(no subject)
Title: Puck Grows A Trustache (Prologue)
Author: horroramor
Pairing: Puck/Artie
Rating:PG-13 for swearing
Summary: Puck goes to great lengths to impress Artie's parents.
Disclaimer:Don't know, don't own, don't sue.
Author Notes: So, uh, this started out as a crackfic, but ended up fairly serious. How embarassing! =P
The whole damn mess started thusly; a tense Abrams family dinner with my father seated at the head of the table, my mother on the right, myself on the left and Noah seated directly across from my dad, who stared at Noah with a sort of stern judgment on his face. My mother looked just as skeptical, stealing furtive glances at Puck's informal clothing every now and again.
“So.” my father said shortly. “You play football, Noah?”
I recognized that expression, I would recognize it anywhere, the face of my father reminiscing on his high school days, steeped in terror and tyranny at the hands of his own high school's football team. He looked over Noah's muscular, athletic body with disdain, probably reminded of his own brawny high school tormentor.
Puck cleared his throat, and glanced over at me, looking nervous. I tried my best to smile reassuringly when in actuality I was probably more nervous than him.
“Yes, sir.”
“That's nice.”
“Yes.”
My father took a very deliberate sip of wine. Noah poked at his broccoli and I dropped him head into my hands and wished the hands on our Doctor Who clock would move faster.
Later that night, Noah and I curled up on my bed watching eighties movies on cable, I tried my best to not think about the night as a whole, but revel in the feeling of being next to Noah.
“So, your parents hate me.” he said, twisting a strand of my hair between his fingers.
I turned over, burying my face in the curve between his neck and his shoulders.
“We just need to find a way to get them to trust you. I mean, let's admit it, we didn't exactly meet on friendly terms.”
At this, he cringed. “Look, I've already told you I'm sorr-”
“I know.” I interrupted. “And I forgive you. I just wonder sometimes why you like me in the first place, I mean, I'm kind of damaged goods.” I gestured at my legs, entwined with Noah's on the bed.
He frowned. “Stop that. You know I don’t care about that. I guess it's because...”
He thought for a moment.
“...Because of that time on the bus when the girls and Kurt were reading shitty celebrity magazines, and you were reading Fangoria.”
I laughed. “That's a pretty stupid reason.”
Puck batted my head.
“Shut up. Why do you like me, then?”
As a matter of fact, I knew the exact moment when I fell in love with Noah, but I wasn't about to tell him so.
A few months ago, Mr. Schuester sent Noah and I to the grocery store to pick up some snacks because the rehearsal was running later than usual. At that point I felt only a mild dislike for Noah. I could tolerate him, and I'm sure he felt the same way about me. While we were in the checkout line with our food, a red-haired woman in shabby sweatpants was standing in line behind us, struggling with five or six red-haired children. Puck (I was still calling him Puck at this point) took one look at the anxious mother and her small, thin children, reached into his wallet and pulled out way more money than was necessary for our items alone, and whispered something to the cashier, who stared at him for a moment, then took the cash and rung up our items. Puck hastily took the bags and took off as quickly as possible, motioning for me to hurry up. I looked back at the red-haired woman, who was staring at the cashier in disbelief, and the cashier who was bagging the woman's items, and realized that Puck had just paid for all of her groceries.
Of course, I could never tell Noah any of that, so I simply shrugged and said “You have a big dick.”
Noah laughed.
“So,” sighed. “Trust. We have to make you more trustworthy so my parents will like you. Who’s trustworthy? Let’s see, policemen, firemen, we trust them with our lives, right?”
Noah laughed. “I think we’re working in the wrong direction.”
“You’re right.”
I leaned away from him so I could grab a bag of Doritos from my nightstand. Munching on a chip I said “Ugh, I don’t even want to think about this anymore. Can we change the channel?” I reached for the remote but Noah snatched it away from me.
“What the hell, Noah?” I complained. “I didn’t know you were dead set on watching-” I glanced at the TV guide. “-Three Men and a Baby”.
But Noah wasn’t listening. He was staring numbly at the screen, where Tom Selleck was talking to Steve Guttenberg.
I waved my hand in front of his face. “Hello? Noah?”
“A moustache.”
I blanked. “A what?”
“Policemen, firemen, what do they all have?” he asked, grabbing both my arms with both his hands, an odd look in his eyes.
“Um, first aid training?”
“No! Moustaches! Look at Tom Selleck.”
I looked.
“Yeah?”
“Some chick trusted him to take care of her baby, how much more trustworthy can you get?”
