So, I'm only going to do one author's note for this whole story, since I have the entire thing written and it just seems sort of pointless, but whatever. So. Stuff. This is a fanfic for Glee. In which Kurt and Puck develop a romantic relationship. I will assume that no one who watches Glee is a homophobe because, well, that would make no sense. Anyways, as the author, I feel it is my duty to inform you that your enjoyment of this story would be furthered by a running knowledge of Avenue Q, Spring Awakening, Time Warner Cable commercials, Zoolander, Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, and, well, Glee. Oh, and the only bit of back-nine knowledge that has been incorporated is that Kurt will have a boyfriend who is on the football team. So no Jonathan Groff. Sorry.
Disclaimer: YES. You have found me. It is I, Ryan Murphy, the Creator. I am writing fanfiction about a show that I created because my fellow producers don't agree with my ideas as far as Kurt and Puck are concerned. Or not. Yeah, I know what you're saying to yourself. "Wow. Sarcasm. How original." Joss Whedon would be proud.
"And every time we fight I know it's not right,
every time that you're upset and I smile.
I know I should forget, but I can't."
"Foundations" by Kate Nash
Kurt Hummel played a few tinkling notes on the piano in the rehearsal room. School wasn't supposed to start for another twenty minutes or so, leaving him plenty of time to mope by himself. His fingers slid over a few minor chords, but he wasn't quite in the mood to sing anything. Finn...stupid Finn. Finally realized that the cheerleader was all wrong for him, and who did he go to for comfort? Not him, that was for sure. That tacky bitch, Rachel. Kurt sighed. It wasn't her fault, anyway. It wasn't like she was fashion-retarded on purpose to make him like her. Finn just happened to not be aware that more advanced individuals with better taste existed. So what if one of them happened to be a guy?
The door opened. Puck and his obnoxious mohawk entered, holding a guitar. He set it in a corner for that afternoon's rehearsal and looked at him.
"Hey, gay kid, don't you have a life?" Kurt flinched.
"Hey, straight kid, don't you have a girlfriend? Oh, right, she's pregnant and hates you." His comment seemed to be rude enough to produce the desired reaction.
"Fuck you. You don't know know me at all." He stormed out, leaving Kurt alone again. As always. As it should be, since Finn was too blind to see him.
During rehearsal, Schu seemed to be more interested in chilling than anything else. Ms. Pilsbury was there, too, and Kurt smirked a little when he saw them exchange a fairly romantic look. Took them long enough, he thought.
"Okay, so today, let's try out something a little modern," Schu said, passing out music. Kurt almost groaned when he saw the title of the song - Mr. Brightside. How fitting. "I thought we'd try something new today. Mercedes, Puck, Artie, and Kurt are on lead." This time Kurt did groan. He had to be singing something he really, really liked to not mind being "the girl" in the arrangement. Not really the case there. Although, if it pissed off Rachel, he could be persuaded to enjoy it a little more easily.
Back-up started on the intro, their voices soft and bitter, as the song called for. Despite being annoyed at being pushed to do back up, Rachel always put on a stellar performance. Kurt would never tell her, but he liked that about her. Before he knew it, Puck started the first verse. It still surprised Kurt that the kid could sing, breathe, and play an instrument at the same time. It seemed like too much for his peabrain to handle.
"I'm coming out of my cage, and I've been doing just fine, gotta gotta be down because I want it all. It started out with a kiss. How did it end up like this? It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss."
"Now I'm falling asleep, and she's calling a cab while he's having a smoke, and she's taking a drag. Now they're going to bed and my stomach is sick and it's all in my head," Kurt sang. Their voices melded together, finishing the verse with, "But she's touching his chest now, he takes off her dress now, let me go."
