(Author's note: This is a rather embarrassing homage to a fanfiction author who first inspired me with her writing over a decade ago. She co-wrote a super-fluffy, super-sexy Sentinel story with Bone titled "Out of Whack," which as you can probably guess was about masturbation ( www. mrks ~bone/sentinel/whack/outofwhack_ ). Sentinel was one of those fandoms I read but never watched, but the Jim/Blair pairing is still as close to an OTP as I would ever care to find. She's written a ton of other things, and everything I've read has made me squee and go awww and often say wow and other onomatopoeic expressions. So, even though you have no idea who I am, a tip of the hat to the Cimmerians for many years of great fic; I wish you many more.
This is set around the time of episode 2.19 Rumours. It is pure PWP, no plot to speak of. Warnings for masturbation, but will devolve into two-person smut at some point. Enjoy! -amy)
Puck discovered his favorite kink entirely by accident during junior year. Lauren was awesome, no doubt, and he was willing to do a lot to be with her, but she wasn't any closer to letting him touch those amazing jugs of hers than he had been four months ago. He'd never had a problem with jacking off, but now, it was almost a couple-times daily requirement for him to be able to get through his day. Once in the morning and once before bed, sure, but more often than not he had to duck into the bathroom to take care of things in the middle of the day.
So there he was, after lunch, jeans around his ankles, perched on the edge of the toilet seat, running through his old standby fantasies - Quinn bending over to get something in her Cheerios skirt with no panties on, or sometimes topless Santana and the football team circle jerk - and waiting for the guy in the stall next to him to leave so he could finish. He could do it silently when he had to, but it was hard to disguise his breathing, and sometimes there were noises he couldn't conceal.
The toilet flushed, followed by the water running in the sink, the door opening, closing, and finally silence. Puck let go of the quiet groan he'd been holding onto, and spit into his hand, letting the unsubtle wet noises of his hand on his cock echo freely in the men's room.
He was well on his way to finishing when he heard somebody clear his throat.
Puck froze, listening, his cheeks heating up. Fuck. He'd been sure nobody had been left to hear him. Whatever guy was still in the men's john, he'd been quiet enough for Puck to miss his presence. Probably he was reading a skin mag and doing the same thing Puck was, down in the end stall. He bent down to see if he could catch a glimpse of the guy's shoes, but there was nothing.
Now he had to decide if he was going to give it up, or if he would try to finish anyway before the first bell rang for American history. He was close enough to a conclusion to feel like dealing with a woody in class would be worse than attempting to jack off with this anonymous guy listening. Puck gave himself a tentative squeeze, wondering who the guy was. Wondering what he'd heard.
Maybe he was getting off on it. The idea was kind of hot. Puck absently licked his palm again, bringing it back to slick up the head of his cock. His breath hitched a little, and he swallowed the noise he could have made, listening for more indications about what this guy was doing. He thought he heard some shuffling noises, but they were indistinct.
Puck decided the guy was sitting in the last booth, in much the same position as Puck himself was, and... he'd gotten turned on. Yeah, that was what had happened. The guy had come to take a dump and gotten hard, and then he'd heard - Puck picked up his pace, unexpectedly spurred to stroke faster - and he'd been stuck there, too embarrassed to do anything. And he'd made that little throat-clearing noise, and now... now he was sitting there, hard as a rock, wondering what to do. Puck ran his other hand over his balls, feeling the tension build. The image was so clear, the guy sitting there, listening, while Puck did - what he was doing - and fuck that was hot -
His climax was sudden and explosive, and Puck gave a little forced exhalation of breath, just a little uhhh, as he coated his hand. Seconds later, still breathing hard, Puck heard a toilet flush, the door bang open, and quick footsteps head out the door.
When his head cleared, he wiped his hand and his cock off on some toilet paper, knowing he'd probably be late for history, but not really caring. There was no pretending he didn't know what had just happened: he'd just gotten off, really hard, to the idea of an anonymous guy listening to him masturbate.
It was a little weird, okay, but Puck could deal with weird. And - maybe a little gay, but not exactly, since he'd been the only one touching himself. He could deal with not exactly, too. Mostly he'd been totally wowed with how hard he had come, and he'd go through a lot of weird-and-not-exactly if he got to do that again.
