A/N: Hey all! Very long overdue chapter. I sincerely apologize for the epic wait and sort of abrupt interruption to the story. Things in my life have been upturned and I've been sorely lacking in both the time and creativity department for a long while. I do intend to finish this story and it will be at a choppy, some times annoying pace; I don't want to make promises about post times but just know that when it's right, when the time suits it, I will be adding more and completing this so don't give up on it, or me. Thank you to everyone for being understanding and continuing to give this a chance. I own the plot and supporting characters. That's about all. Please enjoy!


"Do you want to tell me why I had to take a meeting with some miniature mustachioed Burt Reynolds impersonator with a god awful tie?"

Kurt feels his heart pick up pace. Instinctually, he remains stoic.

"Could you be more specific? You pretty much described every I.T. guy in the office."

"Okay then, a mustachioed squirt who likes to accessorize with ugly neck ties and an ID badge that signifies him as a county social worker. Has a last name I thought the guy made up until I read it for myself on that silly little badge that he flashed in my face."

"Mr. Pussey?"

"That'd be the one. But why is he here, at my office, asking questions about you and taking up my very much significant and precious time?"

Kurt swallows. He ducks his head, eyes skirting across some photo prints which he is pretend-rifling through in order to avoid her x-raying glare.

"It's nothing, um, just something to do with me getting married."

"So your hubby really is fresh off the Puerto Rican banana boat. I knew it –"

"No! He's an American citizen. Born and raised in the state of Ohio of all places."

"After escaping through all of those banana – sorry, plantain – bunches in the Congo-like jungles of Puerto Rico. Yep, I got it."

Her look continues to wreak skepticism.

"It's nothing. Honestly Lorraine. He just wants some information about my insurance coverage and Puck's eligibility. Logistics really."

"Right. Because questions posed in an effort to legitimize your relationship… doesn't strike me as odd in the slightest."

Kurt exhales shakily, feeling Lorraine's smirk aimed at him even though he still won't look at her.

"I have a guy if your boy toy needs a Visa. He's pretty good about sparing documentation for any models we need to borrow for an extended stay."

"Lorraine! For the last time. Not illegal. Very much a citizen."

"Of course, of course. Very much legal," and she dons air quotes here, "I'm sure. Anyway outside of those strange but entertaining shenanigans, your big day's coming up."

"You're reminding me. That's never good."

"Well I didn't think I'd need to. But seeing as you've been notably distracted what with the random visits from county affiliates and your vaguely Latin possibly Guido of a hubby I'm pretty sure you didn't marry for his ability to do math problems taking up your time, I decided to make an exception."

"I know. I know things have been hectic and there've been some days that I've been kind of off –"

Lorraine snorts.

"You thought of the words 'getting off' didn't you?"

"I plead the fifth."

"Great. Wipe your mind clean."

"Just pictured you guys wiping each other down in the shower. Suds sliding down evenly across every inch of –"

"Please spare me."

"And now it's him dressed in coveralls changing your tire. Bending you over the hood and –"

"Ah! No! Look what I'm trying to say is that I know things have been – not on track with me lately. I know I've taken a lot of time off. But I promise you this line is going to be great. And the show is going to be amazing."

"It better be Hummel. I've put a lot of faith into you and taken quite the chance with you being an amateur designer. But you have enough class and professionalism to already know that without me barking it out at you. Don't –"

"Please don't say blow this."

"Didn't have to. Plus I was actually going to say 'make me regret this' but that works just as well. Good day to you."

She turns, her spiked heels still audible even on the carpeted floor as she falls into an easy stride. When she reaches the entrance, she pauses, looking back over her shoulder.

"And no more surprise visits from little funny named men unless they're coming here to write a check. Or they're Danny DeVito. I always found him weirdly charming and erotic in a midget-y, sort of round way. Huh… and now I'm picturing him blowing you under your desk with his convenient height disadvantage."

"Please –"

"Alright, alright. You're no fun."

The door closes and Kurt groans, wanting to push everything off the desk and stomp on it until it disintegrated. He tries to retrain his gaze on the picture harboring a sleek cut, tweed number, critically eying the lighting and wondering if he should select another angle for the final shot.

The knocking is soft.

"Are you Danny DeVito?" He calls out irritably.

"Uh, not – um, no."

"Well you should be."

Mickey quietly opens the door, looking doe-eyed again.

"You okay?"

"Trick questions are not appreciated at the moment Mickey."

"Oh. Sorry, I just… you've been locked in here for hours. I wanted to ask if you wanted me to maybe grab you something for lunch."

Kurt puffs out a long exhale, guilt coursing through his innards at his own less than friendly tone. Mickey didn't deserve that.

"I'm sorry Mickey. That's sweet. I honestly feel like I don't have enough time to breathe let alone eat. Sad, huh?"

"Yeah. A little. I sort of figured that was probably the case, hence me asking."

Kurt felt distracted, unable to even figure out if he was actually hungry or not. How detached was he?

"That's okay, Mick. I'll probably pick something up on the way home," he responds robotically.

A flash of disappointment slides across Mickey's easy grin.

"Okay, Kurt. Let me know if you–um, change your mind."

"Will do. Thanks."

Mickey starts to turn for the door, but then stops.

"Hey, uh–Kurt?"


"That guy, the social worker?"

"The walking penis garbed in puke-y tie?"

"Um, well, yeah. What did he want?"

Kurt had already started rifling through the shots again, trying to make sense of something, anything. He needed the distraction terribly.

"To rip out my heart and watch me bleed to death."


Shit. He'd said that out loud hadn't he?

