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some_stars) wrote2011-01-23 08:12 pm
some_stars) wrote2011-01-23 08:12 pm
Entry tags:
FIC: Darling, if you only knew (Glee, part 1/2)
TITLE: Darling, if you only knew
FANDOM: Glee
RATING: adult
CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS: Puck/Kurt
CONTENT NOTES/WARNINGS: rape fantasy and homophobia--please see the notes, and if you have any other questions about content I'll be happy to answer them. Also contains implausibly sexually experienced teenagers.
SPOILERS: none, really--goes AU after season one but references a couple events of season two; see notes for timeline details.
SIZE: ~12,700 words
SUMMARY: Puck's pretty sure Kurt doesn't want rose petals.
NOTES:
1. This story has someone describing their fairly violent rape fantasy, including eroticized homophobic slurs, as sort-of dirty talk. Also the fact that I gave said fantasy to Kurt is possibly offensive in and of itself. So, there's that.
1a. But assuming the content is safe for you, I really don't think it's as bad as that sounds, I swear.
2. Timeline notes! This is set in an AU that diverges after season one, primarily in the following specifics: Finn and Carole moved back in with the Hummels after 1x22, Puck never went to juvie, and most importantly, the worsened bullying/sexual harassment/transfer storyline never happened. (That part is crucial, because otherwise this story would be kind of horrible.) Any other changes, as well as all the backstory leading up to this(which nearly became a whole separate prequel but I couldn't be bothered), should become clear while reading.
3. I wrote this because it had some scenes I wanted to see, and the rest of the story just kind of happened around them. I honestly have no idea if it will make sense or ring true to anyone outside my head. I hope it does, and I feel there's a reasonable chance that it will, but I'm really just posting it so it will go away and leave me ALONE.
4. Title is from "Fantasy" by Mariah Carey. I AM NOT ASHAMED. ...that's a lie, I'm totally ashamed.
***
It's not that Puck doesn't love sex. He loves it like it's his one calling in life. Hell, he loved it when it was kind of his job, even if he doesn't do that anymore. And he loves sex with dudes, too, or Kurt anyway, since it's not like Puck's been with any other guys, and even if he's reaching a point where he can acknowledge the occasional thought about not-Kurt guys without freaking out like he used to, it's not something he actually wants to do. Plus Kurt would have his balls.
(They're not officially exclusive or anything, but Puck's pretty sure Kurt is the jealous type.)
So, yeah, Puck loves sex. The whole thing, handjobs and blowjobs and fucking(and maybe, once, getting fucked, but that's still a little too weird to think about when he's not actively jerking off to the memory). He's even developed a stupid thing for just rubbing off on Kurt--even through their clothes, like they were dumbass thirteen-year-olds or something--because it turns out Kurt really really gets off on Puck just pinning him down, all heavy and solid on top of him so Kurt can't even move, and holding his arms down. His face and throat go so red and his eyes practically glaze over, and he makes these noises like nothing Puck's ever heard from a chick, like each sound is twisting out of him and ripping him open and he can't hold them back no matter how hard he tries. It's way too fucking hot.
Still, even if Puck is getting it, like, daily from Kurt, and it's mind-blowingly awesome, he's a regular seventeen-year-old guy, and he gets ideas. Especially now that they've been doing it for a few months, and on the one hand it's amazing the way he's getting to figure Kurt out--and vice versa, too--the ways his body works and how to get him off fast and how to get him off so slow he starts threatening Puck's life. It makes the sex even more awesome, and it makes Puck feel--well, it makes him feel shit. Like, feelings. Whatever.
But he wants to know other things too. He gets ideas, and he's pretty sure Kurt does too because everyone does, right? Puck sees it sometimes when they're having sex or making out or sometimes just when they accidentally touch at school. (Accidentally because, sure, it's not like everyone doesn't know what they're up to, but they don't go around holding hands or anything. Puck tried a couple times, early on, since it seemed like something he should at least offer, but Kurt got all tense and weird and they just don't.)
It's this quick little flash of his eyes like he's about to say something, but he never does. And the more it happens, the more Puck wants to know. Maybe tell Kurt some of the things he thinks about, too. He used to get up to all kinds of kinky shit with Santana last year--back when they were on-off dating and on-on hooking up, before Puck got his shit together for Quinn and definitely before all of that went straight to hell again.
Santana was a complete freak in the sheets, and it became kind of an ongoing contest between them, competing to see who could get the other one off the hardest with the most out-there ideas. She loved using her handcuffs on him, and showed him how to use her sex toys on her, and one time let him tie her spread-eagle on her (awesome, huge) bed and go down on her until he actually managed to make her beg. She'd made him pay for that one hard, of course, cuffed and blindfolded him and teased him for nearly an entire hour--there'd been ice cubes involved at some point, it kind of all blurred together--which he knew because he looked at the clock afterwards, when he could see straight again.
(There'd been some experiments that didn't work out so well. Like, a little sexy spanking turned out fine--he could hardly blame her for wanting to slap that fine ass, after all, and he was always happy to get his hands on hers--but then Santana had brought out an actual fucking riding crop. When he'd asked where the hell she'd even gotten it, she'd just said something about Brittany going through an obsessive horse phase in fourth grade. She'd hit him with it once, without even asking first and fucking hard, and he'd actually felt his boner shrivel as his junk tried to crawl up inside his body. Plus he'd screamed like a girl, and Santana had laughed at him, because she was a real bitch.)
Puck gets ideas, but these days they're pretty much entirely about Kurt, and he's got a feeling that pausing a make-out session to whip out, say, a pair of handcuffs and a blindfold and a vibrator (which he lifted from Santana's place last year, after that one time she used it on his dick and made him come so hard he hit his own fucking face) wouldn't get the kind of reaction he's hoping for. Kurt's not the kind of guy you spring things on.
He's kind of a control freak, to be honest, and it's not like Puck doesn't get why--hell, not two years ago guys like Puck (but not him, he thinks, he's almost sure) would've done the naked-handcuffed-blindfolded thing as just another prank, except they'd do it in a school bathroom or out by the dumpsters or something, not in someone's bedroom. And they probably wouldn't follow it up by sucking Kurt's dick until he screamed.
Puck hasn't been one of those guys for a long time now--more than a year--and Kurt hasn't flinched from him in almost as long, and he knows Kurt trusts him now. He works for it, more than he likes to think about. Because, fuck it, spending three months having sex with the same guy--hanging out with the same guy, actually going out on things that would be dates if they weren't so not dates, not cheating even once, getting his head so messed up that he starts to think about "cheating" like it's a concept that could even apply to him--that shit's weird enough without sitting down and examining his feelings about Kurt, and what he used to do to Kurt, and how maybe the way Kurt is now is a little bit Puck's fault. Just, no way.
The point is, Puck realizes pretty soon that if he wants to get Kurt to agree to any freaky stuff--if he wants Kurt to show him any of those things Kurt never lets himself say out loud--they're going to have to talk about it. And, well, talking about sex fantasies doesn't really count as talking about feelings, right? Not unless they're the kind of fantasies where you make tender love in front of a fireplace on a bed covered in rose petals and confess undying love to each other, and while Kurt may be the girliest guy anyone in Ohio has ever seen, he's still a guy. Puck's pretty sure Kurt doesn't want rose petals.
So, fine. They'll have the conversation, and it won't be too lame. Probably it'll be totally hot. Because, come on, who wouldn't want to get their hot dirty fantasy talk on with Puck? He's a sexting master, and this can't be too different.
The answer, it turns out, is Kurt. Kurt doesn't want to. He doesn't want to talk about it at all.
