Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/900303.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Glee
  Relationship:
      Kurt_Hummel/Noah_Puckerman, Noah_Puckerman/Original_Male_Character
  Character:
      Noah_Puckerman, Puck's_Sister_(Glee), Puck's_Mother_(Glee), Finn_Hudson,
      Kurt_Hummel, Mike_Chang, Matt_Rutherford
  Additional Tags:
      Coming_Out, Beach_Sex, Friends_With_Benefits, Dirty_Talk, Friends_to
      Lovers
  Collections:
      Puckurt_Big_Bang_2013
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-07-27 Words: 26105
****** When All These Stars Hit Ground (they'll wake us) ******
by gala_apples
Summary
     Puck has tried to come out and failed about a hundred times over the
     last two years. Only a misplaced foot and a handful of coins have him
     actually following through in the summer between sophomore and junior
     year.
     Still, in Puck's mind being gay doesn’t matter unless he’s got
     someone to be gay with. Kurt Hummel fills the ‘also gay’ role quite
     well, so might as well fool around with him. It’s not until it’s
     almost too late that Puck realises he has feelings for Kurt, and that
     friends with benefits doesn’t cover everything he wants.
Notes
     Written for the Puckurt big bang. Raving_liberal has made the graphic
     art enclosed, and has also made me a mix, here.
             [ photo whenallthesestars-banner-66_zps482db9bf.png]
Puck wakes up positive he heard Sarah scream. He swears as the blanket tangles
around him when he tries to get out of bed. He ends up dragging it halfway down
the hall. Not for the first time the layout of their house annoys the fuck out
of him. It makes no sense that the two smaller bedrooms are on opposite ends of
the house. But everything sounds quiet behind her door, so he doesn’t burst
through with his arms up and fists clenched to stop a potential invader, just
cracks the door and looks in.
She’s definitely still asleep. Sarah’s face is half under her purple and blue
plaid comforter, but he can still hear her snores. Her leg is dangling off the
bed, foot awkwardly placed against the floor. Puck considers tiptoeing in to
adjust her until she’s more comfortable, but ultimately decides against it.
She’s got Puck’s old single mattress because Puck’s sole thirteenth birthday
present was a queen mattress. He tries not to think about what that says about
what his mom thinks of him, or men in general. The mattress protests if it’s so
much as breathed on. If Sarah doesn’t wake from being moved, the squeaking will
do it. Better to just leave her alone.
Puck closes her door and makes his way back to his bedroom, picking up the
blanket and slinging it over his shoulder when he reaches it. When he lies back
on his bed Puck’s heart is racing and his mind is whirring. He’s wide awake. He
takes a few deep breaths, trying to let the older brother adrenaline seep from
his system so he can go back to sleep.
Not that it matters. Mom will take Sarah to the babysitter when she goes to
work and Puck will have the house to himself to do what he wants, which could
very well include sleeping all day. Puck knows his mom doesn’t trust him with
her well-being. Which is bullshit, when you consider all the Jew-horror Mom
crams down Sarah’s impressionable throat. At least Puck’s never read her
chapters of The Diary of A Young Girl as a bedtime story. Still, he doesn’t
argue it. He couldn’t watch Sarah after school anyway. Glee practices are
erratically scheduled, but often, and then there’s athletics. And Sarah
actually likes the home daycare at the end of the street. Connie provides shit
like easels for art projects and bubble wands that are big enough to stand
inside so the bubble forms around you. Puck doesn’t have any of that to
entertain her with.
Puck was raised the same way Sarah is; babysitting until six on school days,
from eight to six on weekends and holidays. Sometimes longer, because Mom
doesn’t turn down overtime, and she doesn’t mind being paid under the table if
she’s exceeded her allotable overtime. The difference is Sarah’s got a group of
kids both older and younger than her and an attentive adult. Puck had a bored
teenager who only cared if he set himself on fire, otherwise he could do what
he wanted. He’d ended up watching a lot of movies on cable. Breakfast Club, The
Big Green and Blues Brothers seemed to constantly be on. It didn’t matter that
she wouldn’t play with him when Jake and Elwood were on the screen. Puck still
likes their attitude, if not their suits. And he still watches movies he’s seen
five hundred times when he needs a hug, because there’s no one that’ll actually
be willing to hug him.
Knowing that he’s not going to fall asleep any time soon Puck groans his
frustration into his pillow for a minute, then gets up. He wants to watch a
comfort movie. He could watch it on the computer in the tiny study room that’s
really more of a closet, but that would mean sitting straight up in the barely
padded computer chair the whole time. If he watches something in the living
room he can slouch. Not to mention he’s got nearly triple the hardcopy DVDs
compared to the amount he has downloaded. Diablo takes up a lot of hard drive
room, and so do Sarah’s games.
Tonight he picks Ironman. Tony Stark is pretty badass. It’s no wonder he gets
all the girls he wants. Shit, he could probably get Rhodey if he wanted to.
Stark is just that awesome, that straight men would drop everything to be gay
for him. Puck’s even heard that in the comics his freakin’ suit falls in love
with him. Puck has no intentions of reading the comics, but he saw Ironman 2 in
the theatre last month, and there’s no way it’s not going to be a franchise.
The crazy robot sexing will probably be in the fourth or fifth, once the series
completely loses it’s shit. Kinda like how the tenth Friday The 13th had Jason
in fucking outer space.
Puck settles on the couch as the backstabbing asshole otherwise known as
Obadiah Stane steps forward to receive Tony’s award. It’s not long before he’s
shivering. The air conditioning is on high, as it always is from April to
October. Apparently if you’re postmenopausal you need frigid air to live. All
Puck knows is that he shouldn’t have to wear hoodies when it’s the first week
of summer vacation, but he feels like he’s freezing to death in his typical
sleepwear of a wifebeater and boxers. He tugs his boxers down his thighs as far
as they’ll go and tells himself to man up.
It’s a solution that works for approximately two point five seconds. Then Puck
sighs, pauses the movie and gets his blanket from his room, as well as the
other things he’s going to want if he’s pulling an all nighter. He puts the bag
of chips and the can of orange crush on the coffee table and the phone by his
hip. Even though it’s two in the morning Puck’s willing to bet at least half of
Glee club is still awake. They’re teenagers, they’re supposed to be night owls.
It’s not much later that Puck’s got his phone in hand. For about the fiftieth
time this year Puck types out the two words. If his phone was a little smarter
it could probably autofill them. That’s how autofill works, right? It
recognises the things you type in most often and knows that ‘su’ probably means
supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. If he had some freaky future phone that
could sense moods it would definitely autofill. Puck always feels the same when
he types out those five letters and one apostrophe. Nervous, determined, and
like he might hurl.
And he always feels the same when he deletes the text. Like a fuckin’ coward.
Puck’s thumb jams against the hard plastic surface of the delete button six
times and he hates himself a little more with each press. Puck hates cowards
more than anyone, more than cops, or knowitalls or hockey players. He never
wanted to be any of those things. He’ll decapitate himself with the blade
before he puts skates on his feet, he purposely failed a class last year, and
his rep would never let The Man accept him. But he is a coward, and there’s no
way to deny it.
On screen Tony Stark is telling the crowd of reporters that he wants them to
all sit on the floor. Puck knows the entire movie by rote. Instead of reciting
the dialogue Puck’s focused on the two words on his screen.
I’m gay.
He keeps them hovering until Dumm-E sprays Tony’s faulty repulsors with a fire
extinguisher goo. The he presses delete six times, just like every other time
since he realised in freshman year. He can’t bring himself to tell Finn.
There are a dozen people he could tell, literally. Puck could belt out Big Gay
Al’s song from the Southpark musical. A few verses of I’m Super come September
and he might get a little crap from Santana and Matt but they wouldn’t mean it.
Mr Schue has to create a safe space. Kurt sure as hell wouldn’t care, neither
would Rachel.
Even outside Glee club there are a few people. Sarah’s young and still open
minded. Their rabbi likes Rachel’s dads, so he would listen. Fuck knows he
could tell Pillsbury, or call a toll free line, if he wanted to be completely
whiny and over the top about it.
The problem is Puck doesn’t want to tell Rachel, or Schue, or Sarah. He wants
to tell Finn. Puck’s known him for longer than Sarah’s been alive. Telling
anyone other than him first would be completely wrong. And each time he starts
to tell Finn he can’t help but remember piss balloons and refusing to sing
Gaga. It doesn’t matter that Puck’s not that guy anymore, that he knows Finn
isn’t. Shit will change, once he tells Finn. So Puck deletes the texts before
they can be transmitted, or throws the conversation into a tailspin, and hates
himself a little more each time. He’s a closeted jock with no father figure,
how goddamn pathetically stereotypical is that?
                       [_photo_divider4_zps394d6d45.png]
About a week into summer vacation Puck wakes up to three texts. Well, texts of
interest. The actual count is somewhere around thirty. It’s possible that for
the last few months he’s been screening his texts. Puck’s not the most popular
guy at McKinley, but he’s popular enough to get texts from the upper half of
the school. He doesn’t answer most of them. Oddly enough, that seems to be the
attitude people want him to have. The less Puck answers the more the masses
text. The ones he does answer are from Glee club, mostly. When those guys want
shit from him it’s usually shit he wants to do.
The first, from Matt says a bunch of the guys are coming over. be here. noon.
The second, from Mike says going to Matt’s? The third, from Brittany says you
were a cloud in my dream.
Puck puts his phone back on his side table. He’ll answer them, but none of them
are emergencies, and he woke up with wood. When he’s eighty he’ll look back and
regret every erection he didn’t use, and alone in his room with the sun
streaming in there’s no reason to not use this one. He gets a good grip and
thinks about nothing in particular, just dicks and that guy from Green Day’s
mouth, and maybe someone coming on his chest.
After he’s done wiping up with the roll of toilet paper he has for just this
reason, he rolls onto his side to get his cell. Puck texts prolly wont be there
by noon to Matt, yeah to Mike, and sounds great to Brittany because it’s
freakin impossible to not pander to her. She’s like some weird combo of little
sister and hot exhibitionist that makes everyone be nice to her at all times.
Except Sylvester. But Sylvester’s an evil bitch. She probably kicks puppies
too.
Puck considers having breakfast but decides against it for a few reasons. It’s
already 11:50. Sitting down and eating will add at least twenty minutes onto
how long it’ll take him to get ready. The only cereal they have left is generic
cocoa puffs. For the most part Puck doesn’t mind never having name brand
things, but the cocoa puffs taste like dust. Lastly, it’s possible Matt will
have booze. In that case having a full stomach only means he’ll need to drink
more to get the same effect.
Before Puck takes off for the afternoon he checks in on Sarah. The daycare
Connie Gette is running at the end of the street is definitely illegal. She’s
got way too many kids for it to meet guidelines. He doesn’t know what the
maximum actually is, but there’s no way it’s almost twenty. Also, Puck knows
his mom pays Connie in services. He shovels for her in the winter, and mows the
lawn in the summer, and neither are legal tender. But when he clomps down the
stairs Sarah’s having fun reading to a three year old. Puck interrupts to
remind her of his cell number in case there’s a sudden problem. She rolls her
eyes the whole time because she’s ten and invincible, of course she knows his
number. He recites it a second time to Connie, even though he’s about ninety
five percent sure if there was an actual problem she’d call his mom. But he
can’t go to Matt’s with a light heart or clear conscious without doing do.
There are three cars in the drive when he gets there. Puck recognises two of
them. Finn is here, and so is Jamie from the football team. Puck gets Matt
inviting him. He’s a decent guy, not one of the jerkoffs like Azimio or
Karofsky. He just has a voice like a cat in a blender. Puck takes the last spot
on the drive, mentally snickering at anyone that might come after him and have
to park a few blocks away, where there’s actually room on the street. He jogs
up the drive and knocks on the door a few times. When there’s no answer he lets
himself through the side gate. Like he figured, everyone is in the backyard.
Matt’s house is okay. Puck’s been inside a bunch of times since Matt moved here
a few weeks into September freshman year. It’s nice enough, but nothing
special. Matt’s backyard is amazing. Puck hasn’t exactly had a long
conversation about real estate with Mr and Mrs Rutherford, but he honestly
wouldn’t be surprised if they bought the property for the backyard. Matt’s
parents really push athletics. They push sports the way normal parents push
academics, or Rachel’s dads push fame. The backyard is big enough for a
swimming pool, a sandpit for jumping into, and a trampoline. The right side of
the fence is lined with sheds which hold every piece of equipment known to man,
from pogo sticks to a hockey net to water skis. And on the far side of the
fence is a massive field that has no reason to be in the middle of suburbia,
which is useful for a pick up game of anything ever. It’s athletics mecca.
There’s not one unknown face matching the car in the backyard. There’s four.
They must have carpooled, unless the asian guy is Mike’s cousin. The eight of
them are playing a bastardised version of badminton that looks awesome, and
dangerous, and awesome because it’s dangerous. From what Puck can tell without
asking, it looks like the goal of the game is to be the one to keep the birdie
in the air, while the other seven fight you for it. Puck can’t help cracking up
when the redheaded -fire engine red, obviously dyed- stranger trips Finn and
his best friend eats grass.
The game stops as everyone turns to look at him. Well, everyone except Mike,
who’s helping Finn up. Matt grins. “About time you got here. Lemme introduce my
friends.”
The redhead nods. “Yeah. Let him. Seeing as he hasn’t yet. Said it was a waste
of time when everyone wasn’t here.”
“Everyone’s here now? No Artie?”
Mike and Finn look a little guilty. “Ultimate frisbee doesn’t really work for
him, right?”
Matt ignores the question about invitations and replies defensively to the
redhead. “I hate introductions. Always makes me feel like I should have a damn
talking stick.”
The taller of the two black guys snorts. “Your school actually has them?”
“Are you kidding? No one wants to hear anyone’s opinion at McKinley.”
“This is Hayden, Travvie, Easton and Aaron.” They each gesture in some way.
“This is Puck, Finn, Mike, and Jamie.” Puck returns the favour, as do the other
guys. “They’re from my school. They’re from my dance lessons.”
“Dance lessons?” Jamie asks. Puck doesn’t know why the wide receiver bothers to
ask. Everyone knows that Matt has a different lesson for every day of the week.
“Yeah. Six weeks and I’ll be a pop and lock champion.”
Mike laughs. “No one can ever beat me.”
“I don’t see you taking lessons.”
“I have Asian camp in three weeks.”
“Excuses, excuses. So back to smash-minton? Or something else?”
Travvie answers by tackling Easton. It’s good enough for Puck, who dives for
the birdie. Aaron lands half on top of him, plastic grid of his racket pressing
on Puck’s forehead. Puck laughs and squirms out from under him. This is just
what he needed, some nice old fashioned good humoured violence as
entertainment.
They mess around until Puck’s shirt is more sweat than fabric, and Hayden is
spread eagle on the thick grass, moaning that he’ll never move again. They all
do, but just to the gazebo for the shade it provides. Jamie runs inside to get
a case of soda, and Mike starts to ask questions about the dance lessons.
Puck’s not sure how attached the guy is to his Asian camp, but he’s interested
enough in the lessons to not notice the skin under his nose is smeared in dried
brown blood, even when he uses the edge of his yellow shirt to wipe his face
and the blood leaves a stain.
Matt guzzles his Coke down the instant Jamie hands him the can, then continues
talking. “You know what the hilarious thing is? One of the performance pieces
is a mashup of about five Beyonce songs.”
Puck snorts as Jamie guffaws. Even Mike is laughing, and Puck happens to know
that that event was a turning point in his life. The four dance guys are
looking at them, confused. Finn grins and speaks for them all. “Kurt would love
that.”
“Who’s Kurt?”
“Our friend.”
“His almost step brother.”
“Why didn’t you invite him?”
Matt shrugs. “He’s super gay. I didn’t think he’d have fun.”
Puck clenches his fist around his Coke, hard enough that the can dents. Both
sentences Matt spoke are true. Kurt is super gay, although as far as anyone in
Glee knows he doesn’t have a boyfriend yet. Puck’s pretty sure if one of them
found out all of them would know within the half hour. It’s also true that
there’s not a chance that Kurt would have had fun playing smash-minton. They’re
all covered in grass stains, and there’s not a single one of them that won’t be
bruised tomorrow. Kurt would have mourned his clothes and winced at his marred
skin. Literally speaking, Puck has to agree with Matt. But in general, it
pisses him the fuck off. The way Matt phrased it makes it sound like the two
are connected. And that is complete bullshit. Puck happens to know that there’s
no correlation between enjoying playful violence and wanting to suck dick.