"And I just can't look - it's killing me and taking control," Mercedes sang, adding some much-needed spice to the other wise so-so song. All four of them shared the chorus. "Jealousy, turning saints into the sea, turning through sick lullabies, choking on your alibis. But it's just the price I pay, destiny is calling me. Open up my eager eyes 'cause I'm Mr. Brightside." Kurt sang on auto-pilot for the rest of the song. His uncharacteristically bad mood was deepened by the fairly depressing song. He needed to go home and put on some Wicked. Or maybe he needed the upbeat rant of "It Sucks to Be Me" to mellow him out. That would do it if nothing else did.
Leaving rehearsal, he had a little bit of a spring in his step. Avenue Q often did that to him. He headed to his baby, humming along and trying not to think of all the homework he'd have to do. Slamming his door closed, he plugged his iPod into the car's stereo. He turned to make sure he had plenty of room to back up and spotted Mohawk kicking the side of his convertible, probably swearing. Kurt let out a tired sigh before getting out.
"What's wrong with it?" he asked after he walked over, standing with his hands on his hips. "And I swear to god, if you give me any crap, I'll leave you here to your car without looking back."
"Whatever. It's not like you'll be able to help me, anyway." He rolled his eyes when he saw that Kurt wasn't leaving. "It won't start."
"Get behind the wheel," Kurt ordered, opening the hood. Puck sat with a sour expression, hand on his keys. He examined the radiator, transmission, and all the other assorted bits that made up the brain of the car. It appeared to be well taken care of. He fiddled with some of the wires after checking the amount of transmission fluid and water. "There. Try it now." Puck rolled his eyes again and turned the key, surprised when it started.
"What the fuck? How'd you do that?"
"My dad's a mechanic. When I was younger, he taught me how to fix up cars to 'bond' or whatever. Just because I'm gay doesn't mean I can't keep an engine running." He spun on his heels and marched back to his car with an air of triumph. "My good deed for the day," he muttered to himself.
"You're still a fag!" Puck shouted as he opened the door. Kurt didn't even look back.
About a week later, Kurt was confronted by something very strange. That strangeness happened to be the particularly round form of Quinn Fabray. She really was getting quite large, he noted with distaste. In the rehearsal room after everyone had left, she sat next to him on the piano bench. He half-heartedly wondered if it would collapse under the extra weight of the unborn child.
"You must hate me, don't you?" she asked, pressing down a few keys. He considered it. True, she had lied to Finn (his Finn) about the mohawked fetus growing inside of her, and, well, dated him, but he didn't like her at all anymore. She wasn't competition anymore.
"A little. But not nearly as much as I used to."
"Can I ask you something, then? I figure you'll be somewhat honest with me." She sighed, looking down, and ran a hand over her belly. "Do you think I should have this baby with Puck? I really don't know what to do anymore. Finn told his mom that the baby wasn't his, so now I'm living with Santana. It's not like I don't see that they flirt and text and sleep together. I know that he does things with other girls, too. But he wants to be the father. He really does. I can see that. Maybe he doesn't love me, but he loves our baby girl. I'm basically out of options, anyway. I don't have anywhere to live, really, and I must be kidding myself if I think he can support us." She shook her head and stood. "Forget it. I'm just thinking out loud."
"I think you shouldn't depend on him. I think you can do it on your own. That you're strong enough for that, if you tried. If you were strong enough to face down Sue Sylvester for a yearbook page, then you could probably raise triplets." He stared her in the eyes for a moment (and damn, what mascara did she use? her eyelashes were huge!) then said something he knew he'd probably regret. "Are you really living with Santana? I mean, she and I are cool, but to be blunt, she's a bitch. Not that I don't like that about her sometimes, but she's not someone you want to be pregnant around. What if your baby absorbed her bitchiness or something? It could be contagious. You could stay with me for a while, if you wanted. I've got the entire basement for my room and a walk-in closet. You'll need somewhere to store all those maternity clothes. They must be huge."
"Really? You mean it?" She grinned, and he thought that with her monster belly, she was cute, in that pregnant-girl sort of way. At least she had some basic mastery of fashion.
