Chapter 1 - For Keeps

Kurt turned over in his sleep and groaned as pain sliced through the base of his skull. Opening his mouth, he groaned again at how dry and bitter it tasted. Then, snuggling a little further away from the edge of the bed, he ran into something warm and breathing.

"Oh, god!" he cried, falling off the mattress and opening his eyes, whipping around to see who the hell was there. And where was Kurt, anyway? White four-poster bed? Hideously yellow walls? More gold stars than a kindergarten classroom? "Rachel's room?" Oh, sweet Versace! Had Kurt slept with Rachel last night? But why? Kurt found her the opposite of attractive. Like, if he ever got a boyfriend (looking at you, Blaine) and had the whole "arriving early" problem, Kurt was pretty sure thinking about Rachel in her underwear would be better than a cold shower.

Digusted not only by his location and probable bed partner, but by his apparent lack of clothes, Kurt found his pants and pulled them on before getting the courage to actually rise above crouching and look at who was on the bed. Whoever it was had a big, muscular back, so at least it was probably a guy. Snooping a little further, Kurt saw his shirt under the guy's pillow. Crap. Carefully, he leaned on the bed, reaching for his shirt and trying not to disturb whoever it was. Sure, probably having had sex last night was supposed to be cool or whatever, but Kurt felt absolutely mortified that he remembered none of it. He almost had enough of a reach to grab the shirt, but not quite. Sighing quietly, Kurt crawled a little further and found himself staring at the back of a dark-brunet Mohawk.

"Oh, shit!" Kurt hissed, slowly pulling his shirt out from under the guy as a slew of images pounded through his brain: being tipsy and falling in someone's lap, Puck leading him upstairs to go puke, Puck checking up on him later and much more drunk, making out because apparently Puck was a horny drunk (and so was Kurt), going down on Puck for awhile (oh, so that was that taste), and then ... sex. Except Kurt was pretty sure he had to be remembering it wrong, right? There was no way Puck had let Kurt do that, right? Absolutely no way Puck had wanted to be fucked and had practically blackmailed Kurt into doing it.

And now what about when Puck woke up, sober? What would he do to Kurt once he remembered why he was naked and why his ass felt funny? He would kill Kurt, right? Or at least kick his butt worse than he ever had before. Crap!

Fighting down the urge to cry, Kurt pulled on his shirt and grabbing his shoes, slipped out of Rachel's bedroom, scrabbling his hands over his hair to try to make some sense of it. Now, he just had to find his coat, which had his license and his car keys. Oh, and he should probably bring Finn home, too, now that he thought about it. Wouldn't want to show up on the walk of shame alone, now would he?

Trying desperately not to think about the boy in Rachel's room, Kurt found his coat in the front hall closet and his stepbrother wrapped around a still-sleeping Rachel. They were blissfully clothed, though Finn was wearing Rachel's shirt and Rachel Finn's which didn't work out so well for the giant. Rolling his eyes, Kurt found Finn's jacket and a package of Oreos from the pantry. "Finn!" he whispered, dangling the cookie in front of the boy's nose. "Time to get up, Finn!"

"Mmrrr school?"

"Yeah, sure," Kurt sighed, pulling the cookie away, which Finn followed until he was mostly standing. Wrapping the coat around Finn's shoulders and ignoring his splitting headache, Kurt got the both of them back home and in bed even before their parents woke up. Thank the universe for small mercies.

Kurt's note to himself as he took two pain pills and a full glass of water before showering and getting back into bed: get tested ASAP. Who knew what sort of infections a man-whore like Puck had been carrying around.

How could he have been so stupid? And how much longer did he have left before Puck tracked him down and killed him?

"Puck!" a voice shrieked and Puck was pretty sure it had to be a harpy or a she-demon the way that voice made him wince in pain. Or maybe it was his mother. Opening his eyes, Puck found himself face-to-face with a very pissed-off Rachel Berry.

Realizing that he was in her room and naked in her bed, Puck whispered, "Hey, babe," his voice dry and harsh before he cleared the sleep from his throat. "Did we fuck last night or something?"

"God, no!" she cried, pushing a pair of pants in his face and turning towards the wall so she wouldn't have to watch him put them on. "I slept downstairs with Finn," she shrugged.

"I thought he hated you," Puck snorted, pulling on his pants and rubbing the stubble on his head with a flat hand. Why did it feel so weird to be sitting up?

"We came to an understanding," she sniffed. "Are you dressed yet?"

"Yeah," Puck said, zipping up his fly and grabbing his shirt from the floor, along with a pair of men's boxer briefs that he didn't exactly recognize, but they sure as shit weren't Rachel's, right?

