This is the first piece of fanfiction I have written in about a decade and I'm terrified! This is also the first time I've used this site in that long, so I really hope this works.

Warnings: Some smut, bad language, five sentences of possible dub-con, really annoying second person present tense (I'm sorry! It just came out that way and it seemed right for this story so I left it).

Disclaimer: I don't own them or it or anything.


It all starts just after the baby is born. Mercedes, of all people, is with Quinn when she gives birth and she brings you a photograph of mother and daughter together for the first and last time.

As you stare at the picture of your daughter – your daughter – something inside you snaps and you know that this can never happen again. She's your daughter and you've lost her long before you even had her.

And so you swear off sex. It's hard, but it's the only way to be certain. You last for almost a fortnight, but by then, you're sure your balls are going to turn blue and fall off if you don't get some soon. It's then that you have an idea and you think it might be the worst idea you've ever had, but hey, you're desperate.

You corner Kurt Hummel by his car after school one day.

"Hey," you say. He just looks at you suspiciously. "You wanna screw?"

"Excuse me?" he says, eyes narrow.

"Do you want to screw?"

"You?" he asks, and the disdain in his voice pisses you off.

"Yes, me."

"You're not gay." He sounds like he's talking to a particularly stupid toddler. Why is he making this so difficult? It's not like he's going to get any better, not in this school.

"I'm horny. You're kind of hot for a guy. Not as hot as me, but nobody's as hot as me. Look, dude, they do it in prison and it doesn't make them gay."

"Are you serious?" He looks faintly amused.

"For fuck's sake, Hummel, yes, I'm serious. Do you want to screw me?"

He looks you up and down, head to toe and back, and it makes you kind of uncomfortable, but you'll never admit that. You stand your ground. You won't give him the satisfaction of making you squirm.

"Yeah, sure. Why not?"

It takes you by surprise, but again, you'll never admit that. You pretend that deep down inside you always knew he'd say yes. After all, who the hell would say no to Noah Puckerman?

The first time feels kind of like a victory. He squirms underneath you, perfect skin flushed and eyes rolled so far back in his head that you can barely see the blue of his irises. You've been trying to make him look this undignified for a long time, and you get a rush of satisfaction from seeing that, stripped of those designer clothes (which are now crumpled in a heap on the floor), he's really no better than you. If you'd known that this was all it would take to knock him down from his pedestal, you would have done it a long time ago. You take some joy in knowing that whenever he thinks of his first time, he'll have to think of you.

So you try to pretend that that's the only reason you enjoy it. That, and the fact that he's a warm body for you to empty your balls into without having to worry about a baby nine months down the line. You kind of thought that being with Hummel would be a lot like being with a girl, as long as you didn't touch his dick. But, as it turns out, his moans are low and throaty, and his body is solid and sharply angled underneath you. And if you do find yourself pumping him to his release, and if his last long, low moan is all it takes to push you over the edge, well, nobody needs to know.

And so it goes on. You discover that Kurt's really not that bad – he's cute enough, and you're surprised to learn that he knows about cars and he kind of knows a little about sports. He's smart and he's funny, and well, those annoying bits before and after sex where you actually have to talk to the other person are a lot less awkward when the other person is Kurt. Although, as it turns out, Kurt's about as interested in talking as you are.

Things change, of course. The changes are virtually imperceptible to everyone else (although you see Finn and Mercedes giving the two of you sideways glances sometimes, like they know something is going on but they're not quite sure what), but you both know that neither of you will ever be quite the same. For one thing, Kurt Hummel is no longer top of your list of 'stuff it's okay to hurt when you're frustrated'.


The next time you throw Kurt into a dumpster, you're alone and you climb in after him. You watched it get emptied this morning, and ten minutes later you watched the janitors throw four of those mattresses in there. They'd been moving from room to room for the last six months and you think God must have smiled upon you when Figgins decided it was time to throw them out. Kurt warns you that he's not planning on making a habit of making out in dumpsters, but you just laugh and unzip his three hundred dollar jeans.