"Yeah. It's not like my dad could possible think I'm more of a freak. A pregnant girl wouldn't be too much weirder than anything else."
"Right. You think we could do that today, then? Santana's having some 'alone time' with her 'man' until, like, ten tonight. I'd prefer not having to face them while moving out."
"Sure." He stood and extended his elbow. "Shall we, then?" She laughed, took his arm, and they left.
At Santana's house, Kurt packed up her bags while Quinn wrote Santana a note. He stole a few hangers, actually, but figured she wouldn't notice. Of course, he ended up carrying all of the bags down the stairs and putting them in her car by himself, but he wasn't about to blame a pregnant girl for not being able to carry stuff. He even managed to clear enough space in his closet to hang up all of her clothes and leave some room for more when she got to be really huge. In fact, he was lucky enough to have a second bed that folded down from the wall (Mercedes used this when she slept over), and found her some sheets.
"Go ahead and make yourself at home. Just don't touch any of my skin or hair care products. I will kill you, pregnant or not." Kurt sat on his bed and turned on his iHome, starting his homework. The sounds of a door and footsteps overhead signaled that his dad had come home. Dinner would certainly be interesting.
Half an hour passed before he heard the anticipated yell of "KURT! DINNER!". Quinn looked a little guilty, a little awkward. As she probably should.
"Come on," he sighed, and she followed him up the stairs and into the dining room. They sat. Kurt's dad could be heard in the kitchen. He came in with a bowl of pasta and stopped for a second.
"You didn't tell me we had company. I would've made more pasta." Quinn eyed the huge bowl and raised an eyebrow. He could tell that she was doing the math, trying to divide the bowl between the two people and coming up with the conclusion that they were both total fat-asses.
"Yeah, about that...This is Quinn. She's going to be staying with us for a while."
"Oh really? Kitchen. Now." He put the bowl on the table. Kurt got up and went into the other room. "Help yourself, by the way," Mr. Hummel told the girl over his shoulder. Kurt stared at the tiles beneath his shoes.
"Look, dad," he whispered, "She's got nowhere to go. Her parents kicked her out because she's pregnant, and there was a bunch of drama about the father, and now she's here. It'll be fine. My room's more than big enough."
"She's pregnant?" He stuck his head out into the doorway to look at her, then popped back in. "Jeez. This isn't some thing, is it? I mean, you're not the father, right? You don't need to get a girl pregnant to prove that you're manly or whatever."
Kurt gaped. "Oh dear god no. Ew. Ew ew ew! That's definitely not an issue. Now excuse me while I vomit." He went back into the dining room where Quinn was daintily eating her pasta. He told her, "Well, that's squared away."
She smiled. "Should I be insulted that the idea of being my baby daddy makes you want to vomit?"
"Just eat your spaghetti, preggo."
Despite how crazy the entire idea was, living with Quinn was easier than he imagined. Sure, she peed all the time and took almost as long as he did in the shower, but she wasn't too high maintenance. And he knew high maintenance. Despite all that, he did occasionally feel awkward with her. There was the fact that he was in love with her ex-boyfriend, and (maybe it was the hormones) she cried a lot. Usually it was at night, when he was supposed to be sleeping (and was actually imagining Finn...in quite a few interesting ways). He could hear a few soft sobs each night, like clockwork, when she thought he'd gone to sleep. It always made him feel guilty, so he started sleeping with headphones, but, really, what was he going to say to her? 'Sorry you lied to your amazing boyfriend about being pregnant when it was really his best friend's baby'? That didn't seem right. So he ignored it and hope she'd stop.
As usual, Finn was paying absolutely no attention to him. He was too busy fawning over Rachel-fucking-Berry. Why couldn't she just get a nose job and bother someone else? He needed to be more aggressive. To go on the offensive. He needed to seduce Finn. And to do that, he needed to talk to Quinn.
The conversation started easy enough. He sat on the edge of her bed as she combed her hair after her shower. "So, how's the sea monkey in your uterus?" She smiled.
