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Like The Weather
Tagging → Noah Puckerman Time Frame → Early, Early Monday Morning | May 29th, 2017 Location → 15 Goldsmith Ave | Newark, NJ General Notes → Sigh.
Color of the sky as far as I can see is coal grey. Lift my head from the pillow and then fall again. Shiver in my bones, just thinking about the weather.
He woke up that morning less surprised that he was in an unfamiliar bed and more so shocked that he had managed any sleep.
The sheets he was tangled in had stripes and they matched the curtains that we cracked just enough to shine the sun directly into his eyes. The woman pressed against his back was still asleep, he could feel it from the even rise and fall of her breasts against his spine and the moist warmth of her breath on his neck. This was probably the time to leave - he didn’t have to look at the clock to know that it was too early and he had only just finished making a dent in the mattress and a notch in the headboard a couple hours prior - and traffic probably wouldn’t be so bad. Plus he thought he was still in Queens, so...
This was most definitely the best time to leave. But he was exhausted.
Not just his body, but lying there as he was, warm and pressed against someone else, curling away from the sun and whatever the fuck else was going on outside that window, even the thought of moving beyond the end of the mattress was daunting. The sex was good, yeah, but the thing keeping him in this bed was the unappealing fact that he was going to have to place his feet on the ground, stand and… function.
Then, the woman behind him shifted and murmured something into the flesh of his shoulder and something in him clicked. As if an imaginary chart or something had hit a limit or quota, he was suddenly done with interactions - human ones that involved other individuals that breathed and had independent thought. That feeling pushed him out of the bed and had him washing his junk in her sink and getting the fuck out of there.
He didn’t even feel comfortable with the people saying excuse me as he stomped his path home - though in New York he didn’t have to worry about that often - and once he got back to his apartment, he was grateful that it was still early enough that Sara hadn’t snuck back in and everything was dark and quiet and familiar. He tore his clothing off, vowed to shower and wash his sheets even as he climbed into his bed and patted himself on the back for never putting away the pile of blankets and comforters he used this winter, even though it was hot as balls in his room.
“What the fuck is wrong?” he asked the ceiling. And of course it didn’t answer him. Just like he wanted.
Fine, Seriously
Tagging → Sara Puckerman, Noah Puckerman Time Frame → Wednesday Evening | September 7th, 2016 Location → 15 Goldsmith Ave | Newark, NJ General Notes → Seriously.
“So what did you wanna try and do today?” Sara asked and, if Puck didn’t know better, he’d say his sister sounded anxious. He frowned at her from over the top of his laptop and shrugged, but finally relented and gave his full attention when she grunted out, “Huh, Noah?”
Looking away from his still unfinished resume, he shrugged again, but added words this time: “It’s Wednesday, Was I supposed to do something?”
“Wanna go to the movies?”
“I have to be at work in three hours?”
She dismissed his quizzical tone and decided that she needed to sit on the couch right where his bookbag was, knocking it to the ground and cradling one of her stupid throw pillows to her chest. “You just came back from work - you have too many stupid jobs.”
“They pay these stupid bills.” He stretched out a leg to drag his bag closer to the couch with his heel, annoyance weighing down the corners of his mouth. But of course she ignored his expression.
“We should do something,” she said so earnestly that he actually felt guilty
“Have we not been spending enough time together or something? Are you okay?”
“No, it’s not that. I just… When’s the last time we did something stupid?”
“The last time you paid for your Tidal prescription?”
She huffed out a laugh and hit him with her pillow. “Stupid and fun? C’mon, we don’t have a lot of fun around here. You’re all work work work and I’m all pimping myself out for gallery time an neither of us smile.”
“We’re not really smiling people, though,” he said, scowling.
“So? Maybe we should start,” she countered, a shoulder lifting with her brow at that suggestion. “Maybe we should start getting healthy amounts of sleep and eat like normal people so that we aren’t losing weight and talk to people who we’re not required to on a daily basis. Like normals.”
“I don’t want to be a normal if I have to talk to people.” Then his mind caught up with what she said. “You think I’m not eating right?”
“What’s the last thing you ate? Don’t say a person’s name.”
He thought on it, but ended up shrugging. “Take out at work probably.”
