Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/134895.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Glee
  Relationship:
      Kurt_Hummel/Noah_Puckerman, Kurt_Hummel/Blaine
  Character:
      Finn_Hudson, Mercedes_Jones, Blaine, Rachel_Berry
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe
  Stats:
      Published: 2010-11-21 Words: 37588
****** words we use for you and me ******
by carolinecrane
Summary
     After Kurt transfers to Dalton, his life is perfect. He has friends
     and a spot in the show choir, and a hot boyfriend who's totally into
     him, so it's easy to ignore the nagging feeling that something's
     missing. Then Puck turns up and Kurt's life gets a lot more
     complicated.
Notes
     Cover art by dearthursday.

   [http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/carolinecrane/874264/187556/original.png]
Three months after enrolling at Dalton, Kurt’s starting to develop patterns.
Habits, little things that help him feel as though this is really his life now.
It’s still hard to believe some days, hard to imagine he can wake up in the
morning and go to classes and lunch and Glee and not once worry about getting
slammed into a locker or slushied or dumped in a dumpster.
Of course he misses his friends. He misses Mercedes and Tina, misses Brittany,
even, because she’s the second best dancer he knows, after Mike, and Mike’s not
really into the sort of routine Kurt usually needs choreographed. He might even
miss Finn a little bit, in a brotherly sort of way, though he wouldn’t admit
it, even on pain of death.
He doesn’t miss anything else about McKinley, though, because he still gets to
sing and the Warblers value him a lot more than Mr. Schue ever did. Not that
Kurt can really fault Schue for his pathetic crush on Finn – not without being
a filthy hypocrite, anyway – but that doesn’t make his blatant favoritism any
less appalling.
He even has a boyfriend now, one who’s popular and cute and older than Kurt,
and dating Blaine has certainly made it a lot easier to be the new kid at
Dalton. And he really likes Blaine, but lately…lately when they’re together
Kurt finds himself wondering if his affection for Blaine has more to do with
gratitude than an actual attraction.
Whenever he finds himself thinking it he tells himself it’s just because he’s
never had a boyfriend before. It’s an adjustment, that’s all. Plus, Blaine’s
older and more popular, and it turns out Kurt’s not that good at living in
someone’s shadow.
“Hey.”
Kurt blinks and looks up to find Blaine watching him, smiling that dazzling
smile of his, the one that says, “You’re sort of ridiculous but I like you
anyway”. Kurt’s…not that fond of that smile, if he’s being honest with himself.
It has a tendency to make him feel a little stupid.
“Sorry, what?”
“Are you ready to go? Classes are about to start.”
Kurt starts to pick up his tray, then remembers where he is and leaves it for
the – no doubt well-paid – staff to clear away. He shoulders his bag and fixes
his own lapels, then he falls into step next to Blaine. A hand closes around
his and Kurt wishes for what feels like the hundredth time that he could feel
that rush of butterflies, the way he felt the first time Blaine took his hand.
Before they even knew each other, back when Blaine was just a cute,
unattainable boy from another school who lived a life Kurt could only dream of.
He holds Blaine’s hand as they cross the dining hall, wondering whether or not
his palm feels sweaty as they pass through the heavy wooden double doors into
the foyer. They stop at the bottom of the grand spiral staircase Kurt’s always
loved, just like they do every morning. Blaine smiles at him again and leans
close, and Kurt turns his mouth up for a chaste kiss. When Blaine pulls away
again he’s still smiling, and Kurt smiles back and hopes it looks more genuine
than it feels.
“See you at lunch.”
Kurt nods and watches him take the stairs two at a time, then he turns away
from the stairs and toward the door that leads to his first class of the day.
He’s halfway across the foyer when the front door opens, letting in a blast of
cold Ohio winter air and a face so familiar Kurt wonders for a moment if he’s
hallucinating.
And he must be hallucinating, because Noah Puckerman is not standing in the
middle of the Dalton Prep grand foyer wearing a navy blazer with smart red trim
and looking for all the world like a fish out of water. More like a shark, Kurt
thinks, then he wonders if he can make it across the foyer without Puck
recognizing him.
“Hummel?”
Guess not. Kurt takes a deep breath and turns on his heel to face Puck.
Puck who’s looking a little…lost, one hand on the back of his neck and the
other fidgeting with his blazer and it’s not like he’s never seen Puck in a tie
before, because they were both in Glee, and Kurt designed most of those
costumes himself. But there’s something about Puck in that blazer, wearing the
same uniform as the rest of them yet still making it look a little dirty, like
maybe he debauched a cheerleader or two on his way to school.
But there aren’t any cheerleaders at Dalton, and the Puck Kurt knows would
never stand for that, so there can only be one reason he’s wearing that
uniform. Kurt rolls his eyes and wonders why he didn’t realize immediately,
then he crosses the foyer and leans in close to Puck, dropping his voice so no
Warblers in the vicinity will hear.
“If you’re here to spy I am not helping you. I’m a Warbler now, that’s where my
current loyalties lie.”
“Dude, you think I’d put on this monkey suit to spy on the competition?” Puck
says, smoothing his hand down the front of his blazer, and Kurt really wishes
he’d stop doing that. He’s close enough to feel the cold air radiating off
Puck, and he knows if he reached out and touched he’d feel the Ohio winter
clinging to his clothes.
But not his skin, Kurt guesses. Never his skin, because Puck’s so objectively
hot that Kurt can’t imagine him ever feeling cold. He shivers at the thought
and tightens his grip on his bag and doesn’t back away to a safe distance.
“Then why are you here?”
“That’s a long story,” Puck answers, glancing around the foyer as a few curious
students pass them, craning their necks for a look at the new guy. “But the
gist is that I go here now. Guess that makes you my only friend in the place.”
Kurt opens his mouth to point out that they are not now, nor have they ever
been friends, but something stops him. Maybe it’s the fact that the only other
time he’s seen Puck looking vulnerable was the day his daughter was born.
“You go here. As in, you’re enrolled at Dalton. Why?”
“Because I beat the shit out of Karofsky and got expelled from McKinley,” Puck
says, looking Kurt right in the eye and Kurt can’t explain why it makes his
heart skip a beat. “It was this or a one way trip back to Juvie.”
Kurt has no idea what to say to that. He has a million questions, starting with
why Puck beat up Karofsky, and he doesn’t want to assume he knows or anything,
but the way Puck’s looking at him makes those pesky dormant butterflies stir
for the first time in months. But Puck can’t know what happened with Karofsky;
Kurt never told anyone except his dad, and that was only because in the end the
truth was the only way to convince Burt to let him transfer to Dalton.
“So are you going to show me where the office is or what?” Puck asks, and this
time he smirks at Kurt, which makes him look more like himself, but somehow
kind of hotter at the same time.
“Of course,” Kurt says, and he knows he’s blushing, so he turns on his heel and
nods toward the administrative offices and hopes Puck won’t notice. “Follow
me.”
“Right behind you,” Puck says.
Kurt swallows hard and leads the way.
~
It’s his own fault for not just pointing at the office from a safe distance and
walking away, Kurt realizes. In his defense, finding himself leading Puck
around Dalton is a surreal enough experience to make him lose all grasp of
logic and reason, at least long enough to wander into the office with him and
find himself appointed as Puck’s own personal tour guide.
Which seems particularly unreasonable considering it hasn’t been that long
since Kurt finally ditched his own student mentor, a well-meaning but
overzealous junior who still checks in with Kurt from time to time to make sure
he’s keeping up with his classes and he hasn’t wandered into the woods and
gotten lost on his way to a soccer meet or something. When he points all this
out to the guidance counselor -- a man he considered far more competent than
Ms. Pillsbury up to now -- he just smiles and says that helping Puck learn the
ropes will ensure that Kurt knows them.
They’re in the same grade, so of course they’re in almost all the same classes,
though Kurt does get a small reprieve just before lunch when they reach the
foreign language wing and he deposits Puck in front of Spanish II and ducks
into his own Advanced French Composition class. He spends an hour listening to
Madame Moreau discuss existential clauses and trying not to picture Puck just
down the hall, blazer hanging open and slumped in his chair, probably staring
out the window and formulating some kind of escape plan.
And that’s something Kurt will be more than happy to help him with, if it means
getting back to the nice, quiet routine he was just starting to get comfortable
with when Puck crashed back into his life.
Kurt doesn’t fetch him from his classroom for lunch, because Puck’s a big boy
and he can probably find his way to the dining hall, or bully -- recruit, if he
doesn’t want to get kicked out on his first day -- some other unwilling minion
to lead the way. Instead Kurt keeps his head down and hurries through the
crowded hallway, ducking into the foyer and letting the crush of student bodies
and the scent of some kind of roasted meat carry him through the double doors
to lunch.
Normally he waits at the bottom of the staircase for Blaine, a habit that
started when he was brand new and nervous about eating lunch by himself.
Blaine’s taken care of him since he started here, Kurt realizes, and he’s
grateful. The trouble is that he’s not sure he needs to be taken care of
anymore, at least not like that, and he’s not sure how to tell Blaine without
hurting his feelings.
He picks up a tray and takes his place in line, not scanning the crowd for
broad shoulders under the same blue blazer the rest of them are wearing and a
stupid mohawk that looks more out of place here than Kurt ever imagined it
could. If he’d ever imagined it, which he hasn’t, thank you very much.
He’s blushing at the thought when somebody taps him on the shoulder, and Kurt
glances up, expecting to find Blaine frowning about the fact that Kurt didn’t
wait for him. Instead he finds himself face to face with Puck, and when his
stomach does a weird little flip he clamps down hard on the sensation and tells
himself he’s just reacting this way because he transferred here to get away
from his own personal bully contingent.
“Hey,” Puck says, easing into line with him and Kurt’s not sure what the
official stance on cutting is at this school, but when he doesn’t hear any
grumbling from the guys behind him, he lets it go. “Man, this school doesn’t
mess around. I just came from Spanish, right? And the entire class was in
Spanish.”
Kurt bites his tongue against the urge to critique Mr. Schuester’s teaching
methods. He doesn’t criticize the entire public school system, either. Instead
he reaches for a freshly dressed tossed salad and a bottle of water, then he
looks over at Puck.
“There are six public high schools in Lima. Why are you here again?”
Puck shrugs and picks up his own tray, following Kurt across the dining room to
his usual table. The table where he eats lunch with his boyfriend every day of
the week, and Kurt flushes and scans the crowd for any sign of Blaine as Puck
slides into the chair across from him.
“I told you, it was this or back to Juvie. Mr. Schue put in a word with my
social worker. Seemed like he felt pretty bad about me taking the fall for this
whole mess.”
Kurt opens his mouth to ask what that’s supposed to mean, exactly, because he
can’t imagine a single reason Mr. Schuester would have to feel guilty about
Puck violating the terms of his parole by inflicting bodily harm on Karofsky,
of all people. He gets as far as a frown and a, “What...” before the chair next
to him scrapes across the floor, and Kurt looks up to find Blaine sitting down.
“Hi,” Blaine says, and he doesn’t lean in for a kiss, but his fingers skim
across the back of Kurt’s knuckles, just for a second, and when he glances over
at Puck, he’s surprised to find Puck watching the movement of Blaine’s hand.
And if he’s going to have some kind of homophobic freak-out he’ll get shipped
right back out of here and straight to teenager prison, so if that’s what he’s
planning, Kurt would just as soon he get it over with.
“Who’s your friend?” Blaine asks, smiling that dazzling smile of his at Puck.
“Noah,” Puck says before Kurt can answer ‘Puck’ or ‘we’re not friends, for the
love of Gaga’ or any of the other million things running through his head, then
he holds out his hand and Blaine grins some more and shakes it as though Puck’s
an actual human being or something.
“Kurt and me went to school together in Lima,” Puck’s saying, and Kurt would
wince at his grammar, except he’s too busy wondering when Puck started going by
‘Noah’. “He’s been cool about showing me around and stuff today.”
Blaine turns his smile on Kurt for a second, affection and something else Kurt
can’t quite put his finger on shining in those impossibly gorgeous eyes and for
a second Kurt feels as though he’s the only one who’s not in on the joke. Then
Puck starts talking again and Blaine turns back to him, and all Kurt can do is
sit there and watch them and wonder just how long and how many mochachinos it’s
going to take to recover from this nightmare when he finally wakes up.
It turns out the universe has a pretty sick sense of humor, though, because
things get even weirder after lunch. He starts to pick up his tray, as usual,
remembering himself just in time. Puck picks his up without even hesitating,
looking around for a busing station and Kurt has to catch his sleeve between
two fingers to get his attention.
“Just leave it on the table. They’ll come around.”
Puck frowns at him, then down at his tray, then shrugs and sets it down again.
“Cool.”
Blaine smiles and catches Kurt’s hand, which, okay, it’s not that unusual, but
it feels kind of weird to be holding Blaine’s hand in front of Puck. And it
shouldn’t, because Blaine’s his boyfriend, for God’s sake, and the whole reason
he transferred was so that he could hold a boy’s hand without fear of slushies
or bruises or worse. Well, it’s part of the reason he transferred, anyway.
But instead of taking a hint and making himself scarce, Puck just falls into
step on Kurt’s other side, and suddenly he finds himself being escorted across
the dining room by the most unlikely pair he could possibly imagine. They stop
at the bottom of the staircase, only this time Kurt and Puck are going up and
Blaine’s headed outside and across the quad. He leans in and brushes a kiss
across Kurt’s cheek, then he smiles and waves a friendly goodbye to Puck -
- nice to meet you, Noah -- and disappears.
And the whole time Puck’s just standing there waiting for them to finish, like
this isn’t the most bizarre extended nightmare Kurt’s ever had. They reach the
top of the stairs and Kurt turns down a hall, Puck right on his heels and
they’re going to the same class, so it’s not like Kurt can even make up an
excuse and ditch him.
“Hudson told me you were hooking up regular with some dude now,” Puck says, and
Kurt feels his whole face flush. “He didn’t tell me how nice the dude was,
though. It kind of hurts to look at him.”
Kurt has no idea how to respond to that without admitting that Puck has a
point, and that’s never going to happen, so instead he presses his lips
together hard and turns into their classroom.
“Finn hasn’t actually met him.”
“You mean you haven’t played ‘Meet the Parents’ yet?” Puck asks, and how he
manages to make even that sound dirty, Kurt will never know.
“No.”
Puck doesn’t answer, but when Kurt glances over at him, he catches just a hint
of a smile curving one corner of his mouth.
~
By the time classes are over Kurt’s all but resigned himself to the fact that
he’s saddled with Puck, at least for the first few days. Once he knows the
routine he’ll find other, cooler people to hang out with, guys who like girls
and talking about girls and possibly talking about which students they’d like
to beat up, if it weren’t going to get them kicked out of school.
He shows Puck where to find his room and lets him introduce himself to his
roommate, a boy Kurt hasn’t met but who looks athletic, like he’s the type to
play team sports and sweat a lot and maybe take out his aggressions on the
players from the opposing team instead of his classmates. Kurt’s confident Puck
and his new roommate will get along just fine, and he leaves him to settle in
and hopes Puck will ditch him faster than previously expected.
He meets Blaine outside the dining hall before dinner, leans up to kiss him
hello and lingers for a second or two longer than he might have if Puck hadn’t
just crash landed in his life again. Not that Puck has anything to do with it.
He’s just an annoying reminder of why Kurt transferred in the first place, and
why he’s so grateful to Blaine for showing him that he had options.
So it’s a thank you kiss, and it doesn’t have anything to do with who may or
may not be watching. Anyway, Blaine’s certainly not complaining; when Kurt
pulls back Blaine smiles and reaches for his hand, and Kurt smiles back and
threads their fingers together and doesn’t think about whether or not his palm
is sweaty.
It’s nice, in a nostalgic way, and Kurt's congratulating himself on getting
right back on track when he looks up from his roast beef to watch Puck sliding
into the chair across from him. If it bothers Blaine that Kurt seems to have
developed a shadow he doesn’t mention it. Instead he smiles at Puck and says,
“Hey, Noah, how’s your first day going?”
Noah, Kurt thinks, turning the name over in his mind as he tries to imagine
saying it out loud. But it doesn’t fit no matter how hard he tries to make it,
not when he looks across the table at that mohawk and the smirk and those hands
that Kurt can feel on him if he lets himself try, and he knows that it really
is his name, but Kurt can’t think of him as anyone other than Puck.
“It’s going okay,” Puck’s saying, and he’s talking to Blaine, but he keeps
looking at Kurt. “Hummel’s a pretty good tour guide.”
“Student mentor,” Blaine says, laughing at Puck’s frown. “That’s what we call
it here. On your first day you get assigned a student mentor to show you
around, make sure you find all your classes, that kind of thing.”
“Kinda like a tour guide.”
Puck doesn’t even crack a smile, just stands up and pushes his mostly untouched
dinner away, and he can’t prove it or anything, but Kurt’s pretty sure Puck’s
making fun of his boyfriend.
“Where are you going?” Kurt asks before he remembers he doesn’t actually care.
This time Puck does smile, but it's more of a smirk than anything Kurt would
classify as friendly.
“Don’t worry, Hummel, I’ll catch up with you later. See you around,” he says to
Blaine, then he turns and walks out of the dining hall, and Kurt finds himself
irrationally annoyed at the fact that Puck didn’t forget and start to pick up
his tray.
“He’s...interesting,” Blaine says, and Kurt blushes when he realizes he’s still
staring in the direction Puck disappeared.
"That’s not the word I’d choose,” Kurt says, forcing his gaze back to Blaine.
“In fact, there’s nothing interesting about Noah Puckerman at all. He’s just
another Lima loser.”
And okay, it might sound a little more bitter than he means it to, but Kurt’s
seen more of Puck today than he has in their entire acquaintanceship up to now,
and he still hasn’t figured out what Puck’s doing here. If he believed in God
he’d think this was some sort of punishment for mocking Rachel’s sweater sets
for so long, but really, he feels he’s already paid sufficiently for any bad
karma he may have incurred in the name of fashion.
“He seems to like you well enough.”
Kurt blinks at Blaine while he tries to get the words he just said to make
sense. There must be a reason Blaine would get the impression that Puck feels
anything about him at all, let alone likes him. They barely speak the same
language, and sharing a common zip code doesn’t make them BFF.
“He used to throw me in the dumpster.”
He doesn’t mean to say it out loud. He’s not even aware he’s thinking about it
until he hears the words come out of his mouth, but when Blaine’s expression
shifts from vaguely amused to concerned, he wishes he could take it back.
“You don’t have to be his student mentor, Kurt. Just go to the office and tell
them you’re too busy. Tell them it’s because of the Warblers; they won’t even
question it.”
It’s a good idea. He knows he should probably take the out, and when Puck asks
why, Kurt can just tell him he’s too new and he’s still trying to catch up with
the academics, and he doesn’t have time to play tour guide or anything else
with Puck. He feels his cheeks flush at the thought and reaches for his water,
draining half the glass before he looks at Blaine again.
“I’m not afraid of Puck.”
“That’s not the point," Blaine says, his hand on Kurt’s shoulder, and it’s
probably supposed to be comforting, but mostly Kurt just wishes Blaine would
stop looking at him. “They don’t tolerate any kind of bullying here, Kurt. That
includes intimidation. With your history...”
“It’s fine,” Kurt interrupts, cheeks burning now and he does not want to have
this conversation. Because the thing is, he doesn’t really want to be Puck’s
student mentor, but it’s not because he finds Puck intimidating. It would be
easier if Puck was being a jerk to him; at least that Kurt's used to. It’s the
fact that Puck’s being sort of...well, human that’s freaking him out.
~
It doesn’t take Puck that long to adjust to boarding school. The zero tolerance
policy on bullying means he has to use something other than his fists to
entertain himself for once, and the lack of girls means no readily available
sex to fill the time either. But he’s right about the school taking academics
seriously, so they all have to spend quite a bit of time studying, and Puck’s
no exception.
He’s still following Kurt to classes even though he knows perfectly well where
they are by now. He sits next to Kurt in every class they share, distracting
Kurt by shifting around in his chair and toying with the buttons on his blazer
like he still can’t get used to wearing it and breathing in Kurt’s proximity
without threatening to humiliate him in some very public way. He sits with Kurt
and Blaine at every single meal, and he never talks much, but he’s so loud
about it that he makes it impossible to ignore him.
On Mondays and Wednesdays he shows up at dinner long enough to bolt a few bites
of food and swallow a glass of milk in one long gulp, then he wipes his mouth
with the back of his hand and grins at the way Kurt wrinkles his nose before he
disappears again. Kurt’s asked him at least a dozen times where he’s going in
such a hurry, because he’s not on any teams and Kurt’s fairly sure he can’t
have a girl stashed somewhere. That thought always makes Kurt’s butterflies act
up a little, but he ignores it and glares while Puck grins and tells Kurt not
to miss him too much, then disappears again.
He invites himself to study with Kurt most nights, but he doesn’t seem to study
so much as lounge in a chair at one of the heavy wooden tables in the dorm
study lounge, staring into space and looking sort of wrinkled and ridiculously,
casually hot in his blazer. He looks like a Tommy Hilfiger ad, Kurt decides one
night while he’s cramming for his English test and definitely not staring at
Puck. Or maybe one of those black and white Calvin Klein ads, except the ones
where the models are wearing more than underwear.
Which, of course, means now he’s picturing Puck in his underwear, if he even
owns any, and okay, that’s a mental image he definitely doesn’t need.
“You okay, Hummel?”
Kurt looks up to find Puck watching him, expression completely neutral and Kurt
can’t decide if Puck’s suddenly psychic, or if being too hot for his own good
is still his only superpower.
“I’m perfectly fine, why do you ask?”
“You look kinda flushed. Sure you’re not getting sick or something?”
And then Puck sets the chair he’s been tipping back all evening on the floor
and leans across the table, reaching out to put his hand on Kurt’s forehead.
Just like that, like touching each other is a thing they do.
Kurt frowns and pushes Puck’s hand away and reaches up to comb his fingers
through his bangs where they’re probably mussed from Puck’s overlarge, clumsy
fingers. Except they didn’t feel clumsy against Kurt’s skin, and he flushes a
little harder and doesn’t brush his own fingers against the spot where Puck
touched him.
“Okay, sorry,” Puck says, frowning and leaning back in his chair and Kurt
refuses to believe he’s actually pouting. As though it’s possible for anyone to
hurt Puck’s feelings, least of all Kurt.
“Since when do you go by Noah, anyway?”
