Same As It Ever Was; Glee
For pyrodynamo, whom I love lots and lots. I hope this makes up for some of my suckiness, bb, considering the amount of brain cells I lost writing it. <33
Title: Same As It Ever Was
Pairing: Puck/Kurt, Puck/the ladies, pre-Mercedes/Quinn, Santana/Britanny, Finn/Rachel, Mike/Tina.
Summary: Puck goes to Kurt for help with his lady problems, for some reason. It doesn't end the way they expect.
SAME AS IT EVER WAS
This is not the first time in Puck's life that he's had women troubles. It's probably the first time he's enlisted in help, though, instead of trying to sex all the doubts away, and it's hopefully the only fucking time he enlists in Kurt's help, because - what the jesusing fuck, this is just depressing.
“Is that - Puck? Oh god, where did you get this number? Why did you call this number, what is your problem?”
It's totally cool that Kurt hates him down to the - admittedly ugly - shoes, because Puck hates him right back; Puck is in a state of hating everyone, which is totally cool, because everyone hates Puck right back, too. He's the villain of McKinley High. And he made a completely convincing Captain Hook once in like, fourth grade - he's built for this kind of work.
Being nice is a disturbing, foreign feeling - though he remains awesome at it, like most things - but he needs to not-be an asshole to Kurt for five minutes, get his help, and then be an asshole to him forever afterwards. It's a complete win-win.
“Help me,” Puck growls down the receiver, politely. This may or not be followed by some harmless threats to Kurt's intestines, which may or not be followed by a friendly, if irrelevant, “fuck you.”
Kurt squeals, then hangs up on him.
Even though Puck is totally awesome as shit at being nice, he still kind of sucks at it.
-
He tries again on Monday, in glee. Kurt doesn't shit his pants this time, but he still looks less than impressed.
“I'm not helping you 'get on' Mercedes,” he tells Puck solemnly. He scowls, pink mouth twisting. “Ever. In life.”
Bummer. Puck liked Mercedes when they dated; she would check out girls with him and had really awesome boobs. Of course, she constantly destroyed him in Street Fighter - which made no goddamn sense because he rocked the shit out that game, seriously - and then she would call him a pussy when he got upset. And then he would just get even more upset.
Kurt starts to look concerned for him.
Puck squints, thoughtfully. “Quinn, then?” He liked Quinn, too. He probably loved Quinn, he thinks, but she probably hated him; he's willing to put up with a little hate, as long as she cuts down on all the getting pregnant shit, for once.
Kurt squints right back at him. “If you can't have Mercedes then you can't - ”
“You can't take every girl,” Puck hisses at him, waving his hands. “You're not like - a fucking pimp or something, man.” Kurt cocks a brow at him, but doesn't say anything, so Puck goes on. “Quinn was way into me.” Kurt's eyebrow continues raising until it looks like it might float off his face, so Puck sighs, corrects himself: “Or she could have been, anyway.”
“Mercedes might kill you if you try. Or Finn. Or Santana.” Kurt looks up at him and says, with a thoughtful frown, “This is honestly just a really stupid idea.”
“First of all,” Puck says lowly, leaning over, “This guy?” Then he points to himself. “This guy does whatever the fuck this guy wants. He plays by his own rules. He doesn't give a shit what anyone thinks.”
Kurt just stares, dumbfounded. “You need help,” he advises, after a thick swallow, “You need some serious medical help.”
-
So, Quinn punches him in the nose and tells him to get lost, but - whatever, he didn't even like her that much in the first place. And she had a really fucked-up squint in elementary, so Puck totally wins.
“You're depressing,” is how Kurt answers his phone, “You're making me depressed.”
“Well, you're shit at helping me,” Puck says back. He sounds ridiculous with the ice-pack pressed to his face, so it isn't speech as much as it is a lot of incoherent groaning. Kurt heaves a put-upon sigh, and Puck can just picture the eye roll he must be making this very moment.
“Help with what?”
Puck pauses. “My mom says I need a girlfriend,” he answers in a halting, awkward way - like maybe he's just realised he's been pestering the gay kid for advice on getting the ladies. Then he drops his face into his hands and feels shame.
God, he is fucking depressing.
“... I'm hanging up on you now.”
“Whatever,” is Puck's weak reply to the dial tone.
-
He tries again the next day.
“Rachel is dating my my friend Finn,” Kurt snaps at him while they walk into school. If possible, the loathing in his eyes when he looks at Puck has intensified recently. “Dating our mutual friend Finn.”
Puck throws his hands up in defence. “Just a thought, man.”
Kurt's fingers - all slender and long - flex on the strap of his bag, irritably. “Do whatever you want,” he relents. Puck raises an eyebrow at him; Kurt's eyes narrow. “But please remember that Finn is built like a tank before it gets... too stupid.”
