Fic: Sweater?
Title: Sweater?
Author: Qualli
Pairing: Kurt/Puck
Rating: PG13
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Humor
Warning: none
Spoilers: up to 2x01
Disclaimer: Not mine. No profit
Summary: In which Kurt suffers in the sun, and Puck doesn’t think highly of Alexander McQueen
Word Count: 2,724
- - -
Kurt fanned himself with a sheet of notebook paper (how unfair, he had the perfect folding fan to go with the outfit at home) as he watched the football players practice below, cheering when one of the glee-jocks did well.
Okay, so it wasn’t exactly his favorite thing to do, but Rachel and Tina made him stay after the assembly so they could watch Finn and Mike and Artie (Tina said Mike, but they knew she meant Artie). Apparently if he was dating Puck that also meant sitting on the bleachers, watching him head-butt people while in pads. Wonderful.
It could be worse, he supposed. He could be down there getting tackled by Azimio and his thugs while sweating in polyblend. There was a reason he quit football after all, and didn’t entirely have to do with Glee (or the fact that Tanaka was rather....smelly...and touchy).
But it was also incredibly boring, and not nearly as sexy as the skinemax movies suggested hot, sweaty football players should be.
It was hot in the entirely not sexy way, and Kurt decided, with a guilty pet to to luxurious sleeve, maybe not the best day to wear a seven pound sweater. But Fashion knew no temperature, and it had been the only one in his locker that matched his pants. (He always kept extras around in case of unexpected slushies, or swirlies as was today’s case)
He had been fine in class, it was just sitting here on the bleachers under the sun. He almost wished Tina was into the lolita thing so there would be a frilly parasol to hide under.
Kurt took a small sip from his water bottle, wrinkling his nose at the warm liquid. With a disgusted sigh he upended it, letting it splatter down between the slats. Puck had better appreciate this. He deserved a nice cold Frappachino for being the world’s best boyfriend.
“You look like you sat on a lemon.”
Kurt blinked up, squinting at the harsh sun and the teenager looming over him.
Puck was standing in front of him, hands on his hips, helmet dangling from his fingers.
“Shut it Puckerman.” He grumbled, looking around. Somehow practice had ended while he was distracted with parasols and coffee drinks, and Rachel and Tina had abandoned him, fawning over their own sweaty jocks.
“Love you too Pookie.” Puck responded, gulping down a cup of sewer colored sports drink, dripping it all over his uniform. Ugh. Kurt crumpled his makeshift fan and threw it at Puck, before searching through his bag for a towel. He stood up, reaching to toss it over Puck’s head when his vision grayed suddenly.
“Whoah” he muttered, steadying himself against his (sweaty, filthy, strong, steady) boyfriend. Puck’s hands came up immediately, grabbing his elbows as Kurt swayed.
“Kurt” Puck sounded worried, and under water, which, Kurt had to admit, was slightly worrying indeed. He looked up.
“I think I’m going to be sick.” Kurt announced, a sudden wave of nausea sweeping over his body, chilling him to the bone.
Suddenly he found himself sitting down again (and ow, had Puck needed to shove him like that?), hunched over and heaving warm water all over his shoes, with his fellow gleeks circling him like vultures.
He vaguely hoped there was no one standing below him under the bleachers, or only Azimio. He wouldn’t mind throwing up on him. But wait, he was on the first bench right? No one under him. damn.
Once his stomach emptied, he straightened, keeping his eyes closed. There was a cool, clammy hand on his forehead, ruffling through his hair and resting against his cheek. He leaned into Puck’s touch, tired and dizzy all of a sudden. “ ‘m okay” he muttered.
“No you’re not” Artie said matter of factly somewhere on his right, and Kurt scowled, then jumped as Puck stuck a hand up his sweater, tickling under his arms as he did...something. Kurt unbalanced again, and Finn was behind him, keeping him from falling backwards.
“He’s hot. And he’s not sweating.” Puck said. “Shit, who the fuck let him out in this weather with that stupid polar bear sweater. What the fuck is this sweater anyway?” Puck was yanking at it and Kurt squirmed.
