Finn was restless on the way to Rachel's house. He kept thinking about Rachel's outfit that day, and how her hair and skin had looked, and wondered how it might feel to touch them.
So what if she's a girl? he said to himself, uneasily. You used to like girls. Maybe you still do. What's the big deal? She's pretty, right? And she has beautiful… eyes. Yeah.
He thought about Puck's comment that he might still like girls, might even still be in love with two of them. What did that mean for them? Was he still planning to visit them? Be with them? What about Alex? Puck had said he'd like for them to meet someday. He wondered what Alex would think of him. Would he think he was good enough for Puck?
He felt a tightening in his chest at the thought of Alex, but he didn't feel the same sensation when he considered Daphne, or Nicole. Is that me being sexist? he wondered, thinking his mom would probably think so. To think of it, he'd never really been bothered by Puck's involvement with girls. Even those girls that he, himself, had been interested in. What did that mean? he wondered. Was it something about the girls, or about himself?
He knew Kurt had never really liked girls. Kurt had told him about the time he'd made out with Brittany, when he was trying to be what he thought his dad wanted. When Finn thought about Kurt and Brittany together, he was just baffled. Then he tried imagining Kurt with another guy... say, Mike Chang. He considered Mike putting his arm around Kurt, holding him close, putting a kiss on his – He growled. No, I don't like that. Huh. Not to say it wasn't a little hot, thinking of Mike Chang… He shook his head again.
He thought, finally, about what Kurt had said about needing time to think, and Puck's idea that he should just do it, not to ask Kurt what he would like. Maybe it would piss him off – or maybe not. He could imagine it both ways.
He sighed. This was way more thinking about relationships than he'd ever done before. It made his head hurt.
A short, balding man met him at the door. "Hi there," he said, smiling. "You must be Finn. Rachel's told us so much about you."
"Um, hi," he said, caught off guard. He held out a hand. "Yeah, I'm Finn. Nice to meet you, Mr. Berry."
"Can I get you anything, something to drink?" He indicated the kitchen, but Finn shook his head.
"No, thanks. I'm really here to practice for Glee."
Rachel's dad nodded and indicated the staircase. "Rachel's upstairs. You can go right up. Her room is the first door on the right."
Finn thought Rachel's dad must either be super trusting, or not have much experience with teenage boys coming to visit, or else he wouldn't be letting him walk up there by himself. He passed galleries of Rachel at different ages and stages: Rachel in tap, Rachel in gymnastics, a preteen Rachel in what looked like debate club (Finn guessed Rachel had been good at that), Rachel building a huge snow sculpture. There were more pictures of Rachel on that one stretch of wall than there were of Finn in his entire house. He thought maybe now he had a better idea of why she was… well, Rachel.
He knocked on the first door on the right. "Rachel?"
"Come in, Finn," she called. He slipped inside and closed the door behind him. The room was a strange blend of teenage kitsch and little girl memorabilia, with a little Broadway ambition thrown in for good measure. He saw an entire wall of CD cases of musicals, organized in what looked like alphabetical order by title. There was a neatly ordered collection of plush teddy bears on a long shelf near the ceiling, and an entire glass cabinet filled with hundreds of Pez dispensers.
"I'll be right out," he heard from the other room. "Can you think of a song you'd like to start with? How about that one from Grease that we sang in your first week in Glee?"
"Uh, sure," he said. "Only I was mostly nervous that day."
She suddenly appeared in the doorway to the bathroom, and she was dressed in a skin-tight black catsuit. Her hair was done up curly and big, and her eyes and lips were outlined in makeup to make them big and obvious, like a caricature. She looked at him through lashes coated with mascara, and said, "Tell me about it… stud."
He gulped back a nervous laugh. She darted forward and turned on the accompaniment music, and he began singing, but after just a few lines, he pressed stop on the player. "Wait - stop." She looked at him expectantly. He sighed and sat with her on the bed.
"I need to be honest with you, Rachel… you look like... a sad clown hooker." Immediately he wished he'd said it differently. Her face looked like she'd just ripped the head off her favorite teddy bear. He tried again. "This look – it just isn't you. Maybe when I first saw it, I was caught off guard, because you looked all adult and stuff, but that's not you." He grinned. "I actually like the way you dress."
She looked crestfallen. "I thought… this… is what you liked."
"No, not at all." He cocked his head at her. "What made you think that?"
"Well, I had this talk with Kurt, and he said…"
Kurt. He narrowed his eyes. What are you doing? What game is this?
