Any Minute Now Chapter 44: Furt Part 2, a glee fanfic

(Author's note: If you had trouble accepting the mystical experience (what I call "woo-woo") that came out of Puck's pain-inspired submissive journey in the last chapter, I hope you are willing to cope with this next chapter. Luckily, supernatural events are only tangentially important to the rest of the story. Actual Glee is far more non-mimetetic than the Donutverse, but I think Donutverse Puck has a connection to otherworldly forces, whether he likes it or not.

More adjusted quoting from 2x08, continued "coaching" here from Carl and Lauren, plus singing, birthday cake, physical restraints, and complex m/m/m D/s dynamics. -amy)

Sam caught Finn in the hallway as he was getting in line for lunch. "I did it," he boasted, bouncing on his toes. "I did what you said. I offered myself to Quinn."

"Okay," Finn said slowly, "so… what exactly did that involve?"

"Well, I told her I would be true to her, and I'd never pressure her to do more than she wanted to do. And that I would listen to her problems, and move heavy things for her whenever she wanted." His eyes shone. "And I gave her a ring."

"Whoa." Finn glanced through the window to the cafeteria to where Quinn sat, eating across from her friends. She seemed calm, but he didn't see a ring on her finger. "What did she say to that?"

"She said maybe." He said it like it was the best possible answer.

Finn had to smile, remembering. "Sometimes it doesn't get any better than maybe. So what are you hoping she'll do now?"

"I don't know. Be my girlfriend? Maybe let me take her out to dinner? Cheer for me at games?" He shrugged. "I don't think she's really ready for much more than that, you know? She doesn't want to risk getting pregnant again, but more importantly, she needs to trust somebody before she lets them that close. I'm not going to rush it."

He felt himself relax. "Wow, that's pretty cool of you, Sam. I'm glad you're thinking about what she needs."

"Uh, yeah, kind of all the time?" Sam laughed. "That's what's so great about what I get from the Coach. She helps me deal with my own stuff, the hard stuff, so I can focus on what's really important for the people I care about."

Finn watched Sam head to lunch, feeling somewhat shaken. It wasn't a new thought, making sure he got what he needed in order to be a good Top for Kurt or Puck, but it was the first time he'd considered it in terms of what he could do for them. It's pretty clear what Blaine needs, but what does Kurt need? How about Puck? Or even Rachel? How am I supposed to even know that?

He managed to beg a sandwich and a carton of milk off Millie Rose the lunch lady before the cafeteria closed. It was a short walk to American Government from there, but Finn retraced his steps back to Kurt's locker instead. The smile Kurt gave Finn was brilliant.

"You're really getting into this wedding," he said, nodding at the cake topper in his locker. Kurt laughed.

"I've been planning weddings since I was two. I know our folks said they don't want to make it a big deal, but Carole's never had a wedding, and I want her to have something special."

"Something special would be nice," Finn agreed. "Any ideas?"

"Only eight thousand. But maybe we can stick with the ones that don't involve releasing live doves indoors." Kurt tilted his head playfully. "Any chance I could get you to dance with my dad?"

Finn considered this. "Uh—yeah, sure? I mean, I'm a terrible dancer, so I'm not sure that's exactly safe, but I'll do it. Isn't that a little unusual, the best man dancing with the groom?"

"Well, I thought if Noah and I dance with your mom, and you and Sarah dance with my dad, then we're covering all the bases. And my dad already said he wanted to dance with Carole, so I can teach you all at the same time. And we can each write a best man speech. Er, best person. I'm not even sure what role Sarah will be playing, but she'll be the best something."

"That's awesome," Finn said, grinning. "Thanks. It's a plan."

Kurt picked up the cake topper as Finn strode away. When he closed his locker, Dave Karofsky was standing right behind it. Kurt jumped a little, and not just for show. Dave's expression was appropriately menacing, and in a moment like that, it wasn't easy to let go of all the history they had.

"We're on," Dave whispered. He came closer, one step at a time. Kurt could see Mr. Schue watching them from down the hall, and he felt a prickle of unease.

"I don't want you doing this," Kurt told him quietly.

Dave tilted his head and tapped Kurt on the chest with a finger. "Not your choice, Hummel." He leaned in close, looming over him, and plucked the bride-and-groom cake topper out of Kurt's hand. No one could mistake the intent in Dave's leer. Kurt drew back against his locker, cringing.

"Make it count," Dave said, and gave Kurt a tight nod. "And… thanks."

He slid the cake topper into his letterman jacket and sauntered on down the hall. Mr. Schue was on Kurt in an instant.

"Are you okay, Kurt?" he said anxiously. Kurt shook his head, and he didn't have to fake the tears that threatened to fall. "Let's go talk to the principal."

Sue's interrogation was kinder than Kurt had expected. And, thankfully, she said the magic words in front of Mr. Schue, I can't expel a kid for terrifying you.

"I'm so sorry, Kurt," Mr. Schue said he walked Kurt to class. "But just because Principal Sylvester won't do anything about it doesn't mean we can't watch out for you, like we did last year. Glee club can be on full detail. There's strength in numbers."

"Thanks," said Kurt, trying to disguise his disappointment. He gave Mr. Schue a wan smile. "Hey, I hope you're able to come to dad and Carole's wedding? You and Toby are both invited."

"I wouldn't miss it. Maybe I could sing something too, along with Glee?"

Kurt agreed to send him a link to the spreadsheet schedule of guest performers. It hadn't escaped Kurt's notice that Mr. Schue hadn't said Toby would be there, but that didn't mean it was settled. He resolved to follow up with Toby himself.

I think we have enough evidence now to confront my dad about transferring, Kurt texted Finn and Dave on the way to class. Principal Sylvester won't punish Dave for threatening me unless he actually touches me, but if Mr. Schue tells my dad how upset I've been, it should be sufficient.

When? Dave asked.

After Thanksgiving. I don't want to stress him out. He's still not well.

Whatever you say, Kurt.

Finn didn't respond, but Kurt wasn't going to worry about that. He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. He had a wedding to plan.

Carl noticed Finn was especially quiet today as they cleaned their weapons after their scheduled time at the range. Of all the topics he could bring up, there weren't many that were easy, but he chose one of the safest.

"How is Puck doing with Lauren?"

Finn looked startled, and he glanced around furtively, but there was no one else on the bench beside them. "Uh… good, I think? It's still a new thing. To be honest, I don't really know what she's doing with him. I don't think she knows, either."

"You don't trust her to know how to handle him?" Carl asked, but Finn shook his head.

"No, it's not that. I mean, he's clearly responding to her, but how does she even know what to try? What can you do to help anybody untangle the feelings in their head about dominance and discipline and sex?"

"Those feelings aren't as connected for everyone as they are for you, Finn." He screwed the wire brush to the end of the cleaning rod and inserted it into the barrel, moving it back and forth to clean out any collected debris. "You know I'm able to differentiate between what I do for clients and how I conduct my private life." He noticed Finn's breathing coming a little quicker as he watched Carl thrusting his rod into the gun, and he paused, laughing self-consciously. "Well. Mostly."

"Yeah." Finn shook his head. "I'm sure that would be easier for me to do if I wasn't… you know. So into you. I'm just not sure what to expect with him. With them." He shrugged. "But, she's going to bring him back to our house to make dinner tonight, and to celebrate Sarah's birthday, and she said she can tutor me in whatever subject I need."

