Fic: It's A Wonderful Surprise To See Your Shoes and Your Spirits Rise 1/2
Title: It's A Wonderful Surprise To See Your Shoes and Your Spirits Rise (1/2)
Author: louie x
Pairing: Kurt/Puck
Word count: 12,856
Rating: R/NC-17
Summary: Sequel to Show Me Secrets You Didn't Know Was Inside. A very unique experience has befallen Puck; and it's name is Kurt Hummel.
Disclaimer: I own nothing of Glee, nothing of the characters, it's all owned by proper copywrite holding companies and people. I'm just poking my finger into their delectable pie of wonderfulness.
A/N: A billion, million loads of thanks to my beta pixie for knowing when to fluff and when my rambling needs editing! And thanks to everyone who gave amazing feedback to the prior fic~ Hope this one answers the requests for more! Title from The Cure's 'Friday's I'm In Love'.
WARNINGS: Violence upon one of the characters occurs within.
Monday.
Practice for football after sleeping through most of his classes. Evade touching Kurt as much as he can.
Puck fails at the latter,lingering late after the others have left the locker room. He ends up on his knees, sucking Kurt's dick into his mouth while the skinny boy coos soft, kind words as he strokes his hand down the stripe of Puck's mohawk. He'd never sucked another guy's dick before, never really thought about it, but then that was before he really started listening to Kurt at all.
"You're so tall, Noah," he said, almost conversationally. "I bet if you dropped to your knees, you'd be the perfect height..." The words trail off, soft enough not to echo in the big empty room, and Puck feels his skin burn as Kurt presses tight up against his body. A boldness that he'd never have suspected from the kid who would sigh and hold out his arms to be thrown into the dumpster every morning. Fucking hell, he'd almost do a little jump up to help the football team lift him like he just accepted it as what had to be done. Fussing over his clothes or freshly cut hair or some other bitchy, prissy thing like that was his only protest.
Now though, now Puck knows the taste of his cock, of his come, and it's all he can think about for the rest of the day. That and the sharp little flicker of pleasure in Kurt's eyes that -fuck him, fuck the pretty boy- made Puck come in his jeans.
He has a four o'clock appointment with Mrs. Taschen. Puck cleans her pool and smiles at her as she tips her head one way, then the other, smiling while showing off a bit too much cleavage. Her top is low cut, her shorts tight against her cycling-class molded thighs and Puck fucks her like her husband never does. Lets her ride atop him, grinding her hips down and he sucks at her breasts with bites and soft licks until she comes with a shuddering moan.
He's grateful for having his mouth full though.. it muffles how his mind's wandered to skinny hips and pale skin, that almost doll-like face twisted in pleasure.
Fuck Kurt Hummel, he swears as he packs up his things into his truck. The money in his pocket will go to replacement parts and some new strings for his guitar. He's not a whore, he just enjoys the perks of his job. Nobody can say that he does a crap job of actually cleaning and fixing pool filtration units; that's what he's getting paid for. The amazing sex, leaving his customers as happy as they can be (hell, isn't the customer always right?) there's nothing wrong with that.
Fuck Kurt, fuck him.
His phone buzzes in his pocket as he climbs into his truck. It's a text message from a number he doesn't recognize though it's got Kurt's name signed at the bottom.
'Talked about it with my dad. He thinks our pool really, really needs the equivalent of a full-facial spa treatment. Tuesday good for you too? -Kurt'
Puck tips his head back against the seat and sighs, rubbing his face as he breathes slowly in order to ignore how his heart picked up. Fuck him, he's not attracted to the school fairy. Fuck him, fuck him he's not getting hard at thinking about parting those strong thighs and bending him over something -just like Kurt said, what he panted against his ear about- and sliding home into that tight, upraised ass of his.
Fucking Kurt Hummel. Suddenly the swears have a whole new meaning.
Tuesday.
Tuesday is a free day when he can hang around at home after school and think about... things.
He'll never admit that he spends it with a hand around his junk, thinking about what happened as he watched Kurt earlier that day. Watching the boy at the lunch table with the girls -Cheerios and Gleeks alike- practicing some dance moves for thursday's Glee. How he was twisting his hips, holding onto Mercedes's hand and doing this bump and grind thing.
Then fuck if he doesn't glance over to the jock's table and just smiles in Puck's direction. The rest of the team sucks their teeth, grumbling about his gayness and how if they keep relying on him kicking their way to victory they're gonna go down in history as the football fags. Puck nods absently, ignoring them for the most part, but listens to Finn stick up for Kurt. "Really, you guys need to get over this shit about him," he says with that leaderish QB tone that he has. "He's on the team, we're winning now, who cares what he does when he's off the field?"
"It makes us look bad, for putting up with that-"
Finn glares at the jock who interrupts him. "For what? For putting up with someone who's unique enough to draw attention. Seriously? What do you think football scouts are looking for? Some average do-nothing who can hustle just like everyone else? No, they're gonna be all over Kurt, the unexpected ace in the hole. Who cares if he primps more than the Cheerios combined?"
He gets up and leaves the table, going to sit down next to Quinn, who smiles -fuck her too, Puck thinks- and Rachel -another one, damn her- who also smiles. Kurt's just another in the majestic Finn's fanclub but his smile has a sharper, more real edge when it's flashed at Puck instead of their heroic QB.
He gets the real-deal, the Kurt that nobody knows about and Puck smiles back. The conversation at his table then shifts to who's boobs are looking the best on the Cheerios and they all have to admit that Quinn's breasts are looking bigger than before.
"It's because of the baby," Mark says to Puck's left. "Happened to my cousin when she got knocked up. Went from a nothin' cup to like almost D's. It was crazy!"
Puck comes in his hand, not thinking of Quinn's growing breasts, but of Kurt being the college football hero. Letter-jacket and everything, riding his cock like Monday's client.
Wednesday.
He considers cutting the entire school day but decides to go in anyway. Mr. Schue has been less than pleased with his bad Spanish tests and says he ought to consider getting a tutor.
"Kurt's not that bad," Mr. Schue says with this hollywood smile. The guy's like straight out of some Lifetime movie that his mom and sister love to watch; the guy they always want to get the girl, but he doesn't for one reason or another until the very last minute so they can blubber and cry over the happy reunion of the main couple. "Ask him after Glee this thursday, I'm sure he'd be more than happy to help you out. Think of it as a bonding exercise for both the team and for Glee!"
He's so fucking chipper that sometimes Puck wonders if the guy's getting dosed with that Vitamin D from his wife without knowing it.
"Uh.. yeah, sure, Mr. Schue," he replies without really meaning it. Bad enough he's surrounded by Kurt on most days, he's not going to seek the fairy out to intrude upon his time even more. He pushes the thought out of his mind, ignores Kurt sitting at the front of the class while he lingers toward the back. He doesn't think about how soft Kurt's hair was in his hands the few chances he had to run his fingers through it.
