Flatsharing (3/?) -part two-
Title: Flat-sharing (3/?)
Genre: Romance, with attemps of wittyness and humour.
Word count: 1700 words, this part.
Rating: NC17, but don't expect much from this one, there's only vague depictions. There is, though, a lot of dirty talk.
Pairings: Kurt/Puck, past Kurt/OC as a special guest.
Disclaimer: not mine, if I had some of this you'd notice for the insane amount of male-on-male orgies. And other orgies. And more orgies on top.
Summary: after being metaphorically kicked in the nuts, Puck is found by Kurt in a bus-stop. Rent is expensive, and, really, chemistry between roommates is SO overrated.
Note: Thanks to alicebluegown, because she took time for beta-ing this, and she's just filled with awesome rainbow stuffing.
----
Saturday morning was usually spent in buying a shitload of food and other necessities. This usually meant that Kurt would make Puck go with him to an excessive number of shops and street markets.
“Why, why on earth do we have to go to three different places to pick the fruit and veggies?” groaned Puck, pulling the shopping trolley.
“I told you, there are different bargains in each place.”
“Costco has bargains.”
“Oh, shut your trap, we’re almost done.”
Saturday afternoon was destined to prepare all the food they were going to need along the week. At least Kurt’s lunches and things like chicken stock (Puck thought it was heartbreaking to see The Kurt Hummel asking the butcher for a chicken carcass and the cheapest drumsticks they’d have).
Kurt was making a broccoli and zucchini lasagna when he announced he had plans for the night. Puck stopped chopping carrots and potatoes for an Irish beef stew and looked at him, raising his eyebrows.
“What?” asked Kurt.
“Nothing, is just that I’ve seen you acting like a housewife for so long that I thought you didn’t have social life.”
“Do you realize that I’m holding a very sharp knife right now?”
“Yeah, yeah. So, what’s the plan?” he said, resuming his task.
“Nothing special. It’s the birthday of one of my partners at H&M, and she’s throwing a party. We’ll drink some Cosmos and badmouth our bosses all night long. And maybe the conversation will drift off to awkward sex anecdotes and the things we’d like to do to Zac Efron’s abs.”
“Sounds like a full night.”
“I’m sorry you can’t come along, she was kind of uptight about bringing outsiders-”
“Nah, it’s OK. I think I’ll go out too.”
“Oh. Who are you gonna call?”
“I don’t know, maybe some of the guys I used to hang out when I worked at the bar. They’re good enough for having some beers and talking about sports.”
“Do you also call each other to avoid wearing the same flannel shirt?”
“Ha.”
-&-
Actually, talking sports and social drinking wasn’t what Puck needed his peers for. They had to be the human wall that would support him, and also, the dull background upon which he’d shine. Simplifying things; going alone to a club “hunting” was a little sad, he needed wing men to emphasize his mojo.
He had being talking with them for half an hour and was already bored. Maybe Kurt’s influence was already working on him, and he was broadening his mind without realizing. And now there was no way he’d spend all night only talking about football and telling anecdotes that started with “last bitch I banged--”. He just couldn’t.
So, he decided to take his hunting more seriously. While he was waiting for another beer at the bar, he noticed a leggy blonde checking him out. He felt a bit numb and awkward, maybe because since the Travis thing he had given up a little the whole ladies’ man thing.
‘OK, Puckmeister, relax,’ he thought ‘you have this under control. Remember the feeling, just go there and let the natural charm of the Puckerman family flow. And then you get in her pants. Or thong. Oh, shit, stop thinking.’
So, he headed towards Blondie, a smirk on his lips and trying to decide which approach would be the best.
“Hi.” he said.
“Hi there.” she said.
“Noah Puckerman.”
“I’m Joanna.”
“Would you like a drink?”
“Not really.” she said, and Puck sank a little.
‘OK, big boy,’ he thought ‘man up, leave this sour puss here and look for another more friendly option.’
Suddenly he felt the soft, slightly oily pressure of a lipstick-wearing mouth. Oh, yes, now he remembered that there used to be a lot of spontaneous attacks from girls back in the day. Before he devolved into a pathetically crushing (‘Nuh-uh!’ his brain stubbornly screams) homebody.
She was a sweet kisser and smelled fantastic, like strawberries and cream. Puck stroked her hair and went as far as to put his hands in the non-defined space between her waist and her butt.
“I’m sick of this place.” she said, her mouth still touching his.
“Yeah-- I think I’m too.”
-&-
Tracing the curves of Joanna, Puck realized he had missed being with women, and it wasn’t a gender thing. He missed being in absolute control, and being able to just go on without thinking if the other person would like this or that. With women, he just knew what to do, and could move automatically.
