Title: don't haunt this heart


When you were down they were never there

When you're all alone you really get to learn

If you get back up they gonna come around

All the sycophants they love to make romance

To the ugly sound of 'em tellin' you what you

Wanna hear an' you pretend

'cause they all agree you're supposed to have a better life

But you're feelin' worse

An' they build you up till you fool yourself that you're

Something else an' it's like a curse cause

You can't live up to what they made of you

An' they tell you that you're losin' friends

Losin' friends, losin' friends

Ya got nothin to lose

Ya don't lose when you lose fake friends

Ya go an tell 'em you were king of the hill

When ya need a hand - that was yesterday

Ya see 'em laugh while you're on your knees

An' it breaks your heart 'cause ya gave so much

An' ya can't believe that ya hit the ground an'

Ya notice ya been losin' friends

Losin' friends, losin' friends

Ya got nothin to lose

Ya don't lose when you lose fake friends

- Joan Jett and the Blackhearts, 'Fake Friendship'

rage noun, verb, raged, rag -ing.


1. angry fury; violent anger.

2. a fit of violent anger.

3. fury or violence of wind, waves, fire, disease, etc.

4. violence of feeling, desire, or appetite: the rage of thirst.

5. a violent desire or passion.

6. ardour; fervour; enthusiasm: poetic rage.

7. the object of widespread enthusiasm, as for being popular or fashionable: Raccoon coats were the rage on campus.

8. Archaic. insanity.

verb (used without object)

9. to act or speak with fury; show or feel violent anger; fulminate.

10. to move, rush, dash, or surge furiously.

11. to proceed, continue, or prevail with great violence: The battle raged ten days.

12. (of feelings, opinions, etc.) to hold sway with unabated violence.


13. all the rage, widely popular or in style.


Puck is bored.

This in itself is not surprising; he is a teenager, he is young and jaded and very, very scared of what he knows will happen in a few months, and he has just almost certainly lost his best friend.

So, because he is a teenager with what's left of a reputation to uphold, he is bored. He's angry too, because anger is also acceptable, but he has to be careful; if he is too angry, people might think that he is upset, might think that he is hurt, and his pride won't take it.


He's on the football field, hiding (sheltering, he corrects himself) from the rain under the bleachers when someone else steps out of the downpour to stand with him. It's Kurt Hummel, and Puck spares a brief moment to thank whatever's up there (so he sucks at being Jewish, what's new?) that it's not Rachel, who'd insist on whining at him about it until he actually gave an explanation or just fled, or Quinn, which would have been awkward, or Finn, which would have been even more awkward and very possibly violent.

He retracts his gratefulness when he sees Hummel's eyes narrow, however; how could he have forgotten the mad crush on Finn? He's just managed to get himself stuck with Finn's biggest fanboy; maybe he'll flee after all. But he gets hold of himself; allegiance to Finn aside, this is Kurt Hummel, bitchy queen extraordinaire who, for all his apparent skill at kicking, is still a lot smaller and weaker than Puck. The most Hummel can do is bitch and moan at him - much like Rachel except less effective - until he punches him in the face. And, since he is (mannerisms and voice aside) actually male – unlike Rachel – Puck can hit him if he wants. Sure, it won't look good on his record with the Glee club, all of whom seem to be on Finn's side and will almost certainly rush to defend Hummel, but by now he's past caring. Screw them all, bunch of stuck-up musical snobs (a little voice in the back of Puck's head reminds him that that isn't really fair, but he ignores it and repeats, Screw them all).

He watches as Hummel opens his mouth to speak, braces himself for the spiel that must have been building for a while – but Hummel stops, closes his mouth and screws up his face even further, pursing his lips and squinting hard. The effect is not unlike that of a disgruntled twelve-year old girl, and Puck doesn't even fight the urge to smirk. He does wonder, however, why Hummel is apparently declining the opportunity to get snotty with him; he'd have thought that he'd relish the chance to make a scene.

