Even if Puck had let himself picture it, which he never did, he wouldn't have imagined it like this. Not with the ghost of Rachel, long gone to New York, sitting heavy and tangible between them. With Finn thinking about Kurt's empty room upstairs. With too much booze, way too much already, sloshing around Puck's stomach, making it turn and turn.

Ohio State isn't far, two hours at the most, and it's not surprising Finn is staying in the area. Sometimes Puck is sure he's the only one who really knows Finn at all, with the way Rachel tried to push him to leave. Finn doesn't jump, doesn't leap – not when he has the time to think about it - he's always preferred the small steps, one thing at a time. So he's leaving for Columbus tomorrow, and then years will pass, and he'll walk across a stage and never stop walking away from Ohio. And Puck can see it as clear as he can see anything else; he closes his eyes and dwells on it for a minute, disgusted and embarrassed by the pride that blooms in his chest.

But that's far away, he reminds himself, four years maybe. And they are here now, with the echo of Rachel and all the places Kurt isn't anymore, and Finn is scared. He hasn't said it, he'll never say it, but he's got bags packed sitting by the front door and there is a full tank of gas in his car and tomorrow he's gone. Columbus isn't far, but it could be New York, it could be fucking Hong Kong the way Finn thinks. And Puck shouldn't be allowed to, but he wants to fix the twisting in Finn's gut. He shouldn't want to, because it wouldn't mean anything probably, but he wants to tell Finn that he – Puck – that he isn't going anywhere. That he'll visit and they'll hang out and it'll be okay, that Finn will see, it's going to be awesome.

But Puck been building up fortresses since he was a kid, and anything he might feel is too locked away to wear on his sleeve anymore.

Especially when it comes to Finn.

So he pushes the instinct down and away, back where it belongs in the dark, and says, "You need to have another drink, bro." He twists off the cap of another beer and shoves it into Finn's hands, and Finn stares down at it like he's never seen one before.

Finn's fingernails are already pushing behind the label, peeling at the paper. He says, "Do you think -."

"I don't think," Puck cuts him off. Chugging down the rest of his beer and reaching for another, he says, "Don't start with your deep fucking ocean of feels, okay? We're supposed to be drinking. It's your last night in Lima, dude. So finish your fucking beer so we can go out and cause some trouble."

Finn lowers his head, not looking at Puck, and smiles. It doesn't reach his eyes, and Puck clenches his jaw around the thought of leaning in to kiss Finn's smile into something real. Finn shifts away from Puck, holding the bottle loose in his hands, hunched over with his elbows on his knees. And Puck thinks he might drown in Finn's ocean of feelings if he doesn't put a stop to this right the fuck now. It's too much, and Puck is feeling too desperate for something he never had, looking past Finn to the bags by the door.

But he's always felt everything too much with Finn, so it's not exactly unexpected. Lust or hate or need or jealousy or love, it's all tangled up until Puck's never sure what he's feeling at all. Until he's a big fucking ball of douche bag, lashing out at Finn and anyone in ear-shot, ready to tear the world apart if the tightness in his chest could just go away.

It never does though. And Finn is staring at nothing, the weight of his future heavy on his shoulders, and Puck shifts closer, just a little, looking to bear some of it for him. He closes his eyes for a second too long, and tells himself he can't. There is nothing he has to offer Finn, no weight Finn would want Puck to bear anyway.

Watching Finn, just for a minute, Puck feels the familiar boiling of jealousy in his gut. In his head, behind his eyes, it's Finn and Rachel twisted around each other in a bed, talking about the future, about all the things Finn is afraid to face, about how Rachel will always be there through them all. It's even Kurt, curled onto the couch with Finn in the middle of the night, talking talking talking about anything, it doesn't matter. But Puck's insides are raging with possessiveness, just imagining it; Finn had been his first. Before girlfriends and step-brothers, Finn had been his on lazy weekend afternoons, playing baseball in the backyard. Finn had been his - nervous about high school, about football try-outs. When they learned how to ride two-wheelers. When they spent forever nights practicing, practicing, Puck on his dad's guitar and Finn with his brand new drum kit, making little kid plans about being rock stars, imitating the whispered roar of a packed stadium.

