Fic: Low Rising (4/4)
Low Rising
Part Four
-----------------------------------
Maybe it’s a big fucking cliché, but after the wreck, things change.
See, because people -- any people; all people, maybe -- but people: they’re not rational, and they’re not logical, and they don’t make sense. And when they hear bad news, they just think the worst.
And for a good fifteen minutes of his life, Noah Puckerman had basically figured that the worst case scenario in his sorry little existence would have been that Kurt fucking Hummel was dead and bloody on the side of the road.
Worst. Case. Scenario.
That sort of thing kind of alters the playing field.
It takes a couple of days for Noah to put it all back into perspective, but he gets there, and he realizes in the process that Kurt’s something special. Not like, as a person -- which, that’s true, too, but not the point -- but Kurt’s special to him. In his head, Kurt comes in next to his mom and his sister, beats out Finn and Quinn, and Santana by a mile, and everyone else by more.
Noah realizes that there’s really no use in denying it anymore, given the way he’d flipped shit after the crash: Kurt’s basically his fucking boyfriend. Like, for real.
They never actually tell anyone, not outright. Most people just figure they’ve crazily become friends, which is weird enough, and the two of them don’t really try to hide that. Noah takes a few more slushies, and Kurt braves more sporting events than he might have previously bothered to attend, and sometimes he puts an arm around Kurt and steers him into the choir room, but it’s not as weird as it maybe should be, or as telling as it could be, either. No one seems to pick up on it for sure, the way they are together -- he gets a few questioning glances here and there, mostly from Mercedes, and Rachel, and Quinn, but the rest of it’s just confusion, suspicion, that sort of thing.
And Noah can deal with that.
But when it’s them; when they’re at Noah’s, or when Finn’s with Rachel and they’re lying in Kurt’s bed -- when it’s them, it’s different, it changes, and Noah wants Kurt closer, wants Kurt around for more than just his hands down Noah’s pants every so often, more than just soft lips and the physical release of it; he wants Kurt, and he can admit that to himself, at least, and that’s a start.
And life’s just a bunch of experiences, maybe, and good or bad, they all just get dead at the finish; but Noah, he’s never really looked forward to the stuff in between so much, like he does now. Like he does when he knows Kurt’s gonna swing by his locker and smile at him, all coy and secret; when he wakes up in the middle of the night and Kurt’s sleeping -- just sleeping, and who the fuck saw that coming? -- right there next to him, it all feels weird and new and awesome and freaking insane, really; but it also feels right, and Noah’s learned not to question the good things.
So they spend more afternoons together than they spend apart, and Noah gets used to actually falling asleep with someone next to him, waking up the same way even, sometimes, when Kurt can convince his dad that he’s just going over to Mercedes’ for a girls’ night. He helps Kurt narrow down the places he’s going to apply for college -- a few out of state, because they’re awesome, and a few in-state, because it’s practical, and there really are some great schools for musical theatre in Ohio, apparently. Kurt helps him fill out the Common Application to see if he can get into a state school at best, a community college at worst. Kurt sends his apps out for him, in the end, rolling his eyes and muttering about Noah being lazy and useless -- Noah laughs, but notices that the addresses on the envelopes are only going to places that are within driving distance of the places where Kurt applied.
It kind of makes him smile, a little.
And he doesn’t think about it -- doesn’t think about what it makes him if he wants Kurt, wants to maybe think about seeing him after graduation, keeping things the way they are, making them better, even, maybe; if he thinks about him when he jerks off, if he likes when it’s Kurt’s hands, or his mouth, on his dick; if he’s getting to be really okay with being with a dude, and getting really used to being celibate when it comes to anything more than handjobs and blowjobs. He doesn’t think about any of it -- because if he dwells on things, if he mulls ‘em over too long in his head, they don’t stay good things. They turn into something worse, something less.
And he really, really wants this thing they’ve got to stay good.
He wants this thing they’ve got to stay.
__________________________
It’s not that Noah’s excited, exactly, about this lame middle-school award ceremony, but he loves his sister, and he’ll suffer through it if he has to.
And she’s basically told him that he has to, or she’ll hate him forever and always. Her words, not his.
His mom slaps his shoulder when he gets his phone out and starts playing Tetris on his phone, so he slips it in his pocket on vibrate, not that he’s expecting anyone to get in touch with him. Kurt knows he’s busy, and it’s a Tuesday -- the weekdays aren’t really popular for making plans, and everyone knows that Noah’s not the person to call for a question on homework or tomorrow’s quiz or, whatever; and Finn’s out with Rachel for their... four-hundredth-and-some day anniversary, and Noah knows his boy’s planning on staying the night at her place.
So it’s not like he needs to be paying attention to the phone.
He suffers through a class that’s a whole hell of lot bigger than he remembers his being, when he had to do this -- his sister gets some President’s Fitness Award thing, and a certificate for Honor Roll, and of course he claps, because he’s proud, Sara’s a smart cookie. He grins at her when she seeks their mom and him out in the bleachers, and he gives her a thumbs-up when she holds up her certificate, freaking glowing with excitement.
It feels like things go a little more quickly, after that.
They’re filing out of the gym a good twenty minutes later, and Noah’s helping his mom down the steps -- she’s never been the most coordinated person, plus she’s wearing heels, and falling down bleachers sucks balls, for real -- so he almost doesn’t notice the shaking of his phone against his leg; doesn’t grab it out of his pocket until it’s been ringing a while already. He glances at the display and sees the name -- frowns, and flips it open, shaking his head at his mom and mouthing at her incoherently as he makes a beeline for the outcropping by the locker rooms so he can take the call.
“I’m sorry,” Kurt’s voice comes across the line as soon as Noah picks it up, rushed and breathless and a little bit higher pitched than it should be, which makes it kind of like the bastard child of a squeak and a sigh. “I’m sorry, I know you’re at Sara’s ceremony, and I didn’t mean-”
“Dude, breathe,” Noah says carefully, wary, as he plugs his other ear with a finger and turns away from the rush of the families filing out of the gymnasium. “What’s up?”
The line’s quiet for a second, and there’s a moment where Noah can’t tell the scuffling of feet from the people behind him apart from the sounds coming from Kurt on the phone, but then he hears sniffling, the hiccup of a person trying to stop themselves from crying and only half-succeeding -- and not for long at that -- and he feels something clench in his gut at the sound of it.
“Kurt,” he starts, but he doesn’t have to go any further.
“They’re engaged,” Kurt whispers, chokes on the words and heaves the kind of breath that whines and sobs and leads to hyperventilation, and it nicks something in Noah to hear it, to not be there to do anything about it. Which is new still, but he’s beginning to feel pretty sure that it isn’t bad: “Dad and Carole. They’re getting married.”
And Kurt -- he sounds a little like Noah’s mom used to sound, when someone would mention his dad, when he’d ask questions about him; how she sounded before she was just bitter and angry.
Kurt sounds a little like a heart breaking, really, and Noah just looks at his mom, waiting nearby and keeping watch for Sara to meet them, and says “I’m on my way,” because however Kurt’s sounding, that’s how Noah’s kind of feeling when he hears it, when he has to listen.
He reminds himself, again, that it’s a new thing, not a bad thing.
__________________________
Kurt opens the door before he can knock, all red-eyed and soggy-looking, and Noah doesn't even really care when Kurt just about throws himself at him, wraps his arms around him and clings, because Noah just goes ahead and hugs him back.
Noah doesn’t say anything, just follows Kurt when he sucks in air, shaky, and walks up the stairs instead of down.
They climb up to the attic, and Noah’s not sure what they’re doing until they’re in front of an old dresser -- it hasn’t been where it is for long, because the dust on the floor’s still swirled around it, and hasn’t settled onto the piece itself yet; there’s a braided rug laid at the base, and Kurt falls down on it, just kind of collapses onto it and breathes.