“I’m-” he starts.
“What’s that?”
Nope. Can’t say it. Again. For the thousandth fucking time, Puck can’t say it.
Not because Jamie’s here. The occasional dumpstering aside -which over half the
people in the backyard are guilty of- he’s never done anything homophobic. Not
because Matt’s other friends are here. Puck would bet they’re similarly decent
people. The word just won’t come.
“I’m bored,” he says instead. “We should drag the trampoline beside the house,
and jump out the second floor window.”
“What, like Home Alone three?”
Mike shakes his head. “The fact that you consider a movie with entirely
different characters part of that franchise is appalling. Home Alone is
Macaulay Culkin and Harry and Marv.”
“Also the kid unties the springy part so the bad guys fall through it into the
frozen over pool. I don’t think that’s Puck’s plan.” Matt points out.
It takes everyone to drag the trampoline to the side of the house. From where
they’re standing it looks pretty centred. Still not sure if that’s safe enough,
Matt volunteers to run inside and see how things look directly out the window.
“You should move it a foot to the left!” Matt yells. A quieter but distinctly
more upset “shit!” follows. About thirty seconds after that Puck hears the door
in the side of the house open.
“Boys, come in for a second.”
They go inside. Nine teenage boys take up a lot of room in the kitchen, but
somehow Mr Rutherford still takes up more. He is not happy. Puck’s not used to
concerned father figures. He slips halfway behind Easton and hopes that no one
notices.
“That could have been so dangerous. You could have broken a bone, or torn a
muscle. If you’d landed badly enough, you could have been paralysed. That’s not
what that trampoline is meant for.”
“Sorry Mr Rutherford.” At least half the room says it. Puck doesn’t, but his
mouth is about an inch from Easton’s afro, so he’s willing to bet Matt’s dad
doesn’t see the lack.
“Now, I’m not going to kick you all out. And I’m not going to demand you
dismantle the trampoline. But when you’re on my property, I’m responsible for
you, so I’m keeping the blinds open.”
As far as punishment goes, it’s really nothing at all. Especially not when once
they get back outside and Mike suggests they play frisbee with the hoola hoops
he saw in the shed. They need to hop the fence to do that, which puts them out
of sight.
                       [_photo_divider1_zps79e98db2.png]
“So I talked to Karen. She says we can have the cabin this week.”
Sarah throws her arms into the air and shouts her excitement. Her grip on her
spoon is loose enough that it goes flying. Puck laughs before leaning back on
the back legs of his chair. Just before the balance is off enough that Puck
topples he’s far back enough that he can open the utensils drawer. His hand
fishes blindly, but the cutlery has been in the same place as long as he’s been
alive, and he knows what a spoon feels like. It’s not that difficult to grab
another for her.
“One of you will have to find that later,” Mom warns them.
Puck nods. The mac and cheese will go moldy if they don’t find it. Puck done a
few science experiments in his life. Most things start to smell when they start
to rot. He can’t remember fuck all about the periodic table, but he still
remembers what rotting chicken smells like.
“This week?”
“Yeah. That’s what she said.”
“But today’s June thirtieth. We’d be there on the fourth.” It doesn’t make
sense to Puck. It’s the best day of the summer. Why would Karen be willing to
give that up?
“Yay! Fireworks!” Sarah’s arms go up a second time, this time thankfully
leaving the spoon on her placemat.
“Yes, we would be. I’m not sure why she’d let us borrow it then. But lets face
it Noah, we have no idea why she gives us the cabin a week every summer. Once
you go that far, what’s one step further?”
“Some people are just Hufflepuffs,” Sarah says before digging her spoon into
the heart of the pile on her plate. Puck’s not really sure how that explains
the situation, but then he’s only watched the movies. Goblet of Fire was the
only one that even mentioned Hufflepuff.
“Just pack up after dinner. Noah, make sure you take lots of sunscreen. You
know you had that skin cancer scare.”
If Puck rolls his eyes at her she’ll smack his knuckles with the handle of her
knife. That doesn’t mean he can’t fight back verbally. “Ma, it was a birthmark.
And you made me shave my ‘hawk.”
“Better a bald head than your skin rotting off.”
“Ewww,” Sarah contributes.
“Oh, and tell me now, before it gets too late to phone parents. Any friends you
want to join us?”
Puck only has to think about it for a second. Once, when he was nine, he
invited Finn. Ms Hudson actually let him go. Puck had been thrilled, no
questions asked. He’s old enough now to look back and know it happened because
Finn hated her boyfriend at the time and she needed some private time to assess
her priorities. Which probably isn’t too far from the situation these days
either. Not that Finn hates Burt. He did get himself kicked out of the house
though, and she could probably spend the time talking to Burt and Kurt about
what the next step is, if living together isn’t going to work.
“No, I’m good.”
If he invites Finn, he’ll spend the whole week thinking about telling him. If
anyone comes, he’ll spend the whole week thinking about telling them. And Puck
won’t, and he’ll manage to not tell them in the worst way. Dumb shit happens
when he aborts the Coming Out mission. Like the time Puck got Artie stoned to
tell him he should film a short about closeted jocks and instead ended up
suggesting they have crawl-with-your-arms races around Artie’s entirely
hardwood floored house. Artie thought it was hilarious, and he was also winning
heavily before Artie’s mom found them. She thought Puck was making fun of him.
He got kicked out, despite Artie’s protests, and he’s never allowed over again.
Like the time Puck pushed Finn into a snowbank instead of finishing his
sentence, and a jagged icicle scratched his face bad enough to make Finn bleed.
He had a bandaid on his face for days. Like the time Puck got Quinn drunk so
she wouldn’t be as cruel as she was capable of when he asked her for advice on
how to tell her boyfriend and ended up having sex with her. Dumb shit is even
worse at the beach, because the closest hospital is at least a half hour away.
He doesn’t want any of his friends to get permanently hurt because he wusses
out in the most endangering ways possible.
“I’m not asking anyone either. All my friends will be jealous next week.”
Sarah’s got this tone in her voice, like making her friends jealous is just as
good, or better, than fireworks. Puck doesn’t like it. As far as he knows,
she’s got a medium sized group of friends, but she’s not the top of the
playground. Puck really hopes she doesn’t end up popular. His sister doesn’t
need to be another Quinn-Santana-Brittany-Carmen-Rosalee.
“Family vacation it is then.”
Less than twelve hours later they’re in the car. The trunk is crammed with
three suitcases, cases of soda, and the few beach toys they own. Puck has the
left window seat, Sarah has the right. The cooler is separating them. It’s full
of all the food they need for the next week. It took Puck ten minutes to drag
it down the sidewalk. The bottom is scraped to crap after so many years of use.
If they get into a car accident one of them will be crushed to death. Mom’s a
pretty good driver though, so probably not.
Puck doesn’t suggest a travel game, and Sarah doesn’t ask. They’ve got a week
of bonding coming up, now it’s time to doze. Or at least is it for him. Sarah’s
a lot more used to early hours in the summer. He turns up his iPod volume a
little more so he can’t hear the radio channel Mom is playing and lets himself
drift.
He wakes up from the bounce caused by suspension killing ‘driveway’. The cabin
is nice on the inside, colourful on the outside, but it has no useable yard at
all. The backyard is a small porch and three steps leading to a decommissioned
outhouse half hidden by trees. Puck’s got some nightmarish memories of needing
to pee in the middle of the night. It was always a game of do I need to pee
more than I need to not be eaten by shadow-monsters. Karen only added on a
bathroom when he was eleven, late enough that his psyche was already completely
fucked up. The front yard is more trees, three more steps, and a ground
comprised entirely of massive rocks. Ripping open the bottom of the car is a
matter of when, not if, Puck’s sure of it.
Everything looks familiar, of course. The two windchimes hanging from the
awning, the rich green moss that grows on the rocks thanks to nearly constant
warm shade, the slivers of other cabins he can see between the leaves on either
side of the yard. This is the tenth year Puck’s been here, and none of it’s
changed. Puck hopes everything is still the same when he’s forty. He hopes it’s
all the same, and that he has a job with a malleable schedule and a high enough
wage that he can timeshare with Karen and her husband.
The first time Mom’s boss shared her cabin was when he was six and Sarah was a
newborn. His piece of shit useless father had only been gone a few months.
Karen took pity on them. She rearranged the schedule so his mom had seven
consecutive days off, and offered her a chance to relax, and Puck a chance to
play. Karen came with them that first year. She took turns taking care of them
both so his mom could sleep, or cry, or whatever it was that suddenly single
parents did. Puck doesn’t know details. He was six then, and he’s never asked.
‘How much did you cry?’ doesn’t have the same sense of nostalgia as ‘what was
the first flavour of ice cream I had at Rocky’s?’.
“Who’s helping me carry in the cooler?” He could drag it into the cabin the way
he dragged it out of the house, but he doesn’t want to. The very idea of
ripping up all the moss makes him feel guilty. He hardly ever feels guilty for
the things he does do.
With Sarah’s help they get it a few inches off the ground for the walk to the
cabin and up the steps. Once it’s inside Puck drags it the rest of the way to
the kitchen himself. The he occupies himself with unpacking the cooler, as
Sarah hauls in the suitcases and Mom gets the trunk miscellania.
One of the things Pucks likes most about cabin life is that people with cabins
know what life is about. Mainly, being with other people. The cabin is smaller
than Puck’s house. His house has three bedrooms, it’s meant for three people.
Four, if he happened to have a second parent. This cabin has also three
bedrooms. One has two sets of bunkbeds, one has a queen bed and a bunkbed, and
the last has a king bed, which fits three comfortably. And then there’s the
couch, and a few sleeping bags jammed under it. The cabin comfortably sleeps
twelve, and could probably fit up to twenty five, with a combination of bed
sharing, floor sleeping, and porch sleeping. It makes Puck think about
graduation parties, and if he could convince eleven sets of parents to let
their kids go for a week unsupervised.
As it is now though, they each take their own room. Puck takes the bunk bed
room, his mom takes the queen. Sarah, of course, has the king. By the end of
the week it’ll be staked out like her own miniature house; books in one spot,
sketchbook in another, package of melty chocolate chip cookies in another. Last
year she didn’t even hang her wet bathing suit on the line strung over the
porch, just draped it on the side of the bed she wasn’t using.
Puck’s happy with the bunk room. It’s always treated him well, aside from the
few years he wasn’t tall enough to reach the chain cord on the exposed
lightbulb in the middle of the ceiling. The decoration is simple. The walls and
ceiling are painted a vintage eighties shade of blue. The floor is navy blue
linoleum. The metal bunk beds are spotless, because even at eight Puck was
smart enough to know stickers didn’t peel off, and property damage meant he
might never get to come here again.
The most interesting thing in the room is a cluster of hats with pub logos on
them. They’re mounted to the wall, and the cluster seems to get bigger every
year. There’s at least fifteen states represented. Puck is sure they all have
great stories attached. You don’t go somewhere called Filthy McNasty’s in Fort
Worth Texas without having a good night. Next year, when they make it to
Nationals -they will make it to Nationals- Puck will sneak into a pub and buy a
hat. He’ll even write up a report of the adventure before leaving both on the
bunkbed on the last day.
Once all the tiny packets of salt Puck stole from Mcdonalds are in an ashtray
beside the fridge, he joins the rest of his family in the living room. Mom’s
already setting up her laptop on the table that takes up nearly half the room.
She looks up to ask “so. Nap, food, or beach?”
“We can nap and eat on the beach,” Puck points out. The bait would need to be a
lot better than a nap to get him away from the beach. Even if it is ten in the
morning. He can sleep next week.
“Noah’s right,” Sarah adds.
“Have fun. I’m going to work on my novel.”
Puck resists the urge to point out that she only works on the novel one week a
year. Being an asshole here seems way worse than being an asshole at home.
Instead he goes into his temporary room, closes the heavy duty curtain that
acts like a door, and digs in his suitcase for a pair of swim shorts. And the
sunscreen, because Mom will shit a brick if she doesn’t see him rubbing it into
his skin before he leaves the cabin.
                       [_photo_divider3_zps71c103d8.png]
Puck doesn’t want Sarah to grow up to be a slutty manipulator. He’s made his
bed, and if the sheets are maybe a bit grimy, well he’s used to it by now. The
same can’t be said about his sister. It’s not that he wants her to be all
straight laced either. That way lies constant pressure and almost inevitable
failure, unless she converts to Catholicism and becomes a nun. Puck just wants
her to find a comfortable middle. Where she kisses everyone and maybe gives it
up on the second date, but doesn’t sleep with adults and get paid for it. Where
she knows how to lie and embellish, but doesn’t have to hurt people, or do it
all the time.
There’s not much Puck can do about the first until she gets her first
girlfriend or boyfriend. The second though- he can make ability to read people
about fun, not about manipulation. He’s been doing it for a while, actually.
“I spy a librarian with a brain injury. It’s given her dyslexia or something,
so she can’t read. Some of her favourite books have been made into movies, but
it’s not enough. She came to the beach so she could figure out what to do with
the rest of her life.”
Sarah scans the beach front. This late in the morning it’s a sea of people on
blankets and folding chairs. Finally she tilts her head. “Her?” She asks,
pointing.
“Why?” Puck asks. She’s right, he just wants to see how much she’s thought it
through.
Sarah smiles. “Why means yes. Because she’s got a cassette player like she’s
listening to old books on tape, and because she’s got her hair in a bun, and
because her sunglasses are that weird kind that people get when they have
prescriptions. And because she’s staring at the water looking sad. I spy an
obsessive compulsive boy with a tapeworm.”
Puck looks around. It takes him a minute before he gets it. There’s a family of
blondes spread over a large fleece blankets. Two little kids, a teenager, and
parents. The parents and the little kids are eating ice cream with expressions
of great joy. The teenager isn’t. He’s eating his like his tiger tiger cone
tastes like cardboard, like it’s just a chore. He’s perfectly tanned, and his
shaggy hair is evenly trimmed, and he’s got abs anyone on the football team
would kill for. If Puck had to guess he’d guess the guy’s actually bulimic and
stressed that he’s eating crap that’ll ruin his perfect physique if he doesn’t
get the chance to barf it up. But he can see where Sarah’s coming from. Her
descriptions are always more whimsical than his. He nods towards Blondie and
she agrees.
“I spy a girl that’s got an unrequited crush on a comic book nerd.”
Sarah snorts. “That’s easy. That girl’s wearing novelty Hulk sunglasses and a
Wonder Woman bathing suit. Who pairs DC and Marvel like that? I spy two
brothers that found out on Maury they have different fathers, because of a
freak threesome and broken condoms. One’s a werewolf, and the other is a
werejaguar. So they can only meet in neutral locations, with a guardian to
supervise.”
Puck spots them pretty easily. Two redheads in lime shorts with a blond, all
eating Drumsticks. It’s just about Puck’s least favourite form of ice cream.
Nuts are great, but sharp and salty shouldn’t be mixed into sweet and melty. It
fucks with his tongue.
Puck offers his next judgement of character and as Sarah scans the crowd Puck
returns to the twins. He can’t help it. They’re exactly his type; tall and
skinny. And who doesn’t have a twin fantasy? It would be awesome if one of them
fucked him, and the other one made him suck his dick. They’re twins, their
dicks would be identical. Huge, probably, enough to make his jaw stretch and
his asshole ache. But they wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t slow down to make it easier,
wouldn’t listen as he begged for someone to please touch him because he was a
toy for them, and-
Puck quickly lays on the towel. Stomach down, of course. “I’m gonna tan. Play
in the water, ‘kay?”
“I don’t think mom wants you to tan.”
“Rat me out later. Water now.” Puck doesn’t care that it’s hypocritical to
freak out about getting a boner while sitting beside his sister while he
imagines fucking two brothers at the same time. It’s different, because this is
real life and that’s a fantasy. In a fantasy he could fuck a camel and it
wouldn’t matter.
In the middle of the afternoon Sarah starts to complain that she’s hungry. Puck
reminds her they get concession stand food once a day, so if she wants cotton
candy for the walk back to the cabin she’ll be shit out of luck. This vacation
is planned down to the dollar. She insists, so Puck follows her out of the
water and throws himself onto the sand.
“Double whatever you want, I’ll just have the same.”
