A Big Gay Team of Dancing Gays, ch. 2: What Part of Partie Don't You Understand?
Title: A Big Gay Team of Dancing Gays: What Part of Partie Don't You Understand?
Author: lennoxave
Pairing,Character(s): Puck/Artie, minor Brittana
Rating: PG-13 (language and some talk of sexual situations)
Word Count: 4,093
Spoilers: Through 2.10, "A Very Glee Christmas."
Summary: After Brittany breaks up with Artie, Puck decides to cheer his friend up. This leads to some . . . interesting developments in their relationship.
Author's Note on the Series: I'm writing this as a sort of self-challenge. It's going to be a series (oh dear god, I'm writing a series) in which almost every member of New Directions has some degree of queerness to their sexuality. I'm using this as a) a challenge to write pairings, which I almost never do, b) a challenge to write in a wider variety of character voices, and c) a challenge to write slightly angst-ier fic than I usually do.
Author's Note on the Chapter: I feel like I can't possibly be the first person to make this pun, but I haven't seen it anywhere else, so I guess I get to take the credit? And by credit, I mean blame, because it is an awful pun. Also, in this fic, I'm working off of the idea RIB seem to be that high school football season lasts as long as the NFL season does, so it's still football season here (the fic takes place mid-January-ish?). I'm aware that this isn't the case, at least not in my neck of the woods, but whatevs. Who uses timelines in Glee-verse? :)
Prologue
1. Adding Up the Total of a Love That's True (Brittana)
What Part of Partie Don't You Understand?
The next coupling is completely unexpected. The rest of the couplings are, really, but the next one in particular is.
Fifteen months ago, Puck was stealing Artie's wheelchair and locking the kid in port-a-potties.
It's amazing how things change, especially when they're given a push. Like someone's girlfriend breaking up with him.
* * *
Saturday night, Puck shows up at Artie's house with a liter bottle of water in his hand.
Well, to Artie's mom, it looks like a liter bottle of water. It's really a liter bottle filled with vodka, but what Mrs. Abrams doesn't know won't hurt her.
“Come on in,” she says when she answers the door.
“Thanks.” Mrs. Abrams looks at his water bottle questioningly. She's not suspicious, just curious.
“I just got done with a workout when Artie called,” Puck lies. “Gotta rehydrate.”
“Of course,” she says. “I'm really glad you're here, Noah. He's been cooped up in his room all day, playing the most depressing music. I think he needs some cheering up.”
“Well, I'll do my best,” Puck says. Mrs. Abrams smiles at him as he makes his way through the house. He's always done well with moms. Particularly the ones who don't have daughters.
“Bro,” Puck greets Artie, walking into his room without knocking.
“Yo,” Artie replies, not even bothering to move from his position lying on his bed. Puck listens to the music as he shuts the door. Some dude whining about being human and needing to be loved. That shit needs to end now.
“Hey!” Artie protests as Puck yanks the cord of his i-Pod dock out of the wall.
“Dude, you need to stop being such a fucking pussy,” Puck says, walking over to the T.V. and switching on Artie's PS3. “You're going to deal with this like a man.”
“Oh? And how's that, exactly?” Artie asks.
“We drink, and we blow shit up.” Puck tosses the vodka at Artie, who opens the bottle, takes a sip, and makes a face.
“This night isn't going to end with us, like, trying to chain the library book drop to the back of my dad's van and drive off with it, is it? 'Cause I don't think I could handle juvie.”
“Nah,” Puck says. “Who the fuck goes to the library, anyway?”
* * *
A few hours and most of a bottle later, Puck and Artie are sitting on Artie's bed flipping channels. Puck's in charge of the remote, since Artie requires the use of both his arms to remain sitting upright at this point, and he lands on Kill Bill.
“Good flick,” he says. “And Uma Thurman's kind of a badass babe.” He looks over and sees Artie's eyes beginning to fill with tears.
“This was . . . this was Tina's favorite movie,” Artie chokes out.
“Wait. I thought you were upset about Brittany?”
“Yes. No. I don't even know anymore.” Artie leans his head back against the wall. “I just . . . why can't anybody like me for who I am, y'know? Why am I the one who's not good enough, or who has to change?”
The tears are flowing freely now, and Puck's not quite sure what to do. He's not really at the right angle for a bro hug, so he settles for giving Artie's knee a short reassuring pat.
And then he realizes that Artie can't feel his legs, and that that was a really moronic gesture. He must be drunker than he thought he was. He tries a different tactic.
“Dude,” Puck says, and he maneuvers himself so he's kneeling on the bed, more or less facing Artie. “You? Are awesome.” He puts his right hand on Artie's shoulder and squeezes. “Any chick who doesn't get that isn't worth your time.”
Artie looks him in the eyes now, and he just looks so needy, and for some reason it seems very important for Puck to slide his hand up Artie's neck and cup his cheek.
“You think so?” Artie asks.
“Yeah,” Puck replies, and he knows that he really should bring his hand down or look away from what's becoming a very intense staring contest (because this is starting to be something he can't no homo his way out of), but he doesn't do a thing about either situation.
He figures out that he's screwed when Artie reaches up and places his hand over Puck's.
