(Author's note: I got inspired after falling in love with writing our AU Dave in Writing Graffiti on Your Body, so I thought I'd try my hand at a more canon Dave. A reasonably canon Puck came along for the ride. Thanks to songirl77 for inspiration; sorry for stepping on your prompt, and I hope you can resurrect your own scene from the dead computer... More to come. Enjoy! -amy)
Puck had heard grownups talking about the state of the economy in Ohio, but it was an abstract concept at best, something he'd heard on the news and in civics class. He didn't really get it until his mom made him do his taxes, on which he submitted the earnings from his second year of his summer pool-cleaning business.
"For pete's sake, Noah," she said, grumbling into her coffee, as she showed him how to fill in the columns with cryptic numbers and carry the quantities from box to box. "You made almost as much as I did last summer."
"No shit," he said, blinking at the modest five-figure total in his Earned Income box. He was pretty proud of how he'd done, actually. For a little city, Lima had a lot of pools. And he was the master of networking. He wasn't ashamed of using his body to sell business. He knew the added perk of a shirtless visit from the Puckster made it a winner for many of his housewife clients, but in reality, that was about as far as it went for most of them; the story of Puck and his harem of MILFs was greatly exaggerated. Oh, he'd had a few encounters with hot mamas, but they were mostly just interested in him as eye candy. He didn't mind. Puck was more than happy to get new clients, and if it meant he had to work with his shirt off? Well, it was summer, after all. No big fucking deal.
His mother eyed him over her serving of matzoh brei. "You know, you could be contributing to the household income," she said pointedly, tapping the paper.
"You mean, like, pay rent?" he said, nervously. "I'm saving it for college, Ma." He knew they could use the money, but - he didn't want to give it up. He had a plan. That first year, he hadn't, and he'd spent almost all of his earnings before they went back to school, on stupid shit. Then when Quinn started asking for support for the baby, he'd had barely anything to give - not that she'd asked him for money, but still. He wanted to help, and he couldn't. He felt bad about that, guilty in a way he'd not felt before, like he'd fallen down in his job as a potential dad and provider. So the summer after that, he'd saved most of it, socked it into a short-term CD until the fall, and then when he got back to school Miss Pillsbury and the finance teacher had helped him set up an educational fund for himself.
He kind of felt like he'd shot himself in the academic foot by getting sent to Juvie, and since then he'd thought a lot more about what he was going to do after highschool, when he really would have to pay rent. He'd been working on his grades, actually attending class, most of the time. Miss Pillsbury said he could get into the community college, but that wasn't in his plan. His plan involved being far away from Lima, in some big city - Chicago, maybe.
"I know you're saving for college," she sighed, and blew the smoke from her cigarette away from the table. He didn't know how she could smoke and eat at the same time. It was like trying to watch Criminal Minds while reading Facebook and listening to David Goetta - too much input at once, man. "I'm not really serious. You need that money. And you earned it. I won't take it away."
He knew she wouldn't, but it felt better to know the money was safe in the account, that his sonofabitch no-good excuse for a dad wouldn't be able to touch it, and that even on his Ma's worst financial days, it couldn't be a temptation for her. He missed having spending money, but he still made enough at open mics to keep himself in beer, dinners out with Lauren and the occasional movie with Finn.
But this summer, he wasn't going to coast on his success with prior clients. He'd gotten Lauren to help him make some flashy flyers, and he'd bribed a couple freshmen with wine coolers to stick them on every door of every big suburban home on the northwest side. It was old school advertising, but he was determined to double his business again. If he could hit 20k, he might even be able to afford to replace his crappy old Ford pickup before heading out of Lima for good next year. But it was going to take some serious effort.
His sister wasn't so supportive of this idea. "You suck," Sarah said, kicking his chair with her sneaker. "If you're working all summer, you won't be able to take me to the pool."
"You can come swim at the Lapeer's any time you want," he pointed out, kicking her back. "They're going to be out of town all month and I've got a key to their backyard gate. They'll never know you were there."
"There won't be any cute boys at the Lapeer's," she sulked. "Swimming is only 20% about getting wet and 80% about scoping out the guys who got abs over the summer."
"Since when are you interested in boys?" he said, horrified. "You're eleven."
"Practically twelve," she said, twirling her long black hair. "Well, in December."
