Stop stealing my LJ! (auchic) wrote,
Stop stealing my LJ!

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oh my god you guys are you getting annoyed?

Title: There’s No Secrets This Year
Rating: NC-17
Pairings/Characters: Puck/Finn
Warnings: D/s thing going on
Word count: 1275
Disclaimer: This Glee fanfiction is based upon the television show of the same name. All characters and situations other than my own are sole property of Ryan Murphy Productions and 20th Century Fox Television.
Summary: It’s not about him.
A/N: Woo, this was fun to write. Thanks so much to my girl B, for being the light and inspiration through this whole thing. You rock my socks off. To bluejbird , I hope this is something near to what you wanted. Writing Finn in green silk lingerie was definitely hot. Title and lyrics from the Silversun Pickups song by the same name, which is also not mine.

so your heart’s blown open
pulsating in your ear
the beat is insincere
i’ll tell you a secret
let’s make this perfectly clear
there’s no secrets this year

It’s emerald green silk, except he can’t tell the difference and it just looks like green to him. Black lace around the collar, along the legs and waistband. He thought would be itchy but it’s not. It’s really, really soft, almost as good as the silk itself. He always wondered how girls could wear panties like this, tight and binding and uncomfortable. But he now he understands.

He could live in things like these.

It’s hot out, even though it’s late, the kind of heat that sticks to your skin, and the silk sticks with it. He can feel the sweat running down his neck, but he’s not quite sure if it’s from the heat or his nerves. He thinks it’s the heat, because he’s not nervous. Really, he’s not.

It’s dark in his room, only the bedside lamp on, throwing shadows everywhere. He can just barely see himself in the mirror, out of the corner of his eye. He wants to turn so he can look at himself.

But he can’t. Not yet.

He can hear footsteps on the stairs and he feels the breath catch in his throat. Combined with the heat, the breathlessness makes him lightheaded. He clenches his fists tight, so his nails dig into his palms, grounding him (breathe idiot, breathe). He can feel his skin heating, arousal curling low in his belly.

He closes his eyes and waits. (Oh God, oh God. This is it). The door creaks open.

“Hey,” Puck’s voice is husky. “Hey, I – what the fuck? Fi-”

“Hey,” he cuts Puck off. “It’s pretty hot out, huh?”

“What is this?” Puck’s suddenly quiet and Finn has to strain to hear him. “What the fuck do you have on? Is that…?”

He still hasn’t turned around yet, but the way Puck’s voice stays husky and dark is hot and cold at the same time. “What do you think? Do you like it?”

“Do you?” Finn grows hard at Puck’s words, feeling silk pull ever so gently against his cock. It’s the best kind of torture. “You do, don’t you, Finn.”

He shudders and turns finally, keeping his hands at his sides to stop from tugging at the soft material. Puck is standing there, jeans and wifebeater, shadowed eyes and a sneer on his lips. Finn feels a thrill of excitement, of nervousness, and he fights to hide it, biting his lip to keep from smiling. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah I do.”

Puck steps further into the room, and Finn can see his eyes flashing. “Yeah, you do,” he spits out. His hands drop to his jean fly. “Yeah, you do. Of course you do. You’re such a fucking girl. I’m not surprised that you like this pretty fancy shit.” He shoves aside his pants and boxers. “But you forget, babe, that tonight isn’t about you. So get down on your knees.”

It’s like this all the time, and it has been since they started. Finn knows it’s weird that Puck bossing him around gets him hard, but it does. He drops to his knees, his hands tug at Puck’s pants, pulling out his cock, already half hard and hot.

Finn’s sloppy at giving blowjobs – he sucks on the head, stroking the shaft – but he’s better than before. Practice makes perfect, like with singing or football or Spanish class. Puck lets him practice a lot. Finn’s really good at making Puck moan and swear, but he was even good at that when all they did was jerk off.

