Fic: The Chain
Title: The Chain
Author: Cattylina
Pairing: Puck/Kurt
Genre: Angst with a bit of sad fluff tossed in for good measure
Rating: PG
A/N: Just a little piece that came to mind whilst listening to Ingrid Michaelson.
This happened sporadically-Puck leaving in a fit of anger and irrationality. He always came back, which was the one string that Kurt could clutch on to when he was gripped with despair. But that niggling thought that maybe this was the final straw, their relationship was nearing the end, stuck in the back of Kurt's mind like gum on a pair of Gucci boots.
This time, they'd fought over something completely worthless, and also disconcerting. Kurt had demanded that Puck stopped texting Santana, and Puck had lost his cool. The argument turned into a shouting match in Kurt's basement, culminating in the fire in Puck's eyes as he stormed out the door. Was it so wrong for Kurt to want Puck's undivided attention and affection? After all, that was what a relationship was about. Trust, respect and fidelity. Kurt knew that this was some sort of crazy emotional abuse (or something equally despair-inducing) but he couldn't help himself; he always opened the door for Puck, unlocked the physical and emotional chains and welcomed his boyfriend back with embarrassing eagerness. He was a fool, and he knew it. One day, Puck would not return, and Kurt would spend the rest of his miserable existence waiting, wishing for the love of his life return.
The immediate remedy to Kurt's situation was to put on his specially selected of heartbreak songs and curl up in one of Puck's ridiculously large sweatshirts and lie on the wrong side of the bed, with his head pressed up against the footboard. He would cry his way through On My Own, Goodbye Love, I Dreamed a Dream, I'm Not That Girl and other songs that were conducive to sobbing pitifully.
And when Puck came back, several hours later (he never really stayed away for long-just enough to shatter Kurt like a porcelain doll that's fallen off a shelf), he would spy Kurt's puffy eyes and tear-streaked cheeks, notice his sweatshirt obscuring Kurt's lithe body, note the fact that his beloved hair was in a disarray that would normally cause Kurt to sprint to the nearest mirror to fix it, and he was filled with guilt. Guilt that reminded him that Kurt was fragile, he was fragile, their relationship was fragile and Puck couldn't storm off without thinking and shove their love closer to that point of no return.
This time, Puck was standing outside the glass basement door with his mouth open as he witnessed his boyfriend self-destruct. Over him and his pitiful existence. The door was unlocked, it was always unlocked, waiting for him to come back. Puck was floored by Kurt's unwavering devotion and faith in him as he realized that Kurt was the one person worth fighting for, worth protecting, because he was so right for Puck. So as Puck wallowed in his guilt he placed his hand on the doorknob and swung the spotless glass into the room. At the noise of the creaky hinge, Kurt shot up in the dim light and scrambled off the bed, scrubbing his cheeks with the sweatshirt. The delicate boy stopped just shy of Puck and locked gazes with his fickle boyfriend. Without warning, Kurt's face crumpled and he surged into Puck's chest, wrapping his arms around Puck's torso, his body wracked with sobs.
And so Puck stroked his hair and whispered apologies and proclamations of love and devotion as he half-carried his love back towards the soft bed that was so often their refuge from the world. He would tuck Kurt in and kiss the salty tracks still falling across his cheeks. Puck would kick off his shoes and snuggle in next to Kurt, wrapping his strong arms around his boyfriend, and feeling like absolute scum as he came to terms with the fact that this would happen again, and he would keep hurting his love.
Author: Cattylina
Pairing: Puck/Kurt
Genre: Angst with a bit of sad fluff tossed in for good measure
Rating: PG
A/N: Just a little piece that came to mind whilst listening to Ingrid Michaelson.
This happened sporadically-Puck leaving in a fit of anger and irrationality. He always came back, which was the one string that Kurt could clutch on to when he was gripped with despair. But that niggling thought that maybe this was the final straw, their relationship was nearing the end, stuck in the back of Kurt's mind like gum on a pair of Gucci boots.
This time, they'd fought over something completely worthless, and also disconcerting. Kurt had demanded that Puck stopped texting Santana, and Puck had lost his cool. The argument turned into a shouting match in Kurt's basement, culminating in the fire in Puck's eyes as he stormed out the door. Was it so wrong for Kurt to want Puck's undivided attention and affection? After all, that was what a relationship was about. Trust, respect and fidelity. Kurt knew that this was some sort of crazy emotional abuse (or something equally despair-inducing) but he couldn't help himself; he always opened the door for Puck, unlocked the physical and emotional chains and welcomed his boyfriend back with embarrassing eagerness. He was a fool, and he knew it. One day, Puck would not return, and Kurt would spend the rest of his miserable existence waiting, wishing for the love of his life return.
The immediate remedy to Kurt's situation was to put on his specially selected of heartbreak songs and curl up in one of Puck's ridiculously large sweatshirts and lie on the wrong side of the bed, with his head pressed up against the footboard. He would cry his way through On My Own, Goodbye Love, I Dreamed a Dream, I'm Not That Girl and other songs that were conducive to sobbing pitifully.
And when Puck came back, several hours later (he never really stayed away for long-just enough to shatter Kurt like a porcelain doll that's fallen off a shelf), he would spy Kurt's puffy eyes and tear-streaked cheeks, notice his sweatshirt obscuring Kurt's lithe body, note the fact that his beloved hair was in a disarray that would normally cause Kurt to sprint to the nearest mirror to fix it, and he was filled with guilt. Guilt that reminded him that Kurt was fragile, he was fragile, their relationship was fragile and Puck couldn't storm off without thinking and shove their love closer to that point of no return.
This time, Puck was standing outside the glass basement door with his mouth open as he witnessed his boyfriend self-destruct. Over him and his pitiful existence. The door was unlocked, it was always unlocked, waiting for him to come back. Puck was floored by Kurt's unwavering devotion and faith in him as he realized that Kurt was the one person worth fighting for, worth protecting, because he was so right for Puck. So as Puck wallowed in his guilt he placed his hand on the doorknob and swung the spotless glass into the room. At the noise of the creaky hinge, Kurt shot up in the dim light and scrambled off the bed, scrubbing his cheeks with the sweatshirt. The delicate boy stopped just shy of Puck and locked gazes with his fickle boyfriend. Without warning, Kurt's face crumpled and he surged into Puck's chest, wrapping his arms around Puck's torso, his body wracked with sobs.
And so Puck stroked his hair and whispered apologies and proclamations of love and devotion as he half-carried his love back towards the soft bed that was so often their refuge from the world. He would tuck Kurt in and kiss the salty tracks still falling across his cheeks. Puck would kick off his shoes and snuggle in next to Kurt, wrapping his strong arms around his boyfriend, and feeling like absolute scum as he came to terms with the fact that this would happen again, and he would keep hurting his love.