“I'm not stupid,” Puck retorts. Then he spends half an hour looking for Rachel only to prove that he seriously is.
-
On reflection, Puck is - secretly - relieved beyond measure that Finn does not waltz in, or find out. Puck quite likes his nose when it's not smeared across one side of his face, and they're almost-friends again, too. After ten years of friendship - and one year of mutual loathing and utter lifefuckery - he can admit that he does like Finn a little, and he doesn't mean any harm by this. It's like a compliment, thinking his girlfriend is hot, and asking if she wants to catch a ride on the Puckerman Express. It's a pat on the back, really, when you think about it.
Rachel looks at him after he says it, eyes narrowed. “We've been over this before, Puck. I'm flattered, but taken.” She runs a hand through her hair and says, oozing pride, “I'm happily riding the Hudson Express, thank you very much.”
For a moment, Puck tries to absorb her words and not feel ill. His face scrunches because it does not work.
She pats his arm, placatingly. Her face is a mixture of pity and patronization and how the fuck did he forget how much she annoys him? Jesus. “We weren't all that well matched, anyway,” she tells him with a shrug. “I think you fit better with Santana.”
“Yeah, fine, okay,” Puck says carelessly, although he makes a mental note of it for later. He picks Rachel's hand off his arm and walks away, calling back at her, “You have that weird freckle on your ass anyway, so I totally win.”
Her squeal of outrage is worth all the trouble.
-
“When I told you you could go for it, I did it because I was certain you would not go for it,” Kurt tells him, frowning. He's in his cheerio uniform, practising, and Puck is well aware they have about ten more seconds left of talking before Coach Sylvester chases him out with a lot of yelling and roundhouse kicks.
“What does this guy do, though?” he asks Kurt, gesturing to himself. Kurt does an exaggerated eye roll. “Answer me, Hummel: what does this guy do?”
Begrudgingly, Kurt answers, “Whatever the fuck he wants.” He squints up at Puck, one hand on his little waist; Puck's never really noticed how skinny he was before. “God, you're dumb.”
“Fuck you, I'm awesome.” He points at Santana, grins, and says, “New target. I'm in there, this time.” He nods to himself. “In fact, I've been in there many times before.”
Kurt opens his mouth to comment, but before he gets to Coach Sylvester hollers down the megaphone for Puck to get the hell out and stop distracting poor ladyface with your manly wiles.
Kurt looks mortified and fervently shoos him away. Puck just thinks it's pretty funny.
-
“Are you kidding me?”
Puck frowns. Santana just looks more confused, shooting him her worst bitch face.
“This is a joke, right? Are you like, blind or something?” She sits back and crosses her arms, waiting on an answer. Puck has trouble forming one, until she gives him an exasperated, “Well?”
He scowls. “Well, what the fuck are you even talking about, Santana? Are you blind?” His hand sweeps over his face. “Look at this. Look at what you're saying no to right now. Don't be ridiculous.”
Santana pauses for a long moment, staring at him in disbelief. “I'm dating Brittany.”
“Hi,” Brittany says at Santana's side, waving. Puck continues ignoring her.
“I'm so done with this shit,” he snarls, then stands to make his leave. Before he gets to the choir room door, he turns back and gestures an angry finger at Santana. “Don't talk to me the rest of the week.” Then he rethinks, adding hastily, “Unless it's about a threesome, then we'll talk.”
She flips him off. Brittany waves him goodbye.
-
Mercedes took a summer job in the mall at a little smoothie maker place that Puck winds up at a lot since he lost his fake ID. She looks at him funny the whole time he stands at the counter, but when he takes the first miserable sip, she caves and asks him what's wrong. “Something up?” she asks, then she checks his forehead with one hand, frowning at him.
“I need a girlfriend,” Puck says simply, dejectedly. All the sugar he's drinking just makes him feel sick, not better, like he hoped it would. And his chest kind of hurts. He remembers the whole loner-through-choice thing being much more fun. There was a lot more sex involved, too.
She smiles at him, sympathetically. “And what happened to being an awesome stud?”
“I'm a lonely stud now.” He almost sniffs. Almost. God, what is he becoming.
He puts his drink down on the counter and looks up at her, while she adjusts her apron and fixes her hair. When she catches him looking, she rolls her eyes, shakes her head like she knows what he's thinking.
“Not me, Puck,” she tells him, looking half-amused.
“But why not?” They could have been a good couple, if he'd tried a little harder. He could do that. He likes Mercedes, and she normally likes him - what's the problem?
She just smiles. “Go home. And quit being a pussy.”
He huffs, then goes.
-
There is a moment of pure confusion when the door of what he is mostly sure is Kurt's house is answered by Finn. It's all very shifty and awkward, and the face Finn pulls when Puck asks to see Kurt is completely dumbfounded.
“I'll go,” he says slowly, then points down at the basement, “I'll go get him. Wait a minute.”
