When Sam woke up the next morning, his joints were incredibly tired. It seemed that eight hours of sleep had actually drained him of energy, instead of restoring it. Even though his eyes were closed, he could feel the sunlight piercing into the room from a crack in the curtains. He kept his eyes shut, and waited for the motivation to move to ebb into his body. Sam dug his head back into what should have been his pillow – but it wasn't. Instead of just opening his eyes, he was a slave to his languidity and gingerly prodded the surface with a heavy finger. It felt.. velvety. He sprawled his hand over it, kneading it with his fingers until he hit something cold. He drew his hand back, but quickly replaced it back over the object. It was… small and round. A ring? But it was missing an ear. Sam tugged it softly, triggering a moan from somewhere above him.

"God, I have the biggest hangover," Puck sighed. Sam's eyes opened wide as he felt a calloused hand ruffle his hair. "But last night was still great." He jolted upright, swallowing heavily. He was in his bed. With Puck. He slowly gazed down, realizing his top half was naked. He awkwardly pressed the sheets down around his waist - he was fairly confident he wasn't wearing anything at all. Besides, the messy pile of clothing at the foot of his bed, which was too much for just one person, could have told him the same thing. His head shook frantically, but Puck was too smugly content to notice. Sam's breathing quickened. He wasn't – he didn't –holy fuck, he did.

But how? He'd put up so many mental resistances that the actuality of being found in the same bed with Puck was embarrassing. But somehow, Sam had given in to Puck's great sweet-talking, and if the blissful throbbing from his lowers was an indication to anything, it was indeed great.

"Did we… you know…?" Sam felt stupid for asking, because he was pretty sure he knew the answer, but he had too anyway. Maybe there's an alternative explanation he wasn't thinking of that could have also resulted in the two sleeping naked together.

"Did we have sex?" Puck asked lazily, scratching his stomach. "Yeah. Was great." Despite Puck's nonchalant answer, Sam's pallor turned a few shades paler. "What's wrong?" Puck asked, setting himself in an upright position against the headboard. Sam didn't answer, dragging himself from the sheets and out of the bed, leaving the room without another word. He felt Pucks eyes burn into him as he did so, and his cheeks burned a fierce shade of red. At least now he could confirm he wasn't wearing pants.

Sam walked into the shower, leaving his guest to his own devices. He adjusted the taps until they released a blissfully hot stream - temperate enough to wipe himself cleaning without giving third degree burns. Stepping under the downpour, Sam let the hot water drizzle down his face, the humidity doing nothing to lull his frustration. He didn't know how Puck does it, but he has this way of creeping under his skin, breaking down every wall to leave Sam completely mesmerised. The end result? A one night stand – exactly the thing he didn't want. Sam had an aptitude for getting things he didn't want, and in this current moment Puck counted as one of those things.

But how would he continue on from here? With school, and with Quinn? This is still technically cheating, even if it was with another man. Somehow Sam would bet Quinn would be more offended to find out that he cheated on her with a man, than another Cheerio. But still, there was a lingering feeling that something else could evolve from a spontaneously night of sex.

Don't get your hopes up, Sam reminded himself. He cupped his hands, splashing the water that fell into them on his face. Puck just wanted sex. Just like he did with everyone else… Did you forget he was straight again?

But straight guys don't sleep with other 'straight' guys. Even with all his prior lapses in logic Sam was pretty confident about this. Girls experimented in college, guys couldn't even bump thighs while playing Halo without saying "no homo." Still, what was he to do now? Puck was still in his house, and apparently enjoyed the events that conspired last night. He couldn't just tell the kid to leave – he'd probably have his skull smashed in by his dad the second he got home. Plus, he did take kind of a beating last night, not to mention one hell of a hangover –

Tap tap tap

Sam jumped, nearly slipping on the shower floor as Puck's knuckles rattled on the shower screen.

"You've been in there for a while," he noted. "If you need any help, I'd be happy to give it."

Sam's stared at the shower screen owlishly. Water attacked his vision, but he could still make out Puck resting his forearm against the wall, inches from the screen. He was staring at frosted glass, as if trying to see past it with clarity. Puck's sultry voice gave his words even more meaning, and Sam coughed, trying to hide his semi. It was stupid, considering Puck couldn't see him, but the screen could have been plain glass for all Puck's proximity mattered. Just Puck being in the vicinity of naked Sam was enough to screw with Sam's head.

