Puck had never had to ride to school wearing Finn's clothes before. To be fair, he'd never woken up naked on a dude's floor before either, and that was way gayer than the gym t-shirt and jeans that he was sporting right now. Even if he did had to go commando in another guy's jeans.
Actually, under further consideration, pretty much everything about the morning after the full moon blew. He'd rather the pain of that first bite to the increasing embarrassment that he was feeling. An embarrassment that was compounded by how heady, how big, Kurt's scent was at the moment.
At least physically Puck felt fine. Better than fine. His body wasn't nearly as tense anymore, and for the first time in weeks he didn't feel like he had a fever, or that he was likely to explode out of his skin. He did feel like he needed to rough up a few nerds, but that was just to save face.
Kurt, fortunately, didn't make a big deal about it while they were getting ready for school. He'd been dressed by the time Puck woke up, as gaily put together as he ever was, in some dark green "military if Katy Perry dancers were in the military" get up. He didn't bring up Puck being naked, instead just pointing to the pile of Finn's clothes that he'd grabbed from last time Finn had been over. He didn't bring up the fact that Puck had shown up out of nowhere last night, all wolfed-out and pushy, and instead just shoved a plate of eggs and turkey bacon into Puck's hands. Kurt definitely didn't bring up the fact that Puck had fallen asleep while Kurt essentially cleaned him, except for a mumbled comment about towels that Puck was pretty sure that Kurt didn't think he heard.
So getting ready was done mostly in silence. It was about five minutes into the car ride that Kurt decided he needed to talk.
"We need to talk."
Puck raised an eyebrow at him. "Like hell we do, Hummel. I'm going to school, and we're not talking."
Kurt couldn't turn to him without breaking his concentration on the road. So he glared at the windshield instead. "Oh no, Puck. You don't get to do that." Puck opened his mouth, about to shut Kurt the hell up, but Kurt barreled on, "Over the past weeks I've been sniffed, followed, tracked- apparently- and, as of last night scared half to death. Not to mention I cleaned blood out of your fur and had to play 'avoid my father all this morning. So while I appreciate that, up until last night at least, you kept the creepoid to a minimum, I think I have the right to figure out what is going on." Puck was silent, because, well, he couldn't debate that. Kurt sighed. "Now, honestly: are you still claiming this isn't a gay thing?"
Puck's eyes narrowed. "I'm sure. Next question."
There was that pinched look of irritation. "Puck, please don't do this. We both know that what happened the other day, before we were embarrassingly interrupted, wasn't the most heterosexual moment of your life." Puck slouched in his seat, scowling. "And I don't know how much you remember about last night, but, all things considered, you were fairly kind. And by "all things considered," I mean you didn't attempt to rip my throat out."
"My bad," Puck deadpanned. Kurt's SUV was too small, Puck decided. With the heat turned up like it was to make up for Puck's lack of a jacket, the whole thing smelled like heat and leather and Kurt, and the only pro of that situation was that all of that overpowered the gay-ass traces of Finn's scent that still clung to the t-shirt, in spite of having been washed.
They hit a red light, and Kurt turned to face Puck, his face a vicious display of something that was probably more hurt than fear, because it was the same look he would give whenever he was sick of being dumpstered. "What the hell's your problem, Puckerman?" He demanded. "I'm not doing anything to you. Stop acting like it's my fault!"
Wasn't doing anything to him? Just smelling where Kurt had been was enough to make Puck's stomach weird- not bad weird, except that a dude was causing it- and lose his concentration. Girls didn't screw his head up like this; hell, Quinn didn't, not anymore. So whatever was happening, Puck wasn't taking the whole blame because it wasn't all him. It couldn't be.
But...Kurt wasn't kind of right too. Kurt hadn't avoided, or encouraged, or done any of the crap he did when he was pursuing a guy- Puck had watched the Finn thing go down- so getting pissed at Kurt was just getting extra agitated for no reason.