Puck waits. He can hear them both yelling up and down the stairs at each other, and takes a moment to freak out over the fact Finn and Kurt are like, brothers now. It's disturbing on so many levels.
“This is disturbing,” he tells Kurt solemnly when he appears in the doorway. He's in overly baggy pyjamas that make his frame look tiny. Puck points to them and says, confused, “Are those sweatpants?”
Kurt flushes, crossing his arms. His hair is a little messy, like he's been lying down, and Puck is suddenly overcome with the urge to pinch his cheeks.“What are you here for, again?”
Puck forgets for a minute. “My plan,” he starts, and Kurt lets out a sigh. “It kind of sucks ass.”
“Yes,” Kurt agrees, nodding, “It does.”
Puck ignores him. “Santana said no. Then I went to get a pity smoothie for myself and Mercedes turned me down, too.” There is a strange fear surfacing in Puck's head. Maybe he isn't as awesome as he thinks. Maybe he's just a dick.
Kurt stares at him. “Mercedes,” he repeats, quietly, “I told you to leave her alone. That she was off-limits.”
“It doesn't make a difference.” Puck shrugs; he's pretty sure he's already told Kurt whose rules he plays by before. “She said no.”
They don't speak for a moment. Puck feels cripplingly uncomfortable; he jams his hands into his pockets and scuffs his shoes off the ground just for something to do. Kurt stays completely blank.
Then his face twists into a scowl.
“She's having a gay crisis. She's in love with Quinn. Quinn's been in love with her for months.” He takes a step forward, his fluffy purple socks setting on the welcome mat outside. Puck grabs onto the sleeve of his jumper. “Leave them both alone.” His eyes narrow and flicker to Puck's hand, on him. They've gone green. Bright, bright green. “You are such an asshole, it can't even be put into words.”
He slams the door in Puck's face.
Puck just stands, gaping. “What the fuck,” he breathes. He scratches his head. “Is everyone gay now?”
-
It spreads through the glee club that Puck is harassing all the women.
Quinn keeps sending him glares and mouthing some pretty terrifying threats to him during practice, with her hand always dangerously close to Mercedes' knee. Santana starts referring to him through only a few disgusting choice pet names that Mr Schue forbids her from saying within the choir room, with her hand practically up Brittany's skirt. Finn and Mike both throw protective arms around their girlfriends whenever he draws near. It's all really fucking stupid.
Kurt just sits next to Artie and refuses to acknowledge his presence.
“What I did wasn't that bad,” Puck says.
“Maybe.” It's a success that Kurt is now responding. He still isn't looking at him, though, even when he goes on, “But I'm in a bad mood. And you're seriously annoying me lately.”
Puck stares at him, but Kurt continues stubbornly looking forward. He gives up, frowns, and leans back in his seat. “I didn't think it bothered you this much,” he says, honestly.
There's a short pause. Kurt is watching Tina and Mike by the piano, hand in hand, when he answers quietly, “Well, it does.”
Puck looks from Kurt to them, and he doesn't say anything else.
-
He pesters Kurt until he is forgiven. Or at least, now Kurt is willing to listen to him bitch and moan again, which is good, because ever since Rachel tried to get his name on the sex offender registry, most of the glee club have been less than enthusiastic about talking to him. It looks like she's still holding a grudge about that freckle thing.
They're sitting in the empty choir room, and Puck is picking up where he left off on the story of how shit his life is. It's not all that enthralling.
“My mom has dropped the whole girlfriend thing now,” he tells Kurt, who remains uninterested in every possible way. He spreads his hands, setting one down close to Kurt's knee. “But, it's just - now, I want one. I really want one. And it sucks.”
Kurt's shoulders have tensed a little, but he doesn't say anything, he just fixes his collar and turns back to Puck, his face unreadable. Puck lets it pass, and leans over to him.
"It's like." He swallows, and says quietly, "It's like nobody wants me, though. It just feels like total shit, you know?"
Kurt opens his mouth to reply, then closes it again and just nods along, apathetically.
-
"You're being really weird lately," Puck informs him over the phone.
The other line stays quiet.
"Yeah, that. You've been doing that a lot." He clarifies, "Saying shit nothing."
Instead of silence, Kurt answers this time, "I think it's just that you refuse to shut up." Which, okay, sounds a lot better than silence, a lot more like him, but still freaks Puck out. It's just a tad too monotone - still all high-pitched and sweet and everything, but with a strange edge Puck can't put his finger on.
"You said you didn't mind listening."
"Not when it was just you being ridiculous. That was almost funny." He pauses for a moment, while Puck frowns and tries thinking back. "You think you have it so bad just because, at this point in time, the girls you like are taken. You think that's really tragic."