"Oh, um… Could you just get me that towel there?" For some reason Sam didn't want to offend, so he lacked blatancy and just turned off the taps. Drops of warm water stuck to his skin, some of which surely transferred onto Puck as he reached his hand in with a towel. "Thanks." Sam grabbed it and swatted Puck's hand out.

"No problem?" Puck said, not bothering to hide the confusion in his voice, leaving the bathroom with flatfooted steps.

Sam sighed in relief. He probably wanted shower sex or something. He quickly dried himself and fastened the towel around his waist. He saw a figure glide between rooms and hastily shut the bathroom door – he honestly didn't care what room Puck was in as long as it wasn't this one. Turning his attention to the mirror, he noticed the pepperings of discolour on his neck.

"Hickeys," Sam whispered hoarsely. He scrubbed at them with the end of his towel, but that only seemed to make them contrast more. Not to mention sting. "Fuck." He banged a fist on the sink in frustration, talking to the drain hole, wishing for nothing more than to just slide down it and live in the sewers. "First, he seduces me, gives me hickeys, and then looks for shower sex-!" Sam's gaze rose back to his reflection. Puck wanted sex this morning. Puck wasn't drunk this morning (just extremely hung-over).

He store at his reflection for so long that it started to change. It scowled. Don't get your hopes up, you fuckwit, it scolded. He'd probably take shower sex from Finn if he had the chance. This doesn't mean anything to him; it's just mindless sex. He's too stupid to see how much you want him, and if you let him know he'd just laugh and tell the world.

Sam ruminated on his thoughts for a while, the image of being labelled as "the Other Gay" infiltrating his vision more than he could will it away. He was almost drip-dried before he realized Puck was still in the house. He dashed into his room, changing into some pants. His hand reached for his Avatar shirt, draped across his clothes hanger, but he chose a plain white one from his closet out of embarrassment.

Before he could begin to think of where Puck could be snooping around, his ears pricked at the distant sound of spitting. Not the bodily function, but the cooking reaction. He walked guardedly into the kitchen. Puck was busying himself with a frying pan, shirtless. Sam couldn't help but watch Puck's muscles move under his skin - the way the small of his back stretched as he reached for the stovetop fan, the braille bumps his vertebrae created down the middle of his back.

Puck turned, lifting the frying pan to the kitchen table, which he had set with plates, already stacked with toast, and glasses of orange juice. He must have helped himself to the fridge. And the cupboards. Sam was torn from thinking about how Puck could have had no second thought about scouring his room the previous night and watched Puck divide rashers of bacon, mounds of scrambled eggs, and puddles of baked beans amongst the plates. He set the pan back on the stove, off, and motioned for Sam to join him at the table. It felt odd, considering Puck was his guest, and it seemed the whole situation should have been reversed. Nevertheless, Sam awkwardly waddled over to the seat opposite Puck, staring down at this food with a grimace. He felt a sickly, bubbling feeling as he realized Puck expected him to eat the food. He could see the grease pooling off the bacon, making the bread soggy with fat. It nearly made him retch.

"It's to say thanks," Puck explained between mouthfuls. With each bite he looked like he was trying to defy the limitations of his mouth, so much so each swallow had to be downed with a glug of orange juice, just to stop him from choking. "For last night."

Sam didn't know whether he was referring to the sex or the general nursing. It didn't affect his response. "No problem." He smiled at his lap, not wanting to offend Puck, but definitely not wanting to ingest a plate of simple carbs and trans fats. He slowly picked up his fork and forced down his food. It was miraculous he didn't gag, and every second bite he drank some orange juice, just to clear the taste of grease from his palate.

Puck furrowed his brow, noting an oddity. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah… yeah I'm fine," Sam replied before downing another glass.

Puck's shoulders sank. Was something wrong? He had made breakfast special – albeit from all the Evan's ingredients – and he hoped it would be enjoyed more vivaciously. It's not like Puck sucked at cooking, he was as much of a stud in the kitchen as he was in the bedroom. He twirled a rasher of bacon around his fork as he watched Sam carefully place a forkful in his mouth, as if he was trying to avoid his lips. Sam made a weird face as he swallowed, drawing out a long breath as though he had eaten three servings – he had barely had half.