“You’re losing weight.”
“I don’t go to the gym anymore - I lost some bulk. That’s all. I eat,” he said. And he did. Even when he didn’t have the appetite for it. Which was most of the time. “Did you think I was sick or something?” She shrugged and refused to meet his gaze. “Sara? Hello?”
“Or something,” she grunted out, meeting his gaze head on, her eyes big. “I’m allowed to be worried about you, right?”
“I mean… if you feel like it.”
“Noah…”
“Fine. Seriously Sara, I’m fine. I eat. I’m healthy. I even went a dentist appointment two weeks ago. Things are great and I should floss,” he assured her, smiling wide and fake to exaggerate his point.
She rolled her eyes and seemed to drop it for a minute as she snatched the laptop out of his lap and pulled up her Tidal account. Then she said, “I just don’t want you to be unhappy here with me. I kinda dragged you back out here. And I know today’s not the best day, so I just wanted to… I dunno, I worry.”
He resigned himself to watching ‘Lemonade’ for the umpteenth time before work and leaned over to plant a kiss on her temple. “I’m fine, Smiley Face. Besides, me and Quinn’s anniversary was yesterday, so you’re worried about nothing. I’m fine.”
Fine, Honest
Tagging → Sara Puckerman, Noah Puckerman Time Frame → Sunday Evening | July 3, 2016 Location → 15 Goldsmith Ave, Bronx | NJ General Notes → The gang moves to New Jersey.
Puck dropped his sister’s last box of things unceremoniously on her bed and officially called it a day despite knowing that he would have to get up from the couch before he even sat down and go to the expensive ass grocery store down the block and buy some picked over meat for the 4th of July -slash- homewarming -slash- done with finals celebration Sara decided she wanted to have after five minutes passed of her living in a new place.
Granted, he was probably going to try to burn something on the roof eventually, but he wasn’t planning on it being so soon. After the moving guys and negotiating -slash- charming the shit out of their landlord -slash- taking her daughter on several dates he didn’t want to go on and then the entire fiasco with his puppy being afraid of stairs, Puck was kind of over all of it and wasn’t in the mood for seeing more people, let alone having a party in the place he had barely unpacked in himself. Now Sara was skipping around their apartment, a bright smile on her face as she looked at the walls and envisioned putting up her artwork instead of actually, you know, unpacking the house she wanted other people to trample through all of tomorrow night.
He just took a seat on the couch and watched as she got none of her priorities safe, but he did so with a sense of relief.
Senior didn’t know where they were.
Unless Sara blabbed. Which hopefully she wouldn’t. Hopefully.
Still, they were good for now and it was a relief just to have a moment where he didn’t feel like everything was a literal weight on his chest. Technically, that wasn’t true because if he sat still for too long, he thought about stale beer and arguments and misplaced kisses, but for this moment he would just ignore that and enjoy that he and his sister were both in relatively good moods at the same time.
“How about you unpack some kitchen stuff? Since we’ll be using that to cook tomorrow and, you know, not your naked lady paintings,” he suggested as he sunk further into the throw pillows Sara unpacked first because, again, priorities.
“We could just buy cooked food,” she threw out absently, holding up a naked lady painting against the wall and eyeing what it would look like in the middle of their living room. “It’s not like the people coming over are picky about it.”
“Yeah, but we can’t have a shit ton of people in this place when there’s boxes everywhere. Like, we don’t even have enough counter space for booze. Your hipster buddies aren’t gonna like that.”
She turned to him with narrow eyes, but her lips were pursed, so he knew it was his point. She didn’t admit it, but she also didn’t say anything back to him, just disappeared into the kitchen for awhile. He actually had no idea how long because almost as soon as she had left, he fell asleep on her comfortable ass throw pillows and when he finally woke up, she was setting up her television in front of him.
“The kitchen is ready for booze and guests. Like, the tupperware and junk is still in boxes, but we’ll probably just stuff all of those in one of the bedrooms until the party’s over. Everything doesn’t need to be out anyway,” she explained to him as he yawned and cracked his neck. “I figure the bathroom, the kitchen and this room being done enough is good enough.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” He stood and glanced around the room. Most of the big furniture was a mixture of his from his apartment in Cleveland and then his grandparent’s storage unit, but with Sara’s little touches of artsy shit made the place look less… shitty and more like the place had been put together like this on purpose.