Abruptly, Puck can tell where this is going. He probably deserves this, and for that, he feels like a tool. "Kurt, look, I'm sorry," he tries. He really hopes Kurt doesn't start tearing up or something; he's seen Kurt cry, and it's pretty heartbreaking and could possibly make him feel like an even more terrible person. Plus, even Puck could tell today that Kurt's eyeliner was on perfectly, and it looked too good to ruin.
"You didn't mean anything by it," Kurt says, reasonably, but still too quiet. "But you really don't have it as bad as you think you do. If you'd ever like to get out of this sea of self-pity and check for yourself, that is."
"Maybe," Puck says, and then he moves them on to another subject.
-
Something has been bothering him lately.
"Am I still awesome?" he asks Artie in English. He knows he isn't awesome at English. In fact, he's failing English so badly that it's just morbid. Artie is passing English so well that it's still just morbid for Puck.
"I guess," Artie says with a shrug. "I mean, you haven't knocked anyone up or started a new bullying craze yet this year. You haven't even gotten into a fight. I don't know, you've just been..." He pushes his glasses up his nose, then waves a dismissive hand. "You've been uneventful."
Puck generally likes Artie, so he doesn't slug him across the mouth for this comment. He just punches him in the shoulder with enough force that his wheelchair flies sidewards into the leg of the table and tells him, "You're break up with hot Asian chick doesn't give you the right to be a dick."
-
There's another thing bothering him, too.
"Am I still awesome?" he asks Kurt. They're waiting on everyone else in glee, and Kurt is busy filing his nails. Normally, Puck knows it's a lost cause trying to interact with him during 'nailcare procedures', but this is bothering him sad amounts.
Kurt hums, crossing his legs. The jeans he's wearing are tight-fitting, and make him look ridiculously slender. And they do this thing to his ass that Puck may have spent most of they're walk to practice admiring. "You're pretty boring, for a guy who does whatever he wants." Kurt gives Puck's knee a considerate pat.
"That's what Artie said." Except that, unlike Artie, saying it won't get Kurt assaulted.
"You need to do something unpredictable, then," Kurt advises him, wisely.
Puck agrees. His arm drapes across the back of Kurt's chair. "I did so much crazy shit last year. It's like anything I try would seem predictable because it won't wow people as much as last year. Or something. You know?"
Kurt shrugs, continuing to file his nails and sing under his breath.
Puck watches him intently.
It goes by unnoticed for a long while, but then Kurt meets his eyes and stops all movement, looking almost alarmed. The frown he shoots Puck is completely unimpressed.
"Please god tell me you're not thinking what I think you're thinking."
Puck closes the inch of distance between their seats. "We totally have something going on," he says with a salacious grin. "All our secret meetings, all the intentionally shit dating advice you give me, the tight clothes you wear, the phone calls full of heavy breathing and sexually tense silences - "
"Those are just silences," Kurt corrects him, sounding hysterical. He looks terrified. "If anything, they're awkward silences."
"Awkward because all the sexual tension, that is." Puck keeps moving closer until they're almost sharing the same chair. Kurt leans away onto the next one, staring at Puck like he doesn't believe what he's seeing.
"What part of feeling up the gay kid do you think is going to make people believe you're awesome again?" he squeaks, pushing at Puck's shoulders.
Puck tugs at his beltloops and rolls his eyes. "I'm not feeling you up because of that. I'm feeling you up because I do whatever the fuck I want." He starts mouthing at Kurt's neck, all pale and long and soft and finally, Kurt shuts up. The hands on his shoulders relax, then side across his neck. "How many times do I have to fucking tell you that," Puck murmurs into his throat, and Kurt lets out this breathy sigh, and allows himself to be dragged into Puck's lap.
This is when Mr Schuester walks in, of course.
-
They're sitting outside Mr Schue's office, after a long, harrowing talk about inappropriate school conduct. Kurt is collapsed in a chair, face buried in his hands, refusing to speak. Puck is lying back, arms crossed behind his head, feeling pretty fucking awesome.
"You're lying if you say that wasn't totally worth it," Puck says, nudging his side.
Kurt doesn't reply. He makes a low howl of pain, instead. Puck yawns at his side, stretches.
"So when you get over this and start talking to me again, we'll be screwing, right?" Then, hastily: "Or dating. Or whatever."
Nothing. Puck nudges him again, harder this time.
"I don't even like you," Kurt mumbles, the words muffled by his hands.
Puck grins. "I think we both know that's a lie."
Kurt sighs, heavily.
"How did any of this happen, again?"
-
Puck thinks he's a pretty awesome boyfriend.
He totally beats the shit out of Azimio for hitting Kurt with a slushie. He totally gives awesome head. It's totally his idea for the duet they both sing in glee club that gets picked for Sectionals. They both totally colour-coordinate.
There's no harm in making sure, though.
"I'm a pretty awesome boyfriend, right?" he asks, casually.
Kurt blinks at him, taking a tentative sip of the Big Quench Puck just got him. "I guess," he answers, shrugging. "I have like, nothing to compare you to so, sure, I guess."
