V-DAY EXCHANGE FIC! MILFs Don't Love Candy Hearts, for eldee
Title: MILFs Don't Love Candy Hearts
Rating: G.
Pairings/Characters: Puck/Kurt
Warnings: Fluffy love?
Word count: 1,219
Recipient: eldee
Disclaimer: Don’t own the people, just the writing :P
Summary: “Milf’s don’t love candy hearts.’ he thought, ‘Milf’s don’t let you wrap your arm around their shoulder in public. Milf’s don’t take you on picnics.’
Puck much prefers Kurt to any MILF he’s ever had. “
A/N: It’s SO short, like just over the minimum, but I didn’t see any point in dragging things out for the sake of it. I hope you like it, eldee!
Noah Puckerman loves MILF’s. This much is pure fact. They’re classy, they’re mature and they damn sure know how to please a man. But then there’s...him. He may not have a killer rack or daisy dukes (even though Noah is fairly sure he spotted some near the back of his walk-in wardrobe,), Puck thinks with a decent amount of security that this is why he fell for Kurt Hummel.
As he walked into the changing rooms, wiping the sheen off his forehead with his hand towel and peeling his shirt off. They were, as ever, garishly decorated in red and black, the pungent scent of teenage boys- sweat and frustrated sexual energy- rising to the rafter. He found himself taken aback when he spotted Kurt sat, grinning to himself and legs crossed in a way that was more than a little feminine, on the team bench. He was wearing a long black sweater, all smooth and downy like his little sister’s hair when she was small, and black denims that make his ass look sort of amazing. Kurt flicks his bangs out of his eyes; Puck lets a grin pull up one side of his mouth.
“Hey,”
“Hey,”
Puck realises he’s shirtless still- and it’s somewhat limiting Kurt’s vocabulary- so he reaches into his track bag and tugs on an Ohio State sweatshirt. When he looks back, Kurt staring up at him with a look of wide-eyed expectance.
“So...?”
Puck raised his eyebrow in that nonchalant, disinterested way that took him a year of practising in his bedroom mirror. He was met with the distinct feeling that he was forgetting something (6 years of dating frustrating, PMS-ey teenage girls had taught him that much,) but for the life of him, he had no idea just what that feeling might be. Kurt grinned, looked at the ground and shook his head, sighing.
“It’s the 14th, dummy.” He snorted. Surely, Kurt thought, no one is that oblivious to the world around them. Then again, his subconscious added as an afterthought, this was Puck.
“Valentines?!” Kurt gasp, flinging himself down across the bench in mock despair. He closed his eyes and let a grin slide across his face. Of course he’d forgotten; Kurt hadn’t expected anything more.
This is exactly why you never send a guy in to do a woman’s job.
*
The blindfold over Puck’s eyes was slick, silky and black- he figured Kurt even gave spy-wear a glamorous tint. He could feel his long, spidery hands clamped around his shoulders and even through 3 layers- his shirt, his jacket, and Kurt’s oh-so-chic cut of gloves- he could feel that electronic jolt, a tiny little tingling sensation when someone you love puts their hands close. Kurt yanks the slippery blindfold off and it traces down Puck’s face, fluttering. He blinks.
Underneath the yellow, sweltering stage lights, a blanket is laid out, red and white plaid, and a brown woven basket sits gentle on top of it. Puck favourites; doughnut holes, pudding cups, chocolate in varying sizes and forms. Puck hears Kurt chuckle behind him, and feels his hand- gently moisturised as always- slide into his own. Kurt does an odd sort of pirouette underneath Puck’s arm and yanks at his hand, pulling his boyfriend further toward the treat laid out for him.
“Are you effing with me?” Puck breathed, running one in hand awe filled amazement through the three or four days stubble he’d let build up. A snorting snigger filled the room.
“Well, I knew you weren’t going to remember, so I took it into my own hands,” He tugged his sleeve down over his palm and grasped Puck’s hand just a little bit tighter; Puck tugs and they both end up sprawled in a giggling mess across the glossy stage floor. The dull background noise behind them of kids leaving chess team and football practise fades away, and they are alone, at last.
*
Kurt, being the smaller of the two by a long shot, curls up into the nook underneath Puck’s shoulder as they finish their meal. In the back of his mind, Puck is aware that they’re lying on the school stage, and he has his sleeved rolled up to the elbow and wrapped around a guy. But, the more conscious part of his brain reasons, it’s two hours after school let out and hey, even if someone did say something, he could always beat them up. Deep breath, he thinks. Just say it, you huge loser. Just give it to him.
“Hey Kurt,” he starts, but they’ve been lay in comfortable peace for so long, they catch in his throat and make his voice squeak like back when he was 12. “Kurt?” he tries again, and this time Kurt shifts and rolls over.
“Hmm?” He mumbled. Puck tugged at the inside of his bottom lip, casting his eyes down. Kurt rolled his so far in the back of his head it looks like they were going to flip straight over. “What!?” he laughed, punching Puck weakly in the arm and hunching himself up on his elbows. Puck dug his hands into his pockets and flopped down onto his back.