So Noah just settles behind him, and rubs his back like his mom always used to when he was sick, when he missed his dad -- and he waits it out, smells perfume when he lays down and gets close to the rug, and he gets it.
He gets it.
They stay where they are for a good hour before Noah leans down and rubs the bridge of his nose against Kurt’s neck, breathes in as Kurt lets out a slow, careful sigh.
“Come on,” Noah says softly, kisses just below Kurt’s ear, and he feels the some of the tension seep out; and he likes that, likes that he can do that -- that he can help. “Let’s get you into a bed, man.”
Kurt doesn’t move at first; finally reaches back and threads his fingers through Noah’s, brings their hands against his stomach, slides them up toward his chest. “Just a little bit longer,” he whispers, like he’s begging, like he needs it.
“Yeah,” Noah says, settles back to the floor and reaches with his free hand to run fingers through Kurt’s mussed-up hair. “Yeah, okay.”
He notices pretty quickly when Kurt finally falls asleep; Noah lets him settle there, just until he’s deep enough under not to notice when Noah picks him up and gets a good grip on him, because Noah knows from experience: no one likes to sleep on the floor.
He takes Kurt slowly down to his bed -- careful, as not to wake him, not to fall down the fucking stairs, but he makes it. He pulls the blankets up to cover him and slides in close; thinks about leaving, for a second, but then thinks twice.
They spend the night together, against Noah’s better judgment, sure, but Kurt needs it, and Finn’s gone for the night -- Noah can slip out before daybreak.
It’ll be fine.
__________________________
There’s a saying, he thinks, about the best laid plans, and he can’t remember it, but he thinks that if he could -- if he had remembered it, before, he might have realized that he’s not a fucking morning person, and there was absolutely no way in hell he’d be getting up before the crack of dawn, no matter what he was hoping for.
Instead, though, he wakes up at quarter to five in the fucking morning, with Kurt curled up around him, dead to the fucking world, in Kurt’s freaking room, with Finn staring down at him like he couldn't string two words together right if he tried.
Which, granted, is how Finn looks most of the time, but this is different. Because his eyes are going back and forth between Noah and Kurt, and his eyes are all beady-wide, and his jaw’s hung open all shocked and shit, and... goddamn, this is exactly what he’d been trying to avoid.
He groans as he rubs his eyes; really, really not a morning person.
“So,” Finn says finally, voice low as his gaze shifts around, guilty, like a kid with his hand in the cookie-jar or some shit. “I mean, we kinda figured,” he reaches out gestures over at where Noah’s stretched out; “But... not like,” Finn shakes his head and looks away again. “Yeah.”
Noah smirks, doesn’t move his hand from where Kurt had dragged it across his middle. “Yeah,” he echoes.
Finn swallows, peeks up at him, sheepish. “Yeah.”
Noah rolls his eyes -- kid’s fucking thick sometimes. “You gonna have a problem with this?” he asks, brow cocked; doesn’t pose it like the answer matters for Noah, so much as it’d matter for Finn. Which is the truth of it -- if Finn’s got an issue, that’s his own beef. Noah’s not going anywhere.
“You gonna treat him decent?” Finn asks, voice heavy now, with an edge; Noah’s a little surprised at the way Finn’s eyes fix on him, now, narrow at him, like he’s grown some fucking balls. Huh. “I know how you are,” Finn continues, his tone light, but sharp, accusing -- and yeah, Noah figures he deserves that a little, he did knock up Finn’s girl. “But you can’t... not with him.” And Finn nods down at Kurt, who’s still fast asleep, jaw clenched and stance firm, like he’ll take Noah if he has to, if he lays a tow out of line.
“Giving me the speech, Hudson?” Noah asks, a little shell-shocked; “Really?”
“You fuck everything that moves, man,” Finn says plainly, and fine, yeah, he did. He used to. “Of course I’m giving you the damn speech.”
Noah lets a breath out, looks down at Kurt, and closes his eyes before he looks back at Finn. “I’m trying, man,” he tells him, honest, and he can see the moment that Finn hears it -- hears that it’s hard, but he’s making a real attempt here, all laid out in the way that he says it. “I...” he swallows, and his hand shifts on Kurt’s stomach when Kurt shifts, breathes deep; “I’m trying.”
Finn stands there for a second, takes them in slower this time -- looks to see where Kurt’s tucked up against Noah, where he’s curled a foot under his blankets right around Noah’s ankle, where Noah’s got him held against his chest; it’s weird, but Noah’s not gonna deny it, not gonna hide now. “Right,” Finn finally says, a little uncomfortable, but he sounds convinced enough. “Good.”
He goes to walk away, probably grab a shower before school -- Noah’s not that fucking ambitious, right now -- but then he stops, turns back, looms over him again.
“Look,” Finn says, stares at the floor before he looks back at Noah; “we’ve had our issues, and you’ve really messed shit up more than once, but you’re my bro, dude. Thick and thin, apparently,” he laughs a little, runs a hand through his hair and takes a steadying breath; Noah steels himself for the blow. “But he’s my brother,” Finn finishes, and he doesn’t have to say anything else.
Noah nods, careful not to bother Kurt where he’s pressed up under his chin. “I hurt him, you hurt me,” Noah summarizes. “I get it.”
Finn nods, looks at them both again, hard. “Alright,” he finally says, and turns away; actually leaves, this time.
Noah breathes in deep; settles back behind Kurt, who nestles into him like a cat or something, and figures he can catch another hour of sleep, if he’s lucky.
Fifteen minutes, if he’s not.
__________________________
Surprisingly, Finn knows how to keep his mouth shut. Or else, Noah figures that’s what it is, because no one gives them strange looks -- no stranger than usual, anyway, and Noah’s keeping an eye out for it, too -- for the whole day.
Huh. Maybe Finn’s not a total failure at life, after all.
He’s thinking about bringing him a couple of those double-XL chalupas when he swings by that afternoon as a sort of “Hey, you can zip your fucking lips; congratulations!” thing, when Kurt comes up to him -- the first time they’ve seen each other since that morning. In Kurt’s bed.
Kurt smiles at him, small, kind of shy, and Noah likes that look on him. “Look,” Kurt says, soft, like he’s embarrassed and happy all at once, and it’s weird, but cute. “About last night,” he starts, but then he stops again, like he doesn’t know what to say; like they’re new again, like they’re new together. “I-”
“Kurt,” Noah says, tries to tell him it’s nothing, to just let it lie, but Kurt looks up at him, catches his eyes head on, and he stops before Kurt says a thing.
“Thank you,” Kurt tells him, and it’s the most loaded pair of words Noah thinks he’s ever heard.
“I’ve had some time to think about things,” he keeps on talking, but Noah’s not listening with his whole attention, probably not even just half of his attention; he’s still focused on the thank you, on how it kind of knocked the wind out of him, just the way it sounded, like it came from somewhere deep.
“And I talked with Finn. I may have,” Kurt sighs, and it almost brings Noah back to the conversation, “overreacted. It’s the best thing for everyone. Carole makes my dad so happy. And she just adores him, and I adore her. And Finn, too, I mean, I’ve never had a family like that, you know?” And Noah isn’t sure whether he’s supposed to agree, or give Kurt a reason to crumble again, so he just stays quiet, nods, hopes he looks like he’ll swing either way Kurt needs him to.
Because he will. Or he’ll try, at least.
“So, now that I’m not quite as much of a sobbing mess about the whole affair anymore,” Kurt laughs, a little sad, but then he looks up at Noah and there’s nothing funny about the smile on his face; it’s all nerves and hope, and Noah’s not following, but he feels anxious, anyway. “I wanted to ask you something.”
