Warning: Sexual content, of dubious consent.
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Puck didn't want to make a move, not so much as a single gesture towards Santana to imply anything sexual at all. He didn't want to feel like an aggressor, like someone who was taking something by force- like the word he was determinedly trying to skip around, inside his mind, which kept coming back all the same, stronger and more insistent each time it crossed his thoughts.
Rapist. He didn't want to feel like Santana's rapist, and yet he could not seem to shake his own self-accusation even before he had so much as touched bare skin.
But how long could he stand there, with Santana arms wrapped around his waist from the side, unwilling and unwanting of any advances? How long could he protect her from his own touch, his own body- and how long could resistance to touching her truly protect her at all, when it would result in so many more doing exactly that and worse?
Inhaling slowly, Puck looked down at her, forming her name on his lips. But before he spoke, or attempted to pull back from her, Santana seemed to be reaching this conclusion on her own. Swallowing audibly, her breath releasing just after his in a shuddering sigh, she slowly unwound herself from him, stepping back. Turning her back to Puck, she began to slip her shirt off over her head. He could see her hands shaking, and when the shirt was discarded to the floor, exposing the delicate vertebrae of her backbone , just visible beneath the thick curtain of her dark hair and the slim hooks of the back of her bra, Santana began to undo, then step out of her pants. For another few moments she remained turned away from him, and still Puck could see her shaking as she hugged herself, head lowered so far towards the ground that her long hair spilled over her shoulders, arching towards the floor. Then she slowly straightened up, uncrossed her arms, and turned towards him, facing him, even looking him in the eyes. Standing only in her bra and underwear before Puck, close enough that he could reach out to touch her, if he chose, Santana licked her lips nervously, and her voice was a whisper, only loud enough for Puck to hear, when she spoke to him.
"Get it over with...hurry. Just…come on, let's get this over with."
Looking at her, it was very clear to Puck how afraid she was, how much she was dreading him so much as touching her in any way that was even implying sexuality. And yet she had been the first to leave the small comfort his arms had attempted to give her; she had been the first to undress, to indicate to him that she could and would go through with this. The bravery and strength she was showing then made Puck's heart twist with a sudden pained affection and even love for her, and he stepped forward, taking hold of her upper arms, and leaned in to kiss her forehead gently, tilting his head forward to whisper into her ear.
"Gonna be okay, 'Tana. You're awesome, you know that? We got this…we can do this. Gonna be okay."
He kissed the space beside her ear, then her jawline, then her cheek, using the opportunity of the kisses for his whispering in between each kiss. Shifting his hand to her upper back, he rubbed a circle in between her shoulder blades, feeling the taut, knotted muscles beneath and trying to give them some sense of soothing, if not the fuller, comforting treatment they likely needed. Then, stepping apart from her, he took off his shirt, watching her face as though for permission to continue. Tossing it aside, he slid out of his jeans; both he and Santana had barely had to unzip to pull their pants down, as both were rather loose now after their days of pacing without food. Standing before her in his boxers, he stepped closer, then, watching her face, took hold of her hands, slowly pulling her back towards the bed. Sitting down on it, and gently tugging her to sit beside him, he hesitated, stealing a glance back at the camera, directly across from them.
It was very distracting, and even more so disturbing, to know that in that moment, not just Remington and his three stooges, but hundreds, thousands, maybe even millions of people all around the world were currently watching their every move. There was no telling who could see them now, whether people were recording them on top of the recording already being made. They could be a viral sex tape, for all Puck knew, they could be placing bets on them, having who knew what kind of sick fantasies. It didn't matter as much for him- for the most part, he could shrug it off, even if the thought of dudes whacking off to him naked was more than a little uncomfortable and not a thought he wanted to entertain for long. But knowing that these people were thinking that way about Santana, when this was not a situation she had chosen or could control…that was entirely different.
It was so tempting then to take the computer and smash it to the ground, to take the camera and break its lens, throw it into the nearest wall, grab the tripod, and start swinging at any men who came running down the stairs to them. But Puck knew logically that this would be the worst possible decision. Even with a tripod for a weapon, he could not win against four larger men with guns, and if they grabbed hold of Santana then it would all be over. He had to let this happen, he had to go through with it, and there was absolutely nothing he could do.
Exhaling, with another glare in the camera's direction, Puck reached out for Santana's bra, knowing that if he didn't start moving faster soon, it was very likely that the men would come down after them anyway, demanding he uphold his end of their bargain. He watched Santana's face as he began to unclip her bra, but when horror and protest flitted over her features, and she started to put up her hands, as though to stop him, he froze, beginning to put his hands down again.
He couldn't do this. If she was this unwilling, if she wouldn't even let him look at her naked, let alone have sex with her, how was he possibly going to go through with this, no matter what the consequences might be of refusing?
"Puck-" Santana started, her voice choked, but then her eyes flitted to the camera, silently recording their every move, and even as her eyes grew wet, she took in a deep breath, her exposed chest very visibly rising and falling as she struggled for control. Eyes still on the camera, she slowly removed the bra herself, then, hands moving to her hipbones, straightened her legs, standing just long enough to slip off her panties as well. As Puck kept his eyes glued to her face, now unsure of what she wanted him to do, or more accurately, what she would allow him to do, Santana breathed out again, turning towards him on the bed, and spoke again, both her voice and her eyes revealing held back tears.