“‘Kay.” She takes the twenty from the mesh pocket on the top of the cooler. It
didn’t come that way, but the fabric pocket Mom superglued in is surprisingly
handy, seeing as most bathing suits don’t have pockets.
She’s gone for a while. It’s not surprising, the lines are probably monstrous.
Puck draws a grid in the sand with his toes, then looks around without intent.
The beach is full of hot guys. The twins are eating Drumsticks again. Puck
wonders idly if they eat them on a schedule. Maybe their cooler is full of ice
and three boxes of Drumsticks, and they’re going to eat ten each before they
leave for the day. Puck doesn’t want to sit down and share with them, but he
wants to lick the chocolate off the lips of the one that’s smiling at the
blonde. Maybe it’s time to text Finn and tell him.
Puck sees Sarah coming, but doesn’t bother to meet her halfway. The sand is hot
at this time of day. By the time he gets his flip flops on she’ll already be at
the perimeter of their towels. He smiles at her choices. Sarah’s got ice cream
cones and a handful of change in one hand, two packets of thick cut fries in
the other.
Instead of passing him half the food like a sane person, she opens the cooler
with oddly nimble toes. Then she lifts three fingers from the waffle cones,
probably in an attempt to drop the change inside the cooler. The ice cream cone
that drops does so in almost slo-mo. Puck drops his phone to catch it. As she
lunges forward to catch it herself her foot drags on the towel and she trips
completely.
The fries are salvageable. The cones aren’t. She’s years too old to cry over
spilled treats, but she looks pretty bummed. Puck hates seeing that look. “You
can buy two more now. But if you do we don’t have enough for fries tomorrow.
It’ll have to be sandwiches.”
Sarah doesn’t take long to think about it. “Ice cream now.”
“Okay, go. I’ll try to clean up.” And good luck he’ll have with that. Puck’s
best bet is the double whammy of rinsing the towel in the water, and then
moving their location. They’ll definitely have to move back towards the
boardwalk, all the close-to-water spots were taken by noon. But dealing with
slightly grainier sand is better than spending the next three hours making sure
he doesn’t accidentally step in sticky residue.
As he’s packing Puck notices something that makes his heart race. His phone is
in a divot, the towel pressed into the sand. Sarah must have stepped on it. His
right hand is sticky with melted ice cream so he picks it up with his left to
make sure that the screen’s not cracked, or that not too many grains of sand
are in the small gaps between buttons and casing. If it’s broken Puck’s totally
fucked. There’s no way Mom will pay for a new one, she’ll say it’s what he gets
for bringing his cell to the beach, like it’s not 2010 and he doesn’t have to
have it on him at all times.
It’s undamaged, but something far worse has happened. The message has sent. The
stupid message that he never meant to send is sent. Right now, hours away, Finn
is being told I’m gay. Puck’s not ready for this. He’s so not ready for this he
thinks he’s going to die. He reopens the lid of the cooler in just enough time
to puke into it. Then he grabs the dirty towel and his shirt and his sister’s
shawl and the two pool noodles and the handle and runs up to the boardwalk,
huge plastic cooler smashing against his calf with each step.
Puck nudges her out of the line, for values of nudging that include
bodychecking. “We need to go back.”
“But we’re always here ‘til sunset.”
“I’m sorry Sarah. I can’t take care of you right now.”
“I’m eleven.”
“Daycare rules, and you know it.” She gets to be a latchkey kid when she starts
seventh grade. Until then, someone’s gotta take care of her, and right now it’s
supposed to be him.
“Whatever. But why are we leaving? It’s not even three!”
Fuck, why is she doing this now? Why now when he seriously cannot fucking
handle being the older brother, or the one with the plans and rules, or
anything except a guy losing his fucking mind. “Seriously Sarah. I can’t-”
“We can walk back, but only because you look like you’re gonna die. Gimme some
of that stuff.”
Puck ends up carrying only the half empty cooler. He leaves it on the mossy
stones. He can wash off the sodas and rinse it out later. He doesn’t say a word
to Mom or Sarah once he gets inside, just kicks off his flip flops and goes to
his room. He can hear his mom asking Sarah what happened, why they’re back so
early. A plastic folding door is pretty low on a scale of sound-proofness.
Sarah doesn’t know what to say. He didn’t exactly tell her anything on the walk
back to the cabin. Puck expects his mom to wrench open the door and ask him,
but she doesn’t. For once she leaves well enough alone.
After a minute Puck can hear the clicking of another folding door sliding
closed, and then water running. He should be in line for the shower. He’s
covered in damp sand just as much as Sarah is, but he can’t bring himself to
care. Puck doesn’t have to uncurl himself from the fetal position in the middle
of his bunk. When the sand dries it’ll flake off without him moving a muscle.
Puck waits all afternoon for Finn’s reply. After a dozen false alarms from
friends and acquaintances that he doesn’t bother to read beyond the name of the
contact, it finally comes. It’s 9:17. Only Finn could go that long without
checking his texts. Puck exhales jaggedly. Breathing; the most useless way of
preparing oneself for disaster.
I dunno who stole this phone but the owner will track u down and kick ur ass.
It’s quickly followed by
unless ur a friend. then hahaha. he’ll still prolly kick ur ass.
Puck wants to flip a table. The only things in the room are the two bunk beds,
which are about a thousand pounds each, and some pillows and blankets. There’s
nothing smashable, which is fucking fortunate for Karen and her husband because
in this moment Puck couldn’t stop himself. Who replies like that? What kind of
massive gaping asshole replies like that?
In one explosive moment that makes up for not moving for seven hours Puck leaps
off the bed and pulls the first shirt from the top of his suitcase, and his
iPod from where he left it on the top bunk. The curtain clicks so fast it
almost whirs as he pushes it aside. Sarah’s watching something on her own iPod,
sitting in the middle of the king bed. She doesn’t even look up as he jams his
feet in his flip flops.
Mom, on the other hand, has a snarky word or two to say about it. “Finally feel
like joining the rest of us?”
“Don’t,” he growls.
“Wow.” She reaches into the pocket of the hoodie she’s somehow managing to wear
in eighty five degree heat. She pulls out a package of cigarettes. “Go sit on
the back porch and calm the hell down. We’re on vacation, remember?”
Puck follows her orders as far as taking the pack and going out the back door.
Then he switches things up by sneaking around the side of the cabin. The trees
are so close that he could easily get stuck. Mercedes would never make it. The
car is unlocked and the spare key is in the glove compartment. Puck doesn’t
really think about what he’s doing. He just starts the car and drives the two
hours back to Lima, listening to System of a Down the whole time. Screaming
attack attack attack and we’re going down in a spiral to the ground, no one, no
one’s going to save us and liar! killer! demon! doesn’t make things better, but
it keeps him comforted enough to stay on the road.
Eventually he’s in suburbia again. Puck parks the car in front of the Hudson
house and doesn’t for a second reconsider what he’s about to do. He lets
himself in with the spare key Carole didn’t make him give back after the Quinn
stuff. She’s really a good person. Puck hopes she’s happy with Kurt’s dad.
The house is dark, but Puck’s been over a million times. He knows the layout as
well as he knows his own house. Without so much as knocking a fibre of carpet
out of place he finds the stairs. The stairs are carpeted, they don’t make a
sound as Puck storms up them to Finn’s room. Finn’s sleeping on top of his
blankets in his underwear. The distant observer in Puck’s brain can’t blame
him. The Hudson house doesn’t have air conditioning and Finn sleeps in the
attic. Of course he’s sweaty. The action part of Puck picks up the first object
he can reach and chucks it at his stupid, moronic best friend.
Finn bolts upright, limbs twitching reflexively, eyes looking for the threat.
The second his lizard brain realises noise won’t result in instant death he
starts spluttering.
“You’re an asshole!” Puck shouts. He waits a beat for the talking part of his
brain to say more, but when it seems satisfied that it’s described the
situation perfectly he walks out of the room and back down the stairs. He spent
two years freaking out just for Hudson to think he’s fucking joking? Yeah,
asshole pretty much covers it.
Finn chases him down. Puck’s got his hand on the door of the car when Finn
bursts out the front door. His hastily thrown on jeans are inside out. “Are you
okay? Are you sober? Where are you going?”
Puck doesn’t bother with the first two. “Back to my mom and my sister at the
cabin.”
“You drove two hours to call me an asshole?” Of course Finn remembers that. He
always remembers the stupidest, most useless things.
“You pissed me off.”
“Last I checked I was still mad at you for knocking up my girlfriend.”
Puck crosses his arms so he doesn’t shove the fucker across the lawn. “Yeah,
well, fuck you. You’re a homophobic asshole and I pity Kurt.”
“What?”
Finn looks genuinely confused, but Puck doesn’t care. “You heard me.”
“I’m not homophobic.”
Puck rolls his eyes. “It is fucking homophobic to laugh and assume it’s a joke
when someone tells you they’re gay.”
“Wait, what? That was you? That was you and it wasn’t a joke?”
Fuckin’ asshole. Puck shakes his head and opens the car door. He doesn’t need
this crap. Not at eleven at night during his vacation. Not ever. He should have
just told Kurt. At least Hummel wouldn’t have thought it was a goddamn joke.
Finn’s still standing on the lawn as he shrinks in the rear view mirror. Puck
plants his gaze firmly on the road in front of him, sticks the earbuds back in
his ears, and turns System of a Down back on. Puck needs to be calm by the time
he gets back to the cabin, because chances are high that his mom is going to
verbally kick his ass for taking the car without permission. And if that
happens while he’s pissed his natural reaction will be to argue back, and that
way disaster lies.
                       [_photo_divider2_zps769d60f1.png]
Puck doesn’t look up from his conversation with Santana when first a shadow,
then feet move past his left side. This isn’t McKinley, where the periphery is
full of potential assholes with slushies. This is the beach, and the only way
Puck’s going to get ice in the face is if some poor kid with a overpriced Pepsi
from the concession trips on his shovel.
He does look up when the feet turn into knees that are kneeling in front of
him. You don’t get a lot of private space on a beach in July, but the general
rule is the perimeter of your towel or cluster of chairs, plus a foot in all
directions. The knees are on his towel.
“Uh, hey?” Any other words die on Puck’s tongue when he sees the body in
question is hot estranged werewolf. This close it’s obvious his hair is dyed
red, he’s got brown roots.
“You stared at my friends all day yesterday, and you were doing it again this
morning. Don’t like fags on the beach, or you are a fag on the beach?”
“That’s a messed up word.”
The guy tilts his head slightly, smirking. “Don’t believe in reclaiming?”
“My best friend got kicked out of the house when he used it in front of his
stepdad.” There are a few generalisations in his statement, but Puck doesn’t
feel like going into all the details. Not with some random hot guy that’s
accused him of stalking and hate crimes in the same sentence.
The guy smiles. “Gotta love straight activists. My twin, for example. Doesn’t
give two shits about what me and Zack do. Not until someone else cares, and
then bam, fist down their throat.”
“That’s your boyfriend?”
“Boyfriend is a very boring word. Come on, come hang out with the rest of us
Beach Gays. Build a sand hair salon with us. And might I say your swimming
trunks are entirely fabulous?” He says it all in the least campy voice
possible, smirk back on his face.
Puck snickers. He doesn’t have a problem with campy gay guys. Campy gay guys
tend to be bitchy and hilarious with this core of steel and bravery because
they know the average citizen is going to mess with them and they’ve got to be
prepared. Kurt’s the perfect example. Making fun of the behavior is still
funny.
“No, seriously. You’re here with that girl. Sister, maybe. I dunno. The gay
that will one day adopt international children doesn’t assume the guy with the
friend with a stepdad has a nuclear family. But yeah, it’s you two, and I’ve
gotta imagine her sex jokes aren’t half as funny as mine. For example...what do
gay horses eat? Haaaaay!”
Puck laughs for minute, then answers. “Yeah. Sarah. I’m Puck, which you haven’t
actually asked yet.”
“I don’t need a name to know you’re hot. And obviously you feel the same. But
I’m Liam, by the way, except to the people that call me Octo. And the guy that
looks like me except doesn’t suck dick is Scottie. Well, he sucked dick that
one time, since we’re twins and we’re supposed to be identical. Turns out
orientation isn’t part of that. And before you get all indignant or whatever
about should I be telling you that, lemme just say that a- he has stories he’ll
love to tell about me, b- that was totally a pg retelling, c- if you can’t
handle that you should reconsider moving to the Beach Gays towel.”
“I’ve heard things so dirty your brain would spontaneously develop OCD, dude.”
Liam grins. “See? I can be way more entertaining than your Sarah. She isn’t
even here talking to you. So come hang out with us.”
Puck doesn’t see any reason not to. Sarah’s fine in the water, and the twins’
spot is only forty feet down the beach. He’ll be able to see her from there
just as well. He grabs his cell from where he put it down automatically when he
started a Real Life conversation, and after checking his shorts for level of
wetness deposits it in the pocket this pair has. That done Puck follows the guy
to his own spot. Liam sits on the Scooby Doo towel, and Scottie and Zach are
nowhere to be seen so Puck shrugs to himself and sits on the Cleveland Browns
towel. He’ll move when they come back.
“So, tell me about these hair curling stories.” Liam requests as he stretches
out and props his sandy feet on Puck’s knee.
Puck grins in case Liam’s looking. “My best friend is a huge exhibitionist.
Can’t even get off if other people don’t know what’s going on. Never not had a
threesome.”
“Ohh, that does have potential. He hot?”
“She, actually. Her name’s Santana.”
“You have sex with girls? Really? Man, Puck. Tell me you’re not closeted.”
“I came out to my best guy friend yesterday. He thought I was joking. He
laughed.”
“What a putz.”
“Right?” It’s totally not just him being over sensitive.
“The next time you see him you should kiss him right on the mouth.”
It’s not like it’s a mentally scarring image. Finn’s tall and skinny, right in
the comfort zone of Puck’s type. He never had an actual crush on him, not like
Kurt did, but it’s easy enough to imagine fooling around with him, if Finn was
just a sex robot without any feelings or preferences of his own. Still, it’s a
fucking awful idea. “I’ve got a really bad history of impulse control with the
guy. I...that would not be a good thing.”
“Whatever. I don’t know your life. Can’t tell you what to do. You got anyone
that would believe you though?”
“What, you mean the one out guy at school? Yeah. I’ll talk to him once I get
home, or when school starts. Whatever.”
“Okay. As long as your life isn’t too tragic.” Liam rolls halfway over, the
shift of his feet sprinkling sand on Puck’s knee. “Where the fuck are they?
Really, it’s like they don’t want to meet to newest shiniest Beach Gay.”
“Probably buying another Drumstick.”
“Hah! You noticed that, did you? Wanna go check? Or, unless, do you have to
stay on the sand until your Sarah gets back?”
“Nah. The boardwalk’s fine.”
Liam takes lead picking through the crowd on the beach. It’s a bit windy, the
stairs are more like little hills of sand with a bit of wood underneath.
Halfway up them Liam slowly leans in for a kiss, giving Puck enough time to
dodge if he needs to. Darting away isn’t even a consideration in Puck’s mind.
If some asshat heckles them he’ll deal with it after, but he won’t let it stop
him now.
Puck’s leg doesn’t pop, because there’s a difference between being forced to
watch Princess Diaries and actually believing in that bullshit. What does
happen is Puck taking the opportunity to push his tongue into Liam’s mouth,
where it’s greeted enthusiastically. Everything around them fades until the
only things that matter are the few points of contact he has with Liam. Lips,
one of Liam’s hands on his hip, big toe against the side of his foot.
When they finally take a break for air Liam’s lips are puffy. Puck’s feel wet.
He never thought he had a spit kink, but there’s no denying the shiver that
runs through him when he wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist.
“Fuck the Beach Gays. Wanna go to my cabin?”
There’s nothing in the world that sounds better to Puck than going to Liam’s
cabin and fooling around with him. Touching a guy’s dick is way better than
becoming a billionaire -or getting a crazy suit of armour, or destroying an
enemy, his brain adds uselessly. It hurts Puck right down to the soul to say “I
can’t. I need to watch my sister.”
“Scottie and Zack will watch her.” Liam grins, sure he’s got the solution.
“Sorry. I’ve never even heard their voices. Can’t really put my sister’s well
being in their hands. As much as I really wanna get my hand on you, I can’t
leave the beach.”
