V-DAY FIC EXCHANGE! After-School Special, for bardlover6
Title: After-School Special
Rating: PG-13, language.
Pairings: Puck/Kurt, pre-slash.
Warnings: None.
Recipient: bardlover6
Word Count: 9175
Disclaimer: None of the characters are my own. I’m just playing in Murphy’s world.
Summary: For a Glee Club contest, Kurt Hummel finds himself with the last partner he’d ever want: Noah Puckerman.
A/N: This story includes my interpretation that following “Mash-Up” Kurt rejoined the football team once Thursday practices were canceled.
Kurt pushed a pair of white, gold-rimmed sunglasses down his nose and raised one perfectly arched eyebrow. He spent Monday and Wednesday mornings in a dumpster that smelt like vomit and rotten bananas. A dumpster that sat in the student parking lot of McKinley High School like a pillory of Kurt's personal shame. But today was Tuesday. What good was a schedule if no one was going to follow it?
He returned his sunglasses to their proper position using the tip of his little finger and took a couple of seconds to look over the group of boys surrounding him.
Ugly Boots (his real name was Dick) had on a green and brown plaid short-sleeve shirt that screamed “reject farmer.” Two of the other jerks wore jeans that sagged down their asses. Three needed to reconsider their hairstyles. And the last just had no hope.
Kurt, however, looked fabulous.
“Now, boys. I thought we’d agreed on Mondays and Wednesdays.” He had a whole closet full of last season’s outfits saved for Mondays and Wednesdays. The humiliation wasn't lessened, but his best clothes weren't ruined.
Today was Tuesday. His outfit-a dark violet Marc Jacobs peacoat, white collared shirt, sassy tan corduroys, and his fabulous new houndstooth scarf that looked like it tasted like lemonade-made him feel sophisticated. He’d spent hours last night with an iron and a spray bottle ironing everything to a crisp. Even his yellow socks.
This outfit was not getting gross dumpster smell on it. Not today.
“Judging from your ensemble, I know fashion isn’t your forte. But this scarf is impeccable. In the name of Marc Jacobs, it shouldn’t be sullied.” Kurt put his hands on his hips and tried to remain firm. He didn’t like the blank stares on their faces. He held up the end of the scarf draped around his neck. He loved this scarf not just because it cost him fifty dollars, not just because Kanye West was wearing it in the last edition of GQ magazine, and not just because it went perfect with his outfit that day.
He loved it because no one at McKinley High School-other than Kurt Hummel, teenage fashion iconoclast-had enough style to pull off this scarf with this jacket.
“Tuesday and Thursday are out sick today. Someone’s gotta fill in.” Dick high-fived the jock standing next to him with a chuckle. The hair on Kurt’s neck stood straight up, and he wished Dick wasn't three times his size so he could claw his eyes out for throwing him in the dumpster two times a week. For being so large. For ruining his two hundred dollar bag.
It just…wasn’t fair. Kurt was prepared for Mondays and Wednesdays, and he thought evil people, even evil badly-dressed jocks, upheld agreements. Apparently not. Apparently no one’s word was worth anything these days. This revelation was just ruining his day.
Fuck. His outfit-his scarf-was going to be ruined.
Noah Puckerman wasn't having a good day. His mother was on his ass about helping pay the overdue light bill. For any chance at extra money, he was going to have to clean some pools this week. He’d cleaned all his pools last week for fun.
He’d blown all the money he’d earned on beer and bets for his fight club. He drank all the beer and lost all the bets, so in reality he was pretty much shit out of luck on the earning money front for the foreseeable future. Which sucked. Electricity was important.
Plus, Quinn told him yesterday after school that she didn’t have enough money to pay the doctor bill this month. Unlike his mom, she didn’t ask him for money. All Quinn said was that she thought he’d want to know because it was his fault she was in this mess.
While that might have been true, Puck didn’t see the need for all the blame to fall on him just because his sperm were more active than other sixteen year olds’. Super active sperm in any other case would be celebrated.
Quinn’s and his baby was going to be awesome and without a doubt as good-looking as those Brangelina kids. If Puck could give a baby anything, it was definitely good looks. He could also teach the kid the fine art of brownie-baking. He’d only teach the kid that when he was at least twelve, because that’s when he’d learned how to make brownies from this guy named Cedric, who used to live on the street behind his house.
Cedric was thirty-four at the time, and he lived with his mother. Puck used to think Cedric was awesome because he got to play video games all day, while Puck learned stupid shit like multiplication tables and spelling. He still thought the guy was awesome, but Cedric was doing five to ten in the Ohio State Penitentiary for illegal gambling so Puck never got to see him.
None of what he could offer his future offspring changed the fact that two women in Puck’s life were in trouble. There was nothing he could do about it, short of robbing a bank (which he’d considered but the logistics were too complicated). He’d gotten bored trying to come up with anything else, so he just watched porn, jerked off, and went to bed last night.
When he’d gotten to school this morning and Neil Huntington was missing for his usual eight A.M. Tuesday meeting with the dumpster, Puck didn’t think twice about finding a replacement because somebody’s morning needed to suck worse than his today.
The lucky replacement was Kurt Hummel. This was in spite of the fact that Puck’s tolerance of gleeks had grown steadily since New Directions had won first place at Sectionals.
“Can I really be expected to make-up for Neil Huntington’s not-so mysterious monthly infection?” Kurt Hummel asked in a haughty voice.
Puck wasn’t in the mood today for back talk.
“Sorry. Neil being a herpesface isn’t my problem. It’s yours,” Puck said with a shrug. There was nothing he could do about last year’s STD outbreak in the marching band. He leaned backwards against the dumpster next to Kurt, and he patted the side with his hand. It made a noise as the metal vibrated from the impact, and he smiled. He loved this dumpster. He owned this fucking dumpster. “We need someone’s will to crush while we digest our breakfast.” Puck didn’t even eat breakfast, so Kurt Hummel’s humiliation was really the only nutritional nourishment he got before lunch.
“Fag!” someone yelled.
There were a couple other catcalls. One about the poor kid’s purple jacket, which was Puck’s insult of choice because Kurt usually looked like an escapee from a mental hospital. Did he mean to wear those leopard print tights last Monday? Really? There was just no excuse from any man’s junk to be subject to tights as far as Puck was concerned.
“Perhaps my fabulously-toned legs will be better appreciated on the soccer team,” said Kurt.
At this, Puck straightened up to a stand. They’d actually started to win games once Kurt had joined the team. As much as he hated to admit it, they only won because Kurt kicked the ball a mile. Still, that didn’t make Kurt a jock.
“I barely care about football.” Kurt produced a fake yawn and eyed his neat fingernails. “I do like guys in little shorts…” he said, trailing off in thought.
Puck looked at the other members of the team. They all just shrugged in unison.
“Scarf,” Puck offered with an outstretched hand.
“Football it is.” Kurt unwrapped the scarf around his neck quickly and shoved it hard into Puck’s chest. “Don’t think I won’t remember this.”
“Whatever, tomorrow’s Wednesday,” Puck said, stepping back.
Three linebackers barreled forward and surrounded Kurt. They engulfed him in their shadows, and Puck stood nearby smirking. If Finn was around, he would’ve stopped this. But Finn wasn't around-hadn’t been around for weeks-and now Puck got to do what he wanted. What he wanted was not to feel like shit anymore. Kurt Hummel didn't deserve this. His outfit did, but Kurt didn't. Whether he deserved it or not, however, Puck did feel better.
Because for every insult Quinn called him and for every comparison his mom made of him to his father, at least he wasn’t enough of a loser to get tossed in a dumpster.
Mr. Schuester announced at the end of Glee Club rehearsal that he was hosting a duet competition. Kurt was pleased. The prize was fifty dollars, which had been donated by Principal Figgins after their good showing at Sectionals. Kurt didn’t care about that, because money he had. What he didn’t have was a solo.
When Mr. Schuester had said the winners would perform their selection at Regionals, Kurt was practically salivating at the idea: winning a solo, having everyone cheering for him as he hit a tear-inducing high note in front of a full auditorium…
Kurt was going to win.
There was a problem. The prize was a solo. Sort of.
“Listen up! Singers you’ve been paired off with one of your more instrumentally inclined teammates.” Mr. Schuesterster was grinning from ear to ear. Kurt hated when teachers took it upon themselves to teach them real-world lessons, and this had “real-world lesson” written all over it. “I want you guys to get creative. Give me some funky arrangements. We’re going to need something really fresh for Regionals if we want a shot.”
Mr. Schuester held up a white sheet of paper. “Here’s the list. When we meet Thursday, it’s gonna be an open mic rehearsal. So have fun!”
From where he was huddled next to Mercedes, Kurt could see Rachel Berry following the list with shining eyes. Rachel Berry was his only real competition. Well, there was Mercedes, too, but if Mercedes beat him, they’d just share an ecstatic diva hand-shake because Mercedes was his girl-the Grace to his Will.
Rachel always got the solos, and Kurt loved the idea of beating her. He’d politely given up the “Defying Gravity” solo for his dad’s sake, but this time that wasn’t happening. Kurt crossed his arms over his chest and nodded his head to no one as if to assure himself of this.
“We all agree. Ms. Berry ain’t getting this solo, right?” Mercedes said, leaning forward towards Kurt. Tina, who was also standing nearby, leaned in with them.
Mercedes and Tina, along with Kurt, made up the most fashionable part of Glee Club. Tina had a “hip Asian kid” thing going on, and always had colored streaks in her hair. Mercedes’ style was a cross between Rihanna and Alicia Keys. She always looked fab. More than that, Mercedes was his best friend. They were true pure-bred gleeks, and they took care of each other. They were Team Divalicious-Kurt picked the name.
“She’ll have to take it from me in a girlfight, and I’m feisty. And a hair puller,” Kurt responded with a firm tone.
Rachel Berry was not getting this solo. One, he wanted it. Two, his opportunities were running out. The set-list for Regionals was almost finalized. Kurt wanted his time to shine. He wanted people to see that he was just as talented as everyone else here.
“Ss-sh-sh-she can’t beat you both.” Tina stuttered out her words of encouragement. They all looked at each other, nodded firmly, and giggled. Kurt stepped back, looped his arms through both of theirs, and they walked over to where everyone was crowded around the list.
They quickly deduced that Mercedes got Artie on the guitar, and Tina was paired with Mike on the turntable. Quinn got Matt, who apparently played the piano. Santana and Brittany were together, of course. And unsurprisingly, Rachel Berry’s partner was Finn Hudson.
Kurt watched as she awkwardly complimented Finn on his drumming skills (“You hold those sticks quite well, Finn”), and he wanted to die. That was something else which should’ve been his. Finn Hudson. There was no chance of that happening, seeing as how Finn was straight, but at the very least, he shouldn’t be Rachel’s.
Kurt didn’t hate Rachel. She was just so talented and unaware of her nerdy girl appeal when it came to Finn. He had trouble not feeling jealous when things went her way.
“Man, Artie is killer on electric guitar. I think we got this,” Mercedes said, snapping Kurt out of his thoughts. He agreed with her and started to recite all the songs Mercedes could do in this competition, when she cleared her throat in a cough. Then, she jerked her to the side in a wild gesture. Kurt wrinkled his face in confusion not understanding what she was trying to tell him. She sighed, shaking her head, and grabbed him by the shoulders to turn him around.
There, staring him in the face, was Noah Puckerman with his idiotic smirk and his needs-to-be-rethunk haircut. He was holding a flat-top guitar in one hand, and Kurt’s eyes flicked to look at it. Somewhere in between already declaring himself the winner of the solo and spying on Rachel and Finn, he’d forgotten to look up his own name on the list. Somewhere in there he’d missed that he was paired with Puck!
