burn down this old desire

Friday Night Lights/Glee crossover; Bruised, PG

2011-09-19T04:26:32Z

Title: Bruised
Part: 1/1
Pairing: mentions of Kurt/Sam
Rating/warnings: PG for language
Word Count: 1343
Note This started with shiphassailed talking about how amazing it would be if Kurt and Sam were characters on Friday Night Lights instead of Glee, so now I'm consumed with this crossover. CAN YOU EVEN IMAGINE oh god it would have been the greatest story ever told.
Summary: Eric Taylor watches his quarterback have a meltdown in his office.

There's a knock at his door, and Eric looks up to see a head of sweat-darkened blond hair through the blinds. He waves him in, and Sam Evans enters, looking like a golden retriever consumed with guilt over pissing on the kitchen floor.

“What?” Eric asks curtly.

“I need to talk to you,” Sam says in more of a mumble than usual. The kid can barely be understood on a good day—his deep voice combined with his Tennessee accent leaves Eric thanking his stars that at least he can throw a goddamn football.

“What?” Eric repeats, watching Sam stare at the floor. Sam's cheeks are flushed, a sheen of sweat standing out on his nose. He gets impatient. “What the hell do you want?” Sam makes a move to sit. “Don't sit down. Spit it out and get outta my office, I got work to do.”

Sam jerks to resume standing, his damp bangs falling into his eyes. He opens his mouth, makes a sort of half-choking, half-groaning sound, closes it, swallows, then opens it again. “There's somethin' wrong with me.”

“What?” Eric says for the third time, his hands on his hips as he looks at Sam from beneath the bill of his ratty Panthers cap. He furrows his brow. Sam's sick. Sam has cancer. Sam has syphilis. Sam can't run on the field because his balls hurt. This could cost them the game. “Evans, what the hell is wrong with you? You sick?”

“No,” he says quickly, then stutters. “I don't know. Yeah, maybe.”

“You tell me what's goin' on right now,” Eric orders seriously. “You tell me right now.”

Sam looks pained. “There's this... I like someone—” And he cuts himself off, chewing on his lip.

Eric blows out a sharp breath. “Jesus, Evans, what the hell is the matter with you? You like someone? Let me guess, they don't like you back, and now you're all torn up about it. You'll get over it. Eat some ice cream. Get the hell outta my office. Keep your girl problems off the damn field.”

“No, it's not—that,” Sam says, almost gasping. “It's not a girl problem, Coach, it's not...”

“Then what is it? Quit wasting my time, son.”

“I like someone,” Sam continues, his voice twisting painfully, and his shoulders start to shake. “It's wrong, and—I'm wrong, and I can't stop, and it won't go away. I don't—I don't know what to do, I can't do anything, and I don't know who to talk to—”

Eric stands behind his desk and looks at Sam, who's only stopped talking because he's fucking crying, actually blubbering in a way that Eric's only seen a few times in his life. He's seen a lot of crying kids because they think they know everything and then they get smacked in the face with reality, but this is different. This is deeper, like it's been plaguing Sam for a long time, before he even joined the team. Sam collapses into the chair, clenching his fists over his eyes, and Eric wishes he could press a magic button and have his wife appear so she can deal with this. She's better at this than him—better at most things, and he has no shame in admitting that.

“Sam.” He licks his lips, looks at the door, then back down at him.

“I've been watching the cheerleaders, you know?” Sam blurts out suddenly, his voice thick and wavering. “Like, 'cause they're pretty, and I'm supposed to do that stuff, I'm QB and everyone expects me to do all this stuff, and Riggins keeps talkin' about three-ways, and I've never even had a—a one-way or whatever, and—I want to be like everyone else, but it's not workin', like, I don't know what's goin' on with me, and I'm fu—freakin' scared.”

“Okay,” Eric says, nodding, even though he doesn't have the damnedest clue what the kid's going on about. “You know, well, you don't do anything you don't want to do, all right? Don't listen to Riggins, he's an idiot. He's a moron. Don't listen to him.”

“It's not Riggins,” Sam says, scrubbing his face. “You know the cheerleaders, right?”

“Yes, I know the cheerleaders, 'course I know the cheerleaders. What about 'em?”

Sam makes a little squeaking sound, another sob wracking his shoulders. “There's this kid on there. He's on the squad, he does, like, dancin' and stuff, and he's... he's...”

“He's what?” It's not until Eric says this that he notices the male pronoun here. He knows who Sam's talking about. Kurt Hummel had caused quite a stir when he joined the squad, and for once people paid more attention to the damn cheerleaders than the actual football game. He scrutinizes Sam, watching him wipe the back of his hand over his eyes, shivering in full pads.

“I can't stop thinkin' about him,” Sam whispers hoarsely, like he's ashamed, and—well, he is. Sam covers his face again, sliding his hands through his hair as he whimpers, sweat and tears mixing on his cheeks. Eric exhales slowly, bringing a hand up to rub his chin, looking out the window to see Puckerman and Smash horsing around on the field.

“I don't know what's wrong with me,” Sam utters in a shaking breath.

“There's nothin' wrong with you, son,” Eric replies.

“There is!” Sam insists, looking up at him with wild eyes. “My parents are gonna kill me.”

“No, they won't. This isn't the end of the world.” He doesn't know, though. It might be for Sam. He doesn't know if Sam has a crazy dad like Joe McCoy who beats on his son with barely a reason. “You're gonna be all right, okay?”

Sam's face crumples, but he nods, closing his red-rimmed eyes. He nods fiercely, like he's desperate to hear those words, to believe them. Eric exhales again, nodding himself, like he needs to believe them, too.

“You listen to me, all right?” Eric says, and Sam opens his eyes, gazing up at him wearily. “You're gonna be fine. You're a good kid, you got a good head on your shoulders, and you're gonna be fine. You need someone to talk to, I'll get you someone to talk to.”

Sam nods throughout his words, his wet face glistening.

“You don't worry about this, okay?” Eric says, even though he knows it's an impossible request. “There's nothin' wrong with you. You understand me?”

“Yeah,” Sam answers in a strained voice.

“I said, do you understand me?” Eric repeats sternly.

“Yes, Coach.” Sam's voice is stronger this time, and he sniffs, wiping his nose on his wristband.

“You get cleaned up and you go home, do your homework, help your momma with the dishes.” Eric cocks his head toward the door, and Sam takes a deep breath, wiping his tears away and pushing his hair out of his eyes as he stands. “You're gonna talk to someone tomorrow about this, all right? You're gonna talk to my wife. She's gonna take care of you. You tell her everything and you don't give her any lip, okay? She's gonna help you.”

“Yes, Coach.” Sam blinks hard.

“All right. Now get outta here. You're gonna be fine. You'll be all right.”

Eric watches as Sam nods again, walking a little unsteadily to the door. Sam turns abruptly, meeting Eric's eyes.

“Thanks,” Sam says, uncertainty marring the word, but Eric nods smoothly. Sam swallows, then turns around again, ducking through the door, forgetting to close it all the way. He disappears to the locker rooms, and Eric sighs heavily, sitting down and leaning back in his chair. It creaks as he presses his palms to his head, over his cap, and closes his eyes briefly.

After a moment he picks up the phone to call Tami.

Up to the Platform of Surrender, Puck/Sam, R, 2/2

2011-08-17T01:01:40Z

Title: Up to the Platform of Surrender
Part: 2/2
Pairing: Puck/Sam
Rating/warnings: R
Word Count: 9038
Notes: This is set in the same 'verse as The Right Side of Reason, I'm Numbing My Feeling, Every Second's a Longer Wait, Soon We'll Fall to Pieces, and My Good Intentions.
Summary: Puck can't pinpoint exactly when it happened, but it's almost scary how far he thinks he'll go for Sam.

My apologies for taking forever with this part. Quick recap! Sam and Puck went to a party at Santana's, and they kissed, and Puck didn't run away. Also, Karofsky threw his drink in Sam's face. And those prank calls are still going on. And that's what you missed on Gay Waffles.

back

Puck wakes up to Santana slapping his cheek repeatedly—not hard, so it doesn’t hurt, but it’s definitely annoying. He lifts his head and blinks groggily, squinting at the sunlight streaming in through the curtains and trying to remember where he is. Santana crosses her arms and glowers down at him.

“It’s almost ten,” she says. “Get up.”

Puck rubs his eyes and glances beside him to see the back of Sam’s head, his cheek mashed against his pillow as he sleeps on his stomach. It takes him a minute to remember that he and Sam had never gone back down to the party, instead choosing to stay upstairs and talk. Then they’d fallen asleep. And now Santana is giving him the evilest of evil eyes.

“Shit,” Puck mutters around a wide yawn. “Okay, I’m up.”

“Hey.” Santana leans over and smacks her hand against the side of Sam’s head, sending a few messy locks of hair flying. “Wake up, trouty mouth.”

Sam grunts and burrows his face deeper into the pillow. Puck sits up and stretches, and Santana drops Sam’s shirt and hoodie at the foot of the bed.

“Freshly washed. You two can clean the pool in return,” she says.

“No way. Those aren’t even my clothes,” Puck protests.

“Speaking of clothes, I see you two still have them on.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Santana gives him a devious smile. “You know.”

Puck groans and drags a hand down his face. “Would you stop? We’re just…”

“Just what?” she asks, still smiling. “You’re not just friends.”

“Look,” Puck says, lowering his voice as he glances at Sam. “We’re kind of into each other, okay?”

“Really? I never would have guessed.” Santana crosses her arms triumphantly.

“We’re just figuring it out. Don’t ruin this for me,” Puck says seriously.

“I would never.” Santana turns around. “Get your Prince Charming up.”

She closes the door behind her, and Puck glances at Sam. He’s still mostly asleep, his arms curled around his pillow. Puck admires the dip of his back for a moment, then reaches out and shakes his shoulder.

“Hey, wake up,” Puck says. “We gotta get going.”

Sam groans, turning his head so he’s facing Puck. He clenches his eyes tightly before he opens them, and Puck watches Sam blink a few times.

“What,” Sam croaks out, his brow furrowed grumpily.

“It’s morning. We’re still at Santana’s,” Puck informs him. Sam just closes his eyes and nestles against the pillow again, and Puck gives his shoulder another shove.

“Okay, I’m awake,” Sam gripes, turning onto his back. He sighs, pushing his hair out of his face. Puck chuckles at the pillow marks on his cheek.

“Here, your clothes.” Puck tosses them over, and Sam sits up and pulls off his shirt, changing into the freshly washed one. Sam blows out a noisy breath of air, his hoodie pooled in his lap as he looks at Puck. Puck immediately looks away, getting up stiffly.

“Gotta piss,” Puck says, heading to the bathroom. He smirks at Sam’s annoyed groan.

Puck shuts the door with his foot and relieves himself, then gargles some of the mouthwash sitting by the sink. Sam pushes the door open and pads in while Puck is spitting, and he unzips his jeans and starts peeing without a word. Puck wants to make some snide comment about how Sam should learn how to be decent around company, but his throat feels dry and he decides it’s only weird if he makes it weird. Sam comes to the sink when he’s done, nudging Puck aside as he leans down and splashes water on his face.

“Let me see that,” Sam says, taking the mouthwash without waiting for a response.

“You’re definitely the grouchy one in the mornings,” Puck remarks, grinning when Sam throws him a disgruntled stare.

“My parents are gonna kill me,” Sam mutters, leaning over the sink to spit.

Puck shrugs, suddenly nervous about going home. “Why, for staying out all night? They’ll get over it.”

Sam snorts. “You don’t know my mom. She worries. A lot.”

“Sounds like a standard issue mom.”

“She takes crazy pills.” Sam caps the mouthwash and sets it down. Puck remembers Sam mentioning his mom’s issues before.

“Should we go home now?” Puck asks. “It’s no big deal.”

“She knows where I am now, so a little longer won’t hurt.” Sam scratches a hand through his hair and yawns, then looks at Puck. “So.”

“So what?” Puck responds, automatically adopting a defensive tone, but he drops it when Sam quirks his mouth into a tiny frown. “I know what you’re thinking, Sam.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You wanna talk about feelings and shit.” Puck saunters out of the bathroom with Sam on his heels.

“I just wanted to talk about last night.”

“Yeah, I know. Feelings.” Puck turns around and points a finger at Sam’s chest, grazing his shirt. “And shit.”

Sam grasps Puck’s hand, pulling it down from his chest. Puck feels antsy, but he stays put and tries to relax a little as he looks at Sam. He tells himself this isn’t that bad, that he really wants this (and he does), but, holy shit, he kissed Sam last night and both of them are still in the same room and on speaking terms.

“We should talk,” is all Sam says, and Puck swears he sounds almost as confused as he feels. Puck takes a deep breath and exhales slowly.

“Give me some time,” Puck says finally, and the look on Sam’s face makes Puck want to drown himself.

“Don’t do this to me again,” Sam says, his brows knitted together.

Puck shakes his head quickly. “No, Sam, I swear, I’m not bailing. It’s not like that.”

Sam looks uncertain and more than a little unconvinced, and Puck squeezes his hand and tries to muster every ounce of sincerity in his being. He doesn’t do this for people—he usually doesn’t give a shit whether people believe him or not—but it’s suddenly the most important thing in the world to him to let Sam know he’s not going to hurt him or let him down again.

“I just need a second. A couple seconds. Like… just a little while,” Puck explains. “Just let me process, you know? This is a big deal. This is, like… a big fucking deal. Not just because of me and you, but because of me and how this is really new and—and I just need a little time. But I’m not leaving. Okay? I swear. I don’t want time apart. I just want… time.”

Sam nods slowly. “Okay. I can give you time.”

“Breakfast. We need breakfast,” Puck says suddenly, latching onto the idea. He needs to do something totally normal that he would do any day. Breakfast is good. Breakfast with Sam is even better.

“Breakfast,” Sam repeats. “We’re still in Santana’s house.”

“I’ve raided her kitchen enough times. Once more won’t hurt.” Puck marches to the door, heading downstairs. Santana’s in the kitchen with a giant garbage bag in her hands, cleaning up the remains of the party.

“Hey. Help clean,” she says immediately when she sees them. Puck scoffs and heads for the refrigerator, but Sam goes over and helps Santana clear the plastic cups from the table.

“Thanks for not throwing us out last night,” Sam says. “We didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Seeing you two gays in bed together was reward enough,” Santana smirks. “I may or may not have taken a picture just in case I ever need blackmail material on either of you.”

“I’m not gay,” Puck says, clenching his jaw as he pulls out a carton of milk from the fridge.

“Yeah. And I didn’t come seven times with Brittany last night.”

“Oh my god,” Sam groans, covering his face.

“I’m not,” Puck insists, slamming the milk on the counter. “Do you have any cereal?”

“Top of the fridge, genius,” Santana says, raising her eyebrows. Puck frowns huffily and pulls down a box of Lucky Charms, finding two bowls and sliding one over to Sam.

“I’m not eating that,” Sam says as he creeps a hand over Puck’s bowl and takes a marshmallow.

“You remember that time you chugged half a bottle of syrup? You can eat Lucky Charms.” Puck dumps cereal into Sam’s bowl. Sam just scowls at him as he pours milk and starts eating.

“Holy shit, you guys are, like, domestic,” Santana says in disgust. “It’s grossly disturbing.”

“We’re not domestic,” Sam cuts in softly. “We’re not anything.”

Puck frowns at his cereal. Santana clucks her tongue and picks up her garbage bag.

“Always knew Puckerman didn’t have any balls,” she remarks, heading for the living room. “What happened to we’re kind of into each other?”

“What?” Sam looks up with his mouth full.

“Nothing. Get out,” Puck says crossly, and Santana rolls her eyes.

“This is my house!” she calls as she leaves.

“What did she mean?” Sam asks, turning to him. Puck shovels food in his mouth and doesn’t reply, but Sam keeps staring so eventually he has to look at him. He swallows, fiddling with his spoon.

“Nothing,” he says finally. “Just her typical bullshit.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to talk to me, you know.” Sam goes back to his cereal. He doesn’t sound too mad, but he doesn’t sound that happy either. Puck sighs, and he doesn’t even realize he’s reached out until he feels his fingers brush Sam’s arm.

“I know, okay?” Puck says quietly. Sam looks at him again, and Puck wants to reach out and smooth the little wrinkle between Sam’s brows. So he does.

“Stop,” Sam says, but he’s smiling now. He finishes his cereal and gets up to put his bowl in the sink, and Santana comes back in and grabs a yogurt from the fridge.

“I saw that,” she says casually. “Gay.”

“I’m not gay,” Puck snaps, slurping the milk from his bowl.

“Whatever. You so are.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re such a liar,” Santana says incredulously. “You know I saw you and Sam kissing last night, right?”

“I’m not gay, okay?” Puck grates out.

“Santana, just leave him alone,” Sam says, turning around.

“You know he is,” she says, rolling her eyes. Puck loudly pushes back his chair and slams his hands on the table.

“I’m bi,” Puck says angrily, glaring at her. “I’m bisexual. At least get it right.”

Silence falls for a moment, which Puck totally does not dig because, hey, awkward, but it’s not often he actually renders Santana speechless. She blinks at him, narrowing her eyes slightly like she’s trying to decide whether he’s shitting her or not.

“So you really do like Sam?” she asks slowly.

“Yeah, I really do like Sam,” he replies, annoyed. “Fuck, not like it’s anyone’s business or anything. I mean, goddamn, can a man get some fucking privacy to deal with his personal shit?”

Santana raises her eyebrows, the corners of her mouth quirking up. “Oh my god. You’re gay and you’re hot for Sam. This is golden.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” Puck says. “I’m serious.”

“I won’t,” she says, glancing at Sam. “But people are gonna figure it out if you’re not careful. Especially since Sam went and announced his gayness to the entire school.”

“We’ll be careful.” Puck swallows nervously, leaving his bowl on the table as he swings his gaze to Sam. “Come on, man, let’s go.”

“I’m not gonna tell, okay?” Santana repeats, grabbing Puck’s arm as he walks past her. “Relax.”

Puck nods, pausing before heading to the door. He hears Sam mumble something to Santana before he thanks her again and says goodbye.

“You know, you said you’d never tell anybody you’re bi,” Sam remarks as he slides into his car. “And you just came out to Santana.”

“She was bugging me,” Puck mutters. “I’m not telling anyone else.”

Sam starts the car, giving Puck a quick glance. “Are you okay with it?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Jeez. I’m not a crybaby.” Puck crosses his arms and stares ahead, and Sam pulls out of Santana’s driveway. Sam is mostly quiet for the drive, which unnerves Puck a little. Sometimes Sam is so easy to read. Other times Puck has no idea what’s going on in that head of his. He replays their kiss in his mind, feeling Sam’s hard body underneath his hands and the soft urgency of their mouths together. It’d felt so good, leaving Puck craving more. He stares at Sam out of the corner of his eye for almost the entire ride, only looking away when Sam parks in Puck’s driveway.

“I’ll see you at school on Monday, okay?” Sam says. That makes Puck frown. It’s still late Saturday morning; they have an entire weekend to hang out and here Sam is trying to blow him off.

“You got plans or something?” Puck asks.

Sam shrugs. “No, but you said you needed time.”

“But I also specifically said I didn’t need time away from you.”

“Puck,” Sam sighs. “I want you to figure things out. I want you to be able to look me in the eye and tell me for sure whether you want this or not. I don’t want to constantly wonder if I can kiss you. I want to know that I can. Or… can’t.”

Puck lowers his eyes, chewing on the inside of his lip. “Sam.”

“I just want to know if I can really have this,” Sam continues softly. “And if I can’t, I want to know that, too. So I can move on. We’re always gonna be friends, man, but I can’t keep hoping for something that’s never gonna happen. This has been going on for a while now. You know?”

“Yeah, I know.” Puck swallows, then looks up. “You don’t deserve to just be left hanging like that.”

Sam nods, and Puck reaches out with an unsteady hand, pulling Sam close and shutting his eyes tightly as he kisses him. He can feel Sam’s resistance at first, but then Sam kisses back, pushing forward as he wraps his fingers around Puck’s arm. Puck is breathing hard just from nerves, but he doesn’t want to stop. He slides his hand to Sam’s jaw, then higher into his hair as he roughly pulls Sam closer.

“Fuck, this is—terrifying,” Puck groans.

“Thought you never got scared,” Sam mumbles against his lips.

“I only get scared when it’s something that matters.” Puck breaks off the kiss, but stays close as he rests their faces together. “And you fucking matter more than anything else right now. If you ever repeat that to anyone, I’ll end you.”

Sam smiles then, closing his eyes as he slips an arm around Puck’s neck. Puck gives him a hard squeeze around the waist, clinging to Sam for a long moment.

“Listen to me, because I’m only gonna say this once,” Puck says. “Are you listening?”

“Yeah.” Sam pulls back slightly, meeting his eyes. Puck’s hands feel clammy and his fingers twitch anxiously, but he reminds himself that he’s fucking Noah Puckerman and he can do anything he wants.

“I want to be with you,” Puck says, his voice cracking a little at the start. “I want to be with you, Sam.”

Sam ducks his head with a blush, and when he looks up he’s smiling again. “You said you’d only say it once.”

“Dammit, Sam.” Puck shoves him lightly, and then he’s laughing, though it comes out a little hysterical, and he thinks that’s probably why Sam hugs him tightly again. Puck closes his eyes, breathing deeply as he rests his face in Sam’s crazy mop of hair that Puck knows he hasn’t combed since yesterday.

“I want to be with you, too,” Sam says finally, his voice quiet but more at ease than Puck’s heard him sound in a long time. Puck steadies himself as he relaxes against Sam, and he’s about to kiss him again when there’s a tap at the window. Puck jerks around and sees his sister standing outside.

“Sarah!” Puck yells, untangling himself from Sam. “Go away.”

“Mom wants you to come inside,” she says loudly, and that’s when Puck notices his mother standing in the doorway. His brain grinds to a halt as icy fear lances through him. Shit. Shit. Shit. He can’t move.

“Puck? Breathe, okay?” Sam says, carefully sliding back into his own seat, like if they don’t grope each other anymore Puck’s mom will suddenly forget that they just made out. Puck sucks in a breath, watching his mom turn around and disappear into the house. Sarah knocks on the window again, and he hears Sam fumble with the buttons before his window opens.

“Mom said for me to tell you to come inside,” she says.

“I heard you, just give me a second,” Puck snaps.

“Why are you mad at me?” She looks upset for a moment, and Puck sighs.

“I’m not mad at you. Just go back inside.”

Sarah frowns but obeys, and Puck swallows hard when he looks at his mom again. It’s stifling in the car now, and his skin itches as he clenches and unclenches one fist on his knee. God, he’s fucked.

“Puck, you have to talk to her,” Sam says. Puck turns and stares at him like Sam’s just suggested he scoop out his own eyeballs.

“Are you joking?” Puck asks as he barks out a laugh. “Turn the fucking car on. We’re leaving.”

“You can’t just leave. She saw us. She’s expecting you to go in there and explain.”

“Explain what? That I like dudes sometimes? Yeah, that’ll go over great. Just like the time she found out I got Quinn pregnant.”

“This isn’t anything like that.”

“Yeah. It’s worse.”

“It’s not worse. You’re not doing anything wrong this time.” Sam glances at the house, and Puck notices how his fingers twitch like he wants to reach out and hold Puck’s hand or something stupid like that. He’s glad Sam refrains, even though his mom’s not watching them anymore.

“Dude, my mom’s super Jewish. This is definitely wrong in her eyes.” Puck scowls, letting out a frustrated sigh. He knows he’s going to have to face her eventually. He could leave now, and he could even spend the night at Sam’s, but he can’t avoid coming home forever. Besides, he’d promised Sarah he’d drop her off at the skating rink with her friends tomorrow night.

“It’s different when it’s your own kid,” Sam insists.

Puck snorts, shaking his head. “Yeah, that makes it worse. I’m already a fuck-up to her.”

“Come on, man. She’s your mom. She loves you.”

“Whatever,” Puck mutters. “Look, you don’t get it. Your parents are all cool with your shit. And you have a better track record than me.”

“I’ve done plenty of stupid things,” Sam responds. “Trust me, I’m not some kind of golden boy to my parents. I’m just saying, if you avoid your mom now, it’s just gonna be harder to explain to her later. You might as well tell her. Just be honest.”

“Shit.” Puck runs a hand over his hair, inhaling deeply. “Shit. I can’t do it.”

“Hey. Look.” Sam touches his knee, keeping his hand low. “No matter what happens, you have me. Okay?”

Puck nods, feeling a little nauseous as Sam gives his knee a reassuring squeeze. He has to go in, he knows he does. He just really doesn't want to.

“Come with me,” Puck says. Sam looks hesitant, but he opens his door to get out. Puck follows suit, slamming the door loudly and running his hands over his face.

“Do you want me to say anything?” Sam asks as they walk to the front door. Puck can tell he's nervous, too, which doesn't make him feel all that great.

“No, just... stand there. With me,” Puck mutters. He opens the door, ducking into the house. The kitchen is empty, and he's tempted to turn back around and run as far as he can, but he spies movement in the living room and takes a tentative step. Sam is a warm presence close by, but Puck doesn't think even Sam can help him out all that much now.

“Noah,” his mom says, and Puck snaps his gaze to where she's standing by the couch.

“Yeah,” he replies gruffly.

“Hi, Ms. Puckerman,” Sam says, and Puck wants to slap him a little, and also kiss him for sounding so damned sweet all the time. He wouldn't be in this mess if it wasn't for Sam just waltzing into his life and turning everything on its head. Sam's met his mom a couple times before, and she likes him for the most part—except she probably hates him now.

“Sam,” she says, nodding her nod. “Would you mind giving me a moment to talk to my son alone?”

Shit. Puck casts a panicked glance in Sam's direction, and Sam presses his lips together and meets Puck's eyes.

“I'll be outside,” Sam says, holding Puck's gaze. Puck nods tightly. Sam isn't going anywhere. It makes him feel slightly less like jumping out of the window.

Sam walks out of the living room, and Puck listens to the soft click of the front door before turning and looking at his mom again. She doesn't look entirely mad, to his surprise. She looks kind of—sad. Which is almost worse.

“What are you doing with him?” she asks.

Puck swallows, bringing his eyes to the shoddy carpet. “Nothing.” It's another surprise at how it feels to say that, to deny Sam. It feels like shit.

“I saw you, Noah, and so did your sister.”

“Look, it wasn't...” Puck trails off, swallowing again. “It's my own business, okay?”

“I'm your mother. You are my business.” She sits down with a harsh sigh, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Why do you do this? Why do you constantly...”

“Disappoint you?” Puck interjects bitterly.

“Why do you act like nothing you ever do has consequences?” His mom lifts her gaze toward him. “You don't respect anything. Not this house, not our religion, and not your family.”

Puck feels his chest tightening. “I respect our family, okay? Don't act like I'm fucking Dad—I'm here, aren't I? I've always been here.”

“Watch your tongue in my house,” she says icily, and Puck snaps his mouth shut, clenching his jaw. “I learned long ago that I can't control you, but this? With Sam? What is he doing to you?”

“He's not doing anything to me. He's my bro,” Puck protests.

“Do you kiss all of your friends?” His mom arches a brow. “It's wrong, Noah. You know it. You know better than this.”

“I'm not gay,” Puck snaps. “If that's what you wanna hear. There you go. It's true.”

“I don't want to hear anything. I need you to start taking life seriously. Start actually thinking about your choices before you make them. Stop running around doing whatever you want without a thought for your future or anyone around you.”

Puck exhales, jamming his hands in his pockets. His mom's always going on about his future. And, yeah, if he thinks about it too hard, it's fucking scary. He has no idea what he's supposed to do after high school. He doesn't even know what he wants. He's okay at music, and he's decent at football, but what the fuck is he supposed to do with mediocre skills like that?

“Are you listening?” his mom asks, and Puck looks at her moodily.

“I heard you,” he mutters.

“Whatever you're doing with Sam is against what we believe in.”

“I'm not doing anything with him, okay?” Puck wants to punch the wall, but instead he turns around and stomps toward the front door. “I'm not gay.”

He knows Sam's heard the last part, because he looks at Puck with a curious, uncertain expression. Puck shuts the door with a little more force than necessary, now glad that Sam wasn't privy to their conversation because he definitely would've been upset about it.

“You all right?” Sam asks, watching as Puck plops down beside him on the cracked front step.

“Fine,” Puck grunts.

“What'd your mom say?”

“What do you think she said? I'm an abomination, same old shit.”

“Come on.” Sam makes a face. “Seriously?”

“I'm a fuck-up, and I'm always gonna be a fuck-up to her. And she's definitely not cool with me making out with you.” Puck sighs, tearing a weed growing through a crack in the concrete. “She doesn't really tell me what to do anymore, though. Hasn't in a while.”

Sam gets this look on his face like he's tending a wounded animal or something. Puck realizes with a disgruntled snort that he's the animal.

“You're not a fuck-up,” Sam says. “You're not, okay? Don't say that.”

“Don't tell me what to do,” Puck mutters, looking down. Sam leans against him, their arms brushing, and Puck lets out a sigh, feeling drained even though he's barely done anything today.

“Do you want to come to my house?” Sam asks. Puck sighs again, getting up without saying anything. Sam follows, climbing back in the car, and Puck slips into the passenger seat, staring hard at his house as Sam pulls out of the driveway. Puck doesn't offer to say anything, and Sam keeps quiet. He doesn't know what he's supposed to say. It's weird. His mom seeing him with Sam? Fucking weird.

He doesn't want to tell anyone what he's doing with Sam—he hardly knows himself. He can't explain it to other people. It's none of their business if he wants to make out with Sam. They don't get what Sam means to him. He's more than just his bro. He's the guy he can sit in a car with when he's pissed and not have to listen to anything because Sam knows how to shut the fuck up. He's important. Puck's stomach churns with something he can't place—some mixture of fear and anxiety and thrill.

“We can go to my room, I just need to check in with my mom first,” Sam says when they reach his house. Puck nods, falling in step beside him as they walk to the front door. Sam unlocks it and steps inside, beckoning Puck to follow. Puck sort of expects Sam's mom to be super pissed at him for staying out all night without calling, and maybe she'll be pissed at Puck, too, for being a terrible influence on her kid. He's prepared to get yelled at, though that's the worst case scenario in his head. The best case is to be ignored.

He doesn't expect Sam's mom to be so... teary. Puck tries not to stare, but she's totally crying, or at least she was before they got there. He hangs back as Sam starts apologizing, then they hug, and Sam mumbles a bunch of reassurances (“I'm fine, Mom,” and “Nothing happened,” and “It's okay, I promise everything's okay.”). His mom squeezes him like she's terrified he'll disappear right in front of her, which is even more bizarre than Puck's entire conversation with his own mom. This is why he doesn't do parents—especially parents as weird as Sam's.

“Puck and I are gonna hang out in my room,” Sam says, and Puck looks up like he's been caught with his finger somewhere it's not supposed to be. He gives Sam's mom an awkward half-smile. Sam kisses her on the cheek with a hastily whispered “I love you,” then ducks his head and drags Puck upstairs.

“So your mom seemed kinda worried about you,” Puck says bluntly as they enter Sam's room.

Sam sighs, closing his door. “She's been like that ever since the whole thing at Darlington. She worries way too much about me.”

“At least she cares,” Puck offers.

“She's making herself sick.” Sam sits on his bed, his hands splayed on his knees. “Like, I know shit happens. Bad shit. But I don't dwell on it, you know? I try not to. Because as much bad stuff happens to me, there's a bunch of good stuff, too. I'm happy here. Mostly happy. But my mom is terrified of something happening to me again. I don't exactly blame her, but at the same time, it freaks me out. A lot. I don't like to think about that stuff, but it's hard not to when she constantly does.”

Puck is almost relieved to have something else to focus on, even if that something else is another shitty thing. He plops down beside Sam, resting his elbows on his knees as he studies the carpet.

“If something like that happened to my kid, I'd worry, too. A lot.” Puck only realizes what he's said after the words leave his mouth, and by then Sam's already staring at him with those stupid Bambi eyes like he needs to take all of Puck's pain and make it his own.

“I know. I get where she's coming from,” Sam says slowly. “It's just... it's hard to move on when she's like this. I haven't even told her I came out to the team because she'd freak. I'm more worried about her than me.” Sam moves his hand, reaching over to find Puck's.

“What are you doing?” Puck asks as Sam twines their fingers together.

“Holding your hand.” Sam makes it sound so simple, like holding hands with another dude is ever simple. Puck considers pulling away, but he finds he doesn't really want to. The door is closed and no one's going to see them anyway. He tightens his grip around Sam's pale fingers.

“I want to talk to you,” Sam mumbles, dropping his eyes. “About this. Like, I want to make sure this is okay. I know you said you wanted to be with me—”

“I said it because I meant it, okay?” Puck looks at him firmly. “Don't get all weird on me, dude. Today's been weird enough already. I meant what I said.”

Sam nods uncertainly, then nudges forward, kissing Puck on the mouth. It's a little surprising, but in a good way, and Puck turns his head and kisses back. Kissing Sam is nice. It's not bad.

“I'm sorry about what happened with your mom,” Sam says quietly. Puck doesn't know what to say to that, so he just nods and tastes Sam's lips again. They're soft, if a little chapped, but Puck likes how they feel. He puts a hand on the back of Sam's neck to tug him closer, and Sam just leans into him, his bangs tickling Puck's forehead.

“I want you,” Puck breathes, feeling a little uncertain himself. This is new, like when he'd kissed Sam at Santana's party last night. There's no alcohol, nothing he can blame this on this time. It's just him and Sam. And he likes it.

“You got me,” Sam replies, scooting closer as they both spread across Sam's bed. Sam grazes his fingers down Puck's face, looking at him through slitted eyes. “Tell me this is okay.”

“It's okay,” Puck whispers automatically, and he means it. “It's cool, Sam. It's... good.”

“Good,” Sam whispers back, closing his eyes as he kisses him again. Puck tilts his head up, kissing back as he rests his hand against Sam's side. He's trying to figure out how this is supposed to work, like if he needs to do anything different since Sam's not a chick, but kissing him is satisfying, and Sam seems to enjoy it, so he guesses he's doing all right.

“Are your parents gonna freak if they walk in on us?” Puck mumbles, sliding his hand to the dip in Sam's back. “I know they're cool with the whole gay thing, but I'm pretty sure no parent wants their kid deflowered by a dude like me.”

Sam barks out a laugh, breaking off the kiss as he flops onto his back. Puck sits up, frowning at the loss of Sam's awesome lips.

“One, it's impossible for you to deflower me,” Sam states with a wry smile. “Two, my parents actually like you, for some godforsaken reason. Probably because they're so desperate for me to have friends that they'll take anyone.”

“Gotta admit, it's weird knowing your parents dig me.” Puck leans down and kisses him again. He doesn't do parents, but he sees Sam's mom when he's bumming at his house, and she seems okay, except when she's being all weird and overprotective. Puck brings a hand up and rakes it through Sam's hair, pushing his bangs aside, and Sam gazes up at him with a soft smile. The longer they do this, the less weird it seems. Puck's totally okay with touching Sam's hair and studying his eyes and being so close to his face that he can see those tiny little freckles (and he can only see them from this distance, so he's pretty sure he's one of a privileged few—minus Joshua (the fuckhead) and that other dude Sam kissed at that party in Darlington).

Puck trails his hand down Sam's chest as they make out, traveling lower until he reaches the bottom of his shirt. He pauses before slipping his hand underneath, skating his fingers across those fucking ridiculous abs. Sam's skin is super soft and the dude is fucking hairless, so it's almost like feeling up a really ripped chick. Except it's not. It's just Sam. And Puck likes that.

“I could get used to this,” Puck mutters, moving his mouth firmly across Sam's.

“Yeah? Me too.” Sam grips the nape of Puck's neck, parting his lips, and Puck gets a taste of tongue. Sam's fingers scratch through his mohawk, sending a pleasant shiver down Puck's spine, and Puck is so caught up in the feeling of Sam that he doesn't notice him talking until Sam's slowly pushing to sit up.

“What are you doing?” Puck mumbles, furrowing his brow as he tries to keep kissing him.

“I want to try it again,” Sam says as Puck pokes out his tongue and licks Sam's bottom lip.

“Try what?”

“Giving blowjobs. Dude, are you listening to me?”

That gets Puck's attention. He opens his eyes. “Really? You don't have to...”

“I want to.” Sam sits up the rest of the way, getting ready to move lower, and Puck puts a hand on his chest to stop him.

“No,” Puck says, then winces a little at the spark of unease that flashes through Sam's eyes. He hates that he's the one that's made Sam so jumpy with his constant floundering.

“Why not?” Sam asks, and Puck sighs, reaching up to place a hand against Sam's jaw. He likes his stubble a little too much.

“I'm not gonna bail, okay? I'm not,” Puck reassures him, feeling Sam relax.

“Okay. So, why can't I practice my blowjob technique on you?”

“Because. I'm gonna do it to you this time.” The words are out of his mouth before his brain processes them.

Sam lifts his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yeah. Dude, I'm not some sex freeloader, okay?” Puck scoffs. “I give back as good as I get. How do you think I got my sex shark reputation?”

“I can't possibly imagine,” Sam chuckles. Puck scowls sarcastically at him, but he can't get mad. It's true, and also, it's Sam.

“Just lie back, okay? I need to figure out how to do this,” Puck says, pushing Sam down gently. Sam puts a hand over his, sobering.

“Hey. You don't have to do this, you know,” Sam says, looking at him earnestly. “We can wait.”

“I'm cool with it. Promise.” Puck means it. It's a little scary, yeah, and he's nervous, but he's also a little excited and a lot curious. He wants to make Sam feel good.

“Are you sure?” Sam blinks at him seriously. Puck nods, leaning forward and brushing their lips together, both because he wants to kiss Sam and shut him up. He's gonna make him lose his nerve if he keeps babbling.

“Lie down,” Puck says, and Sam obeys, his hand resting on his stomach. Puck takes a breath and fumbles with the button on Sam's jeans, then pulls down his zipper. He can already see a bulge, and he smirks a little. Yeah, Sam gets hard just from kissing him because he's that awesome. He licks his lips and dips a hand into Sam's open fly, pressing against his cock through his boxers. Sam lets out a quiet little sigh, and Puck gives him a squeeze.

“You can back out anytime, just so you know,” Sam says. “It's kind of a big step.”

“I never back out of anything,” Puck replies automatically.

“Come, on you know what I mean. It's me. You don't have to be Superman with me.”

Puck lifts his eyes, looking at Sam. It's weird how he feels like he can let his guard down with Sam. Sam knows shit about him that no one else does—except Santana, and now his mom—and it just makes him feel so at ease with him. He can tell him anything, do anything with him. He's never had a friend like Sam. Even with Finn, it hadn't felt like this. Before all these feelings got involved, back when he and Sam were just friends and he didn't even know Sam was gay—it was still... better with him. Better than Finn, better than anyone.

“Trust me, okay?” Puck says, his voice quiet.

Sam pauses, then nods. “I do.”

Puck looks down again, pushing Sam's shirt up so he can see the pale expanse of his abs. He brings his face lower and kisses his stomach, moving a little lower so he feels the coarse little trail of hair that disappears into his boxers. Sam's hips move slightly, and Puck pushes down his jeans, encouraging him to get them off. Sam sits up and helps him, kicking his jeans aside, and Puck grabs his face and plants another kiss on his mouth before he lets Sam lie down again. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of Sam's boxers, his heartbeat speeding up as he pulls them down, all the way down to his ankles, then slipping them over his feet and throwing them on the floor next to his discarded jeans.

“All right. This might suck,” Puck says uncertainly, looking at Sam's cock, flushed and rosy.

“It can't be worse than when I did it to you,” Sam chuckles, pulling off his shirt.

Puck grins, nudging his legs apart. “It wasn't bad, okay? It felt awesome.”

“You're probably just saying that because it's me,” Sam teases.

“Dude, get over yourself,” Puck laughs, kissing his stomach again. He wraps his fingers around Sam's cock, enjoying the heavy, velvety feel in his hand. This is the moment where he knows he should be freaking out. Sam's cock is inches away from his face, and he's about to put it in his mouth, and his life has never been gayer than this moment. It's okay, though, because it's Sam, and he's quickly realizing that it's Sam is becoming the thing that keeps him afloat. And he doesn't mind that at all.

“Tell me what you like,” Puck says hesitantly, still holding Sam's cock. “Like, I wanna make this awesome for you. I need to do it right.”

“I like it when it's you.” Sam's hand finds the top of Puck's head. Puck feels a shiver travel down his spine as Sam's fingers scratch through his hair. “Relax. It's a dick, man. You know what to do.”

“I just wanna make this perfect,” Puck mutters.

“This is already perfect. Okay?” Sam says softly. Puck looks up again, and Sam smiles, his cheeks flushed. Puck settles between Sam's legs, then slowly leans down to experimentally put his mouth on Sam's cock. He touches the head with his lips, trying to remember what girls used to do on him that made him feel good. Puck slips the head into his mouth, giving Sam a quick suck, then pops off and looks up.

“How was that?” Puck asks.

Sam laughs. “It was good. Just keep doing that.”

Puck slips his cock into his mouth again, getting used to, well, having a cock in his mouth, and when he hears Sam let out a soft moan, he grins to himself and begins sucking harder. It's messy, probably even messier than when Sam did it to him—it takes him a moment to figure out how to avoid slobbering all over everything. He slides his cock out of his mouth, running his fist up and down the slick shaft as he swallows, gauging Sam's reaction. He smirks a little. Turns out Sam's cheeks aren't the only parts of his body that blush.

He resumes sucking, planting one hand on Sam's hip to keep him from moving. He feels Sam winding his leg around him, his heel pressing into the small of Puck's back as his breath shudders quietly, and Puck bobs his head as he tries to take as much of Sam into his mouth as possible. He can't get him all in there because Sam's pretty impressive, and Puck's gag reflex is telling him to take it easy. Sam seems to be enjoying it nonetheless; Puck focuses on the changes in his breathing and the way his hips try to buck against his hand.

“Fuck,” Sam says in a drawn-out whisper, or maybe he says Puck—he's not sure. Puck's jaw is already starting to feel weird. He totally needs more practice with this. He swirls his tongue around awkwardly, and that really must feel good because Sam whimpers and tightens his hand on Puck's head, trying to grasp his short hair. Puck does it again, pressing his tongue against Sam's slit, and Sam's thighs squeeze around his head, his hips moving as his back arches. Sam's breathing gets quicker, and Puck ignores the ache in his jaw as he bobs his head, his lips moving up and down. He can hear Sam panting, and it's insanely hot, spurring him to suck harder so he can squeeze out his orgasm.

“I'm gonna—” Sam gasps, nudging Puck's head, and Puck takes it as a sign to pull back or risk a mouthful of jizz. Sam coming in his mouth isn't as scary as it sounds now that he's already experienced his dick in his mouth, but... maybe some other time. Puck slides off, replacing his mouth with his hand as he jerks Sam in quick, firm strokes, mesmerized by how Sam shakes against him. Puck's panting a little himself, and then Sam comes with a muffled groan, spilling over Puck's fist, and Puck feels strangely proud because he did that, and it wasn't even close to awful.

“Check that off the list,” Puck remarks, grinning, and Sam lets out a quivering laugh.

“God,” is all Sam says, still breathing hard, and Puck crawls up the bed, grazing a hand over Sam's chest before he lies down next to him, his hands behind his head.

“Was it good?” Puck asks.

“It was great,” Sam answers, exhaling. “I've gotta step up my game.” He turns onto his side, sort of cuddling against Puck, and it's gay and it's awesome. Sam's warm and naked, and Puck could get used to this.

Puck stays still as Sam rests a hand lightly against his stomach. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath and smelling watermelon chapstick and the musky scent of I just came on my bed. He's been on Sam's bed plenty of times before, wasting time and making fun of his Playgirl stash and pretending to study, but they've only ever done stuff like this once before, and it's still fresh in his mind what a disaster that ended up being. Not his proudest moment. He hopes Sam isn't thinking of it now. He has no idea what Sam is thinking of now, but he figures it can't be terrible, what with the way he's pressed against Puck's side, his breathing slowly evening out. Puck lies completely still, opening his eyes and blankly looking at Sam's ceiling. It's weird—like, there's this awesome bubble of comfort around him and Sam right now, and it feels cheesy and special, but there's this weight in his chest, and it's kind of a mood killer because—it's terrifying.

“Sam,” Puck says quietly, listening to him breathe.

Sam shifts, moving his head. “Yeah?”

Puck swallows, and maybe it's because of their bubble that he feels okay letting his walls down, or maybe he's just tired of trying to handle everything on his own, but he opens his mouth and asks in a slightly wavering voice, “What the fuck am I gonna do about my mom?”

“Puck,” Sam whispers, pushing up slightly, and Puck meets his eyes nervously.

“I don't know what I'm supposed to fucking feel like right now,” Puck says. “On one hand, this is awesome and I like it, but then there's... my mom. She hates it.”

“Is she gonna do anything to you?” Sam asks, looking at him seriously.

Puck shakes his head. “I don't think so. It's just the feeling, you know? Like, I screw up all the time, it's nothing new, but this feels—different.”

“Maybe it feels different because this isn't you screwing up.”

“Feels like it,” Puck mutters.

“It's not,” Sam says firmly. “Forget that, okay? It's not.”

Puck inhales slowly, then turns onto his side, facing Sam. He can't say anything, and Sam just slips his arm around his torso, squeezing him tightly, and it makes Puck feel less like he's about to float away. He wraps an arm around Sam's back, closing his eyes.

“Um. Thanks,” Puck says gruffly into Sam's shoulder.

“Everything's gonna be fine,” Sam replies. “Trust me.”

“Yeah.” Puck's not entirely convinced, but he knows Sam has his back, and that's good enough for now.

- - - - -

Everything is different now that he and Sam are, like, together. They keep it on the down low—no PDA during school hours. Sam may be out, but Puck isn't even close to ready for that, so they hang out like buddies during school, then go to Sam's house and pretend to study, which mostly involves the same shit they used to do, but with a lot more making out.

Puck sort of avoids his mom, or at least avoids talking to her about Sam. It works, kind of. He's good at ignoring things. There's one thing he can't ignore, though, and that's the stupid fucking prank calls that Sam's still getting.

“Why the fuck are you being such a pussy about this?” Puck asks after football practice the next week. “You know it's Azimio and Karofsky.”

“It doesn't bother me, okay? It's not worth making a big deal about it. I don't need my mom freaking out about nothing,” Sam says. They'd rode to school together in Sam's car, and Puck kicks at the gravel in the parking lot as Sam gets out his keys.

“You're being a pussy,” he states again.

“Forget it, okay? I don't want to fight about this.”

“We're not fighting. It fucking pisses me off when people mess with you.”

Sam unlocks the doors, and Puck notices a smile tugging at his lips. He narrows his eyes slightly.

“What?” Puck demands.

“Nothing. It's just...” Sam shrugs, lowering his voice even though there's no one around. “You're a really good boyfriend.”

Puck doesn't take compliments well, unless they're about how he's a sex god. He furrows his brow and yanks the passenger door open, scratching his head and throwing his backpack into the seat. It makes him feel good, yeah, but it's also awkward. But good awkward. It would be totally lame to admit all that, so he just mutters a thank you and ignores the way Sam laughs at him.

He slides into the seat as Sam starts the car. “It just sucks, you know? I look out for my boys, okay? And you're, like, way more than just my boy. It sucks that you won't let me beat their faces in for you.”

“You promised, remember?” Sam says sternly.

“I know. But I hate it, okay? I know it gets you down. I'm not fucking blind.”

Sam looks down, sneaking a hand out and squeezing Puck's knee. “Don't worry about me. I can handle it.”

“I know, but it sucks that you have to.” Puck knows Sam is strong, but—still. It's fucked up. He wants to lean over and kiss him, but they're in the parking lot, and they can't take any risks.

“I'm fine,” Sam says softly. “Let's just go to my house and chill.”