“That’s fine. We can just make it a quickie.” Liam leans in for another wet
kiss, and Puck gives himself a second to marvel. First gay hookup and the guy
is kinky enough to want to fool around in the water with strangers in every
direction. It’s like...boy Santana. How fucking lucky is he?
“Come on,” Liam says as he climbs the last few steps. “Come with.”
Now that they’re going up onto the boardwalk, not back down towards the water,
Puck expects that Liam will drag him to the small concrete building that holds
several changing stalls. Puck’s never actually used one. It’s a lot simpler to
change at the cabin and walk down rather than getting fully dressed while still
wet and sandy. They’re mostly for the day-trippers. That said, Puck knows for a
fact that two people can fuck in a change room in a Wal-mart, so he and Liam
can totally make it work.
They make it as far as the rinse showers. They’re set up like sections of a
orange, five triangles with motion activated showerheads. Puck hasn’t used one
in years, not since Karen installed her shower. Walking home sand covered isn’t
that annoying if it’s only ten minutes. Liam pulls him to the wedge that’s
facing the volleyball court on the other side of the boardwalk. It’s the least
frequented thing on the whole stretch of beach. There isn’t even a net set up
this year. The fact that there are no people there now apparently makes Liam
comfortable enough to push Puck against the nearly hot metal wall and step in
close. Puck’s mostly out of the oddly angled spray, but Liam’s hair darkens
with the water before they start kissing.
Puck’s never been so grateful for elastic as when Liam’s fingers push between
his stomach and waistband and the fabric gives. He’s had the thought a few
times before, in pool cleaning gear with MILFs, and that time he was home with
mono and Santana came over to entertain him because she’d already had it so
many times her body didn’t even notice the germs. This time is different. This
is his first time with the gender he actually wants. Puck didn’t picture losing
his guy-virginity like this, but he’s got no interest in telling Liam to stop.
He can’t even bring himself to break the kiss to tell Liam to stop jerking
himself off, Puck’ll get to it in a minute. Everything’s too fast, and warm,
and wet, and completely fucking awesome to stop for a strategy session.
They make out the whole time, keep the same open mouthed kiss going until Puck
comes and throws his head back. It smashes into the metal, but the pain is
nothing compared to an orgasm. The thunk is the loudest noise of the whole
affair. Puck’s had plenty of experience in having a silent orgasm.
Liam either has a shorter afterglow period than Puck, or he’s got some
Pillsbury-esque problems, because it only takes a second for him to raise his
arms and push his sticky hands under the stream of water.
“You wanna come over and watch a movie after dinner? Like, after you have Sarah
safely home and whatever?”
Puck blinks. Of all the post public loss of virginity sex conversations Puck
could have imagined, this doesn’t make the top ten. “But we just hooked up.”
“Yeah.”
“And we both came.” Puck knows Liam did, even if he wasn’t paying much
attention to things that weren’t his dick and his mouth. Liam would only have
one come covered hand if he hadn’t fully enjoyed himself.
“Yeah.”
“And I’m leaving in four days.”
“Okay, I didn’t actually know that, but let’s go again with ‘yeah’.”
“So we’re not dating...”
“Obviously, yeah.”
“So I really don’t get what you want.”
Liam crocks his head. “Uh. To watch a movie? Look. I know you’re new. But gay
guys have the monopoly on friends with benefits. We’re, collectively, really
freakin’ great at fooling around then staying friends. So if you wanna hang
out, we’re not gonna say no. We’re gonna say lets be friends. The general we,
and the more specific me and Zack. So again- wanna watch a movie?”
It’d be stupid to make friends with the guy. Puck’s going back to Lima in four
days. He could have fifteen gay friends in Columbus, for all the good it would
do him at McKinley. Puck opens his mouth to blow him off, and the words that
come out are “what’s better- Marvel or D.C.?”
“Whichever one did Fantastic Four. Johnny Storm was hot.”
Whatever. He’s allowed to be stupid sometimes.
                       [_photo_divider1_zps79e98db2.png]
They always stop to get produce on the way home. Puck doesn’t remember whose
idea it was to pull over the first year. He’d been far too busy listening to
his book on tape. If he had to bet though, he’d say Karen. She knew Mom loved
fresh fruit, she bought her a subscription to a fruit of the month club one
year. He can easily imagine her wanting to give Mom one more thing to try to
sustain her happiness. That Mom’s pulled over every summer after just proves
Karen was right. A pail full of raspberries is a way to make vacation last.
In Puck’s experience there are three ways to get fresh fruit while driving
home. The first is random guys with pick up trucks full of fruit. Their
nationalities are questionable, but their fruit is tasty, and the Puckermans
aren’t cops, so whatever. The second is going straight to the source; following
the arrows when signs declare strawberry picking ahead. The last -and his mom’s
favourite- is the farmer’s market. It’s about halfway home; a hippie co-op
store that looks more like a hand constructed hut. The floors are planks of
wood, for fucksakes.
This year they pass on strawberry picking. They’ve passed on it the last few
years, actually. Getting the final sunset swim in is more important to Puck and
Sarah than getting the picking experience is to Mom. Puck won’t miss walking up
and down the rows crouched until his legs felt like they were cramping. He
won’t miss trying to pluck the reddest and ripest berries and getting his hands
sticky and stained. They only thing Puck will miss are the adorable baby
spiders. It’s not a word he uses often, but spiders with bodies the size of
punctuation marks make the cut.
When they get in around ten on Tuesday there’s already a vehicle parked in
front of the house. A Navigator. It doesn’t make sense until Puck gets out of
his seat and around the car and sees Finn sitting where the tiny strip of lawn
meets their front door. It’s the same moment that Mom and Sarah see him.
Sarah’s interested, of course. Sarah likes Finn. He doesn’t treat her like a
sister. Finn wasn’t there the first time Mom put Sarah in the water and her
diaper swelled to three times the size, like a magic trick. It was so neat, for
a moment, until Puck pictured Sarah falling over in the inch of water and her
entire body bloating like that and he started crying because she was so so
breakable and his kindergarten teacher said he was bad because broke things all
the time. Finn doesn’t have to worry about taking care of her while knowing how
incompetent he is, so he ends up treating her a lot better than Puck can.
“Why’s Finn here?”
His mother’s a lot more suspicious. “Does this have to do with you stealing the
car? You remember you’re grounded, right?”
“I dunno. Maybe. And yes. Just let it start tomorrow, okay? Please? I need to
have this conversation.” There’s a difference between wanting to and needing
to, but he does need to.
“Make it quick,” she replies.
Once the trunk is open Mom puts the inner tube under her arm then hands Sarah
the pool noodles. Together they head towards the front door, leaving Puck to
stand alone at the back of the car. Finn stands up and shuffles to the side to
get out of their way, then keeps going. He doesn’t stop until he’s in front of
Puck. He’s got this sadsack look on his face. Puck rolls eyes. Before Finn can
say whatever it is he came here to say, Puck orders loudly “if we’re doing this
you can at least carry some shit in. Grab the cooler.”
The cooler’s not any lighter on the way home than it was on the way out to the
cabin. Going out it’s filled with soda and junk food and meat for barbecuing.
Now they’ve got enough corn, peas, strawberries and whited skinned baby
potatoes to feed an army. Finn handles it pretty easily though. He doesn’t even
drag it, he actually carries it all the way inside, then deposits it in the
corner beside the sink.
“Are we getting more stuff?”
Puck can hear the television being turned on. He smirks and nods his head
towards the living room. “I think we’re bringing all the rest inside. There’s a
lot of taped reality tv to catch up on.”
Two trips later and Finn’s standing with his hands crammed into his pockets,
watching Puck lock the car. He’s got his determined face on, like when he tried
to sell the football team on learning how to dance, like when he thought Beth
was his and Quinn needed money, like a thousand times Puck’s seen over the
years. Finn’s always been sure of how things should be, even if he has no real
ambitions.
“How long were you sitting on my lawn?” Puck can easily imagine Finn camping
out for days. It’s something he’d do.
“Fifteen minutes?”
“That’s it?”
“You forget dude, I know you. I called Sarah’s daycare and asked what day she
was supposed to be back. And I know you leave as close to sunset as possible,
but that you need to be able to get stuff at a fruit stand, and most stores
close at 9. So halfway home by nine is now.”
Pretty impressive, really. Puck would tell him good job if they were that kind
of friend. Instead he goes straight to business. “So talk. You’ve obviously got
shit to tell me, so talk.”
“One sec.” Finn jogs down to the Navigator and opens the driver door. A second
later Kurt steps out. Kurt gives him his little royalty wave, the one with the
scrunched together fingers. “He’s going to help.”
All of a sudden Puck feels a lot less impressed. “What’s this? Like when a
white supremacist hires a black lawyer to argue their client would never have
hate crimed anyone?”
“Hey. I never hate crimed you!”
“Can we sit somewhere that a million feet haven’t stepped on?” Kurt interrupts.
“IE not on your front step?”
“This house doesn’t even have a front step. But Puck’s bed fits like four or
five people sitting cross legged.”
Kurt boggles at him. “How do you know how many people fit in Puck’s bed?”
“Poker-and-shots games. We couldn’t play in the living room, his mom was
around.”
Puck really just wanted to get this over with simply. Each complication they
add is a little more annoying than the one prior. So it’s with a twitching eye
that he makes his bed so Kurt will agree to sit on it. And it’s with a bit more
sarcasm than is strictly necessary that he starts round two of the Finn’s
Reaction To My Sexuality game. “Okay. Lets do this. Me being gay is a joke.
Check. What’s next on the list? Wanna joke about how there’s no way that I’m a
Jew? Or-”
Finn scowls. “Shut up. That was stupid, and I’m sorry. But I believed you as
soon as you said it to my face. Texting it was dumb. How was I supposed to know
that it was you?”
“You could have asked, for one thing.”
“Seriously, Finn,” Kurt adds.
“Okay. I agree. Stupid. I already said. So, apology accepted?”
Puck would love to drag out Finn’s remorse. He made Puck feel shitty, and
Puck’s instincts have always been to hit the enemy back twice as hard. But not
accepting the apology is a dangerous impulse. Getting Finn to beg would be a
beautiful serenade to his sense of revenge, yes. Logically though, it’s a
really crap idea. The whole nightmare of last year puts a lot more in Puck’s
Owing column than Owed. If Finn remembers that mid-plead for forgiveness it
could really backfire.
“Accepted. You’re really fucking lucky I didn’t punch you in the nose though.
Just sayin’.”
“You did break into my house and throw shit at me,” Finn points out.
“Yeah, but I didn’t bust your face for thinking I was a joke. So you came out
on top, I’d say.”
Finn starts to reply and Kurt not so subtly elbows him. Finn closes his mouth.
Puck can actually see the moment he decides to not pursue it on his face.
“Okay. So past that, I just want to say congratulations on liking boys. Because
I totally don’t care. For real. Burt got my head on right, and I’m totally
better than that guy. Um, not Burt. Like, freshman me. You know what I mean.
You like all the boys you want. And since I’m saying that now I won’t even have
to wear a shower curtain this time.”
Puck wants to laugh. His irritation has faded almost completely. Finn’s just so
damn hilarious when he’s overcompensating.
“Anyway, I’m going to hang with Sarah as you discuss, you know, gay stuff. Come
get me when you’re done.”
Finn shimmies off the bed and heads for the door. Puck starts a friendly
dismissive wave. There are a few things he wants to know, starting with where
all the semi-closeted guys are. There have to be some boys that aren’t out to
the general public, but are up for fooling around.
Kurt’s reaction overtakes his by far. “We’re not a hive mind! We don’t just all
think the same gay thoughts at the same gay time.”
Finn pauses in the doorframe, looking hurt. “I know that. But there’s being gay
in Lima stuff that I definitely don’t know, that you will.”
Kurt rolls his eyes. “All you have to know is that you’ll be a virgin until
college. I mean, I guess you’re not. But basically celibacy until we get out.”
“Come on Kurt. Just help him. You can complain at me later.” Then Finn closes
the door, and it’s just Puck and Kurt.
“I honestly don’t know what he expects me to say to you. He outed you to me-
just to me, don’t worry, and said he’d said stupid stuff and needed me to be
here to make sure he didn’t say more stupid stuff. And now he’s not even in the
room.”
Puck shrugs.
“I am very much not the mentor type. Is there anything you want to talk about?
Like why you decided to come out? I think it’s great and brave, don’t get me
wrong. But was there a particular reason?”
Puck shrugs again. “I’ve been gay awhile now. I just didn’t know how to tell
Finn, and my brain got stuck on telling him first.”
“Hey, but you said it.”
“No. My sister stepped on my phone.”
Kurt shakes his head. “Don’t take that away from yourself. You could have
denied it. He obviously would have believed you. But you stuck it out instead.”
They sit silently on his bed for a minute, then two. “Wanna go play with my
sister?”
“Oh thank god, yes.” He’s off the bed before he’s even done speaking.
Kurt’s clearly the kind of person that needs activities. When he wakes up in
the middle of the night he probably sews a shirt rather than watch tv
mindlessly. Puck’ll have to remember that, if they’re going to be big gay best
friends or whatever.
                       [_photo_divider3_zps71c103d8.png]
Puck hates being grounded.
It’s not that it’s boring as fuck. Unlike Mike, when Puck’s grounded he still
has tv privileges. He just ends up watching crap talk shows and repeats of fall
primetime that he was too busy to watch on their original air dates. And his
comfort movies, of course. Not all that different than a normal sleepless
night.
The problem with being grounded is that it’s lonely. Puck’s not allowed to
leave the house unless there’s a fire or carbon monoxide. His phone is
confiscated, tucked in beside his mom’s in her purse at work. The computer
password’s been changed, and if Sarah tells him she gets grounded too, for
collaboration. It doesn’t matter that in his first week of summer vacation he
only left the house twice. It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t answer at least
seventy percent of his texts. It doesn’t matter that he rarely uses MSN and
can’t even remember his AIM account. When it’s not his choice to be a hermit,
Puck can’t stop noticing how quiet everything is, and how alone he is.
Worse, being grounded makes Puck feel like a giant wuss. Mom’s not home. She
doesn’t know if he’s following her rules. Puck could leave and get back five
minutes before Sarah comes home for the day. Or he could use the home phone to
talk to his friends. And yet he does everything she says, and nothing that she
says he can’t. Jewish boy doing what his mother wants, just another cliche he
fits perfectly.
The first morning Puck is finally free he goes to the Hudson house. It’ll be
the test of if he and Finn are actually cool, without a bridge like Sarah or
Kurt between them. If they’re not, better to know now so Puck can figure out if
he wants to spend the next month trying to get back to their old friendship, or
spend the next month cultivating something stronger with one of the other Glee
guys.
He’s not expecting Kurt to answer the door. It’s why he foregoes a hello. “Why
are you here?”
“Moron made a sandwich from the old salmon in the back of the fridge. Food
poisoning in a saran wrapped dish, essentially. Carole had to work. I get to
make sure he doesn’t fall down on his frequent trips to the bathroom. You can
go home now, there’s no way he’ll be available for the rest of the day.”
Puck shrugs. “I’ll stick around for a bit. If that’s all you’re doing you must
be bored. I just finished a week of bored. Wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”
“So lets say I take you up on your offer. What do you propose we do? It’s not
as though you like the same things I do.”
“I challenge you to rummy!”
“Really?”
“I’m a master.”
“Aces high or low?”
“I usually play wraparound.”
Kurt smirks. “I’m in. Guaranteed twenties, you know how real men play.”
“Master, like I said. There should be like five decks in the junk drawer. Have
you been here often enough to know where that is?”
“Yes. Go grab a cushion and get comfortable on the stairwell. I tried to use a
bell system, but would you believe this house doesn’t have any bells?”
Seeing as no one Puck’s ever met had owned bells, the answer is probably yes.
Lucky for him it’s rhetorical. He grabs a cushion from the living room couch
and settles against the wall opposite Finn’s door as Kurt gets the cards. He
comes up the stairs with the deck making the pocket of his tight pants bulge, a
can of orange soda in each hand. “I don’t know if you like it, but it’s
basically this or milk. Two percent milk. Or beer, but lets not.”
“Yeah. I know. I’ve been here a few times,” Puck can’t help but point out.
They play a few games, only pausing for Kurt getting Finn a glass of water when
he moans for it. Halfway through their fourth game, which Puck is going to win,
all of his three of a kinds are decimating Kurt’s hopes for runs, he says
abruptly “I got a handjob from a guy a week ago. The day after I came out.”