“I got your something.” Kurt thought his mouth was about to drop off of the end of his face. Not that Puck wasn’t a lovely boyfriend, always chivalrous and usually sweet (not that he’d risk anyone other than Kurt knowing that,), but being the aware, on the ball half of the relationship had never fallen on Puck’s shoulders. For what felt like the millionth time that day, a smile found its way onto Kurt’s face.
“And what might that be?” he enquired; from where he could see, there were no car key, diamond chain or Alexander McQueen embroidered blazer shaped boxes lying casually around the room.
“It’s....it’s nothing good, really. I mean, I just picked them up, like, I know you like them and I...” he stumbled to a stop. With an encouraging smile from Kurt, he leant back onto his shoulders and dug around in the base of his pocket, grunting with the effort and when he pulled back he hand, clasped like a pearl in the middle of his hand was a pack of broken, powdered candy love heart, the ones with messages that make Kurt’s heart melt. Puck looked distraught.
“I just...they weren’t...fuck.” He spat angrily, looking at the dust, the broken sweets in the dip of his hand. Kurt leans over, picks one of the bigger chunks up with his spindly fingers, and placed it in his mouth.
“Absolutely delicious,” he smiled, throwing his arm around Puck and pressing their lips together. “Now, what’re you getting me for Easter,” he mumbled mid-make out, but Puck rolled them both over and laughed. ‘Milf’s don’t love candy hearts.’ he thought, ‘Milf’s don’t let you wrap your arm around their shoulder in public. Milf’s don’t take you on picnics.’
Puck much prefers Kurt to any MILF he’s ever had.
Rating(s) requested (G-NC-17): G - R
Character(s) or pairing(s): Kurt/Puck, Puck/Rachel, Rachel/Finn
Prompts (minimum of 3, no maximum!):
1. Kurt/Puck - an unexpected Valentine's Day date. (Bonus points for candy hearts and kisses!)
2. Puck/Rachel - a second chance at romance. But it doesn't go off quite as well as previously expected. (But a happy ending, please.)
3. Rachel/Finn - in the aftermath of the real Baby Daddy being revealed, Finn is ready to move on. He makes a grand gesture by asking Rachel out for Valentine's day.
Things you DON’T want in your story (squicks, triggers, genres you dislike, characters you hate, etc.):
incest, teacher/student relationships (or any of age/minors). I’m not completely comfortable with graphic descriptions of underage teens having sex - though, implied is totally fine, as it is a canon part of this fandom. Not a huge fan of excessive/unrealistic fluff. Nothing kinky, please
Rating: G.
Pairings/Characters: Puck/Kurt
Warnings: Fluffy love?
Word count: 1,219
Recipient: eldee
Disclaimer: Don’t own the people, just the writing :P
Summary: “Milf’s don’t love candy hearts.’ he thought, ‘Milf’s don’t let you wrap your arm around their shoulder in public. Milf’s don’t take you on picnics.’
Puck much prefers Kurt to any MILF he’s ever had. “
A/N: It’s SO short, like just over the minimum, but I didn’t see any point in dragging things out for the sake of it. I hope you like it, eldee!
Noah Puckerman loves MILF’s. This much is pure fact. They’re classy, they’re mature and they damn sure know how to please a man. But then there’s...him. He may not have a killer rack or daisy dukes (even though Noah is fairly sure he spotted some near the back of his walk-in wardrobe,), Puck thinks with a decent amount of security that this is why he fell for Kurt Hummel.
As he walked into the changing rooms, wiping the sheen off his forehead with his hand towel and peeling his shirt off. They were, as ever, garishly decorated in red and black, the pungent scent of teenage boys- sweat and frustrated sexual energy- rising to the rafter. He found himself taken aback when he spotted Kurt sat, grinning to himself and legs crossed in a way that was more than a little feminine, on the team bench. He was wearing a long black sweater, all smooth and downy like his little sister’s hair when she was small, and black denims that make his ass look sort of amazing. Kurt flicks his bangs out of his eyes; Puck lets a grin pull up one side of his mouth.
“Hey,”
“Hey,”
Puck realises he’s shirtless still- and it’s somewhat limiting Kurt’s vocabulary- so he reaches into his track bag and tugs on an Ohio State sweatshirt. When he looks back, Kurt staring up at him with a look of wide-eyed expectance.
“So...?”
Puck raised his eyebrow in that nonchalant, disinterested way that took him a year of practising in his bedroom mirror. He was met with the distinct feeling that he was forgetting something (6 years of dating frustrating, PMS-ey teenage girls had taught him that much,) but for the life of him, he had no idea just what that feeling might be. Kurt grinned, looked at the ground and shook his head, sighing.
“It’s the 14th, dummy.” He snorted. Surely, Kurt thought, no one is that oblivious to the world around them. Then again, his subconscious added as an afterthought, this was Puck.
“Valentines?!” Kurt gasp, flinging himself down across the bench in mock despair. He closed his eyes and let a grin slide across his face. Of course he’d forgotten; Kurt hadn’t expected anything more.