Noah leans back against the row of lockers, folds his arms over his chest. “Shoot.”
“They want me to be the best man,” Kurt says with a nod. “Well, one of them. Finn would be the other.”
Noah grins, like he has a clue where this is going. “That’s cool, dude,” he says, tries to sound genuine and invested; it’d be easier, if Kurt sounded happier about the whole thing, but whatever. He can be supportive if he has to, totally. “You’ll be good at that.”
“Finn’s going to take Rachel, of course,” he says with a dismissive flip of his hand; he likes Finn and Rachel just fine, Noah’s learned, but just really doesn’t get them, together. “So she’ll be in the wedding party, as his date. But me,” he says, a little wistful; “I still need someone to walk down the aisle with.”
Kurt looks at Noah like he’s expecting him to pick up on what he’s getting at, but Noah’s not really feeling it.
Kurt smiles, like he thinks Noah’s obliviousness is adorable, if maddening; it should piss Noah off a little, but he’s still mostly just confused.
He should be expecting the words that come next -- they make perfect sense, they’re obvious; but honestly? They’re the farthest thing from his mind.
“Go with me?”
__________________________
Shockingly, Noah doesn’t run. Well; not literally. And that’s a start.
He does make a quick excuse to get to a class he doesn’t actually have, and subsequently decides to hide from Kurt for the rest of the day, followed by basically the entire weekend -- which is fairly easy, but not all that enjoyable. Noah doesn’t really process just how much time they spend together until he’s actively trying to avoid the kid. And yeah, it’s juvenile as fuck, but to Kurt’s credit, he doesn’t try to track Noah down.
Noah’s stuck somewhere between grateful, and kind of disappointed, about that.
It doesn’t last long, though, and by Monday morning, Noah’s caught by his locker by one Kurt Hummel, who looks tired, and drained, and determined. Not a combination Noah’s prepared to fuck with this early in the day.
“I,” he tries, but it’s really no use. “I, uhhh... class?”
It sounds like a question, even to his own ears. Damn it.
“Look,” Kurt says, in that voice he has when he’s making a point, when you’re not supposed to interrupt him. “I think you... I think there’s,” and he stops, considers Noah for a second before starting again.
“Listen,” he says, his voice low, like he needs Noah to listen, to understand -- needs him to. “I’m not expecting declarations. I’m not expecting commitment, even. I’m not that naive. I know what you’re willing to do,” he glances up at Noah, all puppy-eyes and watery smile; “what you’re willing to give to, whatever this is.” He rests a hand on Noah’s arm, lets it slip to his chest for a second before he pats the muscle there once, twice, and draws back. “I know. And I’m okay with that. And I don’t want you to go to any lengths you aren’t willing to go to.”
He breathes deep before he looks up at Noah and tells him, straight up: “I’d love for you to go with me, but I know you’re not... I know you’re not ready for that.”
He’s quiet for a second, breaks eye contact while Noah lets it all sink in.
“I’ve invited most of Glee club,” he adds, hopeful. “I mean, it’s a party, but... as moral support, you know? So it’s not like you’ll stick out, or it’ll be awkward or obvious. No one has to know.” He says the last part a little desperately, and Noah -- he doesn’t like that. Doesn’t like how it makes him feel like an asshole.
“Just, I want you there,” and Kurt sounds like he wants to cry but won’t let himself, and goddamnit, Noah’s in this. He’s too much of a coward to say it out loud, here, but this is different. This is their friends, Kurt’s family. They’ve been at this game for more than a fucking year, now; Noah’s never stuck with anything that long.
“I want you to be there with me,” he carries on, his voice just above a whisper; “Because I’ll know.”
And Noah: he hadn’t really thought about it before -- before he’d walked away from Kurt when he’d asked the first time, before this particular moment, even; but he wants that, he thinks. He’s pretty sure he wants that.
Because he’d know, too.
“Would it help if I told you there’d be an open bar?” Kurt asks, a little shrill, and Noah lets himself smirk a little at that; just a little, because this isn’t a joke. They’re not -- weren’t ever -- a joke.
“God, say something,” Kurt says finally, bordering on hysterical, and Noah steps in close, doesn’t care so much if anyone’s around to see.
“Yeah,” he says, quiet, right by Kurt’s ear as he glances down, meets Kurt’s eyes sidelong; “Yeah, I’ll go.”
Kurt lets out a sigh, like he’d been holding his breath too long, even though he hadn’t been, and Noah could let it go at that.
He could.
“With you,” Noah tacks on, wants to make it clear, so he can’t second guess himself, so he can’t back out. He wants this. “I’ll go with you,” he says, with as much weight as he can manage. “And I’ll stand up and do your crazy shit and whatever. If that’s what you want.”
And Kurt’s little grin turns big, wide -- like Christmas and birthdays and the last day of school and all the solos he could ever get, all together, all at once -- and Noah did that; Noah fucking did that.
Ain’t no turning back, now.
__________________________
This time, Nationals is a given. It’s a given because they have a score to settle. They have a story to finish.
It’s in May this year, and the seniors in the club are already done with classes, and the rest of them get lucky enough to be exempted from most of their finals so they can go to D.C. for the competition.
Noah and Kurt get a room to themselves -- nicer, this time, because Figgins has actually given them a budget -- and it’s different this time around, smoother, freer. Noah smiles like he doesn’t think he’s ever smiled, and Kurt laughs like he means it, and the night after they take home a trophy too huge to get into a taxi, Schue takes them all for dinner on the school’s dime, and the management has to escort them out when they stay there, celebrating, until an hour after closing.
It’s a good fucking night.
They’re back at the hotel, and if they squint they can see parts of the National Mall from the window, can spot the peak of the Washington Monument; Noah’s looking, stripping his shirt off from eight stories up, and he only kind of of hums when he feels hands -- Kurt’s hands -- wrap around him and settle on his pecs; Kurt’s body pressed against him from behind as they shift into each other and Kurt rests his chin on Noah’s shoulder, turns and presses his lips to Noah’s neck.
And Jesus, but Noah -- he really never saw any of this coming.
He almost thinks that kind of makes it all the better, now.
They end up on Kurt’s bed, the one closer to the door; and he’s pulling off Kurt’s shirt and he’s got his tongue in Kurt’s mouth, and Kurt’s hands are roaming all over the fucking place, tweaking his nipples and teasing his dick through his pants as he unbuttons and unzips, pushing them down to Noah’s knees with his heels as they move, hips close as Noah lets the friction build where they touch, rub, and he swallows the way that Kurt moans when his hips cant hard, sucks it in, and he’s about to lend a hand between them -- getting over the whole dick-touching thing is probably the best thing he’s ever done -- when Kurt pulls back, pupils blown, and puts a hand on Noah’s chest, firm; keeps him still until he’s watching, paying attention.
Kurt gropes blindly, chest heaving under Noah as he reaches for something and finds it, eyes getting wide when he does, his palm still flat on the center of Noah’s chest. Kurt’s eye slide closed and he breathes deep, and Noah doesn’t know what to think except to try and move closer, but Kurt’s having none of it, keeping him where he is with the touch of his hand. Kurt looks up into him, all full and wanting, but he’s shaking; Noah can see the beat of his pulse at his neck.
He’s about to pull back and figure out what the fuck’s going on when Kurt raises up, puts his lips where his hand had been, and it’s only after he sinks back onto the bed that Noah sees what he’s holding -- what he’s found; a familiar foil package and a plastic bottle that Noah’s only seen with some of the steamier soccer moms he’s done in his time.
