30 Days of Puckurt Drabbles Days Twenty AND Twenty-One
Sorry, guys! Yesterday got away from me. Happy belated solstice.
Welcome to Days Twenty & Twenty-One of 30 Days of Puckurt Drabbles in June: 2012 Edition!
Here be the rules; don't forget to include a rating if the piece is rated higher than PG.
Welcome to Days Twenty & Twenty-One of 30 Days of Puckurt Drabbles in June: 2012 Edition!
Here be the rules; don't forget to include a rating if the piece is rated higher than PG.
Kurt finally figured out how to enjoy flying on a warm afternoon in mid-May, after only about eight months of Puck insisting it was the best thing in the world. He did it on his own though, thank you very much, without Puck’s prodding, because apparently he just needed a quieter moment.
By this point, most of the students were getting pretty decent at flying, at least enough that they could aim their brooms in the right direction without falling off. That was essentially what they were doing today, while Madam Hooch went around offering help to those who hadn’t picked it up so well and still needed help keeping their grip solid. Kurt got the feeling this was about the peak of proficiency that would be expected from them, and he was just fine with that.
Mostly, though, they were just flitting around the Quidditch pitch with strict instructions not to rise any higher than fifty feet, and everyone seemed to be enjoying the downtime. With the warm weather taking over and the school year winding down - and the Mandrakes “almost ready,” whatever that meant - both the students and the teachers were in higher spirits, and it showed.
“It’s not my fault your broom likes you better than mine does!”
“Likes me better because I’m a better rider! Keep up!”
Santana laughed as she flew by, checking over her shoulder to see how far Sam had fallen behind in their race around the pitch. Sam, for his part, was lying almost flat on his broom in a vain attempt to urge it faster, and was periodically whacking lightly at the handle and scowling at it. He’d been insisting all afternoon that the broom hated him for some reason, and he couldn’t get it to respond correctly.
Whenever he did so in Kurt’s earshot, Kurt reminded him that at least it went where he told it to, if not as fast, and it didn’t buck him off, which should have been plenty. Kurt was perfectly content with hovering peacefully in the air twenty or so feet off the ground, even if Puck was very literally flying circles around him.
“It’s really annoying when you do that. You know that, right?”
“Yep.” Puck slowed to a stop, though, urging his broom over until it sat side-by-side with Kurt’s. Puck never had to hope he would get a cooperative broom on any given day; they always seemed to like him. “’S why I do it. Duh.”
When Kurt glanced down toward the ground - he tried to stop himself, really, it only made the experience worse, but his eyes kept sliding back down to remind him of the unnatural space between his feet and the grass - he found Madam Hooch frowning up at them, and sighed. Better get moving, then. He couldn’t stay in the same place all afternoon and expect to get away without the wrong kind of attention.
Slowly, he angled his broom toward the emptier side of the pitch and started forward, setting a pace just fast enough to satisfy their instructor and continuing on even after she’d looked away, because he might as well get to the other side, now. Puck followed after a moment, and quickly moved back into the pattern of drawing wide circles around him, complaining about how boring Kurt was being about it all.
“Would it be more interesting if I fell off my broom and broke a leg or an arm or something like that?” Kurt said finally, pulling himself to a stop to glare at Puck.
“Well, yeah. Or something else might be better, even. We could race or something; I think Santana’s getting bored of just Sam.” He pointed down toward the other end of the pitch, where Santana was indeed gloating over yet another victory.
Kurt shuddered at the idea of going as fast as he could on purpose. He’d heard all about the joys of flying, of the wind that would hit his face and the thrill of the motion, and none of it seemed at all worth it. This was much better, Kurt decided, sitting just a little ways up where he could enjoy the feeling of weightlessness without being completely overtaken by unease.
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“You want me to race Santana alone? Na, she’d just kill me when I beat her.”
Kurt raised an eyebrow. “And you think you wouldn’t beat her if I raced with you two?”
“No, I would.” Puck nodded confidently. “But at least she wouldn’t come in last.”
“Wow.”
“True, though.” With that, Puck sighed, slumping down over his broom a little and dipping a foot or two down before he corrected himself. “D’you think we’ll get to fly at all next year?”
All Kurt could offer him was a shrug. “We don’t have lessons…”
“Yeah, but… Can we? Like, maybe we can borrow the brooms sometimes and fly around here. My last school let you check out footballs and stuff when there was someone to watch out for it, after school or whatever.” He frowned. “Maybe not.”
“So enjoy it now.”
It only took another minute or so for Kurt to convince Puck that now was the time to be taking advantage of the brooms they would have access to at least twice more for lessons, but weren’t guaranteed after that (not that Kurt wanted to have much to do with them after, but maybe he would walk down with Puck or something, if they really could borrow the brooms). When he’d managed it, Puck took off like a rocket, shooting down the pitch at a speed that might not be very impressive to a actual Quidditch player, but made Kurt’s stomach turn over just the same.
After a few wide circuits of the field, Puck pulled himself to a stop next to Kurt. The sudden, mid-air halt left him hovering unsteadily, cheeks flushed from the wind and mouth stretched in a wide smile. He was telling Kurt about how great it was, and he had to come with him, seriously, but Kurt wasn’t paying much attention, just trying not to laugh at how incredibly excited and disheveled Puck had gotten over a minute’s flight.
And that was how he came to enjoy flying.
He couldn’t be sure why it was, exactly - whether it was the isolation and the peace that came with that, all alone but for one companion in their own little bubble of air, or the enthusiasm that rolled off Puck in waves large enough for Kurt to pick some of it up for itself - but it worked.
For a minute, at least, he didn’t give a second thought to what might happen if he fell, just grinned along with Puck and nodded his agreement and somehow managed to agree to join him in a few more laps around the pitch, however that had happened. Impulsively, he leaned over and pinched Puck lightly on the arm.
“Ow!” Puck startled, rubbing the affected area, though Kurt knew it would have been barely hard enough for him to feel it. Still, Puck shot him a dramatic pout and demanded, “What was that for?”
“For dragging me along with you,” Kurt answered. “You should know better.”
“Yeah, I’ll have to drag you if I’m gonna get you to stay anywhere near me, or else you’ll fall behind.”
“Let’s go, then.”
Puck won, of course, but then doubled back and flew alongside him for a few laps, and while Kurt was still incredibly grateful when he finally touched ground again at the end of the lesson, at least he had a hint of more, now. He knew how to want to be up in the air.
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