(Author's note: Warnings throughout this chapter for D/s dynamics, and a maybe-surprise from Dave. There are a couple modified scenes quoted from 2x08 to fit with the Donutverse. The last scene contains BDSM negotiations and some complex power exchange between Lauren and Puck. If you're wondering, it really is like that sometimes. -amy)
Burt closed the front door with a pinched expression. "That's all of them, I think. I mean, I haven't seen Puck since last night, but I'm assuming he went to school, instead of ending up god-knows-where."
"He picked up Lauren and they went in early. Finn followed him." Carole cupped her hands around her coffee and blew on it, grimacing as she sipped. His face smoothed as he watched her.
"You don't have to drink coffee, you know."
"Sometimes it tastes okay," she said, then laughed. "I suppose that's not exactly a glowing endorsement of coffee. But there's really nothing else that gets the job done, is there?"
"Besides caffeinated water? Or tea? Or Exedrin? Or—"
"Okay, okay!" She made a placating gesture, drawing closer to him. He slipped his arms around her waist. "I can rethink my coffee consumption if you feel that strongly about it."
"I'm just saying, if you don't care for something, if you actually don't like it, I think doing it anyway sounds more like a habit than a good idea. Or possibly masochism." He paused, then shook his head. "Scratch that one. I'm not even sure what that term means anymore."
"There are other reasons to do something than because you enjoy it." She kissed him softly. "But I think you might be on to something there."
Burt gazed into her eyes. "You ready to do this phone call?"
"Maybe you should have asked me that before we built this house together, mister."
He didn't laugh, because of course, he had asked her. "I still think it's the best choice, even if things are uncertain at the moment. Even if we have to spend money on a lawyer."
"Not that we have any money to spend on one."
"I have a little put away for a rainy day. And I suspect Mr. Lawton will give us a good deal, if we ask him."
Carole cocked her head. "Why are you even pretending to ask me this question? You made up your mind a long time ago. I know you did."
"Because! Because—we're partners. I want you to know you can still talk me out of things or into things, even if I think I've made up my mind." Burt laughed ruefully. "I mean, Sarah made me build this house."
She let the corners of her mouth curl up. "You're such a sucker."
"I am," he conceded. "I will admit I have always wanted a girl to spoil. And I say that advisedly, having raised Kurt. And I think I deserve it, because I almost died of a heart attack."
"Oh my god. You are not using the heart attack ploy. I mean, I'm not even trying to argue here, and you're pulling that out of your arsenal?"
They were snickering and poking each other like stupid teenagers when Burt's phone rang. Carole quieted down as he put it on speakerphone, moving into the kitchen to warm up her objectionable coffee.
"Hi, Julia," Burt said into the phone. "We're both here."
"Hi," Carole echoed, with a useless little wave.
"Nice to hear you both. I've got the paperwork here from the most recent home study, and everything looks like it's in order. You've ticked all the boxes for that requirement. They're going to like that both kids are able to stay in the same school system. The issue we talked about before, Sarah's elopement, that's a larger concern, but having evidence that she's willing to abide by your restrictions, that counts for something."
"She promised she's not going to run away again," said Burt. "I believe her."
"All right. What about Noah? How's he doing since his return from Oregon?"
"Well, that's more complicated." They did some eye communication, and Carole nodded before he went on. "He's not doing so well, to be honest. We think the—the therapy—"
"Abuse, you mean," Carole interjected angrily.
"—yeah, well, what he describes happened in Oregon isn't a whole lot better than abuse, in my book—but the effect of all that is that he's sick to his stomach and has headaches, and he's avoiding his friends. But he's going to school, and he's eating regularly. And he's driving to Akron to see his daughter every weekend."
"What about substance abuse? Do you suspect any of that?"
"No, no, that's not… he doesn't do that, him or his friends. They don't drink or party or—anything."
"Hmm." Julia sounded skeptical. "What do they do, then?"
Burt cleared his throat. "They, uh, sing? And play music together. They have, like, a band. In Columbus, they…" As Carole shook her head, he backtracked. "And they're in Glee club together, they're going to their sectional competition in a few weeks."
"And they're doing a musical at school," Carole added. "South Pacific."
"That's great. All of that, and Noah continuing to play football, will look good to the judge. I have to say, Sarah's grades won't hurt either, but it's the family therapy you're doing together that's going to make the most difference. How's that going?"
"It's good, I think? We haven't ever all met together with Holly at the same time, but each of us meets regularly with her. She comes to the house. We all like her a lot."
"What's her perspective on Noah's situation?"
"Well, she suggested we refer him to another therapist, one who specializes in grief, but I'm not sure there's been any concrete action there. Is that going to matter?"
"No, that's good, just keep him moving on toward the goals they're setting together. Just to be clear, I don't think there's any expectation of Noah or Sarah being a hundred percent, not with their family history and their recent traumas, but everything you're doing is bound to help. Now…" They waited anxiously, listening to the sound of the shuffling of papers. "The next step is termination of paternity rights. Noah will be eighteen in—July, I think?"
"That's right," said Carole. "July 12."
"So this action is primarily regarding Sarah. We have no record of an objection to the adoption being filed by Sarah's birth father, but you should know, in Ohio, it's common for last-minute objections to be honored. Even if he is not able to support Sarah, Aaron's choice of an alternative adoptive parent may be honored, especially if they are a relative. Other than Timothy, she has no living relatives, is that correct?"
"We aren't sure," said Burt, "but that's what Noah said."
"And what about her mother's side? Have you spoken to his mother's brother?"
Carole's movement stilled. "Her—brother? We don't know about any brother."
"Sarah said her uncle died when she was little," Burt added.
"Hmm. I'll do a little more digging. In any case, if you are not able to persuade Noah's father to appear to give consent in person, or to sign the consent form and mail it to the court, you will need to file a petition to find him an unfit parent. You should know this is not often granted unless he has been convicted of a felony."
Burt rubbed his forehead. "No… I don't think so. But seriously, his behavior—"
"That may be enough, Burt, but I don't want to get your hopes up. There are family law judges in Ohio who might even consider what he did to be a good thing." Julia's voice was gentle. "Now, do you still have a lawyer in mind, or should I find a lawyer to file on your behalf?"
"No, no… we have one." Carole took his hand and squeezed it. "Julia, you've really been more than helpful. Thank you for everything."
"It's been my pleasure. It's always nice to find loving parents who are willing to adopt older children. Can I give you one more piece of advice?"
"We'll listen to anything you've got," said Burt.
"Unmarried adults are permitted to adopt in Ohio, but if you have any plans to do so, you might consider getting married first and applying together."
Burt's hand on Carole's suddenly clenched, and she swallowed her exclamation of pain and surprise.
