(Author's note: in all my 'verses, Puck's birthday is July 12, which is my son's birthday. I haven't found anything in canon to disagree with it, so I'm sticking to it. Enjoy. -amy)


It was too hot outside for lunch today, even after their usual dip in the pool, so Puck had put together "some nosh" in the Underwood's kitchen. The Underwood family was in Colorado Springs, and from the crucifixes displayed around the house and the squeaky-clean pictures on their walls, Dave guessed it had something to do with Focus on the Family. It made what Puck and Dave had done in their pool that morning all that more perverse.

Puck had never heard of Focus on the Family. He was perplexed when Dave explained about the conservative Christian organization. "See, we just don't have Jews like that," Puck said, lining the olives up on his plate. "The most conservative Jews just like to wear long beards, and won't eat milk and meat together. We don't try to run other people's lives, or take over the White House or anything like that."

"It's because the Jews already run the White House," Dave said. The joke was weak, and he knew it, but he was distracted, thinking about how the afternoon was going to go. He poked at his hummos with a carrot stick.

"You should come to synagogue with me sometime," said Puck. "It's on Saturday, so you could still go to church on Sunday."

Dave broke a carrot stick in half. "I don't speak Hebrew."

"There's always a translation. Half the congregation doesn't either." Puck suddenly looked concerned. "Huh. I wonder."

"What?"

"Well, kids are Jewish if their moms are Jewish. What do you do if you've got two dads?"

Dave felt a funny tumbling sensation in his stomach, like somewhere along this lunch he'd managed to eat a washing machine. "You… think you might want to have kids someday?"

"Dude," said Puck, softly. "I do have a kid, already. But yeah, I'd like to have some, once I'm settled somewhere. My dad, I think he was a sucky parent because he didn't have any kind of stable anything. He just wanted to rock out with his friends, but he never had a good job or any kind of prospects. I want to wait until I know what the hell I'm doing with my life."

Dave thought about his dad, becoming a single parent suddenly when Dave was three, and how hard that must have been. He hadn't really thought before about how much work it had taken for his dad to deal with Dave, with school conferences and playdates and making three meals a day and getting him to doctor's appointments and buying him shoes and everything. "Jesus." He chewed on an olive thoughtfully. "I don't think I could be a parent yet."

"I know I couldn't," Puck said with feeling. "I mean, I get to see Beth every now and then, but there's no way I could do it full time. I'm going to be way too busy figuring out how to pass English and still have time to fuck my boyfriend every day."

The phrase made Dave lean back in his chair and take a deep breath, but he smiled. "I'm happy to help you with that stuff," said Dave. "I could tutor you."

A line appeared on Puck's forehead between his eyes, one that Dave was starting to recognize. It was the stubborn-line, the one that said Leave me alone and fuck you for trying to help. "Not that you couldn't do it on your own," Dave added hastily. "I'm just saying…"

"No," said Puck, with a sigh. "I can't do it on my own. I can't. I haven't ever been able to before, anyway. I just hate feeling stupid."

Dave leaned across the table and captured Puck's restless hand with his. "You're not even a little bit stupid," he said. "Some people are just better at school than others. Don't beat yourself up over that. But let me help."

Puck and his stubborn-line put the hummos in the fridge and got out the iced tea Dave had made that morning. Dave sat there, thinking, and when Puck sat back down, he said, "You know, I'm good at school now, but I wasn't always."

"Yeah?" Puck sounded more suspicious than interested, but Dave soldiered on.

"When I was in third grade my dad made the schools do all these tests on me because I wasn't doing any writing. Like, none. I was a good reader, but I hated writing. My teachers would try to make me write but I refused, and I was a pretty good kid when it came to doing what the teachers told me to do."

Now Puck was listening. "So what happened?" he asked.

Dave shrugged. "Turns out I've got a processing disability. Like, my brain is really slow at converting words in my head into written words."

"But you're a good writer," Puck said. "I mean, I'm guessing you are. They don't give A's to kids who are bad at writing."