Kurt doesn’t reply for a minute, hand frozen over the discard pile. Puck has
enough time to start to freak out that he broke Kurt’s fragile virgin brain
before Kurt finally replies. “I want to want to tell you you’re sharing too
much. But mostly I just want to ask you what it was like.”
“I could tell you, if you want?”
Kurt stares avidly at the wall. Puck rolls his eyes and tries again for a
consent statement. “I’m not gonna say anything if you don’t say I should. I
don’t do sex stuff when people don’t want it.”
“Really?” Kurt says viciously. “What about Quinn?”
Puck rolls his eyes again. “I get that you’re trying for a low blow. And yeah,
it was stupid, everyone knows that, even though they don’t know the full story.
But it was mutual consent. Unless you consider drunk unable to consent. I don’t
agree, but I know some people use that definition, so fine. The thing about
that is, the part of the story where I got her drunk on wine coolers? I’d drunk
a whole mickey. Thirteen shots to her two wine coolers.”
“Why’d you drink that much? That’s alcohol poisoning.”
“Not quite. My tolerance is decent. Because if I was drunk I could ask Quinn
how to tell her boyfriend I was gay. Then I chickened out.”
“And by chickened out you mean had unprotected sex. With a girl.”
Puck shrugs. “I’ve done stupider. But anyway, back to my point. I will talk for
the next hour about every little detail, but you gotta tell me you wanna hear
it.”
Kurt says in a low, guilty voice, “just tell me already.”
“So his name was Liam. About the same build as Finn. Same height, maybe a
little skinnier, like you or Mike. He had dyed red hair, you could see his
roots. He was tanned. I’d spent like two days staring at him. Well, him and his
twin.”
“Twin?”
Puck grins inwardly. Everyone has a twin fetish. “Yup. Name’s Scottie. He’s
straight though, so he didn’t really factor into the proceedings. So after a
day or two Liam comes over and straight up asks if I’ve got a problem with him,
or I just wanna fuck him.”
“You being you had no problem saying the second.”
“Of course not. Sex is good. We kissed on the beach. He used a lot of tongue.”
“What did he taste like?”
Puck didn’t really log it, but his answer could be true, given the
circumstances. “Chocolate and cashews. He had sort of a Drumstick addiction.”
“You know Brittany told me armpit and I still wanted to kiss a boy?”
“Brit logic is not usually earth logic. So we kissed, and it was great. Really
great. He wanted to go back to his cabin, but I couldn’t.”
“Why not?”
If Puck isn’t mistaken, there’s a tone of anguish in Kurt’s voice, like he
doesn’t already know this has a happy ending. “My sister was in the water.”
“So then...did you...after?”
“We did then. There are shower stalls for daytrippers. Not very private, but we
were in need. He pushed me against the shower wall. It was warm, warmer than
his hands. His hands were better though. They touched me all over, like my skin
had a secret panel and he knew exactly the right sequence of buttons to get me
fired up.” So what if it’s a lie? Kurt looks like the kind of guy that needed
foreplay. Some girls had liked going straight to sex, but most had liked
foreplay first. Puck’s good at accommodating needs.
“Then, just when I can’t stand it, he slides a hand down from my belly to my
boardshorts. Never have I been so happy for the existence of elastic. It should
be the same as masturbating, but it’s really not. You know how you’re going to
touch yourself. You’ve got no idea how he’s going to touch you.”
If Puck isn’t mistaken, that’s a little whimper bubbling out of Kurt’s mouth.
“Just as hot was Liam enjoying doing it so much that he had to touch himself at
the same time. We didn’t try to drag it out. Not in a small alcove with
literally thousands of people around us. That’s the part I’d want to change
next time. I’d want to make him beg for release. I’d want him to make me beg.”
“Wow Puck. That’s...wow.”
“I could tell you something dirtier, if you want something good to jerk off
to.”
“No,” Kurt says quickly.
Puck shrugs. “Suit yourself. Are you picking up top card, or the whole pile?”
                       [_photo_divider2_zps769d60f1.png]
Puck’s first post-coming out hang out with Finn goes just fine. For the first
ten minutes of MarioKart Finn keeps looking over at him like he expects
something, but he keeps losing because of it. Eventually he stops, choosing
instead to keep his eyes on his character, and that seems to be the end of it.
After about an hour they take a timeout to regain circulation to their clenched
hands. Finn takes the opportunity to say “We should invite Kurt over. He’d be
good competition.”
“Are you trying to set me up with your brother? Because-”
“A, no I’m not. Kurt wants love and you want to hook up. B, our parents are
dating, not married. And even if they were our blood doesn’t match.”
Puck shrugs. “Invite whoever. There are four controllers, we’ll take turns.”
Finn sends out a mass text, realising a bit late that Tina and Mike aren’t in
town, and Quinn isn’t even in the state. There’s a little back and forth, but
Kurt and Rachel are the only ones to actually commit to showing up.
Puck decides to say it when he hears the front door open a second time. He’s
only got thirty seconds to back out before Rachel enters the room. He doesn’t.
The minute Rachel’s inside he says “I’m gay. I told both of them. Don’t tell
anyone else. Unless your dads have single friends. Then go ahead.”
The way he sees it things can pan out in two ways. The first, assuming the best
of Rachel, is that she doesn’t tell anyone she knows and is an ally for the
future. No, she doesn’t seem to ally with Kurt much, but he’s a threat to her
stardom. Puck doesn’t go for the same songs Rachel does, they’ll be fine. The
second, the worst case scenario, is that she tells everyone. It’s not like he
hasn’t almost told all of them in stupid, possibly dangerous ways.
“Oh Noah! How brave of you! I’ll certainly be here for you!”
“I call Princess Peach,” Kurt says. Puck’s a bit grateful for the interruption.
Rachel’s looking at him strangely now, like she’s already factoring in how to
use the gay man she dated for a week into her autobiography.
“What? No Kurt, it’s the player I’m accustomed to. Play Mario or Luigi or
Wario!”
“I’ve had enough overalls for a lifetime, thanks.”
The rest of the afternoon could just be friends hanging out, but it seems oddly
couplish. At the very least Rachel and Finn have a tension, and there’s no such
thing as two third wheels. Nothing big, just little things like getting Kurt a
drink too when he goes into the kitchen for one, or letting Kurt sit on the
more comfortable part of the bed while he sits on the springy part, or cheering
for Kurt when he wins, even though it means he’s lost.
It doesn’t really make sense. Yeah, Puck’s heard Kurt’s turned on whimper.
Yeah, he had a semi for the rest of the afternoon sitting on the stolen cushion
in the hallway. That doesn’t mean Puck wants to date the guy. To prove it he
stretches his legs and ‘accidentally’ kicks Kurt in the back. Finn would never
do that to Rachel.
                       [_photo_divider4_zps394d6d45.png]
Puck takes a chance that Kurt’s home. It’s not that much of a leap. Tina’s
still at camp, Artie’s got a Halo addiction that nobody’s bothered to do an
intervention for, and according to Facebook Mercedes is volunteering at her
church. Puck gets it. If he was a little more trustworthy he’d offer to
volunteer. He just won’t because he doesn’t want to hear the rabbi say no. He’s
also sure Kurt doesn’t get it. Boy’s got a major god grudge. Kurt won’t be
playing with Artie, he can’t be with Tina, and chances of him being with
another Gleek are low. It doesn’t mean he’s not doing something else entirely,
but if so Puck’s only out ten minutes gas, so whatever.
Kurt answers the door after the second buzz of the doorbell. He looks a little
surprised to see him. “Hi?”
Puck pushes past him and kicks off his sneakers.
“Yes. Sure you can come in. Be my guest,” Kurt says sarcastically, then tones
it down with “why are you here?”
Puck shrugs. “Kitchen Nightmares marathon on channel eight. Figured you’d love
the nastiness as much as Santana. Normally I’d hit her up, but she and Brit
have basically locked themselves in Brit’s room with a do not disturb sign.
They’ll be out in August.”
“While Gordon Ramsey’s look is awful, I really do appreciate his way of calling
people out on their failure.”
“See? I knew it.”
“We’ll watch in my basement? The tv isn’t quite as large, but the couch is far
more comfortable.”
“You have a couch in your room?”
“My room is the entire basement, minus the laundry room.”
“Shit.”
It is a nice room, too. Kind of boring and grey, and every piece of furniture
matches. It’s nothing like Puck’s room, walls covered with posters, floor
covered with discarded clothing and other things he couldn’t list until he
actually wades through the foot of miscellaneous. There’s no question that Puck
wouldn’t last a day without messing the room up, but it makes sense for Kurt.
He himself is so fashionable and bold that he needs a plain background to pop
out against.
Puck waits a bit -an entire episode- before he says anything. This is the first
time he’s ever been in Kurt’s house, and it’s kind of important to him that
Kurt feels comfortable with him there. Springing a proposition on him
immediately won’t ensure that comfort. Eventually though the sound of Kurt’s
whimper skips through his brain a few too many times and Puck has to speak up.
He’d really like to hear it again.
“I’ve been told by a wise gay guy that the general population of gay guys are
really good at casually hooking up with friends.”
“Who told you that, Brian Kinney?”
“No idea who the fuck that is.”
Kurt looks downright scandalized. “You need an education.”
“Whatever. Do you want me to put a hand in your pants, or not?”
“Oh my god, is that mold?”
Taking it for the topic change it is, Puck replies “Ramsey is going to
slaughter them.”
“They have an open cardboard box of vegetables on the floor. They deserve
everything they get,” Kurt retorts viciously.
Puck leaves it alone for a while. He’s a perfect fucking gentleman. And then
there’s a commercial for some show. Puck doesn’t catch the name, he just sees
the man and woman writhing under sheets with a strategically shown leg or
shoulder and in an instant it turns into him and Kurt. He hasn’t had sex in
almost two weeks. It’s crazy.
“Come on Hummel. Don’t make me beg. Let’s bang. I can’t spend the next two
years not getting laid. Don’t make me go back to girls.”
Kurt frowns. “I don’t understand you. You keep saying you’re gay, but you’ve
had sex with so many girls. Not just an experiment. So many girls.”
“It’s like-” Puck searches for a metaphor, and comes up with one that seems
pretty fitting. “It’s like cake. I love chocolate cake, right? Love it, think
about it exclusively when someone mentions cake, wanna cream myself when it
touches my tongue. But if there’s a world wide shortage of chocolate, like the
cocoa fields burnt down, I can’t just not have any cake. Even if it’s not half
as good and I close my eyes and imagine chocolate, I’m still gonna have it.”
“I think you’re pansexual.”
“You can’t tell me what I am, dude. That’s not cool. I’m gay.”
“That doesn’t make sense, Puck.”
Puck thinks about trying to argue it, but there’s really only one thing to do
when some prick decides they know your sexuality; throw shit and swear. It
worked with Finn, after all. He picks up his nearly full can of Coke and throws
it to the carpet. The brown liquid glugs out over the white fibres as Puck
follows up with “fuck you Hummel.”
“Puck!” Kurt gasps, horrified.
“Nope. Fuck you, I’m out.” And with that he bolts for the stairs. Kurt can suck
it.
                       [_photo_divider1_zps79e98db2.png]
Sunday morning Puck wakes up to the doorbell ringing. It’s obnoxious, and evil,
and he’s the only one home so he stumbles downstairs. He opens the door
standing in only his boxers. If the guy asking for donations is horrified by
his semi-erection, well, it’s eleven goddamn am, Puck’s allowed to be evil and
obnoxious back.
It’s Kurt, and he’s perfectly dressed. Something in Puck twinges when he sees
him, but he covers it with a blast of anger. “I’m pretty sure I told you to
fuck off.”
“I want to make a cake,” Kurt says.
What the fuck? “What?”
“I want to fool around with you, and apologise for saying your sexuality wasn’t
valid. Don’t look at me, it was your metaphor.”
Puck rubs a hand over his face, hoping to get some of the grit out of his eyes.
“You don’t have to bribe me with sex. Just say sorry. I mean, look at Finn.
Wouldn’t fool around with me if I was the last person on Earth.”
“Evidently Finn’s never noticed your arms or your treasure trail or the size of
your dick.” Puck’s eyebrows raise of their own accord. Kurt throws his hands
up, not in the least bit apologetic. “Straight boys oggle every girl they see,
even if they don’t stand a chance. Rachel’s proof straight girls do the same.
Guess what? Gay boys do it too. We’re just far more aware of the hopelessness.”
“But you think I’m not hopeless.”
“You came on to me.”
“So you know I’m not hopeless, and you’ve decided I’m gay enough for you.”
“Look. I have issues with labels. It comes with everyone telling you what you
are since before you even know the difference between boys and girls. I was
wrong to not let you define yourself.”
“Damn right.”
“You’re gay if you say you are, which makes a grand total of two in McKinley.
You made your intentions known yesterday, I’ve made mine known today. Can I
come inside your house now, or would you prefer to get nude on your front
lawn?”
Puck smiles. Not a big sex shark smile. Some girls liked the confidence, but
it’ll only be off-putting to Kurt. It might even remind him of prank pulling
bullying past-Puck, which is the opposite of what he wants. No, what he
displays is a much more relaxed smile. He can’t give Kurt a fairytale first
experience, the soulmates one Puck’s certain he’s unrealistically imagined
because he’s that kind of guy. He can’t even give him romance. Maybe he could
have, if he’d had some advance warning, but his room’s a mess and as far as he
knows there are no candles in the house for an atmospheric lunch. What he can
do is make this fun. Kurt should have fun. Not just because Puck wants him to
want it every day of the four weeks left of summer vacation. Because everyone
deserves a good first time.
“I’m gonna pass on exhibitionism this early in our budding relationship. Gotta
keep stuff to spice it up after we get bored. Also, even though no one’s home,
I still want to do it in my room.” It’d be weird to have sex somewhere he knows
Sarah will brush up against.
They go up to his bedroom and just look at each other for a minute. Kurt’s a
much prettier package, wrapped up the way he is, but Puck knows he’s nothing
bad to look at either. He’s just the straight to the pleasure version.
“How far do you want to go?”
Kurt blushes, but his voice is strong when he returns “I don’t know, how far do
you want to go?”
Puck crosses his arms, then drops them so he doesn’t look aggressive. “Come on
man. It’s me. I want to go as far as possible. As hard and wet and deep as we
can go. I mean, obviously you gotta be into it too. But if it was just about
me? All the way.”
“I want you to fuck me. I think if I fuck you first I’ll get too into the
mechanics. I’ll worry about if my reactions will be the same as yours. Is that
okay?”
Like he’d say no. “Kurt, it’ll be my total honour to fuck you senseless. Let’s
get naked, okay?”
Kurt complies, taking off his clothes with much more care that Puck would have.
It’s why Puck suggested it. His own boxers join the detritus of his floor. Then
he steps in to press himself against Kurt. Kurt’s skin is much cooler than his,
Puck has time to notice, before Kurt murmurs “You’re so hot.”
“I’m even hotter inside,” Puck says lowly. “You’ll find out next time.”
Kurt shudders against him.
“Are you going to get mad if I leave a hickey?”
“Yes. Don’t. I hate bruises.”
There go Puck's fantasies of leaving them all over Kurt’s hips. Puck mentally
shrugs. When kink closes a door it opens a window. Kurt will probably like
something Puck’s never even considered, and it’ll probably be great. Puck tilts
his head into Kurt’s neck anyway.
“Puck, I said- Oh.”
Yeah. Screw biting and sucking. Licking seems to be waking up Kurt’s skin just
as much.
Kurt’s hands are running over his shoulders, his upper arms. His thumbs run the
length of his collarbone and Puck kisses his jaw in return. Then he makes his
way to his nipples. Kurt’s left hand over his right pec, and his right gives an
experimental tug on Puck’s nipple ring. Puck hisses his pleasure into the side
of Kurt’s face. It shouldn’t take a genius to figure out the piercing is
basically a pull here tab, but a surprising number of girls never bothered.
“Yes? Okay, I’ll do that.” Kurt reangles his face so that they’re kissing mouth
to mouth, then tugs a second time. Puck groans, and Kurt takes the open mouth
as a chance to slip in his tongue. Maybe he’s not as romantic and chaste as
Puck assumed.
Familiar in the art of sexual oneupmanship Puck drops his own hand down and
encircles Kurt’s cock. He can feel the way Kurt’s breath hitches at the first
touch. He’s not sure his own breathing hasn’t changed. This is new, and what he
wants, what he’s wanted for a long time. If his heart is beating double-time he
can’t really be blamed.