"Nothing. Don't worry about it."

"A-alright. See you later."


The door clicking shut just makes the panic surge. He keeps thinking of Noah. He keeps forgetting to breathe his dream scattered out in front of him with every passing second. He felt like it was all slipping through his fingers, seeping through and disappearing before his eyes, and that he's simply a bystander watching it happen, unable to stop it.


He wipes the steam away from the mirror, towel wrapped low on his hips as his face surfaces through the clouded glass.

He scrubs his hand over his face and jaw, drawing the skin down and carefully looking over himself, taking in the luggage under his eyes and the paleness of the skin.

He'd cracked his forearm on the side table dresser a few days before. Now he had a gnarly bruise that looked like someone had took a bat to it. It was large and gruesome; taking up too much space for a random bump that felt like nothing at all close to something that would create that sort of expanse of purplish skin. He shakes his head, training his eyes back on his own face in the stupid glass.

He smiles thinking of his old tricks, feeling just for a moment like the old him was starting to take in air again; Puckasaurus somewhere hidden in the grin celebrating and patting him on the back for his latest conquest.

But it slowly fades, slipping into a frown.

He'd been with Kurt fucking Hummel. He'd literally gone gay for Hummel, and in all honesty, he knew it wasn't some random conquest.

The smile tries to fight its way back when he reminisces over the noises echoing from Princess: panting and strangled cries and fucking whimpering moans that ate at Puck's insides and leveled him into a goopy, sad, and horny as shit sack of needy pleas. The way Kurt's smooth skin felt pressed against Puck's, the way he tasted; every exchanged word and promise tucked between them and the skin slapping rhythm that for the time had fooled him into forgetting.

He can't smile. It feels weird… like hard to do or something.

He wants to have that again, being with Kurt like that. He decided then that he wants it all the time.

They've barely gotten the chance to look at each other since it happened though. This will be their second day back home from Ohio and it's like they still haven't talked about it. Not really.

Sure they've held hands when convenient, during the cab ride and on and off on the plane ride back to LA. They also opted to share the same bed. A few nights before when they were still in butt-hio, it had been at Casa de Hummel Senior. But there was no fucking way anything was happening under that roof. Puck couldn't even try to get it up after the whole Burxican stand-off. Fucking stress turned his dick into a damn turtle head ducking back into its shell. Every time he felt a twinge in his dick he'd imagine the old guy busting the door to Kurt's old bedroom in, swinging a chainsaw around, cutting his schlong off and kicking it onto the floor where it'd flop around and die like a headless chicken body.

It was enough for him to stick to top and tailing with Kurt while under Burt's roof.

Even back at home in LA when they did finally settle into spooning position, it was interrupted by Kurt's stupid early alarm for work and Puck feeling stupidly queasy, ending with him just couching it up so he didn't keep waking Kurt up and messing with his sleep schedule.

He hates that the face staring back at him reminds him that he's going head to head with mortality and shit; the evidence of death's grip right there having a fucking staring contest with him. He exhales, still staring in the glass.

Being with Princess is like asking to walk on the sun. He knows it would feed him, give him energy and a sense of something – whatever, that missing something. But that idea of a future, thinking of what could happen between them is almost too much; easily burns him up into ashes.

He's not good enough. He's gonna break the kid's heart. He's gonna… well, probably be worm food in the end wasn't he?

The knocking breaks him out of his cage.

"Hey. You okay?"

Puck keeps looking at himself.

"Yeah, I'm good."

There's a stiff pause.

"Okay," Kurt's voice calls through the closed door. "Good. I'm going to be up late. I have to play catch up on some work stuff so I'll be up for a bit."

It's quiet again. Puck senses the kid has more to say. He gets irritated, all the crap he'd been thinking urging him to be a dick.

"You can spit it out Hummel."

Kurt takes a beat. Puck can imagine his face scrunched up in that cute, figuring shit out frown through the door.

"Spit what out?"

"Whatever it is you ain't saying," Puck grinds out.

"It's nothing. I just – wanted to make sure you were okay. You were taking a while."

He's getting more pissed. The stuff inside of him bubbling up, edging on the surface.

"So that's it?"

The pause happens again.

"Well, yeah."

Puck flings open the door, eyes all narrow.

"I'm fine. Somehow I survived the shower. I was worried for a sec but I managed to pull through."

Kurt's eyes grow hard, steely.

"I didn't fall in, I didn't slip. The shower didn't eat me," Puck continues.

"Stop," Kurt cuts in.

"Stop what? You felt the need to check up on me. I just wanted you to know that I lived through ten minutes of shower spray without croaking. Aren't you proud of me?"

"I need you to stop."

"You want me to stop? Well you know what – I need you to wake up."

"Where are you going with this Noah? Give me a damn map or something because if the end destination is you being an asshole, I'd rather not go along for this ride."

"What are you a fucking PSA for drunk driving? A fucking Survival Auto Insurance commercial? Can we stop dancing around this already?! We fucked! I fucked you!" Puck shouts.

Kurt's eyes are shiny. He looks like a cross-breed of puppy and snake, lost in between striking out and rearing back, hiding away.

"Um, yeah, I was kind of there if you can recall. Point being?" He retorts coolly.

"Point being… point being you haven't said shit about it."

"I didn't think we needed to."

"You didn't think – Kurt, we totally boned and you don't think we should talk about it?"

"Okay now who's being gay? Because if I said anything remotely resembling what you just said, that would so be your retort."

"Well excuse me for giving a rat's ass about your feelings. I've kind of never done that before and I did it with you and fuck me for even wanting to process anything."

