Title: Suburban Trash
Rating: R
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Puck/Kurt, OCs
Genre: Drama.
Word Count: 2427
Warning: Sex, swearing, sometimes-graphic violence. Possible OOCness.
Disclaimer: I don't own it and I'm not making any money from it, this is pure entertainment and not intended to offend.
Author Notes: This is the long awaited sequel to Stick (Like A Pig) , set roughly six or so years into the future. And because ff. net does not allow links anymore, I'm afraid you miss out on the illustrations.
Summary: Kurt has this plan for how his life is meant to turn out. This plan includes very specific ideas of what he should be doing, and where he should be living, and who should conveniently die.



Picket fences had nothing on this neighbourhood.

Old fashioned wrought iron fences, Victorian-era housing, petunias lining the window boxes and spacious two car driveways. This was the kind of neighbourhood where little old ladies baked cookies and you could leave your back door unlocked at night. The owners of the houses were the people who lived in them and not investment buyers who shoved renters in to pay off their debts. Until now.

The For Rent sign was a blight on the neighbourhood. It stood defiantly and crookedly hammered into place outside number 56 by the ivy-covered letterbox, a white sign with bright red lettering and the number of an independent realty contractor underneath. It was a sign of the times and how far this good old neighbourhood had fallen. Before you knew it the place would be overrun with the wrong kind of people. The kind that threw loud parties and swore where the kids could hear. The kind who'd bring the property values down and let the house fall into disrepair, the garden suddenly overrun with weeds and the grass two feet tall.

This was the kind of neighbourhood where people raised their kids, where respectable people spent their whole lives until eventually leaving their homes to their grandchildren and moving to a nice assisted living facility.

It was the perfect cover. Kurt smirked to himself as he drove his car slowly past number 56 and its For Rent sign, eyes wicked behind his D&G shades. He tapped the phone number into his phone and pressed dial, foot pressing down against the accelerator. "Yes," he said when someone answered, "I'm calling about the rental on Hartley Drive..."



The apartment was a small single bedroom beige block of nothing and Kurt tolerated it only as an intermediary step. He had a credit card sitting in his wallet just begging to buy furniture for a place that could actually fit more than just a single sofa and coffee table. Kurt felt boxed in here, bored and annoyed every time he saw the bare walls and plain carpeting on the floors. He sat on the sofa with his morning coffee because they didn't actually have a dining table yet.

"It was your idea," Puck always reminded him, perfectly at ease in the dingy little box of an apartment, "to move this far out without any savings."

Kurt hated that somehow Puck had managed to take the role of the sensible one when it had come to that decision. True, Kurt could rely on his father's money if he needed to. He just preferred not to. He was twenty three years old, and he should be able to stand on his own two feet. He was, in fact, well on his way to doing just that. Six months ago he had managed to nab himself an excellent job at an interior design company, the sort of job that any design graduate would kill for. (Kurt hadn't needed to, but he'd kept it in mind.) It paid a very decent salary, most of which was currently being injected into a high interest savings account, the last quarter of which was paying off the last of his student loans. They were living off Puck's salary, which was a thought that sometimes made Kurt's eyebrow arch at himself in the mirror. Luckily the other man was never around to see him do it – Puck got up at five in the morning and started work at six, same job he'd been in since high school in just another different location.

It was always easy for Puck to get work. He had experience, he had good references, and he knew how to joke around with the other guys on site to make instant friends.

They were a mismatched pair, everyone always commented on it. When Puck wasn't around to get pissed off at him Kurt would just smile and say that he liked them big and stupid.

Unfortunately the trouble with their different working schedules was that Kurt couldn't find the time to talk to him until a mutual oddly timed lunch hour. Kurt sat behind his desk at the design firm, swatches of fabric pushed to the side with giant files full of paint chips. He had his lunch in front of him, salad and a lightly buttered bread roll, and his phone pressed to his ear.

"I found us a house," he told Puck when the call connected. "56 Hartley, in the middle of a nice suburban community filled with young parents and semi-retired couples."