“Please?” Artie asks. And he's got that same goddamned pleading look Puck remembers someone else wearing on a night with wine coolers over a year ago.
Puck decides he really needs to stop drinking as he leans in and kisses Artie.
“How far?” he whispers as he moves to Artie's neck. When he's with someone he actually does give a damn about, he likes to know they're both on the same page.
“All the way,” Artie breathes.
Puck leans back, looks from Artie's legs to his crotch to his face, and arches an eyebrow. “Well, how's that gonna work?” he mutters. Artie is too busy taking off his suspenders and unbuttoning his shirt to notice.
It takes some trial and error and awkward discussion, but they eventually figure it out.
* * *
When Artie wakes up the next morning, he has a good thirty seconds devoid of thought while he processes the pounding in his head.
When his brain does start thinking again, he says, out loud, “Oh, fuck.”
He and Puck have a thing. Had a thing? There was a thing, that happened last night, and it involved him and Puck and sex-type things and oh, fuck, Puck is going to freak the hell out.
Artie opens his eyes. The first thing he sees is his nightstand, with his glasses neatly folded next to a glass of water. As he reaches for them, he sees that his garbage can has been lined with a plastic bag and placed next to his bed.
If his mother had found him passed out, she would have woken him up and screamed at him about irresponsibility for twenty minutes. His dad is in Houston on a business trip. That means that Puck must be the person who did all of this for him. Apparently, he hadn't freaked out.
The thought makes Artie feel warm in his chest in a way he wouldn't like to admit. He never would have considered pursuing anything with the guy because he assumed Puck was completely heterosexual. But with the knowledge that he maybe isn't, Artie's mind starts going places. He knows Puck's track record, and he doesn't want to get his hopes up, but he and Puck click. In a way that suits really good friends, sure, but in a way that he's always wanted a relationship to, too. Puck wouldn't be pissed about him playing Halo; Puck would come join him and bring a case of Mountain Dew.
Also, Puck is good in bed. Puck is really good in bed.
So after he takes a sip of water, Artie grabs his phone off the nightstand and writes a text message:
you get home ok?
He almost adds a smiley face, but he feels like that might be a little too gay for Puck. He goes about his morning routine while he waits for a response.
By Sunday night, when Puck's posted three Facebook statuses but still hasn't returned his text?
Artie starts to think that Puck might be freaking out about the whole thing after all.
* * *
It's Wednesday before Artie finally corners Puck to talk alone. Monday and Tuesday were football practice, and God knows that would have been a terrible place for this conversation, but Wednesday means glee after school, so Artie speeds his way out of rehearsal and meets Puck at his locker.
“What is your deal?” Artie asks as he wheels up behind Puck. Puck does a quick check of the hallway before he answers.
“I don't want to talk about it,” he mutters as he slams his locker shut. Artie pulls in front of him.
“Well, I do.”
Puck stops in his tracks and looks wearily at Artie. “Dude, don't make me hit a guy in a wheelchair.”
“Then talk.”
“There's nothing to talk about.”
“Why are you so freaked out?” Artie raises his voice and Puck again looks frantically around to make sure no one hears.
“Just leave me alone,” Puck says, and he walks away, taking the stairs instead of the straight path to the parking lot. Deliberately taking the stairs.
Artie isn't foiled for long. He knows where Puck parks his truck and he makes his way toward it, intercepting Puck on the way.
“You just don't know when to quit, do you?” Puck says, speeding up his walk.
“If you'd just answer me, this wouldn't be an issue,” Artie replies.
Puck doesn't respond. Instead, he changes his path and cuts across the grass, or what would be grass if it weren't for the Ohio winter. There hasn't been any snow for awhile, though, so there's less than an inch of it on the ground, and Artie's on the football team, goddammit, he does off-road wheelchair-ing all the time, so he easily follows.
“I'm not asking for a therapy session, or a promise ring, or a wedding in Massachusetts,” he calls to Puck. It's enough to get him to slow down his walk.
“I'm fine with us just being bros, you know?” Artie says. “But we have to actually have the conversation in which we establish that we're just bros.”
Puck finally stops walking and turns around to face Artie. “I'm not gay,” he says.
“No one said anything about gay. I'm not gay either.”
“That was just a weird, one-off thing that happened because I was drunk, and it's never going to happen again.”
“That's totally cool,” Artie says, and it is. Except it's not, really, because Artie would totally do it again in a heartbeat, but at this point he's just willing to do the damage control necessary to get his friend back.
“I'm serious,” Puck reiterates.
“I didn't think you weren't.”
“Not gay.”
“Right.”
“'Cause that shit's disgusting.”
“Look,” Artie sighs, “since everything's out of the bag, anyway, I'm not going to lie to you: I'm attracted to guys sometimes. I'm not saying that I'm specifically attracted to you,” he lies at the look on Puck's face, “but it happens. It's not something I'm comfortable sharing with, y'know, the world, but it's something I think you have the right to know at this point.”
Puck looks at him like he's feeling a little ill. “Dude, I just . . . need some space right now, okay?”
“Okay,” Artie agrees, although it's the last thing he wants to say right now.
Puck walks away and leaves Artie sitting in the middle of the grass. Artie watches him until he gets to his truck, and he can't help but notice that Puck's slamming the doors of his pick-up way harder than necessary.