For a second Puck just stares at him, and okay, it’s sort of a strange time to
ask, considering Puck’s been following him around like an overgrown puppy for
two weeks now. But every time he hears someone say ‘Noah’ it still takes him a
second to figure out who they’re talking to, and he’s not sure he’s ever going
to get used to hearing Puck’s voice answering.
“Since I landed in the middle of Preppyville," Puck answers, his expression
telling Kurt that it’s a dumb question. “I mean, come on. You’re doing a dude
who goes by Blaine.”
Which...fine, point taken, but he doesn’t have to be so vulgar about it. Kurt
blushes even harder, tensing in anticipation of that hand pressed against his
skin again, but Puck doesn’t reach for him. He’s just leaning back with his tie
loose at his neck and his blazer hanging open and looking, and not for the
first time Kurt feels a little like something at the bottom of a Petri dish.
“We’re not...I mean I’m not...nobody’s doing anybody.”
“Really?” Puck says, and he sounds so surprised that Kurt’s not sure whether to
be horrified or flattered.
“I don’t see how it’s any of your business anyway.” Kurt crosses his arms hard
over his chest and just looks at Puck, their English test forgotten and he
really hopes no one’s listening to their conversation.
“Yeah, but...why not?”
“Excuse me?” Kurt says, voice going high at the end of the sentence, but Puck
doesn’t seem to notice. He’s still frowning at Kurt like he’s genuinely
confused, anyway, and Kurt has to admit it makes a kind of perverse sense that
Puck can’t comprehend a relationship that’s not based on sex.
“I mean, you finally get out of McKinley where everyone’s a total dick to you
because you happen to like dick, and now you’re here, and you’re dating some
guy who seems like he’s into you, so why wouldn’t you go for it? Isn’t that why
you left?”
“I didn’t transfer to Dalton to improve my sex life.”
“Obviously.” Puck’s still just looking at him, and if he was smiling or
something Kurt would think he was being laughed at, but mostly Puck just looks
like he really doesn’t get it. “I mean, do you want to? You’re not having
second thoughts about the whole gay thing, are you?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I am not discussing my relationship with you.”
“Well you should maybe discuss it with somebody, because it seems like there’s
something not right,” Puck says, like he actually cares or something. “I’m just
saying, most guys our age think about sex pretty much all the time.”
“You’d certainly know,” Kurt says, and this time Puck does smirk. It’s slow and
sort of feral, like watching some kind of dangerous predator sizing up his next
meal, and Kurt’s eyes go wide for a second before he shifts his focus firmly
back to his English notes.
It’s not like he doesn't know that Puck has a point. He’s been questioning his
motives for staying with Blaine for awhile now, long before Puck showed up and
turned his life into a surreal tragicomedy. But he still doesn’t know what to
do about it, because he likes Blaine, and anyway he’s never been in a
relationship before, so he doesn’t even know how to break up with someone.
And the only person he can talk to about it, probably the only person in the
entire school who wouldn’t think he’s a fool for throwing away the perfect
boyfriend, is Noah Puckerman. Puck, who made his life hell for over a year,
then stopped being such a jerk all the time, granted, but never actually made
it up to Kurt or anything. And even if he did want to have this conversation
with Puck, he’s not exactly the traditional relationship type, so what would he
even know about letting someone down gently?
Kurt swallows a frustrated sigh and stares down at his notes without actually
seeing any of the words. He can feel Puck over there, looking perfect and smug
and watching him like he’s waiting for the moment Kurt breaks. Only he’s not
sure if Puck’s waiting for him to lose his temper or just fall apart, and he’s
not really sure he wants to know.
~
Warblers practice is the only real respite Kurt gets from Puck and his
offensively smug existence, so he looks forward to it. Even given his
conflicted feelings about Blaine, Kurt enjoys the time they spend together
practicing. He likes feeling as though his talents are valued, certainly, and
he likes knowing that being in Glee actually ups his popularity at this school
instead of marking him as some kind of social pariah.
Not that he ever had any real hope of being less than an outcast at McKinley;
even his brief stint as kicker and then as a Cheerio only did so much for his
social status. Gay trumped pretty much everything else, as it turned out. He
remembers the harsh, unwelcome press of too-dry lips and wrinkles his nose,
closes his eyes and hums a few bars of “Single Ladies” until the moment passes.
That song just makes him think of football again, and he sighs and mourns the
joy that was once Beyonce as he walks into practice. Blaine’s center stage, as
usual, talking to a few of the seniors about something they all seem to think
is hilarious. And Kurt knows he should be thrilled to be dating a senior -- a
popular, handsome senior -- but when Blaine turns and smiles at him he doesn’t
feel much of anything.
“Kurt,” Blaine says, waving him into the center of the conversation. When Kurt
reaches the group Blaine slides an arm around his shoulders and draws him close
until Kurt can feel warmth pressing along one side of his body. It’s...nice,
comforting in a weird way, to fit against somebody like that. And just like
every other time Blaine puts an arm around him, Kurt wonders what it would feel
like if Blaine was somebody else.
Only every time he tries to imagine who he’d rather be touching, his
imagination betrays him with images of letter jackets and football jerseys and
the mingled scents of sweat and teenage boys. So he tries not to imagine it,
because if he gives in to what’s clearly an attraction he’s been conditioned to
feel just by virtue of surviving the Lima public school system for so many
years, then he’s just going to end up mired in self-loathing like the very
Neanderthals who drove him out of McKinley in the first place.
It’s just because his first kiss was taken from him on someone else’s terms.
It’s a classic case of the victim blaming themselves; that’s probably what Miss
Pillsbury would say, anyway, and it turns out she’s no less ridiculous than any
other guidance counselor. Besides, when he does imagine kissing someone besides
Blaine, it’s never Dave Karofsky with his thin lips and his menacing stares and
his apparent predilection for foods containing heavy amounts of garlic.
It’s never anyone particularly recognizable; Finn’s his brother now, so...no,
and while Sam’s nice enough and he does have an excellent voice, Kurt never
could get past the hair. Mike Chang’s always been nice and Kurt is not going to
argue with Tina about his abs, but despite the fact that he plays football and
he owns a letter jacket, he’s never featured in Kurt’s fantasies either.
He’s never been able to put a face on what -- who -- he wants, but he knows his
theoretical dream guy has strong hands that touch him a little more surely than
Blaine, that he kisses with more passion and spends less time asking if this is
okay, if Kurt wants to slow down until they’re just...standing still, because
he doesn’t know how to say what he wants and to Blaine that usually means he
wants to stop altogether.
And Kurt lets him, because he likes Blaine, but he knows by now that things
between them are never going to feel quite right. They have fun together, but
in a lot of ways it’s kind of like dating himself. Maybe if he said all this to
Blaine he’d even understand, maybe he’d smile and take Kurt’s hand and say that
he feels exactly the same way and it’s okay, that they can still be really good
friends.
Eventually they’d probably even start doing friend stuff, having friend
conversations like what kind of guys they are attracted to. Which brings Kurt
right back to letter jackets and boy sweat and the vague, ever-present scent of
cherry slushie, and he blushes bright red and wills away an erection and tells
himself to get a grip, for the love of Gaga, because he could never, ever tell
Blaine that what he wants more than anything is what he ran away from in the
first place.
“Earth to Kurt,” Blaine says, pressing in a little closer and laughing close-up
when Kurt blinks at him.
“Sorry, what?”
“You keep doing that lately,” Blaine says, and he’s still smiling, but that
puzzled look is back. “Drifting off into orbit somewhere. Everything okay?”
“Fine, just a little tired,” Kurt lies. “What were we talking about?”
“Tryouts,” Blaine answers. “We usually have them in the spring so we have a
little time to get comfortable with the new guys before the seniors graduate.
Your friend Noah sang in Glee with you, right? You should invite him to try
out.”
The thought of Puck invading the one part of his week that Kurt has to himself
makes his cheeks burn, and he looks away and hopes Blaine won’t notice. “I’m
sure he’ll be busy going out for field hockey or something. Anything where he’s
allowed to hit people with sticks, basically.”
Blaine laughs and lets go of him. “Well, mention it anyway. Unless there’s some
reason you don’t want him around.”
He’s giving Kurt that look, the one that says you don’t have to put up with
that kind of thing here. Mostly he’s let the whole Puck thing go, hasn’t pushed
Kurt for any more details about Puck’s casual bullying back at McKinley or why
Kurt lets Puck hang around him when he doesn’t really like Puck all that much.
But every once in awhile Blaine looks at him in a way that manages to make Kurt
feel at once annoyed and sort of stupid, like he is still letting Puck push him
around even though Puck never actually does anything to him.
“Wait, how come I didn’t have to wait until spring to try out?” Kurt asks, and
okay, maybe he’s changing the subject, but it’s not as though he’s going to
talk about Puck in front of the Warblers.
“I pulled a few strings,” Blaine says, grin back in place and when he winks
Kurt’s stomach drops, because he’s pretty sure Blaine just told him that Kurt
only got his spot in Glee because of his boyfriend. Not that he doesn’t deserve
it; he’s well aware of his strengths, and his voice is an asset to the group.
But if Blaine’s the only reason he’s here right now instead of waiting on
tender hooks for tryouts like all the other hopefuls, that just makes Kurt even
more indebted to him.
~
The one drawback to not being a senior at Dalton is that he’s not allowed to
have his car on campus. Which means that Finn's probably driving his baby, a
possibility which makes Kurt’s blood boil every time he considers it. And since
he was the only one among his group of friends with his own ride, it also means
none of his friends can come pick him up for the weekend.
Dalton’s close enough to go home on a more or less regular basis, at least,
which means he gets to see Mercedes and Tina and sometimes even Brittany. They
catch him up on McKinley gossip over mochachinos and give him a dose of much-
needed girl time, because sure, he enjoys the violence-free eye candy, but
sometimes the testosterone level at an all-boys’ school gets to be a little
much.
In the beginning he made up every excuse he could not to go home, a fact
Mercedes called him on more than once. But he’d still been basking in the
novelty of having a boyfriend at the time, and spending his free time hanging
around with Blaine was his priority, even if all they did was hold hands and
talk about how hard it was to be the only homo in public school.
Once the shine wore off Kurt gave in to guilt -- from Carole, mostly, though he
knew it was on his father’s behalf -- and agreed to go home for a weekend here
and there. It means someone has to come pick him up, but his father doesn’t
seem to mind. The drive gives them a chance to catch up, and it’s not that Kurt
begrudges him his relationship with Carole, but sometimes it’s nice to be just
the two of them again.
He's looking forward to this weekend especially, mainly because it means a
break from Puck. He’s been at Dalton nearly a month now, and Kurt thought that
would have been plenty of time to get himself expelled, but he’s still here. He
even seems to be getting along with people, and despite Kurt’s careful watch
for signs of sudden, violent outbursts, he hasn't even seen a glimmer.
It’s disconcerting, to say the least, and he’s hopeful that a few days away
from Dalton will give him a chance to get some perspective. At the very least
it will give him a chance to get away from Puck’s looks, heavy and searching,
like he’s trying to work out some puzzle and Kurt’s his only clue.
And when he’s not staring at Kurt or following him around like his own personal
bodyguard -- as though he even needs one of those at this school, and if this
is his way of making up for the dumpster, Puck’s got lousy timing, because that
actually would have come in handy back in Lima -- he’s asking embarrassing
questions about Kurt’s love life.
Maybe it would have been understandable for the first day or two; Kurt might
have excused a week, even, but it’s been nearly a month, and he still brings it
up. Not all the time, but enough to be annoying, and it makes Kurt feel just a
little off-center whenever Puck’s around, which is all the time.
Just yesterday Puck turned to him right in the middle of Geometry, leaning
across the aisle and dropping his voice so their teacher wouldn’t hear him ask,
“So if he’s not your type, who is?”
It’s not the first time Puck’s suggested that Kurt’s relationship issues stem
from the fact that Kurt would rather be with someone different. It’s not even
the first time Puck’s stated it as though it's a given, but it’s the first time
Puck’s asked him what his type is, exactly. And the thing is, Kurt doesn’t
really have an answer for that one. The first thought that springs to mind is
‘painfully closeted jocks, apparently’, which isn’t even true, because the
jocks he’s fallen for are all painfully straight. He only knows the one closet
case, and Kurt certainly doesn’t return Karofsky’s feelings.
He’s not even sure why Puck’s so interested in his relationship with Blaine,
because every time he asks Puck just shrugs and claims there’s nothing better
to do around here. And it’s ridiculous, because they’re not even friends.
They’re just...people who know each other. Former teammates, at best. Lately
Puck’s been a downright thorn in Kurt’s side, and that’s hardly an improvement.
Kurt sighs and takes a sip of the coffee he smuggled out of the dining room,
glancing down the long driveway that leads to the school in the hope of
catching a glimpse of his father’s truck. Normally he gets here early, and Kurt
assumes it’s just because his dad’s as anxious to catch up as he is. But this
morning he’s already ten minutes late, and Kurt’s wondering if he should call
and make sure he hasn’t been forgotten when he hears someone walk up behind
him.
“Hey,” Puck says, then he drops a well-used duffel bag at his feet and shoves
his hands in his pockets. The pockets of his letter jacket, and Kurt’s seen
Puck in that damn thing at least a thousand times, but it’s been months, and
something about seeing it again makes his stomach tremble.
“What are you doing?” Kurt asks, though he has a sinking feeling he already
knows, and when he hears a car coming up the drive and looks up, he’s sure he’s
right.
“Finn said he was coming to get you, asked if I wanted to bail for a couple
days. I figured what the hell, you know?”
Kurt’s only half listening, because he knows exactly why Puck wants out of
Dalton for the weekend, and he doesn’t need to hear the details of his tawdry
plans to reacquaint himself with Santana’s libido. He can’t even make himself
care about the fact that he has to share the ride home with Puck and Finn,
because Finn’s driving his car, and nobody even asked him.
Right on cue Finn pulls up in front of them. Puck picks up his own bag and then
reaches for Kurt’s, and Kurt’s too busy seething to stop him. He opens the back
of the Navigator and tosses the bags inside while Finn climbs out of the truck
to grin his stupid, dopey grin at them.
“What, they don't make you wear the uniform when you leave base?”
“It’s not the Army, dude,” Puck says, and Kurt rolls his eyes at both of them
and holds out his hand.
“My keys, if you don’t mind,” he says, glaring at Finn and he must look like he
means it, because Finn stops grinning at him. “Why are you driving my car?”
“Your dad said it would be good for the engine,” Finn says, but he doesn’t
argue about who gets to drive, at least. “When I offered to come get you guys
he mentioned how your truck’s just been sitting all this time, and I should
drive it up here and give the engine a workout.”
Kurt can’t argue with the logic, though he would have preferred his father to
drive the Navigator to him instead of sending Finn. He takes comfort in the
fact that the engine needing a workout means Finn hasn’t been driving it all
over Lima while Kurt’s been gone, doing God knows what with Rachel in the back
seat.
He wrinkles his nose at the thought and climbs into the driver's seat, then he
turns the engine while he waits for Finn and Puck to get in. He expects Finn to
claim shotgun based on his -- at best marginal -- familial relationship to the
driver, but when Kurt looks over he finds Puck leaning against the seat
grinning at him.
“This is a sweet ride, Hummel.”
Kurt rolls his eyes and shifts into gear, spinning out a little harder than
strictly necessary on the gravel drive. “It’s not like you haven’t seen it
before."
“Yeah, but you’ve never given me a ride before.”
He doesn’t mean that the way he makes it sound and Kurt knows it. Still, he
can’t seem to stop himself from glancing over at Puck, taking in the easy way
he’s spread across Kurt’s upholstery and the way he’s smirking as though that’s
exactly how he means it. Kurt curses his pale skin for the thousandth time
since Puck turned up at Dalton and presses down a little harder on the gas
pedal.
~
“So you and Puck are, like, friends now.”
“What? No,” Kurt says, looking away from an admittedly depressing selection of
end-of-season sale jackets, and really, whoever decided to bring back Buffalo
plaid as a fashion trend should be shot. He fixes Mercedes with the most
significant look he can muster while his natural rosy glow is being washed out
by the harsh glare of the Lima Mall’s fluorescent lighting. “We are not
friends. If anything, it’s possible he’s stalking me.”
“Why would Puck stalk you?”
“You’d have to ask Puck,” Kurt says, turning back to the clearance rack for one
more disdainful look before he gives up altogether. “He’s the one who won’t
stop following me all over school and asking inappropriate questions about my
personal life.”
He doesn’t point out that he hasn’t actually asked Puck to stop following him
around school, because he knows full well it wouldn’t do any good. Besides,
it’s not that big a school.
“What kind of questions has he been asking?” Mercedes says, her expression
telling him that she’s hoping Puck’s been asking all the questions about Blaine
she wants to ask. Kurt rolls his eyes and heads for the exit, and Mercedes
hurries to follow him out of the department store and toward the parking
garage.
Clearly she hasn’t mastered the fine art of subtlety in the months he’s been
away, but she is his best friend, and if he’s going to talk to anyone about the
Blaine situation, he supposes it should be her.
“He seems to think my relationship lacks passion,” Kurt says, waving his hand
vaguely because honestly, he doesn’t actually care what Noah -- Puck -- thinks.
“But I thought you were totally into Blaine.”
“I was. I mean, I am,” Kurt amends, but he feels the tips of his ears heat up
and he wishes suddenly that she didn’t know him so well. And sure enough, when
they reach the Navigator and he slides into the front seat, she’s already
frowning at him from the passenger side.
“Blaine’s wonderful, really," he says, then he sighs and looks out the
windshield so he won’t have to look at Mercedes. “It’s just...sometimes I do
wonder if we’re together for the wrong reasons.”
“You like the guy, what’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing.” And he does like Blaine, he’s just not sure he likes him enough. “He
was there when I needed him, and I’m just a little worried that maybe I’m
staying with him out of gratitude instead of attraction.”
“So Puck’s right,” Mercedes says, and Kurt doesn’t actually want to choke her,
but for a second he can see the appeal.
He shrugs and starts the engine, easing out of the parking spot and toward the
exit before he answers.
“It’s possible he has a point. A very small one,” he adds, and when Mercedes
laughs he can’t quite keep himself from smiling.
She lets him change the subject on the way back to his house, and by the time
they pull into the driveway he’s not thinking about Blaine or Puck anymore. All
he’s thinking about is the chocolate peanut butter Haagen Dazs in his dad’s
freezer and the number of Top Model episodes stockpiled on the DVR. So he's not
prepared to walk into the living room and find Puck sprawled on the couch, idly
flipping channels on his dad’s cable.
He looks up when they walk in, nodding what probably passes for a greeting in
Neanderthal in Mercedes’ direction before he zeroes in on Kurt.
“Hey, Hummel. Your boyfriend called, said he couldn’t get you on your cell. I
think he’s starting to get the feeling you’re avoiding him.”
When Kurt blushes and narrows his eyes Puck just smirks and unfolds himself
from the couch, standing up and crossing the living room in a few strides.
“Don’t worry. I told him you were probably at the day spa or something for a
little girl time and you shut off your phone so it wouldn’t mess with your chi
or whatever. I think he actually bought it.”
Kurt’s not sure whether Puck’s just messing with him until he says I think he
actually bought it, like he’s surprised anyone in the world is actually that
dumb. And Blaine’s not dumb; he’s just...good, and nice, and he doesn’t
automatically think the worst of people. He tried to rehabilitate Karofsky, for
God’s sake, and even now he won’t admit that it was a complete waste of time.
He reaches into his pockets one by one until he finds his phone, pressing
buttons and frowning at two missed call notifications, a voicemail, and three
new texts. And he doesn’t even remember turning off the ringer, but he must
have, because it’s set on silent.
Two of the texts are from Blaine, both of them consisting of one word: Okay?
The third text is from a number he doesn’t recognize, but when he opens it he
flushes crimson and looks at Puck.
“What are you doing here, anyway? And who told you it was okay to answer my
father’s phone?”
Puck’s standing right in front of him, watching Kurt flip through the messages
on his phone and still smirking, but as soon as Kurt starts talking his eyes
narrow and suddenly he’s even closer than he was a second ago.
“I came over here to tell you your boyfriend called my phone, Princess. Thought
you might want a heads up so you could think up another lie to keep stringing
him along. Hell, I should have done the dude a favor and just told him to cut
you loose already. He could sure as hell do better than an ice queen like you.”
Kurt feels the words on his cheek, feels the heat and anger rolling off Puck
and for a second he wonders if Puck’s going to punch him or something. For a
second Kurt wishes he would, because at least that would make sense. And none
of this makes sense, not Blaine calling Puck about him or Puck’s presence in
his life in the first place.
Mercedes is still standing behind him, looking between the two of them like
she’s at some kind of bizarre sporting event. “Guys...” she says, but they both
ignore her.
“You don’t know anything about me,” Kurt says, arms crossed tight over his
chest and it takes everything in him not to take a step backwards.
“I know enough.” Puck spares him one last, scornful look, and Kurt imagines
that he can feel it burning into his skin. Then he pushes past Kurt and heads
for the door. When he reaches the entrance to the living room he pauses and
doesn’t look back. “Tell Hudson I bailed.”
Then he’s gone, and Kurt’s glad. He is, because he doesn’t care about Puck or
Puck’s opinion of him. He doesn’t even like Puck, and he won’t miss the endless
questions when they’re supposed to be studying or Puck’s constant presence or
the way he looks at Kurt with those eyes of his, like Puck’s trying to memorize
him. After today Puck’s probably never going to talk to him again, and that’s
just fine with Kurt.
“Kurt, what...?”
Kurt shakes his head at Mercedes and flips his phone open, hovering over
Blaine’s texts before he scrolls down to the third one. It’s just one line, but
he knows exactly who it’s from, and it’s all the proof either of them need that
Puck knows him better than Kurt would ever admit.
gonna hav 2 decide wut u want soonr or latr, kurt
His finger hovers over the delete button for a breath, then another before he
finally lets out a frustrated noise and presses ‘save’ instead. When the New
Contact screen pops up he frowns down at the name field for a second, then he
types ‘Noah’ and presses ‘OK’ before he can change his mind.
~
Mercedes, bless her, doesn’t make him talk about it. Instead they huddle
together in the center of his dad’s couch to eat ice cream and watch Tyra get
increasingly more crazy with each episode of Top Model. But Kurt’s heart isn’t
really in it anymore, and every time he pictures Puck’s face and the way he
stood so close, just for a second, Kurt blushes all over again.