What does Hummel see in Finn, anyway? Sure, he's fairly good-looking, kind and a good quarterback, and Puck guesses his voice isn't bad either, but he's also seriously average (he's allowed to say that now that they're ex-best friends, and Puck really isn't bitter, really), with no real stand-out qualities, and Puck knows full well that Hummel knows about Finn's 'mailman problem', after an apparently embarrassing incident in the locker room between them that Finn refuses to talk about. Plus, he's kind of straight. Then again, if he can get two girls, one of whom is the cheerleading captain and therefore Queen Bee after him (Puck's still not bitter), he supposes that there's no reason that the resident gay kid might not be interested too.

Still, Puck would have thought that Hummel would go for guys with a bit more…bite. The rough-and-tumble manly type, who weren't afraid to be loud and crude and nasty; something to balance out Hummel's own effeminacy. Finn's big and dumb and strong, but for a teenage boy he's kind of nice.

At this point Puck stops his train of thought, because he realises that he's actually considering exactly what kind of guys Kurt Hummel is into, and that's just too weird. To divert himself, he turns to the boy in question, who is still watching him with an indefinable expression, and says:

"What, not gonna bitch me out?" Hummel just lifts his chin a bit and gives him a cold stare, so he baits him a little:

"Huh, and there I thought you actually cared about Finn." It's a cheap shot and obvious to boot, especially with the accompanying provocative smirk, but Hummel takes it anyway, eyes narrowing further.

"You know precisely what I think of you and your actions. I am under no obligation to explain myself to you." His tone is haughty and the words stiff, but for all his show of distaste, Puck doesn't really get the feeling that there's much anger there. He eyes him with a little more interest, now; anything to distract himself from his own problems at the moment.

They stand in silence for a moment, not directly facing each other, but not turning their backs either; they don't like each other, nor do they trust each other. Puck stares out of the corner of his eye at the lapels of Hummel's coat for a while, temporarily fascinated by the curves and swirls of the decorative piping (his eye is drawn to it by the finicky way that Hummel brushes down the fabric; he must have ducked in here to avoid water damage, the prissy little fairy), before clearing his throat and at last asking:

"So, why do you like him, anyway?" He hopes that his tone comes off as appropriately insouciant - only doing this because I'm bored - and is surprised by how much he wants to know the answer.

There is another silence, which doesn't surprise him at all; he'd be more startled if Hummel actually replied to what is, after all, a fairly personal question.

But then Hummel says, softly:

"Because he's kind." Okay, so maybe Puck's assessment of Hummel's type really was way off. "Because he stood up for me, because he's strong and gentle and I know that whoever he loves will have his everlasting devotion. Because he has a nice smile and he'd be nice to come home to and wake up to in the morning. Because he is." By the end of the small speech, his voice is not much louder, but it is intense. His cheeks are slightly flushed, and his eyes wide and glowing - whether with conviction or tears, Puck can't tell.

For a moment, Puck is impressed despite himself: it takes some balls to say that kind of thing to a guy who could not only beat you up without effort, but also make your life a living hell if he so chose (nailing the lawn furniture to the roof? Only the beginning).

Then his common sense and cynicism make their triumphant return, thankfully; he does have a reputation as a total douche to keep up. Seriously, he thinks, what's up with the 'impassioned declaration of love' thing? Who does that, outside of crappy chick-flicks and old novels? Sad. So he pastes the smirk back onto his face, shifts his weight onto one leg, and says:

"Stand up for you? Please. He tosses you in the dumpster the same as the rest of us." He snorts. "Face it; he doesn't like you enough to tell everyone else to back off." Hummel's face has gone white, he notices, his hands curled into fists. He wonders whether he can actually get the guy to hit him, so he goes on: "I mean, at least I'm honest about it and don't pretend to give a shit about being 'noble'."

And then he realises what he just said and what it implies (because he's not that stupid, fuck you), and immediately seeks to steer the conversation back onto safer ground. Being Puck, he naturally turns to the subject upon which he has more experience.

"So, Hummel." Casual again, assured of security. "You've talked a lot about how nice and noble" (Puck still isn't bitter, really) "he is. But, since you're a guy, you've got to have thought about it: what about sex?"

