A/N: First of all: Puck swears a lot in his mind, so beware. Secondly, this is my first Glee fic, and it's supposed to be set somewhere around the middle of season two, but with a slight twist...obviously. Thirdly, fully dedicated to my friend Linchalou (even though you've already read it...). And fourthly (yay, I got all the way to four!), thanks to mew-tsubaki for beta-reading!

You're screwed, Puck

Chapter One

in which a Coke, a pillow, and the air conditioning get all the blame.

Puck is holding his can of Coke so hard that he can see his veins on the back of his hand. And he's determinedly staring at that hand instead of next to him. Because if he doesn't, he doesn't know what will happen.

There must be something else in that Coke, he thinks, because the thing on his mind—well, it's just fucked up, and it can't be his own thoughts, it just can't. That's not the way Puck works.

He simply isn't questioning his sexuality; he won't do that, because he's not even close to being gay. Gay, that's when one is like Hummel—when you like fucking clothes and use hand lotion and that kind of shit. And Puck doesn't. So. Puck. Is. Not. Gay.

Which means that Sam's thigh that's pressed against his is perfectly ignorable, and the way that they're so close on that fucking sofa isn't a problem and that he can almost feel Sam's breath doesn't matter at all.

Ah, it's nice to come up with answers. Puck takes another sip of his Coke, and for exactly thirty-four seconds (it's not as though he counted, of course not), he manages to stare straight ahead and ignore Sam.

Then Sam makes a little sound in the back of his throat, as if he's choking on his own fucking saliva, and Puck just has to turn. Because, seriously, what if the little bugger actually did choke and died, and Puck had just sat to the right of him and stared at the TV without saving him?

But Sam isn't choking. He's sucking in his lower lip and Puck's eyes feel as if they are going to jump out of their sockets—but not because of that, just because of what Sam says next: "Is there someone actually watching?" He's referring to the TV show that's on, and of course that's something that makes one's eyes jump out of their sockets, because…er…it's a much unexpected thing to say, and…

"Probably not," Puck answers at last, and his voice is also acting a bit weird, though he manages to hide it by coughing first, because no way in hell is he going to squeak. Especially not when there's no reason for that to happen.

"Guess I should go home then," Sam says, but he isn't moving from where he's sitting, and at first Puck doesn't understand why and almost begins to think of things he shouldn't think of, but then he sees that Mike is asleep on the floor and that he has his back propped against Sam's legs so that Sam can't move.

And on the other side of Puck, Finn is leaning on him and is close to drooling on Puck's shoulder (what the fuck?), and Puck wonders for exactly one second why the pressure of Finn's body against him isn't making him react as Sam's thighs do—but then he catches himself and rises in one quick movement, because that feels like the only fucking option.

Finn's head tumbles down on the sofa with a thud, but the dumbass doesn't even wake up, and Puck and Sam look at each other with laughter in their eyes. Then they look away and Puck takes the remote control because he has to turn off the TV, and he has to put the bowls of chips away, and he has to take the DVD out of the player, and he has to do a lot of things.

"Do you think we should wake Mike up?" Sam asks quietly, and, okay then, maybe Puck doesn't have to fluff the pillows in Mike's bed, maybe that's just a little bit over-the-top.

"Nah, I think he'll get it that we left, don't you?" Puck says, and—fuck—now he's realized something else. He can't walk home with Sam, he just can't. They have to wake Finn up, even though Finn said he should sleep over at Mike's, because Puck fucking needs Finn…

Not because it is Sam he's walking home with, only because of…yeah, whatever. It's still not as though Puck is gay or something, or even if he was, it's not as if he's interested in Sam, and he really should stop this, because he's sounding pathetic, repeating it. As if he's desperately trying to deny something that in fact is true, and this is as fucking far away from true as it could possibly be.

So when Sam is trying to wiggle free from Mike without waking him up, Puck very accidentally puts an elbow in Finn's ribs, and Finn opens his eyes and jolts. "Wha—who—how?" Finn spits out, and Puck grabs him around his arm and drags him up on his feet. Sam is still busy with carefully putting Mike's head on a pillow, and fuck it, does he have to have his tongue outside his mouth to fucking do that?

"You don't want to sleep over any longer," Puck whispers quickly to Finn, and thank God, Finn just nods. Sometimes it is actually worth having Finn as a friend, Puck thinks, with the way they sometimes don't have to ask and just know something's important.

Sam has at last finished tucking Mike in, yes, he even put a fucking quilt on top of him, and he walks now up to Puck and Finn, the latter of which is rubbing his eyes and yawns. "You're not staying, Finn?" he asks.

"Nope, he's going home," Puck answers for Finn, because he's just staring at Sam as though he's an alien, and Puck really wants to get out of there as soon as possible and get home because now Sam is giving him this confused look and his eyes are huge. Not that that's his reason for wanting to go home.

Sam nods eventually, and the three of them slip out the backdoor. It's dark outside, though the house next to Mike's sort of destroys the moment, with the huge TV that's on and flashes through the huge window that faces Mike's back garden.

They don't say anything as they walk down the street. Finn is in the middle, and that's good, because then Puck can pretend that Sam isn't there, that it's just him and Finn. They arrive at the crossroads, where Sam will have to turn left, Puck continue straight forward, and Finn to the right. Fucking fitting where they live, isn't it?

"See you Monday," Finn mumbles, his hands in his pockets and his gait still looking as if he's sleepwalking. He turns around and walks away, and—fuck, fuck, fuck, he wasn't supposed to leave first!

Pucks opens his mouth to repeat Finn's words to Sam, but suddenly they're getting caught in his throat—like, really bad—and fuck if Sam isn't giving him this little smile from the corner of his mouth and speaks up before he does. Can I be more pathetic, for fuck's sake? Puck groans mentally while Sam says, "It was fun tonight, huh?"