"We'll consider it," she said. "And if anything changes, we'll give you a call."
The silence in the kitchen after they disconnected the call was profound. Carole let out an awkward laugh.
"So, uh." Burt unsuccessfully attempted to school his mouth into a neutral expression. "What do you think?"
"I think the same thing I thought last spring, when you asked me if you could make the house a wedding present." She looked up at the exposed beam construction, the skylights, the expansive foyer. "It's extravagant, that's for sure."
"Well, I think you know by now the Hummels don't do things small." He shrugged. "If I recall correctly, you asked me to ask you again when we were done painting the house."
"Not all the rooms in the basement are finished yet," she pointed out.
Burt raised an eyebrow. "You want me to make decorating the dungeon a contingency to saying yes?"
"No," she said firmly, then began laughing. "I—I really think we should ask the boys to wait to finish that particular room until after the adoption is final."
"That sounds like a good plan." He took a few steps closer. Carole could feel his intense focus on her. "So?"
"So…" She relented, giving him a real smile. "I think if you ask me, I might say yes."
"Might?" he whispered.
"I can't give away the whole ending, can I? But…" She let him put his arms around her. "Rest assured that my answer for you will be far more enthusiastic than my opinion about coffee."
Puck thought it was a little weird to have Lauren leading him onto the track in the semi-darkness, but not weird enough for him to say anything about it. So far she hadn't raised her voice to him even a little. In fact, her voice and her Voice appeared to be pretty much exactly the same. The fact that he hadn't even considered questioning Kurt and Finn's judgment when they handed him over to her last night was even more weird, but it felt so good to be following somebody's orders, he wasn't going to jinx it by asking questions.
"Stretch first," Lauren told him. "Six would kill me if I unintentionally benched you before the football game on Friday. Then give me four laps and come back here."
He nodded, then remembered and added, "Yes, ma'am."
She sat on the bench beside the track and busied herself with her phone, completely ignoring him. Puck shivered a little, pulling his hood over his head and setting a slow, measured pace around the track. He hated running, but being commanded to do it made it simple.
As he ran, he sang the lyrics he'd written in Oregon, the ones Adam had helped him fix. It was funny how the snippets of voice text they'd sent back and forth, arguing over matters of rhyme and meter and scansion, hadn't inspired any of the sickness he still felt around Finn and Kurt every day. It appeared that writing music went in the box, along with singing, cooking, dishwashing, and football, of "safe activities." Even dancing in Glee had proved to be acceptable to his brain's selective opinion of what was offensive and what was pleasant.
He'd made it around the track three and a half times before he noticed someone else running opposite him, pacing him. Someone with familiar long legs. Finn.
Puck stumbled to a halt in front of Lauren, breathing harder than he should have been after running a mile. She looked him up and down and sighed.
"You're a wuss, Puckerman," she said. "But unless you can get yourself to sleep sooner than you did last night, we're not getting up any earlier. You're just going to have to run faster tomorrow. Ten pushups, fifteen crunches, then hit the showers."
By the time he'd dressed for school, Puck still had twenty minutes to kill before the first bell. He considered texting Lauren and asking for further directions, but the empty attic room drew him up to the third floor. It still felt like the safest place to be at school, even with all its residual memories and associated triggers. Puck knew better than most that some ghosts couldn't be banished, but the ones they'd discovered in this room were now at rest.
The prepaid phone in his inside jacket pocket had been still and silent since he and Blaine had exchanged texts. Puck wondered for about ten seconds if it might be a better idea not to, then scrolled back through their conversation.
How did you sleep? he typed. He reread it twice to make sure everything was spelled right, and pressed Send.
Before he could even consider what he might do if Blaine didn't respond, there was a little oh. Puck realized he was holding his breath, and let it out. He rolled his eyes at himself.
Is it you, J?
It's me, Puck replied.
I'm still in bed. First class starts at eight-thirty. You?
I was on the track doing laps at 7. He paused, then added, but really I'd rather be in bed too.
He could imagine Blaine tucked into his narrow bunk beside Jeff's, his untamed curls spilling over his face. When that image started to feel more bad than good, he distracted his mind with jazz chord progressions along the circle of fifths: F major 7, D half-diminished, E minor 7, A minor 7, D minor 7, G7, C major 7… the phone buzzed again. He took a deep breath and looked at it.
I wouldn't blame you. I didn't sleep all that well, to be honest.
It wasn't a surprise, but it still hurt his heart. Something on your mind?
Dreams, mostly. They're usually gone by the time I get up, but they linger in the morning.
Bad or good?
Depends on your point of view. Things I can't have. But in isolation, pleasant to imagine.
I get it, he said. I can't have the things I want ether. He deliberated over the spelling of "either" for a little too long, but decided Blaine probably wouldn't judge him for misspellings at seven-thirty in the morning.
Why not?
They make me feel sick, he typed slowly, then deleted the words, then typed them again.
Judgment's a bitch, but we're always the hardest on ourselves.
He smiled. Even far away, even with nothing but words, Puck couldn't help but admire him. He sat in the pleasant feeling of loving Blaine for a long time before he realized it was just that: nothing but pleasant.
"Huh," he murmured. He bit his lip, thinking.
How do you judge yourself? he asked.
There was a long pause, but Blaine finally responded: I'm a burden on others.
"Baby," he whispered. There was no flash of pain in his head, no stabbing sickness, just regret, and sadness, and the abiding underlying drive to take care of him. Puck rubbed his hand over his face, feeling a familiar tingling energy flowing just under his skin.
I bet the people who love you don't think of you that way, he said.
There was a longer pause this time. I suppose that could be true? But for now, I'm going to get up and head to Latin.
Puck almost typed courage, but he didn't want to leave on a confusing note. Hang in there, he said instead.
Like the kitten on the poster, Blaine said. I will. And thank you, J, this was really unexpected, and wonderful.
The prepaid phone went back into his inner pocket. Puck stood up and paced the length of the music room three times, wishing he had somebody to talk to. Then he stared at his regular phone, his mind racing. Maybe he did. Kurt would be most likely to answer, but he would have a million questions, and if it went badly, it would make him feel worse. Finn was still lifting weights with Sam before school. So that left one other person.
Can you help me test something? he typed. When you have a second to yourself. It was mid-afternoon in Germany, and even if Adam was in the middle of rehearsals—
I'm waiting for a costume refitting, Adam replied. More lyrics?
Not today. He fixed an image in his mind that was as neutral as he could imagine: interstate highway I-70 west toward Santa Fe, straight and featureless and seemingly endless. Would you please tell me how you feel about me?
Noah. Are you sure?
Not sure, but try? Like as many feelings as you can get into one text.
