It was both incredibly simple and incredibly complicated when, one morning, Noah Puckerman woke up and knew beyond a doubt that he wanted Kurt Hummel. It was not particularly prophetic. The day was no different than any other. There was no accompanying dream with the revelation, no message from God. There was no crippling doubt or self loathing. There was simple (as simple as it could be) desire. Noah Puckerman wanted Kurt Hummel.

And what Noah Puckerman wanted Noah Puckerman got. He wouldn't take it by brute force, he wouldn't cheat or lie because that would ruin the game; but he was Puck. He was a stud. If there was one thing that studs were good at, it was getting.

This was how it started:
He didn't have any classes near Hummel's locker but the detour was worth it. Hummel watched him approach from his peripheral vision, Puck could tell because Hummel's shoulders went tight, like a nervous cat, and his lips pursed together. All part of the game. He would change that.

"Hey, homo," he said and nodded. And then, just as he was passing, he tapped Hummel on the butt with the palm of his hand.

It wasn't a full on ass smack or anything, just a light little hello from his hand to Hummel's ass, and yeah it was a nice ass, and Hummel didn't exactly wear jeans that left that to the imagination, so if Puck's hand lingered a little on the curve of the inseam, well, that wasn't his fault. He heard (didn't see because if he looked it would ruin the effect) Hummel's reaction. A low little hiss that seemed to start from the sole of his Gucci shoes and travel through his veins like a whisper. The locker slamming shut and those same shoes tapping down the hallway, not rushed not slow. And that was it.

And for the first time Puck thought that this could, perhaps, be more difficult than he anticipated.


At Glee practice Hummel didn't look at him, but the annoying part was that it didn't even look like he was trying to avoid looking at Puck, it just looked like he had better things on his mind. Like ogling Finn.

Puck couldn't help it, okay, he was only flesh and blood, and he couldn't help that jealousy made bile rise in his throat biting at the back of his tongue. Hummel's cheeks were pink, and as Puck watched Hummel watch Finn watch Rachel, Hummel licked around the edges of his lips, little pink tongue darting and soft, which really was just unfair.

Puck stared at the ground, hard, because if he looked up he might do something embarrassing, and studs don't do embarrassing things. He rubbed his suddenly-sweaty hands on the front of his jeans, clenched his fists quickly, and when he glanced back up at Hummel, Hummel's head was tilting away from Puck and his cheeks were just a little too flushed. And suddenly, as he watched with interest Hummel tuckin a piece of hair behind his ear, almost self-consciously, Puck thought that maybe this wouldn't be quite so hard after all.


Now, Puck didn't put a huge amount of thought into most aspects of his life, but he put some thought into this. He wanted into Hummel's pants. He would get into Hummel's pants. Generally speaking, getting into people's pants was something Puck was pretty good at, but then Puck was used to chasing after desperate middle-aged women who hadn't had sex since the first year of their marriage and drunk Cheerios.

So he thought about this.

Hummel was sitting in Spanish class already when Puck walked into the classroom. He glanced up when Puck opened the door, and then looked down at his hands and picked at a hangnail, and almost succeeded at making it seem casual; but something tightened around the edges of his mouth as Puck walked towards him.

"Sup, Hummel," Puck said, and sat next to him, draped an arm around the blue-plastic back of Hummel's chair. Puck almost laughed as Hummel turned bright pink. Perfect.

"What do you want?" There was something both furious and desperate in his voice, and Puck thought for a moment before he answered.

"To fuck you," he said, and it was true, so why beat around the bush.

Hummel looked surprised for a second, like he didn't expect Puck to be so straightforward, but then he tilted his chin in a way that was very, well, very him, and looked at Puck so intensely that Puck had to fight not to shift.

Then Hummel was looking forward again, like nothing had changed, his slope of a nose pointing straight into the air, but he didn't try to move Puck's arm from where it rested lightly against his back and he said, "Try harder."


So, Puck decided, he would try harder. Because he was never one to shy away from a challenge.


Hummel was sitting alone at Glee when Puck got there, which was unusual. But from the way he glanced nervously over at Puck and then forward again, Puck thought that maybe it had not been entirely accidental.

Hummel's shoulders tensed as Puck walked over, and then Puck was standing over him, and Hummel was still resolutely looking forward. "Here,Hummel," Puck said, and held out the shiny gold box of chocolate that he had bought from the grocery store in the thirty minutes between the end of school and Glee practice. They were the type of chocolates his mom liked to eat after she was drinking, like they could wash away the betrayal; $7 for a box of sticky sweet redemption.

