My Place In You Life 21/?
Author: allatingle
Rating: NC-17
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Kurt/Puck, the rest of the gang wanders in and out.
Genre: Romance/Angst
Warnings: None
Spoilers: I can't separate Glee from FF or RL anymore so lets say everything.
Disclaimer: Mine only in my warped imagination.
Summary: Kurt and Puck decide to have some fun together. Just fun, no strings. But being totally casual isn't as easy as it looks.
Word Count: 1914
They lost.
Endless hours of planning, rehearsing and fighting, strained voices, sore muscles and living and breathing this competition for what seemed like forever and they missed the brass ring by a hair. Second place.
“It’s not right!” Rachel shrieked from where she was sitting atop Quinn’s pool table. “Aural Intensity’s performance was more lights and pyrotechnics than actual singing, we should’ve demanded a recount!”
Finn rubbed her back soothingly. “Rach, sweetie, there were like, six judges.”
They had gathered at Quinn’s as planned but what they had hoped would be a celebration of their victory turned out to be a dismal memorial to their loss. Until Quinn cracked open the Fabray’s very well stocked liquor cabinet and then it morphed rapidly into an Irish wake. The music was pumping and they sang and danced wildly, offering up their frustration and disappointment to the Gods of Patron, Johnnie Walker Black and show choir.
“Robbed, we were robbed!” Rachel shouted again, waving her arms and sloshing half of the contents of her cup onto the polished hardwood floor.
“Shh,” Finn put a finger to her lips. “Mrs. Fabray’s upstairs, indoor voice, remember?”
Kurt didn’t know why he was bothering. You couldn’t quiet Rachel down on a good day, let alone halfway to drunk and although Mrs. Fabray was home, she was clearly ignoring the goings on downstairs. There was no way she couldn’t know that her underage daughter and her friends were getting plastered and making a giant mess in her games room. There was no way the neighbours didn’t know. But deliberate ignorance was how it worked in the Fabray household; Quinn pretended she didn’t know about her mother and the married deacon and her mother pretended that Quinn was still a sweet and virginal princess. Princess Fabray had just downed her second shot of tequila and, amidst catcalls, was doing a rather impressive Beyonce booty shake.
After a couple of hours of dancing and two (three?) cups of New Directions Iced Tea, which was some concoction that Brittany had come up with consisting of various kinds of alcohol mixed with cranberry punch and gummi bears (And when Kurt had been foolish enough to ask, “Britt, shouldn’t it be called New Directions Cranberry Punch?” She just looked at him quizzically and asked, “Why?” so he didn't even bother to question the gummi bears), Kurt had let go of most of his own outrage and was just feeling bummed. Bummed that they had lost, bummed that he had taken off his scarf earlier and he had no idea where he put it, bummed that after drowning their sorrows in alcohol, all the couples had paired off and were now drowning them in each other, while he was sitting alone at the bar watching Santana teach Mercedes how to salsa and his boyfriend parked on the floor between Lauren’s knees while she braided his mohawk.
Not your boyfriend.
“Oh shut up,” he muttered aloud.
“Kuuurt!” Mercedes called. “Come dance with us!”
But Kurt didn’t want to dance. Kurt wanted to crawl into Noah’s lap, feel those strong arms wrap around him and pout petulantly about their ignominious defeat and for Noah to hold him tight and kiss his head and murmur sweet, soothing things in his ear.
“Yeah, come on baby gay. Auntie Tana’ll show you how to move those hips, keep your man hap-hap-happy.” She snapped her hips left, right and left again to emphasize her point.
I keep my man plenty happy, thank you very much.
Kurt glanced over at Noah, eyes closed, hands wrapped around Lauren’s shins, head lolling back against her knee, fucking moaning, as she massaged his scalp.
Yes, that’s my man.
He scowled and gulped down the rest of his drink. He needed air. Air and space not filled with groping couples and his... whatever the hell Noah was... making orgasm faces while someone else rubbed his head. He burped and tasted gummi bear and, yeah, he also needed to stop drinking or he was going to end up joining Sam in reverent prayer to the porcelain god later. He slid off the bar stool he was slumped on and headed up the stairs, stumbling his way to the huge sliding glass doors that led to the Fabray’s back patio and slipping outside. The air was blessedly cool and the space quiet after hours of pounding bass and the heat generated by dancing and teenage hormones. Kurt sank onto the porch swing with a heavy sigh that turned into an even heavier yawn, maybe he’d just curl up and sleep out here, it's not like anyone would miss him.
Only a few minutes later, though, he heard the door behind him slide open and someone step out. He recognized the footsteps as they approached, Noah. He dropped his large frame down on the swing beside him.
“Hey babe, whatcha doin’ out here?” Puck asked.
His words seemed to slide together a little but Kurt wasn’t sure if that was because he was drunk or Noah was. “Nothing.”
“S’matter?”
“We lost.”
“Yeah, and?”
“And? Isn’t that enough?” Kurt pouted.
“That’s plenty. That’s why we’re here at Chez Fabray getting ripped, except for you who’s sitting out here all alone.”
“I was alone in there,” Kurt said sulkily. “Eating booze soaked gummi bears and watching you get a happy ending via head rub from Lauren,”
Puck snorted, “Hardly. I mean she’s good but she’s not that good.”
Kurt gave him a dark look. “What a shame.”