“Fine,” Puck says, glancing toward the school. An idea pops into his head—not his greatest, but he's going with it anyway—and he reaches into his pocket and pretends to root around. “Shit, I left my phone in my locker.”

“Go get it,” Sam says, turning on the radio. “Hurry up.”

Puck jumps out of the car and jogs back to the school, entering the hallway and heading for the locker room. Karofsky and Azimio had been there when he and Sam left, and sure enough, when he opens the door they're still there doing whatever it is that douchebags do. Puck steps inside, feeling a familiar rush of adrenaline. He's not going to break his promise, though. No fighting. Just talking.

“Hey,” Puck says sharply, stepping up to them.

“What do you want?” Karofsky asks. “Go back to your butt buddy.”

“Watch yourself, asshole.” Puck glares, resisting the urge to hit him in the face. “I know what you're doing to Sam.”

“Don't know what you're talking about,” Karofsky says, zipping up his bag.

“I'm talking about you making those prank calls to his house. They're not fucking funny.”

Karofsky grins at Azimio and shrugs. “It's not us.”

“You're full of shit and you know it.” Puck clenches his fists, scowling. “What did Sam ever do to you? Just leave him alone.”

“Interesting.” Karofsky turns his grin to him. “Sounds like you've got a thing for Evans.”

Puck flushes, gritting his teeth. “He's my bro, okay? And he's too nice to come over and kick your ass himself, so I'm making it my business instead.”

“Birds of a feather flock together. Same thing with gays, I bet.”

Puck comes forward, closing the distance between them as he brings his face close to Karofsky's. He's pissed, and he really needs to hit something (preferably Karofsky or Azimio, he's not picky which), but Sam would totally freak out, so he refrains. He knows Sam doesn't want to make this a big deal, but they're seriously asking for it.

“Listen to me,” Puck growls. “Back off Sam, or you and I are gonna have a problem.”

“You're not scary anymore, you know that?” Karofsky says. “You hang out with the fairy and you lose your cred.”

“Back off Sam,” Puck repeats, digging his nails into his palms to keep still. “Or you'll regret it. Okay?” He steps back, watching Karofsky through narrowed eyes. He should leave now, before he does something he's not supposed to. Karofsky just gives him a knowing smile.

Puck turns around, walking to the door, and he grasps the handle as he hears Karofsky speak again.

“Hey, Puckerman? You better watch your back.”

Puck hesitates, but he doesn't say anything. After a moment he opens the door and walks out, letting it slam loudly behind him. The space between his shoulder blades itches as he walks down the hall, like eyes are watching him from behind. He doesn't look back, though, because he's totally not scared, and Noah Puckerman doesn't show signs of weakness.

He squints in the sunlight as he approaches Sam's car, opening the door and climbing in. Sam's listening to some Top 40 crap, and Puck makes a face.

“Dude, this sucks.”

“Did you get your phone?” Sam turns the music down slightly, sliding the car into reverse.

“Yeah.” Puck fishes it out of his pocket, holding it up. Sam doesn't have to know it was there the whole time.

“Cool.” Sam swivels in his seat to back up, glancing at Puck. “You okay?”

“Yeah, why wouldn't I be?” Puck responds defensively.

Sam blinks at him, pursing his lips and shaking his head. “Just asking. You look a little tense.”

“I'm fine,” Puck assures him, relaxing. “Everything's totally fine.”

People have been asking if I'm going to continue this since Sam has ceased to exist (SOBS), and the answer is a definite yes! There are three more stories in this verse. I've had it all planned out for a while, and I don't want it to go to waste, so I'm definitely going to see it to the end. :)

ALSO. My friend Tanya has been illustrating some scenes from this verse, and you absolutely need to go look at her art because it's awesome! CLICK HERE AND TELL HER HOW AWESOME SHE IS.

Billionaire Campaign

2011-07-03T21:32:23Z

If any of you guys have iTunes and money to spare, the Chord Overstreet/Kum/Samcedes/Quam/Sam fans are trying to get Billionaire to #1 on the iTunes Glee charts. It was somewhere in the 50s when we started yesterday, and now it's sitting pretty at #6. It's just a gesture of appreciation toward Chord and how he made Sam into such an epic kid despite the trainwreck that Glee is (even though it's unlikely this will change anything), and we're expressing our disgust at how his original storyline was taken away, even though it makes his entire character obsolete, because a tiny gay hobbit makes more money in the iTunes charts. (Unfortunately, Glee's trademark has become dropped and nonsensical storylines!)

So if you can, go buy Billionaire!

If you have no idea what I'm even talking about, you can read up here.

If you have something negative to say about this whole thing, no1curr so keep it to yourself.

on british soaps that no1curr about

2011-06-07T19:06:57Z

They're getting married! ♥

Up to the Platform of Surrender, Puck/Sam, R, 1/2

2011-05-10T04:50:58Z

Title: Up to the Platform of Surrender
Part: 1/2
Pairing: Puck/Sam
Rating/warnings: R
Word Count: 7590
Notes: This is set in the same 'verse as The Right Side of Reason, I'm Numbing My Feeling, Every Second's a Longer Wait, Soon We'll Fall to Pieces, and My Good Intentions.
Summary: Puck can't pinpoint exactly when it happened, but it's almost scary how far he thinks he'll go for Sam.

Puck finds falling back into step with Sam easier than he expected, but he’d be lying to himself if he said things were exactly the same as before. They hang out at school, they horse around during football practice (and Puck keeps an eye out for anyone who looks at Sam wrong—the whole team is being pretty cool about him though, except Karofsky and Azimio, but they don’t try anything with Beiste watching), and they spend a lot of time together after school, usually at Sam’s house. Sam had fumbled through introducing Puck to his mom, and Puck is sure she thinks they’re boning just because of the way Sam had acted like a giant spaz.

Sam’s been helping him figure out the whole bisexuality thing, though, and Puck doesn’t say it out loud, but he’s really glad to have Sam there for him. Puck would rather stab himself with a fork than admit how shaken he really is. It almost feels like everything he’s ever believed about himself has been a giant fucking lie, but when he’s sitting on the bed with Sam’s gentle voice telling him stuff that he’s never even given a second thought to until now, he feels almost okay.

“It says here that plenty of people experience shifts in their orientation to some degree,” Sam says, staring intently at his laptop. He’s lounging on his bed with his back to the wall, and Puck puts down Sam’s guitar and plops down beside him.

“Where are all these people, because they sure as hell don’t go to McKinley,” Puck says, scowling. “People wouldn’t be such dicks if this was totally normal.”

“This is normal,” Sam says absently.

“I know.” Puck sighs, slouching against the wall. “That’s not what I meant. I don’t know what I meant. Fuck.”

“You really just need to relax.”

“Says the guy who already has everything about his life figured out,” Puck mutters. Sam glances at him and somehow manages to look sympathetic and disinterested at once. Sam seems to be doing all right on the surface, but sometimes Puck catches him staring into nothing, like he’s trying to process something unpleasant, and that usually just makes Puck angry because he wants to bash Sleaze’s face in, but Sam won’t even tell him where he lives. Then Puck gets mad all over again, and Sam gets mad at him, which is completely ridiculous, because Sam should totally be grateful that Puck is so badass that he’d bash someone’s face in for him.

He hates when Sam gets mad over it, though, because it’s not like how he gets mad when he misses a pass during practice or forgets his homework in his locker. Puck can see something in Sam’s eyes as his cheeks flush with emotion and his jaw clenches tightly, and it makes Puck want to slam his fist through the wall out of sheer helplessness. He’s tried breaching the subject with Sam, but most of the time Sam dismisses the topic right away, and it doesn’t help that Puck has no idea how to deal with feelings. He knows Sam should just talk about it instead of bottling it away, but it’s not like Puck can force him to do anything. Sam is a stubborn little shit when he wants to be.

“I know it’s confusing, but you just have to go with what feels right,” Sam says, turning back to his laptop. “Even if it’s the scarier option.”

Puck gives Sam a sidelong glance, staring until Sam looks back at him.

“What?” Sam asks.

“I was just wondering if you ever listen to yourself when you talk.”

Sam stares blankly. “What?”

“Look, I know you’re freaked out and stuff—”

“I’m not freaked out about anything.”

“Dude, don’t get all defensive on me. I just want to help.” Puck shrugs, studying Sam out of the corner of his eye. Sam pauses, and Puck hones in on an erratic muscle in Sam’s jaw.

“If I needed help, I’d tell you. Trust me,” Sam replies simply. The house phone rings, and Puck narrows his eyes as he notices Sam grow visibly tenser. Sam’s parents are out, and Sam clacks away at his laptop, making no move to get up.

“You gonna answer that?” Puck asks.

“No, it’s probably just a telemarketer or something. Or someone for my parents. They can leave a message.”

“I can take a message if you want—”

“No!” Sam grabs his wrist as Puck makes a move to slide off the bed, and Puck gives Sam a darkly suspicious look.

“Dude, what gives?”

“Nothing,” Sam says, loosening his grip. He clears his throat and glances away. “Sorry. It’s nothing. Just forget it, okay?”

Puck crosses his arms. “For the record, I think you’re full of shit.”

Sam closes his laptop with a sigh. “Good for you. Do you want to find something to eat?”

“Since when do you offer to actually eat?” Puck asks as he stands and stretches.

“Please. Skipping meals isn’t the way to retain muscle mass.” Sam rubs his abs and does a little shimmy while they’re walking down the stairs. Puck just tries not to glare at Sam’s ass he stalks along behind him. Sam’s got an ass built like a fucking Cheerio.

Sam’s fridge is possibly the weirdest fridge in all of Lima, and no matter how many times Puck roots through it, it never looks any more normal. It’s like a garden threw up rainbows all over the shelves. Sam once told him that a pretty good tip to eating healthy is to try to get as many different colors on your plate as possible, and Puck just replied with how Sam likes colors because he’s gay.

“Do you want some strawberries?” Sam asks, his head deep in the fridge.

“Don’t you have any man food?” Puck mutters, opening up a cabinet to find an array of seeds, nuts, and whole grain crackers. He pushes aside some pumpkin seeds and a bag of raisins before finding some Doritos stuffed in the back. He turns around to see Sam biting into a strawberry, the red fruit poking out from between his pink lips, and Puck drops the bag on the floor.

“Dude,” Sam says, scowling as he pulls off the leafy part. “Don’t break my Doritos, I don’t like them all crumbly.”

“Chill out, they’re fine.” Puck snatches them up, unclipping the top as he joins Sam at the counter. Sam eats another strawberry, and Puck dives into the chips, chewing slowly as he casually studies how the strawberries make Sam’s lips look a little redder than usual.

“You got any more junk food hidden away?” Puck smirks, waving a chip in Sam’s face. Sam looks torn for a moment, narrowing his eyes at the chip, then nabs it, crunching away.

“There’s some Oreos over there.” Sam points at another cabinet near the fridge. As Puck kneels down and starts searching, the phone rings again. He catches how Sam’s face tightens, and Puck stands up as Sam goes to the living room. He follows, and he walks in to see Sam pick up the phone, listen for a moment without saying a word, then drop it back down into the cradle.

“Who was that?” Puck asks, watching Sam brush crumbs off his fingers.

“No one. Wrong number.” Sam walks past him, and Puck turns, crossing his arms.

“Seems like you’ve been getting a lot of wrong numbers,” Puck says.

Sam shrugs, reaching for the Doritos. “Did you find the Oreos?”

“No. There’s too much rabbit food in there. Who eats rice cakes?”

“They’re right there,” Sam says, going to the cabinet. The phone rings again, and Puck takes a split second to gauge the distance between him and Sam before he dashes to the living room.

“Puck, leave it!” Sam yells, clambering after him, but Puck’s already got the receiver, holding out a hand to swat Sam away.

“Yo,” Puck says. “This is the Evans household. I’m the butler. What up?”

There’s a pause, then an unfamiliar voice speaks. “Are you a fag, too?”

Puck knits his brows together, his humor dissipating, and he’s distracted enough that Sam is able to snatch the phone away, slamming it down with such force that Puck is sure he’s cracked it in two.

“You are such an asshole,” Sam hisses, shoving Puck so he lands on the couch. Puck gapes for a moment, then springs up angrily.

“Who was that?” Puck demands. “What was that?”

“Nobody,” Sam replies tightly, turning on his heel and going to the kitchen. Puck lunges forward and grabs Sam’s arm, yanking him back, and Sam gives a disgruntled huff as he pushes Puck again.

“Sam, can you stop being such a bitch and just tell me what’s going on?” Pucks says, irate. “Seriously, what the hell was that?”

Sam clams up, looking away as he wrinkles his brow, but his shoulders slump, and in a moment he responds.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, don’t bother elaborating or anything.”

“I don’t know, okay?” Sam meets his eyes, his expression troubled. “I’ve been getting these stupid calls ever since I came out at school.”

“Are you kidding me? That long, and you didn’t tell me?”

“What’s the point of telling you? You can’t do anything.”

“Like hell I can’t do anything. It’s obviously Karofsky and Azimio. My fist can do plenty.”

“They come from different numbers. I think they’re using pay phones and stuff,” Sam sighs. “And they mask their voices so I can’t even tell if it’s really them. My parents are trying to work something out with the phone company to get these calls blocked, but since it’s a bunch of different numbers, it’s not that simple.”

Puck clenches his jaw. He’s officially pissed. “I’m gonna kill them.”

“Puck, don’t start,” Sam says in an exasperated tone. “Just leave it alone. My parents are handling it. They said if the calls don’t stop by the end of the week, they’re gonna contact Figgins anway.”

“I can take care of this,” Puck snaps. Why’s Sam being such a pussy about this? Puck does not let anyone mess with his bros, especially not Sam. “I don’t care what you say. I’m confronting them tomorrow.”

“Don’t.”

“They’re not gonna stop unless someone makes them.”

“You’re just gonna get in trouble. And you’ll probably get your ass kicked anyway. It’s two of them and one of you, remember?”

“I can take ‘em,” Puck says heatedly. “This is fucked up, Sam. You should have told me the first time they called. They’re just gonna keep doing it if you ignore it.”

“This isn’t even your problem,” Sam replies, his voice growing edgy. “This doesn’t even bother me, okay? I’ve heard all this shit before. I’m comfortable with who I am, and some assholes calling me names isn’t going to change that.”

Puck scowls. “Well, I’m not okay with it. And I think it’s bullshit that you are.”

Sam sighs, deflating suddenly. He slips past Puck and flops onto the couch, and Puck sits down beside him, his scowl still in place as he looks at Sam.

“Why’re you being such a bitch about this?” Puck asks finally, but he softens his voice, watching as Sam rubs his face in annoyance.

“I’m not being a bitch. You’re just being really naïve.”

“Excuse me? I’m not naïve. You’re the naïve little puppy-faced loser here.” Puck’s scowl deepens.

“You just don’t get it, okay?” Sam says, leaning forward as he rests his elbows against his legs. He glances at Puck with a serious expression. “You don’t understand the kind of shit that people might do when they decide they hate you. It’s dangerous.”

“I can take care of myself, dude.”

“Don’t fight them,” Sam goes on, and Puck is surprised at the pleading edge to his words. “I’m serious, Puck. I’ve been on the receiving end of this already. I was lucky that I didn’t get worse than a concussion. People get killed over this. People our age.”

Puck swallows uncomfortably, glaring at the carpet. Puck knows all that, of course he does. He realizes with a chill that he falls into this category now, swinging both ways and all (though a part of him still firmly believes that he’s only gay for Sam—he doesn’t get off thinking about any other guy’s boner).

“I don’t want anything to happen to you,” Sam says quietly.

“Nothing’s gonna happen to me, okay?” Puck says roughly. “And nothing’s gonna happen to you, either. I just want to make these calls stop.”

“I don’t care about them,” Sam insists, but Puck can tell he’s lying. They’re wearing Sam down, and Puck clenches his fists in anger. He feels fiercely protective over Sam; the dude’s already been through so much, even though he’s handling everything just fine—a lot better than Puck would, admittedly—and Puck just wants everyone to get off his back. Besides, Sam isn’t all that fun when he’s mopey and depressed. Puck misses that huge, crooked smile he used to see.

“I won’t fight them,” Puck says grudgingly.

“Promise me.” Sam sits up, looking intensely into his eyes. Puck flushes for a second before playfully pushing Sam’s cheek away with one hand.

“Yeah, I promise.” He grins at Sam’s agitated look. “Dude, your face is fine.”

“I was trying to have a serious moment with you,” Sam says, but he doesn’t look mad. Puck shrugs, and he almost reaches out to ruffle a hand through Sam’s hair before his brain catches up with him. He keeps his hands firmly to himself, glancing toward the kitchen.

“The Doritos will get soggy if you leave ‘em out,” Puck says.

“Soggy Doritos are worse than crumbled up Doritos,” Sam says, standing and going to the kitchen. Puck follows, this time accepting Sam’s offer for strawberries. Sam’s fingers are sticky with fruit juice when he plucks a berry from his hand, and he ignores the little shock that runs through his body with their fingers brush. A week ago he would have been running for the hills. Things feel different now, though. He doesn’t want to leave Sam anymore.

- - - - -

That Friday at school, Puck decides he’s going to cheer Sam up. And the best way to do that is for them to get their party on.

“Santana’s throwing a house party at her place,” Puck says, straddling a bench in the locker room while Sam finishes changing. “You and me are going.”

“What if I don’t want to?” Sam pulls his shirt on and struggles to get his head through. Puck spends the moment admiring Sam’s nipples.

“You don’t have anything better to do. I know this for a fact. Anyway, you spend all your time holed up at your house nowadays, so I’m taking you out to this party and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Sam chuckles, smoothing down his hair. “Okay. Fine.”

“It’ll be fun. We’ll just hang and drink free beer.” Puck gets up as Sam shuts his locker, and as they head out to the parking lot, Puck spies Karofsky and Azimio on the far end. Puck bristles, wanting nothing more than to run over and kick the shit out of both of them, but Sam seems to read his mind and grasps his arm firmly.

“Come on. We gotta get some homework done before the party,” Sam says, unlocking his car. “I have a killer English test next week.”

“Who cares about English?” Puck mutters, sliding into the passenger seat.

“Um, I do. If I fail, I’ll get kicked off the team.”

“Oh. Right. I guess I can help you study for it,” Puck says. He tries not to think about how many cool points he just lost for even uttering those words, but Sam’s grateful smile kind of makes it worth it. Puck’s not the greatest study partner in the first place, but they’ve come up with a pretty good system for English class. They get assigned the same books, so Puck will read a couple chapters aloud since Sam picks up stuff a lot faster if he hears it instead of reading it himself. Puck has to admit that the books are actually kind of interesting with the both of them making awesome commentary while reading.

Sam wants to study at the library because he says there are less distractions, which Puck guesses is a valid point, since they usually end up wasting time instead of studying when they’re at Sam’s house. They head to their usual spot in the back when they get there, and Puck drags one of the beanbag chairs over by the reference shelf. He plops down and puts his hand behind his head, watching as Sam rummages through his backpack.

“Move over,” Sam says, holding his English notebook and a battered copy of Fahrenheit 451. Puck scoots, and Sam slides down beside him, the beanbag chair molding around their bodies and pushing them closely together. Sam doesn’t seem to notice—he’s too busy rifling through his notebook and muttering about how badly he’s going to bomb this test—but all Puck can think about is how warm Sam’s body is and how comfy his gray hoodie looks.

“I swear I’ve been trying to finish this book all week,” Sam says, flipping to a dog-eared page. “It never ends.”

“Looks like you’re almost done.”

“Yeah, but we were supposed to have it finished on Wednesday, and it’s now Friday. And the test is Monday. And everyone else finished on time. And I hate this book.”

“Relax,” Puck says, plucking the book from Sam’s hands. Sam huffs and scratches his head, his cheeks tinged pink with frustration or embarrassment, Puck can’t tell.

“Will you just read me the rest?” Sam asks, mumbling.

“Yeah, sure, dude.” Puck nudges Sam’s shoulder. “Look, you’re not gonna fail this test. Just chill.”

“Okay.” Sam takes a deep breath, then gives Puck a tiny smile. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Puck looks away, clearing his throat as he feels a tug in his chest. “Okay, so relax and let the Puckasaurus read you a story.”

Sam settles down, their bodies still close, and Puck tries to ignore how he can feel Sam’s hair on his shoulder, tickling him through his shirt. He starts reading, and after a couple of pages he glances over and finds Sam’s eyes are closed.

“Dude, are you sleeping? Wake up. I’m reading.”

“I’m not sleeping, I’m concentrating,” Sam says, creasing his brow and keeping his eyes closed. “Just keep reading. I’m listening.”

“You better be,” Puck mutters, turning back to the book. He resumes reading, but this time alternates his glances between the pages and Sam. Sam’s lashes are clearly brown against his cheeks. For some reason Puck thinks it’s kind of adorable that Sam’s a bottle blond, though he’s gotta admit Sam’s hair looks a lot nicer now than before. Sure, the lemon yellow had been cute, but now it’s more of a honey color with darker locks interspersed throughout. It’s getting longer, and Sam keeps it a little messier now, which just makes him look really sexy pretty much all day. Puck coughs suddenly, forcing his mind to focus on something else. Like this book. He manages to go three full pages before giving Sam another discreet glance. Sam opens his eyes, like he senses Puck looking at him, and Puck immediately feels his face grow warmer.

Sam doesn’t say anything, dropping his gaze as he fiddles with a pen, absently scratching out lines in the open notebook on his lap. Puck pauses, then turns the page and keeps reading. He tries to ignore the way Sam’s body feels tense beside him.

Well, if Sam’s not gonna say anything, Puck’s sure as hell not gonna bring anything up. He reads some more, shutting everything out until he’s reached the end (he has no idea what’s happening, who these people are, and why they’re crying about books), and then he finally closes the book and hands it back to Sam. Sam takes it, and Puck narrows his eyes at the way Sam’s hands seem a little shaky.

“Thanks,” Sam says, pushing himself up, and before Puck knows it, his hand is wrapped around Sam’s wrist.

“Where’re you going?” Puck asks, sounding slightly petulant even to his own ears, but he’s seriously not digging the loss of Sam’s body heat. “You can’t just use me and run.”

Sam chuckles softly, lowering himself back down. He draws his legs up, casually resting one knee against Puck’s stretched legs. “I’m kinda sleepy now, honestly. Homework knocks me out pretty fast.”

“Well, this beanbag chair is badass and perfect for sleeping.”

“Well, then, get out of it and let me sleep,” Sam says, giving Puck a playful shove.

“I was here first,” Puck shoots back, knocking Sam’s arm away. Sam pushes him again, letting his notebook slide onto the floor, and Puck smirks, slipping his arm forward quickly. He gets Sam in a headlock in a matter of seconds, and he really, really doesn’t want to let go when Sam starts struggling and laughing, the top of his head nestled against Puck’s chin.

“Get off me,” Sam says, swatting at Puck’s arms. “I have to study.”

“You were going to sleep.” Puck wrenches Sam against his chest, grinning when Sam lets out an undignified squawk. “Say I’m a badass.”

“You know, the better I get to know you, the less badass I realize you are.”

“What?” Puck scowls immediately. “That’s bullshit.”

Sam stops struggling as hard, his body shaking with laughter. “No, it’s true. Sorry, man, but you pretty much have a gooey center.”

Puck loosens his grip, completely affronted, but Sam stays put against his chest, which sort of makes him feel awesome. “You’re full of crap. You have a crappy center.”

“You love my crappy center,” Sam teases, craning his neck to look at Puck upside down. Puck glowers at Sam’s wide smile. “Admit it.”

Puck refuses, and Sam settles down against him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And suddenly Puck realizes that it does feel natural, or at least really fucking good. He stays quiet as he slowly rests one arm beside Sam, then just kind of drapes the other against Sam’s shoulder, holding his breath because he’s not sure how Sam might react. He feels really gay right now, but he also feels like this is the nicest thing that’s happened to him all day, possibly all week.

Sam is so warm and comfortable against him, and Puck has to desperately fight back the memories of when they’d gotten carried away together, because he definitely does not need to pop a boner right now. He glares harshly at Sam’s hand, pale fingers curled loosely on his chest, and before Puck can stop himself, he’s reaching out and picking up Sam’s hand.

Sam doesn’t say anything, though Puck can feel his body grow a little more alert, but he’s already got his hand, so he might as well go through with this. Puck swallows nervously, then slips their fingers together, just like he’d done at the movie theater, but this time Sam’s fingers aren’t cold and his own palm isn’t as sweaty. Sam tightens his grip, and for a moment they’re both completely silent. Puck’s heart is hammering so hard he’s sure Sam can feel it.

“You should get a beanbag chair for your room,” Sam remarks, his voice lazy. Puck snorts softly. He’s really grateful Sam isn’t asking why they’re holding hands.

“I’ll think about it.” Puck leans back, and Sam shifts comfortably, his head falling to one side as he closes his eyes. Silence falls between them again, but it’s a relaxed silence, and Puck doesn’t mind. He stays awake while Sam’s breathing grows deeper, keeping their fingers intertwined just because it feels good and Puck can do whatever he wants.

Puck doesn’t want to think about it too much, but being with Sam makes him feel almost peaceful, like he can forget all the shitty stuff that’s happened before. He would never tell Sam this, but he values the feeling. It’s a relief to just sit and be calm for a minute. Usually his brain is working overtime, trying to figure out this whole bisexuality thing, trying to think of ways to keep Karofsky and Azimio away from both of them, trying to retain his air of badassery at school, trying to change his mom’s mind that he’s just a fuck-up, trying to forget about Beth—it just becomes too much sometimes, and with Sam he doesn’t have to think about any of that.

Sam’s sleeping against his chest, and Puck can’t think of anything else he’d rather be doing at this exact moment besides being his human pillow. He scowls a little, because Sam seriously makes him lose all his cool points, but no one’s around, so he stays put and examines Sam’s hair for a while, remembering how it felt when he ran his hands through it. He wants to do it again. Puck bites his lip softly and tries not to think too hard about the number of things he wants to do again.

- - - - -

“This party’s gonna be a bust,” Sam announces as they pull up to Santana’s house later that night. Puck looks at the people running across the expansive lawn, already drunk and acting like shitheads, and shrugs at Sam.

“Looks pretty awesome to me so far,” Puck says, unbuckling his seatbelt.

“There are too many assholes here.”

“There are now that you’ve walked in.” Puck puts his hands in his pockets and gives Sam a friendly nudge as they cross the driveway. Sam grins, and Puck pretends his heart doesn’t do a weird flippy thing at the sight.

For living in a shitty part of town, Santana has the nicest house there, probably because Puck knows her dad is loaded. He snags drinks, hands one to Sam, and they both head to the backyard where most of the people are. Sam almost trips on a wad of wires leading to a pair of speakers by the sliding door, and Puck ducks past them quickly so his ears don’t start bleeding at the earth shattering thump of the R&B Santana has blasting—probably some underground dude that Puck will never hear again. Santana has a crazy music collection, and Puck’s spent a fair share of time combing through her CDs.

“Pool?” Puck calls out, watching Brittany flip herself into the water.

“Nah, I didn’t bring clothes.” Sam tugs at the cords of his sweatshirt and shrugs. “I’m not getting in there naked, even though I know I’m incredibly hot and everyone wants to see me strip.”

Puck snorts. “You got nothing on the Puckasaurus, dude.”

“You also have to take my amazingly chill personality into account. There’s me…” Sam gives Puck a long look. “And then there’s you, who still uses dinosaur nicknames.”

“Can you hurry up and get drunk? Maybe your ego will come down a few thousand notches.” Puck takes a long swig from his drink, then finds Sam’s plastic cup shoved into his face.

“I’m not drinking,” Sam says, handing his beer over. “I’ll drive us home.”

“Don’t worry about it. Santana has a killer guest bedroom. We can crash here if you want.”

“That’s okay. I just don’t want to get drunk.” Sam smiles tightly, and Puck downs his cup and starts on Sam’s.

“Come on, you could use a night of relaxation,” Puck says, slapping a hand on Sam’s shoulder. Sam just shakes his head, and it’s not until Puck is halfway through Sam’s cup that he suddenly remembers what happened the last time Sam got drunk.

“Oh. Shit. I’m sorry, dude,” Puck mutters. The simmering rage comes to the surface for a moment, and Puck has to struggle to push it down before he hits the next person who looks at him wrong. He doesn’t think he’ll ever not want to kill Joshua.

“It’s no big deal,” Sam replies, smiling at him faintly. “I just don’t feel like getting drunk and making more stupid decisions.”

Puck sighs. “I’ll make sure nothing happens, okay?”

“I don’t need a babysitter.” Sam’s smile widens, and he makes a fist and gently punches Puck’s arm. “I’m gonna go say hi to Kurt.”

“Okay. See you in a little bit. I’ll find you.” Puck watches Sam head across the lawn to where Kurt is sitting on one of the stone benches, laughing at something Finn’s saying. Puck morosely sips the rest of his drink, turning back into the house to get another.

“Hey, Puckerman,” Santana coos, coming up behind him.

“Nice party.” Puck snags another cup and looks at Santana warily as she circles around him.

“Did you bring a date?” she asks.

“Nope. I came with Sam.”

“Yeah, like that’s not a date.” She smirks, crossing her arms knowingly.

Puck rolls his eyes. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, as usual.”

“Whatever. Continue your cycle of repression, I don’t care. You wanna start a game of beer pong?”

“I’m gonna go hang with Sam,” Puck says before he even thinks about the words, and he scowls as Santana’s smirk grows stronger. Puck heads to the sliding doors, scanning the backyard for that familiar blond head, and he finally spots him sitting next to Kurt, his face light with laughter as the two of them talk. Puck knows that the two of them are chummy, but they’re usually with Rachel as well. Sam moves his hands animatedly, doing another impression no doubt, and a sour feeling of jealousy settles in Puck’s stomach. Then he feels stupid because it’s not like he’s dating Sam. Sam had made it pretty clear that he doesn’t think either of them should be a relationship right now. He’s still helping Puck figure out this whole bisexuality thing.

Puck stands by the door and nurses his beer, then turns around and wanders back into the kitchen, finding Santana snapping at some of the football players carrying another keg in.

“So, you said beer pong?” Puck asks casually.

Santana glances at him. “I’m gonna kick your ass.”

- - - - -

Getting drunk is one of Puck’s favorite pastimes, but he reins it in tonight and makes sure he can still think fairly straight. He doesn’t want to think too hard about why. He feels like he should definitely be levelheaded enough to defend Sam’s honor if anyone tries to mess with him—not that Sam can’t take care of himself, but he shouldn’t have to all the time, not when Puck is around.

“All right, you’re definitely the worst beer pong player ever,” Santana says. “You’ve been on a losing streak for an hour now.”

“An hour?” Puck looks up, instinctively looking behind him, toward the backyard. “I should go find Sam. This game blows anyway.”

“Says the sore loser. Maybe your boyfriend can cheer you up.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Puck hisses.

“Yeah, and Artie can walk,” Santana says snidely. Puck brings his face close to hers, his hand clenching into a fist.

“Don’t go around spreading rumors about stuff you have no idea about,” Puck says darkly.

“You wouldn’t be getting your panties in a twist if you didn’t have something to hide,” Santana shoots back, her voice dropping low.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you.” Puck is ready to say more, but he hears a commotion in the backyard—different from regular party commotion, which he’s an expert at identifying. Santana looks up and Puck turns around, frowning as he goes to the doors.

“What the hell is Karofsky doing?” Santana snaps from beside him. Puck feels anger rush through him and a pinprick of fear as he sees Sam standing before Karofsky, his mouth moving. Puck can pick up the tension in the air as people stop to watch, and he takes off across the lawn, ready to slug Karofsky in the face if he lays one oversized finger on Sam.

“I swear, if he starts a fight—” Santana is cut off by a rising hoot from the crowd as Karofsky suddenly throws his drink in Sam’s face, drenching him with beer.

“Hey!” Puck yells, breaking into a sprint. “You’re dead, Karofsky!”

“Came to save your butt buddy?” Karofsky asks, throwing his empty cup down. Puck lunges at him with a snarl, shoving him backwards before he feels hands pulling him back. Santana’s screaming at them both to cut it out, and Sam grabs Puck and starts dragging him back.

“Let me go,” Puck said heatedly.

“No, you let it go,” Sam snaps.

“Sam, I’m serious, get off me!” Puck tries to push Sam away as Karofsky comes forward angrily, and Santana suddenly inserts herself between them.

“Back off,” she says to Karofsky, narrowing her eyes. She puts a hand out and gives Puck a dismissive shove. “You too.”

“Did you not see what he just did to Sam?” Puck asks, fighting to contain his anger.

“It’s not worth a fight,” Sam says, his fingers digging into Puck’s arm. Puck throws him an incredulous look, ready to tell Sam just how full of shit he is, but Santana starts talking again.

“You need to leave,” she tells Karofsky. “This is my party, and I don’t need you ruining it by continuing to be the world’s biggest asshole.”

“My fist’ll make you leave if you don’t get lost,” Puck says. He glares as Karofsky turns around, shooting Puck a dirty look before disappearing through the back gate. Puck feels Sam’s grip loosen. He clenches his jaw when he looks at Sam’s soaked clothes.

“You should’ve let me take care of it,” Puck says harshly. Sam pushes his wet hair back with an aggravated sigh, and Santana takes a step closer.

“You can clean up in the bathroom,” Santana says, eyeing them. “Upstairs, so you don’t hog the main one. It’s more private, too.”

“Thanks,” Sam says, taking off toward the house. Puck flares his nostrils angrily and follows, staying close to Sam as he slips past the partygoers and heads upstairs. The music and chatter die down as they go further, and when they reach the bathroom and close the door, all Puck can hear is the dull but incessant thump of the speakers outside.

Sam takes off his hoodie, letting it fall to the linoleum with a wet splat, then examines the collar of his t-shirt and shucks it off as well. Puck hangs back as Sam dunks his head under the sink, splashing water onto his face and hair, and after watching Sam struggle for a moment, he goes forward.

“You should’ve let me take care of it,” Puck repeats, helping Sam rinse his hair. Sam straightens, water dripping down his neck and shoulders, and Puck grabs a towel off the rack and hands it over.

“I don’t need you to defend me,” Sam says, his voice muffled as he dries his face.

“It’s not just about defending you. Karofsky’s an ass. He deserves to have my foot in his face. What happened that set him off?”

“Nothing. I was talking to Kurt and apparently two gay kids conversing is too much for him.”

“I’m gonna kill him,” Puck mutters.

“You promised me you wouldn’t fight him.” Sam lowers the towel as he looks at Puck seriously.

“That was before he fucked with you.”

“A promise is a promise.”

“Well, I lied! I’m not letting him get away with this.” Puck glares at Sam, furrowing his brow. “Why are you being such a coward about this?”

Sam scoffs, turning to the sink again. “I’m not being a coward. You’re just being an idiot.”

“I can take him, all right?”

“Really?” Sam meets his eyes again, anger flashing across his face. “Can you take Azimio, too? Maybe the rest of the school as well? You’re not a wolf pack, dude. You’re one guy.”

“I’d rather get my ass kicked than sit around and do nothing, like you,” Puck spits.

“This isn’t about you,” Sam replies tightly.

“Like hell it isn’t! Those douches are harassing you because you’re gay. Maybe you’ve forgotten, but I’m not straight either!”

“Oh, now you decide to have some fucking pride? This isn’t a joke, Puck.”

“I’m not laughing,” Puck says darkly. “What the hell is the matter with you?”

“I don’t want you to get hurt!” Sam yells. “And I don’t want to get put on display again. I know Karofsky and Azimio. Fighting them isn’t going to make anything better for either of us.”

“But letting him throw shit in your face isn’t making things better, either. And you know the two of them are behind those prank calls.”

“Just leave it alone,” Sam says, turning away again, but Puck grabs Sam’s shoulders and forces him to look at him.

“Ignoring this isn’t going to make it stop,” Puck hisses.

“I’m trying to protect you,” Sam says angrily, lowering his voice. “There’s no reason for you to get involved.”

“You’re an idiot if you really believe that.” Puck searches Sam’s eyes, but Sam lowers his gaze stubbornly. “If someone messes with you, it’s my business. I don’t let people fuck with my friends. I’m always gonna be there for you, whether you want me or not, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it. No one tells me what to do. Not even you.”

Sam exhales softly, his breath tickling Puck’s face. “You’re gonna ruin your rep.”

“It’s my rep to ruin.”

“Puck, you don’t know what it’s like. It’s scary. It’s intimidating. I don’t want to go through that again and I don’t want it to happen to you, either.”

Puck releases Sam’s shoulders as Sam pulls away, watching him turn to the mirror as he runs a hand through his wet hair.

“We’ve already had this conversation,” Puck says.

“Yeah, I know, and you promised you wouldn’t do anything stupid!” Sam glares at him again.

Puck flushes. “I’m not doing anything stupid, I’m just trying to defend you!”

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me—I don’t need you getting hurt because of me!”

“I can take care of myself,” Puck says hotly.

“Yeah, well, so can I!”

“Is that why you let Karofsky walk all over you?” Puck feels slight remorse as the words leave his mouth, and Sam shoots him a dirty look, anger mounting in his gaze.

“You don’t know how I feel,” Sam snaps. “Don’t push me, Puck.”

“You let Karofsky push you,” Puck barrels on. Sam rounds on him suddenly, practically snarling in his face as he pushes closer.

“I care about you, okay? I don’t want you getting involved because I don’t want you getting hurt—why can’t you understand that?” Sam shouts. “I don’t want anything to happen to you, I don’t want that guilt on me. I can’t let Karofsky go after you instead of me!”

The door bangs open at that moment, and Santana appears with a sour look marring her features. It’s too late for Puck to jump back, so he just stands there with his face inches away from Sam’s, scowling fiercely. He’s acutely aware of Sam’s lack of a shirt.

“I can hear you guys screaming from the stairs,” she says. “What the hell are you two fighting about? Actually, no—I don’t care. Just shut up!”

Puck doesn’t say anything as she slams the door, and for a second he just listens to Sam’s slightly jagged breathing. He faces Sam again, but he doesn’t look at his eyes; Puck focuses on his gaze on Sam’s parted lips, plump and rosy, and how Sam’s tongue looks when he quickly runs the tip over them. Puck feels a little winded, either from arguing or just looking at Sam, and he doesn’t pull back when Sam sets a hand gently on his hip, barely grazing him.

“I just don’t want anything to happen to you,” Sam says meekly, his voice soft and strained. Puck swallows, suddenly unable to contain himself when Sam’s lips gravitate closer, and a second later Sam reaches up and pulls Puck in for a kiss, his fingers sliding through Puck’s mohawk in an attempt to get him closer. Puck meets him impatiently, pushing their mouths together as he presses Sam against the sink, their hips connecting. Puck splays a hand across Sam’s flat stomach, feeling the ridges of muscle, and Sam’s groan sends vibrations through him as he gives their hips a good, hard grind.

The door opens again, and Puck comes off Sam’s mouth with a wet sucking noise, panic rising in him as he looks over. Santana stands there, looking mostly annoyed, but Puck knows her aroused face well, and he’d bet his entire house that she’s about to make a beeline for Brittany to get some scissoring on.

“I brought a shirt for Sam,” Santana says, throwing it over. Puck catches it reflexively, glancing at Sam. He looks a little pale himself.

“Oh, please, would you two stop acting like you’re twelve years old and your mother just caught you playing doctor?” Santana snaps. “Puckerman, this may be difficult, but try to recall the days when you were actually cool.”

“Thanks,” Sam speaks up, clearing his throat. “Um… for the shirt, I mean.”

“Whatever. Keep it. Sam, just leave your clothes. I’ll throw ‘em in the wash later,” Santana says with an exasperated sigh, rolling her eyes as she shuts the door. Puck keeps his eyes down nervously as he hands the shirt to Sam. For a moment they just stand in silence, and for the first time in his life when confronted with kissing somebody, Puck doesn’t know what to do. It feels different with Sam. Everything’s different with Sam.

Sam eventually slips the shirt on, and Puck hangs back a little, clearing his throat awkwardly. He meets Sam’s eyes and tries to think of something to say, but his throat feels tight and he’s afraid his voice will crack if he attempts speech.

“I know you’re freaking out,” Sam says finally, brushing aside a lock of damp hair.

Puck shakes his head. “I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are. I know you.”

“I’m just…” Puck wrinkles his brow and tries not to glare too hard at Sam. He’s not mad at him. “Was that supposed to happen?”

“I… I don’t know,” Sam replies. “What kind of question is that? You should be asking if you liked it or not.”

“Well, yeah, but it was kind of a heat of the moment thing.” Puck frowns, then starts a little as Sam comes forward. He watches Sam hesitate slightly before he leans in and kisses Puck again, softer than before. It’s a short, uncertain kiss, and Sam blinks at him nervously when their lips part. Puck exhales deeply, his hands twitching by his sides before he lightly places them on Sam’s hips, pulling him closer as he kisses Sam back. Sam’s lips are just as soft and plump as he remembers.

“Is this okay?” Sam asks, his breath ghosting across Puck’s mouth. Puck gets that strange tightening sensation in his throat again, and he grasps Sam’s hand before turning around and leading him out of the bathroom. There’s no one else upstairs, and Puck heads to the guest bedroom because hanging out in the bathroom with that giant mirror throwing their kisses back in his face is starting to unnerve him.

He keeps the lights off and shuts the door behind them, then turns to Sam, who’s looking at him curiously. Puck takes a deep breath, trying to figure out how to word the concern that’s plaguing his mind. He looks around at the paintings on the wall, the flower pattern on the bedspread, the gold lamp sitting on the desk—anywhere but at Sam, until Sam touches his arm.

“Talk to me,” Sam says simply, his voice just a whisper. Puck swallows, then nods. He wants to. He at least needs to try.

“What does this mean?” Puck asks, trying not to sound like an insecure middle-schooler, but not having answers is scary, and Sam is the only one who can help. “Like… for me?”

“What does what mean?” Sam sounds patient, and Puck sighs, tightening his sweaty grip on Sam’s hand.

“This. Just… this.”

Sam thinks for a moment, and Puck watches him anxiously. After a heavy pause, Sam goes to the bed, taking Puck with him, and Puck sits down warily. He doesn’t do stuff like this. He doesn’t sit in the dark and talk about his fucking feelings like an emo.

“Sam?” His voice shakes just a tiny bit, and Sam turns his head and looks at him, his eyes catching the dim light in the room.

“I like you,” Sam confesses softly. “And you like me. Right?”

“Right,” Puck responds. His reply is automatic, surprising him a little. The side of Sam’s mouth quirks upward slightly, and some of the tension in Puck’s chest starts to dissolve.

“That’s what this means,” Sam says. “That’s it. It’s not complicated. Okay? That’s all it is, Puck.”

Puck looks into Sam’s eyes and nods slowly, their hands still clasped together. That seems acceptable. More than acceptable. It doesn’t seem that different or nerve-wracking now. Sam slides his free hand over and touches Puck’s knee.

“You okay?” Sam asks.

Puck nods truthfully, leaning over so their shoulders brush. “Yeah.”

next

starlight, sam/kurt, g, 1/1

2011-05-08T23:17:44Z

Title: Starlight, Star Bright
Part: 1/1
Pairing: Sam/Kurt
Rating: G
Word Count: 1063
Summary: Future!fic. Glow in the dark stars definitely have their merits.

Sam doesn’t sleep that night. He watches Kurt as cars pass by their window, casting shadows across the room, and he touches his hair and taps his shoulder and sticks his face an inch away, breathing across his milky skin for a full sixty seconds, until he’s positive Kurt’s deeply asleep. Then he gets up and sneaks the glow in the dark stars out from under the bed, silently moving a chair over to stand on as he sticks them to the ceiling. His hands tremble a little, partially out of fear that he might fall and wake Kurt up (or fall on him and have to spend the night that he’s dreamed about for so long in the emergency room), and partially out of a terrified sort of excitement that makes him want to laugh and throw up at the same time.

He starts on the last two words, pausing as he glances at the bed. Kurt is on his side, one hand resting on his pillow, his fingers delicately curled. His hair is completely disheveled, brown locks falling against his eyes, and his lips are slightly parted as he breathes noiselessly, his body just barely rising and falling. Sam swallows, letting out a silent breath of his own as he turns back to the ceiling, carefully adjusting the stars until it’s exactly the way it’s supposed to be, no mistakes or spelling errors, because this moment has to be perfect.

“Oh my god—what are you doing?” Kurt asks suddenly, the sheets rustling as he scrabbles on the bed. Sam is so startled that he drops the rest of the stars, and Kurt squawks indignantly and covers his head as they rain down on him.

“You’re supposed to be asleep!” Sam hisses, throwing a hand out to keep his balance. He grasps at the air, teetering for a moment, and Kurt lunges over and steadies him, wrapping his arms around Sam’s waist. Sam puts a hand in Kurt’s hair and stands completely still, sighing when he’s sure he’s not going to fall.

“Sam,” Kurt says calmly, but they’ve known each other long enough, and Sam knows the tone Kurt adopts when he’s about to demand Sam to explain himself. Sam looks down, and Kurt almost looks up, but Sam panics and hops off the chair, swiftly covering Kurt’s eyes with one hand.

“Get off me!” Kurt commands huffily, slapping Sam’s arms lightly, but Sam pushes him down onto the bed, keeping his eyes covered until he’s straddling Kurt, bringing his face close enough to block Kurt’s view of the ceiling.

“Shh, calm down,” Sam says, carefully removing his hand, and Kurt stares up at him with eyes wide with exasperation.

“What are you doing?” Kurt demands again. “Do you know how frightening it is to wake up in the middle of the night and find some dark figure looming over the bed?”

Sam winces a little. “Okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Just—what are you hiding?” Kurt cranes his neck to look past Sam’s head, and Sam quickly covers his eyes again. This time Kurt practically screeches, trying to pry Sam’s hand away. “Let me see!”

“No! Kurt, just wait,” Sam says desperately, then lets out a muffled grunt when Kurt’s flailing hand hits him in the eye. Kurt stills after that, looking sheepishly apologetic as he carefully hovers his fingers over Sam’s face, his lips making a little o shape.

“Are you all right?” Kurt asks, cringing. Sam blinks awkwardly, colorful spots dancing across one eye, but he nods.

“Yeah, I’m good. It’s okay,” Sam sighs, suddenly having second thoughts—not about what he wants to ask, but how he went about asking it. He should have just done the one whole get-down-on-one-knee thing instead of trying to think up something else. He’s still blocking Kurt’s vision, and suddenly he wants to tear the stars down and do something more classy, more normal… something not completely, embarrassingly nerdy.

“Sam, what’s going on?” Kurt asks, his voice soft, and Sam meets his eyes, taking in his earnest expression, and the least he can do is be honest about his appalling idea. He’s blown his only shot at this—the second time will be during a candlelight dinner, probably, with all of Kurt’s favorite foods, a ring tucked into the pocket of Sam’s suit, and it’ll be romantic, but it’ll always be a makeup for the first botched attempt.

Sam focuses on the wrinkle between Kurt’s eyebrows, then bows his head, climbing off and sliding down next to Kurt. He wants to keep his eyes closed, but he’s morbidly curious, so he cracks one eye open and holds his breath as he gazes at the silhouette of Kurt’s face. Kurt lies still for a long moment, staring straight up, and Sam is seized with the fear that maybe he did spell something wrong and his message doesn’t even make sense. Sam peeks at the ceiling, carefully going over each glowing word, each letter, and he’s pretty sure that it’s impossible to misspell the phrase will you marry me?

“You don’t have to say anything,” Sam mumbles, disappointment weighing on him as he looks at his work. At least it’s pretty, if stupid. “I’m gonna redo this with food and candles and a ring and we’ll both actually be wearing tuxes instead of boxers and—”

“No,” Kurt whispers, shaking his head, and Sam turns, his hair feeling staticky on his pillow as he watches Kurt’s throat bob.