Puck, the guy who had him tossed in a dumpster this morning, was his partner.
“How nice. I get stuck with the makings of an after-school special.” Kurt slid his arms across himself, and raised an eyebrow.
“Look, princess. I could use fifty bucks. You better not fuck this up for me.” Puck walked off without another word in the direction of Quinn Fabray, who didn’t look that happy to see him come near her.
Kurt snapped his head to look at Mercedes, and he started mouthing the words “Oh my God” over and over. In the midst of his hyperventilating panic-which Mercedes and Tina tried to squelch in a panic of their own- Kurt dramatically mourned his chances of getting the solo.
How could he win with Puck as his partner? Getting the solo or not really was the least of his problems. Judging by Puck’s threat, Kurt suddenly had larger concerns.
Kurt began working in his dad’s garage when he was twelve. Burt’s Oil & Tires was his dad’s pride and joy, aside from the MVP trophy that sat in their living room from his dad’s college football days. The store was his family’s claim to Lima fame. It was sad in a way, but they lived in comfortable, suburban bliss thanks to this place.
The after-school gig hardly paid for Kurt’s Coach addiction these days, but he was good with a wrench and liked working with his dad. Afternoons in the shop were the only thing they had in common these days. Smearing a line of black grease across the milky white skin of his cheek, Kurt wiped a line of sweat from his brow and then rubbed his hands down the front of his coveralls. His last job was done, and the new Lady Gaga song just came blaring through his radio. He grabbed his bottle of water and did a skipping dance towards the open garage door through the maze of tool carts, wires, and chemical containers.
Taking a long drink, Kurt leaned against one of the closed garage doors. The street in front of the store was quiet today. Burt was still in his small office talking on the phone, and Kurt waved at him through the window on the door. It was time to go home. Burt held up his hand, signifying his need for five more minutes.
Kurt nodded, turning to look back to the street. His blood immediately went cold at the sight of someone walking up the parking lot towards the garage. It wasn’t a customer. It was his worst nightmare. Kurt folded his arms over his chest and cattily spoke first.
“I see you needed no directions in finding the place. I assume that means you’re the one who wrote ‘Kurt Hummel is a camel toe’ on the garage last year. Let me thank you for that now.”
“It was advice more than anything else,” Puck smirked. “I hear that tights damage the goods, bro.”
“What’s wrong with you? Are you even real?” Kurt asked, flabbergasted. Seriously, what was Noah Puckerman on? It’s like he was fucking trolling Lima, Ohio with his brute behavior and randomly put together thoughts.
How did this happen to him? How did he get stuck with Puck as a partner? How? Kurt cursed Mr. Schue. This was his fault.
“You’re serious? Pillow-biter, your name is bedazzled on your coveralls,” Puck pointed at Kurt with a raised eyebrow. “In pink.”
Kurt quickly took note of the boy’s attire. He was still dressed in one of those gray t-shirts that said “McKinkley Football” on the front and a pair of red sweat pants. Puck was much taller than Kurt. He was tall and lean but muscular. He spent the good majority of his time with that useless half-scowl and half-smirk on his face that Kurt guessed he thought made him look like a badass, but in reality made him look ridiculous. Almost as ridiculous was the boy’s haircut-a mohawk. Kurt looked at Puck and shook his head.
“What do you want, Puck?”
Puck walked past him a couple of steps and poked his head inside the garage. “Told you already. I could use the fifty bucks.”
“Fifty bucks?”
“Yeah.” Puck stalked back closer. Kurt wasn’t afraid of Puck-his haircut was too ridiculous for that-but there was something about the boy that got under his skin. He just…didn’t like Puck.
Puck was a bully. He was Kurt’s personal bully since freshman year. He was the complete opposite of Finn, and Kurt didn’t understand how the two of them had been friends. He completely supported Finn’s decision to drop Puck after learning the real identity of Quinn’s baby’s daddy. Finn had come to him for advice, and Kurt promptly provided him with examples of Puck’s dick ways when he seemed to be having second thoughts of severing ties. Lots and lots of examples. Finn eventually had seen things his way.
“I got a baby to take care of,” Puck said.
Kurt rolled his eyes. “Along with pointing out that babies cost more than fifty dollars, I’d like to remind you that it appears Quinn Fabray will be with her baby daddy for the foreseeable future.” He muttered the last part under his breath.
“I’m the baby daddy!”
“Okay, slow on the uptake. She chose Finn.”
“Finn?” Puck’s voice was raised. Was Puck actually bothered by this? Kurt didn’t see why. Sleeping with his best friend’s girlfriend and getting her pregnant weren’t actions generally taken by someone that was easily bothered.
“I don’t blame her…” Kurt trailed off. He hesitated and looked to see if his dad was still where he left him. Teenagers shouldn’t talk about pregnancy and sex within earshot of their parents, even gay teenagers. “You’re the deadbeat dad in this Maury Povich fiasco.”
“Deadbeat huh?” Puck’s jaw flexed.
Kurt thought twice before speaking. He was probably walking a fine line here.
“I’m coming over,” Puck declared suddenly. “Eight at your place.”
Kurt preferred never.
But…the solo. The fifty bucks. He had no choice.
“I’m just warning you that my dad will be around. You can’t steal.”
Puck pursed his lips together. “Fine. Whatever.”
Kurt opened his mouth to ask if Puck was high, when Burt Hummel walked up out of nowhere. “You one of Kurt’s friends?”
Kurt glanced nervously at Puck. Ever since his dad had learned-or well confirmed-he was gay, he kept asking all these inane questions about boys. It was awkward. Just like this-the way his dad was looking at Puck was awkward.
“You could say that,” Puck said, smiling wide. No one said they were friends. No one said that at all. Puck just liked fucking with adults. He did the same thing to Mr. Schuester, who probably paired Puck and Kurt up because he thought they were friends. Kurt made a note to himself to talk to Mr. Schuester about that tomorrow. Nothing like this ever needed to happen again.
“Dad, let’s go.” Kurt walked forward and grabbed Burt by the sleeve. His dad didn’t budge very far.
“Is he…? Should he…join us for dinner?” Burt eyed Puck even more closely, and Kurt shifted his weight in discomfort. From the expression on Puck’s face, the stupid bastard didn’t understand that his father thought that something sordid was happening between the two of them. That was the most frighteningly hilarious thing he had heard all day. Really, it was golden.
Kurt answered quickly. “We have a Glee Club thing to work on but-”
“What’s for dinner?” Puck asked, rubbing his hands together.
Kurt’s eyes widened in fear and rage. He hated Puck. He hated Mr. Schuester for making them partners. He hated his life.
“Kurt likes Chinese,” Burt said in a stammer. His dad seemed surprised, and Kurt’s face softened a little. His dad was inviting over a guy for dinner. He loved his dad for trying, for everything he’d done and said since he big coming out party. But! Getting a mortal enemy mixed up with his boyfriend was not cool. Why would his dad think he could like a guy with that haircut? Didn’t he know him at all?
“Mr. Hummel, I. Love. Chinese.” Puck stepped forwards, throwing his arm casually around Kurt’s shoulders, and smirked again. Before Kurt could protest, Burt nodded tentatively in agreement.
“I love beef and broccoli.” Puck said. He and Kurt were sitting at the kitchen bar staring at Burt Hummel. The older man was on the phone with China Wok.
“Two orders of egg rolls. Sweet and sour chicken.” Puck raised an eyebrow. Kurt didn’t look like he had any place to put that much food. “What?” Puck just shrugged.
“Beef and broccoli. Egg rolls…six egg rolls.” Burt repeated.
“General Tso’s!” said Kurt.
“General Tso’s,” Burt said on cue. Puck looked at Kurt. Then looked at Burt. What kind of names were those? Puck watched the two of them. It seemed like this was a ritual: ordering out. Looking around, he noticed the kitchen was full of stainless steel appliances. All of them looked clean and untouched. Puck got the feeling that Kurt and his dad didn’t cook, but they ate together. At like the dinner table. It was weird.
“And…one wonton soup,” Kurt said.
“Oh, yeah. Definitely,” Puck said, hitting the kitchen counter with his palm.
“Two! Dad.” Kurt quickly waved his hands in front of his dad’s face until Burt just nodded and walked off into the living room. “I think he got it.”
“I’ll just eat yours if he didn’t,” Puck said with a smarmy grin.
Kurt’s house was pretty nice. He was almost sorry he’d agreed not to steal anything because there was plenty of useless crap to pawn. Sucked.
“This is nice.” Puck picked up a glass figurine from the white wooden mantel over the fireplace. It was crystal and oval shaped. It might’ve been a trophy.
“Try looking with your eyes.” Kurt took the figurine from him and carefully placed it back in its spot. Puck shrugged. Shouldn’t their food be here by now? He was starving.
“So.”
“So,” said Kurt, moving back across the room.
This was awkward. Burt had said something about giving them space and disappeared, leaving them alone. Puck didn’t know much about Kurt aside from the fact that he dressed bad, was gay, and got thrown in dumpsters. Space probably wasn’t going to fix that. Not in ten minutes. Not when he was really just thinking about the food getting there.
Puck looked at the pictures hanging on the wall next to the fireplace. One of them was a picture of Kurt’s family.
“So where’s your mom?”
Kurt was standing on the opposite side of the spacious living room behind a black, leather couch, watching him with a frown. Probably making sure Puck didn’t swipe anything. He didn’t blame him. If Kurt had his back turned, Puck would’ve definitely stolen something.
“She died,” Kurt said. “When I was three.”
Puck stepped back from the picture. “Well…” He paused. “That sucks.” He was suddenly uncomfortable. He felt like it was better that he didn’t know anything about Kurt Hummel.
“Sucks,” Kurt repeated and nodded his head. “Yeah. It sucks.” The doorbell rung before either of them said anything else.
Puck didn’t get how a cool guy like Burt raised such a loser like Kurt. It was a waste.
“Chargers definitely go to the playoffs next year,” Puck said. He blindly reached into the greased-stained paper bag for the last egg roll. “I guarantee it.”
Kurt sighed loudly, and Puck looked over at him. He took a large bite of the egg roll, consuming half of it in one go. He’d almost forgotten Kurt was there.
“So you’re into sports?” Burt asked curiously. “Football?”
Puck shrugged. “Yeah. About as much as other things.”
“Like what other things?” Burt asked. He was looking at Kurt now, who was a bright shade of pink. Puck looked at them both, confused. Why did he feel like he was getting the third degree? He just shrugged, shaking the feeling off.
“I don’t know…like cleaning pools,” Puck said. He chuckled to himself. Who didn’t love cleaning pools? Moms just loved pools being cleaned.
“Gross,” Kurt muttered under his breath. “He means...Puck’s…a….he’s a businessman.” Puck glanced to Kurt. A businessman? That actually made him sound like a whore.
“Huh,” Burt said. He shook his head then he said slowly, “Every house in our neighborhood has a pool. I’ll give people your name sometime.”
“Sweet,” Puck said. He could use the extra cash. Plus, this type of swanky neighborhood always had stay-at-home moms, which was important when considering new clientele.
“That’s nice, Dad,” Kurt said, smiling.
Puck frowned. Eating dinner with Kurt and his dad was very weird, and he probably shouldn’t even be here. Then Burt asked him a question about football, and Puck got distracted, forgetting how weird this entire thing was once again. By the time their meal was finished, Puck had decided dinner with the Hummels wasn’t so bad.
“So, your dad’s cool,” Puck said, stepping into the room.
Kurt lived in the basement. It was the perfect arrangement. He got his privacy, and his dad didn’t have to listen to Beyonce. Kurt stopped on the bottom step of the staircase. Fuck. Noah Puckerman was in his room.