“It looks eclectic,” provided Sara and Puck glanced her way to catch her smiling at him. He smiled back hesitantly and she positively beamed. “It’s gonna look really nice.”
“Yeah.” Quickly, before any of them could even address it, Sara’s arms were wrapped around his waist and then she was disappearing back into the kitchen. He decided then to head out and grab some food before anything got anymore gross and feely between them.
Once he got back, grimacing at both the hit on his wallet and the heaviness of carrying booze up four flights of stairs, he gently nudged the puppy out of the way with his foot and made his way to the kitchen. It looked barren still, but there was shit in the cabinets and he could season the ribs and burgers before tossing them in the fridge. Sara shuffled in a few minutes after he was done, grabbed a beer and a bowl to pour Lucky Charms into and climbed onto the counter beside where he was emptying out the box of liquor he had gotten.
Bunny slipper-clad feet swinging, she asked, “So what’ve you been in a mood about lately?”
“What do you mean?” he grunted, moving to put a bottle of Hennessy away in a high cabinet where no one could reach -slash- find it.
“You’ve been grumpy. Like more than usual. Are you upset you and Solo aren’t together anymore?”
He shook his head. “Nah,” he assured her, completely honest, even as he continued, “I never really thought that was gonna go anywhere.”
She looked slightly offended at that reply and his quizzical expression prompted her to explain, “I just don’t get why you were with him then. He really liked you.”
“I don’t know about all that. I was a rebound from his wife. He was a rebound from Quinn, kinda.”
“Kinda?”
“Me and her weren’t together and me and Solo were kind of take it or leave it.”
“Seriously?!”
He shrugged. “He was there.”
She smirked. “Something to do?” He laughed and her smirk transformed into a fullblown smile. “I still think he really liked you. Mom said he’s been mopey so I wondered if the both of you should try long distance or something.”
“I never want to do long distance again,” he told her, grabbing his own beer and hopping up onto the counter next to her. He scowled and hopped back down when a knob of the cabinet dug into his back though.
She laughed at him, then asked, “So you’re just gonna let your relationship with Quinn sour you from other stuff?”
“My relationship with Quinn…” He trailed off and glanced at the blank wall across the room, thinking that maybe it could use some of Sara’s artwork, but he didn’t entertain the thought too long because he could feel her gaze burning into the side of his neck. “I don’t think that I’ll ever have a relationship like the one I had with Quinn ever again.”
“That sounds dramatic,” she scoffed.
He shrugged. “That’s just what I feel like. I don’t want anyone that close to me.” Sara was quiet and he turned to look at her, surprised she had nothing to say to that, but the look on her face told him that she didn’t know what to say. “You know what I mean, right?” She shook her head and looked at him, hazel eyes big and solemn in a way his could never be. “I just… I never expected to feel like how I felt with her. I didn’t know I could feel that way.”
“What way?”
“Don’t make me say it. You’ll call me dramatic.”
“So you don’t want to feel that way with anyone again? Ever?” she asked and there was almost a desperate edge to her voice.
He thought on what she said and didn’t know what she wanted to hear from him exactly. On one hand, he knew that she still was hoping that he and Quinn would get their shit together and be together, but on the other he knew that she wanted him happy. That she thought being with someone would make him happy. “Honestly, I’m not really… feeling like that isn’t the problem.”
“Then what?”
“It’s when you stop feeling that way. I don’t ever want to feel like this again.” He took a sip of his beer and sighed. “I’m tired. All the time.”
“You know, you guys are really putting me off relationships. Like, I wanted kids by now.”
Puck snorted into his bottle. “Shut up. But I’m fine. Honest.”
My Broken House Behind Me
Tagging ➙ Quinn Fabray, Sara Puckerman, Senior Time Frame ➙ Saturday Afternoon | June 11, 2016 Location ➙ Sara’s Apartment | Chelsea, NYC General Notes ➙ Quinn meets Senior.