Puck's set it up pretty well. He waits for a night when they're not just hooking up, when they go out first on a not-date and get burgers (well, Puck gets a burger, Kurt gets a salad and picks off the cheese and only uses half the dressing) and it's weirdly nice out, for a Lima mid-November, so they even eat in the freaking park. It's a little past sunset so there's no kids running around, and Kurt can lean up against him and talk about whatever and time his bitchiest (and funniest) comments for when Puck takes a drink of his soda, like he gets some kind of high score whenever he manages to make Puck choke from laughing, and seriously--if it wasn't not a date, it would be such a fucking date.
(But it's not.)
They go back to Puck's place after, like always, and start fooling around, like always, and Puck deliberately pulls away when they're still mostly just kissing, before things get heavy and neither of them will want to stop. He leans back against the bed, gets a hand on Kurt's lower back and pulls him closer so he's kind of sprawled over Puck's lap, looking up at Puck curiously. Maybe a little carefully, but mostly just curious.
"You ever have any fantasies?" Puck says. It comes out just like he wants--a little rough and sexy, but not too pushy. Not like he's maybe too interested. He feels Kurt tense under his hand, though, and that's...not a great start.
"I assume you don't mean the ones where I get my first starring Broadway role less than a year out of school, win twelve Tonys, and sell the rights to my memoirs for tens of millions of dollars?"
"Not really what I was going for," Puck says, "but way to dream big, dude."
"Also Rachel Berry is third understudy for the chorus," Kurt says. That first look on his face, the flash of trapped-animal watchfulness, is fading. He's trying to distract Puck. Yeah, good luck with that.
"I mean, you know, sex fantasies. Stuff you want to do. Or whatever you think about when you're jerking off, that kind of thing."
The tension's back, although Kurt's not moving away or anything. Puck can see the blush starting on his cheekbones, not the all-over red stain he gets when he's about to come or he's begging for it harder or something, but the slow pink blush that means he's actually embarrassed. The one Puck doesn't see much these days except at school, with other people around.
It should make him back off, or at least worry about what he's doing. But, fuck, he's interested now. They've been all up in each other in every way, he's had his dick up Kurt's ass and Kurt's come in his mouth, and Kurt's heard probably more than he ever wanted to about the kind of shit Puck got up to with Santana and other girls, so what the hell could Kurt be wanting that has him actually embarrassed?
"When I'm jerking off?" Kurt repeats. It sounds really good when he says it, like he's carefully shaping his mouth around the words. "I think about having sex. Mostly with you, though that depends on whether there was a new episode of the Vampire Diaries last night."
"Ha," Puck crows, "I knew you were into kinky shit!" Not that he digs the whole goth/neck-biting thing himself, but it's a chink in the armor. He is so in.
Kurt rolls his eyes. "For your information, when I imagine having sex with Ian Somerhalder, he's never in character at the time." He eyes Puck. "Seriously, don't start wearing plastic fangs or anything. Unless you want to try stealing Tina from Mike, which plan I would refuse to help you strategize, by the way."
Puck's got no idea who that Summer-whatsit guy is, but he does know that Kurt's still trying to distract him, and he's overplaying his hand like crazy. Which isn't like Kurt at all. So, forget the vampire thing, but maybe Puck's got an in after all.
If the head-on approach makes Kurt lock up, he'll try finesse. Puck rocks at finesse. Even if he only knows the word because Kurt kept bitching at him to learn some.
Shows what he knows.
Puck pulls Kurt a little closer--not quite kissing distance, but Kurt's pretty much laid out on top of him now, elbows on either side of Puck's ribcage--and starts rubbing slow circles on Kurt's back. "You want to know what I think about when I'm jerking off?"
He watches Kurt's tongue dart out to lick his lips--which are opened just a little, now--as his eyes get that tiny bit wider. "If you feel like sharing," Kurt says. His voice is completely steady, but that's fine, Puck's just getting started.
The selection's important, now. It's got to be for real, of course, because Kurt will know in a second if he makes something up. It's got to be about Kurt because, well, Puck's not an idiot. And it's got to be--the point is to get Kurt talking, right? To get him so he's not too uptight and embarrassed (or afraid and ashamed, afraid of Puck and ashamed of himself, but that's not--Puck can't think about that shit, can't even let himself notice that he sees it) to talk about the hot freaky fantasies he's got to have after all those years of repression and not getting any.
To make him open up, and just like always, Puck has to make the first move. So yeah, he pretty much knows right then what it's going to have to be.
It's not like every word of it won't be true anyway.
Puck slides the hand on Kurt's back up under his shirt, feeling skin. "I think about letting you fuck me again," he says. Suddenly he can hear his blood pounding in his head, making his voice sound sort of distant. "How hot it was last time, when you got your fingers in me and it started out weird but then it was so good I wanted to fucking beg you for more."
Kurt says, "oh," very quietly. His mouth is open and his eyes are just--staring. Like the first time he saw Puck's dick, after they'd spent days jerking each other off and grinding and trying to keep quiet and hidden, never really getting a chance to look. He's staring like he's seeing something new, something he wanted so hard but never expected at all. And Puck's pretty sure he could get answers out of Kurt now, his work is done, but that look makes him want to keep talking. Just...because.
"I was thinking I could be on my back, next time," he says. "The way I like to do you. Hold my legs back for you so you could get in, after you've been fingering me for like, forever, until I'm about to come. But you." He closes his eyes. "You'd tell me not to, so I wouldn't."
Kurt's moving up his body, close enough now that Puck can feel his breath on his face. His hard-on is nudging right up against Puck, and it's not like he hadn't known Kurt would get off on this, but feeling it right there all hot and real is--fuck. It's not reassuring. Puck doesn't need to be fucking reassured that his dirty talk is hot, not by Kurt or anybody. And he doesn't need to keep this up, either, because hey, objective achieved, example set, Kurt will tell him whatever he wants to hear, so he can just. He can stop.
Kurt's lips brush his ear. "Please keep going."
It's barely more than a whisper, but it feels like it's punching the words out of him. "I'd wait for you," Puck says. "I'd want to come when you're inside me."
Kurt's groan vibrates over Puck's skin and it makes him shiver. His hand on Kurt's back has shifted at some point to Kurt's ass (and been joined by his other hand, like Kurt's ass is a fucking magnet), and Puck pulls him down hard, grinding them together. Kurt picks up the rhythm pretty much instantly, panting against Puck's throat.
"You'd get your dick in me, just a little bit at first," he says. "And I'd be losing my goddamn mind 'cause it feels so big, like it's too much and I don't know how you can take it so easy every time--"
"Practice," Kurt mutters, and Puck can feel his grin against his throat. He slides one hand around to work at Kurt's pants.
"You'd keep going, though. Slow but all the way in, you wouldn't stop, just make me take it." Kurt's pants finally give in, and Kurt pulls back just enough so Puck can shove them down his thighs, along with his underwear. "It feels so full and hot all over like I can't breathe, and I. I'd try to talk and you'd put your fingers in my mouth, make me suck them, get all in me. Fucking taking me."
He can barely hear his own voice now. He definitely can't open his eyes. When he wraps his hand around Kurt's dick, Kurt's whole body shudders hard.
"Don't stop," Kurt says. His hips work back and forth, between Puck's grip on him and Puck's other hand on his ass, which is sliding between his cheeks and teasing. "Please don't fucking stop. Puck."
"You could fuck me hard." He can't stop. He couldn't if he wanted to. His hands and his hips and his mouth are like some kind of machine, some jacked-up assembly line from a cartoon that just keeps going until it gets to the deathtrap at the end of the line. "Last time you were so careful and you didn't want to hurt me and I don't care, you can do it hard, you can do what you want."
Kurt's just moaning now, all out of words. Red all the way down to the top of his chest, where Puck can see it above his shirt, and probably below. When Puck slides a fingertip over Kurt's opening, the sound he gets back is practically a yell. Kurt's dick twitches hard in his hand and Puck knows exactly how close he is. He wants to say something, keep going and say the exact right sexiest last thing to push Kurt over the edge. But he's out of words too.