“Mcqueen. Getoffffffffff.” It came out as a muffled whine, the sweater coming over his head and being flung (good lord, *flung*) to the side.
“Tina” Puck ignored him, and Kurt felt miffed, almost enough to open his eyes. “Go get Coach Bieste. Tell her Kurt’s getting heat stroke. We’re going to get him in the shade under the bleachers.”
Oh...well that made sense, Kurt thought distantly. Tanaka had made them all sit through a video about that. ....A couple times.
Oops.
“Can you stand up?” Mike was at his elbow, and he slitted his eyes open long enough to look around (Oh hey, Rachel had rescued the sweater) and consider the situation. He stood up. He tried. His calves shook traitorously at the thought.
“Uhm” he leaned against Puck. “Nuh-uh”. It was so hot.
He sighed in defeat, allowing himself to be lifted and set down again in Artie’s lap, Finn wheeling them down the ramp.
He was never living this down.
_ _ _
Puck should have known. Kurt had been sitting in the sun all afternoon in that ridiculously heavy sweater, and from what Rachel said, he hadn’t been drinking that much water.
They had been practicing for an hour and a half, and there had been the pep rally before that. So that made, what, 4 hours?
They found a clean spot of grass under the bleachers and Finn helped him move Kurt from Artie’s lap to the ground, the smaller boy limp in their arms, eyes opened slightly.
“ ‘m fine” Kurt muttered, and Puck glared, pulling off his football pads. Kurt was not fine, even he could tell that. Coach Tanaka had been a total spazz over this whole heatstroke thing, so Puck and the rest of the football players knew the signs pretty well.
Mike dropped down beside him, arms full of wet towels. (He had grabbed Kurt’s sweater, planning to soak that, but Rachel and Finn both screeched at him to find something else)
“what’re you-” Kurt’s mumbled protest was cut off by a yelp as two cold towels were shoved under his armpits, and one was dropped on his groin. Mike and Finn both wrung out more towels over his head and chest. (Puck was really glad Kurt had worn a simple tee under his sweater. He was going to bitch about the jeans enough, without adding a ruined shirt)
“Just shut up. We got this” Puck said reassuringly, and Kurt nodded, closing his eyes and Puck ran his hands through his hair, trying to get water to Kurt’s hot scalp.
Puck took a moment to look his boyfriend over.
Kurt was bright red, soaking wet now, and panting slightly, like a dog left outside too long. Artie had shoved himself out of his chair and he and Rachel were sitting at Kurt’s side, fanning him with some notebooks.
Kurt’s head rolled back, slightly glassy eyes focusing on Rachel. “My sweater?” he asked,
“Shhh” Rachel fussed. “It’s in my bag. Don’t worry.”
“Didn’t rip it?” Kurt persisted.
“Not even a little.” Rachel reassured him. “It’s perfectly safe.”
Puck shook his head, wiping down Kurt’s face, out of the corner of his eye he saw Coach Bieste coming, trailed by Tina and what looked like half the football team. Great.
He nudged Mike out of the way to let Bieste closer, and told him with a glance to keep the football team at bay.
..or that’s what he tried to say. (It was a mouthful, if you were only talking with your eyes.) Apparently Mike got it though, as he made a beeline for Tina and the jocks.
“Looks like we got a case of heat stroke?” Bieste asked, kneeling down beside Kurt and quickly feeling his forehead, and underneath his arms. “What’s your name kid?”
Kurt blinked up at her, then seemed to dismiss her, eyes flicking to Rachel. “Sweater?”
The look on Beiste’s face would have been funny any other time.
“His name’s Kurt.” Finn supplied. “He’s my ..sort of...step brother, and Puck’s boyfriend. He’s in glee with us. His dad’s Burt Hummel, the guy that works at Hummel’s tire and lube.” The older boy rambled and Puck felt the urge to face-palm.
“She doesn’t need a life history, Hudson.” Puck elbowed him.
“It’s alright.” Bieste stayed focused on the sick kid in front of her. “You got lucky Kurt. You’ve got some smart friends here. They took really good care of you and we’ve already got a ambulance on the way, alright?”
That seemed to draw Kurt’s attention away fro his sweater. “No ambulance.” he muttered.