"Yeah, because I use my laptop," Dave said. "Just about everything I write, I do on the computer. It bypasses the problems in my brain and makes it easy. I still have trouble when I have to write by hand. But because they figured out what was wrong early on, I get permission to type my essay exams and stuff."

Puck thought about that. "I don't think they ever did any kind of tests like that for me."

"My dad really had to push for it, come to all these meetings. But you can ask Miss Pillsbury. I bet she'd help you, if you wanted to find out if you had a disability."

"I don't know," Puck said quietly. He looked at his hands. "I think I'm freaked out about even asking those questions because… because what if you help me, and she helps me, and I still can't do it? Then I'm really going to feel like an idiot."

Dave took Puck's hand again. "You know Albert Einstein? Big smart guy?"

Puck rolled his eyes. "Dude."

"Yeah, well, he was pretty dumb about a lot of things. He didn't talk until he was, like, three years old. And he failed his college entrance exam the first time he took it." He grinned. "He once claimed that everybody is a genius, but if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it'll live its whole life believing that it is stupid."

"Heh." Puck grinned back. "That's kind of awesome."

"Yeah. Look at how smart you are with music. There's no way I could do that stuff. Just because I'm good at book stuff, I get good grades, I'm smart on tests – that helps me get ahead in the world more. It's not fair, but it's the way things are. But I had a dad that really pushed for help for me, early on, when things were hard for me in school. I bet if nobody had advocated for me, I would still think I was stupid for not being able to write."

Puck ran his fingertips over the back of Dave's hand, and Dave felt it in his cock. Anywhere Puck touched him ended up there, anyway, sooner or later. "You really think you could help me?"

"Yes," said Dave. "Absolutely. Plus it would give me an excuse to see you every day after school."

"Hey, yeah," Puck said, brightening. "Okay, I'm totally in."

Dave finished cleaning up from lunch while Puck got ready to go back to work. He watched him move around the Underwood's kitchen, feeling a great sense of peace and rightness in the domesticity of their interactions. It was the weirdest thing, but he savored it, their time together. He thought ahead to fall, how this piece of their life was going to be entirely missing when they went back to their ordinary lives at school, and he already felt a stabbing sensation of loss, even though they still had a whole month of summer vacation left. Maybe we can replace our lunch dates with study-and-dinner dates, he thought.

He grabbed Puck in a hug before he left. "I'm coming to pick you up at two-thirty, right?"

"I'll be ready," said Puck, kissing him. "You're not going to tell me what this is all about?"

Dave shook his head. "It's a birthday surprise. You'll know pretty soon."


Puck hated surprises, but he went along with Dave's plan because he was clearly excited about whatever it was. He loved seeing Dave excited about something; it just made his whole fucking face light up. He put on his best sports jacket and an awesome shirt with no tie, and Dave looked a little stunned when he saw him.

"How hot am I," he whispered into Dave's ear when he kissed him in the car.

"God," Dave said, his face flushing. "You're pretty fucking hot. You have both guitars?"

"In the back," said Puck. "You're not going to tell me why, though."

"Nope."

Dave drove him downtown to an office building he'd never been to before, and they parked and got out, each of them carrying a guitar case. "What is this?" he said, glancing up at the multi-storied structure as they pushed through the front doors.

"You'll see," said Dave.

"You're such a tease." Puck watched him push the elevator button for the fourth floor. "See if I put out later for you."

He was surprised to see Mark in the reception area of the office they ended up at. "Hey, Puck," said Mark, offering his hand. "How's it going? Happy birthday."

Puck shook it with bemusement. "How do you… okay, what's going on here?"

"Come on back, guys," Mark said, and they followed him into a room with a window, behind which was a sound board and equipment of all kinds. The room had a few stools and a drum kit, and two surprisingly familiar faces.

"David told us you needed backup," said Finn, at Puck's querying look. "And a drummer."

Kurt shrugged. "Don't ask me. I'm as much in the dark as you."

