The Last Supper


The companion piece to the previous chapter, one which I'm not all that fond of-I think I made Puck too OOC, but oh well.
Because this is sort of written in Puck's point of view, it's more... foul-mouthed than the previous chapter. More mentions of sex and mature topics.

Enjoy!


When Kurt called Puck (he usually didn't bother answering his phone unless it was for texting-or sexting-but Hummel always bitched and bitched and bitched if Puck ignored his calls), Puck didn't really know what to expect.

Well… To be completely honest, he was kind of under the impression that he'd be in for some smokin' hot phone sex after Kurt (in his typical diva fashion that never failed to both piss him off and make him laugh like a crazy bipolar) failed to respond to his last sext. Puck liked to think he'd trained his booty calls (and Kurt-the stupid kid even had his brain whipped; why else would Puck not be able to call Kurt a booty call?) to respond to each and every sext within five minutes of receiving them.

"Dude, what the hell?" Puck asked, his hand already slipping into the front of his boxer shorts. "I've been turning blue waiting for you to sext me back."

Blue balls were nothing to scoff at, and Kurt should know-he was a dude! A prissy, effeminate dude, but a dude with a dick (a pretty awesome one, at that) nonetheless. A couple months ago, Puck would've chalked it up to Hummel being his Beyoncé-bitch self, flaunting his tappable white ass beneath Puck's drooling mouth. But now, well, he expected better of Kurt. He figured they'd been doing this-whatever "this" was-long enough for Kurt to feel comfortable, for him to realize that yes, Puck was highly interested in being Kurt-sexual. Kurt was his, goddamnit.

So to speak-Kurt always got weird whenever Puck was possessive. Puck just couldn't help himself when he caught Jewfro's eyes lingering far too long on those tight, endless legs that denim clung to in all the right ways, and that ass in skinny jeans…

"Don't "dude" me, and blue balls are the least of your worries at the moment!" He had begun to stroke himself in the midst of his reverie, but Kurt's voice-which sounded more mad-insane than mad-with-lust-from-Puck's-badassness-made his dick soften a bit. "You're invited to the Last Supper. Eight o'clock-don't be late... and maybe wear your sports cup?"

"What's your deal?" Puck asked, completely thrown, because seriously? That last sext had to have been one of his best! "I didn't do anything to stress you out lately, not that I can remember, so you can't blame your break-outs-wait, what? Last Supper, what the fuck are you on, Hummel?"

"It's going to be a total Armageddon," Kurt moaned miserably. "My dad's probably sharpening his Santoku knives right now-"

"Kurt! Kurt," Puck called amidst the never ending whimpering coming from the other line. "It's those hair products of yours catching up to you, isn't it? It's okay, babe, I'll call Poison Control and-"

"Shut up!" Kurt screeched, beginning to hyperventilate. "I'm not going off the deep end over sniffing aerosol!" (A bit bashfully,) "…And don't call me babe."

Puck ignored the instinctual urge to make a defensive jab (and he had ammo: Kurt was a total cheese ball after he came) in favor of wheedling information. Who said he couldn't be mature and focus? "So what's this spaz-fest of yours about? And why should I wear a sports cup?"

"Because my dad is planning on spaying you, and I don't want you to lose your balls, I like your balls, and your dick too but if he chops off your-"

"Woah, Kurt! What the fuck are you saying? Really, maybe I should try getting a hold of Miss Pillsbury, or Mercedes? Are you home alone? Should I come ov-"

"NO!" Kurt practically sobbed. "Don't you dare come to my house! I still have to make sure I conceal the hickies from the last time you came over in case my dad sees and-"

"Okay, Kurt. I won't come over to your place," Puck intercepted smoothly. Play it cool and calm, he could do this-he had a sister and a menopausal nagging mother. "Could you just tell me what I have to do?"

"I want you to leave town, head for Canada or something." Kurt griped. At least he wasn't flipping out, though.

"You'd miss me too much if I did, though," Puck grinned. "Who would be there to rub your feet while you bitch and moan about Rachel?" His smile intensified when Kurt giggled ever so slightly before he had time to hide his amusement.

"Yeah, you're right. Anyway…" Kurt sighed shakily. "My dad invited-no, commanded-you to come over for dinner tonight."

He gulped. And there went his morning wood, as well as his growing-boy appetite. "Dinner? I dunno, Kurt. I mean, I have fight club-"

"Puck, please! If you don't let my dad interrogate you, I'll be holed up in my room until I'm a pimply thirty-year-old wasting away as I play dress-up Barbie computer games in artificial sunlight!" Kurt cried.