Puck didn't want to think about what he'd been up to with girls when he was twelve, in relation to what his little sister might be doing, but he wasn't going to dwell on it too long. It took work to make money, and this summer was going to be his gold mine.
"I've got one more summer to make it count," he said. "One more year of school. Then I'm out of here."
"You don't have to rub it in," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.
"You can come visit whenever you want. Wherever I end up."
Sarah might only be eleven-practically-twelve, but she had the teenage eye-roll down pat. "Great. Hope you'll be within Greyhound access. I don't really want to be hitting Mom up for rides." She buried her face in her arms on the table and sighed, loud and long.
Puck glanced out the window. It was a perfect day, sunny and breezy. Great for cleaning pools. He needed to get out there. "I can't stay in this fucking town, Sarah," he said.
"I know." Her voice filtered through the sleeve of her shirt was miserable. "You just get to leave five years before me."
Dave kicked off the side of the pool and shot into the stroke, lifting himself up above the surface. His flipturns were improving, and he could tell he was getting a little faster. Swimming was just so exhausting. That was only one of the things that made it the perfect form of exercise - he could keep cool; there was no pressure from coaches or parents or peers. Best of all, he could do it alone. Nobody needed to see this, rising out of the water. The great white Dave. He obliterated the thought with redoubled effort on the return lap.
He was going for the ten second gain in his time with such ferocity that he didn't see the guy standing on the side of the pool until he stopped, gasping, in the shallow end, right at his feet.
"Dude," Puck said, brandishing the pool vacuum with irritation. "You're not a Lapeer. What are you doing in their pool?"
"I'm house-sitting," he said, squinting up at Puck. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
Puck held up his weapon. "Regular client. They pay me a monthly fee, I come once a week and as needed."
"Well, you're not. Needed, that is." Dave dropped lower in the water, suddenly self-conscious. Puck's stomach was toned, defined, and though his shoulders were big, he didn't have one inch of fat on him. It was exactly what Dave wished for himself, wished he could look like, instead of - what he was. A chubby boy who sweats too much.
Puck's eyes were steady on Dave, which made him twitch and turn away. "Hmm."
"What?" Dave had to ask. Puck shrugged and set the pool vacuum down, settling himself in one of the lounge chairs on the deck.
"Didn't peg you as a swimmer, Karofsky," Puck said, gesturing at the pool.
"Didn't know you were paying attention, Puckerman," he said, but the retort was tired, and he didn't feel like fucking getting into it. He just didn't.
"I like swimming. I just don't like doing it because I have to." He grinned, and Dave felt his tight mouth relax a fraction. "I'm way too lazy for that."
"Just because you were blessed with almost perfect genetics," Dave said, then closed his eyes. Why the fuck had he said that?
"Almost?" Puck said, grinning deeper, his elbows on his knees, fingers making a pyramid. "So if you're not a swimmer, and you aren't, what's this all about?"
"Why do you care?"
The question gave Puck pause, as though he actually were thinking about it. Finally he shrugged. "I guess because I spend my whole summer cleaning pools," he said. "Mostly I do it by myself. Gets a little lonely."
"Yeah, I heard you have a yen for older women," Dave said. He tread water, itching to get back to laps now that he'd caught his breath, but not willing to intentionally swim in front of Puck.
Puck laughed. "Only if they're easy. I'm not super interested in working too hard for a summer thing." He leaned back in the lounge chair. He had a lot of dark curly hairs on his abdomen. Dave thought, if he'd been going for the MILFs, and if he had abs like that, he would have had them waxed, like Sam. God. He was not thinking about Sam's fucking abs. He pushed away from the side of the pool, angrily, wishing Puck would just get up and leave already.
"So what are you interested in working hard for?" Dave said, from the safety of the other side of the pool.
"Well, for one thing, I'm hoping to double my business from last summer." Puck put his hands behind his head, flexing his guns, which Dave did not watch. "I did pretty well the last two years. This is my chance - I can't waste it."
"What kind of a chance do you have?"
Puck didn't respond for a long time, and when Dave paused in his next lap, he realized Puck looked a little hurt. "What is it?" Dave said.
"I can get into college," Puck said, his voice tight. "I mean... I have to. I can't get stuck in this town forever. I'm not going to be a fucking Lima loser."
Dave stopped swimming and stood there in the middle of the water. "Whatever, man. You can leave any time you want to."
