A/N: You guys are too awesome! Thank you sincerely for your the reviews and kind words. I was hoping the build up has been at a good pace, not too quick and illogical, but not sooo long that it just gets down right frustrating. I will say for those of you who've been patient with me, you'll be happy to know that shit goes down this chapter! Enjoy! And please keep reviewing.
Sam. That fucking bleach blonde butt fucking surfer dick.
The rational part of Puck's brain (the little of it that's left) tries to reason that this has nothing to do with Sam. Not really. But Puck has never been one to wrestle with reason when his emotions start to take over.
They haven't spoken for days. Kurt has been casually avoiding him, averting his gaze, and generally pretending that he didn't exist.
But you know who he hasn't seemed to have forgotten? That fucking McConaughey reject.
They've been inseperable lately. And it's driving Puck INSANE.
Like the only time in this place that he truly feels like he's losing grip on reality. Ironic really. But a hard truth none the less.
It's getting into summer. The winds are less harsh, the cold abating and giving way to more sunny days which allows for more leisure time for the patients outdoors. Puck is fine with that. It gives him time to lounge away from prying eyes and crazy, stalkerish blonde chicks. Time to contemplate how shitty his life actually is; the warm sun the only thing keeping him remotely company.
He's pretty much reverted back to his old self again. Well, kind of. Absent is the overt hostility toward every living, breathing creature around. Or the desire to rebel and do something stupid just for entertainment value. He's still taking his meds and attending his therapy sessions. He still even goes to fucking group, though he remains as sullen and quiescent as ever.
But other then all of that, he's still the same asshole who hates himself just as much as ever.
Maybe the difference is that instead of disguising his pain behind his fists and volatile demeanor, he actually allows it to wash over him; to truly think about it and feel it.
And fuck does it hurt.
But why? Why is he so fucking pathetic all of the sudden?
He looks up and sees the pale teen laughing with abandon. Him and that fucking Beach boy are playing a game of chess on a bench not far away.
He doesn't even realize he's doing it until he's already looming over the pair.
"Sup Fags?"
"Puck," Kurt greets coolly. Puck narrows his dark eyes, the hurt emanating just underneath the surface at the kid's use of his surname as opposed to his first.
"What do you want Puckerman?" Sam asks with an air of exasperation.
Puck doesn't know what he wants. That's what's crazy about it. What the fuck does he hope to gain? A quick word with Fancy? A playful smile? Another encounter where they find themselves rolling on the floor with each other? Laughing. Watching. Hoping...
"I take it that Lady here has turned you out then Blondie?"
"I take it that whatever our relationship with each other is, it's none of your business dude."
"What?" He directs at Kurt, staring hard, challenging him to deny or confirm. Kurt looks a little nervous by the way he's gnawing his lip, but he expertly avoids Puck's glare.
"Puck. Sam and I like to hang out. You're not the friendship police. So get a hold of yourself and run along. I'm sure you have a certain blonde who's waiting to be enraptured by your eloquent words and oh, so, sophisticated charm."
Damn. Just... Damn. Kid could wound when he wanted. But the word 'friendship' had undoubtedly resulted in a jolt of relief despite the rest of the stinging jibe. Puck was speechless as his dark eyes roved over the chess board, mostly for something to do.
Puck sighs deeply, then moves Kurt's queen.
"Check mate," He states clearly, then he walks away, both boys staring after him.
He walks, unsure of where he's going exactly, just knowing he needs to distance himself from the two fuck sticks making googly eyes at each other.
Finally he spies a head of unmistakable Jewish hair sitting under a tree. Jacob Jewtastic Israel looks to be writing in something. Probably something gay like a journal Puck deduces. His desire to just, he doesn't know exactly, maybe not be alone with his thoughts overwhelms him. To the point where the Fro himself seems appealing.
He seats himself beside the dude, his arms resting over his knees. Jacob visibly shirks away from him, his hands clutching his book tightly.
"W-What do you want Puckerman?"
"Nothing Your Fro-ness. What're you writin' the virgin chronicles or some shit?"
The blush is beginning to spread over the dude's neck and cheeks.
"Nothing."
"Oh, I doubt that. You looked too absorbed. Gimme that!"
Puck easily snatches the book away and notices the page that Jacob has been writing on. The kid looks like he's going to explode with how red his face has become.
"No fuckin' way! Are you shittin' me? The Goth?"
The page clearly houses a large heart with the names 'Jacob and Tina' scrawled neatly in the center, decorative and detailed.
"Leave me alone Puck!"
