Buried Deep Within the Archives

Vote for my boss's cover!

2009-11-13T01:15:39Z

My boss sayeth, and I gladly repost because he's a really, really cool guy:

Help my character win the CBG Cover Contest! Vote for the “Woman in Pinstripe Suit” today! If my super heroine wins, this image will grace a cover of the CBG! Ask your friends and family to vote! Here is the link-

Click here to vote!

The super heroine’s name is Niki Tino… The Addiction! Here is her quick origin!

When the mob murdered her, it accidentally created the Addiction, a heroine who fights a vendetta against drugs—and other social diseases—with drugs. Niki looks, and tries to act human, but where most bodies run on proteins, carbohydrates, amino acids, elements, her transformed system fuels all of her physical and mental functions by means of psychoactive chemicals. Beneath her beautiful skin, her black blood is a roiling concoction that allows Niki to synthesize any chemical combination, any drug she can think of!

Vincent Zurzolo
Metropolis Collectibles, Inc.

Course, you're not obligated to vote for his, but the art is SUPERB and I wanna help him out :D Thanks for anyone who votes! You can only vote once, so click on the above link and then hit 'next' to see the five choices for the art!

Fic: It's A Wonderful Surprise To See Your Shoes and Your Spirits Rise 1/2

2009-11-11T06:10:52Z

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

Fic: It's A Wonderful Surprise To See Your Shoes and Your Spirits Rise 2/2

2009-11-11T06:09:22Z

Title: It's A Wonderful Surprise To See Your Shoes and Your Spirits Rise (2/2)
Author: louie x
Pairing: Kurt/Puck
Word count: 12,856 total, split into two parts
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

Puck spends most of the night at the hospital, waiting both for his mom to come pick him up, and for Kurt's dad to arrive. The latter gets there later than Puck would have liked (he knows how much Kurt values his father) and he shifts uncomfortably when the man's eyes narrow at him with something like suspicion. It probably doesn't help that he's got Kurt's blood just about all over him.

Mr. Schue steps in, thankfully, shaking the man's hand and introducing himself. He deflects the questioning glance from Puck and leads the man to the nurses station, letting them take it from there.

Kurt's released a few hours later to his dad's care. He's got a minor concussion from his head hitting the lockers and some bruising to his chest that'll be more sore than anything, the trucker-looking man tells the huddle waiting for news. Finn lets out a breath and smiles at those around him since, overall, the news is that Kurt will be alright.

His mom drives Puck home, not saying much once he's told her that the blood wasn't his. It's after one by the time he falls into bed, showered but not feeling refreshed, and dozes on top of the covers wearing only a towel.

Puck gets to school by third period, having overslept and his mother surprisingly not nagging him to get up, and finds out quickly that Kurt is the number one topic in the school. He's not there, absent from defending himself or proving the rumors right and/or wrong, but he's not far from people's minds.

Hell, even the team were saying nothing but nice things about him as Puck sat with them at the table. They all looked down right depressed, shifting in their seats and idly poking at their food. Not even the prior night's victory can overshadow what happened afterwards. Finn pats Puck on the back and asks him if he's alright as the bell to go to their next class rings.

"I don't know, things are really messed up, dude."

Finn nods his head as he picks up his tray -loaded with two plates of food, the giant- and walks beside Puck to the trash. "Yeah.. but Mr. Schue has been keeping on it with the Coach. They're trying to get the other principal to suspend the guys that did it, or at least get them kicked off the team. Maybe even press real charges if Kurt and his dad want to."

"He won't want to," Puck says. He's not sure why he knows it, but he knows Kurt -zen master of the dumpster- will not want to create more trouble, pursuing a vendetta that might only hurt him further. To imagine Kurt in court, after seeing him in such emotional tatters the night before, hurts Puck's head. Finn doesn't seem to like the thought but sighs; he's been to just as many dumpster tossings as Puck has, and might have picked up the pattern too.

He doesn't say anything when later, in class, he gets a voice mail that he listens to in between the bells. It's Kurt's dad canceling them for the next day. "Kurt's not feeling up to seeing anyone right now... he uh.." the man pauses and sighs, as if groping for the right words. "He wanted me to make sure that you don't take it personally."

Coach talks to them all later before practice; usually after a winning game they get practice off or just a quick pep talk then early dismissal. He stands beside the white board where a few plays remain half-erased and sighs through his nose. Not even at their lowest had Coach Tanaka seem so... defeated.