Puck's laugh this time was hopeless. It made Dave's gut hurt, and he didn't even like Puck. "You apparently don't know how this works. People like you, they get good grades, go to university, get the hell out of Dodge. People like me, they get stuck here. We don't have a choice. Lima is, like, a fucking vortex."
"Dude, you know the word vortex?" Dave grinned despite himself, and Puck grinned back.
"Yeah, man. I watch Star Trek."
Dave blinked. "You're shitting me."
"Heh. Next Generation only. None of that Deep Space Nine or Voyager crap."
Dave leaned on the side of the pool. His image of Noah Puckerman had just been turned on its ear. He found himself wondering what other assumptions he'd made about Puck that would turn out to be wrong. "Come on, man," he said, trying to regain his equilibrium. "Voyager had Seven of Nine. She had a great rack."
Puck snorted. "Really, Karofsky? I thought you were, uh, a tight end playing with the rear guard?"
Now Dave felt his face flush, and under the hot June sun he was suddenly far too warm. He ducked under the water for a moment, held his breath for a moment, and came up, slicking his streaming hair back from his face. "You've been listening to Santana again?"
Puck was watching him with a curious expression. "No, dude. You were totally checking out Sam's ass in the hallway. That's pretty gay, man."
Dave let the water carry him away from Puck, from his obnoxious words and his piercing stare. There was no way he was going to talk about this with Puck. When he came up for air, Puck was wandering up the cobbled walk to the sliding glass door off the Lapeer's back deck.
"You can't just walk into their house," Dave called.
"Watch me," he shot back. "I promise, I won't steal anything. Besides, Mrs. Lapeer always leaves me a pitcher of iced tea when I come to clean. I'm gonna check the fridge."
Dave took advantage of Puck's absence to hoist himself out of the shallow end and grab his towel. He'd left a t-shirt on the umbrella table, because even without an audience, he didn't feel comfortable walking around without a shirt on. As soon as he was dry enough, he pulled it on over his head, and when his head emerged, Puck was standing there, holding two glasses.
"Did Kurt tell you?" Dave guessed.
Puck's brow wrinkled, and he shook his head. "Kurt doesn't tell me anything," Puck replied. "It's just that you're pretty obvious. If you know what you're looking for."
What are you looking for? Dave wanted to ask, suddenly annoyed, but he took the proffered glass of tea and gulped it down all at once. He smirked.
"What?" Puck said.
"No offense to your MILF," Dave said, "but I made that iced tea."
Puck's cocky expression faltered, but only momentarily. His eyes flickered from Dave's hair, to the glass in his hand, and finally back to his eyes. Dave's stomach did a slow roll as Puck chuckled.
"No offense to her, either," he said, "but she's not all that hot."
He reached out, and Dave flinched away before he realized that Puck was just taking the empty glass from his hand. Puck's gaze was inquisitive and friendly. It wasn't what he'd expected from Puck, this banter, this easy interaction. Dave had no idea what to make of him.
"You're staying here?" Puck asked.
"Yeah," Dave said, almost unwillingly.
Puck just nodded. "See you around, then. I've got another appointment now; I'll stop in tomorrow to clean the pool."
"Can you at least learn to fucking knock?" he muttered, turning away.
That night, Dave woke to aching hardness and fleeting dreams of Puck on his knees on the pool deck, putting that mouth of his to good use. He didn't even feel guilty at the images that flashed before his eyes - Puck's lips, firm and sweet; Puck's hands gripping his ass, pulling him in closer, deeper - and came with a desperate groan. Only afterwards, as he drifted back to sleep, did he consider the guest bed sheets, and hoped the stains would come out in the wash.
Puck didn't knock.
"So, really, Karofsky," he said by way of greeting, hauling the pool vacuum across the deck with a practiced tug. "You can't tell me you like Voyager. It's, like, an embarrassment. The plots are all rehashed Battlestar Galactica - and not the new good one, I mean the crappy one from the '70s."
Dave paused in his laps, shaking his head. "Dude, this is wrong on so many levels. First of all, the only way you'd know they were all rehashed was if you, a) watched Voyager to find out, and b) had watched Battlestar Galactica too... which, seriously, why?"
Puck grinned. He had on a tank top today, which did nothing to hide his best features, but Dave thought Puck might know that already. His confidence was infuriating - but if he looked like that, maybe he'd be confident too. Maybe. "You can blame my dad. He was a crummy parent, but he was really good at sitting on the couch with us and watching bad science fiction shows."