“No?” Sam asks uncertainly. Well, of course Kurt would say no. Who would say yes to glow in the dark stars on the ceiling? They love each other, yeah, but he’s pretty sure this isn’t Kurt’s idea of an acceptable marriage proposal.

“No,” Kurt repeats, looking at him, and Sam swears his eyes are shining in the dim light. “No, you’re not redoing this.”

“This is dumb. I can do better,” Sam insists, but Kurt shakes his head again, pushing himself up on one elbow so Sam has a clear view into his eyes. Kurt brushes a hand through Sam’s hair, then leans down and kisses him gently. His mouth trembles against Sam’s, and he places his hand at the small of Kurt’s back, holding him lightly. Kurt murmurs something, and Sam’s heart jumps a little, unsure if he heard correctly.

“Yes.”

The Closer I Come to You, Sam/Kurt, R, 1/1

2011-04-15T07:24:37Z

Title: The Closer I Come to You
Part: 1/1
Pairing: Sam/Kurt
Rating: R
Word Count: 1182
Notes: Based on a prompt by shiphassailed.
Summary: AU. Priest!Sam gets debauched by one Kurt Hummel. This is just porn, nothing deep, idek.

Sam makes a soft muffled sound when Kurt gently slides his hand down the front of Sam’s jeans, past the waistband of his plain navy boxers. A part of Sam can’t believe this is really happening, and in his office, no less. He could take fifteen steps and be in the chapel, the most sacred of places, yet here he is with another man touching him in a way no one has ever touched him before.

Kurt kisses him softly, slowly, almost reassuringly, and Sam can’t help but lean forward to get more of Kurt’s lips. He never dreamed he could get such joy out of such a simple act, but every time he kisses Kurt, he’s consumed with greed for more and amazed at how he never gets tired of the way their mouths fit together. He grips his wooden desk with one hand and lifts the other to rest on the side of Kurt’s hair, cradling his palm against Kurt’s cheek.

Kurt’s hand starts moving in his jeans, and Sam’s mouth falls open in a silent gasp as he feels pleasure tickling through his body. Kurt grips his erection, giving him a light squeeze, and it’s like fireworks behind his eyes, leaving him shaking and breathless. His legs are already feeling too weak to hold himself up for much longer, and when Kurt grasps his bottom lip between his teeth, tugging softly, Sam feels such a rush of desire that he moans and grips Kurt’s hair so tightly that Kurt lets out a breathless chuckle.

“Please,” Sam whispers against Kurt’s lips, his voice ragged. “I need you.”

“Get on the table,” Kurt orders, already pressing Sam backwards while simultaneously pushing his jeans down. His shirt is already open as he knocks aside folders and pens and a commentary on the gospel of Luke, and Kurt runs his hands over Sam’s chest, his blunt fingernails raking down his smooth skin. Sam’s boxers are suddenly gone, and this is the most naked he’s ever been with another human being not related to him. Kurt shoves himself into the fork of his thighs, and Sam’s legs press closely against Kurt’s slim hips, tension running through him in waves as his erection rubs against his tight black trousers. Both of his hands are in Kurt’s hair now, debauching his usual impeccable style, and Sam can’t get enough, not with Kurt’s hot mouth trailing down his chin and planting kisses along his jaw line.

“No one’s ever done this to you,” Kurt says, his teeth scraping against Sam’s collarbone. Sam shivers as Kurt presses his fingers to his hardened nipple, rubbing and tweaking and making Sam desperately groan out his name. His senses are already overloaded; Sam feels like his whole body is stretched so tightly that he could break any second.

“Touch me, Kurt,” Sam says in a high whine, his heart racing and breath quickening. “Please, I need you. Please.”

Kurt smiles at him then, somehow devious and sweet at the same time, brushing Sam’s hair back before placing one last kiss on his lips. Then Kurt wraps a hand around Sam’s cock and drops to his knees.

Sam swallows convulsively, his chest rising and falling as Kurt gives him a few pulls. Sam’s legs open wider, groaning when he sees Kurt moving forward, his hair tickling Sam’s thighs.

“Put your hand in my hair,” Kurt instructs him, and Sam obeys without question, placing his left hand atop Kurt’s head, letting his fingers slide through his thick locks. “It feels good when you pull—not too hard, though.”

Sam definitely wants to make Kurt feel as good as he feels right now, so he runs his fingers deeper through Kurt’s hair, tugging softly, but every thought flies right out of his head when he suddenly feels Kurt’s impossibly soft lips touch the head of his cock. Sam’s breath gets caught in his throat, and for a moment he thinks he might choke, but then he’s gasping as Kurt licks a stripe underneath, then another, and Sam’s heart nearly stops when Kurt finally slides him into his mouth like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Kurt’s mouth is like fire. Sam squeezes his eyes shut, choking down the noises in his throat because he doesn’t want to be too loud, but the stimulation is almost too much to bear. Kurt hollows his cheeks and sucks, and Sam starts to writhe on the desk, pulling at Kurt’s hair and moaning through his teeth as the sensation builds up inside him like liquid heat, more powerful than anything he’s ever felt before.

Kurt picks up the pace, making soft wet sounds as his head bobs between Sam’s trembling legs. Sam begins to pant as pleasure slices through him, his breath coming faster and faster until he’s just a keening mess above Kurt. It feels so good he almost wants to cry. He can feel his resolve slipping away, his oath, his whole life, and he knows he can’t ever go back now, not when Kurt makes him feel like this, so full of life and love and unadulterated bliss—this can’t be wrong, there’s no way such pure happiness can be wrong.

“Kurt,” Sam cries, a violent shudder running through him, and then he’s wracked with such intense pleasure that his vision whites out. Sam doesn’t remember Kurt coming back up or wrapping his arms around him, but suddenly he’s there, and Sam presses himself close and kisses him, still so shaky that he misses his mouth and ends up planting his lips on the side of his chin. Kurt’s panting hot breath against his face, mumbling something that takes Sam a moment to understand.

“Touch me now,” Kurt growls, bucking against him, and Sam just gapes, still catching his breath.

“I—”

“Sam, just touch me,” Kurt says in a frantic whine.

“I don’t know how,” Sam blurts out, but his hands scrabble at Kurt’s pants, undoing the complicated buttons and zippers and then pushing his hand inside. Kurt’s hard, rocking against his hand, and Sam has no idea what he’s doing.

“Just touch me, it doesn’t matter, just move your hand, do anything,” Kurt gasps against his mouth. “Sam, Sam, just—”

Sam grasps Kurt’s erection, fondling him softly, and Kurt lets out a trembling moan, his arms tight around Sam as he pushes his face into Sam’s shoulder. Sam mimics what Kurt had done earlier, letting his hand move faster, and Kurt breathes hot breath against his skin, his body shaking until his muscles tighten and he suddenly groans desperately and spurts wetness all over Sam’s hand. Sam wraps his free arm around Kurt’s waist, holding him firmly as Kurt grows limp in his arms, breathing hard. After a moment Sam pulls him onto the desk with him, hugging him as Kurt smiles tiredly. Sam never wants to move. He never wants to let go of the feeling of Kurt’s warm, boneless body against his own.

“You’re still a virgin,” Kurt says softly, chuckling. “But at least you’re not as virginal.”

Discover - a Sam/Kurt fanmix

2011-03-08T19:10:59Z

one. IN YOUR ARMS | Stanfour
I'll keep going on as just another one with another song who wants to be the only one for you.
Just another guy, blinded by your smile.
Just a lonely heart, can't stand this aching feeling when we're apart.
I know I'm not smart, but still I'm trying hard.
Let me be your guard, protecting you, my angel, from the dark.
I will not pretend that I'm just a friend.
My deliverance, will you think about me every now and then?

two. CRAVE | Joel & Luke
Hope sleeps without me. Sweet dreams surround me, but I'm left out.
I need a fix now, to believe, to feel.
These rooms are dark now. These halls are hollow, and so am I.
She's hard to find now, to believe, to feel.
I won't turn to dust now. Let these tears rust now, on my face.
Give me the spark now, to believe, to see.

three. DISCOVER (WHY THE LOVE HURTS) | Elliot Minor
I'm giving up and letting nothing else remain.
I feel like hell, but its worth it to be back again.
So step it up a little higher, can we? Just pass through the day.
'Cause I'm in awe of everything I see your way.

four. A NEW DAY HAS COME (Radio Remix) | Celine Dion
Through the darkness and good times, I knew I'd make it through.
And the world thought I had it all, but I was waiting for you.
Where it was dark now there's light; where there was pain now there's joy.
Where there was weakness, I found my strength all in the eyes of a boy.

five. BRAVE | Gavin Mikhail
I am not that brave. Sometimes I need to hear you whisper,
"Everything's okay. You'll be fine, I'll help you find your way.
And I have nothing but faith in you. All that I am is what you are and we are.
I would give anything up for you."

.zip

My Good Intentions..., Puck/Sam, R, 3/3

2011-03-04T07:10:03Z

Title: My Good Intentions Can Leave the Harshest Scars You've Ever Seen
Part: 3/3
Pairing: Puck/Sam
Rating/warnings: light R
Word Count: 24,489
Notes: This is set in the same 'verse as The Right Side of Reason, I'm Numbing My Feeling, Every Second's a Longer Wait, and Soon We'll Fall to Pieces. Title stolen from I'm Yours Tonight by The Academy Is....
Summary: Sam struggles to understand Puck's actions and starts making some potentially life-changing decisions, only one of which goes well.

back

Sam wants to pick up the phone and tell Puck that he’s getting prank calls (even though prank calls are supposed to be funny, and these are anything but), but he can’t. Sam goes to his desk and tries to focus on his textbook again. He can’t concentrate and the words look like they’re melting down the page. He considers calling Kurt, but he feels guilty about going to him every time he needs to vent. Rachel is next on his list, but as awesome of a friend as she is, Sam wants to talk someone who really knows what he’s going through.

He closes his textbook and his hand brushes against a messy stack of papers—mostly old homework and tests that he needs to revise and hand back in, but he spots the corner of a familiar pink napkin. He pulls it out and looks at the number scrawled across it, right underneath the Eight Ball logo embossed on the thin material.

He’s barely given Joshua a second thought since they met weeks ago. Sam blushes a little as he remembers how he’d gotten totally drunk and practically groped Puck before they’d gone home, but he pushes the thought away and focuses on Joshua. He’d been nice enough, even though he’d stormed off when Sam said he wouldn’t go home with him. However, the interest had been there, and at least Sam doesn’t have to guess about Joshua’s sexuality. He knows he’s gay, and he knows he’s attracted to him.

Joshua is older than him, and Sam wonders if maybe Joshua could give him some advice, or at least assure him that coming out hadn’t been the worst decision of Sam’s entire life. Sam’s fingers hesitate over the keypad of his phone, but after a moment he dials the number.

Joshua answers on the second ring, and Sam greets him nervously.

“Hey, Joshua, it’s, um… this is Sam. We met at Eight Ball a couple weeks ago. We, um, just danced and stuff, and you gave me your number and told me to call if I was ever free.”

“Sam… oh, right, Sam! Yeah, I remember you.” Joshua sounds pleased, and Sam relaxes a little. “What’s up?”

“I, uh… are you busy tonight?” Sam asks.

“Are you asking me out?” Joshua replies teasingly, and Sam blushes again.

“Um, I was just wondering,” Sam stammers. “I kind of… well, I don’t really know that many gay people, so when I need to talk or have questions… it’s just hard, I guess.”

Joshua pauses before speaking again. “Do you want to come over? I don’t have plans and you’d be more than welcome.”

“Yeah. I’d like that.” Sam grabs a pen and jots down Joshua’s address. “I’ll see you in a little bit, okay?”

“See you, Sam.”

Sam grabs his jacket and keys, contemplating telling his mom where he’s going, but he figures she’ll freak out. She’ll also probably want to know where he met Joshua in the first place, and then he’d have to make something up because there’s no way he’s sharing his fake I.D. with her, so he breezes past her and says he’s hanging out with Kurt and Rachel and that he’ll be home pretty late so she won’t wait up.

Twenty minutes later he’s knocking on Joshua’s apartment door, nervous and a little chilly in the cool night air. He wonders if he should have told at least one person where he’s really going, but then the door swings open and his fears mostly dissipate when Joshua smiles at him.

“Hey, come in,” Joshua says, immediately putting a hand on Sam’s arm and nudging him inside. Sam mutters a quick thank you and looks around as Joshua shuts the door. The apartment is small, but nice. The walls are a creamy white and there are modern art paintings hanging on them that to Sam look like scribbles and blobs.

“You want something to drink?” Joshua asks, coming up behind him. Sam is a little surprised when Joshua rests his hands on Sam’s hips, but he remembers how they were all over each other at Eight Ball, so it’s not that weird when he thinks about it.

“I’ll mix us some Jack and Cokes, okay?” Joshua says before Sam can respond. “Sit down, make yourself comfortable.”

“Um, okay,” Sam says. Joshua disappears into the kitchen, and Sam wanders to the couch. He sits down and glances at a picture on the little take by the arm of the couch. It’s Joshua and another woman, and Sam is still looking at it when Joshua returns.

“Who’s that?” Sam asks as he accepts his drink. Joshua sits down beside him, setting a bottle of Jack and a few cans of Coke on the coffee table.

“That’s my ex-wife,” he replies.

“You were married?”

“For two years, yeah. I knew I was gay the whole time, I just wasn’t ready to admit it.” Joshua stirs his ice and shrugs. “Thought I could ignore it and it would go away.”

Sam pushes down his sudden unhappiness and takes a swig of his drink. He wonders if Puck has convinced himself of the same thing. Sam can’t imagine doing that to himself, knowing it would make him miserable.

“You all right?” Joshua asks gently, and Sam nods, swallowing quicker and trying not to think about how many calories he’s knocking back. It tastes good, though, and it helps him relax. He eyes the bottle on the table, and Joshua takes Sam’s glass and refills it.

“You sounded a little upset on the phone,” Joshua says, handing the glass back.

Sam sighs slowly. “I think I did something really stupid.”

“Like?”

“I, um… I came out to all my friends. And there are these two guys who are total dicks about this kind of thing, and… well, my other friend told me that I should’ve kept my mouth shut because I basically just painted a target on my back.” Sam looks at Joshua, who’s gazing back intently. “And also, I think one of my best friends is bi and he won’t admit it and we’ve been fighting about it forever.”

“Look, Sam, you should do what you have to do to keep yourself safe,” Joshua says.

“So you think I shouldn’t have come out either,” Sam says, hiding his bitterness with another long gulp.

“No, I just think you should be safe. You can’t joke around with this kind of stuff.”

“I know,” Sam says quietly. “Trust me, I know.”

Joshua reaches out and puts a hand on Sam’s knee, giving it a warm squeeze. “Well, I’m glad you called. You were one of my better dance partners at Eight Ball.”

“I’m a terrible dancer,” Sam says, one corner of his mouth twitching into a smile. “I haven’t even been back since. I don’t know, I just feel weird going by myself.”

“You came with a friend last time… guy with the mohawk, right?”

“Yeah, that’s Puck.” Sam swallows down his second glass and reaches for the bottle again. “My best friend. I have a serious crush on him. I think. It feels like we’ve been fighting for forever, though.”

“Fighting over what?” Joshua pours more Coke for Sam, letting their hands brush as he empties the can.

“We kissed.” Sam sips his drink slower now, his body and tongue loosening. “Well, we kinda did more than that. But now he keeps telling me he’s straight, even though I know he wants this. Or, I thought I knew. I think I’ve been pushing him too hard to admit the truth, and now he seems pretty mad at me. But he’s also scared.”

“I can tell just from the way you’re talking about him that you really care about this guy,” Joshua says. Sam looks down and nods, blearily wiping his face with fingers that are cold from holding his drink. Joshua scoots closer and puts a hand on Sam’s back, rubbing it gently.

“I don’t know what to do,” Sam says, frustrated. “I apologized, but he said he needs space anyway. I just want him with me. I know that’s selfish, but he’s my friend—the best friend I’ve ever had—and I miss him.”

“It sounds like you’re in love with him.”

Sam almost drops his glass. He makes a spluttering sound, shakes his head, and quickly chugs down the rest of his drink.

“No,” Sam says decidedly, putting his empty glass on the table, then unwittingly leaning against Joshua as the room sways a little. His chest feels heavy and his fingers curl into loose fists on his knees. He shivers as Joshua rests a hand at the nape of his neck, his fingers gently scratching through his hair.

“You miss him, though,” Joshua says, and Sam sighs, gravitating toward his touch.

“Yeah, I do,” Sam whispers, feeling Joshua’s fingers tilting his chin. Sam’s eyes slide shut as Joshua kisses him, his mouth cold from the ice in his drink, but it warms up immediately as their lips move against each other.

Sam makes a soft noise and breaks off the kiss, keeping his eyes closed and staying close to Joshua. Joshua has his arm around Sam’s neck, cradling him gently as Sam tries to pull himself together.

“It’s okay, Sam,” Joshua says. “You came here because you were lonely, right?”

“I think so, yeah,” Sam breathes, his brow furrowing slightly at how sluggishly his mind is working.

“I know what it feels like to want someone you can’t have,” Joshua continues, his thumb rubbing gently along Sam’s cheek.

“It sucks.” Sam looks sadly at Joshua, who nods.

“Just close your eyes.” Joshua sweeps his hand over Sam’s face, and Sam obeys. “Pretend I’m someone else. Pretend I’m him.”

Sam lets Joshua kiss him again, slowly at first, then it deepens into something more as Joshua puts his hands on Sam’s shoulders, sliding them down his arms and coming to rest on his hips. He presses Sam against the back of the couch, and Sam leans back and hesitantly parts his lips when Joshua’s tongue prods him.

Joshua snakes a hand beneath Sam’s shirt, and Sam squirms as he feels the foreign sensation of fingers roaming across his stomach. It tickles a little, and it feels good, but it’s not Puck. His face grows hot as Joshua’s hand goes higher, and he exhales shakily as his fingers graze over his nipples.

Sam shifts, a wave of dizziness passing through him from both the alcohol and Joshua’s touch, and when he opens his eyes again, he’s on his back with Joshua nearly on top of him. They’re both still clothed, but Joshua’s fingers are insistently teasing his nipples, and Sam’s growing hard quickly.

“Wait,” Sam half moans, pushing his bangs back as he covers his eyes. The lights are glaring down at him, fueling his vertigo. Joshua eases back, then pulls Sam up and puts his arms around him. Sam leans forward as Joshua plants a kiss on his lips.

“Come on, let’s go somewhere more comfortable,” Joshua says, standing and tugging Sam along with him. Sam puts an arm around Joshua’s waist for balance, allowing him to lead him down the short hallway to his bedroom. Sam blinks and tries to clear his head as they enter the dim room, and a part of him tenses because he’s unsure about what’s coming.

Joshua gives him a reassuring smile and brings him to the bed. Sam sits down and sleepily closes his eyes as Joshua leans down, their lips pressing together. They kiss for a long moment as Joshua slowly climbs beside him, and Sam lies down, his hand resting on Joshua’s shoulder as they break apart. Sam licks his lips and gazes up at Joshua, who’s busy fingering the buttons on Sam’s shirt. Joshua looks at him and holds his gaze as he gradually unfastens the first button.

Sam lies back, feeling warm and wobbly from alcohol, or maybe from how Joshua’s got the rest of his shirt open and is dragging his lips down his chest. He remembers Joshua telling him to just pretend he’s Puck, and Sam tries, but it’s not the same. When Joshua unzips his jeans and cups a hand around Sam’s erection, it’s not even remotely the same as the electricity he felt when Puck touched him. Joshua jacks him gently, and Sam feels himself react, his breath quickening and his muscles tightening, but his head keeps swimming and half the time he feels like he’s about to fall off the bed.

He suddenly has an intense desire to be with Puck, so strong that he lets out an audible whimper, his fingers scratching at the sheets in agitation. He’s panting now, his hips bucking lightly against Joshua’s hand, and he groans when Joshua stops to pull his jeans and boxers down the rest of the way. Sam hears them drop onto the floor, his keys clinking in his pocket, and then Joshua is on him again, running his warm hands up Sam’s arms and kissing him with a smile.

“You have an amazing body,” Joshua murmurs against his lips. He pulls back and nudges Sam’s legs open wider. Sam closes his eyes, his mind wandering back to Puck and how he could almost accept that they’ll never date if Puck would just be his friend again. The thought that their friendship could be over makes his eyes burn, and he doesn’t realize he’s on the verge of breaking down until Joshua says his name.

“Is this okay?” Joshua asks, and Sam notices for the first time that Joshua is now naked and he has on a condom. Sam should feel excited or at least turned on, but he just feels numb.

“I feel so alone,” Sam says, his voice cracking as his words slur together. He shivers as Joshua lightly strokes the inside of his thigh.

“You’re not alone tonight,” Joshua says. Sam groans when he suddenly feels Joshua’s moist fingers circling him, slowly pressing inside. Sam’s eyes squeeze shut at the foreign burning sensation, and at the beginning it hurts enough to cut through his intoxicated haze and almost make him tell Joshua to stop, but he grits his teeth and tries to find comfort in Joshua’s touch. He’s been nice to him, and Sam doesn’t want to seem ungrateful.

Everything runs together after a while, and something in the back of Sam’s mind is telling him that this isn’t how it’s supposed to be. He clenches his legs around Joshua, his lips parted as quiet sounds come out, his back arching at the tightness and fullness of how Joshua feels inside him, and it just doesn’t feel right, not when he’s falling down drunk, and especially not when Puck isn’t here.

Sam growls deep in his throat as he comes right after Joshua, their bodies tangled together. Joshua pulls out quickly, catching his breath as Sam relaxes his legs, and Sam’s hands tremble lightly as Joshua lies down beside him, bringing the covers up.

Joshua doesn’t say anything; he just drapes an arm over Sam’s waist, and when Sam glances over, Joshua’s eyes are closed. Sam closes his eyes as well, because swinging his gaze around too much makes him nauseous. The bed is warm and comfortable, though, and Sam feels sleep tugging him under.

- - - - -

Sam wakes up with a sour taste in his mouth and a throbbing headache. He’s confused for a moment as he sits up and looks at Joshua’s snoring form beside him, but then he feels a twinge in his body, and Sam groans as he brings his knees up and rubs his eyes.

He tries to be careful as he slips out of bed, but his hangover is too painful to allow for sneakiness, and he ends up waking Joshua. Sam finds his shirt and slips it on while Joshua rustles behind him.

“Leaving?” Joshua asks simply, and Sam is glad he has his back to him, because he doesn’t want Joshua to see the regret all over his face.

“Yeah, I’ve gotta get home,” Sam says softly. He finishes buttoning his shirt and turns around when Joshua puts a hand on his shoulder.

“I hope things work out between you and your friend,” Joshua says. “I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah, probably,” Sam replies, swallowing around the lie. He gets out of bed and grabs the rest of his clothes, quickly dressing. There’s a tight, aching ball of tension inside him, and Sam barely allows himself to breathe until he’s outside, climbing into his car.

He drags his hands down his face and takes a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves, but he’s so angry at himself that he feels his eyes burning in shame. He feels filthy as he starts his car and drives home, his knuckles white around the steering wheel.

He’s pulling into his neighborhood when he finally admits to himself that he just lost his virginity to some guy he met at a club, while too drunk to even remember the details. He doesn’t even know Joshua’s last name. Sam gulps down the lump rising in his throat, knitting his brows together as he drives past the darkened, silent houses.

Puck is by his driveway. Or at least his jeep is. Sam squints as he parks, turning off his car and opening the door. There’s stuff on the surface of Puck’s jeep, and Sam blinks in the darkness and thinks it looks a lot like the jeep has been egged.

“Puck?” Sam calls out in a thin voice. Puck opens his door and all but tumbles out, and Sam wipes his face discreetly, hoping his eyes aren’t too red. His head throbs as Puck comes up to him, his hands jammed in his pockets and his eyes bright beneath the moonlight.

“Sam,” Puck says softly, and when Sam finally gets a clear view of his face, he realizes Puck looks like he’s barely holding it together.

“What happened to your car?” Sam asks, then falls silent when Puck closes the space between them and puts his hands on Sam’s cheeks, cupping his face. Sam blinks in surprise, a soft breath escaping his lips as Puck’s rough thumbs glide across his skin. Sam thinks Puck is going to kiss him, but Puck’s face crumbles suddenly, and then Puck puts his arms around Sam, enveloping him tightly as he buries his face in the crook of Sam’s neck. Sam can feel Puck trembling against him, his breath hot and wet against his skin, and it’s the closest he’s ever seen Puck come to really, actually crying.

“Puck, what happened?” Sam wants to keep this about Puck, even though now he’s clinging back just as hard, relieved that it’s Puck and not anyone else. For a moment he forgets his own fears and just focuses on Puck. “Dude, you’re scaring me. Talk to me, Puck.”

“Sorry,” Puck says, his words muffled. He raises his head, taking a deep breath as he scrubs at his eyes.

“Just tell me what’s wrong,” Sam says, gently grasping Puck’s arm.

“Shit,” Puck whispers, covering his face with one hand. “Shit, shit, shit. Fuck.”

“Talk to me,” Sam repeats, pulling Puck’s hand down and forcing him to look at him. Puck stares back, his eyes rimmed in red and wide with fear.

“Sam,” Puck says, his voice barely audible. “I… fuck, I don’t… I don’t know what to do. I’m screwed, man. I’m screwed. I’m completely fucking fucked.”

Sam twines their fingers together when he feels Puck touch his hand. “You’re not screwed, okay? Just tell me what’s going on.”

“Sam, I think…” Puck swallows hard, squeezing Sam’s hand. His mouth trembles, breathing unsteadily as Sam nods, trying to get Puck to speak.

“You think what?” Sam asks softly. Puck’s eyes glisten as he looks away, his nose tinged red as he sniffs.

“I think… Sam, I might be… bisexual,” Puck says, his voice cracking on the last word. “I think I’m bi. I don’t know. I just… I don’t think I’m straight.”

Sam closes his eyes briefly, letting out a tiny sigh of relief, and then Puck is burrowing into him again, and Sam hugs him firmly, leaning against his car. Puck makes a bunch of muffled sounds against his shoulder as Sam holds him, feeling every ripple of emotion running through Puck.

“I’m screwed,” Puck groans around a jagged breath.

“No, you’re not.” Sam speaks firmly and clearly even though he wants to cry himself. “I promise you’re not screwed.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Puck asks suddenly, pulling back and looking at Sam with wild eyes.

“Nothing,” Sam says, but Puck shakes his head.

“I can’t do nothing! I gotta… I don’t know, but I just have to do something,” Puck says desperately. “You gotta tell me what to do, Sam. What am I supposed to do?”

“Right now you just need to calm down,” Sam tells him. “Just relax. Tell me what happened to your car. Who egged it?”

Puck releases Sam’s hand and drags his fingers down his face, breathing deeply. He leans beside Sam, and Sam gives him a second to pull himself together.

“Finn had this thing tonight,” Puck begins. “Just a couple guys at his place, playing some Halo—and he was gonna call you, I swear, but… I told him you had plans because I was still trying to avoid you.”

Sam sighs disgustedly. “Thanks.”

“I know it was a dick move. I’m sorry, man.”

“It’s okay,” Sam says, even though now his mind is plagued with thoughts of how his night could have gone much differently. “Keep going.”

“Okay, well, it was Finn and Hummel, a couple of other guys from the team, and me, and we were just chilling and stuff. Somehow Karofsky and Azimio got wind that we were getting together, so they showed up. At first Finn was okay with it, and they played a couple rounds with us, but then they started making… gay jokes.” Puck pauses, grinding the heel of his boot into a weed sticking through the cracked driveway. “Hummel… Kurt got really upset.”

“I’m sure he did,” Sam says, worrying his lip.

“Yeah. He left pretty soon after. Went up to his room without speaking to anyone. Finn went after him, and then when he came back down—without Kurt—he told Karofsky and Azimio that they had to leave. I was getting pissed off by then, because I know you and Kurt are, like, buds now, and… I’d been thinking a lot about… you know, me, and you as well, and Karofsky and Azimio were just being dicks about everything, so I kinda lost my temper. Azimio and I started shoving each other and stuff, and Finn was getting all mad at us because his parents would kill him if anything happened, and so I told Azimio we should take it outside.”

“You didn’t fight him, did you?” Sam asks, looking at Puck worriedly.

Puck shakes his head. “Nah, Finn broke us up and told Karofsky and Azimio to get the hell out for real. And they did. But it was just weird. I was so pissed, like they’d attacked me personally with their stupid fag comments. I’ve heard them talking like that forever, but it never felt like that before.”

Sam stays silent as Puck takes another deep breath. Puck grinds his heel harder into the cement, then blows out an agitated sigh.

“I’ve never felt like that before,” Puck repeats in a low voice. “It’s a fucked up feeling.”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees quietly. “It is.”

Puck looks at him, and Sam averts his gaze, choosing to stare at Puck’s jeep instead.

“When I came outside a while later, they’d egged all the cars in Finn’s driveway,” Puck says angrily. “Well, we didn’t actually see them, but who else could it have been? They were the only ones pissed at us. I guess in a way it’s good that I didn’t let Finn call you, or else your car would’ve been egged, too.”

Sam rubs his eyes tiredly. “I guess. Yeah.”

“You can’t tell anyone,” Puck says abruptly. “About me, I mean. No one can ever know.”

“Of course I won’t tell anyone. You don’t have to tell anyone until you’re ready.”

“I’m never telling anyone. No one can know that I’m… gay.”

“Bi.”

“Not straight.” Puck exhales slowly. “I’m not straight.”

“I didn’t think I’d ever tell anyone either,” Sam says. “But things change. You meet certain people and things just change.”

Puck is silent for a long moment, and their eyes meet when Sam glances over. Puck looks a little calmer now, less manic and more in control.

“Karofsky and Azimio are dicks,” Puck says. “You have to watch your back.”

“Do you really think they’ll try something?” Sam asks, staring at the bits of eggshells sticking to Puck’s car.

“I don’t know what they’ll do. They’ll probably be gunning for me after tonight.” Puck pauses, crossing his arms. “Just stay away from them, okay?”

“I can take care of myself,” Sam says without much conviction. His stomach churns fiercely, and he takes a calming breath. “You were right, weren’t you?”

“About what?”

“I shouldn’t have come out,” Sam sighs. “This whole thing was a huge mistake. It was stupid. I should have just… I should’ve left everything the way it was.”

Puck pushes off the car and faces Sam, his brows furrowed. “Sam, I… I was being a dick earlier. You coming out wasn’t stupid. I was just mad because you went and dropped this bombshell without telling me. And I was freaked out. I didn’t want anyone messing with you.”

Sam swallows, looking at Puck with watery eyes. He swears Puck’s cheeks are darkening slightly, but he can’t be sure in the dim light.

“What you did was really, really brave,” Puck says in a low voice, looking away. “You’re a lot braver than me, Sam.”

“You’re the badass, though,” Sam says, trying to get Puck to smile. Their eyes meet again, and Puck’s gaze turns curious.

“Where were you tonight?” Puck asks, and Sam’s fingers jitter over the door handle before he jerks away and starts walking to the garage.

“I’ll help you wash your car,” Sam calls over his shoulder. He grabs a bucket and dumps some soap in, then goes to the side of the house for the hose. Puck comes over as he’s filling it up, and Sam carries the bucket to the car while Puck drags the hose over.

Sam retrieves two sponges and hands one to Puck once Puck’s done spraying down his jeep. Sam dunks his sponge into the bucket and squeezes, then starts washing the passenger door and blocking out the window with think suds.

“It feels so weird being not straight,” Puck mutters, vigorously scrubbing beside Sam. “I feel like… I don’t know how I’m feeling. I never not know how I’m feeling. Not knowing feels so weird.”

“Well, I wasn’t kidding when I said before that I’d support you,” Sam says. “If you need to talk or anything, I’m here. I know it feels weird. It’s pretty scary sometimes.”

Puck lets out a long breath. “Okay. Thanks. Just don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t,” Sam says. Puck had been paranoid even before he accepted himself, so Sam figures his paranoia might double now. “Don’t worry.”

“I’d do the same for you, you know,” Puck mumbles after a moment. Sam glances at him, but Puck is busy attacking his jeep. “Like… you know. If you want to talk about shit or whatever. Sometimes I feel like I’m always dumping on you, so if you want to do any dumping of your own, you can.”

“Thanks,” Sam says thickly, leaning down to replenish his sponge. The blood rushes to his head as his hair falls into his eyes, and he squints for a moment, trying to will his headache away. When he wrings out his sponge and rises, he comes eye-to-eye with Puck, who’s stopped washing and is now staring right at him.

“Sam, where were you tonight?” Puck asks once again. Sam blinks quickly, then turns his attention back to the jeep, lifting his sponge to scrub away a streak of egg yolk.

“I just went out. No reason.”

“You’re lying.” Puck lifts his brows expectantly, and Sam sighs.

“I didn’t do anything,” Sam insists. “We should be talking about you. Like how five minutes ago you were practically crying all over me.”

“You were upset when you got here.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were,” Puck says, snatching Sam’s sponge away. “You got out of your car and you called my name when you saw me, but you were upset, okay? I saw you. I just didn’t say anything right that second because I was having a meltdown.”

“You didn’t see anything,” Sam says, but to his horror, he feels his eyes stinging. Puck drops the sponges into the bucket and faces Sam squarely.

“Tell me what happened,” Puck says seriously.

“Or what?” Sam says, wringing his soapy hands and then wiping them on his jeans.

“Sam.” Puck’s voice is quiet, his forehead creased, and Sam feels a stab of guilt for making him worry. Sam shuts his eyes, reluctantly forcing himself to think about Joshua again. He’d much rather focus on making sure Puck is all right, but he can feel Puck’s eyes boring into his skull and he knows he’s not going to get away without talking.

“I did something really stupid tonight,” Sam says quietly. “Really stupid.”

“Dude, just tell me,” Puck says impatiently. “What the hell did you do?”

“I went to see Joshua tonight.” Sam looks at Puck to gauge his reaction, but Puck looks blank. “Joshua? The guy I met weeks ago when we went to Eight Ball together?”

“That creepy old dude you danced with? Sleaze?” Puck asks in disbelief.

“He’s not that old, and his name isn’t Sleaze,” Sam snaps. He doesn’t realize how harsh he sounds until he notices the way Puck is staring at him.

“So, you went to see him,” Puck says slowly.

Sam bites his lip, nodding. “I… I was upset over our fight earlier and I just wanted someone to talk to about everything. I don’t know, I blanked and I couldn’t think of anyone else. I shouldn’t have gone.”

“What did he do to you?” Puck demands, his expression clouding.

“He didn’t do anything.” Sam thinks about kissing him and suddenly feels sick. “We talked… and we were drinking.”

Sam looks away, his heart racing. He wants something to lean on, but the jeep is wet, and his own car is an entire ten paces away. He meets Puck’s gaze, his eyes feeling too warm.

“We kissed,” Sam admits.

“Okay,” Puck says, looking a little lost. “Well, that’s cool, I guess.”

“No, it’s not.” Sam runs a hand through his hair, tasting salt as he bites too hard on the inside of his lip. “We did more than kiss.”

Puck stays silent, staring pensively at the ground. Sam feels his eyes welling up, and he angrily swipes the back of his hand across them. His chest feels tight as he opens his mouth again.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Sam says in a small voice. “I drank too much while we were talking… I didn’t plan on going over there to… you know. He kissed me, and I kissed back, except I was totally drunk and probably would have done anything at that point, which… I guess I did. I can barely remember the details, but I know what we did.”

Puck still doesn’t speak, and Sam sniffs, pushing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. He wants to go inside and get in bed and sleep through the rest of his life. He feels too exposed standing here with Puck, explaining something that he wants to forget.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Puck says finally, his voice a low growl.

Sam wrinkles his brow. “What?”

“Sleaze. Joshua. Whatever—I’m gonna kill him.” Puck looks up, his eyes deadly serious.

“What are you talking about? He didn’t attack me or anything,” Sam insists. “He gave me plenty of space to say no.”

“If you think that’s true, you’re an idiot,” Puck snaps. Sam closes his mouth, taken aback. Puck turns around and suddenly slams his fist against the door of his jeep, his mouth curling into a grimace.

“Puck,” Sam says, his voice breaking. Puck looks at him for a moment, then takes the two steps between them, grabbing Sam’s arms.

“You went over there because you were upset and you needed someone to talk to,” Puck says slowly, rage simmering beneath his words. “And that… that asshole got you drunk.”

“I…” Sam trails off, remembering Joshua’s hands in his hair, on his body, and he shivers slightly. “We were both drunk. I think.”

“Yeah, because that douche got you drunk for the sole purpose of taking advantage of you!” Puck yells. “He wanted to fuck you the second he saw you at Eight Ball. Did he even know that you’re sixteen? I’m pretty sure there are laws that could get him tossed into jail.”

“You can’t tell anyone that,” Sam hisses. “He doesn’t deserve to go to jail, okay? He doesn’t know how old I am. He assumed I was over twenty-one because we got into the club.”

“Yeah, but still, he got you drunk and then he practically r—”

“Shut up!” Sam shouts suddenly, his jaw clenched so tightly that it hurts. “I didn’t want to tell you. I wasn’t going to tell anyone. I know it was a mistake, and I regret it. Do you think I’m happy about the fact that I just lost my virginity to some guy I met at a stupid club while I was so drunk that I could barely think? We didn’t even know each other! I didn’t even know what I was doing. I can’t even fucking remember everything that happened—all I know is that I let some guy… put his hands all over me and… and it’s over now, and I don’t want to talk about it, or think about it, or be yelled at by you of all people when you’re practically the king of random hook-ups.”

“You’re not me, though,” Puck says, and for a second Sam feels like he’s choking. “You’re even remotely like me. You’re not a random hook-up type of guy.”

“I could be,” Sam says tightly. “How would you know? How would I even know? It’s not like I’ve done this before.”

“You’re not.” Puck’s voice is soft now, and Sam lets out a shuttering breath, catching his bottom lip between his teeth as he looks down.

“I don’t want to think about it,” Sam whispers. “It just feels too weird. I know this is totally lame, and you were probably way cooler about your first time, but… this just isn’t how I imagined it would happen for me.”

“Shit,” Puck says under his breath, sounding pained. “I shouldn’t have stopped Finn from calling you.”

“It’s not your fault, okay? You didn’t even know.” Sam sniffs and wipes his nose on his sleeve. “Don’t do that. It’s only gonna make me feel shittier than I already do. I’m never gonna see Joshua again, so the sooner I just forget this whole thing, the better. I just need you to be cool about this. I just…”

Puck still has his hands on Sam’s arms, his grip tight, and Sam is almost glad because he barely feels like he can stand on his own right now. Sam exhales shakily, swallowing with some difficulty as he looks straight into Puck’s eyes.

“I just need my friend back,” Sam says haltingly. He hears Puck take a breath, watching his lips part slightly. “I just need you to be my friend again. Nothing else. Not right now.”

Puck’s throat bobs as he swallows. “Dude. I’m always gonna be your friend.”

“I feel like we’ve been fighting forever.” Sam’s voice wavers, and when he blinks he can feel moisture sticking to his eyelashes. “I just miss you.”

Puck shakes his head, and Sam lets out a choked breath when Puck grabs him, squeezing his arms tight around his body. Sam shuts his eyes and embraces him, resting his hands on Puck’s back, his fingers curling into loose fists as he presses his face against Puck’s shoulder.

“Jesus, Sam,” Puck says finally, still holding him. “We’re bros, okay? I don’t want you to go around thinking that I’m not gonna be your friend just because we’re having some stupid fight.”

“Well, we kinda told each other that we shouldn’t be friends anymore before you stormed off the football field,” Sam says, lifting his head.

“That was before.” Puck inhales deeply, then loosens his grip as he sighs. “I’m not running away anymore. Especially not now.”

“Good,” Sam says, giving Puck one last squeeze before pulling back. “I don’t have the energy to keep chasing you.”

“I’m sorry,” Puck mumbles, his brow furrowed. “I’m sorry I’ve been a shithead. I’m here now, though. And I’m not that great with, like, feelings and stuff, but I’m here for you.”

Sam nods, the knot in his stomach loosening. “Thanks.”

“I mean it,” Puck says seriously. “I know you want to pretend nothing happened to you, but I’m the master of repressing shit, and let me tell you, it doesn’t work. I’m here for you, okay? I’m not going anywhere. And I’m definitely not leaving you alone until I know you’re all right.”

Sam bites his lip, a surge of affection running through him, and it’s all he can do to stop himself from slipping his hand into Puck’s. He wants to, but he knows he shouldn’t, not just because he needs to give himself some space, but because Puck just came out to him five minutes ago, and jumping into anything with him would be a recipe for disaster.

“It’s just been… you know. Pretty crazy,” Puck continues. “This whole bi thing still freaks me out.”

“Luckily, you have me.” Sam tries smiling, and it feels a lot less forced now. “I have absolutely no knowledge about bisexuality, but we’re gonna figure this out. Together. Us and Google.”

Puck laughs, and Sam sees his eyes glistening. “Okay. It’s kind of a shitty plan, but I’ll take it.”

This verse is continued in Up to the Platform of Surrender.

My Good Intentions..., Puck/Sam, R, 2/3

2011-03-03T07:20:21Z

Title: My Good Intentions Can Leave the Harshest Scars You've Ever Seen
Part: 2/3
Pairing: Puck/Sam
Rating/warnings: light R
Word Count: 24,489
Notes: This is set in the same 'verse as The Right Side of Reason, I'm Numbing My Feeling, Every Second's a Longer Wait, and Soon We'll Fall to Pieces. Title stolen from I'm Yours Tonight by The Academy Is....
Summary: Sam struggles to understand Puck's actions and starts making some potentially life-changing decisions, only one of which goes well.

I divided part two into two parts because it was getting really long, and I didn't want to make everyone wait even longer as I finished up the last scene. :)

back

They lose the game. Sam’s teammates look glum, or just plain angry, and Sam gets a lot of apologies about how the game went down. Some of them are mad at Puck for picking a fight and getting benched.

“Puck just did what everyone else wanted to do,” Finn sighs, pulling his jersey over his head and opening his locker. “We sure could have used him out there, though.”

“I don’t think he’s really in any condition to play a good game,” Sam says, speaking softly so only Finn will hear. Finn grabs a towel and glances at Sam.

“What’s going on with you two anyway?” he asks. “You guys used to be inseparable and now it looks like you’re on the outs.”

“Just a misunderstanding.” Sam doesn’t want to get into the details with Finn. There’s a good chance that everyone will start guessing soon enough. “Hey, can you help me get home? I can’t drive with my shoulder like this.”

“Oh, yeah, no problem,” Finn says, nodding. “I gave Kurt and Rachel rides here, so maybe Kurt can drive your car home, and I’ll follow and give Kurt a ride back. How’s the shoulder feeling, anyway?”

“Thanks, man. It’s doing all right now, I just can’t really move it much,” Sam says. “I’m gonna go find Kurt and Rachel, we’ll be out in the parking lot.”

“Okay.” Finn waves as he heads for the showers, and Sam slings his gym bag over his good shoulder as he leaves the locker room. He goes outside, keeping an eye out for Puck, but he has no idea where he is, and he figures maybe he should leave him alone until he figures out what to do.

Sam texts Kurt and Rachel to meet him by his car, and he’s putting his bag in the trunk when he hears their footsteps in the gravel. Rachel grabs him immediately, gently so as not to disturb his arm, her eyes soft.

“You went down hard,” she says. “Kurt and I were very concerned.”

“Nothing’s broken,” Sam reassures her, closing the trunk and leaning against his car. “Dislocated shoulder. I just have to take it easy for a while.”

“I’m sorry. But at least it wasn’t something more serious.” Rachel smiles at him. Sam nods, then takes a deep breath.

“There’s something I want to talk to you guys about,” Sam says. He sits down on the trunk, and Rachel pauses before climbing on beside him, resting her feet against the bumper. Kurt takes out a handkerchief from his bag and wipes a spot before sitting on Sam’s other side.

Sam takes another deep breath and internally apologizes to Puck, but Rachel and Kurt have kept his own secret, and he trusts them more than anyone else. Puck had looked so deeply wounded and frightened that Sam can’t possibly handle this all on his own.

Rachel puts a hand on his back, and Sam might have actually hugged her if she wasn’t sitting next to his bad arm. Kurt clears his throat, and Sam glances into his clear eyes.

“We’re all ears, Sam,” Kurt says. “Take your time.”

“It’s a long story,” Sam says uncertainly.

“Go ahead,” Rachel says softly. “If you’re ready, I mean. Kurt and I were kind of wondering when you’d finally open up about what’s been bothering you. You’ll feel better afterwards, I promise.”

“Okay,” Sam says, blinking up at the stars as he thinks about everything that’s happened between him and Puck, and even before they’d met. He opens his mouth and starts all the way back at Darlington, telling them about Kyle and his old friends, then about how Puck had found out about everything, and he keeps talking until he reaches the present.

“He’s hurting so badly,” Sam says quietly, picking at a thread on his jeans as he thinks about Puck. “I want to help him. I know how it feels to be that scared, and I don’t want him to feel like that. He’s been there for me through everything. The only time he hasn’t was when he was too freaked out about himself to face me, and I don’t blame him for that, not anymore.”

“I feel like I should be more surprised about Noah,” Rachel says. “But I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Don’t worry, I don’t think most people would pick up on it—I’m just very perceptive about these things.”

“You figured me out pretty quickly.” Sam gives her a crooked grin, and Rachel just smiles in return.

“The only thing you can do is talk to him,” Kurt says. “Be there for him like he was for you.”

“There’s something else,” Sam says nervously, gripping his knees. “I’ve been thinking… what if I show him that it’s not something to be ashamed of?”

Kurt narrows his eyes skeptically. “Show him how, exactly?”

“What if I came out to the team?” Sam asks softly. Kurt blinks at him, his eyebrows raised in surprise, and Rachel inhales quietly beside him.

“Sam, if it feels like the right thing for you to do, then of course Kurt and I will support you,” Rachel begins slowly. “But are you doing this for you, or just for Puck? Because after everything you told us about what happened the last time someone outed you, do you feel like you’re really ready to handle the potentially negative consequences?”

“I’m freaked,” Sam admits, swallowing. “But I feel like I have a much better support system here. I have you guys, and I know Coach Beiste has my back, and even though Puck’s gone insane, I can count on him. Back at Darlington, I lost everyone. But it helps knowing that won’t happen here.”

“Karofsky and Azimio are going to give you shit, though,” Kurt says, his voice soft. Sam knows it’s true. He remembers the sign Karofsky tacked up in the locker room about Puck. He’ll definitely become their new target if he goes through with this.

“I just don’t want to hide anymore,” Sam says. “I don’t want to spend all my time being scared of what could happen. I’d rather just be honest and have control over the situation than being outed again when I least expect it.”

“Then it’s decided,” Rachel says firmly. “When are you planning your big announcement?”

“Um… I was just going to tell the team. Word will spread from them. I’m not planning a big announcement to the whole school.” Sam smiles a little. Of course Rachel would suggest something hugely dramatic.

“Soon?” Kurt asks.

Sam chews on the inside of his lip. “I guess… Monday? I don’t want to put it off and chicken out.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll be here to support you,” Rachel says.

Sam sees Finn jogging up to the parking lot, and he nods quickly. “Thanks. I mean, really, thanks.”

“You guys ready to go?” Finn asks as the three of them climb off the trunk. “Who’s driving Sam’s car?”

“I will,” Kurt says, and Sam grins and tosses him the keys. Sam heads off to his car with Kurt, and as he pulls his door open he hears footsteps on the gravel. He spies Puck going to his jeep, his face clouded as he flings his gym bag inside. Sam stares for a second too long, and when Puck meets his gaze, he feels that same pang in his chest that he used to feel for himself.