Puck laughs while Jacob stews in his embarrassment.
"Dude. She's like a fuckin' vampire. And she can't talk worth a shit. You can't even understand her half the time -"
"Don't talk about her like that!"
"Hm. I guess somebody has an Asian fetish huh?"
"No. It's not like that."
"Please. Then enlighten me good sir."
"Whatever Puckerman."
"Seriously. What is it about her? Her fangs or what?"
"She's just nice okay?"
"Nice? So, what you don't wanna bang her slit?"
"Shut up!"
Puck is actually impressed. Jacob has never quite been this fierce with him before. It's kind of inspiring in a sadly, pathetic sort of way.
"So it's not just about fuckin' her?" Puck asks.
"No. It's not," Jacob responds quietly.
Puck pauses in order to organize this thoughts.
"And you haven't told her because...?"
"No. I-No. I can't."
"Dude. Seriously. I know you're fuckin' pathetic most of the time but you're not in here alone. She's obviously just as fucked up and pathetic. You have nothin' to lose."
"It's just not that easy for me. I'm not like you. I can't just walk up to a girl and practically whip my penis out like some sort of porn star, okay? I... I care about her. As a person you know? Not just some sexual object."
Puck finds himself listening intently. The kid isn't stuttering. He doesn't seem unsure. That was a first in terms of the times he and Puck have interacted.
"Tina is nice. She's caring and smart. Her smile is so radiant. And her laugh is nothing short of glorious. When she says 'hi' to me, even acknowledges my presence in anyway, it's like I'm walking on clouds for the whole rest of the day. If I'm in the same room as her, nothing else seems to matter. And I feel good, actually good even if she doesn't speak directly to me. It's like I feel normal and happy. Just for a moment. Which hasn't happened often in my life."
Puck ruffles his hand through his mohawk. He thinks he knows that feeling. That 'good' feeling Jacob has just described.
"Tell her."
"Tell her what?"
"Everything you just said. Hell I'm a dude and I almost swooned at that shit. Just be honest with her. Whether she digs you or not, least you'll know. Then you can stop doodling hearts and shit while you masterbate with your tears."
Jacob swallows nervously. "I-I don't know."
"Well I do Jewbilee. And I think if I catch you wallowing under a tree like a fuckin' Keebler elf drawin' gay shit like this, I'm gonna kick your ass. So get over yourself and Talk. To. Her."
Jacob slowly nods, his mouth twisting in a weird way that Puck thinks maybe is supposed to be a smile. The nerd stands up and begins to trek away. He stops suddenly after a few paces and turns back toward Puck.
"You too."
"What?"
"You should too. You know? - Be honest with yourself. Maybe then you won't be so angry all the time."
The look the kid was giving him was sort of creeping him out. Like he knew a secret that Puck didn't or something. But before Puck could respond Jacob had already disappeared back toward the site.
Honesty huh?
Maybe he should've punched Jew Fro out after all. The longer he let him talk the more ridiculous his musings became.
The group was just settling in, Puck amongst them with a less then enthusiastic attitude.
His absence was easily noticeable. At least to Puck.
"Hey Black chick?"
"Mercedes," she corrected defiantly.
"Right. Um. Mercedes. Have you seen the fa- I mean, Kurt, anywhere?"
She looked slightly taken aback by the name correction. Then her gaze returned to a defensive glare.
"No. He should be here soon though. They're gonna lock the door if he's another few minutes late."
Unnecessary information, Puck thinks. He knows the whole policy regarding late comers to group therapy. He tries to refrain from biting out a retort, then eventually settles for a mumbled, "Thanks," before standing to leave.
"Puckerman. Group's just getting ready to start," Dr. Schuester warns.
"Yeah. I know. I just have to go the bathroom real quick."
"Hurry it up. I'll give you a few extra minutes. No more, no less."
Puck nods and speeds out the door. As he moves his steady pace turns into a jog. He checks the Arts room first. It hadn't failed him yet - until today at least. A few patients were scattered around, an orderly and a counselor watching over them, but no sign of Kurt.
He breaks out into a full on run, skidding down the hall toward Kurt's dorm. He knocks insistently. No answer. No Kurt.
He's starting to panic. Maybe he's hurt himself. Maybe the little flamer's in the bathroom blowing Sam. Puck can't tell which thought pierces him more. They both cause him to run faster, not completely sure where his legs were taking him.
Just as he felt his breathing become erratic and he had to double over to avoid the pain of stitches forming in his sides, he heard something that caught his attention... Something that sounded like... whimpering? Moaning?