* * *
“You can't stay for long,” Santana says when she opens the door. “Brittany's coming over in a couple of minutes and I don't feel like sharing my sexy times today.”
“Whatever,” Puck says, pushing passed Santana into the house. “Are your parents home?”
Santana laughs. “When are they ever?”
“Good. I needed to talk to you about something. Like, personal and private and shit.”
“Look, I know I helped break up Finn and Rachel, but I'm not sure I could help break up the Wonder Twins, even if--”
“It's not about Quinn,” Puck cuts in. Santana looks surprised.
“Then who the hell is it about?” she asks.
“Artie.”
Santana quirks an eyebrow at him. “Casanova, you're gonna have to explain this shit.”
“The other night, after Brittany broke up with him, we got drunk and . . .” Puck trails off. Santana just looks at him questioningly, and he sighs. “Look, are you gonna make me say it?”
Santana's eyes light up as she realizes what he means. “Oh my god! Puckerman, you little sneaky gay!”
“Shut up,” he says. “I'm not gay.”
“Sneaky bisexual, whatever.” Santana grabs him by the shoulders and looks him up and down. “This is great news! You don't really have the wardrobe for being gay, but as long as you're keeping Artie busy I don't have to worry about him trying to get back with Brittany, and we can work around--”
“Santana,” Puck says. “You're not helping.”
“Well, what's your problem?” she asks. “Isn't this basically the same thing you told me to go chase after with Brittany?”
“Yeah, except you guys have been in love with each other for forever and I don't know what the fuck's going on with my life right now.”
Santana narrows her eyes at him. “You're afraid.”
“Am not.”
“Are, too. You're afraid that you're a big ol' queer now.”
“Seriously, not helping.”
“Puck,” Santana says, “you wouldn't be here right now if some part of you didn't know it was true.”
Puck's silence says everything, so Santana continues.
“Did you have fun with the guy?”
Puck shuts his eyes and rubs his face with his hands before admitting, “Yeah.”
“And do you care about him?” It's a question Puck knows Santana wouldn't have bothered asking a week ago, but they've both been making some personal strides lately.
It takes him longer to respond to this one. “I guess . . . yeah, I do.”
“Then make a move on him.” Puck opens his eyes and stares at her.
“Santana, I can't do that. I'm Puck. Puckzilla.”
Santana rolls her eyes. “Listen to yourself. You're Noah fucking Puckerman, professional badass. No one tells you what to do. You make your own decisions and fuck what everybody else says.”
Puck thinks about it for a second. “Yeah,” he finally says. “Yeah, you're right. I could wear a dress to school and people would think it's cool.”
“You don't really have the right build for a dress,” a voice says from behind him. He whirls around to see Brittany standing in the doorway. Santana must not have locked the door behind her. “Too big of muscles. Kurt would look better. Or maybe Mike. But I wish you'd been out of juvie for Rocky Horror. You would have made a super-sexy Frank-n-furter.”
“True story,” Santana says as she makes her way around Puck and kisses her girlfriend. “Don't worry, sweetie, Puck was just leaving.”
“Yeah, I've got to go . . . do some stuff.”
“He's gonna go have sex with Artie,” Santana says at Brittany's questioning look.
“San!”
“Oh, that's awesome!” Brittany says. “He's a really good guy, and I know you're good at sex, so you'll make him happy.”
“Uh, thanks,” Puck says. As he heads for the door, Brittany catches him by the arm.
“But if you hurt him, I'll kill you, tie you up, and leave you in a field for my vulture friends to eat,” she says, but she says it in her usual Brittany voice, which Puck feels should be less intimidating but really makes the threat a hundred times scarier.
“. . . Okay,” Puck says, and he leaves Santana's house with an entirely different worry than he'd arrived with.
* * *
It's Artie's dad who lets him in later that night. He gives Puck a suspicious look like he always does; Puck's never done well with dads, unless they're as big of douche-bags as he is. Still, Artie's father lets him in.
“You know the way,” he says, and Puck just nods in return.
He knocks this time when he gets to Artie's door.
“Come in!” Artie calls. It sounds like he's playing Call of Duty.
Puck opens the door. “Hey,” he says, and shuts it behind him.
Artie's head snaps up at the sound of his voice, and he looks worried, although he's clearly trying to hide it.
“Oh. Hey. What's up?”
“Yo,” Puck replies, avoiding the question and sitting down on the bed.
They sit in silence for a minute.
“. . . So . . .” Artie attempts to start the conversation.
“This is really fucking weird for me,” Puck says, and he gets up and walks over to the window. “Like, really fucking weird.”
“Dude, it doesn't have to be. It was just a big drunk thing that happened. It doesn't mean anything.”
Puck's brain does that record-scratching thing you always see in movies but never hear in real life because nobody listens to records anymore. He was talking about how it was weird that he not only had sex with a dude, but was kind of into a dude, too. Like, with actual feelings and shit. But Artie was talking about how there were no feelings at all. But Artie said he was sometimes into dudes. Which means . . .
“Puck?” Artie asks, because Puck hasn't said anything in awhile.
“You used me,” Puck says. He doesn't really mean to, but it's what he's thinking when Artie says his name and it just sort of slips out.