The question was, what could he do to get somebody to accidentally show up in the bathroom, alone, sit down in the stall next to him, and stay long enough for him to get off?
Puck thought about it for a couple days, but it didn't take long before he hit on an idea. Because, dude, he was the king of ideas... and this one turned out to be one that actually seemed to work. It was dependent on Puck's social standing as a badass, so he decided he could only use it as long as he was still on top of the heap. It also counted on most high school guys being sexually repressed, a little homophobic, and as desperate to get off as he was.
He made a kind of game out of it. Puck started by choosing a potential target in one of his classes, somebody quiet and unassuming, who appeared to be scared of him. There seemed to be an endless supply of these. He'd pull up a seat next to him. Then he would lean back casually in his seat, letting his legs loll open, so the guy would get a good look at the Puckasaurus. He knew he had a big dick, there was no mistaking that, and when he was even a little hard (as he'd inevitably be by this point), he knew what was in his pants wasn't subtle. If the guy was even a little bit interested, Puck would be able to tell by the way he was looking - or, to be more specific, not looking.
Puck's usual next move was to let the guy stew a little. He'd stretch, roll his hips a little, nothing too obvious, and watch the guy's reaction. If he was still not looking, Puck would drop his fingers to rest on his cock, just briefly. If he got a good reaction - a blush, or maybe an uncomfortable glance away, or best of all, the guy adjusting himself in his jeans - that was enough to get Puck out of his seat asking for a hall pass to use the bathroom.
Then he'd walk to the nearest john and find an empty stall, locking the door behind him. They were usually empty during class, so if Puck heard the door open and close, he had a pretty good bet it was the guy, following him. Puck would make a little noise, something innocuous, so the guy would know where he was. If the guy tried to open Puck's stall door, he'd find it locked, because Puck sure as shit wasn't going to do anything with him. But by this time Puck would be totally turned on, and he'd start in, wet and hot, and listen for the guy's reaction.
He felt a tiny bit guilty about leading these guys on, making them think he was gonna give them a blowjob or something, instead of just wanting them to listen to him get off. But he wasn't guilty enough to worry about it, and sure as hell wasn't guilty enough to stop doing it. Because, dude: nothing made him come like he did when he knew there was a guy on the other side of the stall, listening.
The usual reaction, the one Puck mostly counted on, was silent embarrassment, but even then, they seldom left in the middle of things. Puck thought this was interesting: guys thought it was hot enough to listen, but not hot enough to stick around afterwards. It still turned him on just as much, knowing somebody was there, even if they didn't do anything about it.
Every now and then, the guy would listen for a little while, and then join in. Usually it was really obvious when he did this; maybe the guys took their cue from Puck that, if he was kind of loud, they could be loud too. Maybe they were gay and maybe they weren't; Puck didn't care. He'd get off, and sometimes they would too, and inevitably they'd be gone before Puck zipped up and came out to wash his hands.
But of course, then Puck would know who the guy was, and the guy would know he knew. After a few weeks of doing this, he'd identified a couple guys in each class who he could count on to follow him into the john, to listen while he jacked off, then make themselves scarce. Puck was more than a little smug about this. Of course nobody was going to say anything. He was way too fucking terrifying for anybody to accuse him of doing what he was doing, or of being anything that sounded like "fag."
Once he'd discovered this kink, he started exploiting it. On days when he jacked off at school, he sometimes didn't at home that night or the next morning, just so he could do it again the next day. But he couldn't count on the game being successful every time. Maybe his target would be absent; maybe they'd have a bad day and not respond to his move. Maybe, as sometimes happened with untried targets, they'd walk out in the middle of things, and Puck would have to be satisfied with his almost-always-now fantasy of there being a secret silent guy at the end of the row, jacking off silently in tandem with him.
Oddly enough, even when he knew who the guy really was on the other side of the stall door, he never gave him a face in his imagination. He didn't care that Felix or Roy or Warren were listening, because he didn't give two shits about any of those guys. He was totally using them for what they were doing for him, and for that, all they needed was a pair of working ears.
Sometimes he wondered if it would be hotter if it were girls listening to him. The idea was hard to conceptualize. He wasn't even sure if most girls jacked off, or whatever they called it. In any case, the question was irrelevant; he wasn't about to go hide in the girls' bathroom and expect not to get noticed. His game seemed to be working just fine.
