[FIC] The Art of Love and Cooking : Chapter Two : Inciser : part 1/2 - Puck/Kurt (ENG)
Title: The Art of Love and Cooking
Author: sevenswells
Best Betas Ever: drgaellon and guilshad
Rating: R for language
Fandom/Pairing: Glee, Puck/Kurt
Warnings/Spoilers: Look Ma! I wrote food porn. Again. Also, no spoilers because it's AU.
Comments: I know, I'm incredibly late and slow. But I just checked, I already wrote about 40 Word pages of this. 40 pages guys! In English! God, this just goes to show how much I love to this pairing. This chapter is dedicated to my wonderful betas, and to my homegirl mattiezumi , Most Valuable Reader since 2008. <3
As usual, this is part 1, posting part 2 much later (part 2 is the engagement party, holy shit!)
Word count: 3 538 w. And it's getting worse. O___o
Puck woke up earlier than usual the next day, because of the effects of jet lag: it was 4:45 a.m. when his eyes popped wide open.
After a short moment of disorientation, like every time he woke up in a bed other than his own and in an unknown room (believe it or not, it happened less and less these days, and with fewer and fewer naked and nameless bodies by his side. His teenage years were definitely behind him, and maybe that wasn't such a shame after all), he began his day like any other day of his life for the last ten years or so: after a quick stop at the toilet to empty his bladder, and thoroughly washing his hands afterwards (again, his teenage days were over. There was a time when he wouldn't have bothered with personal hygiene at all), he went straight to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.
Maybe that was one of the reasons he didn't want to wake up in a foreign bed with a stranger by his side anymore: if he woke up in his own bed, occupied by another person or not, he didn't have to ask permission to use the kitchen, and could cook whatever he wanted - the other person would simply require increasing the quantities, that was all. Sure the meal that followed sometimes was awkward if the stranger decided to stay and share it with Puck, but at least the food was good. And from experience, good food could make up for at least 50% of the conversation, sometimes 75% if Puck really outdid himself. The remainder -- that is to say, everything other than nods of approval followed by grunts of satisfaction and compliments about this or that were generally long stretches of silence punctuated by meaningless questions, vague answers, talk about the weather and sometimes false promises. It wasn't particularly painful to go through, but as Puck grew older, he started more and more to think that he could do without it, and the sex wasn't always worth the trouble.
It was still pitch black outside the windows when he entered the kitchen, tiled floor cold against his bare feet. Nothing moved, and the click of the switch when he turned the light on was the only noise that was heard in the silence. If he concentrated hard enough, he could hear morning, from afar, slowly assembling its regular sounds: muffled bird songs, the crescendo-descrecendo of a late (or early) passing car, but nothing too definite yet. Everything would be much clearer and outlined as soon as the sun started to rise, but right now, in this suspended time, the kitchen was completely his, he realized with satisfaction.
Quickly assessing the equipment needed for breakfast, he silently thanked god that the Marlowes were so filthy rich: decent coffee machines were hard to find and obviously, those guys knew their coffee. It was the first thing he set in motion, and as the machine started its familiar gurgling noise, and black gold began falling drop by drop into the glass pot circled by shiny metal, exuding a heady scent, Puck gathered the ingredients for the special treat with which he intended to indulge himself.
He preheated the oven to 400 degrees then stirred flour, baking powder, white sugar and a pinch of salt in a bowl. He put the butter into this preparation and proceeded to rub it between the tip of his fingers until obtaining pea-sized lumps. Then he poured in dry currants, milk and sour cream and mixed gently. With floured hands, he arranged lumps of dough patted into balls on a greased baking sheet and flattened them lightly, barely letting them touch one another. The final touch was brushing the top of each with egg wash made of an egg and a little milk before letting them sit for 10 minutes, and finally putting them in the oven to bake for 10 to 15 more minutes. He took the sitting and baking time to pour himself a cup of coffee and slowly drank it, enjoying the bitter tang at the back of his throat with each small sip. The blackness outside the window had turned into a light blue canvas sprinkled with dark-blue leaves and branches by the time he took the golden scones out of the oven. He knew the smell and the look of them by heart, and he also knew he would never get over it. He grabbed one scone impatiently, juggling it and blowing on it, though he still burned his fingers and felt slightly ridiculous in the end. And as soon as he considered it had cooled down enough, he let his teeth sink into the moistness of a first, hot, perfect mouthful.
