Fatherhood: A Guide 1/5
Title: Fatherhood: A Guide
Author: eyesarmslove
Type: Multipart
Rating: NC-17
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Kurt/Puck, surprise character
Genre: Futurefic
Warning: None
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.
Author Notes: Future kid!fic.
Summary: Puck was digging the dad gig. That is, he was, until the new neighbors arrive
Word Count: 5200
Noah Puckerman couldn’t really complain about his life. Not to say that he didn’t, because he definitely did. Just ask his husband. Kurt could (and would) provide tales of Puck’s whining upon request. But, all in all, he didn’t really have any right to complain. He was thirty-two years old, living in the best city in the world (Okay, so he was living in Brooklyn, but the city is all five boroughs and Brooklyn had a ton more Jews anyway), his body was as hot as ever, and his husband wasn’t that much of a bitch most of the time.
By anyone else’s standards, Puck had it made. He tried to remember this sentiment as his five-year old daughter ran into the bathroom he was currently taking a shower in and screamed, “Daddy has a small penis! Daddy has a small penis!” before running out, leaving the door wide open. Puck took a moment to wallow in self-pity as he heard his husband’s maniacal laughter echo down the hallway.
“We really have to get that lock on the bathroom door fixed.” Puck was drying himself off in the bedroom him and Kurt shared as the latter lounged in bed, flipping through an interior design magazine. “Ziva is going to be scarred at some point.”
Kurt scoffed. Without looking up from his magazine, he adjusted his glasses, “What you actually mean is, at some point you’re going to give in to your inner toddler and yell back something along the lines of “Yeah, well, at least I’m not a midget!” and then Ziva will come ask me what a midget is and I’ll have to tell her, which will make her cry and lead her to having body image issues at the ripe old age of five. Congratulations, you’re a horrible father.”
Puck snorted, “You got all of that from a broken lock?” Kurt smiled and tossed aside the magazine. He crawled suggestively across the bed and met his boxer-clad husband at the edge. “No, I got that from knowing you for twenty-five years,” he said against Puck’s lips, wrapping his arms around his neck.
Puck didn’t resist, planting kisses along Kurt’s jaw line, savoring the stubble, “It’s Saturday and you don’t have work. I’m hot, you’re hot.” Kurt laughed softly. “I love your glasses. We can play librarian and naughty student.”
“Again, you mean,” Kurt ran his hands up and down Puck’s chest, “Or did you forget the last time?”
“Yeah, as if I could forget the last time.” Puck was going to town on Kurt’s collar bone, “I still have the scars on my ass from that ruler, babe.”
“What can I say, I’m a great actor.” Puck growled and pushed his husband on the bed, laying on top of him and starting a make-out session that his teenaged self would be proud of. Kurt grunted back and proceeded to roll them over in a surprising show of strength. Puck thanked his usual deities as Kurt straddled his hips and threw off his own shirt, before bringing their lips together again. Puck groaned at the feel of skin on skin and started playing with Kurt’s nipples before the door to their bedroom flew open.
“Daddy, Papa! Breakfast is ready! I put the Pop-Tarts in the toaster all by myself, except the toaster wasn’t working, so I put them in the microwave instead.” Puck and Kurt shared a panicked look, even as their lips were still connected. “They blew up a little, but they still taste good.” Kurt detached his lips with a smack and buried his face into Puck’s neck, groaning. This wasn’t the first time Ziva took breakfast matters into her own hands.
Puck ran a sympathetic hand through Kurt’s hair, before Kurt sat up. Puck moaned a little, the action brought Kurt’s ass right on top of his half-hard dick. “Ziva Elizabeth Hummel-Puckerman, what have your daddy and I told you about playing in the kitchen without one of us there?”
“But Papa, I wasn’t playing! I was cooking!”
“Ziva.” Kurt’s voice had that warning tone that usually heralded Ziva’s (and Puck’s) punishment. Evidently, their little girl recognized it, because she bowed her head and apologized. “Sorry, Papa.”
Kurt sighed, “If you weren’t so much like your father, I would actually believe you.” Puck grinned before forcing his face into one of disappointment for Ziva’s benefit. Damn, sometimes it was hard raising such a badass. “Go into the kitchen and wait for me. I’ll clean up and make you breakfast, okay?”
“Okay, Papa!” She turned and ran down the hall, but not before slamming the door behind her.
Kurt and Puck winced at the rattling of the doorframe. The limestone townhouse was a hundred and four years old, not exactly toddler proof. “We have to teach her not to slam doors.”
Puck snorted, “Okay, I’ll add that to the list of tasks. Right under ‘Don’t run into the bathroom while someone’s in there’ and ‘Don’t interrupt role-playing sex’.” He shook his head ruefully as Kurt’s pale chest disappeared under his replaced pajama shirt, “No one ever warned us that kids would seriously screw up our sex life.”
Kurt, who was halfway out the door already, turned to him with an unreadable expression on his face. “What?”
Kurt ignored him and calmly walked over to their bookshelf, “Nothing, nothing. You just confirmed that you didn’t read that parenting book I gave you when Ziva was conceived, no big deal.”
Puck sat up quickly, trying to school his features into ones of moral outrage, rather than the shame he actually felt, “What? I totally did!”
Kurt made a non-committal noise as he took the aforementioned book off the shelf and flipped through before settling on a page. He tossed the book on the bed near where Puck was sitting before sauntering off down the hall, hips swaying. Puck took a moment to appreciate the beauty that was Kurt’s ass before picking up the book. Reading the title, he groaned and threw himself back against the pillows.
Chapter Four: How Kids Can (And Will!) Ruin Your Sex Life
Puck’s ideal life was, in his own words, fucked to hell that Monday. He was in the living room, cleaning after Ziva’s adventures in world of glitter crafts when he heard a key in the front door, signaling his husband’s arrival. He wasn’t the only occupant of the house that had heard the noise, however.
“Daddy, Papa’s home!” Ziva ran out of the living room, through the dining room and into the front hallway, black curls bouncing, screaming the entire way. “Papa!” she shrieked as she flew into his arms. Kurt, expectant of this (or, in Puck’s opinion, not deaf and heard his daughter’s announcement), caught her and placed a kiss on her cheek, “Hi, sweetheart, how are you today?”
Puck shook his head as he lifted himself off the floor and made his way to his family. He could never get over how Kurt insisted on speaking to their five-year old as an adult. Not to say that Kurt didn’t force him to do that same. Puck heard time and time again the advantages that speaking normally to a toddler had for vocabulary and diction. Puck’s mom talked to him like he was a moron until he was fourteen and he turned out perfectly fine!
“I’m good. Daddy and I made pictures for my homework! I added something special, I bet you can’t guess what it is!”
Puck laughed at his husband’s face. Kurt raised his eyebrows, taking in the sight of his daughter fully. “I have no idea,” he replied, setting her down. “But I’m going to wager a guess. Glitter?” Puck’s laughter grew louder when he saw Ziva’s eyes widen.