Nothing like the bleach-blond of Wednesday's client. She's the sort who coyly offers sugar with her lemonade and then has him fuck her in the kitchen. Her husband bought her a sturdy dining table that doesn't shake even as she demands he go hard enough to hurt her; Puck holds back anyway, gotta be careful regardless. She slides his hand into her hair and he almost recoils at the burnt, crispy feel of god knows what being done to it to make it such a barbie-doll blonde color.
But she comes, a loud mewling cry, and trembles beneath him while calling him her good boy. It doesn't sound the same and he frowns to himself while driving back home.
Fucking Kurt Hummel, he's ruining everything.
Thursday.
Surprisingly the slowest day of the week. He doesn't see Kurt at all until Glee practice. Puck sits through Kurt dancing along with the girls to some pop song he doesn't know. Of course the rest of Glee loves it, but Puck doesn't think one way or the other about it. He's a bit too distracted by the high cut of Kurt's pink sweater and how Puck can see a glimpse of pale skin of the small of his back.
The way he rolls his hips along with the rest of his body.
Fucking Kurt Hummel, he snarls lightly to himself. Mark and Mike think he's just having some sort of social allergy to Kurt's gayness and stick by their teammate. They clap and cheer, but they remain sitting next to him none the less. Course, they don't realize his guitar is a saving grace to hide how hard he is, his cock pressing against the seam of his pants while Kurt sings 'Sexy Back' in that soft, breathy voice of his alongside Mercedes' powerful pipes.
It's a new twist on the song, Mr. Schue loves it, says it's not appropriate per the rules Mr. Figgins set up, but he loves them thinking out of the box none the less.
Puck grabs Kurt after practice, drags him into an empty class room and shoves him against the wall. He's going to take control of this situation even if it kills him. Kurt's driving him insane and that just doesn't work with Puck's long-term plans of.. you know, stuff. Bad enough he's got Quinn and Finn to worry about, throwing Kurt onto the pile is just too much.
Kurt just cups his face though, and kisses him softly. His hands stroke over his cheeks and jaw until Puck relaxes, fingers skimming to his shoulders where he rubs little circles and Puck is putty in his hands. Another kiss, another little innocent touch of Kurt's palm against his chest.
"Noah, you okay?" he asks and Puck honestly believes he wants to know the truth.
"No... dammit, no, I'm not okay. Fuck you."
Kurt just smiles and strokes his face again, lifting his head in that defiant way that always used to make Puck's teeth gnash just before shoving Kurt into a dumpster. "Tuesday," he says, matter-of-factly. "Tuesday you can fuck me, Noah."
He's late to his thursday client because Kurt makes Monday up to him by sinking to his knees. Chalk dust sticking to his designer jeans as he swallows Puck's dick down to the base like a pro. Puck thinks about asking how or why he knows how to do that but the twist of his tongue around the head of his cock is too much of a distraction. His fingers are in Kurt's hair, pulling slightly and revels in the lack of a reaction so he digs his grip deeper into the silken strands.
Puck comes hard and pushes deep into Kurt's mouth with one last jerking thrust as he spills down the other teen's throat. He'll never admit needing to cling to Kurt to keep upright once Kurt stands back up, but his head is on a narrow shoulder and skinny arms are around his waist. Kurt holds him until he can feel his feet again and Puck feels... strangely cared for. Far more than by the girls who roll their eyes at him, or the women who smile, thank him, and hand him folded-over bills that he pockets.
"I got you, shhh..."
The voice against his ear has a soft, girlish tone that a week earlier he'd have laughed at thinking it'd help him out of anything. Puck feels sick and hot all over, torn between what he knows and what he's learning. He pulls away from Kurt and fixes his pants, not looking at the other boy as he grabs his bag and all but runs out of the school.
He's rough with his client that day but she likes that. Wants to feel what it's like to have sex after years of her husband being out of the house more than in it. Business comes before the wife in the Carroll-Graf household and she hates it. Puck fills that void in her life, fulfills the primal urge to fuck and ache from it later.
As he expects, she grins at him, gives him his money and compliments the cleanliness of her pool.
Fucking Kurt Hummel... He's sucking the fun out of life with the same unquestionable ease as he can give head.
Puck grips the steering wheel of his truck so hard his hands hurt. He's so fucked.
Friday.
Puck avoids Kurt like he's got the plague.
Coach cockblocks that though, by calling an emergency practice before an upcoming game. He's assigned to help Kurt practice kicking since -and Puck won't deny how proud he gets at hearing this part- his skills on the field are the best out there. Hell, Finn needs more practice holding the team together than Puck does running the plays for the points.
Still, it means he's gotta crouch down by Kurt and hold the ball for him as he kicks goal after goal. They're doing this to ween him off of blasting Beyonce, which is fine by Puck and most of the team, but so far they've only been able to reach the middle ground of an ipod replacing the speakers. So they're working on hand signs for Kurt, so he can listen to his music but still be aware of the plays around him when he's needed. Puck signals a hypothetical scenario, six seconds on the clock, they're in the lead, getting this goal would be the final nail in the other team's coffin.
Kurt somehow manages to flick his head in that sarcastic way he does while still wearing the bulky helmet. It reminds Puck that they had to order most of Kurt's gear special since he was so damn small compared to the rest of them. Even his jersey needed extra time, probably needed to get in touch with some pee-wee leagues or something.
He snaps his hips to a beat only he can hear and takes a few steps back, blending the dance moves into the usual forward steps and sends the ball flying. It arcs, wavering only slightly toward the end, but it's a goal none the less. The smaller teen scowls behind his mask, eyes narrowing and he takes off his helmet, dropping it into the grass at his feet. He plucks the earbuds from his ears and puts his hands on his hips, glaring at the goal posts like they moved to spite him.
"That was terrible," he sighs wearily. "I can't do this without the right steps." Puck gets up and takes off his own helmet, looking at the posts as well before back to Kurt. "You're thinking about it too much. It's that whole 'be the ball' bull you hear Coach shouting about. Just relax." The words are out of his mouth before he can remember to package them with his usual more aggressive edge. Kurt blinks at him and then laughs, a quick exhale of disbelief.
"Right, that's what I wanna be. This monochrome thing made to be kicked by people bigger than me." Kurt's eyes narrow as he looks down at the kicking tee, his only other motion is to tap it lightly with his toe. Puck expects more anger but sees it simmering just under the surface of his skin. Like it's vibrating out of Kurt and Puck hurries to put another ball into place.
"Kick it."
Kurt takes his steps back, little hands still in little fists at his sides and he runs up for the kick. The ball sails through the air in a perfect arc right dead center between the goal posts. Over his shoulder, Puck hears Kurt breathing hard and turns back to see his eyes are shining with tears threatening to fall. "I hate being that ball," he spits and turns on his heel in a huff, stomping back toward the benches.