“Yes Ambulance.” Bieste shot back. “And that’s final.” she added when it looked like Kurt would argue. Kurt just sighed and turned his face into Puck’s palm.
“Hudson, can you call his parents? And I suppose you’ll want to go with him in the ambulance?” She turned, addressing Puck, and Puck nodded.
“Alright. I want you to call your mom and let her know where you are as soon as you get there.”
Puck nodded again, moving to grip Kurt’s hand as he heard the sirens of the ambulance come closer. Kurt squeezed back.
“Hey Kurt?” Puck leaned forward, knowing he should warn his boyfriend, but not knowing how much Kurt would understand.
“Uh huh?” Kurt whispered back, giving him a genuine smile (the kind he usually only got when they were alone)
“In a couple minutes some guys are going to come up here and put you on a stretcher or something, and probably stick a needle in you.”
Kurt squeezed his hand tightly, but Puck continued “Then they’re going to load you up in the ambulance and take you to the hospital. Do you understand that?”
Kurt nodded, eyes gone wide. “You too?” He asked quietly.
“Me too what?” Puck asked.
“Come with me. Please.” Kurt was struggling weakly against Artie and Finn, trying to fight his way into Puck’s lap.
Puck leaned forward, using his free hand to carefully wipe down Kurt’s face again. “Yeah, yeah of course I’m coming.” He reassured the smaller boy. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He smirked.
Kurt just nodded and squeezed his eyes shut, keeping hold of Puck’s hand the whole time as the medics approached, quickly and efficiently transferring him to the ambulance and starting an IV drip.
“Wait.” Kurt called out weakly, and the medics paused.
Puck knew what was coming.
“My sweater?”
He sighed. He’d have to make sure that once Kurt was okay that he was never, ever allowed to forget this.
- -
Kurt studied his nails, wincing at the pain in the crook of his elbow. He could *feel* the slow drip of saline sliding into his veins and it made his skin crawl. He hated needles.
He also hated attention (this type anyway), which is why the gleeks (who had apparently sent out the gleek signal and converged on the hospital like a swarm of ants) were banished to the waiting room, and his dad was sent on an errand for an organic juice that was on the other side of the the building.
Only Puck had been granted a reprieve (actually he threatened to throw a fit if Kurt didn’t let him stay) and his boyfriend was currently poking at the nearly empty bag of liquid hanging over Kurt’s bed.
“Stop that” Kurt said, again. He reached out, taking Puck’s hand. “You’re not going to make it go any faster that way.” Kurt kind of wished it would. He was stuck here until this bag (his second) emptied. He had to admit though, he was feeling much, much better.
Apparently he had been ‘severely dehydrated’ (He had maybe forgotten that he had never refilled his water bottle throughout the day like he normally would. Puck had hit him.) and had gotten a lecture about ‘seasonally appropriate’ clothing, as if that nurse in pajamas knew the first thing about fashion.
“You’re an idiot.” Puck told him, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “You better be glad I know what heatstroke looks like.”
“Hhmph.” Kurt muttered “Technically it wasn’t heat stroke yet. And don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy playing hero. You love being the knight in shining armor.”
Puck smirked. “Doesn’t the knight usually get a reward?” his free hand skimmed over Kurt’s hip, and Kurt rolled up into his palm automatically, like a cat being petted.
“Mmmm.” Kurt agreed. “But technically I had 4 knights.” Kurt argued, then giggled “Or was Artie a noble steed? He did give me a wheelchair ride” He remembered that only vaguely, and had no idea what happened from the time they dumped him on the ground until he woke up in the hospital bed, being hovered over, stripped down and covered in cool cloths, with his dad cursing a blue streak in the corner, and Puck wiping down his face. “Should I give all of them a...” he paused, rolling his hip again for emphasis. “reward?”
Puck growled possessively, swinging his leg over so that he was (carefully) straddling Kurt. He freed his hand from the smaller boy’s grip and leaned down, bracing his hands on either side of Kurt’s head.
“Cocktease.” He growled, stealing a kiss.
Kurt just grinned, reaching up for another.
“Thank you.” Kurt said honestly, nuzzling Puck’s neck and nipping the base of it.