He was overcome with a feeling of violation. Puck didn’t belong in his house. He didn’t belong in his room. He certainly shouldn’t be in his house eating dinner. He shouldn’t be sharing football stories with his dad. He shouldn’t be eating the last eggroll, because Kurt got the last eggroll! He most definitely shouldn’t be calling his dad cool. Even though his dad was cool. Tonight's little meal-awkward as it was-had revealed that when he did get a boyfriend, his dad would be okay. That confirmation gave Kurt a warm feeling of security.
Puck walked over to the odd egg-shaped chair sitting next off to the side of room. Kurt had found it in this art deco store in Cleveland that he always checked out for cool antiques when he was in town. Puck poked the chair with his hand, making it rock, and frowned afterwards.
“What the hell is this?” Puck asked with a scoff.
Kurt was insulted. His room was done up in a modern palette full of white, silver, and splashes of gold. He couldn’t wait to move into a studio loft and fill it with rack lighting, square furniture that was more pleasing to the eye than it was to the back, and a huge white sleigh bed. Kurt had taste. Puck didn’t know the first thing about interior decorating, so he didn’t appreciate the question.
“I’ll have you know, that is a designer piece,” Kurt said.
“It’s still useless crap.” Puck fiddled with the chair for a moment longer. He looked confused by it.
“Just don’t touch it!” Kurt yelled out, annoyed. “Don’t touch any of my things.”
“What’s your problem?” Puck asked in surprise.
“My problem? My problem? My problem is you,” said Kurt. His voice was louder than he intended.
“Is this because of this morning?” Puck asked, tilting his head to the side. “Because this morning…that was….don’t get your leopard tights in a twist.”
“A twist? I’d love to high kick you in the balls right now, but I want this solo more than I care about you,” Kurt said. His words ran together, and he was shaking a little.
This wasn’t the dumpster. This was his place, his room. Kurt was king here.
“I want to win just as fucking bad,” Puck said in protest. Kurt had clearly pissed him off. Which was just fine. Kurt was suddenly feeling invincible.
“Yeah, you want to win,” Kurt mocked. “You want to win so you can give Quinn Fabray fifty dollars to help pay for a baby that you’re not even raising. News flash-she wants to be with Finn. Not you.” He pushed aside any bad thoughts over that insult quickly, not allowing himself to care about Puck’s feelings. Puck was a jerk. “I don’t blame her; you’re just a Lima loser,” he finished with a huff, and went to sit at his desk. He pressed the button on his laptop, ignoring Puck.
“Fuck it,” Puck grunted after a couple seconds of silence. His footsteps were loud thuds on the carpet as he stomped towards the staircase. “We wouldn’t win anyway.”
Kurt tensed but tried to keep his focus on the screen.
“Rachel Berry is a better singer than you,” Puck said with that annoying smirk of his. “You’re the only one who doesn’t know you’re not that good.”
“Vacate the premises, trailer park,” was all Kurt said but he could feel the hot warmth of embarrassment coloring his face.
“Eight a.m., Hummel. There’ll be a dumpster waiting on your fairy ass,” said Puck in a sweet, fake voice.
Tomorrow was Wednesday. Kurt swallowed down a lump in his throat. He listened to Puck walk up the stairs and then heard his dad’s voice. What was his dad doing? Kurt panicked upon hearing his dad tell Puck goodbye and invite him over to watch a game one day. The horror!
Kurt just sighed and put his face in his hands. His dad liked Puck. That was…fabulous.
The way the two of them had been talking at dinner! Kurt and his dad never talked about things like that. They didn’t have things in common. Yes, Kurt joined the football team, but he didn’t like football. During dinner, he’d just sat there bemoaning the fact that his dad was enjoying the company of his bully. His fucking bully of all people! It was like some Shakespearean tragedy. Or like a comedy of errors in which his dad thought his boyfriend or could-be boyfriend was a jackass named Puck.
What’s worse was the fact that Kurt found himself a little-a very little-okay with his dad believing the mistake. With believing that Kurt was cool enough to land a guy on the football team, a guy his dad liked, a jock…but the truth was he wasn’t. He couldn’t have Puck (ew!) or Finn or anyone.
He couldn’t even win a damn solo.
He was a gleek.
And gleeks got thrown in dumpsters.
“My dad thought….he thought-” Kurt held back the urge to vomit. It was just too gross. Puck, his boyfriend! That concept still made no sense. His brain just simply rejected it, and it was affecting his gag reflex.
“He thought Puck was my boyfriend and invited him over for dinner. He sat at my dinner table. I’ll need to disinfect it.”
There was a loud round of giggles on the other end of the phone, and Kurt took the cellphone away from his ear to glare at it. With an annoyed sigh, he lifted the phone back up. Mercedes was still laughing her ass off.
“It’s not funny.”
“Oh, it is. It is,” Mercedes said through cracks of laughter. “In fact, it’s hysterical. Puck and Kurt. McKinley’s new couple…I’m sorry. So what song you doing?”
“Oh,” Kurt said. “We didn’t really practice so much as fight, and he left.”
“Lover’s tiff?”
“Mercedes. Please.” Kurt groaned. How horrifying! He needed a new friend.
“Sorry, baby, I can’t help it. It’s too golden,” Mercedes said. She wanted to laugh again; Kurt could hear it in her voice. He didn’t think it was that funny. He didn’t think it was funny at all. “So, you guys have nothing?”
“We have nothing,” Kurt confirmed with a sour face. He still wanted to win, but what was he supposed to do? He and Puck just didn’t get along.
“Kurt, you could call Puck,” Mercedes suggested with a sigh.
“Absolutely not.” Kurt shook his head. He was not calling Puck.
“Kurt. You call Puck right now.”
“I will not. He insulted my singing skills. He practically called me fat.”
“Kurt Hummel, you listen to me and you listen to me good,” Mercedes said loudly into the phone. “We are Team Divalicious. You pick up that phone and you call that mohawking, pool-cleanin’ Puckerman and start practicin’ your ass off! Because why?”
“That’s what divas do,” Kurt said unconvinced.
“That’s right, baby. That’s what divas do!” Mercedes repeated, and Kurt stood up and nodded his head triumphantly.
Yes, that’s what divas did-awesome shit! And they won solos! And they looked better than everyone else while doing it!
Suddenly he remembered. He wasn’t just a gleek. He was a diva, damn it!
Puck peeled off his shirt and stood in his sweatpants, contemplating his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He tossed the smelly shirt-still ripe from his weightlifting session-into the overflowing clothes hamper. He was pissed because he felt like he’d wasted his time tonight. He was no closer to getting the money he needed for Quinn’s doctor bill, and he was mad at himself for that. He’d messed up his one shot of winning with Kurt, but he blamed Kurt for that mostly. What the hell was that kid’s problem? Puck didn’t know. He didn’t want to know.
He had messed things up pretty bad with Quinn, with Finn, and with everyone else. His life sucked, and he didn’t have anyone that cared. Quinn wasn’t talking to him. Finn wasn’t talking to him. Shit. He didn’t even have his best friend. What was he supposed to do, call Finn and complain that he had no money for the girl he knocked up? The girl Finn was dating at the time?
All evening, he had carried Kurt’s words around with him. He’d tried to block them out. In the back of his mind, though, they just kept eating at him.
The deadbeat dad. That was the exact person Puck didn’t want to be. He didn’t want to be like his father. That’s why he wanted the money in the first place. He wanted to show Quinn that he could help her, that he was taking some smidge of responsibility.
He couldn’t even do that. He couldn’t even get her fifty goddamn dollars.
Just then, his cellphone started buzzing on the counter. The number was unknown, and he didn’t bothering answering. He was so not in the mood to do anything except sulk in his own self-pity.
He had no idea what the hell he was going to do. He just knew he had to do something.
“Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?”
Puck watched in dismay as Kurt slammed closed the door of his locker and turned to look at him. Kurt looked mad. Madder than Puck had ever seen him-and he’d been throwing this kid in a dumpster for the past two years so that was saying something. Puck didn’t understand. He thought he’d done a decent thing, and he didn’t even do decent things. Like ever. What he’d done was slushie worthy. Hell, he wanted to slushie himself in face for it.
“Act like you’re some decent person. You’re not. You’re a jerk.” Kurt said, pushing past him.
Puck bit the inside of his mouth hard. He was catching shit from Kurt-fucking-Hummel. That was great. He glanced around the crowded hallway, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. People were still making their way to first period, and everyone would see him talking to Kurt if he went after him.
But he did it anyway.
“Hey!” Puck said, coming up beside Kurt and whispering loudly. “It’s because of me you didn’t end up in the dumpster this morning. You should be on the floor kissing my feet.”
It was true. Today was Wednesday. Kurt Hummel should’ve been picking rotten banana peel out of his hair. But he wasn’t, and Puck had been the one to stop those guys. He’d even threatened them a little when at first they refused. Kurt’s lack of appreciation was starting to piss him off, considering he’d laid his neck out on the line. And in high school, reputation was everything.
“Thank you for sparing yourself one day of bullying me?” Kurt rolled his eyes. “Puck. Can we please skip this bonding moment? You came over to my house last night. That doesn’t-”
“I couldn’t do it. You’re like a sad little half-orphan,” Puck said, gaze drifting towards the floor. Kurt stopped and turned to look at him. They were standing in the middle of the hallway. Other students had to walk around them, but Puck ignored the flow of the crowd. Kurt definitely didn’t believe him.
“What did you just say?” Puck was completely caught off guard when Kurt suddenly invaded his space. They were chest-to-chest, and Kurt’s face was flushed red. If Puck didn’t know any better, Kurt was about to punch him. Which would’ve been crazy because Kurt was half his size. Puck would kill him.
“Fuck you,” Kurt hissed. “You don’t know the first thing about my ‘sad little half-orphan’ life. Listen to me, Puck. I don’t care if you throw me in the dumpster or not.” Kurt took in a deep, shaky breath, clearly too emotional.
“You don’t care?” Puck could feel his anger rising.
“Don’t you get it? I don’t care if you think I’m a loser.” Kurt lifted his shoulders in a big shrug and shook his head. “I don’t care! Your fascination with making my life miserable is your issue not mine.”
Puck was speechless. Part of him wanted to just drag Kurt off to the dumpster and shut him up. He figured he’d feel better afterwards. But part of him knew Kurt was right. He liked making other people’s lives miserable, because he was miserable and no one seemed to give a shit.
“Your dad, he was all right to me. Okay?” Puck finally said after a moment. He was upset that he felt compelled to explain himself, but Kurt had gotten to him.
“Oh God.” Kurt sighed. He moved the shoulder bag full of books he was carrying from one shoulder to the other. “My dad wasn’t nice to you. He was nice because of me, okay? He thought you were…more than a friend. So just go back to being Puck now.”
“More than a friend?” Puck was apparently dim. He didn’t know what that meant.
“Yeah.” Kurt was pink now. Bright pink. Puck raised an eyebrow. “He thought you were my boy-” Kurt swallowed. He looked like he was going to vomit, and Puck looked at him in confusion. What the hell was wrong with this kid? “My boy-boyfriend.”
“Shit!” Puck exclaimed. What the hell?
“Believe me, my sentiments are yours.”
“God!” Seriously. What the hell? How did Kurt’s dad think Puck was gay? How did he think he was not just gay but dating a loser? What the hell?
“See! You can stop being nice to me. Dead mom and all.” Kurt patted him on the shoulder, and Puck grimaced. Burt thought Puck was Kurt’s boyfriend. Was that why he got invited for dinner? What the fuck? “Now I’d rather stop talking to you in public.” Kurt proceeded to walk off, but something hit Puck just then. He called out in a slight panic.
