Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/644408.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Glee
  Relationship:
      Sam_Evans/Noah_Puckerman
  Character:
      Sam_Evans, Noah_Puckerman, Artie_Abrams, Finn_Hudson, Mike_Chang, Rory
      Flanagan, Azimio_Adams
  Additional Tags:
      Kink_Meme, Humiliation, Exhibitionism, Homophobia
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-01-10 Words: 4687
****** But You Don't Gotta Brag ******
by Edwardina
Summary
     Puck's bragging on his exploits in the locker room and winds up
     dragging Sam and how they fool around together into it. Even though
     Sam is embarrassed, it's strangely kind of a turn-on, and Puck gets
     explicit.
Notes
     I saw this prompted_on_the_Glee_kink_meme and gave it a go!
"...so I was like, 'Fine, if you're into all that, go for it, mama,'" Puckerman
said, and the group of dudes casually standing around him, most of them still
in their gym clothes, burst into appreciative mutterings and hoots.
"You didn't. You didn't," Azimio said. Tears of amusement were pricking in his
eyes.
"God's honest truth. And you know what she did?" Puck held the small audience
captive expertly as he paused. "...She totally went for it!"
Another group howl.
Sam could feel his face warming as he stuffed his feet, one after the other,
into his sneakers. He was trying to distance himself from the fact that he knew
exactly what Puck was talking about. He'd heard it first-hand over the summer
and he had to admit, he was kind of surprised that Puck seemed to only now be
getting around to telling this particular tale to the locker room. At least, it
seemed to be news to them. Maybe he'd forgotten about it, or something, till
Sam had jarred his memory.
Puck was cool. They'd been bros last year and all, but it wasn't until Sam had
desperately needed any job he could take that Puck had done him a real solid
and allowed him to help clean pools for the first week of summer. It was the
busiest week for a pool boy. Everyone who owned a pool in Lima (and some rich
people who lived in huge houses outside of Lima) was opening theirs for the
season and wanted them to either do it for them or clean up swamps, and with
his help Puck had been able to take on every single job offer.
He'd gotten to know Puck pretty well that week. He knew what Puck got at
Breadstix. He knew what Puck's perfect sandwich consisted of and in what order.
He knew Puck's favorite Mario games, in order of awesomeness rather than order
of release; he knew that Puck had six different categories of favorite video
games. He knew Puck's Nana had given him his Pop-pop's Swiss army knife and
that his little sister was obsessed with those twins from the Disney channel,
the Suite Life ones. He knew that Zizes had been stringing Puck along all
summer and was probably never gonna actually give it up, and he could take no
more, so while she was in Indiana visiting her crazy grandma, it was go-time.
By the third day on the job Sam had acquired serious tan lines and he'd lost
count of how many times Puck had disappeared inside with the lady of the house
– leaving Sam standing in his K-mart swim trunks to finish clearing debris from
the variously tinted waters, clean out the filters, and check the pH – and
returned looking smug. Sam had gotten the point pretty fast, but it never
stopped surprising him when it happened.
"So do you get paid extra for those special services?" Sam had asked. He was
kind of joking.
"Sometimes, yeah," Puck had replied easily.
"Whoa," Sam muttered, taken aback.
"Why, dude? You need the extra-extra money?"
Firmly, Sam said, "No."
"That's cool. More cougar for me."
Then on the fourth day on the job, they'd been digging around in a tiny,
burning-hot, dark excuse for a pool house that smelled like mothballs,
chemicals, and sun-bleached wood, looking for the pool vacuum the owner said he
was sure was in there amongst the Styrofoam pool noodles and deflated plastic
floatation devices. It was more the size of a shed, but the windows were
boarded, so neither of them could see or tell what they were stepping on or
what was hanging on the walls.
And Puck had said after a couple of sweaty minutes, clearly disgruntled that
the missus wasn't at home, "Fuck this, dude. No way we're finding that thing.
We should've broken it or something by now. While we're in here, want a blow
job?"
Just like that.
