Fic: And Then to Finish We'll Snuggle (Glee, Finn/Puck)
Title: And Then to Finish We’ll Snuggle
Pairing: Finn/Puck
Rating: R
Word Count: ~5000
Summary: They spend every Christmas Eve together, but this year things have changed.
Author’s Notes: Written for une_fille in the Finn/Puck Holiday Exchange. Originally posted here. Many thanks to my wonderful beta, mintyfiend. Title from Elf.
“I gotta go, I’m late!” Finn calls, tugging on his jacket and winding his scarf around his neck.
“Do you have to?” his mom asks, appearing in his bedroom doorway. She watches him pull on his gloves with a slightly disapproving frown that’s giving Finn a mild case of guilt.
“Mo-om,” Finn complains. “I told you. It’s tradition. We do this every year.”
Carole nods. “I know, hon, but this year things are different. This family is more than just you and me now.”
Finn fumbles in his pocket for his hat, coming up empty handed. His mom stands aside to let him pass. He jogs downstairs to the lounge, where he grabs his hat off the table.
“We all want you to stay,” his mom tries again, trailing behind him.
Kurt looks up from the last of the Christmas stockings he’s been painstakingly needlepointing. ‘Carole’ and ‘Burt’ are already hanging over the fireplace, and he’s just putting the finishing touches on the last ‘n’ of Finn’s name, stitched neatly in gold thread.
“I made eggnog!” he announces, giving Finn the same wheedling look they’ve all been giving him to convince him to stay.
Beside him on the couch, Burt perks up. “You did?” he asks hopefully.
Finn can’t blame him. Burt isn’t exactly out of the woods yet and it means that Kurt has them all on some super healthy, super un-tasty diet. It took all three of them to convince Kurt that tofurkey wasn’t an acceptable Christmas Day food.
“It’s virgin, of course,” Kurt explains. “And made with soy. But it’s just like eggnog. It’s soynog!”
Burt makes a face and turns to Finn. “Have a good night, kid,” he says, then shifts to the side so he can pull his wallet from his pocket. “Here,” he adds, shoving some crumpled bills into Finn’s hand. “Enjoy yourself.”
Burt adds a wink as he accepts a glass of the fake eggnog from Kurt and Finn grins back. He glances at his mom, expecting her to make him give the money back, but instead she nods approvingly.
“Thanks Burt,” Finn says, sliding the money into his pocket. “Uh, I should go. I’m really late.”
He takes one last glance at everyone- his new family looking incredibly happy like they should be in some sort of magazine photo. A part of him wishes he could stay, but he has somewhere more important to be that he wouldn’t miss for the world.
~~~
His old house is dark and uninviting as he gets out of his mom’s car. He’s late enough that he’d have expected Puck to be there by now, letting himself in with the key he’s not supposed to have. But the door is locked tight and Finn fumbles in his pocket for his own key. His fingers are numb and slip off the cold metal as he tries to grip it and it makes him start to worry that Puck isn’t going to show up.
It’s not that Puck is late- being on time is for losers with nothing better to do, Puck always says- but it’s only then that Finn realises he’d just assumed, hadn’t asked, that they were keeping to their tradition. Especially after last year, when he’d slammed the door in Puck’s face and sat alone in his bedroom playing classic rock ballads at too loud volumes.
The holidays aren’t exactly Finn’s favourite time of the year. Sure, he likes the snow and the way his mom brings him hot chocolate with marshmallows while he’s in his room doing his homework. And there’s presents and cake and he likes decorating the tree but the holidays have mostly been a kind of lonely time for Finn. For his mom too, which is probably why she’s so intent on having the perfect family Christmas this year, why she’d been disappointed when Finn had said he had other plans.
His mom usually works most of the holidays. There’s a stretch between Thanksgiving and New Year where Finn’s gotten used to not seeing her. She takes whatever shifts are free- and there are always people needing cover around the holidays. Extra shifts have always made a big difference to whether they can get the car fixed, or the roof mended or whatever other unexpected thing pops up in the beginning of the year, needing more money than they can normally afford.
Finn understands. He really does. His mom always feels guilty and he always tries to make sure she doesn’t. He doesn’t mind being on his own, mostly, except for Christmas Eve.
His mom always works then, coming home just in time for Finn to wake up and open his presents. Finn doesn’t know why that night, in particular, is so lonely but it is. And ever since he was ten and admitted to Puck how boring it was to sit alone at home and wait for Christmas morning, Puck had stayed the night. Every Christmas Eve they’d eat too much junk food, kick each other’s asses at whatever the latest video game was and watch movies late into the night. It’s fun. And it’s their tradition.
It all means, Finn is pretty sure, that Puck should be here, whether Finn asked him to be or not.
It sparks a tiny flame of anger inside him, and it’s enough fuel to get him back in the car and drive over to Puck’s place.
Puck looks genuinely surprised when he opens the door to find Finn standing on his doorstep.
“Hey!” he says. “What’re you doing here?”
Finn frowns. “What’re you doing here?” he echoes. “You’re supposed to be at my place.”
Puck stares at him for a long moment before realisation hits. “Christmas Eve,” he says dully. “Right.”
Finn expects Puck to slap his hand to his forehead comically and apologise for forgetting, but instead there’s an awkward silence.
“I thought we had plans,” Finn says.
“I thought you’d be spending tonight with your new family,” Puck says back.
Finn isn’t sure what to say to that, doesn’t know how to tell Puck that Puck is his family. It’s what keeps pulling them back together despite everything that happens between them. But he doesn’t want to sound like some loser who’s been pining for his best friend’s company or anything so he just shrugs, and thinks about how Puck sounds kind of jealous.
“It’s a tradition,” Finn reminds him. “It’s our tradition.”
Puck snorts. “I thought our new tradition was you telling me to leave you the hell alone and then slamming the door in my face.”
Finn shuffles his feet and then sighs. “I’m sorry,” he says eventually and Puck looks sceptical but opens the door wider so Finn can step inside, out of the cold.
“I was waiting for you at home,” Finn says.
“I thought you had a new home now.”
Finn nods. “I do. But my old place is empty. It’s going to be the last time we get to do this there. I thought we could do what we always used to do.”