Hummel finally looked at him, then down at the box, then back up at Puck. "You can take those back," he said, and looked forward again.

Puck could recognize a dismissal when he heard one, but that didn't mean he had to accept it. "This is for you," he said slowly like he was talking to a slow child, because Hummel was gay and probably a virgin, and maybe that meant that he didn't understand when he was being given a gift. "They're chocolates."

And Hummel gave him a look that he had never received from anyone except for maybe Quinn, a look that meant 'I'm too good for you, so don't even try.' "Chocolate," Hummel said, "Will break me out and go straight to my hips, not to mention I don't like the way it sticks to the roof of my mouth, especially right before I'm going to sing." He looked forward again, then down, stretched out an arm and adjusted his sleeve. "You can take those back." Hummel looked arrogant and beautiful, pink coloring the tips of his cheekbones.

For a moment Puck couldn't do anything but stare, but then he remembered that he was a stud. "Fine, well, I didn't really want to give them to you anyway," he said, and he stomped off. He hated pink, anyway.


Later that night Puck ate the chocolates one by one in his room.


Puck didn't really know how to seduce a man. Was it the same as seducing a woman? He had tried to google it, but his efforts had proved fruitless, although he did now possess disturbingly specific knowledge on how to fuck Hummel if he could ever figure out how to get into that prudish fag's pants (he had been very careful to clear the history on his computer after that particular afternoon).

Which was why he decided it was time to recruit outside help.

Mercedes did not look pleased when he appeared on her front porch. She propped a hand on her hip, and glared. "What do you want, white boy?"

"Tell me how to get into Hummel's pants," he said, because he had never been one for subtlety, and Mercedes eyes widened and she dragged him into her house.

"Kurt told me you were creeping on him," she said, and Puck almost didn't process it because he was stuck on 'Kurt,' and it had never really occurred to him to call Hummel by his first name, but maybe he should. "You need to leave him alone." And he had to admire the way she said it, simple, straightforward.

"I want him," Puck said, except he had only just realized it. Not that he wanted to fuck Humm—Kurt. He knew that part already. But he wanted Kurt, the limp wrists, the soprano voice, the pink cheeks. And he hadn't realized, and for the first time he felt nervousness and doubt creep into his stomach.

And maybe Mercedes heard some of that, or maybe she saw it on his face, or hell maybe she just wanted Hummel to get laid, but either way her face softened. "Why do you want him?" And there was genuine curiosity in her voice.

"I don't know," Puck said. "But I do."

"Okay," Mercedes said.


Puck should not have listened to Mercedes.

Hum--Kurt was sitting in Spanish class, as usual by himself, writing something in a notebook before class started. When Puck got closer, he saw that he was doodling, abstract shapes and flowing lines and stick figures, and for some reason that made Puck want him more.

"You look very... nice today," Puck said stiffly, and felt awkward, and Kurt looked up at him and his eyes were kind of wide his eyebrows kind of raised his cheeks kind of flushed. "Very handsome." He cleared his throat. "Kurt."

Kurt's mouth was open, like a fish, gaping. He closed it with a click, then opened it again, then closed it, then, "Thanks," and his cheeks were so red Puck thought that Kurt would start actually steaming any moment. "You… too?"

"Um," Puck said because, okay, he was off his game, usually the chocolate worked. "Would you… perhaps," and he tried to remember the words that Mercedes had drilled into his head, but Kurt's eyes were very shiny as he stared up at Puck, and Kurt's lips were very red, and Kurt's hand were tugging at one another, and the front of the cashmere sweater that he was wearing, and Puck was having trouble focusing. "Would you care to, um accompany me to the-- the movies this Friday?"

And there was something like a smile starting around the edges of Kurt's eyes.

"I think," Kurt said. "I really would."


It was 8:00 on a Friday night, and Puck was standing at the doorstep of Kurt's house holding a bunch of daisies in cream paper wondering what the hell he was doing. It took him a couple of tries (that, if questioned, he would deny adamantly) to knock on the door. He straightened his shirt as he waited.

The door was answered by a rough looking man in an old baseball cap and a worn pair of jeans, and, really? Prissy little Kurt sprung from this man's loins? Really?

"Hi," Puck said, "Hello. I'm here to see Kurt."