His eyelids fluttered shut and he might have mindlessly grunted out loud, something like "uuuurrrrh fuck me I'm a genius," when he felt the rich texture of the scone melting on his tongue. The only problem was, by the time he opened his eyes again, his mouth still full of scone, he saw Kurt Hummel and Aurélien Marlowe staring back at him with dismay. They were standing on the threshold of the door leading from the kitchen to the garden, and obviously back from a morning jog, if the matching expensive-looking tracksuits they were wearing, the thin layer of sweat on their faces clumping strands of hair together over their brows, and Kurt's cheeks, even redder than usual, were any clue.
Charming gave Puck a disdainful once-over and Puck followed his stare, looking down at his own body. He was wearing nothing but worn-down pajama pants. Looking back at the couple, he saw Kurt standing frozen on the spot, eyes wide and his gaze stuck at the level of Puck's abs. Puck swallowed without any further chewing and chose to smile at his clients while quickly brushing off some crumbs that got stuck upon the pants' elastic band, around the waist. He noticed Kurt's eyes were following his every movement.
"Would it be too much to ask what the hell you're doing in the kitchen half-naked, Chef Puckerman?" Aurélien asked, visibly pissed.
"Baking scones," said Puck, letting the unspoken "duh" seep into his tone. "You said the kitchen was mine, didn't you?"
"The kitchen, yes. Although I'd certainly be grateful if you spared my fiancé of that kind of vision in the morning."
"Aurélien..." Kurt started, placing a soothing hand on his fiancé's arm.
As Puck could see where this was going and deciding he could do without a pissing contest first thing in the morning, he quickly raised his hands in the air as a sign of peace. However, he also couldn't resist flexing his muscles a little along the way, and almost smirked as that caught Kurt's full attention again. "You're right, you're right," he said. "I'm sorry. Can I finish my breakfast, at least?"
"By all means. Don't let us ruin it for you," said Aurélien dryly. Then he turned to Kurt, placing his hand on the small of his fiancé's back, "Come, poussin, let's hit the shower."
Puck tried not to show his surprise at this request. So they didn't fuck but still took showers together? Charming had to be a fucking saint if he kept his promise under those conditions. He felt a newfound respect for the douchebag, mingled with a little pity.
Kurt lightly kissed Charming on the cheek and said, "You go in, mon ange, I need a glass of OJ to replenish. Joining you right away, okay?"
Aurélien didn't seem too happy with this but there was nothing he could say. He glowered at Puck, who had innocently resumed his eating, and announced, "I'll make arrangements so that one of the guest houses is ready to accommodate you tonight at the latest, Chef. We wouldn't want to bother you by keeping you here with us. I'm sure you wish for a little independence by now, right?"
Puck refrained from telling him that it was not his fault that Aurélien couldn't keep his diva bitch satisfied so there was no point in venting his anger on him like that, so he just replied, "Right," and let Aurélien leave the kitchen in peace after he parted from his fiancé with a quick peck on the lips.
In silence, Kurt walked up to the fridge and took out a carton of juice. He awkwardly brushed past Puck to fetch a glass, poured himself some juice and tried to down it in a few gulps. At first Puck didn't want to make things easy for him, so he didn't really move his big frame out of the way when Kurt tried to walk past him, and he kept silent, merely observing the boy he used to bully in high school drinking his glass of orange juice, as Puck himself was finishing his scone. Then the inspiration struck and he decided he could play a little. He was already bored with the whole "mortal enemies" fantasy that Kurt was trying to revive: blurring the lines just a tad might turn out more entertaining, at least.
"Want a scone?" He asked, waving in the general direction of the golden cakes. "They're freshly baked."
He expected Kurt to say no and Kurt obviously sensed that, since there was a defiant look in his eyes when he set his empty glass down, licked his lips like a cat, tossed his hair to the side with a shake of his head and said, "Yes, sure, why not?"
"Ah. Hang on," Puck said. He went to open the fridge and got out the cream from the day before. He also managed to find a pot of strawberry jam. The scones were by now at a perfect temperature, just on the right side of warm. Puck cut a bite-size slice into one of them with a knife, and used one spoon to cover it with cream, another to put jam on top, then he held out the piece of cake with the tip of his fingers, looking Kurt right in the eye expectantly. Kurt didn't disappoint: he walked right up to Puck, baby blue eyes ablaze, and there might have been a very short moment where he seemed to consider whether he should remove the bit of scone from Puck's fingers with his own or...
Maybe what he read in Puck's eyes at that moment helped him make up his mind, because next thing Puck knew he was seeing the top of Kurt's head invading his personal space, he felt the brush of Kurt's full lips against his fingertips and just like that, the slice was gone and his fingers were left tingling.