The highway sped past in his mind as he tried to keep his breathing even, reminding himself that the people who loved him didn't think of him as a burden either. Probably.
You're endlessly fascinating, Noah. When I think about you, I just want to understand every little thing about you. I'm inspired and awed every time we talk.
Puck could feel himself gearing up to cry, but he didn't think that was going to affect much else about this experiment, so he just patted his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt and concentrated harder on the swooping power lines and the brown-yellow hills in his imagination. Keep going plz, he tapped out.
I'm so impressed by the breadth of your musical knowledge. I know it has zero to do with me, but I'm so fucking proud of you, it makes my heart so full. And Beth.
Beth? he prompted.
Well, I love her, but that's not exactly about how I feel about you. I just think, when we were together, the three of us, I felt like we were really a good team. I've never had that before with anyone. It was amazing.
He sniffled and wiped his nose. Try some sexy stuff?
Honey.
Just try, he urged.
You're the best kisser. And when you're chained to my bed, wearing your collar, I'm blown away by your gorgeous body, the way you submit to me. It's beautiful.
There was a gentle quivering in his gut, and he could feel the heat of his embarrassment turning his tears to acid on his cheeks, but that was all. I'm okay, he reported. That was okay.
Really? Because I'm a complete mess. Seriously, Noah, you just destroyed my makeup.
He had to laugh. I don't think it would work in person tho. Bodies are dangerous.
You're not giving up, though. I'm so proud of you. And knowing you want to try, that's the most important thing, to me. I don't care how long it takes.
Finn approached Sam with caution, making sure he saw it coming before putting a hand on his back, helping him bring the weight down carefully with the other hand. Sam gave him a little pouty glare.
"Hey, is that safe?" Finn asked gently. "With your shoulder messed up and all?"
"Doesn't feel messed up to me." Sam rotated his shoulder. "It's not like I'm trying to prove anything. I don't want to be quarterback."
He set his bag down next to the bench. "Well, Coach Beiste isn't going to replace me while we're winning."
"We can't win every game." Sam shuffled his feet, then sighed. "Look, I'm not trying to be a jerk. I still really admire you and stuff. It's just, I can't be seen in anybody's shadow. I have to look like I'm a—what did you call that?—a Top. I'm kind of on the cusp of being one of the most popular guys in school."
Finn crinkled his nose, watching Sam squirm under his gaze. "Wow. I, uh… I didn't think you were the type that cared about that stuff. Especially not you. You don't really want to be… a Top, do you?"
"Well, no," Sam admitted. "But—being a Top means you don't have to take crap from anybody! No teasing, no Slushie facials…"
He smiled. "Being a Top doesn't keep you from taking crap. Just like being a Top won't make you a shoo-in for quarterback. And it sure won't get Quinn to be your girlfriend."
"I'm working on that, too."
Finn offered him a fist-bump, and Sam accepted it with a little blush. "So, why are you bothering? She kind of likes being in charge of everybody."
Sam's eyes widened with sudden hope. "You mean… she's a Coach?"
"No, no, just—" Finn paused. "She's not. But I wouldn't push the control angle. Just let her know she's in control, that she can set the pace. You're not going to scare her away with that."
Watching Sam back away with his customary deference made Finn wonder. What would Quinn do if she knew about this option? Would she think it was insane? Or… maybe not?
He went to find Coach Beiste in her office, unpacking her knapsack, and knocked on the door frame. "Uh, Coach? Just wanted you to know about a—a new dynamic in Puck's life."
She eyed him as she beckoned him in and shut the door behind him. "If you're talking about Zizes, we spoke already. She's Irene's kid, she's got good training. And she's smart. As long as you and Kurt aren't options, if anybody else is going to help Puckerman get his act together, it's her."
Finn sighed and leaned on the wall, relaxing. "Well, that's a relief. She had him do a mile on the track this morning, and he looked okay. I'll keep you posted."
She nodded without looking up from her lesson plans. "Anything else?"
"There's… something Sam mentioned this morning."
At Sam's name, she gave him her full attention. It was a little like being inspected by a lion. "What's that?"
"Just, he's really into Quinn. And I think I know her pretty well, you know? She's not a pushover. She likes being in control. Like, maybe she'd—"
But the Coach had already lost interest. "No can do. I ain't gonna be the one to convince her to discipline her boyfriend, Finn, no matter how much of a natural she is." She gave him one more sharp look. "And you ain't either. It's got to come from her."
"Got it," he said hurriedly. He waved as he backed out of her office. Man, she was scary when she meant it.
It didn't occur to Puck until he was halfway to chemistry that he had no idea if Adam knew about what was going on with Lauren. Surely Kurt would have made sure to check with Adam before handing over control of him to someone else? Lauren was in physics with Kurt first hour while he and Finn had chemistry, and then he had math, but they would see each other in British Lit just before lunch.
Instead of sitting next to Mercedes in chemistry, the way he had been doing since his return from Oregon, Puck took the seat next to Finn. Finn gave him one startled glance, then focused his eyes straight ahead, on the board.
"Uh, hi," Puck said. "This… new thing, with Lauren."
"Yeah," Finn replied under his breath. "About that…"
He nudged Finn with his foot. "Just, thanks."
Finn didn't make eye contact, but Puck could feel his attention. "Yeah? That wasn't… it was good?"
"I think so, yeah."
He let out a shaky breath. "I didn't want you to think we were… you know, giving up on you or anything."
"No, it's kind of the opposite, right? Like Jeff with Blaine. He's doing what you can't." And me, Puck wanted to add, I talked to Blaine today, and it helped. But he didn't.
Finn's smile appeared and disappeared so quickly, Puck might have missed it. "Glad you see it that way. I'm not sure Kurt does, but… we'll figure it out."
Puck didn't say anything about the experiment with Adam, either, but he managed to sit by Finn for the entire period without thinking about having sex with him, which was kind of amazing.
Finn took off quickly when the bell rang, and then Puck's phone, his regular phone, buzzed with a text from him before he'd even left his seat. What he read left him unable to move.
Good boy.
Puck sprawled there, trembling and drowning in those words, for so long that the next class was coming in before he managed to collect himself.
Dave Karofsky paused in the doorway as he entered, looking Puck over, then came to stand beside him in the aisle. He kicked the desk.
"You're in my seat, Puckerman," he said. Then, much lower, "You okay?"
Puck swallowed on a dry mouth a couple times, nodding. "I'm—it's good. Yeah."
Dave's expression was dubious. "You, uh, want me to get anybody?"
He managed to make his limbs work well enough to stand up. Dave didn't make any contact with him, but somehow, being next to him felt like he was holding him up. Puck gave him a grateful smile. "Thanks."