Puck peeked around the corridor down a narrow hallway leading to a dead end.
"No. Please, s-stop."
Puck registers an orderly holding someone against the wall.
Fucking Gavin, pressed up against... Puck inhales sharply.
Kurt.
Gavin has Kurt's wrists pinned above his head in a powerful grip, his other hand lightly running over the fabric lining Kurt's cock, thick fingers trailing over the loose fitting pants.
"I've seen the way you walk around here like you own the place. You don't have to pretend. I know you want it baby."
"P-p-please. No."
"Hey! The fuck Gavin?"
Both figures look over. Kurt's startled, obviously scared, but his eyes also pool with what resembles relief, fresh tears glazing his cheeks.
"Get the fuck off him!" Puck pushes the bastard away, standing protectively in front of Kurt. He wants to punch him until his face leaks. Wants to rage, and bring absolute fucking earth wrenching pain to the son of a bitch.
"Puckerman. Move on! This is none of your business -"
"It became my business the second you put your hands on him you sick fuck!"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Puck moves to lunge forward but Kurt's surprisingly firm grip, despite his shaking form, acts as a stimulant quelling the impulse.
"Don't. Please Noah. Let's just go."
Pucks fists are balled at his sides, his lip nearly bleeding he's biting it so hard.
"Please." Puck knew what was behind the plea. Not just an attempt to avoid confrontation, but a plea for Puck to not do anything that would jeapordize his residency; to stay out of lock up.
"Besides. Do you honestly think anybody would believe you two little shits over me? Huh? Some delusional fucking fairy and an ex coke head with anger issues and a record a mile long? You're better off keeping your mouths shut. Don't forget that I'm one of the head orderlies. I practically run this place. I can make shit easy, or really, really difficult for you. Your choice."
Puck thinks he glimpses movement in the adjoining hallway. A quick flash of something. It was too hard to tell with the corridor being submerged in darkness like it was. Puck then steers Kurt down the hallway, all while keeping his eyes locked on the smirking face of the orderly.
Gavin had some years on him, probably in his early thirties, and definitely was more built if you didn't count his beer gut. His brown hair was always gelled back making it appear black, that stupid goatee running along his upper lip and chin like a well manicured patch of grass.
That fucking snarky look, the sneer that rivaled his own was plastered on Gavin's face with such confident assurance, Puck wanted to rip it right off. But he knew, sadly but surely, that some element of what the prick was saying was true.
As the pair passed him, Puck hisses, "If you touch him like that again. I will kill you."
Gavin responds with a cruel laugh but allows the two to roam ahead of him, waiting for them to be out of his sight before exiting the now vacant area.
Kurt is holding tightly to Puck's arm as they walk along.
"Are you okay?"
The pale boy shakes his head, a soft whimper escaping his pink lips.
"We could, we could say something. We could tell Schue-"
"No! Just - leave it alone. I don't want anyone to know."
Puck nods. He won't push the kid. Not after everything he's been through.
"Alright. Group's probably started. We might still be able to make it though. Schuester gave me a few extra minutes -"
Kurt shakes his head again, the movement jerky, frantic. The whimpers are increasing.
"Okay. That's okay. We'll go somewhere else."
"B-but, you can't miss anymore. You have to go-"
"Nah. It'll be alright. I'll give Schue some crap about feelin' sick or somethin.' I'll be fine. Where do you want to go?"
"I just want to walk. Please."
And they walk: Kurt clutching desparately to Puck, and Puck placing his hand firmly over where Kurt wound his arm through his.
They've managed to walk around the more desolate areas of the facility. Neither teen speaking or attempting to do so. Puck was content with simply walking. Puck would walk for miles if the kid asked him to.
Puck stops short when they come across the Men's showers. Kurt speaks with his eyes.
I need this.
Puck leads him into the room, the echo of their foot steps sounding thunderous in the large space covered in bright tile.
There are more then six shower heads lined against the wall. They walk over to the middle spout, Puck not even realizing that he had been leading the boy by his hand until they were still.
Puck steps forward and turns on the water. It sprays across his calloused hand as he tests the temperature, waiting for it to warm. After mere seconds Puck states, "it feels warm enough. I'll just- Er- head outside. I'll wait for you there."
The surly teen steps past Kurt but is halted by the feel of a hand gripping his arm, holding him in place.
Puck is swimming in blue. Lost in a gaze that all but swallows him whole.
Stay.