"I know a few of you stuck around last night to see how Hummel was doing after what happened. His father wanted me to thank you boys, and let all of you know that Kurt's doing fine. He's following doctor's orders to stay off his feet a few days but should be back to school as early as next week."

Puck swallows the lump in his throat and shifts from where he's leaning against the red lockers behind the benches. The team in front of him, shockingly, all let out a collective breath of relief. "Is he gonna come back to playing, Coach?" Mark asks.

The coach gives a stern nod, "Yeah, as far as I know. And you know what, we're gonna make sure that he knows he's welcome here. What happened to him was shit and no real man would ever do that to another."

"Those boys that hurt him, they're immature idiots who can't handle defeat or deal with someone else being better. Hell, even someone like Hummel, who we all know is not the usual football player. It was easy to pick on him, to hurt him, and you know what; I know damn well you all have picked on him too."

"Coach at most we've.. just know you, the slushie wars-"

Tanaka glared, his gaze razor sharp. "You think that makes it better? The reasons behind it were the same- hate, fear. And boys, if you're afraid of someone like Kurt Hummel, then what the hell does that say about you?"

The team goes silent as the coach seethes.

"I don't ever wanna hear again that any of you has laid a hand on our kicker. He's one of us and he's gonna stay one of us when he gets back; you got that?"

"Yes, coach!" they parrot, though it's more of a murmur than their usual stern, supportive cry. Coach Tanaka doesn't seem to care that much, turning to the board and picking up his eraser as if he needs something to do with his hands. "Alright then, get out of here but expect to see me on friday for a run through on the game."

Puck leaves the school with his bag over his shoulder and phone in hand. He considers calling Kurt, telling him about what the coach said but his hands hesitate. The wind blows against his scalp, making him shiver and Puck blames the temperature, not the fear that Coach was scolding them for.

Or was it? Really, he was mad at them finding fault in Kurt's differences. At targeting him out of fear, out of not understanding anything about the fucking fairy Kurt Hummel. Puck glances at the number, thumb hesitating over the key to dial it and wonders what about Kurt scares him so damn much. It was the same thing that had him taking up the smaller teen's offer after he was pranked by the Cheerios; this shiver and churn in his gut that Puck couldn't -wouldn't- define. So he drowned it with slushies and dumpster throws, and made Kurt keep his distance so he'd stop messing with Puck's head. It's something that, now that he thinks about it, has been around a lot longer than Puck thought.

Instead, he cancels his appointments with any clients he has for the whole week.

Tuesday

"Tuesday, you can fuck me, Noah."

Words that had Puck living from day to day with anticipation, eagerly waiting for a day that previously had no meaning. Tuesday. One more way Kurt's whims had changed his life.

He cuts school that day, no reason to bother himself with classes when there's no real draw for him. Classes are classes, sure, but it's nothing that Puck can't copy off of someone else's notes when the time comes.

It's raining, these large, tedious drops that soak into Puck's thin coat as he dashes from his truck to the front door of a large house. He rings the bell, grateful for the small cover above the door, and when it's opened he takes the awkward greeting and offer to come inside. At least it's dry, he can put up with Mr. Hummel's questions and looks as long as he's not so soaked that his teeth chatter.

"Hey.. I thought we canceled for today..?" The man asks. Puck appreciates that he doesn't ask why the teen's shown up at eleven in the morning on a school day. Shuffling his feet and using his damp sleeve to wipe at his face, Puck nods his head regardless. "Yeah, I know.. I um... I was wondering how Kurt was."

He gets a towel for his question. It's a smaller one from the kitchen, that the man breaks away from Puck just long enough to fetch and toss in Puck's general direction. He must have used the time to weigh the pros and cons of answering the question. Kurt's father sighs, shaking his head a bit, "He's... quiet. Won't talk to me about it."

Puck dries himself off, vaguely patting down his head and neck. He's a bit surprised that the man answered him honestly at all.

"Look," the man says in a weary way that only parents can manage, "I'm going to level with you. As far as I know, up till now, your name only came up in reference to Kurt's dry cleaning. So... I need to know why you're here now, instead of at school where you should be, asking after my son." The man is tense, still not quite trusting Puck and the jock doesn't blame him considering that he's sure Kurt skimmed on the details -too worried about his clothes- of the bullying.