Puck reached to put his arm around him, but Kurt shrugged it off. “Come on, it was just a head rub.”
“I know it was just a head rub, I don’t care about the stupid head rub,” Kurt snapped.
“Then what’s the matter?”
“Nothing, I just needed a break from all the...” he waved a hand.
“All the what?”
“Couples... consoling each other. And then there’s me... and you... and we can't...” Kurt trailed off.
Puck said nothing, just let his head drop back against the swing and stared up at the sky.
Jesus Christ, Kurt, what is the matter with you? You know how this works. You are not a couple, you don’t get to do couple things. Pouting about it won’t change that so stopped acting like a spoiled brat... hey, that rhymes. And okay, yeah, definitely no more drinking.
Kurt squeezed his eyes shut and gave his head a shake hoping to clear away some of the alcohol induced fog that was obviously hindering the normal function of his brain to mouth filter. And making him think in rhymes. “Look, forget it, I’m just tired and kind of drunk and being a suck and-”
“You’re wearing Finn’s shoes, babe,” Puck interrupted his rambling. “I think you’re beyond ‘kind of’ drunk.”
Kurt looked down at his feet ensconced in Finn’s sneakers and made a face. He’d just slipped on the first pair he’d found and, gross, because Finn’s feet smelled like the boys locker room after a full day of classes in June.
“And you’re not. Being a suck, I mean. It’s been a long day and losing fucking bites and I know that you... I mean, I kind of... I get it, okay.”
Kurt sighed and leaned back against the cushion beside Puck and wondered how he could have everything and nothing at the same time.
Puck rolled his head to the side and looked at him. “Hey, I know it’s not exactly the same but we are alone out here, we could console each other a little.”
Kurt turned his head so they were practically nose to nose and regarded him with narrowed eyes. “I swear on my new DSquared jacket that if you are using console as a euphemism for blow job, I will cut you Puckerman.”
Puck laughed, “I’m not, I swear. C’mere.” He shifted and wrapped his arm around Kurt’s shoulders and tugged until Kurt relented and leaned into him, one hand tucked between them the other sliding up Noah’s chest and fisting in his shirt. They sat quietly, Kurt tucked against Puck, Puck pushing the swing back and forth with his foot.
“You know, you were amazing today,” Puck said after a while.
Kurt huffed, ruefully. “Not amazing enough.”
Puck gave him a squeeze. “More than enough. I told you, you have the best voice in glee.”
“I thought you were just saying that to try and boost my ego to get me to stop freaking out?”
“I was saying that to try and remind you of the truth to get you to stop freaking out. Your voice is amazing, Kurt. When you sing, God, it’s like... I can feel it in my friggin' soul.”
A tiny shiver ran through his body and Kurt bit his lip. “Don’t say things like that.”
“Why not, it’s true. Honestly, babe, we should’ve won based on your solo alone.”
Kurt had a vague recollection of hearing that sentiment earlier but he couldn’t remember from whom and it didn’t matter because he was in Noah’s soul.
I love you, I love you, I love you.
“Rachel’s right, it was the smoke and mirrors that got Aural Intensity the win," Puck affirmed.
“‘Kay, you must be drunk ‘cause not only are you all schmoopy about my voice but that’s the second time today that you’ve said Rachel was right about something.”
“Tell her and I’ll deny it and schmoopy? Talk about abusing the english language.”
“Doesn’t count, ‘m drunk,” Kurt protested feebly. “And hey, aren’t you supposed to be consoling me? If your master plan was hugging and proclaiming Rachel's good sense, you need to go back to the drawing board.”
“Oh, right, sorry.” Puck sat up and cleared his throat. “This is a complete and utter travesty of justice. Those judges wouldn’t know talent if it walked up and kicked them in the nads.”
“That’s better,” Kurt wiggled closer on the swing but Noah wasn’t finished.
“And their costumes,” he railed, his voice rising dramatically, “Oh my God, were they made by a team of blind and incompetent designers? To lose not only to lesser talent but badly dressed lesser talent is the most unkindest cut of all.”
Kurt snickered into Puck’s shirt and held on as the swing jerked and squeaked noisily.
“A plague on all their houses!” Puck shouted, shaking his fist at the sky.
“Shhh,” Kurt grabbed at his arm and tried to settle him down. “Stop it, someone will hear you.”
Puck just grinned at him. “How’s that for consoling?”
Kurt couldn't help but grin back as he looked up at him. “Cutting up other people’s clothing choices and quoting Shakespeare, very nice. Almost perfect.”
“Almost?”
“Almost.” Kurt took Noah's face in his hands and kissed him softly. “There, now it’s perfect.”
Puck hummed, “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.”
“Shocking really,” Kurt murmured, kissing him again. Puck’s lips parted immediately and his tongue wrapped around Kurt’s and finally the weight of the day began to slip away.
“We should stop, someone could come out here,” Kurt breathed after a few minutes.
Puck snorted. “When I left, the couples were coupling, Lauren had passed out and Santana was crying in Mercedes’ lap, trust me, no one’s worried about us.” He nipped at Kurt’s bottom lip.
“Noah,” Kurt warned, “We are not having sex in Quinn’s backyard.”
“Who said anything about sex, pervert,” Puck chuckled. “Just kiss me.”
Kurt grinned against his mouth, and did just that.