Dumpster Fetish

Ch. 3: Unexpected,

of 3 Chapters

Kurt is up at six-thirty, as usual, slapping his cell phone's alarm clock off just in the midst of a Lady GaGa chorus.

He showers, as usual (because while he showered last night it's necessary that his hair be freshly-washed pre-styling), singing along with his waterproof iPod radio as he massages citrus-y hair conditioner into his roots.

His breakfast is the ever-usual cucumber-pomegranate smoothie and a Stevia-sprinkled grapefruit half--even though he was kind of craving some home fries. The calorie pep-talk within his head, combined with the mantra A moment on the hips, forever on the lips keeps him faithful to fruit, for today at least.

And as usual, Kurt has Dumpster Toss on his agenda at least once this week, and--hey! It looks like today's his day to mingle with trash. It's a shame, because he just had a facial the other day and the questionable contents of dumpsters aren't exactly clear complexion's best friends.

He's strutting over to McKinley's main entrance when a large, muscled arm wraps around his waist. Kurt freezes when a calloused finger accidentally grazes some skin on his hip, tries not to shudder like he's just been electrocuted (even if that's what it feels like). He knows this arm, that hand, better than he should.

Puck says nothing as he directs the two of them over to the dumpster, and Kurt's instantly suspicious when there aren't any other football-monkeys jeering and clapping their hands like lunatics for their pre-homeroom entertainment.

"Look," Puck says, but stops just before he says anything more, shaking his head with a derisive snort. "I'm… uh."

Kurt tries to be patient, he really does, but it was never one of his personality traits. (His father always said he'd gotten that from his mother.) So he tires quickly of Puck's inner conflict; drawls, "Is there any reason why we're talking by the dumpster, if you don't seem inclined to toss me into it?"

Puck glares. "How do you know I wasn't planning on chucking you in right when you least expect it?"

"Because you haven't ever helped them when they throw me in there." Kurt scoffs, a strange, confident little smirk curling his lips. "And you're a being of consistency. Can't stand change, can you?"

Puck reels back, as if hit. How did he do that? Not even his mother knows he despises it when she changes meatloaf dinners from Thursdays to Wednesdays. Wednesdays. He struggles for a cool façade. "I am," He admits, "but then again, who does like change?"

"Mm, good point." Kurt sighs to himself. "Well, if you're going to toss me in there, you're holding onto my jacket and messenger bag." He slips his brand-new leather tote off one shoulder. "Just leave them for me after you walk away."

Puck glares. "I'm not going to fucking throw you in!"

"Well," Kurt raises one perfectly-sculpted eyebrow. "thanks for clearing that up for me. Then what is it you want fro--mph!"

Kurt has to admit, as his vision swims and his oxygen is dwindling, being suffocated to death sounds very agreeable, especially when there's a tongue doing that to the roof of his mouth.


He shoves Puck off of him when his brain comprehends just what's going on.

They're rooted to the spot, Kurt's hands pressed against a solid chest (is this what a six-pack feels like?), staring at each other in wide-eyed, gaping shock.

"What the-- the hell?!"

"Oh God, what the fuck--"

"You barbaric, plebian fool--"

"--you're controlling me, you gay android--"

"--didn't want to waste my first kiss! And--"

"--not supposed to have girl-hips--"

"--hair is ridiculous--"

And just then, like a hilarious sitcom, Finn approaches them. "Hey guys!" He says in that sickeningly cheerful voice of his. "What's up?"

It takes him a moment to assess the situation. "Oh, Puck," He murmurs with disappointment, "you're not going to dumpster-toss Kurt, are you? I thought you said--"

"That I have to see Mr. Schue before homeroom!" Puck intercepts loudly, his cheeks flushed even redder than before. "Thanks bud! I can always count on you to remind me of important… things. Heh."

With that, Puck is tugging his friend, who's totally lost by now (which, admittedly, isn't so surprising) towards the school, leaving a floundering Kurt behind.