She hung her head, laughing without humor. "I feel like an idiot."
He shook his head in wonder. "No, it's my fault," he said, and he meant it. Kurt is my responsibility. He really is, whether he knows it or not. We're already doing this, and I didn't even realize it – but I do now.
He looked around her room, smiling. "I really like you, Rachel." She looked surprised, and pleased. He put a hand on her arm, and was relieved to discover he wasn't affected by her soft skin.
"I gotta go," he said, and she nodded, backing into the bathroom, presumably to remove her clown hooker makeup. Finn walked back downstairs, hoping to avoid a confrontation with the Misters Berry, and ducked out the door.
"Kurt," he said, low, frustrated. It was a promise of things to come. He didn't know for sure that Kurt was going to like it… but he was definitely going to get it.
"I told you we should have been the cowboys," Quinn hissed through gritted teeth. Puck felt her struggle with the jump rope that tied their chairs together. He tugged halfheartedly.
"Come on, they're just kids. Didn't you play like this when you were a kid?"
"No! They're going to break the table – get away from there! – and Terri's going to be mad and she's not… she won't…" She made a loud noise of frustration. "Help me get this off!"
"Sure, just a minute."
"Puck… who are you texting?" Quinn's voice sounded deadly.
"Uh, Mike Chang," he said.
1 text – Mike X. Chang
9:29pm: this is noah, how's it going?
He hesitated a moment before typing the word Noah. He hadn't written that name on anything other than standardized tests and checks in five years. But that was the name Kurt chose to call him… and he liked it, from him. He shuffled his feet, trying to twist out of the jump rope. His phone buzzed.
1 text – Santana X. Lopez
9:30pm: Noah, this is really weird.
He grinned. I know, he replied. Would you believe I'm tied up right now?
What? Kurt sent.
Yeah, it's pretty hot. Me and Quinn, back to back.
I really did not need to hear that.
Puck relented. We're playing Cowboys and Indians with the triplets, Hummel. What were *you* thinking of?
There was a pause. You got me. I just have a dirty mind when it comes to you.
He stifled a cackle. You ain't the only one.
Oh, yeah? Tell me what you're wearing. Puck choked and looked carefully at the message on his phone, but it still read the same.
"Puck!" Quinn was more frantic now. "Come on, boys, get off the refrigerator – I'm sure you're not – hey!"
He sighed. Hold that thought. He stuck his phone into the front pocket of his jeans and quickly wiggled out of the rope. "Watch out, the Indians have escaped!" he shouted, and whooped through the living room, sweeping a torrent of screaming, laughing redheaded boys before him. He grabbed the nearest one around the middle and tossed him onto the sofa.
"You know what Indians do when they catch their enemies, don't you?" he said in a low voice. The boy looked at him with wide eyes and swallowed, then shook his head.
"They tickle them," he cried triumphantly, and proceeded to destroy his enemy's feet through their socks. The boy screeched and kicked, crawling under the coffee table. Puck crawled right under after him.
"Puck, it's their bedtime," said Quinn, laughing despite herself. "Can we make things a little more calm?"
Puck bumped his head on the table. "Ow. Fuck."
"He said the F word," said one of the boys in an awed voice. He looked at Puck with respect. "Our mom would put us in time out for that."
Puck rubbed the back of his head, squirming out from under the table. "Well," he said. "I guess I better go in time out, huh?"
"Yeah!" the boys shouted. They grabbed him by the hands and towed him to their room. Puck looked at Quinn as they led him past, grinning. She grinned back and shook her head, hands on her hips.
"You have to sit here," pointed a triplet. Puck sat cross-legged on top of a toybox with a green cushion on it. He was eye level with the boys now. They clustered around him with solemn faces.
"Now what do I have to do?" he asked.
"Nothing," they whispered. "You just have to sit and be good."
"I can do that," he promised. He put his hands in his lap and put on an angelic face. They snorted giggles at him, and he tried not to smile.
"Well, while I'm in time out, I guess you should take your bath," he said. They groaned.
"Why do we have to do that?" one whined. "Our mom never gets us to take a bath."
"Well, 'cause if you take your bath, I can tell you what happens next to the cowboys when they're captured by the fierce, bloodthirsty Indians." He nodded importantly. "But it's the kind of story you have to be clean to hear, because it's pretty awful. If you don't take a bath first, you might die from all the filth."
"No way?" one said, skeptical, but impressed.
"Yeah," he said. "I'd feel a lot better if you were clean first."
