaintances.
Finn nodded. "Definitely." He walked off across the front lawn, cheerfully ignoring the concrete path. Only after Finn had disappeared through the front door did Kurt allow his burning face to drop into his hands with a strangled whimper.
He owed Finn one. He really, really owed him. If he could ever look him in the face again.
Kurt took a few deep breaths, letting the sensation of the cold air biting at his throat drag him gradually back to sanity. He picked up one of the heavier boxes and headed for the house, entirely and totally calm.
He paused in the doorway before going inside and made himself think about horse porn for a while, though. Just to be safe.
-end-
And then Kurt finds out about Finn's mailman problem and is bitterly, bitterly disappointed.