I am going to make it through this year If it kills me I am going to make it though this year If it kills me
Sara picked absently at the pilling fabric on the edges of her shorts and tried not to think about how Noah was right. She hated admitting that that idiot knew more than she did, but he did and here she was. Her eyes burned with tears she refused to let fall and she couldn't possibly get smaller on her one little piece of couch, but that didn't stop her wiping at her face and curling up even further, her aching wrist pressed close to her stomach. Her father sat on the opposite end of the couch, watching the Family Feud and grunting out answers over a bowl of her Fruity Pebbles. Her phone sat across the room, lighting up with texts from somebody, but she wouldn't dare get up and get it, her heart was still pounding from the quick text she sent to Quinn however long ago begging for her to come over with coffee. So focused on the phone she was, when the knock sounded on the door she almost jolted out of her skin.
Senior scowled at the door, then at Sara, but the expression was gone by the time he set the bowl of cereal down and moved to the door. He didn't bother glancing his daughter's way again, just opened the door and greeted their guest with a smile. "Hi. How can I help you?"
Quinn balanced the carrier tray in one hand while shouldering her way into the building. She'd been surprised to get Sara's text, but figured it was a good excuse to put a pause in her day's plans and actually make time for the youngest Puckerman. Pinpricks of guilt had spurred her to make contact once more, and she was perfectly fine with exchanging the occasional messages with Sara, inquiring about art and gabbing on silly things. Despite the strangeness that came with seeing Puck in a random coffee shop, Quinn mused that she couldn't and wouldn't hold it against his sister, who had always been a worthy friend, independent of the relationship she'd once had with Puck. She reached the door of Sara's apartment and knocked sharply, slipping her phone into her purse while she waited. The door opened, and Quinn's face, which had held a brief smile slipped into one of slight confusion at the sight of the man at the threshold. Handsome, with a polite smile that reached his eyes...the gaze quite familiar, so very much like someone else she knew. There was no way to even expect the man in front of her, his reputation preceding him and Quinn's own gaze narrowed ever so slightly as she studied the older Noah Puckerman but quickly recovered with her typical air of muted cool in place before speaking. "Hello. I was looking for Sara. I was in the neighborhood and figured I'd drop by for a visit. I didn't realize she already had guests, though."
Senior nodded and let his smile widened before stepping back and letting the door open a little wider. "Of course, come on in. And as many times as I've already washed Sara's dishes, I can hardly be a guest anymore, just Dad," he chuckled, turning his head to smile at Sara, his eyes prompting her to smile back in return. "Sara Jane, looks like your friend brought you something. Ain't that nice?"
Sara immediately jumped up from her seat when she was addressed and smiled widely before crossing the room and taking Quinn's arm. "She's just the sweetest. C'mon to the kitchen and I'll see if I can find any cookies or anything to go with this - is it a chai latte? I love those." She kept the chatter going even after the two girls were in the kitchen and she was rummaging through the cabinets. "The lines aren't too long this time of day, are they?"
Quinn stepped inside, her annoyance rising once she'd moved past Senior and into Sara's tugging. "The lines were just fine. Typical city hustle and bustle." she replied, giving a succinct nod to the man as she followed his daughter. The scene before her seemed strained with smiles and politeness, discomfort fluttering in the pit of her stomach. The elder Puckerman was friendly, a far cry from the stories she'd heard of him and it was difficult to connect the handsome man with familiar eyes to the dark cloud that still lingered in his offspring. Once in the kitchen, Quinn turned to Sara, who was busy on a search for god knows what and she placed the carrier of coffee cups on the counter. "It is the chai. Vanilla. From Midtown Java, which is the only non-Starbucks place I can tolerate." She leaned in close enough for only the other girl to hear, straining to keep the irritation out her voice. "What the hell is going on?"
Sara tugged out a bag of Chips Ahoy she had hidden away from herself days ago and tossed it on the counter next to the coffee before looking the blonde in the face to address her question. "I don't know. He's been here for a couple of days and I feel like he's..." She held up her hands and shook them on each side of her head. "He's driving me crazy, okay? I can't... I just need... Thank you for coming over." She picked up a cup, the cookies and a box of cereal and walked back into the living room. "More cereal, Daddy?"