"That girl from your open mic is coming, too," Dave said, "the one who played piano and sang with you on that song you wrote. I think that's everybody."

"Dave," Puck said through gritted teeth, "I'm going to fucking strangle you with this microphone cord if you don't tell me what we're doing here."

Dave gave him a tentative smile. "Okay, but you might strangle me anyway." He gestured at the window, where Mark was setting up the sound board. "You told me studio time was too expensive to record your songs. Well, I got some for cheap. And some studio musicians to boot."

Puck stared at Finn, who was smiling his face off, then at Mark, who gave him a thumbs up through the window. "What?"

"Mark's going to help you put together a CD," said Dave.

Puck grabbed Dave by the elbow and hauled him out into the hallway. "Just a sec, okay, guys?" he called back to the startled group. He propelled him all the way to the stairwell.

"It's not that bad, is it?" Dave said uneasily.

Puck slammed Dave up against the wall. "You got me fucking studio time?" he hissed.

"Uh… maybe?"

Puck's mouth met Dave's in a blistering kiss, his body plastered up against Dave's like he was trying to merge with him through their clothes. "You are the most awesome boyfriend on the face of the earth," he panted. "I'm just pissed that I can't take you home right now and show you how much I appreciate it."

"Later, baby," said Dave, his smile relieved. "Our night's just getting started."

Dave seemed more than happy to sit in the sound booth with Mark and ask him a million questions about the recording process while Puck, Finn, Kurt and Nicole (the piano player from the open mic) discussed their setlist. Puck pored through his notebooks to find all the pieces he thought were up to snuff for recording.

"I have one that's pretty new," he said, quietly, so Dave wouldn't hear, "but I don't want Dave to hear it yet. Maybe we can get him to go out in the hallway while we record?"

"I'll find some way to distract him," said Finn.

"Why doesn't my boyfriend get me studio time for my birthday?" Kurt complained, gingerly setting the headset and mic over his hair.

Puck showed Mark the list of possible cover songs he'd considered recording, and they cleared and paid for the ones chose using an online service. "$65 to get permission to use Only the Good Die Young?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, that's including a hundred copies of the CD, and a hundred digital downloads," said Mark. "You'll have to buy more later, if you want to increase your distribution, but it's not too expensive."

It took them the better part of the afternoon and into the evening to record six songs. "Dude," said Puck, running a hand over his head, "this is a lot of work. Thanks for sticking it out."

Dave just kept smiling and calling to change their dinner reservation. "I think they're going to hang up on me the next time I call," he said.

"You should just go to dinner without me," said Puck, but Dave shook his head emphatically.

"No way, man. Birthday dinner is a big deal in my house. You're stuck with me."

It was after eight by the time they had something Mark was happy with. He waved them on out of the building. "I ordered pizza for myself," he said, "and my wife knows I'm coming home late. This is the part I absolutely adore – the post-processing. I'm going to have a freaking ball with it."

Puck gave Mark a huge hug, surprising him. "Thanks – this is the best present."

"I'm just happy to see you guys together," said Mark with a smile. "That's kind of a present, too."

They went for dinner to Casa Lu Al, and Dave didn't even seem bothered by the idea of eating at a table alone with Puck while wearing a sport jacket. "You know people are watching us and probably assuming we're out on a date," Puck said, looking around the restaurant for people he knew.

"Yeah," Dave said. "Well, we are. I guess we've got to start somewhere."

Puck thought about that day in the Lapeer's pool, that day when they did start – or, more accurately, the day before that, when he saw Dave swimming, and all he could think was Dave Karofsky has got to be the hottest fucking guy I've ever seen. He knew he wasn't going to let it alone, not with the possibility of spending the summer having hot sex with Dave every freaking day. Giving him access to the pools had been an easy offer. Of course, I had no idea things would turn out the way they have.

He smiled across the table at Dave, trying not to be too obvious, because this was Lima, after all, and people were just stupid. But then Dave took a gift-wrapped package out from under the table and set it in front of Puck with a smile, and then another one, and Puck just sat there with a stunned expression.

