Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/727017.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Glee
  Relationship:
      Sam_Evans/Joseph_"Joe"_Hart, Quinn_Fabray/Joseph_"Joe"_Hart, Sam/all_the
      glee_boys_sans_Kurt
  Character:
      Joseph_"Joe"_Hart, Sam_Evans, Quinn_Fabray, Finn_Hudson, Blaine_Anderson,
      Noah_Puckerman, Mike_Chang, Rory_Flanagan, Artie_Abrams
  Additional Tags:
      PWP, Group_Sexual_Situation, Masturbation, Comeplay, Circle_Jerk,
      Facials, Bukkake, Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, Underage_Drinking
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-08-30 Words: 10838
****** This Don't Even Feel Like Falling ******
by Edwardina
Summary
     Halo night leads Joe straight into temptation.
Notes
     I was prompted by an anon: Would you consider writing a story where
     the Glee boys have a circle jerk, and the focus is on Sam? WOULD I
     EVER! Thanks, anon! I hope it's not too off-topic for your interests.
     Takes place between 317 and 318. Title from "Halo" by Beyoncé.
Halo night.
It sounded pretty saintly, until you learned that Halo was a violent video game
and not exactly Christian.
What a moral quandary. Joe had just started public school a month ago, and
already he was running into all the things his mom had warned him about: peer
pressure, girls, peer pressure, atheists, peer pressure. She hadn't warned him
specifically about gay people, but it turned out they were definitely out
there, and now he was being invited to a party.
In his mind, the word "party" conjured up scenarios where everyone was drinking
and irresponsible teens Todd and Cindy wound up driving drunk and swerving off
a mountainside highway, and of course dying without their souls having been
saved and going straight to Hell. There were sections upon sections about peer
pressure and people trying to lead you from God in the youth bible he'd been
given at church camp when he was twelve. It was full of inserts with teen-
relevant topics such as parties, dates, drinking and drugs (they mentioned PCP
a lot), and cliques.
"It's kind of a tradition," Sam Evans told him, standing at his locker with
him, backpack over his shoulder. "I think it got started on the football team,
but then a bunch of football players joined glee, so now it's a glee thing.
Video games, movies, junk food. We kinda just... mess around, let the
testosterone flow. Just us guys. It's a chance for us all to let off some steam
so we can go into Nationals focused and united as a team."
So Quinn wouldn't be at this party. But all the guys in glee club would be, and
he really wanted to be friends with everybody, not just the God Squad. That's
what he'd come to public school for, right? To make friends that weren't his
parents or admittedly righteous tattoo artist. And this way he wouldn't have to
worry about his body's frustrating desires popping up uninvited.
"Sounds cool," Joe had said, relieved and disappointed at the same time. "Count
me in."
"Good," said Sam. "Maybe we can help you out with your, uh... feelings. That
you've been having. Pants-wise."
"Oh," said Joe. He didn't know what that meant, but that was personal
information Sam was bandying about in the crowded hallway. He looked over his
shoulder anyway, just in case someone was listening in. Sam chuckled at him and
clapped him on the back.
"Pick you up at eight!"
The timing was good, because Quinn had physical therapy at five, so he had
plenty of time to go with her and see her in a relatively safe, PCP-free
environment.
Quinn had forgiven him about the totally unseemly response he'd had the last
time while feeling her stretch under her soft yoga pants, her butt right by his
hip; she'd seemed kind of flattered, even. But Joe had learned all about what
had happened to her when she'd given into temptation, and while they'd talked
in the car on the way home, Quinn had said, throatily, I don't want to put
myself on a path that could lead to another unplanned pregnancy. So if you're
not okay with the fact that I'm not going to have sex with you – not anytime
soon, anyway – then maybe this shouldn't go any further.
I believe in waiting, Joe had told her automatically.
Quinn smiled. So did I.
What I'm trying to say is that I would never want you to break a promise to God
or to yourself, Joe assured her. True love waits. I really believe that. And I
want to wait for the love God wants me to have. Maybe it's you? Not to freak
you out by saying that. I'm so freaking sorry about... getting like that, with
you. I don't know how to apologize enough. I don't want to...
He'd meant to say that he didn't want to have sex with her, but couldn't get
the words out.
I don't want that to happen to you again, he finished. I respect you. I respect
what you want.
You know, I believe you. Your face says it all, Quinn had said, smiling softly.
She'd cupped his cheek, then, in an almost motherly way, then leaned over and
kissed him. Somehow, she'd drawn him in closer, too, and it was just happening,
right there: his first real kiss. It was like a little agony of mixed ecstasy
and guilt, with his words about wanting to wait for his true love still ringing
in his ears making him instantly into a hypocrite even though it felt like his
whole soul was lifting in his body, shining bright. But as transcendental as it
was, it was over before anything inside him – or, uh, in his jeans – could rise
even further. Help me into my chair?
"Ah, a Puckerman party," was what Quinn said that afternoon. They were both
concentrating very piously on getting her along her walk between the parallel
bars. Joe was just hovering beside her, ready to catch if she should fall or
give her strength if she got too wobbly.
"Have you been to one?"
"Hm, no, it's a thing the boys do all by themselves. But I've heard a couple of
sordid details."
"Well? Can you help me out? I've never been to a party that didn't involve
hymns being sung before and after. I'm kind of nervous, or something, I don't
know. What do I do at a secular party?"
"Well, since it's Puck, there will be drinking," Quinn said, "but you don't
have to partake. No matter what everyone else is doing, be true to yourself and
say no if you don't want to drink. Puck loves his fun, but he'll probably be
like, 'Whatever, more booze for me,' so you're in the clear."
"Okay. Cool. I can be a designated driver."
Quinn laughed. "I'm sure that will be appreciated by the people who do
partake."
"Anything else?"
"I've heard rumors of both clothes and dignity being shed," Quinn said, slowly
easing herself another precious step along. "They crank-called me once over the
summer and made armpit noises into the phone. So it sounds like you're in for
an evening of mature, thoughtful discussion."
"I'd better work on my armpit noises," said Joe, getting Quinn to laugh.
"Oh, and there's another thing you might not be aware of."
"What's that?"
"Your hands are on my hips."
"Oh." They were. Joe wasn't even sure when he'd done that; it was like his body
was completely rebelling against him. He removed them quickly, as if her body
was too hot to touch. "I'm so sorry!"
At eight, Sam and Finn picked him up, and briefly shook his dad's hand and said
it was nice to meet his mom and answered their questions: yes, ma'am, it's a
video game where you're a soldier fighting aliens; it's just going to be a few
guys from glee club – no, no girls, just some old-fashioned male bonding; well,
Sam went to St. Joseph's Parish every Sunday, and he'd also gone to Truth
Baptist Tabernacle with his friend over the summer and had learned a lot; Finn
had found Jesus... on a grilled cheese sandwich once; yes, they would drop him
off at eleven-thirty.
"Wow, Sam. I think my parents really liked you," Joe told Sam, once they were
in Finn's car puttering off to Puckerman's. "They even skipped asking you your
favorite bible verse."
