The next day after a couple subway transfers, Puck and Kurt finally arrived in Manhattan. As the walked towards Vogue.com's headquarters, Puck took a deep breath. He knew what this job could mean. It would give him enough money to go to college and pay rent. He also knew it could get him in the door for so many things. The opportunities would be endless. So couldn't help but be a little nervous
( ... )
31 Texts From last Night Day 19 (PG)test_kard_girlJanuary 20 2013, 20:59:34 UTC
N.B: Continuation of yesterday's
(+61): Nah, I'm just going to keep fucking him until he realizes we're perfect for each other.
They lie there for a long time afterwards, and Kurt closes his eyes and listens to the pattern of their breathing until it almost sounds like music. Puck is quiet now, face nuzzled into the curve of Kurt's throat, and Kurt-- wordless, worn-out and caught in some unnatural position he can't force his limbs to move from-- is content to simply trace his fingertips soothingly along the thick stripe of Puck's mohawk and wait for his brain-cells to reboot. He wouldn't care if they didn't, in all honesty.
He's almost-- almost-- lulled the both of them into some blissful post-coital nap-time, when he feels Puck let out a weary groan against his skin:
"...Shit."
"What?"
But Puck doesn't answer. He just turns his head away from Kurt's fingers and, after a moment, pushes himself painfully back up onto his knees. Kurt bites his lip, catching the whimper of pain as Puck pulls out of him. It hurts. But Puck doesn'
( ... )
Re: 31 Texts From last Night Day 19 (PG)test_kard_girlJanuary 28 2013, 22:12:07 UTC
I'm really tempted to write a follow-up, 'Cos this scene got way bigger in my head-- there's backstory and foreshadowing and all sorts... I might do another drabble before the end of the month :). Glad you liked it enough to want more!
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(+61): Nah, I'm just going to keep fucking him until he realizes we're perfect for each other.
They lie there for a long time afterwards, and Kurt closes his eyes and listens to the pattern of their breathing until it almost sounds like music. Puck is quiet now, face nuzzled into the curve of Kurt's throat, and Kurt-- wordless, worn-out and caught in some unnatural position he can't force his limbs to move from-- is content to simply trace his fingertips soothingly along the thick stripe of Puck's mohawk and wait for his brain-cells to reboot. He wouldn't care if they didn't, in all honesty.
He's almost-- almost-- lulled the both of them into some blissful post-coital nap-time, when he feels Puck let out a weary groan against his skin:
"...Shit."
"What?"
But Puck doesn't answer. He just turns his head away from Kurt's fingers and, after a moment, pushes himself painfully back up onto his knees.
Kurt bites his lip, catching the whimper of pain as Puck pulls out of him. It hurts. But Puck doesn' ( ... )
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