“How’d you guess?” She shrieked, her voice contributing Puck’s already forming headache.
Kurt lowered himself to her level to place a kiss on her nose, causing her to giggle. “Honey, you’re covered in yellow glitter. I approve, of course, but you’re getting it all over the place. How about you run to the bathroom and I’ll help you wash up for dinner. Deal?”
“Deal.” She nodded resolutely and took determined steps to the bathroom, glitter falling with every step.
Puck chuckled, “At least we’ll be able to track it down if she decided to play ‘Hide the Toilet Paper’ again.”
“Ah, my favorite game.” Kurt kissed Puck chastely and the latter revealed in the taste of stale coffee, “How are you doing today?”
“Fine,” Puck shrugged, it was like every other weekday, really. He walked Ziva to pre-school and, in the four hours she was there, ran some errands on Fifth Avenue. Pretty normal for Park Slope residents. After picking Ziva back up from school, he laid her down for a nap and enjoyed the hour of peace by reading the newspaper (Shut up) and starting dinner (shut up). When Ziva woke up, refreshed from her nap, she insisted that he helped her do her homework. Nothing new. Puck knew what to expect when they decided that Kurt would be the one working.
“Well, I have exciting news,” Kurt replied, taking off his messenger bag and unbuttoning his coat.
“You hired a babysitter and rented a motel room for the night?” Puck did not get his role-play sex over the weekend and one blowjob wasn’t nearly enough to make up for it.
“No.” Puck deflated. It wasn’t that he was surprised, but it still would have been nice. “The new neighbors are finally moving in tomorrow!”
The house to which theirs was fully attached had remained vacant for seven months now. The previous owners moved to Virginia, leaving the For Sale sign in their wake. It took a couple of months, but soon the sign was replaced by the ever-present SOLD declaration. That was two months ago. It seemed that the newcomers were finally going to grace the neighborhood with their presence.
“Fucking finally.” Kurt slapped his shoulder lightly at Puck’s use of profanity, “What? She can’t hear from down the hall!” Ziva had, thankfully, not inherited either of their bat-like hearing. Sometimes, her fathers feared that she was going deaf. Her pediatrician quelled their fears by offering his personal opinion that she developed a premature case of Teenaged Selective Hearing. Puck shuddered at the thought of his daughter’s teenaged years. They were going to be so screwed.
“If you don’t kick the habit completely, you’re going to slip in front of her. And I don’t want to be one of those parents that gets called down to their kid’s school because she introduced her classmates to hooker words.” Puck grinned at the mental image and only stopped when Kurt smacked him harder.
“Sorry, sorry.” He wasn’t, but Kurt didn’t need to know that. Although, from his face, Kurt probably did, “How’d you find out about them anyway?”
Kurt took off his boots and made his way into the kitchen, presumably to get in a quick taste of dinner, “Mrs. Denali caught me on my way out of the subway.” Puck nodded, the neighborhood gossip queen lived to spread the word.
“Did you get any more info from that old bat?” Kurt’s lips twisted in an effort to suppress his smile.
“Don’t call her that,” he chastised. “And, no. I have no idea if it’s an old man or a huge family. We’re going in blind.”
Puck sighed. Kurt kissed his cheek in sympathy and went to help Ziva de-glitter herself. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.
The next morning, Kurt left a note for Puck on the bathroom mirror.
Morning Sexy,
Just wanted to tell you that I baked a cake for the new neighbors. It’s cooling on the counter. Could you frost it with the cream I left in the fridge? Keep it in a cool place so it’ll set and resist all urges to taste it. I know you, Noah Puckerman. Don’t leave a pock hole in the cake, ok? I’ll be home at five and we can take the cake over together then. Have a great day!
Love,
Kurt
Puck had no time to even think about tasting the cake. He’d woken up late that morning and he and Ziva barely made it to her school on time. He came home after dropping her off and frosted the cake to the best of his ability. Kurt wouldn’t approve, but he had ridiculous standards anyway. After placing the cake in the fridge, he went to the window and tried to scope out the new neighbors. The street was disappointingly bereft of moving vans.
More fucking waiting. Damn it.
By the time Puck picked up his daughter and returned home, there was still no sign of moving vans. Puck put down Ziva for her nap and went to start dinner. He took advantage of the island in the kitchen and made pizza dough. The dough was rising nicely when Ziva bounded out of bed and ran into her daddy’s legs. She giggled when Puck bent down to pick her up and placed her on the newly cleaned countertop.
“What’s up, short stuff?”
Ziva’s features transformed into those of serious contemplation. Puck smiled as Kurt’s familiar expression took over his daughter’s face. Ziva’s biological father was still a mystery, but Puck was convinced that Kurt’s sperm was the winner in the fertilization race (“You do realize you’re speaking out loud, right?” Kurt had said when Puck voiced his opinion in an identical manner). Kurt believed that her dark green eyes were a mixture of Puck’s hazel and their surrogate’s brown ones. Puck had the same opinion about Kurt’s eyes.
Puck was knocked out of his thoughts when Ziva began speaking, “Well, today was boring because Sophie wasn’t there and Danny was mad at me for laughing at his picture, but it wasn’t pretty and he didn’t color inside of the lines! So at playtime, I tried to talk to Samantha, but she’s shy and didn’t talk, but she played catch with me and then Ricky brought his ball so we started…” Puck was in awe of how much his kid could actually talk without pausing to take in air. Her lungs were huge and if that wasn’t enough proof that Kurt Hummel sired this creature, he didn’t know what was.
Nodding along and providing appropriate reaction noises in all the right places, Puck began making the sauce for the pizza. He smiled as Ziva stole a slice of tomato from the cutting board and shoved it in her mouth, pausing very briefly in her diatribe against sidewalk chalk to do so. She continued to talk non-stop for an hour and Puck took great pleasure in hanging out with his favorite girl. They were rolling out the dough together when the familiar sound of a key in a lock sent Ziva into frenzy. Again.
Puck swore under his breath when he saw that, like yesterday, his daughter blazed her own trail, this time with flour. Whatever, it was Kurt’s turn to clean anyway. From the other room he could hear Ziva informing Kurt of their menu for tonight. Kurt was flipping through the mail as his walked in with Ziva still talking behind him.
“Hey, babe. Excited for pizza?”
“Hm?” Kurt looked up from the pile of mail and smiled distractedly, “Oh, yes, so excited for carbs to go straight to my thighs.”
“Oh, shut up. You haven’t gained a pound since you graduated college.” Puck rolled his eyes as Kurt came up behind him and wrapped his arms around Puck’s apron-clad waist, “I like the apron, love. Very domestic,” Kurt bit Puck’s earlobe, leading him to moan and grip the dough extra hard.
“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Hummel.”
“Who says I can’t finish? Tonight? After Ziva goes to sleep?” Puck groaned.
“Yes. God, it’s been forever.” Kurt snorted and kissed his neck.