“Noah, it’s just a movie-“
“No! It’s not just a movie!” He was sitting up now, wildly gesticulating with his hands. “She trusted him because he has a moustache.”
“Noah, you sound like a crazy person.”
“If I grow a moustache, I’ll look more grown up and your parents will like me.”
“Or they’ll think ‘Why are we letting our son hang out with this pedophile?’”
“You don’t get it, Artie. This is going to work. A moustache to make me look more trustworthy. A trustache, if you will.”
I felt like slapping him. As much as I adored Noah, he could sound like such a moron sometimes.
“Noah, sweetie, you sound like a moron.”
He just shook his head, smiling at me in a rather patronizing way. “Don’t worry about it, babe. Trust the moustache. Trustache.”
I groaned. “Must you use that word?”
“Yes, I must.”
Two weeks later, Noah was away on a football trip, and I was sitting in the cafeteria with Kurt, having forgotten entirely about the moustache conversation. Noah was due back today.
“Shouldn’t you be giddy with happiness?” asked Kurt, filing his nails with a purple emery board. I gave him a look.
“I’m not a very emotional person.”
He laughed. “Except when you’re watching ‘The Fox and the Hound’.”
I rolled my eyes. “God, that was one time.”
“You cried!”
“I did not!”
“Did too!”
“Okay, one tear escaped. That’s nothing compared to you, sobbing like you were in a Mexican soap opera. So you really shouldn’t be talking, KURT ANDREW HUMMEL.”
“DON’T YOU FULL-NAME ME, ARTHUR BENJAMIN ABRA-“
He stopped short, staring at something behind me, the colour draining from his face.
“Hi guys.” A deep, familiar voice. I craned my neck to get a better look at him.
The whole thing played out like a movie in my mind. I pictured the entire cafeteria staring in horror, food dropping out of slack jaws, forks clattering to the ground. I pictured silence, but for Kurt’s falsetto scream in the background. I pictured Noah bowing his head in shame, and bolting out the door, running home the shave the dreadful thing off his face. I pictured Noah returning, clean-shaven, and a romantic kiss silhouetted against a fiery sunset.
Of course, none of those things happened, and Noah simply sat down and stole a handful of fries off my plate.
I stared at him, and he stared right back almost defiantly.
After a few seconds, Kurt burst out laughing.
Author: horroramor
Pairing: Puck/Artie
Rating:PG-13 for swearing
Summary: Puck goes to great lengths to impress Artie's parents.
Disclaimer:Don't know, don't own, don't sue.
Author Notes: So, uh, this started out as a crackfic, but ended up fairly serious. How embarassing! =P
The whole damn mess started thusly; a tense Abrams family dinner with my father seated at the head of the table, my mother on the right, myself on the left and Noah seated directly across from my dad, who stared at Noah with a sort of stern judgment on his face. My mother looked just as skeptical, stealing furtive glances at Puck's informal clothing every now and again.
“So.” my father said shortly. “You play football, Noah?”
I recognized that expression, I would recognize it anywhere, the face of my father reminiscing on his high school days, steeped in terror and tyranny at the hands of his own high school's football team. He looked over Noah's muscular, athletic body with disdain, probably reminded of his own brawny high school tormentor.
Puck cleared his throat, and glanced over at me, looking nervous. I tried my best to smile reassuringly when in actuality I was probably more nervous than him.
“Yes, sir.”
“That's nice.”
“Yes.”
My father took a very deliberate sip of wine. Noah poked at his broccoli and I dropped him head into my hands and wished the hands on our Doctor Who clock would move faster.
Later that night, Noah and I curled up on my bed watching eighties movies on cable, I tried my best to not think about the night as a whole, but revel in the feeling of being next to Noah.
“So, your parents hate me.” he said, twisting a strand of my hair between his fingers.
I turned over, burying my face in the curve between his neck and his shoulders.
“We just need to find a way to get them to trust you. I mean, let's admit it, we didn't exactly meet on friendly terms.”
At this, he cringed. “Look, I've already told you I'm sorr-”
“I know.” I interrupted. “And I forgive you. I just wonder sometimes why you like me in the first place, I mean, I'm kind of damaged goods.” I gestured at my legs, entwined with Noah's on the bed.
He frowned. “Stop that. You know I don’t care about that. I guess it's because...”
He thought for a moment.
“...Because of that time on the bus when the girls and Kurt were reading shitty celebrity magazines, and you were reading Fangoria.”
I laughed. “That's a pretty stupid reason.”
Puck batted my head.