"So let me get this straight, pun sort of intended – you shout in front my entire family, including my gun toting father that you love me, and you just want to focus on the sex part?"

"Well, you liked it…right?"

"Where are you going with–?"

"Just answer the question. You liked it?"

Puck can tell Kurt is doing everything possible to not roll his eyes.

"I don't – I'm a gay man. I like to have sex and it's honestly been a while, so of course I liked it."

"Well don't make it sound so romantic, Christ."

Puck pauses, trying not to look butt-hurt. Kurt isn't budging. Puck takes it upon himself to fill in the gaps.

"So just like?"

"Are you serious right now?" Kurt hisses. "Are you seriously making this about your stupid Puckasaurus sexual prowess bull shit?"

No. That wasn't it at all. He was just mad, lost, and pathetic feeling…

"What? Dude – again, my dick was inside you –"

"We've established that. And don't call me dude."

Puck nods, arms crossed defiantly over his chest. Kurt finally gives into his typical eye rolling.

"More than, okay? Much more than. You're a Sex-God wrapped up in a super hero cape made out of magnum-sized condoms, who fucked me hard enough to make me forget my name. Happy? Is that what you needed to hear? Is King Puckzilla satisfied?"

Kurt's tone was soft; it also didn't really match the stony look on his face that was totally challenging Puck.

Puck clenches his jaw trying to work out a response. He doesn't know how to say it wasn't about that.

"Let me guess. This is the part where you have your homophobic freak out, right?" Kurt spits out, words acidic and thick with bitterness. "You didn't know what you were doing. You were horny. I seduced you. The chemo's been messing with your brain lately. Take your pick. I've pretty much already thought of them all."

Puck steps into Kurt's space, the smaller man holding his ground as he stares up at him with a heated gaze.

"It's fine. I guess I've been waiting for this in a way."

It suddenly hits him then. He wasn't alone in that sort of lost, vulnerable, pathetic state of 'what the fuck is he doing with his life' kind of feeling. There was two of them; two of them equally uncertain, scared of losing their grip and probably terrified of the rejection. Two of them scared of what this really was.


"I should've known better than to think… I was stupid."


"What we did was probably really stupid, and it just complicated something that was already ridiculously complicated –"

"Kurt! I – I didn't just like it!" Puck hollers, instantly silencing Kurt's building rant. "I loved it. I love you. Okay?"

Kurt's back is pressed against the door, Puck crowding him, eyes staring into his; his face only a few inches away from Princess'.

"It felt good, you know, 'cause of the emotional stuff. I mean the other stuff too but… the feelings or whatever. Mostly those."

Kurt's eyes fall away, dropping to Puck's shoulder.

"Just listen," Puck pleads. Kurt opens his mouth like he's going to say something but then gives a small nod of permission, pretty mouth clapping shut and blue eyes fixed on Puck's face again; like someone was double daring him to keep them there.

"I – I don't know a lot of shit. I mean, I'm completely retarded as shit when it comes to relationships and being with someone. But I can't… I can't ignore what I feel for you. As much as I've tried to justify it, or will it away, or play pretend – Seriously, I've actually daydreamed about being a super high-class gigolo who likes poon and wienus equally. Anything to make it feel like a game. Some temporary insanity thing like it wasn't real. That's what I know. I know that I love you on some level that isn't about how like quarter bouncing tight and amazing your ass is, or how hot and puzzle piece perfect your mouth feels on me. It's not about you having money or that you've taken me in like some stray and I'm acting on some sense of duty or charity or something."

Kurt's breathing heavily, gnawing his bottom lip. He traces his fingertips up Puck's arm, trailing over the bruised skin cloaking the forearm. Puck lets the words leak out, watching the fingertips roving.

"Truth is I'm scared. And it ain't 'cause you're a dude. I'm not some pusscake who's scared of my sexuality and what attracts me. I ain't sixteen anymore. I embrace that shit. It's 'cause I want you like that. You know, I want you… all of you, all the time. And I'm freaking scared shitless to get a taste of what I can't keep. What's the point if… you know – I…"

Puck feels his eyes warm, but he doesn't dare move away as his eyes lock onto familiar blue. Kurt's hand skims across his chest, over his collarbone and neck until it's cupping Puck's jaw. He tilts Puck's face upwards, forcing eye contact.

"You silly man," Kurt breathes, eyes twinkling. "You can't try to keep something that's already yours. Thought we established that too?"

The corner of Puck's mouth curls up.

"You may have said that. Hard to tell when you're whining it out between those sexy little moans."

Kurt leans in, lips ghosting his.

"Didn't hear you complaining."

Puck chuckles, the sound choked with relief.

"Think I was too busy kind of being your bitch. And I guess I've always been a slow learner."

"Well this time around I can't hire you some pedophilic lady co-ed to be your tutor like in high school."

"This time around I don't need her. I don't want her. I just want you. Teach me your gay ways, Hummel. Help me penis gobble as well as you do."

Kurt's endearing Kurt-chuckle bubbles over his lips. He smacks Puck's shoulder lightly, then leans back in with every intent to be a tease. Puck was ready for it.

"Shut up Puckerman."

"Make me."

Kurt's blue eyes thin.

"Done," He replies simply, extra casual. Too casual for Puck's liking. But, oh, does he like this.


Kurt puts his pointer finger to his own lips signaling for Puck to be quiet. Puck can't help but obey as he watches Kurt slowly drag Puck's hand upward, then gently kiss over the knuckles.