Didn't mean he wanted to talk about it. "I told you already. You smell..." He damn near says 'like what a hot chick should smell like', but catches that quick and just says, "...good."
"Right, you said that," Kurt replied. The light changed, and he continued to drive. "And you're not exactly the epitome of self-control, as evidenced by most anything you've ever done." Puck rolled his eyes. "So are you planning on continuing this game of sniffing and running, or...?" Kurt lifted one hand off the wheel to brush his hair from his forehead.
"I'm not planning anything."
"Of course you're not." Kurt sighed. "How are you feeling, Puck?"
The change of topic threw Puck for a loop. "Huh?" He blinked, swallowed, and yeah, Kurt's scent was strong enough that he could taste it. He shook his head. "I'm good." He paused. "I feel badass, like after a good practice. Why?"
"Because you've been so up and down since you were bitten it seemed like a good thing to ask," Kurt explained. Puck shrugged. "Look I'm not asking you to sashay down the hallways of McKinley. Your manly strut is more than acceptable. I'm just saying that if this isn't 'gay,' you've got a very funny definition of gay."
Puck didn't want to talk about this anymore, so he changed the topic. "So, was it Karofsky or Azimio that fucked up your back?" Kurt didn't answer. "Oh, yeah, ain't so talky when I'm asking you questions, huh?"
"That's different. That's none of your business," Kurt said briskly, after a cold, cold moment.
"How's it different? You don't wanna talk about it either, right?" Puck challenged. He sat up further in his seat, finding a conversational foothold and grabbing hold of it. It wasn't that he was using the information to distract, even if that was an excellent side-benefit. No, the smell of locker metal and bruising had bothered him a lot, even if he knew that sort of thing always happened, and even though he used to be the reason for it. It was an upsetting undercurrent to Kurt's scent, and Puck knew that it was worse today and last night than it had been before.
Kurt sniffed primly. "Since when do you care?"
Puck just stared at him. Seriously?
"It's unimportant. Just your old brothers-in-arms doing the same moronic things that they've always done. I'm fine."
"You know how easy it would be to figure out which one of them it was, right?" Puck had always had a tendency of speaking without thinking, and finding something that was equally uncomfortable for Kurt as talking about Puck's recent behavior was for Puck wasn't going to change that. "I'm pretty sure I already know the answer because I can smell it."
"You can smell who pushed me?" Kurt asked incredulously.
"If I lean in close enough? I can smell which shoulder your dad touched before you left the house this morning," Puck replied, shrugging the same way he did whenever he made a vague reference to how badass he was. "I know I was able to smell it last night, and like I said, I'm pretty sure I know who it was, but it's not like I know their scents all like that, get what I'm saying?"
Kurt looked more unsettled than when Puck had started sniffing him in the classroom. He didn't say anything at first; they were at the school (Puck hadn't even registered the familiar scents and sounds of WMHS, not when the leather and Kurt and heat smells were so close), and he was pulling in to the parking lot.
But when he parked and turned off the engine, neither teenager moved from their seat. Puck continued to stare at him- even if he had slouched down further in his seat so that not everyone saw him just chilling in Kurt's passenger seat like some chick he'd one-night-standed with- and Kurt grabbed his school bag from the back seat. He took off his seat belt, and put the bag over his shoulder.
"Karofsky," Kurt looked up at the roof of the car as he sneered out the name, let the fact that he was furious roll off the name like waves of heat. "It usually is nowadays."
Puck nodded. "Thought so."
"I seriously smell like him?" Kurt looked repulsed, shuddering. "Ugh, that is the least attractive thing I've ever been told."
"I can smell him on you, it's different," Puck took a moment to try to explain. "It's not like how bad it was with Santana the other day. Could smell a dude on her like he was in the room, practically." He shook his head. "Nah, this is just like, on your side. I can ignore it, sort of." Technically a lie, but whatever.
Kurt chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Is your curiosity sated now?"
