Nothing to really reiterate here that isn't in the description, although I will suggest looking up Bon Iver's cover of "I Can't Make You Love Me" and listening along as you read. It was party the inspiration behind this story. And without further ado, enjoy!
Dave wishes he could remember how he got here, but Puck's hands on his face keep distracting that train of thought before it can ever reach the station.
He'd been at Scandals, he knew that much. That didn't really separate it from any other Thursday night, though. He'd been having his beer and chatting with the bartender as per usual, but still nothing odd about that.
As Puck's hands slid beneath his shirt, urging it up and over Dave's head he remembered a guy. A guy with a smirk that would allow him to steal from the blind and make you think he had a right to.
He slid next to Dave and just stared at him for a moment. Dave had seen enough Discovery Channel specials where lions attacked gazelles to know that look. He continued to sip his beer and waited for the guy to either say something or leave him alone. Finally, he'd spoken, his voice was what Dave guessed was an attempt to be sultry, but he just sounded like a pretentious jackass to him.
"Well, hello," he said simply, flashing Dave a toothy grin. Dave nodded and tipped back his beer once more, wondering how he could get out of this and back home without being too rude.
"I noticed you looked a little lonely. I'm a little lonely, too," the guy went on and really, it was taking everything Dave had in him not to roll his eyes. Who the fuck did this guy think he was, anyway? "You'll keep me company, though. Right, stud?" he asked with a wink before finishing off his drink and placing the empty glass back on the counter.
Dave merely shrugged and turned to see if anyone was willing to come to his rescue, but all the queens and bears were swaying to the music or playing pool; no one was paying any attention to them save for an older man by the juke box who tipped his beer in a "cheers" to Dave, seeming to think he'd found himself a catch.
He turned back to face forward and noticed the smarmy guy had moved closer, his hand now creeping onto Dave's thigh. "Here's the deal, broad back. You're going to buy me another drink and then we're going to go out to my car. The seat folds back and everything. What do ya say, hot stuff?" the guy whispered against his ear.
The thing to do should have been to push the asshole away. Tell the spikey haired beam pole that he wasn't interested, pay for his drink, and just leave. Maybe give the bar a cautionary absence for a while before going back. Instead, he found himself being pulled moments later into the backseat of this guy's monstrous SUV.
The guy's hands were all over him, pulling at his shirt and clawing painfully against his skin. His eyes were looking anywhere but directly into Dave's eyes, almost like the guy were pretending he were someone else. "God, you're hot, Blaine," the guy murmured under his breath.
Blaine… Wasn't that… No. Dave shook his head and looked straightforward as the guy managed to get his shirt off. His lips were all over Dave's skin, searing a sloppy treasure trail down to his pants before those too were being ripped down.
Before he could say, "Wait, stop," the dude's lips were around his half-hard cock and his head was bobbing eagerly. Dave wasn't really sure what to do with his hands, so he settled for resting them on the guy's back. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, the feeling of the guy's mouth on him not admittedly half bad, but he felt himself become disinterested every time he tried to actually look down at the guy.
Without even realizing it, he'd begun to picture smaller shoulders beneath his hands. Softer hair was brushing against his knuckles and a higher pitched voice was moaning around him. He felt himself grow closer, his stomach beginning to twist and tighten. "Kurt..." he gasped, seconds away from losing it completely, but suddenly the guy had pulled off him with an obscene noise that under other circumstances might have been funny, but for all the spit on his chin, the guy looked intimidating in his furious glare.
"What the fuck did you just say?" he growled.
"I…I didn't mean to…" Dave began, but the guy was already tossing his t-shirt back at him.
"You too? Seriously? What the fuck is it with that guy? Does his come taste like pina colodas? Is he a tight fuck? What the fuck does he have that I… Whatever. Just get the fuck out of my car, asshole. I don't fuck losers, anyway," the guy shot at him as he threw Dave a disgusted look and climbed out of the backseat and back out into the chilly night.