“No problem.” Puck said lightly. “Got to take care of my girl.”
“Bitch.” Kurt bit down harder and Puck’s hips ground down against his.
“ *aHEM*” Burt Hummel cleared his throat from the doorway, and Puck nearly broke his neck diving off the bed and towards the visitor’s chair.
Kurt groaned, pulling his pillow over his head. “Oh my god! Dad, Knock!”
His dad just looked faintly amused.
“If you two are done, the nurse said you’d be free to go in a few minutes.” he handed over a bag. “Here’s some dry clothes. And I don’t want to know why that Mike guy has an extra set of your clothes in his locker. I really, really don’t want to know.”
“Slushies.” Kurt explained, but his dad had already moved on.
“I think they all invited themselves over for dinner, so they’ve gone to pick up some pizza. Mohawk, you’re invited too, if you can keep your hands free long enough to eat.”
Kurt groaned. “Daaad.”
Burt had quickly found out the best way to freak Puck out was to make inappropriate jokes about Puck’s relationship with his son. The fact that those jokes still held the same tone as the “I have a shotgun” speech didn’t help.
“Just saying” Burt said innocently, handing a bottle of juice to his son and ruffling his hair. “You up to the company kiddo?” he changed the subject. “You were kind of loopy for awhile.” Kurt sighed. Loopy didn’t even begin to describe it according to Puck. He might have used the term “batshit crazy”. Something about a sweater. They had better not have ruined his McQueen.
“Yeah. It’s fine.” Kurt said. It would only be worse if he didn’t go ahead and let the other gleeks fuss. Maybe if they got it out of their system now it wouldn’t be so bad once he got back to school (Mr Schue and Ms. Pillsbury had already stopped by, the guidance councilor leaving a brochure for self harm, just incase the dehydration was intentional.)
But maybe if he milked the sympathy for awhile they wouldn’t tease him so much once they got over their concern.
Yeah right. Kurt shooed his dad out of the room once the nurse came to remove his drip. Puck helped him into his clothes with a minimum of groping, and Kurt leaned against him, sweaty, smelly shirt and all.
He was never going to live this down.
End
Author: Qualli
Pairing: Kurt/Puck
Rating: PG13
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Humor
Warning: none
Spoilers: up to 2x01
Disclaimer: Not mine. No profit
Summary: In which Kurt suffers in the sun, and Puck doesn’t think highly of Alexander McQueen
Word Count: 2,724
- - -
Kurt fanned himself with a sheet of notebook paper (how unfair, he had the perfect folding fan to go with the outfit at home) as he watched the football players practice below, cheering when one of the glee-jocks did well.
Okay, so it wasn’t exactly his favorite thing to do, but Rachel and Tina made him stay after the assembly so they could watch Finn and Mike and Artie (Tina said Mike, but they knew she meant Artie). Apparently if he was dating Puck that also meant sitting on the bleachers, watching him head-butt people while in pads. Wonderful.
It could be worse, he supposed. He could be down there getting tackled by Azimio and his thugs while sweating in polyblend. There was a reason he quit football after all, and didn’t entirely have to do with Glee (or the fact that Tanaka was rather....smelly...and touchy).
But it was also incredibly boring, and not nearly as sexy as the skinemax movies suggested hot, sweaty football players should be.
It was hot in the entirely not sexy way, and Kurt decided, with a guilty pet to to luxurious sleeve, maybe not the best day to wear a seven pound sweater. But Fashion knew no temperature, and it had been the only one in his locker that matched his pants. (He always kept extras around in case of unexpected slushies, or swirlies as was today’s case)
He had been fine in class, it was just sitting here on the bleachers under the sun. He almost wished Tina was into the lolita thing so there would be a frilly parasol to hide under.
Kurt took a small sip from his water bottle, wrinkling his nose at the warm liquid. With a disgusted sigh he upended it, letting it splatter down between the slats. Puck had better appreciate this. He deserved a nice cold Frappachino for being the world’s best boyfriend.
“You look like you sat on a lemon.”
Kurt blinked up, squinting at the harsh sun and the teenager looming over him.
Puck was standing in front of him, hands on his hips, helmet dangling from his fingers.