Puck severely missed the days when Kurt was neither a nuance nor an object that even floated into his peripheral vision. Sure, Puck had been a long way from body checking Kurt as a daily regimen, but there had been a time when, post-Glee, Kurt didn't even register to him. When little things like Kurt being nervous, or uncomfortable didn't bother him, didn't trigger that same part of his brain that got protective when someone screwed with the girls, like Rachel.
And this wasn't a hundred percent about being bitten by a werewolf, either, Puck had to admit. There was a limit to how much messing with the Glee Club he was comfortable with, nowadays.
"Dude, it's not curiosity," Puck retorted. Then he shrugged, this one more dismissive than the last, even if all that dismissiveness was turned inward. He got out the car, slamming the door behind him. Puck hated being misunderstood, especially when he couldn't, or didn't want to, explain what he meant. But Kurt wasn't getting any of it. So whatever, he'd see him in Glee later.
He heard Kurt closed the door and walk quickly to catch up with Puck. "Wait!"
Puck didn't stop walking, but he glanced at Kurt over his shoulder. "What, Hummel?"
Kurt pressed his lips together before speaking. "You still need to figure out what's going on with u- with you, because having a straight male on my heels is weird, if not totally inappropriate. I'm sure that even you can understand that. And when you figure all that out, I'm sure you won't have any trouble finding me."
That said, Kurt split off from Puck as soon as they entered the main hallway, rushing off to his own locker. For a minute, Puck watched him make his way through the crowd, keeping an eye out for any morning shenanigans. Confident that none were happening now, Puck forced himself to make his way to his own locker.
Weren't werewolves supposed to be badass?
Away from Kurt for most of the day, Puck was able to think about the night before without the embarrassment of being near someone who'd actually been there. He ditched two classes straight in the nurse's office, faking sleep.
Even without feeling like everyone knew about last night, he felt like a punk. Growing up in Lima, there'd always been stories about werewolves. The stories were crazy enough that even Puck listened and retold them without getting bored. back when his grandparents had been growing up, and werewolves had spent the summer wrecking town, the reason why people had given up on having night-lives during the full moon. At the best, wolves meant property destruction, cattle going missing, general wildlife problems. At worst? Well, it didn't take an idiot to figure out the worst case scenario.
Sure, Puck went and ate a frigging cow, but whatever. He could goo down to McDonald's and do that now. And it wasn't that Puck wanted to run around biting and killing people, no, because that wasn't cool. But spending the evening getting bathed like he was at a damn groomer or something? Wasn't that the opposite of what was supposed to happen?
He'd dealt with the fever, with the weird enhanced senses, with the day before the full moon. He still had trouble dealing with the fact that he'd made it through the transformation itself, but he had. He at least deserved to be a cool werewolf, and not some lame, pussy one.
Adjusting the strap on his backpack, he was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't see Mr. Schuester until he nearly ran into him. The only reason they didn't collide was because Mr. Schuester noticed Puck and held out an arm to stop Puck.
"Whoa there." Mr. Schuester quickly removed his hand from Puck's shoulder, which was good, because teachers didn't go around touching Puck. Well, except for that once, but Ryerson was gross anyway. "Heading to class?"
Puck blinked for a moment, adjusting to the the fact that someone was actually talking to him. After parting ways with Kurt, most people, teachers included, had seen fit to leave Puck mostly to himself. It was probably because the last time the he'd been in school (only two days ago? Seriously?) he'd been on the warpath, fighting with any and everything. So being spoken to directly took a moment's pause.
Mr. Schue raised an eyebrow. "Is it an actual free period?"
Technically, no, but it wasn't like he went to math class anyway. "Yeah."
Still looking doubtful, Mr. Schue motioned with his head towards his office. "Well, if you've got a minute anyway, I wanted to talk to you."
Puck narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "I wasn't here yesterday, so whatever it is, I didn't do it."
