Author: hopefulwriter27

Recipient: Crystalbunny5

Title: This Door Swings Both Ways

Pairing: Kurt/Blaine, Puck/Kurt (unrequited)

Rating/Warning: R for bad language and sexual situations

Author's Notes: Written for the 2011 Glee Summer Fic Exchange. Prompt: Blaine comes to McKinley, Puck gets jealous. I would also like to thank traciamc for being such an awesome beta for cleaning this baby up even though it isn't her pairing.

Summary: Puck's not gay, he just thinks about Kurt. A lot. And Kurt's dumb-ass boyfriend.

This Door Swings Both Ways

Part 1- A Little Somethin'-Somethin'

"Dude," Puck says as he comes around the hall. He throws his arm over Kurt's shoulder- and shit, did that boy have a growth spurt- and points to the frothy drink in the drama queen's hand. "What the hell is that?"

Kurt lifts an eyebrow at Puck's arm and sips daintily on the skinny pink straw. "It's a mint-chocolate Frappuccino from Lima Bean." He takes another sip and a bit of the whipped cream sloshes over the edge of the straw and sticks to his upper lip. "Blaine stopped on his way here and got me one. It's their special of the week."

Puck snorts. "That shit is gay." His words hit his ears and his feet stumble for a moment.

"Well, I am gay," Kurt says, tone bitchy. He moves to his left and slips out from under Puck's arm.

Puck raises his hands in the universal sign of peace. "I'm just saying," he says, "I drink my coffee black, or with a little cream to impress the ladies, if you know what I mean." Puck rolls his hips and gives Kurt a smirk.

"No. I have no idea what you mean." Kurt swirls the straw around inside the chocolaty drink then lifts it out to suck away the syrup and whip cream on the bottom.

Boy is gay, Puck thinks. Finn would have gotten his message. Well, maybe not Finn. Sam would have gotten his message. "You give your boytoy a little somethin'-somethin' for that?" he asks. He really doesn't want to know, 'cause the Puckasaurus isn't into that gay shit, but Kurt is one of his boys. Puck's boys tell him the down and dirty.

Kurt stops, walks and stares. "First of all, that's none of your business," which Puck knows means they aren't sexing it up yet. "And second of all, sometimes boyfriends do nice things for their significant others just to be nice."

And isn't that ridiculous. "Kurt, my man, I know you play for the other team and you're new to this dating biz, so let me lay it down for you. Boyfriends do nice things for one reason only." Puck holds up a finger. "One thing."

Kurt huffs then frowns. "Go away Puck."

"I'm just telling the truth."

"Go away." Kurt makes a shooing motion and Puck squashes down the tingle of hurt.

"I'm just trying to help my boy out."

Kurt raises his hand again.

Whatever. "Whatever." Puck takes a few backwards steps. "Just don't come crying to me when your boyfriend asks for a little," he makes a jerking off motion, "when he drops off your next milkshake."


A week later Puck's chilling in the choir room checking out Santana's breasts when Mr. Schuester taps the whiteboard with his marker and says, "Jazz." Quinn wrinkles her nose beside him, but before Puck can comment about the awesomeness of the genre, Mr. Schue's eyes sweep across the room. He asks, "Where's Kurt?" Puck does his own quick scope of the place and realizes the teacher is right. His homo is M.I.A.

"I'll go look for him if you want Mr. Schue," Finn says worriedly. Even since his step-brother has transferred back from the preppy-douchebag school, Finn has obsessed about Kurt's safety, not that Puck blames him. He doesn't want his homeboy get roughed up either. Puck's been making sure to give Karofsky and Azimio the Jewish stink-eye every time they look out of place. He had his Nana teach him the hexes just in case.

As if summoned, Kurt appears in the doorway. "Sorry I'm late." He tucks his head down and slips into the seat in front of Puck.