Even though it was like seven distinct shades of weird, Sam hadn't been able to
bring himself to say no. He'd never had a blow job. He kind of thought he might
never get one, since he hadn't been able to get anywhere like that with Quinn,
Santana, or Mercedes. Knowing his days left in Lima were numbered, Sam had
said, "...Are you serious?" and then, almost blankly, "Sure."
Puck had advanced on him, somewhat daunting in his own straight-forwardness.
Sam got backed up against something, some plastic shelf with junk on it that
was even warmer than he was, and he'd gripped at it with both hands while Puck
had dropped in front of him and yanked his swim trunks down. He acted like he'd
done it a million times before, fondling Sam and giving him an amused but
approving, "Hm!" for the few seconds it took for his body to seriously respond.
Puck went down on Sam with a full gulp, using his whole mouth to engulf Sam in
wet heat, and it felt so good Sam couldn't believe it was happening to him. It
didn't seem real. Puck just latched on and worked with downright serious
dedication, tongue sliding wide and insistent as his head bobbed, until Sam was
gasping, moaning, trying to tell him to stop because he was coming. But Puck
just grunted and swallowed his load, leaving no evidence that anything unusual
had happened between them. He'd licked his lips and knocked him in the ribs
when he stood.
"Good, right?" he'd said smugly, and squeezed at his own dick tented in his
Hawaiian-print board shorts.
After that abrupt turn of events and the way Puck had acted like it was nothing
out of the ordinary while they cleaned the pool, Sam had considered quitting.
But he couldn't do that. His family really needed all the dough he could rake
up. And was it really some big deal, to let Puck do that to him once? He
arrived at the conclusion that he'd just try to have the moral strength to
shrug off any further advances... but he didn't. Puck suggested it again the
next day, in the next shed (which was literally a shed, aluminum with tools
hanging in it, boiling in the sun) – that time it was, "Let me blow you again,
dude. If I see you pop one more stiffy in those shorts I'm gonna lose it ahead
of schedule and someone's mom is gonna be left disappointed."
By his last day on the job, Sam's morals had taken such a nosedive that he was
reciprocating clumsily – despite the fact that Puck's cock had definitely been
slamming Mrs. Johansson about two hours before and he swore he could taste what
had to be the musky, tantalizing tang of that woman on Puck's skin, and he
didn't know what he was doing.
It had been thrilling, gutting, arousing as hell just to let go of himself and
try. He'd quickly gotten that it was like dancing or singing. You just had to
throw yourself into it. It was immediate boner material to feel Puck grabbing
at his hair and hear him say, "Fuck, yeah. Use that tongue." It was the first
time Sam had ever made someone else actually come, and the triumphant high had
been unreal, given him a crazy boost of confidence that made no sense.
It had just been that one time, his last day on the job, but the confidence had
lasted him literally months, staying with him until his job at DQ just about
beat him down again.
But now Sam was back at McKinley... everything he'd thought he'd chalk up to a
strange summer was back in his face. The oddity of trading blow jobs with his
pool cleaning buddy was, like, kind of a thing now.
He guessed it wasn't really serious stuff they were getting up to. He was
probably going to just move away again after the spring semester, back to
Kentucky with his family. Puck still fooled around, like, constantly with older
ladies. That didn't matter to Sam, especially since he'd gotten groped multiple
times on the stage at Stallionz. He could kind of see the appeal. Older women
seemed to really know what they wanted, just like Puck did. Sam had tried to
roll more like Puck in Kentucky. Not MILF-bagging style, but with general
confidence and security.
Even so, he never would've told anyone what he and Puck did. He wasn't the
kiss-and-tell type.
Which was why, even if Sam was only a temporary feature in the locker room,
only ever in one McKinley yearbook like a lone bleach-blond blip no one would
remember at reunions, it still made him freeze when Puck talked about letting
some housewife stick her finger up his ass.
Because he'd let Puck do that to him a couple of times already since he'd
gotten back. Hell, Puck had just done that to him last night. It hit scarily
close to home just hearing Puck talk about how he'd done it with someone else,
months ago.
"Man, that is gay," Azimio declared. "I don't care if you let a lady give you a
prostate exam, that is gay."