He swallows hard, and fuck, it’s been a long time since he’s had real fucking sex; but he looks hard at Kurt, tries to work out whether he’s serious, whether he’s okay with it -- and if that doesn’t tell him something right there, he doesn’t know what will, because he’ll wait, if Kurt isn’t ready.
He’ll need a cold fucking shower, given the way his cock’s already throbbing, but he’ll wait.
“I want to,” Kurt tells Noah, though, answers his unspoken question; nuzzles at the center of his chest so that he feels the words on his skin, and it sends a shiver down his spine when Kurt bites at his collarbone, not so soft, and looks up at him -- doe-eyed, yeah, but he’s solid. Sure.
And Noah -- he kisses him, like he goddamn fucking means it, and grabs for the condom Kurt’s got clutched in his hand.
And, see: Noah remembers what his mom told him when he got his first girlfriend, who’d lasted all of a week. He remembers what she told him about respecting women and no meaning no, and all of the things that were way beyond his pay-grade at the tender age of eleven, and that he’d already figured out from movies and his friends’ older brothers’ porn mags anyway -- but one thing stuck out to him.
Noah, sex is supposed to be special. Sex is special, if you’re doing it right.
And so yeah, his mom wasn’t always the best with words. And Noah used to think that he got what she’d meant, because sex was something special, alright; it was fucking awesome, and he was pretty sure he was doing it more than right, because he’d never gotten any complaints.
But then there was this. There was this, and he’s not even doing anything yet; they’re not even fucking yet, and suddenly, he gets it.
They’re doing it right.
__________________________
The wedding’s in June. It’s outside, it’s hot as fuck, but even Noah can admit: it’s kind of awesome.
People cry, Carole’s doing that glowy thing that people always talk about when they’re talking about babies and weddings, and Kurt’s told him all about the no-run makeup he’s got her dolled up in, and thank fuck for that, because she’s bawling, and Burt’s grinning like his face is gonna break, and they’re standing there, and they’re talking about love and destiny and forever and all that crazy stuff Noah’d never seen or understood -- still doesn’t, but Finn’s looking at Rachel, and Kurt’s looking at the floor, and his eyes are so red, and they look all green like that when he cries, the blue washed out, and Noah basically just says fuck it, and brushes his fingers against Kurt’s wrist on the far side, away from the guests, and he can see it in the set of Kurt’s shoulders, in the way his hand curls up and cups Noah’s a little awkwardly -- subtle, so no one notices, but Noah can see the way he grins as the tears keep falling down his cheeks as he watches his dad take a wife.
Once it’s over, and they walk out, Kurt dodges out of the procession and leads Noah over the edge of the yard; kisses him once, hard before anyone comes around the corner before he goes back to his best-manly duties. Noah laughs when he hears Kurt yelling at someone about something -- cars being where they need to be at the right time, so they can all get to the reception hall on time, photographers being in their given places for just the right shot, whatever else there is to freak over, basically, Kurt’s got all the bases covered in a single breath as he directs and commands; Noah just watches with his hands in his pockets -- he’s mostly just along for the ride.
He’s waiting to be told where to go when Mercedes comes up behind him, gives him a shrewd once-over with her hands on his hips before she asks him, without even pretending to lead into it.
“So. You and Kurt? For real?”
He nods, because he doesn’t have to justify it, but he figures he owes her an answer, at least. He likes her, and she’s basically Kurt’s girly-soul-mate-person, or whatever. “Yeah. For real.”
She frowns, but doesn’t comment, just tells him, seriously: “You know he’s totally smitten with your stupid ass, right?”
He just smirks, and walks away, because he’s got a reputation to uphold.
Later, though, when the reception’s in full swing, and everyone’s got a glass of champagne, no matter how old they are, Noah asks Kurt for a dance. In front of God and everyone.
Because maybe, just maybe, he digs Kurt just as much.
__________________________
Try telling the Noah Puckerman of two years ago that he’d even be at Kurt Hummel’s graduation party, let alone be the last one to leave, and he’d have laughed. And then he’d have tossed the stupid motherfucker who was spewing said bullshit into the dumpster just outside the cafeteria, where the leftovers were sent to rot between fish sticks on Friday and garbage pick-up the following Thursday.
So yeah, okay: the Noah Puckerman of two years ago was kind of a dick.
But everyone’s basically left already -- it’s past four in the morning, and Kurt’s exhausted, staring off at nothing where they sit on the deck out back; even Finn’s turned in, and it might just be his imagination, but Noah thinks the sky’s getting lighter already -- end’s coming soon.
“Is this it?” Kurt asks, quiet where he’s propped between Noah’s legs on the back lawn, leaning into his chest with Noah’s arms wrapped around him, loose.
“Is this what?”
Kurt sighs, and Noah feels the push of his chest against his forearms when he breathes. “Is this where you say that I was a great lay, and thanks for putting out, see you ‘round at our class reunion?”
And it hits Noah hard, for a whole slew of different reasons; that Kurt would think it, would say it -- that it would’ve been true, not long ago, that it’s not unheard of. That things really are wrapping up, coming to an end -- and Noah swallows hard, tries not to think about how it’s all coming to a close like it is. This. Everything.
For his own part, he’d dicked around about the college thing for too long before he made a real decision on anything, but OSU gave him a decent deal, and while he hadn’t really made plans for moving to Columbus on such short notice, he figures he can start out at Ohio State Lima and then finish up in C-bus in a year or two -- figures he’ll do Business, because it’s safe, smart, and hell, it’s not like he’d fucked up the pool thing too badly in a solid three years of doing it, so he figures he can’t fail at it too epically. Kurt, though, he was on top of things: eventually accepted a scholarship to study music at Hidelberg for the Fall, and Noah can’t be all that pissy about it. Tiffin’s pretty close to home.
So maybe it’s not all endings. Not for sure, at least.
“No,” he says, breathes it out against Kurt’s temple. “It’s not where I say that.”
Kurt shifts, tries to look him in the eye, but the angle’s off. “Then what do you say?”
“Nothing,” he answers; “you’re the talker around here.” He grins a little, runs a hand down Kurt’s side. “I’m just trying to get in your pants.”
He hears the huff, feels it stretch under his palm where it rests against Kurt’s ribs; “I’m trying to be serious, Noah.”
“Me too,” Noah says wryly, cupping Kurt through the crotch of his pants without prelude and smiling into the line of his jaw. “I’m horny as fuck.”
“Jesus,” Kurt moans as Noah strokes him through his jeans -- tight fuckers that Noah can’t even get his fingers into, but he’ll make do. And given the sounds that Kurt’s making -- all keens and groans as he increases the pressure, because Kurt’s kinda easy like that; as Noah grinds his own hips up against Kurt’s ass where they’re sitting, easing the tightness in his own groin -- it sounds like he’s doing alright.
It doesn’t take long before Kurt comes lazily, with a little sound in the back of his throat that Noah catches against his mouth as he kisses down Kurt’s neck, lets him fall back against him bonelessly as he comes down, breathes deep, as Noah reaches down his own pants to finish himself off; Kurt’s there, though, slipping a hand in and stroking him without any finesse, all quick and tailored straight to what drives Noah over fast and hard.
And it works like a goddamn charm.
He lets himself breathe heavy with it, until all the tension’s gone and Kurt’s laying them both on out their backs in the grass, Kurt’s head settled against him as he curls into his side, eyes closed, holding tight to him.
The air’s cold, damp -- there’s dew in it, and the sun’s gonna be up too soon.
“You’re a great lay,” Noah murmurs against the crown of Kurt's head as soon as he catches his breath, lips sliding on the sweat at his hairline; he lets himself feel the rumble of the words against Kurt's cheek on his chest, lets the way they shiver run through him, shake deep. “Thanks for putting out.”
He’s pretty sure Kurt hears the things he doesn’t say.
