AN: Sorry to all who have author alerted me for Puckleberry fic only – My WIP fics are driving me crazy and I needed a distraction. This is a oneshot inspired by the lovely debraelq who prompted me with an idea for a Purt fic that involved Kurt having to wash some part of Puck - 'It is a chore for Kurt and he is not happy to be doing it, however once into it he starts to get ideas... and pink and flustered.'

It's primarily a friendship piece, give or take a 'moment' of confusion. Rachel still owns Puck's heart, promise!

"Ow! The fuck Kurt?" Puck complained, reeling back from the boy in question and fixing him with a patented glare that never failed to intimidate jocks and nerds alike.

Kurt rolled his eyes and went to move forward again, a cotton wool ball soaked in makeup remover poised at the ready.

"Stay still," he commanded impatiently, "I'll never get this off if you insist on wriggling around like someone put itching powder in your boxer briefs."

Puck failed to do as he was told, leaning even further back as Kurt made to swipe at his cheek. "What the hell is on that thing anyway? That shit stings!"

The smaller boy sighed loudly, grasping the jock's chin in his free hand and squeezing tight, effectively immobilizing him and causing his lips to pucker like a goldfish. "It's the best makeup remover I had at my disposal – it's effective and best of all, it's alcohol free and infused with almond oil so it's going to leave your skin fresh and hydrated."

He beamed at Puck who just arched his eyebrow in return, clearly unimpressed. Kurt's smile dropped and he rubbed perhaps a little more harshly than he needed to - it was a mystery to him why boys refused to take their skin care seriously; a gentle cleanser and the right moisturiser could keep premature wrinkles at bay for years!

When Puck went to jerk away once more, Kurt stomped his foot in frustration and delivered a swift slap to the back of the his shaved head.


Kurt ignored Puck's indignant cry. "If you just stop fighting me for a few minutes this will all be over. I'll have you cleaned up in no time."

"You better," Puck grumbled. "My Ma will lose her shit if I show up to Temple tomorrow with 'PUCKSTER' still stamped across my forehead."

He watched Kurt warily as he leaned in close, his bright blue eyes fixed on the number 20 painted across his cheek in dark red lipstick, over the top of a stripe of white face paint.

After rubbing diligently for more than the allotted few minutes, Kurt stepped back to discard the now useless cotton ball and reached for another. "Why did you let Brittany do this to you anyway?" he asked conversationally, as he squirted a generous amount of Heidi Klum's professionally endorsed formula onto the fresh ball.

Puck shrugged, "I was sitting behind the cheerleaders, watching the game since I can't, you know, play," He gestured needlessly to his plaster encased right arm, a break which had been sustained in a game against Carmel two weeks before. "She was blubbering something about school spirit and shit and when I said there was no way she was getting near me with a tube of lipstick, she looked like she was going to cry. What was I supposed to do?"

"That's sweet. You're a big softie," Kurt mocked with a smirk.

"Shut it, Beyonce," Puck muttered darkly. "It's not Brittany that got to me. Santana said she'd cut my junk off if I didn't let her do it and that shit just aint Kosher." He moved his large hand to protectively cover his crotch as if he was worried the Latina would jump out from between the lockers and castrate him right then and there. "She's been way bitchier since she gave up cock to become a full time carpet muncher," Puck mused. "I legit feared for my life."

Kurt snorted, "I think someone needs to have their 'badass' card revoked. I can't believe you're scared of a little girl."

"Santana's not a girl," Puck insisted. "She's Satan. I'm telling you, she's got more .balls than half the dudes on the football team, put together."

"Whatever you say." Kurt's eyebrow furrowed as he returned to his task, focusing on the bright red lettering across Puck's forehead. He actually grunted with the force he was exerting in scrubbing it off. He had no idea what brand of lipstick Brittany used but he made a mental note to ask her later. Given the staying power of it, it would be a fantastic addition to his glee kit for when they performed at Sectionals in a few weeks time.

"Shouldn't your girlfriend be helping you with this?" he ventured after another minutes silence. "I must admit I was shocked to receive your rather abrupt phone call, requesting my help."

"Berry's not my girlfriend anymore," Puck stated decisively and more than a little sourly.

"Oh?" Kurt's ears perked up; that was a tantalizing piece of gossip that he couldn't wait to share with Mercedes. "As thankfully as I am that I won't be subjected to any more of your grossly inappropriate PDA's in the hallways between periods, I must admit you two were a surprisingly good match. What happened?"