Kurt took a step back with an expression of triumph, quickly replaced by surprise when his brains finally caught on with what his mouth was experiencing. It was almost comical to watch: Kurt's eyes grew wide and the upper part of his body kind of rattled, like he'd been hit by invisible Chuck Norris. He brought his fingers to his lips, touching them lightly as he chewed and swallowed slowly, as if he couldn't quite believe what was happening in there.
"It's..." He started, gaping at Puck with a stupid expression. He shook his head and pulled himself together again. "Okay. That may very well be the best piece of scone I've ever eaten."
Puck gave a short laugh.
"Why do you sound so disbelieving? Aren't my cooking skills the reason you hired me?"
"I don't..." Kurt said, then stopped himself, eyes narrowing.
"Here, have the rest," Puck said, feeling magnanimous as he offered the scone he'd cut.
Kurt opened his mouth and it appeared like he would refuse, but in the end he accepted the offered cake without a word, taking it with his hand this time and bringing it himself to his mouth.
"It's so... It's.... light, and moist," he said in an entranced tone, around a mouthful. "The scones I've had up until now were all sort of, flaky, or crumbly. How is that even possible?"
"The secret is the way you work the butter," Puck automatically answered. "And the dough has to be handled gently too - never overwork the dough is the golden rule, here. Also, the currants do wonders for the moistness too, because..."
"I'm sorry," Kurt interrupted, rudely waving his fingers in front of Puck's face, "I'm not listening, actually. I can't hear you over the orgasm I'm having right now."
Puck paused at that and raised an eyebrow. He couldn't spot a lot of changes on Kurt's face since his cheeks were already red from running to begin with, but he noticed Kurt's ears and nape were quickly taking up the same colour, and Kurt didn't quite meet his eye. Maybe Kurt wasn't even aware of it, but the young man's gaze was roaming over Puck's abs again, and their owner decided he wouldn't let it slip this time.
He opened his arms in a Christ-like fashion and asked, "Like what you see?"
Kurt jumped and averted his eyes by reflex.
"Oh, no, don't stop ogling on my account. Knock yourself out, go on. You don't get enough play, so you might as well indulge yourself..."
That had its effect, to Puck's deep satisfaction. Kurt paled visibly, his mouth reduced to a thin line.
"And how on earth would you know that?" He articulated, with icy, deliberate calm.
Puck noted that he wasn't denying. Alright. Time to play cards on the table, Puck thought.
He hoisted his body on the kitchen counter and sat there, deflecting Kurt's murderous stare with a half-smile.
"I heard you, with Aurélien. Yesterday afternoon, in the study," he said, not bothering to specify precisely what and how much.
Kurt didn't even flinch. "So what?"
Puck shrugged. "So, nothing. It's great that you guys aren't interested in sex, it's so rare. Or was the idea of taking showers together inspired by you wanting check on the goods before signing up for anything? I can totally understand, you could have a bad surprise on your wedding night, like, he could be deformed, or have a small dick..."
"Shut up, you're disgusting."
"Oh," Puck smirked knowingly. "Meaning he does?"
"That's it. You've gone too far."
Puck let himself slide from the counter and he reached Kurt in three steps, taking him gently by the wrist in order to stop the young man as he was turning to leave. Barely touching him, just to show he was not threatening.
"Come on, Kurt, just kidding. Show me you can take a joke."
Kurt didn't reply. He just looked insistently at his wrist caught in Puck's loose hold. Puck let him go. To his utter relief, Kurt didn't flee.
"I heard some mean things about me yesterday," Puck continued. "I mean, hey, fair is fair, and sure, I had it coming, I'll be the first to admit that. But then don't be surprised if I get a bit cheeky in return."
"Sure, I can take a joke," Kurt said in a white voice. "The dumpsters, the slushies, the insults, maybe they were your idea of a joke too. I took it all right, considering." He let out a bitter chuckle. "If you think what you heard yesterday was 'mean,' think about all those years of physical and psychological torture for which you were responsible, Noah Puckerman. And let me tell you something: you have absolutely no right to get 'cheeky' now."