Puck almost gasps out like some silver screen hooker type from one of those black and white flicks Kurt makes him watch when Kurt takes his pointer finger into his mouth, his tongue swirling like a ribbon, and lips filing backwards over the finger with nothing but tight, wet heat.

Kurt takes care to look at Puck in the eye as he sucks the finger like a mini-dick, moaning with each dragging motion of his mouth.

Puck's mouth is hanging open like a dope, eyes fixed on that mouth and the wonderful things it was doing to just his finger alone. Puck shuddered with anticipation, his cock hardening under the weight of this overwhelming need that was somehow rushing through his dick and leaving some left over adrenaline that was making his toes curl while standing. He moves in an attempt to capture Kurt's lips and kiss the shit out of him, but Kurt pulls back and shakes his head, a devilish smile stretching around the finger.

The suction of Princess' pink lips causes a loud 'pop' sound to ring out when he teasingly, very achingly pulls the finger from the lip-lock.

Fuck. Puck nearly came just from the sight.

Kurt lets his hand go, eyes devouring Puck whole while he stealthily grips the towel knot, pulling it with a swift tug that causes it to fall away at their feet.

Puck swallows at the hungry look aimed at his exposed cock, then back up into his eyes.

"I see that you enjoyed me sucking you like that."

Puck nods, feeling like some dip-shit virgin sacrifice.

"Good. I like that I can do that to you."

Kurt runs his fingertips over Puck's chest, across the stomach muscles; stopping just below the belly button and so close to Puck's piece it was literally making him fidget and twitch.

"Do you want me to touch you?"

Puck nods like an eager little kid. Kurt's smirk grows.

"I bet you do. I bet you'd do almost anything to have my mouth wrapped around your cock, sucking you until you can't bare it. That right?"

His head is practically blurring the nodding was so damn rapid. Kurt's grin is all mega-watt, his blue eyes staring hard into Puck's probably super blown hazel ones.

Kurt delicately engulfs Puck's cock in his hand, thumb running over the tip and smearing the pre-cum over the head. Puck can't help the groan that escapes, eyes slipping closed at the blissful feeling of Kurt's hand curtaining his cock; running up and down the shaft with increasing pressure.

"You might get it. If I hear you say it. Tell me what you want Puckerman."


Kurt's hand is speeding up, gradually beating him off. Puck was trying to make words come together, his stupid hips rocking in time with Kurt's dick-handling amazingness.

"I, I want you to… I need –"

"Tell me or I stop," and Kurt's motion slows; the suddenness causing Puck's eyes to pop open. He musters his mind to slow down too, to focus.

"I need you to suck me off," He pants, the sentence fairly strained.

Kurt's eyes flutter, the smile somehow getting sexier.

"Is that all? Or did you forget a certain polite word most of us civilized people use?"

Puck swallows. "I want you to suck my cock. Please."

"That's all you had to say. I've been wanting to taste you." Kurt steps forward, his lips nearly pressed to Puck's ear as he whispers. "I want to swallow your cock and your cum. And you're going to let me."

He follows up the command with a swipe of his tongue over Puck's earlobe, tugging the flesh with a quick nip before pulling away and lowering himself.

Princess wasn't gonna have to do much. Puck was so fucking hard and so close already. He can't help but lean back slightly against the sink, gripping it with every intention to not freaking pass out.

Kurt's mouth feels like too much, wet, and perfect. Puck isn't thinking anymore. Everything in his body was being driven by hormones and adrenaline at this point.

Rougher. Faster. He's starting to jack hammer inside Kurt's throat, hand gripping his hair and pumping; Kurt moaning around him and taking it all.

"Kurt… fuck. Oh God, yeah."

Puck doesn't even recognize his own voice. It's all breathy and strangled sounding. Kurt was undoing him.

Kurt's hand joins in the sucking motion, dragging over the shaft and pulling the orgasm free. Puck is seriously fucking his mouth at this point, holding Kurt's head as he rammed into that tight heat.

"Kurt… shit."

Kurt's sucking intensifies; the moans quicker, needier.

Puck loses it then, cumming somewhere between seeing fucking stars, crying out like some back-alley call boy trying to make a buck.

Kurt takes it all in. Puck is gripping the sink from behind, leaning back and so close to just melting onto the tile into a puddle of Jewish goop.

Kurt slowly kisses up his torso, tender, gentle, chest, then neck, jaw line, and finally meets his lips. It's sensual, careful, and weirdly intimate given that the kid had just swallowed his spunk like two seconds before. Puck swears he can taste himself on Princess' lips.

He can't stop looking at him, drinking him in. They kiss slow, deep. Puck feels all bubbly and full of something that's burning through him.

Could be that Princess' head giving prowess is indeed the shit.

Eventually he pulls Kurt to him, holding him, and burying his face in between his neck and shoulder. But he's starting to realize that it's definitely not that.

He just wanted to stay… just like that.

He doesn't know why but his eyes are starting to leak and he doesn't want Kurt to see. He holds him tighter, hiding his face.

"Noah. Are you okay? Did I – I didn't mean to upset you."

Then he thinks of stupid Dick-chin against his will, and his taunting remarks about Kurt being a champion blow job giver.

"Fucking Dick-chin," Puck growls.


"Nothing. I just… Life is weird. I guess… I'm just gonna miss it."

Kurt doesn't argue it, but Puck can feel the argument all the same. He can feel Kurt stiffen and then just as quickly tighten the returning hold. His fingers are digging into Puck's bare skin, each digit like a word screaming anarchy and how wrong Puck was.