~fin~
Part Three // Master Post
Part Four
-----------------------------------
Maybe it’s a big fucking cliché, but after the wreck, things change.
See, because people -- any people; all people, maybe -- but people: they’re not rational, and they’re not logical, and they don’t make sense. And when they hear bad news, they just think the worst.
And for a good fifteen minutes of his life, Noah Puckerman had basically figured that the worst case scenario in his sorry little existence would have been that Kurt fucking Hummel was dead and bloody on the side of the road.
Worst. Case. Scenario.
That sort of thing kind of alters the playing field.
It takes a couple of days for Noah to put it all back into perspective, but he gets there, and he realizes in the process that Kurt’s something special. Not like, as a person -- which, that’s true, too, but not the point -- but Kurt’s special to him. In his head, Kurt comes in next to his mom and his sister, beats out Finn and Quinn, and Santana by a mile, and everyone else by more.
Noah realizes that there’s really no use in denying it anymore, given the way he’d flipped shit after the crash: Kurt’s basically his fucking boyfriend. Like, for real.
They never actually tell anyone, not outright. Most people just figure they’ve crazily become friends, which is weird enough, and the two of them don’t really try to hide that. Noah takes a few more slushies, and Kurt braves more sporting events than he might have previously bothered to attend, and sometimes he puts an arm around Kurt and steers him into the choir room, but it’s not as weird as it maybe should be, or as telling as it could be, either. No one seems to pick up on it for sure, the way they are together -- he gets a few questioning glances here and there, mostly from Mercedes, and Rachel, and Quinn, but the rest of it’s just confusion, suspicion, that sort of thing.
And Noah can deal with that.
But when it’s them; when they’re at Noah’s, or when Finn’s with Rachel and they’re lying in Kurt’s bed -- when it’s them, it’s different, it changes, and Noah wants Kurt closer, wants Kurt around for more than just his hands down Noah’s pants every so often, more than just soft lips and the physical release of it; he wants Kurt, and he can admit that to himself, at least, and that’s a start.
And life’s just a bunch of experiences, maybe, and good or bad, they all just get dead at the finish; but Noah, he’s never really looked forward to the stuff in between so much, like he does now. Like he does when he knows Kurt’s gonna swing by his locker and smile at him, all coy and secret; when he wakes up in the middle of the night and Kurt’s sleeping -- just sleeping, and who the fuck saw that coming? -- right there next to him, it all feels weird and new and awesome and freaking insane, really; but it also feels right, and Noah’s learned not to question the good things.
So they spend more afternoons together than they spend apart, and Noah gets used to actually falling asleep with someone next to him, waking up the same way even, sometimes, when Kurt can convince his dad that he’s just going over to Mercedes’ for a girls’ night. He helps Kurt narrow down the places he’s going to apply for college -- a few out of state, because they’re awesome, and a few in-state, because it’s practical, and there really are some great schools for musical theatre in Ohio, apparently. Kurt helps him fill out the Common Application to see if he can get into a state school at best, a community college at worst. Kurt sends his apps out for him, in the end, rolling his eyes and muttering about Noah being lazy and useless -- Noah laughs, but notices that the addresses on the envelopes are only going to places that are within driving distance of the places where Kurt applied.
It kind of makes him smile, a little.
And he doesn’t think about it -- doesn’t think about what it makes him if he wants Kurt, wants to maybe think about seeing him after graduation, keeping things the way they are, making them better, even, maybe; if he thinks about him when he jerks off, if he likes when it’s Kurt’s hands, or his mouth, on his dick; if he’s getting to be really okay with being with a dude, and getting really used to being celibate when it comes to anything more than handjobs and blowjobs. He doesn’t think about any of it -- because if he dwells on things, if he mulls ‘em over too long in his head, they don’t stay good things. They turn into something worse, something less.
And he really, really wants this thing they’ve got to stay good.
He wants this thing they’ve got to stay.
__________________________
It’s not that Noah’s excited, exactly, about this lame middle-school award ceremony, but he loves his sister, and he’ll suffer through it if he has to.
And she’s basically told him that he has to, or she’ll hate him forever and always. Her words, not his.
His mom slaps his shoulder when he gets his phone out and starts playing Tetris on his phone, so he slips it in his pocket on vibrate, not that he’s expecting anyone to get in touch with him. Kurt knows he’s busy, and it’s a Tuesday -- the weekdays aren’t really popular for making plans, and everyone knows that Noah’s not the person to call for a question on homework or tomorrow’s quiz or, whatever; and Finn’s out with Rachel for their... four-hundredth-and-some day anniversary, and Noah knows his boy’s planning on staying the night at her place.
So it’s not like he needs to be paying attention to the phone.
He suffers through a class that’s a whole hell of lot bigger than he remembers his being, when he had to do this -- his sister gets some President’s Fitness Award thing, and a certificate for Honor Roll, and of course he claps, because he’s proud, Sara’s a smart cookie. He grins at her when she seeks their mom and him out in the bleachers, and he gives her a thumbs-up when she holds up her certificate, freaking glowing with excitement.
It feels like things go a little more quickly, after that.
They’re filing out of the gym a good twenty minutes later, and Noah’s helping his mom down the steps -- she’s never been the most coordinated person, plus she’s wearing heels, and falling down bleachers sucks balls, for real -- so he almost doesn’t notice the shaking of his phone against his leg; doesn’t grab it out of his pocket until it’s been ringing a while already. He glances at the display and sees the name -- frowns, and flips it open, shaking his head at his mom and mouthing at her incoherently as he makes a beeline for the outcropping by the locker rooms so he can take the call.
“I’m sorry,” Kurt’s voice comes across the line as soon as Noah picks it up, rushed and breathless and a little bit higher pitched than it should be, which makes it kind of like the bastard child of a squeak and a sigh. “I’m sorry, I know you’re at Sara’s ceremony, and I didn’t mean-”
“Dude, breathe,” Noah says carefully, wary, as he plugs his other ear with a finger and turns away from the rush of the families filing out of the gymnasium. “What’s up?”
The line’s quiet for a second, and there’s a moment where Noah can’t tell the scuffling of feet from the people behind him apart from the sounds coming from Kurt on the phone, but then he hears sniffling, the hiccup of a person trying to stop themselves from crying and only half-succeeding -- and not for long at that -- and he feels something clench in his gut at the sound of it.
“Kurt,” he starts, but he doesn’t have to go any further.
“They’re engaged,” Kurt whispers, chokes on the words and heaves the kind of breath that whines and sobs and leads to hyperventilation, and it nicks something in Noah to hear it, to not be there to do anything about it. Which is new still, but he’s beginning to feel pretty sure that it isn’t bad: “Dad and Carole. They’re getting married.”
And Kurt -- he sounds a little like Noah’s mom used to sound, when someone would mention his dad, when he’d ask questions about him; how she sounded before she was just bitter and angry.
Kurt sounds a little like a heart breaking, really, and Noah just looks at his mom, waiting nearby and keeping watch for Sara to meet them, and says “I’m on my way,” because however Kurt’s sounding, that’s how Noah’s kind of feeling when he hears it, when he has to listen.
He reminds himself, again, that it’s a new thing, not a bad thing.
__________________________
Kurt opens the door before he can knock, all red-eyed and soggy-looking, and Noah doesn't even really care when Kurt just about throws himself at him, wraps his arms around him and clings, because Noah just goes ahead and hugs him back.
Noah doesn’t say anything, just follows Kurt when he sucks in air, shaky, and walks up the stairs instead of down.
They climb up to the attic, and Noah’s not sure what they’re doing until they’re in front of an old dresser -- it hasn’t been where it is for long, because the dust on the floor’s still swirled around it, and hasn’t settled onto the piece itself yet; there’s a braided rug laid at the base, and Kurt falls down on it, just kind of collapses onto it and breathes.
