Eden (overstreets) wrote,

Glee fic; I'm Numbing My Feeling, Puck/Sam, R

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?”


“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.


“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.


“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.

Tags: gay waffles verse, glee fic, my fic, public post

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