31 Texts From last Night Day 21test_kard_girlJanuary 21 2013, 19:54:19 UTC
(313): White coat. Heels.
"Where did you get these?"
"Oh; Dalton's wardrobe department owed me a favour."
Puck raises a sceptical eyebrow, and Kurt strikes a Vogue pose:
"For being fabulous, of course. Do you know how depressingly conformist that place is without me?"
"I can guess." Puck drawls, and winces as he crams his chunky man-toes into one size 11 black strappy stiletto.
"Hell fuck, you expect me to walk in these or something?"
"Don't make me show you the Gaga heels again." Kurt warns, and Puck shivers at his memory of those ten-inch monstrosities. "But yeah, it does take some getting used to." The other boy concedes. "There's a technique. You have to walk from the hip..." He climbs back to his feet so he can demonstrate, strutting a few catwalk steps around his bedroom. "See? Instead of the knee."
Puck gives it a shot, tottering a few tentative Bambi steps towards the mirror. Call him a simpleton, but he always kind of figured walking from his feet was the way forward. Fuck, his ankles are not made for this crap.
Behind him, Kurt looks similarly unconvinced, tapping a fingernail against his teeth.
"...On the plus side:" He offers, perking up. "your calves look astounding."
Puck narrows his kohl-lined eyes.
"Hummel. You got a thing for fishnets?"
"I have absolutely no thing for fishnets." Kurt replies, very definitely: "Arms." Puck obediently lifts his elbows, so Kurt can bang a couple of extra stitches into the belt-loop on the side of his lab-coat: "In case it escaped your attention, I'm attracted to boys." Kurt reminds him flatly. "That's boys, who look like boys, with penises. You're a man dressed as a woman dressed as cheap hooker."
"Hey, hey, watch with the judging." Puck protests smirkingly. "It takes a lotta money to look this cheap."
"Says the guy who robbed a drag queen for Chantilly lace... There:" Puck looks up again at the feel of Kurt's hands cinching briefly around his waist. "Can you breathe?"
"--I--"
"--'Cos if you can then we're not doing it right." Kurt meets Puck's startled eyes in the mirror and winks.
Puck stares at himself. It's the first time he's put the whole outfit together: the wig, the coat, the shoes; and getting Kurt's input has totally paid off. At least his make-up isn't leaking halfway down his face this time. He does feel kinda like Frankenstein's monster-- but in a freakishly hot, sexually-ambiguous kind of way, obviously.
"Uh, so, this is kinda a dumb question." Puck scrunches up his nose; tries to reach a hand round to the back of his own shoulders: "But how do I get out of this corset without, like, dislocating something?"
"It's a basque," Kurt corrects "and I really doubt you'll be able to get out of it yourself."
Puck gives him the fish-eye: "I'm seeing some kind of ginormous flaw in this plan..."
"...Well, you should feel sorry for the centuries-worth of females who've been poured into these things. Of course, lingerie like this was invented when every well-to-do young woman had a lady's maid following her around bent on obeying her every whim."
Sounds fair. Puck glances hopefully at Kurt:
"Don't suppose you picked me up a lady's maid to go with the outfit?"
"Sorry, your invisible fee didn't cover much by way of waiting staff." Kurt informs him ruefully. "...But, y'know, if you're sleeping over at ours afterwards I can get you out of it."
Puck stares; and watches with amusement as Kurt's face turns almost exactly the same shade of scarlet as Puck's lipstick.
"Oh you know I didn't- I didn't mean- not like--" His spluttering is priceless "--oh shut up, in your dreams Puckerman!"
Puck smirks, dodging away from Kurt's violent flailing hand and almost toppling off his stilletos.
Yup. Rocky Horror 40th anniversary gig is a go. Fuck, but he makes one sweet transvestite.
"Where did you get these?"
"Oh; Dalton's wardrobe department owed me a favour."
Puck raises a sceptical eyebrow, and Kurt strikes a Vogue pose:
"For being fabulous, of course. Do you know how depressingly conformist that place is without me?"
"I can guess." Puck drawls, and winces as he crams his chunky man-toes into one size 11 black strappy stiletto.
"Hell fuck, you expect me to walk in these or something?"
"Don't make me show you the Gaga heels again." Kurt warns, and Puck shivers at his memory of those ten-inch monstrosities. "But yeah, it does take some getting used to." The other boy concedes. "There's a technique. You have to walk from the hip..." He climbs back to his feet so he can demonstrate, strutting a few catwalk steps around his bedroom. "See? Instead of the knee."
Puck gives it a shot, tottering a few tentative Bambi steps towards the mirror. Call him a simpleton, but he always kind of figured walking from his feet was the way forward. Fuck, his ankles are not made for this crap.
Behind him, Kurt looks similarly unconvinced, tapping a fingernail against his teeth.
"...On the plus side:" He offers, perking up. "your calves look astounding."
Puck narrows his kohl-lined eyes.
"Hummel. You got a thing for fishnets?"
"I have absolutely no thing for fishnets." Kurt replies, very definitely: "Arms." Puck obediently lifts his elbows, so Kurt can bang a couple of extra stitches into the belt-loop on the side of his lab-coat: "In case it escaped your attention, I'm attracted to boys." Kurt reminds him flatly. "That's boys, who look like boys, with penises. You're a man dressed as a woman dressed as cheap hooker."
"Hey, hey, watch with the judging." Puck protests smirkingly. "It takes a lotta money to look this cheap."
"Says the guy who robbed a drag queen for Chantilly lace... There:" Puck looks up again at the feel of Kurt's hands cinching briefly around his waist. "Can you breathe?"
"--I--"
"--'Cos if you can then we're not doing it right." Kurt meets Puck's startled eyes in the mirror and winks.
Puck stares at himself. It's the first time he's put the whole outfit together: the wig, the coat, the shoes; and getting Kurt's input has totally paid off. At least his make-up isn't leaking halfway down his face this time. He does feel kinda like Frankenstein's monster-- but in a freakishly hot, sexually-ambiguous kind of way, obviously.
"Uh, so, this is kinda a dumb question." Puck scrunches up his nose; tries to reach a hand round to the back of his own shoulders: "But how do I get out of this corset without, like, dislocating something?"
"It's a basque," Kurt corrects "and I really doubt you'll be able to get out of it yourself."
Puck gives him the fish-eye: "I'm seeing some kind of ginormous flaw in this plan..."
"...Well, you should feel sorry for the centuries-worth of females who've been poured into these things. Of course, lingerie like this was invented when every well-to-do young woman had a lady's maid following her around bent on obeying her every whim."
Sounds fair. Puck glances hopefully at Kurt:
"Don't suppose you picked me up a lady's maid to go with the outfit?"
"Sorry, your invisible fee didn't cover much by way of waiting staff." Kurt informs him ruefully. "...But, y'know, if you're sleeping over at ours afterwards I can get you out of it."
Puck stares; and watches with amusement as Kurt's face turns almost exactly the same shade of scarlet as Puck's lipstick.
"Oh you know I didn't- I didn't mean- not like--" His spluttering is priceless "--oh shut up, in your dreams Puckerman!"
Puck smirks, dodging away from Kurt's violent flailing hand and almost toppling off his stilletos.
Yup. Rocky Horror 40th anniversary gig is a go. Fuck, but he makes one sweet transvestite.
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