"You're the Inspiration"

[This is absolutely my first fanfiction ever. At all. In the history of the world. So if you have advice, please, please give it. I'm working on the second chapter currently, and I'll upload it if this isn't deemed "totally worthless" by anyone who reads it. :D ]

I guess I'd known all along that Blaine and I weren't right for each other. I mean, after getting wasted off of his ass and sucking face with Rachel RIGHT in front of me, it was pretty apparent that he wasn't out to impress.

I mean really, why did I think that Blaine would like me in the first place? He could have his pick of almost the entire student body at Dalton. That, and it's pretty apparent I'm not his type. He prefers shaggy-haired men stuck in depressing, dead-end retail jobs that wear ugly knit sweaters with buttons in awkward places.

(That, and his eyebrows always pissed me off. They're just not cute enough to live on his face. He should pull a Mona Lisa and just shave them off. Seriously.)

I am so through with Blaine.

Of course, the wonderful side-effect of this realization is the fact that I'm now re-obsessing over Finn.

I think it's actually gotten worse.

I'm the kind of person who needs to be in love. I need to have a crush at all times, or I shut down. Patty LuPone would be so disappointed in me. I guess it serves as an inspiration for my singing.

And now that damned Chicago song is stuck in my head.

I was, again, dangerously obsessed with my step-brother, the completely straight Finn Hudson.

I think the fact that I was basically Alex Forrest in "Fatal Attraction" finally sunk in when I stole Finn's pet rabbit and cooked it on the stove to prove that I still loved him. Kidding. Actually, it hit me when I snuck into Finn's room one fine afternoon. I had given myself the excuse that I was returning a CD that I had borrowed, but really, I was just planning on going through his drawers.

It was immediately apparent that Finn was lacking in any sort of organizational ability. Or fashion sense. But that latter bit was ALWAYS painfully apparent.

I used all of my willpower not to spend TOO much time rifling through his underwear drawer, because that made even me feel creepy. I used the rest of my willpower convincing myself that stealing a pair of Finn's underwear was a REALLY bad idea. Besides, I wanted to take something that I could actually wear, and there was no way in hell his waist and mine were even remotely the same size. Thank god.

I mean, Finn totally rocks the fit with a twinge of baby fat look, it makes him adorable and hopelessly sexy at the same time.

I found an old grey t-shirt in one of his drawers that I'd seen him wear once or twice. I think he'd put it away dirty, and it smelled just like him, so I tucked it under my arm. Under it, was a stack of papers; old tests and homework from the looks of it. And the corner of a photograph. I sifted it out of the pile and looked at it. It was a picture of Finn and I, taken at Christmas. He had tinsel wrapped around his neck like a boa, and he had just stuck a bow on my nose. I remembered trying to glower at the camera as the photo was snapped, but it was pretty obvious that I wasn't actually all that pissed off.

All of a sudden the picture was blurry, and it slipped out of my fingers back into the drawer as I blinked back tears. God. I really loved him.

I shut the drawer and stumbled out of the room. Back in my own bedroom, I threw myself on my bed and tried to stem the flow of tears. I thought of things that made me happy, but most of those things involved Finn, and then I was gone. Crying like I'd never cried before. And to my great displeasure, there was a tap at my door.

"Kurt? It's Finn. Can you help me with my Alge-" Finn had cracked the door open and poked his head in. "Kurt, dude, are you okay?"

I choked back a watery chuckle. "Yea." And then to my utter horror, he sat down on the edge of my bed. I probably looked like absolute hell. You know what they say. Crying is the refuge of plain boys and the ruin of pretty ones. Or something like that.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Oh yes. I would love to. Well, Finn, most of the time I want to fuck you senseless every time you do something cute. Like sneeze. Or exist. The rest of the time I want you to fuck me senseless.

"I don't know, Finn, there's not much to talk about."

"If this is about that Blaine kid… I'll rip his dick off if he hurt you."

My mind eliminated most of the sentence and zoomed in on the fact that Finn had talked about touching another guy's dick while sitting on my bed. And just like that, I was hard. Insanely hard. And crying. That was such an odd combination. Sensory overload.