“What do you know about Puck’s fight with Karofsky?” Kurt says, pausing the
episode in the middle of Miss Jay’s runway lesson to face Mercedes.
For a second she just blinks at him like she doesn’t know what he’s talking
about, then she frowns and sets her empty ice cream bowl on the coffee table.
“Nobody really knows much. I mean, we heard there was a fight, then Puck was
just gone. Finn was suspended and I think Sam got detention or something, but
nobody even saw Puck again until today.”
“Wait, Finn was there?”
“Yeah,” Mercedes says, shrugging like that’s common knowledge. And maybe it is,
at McKinley, but apparently Kurt hasn’t kept up with the gossip as well as he
thought. “He was suspended for like a week, and even when he came back he was a
mess. Man, if Finn looked that bad just from keeping Puck from killing
Karofsky, Puck must have looked like hamburger.”
Kurt frowns and tries to remember any new marks on Finn, but the truth is he
hasn’t been looking that closely. They’re only home for one night, after all,
and Kurt ditched Puck and Finn as soon as they got back to town so he could go
pick up Mercedes. The plan was to maximize their Top Model viewing time with an
all-nighter at Kurt’s house, but he knows he won’t be able to focus on Tyra
anymore.
“But the fight was only a month ago. Wouldn’t he still...”
“Look like he tried to kill a guy with his bare hands?” she interrupts. “I
don’t know. I mean, it’s Puck, you know?”
And sure, Kurt knows what she means. Puck’s...well, he’s Puck, all fists and
gleeful violence and way too much testosterone. But Karofsky’s huge and he’s
vicious and he hates himself more than Puck could ever dream of hating anyone,
and Kurt knows firsthand what that kind of rage can make someone do.
“But why did Puck try to kill Karofsky? I mean, what started it?”
“Nobody knows.” Mercedes shrugs and tugs the remote out of his hand, then she
presses play and Miss Jay starts sashaying again in the background. “All I know
is Puck got kicked out and Finn got suspended, and with them gone and you at
Dalton, we didn’t have a prayer at Regionals. Rachel almost broke up with Finn
over that.”
Kurt knows the Warblers won Regionals, of course, but he wasn’t there to see
it, and nobody bothered to mention to him that his own brother -- okay,
stepbrother -- wasn’t there either. He had no idea that New Directions was down
their three strongest males; everybody knows Mike can’t sing, and there was no
way they could win with just Sam and Artie to carry them.
“Why don’t you just ask Puck what happened? Seems like you two are pretty tight
these days,” Mercedes says, and when she quirks an eyebrow at him Kurt frowns
and tells himself she’s not implying what it sounds like she’s implying,
because hello, they’re talking about Puck.
“Right, I’ll just text him and tell him to give me a call when he climbs off
Santana.”
“Santana’s not here,” Mercedes says, her suspicious expression giving way to
another frown. “Coach Sylvester’s running some kind of cheerleader boot camp.
Starvation diets, ten hour workouts, you know how she is. They’re at some camp
in the middle of nowhere freezing their asses off.”
Mercedes laughs at the thought, and okay, it is pretty funny, but Kurt’s still
too busy wondering why Puck’s fight with Karofsky is such a big mystery to
truly appreciate the image.
“Well, that explains Puck’s mood. He must be pretty disappointed to find the
entire Cheerios squad out of pocket. Why else would he even bother to come
home?”
“I don’t know, maybe he missed his mom’s cooking or something. But they’ve been
complaining about this boot camp thing since before he got expelled, so unless
he forgot or something, he knew Santana wouldn’t be around.”
Puck forgetting is the likeliest scenario, Kurt knows. He’s so completely
focused on himself all the time that there’s no room in his tiny brain to keep
track of anyone else’s comings and goings. Except that he seems to have Kurt’s
schedule pretty much memorized, right down to the days Kurt ditches him for
Warblers practice and the times Blaine expects to spend time with him without
his shadow.
He’s actually really good at making himself scarce at exactly the right moment,
Kurt realizes with a frown. Plus, there are the two nights a week he disappears
halfway through dinner and doesn’t resurface again until Kurt’s already in the
dorm study lounge, trying to focus on his homework and looking up every few
minutes until he spots Puck walking through the door. He still hasn’t told Kurt
where he goes every Monday and Wednesday evening, and Kurt’s starting to wonder
just what other secrets Puck’s keeping.
He thinks about asking Finn. And he’s not above resorting to blackmail, except
that he doesn’t really have any good dirt on Finn, and anyway Kurt has no idea
where he is. The last time they saw Finn was ten minutes after Puck left, when
he emerged from the basement freshly showered and frowning that puzzled frown
of his and asked where Puck was. As soon as Kurt said he’d left Finn was
digging out his phone, then he was gone too, and if he’d known he was going to
need answers, Kurt wouldn’t have let him get away.
For a second he considers calling Finn and making up some kind of lie to get
him to come home, but Puck’s probably with him, which means even if it works
Puck will probably be with him when he shows up. Anyway, as soon as Puck finds
out it’s Kurt on the phone he’ll know it’s a lie, and Kurt’s not sure when he
started giving Puck that much credit, but that doesn’t make it any less true.
“Did you say Rachel almost broke up with Finn?”
“Yeah,” Mercedes says, glancing away from the TV long enough to blink at him.
“I don’t know what he did to get her to forgive him. I mean, blowing
Regionals...he might as well have taken her to the prom and dumped pig’s blood
on her.”
Kurt’s pretty sure Rachel would actually take the pig’s blood a lot better,
especially considering her vast experience with being slushied over the years.
Which means Finn would have had to do something really drastic to get back in
her good graces; maybe even something as drastic as telling her the truth.
“Mercedes,” he says, reaching for the remote and turning to face her, “would
you hate me forever if I asked for a rain check on Top Model?”
~
Kurt’s been to Rachel’s house before, so the terrifying...frilliness of her
bedroom isn’t as shocking as it could be. She seems a little surprised to see
him, and he can’t exactly blame her. They were never what anyone would call
friends, and now that Kurt’s in a winning choral group and Rachel’s still being
held down by Schue and New Directions, she probably likes him even less.
But Rachel’s opinion of him matters even less now than it did when they went to
the same school, so he doesn’t waste any time with social niceties.
“I need some answers,” he says as soon as she closes her bedroom door, “and I
think you can provide them.”
Rachel sits on the edge of her bed and Kurt perches on the edge of the bench in
front of her vanity. She's looking at him with that wide-eyed expression that
used to make him want to slap her just for being so damn earnest, but it’s
possible this is his only chance to get the truth, so he swallows the familiar
surge of emotion and forces a tight-lipped smile.
“If this is about Glee you can stop right there. I realize we didn’t perform up
to our full potential at Regionals, but that doesn’t mean I’m willing to help
the enemy. Just because I dated Jesse...”
“It’s not about Glee,” Kurt interrupts, because honestly, if he lets her get
going it could be an hour before he manages to get a word in edgewise. “It’s
about...well, it’s about Puck, actually.”
Rachel’s eyes narrow a little, but her posture relaxes marginally, and Kurt
decides to take that as a good sign. “I haven’t seen him since he...”
She pauses, looking away from him for a second, then she actually fidgets a
little, and Kurt tries to remember if he's ever seen Rachel Berry speechless
before. But it’s Rachel, so it doesn’t even last long enough for Kurt to form a
complete thought, then she’s talking again.
“I suppose it’s unfair to blame him, actually. I mean, he was involved, and he
certainly didn’t help matters, but given the choice between losing Puck
permanently and losing Finn, obviously I’d choose to give up Puck. I’m still
not convinced they did the right thing, lying about what happened, but it was
sort of noble of Puck to take the blame.”
She’s tilting her head to the side while she talks, as though she’s trying to
remember exactly what happened. It’s not surprising, if what Kurt’s managed to
glean from her confusing ramble so far is right. If he’s understanding,
Rachel’s implying that what really happened is almost the exact opposite of the
official story, which means...
“Finn tried to kill Karofsky?”
Rachel blinks at him then, eyes going wide and Kurt is not going to kill her.
He’s not, at least not before she spits out the rest of the story.
“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? I assumed Puck told you that much.”
“He didn’t say why,” Kurt hedges, hoping she won’t notice that he didn’t
actually answer her question. But it’s Rachel, and she’s many things, but she’s
not dumb.
“I’m not sure Finn would want me to talk to you about this.”
Kurt bites down hard on the urge to tell her exactly what he thinks of her and
Finn and this whole, stupid mess. That’s the fastest way to get her to kick him
out, or worse, launch into a lecture about loyalty and how that’s something
Kurt wouldn’t understand, considering how easily he defected to Dalton and the
Warblers. He’s heard all that before, in front of everyone in Glee on the day
he announced he was leaving.
“I think I have a right to know,” he says, and if he’s wrong about Finn’s
motivations he’s going to sound narcissistic and disloyal, but he’s almost
positive he’s not.
Rachel just looks at him for awhile, and when she blinks he thinks of owls.
“I suppose you’re right. Not that anyone blames you,” she adds, sitting up a
little straighter on the edge of the bed. “You were the victim of sexual
harassment, Finn told me all about it. He said Karofsky kissed you against your
will and then he threatened you until you felt your only recourse was to leave
McKinley.”
Rachel pauses, and Kurt’s so shocked that she knows about the kiss that he
can’t even take advantage of her momentary silence.
“I’m sorry about calling you a traitor, Kurt. If we’d known what was
happening...well, I can’t pretend we would have been able to stop it. Obviously
the administration at McKinley turns a blind eye to all sorts of bullying. But
my gay dads have been victims of discrimination all their lives, so I
understand now that you didn't leave just to join a superior Glee club.”
“I...thank you,” Kurt says, and he’s surprised to find that he means it. “How
did Finn know about Karofsky kissing me?”
“He heard your dad and his mom talking about it,” Rachel says. “It was after
you left. He didn’t tell me until after the fight, and even then I don’t think
he would have said anything if it wasn’t for what happened at Regionals.”
For a second her expression clouds, and it’s not as though Kurt blames her,
because if he’d been with New Directions for the travesty that was Regionals
he’d probably feel the same way. Then again, if he’d still been at McKinley,
maybe it wouldn’t have happened at all.
“But why would that make him want to kill Karofsky? Finn’s the one who told me
to stop getting my gay all over his teammates to begin with; I’m surprised he
didn’t assume I’d thrown myself at Karofsky in the first place.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, and when she frowns he
assumes she’s a little offended that he just accused her boyfriend of being a
homophobe. Which he kind of is. At least Kurt used to think so, but suddenly
he’s not so sure.
“Anyway, it wasn’t about the kiss. Not directly, at least. Not that Karofsky
had a right to do that, and even if it wasn’t exactly sexual assault, it was
sort of the same thing.”
He can’t pretend that’s not how it felt, just like he can’t pretend that he
doesn’t feel vaguely nauseous every time he remembers the way Karofsky’s lips
felt against him and the way his hands felt on Kurt’s skin. The whole reason he
finally told his father the truth was because Karofsky wouldn’t let it go, and
the worst part wasn’t the times he threatened to kill Kurt. The worst part was
when he’d smile and wink or blow a kiss; those were the times Kurt wondered how
far he’d take it the next time he found Kurt alone.
“It was what he said about you after you left that Finn felt he had to defend
against,” Rachel’s saying, and Kurt shakes off the crawling sense of dread and
tries to focus on the sound of her voice.
“What did he say, exactly?”
“I never actually heard him with my own ears, but Finn says that he was
bragging in the locker room about how you were so scared of him that you ran
away like a girl to, quote, ‘that fag school’. And he said you came on to him
and you’re lucky he didn’t kill you right then. Finn called him a liar and I
guess Karofsky didn’t like that much, because he waited until Finn was alone
and cornered him and said he was just mad because he’s gay too, etcetera. You
can imagine.”
She rolls her eyes as though it’s not worth repeating, and he’s sure it’s
mostly not. But it still doesn’t make any sense, not why Finn would be angry
enough to nearly get thrown out of school, or why Puck would take the fall for
him.
“So he picked a fight with Karofsky because he called Finn a homo?”
“Finn says Karofsky threw the first punch,” Rachel says, her forehead creased
with another little frown. “I’m not sure I believe that, but I suppose it
doesn’t really matter. The point is that he told Karofsky he knew the truth,
that he'd kissed you and not the other way around. And Karofsky said you wanted
it, then he said...some other things, and Finn felt he had to defend his
family, and apparently he just lost his temper.”
She ends with a little shrug, as though it’s not really a big deal. Like that’s
just what boys do, lose their temper and then put each other in the hospital
over something that’s not even their fight. He and Finn don’t even get along
all that well, and while they’re technically related, they’re hardly what he’d
call brothers in any emotional sense. So Kurt finds it difficult to believe
that Finn would defend him at all, but even more than that, he can’t believe
Finn’s even capable of that kind of violence.
“None of this makes any sense,” Kurt says, reaching up to pinch the bridge of
his nose, and if he gets a migraine over this it’s going to make the drive back
to school even more unpleasant. “How did Noah...Puck...how did Puck get
involved?”
“He and Sam caught the end of the fight. Sam got a black eye and Puck took a
few hits when they tried to pull Finn and Karofsky apart. Then Mr. Schue came
along and that’s when Puck took the blame. It was probably obvious he was
lying; Finn was the one who looked like he’d been in a fight, but Mr. Schue
backed up their story with Figgins.”
“But...why?”
Rachel shrugs and glances at the clock on her nightstand. “You’d have to ask
Puck. Or you could ask Finn, I guess. He should be here soon.”
He considers staying, confronting Finn and demanding to know why they've both
been lying to him for over a month. But he’s confused and angry and...sort of
touched at the same time, which brings him right back to confused. So instead
he shakes his head and stands up, and when Rachel stands up too he tries for a
genuine smile.
“Thank you, Rachel. I appreciate your being honest with me."
“I told Finn he should have told you when it happened,” she says, then she
smiles, and for once it's not scary. “It’s good to see you, Kurt. I’m glad
you’re happy with the Warblers, even though they beat us at Regionals.”
He lets her walk him to the door, then he endures an awkward hug that neither
of them really means. But it feels sort of like they’re in on something now, as
though by telling him what happened with Karofsky, Rachel’s...not exactly a
friend, but maybe she’s an ally.
Kurt smiles again, and this time it’s not hard to mean it. He waves and climbs
back into his truck, then he sits behind the wheel and stares out the
windshield and wonders what he’s going to say to Finn and Puck on the ride back
to school tomorrow. Then he remembers that he still hasn’t called Blaine, and
he sighs and starts the engine.
~
Considering the way their last conversation ended, Kurt expects Puck to claim
the back seat and force Finn to ride shotgun. Frankly Kurt would be just as
happy if they both sat in the back and let him play chauffeur; it would
certainly be more honest, and it would save Kurt the trouble of having to deal
with either of them.
And that’s the whole problem; he still hasn’t figured out what to say, exactly,
how to let on that he knows and that he’s really not okay with being kept in
the dark about something that directly concerns him.
He’s trying out a few different openings in his head when the passenger door
swings open, trying to decide between Rachel told me what really happened and
You should both know that Dave Karofsky is a pathological liar when he looks
over in time to watch Puck climb into his truck.
Apparently he’s not so angry with Kurt that he’s willing to forgo shotgun; Kurt
shouldn’t be surprised, because it’s not as though Puck actually cares what he
thinks or anything. Still, it’s a little strange to look up and find Puck
watching him, eyes dark and guarded but still watching in the same way he’s
been doing for the past month.
There’s no sign of Finn, and Kurt glances toward the house and thinks about
laying on the horn like some townie because he’s not sure he can stand to be
alone with Puck, even for a few minutes. He doesn’t even know why, because it’s
not like he hasn’t spent nearly all his waking hours in Puck’s company for the
past month. But this feels different somehow, and Kurt can’t tell if it’s
because he knows the truth now, or if it’s the way Puck’s looking at him.
“Why does Blaine even have your number?”
The sound of his own voice startles him in the stillness of the Navigator, but
Puck doesn’t seem all that surprised by the question. He just lifts one
shoulder in a casual shrug and stretches an arm across the back of the seat,
hand coming to rest just a few inches from Kurt’s shoulder.
“Fuck if I know. Maybe he got it from my roommate.”
Kurt frowns at him for a second, trying to decide if Puck’s lying. If he is,
he’s got a hell of a poker face.
“I’m not frigid, you know,” he says, cheeks flushing crimson as soon as the
words escape his mouth.
“Actually I wouldn’t know, Hummel,” Puck says, and Kurt knows it’s his
imagination, but for a second it feels like Puck sways just a little closer.
“But hey, I take it back. For all I know you’re a total freak behind closed
doors. Hell, you must be doing something to keep the guy coming back for more.”
Kurt feels his face heat up and he knows Puck can see that he’s blushing. He
can see and he probably thinks that means he’s right, that Kurt’s a complete
prude and a blushing virgin and he’s not putting out because he’s afraid or
something. And okay, so maybe he’s a little inexperienced, but that’s hardly
his fault, given the circumstances.
Besides, there’s nothing wrong with waiting until he’s sure before he jumps
into bed with someone. It wouldn’t be fair to Blaine to lead him on like that;
Kurt’s been telling himself exactly that since the start, and the fact that
Blaine’s patient enough to wait just means Blaine’s a nice guy. A really,
really nice guy, which is something Puck couldn’t possibly understand.
“Naturally it would never occur to you that he just enjoys my company.”
Puck’s only answer is a snort of laughter, then he turns to stare out the
window and Kurt feels his blush turn up a few degrees. Of course Puck would
never think anyone would want to spend time with Kurt just for the sake of
being around him; he’s just the weird gay kid, after all, and no one at
McKinley ever considered him worth their time. Which is just another reason he
left Lima in the first place, and his life would be just fine if Puck had
stayed at McKinley where he belonged.
“It’s not my fault you’ve been exiled to Dalton. I’m sure you blame me, but I
didn’t ask Finn to put Karofsky in the hospital, and I certainly didn’t ask you
to take the fall for him.”
The words are out of Kurt’s mouth before he even knows he’s thinking them. As
soon as he starts talking Puck looks at him, expression getting darker with
every word until finally he looks like he’d like to shut Kurt’s mouth for him.
But Kurt is not intimidated by Noah Puckerman, no matter what he thinks, so he
doesn’t flinch when Puck shifts on the seat until he’s leaning into Kurt.
“Who told you that?”
“Rachel,” Kurt answers, chin high and definitely not quivering. “She
occasionally has her moments.”
“Fucking Berry,” Puck says, then he rolls his eyes and relaxes a little, and
Kurt thinks that maybe he’s not about to die after all. “I told Hudson she’d
never keep her big mouth shut.”
For a few seconds he just looks at Kurt while he chews his bottom lip, gears
turning somewhere in that thick skull of his and Kurt can’t help watching the
way his lip slides out from between his teeth.
“Let’s get something straight right now.”
Kurt gasps at the sound of Puck’s voice, blushing all over again and looking up
to find Puck staring at him.
“I don’t blame you for shit, and neither does Hudson. Karofsky got what he had
coming, and if Hudson hadn’t beaten me to it, I probably would have put him in
the hospital myself. Hell, I don’t even mind Dalton all that much. The food’s
pretty good, anyway.”
Kurt blinks and tries to decide if Puck’s actually trying to reassure him. He
still sounds angry, but he isn’t looking at Kurt like he wants to kill him
anymore, and that’s definitely an improvement.
“I just...why did you take the blame for Finn?”
Puck shrugs and looks away again, right back to staring out the window and
chewing on his lip and Kurt’s fingers twitch with the urge to reach out and
ease his lip away from his teeth.
“I’ve been to Juvie. No way could Hudson survive that. Anyway, I still owed him
for the whole thing with Quinn.” Puck pauses and glances over at Kurt, not
quite meeting his eyes before he goes back to staring out the window. “I didn’t
do it for you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
And it’s not what he was thinking, not even close, but now that Puck’s said it
Kurt can’t not think about it. He can’t even think of a reason why Puck might
assume he’d think that, because keeping Finn out of prison doesn’t have
anything to do with Kurt. Except that Finn going to Juvie would put a huge
emotional strain on Carole, not to mention Kurt’s dad, and Kurt’s not around to
look after him anymore.
He swallows against the familiar pang of guilt and looks up at the house, but
there’s still no sign of Finn. He has no idea what’s taking so long, because
Finn’s not even the one who has to go back to school. He’s just the driver, for
all rights and purposes, and there’s no reason Kurt should be stuck alone in
his truck with Puck for this long when he’s going to be stuck with Puck
practically every waking moment as soon as they get back to school.
“Puck...”
“It’s Noah,” Puck says, voice gruff and Kurt doesn’t bother trying to stifle a
laugh.
“Like changing your name makes you any different. You’re still the same
person.”
Puck doesn’t look at him, but Kurt’s been watching him for a month now, and he
sees the moment when Puck tenses. It’s over so fast he knows most people would
have missed it, but it’s there all the same, in the line of Puck’s jaw and the
way his fingers clench into a fist before he slowly uncurls them.
“Think what you want.”
And that’s rich, because Puck’s still the same smug bastard he’s always been,
even at Dalton, and not solving his problems with his fists hasn’t suddenly
transformed him into a nice person.
“Please, don’t try to act like I don’t know you. I know you, Noah. You can call
yourself whatever you want, but you’re still the same mindless bully who
terrorized me and all my friends as though it was a sport. I can’t believe
Figgins actually bought that you’d beat up Karofsky in the first place. You’re
two of a kind.”
“Oh, fuck you, Kurt,” Puck says, biting out the words as though he’s trying
hard not to lose it. And now Kurt is sort of scared, but it’s not because he
thinks Puck’s going to hit him. “I’m nothing like that douche. I’d never take
anything that wasn’t on offer.”
Puck’s staring at him like he’s never seen Kurt before, like he’s something
particularly disgusting that Puck just scraped off the bottom of his shoe. It’s
worse than the times Puck’s laughed at him, worse than Puck calling him frigid
or a prude or questioning why Blaine would waste his time with Kurt. It’s worse
than the way Karofsky used to look at him, like he was just biding his time
until he decided whether to kill Kurt or do something far, far worse.
And he hates that Puck knows about what Karofsky did -- hates that anyone knows
-- because it was just a kiss, and it still makes him feel completely helpless.
It makes him a victim, and he’s spent his whole life working hard not to be a
victim. The idea of Puck thinking of him as a victim...well, that’s more than
Kurt can handle.
“You once stole an entire ATM.”