Puck curls his free hand around Kurt’s asscheek and hauls him in closer, so his
own knuckles are scraping over his belly as he jerks Kurt. He could probably
get them both in hand, if he wanted. Maybe he’ll do it next time. Right now
Puck just wants to feel every inch of Kurt there is, and get seconds of the
places that make him make noise.
“We need to stop. We need lube and a condom. Do you have-”
“Like I’d ever not use one ever again, after Quinn.”
“No, I meant lube. Not everyone uses it for masturbation.”
“You’re the first boy I’ve fucked. You’re not the first ass I’ve fucked.”
Kurt’s mouth curls. “Don’t talk to me about your girl-sex, okay?”
Puck’s had way more irrational requests in the past. No name dropping past
lovers is downright normal. “Sure thing. Get on the bed, however you always
imagined doing this, and I’ll get the stuff.”
Puck fully expects Kurt to lay on his back. In that position they can kiss, and
look at each other, and generally be as romantic as it’s possible to be while
striving to orgasm. So when Kurt crawls onto the bed and stays that way, on his
hands and knees, Puck doesn’t know what to say for a second. Then he shrugs to
himself and goes to get a condom from the sock drawer. If it’s what Kurt wants,
it’s what Kurt wants.
“You’re probably going to go soft. It’s fine, it’s normal, just try to focus on
the hot foreplay we just had, alright?” After all, Kurt won’t want to hear
about how with the one mom that liked it, he used a vibrator while getting her
prepped so she was hot the whole time. The one time they tried without because
she didn’t have any batteries she couldn’t make it to the good part and pushed
him away. Kurt’s probably never even seen a vibrator.
“I trust you.”
He fingers him quickly. Maybe a little quicker than he should, but Kurt’s the
one who said getting hung up on the mechanics would only make it worse. Soon
enough Puck lines himself up and pushes in. Kurt’s spine arches and Puck can’t
see his face, but he’d guess it’s not in a good way. There’s a distinct lack of
whimpering. With the hand that’s not keeping Puck from putting his whole weight
on Kurt he scrabbles for Kurt’s dick. The more of this he finds pleasurable the
better, and a handjob will help. Puck wants Kurt to want to do this again.
Finally Kurt makes the same sweet sound as last week, from their talk in the
hallway. “Yeah Kurt, that’s just what I want to hear. I’m going to make you do
that again and again.” Kurt whimpers a second time. Puck isn’t quite sure if
it’s the angle of the thrusting or the dirty talk, but he’s going to try to
keep up both.
“Yeah Kurt, you feel so good inside, I should have known you’d be beautiful
inside too. I can see how much you love this, I hope I look half as hot when
you’re fucking me, you’re so good-” his whimpers have turned into rounded
sobbed breaths, “you gonna come? You gonna paint the bed with how hot you are,
how hot this is?”
“Puck,” he sobs.
Puck kisses his shoulder. “Come any time you want. Kurt, you feel so good to
me, I want you to feel good too. You-”
Kurt grunts and spills himself. Puck stops jerking Kurt, not sure if his dick
gets immediately oversensitive the way his does. He moves his arm a bit further
up his body in order to keep Kurt from collapsing. He needs him on his knees
for just a little bit longer. It’s that or pull out and shuck off the condom
and come on his back, and Puck suspects Kurt wouldn’t like that.
It’s only a few more thrusts before Puck’s coming. He drops his weight onto
Kurt as all his other processes momentarily fail, things like gross motor
control, things like politeness involved in not falling on your bedmate like a
sack of potatoes. Puck’s a good lover, up until the comeshot, then he just
loses his shit. Whenever a girl commented on it in the past he’d leer and say
‘practice makes perfect’, and it’s not a line he’s planning on discarding in
the future. Puck’s young, his refractory period is short, and if the worst
thing he does in bed is lose a little control while an orgasm short circuits
his system he’s not going to feel bad about his prowess.
“Can I have a shower?” Kurt asks, squirming out from underneath Puck.
“Go ahead. We don’t have the products you do, but use what you want.” It’s
fine. It’s not like he wanted to spoon Kurt anyway. Puck would have done it for
Kurt’s sake, but if that’s not what Kurt wants, then fine. He’s not going to
cry.
                       [_photo_divider3_zps71c103d8.png]
As always, Puck stops in to remind Sarah of his phone number. As always, she
rolls her eyes. She’s not really looking up from her art project, but Puck can
tell. “Where are you going?”
“Kurt’s.”
She does look up at that, eyeing him the way he’s taught her to do strangers.
“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Kurt. Any particular reason?”
He can hardly tell her that for the last four days they’ve been having great
sex. More than once in a hangout. More than twice, even. No one would even look
at Kurt Hummel and think insatiable, but he makes the first move as often as
Puck does.
“We like the same tv shows and his commentary is hilarious.”
“Whatever. Tell me when you want to.”
That tone paired with that blatant attempt at nonchalance, there’s only one
thing Puck can get from it. “You know, don’t you?”
“Tell me when you want to,” she repeats before going back to her yarn and nails
project.
Puck would love to swoop down and hug her. His sister is awesome, the last few
words just more proof. But it’s not the kind of relationship they have. “I’ll
see you later. Call if-”
“Yeah yeah. Later.”
                       [_photo_divider2_zps769d60f1.png]
“You catch your breath yet?”
Puck snorts into the pillow. “I have. I just don’t want to get up yet. I’m
sweaty and it’s July. Clothes are for losers.”
Kurt drums his fingers on his shoulder. “If we’re not getting up and doing
something you need to talk to me.”
“Dude, really?”
“I’m not saying pillow talk. Tell me whatever you want to, but laying here in
silence is a waste of time.”
Puck means to bring up football or BMXing or Diablo, just to test Kurt’s
tolerance. Instead what comes out is “at some point my sister’s going to want
to meet the person I’m fucking.”
“The guy who’s fucking you. Or is your short term memory that bad?” Kurt’s hand
slips from his shoulder back down to his bare ass.
“I meant in general.”
“You ready to come out to your family?”
“My sister and my mom are very different family. I can tell her without telling
her.”
“I never regretted telling my dad, but I don’t know your mom. It’s your choice.
For school too, for the record, assuming that Rachel can keep her gossipy mouth
shut, and Finn doesn’t accidentally blurt it out.”
“I thought you’d be jamming gay pride down my throat.”
Kurt shrugs, a gesture Puck can more hear on the sheets than see. “It’s about
priorities. Mine are geared towards self-expression and pride. There’s
statistically at least sixty kids at school that gear towards keeping their
heads down and not rocking the boat.”
Puck grimaces. He never thought he’d be explained in the context of not rocking
the boat. “I’ve almost told half the people in school.”
“So you will when you want to.”
“That’s actually almost exactly what Sarah said.”
“I guess smart people think alike. But we’ve exhausted the topic.” Kurt smacks
his ass lightly, not even enough to make Puck startle. “Something new or get
dressed.”
The next words out of his mouth are “I miss singing.” Shit, maybe the heat is
getting to him, making him over-emotional.
Kurt rolls onto his side to look at him better. Half of Puck’s face is still
obscured by the pillow, but he can feel Kurt’s gaze.“What?”
“I miss Glee, I miss singing. Almost makes me wish it were August,” he mumbles
into the feathers. How damn sad is that? Wanting to go back to school. He’s a
traitor to teenagers everywhere.
“You can sing without a Glee assignment.”
“Isn’t that kinda-”
Kurt interrupts “if you say gay, Prada help me I will-”
Puck rolls to mirror him. “I was gonna say lonely. Singing to myself in the
shower is different now. Now that I’m used to people applauding when I don’t
hear it I think I suck.”
“Sing to me then.” He obviously sees his raised eyebrows, he continues “I don’t
mean Lionel Ritchie or Barry White, I’m not expecting that. KISS, Neil Diamond,
random jewish artist. Whatever.”
Puck shrugs, then nods. “Okay. Cool. You should too though.”
“Sit up and sing. I won’t even make you put underwear on.”
Puck thinks about it for a second. The first lyric that floats to the top of
his head that would actually sound decent without backing musicians he starts.
“Well I was there on the day
They sold the cause for the queen,
And when the lights all went out
We watched our lives on the screen.
I hate the ending myself,
But it started with an alright scene.”
He puts some real soul into the woahs before the chorus repeats one last time.
It’s something Puck loves about My Chem, that every single song they have
builds to three quarters of the way through, then breaks like a wave. He can’t
remember how many ‘at all’s there are at the end, so he whisper-sings the last
few. Kurt claps and compliments him on his tone.
“Now you. Whatever you want. If your Broadway is a poseur thing and you
secretly love Tupac, I’ll listen to that too.”
Kurt’s face flickers for a second, then stills back to his normal neutral
expression. Then he starts to sing.
“Something has changed within me
Something is not the same
I'm through with playing by the rules
Of someone else's game
Too late for second-guessing
Too late to go back to sleep
It's time to trust my instincts
Close my eyes... and leap!”
Puck recognises the song. It’s the Diva Off song. Puck schools his face. If
Kurt wants to try again, why not? His voice will break, but Puck will be
supportive as fuck, and then he’ll give him a handjob for trying.
His voice doesn’t break. Puck wants to forego the clapping and give the guy a
hug, but maybe Kurt wants to hear applause as much as he did. So he keeps it up
as long as he can without feeling ridiculous and says “dude, you got it
perfectly this time!”
“I got it perfectly last time.”
“Not to be a buzzkill, but you totally didn’t.”
Kurt’s face turns brittle. “I sang it exactly how I meant to.”
Puck frowns. There’s no way Kurt’s not being serious, not with how he looks
now, like he might explode and shred everyone around him. “Wait. Like you
wanted to? Berry didn’t deserve that.”
“Of course she didn’t. But people were calling the garage and telling my dad
how faggy I was, and me singing girls songs in a televised competition would
have made it worse.”
Well, what the fuck. Maybe two years ago that would have been him on the other
side of the phone, but he’s reformed now. And part of Puck’s reformation is to
punch in the teeth of anyone that still dares to bully his crew. “Did you
recognise the voices? Because I’ll kick their asses.”
“No Puck. It’s fine.”
Puck can’t see fine in this situation. He sees shitty, and unfair, and fuck the
world, but not fine. He can’t let this lie. If he did he’d be the same bastard
he used to be, and he’s got no interest in going back to that. Puck flops onto
his back and then shimmies up the bed until he can awkwardly reach his pants,
and the cell phone inside.
He sends a mass text. Kurt threw Diva Off. I demand a rematch.
Kurt’s phone beeps a moment later. He looks at the screen then over at him.
“This is a bad idea.”
Puck ignores him and sends everyone a second text. everyone go on fb. post your
first free day. rematch is on asap.
Puck grabs Kurt’s laptop from his desk and carries it back to the bed. It’s
already on, but password protected. “Password, dude,” Puck says, closing his
eyes and leaning away so Kurt can type over his shoulder.
“It’s magnolia, with fours instead of a’s.”
“You told me your password?”
“What are you going to do with that information?” Puck opens his mouth for a
second then closes it. “Yes, exactly. You’re hardly going to steal my identity
or walk out of this room with it. Now go on Facebook and have fun convincing
Rachel she needs to provide a second chance.”
Puck’s not concerned. He’s pretty sure that Kurt is underestimating Berry’s
crazy. In fact, he’s pretty sure that Facebook is going to be a great opening
act in the production of Rachel Berry losing her shit.
Berry’s already posted on his wall, on a status change that has nothing to do
with anything. I am free any day. This attempt to usurp my rightfully given
title will not stand.
Puck types to her we’ll see about rightfully. Also free whenever. then enters
the comment. As the page refreshes six new comments are up. Most of them seem
to share the consensus borne of summer boredom that they’re free anytime,
although Mercedes says not on Sunday.
“Kurt, when are you free? Post from your phone so they don’t know I’m with
you.”
“Seriously?”
But when Puck refreshes again there’s Kurt’s comment, another any time, as well
as one from Mike saying him and Tina want them to wait a week until they’re
back in Lima. Puck frowns and refreshes, then laughs. He was gonna say no, but
Berry’s done one better. It’s a wall of text about how Mike doesn’t understand
the seriousness of the situation, and how can she be expected to sleep soundly
knowing that her friends don’t believe she won fairly. Another refresh and
Santana’s uploaded a popcorn gif because she’s a wonderfully vicious bitch that
says what everyone else only dares to think. Underneath that is Artie. Calm
down woman, we’ll carpool to Asian camp. It’s been too long since I’ve seen my
lady.
Wednesday cool for everyone? Matt wants to know, what time are we leaving Finn
has asked, it’s on, bitches! Mercedes says.
Not for the first time, Puck’s happy he made his switch in friends. They get
why this is important. Jamie and the rest of the football guys would just talk
shit, brag endlessly in their certainty that they’re the best. Glee’s actually
getting off their collective ass to do something and figure it out for good.
Wednesday’s good for me he types.

                      [_photo_divider4_zps394d6d45.png]
They agreed on Facebook to meet in front of Artie’s house, because it was
easiest for Artie that way. Puck’s not the first to pull up the drive, but he’s
not the last either. That role would fall to Mercedes. He spends most of his
time waiting watching Matt attempt to not be obvious with his staring at
Santana’s boob job. Matt’s idea of stealth is honestly pretty hilarious. Puck
can practically imagine him with a newspaper with eyeholes cut out.
Between them they have a multitude of vehicles, but they end up using two. Finn
and Rachel go with Artie in his special van, and the rest of them fit with room
to spare in Mercedes’ dad’s van. It’s an ugly shade of purple, and the back
window is half covered in religious bumper stickers. Puck’s not sure if
Mercedes actually asked to borrow it for the day, or if she just left her house
with the keys when she thought she wouldn’t be noticed. Considering he stole
his Mom’s car less than a month ago he can’t judge. Getting the crown put on
Kurt’s head is just as good a cause as calling Finn out.
Kurt sits in front with Mercedes. He’s in the middle with Matt. Santana and
Brittany spend the whole drive making out in the back seat, seat belts
forgotten so they can lay down and use the entire seat. It keeps Matt occupied,
he spends at least half the drive twisted backwards awkwardly. None of them
make much noise, nothing audible over Mercedes’ Gaga CD. She must not be using
her rear view mirror, because she doesn’t say a thing. Puck can’t help but
wonder what Mercedes would do if she knew her Christ-van was seventy percent
gay. Hopefully she’s not one of those Christians who claim to be open-minded up
until the moment things get PG.
Puck can’t test the theory by asking. It would make everyone think that’s why
he arranged this, instead of pure and simple fairness. He’s not Kurt’s fucking
boyfriend, he just thinks Berry always getting the automatic win is bullshit.
When Mercedes finally pulls into camp property Tina’s waiting in the parking
lot. She’s wearing a bright blue shirt with the camp logo, but Puck can still
see touches of who she really is. Her shorts are black jean cutoffs, she’s
wearing striped knee socks, and her eyeshadow is a dark purple.
“Long time no see, girl!” Mercedes says before enveloping her in a hug. Tina
hugs back enthusiastically, and then Brittany gets into the mix. Puck didn’t
even know she was close with them. She probably isn’t, she’s just mistaken them
for unicorns or something.
“Now we just have to wait for the others.”
“Are you kidding? Rachel was driving. Rachel drives like she dresses; like an
insane grandma. They were here fifteen minutes ago. Come on, they’re in cabin
five. Also, do not even look at the visitor log room. You’d never get out
alive.”
She leads them down a circuitous path that seems intended for them not pass
anyone. A lot of it goes through trees, and Puck spares a thought or two to
wonder how Artie managed it, before they’re suddenly at the back of a cabin and
sneaking around the side.
All the subterfuge has been for nothing though, because with Artie and Finn and
Rachel and Mike are about twenty tiny children. Tina puts her hands on her hips
in the classic girl-rage position. “What the aitch ee double hockey sticks,
Mike?”
“I had to bring them. They knew something was up, and they said the only way
they wouldn’t rat us out to Don was if they got to watch.”
“You are the worst foot putter downer ever. You should really never have kids.”
“I know. It’ll ruin my figure.”
Tina and Mike crack up, then trail off when no one joins. Mike rubs the back of
his neck and then in a completely uncommanding voice says “Campers, this is
Kurt and Rachel. They both believe they’re better at singing, and as our
parents have all taught us, healthy or not, always strive to be best.”