"Was?" Dave said. He quickly exited the pool while Puck was busy hooking up the vacuum by the grill at the deep end. Puck didn't watch him as he dried off. He wasn't sure if this was a kindness or just that Puck was disgusted by what he saw. "So, your dad, he's not around anymore?"
"No, and thank God for that." Puck gave the hose on the vacuum an irritated yank and managed to knock over a planter. "Dammit all to fucking hell," he swore, clearly exasperated. "Now that's going to look professional."
Dave draped the towel around his neck and hurried over to help right the planter and pick up the worst of the dirt. "Thanks," Puck muttered, leaning over to scoop the soil up with his hands. Dave noticed, amid a dozen other things, the ugly scar on Puck's head, running through his mohawk across his scalp.
"What happened to your head?" he asked, refraining from reaching out to touch it, which would have been... just the worst idea ever. Puck glanced up at him, returning from whatever angry place he'd been, and placed a hand on his head.
"Long story," he said. "Ask me again sometime when I have more beer in me."
Dave sat on a deck chair and dried off in the sun while Puck cleaned the pool. He clearly had this thing down to a science, with the skimmer nets and the pH test and the other doodads; Dave had no idea what they were for. He didn't waste any movements, just went through all the steps, efficiently, like choreography. Dave thought it was kind of amazing, really.
As Puck finished up, Dave realized he didn't want him to leave yet, and this made him a little anxious. He wondered what he could do to make him stay.
"I made some more iced tea," he said, and Puck smiled at him over his shoulder, a surprised, grateful smile. Dave went to get it, and cut up some apple while he was at it. He wondered if that made it look like he'd gone to a lot of trouble, and he almost left the apple on the counter, but then he decided that was stupid, since he'd already cut it up, and fuck, this was ridiculous, it was just a fucking apple.
He set the tea and the apple down on the umbrella table, sat down across from Puck. He had no idea what to say. "The pool looks, um, clean."
"Good thing, or they shouldn't be paying me," Puck replied, taking a long drink. Dave watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed, but he looked away before Puck could catch his eye.
"You like to swim?" Puck asked.
Dave shook his head. "Not really. It's worse than running laps. But - I guess I need it. I mean, Coach Beiste said... she made it clear that I need to increase muscle and decrease the flab if I'm going to be competitive in hockey this year."
Puck looked confused. "She's telling you you need to lose weight? Dude, you're, like, an unstoppable force."
"Not since some of the incoming juniors are up for varsity this year," he said grimly. "I'm getting displaced. They're leaner and meaner and I'm just - well." He indicated himself with distaste. Puck's brow furrowed, but he didn't comment. "I hate biking, and running is just fucking torture." He didn't mention the way running made him feel, everything jiggling and moving around with each step. "So, swimming."
Puck looked like he was wrestling with something inside his brain. Finally he shook his head. "What are you going to do after the Lapeers come home? You going to swim over at the Schoonover pool?"
Dave groaned. "God. I hope not, but I can't think of an alternative. That lap lane is always way too fucking crowded with kids to get in a good flipturn. I could drive out to the lake, but..."
Puck gathered up a handful of apple slices and considered Dave. "I've got a bunch of clients who are gone this summer. If you're willing to be a little flexible, I could come up with pools at vacant houses all over town."
Dave felt himself slammed against another wall of assumption about Puck. "That's... really generous, man." He wrinkled his nose, perplexed. "Why would you do that?"
"Like I said," Puck shrugged. "It's kind of a lonely business. Someone to talk to might be... good. Anyway, it'd help you, right? I can be nice, can't I?"
"Um, no," Dave said scornfully, and Puck started laughing. It made Dave laugh, too, and it was almost as though they were friends or something.
As their laughter evaporated, before he could look away, Puck caught his eyes and held them.
"What is this?" he said.
"What?" Dave said, with a sense of unease. "What is what?"
Puck gestured between them. Dave watched his hand move back and forth. "This. You and me. What are we doing?"
"Is this a sex thing?" Puck pressed, one eyebrow going up. "Or are we just hanging out? Cause I'm getting mixed vibes here."
Dave pushed his iced tea glass further away from the edge of the table. He glanced at the floor, over to the pool, anywhere except for Puck's gaze. He thought if he looked him in the eyes, he might lose it, flip out, make a run for the house. "It's not -" he scoffed, but he couldn't say it.