“Shut it Puckerman.” He grumbled, looking around. Somehow practice had ended while he was distracted with parasols and coffee drinks, and Rachel and Tina had abandoned him, fawning over their own sweaty jocks.
“Love you too Pookie.” Puck responded, gulping down a cup of sewer colored sports drink, dripping it all over his uniform. Ugh. Kurt crumpled his makeshift fan and threw it at Puck, before searching through his bag for a towel. He stood up, reaching to toss it over Puck’s head when his vision grayed suddenly.
“Whoah” he muttered, steadying himself against his (sweaty, filthy, strong, steady) boyfriend. Puck’s hands came up immediately, grabbing his elbows as Kurt swayed.
“Kurt” Puck sounded worried, and under water, which, Kurt had to admit, was slightly worrying indeed. He looked up.
“I think I’m going to be sick.” Kurt announced, a sudden wave of nausea sweeping over his body, chilling him to the bone.
Suddenly he found himself sitting down again (and ow, had Puck needed to shove him like that?), hunched over and heaving warm water all over his shoes, with his fellow gleeks circling him like vultures.
He vaguely hoped there was no one standing below him under the bleachers, or only Azimio. He wouldn’t mind throwing up on him. But wait, he was on the first bench right? No one under him. damn.
Once his stomach emptied, he straightened, keeping his eyes closed. There was a cool, clammy hand on his forehead, ruffling through his hair and resting against his cheek. He leaned into Puck’s touch, tired and dizzy all of a sudden. “ ‘m okay” he muttered.
“No you’re not” Artie said matter of factly somewhere on his right, and Kurt scowled, then jumped as Puck stuck a hand up his sweater, tickling under his arms as he did...something. Kurt unbalanced again, and Finn was behind him, keeping him from falling backwards.
“He’s hot. And he’s not sweating.” Puck said. “Shit, who the fuck let him out in this weather with that stupid polar bear sweater. What the fuck is this sweater anyway?” Puck was yanking at it and Kurt squirmed.
“Mcqueen. Getoffffffffff.” It came out as a muffled whine, the sweater coming over his head and being flung (good lord, *flung*) to the side.
“Tina” Puck ignored him, and Kurt felt miffed, almost enough to open his eyes. “Go get Coach Bieste. Tell her Kurt’s getting heat stroke. We’re going to get him in the shade under the bleachers.”
Oh...well that made sense, Kurt thought distantly. Tanaka had made them all sit through a video about that. ....A couple times.
Oops.
“Can you stand up?” Mike was at his elbow, and he slitted his eyes open long enough to look around (Oh hey, Rachel had rescued the sweater) and consider the situation. He stood up. He tried. His calves shook traitorously at the thought.
“Uhm” he leaned against Puck. “Nuh-uh”. It was so hot.
He sighed in defeat, allowing himself to be lifted and set down again in Artie’s lap, Finn wheeling them down the ramp.
He was never living this down.
_ _ _
Puck should have known. Kurt had been sitting in the sun all afternoon in that ridiculously heavy sweater, and from what Rachel said, he hadn’t been drinking that much water.
They had been practicing for an hour and a half, and there had been the pep rally before that. So that made, what, 4 hours?
They found a clean spot of grass under the bleachers and Finn helped him move Kurt from Artie’s lap to the ground, the smaller boy limp in their arms, eyes opened slightly.
“ ‘m fine” Kurt muttered, and Puck glared, pulling off his football pads. Kurt was not fine, even he could tell that. Coach Tanaka had been a total spazz over this whole heatstroke thing, so Puck and the rest of the football players knew the signs pretty well.
Mike dropped down beside him, arms full of wet towels. (He had grabbed Kurt’s sweater, planning to soak that, but Rachel and Finn both screeched at him to find something else)
“what’re you-” Kurt’s mumbled protest was cut off by a yelp as two cold towels were shoved under his armpits, and one was dropped on his groin. Mike and Finn both wrung out more towels over his head and chest. (Puck was really glad Kurt had worn a simple tee under his sweater. He was going to bitch about the jeans enough, without adding a ruined shirt)
“Just shut up. We got this” Puck said reassuringly, and Kurt nodded, closing his eyes and Puck ran his hands through his hair, trying to get water to Kurt’s hot scalp.