"Well, that sounds like a good way for you to monitor how things are going for Puck without interfering with Lauren's authority. I know between the lot of you, you'll figure it out." He inserted a pad into the loop attachment of the cleaning rod and repeated the motion inside the gun. This time Finn copied him, beginning with the wire brush. Carl nodded approval, but Finn barely acknowledged this. "What else is on your mind?"

"It's Dave. Karofsky."

Carl thought. "This is the boy who bullied Kurt last year?"

"Yeah, for a long time before that. And then last spring, Kurt forgave him, befriended him. I didn't trust that it was a good idea, until I saw for myself what was going on with him. He's… I guess he's my friend now, too. Again. We hung out a lot when we were kids. And he really cares about Blaine." Finn sighed, setting the disassembled .22 in his lap. "He's taking a big risk to help us solve Blaine's situation, but I don't think it's a good idea. He could get in a lot of trouble."

Carl nodded, piecing together the details as Finn revealed them. "You don't think he's thought through the possible consequences?"

"No, he definitely has. He's smart, maybe smarter than Kurt. I think he just doesn't care what happens to him. It's like…" He looked unhappily at Carl. "Like he thinks he doesn't deserve to have good things. He's just resigned to being the fall guy here."

"But you don't think he should be that."

Finn shook his head. "Not anymore."

"Well, consider he's had to live with himself longer than you've had to put up with him. Perhaps he's not ready to forgive himself yet."

"Yeah." His voice was soft and full of regret. "Unfortunately, I don't think Dave has a lot of time left to forgive himself before he's going to have to act to help Blaine. And everybody beat him up today, thinking he really is the bad guy here."

"Who's everybody?"

"R- uh, the girls in Glee, they convinced their boyfriends to defend Kurt in the locker room." He avoided Carl's eyes. "I told her I couldn't, that it was too dangerous. That I cared more about being quarterback than standing up for him."

"Well, that's obviously not true," Carl said, keeping his voice even. Rachel was generally an off-limits topic for them. "I hope she knows that."

"Yeah, but what could I say? Dave is trying to make it look real. Dangerous. They all think he's still an asshole."

Carl put a cloth dabbed with gun oil in his hand. "Like you were."

"Me, and Puck," Finn agreed. "We were. And now, I don't like being a coward. Even a pretend one. But even more, I don't like pretending I care what people think of me. I gave that all up last year."

"Well, that's not true either."

Finn gave him a quizzical look. "What do you mean?"

Carl showed Finn how he was rubbing all the moving parts of his gun with the oily cloth, then wiping off the excess oil. "I mean you do care what people think of you. You always have. You want to do the right thing, but just as importantly, you want people to know that's who you are. You want to be seen as trustworthy."

"I want to be Blaine's big deal," Finn murmured. "And Puck's. Yeah. I guess I do."

"Well, sometimes people aren't going to know that you are. Luckily, you don't have to convince everybody. You'll just have to be satisfied with actually being trustworthy, in your heart."

"Even if that means that people are going to be disappointed in me?" Finn said glumly.

Carl smiled. "Even then. You'll know you did the right thing."

"I guess I can do that. Like… like being a secret agent." The idea seemed to cheer him up a little. "I just wish I could tell Coach Beiste and Rachel the truth, at least."

"You'll redeem yourself in other ways, in their eyes." Carl let his fingers brush Finn's as he took the cleaning tools from his hands. "You're a good boy."

It was an indulgence to say that to him, but worth it to watch Finn rocked by those words, as he always was.

"God," he muttered. "I wish Blaine could hear somebody tell him that."

"He will. You'll figure it out. Now, let me show you how to reassemble your weapon and store it properly."

"Always clean your tools," Finn said, nodding, and bent his head to watch.

"So what was up with that beatdown in the locker room this afternoon?" Lauren asked. "Don't tell me Kurt's getting picked on by anybody these days. From what I've seen, he's more badass than any of them."

"Damn straight," Puck agreed with gusto. He took the little pot of saddle soap she handed him, and a clean cloth, and imitated the way she dabbed some onto the cloth. She passed him what appeared to be an extensive leather harness, while she took a half-mask with complicated lacing out of the crate. "Some of the guys are still picking on him, but the one who they whaled on today, Karofsky, he's just faking. He took the beating and maintained his cover. It's a plan to get Kurt to Dalton."

"Yeah, I know something about that." Lauren shook her head as she rubbed the saddle soap into the leather. "You think it'll work?"

"If this shit can convince Carole and Burt to send him there. Honestly, I don't know why Kurt doesn't just ask to transfer. I don't think Burt would say no to anything Kurt wanted." He grinned. "But you should have seen the way Sam looked when Kurt thanked him for standing up for him."

Lauren raised an eyebrow. "And how exactly did he look?"

"Like Kurt had handed him a medal. It was awesome."

"Mmm. Not that you'd ever look at Kurt like that."

"Only every fucking day." But as Puck considered this, he sobered. "Maybe not so much recently. Except Monday, it was almost like it used to be."

She passed him another pot of cleaning stuff. "Here, do the mink oil after you rub off all the saddle soap. So what was different on Monday?"

He felt his face heat. "You know."

"Possibly, but there's a reason I'm asking you, Puckerman. Tell me."

Puck bent his head over the leather. "Well, you… made me do my homework. And go to bed, and eat breakfast, and—and go running before school. And go to class. Like I did Tuesday and today."

She nodded. "That worked for you."

"Yeah," he said. "It really did. And then everybody else kind of… stepped in, to tell me how well I was doing, or ask if they could help. Everything felt good. Kurt could touch me, hug me, without making me sick. And then when you—" He paused, shivering.

Lauren sat beside him on the bed. She put a hand on his bare foot. "I took you down."

He nodded, getting his words back a few at a time. "That night, I slept in Kurt's bed. Not, like, in a sexy way. Just sleeping, and being close."

"How was that?"

"Nice," he said slowly. "I think Kurt liked it. But I think he also wondered if it might get sexy."

"But it didn't?"

He shook his head. "Maybe I was just scared of ruining it."

"Or maybe you didn't want to have sex with him," she said.

Puck grimaced, shrugging. "I don't—"

"It's okay if you don't. Maybe you won't know if you do or you don't for a while."

He stared at the floor. "I, uh, got up in the morning and left, before he woke up. So I could, you know. Take care of things."

"You jerked off instead of waiting to have sex with Kurt?" She considered him as he nodded. "Because you thought it might not go well?"

"I guess. He has this thing, when he disciplines me, where he has to—to claim me, in, you know, a sexy way…"

"Puckerman," she drawled, "say, he has to fuck me in the ass."

"… F-fuck me in the ass." He gulped a little as she nodded, one eyebrow raised high. "Yeah, that. So I think… I didn't ask him to discipline me because I was afraid he would need to do that afterward, and I wouldn't be able to handle it."

Lauren leaned in closer. "Let me get this straight. You went home on Monday, after I spanked you shiny with the Lexan paddle—and considered asking Kurt to do that to you again?"

"Maybe?" He cringed at her expression. "Is that bad?"

She snorted. "I think you can give yourself a break for not asking for it. Now, I want you to tell him all the things you just told me, so he can make the best decisions about what you need. Got that?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And did you notice that not once during this whole conversation did you indicate you were grossed out in any way by what you were talking about?"

Puck sat back, blinking. "I—you're right!"

"I'd say that bodes well. Here, clean this next." She passed him a triangle of leather with an attached rubber ring, connected on three corners with leather straps and snaps. He held it up, considering it from all angles.

"What is it?"