"You didn't do anything wrong. I just wanted to talk to you for a minute." Puck hesitated for a moment, before shrugging. Mr. Schue led him to the office, opening the door so that Puck could stroll inside.
Doing a mental inventory on his day, Puck was pretty sure that he hadn't done anything to warrant getting in trouble. Sure, he'd bodychecked Ben Israel, but that was only once, and the kid was coming at him with that damn camera of his, so Puck was justified. Anyway, he knew that twerp hadn't gone running to a teacher about it, so that couldn't have been it.
Mr. Schue sat down at his desk, and motioned for Puck to make himself comfortable. Puck stood by the now closed door, taking off his backpack and putting it on the floor in front of him. He crossed his arms. "What's up, Mr. Schue?"
"I know it's dorky, and I know the last thing you want is a teacher checking up on you," Mr. Schue began, his hands already up in front of him as if he were surrendering, "but I wanted to make sure you were doing okay. I know last night was-"
"Mr. Schue? I'm totally chill," Puck said warily, throwing the spanish teacher a look. "Don't worry about it." Bull, Puck thought to himself. There was a lot wrong, a lot to freak out about, and a lot to be pissed about, but hell if he was going to start having hearts to heart to Mr. Schue. There was only so much anti-badass behavior that Puck could engage in during the day before his balls started to recede, he was sure of that.
"Are you sure?"
Puck's shrug was too quick and too defensive. "Yeah, I'm sure."
"Puck..." Mr. Schue sighed, shaking his head. "I know what you're probably thinking."
"You know i'm thinking about ditching and heading to the Bell for nachos?" Puck's tone was only-half sarcastic. The look from Mr. Schue was completely scolding. Puck sighed, rolling his eyes. "Look, no offense, Mr. Schue, but-"
"-I know, I know. You're going to tell me I don't get it, right?" Mr. Schue filled in. Puck pressed his lips together in a thin line. "That doesn't mean I can't lend an ear. Things might have been different for me, but I was a teenager in Lima, too." Mr. Schue paused, and when Puck didn't immediately interject- instead choosing to look anywhere but at the teacher. "When it's not boring here, it's terrifying. If it's not bullying, it's..." Mr. Schue's voice became a touch dryer than Puck was used to hearing. "...Werewolves." The moment passed, and Mr. Schue continued with his usual gay-ass gusto for life stuff. "It's why I wanted to put Glee back together, to make a place for you guys to have fun, relax. Not to worry about that sort of stuff."
Puck could have pointed out how badly that had turned out for everyone involved. He could pick a random club member at random- like himself, for example: made a chick pregnant, got dumped on the regular, made his best friend hate him, had to give up the kid, and then, icing on the suck-flavored cake, he'd become a werewolf. He wasn't necessarily blaming any of that on Glee, but he was pretty sure it all would have gone better without the club.
Still, he hadn't left yet. "Right."
"Look, it's cool if you think I'm just a crazy teacher." Puck appreciated the permission, he guessed. "But I want to look out for you kids. Anyway I can, I'll be there."
Puck shakes his head. "I don't think so, Mr. Schue." The hesitation in his voice is laced with a touch of amusement.
"Come on, try me, give me your best shot," Mr. Schue insisted. "Nothing's too weird."
"I ate a cow last night." Mr. Schue didn't say anything. Barely even blinked, honestly, and Puck was pretty sure that any reaction was more because Puck actually answered him. "Not like, a Quarterpounder, or a double or whatever."
Mr. Schue raised an eyebrow at him. "I know, Puck."
Puck gestured with his hands as he talked. "No, you don't. It wasn't a super-sized meal because I may or may not have been baked over the weekend." Mr. Schuester didn't comment on Puck's illicit recreational activities either. Puck figured that was because those were public knowledge. "I ate a cow. It made noise."
"I hear you." Mr. Schue took a breath.
