What's A Diva To Do?
I wrote this for the "Tickling" kink on my kink_bingo card. I don't think I emphasized the kink enough, but... Otherwise, I'm very happy with how this turned out. I especially loved the part when-.
Well, I won't spoil it for you. :P Hope you enjoy this!
Usually, when one was discussing Noah Puckerman's… talents, they usually brought up the obvious-his amazing moves in bed-or how he could move faster than Coach Sylvester's acerbic wit when he knotted a cherry stem using his tongue. They might also make mention of the asshole's impeccable GPS system when it came to finding G-spots. (Or, in Kurt's case, his prostate, though it had taken a bit of training-also, a seriously taxing rewarding system that left Kurt's jaw aching for days-for Puck to be able to brush against it on the first thrust.)
But Kurt had never heard from the gossip mill of Puck's unusual habits… those habits that came after the sex was over and done with (or put on pause until they could get it up again).
"That's 'cause I Obliviated them," Puck said flippantly.
Kurt had the incredible hunch that Noah Puckerman had never stuck around long enough afterward to cuddle with his latest sexual conquest.
You heard Kurt right. Noah Puckerman, the most badass of them all (at least on this side of the Appalachians), was a cuddler. At least he was where Kurt was concerned, but that might have been due to Kurt refusing to get off of him after having the single, most mind-blowing orgasm of his short life. (Kurt would go to his grave swearing it nearly ended said short life. Goddamn, that boy knew how to work it.) Still, what Kurt did was like holding a hand up to a raging forest fire: Puck could have knocked Kurt off of him easily and hightailed it out of Kurt's basement apartment. But he didn't.
While their relationship seemed to be in a perpetual state of friends-with-benefits (with less emphasis on the 'friends' part-at first-and more on the 'benefits'. Hell, the 'benefits' deserved to be capitalized), Puck's snuggling with Kurt grew increasingly intimate and self-assured.
Let's take a look at Evidence A, shall we?
When they started out with the whole cuddling crap, Puck's hand had been twitchy and unsure, kind of awkwardly ghosting around Kurt until it decided to rest against the small of his back, clammy and sort of uncomfortable until Kurt kissed him in encouragement.
And now, about three-four?-months into their… thing, Puck's hand was solid and confident, kneading the swell of Kurt's ass with the perfect amount of pressure that made Kurt purr.
If that didn't do well to convince the imaginary jury in Kurt's head that he was Puck's Someone Special, he should mention the small issue that was Puck's dick, which, actually, wasn't all that small. When Kurt had sprawled out on Puck that fateful Wednesday evening, the first time he'd gotten a ride on the Puckerman Express (Puck's words, not his), Puck's dick was pretty much as soft as it could get, twitching every time Kurt shifted against Puck's front only to, almost nervously, revert to laxness. But however many months later, Puck was apparently self-assured enough (and not freaking over his sexuality as much) for his dick to stay half-hard when Kurt flung his body over him like a human blanket. And if Kurt 'accidentally' fidgeted around to find a comfortable spot on Puck's solid chest, his dick would twitch, and it would harden without shame until Puck growled and flipped Kurt over and got them primed for Round Two.
If Kurt were so bold-and he was-he would suggest that Noah Puckerman never cared enough to stick around with his other conquests. He was more the come-and-go type, anyway. Sometimes more than one 'come', but-. Whatever. What Kurt was trying to say was that maybe Puck was a little less badass than he liked everyone else to believe, maybe he wanted the sort of love and tenderness that went beyond a dick shoved in some orifice.
Purebred badass or not, Puck was as willing to talk about his feelings as Rachel was content with not being center-stage. Kurt knew this long before that Wednesday when they happened, and it took a hell of a lot to get Puck to speak up. And when Puck did show his heart at his own volition, it was usually too late to make a difference. (His little speech to Quinn during GaGa/Kiss Week was the perfect example.) And now, with that hot football player-slash-gleek-inductee Sam giving him The Eye from across the room despite Puck's constant harassment, Kurt needed to get his priorities straight, to decide if Puck was worth it, or if he was just a lost cause Kurt should pack his bags and get the hell away from.
Kurt might have been a guy, and guys liked sex (they like it a lot), but Kurt was also a romantic. He wanted to get blowjobs on the spot, sure, but he wasn't about to give up on his dreams of holding hands in the back row of the movie theater, of introducing his dad to his first boyfriend (and making sure said boyfriend's testicles wouldn't end up mounted on the mantle before the Awkward Dinner was over). He wanted to have the chance to offer to pay the bill (just for show), and give his boyfriend a cutesy little thank-you-for-dinner kiss that would quickly turn lewd and heated in the backseat of his Navigator. He wanted all those things and more, and as much as Puck was growing on him (even with Puck's mohawk slowly growing back), Kurt wouldn't have too much grief over cutting him loose and moving on. He was fabulous, a diva, and divas did not settle for second-best. They got what they wanted, caught it by the throat with their claws, and felt no regret for being selfish because they knew they deserved the moon and the stars and more.