Puck put down his fork and knife with a clatter, finished. Sam was amazed he ate so quickly. Puck chewed what was left in his mouth loudly, wiping his hands on his jeans. "What's wrong with you?" he asked accusingly.

"What?" Sam was slightly taken aback, his large lips forming a dishevelled frown.

"We have amazing sex and now you won't even look at me? What's the deal?"

Sam blushed. "It's nothing."

"Liar," Puck growled. His face softened with empathy. "Why are you acting like you don't like me? We both know you do."

"Because-"

"Are you scared of sex or something? You liked it last ni-"

"I'm not meant to get a crush of the school slut!" Sam yelled in retaliation, shaking with both unease and anger. He scrunched his eyes shut, willing himself to calm down. He looked at Puck, wincing at the inevitably of a sucker punch. Instead, Puck just stared beyond Sam, into space as his shoulders slowly sagged. His eyebrows slanted depressingly and as much as he tried to fight it, his mouth curled into a crushing frown. "Um- I'm so-" Sam forced himself to apologize. He didn't expect a jock to be so wounded, but Puck stood abruptly, knocking his chair backwards.

He looked like wanted to say something, as if the second he would unzip his mouth everything would just burst out, but he fought and his mouth remained clamped. He looked up, once, registering Sam's expression, matching it with his tone, and then he walked out the kitchen before Sam could do anything. Sam could have sworn he heard Puck's breath catch as the front door opened and then closed with a soft bang.

Sam rushed to the door and ran outside, which didn't coincide well with his greasy breakfast. Either way, Puck was already out of sight. With a guilty sigh Sam returned to the kitchen, picking up his plate and dumping its contents into the sink. His words were echoing in his head, each repetition making him feel more and more stupid for speaking. They were repeating, reverberating, and it made him ill to think he could say something so stupid.

He knew he was going to have high school crushes, but he had hoped it wouldn't be on someone he had absolutely no chance with. For example, the jock who sleeps with a different girl every night. And what's even more confusing is that Puck did in fact sleep with him. And… it was fun… kind of. But Sam couldn't take it. He wanted Puck, but he couldn't swallow at the confusion that came with him.

Sam was scared, to put it bluntly. And even if Puck did want a relationship? That would be great, but his track record would put him in the most positive light. His track record of cheating and side flings would always leave Sam wondering if he was ever completely faithful. What if he did that? Sam couldn't go through that.

Not again. He couldn't be torn apart so abruptly like before. The mornings events brought upon Sam a whirlwind of memories he'd rather forget, further entrenching him in a determined mindset to live in solitude. It was also how he found himself in the bathroom, sticking a finger down his throat like so many times before, and retching and retching and retching until he was confident all of Puck's grease was gone.

Puck walked fast down the stone footpath, paying careful attention to not trip over his own feet. He was hurt, and angry.

How could Sam have said that? Right in front of his face, too. Puck was never one to shy away from confrontation, but this time was different. It was Sam. That guy he liked. To see the smile leak from Sam's eyes and his face split into an unrecognizable scowl was downright scary. Puck had no choice but to leave, or else he would have responded to Sam's rare countenance with his rare tears. He left his shirt behind, the one that was tight in all the right places – but it's not like that mattered anymore.

Where would Puck go now? If he was completely honest with himself, which he didn't want to be, he was kind of hoping to stay with Sam for a little while, maybe form the basis of a bromance before he left. That worked out well. The option of returning home was risky – it was Sunday and he wasn't sure if his Dad was still home. He tentatively prodded his healing wounds, nearly reopening the scab on his cheek. His house was not a home at the moment, but only for him. He was the only one who ever received this treatment. It was something he was oddly grateful for. Thinking of his mother and sister looking how he did, bloody and bruised, made him sick.

Even so, he couldn't report the abuse. Though the mere thought of his father makes bubbles of acid react in his gut, his mother still manages to overlook his monstrous faults, pigeonholing his return as good enough of an act to hold him in feelings of great veneration. She actually wakes up every morning when he's home, and when she sets the dinner table for four, she feels as though everything is finally back to normal. Her feelings mattered more to Puck than his own did. Even Sarah thinks he is an acceptable dad. What kind of son would he be if he took the final stab at his already wounded family?

