There were times when he couldn't think of anything other than Quinn Fabray. The memories were pungent, from the feel of her hair to the taste of her kiss and the way she'd looked at him. Make no mistake, she'd known perfectly well who was there with her. It'd been his name, not Finn's. And she could lie all she wanted, they both knew she could've stopped him if she'd wanted to. The problem was obviously that she hadn't wanted to, regardless of the fact that she'd had hardly anything to drink. And her insecurities? Because he'd told her she was the hottest girl in their school, in the universal top five? He'd told her that, because it was easier than just saying she was beautiful. Words like beautiful didn't roll off his tongue so easily, unless he was lying or referencing something other than a woman (drugs, money, sports). It was different when it was true, when it was her.
It hadn't been nearly so hard to say he loved her. Maybe that was because, at the time, it wasn't true. At the time. Before his mind had run away from him and turned him into this...this...whatever he was. Soft.
"If you tell anyone I'll kill you." She'd made the threat, fresh off a mouth still swollen with kisses. It'd seemed almost funny, that she'd actually thought she needed to say it. Quinn was dating his best friend and, in four months of an exclusive relationship, Finn still hadn't managed to get where Puck was now, after one day. She'd said it was the alcohol and her insecurities, like the two things together had manifested into the thing they'd shared. It made no sense, seeing as how she'd been turning people down for years. She was a girl of serious self-control. Maybe the wine coolers had loosened up her inhibition in the beginning, but it'd been need fueling everything else.
He'd kissed her and she'd climbed into his lap, without invitation or reason, and kissed him back. Her hands had curled against his neck, delicate fingertips forcing his mouth against her's in vivid demand. There was nothing delicate about that. She didn't touch him carefully. It was like her hands were searching for some purchase on his body, with a strange, sick desire to leave marks where they'd surely be seen. She'd pushed his shirt up his chest and he'd pulled it off, set it aside to gather up later, then reached for her's. Unbelievably, Quinn laughed. Laughed, of all things! Before he could pull back or decide that it was over, she'd taken it off herself. It wasn't over.
There were comparisons she could've made, but she was quiet as she ran her fingers over his bare skin. He was quiet, too, staring at her and realizing he didn't know her at all. She was a whole lot more than he'd ever realized-- better. There were secrets she was keeping behind her eyes, and maybe they matched his more than he'd anticipated. A crush was only a crush. She was the realization of something impossible, the one girl he couldn't have, no matter how badly he wanted her. But now she was sitting on top of his lap, and he understood it wasn't quite that simple. She was more to him. She would only become more and more important. No, he didn't love her yet, but he was well on his way to it. It was terrifying, jarring, life-altering, and beautiful, and tragic that the regret between them was so inevitable. They could enjoy this in the moment, but as soon as it was they would both be sorry.
He was going to love her, Quinn Fabray, the girl dating his closest friend. More than that, he was going to take a part of her no one else could ever have. Although she was the one girl he couldn't have - probably ever - a piece of her was his. No amount of regret could change that, especially when he was certain his regret would only exist on the surface. The turbulence and the jabbing of the conscience he hardly even had, it was easy to shut out.
Her hands were nervous and shaky as she unbuttoned his pants. They wavered with an uncertainty that never met her excitement and never overcame her desire. All she had to say was No. All she had to do was tell him to stop. It was so simple, but she said neither.
All of this came back to him without much effort, clear as the day it'd happened. Considering the significant meaning that moment had in his life, he supposed it would always be that way. It wasn't unfortunate so much as it was amazing. He had no desire to forget the fear in her eyes as he moved against her, the way she'd clung to him with her nails scarring little moonshaped indents on his back. They'd both been too carried away to think about what they were doing. They'd both just wanted to get down to it, quickly, before her mind changed and they lost the chance to be together. Would there ever be another? No. Probably not.
As soon as it was over, she'd pulled him down on top of her. She'd collapsed his body - already weak from exertion - and he'd had to rush to support his weight on his elbows. Her face pressed into his shoulder, long eyelashes abandoning fast tears on his skin. She was crying. He'd pressed his lips to the side of her head, muttered into her ear that he loved her. It wasn't true, so she cried harder. She didn't love him either. Maybe she never would, how could he know one way or the other? He'd wanted to tell her that he was going to, and that once he did he would never stop, but she didn't give him the time.
She'd settled back against the mattress so that she could look up at him under dewy doe eyes. She sighed. She told him he needed to leave.
So he left.
And now here he was. What was he supposed to do with this? How could he dispose of these errant thoughts? How could he shake the feelings and ideas, the dreams he knew would always be just out of reach. Not only could he not have Quinn, he couldn't even have his daughter. She was half him and he still had no claim to her, to either of them. It was better that way with Quinn, probably. He didn't trust himself enough to believe he'd treat her the way she deserved to be treated, but Finn wasn't really doing that either. Honestly, Puck was sure he could at least do better than his so-called friend. At least he loved her. Uselessly and without change, he loved her. He'd demolished the one shot she'd handed him, just as afraid of what would happen then as he'd been the first time. Afraid. Weak. Needy. Unwilling to make promises or alter himself, even when it was so clearly worth it. He'd crushed it. He'd turned to what was comfortable and easy (in every sense of the word), and she'd given up on him.
He couldn't blame her.
Still, sometimes she was all he could think about. Most of the time, split between Quinn and the baby-- his little broken family.