Coach Tanaka calls out for him, shouting at him to get back to practice but Kurt's not listening. He just grabs his things and walks with hard, determined steps toward the entrance to the locker rooms. Puck bends over and picks up the forgotten helmet, dusting a bit of grass off from the bottom.
For the first time in a long time, Puck feels guilty. Fucking Kurt Hummel....
Saturday.
Temple day. Puck thinks as many good, clean thoughts as he can. He even lets his mom use one of those dark colored girly clips to keep his yarmulke on his head since he doesn't have enough hair otherwise. He lets her chide him about his 'style' and sits silently beside her during services.
He manages to get through a whole day without thinking about Kurt and Puck is shockingly proud of himself.
That night he dreams about Kurt like he dreamt about Rachel, though less with the magical god-induced Jew business this time. Still it's the same set up-he wakes up and there's Kurt by his window. Though instead of crawling in, he's sitting on the sill with his legs dangling out, as the moonlight makes him look pale and breakable. He's in his uniform but without the gear beneath, helping to make his body look so small and thin.
Puck gets up, dressed only in his boxers and stands an arm's length away from Kurt. He shuffles, wishing he had pockets and layers to hide under rather than be so damn bare like he was.
"Tell me what to do. I don't know.. I don't know what's going on anymore."
Kurt glances over his shoulder and smiles, this little tiny upward curl of his lips. He beckons with one hand for Puck to come closer. Puck can feel his heart in his chest, beating loudly in his ears, as he steps up behind Kurt and winds his arms around Kurt's waist. His chin rests on Kurt's shoulder, one hand skimming the bones of his hip while the other sneaks up, finger slipping into Kurt's mouth in an all too familiar physical exchange.
The other teen chuckles softly after Puck's finger gets a thorough teasing. "Is it so bad to make your own choices, Noah?" He peeks over his shoulder, watching Puck's face as Puck watches his for cues he's gotten used to taking. Puck feels that naked nervousness again.
"It's not how this game is played."
"Maybe I don't want to play a game anymore," Kurt replies. His eyes are facing toward the bright moon that looms like a backdrop, perfect and round but bright like a spotlight.
"Do you?"
Puck wakes up with a gasp at Kurt's last question, stares at the ceiling and feels his body shake as if he'd been holding every muscle tense for too long. He relaxes against the sheets and rubs his face; wishes for simpler dreams like the one about Rachel.
He's not in love, he tells himself as he pulls his pillow over his head and turns onto his side. It's not something squishy or anything messed up like that. Kurt's just the best sex he's had and it's getting to him, pushing all his buttons and driving him crazy.
Fucking Kurt Hummel, he's not in love... he's not.
Sunday
The away game a few hours away from Lima is a victory for their team. Kurt helps, of course, coming in in the last few seconds for a winning kick. He was upset though, angry about not getting the sound system hooked up and through the quarters prior he's staring down at the ipod and headphones in his hands. When the Coach calls for him, he looks up into the stands -smiling at all the glee kids, Mr. Schue, and Quinn, who's taking in the game from a new position in the seats than the green- and sighs with dramatic resignation.
As he approaches his spot at the tee, the McKinley audience cheers and begins to chant. 'Single Ladies' repeats in a echo from all the away team's supporters. The home team chuckles, the other QB laughing and pointing a bit while motioning to his friends.
Puck snarls as he hears the word 'fag' dropped under the other teen's breath to his teammate.
Mercedes's powerful voice fills the air. She's standing at the front row, shaking her head along to the notes and holding out her hands. She even does some of the basic dance moves. Rachel, Tina, and even Quinn get up, singing as loudly as they can to fill the open air.
Kurt looks like he might get choked up and Puck smiles, turning to face the other team. "What, you guys got a problem with Beyonce?" he teases, as the other team falls into place.
Set to the girls' powerful voices, slowly being joined in by less skilled harmonies from some of the other fans, Kurt scores the cleanest, most perfect field goal in McKinley history. Finn's choice of play keeps the other team still, not giving them an inch, and McKinley wins by the one point. Another close win, but a win none the less.
Afterwards, they're lined up by the bus waiting to pile on and get back to Lima. The buzz from the victory paints huge smiles on everyone's faces, from the Cheerios to the fans, all honking and waving at their team as they leave the school grounds. With pride the team waves back, then shoves their hands back in their pockets against the cold night air.
They're waiting to go,but the team head count -the mandatory team head count- hasn't yet been met. So they're waiting...
Finn shifts from one foot to the other, sighing and Mr. Schue beside him -dressed a bit more for the weather in a scarf and a coat thicker than the team's letter jackets- offers a sympathetic smile. The two of them had driven up with Kurt in his large SUV. Puck had declined -wanting distance between him and Kurt after the night before- and rode with the rest of the team, but the promise of buttery leather seats swayed Puck enough to take up Kurt's offer of a ride home just before the game ended.
When Coach Tanaka grumbled about the cold, the team knew that they'd been waiting too long. The guy wore those shorts in the winter, during snow games- he was like a shaved yeti or something. So if Coach was cold...
Puck looks at Finn with raised brows, a cue for the guy who's supposed to be closer to Kurt to get in touch with him. The lanky jock fumbles with cold hands in his pockets for his cell and dials up his friend's number. After the third time Kurt doesn't pick up , Puck feels nauseous. His stomach won't stop tying into knots and he pushes away from the car back toward the entrance.
He ignores the Coach shouting at him and Finn's heavy footfalls as he chases after him. Mr. Schue speaks up in their defense: he'll go along with them to make sure they come back soon. They're just looking for Kurt, after all.
Once in the locker room, Puck slowly walks the length of the center aisle. He looks from side to side down the rows of lockers, each one empty. Digging his phone from his pocket, he dials Kurt's number (it's not labeled with Kurt's name, just the digits). He waits for it, wincing in advance at what he knows the ringtone choice is, and Britney Spears's 'Toxic' fills the empty air a few aisles ahead.
He jogs the rest of the way, Kurt's name exhaling over his lips with relief but there's no skinny teen standing there waiting for him. No fussy face, glaring at the mirror he brought; just an opened locker and Kurt's bag spilled out across the floor. Soft female tones sing from where the phone buzzes in the inside pocket of Kurt's bag. Puck crouches down and opens the pocket, peering at the picture of himself that Kurt's somehow acquired. It's him during a Glee rehearsal, guitar in hand, and eyes aimed downward as he ignores the rest of them like usual.
There's a lump in his throat that Puck ignores as he flicks the phone off and puts it back in the bag. Standing up, he blinks at a dark stain on the golden yellow-lockers, the school's team colors doing little to hide the smear. Once Puck touches it and it comes back a bright crimson on his hand, it's like a puzzle piece slotting into place. Puck hears his phone clatter against the floor before he realizes that he's dropped it. On instinct, he's moving, back into the center aisle and calling out Kurt's name.
