You're the Closest to Heaven That I'll Ever Be
Noah Puckerman is extremely talented with his hands.
That’s all Kurt can think as the determinedly digging thumbs finally unearth a particularly nasty knot right where his neck meets his right scapula. A cold sensation tingles wildly and burns through that muscle, spreads across his shoulder blade, and shoots down the right side of his ribcage before occupying the area above his right glut with an unfading buzz. He shivers when he feels his boyfriend’s warm hand following that exact trail, chasing away the chill with a caress, and he bites his tongue when the fingers reach his lower back and probe. It feels sharp and stabbing, and oh so good because, right there, he didn’t even know that muscle could be so tense.
The fingertips knead insistently, but with precision, and it hurts…it hurts, and yet Kurt can’t help but roll his hips into the cushion beneath him to relieve the pressure in his groin because somehow the anxious tension is arousing. He hums. The spot near his lilac crest burns colder and colder until it’s suddenly fading, and Kurt has completely missed the part where the chill reached its peak - but now the muscle feels warm and loose and he sighs, barely containing a moan. Noah always manages to turn him to a lethargic mess of heat with just a touch. These hands, he knows, are calloused from experience with the unexpected. Everybody at school sees the way they skillfully strum strings or finger frets or even press keys, and his family has seen the way they can braid hair and Challah bread or knit surprisingly beautiful scarves or wield kitchen utensils like a pro. Many people can probably attest to feeling them ghost over skin or pull hair or press into tight heat and carefully stretch…
But only Kurt has ever seen them finger-paint a picture, or type out several complete sheets of original music in one night, or mold a misshapen but sturdy bowl, or practice the new signs that Kurt demonstrates. He’s the only one that knows their trembling in the middle of the occasional nightmare, their nervous clamminess, their gentle petting in his hair, their teasing flicking on his ear, or their desperate clutching on his biceps and dependence on him to keep them anchored. He’s the only one who’s ever gotten the pleasure, besides Mrs. Puckerman and maybe Quinn for a short time, to feel their slow, deep massaging on his feet. The only person to feel their firm and thoughtful kneading through every muscle of his body as if he’s a giant glob of dough for Challah, he kneads me like bread George. These hands, they probe and explore and discover new ways to make Kurt tremble and shutter apart almost every time they touch -
“Mmmn…” Kurt’s thoughts cut off as Noah’s fingers press gently on the vulnerable, hollow spots just beneath his skull on either side. He automatically tilts his head a bit, adjusting where his chin rests on his folded forearms, giving the thumbs easier access to the nape of his neck.
The pads of Noah’s fingers are flat and warm - Kurt focuses on their small circular motions, and how their pressure gradually increases with every few turns. Rub, slowly, press…Around, around, press…Press, rub, slowly. Slowly, circling. Pressing and slowly pressing until…until…Kurt’s thoughts vanish so impossibly, so completely, he actually whites-out for a few moments. Cold, cold white frost freezes the entire base of his skull and he can taste the sharp edge of the broken ice that has paralyzed his brain. This is dangerous. It hurts, like Noah’s fingers have dug into his head and pressed two vital buttons and they won’t let up, as if those buttons are what allow Kurt to live as a human instead of a freezing vegetable, and he can’t even shiver because his nervous system won’t respond. He feels the two points like the barrels of two guns pressed to the base of his skull - and there is a tiny, wispy, ghost of a thought floating somewhere behind his mind that is calling faintly, go on, pull the trigger, because he can’t think beyond clouds right now. It’s crazy, and probably suicidal. He wants to stay like this, frozen, forever, and it’s downright insane because he’s giving Noah the power to end his life. But he doesn’t care. He can’t care.
He can’t think at all, and it’s addicting.
An eternity later, the thumbs finally ease off. The blood rushes up his neck, trying to make up for lost time, and the killer chill finally sets Kurt to shivering. He remembers, Noah, and his magical hands, and he moans, blindly reaching back for something of his boyfriend to grab onto. Noah’s fingers tangle with his, and Kurt turns his head in time to see Noah lift the connection to his soft but firm warm lips, kissing Kurt’s paler skin. Then Noah is leaning down to kiss the back of Kurt’s neck, which tingles at the contact, and now, he’s kissing Kurt’s mouth. The build-up is slow; it begins as a simple pressing and molding of lips sliding into a familiar puzzle.