"She's fine. She kicks sometimes, but it's not too bad." It was a girl, apparently.
"Have you thought of a name for her yet?"
"Not quite. Finn and I talked about some names, but he wanted to name her 'Drizzle'. Awful, huh?" That would have been...unfortunate.
"Yeah. Children shouldn't be named after ice cream toppings." Good thing they wouldn't be having children. "Did your baby daddy say anything?"
"No. And I don't care. I don't want him to be a part of her life. I've decided that he won't be involved."
"That's good. So. How is Finn these days?"
"I wouldn't know. I heard from Rachel that they're good friends. I sort of hate her a little bit, but he'd always sort of liked her."
"Ugh. Why is that?"
She shook her head. "I don't know, but I see where this is going...Kurt, you need to let him go, okay? I know Finn. I've known him for years. He's straight. He's never going to go gay for you, or anyone else. If you try, you're just going to get hurt, I promise you." Kurt hopped off the bed.
"You're wrong." He jammed his earphones in his ears. If only he could drown her out...but he couldn't find a playlist quickly enough.
"Kurt, come on!" He turned up the volume and went to bed.
Kurt couldn't help but stare at him. God, Finn was just gorgeous...His blue eyes, his cute little smile...He really could stare at him for hours. And had. He would love to just be able to stare at him and imagine all the things he wanted to do with him all day. Or to be able to actually do those things with him. He was so strong, so powerful. He had to be amazing in bed-
"Hey, gaywad. Stop stalking Finn." His head snapped around. Puck.
"Shut up! You don't know what you're talking about, Mohawk."
"Of course I do. You're so obvious about ogling him. It makes me want to throw up. Just do everyone a favor and stop fagging over him."
"God, just shut the fuck up!"
"Oh, you're swearing now? Aren't you cool." Kurt shook his head. I am above this, I am above this, I am above- "What, are you practicing saying 'fuck' so you don't sound like a total virgin geek for him? Yeah, too bad you'll never be able to so much as touch him." Kurt snapped. Without thinking, he drew his arm back and punched Puck squarely in the nose. Yeah, not such a good idea. After a second of initial shock, Puck punched him in the eye. Kurt, not wanting to look like a girl in front of his beloved Finn, leapt at him, punching and kicking blindly, barely feeling the blows that landed on him.
"KURT! PUCK! What the hell is going on! Stop fighting!" Schu tried to pull them apart, but a stray elbow clipped him in the jaw. It was only the combined effort of Finn and Schu that managed to separate them. "Everyone OUT!" Schu yelled, clearing the room of everyone but the two teens. They were both bruised and bleeding, though Kurt was much more damaged than his adversary.
"You hit like a girl," Puck muttered. Kurt gave him a glare intended to melt his eyeballs.
"What has gotten into the two of you? Really, guys, fighting? How are we gonna win sectionals if we're at each other's throats?" He looked between them, but neither boy said anything. "Look, I'm not going to tell the principal about this because I need you two to compete, but if anything like this happens again, I'm going to have to. God...I'm really disappointed in the two of you. I honestly thought I could depend on both of you to be stable. I mean, I tried, to keep you separated from each other in the choreography because I know how you feel about each other, but really. This is just...I'm going to have you talk to Emma. I can't deal with you right now." Schu walked into the hall calmly, but disappointment radiated from his body.
"You're such an asshole. This is all your fault." Kurt gently touched his face, praying that the bruises wouldn't show. They always were a bitch to cover up.
"My fault? Who punched who, fagface?"
"Oh my god, will you stop with the gay comments? Really, it's, like, all you see! You know, it's been proven that 90% of all homophobes are actually just closet cases. Repressed homosexuality much?"
"Fuck you. You don't know me." The door opened.
"I better not have heard any swear words just now," Emma said. Kurt liked her, if only because she had the best wardrobe of anyone he knew, besides himself. "So, boys. I saw you two got into a little tussle. Obviously, this is something we need to talk about. So! Why did this whole thing start?"