"So, what," Puck protested, "am I supposed to bend over and just take it? That was your objective from the start, wasn't it? Sorry, Kurt. I've taken enough shit from life as it is already. It's too bad you didn't get to have your role in it -- I'm sure that would have made a lot of stuff easier for you, but I'm way past that revenge crap and your little preschool games. Yeah, I'm sorry, I was an asshole, and I hurt you bad. But you, my friend, need to move on, now. Fuck, you're about to get married, man, come on! The only way I can atone for my sins towards you now is to try my best for this contract, and contribute to the success of your wedding ceremony, so don't make my life any more complicated than it already is, okay? It's for your own good."
He was breathing a little hard at the end of his diatribe. He hadn't planned on getting so caught up in it as he was going; he wasn't even aware he was so angry himself in the first place. Maybe he'd said more than he'd intended at first, but at least that had silenced Kurt for a while. They stood facing each other, glaring, each searching for the truth in the other's eyes.
"Is that why you accepted?" Kurt said finally, arms folded around his lithe frame. Anger was leaving his posture and face gradually. It was like he was becoming a whole different person. Still hostile, maybe, but noticeably more relaxed.
"What?"
"The deal. Accepting it, was it a form of apology for you?" Kurt asked, cocking his head to the side. Frowning. "Because you were feeling guilty?"
Puck blinked in puzzlement. He realized it was indeed what he'd just said, plainly. Somehow, the idea hadn't crossed his mind before it crossed his lips.
"Dude, I'm a Jew," he said after a pause, shrugging. "Guilt is what my people do. So, yeah, I guess that was taken into account when I said yes, perhaps. But that's not all there is to it, there are other reasons, too."
He was feeling uncomfortable, all of a sudden. He needed to occupy himself with something, so he started to gather the scones to pile them on a plate, and then he set about cleaning up his mess. He shot a few glances at Kurt as he did so, but Kurt didn't show any sign of wanting to leave the kitchen anytime soon. In fact, he looked rather lost in thought. Puck felt the urge to say something, anything.
"So. What's his dick like?"
Kurt was startled out of his reflections, but he wouldn't bother to appear shocked by Puck's crudeness anymore.
"I am still not having this conversation with you," he sighed, as if dealing with a difficult child.
"No, seriously: naked, in the shower, together, and no fucking allowed? How do you do that? Is there some kind of secret technique, like, making a knot or what?"
"Not all of us are animals, Puck. We behave, that's all."
This time the use of his nickname was different from the first time he heard it in Kurt's mouth, so he didn't want to react to it particularly now; he thought it might ruin the good mood.
"You just like to keep his balls crushed, don't you? Nice marriage it will make, too; I can see you're already getting the hang of it."
To Puck's surprise, that provoked a genuine laugh from Kurt. Encouraged, he carried on, "I, for one, know I wouldn't be able to resist. Cockblocking is so not my thing."
Again, he had blabbered away without thinking. Two sentences that, in this context, could be taken in a very wrong way, but he couldn't possibly take them back now, anyway. Fortunately, Kurt didn't seem to note the implication. He said, "My point exactly; you always were an animal," then added, as serious as a pope, "Blowjobs and handjobs are permitted, if you really want to know. It's just penetration that's...Well, my anal virginity is intact. I'm not entirely sure if it's the same for Aurélien and I don't really care, but I didn't penetrate him either, and won't until our wedding night. Probably. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"
Puck burst out laughing.
"You think what I say is funny?"
Cold anger would start creeping back into Kurt's tone very soon if Puck wasn't careful, and it would endanger any chance of truce between the two of them, but he couldn't help it.
"With all due respect, fucking hilarious is what it is, yeah. I'm actually more experienced than you in your own field of expertise. Who would've thunk, huh?"
Puck liked a responsive audience, he always had, no matter the price to pay or the lengths he would have to go to have an impact of any kind. Kurt's flabbergasted expression after the bomb he'd just dropped? He positively delighted in. In a moment Kurt would have to pick up his jaw from the floor if he didn't want to catch mouth infections.
"W... what do you mean?"
Even Kurt's stutter was music to his ears.
"Nothing more than what I've just said," Puck replied casually. He calmly grabbed a scone which he proceeded to cover with cream and jam, and walked towards Kurt, whose feet were apparently glued to the floor. "Told you I've changed."
He scooped a little cream with his index finger and left a trace of it on the young man's button nose as he brushed past him.
"See ya, princess," he drawled, licking his finger clean.
Leaving the kitchen, Puck allowed himself to smile widely before stuffing the scone into his mouth.
That was a perfect exit.
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Chapter Two part 2/2
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Back to Chapter One part 1/2
Back to Chapter One part 2/2
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Bonus to Chapter One : First amuse-bouche
Bonus to Chapter Two : Second amuse-bouche