He must have sounded more concerned than Finn expected, since his voice made his friend behind him jump. Puck moves forward, rushing down the aisle and looking from side to side, as Finn checks out Kurt's locker. Mr. Schue finally catches up, not knowing which way to go probably, as Puck nearly slips in a large puddle. He follows it, the pool coming from a darkened boy's bathroom just past the lockers.
Puck flicks the lights on after a few moments of blind groping. A soft wooshing sound reaches his ears as he squints against the harsh fluorescent glare. It's a sink, the faucet on hard but quietly, overflowing what must have been a stopped up basin. Beneath the water rushing down the sides, Puck can see a small, crumpled form half-hidden from the lights above. He can see the boy's back, arms behind him because they're bound at the wrist with a white headphone cord. The crimson jersey is soaked through and torn in a few places, and the body is very... very still.
Thinking of Kurt as a body turns Puck's stomach. He wills himself forward, a silence filling him as his heart truly feels like it stills, before his legs finally listen. Slipping in the water two steps away from Kurt, Puck ignores the cold water soaking into his jeans as he skids on his knees to reach the other teen. He pulls at the cords, undoing the knots there and carefully helps Kurt away from where the water's been hitting his side for god knows how long.
Kurt groans softly and Puck swears his heart finally beats again.
By the time Finn catches up with Mr. Schue, Puck's quietly convincing Kurt to sit up on his own. "It's for your neck, dude," he's saying while holding onto one of Kurt's hands. "If we just lift you up.."
"He's right," Mr. Schue breaks in and steps forward. Puck looks up to see his eyes widen as the man takes in Kurt's battered body. His lower lip is split and there's a cut above his brow thats still bleeding steadily and Kurt's cheek, just below his eye, is bruised. Puck hasn't even bothered to look beneath the thin, damp jersey for what he's pretty sure will be there. Dark bruises on pale skin, red marks from shoes and hands... it makes him sick.
Kurt's motion jolts his awareness back, he's holding onto Puck's shoulder and Puck carefully puts a hand beneath Kurt's back as he sits up. As soon as he's upright, he rubs his neck gently and then leans against Puck's chest with his head on his shoulder. He's holding the smaller teen close without thinking about it. Ignoring Mr. Schue's requests to take a closer look at Kurt at first, before finally helping Kurt to sit up away from him.
"Finn.." Mr. Schue glances behind him, snapping his fingers for the teen to pay attention. It takes a while for Finn to meet the man's eyes, too busy staring at Kurt, and Puck can see the fury in his eyes. "Finn, go get Coach Tanaka, he's got a med-kit." The man's voice is soothing, a quiet tone for the sake of all three teens. One of compassionate control that lets Puck's hands relax slightly around Kurt.
Just long enough to drape his letter jacket over Kurt's shoulders, rubbing his already damp palms along the fabric in a hope to warm up the small body next to him. He didn't want to move Kurt too much, but he's worried about them lingering in the water for too long. Luckily, Mr. Schue is thinking the same thing and helps Puck stand Kurt up to move him outside.
Puck ends up holding Kurt against his chest as the teacher slips back inside the bathroom, getting brown paper towels for Kurt's cuts. Kurt's head is leaning against Puck's shoulder while his back is to the taller teen's chest, his head shifting every now and then as if from trying to keep awake.The red blood has seeped into his jersey, staining Puck's letter-jacket, and leaving marks on Puck's own shirt. So much blood. Puck finds it hard to believe Kurt has enough in him to still stand.
He's so heavy in Puck's arms. The lightness to his steps are gone and Puck tips his cheek against the damp, slick locks of dark brown hair while closing his eyes against the feeling of helplessness. Kurt's hand is freezing cold but it rests on his, fingers shaking but squeezing his own tight for one brief second.
Just like that, it's like he can breathe again.
"You're probably okay," Mr. Schue says when he gets back. His voice startles Puck from the moment he is having with.. his something; his Kurt, and he shifts his arms, dropping the hand that eased his panic. "Head injuries are really messy, but hopefully you'll be okay." He dabs at Kurt's head lightly, brushing his hair back with his free hand as the light brown paper darkens from the red. Puck keeps his arms around Kurt, not too hard and not too lightly, as he whispers mindless little reassurances that he'll be okay, even helping Kurt to put the jacket on properly, uncaring of the water or blood potentially ruining it.
"Eighteen, thirty-seven, and four." It's the first thing Kurt's said since he's come to and Puck blinks, confused as to what it means at first. Then he feels how Kurt's body shivers, no, trembles, and knows exactly what the numbers mean.
An hour later they're in the car, Kurt's SUV, driven by Mr. Schue, with Finn in the front, and Puck still looking after Kurt in the back seat. Finn got into a fight with the other team, finding numbers 18, 37, and 4 around their game bonfire laughing about pounding in the away team's 'mascot fag'. Mark and Mike helped, beating away at the guys who beat on Kurt until Coach Tanaka and the other team's Coach pulled them apart.
It's a two hour and change drive back to Lima from the other school and Puck tries to ignore the silence. He's got Kurt's hand in his own, keeping up the connection, uncaring of the occasional glances he'll get from Finn or Mr. Schue's eyes in the rear view mirror.
Kurt squeezes his hand, the first motion in miles, and lets out a shaking breath from the other side of the seat. The other teen looks over just in time to see Kurt's shoulders bend forward, crumpling onto his free hand as a sob slips free of his chest.
Up front, Finn squirms, unsure of what to do as Mr. Schue's mouth opens and closes. Surely he's looking through his repetoire of witty, wise things to help Kurt through getting beaten into near unconsciousness. Coach was worried he might even be slightly concussed or something, wanting him to get checked out at a hospital near the school. They called Kurt's dad and he was leaving work as soon as he could to meet them there.
But now Kurt's crying and Puck's the only one who can fix it. At least he tells himself that over and over as he unbuckles their seatbelts and draws Kurt against him once more. He turns and puts his back against the door beside him, tucking one leg against the back of the seat, and letting the other foot rest on the floor. Kurt leans against his chest, back to the front seat, as he curls up within the ring of Puck's arms and buries his face against the other teen's throat.
In that one moment, he needs Puck like nobody else has ever, ever needed him before.
Fucking Kurt Hummel, Puck feels like he wants to sing in Kurt's ear just to stop his tears. To hold him tight enough to cause more bruises on the pale skin. To have been there when Finn pounded one of the guy's faces in and spat at them never to mess with Kurt; his Kurt.
The two fall asleep not long after Kurt's tears slow. Kurt due to exhaustion, and Puck getting drowsy from adrenaline fading and the heat Mr. Schue had pumping through the car. Not for one moment though did Puck let Kurt go.