“I what?” Artie says, completely baffled.
“You used me,” Puck repeats, getting angrier the more he thinks about it. “A nice hot piece of ass to help you get over Brittany, was that it?”
“Jesus tap-dancing Christ, Puck. First you flip because we had a thing, now you flip because I'm not taking it seriously?”
Puck is vaguely aware that he's been sending totally mixed signals and that Artie has every right to be confused, but at this particular moment, he's ignoring all of that in favor of a pain he hadn't even realized was inside of him. “You used me, Artie. Everyone uses me. Quinn, Rachel, Santana, and now you.”
“No, dude, you set yourself up to be used. It's not my fault you've never had a goddamned functional relationship in your entire life.”
“Fuck you,” Puck says.
“Fuck you!” Artie shouts back at him as he slams the door shut.
* * *
They spend the next day avoiding each other. Well, Artie knows for sure that he's avoiding Puck, and although he can't really speak for the guy, he's pretty sure Puck's avoiding him back.
Unfortunately, Schuester's got them doing Pink's “So What” in glee club, so there's a lot of pointed looking at each other during particularly apt lyrics, even though Mercedes is the one singing lead on it.
“Man, that's a great kiss-off song,” Tina remarks when they finish their final run-through.
“Yeah. It's great for showing just how over someone you are,” Puck says, his eyes flicking to Artie briefly before focusing back on the wall ahead of him.
“It's interesting you bring that up,” Mr. Schuester says. “Because really, when you think about it, the fact that she wrote the song at all shows just how not over him she was.”
“What do you mean?” Artie asks.
“Well, people who are really, truly over their exes don't generally rub how over their exes they are in their exes' faces. If you're really over it, you don't care what that other person thinks anymore.”
Artie sees a lot of meaningful looks exchanged at that statement, but he somehow manages to avoid looking at Puck.
“And you know, Pink ended up getting back together with Carey Hart,” Mr. Schuester adds.
Artie can't stand it anymore, and he looks over at Puck. Puck's staring resolutely at the wall, and his face is impossible to read.
The whole discussion diffuses Artie's anger somewhat, and he starts to actually think about what happened last night, rather than just be offended by Puck's accusation.
Puck had gotten pissed off when Artie said their drunken whatever didn't mean anything.
He had gotten weirdly pissed off.
Like, much more than any otherwise straight person should have.
The fact is, Puck has been sending mondo mixed signals, and Artie wants to know what's up. And since, frankly, it looks like their friendship is completely fucked regardless of how he handles things, he might as well tell Puck the whole truth about how he feels.
Artie promises himself that he's not going to chicken out.
* * *
He doesn't chicken out, but it still takes him until Saturday to work up the courage to go over to Puck's. By then, Artie's practiced this conversation in his head enough times to know that it's totally not going to work out the way he's planned it, because that's just not how his life goes.
And still, he has his mother drop him off at Puck's on Saturday afternoon.
The good thing about Puck's house is that it has a ramp up to the front porch for when his grandma comes over. The other good thing is that it's a townhouse, so he can have a huge awkward conversation with Puck and then not have to ask him to carry him down a flight of stairs afterwards.
Artie thinks about leaving one more time (he only lives like a mile away, it wouldn't be that far), but he finally mans up and pushes the doorbell.
Puck answers.
“. . . Hi,” he says.
“Hey,” Artie replies. “Can I come in?”
“Um, sure.” Puck holds the door open and Artie wheels himself in.
“My, uh, my mom and my sister are doing some Girl Scouts thing today,” Puck says, “so they're not here.”
That's a relief. “Look, Puck--”
“No, I--” Puck interrupts, but Artie's not about to have any of that.
“Shut up. Seriously. Just let me talk, okay?” Puck looks a little taken aback at Artie's directness, but he shuts up.
“I like you,” Artie says. “You're a cool guy, and I like being your friend, and I didn't want to jeopardize that.” He pauses to take a deep breath. “But I like you in a more-than-friends way, too. The idea didn't even occur to me until we . . . you know . . .”
“Dude,” Puck sighs, like he's tired of everything, “we've had each other's dicks in our mouths. You can call it sex. It was sex.”
“Fine,” Artie blushes, and it's weird how Puck makes him feel shy about sex again, “the idea of being into you didn't occur to me until we had sex, and then I thought about it, and we'd be good together, you know? I think we're good for each other.” He looks at Puck hopefully.
Puck sits down on the couch. “I'm really bad at relationships. You know I'm really bad at relationships.”
“I believe I've told you as much, yeah,” Artie says, and he's relieved to see that it makes Puck smile.
“But I don't want to be that guy anymore. Being that guy sucks, and it's lonely.”
“Well, you know how to not be that guy, right?”
Puck raises an eyebrow at him.
“You just . . . stop being that guy. You stop sleeping around. You stop being a jerk. You stop giving people mixed signals,” Artie says, smirking slightly.
“You'll help me?” Puck asks.
“Yeah, I'll help you,” Artie replies, and his smirk turns into a full-on grin.
“Then . . . I guess that's it. We're dating.”
“We're dating.”
They let the magnitude of what they've just agreed to sit for a moment. “You realize this means we're just going to do the same stuff we always do, except sometimes we'll have sex, right?” Puck finally says.