There is a definite flush to Hummel's cheeks as he presses his lips together and refuses to answer. Grinning and confident, Puck goes on:

"I know you have. Thought about how big he is, how big his cock might be - maybe you sneak a look in the locker rooms sometimes." Kurt shakes his head, opening his mouth to protest, but Puck just steamrollers over him: "Well, I've seen it - no gay shit, we're known each other since we were five - and it's huge. Nice, thick cock; maybe you'd want to suck it, maybe up your ass - it'd hurt, but I'm told that's part of the fun, part of the feeling - " Kurt cuts him off with a harsh indraw of breath. Puck surveys him, still smirking: he's flushed and breathing hard, legs tight together as he stares glassily at Puck without actually seeing him. Good, he's freaked out; now Puck can go back to ignoring him until he get out from under these fucking bleachers, 'cause there's no way that Hummel's gonna want to talk to him now.

Except that, once again, Hummel's eyes are narrowing and he's opening his mouth. Puck doesn't want to hear it, but nor does he really want to continue with this gay dirty-talk shit. But as Hummel's mouth just starts to form his name, face angry and obviously about to launch into a tirade, he decides that describing graphic gay sex is a small price to pay for peace and quiet. Besides, Hummel will be far too embarrassed to tell anyone about this.

" You're thinking about it now, right? How it might feel, how it might taste - "

"Shut up." Hummel's voice is small and tight and he's blushing heavily; Puck can see how white his knuckles are, clenched tight at his sides as he seems to curl in on himself, away from Puck. Naturally, he steps forward to freak him out even more, push him to the breaking point. Hummel stands his ground, tilting his head up again to glower at him, although the way his mouth trembles betrays him.

"What would you know about it, anyway?" Hummel asks abruptly, all of a sudden regaining some of his usual composure, and with it the ability to look down his nose at someone almost a head taller than him. He sniffs briefly, and continues: "You seem to spend all your time having sex with women; you talk big about sex between men, but if you tried it you probably wouldn't know a thing." He pauses, then adds: "Finn might be a virgin, but he'd still be infinitely preferable to you."

It's not up to his usual standards, not even close, but nevertheless Puck sees red. To be compared to Finn again and found wanting by this snotty little shit who worships the ground that Finn walks on but still doesn't have a clue what he's actually like - that rankles, and it's more than he can bear.

He strides up to Hummel, doesn't give him the chance to back away and, forgoing all subtlety in his anger, shoves his hand down his pants. He'll prove it, damnit, prove he's better.

Well, it shuts him up, at least. Kind of; Hummel gasps, cheeks bright red, and Puck realises what should have been obvious two minutes ago: he's hard. (Well of course he's hard, Puck thinks, he's the inexperienced gay boy who's just had the hot jock unintentionally come onto him, God, how dumb are you, Puckerman?). For a moment he squirms into Puck's hand, then goes rigidly still.

Logically, Puck knows that he should move his hand. He should get his damn hand out of Hummel's pants, brave the rain that has now become a downpour, and never breathe a word of this to another living soul, no matter how drunk he gets.

Instead, he's stood under the bleachers with Kurt Hummel's cock in his hand and the only coherent thought in his head is 'Shit'.

Hummel chooses this moment to attempt to pull away; Puck's hand tightens reflexively, and the smaller boy makes a strangled-sounding moan and jerks his hips up a bit. If his face goes any redder, his head'll probably explode. Or maybe he'll just pass out, like the girl he secretly is (can he really say that now, when he's holding the guy's dick?).

"Let go," Kurt says, hoarsely, but he's closing his eyes and moving his hips in small circles at the same time, fingers gripping the sides of his undone coat. He may not want this, Puck realises, but his body does. Again, he knows that he should leave it the hell alone and get out of there, but -

But he's not. He's just standing there, feeling Kurt pulse in his hand, and he's not moving. He can't, can't let go - if he lets go he's failed, he's not as good as Finn, because Finn would make him want this.