Part 2
Author: louie x
Pairing: Kurt/Puck
Word count: 12,856
Rating: R/NC-17
Summary: Sequel to Show Me Secrets You Didn't Know Was Inside. A very unique experience has befallen Puck; and it's name is Kurt Hummel.
Disclaimer: I own nothing of Glee, nothing of the characters, it's all owned by proper copywrite holding companies and people. I'm just poking my finger into their delectable pie of wonderfulness.
A/N: A billion, million loads of thanks to my beta pixie for knowing when to fluff and when my rambling needs editing! And thanks to everyone who gave amazing feedback to the prior fic~ Hope this one answers the requests for more! Title from The Cure's 'Friday's I'm In Love'.
WARNINGS: Violence upon one of the characters occurs within.
Monday.
Practice for football after sleeping through most of his classes. Evade touching Kurt as much as he can.
Puck fails at the latter,lingering late after the others have left the locker room. He ends up on his knees, sucking Kurt's dick into his mouth while the skinny boy coos soft, kind words as he strokes his hand down the stripe of Puck's mohawk. He'd never sucked another guy's dick before, never really thought about it, but then that was before he really started listening to Kurt at all.
"You're so tall, Noah," he said, almost conversationally. "I bet if you dropped to your knees, you'd be the perfect height..." The words trail off, soft enough not to echo in the big empty room, and Puck feels his skin burn as Kurt presses tight up against his body. A boldness that he'd never have suspected from the kid who would sigh and hold out his arms to be thrown into the dumpster every morning. Fucking hell, he'd almost do a little jump up to help the football team lift him like he just accepted it as what had to be done. Fussing over his clothes or freshly cut hair or some other bitchy, prissy thing like that was his only protest.
Now though, now Puck knows the taste of his cock, of his come, and it's all he can think about for the rest of the day. That and the sharp little flicker of pleasure in Kurt's eyes that -fuck him, fuck the pretty boy- made Puck come in his jeans.
He has a four o'clock appointment with Mrs. Taschen. Puck cleans her pool and smiles at her as she tips her head one way, then the other, smiling while showing off a bit too much cleavage. Her top is low cut, her shorts tight against her cycling-class molded thighs and Puck fucks her like her husband never does. Lets her ride atop him, grinding her hips down and he sucks at her breasts with bites and soft licks until she comes with a shuddering moan.
He's grateful for having his mouth full though.. it muffles how his mind's wandered to skinny hips and pale skin, that almost doll-like face twisted in pleasure.
Fuck Kurt Hummel, he swears as he packs up his things into his truck. The money in his pocket will go to replacement parts and some new strings for his guitar. He's not a whore, he just enjoys the perks of his job. Nobody can say that he does a crap job of actually cleaning and fixing pool filtration units; that's what he's getting paid for. The amazing sex, leaving his customers as happy as they can be (hell, isn't the customer always right?) there's nothing wrong with that.
Fuck Kurt, fuck him.
His phone buzzes in his pocket as he climbs into his truck. It's a text message from a number he doesn't recognize though it's got Kurt's name signed at the bottom.
'Talked about it with my dad. He thinks our pool really, really needs the equivalent of a full-facial spa treatment. Tuesday good for you too? -Kurt'
Puck tips his head back against the seat and sighs, rubbing his face as he breathes slowly in order to ignore how his heart picked up. Fuck him, he's not attracted to the school fairy. Fuck him, fuck him he's not getting hard at thinking about parting those strong thighs and bending him over something -just like Kurt said, what he panted against his ear about- and sliding home into that tight, upraised ass of his.
Fucking Kurt Hummel. Suddenly the swears have a whole new meaning.
Tuesday.
Tuesday is a free day when he can hang around at home after school and think about... things.
He'll never admit that he spends it with a hand around his junk, thinking about what happened as he watched Kurt earlier that day. Watching the boy at the lunch table with the girls -Cheerios and Gleeks alike- practicing some dance moves for thursday's Glee. How he was twisting his hips, holding onto Mercedes's hand and doing this bump and grind thing.
Then fuck if he doesn't glance over to the jock's table and just smiles in Puck's direction. The rest of the team sucks their teeth, grumbling about his gayness and how if they keep relying on him kicking their way to victory they're gonna go down in history as the football fags. Puck nods absently, ignoring them for the most part, but listens to Finn stick up for Kurt. "Really, you guys need to get over this shit about him," he says with that leaderish QB tone that he has. "He's on the team, we're winning now, who cares what he does when he's off the field?"
"It makes us look bad, for putting up with that-"
Finn glares at the jock who interrupts him. "For what? For putting up with someone who's unique enough to draw attention. Seriously? What do you think football scouts are looking for? Some average do-nothing who can hustle just like everyone else? No, they're gonna be all over Kurt, the unexpected ace in the hole. Who cares if he primps more than the Cheerios combined?"
He gets up and leaves the table, going to sit down next to Quinn, who smiles -fuck her too, Puck thinks- and Rachel -another one, damn her- who also smiles. Kurt's just another in the majestic Finn's fanclub but his smile has a sharper, more real edge when it's flashed at Puck instead of their heroic QB.
He gets the real-deal, the Kurt that nobody knows about and Puck smiles back. The conversation at his table then shifts to who's boobs are looking the best on the Cheerios and they all have to admit that Quinn's breasts are looking bigger than before.
"It's because of the baby," Mark says to Puck's left. "Happened to my cousin when she got knocked up. Went from a nothin' cup to like almost D's. It was crazy!"
Puck comes in his hand, not thinking of Quinn's growing breasts, but of Kurt being the college football hero. Letter-jacket and everything, riding his cock like Monday's client.
Wednesday.
He considers cutting the entire school day but decides to go in anyway. Mr. Schue has been less than pleased with his bad Spanish tests and says he ought to consider getting a tutor.
"Kurt's not that bad," Mr. Schue says with this hollywood smile. The guy's like straight out of some Lifetime movie that his mom and sister love to watch; the guy they always want to get the girl, but he doesn't for one reason or another until the very last minute so they can blubber and cry over the happy reunion of the main couple. "Ask him after Glee this thursday, I'm sure he'd be more than happy to help you out. Think of it as a bonding exercise for both the team and for Glee!"
He's so fucking chipper that sometimes Puck wonders if the guy's getting dosed with that Vitamin D from his wife without knowing it.
"Uh.. yeah, sure, Mr. Schue," he replies without really meaning it. Bad enough he's surrounded by Kurt on most days, he's not going to seek the fairy out to intrude upon his time even more. He pushes the thought out of his mind, ignores Kurt sitting at the front of the class while he lingers toward the back. He doesn't think about how soft Kurt's hair was in his hands the few chances he had to run his fingers through it.