“Being with someone who doesn't bitch at me for playing video games sounds awesome,” Artie replies.
Author: lennoxave
Pairing,Character(s): Puck/Artie, minor Brittana
Rating: PG-13 (language and some talk of sexual situations)
Word Count: 4,093
Spoilers: Through 2.10, "A Very Glee Christmas."
Summary: After Brittany breaks up with Artie, Puck decides to cheer his friend up. This leads to some . . . interesting developments in their relationship.
Author's Note on the Series: I'm writing this as a sort of self-challenge. It's going to be a series (oh dear god, I'm writing a series) in which almost every member of New Directions has some degree of queerness to their sexuality. I'm using this as a) a challenge to write pairings, which I almost never do, b) a challenge to write in a wider variety of character voices, and c) a challenge to write slightly angst-ier fic than I usually do.
Author's Note on the Chapter: I feel like I can't possibly be the first person to make this pun, but I haven't seen it anywhere else, so I guess I get to take the credit? And by credit, I mean blame, because it is an awful pun. Also, in this fic, I'm working off of the idea RIB seem to be that high school football season lasts as long as the NFL season does, so it's still football season here (the fic takes place mid-January-ish?). I'm aware that this isn't the case, at least not in my neck of the woods, but whatevs. Who uses timelines in Glee-verse? :)
Prologue
1. Adding Up the Total of a Love That's True (Brittana)
What Part of Partie Don't You Understand?
The next coupling is completely unexpected. The rest of the couplings are, really, but the next one in particular is.
Fifteen months ago, Puck was stealing Artie's wheelchair and locking the kid in port-a-potties.
It's amazing how things change, especially when they're given a push. Like someone's girlfriend breaking up with him.
* * *
Saturday night, Puck shows up at Artie's house with a liter bottle of water in his hand.
Well, to Artie's mom, it looks like a liter bottle of water. It's really a liter bottle filled with vodka, but what Mrs. Abrams doesn't know won't hurt her.
“Come on in,” she says when she answers the door.
“Thanks.” Mrs. Abrams looks at his water bottle questioningly. She's not suspicious, just curious.
“I just got done with a workout when Artie called,” Puck lies. “Gotta rehydrate.”
“Of course,” she says. “I'm really glad you're here, Noah. He's been cooped up in his room all day, playing the most depressing music. I think he needs some cheering up.”
“Well, I'll do my best,” Puck says. Mrs. Abrams smiles at him as he makes his way through the house. He's always done well with moms. Particularly the ones who don't have daughters.
“Bro,” Puck greets Artie, walking into his room without knocking.
“Yo,” Artie replies, not even bothering to move from his position lying on his bed. Puck listens to the music as he shuts the door. Some dude whining about being human and needing to be loved. That shit needs to end now.
“Hey!” Artie protests as Puck yanks the cord of his i-Pod dock out of the wall.
“Dude, you need to stop being such a fucking pussy,” Puck says, walking over to the T.V. and switching on Artie's PS3. “You're going to deal with this like a man.”
“Oh? And how's that, exactly?” Artie asks.
“We drink, and we blow shit up.” Puck tosses the vodka at Artie, who opens the bottle, takes a sip, and makes a face.
“This night isn't going to end with us, like, trying to chain the library book drop to the back of my dad's van and drive off with it, is it? 'Cause I don't think I could handle juvie.”
“Nah,” Puck says. “Who the fuck goes to the library, anyway?”
* * *
A few hours and most of a bottle later, Puck and Artie are sitting on Artie's bed flipping channels. Puck's in charge of the remote, since Artie requires the use of both his arms to remain sitting upright at this point, and he lands on Kill Bill.
“Good flick,” he says. “And Uma Thurman's kind of a badass babe.” He looks over and sees Artie's eyes beginning to fill with tears.
“This was . . . this was Tina's favorite movie,” Artie chokes out.
“Wait. I thought you were upset about Brittany?”
“Yes. No. I don't even know anymore.” Artie leans his head back against the wall. “I just . . . why can't anybody like me for who I am, y'know? Why am I the one who's not good enough, or who has to change?”
The tears are flowing freely now, and Puck's not quite sure what to do. He's not really at the right angle for a bro hug, so he settles for giving Artie's knee a short reassuring pat.
And then he realizes that Artie can't feel his legs, and that that was a really moronic gesture. He must be drunker than he thought he was. He tries a different tactic.
“Dude,” Puck says, and he maneuvers himself so he's kneeling on the bed, more or less facing Artie. “You? Are awesome.” He puts his right hand on Artie's shoulder and squeezes. “Any chick who doesn't get that isn't worth your time.”
Artie looks him in the eyes now, and he just looks so needy, and for some reason it seems very important for Puck to slide his hand up Artie's neck and cup his cheek.
“You think so?” Artie asks.
“Yeah,” Puck replies, and he knows that he really should bring his hand down or look away from what's becoming a very intense staring contest (because this is starting to be something he can't no homo his way out of), but he doesn't do a thing about either situation.
He figures out that he's screwed when Artie reaches up and places his hand over Puck's.
“Please?” Artie asks. And he's got that same goddamned pleading look Puck remembers someone else wearing on a night with wine coolers over a year ago.