So he just strokes Kurt a little faster, rubbing his thumb firmly over the tip in the way that's usually too intense for Kurt to take unless he's about to come. He presses his other finger inside of Kurt just to the first knuckle, twisting and rocking it, and it all takes about twenty more seconds before Kurt's coming loud and hard. And biting the shit out of Puck's neck while he does it. Maybe he does have a secret vampire fetish.
As soon as Kurt's done, Puck takes his hand off his dick--Kurt really hates being touched too much when he's still raw--and wipes it on the sheets. He caught most of the mess, but there's probably some on his own shirt--and just as he finishes the thought, he looks down to see Kurt licking it up, just a few drops, with his wet pink tongue darting out like a fucking cat going for some cream. It kind of destroys Puck's mind.
Then Kurt crawls back up and kisses him hard, and Puck barely has time to get his head straight and start kissing back before Kurt stops and pulls back enough to look Puck in the eye.
"Thank you," he says. His voice is low and intense. He's so not talking about the handjob.
And Puck doesn't know what he's supposed to say here--"you're welcome"? "Your turn now"? "Whatever shit you don't want to tell me about can't possibly be any more embarrassing than that"? Puck may be world-class at dirty talk, but the stuff you're supposed to say after always messes him up.
Happily, he doesn't have to say a damn thing, because Kurt's already slid back down and gotten Puck's pants open and started sucking his dick like a fucking champ. He's going at it like getting Puck's cock down his throat is going to win him a gold medal. Like he'll die if he doesn't. When Puck winds his fingers through Kurt's hair and tugs--he doesn't try that a lot, it's as likely to make Kurt scowl as moan and there's no way to tell which it'll be--he swears to god Kurt fucking purrs.
Jesus. Puck holds on tight and loses track of everything while Kurt takes him apart with his tongue. It's pretty much the most amazing blowjob ever--and Puck knows what he's talking about, here.
He comes quicker than he expects, just as Kurt pulls back to breathe and gets it all over his face. Which is actually something Kurt's told him not to try--one of those "don't get any ideas" lectures that inevitably devolve into more sex--but when it happens (on accident, honestly, Puck's not that much of a douche) Kurt just jerks in surprise and turns deep red again, shivering a little as his tongue flicks out and his eyes flutter closed. Puck feels his dick twitch like it's trying really hard to come a second time. Because seriously, holy fuck.
"Sorry," he manages eventually, and shucks off his t-shirt for Kurt to clean himself up with.
"I understand," Kurt says, making a dramatically put-upon face that he can't really pull off with jizz streaked across his eyebrow. "I was just too hot for you to control yourself. It's my curse, really."
He balls up Puck's now-kind-of-disgusting shirt and tosses it in the general direction of the hamper. Puck wants to tell him, yeah, you were, you always are, but he can't think of some other less lame way to say it. Instead he just leers, and Kurt laughs, and they finish undressing slowly, lazy and warm. It's not until Puck's brain settles down enough for him to have real thoughts again that he realizes his original plan has sort of fallen by the wayside, and possibly been run over by cars.
The finesse approach led to some mindblowing sex, so he can't call it a failure, but somehow "find out Kurt's secret and probably awesome fantasy" turned into "tell Kurt your secret and incredibly unnerving fantasy that's been freaking you out and getting you off in equal measure for almost three weeks now," and he still doesn't know the first thing about what he set out to learn.
Puck's pretty sure that bugging Kurt about it now would ruin the moment and also be kind of a dick move, but dammit, he wants to know.
As it turns out, though, he doesn't even have to ask.
"You wanted to know if I have any fantasies," Kurt says. He doesn't feel tense, now. He feels like a damn noodle, the way he always does after sex, and his voice is almost totally steady.
"Yeah." It seems like a good idea to wrap his arm around Kurt and pull him closer, so Puck does, and Kurt kind of melts into him.
"I meant it, mostly. When I said that I don't. Well, implied," Kurt says. "I just--I always knew I wanted guys, of course, but I didn't know what I wanted. And by the time I really started thinking about sex, I was in middle school and I'd stopped having friends, because an eight-year-old can rock 'femme and fabulous' sometimes, if his parents don't let him push it too far, but twelve-year-olds will pretty much kill you dead for that stuff."
His voice is still calm and regular, like he hasn't gotten to the hard part yet, like he can just say "stopped having friends" and it doesn't mean anything. Like he's not saying all this to one of the twelve-year-olds who would have killed him, if he'd known him. And it's not like Puck's shocked, or anything, that a kid like Kurt was the bottom of the heap from pretty early on. It's just weird to hear Kurt talk about it like it doesn't even hurt him.
"The point is," Kurt continues, "I didn't have crushes on anyone, and I didn't get close to anyone, and--I didn't have unfiltered internet access yet." He grins, and Puck snorts. "So the only things I had to pin all the confusing sex feelings on were, like...male models in Vogue ads."
"You still treat that magazine like porn, you know," Puck says. "I think it warped you."
"I figured out the mechanics," Kurt says, ignoring him, "mostly from the library, and there was this old copy of Our Bodies Ourselves in the attic, which is about women, but I sort of translated all the hetero diagrams to how it would be with two guys--"
"That is so messed up," Puck tells him. Because seriously, what the hell kind of sex education is that for a kid feeling his first stirrings of wanting to take it up the ass? It was a wonder Kurt had ever been able to find his own dick.
"Well, that was around when my dad let me get my own computer in my bedroom," Kurt says, "so, you know, porn helped with the rest."
"Porn is magic," Puck agrees. He's kind of wondering what any of this has to do with Kurt's mysterious fantasy, but--a little to his own surprise--he doesn't mind listening.
"For a while I'd just picture whatever happened in the porn to get off," Kurt continues, "which, you know. Anonymous tabs and slots, not exactly what you'd call a fantasy. And then when I started high school--"
He stops, turning pink, and presses his mouth shut. Puck gets it, of course. The crush. Like anyone could have missed it, the way that no matter how many guys had Hummel surrounded against the dumpster, the kid's eyes always locked on to Finn. Well, maybe the other guys had missed it, and missed the way Hummel's face always softened when he gave Finn those thousand-dollar jackets to hold onto, because nobody had ever said anything before glee club got shit all turned around.
Puck had seen it, though. At the time, he'd just thought it was one more way that Hummel was a pathetic little fag who only thought he was so much better than the rest of them, that he'd fall head over heels for some guy who pushed him around a tiny bit less than everyone else.
And honestly, he hadn't thought that much about it.
"So, yeah," Kurt says, after Puck's silence drags on a little too long. "I started having, like, actual fantasies. But not really ones you want to hear, unless you do, in which case we need to have a serious talk."
"Fuck you," Puck says, grinning, and messes the shit out of Kurt's hair. It's already going every which way, but Kurt slaps his hand anyway, like a reflex. "You are so not dragging me into a threesome with Finn, don't even try."
Kurt punches his arm surprisingly hard for a guy in noodle form. "Ugh, he's my brother now, don't be gross."
"We could have one with Brittany," Puck offers, and gets his arm punched again.
"Anyway," Kurt says. "I got over that, and then a few months later you and I started, so mostly, no, I just haven't had the chance to think about...other stuff." And yeah, he sounds like he's done talking, like he's gotten through his spiel and laid the question to rest.
Puck just doesn't believe him. And fuck it, he's worked for this. "Mostly?"
Kurt's quiet for a minute. He doesn't tense up or pull away, but the post-sex liquidness slips away and it feels like holding an actual person again. With muscles and edges and bones.
"There's one," Kurt says finally. "It's...it's really cliché."
Well, that's not what Puck was expecting. "Cliché?"