Puck takes him outside to have victory sex in his car.
Title: Same As It Ever Was
Pairing: Puck/Kurt, Puck/the ladies, pre-Mercedes/Quinn, Santana/Britanny, Finn/Rachel, Mike/Tina.
Summary: Puck goes to Kurt for help with his lady problems, for some reason. It doesn't end the way they expect.
SAME AS IT EVER WAS
This is not the first time in Puck's life that he's had women troubles. It's probably the first time he's enlisted in help, though, instead of trying to sex all the doubts away, and it's hopefully the only fucking time he enlists in Kurt's help, because - what the jesusing fuck, this is just depressing.
“Is that - Puck? Oh god, where did you get this number? Why did you call this number, what is your problem?”
It's totally cool that Kurt hates him down to the - admittedly ugly - shoes, because Puck hates him right back; Puck is in a state of hating everyone, which is totally cool, because everyone hates Puck right back, too. He's the villain of McKinley High. And he made a completely convincing Captain Hook once in like, fourth grade - he's built for this kind of work.
Being nice is a disturbing, foreign feeling - though he remains awesome at it, like most things - but he needs to not-be an asshole to Kurt for five minutes, get his help, and then be an asshole to him forever afterwards. It's a complete win-win.
“Help me,” Puck growls down the receiver, politely. This may or not be followed by some harmless threats to Kurt's intestines, which may or not be followed by a friendly, if irrelevant, “fuck you.”
Kurt squeals, then hangs up on him.
Even though Puck is totally awesome as shit at being nice, he still kind of sucks at it.
-
He tries again on Monday, in glee. Kurt doesn't shit his pants this time, but he still looks less than impressed.
“I'm not helping you 'get on' Mercedes,” he tells Puck solemnly. He scowls, pink mouth twisting. “Ever. In life.”
Bummer. Puck liked Mercedes when they dated; she would check out girls with him and had really awesome boobs. Of course, she constantly destroyed him in Street Fighter - which made no goddamn sense because he rocked the shit out that game, seriously - and then she would call him a pussy when he got upset. And then he would just get even more upset.
Kurt starts to look concerned for him.
Puck squints, thoughtfully. “Quinn, then?” He liked Quinn, too. He probably loved Quinn, he thinks, but she probably hated him; he's willing to put up with a little hate, as long as she cuts down on all the getting pregnant shit, for once.
Kurt squints right back at him. “If you can't have Mercedes then you can't - ”
“You can't take every girl,” Puck hisses at him, waving his hands. “You're not like - a fucking pimp or something, man.” Kurt cocks a brow at him, but doesn't say anything, so Puck goes on. “Quinn was way into me.” Kurt's eyebrow continues raising until it looks like it might float off his face, so Puck sighs, corrects himself: “Or she could have been, anyway.”
“Mercedes might kill you if you try. Or Finn. Or Santana.” Kurt looks up at him and says, with a thoughtful frown, “This is honestly just a really stupid idea.”
“First of all,” Puck says lowly, leaning over, “This guy?” Then he points to himself. “This guy does whatever the fuck this guy wants. He plays by his own rules. He doesn't give a shit what anyone thinks.”
Kurt just stares, dumbfounded. “You need help,” he advises, after a thick swallow, “You need some serious medical help.”
-
So, Quinn punches him in the nose and tells him to get lost, but - whatever, he didn't even like her that much in the first place. And she had a really fucked-up squint in elementary, so Puck totally wins.
“You're depressing,” is how Kurt answers his phone, “You're making me depressed.”
“Well, you're shit at helping me,” Puck says back. He sounds ridiculous with the ice-pack pressed to his face, so it isn't speech as much as it is a lot of incoherent groaning. Kurt heaves a put-upon sigh, and Puck can just picture the eye roll he must be making this very moment.
“Help with what?”
Puck pauses. “My mom says I need a girlfriend,” he answers in a halting, awkward way - like maybe he's just realised he's been pestering the gay kid for advice on getting the ladies. Then he drops his face into his hands and feels shame.
God, he is fucking depressing.
“... I'm hanging up on you now.”
“Whatever,” is Puck's weak reply to the dial tone.
-
He tries again the next day.
“Rachel is dating my my friend Finn,” Kurt snaps at him while they walk into school. If possible, the loathing in his eyes when he looks at Puck has intensified recently. “Dating our mutual friend Finn.”
Puck throws his hands up in defence. “Just a thought, man.”
Kurt's fingers - all slender and long - flex on the strap of his bag, irritably. “Do whatever you want,” he relents. Puck raises an eyebrow at him; Kurt's eyes narrow. “But please remember that Finn is built like a tank before it gets... too stupid.”
“I'm not stupid,” Puck retorts. Then he spends half an hour looking for Rachel only to prove that he seriously is.