“Ever think of asking?” Puck asks. “I could have plans. Important plans. That are more important than hanging out with you.”
“Oh,” Finn says, looking down at the floor, and making a face. “Do you?”
He looks up as Puck opens his mouth and then closes it again. Puck shakes his head.
Finn smiles.
“Do you maybe want to hang out?” Finn asks, hopefully. “Like old times?”
Puck hesitates then nods. “Yeah,” he says, once, gruffly. “Lemme grab some stuff.”
Finn stays by the front door while Puck runs upstairs. He accepts a cookie from Mrs Puckerman and declines a glass of milk to go with it, and makes faces at Puck’s sister when she peeks at him through the doorway and giggles.
A few minutes later Puck thunders down the stairs, a backpack thrown over his shoulder.
He grabs his coat off the hook and yells, “Mom, I’m going out. Be back tomorrow,” and then they’re out the door and heading to the car.
“We could stay here if you wanted,” Finn says, looking back at the well lit, heated house they just left but Puck shakes his head.
“Dude, holiday tradition- we have Christmas movies to watch and you know my mom’ll have an aneurysm if we watch them here.”
Finn grins at him, and Puck grins back and it’s almost like no time has passed at all.
“So, beer and snacks?” he asks, pulling out the money Burt had given him. Puck takes it off him, looking impressed.
“You know how to show a guy a good time,” he says, and they bump fists.
Finn drives them to the 7/11 while Puck sorts through his stack of fake IDs, trying to decide which one is most likely to work tonight. Finn laughs as Puck holds up his selection to get Finn’s approval. None of them look like Puck at all.
The one Puck eventually chooses somehow works though, and half an hour later they pull into Finn’s driveway, two paper bags full of light beer and junk food resting on the backseat.
Puck pulls one out and hands it to Finn, then grabs the other himself, following Finn up to the front door.
Finn fumbles for his keys again, then takes the one Puck presses into his palm. Puck shrugs when Finn raises an eyebrow.
“I guess I just forgot to give it back,” Puck says, but Finn thinks that means something, that Puck kept the key for all that time, even when they weren’t talking.
Finn shoves the key into the lock, and it won’t turn at first. He sighs and tries again and then shrieks as something ice cold presses against the back of his neck. He tries to move away, but the coldness follows him, and he spins around.
“Dude, cut it out!” he complains, and Puck holds up his free hand innocently, as if it hadn’t just made Finn squeal like a little girl.
“Wasn’t me,” Puck protests, smiling that cocky grin that Finn had punched off his face once or twice in the past couple of years.
Finn narrows his eyes and points at Puck. “Not cool. I could’ve dropped the beer.”
“No chance,” Puck laughs. “Like I’d trust you to carry valuables. The most you’d do is squish that chocolate cake you bought.”
Finn carefully resettles how he’s holding the bag- he doesn’t want to ruin that delicious looking cake, after all- and tries the key in the door again, jiggling it until he hears the click of the lock finally opening. He opens the door just as Puck’s hand presses against his neck again and they tumble through the door in a rush- Finn trying to get away from Puck, and Puck trying to keep tormenting him.
Finn shrugs off his jacket and toes off his boots, hurrying to turn the thermostat up while Puck is busy removing his own outside clothes instead of being a pain in the ass. Finn rubs his hands together, and it already feels like the place is warming up. He feels like an idiot for not doing this before going to find Puck and imagines how toasty warm the house could have been instead.
The front hallway is empty when Finn wanders back out, except for the bag of beer, so he glances around downstairs and then bounds upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. He finds Puck in his bedroom, looking around. It’s mostly empty- just a bare desk and a half made bed. Everything else has been moved to the new house, some of it still in boxes.
“Hey,” Finn says, from the doorway and Puck looks over, a little guilty like he’s been caught doing something wrong. It’s a look Finn’s seen on Puck’s face a lot, but just like always it’s replaced with that smug, overconfident look Puck’s always worn as a mask.
“It’s been awhile,” Puck says, still looking around. He walks over to the corner where they’d drawn over the wallpaper, making the cowboys and Indians that had been stuck on Finn’s wall for as long as he could remember do and say rude things.
Finn shrugs. “I guess,” he says, and Puck turns away from their graffiti.
“What’s your new room like?” he asks, a little too casually and Finn realises that maybe it’s weird that he still calls this guy his best friend, enough that they’re still sharing this tradition, enough that he can admit to himself that the reason it was easy to forgive Puck is because he loves him (in a totally bro way, because that’s what they are), but he and Puck haven’t hung out in months.
Finn’s pretty sure the last time they spent time together outside of school was for a Glee Club assignment. No wonder Puck had been surprised that Finn had expected them to keep to their tradition.
“Do you want to hang out in here?” Finn asks and Puck shrugs.
“TV downstairs is bigger, right?”
“Sure,” Finn says with a smirk. “Can’t watch Elf or Miracle on 34th Street on a small screen, right?”
Puck points a threatening finger at him. “Dude!” he protests. “Not cool. We made a pact about you not being a dick about this.”
Finn smiles and gives a half shrug. “It’s not my fault you’re secretly a 12 year old girl,” he teases and Puck shakes his head slowly.
It’s all the warning Finn gets before Puck launches at him, tackling him backwards onto the bed. It creaks with their combined weight as they hit, and Finn is laughing until Puck’s still cold hands make contact with his skin, where his shirt has ridden up in the tussle.
The laughter on his lips is smothered by a gasp as he tries to wriggle away, twisting and turning beneath Puck’s roving hands.
“Stop, stop!” Finn chokes out as Puck’s fingers reach his armpit, then slide away. As they travel down they brush against one of Finn’s nipples and he gasps, freezing in place.
Puck freezes too and they stare at each other.
Finn tries to picture what they’d look like if anyone was to walk in. Two guys, limbs tangled together, on top of a bed. Puck is lying between Finn’s sprawled thighs, belt buckle grazing Finn’s stomach. He has one hand above Finn’s head, wrapped around Finn’s wrist to stop him retaliating while his other hand has stopped barely an inch from Finn’s nipple. Their faces are only a few inches apart and Finn can’t help but think something crazy is about to happen. They’re both breathing heavily and Puck is staring at Finn’s mouth. The last time Finn felt this strange mix of awkwardness and hope was the first time he and Rachel kissed in the auditorium at school.