And now there is this, a few feet between them that is fast turning into miles. Finn is going, going, he's gone, and Puck's feet are rooting into the streets of Lima. Whatever time he had, whatever chances, are packed with Finn's bags, and Puck thinks that Finn might as well just take them with him. Finn might as well take everything, because all Puck's left with anyway is the promise of a lifetime of dead-end jobs and one-night stands, reading about Finn's life on a fucking Facebook page. And it's not fair, really, that Finn twisted himself so thoroughly into everything Puck wanted to do with his life – and that now, faced with the reality of how things will never, ever be what Puck had secretly thought they would, Puck is lost.

That Finn is so a part of Puck, despite everything, that all he wants to do is take the weight off of him, that he'd carry it all, because it's already his.

"Dude, Puck," Finn says, still not looking at him, breaking Puck out of his own head. "I don't know if I'm up to going out tonight. I know that was the plan, but, I don't know. " He sighs, finally ripping the label completely off the bottle and Puck watches as he folds the paper between his fingers, flicking it onto the coffee table. "Do you think we could just, like, hang out here?"

Puck opens his mouth to remind him that there are a few of their friends out there, waiting for them, that they're ready to send Finn to college with a bang. But the words die in his throat. Finn knows that, he knows what the plans were, and he's asking Puck if they can stay here instead, just the two of them. And there isn't a reason, or a force, in the world that could make Puck turn that down.

"Yeah," he says, nodding. "No big deal, man. The guys will understand, you're not up to it."

"Cool," Finn says, nodding his head along with Puck. "Seems kinda how it should be, right?" Puck raises his eyebrows, and Finn says, "I mean, you were my first friend when we started school, and now it's over and it should just be us, you know? Entire circle."

"Full circle," Puck corrects around the lump in his throat.

"Yeah," Finn says, his voice barely a whisper. And Puck has no idea what's going on anymore. Finn looks like someone just killed a litter of kittens in front of him, all six plus feet curled in on himself, looking small somehow. He's never been good at this; Puck's never been good at knowing how to comfort anyone, least alone Finn.

"You know it's going to be fine, right?" Puck says, watching Finn chug his beer. "This college shit, leaving, it's going to be fine. You're only moving two hours away, dude."

"Yeah, I know." Finn looks at the bottle in his hand then, shrugging, downs the rest of it. And Puck realizes that Finn hasn't looked at him for a while. His eyes glued to his hands, his knees, the bottle, everywhere else. Puck feels his stomach drop.

"Listen, you want me to go, Finn, just say," he says as if it's not a big deal. "I won't be offended if you chuck my ass out of here."

"No," Finn says, and then, okay, he's looking at Puck. His eyes are a little wild and too wide, and he says, "I don't want you to go, okay?"

Puck nods, relieved, and watches Finn's mouth work around a few sentence that never make it past his lips. Then, finally, Finn says, his eyes moving off of Puck again, "It's just – maybe sometimes you can come down to visit? Hopefully I'll come home on the weekends and junk, but."

"Yeah," Puck says, not bothering to wait for Finn to finish the sentence. "Of course. If you'll actually want me around all the fancy fucking college friends you're gonna make, I'm there."

"Shut up, asshole," Finn says. It's supposed to be a joke, but Puck can hear the serious undertone to Finn's voice. "Like I give a fuck what anyone thinks about us." Finn starts a little, like he let something slip, and backtracks, says, "You. Like I give a fuck what anyone thinks about you."

That isn't much better, there is still the same implication. And Puck is sure he heard Finn say 'us'. Us, like, a unit. Or, something. It makes Puck's stomach flip even though he knows it shouldn't. They are an 'us', they've always been even when they weren't. Finn and Puck. Always together, Finn and Puck.

And that little word – 'us' - shouldn't mean anything. But it does.

Puck tells himself not to dwell on it, it doesn't mean shit, Finn's talking about their friendship. But when he looks back at him, Finn's wringing his hands around the beer bottle nervously, looking very fucking fight or flight and Puck doesn't know why, or how, or if it's even a good idea, but he says, "Finn...?"