“It’s been a week. You’re such a baby.”
Ziva took offense on her daddy’s behalf, “Papa, don’t call Daddy names! That’s not nice!”
Kurt laughed, “You’re right. I’m sorry, Noah.” Ziva seemed satisfied and ran up the stairs, presumably to her room.
“It’s your turn to clean up after her, Hummel,” Puck commented.
Kurt hummed in agreement as he picked up a mushroom slice off the cutting board. “Okay, fair. Have you caught a glimpse of the new neighbors yet?” he asked before biting into the mushroom.
Puck turned to him, “No, they didn’t show up yet.”
Kurt looked puzzled, “The moving van is outside.” Puck dropped the ladle he was using to spread the sauce and, in a perfect imitation of Ziva, ran to the window of the living room, “Holy shit, they’re here!”
Kurt walked calmly to him, “Yes. Do you want to bring over the cake now?” From Kurt’s slow speech, it was clear to Puck that he didn’t understand Puck’s excitement.
“Fuck yes. We’ve been waiting forever, babe. Time to find out if our new neighbors are yuppies or pedophiles.” Kurt choked on the piece of celery he was munching on.
“Nice, Noah. Try to be nice.”
“What’s a pee-do-file?” Kurt and Puck jumped at the sound of their daughter, who was standing in between them and looking up with a curious face. The men traded looks, she moves like a freaking ninja! Once her question registered past the shock, Kurt’s eyebrows furrowed in annoyance.
“Great, you’ve taught our daughter a pleasant new word.” Puck winced, all hopes of getting laid tonight flying out the window as he observed Kurt’s hands on his hips.
“Ziva, don’t say that word. It’s a daddy word, okay?” The small girl shrugged her shoulders.
“Okay. But can we see the new neighbors now?”
“Sure, short stuff. Want to get the cake, Kurt?” Kurt was already on his way into the kitchen. Puck gestured to the refrigerator at Kurt’s questioning glance.
“Noah, this is unacceptable! How many times do I have to tell you that you need a crumb layer first and then the final one?” Puck looked at the cake and had to agree with his husband, it looked Ziva had frosted it.
“Sorry, babe, you know I suck at this.” Kurt glared at him as if to say, Not an excuse.
“Daddy sucks, Daddy sucks!” their daughter chanted while dancing around the island. Kurt sent Puck a wide grin and raised one eyebrow.
Puck grumbled, “Keep smiling like that, Hummel, and I won’t anymore.” Kurt laughed and grabbed a spatula from a drawer.
“I’m going to touch up the cake. Take Lady Gaga over there-” he motioned to Ziva, who was wiggling her butt in time to her new favorite tune, “-and go next door. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
Puck kissed him on the lips quickly, “Thanks, babe.” He turned to his daughter, “Come on, short stuff. Let’s meet the new meat.”
Ziva threw her hands in the air, “Yay! Race you there, Daddy!” She ran out the door, leaving Puck to race after her. He could hear Kurt yelling after them, “You are thirty-two years old, Noah! She’s five! Respect the age difference!” Puck snorted, As if.
Ziva ran down the stone steps that made their front stoop. She was halted in her sprint, however, when she struggled to open the forged-iron gate. Puck came up behind her and opened the latch himself. “Thanks, Daddy!” she yelled as she ran up an identical stoop of the townhouse next door. Puck chuckled as he watched her jump and attempt to ring the doorbell in vain.
“There’s a reason I call you short stuff, you know.” Ziva scowled as he made his way up the steps and pressed the doorbell with ease. “Smile, unless you want them to think you’re a monkey.” Ziva giggled.
“Dad-dy! I don’t look like a monkey!” Puck ruffled her hair.
“You’re right.” He smiled mischievously, “You look like bear.”
“Daddy!” Her protest was halted by the opening of the door, “Hi!”
Puck looked from his daughter to the figure that had opened the door. He watched the figure’s eyes widen in recognition and knew their shocked face mirrored his own.
“Puck?”
It was Blaine Anderson.
Puck stood, shell-shocked for a second, before kneeling down and grabbing his daughter. She squealed as he tossed her over his shoulders and fled down the stoop. He ran into his house, slamming the door behind him.
Kurt hurried to him, perfectly frosted cake in hand, “What’s wrong?”
Ziva yelled from her place on Puck’s shoulder, “Our neighbor is a pee-do-phile!”
“What?”
Puck ignored his husband’s cry of disbelief, “Kurt, start packing. We’re moving to Jersey.”
Kurt’s face reflected absolute bewilderment, “What? What are you talking ab-” The doorbell rang. Puck sent Kurt a panicked look, shaking his head wildly.
Unsurprisingly, Kurt ignored him. He strode past his still-flailing husband and opened the door, “Blaine? Oh my God! Noah, it’s Blaine!”
Puck muttered under his breath as he placed Ziva on the floor, “Yeah, like I didn’t know.” Turning to the shorter man, he mumbled, “What’s up?”
Blaine, who had not lost any of his charm (Or his hair, much to Puck’s chagrin), smiled at him, a knowing twinkle in his eye, “Nothing much. Just running after the elusive next door neighbor.” Puck, to his credit, had enough sense to blush in shame.
“Yeah, sorry about that.” Kurt sent him a glare from behind Blaine’s shoulder. He smiled, though, when Blaine turned back to him.
“How crazy is this?”
Kurt nearly bounced in agreement, “Right? This is amazing!” Puck mimed retching behind Blaine’s back that lead Ziva to giggle. Kurt gave him a warning glare, before continuing, “Is it just you or-”
Blaine gasped, “Oh crap. I was so shocked at seeing Puck that I forgot Xander!”
“Xander?”
“My son,” Blaine replied to Kurt’s question. “He’s six and way too young for me to have forgotten him, I have to go.”
Kurt looked delighted and Puck groaned, knowing exactly what was going to happen next. “That’s great! Bring him over. You haven’t eaten yet, right? You must be hungry. Noah just made pizza and then we can have this cake for dessert.” He held up the plate in his hand, “It’s chocolate, your favorite!”
Blaine smiled widely, “That would be great! Are you sure?” Puck opened his mouth to reply, but Kurt hurried.
“Of course. Bring your, uh, husband?” He didn’t want to make any assumptions. Blaine laughed and lifted his left hand, pointing out the ring.
“Husband, yes. But he’s not here yet, so it’ll just be Xander and me. That okay?” Kurt nodded, ushering him out the door.
“Perfect. Now go get your son. If he’s anything like our daughter, your house is in ruins already.” When Blaine ran out the door, Kurt turned to Ziva. “Honey, a boy your age is coming over.”
“Yay! Can I play Cops and Robbers with him?”
“Only if he wants to and only after dinner. Go wash your hands.” Puck moved out of the way as she sprinted down the hall. “Do you think she’ll ever just walk anywhere?”
Puck ignored Kurt and went back to the kitchen to finish the pizza. “Noah? Are you angry that I invited Blaine over for dinner?”