Puck doesn't know why he thought spending the night at Finn's, tipsy as all hell, was a good idea, especially when he was trying to keep a very vital piece of information from his best friend. Because if he'd been sober, his secret would've stayed a secret--Finn isn't exactly intuitive, and even if he kind of figured something was up with his bro, Puck doubts Finn would pry.

But as it is, after a couple of natty light's, Puck isn't just an open book, he's a fucking audio book.

"I think I like Kurt," He mumbles, chucking a crushed beer can in what he thinks is in the direction of the trash can.

Silence numero uno. "Yeah…" Finn says slowly, as if Puck is the dull one. "He's a cool guy. I've been trying to tell you that for a while now."

"No." Puck shakes his head fervently, and his vision's in slow-motion so when he stops moving, it takes a few moments for his eyes to readjust on Finn's confused face. "I mean, I really, really like Kurt."

Numero dos. "What?"

"Puck," He gestures to himself like Tarzan. Points to the remainder of their pepperoni pizza, still sitting in its greasy box. "Kurt." Finn is starting to look worried now. "Fuck want to puck Kurt."

More awkward silence, and Finn looks disturbed. "You want to…?"

"Bang him," Puck supplies, ever the helpful bro.

"You're gay?"

The way Finn says it (like it's some ailment), the way he looks when he says it (eyebrows raised impossibly high, mouth hanging open), everything, rubs Puck in the wrong way. He fidgets in his suddenly too warm, too constricting clothes.

"No," He shakes his head again, partially to disagree, and also, just because he likes how unreal everything looks. "I'm not gay."

"But you like Kurt."

"But I like Kurt." Sage nod.

He thinks that four silences is enough for one night. "I don't feel so great."

And he promptly spews chunks, all over Kurt the Pepperoni Pizza.

"Sorry," He moans, mostly to Finn (but also to Kurt--he knows the pretty-boy pizza would probably hate to be anything other than immaculate).

Puck shakes his head as he storms down the halls to wait out third period math in the gym. He was such an idiot.

But he can't help but to feel relieved, like one weight's been lifted off his chest. Sure, they've both got an aversion to pepperoni pizza now, but Finn knows. He knows and he hasn't flipped out yet. Even Puck thinks this all might be a reprieve from the Good Lord.

Now, he just needs to make sure Finn keeps his trap shut about it, because the last thing he wants is for the glee club to know his secret.

Kurt doesn't know why, but he hasn't told Mercedes anything about this morning. It's unusual, yeah, because Kurt tells his female (and less fashionable) counterpart everything, from what he saw on a new YouTube video to his one toenail on his left foot that just won't grow properly, ever since he'd dropped a jar of moisturizer on it. (Though he told her that he slipped and dropped the jar, when, in reality, he'd been practicing the dance moves to She Wolf.) But now Kurt has this weird code of silence about anything concerning Puck. He doesn't reveal that the man he's drooling over isn't Finn anymore, but Puck, best friend of Finn but most definitely not Finn.

It's not like he cares if Mercedes "accidentally" tells other Gleeks, and they tell more people, because so what if it gets around that Puck came onto him before first period? Sure, it would kind of ruin Puck, but Kurt didn't think that mattered.

Until he thought of "Whatever" and finger-calluses really nice abs.

And now he's near-bursting with all of his suppression. He's used to expressing everything, because he's always had a bit of a problem with self-restraint, even if he might offend someone. (But really, did that girl even think of how orange paisley would never, in a million years, go with a soft pink plaid cardigan?) It feels like he's a really disgusting pimple, and just one pinprick will make him explode.

He subtly shudders at his metaphor, blames Pimpled Ogre-Jock for disrupting his mental peace (because all it would take is a bit of Clearasil and astringent to cure one of his problems).

Kurt would've told Mercedes about his crush by now, but he knew if Mercedes asked why he even set his eyes on Puck longer than it took to assess his really bad fashion sense, he knows he would be as strong as putty. Sadie would know all about his first kiss faster than he could say "Technicolor Zebra".