"Strap-on harness." She smirked. "How's that sound?"

"Uh…" He thought about it for a while, and had to admit, "I have no idea."

"Well, I'm not offering, so that's probably just as well. How's the wedding planning going? Are you part of this Glee performance?"

Puck snorted. "Yeah, only reluctantly. Bruno Mars' 'Marry You' is a terrible wedding song."

"Bruno Mars in general is pretty terrible," Lauren agreed. She set the conditioned, polished half-mask in a different crate and took out a braided blue-handled flogger with thick black leather tails. "Here, switch with me."

He handed the harness back to her and took the flogger, fingering the heavy edges on the tails. "What's this made of?"

"Latigo leather. Causes bruises for miles. It's like flogging somebody with a bundle of knotted ropes. Yeah, Bruno Mars has this whole you're awesome because you're beautiful thing that rubs me the wrong way."

"I know, right? And how he's comparing his chick to everybody else. Like you're my favorite because I've never found anybody else as great as you. Doesn't really look good for their future once he finds somebody better, does it?" Cleaning the latigo flogger was a little distracting, but he carefully rubbed saddle soap into each of the tails, working from the knot to the tip.

"Totally. Anybody who decides I'm only worth staying with because there's nobody better out there had better just move on now. And high school boys are generally pieces of shit anyway." She patted his foot again. "Present company excepted."

"No offense taken."

"Seriously, they all want to mix their BDSM with drugs. What a thoroughly stupid idea. Not to mention, do you think I would risk a scholarship to college just to smoke a little weed? I would not."

Puck slid the saddle soap over to Lauren and took the mink oil. "Weed is fine, but I wouldn't try to Top anybody while smoking. And considering both my parents' history with alcohol, it's better for me to stick to one or two drinks, tops. Or go with alternatives to alcohol. One time, Alex gave me—"

He broke off, feeling the horrible sick shame rise in him along with the memories of Alex and his partners. Lauren must have seen something on his face, because she snapped her fingers. "Hey. Look at me—right here." With an effort, he focused on her finger, drawing a line from the bridge of his nose to hers. "We're going to take three breaths. Then you're going to tell me what you were saying, and then we'll be done. Ready?"

Facing her while doing the back-face breathing was radically different than doing it while sitting side by side. Puck could feel heat build in front of them. By the time they exhaled their third breath, he was sweating.

"Now say it," she ordered.

He limped through the sentence. "Alex—gave me crataegus, this—this herbal drink made out of hawthorn that—that he said is good for—for a broken heart." Now he was crying.

Lauren wasn't smiling, but she reached out and wiped his face. "When was this?"

"In Santa Fe. I met them last year in August, but he told me about the hawthorn drink when I went to see them again in December."

"Them?" She sat back, then added, "Finish the mink oil on that flogger. Who's them?"

It was easier to talk about Nicole and Daphne, in some ways, but so much of Puck's relationship with them had to do with Alex and all the firsts he'd had with him. He struggled through the whole explanation of how they'd met, and how he'd returned to see them, and the way Alex had let him free. Several times she had him focus and breath with her again, and each time they got a little closer together on the bed, until by the end he was resting against her. She didn't seem to care that he was sweaty.

"Nicole—she was the bass player, the one with the mohawk—she's the one who taught me about the Indigo Girls." He realized he was clutching the flogger like a security blanket, and chuckled weakly. "Talk about badass."

"You miss them."

"Not usually? But it was important, the things they taught me. Alex, he said he wanted me to take what I learned back to Lima and share it with others."

Lauren put a gentle hand on his wrist. "He wasn't talking about the hawthorn."

"No, about loving other people. How it doesn't have to be about jealousy. That you can love people, even belong to people, without restricting them or what they do. And about how—how to treat your Sir with respect." He bowed his head. "Ma'am."

She smiled. "Yeah. You do that really well, babe. C'mere, let's move over here." Somehow he was resting in the circle of her legs, within the cradle of her arm. "So why'd you end up in Santa Fe the second time, in December?"

The words flowed more easily now. He closed his eyes, still holding the flogger in both hands, as she stroked his head. "My Ma died. And I couldn't cope with the ultimatum Finn gave me about my kid, saying I could either have her or him? So I took off. Went to Denver first, then down to Santa Fe."

"You met somebody there. Somebody new."

"Yeah."

"How does it feel to think about him?"

He let his mind dwell on Adam for a long time, how it had been during that first weekend in Santa Fe, then later in California with Kurt, and still later at Tessera with everyone. "Hurts," he whimpered.

"What hurts, specifically."

"Hurts my heart. I left him." Puck let out a long breath, not a productive one like Lauren had taught him, but a defeated one. "I left all of them, for—for shame."

"For shame, indeed," she said. "Okay. Right now, you're going to tell me everything about your man in Santa Fe, everything you can without feeling bad about him. When you start feeling sick, you tell me, and then I'm going to use this flogger on you. Then I'll take you home."

Puck went on for a long time before he ran out of things that felt safe to say about Adam. He couldn't bring himself to use the fake name Max, but he didn't say Adam's name either. Lauren didn't interrupt him with questions or prompts. Occasionally she squeezed his hand or drew him a little closer.

"He and Kurt sang together one time, early on, before they got together," he said. "A duet, on the phone. I didn't get to hear it, but Kurt told me about it, and—" Puck paused, realizing something, and flushed.

"What?" she asked.

"I'm—turned on." He pushed up to a sitting position, trying not to accidentally grope her as he did it. "But I'm not sure if it's because of you, or because of who I was talking about."

"As I said, not really your call. Bodies do things." She looked at him solemnly. "Will you call him tonight, when you get home, and tell him about this conversation?"

"I'll try? He's, uh, in Europe. Italy this week, I think. But I can leave him a message, if I have to." He handled the flogger reverently. "I'm not sure he knows about you."

"Well, he should. I think you should talk to him regardless, considering he asked you to call him every night, but I'm not ordering you to do it."

"Yes, ma'am." His eyes drifted to the blanket, already tucked around the bed. She chuckled.

"You're not subtle, Puckerman. Okay, go ahead, ask for it."

Puck swallowed. "Would you flog me now? Please."

It was a little more embarrassing than he'd expected to be naked and hard in front of her, but she didn't even look at him. This time she used the same blue bondage tape to strap his wrists together and bind them to the headboard in the middle. His legs she left free.

"Up," she said, helping position him on his knees, resting on his heels. She tucked the clicker into his hand. "I'm not going to offer the gag this time. Feel the flogger on your skin." She touched it to the small of his back, and a bit lower, but not enough to endanger any fragile parts. "Say your safe word."

"Aardvark." It wasn't any worse than Meemee, and he knew she was right, he'd had occasion to use a safe word in the past, and it was a good idea to have one. But at the moment, the idea that she wouldn't know how to take care of him seemed absurd. He exhaled, this time in gratitude. "Thank you, ma'am."

"You're my responsibility," she said. He could hear her smiling. "Maybe wait to thank me until you feel this latigo."

She was right; it was significantly more stingy than the paddle, even more than the metal-tipped flogger he'd used in the past. He flinched more than once as she worked over his back and thighs. Each time, she paused, waited for him to steady himself, and then went on, maintaining a rhythm that quieted his brain, leaving his body to get what it needed. Eventually he stopped flinching and let the pain take him somewhere else.

Noah could tell it was still happening, somewhere, but he couldn't feel it anymore. The waves lapping the beach led in one direction, but he turned to go the other way, into the woods, where he knew the cobbled path would lead him to the clearing.