Puck barrelled on. "That's not even a couple of super-sized meal. Not even like, ten of them. That's what, seven pounds or something right?" Mr. Schue opened his mouth for a second, and then clamped it shut. "No, like...a real cow."
"Okay." Mr. Schue leaned back in his seat, crossing his legs and folding his arms over his chest. "I imagine that's got to be pretty upsetting for you."
No, not really, Puck doesn't say. He really doesn't care much about the cow. It's a stupid cow for goodness sake, and not even 'cow' like a totally rank chick or something, like that girl who sits in the front of his science lab, when he goes, and keeps throwing creepy ass looks his way when she thinks he can't see her.
"A little." Puck stared at him. "Okay, okay, more than a little." Mr. Schue sighed again and looked up at the ceiling for a minute. An action that looked like it was a trend amongst people who Puck talked to for longer than three seconds. "Look, if you're trying to shock me, I'm not going to let you. There were more werewolves when I was younger. I've heard people tell stories before. Now," and Mr. Schue motioned towards the chair on the other side of his desk, "If you want to talk, and it's got to be shocking, that's fine. I think I can handle it."
And Puck had to admit, this was the first time ever that he suspected that Mr. Schuester might actually have a pair on him. Because Puck was a little impressed. More than a little; enough impressed that, after a pause, he pushed himself off from the wall and dragged his backpack over to the chair Mr. Schue had offered him. He sat down, slumped back.
Mr. Schue didn't smile, but his expression wasn't teacher-stern, either. "So. The cow."
Puck swallows. "The cow's just...I don't know, meat or whatever. Was." For some reason, he found himself imagining the horrified looks that Kurt and Rachel both would have given him for that sentence. He shook his head and continued. "It's stupid anyway. What kind of werewolf goes out and snacks on a cow, and that's like, the most badass thing they do, huh?" Puck curses himself, turning to look away. He didn't mean to say it, not like that, not all bared out and honest.
But how often did a teacher really call Puck's bluff and mean it? And not mock him for it? Dude deserved a little respect.
"You were expecting...?" Mr. Schue questioned, motioning at Puck to continue. "What happened?"
"I don't know!" Puck snapped. "Something, something that wasn't..." Totally gay. "Look, that night I got bit? That other wolf was fucking badass. Terrifying. I nearly shat myself. Me."
Mr. Schue frowned. "I wouldn't describe that as badass-"
"You're not listening to me, Mr. Schuester," Puck interjected. "That wolf tore my shoulder out because I looked at him funny, or said something wrong or something, I don't know. Me? You know what I did my first full moon?"
"Ate a cow."
"I had a fucking playdate with Queen Hummel."
Mr. Schue clearly wasn't expecting that, his mouth a open for a moment before his face scrunched up in confusion, and he asked, just to be sure, "Kurt Hummel?" Puck nodded, his body tense. "Is he all right?"
"Yeah, he's fine," Puck said, as if that was somehow a nightmarish path for the night to have gone.
"Why don't you tell me what happened, exactly?"
"You wanna know what happened?" Puck's voice was slightly raised, borderline panicked. "I sniffed my way over to Hummel's place, where homegirl was like, taking out the trash. Now, any scary-ass werewolf right now is gonna make Kurt run like a scream queen, right? But no, apparently I wanted to just sit around and snifff him and sit on his floor like some sort of pet or some crap. Hummel washed my fur, Mr. Schue. Washed it. Might as well have painted my nails and put a bow in my hair, because that shit was that homo. I wagged my tail so hard I think I frigging cracked his floor. Not cool.
"And you know what's less cool, even?" Puck continued, barely aware of Mr. Schue's completely confused expression, "I woke up on his floor. He had to drive my ass into school."
"And, to top all that crap off? I've gotta be flying commando in Finn's jeans because they were the only pair in the house that fit me. I hate being a werewolf, this sucks."