"It's James 5:13," Sam said with a grin.
"My parents really like him, too," Finn said, as if all four of those adults
were fools.
"Did you really see Jesus on a grilled cheese sandwich, or was that some kind
of joke?" Sam asked.
Finn sighed. "If it's all the same, I'd rather not talk about it."
Joe reached for his phone. It was still new and fancy and he didn't really care
about it either way, but all the kids in public school had phones, and being
able to Google anything at any time was handy. He slowly typed in "James 5:13"
and read on his screen: Is anyone among you suffering? Let him pray. Is anyone
cheerful? Let him sing praise.
The vague sense of anxiety in his stomach that made him feel like he was going
to bible camp for weeks and not a party for a few hours seemed to melt away.
Sam was a solid guy. So maybe he'd chosen not to wait and thought that some of
the things in the bible were outdated, but so did Joe's parents, and they still
believed in salvation through Jesus Christ; Sam had real faith, too, and even
if Joe didn't totally agree with him about pre-marital sex being irresistible,
he had to respect that he'd made his own choices about it after taking the
bible into account. And hanging out with everybody outside of school, glee club
rehearsals, and God Squad meetings seemed like it could be fun.
Puck greeted them at his front door with a very serious, "Gentlemen."
The red plastic cup in his hand didn't seem to impact the grandiose welcome a
bit. He stood aside and let them in, raising his cup to Finn and Sam and simply
eying Joe.
"Didn't know you were coming, Teen Jesus," he commented.
"Oh, I invited him," Sam said.
"It's cool. Plenty of brewskis to go around, and check it out, my mom scored
the most ginormous bag of Cheetos I have ever seen. That woman knows her way
around a coupon."
"Awesome!" Finn enthused.
"This way, bro," Puck told Joe, tilting his head. "Welcome to the festivities."
The festivities seemed to be nothing more than all the glee guys sitting around
in Puck's living room, where there was moss-green carpet, TV trays with some
junk food, and a cooler full of beer and soda by the flat-screen TV. Artie's
chair had been wedged in by the couch. Mike was sitting on the couch next to
him, chanting, "Go, go-go-go!" as they both jammed on the controllers in their
hands. The entire room erupted in an "Ohhh!" that Joe couldn't determine as
good or bad, as he had literally no idea what was going on with the busy,
dizzying screen. Rory was parked next to Mike with a bowl of microwave popcorn,
some of which was already scattered around on the floor, and Blaine was sitting
cross-legged amongst the debris with another controller, squinting in
confusion.
"Where am I?"
"Dude, what are you doing! Stop going off randomly!" Artie complained. "This is
a team effort!"
"Sorry, I'm – I don't know, I'm lost, I never know where I'm supposed to go,"
sighed Blaine.
Joe couldn't blame him; the screen was an utter jumble. There was so much
motion, his brain didn't know how to compute any of it. No wonder his parents
didn't want to own a TV.
"Looks like it's the floor for us," Sam said, grabbing Joe by the shoulders and
pulling him into the room.
"Hey y'all," sang out Artie. "White Chocolate's in the house! And Teen Jesus,
can I get an amen?"
"Uh, amen," said Joe gamely, which Sam followed up with a heartfelt "A-men!"
"Hey, buddy," said Blaine with a grin. "Hey, Joe! Good to see you! Take a
seat!"
After a chorus of greetings, Joe wound up on the floor, sandwiched between
Blaine and Sam, with Rory's knees in his dreads. Finn got an armchair all to
himself, but given that he was tall as a tree and glee club co-captain, that
seemed fair.
"Anderson," Puck said sternly, "join the fuckin' party! Look at the left! See
the yellow dots on that blue circle? You're the only dot that's not in the
middle of the circle. Get there!"
"I'm trying," Blaine said, frustrated.
"A little left, then go down," advised Finn, digging into the cooler.
"Oh! Thanks. I'm way better at Dance Dance Revolution. Just saying."
Joe found a Dr. Pepper thrust into his hand. He didn't ordinarily drink soda,
but since the alternative seemed to be Budweiser, he just thanked Finn and
reveled in the weird feeling of simultaneous alienation and inclusion.
"So, what do you do in this game, again?" he asked, cracking open the soda.
"Have you ever played any video games?" Sam asked him sagely. "Like, Mario
World or anything?"
"My church had Bible Games for the PC," said Joe.
"Okay... well, this is a shooter, so basically, you just shoot things. Four
people can play at the same time," said Sam. "See how the screen is divided up?
Artie's 01, Mike's 02, in red right there, see? Blaine's 04. Who's 03?"
"Puckzilla," said Puck, straddling a backwards chair that seemed to have come
from the kitchen and grabbing his controller.
"You see it from the shooter's perspective. Just keep your eye on one of the
screens at a time, or you'll get dizzy. When their mission is done, we'll
switch up and I'll teach you what to do."
"Now that our entire elite squadron is here, let Halo night officially begin!"
said Puck.
All the guys cheered, or at least howled in various ways, so Joe lifted a fist.
He was at his first non-church-related party. He could just see himself telling
Quinn all about it later, and could imagine her laughing and shaking her head.
If anyone tried to prank call her, he'd stop them.
Amidst the eerie game noises of explosions, gunfire, some military dialogue,
and a lot more shouting at Blaine about where he needed to go, Joe took a few
minutes to look around casually, noting a cool "Bless This Home" cross-stitch
done in blue and white with a Star of David on the mantel and a bunch of towels
sitting in a stack by the TV, which he guessed was there in case someone
spilled their soda. He noticed that Blaine had taken his shoes off, so he did
too, and felt way more comfortable.
"So where's Kurt?" he wondered, as he realized there was actually one glee guy
who wasn't there.
"Oh, this really isn't his scene," Blaine told him with a wink. "I know there
was a bunch of drama last week, but don't worry, I have permission to be here.
We trust each other more than ever. As long as I keep my hands to myself, he's
totally cool with me hanging with the guys. But, like, he doesn't need to worry
about that. Bro code. Duh, right?"
"Right," said Joe, blinking. He didn't know much of anything about real gay
people, but he was pretty sure this was the first time he'd heard that they
might not keep their hands to themselves.
"And I'm sure Sam told you, but you don't have to worry, either, it's all in
good fun. It never goes beyond these hallowed walls. What happens on Halo night
stays exclusive to Halo night."
"Like a little slice of Vegas, right here in Losertown, USA," said Puck.
"It's kind of fun to have someone new," Mike commented.
"Well, I'm happy to be here," Joe told them, raising his Dr. Pepper. The
response was good; Finn clinked with his Budweiser can, Rory grabbed his
shoulders and said, "And I'm happy not to be the new guy!" and Artie said,
"Praise."
Fellowship!
A massive red bowl of Cheetos went around.
Blaine elected to have a beer, and then got even more friendly, handing off his
controller to Finn so he could take Joe's phone from him and set him up with an
iTunes account. He kept thinking of tracks he wanted Joe to hear and simply
bought them for him out of the kindness of his heart, saying, "Whatever, dummy,
you need to know this entire Michael Jackson album. I can't believe you don't
know 'Don't Stop Till You Get Enough.' It's so groovy. You'll love it."