"Happy birthday," he said.

"Uh…" Puck eyed the packages uncertainly, scratching his head. "I thought the studio time…?"

"Yeah," said Dave. "But I already bought these things, and I didn't want to take them back. Humor me, okay?"

Puck wasn't sure how to say the next thing without sounding fucking greedy, but he just went ahead anyway. "Nobody's ever bought me presents before."

"Cool." Dave's eyes gleamed. "At least I get to be first with you at something."

Puck ripped into the smaller and flatter of the two packages and found himself holding a book. "SAT Prep?"

"You need to take it again," said Dave. "I'm going to coach you through it, and this time you're going to kick ass. It'll give you more school options."

"Uh, okay," said Puck, flipping through the book. "Dude, I think this wins for most depressing present ever."

Dave laughed, leaning back in his chair. "Sorry. Hopefully the other one will make up for it."

Puck tore the paper off one corner of the large squarish box, and as soon as he saw the picture of the Enterprise NCC-1701-D, he felt his cheeks split in a huge grin. "Fucking A!" he cried, drawing displeased stares from nearby tables. "This is fantastic!"

"I wasn't sure if you already had the DVDs," he said, "but I didn't see them at your house."

"No," he breathed. He turned the box over, trying not to notice the price, and failing. "I… Dave, this cost a lot of money."

"I got it used," he said, shrugging. "Don't worry about that. Anyway, it's just money. I can't think of anything else I'd rather spend my money on."

Puck grimaced. The statement was so foreign, so casual, that Puck almost felt offended. He wondered if Dave was expecting him to spend all that money on him. He'd never had much money to spend. "Well, thanks," he concluded weakly.

"You're welcome," said Dave. "Do I get to watch them with you?"

Now he couldn't help but smile. "As long as we can skip the stupid-ass pilot," he said.

Dinner wound down into dessert, and Puck was glad Dave hadn't told their waitress it was his birthday, because they would have sung him that horrible song, the one with the clapping, and he would have had to punch somebody. But instead there was just awesome carrot cake with hot cream cheese icing, and the piece was huge enough that they were both eating it, and swordfighting with their forks, and then –

"Puck?"

It was Mr. Schuester and Miss Pillsbury, of all the fucking people to run into, looking puzzled and a little taken aback to see him sitting there with Dave Karofsky. Suddenly Puck felt ridiculously protective of Dave, which was so stupid, considering Dave could have easily taken him, and Dave was the one with all A's and prom king and everything. But there it was.

"Hey, Mr. Schue, Miss P." He smiled at them, giving them some of that charisma that Dave had been so sure he had. It was the funniest thing, Dave's confidence in him, maybe even more confidence than he had about himself. He watched Dave watching him, but he didn't look anxious.

"Hello, Puck, Dave," said Miss P. Her smile was uncertain, and she glanced between the two of them, as though trying to figure it out. "How's your summer going?"

"Great," they said together, and they laughed, avoiding eye contact. Oh, yeah, this isn't suspicious.

"It's Puck's birthday," said Dave.

Mr. Schue smiled at Puck. "Happy birthday, man. Eighteen, huh?"

"Yeah," he said. That was about as far as they could go without getting personal, so he asked, "Your summer going good?"

"It's going well, thanks," said Mr. Schue. He cast a glance at Miss P, and she flushed prettily. "Uh…"

"Cool," said Puck, nodding. "Hey, Miss P, I want to take the SAT again. Dave's going to tutor me." He showed her the book. She leaned over, exclaiming happy counselor-ish things. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Mr. Schue considering Dave, who looked like he might want to disappear behind the potted plant in the corner.

"You look good, Dave," said Mr. Schue.

"Thanks," he said softly. "I've been swimming all summer."

"I mean, you look happy."

It was Dave's turn to blush, but he managed it without too much trouble. "Yeah, I am."

"Huh," said Mr. Schue.