For an insane moment he wonders if Puck is about to kiss him, and is surprised to discover a tiny ball of disappointment in the pit of his stomach when Puck shoves himself away, using Finn’s chest as leverage and winding him at the same time.
“I’ll go and make the popcorn,” Puck says quickly, and he’s out of Finn’s room before Finn can even sit up.
Finn stares at the door, then down at himself, shirt rucked up to his armpits. He’s really not sure what just happened, but he knows better than to ask Puck for an explanation. Dudes don’t do that, and all it’ll get him is a dick punch and a moody Puck for the rest of the night.
By the time he gets downstairs, shirt back in place, the house is feeling toasty warm and he can smell the buttery popcorn. He wanders into the den and joins Puck on the couch, popcorn between them. Puck’s shoes are off and his feet are resting on the coffee table, beer and remote beside them and there’s a smell of hot pockets coming from the kitchen.
Finn turns and grins at Puck, all weirdness from upstairs forgotten for a minute as he remembers why Puck is his best friend. It’s because of little things like this- that Puck never forgets that Finn enjoys movies best when he’s got a pepperoni hot pocket in his hands, and that he likes to be in charge of the remote to rewind the DVD and rewatch his favourite parts. It means that Puck knows him better than anyone, always has. It means that Finn’s missed this- the two of them hanging out, just like the old days.
The microwave dings and Finn jumps up, hurrying to the kitchen and returning a moment later juggling their food, because hot pockets are called hot for a reason and yet he always seems to forget about it until it’s too late to go back for a plate. He tosses one to Puck and settles down on the couch, pressing play and blowing on the food as the movie starts.
They’re ten minutes in when Finn realises Puck is staring at him instead of at the screen.
“What?” Finn asks, suddenly self conscious.
Puck jumps, like he’s been caught. “You’ve got cheese,” he says, pointing at his chin.
Finn grins sheepishly and wipes the string of cheese away, and they turn back to the movie.
Another couple of minutes pass and Finn cuts his eyes towards Puck as he reaches for some popcorn. Puck’s eyes are fixed on the screen, and his lips are moving slowly, mouthing along to Zooey Whatsherface singing Baby It’s Cold Outside. On screen Buddy chimes in and Puck barks a laugh, glancing in Finn’s direction. He frowns when he sees Finn staring and Finn looks away quickly, laughing too late at the movie.
He stuffs a handful of popcorn into his mouth and wonders what the hell is going on, why he keeps wanting to stare at Puck, why he’d waited breathlessly for Puck to kiss him up in his bedroom. It’s weird. This isn’t how they usually spend Christmas Eve, sneaking looks at each other. It just doesn’t make sense.
But Finn can’t stop thinking about what would have happened if he’d lifted his face to Puck’s earlier, if Puck’s fingers had brushed back over his nipple, if Puck had shifted down a few inches to line up their bodies better.
Finn licks his lips, mouth suddenly dry. He wants to blame the popcorn, to say that it’s too salty, but it’s not. It’s the images that flood into his head.
He wipes his greasy hand on his thigh and turns to Puck, not idea what he’s about to say.
“I-” he starts, but stops when he realises Puck is already looking at him.
There’s a beat. Something happens in the movie that they should probably be laughing at but neither of them look away.
And then, somehow, the popcorn bowl ends up overturned on the floor and Finn and Puck are kissing. Finn doesn’t know which of them moved first, but he doesn’t care.
They lean into each other, lips and tongues sliding together easily. It’s almost like they’d rehearsed this, practiced the choreography beforehand, but it’s something they’ve never done. Sure, maybe Finn had looked over at Puck once or twice when they were kids, talking about what kissing would feel like, and been tempted to suggest they try it out, but he’d never been brave enough.
Now he wonders if Puck had been thinking the same thing.
“Puck,” Finn says, breaking the kiss because he wants to know, needs to know if this is something they could have been doing for years. Puck uses it to his advantage, pushing Finn backwards until he’s leaning back, Puck straddling one thigh as he presses in closer.
“Shut up,” Puck says, and kisses him again. Finn doesn’t argue, just kisses back.
They make out hungrily, taking their time. It takes Finn a few more minutes to work up the courage to slide his hands up and down Puck’s sides. It feels different than with Quinn or Rachel or Santana- none of the curves to sneakily brush his hands over, but there’s a solidness under his palms that Finn finds himself liking. Like Puck isn’t so delicate, like Finn’s big hands won’t accidentally crush him when he tugs Puck in closer.
It makes Finn smile. And then Puck’s hand slides back under Finn’s shirt, fingers dipping just beneath the waistband of Finn’s jeans. Finn moans into Puck’s mouth and it’s like a cue because Puck pulls back.
“You wanna?” he asks.
His eyes are wider than usual, face more open and unguarded. Finn had learnt a long time ago how to see between the cracks in Puck’s mask, to figure out what he was really thinking most of the time, but tonight he doesn’t have to. Puck looks eager and scared and horny, which is exactly how Finn feels.
“Yeah,” Finn says, even though he’s not totally sure what he’s agreeing to. It’s not like he’s all that experienced anyway, and he’s never done anything with a dude before so he’s completely in the dark. He wonders if Puck’s ever fooled around with another guy, and then wonders why the thought bothers him so much.
Puck climbs off Finn and stares at the couch. “There’s no way we’re both fitting on there,” he says, and points upwards. “Your room?”
Finn nods and follows wordlessly, a few steps behind. He tries to figure out if he should be staring at Puck’s ass as they walk up the stairs, now that they’re kind of a little bit gay for each other. It’s something he still does with Rachel if he ends up walking behind her, but it feels weird to be staring at his best friend’s ass like that.
He doesn’t know why, but he closes the door behind him when they’re in his room. No one else is home, but it feels like a private moment anyway. Then he stands with his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched awkwardly.
“What are we going to do?” he starts to ask, but he doesn’t get past the first syllable before Puck interrupts.
“Must be the beer,” Puck says hastily, misreading what Finn’s going to ask. Finn accepts the mistake and the excuse, even though the beer is still sitting untouched, downstairs on the coffee table. Finn gets it though- he doesn’t know how the hell to explain this any other way than that he really missed Puck, had felt cut up inside when he’d realised Puck wasn’t going to show up tonight, to carry on with their Christmas tradition.
