To Finn, cherry chapstick tastes like Puck's lips.
Actually, Finn can no longer use it at all without getting a semi. Which sucks.
Every time he kisses Puck, he can detect the faintly sweet, waxy taste, even if Puck isn't wearing anything on his lips. Finn supposes it's simply associative memory, because the first time Puck ever kissed him it was back in mid-December, when the cold air had chapped Finn's lips painfully. The memory of their first kiss is so vivid to Finn that he can still feel Puck beneath him on the bed, still taste the cherry on Puck's lips.
Finn takes some cherry-flavored chapstick from his mom's bathroom drawer and slathers it on, happily enjoying the flavor he tastes when he frequently licks his lips. It's just like candy. Sort of.
From the minute he walks in the door and sees Finn's tongue absentmindedly gliding over his lips, Puck stares unabashedly at Finn's mouth. Finn doesn't realize until later, of course, but in Puck's dark hazel eyes is the same hunger he looks at Quinn with, the same want that Finn has pretended not to see. Oblivious, Finn starts making one-sided conversation—nothing new, as Puckerman usually keeps impassively quiet unless he has something to say—without noticing the deep concentration in Puck's eyes as he locks his gaze onto Finn's cherry-flavored lips. Puck seems to mutter something at one point, but Finn can't quite make it out.
"So I'm thinking if football can be played professionally, why can't they have like, pro-Call of Duty? Or pro-Halo, I guess . . . Puck? Puck—" Finn breaks off, annoyed at the blank look on Puck's face. "Puck. Are you even listening to me? Jesus."
Without warning, a broad grin spreads across Puck's face, alarming Finn, who backs slight away. Puck leans closer, a soft smirk in his voice. "Not really. See, it's like I said, Finn," —his gaze flicks to Finn's chapped lips— "I can think of a better use for your mouth."
Before Finn even has time to register his words, Puck's lips are on his, slowly moving against his mouth and parting Finn's numb lips with his tongue.
Oh God.
For a good ten seconds, Finn stays frozen, adrenaline mingled with pure shock, before his brain—as well as other things—kicks in and tells him do something, to fucking respond.
And respond he does. Groaning ungracefully against Puck's mouth, Finn shoves him roughly onto the bed, untangling his left leg to straddle Puck. He kisses Puck back recklessly, wildly; he has no idea what he's doing, but he knows that he sure as hell doesn't want to stop. His shaking hands tug at the hem of Puck's t-shirt, pulling it up so they can skim over his abs and wander lower—
"Finn? Honey?"
Finn's head jerks up at his mom's voice from downstairs as he scrambles off the other boy. His hands can't seem to stop shaking as he wipes his swollen mouth and chances a glance at Puck, who is red-faced and looking as though he's been hit in the back of the head. Finn would remember that look for a long time afterwards, although at the time he hadn't been sure whether it meant something good or something bad.
Finn drags a pillow over his lap in an attempt to hide his embarrassingly massive hard-on just in time for his mom to poke her head through the door. "Hey. Sorry to interrupt, but I'm ordering pizza. You guys want any?"
Finn gives her a weak smile. "Pepperoni would be great, Mom. Thanks."
"Sure." She smiles fondly at the boys before retreating back downstairs.
Exhaling shakily, Finn flops backwards onto his bed, thoughts moving a mile a minute. After a few seconds, Puck slowly lays down next to him, looking straight ahead at the ceiling. Neither of them speak for a long time, but the silence is inexplicably deafening. Probably the longest we've ever gone without talking, Finn thinks. But what the hell is he supposed to say?
A minute later, Finn can stand it no longer. He still doesn't know what he's going to say, but, looking sideways, Finn opens his mouth and hopes for the best. "Hey, look, I—"
"Hey, look, shut the fuck up." But there's a smile in Puck's voice as he says it that belies the scowl on his face.
Looking back on it later, Finn still can't understand why he started laughing at that moment. But suddenly the situation seems like the funniest fucking thing they've ever experienced, and what begins as a chuckle of agreement grows into the two boys cracking up together on Finn's bed as they've done a million times before, clutching at each other and gasping for breath. Whether he means to or not—Finn never does figure that out—Puck ends up grasping Finn's hand, looking him in the eye as he smiles almost shyly.
On impulse, Finn leans forward and kisses him again; just once, softly.
Puck's lips taste faintly of cherries.
"What's the matter, dipshit? You look more confused than Brittany in Spanish class."
Puck grins and tosses Finn a beer. This is now their lazy Friday night routine, hanging out in Puck's bedroom to drink, talk, and—do other things. It's worked out well so far: no one knows yet that for the past three months, Puck and Finn have been more than friends, and they've been able to spend time alone together without anyone realizing what their relationship has become.
Finn smiles back, catching the beer and looking up at Puck. "Sorry, dude. I guess I was just spacing."
"You're a fucking weirdo, dude. Come over here, I'm about to kick your ass in Halo."
With his words, a strange impulse overtakes Finn and he sets his beer down, walking to the edge of the bed where Puck is sitting. It's something that, three months ago, he never would have acted on; he wonders if his time spent recently with Puck has rubbed off on him. Instead of taking the joystick he's being offered, he tosses the game controllers aside and, without saying a word, pushes Puck back onto his bed, straddling him.
"What—"
Finn cuts off the startled question with a rough kiss. His hands grab the sides of Puck's face as he grinds his body against him, his lips and tongue exploring Puck's mouth with a fervor.
Puck, confused as hell but with no intention of breaking off the kiss, responds enthusiastically by grabbing at Finn's shirt, pulling it over his head before ripping off his own.
Finn moves his lips down to Puck's neck, his desire so strong he wonders if Puck can feel it. Actually, judging by the way Puck is currently fumbling with Finn's belt, he probably can.
The thought emboldens Finn, and he looks up. "Hey, Puck?" His voice is breathless.
"Hm?" Puck is breathing hard, struggling to slide Finn's belt out of his jeans.
"Anyone ever tell you you taste like cherries?"
"What the fuck?"
Finn laughs and, grinning, lowers his mouth back down to Puck's before the other boy can demand he tell him what, exactly, is so funny.