They keep holding each other. Puck loses track of how long. He's broken, and Kurt's hold is the only thing keeping him from cracking and breaking into a gagillion pieces at their feet.

Puck (cont'd)

"You know the guys keep hounding me about seeing you. They've been asking questions."

"They're fucking nosey. What else is new?"

Joey shrugs in response, grip on the steering wheel tightening.

"Nothing I guess. Cedric mopes mostly. Wyatt acts tamer – for him at least. He's been watching foreign films a lot lately and antique shopping for random, pretty useless crap at pawn shops. It's weird."

"I told them they could call."

Joey nods complacently.

"Which they do, you just don't always answer. You definitely don't initiate any contact and from what I hear, I'm the only one you're actually seeing in the flesh these days."

"Is this shit-box car gonna morph into the mystery machine Velma or what?"

"I'm just saying dude."

Puck sighs, looking out the passenger window of Joey's beat up Corolla.

"I get that you don't want to tell anybody, me included. I mean everybody's got secrets. But the thing is I know that you're not coming here on some volunteer candy striper type of deal."

Puck keeps staring out the window, fingertips gently sliding over his semi-chapped lips, listening.

"I've given you more than a few rides up here."

"What do you want a medal? I thought the gas money was enough."

"You've never really told me why you're coming up here."

Puck hesitates.

"Nope. Guess I haven't."

Joey smiles. It looks understanding but laced with a sad undertone. Puck's pretty sure he's figured out that's as much of answer as he's gonna get. He doesn't say anything else. Puck feels grateful. That, and a little guilty, but it takes a backseat to feeling relieved.

They stopped at the usual corner, a group of what looked like interns walking past holding coffee cups and chatting about shift hours or something.

Puck doesn't immediately get out, just stares out the half closed window thinking.

"I'll be here, you know." Joey confesses. "Later, I mean."

Puck knows damn well that Joey meant it in some cryptic way. He shoots him a smirk before pushing open the door, once again a sense of gratefulness washing over him for Joey being Joey.

He always feels like a freaking kid in here. Sitting on that cold exam table, feet dangling, and heart racing. He thinks about the first time he came with Kurt a few months back, when he automatically started thinking about a sucker and feeling super-human.

That five year old in him thinking of it like he used to; like earning a stupid lollipop was the thing that wiped everything clean and made him feel accomplished. He kind of wants the damn lollipop that could do that for him now.

He kind of wants Kurt to be here with him.

There's a quick knock, followed by a familiar voice.


"Is that a trick question? 'Cause if it is, your jokes are fucking terrible," Puck calls back.

Dr. Fiennes pulls the door open, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Depends on the context I suppose." He gives Puck a quick once over. "I've noticed that you've been wearing hole-less, fashionable looking socks the last few visits. Kurt's influence?"

Puck chuckles, looking down at the navy-blue socks patterned with purplish lines skewing the top and tiny gray polka dots spread over the rest.

"That obvious, huh?"

"Mmhm," Dr. Fiennes replies nonchalantly. He settles down in the creepy salmon colored stool, eyes glued to the chart he was holding. He flicks through a few pages, eyes still staining the thing.

"Speaking of, where is he? Wouldn't think he'd miss this."

Puck swallows.

"He – He's just busy. Work stuff."

It wasn't a total lie. Kurt had been really busy lately. But there was also a very strong possibility that Puck hadn't told Kurt about the appointment.

"Oh. Right."

"So? What's the word?"

Dr. Fiennes looks up; the glasses perched on his long nose sliding forward. There's something that happens then. Something weird and something he can't find the words for. His mind goes somewhere else; a place where the eyes are suddenly softer, brown and green, and sad. They were so full of sad.

"So? What do you want to do?"

Her lips trembled. Those brownish-green eyes leaked water; steady streams that made him feel numb. Quinn had been everything to him. She made him feel hopeful about something outside of himself probably for like the first time ever. But those tears… it was all crumbling. Every bit of the maybe disappearing with every tear. He could somehow feel it in his heart, what was coming next. The realization all but buckled him.

"I – I can't. We can't keep her. We have to give her up."

The blonde hair disappears, morphs into short waves of curls; gray haunted looking eyes now.

"So what do I do Mr. Schue?"

The man had never looked so fragile, so close to breaking. Mr. Schue, their glee club teacher and long-time mentor looked lost for what to say.

"Puck, I can't tell you what to do. Heck, I know it's not the same. But I feel like what Teri did – her lie took away my chance to be a father. It was devastating to say the least. So in a way I understand. You just have to let it go son. You have to learn to be your own man, and let it all go."

It shifts again, his mother's eyes, fat tears building and waiting to flow down her cheeks. Puck crawls next to her on the floor, trying to get her to say something. His dad had just walked out the door. Didn't even bother to slam it shut on the way out. It was left open, and he was seven years old and left wondering why dad was mad again.


"Noah – I, your dad. H-he's not coming back."

She doesn't bother to wipe at her eyes. She's just stuck, looking out the doorway, glued onto the tiled floor of the kitchen in a tight ball. Her voice is quiet and empty.

"But… but why?"

She bites her bottom lip, teeth chewing into it. She looks over at him then. The tears fall and she reaches out and touches his cheek with a gentle, but mangled smile.

"Because that's life kid. That's why."

He's not a kid anymore. But he totally feels like one as he meets Dr. Fiennes eyes and holds his breath. The man smiles, the glasses nearly disguising the twinkle in them.

"So this is what we're looking at Puckerman."

"And there he is," Joey announces like Puck's some sort of Rock-God celebrity. Puck strolls down the walkway, hands shoved in his jacket pockets and wondering how Kurt has the self-control to not eye-roll more often. Lord knows Puck is just as retarded and deserving of them.

