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.
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. 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.”
“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.
“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.