Kurt gives a small laugh. "It's like the shared fantasy of gay men everywhere. Well, not the ones with self-respect," he adds, with another, even tinier laugh. "But the rest of us."
That's promising, but also kind of sad. Puck rolls them over some until they're on their sides and facing each other. Kurt's not quite looking at him. "Tell me about it," he says.
"It started when I joined the football team." Kurt doesn't hesitate even though he clearly kind of wants to. Like maybe he remembers what Puck just traded him for this. "And the locker room was totally not sexy, at all, not least because every second that somebody was undressed I spent with my eyes glued to my locker and scared for my life."
Puck hadn't noticed it being that bad for him. People had made jokes, of course, and a couple guys sometimes made a big show of changing in the bathroom stalls, and Finn had been the only one who was willing to hold an actual conversation with Kurt while either of them was changing. But nobody had hit Kurt, almost nobody even got too nasty about telling him to keep his eyes front. It hadn't seemed like a big deal to Puck, at the time.
He says, "That sounds pretty shitty."
"It was wretched," Kurt agrees. "And then I'd go home and I'd have these--thoughts. About, like..." He stops, and his eyes flicker away from Puck's again. Then they actually close. "About if I screwed up one day, and let my eyes wander and someone got angry and called me on it. And told everyone I was checking him out, that the little queer was trying to get a free show, and maybe we should all give him what he wants."
Puck's brain freezes up. He can tell exactly where this is going, and holy shit: Kurt has a gangbang fantasy. Kurt has a locker room gangbang fantasy about the McKinley High football team. And Kurt is telling him about it.
"He'd shove me up against the lockers," Kurt says, "and the rest of them would circle around, so I was surrounded. And nobody's showered yet so I can smell them, all the sweat and heat pressing in on me, making it hard to breathe. Then the guy in front grabs my throat and asks me if I was looking at his dick, and I shake my head and everybody laughs and he lifts me up, slams me again, harder. And it hurts, and he's squeezing my throat with his big fucking hand, and I keep staring at the other guys but they're all just laughing. And nobody's going to help me."
Kurt stops for a second, takes a deep breath that shakes when he lets it out. His eyes are still shut tight. Puck pulls him closer, until their foreheads are nearly touching. He's wondering if he should say something--something encouraging, or tell Kurt to stop, or something--but then Kurt's talking again.
"He asks me again if I was looking at him, and this time I say yes, and I try to say it was an accident but he just reaches down and grabs my dick and I'm so hard, he can feel it and they can all see it, and he squeezes hard. Until I'm panting and my eyes are tearing up and he slams me back against the lockers again, knocks the breath out of me and he says--" Kurt's breath stutters, like he's actually trying to switch voices in his head. "'Is that what you like, you fucking fag?'"
Pressed together like this, Puck can feel Kurt getting harder as he talks. And that's--it's so hot, this whole thing is fucking hot, but it's also so fucked up Puck wonders if maybe he should stop Kurt after all.
Because this can't be--healthy, or good, right? There'd been a whole lecture from Finn over the summer, when Kurt had gotten back from his musical theater summer camp and it was clear he and Puck would be running into each other a lot, about the words nobody was allowed to say in their house. Finn had actually taken him out in the backyard before he'd been able to say them himself, like he thought Kurt's dad would magically appear and kick his ass if he let it slip inside.
Puck had agreed, and hadn't even made fun of Finn for being so whipped. He hadn't wanted to get kicked out of Finn's new home(or get Finn thrown out again), not when Finn had finally forgiven him and actually wanted to be around him again. Not after Finn had stepped up despite everything and kept Puck together after regionals, when Puck had been a fucked-up broken mess of feelings he wasn't supposed to have for a kid and a girl who he hadn't really lost, because they'd never really been his in the first place. Puck owed the guy pretty much whatever he asked for, at this point.
Even more than that, though--getting that lecture, and the way Finn had looked at him all open-faced earnest but stubborn, like he was ready and waiting for Puck to put up a fight, had made Puck realize that he was kind of over the whole gay-panic, homo-police thing. Somewhere along the line it had stopped being fun, and turned into an empty habit that just left him bored and tired.
Plus Kurt had turned out to be an okay guy, over the past few months. He was still so incredibly gay it made Puck's eyes hurt to look directly at him, but not in a bad way. That was just his thing, and Puck hadn't realized until Finn made his speech just how long it'd been since Kurt's ultra-gayness had made him feel uncomfortable and annoyed the way it used to.
It was just familiar, now, in kind of a nice way, and Puck had found to his surprise that he didn't mind cutting "the f-word"--as Finn called it, which was pretty damn whipped--from his vocabulary. He'd done it, too, whenever he was at Finn's place or talking to him, which was how he'd spent over half his waking life that summer, so pretty soon it stuck and he just stopped saying that shit. It hadn't been hard.
He's definitely never said it to Kurt since then, either before or after they started their thing. Kurt's thrown it at him once or twice, pissed off at Puck or the world or both and spitting it in his face, but not for a long time now and not like this. Puck's never imagined anything like this.
"He'd do it first," Kurt says, "he--you probably know where this is going." Something flashes across his face that might be a smile. "He'd make me blow him, first, force me down on my knees and trap me back against the lockers so I can't move, and he'd just...do it, fuck my mouth so I could barely even breathe. With the guys all laughing and cheering him on, calling me names..."
And then Puck thinks: I've called him those things. The sudden twist in his stomach is so intense he can't even tell if it's "turned on" or "guilt." That could be him, Kurt could be talking about him, maybe Puck even kind of wants it to be him. Not the part where Puck would be hurting him, but the idea of Kurt thinking about him like this--getting off while thinking about him like this, way back before Puck had even started thinking about him that way--fuck, it's hot. It's so hot it scares him.
"This is kind of fucked up," he blurts. Kurt goes rigid in his arms--and yeah, once it's out Puck knows it's pretty much the worst possible thing he could say right now. Knowing before, that's always been his problem.
"Is it." Kurt's voice is blank and flat.
"I mean, you don't--" You don't have to tell me, is what Puck means to say, because that would be supportive and shit, and he really would mean it, but what comes out is, "You really get off on that?"
"Sorry," Kurt says. "I told you it was the fantasy for queers with no self-respect." He bites off each word and his eyes are open now but his face is shut tight. It's the face he used to get after a slushie or a locker slam or someone calling him a grosser-than-usual name, when the hallways were crowded and people were laughing at him.
Shit. Shit, Puck is so lost here. The last time he got that look full-force was when he came on to Kurt for the first time, and he fixed it then by just kissing him until Kurt was convinced he wasn't being made fun of. Right now he doesn't have the first fucking idea what to do. Kurt rolls away and sits up and Puck is not panicking, because he fucking doesn't. But if he did. Fuck.
"Wait," Puck says, "I didn't mean it like that." It doesn't come out desperate or shaky or anything--why would it--just nice, and warm, and controlled. Kurt turns and looks back at Puck.
"Then what did you mean?" Kurt says, and jesus christ, he's going to make Puck talk about it. It pisses him off, suddenly and almost violently--the way Kurt's just looking at him all cool and flat like it's Puck's job to make him feel better now, like Puck hasn't already given Kurt more words than he thought he could survive, not just tonight but all the time, since the beginning.
He can't do this. He can't be this guy, this careful talks-about-feelings guy who doesn't fuck things up when he's trying to be good, who knows how to keep Kurt from getting out of bed and leaving him.
He's never been able to do that. It keeps happening but he never learns.
"I don't know," Puck mutters, into the silence.
Kurt looks away again. "I think I should go."
"Yeah, maybe," and he doesn't mean to say it out loud, really, but there it is. Because, hey, why not fuck up some more. It's kind of his way. He stares at the ceiling and tries not to listen to Kurt dressing and leaving, but there's nothing else to listen to except his own breath.