So Noah just settles behind him, and rubs his back like his mom always used to when he was sick, when he missed his dad -- and he waits it out, smells perfume when he lays down and gets close to the rug, and he gets it.
He gets it.
They stay where they are for a good hour before Noah leans down and rubs the bridge of his nose against Kurt’s neck, breathes in as Kurt lets out a slow, careful sigh.
“Come on,” Noah says softly, kisses just below Kurt’s ear, and he feels the some of the tension seep out; and he likes that, likes that he can do that -- that he can help. “Let’s get you into a bed, man.”
Kurt doesn’t move at first; finally reaches back and threads his fingers through Noah’s, brings their hands against his stomach, slides them up toward his chest. “Just a little bit longer,” he whispers, like he’s begging, like he needs it.
“Yeah,” Noah says, settles back to the floor and reaches with his free hand to run fingers through Kurt’s mussed-up hair. “Yeah, okay.”
He notices pretty quickly when Kurt finally falls asleep; Noah lets him settle there, just until he’s deep enough under not to notice when Noah picks him up and gets a good grip on him, because Noah knows from experience: no one likes to sleep on the floor.
He takes Kurt slowly down to his bed -- careful, as not to wake him, not to fall down the fucking stairs, but he makes it. He pulls the blankets up to cover him and slides in close; thinks about leaving, for a second, but then thinks twice.
They spend the night together, against Noah’s better judgment, sure, but Kurt needs it, and Finn’s gone for the night -- Noah can slip out before daybreak.
It’ll be fine.
__________________________
There’s a saying, he thinks, about the best laid plans, and he can’t remember it, but he thinks that if he could -- if he had remembered it, before, he might have realized that he’s not a fucking morning person, and there was absolutely no way in hell he’d be getting up before the crack of dawn, no matter what he was hoping for.
Instead, though, he wakes up at quarter to five in the fucking morning, with Kurt curled up around him, dead to the fucking world, in Kurt’s freaking room, with Finn staring down at him like he couldn't string two words together right if he tried.
Which, granted, is how Finn looks most of the time, but this is different. Because his eyes are going back and forth between Noah and Kurt, and his eyes are all beady-wide, and his jaw’s hung open all shocked and shit, and... goddamn, this is exactly what he’d been trying to avoid.
He groans as he rubs his eyes; really, really not a morning person.
“So,” Finn says finally, voice low as his gaze shifts around, guilty, like a kid with his hand in the cookie-jar or some shit. “I mean, we kinda figured,” he reaches out gestures over at where Noah’s stretched out; “But... not like,” Finn shakes his head and looks away again. “Yeah.”
Noah smirks, doesn’t move his hand from where Kurt had dragged it across his middle. “Yeah,” he echoes.
Finn swallows, peeks up at him, sheepish. “Yeah.”
Noah rolls his eyes -- kid’s fucking thick sometimes. “You gonna have a problem with this?” he asks, brow cocked; doesn’t pose it like the answer matters for Noah, so much as it’d matter for Finn. Which is the truth of it -- if Finn’s got an issue, that’s his own beef. Noah’s not going anywhere.
“You gonna treat him decent?” Finn asks, voice heavy now, with an edge; Noah’s a little surprised at the way Finn’s eyes fix on him, now, narrow at him, like he’s grown some fucking balls. Huh. “I know how you are,” Finn continues, his tone light, but sharp, accusing -- and yeah, Noah figures he deserves that a little, he did knock up Finn’s girl. “But you can’t... not with him.” And Finn nods down at Kurt, who’s still fast asleep, jaw clenched and stance firm, like he’ll take Noah if he has to, if he lays a tow out of line.
“Giving me the speech, Hudson?” Noah asks, a little shell-shocked; “Really?”
“You fuck everything that moves, man,” Finn says plainly, and fine, yeah, he did. He used to. “Of course I’m giving you the damn speech.”
Noah lets a breath out, looks down at Kurt, and closes his eyes before he looks back at Finn. “I’m trying, man,” he tells him, honest, and he can see the moment that Finn hears it -- hears that it’s hard, but he’s making a real attempt here, all laid out in the way that he says it. “I...” he swallows, and his hand shifts on Kurt’s stomach when Kurt shifts, breathes deep; “I’m trying.”
Finn stands there for a second, takes them in slower this time -- looks to see where Kurt’s tucked up against Noah, where he’s curled a foot under his blankets right around Noah’s ankle, where Noah’s got him held against his chest; it’s weird, but Noah’s not gonna deny it, not gonna hide now. “Right,” Finn finally says, a little uncomfortable, but he sounds convinced enough. “Good.”
He goes to walk away, probably grab a shower before school -- Noah’s not that fucking ambitious, right now -- but then he stops, turns back, looms over him again.
“Look,” Finn says, stares at the floor before he looks back at Noah; “we’ve had our issues, and you’ve really messed shit up more than once, but you’re my bro, dude. Thick and thin, apparently,” he laughs a little, runs a hand through his hair and takes a steadying breath; Noah steels himself for the blow. “But he’s my brother,” Finn finishes, and he doesn’t have to say anything else.
Noah nods, careful not to bother Kurt where he’s pressed up under his chin. “I hurt him, you hurt me,” Noah summarizes. “I get it.”
Finn nods, looks at them both again, hard. “Alright,” he finally says, and turns away; actually leaves, this time.
Noah breathes in deep; settles back behind Kurt, who nestles into him like a cat or something, and figures he can catch another hour of sleep, if he’s lucky.
Fifteen minutes, if he’s not.
__________________________
Surprisingly, Finn knows how to keep his mouth shut. Or else, Noah figures that’s what it is, because no one gives them strange looks -- no stranger than usual, anyway, and Noah’s keeping an eye out for it, too -- for the whole day.
Huh. Maybe Finn’s not a total failure at life, after all.
He’s thinking about bringing him a couple of those double-XL chalupas when he swings by that afternoon as a sort of “Hey, you can zip your fucking lips; congratulations!” thing, when Kurt comes up to him -- the first time they’ve seen each other since that morning. In Kurt’s bed.
Kurt smiles at him, small, kind of shy, and Noah likes that look on him. “Look,” Kurt says, soft, like he’s embarrassed and happy all at once, and it’s weird, but cute. “About last night,” he starts, but then he stops again, like he doesn’t know what to say; like they’re new again, like they’re new together. “I-”
“Kurt,” Noah says, tries to tell him it’s nothing, to just let it lie, but Kurt looks up at him, catches his eyes head on, and he stops before Kurt says a thing.
“Thank you,” Kurt tells him, and it’s the most loaded pair of words Noah thinks he’s ever heard.
“I’ve had some time to think about things,” he keeps on talking, but Noah’s not listening with his whole attention, probably not even just half of his attention; he’s still focused on the thank you, on how it kind of knocked the wind out of him, just the way it sounded, like it came from somewhere deep.
“And I talked with Finn. I may have,” Kurt sighs, and it almost brings Noah back to the conversation, “overreacted. It’s the best thing for everyone. Carole makes my dad so happy. And she just adores him, and I adore her. And Finn, too, I mean, I’ve never had a family like that, you know?” And Noah isn’t sure whether he’s supposed to agree, or give Kurt a reason to crumble again, so he just stays quiet, nods, hopes he looks like he’ll swing either way Kurt needs him to.
Because he will. Or he’ll try, at least.
“So, now that I’m not quite as much of a sobbing mess about the whole affair anymore,” Kurt laughs, a little sad, but then he looks up at Noah and there’s nothing funny about the smile on his face; it’s all nerves and hope, and Noah’s not following, but he feels anxious, anyway. “I wanted to ask you something.”