“Must be,” Finn agrees, and watches as Puck reaches over his own shoulder to grab the back of his shirt and tug it off. He drops it on the floor and looks over at Finn expectantly.
Finn grasps the hem of his shirt and tugs it up but somewhere along the way it gets stuck over his head. Probably because he’s the biggest idiot in the world and these sort of things only ever seem to happen to him. He hears Puck laugh- it’s his nice laugh, but there’s still a hint of mocking in it which Finn thinks he probably deserves right about now- and then helping hands are freeing him and tossing the shirt away.
“Only you,” Puck says, but there’s fondness in his voice that makes it easy for Finn to laugh at himself.
They’re standing closer now, enough that Finn stares for a moment before looking away when Puck unbuckles his belt and pushes his jeans and boxers down to his ankles, kicking them away.
Finn blushes and does the same, feeling suddenly shy. It’s not like they haven’t seen each other naked before- they’ve been friends since they were five which means the occasional shared bath and hundreds of sleepovers, not to mention in the locker room- but this is different. They’re naked together because they’re going to do naked things together.
Finn’s pretty sure he’s never been this excited or this nervous before in his life, except maybe for the first time he had to sing in front of a big crowd. He really hopes Puck has a plan because he has no idea what to do.
Puck seems to read his mind because he closes the few steps between them, sliding his hand around the back of Finn’s neck and kissing him. Then he walks backwards, pulling Finn with him and trying not to break the kiss. Finn stumbles over his pants, and they both laugh, foreheads pressed together as they chuckle. It makes things easier somehow and they kiss again until Puck’s legs hit against Finn’s bed.
It makes them both jolt, bodies pressing suddenly and unexpectedly together and a shock of electricity runs through Finn at the contact. He gasps and Puck gives him a wary look, like he’s getting ready to pull out the bravado in case Finn freaks out and calls the whole thing off.
And that look helps, somehow, reminding Finn that Puck’s just as weirded out by all of this, wants this just as much. It gives him enough courage to plant his hand in the centre of Puck’s chest and send him tumbling backwards onto the bed.
Puck laughs in surprise and Finn takes a moment to stare at his friend, naked and relaxed with his limbs sprawled. Finn’s hit with a sudden desire, a feeling of want that’s almost overpowering and he wonders if it’s just because it’s Puck, or if it means something else. But he has more important things to worry about, like following Puck onto the bed.
He crawls over Puck, knees brushing as he stares down at him. The bed is hardly bigger than the couch, but it’s better and it’s enough so that when Finn hesitates, unsure what to do, Puck can reach up and grab him, rolling them both so that Puck is lying on top and Finn is suddenly staring up at his ceiling.
Finn wants to protest, but Puck is actually on top of him, skin pressing against skin and it feels so good that Finn isn’t sure he can remember how to form words properly. He can feel Puck’s dick pressing hard against his own and he’s pretty sure that’s the best feeling in the world. And then Puck shifts, sliding up a little and grinding down and Finn changes his mind. Puck does it again and then again and Finn gives up on thinking because each movement feels better than the last.
“Okay?” Puck asks, and Finn nods, licking his lip. He lifts his hand to grab at Puck’s stupid Mohawk and tug him in. Puck’s mouth tastes like tomato sauce and salt when Finn slides his way inside. It’s pleasant and Finn’s in no hurry to leave so he moves his hand down to cup Puck’s neck, his jaw, his cheek to hold him in place.
Puck shifts his body to the side, one leg either side of Finn’s left thigh. It slots their bodies together even closer, and gives Finn the groove between thigh and body to grind up against Puck. Puck grinds back, moving them in an easy rhythm.
It’s something Finn’s done before- with Quinn, with Rachel, but it’s not the same. It’s different with layers of clothing between you, dulling the sensation. Rubbing against sweat slicked flesh is different, and feeling the hardness of Puck’s dick sliding against him only adds to just how amazing it feels. It makes things deep down inside of Finn clench and shudder and he knows it won’t be long, that he can’t possibly hold out.
His free hand slides down Puck’s back, sweeping over the curve of his ass and gripping. It makes Puck jump, pulling back to look down at Finn in surprise. It means that Finn gets to see Puck’s eyes roll back, eyelids fluttering as he comes. Finn’s victorious feeling of outlasting Puck is short lived though, because Puck lowers his head to Finn’s neck and sucks lightly. Finn only has enough time to think about how Puck knows what that does to Finn, that he’d laughed and teased when Finn had complained about Quinn doing that to him too often, that it must mean something that Puck stored that information away. And then he comes too, falling apart under the weight of Puck’s body pressed against his and the hot heat from Puck’s mouth on his skin.
Puck pushes himself up on his elbow and rubs his hand over Finn’s neck. “You’re gonna have a hickey,” he says, and he sounds proud.
Finn glares half-heartedly and nudges Puck away so he can roll to the side for some Kleenex. He cleans himself off and offers the box to Puck who seems amused but copies. They drop the tissues on the floor and then look at each other.
It’s pretty obvious neither of them know what to do. Finn wonders if they’re going to have to talk about this, and if they do whether it’ll complicate things. He doesn’t want to be the one to say he wants to do this again and again, but if Puck doesn’t, he’ll have to at least try. He’s braver now than he used to be.
But not now. Finn’s tired and it feels nice being wrapped up warm inside when it’s so cold out. So he reaches down and tugs a blanket over both of them.
Puck watches him wordlessly, and Finn shrugs when he catches Puck staring.
Puck hesitates, then shrugs back, settling down beside him. The bed is small enough that they have to shift around to find a comfortable position, but eventually they find something that works- turned in towards each other, Finn’s arm under Puck’s neck, Puck’s arm around Finn’s waist. If it was with anyone else, Finn would maybe call it snuggling.
Finn feels himself start to drift off, but Puck speaks, dragging him awake.
“What?”
“I said, this is a new Christmas tradition,” Puck repeats, then frowns. “Maybe, I mean.”
Finn thinks about how many of their traditions they’d forgotten about this year, about how close they’d come to forgetting the whole thing.