He doesn't know what to say at first so he wrings the towel in his hands while his brain flails. This is the very reason why he likes to go with the flow; to not be the one leading the pack, but the secondary guy in charge who's supposed to back the plays and just push until they're done. Life's too complicated for his age already, between Quinn and Kurt, Puck's sure anyone else might have just thrown their hands up and given up trying to keep sane.

"I'm not proud of what I used to do. In a way I didn't know any better," he admits. "What I do know now is that no one should be treated like that, ever... Kurt didn't do anything wrong other than play a kick-ass game and-"

"-And be Kurt," the father adds. "To some people, that's reason enough." He turns away from Puck, nodding at the mat by the door where hooks are hung for jackets and where shoes are obviously meant to be left behind. Puck removes the requested items and pads after the man, putting the towel around his neck as they walk through the kitchen to a door leading downstairs to the basement. He'd heard from Tina and Brittany that Kurt had like, his own bachelor pad set up in the place, taking the whole lower level for himself to do with as he pleased. When Kurt's father opens the door to let him downstairs, a hand clamps down onto his shoulder hard enough to make Puck wince slightly. Clearing his throat, looking almost uncomfortable behind what is a textbook parental concern face, the man levels Puck with a steady gaze.

"I appreciate what you're going through and I'm grateful you care about my son. But if I hear one whisper, one murmur that sounds like you hurt him again.. then you and I are going to have a much, much longer chat. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

Kurt's father grunts softly, hesitating before he lets go of Puck's shoulder. "I'll be up here if you need anything." He turns back to the coffee left on the counter and news that Puck can now hear is quietly playing from the nearby den.

The stairs in front of him are a strangely daunting view. Puck takes them carefully, trying not to be too quiet at the same time that he's trying not to be too awkwardly loud. With one last wipe against his head, Puck leaves the towel on the bottom of the railling and uses one of the many various reflective surfaces to absently preen. No reason to look like he'd been dragged out of a shower drain or something.

Once he passes into the main room, Puck peers around the almost all-white set up and hears another television's hum just behind a thin door. Pressing his ear to it, Puck can hear the hooting roar of a riled up studio audience cheering for paternity tests on some mouthy couple who's conversation was more censoring bleeps than words.

He knocks and Kurt's voice calls out, probably expecting his dad, and tells him to come in. Puck slips inside and leans against the door, waiting to be seen before doing anything else. Kurt's curled up on his bed -god, Puck thinks, he's in Kurt's bedroom- watching tv whlie in a fluffy robe and pajamas, bare feet resting on kicked off blankets and were it not for the bruises on his face then Puck wouldn't know any better as to what happened. His silence gives him away and Kurt double-takes on his being there. Shifting to sit up -slowly, Puck notices- against the pillows, he lowers the volume on the talk show while he squirms almost nervously.

Any other time it would have had Puck smiling, laughing at how similar father and son were in their uncomfortable gestures despite being so, so very different from one another.

"How are you?"

Kurt's brow raises. Thankfully it isn't the eyebrow that has a butterfly bandage above it, holding together the small gash that he got. None the less, Puck wonders if the wordless reply hurt since Kurt hurries to answer, "No offense, but that's kind of a stupid question right now." Puck grits his teeth against the instinct to shout and not put up with Kurt's sassy nonsense. He blames the fear in his chest and his gut, that same feeling that's put Kurt in his mind and his dreams for the past week. It's a fear of wanting something so much that Puck's making himself sick over it, trying to ignore his own desires and not get his hopes up.

Realizing that almost makes it easier to breathe.

"Dude, I'm worried about you, okay? Sunday... Sunday was this like-"

Kurt holds up his hand, throwing his legs over the edge and rising to his feet with his usual prim posture. Clasping his robe shut, folding the edges over to keep him covered up right up to his throat, he walks over to his closet while replying. "Sunday was a bad day. Bad days happen and I doubt it'll be the last.

"You're probably here for your jacket, right?" Kurt's flippancy with the event, something that in Puck's mind needed the gravity of being dubbed an 'event', troubles the jock. "No," he says after a long, quiet moment. "I'm not here for my jacket."

Puck steps away from the door, walking further into the room just in time to have Kurt cross it and hold out a dry cleaners bag. Inside is his letter jacket, pressed and cleaner than even when Puck first got it, and the jock knows that a whole new game has presented itself to be played.