Puck decides he really needs to stop drinking as he leans in and kisses Artie.
“How far?” he whispers as he moves to Artie's neck. When he's with someone he actually does give a damn about, he likes to know they're both on the same page.
“All the way,” Artie breathes.
Puck leans back, looks from Artie's legs to his crotch to his face, and arches an eyebrow. “Well, how's that gonna work?” he mutters. Artie is too busy taking off his suspenders and unbuttoning his shirt to notice.
It takes some trial and error and awkward discussion, but they eventually figure it out.
* * *
When Artie wakes up the next morning, he has a good thirty seconds devoid of thought while he processes the pounding in his head.
When his brain does start thinking again, he says, out loud, “Oh, fuck.”
He and Puck have a thing. Had a thing? There was a thing, that happened last night, and it involved him and Puck and sex-type things and oh, fuck, Puck is going to freak the hell out.
Artie opens his eyes. The first thing he sees is his nightstand, with his glasses neatly folded next to a glass of water. As he reaches for them, he sees that his garbage can has been lined with a plastic bag and placed next to his bed.
If his mother had found him passed out, she would have woken him up and screamed at him about irresponsibility for twenty minutes. His dad is in Houston on a business trip. That means that Puck must be the person who did all of this for him. Apparently, he hadn't freaked out.
The thought makes Artie feel warm in his chest in a way he wouldn't like to admit. He never would have considered pursuing anything with the guy because he assumed Puck was completely heterosexual. But with the knowledge that he maybe isn't, Artie's mind starts going places. He knows Puck's track record, and he doesn't want to get his hopes up, but he and Puck click. In a way that suits really good friends, sure, but in a way that he's always wanted a relationship to, too. Puck wouldn't be pissed about him playing Halo; Puck would come join him and bring a case of Mountain Dew.
Also, Puck is good in bed. Puck is really good in bed.
So after he takes a sip of water, Artie grabs his phone off the nightstand and writes a text message:
you get home ok?
He almost adds a smiley face, but he feels like that might be a little too gay for Puck. He goes about his morning routine while he waits for a response.
By Sunday night, when Puck's posted three Facebook statuses but still hasn't returned his text?
Artie starts to think that Puck might be freaking out about the whole thing after all.
* * *
It's Wednesday before Artie finally corners Puck to talk alone. Monday and Tuesday were football practice, and God knows that would have been a terrible place for this conversation, but Wednesday means glee after school, so Artie speeds his way out of rehearsal and meets Puck at his locker.
“What is your deal?” Artie asks as he wheels up behind Puck. Puck does a quick check of the hallway before he answers.
“I don't want to talk about it,” he mutters as he slams his locker shut. Artie pulls in front of him.
“Well, I do.”
Puck stops in his tracks and looks wearily at Artie. “Dude, don't make me hit a guy in a wheelchair.”
“Then talk.”
“There's nothing to talk about.”
“Why are you so freaked out?” Artie raises his voice and Puck again looks frantically around to make sure no one hears.
“Just leave me alone,” Puck says, and he walks away, taking the stairs instead of the straight path to the parking lot. Deliberately taking the stairs.
Artie isn't foiled for long. He knows where Puck parks his truck and he makes his way toward it, intercepting Puck on the way.
“You just don't know when to quit, do you?” Puck says, speeding up his walk.
“If you'd just answer me, this wouldn't be an issue,” Artie replies.
Puck doesn't respond. Instead, he changes his path and cuts across the grass, or what would be grass if it weren't for the Ohio winter. There hasn't been any snow for awhile, though, so there's less than an inch of it on the ground, and Artie's on the football team, goddammit, he does off-road wheelchair-ing all the time, so he easily follows.
“I'm not asking for a therapy session, or a promise ring, or a wedding in Massachusetts,” he calls to Puck. It's enough to get him to slow down his walk.
“I'm fine with us just being bros, you know?” Artie says. “But we have to actually have the conversation in which we establish that we're just bros.”
Puck finally stops walking and turns around to face Artie. “I'm not gay,” he says.
“No one said anything about gay. I'm not gay either.”
“That was just a weird, one-off thing that happened because I was drunk, and it's never going to happen again.”
“That's totally cool,” Artie says, and it is. Except it's not, really, because Artie would totally do it again in a heartbeat, but at this point he's just willing to do the damage control necessary to get his friend back.
“I'm serious,” Puck reiterates.
“I didn't think you weren't.”
“Not gay.”
“Right.”
“'Cause that shit's disgusting.”
“Look,” Artie sighs, “since everything's out of the bag, anyway, I'm not going to lie to you: I'm attracted to guys sometimes. I'm not saying that I'm specifically attracted to you,” he lies at the look on Puck's face, “but it happens. It's not something I'm comfortable sharing with, y'know, the world, but it's something I think you have the right to know at this point.”
Puck looks at him like he's feeling a little ill. “Dude, I just . . . need some space right now, okay?”
“Okay,” Artie agrees, although it's the last thing he wants to say right now.
Puck walks away and leaves Artie sitting in the middle of the grass. Artie watches him until he gets to his truck, and he can't help but notice that Puck's slamming the doors of his pick-up way harder than necessary.
* * *
“You can't stay for long,” Santana says when she opens the door. “Brittany's coming over in a couple of minutes and I don't feel like sharing my sexy times today.”
