Sunday kind of love
New Message: Kurt
My family are away for the weekend. Saturday night?
New message: Noah <3
Sure, sound good.
Kurt slept in on Saturday; he was going to need his rest after all. He saw everyone off at eleven, going to visit an aunt of Carole’s, then spent the rest of the day preparing. A full body skin care routine with lots of moisturiser to make him soft to touch. He styled his hair though he knew Noah would only make a mess of it again. He changed his outfit four times, looking for something that subtly emphasised the feminine parts of his body; Puck loved the kind of subtle edge of femininity to the masculinity that Kurt had grown into as he got older.
He knows in a lot of ways this relationship is a step back, that after everything he shouldn’t be willing to hide, but he wasn’t going to get a better offer and there was something about Puck that kept him coming back. It was strange that, after he’d eventually left Blaine over sex and how Blaine had never really managed to stop seeing him as an adorable kitten, all that Puck would admit of their relationship was sex.
He did wonder if he should have held out longer, it seemed to have worked to get him to fall in love with Lauren and though he kept telling himself it wasn’t love that he wanted, when he came down to it, it was.
He’d given up love because it didn’t come with sex, and broken two hearts, and now he had sex with someone who refused to admit to love. There was something very wrong with his life.
In tight leather trousers that clung to his ass and a feminine blouse he changed the bed sheets. In jeans and a shirt with a corset over it he found the spare sheets and set them by in the bottom of the wardrobe. In soft silken trousers and a ladies sweater he neatly arranged his DVDs and games, maybe Noah would get distracted and stay for longer. Finally, back in the leather trousers with a skin tight black t-shirt and a scarf slung around his hips to emphasise them he made snacks and brought them down. To think, he’d been so upset when Sue used to comment on his hips and now he used them as a selling point.
It was 8.
Noah hadn't given a time; secret relationships didn’t run on a schedule. Anything could have happened; his mom could be making him babysit or...anything. Kurt turned on his computer and pretended he wasn't waiting for Noah. While the machine was loading he went to his bedside cupboard and checked that the lube and condoms were still there. Mercedes was online but he set his status to appear offline. If he had to disappear quickly he didn't want to have to explain it to her.
Instead he pulled up a browser window and loaded up his livejournal, bypassing his friends page and pulling up the back archive on the American Idol slash community. It might be a while now since he was on the show but with his newfound sexual experience Kurt had decided to go back and read all the Adam Lambert fic he’d skipped over the first time through because of their rating.
If he’d let himself think about it, he’d have been embarrassed at the idea of reading slash fanfiction for ideas about how to have sex with his boyfriend, so he didn’t let himself think about it. Still, not even the lovely fic he was half way through which was full of Adam in leather could hold his attention tonight. He pulled up a fic he was working on himself and spent five minutes playing with a comer and then gave up in disgust, shutting the system down and moving over to the TV.
Watching a DVD was out. He might not be able to see the end of it and he’d probably end up watching something unbearably romantic and then crying, again. He’d played a lot of computer games with Finn but none of them appealed right now. Still, he booted up the system and dropped Katamari in, a recent acquisition of is that didn’t require much attention but made him smile. He tried desperately to get lost in it. It was hard when half an ear was always listening for the doorbell.
At 9 he ate dinner. A small dinner, if he filled up now he'd feel all bloated later. He checked his phone for the thousandth time as he washed his plate. No messages, no missed calls.
When he got back to his room he contemplated the game again but quickly dismissed it. He couldn't concentrate so he kept losing and there were only so many times you could have the king of all cosmos shoot laser beams at you in one night. Instead he loaded up the computer again and tried the porn fic. Adam couldn’t really hold his attention even when he got out of the leather and Kurt knew it was a loss.
At 9:45 he put on some light makeup. Not enough to be obvious but a little to make his eyes look bigger and his lips softer.