Until, one day, it failed spectacularly.
It happened in the middle of Spanish class. After he got back from juvie, he'd focused entirely on making up his lost work, and Finn had been there to help him. Once he'd caught up far enough to pass, though, he decided he could get back to the game. The guys he'd terrified earlier in the year had either built up their resolve or found girlfriends, so he was testing out the waters with a new transfer student whose name he didn't even know. He nudged Finn's backpack out of the way on his left and stretched his leg out a little wider, turning toward this guy on his right, giving him a good look.
The guy seemed pretty comfortable letting his eyes rest on Puck's torso, on the way he filled out his jeans, before flickering his eyes back to his own paper. Puck didn't let his grin show, but instead dropped his hand to his hip. He let his hand dip down between his legs, once, just a casual gesture, but it was enough to let the guy know what he was thinking. The guy watched him out of the corner of his eye; he definitely was of the look-too-much rather than the look-too-little variety. Puck stood up.
"Perdone, Señor Schue," he said, raising his hand a little. "Puedo ir al baño?"
Mr. Schue sighed. "Diez minutos, Puck." He held out two hands, as if Puck wouldn't know diez or something. Okay, so maybe he'd developed a reputation for long bathroom breaks; so the fuck what. He gave Schue a little salute on his way out the door, already anticipating what he was about to do.
The bathroom across the hall was empty - he'd learned to sweep the bathroom to be certain, now - and he moved into the center stall, locking it securely. He'd already dropped his jeans and shorts to the floor and seated himself on the edge of the toilet when he heard the door swing open and closed again. Bingo, he thought, gripping his cock.
He made his signature foot-shuffling noise, which he'd discovered was enough to signal his presence without tipping the guy off he was paying attention. Just having him on the other side of the door, standing out there, uncertain, was enough to make Puck groan and speed up his strokes - although he kept the groan very, very quiet.
He heard the other guy approach the center stall, opening the door on either side of Puck. The footfalls paused next to Puck's stall, and the guy tested the lock. Puck grinned to himself; he'd kind of expected this new guy to play for that particular team. Now he was almost guaranteed to have an uncertain turned-on guy outside his -
"Puck," a voice said quietly. A voice he knew pretty damn fucking well.
Finn.
He didn't exactly freeze as much as seize up, clutching himself tighter. He couldn't remember the last time he'd stopped five seconds from coming, but he couldn't really think of a way to explain to Finn what was going on here if he did that. Maybe, if he held really still, Finn would think he'd made a mistake, that Puck wasn't actually -
"Dude." Finn sighed. "I can see your shoes. Just... finish up and meet me in the alcove outside the choir room, okay?" He paused. "Okay?"
"... okay," Puck said slowly, and Finn turned and left.
Puck listened to the sounds of his own breathing for a few seconds after Finn's noises were gone. He had no idea what Finn was going to say to him, or what he was going to say back. It wasn't like Finn would be surprised by the idea of Puck jacking off; they'd been friends for way too long for that to be a question. But he did seem to be upset. Maybe... maybe he was freaking out about something he'd heard. He'd heard... heard Puck. Stayed to listen.
"Fuck," he whimpered. The rush of arousal he felt inspired ten seconds of furious jerking, followed by a climax so intense it made his head swim.
It had been Finn on the other side of that door, listening, feeling uncertain and maybe a little turned on. Finn, who'd known it was him, because he could see his shoes, but had paused long enough to listen anyway.
He took his time cleaning up, but even after he'd washed his hands twice and inspected his jeans and t-shirt ensemble in the mirror three times, he still had fifteen minutes of Spanish left. No way to avoid Finn. Unless he just didn't show up outside the choir room, but that would be a sucky thing to do to his best friend, no matter how fucking embarrassed he was.
Puck sighed, gave his head a little angry shake, and made his determined way down to the drama wing. Finn was there waiting for him, knees up, slouched against the wall. He was staring intently at his hands, but when Puck sat down across from him, he looked up.
"Hey." He didn't look any more comfortable than Puck felt.
"Dude," said Puck. "You know everything about me, even the weird stuff. Since I was nine. This doesn't have to be a big -"
"Just - shut up, okay?" Finn didn't look upset, just tense, and Puck didn't even bother to glare at him; he simply stopped talking and waited.