Disco was absolutely amongst Joe's favorite music; his parents had stopped
listening to pop music after renouncing discotheques and quitting drugs, but
they still had a soft spot for what they considered essential 70s classics.
They loved anything from Earth, Wind & Fire to Donna Summer, and Blaine was the
only other person Joe had met who actually dug those amazing Bee Gees
harmonies. Gosh, it just made him want to dance. During disco week, Blaine had
burned him a CD full of tunes. Joe was still spinning it in his room.
Eager for more, Joe took out the weird little ear buds that had come with his
phone so he could listen to the track right then and there, offering one to Sam
when Sam leaned in to try and hear the music coming out of the tiny speaker.
Sam already knew the song and mouthed along with great gusto, slamming on
invisible bongos or something. Joe bobbed his head.
"Again, again," Sam said at the end. "Crank it back."
"Okay, you two, put that M.J. shit on speakerphone, let's hear it," said Puck,
so Joe set his phone on the arm of the couch and they all listened to Blaine's
acquisitions while the Halo squad rattled pixelated figures with extremely
violent gunfire and ran around seemingly randomly like chickens with their
heads cut off.
It was actually extremely fun and chill.
It got even better when Joe's turn at Halo came up and he was miraculously,
mysteriously better than Blaine. He had no idea what he was doing, but Sam gave
him clear instructions, and he followed them, sticking close to the figure in
red armor. He shot some kind of ostrich (he really didn't know what it was, but
Sam said, "Shoot, shoot!" and Joe sent it in an immediate computery crumple to
the ground, and Artie declared, "Amazing!").
"Okay, so I am clearly the worst at this game," Blaine said, "but at least I'm
not the worst dancer!"
He leapt up and started to shake his hips right in the middle of the floor,
beer in one hand, ignoring it when Rory, who had taken player 01, pelted him
with a few pieces of retaliatory popcorn.
"Dude! You're blocking the screen," said Finn, who was now player 04.
"Blaaame it on the boogie," sang Blaine. Joe knocked into Sam trying to see
around Blaine's waggling.
"Blaine, move your ass!" Sam ordered.
"That's what I'm doing. Sunshine... moonlight..."
"Doorway dance-off," Mike said, hopping up, and Blaine took the bait
enthusiastically, following Mike's sneakered moonwalk out of the way of
everyone trying to play.
"Well, this is quickly devolving into Scandals," Puck said. "That's a gay
nightclub, innocent underclassmen, in case that wasn't totally obvious."
"Whatever. If my legs worked, I'd be dancing all over the damn house and every
club in Lima. Beer me," Artie said.
"Good man!" said Puck, dismounting his seat to get to the cooler.
"Yeah, I'll take one, too," Sam said.
"Irish? You want some godawful American swill that will totally insult your
cultured palate?"
"Abso-fuckin'-lutely," answered Rory.
"Broseph?" Puck asked.
"I'm cool. Thanks, man," said Joe. He glanced at Puck and caught sight of
Blaine and Mike dancing like there were TV personalities there to judge them
for it. It looked kind of like Blaine had lassoed Mike and was jerking him
around by the hips with an invisible rope.
"Cool. More booze for me," said Puck easily. It was exactly what Quinn had said
he'd say.
"Okay, we're heading to the basement level," said Sam to the Halo players.
"Hang tight to me, Joe. Thanks," he added to Puck, tucking the opened can of
beer Puck handed him between his thighs then carelessly smooching the knuckles
Puck playfully thrust at his cheek. Joe's eyes again darted to Puck's face
uncertainly, but Puck just raised a brow and headed back to his seat and pulled
a beat-up looking laptop with a broken latch and a half-torn sticker that said
SEX PIS onto one knee.
"This really is godawful swill," Rory grimaced.
"Drink up, you skinny underage miscreant," Puck responded.
The round, or mission, or whatever the terminology was, seemed to go by a lot
faster than when the first group had played. It was engrossing, Joe realized,
testing his reflexes and exploring the world in the game, and Sam seemed to
have a strategy. Even if he didn't actually, and Joe really had no idea where
he was going or about the major objective besides shooting whatever Sam told
him to, it seemed less like random running around when Joe was the one
controlling his screen. The game was violent, though, and he knew his parents
wouldn't be down with the bloodshed, considering that they were kind of hippies
– and before, Joe wouldn't have been interested, really, but amazing music was
blaring from his phone and everyone else was totally into it, too. This was a
party? This was drinking? It seemed kind of underwhelming compared to the
hellfire scenarios he'd attached to the idea of parties. Two of them were just
dancing and the rest of them were sitting around.
"Checkpoint!" Finn finally announced.
"Did we win?" Joe asked.
"Not the whole game. We just reached a good break. Dude, you're a natural shot.
You only got lost once, too."
"Well, I just stuck to Sam," said Joe, grinning.
"Sam's a good co-pilot," Puck said, staring at his laptop's monitor. "He won't
steer you wrong. So what are we in the mood for tonight?"
"Nothing too scary," Sam told him. "Maybe a little girl-on-girl? That's always
good."
"Mmm, yes. Yes. That gets my vote. Life-changer," said Artie. "So sad Santana
took down her and Brittany's sex tape. It's weird, since it's my ex-girlfriend
in the tape, and yet, so awesome, so hot. It makes me feel like I've done it
with a porn star."
Puck said, "Seeing as how half of us have slept with either Brittany or
Santana, or in my case, both, and considering the amount of cross-pollination
that goes on in glee, I think technically, at this point, we've all been with a
porn star."
Artie laughed. "Okay, that's true."
"Wait, did you guys actually see it? I never watched it," Finn said. "I thought
it'd be creepy."
"Yeah," Sam said, tipping his beer can up for a swig. "It was supposed to be
private, so. That's too weird for me."
"I overheard it being blocked, directed and filmed," said Rory. "Lots of
giggling. There were multiple takes. Brittany's actually really skilled at
iMovie. And Lord Tubbington's grand at scrubbing behind the toilet."
Puck shook his head disdainfully. "What a wasted opportunity. I'd've busted in
and become the star of that little show."
"Hey, so, are we going for the girl-on-girl?" Finn asked, with careful
interest.
"What are we talking about?" Joe finally interjected. "A sex tape?"
"It ain't Halo night without a sacred circle," Puck replied.
Sam tilted his head and muttered, "It's part of the tradition. You jerk off,
right?"
Joe's mouth slipped open around a startled inhale at the question.
Taken aback, it took him a second to grapple for an answer. Sam made it sound
like he expected the answer to be yes, without complicated justification. It
wasn't something Joe did without attempting to rationalize it, and he'd never
been able to settle on whether it was legitimately permissible and or not. The
Bible didn't say anything about it, but it was still kind of like sex, right?