Dave buttoned up his pants quickly and pulled his shirt on. He exited the vehicle, trying his best not to make eye contact with the guy as he moved past him. He thought about telling him he probably shouldn't be drinking and driving, but at this point he almost hoped the dude got into a car wreck. He watched him speed away before he turned to head back to his truck, no chance of his night being salvaged no matter how tempting it was to just go back to the bar.
It was then that he'd run into Puck. He'd just been about to slip into his driver's seat when he'd seen the boy stumbling towards him, a sloppy smile on his face, but there was something in his eyes that made Dave stop. Puck looked…awful. He was drunk, clearly, but he also looked, if it were possible for Noah Puckerman to feel this way, heartbroken.
He staggered over to Dave and began blathering about some bullshit, someone named Shelby he thought. Also something about a Beth. Probably shit Dave didn't want to know about to be honest, but he nodded along like he understood and waited for Puck to stop rambling before he reached out and grabbed his former teammate's arm. "Dude, are you okay?" he asked, concerned that Puck was just wandering around West Lima drunk off his ass.
"Of course 'm okay. S'not like I'm even mad. Like, it figures, ya know?" he asked, apparently waiting for Dave to answer him.
"Yeah, sure thing, dude," Dave said after a moment, looking around to see if Puck was alone. Apparently.
"'S what my dad said, ya know. That…that like, no one could ever love me, 'cause I'm just a screw up. Said we were, um…said we were a lot alike," he said, snapping his fingers and poking Dave's chest as he smiled, proud of himself for getting that sentence out.
"O-kay," Dave said, his tone a little more serious. "Look, how did you get here? You should probably go home…" he began, but Puck laughed him silent.
"Don't wanna go home. Ain't shit there for me, either. Sara hates me, you know? Ya. Don't know what the fuck I even did, but she does. And my ma…my ma's just a bitch anymore these days. Fuck. I don't even know what I did." Puck broke off and shook his head and if Dave wasn't mistaken he saw a few tears fall from the end of Puck's nose. He began to tip forward a little, his body swaying dangerously, threatening to fall face forward onto the concrete.
"Puck. Puck!" Dave commanded, gripping the other boy's arm a little more firmly and turning him to face him. "Did you drive yourself here?" he asked, gesturing his head across the street to a regular bar. A breeder's brothel as one of the drag queens, Frank his name was, liked to call it.
"Wha?" Puck asked, confusion thick in his voice.
"Here. Did you drive yourself here? Were you hanging out with anyone tonight?" Dave asked, already regretting the question before it was completely out of his mouth.
"That's what I've been trying to tell you!" Puck yelled, ripping his arm away from Dave's grip in exasperation. "I was with Shelby, but apparently she's just like everyone else. I thought… Fuck," he muttered and turned away from Dave, a few sniffles escaping him as Dave looked on, mouth open, but lost for any words of comfort.
"Puck?" he asked tentatively, stepping a little closer. "Do you need a ride home?"
"Huh? What would I wanna… No, man," Puck said, turning to him with a look of disgust. "What do you think? You think I'm gay, man? Dude, I'm not… I'm not fuckin' gay. I don't wanna… Fuck you!" he screamed in Dave's face. He tried to storm off, but stumbled and nearly fell next to Dave's truck.
Dave rushed to his side and helped him up, leaning him against the side door so that he didn't slip again. "Look, dude, you're wasted and in no condition to drive. I don't see anyone else around, so I'm guessing you're here alone, so just let me take you home or to…to Hudson's," he said, realizing that that's where Kurt would be, but he'd cross that bridge when he got there. Maybe Kurt would be asleep or wouldn't come to the door and he could just deal with Finn and leave it at that.
Puck looked at him, his face scrunched up in incomprehension, but he didn't protest, so Dave took that as an okay. He helped Puck around to the passenger side and managed to get him inside with the boy only slamming his head against the roof once.
They drove for a little while, West Lima actually being a decent ways away from Lima. Throughout the drive Puck pretended like he's wasn't crying and Dave pretended like he didn't hear it.