As they turned to go, Mr. Schue reached out and put a hand on Puck's shoulder. "Have a good rest of the summer. I'm… I'm happy for you."

"Thanks, Mr. Schue," Puck said, nodding to Miss P. "You, too."

He waved as they left. "You think he'll tell everybody?" Dave said.

"Not Mr. Schue," said Puck doubtfully. "Who's he going to tell? I think you'll have more gossip from Rachel."

Dave paid for dinner, and Puck didn't look at the bill. He really didn't think he wanted to know. He carried his too-expensive DVD set and his depressing SAT prep book back to Dave's car, thinking all the way. By the time he sat down in the passenger seat, he thought he knew what was bothering him.

"So you're working this summer, too," said Puck. "We're both earning money. But mine all has to go into this account, for college, but you – you won't need to pay for college. Right?"

Dave nodded reluctantly, but Puck shook his head. "No, it's fine. You're paying your way with your brains; I'll be paying mine with my labor. It's okay."

"Okay," said Dave warily.

"Yeah, so the money you earn, you can spend on whatever you want, right?"

Dave started the car. "Within reason. I think my dad would be pissed if I wanted to buy, like, five hundred dollars worth of chocolate?" Puck laughed. "But yeah, it's my money. I can do what I want with it."

"Uh-huh. But I can't. I can't spend it on chocolate, or anything, really. And so – I guess I'm annoyed, because… because I want to spend it on you."

Dave was silent, driving through the July night, the air conditioning making a faint hum. "I don't really need anything," he said at last.

"Yeah, and you think I need the Next Gen DVD box set?"

"I told you, I got it used," Dave protested.

"Okay, okay. Whatever. And the studio time? Did I need that?"

"Yes," Dave insisted. "You did, man. Your song, for me – it was good, like, really good. You need to get yourself out there, make yourself heard. Now you've got this recording, or you will, soon. You can start distribution, get your fucking awesome marketing engine in gear, you know, send it to recording studios, get someone to distribute –" He stopped. "What?"

Puck looked out over the dashboard. "Where the fuck are we?"

"Motel 6," said Dave, gruffly.

"Dude," said Puck, "I could have –"

"I know," Dave cut him off. He reached for Puck's hand. "You said you'd humor me."

"A motel's kind of - you know."

"Tawdry?" Dave suggested.

"What the fuck is that? I was going to say kinky."

He laughed quietly. Then, into the dark, he said, "I need to spend the night with you."

Puck had no answer for that except to get his guitars out of the car and bring them inside, because they sure as fuck weren't going to stay in the car at the Motel 6.

When Dave had paid (how did he get a credit card?) and they'd found their room, Puck realized something. "What about your dad? My Ma?"

"My dad thinks I'm at Z's. He won't call him – I think he's secretly racist. Your Ma thinks you're at Finn's, and he's covering for us."

Puck had to laugh. "You're setting up my booty calls with my best friend?"

"Yeah," said Dave, and his face looked so serious Puck couldn't laugh anymore.

Puck set his guitars down by the wall and sat on the king-sized bed. Dave sat next to him. They didn't bother to turn the lights on.

"Happy birthday, Noah," he said, taking his hand.

The shiver that ran down his body took him by surprise. "Ninja feelings," he murmured, and leaned in to meet Dave's kiss on its way over. Dave's hand on his face felt like home. There was no hurry, no need to rush tonight, and they shed their clothes almost casually, but there was nothing casual in the way Dave was treating him. He felt cherished.

Sliding under the covers, their limbs touching, was delicious and familiar and completely perfect, and any words would have been inadequate, so Puck just kept quiet until Dave settled himself between Puck's legs, spreading them wide, and took his cock in his mouth.

"Dave," he whispered, feeling the name on his lips, and said it again, just to appreciate the amazement of it: "Dave."