Puck crawls into the passenger seat with a crooked smirk, making quick work of buckling himself in. He feels less heavy, less burdened. So different it was close to mind-blowing.

"So?" Joey says simply.

"So what?"

"How was the candy striping today?"

Puck bursts out laughing, beaming over at his boy.

"Stripetastic actually."

"Sweet, I think. Guess you can't beat that."

Puck's grin spreads wider, getting all toothy and large.

"Yeah dude. You can. But that's life."

Joey eyes Puck carefully, staying silent. Puck can tell he wasn't sure what to say to that. He pounds Joey's shoulder with a swift bro-knuckled punch to lighten the mood. Joey's pout switches over to a grin.

"So am I chauffeuring you home good sir?"

"Fuck no man. You and I need a drink. Maybe the guys can catch up with us at the Beaver. You were right earlier you know. I've been acting like a shut-in, and you guys… well, we're better than that. The wolf-pack, right? Will you let 'em know?"

"Sure, man. I'll call 'em up."

"Cool. Thanks."

"All good. Hey, do you think Kurt's gonna be okay with –"

"Kurt'll be fine. Let's just roll."

Joey puts the car into drive, checking his rearview before pulling away from the curb.


Puck chuckles, shaking his head.

"You are seriously like the worst at being cool."

"Hey man, I'm like Donatello. The brainy, gadget making Ninja Turtle who puts together the plans and invents things that better man-kind. I have a more noble worth."

"Yeah, who nobody but other nerds like."

"Whatever. I'd rather be him than a fucking turtle with a clear eating disorder, another one whose narcissism apparently goes hand in hand with leadership, and another with anger management issues and no impulse-control that inevitably leads the group into more than half of the impromptu battles where someone always ends up captured. Plus nerds get laid. It's a thing now."

Puck thinks of that show the Big Bang Theory. He shrugs his shoulders in defeat.

"You've planned this argument out haven't –"

"Since I was seventeen."

Puck claps Joey on the shoulder, sighing himself into a genuine smile.


"Hey baby!"

It took him about five whole seconds to understand what was happening; to realize that the figure that had spoken wasn't actually injured or losing consciousness or worse.

Kurt is being over-run with unrelenting, heated anger. Underneath, it was anything but.

"I'm sorry," the thin black man with thick, squarish glasses voices in a rapid, gun-fire of an apology.

Kurt is glaring at them with the intensity of a billion watt spot light. He's sure their skin is crawling down their calves into a bubbling ooze-fest of mixed epidermis sludge. Joey seems like the words he'd just spoken were like glass cutting through his esophagus. He looked sincerely pained at Kurt's disposition, and practically on the verge of toppling forward in order to beg for forgiveness on his holey jeaned, exposed knees.

"Shh. No need," Kurt whispers. He thinks he overhears Joey actually make a gulping noise. This time Cedric tries.

"We tried to get –"

Kurt holds up his hand, his eyes squinted shut. Joey and Cedric slowly make their way over, Puck's arms flung over their shoulders as they carry him forward like some ridiculous homage to three-legged racing. Like they were master puppeteers and Puck was their reliable yet imbecilic puppet on drunken strings.

"Should we put him – never mind, we got him." Cedric wisely stops talking and urges Joey to move with a quick look. They take several steps toward the couch with Puck in tow, and slowly ease him onto it.

"Aww. You guys are goin' already? It's not even like – super late," Puck fumbles in a messy sounding sentence.

Joey catches Kurt's eye. "We're sorry."

Cedric nods frantically in agreement.

"Totally sorry. Like Michael Richards career ruining racist ranting type of sorry."

Kurt says nothing. He knows if he does, bad things will spew out of his mouth. The two seem to take the hint as they back away, blindly reversing while still trying to make apologetic eye contact.

"We'll – um, catch you later Puck," Cedric says.

"You guys just got here man. Don't take off yet."

Joey chimes in. "Yeah, we still need to go grab Wyatt. He was starting to quote lines from Princess Bride again before we left. That's usually our cue to split and get him home."

They mumble out another apology or two before closing the front door behind themselves. Kurt isn't sure what to say first.

He knows that underneath every emotion, there was a relief that he couldn't begin to explain. He holds onto that feeling, and allows it to calm him enough to sit on the couch next to Puck's uncoordinated form. He folds his hands together, and breathes out before the words become concrete.

"I called."

"Babe, you did?"

"I don't know how many times. Too many, probably."

"It kept bein' noisy but I didn't want to hear the noise. Shoved it in my pocket. Think I turned off the noise. It was you?"

"It was me."

"You're mad, huh?"

"I… I honestly don't know what I am right now."

"You're Kurt."

"Yeah. I'm still Kurt."

"You're Kurt." Puck guffaws, an outburst of laughter that didn't at all fit in with the current circumstances. He laughs for nearly a minute until he wheezes himself back into a space calm enough to make somewhat coherent speech. "I almost called you Kurtie. But I know you hate that, 'cause Dick-chin called you that. What a dick-faced asshole that guy."

Kurt exhales, feeling like any rant he could've said was dying away with every second he looked at the inebriated mess spread across his sofa.

"Yeah. He was definitely that."

"Can I tell you something?"

Kurt releases a long-winded sigh. The words sound helpless and tired even to his own ears when he responds.

"What Puck?"

"I love you, you know."

Kurt hides his face in his hands, trying to will away the potential headache burning right at the edges of his temples.

"Do you? Do you really, Noah?"