Somewhere about five miles outside of town Puck suddenly sits up, apparently sobered out a little, Dave wondering if crying might have had something to do with it, but probably not. Just time, after all.
Puck tells him to forget about Hudson's place, he knows somewhere he can crash for the night. Dave's not really enthused by the idea, knowing Puck this could end up becoming very illegal, very fast, but the spark doesn't seem in the boy tonight, so perhaps he's serious.
Dave follows Puck's directions and they end up in a motel parking lot. Dave should have kept driving as the other boy pointed to the Motel 6 and said turn here, but he sounded so sad that Dave figured it'd at least be a place to stop and try and talk some sense into him.
He pulled into a vacant spot and turned off the engine. They sat in silence for a second before Puck began searching his pockets. "'M just gonna crash here for the night," he said under his breath as he pulled out a wad of cash.
"Puck, this is stupid," Dave said, his temper beginning to run a little short. He hadn't had the best night either and honestly he was a little fed up with the pity party Puck was throwing for himself.
"Yeah, I know I'm stupid," Puck muttered as he reached for the door handle, but Dave was faster. He clicked the locks and stopped him from pulling his door open. "Come on, man. Just let me out," Puck whined.
"No. Listen, I don't know what all's going on, but you shouldn't spend a night by yourself in a motel while you're clearly drunk. If you don't want to go home, fine, but at least let me take you to Hudson's place or…I have a couch you can crash on, but you're not staying here alone," Dave said firmly.
Puck fell back against the seat and huffed, his arms crossed over his chest. It was weird, but right then he looked all of five years old and it was as though Dave had just punished him for acting out. The moment dissipated, though, as Puck glanced over at him, a strange look forming in his eyes. It was almost like he was…sizing Dave up and oh god, déjà vu.
"What?" he asked, Puck's stare putting him even more on edge.
"Stay with me, "he said simply with a shrug.
"What? No, dude. I'm not staying in some crummy motel for the night. Fuck that," Dave said, his patience running very thin by this point. It was almost a shame Puck couldn't have just passed out from being so drunk.
"You scared?" Puck challenged, an eyebrow cocked at Dave as he turned in his seat to better face him.
"Of what?" Dave snapped.
"Of me," Puck said simply, a smirk forming on his lips.
Dave slapped the steering wheel and swore. "You're drunk. Shut the fuck up, dude, and just let me take you to Hudson's. Shit."
"Would it be so bad? I know you're gay, dude," Puck said, his tone more serious than it had been all night.
"Woah, what?" Dave asked, sitting up suddenly and backing against his side of the vehicle.
"Was it a secret? Dude, I've seen you, man. I've seen you checking out Sam's ass. My ass. Kurt's ass…" he trailed off.
"Shut the fuck up," Dave commanded, his voice beginning to tremble with anger.
"Did I hit a nerve?" Puck quipped as he leaned forward. "I know you had a thing for him. Kurt, I mean."
"Shut. The fuck. Up," Dave seethed, his tone deadly.
"Why? Do you still have a thing for him? Oh shit. You loved him, didn't you? Wait, no that's not right…you love him," Puck said, a laugh escaping him.
Dave's fist swung out, but somehow Puck dodged it and Dave's hand met the headrest instead. Puck laughed harder at that and doubled over, now crying for a different reason.
"Oh shit. You fucking love him, don't you? Shit. And here he is, dating that Blaine guy," Dave flashed back to the guy from earlier. Blaine. He'd said something about Blaine. But it couldn't be… "And you're like, fucking in love with him. Oh, that's priceless, dude. Fucking priceless. So, is that why you're out on a Thursday drowning your sorrows? No, dude, it's cool. I can't have my woman and you…dude, you've got no shot in hell with Kurt. He's like…totally in love with that Blaine guy. I heard they did it, actually…" Puck said, seeming to talk to himself now more than Dave, but it was enough.