Kurt chose to attack during cuddling, when Puck was at his most vulnerable. (It might have been underhanded of him, but whatever. Puck got Kurt to agree to video game night with the gleek boys while he was in the middle of giving Kurt the best blowjob in the history of blowjobs, so he silently considered them even.)
He let those hands skate over his back, those callused and work-roughened fingertips making goosebumps erupt from his head to his toe like a sudden electric shock. Kurt groaned against Puck's balmy nape, his nipples hardening painfully as Puck indulgently tickled at his spine. God, Puck was a fast learner: forget sensual body massages; what few people realized was that Kurt could go from zero to twelve in mere seconds if you tickled his back just the right way.
After a few moments of allowing himself to bliss out, Kurt roused himself with slight difficulty. "You know," he hummed into the shell of Puck's ear, absently tugging at the lobe with his teeth, "Sam asked me out to the bowling alley Saturday night." Total lie, but judging by how Puck stiffened beneath him (not like that), he wasn't privy to Kurt's fibbing.
"Yeah?" Puck asked. And how spectacularly the boy failed at acting...! If that mattress commercial wasn't proof enough, Kurt was convinced by Puck's play at casual indifference. "What'd you tell him?"
Kurt shrugged, letting out an exaggerated yawn as he rolled off of Puck's body and turned himself away. Enunciate the lack of interest, the metaphorical distance between us, Kurt coached himself, no matter how much more comfortable Puck is than stupid memory foam. "We swapped cell numbers, I told him I'd get back to him." He could practically feel Puck hovering over his body, without even opening his eyes. Kurt pretended to be completely oblivious, nuzzling his pillow and wrapping his comforter around him like a nice, warm cocoon. "I really like Sam."
Looking back, that wasn't the best thing to say, especially considering how self-conscious Puck could sometimes be.
Puck took his time responding. "…Right." His voice was weak; it sounded like he'd been sucker-punched in his stomach. "'Course you do."
Kurt cracked his eyes open when he felt the bed shift, and watched, confused, as Puck got up and started to collect his clothes from where they were strewn about. He sat up. So much for his plan. "Puck. Puck." The jock paused with his hands doing up his fly, scowling at Kurt.
"What d'you want, Hummel?"
Oh, okay. So that was how it was going to be? Kurt pretended the surname thing didn't hurt as much as it did. "Nothing," he said, noting how Puck's face fell into a look of desperation for a split second until Puck remembered to slip his mask back on. He hated that stupid, self-righteous smirk. That stupid, fake smirk made Kurt want to punch the asshole right out of Puck. "Make sure you close my door on your way out."
He waited until Puck slammed the front door, followed by the rumble of a car starting and the screech of tires on pavement, to collapse back down on his bed, feeling strangely bereft.
Eventually, Sam did suck it up and asked Kurt out.
They went to the movies. Sam let him decide between two movies, bought his ticket, and fed him Red Hots as the femme fatale of the film blew up buildings on the screen. He was the perfect gentleman, giving him a hesitant kiss as the theater rumbled from the explosions. (It wasn't confident enough, Sam's lips weren't soft enough, his stubble was nonexistent.)
Everything was totally passable, as far as first dates went, and yet Kurt left Sam in his car with a quick, awkward hug as he practically sprinted into his house. He ignored his dad skulking by the slightly slotted blinds as he shot down into his sanctuary, locking the door behind him as he went.
Of course, his dad had a key to that lock, but it was a general agreement that Kurt needed his privacy sometimes, and his dad respected his privacy. Most of the time.
He started when a heavy, familiar hand rested against his back, gasping into his pillow as his father's bulky frame collapsed awkwardly into the chair beside Kurt's bed. They stayed like that, simmering in an uncomfortable silence Kurt tried not to break with his pathetic sniffling, until his father sighed. "Give me his address, and I'll get my old shotgun out. She hasn't seen the sunlight for a while, anyway."
Kurt gave a strangled laugh into his damp pillow, slowly turning his flushed face so he looked sheepishly up at his father. He still felt kind of weird crying in front of his father, but with how dramatic his life had been the past few months, he was getting used to letting his father see another, more vulnerable side of him. "Not necessary," He murmured. After a beat, "I was the dumper, not the dumpee."