As soon as he says it Puck stops looking at him like he feels sort of sorry for
Kurt. For a second he looks a lot like Kurt imagines he would if someone
slapped him across the face, then his mouth curves into a bizarre imitation of
his usual smirk. It looks almost painful, and Kurt’s heart stutters at the
thought that he could make Puck look like that.
“Yeah, I did. Got me there, Hummel,” he says, then he’s climbing out of the
truck and heading for the house, and Kurt can hear him shouting for Finn even
after he slams the Navigator door.
Kurt blinks hard against a sudden stinging in his eyes, tells himself he does
not care what Noah Puckerman thinks, doesn’t care about his stupid feelings,
because Puck’s never wasted a single second worrying about Kurt’s. So his
pride’s been wounded; it’s exactly what he deserves, and anyway he’s certainly
not going to lose any sleep over Kurt’s opinion of him.
A minute later the front door opens and Puck reappears with Finn in tow, red-
faced and hurrying after him. When they reach the Navigator Puck opens the back
door and climbs in without so much as a glance at Kurt, and Kurt’s glad,
because it means he won’t see Kurt’s cheeks burning. Finn does look at him,
eyebrows raised and mouth open, most likely to ask what’s wrong with Kurt, but
before he gets the words out Kurt hears Puck’s voice.
“Leave it,” is all he says, but just like that Finn’s mouth snaps shut. Kurt
narrows his eyes at Finn, then glances in the rear view mirror, but Puck’s
staring out the window again and refusing to meet his gaze.
He swallows hard and takes a deep breath, then he starts the engine and backs
out of the driveway. It’s a long, silent drive back to Dalton, and Kurt spends
the entire trip wondering what would have happened if he’d said what if I’m
offering? instead.
~
Puck’s out of the Navigator before Kurt even rolls to a complete stop, slamming
the door so hard Kurt swears he feels the frame shake. He doesn’t say goodbye
to Finn, and Kurt assumes the only reason he takes the time to get his bag out
of the back before he disappears is so he doesn’t have to see Kurt later when
Kurt returns it.
Not that Kurt would necessarily bother, because he’s certainly not going to be
hunting for reasons to talk to Puck.
Finn’s still sitting in the passenger seat, staring out the window in the
direction Puck disappeared. When the front door of the dorm building slams shut
he turns back to Kurt, mouth open in what would be a comical expression if Kurt
didn’t know what was coming.
“What the hell was that?”
Kurt takes a deep breath and flexes his fingers around the steering wheel, then
he lets go and turns to face Finn. “Rachel told me the truth about why Puck was
sent to Dalton.”
Finn’s cheeks turn predictably red, eyes wide and for a second Kurt thinks he
might actually try to deny it. Then his shoulders slump and he lets out a heavy
sigh. “Oh.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me?”
“Right, like I’m just going to call you up at boarding school and say what?
‘Hey, Kurt, I heard you transferred because Karofsky’s stalking you, but I
broke one of his ribs and punctured his lung, then I let my best friend take
the fall because it turns out I’m a complete coward, so it’s cool if you come
home now’. Yeah, that would have gone over huge.”
It’s the first time Kurt’s heard any details about what happened to Karofsky.
It’s the first time he’s even wondered, but knowing just how badly Finn hurt
him doesn’t make Kurt feel any better. Hearing Finn admit that he regrets
letting Puck take the fall doesn’t make Kurt feel much better either, because
there’s no taking it back now. Even if Kurt did go to Figgins and tell him the
truth about what happened, it would just get Finn expelled, and probably get
Puck sent back to Juvie for lying to his parole officer.
“Fine, I suppose telling me wouldn’t have made a difference. But I don’t
understand why you did it. I was already gone, what did it matter what lies
Karofsky told about me?”
For awhile Finn just looks at him with the same expression he saw on Puck’s
face earlier; like Kurt’s someone to be pitied, or maybe just someone who needs
protecting.
“Dude, do you even know how hard it was for your dad when you left? I was so
pissed at you, because I thought you just transferred so you could be with that
Blaine kid or whatever. Meanwhile your dad was moping around and my mom was
worried all the time, and she never said anything, but I could tell she was
just waiting for him to have another heart attack.”
Finn pauses and Kurt knows he should say something, but his voice is caught in
his throat and he can’t seem to get it unstuck no matter how hard he swallows.
He knows it’s been hard for his dad to have him so far away; it’s been hard for
Kurt too, but he tells himself his father’s okay, that he has Carole now and he
doesn’t need Kurt so much anymore. It’s always been a lie and he knows that,
but it makes him feel a little less guilty for leaving.
“Then one night I was hungry so I went up to the kitchen to get something to
eat, you know. It was like midnight, so I figured Mom and Burt were asleep
already. Only when I got up there I heard them in the kitchen, talking about
you. Burt was talking about this guy at school who’d been harassing you, how
the dude kissed you and kept coming back for more even when you said no. He was
talking about how bad he felt that he couldn’t protect you while you were
living at home, and how scared he was that you were so far away now where he
couldn’t protect you at all.
“I didn’t know who he was talking about at first. It wasn’t until I heard
Karofsky bragging to some of the guys about running you off that I realized. I
don’t even know why I lost it on him like I did. Maybe because I felt so guilty
about being mad at you for leaving. Or maybe because I was worried that Burt
would have another heart attack, and I’d lose another dad.”
It’s the first time Finn’s ever referred to Burt as his father. Kurt’s known
that he felt that way for a long time, but he always thought hearing Finn say
it would make him angry or jealous or both. And he is a little jealous,
especially since Finn gets a lot more of his father than Kurt gets these days.
But Kurt knows that was his own choice, so mostly he’s just grateful that
Finn’s around to pick up the slack he left when he left Lima behind.
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
Kurt shrugs and chances a shy smile. “I don’t know. Everything. This whole mess
is kind of my fault.”
“No, dude, it’s Karofsky’s fault,” Finn says. “The stuff he said...”
Finn trails off and Kurt doesn’t ask him to elaborate, because he’s fairly
certain he doesn’t want to know. He’s not sorry he left McKinley, because it’s
clear now that if he’d stayed something worse than a stolen kiss would have
happened. But he’s sorry so many other people got caught up in it.
“Why did Puck come home this weekend, anyway?” he asks, mostly because he wants
to stop thinking about what would have happened if he hadn’t left when he did.
“Mercedes said Santana wasn’t even in town.”
Finn blinks and the shadow that settled over him a moment ago lifts, and then
he’s just Finn again. “Yesterday was his Nana’s birthday. She’s pretty awesome.
She’s like a million years old but she can still kick Puck’s ass.”
Kurt pictures Puck lounging in his father’s living room like he belonged there,
and when he realizes why Puck was there he frowns. “Wait, did you go to Puck’s
grandmother’s birthday party with him?”
“Yeah, I mean, I had to bail early to go get Rachel. I thought Puck was going
to ask if you wanted to come, but then he took off and when I caught up with
him he just said you had better things to do.”
The thought of Puck inviting him to something as bizarre and random and
intimate as his grandmother’s birthday celebration takes Kurt by surprise. His
breath catches and his chest feels heavy, as though something large and
invisible is pressing down on it. He doesn’t know what it means, or even if it
means anything at all, and he doesn’t understand it, because when he walked
into his living room and found Puck there, he certainly didn’t act like he had
plans to extend a party invitation.
Then again, he’d been planning to invite Kurt before he got a phone call from
Kurt’s boyfriend. Kurt sighs and closes his eyes for a second, then he shakes
his head and takes a breath and tells himself to get a grip. This is Puck he’s
talking about, after all, and Puck doesn’t even like him.
“I’m sure he was only including me for your sake.”
“Nah, dude,” Finn says, and when he reaches over and claps Kurt on the shoulder
Kurt doesn’t flinch away. “Puck talks about you all the time. He thinks you’re
pretty cool, I can tell.”
Finn pushes open the passenger door and climbs out of the truck, and it takes
Kurt a second to remember that he’s staying and Finn’s the one driving back to
Lima. He hands over the keys and collects his bag, and he’s still too stunned
to remember to feel awkward when Finn pats him on the back and tells him to
call any time he wants to come home. He’s not sure how long he stands there
after Finn drives away, but by the time he turns to the dorm the sun’s already
starting to go down.
~
Puck talks about you all the time.
Finn’s voice has been stuck in a constant loop in Kurt’s head all morning.
Since last night, really, and Kurt’s not sure how long he laid awake and
replayed those words, but when he wakes up on Monday it feels as though he’s
hardly slept at all.
He gets dressed on autopilot, then he follows the rest of his dorm mates down
the stairs and toward the dining hall. He catches himself scanning the crowd
every few feet for a sign of Puck, but either he’s already downstairs or he
hasn’t left his room yet.
It’s not until Kurt reaches the base of the spiral staircase that he remembers
he was supposed to call Blaine when he got back last night. He winces and tugs
his bag a little higher on his shoulder and considers just going into
breakfast, but he knows he’s going to have to face Blaine eventually. He owes
him some kind of explanation; he just wishes he had a little more time to think
of one.
Long before he’s ready Blaine appears, his usual smile a little guarded and
Kurt does his best not to wince. He’s not stupid, after all, and he has to have
gathered by now that something’s not right. Kurt forces a smile and leans up to
brush his lips against Blaine’s, then he pulls back and smiles a little more
genuinely.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call. We got back late and I was tired and it just slipped
my mind.”
“It’s fine, I had a Latin test to study for anyway,” Blaine says. He rests a
hand on Kurt’s back and guides him toward the dining room, scanning the crowd
as they take their place in line and Kurt has to work hard not to follow his
gaze. “Where’s Noah?”
Kurt shrugs and does his best not to show just how much the question bothers
him. “I wouldn’t know. I think he’s decided to expand his social horizons.”
Blaine raises his eyebrows but doesn’t comment, and Kurt swallows hard against
a fresh rush of guilt. Because Blaine’s the perfect boyfriend, loyal and
understanding and sweet and not jealous at all, and Kurt wishes he could want
all that.
He thinks of the text message saved in his phone and blushes when he realizes
that Puck’s right. He has to decide what he wants, or more to the point, he has
to admit it, because he’s known for some time now that what he wants isn’t
understanding and sweet.
~
Kurt doesn’t see Puck at breakfast, but they share most of the same classes, so
Puck can’t avoid him completely. He can pretend Kurt doesn’t exist and sit as
far away from him as possible, though, and that’s exactly what he does. All
through Geometry Kurt glances to his right, expecting to find Puck lounging at
his desk with his blazer hanging open, looking like a Tommy Hilfiger ad and
smirking at him.
Instead he finds that pudgy kid from Savannah, the one with the lazy Southern
accent whose mother sends him constant care packages of baked goods featuring
pecans. He’s a walking cliche, but Kurt doesn’t really mind. What he minds is
that he’s not Puck, and that means Kurt’s heart drops into the pit of his
stomach every time he looks over and catches sight of dark skin above a too-
tight white collar.
Every time it happens he has to remind himself not to look over his shoulder at
the desk in the back row, one row over and to his left. Once or twice he looks
anyway, and when he does he finds Puck lounging in his chair, legs stretched
out and his tie pulled just a little loose and resolutely staring toward the
front of the room.
Puck refuses to look at him through European History and English Lit, and even
when they split up for their language classes Kurt finds himself seeking out
glimpses of that stupid mohawk in the hall. It’s no surprise that Puck doesn’t
join him for lunch, but it stings a little anyway, especially when he spots
Puck at a table across the room, talking to a couple guys Kurt doesn’t know.
Blaine’s waiting for him at their usual table, and Kurt pushes Puck to the back
of his mind and flashes a smile as he slides into the chair across from
Blaine’s.
“Everything okay?” Blaine asks.
“Of course, why wouldn’t it be?” Kurt answers, but he sounds a little too
cheerful even to his own ears, and he knows Blaine’s not buying it when he
smiles and shakes his head.
“It’s just kind of weird, having you all to myself again.”
Kurt feels his smile slip a little and he knows Blaine doesn’t miss it. He
knows he has to come clean, but he doesn’t want to do it now. Not here, in
front of the entire school.
“Honestly, Puck and I were never even friends,” Kurt says, and that much, at
least, isn’t really a lie. “It was only a matter of time before he found
someone more like himself to entertain him. Student mentors aren’t forever,
right?”
“Right,” Blaine says, but it’s obvious he doesn’t believe Kurt, and Kurt can’t
really blame him.
Kurt tells himself not to look at Puck, then he glances across the dining hall
anyway, his heart skipping a beat when he finds Puck looking right at him. As
soon as their eyes meet Puck looks away, but not before Kurt catches a glimpse
of the same wounded expression he saw yesterday, just before Puck said, “Got me
there, Hummel,” and got out of his car.
He wants to go over there and tell Puck he’s sorry, beg if he has to, but he’s
not even sure what he’d be apologizing for. All he knows is that for awhile
Puck wanted to be around him, and somewhere along the way Kurt sort of got used
to having him around.
A hand covers his and Kurt blinks and looks up, blushing when he finds Blaine
watching him. “Are you sure you’re okay, Kurt? Did something happen while you
were home?”
Yes, Kurt thinks, but he doesn’t say it, because the truth is he doesn’t know
what happened. Instead he shakes his head and turns his hand in Blaine’s until
he’s sliding their fingers together.
“Nothing happened. It was sort of boring, actually. I’m glad to be back.”
Blaine smiles and squeezes Kurt’s hand, then he stands up and pulls Kurt to his
feet. They walk to his next class together, and that’s new, because Blaine’s
never walked him to class before. Most of the school is still in the dining
hall when they get there, so Kurt leans against the wall next to his classroom
and lets Blaine lean into him, rests a hand on his chest and looks down at his
fingers where they’re pressed against Blaine’s blazer.
The same blazer they all wear, and if Kurt doesn’t look up he can imagine that
this is how his hand would look pressed against Puck’s chest.
As soon as he realizes he’s thinking it he does look up, eyes wide and cheeks
burning and he’s the worst kind of liar there is, because he’s been lying to
himself as much as everyone else.
“Something did happen this weekend.”
Blaine sighs and Kurt feels him slump a little under his hand, then he pulls
away and Kurt curls his hand into his own chest. “You and Noah?”
“I didn’t cheat on you,” Kurt says, not that he has any reason to be proud of
that, because he might as well have. “There’s not...there’s no ‘me and Noah’.
He won’t even look at me.”
Except that’s not true, because Puck was looking at him just a few minutes ago,
and Kurt can still feel those eyes on him even though Puck’s nowhere in sight.
“I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Kurt.” Blaine smiles then, sad and sort of
resigned and Kurt hates himself a little more for letting it get this far. “I
admit that I sort of hoped you’d choose me, but I know when to admit defeat.”
“I’m not choosing...” Kurt stops talking abruptly when he hears himself trying
to talk Blaine out of breaking up. Because he’s not choosing Puck -- even if he
wants to, Puck doesn’t want him back -- but he knows he can’t stay with Blaine,
either.
“You’ve been amazing,” Kurt says, and he knows it’s the wrong thing to say. He
probably sounds like every bad romantic movie ever made, but he doesn’t have a
frame of reference for breaking up with someone. “You were there when no one
else was, and I’ll always be grateful for that. I mean, as first boyfriends go,
you were pretty much perfect.”
Blaine smiles at that, and it’s a perfect smile. He reaches up and touches
Kurt’s cheek, then he lets out a little sigh and pulls his hand away and Kurt
wishes all over again that he felt about Blaine the way he feels -- God help
him -- about Puck.
“Not so perfect,” Blaine says, still smiling, but it’s sort of wistful now. “I
didn’t want to pressure you because of what happened with that football player
at your old school. I thought you might need some time before you felt safe
again.”
And he was right; Kurt did need time, to come to terms with what did happen and
what could have happened. He needed time and distance to realize that what he
wants isn’t wrong just because the wrong person tried to force it on him before
he was ready, and maybe he needed Noah Puckerman to come along and remind him
that a letter jacket and an attitude problem don’t necessarily make someone a
complete jerk.
“I’m sorry,” Kurt says, and that’s something he’s been saying a lot lately.
Instead of answering Blaine shakes his head, then he looks down for a few
seconds before he looks back up to smile at Kurt. “So you and Noah, huh?”
“No,” Kurt says, maybe a little too forcefully, but he doesn’t want Blaine to
walk away believing something that isn’t true. “There’s not...I won’t deny that
I have...feelings. But I said some things this weekend, and I don’t think I can
take them back.”
“Maybe not,” Blaine says, then he shrugs and flashes Kurt another perfect
smile. “But you’ll never know until you try.”
Kurt smiles back and lets Blaine lean in, fingers curling around the edge of
Blaine’s blazer as he presses one last kiss to Kurt’s lips. Then he pulls away
and takes a couple steps backwards, watching Kurt, just for a few seconds
before he turns and walks down the hall toward the senior wing.
It’s not until he’s gone that Kurt realizes there’s someone at the end of the
hall, standing in the entrance to the bathroom watching Blaine kiss him
goodbye. Puck doesn’t look away when their eyes meet this time, but his smirk
is mocking and angry in a way that Kurt hasn’t seen since before Puck joined
Glee. His heart twists in his chest and he pushes off the wall, lips parting to
say Puck’s name, but before he can breathe a timid “Noah”, Puck’s already
walking away.
~
If Kurt’s life were a bad romantic movie, he’d fast forward from the moment
Puck saw him breaking up with Blaine to the next time they ran into each other,
maybe in a restaurant or coffee shop that used to mean something to them, or
even in the grocery store late at night when they’re both on a milk run.
But Kurt’s life is just...his life, and his life is currently playing out in a
fairly exclusive school, so he can’t help running into Puck all the time. Only
there’s no awkward greeting, no shy smile and ‘how’ve you been’, awkward small
talk until finally someone breaks the ice and they can get back to
being...whatever. There’s just Puck, a constant presence in his life, like this
weird feedback in the background that he can’t quite shake.
They see each other in classes and at meals, in the dorm and in the study
lounge. They’re together constantly, but they mostly just pretend they don’t
even notice. They don’t speak at all, and Kurt wants to tell Puck that he
finally took his advice, that he finally decided what he wants and told Blaine
the truth, but he can’t.
He can’t just walk up to Puck and blurt it out, and Puck seems to have made it
his mission in life to pretend Kurt doesn’t even exist, so after a week Kurt
concedes the fact that they’ve reached a bit of an impasse.
He’s not dating Blaine anymore, but they’ve stayed friends, mostly through
virtue of the fact that they’re both Warblers. And the funny thing is that not
much has changed about their relationship, other than the fact that Blaine
doesn’t reach for his hand anymore and they sit with some of the other Warblers
during meals.
Puck’s still sitting on the other side of the dining hall, and Kurt doesn’t ask
about his new friends, but he must be looking a little too often, because one
night at dinner Blaine leans over and whispers, “Baseball team,” in his ear.
Kurt blushes and pretends he doesn’t know what Blaine’s talking about, but they
both know it’s a lie.
He considers texting Puck once or twice, just to say that he’s sorry. He owes
Puck that much, at least, but somehow a text seems worse than saying nothing at
all. So he keeps his distance and he fails at pretending he’s fine with the way
things are between them, and he watches Puck getting on with his life.
Which mostly consists of watching Puck, in class or in the study lounge, across
the dining hall at meals and on the quad on the weekends, playing touch
football with his new friends. Somehow Puck always ends up on the Skins, and
it’s not that Kurt’s complaining or anything, but watching Puck sweat while
he’s only half-dressed just makes him even more acutely aware of how badly he’s
messed up his life.
He still disappears right in the middle of dinner two nights a week, every
Monday and Wednesday, just like clockwork. For two weeks Kurt watches him
swallow an entire glass of milk and stand up, wiping his mouth with the back of
his hand and glancing in Kurt’s direction without actually looking before he
says goodbye to his new friends and walks out of the dining hall.
On the first night of the third week Kurt’s sitting at his usual table, Blaine
on one side of him with his arm sort of draped across the back of Kurt’s chair,
not touching or anything, but almost like he’s forgotten that they’re not
dating anymore. It feels that way sometimes, like he forgets, and Kurt’s really
trying to be realistic about this, but he swears every once in awhile he sees
Puck casting jealous glances in Blaine’s direction.
They’re right in the middle of a discussion about Warblers tryouts when Puck
makes his usual exit, and Kurt stands up right in the middle of a heated debate
about whether to break with tradition and hold a special fall tryout for
incoming freshmen and follows him out. Vaguely he registers the sound of Blaine
saying his name, but he doesn’t look back. He just follows Puck out of the
dining hall, keeping his distance as they cross the foyer and Puck pulls open
the front door.
He waits until he thinks it’s safe and eases the door open again, slipping out
after Puck and scanning the grounds for a glimpse of him. When he sees Puck
already halfway across the quad Kurt hurries after him, right to the edge of
the quad and a group of low brick buildings he’s never been in before. He
thinks they might be administrative offices, but there’s no sign out front to
tell him.
Puck knocks on one of the doors and waits a few seconds, then he pulls it open
and disappears inside. Kurt waits, but after fifteen minutes Puck still hasn’t
come back out. Half an hour passes while Kurt imagines all kinds of scenarios,
from Puck being tutored in Geometry -- a job Kurt was handling just fine, thank
you very much, until Puck stopped speaking to him -- to Puck engaging in some
sort of clandestine rendezvous with a girl from town or worse, a member of the
faculty.
Kurt’s stomach twists and he grips his messenger bag a little tighter, willing
himself to turn around and go back to the dorms when finally the door opens
again and Puck steps out. He’s followed by a woman, but she’s older than Kurt
expected and a little thick around the middle, with white hair and those wire-
rimmed glasses with a beaded chain hanging around her neck. She’s wearing a
flowing two-piece ensemble that looks as though it’s made of some sort of dyed
burlap, and Kurt’s not sure whether to be more scandalized by her age, or her
bad fashion sense.
He knows he should make his escape before Puck turns around and sees him, but
Puck’s got his hands in his pockets and he’s smiling at the woman and Kurt’s
legs have betrayed him completely, because he seems to be rooted to the spot.
He can’t do anything but watch as Puck says something else that makes the woman
smile, then Puck smiles back at her and gives her a little wave and turns back
toward the school.
It takes a moment or two for him to spot Kurt, but when he does his grin fades
and he shakes his head and changes direction. Before Kurt has time to make a
break for it Puck’s standing in front of him, expression completely unreadable
and Kurt isn’t sure whether to be terrified or just sad.
“So, what, are you stalking me now?”