"Gay, whatever," Puck said breezily. He was in his element; Sam could see that
even though Azimio was a homophobic jerk, Puck still held him completely in
thrall, along with Finn, Artie, and Rory. Mike looked annoyed, like he'd
accidentally imagined Puck banging his mom and was resenting him for the mental
picture, and across the room, Mercedes's boyfriend, that Shane Tinsley guy, was
punctuating his stretches of acting like none of them existed at all by rolling
his eyes and shaking his head like he didn't believe a word Puck was saying.
"Alls I know is that I saw the face of freaking God! Trust me, dude. If you
ever grow some testes and get a BJ, ask for the pu-pu platter on the side."
There was another bout of laughter mixed with some groans. Artie raised his
hands like Puck had moved him with the holy spirit. Rory looked absolutely
fascinated.
"Whatever, you don't have to just take my word for it. Sam here'll tell you all
about it," said Puck, turning his back to them and whipping his gym shirt off.
For a mortifying second, focus in the room shifted to Sam. It seemed
momentarily like either they all expected Sam to regale them with some gross
MILF tale verifying Puck's claims, or – maybe it was just him – they were
eyeing him like... like they knew.
"Dude," Sam said sternly, and whacked at Puckerman's bare arm with the butt of
his fist.
Puck threw his arms wide and mock-glared at Sam, as if to say, What?
Sam yanked one foot onto the bench in front of him and attempted to tie his
shoelace, throwing the whole thing off him.
"Yeah, right," someone muttered.
"You gonna bring back the celibacy club, Evans?" another guy taunted. Sam
recognized him from the football team last year, but only knew him by number –
25.
"Are you kidding me?" Puck demanded, leaping in before Sam could defend
himself. "This dude sells sex by the six-pack."
"This is true, yo," Artie told everyone. "Sam's skills nailed us Sectionals."
He held out a gloved hand for a high-five, but Sam could only stare at it
grimly, feeling increasingly mortified. He liked attention as much as the next
guy, but he didn't brag, and he didn't want the entire freaking school to know
about his past employment. He didn't even know how Kurt's boyfriend knew, but
the whole glee club and jazz band and probably even Mr. Schue did and just
hadn't said anything. He wondered uncomfortably if Mercedes knew. He'd really
been trying not to even consider the possibility.
"Sectionals," some other dude snorted. "You hear that, dude? Retarded-ass glee
clubbers."
Artie had leaned forward, offering a fist-bump instead, saying, "Gimme some
love," so Sam dropped his shoelace and knocked knuckles with him, pink-faced.
"If it wasn't for Puckerman and that slutty Cheerio blowing the bell curve,
you'd be the only all-virgin club at McKinley. Glee's like the new celibacy
club," 25 was saying.
At this, Puck, Artie, and Mike exchanged significant looks, Finn said, "Hey,
Brittany's cool. She's our class president," in his no-nonsense team captain
voice, and Rory looked uneasy, like he wanted to find a way to back out of the
room without getting shoved into a locker. Sam had the same feeling.
"Shows what you know about what goes down in that glee club," said Puck in his
booming voice. "Not only did I give Quinn Fabray the most beautiful baby girl
you've ever seen in your life, I get my dick serviced on the fucking regular
from a glee clubber."
With that, Sam's face erupted into flames. He stared at his shoelaces gripped
up into his fingers. He'd forgotten how to tie a bow. He was going to have to
ask someone for help.
"Schrrrrk," Artie said, accurately mimicking the tire burn of squeaking wheels
grinding to a halt and whipping his chair to face Puck. "Whaaat?"
Sam darted a look at Finn, whose eyes had widened slightly, as if sensing this
tense back-and-forth might erupt into something.
"This head don't fucking lie, friend," Puck flatly continued. "Talk to me again
about glee club when every booty call you make ends with you getting your dick
sucked."
"Dude. Who is giving you – you-know-what?" Artie mouthed, as if they were in
private or something and his lack of knowledge about what was going on with his
fellow glee club members was a personal betrayal. He'd been kind of like that
since directing the musical and the Christmas special.