Finn wound his fingers around each other, tugging, knotting and unknotting them, and Puck was not looking at Finn's fingers and thinking about anything.
"The guys," said Finn. "I heard them talking. More than a couple of them. About... you. About the things you were doing. With... other guys."
Puck frowned. "I'm not doing anything with guys, dude."
"Yeah, well, that's not the way the rumor's getting spread. You and Warren in the men's room? It was pretty obvious."
He wanted to defend himself, to say what was obvious? But if it was obvious to Finn, who was giving him this wounded look like Puck had kicked his dog or something, then it must be really fucking obvious. He tried logic. "Don't you think I'd tell you if I was doing anything with guys? You've heard about everything else I've ever done."
Finn redirected his gaze to the tile. "Puck, I watched you. In Spanish. You practically seduced poor Mark there. He totally would have followed you into the bathroom if I hadn't asked Mr. Schue for the last hall pass."
So that was his name. "I'm telling you, Finn, I wouldn't have done anything with Mark. I'm not into guys."
Now Finn's brow furrowed, concentrating hard; he was desperately trying to figure out this problem, but it clearly wasn't making any sense to him. "If you're not, then how do you explain the thing with Warren? Or Felix, or -"
Puck shook his head, laughing a little. "Jesus. You're not just listening to gossip, you're reading its fucking diary."
"Puck, this is a big deal, okay?" Finn said, loud enough to make the echo ring in the empty hallway. He dropped his voice. "Everybody at school thinks you're a fag. And you're telling me you're not, but I saw what you did with Mark, and - and I need you to realize that whatever's actually going on, that's really what it looks like. To everybody, and... to me."
"You think I'm a fag?" Puck uncrossed and recrossed his legs, wrestling with how to respond. Even an hour earlier, it would have been easy to explain his kink to Finn, to shrug at the not-exactly-gay overtones, and remind him about all the girls he'd happily banged, including no fewer than three of Finn's own girlfriends. But now, he found himself with this new aspect to his kink, one in which he'd taken his faceless listener and replaced him with Finn. He had a hard time putting the not-exactly-gay spin on that.
"Well, you're telling me you're not," said Finn. "So I guess I have to believe you, huh? But, Puck... whatever it is you're doing... it's putting your reputation at risk. Trust me, I hear about what Kurt goes through every day at school, and you don't want that." There went those fingers again, making macrame of one another. "Can't you... I don't know, tone it down?"
Puck wrestled with this question for long enough that Finn finally burst out, "What were you doing with those guys in the bathroom?"
"You really want to know?"
He watched Finn's pupils relax. Wherever Finn's imagination was going, it involved a hell of a lot more stuff than Puck had ever actually done with guys. It was unnerving, in a way, to realize Finn was just another guy in this equation - that Puck could have lured him into the game just as easily as any of the other guys. That Finn was just as homophobic and desperate to get off as anybody else. He leaned in a fraction, watching Finn follow suit.
"Probably not," Finn admitted. "But If I'm gonna help you get out of this one, you'd better tell me all of it. Otherwise, you might as well sign up for another round of daily slushies and public humiliation."
"Dude." Puck stared at him, astonished. "You don't have to take a hit for me. It's not your fight."
Finn gazed back with a faint smile. "Last I heard, that's what best friends do for each other. You had Kurt's back when he came home from Dalton. It's not so different. So... come on; I know you're going to embarrass the crap out of me, so you might as well get it over with before the bell rings."
Puck grinned, hesitating only a little before saying, "Yeah, okay, so... I'm a dude, and I've got needs, right? And sometimes I've got needs during school. What the fuck, no big deal, I go in the john, take care of it, go on with my day. You with me so far?"
Finn nodded, his face already red, but he was grimly staying focused. "Yeah, of course."
"So one time I realized there was this guy in the john with me, like, on accident? And I didn't realize he was listening until it was kind of... too late." He shrugged. "But the thing is, it was hot. Like, really hot. It didn't even matter who'd been listening, just... knowing someone was."
Finn's expression had transformed into something Puck couldn't quite read. "And it has to be... a guy?"