At first, Puck thinks one of the jocks has gotten to the boy. Kurt's face is flushed, and he's wearing a wide-eyed, trapped bunny expression. A surge of anger floods Puck's chest. He presses his foot into the floor and leans forward. "Hey…" The words, 'who's bothering you' die on Puck's tongue as he takes in Kurt's pink, swollen lips.

Kurt shifts, eyes flickering back to Puck, and his weird-ass yellow shirt slides down his collar. Puck gets a nice look at two red suction marks on Kurt's neck. "Boyfriend ask for that somethin'-somethin' today?" Pucks whispers in Kurt's ear. The hiss in his own tone surprises Puck and he settles back in his chair to wonder at his own annoyance.

Red washes over Kurt's face. "Shut up Puck." Kurt twists, giving Puck his back. He yanks on his shirt, covering the newly forming hickies.

A burst of Jewish mothering overcomes him. Puck leans forward again, ignoring Finn's questioning look, and mutters, "If he does something you don't want, just let me know. I'll put the smack down on him." The red of Kurt's skin deepens, but a pleased sort of glow highlights his eyes.

"Thanks Puck."

"Just watching out for one of my boys."

Part 2- Never Have I Ever

When summer comes, Puck's ready to hit the ground running with his pool cleaning business. He only has a year left of school, and then a world full of possibilities. He needs some decent wheels to get ahead in life, and his uncle's beat-up truck doesn't do the trick. However, he's only a few weeks in when he realizes that the couple thousand he'll make cleaning out pools and housewives' gutters isn't going to be enough.

"So go get another job," his mother tells him when he complains. She points her fork in his direction, a lo-mein noodle hanging from the tines, and says, "I saw that Burt Hummel is looking for a part-time employee when I took my car in for an oil change yesterday."

Working in a garage doesn't sound the least bit appealing, but as he lays in bed that night thinking, Puck recognizes that knowing a little about taking care of his car wouldn't be a bad thing. Plus, chicks dig greasy mechanics. Pretty much every porno Puck's ever liked started like that. And, Kurt's one of my boys, so I'm bound to get the job.

The next day he heads to Hummel's garage. Kurt isn't there, but Mr. Hummel is. Puck puts his hands on the counter top and says, "I'm interested in the part-time job," and points to the 'Help Wanted' sign posted in the front window, Mr. Hummel raises his eyebrow and asks Puck what experience he has working with cars.

"I've driven them," Puck says, cracking a smile.

"Well, you'd definitely fit in around here," Mr. Hummel says, mouth pulled in a grin. "We mostly need help with the desk work: answering phones, filing paperwork. Kurt usually does most of that, but he's busy this summer."

Yeah, mackin' with his boyfriend, Puck thinks, but wisely doesn't say. Not that I blame him. The thought slips in without Puck's permission. Kurt's so wound up about everything. I bet he's wild in the sack. Puck shakes his head, trying to dislodge the wayward thoughts. Dude, I need to get laid.

"Occasionally, I might need a hand with the cars, but I'll definitely train you before you do anything like that," Mr. Hummel continues.

Puck nods. "So I can start tomorrow," he says when Kurt's old man finishes talking. They hammer out more details, pay and hours and shit, and Puck walks away with a brand new job and a can of Dr. Pepper from Mr. Hummel's mini-fridge.

The work's boring at first. Puck strolls in around ten, bleary-eyed and stomach grumbling, and works in the hot little office for four hours before he calls it quits for the day. He meets the other mechanics, trading knuckle punches and sly grins over the busty blonde woman who came in complaining about a squealing sound.

"I'd make her squeal," Puck says as she pays Mr. Hummel for her car. Mick, a bald-headed, overweight mechanic slaps Puck on the shoulder and laughs.

Kurt shows up in the middle of Puck's third shift. It's a Friday afternoon in June, and while the temperature is only breaking eighty, the humidity is kissing a hundred. Sweat drips down Puck's back and under his arms, and he's seriously considering shaving his 'hawk just to get some relief.