"Please just do it. Do something…just do it…"
She was holding herself so tightly that every muscle was pulled taut, occasionally twitching with her continued nerves. Santana repeatedly licked her lips, pressed them tightly together, and then licked them again, seeming to be trying to hold back words or perhaps cries that were near escaping her control. Blinking frequently, she was bracing herself, turning fully towards Puck as she awaited his next touch.
Puck was not a person of great sentiment or sensitivity, at least in his own opinion, and it hadn't been too often throughout his life that he used or thought of any phrase in reference to himself, his thoughts, or his feelings that had anything to do with his heart. But looking at Santana then, trying so hard to face him and not the hundreds or thousands of faceless viewers watching them both, seeing how determinedly she was fighting to keep herself somewhat calm, Puck's heart hurt to the point that he could almost understand what people really meant when they described hearts as being broken.
It was that sharp, jagged feeling in a person's chest, a pain that was almost nauseating in its intensity, a pain that could make a person dizzy with grief. It was a pain that a person could do nothing to ease, could not be distracted from, and Puck hated it with every bit of his being.
He wanted to tell Santana then to put her clothes back on. He wanted to hand her back her clothes plus his own and tell her to go into the bathroom, that he'll drag the bed over to block the door and deal with the men who would come, whatever it was they would do to him. He wanted to tell her that he was sorry he had promised he would never hurt her, when it was so obvious that even him looking at her or touching her in a nonsexual way right now was hurting her more than he could probably ever even try to understand. He wanted to tell her to forget it all, that the deal was over and he would never touch her again. Ever.
But it couldn't be done. Even if by some miracle the men could not move the bed to get to her, then she would be left in there to slowly starve. He could not stand his ground against them, and he would be so badly injured he could not help her, if not killed outright. She would be left alone to be starved or used any way they chose; these facts had already been made plain. Maybe she didn't want him touching her, but at least he was aware of this and cared, and there was no better choice.
So Puck slowly removed his boxers, kicking them a little ways apart from the bed, and now, very much aware of both their naked bodies, still trying to keep his eyes on her face, he turned towards her, again taking hold of her shoulders. His lips ghosted over the top of her head as he tried to angle his body in such a way, simultaneously, that most of her body was blocked from the camera's view. Slowly, testing her boundaries, trying to give her time to get used to his touch, he began to lightly caress her skin, stroking his fingertips over first her shoulders and collarbone, then her neck and arms, trailing down her sides and stomach as well. He didn't try to touch her breasts or thighs, let alone her vagina. Santana endured this all, though he noticed her grow short of breath, her eyes tracing the movement of his hands as though she could somehow guide or control their movements simply by watching. She swallowed frequently, and when Puck leaned in to kiss her cheek, he whispered quickly in her ear.
"I'm gonna touch your boob, okay?"
He just barely felt her nod, her breath a sharp sigh against his skin as he pulled back. But as he hesitantly reached, with an unwilling glance towards the camera, to cup her breast in his hand, beginning to gently rub at her nipple with his thumb, Santana's entire frame stiffened, and her hand came up as though on instinct, knocking his hand away from her. Her eyes squeezed shut, her arms crossing over her breasts, and she shuddered, rocking forward slightly as she shook her head, lips pressing into a line so thin her usually full lips nearly disappeared. One sob escaped, and then she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around Puck's neck so tightly he gave an involuntary grunt as she clung to him, burying her face in his upper chest. It was very obvious to Puck that this was no embrace of passion, but rather a reaching for comfort, as well as an effort to hide herself from the camera, to stop his hands from any further efforts at sexual touching. He could feel her shaking, her heart hammering nearly uncontrollably in her chest, her painfully silent tears wetting his skin, and he automatically wrapped his arms around her, feeling only the smallest flicker of eroticism to this closeness of contact, even as her bare breasts flattened against his skin. And as Puck automatically holds her, shields her, beginning to stroke her back, he makes up his mind then and there that they cannot do this.
He can't. He will not make himself her rapist, even if that means that other people will then step up in his place. He can't go through with this, not if she can't calm down; how would he even be able to get it up, with a cry shaking and crying at the mere suggestion of sexual touch? He's going to have to fight, he's going to have to try to hurt them, even if he can't kill them. He's going to have to-
And then the basement door cracked open, and Remington's voice shouted down at them, reminding them of the exact nature of what had been set before them.
"You have five minutes to give these people the fuck fest they paid for, or I will show you exactly what's expected of you. And so will the others…if you need so much practice, we'll be happy to help you learn, the both of you."
As the door slammed closed again, Puck could barely breathe. He could not do this; he knew he couldn't. it wasn't possible for him to go through with this, not like this.
He started to say as much to Santana, to tell her to get up and go into the bathroom, that the plan had now changed. He started to tell her to help him move the bed closer to the bathroom, so he could push it against it more easily once she was inside. But before he could say anything, Santana took another long, shuddering breath in, sniffling back tears, and lifted her face, unwinding herself from around him. With teary eyes, her face pale and strained, she looked back at him, seeming to be coming to a decision. And then she suddenly cupped one hand over the back of Puck's head, her other hand tightly gripping his shoulder, and leaned in, nearly crushing her lips against his.