Dave flushed and scowled, shoulder-checking Puck as he moved out from behind the desk. "Whatever."
He barely made it to his next class before the bell rang, but he paused in the hallway long enough to read a new text. This was, incredibly, from Dave.
I could meet you in the attic at lunch if you need to talk.
"Whoa," he murmured, blinking, and smiled. Then he scooted into the room and took a seat in the middle row beside the door.
Ms. Chapman, his math teacher, stopped in the middle of taking attendance to stare at him. "Are you… actually in this class, Noah?"
"Probably," he said. "I am today, anyway."
Finn sat across the room from him, so Puck couldn't see his expression, but the good boy burned in his chest as he opened his notebook to the page bearing the homework he'd done last night.
Everything that had been said to him today had felt good. He imagined himself setting each thing on the table in front of him, like it was a condiment to go with a meal: Finn's good boy; Dave's I could meet you in the attic; Adam's I'm so proud of you; Blaine's this was really unexpected and wonderful. And underlying it all was Lauren's do the math before you go to bed, lights out by ten-thirty. That wasn't even the meal; it was more like… like the table on which the meal was set.
That was why, he realized, with shocking certainty. It was Lauren. Lauren made everything else feel good. And she'd barely done anything, and it was… everything.
Math could hardly keep his attention after that, but he copied down the things Ms. Chapman wrote on the board, figuring he could make sense of them later. After class, as he put his notebook into his backpack, he felt his skin buzzing with energy, and yet at the same time he felt incredibly peaceful.
Lauren took one look at him in the hallway as they approached Brit Lit and let out an incredulous laugh.
"Okay, no." She took hold of his elbow and steered him in the other direction. "That's where you are? Let's do this."
With one hand she opened the door to the empty courtyard beside the lunchroom, and with the other, she gave him a not-too-gentle push between his shoulder blades. He staggered a little, then turned to face her. Before he could open his mouth, she put a finger to his lips.
"You are not permitted to be in subspace at school," she said.
He would have protested if her finger hadn't been limiting his motion, no, it's not like that, I'm just— Then he nodded.
Lauren regarded him with exasperation, then shook her head, letting her hand fall to her side. She began to laugh. "For fuck's sake, Puckerman. Is this all you needed all along?"
The question hit him like a locomotive. He gulped, then felt his eyes fill with tears. Her expression softened, but her smile did not fade.
"I'm sorry," he gasped, putting a hand to his mouth. She calmly pulled it back down and held it, her grip firm on his wrist.
"That's enough of that," she said. He'd never heard her sound so kind. It made him cry harder. She sounded—her voice was just like—
"Like Lady Tess," he whispered.
She chuckled, looking pleased. "Only in my wildest aspirations. But thanks for the ego boost. Now, you can either go sit in the nurse's office, and I'll call Mr. Hummel to come get you, or you can manufacture a spine, come to class, and pretend you have already read the first eighteen chapters of Great Expectations."
"No, I'm—I can do it." He wiped his eyes, doing his best to stand taller. "I'm fine."
Lauren sighed, shaking her head. "Puckerman, you are so far from fine. You'd need two hours of driving to get even within a mile of fine."
"It's only life, after all," he sang obediently. She stopped in her tracks.
"What?" she spluttered.
He smiled, hesitating, and when she didn't yell at him, he replied, "Closer to Fine, by—"
"I know it's that song. You know that song?"
"Kind of been my whole world for the last year and a half," he said.
"All right. We clearly have some chatting to do. After football practice." She towed him along, and he followed, not objecting when she switched her grip on his wrist to clasping his hand. Now to the casual observer it would look like they were walking together, as equals.
But not to Kurt, Puck thought. He watched Kurt's eyes track them with concern and distrust as they entered the room. Finn already had people sitting by him, but there was an empty seat beside Kurt. Lauren looked at Puck, considering, then nodded permission. Puck went right to the seat and sat down.
As he drew closer, Kurt did that same not-looking thing that Finn had done earlier, and Puck felt a rush of love for him. They're taking care of me, all the time.
"It's okay," Puck said quietly. "I want to be next to you."
Kurt's face shifted from surprise to pleasure. He glanced curiously at Lauren. "What did she do?" he whispered back.
"Nothing." Puck smiled at his desk. "Everything."
Finn let the forced smile on his face drop away as his mother and Burt walked away arm in arm. He closed his locker and furrowed his brow at Kurt.
"A Glee wedding?" he hissed. "What are you thinking? What do they think they're doing?"
Kurt beamed at Finn. "They're following their hearts. It's just what I told Carole. Just because things are uncertain doesn't mean they should refrain from moving forward with their own lives. And look at them! They were so happy." He rested a hand on Finn's arm. "You're not going to begrudge them that, are you?"
Finn was saved from answering by both of their phones buzzing simultaneously.
"It's Noah," said Kurt. He gave Finn one more hopeful smile. "Meet you upstairs."
They were well practiced at giving each other enough time to get to the third floor. Finn opened his locker again and rearranged things for no reason, counting forty-five seconds, before closing it again and heading toward the staircase by the choir room—and running directly into Dave.
"Dude," he protested, and Dave took a step back, glancing at the stairs. Finn paused. "Oh—you're—"
"Watch where you're going, Hudson," he snarled. "Fucking spaz."
Dave continued down the hall, as though he'd been going that way all along, leaving Finn free to head up the stairs. Who knows, maybe he had been, Finn thought. But no; he'd seen the initial expression on Dave's face. He'd been worried, not angry.
Finn decided to wait at the top of the staircase, sitting on the top step instead of heading directly into their attic room. Sure enough, Dave appeared less than a minute later.
"Sorry," he said. Now he didn't sound even a little angry. Finn shook his head, grinning.
"Man, you are fucking scary."
Dave's face went blank for a few seconds. He paused a couple steps below where Finn sat, his standing gaze even with Finn's seated one.
"Making it look good is the goal," he said. "I'm the bad guy here. Right?"
"Yeah, if you're trying to get in trouble?"
Dave shrugged. "Somebody's got to do it." He gestured at the door. "Go ahead."
Finn unlocked the door and caught Puck mid-sentence. "—was easy after that, and I just thought, maybe I could do it? And I asked him to tell me how he felt about me. And it was—fine. I mean, I could listen, and I could feel it, but it didn't feel bad." Puck paused, shivering. "Even when he talked about cuffing me to the bed."
Finn cleared his throat. Puck looked over and beckoned them in, still smiling and eager, but Kurt froze when he saw Dave.
"Hey," Dave said, his voice low. "I don't really have to—"
"No, you really do." Puck pointed at Dave, until he and Kurt were facing each other. "Kurt's really sorry about kissing you in the locker room."