"Am I meant to think that's good or bad?" Puck asked, voice dry. Kurt could hear the noise from the construction site in the background, muffled by whatever was between Puck and the actual work site.

"You're meant to think it's wonderful and praise me," Kurt replied easily, delicately picking at his salad. "I wanted to talk to you about this at home, but I have an appointment with the realtor after work and won't see you until dinner. Suburbia, darling, is exactly what we need."

"Ok." Puck didn't sound convinced. "What the hell gave you that idea?"

"Hm. Well, I have a few names I'd like to discuss with you. And while I was thinking over those names it occurred to me that the place for us to be was right in the middle of a suburban paradise filled with character references and proof that I plan on being with this company for the long haul."

There was a long pause. Kurt ate two bites of his salad. Eventually Puck replied incredulously; "You want me to work around suburban hell? What the fuck, Kurt."

"It makes perfect sense. I'll explain it to you tonight."

"Yeah, you better."

"If you're really good," Kurt teased, "I'll blow you before dinner."

"And I'll jizz on your face, Princess." Pause. "Fine. Go rent us some prissy big house surrounded by nosy neighbours."

Kurt smiled. "I love you too, Noah." He cooed the words into the receiver before hanging up. Puck would never say it back while at work. In fact, it had taken Kurt two whole years just to get him to say the words at all. He didn't mind. He had his gorgeous, accommodating and understanding boyfriend... who made sure he didn't have to keep any fantasies to himself. He was fulfilled. Mostly.

A better home than their current apartment was a good start. He could work on attaining his dream job after that.



Kurt clocked off at four thirty on the dot and was outside 56 Hartley at five minutes to five, just in time to see the realtor pull up in a dark blue sedan. Kurt's own car was a very stylish jeep the size of a tank, perfect for hauling boxes of fabric and throw pillows from location to location. (Puck liked to joke that it was big enough to haul bodies, but Kurt had threatened him with bodily harm if he even got so much as a drop of blood on the upholstery.) He parked the car and got out into the slowly fading sunlight, whipped his sunglasses off and shot the realtor a dazzling smile.

"Mr. Hummel?" She asked. Her smile was much less rehearsed than Kurt's had been. "I'm Valerie Cartwright, it's nice to meet you."

"A pleasure," Kurt replied and shook her hand when it was offered to him. His palms were just as soft as hers, his fingers uncallused. He worked hard to keep then that way, with a dazzling array of moisturisers and scrubs. He had an artist's hands, delicate and full of movement. "You should know," he told the realtor, "that this is really just a formality. I am determined to rent this house, I just need to see the inside so my partner thinks I took at least some time to think about this."

Valerie looked stunned, but pulled herself together after only a momentary pause. "Don't you want to look inside?" she laughed, "just to make sure the house is suitable?"

Kurt had looked the blueprints up already. He nodded at her anyway. "Of course. I may as well see what colour the walls are."

He signed off on the contract just after six thirty, skipping the application process altogether when the realty company learned what his salary was. By the time he actually got home to the apartment it was well after seven, he could smell pizza and knew Puck had ordered in rather than cook for himself.

Kurt shucked his jacket and folded it over one arm, deposited it alongside his bag on the kitchen table and walked into the living room where Puck was seated in front of the TV. "Darling..."

"What did you do?" Puck asked bluntly.

"Nothing. Yet." Kurt took a seat on the couch beside his partner, keeping his distance only because the other man was still dressed in work pants, the legs covered in brick dust and dirt. He reached out a hand to brush his fingers down the back of Puck's shaved head, feeling velvet-textured stubble under his fingers. "I want to talk to you about moving my career forward. I want to talk to you about a new List."

Puck turned his head to look at Kurt, seeing right past the innocent baby-face and the coy smile. He sank down an inch or two against the back of the couch, covering up the thrill that tingled down his spine at the thought of what a new List would entail. They hadn't done anything for months, eight of them to be exact. Frankly Puck thought that was eight months too long, though intellectually he was aware of the wisdom of keeping their bursts of destruction few and far apart.