Mr. Schue doesn't respond, not right away, and Puck's pretty sure that his little rant was probably the exact thing that was too much, too queer, and too stupid for Mr. Schue to handle. When Mr. Schue does speak, it's in a very careful, very measured tone. "Do you want to go home, Puck? I'll speak with the nurse, if you need to."
Puck's jaw clenched so tight that it hurt. "No. Dude, that's even lamer. When I skip school, I do it because I want to, because McKinley sucks balls. I don't skip school because I'm embarrassed."
"It's up to you."
"Damn right it's up to me." Puck frowned for a moment, before focusing on Mr. Schue again. "See? Told you. You can't help me. No one in this place can." Puck grabbed his backpack and stood up. He hesitated for a beat, before adding, "Thanks for...listening, or trying or whatever."
As he opened the door, Mr. Schue spoke. "Hey, Puck-" Puck glanced at him over his shoulder. There was another second of silence. "...If you're not up to it, don't worry about Glee today, okay?"
Puck shrugged. "Sure. Whatever."
Noah Puckerman's on a roll.
"-all right, bro, so at this point, I'm like, on my floor sprouting claws like Wolverine's-"
"-Daken," Sam interjected. When the rest of the captive Glee Club audience- which at the moment consisted of Finn, Artie, Santana, Mike, and a particularly nauseated Quinn and Tina- turned and stared at him, he shrugged. "Wolverine's son? Dark Wolverine?"
Puck got it, kind of appreciated it, even if it was kind of gay for Sam to say, but 1) not losing cred by getting into a conversation with Sam about Dark Wolverine, and 2) it was Sam Evans. "Hey, Bigmouthed Bass, who's telling this story, huh?" Sam shrugged, putting an arm around the back of Quinn's seat.
Earlier in the day, Puck had grabbed a hoodie from the P.E. department, and was currently wearing it with the hood pulled over his head. It was all a part of the storytelling atomosphere, the attitude. Just like the fact that he'd started out sitting on the piano bench, but was now crouched on it, like he was about to pounce.
When the real story sucked balls? Puck always made a cooler one.
He dove back into his story with avengeance. "Right, so where was I? I was totally beastin' at this point. Like yeah, claws are cool, but I'm also like 'shit, my jaw's breaking itself and coming back together, what the hell?"
"Ugh, do you really have to give every detail of the transformation, Puck? Honestly? Some of us have lunch we'd like to keep down."
Oh, he's not going there with Quinn. Not even touching it.
Artie raised his hand. Puck stared at him. "Bro, do I look like a teacher? Put your damn hand down."
"Sorry...I just...thought you said during history that you blacked out."
Puck waved that off. He already knew somebody was going to point that out. He opened his mouth to answer, when he stopped dead for a minute, his head turning slightly towards the door. He sniffed for a moment, perhaps a little less subtly than he would have liked. He couldn't help it; being part way through telling the store and smelling Kurt come through the door threw him off his game.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Quinn's face wrinkle up in mild confusion at his action. Whatever, she needed to go back to cuddling Mr. Marvel over there and stay out of his business.
The door opened, and Kurt entered, freezing at the door for a shocked second when he took in the sight before him. He cleared his throat. "Storytelling time, I suppose?" His voice is crisp, his tone short. He walked across the room to sit down, placing his bag on his lap. He motioned at Puck to continue. "Oh, don't let me stop you. Do continue."
"Man?" Finn spoke up. "You still haven't explained why you're wearing my pants."
"Shut up, Finn, I'm getting to that," Puck said, quickly recovering. He tried to ignore the arched eyebrow from Kurt's corner of the room. At least, Puck justified quickly, Kurt was just as interested in the story as everyone else. "Anymore interruptions?" Nothing. "Good. Now, anyway, Artie, yeah, I blacked out, but only after all the pain and claws and crap."
Kurt didn't make a noise, but he did give Puck a long, incredulous stare at the 'blacking out' part of the story.