"I—I really am," Kurt agreed, alternately glaring at Puck and beseeching Dave with his eyes.
Dave looked more defeated than cornered. "It's fine."
"It's not really, but I think we may have bigger fish to fry at the moment." Kurt touched him on the shoulder. "Can you forgive me?"
Dave's eyes closed, and he let out a disbelieving laugh. "Are you kidding me? Can I—?" When he opened them again, he sighed. "Yeah, okay, whatever. So what's going on here?"
"I realized something. I texted Santana too, but I guess she's not coming? Anyway… I was telling Kurt what happened this morning, when I was talking with Adam?" Puck paused, his face draining of color, as he stared at Kurt. "I mean—shit."
"No, no," Kurt soothed, "Dave already knows about Adam."
"Adam," echoed Dave. He licked his lips. "Jesus. Yeah."
"Yeah. Good." Puck took a deep breath. Finn could see his hands trembling, but he didn't seem to notice, his words coming out quickly. "So I realized why it's okay now. Or why I think it's okay. It's because of Lauren taking charge of me. That means everything I was ashamed of feeling, that's her responsibility now. I'm not allowed to feel guilty about it, because…" He opened his hands, his face clear and open as he gazed at Finn.
"Because she's taking it on for you," Finn said. It was the first time he'd seen Puck look directly at him since before he'd left for Oregon. He tried smiling at him, and when Puck smiled back, it was like being hit with a physical blow. Finn swallowed. "Wow."
"I know. And I thought this morning, probably, I wouldn't be able to actually do anything with, like, touching, because that would be too… but now, I don't know?" He tilted his head at Kurt. "Maybe?"
Kurt watched Puck hungrily. Finn was also painfully aware of Dave standing right there next to him, looking like he wished the bookshelf would fall on him and put him out of his misery. But before Finn could say anything, Dave let out a little laugh.
"Hey, don't hold back on my account," he said. "He's your boyfriend."
Kurt took a tentative step toward Puck, then another, until he was right in front of him. "Noah…I don't want to push you…"
But then Finn remembered, with abrupt clarity, a night that summer, watching Puck kneeling over Blaine on the bed at Toby's house, urging Puck to put the pressure on.
"Baby," he said sharply, "push him."
"Oh—!" Kurt's eyes cleared. He reached out, not to put his arms around Puck, but to take hold of his chin in one hand. Puck's breathing sped up, but he didn't move. Kurt's eyes roamed across his face as he smiled in approval.
"That's right," Kurt murmured. He turned his smile toward Finn. "He doesn't really have a choice, does he? Because it's about what I want."
Finn watched Puck's eyes flutter closed for a moment before he wrenched them back open again. He nodded at Kurt. He didn't look sick. He just looked grateful.
"Yeah," Finn whispered. "That's it."
Then Kurt did hug him, and Puck hugged him right back, and both of them were laughing and crying in relief. There was no kissing or overt sexual touching, but Finn figured that that hurdle was probably best leapt at home, anyway.
Dave, who had been standing very still through this whole exchange, stirred. He leaned over to Finn in obvious confusion.
"This—" He gestured at Puck and Kurt, still wrapped up in each other. "—it really doesn't bother you?"
Finn smiled, trying not to make it look like he was laughing at Dave, because Dave was clearly not asking this to be an asshole. He really was trying to understand. "No. It doesn't. It's kind of the best thing ever."
"Huh." Dave's eyes wandered back to them. He still seemed a little embarrassed, but only a little, and he didn't look away.
"So that's what you have to do," Puck said to Kurt, as though there had been no break in the conversation. "When you go to Dalton."
"I don't get how that's going to help, though," said Dave. "I saw the way Blaine gave in on the staircase, when I—" He paused, chewing his lip.
"When you pushed him," Kurt said quietly. "Like you said, in the locker room."
Dave nodded, looking at the floor. "When I did that, he just… surrendered. But he still didn't recognize me, or you, or acknowledge what was going on. How would it be better if Kurt did that at Dalton?"
"I think he's been trained to let other people tell him what's important his whole life," Finn said. "He's not going to stop giving in to the people who hold the power, so he needs the right person in power. It can't be me, not as long as his dad is watching him so closely, but if we can somehow convince him that person is Kurt…"
"You can convince him," Puck said to Kurt. He sounded completely certain. "Blaine needs to know you're in charge, baby, that you're going to take on all the stuff he feels ashamed of. Then, he can give it up—if you're there to tell him it's the right thing to do. He'll need you to tell him he's—he's a good boy." He took a shaky breath. "He'll need to hear that a lot, because he's going to forget. A lot."
"And he's not going to recognize when he's okay and when he's not," said Dave. Kurt looked at him in surprise, and Dave gave a half-shrug. "He never did."
"He still never does," Kurt said, smiling faintly. He turned back to Puck and took both his hands. "Come on. You need to eat something. Lauren's going to be worried about you. And I didn't even tell you about the wedding."
"What wedding?" Puck said, letting himself be towed. Finn shook his head, watching them go out the door.
"Zizes?" Dave said, sounding mystified. "Really?"
"She knows what she's doing," said Finn. "And he responds to her, like he did to me, to us. He needs to do that, to… serve. "
"Serve." Dave's face did contortions. "Like, cooking for you and… stuff?"
"And stuff," Finn agreed.
Dave's face went scarlet. "Fuck." He paused, then added, like he was dreading the answer, "What's that like?"
"Heavy," said Finn. "It's a big responsibility, being in charge of somebody like that. I messed up big time, more than once."
"Yeah, but he trusts you." Dave gave him a sour look. It was the same look Finn saw Kurt give Lauren the night before, in the library, when she'd made her proposal. It made Finn consider that statement differently.
"Dave," he said, as gently as he could, "just because I'm not jealous doesn't mean you can't be."
Dave shook his head. "I don't want what they have. I just want regular things."
"Normal things."
"I didn't say that." Dave glared at him. "I don't think Puck's abnormal for wanting… what he wants. Or you, or Kurt, or anybody. It's not about that."
Finn waited, nodding. "So… what is it?"
"You really don't want to know," Dave muttered. But he stayed there, not even glancing at the door. Finn nodded again.
"What's the big deal that Puck trusts me? Maybe I don't deserve it?"
"No," Dave spat. "You do. You're the big deal. Everybody trusts you, everybody admires you. You're Blaine's big deal now, just like you were Puck's big deal in elementary school. You're quarterback and Glee superstar. And what am I? A big fat fucking joke."
"Uh, Dave?" Finn scratched his head. "I'm not actually quarterback at the moment. And you? Aren't you hockey captain? Top of our class, probably headed for valedictorian?"
Dave shook his head like he was getting rid of an annoying fly. "What do you care about any of those things?"