“Whatever,” Puck says, pushing passed Santana into the house. “Are your parents home?”
Santana laughs. “When are they ever?”
“Good. I needed to talk to you about something. Like, personal and private and shit.”
“Look, I know I helped break up Finn and Rachel, but I'm not sure I could help break up the Wonder Twins, even if--”
“It's not about Quinn,” Puck cuts in. Santana looks surprised.
“Then who the hell is it about?” she asks.
“Artie.”
Santana quirks an eyebrow at him. “Casanova, you're gonna have to explain this shit.”
“The other night, after Brittany broke up with him, we got drunk and . . .” Puck trails off. Santana just looks at him questioningly, and he sighs. “Look, are you gonna make me say it?”
Santana's eyes light up as she realizes what he means. “Oh my god! Puckerman, you little sneaky gay!”
“Shut up,” he says. “I'm not gay.”
“Sneaky bisexual, whatever.” Santana grabs him by the shoulders and looks him up and down. “This is great news! You don't really have the wardrobe for being gay, but as long as you're keeping Artie busy I don't have to worry about him trying to get back with Brittany, and we can work around--”
“Santana,” Puck says. “You're not helping.”
“Well, what's your problem?” she asks. “Isn't this basically the same thing you told me to go chase after with Brittany?”
“Yeah, except you guys have been in love with each other for forever and I don't know what the fuck's going on with my life right now.”
Santana narrows her eyes at him. “You're afraid.”
“Am not.”
“Are, too. You're afraid that you're a big ol' queer now.”
“Seriously, not helping.”
“Puck,” Santana says, “you wouldn't be here right now if some part of you didn't know it was true.”
Puck's silence says everything, so Santana continues.
“Did you have fun with the guy?”
Puck shuts his eyes and rubs his face with his hands before admitting, “Yeah.”
“And do you care about him?” It's a question Puck knows Santana wouldn't have bothered asking a week ago, but they've both been making some personal strides lately.
It takes him longer to respond to this one. “I guess . . . yeah, I do.”
“Then make a move on him.” Puck opens his eyes and stares at her.
“Santana, I can't do that. I'm Puck. Puckzilla.”
Santana rolls her eyes. “Listen to yourself. You're Noah fucking Puckerman, professional badass. No one tells you what to do. You make your own decisions and fuck what everybody else says.”
Puck thinks about it for a second. “Yeah,” he finally says. “Yeah, you're right. I could wear a dress to school and people would think it's cool.”
“You don't really have the right build for a dress,” a voice says from behind him. He whirls around to see Brittany standing in the doorway. Santana must not have locked the door behind her. “Too big of muscles. Kurt would look better. Or maybe Mike. But I wish you'd been out of juvie for Rocky Horror. You would have made a super-sexy Frank-n-furter.”
“True story,” Santana says as she makes her way around Puck and kisses her girlfriend. “Don't worry, sweetie, Puck was just leaving.”
“Yeah, I've got to go . . . do some stuff.”
“He's gonna go have sex with Artie,” Santana says at Brittany's questioning look.
“San!”
“Oh, that's awesome!” Brittany says. “He's a really good guy, and I know you're good at sex, so you'll make him happy.”
“Uh, thanks,” Puck says. As he heads for the door, Brittany catches him by the arm.
“But if you hurt him, I'll kill you, tie you up, and leave you in a field for my vulture friends to eat,” she says, but she says it in her usual Brittany voice, which Puck feels should be less intimidating but really makes the threat a hundred times scarier.
“. . . Okay,” Puck says, and he leaves Santana's house with an entirely different worry than he'd arrived with.
* * *
It's Artie's dad who lets him in later that night. He gives Puck a suspicious look like he always does; Puck's never done well with dads, unless they're as big of douche-bags as he is. Still, Artie's father lets him in.
“You know the way,” he says, and Puck just nods in return.
He knocks this time when he gets to Artie's door.
“Come in!” Artie calls. It sounds like he's playing Call of Duty.
Puck opens the door. “Hey,” he says, and shuts it behind him.
Artie's head snaps up at the sound of his voice, and he looks worried, although he's clearly trying to hide it.
“Oh. Hey. What's up?”
“Yo,” Puck replies, avoiding the question and sitting down on the bed.
They sit in silence for a minute.
“. . . So . . .” Artie attempts to start the conversation.
“This is really fucking weird for me,” Puck says, and he gets up and walks over to the window. “Like, really fucking weird.”
“Dude, it doesn't have to be. It was just a big drunk thing that happened. It doesn't mean anything.”
Puck's brain does that record-scratching thing you always see in movies but never hear in real life because nobody listens to records anymore. He was talking about how it was weird that he not only had sex with a dude, but was kind of into a dude, too. Like, with actual feelings and shit. But Artie was talking about how there were no feelings at all. But Artie said he was sometimes into dudes. Which means . . .
“Puck?” Artie asks, because Puck hasn't said anything in awhile.
“You used me,” Puck says. He doesn't really mean to, but it's what he's thinking when Artie says his name and it just sort of slips out.
“I what?” Artie says, completely baffled.
“You used me,” Puck repeats, getting angrier the more he thinks about it. “A nice hot piece of ass to help you get over Brittany, was that it?”
