Intermission "Noah," Kurt hissed as the other man pressed him against the tiled wall. He glared up into the sparkling, amused eyes of his husband. "An intermission is not some secret language for 'sexy time'!"
"Really? It should be," he murmured as he bent his head down to capture Kurt's in a slow, burning kiss.
"We are in a theater bathroom," Kurt argued against Puck's mouth. "We are not having sex in a bathroom."
"Why not?" Puck slowly ground their hips together, spinning clockwise a few times before going in the opposite direction.
Kurt felt his eyes rolling in the back of his head, and he moaned as he tried in vain to deny this man of anything.
Truth was, there was little Kurt wouldn't do for this man, and he was so beyond screwed (not literally... not yet) that it wasn't even funny.
"Ten minutes," Kurt finally rasped out. "That's it."
"Mmm," Puck purred in satisfaction, already working Kurt's pants open. "Plenty of time to do it twice."
Weaknesses Puck hated being weak. He was always the strong one, the tough guy who could take on the world without breaking a sweat, without shedding a tear.
And because of that stupid split-second decision he'd made all those months ago, he now had a stark, glaring reminder of his moment of weakness, engraved on his skin with a stomach-turning sort of finality.
If he could turn back time, he'd do it differently. He'd talk to his mom, Mr. Schue, Kurt--anyone who would've been willing to listen. He'd ask for someone's support, for someone to hold him and tell him "It's alright, I'm here for you."
He hates himself whenever he looks at his arm, and he's taken to wearing long sleeves. Not being able to showcase his guns is just more salt in his gaping, festering wound.
But in the safety of closed doors and quiet words, in the confines of Kurt's embrace, Puck is shirtless. He gasps each and every time, even though he knows what Kurt's going to do.
Kurt reaches for his left wrist, eyes never leaving Puck's, and presses three soft, barely-there kisses to the obvious white gash on the inside of his arm before he opens his mouth and suckles on the sensitive skin.
When Puck goes home, the white of his scar is complimented by a daisy-chain of purple hickeys. They help him forget, make him smile.
...If only until they fade away.
Not So Different After All Puck plopped himself in the empty seat beside Kurt in the cafeteria, offering the boy a sexy leer. "Soooo Kurt," he said with enough swagger to make a player turn green with envy. "I'm hot, you're hot. Wanna go out with me sometime?"
"We have absolutely nothing in common," Kurt insisted a mite hysterically. "I don't see why you're even bothering."
Puck went quiet for a long time, eyes downcast. He glanced up at the rustle of plastic, raising an eyebrow when Kurt pulled out a baggie of Oreos.
Kurt caught Puck's curious glance. "What?" Kurt asked defensively. "I can't like cookies and milk?"
Puck said nothing as Kurt, after a stiflingly tense moment, twisted the top off of his cookie. He watched Puck with narrow eyes as he dunked the cream-covered half into his carton of milk.
As Kurt carefully screwed the dry top back onto the milk-laden bottom half of his Oreo, Puck finally opened his mouth. "We totally have something in common," he said with a confident smirk, reaching forward to steal an Oreo. He did the same exact thing with his cookie, and with a mouth full of creamy, chocolaty goodness, he said, "So when should I pick you up?"
"Noah," Kurt hissed as the other man pressed him against the tiled wall. He glared up into the sparkling, amused eyes of his husband. "An intermission is not some secret language for 'sexy time'!"
"Really? It should be," he murmured as he bent his head down to capture Kurt's in a slow, burning kiss.
"We are in a theater bathroom," Kurt argued against Puck's mouth. "We are not having sex in a bathroom."
"Why not?" Puck slowly ground their hips together, spinning clockwise a few times before going in the opposite direction.
Kurt felt his eyes rolling in the back of his head, and he moaned as he tried in vain to deny this man of anything.
Truth was, there was little Kurt wouldn't do for this man, and he was so beyond screwed (not literally... not yet) that it wasn't even funny.
"Ten minutes," Kurt finally rasped out. "That's it."
"Mmm," Puck purred in satisfaction, already working Kurt's pants open. "Plenty of time to do it twice."
Weaknesses
Puck hated being weak. He was always the strong one, the tough guy who could take on the world without breaking a sweat, without shedding a tear.
And because of that stupid split-second decision he'd made all those months ago, he now had a stark, glaring reminder of his moment of weakness, engraved on his skin with a stomach-turning sort of finality.
If he could turn back time, he'd do it differently. He'd talk to his mom, Mr. Schue, Kurt--anyone who would've been willing to listen. He'd ask for someone's support, for someone to hold him and tell him "It's alright, I'm here for you."
He hates himself whenever he looks at his arm, and he's taken to wearing long sleeves. Not being able to showcase his guns is just more salt in his gaping, festering wound.
But in the safety of closed doors and quiet words, in the confines of Kurt's embrace, Puck is shirtless. He gasps each and every time, even though he knows what Kurt's going to do.
Kurt reaches for his left wrist, eyes never leaving Puck's, and presses three soft, barely-there kisses to the obvious white gash on the inside of his arm before he opens his mouth and suckles on the sensitive skin.
When Puck goes home, the white of his scar is complimented by a daisy-chain of purple hickeys. They help him forget, make him smile.
...If only until they fade away.
Not So Different After All
Puck plopped himself in the empty seat beside Kurt in the cafeteria, offering the boy a sexy leer. "Soooo Kurt," he said with enough swagger to make a player turn green with envy. "I'm hot, you're hot. Wanna go out with me sometime?"
"We have absolutely nothing in common," Kurt insisted a mite hysterically. "I don't see why you're even bothering."
Puck went quiet for a long time, eyes downcast. He glanced up at the rustle of plastic, raising an eyebrow when Kurt pulled out a baggie of Oreos.
Kurt caught Puck's curious glance. "What?" Kurt asked defensively. "I can't like cookies and milk?"
Puck said nothing as Kurt, after a stiflingly tense moment, twisted the top off of his cookie. He watched Puck with narrow eyes as he dunked the cream-covered half into his carton of milk.
As Kurt carefully screwed the dry top back onto the milk-laden bottom half of his Oreo, Puck finally opened his mouth. "We totally have something in common," he said with a confident smirk, reaching forward to steal an Oreo. He did the same exact thing with his cookie, and with a mouth full of creamy, chocolaty goodness, he said, "So when should I pick you up?"
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Angsty hickeys and cookie cuteness all at once.
Stop tryin' to make me fall in love with you. *wink*
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Silliness aside, I'm glad you liked 'em, hun! ♥ ♥
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;D
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Mwa ha haaaaaa!
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