It was quiet among the trees, though he could still hear the pounding of the surf behind him, far away. Noah walked over to the stone bench and sat down, running his hand over the cold, rough surface, and gazed into the silent trees.

A small bird landed near the edge of the clearing, hopping toward him. It looked undisturbed by Noah's presence, and pecked at the ground. Noah listened to its pleasant song with curiosity.

"Sorry, I don't have anything for you," he told the bird. It hopped a little closer, picked up a twig and dropped it again.

He looked in his empty hands, then dug into his pockets. They were empty, too. Then he stood, walked to the edge of the clearing where the ground was littered with twigs from the trees above. He gathered a small collection of them into his hands, then brought them back to the bench. The bird stood nearby, watching him.

Noah broke the sticks into the necessary lengths to spell out the letters he needed, and knelt before the bench to put it all together. He could almost hear the tune in his head, but the sound of the surf and the song of the little black bird made it hard to think of other music at the moment.

Once it was finished, he rose, surveying his work. The twig-letters spelling IT'S GOING TO BE OKAY were undisturbed by any wind. The bird made one more trilling call, then flew off into the canopy of the trees.

Noah returned to the place where the cobbles turned to a dirt path, then walked down to the beach, feeling the sand beneath his feet. The surf hit the rocks piled on the sandy shore and crashed in a soothing rhythm. He watched the sun setting along the far west horizon, to his left, and closed his eyes.

"I think we'll take a break," she said.

"M'kay," he replied.

It was abruptly quiet, and he blinked into the dimness of the room. His face was wet with tears. With effort, he rubbed his cheek into the blanket. His entire backside was throbbing, and although his stomach was covered in come, he was half-hard. Still. Again.

Puck heard Lauren's sigh, and tipped his head up to see her troubled face as she unbound his hands.

"I'm sorry," he said, drawing his stiff wrists into his chest, and she shook her head.

"You are a piece of work, I'll give you that. But you don't have to be sorry for any of it. We'll try a different tool next time."

"No!" He pushed up with one hand, and felt his head swim. She caught him before he could slip. "No—I liked that one. It was great."

She sat beside him and carefully moved him over to rest his head on her thigh, so that he could gaze up at her face. "Glad to hear. In my world, leather tools don't get used by more than one person, especially a heavy hitter like that. Too porous to sanitize."

The meaning didn't sink in until she placed the flogger into his hands. He hugged it. "You mean… you got that for me?"

"Made by folks who know what black and blue means to a submissive masochist." She regarded him fondly, touching his cheek. "You really love this, don't you."

"I—uh." He felt the sticky residue on his abdomen, and took a shaky breath. "I guess I do."

"Sadly, I don't think that kind of satisfaction is what we're going for here. But hey, who am I to deny you what you already got? So…" She gathered him into her arms, supporting his weight in a way that Finn had never been able to do. Like Alex had, he thought. She put her lips to his ear. "You took that so well. All that pain, you handled it beautifully. Such a good boy."

Before she even finished speaking, he was sobbing. He buried his face into her soft shoulder and let himself cry, held in place by her arms. Every now and then, he'd get quiet again, and she'd tell him again, you're so good, you did that so well, and he'd start crying all over again.

"Drink this," she said at some point, and he latched onto the straw she placed in his mouth. It wasn't water, but fruity and salty, like a sport drink.

"Warn a guy, would you?" He wiped his mouth. "That is seriously gross."

"And you are seriously dehydrated, Puckerman. Drink all of it."

She didn't make him move after that for a while, which was just fine with him. He thought about the images he'd seen, the beach, the bird, the half-remembered song. "Can I tell you what happened?" he asked. "While I was… down."

"What happened?"

"Well, I have these dreams sometimes. Most nights. Sometimes they're important and sometimes they're just weird, but for the last year, they've mostly been about my kid, and about… Blaine." Puck thought about the way he'd looked on Sunday, while studying with Kurt at the Lima Bean. There hadn't been much of Blaine in that boy's face or manner. "But he hasn't been in my dreams for weeks."

"Did you have a dream? I'm pretty sure you were awake that whole time I was flogging you."

"No, it wasn't exactly a dream. It was a… a place. I went there on Monday too. A path in the woods, next to a beach. I think… Blaine was supposed to be there, and he wasn't."

"So what happened?" She didn't sound at all surprised by this, or concerned. She was just listening. It gave him the courage to go on.

"The first time, this place, it was empty. But this time there was a bird? And it was like, here, use these twigs, you can leave him a message. I mean, it didn't say that, I just… I thought it would be the right thing to do." Saying it aloud, he realized exactly how stupid, how absurd the whole thing sounded.

"So did you leave him a message?"

"I told him…" In one great rush, the whole song came back to him, and Puck caught his breath. "I told him, It's going to be okay. It's a lyric from a song my sister's friend wrote for me and Sarah, after I got back from Oregon. My—my half brother Jake and his girlfriend recorded it for us."

"Damn," she said quietly. "You got that recording?"

He sat up, wincing at the blanket rubbing against the marks on his behind, and wiped his face with the palm of his hand. "No, but Sarah has it. I can play it for you tonight, after dinner."

She regarded him with obvious concern. "You really think you're in any condition to cook dinner for seven people this evening?"

"I want to," he insisted. "It's Sarah's birthday, and—seriously, I do." He looked down at his fluid-covered body. "Only maybe I could take a shower first?"

Lauren would not let him alone in the bathroom, but she did stand outside the shower while he rinsed off. The water stung worse than the flogging had. She made him stand very still while she spread some goop on his welts, which were already raised and warm to the touch, though not bleeding, and watched while he drank another entire cup of the terrible sport drink before getting dressed.

All of the care she gave him made it easier to ask the question that had been in his head as they climbed into his Impala. "You don't think I'm going crazy or something?"

"You mean, because of your visions?" Lauren shook her head. "Nah. I mean, spiritual shamans across the world have used pain in this way for centuries. They took ordeal journeys into their subconscious to get messages. I get stuff like that sometimes when I meditate. I honestly don't see how your experience is any different."

"Meditate." He started the ignition. "Like, a monk or something?"

"A lot like that," she agreed. "My dad's from Nepal. Our family practices non-dual Tantra, also known as Shaivism."

He thought about that as he drove down Woodlawn and turned onto North, heading out toward Bellefontaine. "Is that where you got that back-face breathing thing?"

"Among other tools. It's kind of amazing how much overlap there is between yogic practices and BDSM."

He sighed. "Not a lot of overlap between this stuff and Judaism. Especially not the type I was studying."

She patted his knee. "Yeah, no offense, babe, but I think maybe you need a new religion."

"I don't even know what I believe right now," he admitted. "Adam took me to temple last year, to say the Mourner's Kaddish for my Ma. I kind of hated it, but it was… important? And some of the stuff we I was studying with my dad before—before I went to Oregon, that was pretty interesting. I miss that."

She glanced sideways at him. "Well, if you decide you're missing it enough to go looking for it, this time, before you take off to see your dad, would you at least tell Finn? Or me. Or Kurt, but it sounds like he's not much into you finding religion."

"No. I'm not gonna go see my dad. I don't think I should be around him." Puck kept his eyes on the road in front of him. "He's too good at talking me into believing him all over again. And I'm too much of a sucker."

"Yeah," she agreed. "You totally are." Then, after a moment, she added, "Keep in mind you won't remember that about yourself when you're not in subspace."

