Tied to the Train-Tracks; Glee
Title: Tied to the Train-Tracks
Pairing: Puck/Kurt
Summary: Puck dreams of verbal abuse.
They aren't friends.
Puck may have helped him become firmly acquainted with the dumpsters outside school, but otherwise, it's unlikely they've ever conversed properly - without the gaybashing or the even more detestable mohawk-bashing, that is. Whenever Kurt so much as opened his mouth all Puck could hear was pulsing disco music, and whenever Puck was so much as in Kurt's peripheral vision, all Kurt could do is inwardly bemoan the horrors of his hair, his fashion, that hideous winter coat he'd worn three years in a row.
Since Elementary school, the most polite exchange they'd ever shared was their first day in Middle School, when Puck asked him, "Thirsty?" before proceeding to give Kurt the first Slushie in Lima history.
So, Glee ruins the routine they fell into. Finn ruined it. Schuester ruined it. Mercedes ruined it. For the sake of the club and their friends they put a permanent stop to all the cursing of relatives and firstborns and all the detailed backtalk about heinous hair that offended all five senses and lady hair that brutally violated all five senses. It was, strangely enough, quite a loss.
And for no comprehensive reason whatsoever, they both went out of their way to continue it.
-
"Nice shirt. And by nice I mean it totally doesn't make me want to vomit down myself and cry uncontrollably until Jesus Christ himself comes down from heaven and sets it on holy fire."
Puck eyed him up and down. Maybe Kurt didn't think the rainbow choker and spaceboot leap of fashion out so well, because from the true horror that crossed Puck's face, he could tell the world was not ready for such a loud statement. Or maybe just Ohio.
"That's a shame. The only thing missing from all of this," Puck indicated Kurt's outfit with a jab, "Is vomit trails. Or maybe chainmail, but - you're the expert."
The first round, sadly, went to Noah Puckerman. Kurt toned down his arrangements for a whole month.
-
Which worked completely because in Hannukah season, Puck's mom knitted him a particularly atrocious sweater to try and rival all the other atrocious sweaters people celebrating Christmas wore. It beat them very obviously; Puck's mom had practiced kitting for two-weeks in highschool and the makeshift menorah across Puck's chest looked like a squint pitchfork. She'd forced him to wear it. She'd called the school to make sure he kept it on.
Puck strained to be a good Jew, and Kurt leapt at the opportunity.
"I didn't know you're family was celebrating hideousness so early," Kurt drawled after Glee, while packing his things and smirking widely to himself.
"Yeah?" Puck hissed, and he turned to face Kurt, desperately trying to regain his competence as a badass and failing miserably, as the attempted chequered pattern on his collarbone would uphold. "Well. You fucking suck, Hummel."
Then he tried to storm out in a hurry, like he'd proven something, but Kurt managed to add, "Like we didn't both know that."
To luxuriate in this victory, Kurt took Rachel, his appropriately Jewish friend, and treated her to a Barbara Streisand marathon after school.
-
Their normally one-on-one arguments bleed into the the lives of most all of their friends after, mostly because Puck is affronted by his loss and Kurt is aroused by this sole fact. Meaning he just cares very deeply for it, because saying something about Puck aroused him is an oxymoron and if anything, Kurt is politically correct.
The fact Puck was a sore loser was greatly appreciated by Kurt.
He gloated in the form of sinfully tight pants and sparkling sequin wifebeaters, and Puck's jaw would twitch in the fury at having once wore something more inflaming to the eyes than Kurt Hummel himself had.
"What about the belt?"
It was yellow with purple dotted paw-prints. Kurt wasn't all that fond of it either, but the volatile rage in Puck's eyes was worth the uncertainty.
When Puck stood up, Kurt was at once reminded of his petit frame and Puck being a jock and that if he had been having this bickering with a girl, it would totally be flirting.
And he never really got himself just why he slugged Puck across the jaw then, but - he did.
-
"Football practice," Puck lied after, pointing to the bruise on his neck, and Rachel made a sympathetic face.
Kurt didn't turn his prissy ass around and correct him either. He kept his head bent over to read the music, his mouth hushed to bitch with Mercedes, and didn't once acknowledge Puck's developing mullet.
He was in pink sandles and hotpants and there was no chance in hell Puck was telling everyone the truth: the gay kid with his ass frighteningly well-defined today punched him on Friday so hard he literally had to pull down his pants and check his balls were still there. He didn't need the humiliation. He didn't need the confusion, either.
-
But then Kurt showed up in a skirt and fuck him if he was letting that slide.
"It's a tunic," he said blankly, bright eyes snapping from cheerful to empty in a second flat.