But not really? How could something that felt so good be wrong? But then, what
if truly good Christians were supposed to ignore all their lustful urges, rise
above them lest they grow and overtake the spirit? Was it disrespecting his
body to give into its cravings? What about when he couldn't exactly help it and
woke up with wet sheets? What if he truly tried not to think of anyone with a
lustful heart, especially pretty blondes with soulful green eyes?
"Sometimes," Joe finally said, non-committally.
Sam simply nodded. "Everyone does."
"Not everyone," Joe countered. "Trust me."
"Okay," Sam replied cooperatively. "Not everyone. But most guys. I know as a
Christian, you have some rules you abide by, but you're not, like, an extreme
fundamentalist who takes things super-literally. Look how down you are with
tattoos and disco-dancing and glee and gay people. A lot of Christians aren't.
Some don't ever dance or listen to any music that isn't worship or that's
played on instruments, and a lot of them don't love their neighbor as
themselves. And I don't believe in that. Personally. It seems like you don't,
either."
"Right. You talked about being a modern kind of Christian. I guess I'm one
too."
"I believe in a thing called love," Sam said, making Puck snort. Sam added in a
high-pitched vibrato, "Just list'n to the rhythm of m'heart!"
"Good God, gets me goin' when you talk all clean like that," Puck said.
Artie spoke up. "Okay. Long story short, there ain't no party like a Puckerman
party, 'cause a Puckerman party don't stop till there's jizz on his mom's
couch. Bible study later, queue up that lesbian porn now."
"It's a circle jerk," Sam murmured to Joe.
Joe just shook his head slowly, clueless.
"We all jerk off together," Sam clarified. "It's just for fun, and... I dunno,
I thought I'd invite you into the fold." He continued on quickly, "I know what
you're thinking. You don't wanna jack it in a room full of dudes. You're not
gay. You're going to think we are, or you're going to think we think you are.
Well, none of us are. Except Blaine. He actually is. And that might seem weird,
but – it kind of works, actually."
Joe could feel his eyes narrowing as he tried to make sense of that. He stayed
silent, trying to wrap his brain around the situation. It gave Sam time to
pontificate further.
"Look, if I know Quinn, she's queen of your brain right now. And your junk. And
you can't stop thinking about her, and how it would be just to grind with her.
Not even sex, just – something. Anything. You wanna get up on her. Feel her
body. Maybe you have to think of less than savory things just to not pop one
while you're with her, or you have to take cold showers all the time. You have
all this spare energy that you can't even control and you wanna do something
with it, but you don't know what, 'cause Quinn is not an option."
It was uncannily accurate, rattled off with a certainty Joe knew came from
experience and hitting him right in the chest. He couldn't even hear Sam
mention her body without his own flushing in response.
"This totally helps," Sam added.
"You all do this?" Joe asked. "Like, all of you? Together?"
"It's kind of a bonding thing. Like being blood brothers," Finn said.
"That is romantic, Finn," Artie said sardonically. "We're more like spunk
brothers."
On instinct, Joe turned to look at Rory, who was the only other guy that had
joined glee that year. Rory shrugged a yellow-clad shoulder, one brow perked.
"Is this a joke or something?" Joe asked, just in case.
"Hey, man, we're not gonna force you to whip it out. We're all buds in this
room. We just thought you might wanna join us instead of being the only dude in
glee to ah-choo this tradition," said Puck cuttingly. "That said, this is our
thing, and if you don't want in on it, whatever, but don't ruin it for the rest
of us. For the record, I totally believe in God and free love and all that good
jazz, and I know this seems gay as hell, but it's not about that. This isn't a
hook-up. It's just the best way to chill with your bros. We don't cross dicks,
dude. No helping hands."
"Usually someone does get jizzed on, though," Sam said, and polished off the
last of his beer.
"Usually it's you," Finn said with a sly smile.
"Hey, screw all you guys," Sam responded calmly. "You all team up on me for a
reason."
"Well, the first time it was 'cause you wore a t-shirt with a target on it,"
Puck pointed out. "Like, what else am I supposed to make of that? Then it was
'cause we had to re-induct you into the club. And now it's just 'cause you're
so totally willing to take it for the team."
"Well, if I wasn't a team player, you'd all be back to blowing your wads on
Puck's mom's couch."
"Dark days," lamented Artie.
"Guys!" Blaine interrupted cheerfully. His face was red and glowy with sweat,
and his hair was significantly more rumpled than Joe remembered it being
before. He seemed way happy. "Are we doing this? What are we watching?"
"Girl-on-girl," Finn told him apologetically.
"Oh, okay. Whatever!"
"How many beers have you had?" Puck asked him. He'd gotten up and was
unplugging his Xbox from the TV, plugging in a cable that ran to his laptop
instead, Blaine's disco selections were still playing, and Mike had taken his
shirt off.
"He's on number three," Mike reported.
Suddenly, things were moving fast. The party had totally shifted gears to the
last thing Joe had ever expected. He knew he was at a fork in the road, and he
knew which path was the obvious one to take: the one where he said, Hey, guys,
I'm just gonna sit this one out... it's just not my thing, but it's cool if you
want to do it... I'll just take the bus home, you know? Okay, cool. It's been
real. See you later.
He glanced at Sam, who offered him a half-smile.
"We can go in the other room and stick our heads under pillows if you want. No
big deal."
Wasn't there some kind of... middle path? One that wasn't necessarily the most
righteous path, but definitely not one where he wound up with his soul in
mortal peril? He wasn't drinking, and that seemed fine with everybody else.
"... Can I just watch the movie and not do the other stuff?" asked Joe, and a
small storm of whoops and high-fives thundered around him.
"Sure," said Sam with a laugh. He then got his hair ruffled up big-time by Mike
as Mike passed by him to take his seat.
Joe stared at his friend for a moment.
He almost couldn't make sense of Sam. On Monday they were going to have a God
Squad meeting about their shoe drive and he was going to listen to Sam pray.
Since there were so few of them, they always each offered at least a few words.
They always prayed for the guy who had tried to kill himself and his family,
for the school and its faculty, for Sam's family who lived out of state, for
Quinn's physical and mental health. They prayed for the glee club to place as
high at Nationals as God saw fit; they prayed for strength and dedication and
for a safe trip to Chicago; they prayed for the seniors about to graduate. It
was strange to suddenly know that the guy across the tables from him did this
kind of thing. But Sam's faith seemed real and free from doubt. Was this path
really one that would lead him from God, or was it a path into Sam's modern,
inclusive Christianity?
He could hear Puckerman's voice in his head. Sam's a good co-pilot. He won't
steer you wrong.
It became super hard to think about anything after Puck pushed play, though. He
was on some website that looked like YouTube but totally wasn't YouTube, and
he'd put it on the TV. Immediately, with zero build-up whatsoever, bam. Boobs.
Actual, naked boobs.
A woman was panting, smooth tanned legs tugged up and wide open, and another
woman, who was a pretty Hispanic brunette, was licking between her legs, and
everything down there was bare and pink.
"I chose something on the more sensual side," said Puck, sounding like a
connoisseur of pornography.