“Jesus tap-dancing Christ, Puck. First you flip because we had a thing, now you flip because I'm not taking it seriously?”
Puck is vaguely aware that he's been sending totally mixed signals and that Artie has every right to be confused, but at this particular moment, he's ignoring all of that in favor of a pain he hadn't even realized was inside of him. “You used me, Artie. Everyone uses me. Quinn, Rachel, Santana, and now you.”
“No, dude, you set yourself up to be used. It's not my fault you've never had a goddamned functional relationship in your entire life.”
“Fuck you,” Puck says.
“Fuck you!” Artie shouts back at him as he slams the door shut.
* * *
They spend the next day avoiding each other. Well, Artie knows for sure that he's avoiding Puck, and although he can't really speak for the guy, he's pretty sure Puck's avoiding him back.
Unfortunately, Schuester's got them doing Pink's “So What” in glee club, so there's a lot of pointed looking at each other during particularly apt lyrics, even though Mercedes is the one singing lead on it.
“Man, that's a great kiss-off song,” Tina remarks when they finish their final run-through.
“Yeah. It's great for showing just how over someone you are,” Puck says, his eyes flicking to Artie briefly before focusing back on the wall ahead of him.
“It's interesting you bring that up,” Mr. Schuester says. “Because really, when you think about it, the fact that she wrote the song at all shows just how not over him she was.”
“What do you mean?” Artie asks.
“Well, people who are really, truly over their exes don't generally rub how over their exes they are in their exes' faces. If you're really over it, you don't care what that other person thinks anymore.”
Artie sees a lot of meaningful looks exchanged at that statement, but he somehow manages to avoid looking at Puck.
“And you know, Pink ended up getting back together with Carey Hart,” Mr. Schuester adds.
Artie can't stand it anymore, and he looks over at Puck. Puck's staring resolutely at the wall, and his face is impossible to read.
The whole discussion diffuses Artie's anger somewhat, and he starts to actually think about what happened last night, rather than just be offended by Puck's accusation.
Puck had gotten pissed off when Artie said their drunken whatever didn't mean anything.
He had gotten weirdly pissed off.
Like, much more than any otherwise straight person should have.
The fact is, Puck has been sending mondo mixed signals, and Artie wants to know what's up. And since, frankly, it looks like their friendship is completely fucked regardless of how he handles things, he might as well tell Puck the whole truth about how he feels.
Artie promises himself that he's not going to chicken out.
* * *
He doesn't chicken out, but it still takes him until Saturday to work up the courage to go over to Puck's. By then, Artie's practiced this conversation in his head enough times to know that it's totally not going to work out the way he's planned it, because that's just not how his life goes.
And still, he has his mother drop him off at Puck's on Saturday afternoon.
The good thing about Puck's house is that it has a ramp up to the front porch for when his grandma comes over. The other good thing is that it's a townhouse, so he can have a huge awkward conversation with Puck and then not have to ask him to carry him down a flight of stairs afterwards.
Artie thinks about leaving one more time (he only lives like a mile away, it wouldn't be that far), but he finally mans up and pushes the doorbell.
Puck answers.
“. . . Hi,” he says.
“Hey,” Artie replies. “Can I come in?”
“Um, sure.” Puck holds the door open and Artie wheels himself in.
“My, uh, my mom and my sister are doing some Girl Scouts thing today,” Puck says, “so they're not here.”
That's a relief. “Look, Puck--”
“No, I--” Puck interrupts, but Artie's not about to have any of that.
“Shut up. Seriously. Just let me talk, okay?” Puck looks a little taken aback at Artie's directness, but he shuts up.
“I like you,” Artie says. “You're a cool guy, and I like being your friend, and I didn't want to jeopardize that.” He pauses to take a deep breath. “But I like you in a more-than-friends way, too. The idea didn't even occur to me until we . . . you know . . .”
“Dude,” Puck sighs, like he's tired of everything, “we've had each other's dicks in our mouths. You can call it sex. It was sex.”
“Fine,” Artie blushes, and it's weird how Puck makes him feel shy about sex again, “the idea of being into you didn't occur to me until we had sex, and then I thought about it, and we'd be good together, you know? I think we're good for each other.” He looks at Puck hopefully.
Puck sits down on the couch. “I'm really bad at relationships. You know I'm really bad at relationships.”
“I believe I've told you as much, yeah,” Artie says, and he's relieved to see that it makes Puck smile.
“But I don't want to be that guy anymore. Being that guy sucks, and it's lonely.”
“Well, you know how to not be that guy, right?”
Puck raises an eyebrow at him.
“You just . . . stop being that guy. You stop sleeping around. You stop being a jerk. You stop giving people mixed signals,” Artie says, smirking slightly.
“You'll help me?” Puck asks.
“Yeah, I'll help you,” Artie replies, and his smirk turns into a full-on grin.
“Then . . . I guess that's it. We're dating.”
“We're dating.”
They let the magnitude of what they've just agreed to sit for a moment. “You realize this means we're just going to do the same stuff we always do, except sometimes we'll have sex, right?” Puck finally says.
“Being with someone who doesn't bitch at me for playing video games sounds awesome,” Artie replies.