A Comfortable couch and a widescreen TV?

Check.

Ice cream and brownies?

Check.

Titanic, Blu-ray?

Check

Parents out of town – Home to myself?

Check.

Blaine smiled to himself as he pulled the brownies out of the oven, slightly groaning because they just smelt so damn good. Seriously, he hadn't had a night to himself to just relax and chill for what seemed like forever. And guys really needed to have those nights.

It was the middle of the summer, but he probably was busier now than during the school year. He had picked up a second part time job, so his free time dwindled fast. When he wasn't working, his parents dragged him places, and his friends tried, sometimes successfully, to hang out.

It's not that he didn't want to hang with his friends; it's just that….OK, he didn't want to. Ever since…the breakup, his friend circle had been shattered. Rachel and Mercedes did their best to continue their relationships they had, but still, it felt odd. He had started to make up excuses not to see them, something he's sure they had noticed.

Of course, this didn't help his free time problem. Once he made up an excuse, he usually ended up doing just that. If he said he had to take his car into the shop that night, he would, or if he said he was already on his way to see a different friend, he'd end up being on his way to see a different friend. Guilt was a nasty thing, and it controlled Blaine well.

Not tonight. He thought to himself as he cut a fairly generous sized brownie out of the pan, plopping it on top of the ice cream concoction he had just finished making.

After turning off the oven, Blaine grabbed his dessert of choice and made his way out of the kitchen and into the living room. He sat it on the couch and strode across the room to insert the DVD. He sang random songs under his breath, barely able to control his excitement.

So he wasn't going to deny his initial spark of irritation when he heard a pounding on the door. Blaine looked from his ice cream on the couch to the TV screen, then to the door. For a split second he considered not answering it, but his better side won out (doesn't it always?) and he begrudgingly started making his way to the door.

Another more urgent and loud round of pounding echoed down the Anderson mansion, and Blaine began to wonder who the hell wouldn't use the doorbell.

Ding dong, the Anderson doorbell chimed.

Still, most people would have used the doorbell first.

His parents taught him safety first, so Blaine pulled the curtain slightly away from the porch window and glanced out. It was close to midnight, so he probably would have done this regardless of how he was raised.

"Puck?" Blaine called, more than slightly confused once he recognized the silhouette of his late night visitor.

He was about to ask the boy what he was doing here – seeing as they hardly could be considered close friends, Blaine didn't even know Puck knew where he lived – when he opened the door. All thought left him then, as he got the first good view of the older boy.

Puck was in bad shape. By bad, it was Blaine sugar coating why the hell is he at my doorstep and not the hospital – bad. He had red and purple bruises covering his face, with the same coloring going down his arm, with a particularly blackish bruise on his left arm. Blood trickled down and around everywhere, sliding down his nose, and more alarmingly, sliding through his hand, which was covering up what looked like a gash in his chest.

"Puck!" Blaine gasped, rushing to the teen and putting his arms around Puck's waist, catching him just as he was about to topple over.

"What the hell? What happened? Why are you here? You need to go to the hospital." Forget being calm, Puck was fucking bleeding.

Puck's blood trickled onto Blaine's hand.

"Get inside."

Blaine pulled Puck through the doorway, draping the older boys arm around his shoulder. Puck cringed and groaned, and Blaine immediately regretted this move.

"Sorry! I'm Sorry! Did that hurt?"

Puck gave a shaky laugh under his breath, hardly more than an intake of breath.

"Did you really just ask me if that hurt? The fuck Ander…son…"

"Sorry. We need to get you to the couch."

"Stop saying sorry."

"Sorr," Blaine could have slapped himself in the face. He wasn't usually one to panic, so why was he starting now?

Puck didn't give any sort of laugh this time. With every second that passed, he was putting more and more of his weight on Blaine, and he didn't know how much farther he could walk. The room was more than spinning, and he really just needed to get off his feet.

Blaine was struggling under Pucks weight. He could tell the older boy was about to collapse, but he was only feet away from the couch.

"Don't you dare pass out on me."

Puck murmured something – probably smart alecky – but it was too quiet for Blaine to hear.

"Okay I'm going to lay you down now…" Blaine tried not to watch Puck's face as he pushed the older teen down onto the cushions, he didn't want to see the pain this was causing him.

