30 Days of Puckurt Drabble: Day 24
It's day twenty-four of our June 30 Days of Puckurt drabble fest!
Here be the rules; don't forget to include a rating if the piece is rated higher than PG ( Read more... )
Here be the rules; don't forget to include a rating if the piece is rated higher than PG ( Read more... )
“Dude. Dude, wake up.”
Kurt lets out a breathy moan and opens his eyes, squinting in the bright light that surrounds him. “What?” he says, words muffled by the horridly uncomfortable pillow beneath his head.
Puck’s face suddenly comes into focus; he is bent at the waist and staring at Kurt in amusement. “I can’t believe you fell asleep.”
“Huh?” Kurt’s mind is blurry and he has no idea where he is for a moment, and then the wall across from him comes into focus. There are hundreds of pictures, black and white and colour, plastered neatly in rows, each and every one hand-drawn and unique.
Kurt cranes his neck around, careful to keep his torso still, and tries to get a look at his back and side. “Is it done?” he asks.
“Yeah, man, and it looks fuckin’ sweet,” Puck says with a smirk. “I can’t believe you actually did this.”
“Better believe it my friend, because it’s not going anywhere anytime soon.”
Kurt looks up into the eyes of a tall wry man who is in the process of peeling a pair of gloves off, and smiles. “Can I look?”
“Yup,” the man says. “There’s a mirror right over there - take this with you.” He hands Kurt a hand-held mirror and points at a tall mirror that nearly covers one of the walls. “I’ll get this all sorted for the next one while you do that.”
Moving as gingerly as possible, Kurt rolls from the table he has been laid on, face peeling from a disposable paper pillowcase - he just knows it has left lines - as he does so. His back and side feel odd - tender and aching, but not actually painful.
Rolling his shoulders gently as he walks, Kurt comes to stand before the mirror and turns, bringing the other mirror up so that he can see his back.
“Oh my God,” he says softly, a small expression of wonder coming over his face. His eyes trace the lines of art over his skin; some are thick and powerful, solid lines and curves that stand out against his pale colouring, while others are thin and fragile, coiling about in perfect little arcs. The lines, no matter their shape or width, follow in a pattern that flows with his body, making the design look natural and at peace with his physique.
Kurt can’t wait for it to heal so he can see it without the deep red of the skin around - the dark blacks, blues and greens will contrast wonderfully with his skin.
“Your dad is going to freak,” says Puck as he appears at Kurt’s side.
Kurt gives the other man an aborted glance and shakes his head. “No - my dad is never going to know.” His eyes dance over the design on his skin for a moment longer and then he turns away, looking slightly up to meet Puck’s eyes at last. “And if he ever does, he won’t be able to do anything about it.” He is over the age of consent for this, after all.
Puck nods and gives him a smug smile. “This is so awesome.”
“Mm hum,” Kurt agrees. “Are you ready?”
Puck looks like the question is a personal affront to his manliness. “Dude. Of course I am.”
Kurt lifts one brow sardonically and looks over at the table where the artist is setting up unopened packages with needles and various other implements, replacing the pillowcase and wiping the black leather table down with disinfectant. Puck follows his gaze and something akin to anxiousness blanks his expression for less than a second before he pulls it back under a façade of assuredness.
“Uh huh,” Kurt mutters. “Don’t worry babe - I’ll hold your hand.”
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I used a word generator for the two drabbles I'm posting now - I'm lucky enough to know something that would work for each :D
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Noah Puckerman isn’t stupid; he sees things that happen around him, watches the way people interact and react and draws a map of social queues from that. He might not get it right all of the time, and he might not always like what he sees, but he certainly uses it to his advantage.
In the world of high school politics where jocks and cheerleaders are at the top of the proverbial dung-heap and the nerds and social outcasts at the bottom, there are certain things that he has learned to expect of certain people. Take someone like Jacob Ben Israel for instance - the jocks and the people who rule the school can beat him into submission, have him grovelling if they want. He’s mouldable like clay.
But then there are people like Hummel. At first he had thought that the little scrawny kid with fancy shoes and outlandish outfits would crumble under the pressure - would melt like butter under the intense heat of the social hierarchy. But he never did.
The thing about Hummel, and this took Puck a while to figure out, is that he is made of rock. The boy just bounces back from the hardest of hits and keeps on moving, keeping his shape and his head held high. But there are weaknesses in him; small and patterned in a way that only those who know what to look for can find. No matter how hard a clumsy hammer smashes at him - dumpster tosses and horrible slurs - they don’t damage him. They might leave a little scratch, but those can be polished away.
It’s the people who know how to wield their blows, know exactly where they need to hit Hummel to make him crack and split into pieces, which really get to him. And Puck has seen that happen only a few times - even then Hummel would come back all the stronger.
Puck has taken to thinking of Hummel as made of some kind of stone - chert or more specifically flint - breaking under the pressure of the world’s hate only to be shaped into something sharper, stronger, with every hit.
Something about it, about Hummel, stirs a kind of fascination in Puck’s chest; draws his eyes in interest and makes him want to be closer to the other boy. It is the same kind of attraction that he felt to Lauren, to Santana, and Puck knows what it is the moment he clearly feels it for the first time.
He is attracted to Hummel’s strength, wants to be near it and with it - with him - and it makes Puck wish that he could find his own pit of strength to draw from. So that he could do something about it.
Puck’s not weak, he’s a freaking badass, and he knows that one of these days he’s gonna go for what he wants.
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A/N: being in the archaeology program at uni finally paid off in this respect :P
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And love the tattoo bit, figures Kurt would fall asleep and Puck's the anxious one. Cute!
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Thank you, hon! ♥
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Also, now I want to see the exact design Kurt has. :P
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Thank you <3
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