The moment passes quickly, and Puck looks away as his face hardens, and then he slams the door. His jeep roars to life, and Sam gingerly slips into the passenger seat of his own car.

“Do you want to go over and talk to him?” Kurt asks in a gentle voice. “I’m sure he’d stay for you.”

“No, we already talked,” Sam replies softly, fumbling with his seat belt. “I don’t want to get his head all mixed up even more than it already is.”

“I’m surprised about Puck,” Kurt admits, starting the car. He gives Sam a sheepish grin. “To be honest, you surprised me, too, a little bit. I guess I’m just used to being the only gay kid around, and you guys are nothing like me.”

“Yeah, I don’t know the first thing about fashion or musicals or anything,” Sam says, smiling. “Puck sure doesn’t, either.”

“I’m glad, though.” Kurt meets his eyes and gives him one his rare, genuine smiles. “It’s nice to know you’re not alone. Mercedes and Rachel have all been so supportive of me, and it feels good to give back and help someone else out.”

“I’m glad I’m not alone, too. This place is kinda whack, and it sucks that people like Karofsky and Azimio are running around, but… I really like McKinley,” Sam says. “I’ve got real friends here. I’m starting to feel like I belong, you know?”

“You do belong here, Sam,” Kurt assures him. Sam lets his smile linger on his lips as Kurt starts driving. He’s still scared, and he’s sad about Puck, but he finally feels like everything isn’t hopeless because he’s not alone.

He thanks Kurt when they get to his house, and he waves goodnight to Finn and Rachel before going inside. Sam’s almost forgotten about his injury until his parents ambush him the second he walks through the door.

“Mom, I’m okay,” Sam says, looking at her worriedly. Her eyes are red and she looks like she’s been on the verge of tears for a while. “Mom?”

“I’m just worried about you,” she says, drawing him into a careful hug. Sam rests against her for a minute, listening to the way her heart beats quickly in her chest.

“You don’t have to worry. It was just an accident,” Sam says.

“Of course I have to worry,” she responds sharply. “Your father and I got a call from your coach informing us you were injured on the field. How do you think that makes us feel, after how many calls like that we got from Darlington?”

Sam shakes his head, trying to sound reassuring. “It wasn’t like that, Mom. This really was a total accident. Nothing like that is happening here, I swear.”

“You have to tell us if anyone starts bothering you again.”

“I will. I promise.” Sam swallows nervously and wonders if he should tell her about his plans to come out. One look at her tearful expression and he decides against it. If it goes well, he’ll gladly tell her everything. If it doesn’t, well, he’s sure she’ll hear about it anyway, probably from Figgins himself.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Sam says earnestly. “I am. I like it here. There are other gay students here, you know. Openly gay.”

His mom nods, and his dad puts a hand on his good shoulder and gives him a warm smile.

“As long as you’re happy, Sam,” his dad says. “We just want you to be happy.”

“And safe,” his mom says firmly.

“Thanks,” Sam replies softly. His mom hugs him again, and Sam closes his eyes and wraps his arm around her waist, her familiar perfume invading his senses. He’s never met Puck’s mom, and he wonders if she’s nearly as accepting as his own. He hopes she is. He can’t imagine not being accepted in his own home. If she’s not, Sam’s just going to have to plan lots of dinners and sleepovers here until Puck settles down a little.

“Come on, you need to get changed and get some rest,” his mom says, leading him to the stairs. With his mom’s help, Sam manages to get ready for bed one-handed, and when his mom ruffles his hair and whispers goodnight to him, Sam leans over and kisses her cheek.

“Love you,” Sam says, a little embarrassed because he only did this when he was little, but the way his mom’s expression melts makes it worth the loss of cool points.

“I love you, too, honey,” she says gently. “You do look happier than I’ve seen you in a while.”

“Things aren’t perfect, but I’ve made some really great friends here,” Sam says. His mom smiles, stroking his fingers before she gets up and heads for the hallway. Sam exhales deeply as she shuts the door. He closes his eyes, letting Puck swim to the front of his mind. It hurts to think Puck is probably alone right now, angry and scared, and the last thing Sam does before falling asleep is bolster his resolve to find some way to help him.

- - - - -

Halfway through school on Monday, Sam is so nervous he thinks he’s going to throw up. His courage from Friday has mostly dissipated, and now he’s wondering if this whole thing is even a good idea at all. He’s planning to tell the team after football practice, and unfortunately he’s already told Coach Beiste about it, so he can’t back out now. Well, he could, but he’d feel pretty lame about it.

He’d tried calling Puck over the weekend to tell him, but Puck had texted him back with an abrupt “busy,” so Sam had backed off. He wonders how Puck’s been spending his time. He wonders if he’s been with Santana.

Sam closes his locker and is startled to find Santana herself looking at him sourly, her arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

“Hi,” Sam gulps, his eyes darting around. He’d forgotten that Santana could totally out him right now if she wanted to.

“Hi,” Santana sneers mockingly. “How are you?”

“Good,” Sam says before he realizes that Santana isn’t actually interested in his well-being. “Um, so, what’s up?”

“Okay, look, I’m just gonna cut to the chase here. It’s Puck. You have to do something about him before I murder him.”

“I’m not following. What’s wrong with Puck?”

“Cute,” Santana says, smiling. It somehow makes her look even more terrifying. “Pretending to play dumb to protect your image. I know you’re a big flaming homo, okay? You know what’s going on with Puck.”

Sam feels his face flushing, but he doesn’t deny it. “How’s he doing?”

“He won’t get off my couch,” she snaps. “I have this awesome couch in my room—Brittany always has dibs on it, but Puck’s been wallowing all over it the entire weekend. He just comes in my room and takes root, and it makes it really awkward for when Brittany wants to come over. And Puck won’t even mess around with me anymore anyway, so why should I let him use my couch when he won’t even put out?”

Sam stares silently for a second too long, because Santana snaps her fingers in front of his face and scowls. He flinches slightly, but he’s mostly stuck on how Puck isn’t getting naked with Santana anymore.

“He’s going through a lot,” Sam says eventually, shrugging.

“I know. He’s having some stupid identity crisis that I’m sure has a lot to do with how he stares at your ass, but you have got to get him off my couch. I needs to get my mack on with other interested parties.”

“I can’t control him,” Sam says, wrinkling his nose.

“Oh, please. You have Noah Puckerman whipped,” Santana says.

Sam lets out a snort. “I really don’t. Things would be different I did.”

“Well, you’d better find a way to get him out of my weave, because if you don’t, I’ll tell everyone you’re a gigantic homo.” Santana stands back and smirks. “No offense.”

Sam leans against his locker and lowers his voice. “I’m coming out to the team today anyway.”

Santana raises her eyebrows, and for a moment the mask slides away and Sam sees genuine curiosity on her face.

“Seriously?” she asks.

Sam nods. “I would tell you my motivation behind it, but it’s a really long story that started way before I even transferred here. Do you know what’s really going on between me and Puck?”

“No,” Santana admits slowly, eying him. “Are you two, like, a thing?”

“No. Not really. I don’t know.”

Santana purses her lips, her nails drumming across her arm. “I have to hand it to you, Lady Lips. You’ve actually managed to surprise me.”

“So you can’t threaten to out me anymore because I’m outing myself,” Sam says. He gets a sudden rush as soon as the words leave his mouth. Despite how scared he is right now, he can’t imagine how good it’ll feel to not have to be scared anymore. That is, if everything goes well. God, he hopes everything goes well. He can’t deal with another Darlington incident.

“So, what, you’re just gonna go up and say, hey, I like sucking dick?” Santana asks, coming a little closer as she lowers her voice. “To the whole football team?”

Sam worries his lip and grimaces slightly. “Um… yeah. Not those exact words, but yeah. That’s the idea.”

Santana studies him silently for a long moment. “Huh. I always pegged you as someone who lacked balls.”

Sam chuckles nervously. “I’m pretty scared, not gonna lie. I… well, I was outed at my old school, by someone I used to consider a friend. No one really took it well there, especially not the football team. So I’m just hoping things will be different here.”

“Who else have you told?”

“Kurt, Rachel… you.”

Santana raises her brows. “Not Puck?”

“No.” Sam shakes his head, sighing. “I’m pretty sure he’s avoiding me.”

“So you guys are a thing,” Santana says, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“We’re not anything,” Sam insists, shoving down the now-familiar ache. He looks away and doesn’t go on, and he’s surprised when Santana backs off.

“Well, if you and Puck aren’t having hot and dirty man sex, then I can go back to ignoring your beige self,” she says. She swivels on one heel, but doesn’t walk away just yet, and she throws Sam a glance over her shoulder. Sam looks back at her, wondering why he just told her as much as he did.

“You and Brittany, are you guys…?” Sam trails off, color rising in his cheeks again.

Santana clears her throat, crossing her arms defensively. “We’re none of your business.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Look, just concentrate on your thing and try not to piss your pants,” Santana says firmly. “As much as it pains me to lose my leverage over you… what you’re doing is actually kind of… not cool, but… not lame.”

Sam watches her walk away, and he wonders if maybe he knows more gay people here than just Kurt. He thinks about Puck and steels his nerve, hoping he’ll get a minute with him during football practice.

Puck manages to spend the entirety of practice on the other side of the field, and Sam would be pissed at the obvious avoidance if he weren’t so nauseated. He lags behind as everyone heads back to the locker room after Beiste’s whistle goes off, spending a moment with his hands on his knees as he tries to relax.

“You all right, Evans?” Beiste asks, and Sam looks up to see her skeptical expression.

“I will be,” he replies weakly. “Maybe.”

“You know, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. If you’ve changed your mind, there’s no shame.”

Sam bites his lip, straightening. “If I don’t do it now, I don’t know if I ever will.”

“Have you talked to your parents about this?” Beiste asks, and Sam shakes his head. “Have you talked to anyone about this? Ms. Pillsbury?”

“No, not really,” Sam mumbles. “I mean… I’ve only really told you. And Santana, but she doesn’t count.”

Beiste nods. “Is it okay if I ask why you suddenly want to come out?”

Sam pauses for a second, realizing this is the first time Beiste has ever asked his permission for anything. He pushes his hair back and looks at the grass, then lifts his gaze to meet Beiste’s piercing eyes.

“I just feel like it’s something I have to do for myself,” Sam answers finally. “So I can officially leave everything in the past, and start over. I don’t want things to be the same way they were at Darlington—”

“I would never let that happen,” Beiste says, and Sam nods.

“I know. But I also don’t want things to be like how they were even before that happened. I don’t want to hide. I have nothing to be ashamed of. And… I want everyone to know that.”

“You’re a brave kid, Evans.” Beiste’s expression softens, and Sam’s anxiety eases for a moment. He follows her as they head back to the locker room, grabbing his bag from his locker and a towel to wipe his face off, and then ducks into Beiste’s office to try to compose himself as Beiste yells at everyone to sit down.

“Evans has something to say to all of you,” Beiste announces. Sam peeks through the blinds and watches as everyone starts milling toward the benches, talking and laughing. Only one person has a huge scowl on his face, and it’s Puck. He spies Puck grabbing his phone, and a moment later, Sam’s phone buzzes in his bag. He searches for it clumsily and finds a text from Puck.

What are you doing?

Sam takes a deep breath and texts back.

I’m coming out. You’ll have my back, right?

He looks through the blinds and watches Puck’s expression change to horror as he glares at his phone. Sam strips off his dirty jersey and takes off his pads, his stomach churning once more. He shoves his dirty clothes into his bag and notices that Puck is making a beeline straight for him.

“Hold it, Puckerman,” Beiste says, blocking him with one hand. “Sit down, Evans has an announcement.”

“Just—”

“Sit.”

Sam goes to the door, feeling lightheaded. Most of the team has settled down, watching him expectantly as he stiffly walks into the room. Puck has a look of barely contained panic on his face, which doesn’t help Sam’s nerves in the least.

Sam stands before his team and takes a few more deep breaths. He’s never truly been out before, not by choice, and suddenly he can’t feel anything but dread. He knows Beiste will do her best to look out for him, but she can’t watch him all the time. Sam knows how quickly things can change.

He looks at Puck, who’s gripping the bench so tightly his knuckles are turning white. Puck’s jaw is set in a hard line, and Sam is surprised to see fear mirrored in Puck’s eyes. He wonders what Puck would have said to him if Beiste gave him a chance to talk, but it’s not like he can ask him now.

Sam clears his throat, trying not to let how scared he is come through in his voice. “So, uh… I have something pretty important to say to you guys. I’ve been thinking about this for a while.”

He moves his eyes over the boys sitting before him, hesitating on Finn, who’s looking up with the same wide, kindhearted, slightly dazed look he gives everyone. Sam reminds himself that Rachel said that Finn would back him for sure, and he hopes she’s right.

He skips over Karofsky and Azimio and clears his throat again nervously. “When I transferred here, I was worried that I’d always be the odd one out, since I heard a lot of you guys have been friends for a really long time… but you guys have made me feel really welcome. I love being a Titan, and Coach Beiste is the best coach I’ve ever had, and… since most of you guys have been really cool to me, I feel like I owe you all the truth. I want to be honest. And I hope you guys won’t see me any differently because of it.”

Puck looks angry now. Sam wants to kick him in the face because this is the one moment that he really needs Puck on his side, and instead he has no idea what’s going on in Puck’s head.

Sam forces himself to look away from him. He glances at Beiste, and she gives him a miniscule nod. Sam swallows hard, clenches his fists, and tries not to pass out from sheer terror.

“I’m gay,” Sam says finally, his eyes traveling uncertainly around the room as a surprised murmur rises from the team. “The reason I transferred here is because I had a really bad experience at my old school. I was bullied by the team there. All I wanted to do was play football and just… be a regular guy, but I couldn’t, so my parents pulled me out and moved us to Lima. I’m gay, and I’ve known it for almost my whole life, and I’ve never told anyone like this, and I just hope that everything doesn’t go to hell here, because I like McKinley and I like being here and… um… that’s about it.”

Sam’s face feels hot and he knows he’s blushing hard, which he’s suddenly really self-conscious about. Everyone is avoiding his gaze, looking at each other and mumblings things instead, and Sam exhales anxiously and wishes he were in his room hiding underneath his bed. Anywhere but here. Not even Puck is looking at him.

“Does anyone have anything to say?” Beiste asks, her voice cutting through the noise. The room falls silent. Sam looks around desperately. At least no one is throwing things. Most people look dubious instead of hateful—though Sam can’t even bring himself to look at Karofsky and Azimio; no doubt they’re staring at him like he’s a mutant.

Puck finally meets his eyes. Sam bites the inside of his mouth, watching Puck’s throat bob as he swallows. He can’t place the expression on Puck’s face.

He hears a rustle and Sam’s eyes snap to Finn as he stands suddenly. Finn looks a little shocked, his fingers jittery down by his sides, but he looks firmly at the team, then turns to look at Sam.

“You’re so not what I imagined a gay guy would be like,” Finn says finally, his words accompanied by a nervous chuckle. “I guess I always pictured them like Kurt.”

“We’re just people,” Sam says, shrugging. “I’m the same guy you’ve all played football with before.”

“I know. We’ve actually started winning games now, with Coach Beiste, and you, and…” Finn scratches his neck, his gaze sheepish. “Well, I for one don’t want to see you go anywhere. You’re a good player. And you’re a good friend.”

“Thanks, Finn,” Sam says softly, barely daring to hope as he sees several heads nod in agreement.

“I trust that you all will be mature about this,” Beiste says. “And anyone who can’t be won’t be playing football anymore. Consider this your only warning. Now get cleaned up and get out of here.”

Sam exhales shakily as the room quickly starts buzzing with chatter. Some of the guys head straight for the shower, but most of them circle around Finn, and after a moment of quick discussion, they approach Sam. Sam glances around for Beiste, but she’s in her office.

“So, Sam, since I’m gonna be QB for our next game,” Finn begins, looking at him seriously. “I was kinda wondering if a bunch of us could get together with you and work out our plan of attack. I’ve been QB for a while, but I’ve learned more this year about football than any other year, and I know I really need to have a solid plan if we’re going to win this.”

Sam just looks at him for a long moment, silence stretching out before him. Finn quirks his head, and Sam notices that the rest of the guys are looking at him curiously, too.

“Uh,” Sam says, his mind blanking.

“Are you okay?” Finn asks uncertainly.

“I just… I mean, yeah, sure, we can get together if you want.” Sam nods.

“Cool.” Finn grins, and the team relaxes, and Sam gets a few friendly slaps on the shoulder as the rest of them go to their lockers or to the showers.

“Finn,” Sam blurts out before Finn can turn around. Finn gives him a questioning glance, and Sam hesitates, his fingers curling reflexively.

“Is that it?” Sam asks, not quite sure how to word his question. “You’re… you’re all okay with me, just like that?”

Finn wrinkles his brow slightly and nods. “I mean… yeah. It’s kinda weird, I guess, but you’re still the same guy. Kurt’s taught me a lot about what it means to be a man, and, well, a real man wouldn’t freak out about this.”

“Seriously?” Sam doesn’t know why he’s pressing the subject so hard. He should just shut up and gratefully move on, but he wants to be sure. The whole point of this was so he didn’t have to be afraid anymore, and he needs to be certain or else he’ll second-guess every word that comes out of his teammates’ mouths.

“Look, I don’t know exactly what happened at your old school, and you don’t need to tell me,” Finn continues. “But we’re teammates. And we’re friends. And you being gay isn’t going to stop me from being your friend. The team likes you, Sam. This isn’t going to make them suddenly turn on you.”

Sam lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Finn quirks his lips into another grin, that little half-smile that makes everyone remember just why they like Finn so much, and then he gives Sam’s shoulder a nudge.

“You better get that shoulder better or else I’m keeping your QB spot,” Finn says, and Sam smiles at him, his eyes warm as the knot in his stomach loosens.

“You wish,” Sam says, chuckling as Finn heads for the showers. Sam glances at Beiste’s office and catches her gaze through the window, her expression soft as she gives Sam a nod.

Sam is so relieved that he’s not even angry that Puck seems to have bailed early. He needs to see him, though, so he texts Puck to meet him out by the bleachers.

Sam showers with the rest of the stragglers. It’s almost surreal the way he feels so changed inside, yet everyone is treating him the same as before. He thinks about how happy his mom will be when he goes home and tells her what he’s finally found the courage to do. He figures she’ll be mad first, but that’s only because she worries way too much.

It’s warm outside, and Sam waits alone on the bleachers, the sun tickling the back of his neck. Puck hadn’t texted him back, and Sam thinks maybe he’s not even going to show, but after he fiddles with his phone for ten minutes, he sees Puck’s tiny figure appear on the other side of the field. Sam smiles as Puck clambers up the bleachers, but it falters on his lips when he sees the dark look on Puck’s face.

Puck throws his bag down beside Sam, the metal bleachers vibrating with the impact, and then rounds on Sam with a near snarl.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Puck asks between clenched teeth. Sam’s natural instinct is to meet Puck’s anger with some of his own, but he mostly just feels confused.

“What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about. What were you thinking telling everyone you’re gay?”

Sam gives him a miffed look. “I was thinking that it was high time I stopped being afraid, and I’m glad I did. The team is cool with it. Coach Beiste is being awesome about it.”

“You just painted a target on your back!” Puck yells. “Do you seriously think Karofsky and Azimio are going to leave you alone about this? They’re gonna make your life hell, Sam. They don’t need an excuse to be assholes to anybody, but you sure as hell gave them one anyway.”

Sam furrows his brow, his mood dampened. “That’s not fair, okay? You can’t tell me that I should’ve just stayed in the closet because of them.”

“You should’ve!”

“That’s bullshit, Puck! This was a really big deal for me. I’ve been holding on to everything that happened at Darlington for so long, and I’m finally letting it go and moving on and—I don’t need you to fucking yell at me about what a huge mistake I just made. I’m not sorry.”

“You should be,” Puck growls. “You will be when you can’t get those two dickheads off your back.”

“I can’t believe you,” Sam says, stung. “Why would you say something that shitty to me?”

“It’s the truth. I’m not going to sugarcoat things for you.” Puck glares at him, and Sam studies his face, taking in the tightness around Puck’s eyes and mouth, the concern creasing his brow.

“You’re worried about me,” Sam says.

Puck gives him a harsh scowl and sits down beside him. “Look, what you did might have been a big thing for you, and maybe you have all this freaking gay pride or whatever, but I’m just being real with you. You’d better watch your back.”

“I don’t need the lecture. I’ve already lived through it and I came out okay.” Sam tightens his hands on his knees, Puck’s words planting a tiny seed of fear in his mind. “I’m not going to hide who I am, because there’s nothing wrong with me.”

Puck crosses his arms and glares at the field. Sam hesitates for a moment before he speaks again.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, either,” Sam says, then flinches slightly when Puck shoots up and rounds on him again.

“I knew it,” Puck says, jabbing a finger in Sam’s face. “I knew it, I knew you didn’t just do this for yourself. You’re trying to send me a message. You’re so transparent.”

“Well, maybe I was trying to tell you something,” Sam says defensively. “What’s wrong with that? It’s something you need to hear.”

“I don’t need to hear anything.”

“I’m worried about you, Puck.” Sam looks at him earnestly as Puck sits back down. “You really need to talk to someone about this. Obviously I’d like for it to be me, but if you don’t want to, there are lots of other people. There are hotlines you can call—you can be totally anonymous.”

“Okay, slow down,” Puck says, waving him off. “Stop. I have something to tell you.”

“Yeah?” Sam watches Puck’s throat bob as he swallows. Puck takes a soft breath, refusing to meet Sam’s eyes as he begins to speak.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about everything that’s happened,” Puck says slowly. “Kissing you, and fooling around, and everything we said to each other on Friday… I’ve been thinking really hard and really seriously about it.”

“Okay. I’m listening,” Sam says as Puck pauses.

“I care about you. A lot.” Puck finally looks at him, his eyes grim. “After everything that went down last year with Finn and Quinn, I haven’t had a real friend for a long time. Not until you transferred here. We’re buddies, okay? Don’t forget that.”

“I won’t,” Sam says uncertainly. “Puck, what are you trying to say? Just tell me.”

Puck blows out a breath and clears his throat. “I’ve thought about this. About me. And I know you don’t want to hear this, but… I’m not bisexual.”

Sam fights the urge to roll his eyes, shaking his head quickly, but Puck puts up a hand before Sam can speak.

“Listen to me,” Puck insists. “I’m not. I like girls. I’ve liked girls my entire life. I always will.”

“I know you will, that’s why it’s called being bi.”

“No. I’m straight. I don’t like guys, okay?” Puck’s eyes are troubled as he talks. “I’ve never thought about being with a guy. It’s just not in me.”

“You’ve thought about being with me, though,” Sam says, his voice soft. “You have. I know you have.”

“What we did… it’s not going to happen again, Sam.”

Sam shakes his head again, exhaling noisily. “You’re lying to yourself. You told me on Friday when we were in the locker room that you couldn’t be who I wanted you to be, but the only reason you can’t is because you’re not letting yourself.”

Puck stays silent, chewing on his lip and staring ahead with hard eyes. Sam aches to touch him, but he keeps his hands on his knees, giving Puck space.

“What would your family say if they knew?” Sam asks gently.

“If they knew what?” Puck asks with a scowl.

“Just humor me.” Sam tries to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

“My mom would probably throw me out,” Puck says dully. “I don’t know. My family isn’t like the fucking Cleavers like yours.”

“My family isn’t perfect either. My mom’s been on anxiety medicine ever since she got the call that I’d been taken to the hospital because my supposed best friend gave me a concussion.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Puck snaps. “I already told you how I feel. I’m straight. What we did was just me being horny.”

“That’s such a lie,” Sam says. “Look. I’m gay and I’m out. The world didn’t explode. If you admit the truth to yourself, the sun is still going to come up tomorrow. And I promise I’ll support you no matter what happens.”

“I have nothing to admit. I made a mistake with you—that’s it. Sure, it felt nice, but…” Puck seems to struggle for a moment, looking away. “It was a one-time thing. A mistake. I’ve never been attracted to a guy before. I like girls. Call me if you grow a vagina.”

Sam clenches his jaw, standing suddenly as he grabs his bag and roughly pushes past Puck to get to the aisle. He hears Puck clambering behind him, but refuses to turn around.

“Hey, wait—Sam!”

Sam jumps off the last two steps and lands on the field, then jerks away when he feels Puck’s hand on his shoulder. He turns around angrily, and Puck stops short, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Call me if you grow a vagina? Seriously?” Sam spits out.

“It was a freaking joke, man. Relax.”

“This isn’t a joke to me!”

“Okay,” Puck says, lowering his voice. “I’m sorry.”

“I can’t believe I fell for such a jerk,” Sam mutters. “Do you realize the only thing keeping us apart is the fact that you can’t handle that you like someone with a dick?”

“It’s a one-time thing, I told you,” Puck insists. “It’s never gonna happen again. I’m never gonna be into a dude again.”

“You don’t know that. You don’t know who you’ll fall for next. You keep telling yourself that you only like girls, except you fell for me. Why the hell are you ignoring that?”

“It was a mistake, and now you’re just pissed because I don’t want you like that!”

“It’s gonna happen again, Puck,” Sam says heatedly. “It doesn’t matter what you do with me. Sooner or later you’re gonna meet someone else—some other guy—and it’s gonna happen again. Then what are you gonna do?”

“It won’t,” Puck says between clenched teeth. “I don’t swing that way.”

“Except for with me.” Sam can’t help the bitterness that seeps into his words.

“Goddammit, Sam,” Puck says roughly. “Would you just let it go? I wish it never happened!”

“I do, too!” Sam yells. “We ruined our friendship over something that didn’t even mean anything to you.”

A muscle jumps in Puck’s jaw as he glares at Sam, and Sam regrets the words as soon as they come out of his mouth, but he stubbornly clenches his fists and doesn’t take them back.

“Maybe we shouldn’t be friends then,” Puck says snidely.

“Maybe we shouldn’t,” Sam shoots back. “I don’t want to be friends with a coward like you anyway.”

“I’m not a coward—you’re just being freaking delusional.”

“You’re the one being delusional. You’re the one who can’t even admit what you are.” Sam knows his words are hitting a nerve. He’s never seen Puck look so angry.

“If you know what’s good for you, Evans, you’ll stop while you’re ahead,” Puck says tightly.

“What are you gonna do, Puckerman?” Sam asks, evenly meeting Puck’s stare. “You gonna hit me?”

“Don’t try me, Sam.” Puck’s voice is rough, his eyes smoldering with anger. Sam drops his bag and closes the space between them, bringing his face just centimeters from Puck’s. He’s so close that he can feel Puck’s unsteady breath on his lips.

“Go ahead and hit me,” Sam says in a voice trembling with anger and hurt. “It’s not going to change anything that happened between us, and it’s not going to change what you know inside is true.”

Puck opens his mouth, but nothing comes out but another cascade of warmth over Sam’s skin. Sam gravitates toward him, and he can see the tense set of Puck’s jaw and the fear in his eyes that’s all too familiar. For a brief moment Puck looks tired and vulnerable, like he wishes Sam would help him, and Sam’s chest constricts painfully, because he’d do anything for Puck, anything. Puck has given him more than he could have ever hoped for—a true friendship, acceptance without a question, unwavering loyalty even when things get physical, and he hopes Puck knows that in return Sam would give him all that and more if he’d just give him the chance.

Puck lifts his hands, his face growing steely once more as a wall crashes between them, and he shoves Sam away from him. Sam stumbles backwards and lands in the grass, blinking up at Puck’s harsh glare.

“Stay away from me,” Puck growls. Sam swallows, his temper surging forward again. He’s not hurt, except for the quickly fading throb in his shoulder—not physically, anyway.

“That’s not going to help,” Sam replies.

“Just stay away from me! Leave me alone. You think you know what’s happening, but you don’t. You have no idea, so just stop!” Puck shouts, his voice cracking before he turns around.

“Puck!” Sam yells, but Puck’s already taken off, running across the expanse of the field and disappearing through the side gate that leads to the parking lot. Sam considers going after him, but Puck’s a faster runner, and in a second he’ll be in his car anyway.

Sam heaves out a sigh, pushing himself up and wiping the dirt from his hands. He’d expected Puck to be a lot more receptive after coming out today, but now he feels like Puck is even farther away than before. He picks up his bag and slings it over his shoulder, then starts walking to the parking lot.

It’s not until he’s in his driveway that the reality of what’s happened crashes down on him. Sam drops his hands from the steering wheel, staring blindly ahead as Puck’s words replay through his mind.

He’d expected to lose some friends today. Hell, he’d expected to lose the entire team. But he never thought he’d lose Puck. On top of that, he can’t help but be unnerved by Puck’s warning about Karofsky and Azimio.

Sam goes inside and utters a dull greeting to his mom in the kitchen before heading upstairs to his room. He shuts the door and looks at his bed, remembering Puck’s warm body against his.

Maybe he has been pushing Puck too hard. Maybe he has just been seeing what he wants to see. Sam sits at his desk and sighs, clearing a space so he can get some homework done. His thoughts keep gravitating to Puck, though, and after staring at his science textbook for three minutes, he gives up and grabs his phone, scrolling to Puck’s number.

He listens to the rings, counting four before Puck’s voicemail message comes on. Sam rests his cheek against his hand and closes his eyes.

“Hey, Puck… it’s me,” Sam begins timidly. “Um… I don’t want things to be like this. I’m sorry I called you a coward. You’re not. You’ve saved my ass before, and… maybe I don’t know what’s really happening with you. All I know is that I’d rather lose everyone on the team than not have you as a friend anymore. Call me back. I really want to talk to you.”

Sam puts his phone on the desk and looks at it expectantly. He’s disappointed when it doesn’t ring right away, and eventually he returns to his science book, but he can’t concentrate. He can’t shake the feeling that he’s pushed Puck too far.

His phone vibrates, and Sam immediately snatches it up and finds a text from Puck.

Quit calling. I need some space.

“No, no, no,” Sam mutters, hitting Puck’s number on speed dial. Puck picks up this time, and Sam cuts him off before he can say anything.

“I’m sorry,” Sam blurts out, clutching a pen tightly in his free hand. “Puck? I’m—”

“Sam, shut up,” Puck says. “Look… we really have fucked things up. I don’t even know what to think anymore. I’m confused and I’m pissed and I just need space.”

“You said that before,” Sam replies, fighting to keep the desperation out of his voice. “Remember? You said you needed a break from me? That accomplished nothing. Puck, we’re better together. You know it.”

Puck blows out a noisy sigh. “I have some shit I need to figure out, okay?”

“I said I was sorry—”

“This isn’t just something you can apologize for and have everything be fine. I need a break. I need to stop thinking about all this. You’re making me question things that I have no business questioning, and some time apart from you is what I need.”

“Puck… this isn’t a good time,” Sam says, fear creeping into his mind. “I know the team was really cool about me coming out, minus Karofsky and Azimio, but by Monday the entire school will know. I have no idea what’s gonna happen.”

“Beiste will look out for you,” Puck says. Sam can tell from his voice that he’s freaked out, too.

“I just want you.” Sam doesn’t mean for it to come out, but now the words are hanging between them, and Sam grows more nervous with every second that Puck is silent.

“Sam,” Puck says quietly. “I need some time by myself.”

Sam closes his eyes, swallowing. “How long?”

“I don’t know. Shit. I don’t know. I don’t even know what’s happening anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam says softly. “I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. I shouldn’t have even said anything.”

Puck falls silent again, and Sam clenches his jaw, barely breathing. He inwardly berates himself for ruining his perfect friendship with Puck. It’s all he’s ever wanted and more, but everything is strained these days, and he knows Puck isn’t comfortable anymore. Sam had never meant to drive him away.

“I guess I’ll leave you alone then,” Sam says, trying to ignore the all too familiar twinge in his chest. He absently hears the house phone ringing downstairs.

“Sam,” Puck says quickly.

“Yeah?”

Puck hesitates on the other end. “I…”

“What is it?” Sam asks, his brow creasing when he hears Puck swear under his breath.

“It’s nothing. I’ll see you around, okay?” Puck hangs up before Sam can respond. Sam lowers his cell, wanting to throw it across the room and then maybe fling himself across his bed and throw a pity party, but the phone is still ringing. Sam gets up and goes downstairs, wondering why his mom hasn’t answered it, and then he spies her through the window, kneeling over her garden in the backyard. Sam considers hollering for her to answer the phone and then going back upstairs to feel sorry for himself, but he’s standing right next to it and he might as well pick up.

“Hello?” he says, expecting someone asking for his parents. The line is curiously silent for a moment. “Hello, anyone there?”

“Sam Evans?” an unfamiliar voice asks, deep and rough.

“Yeah?”

There’s another pause before the person speaks again. “Put your daddy on the line. I want to tell him his son’s a fag.”

Sam feels like someone’s just dumped ice water over him, and he slams the phone down just as his mom appears in the doorway.

“Who was that?” she asks, carrying some flowers to the kitchen sink.

“No one,” Sam says as he quickly retreats upstairs. He kicks his door shut and belatedly realizes that the call could come again, and this time his mom would answer. Sam sits on his bed and runs his hands down his face with a deep sigh, ignoring the way his hands tremble. He thinks about Karofsky and Azimio and almost regrets coming out at all. He should have known it couldn’t possibly have been this easy.

continue

gay waffles

2011-02-28T23:04:34Z

As some of you have been asking, here's a snippet from the upcoming part of Gay Waffles. I'm aaaalmost done with the next part; hopefully I'll have it posted sometime within the week. I'm really sorry it's taken me nearly two months to finish! I'm thinking I should try and make the parts shorter so the wait won't be so long.

“Good,” Sam says before he realizes that Santana isn’t actually interested in his well-being. “Um, so, what’s up?”

“Okay, look, I’m just gonna cut to the chase here. It’s Puck. You have to do something about him before I murder him.”

“I’m not following. What’s wrong with Puck?”

“Cute,” Santana says, smiling. It somehow makes her look even more terrifying. “Pretending to play dumb to protect your image. I know you’re a big flaming homo, okay? You know what’s going on with Puck.”

Sam feels his face flushing, but he doesn’t deny it. “How’s he doing?”

“He won’t get off my couch,” she snaps. “I have this awesome couch in my room—Brittany always has dibs on it, but Puck’s been wallowing all over it the entire weekend. He just comes in my room and takes root, and it makes it really awkward for when Brittany wants to come over. And Puck won’t even mess around with me anymore anyway, so why should I let him use my couch when he won’t even put out?”

Sam stares silently for a second too long, because Santana snaps her fingers in front of his face and scowls. He flinches slightly, but he’s mostly stuck on how Puck isn’t getting naked with Santana anymore.

“He’s going through a lot,” Sam says eventually, shrugging.

“I know. He’s having some stupid identity crisis that I’m sure has a lot to do with how he stares at your ass, but you have got to get him off my couch. I needs to get my mack on with other interested parties.”

“I can’t control him,” Sam says, wrinkling his nose.

“Oh, please. You have Noah Puckerman whipped,” Santana says.

Sam lets out a snort. “I really don’t. Things would be different I did.”

writing meme

2011-01-26T04:07:23Z

Since I joined the Glee fandom I've actually started writing publicly again, so if any of you are interested... have at it!

THE ANONYMOUS WRITING FEEDBACK MEME

Glee fic; My Good Intentions..., Puck/Sam, R, 1/3

2011-01-05T02:43:38Z

Title: My Good Intentions Can Leave the Harshest Scars You've Ever Seen
Part: 1/3
Pairing: Puck/Sam
Rating/warnings: light R
Word Count: 24,489
Notes: This is set in the same 'verse as The Right Side of Reason, I'm Numbing My Feeling, Every Second's a Longer Wait, and Soon We'll Fall to Pieces. Title stolen from I'm Yours Tonight by The Academy Is....
Summary: Sam struggles to understand Puck's actions and starts making some potentially life-changing decisions, only one of which goes well.

Sam wakes up to the sound of his mother calling his name. He opens his eyes blearily and groans, pulling the covers over his face as sunlight streams in through the window.

“Sam, you’ll be late for school if you don’t get up,” his mom says, passing by his door.

“I’m not going,” Sam mumbles from beneath the sheets. He gets a few more minutes of peace before his mom comes in and gives his shoulder a firm shake.

“Sam, get up.”

“I’m sick, I can’t go to school today,” Sam insists, turning over to face the wall.

“Maybe you wouldn’t be feeling so bad if you’d gotten some fresh air this weekend instead of holing up in your Batcave of a room and playing video games in the dark.”

“I was chilling.”

“Chill time is over. Now get up and get in the shower. You have school.”

Sam grumbles loudly as his mom pulls the sheets down. He covers his eyes with his hands and frowns in her general direction before trying to burrow his head underneath his pillow, but she snatches it away and runs a hand through his mussed hair.

“Sam, what’s going on?” she asks, annoyance seeping into her voice. She puts a hand against his forehead and raises her brows. “You don’t have a fever, and I haven’t heard you coughing or sniffling at all, so please don’t lie and tell me you’re sick.”

“My life sucks. I just don’t want to go to school,” Sam groans, kicking the covers away. “I hate school.”

“Why? I thought you liked McKinley.” His mother pauses for a moment. “Sam, is there anyone bothering you again?”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that.” Sam blows out a sigh and looks at the ceiling. He feels a little stab of fear when he remembers Puck telling him that Santana knows he’s gay. He’s okay with Rachel and Kurt knowing now because he’s sure they’ll keep his secret, but Santana is a whole different story. She’s the last person Sam would trust to keep anything a secret.

“Then why don’t you want to go to school?” his mom asks. “Are you failing science again?”

“No,” Sam says stubbornly, even though he’s only partly confident in this answer. He’s probably not failing science. Not yet. “I’m just tired of it.”

She rolls her eyes and picks up a dirty pair of socks from the floor. “When you get your first job, are you going to decide you’re tired of it after a couple of weeks and just not show up?”

“Okay, I’m getting up,” Sam says in irritation, climbing out of bed. His mom is so crazy sometimes. “Just stop nagging me.”

“Make sure you take the trash out before you leave,” she says. “I’m heading out. If I get a call from the school that you’re not there, you’re grounded.”

Sam groans as he trudges down the hall to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. He hears his mom’s footsteps going downstairs, then her heels against the kitchen tile, then her car pulling out of the driveway. Sam rubs his eyes and catches a glimpse of his hair sticking up in the mirror, and as he runs his fingers through his tangled bangs, he suddenly remembers Puck’s hands there, brushing back his hair before he kisses Sam in that strangely desperate way he always does.

Anger surges through Sam so quickly than he nearly rips the shower door off its hinges as he steps inside and turns the water on. He can’t believe Puck. He can’t believe he treated him like one of his Cheerios hookups. Sam had been so sure that he meant more to Puck than that. He really thought he’d found someone special—not even like that, but just a friend he could actually count on. A real friend.

He should have listened to all the rumors about Puck in the first place. This is the guy who slept with his best friend’s girlfriend and knocked her up. Puck clearly has serious issues.

Sam picks up the shampoo and squirts a glob onto his hair, lathering it up furiously. The suds run down his face, and Sam hisses as his eyes start to sting. He dunks his head under the spray and swipes at his eyes until the pain subsides, then he lets out a sigh and rinses the shampoo from his hair. He stands under the spray for a long moment, keeping his aching eyes closed, trying to imagine how he’s possibly going to handle seeing Puck at school after what he did to him.

It’s been three days and he still can’t believe Puck used him like that. Puck, of all people. The guy who knows his most painful secrets. The one person Sam really trusted. Now he’s on his own again. Sure, he’s making friends with Kurt and Rachel, but they’re not Puck. He hasn’t guzzled syrup at two in the morning with them, or fallen asleep on their shoulders, or gotten embarrassingly drunk at a gay club with them.

It just sucks. Sam hates his life right now, and he’s so pissed at Puck that he almost sees red every time he thinks about him. But mostly it hurts. It hurts even more than the moment he realized Kyle had turned on him.

He doesn’t want to be lonely again, but unfortunately that’s how things are turning out. At least he’s had practice. Maybe it won’t be so hard the second time around.

He doesn’t even see Puck until lunchtime. Puck is standing by their regular table that they share with Finn and a couple of other guys from the team, the table that Sam had avoided during his first break with Puck. This time Puck is the one that walks off, and Sam understands right away what Puck is doing. He doesn’t want to alienate Sam from the team again, so he’s leaving so Sam doesn’t have to.

Sam blows out a sigh and turns around. He likes Finn, sure, but they’re not that close. He’s not close to anyone on the team except for Puck. Sam looks around until he spies Kurt and Rachel, then heads to their table.

“You’re back again?” Kurt asks, and Sam actually winces at his tone. When even Kurt sounds sympathetic, he knows his life has reached a new low.

“I take it you and Noah had a fight?” Rachel bites into an apple wedge and looks at him expectantly. Sam sits down, wondering if he should tell them everything, but he’d feel too guilty about outing Puck, even though he knows Kurt and Rachel wouldn’t tell—not that Puck has admitted to being queer, anyway.

“Kind of,” Sam mumbles. “It was more of a misunderstanding, I guess.”

“I’m not surprised. Noah’s such a Neanderthal,” Rachel says, and Kurt wrinkles his nose and nods in agreement, shrugging at Sam. Sam would usually wave it off; the two of them always talk about Puck like that, and Sam always tells them they don’t know Puck like he does. He doesn’t say anything to defend Puck this time, though, because right now he’s not sure that they’re wrong.

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” Sam says finally. “I just don’t want to talk about Puck at all.”

Kurt and Rachel exchange looks.

“He’s mad,” Kurt says, and Rachel nods quickly.

“Definitely mad.”

“I’m not mad,” Sam insists, even though he is. He’s been alternating between rage and gloom since Friday night.

“I was actually starting to wonder when this would inevitably happen,” Kurt says. “Puck always does this. It’s like he has some kind of built-in mechanism that forces him to be a total cow at least once to everyone he comes in contact with.”

“It’s probably not personal,” Rachel chimes in. “It’s just how Noah is. It’s all right, Sam, it’ll blow over.”

“It’s personal,” Sam says, glaring at the table. “And it’s not going to blow over. And I’m done talking about it. I’m capable of having a conversation that doesn’t revolve around Puck, you know.”

“That bad, huh?” Kurt asks gently, and Sam sighs heavily and nods, plopping his cheek against one hand. Rachel pats his arm and Sam tries not to feel like the world’s biggest emo. He just wants to hole up in his room and play video games until high school is over forever.

It starts raining during last period, and Sam is seriously considering skipping football practice despite his fear of Coach Beiste. The last thing he wants to do is be in the same room as Puck, even though it’ll be easier to avoid him when they get on the field. Sam trudges down the mostly empty hallway after the last bell, heading for the locker room, but keeping one eye on the double doors of the exit. It would be so easy to just head home now and face the wrath of The Beiste later.

He turns a corner and stops short when he spies Puck by the stairwell. If Puck had been alone, then Sam would have turned away in a huff and gone straight home. But Puck’s not alone. He’s with Santana. And they’re having a passionate make out session under the stairs. And Sam feels like someone has just punched him hard in the gut.

Puck and Santana are too absorbed in each other’s faces to notice Sam, so he pauses for a second, his teeth digging into his bottom lip as he thinks about how just a couple days ago, he’d been in Santana’s place. He suddenly wonders if Puck has even thought about him at all. He wonders if Puck even cares.

Sam clenches his jaw and briskly walks past them, not caring if Puck sees. He’s never wanted to hit someone so badly in his life, but he settles for slamming the locker room door, and he fleetingly considers breaking into Puck’s locker and throwing all his clothes in the shower.

“Come on, guys,” Beiste says, carrying an umbrella. “Rain or shine, we’ve got practice. Get dressed.”

Sam changes into his uniform, pointedly ignoring Puck when he walks in. He doesn’t know whether to be grateful or upset that Puck doesn’t try to talk to him. He eventually decides to just stay angry as the team heads outside to the football field, rain drumming across their helmets.

The field is muddy, and they all get dirty fast as Coach Beiste sends them on a hundred different drills. Sam’s glad he stayed for practice, because it lets him release some of the tension he’s been carrying around for a few days now. He’s taking a break as he tries to wipe some of the mud off his cleats, and when he straightens, he finds Puck standing right in front of him.

“Sam,” Puck says, clearing his throat. Sam’s first instinct is to snub him, but before he can take off in the other direction, Beiste starts yelling at them to pair up to practice blocking.

“Sam, I’ve gotta talk to you,” Puck says, and Sam shakes the rain out of his eyes, wiping his muddy hands down his jersey.

“Get in position, partner,” Sam says, taking a step back as he leans down, facing Puck. Puck frowns and follows suit, his brow furrowed as he gets in place.

“Can we meet up after practice?” Puck asks. Sam doesn’t reply. He waits for Beiste’s whistle, his body tight as he glares at Puck.

“I’m not gonna go easy on you,” Sam says.

“Can we just—”

The whistle pierces the air, and Sam launches himself at Puck. Puck’s body nearly gives beneath his hands, but he steadies himself in a second, and Sam clenches his jaw as the two of them struggle. Sam pushes his feet into the muddy field and gives Puck a hard shove, probably harder than he should have, because Puck almost falls as he jumps back.

“Get your head in the game, Puckerman,” Sam spits, crouching as he watches Puck catch his breath and take his position again.

“I know you’re pissed, but—” Puck is cut off by the whistle again. Sam doesn’t hesitate, but this time neither does Puck, and the two of them get locked together, straining and pushing while neither of them gives an inch.

“Sam, you can’t just ignore me forever,” Puck says through gritted teeth. Sam digs his fingers into the padding on Puck’s torso, keeping his head low as he pushes.

“Why, are you feeling lonely?” Sam asks. “Because I know for a fact you haven’t been alone.”

“I just want to work things out. It’s not over between us.”

“Are you serious?” Sam grunts as he holds his ground while Puck pushes harder. “There was never anything between us. You made that pretty fucking clear to me.”

“Look,” Puck says, lowering his voice. “I freaked out that night. I’m still freaking out.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m still pissed at you. You used me to satisfy your stupid curiosity.”

“I didn’t,” Puck says, easing his grip slightly. “I swear. I wanted to be with you.”

Sam just stares at him for a tense moment before he clenches his muscles and pushes back as hard as he can. Puck isn’t expecting it, and they both go sprawling into the mud with a wet splat. Sam lands on top of Puck and brings his face close, shaking with rage.

“If you wanted to be with me so badly, then why were you making out with Santana right before practice?” Sam snarls.

“Sam, that didn’t mean—”

“Don’t tell me it didn’t mean anything!” Sam yells. “Does anything ever mean anything to you? Do you just go around kissing people and stringing them along for your own fucking amusement? I’d rather you stop pretending and just leave me alone than constantly messing with my head!”

“I’m not messing with you,” Puck insists, pushing Sam off as he tries to sit up. “This shit’s confusing, Sam, I’m just trying to explain!”

“I don’t want your explanation. I don’t want you near me,” Sam hisses. “Go off and be with Santana, I don’t care. I do not need you. Now if you don’t leave in the next three seconds, I’m going to punch you, I swear to God.”

“Ignoring this isn’t gonna help,” Puck says angrily. “I fucked up, I know, but—”

Sam draws his fist back, planning to sock Puck right in the face, but someone grabs him from behind and yanks him roughly to his feet.

“What the hell is going on here?” Beiste demands, holding Sam by the back of his shirt. “Evans, what do you think you’re doing?”

Sam swallows, trying to push down some of his anger. Puck gets up warily and pulls off his helmet, rain dripping down his face as he meets Sam’s eyes. Sam looks away sullenly, squirming out of Beiste’s grip.

“Nothing,” Sam mutters.

“Were you going to hit him?” Beiste asks sharply.

“It was nothing, we were just arguing over something stupid,” Puck says.

“Oh, yeah, it was nothing,” Sam shoots back. Puck looks like he wants to tell him to shut up, but Beiste beats him to it.

“Shut up, both of you,” she says in disgust. “I’m not going to have you two fighting on the field. Especially you, Evans. What the hell kind of quarterback do you think you are? You’re supposed to be a leader.”