"How the hell are you wearing that?" Puck asks from his seat on the floor near the battered filing cabinet. The cement is hard and unforgiving. His ass is already bitching, but it's a few degrees cooler than the brown leather chair at the desk.

Kurt's squeezed himself in a pair of skin tight black jeans. A long purple shirt, which Puck's pretty sure is meant for girls, hangs against his thighs. Puck can't help but notice the way the shirt flares at Kurt's hips. The image of those hips high in the air as Puck slides into the skinny boy flushes through Puck's system. Fuck, he curses then tries to erase the image from his head.

A white vest clings to Kurt's chest, and a set of matching sunglasses and a weird-ass furred hat complete the look. Kurt cocks his hip at Puck's question and says, "Discomfort is a small price to pay for fashion."

Puck rolls his eyes and Kurt lifts his sunglasses to the top of his head. "So my dad tells me you've taken over my secretarial duties."

"I ain't no secretary," Puck replies, offended. "I'm just organizing this paperwork."

This time it's Kurt who lifts his eyes to the ceiling. "Well, whatever you're calling it, I had some free time, so I thought I'd stop by and give you some pointers."

"I think I can handle it," Puck says. Then, to prove his point, he lifts a file off the ground (Mr. John Lloyd Young to be exact) and puts into the filing cabinet.

Kurt holds out his hands. "Okay, I guess I won't tell you where the fan is then."

Fan? Puck thinks. "Fan?" he says aloud. Kurt grins.

"There's a small one I keep in secret hiding place for the hot summer months." He steps fully into the office, shutting the door behind him. Puck opens his mouth to complain, because two bodies in this little office is really two too many.

Even if one of those bodies smells like coconut, Puck thinks. But then Kurt walks to the small bookcase that was hidden behind the open door and pulls it away from the wall. Puck gets to his knees and leans over to see the shoebox sized hole in the plaster.

He raises his eyebrow in Kurt direction. The skinny boy flashes him a smug grin and says, "The hole's been here forever. I used to keep toys in here as a kid, and when I started working for Dad, I found the perfect sized fan to keep in here." The thing is the size of a small dinner plate. It's a bit dusty, but Kurt just takes a tissue from the desk and wipes it down. "It's great because none of Dad's guys steal it." He plugs it in and cool air puffs in Puck's direction.

The relief is instant. "Thanks, Hummel."

"Not a problem," Kurt replies. His phone chirps and he picks it up to read his text. His whole face lights up. "Oh, sorry. I've got to go. Blaine is here." He flashes Puck a quick smile and a wave, then disappears from sight.

Oh, I see how it is. "Bye," Puck says sarcastically to the empty room. Then he shrugs, moves into the line of the fan, and goes back to work. The scent of the beach lingers in the air for hours.


Kurt's a familiar sight at the garage. He's not there for all of Puck's shifts, but he shows up more often than not, brown paper bag in hand for his dad. Once, Puck made an offhanded comment about bringing snacks for the group and how he was a starving Jew, and the next time Kurt shows up with two bags in tow.

"Dude," Puck says, staring into the paper bag. "What is this?" He sticks his hand inside and pulls out a brown sandwich with wiggling green things coming out the sides.

"It's a perfectly nutritious bean sprout sandwich on rye."

Mr. Hummel sticks his head inside the office door. "Don't fight with him about it. Just eat it and smile."

Kurt scowls. "It tastes fine Dad, plus it will keep you in good health." He looks over his shoulder at Puck. The boy has been wearing something glittery. Flecks of silver shine in his hair, distracting Puck from his lunch. "Try it."

Puck tries it. The sprouts poke against his mouth, and they aren't even close to the deliciousness of bacon, but it's edible. Mr. Hummel squeezes his son's shoulder. "Carole and I are going to Eddie's for the Indians' game, so you and Finn are on your own tonight."