The man looked vaguely surprised and then suddenly suspicious. "Who are you?"

"Puck-- uh, Noah, sir, Noah Puckerman. I play with your son." Puck paused and then his eyes widened. "On the football team, sir, I play with your son on the football team. And Glee Club. And, um." When had Puck gotten so awkward? Puck was a stud. He blamed Mercedes.

Luckily, Kurt's dad was nodding, and Puck thought that maybe he had stopped listening somewhere around football team. "I'll get him, just wait here for a minute."

And then Puck was facing a closed door again, and as he fidgeted with the flowers in his hand he wondered when exactly Noah Puckerman, stud of the football team, had turned into a quivering nancy fag. When the door opened again, he forgot to care.

Kurt was wearing something red and his eyes were very wide, and his mouth was open a little tongue darting out to nervously wet his lips, and Puck's breath caught in his throat. "You look," he cleared his throat. "You look good." He looked down, suddenly remembered the flowers that he was holding, and shoved them towards Kurt.

Kurt looked down at the flowers for a moment (and Puck thought about the way that Kurt's eyelashes settled on his cheeks, long and dark and slightly curled at the end). And then Kurt looked up, with some sudden nervousness around the edges of his mouth, and Puck realized that he had never seen Kurt look nervous before, not even right before he threw him into the dumpster, not even before he took a solo in Glee, not ever. "Thanks," Kurt said, and clutched at the flowers that Puck had given him, and Puck suddenly wished that he had had enough money to get Kurt a really nice bouquet of flowers, white roses or something, instead of the daffodils that he had settled on, but Kurt didn't seem to mind.

Someone cleared their throat, and Puck realized that Kurt's dad was still there, standing behind Kurt with his arms crossed. "Don't get him back too late," he said.

"I won't, sir."

Kurt looked up at Puck and then back at his dad. "Love you, Dad," he said, and then catapulted himself backwards and hugged his Dad who looked about as awkward as Puck probably would have. "I'll be back later on tonight."

And then Kurt skipped towards Puck's pick up. Like, actually skipped. Puck and Kurt's dad exchanged looks, but when Kurt looked back over his shoulder Puck's chest kind of hurt like indigestion, even though he hadn't eaten anything spicy, and Puck started to walk to meet him. Kurt's dad grabbed Puck's arm before he could even take a step.

"Take care of him, Noah," Kurt's dad is saying, and there was warning in his voice, but something else, too, like sadness. "He's—well, he's all I've got."

And Puck nodded, because he knew how that was. "I'll take care of him," he said, and he was kind of shocked and kind of not at the same time that he really meant it.


When the movie was over, Puck drove Kurt back home in silence. Well, he was silent, Kurt was chattering along like a cuckoo bird which Puck thought he might have minded once.

"I really liked the actress," Kurt was saying, "But the wardrobe they chose for her, I was just not feeling it. I mean really couldn't they have chosen something with even a modicum of fashion awareness? And it was just not flattering, and,"

"Kurt," Puck said, because they had arrived at Kurt's house. And Kurt looked at him with the expression of shock and pleasure that he always got when Puck called him by his first name, and Puck wondered why he hadn't started calling him Kurt much sooner.

"Puck," Kurt said, and smiled that goofy, wide, beautiful smile.

And Puck leaned in, put his hands on the side of Kurt's red cheeks, and kissed him.

Kurt made a quick, jerky motion and Puck thought he might pull away, but then Kurt settled into the kiss, wound one hand up over Puck's shoulder and the other pressed onto Puck's chest, and made a small sighing noise that turned Puck on way more than it should have. Kurt smelled nice, like soap and a little cologne and bubblegum and Puck shifted to move his hand on Kurt's hip, then up and under the soft red sweater, and when Kurt gasped he slipped his tongue into the mouth. And Kurt tasted like singing, smooth and sweet and easy. But then Kurt was gone, pulled back, straightened his sweater.

"What's up, Hummel," Puck said, and he didn't move his hand from the warm skin of Kurt's hip.

Kurt looked up for second like he was hurt almost, but then a smile spread easily over his face. "Being the only gay in Lima still doesn't make me a slut," Kurt said, but he didn't try to move Puck's hand. "This is only our first date."

"You're a teenage boy, of course you're a slut," Puck said, and leaned in so his mouth was right next to Kurt's neck, blew a little, and Kurt made a small noise. "Hormones do strange things."