He smiles. “Okay,” he says and snuggles further under the blanket.
Pairing: Finn/Puck
Rating: R
Word Count: ~5000
Summary: They spend every Christmas Eve together, but this year things have changed.
Author’s Notes: Written for une_fille in the Finn/Puck Holiday Exchange. Originally posted here. Many thanks to my wonderful beta, mintyfiend. Title from Elf.
“I gotta go, I’m late!” Finn calls, tugging on his jacket and winding his scarf around his neck.
“Do you have to?” his mom asks, appearing in his bedroom doorway. She watches him pull on his gloves with a slightly disapproving frown that’s giving Finn a mild case of guilt.
“Mo-om,” Finn complains. “I told you. It’s tradition. We do this every year.”
Carole nods. “I know, hon, but this year things are different. This family is more than just you and me now.”
Finn fumbles in his pocket for his hat, coming up empty handed. His mom stands aside to let him pass. He jogs downstairs to the lounge, where he grabs his hat off the table.
“We all want you to stay,” his mom tries again, trailing behind him.
Kurt looks up from the last of the Christmas stockings he’s been painstakingly needlepointing. ‘Carole’ and ‘Burt’ are already hanging over the fireplace, and he’s just putting the finishing touches on the last ‘n’ of Finn’s name, stitched neatly in gold thread.
“I made eggnog!” he announces, giving Finn the same wheedling look they’ve all been giving him to convince him to stay.
Beside him on the couch, Burt perks up. “You did?” he asks hopefully.
Finn can’t blame him. Burt isn’t exactly out of the woods yet and it means that Kurt has them all on some super healthy, super un-tasty diet. It took all three of them to convince Kurt that tofurkey wasn’t an acceptable Christmas Day food.
“It’s virgin, of course,” Kurt explains. “And made with soy. But it’s just like eggnog. It’s soynog!”
Burt makes a face and turns to Finn. “Have a good night, kid,” he says, then shifts to the side so he can pull his wallet from his pocket. “Here,” he adds, shoving some crumpled bills into Finn’s hand. “Enjoy yourself.”
Burt adds a wink as he accepts a glass of the fake eggnog from Kurt and Finn grins back. He glances at his mom, expecting her to make him give the money back, but instead she nods approvingly.
“Thanks Burt,” Finn says, sliding the money into his pocket. “Uh, I should go. I’m really late.”
He takes one last glance at everyone- his new family looking incredibly happy like they should be in some sort of magazine photo. A part of him wishes he could stay, but he has somewhere more important to be that he wouldn’t miss for the world.
~~~
His old house is dark and uninviting as he gets out of his mom’s car. He’s late enough that he’d have expected Puck to be there by now, letting himself in with the key he’s not supposed to have. But the door is locked tight and Finn fumbles in his pocket for his own key. His fingers are numb and slip off the cold metal as he tries to grip it and it makes him start to worry that Puck isn’t going to show up.
It’s not that Puck is late- being on time is for losers with nothing better to do, Puck always says- but it’s only then that Finn realises he’d just assumed, hadn’t asked, that they were keeping to their tradition. Especially after last year, when he’d slammed the door in Puck’s face and sat alone in his bedroom playing classic rock ballads at too loud volumes.
The holidays aren’t exactly Finn’s favourite time of the year. Sure, he likes the snow and the way his mom brings him hot chocolate with marshmallows while he’s in his room doing his homework. And there’s presents and cake and he likes decorating the tree but the holidays have mostly been a kind of lonely time for Finn. For his mom too, which is probably why she’s so intent on having the perfect family Christmas this year, why she’d been disappointed when Finn had said he had other plans.
His mom usually works most of the holidays. There’s a stretch between Thanksgiving and New Year where Finn’s gotten used to not seeing her. She takes whatever shifts are free- and there are always people needing cover around the holidays. Extra shifts have always made a big difference to whether they can get the car fixed, or the roof mended or whatever other unexpected thing pops up in the beginning of the year, needing more money than they can normally afford.
Finn understands. He really does. His mom always feels guilty and he always tries to make sure she doesn’t. He doesn’t mind being on his own, mostly, except for Christmas Eve.
His mom always works then, coming home just in time for Finn to wake up and open his presents. Finn doesn’t know why that night, in particular, is so lonely but it is. And ever since he was ten and admitted to Puck how boring it was to sit alone at home and wait for Christmas morning, Puck had stayed the night. Every Christmas Eve they’d eat too much junk food, kick each other’s asses at whatever the latest video game was and watch movies late into the night. It’s fun. And it’s their tradition.
It all means, Finn is pretty sure, that Puck should be here, whether Finn asked him to be or not.
It sparks a tiny flame of anger inside him, and it’s enough fuel to get him back in the car and drive over to Puck’s place.
Puck looks genuinely surprised when he opens the door to find Finn standing on his doorstep.
“Hey!” he says. “What’re you doing here?”
Finn frowns. “What’re you doing here?” he echoes. “You’re supposed to be at my place.”
Puck stares at him for a long moment before realisation hits. “Christmas Eve,” he says dully. “Right.”
Finn expects Puck to slap his hand to his forehead comically and apologise for forgetting, but instead there’s an awkward silence.
“I thought we had plans,” Finn says.
“I thought you’d be spending tonight with your new family,” Puck says back.
Finn isn’t sure what to say to that, doesn’t know how to tell Puck that Puck is his family. It’s what keeps pulling them back together despite everything that happens between them. But he doesn’t want to sound like some loser who’s been pining for his best friend’s company or anything so he just shrugs, and thinks about how Puck sounds kind of jealous.
“It’s a tradition,” Finn reminds him. “It’s our tradition.”
Puck snorts. “I thought our new tradition was you telling me to leave you the hell alone and then slamming the door in my face.”
Finn shuffles his feet and then sighs. “I’m sorry,” he says eventually and Puck looks sceptical but opens the door wider so Finn can step inside, out of the cold.
“I was waiting for you at home,” Finn says.
“I thought you had a new home now.”
Finn nods. “I do. But my old place is empty. It’s going to be the last time we get to do this there. I thought we could do what we always used to do.”
“Ever think of asking?” Puck asks. “I could have plans. Important plans. That are more important than hanging out with you.”