"Sure," Puck mumbles, and he wants to go home even more, because he really needs to do something, because he shouldn't be standing here and actually considering to "experiment a bit with his sexuality" as Mrs. Pillsbury once told them in class was more than okay, because, as he has stated now a million times, he isn't fucking gay! "I'll see you on Monday."

"Or tomorrow," Sam says with a little smile, and at first Puck doesn't know what he's talking about, they're not going to meet tomorrow—are they? And why does he get this feeling in his stomach as he thinks of going to meet Sam tomorrow? Then he realizes what Sam means, that it's past midnight and he rolls his eyes, because that was lame.

"Whatever, dude," Puck says, and he feels a little bit more badass again, a little more Puck again. And that feels nice as hell.

They part, and when Puck walks under the streetlights, he tries to keep that feeling, that feeling that he still is himself and knows everything about himself, and that there is no doubt about anything. Then he realizes that he sounds even more doubtful by thinking like that, so he just focuses on not stepping on any cracks, as he used to do when he was little.

It works well, all the way home, and then he has to be really quiet, and he can focus on that, so he doesn't wake anyone up, but as soon as he puts his head on his pillow, the thoughts return.

'.'.'

Three fucking guesses on who spends his Sunday in bed, watches karate movies all day, and has to endure a lot of shouting because he's playing music too loud? Smartass, of course it's Puck.

The day passes relatively quickly, and relatively un-thinking—at least when it comes to Sam and gay-related stuff.

Though Puck knows very well he shouldn't be lying to himself—he's not saying that he is that, just that he shouldn't be that. It's quite confusing, to be honest. But, thing is, if he's gay, then he shouldn't deny it. But as it is now, he can't know that for sure, maybe he was just…er…infatuated with Coke. He'd played too much Assassin's Creed. Or something else.

Fuck, now he's thinking of it. He shouldn't; hadn't he decided that?

It's probably something wrong with his pillow. It's his pillow that makes him think this weird stuff and makes it unable for him to fall asleep. It has to be.

That thought is quite nice, so he holds on to it until he's almost asleep, and then it hits him that he hadn't had the pillow with him in Mike's house…

'.'.'

He wakes up the following morning because his mum knocks on the door. "Hurry, or I'll clear the table, Noah."

Puck opens his eyes slowly, because, damn, if he just could never leave his bed. He doesn't want to go to school today, not at all.

But then his mum yells again, and maybe it's better just to do it. Because maybe he'll go to school and it'll all be fine.

Or maybe not.

During the first class, Sam is sitting three rows in front of him and Puck actually finishes the pop quiz. Not that one thing has something to do with the other—why would it, it's not as if Puck refused to look up from the sheet just not to watch Sam's hair—but as Puck walks out of there he feels like a fucking loser; he isn't supposed to do what he's told…he's Puckerman, and Puckerman is badass.

And then it gets even worse. Which shouldn't be possible, but it seems to be as someone has it in for Puck. Sam catches up with him when Puck is on his way to glee club, and he has this one strand of hair that stands straight out from his head which Puck can't stop looking at, because it's…never mind. Puck did not think it was adorable.

But Sam is blabbering on, and Puck realizes he forgot to listen, and now Sam seems to wait for an answer, and—fuck it all. But for once Puck's lucky, because they have arrived at the choir room, and Sam says, "Let's talk later," and sits down in the front row. And never mind that everyone else is still speaking, that Mr. Schue is waiting for them to calm down, that Puck usually is the one that takes the longest to quiet down, because this way it's all much better.

Then he senses that Sam takes the chair next to him, and that wasn't supposed to happen—and furthermore, Puck isn't supposed to cast a sideway glance and receive that crooked smile for an answer.

Puck quickly looks at Mr. Schue again, who now is speaking, and he has this huge smile on his lips, like that one he had when he told them about Rocky Horror, but Puck can't concentrate on what he's saying.

It's something about tents, but that doesn't make sense, so Puck tries to focus even more, but how the hell did he manage to miss so much already? Mr. Schue says, "And as we'll be gone for one week, I want, also, that each night two of you'll sing a song separately…," but then Puck loses it again because Sam is leaning a bit forward, so Puck can see him in the corner of his eyes. And fuck it, is he so interested in what Schue is saying that he has to suck on his pinky on the hand he's leaning his chin on?

Puck wiggles a bit in his chair, so he sits a bit more to the right, and Sam disappears out of his line of sight. "And don't forget sleeping bags," Mr. Schue says with another smile, and why the fuck is everyone else also looking really happy? "Now, on to today's work." Schue begins to hand out some papers, and when Puck gets his, he sees that he's supposed to play the guitar, and that is more than a relief.

He walks up and takes his guitar and sits down next to the orchestra, because no way in hell is he going to show off today. And thank God that it's a difficult song so he can concentrate fully on it instead of how Sam is singing—and, well, everyone else, too.

They finish at last, and Puck thinks he's safe now…or yeah, whatever, he just wants to get home quickly, that's the only reason for practically running out of the room, of course. But then, fucking unbelievably, Sam is there and grabs his arm.

"You never answered me," he says and grins.

"About what?"

Sam looks at him as if he thinks he's screwing around with him, and thank you very much, Evans, it might be the other way around here. "Tonight? Video games? Not to be mean or something, but you and I beat Mike and Finn quite a lot, so…," Sam trails off, and Puck doesn't know what to say.

"…er, sure."

"Good." And fuck, does Sam's entire face have to light up as though someone pressed a button? "Your place, then? At eight?"

Puck nods, and when Sam walks away, he wonders what he should blame now. There's no Coke and no pillow. Maybe it's the fucking air conditioning in this fucking school that he's allergic to.

Either way, he's fucked.