"Okay, Puck," they said. "C'mon, let's wash really fast!"
"Don't forget to brush your teeth," he called after them as they raced into the bathroom, pushing past Quinn on the way. She looked at him in amazement.
"I'm in time-out," he said.
"You're incredible," she said, and he blushed.
"It's not so different from when Sarah was that age," he said. "I pretty much did this every night."
She shook her head, smiling her pretty smile at him, and again he was reminded of Daphne. "I'll call you in if they get out of hand," she said, and disappeared.
He pulled out his phone. Where were we? he sent to "Mike." Want me to take off this tight t-shirt?
Why don't you let me do that for you, he saw from "Santana." He could picture Kurt's hands coming up under the hem of his shirt, stroking up his abs, to his chest. He shivered, and his cock twitched.
You might find a nipple ring under there.
Well, let me give it a tug, then, Kurt sent, and Puck put a hand on his own chest, feeling a pulse run from his left nipple to the space below his navel. He could feel Kurt's soft, strong hands on him, and he let out a slow breath.
Your hands feel so hot, he replied. I wanna touch you.
Yeah, anywhere you want – touch me all over.
He pictured kneeling in front of him, hands on his waist. I'm taking off your jeans.
I'm not wearing underwear.
Kurt, commando? His cock throbbed and he palmed himself through his jeans, groaning. Fuck. I'll never look at your tight ass at school the same way again.
You'll never know when it might happen – but I'll be thinking of you when I do it.
Puck groaned again. "Puck? You okay?" Quinn called, and he looked up quickly, but she was still in the bathroom.
"Time out's going okay," he said. "I think I need a little more time though."
"One down, two to go," she said, and he sighed.
You get me so hot, he sent. I love looking at you walk down the hall.
Really? That one surprised word gave Puck a sore feeling in his heart.
Uh, yeah, dude. You're fucking gorgeous.
There was no response, and Puck started to worry. Too much? he sent.
No. Just can't believe it.
"Two down," called Quinn.
Why not? You walk like you own the school.
Yeah, but I get thrown in dumpsters and slammed into lockers. not so good for my self-esteem.
Puck rubbed at his eyes and chewed on his lip. I really suck, don't I.
Sometimes, said Kurt. Not so much anymore.
Now I have you to remind me how to be good.
Don't you mean you have Finn? Kurt asked.
No. I mean I have you. He smiled to himself. I need you, as much as I need him.
"Mike say something funny?" Quinn said from the door, looking at him. He looked up, trying not to act guilty.
"Yeah, he's a trip," he croaked, clearing his throat. "They all done?"
"Yeah." She bit her lip, considering him. "Want to sing a song with me?"
"Sure!" he said, smiling. "Let me get my guitar."
"Hey, boys," she called, "want to see a real live music video?"
You mean that? said Kurt.
Dude, he sent. I fucking love you. What do you think?
He didn't get a response after that, though he left his phone within easy reach, even when he and Quinn sang "Papa Don't Preach" on the couch for the boys. Quinn was more uninhibited than he'd seen her in a long time, dancing around, smiling a real smile at him. "And I made up my mind / I'm keeping my baby," she sang, and he felt a thrill of possibility. He imagined the little blonde girl on the couch next to the triplets.
"Sing it again," said one when they were done.
"I think it's time to reveal what happened when the Indians captured the fearless cowboys," he said, shepherding them off the couch and toward their parents' bed. "If you think you can handle it."
"Yeah!" they all shouted, piling into the big bed together. He knelt at the foot and set the stage: the blind canyon, the endless galloping Indian ponies, each with their fierce brave bearing a vicious tomahawk, the stalwart cowboys on their desperately tired horses. The boys didn't say one word for thirty-six minutes, after which they snuggled contentedly under the covers and closed their eyes.
Later, as they were bidding goodnight to a shocked Terri and her sister, Quinn leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "You were awesome tonight," she whispered. "We proved something – this parenting thing, we can do this."
Puck felt another thrill, this time of unease. Not – with Quinn, he thought. No. She couldn't be the mommy in the dream, could she? He looked at her uncertainly as she walked out. I don't want to do this with her. Not with her. What should I do now?
He pulled his phone out and looked at the last text from Kurt: You mean that?
Kurt, he texted, climbing into his truck, can I come over? I need to talk to you.
I'm still at Mercedes' house, Kurt said. I can come over for a little while on my way home.
He sighed in relief. Kurt would know what to do.