Two weeks later, a new guy joins glee. Two weeks after that, Kurt stops waiting for you by his car after school. When you turn up at his house, he isn't there. You start watching him closely, and you notice the changes. The changes that he probably thinks are barely perceptible to everyone else, but when you see the way he looks at the new guy, the way their fingers lace together when they think nobody's looking, you know that you'll never be quite the same again. Kurt shoots right back to the top of that list.

When you throw him into the dumpster later that week, you're alone again, but this time, the dumpster is full. You don't even give him chance to take his jacket off first.

You hear the clanging of metal against bone and a yelp of pain and you try to crush down the bolt of worry that shoots through you. You can't help yourself, though, and you clamber up the side of the dumpster and peer in. Turns out it isn't full after all. In fact, Kurt Hummel is the only thing in there. He's sitting, leaning back on one hand and rubbing the back of his head with the other.

"Are you okay?" you ask.

He looks up at you. "I'm fine, I just hit my head. Can you help me out?"

You wonder why he's asking – he's never had a problem hauling himself out of them before. But you've chosen the huge industrial dumpsters behind the school, where you knew nobody would see you, and when he stands up you realise that without a pile of trash to stand on, he's simply not tall enough to pull himself out.

You climb the rest of the way over and only stumble a little bit when you land beside him.

"You idiot!" he says, and you think that's a bit rude when you've just climbed into a dumpster for him. "Now we're both stuck! I can't stay in here for much longer. Just thinking about what's been in here is making me break out."

"Nah," you say. "I can get out of here easily, dude." You don't make any move to, though. Instead, you sit down.

He stares at you and you just stare back until he sighs and sits down next to you.

"Why did you throw me in here?"

"Why have you been ignoring me?" you ask, thinking your question is far more important.

He shrugs. "We were just using each other. You knew that." Except you kind of didn't. Sure, at first you were using him, but a few weeks in, you'd started to (secretly, of course) think you might have kind of liked him. You'd thought that maybe he might have kind of liked you, too. How could he have been using you? You don't think anyone has ever used you before. It's always you doing the using.

You don't say any of that, of course. You just ask what changed.

"I got a boyfriend," he says, and you think of the new guy with his blond hair and Abercrombie looks, and you kind of hate him a bit.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why would I tell you? Come on, Puck, it's not like we're friends." That stings, but you keep quiet. "Nothing's changed. It's just gone back to how it was before. You ignore me, I ignore you, except for when your outfit is so atrocious I can't tear my eyes away." He looks you up and down again, like he did that day by his car, but the look on his face is different this time.

You know he's lying, though, and you tell him so. You know something has changed. Something changed the day he said yes to you and things will never be how they used to be.

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head, then stands up and walks to the edge of the dumpster. You don't where he thinks he's going to go, because you both know perfectly well that he can't get out without you.

So you just follow him and push him against the cold metal and kiss him, hard. You want all the words that are on your tongue to make their way into his brain and you don't know how else to do it. It must not work, because he pushes you away.

"No," he says. "It's over."

As you start to climb over the edge, he starts to speak again and you twist around and drop back to the floor of the dumpster.

"Are you jealous, Puck?" he asks.

"Jealous of that Backstreet Boys reject?" you scoff. "No!"

A faint smirk dances on his lips and he cocks an eyebrow. "Oh my God, you are. You're jealous! You like me, don't you, Puck? You like me so you torment me. Nice. What are you, Puck, five?"

Kurt's behaving really oddly, you think. His voice has risen by at least an octave and that's saying something. Dogs from miles around will be surrounding the dumpster at any moment. You wonder if maybe he's about to have a psychotic break, and then you wonder if it's safe to be stuck in a dumpster with someone having a psychotic break. You laugh at that thought, though. It's Kurt Hummel. Even if psychotic breaks give people some sort of Hulk-like superstrength (and you have no idea if they do), he's like, two feet tall. Definitely no match for you and your guns.