He snorted and sliced the green peppers aggressively, “Your ex-boyfriend-no, make that your first boyfriend, your first fuck moved in next door. How the hell do you think I feel, Kurt?” He turned to the fashionista, “I don’t care about dinner, I care about the next couple of years.”
Kurt’s face twisted in anger and disbelief, “You’re jealous? Are you freaking kidding me? How can you be jealous? I haven’t seen Blaine in ten years!”
“You never forget your first fuck, Kurt.” Puck shoved the pizza in the warmed oven and slammed the door shut.
Kurt looked pissed, but Puck couldn’t care less at the moment. Just his luck. Just his fucking luck that Blaine fucking Pretty Boy Anderson moved next door. Images of Kurt and Blaine together senior year flashed through his brain and he slammed his fist down on the counter he was cleaning.
The kitchen was silent for a long moment, before Ziva’s voice wafted in. She was singing a song she’d made up herself and sounded so happy that Puck was brought back to the moment. He forced himself to take in deep breaths to calm down. He was relatively composed when he felt Kurt’s hand on his still balled fists. Puck looked to Kurt’s face and found a pair of angry green eyes.
“Yes, Puck, I remember my first fuck.” Puck tried to wrench his hand away, but Kurt’s grip tightened. “I remember being in my bed at Dalton, listening to depressing music because I missed all of you so much.” He cupped Puck’s cheek with his other hand, only to have Puck turn his face away. Kurt’s voice took on an edge, “I remember Blaine coming in and trying to cheer me up. He kissed me and I kissed him back. At that point, we’d only made out but I knew that night was going to be different.”
“Kurt, don’t-”
Kurt went on, “We took off our clothes and he asked me what I wanted. I told him I wanted everything. He got on top of me and-”
Puck heart was going to give out, he was sure, “Kurt, please-”
Kurt grabbed his face with both hands and forced his husband to look him in the eye, “Listen. It hurt, but it was wonderful. I thought it was romantic and the perfect first time.” He snorted, “I lasted about two minutes. I remember every second. Now, do you remember our first time?”
“Of course I remember our first time.” He snorted. “Why? Need some help recalling the details?” he added snidely.
Kurt narrowed his eyes, “Don’t be stupid, Noah. It’s not very becoming.” Puck fumed. “I remember everything. Everything. From that stupid AC/DC shirt you were wearing to the grape flavored lube you used.” Kurt seemed to lose his anger as a smirk overtook his face.
Puck froze and stopped trying to wriggle out of Kurt’s grasp. His breathing became labored when Kurt leaned forward and pressed his lips against the shell of Puck’s ear, “Remember how you fucked me with your fingers until I came all over my chest.” Puck screwed his eyes shut and fought against the blood rushing to his groin. “You sucked me until I was hard again and then fucked me until I couldn’t feel my legs.” Kurt ran his tongue along the outside of Puck’s ear. With a growl, Puck grabbed Kurt by the hips and flipped them over, so that Kurt’s back met with the counter top. He thrust his crotch against his husband’s, pinning him in place.
“Yes. Yes, okay. I remember. How could I forget? You were the tightest thing I’d ever felt.” Puck found himself getting angry at Kurt’s satisfied smile, “That doesn’t mean I’m any less pissed because Pretty Boy is here.”
“Why? How can you be jealous?” Kurt didn’t wait for his answer and suddenly, Kurt’s lips were on his and his tongue was doing some serious spelunking. Puck figured he could do one of two things: either pull away from Kurt’s vacuum of a mouth and stay pissed or make out with his (annoyingly) sexy husband. Finn Hudson had enough IQ points to guess which he decided on.
Puck fisted a hand in Kurt’s hair, bringing their faces impossibly closer. He ran his tongue along the inside of Kurt’s teeth, dick twitching in his jeans as Kurt let out small noises of arousal.
“We can’t-uh, we c-can’t do this now, oh!” Puck thrust his erection against Kurt’s, eliciting a moan from the other man. He twisted Kurt’s nipple through his designer shirt and let the sound of Kurt’s whimper wash over him. He couldn’t believe how a man of over thirty could still produce such a high-pitched noise, but he didn’t question it. Just thanked his lucky stars. Kurt rolled his hips and the friction had Puck smearing precome on the inside of his jeans, “God, Kurt, you’re just as hot as that day in the park.”
“Better believe it, Puckerman. But we really shoul-” The doorbell rang and they both groaned.
Kurt took heaving breaths and straightened his hair while Puck glared in the direction of the door. Ziva ran past the kitchen and to the doorway, screaming, “They’re here, they’re here!”
Puck almost cried as Kurt gently pushed their bodies apart, “Babe!”
Kurt kissed him softly, “I swear on all that is holy and fashionable that if you behave during dinner, I will make it so worth your while.”
Amazing sex or petty, snide comments over pizza and beer? Puck placed a kiss on Kurt’s neck, “Fine. I’ll behave.” Kurt beamed.
“Daddy, Papa! Xander and Mr. Blaine are here!” The couple shared a smile at the sheer volume of their daughter’s voice. “Papa, you’re wrong! Xander is six! I’m five! That’s not the same age!” She strutted into the kitchen, dragging a little boy by the hand. Blaine appeared behind them, a fond and amused smile on his face.
“Ziva was just telling us on how about how you have trouble with numbers, Kurt.” Puck really wished he could pound the twinkle out of the smarmy bastard, but then there would be no sex for him (and Kurt would be hurt and cry and that would be the worst).
“Oh, I do, do I?” Kurt stared at his daughter with a wry look, crossing his arms.
Ziva copied him, finally letting go of the boy’s hand (Puck almost laughed at the relieved expression that crossed his little face). Arms clumsily crossed across her chest, she said, matter-of-factly, “Daddy says so.” Puck’s eyes widened. “He says that you don’t know how many sides a box has and-” She screeched as her father picked her up and tucked her under his arm. Puck turned to his amused audience, “Pizza, anyone?”
Later that night, Puck could not recall a single bit of conversation that transpired over dinner. He tuned it out, to be honest. Kurt and Blaine laughed and reminisced about old times at Dalton and McKinley. Puck kept himself distracted by playing the host, making sure everyone got enough to eat and drink. He watched over the kids and smoothed out the interaction when Ziva got a little…enthusiastic with her new playmate. Puck was playing babysitter when, around eight o’clock, Blaine and Kurt came into Ziva’s playroom announcing Blaine’s departure.
Now, an hour later and after putting Ziva down for the night, Puck laid in bed rethinking his initial reaction to the Blaine situation. He also took back his previous annoyance about fully attached houses. He thought it was going to be awkward, but he realized, as Kurt rode him, that it was a very, very good thing. Kurt was bouncing up and down on his dick, gasping and moaning, desperate for release. Yes, Puck thought as Kurt screamed his name, this could be the start of a fucking awesome time.