"Karofsky," Puck said, sounding aggravated. "Whatever. Either way, it's cool."
"Either way?" Dave repeated. He was having a hard time grasping what Puck was saying, here, because it sounded - it sounded like he was - He felt the curling rope of desire knotting his stomach, tugging his cock to attention, and he repeated the words Puck had said. "A sex thing?"
"Hey, I'm a dude," Puck shrugged. "I have needs. Other dudes have them too. Sometimes they - work together." He made a gesture with his hands that was frankly much hotter than it had any right to be, and Dave looked away, blushing.
"You don't like guys." Dave's voice was flat.
"Hey, I don't think you get to tell me what I like," Puck said, amused. "I'm not into that."
"What are you into?" Dave heard his voice say, and Puck's face rose, his smile following Dave's question like a thread, pulling them closer together.
"I'm into feeling good," he said. His voice was thick with possibility, and he watched Dave's reaction intently.
Dave felt like he was swimming underwater in a river toward an enormous rock, slowly but inexorably drifting in the current, moving without his own volition, inevitably toward collision. Or maybe he just didn't want to make a choice, and he was pretending he couldn't. It was hard to tell, after so many fucking years of stomping down his own desires. Now Puck was waiting, and he was supposed to do something. The risk felt huge, but in this moment, he didn't really think he was capable of saying no, not in the face of - this.
"I think I can be down with that," he said evenly. Puck's smile widened and his eyes narrowed, and Dave felt a little like the piece of apple Puck held between his fingers. Then Puck popped the apple into his mouth, and Dave's throat made a small noise as he watched him chew, swallow and lick his fucking lips.
"Cool," Puck said.
The table was suddenly in the way, but Dave gripped its edge like a life preserver, and watched Puck with something akin to panic as he rose slowly and walked toward him - and past him, along the deck, to the pool. Puck casually stripped off his tank top and dropped his cutoffs around his ankles, kicking them into the grass, and, wearing only his grey boxer briefs, took three running steps and made a perfect dive into the deep end.
He didn't come up for a few seconds, and Dave found himself holding his breath, as though he were the one in the water. Then he blew it out, nerves jangling. Why the fuck wasn't he?
He made himself stand, just do, not think, with mechanical steadiness, and took off his shirt. Puck hadn't yet breached the surface of the water, and Dave watched him swim from one end of the pool to the other, using slow, sure strokes. He considered, with wild creativity, what might happen after Puck came up for air.
It wasn't the scariest moment of Dave's life, but when he compared it to walking off the stage with Kurt Hummel after being crowned King and Queen of the junior prom, and having him ask for a dance - it was right up there. Except this time, he wasn't going to chicken out.
He breathed in courage, and out, and once again, before jumping into the cool, clean water.
He didn't expect Puck to grab his ankles and haul him under, but it made him laugh, and that was just what he needed to snap him out of his paralyzing anxiety. He came up spluttering, and threw an arm around Puck's neck, plunging them both back into the pool amid taunts and more laughter.
"You're going down, Karofsky," Puck crowed, but Dave was just bigger, and even in the water, that counted for something. He wrapped both arms around his shoulders from behind and wrestled Puck into jerking, writhing submission, his breath hot against his neck.
"You call uncle?" he panted into Puck's ear. Puck shuddered and twisted his neck back, turning his face against Dave's, and suddenly their lips were brushing, Puck's tongue hesitating only a moment before driving into Dave's mouth. Then Dave's hands were free, rising up to grip Puck's head. The skin of Puck's bristled scalp scraped his palms as he pulled him deeper into the kiss, and Dave thought with surprise, oh, that's what it feels like to be kissed by a guy.
It felt so fucking good.
He heard the noises of their kiss before it was over, and he knew it would forever be branded on his aural memory, the sound of Puck and Dave kissing, and holy shit, it was the once and future soundtrack of his masturbatory fantasies. Puck was making a purring, growling noise in his throat that was driving him absolutely insane.
Then Puck was trying to say something, but listening to him would require stopping the kissing, and no, he wasn't doing that, so for a while Dave ignored him. Then, finally, Puck wrested his head away long enough to get a few words out: "What do you do?"
"What?" Dave said, trying to dive back into the kiss, but Puck dodged him, grinning.
"Whoa, cowboy. You. What do you do? Are you a top, bottom, switch - what?"