"I won't be second best," he tells Kurt, his own breath now coming slightly ragged. "I won't lose to him." It's a promise and a threat all in one, and he sees Hummel's face crease briefly in what might be realisation, understanding - then he circles his index finger around the head and Kurt has to grab onto Puck's shoulders as his knees buckle. Definitely a virgin.

But Kurt's still talking.

"Wait," he gasps out, "you - you don't have to do this." He doesn't sound pleading, not like he wants him to stop, just as if he wants Puck to understand him. He bites his lip. "I mean, I don't mind -" So, to shut him up, Puck kisses him, letting go of his cock to grab his shoulder.

It's not too bad, as kisses go - open-mouthed and it's a bit like kissing a girl with the soft lips (lip gloss. How much gayer can you get?) and slight frame. Kurt doesn't resist, opens his mouth willingly in fact; but he's hesitant, fingers now clenched in the fabric of Puck's football jersey, and the thought occurs to him that this might actually be his first kiss. For a moment, Puck feels bad - he's guessed by now that the guy's kind of a romantic - but then he remembers who he's standing in for, who he's stealing his experience from, and the feeling vanishes.

Could Finn do this? he asks himself, as he presses his body to Kurt's, making him squeak into his mouth. Hell no, Finn wouldn't have the slightest idea of how to make it good for someone else, the well-meaning but fumbling virgin. For the first time in a long while, Puck feels powerful again.

But it's not enough; it's never enough. So he pulls away from Kurt to ask him:

"What do you want?" Kurt looks confused. "Tell me what you want, and I'll make it good," he says, and Kurt's nose unscrunches.

"I-" He hesitates, clears his throat, and says "I want to suck your cock."

Honestly, Puck wasn't expecting that; if he'd actually bothered to think ahead, he would have thought that Kurt would rather the other way round. Then he notices the way that Kurt's eyeing him, his crotch in particular, and reminds himself: gay. Who knows how Hummel's faggy little mind works? (Now that sounds more like him, who he has to be; Puck-the-douche, Puck-the-jerk. Not Puck-the-gentle, not Puck-the-weak).

"Sure," he says, because why the hell not? This way he gets a blowjob out of it. Just one thing - he wants to make this the best he can for Kurt, but he's not hard yet and he wants him to think that it's Kurt turning him on; there's no better ego-boost, he knows from experience.

So he imagines Santana for a moment, her long legs and fantastic tits, and feels his dick twitch. It's good, but it's still Kurt in front of him, and he doesn't think that fantasising about a girl will work with a guy. So, he has to find Kurt attractive, he realises - he's not into guys, not really, but it's not that hard if he focuses on the girly attributes (and God knows Kurt has plenty - he ignores the little voice in his head that tells him that he tends to go for the slightly butcher girls). Kurt has things that he finds attractive in women and in people in general, if he thinks about it, in particular that defiant spark of fire, the confidence to be what they want, do what they want. Something sparks in his chest, and he doesn't know whether it's desire or envy of both.

So now he focuses on Kurt's mouth, soft and inviting, and imagines how it might look wrapped around his cock, wet heat sucking him in, soft-but-strong hands on his thighs to hold him - yeah, that does it. He moves forwards again to pull Kurt into a kiss.

Again, fingers grip at his shoulder, but now Kurt slides one hand down (is Puck imagining a slight tremor?) quickly to get to his cock, lightly palming it through the fabric. For a moment, Puck thinks that the guy's stopped breathing. he breaks away, leans their foreheads together and says with as much conviction as he can put into his voice:

"All for you," he says hoarsely, "all for you." He's surprised to realise how much he means it. Kurt's hand, which has been gently shaping to the bulge in Puck's jeans, abruptly squeezes. Puck groans - be loud, be obvious, it's all for him - and says "Yeah, like that." He thrusts his hips a little, and Kurt squeezes again.

For all that Puck prefers experienced older women, there's something about the confused, desperate virgin idea that appeals to him. It happened with Quinn (don't think about her, not now), and now it's happening with Kurt. Kurt is actually trembling with desire. He's hard as a rock against Puck's thigh, whole body rigid and quivering, and he's holding onto Puck's cock like he never wants to let go.