Noah leans back against the row of lockers, folds his arms over his chest. “Shoot.”
“They want me to be the best man,” Kurt says with a nod. “Well, one of them. Finn would be the other.”
Noah grins, like he has a clue where this is going. “That’s cool, dude,” he says, tries to sound genuine and invested; it’d be easier, if Kurt sounded happier about the whole thing, but whatever. He can be supportive if he has to, totally. “You’ll be good at that.”
“Finn’s going to take Rachel, of course,” he says with a dismissive flip of his hand; he likes Finn and Rachel just fine, Noah’s learned, but just really doesn’t get them, together. “So she’ll be in the wedding party, as his date. But me,” he says, a little wistful; “I still need someone to walk down the aisle with.”
Kurt looks at Noah like he’s expecting him to pick up on what he’s getting at, but Noah’s not really feeling it.
Kurt smiles, like he thinks Noah’s obliviousness is adorable, if maddening; it should piss Noah off a little, but he’s still mostly just confused.
He should be expecting the words that come next -- they make perfect sense, they’re obvious; but honestly? They’re the farthest thing from his mind.
“Go with me?”
__________________________
Shockingly, Noah doesn’t run. Well; not literally. And that’s a start.
He does make a quick excuse to get to a class he doesn’t actually have, and subsequently decides to hide from Kurt for the rest of the day, followed by basically the entire weekend -- which is fairly easy, but not all that enjoyable. Noah doesn’t really process just how much time they spend together until he’s actively trying to avoid the kid. And yeah, it’s juvenile as fuck, but to Kurt’s credit, he doesn’t try to track Noah down.
Noah’s stuck somewhere between grateful, and kind of disappointed, about that.
It doesn’t last long, though, and by Monday morning, Noah’s caught by his locker by one Kurt Hummel, who looks tired, and drained, and determined. Not a combination Noah’s prepared to fuck with this early in the day.
“I,” he tries, but it’s really no use. “I, uhhh... class?”
It sounds like a question, even to his own ears. Damn it.
“Look,” Kurt says, in that voice he has when he’s making a point, when you’re not supposed to interrupt him. “I think you... I think there’s,” and he stops, considers Noah for a second before starting again.
“Listen,” he says, his voice low, like he needs Noah to listen, to understand -- needs him to. “I’m not expecting declarations. I’m not expecting commitment, even. I’m not that naive. I know what you’re willing to do,” he glances up at Noah, all puppy-eyes and watery smile; “what you’re willing to give to, whatever this is.” He rests a hand on Noah’s arm, lets it slip to his chest for a second before he pats the muscle there once, twice, and draws back. “I know. And I’m okay with that. And I don’t want you to go to any lengths you aren’t willing to go to.”
He breathes deep before he looks up at Noah and tells him, straight up: “I’d love for you to go with me, but I know you’re not... I know you’re not ready for that.”
He’s quiet for a second, breaks eye contact while Noah lets it all sink in.
“I’ve invited most of Glee club,” he adds, hopeful. “I mean, it’s a party, but... as moral support, you know? So it’s not like you’ll stick out, or it’ll be awkward or obvious. No one has to know.” He says the last part a little desperately, and Noah -- he doesn’t like that. Doesn’t like how it makes him feel like an asshole.
“Just, I want you there,” and Kurt sounds like he wants to cry but won’t let himself, and goddamnit, Noah’s in this. He’s too much of a coward to say it out loud, here, but this is different. This is their friends, Kurt’s family. They’ve been at this game for more than a fucking year, now; Noah’s never stuck with anything that long.
“I want you to be there with me,” he carries on, his voice just above a whisper; “Because I’ll know.”
And Noah: he hadn’t really thought about it before -- before he’d walked away from Kurt when he’d asked the first time, before this particular moment, even; but he wants that, he thinks. He’s pretty sure he wants that.
Because he’d know, too.
“Would it help if I told you there’d be an open bar?” Kurt asks, a little shrill, and Noah lets himself smirk a little at that; just a little, because this isn’t a joke. They’re not -- weren’t ever -- a joke.
“God, say something,” Kurt says finally, bordering on hysterical, and Noah steps in close, doesn’t care so much if anyone’s around to see.
“Yeah,” he says, quiet, right by Kurt’s ear as he glances down, meets Kurt’s eyes sidelong; “Yeah, I’ll go.”
Kurt lets out a sigh, like he’d been holding his breath too long, even though he hadn’t been, and Noah could let it go at that.
He could.
“With you,” Noah tacks on, wants to make it clear, so he can’t second guess himself, so he can’t back out. He wants this. “I’ll go with you,” he says, with as much weight as he can manage. “And I’ll stand up and do your crazy shit and whatever. If that’s what you want.”
And Kurt’s little grin turns big, wide -- like Christmas and birthdays and the last day of school and all the solos he could ever get, all together, all at once -- and Noah did that; Noah fucking did that.
Ain’t no turning back, now.
__________________________
This time, Nationals is a given. It’s a given because they have a score to settle. They have a story to finish.
It’s in May this year, and the seniors in the club are already done with classes, and the rest of them get lucky enough to be exempted from most of their finals so they can go to D.C. for the competition.
Noah and Kurt get a room to themselves -- nicer, this time, because Figgins has actually given them a budget -- and it’s different this time around, smoother, freer. Noah smiles like he doesn’t think he’s ever smiled, and Kurt laughs like he means it, and the night after they take home a trophy too huge to get into a taxi, Schue takes them all for dinner on the school’s dime, and the management has to escort them out when they stay there, celebrating, until an hour after closing.
It’s a good fucking night.
They’re back at the hotel, and if they squint they can see parts of the National Mall from the window, can spot the peak of the Washington Monument; Noah’s looking, stripping his shirt off from eight stories up, and he only kind of of hums when he feels hands -- Kurt’s hands -- wrap around him and settle on his pecs; Kurt’s body pressed against him from behind as they shift into each other and Kurt rests his chin on Noah’s shoulder, turns and presses his lips to Noah’s neck.
And Jesus, but Noah -- he really never saw any of this coming.
He almost thinks that kind of makes it all the better, now.
They end up on Kurt’s bed, the one closer to the door; and he’s pulling off Kurt’s shirt and he’s got his tongue in Kurt’s mouth, and Kurt’s hands are roaming all over the fucking place, tweaking his nipples and teasing his dick through his pants as he unbuttons and unzips, pushing them down to Noah’s knees with his heels as they move, hips close as Noah lets the friction build where they touch, rub, and he swallows the way that Kurt moans when his hips cant hard, sucks it in, and he’s about to lend a hand between them -- getting over the whole dick-touching thing is probably the best thing he’s ever done -- when Kurt pulls back, pupils blown, and puts a hand on Noah’s chest, firm; keeps him still until he’s watching, paying attention.
Kurt gropes blindly, chest heaving under Noah as he reaches for something and finds it, eyes getting wide when he does, his palm still flat on the center of Noah’s chest. Kurt’s eye slide closed and he breathes deep, and Noah doesn’t know what to think except to try and move closer, but Kurt’s having none of it, keeping him where he is with the touch of his hand. Kurt looks up into him, all full and wanting, but he’s shaking; Noah can see the beat of his pulse at his neck.
He’s about to pull back and figure out what the fuck’s going on when Kurt raises up, puts his lips where his hand had been, and it’s only after he sinks back onto the bed that Noah sees what he’s holding -- what he’s found; a familiar foil package and a plastic bottle that Noah’s only seen with some of the steamier soccer moms he’s done in his time.
He swallows hard, and fuck, it’s been a long time since he’s had real fucking sex; but he looks hard at Kurt, tries to work out whether he’s serious, whether he’s okay with it -- and if that doesn’t tell him something right there, he doesn’t know what will, because he’ll wait, if Kurt isn’t ready.
