Accompany fic 2 – Shout It Out Loud

Disclaimer: Me no own

Awwww yeah…this one has a twist to it… You have been warned.


It doesn't explain the whore-lips. He cursed to himself. Okay, calm yourself, dude. Kurt's song and stuff was hot, and stuff, but no—Quinn—she's carrying your baby. You can't go chasing after a dude while you're baby mama drama is going on…

He's in the boy's bathroom, trying to wipe the makeup off his face with little success, when the door opens. He ignores it—he's badass enough to not take crap from Azimio and Karofsky. It doesn't register that hands are on him until he's turned around, staring into the usual weird blue-green-gray eyes that he's come so accustomed to seeing.

"What are you-," he's cut off by lips against his, silencing him into immobility as there are hands in his wig, pulling it off and then there's biting, and another hand is tugging at his belt. He gasps as the belt is pulled from his jeans, thrown off to the side carelessly, and then Kurt is back, pushing him against the sink behind himself, still wearing that ridiculous Gaga outfit, but he's still gorgeous to look at. Puck groans into the kiss, hands clenching and unclenching in wanting to touch the other boy.

How can he affect him so much? It literally boggles his mind. Hands have finally calmed their frantic search along his body, they have one behind his neck, and the other is caressing him—caressing. He whimpers as Kurt pulls away, looking him in the eye. Red makeup is smeared across his lips.

Kurt licks his lips, only to glance down at Puck's lips and trailing his fingers from the back of his neck to swipe at his lips. "Whore lips…" he whispers reverently, leaning forward and biting his bottom lip between his teeth.

Puck groans, continuing to stay still. He can't. Not now—maybe not ever, really. Kurt looks him in the eye and they're clear as day. He's in full control—this is what he wants? And then Kurt's hand is down his pants and all thoughts previous are gone, swept away in complete arousal.

He's watching Kurt, red lipstick smeared across his lips, blush highlighting said lipstick, and wig askew. He grips the sink behind him, tensing every time Kurt looks at him. Lips meet lips, one hand is under his shirt now, scraping manicured nails against his abs and pecs, before they find his nipple ring, and he's twisting and tugging and Puck doesn't know how Kurt knows what he's doing, but he's not going to question it.

The hand in his pants is clumsy, and awkwardly placed, but he can't complain—it's Kurt—it's still hot as hell, and Kurt is definitely enjoying it as much as he is. He groans at the thought. "You…" he gasps as Kurt twists his hand, "You were so hot during your Gaga number," he stuttered out, nearly having to sit on the sink to stop himself from collapsing.

Kurt's pushing his legs apart, hard on tenting that dress-thing, and pressing against his pants. He's jerking his hips into his, and then it's over—he's coming, and Kurt moaning into his ear, and it's the hottest thing he's ever heard.

He's holding himself up, attempting not to slide to the floor—especially while he has cum in his pants, when Kurt trails a finger over his lips again, mumbling, "Whore lips." He just barely realizes that his own spunk is on his lips before Kurt's kissing him again, biting, and licking at his lips. Those same fingers brush his, and his hand gives a weak twitch, hooking and catching the other boy's fingers with his. It's the first intimate touch they've really shared—the touch of the fingertips is as sexy as it gets, from now on, he supposes, watching Kurt step away.

Before Kurt leaves the bathroom, leaves him, he looks him in the eye—pain evident—and mumbles, "I'm sorry,"