Kurt, still feeling slightly out of his mind, is the one who invades Noah and coaxes the other’s tongue into his own mouth. It’s languid, but exploring and thorough, and Kurt wants more but is too lazed out to take things much further. He’s only half aware that he’s turning over to pull Noah down on top of him where he lays spread on the bed, not even letting the other boy part for air. Their right hands are still connected, now on the pillow by Kurt’s head, so Kurt brings his left arm up and around Noah’s neck to tangle his fingers in the soft, dark Mohawk. Noah is a furnace. Although they’re almost the same height, Noah is still bulkier in body-type, so he easily covers Kurt’s torso while settling in between Kurt’s legs, spreading an intense heat from Kurt’s chest down into his belly and making him feel…loved.
Kurt sighs and finally breaks the breathtaking kiss, but doesn’t let the other teen pull away, instead murmuring against his lips, “thank you.”
“Any time, bright eyes.” Noah says just as softly. Kurt can see a vague reflection of himself in the pools that are Noah’s own eyes, but he doesn’t bother searching for a clearer image before he lets himself get distracted by their color. He knows that, technically, they’re hazel - but sometimes, they shine more amber than brown, or with flecks of green, or a coating of heavy gray. Right now, they’re a mixture of honey and shining silver, with an undeniable source of warmth that makes Kurt just want to melt. It’s obvious that his own eyes are equally as interesting to Noah; his boyfriend points out the specific quality of glasz on any occasion at least once a day, and they often find themselves lost in each other’s gaze, like they are now, smiles on their faces.
Noah blinks, and Kurt briefly notes the incredible fullness of his eyelashes, dark against his golden skin, before Noah is kissing him again. This one is short however, and Noah is suddenly gone, letting go of his hand, leaving Kurt exposed. “Hey…where’d you go?” Kurt asks, taking a second to relocate his arms so that he can prop himself up. When he does, he sees Noah sliding down his torso. His head pauses by Kurt’s abdomen, and Kurt briefly wonders if something is about to be done about his involuntary erection.
But then, Noah buries his face into Kurt’s stomach. He nuzzles his nose into the space above Kurt’s bellybutton, and then squashes the side of his face as he rubs his cheek against Kurt’s belly. Noah sneaks his hands under Kurt, winding his arms around his waist, and Kurt doesn’t even register the slight awkwardness of having Puck’s hard arms between the small of his back and the soft mattress. He’s too distracted by the adorableness of Noah hugging his stomach and he just lies back down.
Noah continues to squirm, readjusting his head on Kurt’s stomach because the muscles are surprisingly defined from dancing, oh and the unhealthy amount of sex might have largely to do with it (because they’re both teenage boys so you know there’s bound to be twice the occasions of fooling around) - until he finally finds a comfortable position. Kurt can tell when this happens because all of a sudden Noah exhales heavily, and his entire body goes limp, settling heavily on Kurt’s legs. He sighs as he closes his eyes, and Kurt watches as his back rises and falls with the motion.
Kurt knows that Noah is tired. Not just physically, but mentally, with all the running around from school to the hospital to the garage to wherever Sarah needs to be. The stress of the situation with Quinn has been especially hard for Noah considering his mother’s accident back in Junior year - when everybody believed that Puck had driven her car into the convenience store, when really his mom had been driving - and he hasn’t been sleeping well. (“Every time I close my eyes…” Noah had whispered brokenly just three nights ago, at 4 in the morning, clinging to Kurt’s chest. “…And I can never tell which one it is.” “Quinn is alive, Noah. She’s here, and so is Sarah. You saved Sarah, remember? They’re both okay.”) Kurt is almost as exhausted from just consoling Noah. He hates knowing that Noah is suffering in a place where even he can barely reach sometimes…which is why he’s so grateful that today is Saturday, and that Sarah is at her Nana’s, and that Quinn was awake and speaking when they went to visit this morning. They both finally have some time to breathe.
“Hey…Kurt?” Noah mumbles into Kurt’s stomach, and Kurt acknowledges with a “Hm?” And he hadn’t realized how quiet the room has been and he doesn’t know how long it’s been like this, just the two of them, lying here together. When Noah speaks, it fills the space around them. “Did you know, that…your tongue is the strongest muscle in your body?”
Kurt just smiles softly and hums, brings one arm around Noah’s shoulder, and cradles Noah’s head to his body with the other hand. “No, I didn’t know. It that why you…massage it so often?”