"Fucking Hudson happened," Puck growled moodily, muttering something under his breath about a Junior Cheerio at Matt's party. Kurt could only catch 'one fucking time', 'total accident' and 'her boobs were right there'.

"You cheated on Rachel?" Kurt surmised his disapproval apparent. Sure, he and Rachel were far from bff's considering she insisted on dressing like a grandma and failed to take on board any of the wardrobe suggestions he so thoughtfully clipped out of Cosmopolitan with her in mind each month. Grudgingly, he had to admit she was sort of sweet - overbearing sure, but it was apparent to everyone that she had fallen hard and fast for Lima's resident bad boy. She didn't deserve to be treated that way.

"I was drunk," Puck shouted, aggravated. "Fucking Finnessa couldn't wait to run and tell her right away of course, before I could explain it myself, and now she thinks I was purposely lying to her."

Kurt didn't know what to say; it was kind of obvious that Puck might have sort of loved the diminutive brunette back.

"She won't answer my calls, her Dad's won't let me near the house and she has your boyfriend running interference at school so I can't even talk to her."

"Finn is not my boyfriend," Kurt shot back, annoyed. One tiny crush was all it had been and everyone seemed to continually take pleasure in reminding the Fashionista about the embarrassing way he used to moon over the Quarterback.

"O-kay," Puck drawled sceptically, clearly conveying with his tone that he didn't believe Kurt's protest.

"He's my step-brother, Puck." Kurt reminded him in disgust, "What you're insinuating is incestuous and more that a little disturbing. I admit I did have feelings for Finn, once, but that was a long time ago."

"For real?" Puck's expression changed, and he honestly looked surprised. "You saying you don't pitch a tent anymore every time that dumbass flashes a grin in your direction?"

"Excuse me? Pitch a tent?" Kurt repeated with disdain, "No, I don't."

With one last vicious swipe, Puck's forehead was throbbing and raw, but lipstick free. There was just the WMHS on his left cheek to come off and Kurt was overly eager to get this over and done with so he could part ways with the other boy. He and Puck had never been on good terms and this was probably the only time they had spent in each other's company, alone. To be fair, it hadn't been as unpleasant as Kurt would have anticipated, but he would much rather be hanging out with Mercedes, gossiping about the very recent Puckleberry break up instead of loitering in the deserted boy's locker room with one half of the aforementioned couple – the half who used to throw him in dumpsters for fun.

At that moment, Kurt caught a whiff of sweat and feet, and he had to fight the urge to dry retch. He was so glad he had given up football; he didn't know how he had ever put up with the stench in here during his own short lived career as a kicker. And to think, he'd once entertained some pretty erotic fantasies that took place in this very room; fantasies that involved massage oil and Finn – who in his mind's eye was always wearing nothing but a tiny white towel slung low on his hips and a smile.

He hadn't realized he was daydreaming (What? Kurt's feelings for Finn might have faded but objectively, he was still nice to look at) until Puck clicked his fingers loudly in front of Kurt's face, "What the fuck are you grinning at Hummel? Win a year's subscription to American Wrestler or something?" He looked pretty proud of his less than stellar quip-slash-insult so Kurt indulged him with a dry, "Ha, ha, ha."

He spun on his heel and crossed to the sink, running the corner of a towel under boiling hot water. When he returned he washed Puck's face with it, with vigorous strokes and very little care.

"Ouch, damn it! Hummel! Shit man, not so hard,"

Puck's objection was muffled by the wet cloth and Kurt grinned almost maliciously, "Hard is not necessarily a bad thing," he retorted naughtily earning himself a slap on the knuckles as Puck pushed his hands away, his eyes wide as he caught the innuendo in that statement.

"Gross dude, you can't say that shit in front of me," Puck mimed a gagging motion and Kurt huffed, "Well, my work here is done. I'll send you my bill via email." Kurt informed him sassily. "I take payment in the form of Cash, Check or dry cleaning coupons – my account ran into the thousands as a result of you and your Neanderthal football comrades ruining my designer clothes with your childish bullying."

"I haven't slushied you or thrown you in the dumpster for months," Puck reminded him, his tone bored as he ran the fingers of his good hand over his cheeks and forehead, feeling slight dampness on his skin and none of the waxed texture of lipstick that had previously been marring his handsome face – he was satisfied that Kurt had made good on his word and wiped any residual trace of Brittany's graffiti.