But when could Blaine ever not do something when he told himself not to.

He planned for a quick glance, but he couldn't look away once he did. Puck's face was set in a grimace, and Blaine could tell this was him holding back. He probably wanted to yell out or something, which made Blaine feel like shit. He didn't do well with people suffering, and Puck was like the definition of suffering.

"Puck, what's going on? What are you -" Blaine froze as his eyes fell upon Puck's hand, which was unsuccessfully holding whatever wound was beneath it.

"I-I," Blaine's breath was shaky, and he was finding it hard for him to think clearly. "I n-need to take a look- a look at that." He finished, hands going gently to Puck's, lightly moving it to the side.

Puck moaned, which was his only reaction.

Blaine's blood ran cold, and he got goose bumps as soon as he saw the red gash in Puck's side. The cut looked around 10 inches long, and Blaine had no idea how deep it was. But it was bleeding like a mother.

"Okay…alright…well….FUCK!" Blaine splurted out. He didn't usually swear, but come on, what the fuck was this shit? He just wanted a good night to himself, and now there's a bloody mess on his couch?

"What-what…" Blaine cleared his throat, summoning all his courage and plowing on. Shit needed to get down and it needed to get down yesterday.

"What happened Puck? What the hell?"

So Blaine was going to be strong. He could do this, right? It's not like anything was fatal! The cut didn't even look that bad….

"I don't…wanna talk about it.." Puck murmured in that quiet, pained voice that pretty much almost crushed Blaine's bravery.

"You're going to tell me what happened Puckerman, or I'm going to cut you…more."

Puck raised his eyebrow and then laughed. This laugh was louder, but it was also hoarse, and it sounded fucking horrible. Puck ended up coughing some blood, something that made Blaine panic even more.

"Fuck off Anderson."

Alright. Blaine had made up his mind.

"Screw it." Blaine said as he rose from his kneeling position next to the couch. "I'm calling an ambulance."

Puck reacted instantly. His hand shot up and grabbed Blaine's forearm, grabbing it and pulling him back down to the floor. Blaine's arm instantly seared with pain, as Puck grabbed and held on with about as much force as a dump truck.

"The fuck you are!"

Blaine cringed quickly; pulling away from Puck's vice grip and scooting away. He rubbed his arm slowly, biting back the want to hit the older boy. That was totally uncalled for in every way.

Puck looked at him with a set, cold face.

"You're not calling the cops."

"Why?" Blaine challenged, anger rising in him. Who the hell is Noah Puckerman to waltz in here and ruin his night? Not to mention bleed all over his moms favorite couch.

"You're just not. This shit would be too hard to explain."

"If you don't want me to call the cops, than you're going to explain yourself. What the hell happened? And don't expect to overpower me this time. I'm not above punching you in that wound of yours."

Of course Blaine wouldn't actually punch Puck in his gash, but seeing as the likelihood of Puck moving from that couch any time soon is marginally small; Blaine felt he could get away with the empty threat.

Puck kept a stony silence, gritting his teeth and glaring over at Blaine.

"No."

Blaine stood up than; far enough away that Puck couldn't grab him.

To his utter shock, Puck actually attempted to stand up too. He hardly got his chest into a sitting position before he fell back down. And damnit did he make the wrong move, because his cut seemed to have been opened more, as blood started flowing even more freely.

"Please." Puck spluttered out, hand going to his cut, which Blaine thought was pretty stupid. He couldn't hold any pressure, so the only thing that did was succeed in getting Puck's hand extremely bloody.

Blaine didn't really have time to think. He rushed to the laundry room and grabbed a clean rag, and returned to Puck's side.

"Relax, I didn't call anybody… I got this."

Blaine slowly lifted Puck's hand away from the cut, and gently placed the towel over it. Puck groaned as Blaine applied the tiniest of pressure.

"You know I'm going to need to push down Puck…we have to stop the bleeding."

"Sterilize…" Puck groaned out, face contorting in pain.

"What?"

"You need to…sterilize it.."

"Puck… how did you get this cut?" Blaine needed to know more, seeing as now Puck, out of nowhere he might add, starts talking about sterilizing shit.

Puck's eyes found Blaine's, and he gave him a long searching look. He didn't know if he should tell the younger teen the truth, or a lie. He decided on the truth, he just wasn't going to be detailed about it.