And then Kurt shifted his hip, and Puck's hand was touching air instead of smooth, warm skin, and he was startled by how much he missed the lack of contact. "Try harder, Puck," Kurt said, and opened his door.

Puck sat in his pick up and watched Kurt walk in, and then watched a little longer until the lights went off.


The next Saturday, Puck took Kurt to dinner at a really fancy place (well, ok, as fancy as his budget could afford), and still all he got was a kiss. The second he tried to inch a hand up Kurt's thigh, Kurt smacked it away and told him not yet. Then the Friday after that he took Kurt to a dance at one of the lame ass clubs in Lima, but Kurt seemed to enjoy it, and at least Puck could grind up close and get some friction to ease his fucking blue balls. But once they were alone in the car, Kurt folded his arms prudishly across his chest and pressed a chaste almost timid kiss to Puck's lips and was gone. Puck took Kurt bowling, Puck took Kurt to the drive in movie theatre that for some reason still existed in Lima. Puck took Kurt to the fucking Icecapades because they were in town, and he thought maybe Kurt with the whole gay thing would be swept off his feet by that. Countless movies, countless dinners and still nothing. Nothing nothing nothing.

Ok Puck was trying to be patient because this was the hardest he'd ever worked for anyone that wasn't in his immediate family. And he hated to admit it because it sounded stupid and slightly desperate and not stud-like at all, even in his own head, but he had a feeling that Kurt would be worth it. Kurt's hands were soft, and his lips were red, and he was fucking sassy, and in Puck's mind that was a good combination.

But he would never be worth it if he never put out. And, man, Puck's balls were so blue, he didn't know that they would ever recover. It had been months. Puck had never waited that long for anyone. He was a stud. He wasn't built for celibacy. He had never had to masturbate before in his life (he lost his virginity when he was 13 to a MILF, and he hadn't really slowed down since) but now he masturbated furiously. Every night. Sometimes in the mornings. Once during lunch period in the boy's bathroom pretending to take a dump, and if that wasn't a low point, he didn't know what was.

It had been months of dating, and months of the rest of the football team giving Puck shit for dating a guy. But Puck had never really worried about keeping himself in line because he was a stud and he could make anything cool, and yeah eventually the guys had stopped being such assholes. It didn't hurt that Puck had cracked a few of the more stubborn jaws. And all of it had seemed worth it, because Kurt was hot, but he wasn't getting anything except for hands pressed to the side of his cheek, and light kisses.

He thought about sexting Santana, but it just didn't seem exciting to him. Quinn never talked to him, and his MILF's couldn't even get him hard anymore, so he had quit trying. He was losing money off of his pool cleaning business by the bucket load, and he was taking Kurt out every weekend, so he was broke, and he was horny, and he was celibate, and this just wasn't fair.

And he was trying harder. So he was sick to hell of hearing about it.

"Wait," he said, as he was dropping Kurt off after some chick flick the Kurt had clutched his arm through the full second half of. "Stay."

Kurt looked at him for a second, so intensely that Puck kind of felt uncomfortable, then Kurt put a hand up to the side of Puck's face and Puck forgot to feel uncomfortable. "Noah," Kurt said, and Puck hadn't noticed before that there was this awesome shine of lust in the back of Kurt's eyes. And then Kurt kissed him, and it was like no one Puck had ever kissed before. It was too hard, too hot, too everything because it was Kurt pressed against him, Kurt who was winding a hand up his leg, Kurt who was holding onto his shoulders like Puck was a fucking life boat, Kurt who was making small noises against his lips like he was fucking hooker, but somehow it was hot as hell.

Puck trailed his hand up the side of Kurt's neck, then back down across his stomach, and Jesus that sweater must be worth the million or whatever dollars Kurt paid for it, because it was soft and nice and Puck could feel Kurt through it, hot and solid. And Puck shifted because he's so on fire, he's so horny he couldn't resist anymore, pressed up against Kurt, and yeah Kurt wanted it too and the friction the friction the fric-- what?

Kurt pulled away, hand on his mouth, and he still looked so pretty that Puck couldn't be mad, all pink cheeks and tousled hair. Puck wanted him so badly he almost couldn't breathe, and he leaned forward, but Kurt pushed him away.

"No, Puck," Kurt said, and his breath ghosted along the side of Puck's face. "I'm sorry. I can't."