He reached for his near full can of orange pop and took a swig.

"That's only because you've managed to transfer your display of torturous affection to another medium."

At Kurt's words, Puck choked, snorting soda through his nose and managing to fumble with the can in his hand until in upended and spilt the remaining content all over his white and light grey chequered shirt.

"Fuck," he cursed, lifting his head to stare morosely at Kurt, "Look what you did."

Kurt arched one perfectly sculptured brow, "I fail to see how your poor coordination has anything to do with me."

Puck scowled, "You made it sound like I threw slushies in your face because I've got a major boner for you or something."

Kurt rolled his eyes, "Yes, because that possibility is apparently far worse than the fact that your stunted emotional maturity doesn't allow you to acknowledge a year and a half in Glee club has softened you towards those so called 'losers' you used to target."

Puck was still spluttering, "I- you…"

"Relax," Kurt gave a long suffering sigh and simplified it for his teammate."I just meant that, rather than throw slushies in my face or corner me by the dumpsters every second morning, you reserve your torment for Glee rehearsals where you take great pleasure in fervently vetoing every single one of my costume suggestions – that hurts more than rinsing day old macaroni from cashmere, I assure you."

"What-the-fuck ever," Puck dismissed, "I told you, I don't do feathers. Can you just help me out of this shirt? There's a spare one in my locker." He gestured with his chin to the wall of lockers opposite them as he awkwardly tried to undo his buttons with his left hand, hindered by the heavy cast on his right.

Kurt flounced over to the locker indicated and rummaged around the pile of garments carelessly tossed at the bottom until he found a suitable shirt that was only marginally wrinkled. He refused to sniff the collar to check the cleanliness of it – that was going above and beyond the call of duty. It would just have to do.

"It looks as though this fashion don't is your best bet-" He spun back around to face Puck and stopped short, his mouth going dry as his gaze feasted on the sight of the Jock's bronzed, chiselled chest - more of which was revealed as Puck's fingers continued to clumsily unfasten each button.

As the last button was undone, the shirt gaped open, affording Kurt a gratuitous glance of rock hard abdominals. His fingers twitched, and he had to curl them into a fist to stop himself from doing anything stupid – like crossing to Puck's side and reaching out to run his hands over that gloriously tanned expanse of flesh.

It wasn't the first time he'd seen a man's naked torso before, a few weeks on the football team had provided him with an abundance of eye candy - not that any of the meatheads at WMHS were worthy of his ardent adoration of course. But Puck, well his body was a gift from the gods. He was muscular, yet trim at the same time with skin that was practically flawless, save from one or two small scars Kurt assumed were casualties from boyhood. He was smooth and ripped, and as he took a breath and his pectorals danced, the light catching on the silver bar of his nipple ring, Kurt thought he might drool or worse - faint.

"Kurt!" The sound of Puck calling his name had him break out of his daze and from the sharpness of his tone, Kurt deduced Puck must have been trying to garner his attention for some time. He forced his eyes upwards and met Puck's own amused (and slightly disturbed) hazel orbs. "When you're done checking me out, do you mind undoing this sling and pulling the sleeve over the cast?"

Kurt flushed at the knowing smirk that spread across the other boy's face, "I was not checking you out," he lied, averting his gaze, his blush deepening at Puck's chuckle.

"Dude, you so were." He shrugged like it was nothing as Kurt pulled the shirt off of his good shoulder and moved around the other side to undo the knot of the white sling Puck wore.

"It's not like I can blame ya, the gun show is pretty fucking awesome." To demonstrate, Puck flexed his biceps and raised his eyebrow arrogantly as Kurt couldn't help but watch.

"Your ego is bigger than Oprah's post Christmas ass," Kurt muttered, annoyed that his fair skin was betraying his reaction to the now half clothed boy before him. He didn't even like Puck; he was rude and obnoxious and had the capacity to be downright cruel when he wanted to be, but a second later when he found himself pinned by bright, inquisitive hazel eyes all he could think was prettttty.

Kurt swallowed nervously under Puck's intense scrutiny. "What?"

Puck took his time answering, "Have you actually ever, you know, kissed a dude before?" he asked.

"I fail to see how that is any of your business," Kurt snapped, decidedly uncomfortable at the direction this conversation was heading. "What is it to you?"