“Shut up. Why do you like me, then?”
As a matter of fact, I knew the exact moment when I fell in love with Noah, but I wasn't about to tell him so.
A few months ago, Mr. Schuester sent Noah and I to the grocery store to pick up some snacks because the rehearsal was running later than usual. At that point I felt only a mild dislike for Noah. I could tolerate him, and I'm sure he felt the same way about me. While we were in the checkout line with our food, a red-haired woman in shabby sweatpants was standing in line behind us, struggling with five or six red-haired children. Puck (I was still calling him Puck at this point) took one look at the anxious mother and her small, thin children, reached into his wallet and pulled out way more money than was necessary for our items alone, and whispered something to the cashier, who stared at him for a moment, then took the cash and rung up our items. Puck hastily took the bags and took off as quickly as possible, motioning for me to hurry up. I looked back at the red-haired woman, who was staring at the cashier in disbelief, and the cashier who was bagging the woman's items, and realized that Puck had just paid for all of her groceries.
Of course, I could never tell Noah any of that, so I simply shrugged and said “You have a big dick.”
Noah laughed.
“So,” sighed. “Trust. We have to make you more trustworthy so my parents will like you. Who’s trustworthy? Let’s see, policemen, firemen, we trust them with our lives, right?”
Noah laughed. “I think we’re working in the wrong direction.”
“You’re right.”
I leaned away from him so I could grab a bag of Doritos from my nightstand. Munching on a chip I said “Ugh, I don’t even want to think about this anymore. Can we change the channel?” I reached for the remote but Noah snatched it away from me.
“What the hell, Noah?” I complained. “I didn’t know you were dead set on watching-” I glanced at the TV guide. “-Three Men and a Baby”.
But Noah wasn’t listening. He was staring numbly at the screen, where Tom Selleck was talking to Steve Guttenberg.
I waved my hand in front of his face. “Hello? Noah?”
“A moustache.”
I blanked. “A what?”
“Policemen, firemen, what do they all have?” he asked, grabbing both my arms with both his hands, an odd look in his eyes.
“Um, first aid training?”
“No! Moustaches! Look at Tom Selleck.”
I looked.
“Yeah?”
“Some chick trusted him to take care of her baby, how much more trustworthy can you get?”
“Noah, it’s just a movie-“
“No! It’s not just a movie!” He was sitting up now, wildly gesticulating with his hands. “She trusted him because he has a moustache.”
“Noah, you sound like a crazy person.”
“If I grow a moustache, I’ll look more grown up and your parents will like me.”
“Or they’ll think ‘Why are we letting our son hang out with this pedophile?’”
“You don’t get it, Artie. This is going to work. A moustache to make me look more trustworthy. A trustache, if you will.”
I felt like slapping him. As much as I adored Noah, he could sound like such a moron sometimes.
“Noah, sweetie, you sound like a moron.”
He just shook his head, smiling at me in a rather patronizing way. “Don’t worry about it, babe. Trust the moustache. Trustache.”
I groaned. “Must you use that word?”
“Yes, I must.”
Two weeks later, Noah was away on a football trip, and I was sitting in the cafeteria with Kurt, having forgotten entirely about the moustache conversation. Noah was due back today.
“Shouldn’t you be giddy with happiness?” asked Kurt, filing his nails with a purple emery board. I gave him a look.
“I’m not a very emotional person.”
He laughed. “Except when you’re watching ‘The Fox and the Hound’.”
I rolled my eyes. “God, that was one time.”
“You cried!”
“I did not!”
“Did too!”
“Okay, one tear escaped. That’s nothing compared to you, sobbing like you were in a Mexican soap opera. So you really shouldn’t be talking, KURT ANDREW HUMMEL.”
“DON’T YOU FULL-NAME ME, ARTHUR BENJAMIN ABRA-“
He stopped short, staring at something behind me, the colour draining from his face.
“Hi guys.” A deep, familiar voice. I craned my neck to get a better look at him.
The whole thing played out like a movie in my mind. I pictured the entire cafeteria staring in horror, food dropping out of slack jaws, forks clattering to the ground. I pictured silence, but for Kurt’s falsetto scream in the background. I pictured Noah bowing his head in shame, and bolting out the door, running home the shave the dreadful thing off his face. I pictured Noah returning, clean-shaven, and a romantic kiss silhouetted against a fiery sunset.
Of course, none of those things happened, and Noah simply sat down and stole a handful of fries off my plate.
I stared at him, and he stared right back almost defiantly.
After a few seconds, Kurt burst out laughing.