Noah might chuckle, but Kurt can only feel the vibration as the boy replies with a smug “Yep. Gotta keep you loose and stuff.” Then, he feels Noah’s arms tightening around his waist and another few quiet minutes pass by, unmarked. Kurt feels warm and fuzzy, but he knows that Noah is the real kitten here, all snuggled up against him and kissing around his navel at random intervals. Kurt cards long, thin fingers through Noah’s hair, surprisingly thick with curls. Every so often, he tugs on a particular patch at the back of Noah’s skull, and he swears that Puck’s rumbling moans are more like a lion’s purring.
“Hey…Kurt?”
“Hm?”
“You’re really cozy.” Noah says, and Kurt can hear, see, feel him sigh again. It might even be a short yawn. Kurt scratches his scalp lightly but Puck only leans his head into the contact and curls up around Kurt’s lower half even further. Kurt is glad that the heat is on so he won’t have to get up for a cover. He gazes down at Noah, mapping out every point of contact between their bodies including their arms embracing each other, and he is almost overwhelmed by the feeling of completion. Noah’s presence is like a blanket itself, sheltering him with a sense of belonging; he once again feels that weird glow of beloved settle over him. “You’re pretty comfy yourself, babe.” He replies, kind of late, and masking the feverish possessiveness that suddenly claims his mind and makes him want to join their bodies, just like this.
“…Hey…Kurt?”
“Hm?”
There’s a long pause, which isn’t unexpected, in which he just focuses on Noah’s breathing. Noah Puckerman is alive, he realizes out of nowhere. And wow, he can’t even begin to describe the bright air of elation that fills him with that fact. Noah is alive, and here, cuddling him. It’s too perfect to not be true. Kurt doesn’t believe in golden gates, weighing a ton, sitting on the clouds of water vapor above his head, but he does believe that if he had to spend an eternity doing one thing, it would be living this moment over and over again.
He feels like this is something he could admit to Noah, because at times like these, they tend to say sappy things without the insecurity of sounding cheesy. (“My love for you burns brighter than the sun, baby.” Noah said once, and Kurt kissed him hard instead of rolling his eyes as usual.) But now, Kurt recognizes that the reason why Noah hasn’t continued his question is because he’s asleep, and Kurt is surprised to realize how close to the blurred borderline he is, himself. He’s probably been teetering since the middle of Noah’s absolutely miraculous massage, now that he thinks about it.
Memorizing the feel of Puck wrapped around him, Kurt vaguely thinks that you can’t really blame him. Noah’s hands are a gift, after all.
That’s all Kurt can think as the determinedly digging thumbs finally unearth a particularly nasty knot right where his neck meets his right scapula. A cold sensation tingles wildly and burns through that muscle, spreads across his shoulder blade, and shoots down the right side of his ribcage before occupying the area above his right glut with an unfading buzz. He shivers when he feels his boyfriend’s warm hand following that exact trail, chasing away the chill with a caress, and he bites his tongue when the fingers reach his lower back and probe. It feels sharp and stabbing, and oh so good because, right there, he didn’t even know that muscle could be so tense.
The fingertips knead insistently, but with precision, and it hurts…it hurts, and yet Kurt can’t help but roll his hips into the cushion beneath him to relieve the pressure in his groin because somehow the anxious tension is arousing. He hums. The spot near his lilac crest burns colder and colder until it’s suddenly fading, and Kurt has completely missed the part where the chill reached its peak - but now the muscle feels warm and loose and he sighs, barely containing a moan. Noah always manages to turn him to a lethargic mess of heat with just a touch. These hands, he knows, are calloused from experience with the unexpected. Everybody at school sees the way they skillfully strum strings or finger frets or even press keys, and his family has seen the way they can braid hair and Challah bread or knit surprisingly beautiful scarves or wield kitchen utensils like a pro. Many people can probably attest to feeling them ghost over skin or pull hair or press into tight heat and carefully stretch…
But only Kurt has ever seen them finger-paint a picture, or type out several complete sheets of original music in one night, or mold a misshapen but sturdy bowl, or practice the new signs that Kurt demonstrates. He’s the only one that knows their trembling in the middle of the occasional nightmare, their nervous clamminess, their gentle petting in his hair, their teasing flicking on his ear, or their desperate clutching on his biceps and dependence on him to keep them anchored. He’s the only one who’s ever gotten the pleasure, besides Mrs. Puckerman and maybe Quinn for a short time, to feel their slow, deep massaging on his feet. The only person to feel their firm and thoughtful kneading through every muscle of his body as if he’s a giant glob of dough for Challah, he kneads me like bread George. These hands, they probe and explore and discover new ways to make Kurt tremble and shutter apart almost every time they touch -
“Mmmn…” Kurt’s thoughts cut off as Noah’s fingers press gently on the vulnerable, hollow spots just beneath his skull on either side. He automatically tilts his head a bit, adjusting where his chin rests on his folded forearms, giving the thumbs easier access to the nape of his neck.