“Oh,” Finn says, looking down at the floor, and making a face. “Do you?”
He looks up as Puck opens his mouth and then closes it again. Puck shakes his head.
Finn smiles.
“Do you maybe want to hang out?” Finn asks, hopefully. “Like old times?”
Puck hesitates then nods. “Yeah,” he says, once, gruffly. “Lemme grab some stuff.”
Finn stays by the front door while Puck runs upstairs. He accepts a cookie from Mrs Puckerman and declines a glass of milk to go with it, and makes faces at Puck’s sister when she peeks at him through the doorway and giggles.
A few minutes later Puck thunders down the stairs, a backpack thrown over his shoulder.
He grabs his coat off the hook and yells, “Mom, I’m going out. Be back tomorrow,” and then they’re out the door and heading to the car.
“We could stay here if you wanted,” Finn says, looking back at the well lit, heated house they just left but Puck shakes his head.
“Dude, holiday tradition- we have Christmas movies to watch and you know my mom’ll have an aneurysm if we watch them here.”
Finn grins at him, and Puck grins back and it’s almost like no time has passed at all.
“So, beer and snacks?” he asks, pulling out the money Burt had given him. Puck takes it off him, looking impressed.
“You know how to show a guy a good time,” he says, and they bump fists.
Finn drives them to the 7/11 while Puck sorts through his stack of fake IDs, trying to decide which one is most likely to work tonight. Finn laughs as Puck holds up his selection to get Finn’s approval. None of them look like Puck at all.
The one Puck eventually chooses somehow works though, and half an hour later they pull into Finn’s driveway, two paper bags full of light beer and junk food resting on the backseat.
Puck pulls one out and hands it to Finn, then grabs the other himself, following Finn up to the front door.
Finn fumbles for his keys again, then takes the one Puck presses into his palm. Puck shrugs when Finn raises an eyebrow.
“I guess I just forgot to give it back,” Puck says, but Finn thinks that means something, that Puck kept the key for all that time, even when they weren’t talking.
Finn shoves the key into the lock, and it won’t turn at first. He sighs and tries again and then shrieks as something ice cold presses against the back of his neck. He tries to move away, but the coldness follows him, and he spins around.
“Dude, cut it out!” he complains, and Puck holds up his free hand innocently, as if it hadn’t just made Finn squeal like a little girl.
“Wasn’t me,” Puck protests, smiling that cocky grin that Finn had punched off his face once or twice in the past couple of years.
Finn narrows his eyes and points at Puck. “Not cool. I could’ve dropped the beer.”
“No chance,” Puck laughs. “Like I’d trust you to carry valuables. The most you’d do is squish that chocolate cake you bought.”
Finn carefully resettles how he’s holding the bag- he doesn’t want to ruin that delicious looking cake, after all- and tries the key in the door again, jiggling it until he hears the click of the lock finally opening. He opens the door just as Puck’s hand presses against his neck again and they tumble through the door in a rush- Finn trying to get away from Puck, and Puck trying to keep tormenting him.
Finn shrugs off his jacket and toes off his boots, hurrying to turn the thermostat up while Puck is busy removing his own outside clothes instead of being a pain in the ass. Finn rubs his hands together, and it already feels like the place is warming up. He feels like an idiot for not doing this before going to find Puck and imagines how toasty warm the house could have been instead.
The front hallway is empty when Finn wanders back out, except for the bag of beer, so he glances around downstairs and then bounds upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. He finds Puck in his bedroom, looking around. It’s mostly empty- just a bare desk and a half made bed. Everything else has been moved to the new house, some of it still in boxes.
“Hey,” Finn says, from the doorway and Puck looks over, a little guilty like he’s been caught doing something wrong. It’s a look Finn’s seen on Puck’s face a lot, but just like always it’s replaced with that smug, overconfident look Puck’s always worn as a mask.
“It’s been awhile,” Puck says, still looking around. He walks over to the corner where they’d drawn over the wallpaper, making the cowboys and Indians that had been stuck on Finn’s wall for as long as he could remember do and say rude things.
Finn shrugs. “I guess,” he says, and Puck turns away from their graffiti.
“What’s your new room like?” he asks, a little too casually and Finn realises that maybe it’s weird that he still calls this guy his best friend, enough that they’re still sharing this tradition, enough that he can admit to himself that the reason it was easy to forgive Puck is because he loves him (in a totally bro way, because that’s what they are), but he and Puck haven’t hung out in months.
Finn’s pretty sure the last time they spent time together outside of school was for a Glee Club assignment. No wonder Puck had been surprised that Finn had expected them to keep to their tradition.
“Do you want to hang out in here?” Finn asks and Puck shrugs.
“TV downstairs is bigger, right?”
“Sure,” Finn says with a smirk. “Can’t watch Elf or Miracle on 34th Street on a small screen, right?”
Puck points a threatening finger at him. “Dude!” he protests. “Not cool. We made a pact about you not being a dick about this.”
Finn smiles and gives a half shrug. “It’s not my fault you’re secretly a 12 year old girl,” he teases and Puck shakes his head slowly.
It’s all the warning Finn gets before Puck launches at him, tackling him backwards onto the bed. It creaks with their combined weight as they hit, and Finn is laughing until Puck’s still cold hands make contact with his skin, where his shirt has ridden up in the tussle.
The laughter on his lips is smothered by a gasp as he tries to wriggle away, twisting and turning beneath Puck’s roving hands.
“Stop, stop!” Finn chokes out as Puck’s fingers reach his armpit, then slide away. As they travel down they brush against one of Finn’s nipples and he gasps, freezing in place.
Puck freezes too and they stare at each other.
Finn tries to picture what they’d look like if anyone was to walk in. Two guys, limbs tangled together, on top of a bed. Puck is lying between Finn’s sprawled thighs, belt buckle grazing Finn’s stomach. He has one hand above Finn’s head, wrapped around Finn’s wrist to stop him retaliating while his other hand has stopped barely an inch from Finn’s nipple. Their faces are only a few inches apart and Finn can’t help but think something crazy is about to happen. They’re both breathing heavily and Puck is staring at Finn’s mouth. The last time Finn felt this strange mix of awkwardness and hope was the first time he and Rachel kissed in the auditorium at school.
