Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/716708.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Glee
  Relationship:
      Kurt_Hummel/Noah_Puckerman
  Additional Tags:
      Frottage, Grinding
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-03-11 Words: 2322
****** Do You Have a Mirror in Those Pants? ******
by mokuyoubi
Summary
     Puck is a sexy stalker. Kurt is sassy. There is frottage. Pretty much
     it.
Notes
     AN: OMG, I hate this show, wtaf am I doing? I blame the stupid
     internets for making Puck/Kurt such a delicious pairing...
There’s a forgotten storage cupboard tucked back behind the stage, off a little
used hallway that once led to a side entrance before the school started
cracking down on security. In one corner there’s a pile of old instruments and
a bunch of music stands scattered around, and musty scent probably coming from
the truly ancient band uniforms draped all over the place. The place is
altogether sort of difficult to navigate.
Kurt’s sitting on an overturned bucket, filing his nails, when the door swings
inward, almost hitting him in the face. Puck ducks inside and gently closes the
door after him. He gives Kurt a once over and rolls his eyes at the door
pointedly.
“Rachel still out there with the tweezers?” Kurt asks, voice bland.
Puck sucks his pinkie and thumb and slicks them along his brows. “These babies
are naturally perfect,” he says. Then he jerks his chin at Kurt and adds, “I
would have thought that shit would be right up your alley.”
Kurt has to repress a shudder at the thought of Rachel Berry coming anywhere
near his face with any beauty implement. He’s frankly offended that Puck thinks
he could let her. “I’m just fine doing it on my own,” he says.
“You are fine on your own,” Puck purrs. He’s been saying shit like that for
weeks now, and Kurt has manfully been ignoring it. It wouldn’t be the first
time some popular asshole thought it’d be a good joke to flirt with him and get
his hopes up. Luckily, Kurt isn’t as gullible as he was in the 7th grade.
“You can give it up, okay?” Kurt says coolly.
“Why would I want to do that?” Puck asks. He looks honestly curious, but his
lip is curled just slightly in amusement.
“I’m not falling for it,” Kurt says. “So you can give it up.”
Puck leers at him. “I’ll give it up if you will.”
“Oh my god,” Kurt says, and absolutely refuses to blush. He stands up, and in
the tight quarters he’s pressed way too close to Puck for comfort. “I’m
leaving.”
Puck grabs his arm, all the humour gone from his face. “You can’t go out there.
She’ll get you.”
“I’ll take my chances with her,” Kurt says. He tugs on his arm and Puck tugs
back, twists so Kurt is pressed against the door.
“Yeah, but if she sees you, she might check for me.”
Kurt lets his gaze trace Puck’s features, lingering on his eyebrows. “Worse
things could happen,” he says.
Puck smirks and then he rolls his hips against Kurt’s. Kurt opens his mouth to
gasp a protest, but the words freeze on his tongue when Puck ducks his head and
kisses him. For a long moment, Kurt can only stand in shocked silence, unable
to move away.
The thing is, Kurt doesn’t really have a chance to appreciate whether or not
Puck is a good kisser, because he just knows this is going to end in tragedy.
The rest of the football team is probably waiting out in the hall to rough him
up and carry him off to the dumpster. But Puck keeps doing that thing with his
hips, and Kurt can’t think.
From the hallway Kurt hears footsteps approaching—Rachel’s dreadful k-mart
brand penny loafers . He gropes behind himself and gets a hand around the door
knob and twists, and they go tumbling out in a tangle of limbs. Puck’s elbow
lands in Kurt’s gut, taking what little breath he had left away. At least
Kurt’s managed to get his mouth back to himself.
Rachel’s standing above them with a startled and unimpressed expression on her
face. “Seriously,” she says, “It isn’t the 1990s, meterosexuality is more than
a trend, Puck, it’s a social movement. Embrace it. And Kurt, I’m disappointed
in you.”
Kurt shoves Puck off him and gets to his feet as gracefully as he can. He
straightens his jacket and brushes at the dust clinging to his clothing. He
gives Rachel the iciest look he can manage given that his heart’s still racing
and his mouth his tingling.
“Your left side is bigger than the right,” he tells her, and takes advantage of
Rachel’s distraction as she fumbles for her compact to disappear through the
band room, leaving Puck to his fate.