There are no words spoken aloud but Puck hears them all the same. He watches the smaller boy intently, waiting for him to show a sign, any sign of fear or apprehension, even revulsion. But he finds none. Not in his posture, not in his eyes.
Brown orbs linger on blue, asking permission which he receives. The response displayed in Kurt's reticent stance, a quiet but very present fortitude.
Puck has never felt this before. Never felt so intimate with another person as he slowly pulls Kurt's shirt over his head, and carefully folds it up, his eyes steadfast and resolute.
Kurt's breathing has quickened its pace. Puck briefly notes the alabastor skin and lean, delicate looking torso, but as much as he wants to feast with his eyes, he keeps them set. It's important to keep them focused on blue. Puck knows, feels that somehow looking elsewhere would desicrate the charm keeping them both spell bound.
He swallows reflexively, his adam's apple bobbing as he bends down to lightly pull at Kurt's draw string. The pants fall easily and Kurt is standing before him naked, his intense gaze all-consuming.
Puck doesn't hesitate to pick the garment from the floor and fold it carefully as well. He then tries with all of his being to communicate that he's not going anywhere; just giving Kurt some much needed space.
The willowy boy nods almost imperceptibly, and allows himself to be engulfed by the spray of water. Puck turns and steps to the side, just far enough to ensure that the clothes he's guarding stay dry. His back is facing the other teen but he imagines that he can see him. Observe him in all of his glory. He closes his eyes and pictures every brush of pale fingertips caressing the milky skin, water sliding playfully over pink nipples... Puck taking a nipple in his mouth...
His eyes shoot open. Whoa! The fuck?
Puck has to supress a groan.
No. He can't. He's just feeling protective. That's all. Nothing wrong with being protective. He just felt bad for the kid. Felt like he needed to take responsibility for him. Look out for him.
Yeah. That's all. That's all the fat lady wrote... or some shit like that.
Just as Puck is finally steering clear from giving into near cardiac arrest, he hears it: Sobs that are broken and heavy, accompanied by successive 'thudding' noises.
He turns to see Kurt sagging against the wall, his head tucked in the crook of one arm, while the other was pre-occupied with pounding the tiles.
Puck places the pile of clothing on the floor and bounds over to the other teen. He doesn't care that the boy is completely stark naked, or as gay as the day was long. He's not even the slightest bit bothered getting soaked by the on-pouring jet of water as the fragile figure breaks down completely in his arms.
And Puck just holds tightly, shushing him, and vowing that no one would hurt him again. Ever. As long as Puck had a say.
Eventually they sink to the floor, Puck's embrace secure and steady as Kurt cries evenly, clutching Puck's back, wrinkling the now sopping shirt, his head buried in Puck's shoulder.
"Please Kurt. Don't cry. I hate to see you cry. I just - It hurts."
Puck was never good with words. Not really. That's honestly why he stuck to writing his thoughts down. He couldn't be articulate or meaningful if he had to vocalize his inner thoughts aloud. He felt like a moron whenever he tried.
His mind, always the forward thinker that it was he thought sarcastically, had apparently jumped ship and bailed out on him. It really must have. Because Puckerman was peculiarly leaning forward and then without explanation, laying a chaste kiss atop Kurt's head... Then another on his forehead... And another against his jaw line.
Several more kisses lined his cheek and Puck feels desparate. He just wants to do something to make it better for him...
His blue eyes are staring now; red with pain, glossy with tears. Puck pauses, unsure of himself, concerned that he indefinitely crossed the line. Maybe managed to intensify the kid's grief.
It was a moment. Just a second or two... But the brief interval of time was all he needed for the epiphany to assault his senses.
Puck wanted more. Not just to help Kurt. He wanted Kurt, simply because he wanted Kurt. Somewhere in his mind's eye, a Jewish boy with a horrendous afro and glasses was smiling triumphantly.
Knowing himself to be quite the sex shark extraordinaire, Puck acknowledged the urge to pull the other boy forward and crush their lips together.
But this is different. It's not a conquest. Nor is it a simple need to quench his lustful desires. Hell, he doesn't even know if he wants that... Sex, with a dude? He hasn't even kissed a guy before... Had never even thought about it before...
He's not a fag. He hates fags.
But he can't deny that he wants to feel this boy, to touch him.
As his mind finishes mulling over that last thought, he refocuses on a tentative hand reaching to cup his cheek, followed by another. Puck's eyes slide closed of their own accord. Then lips are kissing his tenderly, but purposefully.
Fuck...
Puck thinks he could be melting. Seriously.