Yeah. This was pornography. Joe didn't know what he was expecting, actually. A
movie? Like, with a plot and characters, maybe starring Kirk Cameron? Why would
anyone ever jerk off to Fireproof?
Joe pulled his knees up and tucked his arms uneasily around them. It was almost
embarrassing to be seeing this kind of thing. His eyes were not totally
virginal. He'd seen his fair share of naked Adam and Eve art, some even in
tattoo form, plus a bunch of old Playboy magazines hidden in a box up in his
grandparents' attic. When he was younger, he'd sneak up to look at them on hot
summer days, sweaty and eager. Even though they were from the 60s and 70s, the
women in them were still naked, after all. But he'd had a sense of privacy; it
was his secret and no one ever found out, and at the time it had felt like not
even God knew where he was or what he was up to, as ridiculous as that was.
Here, along with the scarily visceral motion on the screen that had thousands
of hits, he had the whole room to take into consideration and could practically
feel God watching him.
"Nice," said Mike.
"Hmm," Blaine let out thoughtfully.
"Kurt's totally down with you looking at naked women having sex?" Joe asked
him, seeking some kind of other disapproving opinion.
"Well, I'm not exactly into women, so he has nothing to be threatened by,"
Blaine replied.
"Get another beer in him and see what he says then," Puck teased.
"Please," said Blaine, rolling his eyes. "That's water under the bridge."
The video played on, with a dance song Joe didn't know playing on his phone
filling the strange air left between girly noises and the absolutely audible
sounds of wet licking and slurping. Joe didn't even need to actually see it to
feel himself become uncomfortably erect in his jeans, pretty much just because.
But he glanced at it between long stares at the numbers flashing on the DVR
unit below the screen. After five endless minutes, it ended as abruptly as it
had begun, and suddenly Joe regretted not watching every second, since all he
had to remember now were shining, flushed snatches. Literally.
"Three stars," said Artie.
"I'd give it five," said Mike wholeheartedly.
"Too short. It lacked a distinct beginning, middle, and end."
"It was just a clip."
"It lacked that certain je ne sais quoi, from a directorial standpoint."
"Put on another, man," Finn suggested.
Sam's arm brushed Joe's ragged, ripped open sleeve for half a second, but that
was all it took for Joe to realize Sam's hand was rubbing slowly at the front
of his jeans, not a foot away from him. He stared for a second, breaths
suddenly difficult to get in and let out, actually watching him long enough to
see his fingers sliding along the length of what had to be his erection. It was
totally as obvious as any Joe had ever had.
He looked away again casually, schooling his face with detached disinterest and
prepared to pretend he hadn't seen it at all, but then he realized that just to
the right, Finn and Blaine were doing the exact same thing as Sam, and his eyes
widened of their own accord.
Blaine crossed his bare ankles casually.
"I'm throwing on some strap-on action, then I'll take requests," said Puck.
"Oh, good, I have a request," Blaine said, like he wasn't sitting there
fondling himself through his bright red highwater chinos.
"No gay porn," Puck retorted.
"Isn't this gay porn?" asked Joe.
"Oh, man," Puck sighed. "You are so home-schooled. No offense."
The screen burst into movement again, and this time it showed a busty blonde
woman on a black leather couch, wearing clear plastic heels and bending over
with a smirk. Her bottom was generous on the screen, round, and her folds
looked more like pink lips than the girl from the first clip's did, poutier and
pronounced. The video started exactly in time for a camera angle switch. It
watched from below as an unnatural, bright blue phallus stroked between them
teasingly. The thing was attached to some kind of harness, which another woman
was wearing.
"Do you want it?" the woman cooed.
"Ooh, yes, give it to me," the blonde replied.
"Beg for my cock, bitch," the woman in the harness urged.
"Oh, please, please, I want your cock in me! Please give it to me, please! Oh,
yeah!"
"Man, this kind of uber-sexy porn talk just does not happen in real life," Finn
said, sounding dejected.
"Rachel doesn't beg for your cock, huh?" Puck asked. "Sad. Are you sure you
wanna marry her?"
Joe sat, still as a statue, shocked into staring at the TV. He'd never imagined
something so insane in his entire life; it didn't seem real, but it clearly was
because he could see everything. He guessed gay girls like Santana and Brittany
had sex somehow, but a fake dick had never occurred to him. He had assumed
dicks were just out of the picture entirely, maybe. But nope. There was a blue,
shiny, slightly transparent plastic fake dick right in front of his face,
plunging and disappearing into a woman, strapped onto the other so she could
control it and thrust her hips like it was a part of her own body. It came out
of the blonde woman shiny-wet and slid back in slowly, sinking out of sight,
and the camera was close up on the action. Joe's senses were so electrified he
felt like his heart might give out at any second.
He listened to the women talking to each other ("Chicks in high school don't
talk like that!" Finn insisted; "Man, Santana sure gave you a raw deal,"
replied Puck), way more into it than he would've imagined as they humped and –
had sex; "Blame it on the Boogie" come up again on shuffle, and Joe blinked
nervously over too-wide eyes as he heard Puck laugh and ask Artie if that did
anything for his quoi and Artie reply that he was getting there.
Joe took a quick look over his shoulder and discovered that Finn, Blaine, and
Sam weren't the only ones aroused and not remotely trying to hide it.
Mike was thumbing his own hard-on absently, tracing where it bulged under his
pocket, and Rory had actually unzipped his rolled-up jeans and stuck his hand
right in them. He was slouched far back, and his neck and chest were a bright
pink. Artie was clutching a gloved hand to his junk through his khakis. Puck,
however, was simply lazily straddling his chair and smirking, red Solo cup in
hand. Joe didn't know whether to feel validated in his abstinence or not. Puck
was clearly the ring-leader of this event.
By the end of the clip, which was replete with screaming and much longer than
the first one, Joe felt like someone had their hands around his neck and were
threatening to squeeze tighter and tighter; he'd never wanted to come so bad in
his life. He'd never been so hard. He'd never been so hot in the face that he
felt completely smothered by his own body heat, trapped in his clothes. He was
pretty sure he'd just witnessed one of those women having an orgasm. He'd never
felt further from caring about sex outside of marriage being a sin. Up until
that second, how a woman orgasmed had remained a total mystery to him.
"Suggestions," Puck called out.
"Blow job," Mike threw out. Joe had to actually struggle to swallow against the
lump in his throat.
He was distracted, then, by Sam shifting next to him, leaning back as he
unbuckled his brown leather belt.
This time Sam caught him staring, green eyes flicking up and meeting Joe's. A
smile that started off sheepish and polite spread wide.
"You can watch if you want."
"'S okay," wheezed Joe, barely able to get the words out through a windpipe
tight with shameful, embarrassed arousal.
"I want to watch," said Blaine, in such a manner that it was evident Joe had
just insulted Sam, but no problem – Blaine was there to reassure.
"'Course you do," Puck chuckled, watching Blaine scoot along the carpet till he
could see Sam... and everybody else, for that matter, Joe realized. Now they
were seated more like a circle, or at least a crescent moon.