Says his name, simple, not pushing. But Finn looks like Puck could have just punched him in the face. He winces, rolling his neck and closing his eyes and Puck can see his hands are shaking, can see it in how the beer is sloshing around the bottle. "I didn't mean anything by that," Finn says, his voice a little hysterical. "I just meant that I don't care if other people like you or not. I like you."

Finn winces again, says, "Fuck, I'm just digging this hole deeper."

And Puck, he has no idea what's happening. But he feels his stomach flip, watching Finn stumble around his words. And there is something - God, it's fucking hope worming it's way under Puck's skin, into his veins, making a home in his chest.

"What kind of hole, dude?" he says, thankful his voice doesn't waver. That he's not choking on his own fucking excitement.

Finn finally looks at him again, his face drawn in worry, and Puck thinks that Finn suddenly looks old. He can see the blackness under his eyes from not sleeping, the way his mouth is turned down. And Puck wants so badly – always wants to badly – to smooth away the worry with his hands and his mouth, because Finn should never fucking feel anything but happy. It's against the damn laws of the universe, Puck thinks, but somehow in the last few years he's worn this expression more than not. Puck doesn't care how stupid it sounds, but he just wishes, from the bottom of everything, that he could make every thing his. Spare Finn from whatever it is that keeps him from fucking smiling.

Because that's his job, it's been his job since before he can remember. To carry the load for Finn. So Finn could have the girl and the lead solo, be the quarterback, have the romantic date in New York, college, the happy fucking ever after. Those things are Finn's, they are owned by him, and Puck feels like he would (and has) done everything he can to make sure Finn keeps them.

It's been the only fucking thing in his life he's ever done well, doing this for Finn. And he's not even that good at it.

"What kind of hole, Finn?" he asks again, his hands itching to touch, just once, before he can't anymore.

Finn tilts his head towards the ceiling, closing his eyes in defeat, and Puck is made of pins and needles, hanging on the edge of his seat, waiting. Lowering his head, Finn presses the cold beer against his forehead, says, "Nothing, just forget I said anything, okay?"

Puck bites his tongue to stop whatever fucking nonsense was about to spill from his mouth. No, he will not fucking forget about it. Finn is saying things like 'us' and 'I like you' – which wouldn't mean anything if he didn't look like he just gave up national security secrets or some shit. Puck can't let it go, because he'll never be able to live with it.

"Finn, dude, you honestly think after everything we've been through that you can't tell me whatever the fuck you want? Man, I'm not going anywhere. "

Puck says it with inflection: we. Like he's saying it in capital letters. We. Together. A unit. Like 'us'. And there's a voice in the back of his head repeating 'danger, danger', that's he's going too far, that he's going to fuck this entire thing up and then he won't have Finn at all. In any way. But it's too late. Finn is looking at him again, and the voice in Puck's head falls to silence.

"You're not going anywhere," Finn repeats, like Puck is speaking a different language. "Dude, you'll be out that door before I finish the fucking sentence."

Puck shifts a little closer to Finn on the couch, his breathing heavy, because he knows. Knows Finn – knows Finn better than he knows anyone, anything else. And he can see it in Finn's eyes, in his hands wrapped around the beer bottle, in the line of his body hunched over and leaning away from Puck.

"You're be surprised, bro," Puck says, taking the beer bottle away from Finn and placing it on the coffee table. "Just say it."

Finn sags a little, adverting his eyes. He swallows thickly, looking at the ceiling again and shaking his head a little. Like he can't believe he's going to do this, like it's the most fucked up thing in the history of things that are completely fucking fucked, and Puck's heart is pounding like a kick drum in his chest.

"I thought," Finn clears his throat, still keeping his eyes off Puck. "When you're younger you think you have all the time in the world, you know? Everything just feels far away. And then suddenly you're packing your clothes and you're going off to college and you're leaving behind -." Finn takes a deep breath, staring at a point beyond Puck's shoulder, "And you're leaving behind things that you didn't know you were going to lose. Your stuff you thought would always be there, even if you were fighting or you hated that stuff, it was yours, you know? And then you realize you can't take it with you, and -."