The two thousandth check of his phone showed no messaged. He went back to the pc. Rachel had come online and he thought about chatting with her, but all she’d want to do was talk about New York or how horrible it was that they’d both lost their boyfriend so recently, and then she’d cry and he’d cry and it would be awful.
Instead he loaded up one of his favourite multi-parted fics. Something with fluff and love confessions and a happy ending. He knew it wasn't like that, ever, but it kind of made him smile anyway. Finally the familiar words pulled him in and his phone was allowed to sit unchecked.
The doorbell rings at 11:34, predictably just as Kurt is getting to the best part. He powered down the computer quickly and ran up the stairs to the door.
Of course it was Noah on the step. Noah, grinning ridiculously and standing there as if he expected Kurt to just swoon into his arms now he’d finally managed to show up. Kurt stepped back to let him in.
“Where have you been?” Kurt asked, slamming the door after him. “It’s nearly midnight?”
“Some of the guys from football were having some drinks,” Noah said, dropping his coat thoughtlessly on the floor. “What was I meant to say? Sorry guys, not tonight, I need to go sleep with Kurt Hummel.”
“You could have told them you had other arrangements,” Kurt huffed. Before he could protest any more, Noah reached over and grabbed the scarf tied around his waist, using it to pull him in. Kurt let himself be pulled but raised his hands so they hit Noah’s chest hard and stopped him getting any closer.
“Have you been drinking?”
“Only a little, I had like one beer and it was hours ago. Can we go to bed now?”
“You’re not laying a finger on me if you’re drunk!”
“I’m not drunk, now come here and I’ll prove it to you!”
Kurt lent in, but the smell of alcohol in Puck’s breath was undeniable and he pulled away again before the other boy could sneak a kiss.
“You reek of beer. I can’t believe this, we get a weekend alone and not only do you not show up until midnight but you show up drunk!”
“I’m not drunk.”
“Save it, Noah. Go home.”
“Hey, don’t do this,” Noah whined, and there was something pitiful in his voice. “I swear I’m not drunk. Ok, I had more than one, but it was the football guys.”
“The same football guys who slam me into lockers and throw slushies at us?”
“Exactly. Babe, think about it. These guys haven’t spoken to me in months, not really. And now they want to again, it’s like my social currency has gone up and, look, you know I don’t care as much as I used to but I’d like to go a few days without getting a slushie in my face so I NEED to be friends with these guys.”
“And what’ll happen when your reclaimed friend tell you to slushie someone?”
“I won’t do it, obviously,” Puck said, rolling his eyes and trying to lean in for a kiss again. Kurt sidestepped it, pulling the end of his scarf out of Puck’s hand.
“Whatever, Puckerman. I’m not sleeping with you, but I guess I can’t let you drive home drunk.”
“Totally not drunk. Three beers, I swear.”
“Three beers more than the amount you should have drunk if you wanted sex with me,” Kurt informed him, crossing his arms over his chest. “You can stay, but no sex. Not until you’re sober, anyway. We’ll watch a DVD or something.”
“I guess,” Puck grumbled, though he did look a little thankful that he wasn’t being thrown out at least. They trailed up to the bedroom, Puck stopping on the way to claim some pyjamas from Finn’s room.
Kurt picked Singing in the Rain and even let Puck curl up under the duvet with him to watch it, though he was surprised that the other guy wanted too. By half way through he dared to lay his head on Puck’s shoulder and was surprised when the other man not only let him but moved so he could cuddle more comfortably.
Kurt fell asleep like that before the movie ended.
Kurt woke early, wrapped in Noah’s arms, which was new and interesting since other than that one time with Blaine after Rachel’s party, he’d never shared a bed with anyone before.
He also knew it couldn’t last. That Puck would wake up soon, they’d maybe manage a quick round and the Puck would have to be out before his family got back that evening. He knew that this, the arm around him, the press of a body behind him, wasn’t about him. He knew Puck would do this with just about anyone.