Nothing like the bleach-blond of Wednesday's client. She's the sort who coyly offers sugar with her lemonade and then has him fuck her in the kitchen. Her husband bought her a sturdy dining table that doesn't shake even as she demands he go hard enough to hurt her; Puck holds back anyway, gotta be careful regardless. She slides his hand into her hair and he almost recoils at the burnt, crispy feel of god knows what being done to it to make it such a barbie-doll blonde color.
But she comes, a loud mewling cry, and trembles beneath him while calling him her good boy. It doesn't sound the same and he frowns to himself while driving back home.
Fucking Kurt Hummel, he's ruining everything.
Thursday.
Surprisingly the slowest day of the week. He doesn't see Kurt at all until Glee practice. Puck sits through Kurt dancing along with the girls to some pop song he doesn't know. Of course the rest of Glee loves it, but Puck doesn't think one way or the other about it. He's a bit too distracted by the high cut of Kurt's pink sweater and how Puck can see a glimpse of pale skin of the small of his back.
The way he rolls his hips along with the rest of his body.
Fucking Kurt Hummel, he snarls lightly to himself. Mark and Mike think he's just having some sort of social allergy to Kurt's gayness and stick by their teammate. They clap and cheer, but they remain sitting next to him none the less. Course, they don't realize his guitar is a saving grace to hide how hard he is, his cock pressing against the seam of his pants while Kurt sings 'Sexy Back' in that soft, breathy voice of his alongside Mercedes' powerful pipes.
It's a new twist on the song, Mr. Schue loves it, says it's not appropriate per the rules Mr. Figgins set up, but he loves them thinking out of the box none the less.
Puck grabs Kurt after practice, drags him into an empty class room and shoves him against the wall. He's going to take control of this situation even if it kills him. Kurt's driving him insane and that just doesn't work with Puck's long-term plans of.. you know, stuff. Bad enough he's got Quinn and Finn to worry about, throwing Kurt onto the pile is just too much.
Kurt just cups his face though, and kisses him softly. His hands stroke over his cheeks and jaw until Puck relaxes, fingers skimming to his shoulders where he rubs little circles and Puck is putty in his hands. Another kiss, another little innocent touch of Kurt's palm against his chest.
"Noah, you okay?" he asks and Puck honestly believes he wants to know the truth.
"No... dammit, no, I'm not okay. Fuck you."
Kurt just smiles and strokes his face again, lifting his head in that defiant way that always used to make Puck's teeth gnash just before shoving Kurt into a dumpster. "Tuesday," he says, matter-of-factly. "Tuesday you can fuck me, Noah."
He's late to his thursday client because Kurt makes Monday up to him by sinking to his knees. Chalk dust sticking to his designer jeans as he swallows Puck's dick down to the base like a pro. Puck thinks about asking how or why he knows how to do that but the twist of his tongue around the head of his cock is too much of a distraction. His fingers are in Kurt's hair, pulling slightly and revels in the lack of a reaction so he digs his grip deeper into the silken strands.
Puck comes hard and pushes deep into Kurt's mouth with one last jerking thrust as he spills down the other teen's throat. He'll never admit needing to cling to Kurt to keep upright once Kurt stands back up, but his head is on a narrow shoulder and skinny arms are around his waist. Kurt holds him until he can feel his feet again and Puck feels... strangely cared for. Far more than by the girls who roll their eyes at him, or the women who smile, thank him, and hand him folded-over bills that he pockets.
"I got you, shhh..."
The voice against his ear has a soft, girlish tone that a week earlier he'd have laughed at thinking it'd help him out of anything. Puck feels sick and hot all over, torn between what he knows and what he's learning. He pulls away from Kurt and fixes his pants, not looking at the other boy as he grabs his bag and all but runs out of the school.
He's rough with his client that day but she likes that. Wants to feel what it's like to have sex after years of her husband being out of the house more than in it. Business comes before the wife in the Carroll-Graf household and she hates it. Puck fills that void in her life, fulfills the primal urge to fuck and ache from it later.
As he expects, she grins at him, gives him his money and compliments the cleanliness of her pool.
Fucking Kurt Hummel... He's sucking the fun out of life with the same unquestionable ease as he can give head.
Puck grips the steering wheel of his truck so hard his hands hurt. He's so fucked.
Friday.
Puck avoids Kurt like he's got the plague.
Coach cockblocks that though, by calling an emergency practice before an upcoming game. He's assigned to help Kurt practice kicking since -and Puck won't deny how proud he gets at hearing this part- his skills on the field are the best out there. Hell, Finn needs more practice holding the team together than Puck does running the plays for the points.
Still, it means he's gotta crouch down by Kurt and hold the ball for him as he kicks goal after goal. They're doing this to ween him off of blasting Beyonce, which is fine by Puck and most of the team, but so far they've only been able to reach the middle ground of an ipod replacing the speakers. So they're working on hand signs for Kurt, so he can listen to his music but still be aware of the plays around him when he's needed. Puck signals a hypothetical scenario, six seconds on the clock, they're in the lead, getting this goal would be the final nail in the other team's coffin.
Kurt somehow manages to flick his head in that sarcastic way he does while still wearing the bulky helmet. It reminds Puck that they had to order most of Kurt's gear special since he was so damn small compared to the rest of them. Even his jersey needed extra time, probably needed to get in touch with some pee-wee leagues or something.
He snaps his hips to a beat only he can hear and takes a few steps back, blending the dance moves into the usual forward steps and sends the ball flying. It arcs, wavering only slightly toward the end, but it's a goal none the less. The smaller teen scowls behind his mask, eyes narrowing and he takes off his helmet, dropping it into the grass at his feet. He plucks the earbuds from his ears and puts his hands on his hips, glaring at the goal posts like they moved to spite him.
"That was terrible," he sighs wearily. "I can't do this without the right steps." Puck gets up and takes off his own helmet, looking at the posts as well before back to Kurt. "You're thinking about it too much. It's that whole 'be the ball' bull you hear Coach shouting about. Just relax." The words are out of his mouth before he can remember to package them with his usual more aggressive edge. Kurt blinks at him and then laughs, a quick exhale of disbelief.
"Right, that's what I wanna be. This monochrome thing made to be kicked by people bigger than me." Kurt's eyes narrow as he looks down at the kicking tee, his only other motion is to tap it lightly with his toe. Puck expects more anger but sees it simmering just under the surface of his skin. Like it's vibrating out of Kurt and Puck hurries to put another ball into place.
"Kick it."
Kurt takes his steps back, little hands still in little fists at his sides and he runs up for the kick. The ball sails through the air in a perfect arc right dead center between the goal posts. Over his shoulder, Puck hears Kurt breathing hard and turns back to see his eyes are shining with tears threatening to fall. "I hate being that ball," he spits and turns on his heel in a huff, stomping back toward the benches.