When his French teacher, Madame Badin, asks him where grandma went, without a moment's hesitation, Kurt replies, "Grand-mère allé au supermarché pour les abricots."

He prides himself in his multitasking abilities as he inconspicuously files his nails beneath his desk.

"I don't like you."

Kurt's slightly startled, but he covers his spastic jump with an annoyed shoulder-twitch. "Puckerman."

"You're just…" Puck trails off as Kurt turns to look at him with glaring pale

hazel eyes.

"What?" Attractive? Cute? Kurt asks silently in his mind. He doesn't know why his stomach is doing nervous somersaults now.

"You look like a girl," Puck offers after a moment spent doing weird hand-twitching and blushing.

"Thank you." Kurt drawls acerbically, his glare turning arctic. He feels a sudden rush of resentment for that corset he wore that one day. "Really. If that's all…?"

"No, that's not all," Puck growls, stepping forward like a man on a mission. Kurt inadvertently takes a step back, but makes up for it by moving forward two shuffles. (Never show fear in the face of the predator.) He might have seen a sparkle of amusement in those dark eyes for just a moment, but Kurt thinks it could've been the afternoon lighting.

"Then what would you like from me now? You already took my first kiss," Kurt snaps with a lack of venom even Puck notices. "I'd like to save my virginity for someone who doesn't think I'm a… gay android."

The jock flushes an interesting shade of red at that, and Kurt would've been more amused had his own face not heated up.

"Um… I--"

"Look," Kurt sighs, holding his hand up. "I can only imagine how bad you are at self-expression and admitting your feelings, so let me make this simpler, for the both of us. You're just sex-depraved since pool season is winding down to a close for the year, and I am just… femme enough to catch your interest." He feels disgusted with himself for sinking this low, all to comfort a confused (sexy) bi-curious jock. "We'll just pass this off as a slip caused by accidental teenage hormones. Now I really need to get home--"

"Fucking--stop it!" Puck slams him up against a wide oak trunk, and Kurt gasps at the feel of bark digging into his back. He will kill him, Kurt vows, if his jacket has even one spec of dirt on it. "I'm trying to--God!"

They stay there for a minute, Puck gripping onto Kurt's arms with bruising force and Kurt trying not to feel dizzy at the feel of warm, minty breath puffing against his face. Their eyes are locked, and for one impossibly long moment, Kurt thinks, he's going to kiss me again--I want him to kiss me again.

But then some guys are chortling in the distance, and the trance is shattered, blowing like flower petals in the breeze to some other place.

"I've gotta go," Kurt mutters, pushing Puck off of him in a surprising show of strength, and scuttles off to his Navigator like the coward he knows he is.

Later on, Kurt pauses in the kitchen, biting his lip as he stares down at his protein bar. He looks to the freezer, where he knows his stash of Ben and Jerry's is.

A moment's hesitation, then Fuck it.

He trudges into his basement living room with a modest pint of Phish Food, fully intent on wallowing in dairy and Ugly Betty for the rest of the night.

Puck wakes up, panting and sweating and all kinds of hot and bothered. He kicks off his blankets with his feet, a hand already stealing beneath constricting boxer-shorts and wrapping around his hard, hot length.

He thinks about how hot Kurt looks when he blushes. How it would be to fuck him up against a tree, holding their hands above their heads as he slams in and out…

And the tight coil in his stomach explodes, orgasm momentarily killing him, when he thinks of soft, cherry-flavored lips and that voice whispering I want you.

Author's Commentary: So I realize this is a completely pathetic end to Dumpster Fetish. But I felt like... If I even attempted to stuff half the situations I have in mind, into this one chapter, things would be too overwhelming.
Which is why I have plans of one-shots and short stories in the future for this 'verse. Hopefully, you'll all be interested in reading them... c:

ALSO: Remember to check out my community on LiveJournal, "nevernoon"--that's where I post all of my Puckurt fic. And you can find my stories, as well as others', in the other LJ community, "puckurt" (an amazing community, by the way!!).

Until next time, lovelies!