Puck pulled slowly into the driveway and around the side to the garage. "I am? Right now? I mean… are you sure I am?"

Lauren laughed. "You so are. But, as I'm coming to realize, it's pretty easy to put you there, so maybe you don't even know the difference between the feeling of brattiness, submission, and actual autonomy."

"I think I know that last one," he said. "It's what sent me out to Oregon."

She sighed, then reached across the car to take both his hands, and pulled him around to face her. "The fact that you think that is exactly the reason you need somebody in charge—no, you don't do that." Her hand, guiding his face back to hers, was gentle, but firm. "You need someone in charge of you. That doesn't mean anything bad about you." She patted his cheek, not quite a slap, but he blinked a little. "You think there's something wrong with Finn or Kurt for getting something out of being in charge of somebody?"

"No, ma'am," he said. He blinked again. "No, that's—how a man should be. Right?"

She patted him again. "Boy, you really need to read your Dickens. Tonight, we're going to start getting caught up."

It turned out to be eight people for dinner, because Frances was there to join them. She looked a little confused about Lauren's presence until Carole said, "Would you like me to clear the dishes when we're done, Puck, so you can begin your tutoring session?"

"I got it," said Puck. He flashed Carole a smile, and she smiled back, looking pleased. "It won't take long, not with that dishwasher."

Kurt passed the bowl of rice across the table to his dad. "Did you call the Knights of Columbus and reserve the hall for the reception?"

"I did," Burt said, "and I bought the stamps. Sarah said she'd help me print the guest list onto mailing labels tonight so we can get the invitations out in the mail tomorrow. We've already emailed everybody, but it'll be easier to keep track of who's coming with a paper invitation."

"See, I don't get that at all," said Finn. "I just lose anything that's made of paper. Isn't it easier to do it all on the computer?"

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? You're asking my dad that question? Remind me to tell you the time he was trying to network his printer and he plugged the whole thing into the—"

"Let's save that for another day," Burt interrupted, amid giggles from Sarah. Frances looked uncomfortable at the teasing, but Carole smirked.

"How about the catering?" Puck asked. There was a brief silence. He cleared his throat. "I mean… it's too big a job for me to handle, so you'll have to find somebody else."

"The Knights of Columbus referred us to a few local restaurants that will deliver," Carole said cautiously, watching Puck's face. "I know you'll already be busy helping Glee club with the music, but do you think… maybe you'd like to… serve?"

"I can do that," he replied, keeping his voice steady. He felt Lauren's eyes on him, and the touch of her hand on his back. "And… I'll make the cake. If that's okay."

Burt and Carole exchanged looks. "We were hoping you might," Burt said. "But that's a big job, too. You've already got a lot on your plate."

"You can count on me, Mr. H." He nodded at Burt, and got a nod back. It was as close as a good boy as he was ever likely to get from Kurt's dad, but it still felt pretty satisfying in the state he was in.

He paid attention to that state as he cleared the plates and carried them into the kitchen. Is this subspace? he wondered. He felt lucid enough, and he didn't have any trouble saying words. If anything, it was easier to talk than it was at other times.

Lauren made her way over to Kurt and spoke some quiet words into his ear. Kurt seemed mildly distressed at what she'd said, but she nodded, gesturing at him. She pulled Finn aside next and similarly spoke with him. It was too far away for Puck to hear what they were saying. Behind them, he could see Carole beckoning Burt, Sarah, and Frances into the library. Sarah gave them all one hard look before disappearing behind the French doors and shutting them behind her.

"Noah?" Kurt stood in the kitchen doorway, holding the rice. "I'm going to put the food away."

"Yes, sir," he said, turning back to the sink. There was a soft sound from Kurt, but Puck just bent his head lower over the dishes.

"Would it bother you if I joined your study session tonight?"

"No, sir."

"And… Lauren suggested, maybe you might… want your collar afterward. I mean… I would like that, if you…" He let out a sharp sigh. "Noah, would you look at me?"

"Can't," he said, feeling the heat, the numbness prickling at his lips. He let the memory of the collar rest in his mind for a few moments until he was certain it wasn't a bad one. "Not if you want me to finish these dishes."

"All right. Finish, and then we'll talk."

He lost time after that, as he often did in the kitchen, but when he turned off the water and looked around, everything was tidy and the dishwasher was running. Lauren stood by the stove. She handed him a towel with a faint smile.

"Still wondering if you're in subspace or not?"

He shook his head, smiling back. "No, ma'am."

She held up his backpack. "Ready to listen to Kurt?"

"I think so?"

She held out a hand, and he took it. "Good enough. Let's go upstairs."

Finn and Kurt were already studying, spread out on the green couch in their usual spots, Kurt in the center cushion, Finn on the long end of the L. Lauren sat on the piano bench, gesturing at the space on the floor by the couch. "Go ahead."

Puck hesitated. "Can—may I have my backpack?"

"Not until you tell Kurt what you told me."

He did not quite manage to make eye contact as he sank to the floor in front of Kurt, who looked just about as uncomfortable as Puck had ever seen him. "Um. Last night—I wanted to ask for—what you said downstairs. The c-collar… but I wasn't sure… I'm not sure what you might expect, afterward. And I was thinking, maybe I couldn't give it to you. So I didn't ask."

"Look at him," Lauren ordered.

"Fuck," Puck muttered, and tipped up his head. Kurt was crying, tears wending their way down his cheeks and dripping onto his neck, but he was smiling. "I'm sorry," he added, and Kurt laughed, wiping his eyes.

"Noah, I didn't expect you to want to do anything like—like that," Kurt said. "I'm sorry I didn't make it clear to you what I wanted from you. Being close to you, that was more than enough. And it didn't make you… it wasn't unpleasant, being in bed with me?"

"No," he said, "no, it was nice." He reached up and touched the edge of Kurt's hand, tucking his fingers inside. Kurt held on, still smiling, and they sat there for a long moment.

"The collar, Puckerman," Lauren prompted softly. Puck nodded, chewing on his lip.

"I don't know," he said, glancing over at Finn, who had remained silent the whole time. "I don't know if I can do that. I'm—I'm sorry."

"You can decide tonight," Finn said, his voice low. "No expectations, okay? You get to set whatever limits you need."

Kurt squeezed his hand. "Thank you for telling us, Noah."

"All right." Lauren dug into Puck's backpack and handed him his notebook and math text. "Finish that first, and then we'll summarize the major themes of Great Expectations. And then…" She chuckled. "A little music before birthday cake, I think."

The math was easy, but after that, there wasn't much Puck could do but listen while Lauren, Kurt, and Finn walked him through the convoluted plot of Great Expectations. He found himself becoming more and more perplexed as they explained how Pip the poor convict became Pip the rich asshole.

"But why does he even care about Estella, anyway?" Puck leaned back on Finn's knee. "She treats him like crap. Why would he want her?"

"Because she represents everything he's being told is worthwhile," Kurt said. "She's the Quinn in our story: cold and out of reach, like a star."

"Quinn's not so much like—okay, maybe she is." Finn shrugged at Lauren's raised eyebrow. "Hey, at least her mom isn't an insane man-hater who wears her wedding dress every day."

Puck grimaced at Kurt's copy of Great Expectations, brimming with sticky notes. "This book is totally warped. Why can't we read something good for class?"

"There's no accounting for taste, Puckerman. You do know Charles Dickens is one of the most celebrated British authors of all time?" Lauren checked the clock. "We'll do more tomorrow. Go get that recording you were telling me about. Now, what's all this about Finn Hudson liking the Indigo Girls…?"