When he’d had sex with Travis, he had always felt like his hands were made of butter. Also, Travis had been more experienced and had naturally taken the lead. Puck had to forget years of Alpha male tendencies, and simply let him do most of the work. He had tried to justify the awkwardness with the thought that maybe being submissive wasn’t his thing (to which Santana’d have screamed ‘Bullshit, I had no problem making you my bitch, and you came back for more’).
Anyways, he felt quite accomplished while he was doing Joanna. She responded exactly as he expected, her moans and gasps (if a bit too loud) were boosting his ego, and she had a rack that could get her into the Guinness Book.
“Oh, God!” she shouted, grabbing the headboard and sinking her knees in Pucks ribs, squeezing him with all the force of her orgasm. Puck just let go, allowing the fluttery movements of her insides to guide him through his own climax.
-&-
Puck awoke the next morning with his muscles aching pleasantly. Joanna wasn’t there, and neither her clothes. He got up, put on a pair of clean boxers and a shirt, and headed to the kitchen.
Kurt was having some coffee while making the weekly batch of granola bars. Right now he was mixing the whole thing, so his hands were mainly covered in a paste of honey, oats and nuts.
“Morning.” said Puck, pouring himself some coffee and adding three healthy spoonfuls of sugar.
“Hello, stud. I saw the nice lady you brought home last night. Well, I heard her first, but we collided this morning in the kitchen, both all caffeine-deprived and feeling extremely awkward.” he said, cheerfully.
“Yeah, sorry about that, she tried to keep it down at first, but she couldn’t be quiet after I--” he stopped when Kurt raised one oat-covered hand.
“TMI. She was nice, I’m glad you had fun. Now help me and throw some candied ginger in the batter. And maybe some dried cranberries.”
“Man, I don’t get to tell you the details? I’m totally gonna ask you everything whenever you decide to bring somebody home to rock the casbah.”
“I will die before telling you any of that.”
“Boooring.” muttered Puck, and he stuck some of the batter in Kurt’s face in revenge.
-&-
The good thing about going back to the one-night-stand world was that it kept Puck’s head focused in something non-troublesome. It was, as to say, a shallow entertainment, with its little science inside, not too different from solving Sudoku.
The bad thing, probably, was that it became terribly addictive.
Puck established a not-screwing-on-school-nights policy, and he respected it strictly, but Fridays and Saturdays were officially a FuckFest, and he took full advantage of those nights, throwing himself blindly into a sea of semi-anonymous arms.
He also took advantage of how well Kurt seemed to be with the whole thing. Or so he thought, until one Saturday morning, when he went to have some coffee and hopefully a whole lamb, because his stomach wouldn’t be satisfied with less, he noticed Kurt was weirdly silent and looked as if he wanted to punch him in the throat.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.” he said, and Puck winced at his tone. It had a hydrochloric quality that made him want to hide in a fallout shelter.
“I’m sorry man.” he said, grinning. Big mistake.
“Oh, so you’re sorry.”
“That’s what I said, and I mean it.”
“And that makes everything just fine.”
“Dude, don’t get all sarcastic with me, I already apologized.”
“Actually, I don’t know who’s getting more damaged by all this, me or you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you’re throwing everything down the crapper with the inestimable aid of your dick.” Puck just glared at him, not sure of what to say. “Where are your plans of taking care of yourself? You were going to look at all the turmoil in your head, and try to reborn from your ashes.”
“I think I’m taking good care of myself.” said Puck, carving a smirk on his face.
“Christ. Honestly, I didn’t want to bring this up again, but you can’t let what happened between us throw you out of your depth.”
Puck felt his cheeks burn for a small fraction of time. Then the heat spread through his entire body, and he knew that it was too late to avoid a really nasty argument.
“Don’t pretend to be pissed about me not working on my new life, when what’s getting you all worked out is the fact that in the end I wasn’t gay!”
Kurt looked at him like he couldn’t believe what he’d said. Then he turned almost purple and hit the kitchen counter with his hands spread open.
“Puck, I don’t care if you’re straight, openly gay, or so in the closet that Tom Cruise would feel in need of giving you an intervention. What makes me feel sick is seeing you reverting to that ignorant dick for brains that had to get any self-esteem he could gather by screwing everything with a vagina that you were back in high school!”
Both of them were breathing hard. Puck clenched his jaw, trying to say something to deny Kurt’s rant, but he just couldn’t. He also had the feeling that he was going to say something really regretful if the conversation kept on.
“Fuck you.” he said, because he had to be a childish asshole. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“Yeah, you do that.” said Kurt, sipping his already cold coffee. “It stinks like Lima Loser here, all of a sudden.”