This is exactly why you never send a guy in to do a woman’s job.
*
The blindfold over Puck’s eyes was slick, silky and black- he figured Kurt even gave spy-wear a glamorous tint. He could feel his long, spidery hands clamped around his shoulders and even through 3 layers- his shirt, his jacket, and Kurt’s oh-so-chic cut of gloves- he could feel that electronic jolt, a tiny little tingling sensation when someone you love puts their hands close. Kurt yanks the slippery blindfold off and it traces down Puck’s face, fluttering. He blinks.
Underneath the yellow, sweltering stage lights, a blanket is laid out, red and white plaid, and a brown woven basket sits gentle on top of it. Puck favourites; doughnut holes, pudding cups, chocolate in varying sizes and forms. Puck hears Kurt chuckle behind him, and feels his hand- gently moisturised as always- slide into his own. Kurt does an odd sort of pirouette underneath Puck’s arm and yanks at his hand, pulling his boyfriend further toward the treat laid out for him.
“Are you effing with me?” Puck breathed, running one in hand awe filled amazement through the three or four days stubble he’d let build up. A snorting snigger filled the room.
“Well, I knew you weren’t going to remember, so I took it into my own hands,” He tugged his sleeve down over his palm and grasped Puck’s hand just a little bit tighter; Puck tugs and they both end up sprawled in a giggling mess across the glossy stage floor. The dull background noise behind them of kids leaving chess team and football practise fades away, and they are alone, at last.
*
Kurt, being the smaller of the two by a long shot, curls up into the nook underneath Puck’s shoulder as they finish their meal. In the back of his mind, Puck is aware that they’re lying on the school stage, and he has his sleeved rolled up to the elbow and wrapped around a guy. But, the more conscious part of his brain reasons, it’s two hours after school let out and hey, even if someone did say something, he could always beat them up. Deep breath, he thinks. Just say it, you huge loser. Just give it to him.
“Hey Kurt,” he starts, but they’ve been lay in comfortable peace for so long, they catch in his throat and make his voice squeak like back when he was 12. “Kurt?” he tries again, and this time Kurt shifts and rolls over.
“Hmm?” He mumbled. Puck tugged at the inside of his bottom lip, casting his eyes down. Kurt rolled his so far in the back of his head it looks like they were going to flip straight over. “What!?” he laughed, punching Puck weakly in the arm and hunching himself up on his elbows. Puck dug his hands into his pockets and flopped down onto his back.
“I got your something.” Kurt thought his mouth was about to drop off of the end of his face. Not that Puck wasn’t a lovely boyfriend, always chivalrous and usually sweet (not that he’d risk anyone other than Kurt knowing that,), but being the aware, on the ball half of the relationship had never fallen on Puck’s shoulders. For what felt like the millionth time that day, a smile found its way onto Kurt’s face.
“And what might that be?” he enquired; from where he could see, there were no car key, diamond chain or Alexander McQueen embroidered blazer shaped boxes lying casually around the room.
“It’s....it’s nothing good, really. I mean, I just picked them up, like, I know you like them and I...” he stumbled to a stop. With an encouraging smile from Kurt, he leant back onto his shoulders and dug around in the base of his pocket, grunting with the effort and when he pulled back he hand, clasped like a pearl in the middle of his hand was a pack of broken, powdered candy love heart, the ones with messages that make Kurt’s heart melt. Puck looked distraught.
“I just...they weren’t...fuck.” He spat angrily, looking at the dust, the broken sweets in the dip of his hand. Kurt leans over, picks one of the bigger chunks up with his spindly fingers, and placed it in his mouth.
“Absolutely delicious,” he smiled, throwing his arm around Puck and pressing their lips together. “Now, what’re you getting me for Easter,” he mumbled mid-make out, but Puck rolled them both over and laughed. ‘Milf’s don’t love candy hearts.’ he thought, ‘Milf’s don’t let you wrap your arm around their shoulder in public. Milf’s don’t take you on picnics.’
Puck much prefers Kurt to any MILF he’s ever had.
Rating(s) requested (G-NC-17): G - R
Character(s) or pairing(s): Kurt/Puck, Puck/Rachel, Rachel/Finn
Prompts (minimum of 3, no maximum!):
1. Kurt/Puck - an unexpected Valentine's Day date. (Bonus points for candy hearts and kisses!)
2. Puck/Rachel - a second chance at romance. But it doesn't go off quite as well as previously expected. (But a happy ending, please.)
3. Rachel/Finn - in the aftermath of the real Baby Daddy being revealed, Finn is ready to move on. He makes a grand gesture by asking Rachel out for Valentine's day.
Things you DON’T want in your story (squicks, triggers, genres you dislike, characters you hate, etc.):
incest, teacher/student relationships (or any of age/minors). I’m not completely comfortable with graphic descriptions of underage teens having sex - though, implied is totally fine, as it is a canon part of this fandom. Not a huge fan of excessive/unrealistic fluff. Nothing kinky, please