*
Puck’s been watching Kurt all day, skulking around the hallways and lurking
outside of classrooms, and there’s nothing remotely friendly about the look on
his face. It’s a bit alarming, to say the least.
Kurt doesn’t know what Puck’s problem is. After all, his eyebrows seem to have
somehow escaped Rachel’s evil, tweezer-y clutches, so it can’t be that, and
Kurt hasn’t told anyone, not even Mercedes, about what happened in the
cupboard. He’d rather forget it. No matter what his subconscious gets up to
while he’s sleeping.
Maybe in his sick and twisted mind, Puck convinced himself that Kurt was the
one to blame for that kiss, and is now out to prove his heterosexuality through
violence and brute strength. Nothing gay about that.
Whatever’s behind Puck’s intense staring, it’s the reason Kurt’s eating his
lunch in the little-used bathroom down by the Chemistry lab. No one ever comes
here, especially during lunch, but he draws his feet up just in case, and chews
his sandwich quietly.
The outer door swings open and Kurt swallows quickly and holds his breath. He’s
locked the door on his stall, but someone wiggles it from the outside and it
pops open, just like that, emitting one Noah Puckerman. Kurt clutches his
sandwich like a lifeline.
“So,” Puck says, “we’ve got to quit running into each other like this.”
Kurt licks his lips without really meaning to, and his heart starts pounding
when Puck follows the movement with his eyes. “You broke into my stall.” He
thinks it might be possible to drop to the floor and roll under the division
into the next stall. But there’s not way he’s subjecting his brand new Burberry
sweater vest to that filth.
Puck shrugs. “Same difference.”
“It really isn’t,” Kurt insists. He stands up, because he’s not going to take
this sitting down. “You had to open the lock from the outside. It took effort.”
Puck steps closer, right up in Kurt’s personal space until their chests are
brushing and says, “Maybe I think you’re worth the effort.”
Kurt huffs a flustered sigh and stares at a point on the wall over Puck’s
shoulder. “Look, we’ve only got five minutes left of lunch, so if you could
just get this over with…”
“I could be down with a quickie,” Puck says with a cheeky grin.
“I might have guessed you wouldn’t have any stamina,” Kurt says bitingly. If
he’s going to get his ass kicked, he’s going to at least deserve it.
But the blow never comes—at least, not the one Kurt expects. Instead, Puck
sweeps in quick enough to make Kurt flinch, and bites down hard on Kurt’s
bottom lips. Kurt waits, perfectly still, watching Puck watch him. Puck takes
his chin in hand and rubs his thumb where he’s just bitten. “Your fucking
mouth,” Puck mutters, and kisses him.
The last kiss wasn’t much more than a press of lips to lips, and it hadn’t
really lasted long enough for Kurt to appreciate it in the face of his
paralysing terror. But this…this. Puck slicks his tongue past Kurt’s lips…It’s
messy and wet, and Kurt doesn’t have a whole lot of a basis for comparison
(Brittany), but it’s freaking awesome.
Kurt’s mouth moves all on its own, shaping kisses back, and he can feel Puck’s
smile in response. He doesn’t taste anything like dip, or hamburgers, or
anyone’s armpits. There’s no real way to describe Puck’s flavour but it makes
Kurt think of grass and musk and autumn. It’s so much better than root beer.
Puck’s hands grab onto Kurt’s hips and slide up to frame his waist. Even with
two layers between their skin, Kurt can feel the heat of his touch. One kiss
melts into another, and Puck slides a leg between Kurt’s. His knee presses up,
rubbing against Kurt’s slowly growing erection. Kurt can’t help himself, even
though he knows it’s a dreadful idea, he rubs back.
“Oh god,” Kurt breathes into Puck’s mouth. Puck sucks hard at his lips and lets
out a rumbling noise like agreement.
Kurt has no idea what he’s doing, but he throws himself into the kiss, and
before he knows it, the bell is ringing. He jerks away from Puck like he’s been
stung. Puck’s mouth is shiny and swollen and Kurt can’t quite believe that it’s
from kissing him.
“I’ve got English,” Kurt says faintly, and Puck doesn’t try to stop him when he
pushes past him and out of the stall.
“It’s okay,” Puck calls after him. He sounds smug and lazy. “I like hard to
get. It’s like foreplay.”
*
Kurt’s been avoiding Puck, he’ll readily admit. The whole situation is far too
confusing for him to really wrap his mind around; he’s not sure it’s a game
anymore, or if it ever was at all. He doesn’t know how to deal with that.