“Wait!” Puck quickly caught up down the hallway, and Kurt sighed in exasperation. “What about the fifty bucks?”
“Puck-”
“You’re a badass kicker, Hummel, and your singing ain’t so bad.”
“What-”
“I’m not a deadbeat dad,” Puck said, puffing his chest out. Last night he’d woken up from a dead sleep, and he made a promise to himself. He was going to do right by Quinn and their baby. He wasn’t going to end up like his dad. Quinn wasn’t going to end up like his mom with nothing but couple of kids and no money.
Kurt looked at the ground for a long moment-his expression almost regretful-and then glanced up with a small nod. “The baby daddy situation with you and Quinn and Finn…it’s none of my business.”
“Whatever, chick flick. I just want to win,” Puck said, shrugging his shoulders. He wasn’t in the mood for this shit. He needed to know if Kurt was going to help him or not.
Kurt said seriously. “I want that solo. It will solidify my entire existence, and steer my path into becoming the next Neil Patrick Harris.”
“Slightly over-dramatic, Doogie, but we finally something in common.”
“Good.”
At six o’clock, Kurt and his dad made it home from the shop, and there was a surprise waiting on their front steps. Well, it wasn’t so much a surprise this time, but it was still blood curdling.
“I thought you said you and he weren’t-” Burt Hummel shifted the truck into park.
“We aren’t,” Kurt quickly cut him off, and opened his door. “We’ve got a Glee thing to do. Not every boy is going to be a boyfriend, Dad. Okay?”
“No, I remember what you said. Kurt, I’m just getting used to all this…teenage stuff,” Burt said, nodding his head. “I’ll work on it.” Kurt patted his dad on the shoulder and slipped out of the passenger seat. He walked up the cobblestone walkway towards the front door, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black and white striped cardigan as he went. He stopped a few feet in front of where Puck was leaning back against the steps. Puck looked at him with that stupid, annoying smirk, and patted the guitar case sitting next to him.
“Having fun? Our neighbors are no doubt wondering who let the riff raft in,” Kurt said, rolling his eyes, but his tone wasn’t nearly as biting as usual.
“Once I clean their pools a few times they won’t think that,” Puck said with a grin.
Puck and Kurt had reached some semblance of a truce during lunch that day when they’d agreed to meet after school. Who knew how long this truce would last, but it seemed to be at least until the competition was over. They’d even sat together during lunch-shocking Mercedes and Tina enough to ambush him later that day and ask if Puck was holding him hostage. It wasn’t an ideal situation for either party (jocks didn’t eat lunch with gleeks), but they’d lost an entire day. They had made a list of songs and managed to come to an agreement on a selection before the one o’clock bell rang.
Kurt grimaced. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re just a figment of my imagination.” Puck and moms were two things Kurt did not want to think about ever.
“Hey!” Puck said, standing up. He grabbed his guitar case and flung the leather strap over his shoulder. “I come highly recommended. I’m a very thorough cleaner. Spit-shine and everything.”
“I taste vomit. Please stop,” Kurt said, wrapping his hands around his ears, starting to laugh.
“Puck,” Burt said, walking up unnoticed. Both boys spin to look at him with small smiles still left on their faces from the lewd joke.
“Mr. Hummel,” Puck said, smiling too sweetly. Kurt’s eyes widened, nostrils flaring. Oh, shit. He knew that look. That was the look Puck gave Mr. Schuester. That was the look Puck had given his dad yesterday. That was the exact look Puck had when he-
Kurt turned a bright shade of pink when Puck tossed an arm around his shoulder, pulling their bodies close together until there was no space left between them. He hated Puck.
“I’m glad you don’t mind me coming over again. Kurt and I are just working on, you know, teenage things. It may take all night,” Puck said. He grinned even wider, clearly enjoying himself.
“Oh.” Burt was a deer caught in headlights. He shook his head and walked around the two of them into the house.“I guess I’ll get dinner.”
“I love Mexican, Mr. Hummel,” Puck said with a reassuring nod. Kurt wanted to die.
“Right. Kurt likes tacos.” Burt said slowly. Once he disappeared into the house, Puck’s shoulders started shake.
Kurt groaned at the sound of laughter, and elbowed him in the side. “You bastard,” he said, stepping from under the reach of Puck’s arm.
“Parents are so easy. ”
“You’ve just ruined all my work. Now he thinks….you! You ruin everything.” Kurt wanted to gag. It was bad enough the first time.
“Oh, whatever,” Puck said. “Your dad knows you’re scraping the bottom of the barrel.” Kurt rolled his eyes with a scoff. This was the most bizarre conversation, but he couldn’t let Puck stand there giving him that jackass half-smirk of his.
Kurt walked through the front door. “Don’t worry, Puck, you’re last on my list of potential suitors. My dad’s just new to this whole raising a gay, hormonal teenager thing.”
“Last on the list?” Puck’s ego was showing.
“No.” The other boy nodded like that was expected, like he knew he was on everyone’s list and never considered it being any other way. “You’re not even on my list. Your hair alone is reason enough.”
“What’s wrong with my hair?” Puck asked, taken aback.
Kurt just laughed. “If we’re getting into that, we might as well kiss our chances of winning goodbye because that enlightening conversation would take all night.”
“Whatever,” Puck snapped sharply. Kurt smiled, pleased with himself, as he watched Puck walked past him running a contemplating hand over his ridiculous mohawk.
“Ready?”
“I guess as ready as we’re going to be,” Kurt muttered under his breath to Puck when Mr. Schuester looked in their direction.
“Then show us whatcha got,” Mr. Schuester said, gesturing to the open “stage” in front of the rafters.
Kurt took a deep breath and stood up. It was showtime. He walked over to one of the two stools arranged in the middle of the room. Crossing one leg primly over the other, he waited for Puck to join him on the other stool.
“All right, Puck. Don’t fuck this up for me.”
“Just try not to suck, Hummel,” Puck said without any venom and lifted the guitar strap over his head. Kurt half-smiled at him and nodded. They’d practiced all night and this morning. Their song wasn’t perfect, but it was decent.
Kurt took in a large breath when Puck strummed the opening bars of the song. He could see Mercedes smile at him-the song instantly recognizable to everyone in the room. When he opened his mouth to sing, Kurt closed his eyes.
Their song-"Somewhere Over The Rainbow"-seemed wildly appropriate if by the time Kurt belted out the last note Mr. Schuester handed him his very first solo. Kurt had been surprised to find Puck willing to indulge him, but he’d asked because it was his favorite song to sing as a kid. It practically defined him. He’d always loved to pretend to be Dorothy, to be swept away to a far off land where anything was possible, where the gleek got the guy, where the gleek got everything he’d always wanted. But Puck had agreed quickly. Apparently, the song was a dream to play on guitar or something. Or maybe Puck had dreams too. Maybe.
Kurt was grateful either way for Puck’s enthusiasm now that his time to perform had come. Suddenly, he was on a stage in an auditorium full of people, and they were all breathlessly hanging on each whimsy-filled note of longing and dreams. His voice swelled, dipped, turned, and pulled over the gentle strumming of Puck’s playing. He imagined he had everyone in the palm of his hand, and he knew-like he always knew-that the spotlight made him more of who he needed to be. Of who he wanted to be.
More Kurt.
Being Kurt, being a gleek or a diva, or being a loser getting tossed in a dumpster was okay with him. It didn’t matter who he was when he was on stage. It didn’t matter if he was the kid in the dumpster or the popular jock.
As long as he was Kurt, he was okay.
“I swear, if she wasn’t so hot I’d be pissed at that Rachel kid winning everything,” Puck said, letting the heavy double-door fall against Kurt’s hand. They walked out of the school together that day-an odd sight if anyone had been around to notice.
“Come on, Puck, she was practically tear-inducing today.” Kurt was trying to cheer himself up. Rachel had been amazing, and there was no denying that. He looked over at Puck and smiled. “You’ll get your money.”
“Nah.” Puck waved him off, and Kurt raised an eyebrow surprised. Wasn’t money the entire reason Puck had made his life miserable the past two days? “I’m not worried. I mean I’m gonna find a way to help Quinn, but fifty bucks wasn’t going to do it.”
“You could try talking to Finn. He could use a friend, and not one that’s trying to steal his girl.”
“I’m not trying to steal-”
“You should apologize,” Kurt said bluntly. “But for real this time, and for everything.”
Puck didn’t say anything, but Kurt could tell he was thinking it over. After two days with Puck, Kurt had realized a few things. Puck was an asshole. He said rude things, and he wasn’t that smart. He had bad hair, and his teasing was never going to end because it amused him more than anyone else. More than anything, though, Kurt realized Puck was lonely. Really lonely and kind of tortured. He didn’t have any friends after Quinn or Finn, and in his own warped, half-assed way, Puck was trying to make it up to them both. Kurt was actually toying with the idea of talking to Finn about Puck, but now he wasn’t sure if it was his place. If anything, Kurt understood better why Puck did the things he did.
Kurt had just started walking towards his SUV, when a voice behind them shouted both their names.
“It was nice to see you both up there. Good job on the vocals, Kurt. I think you’re really starting to come into your own,” Mr. Schuester said, slinging his suit jacket over his arm and pulling a pair of shades down over his eyes.
“Thank you, Mr. Schue…but we lost.” Kurt was beaming. He appreciated compliments at anytime, but it was gratifying to here this from Mr. Schuester.
“Yes, you did, but I thought your rendition was great. Could have used a little more polish, though. With a little more practice I really think it could be awesome. Definitely something to keep on our list for Regionals. The set-list goes to six, you know.”
“Wait.” Kurt’s eyes lit up. His heart swelled. Puck looked slightly confused (which was expected because Puck was dim). “Are you saying-”
“I’m saying, perhaps you both can find a better use for your mornings. Regionals is only a few weeks away. I want your song perfect by then.”
“A solo!” Kurt shouted in pure joy. It was a dream come true. The first step on his walk to fame because soon his name would be in lights on Broadway.
“Um, a duet, Kurt,” Mr. Schuester said. He patted him on the shoulder and walked off.
“Can you believe it! A solo!” Kurt looked at Puck with his mouth wide in a grin. He couldn’t wait to call Mercedes.
“A duet, Hummel. I’ll be there too.”
“Right, whatever. I can easily edit you out of the video later.”
After a couple seconds, Puck’s words interrupted Kurt’s thoughts. In that split-second, he was already planning costumes. “I guess…I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Tomorrow’s Friday, though,” Kurt was confused. Maybe he’d been wrong to think their truce was going to continue.
“For practice, assmunch.” Puck shook his head, but he smirked afterwards.
“Oh, right,” Kurt said slowly. Something about this was weird, and apparently, Puck agreed because they both looked at each other for a few moments in silence before turning to leave.
“Fuck. Wait!” Puck said. Kurt spun on his heel. A thought had just occurred to him, too. “Did I just get taught a lesson?”
“Definitely. This has after-school special written all over it.” They both turned just in time to see Mr. Schuester, who was waving at them as he drove by exiting the parking lot.
Inspiration: “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” - Acoustical arrangement
About the fic you request:
Rating(s) requested (G-NC-17): prefer PG-NC17
Character(s) or pairing(s): Kurt/Puck
Prompts (minimum of 3, no maximum!):
1. Kurt finally gets a glee club solo
2. Puck and Kurt have become pseudo friends after babygate & sectionals, but Kurt is interested in more
3. When their relationship develops, Artie makes a sarcastic joke that releaves the suprise glee club experiences
Things you DON’T want in your story (squicks, triggers, genres you dislike, characters you hate, etc.): No crossdressing, no threesome with Finn
Rating: PG-13, language.