Dave faced forward again and wrapped his hands around the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. "Get out."
Puck suddenly stopped speaking and Dave heard him make a noise of disapproval. "So what, now you're kicking me out, too?"
"Yes," Dave answered as steadily as he could, his eyes fixed ahead on an ice machine across the parking lot. "Get the fuck out. I tried to be nice, but right now I really don't care if you sleep in a ditch tonight. Get the fuck out of my truck. Now."
"Dude, are you…are you crying?" Puck asked, suddenly concerned even though Dave's tears were partially his damn fault.
"Pretty fucking judgmental for someone who spent the whole ride over here blubbering like a fucking baby," Dave spat, his voice thick with tears.
"Yeah, but like...I made you cry, though. That's just…fucked up. I'm sorry, bro," Puck said, leaning closer as though he were trying to get a better look at Dave.
Dave sighed and let his head fall back against the headrest, a heavier sigh leaving him. "It's not really your fault. You just…said some really truthful things and I…didn't want to hear them is all."
Puck nodded solemnly, almost as though he understood. It was quiet for a few minutes before he spoke again. "I get it, man," he said softly, a tone Dave had never heard from him.
"No, no you don't, actually, but thanks," he spat, but there was no real venom in it.
"No, man, I do. You just…shit, you just want to be loved by someone. I totally get it. Haven't you been listening to me tonight?" he asked, reaching out as though he was going to touch Dave, maybe punch his arm lightly, but thought better of it at the last second and let his hand fall between their seats.
"Don't you have a girlfriend or some shit?" Dave asked accusingly.
"Had one, yeah. She broke up with me, though," Puck said, shaking his head a little as though he still couldn't believe it.
"Who's Beth?" Dave asked quietly.
"My daughter."
"Oh."
"Yeah," Puck said simply, looking down at his hands.
"What about Quinn?" Dave asked, his hands loosening their grip on the wheel.
"What about her?" Puck challenged.
"Isn't she…"
"Yeah."
"Okay, so…why aren't you two…" Dave trailed off.
"Because she's freaking insane, dude. She needs help, like…the kind of help they give you with white walls and shock treatments and stuff."
Dave snorted and nodded. He remembered hearing stories about how erratic Quinn had been back when he was still at McKinley. "So, who's Shelby, then?" he asked, his tone a little lighter.
Puck snorted in disgust and shook his head. "She's the lady who adopted Beth. I thought for a little while that maybe…" he broke off and shook his head, "but she's just like everyone else," he said again.
Dave nodded and tried to think of some condolence, but there was nothing he could really say to that.
They sat in silence for a little while longer, the drunken yells of some scorned lover two floors up filtering into Dave's truck. They shared a laugh, but it died quickly.
"So, um…did you ever, you know, like me, dude?" Puck asked, a cheeky smile quirking up one corner of his mouth.
"What? No, man! I didn't…I mean…" Dave broke off, feeling caught.
"You did, didn't you?" Puck said, a knowing look on his face as he continued to grin at Dave like this whole fucking thing was hilarious to him.
"Whatever. Doesn't matter," Dave huffed, the year before he'd discovered Hummel coming back to him. It has been easier in a way to have had a crush on Puck. He knew the boy would never like him back, he was straight after all, right? No harm done. And really, he'd forgotten about it mostly, figuring it wasn't of any importance, but here he was, having it brought up again and with all people…
"It matters to me," Puck said, his solemn voice cutting through the clatter of Dave's thoughts.
"What?"
"It matters. To me, that is. I…Dave, no one's ever…"
"What did you just call me?" Dave asked, half scared and half intrigued.
"I called you Dave, dumbass. That's your name," Puck huffed, upset that Dave was getting off-track.
"Yeah, I'm aware, but to you I'm Karofsky. What the fuck, dude? I tell you I had a crush on you back when fuck who even cares and I'm suddenly Dave?" he said incredulously.
"Yeah, is it a problem? Can I finish what I was gonna say?" Puck snapped.