"I don't know," said Puck. "Never had girls listen to me do that. I'm sure that'd be even hotter, huh?"
Only now, he wasn't at all sure. Now he was trying not to pay attention to the images in his head of Finn, listening to him get off. Staying, and knowing it was him, and listening, and he wasn't going to get hard again.
"So the guys are just... convenient?" Finn sounded almost amused. Puck felt himself blush, smiling back.
"Must be."
Finn nodded slowly, staring at a point over Puck's shoulder. "We should probably go back and get our books from Spanish before Glee."
They scrambled up from the floor, Puck somewhat more gracefully than Finn. "I'm always late anyway. I can get all of our stuff."
"It's okay. I'll walk with you. I guess I need a minute to think about... all of it."
Puck tried not to be anxious about Finn's sober, reflective mood as they made their way back down the empty hallway to Mr. Schue's classroom. He was still thinking when they got there. Puck made a move to head back into Spanish, but Finn stopped him.
"All right," he said. "So your goal here... it's not specific, to... any particular person. It could be anybody. Right?"
"Right," Puck said uneasily. It had been true until an hour ago. Close enough, anyway.
They were alone in the hall, but Finn lowered his voice to a murmur anyway. "I don't think you should do that thing anymore. With... the guys."
"Okay." He watched Finn's face for some clue as to where this was going. Finn sighed.
"You're kind of using them, aren't you? And, dude. Whatever they're looking for, it's not the same thing you're looking for." He frowned. "And I'm a little creeped out by the idea that there are so many guys in this school who want to follow you into the bathroom, but... whatever. You're getting a reputation for... something. Something you don't want."
"Okay," he said again. "Can you get to the -"
"I'm getting there. Jesus." Finn ran a hand over his neck. "You need to ask somebody to do this. Somebody who knows what they're doing and why, and can say sure, that's fine with me."
Puck thought about this. "I need to ask... who? You really think Warren, or Felix, or that guy Mark would say sure, I'll stand on the other side of this stall while you jack off?"
"No, dude," he said angrily. "Somebody you trust. Those guys don't give a shit about you."
"No, and I don't give a shit about them. So what?"
"So you're gonna find yourself in a bad situation," Finn hissed. "One where you think you've got it covered, but when you walk out of the bathroom, four guys are gonna be waiting to beat the crap out of you."
Puck flexed his guns. "Whatever. I could take them."
The bell rang, but Finn didn't move from his spot on the wall, not even when people started to flood past him into the hallway. His eyes were fixed on Puck's. "Find somebody who can back you up, if things get weird."
It's already weird, Finn. We passed weird four months ago when I started this game. "Yeah? Who the hell would do that for me?"
"I would," said Finn.
Puck stared at Finn as he pushed past his shoulder on his way back into the Spanish classroom. He watched while Finn gathered up both of their backpacks and books and stopped at Mr. Schue's desk. Then he was back again, shoving Puck's backpack into his hands.
"You?" Puck said in disbelief. Finn scowled.
"Yeah. You said yourself it didn't matter who it was. Might as well be me. I'm not going to spread any rumors, and I can watch, uh. Watch out for you."
Puck was speechless all the way to Glee. Finn took a seat next to Quinn, and Puck found a seat by himself on the other side of the room. They were halfway through rehearsal before he realized he hadn't heard anything Mr. Schue had said, or even noticed which songs they'd been singing. He just kept thinking about Finn, saying You're kind of using them, aren't you?
When class was dismissed, he stood warily nearby, watching as Finn talked Quinn and kissed her goodbye. He imagined how Quinn would have responded if he'd told her his story. She probably would have reported him to Figgins, or at the very least called him a pervert. There was no way she would have agreed to participate in something like this, much less offered. Finn hadn't called him a pervert, even though he probably was. Finn had just listened, and decided he wanted to help. Because he was a good guy. A good friend.
"I can't," he said, when Finn was the only one left in the choir room. Finn regarded him.
"Why not?"
"Because, dude, it's like you said. I was totally using them. And..." He shook his head. "I can't use you. You're my best friend."
"I'm pretty sure it's not using me if I'm the one offering," Finn said mildly. He picked up his backpack. "Come on."
"Where're we going?" Puck asked, following him into the hallway.
"I bet there's an empty bathroom somewhere around here. You're going to give this a try."