“Sorry,” Sam mumbles. “It won’t happen again.”

“What’s this about?” Beiste asks, finally letting Sam go and glaring daggers at both of them.

“Nothing,” Puck repeats when Sam doesn’t reply.

“Evans? Answer me,” Beiste says in a firm voice. Sam looks up, tightening his jaw as he points at Puck.

“He’s an asshole and I refuse to be paired up with him,” Sam says.

“You know what? You’re acting like you’re five years old,” Puck snaps.

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you, considering you’re the most immature person I’ve ever met.”

“I’m the one who’s trying to work things out!”

“And I’m the one telling you to leave me alone or I’ll break your fucking face!”

“That’s enough!” Beiste shouts. “What the hell is the matter with you two? You’re in high school, not kindergarten. Evans, you’re completely out of line. I won’t have you threatening your teammates.”

“He—” Sam gets cut off by Beiste’s terrifying glare.

“I want ten extra laps from both of you after practice. If you have anything more to say, come to my office and talk to me like an adult. Are we clear? I won’t tolerate fighting on my field.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sam mumbles, while Puck echoes him. Beiste walks away to talk with the rest of the team, and Sam bristles as Puck takes a step closer.

“Don’t talk to me, okay?” Sam says.

Puck sighs heavily, his jaw jutting out in displeasure. “You’re pissed, and you have every right to be, but we have to talk, man.”

“I’m beyond pissed,” Sam says through clenched teeth. “You totally fucked me over on Friday, and I spent the entire weekend upset because I’d lost the dude who is supposed to be my best friend, and today I see you making out with Santana like you don’t even give a shit about the fact that you really… really hurt me.”

“Look, I’m just not good at this… relationship stuff everyone wants,” Puck says haltingly.

Sam stares at him for a long moment. “That’s your excuse?”

“No! It’s not an excuse. I’m just telling you—”

“Well, I’m telling you to leave me alone,” Sam says in a hard voice, looking Puck straight in the eye. Puck looks like he’s on the verge of panicking, his eyes wide and worried, but Sam barrels on. “I don’t forgive you—never mind the fact that not once have you even said you’re sorry anyway—and I don’t want to be around you, because every time I look at you, I just think about how you’re the guy who pretended to be my friend until you got what you wanted, and I’m the idiot who fell for your stupid act.”

“It wasn’t an act,” Puck hisses. “I didn’t pretend anything. Why would I put so much energy into pretending to be your friend, why would I do all that shit with you if I didn’t actually want you as a friend?”

“I don’t know—because you’re an asshole!” Sam yells. “You don’t exactly have a shining reputation around here. I should have listened to what everything says about you. You’re a selfish, oversexed, cowardly jerk. I defended you because you were always fair to me before, but I was stupid to think I’d be an exception. I was stupid to think I could actually have a normal life here with normal friends. I was stupid to even come out to you. I wish I never had—I wish you didn’t know anything about me. I don’t know, maybe I wish I never even met you.”

Puck looks away when he says that, and Sam knows he’s hurt him, but he doesn’t care. He wants Puck to hurt like he’s hurting now. He wants him to know how it feels like to have someone betray him so maybe he’ll stop turning around and doing it to other people. Sam is so sick of being the brunt of everyone’s bad choices, and he’s even sicker of not having the slightest clue as to why all his relationships always end up going sour.

“Just leave me alone, Puck,” Sam says, pulling off his helmet and wiping the rain from his eyes. “It sucks not having a best friend, but it sucks even more to think you have one when really, you don’t.”

Puck hesitates for a moment, and Sam watches his hands clench into fists before Puck turns around and starts walking away. Sam lets out a heavy breath, feeling drained. It suddenly hits him that he’s standing outside, soaking wet, and he’s just lost the best friend he’s ever had. He has an intense desire to go after Puck, but he keeps remembering Puck’s words from that Friday night, and it’s like a fresh wound all over again. Sam angrily scrubs his eyes again, then shoves his helmet back on and starts on his ten laps while the rest of the team hurries inside to shower.

He and Puck are the only ones left outside now, and Sam makes sure he doesn’t run too close to him. The rain weighs Sam down, and his cleats keep sinking into the soft mud. He’s winded by the seventh lap, and he knows Puck is too by the way he’s slowing down. Puck finishes before him, and Sam ignores him so he doesn’t know if Puck tries to get his attention again, but after he’s stumbled through his final lap, he looks around and finds himself alone on the field.

Sam catches his breath as he slowly walks to the bleachers. The rain is letting up a little, but it doesn’t matter because Sam’s already soaked as he rips off his helmet and throws it into the mud, then sits down on the bottom bleacher and runs his dirty hands through his hair. It’s like being at Darlington all over again, waiting until the rest of the team leaves just so he can shower without getting harassed. He knows it’s not the same here—Beiste would never let that happen, he’s sure—but he has nothing but his own head to keep him company, and right now he feels just as alone as before.

He seriously just wants to punch Puck in the face, then go back in time so that Friday night could be different. He wouldn’t have kissed Puck. He wouldn’t have even held his hand in the theater.

“Evans?” Beiste’s voice asks, and Sam looks up to find her standing before him with an umbrella, holding his discarded helmet. Sam doesn’t say anything, just fights against the quiver of his lips and lets her hold the umbrella over him.

“Come on, you need to get cleaned up and get home,” Beiste says softly, giving him an expectant look. Sam sighs as he stands, taking his muddy helmet as he walks alongside her. She lets him be when they get inside, and Sam strips off his soiled uniform and showers. He thinks he’s the last one there, but when he comes out with a towel wrapped around his waist and another one in his hands, Puck’s waiting by his locker. Sam stops, feeling water run down his neck as he takes in Puck’s pained expression.

“Can we talk?” Puck asks, his voice thick. “Please?”

Sam takes a deep breath, flicking his eyes away. He used you, he reminds himself. He wants to be able to forgive Puck, to forget this whole thing and just be friends again, but he can’t when just seeing Puck hurts this much. Sam still has feelings for him, once he looks past his current rage.

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” Sam says finally, going to his locker and pulling out his clothes. He drapes the towel over his shoulders, wiping away droplets slipping down his cheeks from his bangs.

“Then just listen,” Puck says quietly, the locker door the only thing separating them.

“Puck,” Sam sighs tiredly. “Give me a break. I don’t want to talk to you.”

“I fucked up big time,” Puck goes on doggedly, and Sam suddenly grips the locker door and leans closer, cutting Puck off.

“Yeah, you did,” Sam says in a low voice. “Now if you cared about me at all, you’d listen when I keep telling you to leave me alone.”

“Sam—”

“You don’t get it, do you? Every time I see you…” Sam trails off, swallowing hard as he lowers his eyes. He notices Puck’s knuckles clenched tightly around his gym bag, tension coming off of him in waves.

“I need to make things right,” Puck says roughly, his words strained. “I have to. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“I wish you’d just stop and take a second to think about someone other than yourself.”

“I’m thinking about you,” Puck protests.

“No, you’re not,” Sam grates out. “You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said. You don’t care about the fact that you being here right now, hounding me, isn’t helping. You’re making me feel worse. I don’t want to be around you because it hurts. Okay? I’m sorry if this sucks for you, but the least you could do is leave me alone.”

“I don’t want to leave you feeling like this,” Puck says, his voice suddenly a whisper. Sam can feel his eyes growing hot, and he thinks Puck notices too, because Puck’s hand snakes forward hesitantly.

“Don’t touch me,” Sam whispers back, trying to keep his voice steady. “I want to be alone. Jesus, Puck, just leave me alone.”

Puck draws his hand back, and Sam takes a long breath, blinking quickly. He flicks his damp bangs away from his face and meets Puck’s eyes.

“I just want to be alone,” Sam repeats softly. “Don’t try to talk to me. Don’t call. I need space.”

“Shit,” Puck says, biting his lip as he looks away. “Come on, Sam, that’s not a good idea. You shouldn’t be alone, you’ll just wallow by yourself. Let me help.”

“You’ve done enough to me,” Sam says slowly. “I don’t want you around right now.”

“Sam,” Puck says helplessly.

“Just go.” Sam draws in a quivering breath, furrowing his brow. “Please, just go. Please.”

Puck stares back at him, and for a second Sam thinks the only way Puck will leave him alone is if Sam goes into hysterics, but then Puck takes a step backwards, and the tension in Sam’s chest starts to lessen, but the ache worsens. Puck looks lost as he moves away, taking slow, reluctant steps. Sam exhales deeply when the door shuts quietly behind Puck’s back.

Sam puts the towels away and changes into his normal clothes, then closes his locker and slings his bag over his shoulder. He takes a second to stand completely still and just breathe. The day is over. He can go home now and celebrate the fact that he survived seeing Puck for the first time since everything had gone south.

He ends up moping in bed with a family size bag of Doritos and his laptop as he stalks Puck’s Facebook page. He stares at Puck’s picture, a million questions running through his head. He absently looks up some of his old friends from Darlington, reading their carefree conversations and wondering why people who are complete dicks have better lives than him while he’s never mean to anyone and still can’t manage to have normal friends.

He sighs and puts his computer down. He’s tired of being alone. He should call Kurt or Rachel. Better yet, he should go to Eight Ball and mingle with people who are actually gay instead of fooling around with Puck. He still has Joshua’s number somewhere on his desk, scrawled on a napkin. He should call him right now and see if he wants to hook up. Sam’s never been one for random hook-ups, but maybe it’s time to start.

He doesn’t call Joshua, though. He doesn’t call anyone. He feels too fat and lonely to face the world, and he eventually falls asleep with his face mashed into his pillow. He wakes up in the middle of the night with creases on his cheek, and he groans and throws the sheets over his head and decides he’s staying home for the rest of the week, even though there’s a football game on Friday and Beiste will personally crucify him if he misses a practice.

His mom doesn’t let him stay home no matter how much Sam protests that he’s deathly ill, so he spends the next week of school in a deep funk. He realizes he’s being supremely pathetic by moping over a guy, but it’s not just any guy. Puck had been his friend first, right when Sam had needed a friend the most, and that’s what he misses.

It doesn’t help that he sees Puck and Santana walking down the hall together a couple times a day. At least they’re not making out in public anymore, or even touching as they walk, but Sam is sure that they’re still seeing each other after school. He doesn’t get how Puck can talk about how badly he wants to make things okay between them and then turn around and go right back to Santana. It makes Sam feel more and more like Puck was just using him all along.

He thinks that first away game to Darlington where all his secrets had unwillingly spilled out, and he remembers Puck sitting up with him, listening, icing his battered face, and Sam wonders if Puck had really even cared at all. The possibility that he might not have stings even more than Puck’s rejection the night they’d messed around.

Sam still doesn’t tell Kurt and Rachel, even though they press him for information as to why he’s so down.

“If you don’t tell us what’s wrong, I’m going to ask Noah myself,” Rachel threatens, and Sam doesn’t think she’ll do it, but he changes the subject anyway, just to be safe.

“Santana knows I’m gay,” Sam says softly, scraping out the last spoonful of his strawberry yogurt. There’s too much sugar in it even though it’s fat free, but he’s depressed, dammit, and he’ll eat what he wants.

“Oh.” Rachel sits back, raising her eyebrows. “Well, that’s not good.”

“You think she’ll tell?” Sam asks, looking up worriedly.

“It’s possible,” Rachel says. Sam chokes down his yogurt and Rachel gives him a reassuring look. “But probably not, unless you get on her bad side and she wants to hurt you. I don’t know, she’s got that thing with Noah… maybe she’s jealous of you?”

“She’s the one that’s screwing him,” Sam mutters. Kurt glances at him, and Sam flushes slightly, even though he’s pretty sure they’re both aware of how he feels about Puck. Sam fidgets with his plastic spoon and meets Kurt’s eyes.

“Do you think it’s… lame of me to be, like… do you think I’m a coward for not coming out?” Sam asks hesitantly.

Kurt looks a little surprised. “No. Of course not, Sam.”

“It’s just something Puck said before we stopped talking.” Sam worries his lip and sighs. “I was trying to make a point that being gay isn’t something to be ashamed of, but he got pissed and said I was too ashamed to even come out.”

“Puck has no idea,” Kurt says, wrinkling his nose. “It’s not his place to try to make you feel guilty about not coming out. It’s your choice. Puck doesn’t even know how it feels.”

Sam nods. He wishes he could tell them that he suspects Puck might be struggling with his own sexuality, so he could at least get a different perspective on this whole thing, but he still can’t bring himself to out Puck like that. He looks at Kurt and Rachel and suddenly feels more alone than ever.

“Kurt and I are coming to the game with Finn on Friday,” Rachel says, smiling. “I’ll cheer you on from the stands.”

Sam pauses before smiling back, letting Rachel squeeze his hand. He misses Puck, but maybe he’s not completely alone.

Sam decides to focus his attention on the upcoming game instead of dwelling on Puck. He’s been slacking off on his diet and exercise regimen, so he starts hitting the weight room hard and taking nightly jogs before bed. It helps because it leaves him too tired to think. He ignores Puck at school, and Puck ignores him back, and by Friday Sam’s gotten himself in game mode, and he’s ready to blow off some steam by obliterating the other team without Puck’s help. He’d even take Puck out of the game if Beiste wouldn’t rain hellfire on him for letting his personal problems get in the way of his better judgment.

Sam spends most of the first half too busy to even think about Puck, but there’s always that niggling reminder in the back of his head that he’s there. Sam tries to ignore it, and he’s doing an okay job as he runs the ball, but then he meets Puck’s eyes across the field, and for a split second, he’s distracted.

“Sam!” Puck yells, gesturing wildly to his left, and Sam doesn’t even have time to turn before a tremendous weight slams into him. Sam goes down hard and lands on his right arm, feeling something give before he’s gasping in pain.

“Get off, get off, get off,” Sam grates out, giving the other boy on top of him an ineffectual shove as pain blossoms across his shoulder, so strong he can barely see straight. The boy rolls off, and Sam squeezes his eyes shut, lying flat on his back as his teammates start crowding around him.

“Get out of the way,” Beiste barks. Sam feels her firm hand on his chest, and he opens his eyes blearily, trying to focus on her face.

“My shoulder,” he croaks.

“Just lie still,” she instructs as a medic descends on him. He feels him touch his shoulder gently, but Sam curses and tries to shy away as the sharp pain worsens.

“His shoulder is dislocated,” the medic says, and Sam feels a tiny bit of relief that at least he hasn’t broken anything. It hurts, though. It hurts even worse than the time he’d accidentally brought a hammer down on his finger and broken it in freshman shop class, and he’d always been certain nothing could compare to that.

“Come on, get him off the field,” the medic continues, ignoring Sam’s groaning as he and Beiste help him to his feet. The announcer is saying something about him, booming above his head, but Sam doesn’t register a thing until he’s sitting in the medical supply van. The pain in his shoulder is so intense he feels like he’s about to throw up all over Beiste’s shoes.

“Son, just sit still, we’ll have you fixed up in no time,” the medic says, doing something behind his back. Sam closes his eyes, hugging his arm to his chest. He’s pretty sure he’d be on the floor right now if it wasn’t for Beiste holding him upright. His jaw already hurts from grinding his teeth.

Sam lets out a squawk of pain as the medic puts his firm hands on his arm and shoulder, and he pulls out of his grip with a gasp as Beiste starts yelling at him.

“Stay still,” she demands. “He has to set your shoulder back in place.”

“It hurts!” Sam yells back, his eyes watering. He hears an unexpected thump as someone else clambers into the van, and all of a sudden Puck is standing before him, leaning down so that they’re eye-to-eye.

“Sam, stop being a huge baby, okay?” Puck says. Sam flushes in anger. He could clock Puck right now.

“My shoulder is out of its socket,” Sam says between clenched teeth.

“Yeah, yeah,” Puck responds, putting both hands on Sam’s helmet. He pulls it off and starts unwrapping Sam’s mouth guard from it, then puts the helmet down. Sam tries to focus on what Puck’s doing, but his vision keeps going in and out of focus with every wave of knifelike pain that runs through him.

He yelps again when the medic takes hold of him, but this time Puck grabs his face, forcing their eyes to meet.

“Don’t fight it,” Puck says. “Stop struggling, you’re making this harder on yourself. Look at me.”

Sam glares at him, his chest heaving, but he doesn’t have the strength to stay mad. He’s so wracked with pain he can’t even speak.

“This dude’s gonna pop your shoulder back in, and it’s gonna hurt like a bitch,” Puck continues, staring carefully into his eyes. “You’re gonna suck it up and let him do it, okay?”

Sam’s bottom lip feels raw where his teeth keep sinking in, and he groans as the medic positions himself for the third time. He wants to get away because every little ounce of pressure hurts, but Puck’s firm hands keep him grounded, and he turns his attention to Puck instead of what the medic is about to do.

“Open up,” Puck says, holding up his mouth guard. “You’re gonna make yourself bleed if you keep biting your lip.”

Sam opens his mouth and Puck pushes the guard in. Puck puts his hands on Sam’s face again, cradling his jaw as his thumbs rest on Sam’s sweaty cheeks, and Sam shivers as his body tightens in apprehension.

“Relax,” Puck says gently. “You’re gonna be fine. It’ll take two seconds, I swear, then it’ll be over. Just keep looking at me.”

Sam gives the tiniest nod, and Puck glances behind him at the medic.

“Sam, just relax,” the medic says, and Sam doesn’t even have time to digest his words before the medic gives his shoulder a firm push. Sam lets out a harsh cry, nearly falling off his seat at the shock of pain. He barrels gracelessly into Puck, who holds him for a moment as Sam tries not to start bawling. Sam reaches up with a trembling hand and pulls out his mouth guard, dropping it on the floor.

“Shit,” Sam gasps, his face resting against Puck’s chest. His shoulder still hurts, but it’s no longer the bone-grinding pain that makes him want to scream. He feels Beiste’s hand on his back, and he slowly sits up, letting Puck support him.

“That wasn’t that bad,” Puck says, and Sam glowers wearily at him.

“It was that bad,” Sam replies hoarsely, catching his breath. He winces as the medic prods at his shoulder for another moment, then slips a sling over his head, adjusting his arm.

“I’ll get you some painkillers,” he says. Sam nods, sighing, and while Beiste leans out of the van to bark orders at the rest of the team, Sam feels Puck’s hand gently stroke the side of his hair. A part of Sam wants to buck against the feeling it elicits, but a bigger part just wants to close his eyes and lean into it.

“Um. Thanks,” Sam mutters, keeping his eyes low. “For being here. I guess.”

“Sure,” Puck says in an equally quiet voice. He drops his hand and moves back when Beiste comes in, and Sam feels disappointed at the loss of Puck’s warmth. He watches Puck hop out of the van and disappear outside, then looks at Beiste as she comes toward him. The medic hands him some pills and a bottle of water as she starts talking.

“Are your parents here?” she asks.

“No,” Sam replies, swallowing. “I can call them.”

“Can they pick you up?”

“I’ll just call them and tell them I’m okay. I can get a ride back with Finn or… someone.”

Beiste nods. “You can leave if you want. You should rest that shoulder.”

“I’ll go home after the game.”

“All right. You can stay on the bench or in the locker room if you want to be more comfortable. If I see you horsing around, I’ll skin you, understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sam says, following as she climbs out of the van and blows her whistle to herd everyone back to the locker room. Sam tries to keep some distance between himself and his teammates so his arm doesn’t get jostled, but he’s surrounded as soon as he starts walking.

“Sam!”

“Dude, your arm—that sucks.”

“I can’t believe that guy took you out. He came out of nowhere.”

“We’re gonna kill him for you, don’t worry.”

“Hey, give him some space,” Finn says, breaking through and making everyone step back. They murmur in agreement, and Sam breathes a sigh of relief, but he smiles at his teammates.

“I’m okay, really,” he says sheepishly. “You don’t have to kill anyone on my behalf.”

“Hey, we’re gonna take that guy down,” Finn says. “Aren’t we?”

Sam can’t help laughing as a chorus of bellows and whoops goes up around him. He tries to look around for Puck, but his neck hurts if he cranes it too much, so he lets himself be ushered into the locker room, where they all sit down as Beiste begins giving them their halftime pep talk. Sam spies Puck sitting off to the side, and the pang in his chest makes him look away.

He jerks back to attention when he realizes Finn is standing up and talking. Sam looks around and sees people nodding, and he looks back at Finn and tries to pretend he hasn’t completely zoned out. Finn will be quarterback again, and as Sam watches him, he realizes that Finn isn’t half bad at being a leader. He’s getting the team riled up and ready to go back out.

“We’re gonna go out there and we’re gonna win this game,” Finn says, then suddenly points at him. “And we’re gonna do it for Sam. That guy brought him down dirty, but we’re gonna show him what the Titans are really made of!”

Sam flushes deeply, but he grins as everyone stands and starts cheering. It suddenly hits him how different things are here, how he’s actually part of the team, and that people like him.

He also knows how easily he could lose all of this. He looks at Puck again, but Puck has his helmet on, his eyes on the door. For the first time in a while, anger doesn’t overtake him. Instead he tries to see things from Puck’s perspective, and thinks about how in a less fucked up world, they might have had a chance.

Sam remembers Puck’s warm hands on his face and his clear eyes full of reassurance. Puck wouldn’t have come back for him if he didn’t care. That’s not the thing stopping him. Fear is, and confusion, and maybe some guilt.

Still, he kissed Santana. Sam sighs to himself, nodding as his teammates leave the locker room, most of them giving him grins. Sam slowly starts taking off his uniform, trying not to aggravate his shoulder. He takes a quick shower and changes into jeans and a hoodie, and he’s putting his arm back into his sling when the door bangs open and Puck comes in.

“What happened to your face?” Sam asks immediately as Puck stomps over. He has an angry scratch down one cheek and a bloodied tissue in his hand.

“I got into a fight with that dude who tackled you,” Puck says, scowling as he plops down on the bench. “He was asking for it. He was out there all gloating and shit.”

Sam sits down with a sigh of disbelief. “You’re an idiot. What did Beiste do?”

“I’m out of the game.”

“Great. Both of us are out. We might as well forfeit.”

“Finn’s got this,” Puck says, shrugging. “I mean… maybe.”

Sam just shakes his head, adjusting his sling and resting his bad arm against his stomach. Puck glances over, and a beat passes before he speaks.

“How do you feel?” Puck asks.

“Shoulder hurts,” Sam replies, pulling absently at the cords of his sweatshirt. “I’ll probably be on the bench for the rest of the season. How do you think I feel?”

Puck nods, pressing his lips into a thin line. “Yeah, okay. Stupid question.”

Sam looks over and studies the scratch on Puck’s face. It’s shallow, but the skin around it is red, and he can see blood glistening in the light. Besides that, Puck has mud on his face.

“You should put something on that,” Sam says as Puck dabs at the cut with his dirty tissue. Puck holds up a packet of alcohol pads.

“Dude in the van told me the same thing,” he says, tearing one open. He swipes it down his face, missing half the cut, and swears as it starts stinging. Sam shakes his head at him again, then takes the wipe and briefly places a hand on Puck’s chin to hold him still.

“Let me do it.” Sam lets go of his chin and gently swabs down the cut, cleaning the mud away. “Stay still.”

“It hurts,” Puck complains.

“I just got my shoulder ripped out of its socket. This can’t be that bad.”

Puck huffs for a moment, but he stays as motionless as possible until Sam is done. Sam lowers his hand slowly.

“Okay, it should be clean now,” Sam says. “You should probably cover it up.”

“I’ll get something for it later.” Puck peels off his dirty gloves and tosses them into the laundry bin. Sam sits quietly beside him as Puck takes off his jersey and starts dropping all his pads on the floor. Puck seems angry, and for once Sam isn’t. He’s just tired.

Puck throws his shoulder pads across the room, and Sam watches them bounce against the wall. Puck lets out a heavy sigh and glares at where they’ve fallen, then suddenly turns to Sam, his expression pained and heated and desperate.

“I’m sorry,” Puck says, taking Sam by surprise.

“For what?” Sam asks, watching Puck’s shoulders slump down dejectedly as he faces forward again. Puck blows out another sigh, his hands curled into fists, resting on his legs.

“For everything,” Puck says in a strained voice. “What I did was so messed up. It was wrong.”

Sam keeps his eyes trained on Puck’s hands. “Not everything was wrong.”

“Yes, it was,” Puck insists. “I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have even touched you. I’m sorry for everything I did to lead you on, I’m sorry for kissing you and for holding your hand and for—for what we did that night and—”

“Puck, no,” Sam says, shaking his head anxiously. “Stop. I don’t regret all of it.”

“It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have acted like that,” Puck spits out. “It was a shitty thing for me to do. I hurt you, and I’m sorry. I promise I’ll never, ever be such a jackass to you again. We’re friends, and… and that’s it. I crossed a line and screwed everything up.”

Sam stares at him, his heart sinking in his chest. Puck chews on his lip, and Sam swears he sees moisture glisten in his eyes.

“I don’t know what to say,” Sam says finally.

“Say you’ll forgive me.” Puck looks at him, his eyes forlorn and longing. “Please.”

Sam opens his mouth, but no words come out, and the longer he stays silent, the more distressed Puck’s expression becomes. Sam is still stuck on how Puck still thinks it was all a mistake.

“Please,” Puck repeats nervously. “Come on, Sam, please. I don’t… I can’t lose you.”

Sam bites his lip as Puck swipes a hand over his eyes, gripping his knees firmly as he takes a deep breath, then another, his lips trembling.

“We can make everything go back to normal,” Puck says, staring straight ahead at the wall. “We can just be friends again. I’ll even come with you to Eight Ball again, and you can find someone nice, and I’ll just… I’ll make sure you don’t get too drunk, and I’ll drive you home when you do, a-and—I’ll just watch you and keep all the creeps away from you, and I promise I won’t mess everything up this time.”

“Puck,” Sam whispers, the yearning in Puck’s words making his chest ache. “I don’t… I don’t get it. You’re saying one thing, but I’m looking at you and I’m seeing something else.”

“Just say everything can go back to normal, I’ll be fine if we can just go back to how things were before,” Puck blurts out. “Sam, please. I said I was sorry. I don’t know what else to do.”

“We can’t just go back.”

“Yeah, we can.”

“Puck, tell me the truth,” Sam says softly, putting one hand on Puck’s shoulder. “I want to help you.”

Puck shakes his head. “Stop.”

“Just talk to me.” Sam watches a muscle in Puck’s jaw jump relentlessly. “Puck—”

“What do you want from me?” Puck demands, whipping his head around to look at Sam. “I’m trying to fix things.”

“I want the truth, because you’re lying to yourself,” Sam says, then lets out a surprised gasp of pain as Puck pushes him away.

“I’m not gay!” Puck yells, standing abruptly. “I’m not gay, or bi, or whatever—”

“You’re gonna be miserable until you’re honest with yourself!” Sam yells back. He flinches slightly as Puck turns around and slams his fists against the lockers with a loud bang.

“I am not a fucking queer!” Puck shouts, his voice resonating throughout the room. Sam swallows around the lump in his throat, suddenly out of breath even though he hasn’t moved from his spot on the bench. He listens to Puck’s ragged breathing, then looks up as Puck comes back to the bench, his eyes wild and rimmed in red.

“I’m sorry,” Puck chokes out, reaching out and letting his hand hover over Sam’s sling. “Are you okay?”

Sam nods quickly, his eyes burning. “I’m fine. But you’re not. You’re not even close.”

“I’ll be fine if you’ll just let everything go back to how it was,” Puck insists.

“No, you won’t be, because no matter how much you try to deny it, you’ll always know.”

“Dammit, Sam.” Puck chews on his lip, breathing in unsteadily.

“Besides, I can’t go back. I can’t just stand by and watch you make out with Santana and pretend it doesn’t completely suck. I can’t pretend that nothing happened between us.” Sam slowly looks up as Puck turns to face him again. He’s never seen Puck look so wretched and vulnerable, struggling to replace his walls, and failing miserably.

Sam wants to touch him, but he curls his hand into a fist and doesn’t allow himself to pull Puck closer. He wants to help, but he doesn’t know how, and Puck is looking at him like he’s supposed to have all the answers.

“You know, for a while I thought you never actually liked me at all,” Sam mumbles. “Not even as a friend.”

“You’re so stupid,” Puck says quietly, shaking his head. “How did you even come up with that?”

Sam stays silent, and Puck lets out a quick laugh, completely lacking in mirth.

“Okay, don’t answer that. I was shitty to you, I know.” Puck sighs heavily. “The whole problem is that I like you too much. I was just confused.”

“It’s not so bad being a fucking queer,” Sam says, and Puck lowers his head into his trembling hands.

“Don’t say it,” he hisses. Sam falls silent again, his shoulder throbbing and his heart aching even more. He’s exhausted, and Puck’s gone crazy, and their team is probably getting slaughtered right now. Sam reaches out without thinking, and before he knows it, his hand is resting on the back of Puck’s neck, his thumb gliding gently across the base of his skull. He can feel the tremors running through Puck’s body.

“Stop,” Puck says, his words muffled by his hands covering his face.

“You can let yourself have this, you know,” Sam says softly.

“Stop it, Sam.”

“It’s not going to be enough for you to just be friends, Puck. Not forever.”

“It has to be!” Puck says, sitting up. “It will be. You just need to stop being weird and everything’ll be fine.”

“I’m not being weird. I’m telling you the truth.” Sam curls his fingers against Puck’s neck, dropping his voice to a whisper. “I just want to help. I can’t stand back and watch you do this to yourself.”

“Stop touching me,” Puck suddenly snaps, and Sam pulls his hand away with a frown. “You have to stop doing this. Stop coming on to me.”

“Stop coming on to you?” Sam asks in disbelief. “It was your stupid idea to make out at that party in the first place—and don’t tell me it was just a game. I knew what you were doing, and I went with it because I trusted you.”

“It’s no one’s fault, okay? We fucked up what we had. Both of us.”

“No, you fucked up,” Sam shoots back through clenched teeth. “All I did was care too much about you. Don’t try to pin this on me when you were the one who ditched me.”

“I just can’t deal with everything happening all at once,” Puck says. “I’m not like you.”

“Look, I know what you’re going through is hard. You’re making it even harder by refusing to let go of your denial, but you owe me more than this,” Sam snaps, glaring into Puck’s eyes. “You’re scared, I know. I’ve been there. But you can’t… you can’t just keep acting like this was all one-sided.”

Puck looks down at the dirty linoleum, his mouth pressed into a thin line, and Sam swallows and takes a breath before going on.

“You’re the only guy I’ve ever gone that far with,” Sam whispers, blinking quickly. Puck looks surprised for a moment, but he masks the emotion hastily. “It felt right to me, and you were into it, and I thought maybe…”

“Sam,” Puck says, his voice hoarse like he’s been screaming for hours. “I… I can’t be that guy for you. I can’t be that special, really lucky guy… who gets to hold your hand in public, and kiss you, and teach you how to give a proper blowjob. I’m not the one who’s gonna make you happy.”

Sam bites his lip hard to keep his angry tears from spilling over. “You could.”

“No, I can’t,” Puck whispers, gazing at him with watery eyes, his face pinched and weary. “I’m not who you want me to be.”

Sam lets out a wet sigh, looking away as he sniffles softly. “We’re just going around in circles.”

“I’m sorry for hurting you,” Puck says, so softly his voice is barely audible. Sam glances over as Puck stands, his brow furrowed and body tense.

“You said we can’t go back to how things were,” Puck continues. “And we can’t go forward from here. So… I’m gonna do what you asked me before. I’ll leave you alone.”

Sam wipes a fist across his cheeks and presses his sleeve against his eyes briefly to absorb the moisture gathering there. What is he supposed to say? He can’t beg Puck to change.

“Fine,” Sam says finally, resigned.

“It’s because you deserve someone who’s not a monumental fuck-up. I’ve never been able to able to hold on to anything in my entire life, and you just… you deserve a guy who’ll give you everything you want.”

“Stop trying to justify the fact that you’re taking away my best friend, and the guy who could have given me everything I wanted. Just go. If you want it to be over, then it’s over. Just go.”

“I never wanted—” Puck begins, but Sam cuts him off.

“The only reason I’m not kicking your ass right now is because I feel sorry for you.” Sam doesn’t say it with any spite in his voice. He can’t when Puck is looking at him like he’s going to break down any second. “I care about you, and watching you do this makes me feel so sorry for you.”

“You of all people should understand,” Puck insists.

“Why? Because I’m not out? I’m out to the people that matter. I told my parents. I told you.”

“I can’t ever do that because I can’t be like this. I’m not!” Puck turns on his heel and goes to the door, and Sam stands quickly, wincing as his shoulder throbs.

“It meant something to you, didn’t it?” Sam asks. “That night we were together… you felt it just as much as I did, didn’t you?”

Puck shakes his head weakly, tightening his grip on the door handle.

“What if I told you I didn’t want you to leave?” Sam says softly. “Not anymore.”

“I can’t stay,” Puck says simply, no longer freaking out. His eyes look hollow to Sam. “I can’t do this, and it’s not your fault, it’s just… me.”

Sam lets out a soft sigh, then licks his lips as he looks down. Puck’s in denial, he’s sure of it now. Puck’s mom is religious, and he wonders if it’s the thought of facing her that’s scaring him so badly. Sam wants to tell him that Puck doesn’t have to tell anyone, and that he’ll stand by him if he does, but he doesn’t know what’ll happen—maybe Puck’s mom really will kick him out. Sam knows what it’s like to be so scared that you don’t even want to be yourself anymore, and as he looks into Puck’s eyes, he can see all his old insecurities staring right back at him.

“I’m gonna help you,” Sam says.

Puck shakes his head again. “You can’t.”

“I’ll find a way.” Sam’s stomach is churning nervously. If he really wants to show Puck that he doesn’t have to be afraid of who he is, Sam’s going to have to face his own fears first.

He’ll do it for Puck, though. He’s been with him through so much—Puck’s even fought for him, and no matter how much of an asshole he’s been, Sam’s not going to ditch him right when Puck needs someone the most.

“You need to just… find someone better,” Puck says quietly. “Okay?”

“I don’t know anyone else who’s stuck with me like you have. Well, I mean, except for last Friday, but now I know why. I know it wasn’t just curiosity for you, either. So… I’m gonna help you, because you’re my friend, and I know how shitty it feels to be abandoned, and you were always there when I needed you.”

“You’re wasting your time,” Puck says, chewing on his bottom lip as he casts another glance in Sam’s direction. Puck finally pulls open the door, and Sam watches his chest rise and fall unsteadily as he goes out. The door slowly swings shut behind him, and Sam sits back down, cradling his arm as he thinks. He’s actually grateful to have something else to focus on, because he doesn’t want to think about how much he still misses Puck, and how hard it is to watch him struggle like this. He has to find some way to show Puck how to be brave and that he doesn’t have to run away from his feelings.

Sam has a plan slowly forming in his mind—a terrifying one, but a plan nonetheless. He’s of course doing this for Puck, but as he thinks, he realizes that it’s also something he really needs to do for himself. He’s never liked being in the shadows, and he hates being chained down by that niggling fear that’s always in the back of his mind.

He has to find Rachel and Kurt, just to make sure he’s not planning something cataclysmically terrible, but he knows what he has to do.

continue

puck/sam!

2010-12-28T02:27:35Z

Here's a little snippet from the next part of Gay Waffles. I'm sorry I'm taking forever with the next update, but it's very slowly coming together. It's another two-parter, I think.

Sam groans as he trudges down the hall to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. He hears his mom’s footsteps going downstairs, then her heels against the kitchen tile, then her car pulling out of the driveway. Sam rubs his eyes and catches a glimpse of his hair sticking up in the mirror, and as he runs his fingers through his tangled bangs, he suddenly remembers Puck’s hands there, brushing back his hair before he kisses Sam in that strangely desperate way he always does.

Anger surges through Sam so quickly than he nearly rips the shower door off its hinges as he steps inside and turns the water on. He can’t believe Puck. He can’t believe he treated him like one of his Cheerios hookups. Sam had been so sure that he meant more to Puck than that. He really thought he’d found someone special—not even like that, but just a friend he could actually count on. A real friend.

He should have listened to all the rumors about Puck in the first place. This is the guy who slept with his best friend’s girlfriend and knocked her up. Puck clearly has serious issues.

Sam picks up the shampoo and squirts a glob onto his hair, lathering it up furiously. The suds run down his face, and Sam hisses as his eyes start to sting. He dunks his head under the spray and swipes at his eyes until the pain subsides, then he lets out a sigh and rinses the shampoo from his hair. He stands under the spray for a long moment, keeping his aching eyes closed, trying to imagine how he’s possibly going to handle seeing Puck at school after what he did to him.

It’s been three days and he still can’t believe Puck used him like that. Puck, of all people. The guy who knows his most painful secrets. The one person Sam really trusted. Now he’s on his own again. Sure, he’s making friends with Kurt and Rachel, but they’re not Puck. He hasn’t guzzled syrup at two in the morning with them, or fallen asleep on their shoulders, or gotten embarrassingly drunk at a gay club with them.

It just sucks. Sam hates his life right now, and he’s so pissed at Puck that he almost sees red every time he thinks about him. But mostly it hurts. It hurts even more than the moment he realized Kyle had turned on him.

He doesn’t want to be lonely again, but unfortunately that’s how things are turning out. At least he’s had practice. Maybe it won’t be so hard the second time around.

Book Blab: The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins

2010-12-13T22:23:15Z

Title: The Hunger Games

Author: Suzanne Collins

Keywords: YA, battle royale, romance, violence

Plot Outline: In a not-too-distant future, the United States of America has collapsed, weakened by drought, fire, famine, and war, to be replaced by Panem, a country divided into the Capitol and 12 districts. Each year, two young representatives from each district are selected by lottery to participate in The Hunger Games. Part entertainment, part brutal intimidation of the subjugated districts, the televised games are broadcasted throughout Panem as the 24 participants are forced to eliminate their competitors, literally, with all citizens required to watch. When 16-year-old KatnissÆs young sister, Prim, is selected as the mining district's female representative, Katniss volunteers to take her place. She and her male counterpart, Peeta, the son of the town baker who seems to have all the fighting skills of a lump of bread dough, will be pitted against bigger, stronger representatives, some who have trained for this their whole lives.

My blabbing: I'm just going to be real with you guys. The only reason I read this book was because I read the description of Peeta and I decided that it would be criminal to have anyone but Chord Overstreet play him in the movie. Obviously that's not going to happen, but anyway... it's a good book. The plot and characters are engaging enough that you can overlook some of the clunky dialogue. Once these kids hit the arena, it gets awesome and heartbreaking. It's cool how the author kind of reverses the traditional gender roles with Katniss and Peeta. Katniss is good at fighting and hunting while Peeta would happily spend his life in the kitchen baking. My one criticism of this whole trilogy is the romance - I don't feel it. Throughout the entire story and beyond, I never buy that Katniss is in love with anyone. However, I like the relationships that develop because everything happens in a much more intense way when you're forced to get to know someone under life and death circumstances.

Catching Fire is the second book, and Mockingjay is the third. I liked Catching Fire a lot. Mockingjay isn't jiving with me, though. I've been on page 48 for weeks now. It just hasn't caught my interest yet and I don't know if I'll finish it. In any case, I would still recommend at least the first two books. They're fast-paced, quick reads, so if you have an afternoon or two to spare, check them.

Book Blab: Dream Boy by Jim Grimsley

2010-12-09T02:21:40Z

Title: Dream Boy

Author: Jim Grimsley

Keywords: LGBTQ, south, abuse, coming of age

Plot Outline: Nathan is an intelligent but shy adolescent boy who wants to escape from his abusive and violent father, and fantasizes about a relationship with Roy, the boy who lives next door.

My blabbing: This book is really understated and heartbreaking and dream-like and ahhhhhh. For lack of a better description, it's a little more literary than most of the other books I've posted about. The writing is absolutely beautiful. As far as the plot goes, I don't want to say anything to spoil, but you are definitely going to want to wrap teeny tiny Nathan up in a blanket and carry him around forever.

Book Blab: The Hookup Artist by Tucker Shaw

2010-12-07T00:54:53Z

The semester is finally done for me, sooo I've already started making a nice list of books to catch up on during the holidays (this book and the next couple to be posted are from months ago though, I just never got around to talking about them). My nerd senses are tingling.

Title: The Hookup Artist

Author: Tucker Shaw

Keywords: LGBTQ, friendship, bullying, high school

Plot Outline: When his best friend, Cate, gets dumped, Cupid-wannabe Lucas seizes the matchmaking opportunity to pair her with Derek, the hot new guy in town. At first, Cate is dubious of their match, and rightfully so, since Derek can't seem to keep his eyes off Lucas. Lucas, who has just been dumped by Marcus, finds himself curiously intrigued by Derek. Soon, he and Cate–both of whom originally feigned zero interest in Derek–dupe themselves into crushing on him at the same time.

My blabbing: This is an okayish book. If any of you have read any of my rants on how gay jocks are treated in YA fiction... yeah. Anyway. It's not a totally bad read. It has cute characters, fun high school drama, mysterious maybe!bisexuality, and... kind of a weird friendship. I don't know. I need a sequel where Derek runs off to the big city and finds his soulmate.

Glee fic; Soon We'll Fall to Pieces, Puck/Sam, R, 2/2

2010-11-28T22:21:19Z

Title: Soon We'll Fall to Pieces
Part: 2/2
Pairing: Puck/Sam
Rating/warnings: R
Word Count: 12,450
Notes: This is set in the same 'verse as The Right Side of Reason, I'm Numbing My Feeling, and Every Second's a Longer Wait.
Summary: Puck tries to work through his feelings, and he doesn't mean to leave a path of destruction in his wake—it just kind of happens.

back

Friday night rolls around, and Puck is having a full-blown panic attack in his car while he waits in front of Sam’s house. He’s just texted Sam to hurry up and get his ass outside so they won’t be late, and Sam’s response is making him completely lose it.

Hold ur horses. Im doing my makeup. U’d make a terrible bf dude!

He knows Sam is kidding, but did he have to mention the word boyfriend? Then again, if Sam is able to joke about it, then there’s no way he could consider this a date. Because it’s not. Puck blows out a sigh and considers slapping himself a few times. He’s massively over-thinking this. There’s no possible way Sam would be thinking this is a date. He knows Puck is straight. Also, Sam’s not that kind of an idiot.

“Relax,” Puck mutters to himself. “Get a grip. You’re not thirteen.”

The front door opens and Sam comes out, his mouth moving as he yells goodbye to his parents. Puck figures if he stays put and makes Sam open his own door, then all confusion about this possibly being a date would be erased.

“Hey,” Sam says cheerfully, climbing in. “What’s up? Sorry for making you wait, I couldn’t remember where I put my wallet so it took me a minute to find it.”

“It’s cool,” Puck says. That’s another thing. If this were a date, then Puck would probably be expected to pay. Or Sam would offer to pay. But since this isn’t a date, they’d pay for their own tickets, and then Puck could stop worrying about it.

“What movie do you want to see?” Sam asks, pulling his seatbelt on as Puck starts driving. “There’s a slasher flick playing.”

“We can see that.” Puck immediately feels paranoid again. A guy usually takes his girl to a gory or scary movie so that he can put his arms around her when she gets frightened. He should have suggested a comedy or something. That would have been safer. Then again, Sam isn’t one to get spooked by horror movies anyway.

His brain hurts already, and the night hasn’t even begun.

When they reach the theater they both buy their own tickets, which puts Puck’s mind somewhat at ease, but then he starts worrying again when Sam tells him he’s getting popcorn and he can pick something up for Puck, too. Puck starts digging for his wallet again, but Sam waves him off.

“It’s on me,” Sam says. “What do you want?”

“Nothing,” Puck replies.

Sam is undeterred. “You like Twizzlers, right? Cherry-flavored?”

“I don’t really want anything,” Puck says as Sam goes to the counter. He jams his hands in his pockets and scowls, hanging back until Sam gets his food. Now Sam has bought him food. That’s total date behavior. Besides, if this actually were a date—which it’s not—Puck should totally be the one doing the buying.

“No butter and just a tiny sprinkle of salt, so it won’t give you a heart attack,” Sam says when he comes back, balancing a carton of popcorn, a pack of licorice, and two drinks. “Coke for you, lemonade for me.”

“Thanks.” Puck takes his drink and sticks the licorice in his back pocket. Sam’s hands are full, so Puck has no choice but to hold the door for him as they enter their theater. Sam seems oblivious, but Puck chews on his lip and hopes no one is watching them.

“It’s kinda chilly in here,” Sam says once they’re seated. He crunches on some popcorn and offers the carton to Puck.

“I’m good.” There’s no way Puck’s giving Sam his jacket no matter how much he complains about the cold.

“Come on, dude, I can’t finish this whole thing by myself.”

“It’s not that big.”

“You know, your stomach is only about as big as your fist,” Sam says, holding up his hand. “It just expands a lot when you overeat.”

“Stop it. My nerd senses are tingling.” Puck takes some popcorn anyway and rips open the pack of Twizzlers. The lights dim as he chews on a string, and Sam picks up his lemonade and sucks on the straw. Puck glances over and discreetly watches his throat bob as he swallows. Sam licks his lips as he puts down his drink, staring ahead as the previews start flickering across the screen.

Puck tries to relax, but tension suddenly seizes his body. Sam’s arm is taking up the armrest beside him, so close that Puck could reach over and take his hand without anyone noticing. Puck swallows hard, anxiety taking flight in his chest. Puck doesn’t hold hands. He doesn’t do lame shit like that. But, all of a sudden, he really wants to hold Sam’s.

It takes him a full hour to work up the nerve. There’s some guy running around with a chainsaw when Puck slowly inhales and decides to do it. Sam’s popcorn is halfway done, sitting untouched in his lap. He’s watching the movie intently, his green eyes illuminated in the darkness, and Puck slowly moves his arm to the armrest, settling it down beside Sam’s. Sam moves over a little to give him some space, but he doesn’t take his arm away.

Puck keeps his arm still for a long moment. He just needs to move another inch or two and he could cover Sam’s hand with his own. How would Sam react? Would he pull away? If he does, then Puck would definitely have to leave. He’d be too embarrassed to sit through the rest of the movie. But then again, he can’t really avoid Sam because he’s got to give him a ride home. Maybe he should just forget it. This could be more trouble than it’s worth.

But what if Sam doesn’t pull away? Puck shuts his eyes briefly, steeling his nerve. His stomach is doing flips, but he manages to get his hand to move, closing the distance until his palm is hovering over Sam’s. If Sam notices, he doesn’t show it. Puck’s mouth is completely dry as he slowly sets his hand on top of Sam’s pale fingers.

Puck feels a thrilling sense of victory mixed with incredible anxiety. Sam doesn’t even turn to look at him, though. He stays completely still. Puck starts worrying again. What if Sam is totally freaked out, but too nice to say anything or pull away? What if they just sit in awkwardness for the rest of the movie? What if—

Wait. Puck feels Sam’s hand begin to move. Puck’s fingers twitch, and he’s almost ready to snatch his hand back, but then he realizes Sam isn’t moving away. Sam slowly turns his hand over so that his palm is facing up. Then he slips his fingers through Puck’s and gently clasps their hands together.

Puck feels like his heart might slam out of his chest at any moment, it’s beating so hard. Sam’s fingers are a little cold, so Puck tightens his grip slightly, trying to warm them up. Sam picks up his drink with his free hand, taking a sip, then tosses a piece of popcorn in his mouth. Puck is too scared to even move, but when he glances at Sam, he looks oddly relaxed.

Puck exhales quietly. He’s holding hands with Sam. In public. It’s one of the most terrifying things he’s ever done, but it feels so good that he’s glad he did it. Sam’s fingers are rougher than Santana’s, his hands bigger so they don’t fit perfectly into Puck’s, but it doesn’t matter. It feels right.