Quinn's look softened at Sara's tone, frustration tinged with desperation. She felt for the girl, and the tense situation, even with her irritation at being thrust into the middle of it. The uncomfortable feeling seemed to grow, and she had half a mind to leave, but it would seem incredibly stilted and cause questions. It was best to stay put for now. "Fifteen minutes," she told Sara. Quinn had no intention of being around that man and his smiles for long. To-go cup in hand, she followed Sara to the living room, taking a seat on the chair furthest away from Senior. Crossing her legs, she rested the still-hot cup of coffee atop her knee, fingers tapping against the cup's sleeve while she regarded the older man, posing a few questions to him despite small talk being the last thing she wanted to do. "Have you been in town long? How are you enjoying the city?"
Senior could only nod approvingly at Sara - her friend had good breeding, he could tell in the way she sat, the tone of her voice, her shoes and expensive jacket. "Just got in earlier this week to see how Sara's improved in her classes. The semester's finishing up, isn't it, sweetheart?" He waited until Sara flushed and nodded. "I'm sure you know she lacks a little motivation sometimes, so I figured I'd come up and offer her a little help. I think she's dragged me to every art gallery from here to Long Island and back. But I like it alright." He took a bite of cereal and studied the young lady a bit more. "I'm sorry, dear. I don't believe we've properly introduced ourselves. I'm Noah."
Quinn could only imagine the kind of motivation Sara had been on the receiving end of, and she took a delicate sip of her coffee. "The end of the semester's always a stressful time, even for the most dedicated of students. It happens. Soaking in the art culture certainly helps with getting inspired, I'm sure." Quinn sat straighter in the chair, lips lifting in a muted smile. "Quinn Fabray."
Senior arched a brow at the name, then turned to eye his daughter. "Fabray... Why does that name sound familiar, Sara Jane?"
Sara shrugged and finished the cookie she was munching on, taking the few precious seconds she had to come up with an acceptable answer. "Her family is very well known around the city. Some of the museums we went to featured pieces from her mother's private collection. Remember?"
Senior chuckled. "There's something I'm missing here." He turned back to Quinn, his smile charming and impish - puck-like, one could say. "How do I know you, dear? I feel like I should know you. You're not a school friend of Sara's at all, are you?"
Quinn tilted her head, a mask of cool and collected slipping seamlessly in place as she eyed Senior, who so much resembled his sons, especially in that moment, with the curious questions. "No, I don't attend school with Sara. I wouldn't expect you to know me, considering I'm an old acquaintance of your son's. The eldest one, I mean."
Senior 's own expression stayed in place; if anything, only his smile widened at the news. "You fucked Junior, you mean?" Golden eyes gave her a quick once over, more blatant than his assessment of her earlier, now that he knew who she was. "He certainly gave into high aspirations, didn't he? And you're friends with her?" Sara sat up, recognizing the tone as addressing her. "I thought you and your brother weren't talking anymore."
Sara glanced towards Quinn warily and kicked herself that she had somehow gotten herself stuck in the room with the two stoniest poker faces on the East Coast. "We're... not really. You know he's back in Ohio with Mom. I just..." She straightened her spine and lifted her chin, her chest heaving with the careful breaths she took. "Quinn is my friend."
Senior And, just to watch her deflate, he asked, voice smooth as butter, "So what? You're keeping this friend around because you're into that gay shit like your brother now, too?"
Quinn tilted her head, the only reaction she'd allow to the older man's crude question though the urge to roll her eyes was strong. It would take much more to unnerve her, especially from the man whose reputation she'd been made aware of for years. It didn't surprise her that he hadn't been aware of her relationship with Puck, considering his uncanny ability to make his children feel awful at every turn about good things. Even Sara, who Quinn assumed was the favored one, being the only girl. A brow arched at the one-two combo he tossed at his daughter, the cruelness dripping from it, in that deceptively saccharine tone and Quinn took another small sip of her coffee before speaking again. "I had a relationship with him, actually. For several years. I suppose all those random, infrequent appearances would leave one light on the news, so I'll forgive that rather bold and wrong assumption." A familiar feeling tugged at her gut, the one that would surface whenever Puck spoke about his father...when he actually referenced the man. He'd been nothing more than a shadowy figure than, the imposing patriarch who seemed nothing and everything like the man sitting before her. She imagined a booming voice, fearsome eyes and a commanding presence. What she found was an older version of the Noah she knew, charm and grins, and a glint in golden eyes. It called her back to those early days, and the provoking way Puck pushed himself under people's skin in a cruel and thoughtless manner, all with a smile. And she could see why this was the first time she'd met the man. "As your daughter stated, we're friends. I should think that would be enough of an explanation."