"You fight with your stuff?" Puck says, letting a smile break through. "Dude, your mom isn't going to throw your shit away. She's gonna turn your room into a fucking shrine, Finn."

Finn doesn't smile, but his eyes finally meet Puck's. His voice low and unsteady, he says, "You're my stuff, dude."

All his breath pushes out of him in a hurry, and Puck leans away from him, his mouth open, staring. He thought it was going here – couldn't imagine any other place it would go that could make Finn so fucking scared of telling him – but. But hearing it is something else. That Finn is afraid to lose him, that in his own completely fucked Finn way, he even considers Puck his to lose.

"I'm your stuff," Puck echos, reaching for and finishing off Finn's beer.

"You're not running," Finn says, confused.

"You called me stuff," Puck says, giving Finn an out. Just one. One out and then they are going to fucking get into this, and something is going to happen. But if Finn wants to walk away, Puck is going to let him. He'd let Finn do fucking anything, now that he knows for sure. "Stuff, bro. Like your Playstation or a fucking pair of sneakers. I get it."

Finn sighs, closing his eyes and shaking his head. His voice very quiet, he says, "I don't want to go to Columbus tomorrow because I'm fucking terrified that we'll lose touch or something. And I -."

"And you what?" Puck pushes. He needs to hear Finn say it – really say it.

"And I love you, dude," Finn says, a blush spreading rapidly from his cheeks down to the neck of his t-shirt and disappearing. "I know you don't, okay? I mean, I know you can't. I've always known that and that's why it's never been an issue, you know? But now I'm leaving and you're staying and I feel like this is it. Like in a few years we won't even be talking anymore and I don't -."

Puck can't stop himself. He surges forward, wrapping a hand around the back of Finn's neck and tugging him down, pressing their mouths together. Finn opens immediately against him, and Puck slides his tongue into his mouth, stoking, tasting until it's too much. He breaks away a little, pulling Finn's lip between his teeth and sucking on it gently, then presses another chaste kiss to the corner of Finn's mouth.

Keeping his hand on the back of Finn's neck, Puck tilts his head a little, pressing his forehead against Finn's and catches his breath. When he pulls away entirely, still not moving his hand away, Finn is breathing heavy, his eyes wide, his mouth red and swollen from Puck's kiss.

"Seriously?" Finn says dumbly, his eyebrows knitting together.

Puck brings his other hand up to twist into Finn's t-shirt, pushing him back a little just to pull him in that much closer. "Fucking more than anything, dude. More than anything fucking else."

Finn exhales in relief, in something else Puck can't name, and this time it's Finn who surges forward to kiss Puck. Puck doesn't know how it is for Finn, but for him it's years of wanting and not having, of feeling fucking blocked at every corner, at the beginning of every road, and now. Now everything is clear and open and Finn moans against his mouth, his hands grasping at Puck's shoulders, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss.

Puck breaks away, panting, and Finn is flushed and breathing just as heavy. And they are so fucking close all Puck can see is Finn's face, his eyes, and with a jolt he realizes that Finn knows exactly where this is going. That Finn is already there. And Puck has never been, and never fucking will be, the sort of guy who asks if anyone is sure, if it's what they really want. So he slides away from Finn and, standing up, looks up the stairs towards his bedroom.

And Finn nods distractedly, breathes, "Yeah, yeah."

It's fast, yeah, but it's not too fast. Puck's been wanting this for years, and maybe so has Finn, and they can't go fast enough. They climb the stairs to Finn's room in silence but for the sound of their own breathing, and when Finn closes and locks the door behind them Puck presses him against it, trailing kisses down Finn's neck and sucking gently on his collarbone. Finn's hands are everywhere on Puck and he's moaning, his head falling back to bang against the door, and Puck can't fucking think. Can't do anything but suck a little harder on Finn's skin, desperate to leave a mark.

To Puck's surprise, it's Finn who says, brokenly, "Clothes. Bed. God, Puck, just -." His voice is hoarse and frantic and needy and Puck bites his lip, his cock straining against his jeans, Finn is the hottest fucking thing he's ever seen or heard.