"Say," he asked as he left Rachel's room hopefully to track down his Converse somewhere, "d'you know who was up here with me?"

"Oh, my god!" Rachel just about shrieked, slamming the door in his face and then yelling at him through it. "You don't even know who you had sex with in my bed? Noah Puckerman, you are dead to me until you buy me all new sheets. And pillows! And a comforter because, ewwww!"

"Fan-freaking-tastic," Puck muttered, gathering his things and poking Mike about eighteen times with his shoe until the guy woke and said that yes, please he would like a ride home.

In the car, Puck asked his friend, "Do you know who I hooked up with last night? I can't seem to remember."

"I don't know," Mike shook his head, examining his bloodshot eyes in the vanity mirror. "After the Cheerios showed up and then all those people from Lima West, it was kinda hard to keep track of everyone."

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Puck told Mike, "Either the chick had a weird thing for my ass, or I slept with a dude."

"What?" Mike cried and Puck felt like the guy's voice wouldn't stop rattling around in his head, karate-chopping his gray matter.

"Keep it down, asshat!" Puck hissed. "Kinda hung-over here."

"I just," Mike shrugged, flipping his visor up, "didn't know you were cool with sleeping with guys. Not that I'm interested or anything!"

"I'm a sex shark," Puck boasted as an explanation. "I gotta keep moving, even if sometimes that means guys. I totally did it with Karofsky once."

"Karofsky?" Mike asked, scrubbing up his face and sticking out his tongue a little.

"Yeah," Puck shrugged. "Don't let him know I told you, 'cause that dude would seriously try to kill both of us if he found out. He wasn't that good, anyway," Puck shrugged. "Tell me it wasn't him..."

"Nah," Mike shook his head. "Sam, Finn and I threatened to beat him up if he didn't bounce, because Kurt was there. Dude disappeared into the night."

"Good," Puck sighed, trying to keep his eyes on the road. He really didn't need that fat ass following him around and sending him creepy love notes anymore. Dude just didn't get that no meant no. Puck felt kind of really bad when Karofsky took the rejection harshly and started tormenting Kurt. But seriously, he thought Hummel could take it. Nothing ever got through that hard-ass shell of his until suddenly he transferred to Dalton. Lame. "Tell me it wasn't Kurt, either."

"I don't think so," Mike insisted. "Mercedes left really early with Tina and I'm almost positive Kurt was with them."

"Good," Puck replied, turning onto Mike's street. Kurt could be one clingy bastard, too. Puck had seen the evidence in the dude's massive crush on Finn and there was no way he'd proposition someone he knew to be clingy for a one-night sort of deal. Not after Karofsky and that incident Freshman year with Lana Wilkinson, the stalker from hell.

Kurt kept freaking out all of Sunday about how soon Puck was going to kill him and what sort of execution method the boy would use. Drowning during a swirlie? Dumpster-dive and then a pistol? Strangled with the climbing rope he stole from the gym? All the possibilities mixed around in Kurt's head until he got so frustrated and antsy that he agreed to watch some action movie with the rest of the family because any distraction at that point was a good one.

At least later Kurt's dad was going to drive him back to Dalton for the new school week and Kurt would be a good two hours and a security fence away from the boy who most likely wanted to murder him ruthlessly.

As the dolt was always saying, nobody questioned Puck's badassness, and Kurt was pretty sure being inside the guy's ass would be considered the emasculating act to end all emasculating acts and worthy of severe corporal punishment.

When Kurt ran into Puck at the Hummel-Hudson house the next weekend, he was sure again that he was going to die without much delay. Instead, he and Finn just said, "Hey, Kurt," and went back to their game.

Puck didn't look murderous. He looked positively indifferent. Did he-did he not remember? Kurt was pretty sure Puck had been blind drunk when the actual sex happened, but he didn't even remember a little bit?

Well that stung. Kurt had lost his virginity to the guy and he didn't even remember taking it? Of course he didn't. Puck had been with so many people, it's no wonder he wouldn't make a point of remembering.

Kurt had been remembering bits and pieces about that night ever since it happened: the miserable hour he spent puking his guts out and then rinsing with the mouthwash he found in Rachel's cabinet; Puck coming back drunk and talking to Kurt; kissing; sex. It had been kind of nice in a frantic, drunk sort of way. But why couldn't something like that happen with a guy he could have a relationship with? Because this whole one-night thing where Puck didn't even remember? Felt really shitty.

Puck decided not to worry too much about whoever he'd hooked up with, since it wasn't the first time he couldn't quite remember who he'd fucked. At least the not knowing made life a little interesting, right? And asking around school to see if anyone could remember what dude Puck might have slept with? Not gonna happen.