And then he left. Just like that. Puck sat in his car for a second, stunned, then swore and drove off. He looked at the house just before he left, and saw a shadow in the window, staring, taunting.

It was amazingly good luck that he didn't crash on the way home.


Puck woke up that night with Kurt's name on his lips and a mess between his leg, and fuck. Maybe God was telling him he needed to have sex with Kurt Hummel (in which case he would have to have a discussion with some Bible interpreters in his mom's synagogue).


Puck didn't get it. He had done everything right, and he was getting the cold shoulder. And not just from Kurt, but from the entire Glee Club. And as much as he didn't want to admit it, this was really kind of making him-- well, not happy. He had been hanging out with Kurt for seven months (he counted backwards yesterday), spent way too much money, got no sex out of it, and now he was being ignored.

And, ok, Puck didn't do so good with being ignored. He just didn't. He did well with people fawning over him. That what he was good at. Because he was a stud.

But lately that was sounding more and more hollow, and not just because he was getting about as much sex as a nun, but also because even when he was being ignored he still wanted to be with Kurt. Badly. And that was just not stud-like behavior.

But Kurt didn't want to be with him.

Puck was apparently turning into a woman. That was the only reasonable explanation.

And when after Glee practice Mercedes cornered Puck and started yelling, ok, yeah, Puck got a little nervous because fuck it the bitch was crazy, and fucking intimidating, and he could barely understand what she was saying because she was so angry. And Puck was an asshole, but shit, he didn't deserve this. He had been nice to Kurt. He had done what Mercedes said. He had done what Kurt said. And he was sick of being whipped over some dumb fag with stupid fucking red lips.

Puck was a stud.

He was done with Kurt.


The only reason he bought chocolates that night was because he was worried he was losing weight and needed to stay bulky for football.


Puck didn't miss Kurt. That was not a problem.


Ok, maybe Puck missed Kurt just a little bit.


Fuck, Puck wanted Kurt back so bad it hurt.


Puck was a go getter. That was what he told himself. It wasn't that he was a pathetic woman, it was that there had been a misunderstanding of some sort and he was fixing it. Because he was a stud. And being a stud meant-- well Puck didn't really know anymore.

But he managed to find Kurt by himself in the parking lot just before Glee (okay, so it wasn't so much finding as he waited by the back entrance idling in his pick up), and he didn't hesitate at all, he pulled Kurt into his truck, and said: "Okay, tell me what I did." And if his voice sounded empty or sad, he ignored it. He was demanding answers. He was in control here.

Kurt looked scared, like he thought that Puck was going to beat him up or rape him or something, so Puck, and folded his hands on his lap, and tried to look as unintimidating as possible. Kurt's shoulders drooped. "You-- nothing," Kurt said, and was that all Puck was going to get? Really?

"Kurt," he said, and Kurt looked up, and his eyes were shiny, brighter than they should have been, and Puck had to clench his hands into fists to stop from touching him. "I can't really figure out what I did, 'cause I tried to do what you wanted even thought it was dumb, but I'm... uh"

"You don't need to apologize," Kurt said, Thank God. "I just think we want different things out of this relationship, and I can't keep fooling myself. So, I have to go, if that's okay." Kurt turned to leave, but it wasn't okay. Nothing was okay. Puck grabbed Kurt's wrist.

"I want you," Puck said.

Kurt stopped, turned back, looked him straight in the eyes, and he was angry, Puck could tell, he was angry all flashing eyes and red cheeks and God he was hot. "No," Kurt said, and his voice was cold, hurt. "You want to fuck me."

"Well, yeah," Puck said, because it was true. He did want to fuck Kurt. But something changed in Kurt's face, and all of it, all the anger, crumbled into sadness, and Puck didn't know what he had said. Kurt pulled away, but he was crying too hard to open the door, so he curled away from Puck and pressed his face into the window, and cried. "Kurt," Noah said, and touched Kurt's shoulder.

"Don't call me that," Kurt said. "Call me Hummel."

"Kurt," Puck said again, because he was obstinate, and because, damn it, he didn't even know what Kurt was so upset about. "So what if I want to fuck you? You're hot." Kurt didn't even turn his head, though, not even a little bit, so maybe flattery wasn't the way to go. And Puck was getting angry, actually, because it wasn't supposed to be like this. All that he'd wanted was to have sex with Kurt, and he hadn't even done that, and now Kurt was crying in his car, and Puck had this weird pulling-tightening pain in his chest as he watched Kurt cry, and he wanted to fix it, he had to fix it, but he had no idea how. This wasn't supposed to happen with studs. "I'm... sorry?"