"Are you drunk, Hummel?" you ask, thinking that's the most likely option. You don't want him to be drunk, because if he is and he vomits over his shoes this time, he really will have a psychotic break. Besides, it's easier to blame this on his potential drunkenness than have to admit that he's speaking the truth.

"No, I'm not drunk. I just don't want to be stuck in this damn dumpster with you anymore. Although I suppose it's not surprising that you were so quick to climb in here. Dumpsters have a special place in your heart, don't they?"

You think he's talking about that time with the mattresses, and you open your mouth to speak, but your blood runs cold when you hear his next sentence:

"After all, trash like you belongs there."

You think that actually he's the one tormenting you and you wonder if this is some sort of revenge for the years of bullying. His eyes are cold and hard and his voice is harsh and his smirk is decidedly feline, and suddenly you're incredibly angry that everybody thinks Kurt Hummel is this sweet, innocent, virginal little thing, when really he has a cruel, vicious streak a mile wide. You don't know how anyone can call you a bully – right now, he's hurting you far more than you ever hurt him.

You don't know whether you want to punch him or fuck him, so instead you just turn your back and clamber out of the dumpster and you think about walking away and just leaving him standing there, but you can't bring yourself to. Instead, you find a couple of full trash bags nearby and toss them in. You hear his disgusted noise, and then you hear him scrambling to climb on top of them. You don't wait to see if he makes it out.


Quinn's place as president of the celibacy club is still open, and you're surprised when you hear Rachel Berry talking about the guy (yes, guy) who has taken over. Kurt's sitting a few seats away staring at her like she's something he found stuck to the bottom of his shoe. You recognise the name of the guy, Adam something, and it takes a moment for it to click. The guy is Kurt's boyfriend. Kurt's boyfriend is the president of the celibacy club. That's karma in action. You chuckle to yourself, and people glance at you for a second, but you're nobody now so they're distracted just as quickly.

You and Kurt ignore each other studiously for three weeks. Kurt never knows what time it is because you sit below the clock in glee and he refuses to look in your direction. You're failing English because Kurt and Abercrombie-dude sit up front and you can't stand to see them being all cutesy with each other.

Then, one day, after a particularly boring detention, you find Kurt waiting by your car. He's examining his nails and chewing his lip. He's so distracted that he doesn't even notice you coming until you open the car door and it bumps his hip. He looks up, surprised.

"Oh. Puck. Hey."

"Hey," you say, still trying not to look at him. "What do you want?"

"I…um…" He starts chewing his fingernail and you know that whatever's going on must be bad. "Adam's in the celibacy club."

You really hope he's not going where you think he's going with this. "Yeah. So?"

"So, he won't…you know."

"Hummel, Quinn was in celibacy club. It doesn't mean anything."

"It does to him. Listen, Puck, you know what I want. Please don't make me say it."

You look him up and down, giving him a taste of his own medicine. "Say it."

"Puck, please. Look, I know I was shitty to you and I'm sorry. Please, just…you know."

"Tell me what you want, Hummel."

He looks away, and you notice that he's bitten one fingernail to the quick and has started on another. "I want you to fuck me," he mumbles.

"Sorry, I didn't quite hear that. Maybe if you looked at me when you said it, I could read your lips."

"Fine," he says. His cheeks are flushed, but he looks you right in the eye. "I want you to fuck me."

"You're going to cheat on Adam?" You put your hand on your chest in mock horror.

He laughs, but it's a hollow, bitter noise that sounds more like a sob. "He doesn't want to be with me anyway. I saw him making out with Melissa Jennings in his car."

You don't say anything and he shifts uncomfortably before speaking again.

"Puck, if you don't want to, it's fine, but could you please give me a ride home? I was supposed to be getting a ride with him, but…you know."

"Have you been waiting here since school got out?" you ask. He nods, and you sigh. "Fine, get in."