Puck slumps forward, his grin crooked and sloppy, eyes unfocused.

"Mmhm. I do."

Kurt stares forward, uncertain. He starts talking, half-convinced that Puck is already asleep even though his eyes are half-lidded and partially open despite being glazed over.

"I wish I could tell you how wrong you are. I think I just want to convince myself to stop feeling this way; to protect myself."

"I was high," Noah croaks out of nowhere. "Your dad used to eat pot brownies with your mom. She liked to paint."

"Um – what?"

"I blazed. I got baked. That day after we boned –"

"Boning is a term that is both barbaric and dated. Can you not? I mean, I know you're basically hammered out of your gourd, but please – just try. Humor me in the slightest."

"Okay then. When we um, man-loved each other –"

"Somehow not better –"

"I totally burned one with Satan."

"The devil?"

"I usually think so."

"What is happening right now?"

"I'm telling you 'bout somethin'. I'm telling you 'bout that I got high with Santana and I feel bad. I was tryin' to tell your dad that it was one time – 'cause it was, like – around you and stuff. I only did do it once since the cancer. But I've smoked before. I kind of made it a habit during my college years –"

"Once again, never went to college. Pumping a few out over some skanky randoms in the back section of a junior college's library doesn't a college-goer make. We've discussed this."

"It was pointless. All of it."

"Oh, I don't know. I hear that pot has its purpose for some. I've never been a fan personally. The smell makes me think it should be captured in a bottle of Febreze and spritzed for both formal and informal occasions like dinner parties and bathroom escapades."

Puck giggles. "Sexcapades."

"Those too, I guess. Why are you even telling me about that? You don't think that I figured out you were probably impersonating a chimney at some point in your life? You're Puck. The fake ID carrying, mother-sex having, schemester guy of the century."

"Yeah. I totally sucked. I was such a butt-hole to you. Why are you even talkin' to me? Why in the fuck would you ever agree to marry me? I mean, fuck… it's me."

"I think it's your astute nature mostly."

Puck eyes him blankly, pausing.

"Did you just call me an ass in like, smart people speak?"

"No, I said – you know, yes. That's what I said. You're an ass. What you did, your state of being right now is something that an ass would do. No! Scratch that – your blatant ignoring of my attempts to reach you makes you a complete ass. I don't even care that you're blitzed. I wouldn't care if you murdered somebody and were on the lam, looking to hide out in my attic like some paranoid gnome completely trashed and high off fragments of crystal, speed, crushed up balls of scented detergent and whatever else people get high on these days. You left me to think that the worst happened. You left me in some inescapable bear-trap of ignorance, wondering if you…"

Kurt doesn't know where it comes from, but it's there, the words. He feels himself practically go on autopilot as he empties himself of the verbiage sitting just at the tip of his stupid heart.

"I want to believe that, you know. That you love me. I want to know in my heart, with my whole being that that's true. I mean, I'm trying to be strong and to be there for you. But you didn't call me back. You didn't text, you didn't call on a friend's phone. Nothing. And normally, I'd just be pissed. I'd want to bitch at you, tell you to sleep on the couch and then give you a chance to do something sweet in the morning like cook some awful, bad-tasting breakfast to make it up to me. The stuff normal partners would do. Maybe I'd feel a bit unappreciated and ignored. I could get over that. In the grand scheme of things, that's nothing. But it hit me that with you, this isn't just some normal issue of stupid boyfriend boundaries and needy disappointments. With you, I kept thinking… my mind wouldn't stop picturing you… I felt like I couldn't breathe, thinking about the possibilities. Because with you, it's not just being selfish about spending time; it's being scared that… that it could be the last time."

Kurt whispers out the last few words, willing the tears to stay locked behind his eyes and then takes a beat. Eventually, he chances a look over at Noah, who has his arm slung over his face, clearly oblivious.

"Right. I'm talking to myself. Perfect."

Kurt slowly gets up from the couch, running his hand through his hair and feeling beyond some point of something he can't describe. He takes a full three steps before he hears it.

"You reminded me of Quinn."

Kurt pauses, stilling. He waits for him to finish, quickly growing impatient as the seconds stretched on, then retorts.

"What 'cause I was a cheerleader once?"

"I saw you. I saw you way before Bland tea-bagging Garbler did. I guess… I didn't get it. Maybe I didn't want to get it."

"W-what are you talking about?" Kurt breathes.

"I just – I'm so fuckin' dumb. Did you know – I actually beat off thinkin' of you way before that stumpy, little snob ever met you? I denied it ever happened right after I did it. I only let it happen once, but I never told anybody 'till now. I mean, it was fuckin' high school and I was Puckzilla. It wasn't possible. I couldn't let it like, be possible."

Kurt was frozen, stuck. The words were encased in quick-sand. Time was suddenly an hour glass of sand that wasn't moving anymore.

"I wasn't gay. I knew that. But you reminded me of Quinn. Something I liked. Fierce, when you pushed back. Actin' all above everybody else or somethin'. I don't know why, but there were times I couldn't like – not look at you. Like when you performed, even when it was with those Warblin' pricks. When you joked around with black girl whose name I never remember in the hallway and you actually let yourself laugh out loud. When I'd come by your house to play video games with Teen Titan. I'd totally sneak looks at you when you'd come up to get something from the kitchen or sit and watch us for a second with your nose buried in some ultra-gay, artsy magazine. Yeah… and when you wore that fucking cheese ball cheerleading uniform. I saw you, Kurt. You were always beautiful. And I'm some asshole who didn't want to be noticed for noticing you."