Faintly, through the walls, he hears Kurt's car pulling away. And then it's just quiet.
part two
FANDOM: Glee
RATING: adult
CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS: Puck/Kurt
CONTENT NOTES/WARNINGS: rape fantasy and homophobia--please see the notes, and if you have any other questions about content I'll be happy to answer them. Also contains implausibly sexually experienced teenagers.
SPOILERS: none, really--goes AU after season one but references a couple events of season two; see notes for timeline details.
SIZE: ~12,700 words
SUMMARY: Puck's pretty sure Kurt doesn't want rose petals.
NOTES:
1. This story has someone describing their fairly violent rape fantasy, including eroticized homophobic slurs, as sort-of dirty talk. Also the fact that I gave said fantasy to Kurt is possibly offensive in and of itself. So, there's that.
1a. But assuming the content is safe for you, I really don't think it's as bad as that sounds, I swear.
2. Timeline notes! This is set in an AU that diverges after season one, primarily in the following specifics: Finn and Carole moved back in with the Hummels after 1x22, Puck never went to juvie, and most importantly, the worsened bullying/sexual harassment/transfer storyline never happened. (That part is crucial, because otherwise this story would be kind of horrible.) Any other changes, as well as all the backstory leading up to this(which nearly became a whole separate prequel but I couldn't be bothered), should become clear while reading.
3. I wrote this because it had some scenes I wanted to see, and the rest of the story just kind of happened around them. I honestly have no idea if it will make sense or ring true to anyone outside my head. I hope it does, and I feel there's a reasonable chance that it will, but I'm really just posting it so it will go away and leave me ALONE.
4. Title is from "Fantasy" by Mariah Carey. I AM NOT ASHAMED. ...that's a lie, I'm totally ashamed.
***
It's not that Puck doesn't love sex. He loves it like it's his one calling in life. Hell, he loved it when it was kind of his job, even if he doesn't do that anymore. And he loves sex with dudes, too, or Kurt anyway, since it's not like Puck's been with any other guys, and even if he's reaching a point where he can acknowledge the occasional thought about not-Kurt guys without freaking out like he used to, it's not something he actually wants to do. Plus Kurt would have his balls.
(They're not officially exclusive or anything, but Puck's pretty sure Kurt is the jealous type.)
So, yeah, Puck loves sex. The whole thing, handjobs and blowjobs and fucking(and maybe, once, getting fucked, but that's still a little too weird to think about when he's not actively jerking off to the memory). He's even developed a stupid thing for just rubbing off on Kurt--even through their clothes, like they were dumbass thirteen-year-olds or something--because it turns out Kurt really really gets off on Puck just pinning him down, all heavy and solid on top of him so Kurt can't even move, and holding his arms down. His face and throat go so red and his eyes practically glaze over, and he makes these noises like nothing Puck's ever heard from a chick, like each sound is twisting out of him and ripping him open and he can't hold them back no matter how hard he tries. It's way too fucking hot.
Still, even if Puck is getting it, like, daily from Kurt, and it's mind-blowingly awesome, he's a regular seventeen-year-old guy, and he gets ideas. Especially now that they've been doing it for a few months, and on the one hand it's amazing the way he's getting to figure Kurt out--and vice versa, too--the ways his body works and how to get him off fast and how to get him off so slow he starts threatening Puck's life. It makes the sex even more awesome, and it makes Puck feel--well, it makes him feel shit. Like, feelings. Whatever.
But he wants to know other things too. He gets ideas, and he's pretty sure Kurt does too because everyone does, right? Puck sees it sometimes when they're having sex or making out or sometimes just when they accidentally touch at school. (Accidentally because, sure, it's not like everyone doesn't know what they're up to, but they don't go around holding hands or anything. Puck tried a couple times, early on, since it seemed like something he should at least offer, but Kurt got all tense and weird and they just don't.)
It's this quick little flash of his eyes like he's about to say something, but he never does. And the more it happens, the more Puck wants to know. Maybe tell Kurt some of the things he thinks about, too. He used to get up to all kinds of kinky shit with Santana last year--back when they were on-off dating and on-on hooking up, before Puck got his shit together for Quinn and definitely before all of that went straight to hell again.
Santana was a complete freak in the sheets, and it became kind of an ongoing contest between them, competing to see who could get the other one off the hardest with the most out-there ideas. She loved using her handcuffs on him, and showed him how to use her sex toys on her, and one time let him tie her spread-eagle on her (awesome, huge) bed and go down on her until he actually managed to make her beg. She'd made him pay for that one hard, of course, cuffed and blindfolded him and teased him for nearly an entire hour--there'd been ice cubes involved at some point, it kind of all blurred together--which he knew because he looked at the clock afterwards, when he could see straight again.
(There'd been some experiments that didn't work out so well. Like, a little sexy spanking turned out fine--he could hardly blame her for wanting to slap that fine ass, after all, and he was always happy to get his hands on hers--but then Santana had brought out an actual fucking riding crop. When he'd asked where the hell she'd even gotten it, she'd just said something about Brittany going through an obsessive horse phase in fourth grade. She'd hit him with it once, without even asking first and fucking hard, and he'd actually felt his boner shrivel as his junk tried to crawl up inside his body. Plus he'd screamed like a girl, and Santana had laughed at him, because she was a real bitch.)
Puck gets ideas, but these days they're pretty much entirely about Kurt, and he's got a feeling that pausing a make-out session to whip out, say, a pair of handcuffs and a blindfold and a vibrator (which he lifted from Santana's place last year, after that one time she used it on his dick and made him come so hard he hit his own fucking face) wouldn't get the kind of reaction he's hoping for. Kurt's not the kind of guy you spring things on.
He's kind of a control freak, to be honest, and it's not like Puck doesn't get why--hell, not two years ago guys like Puck (but not him, he thinks, he's almost sure) would've done the naked-handcuffed-blindfolded thing as just another prank, except they'd do it in a school bathroom or out by the dumpsters or something, not in someone's bedroom. And they probably wouldn't follow it up by sucking Kurt's dick until he screamed.
Puck hasn't been one of those guys for a long time now--more than a year--and Kurt hasn't flinched from him in almost as long, and he knows Kurt trusts him now. He works for it, more than he likes to think about. Because, fuck it, spending three months having sex with the same guy--hanging out with the same guy, actually going out on things that would be dates if they weren't so not dates, not cheating even once, getting his head so messed up that he starts to think about "cheating" like it's a concept that could even apply to him--that shit's weird enough without sitting down and examining his feelings about Kurt, and what he used to do to Kurt, and how maybe the way Kurt is now is a little bit Puck's fault. Just, no way.
The point is, Puck realizes pretty soon that if he wants to get Kurt to agree to any freaky stuff--if he wants Kurt to show him any of those things Kurt never lets himself say out loud--they're going to have to talk about it. And, well, talking about sex fantasies doesn't really count as talking about feelings, right? Not unless they're the kind of fantasies where you make tender love in front of a fireplace on a bed covered in rose petals and confess undying love to each other, and while Kurt may be the girliest guy anyone in Ohio has ever seen, he's still a guy. Puck's pretty sure Kurt doesn't want rose petals.
So, fine. They'll have the conversation, and it won't be too lame. Probably it'll be totally hot. Because, come on, who wouldn't want to get their hot dirty fantasy talk on with Puck? He's a sexting master, and this can't be too different.
The answer, it turns out, is Kurt. Kurt doesn't want to. He doesn't want to talk about it at all.
Puck's set it up pretty well. He waits for a night when they're not just hooking up, when they go out first on a not-date and get burgers (well, Puck gets a burger, Kurt gets a salad and picks off the cheese and only uses half the dressing) and it's weirdly nice out, for a Lima mid-November, so they even eat in the freaking park. It's a little past sunset so there's no kids running around, and Kurt can lean up against him and talk about whatever and time his bitchiest (and funniest) comments for when Puck takes a drink of his soda, like he gets some kind of high score whenever he manages to make Puck choke from laughing, and seriously--if it wasn't not a date, it would be such a fucking date.