Pairings: Puck/Kurt, pre-slash.
Warnings: None.
Recipient: bardlover6
Word Count: 9175
Disclaimer: None of the characters are my own. I’m just playing in Murphy’s world.
Summary: For a Glee Club contest, Kurt Hummel finds himself with the last partner he’d ever want: Noah Puckerman.
A/N: This story includes my interpretation that following “Mash-Up” Kurt rejoined the football team once Thursday practices were canceled.
Kurt pushed a pair of white, gold-rimmed sunglasses down his nose and raised one perfectly arched eyebrow. He spent Monday and Wednesday mornings in a dumpster that smelt like vomit and rotten bananas. A dumpster that sat in the student parking lot of McKinley High School like a pillory of Kurt's personal shame. But today was Tuesday. What good was a schedule if no one was going to follow it?
He returned his sunglasses to their proper position using the tip of his little finger and took a couple of seconds to look over the group of boys surrounding him.
Ugly Boots (his real name was Dick) had on a green and brown plaid short-sleeve shirt that screamed “reject farmer.” Two of the other jerks wore jeans that sagged down their asses. Three needed to reconsider their hairstyles. And the last just had no hope.
Kurt, however, looked fabulous.
“Now, boys. I thought we’d agreed on Mondays and Wednesdays.” He had a whole closet full of last season’s outfits saved for Mondays and Wednesdays. The humiliation wasn't lessened, but his best clothes weren't ruined.
Today was Tuesday. His outfit-a dark violet Marc Jacobs peacoat, white collared shirt, sassy tan corduroys, and his fabulous new houndstooth scarf that looked like it tasted like lemonade-made him feel sophisticated. He’d spent hours last night with an iron and a spray bottle ironing everything to a crisp. Even his yellow socks.
This outfit was not getting gross dumpster smell on it. Not today.
“Judging from your ensemble, I know fashion isn’t your forte. But this scarf is impeccable. In the name of Marc Jacobs, it shouldn’t be sullied.” Kurt put his hands on his hips and tried to remain firm. He didn’t like the blank stares on their faces. He held up the end of the scarf draped around his neck. He loved this scarf not just because it cost him fifty dollars, not just because Kanye West was wearing it in the last edition of GQ magazine, and not just because it went perfect with his outfit that day.
He loved it because no one at McKinley High School-other than Kurt Hummel, teenage fashion iconoclast-had enough style to pull off this scarf with this jacket.
“Tuesday and Thursday are out sick today. Someone’s gotta fill in.” Dick high-fived the jock standing next to him with a chuckle. The hair on Kurt’s neck stood straight up, and he wished Dick wasn't three times his size so he could claw his eyes out for throwing him in the dumpster two times a week. For being so large. For ruining his two hundred dollar bag.
It just…wasn’t fair. Kurt was prepared for Mondays and Wednesdays, and he thought evil people, even evil badly-dressed jocks, upheld agreements. Apparently not. Apparently no one’s word was worth anything these days. This revelation was just ruining his day.
Fuck. His outfit-his scarf-was going to be ruined.
Noah Puckerman wasn't having a good day. His mother was on his ass about helping pay the overdue light bill. For any chance at extra money, he was going to have to clean some pools this week. He’d cleaned all his pools last week for fun.
He’d blown all the money he’d earned on beer and bets for his fight club. He drank all the beer and lost all the bets, so in reality he was pretty much shit out of luck on the earning money front for the foreseeable future. Which sucked. Electricity was important.
Plus, Quinn told him yesterday after school that she didn’t have enough money to pay the doctor bill this month. Unlike his mom, she didn’t ask him for money. All Quinn said was that she thought he’d want to know because it was his fault she was in this mess.
While that might have been true, Puck didn’t see the need for all the blame to fall on him just because his sperm were more active than other sixteen year olds’. Super active sperm in any other case would be celebrated.
Quinn’s and his baby was going to be awesome and without a doubt as good-looking as those Brangelina kids. If Puck could give a baby anything, it was definitely good looks. He could also teach the kid the fine art of brownie-baking. He’d only teach the kid that when he was at least twelve, because that’s when he’d learned how to make brownies from this guy named Cedric, who used to live on the street behind his house.
Cedric was thirty-four at the time, and he lived with his mother. Puck used to think Cedric was awesome because he got to play video games all day, while Puck learned stupid shit like multiplication tables and spelling. He still thought the guy was awesome, but Cedric was doing five to ten in the Ohio State Penitentiary for illegal gambling so Puck never got to see him.
None of what he could offer his future offspring changed the fact that two women in Puck’s life were in trouble. There was nothing he could do about it, short of robbing a bank (which he’d considered but the logistics were too complicated). He’d gotten bored trying to come up with anything else, so he just watched porn, jerked off, and went to bed last night.
When he’d gotten to school this morning and Neil Huntington was missing for his usual eight A.M. Tuesday meeting with the dumpster, Puck didn’t think twice about finding a replacement because somebody’s morning needed to suck worse than his today.
The lucky replacement was Kurt Hummel. This was in spite of the fact that Puck’s tolerance of gleeks had grown steadily since New Directions had won first place at Sectionals.
“Can I really be expected to make-up for Neil Huntington’s not-so mysterious monthly infection?” Kurt Hummel asked in a haughty voice.
Puck wasn’t in the mood today for back talk.
“Sorry. Neil being a herpesface isn’t my problem. It’s yours,” Puck said with a shrug. There was nothing he could do about last year’s STD outbreak in the marching band. He leaned backwards against the dumpster next to Kurt, and he patted the side with his hand. It made a noise as the metal vibrated from the impact, and he smiled. He loved this dumpster. He owned this fucking dumpster. “We need someone’s will to crush while we digest our breakfast.” Puck didn’t even eat breakfast, so Kurt Hummel’s humiliation was really the only nutritional nourishment he got before lunch.
“Fag!” someone yelled.
There were a couple other catcalls. One about the poor kid’s purple jacket, which was Puck’s insult of choice because Kurt usually looked like an escapee from a mental hospital. Did he mean to wear those leopard print tights last Monday? Really? There was just no excuse from any man’s junk to be subject to tights as far as Puck was concerned.
“Perhaps my fabulously-toned legs will be better appreciated on the soccer team,” said Kurt.
At this, Puck straightened up to a stand. They’d actually started to win games once Kurt had joined the team. As much as he hated to admit it, they only won because Kurt kicked the ball a mile. Still, that didn’t make Kurt a jock.
“I barely care about football.” Kurt produced a fake yawn and eyed his neat fingernails. “I do like guys in little shorts…” he said, trailing off in thought.
Puck looked at the other members of the team. They all just shrugged in unison.
“Scarf,” Puck offered with an outstretched hand.
“Football it is.” Kurt unwrapped the scarf around his neck quickly and shoved it hard into Puck’s chest. “Don’t think I won’t remember this.”
“Whatever, tomorrow’s Wednesday,” Puck said, stepping back.
Three linebackers barreled forward and surrounded Kurt. They engulfed him in their shadows, and Puck stood nearby smirking. If Finn was around, he would’ve stopped this. But Finn wasn't around-hadn’t been around for weeks-and now Puck got to do what he wanted. What he wanted was not to feel like shit anymore. Kurt Hummel didn't deserve this. His outfit did, but Kurt didn't. Whether he deserved it or not, however, Puck did feel better.
Because for every insult Quinn called him and for every comparison his mom made of him to his father, at least he wasn’t enough of a loser to get tossed in a dumpster.
Mr. Schuester announced at the end of Glee Club rehearsal that he was hosting a duet competition. Kurt was pleased. The prize was fifty dollars, which had been donated by Principal Figgins after their good showing at Sectionals. Kurt didn’t care about that, because money he had. What he didn’t have was a solo.
When Mr. Schuester had said the winners would perform their selection at Regionals, Kurt was practically salivating at the idea: winning a solo, having everyone cheering for him as he hit a tear-inducing high note in front of a full auditorium…
Kurt was going to win.
There was a problem. The prize was a solo. Sort of.
“Listen up! Singers you’ve been paired off with one of your more instrumentally inclined teammates.” Mr. Schuesterster was grinning from ear to ear. Kurt hated when teachers took it upon themselves to teach them real-world lessons, and this had “real-world lesson” written all over it. “I want you guys to get creative. Give me some funky arrangements. We’re going to need something really fresh for Regionals if we want a shot.”
Mr. Schuester held up a white sheet of paper. “Here’s the list. When we meet Thursday, it’s gonna be an open mic rehearsal. So have fun!”
From where he was huddled next to Mercedes, Kurt could see Rachel Berry following the list with shining eyes. Rachel Berry was his only real competition. Well, there was Mercedes, too, but if Mercedes beat him, they’d just share an ecstatic diva hand-shake because Mercedes was his girl-the Grace to his Will.
Rachel always got the solos, and Kurt loved the idea of beating her. He’d politely given up the “Defying Gravity” solo for his dad’s sake, but this time that wasn’t happening. Kurt crossed his arms over his chest and nodded his head to no one as if to assure himself of this.
“We all agree. Ms. Berry ain’t getting this solo, right?” Mercedes said, leaning forward towards Kurt. Tina, who was also standing nearby, leaned in with them.
Mercedes and Tina, along with Kurt, made up the most fashionable part of Glee Club. Tina had a “hip Asian kid” thing going on, and always had colored streaks in her hair. Mercedes’ style was a cross between Rihanna and Alicia Keys. She always looked fab. More than that, Mercedes was his best friend. They were true pure-bred gleeks, and they took care of each other. They were Team Divalicious-Kurt picked the name.
“She’ll have to take it from me in a girlfight, and I’m feisty. And a hair puller,” Kurt responded with a firm tone.
Rachel Berry was not getting this solo. One, he wanted it. Two, his opportunities were running out. The set-list for Regionals was almost finalized. Kurt wanted his time to shine. He wanted people to see that he was just as talented as everyone else here.
“Ss-sh-sh-she can’t beat you both.” Tina stuttered out her words of encouragement. They all looked at each other, nodded firmly, and giggled. Kurt stepped back, looped his arms through both of theirs, and they walked over to where everyone was crowded around the list.
They quickly deduced that Mercedes got Artie on the guitar, and Tina was paired with Mike on the turntable. Quinn got Matt, who apparently played the piano. Santana and Brittany were together, of course. And unsurprisingly, Rachel Berry’s partner was Finn Hudson.
Kurt watched as she awkwardly complimented Finn on his drumming skills (“You hold those sticks quite well, Finn”), and he wanted to die. That was something else which should’ve been his. Finn Hudson. There was no chance of that happening, seeing as how Finn was straight, but at the very least, he shouldn’t be Rachel’s.
Kurt didn’t hate Rachel. She was just so talented and unaware of her nerdy girl appeal when it came to Finn. He had trouble not feeling jealous when things went her way.
“Man, Artie is killer on electric guitar. I think we got this,” Mercedes said, snapping Kurt out of his thoughts. He agreed with her and started to recite all the songs Mercedes could do in this competition, when she cleared her throat in a cough. Then, she jerked her to the side in a wild gesture. Kurt wrinkled his face in confusion not understanding what she was trying to tell him. She sighed, shaking her head, and grabbed him by the shoulders to turn him around.
There, staring him in the face, was Noah Puckerman with his idiotic smirk and his needs-to-be-rethunk haircut. He was holding a flat-top guitar in one hand, and Kurt’s eyes flicked to look at it. Somewhere in between already declaring himself the winner of the solo and spying on Rachel and Finn, he’d forgotten to look up his own name on the list. Somewhere in there he’d missed that he was paired with Puck!