"It's Santana Lopez," someone said.
"Naw, man, Lopez is a dyke."
"That Brittany chick. She gives it up."
"Again, ignorance. In case you haven't been on that Jacob Ben Israel kid's blog
or whatever, Madame President belongs to Lopez. They've got some Secret Service
going on. Either way, I banged both of them freshman year. You're behind the
times."
"Who is it?" Artie was puzzling.
"Let's just say they've got a mouth made for the job," Puck said, smirking, and
looked right at Sam.
It was about as subtle as a sledgehammer. Sam immediately felt the eyes of
every glee guy in the room slide right to him, like he was still wearing that
shirt emblazoned with TROUTY MOUTH for all to see. When Finn, Mike, and Artie's
heads all turned, Rory's followed, and so did two or three of the other guys',
including Azimio. Sam was sure Tinsley, who wasn't even watching them, was
still picking up on the powerful signal Puck was putting out... or the waves of
embarrassment Sam was.
"Really?" mouthed Artie, looking at Sam keenly behind his glasses.
"It's a girl, though, right?" Finn said slowly. He was either ticking through
the glee girls who had gone unmentioned – including his own girlfriend – or
trying to step in and spare Sam.
"Yeah, right," Azimio spoke up. "Listen up, Mr. Potato Head, I'mma do a little
math for you. A little process of elimination. Now, it's not Tinsley's
girlfriend, 'cause I know Puckerman is stupid, but he ain't stupid enough to
try and get with Shane's woman. It ain't that gothy Asian girl because she's
some kind of vampire princess just waiting for the right moment to turn Chang
so they can be together forever. And that big girl, she done got some sense and
quit the club. Everybody knows crazy-ass Quinn Fabray spent a whole year acting
like she the Virgin Mary –"
"This is true," Puck inserted solemnly, crossing his arms.
"Everybody knows she wouldn't put out for Evans at all. He gave her a promise
ring and shit. And the rest of the girls are lesbos! So it's either your big-
nose, big-lipped girlfriend, your she-male brother, or it's Promise Ring McDuck
himself right there. And look at him with his big ol' blowjob lips, he's all
red."
"Dude, you're so out of line," Finn said, clearly stung at every turn.
"Am I wrong? Am I wrong? If I'm wrong, I'll apologize," crowed Azimio. He
looked greatly amused, and stomach-sinkingly confident.
"Sam, say something," Mike muttered rigidly, making Sam realize he'd started to
drift, fuzz off, disconnect himself from everything that was going on right
then. When he plugged back in he just got a rush of mixed panic and anger.
Puck had an unmistakable twist of a smile on his face.
"Shuddup, Puckerman," Sam said, the words like marbles in his mouth, just
clumsy, like he couldn't handle them at all while his mouth was being looked
at.
"Chill, dude, it's all right," Puck scoffed, not just to Sam but to the entire
room. "Nothing wrong with getting a little help from a guy. You can't survive
in juvy without it, let me tell you. And it's not like I'm a stingy asshole. I
return the favor."
Somehow, when Puck said it, he was so full of bravado it didn't have the same
effect on him as it did on Sam. The guys were probably so used to him they
weren't surprised or shocked at all; Sam knew how that was, what with Puck's
MILF alarm going off at every other house. It was hard to actually look down on
a guy who'd had more sex than the rest of the football team put together. They
looked at Puck for a moment, who just acted like what he'd said was totally
reasonable, then they looked back at Sam, who was glaring up at Puck from the
bench.
"Don't I?" Puck demanded. "I make it good. Taught you everything I know.
Including the fingering thing. Dude fucking loved it. As any red-blooded sex
beast should."
"It's not true, is it, Sam?" asked Rory in his lilting accent, obviously
expecting Sam to say no, of course it wasn't true – would Sam have invited him
home for Christmas, played with his kid brother and sister in the yard, running
around in a drizzle of weak snow that never stuck, hugged his parents
repeatedly and ferociously, and slept so near him all night if it was true?
"Sam doesn't have to answer that!" Finn said quickly.