"A knife."

A thousand thoughts ran through Blaine's head as soon as he heard this. This did not bode well for Puck. If it was a knife, it means it was inflicted by another person.

"Puck," Blaine began in a shaky breath. "Are they still after you?"

Puck understood the meaning of the question – their current safety – and gave a tiny shake of his head.

Blaine let out his breath, body shaking slightly. He leaned forward unconsciously, needing to get as close to the boy as possible. He was still pressing the rag against the gash, and sometime, Blaine's not sure when, Puck's hand found its way on top of Blaine's. He was giving a little push himself, but it was more like the mohawked teen was attempting – almost pleading – to keep Blaine's hand there.

Blaine could have cried.

"Why-wh-why" shit, Blaine thought. His stuttering was back. "Why did some-somebody knife you?"

Puck barely lifted his dropping eyes to meet Blaine. In fact, he barely talked. He just quietly whispered; "sterilize. Please."

And god damnit he said please.

"All right. I'm going to have to leave you and look for something that can… clean the wound."

Puck tightened his hand on Blaine's – just a quick squeeze - and then let him go.

"Hurry Anderson."

"Yes sir."

Blaine was on his feet in seconds. He stormed to the pantry and frantically looking for betadine or some other cleanser. His search was coming up with nothing, but he did pocket the bottle of Motrin. Blaine cursed loudly as he slammed the medicine cabinet drawer closed, very angry at his parents. Why the hell didn't they have better medical supplies.

His head went on overdrive as he thought of his options. He knew he would have to start with soap and water, but then what? Puck was pretty serious about this whole cleansing thing, and Blaine knew this couldn't be a half assed operation.

"This is going to suck…" Blaine whispered to himself as he went back to the medicine cabinent, grabbing what he had previously deemed too painful. Rubbing alcohol.

He quickly went to his parents' liquor cabinet, grabbing the only bottle of whiskey they had.

Puck was trying to hang on, but it was getting harder and harder. His world seemed so fuzzy, and he was getting closer and closer to passing out by the second. But he couldn't. He had to make sure Blaine cleaned the wound. He jumped a little as Blaine suddenly appeared beside him, kneeling down in front of the couch hovering over him again.

"Puck, I want you to drink this."

"The fuck Anderson? Whiskey?"

"Just drink it…" Blaine held it up to his lips, and poured some of the liquid down Puck's throat. He older teen immediately cursed and sputtered, groaning at all the movement and the sting of the alcohol.

"I don't really feel like" Puck started in his low, pained voice, "drinking right now."

Blaine removed Puck's hand (holding the rag) away from the wound, and looked back up at Puck.

"I'm starting with just soap and water. How serious are you about this being 100% clean?"

"Dead serious."

"O-Okay. Then I brought rubbing alcohol."

Blaine didn't look at Puck's face as he said this, afraid it would make him back out. He just kept his eyes on the wound, waiting for Puck's go ahead.

In all honesty, he half wished he wouldn't get one.

After a stony silence, Puck's hand pushed Blaine's down closer to the wound.

"Then let's start with the fucking water…"

Blaine nodded numbly, placing the towel over Puck's wound and beginning to apply light pressure. Noises came from Puck's throat, but Blaine tried to ignore them. He didn't want to think of the pain he was causing the older boy.

He continued to slowly, carefully wipe the wound, trying to be as delicate as possible. He gritted his teeth as he made his way up and down, trying his hardest not to look up at Puck's face. The noises he was making were bad enough.

Puck was trying his damn hardest to not make a sound. He knew that if he was too vocal during this,than there was no way in hell Blaine would continue to the rubbing alcohol. Oh fuck that. Rubbing alcohol? Maybe he should be making some noise.

He was distracted from his thoughts as he felt the wet sting of the soap leave his wound and his eyes found Blaine's. Damn did that boy look scared.

Blaine didn't say anything as he placed the soapy towel on the carpet and reached for the alcohol swab. The silence was complete as he looked straight into Puck's eyes, pleading with him to let him stop.

"I can fuck handle this Blaine. Just do it."

Blaine flinched slightly, taking in a deep breath. He popped the bottle open, pouring some onto the swab.

"I'm..I'm sorry."