Puck, the guy who had him tossed in a dumpster this morning, was his partner.
“How nice. I get stuck with the makings of an after-school special.” Kurt slid his arms across himself, and raised an eyebrow.
“Look, princess. I could use fifty bucks. You better not fuck this up for me.” Puck walked off without another word in the direction of Quinn Fabray, who didn’t look that happy to see him come near her.
Kurt snapped his head to look at Mercedes, and he started mouthing the words “Oh my God” over and over. In the midst of his hyperventilating panic-which Mercedes and Tina tried to squelch in a panic of their own- Kurt dramatically mourned his chances of getting the solo.
How could he win with Puck as his partner? Getting the solo or not really was the least of his problems. Judging by Puck’s threat, Kurt suddenly had larger concerns.
Kurt began working in his dad’s garage when he was twelve. Burt’s Oil & Tires was his dad’s pride and joy, aside from the MVP trophy that sat in their living room from his dad’s college football days. The store was his family’s claim to Lima fame. It was sad in a way, but they lived in comfortable, suburban bliss thanks to this place.
The after-school gig hardly paid for Kurt’s Coach addiction these days, but he was good with a wrench and liked working with his dad. Afternoons in the shop were the only thing they had in common these days. Smearing a line of black grease across the milky white skin of his cheek, Kurt wiped a line of sweat from his brow and then rubbed his hands down the front of his coveralls. His last job was done, and the new Lady Gaga song just came blaring through his radio. He grabbed his bottle of water and did a skipping dance towards the open garage door through the maze of tool carts, wires, and chemical containers.
Taking a long drink, Kurt leaned against one of the closed garage doors. The street in front of the store was quiet today. Burt was still in his small office talking on the phone, and Kurt waved at him through the window on the door. It was time to go home. Burt held up his hand, signifying his need for five more minutes.
Kurt nodded, turning to look back to the street. His blood immediately went cold at the sight of someone walking up the parking lot towards the garage. It wasn’t a customer. It was his worst nightmare. Kurt folded his arms over his chest and cattily spoke first.
“I see you needed no directions in finding the place. I assume that means you’re the one who wrote ‘Kurt Hummel is a camel toe’ on the garage last year. Let me thank you for that now.”
“It was advice more than anything else,” Puck smirked. “I hear that tights damage the goods, bro.”
“What’s wrong with you? Are you even real?” Kurt asked, flabbergasted. Seriously, what was Noah Puckerman on? It’s like he was fucking trolling Lima, Ohio with his brute behavior and randomly put together thoughts.
How did this happen to him? How did he get stuck with Puck as a partner? How? Kurt cursed Mr. Schue. This was his fault.
“You’re serious? Pillow-biter, your name is bedazzled on your coveralls,” Puck pointed at Kurt with a raised eyebrow. “In pink.”
Kurt quickly took note of the boy’s attire. He was still dressed in one of those gray t-shirts that said “McKinkley Football” on the front and a pair of red sweat pants. Puck was much taller than Kurt. He was tall and lean but muscular. He spent the good majority of his time with that useless half-scowl and half-smirk on his face that Kurt guessed he thought made him look like a badass, but in reality made him look ridiculous. Almost as ridiculous was the boy’s haircut-a mohawk. Kurt looked at Puck and shook his head.
“What do you want, Puck?”
Puck walked past him a couple of steps and poked his head inside the garage. “Told you already. I could use the fifty bucks.”
“Fifty bucks?”
“Yeah.” Puck stalked back closer. Kurt wasn’t afraid of Puck-his haircut was too ridiculous for that-but there was something about the boy that got under his skin. He just…didn’t like Puck.
Puck was a bully. He was Kurt’s personal bully since freshman year. He was the complete opposite of Finn, and Kurt didn’t understand how the two of them had been friends. He completely supported Finn’s decision to drop Puck after learning the real identity of Quinn’s baby’s daddy. Finn had come to him for advice, and Kurt promptly provided him with examples of Puck’s dick ways when he seemed to be having second thoughts of severing ties. Lots and lots of examples. Finn eventually had seen things his way.
“I got a baby to take care of,” Puck said.
Kurt rolled his eyes. “Along with pointing out that babies cost more than fifty dollars, I’d like to remind you that it appears Quinn Fabray will be with her baby daddy for the foreseeable future.” He muttered the last part under his breath.
“I’m the baby daddy!”
“Okay, slow on the uptake. She chose Finn.”
“Finn?” Puck’s voice was raised. Was Puck actually bothered by this? Kurt didn’t see why. Sleeping with his best friend’s girlfriend and getting her pregnant weren’t actions generally taken by someone that was easily bothered.
“I don’t blame her…” Kurt trailed off. He hesitated and looked to see if his dad was still where he left him. Teenagers shouldn’t talk about pregnancy and sex within earshot of their parents, even gay teenagers. “You’re the deadbeat dad in this Maury Povich fiasco.”
“Deadbeat huh?” Puck’s jaw flexed.
Kurt thought twice before speaking. He was probably walking a fine line here.
“I’m coming over,” Puck declared suddenly. “Eight at your place.”
Kurt preferred never.
But…the solo. The fifty bucks. He had no choice.
“I’m just warning you that my dad will be around. You can’t steal.”
Puck pursed his lips together. “Fine. Whatever.”
Kurt opened his mouth to ask if Puck was high, when Burt Hummel walked up out of nowhere. “You one of Kurt’s friends?”
Kurt glanced nervously at Puck. Ever since his dad had learned-or well confirmed-he was gay, he kept asking all these inane questions about boys. It was awkward. Just like this-the way his dad was looking at Puck was awkward.
“You could say that,” Puck said, smiling wide. No one said they were friends. No one said that at all. Puck just liked fucking with adults. He did the same thing to Mr. Schuester, who probably paired Puck and Kurt up because he thought they were friends. Kurt made a note to himself to talk to Mr. Schuester about that tomorrow. Nothing like this ever needed to happen again.
“Dad, let’s go.” Kurt walked forward and grabbed Burt by the sleeve. His dad didn’t budge very far.
“Is he…? Should he…join us for dinner?” Burt eyed Puck even more closely, and Kurt shifted his weight in discomfort. From the expression on Puck’s face, the stupid bastard didn’t understand that his father thought that something sordid was happening between the two of them. That was the most frighteningly hilarious thing he had heard all day. Really, it was golden.
Kurt answered quickly. “We have a Glee Club thing to work on but-”
“What’s for dinner?” Puck asked, rubbing his hands together.
Kurt’s eyes widened in fear and rage. He hated Puck. He hated Mr. Schuester for making them partners. He hated his life.
“Kurt likes Chinese,” Burt said in a stammer. His dad seemed surprised, and Kurt’s face softened a little. His dad was inviting over a guy for dinner. He loved his dad for trying, for everything he’d done and said since he big coming out party. But! Getting a mortal enemy mixed up with his boyfriend was not cool. Why would his dad think he could like a guy with that haircut? Didn’t he know him at all?
“Mr. Hummel, I. Love. Chinese.” Puck stepped forwards, throwing his arm casually around Kurt’s shoulders, and smirked again. Before Kurt could protest, Burt nodded tentatively in agreement.
“I love beef and broccoli.” Puck said. He and Kurt were sitting at the kitchen bar staring at Burt Hummel. The older man was on the phone with China Wok.
“Two orders of egg rolls. Sweet and sour chicken.” Puck raised an eyebrow. Kurt didn’t look like he had any place to put that much food. “What?” Puck just shrugged.
“Beef and broccoli. Egg rolls…six egg rolls.” Burt repeated.
“General Tso’s!” said Kurt.
“General Tso’s,” Burt said on cue. Puck looked at Kurt. Then looked at Burt. What kind of names were those? Puck watched the two of them. It seemed like this was a ritual: ordering out. Looking around, he noticed the kitchen was full of stainless steel appliances. All of them looked clean and untouched. Puck got the feeling that Kurt and his dad didn’t cook, but they ate together. At like the dinner table. It was weird.
“And…one wonton soup,” Kurt said.
“Oh, yeah. Definitely,” Puck said, hitting the kitchen counter with his palm.
“Two! Dad.” Kurt quickly waved his hands in front of his dad’s face until Burt just nodded and walked off into the living room. “I think he got it.”
“I’ll just eat yours if he didn’t,” Puck said with a smarmy grin.
Kurt’s house was pretty nice. He was almost sorry he’d agreed not to steal anything because there was plenty of useless crap to pawn. Sucked.
“This is nice.” Puck picked up a glass figurine from the white wooden mantel over the fireplace. It was crystal and oval shaped. It might’ve been a trophy.
“Try looking with your eyes.” Kurt took the figurine from him and carefully placed it back in its spot. Puck shrugged. Shouldn’t their food be here by now? He was starving.
“So.”
“So,” said Kurt, moving back across the room.
This was awkward. Burt had said something about giving them space and disappeared, leaving them alone. Puck didn’t know much about Kurt aside from the fact that he dressed bad, was gay, and got thrown in dumpsters. Space probably wasn’t going to fix that. Not in ten minutes. Not when he was really just thinking about the food getting there.
Puck looked at the pictures hanging on the wall next to the fireplace. One of them was a picture of Kurt’s family.
“So where’s your mom?”
Kurt was standing on the opposite side of the spacious living room behind a black, leather couch, watching him with a frown. Probably making sure Puck didn’t swipe anything. He didn’t blame him. If Kurt had his back turned, Puck would’ve definitely stolen something.
“She died,” Kurt said. “When I was three.”
Puck stepped back from the picture. “Well…” He paused. “That sucks.” He was suddenly uncomfortable. He felt like it was better that he didn’t know anything about Kurt Hummel.
“Sucks,” Kurt repeated and nodded his head. “Yeah. It sucks.” The doorbell rung before either of them said anything else.
Puck didn’t get how a cool guy like Burt raised such a loser like Kurt. It was a waste.
“Chargers definitely go to the playoffs next year,” Puck said. He blindly reached into the greased-stained paper bag for the last egg roll. “I guarantee it.”
Kurt sighed loudly, and Puck looked over at him. He took a large bite of the egg roll, consuming half of it in one go. He’d almost forgotten Kurt was there.
“So you’re into sports?” Burt asked curiously. “Football?”
Puck shrugged. “Yeah. About as much as other things.”
“Like what other things?” Burt asked. He was looking at Kurt now, who was a bright shade of pink. Puck looked at them both, confused. Why did he feel like he was getting the third degree? He just shrugged, shaking the feeling off.
“I don’t know…like cleaning pools,” Puck said. He chuckled to himself. Who didn’t love cleaning pools? Moms just loved pools being cleaned.
“Gross,” Kurt muttered under his breath. “He means...Puck’s…a….he’s a businessman.” Puck glanced to Kurt. A businessman? That actually made him sound like a whore.
“Huh,” Burt said. He shook his head then he said slowly, “Every house in our neighborhood has a pool. I’ll give people your name sometime.”
“Sweet,” Puck said. He could use the extra cash. Plus, this type of swanky neighborhood always had stay-at-home moms, which was important when considering new clientele.
“That’s nice, Dad,” Kurt said, smiling.
Puck frowned. Eating dinner with Kurt and his dad was very weird, and he probably shouldn’t even be here. Then Burt asked him a question about football, and Puck got distracted, forgetting how weird this entire thing was once again. By the time their meal was finished, Puck had decided dinner with the Hummels wasn’t so bad.
“So, your dad’s cool,” Puck said, stepping into the room.
Kurt lived in the basement. It was the perfect arrangement. He got his privacy, and his dad didn’t have to listen to Beyonce. Kurt stopped on the bottom step of the staircase. Fuck. Noah Puckerman was in his room.