"Hey!" Puck felt a surge of annoyance, but it was on the heels of a much more intense sensation, one that threatened to knock him over. His vision greyed out for a second, and he stopped walking.
Finn gave him a lopsided grin. "Don't tell me you can't do it again."
Puck could. He wondered if Finn could tell just how turned on he was already - had been, really, since they'd begin this whole weird conversation an hour ago. He glared at him. "I'm seventeen. What do you think?"
"Yeah, trust me, I know how it is. So... empty bathroom. You can discover for yourself if it's too weird. If it is, you come up with a different plan. And if it's not... we'll figure it out."
Puck had no idea at what point the situation had been yanked out of his control, but at that moment, all he could do was hold on and go along with it. "I guess?"
"Don't worry about it, man." Finn didn't touch him, but his smile was warm and calm, and Puck felt better. He nodded at the men's room door. "Try this one?"
The bathroom wasn't quite empty, but Puck locked himself in a stall anyway, while Finn washed his hands. When the remaining guy had left, Finn said softly, "Okay. All clear."
Puck bit back an hysterical laugh at the scenario, but he undid his belt and unzipped his jeans. The sound was loud in the empty bathroom. He listened for Finn's breathing, but there wasn't any to be heard.
"I'm... I'll just..." Puck bit his lip, considering his erection before him. "I might, uh, make some noise."
Finn sighed. "Do whatever it is you do, okay? I'm not here to judge."
Finn's voice was coming from his right. When he looked under the stall, he could see Finn's gym shoes pointing in the opposite direction, facing the door. Watching out for me, he thought. It wasn't unappealing. But this was Finn, and he was going to stand there, and listen while Puck - while he -
With an echoing sigh, Puck took his cock in his hand and began stroking, watching those white gym shoes standing on the other side of the wall. Finn, listening. God. He'd been certain he wouldn't be able to do this, that he'd never be able to stay hard with this particular audience, but the opposite seemed to be true. What was driving him was Finn's presence. Puck wanted him to hear - to know. He let out a small sound, just a breath. There was no response. Finn was still there.
The friction was a little intense, so soon after finishing the last round, but he carefully licked his palm and made it slick. And now he didn't have to worry about the telltale noises, or about anybody walking in, because Finn was there. Listening. He whimpered a little.
"Not too weird?" he dared to ask.
Finn's chuckle was low and placid. "Nah," he said complacently. "I'm fine."
Puck closed his eyes, grasping with his imagination for some familiar fantasy, something to take him out of this bizarre situation, but all he could see was Finn's legs on the other side of the stall. He wondered if Finn were getting turned on by this, because it sure as hell was doing it for him. He pictured Finn sitting the way he himself had done so many times, slouched in his chair, knees spread, running a casual hand over his own barely-contained cock through his shorts. Puck had seen him naked enough times to know that Finn wasn't lacking anything in the size department, either. Just that one move, over and over, accompanied by Finn's lazy grin, was enough to take him most of the way there.
"Um," said Finn. Puck's hand stilled for a moment, then he continued, unwilling to slow his forward momentum. "Everything... okay in there?"
"Yeah." The words was meant to be a simple response, but it came out in an embarrassingly pleading groan. He winced. "Fine."
"You just... I mean, you said noises, but..." Finn sounded perplexed. "I haven't heard anything at all. I'm pretty sure I couldn't be that quiet if I were -"
"Long practice," he panted. "Can you shut up, I'm trying to concentrate here?"
But really, it was that he couldn't quite accept what Finn's voice was doing to him. He's telling me he's loud, he thought desperately. He's loud when he jacks off. Finn. Puck spread his legs a little wider, leaning into his hand, for once not curtailing his breathing or worrying about the slippery noises. Was Finn telling him he wanted to hear the noises?
"Sorry," said Finn quickly. "Shutting up now."
Puck let out a laugh, letting his hands go slack and his head hang between his shoulders. "Fuck. This is totally stupid. I have no idea why I let you talk me into doing -"
"Puck."
He bit off his diatribe at Finn's soft word. Now he could hear Finn's breathing, closer than before, mingling with his own.
"I can go, if you want. But the whole point was... for this to be hot, right? You want this?"
Puck took a deep breath, let it out, then did it again. "I - yeah, I guess?"