Kurt nods. "I remembered. I figured I'd cave and let Finn order pizza."

The image of his mom's burnt lemon chicken pops in Puck's mind. He glances at Kurt out of the corner of his eye. Sun finally breaks through the thick summer clouds and streams through the windows of the garage doors. Puck can't tear his eyes from the gleam of the glitter highlighted in Kurt's locks.

Kurt catches the look, but he doesn't read it all correctly. He perches his hand on his hip and says, "I suppose you could come over. I'm sure Finn wouldn't mind." Kurt turns his attention to his dad. "Is that okay?"

Mr. Hummel smiles and adjusts his hat. "No problem, kiddo."

Pizza. Score! Puck's stomach rumbles happily, and he smiles at the excitement. It's not until after Kurt's gone and the buzzing in his gut hasn't disappeared does Puck realize he's not just excited about eating pizza. He's looking forward to seeing Kurt.

What? Puck defends silently. The boy is funny. And my homeboy, of course I want to chill with him.

Later on, after work, Puck swings by Quick-N-Go to grab a case of beer. Steve Hillman always works the midshift, and he doesn't care if Puck's underage as long as Puck slides him a five. Finn greets him at the door with a dopey grin and says, "What's up?"

Puck shows him the alcohol and replies, "Hummel invited me over for pizza. Thought I'd liven up the party."

Finn's not too keen on the idea, but he's a pushover. Kurt, on the other hand, takes convincing. "Come on, who's it going to hurt? It's not like we're going to drive. It's the just the three of us. Plus, the game doesn't even start until eight, so your parents are going to be home late."

Kurt doesn't seem won-over, so Puck dips his head forward and gives Kurt his best sex-shark grin. "Come on pretty boy, let's have some fun." Kurt flushes an interested shade of red and lets Puck bring the beer inside.

They sit at the kitchen table eating pizza, meat lovers for him and Finn, veggie for Kurt, and Puck finishes his second beer with a belch. "Gross," Kurt says, wrinkling his nose.

Instead of replying, Puck clicks off the tab to his third can pulls one out for Kurt. "Where's your boyfriend tonight?" Puck asks, sounding more serious than he intended.

Kurt settles his chin in his palm with a sigh. "He's at a Warbler gathering." His eyelashes flutter against his face sadly.

They're longer than Brittany or Santana's. Puck glances away, suddenly uncomfortable. He taps Kurt's can and says, "Drink up."

By the time the sun begins disappearing in the west, they've moved to the living room. Finn and Puck are blasting each other's heads off in Halo and Kurt's curled up on the couch flipping through a girly magazine. Beer cans litter the coffee table.

"Fuck," Puck curses, throwing down his controller.

Finn raises his arms in victory. "I win. Again."

Puck scowls. "I'm impaired."

"You're always impaired," Kurt snaps from behind him. Puck twists and flashes the boy a frown. Kurt sighs and tosses his magazine onto the end table. "I'm bored. Can we do something else?" Pink shades Hummel's cheeks and the tips of his ears.

He looks good like that. The thought sneaks in.

There are six beers left in the cardboard box on the floor. Puck reaches forward, snags a can and chucks it at the boy on the couch. Kurt catches it, double handed, and sets it down on the table. "Drinking is not the answer to everything Puck," Kurt says with a scowl.

Puck pops the tab on his own can and replies, "It's the answer to your boredom. Let's play Never Have I Ever."

"I don't know..." Finn says, but Puck cuts him off.

"Never have I ever kissed a guy," Puck says, eyes on Kurt. He imagines Kurt kissing that hobbit of a boyfriend. He'd have to tilt his head up to kiss me. I'd bet he'd like that.

"Really?" The carbonation in Kurt's beer fizzes the drink past the rim as he opens it. "That's the only thing you can think of?" He rolls his eyes but takes a sip anyway.

Puck grins then goes again. "Never have I ever bought a shirt for more than thirty dollars."