Blaine did it quickly. He did a quick swipe of the wound, only hitting about 3 inches of it, and turned away. He got the reaction he was expecting. Puck couldn't stop himself this time. He screamed out and growled, breathing in and out as if he was giving birth, or as if he was holding back more screams.

"Puck, I-I can't! This is stupid, let's just call 911." Blaine begged, and Puck gritted his teeth.

"It – it didn't hurt that bad Anderson. Felt pretty good actually." His voice was low and hoarse, and it made Blaine flinch away. "Finish the job."

"Please…" Blaine whispered, letting a tear fall down his check. He really didn't want to hurt Puck anymore. This was all just so stupid, they were only teenagers! They shouldn't be doing shit like this.

"Blaine…I need you to do this for me. Just this. Than you can fucking leave me by myself if you want to. Throw me out on the street, I don't care. Just.. Ugh, please. Finish this."

Like the last time, Blaine did it quickly. Unlike last time, Blaine did something that shocked both Puck and himself. Really, what the hell had gotten into him? Kissing the straightest (and sometimes most violent) guy he knew probably wasn't the best idea. But he just really wanted to distract Puck.

He leaned forward, mashing his lips against Pucks, who immediately tensed up and recoiled slightly. Blaine than swiped the alcohol over the wound, and Puck was attacking Blaine's lips quicker than the smaller boy thought possible. Puck groaned in his throat, but he was putting the most effort into shoving his tongue as far down the curly headed boy's throat as possible.

Yeah. Blaine didn't think he'd be kissing Noah Puckerman tonight. He also didn't think Noah Puckerman would be kissing him back.

The energy behind Puck's lips faded though. After about half a minute, Puck sank back into the couch, coughing and cursing himself again. Blaine quickly retreated slightly, afraid of Puck's reaction. He threw the swab to the side, eternally glad he was down with the "procedure."

"Fuck Anderson."

Blaine looked up shyly, somehow (fuck his anatomy) a blush found its way to his cheeks.

"You're a pretty fucking good kisser."

"I'm sorry." Blaine whispered, barely audible. That's saying a lot, as the silence was complete.

"Don't be. Can't say I saw that coming. Did" he started coughing again, and ended with some more swears. "Didn't feel a thing."

"Well that was the point."

"Thank you."

"Your – your welcome."

They both didn't say anything for about a minute. Blaine realized though that that was probably because Puck was slipping into unconsciousness.

"Wait! Puck no! We have to bandage you up now!"

Puck mumbled something inaudible to Blaine, who quickly grabbed the gauze and a towel before returning to his side. He placed the gauze on the wound, and wrapped the towel around his waist once, before tying it as tight as he though appropriate.

"There, now you can - "

Blaine stopped when he saw Puck was already unconscious. After a few deep breaths, he crumpled down onto the ground and just sat there.

Never, ever did Blaine think his night would turn out like this. He could remember getting his ice cream ready just close to an hour ago, and his excitement for his stress free night.

Blaine laughed. He couldn't help it. Because, you know, this situation was anywhere near funny? No, of course it wasn't. But it was just so fucking funny.

Blaine turned around, still laughing to himself, and grabbed the wet towel. He calmed down as he leaned over Puck's body, careful not to touch any bruises. He wiped the sweat and blood from the mohawked teens face, before wiping down his arms and the area on his stomach that the blood had trickled down to.

He looked back up at his face and smiled. He put his finger on Puck's lips, the ones he just kissed.

Wow, I kissed Noah Puckerman.

And it was a pretty damn good kiss to. If Blaine hadn't been causing Puck massive amounts of pain, and if Puck hadn't had an open cut that was bleeding all over his house, than Blaine would have to say that kiss would have been pretty romantic.

Kind of like this one, Blaine thought to himself as he leaned down, lightly brushing his lips against the chapped, rough ones.

"You owe me that anyway." Blaine murmured, before getting up and starting to clean up the surrounding area.

He returned to the couch about a half hour later, washed up and ready for bed. He laid a sleeping bag on the floor, slipping in it and curling up.

Blaine knew Puck had told him earlier that he could go now. That he could leave Puck and let him excuse himself in the morning.

Blaine technically didn't need to stay right by Puck, but fuck it all; it sure felt like he should.

He kind of didn't want to leave the boy anyway.

A/N - So what you think? I could leave this as a one shot, but idk. Should i try and continue?