"Uh—" Finn looked entirely nonplussed. "It's kind of a long story…"

"I got some of it, minus names. Something about your guy in California?" She looked at Kurt. He gave her a tight smile.

"When Noah left us to drive out west, that first time, you might say Finn drowned his sorrows in music. Better than alcohol, I suppose, although I think if we had been forced to listen to that Neil Diamond compilation one more time, we might have broken your door down."

"Oh, Finn. Neil Diamond? Really?" She gave him a look that was full of pity. Kurt smothered his giggle in a cough.

Finn just shrugged. "I'm helpless against ballads."

Puck ducked into Sarah's room and found the CD on her dresser, amid bottles of nail polish and strands of hot glue. The enormous outline drawing on her wall, which appeared to be a giant lizard, was almost finished. When he returned to the family room, Kurt was telling Lauren about Finn's Indigo Girls contribution to the Secret Santa song swap at Brad's last December.

"Not that Kurt's choice of song was any better," Finn said. "Seriously, he could have just cut up a bunch of onions and walked out of the room, and it would have caused less crying." He reached way, way over and grabbed Puck's guitar from its stand behind the couch, and handed it to Puck with a sheepish smile. "And then last summer, I took Sarah and Frances, and… and Blaine to their concert in Cincinnati. It was really something. Anyway, I guess all the lyrics are stuck in my head for eternity now, at least the ones Kurt put on the mix CD he gave me."

"I'll get Sarah and Frances," said Kurt, getting up from the couch. "They'll want to be here for this. Finn never voluntarily sings the Indigo Girls."

Lauren tilted her head at Finn. "Really. This gonna be okay?"

Finn put a hand over his face. "Yeah… just don't make me do Glitter in the Air. Or Teenage Dream."

"I think in no universe would I choose to make you sing P!nk or Katy Perry, Hudson." She stood, guiding Puck over to the couch, and made him sit right next to Finn, close enough so that Finn was forced to dodge the fretboard of Puck's guitar. "But he's gonna need you right next to him, Puckerman."

Puck glanced over at Finn, startled to be suddenly pressed against his leg. "Yeah?"

Finn nodded, with a curious smile. "That would help, yeah. If you don't mind?"

Puck shook his head, then stopped as he realized Finn's question was directed at Lauren, not at him.

"That protective instinct doesn't come cheap," she said to Finn. "You need it as much as he does, or you're going to end up exhausted. The touching, when you're like this, it feeds both of you. If it gets weird, I'll know, and I'll help. Got that?"

"Yes, ma'am," Puck said under his breath. He tensed a little when Finn put a tentative hand on his back. Okay, only a little weird so far.

Sarah and Frances scrambled up the stairs, calling, "Galileo!" and "Land of Canaan!" Finn laughed, but Puck just launched into the strum pattern for the song Lauren had heard him quote on Monday, and they all sang along:

I'm trying to tell you something about my life
Maybe give me insight between black and white
And the best thing you've ever done for me
Was to help me take my life less seriously
It's only life after all, yeah

Lauren appeared to sing, too, but it was hard to tell who was singing what in the loud morass of music and lyrics and attempted harmonies the six of them made together. He looked at her when they were done. "What's next?"

"Nothing too sad," Kurt suggested. "This has been really nice. I don't want to kill the mood."

"You know Fleet of Hope?" Lauren asked.

"Oh, they played that one at the concert last summer," Frances said. "It's off their newest album."

Puck didn't know it, but he sang a couple verses of Galileo with Sarah while Kurt looked up the chords for Lauren's chosen song on his phone. Lauren watched Puck with great interest while he quickly reviewed the fingerings.

"Seems simple enough," he said. "Fingerpicking on the verses, strumming on the chorus? How does it go?"

"Francie, you sing it," Sarah urged, but she turned red and shook her head.

"I can't, not by myself," she said.

Lauren waved a finger at Puck's guitar. "You start, and we'll come in."

He vamped a few bars, and then suddenly Lauren was singing the lyrics to the first verse, remarkably tunefully and mostly alone. Puck managed to continue playing as he listened to her, but he was startled enough that he fumbled a few chord changes. He was pretty sure he hadn't known she could sing.

By the time Lauren got to the second verse, Sarah and Frances came in on the chorus:

'Cause the fleet of hope is so pretty
When she's shining in the port
And the harbor clings to the jetty
For protection and support
Out in the choppy waters the sharks swim and play
You're all washed up when Poseidon has his day.

"That was so good!" Sarah shouted, climbing on Lauren's back. Lauren smiled bigger than usual, dumping Sarah off onto the floor, but Sarah didn't seem perturbed.

"We have a cottage on the Lake Erie shore near Sandusky, up by Half Moon Bay," Lauren explained. "We spend most summers there. Our boat is named Poseidon, so I like this song." She looked dubiously at Finn. "So much for you singing the Indigo Girls, Hudson. Seems like we're doing all the singing."

"Sorry, I only know sad ones," Finn said.

"Well, I can think of at least one other one you should know, but we can talk about that another time. It's too complicated to play without some practice." She turned to Sarah. "I guess I'm not surprised to hear your brother Jake can sing, too. You sound fucking awesome."

"Wait until you hear Jake's girlfriend Katie sing," Sarah said, still grinning. She held up the CD. "They're both on this recording. Let's listen downstairs while we eat Noah's cake. Thanks, y'all, this was the best birthday present."

Puck waited, until Lauren and the girls went downstairs to to get Carole and Burt, to explain to Finn and Kurt exactly why the evening had been a little weird.

"Being in a room with two different people who are in charge of me is hard," he said. "I feel kind of—split."

Finn thought about this. "But you're used to that, with me and Kurt?"

"But you guys, you work together. You're a team, and you're used to being a team. This… it's more like how it was with Finn and Adam at Tessera."

"Do you mean it's hard to know who to listen to?" asked Kurt.

"More like it's hard to know where to focus. It's stressful not to give all my attention to the boss. I'm always worrying, with so many of you being in charge, that maybe I'm missing stuff. But…" He shrugged. "It was okay."

Puck wanted to add that it was more than okay, that nothing that evening had been bad at all, but that waiting through homework and music and small talk while thinking about the possibility of wearing Finn and Kurt's collar had made him feel more than a little antsy. Even big slabs of awesome yellow cake with chocolate buttercream frosting couldn't distract him from the penultimate event of the evening.

Lauren had a small piece of cake, preceded by a blood sugar check, while they all listened attentively to the recording of Jake and Katie singing together:

You have more friends than you know
Some who surround you, some you are destined to meet
You'll have more love in your life
Don't let go, give it time, take it slow
Those who love you the most may need more time to grow
It's gonna be okay
You have more friends than you know

"Jake wrote that?" Carole asked, sounding impressed.

"No, it was my other friend, Mar," Sarah said. "They were too embarrassed to sing it themselves, so Katie and Jake said they'd sing it for them."

Puck got how that could be. It wasn't so much that he thought his lyrics were bad, but rather that singing lyrics you wrote yourself was just about the most revealing thing you could do. He didn't really want most people to know him that well.

Just the important people, he thought. He collected the forks and plates and set them in the sink. Then, watching Lauren's face carefully, he walked over to Finn.

"I thought maybe I would call Adam before bed?" he said.

Finn glanced at Kurt, who nodded. Puck thought Kurt might be crying again, but he wasn't going to stop to check.