"Lame," Kurt says and takes another drink. Finn drinks too.

"Really?" Puck says, repeating Kurt's earlier phrase.

Finn shrugs. "I live with him. He's rubbed off on me."

"Nasty," Puck says, wiggling his eyebrows. Finn flushes deep red and sputters. Beer drips down his chin before he wipes it with his shirt.

Kurt sighs and runs a thumb though his bangs. "Grow up, Noah."

Instead of taking offense, Puck goes in for the kill. "Never have I ever given a blow job."

Immediately, Finn drops his can to his knees. Puck raises his beer in Kurt's direction, a mock toast, then lowers it again. Kurt's face becomes a tomato and quickly, he takes a sip.

"Kurt!" Finn shouts, jumping to his feet. His can tips dangerously to the side, but luckily, nothing spills.

Instead of running away like an embarrassed girl, Kurt flushes even redder and rises to his feet, too. "I have a boyfriend, Finn. We're not twelve," he growls. His lips puff outwards in anger, and Puck suddenly has the image of Kurt's pretty lips wrapped around his dick. The urge to palm himself is overwhelming.

"That's…" Finn stammers. "You can't do that," he finishes lamely.

"I can and I have," Kurt replies. He slams his can down on the coffee table. Unlike Finn's, his can is full enough to erupt. Most of it catches around the lip of the can, but a few wayward drops slide down the side to pool on the table. "And," Kurt says, voice low and full of venom, "I liked it."

I bet you did, Puck thinks. Finn's eyes widen like a raccoon, and Puck knows if he doesn't do something, shit's about to go down. "Yo," he says, raising a hand in each boy's direction. "Don't tell me you haven't dreamt about going down on a girl." Puck raises his eyebrows in his best friend's direction.

"It's not the same!" Finn shouts. His gaze swings around the room, speeding up every time it comes close to Kurt.

The tension in the room skyrockets as Kurt's fingers curls into fists. "So it's okay for you to have sex with your girlfriend, but it's not okay for me to have sex with my boyfriend?"

Oh shit, Puck thinks. He knows, without a doubt, that his homeboy isn't going to answer the question correctly. He opens his mouth to change the conversation, but Finn talks too fast.

"Yes!" He yells, face red. Like lightening, realization flashes across Finn's face. "I don't have sex with Rachel."

Murder flares into Kurt's eyes. "Hey," Puck says, grabbing Kurt's shoulder. "He doesn't mean it like that."

"Oh, like what? A homophobic Neanderthal?"

"I'm not a Neanderthal!" Finn shouts, body heaving forward.

"Look," Puck says, hand on Kurt's shoulder and Finn's chest. His thumb brushes along the collar of Kurt's shirt and touches skin. Soft as fucking silk. "Finn's your bro. He doesn't mean it in a gay sense, just a 'my sibling having sex is gross and unthinkable' sense. He's just protecting his little brother."

Kurt bites his lip. "I'm two months older."

I didn't know that, Puck thinks, then, How the hell did I get the role of peacemaker? "Shit," Puck says. Because even though Kurt's red face is smoking' hot when pissed, I don't want the boy upset. He drops his hands and runs his palm along his mohawk. "We're all seventeen year old dudes. We want sex. Some of us want sex with other dudes. Not a problem." Not to mention, Kurt probably has mad head-giving skills. Finn still looks like he's ready to bust a nut and Kurt's not much better.

"Did he at least return the favor?" Puck asks. He can't quite imagine prep-boy on his knees the way he can Kurt, but fair's-fair. He'd return the favor.

Kurt nods. Puck turns toward Finn. "See, they're equal and shit." Finn deflates, but his pissed off look doesn't fade away. Sighing, Puck reaches over and taps the edge of his beer can. "Drink." Finn lifts the can and drains the rest.

"I think this game is over," Kurt says. His knuckles are white and his face is still red, but he sits back down and picks up his magazine.