"Whatever, dude," Dave said, rolling his eyes and slumping back against his seat, his arms crossing over his chest.
"It matters," Puck said, his temper reeling back into control, "Because no one's ever honestly felt that way about me. Or well, any time they ever do I make sure to stomp that right the hell out of them, but I guess…I guess I didn't get to you in time," he said with a snort.
"Oh real funny, asshole," Dave said with another roll of his eyes.
"Do you think…" Puck began.
"Do I think what?" Dave demanded.
"Do you think you could ever feel that way again? About me, I mean," Puck asked, his voice smaller than it had been a moment ago.
"Jesus, Puck, I don't…" Dave said exasperatedly.
"Right, Kurt, I know, but…what about just for one night?" Puck asked.
It was weird, to hear Noah Puckerman of all people sound so unsure of himself, scared almost, but that's what it was. Dave's arms uncrossed and he stared at his lap.
"I dunno. Maybe. Fuck, I don't know. Why?" he asked, trying to look anywhere but at the other boy.
"Because, I just… Jesus, Dave, haven't you ever just wanted to feel like someone loves you? Just for a night? Just for a few hours, even?" Puck asked and it sounded too much like begging. Dave wanted him to stop talking, but the boy wouldn't shut up.
"Yes, okay! Fucking hell…" He should do something. Either leave Puck here or drive him somewhere else, but this…this needed to stop. Except…part of himself didn't want to. How many nights had he spent wishing he knew what it was like to fall asleep with someone? How many nights had he wondered what it would be like to wake up with that person still next to him? What it would be like to hold someone and have them not push him away.
"What if tonight…" Puck began, but Dave silenced him with a look.
They stayed like that for too long, the silence creeping in and suffocating Dave like poisonous gas.
"What do you want exactly?" he said finally, his heart twisting uncomfortably as Puck's head shot up, a hesitant grin on his face.
"I just want one night. Just one night where I feel like someone loves me. You liked me at one point and that's close enough. Closer than anyone else has ever been, really. And I know…dude, I know I'm not Kurt, but…this would be good for you, too."
Dave shook his head, his heart unwilling to believe that, but Puck finally went in for the touch he'd meant to issue earlier and squeezed Dave's arm. "You need to get over him. It's not going to happen and you know it, Dave. I've seen the way he is with that guy. They're going to go off and be Broadway stars together or some bullshit and guys like you and me…we're going to be Lima losers. You can't give him the things Blaine can and even if you could…I don't think he wants them from you. Let me help you, bro," Puck said, his tone gentle, but the words still stung.
Dave didn't remember getting out of his truck. He didn't remember asking for a room or watching Puck hand over the money. He could barely remember fumbling a plastic key into a busted lock or being pushed onto a bed with a mattress that creaked and moaned, its springs digging into his back in what felt like revenge for him daring to lie on top of it.
And now here he was, Puck's hands on his face and under his shirt. Those strong, tanned hands that were skilled at guitar, the perfect sweep of a pool cleaning net, and wonderfully aimed slushie throws, stripping him of his clothes and pushing him down.
It was painful. He didn't know if Puck had ever been with another guy before, but Dave had a strong suspicion, intoxicated or not, that Puck didn't really have any idea what he was doing. He must have at least seen Brokeback Mountain at some point, because he at least had the decency to use spit, but other than that it was dry and rough and Dave was pretty sure he might even be bleeding, but he took it, his face inches from a pillow that had cigarette burnt holes on it and smelled like cheap shampoo.
Dave didn't have to listen, but he knew Puck wasn't whispering his name. He didn't have to turn around to know the boy's eyes were closed tightly, his mind imagining that Dave was someone else. Dave wished he could do the same, but his role in this was to get over everything. Maybe if he did imagine this was Kurt he could be done with the boy, but that wasn't fair either. He bore down and took it, though, because he knew Puck needed this more than he did. He'd accepted a long time ago that no one would ever want him, but Puck still needed to believe that someone could and if he had to be that person, even for tonight, he'd do it.