"I was just wondering, 'cause it's not like Lima's the homosexual capital of the US or anything. Besides you and the daddies Berry, I don't know anyone else who's a capital G Gay."

There was genuine curiosity in his tone, so Kurt found himself answering honestly (against his better judgement), "As it happens, no. I haven't been kissed by a boy, yet."

"Huh," Puck mused, his eyebrow furrowed, "Well how do you know you're a flaming homo? So you didn't like making out with Brittany; that doesn't mean you might not enjoy being with a chick."

Kurt couldn't explain, not in a way that would make sense to Puck anyway.

"I just know," he said eventually. "While I can appreciate the wonders of the right clothes and what a flattering cut can do for the female form, I've just never been attracted to girls."

"Dude, you're missing out."

Kurt had assumed right, Puck just didn't understand.

Puck thought it might be that Kurt himself was too girly to get a thrill out of stroking skin as soft as satin; of burying his nose in silky hair that smelled liked apples and digging his fingers into the soft swell of a girl's hips as she writhed beneath him….

Fuck he missed Rachel.

By their own accord, Puck's eyes dropped to Kurt's own trim waist, accentuated by a wide black belt threaded though the belt loops of purple and black pants that were just a little too tight. He had a nice ass, Puck thought absently, his eyes checking out the derrière in question with skilful discretion. He then shook his head as if to clear his traitorous thoughts.

He looked up to see Kurt's lips pursed in concentration as he wiggled the shirt sleeve over the cast carefully, so as not to jar his broken arm. His lips were really pink, almost the same colour as Rachel's. He even had a slight shine of gloss on his pout and Puck couldn't help but wonder, curiously, what flavor the boy was partial to.

Rachel always used strawberry because she knew that was Puck's favorite. She would continually apply it throughout the course of the day and any evenings they spent together just so he could lick it off. He didn't want to guess what flavour she might be wearing now, for Finn.

He must have made a noise – a small growl or something – because Kurt looked down to see Puck's brooding gaze intently focused on his lips. His tongue darted out involuntarily to moisten the focal point of Puck's attention and amazingly – for it was clearly not his imagination – he saw Puck's pupils darken and dilate.

Kurt felt his heart skip a beat and without rational thought - like the fact that up until a few seconds ago, never ever had he felt anything for Noah Puckerman other than mild disdain - he bowed his head, the small movement inching his face all that much closer to Puck's. The other boy didn't move; he didn't tilt his head or jerk away, which was the response Kurt was expecting, so he slowly leant forward.

Puck was frozen in place, watching as those glistening pink lips came closer and closer to his own. It wasn't until he felt the play of Kurt's breath against his cheek and the other boy's eyelashes flutter like they might close, that he realized what was about to happen. Panicked, he shot to his feet and in doing so, shoved Kurt back a few steps.

"I like pussy," he blurted out, his eyes wild. "I like touching it, I like tasting it, I like burying my-"

"Stop!" Kurt held up a hand to silence him and if Puck looked closely, he might see that the smaller boys hand was just that little bit unsteady. "I don't know what you think was about to happen," he started coolly, silently giving himself props for his superb acting skills that were at that very moment, effectively disguising how much the last few minutes had really affected him. "But I assure you," he continued, not quite meeting Puck's eye, "you're mistaken."

"Nuh, uh. You were two seconds away from sticking your tongue down my throat," Puck accused, holding his shirt to his chest as if his virtue was being visually violated.

"Rubbish," Kurt denied, "I was merely assisting you undress, as you asked me too,"

The wary look on Puck's face made Kurt feel like a creeper and he bristled angrily. There had been a moment, no matter what Puck claimed, and although he was under no illusions about Puck's sexuality, Kurt knew he had not been the only one enthralled by it.

"And anyway, you were the one that was staring at my mouth like you wanted to devour me whole!" he countered, a tinge of hysteria in his tone.

"I was fucking not!" Puck exploded, his face practically purple as he stepped forward, his jaw clenching in anger. For a moment, Kurt tensed and braced himself, sure that the tension and confusion in the air was going to result in Puck's fist connecting with his face. "Shut your fucking mouth."

If Kurt was smart, that's exactly what he would have done, but his pride would not allow him to shoulder the responsibility for a situation he felt Puck had participated in just as much as him.