"Maybe we should skip to the finale," Artie spoke up. He was eying Rory.
"Already?"
"Well, it is almost eleven," Finn said regretfully. "We promised Joe's parents
we'd have him home by eleven-thirty."
"Well, fuck, guess we better get the lead out."
Joe, stiff in every conceivable way, stared as Sam lurched up onto his knees,
and then his feet, suddenly the center of the room, and Artie gave him a cup-
mouthed howl.
"Hey, since we have this cheesy music on, how 'bout you display some of them
famous body rolls, there, White Chocolate?" teased Puck.
"Not unless you're gonna shove money into my pants," Sam shot back.
Nevertheless, he reached behind his head and tugged his red t-shirt off by the
collar, then tossed it with a keen pitch onto the mantel beside the Star of
David cross-stitch.
"So modest," grinned Puck. "You know you like to give us free shows."
"Hey, I'm already getting naked for your benefit, here," Sam said, unbuttoning
his fly.
"Just one!" called Mike.
"Yeah, just one!" Blaine echoed. Joe didn't miss the way his eyes were wide and
attentive, clearly more interested in Sam shedding his clothes than he had been
in the porn.
Sam shook his head, grinning crookedly, and tossed his hips into clumsy motion
for his audience.
Joe had seen him break out that writhing move on Coach Sylvester's crazy light-
up dance floor during disco week, but it was different just then, even with
dance music on; Sam was half-naked, pants unbuttoned, and other than Joe,
everyone had their hand on their dicks, and Sam's was grinding up against the
denim of his jeans, getting thrust visibly at them. They all gave him a whoop,
like something in the video game had just exploded hugely in their faces, so he
bit down on his grin and gave them another roll, one hand clutched into a flex
and the other thrusting his zip down slow.
"Oh, sweet baby Jesus!" Artie hollered. "Where's my wallet."
Sam was smiling so brilliantly that Joe was legitimately confused. Even though
what he was doing was so sexual and strange, Sam looked happy to be the center
of attention, and so gratified that Joe didn't feel nearly as uncomfortable
watching him as he had felt watching lesbians have sex on the internet.
He found himself smiling, too, and muttering, "Whoa," as Sam eased his jeans
down with an obviously practiced slide, turning in place so they could see his
sleek back rippling with the movement his shoulders. He slowly, teasingly
dropped his jeans to his knees, revealing his ass and thighs, belt caught in
one fist to keep them from going all the way to his ankles.
"Skills," Mike said.
It wasn't that he was a good dancer, Joe realized. Sam's body was like a work
of art.
His face really looked like something God had made lovingly in His hands; He
had been generous with his mouth, giving him a lot of it and shaping it to be
curvy, soft, and also generous in turn, full of smiles; there were little
crinkles in the corners of his eyes that made him look affectionate as he
pointed to Puck; and his eyes seemed innocent even though he was giving them
all a taste of Sodom and Gomorrah right then and there.
Each flex of his body put it on display, blatant. He was always lifting weights
and sticking to carrot sticks and soy bars at lunchtime, health-conscious and
body-conscious, and it showed; here, he totally abided by that whole thing
about treating your body like a temple. Heck, his body was a freaking temple.
That much was obvious by the inspired worship that was going on in the form of
hooting and laughing and Finn saying, "Yeah, Sam! That's what won us
Sectionals!"
Blaine had unzipped his fly and shoved his hand into his pants; Joe could see
him stroking his dick under the fabric, hand moving along it plain as day, and
couldn't even blame him.
Moving clumsily, Sam dropped to his knees, as hard in his white Jockey boxer-
briefs as Blaine clearly was.
"Let's do this," he said, blinking at the room at large, "c'mon. I'm ready.
Who's gonna be first?"
"Irish," Puck said knowingly.
"Blaine," Joe found himself saying, getting his bare foot nudged by Blaine's.
One corner of Sam's mouth tilted up. "Okay. Rory and Blaine are the ones to
beat. You guys better whip it out."
Joe watched Sam shove his hand into his plain Jockeys and knead at his balls,
squeezing them a few times before slowly taking his dick in hand under the
cotton. He watched Sam's eyelashes flutter and his gaze dart intently around
the room. After a minute, Joe's followed it, bouncing from dude to dude.
That was when he realized everyone in the room was jerking off but him, and
looking at each other do it. He was literally surrounded with hard, bared dicks
standing up tall from open flies, or in Rory's case, shoved-down jeans and
underwear. And it all seemed kosher as could be that everyone's personal
business was on display for everyone else in the room to see.
Puck seemed most interested in the abject display that was Sam, and not
concerned with getting anywhere fast, but Artie's eyes were drifting open and
closed again like he required immense concentration, and Mike was openly
watching Rory.
Rory was obviously in it to win it – if it was actually some kind of contest.
The mere sight of him prickled at Joe. He was baring the most skin besides Sam,
huffing and puffing, face as pink as a Valentine heart, hand (with its thick
black cuff at the wrist) slinking fast along his equally flushed dick. Like the
rest of him, Rory wasn't the largest guy in the room, but his foreskin was
moving slickly over the head of his dick, rolling with his hand, and even Joe
could tell he was ready to blow and alternatively hurrying to get there and
trying not to by repeatedly pausing. His muscles were nowhere near as defined
as Sam's, but he was all out, shameless.
Joe craned around to look the other way.
To his right, Blaine had leaned back onto one elbow, eased his red pants down a
bit, and drawn his cock out of the y-front of his snug black briefs, working it
and clearly fixating between Sam and Finn. He looked flushed, red-faced and
glassy-eyed, limbs loose from the alcohol. Joe could see his bare toes curling
as he took full advantage of his permission to be there, and when Joe looked at
Finn to see if he was wary of being looked at like that, he found Finn staring
at his phone while he stroked himself slowly. He looked composed and almost
like he was in private. Maybe he was Googling porn, thought Joe.
For a surreal moment, it was all just disco and the tell-tale noise of jerking
off, oddly multiplied and constant, heated breaths and strange silence under
that, and Joe's stare inevitably returned to Sam right in front of him.
Sam had leaned back, one hand tense on the carpet just behind him, knees in the
widest V his jeans would allow, his torso stacked with lean muscle. He was
staring at Blaine while Blaine was watching Finn, then he looked right at Joe,
as though able to feel that he was being looked at. Their eyes met for a
moment. Then Sam's were raking over Joe's body like he wasn't fully zipped and
also curled on himself, knees tucked up under his arms.
"Circle," Mike blurted suddenly, the word spurring Sam to move in closer to Joe
and Blaine to seemingly follow, swaying on his eager way up and nearly going
right back down.
Instincts kicking in, Joe caught him by his compact shoulders before he could
fall over, and Blaine laughed, swaying and clutching back at Joe. He was way
closer than Joe had ever thought he'd be to anyone's junk.
"You good?" he asked, trying to keep his eyes averted.
"Yeah, I'm good. Thanks, man," he panted, friendly, and took his hand back
after a pat. "You really should join us."
"Joe can do whatever he wants, Blaine," said Finn.