His hands come to rest on Kurt's back, feeling slick skin, pulling him forward slightly. Kurt is leading, strengthening the kiss, lips moving against Puck's, tongue gliding along his lip, begging for entrance.
Puck lets him. Puck thinks he might let the kid do anything he wants if he keeps kissing him like that. Yeah... he'll let the kid do anything.
Kurt is kissing him like he's starving, like Puck is supplying the very air he needs to breathe. Puck feels his fingers dig into Kurt when the moan escapes those full lips.
Puck can't pretend he didn't feel the twitch in his cock in response. Something about this feels perfect.
But Puck knows better; knows that perfect doesn't exist. Guilt blooms within his chest, causing him to pull away. He rests his forehead against the other teen's.
He can't continue with this. Where was it going to lead?
Most likely to Puck, disappointing the kid, hurting him just like he's already been hurt by so many others. Besides he wasn't even gay.
Kurt is watching him with earnest eyes, blue glinting with pleasure and a hint of curiousity. He pulls back from the boy, his arm still held protectively around his shoulders.
"We can't stay. They'll be looking for us at some point Fancy."
Kurt is silent for a moment, seemingly regaining his composure. Then he whispers, "Noah. Can you - can you just, hold me? Just for a little while. Please."
The uncertainty was almost palpable, shooting through Puck like a needle piercing his skin. He was quickly learning that it was an almost impossible notion to deny this kid. He responds by pulling Kurt more fully into him, his head resting against Puck's chest while Puck absentmindedly strokes the soft, wet skin of his arm.
After a few minutes Puck reaches up and turns the handle effectively shutting off the water. Something about the loss of the water serves to remind them of the reality of their situation; like the water was a veil of secrets, another world that poured over them and protected them soundly. Now they were just two teenaged boys sitting on the shower floor together holding each other. One very naked. The other just soaked.
"I'm sorry Kurt." His voice echoes across the room: loud, strange to his own ears.
"Why?"
"I should've been there. I should've been lookin' out for you."
Silence. Puck registers Kurt's hand lightly running over his chest.
Puck asks tentatively, "Was that the only time?"
He feels rather then sees the nod.
"He's told me things before. In passing. He'd make comments about how pretty my ass looked or that he could make me feel good if I wanted it. Stuff like that. I just tried to ignore it. But today... That was the first time he'd... I was running late. I had forgotten my br-"
Kurt's cheeks flush red. "Bracelet," He finishes quietly. Puck looks down and sure enough spies the purple, silver and blue adorning the slim wrist. For some reason, both pride and guilt seem to battle for first place within him.
"I was just getting out of my dorm when I ran into him. He told me that Dr. Schuester needed to speak with me privately and I had to follow him. I knew it wasn't right the moment we were in that corridor. I tried to push past but then he grabbed me. Hard. Shoved me against the wall. Started whispering things. Telling me I wanted it. Then he was t-touching me... And then you were there," he breathes the last remark, his blue eyes staring acutely into brown.
"Well, I should've been there sooner. I was angry I guess."
"About Sam?"
"Yeah."
"I know."
"What?"
"I know. I was kind of doing it on purpose. Hanging with him. Being around him. He's a really nice person and I do like him. But not in that way."
Puck bit his lip, an un-announced satisfaction overtaking him.
"So you wanted to make me angry?"
"Jealous would be more accurate."
"Hm."
"Noah?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you upset?"
"Mmm, nah. Well, a little maybe. Mostly flattered I think."
"Okay."
"Fancy?"
"Yes?"
"We can't stay. As much as I'm enjoyin' this, I'm not exactly keen on having to spend a day in the quiet room."
Kurt nods and begins to untangle himself from Puck's arms. Puck stands and walks over to retrieve the pile of clothes. He returns, a faint blush tinging his cheeks as he hands them over, keeping his dark eyes focused on anything but Kurt.
Kurt smiles sweetly as he pulls on his thankfully dry hospital uniform.
"Done."
"Cool. Shall we Lady?"
"Do we have to?"
Puck nods. He knows what the kid means though he doesn't say the words. In here, things have completely unfolded into something indescribable. This fucking shower room has encased them in a sort of haven without judgement or fear. Allowed Puck to truly feel something for maybe the first time ever without need of a substance or booze or misguided inhibition propelled by depression or anger.
Once they hit that door, it all goes away; regresses back into what it has to be in order to get through their day to day.
And as they exit, reality crashes down upon him harshly.
Puck had fucking made out with a dude... Puck had held a dude while he was naked... Holy shit.
And he liked it.