"So next thing I know, i'm waking up, covered in blood-" Tina made a noise, "- it was deer blood, relax, if yo're gonna spew, go to the bathroom or soemthing- and I've got like, no idea where I am, except for like, there being trees all over the place. And of course, needless to say, I'm bare-ass naked."
"Of course," Quinn drawled.
"Come on, it wasn't like I was supporting shorts after all that crap," Puck shrugged. "Give me a break. I had to get home like that."
Finn was still confused. "But dude, if you went home-"
"Ahem?" Kurt actually raised his hand, wiggling his fingers. "I believe that's where I come in." Puck stared at him, wondering whether werewolves, the day after a full moon, went to jail for murder.
Everyone's attention was redirected towards Kurt. Kurt, who smiled this little evil, acid-smile towards Puck. "I don't know about the rest of his story, but he never made it home." Puck drops from his crouch to actually sit on the bench, shoving his hands into the hooded-sweat shirt so no one could see the tight fists that they were clenched into. "I was on my way to school when I ran into him."
"Hu-" Wait, what? Puck narrowed his eyes warily, his words already forgotten.
Kurt crossed his leg. "Apparently, SOME one forgot how illegal it is to walk around town 'bare-ass naked'. Fortunately for this particular Neanderthal, I'm a saint, and I took pity on him." Kurt glanced over at Finn. "He's wearing your clothes because Carole accidentally washed some of your clothes in my father's wash, and I was planning on returning them. There's another shirt in my trunk as well, don't let me forget to give it to you."
Puck stared, slack-jawed. Dude.
Queen Hummel covered for him.
That didn't make sense. It wasn't as if Kurt had to speak up. He could have just let Puck talk. Granted, Kurt's excuse was more believable than the crap Puck was going to make up, but Puck could say that Tinkerbell hand-delivered Finn's jeans and it probably would have shut Finn up.
Mr. Schue growing balls. Kurt covering for him. Pretty soon Finn would end up on the honor roll or something like that. Insanity.
Puck rolled his eyes. "Dude, I was getting there." He managed to sound like his head wasn't spinning like that New Order song, which was a feat in and of itself. "But yeah, that's how it went down."
Tina started to open her mouth and ask a question, but Mr. Schuester came in, followed by the remaining Glee stragglers. Puck got up off the bench and moved to sit down.
So he sat next to Kurt this time. Whatever. Kurt had nearly given him a heartattack a minute ago, so the shocked and vaguely alarmed expression on his face felt like pay back.
Puck grinned. There wasn't too much about today that wasn't shitty, but there was, at least, that.
It was probably for the best that Karofsky approached him the day after the full moon, because two, three days ago, Puck was pretty sure he would have gone for Karofsky's throat. And even now, thinking about it as he both felt and smelled Karofsky's overgrown ass come up behind him, Puck was positive he wouldn't have felt bad about it.
He didn't think that Karofsky was smart enough to have approached him the day after the full moon on purpose, either. So that had to be a fluke.
"Yo, Puckerman, where's your new girlfriend?"
Was it really that obvious to everyone? Well, to be fair, Puck had been spending a lot of his time either with Kurt or avoiding Kurt, and every jock in Lima had a finely tuned 'that's gay, let's mock it' radar that kicked in about the second puberty did.
Puck turned and rolled his eyes. When he was facing Karofsky, Karofsky took a step back. Not because he was scared or anything, but because they were standing way too damned close to one another in a locker room.
"What are you bitching about, Karofsky?" Puck said, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. He tried to remember that he still wasn't sure how much force he had to put into his new punch not to break through Karofsky's face, because smelling Karofsky right near him just made him think of Kurt's bruising. "I've got places to be."
Karofsky sneered at him. Puck tried to act like there was an inch of his body that was at all concerned about that little unspoken threat, but it was hard to even attempt. Pre-bite, yeah, maybe he would have been concerned. Not about Karofsky, but by the fact that Karofsky probably meant two on one with Azimio sneaking out the woodwork minimum, assuming they didn't do what he'd do and bring a few team members with them.