“Fuckfuckfuck-NOAH, oh my God!”
Author: eyesarmslove
Type: Multipart
Rating: NC-17
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Kurt/Puck, surprise character
Genre: Futurefic
Warning: None
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.
Author Notes: Future kid!fic.
Summary: Puck was digging the dad gig. That is, he was, until the new neighbors arrive
Word Count: 5200
Noah Puckerman couldn’t really complain about his life. Not to say that he didn’t, because he definitely did. Just ask his husband. Kurt could (and would) provide tales of Puck’s whining upon request. But, all in all, he didn’t really have any right to complain. He was thirty-two years old, living in the best city in the world (Okay, so he was living in Brooklyn, but the city is all five boroughs and Brooklyn had a ton more Jews anyway), his body was as hot as ever, and his husband wasn’t that much of a bitch most of the time.
By anyone else’s standards, Puck had it made. He tried to remember this sentiment as his five-year old daughter ran into the bathroom he was currently taking a shower in and screamed, “Daddy has a small penis! Daddy has a small penis!” before running out, leaving the door wide open. Puck took a moment to wallow in self-pity as he heard his husband’s maniacal laughter echo down the hallway.
“We really have to get that lock on the bathroom door fixed.” Puck was drying himself off in the bedroom him and Kurt shared as the latter lounged in bed, flipping through an interior design magazine. “Ziva is going to be scarred at some point.”
Kurt scoffed. Without looking up from his magazine, he adjusted his glasses, “What you actually mean is, at some point you’re going to give in to your inner toddler and yell back something along the lines of “Yeah, well, at least I’m not a midget!” and then Ziva will come ask me what a midget is and I’ll have to tell her, which will make her cry and lead her to having body image issues at the ripe old age of five. Congratulations, you’re a horrible father.”
Puck snorted, “You got all of that from a broken lock?” Kurt smiled and tossed aside the magazine. He crawled suggestively across the bed and met his boxer-clad husband at the edge. “No, I got that from knowing you for twenty-five years,” he said against Puck’s lips, wrapping his arms around his neck.
Puck didn’t resist, planting kisses along Kurt’s jaw line, savoring the stubble, “It’s Saturday and you don’t have work. I’m hot, you’re hot.” Kurt laughed softly. “I love your glasses. We can play librarian and naughty student.”
“Again, you mean,” Kurt ran his hands up and down Puck’s chest, “Or did you forget the last time?”
“Yeah, as if I could forget the last time.” Puck was going to town on Kurt’s collar bone, “I still have the scars on my ass from that ruler, babe.”
“What can I say, I’m a great actor.” Puck growled and pushed his husband on the bed, laying on top of him and starting a make-out session that his teenaged self would be proud of. Kurt grunted back and proceeded to roll them over in a surprising show of strength. Puck thanked his usual deities as Kurt straddled his hips and threw off his own shirt, before bringing their lips together again. Puck groaned at the feel of skin on skin and started playing with Kurt’s nipples before the door to their bedroom flew open.
“Daddy, Papa! Breakfast is ready! I put the Pop-Tarts in the toaster all by myself, except the toaster wasn’t working, so I put them in the microwave instead.” Puck and Kurt shared a panicked look, even as their lips were still connected. “They blew up a little, but they still taste good.” Kurt detached his lips with a smack and buried his face into Puck’s neck, groaning. This wasn’t the first time Ziva took breakfast matters into her own hands.
Puck ran a sympathetic hand through Kurt’s hair, before Kurt sat up. Puck moaned a little, the action brought Kurt’s ass right on top of his half-hard dick. “Ziva Elizabeth Hummel-Puckerman, what have your daddy and I told you about playing in the kitchen without one of us there?”
“But Papa, I wasn’t playing! I was cooking!”
“Ziva.” Kurt’s voice had that warning tone that usually heralded Ziva’s (and Puck’s) punishment. Evidently, their little girl recognized it, because she bowed her head and apologized. “Sorry, Papa.”
Kurt sighed, “If you weren’t so much like your father, I would actually believe you.” Puck grinned before forcing his face into one of disappointment for Ziva’s benefit. Damn, sometimes it was hard raising such a badass. “Go into the kitchen and wait for me. I’ll clean up and make you breakfast, okay?”
“Okay, Papa!” She turned and ran down the hall, but not before slamming the door behind her.
Kurt and Puck winced at the rattling of the doorframe. The limestone townhouse was a hundred and four years old, not exactly toddler proof. “We have to teach her not to slam doors.”
Puck snorted, “Okay, I’ll add that to the list of tasks. Right under ‘Don’t run into the bathroom while someone’s in there’ and ‘Don’t interrupt role-playing sex’.” He shook his head ruefully as Kurt’s pale chest disappeared under his replaced pajama shirt, “No one ever warned us that kids would seriously screw up our sex life.”
Kurt, who was halfway out the door already, turned to him with an unreadable expression on his face. “What?”
Kurt ignored him and calmly walked over to their bookshelf, “Nothing, nothing. You just confirmed that you didn’t read that parenting book I gave you when Ziva was conceived, no big deal.”
Puck sat up quickly, trying to school his features into ones of moral outrage, rather than the shame he actually felt, “What? I totally did!”
Kurt made a non-committal noise as he took the aforementioned book off the shelf and flipped through before settling on a page. He tossed the book on the bed near where Puck was sitting before sauntering off down the hall, hips swaying. Puck took a moment to appreciate the beauty that was Kurt’s ass before picking up the book. Reading the title, he groaned and threw himself back against the pillows.
Chapter Four: How Kids Can (And Will!) Ruin Your Sex Life
Puck’s ideal life was, in his own words, fucked to hell that Monday. He was in the living room, cleaning after Ziva’s adventures in world of glitter crafts when he heard a key in the front door, signaling his husband’s arrival. He wasn’t the only occupant of the house that had heard the noise, however.
“Daddy, Papa’s home!” Ziva ran out of the living room, through the dining room and into the front hallway, black curls bouncing, screaming the entire way. “Papa!” she shrieked as she flew into his arms. Kurt, expectant of this (or, in Puck’s opinion, not deaf and heard his daughter’s announcement), caught her and placed a kiss on her cheek, “Hi, sweetheart, how are you today?”
Puck shook his head as he lifted himself off the floor and made his way to his family. He could never get over how Kurt insisted on speaking to their five-year old as an adult. Not to say that Kurt didn’t force him to do that same. Puck heard time and time again the advantages that speaking normally to a toddler had for vocabulary and diction. Puck’s mom talked to him like he was a moron until he was fourteen and he turned out perfectly fine!
“I’m good. Daddy and I made pictures for my homework! I added something special, I bet you can’t guess what it is!”
Puck laughed at his husband’s face. Kurt raised his eyebrows, taking in the sight of his daughter fully. “I have no idea,” he replied, setting her down. “But I’m going to wager a guess. Glitter?” Puck’s laughter grew louder when he saw Ziva’s eyes widen.