Kurt is doubting, denying, and angry. He's shoving away new, scary things just as hard as Puck is and for a strange, delirious moment, Puck almost wants to laugh; grateful to realize he's not alone in being so thrown and not knowing what to do. Puck doesn't take the bag from Kurt, letting the plastic wrap stay in his arms, "I'm here to see you. Dunno how many times you want me to say it, but if you need one more time: you, not the clothes." Quietly, it's hung back up and Kurt sits down at the foot of his bed. His hands are in his lap, fingers folded lightly over one another as the teen lets out a deep, but shaking breath.

The silence is filled by the muted tones of the trashy talk show on tv. Puck sits down next to Kurt, close enough to feel his warmth through the thick fabric of his robe, but not so close so as to -just in case- make Kurt nervous. "I'm worried about you, Kurt," Puck admits, his eyes on his hands, picking at his jeans. "It's okay to not be okay. You know you got the whole school behind you, right?"

He expects a sort of gushing reaction, with the trademark wibble. The one he's seen over take Kurt in an emotional moment -nothing like last night, if there's a god, then nothing like the shattering he saw last night- and jumps at the sound of Kurt's bark of laughter. Puck turns to face the grin, one stretched wide enough to make his stomach shift sideways with concern, but not wide enough to split the scabbed over wound on the teen's lower lip. "Oh Noah," Kurt says, still chuckling lightly to himself. " Don't talk to me like you understand; like you know. You're the bad-boy jock to Finn's golden child. Everyone knows it, we're all slotted into categories that will stick to our bones from the first moment we set foot in McKinley High. You're supposed to beat up on people like me, because it gets the girl's panties wet and in some backwards way gets the boys hard for you."

"Kurt-"

"No, no, you don't get to sit here and feel bad for me. I don't feel bad for me, I'm not going to let this get to me and let them win."

Kurt gets up, going to his closet and throws it open, the large doors folding back to reveal an OCD wet dream of a wardrobe, all arranged by type and color. Puck's distracted by the reveal for a moment and nearly loses what he wanted to say in reply. "i don't want you to feel bad or feel sorry for yourself. I'm saying its okay to be mad, that you were hurt and I... everyone in Glee, on the team, your classes, and me, we'll support you whatever you do. We just want you back."

"Want me back..." Kurt repeats the words like they're in another language. He drops his robe, wearing only snug boxer briefs and a fitted tee that proclaims 'No, me lucky charms!' with a sad looking leprechaun on it. The slender body is barely hindered by the wounds that Puck didn't get a chance to see. The bruises on Kurt's wrists and arms, in the shape of hand prints and the wire that kept him still, make Puck's hands curl into fists against the bedding.

"That's right, it's tuesday... you're here for sex, aren't you Noah?" Kurt walks over, bare feet making no sound on the carpeted floor before Puck has a lapful of the usually overactive kid. This Kurt is so still, so careful with his motions that it stops Puck from grabbing at his hips or thighs to draw Kurt closer. "Tuesday you get to fuck me," Kurt whispers against his ear. "That's what you want, isn't it..."

He tugs the shirt off and Puck takes in the bruises mottling his chest. Slender hands trace up his chest, over his shoulders, as Kurt leans in for a biting kiss to Puck's lower lip. Certainly his body reacts, Puck lets out a soft sound in the back of his throat, but for the first time he uses his superior strength on Kurt to pull them apart. "Wait, wait-" Kurt's shaking his head and pulls at Puck's shirt until it's off over the jock's head, tossed aside. "C'mon, you wanted to fuck the faggot, so lets go, mr. Football."

That's enough. Puck pushes and flips them over, guiding Kurt to land on his back on the bed and pins him there. "Enough," Puck growls through grit teeth as he grasps at Kurt's shoulders and pins him there. "I'm not here for sex, I'm here for you, and just you, because I'm sorta in love with you, you dumbass!"

Kurt shuts up, stops struggling, and looks at Puck like he's really gone mad. The jock wonders if he IS insane, having said what he said, and shifts to sit back on his knees between Kurt's opened legs. When the other teen sits up, Puck rubs the back of his neck and apologies quietly for shoving Kurt, getting a murmured 'don't worry' in return. He looks around and leans over the edge of the bed, finds his shirt and tugs it back on. Hopefully that'll be enough of a sign to show that he's serious about just being there to be there. "You talk like nobody can change. You changed, Kurt.. For fuck's sake, you went from the school joke, to the school hero, to the person that no one can stop thinking about today, because everyone wants to know that you're alright.