Puck grabs the X-Box controller and lifts his eyebrow at Finn. The picture of Kurt giving a blowjob doesn't leave his mind the whole night.

Part 3- Throwin' Down

Puck's senior year starts with a slushie. It's blue and cold and luckily not aimed at him. One Mr. Preppy Douchebag, aka Kurt's boyfriend, decides to transfer to McKinley High, and after his second period Calculus class, Azimio throws a welcoming iced-drink into Mr. Perfect's perfect hair. Puck tries not laugh, he really does, but he only lasts about twenty seconds before a grin steals over his face.

He slaps the ex-Warbler on the shoulder and says, "Aren't you glad you came here?" The boy's eyes are wide. A hunk of blue ice plops into his open mouth.

"Blaine!" Kurt cries as he walks around the corner. He rushes forward, hand already in his bag. A hand towel is already in his grip when he reaches his boyfriend.

Puck scowls. He didn't even say hi to me. All of Puck's humor slips away. They disappear into the boy's bathroom without a glance at Puck. Later in the day, Puck shoves the kid with a Jew-fro and lands in Mr. Figgins' office.

"Are we really starting the year with trouble, Mr. Puckerman," the principal says. He folds his fingers together and Puck wants to throw a slushie in the dumbass's face.

"Sorry, Sir," Puck says, not feeling sorry in the least. He gets off with a detention and the promise to be on his best behavior.

Later on, after school, Mr. Schuester holds the first Glee practice of the year, and Kurt's boyfriend auditions with a fucking amazing rendition of Pink's So What. Rachel applauds like she's never heard a man sing so well. Kurt beams like he won the lottery. After practice the two of them hold hands to the parking lot.

The first day of Puck's senior year leaves him feeling like a Lima loser.


Two weeks into the school year Puck gets his turn to rock the stage in Glee practice. He takes his guitar, settles on the stool in front of the piano, and croons Bob Dylan's Forever Young. The high he feels with the applause is akin to smoking a whole bag of weed.

"That was really good Noah," Rachel says, slipping her bag over her shoulder. Finn wraps his arm around her side and nods.

Kurt strolls up to his step brother and says, "There's no doubt why you are the stud of McKinley." There's a quirk to his lips and cock to his hips.

Puck grins, sways close enough to smell the sweet scent of Kurt's hair gel, and says, "Damn straight." That night he hooks up with Kimberly again, the college chick who works at Breadsticks. Her hips are narrow and when Puck closes his eyes he imagines its Kurt's soft lips sucking greedily at his.

The next day Blaine comes up to him during lunch, holding out his hands in a peaceful gesture. "I think we got off on the wrong foot," he says, grin warm and welcoming. "Kurt really likes you, and I'd really like us to be friends."

A baseball-sized lump settles in Puck's gut. "Fine dude," he holds out his fist for a bump. Annoyance squeezes his chest tight when Blaine smiles and returns the bump.

"Great," Mr. Perfect says. "I wanted to invite you to a jam session tonight at my place. Kurt, Finn, Rachel and Brittany have already agreed to come. I'm waiting for replies from everyone else."

Puck doesn't really want to go and see the dude sing perfectly, but if everyone else is going… "Sounds fun."

Blaine smiles again, honest and happy. He gives Puck directions to his house. "See you there," Blaine says with a wave.


Shit, Puck thinks as he pulls into Blaine's driveway. The house is huge. The boy lives twenty minutes outside of Lima, and his home is more mansion than house. The doorbell chimes a sweet tune. After a moment, a flushed Tina answers the door.

"Hey," she says. Puck looks up at the glass chandelier hanging in the tower of the foyer. It trembles with the bass of the music playing from somewhere upstairs. "Come on. We're all in Blaine's room." Puck follows her up, guitar case rubbing against his back.