The pads of Noah’s fingers are flat and warm - Kurt focuses on their small circular motions, and how their pressure gradually increases with every few turns. Rub, slowly, press…Around, around, press…Press, rub, slowly. Slowly, circling. Pressing and slowly pressing until…until…Kurt’s thoughts vanish so impossibly, so completely, he actually whites-out for a few moments. Cold, cold white frost freezes the entire base of his skull and he can taste the sharp edge of the broken ice that has paralyzed his brain. This is dangerous. It hurts, like Noah’s fingers have dug into his head and pressed two vital buttons and they won’t let up, as if those buttons are what allow Kurt to live as a human instead of a freezing vegetable, and he can’t even shiver because his nervous system won’t respond. He feels the two points like the barrels of two guns pressed to the base of his skull - and there is a tiny, wispy, ghost of a thought floating somewhere behind his mind that is calling faintly, go on, pull the trigger, because he can’t think beyond clouds right now. It’s crazy, and probably suicidal. He wants to stay like this, frozen, forever, and it’s downright insane because he’s giving Noah the power to end his life. But he doesn’t care. He can’t care.
He can’t think at all, and it’s addicting.
An eternity later, the thumbs finally ease off. The blood rushes up his neck, trying to make up for lost time, and the killer chill finally sets Kurt to shivering. He remembers, Noah, and his magical hands, and he moans, blindly reaching back for something of his boyfriend to grab onto. Noah’s fingers tangle with his, and Kurt turns his head in time to see Noah lift the connection to his soft but firm warm lips, kissing Kurt’s paler skin. Then Noah is leaning down to kiss the back of Kurt’s neck, which tingles at the contact, and now, he’s kissing Kurt’s mouth. The build-up is slow; it begins as a simple pressing and molding of lips sliding into a familiar puzzle.
Kurt, still feeling slightly out of his mind, is the one who invades Noah and coaxes the other’s tongue into his own mouth. It’s languid, but exploring and thorough, and Kurt wants more but is too lazed out to take things much further. He’s only half aware that he’s turning over to pull Noah down on top of him where he lays spread on the bed, not even letting the other boy part for air. Their right hands are still connected, now on the pillow by Kurt’s head, so Kurt brings his left arm up and around Noah’s neck to tangle his fingers in the soft, dark Mohawk. Noah is a furnace. Although they’re almost the same height, Noah is still bulkier in body-type, so he easily covers Kurt’s torso while settling in between Kurt’s legs, spreading an intense heat from Kurt’s chest down into his belly and making him feel…loved.
Kurt sighs and finally breaks the breathtaking kiss, but doesn’t let the other teen pull away, instead murmuring against his lips, “thank you.”
“Any time, bright eyes.” Noah says just as softly. Kurt can see a vague reflection of himself in the pools that are Noah’s own eyes, but he doesn’t bother searching for a clearer image before he lets himself get distracted by their color. He knows that, technically, they’re hazel - but sometimes, they shine more amber than brown, or with flecks of green, or a coating of heavy gray. Right now, they’re a mixture of honey and shining silver, with an undeniable source of warmth that makes Kurt just want to melt. It’s obvious that his own eyes are equally as interesting to Noah; his boyfriend points out the specific quality of glasz on any occasion at least once a day, and they often find themselves lost in each other’s gaze, like they are now, smiles on their faces.
Noah blinks, and Kurt briefly notes the incredible fullness of his eyelashes, dark against his golden skin, before Noah is kissing him again. This one is short however, and Noah is suddenly gone, letting go of his hand, leaving Kurt exposed. “Hey…where’d you go?” Kurt asks, taking a second to relocate his arms so that he can prop himself up. When he does, he sees Noah sliding down his torso. His head pauses by Kurt’s abdomen, and Kurt briefly wonders if something is about to be done about his involuntary erection.
But then, Noah buries his face into Kurt’s stomach. He nuzzles his nose into the space above Kurt’s bellybutton, and then squashes the side of his face as he rubs his cheek against Kurt’s belly. Noah sneaks his hands under Kurt, winding his arms around his waist, and Kurt doesn’t even register the slight awkwardness of having Puck’s hard arms between the small of his back and the soft mattress. He’s too distracted by the adorableness of Noah hugging his stomach and he just lies back down.