Coach Tanaka calls out for him, shouting at him to get back to practice but Kurt's not listening. He just grabs his things and walks with hard, determined steps toward the entrance to the locker rooms. Puck bends over and picks up the forgotten helmet, dusting a bit of grass off from the bottom.
For the first time in a long time, Puck feels guilty. Fucking Kurt Hummel....
Saturday.
Temple day. Puck thinks as many good, clean thoughts as he can. He even lets his mom use one of those dark colored girly clips to keep his yarmulke on his head since he doesn't have enough hair otherwise. He lets her chide him about his 'style' and sits silently beside her during services.
He manages to get through a whole day without thinking about Kurt and Puck is shockingly proud of himself.
That night he dreams about Kurt like he dreamt about Rachel, though less with the magical god-induced Jew business this time. Still it's the same set up-he wakes up and there's Kurt by his window. Though instead of crawling in, he's sitting on the sill with his legs dangling out, as the moonlight makes him look pale and breakable. He's in his uniform but without the gear beneath, helping to make his body look so small and thin.
Puck gets up, dressed only in his boxers and stands an arm's length away from Kurt. He shuffles, wishing he had pockets and layers to hide under rather than be so damn bare like he was.
"Tell me what to do. I don't know.. I don't know what's going on anymore."
Kurt glances over his shoulder and smiles, this little tiny upward curl of his lips. He beckons with one hand for Puck to come closer. Puck can feel his heart in his chest, beating loudly in his ears, as he steps up behind Kurt and winds his arms around Kurt's waist. His chin rests on Kurt's shoulder, one hand skimming the bones of his hip while the other sneaks up, finger slipping into Kurt's mouth in an all too familiar physical exchange.
The other teen chuckles softly after Puck's finger gets a thorough teasing. "Is it so bad to make your own choices, Noah?" He peeks over his shoulder, watching Puck's face as Puck watches his for cues he's gotten used to taking. Puck feels that naked nervousness again.
"It's not how this game is played."
"Maybe I don't want to play a game anymore," Kurt replies. His eyes are facing toward the bright moon that looms like a backdrop, perfect and round but bright like a spotlight.
"Do you?"
Puck wakes up with a gasp at Kurt's last question, stares at the ceiling and feels his body shake as if he'd been holding every muscle tense for too long. He relaxes against the sheets and rubs his face; wishes for simpler dreams like the one about Rachel.
He's not in love, he tells himself as he pulls his pillow over his head and turns onto his side. It's not something squishy or anything messed up like that. Kurt's just the best sex he's had and it's getting to him, pushing all his buttons and driving him crazy.
Fucking Kurt Hummel, he's not in love... he's not.
Sunday
The away game a few hours away from Lima is a victory for their team. Kurt helps, of course, coming in in the last few seconds for a winning kick. He was upset though, angry about not getting the sound system hooked up and through the quarters prior he's staring down at the ipod and headphones in his hands. When the Coach calls for him, he looks up into the stands -smiling at all the glee kids, Mr. Schue, and Quinn, who's taking in the game from a new position in the seats than the green- and sighs with dramatic resignation.
As he approaches his spot at the tee, the McKinley audience cheers and begins to chant. 'Single Ladies' repeats in a echo from all the away team's supporters. The home team chuckles, the other QB laughing and pointing a bit while motioning to his friends.
Puck snarls as he hears the word 'fag' dropped under the other teen's breath to his teammate.
Mercedes's powerful voice fills the air. She's standing at the front row, shaking her head along to the notes and holding out her hands. She even does some of the basic dance moves. Rachel, Tina, and even Quinn get up, singing as loudly as they can to fill the open air.
Kurt looks like he might get choked up and Puck smiles, turning to face the other team. "What, you guys got a problem with Beyonce?" he teases, as the other team falls into place.
Set to the girls' powerful voices, slowly being joined in by less skilled harmonies from some of the other fans, Kurt scores the cleanest, most perfect field goal in McKinley history. Finn's choice of play keeps the other team still, not giving them an inch, and McKinley wins by the one point. Another close win, but a win none the less.
Afterwards, they're lined up by the bus waiting to pile on and get back to Lima. The buzz from the victory paints huge smiles on everyone's faces, from the Cheerios to the fans, all honking and waving at their team as they leave the school grounds. With pride the team waves back, then shoves their hands back in their pockets against the cold night air.
They're waiting to go,but the team head count -the mandatory team head count- hasn't yet been met. So they're waiting...
Finn shifts from one foot to the other, sighing and Mr. Schue beside him -dressed a bit more for the weather in a scarf and a coat thicker than the team's letter jackets- offers a sympathetic smile. The two of them had driven up with Kurt in his large SUV. Puck had declined -wanting distance between him and Kurt after the night before- and rode with the rest of the team, but the promise of buttery leather seats swayed Puck enough to take up Kurt's offer of a ride home just before the game ended.
When Coach Tanaka grumbled about the cold, the team knew that they'd been waiting too long. The guy wore those shorts in the winter, during snow games- he was like a shaved yeti or something. So if Coach was cold...
Puck looks at Finn with raised brows, a cue for the guy who's supposed to be closer to Kurt to get in touch with him. The lanky jock fumbles with cold hands in his pockets for his cell and dials up his friend's number. After the third time Kurt doesn't pick up , Puck feels nauseous. His stomach won't stop tying into knots and he pushes away from the car back toward the entrance.
He ignores the Coach shouting at him and Finn's heavy footfalls as he chases after him. Mr. Schue speaks up in their defense: he'll go along with them to make sure they come back soon. They're just looking for Kurt, after all.
Once in the locker room, Puck slowly walks the length of the center aisle. He looks from side to side down the rows of lockers, each one empty. Digging his phone from his pocket, he dials Kurt's number (it's not labeled with Kurt's name, just the digits). He waits for it, wincing in advance at what he knows the ringtone choice is, and Britney Spears's 'Toxic' fills the empty air a few aisles ahead.
He jogs the rest of the way, Kurt's name exhaling over his lips with relief but there's no skinny teen standing there waiting for him. No fussy face, glaring at the mirror he brought; just an opened locker and Kurt's bag spilled out across the floor. Soft female tones sing from where the phone buzzes in the inside pocket of Kurt's bag. Puck crouches down and opens the pocket, peering at the picture of himself that Kurt's somehow acquired. It's him during a Glee rehearsal, guitar in hand, and eyes aimed downward as he ignores the rest of them like usual.
There's a lump in his throat that Puck ignores as he flicks the phone off and puts it back in the bag. Standing up, he blinks at a dark stain on the golden yellow-lockers, the school's team colors doing little to hide the smear. Once Puck touches it and it comes back a bright crimson on his hand, it's like a puzzle piece slotting into place. Puck hears his phone clatter against the floor before he realizes that he's dropped it. On instinct, he's moving, back into the center aisle and calling out Kurt's name.