"What do you care what I think?"
The answer didn't hit him until Dave went silent. Oh. Then he felt his awareness shift a little, putting everything Dave had said about him and Blaine and Puck into focus. It wasn't about Kurt, or Puck, or even Blaine.
He searched for something to say that wouldn't sound like either a retraction or a consolation prize, because Dave didn't deserve either.
"Kurt trusts you, Dave," he said. "Puck does, too, or he wouldn't have invited you up here for this. And so do I. None of us think you're a joke. Especially not me. Not just because we love somebody in common. Because this year, for the first time, I got a sense of how lonely it is to have to hide the truth about myself, about who I love. You've been doing that your whole life. I admire that about you."
"Not really something to admire." Throughout Finn's little speech, his face had gotten redder and redder. "It's pretty fucking weak if you ask me."
Finn smiled. "I thought you were asking what I think."
"I know what you think," Dave said. It wasn't quite a challenge, or a question. He was just watching Finn.
"Well," said Finn, "maybe you do, and maybe you don't."
Dave blew out a breath. "You think you can convince me of that?"
"I think I'm not going to try." He didn't move any closer to Dave, or do anything to scare him away. "Because things around here are complicated enough right now, don't you think?"
"You got that right." Dave looked around the attic, shaking his head. "Way too fucking complicated."
That familiar tough-guy Dave was back, dressed in his fake armor. Finn wasn't going to begrudge him that. This was more vulnerable than he'd expected to get from Dave, and that was going to have to be enough for now. But now, Finn knew that Dave was… watching him. It was a curious feeling to know that. And now, Dave knew Finn knew he was watching.
Finn held the door open for him. "Are you really teaching an SAT study group on Thursday nights?"
Dave shrugged, heading down the stairs. "At the moment. Not sure if they'll want to keep paying me to teach it if I get kicked out of school for threatening some kid's life."
"I still don't think that's the best strategy."
He gave Finn a wan smile. "You got a better one?"
They walked in silence to the first floor, and Dave disappeared down the hall without him.
"So the wedding's when?" asked Lauren. She paged through her book.
"A week from Friday." Puck turned off the hand mixer, setting it on its side, with the beaters hanging over the edge of the large aluminum bowl, and picked up a silicone spatula. He wished he'd thought to bring his KitchenAid over to Lauren's.
"Not really a lot of time to plan a wedding. Why so fast?" The questions were delivered casually, almost like she was bored with the topic, but Puck was starting to understand how Lauren worked.
"No idea. I guess they decided it was time. They've been together almost a year." He grinned, scraping the creamed butter and sugar off the sides of the bowl. "I always thought it was awesome. Burt and Carole would be great together even if they weren't Kurt and Finn's parents."
"And your parents," she said. "After Burt adopts you and Sarah."
"One big happy weird family," he agreed. He cracked an egg into the small bowl, beating it with a fork before dumping it into the larger bowl. "But now it's more complicated than it was."
"Yeah, I don't think it gets more complicated than this, Puckerman." Lauren turned another page and nodded at the bowl. "But you said this isn't wedding cake."
"Birthday cake. Sarah's twelve on Wednesday." He added a second egg, then a third. "My Ma always made us cake."
"So now it's your job."
He considered this as he poured in the vanilla. "Well, kind of. We sort of tag-teamed it this year."
"How was that?"
"Better than I expected," he admitted. "I don't really like sharing the kitchen with anybody but Sarah. But at Tessera, I worked with some of James' chefs, and they were good. I learned stuff. And everybody made the cake for my birthday last July."
"Sure, I helped. But nobody would do it instead of you. It's expected. So, you'll make the wedding cake for Burt and Carole."
She paused, but when Puck didn't reply, she tapped the counter with her nails.
"I—I don't know," he said quickly. "They haven't asked."
She narrowed her eyes, setting the book aside. "That's because they shouldn't have to, Puckerman. It's what you do. There's no question here. You'll make their goddamn wedding cake."
He watched her with mounting desperation. "Maybe they want to pay somebody else to do it instead. Somebody who isn't—"
"Isn't what?" she demanded. When he cringed, she sighed and set the book down on the counter. "Can you leave that for a while without wrecking it?"
He looked back and forth from the preheated oven to her exasperated face. "I—I'd rather get it in the oven. If that's okay. It'll take forty minutes to bake."
"Fine. Come on, finish up."
Puck's hands shook as he added some of the flour-baking powder-salt mixture, then beat in some milk, going back and forth with the dry and wet ingredients, until it was all in. Lauren walked around the counter to investigate as he poured the batter into the pans.
"What're those?" She pointed at the moistened aluminum-covered fabric, fastened around each cake pan with velcro.
He licked his lips, trying to maintain enough focus to explain. "They're… they insulate the, you know, to make it bake more evenly, so the cakes come out flat on the—"
"Okay, okay, I got it." She opened the oven for him, waiting impatiently as he arranged the cakes to his satisfaction inside. After he closed the oven, she plucked the oven mitts off his hands, setting them on the counter. "Timer?"
"Already set, on my—you know." He held up his phone.
Lauren laughed out loud, then took his hand, leading him toward the stairs.
"Nouns are the first thing to go. But damn, Puckerman, I've never seen anybody drop into subspace as easily as you do." She extracted the phone from his hand before herding him up the stairs in front of her. "Left at the top, first door on the right."
Lauren's room was messier than even Finn's, the floor covered with stacks of books and dirty clothes and boxes of electronics. Her desk was outfitted with two screens and what looked like a complicated array of audiovisual components, and opaque curtains kept the room dark. While he hesitated in the doorway, she picked up a folded blanket and tossed it across the bed, tucking it under the mattress on all corners.
He swallowed on a dry throat while she looked around the room with a frown.
"First time, for me, Puckerman, doing this with a dude at my own house. But I suppose we're more friends than strangers." She patted the bed. "Have a seat, and let's talk this through."
While he settled on the edge of the bed, she closed the door, then wheeled the desk chair over and sat to face him, holding something in her hands.
"Is it okay for us to be here?" he asked.
"My folks respect my privacy, if that's what you're asking, but nobody will be home until seven-thirty. My dad works in Toledo and my mom's at a conference until Tuesday." She regarded him matter-of-factly. "So here's the deal: I'm used to handing out pain. I know the difference between harm and hurt. I don't leave marks in spots you can't cover up, and I'm not going to ask you to stay quiet, which means you get to holler all you want, and nobody's going to mind, least of all me. But I'm accustomed to going into this with somebody who has some sense of their boundaries and limits." She tilted her head a fraction. "Right now, I don't know if you even know what those are."
He wondered if he should respond, and decided against it, since she hadn't asked him a question, but she nodded as though he had.