"And if you can do that," Puck glances over his shoulder at the slender teen watching him with curious eyes and a pained face. "Then there's hope for me to be more than just some jock who beats up on people for fun. Maybe I don't want you to look at me and think I'm anything like those assholes at the other school. Coach was saying yesterday it didn't matter if they used fists and we used slushies on you, it's the same motivation behind it and I'm sick of... of all these games."

Puck felt a rush of heat from nerves, from panic, bubbling just under his skin. Behind him, Kurt shifts and hugs himself as he sits up, not reaching out for Puck, which is fine with the other teen for the moment. "All the games?" Kurt's voice sounds soft, defeated. Not that fierce tone that bites out his name and made THE Noah Puckerman suck cock. He breathes, in and out, slowly, to try to relax himself but it doesn't work; Kurt's the only one who's been able to really smooth away the tension in Puck's body and he's fucked because of it.

Turning to face Kurt, Puck shifts them so that they're laying side by side on the bed. He slides his fingers lightly through Kurt's hair, brushing back the locks that are, of course, clean and perfect despite Kurt being laid up in bed. "I guess I'm saying I don't want this to be a game anymore. I want this... us.. to be.. you know, something real." He liked keeping Kurt quiet with his words, it let him get everything he'd been rehearsing in his truck on the way over out. "When I found you like that Sunday night, when I sat in that hospital just waiting to hear you were okay.. It was like everything changed. All i could think about was never letting anything like that happen to you again. Not because I wanted to fuck you but because... I.. need you, in this really weird fucked up way that I've never felt before for anyone else. So yeah, I think I'm kind of in love with you right now."

Kurt is watching Puck's face and slides his palm out, stroking over Puck's defined cheek from his temple to his jaw. "It's not Shakespeare," he murmurs, "but I think that was almost beautiful, Noah. But don't you dare get my hopes up right now.... Not unless you mean it."

They lay in silence, the television humming over Puck's shoulder as the taller teen just sighs and closes his eyes. He's exhausted, not feeling like he's actually slept despite being downright lethargic the past few days, and Kurt's warmth is a wecomel sensation as Kurt slides over closer. Puck shifts and rests his head on Kurt's shoulder, arms winding around the narrow waist as he carefully cuddles up against the other teen.

Even though Puck would die before he admits to being someone who actually likes the dreaded c-word -cuddling is not a word men use- it doesn't help his head out at all when Kurt's fingers comb through his hair. "Those guys from that other team," Kurt says softly. "They hated me."

"They're idiots."

"Well obviously," the higher pitched voice snorts. Puck smiles even with his eyes still shut, easily picturing the face that Kurt's pulling. "But they do, they hate me and that's why they did that... and sometimes that's hard to ignore. Sometimes it makes me hate myself because no matter what I do, I can't get away from that."

Puck holds Kurt tighter, only relaxing his arms when Kurt squirms because of his bruises. He doesn't know what to say to fix it, to fix Kurt, but if his being there helps at all... well, Puck won't lie and say that Kurt's bed isn't comfortable. After a few moments he speaks up, "You can't let people like that get to you and hurt you. They're stupid for not seeing you for who you really are."

"Who is that, Noah?"

Mine, he thinks and opens his eyes. Beneath his ear, Kurt's heart is picking up, curosity making it race and he slides his hand softly over the slender teen's hip. "No different than anybody else..." At Kurt's raised brow of a reaction, Puck rolls his eyes, unable to resist another smile though.

"Alright fine. No different from the rest of us, except you know all the names that went into your clothes like the pretty princess you are, dude."

Kurt chuckles, its a soft and breathy sound that feels good in Puck's ears. "Close enough," he sighs and cuddles back against Puck's chest again.

Their words trail off, both absently watching the television across from the bed. Paternity test, after paternity test, and Puck is starting to get a nagging sense of discomfort.

"Can we watch something else?" He can tell Kurt later. Kurt's gone through enough for one week; finding out his... his boyfriend -yes, Puck imagines that's best to describe what he is now- is Quinn's baby-daddy can wait. The other teen hums softly in agreement, groping for the remote on the table by his bed and flicks the channel to another chat show. A huddle of women laugh, cacklinlg about something or other and Puck doesn't get the jokes. It's fine though, as they make Kurt laugh on occasion. Puck doesn't pay close enough attention to try to get them.