He heard a chuckle, felt it ripple on his skin, and closed his eyes, luxuriating in the sensation of being loved by Dave's mouth, his hands. When he would have asked for Dave to do more, Dave was already there, slick fingers pressing into him, giving him just enough slippery stretch before his cock replaced them, making Puck groan in complete satisfaction. That was the best part, thought Puck, opening his legs wider, taking him as deep as he could get, feeling the intensity building slowly. He wanted it to last, but the best part was that first smooth penetration, the thing he wanted from Dave more than fucking anything.

"Noah," he said, and Puck heard the strain in his voice, far more than he would have expected from Dave's slow pace.

"You okay, baby?" he asked, reaching for him. Dave settled down on top of him, and Puck thought, No, wait, that's the best part, Dave's body on top of him, the pressure and friction and weight of him, never too much, never enough.

"I said I wanted to give you something," he said.

"You did," Puck said, holding him closer with the curve of his hand, rocking up against him.

"No, I didn't," said Dave. "I didn't give you that thing. I wanted to – I wanted to –" He sighed, a sad sound.

"What?"

"I wanted to be – out, with you, tonight. I wanted to kiss you, in the restaurant."

"Oh," said Puck.

"But then Miss Pillsbury and Mr. Schuester were there, and I – it just caught me off guard, I wasn't… fuck, Noah, I just wanted to give you that."

"It's okay, I got it," he said, and he felt Dave's disappointment in himself. He didn't want Dave to feel that, not at all, not when… "Don't you know how much you give me?"

"It doesn't feel like enough," Dave said, gathering him up into his big arms. Puck felt absurdly small when he did that, but it was kind of nice, because it had been a while since he'd been the small one in the equation. He could lose himself in Dave's embrace in a way he didn't think he'd ever experienced.

"It's the best thing in my life," Puck said, and he felt Dave's shocked response through his hips, into his ass, and he cried out at the intensity of the thrusts. "Come on, Dave, I need this, I don't need any of your stuff or your money, I just need… this… every day."

Puck felt Dave shuddering, and Puck tucked a hand down to stroke himself to orgasm, delighting yet again in the fucking incredible sensation of Dave coming inside him, and he had to admit, No, wait, this is definitely the best part.

"God, Noah," Dave said, hoarsely, through the aftershocks, trembling as he curled into his body. "God, I need this, too. I need you so fucking much."

They stayed wrapped up in each other, because there was no reason not to, and neither one cared too much about a little wet sheets, until they fell asleep.

When Puck woke up in the morning, he couldn't quite figure out where the smell was coming from, but it lured him fully awake – and he had to laugh. "Dave?" he said, rubbing his eyes. "What is this?"

"Breakfast," Dave said, proudly. "Check it out. Your boyfriend delivers yet again."

Puck reached out to the proffered plate and broke off a corner of the steaming Pop-Tart. "Blueberry frosted," he said with admiration. "My favorite."

"I know," said Dave. "Sarah told me."

Puck wondered if this could count as the best part, and he leaned in for a kiss.


.com/watch?v=mY2VW3cVWEw

There's a flickering light bouncing off the table into your eyes
And I can't help but wanna catch it
And when you fold me in your arms
And dump your soul onto my back
All the noises in my head stop to listen
to my heart, stretching out
Oh, I'm giving in
Look at this love of ours
Oh, I do believe we're settling in

Come on in honey the deep end is calling
Touch your toes now and spring back up
I'm gonna promise in all your loving
So come on come on baby
Never give up

Without a warning you walked right in
Sat yourself inside me and ordered a beer
Never before has it been so easy
to just lay still and let somebody see me
My heart is stretching out
Look at me, I'm giving in
Oh, this little love of ours
I do believe we're settling in

The first week was like a month stranded on an island
Nothing at all but our bodies talking
And when I came up for air
All the world was there
And it is raining in our love's honor
Stretching out
Oh look at me, I'm giving in
Oh, it's raining in our love's honor

Come on in honey the deep end is calling
Touch your toes now and spring back up
I'm gonna promise in all your loving
So come on come on baby
Never give up

- Melissa Ferrick