-
On reflection, Puck is - secretly - relieved beyond measure that Finn does not waltz in, or find out. Puck quite likes his nose when it's not smeared across one side of his face, and they're almost-friends again, too. After ten years of friendship - and one year of mutual loathing and utter lifefuckery - he can admit that he does like Finn a little, and he doesn't mean any harm by this. It's like a compliment, thinking his girlfriend is hot, and asking if she wants to catch a ride on the Puckerman Express. It's a pat on the back, really, when you think about it.
Rachel looks at him after he says it, eyes narrowed. “We've been over this before, Puck. I'm flattered, but taken.” She runs a hand through her hair and says, oozing pride, “I'm happily riding the Hudson Express, thank you very much.”
For a moment, Puck tries to absorb her words and not feel ill. His face scrunches because it does not work.
She pats his arm, placatingly. Her face is a mixture of pity and patronization and how the fuck did he forget how much she annoys him? Jesus. “We weren't all that well matched, anyway,” she tells him with a shrug. “I think you fit better with Santana.”
“Yeah, fine, okay,” Puck says carelessly, although he makes a mental note of it for later. He picks Rachel's hand off his arm and walks away, calling back at her, “You have that weird freckle on your ass anyway, so I totally win.”
Her squeal of outrage is worth all the trouble.
-
“When I told you you could go for it, I did it because I was certain you would not go for it,” Kurt tells him, frowning. He's in his cheerio uniform, practising, and Puck is well aware they have about ten more seconds left of talking before Coach Sylvester chases him out with a lot of yelling and roundhouse kicks.
“What does this guy do, though?” he asks Kurt, gesturing to himself. Kurt does an exaggerated eye roll. “Answer me, Hummel: what does this guy do?”
Begrudgingly, Kurt answers, “Whatever the fuck he wants.” He squints up at Puck, one hand on his little waist; Puck's never really noticed how skinny he was before. “God, you're dumb.”
“Fuck you, I'm awesome.” He points at Santana, grins, and says, “New target. I'm in there, this time.” He nods to himself. “In fact, I've been in there many times before.”
Kurt opens his mouth to comment, but before he gets to Coach Sylvester hollers down the megaphone for Puck to get the hell out and stop distracting poor ladyface with your manly wiles.
Kurt looks mortified and fervently shoos him away. Puck just thinks it's pretty funny.
-
“Are you kidding me?”
Puck frowns. Santana just looks more confused, shooting him her worst bitch face.
“This is a joke, right? Are you like, blind or something?” She sits back and crosses her arms, waiting on an answer. Puck has trouble forming one, until she gives him an exasperated, “Well?”
He scowls. “Well, what the fuck are you even talking about, Santana? Are you blind?” His hand sweeps over his face. “Look at this. Look at what you're saying no to right now. Don't be ridiculous.”
Santana pauses for a long moment, staring at him in disbelief. “I'm dating Brittany.”
“Hi,” Brittany says at Santana's side, waving. Puck continues ignoring her.
“I'm so done with this shit,” he snarls, then stands to make his leave. Before he gets to the choir room door, he turns back and gestures an angry finger at Santana. “Don't talk to me the rest of the week.” Then he rethinks, adding hastily, “Unless it's about a threesome, then we'll talk.”
She flips him off. Brittany waves him goodbye.
-
Mercedes took a summer job in the mall at a little smoothie maker place that Puck winds up at a lot since he lost his fake ID. She looks at him funny the whole time he stands at the counter, but when he takes the first miserable sip, she caves and asks him what's wrong. “Something up?” she asks, then she checks his forehead with one hand, frowning at him.
“I need a girlfriend,” Puck says simply, dejectedly. All the sugar he's drinking just makes him feel sick, not better, like he hoped it would. And his chest kind of hurts. He remembers the whole loner-through-choice thing being much more fun. There was a lot more sex involved, too.
She smiles at him, sympathetically. “And what happened to being an awesome stud?”
“I'm a lonely stud now.” He almost sniffs. Almost. God, what is he becoming.
He puts his drink down on the counter and looks up at her, while she adjusts her apron and fixes her hair. When she catches him looking, she rolls her eyes, shakes her head like she knows what he's thinking.
“Not me, Puck,” she tells him, looking half-amused.
“But why not?” They could have been a good couple, if he'd tried a little harder. He could do that. He likes Mercedes, and she normally likes him - what's the problem?
She just smiles. “Go home. And quit being a pussy.”
He huffs, then goes.
-
There is a moment of pure confusion when the door of what he is mostly sure is Kurt's house is answered by Finn. It's all very shifty and awkward, and the face Finn pulls when Puck asks to see Kurt is completely dumbfounded.
“I'll go,” he says slowly, then points down at the basement, “I'll go get him. Wait a minute.”
Puck waits. He can hear them both yelling up and down the stairs at each other, and takes a moment to freak out over the fact Finn and Kurt are like, brothers now. It's disturbing on so many levels.