"I don't understand why you're so upset," he said shrilly. "You always go on about how comfortable you are with your sexuality. I don't doubt that girls are your preference but I would think that if anyone would be up for a bit of experimentation, it would be you."

"Hummel," Puck's voice was low and he advanced on the smaller boy, threateningly. "I said shut the fuck up, I am in no way, shape or form up for any type of guy on guy action. I have no fucking idea why you thought I would be."

Kurt backed up until he was pressed against the lockers, his breath coming out in short gasps as he tried to ascertain exactly how much physical damage Puck could inflict on him with one arm. Still plenty, he was sure. "You asked me if I'd ever….and then you were looking at me like…." he stumbled over his explanation though deep down he knew he didn't owe Puck one at all. His fear must have been written all over his face because Puck's expression changed. He blew out a breath and stepped back, running an agitated hand over his scalp.

"Look, I'm sorry man. I didn't mean to go apeshit at you," he apologized lowly. Kurt blinked and relaxed marginally. Since when did Noah Puckerman say sorry for anything?

"I get that you're into dudes and all and I don't know what the fuck just happened, but-" he paused. "I'm not," he finished seriously.

Kurt straightened his shirt and nodded slowly, looking down at his feet as he tried to maintain his composure. "Of course you aren't," he said softly, more to himself than anything. "There's nothing wrong with you." He said that last bit almost bitterly and belatedly had to ask himself why. He'd been 'out' for a while now and for the most part, the taunts had settled down and majority of his peers just seemed to accept his sexual orientation. It was just that Puck's vehement denial of any attraction towards him, stung and stirred up those old feelings of worthlessness and undermined the progress he'd made in loving himself, completely, just as he was.

Puck watched him closely for a minute and saw the play of emotion across the porcelain boy's features. "You know that I don't care that you're gay right? I mean, since I joined Glee we've been cool, yeah?"

At Kurt's nod, Puck continued. "I'm kind of a dick," he admitted unrepentedly, "and yeah you being…different was an issue for me at one time, but it's not like that anymore."

Kurt's attention was fixed to the floor.

"I mean it," Puck said with enough conviction to make Kurt look up and met his gaze. "Fuck, Berry would rip me a new one if she knew I'd made you feel-" he halted abruptly.

"You really like her, don't you?" Kurt asked softly.

Puck nodded, "Yeah man, I do. Who would have though it, huh? She's neurotic as hell, and her diva fits are fucking exhausting, but she gets me. She doesn't try to change me but she makes me want to be better, for her. We just work, you know? Or we did," he amended with a frown.

"You'll sort it out," Kurt offered quietly. "Rachel may be crazy, but she's crazy about you."

"You think so?"

"Yeah, I do."

Silence stretched between them and finally Puck shifted uncomfortably. "So, uh, would it be too much if I ask you to help me get dressed?"

Kurt hesitated.

"S'okay, you don't have to," Puck said hurriedly.

"No…it's fine." Kurt stepped towards him, careful to not invade the jock's personal space as he helped him into his shirt and made short work in fastening the buttons.

"Thanks," Puck said when he was done.

Kurt nodded and replaced the makeup remover and cotton balls into the large beauty case he'd brought with him. As he straightened, he caught Puck's eye and smiled slightly. "Well, good luck with Rachel. If you want my advice, I say you corner her and tell her how you feel."

"Apologize to her about the party," he instructed, his voice getting stronger with each suggestion he offered. "Make sure she knows you had every intention of being honest with her and promise her it won't happen again. You two are adorable, really. When you find someone that accepts you, flaws and all, you should hang onto them, because those people are few and far between."

As he made to walk away, Puck put a restraining hand on his arm. "Hey Kurt, wait."

When he looked up he saw Puck swallow nervously, "You'll have that too, someday. There's some guy out there that's going to be thanking his fucking stars the day he finds you."

Kurt laughed quietly, his chest tight. "I hope you're right."

"I am," Puck replied decisively. "You're pretty great, dude," he added awkwardly, "Tonight's weirdness aside, I'm glad we're buds." He held his fist out, and Kurt stared at his knuckles for a few seconds before bumping them gently with his own.

"Me too, Puck. Me too."

As he crossed the darkened parking lot towards his Navigator, listening to a siren blare and the sound of the crowd cheering wildly from the football field as the game came to an end, his eyes fell on a petite brunette leaning against a purple Prius and staring wistfully in the direction of a dirty green pickup across the lot.