“That’s rich, coming from you,” Kurt says, his cheeks flushing and it only gets
worse when Puck smirks at him. “If you must know, I was curious where it is you
sneak off to during dinner. I can’t say I’m surprised to find you with an older
woman, though I have to say, she hardly seems like your usual type.”
Kurt expects Puck to flash that feral grin and tell Kurt beggars can’t be
choosers or something. It’s obvious Puck isn’t having an affair with whoever
that woman is, but Kurt sort of expects him to pretend he is, just to get Kurt
to back off. What he doesn’t expect is for Puck to roll his eyes and start
walking back toward the school, leaving Kurt to scurry after him.
“She’s my therapist, genius,” Puck says, glancing back at Kurt for some kind of
reaction. “Anger management, every Monday and Wednesday after classes. That’s
how Schue got them to let me come here instead of shipping me back to Juvie. He
smoothed it over with my social worker. She just gave me the all clear to try
out for baseball. Says I’m progressing ‘more quickly than expected’, whatever
that means.”
“It means you didn’t need anger management in the first place,” Kurt says, but
he’s not entirely convinced it’s true. Puck has changed a lot since he came to
Dalton, and if two therapy sessions a week is the reason, then maybe Mr.
Schuester did him a favor when he let Puck take the blame for Finn.
“Yeah, well, whatever, as long as they let me play baseball. I have to do
something, I’m going crazy in this place.”
Kurt bites down hard on the urge to suggest that Puck could just start
following him around all the time again. After all, it seemed to keep him
pretty busy for the first month, so there’s no reason Kurt couldn’t be a
distraction again. And he wants to be a distraction; the trouble is that once
he admits it, Puck’s going to expect him to follow through, and Kurt’s not sure
if he can.
“Warblers tryouts are tomorrow. If, you know, you’re interested. It’s more
competitive than New Directions, but the director’s not obsessed with Journey,
so that’s a plus.”
“Yeah, I know,” Puck says, casting a sidelong glance at him. “Your boy told me
last week.”
“Blaine’s not...he’s not my boy,” Kurt says, cheeks burning as his mouth forms
the word ‘boy’. “We broke up.”
“Why? Did he finally ask for something more than a peck on the cheek?”
Puck’s smile makes Kurt think of rough hands and a sea of letter jackets and
the smell of garbage in a heavy metal dumpster. He flinches and crosses his
arms over his chest, wondering for the thousandth time what he’s doing. Why
he’s even trying when this thing with Puck doesn’t even make any sense.
His mouth opens to snap a cutting response, something unimaginative like it’s
none of your business or unlike you, Blaine’s actually a gentleman, but before
he gets the words out there’s a hand on his shoulder, then Puck’s turning Kurt
to face him.
“He didn’t do something to you, did he? Jesus, Hummel, if he did...”
Kurt’s not a victim. He doesn’t need protecting, not from his brother or Blaine
or even Puck. But the way Puck’s looking at him makes his heart beat a little
faster, and the hand on his shoulder feels warm and solid and he wants to keep
it there as long as he can.
“Think about who we’re talking about, Noah.”
For a second Puck just stares at him with those dark eyes and that intense
expression, gaze wandering the length of Kurt’s body like maybe he’s looking
for some sign that there’s something not quite right. When he doesn’t find one
he nods and lets go, and it takes every ounce of self-control Kurt’s got not to
reach for his hand and put it back on his shoulder again.
“Guess you’ve got a point. Still, that dude is so nice there has to be
something wrong with him.”
Kurt opens his mouth to defend Blaine, then he remembers that he doesn’t have
to anymore. Not that he thinks there’s anything wrong with genuinely being a
nice person, but he figures it’s okay if he lets Puck think there is, at least
when it comes to his ex-boyfriend.
Instead he smirks and casts a sidelong glance at Puck as they turn to walk back
toward the school again. His blazer’s open and his tie’s loose, and Kurt can
see a glimpse of golden skin right at the base of his neck. He feels his cheeks
burn again and hopes Puck will chalk it up to embarrassment over his protective
streak.
“Maybe I broke up with him to get you to stop asking ridiculous questions about
my sex life.”
“You dumped your boyfriend for me? I’m flattered, Hummel.”
Puck grins at him then, and he’s joking, but there’s something about the way
he’s looking at Kurt that makes Kurt think maybe it doesn’t have to be a joke.
That if he just says the right thing, everything will change between them, only
for the better this time. But he doesn’t know what Puck wants to hear, so he
just shrugs and looks away, down the quad to the row of tall pines blocking the
sports complex from view.
“You were there, actually. It was the day after we got back from Lima, in the
hall outside English.”
And it’s not a confirmation, but it’s not a denial either. If Puck wants to
think he’s the reason Kurt ended things with Blaine...well, it’s as close to
the truth as any other reason he could give. “You were right, you know. About
me needing to decide what I want.”
“Yeah?” Puck says, and his voice sounds a little rough, but when Kurt looks
over at him Puck’s not looking back. “So did you figure out what you want?”
“I think I’m getting there.”
They’re almost to the stairs when Kurt stops, and as soon as he realizes Kurt’s
not next to him anymore Puck turns around to look at him. And if Kurt were any
good at this sort of thing, this would be the moment when he just tells Puck
the truth, just opens his mouth and says, “What I want is you.”
He doesn’t have a single reason to think Puck’s any less painfully straight
than he was during their entire career at McKinley, and even if he is suddenly
embracing his bi-curious side, Kurt doesn’t have a reason to assume Puck wants
to...well, embrace anything with Kurt specifically. He’s never been the type to
delay gratification, after all, and Kurt always assumed that someone like Puck
would just take what they wanted and ask questions later.
I don’t take anything that’s not on offer.
The words ring in Kurt’s head, Puck’s voice low and dangerous and sending a
shiver down his spine even though he said them over two weeks ago. He thinks he
finally understands what Puck was saying, and he thinks he understands now why
Puck was so angry when Kurt made a stupid, thoughtless joke about the ATM.
“Noah, I...”
Puck’s just standing there looking at him, the flaps of his blazer catching a
little in the warm spring breeze. He’s as beautiful as ever, maybe even moreso
in his uniform, and Kurt wishes more than anything that he knew what to do. But
this is Puck’s area of expertise, and if he’s not going to help, Kurt’s not
sure how to get there on his own.
“Why?” he finally says, and when he sees something flash in Puck’s eyes he
knows that’s not what Puck was expecting to hear. “I understand why you took
the fall for Finn. It was more noble than I would have given you credit for, I
admit, and I’m glad that Schue stepped in and made sure you didn’t pay an even
higher price for someone else’s mistake. But once you got here, you didn’t have
to hang around me. We were never friends, even in Glee. You could have just
ignored me and gotten on with your life.”
Puck sighs and reaches up to rest a hand at the back of his neck, rubbing a
little and Kurt wonders if he’s always tense after therapy. Wonders if Puck
would let him rub that tension out of his shoulders, peel his blazer and his
tie off and then his shirt, until he’s down to skin that Kurt’s seen more than
once, but never imagined he’d get a chance to touch.
“Do you know what Hudson said to me when he found out Schue got me in here?”
Puck asks. He’s looking right at Kurt, but when Kurt shakes his head Puck looks
away, across the grounds in the direction they just came.
“He asked me not to be an asshole to you. Said I could pretend you didn’t exist
if I wanted, but that you’d already put up with enough bullshit and you didn’t
deserve any more. He didn’t come right out and say it like you did, but he was
thinking the same thing: that I’m no different from Karofsky.”
Kurt’s stomach clenches at the thought, because that wasn’t what he’d meant
when he said those words to Puck. He’d been a bully and a jerk, yes, and in
some ways he had been just like Karofsky. Brutish and thoughtless and hiding
behind a letter jacket, and it wasn’t until his fall from grace with Glee and
then the baby scandal that Puck finally realized what it was like on the other
side.
But no matter what Puck was back then, he was never a rapist.
It’s the first time Kurt’s let himself think the word. He’s not even positive
it applies to Karofsky, and if it had ended with the one kiss he never would
have thought it at all. But there were the looks in the halls for weeks after,
the whispered threats and the winks and Kurt shivers at the memory, and he
wraps his arms tight around himself.
“Finn was wrong. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have said that, Noah. I didn’t even
mean it, not the way it sounded. I’m sorry.”
Puck waves off the apology, like maybe he thinks he doesn’t deserve it. “No, he
was right. I was a dick to you for a long time, and you didn’t deserve it. So
when I got here, I figured I’d look out for you. Have your back, make sure
everything was cool and you weren’t just blowing smoke so your old man wouldn’t
worry.”
Puck shrugs and looks at him again, and Kurt’s heart does a somersault in his
chest.
“It started as a favor for Finn. But after awhile...I don’t know, I kinda liked
hanging out with you.”
“It was sort of nice, having my own personal shadow,” Kurt admits, chancing a
smile and when Puck laughs his heart flutters all over again.
“I don’t think your boyfriend appreciated it much.”
“He doesn’t get a vote anymore.”
He could be wrong, because Kurt still doesn’t have a lot of practical
experience, and things between him and Blaine were never this...awkward. They
didn’t have the kind of history he and Puck have, for one, and it turns out
that makes a difference. So Kurt doesn’t know or anything, but he thinks Puck
might actually be flirting with him.
For a minute they just stand there, the words sort of hanging in the air
between them and Kurt knows he should do something, say something witty or
clever or just true, like, “I miss you.”
He thinks if he just knew the right thing to do that Puck would give him
whatever he asked for. Only he has no idea how to ask, and another minute ticks
by with both of them just standing there, letting the silence grow.
“I gotta go,” Puck finally says, gesturing toward the dorms and Kurt’s nodding,
but all he can think is he’s leaving? “We’ve got this group project deal for
Spanish and my group’s supposed to get together, like, ten minutes ago.”
“Oh,” Kurt says, then, “Of course. I’ll just see you later.”
“Yeah,” Puck says, and he doesn’t sound all that much like he wants to go, but
he’s backing toward the stairs anyway. “See you later, Kurt.”
Then he’s gone, and Kurt stands at the bottom of the stairs for a long time,
wondering what he should have said to make Puck stay.
~
He doesn’t see Puck for the rest of the night. Not that Kurt has any reason to
think he will, but he still drags himself to bed far later than he should
feeling vaguely disappointed. On Tuesday he showers and brushes his teeth and
gets dressed, just the same as every morning, lecturing himself the entire time
about the dangers of expecting too much.
There’s no reason to think things are going to go back to the way they used to
be just because they had one conversation. So Kurt apologized and Puck accepted
-- more or less -- and the air’s clear now. All that really means is they can
both get on with their lives without the weight of that conversation in the
Navigator hanging over them. It doesn’t mean Puck’s going to start following
him around again, even if Kurt all but admitted how much he misses it.
He sighs and wanders down to breakfast, waves at a few members of the Warblers
and takes his place in line. And he’s not looking -- he’s not -- but the line’s
right there in front of him, so he can’t really help noticing Puck standing
with his friends a little way ahead of him.
Kurt doesn’t realize he’s staring until Puck looks over at him, then turns back
to his friends and says something before he steps out of line and walks back to
Kurt.
“Hey.”
“Good morning,” Kurt says, his heart thudding hard against his ribcage when
Puck slides into line next to him. He thinks about telling Puck he didn’t have
to leave his friends for Kurt’s sake, but he doesn’t want Puck to take it the
wrong way, and he doesn’t want Puck to leave, either, so instead he says,
“how’d the Spanish project go?”
Puck shrugs and shoves his hands in the pockets of his uniform pants, rocking
on his heels a little and Kurt’s not positive, but he thinks he’s actually
witnessing Noah Puckerman nervous.
“Okay, I guess. This one dude did most of the work. Total overachiever. He kind
of reminded me of you the last time Mr. Schue made us split up into guys versus
girls and you went totally nuts with the costumes and stuff.”
Kurt blushes and opens his mouth to point out that they were doing
traditionally female music, so who better to take over, really? But that was
right around the time the whole thing with Karofsky started, and it was the
week he met Blaine, and he doesn’t really want to think about any of that.
“So are you coming to tryouts today?” Kurt asks, and Puck grins and lets him
change the subject.
“I don’t know, seems like the competition’s pretty steep. I mean, I’ve thought
about it some and I’ve got a number I’ve kind of been messing around with, but
I’m not sure it’s right for those guys.”
“The competition is steep,” Kurt agrees, “but you’ve got a really strong voice,
Noah. I always thought you were even stronger than Finn. If it weren’t for Mr.
Schuester’s inappropriate crush on my stepbrother, we both would have been
featured more.”
“Dude, seriously,” Puck says, and Kurt can’t help laughing at the look on his
face. “I thought I was the only one who noticed the total boner Schue had for
Hudson.”
And okay, that’s a little more graphic a description than Kurt would use, but
it amounts to the same thing. Schue’s had a hard-on for Finn’s voice, at least,
since sophomore year, and if he has any other interest in Finn, Kurt really
doesn’t want to know.
“So you’ll try out, then?”
“Sure, if it means that much to you,” Puck says. “Baseball tryouts aren’t until
Friday anyway.”
“Good.” Kurt smiles and picks up his tray, then he realizes that they never
actually said they were having breakfast together. For a moment he just stands
there, blushing and wondering if this is where he’s supposed to say goodbye and
go sit with the Warblers while Puck goes back to the baseball team.
Then Puck nods toward a free table and sort of grins at him, like maybe he’s
laughing at Kurt, just a little. And he probably is, but Kurt doesn’t even care
anymore. He follows Puck to the table and slides into the chair across from
him, watching him spread butter on his toast.
“So what are you planning to sing?”
“You’ll find out at tryouts, just like everybody else.”
Puck grins and takes a bite of toast, and Kurt watches his throat move for a
few seconds before he catches himself and looks up again.
“Seriously? You’re not going to tell me.”
“You wouldn’t know it anyway,” Puck answers. “Why, are you worried I’m going to
embarrass you or something?”
“No,” Kurt says, blushing even harder because he’s not worried, except that
okay, maybe he is, a little. Puck is the guy who refused to sing anything but
songs written and performed by Jews the entire time they were in New
Directions, after all.
“It’s just...this is a serious show choir, Noah. It’s not like New Directions.
That was just Mr. Schuester recapturing his misspent youth and Rachel enjoying
the sound of her own voice far too much. It was fun and all, but let’s face it,
it was kind of a joke.”
“Better not let Berry hear you say that,” is all Puck says, then he turns his
attention to his breakfast and refuses to talk about it anymore.
~
Kurt spends the rest of the day trying to get Puck to cough up the name of the
song he’s been working on. He tries begging, he tries threatening, he even
tries reasoning, but Puck just laughs every time and accuses Kurt of not
trusting him. Which he doesn’t, really, because Puck’s never chosen the best
songs to showcase his voice, and there’s no reason to assume he’s suddenly
developed better taste in music over the past few months.
He holds out all through their classes and every meal, shaking his head and
flashing a vaguely affectionate smile every time Kurt tries to steer the
conversation back to tryouts. After awhile Kurt stops caring so much about the
name of the song, but he keeps asking anyway, because he’s starting to get
addicted to that smile.
Once dinner’s over and they’re actually on their way to tryouts, however, his
panic at the thought of Puck’s poor taste in music comes back in full force.
“Just, please, whatever you do, don’t tell the director that you only sing
songs by Jews, okay?”
The look Puck gives him this time is less affectionate than it is exasperated.
“I only started that to annoy Berry anyway. I never refused to sing anything
that wasn’t written by a Jew, did I?”
“No,” Kurt admits, but that’s not really the point and they both know it. “I
know how talented you are, Noah. I just want to make sure everyone else here
sees that too.”
Puck stops just outside the choir room and reaches out, catching Kurt by the
wrist and pulling him back into the hallway. He leans in close and Kurt’s
breath catches in his throat, gaze focused on Puck’s mouth as his lips curve
into a familiar smile.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he says, dropping his voice so that Kurt
has to sway a little closer to hear. “But you gotta relax, Kurt. I got this.”
Then Puck lets go of his wrist and steps around him, into the choir room and
toward the table where the other hopefuls are lined up to put their names on
the sign-up sheet. For a long moment Kurt just stands in the hallway and stares
at the wall, wondering what Puck would have done if Kurt leaned in and kissed
him.
When he finally follows Puck into the choir room auditions are already
underway. He takes a seat near the back so he won’t interrupt the freshman
currently belting out a number from Godspell, of all things. Kurt passes the
time searching the room for Puck, spotting him on the opposite side of the room
leaning back in a chair, arms crossed over his chest and his legs stretched out
in front of him.
He looks over when Kurt spots him, smirking from across the room and nodding
toward the kid singing, and Kurt rolls his eyes and fails to stifle a smile.
And he’s not making fun of the freshman -- his voice actually isn’t terrible -
- but his song choice could certainly use some help. Then again, if they’re
going to let the Christian contingent have their say, maybe Puck should stick
with the Jewish theme, just to even the score.
Kurt drags his gaze away from Puck as the last strains of “God Save the People”
reverberate around the room. Blaine’s sitting in the front row with some of the
other seniors, listening attentively and standing up to thank the kid when he
finishes. He’s got the roster in his hand and he scans the list for a few
seconds before he looks up, grinning at the hopefuls waiting in the chairs
across the room.
“Noah Puckerman. Looks like you’re up.”
Kurt doesn’t know if it’s a breach of etiquette, calling the names out of order
that way. He knows as well as Blaine does that Puck’s name is near the bottom
of the list, so he should be left to sweat out the auditions for as long as
possible. But none of the other Warblers seems to have an issue with it, so
maybe it’s tradition to keep the hopefuls on their toes by calling them out of
order.
Puck stands up and rolls his shoulders, and Kurt sits forward in his chair and
chants pleasenotBillyJoelpleasenotBillyJoel over and over in his head. He
watches Puck walk to the center of the room, and the thing is, he’s heard Puck
sing countless times, but he’s never heard him sing a cappella. Not that he has
any doubt Puck will do fine. He clutches the sides of his chair anyway,
knuckles white and leaning forward as Puck clears his throat and glances at
him.
“This is something I’ve been messing around with for a little while now,” Puck
says. “It’s a little rough, but you should get the picture.”
Then he opens his mouth and launches into a song Kurt’s never heard before.
It’s sort of slow and a little gritty, the kind of song that suits the lower
end of Puck’s range. It lets him growl around the chorus, something about going
home to someone and putting on some kind of show. It takes a little while and
some more nonsensical lyrics, but finally it dawns on Kurt what Puck meant by
‘messing around’ with the song.
The lyrics are bizarre and they mostly don’t make any sense, but somehow they
get their point across anyway. They’re about falling for someone and cutting
through all the dating rules and just being with the person you want to be
with, and only Puck could have written them.
He sounds good. Not tremendous or anything; he probably sounded better that
time he sang Sammy, but it’s obvious he feels every word of this song in a way
Kurt hasn’t seen since that one time he sort of sang about his daughter. He
sounds honest, and by the time he’s done some of the Warblers are keeping time
with their feet or their hands.
Kurt’s never sat in on auditions before, but he’s pretty sure that’s a good
sign. Then Blaine stands up again, reaching out to shake Puck’s hand and thank
him for the audition.
“I didn’t recognize that one,” he says, and if Kurt didn’t know better he’d
think there was a hint of challenge in Blaine’s voice. “Who wrote it?”
“I did,” Puck says, shrugging and glancing over at Kurt and it’s a weird
moment, because he knows Blaine’s okay with their break-up, but it’s sort of
strange to see him facing off with Puck.
“Wow, that’s really impressive,” Blaine says, and his smile looks just as
genuine as usual from where Kurt’s sitting. “But that’s not really what we do.”
Kurt sort of expects Puck to get defensive, maybe say something like, “What,
you don’t sing?”, or maybe the ever-popular, “Whatever, dude.” Instead he just
nods and glances over at Kurt again, grinning before he turns his back to
Blaine and takes his seat.
He doesn’t have to stay; Kurt’s required to be there, but as soon as their
audition’s over, the rest of them can go if they want. But Puck sits through
the rest of the auditions anyway, leaning over to whisper to one of the other
guys every once in awhile. Every so often he looks over at Kurt, and when he
catches Kurt looking at him he just laughs and shakes his head and turns his
attention back to the auditions.
It takes two hours to get through all the auditions, and by the time they’re
through Kurt wants nothing more than to go back to the dorms and badger Puck
until he tells Kurt when, exactly, he started writing his own music. But the
Warblers have to discuss the auditions and make some decisions about who to
call back, and that means Kurt probably won’t get to talk to Puck at all until
tomorrow.
He waits until Blaine thanks everyone for trying out and promises to post the
call-back list by lunch the next day before he stands up, lingering in the back
of the room until Puck crosses the room to stop in front of him.
“So technically that song was written by a Jew,” Puck says, grinning when Kurt
laughs.
“I gathered,” Kurt says. “It was really good, Noah. I had no idea you wrote
your own music.”
Puck shrugs, but he’s smiling like he’s surprised that Kurt actually liked it.
“It’s part of my therapy or whatever. Sounds better with a guitar behind it,
but it seemed like it went okay.”
“I’d like to hear it sometime. With the guitar, I mean.”
Puck grins and sways a little closer, voice dropping into that low growl that
sends blood rushing to all sorts of inconvenient places. “If you want to hang
out with me, you can just say so, Hummel.”
Kurt feels his whole face flush, and he opens his mouth even though he has no
idea what to say to that. He could deny it, but that would be a lie and they’d
both know it. Or he could just admit that he does want to hang out with Puck,
and he doesn’t even care what they do. Except he’s pretty sure he has admitted
that.
“Kurt, are you coming or what?”
The sound of his name makes him blush even harder, and Kurt and Puck both look
over to find Blaine and most of the Warblers looking at them. He swallows
against the rush of guilt and embarrassment and turns back to Puck, but before
he embarrasses himself even further Puck rests a hand on his bicep and leans in
to whisper right next to his ear.
“I don’t think your boy likes me much anymore.”
“Ex,” Kurt corrects him.
“Yeah,” Puck says, grinning at him up close and it makes Kurt’s heart stutter
in his chest. “I think that’s the problem.”
Then he’s gone, and he still hasn’t kissed Kurt, which admittedly is the right
approach, considering Blaine clearly isn’t as okay with the concept of Kurt and
Noah as he pretended, but that doesn’t make Kurt feel any less like he was just
cheated out of something amazing.