“How’d you guess?” She shrieked, her voice contributing Puck’s already forming headache.
Kurt lowered himself to her level to place a kiss on her nose, causing her to giggle. “Honey, you’re covered in yellow glitter. I approve, of course, but you’re getting it all over the place. How about you run to the bathroom and I’ll help you wash up for dinner. Deal?”
“Deal.” She nodded resolutely and took determined steps to the bathroom, glitter falling with every step.
Puck chuckled, “At least we’ll be able to track it down if she decided to play ‘Hide the Toilet Paper’ again.”
“Ah, my favorite game.” Kurt kissed Puck chastely and the latter revealed in the taste of stale coffee, “How are you doing today?”
“Fine,” Puck shrugged, it was like every other weekday, really. He walked Ziva to pre-school and, in the four hours she was there, ran some errands on Fifth Avenue. Pretty normal for Park Slope residents. After picking Ziva back up from school, he laid her down for a nap and enjoyed the hour of peace by reading the newspaper (Shut up) and starting dinner (shut up). When Ziva woke up, refreshed from her nap, she insisted that he helped her do her homework. Nothing new. Puck knew what to expect when they decided that Kurt would be the one working.
“Well, I have exciting news,” Kurt replied, taking off his messenger bag and unbuttoning his coat.
“You hired a babysitter and rented a motel room for the night?” Puck did not get his role-play sex over the weekend and one blowjob wasn’t nearly enough to make up for it.
“No.” Puck deflated. It wasn’t that he was surprised, but it still would have been nice. “The new neighbors are finally moving in tomorrow!”
The house to which theirs was fully attached had remained vacant for seven months now. The previous owners moved to Virginia, leaving the For Sale sign in their wake. It took a couple of months, but soon the sign was replaced by the ever-present SOLD declaration. That was two months ago. It seemed that the newcomers were finally going to grace the neighborhood with their presence.
“Fucking finally.” Kurt slapped his shoulder lightly at Puck’s use of profanity, “What? She can’t hear from down the hall!” Ziva had, thankfully, not inherited either of their bat-like hearing. Sometimes, her fathers feared that she was going deaf. Her pediatrician quelled their fears by offering his personal opinion that she developed a premature case of Teenaged Selective Hearing. Puck shuddered at the thought of his daughter’s teenaged years. They were going to be so screwed.
“If you don’t kick the habit completely, you’re going to slip in front of her. And I don’t want to be one of those parents that gets called down to their kid’s school because she introduced her classmates to hooker words.” Puck grinned at the mental image and only stopped when Kurt smacked him harder.
“Sorry, sorry.” He wasn’t, but Kurt didn’t need to know that. Although, from his face, Kurt probably did, “How’d you find out about them anyway?”
Kurt took off his boots and made his way into the kitchen, presumably to get in a quick taste of dinner, “Mrs. Denali caught me on my way out of the subway.” Puck nodded, the neighborhood gossip queen lived to spread the word.
“Did you get any more info from that old bat?” Kurt’s lips twisted in an effort to suppress his smile.
“Don’t call her that,” he chastised. “And, no. I have no idea if it’s an old man or a huge family. We’re going in blind.”
Puck sighed. Kurt kissed his cheek in sympathy and went to help Ziva de-glitter herself. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.
The next morning, Kurt left a note for Puck on the bathroom mirror.
Morning Sexy,
Just wanted to tell you that I baked a cake for the new neighbors. It’s cooling on the counter. Could you frost it with the cream I left in the fridge? Keep it in a cool place so it’ll set and resist all urges to taste it. I know you, Noah Puckerman. Don’t leave a pock hole in the cake, ok? I’ll be home at five and we can take the cake over together then. Have a great day!
Love,
Kurt
Puck had no time to even think about tasting the cake. He’d woken up late that morning and he and Ziva barely made it to her school on time. He came home after dropping her off and frosted the cake to the best of his ability. Kurt wouldn’t approve, but he had ridiculous standards anyway. After placing the cake in the fridge, he went to the window and tried to scope out the new neighbors. The street was disappointingly bereft of moving vans.
More fucking waiting. Damn it.
By the time Puck picked up his daughter and returned home, there was still no sign of moving vans. Puck put down Ziva for her nap and went to start dinner. He took advantage of the island in the kitchen and made pizza dough. The dough was rising nicely when Ziva bounded out of bed and ran into her daddy’s legs. She giggled when Puck bent down to pick her up and placed her on the newly cleaned countertop.
“What’s up, short stuff?”
Ziva’s features transformed into those of serious contemplation. Puck smiled as Kurt’s familiar expression took over his daughter’s face. Ziva’s biological father was still a mystery, but Puck was convinced that Kurt’s sperm was the winner in the fertilization race (“You do realize you’re speaking out loud, right?” Kurt had said when Puck voiced his opinion in an identical manner). Kurt believed that her dark green eyes were a mixture of Puck’s hazel and their surrogate’s brown ones. Puck had the same opinion about Kurt’s eyes.
Puck was knocked out of his thoughts when Ziva began speaking, “Well, today was boring because Sophie wasn’t there and Danny was mad at me for laughing at his picture, but it wasn’t pretty and he didn’t color inside of the lines! So at playtime, I tried to talk to Samantha, but she’s shy and didn’t talk, but she played catch with me and then Ricky brought his ball so we started…” Puck was in awe of how much his kid could actually talk without pausing to take in air. Her lungs were huge and if that wasn’t enough proof that Kurt Hummel sired this creature, he didn’t know what was.
Nodding along and providing appropriate reaction noises in all the right places, Puck began making the sauce for the pizza. He smiled as Ziva stole a slice of tomato from the cutting board and shoved it in her mouth, pausing very briefly in her diatribe against sidewalk chalk to do so. She continued to talk non-stop for an hour and Puck took great pleasure in hanging out with his favorite girl. They were rolling out the dough together when the familiar sound of a key in a lock sent Ziva into frenzy. Again.
Puck swore under his breath when he saw that, like yesterday, his daughter blazed her own trail, this time with flour. Whatever, it was Kurt’s turn to clean anyway. From the other room he could hear Ziva informing Kurt of their menu for tonight. Kurt was flipping through the mail as his walked in with Ziva still talking behind him.
“Hey, babe. Excited for pizza?”
“Hm?” Kurt looked up from the pile of mail and smiled distractedly, “Oh, yes, so excited for carbs to go straight to my thighs.”
“Oh, shut up. You haven’t gained a pound since you graduated college.” Puck rolled his eyes as Kurt came up behind him and wrapped his arms around Puck’s apron-clad waist, “I like the apron, love. Very domestic,” Kurt bit Puck’s earlobe, leading him to moan and grip the dough extra hard.
“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Hummel.”
“Who says I can’t finish? Tonight? After Ziva goes to sleep?” Puck groaned.
“Yes. God, it’s been forever.” Kurt snorted and kissed his neck.