"Rachel," Kurt called out.

Rachel's head turned sharply, her dark brown locks whipping across her face. She raked the strands back from her face and tucked a piece behind her ear.

"Hello Kurt. How are you this evening?" she inquired pleasantly as he stopped beside her car.

He didn't bother answering. "He loves you," he said instead, in a tone that broke no room for argument.

"Who?" She asked dumbly.

Kurt rolled his eyes, not unkindly, "Don't act stupid, Rachel. It's not a part you play well."

She bit her lip as she nodded and looked up at him from beneath thick eyelashes, "He cheated on me," she reminded him quietly.

"He was drunk," Kurt held up his hand as she opened her mouth. "I'm not saying that excuses his behaviour, because it doesn't. He made a mistake and it was one he was going to own up to, had Finn not got there first."

"He was?" She asked unsurely.

Kurt nodded. "Like I said, he loves you. And if you love him, you should let him apologize and figure out a way to make it up to you."

Rachel sighed. "I don't know that it's that easy, Kurt. He really hurt me, I don't know if I can just forgive and forget."

He shrugged. "Well, then, make him work for it. Make him sit through every musical you own or have him repaint your hideous yellow bedroom. Anything. Just talk to him, let him say he's sorry."

When it looked as though she wasn't going to relent, Kurt added, "He's really kind of pathetic without you. It's quite sad and not at all becoming."

"You think he misses me?" she asked hopefully.

"I know he does," Kurt assured her, giving her a little push towards the front entrance of the school. "I left him in the locker room just now. Go."

She stumbled a little before putting one foot in front of the other, her pace picking up as her mind caught up with her feet, and she decided Kurt was right. He watched her go, a small smile playing on his lips, before he continued to his car.

Later that night, as he was slipping into his silk pajama set, his phone chirped indicating a received message. He almost dropped his phone in surprise as he saw the name Noah Puckerman flashing across the screen. Opening the message with nimble fingers he read:

Crazy said I had u 2 thank 4 her taking my sorry ass back. So thx man, I owe u 1.

Kurt thought for a moment before typing out:

Keep the PDA's to a minimum so as not to provoke my upchuck reflex and we'll call it even. And PS if you run into any hotties' you consider 'capital G gay', send them my way :)

A few seconds later, his phone beeped again.

HAHA, k.

Two weeks later, as Kurt was working at his father's garage, bent over with his head under the hood of a '98 Chevy, he heard the loud clearing of someone's throat. He reached for a rag to wipe the grease from his hands as he turned.

"Are you Kurt?" a 17 year old Robert Patterson look-alike was asking him.

Kurt nodded dumbly as his eyes ran enviously over the boys sapphire blue Robert Cavalli blazer.

"My name is Adam Dancer. I just moved here from Colorado and when I was at McKinley this afternoon, registering for school and handing in my transcripts, this guy named Puck told me where I could find you and suggested I meet you here. Apparently you're like, the WMHS official welcoming committee or something. He said you could help me settle in."

At that moment, Kurt felt his pocket vibrate and he held up a finger, signalling Adam should wait while he flipped open his phone. It was a text message from Puck, only the third one he'd ever received from the boy, and it was seven words that made Kurt tingle with excitement.

Capital G with a bullet. Ur welcome.

He grinned and pocketed his phone, his blue-green eyes focusing on his 'guest'.

"Puck would be right. I am your official 'Welcome to McKinley' mascot. Kurt Hummel, at your service." He gave an exaggerated bow and was gratified when Adam chuckled.

He straightened and gave the boy another covert once over. Puck had good taste.


Three months later, as he and Adam were curled up on Kurt's sofa watching Funny Girl for the fiftieth time, their lips swollen and their hair mussed, Puck's prediction came true.

Adam was nuzzling Kurt's jaw, their entwined fingers resting on his thigh as he kissed the spot behind Kurt's ear that drove him crazy.

"I'm so glad I met you, Kurt," he whispered huskily, trailing his lips down his neck. "I didn't think I could be this happy, but the second I saw you in those adorable coverall's at your dad's garage I knew you were meant for me."

Kurt couldn't reply; his throat was thick with emotion and all he could do was turn his head and press his lips sweetly against his boyfriends, silently thanking Barbara and Gucci for one Noah Puckerman.

He was the best non-kiss Kurt had ever had.