"Is that supposed to sound less gay?"
Kurt didn't even spare him a glance. "I'm sorry, do you want me to get my dad to pull out a needle and make it homely enough for your liking?"
Puck declared a draw at his lack of enthusiasm.
-
And then there was The Stalemate.
(Kurt got a boyfriend, Puck made a collection of viable insults and Finn put his foot down and tore them all up.)
They didn't speak at all for two months.
-
However, they did pass each other often, in hallways or Glee or football. Kurt was always preying on the same guy's manhood in his feathery voice with his accenting, manicured hands. The guy wouldn't even fight back.
It was sort of a betrayal.
-
Puck wasn't much bothered, though. Sure, it was a waste of a whole forest that he'd written all his masterful anecdotes down. Sure, he was kind of itching for a verbal bitchslap the same way he had when Santana cut him off, pre-cougar era. But he wasn't much bothered.
He could still have a cheap match against Santana, or Mercedes, even if they didn't match Kurt's eloquence or understanding of English.
"It's not the same," Puck murmured when Finn helpfully pointed out Quinn was irrationally irritable today, and therefore a reasonable candidate for a fight. It was true; even on her best day, Quinn Fabray wasn't quite up to par with Hummel's sharp tongue.
Finn scratched his head, hopelessly. "You're really bummed out lately, man."
Puck knew. It was stupid and that he let something stupid bum him out upset him even further.
"Is it just the Kurt thing? Do you need to get laid?"
And it was while looking into Finn's dopey face that epiphany struck him in a flash.
So Puck missed fourth period because he had to go beat the fuck out of Kurt's boyfriend.
-
"That's not him," Kurt told him when Puck threw the boy across the Gleek lunch table, like he was returning from a successful hunt. He took a seat, grinned, and put his feet up on the table.
Then he paused. "Wait. What?"
Kurt looked at his 'boyfriend' and shook his head. "I've never seen him. In my life. I don't really get what you're proving either."
Puck launched himself halfway over the table and stuck out a finger. "I'm proving that gays aren't safe in Lima. Having a boyfriend is fucking stupid in Lima. So." He sat back a little. "Don't."
All he got for his valiant message was a dumbstruck stare.
"Mike has a boyfriend."
"Well, that's Mike. He can do whatever." Kurt still seemed dazed, so Puck clarified. "If you get a boyfriend, I'll make it a personal mission to punch him in the head. A lot." It had all made a lot more sense earlier, really.
Kurt frowned at him speculatively. "Why?"
"Because," Puck shot back aggressively, then he shifted for a moment. "Because I just will."
-
It genuinely worked. Kurt broke up with his boyfriend, whoever the fuck he was, and they were at each others throats every day, filthy and sacreligious. Puck was instilled with new energy.
"You got a girlfriend?" Matt asked, one eyebrow raised.
Puck shook his head. He hadn't even slept with anyone for a while. He hadn't even felt the itch. It was weird, but a pleasant weird. "Why?"
Matt shrugged. "Just reminds me of when Finn got with Quinn."
And this was when Puck knew something was amiss.
-
He was in love with Kurt Hummel.
A rotten, hateful, eccentric love, where he craved the abuse and seeing the zany, flamboyant clothes Kurt would wear simply to make fun of them.
"You mean like an old married couple?" Britanny whispered to him during practice. He didn't know why he'd told her. She was too dumb to understand and too popular to keep it quiet.
Plus, her little comment fucked majorly with Puck's head.
-
At least it was a hot dude, though. Hummel was little and pretty. He could dance. Play football. He worked on cars and on the appliance of make-up. There wasn't another guy Puck would exactly prefer to see in a corset, but he figured that's because he wasn't gay and hadn't seen any other guys in one.
Puck had been so lost in though he couldn't construct even scarcely traumatizing remarks at practice.
"You're a poor show today," Kurt sighed in disappointment, before running a hand through still wet hair and striding out in his trademark sinfully tight pants.
Puck watched.
-
The itch developed. Sometimes, he would fall into regular conversation with him. Sometimes, he preferred it over the bitching.
Sometimes, Hummel got him hard and distracted in Glee and football and in his bed, when he was trying to sleep.
Noah Puckerman was a badass. Noah Puckerman exceeded expectations in ridiculous ways by being the token loose cannon.
So if he was in love with that little shit Hummel, he was going to hear about it.
-
Or feel it, anyway.
On Monday morning, Puck embraced his unpredictabilty, thrust Kurt against the lockers and went to town on the kids mouth, in front of the whole school.
