"Mom?" Finn knocked lightly on the door, then went in at his mom's quiet invitation. Carole lay on the right side of her bed (the left side usually went untouched) wrapped in her awful red and white bathrobe, reading a book. She smiled when Finn came in.

"Hi, sweetie," she said, patting the bed. "It's nice to see you. You going to bed?"

"I'm still waiting for Puck," he said. "He's on his way over now."

"Now? It's kind of late," Carole said, yawning and craning her neck to see the digital clock. "It's almost midnight. Can't things with Puck wait until tomorrow?"

"I don't think so," Finn said honestly. I don't think I could possibly wait one more day.

"You've been spending so much time over at Kurt's house, I was surprised to see you home at all," she said.

"Yeah. Um. I guess he had something else going on."

"You guys haven't had an argument, have you?"

"No, it's fine." You see, mom, I felt awkward hanging out at Kurt's house to cuddle and make out when I'm really thinking about Puck. Yeah, that would go over well.

"How about Quinn? Are you two still dating? I feel like I never see her anymore either."

"Yeah, I still see her. She… has a lot going on right now."

Carole stretched and set her book on the table upside-down to hold her place. "Well, you might invite her over for dinner some night. She seems like a nice girl. I wouldn't want her to feel ignored."

Finn smiled at his mom. "Thanks, Mom, that's a good idea. I might do that."

"Good night, sweetie. Don't you and Puck stay up too late." He closed his mom's bedroom door behind him and went downstairs to wait impatiently by the front door.

Now that he thought about it, he hadn't had too many days that week, or the week before, that hadn't been spent hanging out at Kurt's after dinner. They didn't always spend their time together making out, although a good portion of their time together was spent touching, even if it was only hands or knees. Mostly they relaxed on Kurt's couch and watched movies or did their homework. Finn felt suddenly guilty that he'd left Kurt at home tonight without so much as a second thought.

But – what had Puck said in his text? Kurt was missing. That implied Puck knew where Kurt should have been after school, which was usually helping out at his dad's tire shop. What was Puck doing hanging out with Kurt? As far as Finn knew, they were barely on speaking terms.

He picked up his phone and sent a quick text to Kurt. You awake?

It wasn't long before the response came: Wide. How'd things go with Noah?

He's coming over now, he texted.

Good luck. Waiting to hear about it.

Finn felt a warm rush of affection for Kurt, mixed with more guilt. Finn was experienced with guilt, and this wasn't the first time he'd felt it in regards to Kurt. Kurt had made it clear that their relationship was of the friends-with-benefits variety, but sometimes he wondered how Kurt could be so supportive of Finn's desire for Puck when it was clearly going to interfere with their… thing.

A thing which, Finn had decided, was smoking hot. He'd never had a… thing with anyone where there was such mutual desire and a complete lack of embarrassment. All the girls he'd dated had put rigid rules on what was allowed or how far they would go, and they never seemed to really be willing to let go and enjoy what they were doing together. Kurt… was entirely into it. He knew what he wanted, and wasn't afraid to ask for it. So far he hadn't come up with anything Finn wasn't willing to try, although there was plenty they hadn't done. It had been a quick and concise education (for both of them, Finn thought, for all that Kurt seemed to know what he was doing, Finn thought it was his first time for most of it too) regarding dudes with dudes. And Finn, and Finn's body, approved wholeheartedly. There was no ambiguity about that.

But Puck – Finn was flooded by memories of their encounter in the hallway, for about the hundredth time that day – it was more than physical desire he felt for Puck, though that was definitely there too. They'd been friends for years. Puck wasn't always the nicest guy, but Finn felt loyalty to him, and respect, and a desire to… take care of him. Protect him. Which was weird, because Puck was pretty bad-ass. He didn't need protecting, did he?

He looked up at the knock on his door, and tried to restrain the enormous smile that threatened to split his face in two.

Finn unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door to see Puck, hands in the pockets of his football jacket, looking positively shy, but clearly happy to see Finn. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," Finn echoed. They stood looking at one another, smiling stupidly, for a few seconds. Then Finn laughed, and Puck laughed, and it was a little easier to breathe.

"C'mon in. My mom's asleep upstairs." Finn blushed a little, realizing with this sentence he was introducing the standard, unspoken limits regarding what was OK to do in the house when one's parents were home: no drugs, no total nudity, no penetration. Not that he would… Finn's blush deepened.

"So, I wanted to tell you," Puck said, taking off his jacket, "that Kurt got beat up today after school."

"What?" Finn gasped. "Is – is he okay? What happened?"

"He wouldn't tell me the details, but he's got some bruises, on his face. I think his shoulder is screwed up." Puck's mouth tightened. "He tried to hide it from his dad, but I convinced him to tell him."

"You – convinced…?" Finn's brow knitted. "Are you and Kurt, like, buddies or something?"

"I don't know," Puck shrugged. "Something, I guess. He helped me with some problems I was stuck on."

"Jeez." Finn ran a hand through his hair, thinking of Kurt, alone at home, and felt more guilt. "This is totally not fair. I've got to do something about those assholes."

"Yeah. We will," Puck said, surprising him. "You'll think of something." He threw himself onto the couch, then took a deep breath. "Finn… there's something else. I have to say it first, or I'm gonna lose my nerve."

"Uh, okay," Finn said, sitting next to him. "You can say anything."

"I believe you," Puck said. "It's about Quinn. About… what I said earlier."

