31 Texts From Last Night: Day 23-- (PG)test_kard_girlJanuary 24 2012, 00:05:25 UTC
(518): He needs to respect me before he can f*ck me with cat ears on.
Puck approaches Kurt by the punch bowl, tilting his trilby down at a more rakish angle over his scary-ass zombie make-up. The other boy is gazing thoughtfully over the ransacked contents of Rachel's drinks table, swaying vaguely along with the music and making his tail swish in enticing little swirls behind him.
Puck gulps. God. He'd never figured himself for having a furry fetish until right the fuck now.
He leans close over Kurt's shoulder, feeling the other boy stiffen like he actually is a cat, fur bristling all up and down his spine.
"Baby--"
"--Noah." Kurt interrupts, raising a finger. "I thought we'd talked about terms of endearment?"
Puck grits his teeth.
"Yeah ok, you're mad at me, I get it, I know. But you realise this--" He gestures down at Kurt's black-clad form; his knee boots, his adorable little cat-ears "--is like psychosexual torture, right?"
Kurt's mouth forms an sardonic little 'o', and he twists around, leaning back against the table.
"Well; that's a big word for someone who skips out of class to go bang cheerleaders in supply closets."
Puck sighs, leaning his hand against the table beside Kurt's hip: "Will you stop? I said I was sorry."
Kurt is staring at the hand beside him like he might bite it.
(Honestly, the cat thing is totally dead-on).
"True." He concedes.
"Thankyou."
Kurt shrugs. "But I guess I'm just not quite ready to forgive you yet for all the, you know, public humiliation, and things."
He lifts his black-rimmed eyes, glowering up at Puck and crossing his arms over his chest. Somehow (Puck's really not sure how) he manages to look intimidating even with whiskers.
Puck can't stand when Kurt looks at him like that. All hurt and disappointment and righteous anger. He reminds him way too much of Quinn, and that is never gonna be a good thing, right?
He throws his hands in the air:
"Ok, what then?" He asks, forcing himself to keep his voice down so Finn doesn't rush in all Superman. "What do I need to do to get you to forgive me?"
Kurt's expression doesn't shift:
"...Tell me that you didn't just come over here 'cos I'm wearing spandex and cat-ears and all your regular booty calls are hooked up already."
Puck stares at him.
For a long moment, Kurt holds his gaze. Then he gives a tiny, almost imperceptible, smile:
"Yeah."
Then, with all the grace his costume implies, he side-steps Puck, disappearing back into the party.
Puck screws up his eyes, grabbing Kurt's abandoned solo cup and crunching it in his fist.
Puck approaches Kurt by the punch bowl, tilting his trilby down at a more rakish angle over his scary-ass zombie make-up. The other boy is gazing thoughtfully over the ransacked contents of Rachel's drinks table, swaying vaguely along with the music and making his tail swish in enticing little swirls behind him.
Puck gulps. God. He'd never figured himself for having a furry fetish until right the fuck now.
He leans close over Kurt's shoulder, feeling the other boy stiffen like he actually is a cat, fur bristling all up and down his spine.
"Baby--"
"--Noah." Kurt interrupts, raising a finger. "I thought we'd talked about terms of endearment?"
Puck grits his teeth.
"Yeah ok, you're mad at me, I get it, I know. But you realise this--" He gestures down at Kurt's black-clad form; his knee boots, his adorable little cat-ears "--is like psychosexual torture, right?"
Kurt's mouth forms an sardonic little 'o', and he twists around, leaning back against the table.
"Well; that's a big word for someone who skips out of class to go bang cheerleaders in supply closets."
Puck sighs, leaning his hand against the table beside Kurt's hip: "Will you stop? I said I was sorry."
Kurt is staring at the hand beside him like he might bite it.
(Honestly, the cat thing is totally dead-on).
"True." He concedes.
"Thankyou."
Kurt shrugs. "But I guess I'm just not quite ready to forgive you yet for all the, you know, public humiliation, and things."
He lifts his black-rimmed eyes, glowering up at Puck and crossing his arms over his chest. Somehow (Puck's really not sure how) he manages to look intimidating even with whiskers.
Puck can't stand when Kurt looks at him like that. All hurt and disappointment and righteous anger. He reminds him way too much of Quinn, and that is never gonna be a good thing, right?
He throws his hands in the air:
"Ok, what then?" He asks, forcing himself to keep his voice down so Finn doesn't rush in all Superman. "What do I need to do to get you to forgive me?"
Kurt's expression doesn't shift:
"...Tell me that you didn't just come over here 'cos I'm wearing spandex and cat-ears and all your regular booty calls are hooked up already."
Puck stares at him.
For a long moment, Kurt holds his gaze. Then he gives a tiny, almost imperceptible, smile:
"Yeah."
Then, with all the grace his costume implies, he side-steps Puck, disappearing back into the party.
Puck screws up his eyes, grabbing Kurt's abandoned solo cup and crunching it in his fist.
God, he hates that boy.
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