~
In Kurt’s opinion, it takes far too long to decide who to call back for the
next round of tryouts. It should be an easy decision; it was clear who was
right for the group and who wasn’t, and Puck’s at the top of Kurt’s personal
callback list.
It’s not even because he’s biased; Puck has a great voice, and he’ll fill a gap
in their range that will be left when this year’s seniors graduate. He’s not
surprised that Blaine waffles a little on letting Puck in, as though it will
even matter to him next year when he’s in college, singing with a new show
choir. He’s not surprised that a couple of Blaine’s friends back him up,
either, and as the newest member of the group -- and the one who got special
dispensation for dating a senior member -- Kurt’s vote doesn’t exactly count
for much.
And it’s weird, because he’s a Warbler now and Puck’s still a piece of his
history that was part of New Directions, but Puck’s starting to be more than
either of those things, and Kurt doesn’t want to choose between show choir and
someone who’s important to him.
In the end he doesn’t have to, because Blaine and his Yes Men are mostly
shouted down by the rest of the group. It’s all very polite -- nothing like the
name-calling and insults that made up the bulk of their ‘debates’ about
artistic style in New Directions -- but Kurt can’t help thinking that Blaine’s
smile when he bows to the group’s wishes is just a little bitter.
So Puck’s in, at least for the second round of callbacks, and Kurt tries not to
be smug about it, because sure, he’s a Warbler now, but he used to be a member
of New Directions, and he wouldn’t have wasted his time if they’d been
completely untalented.
He tries to keep the news to himself the next morning at breakfast, because the
callback sheet hasn’t been posted yet and he’s not supposed to give anyone
advance information. So he tries to act normal when Puck catches up with him in
the dining room, but his lips keep quirking up at the corners and finally Puck
laughs and rests a hand on Kurt’s back, then he leans close and says, “Awesome
poker face, Hummel.”
Kurt turns pink, of course, but Puck, at least, knows how to play it cool, and
anyone who happens to glance their way is more likely to think Puck just said
something embarrassingly intimate than that he guessed he’s made it through the
first round of auditions. His hand’s still resting on Kurt’s back, large and
warm and Kurt can’t help wondering how it would feel in his own hand. On his
skin, or reaching up to loosen Kurt’s tie. Or leaving his tie just the way he
finds it and using it to pull Kurt forward into a kiss.
This time he flushes hot and red, fingers gripping the edges of his tray hard
as he lets Puck steer him through the dining room to their usual table. When
they reach their seats Puck’s hand leaves his back, which makes it a little
easier to breathe, but Kurt wishes he would keep touching anyway.
“So,” he says, and when his voice cracks he clears his throat and tries again.
“So have you considered what you might sing, if you’re called back for the
second round of auditions?”
Puck glances toward the table where Blaine and some of the other Warblers are
sitting, then he lets out a little huff of laughter under his breath and turns
back to Kurt. “Maybe I better play it safe this time. Guess I could bust out
some Journey, just for old times’ sake.”
“Dear God, no.”
“What, you forgetting where you came from already, Hummel?” Puck says, one
corner of his mouth turned up in a familiar smirk, and when Kurt imagines
kissing that expression right off Puck’s face his hands shake so hard he has to
set his coffee back on the table. “Mr. Schue would be totally hurt.”
“I’m not in any danger of forgetting where I come from with you around to
remind me.”
It’s true, and for awhile it was so annoying he spent half his time wanting to
scream. But now...now he doesn’t want to forget how they got here.
“Guess I better stick around, then,” Puck says, watching Kurt over the glass of
milk he drinks every single morning. Full fat, no doubt, and Kurt has no idea
where he’s putting it these days, because he’s not playing football anymore,
but he’s still just as perfect as ever.
Kurt pictures what he’s seen of Puck in locker rooms over the years and flushes
bright red all over again. But he doesn’t look away, and when Puck just grins
at him, Kurt smiles back and picks up his coffee again. So he’s going to be
permanently blushing from now on; he doesn’t even care, as long as Puck keeps
his word about sticking around.
They’re halfway through European History when a piece of paper lands on Kurt’s
desk, and he glances toward the front of the room to make sure their teacher
hasn’t noticed before he unfolds it and reads the single line:
KISS?
At first he thinks Puck’s, like, asking permission, which is sweet and kind of
weird and totally unnecessary. Then he realizes they’re in the middle of a
lecture on the French Revolution, and making an appointment to kiss Kurt seems
a little out of character for Puck.
He glances over anyway, rolling his eyes when he finds Puck smirking at him.
Because of course that’s exactly the conclusion he expected Kurt to jump to,
and now that he doesn’t have football, making Kurt blush is probably his new
favorite sport.
Too emotional, Kurt writes back, and when their teacher turns his back he hands
the paper across the aisle. Puck’s fingers close around his, just for a second,
but somehow time slows down until all Kurt can feel is the warm drag of skin
against skin as Puck’s fingers slide the note out of his hand.
Kurt swallows hard and turns back to the front of the room, and even though
there are no more notes tossed onto his desk, he doesn’t hear another word of
the lecture.
The next note comes during Geometry, while they’re supposed to be working out a
particularly tricky problem involving scalene triangles. Kurt’s fingers close
around the note as soon as it lands on his desk, but he doesn’t open it right
away. He waits until he’s sure their teacher hasn’t noticed before he unfolds
it, glancing down at the paper and choking on a surprised snort of laughter.
He glances toward the front of the room, then over at Puck, who’s watching him
with those dark eyes and a vaguely amused smile. No, Kurt mouths, then he tucks
the evidence into the pocket of his blazer and doesn’t look over at Puck for
the rest of class.
As soon as their teacher dismisses them Puck follows Kurt out of the classroom,
his features schooled into an innocent frown. “What have you got against Neil?”
“I don’t even know where to start,” Kurt says, and he is not going to laugh,
because that will just encourage Puck, and if they get caught passing notes and
land themselves in detention, they’ll both miss the second round of auditions.
“You got anything against Bob Marley?”
And he doesn’t, really, except that Bob Marley seems a little more like Sam’s
wheelhouse than Puck’s. He opens his mouth to say so, but what comes out is,
“If I wanted to date Sam Evans I would have just stayed at McKinley.”
It doesn’t necessarily have to mean what it sounds like it means, but Puck’s
not stupid, regardless of what Kurt thought of him before he actually got to
know Puck. In fact, when it comes to reading people Puck’s miles ahead of Kurt,
and when Kurt ventures a glance in his direction, Puck doesn’t even look
surprised.
He doesn’t look like he’s thinking about killing Kurt or even messing him up a
little, just to teach him a lesson. Mostly he just looks like he’s been waiting
around for Kurt to catch up with him for awhile.
“That’s good to know. I’ll see you at lunch, Kurt.”
One last flash of that stupid, perfect smile and he’s gone, disappearing into
his Spanish classroom and leaving Kurt standing in the middle of the hall,
blushing furiously and wondering if that means he and Puck are dating, and if
so, how long it’s been going on without his knowledge.
~
The callback list is posted right before lunch, and even though Kurt doesn’t
have to look to know Puck’s name is on it, he wanders over anyway, easing his
way through the crowd to scan the list. And there it is, halfway down, Noah
Puckerman printed in neat twelve-point Times New Roman.
Kurt smiles and turns to squeeze his way back through the crowd, but as soon as
he does he collides with a warm, solid chest. The first thing he sees is the
blazer, which doesn’t tell him anything, but before he even looks up he knows
who it is.
“No last minute bait and switch, then?” Puck asks, and when he feels the words
rumble through Puck’s chest Kurt learns the meaning of ‘swooning’.
“Of course not,” he says, and he’s aware that he sounds a little breathy, but
in his defense, the crowd around them is thick. “Why would there be?”
Puck doesn’t answer right away; instead he reaches out, and at first Kurt
thinks he’s going to close that hand of his around Kurt’s wrist again. Then his
hand slides further down, closing around Kurt’s own hand and pulling him out of
the crowd. Kurt swallows hard and lets Puck lead him to the edge of the foyer
and into the dining hall. He doesn’t let go right away, and Kurt’s so busy
trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Puck’s holding his hand that the
sound of Puck’s voice surprises him.
“All I know is if you’d dumped me for some other guy, I’d be pissed enough to
want to break shit, and if that wasn’t an option, I’d be looking for other ways
to make the dude pay.”
Then he lets go of Kurt’s hand and picks up a tray, chatting up the dining hall
staff while he chooses his lunch and all Kurt can do is trail after him and try
not to humiliate himself in front of the entire school.
He makes it to their table without dropping his tray or tripping over his own
feet or blurting out something inappropriate and humiliating like “I love you”,
and when did he fall in love with Noah Puckerman, exactly? Kurt blinks and
looks across the table to find Puck watching him, his expression dark and kind
of guarded, that combination of nerves and hope that Kurt never imagined he’d
see on Puck, of all people.
Puck who’s taken whatever he wanted for as long as Kurt can remember, who
doesn’t ask permission and certainly doesn’t waste his time worrying about what
other people think. But he formed that opinion before he knew Puck, back when
they were just ‘the gay kid’ and ‘the bully’, ‘the loser and the jock’, roles
neither of them chose, but they played flawlessly.
In all that time they were never...this. Now they’re just Kurt and Noah, and
they’re the ones who get to choose what that means.
“It doesn’t matter what you sing,” Kurt says. He hasn’t even looked down at his
lunch, has no idea what they’re even serving today, because the butterflies in
his stomach are rioting and he’s fairly sure he won’t be able to eat anyway.
“Whatever you choose, you’ll be the best one there.”
Puck’s smile this time is slow and warm and Kurt feels it all the way to his
toes. It curls in his stomach, making the butterflies flutter a little faster
and he feels kind of queasy, but it’s not entirely unpleasant. His skin feels
sort of tight and there’s a steady hum of anticipation thrumming in his veins,
making him feel jumpy and a little buzzed, like that brief period in sophomore
year when April Rhodes supplied him with a daily shot of post-breakfast
courage.
He thinks maybe he should say something, make a suggestion for a song, just to
break the tension. Only he kind of likes the tension, and Puck doesn’t seem to
be in a hurry to break it either. Then someone claps Puck on the shoulder and
just like that the moment’s gone, and Kurt watches Puck grin and shake the hand
of the Warbler who’s stopped by their table to congratulate him, and he doesn’t
imagine stabbing the kid with his fork just for interrupting what he’s pretty
sure was one of the most important moments of his life.
After that they’re interrupted every few minutes by current members of the show
choir and even other hopefuls, and some of them pull up chairs at the table to
talk to Puck about the song he wrote or if he’s thought at all about what he’s
going to sing for the second round of auditions. Some of the other hopefuls
seem like they’re fishing around for advice, and Kurt feels like pinching
himself, because there’s no way this is really happening.
The part where everyone wants to be around Puck is no surprise, but the part
where they’re asking his musical advice is a little unexpected, and the part
where he keeps looking to Kurt for input is even weirder. And he minds that
they don’t get another chance to be alone before their afternoon classes start,
but he can’t do anything about it, so he doesn’t complain when some of Puck’s
new entourage follows them out of the dining hall and toward their classroom.
Puck doesn’t seem to mind all that much, but he keeps glancing over as though
he’s making sure Kurt’s still there, and really, that seems a little
unnecessary, because where else would Kurt be? He smiles at the thought and
takes a deep breath, then he reaches out and catches Puck’s hand before he can
talk himself out of it.
As soon as his hand closes around Puck’s their fingers slide together, then
Puck squeezes his hand and looks over to grin at him before he goes right back
to whatever he’s talking about. Just like that, like they hold hands all the
time. Like they’re dating, Kurt thinks, still wearing an idiotic grin when they
reach their classroom and he has to let go again.
Michael Jackson, the next note says, and Kurt actually doesn’t hate that idea.
He waits until after class to answer, heart pounding hard against his rib cage
when Puck reaches for his hand as soon as they reach the hallway.
“It depends what era you’re considering. ‘Thriller’-era Michael Jackson is a
far cry from his later catalog, though I don’t hate ‘Man In the Mirror’, but
I’m not convinced it’s the best way to showcase your voice. Then there’s the
Jackson 5 to consider.”
“There’s that one cover of ‘Billie Jean’ that’s not bad. It’s got kind of a
grunge rock vibe.”
That’s not really what the Warblers do either, but Kurt can’t deny that the
cover Puck’s talking about would suit him. He wonders if Puck ever thought
about suggesting any of this to Schue; he knows full well that Schue wouldn’t
have listened even if he tried, but it makes him wonder how much Puck thought
about all this before he came to Dalton. If he ever wrote music before he
started therapy, and if he’d ever let Kurt hear any of his other songs.
Puck lets go of his hand to take his seat at the back of their English class,
and Kurt thinks the matter of his audition song is settled until a tiny, folded
up piece of paper hits him in the shoulder halfway through a discussion of The
Grapes_of_Wrath. Kurt frowns and unfolds it carefully, then he rolls his eyes
and glances toward the front of the room before he picks up his pen.
As much as I admire your loyalty to Mr. Schuester, the truth is that there’s
been some very good music written in the past fifteen years. You don’t have to
sing Gaga or anything, but I don’t think Van Halen will go over all that well
with the Warblers.
He passes the note across the aisle and tries to pretend he’s not watching
while Puck reads it. But he’s not actually fooling anyone, so he sees the way
Puck’s mouth curves as he reads, and when Puck snorts a laugh and picks up his
pen Kurt feels the butterflies stir again.
What do you think it would take to convince Hudson to sing “Hot For Teacher” at
Glee practice? I’d pay good money to see Schue’s face if he busted out that
one.
Kurt claps his hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh, choking and then coughing
and at least he has a good excuse for the way his face is burning. He doesn’t
dare look over at Puck, but Kurt can feel him watching, pictures his grin and
wishes they were anywhere except trapped in a classroom with no chance to be
alone for hours. And he hasn’t really thought about what happens once they’re
alone; he hasn’t had the chance, because they’ve only been...well, sort of a
couple since lunch, and they haven’t even kissed yet.
Puck hasn’t pulled him into any dark corners between classes, hasn’t pushed him
up against any walls in full view of their classmates like he used to do with
Santana. Puck doesn’t seem to be in much of a hurry to do more than take his
hand and write terrible things about his stepbrother to make him laugh during
class, and when they reach the end of the day without so much as a peck on the
cheek, Kurt starts to wonder.
He’s too preoccupied with wondering why Puck hasn’t made any kind of move to
remember what day it is until Puck sits down across from him at dinner.
Wednesday, which means Puck’s about to swallow an entire glass of milk in one
long gulp, then shove a roll in his mouth and ditch Kurt for his therapy
appointment. Which means he’ll probably be late for auditions, and if he
doesn’t show up on time there’s a chance they won’t let him audition at all.
Except Puck’s not bolting his dinner the way he usually does, and Kurt frowns
across the table at him until Puck looks up. “What?”
“Why aren’t you running out of here like you’ve got an appointment to keep?
Which you do, by the way. Don’t you?”
Puck just grins and shakes his head like Kurt’s cute but kind of clueless, and
Kurt bristles and crosses his arms over his chest. “Relax, babe. I told my
shrink on Monday that I might have a thing after dinner today, and she was
totally cool with it. I’m seeing her tomorrow instead.”
“Oh.” Kurt frowns at him for another minute, then he tilts his head and flushes
and drops his voice a little. “Did you just call me ‘babe’?”
For a second Puck frowns like he’s trying to remember, then he grins and picks
up his milk. “Yeah, I guess I did. That gonna be a problem?”
“No,” Kurt answers, because he’s never really seen the point of pet names, but
that warm, curling feeling starts up in his stomach as soon as Puck says it, so
maybe he doesn’t mind so much when it’s coming from Puck.
This is definitely the weirdest relationship he’s ever been in, which isn’t
saying much, he’s aware, considering his track record so far consists of a
stolen kiss, three months of polite courtship with Blaine, and a few hours of
hand-holding and innuendo with Puck. They’ve held hands and Puck’s sort of
implied that he likes Kurt enough to react violently to the thought of Kurt
calling it off, and now Puck’s calling him ‘babe’ like it’s completely normal,
but they still haven’t even kissed.
Not that he really wants their first kiss to happen in the dining hall in full
view of the entire rest of the school, but he’s dating Puck, and it seems as
though if he were a girl, Puck would have kissed him by now.
~
“How about Kanye?” Puck says, grinning when Kurt rolls his eyes. “Come on, I
heard about Schue’s white boy rap cover. It could be a tribute or whatever.”
“I really don’t think a tribute to Mr. Schuester or New Directions is
necessary,” Kurt says, “but if it means that much to you, you could always just
sing ‘Ohio’.”
If he was worried that Puck was actually considering singing “Gold Digger”,
he’d put up more of a fight, but they’re on their way to the audition, so Kurt
knows by now that Puck’s had his song picked out for awhile, and he’s spent the
entire day teasing Kurt with inappropriate suggestions just to make him laugh.
“Somebody wrote a song about Ohio?” Puck says, in a tone that implies that he’s
wondering why, exactly, and Kurt doesn’t have time to explain the entire plot
of “Wonderful Town” to Puck right now, even if he thought Puck would care about
an admittedly obscure musical.
They’re almost to the choir room, and when they get close enough to hear the
chatter of several different conversations floating out into the hall Kurt
catches Puck’s hand and stops walking. Puck looks back at him, then he looks
down at their hands and raises an eyebrow at Kurt.
“I’m not really thinking about doing Kanye, Kurt. You don’t have to have a
panic attack or anything.”
“I know that,” Kurt says, and he feels his cheeks start to burn but he ignores
it and takes a step toward Puck. “I told you, whatever you sing, you’ll still
be the best one in there.”
Puck grins at him and sways a little closer, just kind of leaning in and
looking at Kurt, one eyebrow still cocked as though he’s issuing some kind of
challenge. Kurt wants to scream, because if Puck’s going to kiss him, this is
pretty much the perfect time. He’s all but writing an invitation here, and
Puck’s proven over the past three days that he can certainly take a hint.
Besides, Kurt’s never been any good at subtlety, so it should be obvious what
he’s offering.
As soon as he thinks the word he feels the color drain from his face, and the
butterflies start up again at hurricane force. And he should have realized what
Puck’s waiting for, should have known two days ago when he found himself
apologizing for comparing Puck to Karofsky that he was always going to have to
make the first move.
Maybe the second and the third too, and that thought makes his stomach flip
right over, but there’s not going to be a second or third move unless he makes
the first one, so he takes a deep breath that does nothing at all to steel his
nerves, then he moves into Puck’s personal space and rests a hand on the front
of his blazer.
“For luck,” he whispers just before he leans up and presses his lips to Puck’s.
Their first kiss is soft, just a brief press of lips and the gentle pressure of
Kurt’s hand on Puck’s chest, just below his heart. He hears a soft ‘oh’ and
realizes it’s coming from him, then he pulls back to take in the sight of dark
eyes and slightly parted lips, turning up at the corners like Puck wasn’t
really expecting that, but he’s happy all the same that Kurt’s on board with
moving things forward already.
“I don’t think I’m gonna need any luck,” Puck says, voice kind of rough and
when his hand slides into Kurt’s hair to tilt his head back, Kurt’s whole body
shudders.
Puck grins at him up close and fuses their mouths together, letting go of
Kurt’s hand to grip his waist and tug him even closer. Kurt’s fingers curl
around the front of Puck’s jacket and hold on tight while he kisses Puck back,
parting his lips to let Puck in and this...this is how he imagined Puck would
kiss.
Puck kisses with intent, as though he’s proving a point and he has no intention
of stopping until he’s sure his case has been made. He’s breathing hard through
his nose, like he’s having trouble keeping his lungs filled but he doesn’t want
to stop kissing Kurt even long enough to breathe, and just the thought of Puck
wanting him that much -- wanting him and holding back until he’s sure Kurt’s in
this with him -- makes Kurt blush all the way to the roots of his hair.
He feels his toes curl -- and God, he didn’t even know that actually happened
in real life -- and he wants to drag Puck out of the hall, into the nearest
empty room and he doesn’t care where it is or how likely someone is to walk in
and see them. All he knows is that he wants more...everything, whatever Puck
will give him.
Way too soon Puck’s pulling back, breathing heavy and resting his forehead
against Kurt’s for a second. His eyes are closed and he’s still got a hand
buried in Kurt’s hair, and all Kurt can think is I love you.
Then a throat clears down the hall and Puck’s eyes open, but he doesn’t let go
of Kurt as he looks up to see who it is.
“Guys, get a room or get in here. Auditions are about to start,” one of the
other Warblers says, and Kurt blushes and lets go of Puck’s blazer as a few
members of the choir walk by. A couple of them are looking anywhere but at him
and Puck, but at least one of them is openly snickering at them. He realizes
too late that Blaine’s one of the ones looking away, and he swallows the rush
of guilt as Puck lets go of him and glances over his shoulder to watch the
other boys pass.
Once they’re gone he turns back to Kurt to slide a hand under his chin, tilting
his face up and pressing another firm kiss to his lips before he lets go again.
“Guess I better get in there before your ex blacklists me,” Puck says, and
Kurt’s sure he’s dreaming now, because there’s no way Noah Puckerman and Blaine
are...well, sort of fighting over him.
“He wouldn’t,” Kurt says, but he’s not really sure anymore. “You said he
invited you to try out before I did.”
“Yeah, but he was probably hoping I sucked.”
Kurt rolls his eyes at Puck’s grin and lets himself be pulled into the choir
room, then he lets go of Puck’s hand and takes a seat with the rest of the
choir. He watches Puck cross the room and write his name on the list, right at
the bottom, before he takes a seat with the other guys who made it through the
first cut.
They were pretty ruthless with the first cuts, so there aren’t nearly as many
performances to listen to the second time around. This time Blaine doesn’t call
Puck up right away, but he doesn’t make him wait until last, either. And it’s
smart, Kurt knows, because if Puck does well again it will be even harder to
argue against him if his is the last performance the rest of them hear.
So he calls Puck right in the middle of the group, and when Puck stands up he
doesn’t make a speech about some other song he’s written. Instead he just
starts singing, that smirk of his firmly in place and his hips swaying a little
like he’s hearing the music in his head while he sings.
It takes Kurt a minute to recognize the song, because Puck’s singing it with
kind of a weird, almost country beat, and anyway he never would have guessed
Puck for a Kylie Minogue fan. But he sounds good, and his version of the song
works in a way Kurt never would have expected, and by the time he hits the
second chorus of “All the Lovers”, at least half the room is tapping their feet
and a few of the guys are even singing along.