He roamed the streets, trying to keep composed. He may have received a few berating stares, but not that it mattered – he needed a nice torso tan anyway. He lifted his arms to claw his skull. What was he to do with what just happened? He couldn't get over the cold distance in Sam's eyes. He wanted nothing more than for that look to be once more filled with warmth, but he couldn't exactly turn back time. Maybe his reaction wasn't the most logical approach, but hopefully it can be swept under the rug.

Puck took a deep breath, allowing a new train of thought to cloud his mind. Damn fucking Evans, his brain seethed. If anyone finds out about this my rep will be shot.

Puck wandered aimlessly down the street, on an endless route with no destination. That was until a black SUV pulled up along the curve next to him. Puck didn't even turn around as the tinted window slid down.

"Noah!"

At the sound of his name, and a familiar voice, he turned on his heel to face Kurt looking concerned in the passenger seat. Blaine had a similar look, but it was less natural than Kurt's, almost as if he was fighting the urge to look below Puck's neck.

"Don't call me Noah," he said sternly, furrowing his brow. "It's Puck."

Kurt ignored the question, whereas Blaine nodded with trepidation. "What happened to your face?" He blurted, blushing when Kurt turned to face him with condescension.

When Kurt finally twisted back to Puck, letting his actions drag in hopes Blaine would recognize his own stupidity, he assessed the damage to Puck's face with a cursory glance. "Are you okay? Do you need a ride?"

He seemed to have deemed the injury high enough for him to have to intervene. Puck opened his mouth to answer, catching on his thoughts. A ride? Where? To his own house to be bashed or to Sam's for belittlement. He would prefer the streets. "…It's okay," he finally settled on. "I… don't really have a place to go to right now."

Both Kurt and Blaine's expressions softened at that, and Puck felt a twinge of annoyance for being in a position to be pitied. There wasn't much he could do about it though. "We're going to mine, and you're welcome as well," Kurt said, snaking his arm behind his seat to open the back door. "Hop in."

Puck gauged his options, but had already clambered into Blaine's car before he had even finished. "Thanks," he mumbled, closing the door and settling in his seat. The leather seats stuck to his back slightly, and he was suddenly incredibly aware that he hadn't showered that morning. It wasn't that he stunk; it's just that it would be more reasons to be stared down. He tried to ignore the awkward atmosphere, so thick it was palpable, and waited for Blaine to start the car. When his ears weren't met with the breathing of a locomotive, he looked at Blaine expectantly. He was met with a patient smile that made Blaine's eyes crinkle. With a sigh, Puck buckled his seatbelt, ignoring how frozen it felt against his bare skin.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" Blaine slated light-heartedly, as if he was talking to a child. He turned the car on and turned onto the road, attempting to fill in the silence he was met with. "So, um… would it be okay if we ask what happened to you? You seem a little upset."

Puck crossed his arms, forcing his stare out the window to watch the scenery flash past him. "Nothing happened," he said defensively. He crossed his arms. "Just the usual Saturday night for the Puckerman."

"Your face is covered in bruises, and you're half naked. That shouldn't be a usual Saturday night for anyone," Kurt chimed in. His voice was even, lower than usual. He didn't turn when he spoke, so all Puck could see was the line of his jaw move with his words. "If you need to talk about it, we'll gladly lend an ear. We're not going to tell anyone. But if the matter is private, then we can just forget the subject."

It was touching, Puck thought, how Kurt was able to offer support, even after all these years of constant bullying. To think the boy who he'd sent dumpster diving every school day could push away vengeful opportunities in light to help nearly made Puck regret ever being mean to the kid. It made him think about confessing, then and there, about everything that had happened between him and Sam. The sex, the feelings, the argument; the whole lot. Right now, the thought of popping the top on his bottled emotions was tempting, but the lingering premonition of judgement kept his mouth tight-lipped. He was a stud. A sudden eruption of feelings and homosexual encounters was not going to bide well with his image.

"Let's… let's not talk about," Puck decided. He tried to still his quivering lip as the awkward silence returned to the car.

"Come inside," Kurt instructed as he unlocked the front door. He held the door open for Puck, who walked in with a mumbled 'thanks'. He could hear the buzz of a television a couple of rooms over, and waited for Kurt to overtake him before tailing. Kurt led him through the living room, where Burt was indeed fixed on 'The Deadliest Catch'. Burt's eyes flicked to his guests, returning his sight to the tv for a second before realizing Puck's state with an intense stare.