Again, continues here.
Genre: Romance, with attemps of wittyness and humour.
Word count: 1700 words, this part.
Rating: NC17, but don't expect much from this one, there's only vague depictions. There is, though, a lot of dirty talk.
Pairings: Kurt/Puck, past Kurt/OC as a special guest.
Disclaimer: not mine, if I had some of this you'd notice for the insane amount of male-on-male orgies. And other orgies. And more orgies on top.
Summary: after being metaphorically kicked in the nuts, Puck is found by Kurt in a bus-stop. Rent is expensive, and, really, chemistry between roommates is SO overrated.
Note: Thanks to alicebluegown, because she took time for beta-ing this, and she's just filled with awesome rainbow stuffing.
----
Saturday morning was usually spent in buying a shitload of food and other necessities. This usually meant that Kurt would make Puck go with him to an excessive number of shops and street markets.
“Why, why on earth do we have to go to three different places to pick the fruit and veggies?” groaned Puck, pulling the shopping trolley.
“I told you, there are different bargains in each place.”
“Costco has bargains.”
“Oh, shut your trap, we’re almost done.”
Saturday afternoon was destined to prepare all the food they were going to need along the week. At least Kurt’s lunches and things like chicken stock (Puck thought it was heartbreaking to see The Kurt Hummel asking the butcher for a chicken carcass and the cheapest drumsticks they’d have).
Kurt was making a broccoli and zucchini lasagna when he announced he had plans for the night. Puck stopped chopping carrots and potatoes for an Irish beef stew and looked at him, raising his eyebrows.
“What?” asked Kurt.
“Nothing, is just that I’ve seen you acting like a housewife for so long that I thought you didn’t have social life.”
“Do you realize that I’m holding a very sharp knife right now?”
“Yeah, yeah. So, what’s the plan?” he said, resuming his task.
“Nothing special. It’s the birthday of one of my partners at H&M, and she’s throwing a party. We’ll drink some Cosmos and badmouth our bosses all night long. And maybe the conversation will drift off to awkward sex anecdotes and the things we’d like to do to Zac Efron’s abs.”
“Sounds like a full night.”
“I’m sorry you can’t come along, she was kind of uptight about bringing outsiders-”
“Nah, it’s OK. I think I’ll go out too.”
“Oh. Who are you gonna call?”
“I don’t know, maybe some of the guys I used to hang out when I worked at the bar. They’re good enough for having some beers and talking about sports.”
“Do you also call each other to avoid wearing the same flannel shirt?”
“Ha.”
-&-
Actually, talking sports and social drinking wasn’t what Puck needed his peers for. They had to be the human wall that would support him, and also, the dull background upon which he’d shine. Simplifying things; going alone to a club “hunting” was a little sad, he needed wing men to emphasize his mojo.
He had being talking with them for half an hour and was already bored. Maybe Kurt’s influence was already working on him, and he was broadening his mind without realizing. And now there was no way he’d spend all night only talking about football and telling anecdotes that started with “last bitch I banged--”. He just couldn’t.
So, he decided to take his hunting more seriously. While he was waiting for another beer at the bar, he noticed a leggy blonde checking him out. He felt a bit numb and awkward, maybe because since the Travis thing he had given up a little the whole ladies’ man thing.
‘OK, Puckmeister, relax,’ he thought ‘you have this under control. Remember the feeling, just go there and let the natural charm of the Puckerman family flow. And then you get in her pants. Or thong. Oh, shit, stop thinking.’
So, he headed towards Blondie, a smirk on his lips and trying to decide which approach would be the best.
“Hi.” he said.
“Hi there.” she said.
“Noah Puckerman.”
“I’m Joanna.”
“Would you like a drink?”
“Not really.” she said, and Puck sank a little.
‘OK, big boy,’ he thought ‘man up, leave this sour puss here and look for another more friendly option.’
Suddenly he felt the soft, slightly oily pressure of a lipstick-wearing mouth. Oh, yes, now he remembered that there used to be a lot of spontaneous attacks from girls back in the day. Before he devolved into a pathetically crushing (‘Nuh-uh!’ his brain stubbornly screams) homebody.
She was a sweet kisser and smelled fantastic, like strawberries and cream. Puck stroked her hair and went as far as to put his hands in the non-defined space between her waist and her butt.
“I’m sick of this place.” she said, her mouth still touching his.
“Yeah-- I think I’m too.”
-&-
Tracing the curves of Joanna, Puck realized he had missed being with women, and it wasn’t a gender thing. He missed being in absolute control, and being able to just go on without thinking if the other person would like this or that. With women, he just knew what to do, and could move automatically.