"Mohawk hates me because I'm gay. That's why it started."
"Well, Noah, what do you have to say about that?"
"I don't hate that the gay kid's gay, I just hate that he's gay around me."
"Obviously, he's so insecure, he finds any reference to homosexuality as an affront to his masculinity," Kurt supplied, checking his nails.
Emma looked between them, her large eyes wide. "Okay...so, let's start things first by using each other's names. Kurt, I want you to call him Noah. Noah, I want you to call him Kurt. Why don't you try saying hello to each other with those names. Shake hands." Kurt glared, but extended his soft, manicured hand.
"Hello, Noah. I'm going to pretend your mohawk doesn't make me want to gouge out my eyes."
"Hello, Kurt, I'm going to pretend I'm not still laughing about the fact that not only did you wear a skirt to school once, but you actually managed to frolic on the football field."
"Right. Well, that was...productive. You two obviously need to work out some issues. So, this is interesting-"
"Look, Ms. Pilsbury, uh, Noah and I would be happy to work things out by ourselves. We've seen the error of our ways - fighting doesn't solve anything - and we'd love to fix things on our own. I personally promise that I won't commit any sort of violence against him and I resolve to work everything out verbally in the future. There. Problem solved."
"Kurt, I'm not sure that's-"
"No, it's cool, Ms. Pilsbury. Me and him are cool now. We were just joking around. Really." He punched Kurt on the arm in a way that was meant to look friendly, but he could feel the bruise forming. "I think the name-thing really helped. You're really good at your job."
She didn't seem entirely convinced. "Okay...I'll talk to you two later. Your rehearsal is over now anyway. But I do expect both of you to get along from now on. Mmkay? I don't want to hear any more about this."
It was not so. They had barely even made it out of the school and into the parking lot before Puck had shoved him. "You're lucky I didn't break your face or have to resort to tears to get out of there." Kurt picked himself off of the ground, brushing of his messenger bag and slacks.
"Why don't you go work out or sleep with Santana or something?"
"Oh, shut up." He looked down. "I can't stand her. The only reason I'm doing anything with her is to see her and Brittany get it on. Can you say threesome?" Kurt threw up a little.
"Look at you! Have you never heard the words 'double standard'? What, it's just fine for people to be gay as long as they're girls?" Puck stared at him blankly.
"Uh, yeah. Girl-on-girl is hot," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"You're hopeless." Kurt pushed past him and walked quickly to his SUV. The sooner he was rid of the muscle-y asshole, the better. It took a minute for him to plug in his iPod ("What Is This Feeling?" this time; he felt it was fitting) and let the soothing sounds of Wicked put him at ease. High-blood pressure made people age prematurely and get fat, and neither were things he was planning on. He pulled out and was about to leave the parking lot when he noticed in his rear-view mirror that Puck had the hood of his car up.
"No. No no no no no! Some people don't deserve kindness," he told himself, feeling the nice person buried deep inside of him trying to surface. Then he remembered that he was supposed to be making nice. He cursed his moral compass and backed into a spot. As he walked over to help, he made sure to look as annoyed as he could; let Puck see that he was inconveniencing himself to take the high road. It would only prove he was the better man.
"You come back to get beat up again? What, does it turn you on or something? Freak."
"Actually, I was going to help you with your car, since you seem entirely unable to make it work. And I value Ms. Pilsbury's good opinion of me." And he was maybe trying to be nice because the last time he really encountered her was when he puked on her shoes.
"Fine. You have two minutes to fix this thing before I punch you in the face." Puck sat on the curb and rested his head in his hands as Kurt got to work. Once he found the source of the problem, he winced. It was bad. Really bad.
"You need to take this to a mechanic. You need parts. See this thing here? It's busted. You're basically screwed."