(But it's not.)
They go back to Puck's place after, like always, and start fooling around, like always, and Puck deliberately pulls away when they're still mostly just kissing, before things get heavy and neither of them will want to stop. He leans back against the bed, gets a hand on Kurt's lower back and pulls him closer so he's kind of sprawled over Puck's lap, looking up at Puck curiously. Maybe a little carefully, but mostly just curious.
"You ever have any fantasies?" Puck says. It comes out just like he wants--a little rough and sexy, but not too pushy. Not like he's maybe too interested. He feels Kurt tense under his hand, though, and that's...not a great start.
"I assume you don't mean the ones where I get my first starring Broadway role less than a year out of school, win twelve Tonys, and sell the rights to my memoirs for tens of millions of dollars?"
"Not really what I was going for," Puck says, "but way to dream big, dude."
"Also Rachel Berry is third understudy for the chorus," Kurt says. That first look on his face, the flash of trapped-animal watchfulness, is fading. He's trying to distract Puck. Yeah, good luck with that.
"I mean, you know, sex fantasies. Stuff you want to do. Or whatever you think about when you're jerking off, that kind of thing."
The tension's back, although Kurt's not moving away or anything. Puck can see the blush starting on his cheekbones, not the all-over red stain he gets when he's about to come or he's begging for it harder or something, but the slow pink blush that means he's actually embarrassed. The one Puck doesn't see much these days except at school, with other people around.
It should make him back off, or at least worry about what he's doing. But, fuck, he's interested now. They've been all up in each other in every way, he's had his dick up Kurt's ass and Kurt's come in his mouth, and Kurt's heard probably more than he ever wanted to about the kind of shit Puck got up to with Santana and other girls, so what the hell could Kurt be wanting that has him actually embarrassed?
"When I'm jerking off?" Kurt repeats. It sounds really good when he says it, like he's carefully shaping his mouth around the words. "I think about having sex. Mostly with you, though that depends on whether there was a new episode of the Vampire Diaries last night."
"Ha," Puck crows, "I knew you were into kinky shit!" Not that he digs the whole goth/neck-biting thing himself, but it's a chink in the armor. He is so in.
Kurt rolls his eyes. "For your information, when I imagine having sex with Ian Somerhalder, he's never in character at the time." He eyes Puck. "Seriously, don't start wearing plastic fangs or anything. Unless you want to try stealing Tina from Mike, which plan I would refuse to help you strategize, by the way."
Puck's got no idea who that Summer-whatsit guy is, but he does know that Kurt's still trying to distract him, and he's overplaying his hand like crazy. Which isn't like Kurt at all. So, forget the vampire thing, but maybe Puck's got an in after all.
If the head-on approach makes Kurt lock up, he'll try finesse. Puck rocks at finesse. Even if he only knows the word because Kurt kept bitching at him to learn some.
Shows what he knows.
Puck pulls Kurt a little closer--not quite kissing distance, but Kurt's pretty much laid out on top of him now, elbows on either side of Puck's ribcage--and starts rubbing slow circles on Kurt's back. "You want to know what I think about when I'm jerking off?"
He watches Kurt's tongue dart out to lick his lips--which are opened just a little, now--as his eyes get that tiny bit wider. "If you feel like sharing," Kurt says. His voice is completely steady, but that's fine, Puck's just getting started.
The selection's important, now. It's got to be for real, of course, because Kurt will know in a second if he makes something up. It's got to be about Kurt because, well, Puck's not an idiot. And it's got to be--the point is to get Kurt talking, right? To get him so he's not too uptight and embarrassed (or afraid and ashamed, afraid of Puck and ashamed of himself, but that's not--Puck can't think about that shit, can't even let himself notice that he sees it) to talk about the hot freaky fantasies he's got to have after all those years of repression and not getting any.
To make him open up, and just like always, Puck has to make the first move. So yeah, he pretty much knows right then what it's going to have to be.
It's not like every word of it won't be true anyway.
Puck slides the hand on Kurt's back up under his shirt, feeling skin. "I think about letting you fuck me again," he says. Suddenly he can hear his blood pounding in his head, making his voice sound sort of distant. "How hot it was last time, when you got your fingers in me and it started out weird but then it was so good I wanted to fucking beg you for more."
Kurt says, "oh," very quietly. His mouth is open and his eyes are just--staring. Like the first time he saw Puck's dick, after they'd spent days jerking each other off and grinding and trying to keep quiet and hidden, never really getting a chance to look. He's staring like he's seeing something new, something he wanted so hard but never expected at all. And Puck's pretty sure he could get answers out of Kurt now, his work is done, but that look makes him want to keep talking. Just...because.
"I was thinking I could be on my back, next time," he says. "The way I like to do you. Hold my legs back for you so you could get in, after you've been fingering me for like, forever, until I'm about to come. But you." He closes his eyes. "You'd tell me not to, so I wouldn't."
Kurt's moving up his body, close enough now that Puck can feel his breath on his face. His hard-on is nudging right up against Puck, and it's not like he hadn't known Kurt would get off on this, but feeling it right there all hot and real is--fuck. It's not reassuring. Puck doesn't need to be fucking reassured that his dirty talk is hot, not by Kurt or anybody. And he doesn't need to keep this up, either, because hey, objective achieved, example set, Kurt will tell him whatever he wants to hear, so he can just. He can stop.
Kurt's lips brush his ear. "Please keep going."
It's barely more than a whisper, but it feels like it's punching the words out of him. "I'd wait for you," Puck says. "I'd want to come when you're inside me."
Kurt's groan vibrates over Puck's skin and it makes him shiver. His hand on Kurt's back has shifted at some point to Kurt's ass (and been joined by his other hand, like Kurt's ass is a fucking magnet), and Puck pulls him down hard, grinding them together. Kurt picks up the rhythm pretty much instantly, panting against Puck's throat.
"You'd get your dick in me, just a little bit at first," he says. "And I'd be losing my goddamn mind 'cause it feels so big, like it's too much and I don't know how you can take it so easy every time--"
"Practice," Kurt mutters, and Puck can feel his grin against his throat. He slides one hand around to work at Kurt's pants.
"You'd keep going, though. Slow but all the way in, you wouldn't stop, just make me take it." Kurt's pants finally give in, and Kurt pulls back just enough so Puck can shove them down his thighs, along with his underwear. "It feels so full and hot all over like I can't breathe, and I. I'd try to talk and you'd put your fingers in my mouth, make me suck them, get all in me. Fucking taking me."
He can barely hear his own voice now. He definitely can't open his eyes. When he wraps his hand around Kurt's dick, Kurt's whole body shudders hard.
"Don't stop," Kurt says. His hips work back and forth, between Puck's grip on him and Puck's other hand on his ass, which is sliding between his cheeks and teasing. "Please don't fucking stop. Puck."
"You could fuck me hard." He can't stop. He couldn't if he wanted to. His hands and his hips and his mouth are like some kind of machine, some jacked-up assembly line from a cartoon that just keeps going until it gets to the deathtrap at the end of the line. "Last time you were so careful and you didn't want to hurt me and I don't care, you can do it hard, you can do what you want."
Kurt's just moaning now, all out of words. Red all the way down to the top of his chest, where Puck can see it above his shirt, and probably below. When Puck slides a fingertip over Kurt's opening, the sound he gets back is practically a yell. Kurt's dick twitches hard in his hand and Puck knows exactly how close he is. He wants to say something, keep going and say the exact right sexiest last thing to push Kurt over the edge. But he's out of words too.