Senior turned his head to stare blankly at the young lady interrupting the conversation with his daughter, then he found himself chuckling again at her words. "You'll have to forgive me, Miss Fabray. I wasn't aware he could even do that. Have a relationship, I mean. But you're evidence enough that he can't. Heard he's fucking his uncle now anyway." He licked his lips, deliberately, almost lasciviously, like he was enjoying the words he said despite his gaze growing cooler. "But I could see why he would try with you. Just like I can see why Sara would want to be friends with you. Sara Jane has a hard time making friends, you know? Always has. They don't stay around long, do they? They don't have the patience. But you, Miss Fabray, you look like you have the patience of a saint."
Sara "Daddy, stop. Please." Sara immediately stared down at her lap, biting her lip and itching to cross the room to her phone.
Quinn shrugged lightly and set the empty coffee cup beside her chair. "It's understandable. Perhaps you enjoy being unaware of those sorts of details. In my experience many people find comfort in ignorance. It is bliss, and whatnot." She crossed her legs, hazel eyes narrowed in a slight glare, even as the raspy husk of her words maintained that patented Fabray tone of polite boredom. She didn't much care for the way Sara curled in on herself at her father's carelessness. "No sainthood necessary. Despite my famously low reserve of patience, Sara and I get along quite well. She's an engaging and lovely young woman. But once again, I won't hold that unawareness against you."
Senior snorted. "No wonder Junior wanted you. Not only did you spread your legs, but you also spout a lot of saccharine bullshit." He nodded jovially towards Sara, as if pulling her in to join an inside joke. "She reminds you of your mother, too, huh? Way classier, though." He smiled at Quinn again with his cold eyes, then asked, "So where are you off to now, Miss Fabray? Busy woman like you, I'm sure you have some place you'd rather be."
Quinn didn't shy away from the cold glint in his eyes, but simply hand-waved away the words with a small flick of her wrist. "In my line of work, the art of the spin is necessary. From what I've seen, you're a fine expert in spouting bullshit, so I'll take what apparently passes as a compliment from you, delightfully backhanded as it is." Quinn rose from the chair then, and gathered her purse, wholly amused by the forceful way he was pushing her out, using only invasive questions. "As a matter of fact, I do have an engagement. Sara and I made prior plans for the evening. I'm sure you'll find some way to amuse yourself, though." She gazed at the still-silent Sara, silently gauging if the younger girl would play along. Now having met the man, and witnessing firsthand his methods, she didn't feel right about leaving the girl alone with that kind of tension. "I can wait here while you grab a few things."
Senior followed the young woman's gaze with his own and he smirked at his daughter expectantly.
Sara Without even looking up, Sara could feel both sets of eyes on her, assessing and waiting for her next move. She fidgeted with the pilling fabric of her shorts, picking at the lint as she answered. "Actually, I'm kinda tired. I think I'll just stay in with Dad tonight." She licked her dry lips and looked up into Quinn's eyes. "Thanks for the coffee. I really appreciate it," she said, not talking about the stone-cold cup beside her at all.
Senior stood and opened the door for his daughter's guest, not bothering to tease up a laugh he didn't feel. Sara hadn't disappointed him on this matter, she was learning and what he felt must have been something akin to proud, so he would give her that, even as he nodded Miss Fabray out into the hallway. "You take care, dear," he purred.
Quinn The smile she offered Sara was warm and genuine, unsurprised at hearing the decline. She'd gone so quiet during the exchange, Quinn knew it'd be a long shot, but at least there was an attempt. "Not a problem. We'll raincheck this outing for another time." This time she did allow her eyes to roll once she moved towards the door and shifted past the elder Puckerman, carelessly brushing off the velvety goodbye with a frosty "Mhm. Good day."