"I…" He moved his cell to his other ear. "Kurt…"

"Please?" Kurt whispered softly. "You know, before I deleted your last message, I had to admire your descriptiveness." Puck could see the shy smile tugging at Kurt's lips now, as if the boy were standing right before him. His dick stirred awake once more-hey, come on, he was a teenager in his prime. "If only you could hand sexts in to our English teacher for creative writing exercises."

Puck choked on a chuckle. "Dude! Could you imagine his face?"

"I could imagine all I want, but it wouldn't be nearly as good as the real thing. Same with your sext, which, by the way, I think we should put into practice sometime." Kurt said mischievously before sobering. "But we're losing the plot here."

"Say wha?"

"You have to come over. I promise I won't let my dad hurt you-at least physically-"

"Dude," Puck said seriously, "I've dealt with one-sided banter mixed into horror war stories from Coach Sylvester and lived to tell the tale. I think I can handle your dad."

"My dad…" Kurt said faintly. "My dad is Sue Sylvester on crack. Times ten."

Puck exhaled through his nose, digging his fingernails into his Mohawk. "…Be glad you did that awesome thing with your tongue yesterday in my car."

"You'll come?" Kurt asked excitedly. Puck thought he heard some clapping coming from the other line.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll come. Eight?"

"Make sure you're here at eight on the dot. Dad's a sucker for punctuality. And wear nice clothing! And if you do well tonight…" Kurt said. Puck perked up, because there was the mad-with-lust tone he was so accustomed to! "…I'll do that awesome thing with my tongue for you later."

"And the thing with your feet?" Puck asked excitedly.

"You're pushing it," Kurt said after a moment, but he sounded more amused than anything else. "But sure. I'll do the foot thing too. Now say goodbye; I've got dinner to cook and a house to clean."

"Buh-bye now, My Little Housewife!" Puck snickered as Kurt huffed and hung up.


If anyone asked, Puck didn't start freaking out until seven, seven fifteen. If you were to ask his mom, though, she'd tell you, none too smugly, that her son began humming "that nasty rock crapola from the eighties" way before the five o'clock news-you know, that channel with that adorable, Jewish anchorman?

Puck had to accept that he was as good as a virgin on a stripper-pole when he was fretting over which tie he should wear. He had three ties, it shouldn't have taken him more than five minutes to pick!

His mother sat on the couch with a bag of popcorn (with enough Kosher salt sprinkled on top to mummify Godzilla) and forced Puck to model his choices for her. When he refused, she said, with tears sparkling in her eyes, "Noah, I don't want you making a fool out of yourself tonight! I've accepted you're as gay as crème brûlée, the least you can do is let me make sure you wind up with a respectable boy!"

Puck didn't bother mentioning Kurt's partially German lineage; he just sucked it up and did girly little spin-arounds in the few trousers he owned (for bat mitzvahs, swanky cigar-and-cheap-Shiraz poker games, you know). His little sister came in halfway through with some of her Build-A-Bear bunnies (the girl was obsessed), and Puck swore, if Lily Potter-Rabbit said "You're special!" one more time…!

His estrogen-amped mother and sister sent him off in a decent pair of charcoal-colored ironed dress pants and a button down shirt-they voted on the navy blue and light grey-pinstriped tie. He grimaced as he walked out to his truck. This was the first time in eons he wore socks, let alone wingtip shoes! Kurt had better appreciate this. Or else.

Puck tossed the foofy bouquet of assorted wildflowers onto the passenger seat. Sarah had picked them out from the supermarket (his mom had to pick him up some new socks that didn't look like Swiss cheese), but he had no intentions of giving them to Kurt. He'd probably just use it as bait to rope some sappy, lonely housewife into buying him a celebratory six-pack of Natty's.

He drove up the familiar street to Kurt's place, and he could see an ominous shadow behind the drawn curtains of one of the living room's windows. It reminded him of a giant grizzly bear. Puck tried not to sweat right through his nice shirt-pit stains? Not so classy.

The door opened just as he set foot on the porch, and Puck nearly missed the second stair because fuck, this man was fucking creepy!

"M-Mister Humble-Hummel! Mister Hummel," Puck stuttered, offering a shaky smile as he practically flew the rest of the way up the staircase. "Hi. I'm, uh-"

"Puck." The man grunted. It reminded Puck of some kind of Neanderthal. Me Tarzan. I wonder if he has a caveman pimp-cane? Puck gulped again.