Kurt still isn't looking at him, too anxious to do much more than breathe and listen.

"I know I'm kind of shit faced right now. But I wanted you to know. I get it now. It took me for all of this to happen, but I so get it now. I did to you, what I always do to the things I want. I push 'em away before they can do it to me first. Quinn was the only person I ever like, sort of really let in. And after Beth, I just… I couldn't do that again."

Kurt finds himself easing onto the sofa, the silence filling the room.

"You… It's Mercedes. I'm sure she'd appreciate you trying to get her name right since we've known each other for like practically a decade. Teen Titan I'm sure has a name too."

"Yeah. It's fucking Finnegan. Holy fuck did his mom screw him over with that one."

"I always thought it was sort of rugged and classic. Huckle Berry Finnish, you know?"

Puck snorts, sniggering into a fit.

"You've never wavered in your gay have you? You're not gonna get a medal for it Glitter Stick. Calm your flames."

"So you're saying you noticed me then? In high school? The place you used to torture me in?"

Puck's head bobbles in a jerky nod.

"I mean I didn't like know, know. I wasn't like all the sudden wanting dick or whatever. I just thought you could be cute, you know for a guy. But yeah, it was probably around junior year."

"Scandal. I thought you were with Lauren Zizes?"

"I was being dragged around by the balls by Lauren Zizes. There's a difference. Think I needed that though, after everything. I was like a robot that needed re-wirin'. She was fun and she was honest with me. I needed that."

"And I was with Blaine, you know that."

"Who didn't know? He was pretty lookin' or whatever. I was happy for you. I mean the dude fuckin' wore bow ties like daily. Like a smooth jazzy grandpa and you clearly ate it up. For me though, I guess I wasn't sure about myself. Sort of blocked it out. Never thought about it again. Never thought about any of you much after I left for LA. Too busy tryin' to forget who I was… to be somebody else. Some kind of stupid bad-boy reset button getting pushed and I'd get a fresh start like you see in a cliché movie. Look how great that turned out."

"Yeah… you ended up in a fake relationship with somebody who loves you in the realest way possible. Sounds terrible."

Puck hunches over, nodding to himself. His hands clasped together in front of him and eyes gouging the floor.

"Don't be mad at me Kurt. Please?"

Kurt suddenly feels protective; surprised by the abrupt change in tone.

"Oh honey, I'm not… I just felt scared. That's all. You scare me in a way that nobody in my life ever has Noah Puckerman. Congratulations."

Puck gives a tearful, muffled laugh, his hands blanketing his face. Kurt scoots over and pulls the other man to him, hugging him fiercely as Puck sort of laugh-cries to himself.

Kurt kisses the top of his head, putting everything into the gesture. Kurt rocks him, kissing across the bald skin, over the temple.

It's quiet, his heart beat loud in his ears. Puck lifts his head and Kurt readily captures his lips, trapping him in a mid-air connection that neither man is willing to release. They kiss, eyes closed and nothing but encompassed in the moment, in each other really.

Tongues touch, sliding over each other. Puck is now holding Kurt's face in place, moaning against his mouth and Kurt think's he's never felt this before. Not like this, not in this way. He loses himself, the logic of their position, of what they still don't know, of Puck being half-ass drunk. None of it matters.

He backs into the side arm of the couch, Puck pinning him under his weight.

It's slow. Every movement savory, an attempt to feel everything inside and out. Their clothes evaporate in between sliding bodies, kissing, smiling in between each meeting of their mouths.

Kurt barely finds the capacity to secure lube and a condom, having qualms untangling himself from Puck long enough to do so. They manage to make it into the bed, Kurt holding Puck's hand, smiling back at the somewhat shy grin illuminating the big lug's face. He gives the hand a small tug, wordlessly urging Puck forward into the room.

Puck nods, ducking into another kiss. Kurt thinks he's never been kissed, worshipped like this by someone else. Puck was careful, took his time kissing over every inch of his skin as they both collapsed onto the bed.

Kurt cried out when Puck finally entered him. Puck was in control, Kurt wanted him to be. He needed to just be. He needed to give himself over to someone else; to not have to be the one being the rock, the decision maker, the final say.

Noah was setting the pace, rolling his hips and grinding into him. Kurt took every thrust, digging his heels into Noah's back, trying to somehow make him merge into him even more as if they could become one body.

They kiss hungrily, eating the other's moans and cries of ecstasy. Kurt ran his hands over the arms caging him, gripping along the triceps he so imagined licking his tongue across in high school when he occasionally decided to indulge in his own fantasy filled mind.

Their eyes meet, Noah's thrusts becoming more urgent as he hummed and bit his bottom lip.

When Noah came, Kurt had indeed almost forgot his own name. The yell ripped from Kurt's throat when the waves of orgasm overcame him underneath Noah's shaking form.

Their eyes stilled, never leaving their partner's. Kurt kisses along Puck's jaw and meets his lips in a final kiss. Noah rolls over, practically carrying Kurt with him.

Puck falls asleep easily, Kurt draped across the broad chest that lately, seemed slightly less so. Kurt stays awake for a while longer, letting himself revel in the feel of being enclosed by Puck's frame, the smell of his skin after sex, even the warmth of the traces of alcohol on his breath. Kurt kisses the corner of Noah's lips, smiling for not having to make sense of this. At least for now. Right now, he was simply content.

A/N: So I tried to make this one a bit longer. I owed you. I'd be very grateful for feedback. Let me know if this is still working and/or going in the right direction. Your encouragement is helpful with prompting me to get writing. Thanks for taking the time to read and review.