"So stop holding back. It's stupid. I told you, I'm not gonna judge you."
"No?" He felt suddenly, absurdly close to Finn, considering there was a wall between them. With the knuckles of his right hand, he reached out and touched the peeling yellow paint.
"Yeah. And since when do you care what anybody thinks about anything when it comes to sex? You're fearless, man."
Not right now, he wanted to say. Right now I'm sitting here with my dick in my hand, with my best friend less than a foot away, and it's kind of freaking me out. He tried to keep breathing normally, but even that felt like a challenge.
"It's not a performance. You don't have to be anything. Just relax." Finn sounded so fucking calm.
"Relax," he muttered, shaking his head. "I think you're going to have to stop talking for this to work. Otherwise I get thinking, and... it's just too much thinking. This isn't supposed to be about thinking."
"Okay," said Finn.
That was all Puck heard from Finn for the next five minutes. By then, he'd regained nearly all of his lost ground, walking back through his most reliable fantasies about the guy in the stall at the end. Although if there was a guy there, Finn would probably have said something. He gave a frustrated huff. It seemed that all of his old standbys involving the anonymous guy listening were suspect, because the guy listening was Finn, and it just complicated everything.
Stop holding back, Finn had said. I'm not going to judge you. Well, if this was supposed to be a test case, so he'd better well fucking test it. Okay, so what if Finn was getting a little turned on by listening to Puck jack off, like the rest of the probably-straight guys who'd followed him into the bathroom? Maybe... he might - Puck let out a soft groan - go in one of the empty stalls, and lock himself in, and -
God, what was he thinking? Finn wouldn't do that, because he'd said he would stay out there and look out for Puck. He'd never put his own desires ahead of a promise, no matter how turned on he was. Finn would probably never jerk off at school, period.
"Um," said Finn, hesitantly, "I know I said I wouldn't talk - but this, it might help. I was thinking -"
"Finn," Puck said through gritted teeth.
"No, just, if you want me to listen, dude, you've going to have to text me or something. And we should only do it in the middle of the classes we don't share, to avoid attention? So you tell me where you are, and I'll come meet you there, and... we can do this."
Oh fuck oh, he thought helplessly. We're doing this. This isn't an accidental thing, it's... an arranged thing. With talking. It was both the biggest buzz-kill and the biggest turn-on at the same time, and Puck made a couple of really embarrassing whining noises before getting hit by another one of those monster orgasms. He stifled most of it, but there was no way Finn wasn't going to know what had happened.
Finn cleared his throat. "Does that sound okay?"
And now Puck froze, his heavy-lidded eyes flying open in shock. Because that little throat-clearing noise - that was one he remembered. Remembered very clearly, from his very first experience in the bathroom, months ago. Finn. He'd been the guy listening, who hadn't said anything. Finn. Who apparently was going to be the one listening from now on, both in his heretofore anonymous fantasies, and in real life.
Finn was still waiting for him to say something. Puck swallowed on a dry throat.
"Okay," was all he could say. Even thanks got stuck, because how the hell did you thank somebody for something like this?
"Well... I guess I should get going." Finn turned, facing the stall, and moved forward a few steps before turning around and heading for the door. "I'm going to go ahead and let you... get cleaned up and stuff. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Wait," he said.
Finn's footfalls stopped. Puck quickly wiped off his hand, tucked himself back in and flushed the john - for no reason, but it had been a part of his cover for too long to stop himself. He zipped up his jeans and opened the stall door. Finn was standing there, looking a little stunned. His cheeks were red, just as Puck's were. You can do this.
"You... really didn't have to do... this," said Puck. "And you totally don't need to ever do it again. I'm not saying, no, I'm just telling you, so you won't feel obligated or something. Ever. But, um..." He looked away, trying not to stutter. "That worked for me."
Finn's grin looked relieved. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. And I'm not telling anybody about this, but... thanks. For reminding me I can tell you anything."
The grin faltered just a moment, too brief for Puck to think it meant anything. "Of course," Finn said. "Totally."
They stood there facing one another for another five supremely awkward seconds before Puck decided to let Finn off the hook. He turned the faucet on in the sink and began to wash his hands. "See you tomorrow," he said.
"See you," said Finn, and left.