And that means he doesn’t get to lie here pretending that it makes him special and having his very own little pity party. Instead, as carefully as he can, he pushes the sheet back and slips out. Puck mumbles as Kurt pulls away and rolls a little, trying to follow his body head, but he seems to lapse back into sleep pretty quickly.
Kurt tries not to be disappointed. It wasn’t like he was expecting anything. Not really.
He goes down to the kitchen and makes himself a few slices of fruit toast. He tries to tell himself that there’s nothing different about today, that it’s no big deal to wake up held in the arms of another man, though goodness knows when he’s going to get to do it again.
He’s interrupted from his blatant lying by Puck stumbling into the kitchen. He still looks half asleep, blinking blearily and moving jerkily, and Kurt can’t stop himself laughing.
“Please tell me you have coffee,” Puck says, and it’s almost a slur. Kurt takes pity on him and stand up without a word, making his way over to the counter and putting a pot of coffee on. Puck looks at him like he’s some kind of god and Kurt can’t help but smirk.
“Want some toast, too? We’ve got fruit toast or, you know, just regular toast.”
“Fruit toast,” Puck says, grinning to himself, and Kurt just shrugs and goes to put a few more slices of the fruit bread to toast.
He putters around the kitchen while Puck stays at the table, staring at it like it’s some kind of intricate puzzle. He perks up a little when Kurt sets the cup of coffee in front of him, making appreciative humming sounds while he drinks it. He eats the toast pretty quickly too, with an incredibly satisfied look on his face.
“Thanks,” he says, finally, after draining the last of his cup. “Man, I needed that.”
“You looked like you did,” Kurt confirmed from where he was leaning against the counter. Puck shrugged, then stood and stretched and Kurt couldn’t help but admire that body.
“When are you expecting everyone back?” Puck asked, yawning. Kurt shrugged.
“They said afternoon, so you should be out of here by noon, I guess.”
“I can work that,” Puck said with a shrug. “Though I’d be kind of awesome to have more time...”
“You should have thought of that before you went out drinking all night instead of coming here.”
“We’ve been through this,” Puck said, squaring his shoulders. “Look, I need the social currency, these guys can make life hell for me or they can make it easier and I just don’t want to have to fight them right now as well as everyone else. Does that even make sense.”
“Whatever,” Kurt said with a sigh. “It’s not like I care, it’s not like this is important. Come on, let’s just go to bed.” He starts towards the door but, just as he’s opening it Puck stops him.
“Wait,” Puck says, and when Kurt looks back his forehead is furrowed. “Just, what the hell does that mean, that this isn’t important?”
“Well, it’s sex,” Kurt answers with a shrug. Sure, he knows sex is important to Puck, but not enough to make a fuss about surely. Only Puck’s looking at him like he’s grown an extra head and suddenly he’s wondering what he did wrong.
“Dude, do you really think that’s all this is?”
“Isn’t it?” Kurt asks, raising an eyebrow. “We meet up, we have sex, we leave, it’s not like it’s the romance of the century.”
“Listen, I know I’m not that Blaine dude with flowers and talking about feelings and shit but, come on, there’s more to this than fucking, isn’t there?”
And Kurt just blinks, because it’s like something short circuited in him because in his mind whenever they have this conversation it’s him begging for something more and Puck being blasé about it, but that’s not what’s happening and Puck’s looking at him like he thought they were boyfriend and Kurt feels like he just killed someone puppy.
“Well, whatever,” Puck says, suddenly, and he stand up, moving straight to the door and past Kurt. Kurt blinks a second and then flows him, finding him in the wall putting his shoes on.
“What are you doing?” he asks, keeping his distance because Puck’s body language is radiating aggression right now.
“Going. I don’t know if you didn’t get the memo or what, Hummel, but I’ve changed. I’m not a man whore any more, I’m not just in this for sex.”
“Wait, hold up. All we do, Puck, is have sex. How am I meant to know you want something else?”