"Thanks, Finn, sweetie. But it's not about Blaine. He and I are still just friends." I shifted slightly, because my erection was stabbing painfully into the mattress.

Finn's child's mind went into overdrive. "But, is it about that then?"

He'd lost me. "Huh?"

He looked so sexy as his mind pieced this next sentence together. "Is it about you wanting to be more than friends with Blaine." He looked proud of his accomplishment as he finished the sentence.

"Oh, Finn. That's very sensitive of you, but actually, between you and me," I tried to smile at him, "I think I could do better."

"Good for you. Go get 'em… Are tiger stripes in this season?"

I think I actually snorted. Finn Hudson had just made a fashion joke. "Yes. They had some stuff in Vogue… didn't you need help with math?"

"Yes please."

And to my utter shock, Finn threw his book open on the pillow next to me, and lay down on my bed. He must have seen my face, because he said: "Come on. We're brothers. This isn't weird."

NO. IT'S NOT WEIRD. IT'S JUST REMINDING ME ABOUT FIFTEEN OF MY KINKY "TUTOR SESSION GOES TOO FAR" FINN FANTASIES.

He tousled my hair, and I gave him my best petulant look. "Now, factorials aren't that hard, all you do is…"

That night, as I lay in bed wearing only Finn's grey t-shirt, I thought about how full and perfect my bed had been that afternoon. And what I wouldn't give to have it that way again.

I must have drifted off to sleep, because I awoke some time later to the sound of breaking glass. Instantly, I was on my feet, and running downstairs, not caring that I wasn't wearing anything vaguely resembling pants. Dad and Carole were already in the living room staring at the newly shattered bay window. Someone had quite clearly thrown a rock through it.

"What the hell?" Finn had appeared on the stairs wearing only a pair of white and blue checked boxers. I chuckled to myself. Combine our wardrobe, and you'd have what a normal person wore to bed. The living room was cold, with the night air seeping through the window, and Finn's nipples were hard. I swallowed.

Dad stomped outside to inspect the damage further and we heard a string of expletives through the open door.

Carole followed him out, and I followed her.

In tall, red, angry letters, someone had scrawled "Faggot" on the siding next to the window. I didn't have enough time to process this, because just then a gust of wind lifted the back of my…er…Finn's t-shirt. I turned around, and there was Finn, with an expression on his face that clearly said "I just saw your ass."

Dad interrupted what had to have been the most mortifying moment of my life with "Kurt, Carole, Finn, go ahead back inside. I'll tape some cardboard over the window and call the police."

"I'm sorry, Dad," I blurted. I felt like this was all my fault, but the sentiment was buried under a chorus of "Kurt, honey, your dad doesn't blame you," "Dude, you didn't do anything," and "It's not your fault."

Finn put his arm around my shoulder, and one of his bare legs brushed one of mine. And suddenly, there I was again, crying. God, I wanted him so badly, loved him so much, and he was never going to be mine. Carole was descending with a comforting look in her eye, but Finn said, "I got it, Mom. You can get some sleep. You have to work in the morning."

Somehow, Finn got me to my room, sat me on my bed, and pulled up a chair next to me.

"Kurt. I know that even seeing that word, let alone spray painted on your house, has to hurt you so much. And I'm so, so sorry. But what people in this town think doesn't -"

He broke off, and I glanced up. He was staring the bit of my thigh that was exposed under the t-shirt. I pulled down the hem, and fidgeted, embarrassed.

"Sorry. I know this must be your t-shirt. It was in my pile of laundry and I didn't notice-"

"No, it's not that. That's okay. It's just… you have really nice legs. Muscular, but still curvy, like Quinn's."

"Oh. Um. Finn. That's nice of you. It must be from all the dance I do…" I laughed nervously, and felt a blush heat my face.

"You okay, then, dude?"

"Yea. Thanks."

"Alright." He clapped me on the shoulder, and I fell backwards onto the mattress a bit. Pretty sure Finn glanced down at my legs again as the t-shit rode higher up my thighs. He locked eyes with me, then, and for once, I couldn't read his expression.

And then he was gone.