Puck took a moment to look his boyfriend over.
Kurt was bright red, soaking wet now, and panting slightly, like a dog left outside too long. Artie had shoved himself out of his chair and he and Rachel were sitting at Kurt’s side, fanning him with some notebooks.
Kurt’s head rolled back, slightly glassy eyes focusing on Rachel. “My sweater?” he asked,
“Shhh” Rachel fussed. “It’s in my bag. Don’t worry.”
“Didn’t rip it?” Kurt persisted.
“Not even a little.” Rachel reassured him. “It’s perfectly safe.”
Puck shook his head, wiping down Kurt’s face, out of the corner of his eye he saw Coach Bieste coming, trailed by Tina and what looked like half the football team. Great.
He nudged Mike out of the way to let Bieste closer, and told him with a glance to keep the football team at bay.
..or that’s what he tried to say. (It was a mouthful, if you were only talking with your eyes.) Apparently Mike got it though, as he made a beeline for Tina and the jocks.
“Looks like we got a case of heat stroke?” Bieste asked, kneeling down beside Kurt and quickly feeling his forehead, and underneath his arms. “What’s your name kid?”
Kurt blinked up at her, then seemed to dismiss her, eyes flicking to Rachel. “Sweater?”
The look on Beiste’s face would have been funny any other time.
“His name’s Kurt.” Finn supplied. “He’s my ..sort of...step brother, and Puck’s boyfriend. He’s in glee with us. His dad’s Burt Hummel, the guy that works at Hummel’s tire and lube.” The older boy rambled and Puck felt the urge to face-palm.
“She doesn’t need a life history, Hudson.” Puck elbowed him.
“It’s alright.” Bieste stayed focused on the sick kid in front of her. “You got lucky Kurt. You’ve got some smart friends here. They took really good care of you and we’ve already got a ambulance on the way, alright?”
That seemed to draw Kurt’s attention away fro his sweater. “No ambulance.” he muttered.
“Yes Ambulance.” Bieste shot back. “And that’s final.” she added when it looked like Kurt would argue. Kurt just sighed and turned his face into Puck’s palm.
“Hudson, can you call his parents? And I suppose you’ll want to go with him in the ambulance?” She turned, addressing Puck, and Puck nodded.
“Alright. I want you to call your mom and let her know where you are as soon as you get there.”
Puck nodded again, moving to grip Kurt’s hand as he heard the sirens of the ambulance come closer. Kurt squeezed back.
“Hey Kurt?” Puck leaned forward, knowing he should warn his boyfriend, but not knowing how much Kurt would understand.
“Uh huh?” Kurt whispered back, giving him a genuine smile (the kind he usually only got when they were alone)
“In a couple minutes some guys are going to come up here and put you on a stretcher or something, and probably stick a needle in you.”
Kurt squeezed his hand tightly, but Puck continued “Then they’re going to load you up in the ambulance and take you to the hospital. Do you understand that?”
Kurt nodded, eyes gone wide. “You too?” He asked quietly.
“Me too what?” Puck asked.
“Come with me. Please.” Kurt was struggling weakly against Artie and Finn, trying to fight his way into Puck’s lap.
Puck leaned forward, using his free hand to carefully wipe down Kurt’s face again. “Yeah, yeah of course I’m coming.” He reassured the smaller boy. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He smirked.
Kurt just nodded and squeezed his eyes shut, keeping hold of Puck’s hand the whole time as the medics approached, quickly and efficiently transferring him to the ambulance and starting an IV drip.
“Wait.” Kurt called out weakly, and the medics paused.
Puck knew what was coming.
“My sweater?”
He sighed. He’d have to make sure that once Kurt was okay that he was never, ever allowed to forget this.
- -
Kurt studied his nails, wincing at the pain in the crook of his elbow. He could *feel* the slow drip of saline sliding into his veins and it made his skin crawl. He hated needles.
He also hated attention (this type anyway), which is why the gleeks (who had apparently sent out the gleek signal and converged on the hospital like a swarm of ants) were banished to the waiting room, and his dad was sent on an errand for an organic juice that was on the other side of the the building.