"It's not like we didn't know Evans was into dudes," said 25.
Azimio agreed heartily. "Hello, he's in glee club."
"He does synchronized swimming," someone else chortled.
"Evans ain't into dudes. He just appreciates the fringe benefits professional
pool boys get. There's a trickle-down."
"Puck, would you fucking stop?" Sam finally burst, aggravated.
There was a tense pause in the room, everyone on edge for Sam's outburst to
attract the attention of Coach Beiste, but she didn't come stomping in,
shouting in her growly voice.
Puck looked at him, expression genuinely surprised and apologetic, which for
some reason made Sam blink with unadulterated, deep shame and look down again.
He'd somehow knotted his shoelaces together, and the bow wasn't right. It was
just a big fucking knot composed of many smaller knots, not a bow. But he
didn't want to put his leg back down. It was keeping the fact that he was
popping wood in his gym shorts from becoming obvious to the entire room.
"No shame, dude," Puck said, then, relaxed. "Maybe it's those big-ass lips, but
you give amazing head. And if Azimio would stop being in total denial, he'd be
man enough to say as totally factually as I can that you have the tightest
little ass that's ever been on the team. It's the hottest thing in the world to
shove my fingers up in there and make you nut like crazy."
The ensuing silence was almost eerie. Sam wanted to pass out, not just to
escape the humiliation but because he was hardly breathing in any air, which
had gotten electric and smelled too much like one of the pool houses they'd
gotten off in, too hot and sweaty.
"Seriously, if you don't give it a shot, you're missing out," Puck informed
them all. "You have to lube up and take your time, but it's worth it. It's like
fingering a chick, but tighter. And Sam never fucking fakes it or says he can't
'cause his Aunt Flo's in town or whatever. He knows what it's like – he wants
me to give it to him. When he gets off from it, I can see it, you know? He
blows his whole wad up his abs."
Sam took a sharp breath, momentarily filling his oxygen-desperate, aching lungs
with the smell of his own hard-on and humiliation.
He dared to lift his eyes from the confusingly ginormous knot he'd tied on his
own sneaker for one second and saw that Finn was simply staring off into space,
motionless, and that Artie was blinking at the both of them with that dubious
yet intrigued look in his eyes. Maybe he was wondering if he was 50/50 for
tingles there, Sam thought hopefully, and though he could feel even more blood
rushing into his face at the idea, it made him able to look at Mike (who had
his shirt bunched up in his hands nervously) and then Rory (who was eyeing Sam
with a mystified near-glow in his eyes).
"And I don't have to tell any of you how ripped he is, so when he shoots, you
can see it all over his body. You can fucking feel those abs clench on it,"
Puck continued on, with brass balls. Sam flushed heavily, face falling against
his own kneecap. He was so turned on it was hard to keep his head up,
especially since he knew it was written all over his face. He couldn't believe
himself. He couldn't believe Puckerman. He knew Puck approved of how he looked
shirtless, as it had been one of the stipulations of the job that he look
muscular and bangable, but thinking about Puck looking at his body while he was
coming and liking what he saw was – new. He was going to have to move again for
sure, wasn't he? That weekend. Back to Kentucky.
"Sam's abs are kind of nuts," said Finn awkwardly.
"Yeah, yeah," Azimio muttered.
"What, Hudson, are you gonna kiss some ass so Evans will suck your puny dick
later?" 25 asked.
"What? No way," Finn said defensively. "I mean, not that there's anything wrong
with – that, it's just – he... Puck's. Right?" After a moment he added, in a
belated nature Sam knew Rachel would've been offended by, "And I have a
girlfriend."
"That's right. Too bad for you guys who are standing around right now with epic
wood and no buddies to help you out," said Puck. "Don't even think about
bothering my boy Sam. He's not into you or your pathetic dicks. He's only in it
for the Puckerman factor. Not a single one of you would know how to get him
going."
There were a few unappreciative glares; someone slammed their locker, and it
started a resentful shuffle of motion towards the locker room door. Sam saw
Azimio looking at him uncertainly, like Sam was some kind of creature with
magical abilities that had only just revealed themselves in some kind of
spectacular display, and 25 smooching his lips up mockingly. Most of the guys
had apparently decided the conversation was over, but the glee guys all moved
in steadily, as if to form a protective ring around two of their own.