Plenty of research told him that one of the many ways a serial killer got caught was by getting predictable and by killing enough people to be noticed. There was a set of unspoken rules that Puck followed – rules he'd only broken twice in the years since his first killing, during the time Kurt was in college.

"I'm listening," he said, watching Kurt's face for the telltale flush across his cheeks and the spark that brightened his eyes.

"I want to come at this sideways," Kurt explained, trailing his fingers down across the back of Puck's neck and over his shoulder. "I've observed a wonderfully delicate balance between rival contractors and their parent companies. In the very short time that I've been working at Studio Six I've noticed that if just a few people were to be... made obsolete, then certain positions in these companies would open up. I wouldn't get any of these promotions of course, but I don't expect to. What I want is to get noticed, to be forced to fill in for a missing designer at the last second, to take a supporting position at the design expo later this year."

"So you need me to arrange a few convenient disappearances," Puck supplied, following along and watching Kurt's pupils slowly dilate in his excitement.

"Four," Kurt corrected. "Four disappearances over the course of six months."

"There's a but here, isn't there?"

"But we need to be absolutely and completely free of suspicion."

"And how exactly do we do that?" Puck asked doubtfully, not because he thought they'd had troubles avoiding suspicion, but because he had a feeling that wasn't exactly what Kurt meant.

"We need to be somewhere readily observable at all times," Kurt stated patiently, "we need to be sociable. We may need to entertain, or at least extend the offer. We need to look credible, respectable, we need to send the message that yes I am a raging homosexual but I also have respectability and definite plans to build a career at Studio Six."

"In a nice, respectable neighbourhood," Puck rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I see where this is going. So did you fill in an application yet or do I get a say in this?"

"You get no say," Kurt informed his partner and leaned over delicately, careful not to let his clothes touch Puck's possibly dirt-smeared skin, to press his lips against the other man's cheek. "We're moving in this weekend."

Puck groaned in protest and let his head loll back against the couch cushions. "You're such a fucking bitch."

"Don't worry," Kurt patted his shoulder, "I have enough savings to outfit our new, respectable home and to have everything delivered." He paused thoughtfully, eyeing his partner's arms. "Even if you do look lovely when you lift things."

"Blow me."

"Shower first," Kurt replied primly. He stood, adjusted the set of his clothing. He saw Puck watching him, gaze locked firmly below the belt. Kurt cupped himself through his pants, rubbing with his palm. "You'd better hurry," he advised, "I'm feeling impatient, and I will not wait for you."

Kurt waltzed into the bedroom and closed the door most of the way behind him. He could hear Puck stand up and clomp to the bathroom, heard the shower turn on, and then his partner's voice through the thin walls of the apartment. "You know I'll have to keep going out at night, right? So it doesn't look weird when I go off and kill those guys?"

"I know," Kurt replied, unbuttoning his shirt.

"So what if someone thinks I'm screwing around behind your back?"

"We'll tell anyone who asks that it's none of their business," Kurt said primly. He opened the closet door and looked at himself in the full-length mirror stuck to the inside. He struck a pose, smoothed his hands down his chest, and slowly unbuckled his belt. "Are you naked yet?" he asked Puck.

"Are you?" The reply came, slow and sardonic. A second later Kurt heard the sound of the water change as it hit human flesh instead of tile and glass. "Are you thinking about death, baby?"

Kurt watched his reflection lick its lips and shimmy out of its pants. He didn't answer straight away, just finished undressing between slow caresses to his own body. Once he was completely naked he crossed the small room until he was pressed up against the wall that separated the bedroom from the bathroom. He moaned, loud and purposeful.

And grinned when he got the exact response he wanted. He could hear Puck muttering curses. The shower abruptly turned off. Kurt laughed to himself and waited for the other man to come in from the bathroom, naked and wet, with no intention of giving him any mercy.

Domesticity was bliss.