"Of course he can. You're totally right, Finn," purred Blaine, edging past Joe
not having flagged in the least. Not that Joe was looking at his hard-on in his
hand. "You can join us if you want. You're right in the middle of the action
anyway."
That was an unnerving truth. Rory and Mike were both up, now, stroking their
erections, Mike much taller and longer in both senses; Joe moved instinctively
out of the way, backing from the cluster, and saw how Sam seemed to be a
magnet, pulling the guys in the room to him one by one.
"Ready?" Sam panted, alert, looking up at both Mike and Rory with his big eyes.
"I think Mike's gonna win this time," sang Blaine.
"Yeah, look at this dark horse, comin' outta nowhere," Puck kidded. He was in
no great hurry to win anything.
"Nope," Joe heard Finn mutter. "Rory."
Sure enough, Rory stepped forward, and Sam tilted in his way responsively.
"C'mon, you can do it," Sam murmured, coaxing, and got hit right in the face
split second later with a thick white load that skittered up his forehead and
quickly down his cheek, repeated pulses wetting his skin. It was somehow
shocking and disgusting, or at least Joe would have definitely assumed it was
supposed to be until right then, but Sam's eyes and mouth closed, lids
quivering, and his body strained from knee to nose, and Joe could tell that he
was the opposite of shocked and disgusted. Sam wanted it.
And so did the other guys.
"There we go. Right in the face," Artie laughed, but it wasn't mean, it was
husky and approving.
"It's that damn foreskin," Puck said. "Almost makes me want one."
Rory, panting, wrung everything he could from his round pink knob, and had
barely stepped back when Mike stepped up and caught Sam by surprise, grabbing
him by the hair to keep him where he was and unloading on his round flushed
cheek. Sam huffed, a sharp "Mmm," in his throat not making it past his clenched
jaw. His arm worked in a few furtive jerks, and Joe didn't know what the hell
to think as Mike's come dribbled straight from the tip of his cock to Sam's
shoulder.
Sam got his hair tousled, then, and not even with a hand that was clean.
"Nice, Mike," he muttered, blinking and grinning weirdly. "That was fast!"
"Yeah, well," said Mike, with some faux modesty, sighing as he tucked himself
back into his underwear.
"Two down, five to go," said Puck, enjoying the way Sam earnestly tipped his
face up, his eyes closing again.
"Four," Rory said. He'd slumped back onto the couch again but had yet to pull
up his pants. "Joe's just watching."
"Somebody," Sam breathed, cracking an eye open carefully, then saying, "Blaine.
C'mere."
Blaine was more than ready; he climbed off his knees, saying, "Want it, Sam?
Then tilt your head back for it."
Sam tilted, eyes squeezing shut, chin turning towards Blaine, hand restlessly
squeezing himself. Joe could see come clinging to his cheekbone and sliding
down his neck to his bare collar bone.
"Hang on," Finn said suddenly, heaving himself up out of his seat. One hand was
on his erection and the other was tucking his phone into his hoodie's pocket.
"Let's double-team."
"Gay," snorted Puck.
"Like you're not gonna come on his face," Blaine retorted, earning a clap on
the back from Finn. Next to Finn, he seemed even shorter than he already was,
or Finn seemed even taller, or something.
"It's symbolic, okay," Finn said. "Leadership and passing on the torch and all
that! I'm gonna grab your hair, dude. Get you right where you need to be."
"Do it," intoned Sam, inhaling sharply when Finn took him by the hair and gave
him a pull back. "Just don't come in my hair."
"How about your mouth?" asked Blaine teasingly.
"On it, not in it," Sam breathed, and closed it purposefully, lips briefly
bowing then settling plush and pink and waiting.
Joe observed carefully, having successfully become one with the inanimate
objects in the room, as Blaine and Finn's hands moved deliberately and Sam
flexed from knee to knee in anticipation, the gulp he swallowed as obvious in
his throat as the red stain slowly spreading down his chest. Finn's head rolled
briefly back, but Blaine clutched his own neck (maybe so he wouldn't clutch
Sam's) and stared down at the sight in front of him for a few beats before he
lost it, breaths loud and gusting. The first pulse arced over Sam's face,
landing messily, but the next Blaine aimed at Sam's mouth, filling the crevice
between his lips and the dent above his upper lip with pearly come. Finn
followed before Blaine was even done, giving him a heavy dose down his temple
and cheek. And as crude, gross, and unbelievable as the sight of Sam's face
literally covered in so much jizz was – as uncomfortable and provoking as it
was to see – Joe still somehow felt like he wanted to be next. It tugged at his
most primal instincts.
But Puck was next. He climbed off his chair and swaggered up to Sam while his
hair was still well in Finn's grasp and Blaine was still restlessly sliding his
dick through his fist, teasing himself past orgasm. Puck had the thickest
erection in the room and seemed to know it, bolstering it in his fingers
importantly.
"How 'bout some more?" he asked Sam.
"Mm," Sam got out, seeming strung tense.
"Man, you're covered in it already, though. It's in your eyelashes," Puck said.
"Can't even talk, huh? Lips covered in jizz."
Sam whimpered, a pathetic chesty noise.
"I think he likes it," Puck commented, grinning at Artie – and at Rory and
Mike, who were chilling on the couch. "Don't you?"
"He's got room for more," Artie replied.
"Whose you want, dude? Me and Artie both got fat loads to blow."
Puck seemed to actually like the fact that Sam's response was an unformed moan,
something he couldn't shape into a word with his mouth unless he wanted come to
slide into it. He slid his hand around the back of Sam's neck, letting Finn
wander back towards Joe with a satisfied little smirk that Joe didn't
understand at all.
Sam was righted from his tilt and guided towards Artie, shuffling on his knees
with his jeans around his calves. Joe watched curiously as Puck walked him
right up to Artie's chair and leaned him against Artie's knees. How Blaine and
Finn coming on Sam at the same time was gayer than Puck talking like that, or
anything else going on at this party, he didn't know.
"There you go," Puck said, seeming content to watch Sam blindly get his
bearings and duck his head in Artie's lap. If Joe didn't know way better it
would've looked loving, Sam's head bowed as if in obedience.
"Okay, his mouth is super-tempting," Artie panted, making Blaine point and nod,
grinning. Joe could hear Sam's wincing gasp from where he was sitting, an
attentive fly on the wall.
"Do it to him, dude," said Puck indulgently.
"Yeah, Artie," Blaine said, drifting on his bare feet so he could see better –
in stark contrast to Finn, who had reclined like Rory, only with his jeans
pulled up and fastened, and now looked like he was about to fall asleep in his
armchair.
"It's dripping down his abs," Mike chuckled to Rory. "Bet that's yours."
"Fuck," Artie gasped.
"Do it, dude. He's ready," Puck encouraged, then exclaimed, "Whoa! It's in his
hair now."
Joe waited for Sam to get mad, but instead he grabbed at Artie's wheel, jerking
off furiously next to his feet, and let Artie drench his hair and face. Even
from the back Joe could see his body tensing athletically, primed.