Sucking cock is only Finn’s job, not Puck’s. Just like getting fucked, just like doing everything Puck says. Buying silk lingerie is not Finn’s job, not at all. Finn would need Puck’s permission to do something like wear it, but silky things are not Puck’s thing, they’re Finn’s. And tonight isn’t about Finn. It’s only ever about Puck.

Puck is breathing hard now, and Finn’s straining against his panties. He really wants to touch himself, but he won’t, not yet. Finn opens his mouth wider, uses his tongue to lick Puck’s cock, make it twitch. “Oh yeah, that’s good,” Puck pants. “I’m gonna fuck you.” He shoves Finn’s head away. “Get yourself ready.” Finn goes to take his silk things off, and Puck slaps his hands down. “Leave it on, since you like it so much.”

Finn gets up, sits on the bed, reaching for the lube in the drawer. He slicks up his fingers, the feel of the lube reminds him of when they’d first started whatever they are. Hot and sticky, jerking each other off at night. Each night. He pulls his knees up so he can reach down under his panties, his fingers slipping behind his balls. Teasing himself.

Puck is staring at him, not stripping away his own clothes, stroking himself. “You think you look hot, don’t you?” he sneers.

“Yeah,” Finn moans, sliding a finger into his ass.

“You want it to be something, don’t you? You want all that stupid girl shit. But this isn’t anything, Finn. This isn’t about you.”

“No,” Finn’s ready, so ready. He brings his other hand around to stroke himself. “This is all about you.”

“Turn around.” Puck’s voice is wavering a little now, but still hard and hot. “Turn and spread your legs.”

He does. He’s so hot, sweat making the top cling to his skin, his face buried into his pillow. He can feel Puck’s hand on his ass, pulling aside the elastic. It tightens in the crease of his thigh and it hurts, pinching and pulling. Then the head of Puck’s cock is against his hole, pressing, and it burns, hurts worse than the elastic, and doesn’t at the same time.

He thinks he likes that it hurts, even if he’s not supposed to.

Puck’s moaning again, and Finn wishes he could turn himself over, on his back and watch. But he’d like that, so much. He gets off, because he can’t help but get off, but he wants more, he does. Puck is right, he’s so girly, so strange to like this fucked up arrangement.

That’s why he bought the panties, the top.

Finn’s ass is stretched, and he can’t help it, reaches around and grabs his own dick. He wonders what sweat and come does to silk and he’ll find out later. But for now he strokes himself hard, hard so he can maybe come before Puck does, so that he doesn’t have to wait until after, because sometimes Puck lets him get off, but most times he doesn’t.

They’re both groaning, panting, and the heat is too much for Finn, the heat and the fucking and his hand on silk, on his cock. He comes hard enough he can’t breathe or feel or anything for a few seconds. His knees are weak and with one last shove he feels and hears Puck finish. It’s almost like everything stops for a minute, and then Finn’s knees wobble and give out as Puck falls heavily on him.

They lay there, waiting until their breath comes back. Finn could fall asleep like this, messy and wet and crushed under his best friend, but he won’t. Because Puck won’t like that. A few more seconds and then Puck’s getting up. Finn hisses as the cock slides out of his ass. He won’t move though. He’ll lay there, sweaty and sticky and sated and somehow not. He listens to Puck cleaning up, adjusting himself and zipping up, getting it all back together again.

Maybe he’ll move later. Just…not now.

“Don’t do this shit again,” Puck says, his voice quiet again. “Next time, I won’t put up with this, okay. And you know why.”

“Yeah,” Finn answers, just as quiet. “It’s not about me.”

“Yeah,” Puck repeats. “Yeah.”

The door clicks closed behind him, and Finn smiles. He turns his head so he can look at himself in the mirror. He’s sprawled out on the bed, sweaty and disheveled and still panting slightly. He can see where the silk has been stained, ruined. Maybe next time he can convince Puck to let him bring the mirror closer. He’s always wanted to watch.

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