“I don’t just fuck anyone.”
“You’ve fucked half the school. You never talk to me unless we’re going to have sex, you never sit next to me in Glee or meet me at my locker or just, anything. You blew me of to hang out with some guys who are probably only using you for something. In what kind of fucked up world is this a relationship?”
“How am I mean to know you want all that shit if you don’t tell me,” Puck ground out, finishing with his shoes and straightening up. “Santana never wanted that shit, and Lauren wanted some of it, but mostly just making out, and who the fuck else have I ever had a relationship with, exactly? How am I even meant to work this out? You know what, screw it. I’m going to go hang out with my loser football friend! And screw you too.”
And then, with a angry slam of the door, he’s gone.
Kurt runs on anger until everyone else in home. It’s only that night, when he moves to lie down under the sheets and he remembers Puck’s arm around him that morning, that he wondering how it all got so away from him and he starts to cry.
Kurt only catches glimpses on Puck on Monday, down by the football field hanging out with the jocks. And it’s not like he cares, they only ever had sex so he can’t be upset about losing something he never had.
And now Puck’s back with the football players, and once that news starts going around people start quaking in the hallways again because, well, Puck can be pretty vicious. And Kurt’s pretty sure he’s safe for now because after that scene in his hallway, Puck’s not going to want to see him or a long time.
Only he forgot it’s not Puck in charge.
Tuesday morning, he’d running late for first period and as he’s pulling books out of his locker, Puck rounds the corner, slushie in hand, three football players behind him. No Karofsky but Azimo is there in all his glory.
He should run, but they’ve already seen him and he knows it’s too late.
“Well, look what we got here,” Azimo drawls, and Kurt likes to imagine he sees Puck’s spine stiffen. Kurt glances from the boy’s face to the slushie cup and back, and he knows he’s going to get it, which is horrible as the sweater he’s wearing is white and almost entire irreplaceable. “Little fag got lost in the hallway.”
“Get lost,” Kurt replies, and he knows it’s not his best comeback ever but it’s not like they’d appreciate his higher level wit.
“Oh, no way,” Azimo says, grinning in that way he has, the way he does just before things get nasty. “Hey, Puck. You’re one of the guys now, right. You gonna show this little queer that you’re back where you belong?”
Kurt shifts his focus to Puck, and Puck is staring at him. Really staring. Mostly, Kurt realises, at Kurt’s lips. Then he looks up and for a second their eyes lock.
“I didn’t say I don’t want it.” Kurt says, the words kind of spilling out of him and he knows they don’t make much sense, but they’re what he should have said on Sunday morning. “I just said you never offered it.”
Puck’s arm tenses, his hand tightens around the cup and Kurt swallows. At least he’s said it now, though. It’s out there, so he can say he tried.
“I guess I never did ask,” Puck says, and he lifts his arm and Kurt closes his eyes because, really, what?
And Azimo shrieks like a little girl and when Kurt opens his eyes again Puck’s up-ended the cup of slush onto Azimo’s head. The jock is standing there, tinged blue, blinking like he can’t believe it. Then he round on Puck.
Kurt closes his eyes again, and ducks his head, and he hears the slushies but as he doesn’t feel them he guesses they’re not for him, and then footstep going away. When he opens his eyes Puck is stood there, slushie running down his face and through his hair and it’s a mess, and Kurt’s late for class but right now, there are more important things then conjugating verbs.
“Thanks,” he says softly, reaching out and taking Puck’s hand. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
Puck makes a sound but he doesn’t really say anything, and Kurt guides him, eyes closed against corn syrup as anyone who’s been slushed before knows to do, into the bathroom.
When they’ve cleaned most of the mess off him, Puck kisses Kurt softly, like an apology, and Kurt kisses him back and hold him even though he’s still sticky and it’s risking the sweater.
When they get into Glee club that afternoon Puck sits down next to him straight away and takes his hand.