"Yeah, dude. Yeah, just -." Puck presses a hand to Finn's chest, trying to clam him down without actually saying anything. "Here, Finn, let me." Puck pulls up the hem of Finn's t-shirt, getting it up and over Finn's head and throwing it to the floor. Puck can see his blush now, fully, spreading across his chest, and he leans down to lick one of Finn's nipples, sucking on it carefully. Both Finn's hands twist into Puck's mohawk, holding him close and still, as he lets out a low, guttural moan.

"Fuck, Finn," Puck says against his skin, licking and kissing his way back up to Finn's mouth. "The fucking noises you make, dude." Puck kisses him again, rough and demanding, while making quick work of Finn's fly, popping open the button and tugging them down around his hips.

"Get them off," he growls, pulling back to take off his own shirt, throwing it on the floor next to Finn's.

Finn nods, pulling his jeans and boxers down, keeping his eyes on Puck as he steps out of his own pants, kicking them away with his sneakers. When Puck looks back up at Finn, he's still leaning against the door but now, shit, he's naked. Day as he was born naked, and hard, and his breath is coming out in short pants, his chest heaving. Puck curses under his breath and wraps his hand around his aching dick, squeezing the base tightly. And Finn's watching him, eyes dark, and there's a moment of nothing. Just silence and the sound of them breathing, Puck standing there holding his cock and Finn, fuck, Finn looking at Puck in a way Puck never let himself even imagine.

Puck takes a step forward and so does Finn, and when they meet Puck pushes his tongue into Finn's mouth, and against his lips, he says, "Tell me you have lube or something, dude."

Finn is shaking, his hands on Puck's waist, and after a long, thoughtful sound, says, "Yes, thank God, yes. It's in the nightstand under the magazines."

"Get on the bed," Puck says, pressing a quick kiss to Finn's jaw.

The smile on Finn's face would be ridiculous, and maybe Puck would make fun of him at any other time, but it beats the way he looked downstairs. He reaches up and smooths his hand across Finn's cheek, like he had wanted to before, and then brings it down quick to smack him on the ass. Finn jumps, laughing, and crawls up on his bed.

Grabbing the lube, Puck takes a minute to just look at him again. Finn's lying on the bed, and he's fucking perfect. The lines of his body, the shape of his dick, hard and leaking against his stomach – even his stupid fucking face and the baby fat he can't seem to get rid of around his middle; he's perfect.

And tomorrow, he's leaving.

And Puck knows what Finn's thinking, how could he be thinking anything else. That Puck is going to push him into the mattress and fuck him senseless, until he can't remember his name. Because it's what Puck does, its who he is. But Puck is taken back a little at himself, just for a moment – he can't be that person. Not right now, not with Finn. Not when this might be the end of something he wanted so, so badly, when it should be the beginning.

And maybe it's the booze, or the moment, or how it's so fucking out of left field, all of this, but Puck finds himself sitting on the bed next to Finn's hip, sliding his hand down the length of Finn's flank and over his stomach. "Move over," he says gruffly. Finn looks at him, confused, but shifts over on the bed anyway just as Puck lays down next to him.

"Puck," Finn starts, but chokes on whatever he was going to say when Puck spreads his legs. Then, "What are you doing?"

Puck ignores him, coating two of his fingers with lube and sliding the heel of his hand down his stomach and around his aching dick, to press against his hole. Finn is looking at him, eyes impossibly wide and watching Puck's hand as he works one of his fingers inside. Puck can hardly breath. And it doesn't feel good. At all. It feels weird and awkward, but Finn's eyes are dark watching him, and Finn is breathing even heavier, like every inhale is getting more difficult by the second. So Puck cants his hips upwards, his feet flat on the bed, and adds another finger.

"Shit," Finn breathes, his hand on Puck's thigh pulling his legs a bit more apart to get a better view. "You're – this is -."

Puck works his fingers, scissoring and stretching and it hurts, a little, but it's getting better. Not good, but better, and Finn moans, dropping his head to press a kiss to Puck's thigh. "Can I?" Finn says, his hand inching it's way along Puck's inner thigh.