He was overcome with a feeling of violation. Puck didn’t belong in his house. He didn’t belong in his room. He certainly shouldn’t be in his house eating dinner. He shouldn’t be sharing football stories with his dad. He shouldn’t be eating the last eggroll, because Kurt got the last eggroll! He most definitely shouldn’t be calling his dad cool. Even though his dad was cool. Tonight's little meal-awkward as it was-had revealed that when he did get a boyfriend, his dad would be okay. That confirmation gave Kurt a warm feeling of security.
Puck walked over to the odd egg-shaped chair sitting next off to the side of room. Kurt had found it in this art deco store in Cleveland that he always checked out for cool antiques when he was in town. Puck poked the chair with his hand, making it rock, and frowned afterwards.
“What the hell is this?” Puck asked with a scoff.
Kurt was insulted. His room was done up in a modern palette full of white, silver, and splashes of gold. He couldn’t wait to move into a studio loft and fill it with rack lighting, square furniture that was more pleasing to the eye than it was to the back, and a huge white sleigh bed. Kurt had taste. Puck didn’t know the first thing about interior decorating, so he didn’t appreciate the question.
“I’ll have you know, that is a designer piece,” Kurt said.
“It’s still useless crap.” Puck fiddled with the chair for a moment longer. He looked confused by it.
“Just don’t touch it!” Kurt yelled out, annoyed. “Don’t touch any of my things.”
“What’s your problem?” Puck asked in surprise.
“My problem? My problem? My problem is you,” said Kurt. His voice was louder than he intended.
“Is this because of this morning?” Puck asked, tilting his head to the side. “Because this morning…that was….don’t get your leopard tights in a twist.”
“A twist? I’d love to high kick you in the balls right now, but I want this solo more than I care about you,” Kurt said. His words ran together, and he was shaking a little.
This wasn’t the dumpster. This was his place, his room. Kurt was king here.
“I want to win just as fucking bad,” Puck said in protest. Kurt had clearly pissed him off. Which was just fine. Kurt was suddenly feeling invincible.
“Yeah, you want to win,” Kurt mocked. “You want to win so you can give Quinn Fabray fifty dollars to help pay for a baby that you’re not even raising. News flash-she wants to be with Finn. Not you.” He pushed aside any bad thoughts over that insult quickly, not allowing himself to care about Puck’s feelings. Puck was a jerk. “I don’t blame her; you’re just a Lima loser,” he finished with a huff, and went to sit at his desk. He pressed the button on his laptop, ignoring Puck.
“Fuck it,” Puck grunted after a couple seconds of silence. His footsteps were loud thuds on the carpet as he stomped towards the staircase. “We wouldn’t win anyway.”
Kurt tensed but tried to keep his focus on the screen.
“Rachel Berry is a better singer than you,” Puck said with that annoying smirk of his. “You’re the only one who doesn’t know you’re not that good.”
“Vacate the premises, trailer park,” was all Kurt said but he could feel the hot warmth of embarrassment coloring his face.
“Eight a.m., Hummel. There’ll be a dumpster waiting on your fairy ass,” said Puck in a sweet, fake voice.
Tomorrow was Wednesday. Kurt swallowed down a lump in his throat. He listened to Puck walk up the stairs and then heard his dad’s voice. What was his dad doing? Kurt panicked upon hearing his dad tell Puck goodbye and invite him over to watch a game one day. The horror!
Kurt just sighed and put his face in his hands. His dad liked Puck. That was…fabulous.
The way the two of them had been talking at dinner! Kurt and his dad never talked about things like that. They didn’t have things in common. Yes, Kurt joined the football team, but he didn’t like football. During dinner, he’d just sat there bemoaning the fact that his dad was enjoying the company of his bully. His fucking bully of all people! It was like some Shakespearean tragedy. Or like a comedy of errors in which his dad thought his boyfriend or could-be boyfriend was a jackass named Puck.
What’s worse was the fact that Kurt found himself a little-a very little-okay with his dad believing the mistake. With believing that Kurt was cool enough to land a guy on the football team, a guy his dad liked, a jock…but the truth was he wasn’t. He couldn’t have Puck (ew!) or Finn or anyone.
He couldn’t even win a damn solo.
He was a gleek.
And gleeks got thrown in dumpsters.
“My dad thought….he thought-” Kurt held back the urge to vomit. It was just too gross. Puck, his boyfriend! That concept still made no sense. His brain just simply rejected it, and it was affecting his gag reflex.
“He thought Puck was my boyfriend and invited him over for dinner. He sat at my dinner table. I’ll need to disinfect it.”
There was a loud round of giggles on the other end of the phone, and Kurt took the cellphone away from his ear to glare at it. With an annoyed sigh, he lifted the phone back up. Mercedes was still laughing her ass off.
“It’s not funny.”
“Oh, it is. It is,” Mercedes said through cracks of laughter. “In fact, it’s hysterical. Puck and Kurt. McKinley’s new couple…I’m sorry. So what song you doing?”
“Oh,” Kurt said. “We didn’t really practice so much as fight, and he left.”
“Lover’s tiff?”
“Mercedes. Please.” Kurt groaned. How horrifying! He needed a new friend.
“Sorry, baby, I can’t help it. It’s too golden,” Mercedes said. She wanted to laugh again; Kurt could hear it in her voice. He didn’t think it was that funny. He didn’t think it was funny at all. “So, you guys have nothing?”
“We have nothing,” Kurt confirmed with a sour face. He still wanted to win, but what was he supposed to do? He and Puck just didn’t get along.
“Kurt, you could call Puck,” Mercedes suggested with a sigh.
“Absolutely not.” Kurt shook his head. He was not calling Puck.
“Kurt. You call Puck right now.”
“I will not. He insulted my singing skills. He practically called me fat.”
“Kurt Hummel, you listen to me and you listen to me good,” Mercedes said loudly into the phone. “We are Team Divalicious. You pick up that phone and you call that mohawking, pool-cleanin’ Puckerman and start practicin’ your ass off! Because why?”
“That’s what divas do,” Kurt said unconvinced.
“That’s right, baby. That’s what divas do!” Mercedes repeated, and Kurt stood up and nodded his head triumphantly.
Yes, that’s what divas did-awesome shit! And they won solos! And they looked better than everyone else while doing it!
Suddenly he remembered. He wasn’t just a gleek. He was a diva, damn it!
Puck peeled off his shirt and stood in his sweatpants, contemplating his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He tossed the smelly shirt-still ripe from his weightlifting session-into the overflowing clothes hamper. He was pissed because he felt like he’d wasted his time tonight. He was no closer to getting the money he needed for Quinn’s doctor bill, and he was mad at himself for that. He’d messed up his one shot of winning with Kurt, but he blamed Kurt for that mostly. What the hell was that kid’s problem? Puck didn’t know. He didn’t want to know.
He had messed things up pretty bad with Quinn, with Finn, and with everyone else. His life sucked, and he didn’t have anyone that cared. Quinn wasn’t talking to him. Finn wasn’t talking to him. Shit. He didn’t even have his best friend. What was he supposed to do, call Finn and complain that he had no money for the girl he knocked up? The girl Finn was dating at the time?
All evening, he had carried Kurt’s words around with him. He’d tried to block them out. In the back of his mind, though, they just kept eating at him.
The deadbeat dad. That was the exact person Puck didn’t want to be. He didn’t want to be like his father. That’s why he wanted the money in the first place. He wanted to show Quinn that he could help her, that he was taking some smidge of responsibility.
He couldn’t even do that. He couldn’t even get her fifty goddamn dollars.
Just then, his cellphone started buzzing on the counter. The number was unknown, and he didn’t bothering answering. He was so not in the mood to do anything except sulk in his own self-pity.
He had no idea what the hell he was going to do. He just knew he had to do something.
“Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?”
Puck watched in dismay as Kurt slammed closed the door of his locker and turned to look at him. Kurt looked mad. Madder than Puck had ever seen him-and he’d been throwing this kid in a dumpster for the past two years so that was saying something. Puck didn’t understand. He thought he’d done a decent thing, and he didn’t even do decent things. Like ever. What he’d done was slushie worthy. Hell, he wanted to slushie himself in face for it.
“Act like you’re some decent person. You’re not. You’re a jerk.” Kurt said, pushing past him.
Puck bit the inside of his mouth hard. He was catching shit from Kurt-fucking-Hummel. That was great. He glanced around the crowded hallway, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. People were still making their way to first period, and everyone would see him talking to Kurt if he went after him.
But he did it anyway.
“Hey!” Puck said, coming up beside Kurt and whispering loudly. “It’s because of me you didn’t end up in the dumpster this morning. You should be on the floor kissing my feet.”
It was true. Today was Wednesday. Kurt Hummel should’ve been picking rotten banana peel out of his hair. But he wasn’t, and Puck had been the one to stop those guys. He’d even threatened them a little when at first they refused. Kurt’s lack of appreciation was starting to piss him off, considering he’d laid his neck out on the line. And in high school, reputation was everything.
“Thank you for sparing yourself one day of bullying me?” Kurt rolled his eyes. “Puck. Can we please skip this bonding moment? You came over to my house last night. That doesn’t-”
“I couldn’t do it. You’re like a sad little half-orphan,” Puck said, gaze drifting towards the floor. Kurt stopped and turned to look at him. They were standing in the middle of the hallway. Other students had to walk around them, but Puck ignored the flow of the crowd. Kurt definitely didn’t believe him.
“What did you just say?” Puck was completely caught off guard when Kurt suddenly invaded his space. They were chest-to-chest, and Kurt’s face was flushed red. If Puck didn’t know any better, Kurt was about to punch him. Which would’ve been crazy because Kurt was half his size. Puck would kill him.
“Fuck you,” Kurt hissed. “You don’t know the first thing about my ‘sad little half-orphan’ life. Listen to me, Puck. I don’t care if you throw me in the dumpster or not.” Kurt took in a deep, shaky breath, clearly too emotional.
“You don’t care?” Puck could feel his anger rising.
“Don’t you get it? I don’t care if you think I’m a loser.” Kurt lifted his shoulders in a big shrug and shook his head. “I don’t care! Your fascination with making my life miserable is your issue not mine.”
Puck was speechless. Part of him wanted to just drag Kurt off to the dumpster and shut him up. He figured he’d feel better afterwards. But part of him knew Kurt was right. He liked making other people’s lives miserable, because he was miserable and no one seemed to give a shit.
“Your dad, he was all right to me. Okay?” Puck finally said after a moment. He was upset that he felt compelled to explain himself, but Kurt had gotten to him.
“Oh God.” Kurt sighed. He moved the shoulder bag full of books he was carrying from one shoulder to the other. “My dad wasn’t nice to you. He was nice because of me, okay? He thought you were…more than a friend. So just go back to being Puck now.”
“More than a friend?” Puck was apparently dim. He didn’t know what that meant.
“Yeah.” Kurt was pink now. Bright pink. Puck raised an eyebrow. “He thought you were my boy-” Kurt swallowed. He looked like he was going to vomit, and Puck looked at him in confusion. What the hell was wrong with this kid? “My boy-boyfriend.”
“Shit!” Puck exclaimed. What the hell?
“Believe me, my sentiments are yours.”
“God!” Seriously. What the hell? How did Kurt’s dad think Puck was gay? How did he think he was not just gay but dating a loser? What the hell?
“See! You can stop being nice to me. Dead mom and all.” Kurt patted him on the shoulder, and Puck grimaced. Burt thought Puck was Kurt’s boyfriend. Was that why he got invited for dinner? What the fuck? “Now I’d rather stop talking to you in public.” Kurt proceeded to walk off, but something hit Puck just then. He called out in a slight panic.