"I think that'd be good," Finn said. "He's been wanting to introduce himself to Lauren. How about the two of you head upstairs? Kurt and I will finish cleaning up the kitchen."

Knowing that Adam not only knew who Lauren was, but wanted to take time to say hello, made it a little easier to consider placing the call. She walked with him into his room and sat at the desk, thumbing through the Griffin and Sabine book, while he brushed his teeth and put on his bulky sweatpants.

When he tried to add the heavy sweatshirt over his tank top, Lauren put out a hand to beckon him over. He went immediately, crouching down in front of her so their faces were level. She touched the sweatshirt.

"What are all these layers about? Don't tell me your guys don't keep you warm at night."

"No, it's…" He looked at the hallway, then bit his lip. "It makes it easier for them if I stay kind of… covered up. Like a… a veil against sexy feelings."

She narrowed her eyes. "You're hiding your body because you don't want other people to get turned on by it."

"Well… yeah?"

Her tone was more irritated than he'd heard it for days. "You know, women of many faiths have been doing that for centuries? In some countries, their civic laws even tell them they are responsible for not inspiring lust in others. As if the people looking at them don't have any control over their own actions." She took his sweatshirt and tossed it on the floor. "Who's in charge, Puckerman?"

"You are," he said. There was no question.

"And when I go home?"

"Kurt, and Finn." He could feel his own nervous tension falling away like water.

"Right. You think they want you to make decisions for them?"

"N-no."

"Damn skippy." She shook her head ruefully as she considered him. "Believe me, men aren't the only people who have to be responsible for controlling their sexual urges. If they want you to bundle up, they'll tell you. But if you need skin on skin, you can ask for that without worrying it's going to lead to sex. No matter who gets turned on." She patted his chest. "Got that?"

"Yes, ma'am," he whispered.

"So you ready to put down that fear, or do you need help? Believe me, you've still got plenty of unmarked skin, and I've got this sadistick in my purse that stings like a motherfucker."

"I believe you," he said quickly. She laughed, stroking his face. He leaned into her touch, letting his eyes close.

"It's gonna be okay," she sang, and he felt himself melt a little.

"You have a nice voice," he murmured.

"Yeah, let's just keep that between us, all right? Now…" She stood, waiting for him to follow, and led him over to the bed. "I'm going to sit right here next to you while you call your guy in California. What name are we using for him now?"

"Adam," he said. "That's his real name. It's a secret."

"Puckerman, this whole house is full of secrets. Trust me, I'm not telling anybody any of them."

Puck held his breath as he dialed, feeling somewhat disappointed when Adam's phone went to voice mail. Lauren's eyes on him, along with the warmth of her skin against his bare arm, kept him from hanging up.

"It's me. I'm sorry I haven't been calling. I don't really have a good excuse. I know I—I kind of suck. Believe me, I pay for it, but I know everybody else pays for it more." He took a long breath, the way Lauren had taught him, before going on. "But that doesn't matter, because you let me be myself. All of myself. The good, and the bad. I just want you to know how fucking grateful I am for that."

She nodded approval, holding out her hand, and he added, "Lauren wants to say something," before handing the phone to her.

"You're a big mystery, Mr. Adam-Max person," she said. "But I think you'd be proud of your boy, here. He's making good progress. He did all his homework and made Sarah a cake for her birthday. Tonight he'll be with Finn. You can call me if you have questions."

She rattled off her phone number, then handed the phone back, mouthing I love you.

"I love you," Puck repeated into the phone, staring at Lauren as he spoke. He felt his cheeks go hot, and dropped his eyes to his lap. "Uh—yeah. I miss you. And—god, Burt and Carole are getting married next week, and I wish you were coming. I'll call you tomorrow."

She gave him a little squeeze around the shoulders before standing up and stretching. "So how was that? No weirdness yet?"

Puck followed her to the hallway, around the corner to the staircase. "No, I think… that was good. I just wish he'd been around."

"Another day." She gave him her hand, and he took it, gripping it fervently it in both of his. "You did really well, babe. You were a good boy. Do you know what good boys get?" She leaned in to whisper in his ear. "Good boys get whatever they want."

He watched, unable to speak, as she disappeared down the stairs. His legs felt about as stable as rubber bands. As he leaned on the doorframe to Finn's room, he could hear the murmured voices below, Frances and Lauren and Carole, then the front door opening and shutting. A few seconds later, the lights went out.

Finn and Kurt came slowly up the stairs, hand in hand. Finn was watching him with a little smile, but Kurt just gestured at Finn's doorway. "Inside."

He hurried to comply. When Kurt put his hands on him, guiding him to kneel on the floor with whispered commands, he did his best to position himself the way Dr. Howell had taught him, trying not to put pressure on the welts on his backside with his heels.

Finn crouched down on the floor in front of him, waiting in silence until Puck raised his eyes. He reached out and gripped Puck's chin firmly. Finn's hand felt nothing like Lauren's, but it was familiar and reassuring nonetheless. You can have this, Lauren's voice said in his head.

"You ready to ask for what you want now, Noah?" Finn said evenly.

Good boys get whatever they want, Puck thought, and nodded, taking a deep breath.

"I want Blaine," he whispered. "I want him home with us again."

He heard Kurt's sobbing gasp. Finn rocked back, looking like Puck had slapped him. Then he nodded, pressing his lips together while the tears gathered in his eyes.

"I want that, too," he whispered back. "So much. All the time."

He reached a hand up to Kurt, who knelt down beside them, resting a hand on Puck's back. Their clustered faces came together, their foreheads touching, making a vessel for their grief.

"Yeah." Puck reached for their hands, taking Finn's on one side and Kurt's on the other. "That's what I want. But I think… I think I need to wear your collar. Please."

"Yes, Noah." Kurt was already there, buckling it around his neck. His hands were soft, also not like Lauren's, but just as gentle. The weight of the coarse leather on his neck made his breath move more easily. He looked up into Kurt's tear-stained face.

"I need to be your good boy," he said.

"You are," Kurt promised him. His grip on Puck's hand, like his voice, was shaky but strong. "You always were. You can make mistakes and break promises and run away and you will always be our boy. And we will help you be good."

Puck squeezed his eyes shut. "It doesn't matter that it's not me who's doing it? I'm just… following orders."

"You're doing it," Finn insisted. "You're listening to Lauren. You're trusting her, trusting us. I'm—" His words were almost indecipherable, thick and heavy with meaning. "I'm so damn proud of you."

Puck nodded. His breath came easily now, filling his lungs effortlessly, completely. It was like the path inside, leading to the empty clearing within him, was finally open. He felt Kurt's words, and Finn's, and Lauren's and Adam's, and even Dave's and Ms. Chapman's and everybody's, gathering there, taking root, like seeds in the ground of his being.

Getting what I need, he thought, gazing at them. They feed me, like sun and rain. That's what they do. I feel stronger, more substantial. Like I might be able to withstand the storms when they come. Maybe even help other people do that, too.

The words of wanting filled his mouth, and they didn't feel shameful. They just felt necessary.

"I want to sleep in bed with you tonight," he said. "Both of you. Not covered up. Your skin, please."

"You got it," Finn said. His smile was so grateful, it was hard for Puck to do anything but stay there with his face turned up, feeling it shining on him, but he managed to rise to his feet with Kurt's assistance.

They undressed, then helped him take his sweatpants and boxers off. Finn made a little distressed noise when he inspected the welts on Puck's bare skin, but Kurt shushed him.