He closes his eyes, face pressing closer to Kurt's neck. Unsurprisingly, his skin smells clean and sweet. Puck lays a soft kiss over the pulse point, enjoying the shiver that it causes in Kurt, but doesn't encourage any more improper behavior. On any other day, he might even feel guilty for falling asleep as he does minutes later. But he's got Kurt. With Kurt's arms around him, Puck feels safe enough to hand himself over to sleep... and Kurt.

Two Tuesdays later

Puck snarls at the motor in front of him. So far, the picky thing has already rejected two of the spare filters that Puck had on hand. The last one is in his grasp and if it didn't work, well then he was fuck out of luck for this job. Kneeling by the side of the pool, the teenager reaches into the ground unit and starts to slide the new filter into place.

Behind him someone clears their throat. Puck shifts and looks over his shoulder, brows raising as he takes in the figure before him from the bottom up. Bare feet flex slightly on the stone pavement. Lean, pale legs -god Puck needs to know if he shaves or if dudes can really be that smooth- that are cut off just below the line of decency by red and white short-shorts. Then to top it all off, the -as he's heard used- piece de resistance of the whole vision is the fitted, specially made McKinley football team jacket. The shorts conveniently match the scarlet and white school colors, Puck notices.

Kurt is a vision out of some varsity wet dream... Oh yeah, Puck remembers telling Kurt about that one, now that he thinks about it. He remembers Kurt's eyes when he told him, how they glinted and how he reminded Puck that his pool still needed work. That was before Kurt admitted a dream of his to the other teen, blushing as he talked in great detail about a position that Puck teased they'd have to stretch beforehand to attempt.

But Kurt now.. this is pretty boy, King of the football team Kurt. He clears his throat again and tips his head, brows raised to ask if he has all of Puck's attention. Puck shifts and stands up, wiping any hint of oil from his fingers on a nearby rag. "There something you need, sir?" Puck stresses the last part, watching the way it makes Kurt's smile twist into an arrogance tinged smirk.

Ah, bossy Kurt finally shows up. Puck does his best to not show any outward pleasure at the thought.

The tall teen resists the urge to flex, though he bends his legs to get the kinks out from kneeling for so long. He's just in a tight-fitted sleeveless tee and board shorts, his shoes kicked off by the stairs of the pool.

"Yes," Kurt says, fucking finally. Puck thought he was going to die just staring at Kurt while waiting for some sort of signal. Kurt is delaying the game by taking his time eyeing Puck as well, so the jock makes sure to square his shoulders back because two can play for the King of the Epic Tease crown. "There's something that I need help moving inside and you seem to be a.. healthy looking young man." Kurt turns, offering a great view of his ass in those shorts as he starts to walk back toward the patio door. He peers over his shoulder and smirks, "I was wondering if you'd give me a hand?"

Puck locks up the filter, figuring he'll be around later to check it anyway, and walks in after Kurt. He's lags behind just enough to possibly make the smaller teen sweat it. Kurt was the one, after all, who wanted to play the 'pool boy and naughty something or other that Kurt will decide to be' even though they were so past the casual hook phase. But it was something close to normalcy before the away game and Puck wasn't gonna argue with Kurt wanting to have sex 'on a tuesday' like they said before.

He's barely over the threshold of the house when Kurt's on him. Pressing his mouth firmly against Puck's and standing on tiptoe to be as tight against the taller, stronger boy as he can. Puck lets out a soft sound as his hands find Kurt's jacket open, the smooth skin beneath bare for his hands to freely roam. He smiles into the kiss as his thumbs find Kurt's chest, circling and pressing onto his nipples and it makes the other teen mewl. Really fucking mewl. This little noise in the back of his throat that makes Puck usually go from zero to 'why the hell aren't we naked yet?' in less than a heartbeat.

This time is hardly different.

Kurt leans into his arms, taking Puck's lead when he's drawn up off his feet and hooks his legs around the other teen's waist. Still kissing him as he's pressed against the closest wall, groaning when the kiss breaks and Puck grinds into him. "Noah," he groans against Puck's temple.

He gets a bite for the sound, no matter how much Puck likes the way Kurt's girly voice twists low just for his name. "Your character is slipping."

"So sue me," Kurt retorts breathlessly. "But you can still help make it feel like the Earth moved."