And everything else in his life was cool, too. Artie was helping him pass his classes. Santana was around regularly, and wasn't being too much of a bitch to him. Finn forgave him for making out with Rachel, "Just a little!" Under Coach Beiste, the basketball team was finally winning. And Regionals were coming up.

During one before-school practice session, Puck already wasn't feeling well when Finn walked in with half an Egg McMuffin stuffed in his mouth and the other half in his hand. The sight was nauseating enough on its own, but the smell hit Puck just hard enough in that way that made his mouth start watering in preparation for the up chuck. Puck barely made it to the trash can before losing what was left of last night's dinner and the half a bowl of cereal he'd managed to choke down before leaving for school. "Ughhh." Puking was definitely Puck's least favorite bodily activity.

"Dude, you okay?" Finn asked, running up to Puck and getting that damn cheesy monstrosity way too close.

Gagging, Puck pushed Finn away and cried, "Get that crap out of my face, Hudson!"

"Um," Mr. Schue spoke up, patting Puck's shoulder awkwardly, "why don't you go to the nurse, Puck? Lie down until you feel better? Artie could go with you?"

Seeing an opportunity to slack off, Puck nodded, "Yeah, okay. C'mon, Wheels."

When Puck was still puking his guts out three days later, his mom took him to see Dr. Brandenberg, the pediatrician he'd been seeing since he was five years old. "What seems to be the trouble, Noah?" the guy asked, sitting down on his short swiveling stool and looking up at Puck. Brandenberg was getting up there, but still middle aged, and he had a killer dinosaur stethoscope that Puck ways thought about snatching, before he realized how many kids, including his little sister, would miss the thing.

"I keep yacking all over the place," Puck replied, describing how and when he'd gotten sick.

"Have you eaten anything out of the ordinary?" Puck shook his head, unless you counted his mom's cooking as out of the ordinary, which somebody should. "Any lower back pain or trouble urinating?" Puck shook his head again. He had been peeing like a racehorse lately, but Puck just chalked it up to his awesome junk.

"And are you sexually active?"

Glad he'd convinced his mom to stay out in the waiting room, Puck said, "Yeah, sure. I'm a dude. I have needs."

"Multiple partners?" Puck nodded. Just his luck. He'd gone and caught an STD or something and now he was gonna die! "Female or Male?"

Stunned by the question, because everyone knew what a stud Puck was and gave him the benefit of the doubt, he actually ended up telling the truth, "Both. But mostly girls."

"I see," the doctor nodded, completely non-judgmental. Puck knew he liked this guy for a reason. "And have you recently been on the receiving end of intercourse with a male?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Puck asked, flashing back to that morning he'd woke up stiff and sore in Rachel's bed. "Do I have AIDS or something?"

"I doubt it," the doctor said, "but we'll test for everything just to be sure. I'm more concerned with another condition which I think you might have. At this point, all we can do is a blood test, but given your symptoms, your sexual history, and your Jewish heritage, there's a distinct possibility you're pregnant."

"...the fuck?" Puck breathed, staring at the doctor like he'd grown another head or something. "I'm a dude! I have dude parts!"

"I know that, Noah," the doctor insisted, shaking his head when Puck went to unzip his pants to make sure Brandenberg was convinced of his manliness. "But in very rare cases, especially among those with Jewish ancestry, there's a tendency to retain some vestigial female reproductive organs."

"But I don't..." Puck insisted, mostly confused over what the hell this dude meant by "vestigial." "I'm pretty sure I got fucked in the ass, doc. This is crap. If you're not gonna tell me what's wrong, I'm gonna go home."

"Wait, Noah!" the doctor said, stopping him with a light hand on his shoulder. "Let me do the blood tests, okay? Whether or not I'm wrong, this could be very serious. A pregnancy could be fatal if we don't make sure things go well every step of the way."

Puck thought about the doctor's words and while he was almost a hundred percent sure the guy was blowing smoke up Puck's ass, it couldn't hurt to do the test and prove him wrong, right? "Just don't tell my mom what the blood tests are for. I mean, you're looking for infections and stuff, too, right?"

"Yes," the doctor insisted. "Now, sit back down on the table and I'll have the nurse come draw blood, while I tell your mother what you want her to know."

Sighing in relief, Puck sat back down and nodded until the doctor left. "Fuck my life," he sighed as he waited for the nurse. This had to be some sort of cosmic retribution for getting Quinn knocked up, didn't it?

Or maybe, if it was true and he was going to have a baby, this was his second chance at being someone's dad. For keeps.

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