Blaine's room is more of a wing than an actual room. Tina leads him into a door that holds a huge wooden-floored space with a couch, a giant TV, and a microphone. There's a bedroom off to one side and a bathroom to another.

"Puck!" Kurt says, hopping off one of the two arm chairs against the far wall. "Welcome to Blaine's humble abode." He extends his arm, showcasing the room. His face is flushed. Puck can't help but roll his eyes. Still, Puck lets Kurt take his arm and guide him to an empty spot near the television. "Put your guitar here," he says, pointing to the floor. "We're playing Rock Band right now, waiting for everyone else to show up."

Tina's joined Mike on the purple loveseat that's near a wide bay window. They're both holding plastic cups filled with something pink. Finn's banging away on the fake drums of the game while Rachel belts out Eye of the Tiger. Sam is strumming the Rock Band guitar.

Puck sets his guitar down and glances around the room. "Where's your boytoy?"

Kurt huffs then says, "How many times do I have to ask you not to call him that?" Kurt's hand settles on his hip and his lips curl down in a frown.

"Dude, I'm just teasing," Puck says quickly. He shrugs, and flashes Kurt his get-out-of-jail smile. "You're outfit is sweetass." He really doesn't think so, Kurt's top looks like something out of a slutty slasher movie and his pants have little skulls on them. At least they show off his ass. Puck catches a decent look as Kurt shifts from side to side.

Eyes are rolled in his direction, but the boy seems to forgive him with the compliment on his clothes. He grabs Puck's arm again and drags him to a folding table that's been set up with snacks and drinks. "Here," Kurt says, ladling some of the pink punch into a cup then handing it to Puck.

Puck takes it but doesn't drink. He's not sure he wants to drink fruity pink shit. "Seriously, where is the man of the hour?" Blaine still hasn't made an appearance. Not that I'm complaining. The night is looking up if Mr. Warbler doesn't show up to his own party.

Kurt takes a drink for himself and says, "Oh, he's downstairs making popcorn." He pats Puck's arm and takes another long gulp of his punch. "Don't worry. He'll be here soon."

Fan f-ing tastic, Puck thinks. He hides his scowl by taking sip of his drink. "Damn, this has rum in it," he exclaims.

Kurt sort of hops from side to side and grins. "Isn't it delicious? Blaine got the recipe online. It's called Caribbean Rum Punch."

So Blaine can get you drunk with fruit punch, but I have to beg to have a beer with my friend? The thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. Puck downs the rest of his drink. Kurt beams.

"Blaine!" Kurt says, and Puck turns, seeing the guy himself carrying a large bowl into the room.

"Popcorn. Yes!" Sam says in his stupid Sean Connery voice. He leaves Finn and Rachel near the television and sticks his hand in the bowl before Blaine even sets it down.

The ex-Warbler smiles and says, "Have at it." He sends a fond look in Kurt's direction before focusing his attention on Puck. "Hey," Blaine says, smiling even wider. "You made it." He moves forward as if to touch Puck's arm, but Puck sidesteps him.

Twin frowns, one from Kurt and the other from his boyfriend, come Puck's way. He waves his cup. "I'm outta punch." He fills his cup, chugs it down, then fills it again. Fuck me. When he turns back around, Blaine has Kurt's hand in his and the two of them are laughing. Something dark curls in his stomach. "I've got to go," he says to the room.

Exclamations of, "What?" float through the air, but Puck ignores them. He grabs his guitar and heads for the door.

"Puck," Kurt calls out. Finn echoes him. A hand touches his shoulder. He shrugs off Kurt's fingers and pretends not to notice the hurt expression that flutters across the boy's face.

"I just remembered I have a date," Puck says. He tightens his fingers around the strap of his guitar case and brings it closer to his body. He leaves the room without saying goodbye.

As he steps into the warm night, a voice says, "I know why you're acting like this."

Puck's shoulders tense. He jerks his body around. "Yeah? Why's that?"