"Whoa," said Artie. "You guys... that was insane."
"I don't understand. Is this a common practice in America?" Rory asked. Besides
Artie, he was by far the shortest amongst them, and his gym shorts were very
awkwardly short.
"What?" Puck asked. "Fooling around with your buddy? It's more common than you
think."
"Those guys just don't want to admit it," Artie agreed. "It's just that
usually, you don't talk about it."
"Whoa, Abrams. You got something you want to share?" Puck asked, interested.
"This isn't good," Mike said distantly. "If those guys decide to talk, rumors
are gonna spread... it could mean slushies for all of us, every day..."
"We don't have anything to do with this," Finn said.
"Hudson's right," said Puck. "It's not on you, it's on me."
"And Sam," said Artie pointedly.
"Well, he's not on the football team anymore and none of those dudes are into
swim stuff, so he probably won't get half the shit I will. And Sam can take
care of himself, believe it or not. He's kind of made of muscle, if you put
your hands over your sweet virgin ears and missed me pointing out the obvious."
They all looked at Sam, who had never been so embarrassed – not when Ms.
Pillsbury had put him in the world's tightest gold shorts, not when his
girlfriend cheated on him, not when the entire glee club basically forced him
to admit that he was poor and living in a motel room with his family, not when
his girlfriend didn't even bother to dump him before going out with a jerk, not
even when he'd had to audition for his gig... not even when Santana had written
that song about his mouth. He didn't know how Puck wasn't mortified. He took a
deep breath and tried to remember how confident sucking off Puck always made
him feel – how Puck had just said all that stuff about how good he was at it
and how great his body looked.
Feeling flustered, he sighed, "Whatever. It's not like I came back here to make
friends. I'm here to help you guys out. ...Not like that," he added, red-faced.
"I mean with show choir."
"Uh-huh. And win back the heart of your curvaceous diva," Puck said.
At that, there was a loud slam. Shane Tinsley had thrown his locker shut and
was leaving the locker room, huge and hulking. Sam's stomach swooped weirdly.
What if he told Mercedes – ?
"Well, guys," Finn interrupted. "If those dudes start harassing any of us, what
else is new? If we stick together, we'll be fine. We're seniors, now, remember.
Top dogs. More importantly, what Puck and Sam do is none of our business, got
it? So let's not ever talk about it, okay? Don't mention it outside the locker
room. Don't bring it up in glee club, especially. We need to be a united front
for Regionals. Just... try not to think about it! Ever again. Not even when
you're alone and you can't help it –"
Puck arched a brow and knocked Finn in the arm, buddy-like, smirking.
"Shut up, dude," Finn mumbled. "Come on, Rory, you better let me walk you to
class for a few days, or you might get tossed in the dumpster. And you might
want to get a pair of longer shorts."
"I have a lot of questions for you about guy friends, Finn," Rory ventured.
"The rules are still a bit murky to me. You can flah with other lads but you
can't be friends on Facebook...?"
"There are exceptions to every rule," Finn said in his captain voice.
Mike moved away with a sigh, his arms crossed, and Sam blinked as Puck hopped
over the bench and curled down in front of him all of a sudden.
"Dude, what the fuck are you doing," he said simply, affectionately. He knocked
Sam's clumsy hands out of the way and yanked at the topmost knot in Sam's
laces, prying it open with ease. "I'll fix you up."
One by one, Puck tugged the knots open, kneeling in front of him unabashedly
but working fast. Artie seemed inclined to watch as Puck gave Sam's laces a
nice steady pull, tightening them in the eyelets, then shot Sam a dark-eyed
smile as he tied them into a firm bow.
"Good, right?" he asked in that knowing tone of his.
A quick glance at Artie made it plain that if they were alone, chances were
high that he'd have Sam's pants down and his hard-on in his mouth by now, and
even though Artie was right there, Sam nodded heatedly.
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