“This is disturbing,” he tells Kurt solemnly when he appears in the doorway. He's in overly baggy pyjamas that make his frame look tiny. Puck points to them and says, confused, “Are those sweatpants?”
Kurt flushes, crossing his arms. His hair is a little messy, like he's been lying down, and Puck is suddenly overcome with the urge to pinch his cheeks.“What are you here for, again?”
Puck forgets for a minute. “My plan,” he starts, and Kurt lets out a sigh. “It kind of sucks ass.”
“Yes,” Kurt agrees, nodding, “It does.”
Puck ignores him. “Santana said no. Then I went to get a pity smoothie for myself and Mercedes turned me down, too.” There is a strange fear surfacing in Puck's head. Maybe he isn't as awesome as he thinks. Maybe he's just a dick.
Kurt stares at him. “Mercedes,” he repeats, quietly, “I told you to leave her alone. That she was off-limits.”
“It doesn't make a difference.” Puck shrugs; he's pretty sure he's already told Kurt whose rules he plays by before. “She said no.”
They don't speak for a moment. Puck feels cripplingly uncomfortable; he jams his hands into his pockets and scuffs his shoes off the ground just for something to do. Kurt stays completely blank.
Then his face twists into a scowl.
“She's having a gay crisis. She's in love with Quinn. Quinn's been in love with her for months.” He takes a step forward, his fluffy purple socks setting on the welcome mat outside. Puck grabs onto the sleeve of his jumper. “Leave them both alone.” His eyes narrow and flicker to Puck's hand, on him. They've gone green. Bright, bright green. “You are such an asshole, it can't even be put into words.”
He slams the door in Puck's face.
Puck just stands, gaping. “What the fuck,” he breathes. He scratches his head. “Is everyone gay now?”
-
It spreads through the glee club that Puck is harassing all the women.
Quinn keeps sending him glares and mouthing some pretty terrifying threats to him during practice, with her hand always dangerously close to Mercedes' knee. Santana starts referring to him through only a few disgusting choice pet names that Mr Schue forbids her from saying within the choir room, with her hand practically up Brittany's skirt. Finn and Mike both throw protective arms around their girlfriends whenever he draws near. It's all really fucking stupid.
Kurt just sits next to Artie and refuses to acknowledge his presence.
“What I did wasn't that bad,” Puck says.
“Maybe.” It's a success that Kurt is now responding. He still isn't looking at him, though, even when he goes on, “But I'm in a bad mood. And you're seriously annoying me lately.”
Puck stares at him, but Kurt continues stubbornly looking forward. He gives up, frowns, and leans back in his seat. “I didn't think it bothered you this much,” he says, honestly.
There's a short pause. Kurt is watching Tina and Mike by the piano, hand in hand, when he answers quietly, “Well, it does.”
Puck looks from Kurt to them, and he doesn't say anything else.
-
He pesters Kurt until he is forgiven. Or at least, now Kurt is willing to listen to him bitch and moan again, which is good, because ever since Rachel tried to get his name on the sex offender registry, most of the glee club have been less than enthusiastic about talking to him. It looks like she's still holding a grudge about that freckle thing.
They're sitting in the empty choir room, and Puck is picking up where he left off on the story of how shit his life is. It's not all that enthralling.
“My mom has dropped the whole girlfriend thing now,” he tells Kurt, who remains uninterested in every possible way. He spreads his hands, setting one down close to Kurt's knee. “But, it's just - now, I want one. I really want one. And it sucks.”
Kurt's shoulders have tensed a little, but he doesn't say anything, he just fixes his collar and turns back to Puck, his face unreadable. Puck lets it pass, and leans over to him.
"It's like." He swallows, and says quietly, "It's like nobody wants me, though. It just feels like total shit, you know?"
Kurt opens his mouth to reply, then closes it again and just nods along, apathetically.
-
"You're being really weird lately," Puck informs him over the phone.
The other line stays quiet.
"Yeah, that. You've been doing that a lot." He clarifies, "Saying shit nothing."
Instead of silence, Kurt answers this time, "I think it's just that you refuse to shut up." Which, okay, sounds a lot better than silence, a lot more like him, but still freaks Puck out. It's just a tad too monotone - still all high-pitched and sweet and everything, but with a strange edge Puck can't put his finger on.
"You said you didn't mind listening."
"Not when it was just you being ridiculous. That was almost funny." He pauses for a moment, while Puck frowns and tries thinking back. "You think you have it so bad just because, at this point in time, the girls you like are taken. You think that's really tragic."
Abruptly, Puck can tell where this is going. He probably deserves this, and for that, he feels like a tool. "Kurt, look, I'm sorry," he tries. He really hopes Kurt doesn't start tearing up or something; he's seen Kurt cry, and it's pretty heartbreaking and could possibly make him feel like an even more terrible person. Plus, even Puck could tell today that Kurt's eyeliner was on perfectly, and it looked too good to ruin.