Burt's eyebrows disappeared under the brim of his godawful baseball cap. "Oh," He said faintly, looking totally unsure. "Um… then why are you acting like you were the one kicked to the curb?"
"Because stupid Sam's too nice!" Kurt cried, feeling totally embarrassed that he was saying this, but it was like he had a serious case of word-vomit, because he couldn't shut up. "Sam doesn't tell perverted jokes, he doesn't have that much muscle definition-his biceps are atrocious, dad-he doesn't have magical fingers that-"
"Okay," Burt interrupted quickly, his face sort of purple with embarrassment. "I think I get it. You don't like Sam as much as…" Burt paused. "Is there another boy, Kurt? Did someone else dump you? Is that why you're so upset?"
He choked on a bitter laugh that didn't even sound like a laugh and sat up, rubbing his hands over his damp, swollen eyes. "No, dad," He said angrily, "Another boy didn't dump me. Because how can you dump someone when you weren't even together?"
Burt looked less uncomfortable, an angry glint in his hard-as-ice blue eyes. Oh shit, Kurt thought absently, he totally woke up Burt the Protective Daddy-Bear. Great. Well, at least he could tear Puck a new one and make the ass admit that he wanted Kurt outside of his bed.
"Name," Burt said quietly, dangerously. "Give me a name, an address, social security number, whatever. I'll have him a eunuch faster 'n that Banks chick can strut down the walkway."
Kurt laughed. God bless his father. "Runway, dad." He sighed. "And as enticing as the idea may be, I don't want him facing the business end of your wrath."
"My shotgun, you mean."
"Yeah." He smiled and patted his father's hand, which had been resting against his shoulder blade in a show of comfort. "But thank you. I appreciate the offer."
Burt looked like he wanted to argue, but sighed before smiling back at his son. "Alright, but…"
"I'll totally let you know if I change my mind," Kurt finished with a wry grin, reaching over for a makeup-removing towelette.
"I was gonna say…" Burt paused, looking at Kurt with that deep, searching gaze Kurt remembered from his mother. He felt his heart clench, and his eyes reflexively watered at the affectionate concern on his father's face. "Maybe you should talk to this other boy. It seems like you really… care about him."
He got up without waiting for Kurt to respond, though he was too busy gaping at his father's retreating back to formulate much of a reply. Burt turned before he disappeared up the staircase, shooting Kurt a wry, playfully chastising look. "Don't be as stubborn as I was." He warned. His gaze grew more serious. "If I'd sucked it up, I coulda avoided groveling at your mom's feet for an entire month before she finally gave in and let me date her."
After getting over his initial shock, Kurt burst out laughing. His dad had to give himself more credit-he was doing a pretty good job at this single parenting thing.
With a plan formulating in his mind, Kurt got up to begin his daily nighttime skincare regimen.
Puck was absent from school for the next few days.
Kurt was too busy missing the covert winks and the downright dirty smirks in glee to notice the mournful, kicked-puppy glances Sam kept shooting him.
Four days and a hell of a lot of missed (ignored) calls and texts later, Kurt was at his wit's end. Puck couldn't hide forever, though-he was a momma's boy, and if Mrs. Puckerman told her son to suck it up and go back to school because stomach bugs didn't last for five days, Puck would be grumbling in his seat in homeroom, but in school nonetheless.
Kurt cornered the jock during passing time, right before their shared lunch period. Puck was trudging his way past an unused classroom when Kurt focused all of his body's strength into a tackle that Coach Tanaka would be teary-eyed over.
Puck shouted in surprise as they stumbled into the darkened room, calling out "Who's there?" when Kurt shut the door and clicked the lock into place. He used the minimal lighting coming from the hall to navigate his way over to Puck, who was awkwardly gripping the corner of the teacher's desk at the front of the room.
He lunged forward, forcing Puck backwards onto the large, empty desk as he smashed their lips together. Puck fought and bit at Kurt's lower lip hard enough to break the skin, but when he realized it was Kurt-how, Kurt didn't know-he carefully laved at his bleeding lip, panting hotly against Kurt's mouth.
Kurt shuddered, his eyes fluttering closed at the ministrations as he wordlessly trailed his hand down to Puck's jean-clad dick, which was already hard as a rock against Kurt's hip. Puck moaned, rubbing against Kurt's palm before grabbing both of Kurt's hands and splaying them so Kurt fell on top of him.
"Puck…" Kurt breathed, their panting loud in the otherwise quiet room. He whimpered as Puck wrapped his arms around Kurt's ass and pressed their groins together in an amazing burst of delicious, sob-worthy friction. Actually, he sobbed a little bit, tears prickling at the corners of his shut eyes when familiar fingertips traced against his sides, tickling ever-so-slightly. "Holy-Puck!"