“It’s been a week. You’re such a baby.”
Ziva took offense on her daddy’s behalf, “Papa, don’t call Daddy names! That’s not nice!”
Kurt laughed, “You’re right. I’m sorry, Noah.” Ziva seemed satisfied and ran up the stairs, presumably to her room.
“It’s your turn to clean up after her, Hummel,” Puck commented.
Kurt hummed in agreement as he picked up a mushroom slice off the cutting board. “Okay, fair. Have you caught a glimpse of the new neighbors yet?” he asked before biting into the mushroom.
Puck turned to him, “No, they didn’t show up yet.”
Kurt looked puzzled, “The moving van is outside.” Puck dropped the ladle he was using to spread the sauce and, in a perfect imitation of Ziva, ran to the window of the living room, “Holy shit, they’re here!”
Kurt walked calmly to him, “Yes. Do you want to bring over the cake now?” From Kurt’s slow speech, it was clear to Puck that he didn’t understand Puck’s excitement.
“Fuck yes. We’ve been waiting forever, babe. Time to find out if our new neighbors are yuppies or pedophiles.” Kurt choked on the piece of celery he was munching on.
“Nice, Noah. Try to be nice.”
“What’s a pee-do-file?” Kurt and Puck jumped at the sound of their daughter, who was standing in between them and looking up with a curious face. The men traded looks, she moves like a freaking ninja! Once her question registered past the shock, Kurt’s eyebrows furrowed in annoyance.
“Great, you’ve taught our daughter a pleasant new word.” Puck winced, all hopes of getting laid tonight flying out the window as he observed Kurt’s hands on his hips.
“Ziva, don’t say that word. It’s a daddy word, okay?” The small girl shrugged her shoulders.
“Okay. But can we see the new neighbors now?”
“Sure, short stuff. Want to get the cake, Kurt?” Kurt was already on his way into the kitchen. Puck gestured to the refrigerator at Kurt’s questioning glance.
“Noah, this is unacceptable! How many times do I have to tell you that you need a crumb layer first and then the final one?” Puck looked at the cake and had to agree with his husband, it looked Ziva had frosted it.
“Sorry, babe, you know I suck at this.” Kurt glared at him as if to say, Not an excuse.
“Daddy sucks, Daddy sucks!” their daughter chanted while dancing around the island. Kurt sent Puck a wide grin and raised one eyebrow.
Puck grumbled, “Keep smiling like that, Hummel, and I won’t anymore.” Kurt laughed and grabbed a spatula from a drawer.
“I’m going to touch up the cake. Take Lady Gaga over there-” he motioned to Ziva, who was wiggling her butt in time to her new favorite tune, “-and go next door. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
Puck kissed him on the lips quickly, “Thanks, babe.” He turned to his daughter, “Come on, short stuff. Let’s meet the new meat.”
Ziva threw her hands in the air, “Yay! Race you there, Daddy!” She ran out the door, leaving Puck to race after her. He could hear Kurt yelling after them, “You are thirty-two years old, Noah! She’s five! Respect the age difference!” Puck snorted, As if.
Ziva ran down the stone steps that made their front stoop. She was halted in her sprint, however, when she struggled to open the forged-iron gate. Puck came up behind her and opened the latch himself. “Thanks, Daddy!” she yelled as she ran up an identical stoop of the townhouse next door. Puck chuckled as he watched her jump and attempt to ring the doorbell in vain.
“There’s a reason I call you short stuff, you know.” Ziva scowled as he made his way up the steps and pressed the doorbell with ease. “Smile, unless you want them to think you’re a monkey.” Ziva giggled.
“Dad-dy! I don’t look like a monkey!” Puck ruffled her hair.
“You’re right.” He smiled mischievously, “You look like bear.”
“Daddy!” Her protest was halted by the opening of the door, “Hi!”
Puck looked from his daughter to the figure that had opened the door. He watched the figure’s eyes widen in recognition and knew their shocked face mirrored his own.
“Puck?”
It was Blaine Anderson.
Puck stood, shell-shocked for a second, before kneeling down and grabbing his daughter. She squealed as he tossed her over his shoulders and fled down the stoop. He ran into his house, slamming the door behind him.
Kurt hurried to him, perfectly frosted cake in hand, “What’s wrong?”
Ziva yelled from her place on Puck’s shoulder, “Our neighbor is a pee-do-phile!”
“What?”
Puck ignored his husband’s cry of disbelief, “Kurt, start packing. We’re moving to Jersey.”
Kurt’s face reflected absolute bewilderment, “What? What are you talking ab-” The doorbell rang. Puck sent Kurt a panicked look, shaking his head wildly.
Unsurprisingly, Kurt ignored him. He strode past his still-flailing husband and opened the door, “Blaine? Oh my God! Noah, it’s Blaine!”
Puck muttered under his breath as he placed Ziva on the floor, “Yeah, like I didn’t know.” Turning to the shorter man, he mumbled, “What’s up?”
Blaine, who had not lost any of his charm (Or his hair, much to Puck’s chagrin), smiled at him, a knowing twinkle in his eye, “Nothing much. Just running after the elusive next door neighbor.” Puck, to his credit, had enough sense to blush in shame.
“Yeah, sorry about that.” Kurt sent him a glare from behind Blaine’s shoulder. He smiled, though, when Blaine turned back to him.
“How crazy is this?”
Kurt nearly bounced in agreement, “Right? This is amazing!” Puck mimed retching behind Blaine’s back that lead Ziva to giggle. Kurt gave him a warning glare, before continuing, “Is it just you or-”
Blaine gasped, “Oh crap. I was so shocked at seeing Puck that I forgot Xander!”
“Xander?”
“My son,” Blaine replied to Kurt’s question. “He’s six and way too young for me to have forgotten him, I have to go.”
Kurt looked delighted and Puck groaned, knowing exactly what was going to happen next. “That’s great! Bring him over. You haven’t eaten yet, right? You must be hungry. Noah just made pizza and then we can have this cake for dessert.” He held up the plate in his hand, “It’s chocolate, your favorite!”
Blaine smiled widely, “That would be great! Are you sure?” Puck opened his mouth to reply, but Kurt hurried.
“Of course. Bring your, uh, husband?” He didn’t want to make any assumptions. Blaine laughed and lifted his left hand, pointing out the ring.
“Husband, yes. But he’s not here yet, so it’ll just be Xander and me. That okay?” Kurt nodded, ushering him out the door.
“Perfect. Now go get your son. If he’s anything like our daughter, your house is in ruins already.” When Blaine ran out the door, Kurt turned to Ziva. “Honey, a boy your age is coming over.”
“Yay! Can I play Cops and Robbers with him?”
“Only if he wants to and only after dinner. Go wash your hands.” Puck moved out of the way as she sprinted down the hall. “Do you think she’ll ever just walk anywhere?”
Puck ignored Kurt and went back to the kitchen to finish the pizza. “Noah? Are you angry that I invited Blaine over for dinner?”