Kurt wasn't wearing sticky gloss like he'd half-expected, vaseline or something normal like that, and Puck's tongue had been this close to getting in there when Kurt shoved him away.
"You're having a kid!" Kurt shouted indignantly.
"I'm gay for you!" Puck yelled back. "Quinn hates me, she's gonna do it herself. We've been flirting the whole year."
"Arguing! You got your friends to prank my house like it was a brothel, how is that flirting?"
Point. But like the brave Noah Puckerman accepted defeat over possible nookie.
He just kissed him again, hard and forceful and the smaller boy moaned long enough for it to be taken as consent. Reciprocation, even.
He counted it as a win because Kurt shut up. And it felt pleasantly weird, again.
-
Gay was awesome.
Of course, everyone freaked at first - his family, his best friend, the future mother of his baby, etc. His mom would get over it, Finn had better things to worry about, and honestly, as though Quinn was all that interested in his fathering in the first place. But Kurt had the easiest pants to infiltrate, because he was a boy, and hormones simply outweighed self-respect in relationships. If his pants were a building, the windows would have been wide open, the doors agape and a welcome mat would be spread beneath his feet.
Puck said, "I'm horny," and Kurt nodded and then Puck didn't form anything else coherent or sensical for about fifteen mintes. (Okay, eight; the shock factor had obviously interfered with his game.)
And gay meant they were able to build a bridge titled, 'Jokes about sexual prowess and lack thereof,' and cross it as often as possible.
Kurt didn't ignore him days at a time like his girlfriends had, either. When Puck had wronged him, he would swagger up to the uptight moron and shove a hand down his pants, and they were cool.
It was all pretty dumb. Puck had never considered future marriage before, but something about the infinite abilities Kurt had in his mouth alone persuaded him otherwise.
-
They hadn't planned on telling anyone. Ever. Some people found out, sure, and some people were bigmouthed assholes who went and spread it like fire around the whole of Mackinley High. Their friends had all been getting severely creeped out by their newly created friendship, and Matt happened to be a bigmouthed asshole.
"They aren't friends," Matt told the curious club wisdomously, and their chairs all squeaked to get closer, hear clearer when he finished, "They're boning."
-
Puck decided not to punch his mother after school and make Matt hush the rumours. Nobody had the balls to tease him about it, anyway.
That, and Kurt had looked absolutely devastated when he realised his friends knew. It gave Puck way too much joy to see his pretty little face screw up in horror.
Pairing: Puck/Kurt
Summary: Puck dreams of verbal abuse.
They aren't friends.
Puck may have helped him become firmly acquainted with the dumpsters outside school, but otherwise, it's unlikely they've ever conversed properly - without the gaybashing or the even more detestable mohawk-bashing, that is. Whenever Kurt so much as opened his mouth all Puck could hear was pulsing disco music, and whenever Puck was so much as in Kurt's peripheral vision, all Kurt could do is inwardly bemoan the horrors of his hair, his fashion, that hideous winter coat he'd worn three years in a row.
Since Elementary school, the most polite exchange they'd ever shared was their first day in Middle School, when Puck asked him, "Thirsty?" before proceeding to give Kurt the first Slushie in Lima history.
So, Glee ruins the routine they fell into. Finn ruined it. Schuester ruined it. Mercedes ruined it. For the sake of the club and their friends they put a permanent stop to all the cursing of relatives and firstborns and all the detailed backtalk about heinous hair that offended all five senses and lady hair that brutally violated all five senses. It was, strangely enough, quite a loss.
And for no comprehensive reason whatsoever, they both went out of their way to continue it.
-
"Nice shirt. And by nice I mean it totally doesn't make me want to vomit down myself and cry uncontrollably until Jesus Christ himself comes down from heaven and sets it on holy fire."
Puck eyed him up and down. Maybe Kurt didn't think the rainbow choker and spaceboot leap of fashion out so well, because from the true horror that crossed Puck's face, he could tell the world was not ready for such a loud statement. Or maybe just Ohio.
"That's a shame. The only thing missing from all of this," Puck indicated Kurt's outfit with a jab, "Is vomit trails. Or maybe chainmail, but - you're the expert."
The first round, sadly, went to Noah Puckerman. Kurt toned down his arrangements for a whole month.
-
Which worked completely because in Hannukah season, Puck's mom knitted him a particularly atrocious sweater to try and rival all the other atrocious sweaters people celebrating Christmas wore. It beat them very obviously; Puck's mom had practiced kitting for two-weeks in highschool and the makeshift menorah across Puck's chest looked like a squint pitchfork. She'd forced him to wear it. She'd called the school to make sure he kept it on.
Puck strained to be a good Jew, and Kurt leapt at the opportunity.