Puck snorts, grinning against Kurt's shoulder. He tilts the jacket back just enough to bite at the juncture of shoulder and neck. "That's so cheesy, even for you," Puck scolds Kurt lightly. The other teen just laughs, a breathy, contented sound as he flexes his hips, pushing downward upon Puck and forward just enough to grind his cock against Puck's abs. Damn flexible bastard.

"Well if that's the way you want it..."

He strokes his hands along the backs of Kurt's thighs, using the ticklish spot to throw off his grip just long enough to flip the other teen over his shoulder. Kurt yelps and laughs, swatting at Puck's back gently as he gets carted downstairs to his bedroom.

Kurt's tossed onto his bed, landing on his back and recovers quickly enough to strike a pose. They're having fun at the heart of this, playing up imaginary people -pool boy and rich jock- while reacquainting themselves with Kurt's healed, unmarred body. Puck takes his time, kissing and licking over the pale expanse of Kurt's chest. Knowing exactly where bruises once were but no longer lived, and leaving little hickies or soft impressions of his teeth (cause really, Kurt's got that kind of skin you could look at for too long and leave a red mark, he doesn't have to try hard to leave possessive marks on the smaller teen) that make Kurt groan. He writhes beneath Puck, reaching for him to drag him into another kiss and winds his legs around the other teen's waist, locking them into a perfect position to grind.

Puck presses forward, his cock hard beneath his shorts and rubs it just behind the line of Kurt's inseam. Behind the folds of fabric to where that fine little ass is waiting for him and he sucks at the rapidly beating pulse point on Kurt's throat. He'll make sure to steal any neck-hiding garments so everyone will see that Kurt is getting some serious action, and that someone is crazy about the girly-boy.

Fuck, he's lost. He's crazy for Kurt, the line in the sand is miles behind him and Puck rests their brows together as he breathes the notion in and out of his body. Kurt cups his face, always worried, always concerned, and strokes his cheeks with his thumbs. "You okay?" Like Puck's gonna spazz out now, of all times, and run off.

Kurt's so scared of losing him that it sends a slight thrill of control through Puck's body. It's like a secret he's not supposed to know but sees so often. He's important enough to freak Kurt out and Puck smiles, diving in for another deep, lower-lip sucking kiss to soothe Kurt's question away.

Their clothes are gone in moments -save for the letter jacket of course- and Puck's got the scented oil from Kurt's drawer on his hand faster than his brain can follow. They've done some play like this before, usually with Puck watching as Kurt dips his own fingers into his ass, spreading himself with three fingers but it doesn't get much farther than that, as Puck's usually busting his nut all over Kurt's thigh. He can't help that he's a visual sort of guy and having the equivalent of free, interactive, pay-per-view porn right in front of him is somewhat taxing on his teenage body.

That, and Kurt's just that damn good.

But the tables have turned and Kurt's breathing against his cheek, eyes staring off somewhere else as he murmurs little encouragements while Puck's got two fingers sliding into him. One went easily enough, two is giving a bit of resistance but Kurt's got his hands on Puck's back, nails tensing every now and then against his shoulder blades, but it's not a sign to stop anytime soon. In fact, it's only three more thrusts of his fingers before Puck finds that spot that makes Kurt's body bend like he's found the 'on' switch.

He's got Kurt gasping and just about clawing at his back now with every thrust of his fingers against that little nub he can feel. Kurt's moaning his name, face and chest flushed, his dick is hard and jumps against his flat belly. Puck's watching carefully, sitting up and back just enough to not lose an inch of Kurt's body reacting to him.

Three fingers is a tight fit, but he wants to do things right. Hell, they're still using a condom -even though Kurt seemed insulted by it at first, saying he was sick of latex and wanted something real- so Puck's making damn sure that nothing is gonna go wrong. After Quinn, and fuck he doesn't want to think of her now, naked above Kurt who's watching him with these dark, sexy eyes, but she was a virgin too and he thought everything was gonna be fine with her. Now he's a secret dad and it's not that Puck thinks Kurt will get pregnant but hell, he's a firm believer in jinxes.

Kurt helps him put the condom on, sliding the sheath over his hard cock. He leans up once Puck's fingers are free from his ass, dragging the other teen in for a slow, but firm kiss, while stroking some more oil over the pre-lubed condom. Puck lets Kurt lead, dragging him down so that they're pressed so close and he shivers at Kurt's hand around his dick, pointing him toward his goal and giving the first helpful shove in.

