Fic: 'Five stars'
Ok, since I was forced to spend today in amongst painfully romantic wedding-y things, have some Puckurt fluffiness based around the one wedding that actually matters in the Glee verse :D.
Title: Five Stars
Characters/Pairings: Kurt/Puck
Disclaimer: I don’t own Glee or anything to do with it; I just have vivid hallucinations.
Word Count: 1197
Summary: Fluffy McFluffiness, set immediately post the Hummel-Hudson wedding. Kurt manages to finangle he and Puck a double room. Too bad he's too exhausted to take advantage of it.
Kurt is more than a little bit inebriated. Puck can tell, 'cos when he shoved him down onto their bed with a slight jab of his index finger, the other boy just kind of collapsed there, curled into a little ball of flushed skin and rumpled formal-wear, one fist clenching tight into the covers.
Puck would like to be pissed, He really would like to be pissed. But Kurt looks brain-hurtingly adorable... If it wouldn't totally give away the fact Kurt managed to finangle them a double-room for the post-wedding celebrations-- and ergo the fact that Puck is kind of a more than a little bit in love with the ridiculous, flouncy little counter-tenor-- he would take the opportunity to snap some really embarrassing photos.
Instead, Puck reaches down to work the other shiny dress shoe off Kurt's left foot, and almost gets kicked in the face.
"Woah. Hummel. You've already scored, ok?"
"Don' touch the footwear..." Puck hears mumbled into the duvet. "Really... freakin'... expensive..." Kurt pulls his knee up to his
chest and tries valiently to dislodge his foot from the leather himself.
Fine. Puck sits down heavily on the bed beside him. He could use a giggle.
"Why don't you try the laces Princess?" he suggests innocently, as Kurt's drink-numb fingers scrabble uselessly.
"I will throw this at your head." Kurt retorts (he's always more coherant when he's snarking), and makes one last desperate flail for his laces before letting out a pathetic little sighing whining sound and collapsing, exhausted, back into the covers.
Puck takes the shoe off.
"Thankyou." Kurt whispers when Puck lies back beside him, one arm behind his head looking up at the fancy-ass light fittings. Puck's crashed in alot of motel rooms, but four-star bliss like this? Not usual. He toes his painfully stiff dress shoes off with a lot less kerfuffle than Kurt managed. His free hand automatically goes to open the fly on his pants, but he manages to stop it, and strokes his fingers gently along the front of Kurt's thigh instead.
"Was good wasn' it?" Kurt asks after a long while. His eyes flutter open for a second, then close heavily once more, eyelashes casting dark smudges across his cheekbones. Hmm. He's wearing mascara again.
Puck shrugs, letting the smirk blossom across his mouth:
"I've crashed better."
This time, Kurt's eyes fly open. He glowers blearily in Puck's direction.
(There's like, four centimetres between them, but still, Kurt doesn't seem to be great at focusing.)
"Liar." He pronounces. "Moron liar. Today was sublime. When the time difference is less debilitating, I expect speculative phone-calls from British royalty."
Grinning, Puck hooks an arm over the other boy's body, settling his hand into the warm pool of expensive silk at the small of Kurt's back.
"Any idea how many 's's you didn't manage to pronounce there, Lispy McLisperson?"
"Go away." Kurt enunciates very clearly.
Puck kisses him.
Kurt does little more than open his lips slightly and breathe into it; but Puck's still kind of liking the fact he's finally discovered a way to make Kurt Hummel shut the hell up, so he doesn't mind too much. He catches Kurt's lip between his, tasting fruity alcohol and wintergreen, and inhales the fading scent of Kurt's cologne, which is kind of flowery and spicy and, somehow, perfectly matches the colour-scheme.
Lazily they get ready for bed: Kurt wandering around the room inspecting all the fittings and passing comment on the sub-par yet artfully arranged toiletries; Puck shuffling through the gazillion tv channels and taking his chance to spreadeagle all across the bouncy freash-smelling mattress before Kurt comes back from the bathroom and demands the side next to the window. Truth, Puck's kinda surprised the other boy has enough energy left to work the shower, but he's not complaining when Kurt shuffles back out in his pyjama bottoms with his hair all damp and curling rebelliously at the nape of his neck.
"Sleep now?" he asks.
Puck pulls his left leg back into the middle of the bed so Kurt has space.
"What? You tired or something?" Puck drawls, and Kurt glowers back at him with half-lidded eyes.
But he pads over and climbs onto the bed, crawling up Puck's body with all the single-minded intent of a sleepy kitten. Puck lets Kurt's weight push him back into the duvet and can't help humming happily to himself at the feel of Kurt's warm, soapy-smelling skin under his hands, his damp hair brushing his forehead as they kiss, the silky slide of his pyjama-clad legs as they tangle up with Puck's own, finding a more comfortable position.
Somehow, they end up under the covers. Puck switches the lights off and feels Kurt sigh, like he's glad to not have to make the effort of seeing anymore. His body curls tighter around Puck's, and Puck is only too happy to let it, as Kurt's lips nuzzle at his chest, following the exploratons of his weary fingers.
"So. Finn's your brother now." Puck raises sympathetic eyebrows. "Sucks to be you."
Kurt reaches up and kisses him again: "S'riously?" he mumbles against Puck's lips "We're in bed together and all you wanna do is talk about Finn?"
Puck's eyes havn't really adjusted yet, so all he knows of Kurt is the warm weight of his body; the tip of his nose brushing against his; his hot breath ghosting across Puck's damp lips; the scent of shower-gel.
He shifts his weight, tipping Kurt off and over so they're lying side-by-side, Puck curling his thigh over Kurt's hip, drawing their bodies into perfect jigsaw-piece closeness as he buries his face in the crook of Kurt's neck, kissing and nibbling softly like he knows Kurt likes. Kurt doesn't even try to contain the contented little moaning sounds that fall from his mouth, and he's too tired to be delicate about feeling up Puck's ass, one hand sliding smoothly into his boxer shorts and pulling the other boy's pelvis hard against his.
"God, you..." Kurt giggles a bit, and his lips are suddenly nuzzling against Puck's, clumsily looking for attention. Puck grins, curling a steadying palm against Kurt's jaw, kissing him back with his best deep, slow, toe-curling moves.
"Hmmm..." Kurt hums happily, but there's an undertone to it, and Kurt hasn't opened his eyes in fifteen minutes.
Puck pulls back, raising an amused eyebrow:
"You're gonna fall asleep aren't you?"
"What? No. No." Kurt presses his face into Puck's neck, and shifts his body like he's finding the best position to snuggle. Then he lets out a soft little laugh. "...Hmm... you're stupid comfy..."
"Fuck's sake." Puck rolls his eyes; but he wraps his arms tighter around Kurt's body, twisting just enough that Kurt can drape himself across Puck's torso. He feels the other boy's weary smile drag across his skin.
"... Five stars." he mutters.
"What?"
"All for you. Twinkle twinkle."
Puck presses his cheek against the side of Kurt's temple, chest constricting kind of like it did earlier watching Kurt and Finn and their parents dancing together like they were all each other would ever need in the world.
He smiles against Kurt's hair.
"Shut up babe, and go to sleep."