"I didn't know you're family was celebrating hideousness so early," Kurt drawled after Glee, while packing his things and smirking widely to himself.
"Yeah?" Puck hissed, and he turned to face Kurt, desperately trying to regain his competence as a badass and failing miserably, as the attempted chequered pattern on his collarbone would uphold. "Well. You fucking suck, Hummel."
Then he tried to storm out in a hurry, like he'd proven something, but Kurt managed to add, "Like we didn't both know that."
To luxuriate in this victory, Kurt took Rachel, his appropriately Jewish friend, and treated her to a Barbara Streisand marathon after school.
-
Their normally one-on-one arguments bleed into the the lives of most all of their friends after, mostly because Puck is affronted by his loss and Kurt is aroused by this sole fact. Meaning he just cares very deeply for it, because saying something about Puck aroused him is an oxymoron and if anything, Kurt is politically correct.
The fact Puck was a sore loser was greatly appreciated by Kurt.
He gloated in the form of sinfully tight pants and sparkling sequin wifebeaters, and Puck's jaw would twitch in the fury at having once wore something more inflaming to the eyes than Kurt Hummel himself had.
"What about the belt?"
It was yellow with purple dotted paw-prints. Kurt wasn't all that fond of it either, but the volatile rage in Puck's eyes was worth the uncertainty.
When Puck stood up, Kurt was at once reminded of his petit frame and Puck being a jock and that if he had been having this bickering with a girl, it would totally be flirting.
And he never really got himself just why he slugged Puck across the jaw then, but - he did.
-
"Football practice," Puck lied after, pointing to the bruise on his neck, and Rachel made a sympathetic face.
Kurt didn't turn his prissy ass around and correct him either. He kept his head bent over to read the music, his mouth hushed to bitch with Mercedes, and didn't once acknowledge Puck's developing mullet.
He was in pink sandles and hotpants and there was no chance in hell Puck was telling everyone the truth: the gay kid with his ass frighteningly well-defined today punched him on Friday so hard he literally had to pull down his pants and check his balls were still there. He didn't need the humiliation. He didn't need the confusion, either.
-
But then Kurt showed up in a skirt and fuck him if he was letting that slide.
"It's a tunic," he said blankly, bright eyes snapping from cheerful to empty in a second flat.
"Is that supposed to sound less gay?"
Kurt didn't even spare him a glance. "I'm sorry, do you want me to get my dad to pull out a needle and make it homely enough for your liking?"
Puck declared a draw at his lack of enthusiasm.
-
And then there was The Stalemate.
(Kurt got a boyfriend, Puck made a collection of viable insults and Finn put his foot down and tore them all up.)
They didn't speak at all for two months.
-
However, they did pass each other often, in hallways or Glee or football. Kurt was always preying on the same guy's manhood in his feathery voice with his accenting, manicured hands. The guy wouldn't even fight back.
It was sort of a betrayal.
-
Puck wasn't much bothered, though. Sure, it was a waste of a whole forest that he'd written all his masterful anecdotes down. Sure, he was kind of itching for a verbal bitchslap the same way he had when Santana cut him off, pre-cougar era. But he wasn't much bothered.
He could still have a cheap match against Santana, or Mercedes, even if they didn't match Kurt's eloquence or understanding of English.
"It's not the same," Puck murmured when Finn helpfully pointed out Quinn was irrationally irritable today, and therefore a reasonable candidate for a fight. It was true; even on her best day, Quinn Fabray wasn't quite up to par with Hummel's sharp tongue.
Finn scratched his head, hopelessly. "You're really bummed out lately, man."
Puck knew. It was stupid and that he let something stupid bum him out upset him even further.
"Is it just the Kurt thing? Do you need to get laid?"
And it was while looking into Finn's dopey face that epiphany struck him in a flash.
So Puck missed fourth period because he had to go beat the fuck out of Kurt's boyfriend.
-
"That's not him," Kurt told him when Puck threw the boy across the Gleek lunch table, like he was returning from a successful hunt. He took a seat, grinned, and put his feet up on the table.
Then he paused. "Wait. What?"
Kurt looked at his 'boyfriend' and shook his head. "I've never seen him. In my life. I don't really get what you're proving either."
Puck launched himself halfway over the table and stuck out a finger. "I'm proving that gays aren't safe in Lima. Having a boyfriend is fucking stupid in Lima. So." He sat back a little. "Don't."
All he got for his valiant message was a dumbstruck stare.
"Mike has a boyfriend."
"Well, that's Mike. He can do whatever." Kurt still seemed dazed, so Puck clarified. "If you get a boyfriend, I'll make it a personal mission to punch him in the head. A lot." It had all made a lot more sense earlier, really.