"You didn't mean anything by it," Kurt says, reasonably, but still too quiet. "But you really don't have it as bad as you think you do. If you'd ever like to get out of this sea of self-pity and check for yourself, that is."
"Maybe," Puck says, and then he moves them on to another subject.
-
Something has been bothering him lately.
"Am I still awesome?" he asks Artie in English. He knows he isn't awesome at English. In fact, he's failing English so badly that it's just morbid. Artie is passing English so well that it's still just morbid for Puck.
"I guess," Artie says with a shrug. "I mean, you haven't knocked anyone up or started a new bullying craze yet this year. You haven't even gotten into a fight. I don't know, you've just been..." He pushes his glasses up his nose, then waves a dismissive hand. "You've been uneventful."
Puck generally likes Artie, so he doesn't slug him across the mouth for this comment. He just punches him in the shoulder with enough force that his wheelchair flies sidewards into the leg of the table and tells him, "You're break up with hot Asian chick doesn't give you the right to be a dick."
-
There's another thing bothering him, too.
"Am I still awesome?" he asks Kurt. They're waiting on everyone else in glee, and Kurt is busy filing his nails. Normally, Puck knows it's a lost cause trying to interact with him during 'nailcare procedures', but this is bothering him sad amounts.
Kurt hums, crossing his legs. The jeans he's wearing are tight-fitting, and make him look ridiculously slender. And they do this thing to his ass that Puck may have spent most of they're walk to practice admiring. "You're pretty boring, for a guy who does whatever he wants." Kurt gives Puck's knee a considerate pat.
"That's what Artie said." Except that, unlike Artie, saying it won't get Kurt assaulted.
"You need to do something unpredictable, then," Kurt advises him, wisely.
Puck agrees. His arm drapes across the back of Kurt's chair. "I did so much crazy shit last year. It's like anything I try would seem predictable because it won't wow people as much as last year. Or something. You know?"
Kurt shrugs, continuing to file his nails and sing under his breath.
Puck watches him intently.
It goes by unnoticed for a long while, but then Kurt meets his eyes and stops all movement, looking almost alarmed. The frown he shoots Puck is completely unimpressed.
"Please god tell me you're not thinking what I think you're thinking."
Puck closes the inch of distance between their seats. "We totally have something going on," he says with a salacious grin. "All our secret meetings, all the intentionally shit dating advice you give me, the tight clothes you wear, the phone calls full of heavy breathing and sexually tense silences - "
"Those are just silences," Kurt corrects him, sounding hysterical. He looks terrified. "If anything, they're awkward silences."
"Awkward because all the sexual tension, that is." Puck keeps moving closer until they're almost sharing the same chair. Kurt leans away onto the next one, staring at Puck like he doesn't believe what he's seeing.
"What part of feeling up the gay kid do you think is going to make people believe you're awesome again?" he squeaks, pushing at Puck's shoulders.
Puck tugs at his beltloops and rolls his eyes. "I'm not feeling you up because of that. I'm feeling you up because I do whatever the fuck I want." He starts mouthing at Kurt's neck, all pale and long and soft and finally, Kurt shuts up. The hands on his shoulders relax, then side across his neck. "How many times do I have to fucking tell you that," Puck murmurs into his throat, and Kurt lets out this breathy sigh, and allows himself to be dragged into Puck's lap.
This is when Mr Schuester walks in, of course.
-
They're sitting outside Mr Schue's office, after a long, harrowing talk about inappropriate school conduct. Kurt is collapsed in a chair, face buried in his hands, refusing to speak. Puck is lying back, arms crossed behind his head, feeling pretty fucking awesome.
"You're lying if you say that wasn't totally worth it," Puck says, nudging his side.
Kurt doesn't reply. He makes a low howl of pain, instead. Puck yawns at his side, stretches.
"So when you get over this and start talking to me again, we'll be screwing, right?" Then, hastily: "Or dating. Or whatever."
Nothing. Puck nudges him again, harder this time.
"I don't even like you," Kurt mumbles, the words muffled by his hands.
Puck grins. "I think we both know that's a lie."
Kurt sighs, heavily.
"How did any of this happen, again?"
-
Puck thinks he's a pretty awesome boyfriend.
He totally beats the shit out of Azimio for hitting Kurt with a slushie. He totally gives awesome head. It's totally his idea for the duet they both sing in glee club that gets picked for Sectionals. They both totally colour-coordinate.
There's no harm in making sure, though.
"I'm a pretty awesome boyfriend, right?" he asks, casually.
Kurt blinks at him, taking a tentative sip of the Big Quench Puck just got him. "I guess," he answers, shrugging. "I have like, nothing to compare you to so, sure, I guess."
Puck takes him outside to have victory sex in his car.