"I'm a -" Dave paused. He had never been asked such a question, and he figured that would be evident to Puck pretty soon, due to his total lack of finesse at anything past kissing (which, after all, wasn't so different from kissing girls - except that it totally was). It wasn't as though he'd never thought about which part he would take, if it were up to him, but he hadn't gotten far enough along for it ever to be up to him. And now, apparently, it was.
"I'm into feeling good, too," he said, running his hand along Puck's scalp again, very deliberately this time, memorizing each soft bump and bend. Puck seemed to really enjoy this, and he kind of leaned into it, like a fucking kitten, Dave thought, amazed that Puck wasn't telling him to knock it off already.
"Cool, but not helpful here, dude," Puck said, closing his eyes, and his voice was a little hoarse now. "I wanna know if you want me to drive, or what."
Drive. That was a verb he hadn't ever used in regard to - two bodies making out. It was inexplicably hot to think about Puck... driving, but he wasn't really sure if he was ready for whatever Puck was going to dish out. For a moment, he considered making up a sexual history for himself on the spot, the strong, silent top, perhaps, or the needy, reluctant bottom, but in the end, he didn't think he could pull either one off convincingly. "I've never done this before," he admitted. "So I don't know."
"That's okay," Puck said, surprisingly gently. His hand came up to touch Dave's face, doing pretty much the same thing Dave had been doing, stroking his hair, running his fingers through the close-cropped cut he'd gotten last week, and that was why Puck had been reacting that way, because wow - it felt amazing.
Then Puck paused, and when Dave opened his eyes to look, Puck was looking back, right into his face. Dave opened his mouth and took in a surprised breath, but he didn't know how to let it go again, he just held it and held it for too long. Puck's brow knotted again, searching Dave's face for something, and his eyes softened. They were kind of brown and kind of green.
"I'll take care of it," Puck said. Dave had seen that expression on his face once or twice before, when he looked at Quinn, or for a while at Lauren, but -
"Shit, man," Dave blurted, backing away. "What about Lauren?"
Puck pressed his lips together and looked at the surface of the water, and Dave realized he was trying not to laugh. "Lauren's cool," he informed Dave. "We have - an agreement."
"Is that right?" Dave couldn't help keeping the curiosity out of his voice, but he was somewhat shocked by the rush of relief he felt at Puck's words, because it meant they didn't have to stop, they could keep doing - this. He didn't want to stop doing this. Not now, not - not at all.
"I've got the green light for a summer thing," Puck said, and his hand was stroking Dave's shoulder now. Dave watched him move his hands, and they was strong and tanned and hairy, just like the rest of Puck. He was way more hot than any guy had a right to be, but Dave wasn't complaining, because he was touching him, and kissing him, and apparently was into doing both of these things with Dave. And more.
Dave tensed as Puck's hand moved toward the flesh along his middle. He'd only lost three pounds so far, and it hadn't made one difference in his body - he was still chubby, and too much of him moved when he walked, and god, why would anybody want to touch him anyway? He had no idea how to tell Puck to stop without, well, telling him to stop, so he didn't, just stood miserably in the water, waiting for Puck to get grossed out and tell him to fuck off.
"Karofsky," Puck said, and his voice was low and urgent.
Dave steeled himself for whatever he was about to say. "Yeah," he said.
He felt Puck's hands, continuing down his side, and then tuck under the waistband of his swimsuit, down his legs, and - "What are you doing?" he said in confusion.
"I'm getting better access," Puck said, and he was smiling. "Dude, there's a fence around the whole yard. We're cool."
We're better than cool, Dave wanted to say, but he wasn't sure how Puck would take it. Then his mind raced ahead, wondering how would Puck take it, exactly? and the image from his dream came back, of Puck kneeling before him on the pool deck. Would he - did he want to -?
"What do you do?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady as Puck divested him of his swimsuit. It wasn't easy, because Dave was a big guy, and it was a big suit, and he didn't want to think about how fucking embarrassing this was, comparing his fat ass to Puck's tight one. But Puck was thinking about his question, and Dave wasn't going to miss the answer.
"Mostly top," Puck said. "But I'll do whatever." As Dave was processing this astounding bit of information, Puck added, "And we should probably have condoms and lube for that, so - no fucking in the pool, huh?"
"No," Dave said. "I mean, sure. Right. No... fucking in the pool."