“I was actually voted best,” Berry says haughtily.
“I threw the competition.”
The children look a mixture of confused and horrified. As a jew Puck doesn’t
like to believe in stereotypes, but Mike did it first, making it okay here, and
Puck would guess none of these tiny Asian children have ever gotten less than
perfect grades, or excellent reviews in the after school lessons they’ve been
signed up for.
“But why,” one of them asks plaintively.
“Family loyalty,” Kurt offers.
“I don’t understand?”
Kurt sighs. His follow up is more to the Glee members looking at him with
curiosity than the confused campers. “We were getting threatening calls, you
can guess the language they used. My dad wasn’t happy. If I sang at Nationals
he’d get more heat.”
“What?” at least half of Glee demand, voices different shades of unhappy. Puck
could almost smile. They know who their own are too.
“Oh don’t play the sympathy card, that’s not fair.”
Mike frowns. “Rachel, don’t be a bee eye tee sea aitch.”
Another camper snorts. “We’re ten. We know how to spell.”
“Yeah, well, we’ll get fired if we swear in front of you, so.”
“How’s about you both just sing?” Santana suggests, a bit of bite in her voice,
as always.
Berry nods her head. Without suggesting a flip of a coin or anything else fair
she begins to sing. Puck scowls. It’s unsportsmanlike, the behaviour of a
shitty opponent. No wonder he’s stopped thinking of her as Rachel. For the last
three days and for the next ten minutes she’s just Berry, the person whose ass
will be kicked.
When she’s done the kids clap. The members of Glee don’t bother. They’ve heard
it before. It’s nothing interesting, it’s just a baseline performance. The
question is if Kurt can do better, not if she can sing it. Puck jams his
fingers into his pockets and there, out of sight, he crosses his fingers that
Kurt will hit that end note. Even knowing that he threw it the first time,
there’s still a chance he might fuck it up this time. If he did to everyone
else it would be the second time, and it would be doubly embarrassing.
He makes it. The note soars, piercing them all under it. He can hear Rachel
gasp. The song comes to its natural end and they all clap, even the kids that
looked mindblown that that came out of a boy’s mouth.
Then Santana steps up and punches him in the arm. “You shouldn’t have thrown
that, stupid.”
“My dad-”
“Fuck parents.”
Puck understands Santana’s sentiment. Mercedes’ is far more confusing to him.
“They’re supposed to protect you, not the other way around.”
Kurt looks more and more uncomfortable. Puck wonders if he’ll have to say
something obnoxious to take the focus off him -even though he agrees that
Kurt’s decision was crap- before he strokes out. Luckily Tina intervenes first.
“Everyone write their winner down, and one of the campers will do the tally.
They’ve got no emotional stake.”
Mike tears uneven pieces of one of the papers on his clipboard, then he and
Tina pass their pens around. To Puck it’s not even a question. He can only hope
everyone else feels the same.
The kid tasked with counting sounds vaguely pleased when she says “eight to
two, Kurt wins.”
Santana frowns. “Wait. Who didn’t vote for Hummel?”
“Finn, obviously. Otherwise Rachel would never forgive him. He’d never get
laid.”
“Oh please, like he’s getting laid now.”
“But who else?”
Artie raises his hand. “It was me. Sorry. I just like when girls songs are sung
by girls.”
“And I like when rap is rapped by someone a little less incredibly white, but
we can’t always get what we want, now can we?”
“Merce, it’s fine. Everyone got a vote, you can’t be mad at them for voting.”
“So what are we doing now?” Santana asked. “Party at Asian camp?”
“You can stay if you want, but we won’t be able to ‘party’ until after sunset.”
Mike adds “You’d have to hide in the woods.”
Finn says with a note of apology “I think we’ll pass. Artie, you good to go?”
“I’ll show you how to get back to the parking lot. Group Cardinal, please pay
attention to anything Counselor Mike asks of you.” Tina sounds hopeless. She
knows, Mike knows, and all the kids know that’s not going to happen.
As the four of them leave, Matt takes control of the situation. “I know they’re
going home so Rachel can pout, but we can be the party van. There’s gotta be
something we can do.”
“We could go to the beach?” Brittany suggests.
“No swimsuits.”
“Girls have matching underwear and boys have their shorts.”
“Nude beach!” Brittany says.
“Puck, can I talk to you for a few minutes?”
“Sure. Mercedes won’t leave without me, she’s not Santana.”
He follows Mike into what appears to be a supply closet, the shelves are full
of about fifteen kinds of paper. With the door closed he can’t hear their
friends arguing in front of kids about swimming naked.
“What’s up, man?”
Mike drags a hand through his hair. He does it a second time and cracks his
neck before finally asking “what’s the best way to cheat?”
“What?”
“You know, cheat and not get caught.”
Puck frowns. “Why are you asking me?”
“Because even though everyone thinks that you’ve made every second girl and
wife in Lima cheat, the only proof anyone ever had was Quinn.”
“And you want to do the same? You realise everyone thinks I’m a slut. A whore
even, thanks to the MILFs. It’s not exactly a great rep.”
Mike shakes his head. “It’s only one girl.”
“And Tina won’t break up with Artie?”
“Who said anything about Tina?” Puck snorts, to which Mike implores him “you
can’t tell. Telling is the opposite of what needs to happen.”
Puck shrugs. “You’re under the radar already, don’t tell me you haven’t
noticed. Besides, Artie’s so busy playing video games with Australians that he
hasn’t left the house since Tina left. He probably won’t even when she comes
back. I think you’ll be alright.”
“Thanks for the advice, bro.”
“Don’t thank me. That wasn’t really advice, that was like a state of the
union.”
The last thing he’s expecting is for Mike to gather him into a hug. “Thank you.
I mean it. You didn’t tell me it was wrong, that I shouldn’t.”
Puck shrugs and pats Mike’s back. “Chances are things are gonna get fucked up.
But if you’ve got some happiness around the edges of the mess then that’s what
counts, right?”
“I never really do stuff for my own happiness. Shit, I’m a counselor at Asian
camp!”
“So it’s about time. Bang the shit out of Tina, if you like her, and it’s worth
it to upset Artie. You just gotta remember, Artie’s not Finn.”
“Yeah, I know. Finn’s like ten percent height, ninety percent acceptance.
Artie’s not. But Artie’s not my bro like Finn’s yours, and I like her. A lot.”
“So then it’s worth it. But maybe we should stop hiding before everyone thinks
we’re the secret couple.”
Mike chuckles. “Yeah, because you haven’t dated every girl in Glee except
Tina.”
Puck throws his hands out wide. “What can I say? I’m Puckzilla, the girls fall
like skyscrapers.”
                       [_photo_divider1_zps79e98db2.png]
Puck doesn’t realise until he’s parked and grabbing his phone from where it’s
nestled against his thigh that it’s almost dead. That’s totally unacceptable.
He needs to keep it on in case of a Sarah emergency. Or maybe Kurt will go a
little out of character and start dirty texting him like he’s Santana. Probably
not, but if there’s even the slimmest possibility Puck refuses to prevent it by
being unable to answer.
As he walks up the front he bellows as loudly as he can “my phone’s at two
percent, can I borrow your electricity?”
“Feel free!” Matt yells from the backyard.
Puck plugs the charger into the wall about three seconds before it black-
screens, has a swig of orange juice straight from the carton in the fridge, and
goes outside. A volleyball net has been set up, and Easton is bouncing the
white ball from hand to hand. He looks antsy, like he doesn’t start playing in
the next five seconds he might die, while Aaron and a few of Matt’s swimming
friends are casually playing hackeysack.
“I have no idea why I’m even here,” Hayden says. “At school this was one of the
few P.E. classes I was willing to skip, and now I’m wasting a goddamn beautiful
summer day being here?”
Puck feels sort of the same. He had a week at the beach, and the only time he
so much as looked at the volleyball court was when Liam had put him in the
position to.
“So now that we’re all here, we gotta make the teams.”
Travvie smirks. “How about crackers versus ni-”
“Oh, and where are Mike and Easton supposed to go then, numb nuts?”
Something twitches irritably inside Puck, seeing Mike back, and half a dozen
other acquaintances of Matt’s, but no Kurt. Kurt’s been Matt’s friend for a
year, Aaron for a month, and yet Aaron is bouncing a hackey sack from knee to
knee. The last few times Puck’s been over it hasn’t bothered him, but somehow
Mike is the straw that broke the camel’s back.
“Where’s Kurt at?”
“And Artie,” Finn rushes to add.
“Didn’t text them, obviously. I knew they wouldn’t show up. They’ve got better
things to do.”
“We’ve got twelve here anyway,” one of the swimming guys says, like Puck gives
a shit what he thinks. He doesn’t even know his damn name.
“But you just assumed? You didn’t even bother to text?”
Matt shrugs. “Guess not.”
“I’m gonna go call Kurt.”
“And I’ll call Artie,” Finn tacks on.
“We’ll start without you,” Mike says with a friendly smile.
Puck scowls at him for not even thinking to text an invitation to crash despite
Matt’s disinterest, and turns the look on Finn when he follows him into the
house. Finn got here before he did, he should have done something.
As soon as the door is shut Finn glances around like a terrified rabbit, then
hisses “you need to be cool about Kurt.”
“What the fuck?”
“You’re being really super obvious. Last month you wouldn’t have given two
shits if Kurt came over. If you’re trying to stay closeted you need to tone it
down. A lot.”
“Fuck them if they figure it out. Kurt’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
Finn holds his hands up palms out, like he’s trying to ward him off. “The hell,
man? I didn’t say he was.”
“And fuck you,” Puck adds, not quite done yet. “The way your mom and his dad
are, you guys are gonna be brothers before you graduate. Acting like he’s a
motherfucking leper. Asshole.”
“I’m not! Call him, man. If he really wants to be here, I’ll apologise the
minute he shows up. I just think that Matt is right, that he wouldn’t want to
be here anyway.”
“And if he does, then I’m punching everyone in the face, and Matt twice.”
Finn snorts. “Wow. Being gay really hasn’t changed you, huh.”
“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Fuck waiting for Kurt, he’s about
to punch Finn now.
“It’s not a slur or anything. It’s just you’re always really over-protective of
the people you...sleep with.”
Puck has absolutely nothing to say to that. He uses the house phone to call
Kurt, who picks up on the third ring, and gives him his invitation.
“You’re asking if I want to come play sports with a bunch of jocks?”
“You don’t have to say it like I’m asking you to drink battery acid. It’s
nothing organised. We’re not jocks right now, just a bunch of guys.”
“The answer is no, Puck. I have no interest whatsoever in putting on a
masculine front. My dad and the world already know I’m gay. And I won’t be
giving you a leg massage if you come over after you’re done either.”
“I can come over, though?”
“You’ll be showering before we do anything that I’m sure is on your mind.”
Puck doesn’t really see the point in that. If they’re going to fuck, which,
regardless of Kurt’s phrasing, Puck knows he wants just as much, they’ll just
be sweaty afterwards. “Whatever. Call you later.”
Finn crosses his arms. “Doesn’t wanna be here?”
Puck bodychecks him a little. “Don’t fuckin’ start with me.”
“Neither of them are coming,” Finn announces as they walk back into the yard.
The words distract Travvie, and he misses hitting the volleyball. As it smacks
into the grass the other side cheers.
Matt shakes his head. “I knew that was a waste of time. I knew Kurt-”
“Would you fuck off about Kurt already!” someone shouts. It takes Puck a second
to realise it was him.
“What crawled up your ass?”
His first instinct is to shout fuck off and die. But it’s like two weeks until
Glee starts, and bad blood would suck. He’s already dreading turning Santana
down the first time she calls him to get her hetero back on, and then there’s
Quinn. He doesn’t need to have a rift with Matt too. So instead Puck yells
“fuck volleyball” and tackles the fucker.
“WWE it is then,” Jamie says, before he spits out an “oof” of being knocked
down.
Puck grins as Matt tries to flip him and fails. It’ll teach everyone a lesson
about gays being interested in sports when he kicks everyone’s ass. A karmic
lesson, since only Finn actually knows.
                       [_photo_divider3_zps71c103d8.png]
Puck looks at the front of his cell when it rings. He’s gotten about a thousand
texts today, all of which he’s ignored. A phone call from Finn is different
though. Finn will call back if he doesn’t pick up.
Instead of a hello, Finn opens with “party at Santana’s. You coming?”
Puck isn’t sure how to say he knows about the party, but doesn’t want to go.
Finn would never let that statement be. He’d want to know why. Puck evades
answering for a second by returning the question. “You’re going?”
“I’m DD.”
Puck snorts. “How’d you get that crap job?”
“Santana said she’d give me a fifty bucks and pay for gas. If I don’t get the
fifty up front though I’m just gonna get wasted and tell everyone to sleep on
her floor. I’m about to pick up Kurt and Tina and Mercedes, want me to get
you?”
“Glee’s going?”
“Man, everyone’s going. Like everyone. I heard she invited like three teachers.
Have you even checked Facebook in the last week?”
“I’ve been distracted with sex. Besides, Rachel’s been leaving threatening
messages.” It’s a weak excuse, because like he gives a shit if Rachel’s mad at
him. It’s a surefire way to distract Finn though. Everything about Berry throws
him off.
“Yeah. She isn’t very happy. Part of the reason I wouldn’t mind drinking if
Santana cops out. Seriously though, I can at least drive you there, if you
want. You want?”
The truth is, Santana’s not throwing this party to show off her new boobs,
although that’s a huge bonus for her. No, she’s doing this because there’s a
week left until school stands, and she needs a way to transition from her
summer self to her school self. From loose hair and artistically torn jean
capris and Brittany to ponytails and the Cheerios uniform and guys that
sometimes like her to watch her and Brittany. Having a party with all of
McKinley as well as graduates that didn’t make it out of Lima is her doing it
head on, basically jumping into the deep end.
The truth is, Puck’s role at this party is to be one of that guys that lusts
after all the girls in the room. Or at least all the ones with mini-skirts and
tans. His role is to get drunk enough that he and a bunch of other guys leave
the party for a few hours to pull pranks on the geeks of Lima, then come back
in time to hook up with one of the aforementioned girls. It’s the way things
are. Which, yeah, okay. If it’s the way things are it’s the way things gotta
be.
“Sure, what the hell, pick me up.”
“Cool. Be there in a half hour? Bit more, maybe.”
“Cool.”
Puck hangs up and sighs. He’s got half an hour to get ready, and absolutely
nothing that he needs to ready. If he was looking to get laid he’d put on
cologne and muscle shirt to show off his guns. There is, however, a difference
between accepting how the night will go, and striving for it. Puck keeps his
plain navy shirt on. Finding his fake ID in case he’s recruited to get the
second wave of alcohol takes all of five minutes, it’s not in his wallet, but
one of his jeans pockets. After that he just watches Sarah play Sims until
there’s a honk outside.
He hasn’t been to a house party in months, but this seems pretty standard. A
few people on the front steps smoking. Bass audible from down the street. Floor
his shoes stick to. Red cups everywhere.
Finn comes back from the keg with two cups in each hand. He passes out three
and keeps the fourth, evidently completely serious about drinking the instant
Santana tries to rip him off. “I’m gonna find San for my chauffeur money.”
“I’m going to find Mike,” Tina says before she wanders off in the opposite
direction.
“Mike?” Kurt asks.
Mercedes smirks. “They’re banging.”
“Reeeally?” Kurt breathes, speculatively.
“Did you not see them at camp?”
“That’s not proof though.”
“Proof enough.” Mercedes says. Puck doesn’t confirm, even though he could. He
promised Mike he wouldn’t. He just hopes Mike won’t blame him when this gets
out.
Puck mingles, because he has to. He lets Eric puts him in a handstand to drink
from a hose. He risks a hundred unsanitary hands to eat from the chip bowl. He
shares a cigarette with Robert in the backyard because he likes to smoke when
he’s drunk. He joins the juggling random objects contest in the kitchen, but he
can’t manage more than three individual serving cookie packets before he drops
one. All the while Puck tries to keep an eye out for Kurt. All of Glee is at
risk here, but Kurt the most. He’ll only approach if something is about to go
down, but he won’t let anything happen.
In the end it’s Kurt that comes to him. He’s sipping a beer next to one of the
speakers when Kurt steps up next to him. “I wanna get a room. Does this place
have rooms aside from hers and her mom’s?”