The mohawked teen sighed. "Well, fuck. I can't pay for any of this." Kurt shut the hood. Was he going to? No...there were reasonable limits to what a person had to do for an enemy within the bounds of mercy. But his better nature was telling him otherwise.
Reluctantly, he hit the speed dial on his phone. "Hey. Dad?" Puck looked up at him. "Can you come by to the school with the truck? My, uh, friend needs some repairs."
"Yeah. I'll be there in ten," his dad said. An engine could be heard in the background.
"Thanks." Kurt ended the call and gagged. He was never ever going to refer to Puck as a friend again; it left a bad taste in his mouth. "Okay, first off, you owe me. Like, a parade. With elephants and a marching band. And you will now address me as your savior. Thanks to moi, You'll have your car fixed by tonight. And, I can work out something with my dad so he'll let you pay him in installments or labor or something. You may begin your worship." Puck sort of glared at him.
"I didn't ask for a favor."
"No? Well, let me just call him back..." He took out his phone threateningly.
"Wait. I..." He stared at the asphalt before muttering, "Thanks."
"We'll have to work on the gratitude, considering that you're now my bitch." He inspected his nails and gloated internally. He really was a saint sometimes.
"Fuck that. I'm no one's bitch."
"One call and I could destroy your means of transportation. I'd say you're my bitch for sure. And first off, I want an apology."
"Let's start chronologically. Seventh grade: convincing our gym class that I watched them undress in the locker room. Eighth grade: my first through seventeenth swirlies. Which you, for some reason, chose to do despite the fact that you were going to the high school by then. But I know there would have been much worse if you were in my grade. Ninth grade: nailing my lawn furniture to my roof and swirlies eighteen through sixty-one. Tenth grade: approximately forty-seven slushie facials, two patriotic wedgies, twenty-two dumpster dives, throwing pee balloons at me, and that time you put a camera in my football locker so the entire team thought I was taking pictures of them in the shower and decided to lock me in the janitor's closet with all of their sweaty jockstraps. Add to all of that all of the times you've pushed me in the hallways, knocked my books onto the floor, locked me in my locker, or committed some sort of violence on me. Oh, and for saying that I have a crush on Finn today and hitting me. You may begin."
"What? No. First of all, it's stupid that you remember all of that, and second of all, I'm not sorry for any of it." Kurt took out his phone. "Alright, fine. Look, I'm sorry for all that shit I did to you, though I think it's ridiculous that you actually remember that stuff as far back as middle school." Kurt wanted to punch him. Hard.
"You'll never understand. People like you don't." He sighed and tried to explain. "To you, I'm just another person you push around. To me, you're the one person who consistently attempts to harass, torment, and injure me. How could I not remember every single time you've bullied me?" For a second, he was frozen by the fact that he actually said something like that, something honest and personal, to Puck. The ability to vanish would not have been unwelcome.
"Sorry, I guess. I didn't think anything of it."
"You wouldn't," he snapped, shook his head and went back to his car to get his iPod. He needed music stat. Bad moods were terrible for one's complexion. Blasting Katy Perry, he sat on the curb several feet away from the poorly-dressed jock. He skipped through the songs, but couldn't find a good one for his current mood. "I Kissed a Girl" just made him feel awkward, and the Cobra Starship version of the same songnjust made it worse. He rolled his eyes and settled on Avenue Q's "My Girlfriend (Who Lives in Canada)", imagining Puck as a puppet singing it. That thought actually made him laugh.
"What're you laughing at?" The other boy stared at his hands, his expression unreadable.
"The idea of you being a closeted puppet singing about his imaginary girlfriend so his best friend won't know he's in love with him." His statement was met with a grimace.
"Remind me never to ask you that again."
He rolled his eyes. "You need to learn some Broadway. Honestly, it should be a requirement for being in the Glee Club."
"I don't care about your homo musical shit."
Kurt shook his head and looked up to the sky. "I tried. I really tried."