"Yeah. So this is going to be hit or miss. No pun intended. Meaning I'm going to try things, and you're going to try to stay aware enough to tell me how it's going. I'm not going to ask if that's okay; I already got the contract from your guys, and you're not in any shape to give adequate consent right now anyway." She took a long breath. "And here's another thing: aftercare. This ain't a brothel, and I get the sense this has always been wrapped up in sex for you. So we're going to play that by ear. No matter what you say or do, you're not going to embarrass me, but you're also going to ask permission for everything, and I'm going to say no to some of it. Got that?"
"Yes, ma'am," he said. Her words were washing over him like a warm breeze, making his skin prickle with goosebumps, but he didn't feel worried about anything she'd said so far. She nodded again.
"Now. This business about no safe words, I'm not cool with that. If you don't have one you like, I'm going with aardvark, because it's awesome, and plus you can say it while gagged."
She tossed him the thing she was holding; he fumbled it, then looked at it more closely. It looked like a whiffle ball attached to a buckle and strap.
"Try it," she offered. "It's clean. You know you want to."
While he verified that he could indeed say aardvark with the whiffle ball in his mouth, she handed him a small disc.
"You'll hold this dog clicker in your hand, too, just in case you get too nonverbal."
He clicked it a few times. "I really don't think I'm going to need—"
"Subs never do," she cut him off, "until they need them. The gag is optional; the safe word isn't. All right?"
He subsided, nodding, then added, "Yes ma'am."
"Next: why we're doing this." This time, when she sat back down, she looked more thoughtful. "That's part of the puzzle. But I need you to know, it's not meant to be therapy, or anti-therapy, or anything like that. I hope you can figure out how to get back to the way things used to be for you, because some serious wires in your brain have been reconfigured to tell you that sex with guys is bad, but that's up to you, not me." She peered into his face. "Tell me, do you honestly believe that it is bad?"
He bit his lip, then shook his head. "I think… I felt ashamed that I didn't, even afterward."
Lauren's lip twitched. "So your conclusion is that you're bad, because you can't convince yourself that sex with guys is bad?"
She didn't laugh at him when he hung his head, but she did tug him to his feet, taking the clicker and the whiffle ball gag from him.
"Shame, I can deal with," she said. "Let's start with that. Strip. You can keep your boxers on if you want."
Then she reached over and pulled a crate off the shelf, which turned out to be full of leather gear, piles of buckles and straps in more configurations than Puck could identify. But instead of cuffs or other restraints, she dug out what looked to be two rolls of tape, one blue, one black.
"Pick one," she said.
He took the blue, inspecting it. It was as wide as duct tape, but it wasn't sticky. "What is it?"
She broke into a crafty smile. "Mmmm. Haven't encountered bondage tape yet, huh? Useful stuff. Now, first time out, let's stay in your wheelhouse. Paddle, crop, that kind of thing?"
Puck ditched his clothes on the floor, including his boxers, and let her stretch him out, spread-eagle and face down on the bed. "Flogger," he muttered.
"Takes too long," she said dismissively. "We've got nineteen minutes left. But I'll keep it in mind. Hold this."
She helped him place his fingers around curved portions of her bed frame, perfectly shaped to be gripped from a prone position. Then she wrapped the smooth bondage tape up and down his wrists and forearms and hands and around the bed frame, so it was almost like he was wearing a long glove bound to the frame. It wasn't wrapped tightly, so he could shift his angle somewhat, but when he tried to tug away, he couldn't budge from where he was.
"Good so far?" Lauren tucked the clicker into his right hand, moving into his line of sight to see his face as he nodded. "Verbally, Puckerman."
"Good," he whispered. She smiled, shaking her head, and stroked the edge of his face with one finger.
"You are so fucked," she whispered back. He shuddered and closed his eyes.
He had a vague sense of her fastening the other arm, and then his ankles in a similar way, his feet resting against platforms against which he could push, but not really move more than a few inches.
"Blanket's lined on the inside with waterproof fabric," she said briskly, "so don't worry about fluids. Whatever comes out of you, we'll throw it in the laundry afterward. Now, I'm going to touch your shoulder." She rested a hand there. "Back." She moved a second hand to the small of his back before removing the first hand. "Ass. Thigh. Arm. Calf. Foot. Hand. Neck. Everything okay? Nothing's tight or tickling?"
"M'fine," he said, his voice muffled by the blanket. It smelled pleasantly clean.
She returned her hand to his neck, but this time she didn't touch. He could feel it hovering there, just millimeters above the surface of his skin. Slowly, it moved up, above his head, then back down to the center of his back, and lower, to the base of his spine, and then to the space between his legs.
"This is the surface of the paddle." She touched it to his buttock, pressing lightly and firmly. "You're going to feel it here, and here, and here." She moved it to a different place each time, holding the paddle against him. "It's going to make a loud noise when it hits you. It's going to hurt, a lot. Don't try to get away from the pain. Let it inside you. Let it become part of you. Do you understand?"
"… No?"
She chuckled. "That's okay. You will."
The ssslap of the paddle against his skin was familiar, even comforting. It had been far too many weeks since anyone had done this for him. Lauren's pace was quicker than Kurt's, but slower than Adam's.
When his skin began to sting, he shifted on the bed. She didn't say anything, but she did pause her strokes until he settled down again. Then she went on, using the same deliberate pace as before. Other than the sound of the impact and his own breathing, the room was quiet.
Puck felt like the paddle and his ass were growing larger, like they were not only the focus of each strike, but the focus of everything everywhere. He thought that perhaps the motion of the paddle was going to become the focus of the whole world, this world of impact-rest-impact that he'd entered at Lauren's behest. She held the paddle, and he accepted it. He found himself falling into a rhythm of breathing, like walking, each stroke taking him another step down a path. He could almost feel it under his feet. He flexed his toes.
"That's it," she urged, but her voice came from far away.
The cobbles of the path were cold beneath his bare toes. The ssslap was almost impossible to hear now, in this quiet canopy under the trees.
Noah pushed aside the vines that hung from the limbs of the tree to see an empty clearing. There was a bench, and a patch of grass, but that was all. He looked up at the scudding clouds, feeling the sun pass into shadow, and he shivered.
Nobody knows I'm here, he thought. Maybe I'm lost.
He wondered if he should call out, but something kept him silent, listening. With careful steps, he backed away from the clearing.
The cobbled stones gave way to a well-worn path that took him toward a larger field, and further, along a rocky promontory that promised to afford a view of the area. Noah thought he could hear the sound of surf, slapping the shore with the force of its relentless tide. He looked up the path, wondering how far he could go.
"Can you hear me?" came a familiar voice from behind him.
"I'm here," he replied.