He didn't need lights to see the arrogant smirk on Puck's face. "I know I'm pretty divine, babe," He slurred as he humped Kurt's thigh. "But I ain't holy." Kurt ignored that in lieu of finding Puck's lips and rutting against the other boy in earnest. He screeched loudly when Puck undid his slacks and took out his dick, using the precome to lube his palm before pumping his hand up and down. The squelching, wet noises were enough to make Kurt's head spin and make fire erupt in his groin.
It didn't take long for him to find his happy, mind-numbing ending-he was a horny, teenage boy who went without sex for nearly a week-and Kurt dazedly let Puck flip them over, almost onto the floor. He moaned in exhaustion when Puck forced his upper body up, shoving his cock into Kurt's lax mouth, but then Kurt was moaning for an entirely different reason, because while blowjobs weren't supposed to be palatable, Puck's dick was delicious in a way no candy could ever compare. The painful sensation of his scabbing lip as it stretched around Puck made him whimper.
He swallowed as much of Puck's come as he could, offhandedly thinking he'd later regret doing this on an empty stomach, but his thoughts were quickly hushed when Puck lowered him back down, swiping the stray drops that stained Kurt's face. He met that reverent look, illuminated by the yellowy lighting from outside, with one of his own and took the proffered fingers into his mouth. He sucked and swallowed until they were clean, lingering on the calluses that scraped delightfully against the pad of his tongue.
Kurt sighed happily around the welcome intrusions in his mouth when Puck's other hand reached out and tickled the edge of his jaw. Puck was so good at that, and it made him think of his mother and how she would always tickle his face as a child when he couldn't fall asleep. But this was Puck, and while he felt comfort with his mother's tickling fingers as well, Kurt felt something new, something special, when Puck was tracing lazy curlicues and figure-eights around his lips, on the bridge of his nose, and at the corners of his eyes.
"I sorta missed you," Puck admitted quietly. Kurt's eyes had long ago rolled back in his skull, and he had trouble focusing on Puck's face.
"Did you now? That's weird," Kurt asked after he gently removed the fingers he'd been lazily suckling on. (Yeah, he used to be a thumb-sucker.) He kissed Puck's warm, scratchy palm, smiling indulgently at his confused frown. "Because I missed you too."
Puck looked relieved and happy, and Kurt silently cheered at the absence of his badass façade. He missed this exposed Puck, too; maybe even more than Puck's magical fingers.
"I know we're kind of just… fuck-buddies," Puck breathed out, swiping Kurt's hair out of his face. "But-goddamnit."
Kurt took Puck's other hand, fingers still sort of damp and a bit pruned from Kurt sucking on them for so long, and nuzzled his face into it. "Go on."
"It makes me sound like such a pussy," Puck complained, but he sighed and went on to say, "I want more than that. With you."
"As in…?" Kurt prompted. He knew this was probably super-uncomfortable for poor Puck, but Kurt would be damned if they had a misunderstanding. He wanted Puck to spell it out, to say what he wanted.
"As in-" Puck exhaled, a loud whoosh that tickled Kurt's nose with lingering smoke, faint wisps of peppermint, and something as comforting as the smell of Kurt's house was. Kurt fanned out Puck's fingers against the side of his face, letting Puck's pinky rest against the seam of his lips. He smiled encouragingly, impatiently giddy. "Will you go out with me, Kurt?"
Kurt thought of letting Puck suffer as he 'thought' before answering, but Kurt was a diva, not a bitch. He broke out in a grin. "Took you long enough, you big, clingy starfish." He laughed, high and with abandon when Puck slapped his hand away from tousling his budding mohawk. "Now get off of me, before we miss lunch."
Puck helped him up, but didn't remove his hands from Kurt's arms when he went to move away. Kurt noted that mischievous smirk with a tickling drop of his stomach. "..What?" He asked hesitantly.
"Wanna skip and go somewhere for lunch? I'm buying," Puck said with a little grin.
Kurt wanted to argue that he wasn't the type to so easily shirk his education, that he was a young adult with responsibilities, but then those fingers tickled their way up and down the skin of his forearms. Kurt shuddered. Damn Puck, the smirking asshat, exploiting his weaknesses like this!
Oh well. It wasn't like they'd be missing glee-practice was tomorrow-and mathematics was overrated. He'd beg 'Cedes for chem notes later.
"Only if I get dessert." He smirked back, suggestively grinding his groin into Puck's, as the boy laughed with amused surprise. He was finally getting to live out some of his fantasies.
He'd have to make sure they took his Navigator, of course; he doubted that Puck's clunker had the luxury of tinted windows.