Now, though? Now Puck could smell that it was just him and Karofsky in the locker room, no Azimio, no stupid sophomores trying to follow Karofsky's lead to rack up cred. So he couldn't be bothered; instead, he was just impatient.
"Your gay little girlfriend," Karofsky snapped. "You know, the one you've been ditching everybody for. What's up with that? Knew he was getting to Hudson, but you? That's fucking sick."
Puck shook his head. "He's not getting to me, so shut your mouth before I shut it for you." Because what, was Puck going to say 'yeah, Kurt is probably turning me gay, but it's a werewolf thing, not a Kurt-thing, so unless you want to find out what happens if I bite out your throat in human-form, you should back off'? Wasn't going to happen.
"Everyone sees how friggin' queer you're going," Karofsky continued, and he looked almost satisfied when Puck's impatient amusement turned to narrowed eyed anger, "You were the man, and all of a sudden-"
Puck shoved him Not very hard, but enough to get the point across. "All of a sudden you're up in my grill like you've lost your damn mind, Karofsky. Don't push me."
Karofsky pushed him back, and Puck hissed; he was close to his open locker, and his lower back hit the bottom edge of the locker door. "You don't get to come up in the locker room in between your little gay sex sessions or whatever."
"Watch your mouth," Puck spat, fixing his jacket.
"What, or you'll watch it for me, faggot?" Karofsky leered.
Puck wanted to throw a punch, he did. Just pull back and slam his fist into Karofsky's face, and screw the consequences. He wasn't a fag, and he wasn't dating Hummel. Karofsky sounded ridiculous anyway. Didn't know what he was talking about.
No matter how sure and satisfied and pissed off Karofsky looked.
When Finn had joined Glee, Puck had been pissed, because he thought that Finn should have known better than to go queer with the musical theater sort of crowd. Yeah, he'd gotten on Finn's case, but that had been for Finn's own good, an attempt to punish Finn for his idiocy before someone else did. It didn't work, and at any given moment, Puck was probably more into Glee than Finn was, but whatever, Puck'd had his reasons.
Karofsky, though? He and Puck weren't particularly close- Azimio was the funnier of the two anyway- and they definitely weren't bros like he and Finn were. Karofsky was just trying to start crap with him. And Puck didn't play like that.
So Puck could have thrown a punch. Maybe even should have. But, with his fists clenched at his sides and halfway raised to start something, Puck didn't.
It wasn't a morality thing. It wasn't because hitting Karofsky was wrong, or becasue he was being the bigger man. No, that stuff was bull, and Puck hated it anyway. It wasn't about anyone being upset that he fought- only people who would be anyway were, like, Hummel and Mr. Schuester, and who cared if they were bothered?
Simply put, Puck was used to knowing what he'd do in a fight. If he went toe to toe with a dude, he knew the sort of damage he could cause, and knew what to do to at least end the fight, even if he got his ass kicked. He thought about when he nearly broke Finn's face just two days ago; he'd lost it, didn't know or care what he was doing. And he wasn't digging feeling out of control.
Puck didn't hit Karofsky because he didn't know what he'd do if they started fighting. And he wasn't about to lose control over Dave Karofsky.
Puck threw Karofsky a little sneer of his own, one that he was going to assume didn't look as much like a senile grizzly bear trying to remember where they'd placed their cubs as Karofsky's did. "Dude, stay the hell out of my business. i'm still the biggest badass in this school, and if you were even capable of landing a girlfriend, I'd be on my way to remind her of that fact right now. But, since you can't, maybe you shouldn't be calling me the fag, huh?"
Karofsky looked like he was about to go at Puck. Puck snorted, pretending he wasn't still pissed, and slammed the door to his locker shut.
As Puck left the locker room, he flipped Karofsky the finger. "Keep flapping your jaw, and I'm breaking it, Karofsky."