He must have sounded more concerned than Finn expected, since his voice made his friend behind him jump. Puck moves forward, rushing down the aisle and looking from side to side, as Finn checks out Kurt's locker. Mr. Schue finally catches up, not knowing which way to go probably, as Puck nearly slips in a large puddle. He follows it, the pool coming from a darkened boy's bathroom just past the lockers.
Puck flicks the lights on after a few moments of blind groping. A soft wooshing sound reaches his ears as he squints against the harsh fluorescent glare. It's a sink, the faucet on hard but quietly, overflowing what must have been a stopped up basin. Beneath the water rushing down the sides, Puck can see a small, crumpled form half-hidden from the lights above. He can see the boy's back, arms behind him because they're bound at the wrist with a white headphone cord. The crimson jersey is soaked through and torn in a few places, and the body is very... very still.
Thinking of Kurt as a body turns Puck's stomach. He wills himself forward, a silence filling him as his heart truly feels like it stills, before his legs finally listen. Slipping in the water two steps away from Kurt, Puck ignores the cold water soaking into his jeans as he skids on his knees to reach the other teen. He pulls at the cords, undoing the knots there and carefully helps Kurt away from where the water's been hitting his side for god knows how long.
Kurt groans softly and Puck swears his heart finally beats again.
By the time Finn catches up with Mr. Schue, Puck's quietly convincing Kurt to sit up on his own. "It's for your neck, dude," he's saying while holding onto one of Kurt's hands. "If we just lift you up.."
"He's right," Mr. Schue breaks in and steps forward. Puck looks up to see his eyes widen as the man takes in Kurt's battered body. His lower lip is split and there's a cut above his brow thats still bleeding steadily and Kurt's cheek, just below his eye, is bruised. Puck hasn't even bothered to look beneath the thin, damp jersey for what he's pretty sure will be there. Dark bruises on pale skin, red marks from shoes and hands... it makes him sick.
Kurt's motion jolts his awareness back, he's holding onto Puck's shoulder and Puck carefully puts a hand beneath Kurt's back as he sits up. As soon as he's upright, he rubs his neck gently and then leans against Puck's chest with his head on his shoulder. He's holding the smaller teen close without thinking about it. Ignoring Mr. Schue's requests to take a closer look at Kurt at first, before finally helping Kurt to sit up away from him.
"Finn.." Mr. Schue glances behind him, snapping his fingers for the teen to pay attention. It takes a while for Finn to meet the man's eyes, too busy staring at Kurt, and Puck can see the fury in his eyes. "Finn, go get Coach Tanaka, he's got a med-kit." The man's voice is soothing, a quiet tone for the sake of all three teens. One of compassionate control that lets Puck's hands relax slightly around Kurt.
Just long enough to drape his letter jacket over Kurt's shoulders, rubbing his already damp palms along the fabric in a hope to warm up the small body next to him. He didn't want to move Kurt too much, but he's worried about them lingering in the water for too long. Luckily, Mr. Schue is thinking the same thing and helps Puck stand Kurt up to move him outside.
Puck ends up holding Kurt against his chest as the teacher slips back inside the bathroom, getting brown paper towels for Kurt's cuts. Kurt's head is leaning against Puck's shoulder while his back is to the taller teen's chest, his head shifting every now and then as if from trying to keep awake.The red blood has seeped into his jersey, staining Puck's letter-jacket, and leaving marks on Puck's own shirt. So much blood. Puck finds it hard to believe Kurt has enough in him to still stand.
He's so heavy in Puck's arms. The lightness to his steps are gone and Puck tips his cheek against the damp, slick locks of dark brown hair while closing his eyes against the feeling of helplessness. Kurt's hand is freezing cold but it rests on his, fingers shaking but squeezing his own tight for one brief second.
Just like that, it's like he can breathe again.
"You're probably okay," Mr. Schue says when he gets back. His voice startles Puck from the moment he is having with.. his something; his Kurt, and he shifts his arms, dropping the hand that eased his panic. "Head injuries are really messy, but hopefully you'll be okay." He dabs at Kurt's head lightly, brushing his hair back with his free hand as the light brown paper darkens from the red. Puck keeps his arms around Kurt, not too hard and not too lightly, as he whispers mindless little reassurances that he'll be okay, even helping Kurt to put the jacket on properly, uncaring of the water or blood potentially ruining it.
"Eighteen, thirty-seven, and four." It's the first thing Kurt's said since he's come to and Puck blinks, confused as to what it means at first. Then he feels how Kurt's body shivers, no, trembles, and knows exactly what the numbers mean.
An hour later they're in the car, Kurt's SUV, driven by Mr. Schue, with Finn in the front, and Puck still looking after Kurt in the back seat. Finn got into a fight with the other team, finding numbers 18, 37, and 4 around their game bonfire laughing about pounding in the away team's 'mascot fag'. Mark and Mike helped, beating away at the guys who beat on Kurt until Coach Tanaka and the other team's Coach pulled them apart.
It's a two hour and change drive back to Lima from the other school and Puck tries to ignore the silence. He's got Kurt's hand in his own, keeping up the connection, uncaring of the occasional glances he'll get from Finn or Mr. Schue's eyes in the rear view mirror.
Kurt squeezes his hand, the first motion in miles, and lets out a shaking breath from the other side of the seat. The other teen looks over just in time to see Kurt's shoulders bend forward, crumpling onto his free hand as a sob slips free of his chest.
Up front, Finn squirms, unsure of what to do as Mr. Schue's mouth opens and closes. Surely he's looking through his repetoire of witty, wise things to help Kurt through getting beaten into near unconsciousness. Coach was worried he might even be slightly concussed or something, wanting him to get checked out at a hospital near the school. They called Kurt's dad and he was leaving work as soon as he could to meet them there.
But now Kurt's crying and Puck's the only one who can fix it. At least he tells himself that over and over as he unbuckles their seatbelts and draws Kurt against him once more. He turns and puts his back against the door beside him, tucking one leg against the back of the seat, and letting the other foot rest on the floor. Kurt leans against his chest, back to the front seat, as he curls up within the ring of Puck's arms and buries his face against the other teen's throat.
In that one moment, he needs Puck like nobody else has ever, ever needed him before.
Fucking Kurt Hummel, Puck feels like he wants to sing in Kurt's ear just to stop his tears. To hold him tight enough to cause more bruises on the pale skin. To have been there when Finn pounded one of the guy's faces in and spat at them never to mess with Kurt; his Kurt.
The two fall asleep not long after Kurt's tears slow. Kurt due to exhaustion, and Puck getting drowsy from adrenaline fading and the heat Mr. Schue had pumping through the car. Not for one moment though did Puck let Kurt go.
Part 2