For an insane moment he wonders if Puck is about to kiss him, and is surprised to discover a tiny ball of disappointment in the pit of his stomach when Puck shoves himself away, using Finn’s chest as leverage and winding him at the same time.
“I’ll go and make the popcorn,” Puck says quickly, and he’s out of Finn’s room before Finn can even sit up.
Finn stares at the door, then down at himself, shirt rucked up to his armpits. He’s really not sure what just happened, but he knows better than to ask Puck for an explanation. Dudes don’t do that, and all it’ll get him is a dick punch and a moody Puck for the rest of the night.
By the time he gets downstairs, shirt back in place, the house is feeling toasty warm and he can smell the buttery popcorn. He wanders into the den and joins Puck on the couch, popcorn between them. Puck’s shoes are off and his feet are resting on the coffee table, beer and remote beside them and there’s a smell of hot pockets coming from the kitchen.
Finn turns and grins at Puck, all weirdness from upstairs forgotten for a minute as he remembers why Puck is his best friend. It’s because of little things like this- that Puck never forgets that Finn enjoys movies best when he’s got a pepperoni hot pocket in his hands, and that he likes to be in charge of the remote to rewind the DVD and rewatch his favourite parts. It means that Puck knows him better than anyone, always has. It means that Finn’s missed this- the two of them hanging out, just like the old days.
The microwave dings and Finn jumps up, hurrying to the kitchen and returning a moment later juggling their food, because hot pockets are called hot for a reason and yet he always seems to forget about it until it’s too late to go back for a plate. He tosses one to Puck and settles down on the couch, pressing play and blowing on the food as the movie starts.
They’re ten minutes in when Finn realises Puck is staring at him instead of at the screen.
“What?” Finn asks, suddenly self conscious.
Puck jumps, like he’s been caught. “You’ve got cheese,” he says, pointing at his chin.
Finn grins sheepishly and wipes the string of cheese away, and they turn back to the movie.
Another couple of minutes pass and Finn cuts his eyes towards Puck as he reaches for some popcorn. Puck’s eyes are fixed on the screen, and his lips are moving slowly, mouthing along to Zooey Whatsherface singing Baby It’s Cold Outside. On screen Buddy chimes in and Puck barks a laugh, glancing in Finn’s direction. He frowns when he sees Finn staring and Finn looks away quickly, laughing too late at the movie.
He stuffs a handful of popcorn into his mouth and wonders what the hell is going on, why he keeps wanting to stare at Puck, why he’d waited breathlessly for Puck to kiss him up in his bedroom. It’s weird. This isn’t how they usually spend Christmas Eve, sneaking looks at each other. It just doesn’t make sense.
But Finn can’t stop thinking about what would have happened if he’d lifted his face to Puck’s earlier, if Puck’s fingers had brushed back over his nipple, if Puck had shifted down a few inches to line up their bodies better.
Finn licks his lips, mouth suddenly dry. He wants to blame the popcorn, to say that it’s too salty, but it’s not. It’s the images that flood into his head.
He wipes his greasy hand on his thigh and turns to Puck, not idea what he’s about to say.
“I-” he starts, but stops when he realises Puck is already looking at him.
There’s a beat. Something happens in the movie that they should probably be laughing at but neither of them look away.
And then, somehow, the popcorn bowl ends up overturned on the floor and Finn and Puck are kissing. Finn doesn’t know which of them moved first, but he doesn’t care.
They lean into each other, lips and tongues sliding together easily. It’s almost like they’d rehearsed this, practiced the choreography beforehand, but it’s something they’ve never done. Sure, maybe Finn had looked over at Puck once or twice when they were kids, talking about what kissing would feel like, and been tempted to suggest they try it out, but he’d never been brave enough.
Now he wonders if Puck had been thinking the same thing.
“Puck,” Finn says, breaking the kiss because he wants to know, needs to know if this is something they could have been doing for years. Puck uses it to his advantage, pushing Finn backwards until he’s leaning back, Puck straddling one thigh as he presses in closer.
“Shut up,” Puck says, and kisses him again. Finn doesn’t argue, just kisses back.
They make out hungrily, taking their time. It takes Finn a few more minutes to work up the courage to slide his hands up and down Puck’s sides. It feels different than with Quinn or Rachel or Santana- none of the curves to sneakily brush his hands over, but there’s a solidness under his palms that Finn finds himself liking. Like Puck isn’t so delicate, like Finn’s big hands won’t accidentally crush him when he tugs Puck in closer.
It makes Finn smile. And then Puck’s hand slides back under Finn’s shirt, fingers dipping just beneath the waistband of Finn’s jeans. Finn moans into Puck’s mouth and it’s like a cue because Puck pulls back.
“You wanna?” he asks.
His eyes are wider than usual, face more open and unguarded. Finn had learnt a long time ago how to see between the cracks in Puck’s mask, to figure out what he was really thinking most of the time, but tonight he doesn’t have to. Puck looks eager and scared and horny, which is exactly how Finn feels.
“Yeah,” Finn says, even though he’s not totally sure what he’s agreeing to. It’s not like he’s all that experienced anyway, and he’s never done anything with a dude before so he’s completely in the dark. He wonders if Puck’s ever fooled around with another guy, and then wonders why the thought bothers him so much.
Puck climbs off Finn and stares at the couch. “There’s no way we’re both fitting on there,” he says, and points upwards. “Your room?”
Finn nods and follows wordlessly, a few steps behind. He tries to figure out if he should be staring at Puck’s ass as they walk up the stairs, now that they’re kind of a little bit gay for each other. It’s something he still does with Rachel if he ends up walking behind her, but it feels weird to be staring at his best friend’s ass like that.
He doesn’t know why, but he closes the door behind him when they’re in his room. No one else is home, but it feels like a private moment anyway. Then he stands with his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched awkwardly.
“What are we going to do?” he starts to ask, but he doesn’t get past the first syllable before Puck interrupts.
“Must be the beer,” Puck says hastily, misreading what Finn’s going to ask. Finn accepts the mistake and the excuse, even though the beer is still sitting untouched, downstairs on the coffee table. Finn gets it though- he doesn’t know how the hell to explain this any other way than that he really missed Puck, had felt cut up inside when he’d realised Puck wasn’t going to show up tonight, to carry on with their Christmas tradition.