A couple minutes later, Burt Hummel pulled up in his tow truck. Shortly after that, the car was hooked up to the truck and Puck was in Kurt's passenger seat. The shop was pretty close, actually, so it was a fairly short ride. Nonetheless, it was still pretty uncomfortable. He never ever wanted that particular jock in his car, probably ruining the upholstery.
"So. Your dad's...not what I expected."
"What? Did you think he was girly or something? Just because I have good fashion sense and like men doesn't mean that my parent has anything to do with it."
"Parent? Where's your mom?" Kurt really didn't want to be getting into that conversation. It was alright with Finn, who was nice and understood and was basically a god among men, but with the asshole he'd literally had nightmares about...not so much.
"Why? You think you'll add another notch to your creepy, cougar-covered bedpost?" Deflection was always best, and he preferred to be on the offensive when he was, as he was then, in a position of power.
"Uh, no. I just was wondering." His grip on the steering wheel tightened.
"Well, she's dead." A heavy silence filled the space between them that lasted for what seemed like ages. Later, sitting on the little couch in the shop while Mr. Hummel fixed the car, Kurt remembered to text Quinn that he and his dad would be getting home late (he gave her his spare key a couple days after it was established that she wasn't evil, just grotesquely with child). She texted him back saying that she wouldn't be home until later anyway.
"Why're you texting Quinn?" Puck asked, finally breaking the calm silence.
"Just telling her we'd be back late. She's at Gwen's house." He saw some confusion. "Gwen's her sister."
A second of thought then the hollow question, "Wait, is she staying with you?"
"Yeah. For a while. She's gotten sort of tired of Santana for the moment." That only made the other teen more depressed-looking. "What? You couldn't think she'd stay with you. She doesn't want your help. She's fine on her own."
"But she's not. Or she wouldn't be with you. I can't believe she wouldn't tell me she was living with you."
"Maybe she just wanted to be around a guy who was on her side in the whole baby drama, not his own. But you had your chance in all this. It's time for you to let it go."
"I'm the father. I'm on my kid's side. I can't just not be in her life. That's not an option." Part of Kurt agreed with that, but he had to stay on Quinn's side. It was sort of his duty as roomie or something like that.
"It's not up to you, don't you see that? Quinn's choice is what matters. If you loved her, you would understand that."
"I want to help her because I love her. My daughter is what matters."
"Well, you're pretty bad at showing it. How is Quinn supposed to know you love her if you spend your time with basically every girl but her?" Puck shook his head.
"I don't love Quinn. I love our child. I have to be a good father. A better father."
Kurt sighed. "Than who? Finn? It's not like he's about to compete with you for that position." He was given no answer.
Half an hour later, Puck drove himself home (after payment was worked out), and Kurt sat alone in his car. He was feeling decidedly weird. If someone had asked, he would have said that Puck loved Quinn, though in a weird sort of twisted way that involved sleeping with everyone else because he was an idiot. Well, maybe not, since he never really thought of Puck in any context other that Oh shit, Puck's right there and he's smiling. This is going to be wet and corn-syrupy and bad for my complexion. But if he had thought about it, he would have assumed. Well, that, or that he was just stupid and hormonal and had to sleep with half the world. Actually, that idea made him want to vomit. Ugh...Puck and women. Breeders could be so nasty sometimes.
All the same, he sorta wanted to talk to Quinn. Luckily, she was home by the time he made it to his room. She was working on some sort of homework on her bed, wearing a pair of maternity sweat pants and a sports bra. Kurt wasn't too offended by her partial nudity, though he couldn't really help but stare at her stomach; the idea of there being a little person in there was a little strange. He sat on the end of her bed.
"Hey. I'm almost finished up here," she said. "Why were you late getting home? It's almost seven thirty."
"Oh, Mohawk's car died. I wouldn't be me if I didn't at least try to help." Since Quinn left practice early, he omitted the little bit about their fight. That would really just confuse her. "Just our of curiosity, why did you sleep with him? Like, at all? Ew." She sighed and put down her pencil.