They stay that way for the rest of the movie. Puck is hardly paying attention. He can’t focus on anything other than Sam’s hand in his. He keeps glancing at Sam out of the corner of his eye, but Sam just keeps watching the movie. Every so often Sam’s fingers move slightly, but he doesn’t let go. Puck gently rubs his thumb over Sam’s, holding his breath, ready for something cataclysmically disastrous to happen, but the only thing Sam does in response is run his tongue over his lips. Pucks looks away when he feels a pleasant stirring down below.

Fuck. It’s happening again. Sam is turning him on. Puck blinks hard, halfheartedly trying to will the sensation away, but the truth is, he kind of likes the way it feels. It’s a little less scary with just the two of them together in the dark.

He’s dreading the end of the movie, though, because they’ll actually have to start talking again. The screen goes dark as the credits begin to roll, and chatter rises up around them from the other moviegoers. Puck sits still, trying to gauge Sam’s reaction, but Sam is sitting as motionless as he is. A long moment passes before Sam moves his hand, and Puck automatically unclasps his fingers, letting go. His hand feels cold as soon as Sam pulls away.

“Are you hungry?” Sam asks, breaking the silence as he gives his popcorn bag a little shake.

“Not really,” Puck says gruffly. “No.”

“You want to head out?”

“Sure.” Puck stands up, grabbing his Coke. He goes down the aisle without waiting to see if Sam is keeping up. He squints as he steps into the hallway, putting his hands in his pockets as Sam comes out, blinking owlishly as he gets used to the light. They don’t speak again until they’re outside, crossing the parking lot under the tall streetlights.

“Puck, why’d you stop talking to me?” Sam asks softly as he climbs into the passenger seat and shuts the door. Puck furrows his brow, jamming his key into the ignition.

“What kind of question is that?” Puck asks irritably. “It’s been, like, five minutes since the movie ended. I haven’t stopped talking to you.”

“I meant before, when you said you needed a break from me.”

Puck bites down on his lip, placing his hands firmly on the steering wheel. “Oh.”

“I just want to know.” Sam’s brow is creased when Puck glances at him. Puck feels his chest tighten when he sees Sam’s eyes projecting sadness. “I want to know what I did wrong.”

“Shit, Sam,” Puck mutters, lowering his gaze as he looks through the windshield. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I don’t think it’s you, though. It has to be me. It’s not the first time it’s happened,” Sam says. Puck remembers Darlington, and he tightens his fingers around the wheel.

“It’s not you.”

“I just want you to tell me the truth.” Sam pauses, then sighs. “Please? You’re the only one I can ask.”

“It wasn’t you, okay? It was me,” Puck says. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You’ve been awesome. It’s just… me. I’m going through some shit right now and I just needed space. That’s it.”

“You know you can talk to me, right?” Sam looks over, meeting Puck’s eyes steadily. “I’ve told you stuff I didn’t feel like I could tell anyone, and you’ve been really cool about it. I just want you to know that you can do the same with me.”

Puck clenches his jaw, tearing his gaze away. That’s just the thing. He can’t tell Sam anything. How is he supposed to tell him he kind of wants to kiss him again, just to see what would happen? That he’s gotten off thinking about him? That he’s terrified and confused and it’s all because hanging out with Sam gives him all these crazy feelings he can’t make sense of?

“We should head back,” Puck says, even though it’s an early night for them. At least Sam isn’t bringing up the hand-holding thing.

“Okay,” Sam says. He turns the radio on as Puck drives. Puck keeps getting distracted by Sam’s fingers tapping against his knee in time to the music. He wants to grab hold of his hand again, and maybe even pull him closer altogether.

Puck parks in front of Sam’s house, trying to convince himself that it’s better if the night ends now, when Sam unbuckles his seatbelt and turns to face him.

“This isn’t working,” Sam says, and Puck clears his throat as he tries not to choke on his own tongue.

“What?”

“This. Us. It’s not working.”

Puck feels a moment of panic. Are things so awkward that Sam is going to ditch him? Is it his turn to get dumped? That’s not part of the plan. The only thing Puck likes less than dumping is being dumped.

“What are you talking about?” Puck asks warily.

“I mean it just sucks that I can’t have you as a friend or as more than a friend,” Sam says, biting his lip. “I don’t know where we are right now, but I can’t deal with this limbo. Sometimes I think there’s something happening, but then you’re gone, and then you’re back, and then you’re holding my hand, and then you’re withdrawing again, and—”

“Okay, okay, just stop,” Puck says hastily, and Sam sucks in a breath, looking at Puck with large, troubled eyes. “Look. We’re still friends.”

“No, we’re not. You’re on eggshells around me now.”

“I am not,” Puck protests. “You’re overreacting.”

“You literally had to take a break from me. I’m freaking you out that much.”

Puck sighs, watching the shadows move across Sam’s face as a car passes. He guesses Sam does have a point, but he doesn’t want it to be like this. He doesn’t want to lose Sam as a friend.

“It’s not because of you, Sam. You’re not what’s freaking me out.”

“What is, then?” Sam asks, and Puck swallows hard, trying to keep his breathing even. The car suddenly feels too small as he watches Sam lick his lips unconsciously. A part of Puck wants to jump outside and go tearing down the street, but a much bigger part wants to stay.

“Puck?” Sam asks softly. Puck doesn’t know when it happened, but Sam’s body seems a little closer now.

“Do you feel that?” Puck asks, trying to keep his voice strong, but it comes out in a raspy whisper. Sam blinks, glancing around before letting his gaze rest on Puck again, his expression questioning, but Puck doesn’t miss the flash of heat in his eyes.

“Feel what?” Sam looks tense and ready to spring at any moment.

“That thing that happens when I…” Puck clears his throat, watching as Sam puts a hand against the headrest of Puck’s seat. “Think about you… and stuff. I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.”

Sam surges toward him suddenly, and Puck shrinks back into his seat. The car is still too small, but Sam holds himself steady with one hand on the seat, the other splayed against Puck’s shoulder for support. Sam’s face is so close that he can see the little flecks in his eyes—he hasn’t been this close since that day they’d kissed at the booster club party.

“Sam, what are you doing?” Puck asks quickly. Sam’s knee presses against his leg as he pushes forward, and Puck fixates on Sam’s lips and the way they’re glistening in the dim light.

“I’ll stop if you say so,” Sam says, his voice just above a whisper. “If I’m reading the signals wrong, just tell me.”

Puck’s breath quickens, his face tilting upwards slightly, almost gravitating toward Sam’s mouth. They’re alone and it’s dark and this time there isn’t a group of partygoers waiting to mock them. Puck tries to convince himself to pull back, to push Sam away, but he wants to kiss him again. He’s fucked, he’s so fucked, but Sam is right there, warm and willing, and before Puck knows it, his arm is reaching out to clutch at Sam’s collar, pulling him down as he crushes Sam’s lips against his.

At the party Sam had been eager but cautious, but now Puck senses a change, like a switch has been flipped inside him. Sam’s kissing him a lot more recklessly than before, like he’s just barely been holding back all this time and now he’s finally free to let loose. Puck slides his hand down and grabs a fistful of Sam’s shirt, forcibly yanking Sam’s hips toward him, and Sam falls closer against him, his breath hot on Puck’s face. Puck suddenly has an insane desire for Sam’s shirt to not be on him anymore, so he starts scrabbling at Sam’s collar again, trying to undo the buttons so he can see skin.

“Wait, wait,” Sam says breathlessly, and Puck is going to seriously hit him in the face if he decides to back out now. “There’s no room here.”

“Backseat’s empty,” Puck says, nipping at Sam’s lips.

“Let’s go inside.”

“Your house? What about your parents?”

“They sleep like the dead. My room’s far. It’ll be fine.” Sam kisses his face softly, his nose pressed against Puck’s cheek. Puck feels his lips moving against his skin. “Come on, Puck.”

“Okay, fine.” Puck unlocks the door and pushes it open, climbing out and giving Sam a hand as he awkwardly crawls out after him. Puck hasn’t even shut the door before Sam is on him again, roughly shoving him against the side of the car, kissing him hard. Puck wraps his arms around Sam’s waist, groaning as Sam presses their hips together, pleasure streaking through Puck’s body.

“Inside,” Puck reminds him, and Sam exhales deeply and pulls away with a nod.

“Yeah. Come on.” He grabs Puck’s wrist and drags him to the front door, only letting go to find his keys. Sam lets them in silently, leading Puck upstairs to his bedroom and locking the door behind him. Puck doesn’t have time to be nervous because Sam’s mouth is against his once more, soft and wet. He remembers his earlier chagrin at Sam still having his shirt on, so he gets to work on Sam’s buttons again, trying to undo them without tearing any of them off. Sam joins in after a second, letting his shirt fall to the floor, then he pulls back to yank his t-shirt over his head.

Puck tries not to gawk as Sam’s body finally comes into view. It’s not like he hasn’t seen it before, but never in this type of situation.

“Puck?” Sam asks softly, stepping forward as he puts a hand against Puck’s side, pulling them closer together. “You all right?”

He nods quickly, reaching up and tangling a hand in Sam’s hair as he pulls him in for a kiss. Sam complies, gracelessly leading them toward his bed while somehow keeping their mouths intact. Puck’s knees hit the bed, and the springs protest as they both fall on the mattress. Puck sees a flash of teeth as Sam grins and pushes their mouths together again, his hand firmly grasping the back of Puck’s neck.

It all hits Puck too suddenly—how much he wants Sam, and how he’s in bed with a half-naked boy, and not just any half-naked boy, but Sam, and how he really, really wants to attend to that bulge in Sam’s jeans, but first he wants to touch those washboard abs for the first time.

Puck puts a hand on Sam’s chest, uncertain at first, but Sam sighs as Puck’s fingers graze his skin softly. It’s not that different from being with a girl, if he doesn’t focus on how Sam’s body is a lot less squishy. Puck feels the hard muscles of Sam’s stomach as Sam rises slightly, brushing his lips against the side of Puck’s mouth.

“Three hours a day in the gym, huh?” Puck asks, and Sam lets out a chuckle.

“I want to see you, too,” Sam whispers in his ear, his hair tickling Puck’s cheek. Puck wants to strip right away, but he gulps and pushes Sam back onto the mattress. It’s fucking weird seeing Sam like this, all messy and fluid and… happy. He’s smiling again, his face rosy as Santana’s Cheerios uniform, and Puck leans down without thinking and kisses Sam, rougher than before. Sam meets him evenly, pushing his tongue into Puck’s mouth, and Puck’s own tongue wrestles with Sam’s for a moment until he bites down on Sam’s plump bottom lip, not hard enough to break the skin, but with enough force to elicit a groan from him.

Sam’s hips are insistently pushing against him, and Puck keeps kissing him as he snakes a hand down and undoes the button on Sam’s jeans. Blood roars in his ears as his brain slowly catches up to what his body is doing, but he doesn’t think he’d stop unless Sam’s dad walked in with a baseball bat. Puck unzips Sam’s jeans and dips a hand into his boxers, breaking off the kiss for a moment as he slowly makes contact with Sam’s cock. He feels like he should be really disgusted, but instead he just stares at the way Sam’s neck arches as he gasps. Sam bites his lip, his eyes sliding shut, and Puck decides that he needs to do everything in his power to keep Sam looking like that.

He doesn’t bother taking off Sam’s jeans. Puck doesn’t care if he makes a mess, and Sam is beyond coherent speech right now, so he just starts moving his hand in quick, rough strokes and gauging Sam’s reaction. He’s had no practice with this, so he feels like a loser virgin for the first time in his life, but his insecurity takes a backseat to his mounting desire to kiss Sam again. Sam whimpers with every stroke, plainly trying to keep his voice down, and Puck brings his face low so he can feel the heat of Sam’s breath against his skin.

“Am I doing this right?” Puck blurts out nervously, his hand slowing. He doesn’t really mean to ask since he’s pretty sure he’s doing something right, but he can’t stop the words even though they make him sound like even more of a loser.

Sam opens his eyes hazily, panting like a little golden retriever puppy. “Are you kidding me?”

“Uh…” Puck’s brain is still stuck on how he just compared Sam to a golden retriever. He swears he’s never this stupid around anyone but Sam.

“Keep going,” Sam says, looping an arm around Puck’s neck. Puck feels better when Sam kisses him, and he resumes jacking him off while Sam’s lips stutter against his. Puck finds it’s easy to do this if he doesn’t think too much. He likes this moment, so he goes with it.

Sam is getting close now, his breath growing jagged as his hips tremble and push against Puck’s hand. Puck stops kissing him and opens his eyes to see Sam’s face, taking in the dark flush of his cheeks and how his lips look blood red from all the kissing and biting. He presses his forehead against Sam’s, smirking a little because he’s apparently a sex god even with dudes, and then Sam gasps out a curse and blows his load over Puck’s hand.

“Jesus,” Sam says breathlessly once he’s recovered. Puck wipes his hand on Sam’s bedspread, nerves starting to tickle his insides now that he’s not reveling in the feeling of Sam’s shivering body against his.

“You can call me Puck,” he says, cracking a small smile. Sam catches his breath for a moment, his hand skimming up Puck’s arm as he gazes at him. Puck swallows uneasily. He likes the way Sam’s looking at him, all doe-eyed like fucking Bambi, but at the same time he wishes he would stop because the thrill is nerve-wracking.

“Lie down,” Sam says as he sits up, planting a kiss on Puck’s lips before crawling over to make room. Sam fidgets at the end of the bed for a moment, and Puck furrows his brow in confusion.

“Why?” he asks warily, then his brain sort of fizzles out when Sam suddenly slips his warm hands beneath Puck’s shirt. Sam pushes the fabric up, and Puck finds himself lifting his arms to help Sam get his shirt off. He puts a hand on Sam’s shoulder as Sam leans in and kisses him again, and Puck once again revels in how plump and soft Sam’s lips are. He’s pretty sure even Santana’s don’t feel like this.

“Lie down,” Sam repeats, crowding against him until Puck has no choice to but to comply. He notices Sam’s jeans are off now, but he still has his boxers on so Puck manages not to freak out.

“What are you gonna do?” Puck asks, suspicious but yearning at the same time. He grasps Sam’s hair and pulls him down for another kiss, then looks at him expectantly while Sam licks his lips.

“You’ll see,” Sam says with a playful smile. “Don’t worry, Puck, I promise you’ll like this.”

Puck wants to frown, but his erection has been screaming for attention since they kissed in the car, and whatever Sam is going to do sounds hot, so he’s game. Sam climbs off him and slips lower, leaning down to press a kiss against Puck’s stomach, grazing his lips lower until he reaches Puck’s happy trail. And, okay, yeah, that feels nice. He can get on board with this.

Puck closes his eyes as he feels Sam’s hands undoing his jeans, and he lifts his hips to help Sam pull them off. His bare legs feel a little cold at the sudden loss of clothes, but then Sam’s kissing him again, his hands slowly pulling down the waistband of his boxers, and Puck gets warm in a record time.

What is Sam doing? Sam’s pulling his boxers off. Puck’s heart thuds in his chest, excited and scared that he’s fully naked in front of Sam without any shower stalls separating them. He’s proud of his junk, sure, but somehow this feels a lot more serious than his usual flings. He lets out a shaky breath when Sam touches his cock, wrapping his hand firmly around the base, and Puck cracks his eyes open just in time to see Sam lower his head between Puck’s legs, and, oh, Sam’s going to do that.

Puck hisses as Sam’s searing hot mouth invades his senses. Sam’s giving him a blowjob. Sam’s mouth is on his dick and it feels really fucking good, even though Sam’s blowjob technique could use some work. There’s a little too much spit, and Sam’s teeth graze against his sensitive skin every once in a while, but as a whole, it’s making Puck lose his mind. He can see Sam’s stupid blond head bobbing up and down. He can hear the small little wet sounds coupled with the tiny grunts vibrating in Sam’s throat. Puck clenches his teeth and tries not to buck too hard against Sam’s face.

Puck’s breathing grows louder as Sam swirls his tongue around and sucks messily. If he was thinking about anything before, it’s all gone now. He can’t even string together the words to warn Sam that he’s about to shoot. He just pushes his hips up and hears Sam choke slightly, and Puck wants to apologize, but his vision whites out as his orgasm hits him like a freight train. Puck lets out a long groan and shudders until it’s finally over.

He opens his eyes in time to see Sam wipe a hand across his mouth, his eyes a little watery, but he gives Puck a tired grin and pushes his bangs back.

“So, that was kind of messy,” Sam says, scrubbing at the bedspread. “Next time’ll be better.”

Puck nearly chokes as he finally settles back down to reality. Next time. He stares at the ceiling while he catches his breath, barely noticing when Sam returns to his side, leaning down to kiss him. He notices when Sam stops, though, probably because he’s not kissing back, and Sam’s eyes are starting to register uncertainty.

“Hey,” Sam whispers nervously, trying to smile. Puck slowly sits up, and Sam watches him carefully, then leans in to kiss him again. Puck’s fingers brush against Sam’s side, and this time he kisses back because he really wants to. Sam’s bangs tickle his face, falling against Puck’s skin, and Puck slowly breaks off the kiss because his breath is coming faster and faster, which is weird because everything that should be making him breathe like this is done.

“You’re freaking out, aren’t you?” Sam asks quietly, keeping his face close. Puck shuts his eyes, swallowing the anxiety that’s trying to claw right through his chest. Sam’s fingers are suddenly on his cheek, running down his jaw before curling around the base of his neck. He gets that Sam’s trying to make him feel better, but right now Puck is suffocating in that same feeling that made him dump Sam in the first place, and he doesn’t know how to make it stop.

“Okay, so… I need you to quit touching me,” Puck mumbles. Sam takes his hand away, but stays put. Puck takes a few deep breaths. He can do this if he just takes it one step at a time. He inches his gaze up to look at Sam, and—no, no, he really can’t do this, not when Sam is looking at him like that.

“Talk to me, Puck,” Sam urges. “Say something.”

“I…” Puck grits his teeth, glancing at the door. “This isn’t me.”

“Okay. Listen,” Sam says, his fingers twitching a little, but Puck is grateful that he keeps his hands to himself. “I know you’ve been thinking about this, and I know it’s weird as hell, but… you’ve gotta figure out what you want. You can talk to me. I know what you’re going though.”

“I hate when you say that. You don’t know what I’m going through. You have no idea,” Puck says, imagining Sam’s parents sleeping just down the hall—the parents who are perfectly okay with Sam being into dudes.

“Just tell me then,” Sam insists. “Don’t shut me out.”

Puck steels his nerve and looks at Sam again, taking in the hesitation in his eyes. Where are he and Sam even supposed to go from here? He’s not going to hold hands with him as they walk down the hall. Puck doesn’t do that sappy shit. He doesn’t even date. What would everyone say about him if they found out about this anyway? Karofsky would have a field day. Puck remembers his sign and suddenly feels cold.

“This was a mistake,” Puck says finally, making a move to climb off the bed, but he stops when Sam grasps his arm and forces him to look at him. Sam looks distraught, shaking his head slightly as he bites his lip.

“It wasn’t a mistake to me,” Sam says finally, his voice strained. “None of it was. Not even the kiss at the party.”

“I need to get dressed.” Puck scrambles off the bed so he doesn’t have to look at Sam anymore. Sam’s not making sense anyway. Puck grabs his boxers and yanks them on, then finds his jeans and quickly steps into them. He slows down a little when he notices Sam’s still sitting on the bed, completely unmoving. His gaze is lowered as he looks sightlessly at the carpet.

Puck pulls his jeans up and fastens the button, chewing on the inside of his lip. He can’t just walk out on Sam like this.

“I’m not gay,” Puck says, trying to keep his voice firm. “I am not gay. I’m sorry if you thought—”

“I know you’re not,” Sam interrupts. “I’m not an idiot.”

“Well, you keep insinuating that I am.”

Sam shakes his head. “No, I don’t. I don’t think you’re gay.”

“Good,” Puck says huffily, picking up his shirt. He pulls it over his head just as Sam speaks again.

“I think you’re bisexual.”

Puck nearly tears his shirt in half as his arm gets stuck in one of the sleeves. He doesn’t really appreciate how Sam just sits there and watches him struggle without offering to help, but Puck finally gets his shirt on and stares at Sam, trying to muster the tiny shred of dignity he has left, but mostly just wallowing in disbelief.

“You what?” Puck asks, raising his brows with a nervous laugh. “Are you joking?”

“You can’t tell me this doesn’t mean anything,” Sam says, his expression pained. “You kissed back at the party. You kissed back, harder than I was.”

“It was a stupid game.”

“And you held my hand at the movies.”

“That—I just… it was nothing,” Puck stammers. “You’re reading too much into everything.”

“What about what we just did?”

Puck tries to remain calm despite the heavy thudding in his chest. He grasps for something to say, but his mouth is dry and his brain is too mixed up to come up with anything that makes sense.

“I know you like girls,” Sam says. “But I’m your friend, Puck. I’m not fucking blind. I can see you fighting this every time I look at you, and I just want you to be honest about this.”

“You know what?” Puck takes a deep breath, glaring down at Sam. “You’re just seeing what you want to see.”

“Really?” Sam’s eyes widen a little, and it’s either the moonlight from the window or Puck swears Sam’s starting to tear up. “Because right now the only thing I’m seeing is that you led me on so you could fuck around with me, and now you’re pulling the straight card to get off easy.”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” Puck protests.

“When I first came to this school, I heard you were an asshole, but you were always fair with me,” Sam continues, his voice wavering. “That’s why it’s hard for me to believe that you’d use me like this.”

“I’m not using you! You just don’t get it, Sam. I can’t be gay. I can’t! What would my mom say? She’d hate me forever. She’d kick me out. My family would chalk it up to yet another way that I’m a monumental fuck-up. What would everyone at school say? I haven’t even done anything and I’ve already got Karofsky and Azimio on my back. The world doesn’t work the way you want it to. You know this better than anyone else—you had to change schools because it got so bad.” Puck takes another deep breath, anxiety churning in his stomach.

“It’s not something to be ashamed of, though. I’m not asking you to tell everyone in the world—just be honest with me. If you can’t do it for me, then at least do it for yourself.”

“You’re the last person who should ever tell anyone that it’s not something to be ashamed of!” Puck explodes suddenly. “You’re the one who’s so ashamed that you’re terrified of anyone ever finding out!”

“That’s not fair!” Sam yells. “Is it so wrong of me to not want to get mocked everyday, to have everyone on the team hate me for something I can’t even control? Does that make me such a horrible person? I’ve been there and I’m sorry if don’t want to do it again!”

“I can’t be what you want me to,” Puck says, lowering his voice with some effort. Sam’s parents are probably going to walk in any second, and Sam’s still sitting there in his underwear looking like he either wants to cry or throw a chair at his head.

“So all this… everything we just did means nothing to you?” Sam asks in a quiet voice. “You’re just going to stand there and tell me you just had your hand down my pants because… what? Because you were horny and I was there?”

“No. Jesus. No,” Puck sighs, dragging his hands down his face. “I just… I was curious.”

Sam blinks quickly at him, his face darkening. “You’re an asshole if that was your only reason.”

“Sam, I like you, but…” Puck bites his lip, hating the look in Sam’s eyes. What he really wants to do is forget everything and just get back in bed with Sam—not even to mess around, but just to talk. The pressure keeps building inside him and he has no one else to turn to. Sam would listen. Puck can’t even finish his sentence because the hurt in Sam’s eyes is making him feel like he should leave Sam alone instead of constantly shitting on him.

“You clearly don’t like me the way I like you,” Sam says after a long pause. Puck curls his hands into fists, jamming them in his pockets. Why can’t Sam just see the real problem here? Puck can’t be gay. Or bi. Or whatever. It doesn’t matter what he feels for Sam because he can’t feel that way. It would be different if it was someone else, but he’s Puck. People expect certain things from him. He can’t just start breaking all the rules and running around like a free bitch. He’d never live it down. He’s already seen what happened to Sam.

Sam is still looking at him with those huge sorrowful Bambi eyes, and it makes Puck want to admit that kissing him had been one of the most exciting things he’s ever done, but something else comes out of his mouth instead.

“Santana knows you’re gay,” Puck says, and almost winces at the look of horror that crosses Sam’s face.

“You told her?” Sam chokes out. “I—”

“I didn’t tell her,” Puck says hastily. “She just figured it out on her own, I swear. I just felt like I should tell you that she knows. I don’t want anyone blindsiding you.”

Sam draws in a trembling breath, looking away. Puck thinks Sam’s really going to cry now, but he clenches his jaw and swings his gaze back to Puck.

“Did you get your fill or are you still curious about what it feels like to be in bed with a dude?” Sam asks, making a valiant attempt to keep his voice steady. His eyes betray him, though, as does the quiver of his lips.

“That’s not how it was,” Puck says in a low voice. “I swear.”

“You said you did it because you were curious.”

“I was, but it wasn’t just…” Puck lets his words trail off before he starts anew. “Sam… you’re really important to me. You’re my best friend, man. This is just too much right now.”

“Then go ahead and walk out like everyone else does,” Sam says softly. “If this is too hard for you, then just leave and pretend it never happened. It’s just another bad decision you can try to forget.”

“I don’t want to lose you, though,” Puck says around the lump rising in his throat.

“The next time you’re curious about guys, go to fucking Eight Ball and pick someone up that you don’t know,” Sam says, his breath hitching. “But don’t experiment with someone who cares about you. It wasn’t just curiosity for me.”

Puck wants to scream. It was more than just an experiment for him, too. Being with Sam was so much more than that. The words won’t come, though, and then Sam is breaking down in front of him, and Puck feels an unfamiliar tickle behind his eyes as he watches.

“Just leave,” Sam says between clenched teeth. “Please.”

Puck turns around and unlocks the door, his hands trembling as he closes it behind him. The house is empty and silent, and Puck tiptoes down the stars, fumbling through the darkness until he’s outside again.

He barely remembers driving home, but when he finds himself parked in front of his house, he can’t move. He can see the light still on in his mother’s bedroom. When he comes in, she might come out and talk to him, and Puck suddenly feels completely filthy. He shuts his eyes tightly as he remembers Sam’s smooth body against his, the soft plumpness of his lips, the heat of his mouth. There’s no way he can face his mom right now, not when he feels like anyone could take one look at him and know exactly what he’s done tonight.

This verse is continued in My Good Intentions Can Leave the Harshest Scars You've Ever Seen.

Glee fic; Soon We'll Fall to Pieces, Puck/Sam, R, 1/2

2010-11-26T05:10:00Z

Title: Soon We'll Fall to Pieces
Part: 1/2
Pairing: Puck/Sam
Rating/warnings: R
Word Count: 12,450
Notes: This is set in the same 'verse as The Right Side of Reason, I'm Numbing My Feeling, and Every Second's a Longer Wait. It was getting long, so this part is divided in two. The second part is almost done, so it shouldn't be as long of a wait.
Summary: Puck tries to work through his feelings, and he doesn't mean to leave a path of destruction in his wake—it just kind of happens.

The fact that Puck can’t stop thinking about kissing Sam has put him in a really foul mood. It has him irrationally angry at everyone, including Sam, which is really stupid because, you know, he likes Sam.

He really likes Sam. More than he should. Their kiss had given him the opportunity to study Sam up close, so Puck suddenly has all these little details in his mind, like how Sam’s eyelashes are actually brown, and how his eyes are green with actual dark golden flecks, and how he has just the faintest smattering of freckles across his nose that you can only see if you’re inches away from his face.

He thinks he should maybe stop hanging around Sam so much, especially after their whole seven minutes in heaven stunt at the booster club party. The dickweeds on the football team are going to start mocking them soon. However, Puck has a certain edge just because he’s Puck. He’s a badass and everyone knows it, so Karofsky and Azimio will definitely think twice before they try messing with him.

This is why he’s shocked when the team lumbers into the locker room after practice and Puck is greeted with a poster hanging on the far wall that reads, “Puckerman loves dick” in giant black letters.

There’s a lull for a second as everyone stares, then the jeering starts. There’s laughter and guffawing, and Puck is too stunned to produce an immediate comeback. He quickly glances at Sam, who looks just as shocked as he feels, his eyes wide and his lips parted slightly as he stares at the poster. Puck almost wants to poke him just to make sure he’s still breathing.

Puck’s shock gives way to rage fairly quickly, and he’s about to let loose with a string of expletives when Beiste comes in. The laughter dies fast as she sees the poster.

“Who did this?” she demands. Puck almost scoffs as he glares daggers at Karofsky and Azimio. It’s obviously them; Puck has no doubt about it. No one says anything, though. Puck tries to meet Sam’s eyes, but Sam’s gaze is focused elsewhere, his brow furrowed and his jaw set in displeasure.

“Which one of you jerk-offs did this?” Puck asks, turning around and facing the team.

“I’ll ask the questions, Puckerman,” Beiste says. Puck sweeps his eyes across the group of faces before him, and he almost misses the smirk on Karofsky’s face. Almost.

“Fucking Karofsky,” Puck snarls, plunging into the group so he can sock Karofsky right in his fucking face. He can hear Beiste yelling above the chorus of cheering that breaks out at the possibility of a fight, but doesn’t stop until he reaches Karofsky, lunging forward with his fist drawn.

He doesn’t get to hit him, though, because there are arms yanking him back. Puck is ready to throw a punch at whoever is trying to stop him, but then he realizes Finn’s got his right arm and Sam has his left, and hitting the two of them would be kind of a dick move.

“Let go,” Puck demands instead, trying to shake them off.

“Forget it, Puck,” Finn says, keeping a firm grip on his arm.

“I’m not forgetting this, okay? I’m gonna fucking kill Karofsky!” Puck lunges forward again, and this time Sam steps in and blocks him, then shoves him back so hard that Puck would have crashed into the lockers if Finn hadn’t been there to steady him.

“Leave it,” Sam hisses, putting a hand firmly against his chest to hold him back. They’re both still hot from practice, and Sam’s bangs are plastered to his forehead, his face red. Puck glares at him for a moment, his anger rushing back, but he knows Sam just did him a huge favor, because Beiste would kick his ass if he got into a fight with Karofsky right in front of her.

“They’re fags,” someone—Azimio, Puck thinks—mutters from the back, and Sam’s hand drops like he’s been burned, his head snapping around to search out the voice. For a moment Puck thinks he might have to hold Sam back from getting into a fight of his own, but everyone falls silent when Beiste’s voice thunders through the locker room.

“Quiet down, all of you!” she yells, and Puck tries to be nonchalant about it, but his stomach gives a tiny quiver, and even Sam steps a little closer to him. Finn is trying to hide behind him like a moron, which is really stupid considering he’s taller than almost everyone else in the room.

“Who put this sign up?” Beiste asks, and Puck marvels at her ability to sound even more dangerous when she’s speaking than yelling. The room stays completely quiet. “I want the person who put this sign up to come forward right now.”

No one moves. Beiste has them all so terrified that Puck doesn’t think anyone will. After another moment of excruciating silence, Beiste speaks again.

“Puckerman, hit the showers. Get out of here.”

“What?” Puck asks, lifting his head.

“Everyone else, get back on the field.”

A ripple of protest runs through the team, and Puck catches Sam’s eye as he turns around to glance at him.

“I said get back on the field. If no one wants to come forward, then we have another hour of laps to do,” Beiste says. “Get moving!”

Puck stays still as everyone grumbles and heads for the door. Sam grabs his helmet and gives Puck a shrug, then files out with the rest of the group. Beiste walks over and tears the poster down, ripping it in half before tossing it into the trash.

“If anything else happens to you, you tell me, all right?” Beiste says.

“Like what? I don’t get bullied,” Puck scoffs.

“Puckerman, stop being abrasive and just tell me if anyone bothers you,” she snaps.

“Yes, ma’am.” Puck watches as she grabs her clipboard, meeting her eyes when she turns to look at him.

“You see anyone bothering Evans, you tell me as well,” Beiste says.

That takes Puck back a little. “Why, did anyone do anything to him?”

“Did I say that?” Beiste frowns at him. “I said just tell me if you see anything. Now hit the showers.”

Puck grumbles for a moment as he watches her go. He figures he should wait for Sam, so he heads to the weight room to kill some time, then showers and dresses. He’s stuffing his dirty clothes into his gym bag when the team returns, trudging in slowly, most of them clutching their sides. Puck smirks when he sees Karofsky and Azimio doubled over with cramps from running too hard. Serves them right.

“You’re still here?” Sam asks, appearing beside him, panting. Sam presses his face against his locker door, closing his eyes and letting out an exaggerated groan.

“Dude, take a shower.” Puck picks up his water bottle and squirts some in Sam’s face.

“I’ll pass out and drown on those nasty tiles with feet-germs on them. You want me to die with feet-germs crawling on my face?” Sam opens his eyes and gives him a pointed look, water dripping from his bangs.

“Would it kill you to not be a giant nerd for five seconds?”

Sam laughs, grabbing a towel as he sits down to rest. Puck goes back to putting his clothes into his gym bag, sniffing at his shirts to see which ones he needs to wash. The locker room grows emptier as people leave, until it’s only Sam and him, and once they’re alone, Sam lifts his head, still red-faced but breathing easier.

“Karofsky, huh?” Sam asks. Puck shuts his locker and drops his gym bag to the floor as he sits down beside Sam.

“Yeah,” Puck replies grimly. “I want to fucking kill him. I’m not even kidding.”

Sam slowly exhales, wiping his face with the towel draped around his neck. “This is my fault.”

“How?” Puck arches a brow.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“Oh, God. Dude, I’m not in the mood for you to play the martyr.”

“It’s true, though. None of this would have happened if we hadn’t kissed.”

“Okay, look,” Puck says, turning to Sam. “I kissed you. You tried to stop in the middle and I was the one who wanted to keep going, so stop trying to act like you sprang this on me.”

Sam sighs, looking sulky. “I just don’t want this to happen to you. I don’t want you to know what it feels like.”

“What what feels like?”

“Being bullied like this.” Sam looks at him, his eyes clouded, and Puck just frowns at him even though he wants to run his hands through Sam’s damp hair and tell him to quit worrying. Puck’s throat suddenly feels tight, and he looks away quickly while scooting away, putting a few extra inches of distance between them.

“It’s not gonna happen. Go take a shower and chill out,” Puck says. Sam doesn’t say anything as he gets up and disappears into the shower room. Puck lets out a nervous breath as he hears Sam turn the water on. Maybe it’s not a good idea for him to be alone with Sam anymore, but at the same time the only thing he ever wants to do nowadays is be with Sam. Aside from the fact that he likes hanging out with him, he has a bunch of questions swimming around in his head and Sam’s the only one who can answer them.

Maybe if he just plays it cool and acts nonchalant, it won’t be a big deal. Puck really needs some answers; he’s tired of worrying himself to sleep and being confused all the fucking time. He steels his nerve and straddles the bench, waiting for Sam to come back even though his body is telling him to hightail it out of there.

Sam returns after a few minutes, his ridiculous abs on display as he enters in a towel, and Puck starts thinking about their kiss again. He hadn’t touched Sam’s body except through his shirt, but he could feel the hard muscles beneath his fingertips, and he imagines how they’d flex and clench if Puck did get the opportunity to make contact with skin.

Puck forces his brain to halt. Sam is getting dressed behind him—naked—and he should not be fantasizing about him. At all. Ever. Puck blows out a sigh and Sam comes around, his gym bag slung over his shoulder.

“You want to go?” Sam asks, taking a step toward the door. He stops when Puck stays put, and after a moment Sam puts his bag down and straddles the bench along with him, leaving a sizable distance between them. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been wondering about some stuff,” Puck begins, trying not to mumble. His eyes dart around the room, flitting over everything that’s not Sam’s face.

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh. Um…” Puck clears his throat. “Look, can I ask you something personal?”

“Sure.”

“Okay. Uh, well… I just wanted to know…” Puck trails off, losing his nerve, but he forces himself to focus and keep talking. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound like a jackass, but I just have to know.”

“Just ask, Puck,” Sam says, and Puck finally looks at him, taking in Sam’s careful gaze.

“When did you know you were gay?” Puck asks finally, his stomach churning. He hopes Sam doesn’t get offended. He waits to see if Sam’s expression changes to anger, but it doesn’t. Sam just looks thoughtful.

“Well…” Sam says slowly, flicking his eyes up as he thinks. “I think I always kind of knew. But I didn’t really get it until all my friends were talking about girls and I wanted to talk about boys.”

“Oh.” Puck considers this. He’d never done that as a kid. It’s always been tits or bust for him.

“I think I was around nine or ten when I admitted to myself that my feelings for boys were stronger than they were for girls,” Sam continues. “I thought maybe it was just a phase, but… it never stopped. I didn’t tell anyone because I was scared that I would get in trouble and that what I was thinking was wrong, but at the same time… I really liked how I felt. You know? It felt good. It felt right.”

“Uh-huh.” Puck tries to figure out if his feelings for boys are stronger than his feelings for girls. Maybe this whole thing had been a bad idea because he’s pretty sure he’s just confusing himself even more. Does he like Sam more than, say… Santana? Sam’s awesome, but Santana’s awesome in bed. But Sam might be awesome in bed, too. How is he supposed to know? He tries to compare Santana’s tits to Sam’s dick, but he’s never seen Sam’s dick. Puck’s always been about girls, though, so doesn’t that count for something?

“So, why are you asking?” Sam asks timidly, and Puck freezes up and starts stammering.

“Oh, you know, I, uh, just wanted to, like… get to know you, dude. Plus, this stuff is, like, really fascinating, you know. Like, really interesting shit.”

“My story’s not that interesting,” Sam says with a small smile. “I came out to my parents when I was around thirteen and by that time I was more worried about what other people might think, so I asked them not to tell anyone.”

“Yeah, that’s cool. So you always kind of knew? It didn’t, like, come out of nowhere?”

“That’s how it was for me,” Sam says slowly, and Puck swallows. He doesn’t like the look Sam is suddenly giving him. “It’s completely different for everyone, though.”

“Yeah, well, the fact that you clearly dig dudes over chicks is pretty telling,” Puck scoffs. “That’s universal. People like one or the other, it’s not hard to figure out.”

“That’s not true, though.”

“I was just curious.” Puck leans down and grabs his gym bag, putting it in front of him.

“Just because I figured it out when I was little doesn’t mean that that’s how it is for everybody,” Sam says. “You know some people don’t come out until they’re, like, married with kids, right?”

Puck stares at him, chewing on his lip. “Yeah, I guess… that sucks.”

“And what you said about liking one or the other—”

“Okay, just chill, Sam. It was just a harmless question because I was curious.”

“Some people don’t like either men or women, and some people like both.”

Puck grins tightly. “Yeah, okay. You know, I should probably—”

“It’s confusing, I know, but—”

“It’s not confusing!” Puck says suddenly. “Sam, would you stop? Whatever you’re thinking, you’re wrong.”

“You asked me for a reason and it wasn’t because you want to know more about me,” Sam says quickly. “You’re trying to figure out something about yourself, aren’t you?”

“How about you don’t make assumptions about me,” Puck snaps. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m not.” Sam shakes his head. “But I’ve been thinking about this for a while. Look, I know how it feels to be confused and scared by something you don’t understand. I want to help.”

“Help me with what?”

Sam pauses, his brow creased as he looks at Puck. His face is uncertain for a moment, and anger surges through Puck because he knows exactly what Sam is thinking.

“I’m not gay,” Puck grinds out, standing.

“I didn’t say you were.”

“Yeah, but you’re thinking it. You think I need help trying to figure out my feelings.”

“I think you’re lashing out because you’re scared,” Sam says.

“Oh, yeah, you’d know all about being scared. You live your entire life in fear of people finding out who you really are,” Puck says viciously. He doesn’t even have time to react before Sam is off the bench and slamming him against the lockers, his hands fisted into Puck’s shirt. Puck thinks Sam is going to hit him, and he’d deserve it if he did, but Sam stops, visibly trying to calm himself. Puck can feel Sam’s harsh breath, can see his face twist in anger, barely disguising the hurt behind his eyes.

“Thanks a lot for throwing that in my face,” Sam says bluntly, his voice hard. “All I’m trying to do is help.”

“If I needed your help, I would ask for it,” Puck replies automatically.

“Puck, stop.” Sam voice softens and trembles slightly, tugging at something in Puck’s chest. “I don’t want to fight. I don’t know what happened to us after we kissed—something changed, I know that much, but… whatever happens, I don’t want to lose you.”

Puck swallows hard, trying to keep his breathing even. It’s hard when Sam is pressed so close, his face open and pleading before him. He suddenly has such a strong desire to kiss him, to wrap his arms around Sam’s shoulders and pull him into him. Puck bites the inside of his lip until the skin feels ragged, thinking about Karofsky’s sign, and how his mother would take it if she knew he’d kissed a boy, and how the whole school would see him differently if he came out, and terror washes over him. He can’t even figure out if he’s gay or not—he’s not—so how is he supposed to deal with everything that comes with it?

“I need a break,” Puck says, hating how weak his words sound. Sam gives him a questioning look, and Puck wishes he could have just had this entire conversation by text, because he doesn’t want to see Sam’s face anymore. He can’t get his next words out, but he has to because Sam is just staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to explain.

“I think I need a break from you,” Puck says, feeling lower than the feet-germs on the shower tiles. “It’s just… it’s gotten weird, and I just need… maybe we shouldn’t be hanging out so much.”

Sam blinks, and Puck catches a glimpse of his crushing disappointment before Sam licks his lips and steps back with a nod.

“Oh,” Sam says softly, his eyes flicking to the floor. “Okay.”

“Sam, look, it’s not personal,” Puck mumbles, even though it’s impossible for this to be anything but. Sam turns around and picks up his gym bag, adjusting the strap over his shoulder.

“Practice should have been done over an hour ago,” Sam says, his eyes shifting to the door. “It’s pretty late, man. I should go.”

Puck closes his eyes briefly and sighs, still leaning against the lockers. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

Sam just shakes his head, giving Puck a tight smile. Puck can practically see the dam threatening to break, the mix of anger, confusion, and hurt that Puck caused in the span of about five minutes.

Sam lets the door slam shut behind him, and Puck drags his hands down his face wearily. He can’t help but feel like he just broke up with Sam—except it wasn’t even an upstanding break-up; he basically just dumped Sam on his face with a shitty explanation. Despite Puck’s reputation for badassery, he does not like dumping people. He usually never lets his relationships get so serious that actual dumping is required.

Puck trudges to the bench and grabs his bag. He tells himself that he had to do it. It’s for his own mental health. He can’t go around obsessing over a stupid kiss with Sam forever. So he kissed one guy—that doesn’t mean he’s gay.

It doesn’t mean anything.

- - - - -

Puck sort of hates seeing Sam at school now, because he doesn’t have the nerve to go up and talk to him, and Sam, understandably, won’t approach him. They used to sit at the same table at lunch with Finn and some other guys from the team, but Sam doesn’t show at the cafeteria much anymore, and when he does, he’s either in there for five seconds to buy something from the salad bar, or he spends a couple minutes sitting with Kurt and Rachel and some other people from Glee Club. Puck knows Sam kills most of lunchtime in the weight room nowadays—it’s not like he ever eats anyway.

He especially doesn’t like seeing Sam in the hall. All the guys on the team are still friendly with him, saying hey, slapping him on the shoulder, or chatting for a second while Sam switches his books, but he always walks to class alone. And it makes Puck feel like the world’s biggest prick.

Basically, school sucks now, and football practice is just awkward.

He only runs into Sam once, and it’s the worst timing ever because Santana is hanging off his arm, cooing in his ear about taking her to Breadstix. They round a corner and bump into Sam, and Santana starts going off on him before she realizes who she’s talking to.

“Oh. Sam. Sorry,” she says, not sounding sorry at all. “Watch where you’re going.”

“Sorry, Santana,” Sam says, then flicks his eyes toward Puck. “I didn’t know you guys were back together. It’s nice.”

“We’re not together together,” Puck says, and Santana scoffs. Sam smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Puck furrows his brow and watches as Sam mutters a goodbye and pushes past him. Their arms brush for a second, and Puck feels a shiver run through him. He turns and sees Sam disappearing into the crowded hallway, and then Santana is dragging him along again.

“What’d you guys do, break up?” Santana asks, and Puck scowls.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“I didn’t ask what did you do, but the fact that you’re automatically on the defensive means you totally did something.”

“That’s stupid,” Puck protests, his face reddening.

“So, what did you do?” she presses.

“Nothing. We’re just not hanging out as much. People just grow apart sometimes.”

“Uh-huh, not buying it,” Santana says flatly. “You two have been practically macking since Sam got here.”

“Well, I’ve got other friends and so does he,” Puck mutters.

Santana laughs loudly. “Sam has no friends. He’s hanging out with losers like Kurt and Rachel now.”

“Shut up.” Puck bites his lip, bristling. “He’s better off hanging with them anyway, at least they’re not douchebags like the guys on the team.”

“You mean guys like you?” Santana gives him a pointed look.

“Ha, ha, you’re so hilarious,” Puck says, glowering.

“Hey, don’t get bitchy with me just because you’re mad over whatever you did to Sam.”

“I didn’t do anything to him,” Puck insists. “Fuck. Just meet me after practice, okay?”

“Whatever,” Santana replies, untangling herself from Puck’s arm and flouncing down the hall. Puck watches her find Brittany, and the two of them hold hands as they head to class. He sighs, disgruntled, and trudges to class to endure another math lesson.

He can hardly concentrate in any of his classes nowadays—not that he was a model student before, but when he and Sam used to study together, between the both of them they could at least pull high C’s or B’s. Football practice is a drag without Sam to horse around with. Puck leaves school everyday with a frown on his face.

Sometimes he sees Kurt and Sam walking out to the parking lot together, and he’s instantly filled with jealously. Kurt’s gay and Sam’s gay, so why don’t they just make out? Never mind that Sam’s never shown any romantic interest toward Kurt, but maybe it’s because he’s always been monopolizing Sam. Puck scowls as he shoves his hands in his pockets and strides to his car. It doesn’t matter. Seeing Santana will cheer him up.

Except it doesn’t. Even the sight of her perfectly rounded boobs doesn’t help. Neither does her smooth skin, her flat stomach, or her incredibly flexible legs. All he can see is the look of pained disbelief in Sam’s eyes when Puck had dumped him.

He almost wishes Sam had punched him, or at least put up a fight. At least then Puck wouldn’t feel like he kicked a puppy.

“Okay, you know what? Get out of my bed,” Santana says after they’ve been making out for about ten minutes.

Puck arches a brow at her. “Are you kicking me out of your bed?”

“Yeah.”

“No one kicks the P—”

“Yeah, newsflash, no one cares about your stupid Puckasaurus alter ego,” Santana says snidely. “You suck at macking today.”

“It’s not an alter ego,” Puck mutters after a pause. He has to focus on that part because the other part—the part where Santana is saying he’s currently not good at kissing—is too horrific to consider right now.

“You’re not all here,” Santana says. “You’re thinking about something else, and I’m not interested in making out while you daydream.”

Puck heaves out a sigh and flops onto his back. He can feel Santana rolling her eyes at him.

“Seriously,” Santana says, settling down beside him, propped up on her elbows. “What’d you do to him?”

Puck sighs again. He knows she’s talking about Sam. He grumbles for a moment while she starts filing her nails.

“So, what, you guys kissed during the party and now it’s all awkward?” she asks.

Puck furrows his brow. “Where’d you hear that from?”

“I didn’t hear it from anyone. It’s not that hard to figure out, though. Sam’s got homo written on his forehead. Or on those cock-sucking lips.”

Puck sits up, looking at her seriously. “Santana, you can’t tell anyone about this.”

“Whatever,” she replies, but Puck grabs her hands and forces her to look at him.

“I’m serious. Don’t tell anyone,” Puck says. “If you out Sam… just don’t, okay?”

“All right, I won’t.” Santana pulls her hands away and blows at her fingernails. “Since when have you actually cared about this stuff?”

Puck looks down, scowling. “You don’t know Sam. If you did, then you’d know. Just leave it at that.”

“Wow,” Santana says after a pause. Puck waits for her to go on, but she just starts filing her nails again.