Cheerleading practice lets out a couple hours after all the other clubs have
gone home; Sue will accept nothing less than perfection. Thankfully the locker
room is deserted. Kurt would never shower at school, no matter the
circumstances, but he likes to change and freshen up.
He sheds the cheerleading vest and is about to lift his turtleneck over his
head when a locker door clangs shut behind him. Kurt whirls around to see Puck
standing at the end of the row, an easy grin on his face.
“What are you even doing here?” Kurt asks. Puck is always in such a hurry to
leave after football and glee club practice, like he would rather be anywhere
else.
“I think it’s pretty obvious,” Puck says. He strolls towards Kurt with a
predatory gleam in his eyes.
Kurt backs away, only to end up against the lockers. “Don’t you have anything
better to do with your time than screw with me?”
Puck’s hands come to rest on the lockers on either side of Kurt’s head, pinning
him in place. “We might be having a better time if we could get to the
screwing,” he says.
“This really isn’t funny anymore,” Kurt murmurs. His hand is touching Puck’s
shoulder—how did that happen?
“Not laughing,” Puck says, and closes that last distance between them. His
mouth nudges gently at Kurt’s. Kurt parts his lips automatically; he’s been
thinking about their last kiss sort of obsessively, wondered if maybe he built
it up in memories, but no. No, this is just as good as he remembered.
“No Rachel, no school bell,” Puck whispers into the kiss. “No more
interruptions.”
Kurt’s stomach flutters in anticipation of just what Puck might mean. He tries
to keep up with Puck’s kisses, but it’s too overwhelming. It’s easier to let
Puck have his way. Puck gets his knees between Kurt’s and Kurt opens his legs
obligingly. He thanks god that cheerleading practice has increased his
flexibility when Puck gets an arm under his knee and hikes his leg up high.
The angle is just right and lifts Kurt high enough that he can feel Puck’s
erection pressed right up against his own. Puck’s hips grind up in a tight
circle that leaves Kurt making high, desperate noises he can’t quite contain.
Puck urges Kurt’s other leg around his waist and Kurt clings tight, hands
curled in the fabric cover Puck’s shoulders, heel dug into the small of Puck’s
back.
Puck tears his mouth away from Kurt’s and ducks his head to suck bruises into
the skin of Kurt’s throat. Kurt’s head falls with a thump against the lockers,
panting. He doesn’t have a lot of leverage, but it’s enough to buck his hips up
to meet the slow, rolling thrusts Puck keeps making.
It’s embarrassing how close to coming Kurt is already. This is not how Kurt
imagined his first time, rutting up against the lockers with Puckerman. But if
he’s going to be honest, maybe wanting roses and satin sheets was a bit
unrealistic. Besides, there’s something really hot about this, hearing the
little groans Puck makes against his skin, and Kurt’s neck is apparently a lot
more sensitive than he would have ever thought.
“Puck,” Kurt moans, and feels himself blush bright red at the wrecked sound of
his own voice. Puck lifts his head, eyes sparkling, lips quirked in a sly
smirk. Kurt lets out another moan and tugs Puck into another kiss, bites, and
licks into his mouth.
Puck’s hand squeezes Kurt’s thigh and slips up to cup his ass. The move makes
Kurt’s hips jump and Puck’s other hand works between them. His heel rubs
against Kurt’s dick, his thumb tracing the head. Kurt cries out and shakes
apart, just like that.
“That’s seriously hot,” Puck breathes and works his hips harder. The sensation
is almost too much for Kurt, so soon after coming, but he can’t tell Puck to
stop. He bites down hard on Puck’s bottom lip and tugs, and Puck’s hips stutter
as he groans through his own orgasm.
Kurt’s leg is cramping, and when Puck lowers him back down to the ground, Kurt
stumbles a little. Puck catches him with an arm around his waist and leers at
him. “Did I make your knees all weak?”
Kurt makes a face. He’d push Puck away, but he’s not sure he can support his
own weight. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he says. “Anyone can get off rubbing
against anyone else like that.” Kurt absolutely will not blush. Though, from
the smug look on Puck’s face, he gets the impression that his cheeks aren’t
listening.
“Oh?” Puck says, arching a brow. “I think that’s a challenge, Hummel.”
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!