"Um… Hello, Sir," Puck answered. He was pretty sure, by the look Burt was giving him, that he was trying to match a name to a face. Perhaps it was difficult to tell he was who he was right now. He willed his blush to not spread to his chest. Burt's disapproving frown at Puck was protested by Kurt, who raised a swift hand.

"Relax, Dad, nothing happened. I have to give him one of Finn's shirts."

Burt eyed Puck once more, sternly, before giving a grunt of dismissal and relaying his attention back to the tv. Kurt allowed himself to sashay seamlessly into Finn's room, Puck following like a lost puppy behind him. When Puck entered the room, he found Kurt burrowing through Finn's wardrobe, with no added care like you normally give when you are responsible for something that isn't yours. It's not like Finn cared for his clothes anyway.

"You know, I could just wear one of these," Puck suggested, picking up one of the tank tops strewn across the floor.

Kurt wrinkled his nose. "Ew no. You need something washed. Finn sweats."

Puck flinched away from the top, surreptitiously wiping his hands on the edge of Finn's bed.

"Put this on," Kurt said, throwing a black button-up shirt behind his back. He talking into the wardrobe, so the shirt landed on the opposite side of the room.

Puck fetched it and dressed, squeezing his arms through the sleeves. "A little tight around the guns, but it'll do," he mused, nodding. He walked to the full-length mirror in the corner and surveyed his appearance (not taking into account his face). He ran a hand over the fabric, grinning. "This makes me look ripped! I'm totally keeping this."

Kurt let out a high-pitched laugh as he closed the wardrobe door. "You'll give the shirt back on Monday, and we won't tell Finn about it. Now let's go find Blaine."

Puck hadn't even noticed Blaine was gone, but he was patiently waiting in Kurt's room, drumming his fingers along the bedside table. Hand supporting his chin, he looked up with a cautious smile as Kurt led Puck into the room, making room for them on the bed. Blaine and Kurt sat side by side, staring gently at Puck. Opposite them, Puck gave a quizzical look, raising an eyebrow.

"You guys aren't going to try and jump me, are you? I know this shirt makes me look toned, but rape is sick."

Kurt tilted the edges of his mouth upwards in appreciation of the joke, but levelled them shortly afterwards.

"Puck, we need to talk about something," Blaine said slowly. His constant eye contact and sincere expression made the atmosphere in the room stoop to a serious tone. "Your face is... covered in bruises and cuts-"

"And you were half naked on the street."

"-...Did something happen?"

Puck had to avert his eyes and stare pointedly at the fleece bed sheets; Blaine's stare was just too intense. Puck took a shuddering breath, torn between maintaining his badass aura and just giving in.

"If it helps," Kurt began earnestly, "a problem halved is a problem shared. All this crap I've taken for being me would have stung twice as hard without Mercedes or Dad to talk to-"

"It's Sam." Puck's nerves were tingling with each word Kurt pronounced, and by the end of the sentence he probably would have burst with smouldering secrets. So just casually blurting out 'Sam' is good in comparison.

"Sam did this to you?" Kurt asked, bewildered. Blaine's ears pricked at the name, but he said nothing.

"What? No. This-" Puck pointed to his face "-This isn't the problem. The problem is Sam."

"What'd he do?"

"We had sex."

"Hot," Blaine breathed, before Kurt elbowed him in the ribs.

"Umm... you and Sam did what?"

"Sex. You know, man sex."

"Oh." Kurt flushed a deep crimson before continuing. "Are you guys... dating?"

"No, he still has Quinn or something," Puck said bitterly.

"So you just had a one night stand?"

"Something like that. But we really... I dunno, I thought we connected." Puck sighed

"That's one way to put it," Blaine interjected coyly.

Puck ran his hand down his face, hoping the friction would relieve his embarrassment. All it did was make his cuts sting.

"Ow, shit!" he growled, gritting his teeth. "I just made all this crap up in my head, didn't I? He even said that he loved me straight after and I went and believed him and..."

Kurt kept a steady smile plastered on his face all through Puck's rambling, quietly exchanging words with Blaine.

"Oh my God. Puck's blubbering. What do we do?" Only Blaine's eyes turned to try and see Kurt, but he still heard perfectly.

"Just be sympathetic, sweetie. This can't be easy." Kurt whispered back, nodding absentmindedly towards Puck.