So he just strokes Kurt a little faster, rubbing his thumb firmly over the tip in the way that's usually too intense for Kurt to take unless he's about to come. He presses his other finger inside of Kurt just to the first knuckle, twisting and rocking it, and it all takes about twenty more seconds before Kurt's coming loud and hard. And biting the shit out of Puck's neck while he does it. Maybe he does have a secret vampire fetish.
As soon as Kurt's done, Puck takes his hand off his dick--Kurt really hates being touched too much when he's still raw--and wipes it on the sheets. He caught most of the mess, but there's probably some on his own shirt--and just as he finishes the thought, he looks down to see Kurt licking it up, just a few drops, with his wet pink tongue darting out like a fucking cat going for some cream. It kind of destroys Puck's mind.
Then Kurt crawls back up and kisses him hard, and Puck barely has time to get his head straight and start kissing back before Kurt stops and pulls back enough to look Puck in the eye.
"Thank you," he says. His voice is low and intense. He's so not talking about the handjob.
And Puck doesn't know what he's supposed to say here--"you're welcome"? "Your turn now"? "Whatever shit you don't want to tell me about can't possibly be any more embarrassing than that"? Puck may be world-class at dirty talk, but the stuff you're supposed to say after always messes him up.
Happily, he doesn't have to say a damn thing, because Kurt's already slid back down and gotten Puck's pants open and started sucking his dick like a fucking champ. He's going at it like getting Puck's cock down his throat is going to win him a gold medal. Like he'll die if he doesn't. When Puck winds his fingers through Kurt's hair and tugs--he doesn't try that a lot, it's as likely to make Kurt scowl as moan and there's no way to tell which it'll be--he swears to god Kurt fucking purrs.
Jesus. Puck holds on tight and loses track of everything while Kurt takes him apart with his tongue. It's pretty much the most amazing blowjob ever--and Puck knows what he's talking about, here.
He comes quicker than he expects, just as Kurt pulls back to breathe and gets it all over his face. Which is actually something Kurt's told him not to try--one of those "don't get any ideas" lectures that inevitably devolve into more sex--but when it happens (on accident, honestly, Puck's not that much of a douche) Kurt just jerks in surprise and turns deep red again, shivering a little as his tongue flicks out and his eyes flutter closed. Puck feels his dick twitch like it's trying really hard to come a second time. Because seriously, holy fuck.
"Sorry," he manages eventually, and shucks off his t-shirt for Kurt to clean himself up with.
"I understand," Kurt says, making a dramatically put-upon face that he can't really pull off with jizz streaked across his eyebrow. "I was just too hot for you to control yourself. It's my curse, really."
He balls up Puck's now-kind-of-disgusting shirt and tosses it in the general direction of the hamper. Puck wants to tell him, yeah, you were, you always are, but he can't think of some other less lame way to say it. Instead he just leers, and Kurt laughs, and they finish undressing slowly, lazy and warm. It's not until Puck's brain settles down enough for him to have real thoughts again that he realizes his original plan has sort of fallen by the wayside, and possibly been run over by cars.
The finesse approach led to some mindblowing sex, so he can't call it a failure, but somehow "find out Kurt's secret and probably awesome fantasy" turned into "tell Kurt your secret and incredibly unnerving fantasy that's been freaking you out and getting you off in equal measure for almost three weeks now," and he still doesn't know the first thing about what he set out to learn.
Puck's pretty sure that bugging Kurt about it now would ruin the moment and also be kind of a dick move, but dammit, he wants to know.
As it turns out, though, he doesn't even have to ask.
"You wanted to know if I have any fantasies," Kurt says. He doesn't feel tense, now. He feels like a damn noodle, the way he always does after sex, and his voice is almost totally steady.
"Yeah." It seems like a good idea to wrap his arm around Kurt and pull him closer, so Puck does, and Kurt kind of melts into him.
"I meant it, mostly. When I said that I don't. Well, implied," Kurt says. "I just--I always knew I wanted guys, of course, but I didn't know what I wanted. And by the time I really started thinking about sex, I was in middle school and I'd stopped having friends, because an eight-year-old can rock 'femme and fabulous' sometimes, if his parents don't let him push it too far, but twelve-year-olds will pretty much kill you dead for that stuff."
His voice is still calm and regular, like he hasn't gotten to the hard part yet, like he can just say "stopped having friends" and it doesn't mean anything. Like he's not saying all this to one of the twelve-year-olds who would have killed him, if he'd known him. And it's not like Puck's shocked, or anything, that a kid like Kurt was the bottom of the heap from pretty early on. It's just weird to hear Kurt talk about it like it doesn't even hurt him.
"The point is," Kurt continues, "I didn't have crushes on anyone, and I didn't get close to anyone, and--I didn't have unfiltered internet access yet." He grins, and Puck snorts. "So the only things I had to pin all the confusing sex feelings on were, like...male models in Vogue ads."
"You still treat that magazine like porn, you know," Puck says. "I think it warped you."
"I figured out the mechanics," Kurt says, ignoring him, "mostly from the library, and there was this old copy of Our Bodies Ourselves in the attic, which is about women, but I sort of translated all the hetero diagrams to how it would be with two guys--"
"That is so messed up," Puck tells him. Because seriously, what the hell kind of sex education is that for a kid feeling his first stirrings of wanting to take it up the ass? It was a wonder Kurt had ever been able to find his own dick.
"Well, that was around when my dad let me get my own computer in my bedroom," Kurt says, "so, you know, porn helped with the rest."
"Porn is magic," Puck agrees. He's kind of wondering what any of this has to do with Kurt's mysterious fantasy, but--a little to his own surprise--he doesn't mind listening.
"For a while I'd just picture whatever happened in the porn to get off," Kurt continues, "which, you know. Anonymous tabs and slots, not exactly what you'd call a fantasy. And then when I started high school--"
He stops, turning pink, and presses his mouth shut. Puck gets it, of course. The crush. Like anyone could have missed it, the way that no matter how many guys had Hummel surrounded against the dumpster, the kid's eyes always locked on to Finn. Well, maybe the other guys had missed it, and missed the way Hummel's face always softened when he gave Finn those thousand-dollar jackets to hold onto, because nobody had ever said anything before glee club got shit all turned around.
Puck had seen it, though. At the time, he'd just thought it was one more way that Hummel was a pathetic little fag who only thought he was so much better than the rest of them, that he'd fall head over heels for some guy who pushed him around a tiny bit less than everyone else.
And honestly, he hadn't thought that much about it.
"So, yeah," Kurt says, after Puck's silence drags on a little too long. "I started having, like, actual fantasies. But not really ones you want to hear, unless you do, in which case we need to have a serious talk."
"Fuck you," Puck says, grinning, and messes the shit out of Kurt's hair. It's already going every which way, but Kurt slaps his hand anyway, like a reflex. "You are so not dragging me into a threesome with Finn, don't even try."
Kurt punches his arm surprisingly hard for a guy in noodle form. "Ugh, he's my brother now, don't be gross."
"We could have one with Brittany," Puck offers, and gets his arm punched again.
"Anyway," Kurt says. "I got over that, and then a few months later you and I started, so mostly, no, I just haven't had the chance to think about...other stuff." And yeah, he sounds like he's done talking, like he's gotten through his spiel and laid the question to rest.
Puck just doesn't believe him. And fuck it, he's worked for this. "Mostly?"
Kurt's quiet for a minute. He doesn't tense up or pull away, but the post-sex liquidness slips away and it feels like holding an actual person again. With muscles and edges and bones.
"There's one," Kurt says finally. "It's...it's really cliché."
Well, that's not what Puck was expecting. "Cliché?"
Kurt gives a small laugh. "It's like the shared fantasy of gay men everywhere. Well, not the ones with self-respect," he adds, with another, even tinier laugh. "But the rest of us."