Blaine drifts towards him, stopping at the door. His hand curls around the wooden frame. He meets Puck's eyes and says, "You like Kurt."

Anger bursts across Puck's chest. "Of course I like him. He's one of my homeboys."

Blaine comes outside, shutting the door behind him. Unconsciously, Puck takes a step backwards. "No," Blaine shakes his head and gives Puck a sad smile. "You like him, like him. And Puck, I understand." He holds out his hands and Puck wants nothing more than to go over and punch the pretty out of the perfect boy's face. "Kurt's amazing."

"I'm not gay," Puck snaps.

"I didn't say you were." Blaine tucks his hands into his jean pockets. "Sometimes someone just captures your attention, and their sex doesn't matter."

That's the stupidest thing Puck's ever heard. "Sex matters."

"The act of sex, yes, but sexuality is fluid. You can't help who you fall in love with."

Puck snorts. "I'm not in love with Kurt."

Blaine shrugs. "Maybe not yet, but you're on the way."

The grip on his guitar case slips and it hits his back with a thump. The knot in his stomach expands and fills his body with resentment. "I said I'm not gay," Puck says, voice dark. He sways forward until his shoes brush against Blaine's. "But if I was and wanted Kurt you couldn't stop me."

The pretty boy smiles and it isn't friendly. "That's where you're wrong. Kurt's my boyfriend, and if you want to throw down I'm going to put up a fight. And Puck, I'll play dirty."

Surprise cuts through Puck's anger. "Didn't know you had teeth."

"I don't show them often."

Normally, Puck's not one to back down from a fight, but he's not sure if he wants to be a part of this one. "I'm leaving," he says, retreating.

"See you in school Monday," Blaine says, voice still tight with warning.

Puck doesn't respond. He drives home, thoughts whirling.


Monday comes too fast for Puck's taste. His body is tired from lack of sleep. His brain won't shut down enough to let him get a decent amount of shut-eye. Kurt's laugh and smile and coconut smell cycle through his mind on repeat.

Finn tries to talk to him before homeroom, but Puck blows him off. He almost falls asleep during third period American History. He manages to avoid both Kurt and Blaine until Glee practice after school. Puck almost skips, but that would show cowardice. And I'm not a coward.

Kurt corners him the second he steps inside the choir room. Mr. Schuester isn't there to start class, so when Kurt asks, "How did your date go?" with a frown on his face, there's no one to rescue Puck.

"Fine," Puck says, mouth pulled in a tight smile.

"Really?" Kurt's elbow juts from his hip. He glares at Puck questioningly.


Blaine comes into the room. He glances at Puck and Kurt, but says nothing. Puck watches him put his backpack on the chair next to Kurt's. The shorter boy's gaze meets Puck's.

"Puck, what is going on with you? I thought we became friends over the summer?" Hurt colors Kurt's voice.

Guilt spreads through Puck's veins. Stupid Jewish heritage. "We are friends." I want to be more than friends.

The plastic cuffs of Kurt's shirt crinkle as he crosses his arms. "Then why are you acting like this?"

Suddenly, a bolt of realization hits Puck hard. I'm a sex-shark. Girls kill to be with me. I've started riots. "I realized I was in love."

Kurt's mouth falls open. Glee spreads across his face and he claps his hands. "Gaga! With who?"

Mr. Schue appears from the hall and heads toward the whiteboard. Puck throws backpack on the ground and takes the seat next to Blaine. He makes sure his leg pushes against the other boy's. "I'll tell you after school." Blaine's shoulders snap straight. Kurt wavers forward. Puck raises his eyebrow. He locks his eyes with Kurt's. "It's someone who's taken."

Kurt's hand covers his mouth, holding back his delight at the scandalous information. "Taken?" Kurt repeats.

Puck leans forward, his body crossing Blaine's to speak to Kurt. "Yeah. And I plan on throwing down."

Kurt laughs.

Fury darkens Blaine's face.

Puck smiles.