"You just have no idea," Kurt turned on him, and his face was red and kind of puffy, his eyes all squinted up, and he still looked beautiful. There was a little snot beneath the bottom of Kurt's nose, and Puck couldn't figure out why he wasn't grossed out by it. "You have no idea what it's like to be someone who's not you. You just-- you want to take everything without giving anything. I can't just give you-- that when that's all you want. I just can't. I don't know why you keep pushing this, we clearly want different things."

"You don't want to have sex with me?" Now Puck was confused because, really, who wouldn't want to have sex with Puck? Puck was a stallion. Puck was a stud.

Kurt looked at Puck like Puck was the dumbest, most repulsive thing to ever set foot on the face of the Earth, and really, that wasn't fair. "It's not that," Kurt said, "I don't just want to have sex with you."

"Dude, I've been with you for like seven months without sex. That's like... a personal record." Kurt looked away and didn't respond, and this was stupid. This was so fucking stupid, and Puck was really bad at this kind of shit. "I want to get in your pants, but, you know, I want other stuff too."

Kurt was leaning back a little, away from the window where his breath was still fogging, and he was sort of sniffling pathetically, but he wasn't full on crying anymore, so that was a start. "What else do you want?"

Puck hadn't really thought this far ahead. "Uh," he said articulately, because honestly, he didn't know what he wanted. He had never really been asked. But Kurt's eyes got really shiny again his hands knotted till the knuckles were white, and Puck realized that he did want something else, because it hurt him, it physically hurt him in his stomach, to see Kurt like this. And it hurt him worse to know that he had caused it. And if that wasn't stud-like behaviour, well, fuck it. "l want you," he said. "All of you." And it was probably the most stupidly romantic thing he had ever said in his entire life, maybe because nobody had ever asked, or because nobody had ever looked at him like Kurt looked at him, like they could see him inside out. And he had never wanted to be a man instead of a stallion, but with Kurt something was different.

Kurt was staring at him, pensively, like he was figuring something out, like he was reading Puck's thoughts on his forehead. And Puck thought maybe he hadn't said enough, maybe Kurt didn't get it, so tentatively (because, fuck, this was the first time he had wanted to keep something so badly that he had actually worked for it), he offered "I still want to kiss you, even when your nose is runny and gross."

And Kurt's mouth dropped open, and he started laughing. Really laughing. Like all this time, all this crying and this stress had been leading to this moment, and it was finally breaking apart and revealing something new. "Thank you," Kurt said. "I won't make you." And he pulled out a tissue, and blew his nose.


They never made it to Glee practice.


When they finally pulled out of the school parking lot, Kurt's nose wasn't running at all but his lips were red and swollen. Puck looked over at him, sitting in the passenger seat and chewing on his lip. "You're beautiful," Puck said, because it seemed like the right thing, and it was true. Kurt was beautiful and unexpected and a lot of other things that Puck didn't think about because he was a stud, and studs aren't mushy little thirteen year old girls.

"Thanks," Kurt said, laughing. "But you don't have to treat me like a girl just because I sing like one. And cry like one." They fell silent for a moment, as Puck drove and Kurt played with his scarf, twisting it around and around his hands. Kurt cleared his throat. "I thought that you were-- going to leave," and Puck glanced over. "After we had sex. That's why I, you know, pushed you away because I thought if I let anything happen you would stop wanting to be around me."

Puck didn't really know what to say. He tightened his jaw then let it go, then looked over at Kurt, straight in the eyes, and said: "You're an idiot." Because, seriously? Puck went to the fucking Icecapades for Kurt.

Kurt opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, and said "Sorry," all in a rush like he didn't know what he was saying. "For not trusting you. I thought, you know, I didn't want to be a conquest, but I shouldn't have-- I mean, even if you were it shouldn't have mattered, it's not like I'm looking to get gay married in Lima. But I wanted it to be special, anyway, and to mean something because I um, I really really like you. And I guess, I don't know, we're different people, you don't talk as much as I do, or think as much, and I'm not saying you're not smart, I'm just saying you don't overthink things like I do. Because I'm a panicker." Kurt paused for a second to breathe, and look at Puck under his eyelashes. Puck stared at the road because, man, that was a lot of words, and he wasn't really sure what to do with all of them.