"… okay," Finn said again, a sense of dread gathering in his stomach.

"You and Quinn, you never had sex. Did you?"

"I – no. We didn't. How did you –"

"It's because she told me it was a mistake, what we did. She said she was saving herself – whatever that means. But I guess it was for you. She wanted it to be you." Puck looked at him, straight. "But it wasn't you."

Finn's mouth was dry. He closed his eyes. "What are you saying?"

"You know what I'm saying."

"I need to hear you say it," Finn said, gritting his teeth. "Just fucking say it, okay?"

"You're not that baby's daddy," said Puck. "I am."

Finn was silent. He felt dizzy. His face crumpled into confusion. "She – she told me…"

"I know what she told you. I've been kicking myself for not telling you right away, but she just kept lying, and I just went along with it. I hate lying to you." Puck turned and hit the wall suddenly, shaking his head. "Finn, I'm sorry, I—"

"Just… don't." Finn stood up and walked into the kitchen.

"Finn?" He could hear an echo of the fear from before in Puck's voice, and he turned around.

"I'm not – I'm not walking away. I just need – just give me a minute." Finn clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to deal with the anger without scaring Puck, without making him the enemy. Quinn did this. It was her. She tried to get me to take responsibility for that baby. She made me fall in love with it. He felt sick. Quinn – and Puck's baby. He let out a muted roar of frustration.

"Finn." Puck was in the door. "I need to know what I can do. To make up for this. What can I do?" He looked pleadingly at Finn. "Just tell me what to do."

"I don't know!" Finn shouted.

"You can hit me if you want." Puck's voice was hardly a whisper.

"No!"

"I think – " Puck let out a shuddering breath. "I think I need you to."

"Puck, I'm not your dad," Finn said angrily. "I'm not going to beat you up because I can't control myself."

"I know you're not," Puck shouted back. "That's not – it's not the same at all. I need this. I need to do something to make it right again – inside here." He grabbed Finn's hand and put it on Puck's chest. Finn could feel his heart beating through his black t-shirt. Their eyes locked. Puck's gaze was desperate. "Please."

Finn didn't understand, but suddenly, looking at Puck, still holding his hand to his chest, he did. He got it. His face hardened, and he felt all the confusion leave him, looking down at Puck. He took his hand and grabbed Puck's t-shirt in his fist. He slammed him up against the wall, and Puck made a low noise, eyes never leaving Finn's.

Finn traced a rough path from Puck's firm stomach, up his chest to his throat, and wrapped a hand around his thick neck. "Is this what you need?" Finn said in a low voice.

"God, yes," Puck gasped, and their lips met in a bruising, starved kiss. Finn dropped Puck's shirt and grabbed his hands, shoving them up against the wall, spreading him wide, and kissed him again. He could feel the vibration of Puck's moans as his tongue thrust into Puck's mouth. It was wet and dirty and fuck, so hot, so much what he needed.

Finn slid his hands under the hem of Puck's shirt and dragged it up over his rib cage, over his head, but kept it pulled taut over his shoulders, restricting Puck's movement. He could see Puck's arms resisting, his biceps straining at the fabric, and Finn incredulously ran his hands over those biceps, those arms that Puck was so proud of, now for Finn to touch. His arms, he suddenly thought. For him.

"You're mine," Finn said, growling into Puck's mouth. "Mine."

Puck moaned louder, and Finn shut him up with his lips on his. Puck didn't resist as Finn pressed him up against the wall with his body, rubbing against him, feeling sparks as he encountered a matching hardness in Puck's jeans. He pulled Puck's shirt off the rest of the way and quickly shed his own, to feel Puck's brilliant, hot skin against his chest.

He slowed down, running the flat of his hands along Puck's neck and shoulders and back. Puck's skin was taut and firm, no extra fat anywhere that Finn could feel, his muscles rippling and contracting just under the surface. Finn had touched this body in his dreams so many times, but the reality was so, so much more thrilling than he'd imagined.

Finn looked into Puck's face, searching. He'd never seen it so open, so unguarded. "You really want me, like this," Finn said. It wasn't a question.

"Yeah," said Puck, his voice hoarse, licking his bruised lips. "Fuck, yeah."

"Right here?" Finn looked around, and Puck hesitated.

"Can we – go up to your room?"

"Yeah," said Finn, feeling a little faint at the thought of getting more naked with Puck in his bedroom, but he grabbed their shirts and took Puck by the hand, towing him along up the stairs and down the hall. No sound came from his mom's room.

Finn's little room was small enough to be a closet. His walls were covered with vintage cowboy wallpaper. The room was small enough that he could lay on his bed and close the door with one hand at the same time. He kind of liked it small. There wasn't anything he'd ever wanted to do in his room that required a lot of space. Until, possibly, now.

He pressed the door closed with his back and looked at Puck, face flushed and eyes on fire. "Do you… what do you want?"

Puck chuckled, a low, smoky voice. "Haven't you figured that out by now, Finn?" He stepped in close, wrapped his arms around Finn's waist and grabbed his ass. Finn caught his breath. "I want what you want. I've always wanted what you want." His hands traced a pattern on Finn's lower back, just above his ass, that made him see stars and thrust helplessly against Puck's hip.

"Just… what I want?" Finn gasped. "Are you sure?"

Puck leaned in and put his lips against Finn's ear. "Bring it," he breathed.