Puck's breath catches in his throat as he realises - all that desire, all for him - and his cock throbs in Kurt's hand and Kurt pulls away and says again, without hesitation this time:

"I want to suck your cock," and oh God he's absolutely serious; his lips are parted a little, lips red from kisses and bites, and the way he looks at Puck is downright hungry. To be wanted is a powerful thing, and for a moment all Puck can think about is how much he wants him.

Immediately, Puck begins to undo his belt, fingers clumsy with desire, and as soon as he has Kurt's nimble fingers are pulling down his zipper, pushing his pants and underwear down to mid-thigh and drawing out his cock, flushed red and pulsing.

Kurt looks like he's never seen anything so wonderful.

Puck moves back a bit to pull off his shirt quickly, throwing it somewhere to the side, and is both gratified and amused by the way Kurt's eyes fix on his nipple piercing. Long fingers reach out to touch it lightly, fascinated. Puck grunts slightly in encouragement, the fingers grip, and abruptly Kurt leans forwards to lick, tentative but still wanting.

Slowly, he draws the whole thing into his mouth and Puck hisses, because he's sensitive there anyway, and the piercing practically doubles the sensation. One hand goes to rest on Puck's shoulder once again - emphasizing the size difference, he realises, and Puck should have guessed that Kurt liked big guys don't think about him - and the other wraps tighter around his cock, still a little unsure, but Puck can feel shuddering breath against his chest and the hard line of Kurt's cock against his thigh, so he's not about to ask him to stop.

Then Kurt drops to his knees, not letting go of Puck's dick, and he's actually going to do it, which makes Puck feel a bit dizzy. He's had his cock sucked before, by people who've done it before and know what they're doing, but it's never been like this; the naked desire, the way that he can tell just how fiercely Kurt wants this.

Kurt pokes out his tongue to lap a little at the head, getting used to the taste. Puck fights the urge to close his eyes; he wants to watch this, all of it. Slowly, the pink mouth opens and engulfs his cock, one hand gripping tight at the base and the other holding his thigh. He can't get it all the way down, and is sensible enough not to try, but what he can get in his mouth he lavishes with a fierce, single-minded attention.

It's not bad - he keeps his teeth out of the way and licks and sucks ferociously, mouth slick and hot - but what eventually does it for Puck is looking down to see the hand on his thigh leave to squeeze where he can see Hummel's cock outlined in his own pants. The abruptly physical proof that this, sucking Puck's cock, is what's getting him off - and that he's been ignoring it, too focussed on Puck to attend to himself - is powerful enough to make him come right then. He can feel it approaching, and manages to gasp out a warning, but Kurt doesn't let go; on the contrary, if anything he sucks harder, hand now rubbing at his own cock through fabric.

Puck comes in Kurt's mouth with a groan, not bothering to be quiet, and predictably Kurt chokes a little - but he doesn't pull away. He lets Puck ride out the orgasm, then leans back. There's a trickle of white from the corner of his mouth. He takes a deep breath through his nose, and Puck sees his throat bob.

Shit, the guy swallowed. Puck's always had a thing for girls who swallowed - and now Kurt's tongue darts out to get the little bit that escaped, and if Puck hadn't already come, that would have done it.

Hummel's still hard, he realises, and at once he remembers what he has to do.

"Hey," he says, voice slightly croaky, as he gently pulls Kurt's arm (abruptly, he realises that 'Hummel' has become 'Kurt'. When did that happen?) so his hand leaves his cock, "Want me to return the favour?" Kurt's eyes go very wide, and he nods shakily. Excellent. He grabs his jersey from where he'd tossed it to the side earlier and spreads it on the ground - he just knows that Kurt will bitch if his clothes get dirty - and says "Lie down there, on your back."

Kurt does so, a little awkward as he lowers himself to the ground, both out of nervousness and probably trying not to get his pants dirty. He ends up with his back on the sweater and his knees, pressed demurely together, raised off the ground so that only his shoes touch the dirt. Puck, zipping up his pants and sorting out his belt, spares a moment to be amused, feeling a smirk pull at the corner of his lips, then kneels in front of his to part his legs, the knees still raised, as he moves in between them. The position has the added effect of tightening the denim across Kurt's crotch, and Puck sees him bite his lip, squirming and flushing.