“Must be,” Finn agrees, and watches as Puck reaches over his own shoulder to grab the back of his shirt and tug it off. He drops it on the floor and looks over at Finn expectantly.
Finn grasps the hem of his shirt and tugs it up but somewhere along the way it gets stuck over his head. Probably because he’s the biggest idiot in the world and these sort of things only ever seem to happen to him. He hears Puck laugh- it’s his nice laugh, but there’s still a hint of mocking in it which Finn thinks he probably deserves right about now- and then helping hands are freeing him and tossing the shirt away.
“Only you,” Puck says, but there’s fondness in his voice that makes it easy for Finn to laugh at himself.
They’re standing closer now, enough that Finn stares for a moment before looking away when Puck unbuckles his belt and pushes his jeans and boxers down to his ankles, kicking them away.
Finn blushes and does the same, feeling suddenly shy. It’s not like they haven’t seen each other naked before- they’ve been friends since they were five which means the occasional shared bath and hundreds of sleepovers, not to mention in the locker room- but this is different. They’re naked together because they’re going to do naked things together.
Finn’s pretty sure he’s never been this excited or this nervous before in his life, except maybe for the first time he had to sing in front of a big crowd. He really hopes Puck has a plan because he has no idea what to do.
Puck seems to read his mind because he closes the few steps between them, sliding his hand around the back of Finn’s neck and kissing him. Then he walks backwards, pulling Finn with him and trying not to break the kiss. Finn stumbles over his pants, and they both laugh, foreheads pressed together as they chuckle. It makes things easier somehow and they kiss again until Puck’s legs hit against Finn’s bed.
It makes them both jolt, bodies pressing suddenly and unexpectedly together and a shock of electricity runs through Finn at the contact. He gasps and Puck gives him a wary look, like he’s getting ready to pull out the bravado in case Finn freaks out and calls the whole thing off.
And that look helps, somehow, reminding Finn that Puck’s just as weirded out by all of this, wants this just as much. It gives him enough courage to plant his hand in the centre of Puck’s chest and send him tumbling backwards onto the bed.
Puck laughs in surprise and Finn takes a moment to stare at his friend, naked and relaxed with his limbs sprawled. Finn’s hit with a sudden desire, a feeling of want that’s almost overpowering and he wonders if it’s just because it’s Puck, or if it means something else. But he has more important things to worry about, like following Puck onto the bed.
He crawls over Puck, knees brushing as he stares down at him. The bed is hardly bigger than the couch, but it’s better and it’s enough so that when Finn hesitates, unsure what to do, Puck can reach up and grab him, rolling them both so that Puck is lying on top and Finn is suddenly staring up at his ceiling.
Finn wants to protest, but Puck is actually on top of him, skin pressing against skin and it feels so good that Finn isn’t sure he can remember how to form words properly. He can feel Puck’s dick pressing hard against his own and he’s pretty sure that’s the best feeling in the world. And then Puck shifts, sliding up a little and grinding down and Finn changes his mind. Puck does it again and then again and Finn gives up on thinking because each movement feels better than the last.
“Okay?” Puck asks, and Finn nods, licking his lip. He lifts his hand to grab at Puck’s stupid Mohawk and tug him in. Puck’s mouth tastes like tomato sauce and salt when Finn slides his way inside. It’s pleasant and Finn’s in no hurry to leave so he moves his hand down to cup Puck’s neck, his jaw, his cheek to hold him in place.
Puck shifts his body to the side, one leg either side of Finn’s left thigh. It slots their bodies together even closer, and gives Finn the groove between thigh and body to grind up against Puck. Puck grinds back, moving them in an easy rhythm.
It’s something Finn’s done before- with Quinn, with Rachel, but it’s not the same. It’s different with layers of clothing between you, dulling the sensation. Rubbing against sweat slicked flesh is different, and feeling the hardness of Puck’s dick sliding against him only adds to just how amazing it feels. It makes things deep down inside of Finn clench and shudder and he knows it won’t be long, that he can’t possibly hold out.
His free hand slides down Puck’s back, sweeping over the curve of his ass and gripping. It makes Puck jump, pulling back to look down at Finn in surprise. It means that Finn gets to see Puck’s eyes roll back, eyelids fluttering as he comes. Finn’s victorious feeling of outlasting Puck is short lived though, because Puck lowers his head to Finn’s neck and sucks lightly. Finn only has enough time to think about how Puck knows what that does to Finn, that he’d laughed and teased when Finn had complained about Quinn doing that to him too often, that it must mean something that Puck stored that information away. And then he comes too, falling apart under the weight of Puck’s body pressed against his and the hot heat from Puck’s mouth on his skin.
Puck pushes himself up on his elbow and rubs his hand over Finn’s neck. “You’re gonna have a hickey,” he says, and he sounds proud.
Finn glares half-heartedly and nudges Puck away so he can roll to the side for some Kleenex. He cleans himself off and offers the box to Puck who seems amused but copies. They drop the tissues on the floor and then look at each other.
It’s pretty obvious neither of them know what to do. Finn wonders if they’re going to have to talk about this, and if they do whether it’ll complicate things. He doesn’t want to be the one to say he wants to do this again and again, but if Puck doesn’t, he’ll have to at least try. He’s braver now than he used to be.
But not now. Finn’s tired and it feels nice being wrapped up warm inside when it’s so cold out. So he reaches down and tugs a blanket over both of them.
Puck watches him wordlessly, and Finn shrugs when he catches Puck staring.
Puck hesitates, then shrugs back, settling down beside him. The bed is small enough that they have to shift around to find a comfortable position, but eventually they find something that works- turned in towards each other, Finn’s arm under Puck’s neck, Puck’s arm around Finn’s waist. If it was with anyone else, Finn would maybe call it snuggling.
Finn feels himself start to drift off, but Puck speaks, dragging him awake.
“What?”
“I said, this is a new Christmas tradition,” Puck repeats, then frowns. “Maybe, I mean.”
Finn thinks about how many of their traditions they’d forgotten about this year, about how close they’d come to forgetting the whole thing.
He smiles. “Okay,” he says and snuggles further under the blanket.