He’ll need a cold fucking shower, given the way his cock’s already throbbing, but he’ll wait.
“I want to,” Kurt tells Noah, though, answers his unspoken question; nuzzles at the center of his chest so that he feels the words on his skin, and it sends a shiver down his spine when Kurt bites at his collarbone, not so soft, and looks up at him -- doe-eyed, yeah, but he’s solid. Sure.
And Noah -- he kisses him, like he goddamn fucking means it, and grabs for the condom Kurt’s got clutched in his hand.
And, see: Noah remembers what his mom told him when he got his first girlfriend, who’d lasted all of a week. He remembers what she told him about respecting women and no meaning no, and all of the things that were way beyond his pay-grade at the tender age of eleven, and that he’d already figured out from movies and his friends’ older brothers’ porn mags anyway -- but one thing stuck out to him.
Noah, sex is supposed to be special. Sex is special, if you’re doing it right.
And so yeah, his mom wasn’t always the best with words. And Noah used to think that he got what she’d meant, because sex was something special, alright; it was fucking awesome, and he was pretty sure he was doing it more than right, because he’d never gotten any complaints.
But then there was this. There was this, and he’s not even doing anything yet; they’re not even fucking yet, and suddenly, he gets it.
They’re doing it right.
__________________________
The wedding’s in June. It’s outside, it’s hot as fuck, but even Noah can admit: it’s kind of awesome.
People cry, Carole’s doing that glowy thing that people always talk about when they’re talking about babies and weddings, and Kurt’s told him all about the no-run makeup he’s got her dolled up in, and thank fuck for that, because she’s bawling, and Burt’s grinning like his face is gonna break, and they’re standing there, and they’re talking about love and destiny and forever and all that crazy stuff Noah’d never seen or understood -- still doesn’t, but Finn’s looking at Rachel, and Kurt’s looking at the floor, and his eyes are so red, and they look all green like that when he cries, the blue washed out, and Noah basically just says fuck it, and brushes his fingers against Kurt’s wrist on the far side, away from the guests, and he can see it in the set of Kurt’s shoulders, in the way his hand curls up and cups Noah’s a little awkwardly -- subtle, so no one notices, but Noah can see the way he grins as the tears keep falling down his cheeks as he watches his dad take a wife.
Once it’s over, and they walk out, Kurt dodges out of the procession and leads Noah over the edge of the yard; kisses him once, hard before anyone comes around the corner before he goes back to his best-manly duties. Noah laughs when he hears Kurt yelling at someone about something -- cars being where they need to be at the right time, so they can all get to the reception hall on time, photographers being in their given places for just the right shot, whatever else there is to freak over, basically, Kurt’s got all the bases covered in a single breath as he directs and commands; Noah just watches with his hands in his pockets -- he’s mostly just along for the ride.
He’s waiting to be told where to go when Mercedes comes up behind him, gives him a shrewd once-over with her hands on his hips before she asks him, without even pretending to lead into it.
“So. You and Kurt? For real?”
He nods, because he doesn’t have to justify it, but he figures he owes her an answer, at least. He likes her, and she’s basically Kurt’s girly-soul-mate-person, or whatever. “Yeah. For real.”
She frowns, but doesn’t comment, just tells him, seriously: “You know he’s totally smitten with your stupid ass, right?”
He just smirks, and walks away, because he’s got a reputation to uphold.
Later, though, when the reception’s in full swing, and everyone’s got a glass of champagne, no matter how old they are, Noah asks Kurt for a dance. In front of God and everyone.
Because maybe, just maybe, he digs Kurt just as much.
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Try telling the Noah Puckerman of two years ago that he’d even be at Kurt Hummel’s graduation party, let alone be the last one to leave, and he’d have laughed. And then he’d have tossed the stupid motherfucker who was spewing said bullshit into the dumpster just outside the cafeteria, where the leftovers were sent to rot between fish sticks on Friday and garbage pick-up the following Thursday.
So yeah, okay: the Noah Puckerman of two years ago was kind of a dick.
But everyone’s basically left already -- it’s past four in the morning, and Kurt’s exhausted, staring off at nothing where they sit on the deck out back; even Finn’s turned in, and it might just be his imagination, but Noah thinks the sky’s getting lighter already -- end’s coming soon.
“Is this it?” Kurt asks, quiet where he’s propped between Noah’s legs on the back lawn, leaning into his chest with Noah’s arms wrapped around him, loose.
“Is this what?”
Kurt sighs, and Noah feels the push of his chest against his forearms when he breathes. “Is this where you say that I was a great lay, and thanks for putting out, see you ‘round at our class reunion?”
And it hits Noah hard, for a whole slew of different reasons; that Kurt would think it, would say it -- that it would’ve been true, not long ago, that it’s not unheard of. That things really are wrapping up, coming to an end -- and Noah swallows hard, tries not to think about how it’s all coming to a close like it is. This. Everything.
For his own part, he’d dicked around about the college thing for too long before he made a real decision on anything, but OSU gave him a decent deal, and while he hadn’t really made plans for moving to Columbus on such short notice, he figures he can start out at Ohio State Lima and then finish up in C-bus in a year or two -- figures he’ll do Business, because it’s safe, smart, and hell, it’s not like he’d fucked up the pool thing too badly in a solid three years of doing it, so he figures he can’t fail at it too epically. Kurt, though, he was on top of things: eventually accepted a scholarship to study music at Hidelberg for the Fall, and Noah can’t be all that pissy about it. Tiffin’s pretty close to home.
So maybe it’s not all endings. Not for sure, at least.
“No,” he says, breathes it out against Kurt’s temple. “It’s not where I say that.”
Kurt shifts, tries to look him in the eye, but the angle’s off. “Then what do you say?”
“Nothing,” he answers; “you’re the talker around here.” He grins a little, runs a hand down Kurt’s side. “I’m just trying to get in your pants.”
He hears the huff, feels it stretch under his palm where it rests against Kurt’s ribs; “I’m trying to be serious, Noah.”
“Me too,” Noah says wryly, cupping Kurt through the crotch of his pants without prelude and smiling into the line of his jaw. “I’m horny as fuck.”
“Jesus,” Kurt moans as Noah strokes him through his jeans -- tight fuckers that Noah can’t even get his fingers into, but he’ll make do. And given the sounds that Kurt’s making -- all keens and groans as he increases the pressure, because Kurt’s kinda easy like that; as Noah grinds his own hips up against Kurt’s ass where they’re sitting, easing the tightness in his own groin -- it sounds like he’s doing alright.
It doesn’t take long before Kurt comes lazily, with a little sound in the back of his throat that Noah catches against his mouth as he kisses down Kurt’s neck, lets him fall back against him bonelessly as he comes down, breathes deep, as Noah reaches down his own pants to finish himself off; Kurt’s there, though, slipping a hand in and stroking him without any finesse, all quick and tailored straight to what drives Noah over fast and hard.
And it works like a goddamn charm.
He lets himself breathe heavy with it, until all the tension’s gone and Kurt’s laying them both on out their backs in the grass, Kurt’s head settled against him as he curls into his side, eyes closed, holding tight to him.
The air’s cold, damp -- there’s dew in it, and the sun’s gonna be up too soon.
“You’re a great lay,” Noah murmurs against the crown of Kurt's head as soon as he catches his breath, lips sliding on the sweat at his hairline; he lets himself feel the rumble of the words against Kurt's cheek on his chest, lets the way they shiver run through him, shake deep. “Thanks for putting out.”
He’s pretty sure Kurt hears the things he doesn’t say.
~fin~
Part Three // Master Post