“Wait!” Puck quickly caught up down the hallway, and Kurt sighed in exasperation. “What about the fifty bucks?”
“Puck-”
“You’re a badass kicker, Hummel, and your singing ain’t so bad.”
“What-”
“I’m not a deadbeat dad,” Puck said, puffing his chest out. Last night he’d woken up from a dead sleep, and he made a promise to himself. He was going to do right by Quinn and their baby. He wasn’t going to end up like his dad. Quinn wasn’t going to end up like his mom with nothing but couple of kids and no money.
Kurt looked at the ground for a long moment-his expression almost regretful-and then glanced up with a small nod. “The baby daddy situation with you and Quinn and Finn…it’s none of my business.”
“Whatever, chick flick. I just want to win,” Puck said, shrugging his shoulders. He wasn’t in the mood for this shit. He needed to know if Kurt was going to help him or not.
Kurt said seriously. “I want that solo. It will solidify my entire existence, and steer my path into becoming the next Neil Patrick Harris.”
“Slightly over-dramatic, Doogie, but we finally something in common.”
“Good.”
At six o’clock, Kurt and his dad made it home from the shop, and there was a surprise waiting on their front steps. Well, it wasn’t so much a surprise this time, but it was still blood curdling.
“I thought you said you and he weren’t-” Burt Hummel shifted the truck into park.
“We aren’t,” Kurt quickly cut him off, and opened his door. “We’ve got a Glee thing to do. Not every boy is going to be a boyfriend, Dad. Okay?”
“No, I remember what you said. Kurt, I’m just getting used to all this…teenage stuff,” Burt said, nodding his head. “I’ll work on it.” Kurt patted his dad on the shoulder and slipped out of the passenger seat. He walked up the cobblestone walkway towards the front door, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black and white striped cardigan as he went. He stopped a few feet in front of where Puck was leaning back against the steps. Puck looked at him with that stupid, annoying smirk, and patted the guitar case sitting next to him.
“Having fun? Our neighbors are no doubt wondering who let the riff raft in,” Kurt said, rolling his eyes, but his tone wasn’t nearly as biting as usual.
“Once I clean their pools a few times they won’t think that,” Puck said with a grin.
Puck and Kurt had reached some semblance of a truce during lunch that day when they’d agreed to meet after school. Who knew how long this truce would last, but it seemed to be at least until the competition was over. They’d even sat together during lunch-shocking Mercedes and Tina enough to ambush him later that day and ask if Puck was holding him hostage. It wasn’t an ideal situation for either party (jocks didn’t eat lunch with gleeks), but they’d lost an entire day. They had made a list of songs and managed to come to an agreement on a selection before the one o’clock bell rang.
Kurt grimaced. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re just a figment of my imagination.” Puck and moms were two things Kurt did not want to think about ever.
“Hey!” Puck said, standing up. He grabbed his guitar case and flung the leather strap over his shoulder. “I come highly recommended. I’m a very thorough cleaner. Spit-shine and everything.”
“I taste vomit. Please stop,” Kurt said, wrapping his hands around his ears, starting to laugh.
“Puck,” Burt said, walking up unnoticed. Both boys spin to look at him with small smiles still left on their faces from the lewd joke.
“Mr. Hummel,” Puck said, smiling too sweetly. Kurt’s eyes widened, nostrils flaring. Oh, shit. He knew that look. That was the look Puck gave Mr. Schuester. That was the look Puck had given his dad yesterday. That was the exact look Puck had when he-
Kurt turned a bright shade of pink when Puck tossed an arm around his shoulder, pulling their bodies close together until there was no space left between them. He hated Puck.
“I’m glad you don’t mind me coming over again. Kurt and I are just working on, you know, teenage things. It may take all night,” Puck said. He grinned even wider, clearly enjoying himself.
“Oh.” Burt was a deer caught in headlights. He shook his head and walked around the two of them into the house.“I guess I’ll get dinner.”
“I love Mexican, Mr. Hummel,” Puck said with a reassuring nod. Kurt wanted to die.
“Right. Kurt likes tacos.” Burt said slowly. Once he disappeared into the house, Puck’s shoulders started shake.
Kurt groaned at the sound of laughter, and elbowed him in the side. “You bastard,” he said, stepping from under the reach of Puck’s arm.
“Parents are so easy. ”
“You’ve just ruined all my work. Now he thinks….you! You ruin everything.” Kurt wanted to gag. It was bad enough the first time.
“Oh, whatever,” Puck said. “Your dad knows you’re scraping the bottom of the barrel.” Kurt rolled his eyes with a scoff. This was the most bizarre conversation, but he couldn’t let Puck stand there giving him that jackass half-smirk of his.
Kurt walked through the front door. “Don’t worry, Puck, you’re last on my list of potential suitors. My dad’s just new to this whole raising a gay, hormonal teenager thing.”
“Last on the list?” Puck’s ego was showing.
“No.” The other boy nodded like that was expected, like he knew he was on everyone’s list and never considered it being any other way. “You’re not even on my list. Your hair alone is reason enough.”
“What’s wrong with my hair?” Puck asked, taken aback.
Kurt just laughed. “If we’re getting into that, we might as well kiss our chances of winning goodbye because that enlightening conversation would take all night.”
“Whatever,” Puck snapped sharply. Kurt smiled, pleased with himself, as he watched Puck walked past him running a contemplating hand over his ridiculous mohawk.
“Ready?”
“I guess as ready as we’re going to be,” Kurt muttered under his breath to Puck when Mr. Schuester looked in their direction.
“Then show us whatcha got,” Mr. Schuester said, gesturing to the open “stage” in front of the rafters.
Kurt took a deep breath and stood up. It was showtime. He walked over to one of the two stools arranged in the middle of the room. Crossing one leg primly over the other, he waited for Puck to join him on the other stool.
“All right, Puck. Don’t fuck this up for me.”
“Just try not to suck, Hummel,” Puck said without any venom and lifted the guitar strap over his head. Kurt half-smiled at him and nodded. They’d practiced all night and this morning. Their song wasn’t perfect, but it was decent.
Kurt took in a large breath when Puck strummed the opening bars of the song. He could see Mercedes smile at him-the song instantly recognizable to everyone in the room. When he opened his mouth to sing, Kurt closed his eyes.
Their song-"Somewhere Over The Rainbow"-seemed wildly appropriate if by the time Kurt belted out the last note Mr. Schuester handed him his very first solo. Kurt had been surprised to find Puck willing to indulge him, but he’d asked because it was his favorite song to sing as a kid. It practically defined him. He’d always loved to pretend to be Dorothy, to be swept away to a far off land where anything was possible, where the gleek got the guy, where the gleek got everything he’d always wanted. But Puck had agreed quickly. Apparently, the song was a dream to play on guitar or something. Or maybe Puck had dreams too. Maybe.
Kurt was grateful either way for Puck’s enthusiasm now that his time to perform had come. Suddenly, he was on a stage in an auditorium full of people, and they were all breathlessly hanging on each whimsy-filled note of longing and dreams. His voice swelled, dipped, turned, and pulled over the gentle strumming of Puck’s playing. He imagined he had everyone in the palm of his hand, and he knew-like he always knew-that the spotlight made him more of who he needed to be. Of who he wanted to be.
More Kurt.
Being Kurt, being a gleek or a diva, or being a loser getting tossed in a dumpster was okay with him. It didn’t matter who he was when he was on stage. It didn’t matter if he was the kid in the dumpster or the popular jock.
As long as he was Kurt, he was okay.
“I swear, if she wasn’t so hot I’d be pissed at that Rachel kid winning everything,” Puck said, letting the heavy double-door fall against Kurt’s hand. They walked out of the school together that day-an odd sight if anyone had been around to notice.
“Come on, Puck, she was practically tear-inducing today.” Kurt was trying to cheer himself up. Rachel had been amazing, and there was no denying that. He looked over at Puck and smiled. “You’ll get your money.”
“Nah.” Puck waved him off, and Kurt raised an eyebrow surprised. Wasn’t money the entire reason Puck had made his life miserable the past two days? “I’m not worried. I mean I’m gonna find a way to help Quinn, but fifty bucks wasn’t going to do it.”
“You could try talking to Finn. He could use a friend, and not one that’s trying to steal his girl.”
“I’m not trying to steal-”
“You should apologize,” Kurt said bluntly. “But for real this time, and for everything.”
Puck didn’t say anything, but Kurt could tell he was thinking it over. After two days with Puck, Kurt had realized a few things. Puck was an asshole. He said rude things, and he wasn’t that smart. He had bad hair, and his teasing was never going to end because it amused him more than anyone else. More than anything, though, Kurt realized Puck was lonely. Really lonely and kind of tortured. He didn’t have any friends after Quinn or Finn, and in his own warped, half-assed way, Puck was trying to make it up to them both. Kurt was actually toying with the idea of talking to Finn about Puck, but now he wasn’t sure if it was his place. If anything, Kurt understood better why Puck did the things he did.
Kurt had just started walking towards his SUV, when a voice behind them shouted both their names.
“It was nice to see you both up there. Good job on the vocals, Kurt. I think you’re really starting to come into your own,” Mr. Schuester said, slinging his suit jacket over his arm and pulling a pair of shades down over his eyes.
“Thank you, Mr. Schue…but we lost.” Kurt was beaming. He appreciated compliments at anytime, but it was gratifying to here this from Mr. Schuester.
“Yes, you did, but I thought your rendition was great. Could have used a little more polish, though. With a little more practice I really think it could be awesome. Definitely something to keep on our list for Regionals. The set-list goes to six, you know.”
“Wait.” Kurt’s eyes lit up. His heart swelled. Puck looked slightly confused (which was expected because Puck was dim). “Are you saying-”
“I’m saying, perhaps you both can find a better use for your mornings. Regionals is only a few weeks away. I want your song perfect by then.”
“A solo!” Kurt shouted in pure joy. It was a dream come true. The first step on his walk to fame because soon his name would be in lights on Broadway.
“Um, a duet, Kurt,” Mr. Schuester said. He patted him on the shoulder and walked off.
“Can you believe it! A solo!” Kurt looked at Puck with his mouth wide in a grin. He couldn’t wait to call Mercedes.
“A duet, Hummel. I’ll be there too.”
“Right, whatever. I can easily edit you out of the video later.”
After a couple seconds, Puck’s words interrupted Kurt’s thoughts. In that split-second, he was already planning costumes. “I guess…I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Tomorrow’s Friday, though,” Kurt was confused. Maybe he’d been wrong to think their truce was going to continue.
“For practice, assmunch.” Puck shook his head, but he smirked afterwards.
“Oh, right,” Kurt said slowly. Something about this was weird, and apparently, Puck agreed because they both looked at each other for a few moments in silence before turning to leave.
“Fuck. Wait!” Puck said. Kurt spun on his heel. A thought had just occurred to him, too. “Did I just get taught a lesson?”
“Definitely. This has after-school special written all over it.” They both turned just in time to see Mr. Schuester, who was waving at them as he drove by exiting the parking lot.
Inspiration: “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” - Acoustical arrangement
About the fic you request:
Rating(s) requested (G-NC-17): prefer PG-NC17
Character(s) or pairing(s): Kurt/Puck
Prompts (minimum of 3, no maximum!):
1. Kurt finally gets a glee club solo
2. Puck and Kurt have become pseudo friends after babygate & sectionals, but Kurt is interested in more
3. When their relationship develops, Artie makes a sarcastic joke that releaves the suprise glee club experiences
Things you DON’T want in your story (squicks, triggers, genres you dislike, characters you hate, etc.): No crossdressing, no threesome with Finn