"Lauren gave me… a flogger," he said, feeling the gratitude bloom inside him. "It's awesome."

"Looks like it was," Kurt murmured.

They climbed into Finn's bed, with Puck in the middle, and gathered him up in the container of their bodies. Both Kurt and Finn were hard, but neither of them were saying anything about it, or making any indication they even cared.

"This is pretty weird," he admitted, resting his head on Finn's chest. "You guys obviously want something more than just this."

"Just because we want you, Noah, doesn't mean you have to ask for it," Kurt said. "Being in bed together doesn't have to be about sex."

Lauren had said something similar. Puck tried to make sense of that statement, but in the end, he had to shake his head. "People don't get into bed with me without it being about sex."

Finn cleared his throat loudly. With ponderous intent, he raised himself up on all fours, leaning over Puck. As if that wasn't enough to get him to pay attention, he looped his finger through the ring in his collar and gave it a little tug. Puck heard himself make an embarrassing squeaky noise.

Finn spoke slowly and distinctly, looking right into his eyes. "You're worth more than sex to us."

"Oh," Puck said. He swallowed, feeling his throat constrict. "That—"

Finn's eyebrows went up. "Yes?"

"That's…" He laughed. "That's really… hot."

Finn didn't laugh back, but he did give Kurt a knowing look. "I guess self control is pretty hot," he agreed. "So is obedience. You ready to go to sleep now?"

As they turned off the light and settled down on either side of him, Puck tried to pick his confusing physical responses apart. Finn's deeper voice was a turn-off, but Kurt touching his welts was a turn-on. Kurt's breath on his neck was bad, but Finn's hairy leg draped over his was good. He dared to consider running his fingers over Kurt's hard dick, pressed up against his thigh, and felt himself shiver.

"I'm kind of scared to try anything," he said, his voice coming out small in the darkness. "Any kind of—sex."

"Yeah," Kurt replied. He stroked Puck's hair. "It's all right. You don't have to, sweetheart."

"What—" He let a stray memory of himself, splayed out and helpless, chained to the bed while Finn—that was as far as he could get without shuddering, and he swallowed hard. "What if I want to?"

"We won't let you," Finn said.

He bit off a moan. They stayed where they were, their bodies heavy upon him, keeping him still. The only sound in the room was his breathing, quick and ragged.

"What if—what if I can't help it?" he whispered. "I mean… self-control? Obedience? I don't really have a lot of either of those things."

"That's okay." Finn didn't seem upset by this idea, which was so confusing, Puck let out a frustrated whine. "You can't stop your body from having reactions, or not having reactions. We're not asking you to be in control of that. But we're still not going to have sex with you tonight."

"And it's not because we don't want to," Kurt added. His light, gentle voice made Puck's cock throb. "It's because it's time to sleep. We can think about it tomorrow."

Puck's hands twitched, tucked into his chest. Before he could slide either of them down his body to touch himself, Finn's arms came up from behind and restrained them. He bucked helplessly against the feather-light touch of the sheet, feeling the pressure of Finn's body against the lash marks on his back. They ached with exquisite tenderness, feeding his traitorous, mounting desire.

"Fuck," he groaned, writhing beneath them. "I can't—you feel—this is so—"

"Noah," Kurt said sharply. He put a hand over Puck's mouth, muffling his sounds. "It's not your call. Let go."

Letting go was, as it turned out, a major turn-on, and Puck's body gave one last wrenching thrust, held fast by their hands and bodies as he came. Kurt continued whispering soothing words into his ear, and Finn did not let go of him, even as Puck shook and wept in their arms.

"I'm sorry," he babbled, when Kurt let him speak again, "that wasn't what you said to do, and—and this isn't fair, you need things too, and—and why can't I give you what you want?"

"Noah," Finn said, still calm, still loving. He rested his head on Puck's neck and sighed, sounding unbelievably content. "You are giving us what we want."

"That's so fucked up," he groaned, and Kurt laughed.

"You can't believe you give us what we need, just by being here with us?"

"No." He sounded so angry, even to his own ears. He wanted to tell himself, shut up, can't you just enjoy this for one fucking minute before you mess it up again?

Kurt sighed. "Okay. If that's how you feel. Turn over, on your stomach. Finn, would you hand me the cuffs?"

"Wait," he said, feeling suddenly panicked, but Kurt wasn't stopping. Finn whisked the pillow away from under his face, pressing him onto the bed as he buckled the cuffs onto Puck's wrists and latching them to the waiting O-rings screwed to his headboard. "I don't know if—maybe I won't be able to handle—?"

"Too bad," Kurt said, sounding not even a little upset. "You do what you need to do, Noah. You clearly haven't heard us yet. Now where did I put that… ah, here we go." He heard a funny, high-pitched, whippy noise. "I wish we'd had a chance to try this out before using it on you…"

Puck tried to lift his head, dizzy with questions. "Kurt," he pleaded.

"Can you just… here, on my leg? She said you kind of hold it and snap it, like that. Go ahead." Finn swore. "Man, that's brutal. You might want to stick to his arms. His back is already marked up pretty badly."

"Oh, god," he moaned, trying to get up onto his knees, but Finn pushed him flat with one hand on the small of his back. "I won't—come on, okay, we can just—mmmph!"

"What was that word Lauren told us?" Kurt wondered. "Oh, yes. Aardvark. Charming. You can say that with my hand over your mouth, can't you, sweetheart?"

"I suppose there's always the chance he could be feeling sick," Finn said, like it had just occurred to him. Kurt hummed thoughtfully, stroking an idle hand across the welts on his thighs. Puck whimpered.

"That's possible," Kurt agreed. "He might choose to use the word, then. And it would be okay, if he did. We would stop touching him."

He whined and squirmed, but there was no doubt in his mind he was avoiding saying anything close to a two-syllable word. Kurt placed a hand on his shoulder, and Puck caught his breath, bracing for the impact of—whatever the fuck that was.

"Noah," Finn said. "Can you understand me?"

Puck nodded, trying to get a good lungful of air around the edges of Kurt's firm hand.

"Do you understand that we love you and want what's best for you?"

He nodded again, feeling his tension ebbing. At the moment, he actually did.

"And can you believe that we're paying attention right now, noticing your reactions, and that's helping us understand what you need, even if you don't really get why you feel that way?"

Puck choked a little, but it was just more tears, not anything else. He nodded again, resting his head on the pillow.

"Good. And—this is important—do you know that doing that for you, helping figure things out and take care of you, is kind of the most awesome thing in the world for us? Better than orgasms?"

He gasped a little, and Kurt moved his hand away from his mouth.

"Really?" he said.

"Really," Kurt said. Puck could hear the smile in that word. He let his eyes close, floating in the caress of his approval. "You're doing it perfectly."

He was barely able to muster a chuckle. "Wow," Puck mumbled. "That's… wow."

He had a vague awareness of Finn unhooking the cuffs and letting him curl up on his side, then the warmth of their bodies cradling his on either side, once again. The bed was a lot more damp than it had been earlier, but he didn't care. He moved a fraction of an inch closer to Kurt, feeling Finn pull the sheet up over all of them.

The last conscious thought that crossed his mind was, Hey, I didn't get to try that little whippy tool. Then that, too, was lost, and he slid into blissful, uninterrupted sleep.

Song credits:

Although latigo leather floggers are apparently quite intense and can cut you up badly, the sadistick, also known as an evil stick, is truly the most awful, wonderful, terrible thing ever.