That's promising, but also kind of sad. Puck rolls them over some until they're on their sides and facing each other. Kurt's not quite looking at him. "Tell me about it," he says.
"It started when I joined the football team." Kurt doesn't hesitate even though he clearly kind of wants to. Like maybe he remembers what Puck just traded him for this. "And the locker room was totally not sexy, at all, not least because every second that somebody was undressed I spent with my eyes glued to my locker and scared for my life."
Puck hadn't noticed it being that bad for him. People had made jokes, of course, and a couple guys sometimes made a big show of changing in the bathroom stalls, and Finn had been the only one who was willing to hold an actual conversation with Kurt while either of them was changing. But nobody had hit Kurt, almost nobody even got too nasty about telling him to keep his eyes front. It hadn't seemed like a big deal to Puck, at the time.
He says, "That sounds pretty shitty."
"It was wretched," Kurt agrees. "And then I'd go home and I'd have these--thoughts. About, like..." He stops, and his eyes flicker away from Puck's again. Then they actually close. "About if I screwed up one day, and let my eyes wander and someone got angry and called me on it. And told everyone I was checking him out, that the little queer was trying to get a free show, and maybe we should all give him what he wants."
Puck's brain freezes up. He can tell exactly where this is going, and holy shit: Kurt has a gangbang fantasy. Kurt has a locker room gangbang fantasy about the McKinley High football team. And Kurt is telling him about it.
"He'd shove me up against the lockers," Kurt says, "and the rest of them would circle around, so I was surrounded. And nobody's showered yet so I can smell them, all the sweat and heat pressing in on me, making it hard to breathe. Then the guy in front grabs my throat and asks me if I was looking at his dick, and I shake my head and everybody laughs and he lifts me up, slams me again, harder. And it hurts, and he's squeezing my throat with his big fucking hand, and I keep staring at the other guys but they're all just laughing. And nobody's going to help me."
Kurt stops for a second, takes a deep breath that shakes when he lets it out. His eyes are still shut tight. Puck pulls him closer, until their foreheads are nearly touching. He's wondering if he should say something--something encouraging, or tell Kurt to stop, or something--but then Kurt's talking again.
"He asks me again if I was looking at him, and this time I say yes, and I try to say it was an accident but he just reaches down and grabs my dick and I'm so hard, he can feel it and they can all see it, and he squeezes hard. Until I'm panting and my eyes are tearing up and he slams me back against the lockers again, knocks the breath out of me and he says--" Kurt's breath stutters, like he's actually trying to switch voices in his head. "'Is that what you like, you fucking fag?'"
Pressed together like this, Puck can feel Kurt getting harder as he talks. And that's--it's so hot, this whole thing is fucking hot, but it's also so fucked up Puck wonders if maybe he should stop Kurt after all.
Because this can't be--healthy, or good, right? There'd been a whole lecture from Finn over the summer, when Kurt had gotten back from his musical theater summer camp and it was clear he and Puck would be running into each other a lot, about the words nobody was allowed to say in their house. Finn had actually taken him out in the backyard before he'd been able to say them himself, like he thought Kurt's dad would magically appear and kick his ass if he let it slip inside.
Puck had agreed, and hadn't even made fun of Finn for being so whipped. He hadn't wanted to get kicked out of Finn's new home(or get Finn thrown out again), not when Finn had finally forgiven him and actually wanted to be around him again. Not after Finn had stepped up despite everything and kept Puck together after regionals, when Puck had been a fucked-up broken mess of feelings he wasn't supposed to have for a kid and a girl who he hadn't really lost, because they'd never really been his in the first place. Puck owed the guy pretty much whatever he asked for, at this point.
Even more than that, though--getting that lecture, and the way Finn had looked at him all open-faced earnest but stubborn, like he was ready and waiting for Puck to put up a fight, had made Puck realize that he was kind of over the whole gay-panic, homo-police thing. Somewhere along the line it had stopped being fun, and turned into an empty habit that just left him bored and tired.
Plus Kurt had turned out to be an okay guy, over the past few months. He was still so incredibly gay it made Puck's eyes hurt to look directly at him, but not in a bad way. That was just his thing, and Puck hadn't realized until Finn made his speech just how long it'd been since Kurt's ultra-gayness had made him feel uncomfortable and annoyed the way it used to.
It was just familiar, now, in kind of a nice way, and Puck had found to his surprise that he didn't mind cutting "the f-word"--as Finn called it, which was pretty damn whipped--from his vocabulary. He'd done it, too, whenever he was at Finn's place or talking to him, which was how he'd spent over half his waking life that summer, so pretty soon it stuck and he just stopped saying that shit. It hadn't been hard.
He's definitely never said it to Kurt since then, either before or after they started their thing. Kurt's thrown it at him once or twice, pissed off at Puck or the world or both and spitting it in his face, but not for a long time now and not like this. Puck's never imagined anything like this.
"He'd do it first," Kurt says, "he--you probably know where this is going." Something flashes across his face that might be a smile. "He'd make me blow him, first, force me down on my knees and trap me back against the lockers so I can't move, and he'd just...do it, fuck my mouth so I could barely even breathe. With the guys all laughing and cheering him on, calling me names..."
And then Puck thinks: I've called him those things. The sudden twist in his stomach is so intense he can't even tell if it's "turned on" or "guilt." That could be him, Kurt could be talking about him, maybe Puck even kind of wants it to be him. Not the part where Puck would be hurting him, but the idea of Kurt thinking about him like this--getting off while thinking about him like this, way back before Puck had even started thinking about him that way--fuck, it's hot. It's so hot it scares him.
"This is kind of fucked up," he blurts. Kurt goes rigid in his arms--and yeah, once it's out Puck knows it's pretty much the worst possible thing he could say right now. Knowing before, that's always been his problem.
"Is it." Kurt's voice is blank and flat.
"I mean, you don't--" You don't have to tell me, is what Puck means to say, because that would be supportive and shit, and he really would mean it, but what comes out is, "You really get off on that?"
"Sorry," Kurt says. "I told you it was the fantasy for queers with no self-respect." He bites off each word and his eyes are open now but his face is shut tight. It's the face he used to get after a slushie or a locker slam or someone calling him a grosser-than-usual name, when the hallways were crowded and people were laughing at him.
Shit. Shit, Puck is so lost here. The last time he got that look full-force was when he came on to Kurt for the first time, and he fixed it then by just kissing him until Kurt was convinced he wasn't being made fun of. Right now he doesn't have the first fucking idea what to do. Kurt rolls away and sits up and Puck is not panicking, because he fucking doesn't. But if he did. Fuck.
"Wait," Puck says, "I didn't mean it like that." It doesn't come out desperate or shaky or anything--why would it--just nice, and warm, and controlled. Kurt turns and looks back at Puck.
"Then what did you mean?" Kurt says, and jesus christ, he's going to make Puck talk about it. It pisses him off, suddenly and almost violently--the way Kurt's just looking at him all cool and flat like it's Puck's job to make him feel better now, like Puck hasn't already given Kurt more words than he thought he could survive, not just tonight but all the time, since the beginning.
He can't do this. He can't be this guy, this careful talks-about-feelings guy who doesn't fuck things up when he's trying to be good, who knows how to keep Kurt from getting out of bed and leaving him.
He's never been able to do that. It keeps happening but he never learns.
"I don't know," Puck mutters, into the silence.
Kurt looks away again. "I think I should go."
"Yeah, maybe," and he doesn't mean to say it out loud, really, but there it is. Because, hey, why not fuck up some more. It's kind of his way. He stares at the ceiling and tries not to listen to Kurt dressing and leaving, but there's nothing else to listen to except his own breath.
Faintly, through the walls, he hears Kurt's car pulling away. And then it's just quiet.
part two