Puck must have caught some of the panic in his voice, because he stopped and looked at Dave again. His face was far kinder than Dave had ever expected to see from him. He was still smiling. Dave took a shuddering breath.
"Dude... are you all right?" Puck asked.
"I'm -" Dave said. Puck's lips were mesmerizing. He thought he might never be able to look anywhere else but at Puck's lips, saying dude, are you all right, and then Puck put out the tip of his tongue and licked his top lip, and Dave actually gasped, like, loud enough for Puck to hear him.
Puck grinned at that, both eyebrows going up, and he did it again, deliberately this time, licked both lips, slow and raunchy. Dave wondered if it was possible to come from watching a guy do that.
"Hop up on the side here," Puck suggested, patting the rough surface of the pool deck.
"Why," Dave said, suddenly suspicious. If it was going to involve him getting out of the water, he really wanted his towel. Because, dude, naked, in broad daylight, in someone else's fucking yard. Fence or no, he could hear kids playing nearby, and the occasional sound of cars driving on the street, and it was far too public for - for -
"I'm gonna suck your cock, dude," Puck said, easily, as though he were saying I'm gonna make you a sandwich or I'm gonna have some iced tea. "Come on." He held Dave by both hands and tugged him over to the ladder, but Dave hung back. Puck smiled at him again, patiently and gently, as though he were a shy kid being introduced to a new situation - which he pretty much was. "Seriously," he added. "It's okay. I'm really good at this."
"Jesus," Dave moaned, letting himself be directed to the ladder. He turned crimson as Puck helped him climb up, but Puck didn't say anything about Dave's white ass in his face, or his huge erection, bobbing right by Puck's - "Oh, fucking hell," he hissed, as Puck leaned in over the side edge of the pool, pushed him down roughly onto the surface of the deck and slipped his mouth over the end of Dave's cock.
This was another one of those activities that could have been a lot like the way things were with a girl, except again, it wasn't at all. Girls were inevitably tentative, soft and careful. Puck wasn't being careful. He was going for it, all at once, all of Dave's hard cock, just swallowing it right down as though he'd done this a million times. Maybe he had? Just the thought of Puck doing this to even one other guy, much less a million, was enough to make him want to come. "Slow down," he warned.
Puck wasn't slowing down, though. If anything, he was speeding up, making it tighter, giving him more friction just where he wanted it, underneath, with his oh my fucking god, his tongue, and that was it, he was coming, shooting his load into Puck's mouth. Into Puck's mouth.
Puck used his hand to catch the drips, but he didn't seem willing to let those go, because he just licked off his palm, licked the rest of Dave's come off his fucking palm. "God," Dave said, shaking, leaning back on his hands, his face to the sun. "God."
"I always figure more is better," Puck said, running a hand down Dave's inner thigh, and his voice sounded satisfied, more than satisfied - smug. He was smug about giving Dave a blowjob.
"Why are you doing this?" Dave asked, hostile and angry. He stared down at Puck, standing between his legs, looking up at Dave with surprise.
"Dude," said Puck simply. "You're hot. What's the big deal?"
"I'm - what?" Dave felt his anger drop away like a discarded piece of clothing, like his swimsuit, wadded up on the side of the pool. Puck took his hand, and Dave slid into the pool again, back into Puck's arms, which went right around him like he was dancing with him or something. And Puck was hard, and he was rubbing against Dave, right against his rapidly recharging dick in a dirty, completely unselfconscious motion that was right out of Dave's sexiest wet dreams.
"Uh, yeah," Puck said, like it was obvious. "Don't tell me you don't know."
"Know what?" Dave said. He felt stupid, like he was missing something, but he wasn't pretending, he just didn't know what Puck was talking about. Plus, he was a little distracted, because Puck's body against his, Puck's nearly naked body, provided him with all kinds of possibilities he'd only entertained in fantasies before. His ass, for example. He moved his hand to touch it, gave it a tentative squeeze, and heard Puck's answering moan. Wow.
"Know how hot you are," Puck said. His voice came breathy and quick, and Dave realized he was turning Puck on. He. Himself. It was a rush of gargantuan proportions. He tried the squeeze again and elicited an even better sound, and Puck ground his hips against him in a slow, focused spiral.
"Is that... good?" he asked tentatively, and Puck just nodded, eyes closed.