No, Puck wants to say. No, you can't. Just no. But it's Finn – Finn – so Puck nods, watching as he picks up the discarded bottle of lube and coats his fingers. Puck's fingers are still in his ass, pressing in and pulling out, and then suddenly Finn is there too and he's moving Puck's hand away, replacing the fingers with his own.

And it's different. Better-different.

Finn pushes two fingers into him and Puck groans – it's better than better, it's good. It's really good. Finn slides his fingers into him, out almost all the way and then back, and Puck arches off the bed, embarrassed by the moan that falls from his mouth. And then Finn twists his fingers just so and Puck groans, his thighs shaking, and holy shit.

"What the fuck was that?" Puck says, his voice trembling.

"I - it's your prostate, it's like your g-spot. Just -." Finn does that thing with his fingers again and Puck is shaking all over now, moaning loudly, bearing down on Finn's hand.

"I didn't know that -," he gasps, rolling his hips.

"Me neither," Finn says, breathless, watching his hand move. "Happened one day and -."

Puck reaches down and stills Finn's hand, says, "You've done this? To yourself?" Finn nods, blushing again, and Puck could die. He might just die. Thinking of Finn in his room, alone at night, hand working between his legs, stretching himself open.

"I have to add another finger, Puck," Finn says carefully. But Puck is so far gone – between Finn's hand and the picture of him fucking himself like this – he just nods, braces for it. And when Finn pushes in a third finger, Puck winces, trying to relax, to take it. But he's never felt so vulnerable before, so exposed, and he's not sure if he can =.

"It's alright," Finn says gently. "We don't have to."

"I want you too," Puck says immediately, surprised by how true it is. "Move your hand, dude. Get me ready for you."

Finn curses again and does as he's told, pumping his fingers in and out of him until it's better again, until Puck is shaking, twisting his hands into the sheets, covered in sweat. "Do it," Puck grinds out, and Finn's hand stills again.

"Are you sure?"

"Finn, fuck." Despite himself, Puck finds he's rocking against Finn's still hand, he says, "Yes, dude, just yes, okay? Come on."

"Okay, okay," Finn says, voice shaking, hands shaking as he pulls out of Puck and presses heavy against his thighs, maneuvering between them. Puck watches outside himself as Finn pulls his legs up to rest around his waist, as he reaches for the lube again, slicking up his hard, red cock.

And there is no backing out now. Anyway, Puck finds he doesn't want to.

He takes a deep breath, then another, tells himself to calm down, to relax. He's done this enough with chicks to know that's the most important part – he has to get the tension out of his body, and know that's it's going to be good, know that he really wants it. He looks down to see Finn wrapping his hand around his dick, guiding it to Puck's ass, and Puck sucks in a breath as he feels the head of Finn pressing against him, pushing in just slightly.

"Okay," Finn says again, more to himself. He leans down over Puck and kisses him, all tongue and biting teeth, and presses his hips forward, pushing the head of his dick fully inside. Groaning into Finn's mouth, Puck claws into his back, holding on, nodding as Finn pushes in a bit more. Finn feels fucking huge, too big to take in, but Puck can feel his body adjusting to his girth, and Finn is going too slow, so slow, and.

"Just do it," Puck grinds out, craning to rest his forehead against Finn's shoulder. "Come on, baby, just like ripping off a bandaid, right?"

Finn's hips stutter and he moans, pressing a quick kiss behind Puck's ear. And then he's pushing in, not fast, but steady, and oh, God, it's so much. Puck feels like he's being ripped in half. But then Finn is buried inside him completely, panting wet and hot against Puck's skin, shaking, and it's worth it. They're still for a minute, and then Finn pulls out just a little and, with Puck's permission, slams back into him.

"Holy fuck," Puck groans, rocking back into the bed at Finn's thrust. "Shit, dude, that didn't feel like I thought it would."

"Bad?" Finn says, his voice tight and strained, but concerned.

"No, not at fucking all, Finn. Move," Puck says, rocking himself along Finn's cock. "Move, dude."