He shifted, feeling pressure in his head. Not a headache, but a buildup of that buzzy energy he'd sensed while texting with Blaine this morning. Blaine. There was a pang in his heart, and he felt wetness on his cheeks. He turned his face into the blanket.
"There you are," Lauren murmured, and now her voice was right beside his ear, her hands moving him. "I'm going to unbind your wrists so you can lie on your side. Here, I'm touching your arm."
The words let him feel what she was doing, and suddenly Puck realized he was in Lauren's room, on her bed, covered in sweat. Lauren was unfastening his ankles. The entire surface of his backside was throbbing and hot.
"Ow," he said. She let out a very soft, incredulous laugh.
"Now you say that? Touching your leg. That's it, carefully, bend… yeah, like that." She guided his stiff limbs into his chest, until he was curled into a loose ball on his side. Then she pulled a sheet all the way from his feet to his chin, covering him up. He took a shaky breath, trying to orient himself.
"My head."
She brushed the sweat off his brow with the edge of the sheet. Her face was there beside him, but he couldn't quite focus on it. "You think you can drink a little water?"
He nodded, and she produced a cup with a straw. She helped him raise up just enough to put the straw in his mouth, and he swallowed a little, then closed his eyes, returning to the bed.
"I can get you something for your head, but I want to wait until you've come down a little more."
"No, not—not hurting." Puck wrinkled his brow. "Feels—full. Face is tingly."
"Okay. Let's try this: can you take a deep breath?" She watched him try. "Then, hold it… then, let it out, slowly. Then wait… Okay, do it again, and this time, breathe into your back, and out your face."
Her voice was so reasonable, and reality so tenuous, that this command didn't seem impossible. He tried it, and felt some of the tingling subside. "Better," he reported.
"Good. Do that a couple times, slowly. I'm going to touch your wrist."
He felt her check his vitals while he did the weird back-face breathing thing. It made him think about being monitored by Doctor Carl in his office, so long ago, before Puck really even knew him. They'd been through so much together since then. He wondered how Carl was now.
Puck opened his eyes. His vision was more clear now. Lauren was watching him solemnly, sitting on her chair by the edge of the bed.
"You're taking good care of me," he murmured.
"It's what you need." Lauren took one of his hands in both of hers, and dug her thumbs into the muscle between his thumb and forefinger. He felt more of the tension slide away. "You can't go that far down without taking a lot of care on the way back."
"I was—there was a path. Into the trees." Puck struggled to articulate the pictures that remained in his head, what he'd seen there. It had been almost a dream, but not quite. "There was… a bench, in a clearing. But nobody was there. It was empty." Suddenly this seemed completely unacceptable. He felt tears welling up.
"You were alone," she prompted, listening. She didn't seem concerned by the tears, and he didn't try to stop them.
"It was deserted. Somebody should have been there, and they weren't."
She nodded. "Where do you think they were?"
"Lost," he whispered. "They're lost and they can't find their way back home."
She nodded again. "You think you need a hug?"
The question was diffident. For a second Puck thought it might just be hypothetical, but when he looked more closely at her face, he saw the way she was hesitating.
"I seriously do," he said. "Is that okay?"
"I think we can manage something. Hang on… I'm going to help you up. Don't go very far," she added, with a warning hand. "I've seen dudes pass out at this point."
He managed to raise up to a semi-sitting position, though Lauren was taking most of his weight in her arms. With her encouragement, he relaxed against her, feeling her warmth and softness. "Man, you are strong."
"Wrestling does that to a body." She pulled him into her chest with gentle pressure, drawing him closer a little at a time, until he was all but curled up in her lap. "How's this?"
Puck gave up trying to support his own body. Clearly, she had him. He let out a sigh of contentment as he melted into her. "S'wonderful."
"You are a whole bundle of surprises, Puckerman. How's your ass?"
"Hurts."
"Yeah, no kidding. That lexan paddle doesn't mess around, but you didn't make one sound. For a while, I couldn't get any words out of you at all." She gathered him in tighter, and when he made a happy humming noise, she chuckled. "Next time, I'm going to use a different tool. And we're not going to have any time limits. I want to see where you end up when I don't have to haul you back out of subspace to get your cake out of the oven. You think you can get yourself dressed in two minutes and thirty seconds?"
Puck fished his clothes off the floor and carefully drew his boxers over his tight, stinging behind. The blanket was moist with his sweat and tears. Belatedly, he rested a hand on the center of the bed, feeling the wet spot. "I think I—uh… I might have—"
"Happens," she said, shrugging. "Not really something you could control. Bodies do shit, and we're kind of along for the ride. All I could do was make you comfortable and see what happened."
He untucked the blanket from the corners of the bed, gathering the sheet up inside in a bundle. It did appear to be dry underneath. "Why did you care if I was comfortable if you were just going to beat the crap out of me anyway?"
"Because when you're in subspace, you don't always realize you're uncomfortable until it's too late." She took his hand and held it firmly. "You're not back yet, either. I'm not going to carry you down the stairs, but take it slow, okay?"
They made it to the kitchen a few seconds before the timer went off. Lauren hovered close while Puck took the cakes out, setting them carefully on the wire rack to cool. "In ten minutes, they'll come out of the pans," he said, turning the oven off.
"That's fine." She was already herding him back out of the kitchen and into the family room. "In the meantime, I think that couch is calling our name."
Lauren all but picked him up and put him on the couch, sitting right beside him. When he rested against her shoulder, she sighed, nodding.
"You okay?" he had to ask. "I mean, I know it's not my job to care, but…"
She patted his hand. "Intense sessions are intense for everybody. And that was not exactly what I expected would happen, but it's cool, I can roll with this."
"Not what most guys do when you, uh." Discipline wasn't what she'd given him, and beat their ass just sounded disrespectful. "What you take them apart and put them back together?"
"You could say that," she agreed. "But I'll figure you out."
"I'm, um." He moved his hand so it was inside hers. She clasped it, holding it. "I guess I'm having trouble figuring out what you're getting out of this."
"Yeah. Like you said, not your job."
"But isn't there something I can—"
"Shh," she said. "Just… be still. We've got a long road ahead of us."
Puck found himself breathing in sync with her, in-hold-out-hold, feeling all the pieces of himself letting go with each cycle. At one point she put her arm around his shoulder. He turned his face into her neck. She smelled like the blanket.
"You want me to do the laundry?" he asked.
"Shut up, Puckerman," she whispered, and, finally, he obeyed.
Well darkness has a hunger that's insatiable
And lightness has a call that's hard to hear
I wrap my fear around me like a blanket
I sailed my ship of safety 'til I sank it
I'm crawling on your shores
- The Indigo Girls, "Closer to Fine"