When he finishes Puck grins right at Kurt and takes his seat, and Kurt’s heart
pounds in his chest like it’s still keeping time with Puck’s song.
“You’ve gotta admit, man, that’s totally what we do,” one of the guys says when
Blaine stands up, and Kurt winces when the rest of the room laughs. But it’s
true, and even Blaine smiles and nods in Puck’s direction.
“Let’s save the commentary for after the auditions, guys,” he says, but he
doesn’t look that upset, and Kurt feels something in his chest uncoil. “We all
had to sweat it out, no reason they shouldn’t too.”
The rest of the guys laugh again, then Blaine calls the next boy up to sing,
and Kurt turns his attention back to Puck. Puck who’s staring right back at
him, leaning forward in his chair with his elbows braced on his knees and that
damn tie hanging around his neck, and all Kurt wants to do is cross the room
and climb right into his lap.
But there’s the rest of the auditions, then they’ll have to argue about who’s
in and probably have another debate about whether or not to save any spaces for
any particularly talented freshmen who might turn up in the fall, and by then
it’ll be close to curfew and Kurt still hasn’t done any of his homework.
Which means there’s no chance of picking up where they left off in the hall,
even if they didn’t both have roommates, and the next time Kurt sees Puck will
be tomorrow in a crowded dining room. He sighs and shifts in his chair and
tries to pinpoint when, exactly, he went from being annoyed at the very thought
of Noah Puckerman to plotting just exactly how soon he can get Puck alone.
~
As it turns out, there are rules about kissing in the halls. Which seems pretty
arbitrary, considering it’s an all-boys’ school, and Kurt’s not entirely
unconvinced that the guidance counselor hasn’t made them up while he waits for
Kurt and Puck to turn up in his office.
They’re sent there by Kurt’s French teacher, the traitor, who Kurt’s ninety-
five percent sure is a lesbian, and shouldn’t the gay community stick together?
But he doesn’t point it out, because there’s that other five percent to
consider, and if he accuses Madame Moreau of being gay and he’s wrong, there’s
a chance it will reflect badly on his grade for the year.
Kurt’s never heard of the alleged rules until they get sent to the guidance
counselor, but Blaine never kissed him the way Puck was kissing him right
before they split up for their language classes, either, like he was trying to
see just how many of Kurt’s brain cells he could blow in the space of two
minutes.
He’s never considered that maybe there’s a reason why Blaine never tried to
kiss him like that until he hears about the rules, mostly because Kurt never
really wanted Blaine to kiss him the way he wants Puck to kiss him.
“This is discrimination,” Kurt says when the guidance counselor finishes
lecturing them on propriety and ‘conducting themselves like gentlemen’. “If one
of us was a girl no one would have blinked.”
“The rules apply to everyone, even visitors,” the guidance counselor says, and
Kurt narrows his eyes and takes back every favorable comparison he ever made
between the man and Ms. Pillsbury.
Puck doesn’t say a word through the entire lecture, just sits there and stares
down at his hands and for all Kurt knows he’s practicing some kind of
meditation technique his therapist taught him. It’s...sort of impressive, not
that Kurt has any intention of telling him so, because it’s great that Puck’s
getting a handle on his adolescent rage and all, but he could use a little
back-up here.
Class is almost over by the time they’re dismissed, and the guidance counselor
sends them to lunch a little early with a disturbingly cheerful wave and a
promise that the school respects their right to date anyone they like, as long
as they respect the rules.
“Thank you so much for the input back there, by the way,” Kurt says when
they’re finally clear of the administrative offices, but he can tell Puck’s not
listening, because he just blinks and says, “Do you think that counted as an
official warning?”
“Warning about what? Keeping our adolescent hormones in check?” Kurt asks, and
he’s still too busy being outraged to blush at the mention of his hormones.
“No, seriously, this place has a three strikes policy and they’re pretty
hardcore about it. If you get tossed out of here you just go back to Lima, but
if I get thrown out it’s back to Juvie.”
Kurt’s heart clenches at the look on Puck’s face, and he reaches out and
catches Puck’s hand, gripping just this side of too hard and he’s not even sure
what he’s trying to say, but he hopes Puck understands anyway. It’s easy for
him to forget that Puck’s on his last chance, that if it wasn’t for Schue
buying him another chance he’d already be back in Juvie. Unfairly, yes, but
that doesn’t change the fact that technically he should be there already, and
Kurt’s certainly not going to be the one to get him sent back.
“They can hardly count it as official if we didn’t know we were breaking one of
their stupid rules.”
“I knew,” Puck says, glancing over at Kurt, and now he just looks surprised.
“It’s in the handbook. We’re all supposed to read that thing. It’s one of the
first things my therapist went over, something about knowing the boundaries so
I could learn to operate within them or whatever.”
Kurt’s sure he got a handbook at some point, but he has no idea what he did
with it. He knows he didn’t read it, at least not that he can recall. But when
he started he already had Blaine to show him the ropes, and Kurt’s ashamed to
realize that instead of learning anything on his own he just followed Blaine
around like some kind of puppy until Puck came along to distract him.
“So what other rules should I know about?”
“No tongue in the hallway,” Puck says, and Kurt nods without comment because
that one he’s already got down. “No hands below the waist in public, uniforms
stay on in the building. No hickeys period. It’s a little more chill if we’re
outside; we won’t get busted for making out or ditching the blazers or
anything, but we’re still supposed to keep our hands above the clothes.
Technically there’s a campus-wide no sex rule.”
Kurt’s cheeks are burning just from picturing the things he’s not supposed to
do with Puck, but when he gets to that last part Kurt goes from turned on
straight back to indignant.
“Someone might have told me I’d joined a convent.”
“Tell me about it,” Puck says, but he’s smiling like he doesn’t really mind
that much, and Kurt’s struck all over again at how strange it is to be the one
in this relationship pushing for more. “I mean, I knew I should put the brakes
on when you kissed me before, but it’s not like I was thinking all that clear
at the time. I might be working on controlling my temper or whatever, but I’ve
still got needs, you know?”
His voice drops almost a full octave when he says it, and Kurt swallows hard
and lets his gaze wander down the center of Puck’s chest. But they’re still in
the hallway, and any minute now class is going to let out and if they get
caught making out again after they just got in trouble for the very same thing,
it probably will be official.
“I did not kiss you first.”
“Yeah, you did,” Puck says, grinning like it’s a mark of personal pride
somehow, and it’s possible, Kurt concedes privately, but it’s not like he’d
remember who kissed who first, what with the whole brain cell blowing thing.
Puck’s hands land on Kurt -- just above the waist, in keeping with the rules,
Kurt notes distantly -- and he leans in, brushing their lips together and
that’s so not fair, because Kurt still wants to say to hell with the rules, but
he doesn’t want Puck getting sent back to prison just for making out.
“Noah,” he says, murmuring Puck’s name against his mouth and the noise Puck
makes when he says it sends a jolt of want straight to the pit of Kurt’s
stomach.
Technically they’re not breaking any rules, because there’s no tongue and
everyone’s hands are where they’re supposed to be, but Kurt’s pulse is pounding
against his eardrums and he can feel Puck’s heart beating fast and he knows how
quickly this could turn into something they can’t stop.
“The lacrosse team has a meet way the hell out near Akron on Saturday,” Puck
says, breathing heavy even though they aren’t really doing anything, and it’s
hot in a way Kurt doesn’t expect. “They’ll be gone all day.”
Kurt wonders for a second if maybe Puck’s blown a few brain cells of his own,
because he’s not sure what the lacrosse team’s schedule has to do with
anything, but when he pulls back to ask what Puck’s talking about, his stomach
clenches hard at the look on Puck’s face.
“My roommate plays lacrosse.”
Oh, Kurt thinks, feels the pull of desire in his groin and runs his thumb along
Puck’s bottom lip. Then he leans up and kisses him again, careful to keep his
hands above the waist and his tongue in his own mouth.
“I’ve always been a staunch supporter of school athletics,” he says, and when
Puck laughs Kurt feels it rumble against his chest and starts mentally
calculating the hours between now and Saturday.
~
The list of new Warblers goes up after dinner, but Puck already knows he’s on
it, so it doesn’t matter that he’s with his therapist when it’s posted. Kurt
waits for him after dinner, taking advantage of the longer days and the warmer
spring evenings to sit outside on the stone steps and read the assigned chapter
in their European History book while he waits for Puck to cross the quad and
sit down beside him.
He’s trying to focus on the chapter, because he can’t afford to fall behind in
any of his classes, no matter how complicated his social life has become
lately, but his mind keeps wandering to the feel of Puck’s hand on his waist
and the look in his eyes when he said my roommate plays lacrosse.
And Kurt’s not a child, so he knows what happens on Saturday. He wants it to
happen in a way he’s never wanted anything before, and he doesn’t even find it
strange anymore that the person he wants it to happen with is Noah Puckerman.
But that’s just the thing, because Noah’s changed a lot in the last few months,
but he’s still Puck, still has all Puck’s vast experience to compare Kurt to,
and Kurt…doesn’t. All Kurt has is a good imagination and a reliable internet
connection, and there’s only so much that can be learned by asking Google.
He and Blaine never made it past kissing, which is mostly Kurt’s fault, and
even though there’s a part of him that wishes he had a little experience, at
least so he won’t completely humiliate himself, the rest of him is sort of glad
he’s going to be with Puck the first time.
Puck makes him feel safe, and that’s something he never thought he’d be able to
say, but there it is, all the same. Puck makes him feel in a way he’s never
felt with anyone, not through pointless schoolboy crushes on Finn and Sam, and
not during his affectionate but mostly platonic relationship with Blaine.
He looks up and spots Puck walking toward him, heart skipping a beat and that’s
another feeling he’s starting to get used to. When Puck reaches him he smiles
and sits down on the steps next to Kurt, leans in and curves his hand around
the back of Kurt’s neck to draw him in for a kiss.
And they’re outside, so Puck can kiss him however he wants, but he opts for
slow and almost chaste, lips barely parted and eyes closed and just…lingering,
like he’s trying to make this moment last as long as he can. Kurt’s hand lands
on his knee, just because he can, and he smiles against Puck’s mouth and lets
his fingers trail up Puck’s inseam.
“Hi,” Kurt says when Puck pulls back to look at him, and he’s aware that his
smile’s probably sort of dreamy and ridiculous, but when Puck just smiles back
at him he decides it doesn’t matter.
“Hi,” Puck says, then he reaches down to catch the hand that’s still resting on
his thigh and pulls it back into neutral territory. “So did I make the cut?”
“You know you did,” Kurt says, rolling his eyes but he’s still smiling, so it
sort of ruins the effect. “The Kylie song was pretty inspired. Where’d you come
up with that one, anyway?”
“Who’s Kylie?” Puck asks, and his frown probably matches Kurt’s.
“Kylie Minogue. She’s a singer? Club music, mostly, which admittedly doesn’t
strike me as your style, so I thought maybe you’d gotten some help on your song
choice from Santana or someone.”
“I haven’t talked to anybody from home except Finn and my family since I left,”
Puck says. He shrugs when Kurt frowns again, thumb moving across Kurt’s
knuckles and it’s distracting in a really nice way. “Figured it was easier to
keep Hudson’s secret if I didn’t have to answer a lot of dumb questions, you
know?”
It makes sense when he puts it that way, and it’s not like Kurt’s going to
complain about Puck leaving Santana and Quinn in his past, but it still seems a
little sad that he could just walk away from his entire life like that. Then
again, Kurt walked away from his life too, and somehow they still ended up
right next to each other.
“So where’d you hear about that song?”
“It’s the Scissor Sisters. They did this totally righteous version of it on
some radio show in England or something. Somebody posted a video on Youtube.”
And he should have known, really, because there’s no way Puck’s heard of Kylie.
But somehow he still picked the perfect song to get him into show choir, and
next year they’ll not only get to spend rehearsals together, but they’ll get to
travel to competitions and maybe share a hotel room, at least when they have to
stay overnight at Regionals.
Kurt’s stomach trembles at the thought of Puck and a big hotel bed all to
himself for an entire night, and he’s grateful the sun’s finally starting to go
down so Puck won’t see him blushing for the millionth time this week.
How was therapy?” Kurt asks, just to get his mind off Puck and hotel beds.
“Okay. My shrink says you’re good for me.”
“Oh?” Kurt says, and he knows he sounds surprised, but it’s not so much because
Puck’s doctor approves as it is because Puck talks about him.
He knows Puck takes his sessions seriously, and Kurt’s glad, because he seems
to be getting plenty out of them, whether he needed them from the start or not.
So it’s kind of nice to know that Puck considers him important enough to
mention to his doctor, and the fact that she knows enough about them to have an
opinion one way or the other means he’s probably been talking about Kurt for
awhile.
“Yeah,” Puck says, grinning at Kurt and maybe the sky isn’t quite dark enough
to cover his blush after all. “She says I focus better when I’m not distracted
thinking about you with some other guy. It was kind of distracting, so I guess
she’s got a point.”
It’s still completely weird to be on this side of the equation; back at
McKinley Puck had his pick of girls, and there’s no way he ever would have
given Kurt a second thought. But here they make sense, so much so that even
Puck’s therapist thinks they’re good together. Kurt smiles and squeezes Puck’s
hand, then he stands up and pulls Puck to his feet.
“Come on, it’s getting dark out here. Let’s go up to the study lounge and I’ll
help you with Geometry.”
Puck stands up, but he holds tight to Kurt’s hand when he tries to walk away,
then he slides an arm around Kurt’s waist and pulls him close.
“In a minute,” Puck whispers, the words warm against Kurt’s lips as Puck leans
in for another kiss. This one’s harder than the first, wet and hot and open,
and when Puck hooks his arms around Kurt and pulls him flush against Puck’s
body he moans into Puck’s mouth and fists his hands in the front of Puck’s
blazer.
Puck’s hand leaves his waist to slide lower, across his ass and spreading his
fingers wide and wow, Puck has really big hands. Kurt gasps into his mouth and
lets Puck pull him forward, his erection pressed against Puck’s and when Kurt
grinds against him Puck groans and pulls back.
“Jesus, Kurt,” Puck says, but his breath hitches and his hand’s pushing through
Kurt’s hair, just sort of...petting him while they breathe the same air and try
to pull it together.
“Geometry,” Kurt says, mainly to try to re-focus his brain. Or try to focus it
at all, which he’s pretty sure is impossible at this point.
“Yeah, I don’t think I’m going to be learning a whole lot tonight,” Puck says,
letting out a shaky laugh, and boy, does Kurt ever know the feeling.
~
They don’t talk about what happens when Puck’s roommate leaves town with the
entire lacrosse team in tow, inadvertently gifting Kurt with the opportunity to
get Puck alone that he’s been both longing for and terrified of since this
whole thing started. They don’t talk about it on Thursday night when they’re
sitting side by side in the study lounge, shoulders pressed together and Kurt’s
fingers skimming the back of Puck’s hand while he tries to explain Geometric
concepts that don’t currently make any sense to either of them.
They don’t discuss it on Friday either, but Puck’s right there next to him all
day, looking as hopelessly rumpled and confident as usual, but sort of
vibrating next to Kurt like he’s anticipating something. Kurt tells himself
it’s just the adrenaline from the baseball tryouts he knows Puck’s been looking
forward to all week; he hasn’t gotten a chance to participate in that kind of
organized violence in awhile, so naturally he’d look forward to it.
Except that Puck keeps touching him, whether it’s a hand around his in the
hallway, or a hand on his back to steer him through the dining room, or Puck’s
thumb tracing the line of his jaw when he leans over the fence at the baseball
field, kissing Kurt softly and murmuring, “for luck.” Kurt blushes and tries
not to smile when Puck laughs at him, then he sits in the stands and
voluntarily watches a live sporting event he’s neither cheering for nor
participating in, and wonders what his father would say if he could see Kurt
right now.
He doesn’t know what his father thinks of Puck. He’s Finn’s best friend,
though, which should count for something. He’s not sure how Finn will feel, but
if what he says is true and Puck does talk about Kurt, then maybe he already
knows.
Kurt watches Puck swing at a perfect pitch, then he watches Puck lazily jog
around the bases as the ball keeps soaring way out past the field, into the
tall grass that Kurt assumes means he knocked it out of the park. Not that he
ever had any doubt that Puck would make the team; he played for McKinley, after
all, and Kurt always assumed it was just because he had to do something with
all that testosterone after football season was over, but it turns out he’s
pretty good.
It doesn’t hurt that he looks really good in the uniform.
After tryouts Kurt hangs around while the coach talks to them, then he waits
while Puck heads to the locker rooms to change with the rest of the guys. He
sits in the bleachers and tries not to picture Puck changing in a locker room
full of other athletic young men and flips his phone open and closed while he
debates whether or not to send the text he’s been considering for a few days
now.
As soon as he does there’s no taking it back. No pretending it never happened
and going back to life before ‘Kurt and Noah’. That’s how most of the guys are
already referring to them, in the same breath as though they just...go
together. So if it doesn’t work out there will be enough public humiliation to
suffer at Dalton, and he’s been telling himself all week that he doesn’t need
to set himself up for that in Lima as well.
Right now his father and Carole know, he’s fairly sure, at least if his dad
caught any of the hints Kurt dropped the last time they spoke. And he hasn’t
asked, but Puck keeps up a regular e-mail conversation with Finn which
apparently started as more or less a progress report on Kurt, so he’s guessing
Finn knows. Which means Kurt’s entire family knows about his relationship, and
it’s possible some of Puck’s family knows, but that’s as far as the news has
spread back home.
If he tells Mercedes and swears her to secrecy she might actually keep his
secret. He’s not sure; they all try to keep each other’s confidences, but there
are some secrets that are just too good not to tell, and when there’s a willing
audience of 500 other gossip-prone teenagers around, people are bound to talk.
Then there’s Puck to consider. It’s possible he doesn’t want other people to
know, that he wants to keep his life here at Dalton separate from whatever he
was back in Lima. It’s not that Kurt thinks he’s some kind of bi-curious
experiment on Puck’s part. He considered the possibility, at first, but Puck’s
made it fairly clear that this is what he wants and he doesn’t have any qualms
about the fact that Kurt happens to also be a guy. He’s fine with all the boys
at Dalton knowing, including the ones on the baseball team, apparently,
considering he just kissed his boyfriend in front of them.
His boyfriend. It’s silly and juvenile and Kurt’s well aware, because he’s had
a boyfriend practically every minute since he got to Dalton, but it wasn’t
until this week that the thought has made the butterflies in his stomach take
flight.
“What’s the matter?”
Kurt blinks at the sound of Puck’s voice and looks up from his phone, taking in
Puck’s frown and his guarded expression and shaking his head. “Nothing. I was
just wondering...do you mind if I mention to Mercedes that we’re seeing each
other?”
Puck doesn’t lose the frown, but the guarded expression clears in favor of that
cute, puzzled one he gets when he doesn’t quite grasp a Geometry concept.
“Why would I? I told Hudson you finally stopped holding out on me a couple days
ago. Come to think of it, he’s probably told Berry already, because you know he
can’t keep a secret from her worth a damn, and she’s got the biggest fucking
mouth in Lima, so Aretha probably already knows.”
It’s surprisingly sound logic, Kurt has to admit. He smiles and lets Puck pull
him to his feet, then Puck slides an arm around his shoulders and pulls him
back toward the school. “Believe me, if Mercedes had heard already, I’d know.”
Puck laughs but doesn’t answer, so Kurt flips his phone back open and starts a
new text. Only he’s not sure of the best way to say it; he could just come
right out and say, Noah and I are an item now, only she’d probably have to ask
who Noah is, and that would require more explanation than he can fit in 160
characters.
Puck and I are an item now.
That’s perfectly clear, and it might not even surprise her all that much, given
the conversation she witnessed the last time he was home. It’s clear, but it
doesn’t even come close to saying what’s really happening. He could type,
Somehow I fell in love with Noah Puckerman. I keep expecting to wake up from a
truly amazing dream, but that doesn’t get the point across that he thinks Puck
might kind of love him back, a little.
He’s not bold enough to type Puck and I are in love, not with Puck looking over
his shoulder. The cursor’s still blinking at the end of Puck and I, waiting for
him to commit to a message and press send and this shouldn’t be so hard.
Before he makes up his mind Puck makes an impatient noise and pulls his arm off
Kurt’s shoulders, then he tugs Kurt’s phone out of his hand and stops walking,
fingers flying over the tiny keyboard and before Kurt even gets a look at
whatever he’s typing, Puck hits send.
“Hey,” Kurt protests, but Puck just rolls his eyes and hands the phone back.
“Whatever, Princess, you’d be standing out here staring at that screen all
night if I didn’t do something. I’m gonna go drop my gear in my room and grab
my stuff. I’ll meet you in the study lounge in twenty.”
Then he’s gone, before Kurt can even protest that it’s Friday night, and
technically they have all weekend to study. Except they’ve got plans for
Saturday, and Kurt blushes and flips the phone open to scroll down to his sent
messages. He hesitates for a second before he opens the most recent one,
wincing at Puck’s appalling affinity for text speak, but he has to admit Puck
knows how to get the point across.
hey retha u dont hav 2 worry bout yr boy i got it covrd. thnk i kinda luv him.
peace
His heart’s still pounding hard when his phone beeps, then the message he’s
been staring at disappears and Kurt hits ‘okay’ to read the incoming text.
Did Puck just txt me from yr phone and say he loves you????
He’s only got twenty minutes before he’s supposed to meet Puck, and that’s not
nearly enough time to have this conversation, but at least the fact that he’s
having it means he didn’t hallucinate Puck’s text after all. Kurt smiles and
hits reply, then he starts typing.
Yes, and the craziest part is, I love him too.
~
Saturdays at Dalton Prep aren’t that much different than any other day. They
don’t have to attend classes, of course, but they have so much homework over
the weekends that any alleged free time they have is eaten up by whatever
projects they haven’t gotten done during the week. Then there are club meetings
and group projects, regular meal times to work around and by the time they get
to Sunday evening, no one feels all that much like they’ve had a weekend at
all.
The dress code is a little more relaxed on the weekend, but if they’re not
playing a sport or outside tossing a football around or something, they’re
expected to be in their shirtsleeves and uniform pants, at the very least. So
they get to ditch the tie and the blazer, if they want, which isn’t much of a
break from the monotony of the uniform, in Kurt’s opinion.