“What?” Puck asks crossly.

“Nothing. It’s just pathetically obvious that you really like him.”

“I don’t like him. I’m not gay.”

Santana shoots him a look. “I meant that you like him as a good friend. You and Finn, I know you guys are cool now, but you two haven’t really been the same since babygate. But you and Sam don’t have all those issues to work though.”

Puck stops, his face growing slightly warm. “Oh. Right.”

“Sex isn’t dating, you know,” she reminds him.

“Sam and I haven’t had sex,” Puck hisses, horrified.

“Okay, you know what? You are being way too touchy.”

“You’re practically saying that I’m gay for Sam.”

Santana shrugs. “You’re something for Sam, that’s for sure.”

“I’m leaving,” Puck says, getting off the bed disgustedly. “Thanks for nothing.”

“Whatever you did to Sam, you need to sort it out,” Santana calls as Puck heads for the door. “Or else we’ll never have great sex again.”

“I didn’t do anything to him!” Puck yells over his shoulder. He goes outside and seethes for a moment as he climbs into his car. He stays mad at Santana as he drives, but by the time he reaches his house, he realizes that none of this is really her fault. He has no one to blame for this entire shitty week except himself.

He really shouldn’t have dumped Sam. Things are even more messed up with Sam out of his life than when he’s in it. None of the fear and confusion has gone away anyway. The only thing that’s changed is that he’s added a big pile of emptiness to his already conflicted feelings.

Puck parks in his driveway and turns off the car, letting out a long sigh. He closes his eyes and drops his forehead onto the steering wheel. He’ll allow himself this one moment to be a complete and total pussy.

He just really misses Sam.

- - - - -

Puck waits until after second period to approach Sam. He spots his blond head at his locker from down the hall, and Puck throws out some glares to make the freshmen move out of his way so he can catch Sam while he’s still there.

Sam’s switching out his books when Puck reaches him. He doesn’t notice Puck at first, but then Puck clears his throat, and Sam glances over. His hands falter for a second, and he almost drops a folder before he shoves it into his locker. Sam looks away quickly, staying silent.

“Hey,” Puck begins, his hands in the pockets of his letterman jacket. God, he sounds so lame even to himself. If he were Sam, he’d totally punch him.

“Hey,” Sam responds, keeping his eyes on his locker. He doesn’t say anything more, so Puck swallows and tries to think of something non-douchey to say next.

“So, uh, I’ve been doing some thinking,” Puck says. He wishes Sam would look at him.

“Yeah?” Sam asks, pushing some books around. “Did you have any great epiphanies on your break from me?”

Puck sighs tensely, chewing on the inside of his lip. “Okay. I admit what I did was shitty.”

“No, it was fine. If you needed space, then whatever. You do what you gotta do, man.” Sam shuts his locker. “See you around.”

“Wait,” Puck says in a low voice. “Please.”

Sam hesitates, then exhales softly and turns around. His face is as cold as ice and carefully guarded, but at least they’re facing each other now.

“Look. I’m just… I’m in a weird place right now,” Puck says. Sam’s expression unfreezes just the tiniest bit, and Puck is encouraged to go on. “I’m trying to figure some stuff out.”

“Puck, if I’m making things weird for you, then it’s okay if you don’t want to hang out anymore,” Sam says quietly. “You could have given me a better explanation… I mean, you didn’t have to be an asshole about it, but I get it.”

“I don’t want to not hang out with you,” Puck blurts out. He glances around quickly to make sure no one is listening. People are passing quickly, but no one is paying attention to them. Still, Puck is paranoid enough about this whole thing. “Can we talk somewhere in private?”

Sam shakes his head stiffly. His expression looks strained, and Puck watches as Sam’s fingers clench around his history book.

“You were right,” Sam says. “About… us. It was getting weird. Maybe we shouldn’t hang out anymore.”

“I wasn’t right. I was being a dick.”

“You have every right to walk away, though.”

“I don’t want to walk away.” Puck furrows his brow as Sam’s gaze lowers.

“It’s no big deal,” Sam says finally.

“Yeah, it is a big deal,” Puck insists angrily. “It was a big deal when your douchebag friends turned their backs on you at your old school, and I’m not about to do the same thing to you here.”

Sam shrugs marginally. “You kind of already did.”

“I know,” Puck says, closing his eyes briefly. “I know I did. And not to sound like a self-centered jerk, but it sucked a lot. For me. And for the record, this conversation sucks, too.”

“I’m sorry to add so much suckage to your day. For the record, this whole thing has been peachy for me.”

“Okay, yes, I get it. I’m an asshole and I suck and you have good reason to shun me right now, but I—” Puck swallows, his stomach churning. He licks his lips and continues. “I want my friend back.”

Sam looks at him for a long moment, and Puck tries to look as remorseful and pathetic as possible so Sam will take him back. Suddenly the thought that he’s wrecked things with Sam forever is unbearable.

“We need to study science together again,” Sam says. “I failed a quiz this week.”

Puck feels a weight lift from his shoulders. “Yeah? Get your head in the game, Evans. You flunk science and you’re not QB anymore.”

“I haven’t been able to concentrate,” Sam admits. Puck feels a pang in his chest, but he steels his nerve and nods.

“I’ve kinda… been the same way.”

“It’s just…” Sam worries his lip and sighs, shrugging again. “You know. This week sucked.”

“It sucked,” Puck agrees, and he sees the corner of Sam’s mouth lift in a tiny smile. “Hey, you want to do something on Friday?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Let’s see a movie.” The instant the words are out, Puck wants to take them back. Sort of. It’s not that he doesn’t want to see a movie with Sam—it just sounds so gay.

A part of him is glad he asked, though, because Sam’s eyes actually kind of light up and stuff. He looks happy. Puck feels another pang because he can’t remember the last time Sam looked like that.

“Okay,” Sam says, nodding. “Sure.”

“Cool. We should go together, so… I can swing by your house and get you or something,” Puck says. He wants to punch himself. Why is everything coming out sounding so gay? It’s like he’s asking Sam out on a date. Which he’s totally not, because Sam’s gay and Puck isn’t.

At least Sam’s not making a big deal out of it.

“Okay,” Sam repeats as they start walking down the hall. “I’ll call you whenever.”

“Sweet.” He slows as Sam stops in front of a classroom, and Puck suffers a small moment of panic when he realizes he’s just walked Sam to class. What’s wrong with him? He might as well carry Sam’s books as well. He’s pretty sure even Hummel isn’t this gay.

“See you in practice?” Sam asks, looking at him hopefully.

Puck relaxes a little, nodding. He’s probably overreacting. “Yeah, definitely.”

Sam’s smile grows a little wider, then he ducks his head with a quick goodbye and goes inside. Puck exhales, turning around as he heads for his own locker. He feels a little warmer than usual, a little more nervous, but he’s happy to be on speaking terms with Sam again. He’s really looking forward to spending some time together on Friday—it’s not a date, though, it’s just him seeing a movie with his buddy. He doesn’t date dudes. He doesn’t date anyone, really. Especially not Sam.

continue

fic fic fic

2010-11-19T22:19:56Z

Someone asked for a sneak peek of the next part of ~~Gay Waffles 'verse~~ my Puck/Sam fic, and since I do take for-fucking-ever to write this (I'm only halfway done with the next part...), I thought I should oblige. :)

Maybe if he just plays it cool and acts nonchalant, it won’t be a big deal. Puck really needs some answers; he’s tired of worrying himself to sleep and being confused all the fucking time. He steels his nerve and straddles the bench, waiting for Sam to come back even though his body is telling him to hightail it out of there.

Sam returns after a few minutes, his ridiculous abs on display as he enters in a towel, and Puck starts thinking about their kiss again. He hadn’t touched Sam’s body except through his shirt, but he could feel the hard muscles beneath his fingertips, and he imagines how they’d flex and clench if Puck did get the opportunity to make contact with skin.

Puck forces his brain to halt. Sam is getting dressed behind him—naked—and he should not be fantasizing about him. At all. Ever. Puck blows out a sigh and Sam comes around, his gym bag slung over his shoulder.

“You want to go?” Sam asks, taking a step toward the door. He stops when Puck stays put, and after a moment Sam puts his bag down and straddles the bench along with him, leaving a sizable distance between them. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been wondering about some stuff,” Puck begins, trying not to mumble. His eyes dart around the room, flitting over everything that’s not Sam’s face.

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh. Um…” Puck clears his throat. “Look, can I ask you something personal?”

“Sure.”

“Okay. Uh, well… I just wanted to know…” Puck trails off, losing his nerve, but he forces himself to focus and keep talking. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound like a jackass, but I just have to know.”

“Just ask, Puck,” Sam says, and Puck finally looks at him, taking in Sam’s careful gaze.

“When did you know you were gay?” Puck asks finally, his stomach churning. He hopes Sam doesn’t get offended. He waits to see if Sam’s expression changes to anger, but it doesn’t. Sam just looks thoughtful.

“Well…” Sam says slowly, flicking his eyes up as he thinks. “I think I always kind of knew. But I didn’t really get it until all my friends were talking about girls and I wanted to talk about boys.”

“Oh.” Puck considers this. He’d never done that as a kid. It’s always been tits or bust for him.

“I think I was around nine or ten when I admitted to myself that my feelings for boys were stronger than they were for girls,” Sam continues. “I thought maybe it was just a phase, but… it never stopped. I didn’t tell anyone because I was scared that I would get in trouble and that what I was thinking was wrong, but at the same time… I really liked how I felt. You know? It felt good. It felt right.”

“Uh-huh.” Puck tries to figure out if his feelings for boys are stronger than his feelings for girls. Maybe this whole thing had been a bad idea because he’s pretty sure he’s just confusing himself even more. Does he like Sam more than, say… Santana? Sam’s awesome, but Santana’s awesome in bed. But Sam might be awesome in bed, too. How is he supposed to know? He tries to compare Santana’s tits to Sam’s dick, but he’s never seen Sam’s dick. Puck’s always been about girls, though, so doesn’t that count for something?

“So, why are you asking?” Sam asks timidly, and Puck freezes up and starts stammering.

Glee fic; Every Second's a Longer Wait, Puck/Sam, pg-13

2010-11-08T01:56:35Z

Title: Every Second's a Longer Wait
Part: 1/1
Pairing: Puck/Sam
Rating/warnings: PG-13
Word Count: 9337
Notes: This is set in the same 'verse as The Right Side of Reason and I'm Numbing My Feeling.
Summary: Sam lives by two simple rules: don't date anyone who disses Batman, and don't molest straight boys. Unfortunately, he's having trouble with the second one.

Sam rubs some mousse onto his hair and combs his bangs in an effort to look presentable, then checks his teeth in the mirror to make sure he doesn’t have anything stuck in them from the fruit and nut bar he’s just eaten. He would rather stay home and fall asleep to reruns of Fresh Prince, but Coach Beiste had made it very clear that attendance was mandatory tonight. The booster club is throwing a party for the athletic department at McKinley, and since more than half of the football team’s funding comes from the busybody booster parents, the team is required to show up and be on their best behavior.

He blows out a sigh as he adjusts his collar and grabs the silk tie he’s draped over a chair. Beiste had told them to look nice, so Sam figures a plaid shirt and tie would be okay paired with some dark jeans. His mind wanders as he knots the tie at his throat. He wonders if Puck will dress up, too.

Just thinking about him makes Sam’s face redden because he’s still embarrassed by how he’d acted while he was drunk at Eight Ball. It’s been a couple of weeks, but Sam doesn’t get over utter mortification very easily, and he’d woken up the morning after with a huge hangover and very clear memories of practically trying to grope Puck’s crotch.

Sam lives by two very simple rules. One, never date anyone who disses Batman, because clearly those people have no taste. This first sacred statute is followed by the almost equally important rule number two: don’t molest straight boys. And Puck? Straight. As an arrow. Despite the fact that he’s kind of pinged on Sam’s gaydar a couple times—just a little bit.

Sometimes he’ll catch Puck looking at him in a way that makes Sam waver a bit. Sam is no stranger to confusion; he knows how it feels to be completely baffled by your own feelings, and sometimes he swears he sees an inkling of that reflecting in Puck’s eyes. It always disappears in the same instant that he notices, though, and Puck isn’t acting that much different. Besides, Puck has rekindled whatever weirdness he had going on before with Santana, even though their relationship consists entirely of fucking and zero communication. If that doesn’t scream straightness, Sam doesn’t know what does.

Sam puts on his shoes and grabs his keys as he passes through the kitchen. His parents are both out, and he sighs again. He could have had the house to himself if he didn’t have to go to this stupid party. Still, Puck will be there, so at least he’ll have fun. Maybe. It depends. Santana will probably be there, too—all the Cheerios will—and lately Puck has been stuck on her like glue. Sam is not above jealousy, and he’s definitely jealous. He even gets jealous when he passes Puck’s car, parked down the street away from the driveway, presumably so he can bail quicker.

The party is being hosted at one of the wealthier Cheerios’ house, and when Sam gets out of his car, he spends a moment staring at how big the house is. They have a pool. He frowns and wonders if Puck has ever brought his pool-cleaning business here. He’s probably nailed the lady of the house more than once.

“Hey, Sam!” Finn crosses the lawn, a smile on his face, and Sam lifts his hand in a wave.

“You shouldn’t be walking on the lawn,” Sam says, pointing at a “keep off the grass” sign. Sam likes Finn just fine, though they don’t talk very much outside of casual chats in the locker room.

“Oh. Oops.” Finn glances at the house, then turns back with a shrug. “Come inside, man. How are you?”

“Good, thanks,” Sam says, grateful that he doesn’t have to walk in on his own. Even after all this time, he’s still the new kid, and he thinks he probably always will be unless someone else decides to transfer to McKinley.

There’s soft music playing inside the house, background noise for the chattering of excited voices. Sam is glad his parents aren’t members of the booster club. He’d be too embarrassed to even speak to a boy, knowing that they’d probably be wondering whether he had a crush on him or not. He’s glad he’s out to his parents, but he really doesn’t want to think of them imagining their only son as a sexual being. Not that Sam is a sexual being at the moment. The only loving he’s getting is from himself.

Speaking of loving, he spies Puck and Santana near the glass doors in the back, and he swears Puck just had his hand under Santana’s skirt. Sam fights the urge to roll his eyes, then tells himself he’s being silly. He should be happy for Puck. But he’s not, because Puck is his only real friend here and he kind of wants him all to himself.

“Whoa,” Sam says as Rachel suddenly appears out of nowhere, beaming in his face.

“Hello, Sam, it’s good to see you,” she says, latching herself onto Finn’s arm. Sam is a little bit scared of Rachel. He’s also starting to feel a little awkward because he thinks he might be the only one here without a date.

“Hi,” Sam says, trying to think of something nice to say to stay on Rachel’s good side. She has some kind of shiny headband resting in her curls. “I like your, um… thing. In your hair.”

“Really?” Rachel says, suddenly looking at him a little more closely, and Sam realizes what he just said sounded completely gay. Guys never comment on things like that. He should have stuck with a vague you look very nice.

“Yeah, I mean, it’s, um… shiny,” Sam stammers. Oh, God, shut up, shut up, shut up. He looks at Puck laughing with Santana and wills him to come across the room and save him.

“Thank you. That’s very sweet, Sam,” Rachel says, smiling. “I can’t believe you hang out with Noah. He’s such a barbarian and you seem the exact opposite.”

“Come on, Rach, Puck’s not that bad,” Finn says, nudging her with that little half-smile on his lips that he always has. Sam looks at him, wondering about the relationship he and Puck had before. Sam knows Finn used to be his best friend before Puck knocked his girlfriend up. In a way he’s glad he missed all the drama, but another part of him wonders about who helped Puck through all that, because he also knows that neither Finn nor Quinn were being friendly to him.

“Noah is that bad,” Rachel says. “I mean, look at him with Santana. Could he be putting on a bigger show? Everyone knows he’s never been in a real relationship in his entire life.”

Sam fidgets slightly, biting the inside of his lip. He doesn’t want to get into it with Rachel, but he also doesn’t want to stand there and let her trash Puck—but he also doesn’t want to look like an idiot because everyone here has known Puck way longer than him. He lets out a little sigh of relief when Puck catches his eye and walks over.

“Hey, dudettes,” Puck says, propping his elbow on Sam’s shoulder. “What do you say we spice up this party?”

“Dude, there are tons of parents around,” Finn says in a stage whisper, and Sam’s lips quirk into a smile. “Plus, Coach Beiste will kill us if we do anything stupid.”

“I don’t mean we should all take our clothes off and run around,” Puck scoffs. “Most of us are just gonna hang in the rec room downstairs. We could play a game.”

“We could do karaoke,” Rachel suggests, and Puck boos loudly.

“This isn’t glee club, Berry.”

“Let’s play spin the bottle,” Santana suggests.

“That’s my girl,” Puck says, putting an arm around her shoulders as she grins at everyone with that sarcastically sweet yet terrifying smile of hers. Sam watches them with his hands in his pockets, then follows as the group heads toward the stairs. He snags a glass of punch on the way just to be doing something.

“What’s up?” Puck asks as they reach the bottom of the stairs. Santana goes off to sit with Brittany, leaving the two of them alone. Sam shrugs, looking at the expensively furnished rec room.

“You’re just being really quiet,” Puck says.

“No reason.”

“Well, we’re gonna play spin the bottle. If you’re lucky, you’ll get to mack on Rachel.”

Sam shifts his gaze to Puck, his brows rising slightly. “Really, you think I want to kiss Rachel?”

“She’s a good kisser. We had a thing once. We had an obligation to hook up, being fellow hot Jews and all.”

“Oh.” Sam hadn’t known that. “So, what, you’ve hooked up with everyone here?”

“Well…” Puck looks around, pursing his lips. “Kind of. Yeah, I think so. Not the dudes, of course.”

Sam smiles faintly. “Yeah, of course. Rachel said you’ve never been in a real relationship before. Is that true?”

Puck shoots him a look, and Sam figures he shouldn’t have asked. There’s no reason for him to be grilling Puck anyway.

“Sorry, that’s none of my business,” Sam says, suddenly feeling isolated. Everyone here has so much history that he’s not a part of, and he feels like a tool trying to play catch-up just so he can understand. He looks around at the people clustered in a friendly group—Mercedes, Kurt, and Quinn have joined them downstairs, chatting with Santana and Brittany, and Finn and Rachel are sitting nearby, though enveloped in their own conversation. A bunch of other footballers and cheerios, including the two he likes the least—Karofsky and Azimio—are horsing around nearby. He sighs softly and starts to walk over, intending to sit and listen until he finds a way to ingratiate himself into someone’s group, but he stops when he feels Puck grab his arm.

“What?” Sam asks, turning around with a questioning glance.

“You mad at me, dude?” Puck arches an eyebrow.

“No. No, I’m not mad at you,” Sam says, relaxing. “I just feel weird. I don’t know—every time I’m around everyone here, I get completely lost. And… I don’t know what to think about the way Rachel talks about you.”

“Okay. One, never listen to anything Rachel says. Two, quit worrying so much.”

Sam can’t help smiling at him. “I hope you never consider a career in counseling because you really suck at it.”

“What I’m trying to say is that everyone already thinks you’re cool,” Puck says, shrugging. “You don’t have anything to prove.”

“I just want to know more,” Sam admits.

“You want to know about all my past non-relationships? We could be here for a while. And you have to spill on all yours, too.”

“You already know the thing I’m most ashamed of.”

Puck’s expression changes swiftly and he lowers his voice. “Wait, you’re… you’re ashamed of being gay?”

“No,” Sam says, taken aback. “No, I meant my whole friendship with Kyle and everything that happened at Darlington. The bullying. You know. I’m not ashamed of who I like, I’m just… a private person.”

“Oh.” Puck nods, but Sam thinks he’s looks a little tenser than before. “Right.”

“Why are you being so weird lately?” Sam asks bluntly, and Puck scowls.

“I’m not being weird. You’re being weird.”

“Look, if this has anything to do about what happened at Eight Ball—”

“It doesn’t.”

“—I’m sorry I acted like an asshole while I was drunk. I know you said it was okay, but I clearly freaked you out, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… I should have just kept my hands off you.” Sam looks at him timidly, biting his lip. Puck just shakes his head, his eyes shifting to the group when Santana and Mercedes let out a particularly loud peal of laughter.

“It’s cool, Sam.”

“Are you sure? Because you’ve… things have just felt different between us,” Sam says quietly. “I know you’re dating Santana now, but I kind of miss when we just used to hang.”

“I know,” Puck mumbles, looking down at his shoes. “I’ve just been busy with her.”

“It’s cool, I don’t want to come between you guys, but I also don’t want to be the one who kind of… killed our friendship because of one bad night.”

Puck lifts his eyes, smirking. “Please. Don’t give yourself so much credit. If anyone ever wanted to kill our friendship, I would be the one doing the killing. That’s the kind of badassery that only I’m capable of.”

Sam smiles tentatively. “So we’re cool?”

“We’ve always been cool.” Puck gives his arm a friendly punch. “Stop over thinking things, Evans. Your brain can’t really handle it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to find a bottle.”

Sam sits down with the rest of the group as Puck wanders off. He’s not really paying attention to the conversation, instead mulling on what Puck’s just said to him. He’s not entirely convinced everything is okay—he still has the distinct feeling that he’d been too gay with Puck and now Puck is just politely trying to forget it. The only thing he’s sure about is that he’s confused about where they stand. They’re just friends.

Sam swallows, his brow creasing slightly. They’re just friends, which means Sam is the one who’s over thinking this whole thing. Puck is being totally normal, spending time with his girl, hanging out with Sam when he can, and Sam has been reading too much into it. He likes Puck. He’s always liked him—Puck is a cool guy, a great friend, really fun to be around, and Sam likes hanging with him.

Christ. Does he have a crush on Puck?

He thinks about it. He misses Puck when he’s not around. He’s jealous whenever Puck is with Santana. He feels most comfortable when they’re just chilling in his room talking about inane things. He’s been spending an awful lot of time lately worrying about their relationship.

Jesus. He likes Puck. Sam runs a hand through his hair, feeling his cheeks reddening. How can he have a crush on his straight best friend? This is horrible. This is going to make everything even weirder than before.

Puck returns with a triumphant smile, holding a glass bottle, and everyone cheers and starts making a circle to prepare for the game. Sam sits on the floor beside Rachel, his brain still moving too quickly. It comes to a screeching halt, however, when Puck plops down on his other side, grinning. Santana sits across from Puck, her lips curved into a devilish smile.

“I’m ready to get my mack on,” she announces, and Puck laughs. Sam smiles feebly, glancing at Puck from the corner of his eye.

One thing is for certain. Puck can never, ever know.

- - - - -

“Let’s spice this up a little,” Santana says about half an hour later. The game has been going strong and so far Sam has only had to kiss Quinn, which is probably the person he would have chosen to kiss anyway because she seems like one of the more sane people here. Rachel has just spun and kissed Kurt, which was one of the most awkward things Sam has ever seen in his life.

“What do you have in mind?” Mercedes asks, and Sam’s stomach tightens a little as he takes in the gleam in Santana’s eyes. He really wishes Santana had waited one more turn to speak, because now he’s up and he’s pretty sure he’s going to have to do something really crazy.

“Seven minutes in heaven,” Santana suggests. “The next person who spins won’t just have to kiss anyone, they’ll have to spend seven minutes in the closet with whoever. And they have to kiss. With tongue. We’ll be checking. Then the rest of us will play regular spin the bottle until they’re done, and then whoever’s turn it is will do seven minutes in heaven again.”

“I guess that means you’re up, Sam,” Quinn says, laughing. Sam reluctantly grasps the bottle and gives it a spin, then sits back and hopes desperately it’ll land on himself. Or at least a girl. But not Santana.

The bottle slows down as the neck approaches him, and Sam hopes it’ll at least land on Rachel, which would be bad but not terrible, but it passes her and slowly points at him. Sam holds his breath, not daring to hope at his good fortune, but his stomach sinks as it nudges a tiny bit to the left.

The room erupts in laughter as Sam and Puck sit with shocked expressions on their faces. Quinn is pointing and laughing, and Brittany and Santana are doubled over each other. Kurt is giving Sam a knowing smirk, and Sam averts his eyes and glares at the bottle. He can already hear Karofsky and Azimio guffawing loudly.

“You two have to make out in the closet for seven minutes,” Santana orders. “Up and at ‘em.”

“Couldn’t we just… pass?” Sam mumbles. “I don’t like the rule change.”

“We don’t care, Lady Lips, now get in the closet,” Santana retorts, giving Brittany a high five.

“Come on, let’s go,” Puck says, nudging him, and Sam stares in disbelief as Puck starts getting up.

“Really? Are you serious?”

“The Puckasaurus never backs down from a challenge.” Puck grabs his arm and Sam has no choice but to stand. They make their way to the closet amidst hoots and catcalls. Sam hears some shuffling behind him and glances back to see Rachel scrambling after them.

“I’ll keep watch,” she says, and Sam’s anxiety heightens. He’s terrified that she’s already well on her way to figuring him out.

“You can’t watch us the whole time,” Puck says with a scowl.

“I won’t,” Rachel shoots back. “I’ll just check periodically and report back to everyone else that you’re following the rules. You won’t even notice me peeking in.”

“I think I’ll notice,” Sam says as Puck opens the closet door. He steps inside, being mindful not to disturb the coats and sweaters hanging around him. He takes a deep breath and faces Puck, who’s still busy giving Rachel dirty looks.

“Look, we can’t start with you watching us,” Puck says. “It’s weird. Get lost, Berry.”

“Fine, but I’m going to check in another thirty seconds or so, and you two better have started by then,” Rachel says, then closes the door. The closet is suddenly silent, and Sam nervously meets Puck’s eyes.

“Are we really going to do this?” Sam asks finally, and Puck actually looks surprised.

“It’s not going to mean anything,” Puck says, chuckling. Sam thinks it sounds forced.

“But still…” Sam hesitates, chewing on his bottom lip.

“It’s just a stupid game,” Puck says in a softer voice. “You didn’t feel anything when you kissed Quinn, right? It’s just like that. It’s no big deal. We have to do this, dude, or else everyone’s going to think I’m a wuss.”

“So this is really just about you saving face?” Sam hates that the thought makes him feel a little dejected. “You don’t care that this is going to be really weird, for both of us?”

“The only thing making everything weird is how much you keep obsessing over things being weird.”

That shuts Sam up. He has been obsessing, and it’s probably making Puck uncomfortable. What if Puck is starting to think he likes him? Sam pushes the thought away, realizing he has to get himself under control before he completely scares Puck off.

“You’re right,” Sam mutters. Puck comes closer, and Sam’s stomach does a little flip as Puck backs him against the wall. Fake fur tickles his arm from a small pink coat hanging next to him.

“Rachel’s gonna check on us in a second,” Puck says, his breath ghosting across Sam’s skin. Sam nods, licking his lips.

“So go ahead. Kiss me,” Sam says. “It’s just a game, right?”

“Yeah, it’s just a stupid game,” Puck responds slowly. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

Sam nods again, swallowing nervously, and he lowers his eyelids as Puck brings his face closer. They’re less than an inch apart, but Puck doesn’t kiss him just yet. Sam tries to control his breathing, his fingers fidgeting by his sides, waiting.

Puck lifts one hand and brings it to Sam’s face, his fingers hovering over his cheek before moving up and touching his bangs. Sam feels Puck’s fingers slide gently through the side of his hair and come to rest at the back of his skull. Then Puck closes the space between them and presses their lips together.

Sam hasn’t kissed anyone since he transferred to McKinley, and Puck’s lips are warm and welcoming. Sam puts a hand on Puck’s hip, grasping his shirt softly as he moves against Puck’s mouth, and Puck pulls him closer, his hand still nestled in Sam’s hair. Sam lets himself go for a moment, enjoying the deep warmth he gets from kissing someone he likes.

Puck’s tongue pokes at his lips, and Sam hesitates before opening his mouth and letting him in. He inhales deeply through his nose as Puck’s tongue roams across the roof of his mouth, sending a shiver through his body. Sam’s head is pressed against the wall now, and Puck’s hand has migrated again, now cradling his jaw as he kisses him. Sam’s breathing speeds up slightly as Puck licks at his mouth, and Sam tightens his grip on Puck’s hips as he thrusts his own tongue past Puck’s lips.

Never in a million years would Sam have imagined that he’d be kissing Puck in his lifetime. The kiss grows more heated, and Sam feels Puck hand move from his jaw to his throat, his fingers dragging down his skin as he reaches his collar, sliding down his tie until his hand is pressed lightly against Sam’s chest. Sam lets out a breath, still attached to Puck’s mouth, then moans softly when Puck’s fingers rub against his nipple through his shirt. Heat suddenly streaks through Sam’s groin, and he arches his back a little as Puck presses harder.

Puck growls softly, and Sam feels the vibration zip through his body. He slides one arm further around Puck’s waist, pulling him closer against him, and Puck starts biting at Sam’s lip, his teeth nipping at the soft flesh. Sam kisses back messily, tilting his head as he pushes his tongue into Puck’s mouth again, teeth clashing and spit mingling between them.

Puck suddenly places both hands tightly on Sam’s face, his fingers fitting perfectly against his jaw as he angles Sam’s head and kisses the side of his mouth, then moves his lips lower to his chin. Sam grunts, his hand sliding down Puck’s back as Puck ducks his head and starts sucking a bruise onto the skin of his throat. The pain abruptly snaps Sam back to reality, and he opens his eyes blearily as he realizes they’re going above and beyond what the game calls for.

“Puck,” Sam says, his voice coming out in a high-pitched whine. He’s breathing fast, and he can’t help the way his eyelids flutter shut again as Puck drags his lips across his throat, back to his chin, seeking out his mouth once more.

Sam kisses back even as his stomach churns uneasily. Puck is just such a good kisser, and it’s tempting to imagine what would come out of this if Puck weren’t straight. Sam sighs against his mouth, running his tongue over Puck’s lips before trying to withdraw as best as he can with his back already pressed against the wall.

“Puck,” Sam repeats breathlessly as Puck chases his mouth, their lips grazing against each other. “Puck!”

“Be quiet,” Puck insists, kissing him again. He pushes their bodies together, one hand splayed on the wall next to Sam’s head.

“What are you doing?” Sam asks in a strained voice, his arm still wrapped around Puck’s waist, his knuckles resting against the hard muscles in his back.

“I’m kissing you, idiot,” Puck responds swiftly.

“But—”

“Just stop—stop talking, okay?” Puck blurts out, pressing his lips against Sam’s cheek, and Sam swears he hears a crack in Puck’s voice. “It doesn’t… doesn’t mean anything, it’s just a stupid game. Just let me kiss you, just… just let me—”

“Puck,” Sam whispers, his mouth trembling as Puck lips cover his. His face feels hot, his chest tight with confusion, but he draws his arms firmly around Puck’s body and kisses him hard. The wet sound of their mouths and their harsh breathing are the only things Sam can hear until Puck suddenly pushes him back, probably with more force than he intended to, because he looks sorry when Sam lets out a startled yelp as his head bangs into the wall.

He doesn’t say anything, though, because they’re both too busy staring at Rachel, who’s standing in the doorway with an unreadable expression on her face.

“I knocked,” she says finally. “It’s been almost ten minutes.”

Sam tries to steady his breathing as he wipes a hand across his mouth, and Puck backs away from him slowly, blinking like the closet is suddenly too bright. Rachel’s body is blocking the door so no one else can see inside.

“Um, we’ll be out,” Sam croaks, clearing his throat. “We’ll be out in a second.”

Rachel nods, then shuts the door on her way out. Sam can’t meet Puck’s eyes just yet, so he looks down at himself and smoothes out the wrinkles in his shirt, then adjusts his tie. Puck coughs, and Sam peeks at him through his bangs.

“Is your, um…” Puck gestures toward him vaguely. “Your head okay?”

“Oh, yeah,” Sam says stiffly, running a hand through the back of his hair. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

“Good.” Puck averts his gaze, looking at the door. “We should go back.”

“Puck—”

“Look, just don’t say anything,” Puck says quickly. “I know what you’re thinking. It was just a game, so don’t start reading into things. We can… we can talk later, just not now. This isn’t the time or the place.”

Sam creases his brow as he looks at him, but he nods. Puck looks freaked out, but he takes a breath and composes himself, and in a second he puts a hand on the doorknob.

“Ready?” Puck asks.

“Yeah, sure,” Sam mumbles, and Puck opens the door. Sam follows Puck out, and there’s laughter and catcalling as they rejoin the party.

“You guys must have had a good time in there,” Santana remarks. Puck smirks, playing it off, but Sam can’t remember how to be charming and ends up plastering a smile on his face that looks more like a grimace.

Karofsky and a bunch of other guys are nudging each other and pointing, and Sam feels a chill run through him when he distinctly hears the word fag. He stares at the group, his eyes hard, then glances over as he sees Kurt excuse himself to get something to drink.

“Come on, the game’s still going,” Puck says, giving him a nudge. Sam doesn’t feel like continuing. He wants to leave, preferably with Puck so they can talk, but that’s out of the question. He’d be fueling the fire if he left with Puck now. Besides, Beiste would kill him if he left at all.

“I’m kinda hungry, I’m going upstairs to find some food,” Sam says. “I’ll see you later?”

“Sure,” Puck says, rejoining the circle, and Sam feels a little stung that Puck is apparently still up for more kissing with people that aren’t him. Sam turns and goes upstairs. He bumps into Kurt as soon as he’s back on the main floor.

“Sorry,” Sam says, reaching out and steadying the drink in Kurt’s hand as a few drops of punch hit the hardwood floor. “I’ll get that.”

“It’s not on my shoes. You’re good,” Kurt replies, and Sam manages a feeble smile. Kurt studies him for a moment, his eyes calculating, but not in the scary way that Santana does. Still, it’s unnerving. Sam feels like Kurt can see right through him.

“Are you coming back down?” Kurt asks.

Sam purses his lips to one side and shakes his head. “Um, probably not. I’m gonna… find some food or something. Beiste said we should at least attempt to talk to some of the boosters, too.”

“It’s because of what Karofsky said, isn’t it?”

Sam swallows audibly. “No. What did he say?”

“Please, Sam. I saw your face,” Kurt says flatly. “I heard him, too. I’m sure Puck did as well, he’s just not saying anything.”

“It was just a game,” Sam insists halfheartedly. “We only kissed because of the game, everyone knows that.”

“Okay,” Kurt says lightly, nodding. He seems to back off, and Sam starts chewing on his lip. Sometimes he wonders what it would be like to be friends with Kurt Hummel. It would be the coolest thing in the world to have another friend he could be honest with. Of course Puck has been nothing but supportive of him, but it’s not like he can discuss his confusing feelings with Puck when his feeling are about Puck.

“I’ll see you around, Sam,” Kurt says, then Sam is watching him walk by, disappearing downstairs. Sam sighs and makes his way to the kitchen. The refreshments are outside on an immaculate lawn furniture collection, but there are extras set out on the kitchen table, so Sam spends a moment popping miniature quiche in his mouth. He’s so busy mulling over what he should say to Puck the next time he sees him that he loses track of how many he eats, and then he gets annoyed with himself for not paying more attention. He picks up a glass of lemonade and wanders away from the food, then walks right into Coach Beiste.

“Watch where you’re going, Evans,” she says, not harshly, but not exactly pleasantly either. He looks up at her and watches her expression soften slightly.

“Sorry,” Sam mumbles. If there were one person in the world he could talk to about Puck, it would be Beiste. She’s known about him being gay ever since he tried to lie to her about his busted face in Darlington.

“I had an accident,” Sam said, trying not to think about how ridiculous his story sounded. “I hit a door and I fell and I hit my face on a chair and it was just really stupid and I promise I’ll be more careful from now on.”

Beiste looked at him, her light eyes both mesmerizing and terrifying. He knew how easily she’d kicked Finn off the team. Sam really didn’t want to be next.

“You don’t get those kind of bruises from a chair,” Beiste said.

“But—”

“Who hit you?” she asked, and Sam’s stomach sank as he fumbled for words.

“No one?”

“Did you pick a fight with the Darlington team?” Beiste demanded. Sam shook his head quickly, then stopped because everything still hurt when he moved. Beiste kept talking. “Did you and Puckerman get into a fight?”

“No, Puck didn’t hit me, I swear,” Sam stammered. “It wasn’t him.”

“Then who was it?” Beiste narrowed her eyes at him. Sam wanted to crawl into a hole and die. This entire trip had been nothing but trouble for him, and he was tired of dealing with everything he’d tried so hard to leave behind. Sam bit his lip without thinking, which only caused him to let out a small sigh of pain.

“Sam, tell me what happened right now,” Beiste said, her voice still firm, but there was something else there as well. Or rather, it was the lack of something that Sam had always hated hearing since he was young—judgment. Her voice held no trace of it, and though she didn’t sound thrilled with him, Sam could also pick up the concern in her words.

“Tell me the truth,” Beiste said, and Sam lowered his eyes and started talking about Kyle and Daniel and Waffle House and being jumped and Puck saving him and, finally, the truth.

“I was bullied at Darlington because I was gay, and I transferred to McKinley because my parents were concerned about my safety,” Sam said, surprised that he’d kept his voice steady the entire time. He wasn’t really scared anymore. He was mostly just depressed.

“How bad is it?” Beiste asked.

Sam looked at her. “What?”

“Your face.” Beiste took a step closer, and Sam lifted his chin to give her a better view. He’d slept a couple hours since it happened, but it really didn’t look that much better. At least it wasn’t swelling too badly—he had Puck’s ice to thank for that. Beiste made him open his mouth to check out his teeth, then she stared into his eyes for a long moment.

“It doesn’t hurt that much anymore,” Sam said, trying to keep a straight face at the obvious lie. His face was killing him, but he didn’t want Beiste to take him out of the game. That is, if he was still even on the team at all anymore.

“You should call your parents,” Beiste said finally. “Tell them exactly what happened.”

“They’ll freak out,” Sam protested.

“They should. You should decide together whether you want to press charges.”

Sam was taken aback. “I’m not… I don’t want to press charges. This isn’t a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Beiste gave him a sour frown. “My QB shows up black and blue because of a gay bashing and says it’s not a big deal?”

“Okay, it is, I know,” Sam mumbled, swallowing nervously. “I just… I’ve been through this before. Kyle put me in the hospital once and there was this huge mess with the police and the school and his parents and my parents, and I just don’t want that again. I know it’s wrong of me to just let him get away with this, but… I don’t want to become an example. I don’t want anyone to know. I realize that makes me a huge coward, but… I don’t want to go through all that again, and I don’t want my parents to either.”

“Does Puckerman know?” Beiste asked. “You said he was there, right?”

“Yeah, he knows. He knows pretty much everything I just told you. He promised to keep it a secret, though. I trust him.” Sam lifted his eyes worriedly. “You won’t tell anyone… will you?”

“If you’re getting harassed—”

“I’m not,” Sam insisted. “I swear. But I will if everyone knows I’m gay. It’ll be exactly like what happened at my old school and if that happens again… I don’t know what I’ll do. I like it here, Coach. I just want a chance to make this work. Please.”

Beiste held his gaze steadily. “It’s your choice whether you want to come out or not. I wouldn’t take that away from you. But if anything else happens, I’m sorry, but this is going to come out in the open.”

“Nothing else will happen,” Sam said softly. “This is the last time I’ll ever be in Darlington again anyway.”

“Have you been drinking?” Beiste demands suddenly, and Sam snaps back to attention, quickly shaking his head.

“No,” Sam says, holding his glass up. “It’s just lemonade.”

“Then why do you look so spaced out? You’re supposed to be making a good impression on the boosters so they’ll know they’re not wasting their money on the McKinley Titans. Where the hell is the rest of your team?”

“Um, downstairs,” Sam says sheepishly. “I just… have stuff on my mind. You want me to go get them?”

Beiste shakes her head, waving a hand dismissively. Sam studies her for a moment longer, realizing she’s wearing makeup and jewelry. She actually looks pretty, and Sam feels okay telling her because he doesn’t have to watch his every word with her since she knows he’s gay anyway.

“Those earrings are really nice,” Sam says, looking at her pearls.

“You shouldn’t have worn jeans,” is Beiste’s response, and Sam puts his free hand in his pocket and looks down at himself. “But at least you’re wearing a tie. I swear, teenage boys have no idea how to dress themselves for special occasions. Next time ask your mother for help.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sam meets her eyes again, and this time she shakes the ice in her glass and waits.

“Something’s bothering you,” she states, then her face hardens. “Is it someone?”

It takes Sam a moment to catch on. “No, no one’s hurting me. It’s nothing like that.”

“Good. If it’s just regular high school heartbreak, then keep that crap off the field, you hear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sam repeats, nodding as he worries his lip.

“Do you have anyone to talk to?” Beiste asks, and Sam gives a little shrug, then shakes his head.

“Not really. It’s kind of stupid. I’m pretty sure I’m… the girl… in this situation.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” she asks sharply.

“Nothing,” Sam says quickly. God, Beiste is terrifying. “I just wouldn’t want to… bore you.”

“Listen, if you need someone to talk to, don’t hesitate to come to me,” Beiste practically barks at him. “You need to have a clear head in order to win. You can’t do that if you’re obsessing over your he-said-she-said nonsense.”

“I kissed someone I shouldn’t have,” Sam blurts out after he has a quick glance around to make sure no one’s within earshot. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“If you shouldn’t have done it the first time, then don’t kiss that person again,” Beiste says plainly. Sam frowns. She makes it sound so simple. “Is the person interested? Available?”

“I don’t know. And no,” Sam says slowly, then reconsiders. “Actually, I think it might be no to both of those questions. I’m not sure.”

“Don’t do something stupid over someone you can’t have. I realize you’re sixteen and you’re practically required to act like a fool, but, Sam, use that head on your shoulders. Do you understand me?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do,” he says softly, nodding. This is the second time he’s broken his all-important don’t molest straight boys rule. He really has to set things right with Puck, or he’s going to scare him off for good and Sam is certain his life at McKinley will suck if he loses his best friend.

“I have to go talk to P—someone,” Sam says. Beiste looks unsurprised and waves him off, and Sam turns around, flushing with embarrassment, and heads off to find Puck. He wanders to the stairs and takes out his phone to text him.

“Hello, Sam,” Rachel says suddenly, and Sam gives her a startled look.

“You really should stop doing that,” Sam says. “I scare easily.”

“Oh. Sorry,” she says lightly.

Sam nods, looking back down at his phone. “You haven’t seen Puck, have you? I thought you all were still playing spin the bottle or seven minutes in heaven or whatever.”

“We stopped a while ago. Noah went to the backyard, he said he’d be in the garden.”

“Oh, thanks.” Sam heads for the backdoor, but Rachel grabs his arm and wrenches him to a halt. She has a surprisingly strong grip for someone of her slight stature, and Sam blinks uncertainly at her. “Um, can you let go?”

“He’s out in the garden with Santana,” Rachel says, very pointedly lowering her voice. “What kind of friend would I be if I let you walk in on whatever sordid and inappropriate tryst they might be having?”

Sam hadn’t been aware that he and Rachel were friends, but that particular revelation takes a backseat to the sudden stinging feeling he gets at knowing that Puck and Santana are probably having sex right outside. He knows he can’t blame Puck. Santana’s his girlfriend-esque figure for the moment. But still, he’s just shared the most passionate kiss of his life with Puck, and he just wishes Puck would act more like it actually meant something.

Immediately alarm bells go off in his head, and he realizes his problem right then and there.

The kiss hadn’t meant anything to Puck, because Puck is straight and has a girlfriend. And no matter how many epiphanies Sam has about his mixed feelings for Puck, it’s not going to turn Puck gay. It was all part of a game, just like Puck told him before they kissed.

Sam lets out a heavy sigh and leans against the wall, next to where Rachel is standing on the bottom step, her hand resting on the banister.

“Awesome,” Sam says finally, jamming his hands in his pockets. He blows out another sigh, his bangs ruffling with his breath.

“I know you probably want to talk to Noah right now,” Rachel begins.

“No, actually, I don’t.”

“I know this is confusing for you, Sam, and I know it’s difficult. You probably feel very alone. I want you to know that I can understand that more than you think, and I sympathize, I really do.”

Sam looks at her, squinting slightly. “Um… I don’t really know what you’re talking about.”

Rachel smiles knowingly. “I’m adopted, did you know? I have two dads, and growing up with them has instilled in me an impeccable… intuition, if you will.”

Sam’s palms are starting to feel clammy. “I’m definitely not following… sorry.”

“Sam. You can tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

Rachel pauses, then leans in slightly, her voice dropping even lower. “You’re gay, right?”

Sam just stares at her, trying not to let out the choking sound rising in his throat. He swallows hard, blinks, looks away, then meets her eyes again, drawing in a panicky breath.

“No,” he says, his voice strained.

“Sam—”

“How could you tell?” Sam hisses, his hands curling into fists in his pockets. He has to know so he can put a swift end to whatever tipped her off. “Was it because I commented on your headband? ‘Cause I only said that to be nice. And I didn’t even call it by the right name—I purposely said thing in your hair.”

“It wasn’t that,” Rachel says, chuckling lightly. The sound makes Sam nauseous. “It’s just… just you. I can tell. I always knew. Especially with the way you look at Noah.”

“That is not possible, Rachel, because I only figured out I had a crush on him, like, an hour ago,” Sam says, then realizes what he’s just confessed to, and he immediately wants to jam the words back into his mouth.

“Well, that’s not surprising. I’ve noticed you boys can be a little slow when it comes to realizing things—which is okay, I mean… no offense.”

“Oh, God, I’m gonna be sick,” Sam mutters, dragging his hands down his face.

“You do look a little green,” Rachel says. “Is it because you’re not exactly sure about your sexuality? I didn’t surprise you, did I?”

“No, I—I knew. I always knew.” Sam takes a deep breath and tries to muster every ounce of sincerity within him, which isn’t hard because he’s legitimately freaking out. “No one else is supposed to know, though.”

“Oh.” Rachel purses her lips. “So, Noah doesn’t know about your feelings?”

“No, Puck knows—no, wait, he doesn’t,” Sam stammers. “He knows I’m gay but he doesn’t know anything else. I’m begging you, Rachel, don’t tell him. Don’t tell anyone. Please.”

“Well, of course… I wouldn’t out you, Sam,” Rachel says softly.

“I’m serious.” Sam lowers his voice and tries to keep it steady. “I don’t want to go into everything that happened, but I don’t want anyone knowing about me. Not the football team, not Glee, not anyone. I never even planned to tell Puck—it just happened. I just… I can’t tell anyone. I can’t.”

“Sam, I’m not going to tell,” Rachel says, blinking her long lashes at him soberly. Sam’s stares back, fear settling like a hard stone in his stomach. He doesn’t know Rachel, not really, not outside of hanging out with Finn a few times. He doesn’t know if she’ll really keep his secret. He’s heard about her fierce temper and how she’ll stop at nearly nothing when it comes to singing, so he doesn’t actually have much faith in her.

Sam runs his hands quickly over his eyes and pushes his bangs back, then grips his phone tightly. He hopes Santana and Puck are done because he needs to speak with him right the fuck now.

“Listen… Sam?” Rachel’s voice is quieter now, and more serious. Maybe she’s realized he’s handling this whole thing really badly—he almost feels like he’s going to burst into tears right in front of her. “Your secret is safe with me. I won’t tell. But if you ever need someone to talk to, my dads would be more than happy to discuss any fears or misgivings you might have. I don’t know what happened to you, but you’re not alone. Really.”

“I really need to go,” Sam says hollowly, turning around and heading for the front door. He calls Puck as he walks, ignoring everyone he passes until he’s down the street. Suddenly he’s glad Puck always parks further away so he can leave quicker. Sam stops by Puck’s car as he reaches Puck’s voicemail.

“Puck? I realize you’re probably fucking Santana, but I need to talk to you. Now. Please. Not about what happened earlier. I just—I need to talk to someone and you’re literally the only person on the planet I can be honest with. I’m outside, by your car. Just meet me here, please. Please, Puck, I’m really, epically freak—”

“Sam?” Puck’s voice suddenly cuts him off, and Sam sucks in a deep breath.