He snorted and sliced the green peppers aggressively, “Your ex-boyfriend-no, make that your first boyfriend, your first fuck moved in next door. How the hell do you think I feel, Kurt?” He turned to the fashionista, “I don’t care about dinner, I care about the next couple of years.”
Kurt’s face twisted in anger and disbelief, “You’re jealous? Are you freaking kidding me? How can you be jealous? I haven’t seen Blaine in ten years!”
“You never forget your first fuck, Kurt.” Puck shoved the pizza in the warmed oven and slammed the door shut.
Kurt looked pissed, but Puck couldn’t care less at the moment. Just his luck. Just his fucking luck that Blaine fucking Pretty Boy Anderson moved next door. Images of Kurt and Blaine together senior year flashed through his brain and he slammed his fist down on the counter he was cleaning.
The kitchen was silent for a long moment, before Ziva’s voice wafted in. She was singing a song she’d made up herself and sounded so happy that Puck was brought back to the moment. He forced himself to take in deep breaths to calm down. He was relatively composed when he felt Kurt’s hand on his still balled fists. Puck looked to Kurt’s face and found a pair of angry green eyes.
“Yes, Puck, I remember my first fuck.” Puck tried to wrench his hand away, but Kurt’s grip tightened. “I remember being in my bed at Dalton, listening to depressing music because I missed all of you so much.” He cupped Puck’s cheek with his other hand, only to have Puck turn his face away. Kurt’s voice took on an edge, “I remember Blaine coming in and trying to cheer me up. He kissed me and I kissed him back. At that point, we’d only made out but I knew that night was going to be different.”
“Kurt, don’t-”
Kurt went on, “We took off our clothes and he asked me what I wanted. I told him I wanted everything. He got on top of me and-”
Puck heart was going to give out, he was sure, “Kurt, please-”
Kurt grabbed his face with both hands and forced his husband to look him in the eye, “Listen. It hurt, but it was wonderful. I thought it was romantic and the perfect first time.” He snorted, “I lasted about two minutes. I remember every second. Now, do you remember our first time?”
“Of course I remember our first time.” He snorted. “Why? Need some help recalling the details?” he added snidely.
Kurt narrowed his eyes, “Don’t be stupid, Noah. It’s not very becoming.” Puck fumed. “I remember everything. Everything. From that stupid AC/DC shirt you were wearing to the grape flavored lube you used.” Kurt seemed to lose his anger as a smirk overtook his face.
Puck froze and stopped trying to wriggle out of Kurt’s grasp. His breathing became labored when Kurt leaned forward and pressed his lips against the shell of Puck’s ear, “Remember how you fucked me with your fingers until I came all over my chest.” Puck screwed his eyes shut and fought against the blood rushing to his groin. “You sucked me until I was hard again and then fucked me until I couldn’t feel my legs.” Kurt ran his tongue along the outside of Puck’s ear. With a growl, Puck grabbed Kurt by the hips and flipped them over, so that Kurt’s back met with the counter top. He thrust his crotch against his husband’s, pinning him in place.
“Yes. Yes, okay. I remember. How could I forget? You were the tightest thing I’d ever felt.” Puck found himself getting angry at Kurt’s satisfied smile, “That doesn’t mean I’m any less pissed because Pretty Boy is here.”
“Why? How can you be jealous?” Kurt didn’t wait for his answer and suddenly, Kurt’s lips were on his and his tongue was doing some serious spelunking. Puck figured he could do one of two things: either pull away from Kurt’s vacuum of a mouth and stay pissed or make out with his (annoyingly) sexy husband. Finn Hudson had enough IQ points to guess which he decided on.
Puck fisted a hand in Kurt’s hair, bringing their faces impossibly closer. He ran his tongue along the inside of Kurt’s teeth, dick twitching in his jeans as Kurt let out small noises of arousal.
“We can’t-uh, we c-can’t do this now, oh!” Puck thrust his erection against Kurt’s, eliciting a moan from the other man. He twisted Kurt’s nipple through his designer shirt and let the sound of Kurt’s whimper wash over him. He couldn’t believe how a man of over thirty could still produce such a high-pitched noise, but he didn’t question it. Just thanked his lucky stars. Kurt rolled his hips and the friction had Puck smearing precome on the inside of his jeans, “God, Kurt, you’re just as hot as that day in the park.”
“Better believe it, Puckerman. But we really shoul-” The doorbell rang and they both groaned.
Kurt took heaving breaths and straightened his hair while Puck glared in the direction of the door. Ziva ran past the kitchen and to the doorway, screaming, “They’re here, they’re here!”
Puck almost cried as Kurt gently pushed their bodies apart, “Babe!”
Kurt kissed him softly, “I swear on all that is holy and fashionable that if you behave during dinner, I will make it so worth your while.”
Amazing sex or petty, snide comments over pizza and beer? Puck placed a kiss on Kurt’s neck, “Fine. I’ll behave.” Kurt beamed.
“Daddy, Papa! Xander and Mr. Blaine are here!” The couple shared a smile at the sheer volume of their daughter’s voice. “Papa, you’re wrong! Xander is six! I’m five! That’s not the same age!” She strutted into the kitchen, dragging a little boy by the hand. Blaine appeared behind them, a fond and amused smile on his face.
“Ziva was just telling us on how about how you have trouble with numbers, Kurt.” Puck really wished he could pound the twinkle out of the smarmy bastard, but then there would be no sex for him (and Kurt would be hurt and cry and that would be the worst).
“Oh, I do, do I?” Kurt stared at his daughter with a wry look, crossing his arms.
Ziva copied him, finally letting go of the boy’s hand (Puck almost laughed at the relieved expression that crossed his little face). Arms clumsily crossed across her chest, she said, matter-of-factly, “Daddy says so.” Puck’s eyes widened. “He says that you don’t know how many sides a box has and-” She screeched as her father picked her up and tucked her under his arm. Puck turned to his amused audience, “Pizza, anyone?”
Later that night, Puck could not recall a single bit of conversation that transpired over dinner. He tuned it out, to be honest. Kurt and Blaine laughed and reminisced about old times at Dalton and McKinley. Puck kept himself distracted by playing the host, making sure everyone got enough to eat and drink. He watched over the kids and smoothed out the interaction when Ziva got a little…enthusiastic with her new playmate. Puck was playing babysitter when, around eight o’clock, Blaine and Kurt came into Ziva’s playroom announcing Blaine’s departure.
Now, an hour later and after putting Ziva down for the night, Puck laid in bed rethinking his initial reaction to the Blaine situation. He also took back his previous annoyance about fully attached houses. He thought it was going to be awkward, but he realized, as Kurt rode him, that it was a very, very good thing. Kurt was bouncing up and down on his dick, gasping and moaning, desperate for release. Yes, Puck thought as Kurt screamed his name, this could be the start of a fucking awesome time.
“Fuckfuckfuck-NOAH, oh my God!”