After that, as Artie sucked in gasps of air, Puck simply grabbed Sam's bare
shoulder and tugged him upright again.
"Covered," he repeated fondly. "Nice job. Look at all this teamwork and
leadership and morale-boosting happening, here."
Rory laughed, and Mike chorused, "Good job, Sam."
"Just one left," Puck declared. "Unless Joseph wants to join the party."
The shock Joe felt as eyes turned to him was dim at best. He was well aware
that he was so hard and ripe for it that he was getting his hemp boxers wet
around twitch after twitch of hot, slippery precome, and there simply was no
hiding it or denying it. He knew it now. He got it now. There was no judgment
about it. This was the idea. He was hardly alone.
"Can you really say no to this face?" Puck asked, eliciting a tiny smile from
Sam, the corner of which dripped with come.
He sighed, which didn't relieve the ache in his chest or belly at all.
"Yeah, join the party, Joe!" Blaine said gregariously, obviously seeing his
weakness. "Join the club for real!"
"Get over here," Artie commanded.
"You know you want to, Joe," Mike said easily. "And you know Sam wants you to.
He's the one who invited you."
"He was, wasn't he?" said Puck, seeming amused.
Finally, Joe got to his feet, and feeling everyone in the room (besides Sam)
cheer made him grin sheepishly.
"You owe me twenty bucks," Mike told Rory.
"I'm so shocked," said Puck. "Attaboy, dreads. Tell you what, I'll make your
first time real easy on you. We'll do it Hudson style, two against one. All
symbolic-like."
"Uh, gay," murmured Blaine.
"You are way more fun after a few cold ones," Puck took the time to tell
Blaine, leering. To Joe, he said, "Get it out. Let's see what you're working
with."
Joe unfastened his jeans slowly, aware of everyone looking at him – except Sam,
who straightened anxiously, perked like a golden retriever called to attention.
He was a mess, and now that Joe was coming closer, he could smell how much Sam
reeked of sex, sharp and bitter and warm. It smelled kind of like the McKinley
locker room but fresher, more intimate, and less like athlete's foot spray.
Still, he could smell the jizz and sweat and feel the testosterone. There was
totally come in his hair, matted in his eyelashes, thick strings of it having
curled around his cheek and slipped down to his throat, collecting in visible
droplets and streaks on his chest. His mouth fell open, fat and wet, as Joe
looked at it.
"Joe," he got out carefully, "are you sure?"
"You can't see how totally boned he is, but I can, so trust me, he wants to,"
Puck told Sam.
Joe let his jeans sag, the wet patch on his underwear visible to all, a shiver
racing over his skin as he actually busted his dick out the slit in his boxers.
It was almost too much just to feel it swinging in the air, definitely too much
to feel it in his hand, and way, way too much to jack it, while Puckerman did
the same to his a couple of feet away, and Sam, too, desperately shoved the
elastic of his Jockeys down and held it out of the way as he worked his fist up
his hard-on. Just seeing that made every cell in Joe's body flare, his cock
thickening impossibly harder in his hand, eyes hungrily taking in the fact that
the head of Sam's was red and wet, its shaft as sleek and pretty and used as
Sam himself was, and he came right then and there, not a dozen strokes in.
His come hit Sam's chin, striped his chest, and Sam leaned for him eagerly;
Puck stepped in close and unloaded on his cheek, and for a few hot moments, Joe
felt strangely connected to both Sam and Puck.
Briefly, he and Puck were feeling the same thing, and there was no shame in it,
no other sensations or thoughts, just the immense satisfaction of watching Sam
bite on the inside of his lip and bask in each pulse they let off on him. His
eyelids squinched tenderly and his brow pulled. Fully in the moment with them,
Sam let out a gutted noise, body wrenching, and Puck casually grabbed the back
of his head, fisting the hair he could manage to grab, and kept him still as he
nutted up his own insane abs.
"Look at him come," Rory exclaimed. "That's a lot of fucking come."
"That has to be the most he's ever taken at once," Mike declared, as Puck let
out a tiny blurt into the blond hair that typically fell in a flutter over
Sam's forehead.
"Yeah, not too shabby," grunted Puck. "Welcome to the team, Teen Jesus. You
made the right choice."
"I dunno if I'd go so far as to say that," Joe said throatily, although he was
tingling all over his entire body and had never felt like this in his entire
life, like he'd hopped up into a higher consciousness. It was simultaneously
exciting and peaceful. He didn't know whether he wanted to lie flat on his back
and drift off into the humming ecstasy or do it all over again as soon as
possible.
"Show-stopper," Artie countered.
"Towel," Sam uttered from the floor.
It turned out that almost every towel in the stack by the TV was for him.
Sam's hair was still damp from his quick scrub-down in Puck's shower ("I told
you not to come in my hair!") when they pulled up to Joe's house an even five
minutes before curfew. He was in the backseat instead of Joe, though, sprawled
on his back and quiet, half-asleep. They were all quiet, actually, but it was a
serene, satisfied quiet. The whole way home, Joe had luxuriated in the
knowledge that they were all on the exact same page, bonded together on that
higher plane by what they'd done.
"See you Monday, man," said Finn, offering him a bump of knuckles.
"See you," echoed Joe. "Bye, Sam. Uh, thanks. Both of you. Guys. It was – fun.
Good night."
Sam lifted a hand rather than speak or even open his eyes, but Joe didn't miss
the smile that tugged one corner of his mouth.
"You're home early," said Joe's mom approvingly. She was sitting in their
kitchen on a stool, working on her latest black light painting, a Madonna and
child in glow-in-the-dark neons on velvet.
"Just five minutes," Joe said.
"Well, how was it, fighting aliens?" she wanted to know.
"It's really boring to watch other people play video games," offered Joe. "But
they got me to play. And it was pretty fun. I was kind of good at it. And, uh,
we listened to old Michael Jackson songs and... Puck's mom got this truly big
bag of Cheetos."
"Good for you, making friends so quick. Your dad and I like your friend, the
blond kid," she said, artistically embellishing a spoke in neon orange on the
Virgin Mary's halo. "He seems nice. Open-minded, like you."
"He is." Joe paused thoughtfully. "They all are, actually."
"Looks like you chose wisely," said his mom, freaking him out a little.
After a hasty good night, Joe went to his room and sealed himself into it
safely, like his door would keep all his impure thoughts from sloshing down the
hall. Like it was any other night and he hadn't just gotten totally swept away
by pornography and chasing after strange flesh, he fished his house key from
his pocket and plugged in his phone. He had a couple of text messages from
Quinn.
How goes the Puckerman party?
No, don't tell me. Let me guess. Video games, beer, unwilling nudity... armpit
noises?
He deliberated; he wasn't going to violate the inherent bro code (which he now
completely understood) by telling her that the nudity was all willing... even
on his part... and couldn't help his thoughts turning back to Sam. Sam and his
open-mindedness and modern take on Christianity, covered in come like a
desecrated temple.
Replace armpit noises w/disco and that was pretty much it...
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