When he’d had sex with Travis, he had always felt like his hands were made of butter. Also, Travis had been more experienced and had naturally taken the lead. Puck had to forget years of Alpha male tendencies, and simply let him do most of the work. He had tried to justify the awkwardness with the thought that maybe being submissive wasn’t his thing (to which Santana’d have screamed ‘Bullshit, I had no problem making you my bitch, and you came back for more’).
Anyways, he felt quite accomplished while he was doing Joanna. She responded exactly as he expected, her moans and gasps (if a bit too loud) were boosting his ego, and she had a rack that could get her into the Guinness Book.
“Oh, God!” she shouted, grabbing the headboard and sinking her knees in Pucks ribs, squeezing him with all the force of her orgasm. Puck just let go, allowing the fluttery movements of her insides to guide him through his own climax.
-&-
Puck awoke the next morning with his muscles aching pleasantly. Joanna wasn’t there, and neither her clothes. He got up, put on a pair of clean boxers and a shirt, and headed to the kitchen.
Kurt was having some coffee while making the weekly batch of granola bars. Right now he was mixing the whole thing, so his hands were mainly covered in a paste of honey, oats and nuts.
“Morning.” said Puck, pouring himself some coffee and adding three healthy spoonfuls of sugar.
“Hello, stud. I saw the nice lady you brought home last night. Well, I heard her first, but we collided this morning in the kitchen, both all caffeine-deprived and feeling extremely awkward.” he said, cheerfully.
“Yeah, sorry about that, she tried to keep it down at first, but she couldn’t be quiet after I--” he stopped when Kurt raised one oat-covered hand.
“TMI. She was nice, I’m glad you had fun. Now help me and throw some candied ginger in the batter. And maybe some dried cranberries.”
“Man, I don’t get to tell you the details? I’m totally gonna ask you everything whenever you decide to bring somebody home to rock the casbah.”
“I will die before telling you any of that.”
“Boooring.” muttered Puck, and he stuck some of the batter in Kurt’s face in revenge.
-&-
The good thing about going back to the one-night-stand world was that it kept Puck’s head focused in something non-troublesome. It was, as to say, a shallow entertainment, with its little science inside, not too different from solving Sudoku.
The bad thing, probably, was that it became terribly addictive.
Puck established a not-screwing-on-school-nights policy, and he respected it strictly, but Fridays and Saturdays were officially a FuckFest, and he took full advantage of those nights, throwing himself blindly into a sea of semi-anonymous arms.
He also took advantage of how well Kurt seemed to be with the whole thing. Or so he thought, until one Saturday morning, when he went to have some coffee and hopefully a whole lamb, because his stomach wouldn’t be satisfied with less, he noticed Kurt was weirdly silent and looked as if he wanted to punch him in the throat.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.” he said, and Puck winced at his tone. It had a hydrochloric quality that made him want to hide in a fallout shelter.
“I’m sorry man.” he said, grinning. Big mistake.
“Oh, so you’re sorry.”
“That’s what I said, and I mean it.”
“And that makes everything just fine.”
“Dude, don’t get all sarcastic with me, I already apologized.”
“Actually, I don’t know who’s getting more damaged by all this, me or you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you’re throwing everything down the crapper with the inestimable aid of your dick.” Puck just glared at him, not sure of what to say. “Where are your plans of taking care of yourself? You were going to look at all the turmoil in your head, and try to reborn from your ashes.”
“I think I’m taking good care of myself.” said Puck, carving a smirk on his face.
“Christ. Honestly, I didn’t want to bring this up again, but you can’t let what happened between us throw you out of your depth.”
Puck felt his cheeks burn for a small fraction of time. Then the heat spread through his entire body, and he knew that it was too late to avoid a really nasty argument.
“Don’t pretend to be pissed about me not working on my new life, when what’s getting you all worked out is the fact that in the end I wasn’t gay!”
Kurt looked at him like he couldn’t believe what he’d said. Then he turned almost purple and hit the kitchen counter with his hands spread open.
“Puck, I don’t care if you’re straight, openly gay, or so in the closet that Tom Cruise would feel in need of giving you an intervention. What makes me feel sick is seeing you reverting to that ignorant dick for brains that had to get any self-esteem he could gather by screwing everything with a vagina that you were back in high school!”
Both of them were breathing hard. Puck clenched his jaw, trying to say something to deny Kurt’s rant, but he just couldn’t. He also had the feeling that he was going to say something really regretful if the conversation kept on.
“Fuck you.” he said, because he had to be a childish asshole. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“Yeah, you do that.” said Kurt, sipping his already cold coffee. “It stinks like Lima Loser here, all of a sudden.”
Again, continues here.