When they were finished, or rather when Puck was done, Dave having not been able to maintain enough of an erection to get anywhere, he wondered if he'd at least get something out of the whole ordeal, but Puck had pulled off him and strutted over to the shower to clean himself up.
Dave pulled on his clothes again and sat on the edge of the bed, wondering if he should leave before Puck got finished or wait to see if he wanted him to stay.
He listened to the dull sound produced by the spray of the shower and tried not to think about how much pain he was in. He thought about what happened and almost started to question why anyone would want to do that period, but part of him realized that it wasn't always like that; it didn't always have to hurt like that. He bet that pretty boys like Blaine had prepared Kurt fully for whatever they'd done and that neither of them had bled all over cheap, scratchy cotton sheets.
In his musings Dave hadn't heard the shower turn off or the bathroom door open. Dave stood up quickly, wincing as he did so. Puck stared at him for a moment, his expression hard to read. He glanced over at the bedspread and saw the stains. He grimaced and took a step towards Dave. "Dude, I'm…I'm sorry, I didn't know," he said, his tone regretful.
Dave shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "It's cool," he said shortly, even though, no actually, it wasn't cool, but what else could he say?
Puck nodded, but it wasn't without any real meaning, more just something to do. He sat down at the foot of the bed and looked up at Dave inquiringly. "So, um…do you wanna stay?"
"I dunno," Dave said, looking around the room. There was only one bed, naturally and he didn't even see a couch or a cot. His dad wasn't expecting him, the man now used to his son's odd schedule, but as long as Dave wasn't doing drugs or getting into serious trouble he didn't ask any questions. "Do you want me to stay?" he asked, wondering if this was part of the deal as well.
"Would you mind?" Puck asked, something in his eyes that Dave couldn't read either and it was beginning to frustrate him.
"'S fine by me," Dave said, hoping for casual, but he was tired and sore and he really just wanted to sleep.
"Cool," Puck said, his tone deceptively nonchalant.
Dave took his turn in the bathroom, longer than Puck as he had to be careful cleaning himself, but he managed okay despite the tiny bar of soap provided.
When he exited the bathroom he found the lights already off and Puck beneath the covers. He noted the one that had been on top was folded unceremoniously in a chair by the bed which was more than fine by Dave.
He slid beneath the sheets and tried to put enough space between them so that he didn't wake Puck or touch him by accident, which was odd given what they'd just done, but he fulfilled his role for the night and there was no need to even come across as pushing the limit.
He was just about to slip into sleep when he felt a shift in the bed, a dip in the mattress as Puck rolled over. Before he could move himself or do anything, he felt Puck's arm envelope him from behind. He stiffened in the embrace, wondering if Puck had wanted more and praying to whatever entity might be listening that that wasn't the case, his body screaming at him for no more of what had happened.
He waited for a moment, but Puck didn't press against him overtly or say anything, so he relaxed a little. He heard Puck sigh and felt the mohawked boy nuzzle against the back of his neck and he almost laughed, the feeling; it was vaguely nice. "Goodnight, Dave," Puck whispered, his arms squeezing Dave gently.
Dave didn't say anything back, but stared ahead at the wall next to him. He still felt the pain, the pain that Puck had caused him, but it was ebbing. He wanted to ask Puck if he'd done okay, if he felt loved tonight, but the other boy was already asleep. He wondered for a moment if he'd felt it too. He remembered an old saying, that love was pain or maybe it was the other way around, and okay, whoever had said that obviously wasn't talking about this kind of pain, but…in a weird way, in a way that only someone like Dave Karofsky could understand, the ache that he felt both psychically and mentally resonated with him in a way that he wondered if this is what other people felt when they had been loved. He may never know, may never have nothing to compare it next to, but he supposed it didn't really matter. If he wanted it to, it would count and with that final thought before he slipped into sleep he decided it would. For one night only, Dave Karofsky knew what it was like to be loved.