Kurt frowned at him speculatively. "Why?"
"Because," Puck shot back aggressively, then he shifted for a moment. "Because I just will."
-
It genuinely worked. Kurt broke up with his boyfriend, whoever the fuck he was, and they were at each others throats every day, filthy and sacreligious. Puck was instilled with new energy.
"You got a girlfriend?" Matt asked, one eyebrow raised.
Puck shook his head. He hadn't even slept with anyone for a while. He hadn't even felt the itch. It was weird, but a pleasant weird. "Why?"
Matt shrugged. "Just reminds me of when Finn got with Quinn."
And this was when Puck knew something was amiss.
-
He was in love with Kurt Hummel.
A rotten, hateful, eccentric love, where he craved the abuse and seeing the zany, flamboyant clothes Kurt would wear simply to make fun of them.
"You mean like an old married couple?" Britanny whispered to him during practice. He didn't know why he'd told her. She was too dumb to understand and too popular to keep it quiet.
Plus, her little comment fucked majorly with Puck's head.
-
At least it was a hot dude, though. Hummel was little and pretty. He could dance. Play football. He worked on cars and on the appliance of make-up. There wasn't another guy Puck would exactly prefer to see in a corset, but he figured that's because he wasn't gay and hadn't seen any other guys in one.
Puck had been so lost in though he couldn't construct even scarcely traumatizing remarks at practice.
"You're a poor show today," Kurt sighed in disappointment, before running a hand through still wet hair and striding out in his trademark sinfully tight pants.
Puck watched.
-
The itch developed. Sometimes, he would fall into regular conversation with him. Sometimes, he preferred it over the bitching.
Sometimes, Hummel got him hard and distracted in Glee and football and in his bed, when he was trying to sleep.
Noah Puckerman was a badass. Noah Puckerman exceeded expectations in ridiculous ways by being the token loose cannon.
So if he was in love with that little shit Hummel, he was going to hear about it.
-
Or feel it, anyway.
On Monday morning, Puck embraced his unpredictabilty, thrust Kurt against the lockers and went to town on the kids mouth, in front of the whole school.
Kurt wasn't wearing sticky gloss like he'd half-expected, vaseline or something normal like that, and Puck's tongue had been this close to getting in there when Kurt shoved him away.
"You're having a kid!" Kurt shouted indignantly.
"I'm gay for you!" Puck yelled back. "Quinn hates me, she's gonna do it herself. We've been flirting the whole year."
"Arguing! You got your friends to prank my house like it was a brothel, how is that flirting?"
Point. But like the brave Noah Puckerman accepted defeat over possible nookie.
He just kissed him again, hard and forceful and the smaller boy moaned long enough for it to be taken as consent. Reciprocation, even.
He counted it as a win because Kurt shut up. And it felt pleasantly weird, again.
-
Gay was awesome.
Of course, everyone freaked at first - his family, his best friend, the future mother of his baby, etc. His mom would get over it, Finn had better things to worry about, and honestly, as though Quinn was all that interested in his fathering in the first place. But Kurt had the easiest pants to infiltrate, because he was a boy, and hormones simply outweighed self-respect in relationships. If his pants were a building, the windows would have been wide open, the doors agape and a welcome mat would be spread beneath his feet.
Puck said, "I'm horny," and Kurt nodded and then Puck didn't form anything else coherent or sensical for about fifteen mintes. (Okay, eight; the shock factor had obviously interfered with his game.)
And gay meant they were able to build a bridge titled, 'Jokes about sexual prowess and lack thereof,' and cross it as often as possible.
Kurt didn't ignore him days at a time like his girlfriends had, either. When Puck had wronged him, he would swagger up to the uptight moron and shove a hand down his pants, and they were cool.
It was all pretty dumb. Puck had never considered future marriage before, but something about the infinite abilities Kurt had in his mouth alone persuaded him otherwise.
-
They hadn't planned on telling anyone. Ever. Some people found out, sure, and some people were bigmouthed assholes who went and spread it like fire around the whole of Mackinley High. Their friends had all been getting severely creeped out by their newly created friendship, and Matt happened to be a bigmouthed asshole.
"They aren't friends," Matt told the curious club wisdomously, and their chairs all squeaked to get closer, hear clearer when he finished, "They're boning."
-
Puck decided not to punch his mother after school and make Matt hush the rumours. Nobody had the balls to tease him about it, anyway.
That, and Kurt had looked absolutely devastated when he realised his friends knew. It gave Puck way too much joy to see his pretty little face screw up in horror.