He probably won't last long, Puck guesses, but he's still determined to win this; when they're done, Kurt won't be able to think of anything else, he'll make sure of it. So he starts by cupping Hummel's cock in his pants, getting used to the idea of dealing with another guy's dick. Predictably, Kurt mewls and pushes up his hips. Puck smirks; no sense of self-control now, and it's all due to him.

He quickly undoes Hummel's pants and shimmies them down his thighs as best he can - they're kind of kind, which makes it difficult when he's used to skirts. When he's done, he's confronted with another guy's cock for the first time.

It's not really that different from his own, he suposes, except that Kurt is uncircumcised, but he can deal with that; he's seen the other guys in the locker room and in porn. It twitches, heavy in his hand, and when his fingers close around it, Kurt lets out a breathy moan. It's his first time, and he's sensitive? Definitely not going to last long. Which means that, after a few preliminary motions to get used to how the foreskin works - he's never actually had an up-close-and-personal view of it before - he just goes for it.

The moment his mouth descends on Kurt's cock, Kurt howls. For a moment he's frightened that he's fucked it up - but then Kurt starts making these little uh, uh noises and trying to thrust up into Puck's mouth (Puck's holding his hips, already prepared for the possibility), and okay, maybe he's doing fine. He goes back to what he was doing, keeping a grip on Kurt's hips and trying to remember what the various women who've done this to him did that he liked. He pulls back a bit to swipe at the head with his tongue, and Kurt's hands come up to fist in his mohawk as he lets out a high-pitched noise. Internally, Puck snorts - Kurt sounds like a noisy girl during sex. Mind you, that's what he sounds like most of the time; figures.

After that, it doesn't take long before Kurt exclaims "I - I'm gonna - " and Puck pulls back in time to let the come flood his mouth instead of choking him. It's kind of gross, although in texture (slimy) rather than taste (salty), so he discreetly empties his mouth to the side. He figures that Kurt won't mind.

When he looks back, still lying on his stomach between Kurt's thighs, he finds Kurt peering back at him, looking rather overwhelmed. A moment later his eyes clear and his look turns to panic, and he sits up and begins to fumble with his clothing.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Puck asks, reaching to take his hand and stop him. Kurt pauses.

"Well, since you've proved your point, I thought I'd best be going," he says, not quite meeting Puck's eyes with his voice a little clipped.

"What? No, no, that's - " Puck fumbles for words for a moment, then settles for: "That's not it at all." Wide green eyes at last look into his, appraisingly, and Kurt says slowly:

"Then what is it?" Puck bites his lip anxiously. It's a good question. Is it sex, is it proving a point, is it some strange kind of revenge?

"I don't know," he says at last, and Kurt's face closes off again as he returns to buckling his belt. "But," he continues, "I - " Now it's his voice that fails him. "I don't want you to go." It all comes out in a rush, and Kurt looks up, startled. "Just - just stay here for a while. It's nearly stopped raining anyway, just a couple of minutes."

He holds his breath for a moment, heart unnaturally loud in his ears - why is he so anxious? - but Kurt's face softens, and he says simply:


So they lie down there, on Puck's football jersey under the bleachers, with Kurt's back pressed to Puck's chest and Puck's arm slung over Kurt's waist. Even through the shirt, Puck can feel Kurt's body heat, and he drowsily thinks that it's kinda nice. Slipping into a kind of half-dream, he moves his arm a little so that his hand can rest just over where Kurt's heart is (he spares a moment to remember whether it's the right or left side), and feels the heartbeat steady and strong.

They stay like that for a long while even after the rain stops (it's after school on a Friday, they already know that everyone's gone home), curled up into each other. When they have to move apart, it will be awkward and Kurt will worry about having betrayed Finn and Puck will have to come to terms that he's managed to develop a crush on Kurt Hummel, of all people - but for now, there is only them.