"What I'm trying to say," Kurt said. "Is-- I think I trust you know. And. My Dad's not home. So I have the house all to myself. So um." Puck knew what that meant; so he stepped on the gas. And as the tires screeched, he saw Kurt in his periphery, smiling to himself, as red as the traffic light Puck was currently running.


When they got to Kurt's house, Kurt's shoulders were tight, almost to his ears. He fidgeted in the foyer (and man, this was a nice house, the foyer was almost as big as Puck's entire living room), hanging up his scarf and Puck's coat, and when he turned around his face was scrunched. "I'm just kind of nervous," he said. "I've never done this before."

"That's okay," Puck said, and he put his hand on the side of Kurt's neck.

"Let's go downstairs," Kurt said, and his voice was breathy and high, his eyes were dark, and Puck wanted him so bad he almost thought he couldn't make it through the hallway and down the flight of stairs, but Kurt grabbed his hand and linked their fingers, and that made it a little easier. He pressed Kurt's hand to his lips once as they walked down the stairs, and the Kurt's breath hitched and caught, and God it was so much more than anything, so much more than everything.

When they got to Kurt's room (holy shit, it was a fucking bachelor's pad) Kurt turned and they were kissing in a second, only it was different this time because Kurt was just as hungry as Puck was. They pressed against each other, and they kissed, and Kurt's hands were fucking everywhere, twining into Puck's hair, and running up his back, and curving around his hips, then up and under Puck's shirt. They broke the kiss for a second (that felt like hours) so that Puck could pull off his shirt, and then unbuttoning Kurt's between them, and then it was just skin, broad expanses of skin, pressing up against each other, and Kurt gasped into Puck's mouth, "I've waited so long," and Puck pushed them both back towards Kurt's bed where they fell into a pile, twining like leaves and everything was right.

Puck kissed and licked and bit a line down Kurt's neck and onto his collarbone as Kurt moaned beneath him, and God this was so much hotter than he had ever imagined (and that was saying something because in his imagination it was pretty hot) and he ground helplessly against Kurt, and God, the friction was setting him on fire, was setting the whole fucking world on fire.

And Kurt was gorgeous flushing all the way down to his bellybutton, and Puck had never felt this way with everyone, like he wanted to touch, to taste, to feel every part of Kurt; like every inch of skin was a revelation. And he needed more.

He was pulling Kurt's jeans off, without really thinking about it, and "Be careful those are worth more than you make in a year," but he didn't mind Kurt's fussiness so much now, because there was Kurt's dick. And man, Puck had never thought that he would think of another man's penis as beautiful, but there it was.

Kurt was straining up, pushing his hips towards Puck, and Puck had never wanted anyone, had never wanted anything as badly. He pressed his fingers to the very tip of Kurt, and Kurt fucking vibrated, and then Puck stopped being careful, stopped being hesitant, because the room smelled like sex, and this was what Puck was good at.

He watched Kurt's face as he jacked him off, and Kurt was eyes-shut-tight ecstasy like he was about to start crying or laughing or screaming, and his mouth was opening and closing, all strangled little gasps and breathy moans.

"Kurt," Puck said, and when did this happen? Because he was saying Kurt's name like it meant something, like Kurt meant something. When did this happen? He moved his hand away from Kurt.

"Don't stop," Kurt said, and he was breathing heavily; pink, wet lips and his eyes were dark with lust, and Puck didn't want to stop, he wanted Kurt to keep making those noises. But:

"We could do something else," Puck said, and he watched as Kurt's eyes darkened even deeper, widened, watched Kurt press up against him wantonly. And that was a pretty good invitation. "I have lube in my backpack." Because, ok, maybe Puck was whipped now, but he was still a stud, and he had been a boy scout when he was younger, and it was important to always be prepared.

"I-- get it," Kurt was practically shaking, he could barely speak, and "Please hurry." So Puck did, sliding out of his jeans and grabbing the small white tube and a condom in a fluid motion, and yeah he was smooth but he didn't know he was that smooth. Apparently this much lust turned him into SuperStud or something. Kurt put his hand on Puck's wrist, and "Please," he said, and his voice was shaking but this time from something else. "Be... gentle, I--" Kurt trailed off, looking away.