Finn moans, practically whimpers, and pulls out almost entirely, pounding back into Puck, then again, and again. And Puck tightens his legs around Finn's waist, riding it out, moving back against him the best he can. It's not what he thought it would be at all, it's so fucking good, and Finn feels amazing inside him, stretching him, filling him up. Puck claws at Finn's back again, down his arms to grip at his elbows for leverage, using Finn's weight to push against, finding a rhythm.

It's like a slow burning fire at the base of his spine, and it's too much, way too much. Finn is on top of him and all around him, inside him, and Puck is shaking, he can't stop shaking. Because, more than anything, it's fucking Finn. Finn. And an hour ago this wasn't even something on the radar, it was the most impossible thing, but now, but now.

Finn's hips are snug against Puck's ass, he's stopped moving, and he leans down to press another kiss to Puck's mouth, and says, "I can't last, Puck. You're too tight, I'm -."

"It's alright," Puck says, his voice cracking a little, embarrassingly. "It's cool, Finn. Go ahead."

Finn nods, exhaling unevenly, and Puck presses his mouth against his jaw, noses the hair sticking to his face from sweat. When Finn starts moving again, Puck wraps his hand around his cock, pumping fast and tight, and he's close, already. It's just too much; Finn like this, the feeling of him fucking him through the damn mattress, the fact that Puck even did this, it's -.

The sound Finn is making is going straight to Puck's dick, and he bucks against him, trying to take him even deeper. Finn is panting, moaning, sweating, and Puck holds on to his arm with his free hand, keeps jerking off with the other, and groans, "Stop trying to hold on, Finn. Come."

And Finn does, keening and slamming into Puck even harder, rougher, and Puck can feel his release, the way he's filling up with it. He throws his head back, jerking even harder, and he's coming, too. Hot and sticky between them, riding out his own orgasm, rolling his hips to help Finn ride out his own.

Collapsing on top of him, Finn buries his face into the crook of Puck's shoulder, nosing at Puck's sweaty skin, tasting him with his tongue. Puck takes a minute to catch his breath, and he can feel Finn's dick softening inside him, and what he's pretty sure is Finn's come, slipping out of him. He knows he should feel disgusted, that maybe he would if it were anyone else - but he's not. And Puck wraps his arms around Finn for a moment, kissing his shoulder, before pushing him away.

Finn slips out of him and Puck wriggles a little, feeling too stretched, sore, his ass used. It's not an altogether unpleasant feeling, and that's more surprising than anything else. He pushes Finn down on the bed next to him and leans over to kiss the worried expression off his face.

Breaking away, Puck swings his legs off the side of Finn's bed, wincing at the pain, and runs a hand through his mohawk.

The thing is, as good as that was, as amazing as it all is, it doesn't change anything. Finn's bags are still stilling by the door, he's still leaving in the morning for Columbus. And Puck will be here, stagnant, rooting, a Lima Loser. But now, where there would have just been a familiar regret, it'll be something else. Because he'll know what he can have – he could have Finn – but he'll be alone. Nothing in front of him but those dead-end jobs and empty one-night stands. And really, who has he turned into? It's this new dude, growing inside him for a while, because of Finn. Puck doesn't know if he should hate Finn for that or not.

Before he can make up his mind, Finn snakes his arms around Puck's waist, flopping down, his head next to Puck's bare thigh, looking up at him. Grinning. Like an idiot.

"It's only two hours, right?" he says, his nervous voice betraying the happiness on his face. "You said that. You'd come visit. And I'll come home on the weekends?"

Puck smacks his hand against Finn's forehead, then almost tenderly runs his hand through Finn's hair. "Don't be stupid," Puck says. Not knowing if he means 'of course this is going to work' or 'of course this doesn't have a chance in fucking hell, dude'. But Finn takes it as the first, and turns his head to press his face against Puck's thigh. Comfortable. Already familiar.

It'll have to work, Puck thinks. There isn't any other option.

"Don't be stupid," he says again. "It's going to be awesome."

"Yeah, it is," Finn says, smiling up at him. He bites Puck's leg playfully, and Puck pushes him away, laughing, calling him an asshole.

It's going to be awesome.