Girl Love Me
Tagging → Soloman Habayea, Noah Puckerman Time Frame → Sunday Morning | April 17, 2016 Location → Solo’s Place | Willoughby, OH General Notes → Hey. I have returned with a new FC and new angst.
Every day is like Sunday Every day is silent and gray
Where the fuck did Monday go?
Since when is being told that you’re different than you used to be a compliment?
He contemplates the thought of being different while counting the freckles on Solomon’s back. The entire bedroom still smells like her Victoria Secret body spray and the wallpaper is still flowery and his asshole still aches a little, but yes, he’s the different one. It’s Sunday and he only knows this because his alarm didn’t go off before the sun came up that morning.
He doesn’t feel too different, but he knows he must be. He didn’t turn down Solo when the word “relationship” came up in conversation one too many times to his liking. He kind of just watched himself agree to it. “I’m ready to move on with my life,” Solo had said, after spitting mouthwash out the window and running the crease the car’s seat rest had left on his shirt smooth.
And he never used to think so hard after morning sex while still in someone else’s bed, so he must be different.
“I know that guy,” he says and Solo hums a curious note from where he’s nuzzling sleepily into his pillow. The tv is on - they always empty Solo’s DVR after sex, it’s as domestic as the bras still hanging in the laundry room - Jimmy Fallon is interviewing a familiar face, so he nudges the other man so that he has to lift his head and look. “I went to high school with him. Got detentions with him and everything.”
“Seriously? Didn’t you go to reform school?”
“What? He doesn’t look like he could be sent to reform school?”
“Not as much as you do... Not as much as you did. First time I met you... all leather and mohawks and dick jokes.” Solo snorts.
“Is that why you wanted me?”
“Probably.”
He lets Soloman get quiet again, waits until the interview is over, waits until after he puts the next episode on. “Why did you want me?”
“Hmm?” Solo barely shifts, so he brushes a finger along the edge of a shoulder blade.
“Why did you want me when I was in high school?”
“You were hot.”
“Because I was in high school?”
His head lifted then, a frown playing on his lips as he glanced over his shoulder with sleepy eyes. “That’s not... I’m not one of those guys.”
“But it got you off a little, right? That’s the shit that gets everyone off. Forbidden fruit.”
“Not me,” Solo all but growls and he believes him. He’s known those guys.
“Yeah, not you. So why?”
“You showed me that you could be something that I wanted. You, as a man.”
“So I was available?”
“Wasn’t that why you wanted me at first?”
That was the only reason he wants him now, honestly. Earlier, when Solo was inside of him, he was told that he was so different now. He was sweet talked about how soft he could be and how lovely he was and how tight his little hole was, but it was mostly things about how he’s changed. And he could understand that - he never let Solo fuck him this way. Way back in those leather and mohawk days, he was definitely always goading the other to pin him down or taunting him to not be a bitch.
But Solo likes to pretend to make love now. He still isn’t too much for the penetrative stuff, giving or taking, but when he is in the mood now, it’s always like this. He can taste it, feel it in the back of his throat how much he does not like it.
He presses a kiss to a freckle and then gets up to leave.
Swimmingly
Tagging → Amir Salim, Noah Puckerman Time Frame → Friday Evening | November 25, 2015 Location → Lebanon Correctional Institution | Lima, OH General Notes → Gotta catch up with Puck’s timeline, so I forced myself to write this and I dunno...
Before the soldiers came The life was cheap on bread and wine And sharing meant no shame
And who will have won When the soldiers have gone
Amir pressed his fist to the glass in greeting as soon as he sat down across from Puck and Puck followed suit, swallowing up the sigh of sadness the glass between them always invoked.
“You been to see my dad?”
“Nah, not yet. Was gonna drive to Lorain to see him earlier, but I didn’t feel like it.”
“He’s gonna be pissed.”
Puck shrugged. “What’s he gonna do, collect call me to death?”
Amir snorted at that and leaned back in his seat, his prison blues stretching tight over his chest.
“You picking up some weight, bro?”
“Big Greg says he likes me at any size, so shut the fuck up.”
They goofed around for the first hour of the visit, not talking about much but how Puck’s family was doing (annoying) and how the Real Men Crochet program was going for Amir (swimmingly), but they both knew it was bound to go… somewhere they weren’t too enthused about. But this was the first time in a long time they could talk candidly about what was going on in their lives, good and bad.