"Don't worry," Puck said, and he laid his hand on Kurt's cheek, turning Kurt's head towards him, stroking up Kurt's ear, and he meant it. Puck may have done a lot of things wrong with the whole talking and being in a relationship, but he knew what he was doing, here, in a bed, kneeling over a naked body. He stroked a hand up Kurt's side, down his legs and calfs, and gently put Kurt's ankles over his shoulders. Kurt looked scared, his face tight, eyes wide.

"Try to relax, kid," Puck said, and pressed a kiss against Kurt's face as he opened the tube of jelly.

Kurt let out a slow, shuddering laugh, kissed Puck back. "It's a little bit easier from your side of things."

"Just watch me," Puck said. "I know what I'm doing."

He sueezed some lube on his hand, and carefully, slowly, inserted a finger into Kurt. Kurt gasped and bucked, pushing up into Puck, and God, if this wasn't the hottest thing in the whole world, he couldn't possibly imagine what was. "It hurts," Kurt said. And Puck stopped, because that wasn't what he wanted, but Kurt looked at him like he was idiot. "It feels good too, don't god damn stop."

So Puck didn't. He inserted another finger, and then a third (and Kurt whimpered a little bit, but he pressed up into Puck when Puck curved his fingers and pressed just there) and Puck bit Kurt's collar bone, and then Kurt broke apart, grabbed around Puck's shoulders scratching with his nails, and "Please, Noah, please please pleasepleaseplease. I need you."

And Jesus, who could resist that, because Kurt was moaning and writhing, and wrapping his hands around Puck, and pulling, debauched and beautiful, and there were bruises forming on his shoulders and neck, and Puck couldn't do anything else. He tore open the foil of the condom with his teeth, rolled it on oiled hand slipping over his cock and pressed into Kurt. God, did he really think that it couldn't get hotter? Because this right here was putting stars behind his eyes, blinding in his periphery. It was everything he had ever done all rolled up into one moment, like dancing, like singing, like running, like flying.

They were perfect together, in that moment, pressing and touching and kissing and biting, and moving like they were one person. Kurt was making eager, needy noises, clawing and squeezing at Puck's back, and Puck gasped, and kissed Kurt, kissed the side of his mouth, kissed his cheeks and jaw and neck, and held him.

They moved slowly at first, languorous; Puck ran a hand through Kurt's hair, and Kurt tilted his head back. And had Kurt really never done this before? He was too fucking good, tight and hot and moving with Puck like they had done this a million times before. Puck couldn't think straight. "Noah," Kurt said. And Kurt was wrapping his hands around Puck's arms like they were his fucking lifeline, and oh God, oh fuck, oh Jewish Christ.

Then they were moving, really moving, quick and hard because Puck couldn't hold back anymore, and neither could Kurt. They were moving against each other, as helpless as they had ever been, and God it was beautiful, God it was amazing, Kurt's face was pulled into an almost-grimace, and he was beautiful sweat beading on his pink shoulders, on his pink forehead, on his pink cheeks, and Puck couldn't think because the noises that Kurt was making were stealing the words as quickly as he could form them.

He pressed a hand between them, on Kurt, and then Kurt was coming undone with a shout and a breath, head tilting back, and holymotherfuckingshit Puck could feel Kurt pulsing against him, and he pressed his face into Kurt's shoulder, and gasped, and came.

They couldn't do anything but lay against each other and breathe for minutes, then Kurt let out a little shaky laugh. "You're lucky I'm a dance, Puck." And Puck realized that he was pressing Kurt nearly in half, ankles still over his shoulders.

He pulled away, heard Kurt gasp a little as he reacclimated to emptiness. And Puck carefully rolled off the condom, knotted it, and threw it away. And when he looked back at Kurt, Kurt was looking kind of open and vulnerable and helpless, naked and alone on his bed. Puck grinned lecherously at him. "You up for Round Two?"

And then Kurt laughed, and maybe that laugh was the best part of everything. He opened his arms to Puck, and Puck pulled Kurt's sheets and comforter over both of them, and they held each other. And okay, so falling asleep after sex wasn't normal for Puck, but what part of any of this was. Kurt's breath ghosted along Puck's chest, and Kurt's hands pressed into Puck's back, and normalcy was overrated.

Kurt's tongue somehow found it's way around Puck's nipple ring, darting into the little hoop, almost like it was by accident, and Kurt was looking up at Puck with a grin. Puck grunted, and maybe it really was time for Round Two.


This was how it ended.