"He was pissed off at Finn, so he thought that it was a good idea to get me to sleep with him. I...I don't know. He had wine coolers and I was depressed. I didn't mean to do more than just make out with him, but he has this voice that he uses sometimes, and I forgot to say no. With Finn, it was always a chore to make out, but I felt sorta lonely, and it isn't like Puck's not attractive. I mean, I didn't mean to lose it to him. It just sort of happened. It wasn't all that bad, either. Finn always left me wondering if I'd ever, you know, enjoy it. He, uh, has a problem with finishing early. But I figured, if everyone slept with Puck and liked it, it wouldn't be so bad. It was definitely a mistake, though." Kurt stared at her and bit back his initial impulse to gag and tell her "TMI". He could tell that she felt a little weird about telling anyone all of that, though she sort of blurted it out. And, well, some of the information was pretty educational. Like, for instance, Finn having a problem with being a little...premature. Not what he would have thought, but he wouldn't judge. He loved him anyway.
"So, he was you first?"
"Yeah. Sadly. And it's not like there's been anyone after him. I never let Finn do more than touch my boobs." She ran a hand over her exposed belly. "What about you? You ever sleep with anyone?" He laughed, loudly and bitterly, at the idea.
"Good one. The most physical contact I've ever had with anyone was while being manhandled and thrown in a dumpster. I've never actually kissed anyone either. It's not like I have much of a selection at school. They're all such closet cases. Did you know that thirty percent of men are bisexual? You wouldn't think so if you went to our school."
"You know what? I'm gonna find you a boyfriend. I need a distraction from all this baby business. That's what I'm going to do."
"Good luck with that. The only guy I like is not only taken, but might be straight. I think I was meant to die alone and a virgin." She rolled her eyes.
"Why don't you talk to Puck? I've heard he's pretty good at solving that problem," she said sarcastically.
"Good idea. Speed up the process. Then I won't have to live long enough to be miserable. Or not. I think I'd rather live to see my eighteenth birthday. Or seventeenth, even."
"Well, I'll find you someone." She did the last problem on her math homework. "Oh, I ate dinner at Gwen's. It'll just be you and your dad tonight. I have a paper to write for English. Don't forget to eat. I've told you time and time again, you're too skinny."
"You're just jealous of my girlish figure and incredible metabolism. Now excuse me, pregnant Barbie, while I go eat some pizza." She smiled at him as he ran up the stairs, finding his dad with a steaming box of pizza.
"Hey. I was just going to call you and Quinn up for dinner."
"She already ate. More for us." His dad got some plates out and they sat at the dining room table with a few slices each.
"So, look, I gotta ask this: Was that boy, Noah or Puck or whatever, your boyfriend?" Kurt choked on his pepperoni. He almost corrected his father and told him of Puck's true nature, but he didn't want him to worry.
"No. Definitely not. He's just a member of the Glee Club."
"So you don't like him or anything?"
"Uh, no. Not at all."
"Okay, just wanted to make sure. You just never introduce me to any of your male friends, so I thought..."
"Nope. Never. Ever. The day you see me with Noah "Mohawk" Puckerman is the day you see me die an early death." He could imagine all of the creative, humiliating ways such a death would ensue quite clearly.
"That's a little overdramatic."
Kurt coughed. "Not really. May I be excused?" He stood up, a slice of pizza in his mouth.
"Well, fine, I just want to know what's going on in your life."
"That's great. I just need to go somewhere to vomit." He paused. "Not in a bulimic way. Just in a 'ew, mohawk' way. And I have to do homework."
His dad sighed. "Alright." Kurt went downstairs with a slice.
"That was fast," Quinn observed.
He shrugged. "My dad tried to insinuate that I had a personal life. With one of my least favorite people. There're some situations you just have to walk away from before you do something drastic. Like hang yourself." She laughed, and he took a shower and went to bed.