Dave took the opportunity to watch Puck, really look at him, in a way he didn't think he'd ever really let himself do - and, yeah, he had to first admit to himself that he wanted to look at Puck. Which shouldn't be such a big deal, because, honestly, who wouldn't want to?
This wasn't catching a glimpse in the hallway, or surreptitiously spying on him in the locker room, though Dave couldn't say he hadn't done both of those things. This was full-on, breath-stealing staring, drinking him in, lingering on all the parts of Puck that were most drool-worthy: his mouth (lips parted), the curve of his cheek (flushed), the tendons in his neck (straining).
"You're so fucking gorgeous," he muttered, and Puck's eyes (oh, eyes, he had to add those to the list - green and brown and framed with lashes longer than any girl's) flew open, met Dave's in a confluence of surprise and lust. Puck was too lost in his own arousal to respond with words, but Dave could feel his appreciation clearly. Puck moaned, a little too loud, and Dave glanced at the seven-foot privacy fence nervously. He had to do something.
The water swirled around them as he pushed Puck up against the side of the wall of the shallow end, using his thigh to part Puck's legs and give him something more substantial to rub against. Puck dug in like it was an ice cream sundae, and he hadn't eaten anything in a week. Dave gulped, hung on, and used his mouth to mute the sounds Puck was making. They were for him, Dave thought, mid-kiss, and it was his turn to feel a little smug.
His success bred confidence, and he stole his hand down under the water, touching those amazing abs, then paused when he reached the soft hem of Puck's briefs. Puck made eye contact again with Dave, and he nodded, his face full of trust and want. "Come on, man," he said roughly, panting, "touch me. Do it."
Dave wondered if he could add Puck's voice, mid-arousal, to the list, because it was just about the hottest fucking thing he'd ever heard. He wanted to hear it again, just to make him say anything, so he coaxed, "Tell me what you want." He ran a finger under the elastic, back and forth, dipping into Puck's navel, and loved Puck's hitch in breath, loved his quick, surprised laugh.
"Fuck, Karofsky; you don't want me to beg, do you?"
Dave didn't, not exactly, but he let himself smirk at Puck's exasperation, and Puck rolled impatient eyes at him, thrusting his hips into Dave's hand. He felt the hot hardness brush his palm, and it was all he could do not to grab for it, but he waited until Puck gritted his teeth and said the magic words: "I want you to jack me off, okay?"
"Okay," he agreed, feeling light-headed, and plunged his hand beneath the water-logged fabric, and he couldn't even see it, but Puck's cock went right to the top of the hot-things-about-Puck list. It felt like velvet over burning embers, and he wrapped his hand around it the same way he'd touch himself, hoping it would be what Puck wanted. "Like this?"
"Yeah," Puck groaned, in relief and encouragement, "fuck, yeah, just like that." He thrust into Dave's hand again, this time finding tight friction, and again Dave was forced to hold on while Puck just went for it, completely unashamedly fucking Dave's fist.
As he picked up the pace, Dave could feel the end drawing near. He wasn't sure of the etiquette in situations like this, but he figured kissing had been all right all along, so he moved right into Puck's space, just tucked Puck under his arm, snugging him against his waist. Dave's mouth went to Puck's ear, and he liked the way Puck strained to hear whatever it was Dave was about to say.
Dave found himself hesitating, not sure just how much would be welcome, considering an hour before they'd barely been on speaking terms. What was he now? Acquaintances? Fuckbuddies? Puck's summer thing? He wanted - he desperately wanted -
"I'm going to make you come," Dave said, all in a rush, and his own arousal slammed back into him full-force as Puck totally got off on Dave's words, Dave's voice, Dave's pumping hand. He turned his head, seeking Dave's lips, and Dave gave him that, too, each twisting beat of his orgasm another moan into Dave's mouth.
Eyes closed and breathing heavily, Puck leaned into Dave's half-embrace, holding him up in the water, while Dave disentangled his hand from Puck's sodden, stretched-out underwear. "That was... awesome," he said, his head on Puck's shoulder.
"Glad to hear it," Dave managed, and started to pull away, but Puck was clinging to him, sliding a hand down to Dave's cock, half-hard again already. Dave hissed and bucked involuntarily.
"I told you, man," Puck said, grinning, "I always figure more is better. Now hold still."
Dave could only do as he was told, sensing with great anticipation the path of his summer spreading out before him, an endless vista of pools, Puck... and feeling good.