“I thought you were busy with Santana,” Sam mumbles.

“We were just chilling. You’re by my car?”

Sam nods, then remembers Puck can’t see him. “Yeah.”

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Thanks,” Sam says, slight relief flowing through him, but then he remembers Rachel and it’s all he can do to not bite his lip bloody until he sees Puck jogging toward him.

“What’s the big emergency?” Puck asks as he approaches.

“Rachel knows,” Sam says tensely.

“Knows what?”

“About me! She knows I’m gay.”

“Did you tell her?”

“No, she just… she’s got some freaking sixth sense or something—did you know her dads are gay?”

“Yeah, I knew. I kind of met them when me and Rachel had a thing.”

Sam stops. “Oh, right. I forgot you two hooked up.”

“Yeah. It was sort of a cultural thing. Like, you know, we’re both Jews and I wanted to do something nice for my mom so I hooked up with her. My mom always wanted me to be with a nice Jewish girl. Rachel’s not really nice, though.”

Sam just stares at him for a long moment. “So, just tell me now. Is there anyone you haven’t hooked up with at McKinley?”

Puck purses his lips. “Well… I don’t know. Not the dudes.”

“Of course not,” Sam mutters. “Okay, I don’t care. Just tell me what to do about Rachel.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, is she going to tell everyone? Do you actually trust her?”

Puck pauses, looking thoughtful. “I don’t think she’ll tell anyone. Just don’t get on her bad side and give her a reason to hate you.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“Well, what do you want me to say?”

Sam turns around and fights the urge to slam his fist against Puck’s car. “I don’t know! But could you at least pretend to give a shit about the fact that this has me really, really scared?”

“What are you talking about?” Puck’s voice sounds softer now, and Sam hears the scuffle of his shoes on the road as he comes closer. Sam leans against the car and pinches the bridge of his nose, letting his hair fall into his eyes because he’s starting to feel embarrassed.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” Sam mutters. “I didn’t mean it.”

“I get that you’re freaked out,” Puck says slowly. “It’s okay. But I really don’t think Rachel will tell.”

“Really?” Sam lifts his eyes and looks at Puck, and Puck nods. Sam lets out a long sigh, closing his eyes briefly.

“This sucks,’ Sam says finally. “I hate being scared all the time.”

“For what it’s worth, no one can tell,” Puck says, leaning beside him. Their shoulders brush softly, and Puck either doesn’t care or doesn’t notice, because he doesn’t move away.

“I’m pretty sure Rachel could tell,” Sam says, remembering how she’d talked to him like he was a wounded animal. “God, and Kurt… I get the feeling Kurt knows I’m gay, too. He keeps giving me these looks.”

“Neither of them are gonna do anything. Trust me.”

“Yeah,” Sam sighs. “I don’t need them to do anything, I keep screwing things up all on my own.”

Puck arches a brow, glancing at him, and Sam steels his nerve and takes the plunge.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you,” Sam says.

Puck’s forehead creases lightly. “You didn’t… really kiss me, you know. It was just—”

“I know, it was just a game. But I’ve been making things weird between us for no reason, and I just… I want things to go back to normal. We shouldn’t have kissed. I should never have touched you. You’re my friend, my straight friend, and you have a girlfriend.”

“Santana’s not my girlfriend,” Puck says after a pause. “And it’s not like you forced me into kissing you.”

Sam swallows, tapping his blunt nails against the car. “Why do you do that? You always give me an out. You try to pretend that I’m not making you uncomfortable—”

“You don’t make me uncomfortable, Sam. If you did, I wouldn’t still be hanging out with you. You ever thought of that?”

Sam quiets for a moment, trying to calm himself while he thinks about Puck’s words. “Um…”

“I’ve never had a friend like you,” Puck says. “I don’t know, it’s just weird, and it’s not because you’re gay. It’s just you. You’re like some creature from outer space sometimes because I’ve just never hung out with guys… like you.”

“Should I be insulted?” Sam says, squinting.

“No. No, I… I mean, I dig you.” Puck pauses again, letting out a soft sigh. “I’ve just been doing some thinking lately.”

“About what?” Sam glances over when Puck falls silent. “Puck?”

“You’re really scared about coming out, aren’t you?” Puck asks. This time Sam falls silent. Why would Puck ask that? He knows why.

“Only because the last time everyone found out, I was bullied until I landed in the hospital and had to change schools,” Sam says, trying to keep the edge out of his voice. “I can’t imagine why I’d be reluctant to do it a second time.”

“Maybe it’s not worth it.” Puck absently grinds his heel into the concrete, crushing a weed growing through the cracks of the curb. “Not in this town. People wouldn’t get it. I mean, look at how much shit Hummel goes through.”

“I guess,” Sam says softly. “It’s not that I don’t want to. At the same time, what difference will it even make? The only other openly gay guy here is Kurt. My life is still going to be the same… as in, I’m still not going to date anyone. If I come out, things can only change for the worse anyway.”

“So you don’t think it’s worth it either,” Puck says.

Sam feels unnerved, like Puck is trying to ask him something without actually asking it. “I don’t know. It’s different for everyone. Kurt certainly doesn’t think it’s not worth it.”

Puck crosses his arms and looks at him. “Yeah, I guess. Are you feeling okay now?”

Sam nods without even thinking. He doesn’t have to—Puck always manages to make him feel better just by being around. Sam reminds himself of his rule and puts his hands in his pockets, trying to squish down his crush.

“I panicked,” Sam admits. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Sam looks at the ground for a moment. Puck is being usually quiet, and Sam feels like he knows why. No matter what Puck says, Sam knows things are awkward between them now.

“Kissing you wasn’t terrible,” Puck says suddenly. Sam looks at him in surprise as he goes on. “I’ve never kissed a dude before, but… it wasn’t gross.”

“Um… thanks,” Sam says.

Puck scratches his head and lets out a quick chuckle. “I mean, when we were at Eight Ball, you were totally drunk and you came to sit with me after Sleaze ditched you, and you got really offended because I said I’d rather lick the floor than kiss a dude. You were all like, is my mouth lower than feces to you, and it was funny. It was funny to me. You were, like, legitimately mad at me because I didn’t want to kiss you.”

Sam feels heat rushing to his face. “Dude… I was drunk. Gimme a break.”

“I know. I just wanted to say that now I’ve kissed you and it wasn’t… that bad.”

Sam fidgets for a moment, then looks at Puck again. “No?”

“No. It was okay.” Puck holds his gaze for a moment before looking away. Sam ponders his words, then holds up a finger.

“Who the fuck is Sleaze?” Sam asks, and Puck breaks out into a grin.

“The dude you were dancing with.”

“His name is Joshua.”

“I know, but he looked so sleazy up there with you. Seriously, I wanted to punch him.”

Sam smiles. “Okay, Mom.”

“Fuck you,” Puck says, punching his arm playfully. Sam catches his fist and throws it back, and Puck smirks as he bats Sam’s arm away easily. Sam arches a brow, taking in the challenge in Puck’s eyes, and the two of them instantly engage in a friendly scuffle. Sam can’t help grinning even as Puck blocks his blows. He hadn’t realized how tense he’d been until right now as he feels the pressure drain from his body.

Sam manages to get a hold of Puck’s wrists, and he lets out a triumphant laugh as he slams them beside Puck’s head, pushing him against the car.

“Gotcha,” Sam says, his eyes glinting.

“I let you win,” Puck shoots back automatically, and Sam grins widely, holding Puck in place, and then he realizes how close their bodies are, how he can feel Puck’s pulse from where he’s holding his wrists. Puck’s breath tickles his face; they’re both breathing fast, standing completely still.

Sam releases his grip and steps back quickly, clenching his jaw. Just a little push of his mouth and they could have been kissing, and the scary thing is that Sam wanted to. He almost did.

“Shit,” Sam mutters, swallowing. “Puck, I should… I should go.”

Puck blinks swiftly and nods, his brow furrowed. He’s still leaning against his car, his eyes wide and cautious. Sam turns around without another word and starts jogging back to the house to retrieve his car. He runs his fingers through his hair and realizes his hands are shaking, and he doesn’t bother saying goodbye to anyone in the driveway—he just yanks the driver’s door open and gets in.

His rules for life are so simple, and yet he can’t seem to get it together. He can’t kiss Puck; he can’t touch Puck. He can’t ruin the best thing that’s happened to him since he transferred here.

He has to put an end to his feelings or he’s afraid he will.

This 'verse is continued in Soon We'll Fall to Pieces

overstreets @ 2010-11-01T18:24:00

2010-11-01T22:24:15Z

If you guys could just take a second and vote for Supernatural a couple of times, IT WOULD BE AWESOME BECAUSE RIGHT NOW WE ARE LOSING TO CHUCK and there are nine hours left! The captcha is not case sensitive so don't worry about that.

VOTE HERE.

Sera Gamble sent a note to all the fans, too, BECAUSE SHE IS A SWEETIE.

"Hey-- just a quick note on behalf of Bob, Eric, myself, and the whole gang here at Supernatural," she writes. "We want to thank our incredible fans for your support. We hear you've been keeping us in the running against some very worthy competition. Regardless of what happens, we're deeply touched as always that you've got our backs. (But yeah, of course we'd love to see Jensen and Jared on the cover -- and we think they couldn't deserve it more -- so please do keep voting for 'em.) Thanks again, guys!" - Source

Glee fic; I'm Numbing My Feeling, Puck/Sam, R

2010-10-24T20:46:34Z

Title: I'm Numbing My Feeling (I Know I'm Better in Denial)
Part: 1/1
Pairing: Puck/Sam (ish... it's a process)
Rating/warnings: R for sexual content
Word Count: 6042
Notes: This is set in the same 'verse as The Right Side of Reason. I recommend you read that one first so you get the backstory on Puck and Sam's friendship. And yes, there will be more. Title stolen from Better Than The Courtroom by Elliot Minor.
Summary: Puck decides that he's an awesome and supportive friend and agrees to accompany Sam to his first gay bar, but he doesn't expect the feelings that come out of it.

Puck is totally cool with Sam being gay. It really doesn’t change anything between them, since Sam doesn’t act any different. Football practice is the same, they’re still pretty evenly matched at Halo, and Sam’s room doesn’t give him the heebie-jeebies like Hummel’s does. Not that there’s anything wrong with Hummel’s ever-changing décor, it’s just that Puck is way more comfortable in Sam’s room where there are comic books and dirty clothes strewn across the floor.

It is kind of strange looking through Sam’s random copies of Playgirl, though. Sam collects the November issues that feature “campus hunks.” It’s a complete turn-off for Puck to stare at some other dude’s raging boner, but whatever—different strokes and all.

“You think you’ll be out at college?” Puck asks when they’re hanging in Sam’s bedroom one evening after football practice. They’re supposed to be doing science homework but Puck is lounging on the bed, flipping through a sports magazine, and Sam has abandoned his textbook to pluck at his guitar instead.

“Where’d that come from?” Sam looks up, his fingers slowing.

“Your extensive collection of naked college dudes,” Puck says.

Sam gives him his usual crooked smile. “Oh. That.”

“I dunno, just wondering.” Puck shrugs. He feels weird now. He shouldn’t have asked. Sam’s private life isn’t any of his business—he could have a secret boyfriend on the side for all he knows. For some reason he always feels like he’s being a dick about his gayness, but Sam’s never once gotten mad at him over it. Whatever. He’s starting to think Sam hadn’t been kidding when he said he was a mystery back at the Waffle House in Darlington. But then that’s stupid because Sam’s just a regular guy.

Puck scowls at the magazine. He finds himself over-thinking things a lot when it comes to Sam.

“I want to be,” Sam says after a pause, fiddling with the pegs. “You know how people say if you can just get through high school, then you have your life in front of you? That’s how I feel. But it’s not so bad, really.”

“Really?” Puck ponders his words. “I don’t know, man, it seems pretty sucktastic to me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, like… you never do anything gay.”

Sam just looks at him, blinking slowly. “I’m not following.”

Puck hides behind the magazine because he thinks his face is getting a little warm from embarrassment. What the hell is he even talking about?

“Like, you know, I go out with… girls… and, like, at parties I’ll hook up with… girls… and have fun… and you don’t ever seem to do that with anyone,” Puck says, proud of himself for not stammering too much. “And I know you want to be in the closet and stuff, but college is still a couple years away and it just seems like it would suck to wait that long to, like… start living.”

Sam’s playing a soft tune on his guitar and Puck thinks maybe he’s stopped listening partway through, or maybe Sam thinks he’s being a total asshole and is trying to be nice about the fact that he hates him, and the longer Sam plays, the more anxious Puck gets. What the hell, though. The Pucksaurus doesn’t get anxious over anyone.

Except that he totally does with Sam. If he doesn’t say something in the next five seconds, Puck’s going to throw something at him.

“I’ve been meaning to go out, actually,” Sam says, keeping his eyes trained on the strings.

“Oh,” Puck says, feeling stupid. “You mean, like… out… with a guy? You have a boyfriend?”

“No,” Sam laughs, and Puck relaxes when he sees Sam smiling at him again. “No, God, I don’t have a boyfriend. Where the fuck would I find a boyfriend?”

“How am I supposed to know?”

“I meant just going out. Like, having a good time. Living a little.”

“Like, cruising for dudes?” Puck asks, and Sam laughs again, setting his guitar aside. Puck frowns a little. It’s not his fault he doesn’t speak homo-lingo. He just wants to know.

Why the fuck does he want to know if Sam is going cruising for dudes anyway?

“There’s a club that recently opened up in the city,” Sam says, picking up his abandoned textbook. “I could cruise for dudes there, as you so romantically put it. It’s called Eight Ball.”

“A gay club? Here?” Puck asks, arching a brow.

Sam nods. “I haven’t been. I looked it up online and it seems to be a pretty cool place.”

“You shouldn’t date someone you meet at a club,” Puck scoffs. He clears his throat and turns more pages in his magazine when Sam glances at him.

“I don’t really want to go to meet guys,” Sam admits. “I just want to go out. Parties are fun, but it gets kind of awkward when I have to talk about my imaginary girlfriend who lives out of state so no one thinks I’m weird for turning down the Cheerios. I want to go dancing.”

“You dance?” Puck looks up, intrigued, and the perpetual flush on Sam’s cheeks grows darker.

“Not well. I have fun, though.” Sam pauses. “I haven’t been to Eight Ball because I don’t have anyone to go with and I don’t want to go by myself. I don’t know. It’s kind of weird. I’ve never really gone out as a… gay person yet, I guess.”

“Oh, no,” Puck says, sitting up. “No way. I’m not going to a gay club. That’s asking too much.”

“I didn’t ask you anything,” Sam says, grabbing a pencil. “You wanna hit the books again? This homework isn’t gonna do itself.”

“Yeah, sure,” Puck says, getting up and joining Sam at his desk. Sam rests his head against his palm as he reads silently to himself, his pencil moving slowly across the words. Puck starts sifting through the scribbled notes he’d taken during class, trying to make sense of what he’s written. The things scattered around Sam’s computer desk—a cup with chewed-up pens, an old phone charger, a tube of watermelon chapstick, a pocket dictionary—distract him. For some reason, taking in the tiny details of Sam’s life is way more interesting than learning about ions.

Puck notices a lack of pictures in Sam’s room. Even Puck has family photos on his desk, mostly because his mom put them there, but still, he kind of likes them sometimes. Chicks dig them, too. They make them think he’s sensitive. He usually hides the one where he and Finn are sticking chopsticks up their noses, though.

Puck can understand why Sam doesn’t have any pictures of his old friends, of course, but it still kind of sucks. What also kind of sucks is that Puck is feeling a little guilty for not offering to go to that club with Sam. It’s not like Sam asks him to do that much, and since Puck is really the only person Sam’s out to, he’s also the only person he can go with.

A gay club. Called Eight Ball. It’s just so… gay. It’s a pretty huge deal.

Puck glances at Sam, who’s still reading, his lips moving ever so slightly.

He figures it would be a big deal for Sam, too. Plus, if Sam never goes out to mingle with his fellow gays, how’s he going to get laid? When was the last time Sam got laid anyway? Puck wrinkles his nose, staring blankly at the papers in front of him. If Sam’s not out to anyone, how does he get laid? And with who? Is he, like, celibate? Holy shit. Sam’s life must suck so much more than Puck initially thought.

How does one not have sex?

“So, this club,” Puck begins casually. “What’s it like?”

“I don’t know. I told you I’ve never been. It looks nice from their website, but I don’t know.”

“Do you really want to go?”

Sam stops reading and looks up. Puck tries to keep a nonchalant face on as Sam studies him for a long moment.

“Are you asking if you can come with me?” Sam says finally.

“Asking? Dude, no. I’m offering to come with you. I don’t ask to go to gay clubs.”

“I don’t need you to go.”

“Well, you said you didn’t want to go on your own,” Puck reminds him.

“I can. It’s no big deal.” Sam turns back to his book, but Puck can tell he’s just pretending to read. Puck taps his fingers against the desk, then clears his throat.

“Okay, look. I’ll come with you. You should always go clubbing with a friend. Weird shit could happen, like someone could put some date rape drug in your drink, or attack you outside, or kidnap you and try to sell your organs on the black market. It’s just safer if I come with you.”

Sam keeps his eyes down until Puck is finished. When he looks up, Puck can read the uncertainty on his face.

“I don’t want you to come with me because you feel like you have to, and then be uncomfortable the whole time,” Sam says. “That would be really weird for both of us.”

“The Puckasaurus is always up for new experiences. Chicks dig experimental guys.”

Sam worries his lip, but the corners of his mouth twitch slightly. “Are you sure? Seriously, Puck, you don’t have to. There won’t be any chicks. Or at least none that are into you.”

“I’m sure. If you’re gonna go cruising for dudes, you’re gonna need me.”

“For what?” Sam’s eyebrows disappear under his bangs. Puck is speechless for a second—because, really, what does Sam need him there for? To baby-sit him at his first club? Sam’s not five.

Sam goes on. “Wait, I do need you. You need to be my designated driver because I’m going to be really, really drunk.”

Puck smirks, relaxing. “Underage drinking? For shame, Evans. Hey, how are you even planning on getting into this place?”

“Are you serious? I refuse to believe that you, of all people, don’t have a legitimate fake ID.”

- - - - -

So Puck ends up at his first gay club with Sam by his side. It’s not as creepy as he thought it would be. There are some Hummel-types, but a lot of the guys are kind of like Sam—just regular dudes who happen to be into other dudes.

He’s more concerned with what Sam is wearing. Sam’s not a little guy. He’s a football player, and a damn good one with the body to prove it.

Puck can’t stop sneaking glances at Sam’s ass.

It’s not that he’s checking him out, he’s just surprised because he’s never really noticed Sam’s ass before. Sam is wearing a pair of dark jeans that are incredibly snug around the butt/thigh area, paired with a black shirt that plainly says look at me and my bad self. Puck can’t put his finger on what’s different, but even the way his hair looks seems off.

Maybe off isn’t the right word. More like… Sam actually looks pretty hot, from a straight perspective. Puck totally digs chicks, but, sure, he can appreciate a good-looking dude. If Sam were straight, he’d definitely have some competition at school. Puck can already see a number of guys on the dance floor making eyes at Sam.

“Freaked out yet?” Sam asks, turning to him with a grin. There’s a heavy beat thumping through the air as bodies throng together on the dance floor, bouncing and gyrating.

“No,” Puck says. “This is totally non-freaky. It’s just people dancing and having a good time.”

“Yep,” Sam says, taking a deep breath. “I guess I should go get drunk before I attempt any dancing.”

“You think you’ll meet anyone?” Puck asks, then mentally kicks himself. It’s none of his fucking business—plus, he really doesn’t want to think about Sam getting it on with some random dude.

“I don’t know,” Sam responds lightly. “It’d be weird. I think I’ll just find someone to dance with.”

“Cool. I’ll be in the corner drinking club soda like a loser because I’m not allowed to get drunk,” Puck says, and Sam smiles at him, a genuine one that reaches all the way to his eyes.

“Thanks for coming, Puck,” Sam says softly. “I don’t think I would’ve had the nerve to come by myself.”

“Well, you deserve to have some fun, too.” Puck returns his grin, then gives him a gentle push. “Now go on and score some dick.”

“I came here to dance,” Sam shoots back, but he trots off to the bar while Puck turns around and finds an empty table by the wall. He slides into a booth, and when he looks in Sam’s direction, he’s surprised to see him already chatting with another guy. Puck smirks lightly. A guy who looks like Sam shouldn’t have to buy his own drinks at a place like this.

“Hey, handsome, can I get something for you?” a waiter asks, appearing at his table.

“Holy shit,” Puck says under his breath, averting his eyes. The waiter is wearing assless chaps. “Um, soda.”

“That’s all?” The waiter shimmies close to him, and Puck tries not to completely freak out. The Puckasaurus is always cool under pressure, even when faced with assless chaps. Sam wouldn’t be fazed, and Sam is definitely not cooler than him.

“I’m just here for a friend, I’m not drinking,” Puck says.

“Well, if you change your mind, I know Kevin loves mohawks,” the waiter says, winking at him. “Kevin’s on the staff. He’s the one wearing gold pants.”

“Oh my God,” Puck mutters, then forces himself to meet the waiter’s eye. “I’m just chilling. Um, I’m straight, actually.”

“Yeah, sure.” The waiter winks again, his teeth pearly white as he smiles. “I’ll be back with your drink in just a moment—or maybe I’ll send Kevin over.”

“There’s no need for that,” Puck says hastily as he walks away, his pert bottom swaying. Puck covers his eyes and exhales slowly. This place is so weird.

Sam and the guy who’s chatting him up at the bar are still talking. Sam is sitting on a stool and downing drinks like he’s never seen alcohol before, and the guy is sidled up next to him, laughing and being pretty friendly with his hands. Puck drums his fingers on the table and studies him. He has brown hair and a decent body, but he looks a little old for Sam.

Wait, why is that guy touching Sam’s hair? Why is Sam laughing about it? Puck frowns. He wants to go over and punch the guy’s dick. He’s petting Sam like he’s a dog or something. Sam could totally do better than this sleaze.

Puck’s phone vibrates in his pocket, and he takes it out and looks at Santana’s name across the screen before he realizes just how irrational he sounds. Sam doesn’t need him to approve of his dates. Besides, it’s not a date. This is just Sam getting out and having a good time and scoring a bunch of free drinks.

He presses a button and smirks when he finds a filthy text from Santana. Some sexting will definitely pass the time and get him to stop thinking about Sam. Let Sam go off and have some fun. Puck will make his own fun right here.

He so preoccupied with imagining Santana’s incredibly flexible body with every text she sends that he doesn’t look up until almost half an hour later. His soda has been sitting untouched, so Puck takes a sip and remembers Sam. Where is he? He’s not at the bar anymore, so Puck shifts his eyes to the dance floor, then nearly sprays his drink across the table.

Sam said he couldn’t dance. Well, he’s definitely good at whatever x-rated moves he’s putting on Sleaze. Puck coughs and thumps at his chest a few times to clear the fizzy soda that had gone down the wrong tube, then looks at Sam again. Sam is practically glued to this dude’s chest as they dance, bouncing around with that stupid dorky smile on his face, and Puck feels the urge to stride over, grab Sam by his ear, pack him into the car, and take him home immediately.

Okay, so that would be a bit extreme. Puck leaves Santana’s next text unread as he watches Sam. He just looks so… happy. It’s not that Sam’s an unhappy guy in general—he’s well liked and gets along with nearly everyone at school—but he just looks so carefree. He also looks completely drunk, but he’s still smiling as he puts his hands on Sleaze’s hips, their groins all but touching. Sleaze brings his face close to Sam’s, and Puck watches intently as Sam’s mouth gravitates toward his, his lips parting, but then Sam pulls away with that charming smile and keeps dancing, letting go of Sleaze’s hips as he puts his hands in the air instead.

Puck is already half hard, but it’s totally because of Santana and her sexts. Speaking of Santana, he picks up his phone again and finds an angry message from her calling him rude for spacing off during such a heated moment. Puck types back, but he’s distracted. Eventually he tells Santana that he’s busy and puts his phone away.

Sleaze has his arm looped around Sam’s neck, and while Sam doesn’t exactly look upset, Puck can tell he’s not really digging it, either. Their dancing has slowed slightly, and Puck can see their mouths moving as they talk. He wonders what they’re talking about. He feels disgruntled when Sleaze draws a hand down Sam’s chest, then leans in and brushes his lips across his cheek, moving up to nuzzle his ear. Sam stays still for a second, seemingly listening to whatever Sleaze is saying, and when they break apart, Sleaze looks angry.

Puck tenses, getting ready to punch someone if he needs to, but Sam says something else, and then Sleaze walks off the dance floor. Puck watches him leave, curious, then tries to look disinterested when Sam starts heading for his table.

“Hi,” Sam says, sliding into the seat across from him.

“Scored some dick yet?” Puck asks, surreptitiously checking out the way the edges of Sam’s hair are curling with sweat. Sam breaks out into a wide grin, pushing back his bangs and reaching for Puck’s drink.

“This is not alcohol,” Sam states after taking a large gulp. He puts the glass down and frowns at it.

“Um, I don’t think you need any more alcohol,” Puck says. Sam’s eyes are bleary but he looks chipper. Puck likes happy drunks. “You’re trashed, dude.”

“It feels so good to let loose like this,” Sam babbles. “Like, I didn’t even know how much I needed this. Alcohol, dancing, hot guys everywhere—I want to live here forever.”

“If this is so heavenly for you, what’d you say to make Sleaze leave, then?”

“Sleaze?”

“The guy who were dancing with.”

“His name is Joshua. Why are you calling him Sleaze?”

“Whatever, who cares,” Puck scoffs. “He looked mad when he left.”

“Were you spying on me?” Sam asks coyly, walking his fingers across the table until he reaches Puck’s hand, his grin so wide it looks like his face might split into two. Sam lets out an honest-to-God giggle, and Puck clears his throat and lets Sam play with his hand for a moment.

“Dude? You’re beyond drunk right now.”

“He wanted to take me home,” Sam says, sighing contentedly as he rests his cheek against the palm of his hand. “He wanted to fuck me.”

Something flares up inside of Puck. “Too much information.”

“Oh, sorry. He wanted to feed me cupcakes and have a tickle fight.” Sam sighs again, but he doesn’t sound sad. “It was weird. I didn’t want to go, and he got mad when I told him. So he left. I don’t have a dance partner anymore. This sucks.”

“There are tons of guys here who would be more than willing to dance with you,” Puck points out. “Seriously. Dudes have been perving on you since you walked in.”

“You sound jealous.”

Puck is taken aback. He feels his face redden. “I am not. Why would I be jealous? There are literally zero hot chicks here. The Puckasaurus is not into dudes. I’d rather lick the bathroom floor than hook up with anyone here.”

“Well, that was rude.” Sam picks up Puck’s drink again and takes another sip. Puck studies Sam carefully, falling silent for a moment.

“I didn’t mean it, like, rudely or anything.”

“You’d rather lick the bathroom floor—which, may I point out, is ridden with disease and germs and fungus and pee and feces—than kiss a gay guy? Is my mouth lower than feces to you?”

“I wasn’t talking about you,” Puck protests.

“I’m not special,” Sam retorts, his eyes wide as he gazes across the table. “I’m just like all the other gays here. If you say something bad about them, you’re saying someone bad about me.”

“Okay, you know what? You’re being overly sensitive and you’re not thinking straight, probably because you’re completely wasted out of your mind.”

“I just want you to like me,” Sam mumbles, mashing his cheek against his hand again. “And I never think straight. I’m gay.”

“What?” Puck blinks quickly.

“I’m gay.”

“I know that, idiot.” Puck hesitates, swallowing. “What did you say before?”

“Before what?”

“Before you said you were gay.”

Sam is looking at him suspiciously, his face mostly blank. “What?”

Puck sighs, realizing that Sam probably has no control over what he’s even saying. Sam sloppily traces his finger over the rim of Puck’s glass, and Puck takes the drink away before Sam can spill it all over the table. Sam looks at him and starts smiling again.

“You know, the guys here would be all over you,” Sam says, his eyes glinting.

Puck wrinkles his nose in distaste. “They’re already all over you.”

“That’s because you haven’t put yourself out there.”

“I don’t want to be out there.”

“Dance with me,” Sam says suddenly, reaching across the table to grab at Puck’s hands. “Please.”

“No, I—”

“You can’t say you’re not a good dancer. I watched a tape of you guys at Sectionals. I saw you dancing, and you’re good.”

“Dude, this is… weird,” Puck says slowly, but Sam’s already out of his seat and pulling Puck away from the table. Puck doesn’t put up too much resistance, allowing himself to be dragged to the dance floor. They squeeze themselves amidst the dancing bodies, and Puck tries to keep his cool when Sam presses up against him. He puts his hands firmly on Sam’s hips to keep their groins from touching, because he really doesn’t need Sam to know that he’s partly sporting an erection. Sam grins and starts moving, and Puck lets himself flow along with the beat.

He should probably let go of Sam now, but his hands sort of (involuntarily) gravitate around Sam’s waist, sliding to his back where his shirt is clinging to his body. Sam’s eyes are closed, and Puck takes in the way his rosy skin seems to glow, damp with a sheen of sweat. It reminds him of Santana’s afterglow once they’re done fucking each other’s brains out—and, oh, shit, he really needs to not think about Santana because he can feel his jeans tightening even more.

“Puck, are you—?” Sam’s hand is suddenly at his crotch, totally on his bulging erection, and Puck just barely stops himself from jumping back like he’s been burned. He grabs Sam’s wrists and yanks it away, and Sam nearly falls all over Puck as he dissolves in giggles.

“Dude—”

“You’re hard,” Sam says between breaths of laughter.

“I was sexting with Santana while you were getting all touchy-feely with Sleaze,” Puck snaps crossly.

“Joshua.”

“Whatever. He was a total dick.”

“You didn’t even talk to him.”

“I didn’t have to. He wanted to fuck you, he wanted you to be his one-night stand,” Puck barrels on. “How old is he? Did he know that you’re underage? You’re not one-night stand material. I am.”

“How would you even know? It’s not like you’ve ever been around to witness my love life,” Sam points out. His eyes suddenly light up, and Puck braces himself for whatever stupidity is about to come out of Sam’s mouth now. “You’re jealous.”

Puck blanches slightly. “Jealous of what?”

“Of me.” Sam pauses he thinks, and Puck can practically see the wheels turning in his alcohol-addled mind. “You’re jealous that Joshua was totally into me.”

“Why would I be jealous of you?” Puck yells. “I’m straight!”

Sam blinks, gazing at him steadily, and Puck reddens as a few people turn their heads to give them looks. He has to get out of here. He doesn’t belong with this crowd—he’d just wanted to do something nice for Sam, but this place is making him feel weirder than he’s ever felt before.

“Puck,” Sam begins, his voice softer. Puck turns away, planning to wait in the car until the night is over, but Sam grabs his arm shakily, and Puck can’t just let Sam’s drunken ass hit the floor (though he totally should), so he steadies him quickly.

“I’m sorry,” Sam says, and Puck reluctantly meets his eyes. “I’m… I’m so drunk right now and I’m being an ass and I don’t even know what I’m saying. Shit, I’m really sorry, man.”

“It’s cool,” Puck mutters, but Sam shakes his head, keeping his hand on Puck’s arm as he leads them out of the crowd.

“Let’s leave,” Sam says.

Puck sighs. “You don’t have to. You came here to have fun. I’m just going to go wait in the car. Trust me, it’s cool. You can stay.”

“No, I want to leave. I kind of feel like puking.”

Puck manages a smirk. “Lightweight.”

Sam smiles back weakly, and Puck holds the door for him so Sam doesn’t smack his face against it. Puck unlocks his car and slides in as Sam fumbles with the handle for a moment before getting it open. Sam sighs heavily as Puck starts the car.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable,” Sam says.

“I told you, it’s cool. Just forget it, okay?” Puck pulls out of the parking lot. Sam puts a hand against his forehead with a groan.

“I’m going to have the worst hangover tomorrow.”

Puck glances over quickly, watching Sam runs his hands over his damp face. Puck turns on the air conditioning and Sam sticks his nose close to the vent, his bangs fanning out.

“At least you had fun, though,” Puck says, tapping his fingers against the wheel. “Right? Wasn’t it cool to be around your fellow gays?”

Sam snorts, turning his head to let the cold air cascade over his flushed cheek. Puck tears his eyes away as his groin gives a twinge—he should have never have compared Sam to Santana. Seriously, it’s making everything weird.

“I guess. I mean, yeah.” Sam smiles thoughtfully. “I did have a nice time. It felt pretty good to just not have to think about keeping a secret. Everyone there assumed I was gay. That’s never happened to me before.”

Puck pauses, mulling over Sam’s words. Sam always makes him see things differently, and for the first time he thinks that maybe that stupid shit Berry is always sprouting about his straight male privilege might actually be a little bit valid.

“You didn’t get any action, though,” Puck says, clearing his throat and trying to steer the conversation back onto something less emotional. Sam is totally wasted and doesn’t need to be talking about his feelings right now.

“Well, I don’t want to sleep with a guy I don’t even know.” Sam adjusts the vents and sits back. “I guess you’re kind of right about me not being a one-night stand kind of guy. It would feel too impersonal. You like them, though, right?”

“I’m sure you’ve heard about my pool cleaning business.” Puck grins, but he doesn’t miss the delay in Sam’s smile. It’s the alcohol. He’s just slow.

“Yeah. With older women.” Sam lets out a light chuckle. “You know, sometimes I wish I could be like you. I’d definitely get laid more.”

“I am pretty badass,” Puck says as they stop in front of Sam’s house. He means for it to be a joke, but Sam gives him a quick glance, his eyes unreadable.

“Maybe next time I should try it,” Sam says. “I mean, it’s just sex. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“Do you wish you’d gone home with Sleaze?” Puck asks, sobering a little as he turns off the car. Sam bites his lip absently, his eyes distant as he gazes through the window. Puck tries to stop staring, but he can’t help watching the way Sam’s teeth sink into his plump bottom lip.

“I don’t know,” Sam says finally. “I guess a part of me wonders what it would be like. But the other part of me just wants… a real boyfriend, not just some random I picked up at a bar. And I know that’s fucking lame, like, middle school lame, but everyone else gets to have that in high school and I just wonder what it’s like sometimes.”

Puck doesn’t know what to say, so he sits in silence as Sam unbuckles his seatbelt. Sam turns to look at him, suddenly smiling again, and Puck focuses on his eyes—bleary with alcohol, but still that bright shade between blue and green.

“It’s okay, though,” Sam says. “I like where I am right now. I like McKinley, I like being on the team, and I like you.”

Puck tries to keep a straight face, his cheeks start feeling warm. This whole liking thing—Sam had said it again. Puck doesn’t know what it’s supposed to mean. Sam is clearly drunk, so it probably doesn’t mean anything. Of course Sam likes him. They’re buds. Sam should like him. Puck likes him, too.

Fuck, he really wishes he didn’t have an erection right now. Why hasn’t it gone away yet?

“Okay, I’m going inside,” Sam announces. “Thanks for coming with me, Puck, even though I totally made an ass out of myself.”

“You didn’t,” Puck says, shrugging.

“Yeah, I did. And I’m sorry. I hope this doesn’t make things weird.”

“Not at all.” Puck forces a smirk, and Sam smiles sweetly as he opens the door. Puck watches as he makes his way slowly up the driveway, and he waits until Sam has gotten the front door open and is safely inside.

Sam waves, and Puck starts the car and drives out of his neighborhood. He doesn’t realize his teeth are clenched and his fingers are gripping the wheel so tight that his knuckles are white until he’s a block away from his own house. Puck forces himself to relax, then lets out a frustrated sigh as he abruptly stops the car. He grabs his phone and texts Santana.

Wanna mess around?

The reply comes almost instantly.

Fuck you

Puck growls, jamming his phone into his pocket. He’s so horny he thinks his head might explode. He needs to feel Santana’s small, hard body against his. He just really, really needs a girl because right now the only person he’s thinking of is Sam, and that’s definitely not a turn-on. He does not want to think about Sam’s rosy face, or his rock hard abs, or his stupid floppy hair that curls around his ears when he sweats.

He fantasizes about Santana, but her text stings so he starts thinking about other people. Quinn. Perfect little Quinn with every hair always in place, her big pretty eyes and those soft luscious lips… are her lips bigger than Sam’s? Puck tries to envision them. He doesn’t think so, but he’s not sure. He has to compare them at school next week.

Puck quickly pulls his hand back when he realizes his palm has somehow gravitated to his crotch, pressing down on his erection. While thinking about Sam’s lips. Well, sure, he’d totally been thinking about Quinn’s, too, but still. Sam had been part of the picture, and that’s not okay. He needs to stop thinking about Sam, but fuck, he is so horny and right now he can’t get Sam’s lips out of his head. Sam’s mouth is so gigantic and he would give amazing blowjobs.

Puck closes his eyes, groaning softly. Why is he thinking about blowjobs from Sam? That topic should be off limits, forever, but now that the thought is in his head, he can’t stop. It’s not gay just to think about it—after all, the Puckasaurus is a very sexual being, and he’s curious about these things. It just means he has a healthy sexual appetite. Nothing more.

He sits in a moment of complete silence, holding himself still as he considers his options, then he scrambles to loosen his belt, simultaneously pulling the keys out of the ignition just to be safe. He shoves his hand down his jeans and lets out a long sigh as he finally makes contact with his cock, which has been aching for attention for the past hour. He starts moving his hand quickly, his brow furrowed as he thinks about Sam’s flushed face, his wide mouth, the line of sweat from his temple down to his cheek. He imagines that mouth right between his legs, his lips parting to down Puck’s cock in his searing warmth, and Puck knows he’s not going to last long. He shoves away the weirdness of fantasizing about Sam and just goes with it, until he can’t keep his hips still as he gets closer and closer to release. Puck groans aloud as he comes with a shudder, then stills his hand as he catches his breath.

He opens his eyes slowly, remembering that he’s parked in front of someone else’s house in his neighborhood. There’s no one around, though, thankfully. He zips himself up and buckles his jeans, then nearly jumps out of his skin when his phone vibrates. He expects a text from Santana, but instead he sees Sam’s name flashing across the screen.

Im 2 drunk 2 sleep wht r u doing

Puck swallows, staring at Sam’s stupid drunk text, and he suddenly realizes that if he wants to be truthful, his text back will look something like, I just got off thinking about you. Before he can have an epic freak-out, Sam texts him again.

ngaru lu fpom srak

Puck squints at the screen. What the fuck is Sam saying?

What the fuck are you saying?

He waits a moment for Sam’s reply, drumming his fingers on his leg to keep himself grounded. He really shouldn’t be talking to Sam right now. What he needs to do is just put this whole night behind him. He should sleep. In the morning his head will be clearer and he won’t feel so suffocated by all the gay he’s witnessed tonight.

His phone buzzes again.

it means “how r u” in na’vi. so how r u man it’s been like 10 mins since I saw u

Oh, God. Sam really shouldn’t be allowed to text while drunk. He sounds like a fucking moron, but the worst part about it is that Puck wants to smile and carry on with this silly conversation. He shifts in his seat, feeling warm and uncomfortable due to the fact that he just came in his pants like a loser, then texts Sam.

Can’t talk. Phone’s dying.

Aww k goodnight puck :)

Puck tosses his phone onto the passenger seat and grabs his keys, taking a deep, calming breath. He just needs a good night’s sleep, and he needs Santana to stop being all cold and prickly with him, and then everything will be normal again. Puck starts driving home, keeping his mind carefully blank. He probably won’t even remember what he did tonight, and he definitely won’t remember how he felt.

This verse is continued in Every Second's a Longer Wait.

Glee fic; I'm Dying Here, Sam/Quinn, R

2010-10-18T03:08:34Z

Title: I'm Dying Here ('Cause I Can't Say What I Want To)
Part: 1/1
Pairing: Sam/Quinn (and mentions of Puck/Sam, Kurt/Sam, and Finn/Sam in Sam's head)
Rating/warnings: R for sexual content
Word Count: 1407
Note Title stolen from Bleed by Hot Chelle Rae.
Summary: Sam forces himself to do things he doesn't want to do out of his desire to be a normal son. Character studyish.

Sam has never been with a girl before, but he’s trying his hardest to do this right. He’s done his homework—he’s looked this stuff up online and he’s even watched some straight porn, though the porn hadn’t been all that helpful. Still, he doesn’t want to look like a bumbling idiot in front of Quinn. Besides, he has to learn how to do this properly. She’s a girl, he’s a guy. This is the right way to have sex.

Thankfully, Quinn seems okay with not going all the way quite yet. She’s so pretty with her flushed cheeks and loose hair fanning across the pillow, but her body is so small and feels almost fragile in Sam’s hands. He skims his fingers across her flat stomach and delves into her lacy underwear, where she’s already warm and moist, and Sam holds his breath as he presses his fingers gently against her clit. She makes a soft sound of encouragement, and Sam moves his fingers with a little more force, then starts pulling her underwear down.

This is the moment. Sam moves between her legs, staring down at the lady bits that he’d spent way too long trying to memorize the different parts of last night. In theory, he knows how this is supposed to go. He really doesn’t want to. But he has to. He has to learn somehow; he can’t keep fueling himself on his perverted fantasies that he knows will never become a reality. His dad would kill him if he knew, though he thinks his parents should be more concerned about what he’s doing now and how it’s making him feel.

He feels nothing. This is just an unfortunate job that he has to get done. He lets out a soft breath, and Quinn shivers. Sam notices and blows again, wishing he could just keep doing that instead of making contact.

“Hurry up, Sam,” Quinn says, and there goes that idea. Sam flicks his eyes upward and looks at Quinn for a moment. She’s so pretty, she really is. She has perfect skin, perfect hair, a perfect body. He’s seriously fucked up for not wanting her. She might be the prettiest girl in the entire school, besides Santana, but that’s because he thinks Santana would be willing to take control. Sam is tired of always being expected to make the moves. He feels really awkward right now; he’s just not good at this.

He closes his eyes and kisses her there. He’s not exactly sure what there is called. All the weirdly scientific names have mixed up in his head. But Quinn presses back against his mouth with a moan, so he guesses he’s doing it right. He keeps his eyes shut as he slips his tongue out and presses it against her warm body. He can’t keep his nose out of it, so he just mentally grits his teeth and goes all out. He braces his hands against her soft thighs and puckers his mouth as he sucks, gently at first because he doesn’t want to hurt her, but she urges him on, so he adds more pressure until she cries out his name, her hips rising off the bed as she comes.

Sam remembers what he’s read about girls being super sensitive right after, so he eases up and softly kisses her before pulling away. He surreptitiously wipes his face on her bedspread, then crawls up to lie next to her, pushing back her soft hair as she smiles at him breathlessly.

“That felt really nice,” Quinn says, her voice quiet. Sam smiles back, unsure. He feels really unsettled inside, but at least he did it, and he did it right. He’s known a girl intimately now, so he’s one step closer to being a normal human being. Hopefully his dreams will be a little less masculine now. Quinn really is very pretty. Why can’t he just dream about her?

Quinn rolls to the side and puts a hand on his cheek, then slides her fingers through his hair. Sam closes his eyes as she kisses him and presses her body against his. Her lips are so soft and she never puts her tongue in his mouth unless he does it to her first, so he pokes the tip of his tongue out and nudges her softly. His kiss dies on his lips, however, when he feels Quinn’s hand at his jeans, undoing the button, sliding down the zipper, and dipping into his boxers—and all the while Sam is inwardly panicking because he doesn’t want Quinn to feel his absolute lack of a proper erection.

He bites his lip when she touches him, his brow furrowed as his eyes flutter open, but she doesn’t laugh or look at him in disbelief. Instead she seeks out his lips again. Sam hesitantly kisses back, and in that moment he really, really, genuinely likes her—maybe not the way she wants him to, but there’s definitely affection involved. It doesn’t make him feel better though; in fact, he feels worse because he doesn’t deserve her at all.

“Close your eyes,” Quinn murmurs against his mouth. “And think of something really sexy.”

That makes him feel even lower than before, because he can’t stop his mind from wandering. He just really needs to get an erection so Quinn doesn’t get the wrong idea, so he can’t help it when he starts thinking of all the little things that turn him on—Puck lifting weights in the locker room while Sam spots him, Kurt’s bouncy little flounce as he walks down the hall, Finn’s perpetual half-smile when he looks at Rachel with such devotion that Sam can only hope he’ll see mirrored in some guy’s eyes one day. It’s working; he can feel himself hardening as Quinn’s fingers move.

“Now tell me what you’re thinking about,” Quinn whispers, her lips curving into a smile. Sam swallows, his hips pushing gently against her.

“You,” Sam says softly. “The way you come home and take your hair down. How I feel when I run my hands through it.”

“You’re sweet.” Quinn kisses him while Sam groans, his breath heightening. Her lips move to his cheek, sliding over his skin as Sam lowers his head into her thick hair, panting as her fingers work. It feels good, of course it does, but her hands are so small, so soft, and he longs for something rougher. Puck would totally lay it into him, just throw him down and have his way, and Sam would love every second of it. Even Kurt, who Sam is pretty sure wears girls’ jeans, has those lean muscles, his body built like a whip. He could give as good as he gets.

Sam shudders as Quinn pushes him closer to the edge, and he feels so guilty at what he’s just been thinking about that he lets out an involuntary whimper that’s only partly out of pleasure. He wraps an arm around Quinn’s slender waist, holding her close with his hand splayed out on her back, feeling her spine beneath her delicate, smooth skin, and he forces himself to just focus. Focus on her, focus on her touch, concentrate on how well she fits into his arms, think about how perfect they look together. He needs to make this his future—maybe not her, but people like her. He can learn to like this.

He gasps softly as his back arches and he suddenly spills, then goes slack, panting against Quinn’s neck. He feels her wipe her hand on his jeans. She pulls his head up and kisses his mouth tenderly, then settles against his chest, resting her head beneath his chin after she pulls the covers over them. Sam breathes into her hair, one arm still wrapped around her body. He bites his lip gently, trying to imagine the feel of someone holding him for once, someone with stronger arms, maybe someone who’s even taller than him. His dad would throw him out if he even knew the thoughts he’s been having.

“You’re such a good guy, Sam,” Quinn mumbles softly. “I feel really safe around you.”

Sam strokes her back with gentle fingers. He doesn’t know how to reply, and he doesn’t think he could keep his voice steady even if he knew what to say, so he just closes his eyes and plants a kiss on her hair instead.

Book blab: The Traitor Game by B.R. Collins

2010-10-15T17:35:43Z

Title: The Traitor Game

Author: B.R. Collins

Keywords: LGBTQ, friendship, bullying, high school

Plot Outline: The insecure and frightened Michael, horribly bullied in the past, makes a new friend in Francis. Michael shares his most important secret with Francis—Evgard, the fantasy world he created—and together they develop the world in remarkable detail. But when Michael receives a note proving that someone else knows about Evgard, he fears that Francis has betrayed him. Rather than confronting Francis, he decides to play the cruel game he believes Francis is playing, but Michael’s wounded paranoia blinds him to the truth. In a parallel storyline, reality is echoed in Evgard by the tentative friendship between Argent, a young rebel turned slave, and Columen, the son of the twisted Duke.

My blabbing: This book is reeeeeally great. It's different. It's not a romance; it's about a really unusual friendship. There are actually two stories going on in this novel. One is the story between Michael and Francis and how they deal with school, bullying, and each other, set in the real world. The other is a story set in Evgard, a fictional world created by Michael as an escape to the bullying he's suffered. Both stories are brilliant and they blend together seamlessly even though they never cross over. This is written by a British author so if you're not British or aren't familiar with British colloquialisms, well, you'll be very aware of the setting then, hahaha. It's a pretty excellent read, though.