"You can call me Noah, sir," Puck feebly corrected.

Mister Hummel glared at him for a few more moments before nodding once, twice. He shoved a large hand out for Puck to shake. "Nice to meet you, Noah." It wasn't too cold of a greeting; well, that was a start. The man's hand was rough and leathery-feeling, nothing like his son's baby-smooth skin that felt so-oh Good Lord, Puck would not think of those hands right now if he didn't want to get an awkward erection in front of Kurt's dad. He'd probably wind up in therapy for daddy issues or some shit like that.

The other man shuffled to let Puck inside. "Kurt's just finishing up with dinner. How 'bout you and me sit on the sofa for a few minutes, share some words?"

"Sure," Puck squeaked. He coughed as he flushed in mortification. He sounded like he was just hitting puberty! He was a badass, he could totally handle being reamed by a concerned parent even if he'd never had to deal with this before-

Kurt popped his head out of the kitchen in curiosity, only to nearly flail when he caught sight of Puck. Puck mouthed Help me! when Burt's back was turned.

"Kurt, son, what're you doing?" Burt asked faux-casually. "I thought you had the salad to finish up."

"Oh, er, right dad. The salad," Kurt said. His eyes shifted to Puck's as he toyed with his girly apron, looking equal parts terrified and apologetic. "It'll be done in a minute, so…"

"We'll be there, don't worry." Burt said over his shoulder as he led Puck down the hall. As they walked further and further away from the noises of the kitchen and Shakira, the silence grew stifling. Puck felt like cotton was being forced down into his airway, and Mister Hummel's hand on his upper back made him want to use his limited karate skills before making a beeline for his Chevy.

"Here we are," Burt said, opening up an ominous polished wood door. Instantly, Puck was bombarded with the smell of shoe-polish and something woodsy-smoky. It reminded him of that one boy scouts camping trip he went on eons ago. "Have a seat, Noah."

Puck complied, slipping into a squishy leather chair. He looked around as Mister Hummel tinkered with something off to the side of the room, and was more than impressed. Kurt never told him how much he was worth, and Puck never asked. But it had to be something jaw-dropping, if the shiny wood paneling and mini-bar area (where Kurt's dad was) were anything to go by.

He was eyeing some polished trophies in a glass display case when Mister Hummel plopped down behind his desk, looking like Simba, royal and righteous on Pride Rock. He blinked when a snifter of something amber-colored was set before him. He was making Disney comparisons while his boyfriend's homicidal-looking father encouraged underage drinking. Lovely.

Before the glass reached his lips, Puck paused and looked at Mister Hummel in a fit of freaked-out paranoia. The man seemed to read his mind, because he smirked and said, "Don't worry, Noah. It's not some test, I won't kick you out if you take a sip."

He took a small drag-it was rum, he remembered the taste when he took a shot at making rum baba. This tasted cleaner and… well, better than the crappy shit he'd gotten from some seedy liquor store near the supermarket.

He rolled it around on his tongue for a moment, and just as he went to swallow, Mister Hummel said, "I think I have to give you kudos for your… way with words." He choked on his mouthful, nearly spitting alcohol all over himself and Mister Hummel (which he would not let himself do-forget his balls, he wanted to live) before he regained control of himself.

He saw the sext? He vowed to punish Kurt later. No, not like that, he told his dick-he needed to get his mind out of the gutter sometime soon. "I-um, I-"

Mister Hummel looked more than amused, but there was still a dangerous glint present in his eyes. "Look, Noah. I don't give a damn if you and Kurt send each other sex-IM's or whatever."

"You…" He cleared his throat. Stupid squeaking! "You don't?"

"No." Burt leaned back in his chair, taking a contemplative sip of his own drink. It reminded Puck of Doctor Evil or something. The man let out a long, drawn-out sigh of someone older and more withered than Mister Hummel was. Then again, it probably took a saint to raise Kurt. Puck sympathized with him; he didn't even want to know the bills the boy ran up whenever he went on his near-weekly mall trips.

"No, I don't really care about that stuff. And so long as you boys are being… careful… I'm fine with… you know." He cleared his throat in a show of discomfort, which was fine with Puck whose face was past the tomato-red stage and bordered purple. "But you know what would bother me? Kurt being unhappy. Noah, you're not a parent yet-" Puck tried not to wince at that, "-so you'll have to take my word for it when I say I'd rather die than see my boy hurt."