"...and I couldn't say anything back because he was right and then I left and then now I'm here what do I do now?" Puck finished, breathing heavily. Puck looked pleadingly at Kurt, who was at a lost (perhaps he shouldn't have blanked out halfway through Puck and his confessions).

"Well, if I'm any good at dating-" Blaine surmised.

"Which you aren't," Kurt dutifully reminded him.

"-Then I'd think Sam likes you. Probably a lot. But I think he's scared of being hurt. He's scared that the next day you'll have someone else wrapped around your arm and he'll be a joke. Show him you care and then he'll stop being so guarded." Blaine spoke with such sincerity that Kurt turned to face him in surprise.

"That's not like you at all, with good advice," Kurt praised, impressed. "Especially since you haven't even met Sam."

Blaine laughed uneasily, shifting in his spot. "I have some good stuff from time to time."

Puck sat silently for a moment, deep in thought. All he had to do was to stay faithful... really? That's easy. If you think about it, it's not like anyone can rival Sam on the hot scale: he has everything: the cute nerd persona, the body, the lips, and the ass. Shuddering, Puck shuffled his hands underneath his legs. In hindsight the plan was easy, but the starting steps would be the hardest, especially after that little kitchen encounter. But the Puckerman wasn't an amateur at wooing people. A flirty song dedicated to [insert target here], some freshly picked flowers, and to top it off, a sexy wink and a pick-up line or two was enough to get one night in bed.

"Just remember Puck, Sam wants to be wooed, but he wants to be loved; he isn't just another girl. He's most likely looking for a relationship. Not just casual sex, or random hook-ups."

Shit. "...The Puck-miester is going to have to pull out the stocks for this one then," he said, scratching the nape of his neck. "I've managed to make the ladies swoon, but never a guy... well, not intentionally, anyway." Puck sniggered confidently, flicking a piece of lint off his shoulder.

"...I'm pretty sure you'll get him in the end," Kurt reassured with a tight smile. There was something about that, paired with the devious glint in Kurt's eye, that made Puck wonder about the meddling thoughts occupying Kurt's brain.

Puck glanced at the clock on the wall and grunted. "Fuck, it's already three!" He turned back to face Kurt and Blaine, stretching his face into a sincere smile. It was such a rare occurrence that it looked weird on Puck's face, and the receiving couple were nearly confused. "Ummm... thanks, guys. I actually feel a whole lot better now. And I haven't grown a vagina either, so that's a plus."

"No problem," Kurt scoffed.

"Anytime you need to talk, just give us a ring," Blaine said earnestly. Looking from Blaine to Kurt, Puck saw the similar expressions of understanding and consideration emanating from both. He smiled, beside himself, as stood up from the bed. He didn't even know them that well, and they sacrificed their whole Sunday afternoon just so he could talk to someone. And boy had it helped; not only did it help him plot his next moves, it was also kind of therapeutic. It made him feel fuzzy, as if he was telling someone his deepest secrets, but it was okay because they'd never tell a soul.

"Oh, wait, Puck," Blaine said suddenly, jumping up just as Puck was reaching the door.

"Yeah?" He asked casually, leaning on the doorknob.

"What was the sex like?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. Puck could tell from the glimmer in his eyes and the vastness of his smile that Blaine had wanted to ask this for a while. God, that Blaine was such a closet-slut.

Leaving Kurt's room with a satisfied smirk, Puck left the two gaping teenagers in his wake.

"Well," Kurt said, astonished, and fanning himself with his hand, "He certainly doesn't skimp on the details."

Blaine pouted, "Why can't we do that?"

"Oh, shut up." Kurt scolded, immune to Blaine's dapper puppy-dog moping. "We need to find a way to get those two together. The prospect of bringing another two men from my school together will definitely quieten the haters. There's always more strength in numbers."

"Yeah, and Sam and Puck would make a hot couple."

"Agreed." They waved their fingertips along each others, grinning mischievously. "Plus, they want it too, we just need to... 'give them a push'."

"But how we do that?"

"Honey, just leave that to me," Kurt replied, the glint in his eyes resurfacing again.

"Awww, who's my sardonic little matchmaker," Blaine teased, leaning in for an Eskimo kiss.

"And who's physically a virgin yet mentally a whore," Kurt retorted, swiping noses once before doubling over in laughter.

He wished the rain would leak through the windows and drown him.