“Yeah, there’s two guests, if they’re not already occupied. You sure?”
“Take a two second look below the belt and tell me.”
Puck doesn’t have to. The fact that Kurt’s willing to say that out loud speaks
enough. And this is stupid, this is the opposite of what he’s supposed to be
doing at this party, but he can’t stop himself from wanting to have sex with
Kurt. “Go upstairs. I’ll follow in a minute.”
When Puck climbs the stairs five minutes later Kurt’s not standing in the
hallway, so a guest room must have been free. Puck puts his ear to one door and
hears a girl wailing through an orgasm. Unlikely that Kurt’s in that room,
then. He enters the other without knocking, then locks the door behind him.
Kurt starts stripping the moment the door closes, a level of enthusiasm that
makes Puck grin. “Do you have anything specific in mind?”
“What I want and what’s possible right now are two very different things.”
Which means fucking, of course. Puck smirks and heads for the chest of drawers.
The top drawer has a few boxes of condoms, one package of them lubricated.
Santana’s no Quinn, she knows how to keep herself safe. “There’s no lube but if
you spit on your fingers and use one of these it’ll be fine.”
“That’s literally the most intelligent thing I’ve heard all evening.”
Puck takes off his shoes and jean cutoffs and underwear, and his socks because
Kurt might kill him if he doesn’t, but he doesn’t bother with his shirt. Yes
it’ll smell like sweat and sex after, but that’s only good news for his
reputation. He gets on his hands and knees on the bed. Behind him Kurt is
hesitating.
“Do you think the guest bath might have lube?”
“Do I think the Lopez bathroom has lube? No, I really don’t. Just spit on your
fingers, it’s fine.”
It’s not the most intense foreplay they’ve had. Once Kurt used all four
fingers, only a thumb rubbing the rim of his asshole stopping Kurt from fisting
him. It’s close though. Spit dries faster than you’d think.
That’s when some guy bursts into the room from the bathroom, because Puck
forgot that the bathroom was a jack and jill, fuck. And the duvet’s on the
floor because they didn’t want it to get stained. Doublefuck.
“Oh. Oh, wow. I’mma just use the other door.”
The guy staggers out, cursing as it takes him a minute to figure out how to
unlock the door. Kurt’s fingers are still frozen inside him when Puck pulls
away to sit cross legged. It’s time for damage control, or at least
acknowledging that there will be damage.
“We have to make a decision quickly. Option one, keep fucking, to hell with
everyone else.”
“Not really in the mood now.” Kurt mumbles. His erection says different, but
Puck won’t push it. If Kurt doesn’t want to admit to exhibitionistic
tendencies, Puck won’t force him.
“Option two. Get dressed and find people drunk enough to not know they’re
acting as alibis when we say we’ve been talking for half an hour. Finn might
work in a pinch, he’d lie for us no question, but he’s a pretty shitty liar.
Dunno if he could withstand a repeated question. Option three. Climb out the
window. We weren’t fucking at a party if we left an hour ago after I puked all
over Santana’s mom’s flower bed.”
“It’s the second floor,” Kurt protests.
“The garage roof is only a few feet down, I’ve bailed from here before. Girl
was refusing to walk of shame.”
“So the options are continue to have sex, with the chance that half the hockey
team are on the other side of that door waiting to throw eggs at us by the time
we’re done, rely on Finn’s ability to keep up a lie, or scale the wall?”
Puck shrugs. “Do you have anything better?”
“One option that will out you, two that will help you hide.”
“Us hide,” Puck corrects. “I’ll be the bisexual whore, but you’ll be the fag
that contaminated me.”
“I’m already the contagious fag. I’ve been the contagious fag for years. Do you
really think I wouldn’t be happy if you were outed, and there was someone tough
to punch homophobes in the face? But I’m aware that makes me a bad person. So
it has to be your choice. What’s your choice, Puck?”
                       [_photo_divider2_zps769d60f1.png]
Around two pm the next day, late enough that the Saturday tv is nothing but The
View and Montel, Puck gets a text from Finn. In the last twelve hours he’s
gotten literally hundreds, for all of which he’s followed his normal custom of
ignoring. Whether they’re slurs or just plain confusion, Puck doesn’t care.
He’s only checking his phone every half hour, despite how frequently it’s
buzzing. But Finn is different. Finn rates actually reading the words.
me and the guys r coming over
Puck snorts. asking me or telling me?
were like 2 streets away so telling i guess
Puck snorts again, then goes and unlocks the front door. A few minutes later
there’s the thud of two of the guys lifting Artie over the step, wheelchair and
all, and then putting him back down. They fill out the rest of the living room
seating, all looking at him intently. It seems like a classic intervention, but
Puck has to pray it’s not. Surely they don’t think they can talk him out of
being gay.
That hope lasts as long as it takes Finn to open his mouth. “Puck, you have to
stop doing this.”
“Doing what?” If Puck has to have this conversation with Finn one more fucking
time, he’s going to knock his teeth out.
“Sleeping through Glee.” Mike answers in place of Finn.
“You’ve been with Santana and Quinn and Brittany. You fooled around with
Mercedes and you dated Rachel. And now Kurt?”
“You’re not getting Tina,” Artie barks. Puck considers himself a very good guy
for not blatantly looking at Mike.
“You’ve gotta stop.”
“It’ll ruin Glee. Glee has to live on.” Matt looks oddly desperate, compared to
everyone else’s annoyed.
Puck rolls his eyes. “It hasn’t yet, has it? Brit doesn’t think twice about
fucking everyone, Santana maintains her rep by fucking jocks, Rachel’s over me
and Jesse, Quinn’s never gonna look at my dick again. I didn’t pressure
anyone.”
“It’ll ruin Glee because as soon as Kurt realises he doesn’t mean anything to
you, because you went and gave Mike a handjob just because you could, he’ll
freak out.”
“Wait, why am I the bi-curious one?”
Matt shakes his head. “Puck doesn’t give a shit. Not about how Kurt feels, not
about anything.”
“Fuck you,” Puck retorts.
“That walk of shame was just cruel. You left the bedroom and just stood around
while everyone talked about you. It took Finn almost forty five minutes to find
out and get Tina and Mercedes so you could leave. Who makes the person they’ve
just fucked face that?”
Explaining that Kurt let him make the decision because however it was about to
go down would affect the rest of his high school career is a bit much with four
angry sets of eyes staring at him. Puck goes with the easier reply. “Kurt was
fine with it! He didn’t go running to Finn.”
“He didn’t tell his mildly homophobic almost step brother you fucked him and
left him to face half of McKinley alone? Shocker!”
“Puck, we’re supposed to be friends. You can’t just fuck and walk away. He’s
not like Brittany.”
“I haven’t! We’ve been fucking all summer!”
“Friends with benefits until other friends come along isn’t better. Just stop
before he gets even more hurt.”
That’s completely unfair. It’s unfair and it hurts and Puck doesn’t even fully
know why, just knows that he wants to punch every single one of them in the
face. They shouldn’t just be assuming things. Puck keeps his voice even and
calm as he says “You guys don’t know shit. Get the fuck out of my house.”
Artie shakes his head. “That’s not how this works. We don’t leave until you
promise.”
This is complete bullshit. Tony Stark would never put up with it. “Feel free to
stay then. I’ll leave. Finn, you have a spare key, lock up when you go.”
“Really, dude?”
Puck doesn’t bother to reply. He just shoves his feet in the first pair of flip
flops he sees at the door -they’re lime green, they may be his, or his mom’s,
or Matt’s- and walks out of the house. Hot off the tail of that conversation
and suddenly knowing exactly what he wants, Puck drives to Mr Hummel’s shop.
Kurt generally spends Saturdays there. He’s not wearing coveralls, and Puck’s
smart enough to know he would never pitch in without his shirt and weird little
sexy lederhosen thing being protected, so he must just be hanging out.
“Fancy seeing you here,” Kurt says, smiling. He puts his hands on Puck’s hips
without looking around to see if anyone is watching. It’s the first experience
Puck’s had of the best part of coming out; not having to do everything out of
other people’s gazes.
“I want to date you.” Puck declares.
“Okay, what do you want to do tonight?”
“You’re not listening. I want to date you.”
“I’m confused. We are dating. We hang out constantly and we have sex. We’re
boy-” Kurt cuts off. The expression on his face when he starts again is
horrible. “You didn’t think we were dating. All this time and...And what? You
thought I was just putting out?”
Puck can’t backpedal, he’s got nowhere to go. All he can do is try to refocus
Kurt on the important parts. “The point is I want to date now.”
Judging by Kurt’s face, the redirection didn’t work. His next words only
confirm that, in the worst possible way. “No, the point is I don’t even have to
break up with you because we were never dating. Now get out.”
“Hey-”
“Out, before I tell my dad you were the one to nail our lawn furniture onto the
roof.”
Puck’s not scared of Mr Hummel. The man might want to hit him with a tire iron,
but he won’t actually do so. What he’s scared of is all the emotions Puck can
see Kurt already masking over, and the fact that he knows his own face isn’t
hiding half as well. He has to get out. He bared his soul once today, and he
got nothing in return. He can’t do it again.
                       [_photo_divider4_zps394d6d45.png]
Puck doesn’t know how long he’s been in the bathtub when he hears heavy
footsteps clomping up the stairs. There’s no way they belong to Sarah, or Mom,
which means that someone is about to harass him. Puck considers slipping under
the water and drowning himself. This will be the third intervention in six
days. The guys’ group intervention ruined everything, Mike’s only rubbed salt
into the gaping hole. Puck wants to believe it can’t be possible to feel even
worse, but the truth is the only way is down.
Finn lets himself into the bathroom. It makes sense that it’s him. Mike already
had his go. Artie’s incapable of going up a flight of stairs. The only girl
that cares about him is Rachel, and she wouldn’t make that amount of noise
getting up a flight of stairs. Puck waits for Finn to say something, but he
just sits on the toilet.
Puck scrapes up his last vestiges of attitude. He’s running pretty fucking low,
but maybe if he can manage a really cutting remark Finn will be wounded enough
to leave him alone. “If you wanna look at my junk you should really just wait a
week until we’re back in school. It would be a lot more subtle if you did it
after practice, in the locker room.”
Finn blows the comment off with the ease of a guy who constantly takes crap
from his best friend. “Your mom called. She said you’ve been having a bath for
four hours. Isn’t the water freezing by now?”
“I turned the tap on a few times. It’s lukewarm.”
“So at yesterday at Matt’s goodbye party you were staring at Kurt pretty
hardcore.”
Puck thinks about grunting, but doesn’t bother. Finn can say what he has to say
and leave. Puck doesn’t need to encourage him.
“And Mike said that after we all left you refused to have a peanut butter and
banana sandwich because Kurt doesn’t like the smell, and then later you went
into the kitchen and ate half the jar with a spoon, because, and I quote, fuck
him.”
Puck shrugs, making the water ripple. It happened, he can’t deny it.
“We get it, okay? We were wrong. You’re definitely dating Kurt, the way you’re
moping about your argument.”
“Even if we were, our argument ended on him breaking up with me.”
Finn rolls his eyes. “Oh come on dude. You really thought Kurt wasn’t going to
be over-dramatic in an argument? Have you met him?”
“Well, he did get you kicked out that one time.”
Finn shakes his head. “Not that, I deserved that. I mean dumb crap, like when
he threw all my clothes on the floor because he found out I use wire hangers.”
“What’s it matter?” Puck sighs. “I appreciate the attempt at an ex bashing
session. I thought this was gonna be an intervention. But I’m tired, man. I’m
too tired to come up with slurs. So fuck off, okay?”
“This is an intervention.” Finn stretches and grabs a towel. He throws it,
whapping Puck in the head before it drops into the water. “I don’t care that
you’re tired. Get out. Get dried. Get dressed. Go talk to Kurt. Tell him you’re
stupid. I’ll be your wingman.”
“Get out of my bathroom.”
“Not until you-”
Puck sighs. “Get out of my bathroom because I’m going to get dressed and you
don’t need to watch me adjust my balls to get them in my underwear.”
“If this is a trick to get me out don’t think I won’t unscrew the hinges.”
Puck can’t say you care that much?, so he goes with “I’m tired, not suicidal.
It’s not that big a deal.”
“An entire container of PB, man.”
Puck puts on the clothes he was wearing this morning and follows Finn
downstairs. Sarah’s got her normal Finn Is A God Among Men face on. He wonders
what she thinks this is about. Puck knows she’ll have figured out he broke up
with Kurt, but it seems to have fallen under the same umbrella of we’ll talk
about it when you want to talk about it.
Puck doesn’t say much as they drive to the Hummel house, just fiddles with the
white strings on his jean cutoffs. It’s not until they’re parked that he says
“I really don’t think this will help much.”
Hands still on the wheel Finn twists to look him dead in the eye. “Speaking as
someone that eats at least one meal a day with Kurt and knows everything he’s
said in the last six days? Yes, it’ll help.”
Kurt answers the doorbell, but makes no sideways move to let them in. Puck gets
the distinct impression that if Kurt could fashion an electric fence over the
threshold complete with barbed wire coils on top he would. After a second or
two of silence from both sides Kurt sneers. “What, so now it’s Puck’s turn to
help you come out?”
“Don’t be a jerk Kurt,” Finn answers calmly.
“Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t want to be gay. Didn’t exactly turn out too well
for Puck. But at least you’ll have someone to have totally meaningless sex
with.”
Kurt’s comment sends the first spark through Puck’s body that he’s had since
everyone left Mike’s yesterday. “That’s not fair! I told you Saturday I wanted
to date you.”
“Which only points out that you don’t consider anything we did before that
dating!”
Kurt’s skin is blotchy with upset. Puck wants to cup his face, run his
fingertips down his chest. He knows Kurt would snap his fingers before he let
that happen.
Finn shoots him this look that practically bellows I’ve got this. Puck’s seen
it a billion times between Glee and football and their childhood together. If
Finn is willing to handle this, Puck will gladly let him take Kurt’s comments
for a second. “From what you told me about watching tv and snuggling and
singing and stuff it sounds like me and Rachel. Except less nagging and boobs.”
Kurt throws his hands into the air. “Yes, exactly!”
“It’s just Puck’s... I dunno. At an unfair disadvantage? He’s never really
dated with feelings before. The girls who claimed to date him just want arm
candy. He’s hot, and tough, and popular in a thuggish way, and that’s all that
mattered. But none of them ever gave a shit beyond being spotted in the
hallways with him. You know Santana broke up with him because of his credit
score? Not because he didn’t stop sexting other people, not because he didn’t
love her. Just because she thought he wouldn’t have enough money for her.
Puck’s never done feelings stuff with people he’s supposed to have
relationships with. I bet he didn’t even recognise it. He wasn’t like, looking
at what you’re doing and deciding it wasn’t good enough. He just didn’t
recognise it.”
“Puck?” Kurt raises an eyebrow. “Do you have anything to say?”
“I’ve liked you and wanted to hang out and protect you for like a month now. I
didn’t realise having all that and having sex too was bad unless you titled it
until the guys got all up my ass about leading you on.”
“So you’re pleading ignorance of how normal people work?”
“Kurt, I’m a gay guy that fucked my classmates’ moms for money. Do you think I
have a lot of experience with domestic bliss?”
Kurt’s voice changes from skeptical to soft. Hopeful, maybe. “If I take you
back are you gonna try?”
Puck rolls his eyes. “You were there when I said I wanted to date you, right?”
Finn butts in, determined to press his point, like a good wingman. “So yeah,
that wasn’t even a fight. It was a miscommunication or whatever.”
“Thanks Finn, your Puck-to-normal person translation was helpful. But it’s no
longer needed.” Kurt holds out his hand and Puck knows better than to kiss it
sarcastically like Kurt’s a fair maiden. He just takes it and lets Kurt pull
him over the threshold.
“Lets go on a date,” Puck says as soon as the door closes. “I’ll borrow a coat
with tails and top hat to wear over my t-shirt and cutoffs. We’ll go somewhere
badass.”
Kurt shakes his head. “Priorities, Puck. Lets have sex, because I’ve been too
miserable to orgasm for six days. Then I’ll teach you about fashion and where
the ‘contrasts work well together’ line stops. As a prelude, coat and t-shirt?
Acceptable. Coat and nasty scraggly shorts? Not acceptable. Then we’ll go for
dinner and a movie.”
Puck grins. “Sounds good to me.”
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