The silence in the room was jarring, and just as Puck went to open his mouth to speak (he didn't even know what he wanted to say), there came a hesitant knocking on the office door. Burt slowly, calmly exhaled and took a final sip of his drink before collecting their glasses and putting them on the pinkish-brown marble counter of the mini-bar.

"Sir…" Puck managed just before Burt could call Kurt in. He looked from the door to Mister Hummel and back. "I dunno if Kurt told you anything about our… our past," Puck struggled. Burt's face stayed neutral. "But I was a real jerk to him. And after I became an outcast in school, even in glee club, Kurt felt bad for me, I guess, because he up and started inviting me out when we had lunch.

"I was just kinda… surprised that someone I'd bullied was willing to be nice to me. He didn't even have to! I deserved being a social loser, but he still stood up for me whenever things got too intense in glee." Puck swallowed and looked down at his shiny shoes. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, Kurt gave me more than I could have ever asked for, more than I could ever imagine, and ruining this thing we've got? It's the last thing I'd want to do Mister Hummel. Sir."

Burt's eyes were alive with warmth, and a reluctant smile was pulling at his face. "Son, I think my boy's rubbing off on you because you sound like those cruddy Lifetime movies he likes to watch so much. No offense," Burt added with a slight chuckle.

Puck grinned sheepishly. "He says it's only fair if I make him sit through games that I watch his movies with him."

"I can sympathize with that. I'm definitely thankful for TiVo, or I'd probably have to watch days' worth of Will and Grace just to make up for my Deadliest Catch marathons."

Puck frowned. "Deadliest Catch?" He asked. "What's that?"

Burt looked offended, and Puck suffered a brief moment of panic. It would just be his luck that he'd get castrated by not knowing some show, after he'd gotten this far. "It's a really awesome show on the Discovery Channel! It's hosted by the same guy who does the Dirty Jobs series," Burt said. He would've said more, but another series of knocks, more insistent this time, interrupted him. "Okay, Kurt, we're coming," Burt called, rolling his eyes.

The door creaked open and Kurt peered inside. "Did you two kill each other?" He asked, only half-jokingly.

"Don't be so dramatic," Burt said with a grin, walking past the two boys to head into the kitchen. "Make it quick!" He called just as Puck reached out to pull Kurt towards him.

Kurt rolled his eyes with a fond smile. "I hope he wasn't too bad. He sometimes forgets I'm a big boy now."

Puck placed a lingering kiss on Kurt's lips. "Mm, You're lucky to have a dad who cares so much about you, you know?"

Kurt's eyes seemed to turn bluer with understanding. In order to divert the conversation, Puck made an exaggerated show of licking his lips. "What were you snacking on? You taste all sugary."

The other boy wasn't stupid, but he went along with Puck's charade. "How do you know that's not just me?" He waited a beat before grinning. "I made some cookies for dessert. But…" His smile dimmed a bit. "I'm not totally sure they came out like they're supposed to. I should've just asked you to make something, since you're like some amateur pâtissier."

"No I'm not," Puck said. "Remember those cupcakes? For the bake sale?"

Kurt giggled. "That's just because you don't want to make this into some fruity High School Musical remake. I mean, talk about going against the 'status quo': the fashionable queen dating a popular jock who can bake! It's like you're Zeke and I'm Ryan, though I always thought there was more UST in between Chad and Ryan," Kurt mused to himself before freezing. He pinned Puck with an embarrassed glare. "Remember that I know where you live if you so much as whisper to anyone that I slash Disney."

"You're strange. But either way, I'm sure your cookies are fine. Now come on, your dad might think I'm getting a quickie in his office or something." Puck grimaced and carefully shut the office door behind them as they walked out to the kitchen.

Dinner was pretty tame, save for Kurt accidentally playing footsie with his dad (he wasn't sure which Hummel was more embarrassed), Puck spilling some coke on his shirt (though it wasn't so bad-Kurt took him to the bathroom to remove the stains, after all), and an incident with the green bean casserole he'd rather not think about.

After they put the dirty plates in the sink and the leftovers were packaged up for the fridge, the snickerdoodles and chocolate fudge ice cream were doled out.

Everyone retired to the living room, where Burt forced Kurt to sit through Deadliest Catch while they enjoyed dessert.