You take him home and follow him inside. You know that you shouldn't be doing this, but he's hot and you're horny, and so it starts again. Kurt doesn't break up with Adam, but the two of you go back to his house after every Glee rehearsal. It's different this time. You are hard and rough and you scratch and bite at his back, his shoulders, his collarbone. You want to leave your mark on him. You know he's using you now and you want to use him back. You want to hurt him like he has hurt you. He never, ever tells you to stop, but sometimes he stares up at you with wide, wet eyes, and then you feel a little twinge of something you can't identify, but whatever it is, it makes you slow down for a moment.


Almost a month passes like this, until one day you're walking down the hallway between fifth and sixth period and get caught among a crowd of girls congregating around the lockers. One of them is screaming incoherently, and you crane your neck to see what's going on. It's then that you notice that the person screaming is not a girl, it's Adam, and the person he's screaming at is Kurt. Kurt is pressed up against his locker, looking shell-shocked. He's not even trying to dislodge Adam's grip on his lapel, even though you know he must be on the verge of an aneurysm at the thought of what it's doing to the fabric.

Abruptly, Adam leaves go of Kurt, screams, "and I want my recording of Rent on Broadway back!" and shoves his way through the crowd. Kurt doesn't move. He still looks stunned.

The girls start to depart, and you think maybe you should stay there and comfort Kurt, but then you realise that no, he deserves this, he can suffer through this one alone, and you make your way to Spanish.

Kurt isn't in Spanish and you're kind of worried, even though you know you shouldn't care about him. You know Mr Schue notices his absence, but he doesn't say a word. He doesn't say anything when you get up and leave the room, either. You wonder if he knows more than he lets on.

You eventually find Kurt sitting on the stage in the auditorium, sobbing quietly. You don't really get why he's upset – he was cheating on the guy anyway.

"Hey," you say, sitting next to him. He doesn't look at you. "I saw what happened today. Well, sort of. Adam's really gay. Gayer than you, even! He was just sort of screeching a lot. I didn't make out many words."

He does that thing again, that thing that's somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and seems to choke on it. You pat him awkwardly on the back.

He sniffs and turns to you, and my God, he looks a mess. His face is pale, except for his nose, eyes and lips, which are bright red. Your heart kind of breaks for him, even though you know he doesn't deserve it.

"Why aren't you in Spanish?" he asks, voice thick with tears, and you wonder whether or not to tell him the truth. You decide you're sick of lying. Your lies have hurt far too many people in the last year.

"I was worried about you," you say. He looks surprised and also kind of ridiculous. You notice that his lapel is still creased. "What happened?"

"This is a new shirt," he says, and you wonder what the hell he's talking about. Then you think, for fuck's sake, is all this crying actually because his damn shirt got creased?

"Oh."

"I wanted to wear it today because…well, look at it." He gestures vaguely at his torso. "It looks good. But it's a bit too big. The collar slipped and…" He tugs the collar down slightly, and you see a bouquet of purplish marks that you know your mouth left there.

"Oh," you say, again.

"So Adam saw and that's what happened. I didn't even get to tell him that I saw him making out with girls. Girls. And have you seen how Melissa Jennings dresses?! I'm the one who should be offended here, I thought he had taste! That girl makes my eyes bleed."

You laugh a little, but then he starts sobbing again.

"I'm sorry, Puck," he says, through his tears. "I was such a bastard. I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said. You're not trash. Stop being nice to me. I don't deserve it."

"Oh, Kurt," you say, slinging an arm around his shoulders. "Come on. I'll take you home."

So you take him to your house, and this time the sex is gentle and tender and like nothing you've ever experienced before. You sleep – actually sleep - together for the first time that night, with Kurt using one of your oversized sweaters as nightwear. His fingers curl into your chest as he sleeps, and you press your nose into his hair. It's soft and it smells fruity, which you suppose is pretty appropriate. You find yourself singing to him softly and you'd swear that with each of his warm breaths against your shoulder, he sings back.

Things have changed again. They'll never be the way they were before, but you think you prefer it this way.

And yeah, maybe neither one of you has quite forgiven the other yet, but you've got plenty of time to work on it. That night, Kurt shoots right to the top of your 'stuff it's never okay to hurt' list.