Only Puck had been granted a reprieve (actually he threatened to throw a fit if Kurt didn’t let him stay) and his boyfriend was currently poking at the nearly empty bag of liquid hanging over Kurt’s bed.
“Stop that” Kurt said, again. He reached out, taking Puck’s hand. “You’re not going to make it go any faster that way.” Kurt kind of wished it would. He was stuck here until this bag (his second) emptied. He had to admit though, he was feeling much, much better.
Apparently he had been ‘severely dehydrated’ (He had maybe forgotten that he had never refilled his water bottle throughout the day like he normally would. Puck had hit him.) and had gotten a lecture about ‘seasonally appropriate’ clothing, as if that nurse in pajamas knew the first thing about fashion.
“You’re an idiot.” Puck told him, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “You better be glad I know what heatstroke looks like.”
“Hhmph.” Kurt muttered “Technically it wasn’t heat stroke yet. And don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy playing hero. You love being the knight in shining armor.”
Puck smirked. “Doesn’t the knight usually get a reward?” his free hand skimmed over Kurt’s hip, and Kurt rolled up into his palm automatically, like a cat being petted.
“Mmmm.” Kurt agreed. “But technically I had 4 knights.” Kurt argued, then giggled “Or was Artie a noble steed? He did give me a wheelchair ride” He remembered that only vaguely, and had no idea what happened from the time they dumped him on the ground until he woke up in the hospital bed, being hovered over, stripped down and covered in cool cloths, with his dad cursing a blue streak in the corner, and Puck wiping down his face. “Should I give all of them a...” he paused, rolling his hip again for emphasis. “reward?”
Puck growled possessively, swinging his leg over so that he was (carefully) straddling Kurt. He freed his hand from the smaller boy’s grip and leaned down, bracing his hands on either side of Kurt’s head.
“Cocktease.” He growled, stealing a kiss.
Kurt just grinned, reaching up for another.
“Thank you.” Kurt said honestly, nuzzling Puck’s neck and nipping the base of it.
“No problem.” Puck said lightly. “Got to take care of my girl.”
“Bitch.” Kurt bit down harder and Puck’s hips ground down against his.
“ *aHEM*” Burt Hummel cleared his throat from the doorway, and Puck nearly broke his neck diving off the bed and towards the visitor’s chair.
Kurt groaned, pulling his pillow over his head. “Oh my god! Dad, Knock!”
His dad just looked faintly amused.
“If you two are done, the nurse said you’d be free to go in a few minutes.” he handed over a bag. “Here’s some dry clothes. And I don’t want to know why that Mike guy has an extra set of your clothes in his locker. I really, really don’t want to know.”
“Slushies.” Kurt explained, but his dad had already moved on.
“I think they all invited themselves over for dinner, so they’ve gone to pick up some pizza. Mohawk, you’re invited too, if you can keep your hands free long enough to eat.”
Kurt groaned. “Daaad.”
Burt had quickly found out the best way to freak Puck out was to make inappropriate jokes about Puck’s relationship with his son. The fact that those jokes still held the same tone as the “I have a shotgun” speech didn’t help.
“Just saying” Burt said innocently, handing a bottle of juice to his son and ruffling his hair. “You up to the company kiddo?” he changed the subject. “You were kind of loopy for awhile.” Kurt sighed. Loopy didn’t even begin to describe it according to Puck. He might have used the term “batshit crazy”. Something about a sweater. They had better not have ruined his McQueen.
“Yeah. It’s fine.” Kurt said. It would only be worse if he didn’t go ahead and let the other gleeks fuss. Maybe if they got it out of their system now it wouldn’t be so bad once he got back to school (Mr Schue and Ms. Pillsbury had already stopped by, the guidance councilor leaving a brochure for self harm, just incase the dehydration was intentional.)
But maybe if he milked the sympathy for awhile they wouldn’t tease him so much once they got over their concern.
Yeah right. Kurt shooed his dad out of the room once the nurse came to remove his drip. Puck helped him into his clothes with a minimum of groping, and Kurt leaned against him, sweaty, smelly shirt and all.
He was never going to live this down.
End