Kurt was half-sprawled on Puck, who couldn't really find it in himself to care that Kurt's dad was right over there as he traced lazy circles along Kurt's arm. When a commercial break began,Burt deftly excused himself to get a beer.

Kurt waited until his father's striped polo disappeared around the corner to interrogate Puck. He smiled and shimmied the rest of the way into the other's lap, grabbing his angular jaw. "Tell the truth: was he mean? Do I need to kiss any boo-boos?"

"It was fine," Puck said, waving a casual hand for emphasis. "We came to an understanding, I guess? Either way, I still have my man-jewels."

"Thank God for small miracles," Kurt said breathlessly, chuckling as Puck leaned forward to kiss him.

"Ahem."

They paused right before their lips could touch, and an awkward beat passed before Kurt rolled his eyes and gave Puck a kiss in front of his dad. It was chaste, but still.

"Puck smiled hesitantly up at Mister Hummel, before glancing at Kurt. "Tonight was great, but I think I'd better head home. It's getting late, and my mom gets weird if I'm not home before eleven."

"Alright, Noah." Puck walked over to the door with Mister Hummel and Kurt, and Burt shook his hand, this time a lot more cordial and genuine when he said, "Nice to meet you."

He gave his son a warning glance before letting the two boys walk out to Noah's car.

"So I totally expect you to come through with your IOU's." Puck said casually as he let Kurt hold onto his hand.

"Oh really?" Kurt asked innocently. "I can't recall."

"Bitch!" Puck laughed and shouldered Kurt. "You'd better follow through with your promises, Hummel."

"I don't know, Santana gave me some lovely advice about teasing and not pleasing."

"Does she have me as her boyfriend?" Puck asked rationally. "There's a reason… what?"

Kurt looked batshit freaked. "Boyfriend?" He choked out.

Puck blinked, frowning in the strange quietness of the Lima night. "Yeah… I guess… I mean, what else do you call it when you fuck one person, and you don't mind spending time with them afterwards?"

Kurt giggled a bit nervously. "Your logic leaves a lot to be desired."

"Yeah, that's what she said." Puck popped open his truck and jumped into the driver's seat. He patted his lap in an invitation, and Kurt glanced over at the (thankfully) silhouette-less window of his house before complying.

Puck sighed happily and hugged Kurt to his chest. The wheel made for a tight squeeze, but that could be a pro as well as a con. "Ooh. What're those?"

Puck glanced over to whatever it was Kurt was gasping over. "Oh. Just some stupid flowers my sis made me get."

"And why are they left to wilt in your truck?" Kurt asked.

"Because I didn't think you'd want them? You acted weird when I said I was your boyfriend, and you flip when I call you babe or whatever. Imagine how you'd react if I gave you some daisies. You'd take it as some marriage proposal or something."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "I think we've been hanging out with each other for too long, because my tendency for theatrics seems to be rubbing off on you." He leaned over and picked up the wildflowers, sitting back in Puck's lap and bringing them to his chest. He smelled them, smiling and sighing as his eyes slid shut. "I like them. You should thank your sister for me."

Puck swallowed, his grip tightening on Kurt's abdomen. "Maybe you should thank her yourself." Kurt froze. "You know, you could return the favor and meet my family. We'd probably end up getting take-out from China Dragon, and you'd get grilled on your lineage and shit, but…" He sighed. "You know what? Forget it. I think my mom would scare you away-it takes a hardened soul to endure her pity parties."

Kurt toyed with the stamens of a lily, smearing pollen over his fingertip. "I'd like that, actually."

"Really?" Kurt nodded silently, his mouth tugged into a hesitant but genuine smile. "Awesome. And I could make dessert-"

"Make your cherry cheesecake!" Kurt urged, bouncing up and down in excitement. He stopped, flushing, when Puck groaned ever-so-slightly. "Sorry."

"Teenagers," Puck commiserated with a sheepish grin. Stupid insta-boners. "Alright, cheesecake it is. I got you babe," He sang with a grin.

Kurt just smiled softly and tucked some baby's breath into Puck's breast pocket. He suddenly grinned, playfully cooing, "So let them say your hair's too long…"


Burt watched with a slightly bitter smile from the doorway as Puck and Kurt laughed at something Kurt had said. Life was full of heartbreak and sorrow, but he hoped life would make some exceptions for his boy. Noah wasn't so bad, after all.

He decided to let the two lovebirds do what lovebirds do, turning around and closing the door. There was a good hour left of Deadliest Catch, after all.