Noah continues to squirm, readjusting his head on Kurt’s stomach because the muscles are surprisingly defined from dancing, oh and the unhealthy amount of sex might have largely to do with it (because they’re both teenage boys so you know there’s bound to be twice the occasions of fooling around) - until he finally finds a comfortable position. Kurt can tell when this happens because all of a sudden Noah exhales heavily, and his entire body goes limp, settling heavily on Kurt’s legs. He sighs as he closes his eyes, and Kurt watches as his back rises and falls with the motion.
Kurt knows that Noah is tired. Not just physically, but mentally, with all the running around from school to the hospital to the garage to wherever Sarah needs to be. The stress of the situation with Quinn has been especially hard for Noah considering his mother’s accident back in Junior year - when everybody believed that Puck had driven her car into the convenience store, when really his mom had been driving - and he hasn’t been sleeping well. (“Every time I close my eyes…” Noah had whispered brokenly just three nights ago, at 4 in the morning, clinging to Kurt’s chest. “…And I can never tell which one it is.” “Quinn is alive, Noah. She’s here, and so is Sarah. You saved Sarah, remember? They’re both okay.”) Kurt is almost as exhausted from just consoling Noah. He hates knowing that Noah is suffering in a place where even he can barely reach sometimes…which is why he’s so grateful that today is Saturday, and that Sarah is at her Nana’s, and that Quinn was awake and speaking when they went to visit this morning. They both finally have some time to breathe.
“Hey…Kurt?” Noah mumbles into Kurt’s stomach, and Kurt acknowledges with a “Hm?” And he hadn’t realized how quiet the room has been and he doesn’t know how long it’s been like this, just the two of them, lying here together. When Noah speaks, it fills the space around them. “Did you know, that…your tongue is the strongest muscle in your body?”
Kurt just smiles softly and hums, brings one arm around Noah’s shoulder, and cradles Noah’s head to his body with the other hand. “No, I didn’t know. It that why you…massage it so often?”
Noah might chuckle, but Kurt can only feel the vibration as the boy replies with a smug “Yep. Gotta keep you loose and stuff.” Then, he feels Noah’s arms tightening around his waist and another few quiet minutes pass by, unmarked. Kurt feels warm and fuzzy, but he knows that Noah is the real kitten here, all snuggled up against him and kissing around his navel at random intervals. Kurt cards long, thin fingers through Noah’s hair, surprisingly thick with curls. Every so often, he tugs on a particular patch at the back of Noah’s skull, and he swears that Puck’s rumbling moans are more like a lion’s purring.
“Hey…Kurt?”
“Hm?”
“You’re really cozy.” Noah says, and Kurt can hear, see, feel him sigh again. It might even be a short yawn. Kurt scratches his scalp lightly but Puck only leans his head into the contact and curls up around Kurt’s lower half even further. Kurt is glad that the heat is on so he won’t have to get up for a cover. He gazes down at Noah, mapping out every point of contact between their bodies including their arms embracing each other, and he is almost overwhelmed by the feeling of completion. Noah’s presence is like a blanket itself, sheltering him with a sense of belonging; he once again feels that weird glow of beloved settle over him. “You’re pretty comfy yourself, babe.” He replies, kind of late, and masking the feverish possessiveness that suddenly claims his mind and makes him want to join their bodies, just like this.
“…Hey…Kurt?”
“Hm?”
There’s a long pause, which isn’t unexpected, in which he just focuses on Noah’s breathing. Noah Puckerman is alive, he realizes out of nowhere. And wow, he can’t even begin to describe the bright air of elation that fills him with that fact. Noah is alive, and here, cuddling him. It’s too perfect to not be true. Kurt doesn’t believe in golden gates, weighing a ton, sitting on the clouds of water vapor above his head, but he does believe that if he had to spend an eternity doing one thing, it would be living this moment over and over again.
He feels like this is something he could admit to Noah, because at times like these, they tend to say sappy things without the insecurity of sounding cheesy. (“My love for you burns brighter than the sun, baby.” Noah said once, and Kurt kissed him hard instead of rolling his eyes as usual.) But now, Kurt recognizes that the reason why Noah hasn’t continued his question is because he’s asleep, and Kurt is surprised to realize how close to the blurred borderline he is, himself. He’s probably been teetering since the middle of Noah’s absolutely miraculous massage, now that he thinks about it.
Memorizing the feel of Puck wrapped around him, Kurt vaguely thinks that you can’t really blame him. Noah’s hands are a gift, after all.