Seniors who keep cars on campus can head into town in civilian clothes to spend
the day hanging around in the tiny, picturesque village down the road that’s
popular with tourists and Dalton moms. They’re expected to conduct themselves
‘in a manner befitting their status as Dalton Men’, which means even if Kurt
and Puck were allowed into town, they’re technically not allowed to sit in the
back row of the movie theater and ignore the movie while they spend two hours
just making out.
Still, it’s a fairly safe rule to break, considering the stories Kurt’s heard
about some of the seniors who have girlfriends near enough to meet them in town
on the weekend. Something to look forward to when they’re seniors and he’s got
the Navigator on campus, at any rate.
He doesn’t realize he’s smiling until he hears Puck say, “What?” across the
table. Kurt looks up from his coffee and blushes, which just ups the wattage on
Puck’s grin even further, and Kurt knows what Puck thinks he’s smiling about.
“I was thinking about next year,” Kurt says, and it’s perfectly true, even if
Puck’s a little bit right about what, exactly, he was thinking about next year.
“You know, we can have cars on campus when we’re seniors. I was just thinking
if I had the Navigator here, we could go home more often. Or whatever.”
“I can get behind ‘whatever’.”
The way Puck’s looking at him sends a thrill of anticipation straight to Kurt’s
dick, but what makes his heart race is the fact that Puck didn’t even blink at
the fact that Kurt just assumes they’ll still be together next year. And okay,
Puck’s already said he loves Kurt -- sort of, anyway -- so Kurt knows this
isn’t like his other relationships. If one can even call them relationships,
which Kurt really can’t, not when he’s heard Santana herself announce more than
once that having sex with Puck doesn’t mean they’re dating.
So unless he counts Quinn -- and really, they can hardly count that as a
relationship -- this is the first time Puck’s ever dated someone. Granted, it’s
been less than a week, but Puck said himself that he’s wanted this for a lot
longer than just a week, so Kurt’s pretty sure that means he’s planning to
stick around.
Still. It’s kind of nice to have independent confirmation, and Kurt’s not too
proud to admit it, at least to himself.
“You ready to get out of here?” Puck asks, and when Kurt looks up at him again
the butterflies in his stomach stage a revolt the likes of which he’s never
felt before. Kurt nods because he doesn’t trust his voice not to betray him,
then he stands up and doesn’t even think about picking up his tray before he
follows Puck out of the dining room.
Puck reaches for his hand, and when Kurt looks up Puck’s watching him with
dark, dark eyes and an expression that Kurt would have described as ‘scary’
once, but now he knows that it just means Puck knows exactly what he wants, and
he’s waiting for the signal that tells him it’s his for the taking.
Kurt’s seen Puck’s room before, and even if he hadn’t, it doesn’t look any
different from the rest of their rooms. Two single beds pushed against either
wall, a long desk at the back split into two sections and lined with textbooks
and CDs and copies of Sports Illustrated. There’s a window above the desk that
looks out over the woods that stretch out beyond the school, and it’s a
different view than Kurt has from his own window, which is the most
distinguishing thing about it.
Puck’s guitar is leaning against the wall by the head of his bed, and when Kurt
follows him inside and closes the door Puck passes by the bed and picks up the
guitar. “You still want to hear that song?”
“Yes,” Kurt says, and it’s true, but it’s not why they’re here, and he’s not
sure whether to be annoyed at the stalling tactic or grateful for the reprieve.
He sits in the chair at Puck’s desk anyway, perching on the edge and watching
while Puck clears his throat and sits down on the side of his bed.
Puck strums a few chords, listening to each one before he decides that the
guitar’s tuned well enough and starts playing. And he’s right; the song sounds
better with a guitar behind it. The lyrics are still nonsensical and
absolutely, one hundred percent Puck, and somehow the guitar makes them even
more so. Kurt thinks vaguely that it has something to do with the sort of
frenetic beat, but it’s hard to think at all when Puck’s staring at him like
he’s trying to tell Kurt something.
He’s not vain enough to assume Puck wrote that song for him or anything. But
it’s hard not to believe it when Puck’s watching him and singing you know I
dreamed about you for eighteen years before I saw you, and when Puck closes his
eyes and sings I missed you for eighteen years, Kurt has to swallow hard around
the lump in his throat.
And he’s not actually a girl, despite certain closed-minded opinions to the
contrary back home, so he’s not going to cry. But he sort of wants to, because
he knows how that feels, and it’s been less than a week, so there’s no
guarantee he’ll get to keep this feeling. It turns out Puck knows the feeling
too, though, and that’s a pretty good start.
When Puck’s done he doesn’t set the guitar down; he doesn’t look up either,
just keeps strumming chords and kind of humming under his breath. Like he’s
nervous. Like he’s waiting for Kurt’s reaction and it matters or something.
“You were right,” Kurt says, voice shaking a little and he’s sure Puck can hear
it too. “It sounds even better with a guitar behind it.”
One side of Puck’s mouth lifts in a smile, and he strums another chord before
he looks up at Kurt. “Yeah, the whole a cappella thing is cool or whatever, but
I can’t see giving up the guitar for good.”
“How long have you been writing music, anyway?”
“Not long,” Puck answers, then he looks down at the strings again and shifts
his fingers into what Kurt can see is a tricky chord. “Me and Hudson used to
mess around, back before football kinda took over, but it was mostly shitty
heavy metal and a lot of it we probably ripped off from real bands anyway. This
is the first one I ever wrote for real. I’m working on something new, but so
far all I’ve got is the bridge and a few lyrics.”
“Can I hear it?”
“Nothing to hear yet, babe,” Puck says, then he grins and Kurt feels his
temperature creep up a few degrees. Puck sets the guitar back down on the floor
and Kurt knows that this is it, that they’ve reached that ‘second move’ he’s
going to have to make if he wants to do anything today other than listen to
Puck strum chords on his guitar and reminisce about his youthful rock band
dreams.
Kurt stands up and crosses the few feet of space to the bed, and when Puck
straightens up again Kurt’s standing right in front of him. He looks a little
surprised, but he reaches up to grip Kurt’s hips - below the waist, and thank
God for that, Kurt thinks -- and slides his tongue along his bottom lip, like
maybe he’s waiting for something.
Waiting for Kurt, and just the thought is as terrifying as it is really, really
hot. Kurt takes a deep breath and rests his hands on either side of Puck’s
face, fingers catching a little on the stubble on his chin as Kurt leans
forward and kisses him.
He’s kissed Puck enough times by now to know what it feels like, the way it
makes his skin feel tight and electric, like his whole body’s vibrating with
the need for more. But this is the first time he’s ever kissed Puck behind
closed doors, where they both know that it’s not going to stop at just a kiss.
At least it’s not if Kurt has anything to say about it, and anyone who’s ever
met him knows he usually has plenty to say.
Kurt laughs at the thought and kisses Puck again, slower this time, because
they’ve got...well, not all the time in the world, certainly, and not even
enough time for everything Kurt wants from Puck, but they’ve got time, and
that’s more of a luxury than Kurt expected.
Puck’s hands leave his hips and slide down, over the swell of his ass to grip
the backs of his thighs. Kurt makes a muffled, embarrassing noise against
Puck’s mouth and runs his hands over Puck’s scalp, fingers digging into his
stupid mohawk and when Puck sort of purrs low in his throat and tightens his
grip on Kurt’s legs, Kurt does it again.
They’re still wearing all their clothes, and that’s no good, so Kurt reaches
for the buttons on Puck’s shirt, tugging them open one by one and it’s a good
thing he’s so well-versed in fashion, because it’s not that easy to unbutton
someone else’s shirt with his eyes closed.
“Kurt,” Puck murmurs, right up against his mouth, then he pulls back a little
and Kurt opens his eyes to blink down at him.
Kurt makes a vague humming noise and opens another button, but he’s reaching
the point where he’s going to have to change positions to get Puck’s shirt open
all the way, and he’s not sure he’s ready to give up the fingers tracing the
crease of his thighs right along the bottom of his ass.
“Kurt,” Puck says again, louder this time and Kurt blinks and looks at him.
Puck’s pupils are blown and Kurt can see clearly exactly how into this he is
when he glances down at Puck’s lap, so he’s not sure what the problem is. He’s
sure it’s nothing that can’t be surmounted with a little well-placed
distraction, though, so he shoves at Puck’s shoulders until he moves back on
the bed, then Kurt kneels on the mattress and swings one leg over Puck’s
thighs.
“Yes?” Kurt says, and at least he can reach more buttons while he’s more or
less straddling Puck’s lap, so he gets back to business. And Puck could help
here, but Kurt’s pretty sure this is that third move he’s been expecting to
have to make, so he’s mostly okay with it.
“Look, I know I gave you a lot of shit about not putting out for Blaine and
all, but I was just being an asshole because I was jealous. I mean, it was
either that or beat the shit out of the dude, and I don’t do that anymore. Not
unless somebody deserves it, anyway.”
He’s talking a lot, but Kurt’s not sure why, exactly. He already knows all of
this, and it’s kind of a weird time to play true confessions anyway. So Kurt
unfastens the last button on Puck’s shirt, then he pushes the shirt open and
reaches for the button at the top of Puck’s pants.
A hand closes over his and he looks up, watching Puck’s face while he takes a
deep breath, then another one. “I’m trying to say you don’t have to do this. If
you’re not ready or whatever.”
It’s sweet, Kurt supposes, and it’s clearly a pretty big sacrifice for Puck,
because he’s fighting his breath and his voice sounds sort of funny, like he
can’t quite remember how to work it. So Kurt shifts until their dicks are lined
up, gasping and closing his eyes for a second while he bites down hard on his
lip. When he regains control and opens his eyes again Puck’s still watching,
but he’s not trying to talk Kurt out of this anymore.
“This is something you’re not going to hear very often in our relationship, so
I want you to enjoy it,” Kurt says, then he shifts a little more and Puck
groans and grips his thigh hard enough for Kurt to feel it. “You were right,
Noah. About Blaine; about everything. I know what I want now. I love you. Now
shut up.”
He’s not sure where he finds the courage to say all that, and by the end of his
speech he’s blushing so furiously he’s sure he’s going to burst into flames,
and wouldn’t Santana love the number of gay jokes she’d get out of that
untimely demise. Kurt starts to laugh, but the sound comes out as a choked sort
of ‘oh’ when Puck surges up and kisses him hard.
And that’s a little more like it, Kurt thinks as Puck’s hand clamps down hard
on his hip to rock Kurt against him, grunting at each brush of Kurt’s erection
against his own. It’s good, but they’re still wearing an awful lot of clothes,
and even when Puck lets go long enough to ditch his shirt, his chest is still
mostly covered by his undershirt.
Kurt lets out a frustrated whine and tugs Puck’s undershirt out of his pants,
hands sliding across the taut skin stretched across his stomach and when he
feels Puck tremble under his touch he gasps against Puck’s mouth. Because
Kurt’s the one who should be kind of nervous here; he’s the one with no basis
for comparison, and Puck’s the one with a whole host of notches in his
proverbial bedpost.
But he’s been so careful with Kurt, like maybe he’s afraid to break him or
something. At first Kurt just assumed Puck was out of his element once he found
himself having feelings for another boy, but now he’s starting to think it’s
because of Finn. It’s a weird thought to have while Puck’s rocking up against
him and fucking Kurt’s mouth with his tongue -- and that is so against the
rules -- but that doesn’t make it any less true.
Puck made a promise to Finn to look out for Kurt, and the falling in love part
wasn’t in the original plan, but he’s still being careful out of some weird
sense of loyalty to Kurt’s stepbrother. He’s trying not to hurt Kurt, and when
he’s not just taking what he wants without worrying about who gets hurt along
the way, he’s not really sure what to do.
The realization doesn’t make Kurt that much more confident about what he’s
doing, and when he finally gets Puck out of his undershirt and he’s faced with
a broad expanse of perfect skin, Kurt’s own stomach trembles. But it’s a weird
sort of power trip too, because Puck’s rocking against him and pushing his
hands up under Kurt’s clothes like he doesn’t have the patience to take them
off the right way, and it’s all because of how much he wants Kurt.
Later Kurt won’t be able to say how they got out of the rest of their clothes,
but that’s Puck’s area of expertise, so Kurt assumes he finally got with the
program and helped out a little. All he knows is that one minute he’s tugging
open enough buttons at his neck to pull his shirt right over his head,
undershirt and all, and the next he’s flat on his back and their pants are gone
and Puck’s kissing him like he’s making up for lost time.
Kurt’s hands are moving of their own accord, touching every inch of that
perfect skin he can reach, kneading at Puck’s shoulders and sliding down his
back to drag his fingernails back up either side of Puck’s spine. Puck’s
thrusting against him, hips moving in an infuriatingly slow rhythm and Kurt
pants against his mouth and digs his fingers in a little harder, hoping that
Puck will get the message and pick up the pace a little.
His mouth leaves Kurt’s and then Puck’s looking down at him, grinning and
grinding down until Kurt moans and slides a leg around Puck’s waist.
“Pushy,” Puck says, then he leans in again and presses a kiss to the side of
Kurt’s neck. “I like it.”
Kurt thinks tease, but what he says is Noah, dragging the word out until it
sounds raw and painful and dirty. Puck bucks a little harder against him and
mouths his way along Kurt’s neck, using his tongue and sometimes his teeth to
explore every inch of Kurt’s skin. When he hits a particularly sensitive spot
he opens his mouth and sucks, and Kurt arches up into him and grips his
shoulders hard.
He’s making needy little noises in the back of his throat, and he doesn’t even
care that Puck’s going to leave a mark. He’ll take the punishment, whatever it
is, for breaking the no hickey rule, and there’s no way they can prove Puck’s
the one who gave it to him.
But Puck remembers the rule as soon as Kurt does, and he lets out a growl and
pulls his mouth away from the side of Kurt’s neck. His hand slides under the
thigh that’s wrapped around his waist, pulling Kurt’s leg up and pulling him
open at the same time, settling a little further against him and matching the
rhythm of Kurt’s hips.
Puck pushes up onto his hands to look at Kurt, elbows locked to hold him up and
his pupils are blown so wide his eyes look black. Kurt arches up into him and
digs his fingers into Puck’s arms, grasping for just a little more, just enough
to pull them both over the edge. And Puck’s just watching, moving in time with
Kurt but not giving him any more than he’s taking. It’s maddening, because Kurt
doesn’t know what to ask for and even if he did he wouldn’t be able to say the
words.
Puck’s waiting for him to ask; that much he’s sure of, and he doesn’t know
anymore if it’s still because Puck’s scared to push too hard, or if he just
likes making Kurt show him how much he wants Puck. Like he needs more proof of
that. Like it was ever in question, even when Kurt was dating someone else and
pretending he didn’t even like Puck. Which, okay, there was a time he wasn’t
particularly fond of Puck, but even then he couldn't deny that Puck’s
attractive.
He’s gorgeous, from the well-defined muscles to the perfect smile to the way he
looks at Kurt, equal parts smoldering and vulnerable, open in a way Kurt’s
never seen before. So it turns out love looks pretty good on him, which is no
surprise, considering everything looks good on Puck.
Kurt presses up off the bed and kisses him again, tongue pushing past Puck’s
teeth as he slides a hand between them and wraps his fingers around Puck’s
cock. And yes, he’s heard the stories, most of which can’t be true just based
on the laws of physics, but Kurt knows full well that most myths have a basis
in fact, so he’s not surprised at all to discover that Noah Puckerman does, in
fact, have quite a bit to offer.
He imagines wrapping his lips around Puck, wonders how far he could take Puck
in before he chokes and has to resort to his hand, working Puck’s length the
way he’s doing now while he uses his tongue and his mouth on the head of Puck’s
dick. Not that he’s getting any complaints about his hand so far; Puck’s
moaning into his mouth and thrusting into Kurt’s grip, and he’s sucking on
Kurt’s tongue in a way that should be kind of gross, but mostly just makes Kurt
want more and more and more.
Puck’s arms are still locked on either side of him, so Kurt feels it when they
start to shake. He lets go of Puck and pushes on his chest until Puck slides
onto the mattress next to him, pulling Kurt close and pressing their mouths
together to murmur words Kurt can’t quite catch as Kurt reaches for him again.
Then Puck pulls his mouth away from Kurt’s long enough to lick his own palm,
eyes locked on Kurt’s the entire time. Kurt watches the drag of Puck’s tongue
along his own skin, imagines Puck’s mouth wrapped around him and tightens his
grip. Puck groans and reaches between them to pull Kurt’s hand away, then he
lines them up again and wraps his hand around both of them.
Kurt gasps and thrusts into Puck’s grip, earning himself a laugh that rumbles
through Puck’s chest and sends heat all the way from the tips of Kurt’s ears
down to his toes. He closes his own hand over Puck’s and matches his rhythm,
using his thumb to spread drops of wet heat with each upstroke.
Puck’s talking again, forehead pressed against Kurt’s shoulder and mouthing
words against his skin. It’s nonsense, mostly, but Kurt thinks he hears his own
name a time or two, and it makes his heart pound even harder in his chest. He’s
still fisting them both hard, hips moving faster and faster and pressing Kurt
back into the mattress until Puck’s practically on top of him again.
Their hands are trapped between them and it’s a weird angle, but when Puck’s
free hand slides under him to grip his ass and pull him up Kurt doesn’t really
care if his arm’s going to hurt later. Puck’s fingers drag across his ass and
Kurt’s not sure if he even means to do it, but Puck's opening him up all the
same, and when Kurt imagines taking Puck inside him he gasps against Puck’s
mouth and comes.
Puck follows a few seconds later, thrusting hard against him and panting
against Kurt’s neck, his hand still gripping them loose and stroking through
his orgasm. When he finally stops shaking Puck slides off Kurt and mouths his
way back up Kurt’s neck, pressing soft kisses against his lips.
Kurt slides his arms around Puck’s neck and kisses him back, and if he holds on
a little tighter than strictly necessary, Puck doesn’t mention it. Instead he
reaches above them without looking, fumbling through the pile of clothes at the
head of the bed until he finds his undershirt. He pulls away long enough to
wipe both their stomachs clean, then wipes his hands on the wrecked shirt and
tosses it on the floor.
When he’s finished he tugs down the covers they never bothered with and drags
Kurt between the sheets with him, pulling him close and spooning and Kurt can’t
help laughing.
“What?”
Puck’s voice is rough and sleepy and Kurt’s heart swells with a rush of
affection. He slides his hand along the arm that’s around his waist until their
fingers thread together, then he turns his head just far enough to brush his
lips across Puck’s shoulder.
“I was just thinking what it would do to your reputation at McKinley if anyone
there ever found out you’re a cuddler.”
He doesn’t hear Puck’s laugh so much as feel it, and when warm lips brush the
back of his neck Kurt presses back into Puck’s body heat.
“Yeah, well, I go to Dalton now, so it doesn’t matter what anybody at McKinley
thinks.”
The arm around Kurt’s waist tightens for a second or two, like maybe he’s
trying to prove some kind of point, then he relaxes and Kurt closes his eyes
and listens to Puck breathe until he falls asleep.
~
“How are you going to play baseball and sing in the show choir, anyway?” Kurt
asks, frowning down at Puck where he’s stretched out on the grass next to Kurt.
They’re spending Sunday out on the quad, textbooks open around them but neither
of them has made much headway on any of their homework. Kurt knows he’s going
to pay for that tomorrow, but the past two days are the happiest he can ever
remember being, and he wants to hold onto that feeling for as long as he can.
Besides, it’s finally warm enough to sit out on the quad all afternoon, and
that means they've only got a little over a month left before they’re done for
the year. When he transferred to Dalton he didn’t think much about what
happened at the end of the year, when he had to go back to Lima for nearly
three solid months.
He tried not to think about going back to Lima, because even though he wasn't
going back to McKinley, he was going back to familiar faces and the same old
patterns and listening to his friends fill him in on gossip he didn't want to
know about people he’d just as soon forget existed. He’d thought at the time
that none of his friends knew the real reason he left, and that’s still mostly
true. But Puck knows, and Finn knows and even Rachel, and Kurt thinks he might
even tell Mercedes and Tina when he gets home.
It’s still not something he likes to remember, but it’s a little easier to
think about these days, so maybe he’ll be able to talk about it someday too.
Not that there’s much to say, and anyway he has better things to talk about
lately.
Puck blinks against the sunlight and tilts his head to look up at Kurt, and his
smile looks kind of weird from this angle, but Kurt leans over and kisses him
anyway. Puck’s hand lands on the back of his neck, fingers warm on Kurt’s skin
where he pushes them under the collar of Kurt’s blazer.
His own blazer is lying on the grass beside him, shirtsleeves rolled up and he
never even bothered with his tie this morning. Every time Kurt looks at him he
thinks the word ‘debauched’, and he grins and presses one last kiss to Puck’s
bottom lip before he sits up again.
“I haven’t even made the baseball team yet, babe.”
“You will,” Kurt says with exactly as much confidence as he feels. “I saw you
out there, Noah. You were better than anybody else.”
“You’re pretty good for my ego, Hummel.”
“Please, like you’ve ever needed help with your ego,” Kurt says, rolling his
eyes as Puck laughs and turns onto his side to push himself up on one elbow.
“I talked to the coach before I tried out,” Puck says, still grinning and Kurt
can’t decide if it’s annoying or just annoyingly charming. “He said it should
be cool. The athletics department works with the other extracurriculars to make
sure nobody overlaps any more than they have to, and Glee doesn’t travel all
that much on weekends. So if I have to miss a game or two during the season,
it’s not the end of the world.”
Kurt tries to imagine anyone at McKinley being that flexible about working with
the Glee club’s schedule. Then he pictures Coach Sylvester’s head actually
exploding, and that’s a little easier to visualize.
“Really?”
“That's what I said. I mean, it’s Glee, right? But they take it pretty serious
here. Guess all the trophies probably help with that.”
“I guess.”
It’s not the first time since he transferred that Kurt’s had the urge to pinch
himself. It’s not even the first time this weekend, but he has a feeling it’s
going to keep happening for awhile, maybe even until they graduate and have to
figure out what to do with the rest of their lives. And Kurt knows that
decision is closer than he’d like it to be, because he’s finally happy for the
first time and he wants it to last.
But they’ve still got the summer, and the few times the subject’s come up so
far Puck’s made it sound like it’s a given that they’ll be spending as much of
it as possible together. And next year they can drive themselves back to
school, which means they'll have a readily available means of escaping the
antiquated rules on campus once in awhile.
They’ve got a whole year ahead of them to be Kurt and Noah, whatever that
means, and after that...well, he’s not going to worry about it until he has to.
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