“I mean, I’ll probably hang around for as long as she wants me, but… I’m not really seeing that happening. I’ve been thinking about staying in Cleveland again, permanently. I dunno,” Puck finished after a moment of fumbling through a recap of the downhill path his life was heading and Amir peered back at him with sympathetic eyes. “Sara’s looking like she wants to stay in New York, but I dunno. Fucking Dad’s got her.”
“Don’t stress it, man. Any of it. I like your sister and all, but worry about yourself for once. Sara’s like… an adult, I guess.” They both shrugged. It was a shruggable statement. “Let her figure things out for herself. Step back from it so you don’t stress the fuck out about it.”
Puck nodded and leaned his elbows on his knees. “I’ll try. So… what’s up with you?”
“Got denied parole again,” Amir said, letting the statement drop like lead between them. Puck gaped at him a minute before recovering.
“No. No! You didn’t say shit about them moving up your fucking parole hearing - you didn’t say shit about having to go to court this year! What the fuck, Amir?”
“I knew it wouldn’t fucking matter if I told you or not cuz it’s not like - that little girl’s grandma wants all of us to stay locked up. My lawyer says she did the same shit for everyone else who was involved and those dudes are still locked up, too. She was at the hearing, she had bills for fucking therapy sessions her granddaughter had to go to, she was talking about nightmares and trauma and pain and suffering…”
Puck already knew all that. He’d known it forever ago the first time Amir was denied parole. The facts of his case hadn’t changed. If Amir hadn’t had a gun, if he hadn’t fired it, no matter that he wasn’t aiming for anyone or anything, if there hadn’t been a little girl sitting in the back of a parked car outside of a fucking convenience store… If it wasn’t for all of that on top of the Class B shit Amir and his dad and Tommy and Lewis and whoever the fuck else were pushing, Amir would be out by now. But he wasn’t. And he wasn’t going to be. Not soon.
“I can’t do five more fucking years here,” he said, dropping his head into his hands with a sob and Puck wanted to stand up and do something, but he couldn’t because of that fucking glass, so he just bit his lip and watched in horror as Amir broke down. Amir sat there like an open sore, unprotected and naked to risk - the risk of Puck seeing him like this, which was always rare and always horrible and they both fucking hated it, but it was what it was.
“It’s okay, man,” Puck said, not knowing if it was a lie or if he should kick himself for becoming one of those ‘it’s going to be okay’ people. “I’m here. Gabe’s here. And we’ll always be here, I fucking swear it. You won’t be here forever.”
Amir shook his head at that and sucked in another sob that got loose with a hiss. He sat up and scrubbed at his face with a large, shaking hand.
“It won’t be forever. It’s okay,” Puck said again because as lame as that was, it seemed to be giving his friend some semblance of comfort. And even if he had to lie and they both knew it was going through his teeth, he’d say anything to help Amir save face.
“Yeah, it’s… it’s okay,” Amir echoed miserably. “Just a few more years. And I’ll be out. Hell, Big Greg’ll probably be out, too, shit. And I’ll still be young and beautiful by the time I’m out. And you’ll be there, right?”
“I’ll be there,” Puck assured.
“Because we’re both lesbians,” Amir finished, cracking a smile that you’d think was real if not for how red his eyes had gotten. His joke was an old one - a really old one from when they had first met. They lived down the street from one another and Uncle Jami knew Mr. Salim somehow and Puck, who had to have been seven or some shit, had to suffer their small talk as Mr. Salim’s weird kid with the big ass nose stared at him all weird. And then the kid walked up to him and said, “My dad says we should be friends cuz we’re both lesbians,” because Amir was a fucking stupid kid who didn’t know the difference between that and Lebanese. And Mr. Salim, who thought it was fucking hilarious, never discouraged it.
“Cuz we’re both lesbians,” Puck repeated solemnly, pressing his fist to the glass.
ndpuck:
Thanks.
I killed it.
That bitch got got before it could get me.
.........Was the cake plotting against you?
text ✉ quick
Puck: I ate cookies today without you.
Quinn: You monster.