Into someplace so tight, so hot, Puck's damn proud he lasts long enough to slowly push his way totally inside. Especially with Kurt's soft 'oh' of an exhale once he's totally inside. Kurt fessed up ages ago that he'd used toys on himself, wanting to know what it felt like, so it's not strange for Kurt to bottom out. However, Puck revels (with what's left of his brain) at bringing a new sensation to the other teen. His hips circle slowly, in tight little motions, and Kurt's arms wrap around his shoulders to keep them close. They're barely enough to really be called thrusts, but Puck's not complaining as they're getting that little mewl sound he likes so much to fall past Kurt's lips.

He's panting, open-mouthed, his head pressing back against the pillows by the time Puck really starts to get to work. Kurt's got his legs locked tight, ankles crossed at Puck's back and still he's able to flex his dancer's body to rock back against every forward thrust.

It's almost perfect. Almost.

Kurt opens his eyes and looks at Puck, reading his fucking mind -or so Puck will swear until he dies- unless the jock was unconsciously babbling, and helps Puck to flip them over. They pause with the new position, Kurt settling in Puck's lap and needing a moment to catch his breath as gravity shoves Puck's dick deeper into Kurt's body. The letter jacket hangs askew, open over his chest and half off Kurt's left shoulder in a vision of sex that Puck burns into his brain.

Even if it's not what he's used to, even if Kurt doesn't have the rack that Puck still finds hot, it's enough to make Puck feel the heat rushing through his skin. He refuses to think he's blushing.

Puck slides his hands over Kurt's thighs as he kneels astride the larger teen's hips. Stroking the baby-smooth skin until he reaches his hips, taking them in hand and helping Kurt to start to move. Kurt just laughs softly, this sexy sound that goes right to the cock buried deep in his ass, and leans forward enough to put his hands on Puck's chest for leverage. He's doing this twisty thing with his hips, fucking dancer, in between sliding up and down the hard length of Puck's cock. Teasing the other teen as much as he's wringing the most pleasure out of it for himself.

Keeping his body bent allows Puck to keep on with the kissing. He's grown fond of kissing Kurt because Kurt's damn good at it and he's got enough of a brain left to keep his tongue well-coordinated. Fucking Kurt's mouth in time with his ass until Kurt's rhythm starts to falter into a stilted bounce. He's groaning and whimpering into Puck's mouth, panting against the corner of his lips as his hands grip tight to Puck's shoulders.

God he's so close, Puck can feel it. Can feel how tight the muscles in his body are getting beneath his hands -fuck, fuck, around his dick- and trades up his grip on Kurt's hips to around the skinny waist to keep him close. Thrusting as best he can while laying on his back to take some of the control away from Kurt's ragged pattern. He's groaning and moaning Puck's name against his ear, biting at the lobe or his neck, leaving his own marks in between gasps for breath. Usually Puck's not a fan of getting marked up but between the hickies and nail lines he'll be sporting, nobody's gonna be wondering what Puck's been up to on the lazy weekday.

Kurt comes with a sharp, body-tensing shiver. His voice is surprisingly low. Puck was surprised the first time since Kurt's well... Kurt, the little fairy boy who sings soprano and makes Rachel's high notes look easy. But when he comes he's all dude, soft grunts and rumbles that are deep in his chest as he comes over Puck's stomach. The heat of his body seems to triple and the vice-like grip as Kurt shudders through his orgasm drags Puck right along as well.

They lay in a crumpled cuddle for some time afterward. All sweaty and sticky, Kurt'll probably have to get his jacket cleaned from the sweat and cum that might be on it. Though Puck feels a tingle of pride at Kurt being so blissed out he's not started to complain about the mess yet.

Lazy kisses are the first motions to come back to them, before Kurt carefully pulls up and off Puck. The jock takes off the condom, tying it off and tossing it into a nearby trash with the wrapper from earlier. He turns onto his side, helping Kurt out of the jacket and ignores the soft 'hey' as he chucks it off the bed to land in a crumple on the floor. Kurt sighs, fixing him with an unimpressed stare, but doesn't resist the kiss and cuddles against Puck's chest. He's out like a light in no time.

Puck fights off the urge to doze as he strokes his hand through Kurt's sweaty, messy hair. In fact, he twirls his fingers lightly through the styled brown locks to make it stick up even more awkwardly, smiling at the thought of Kurt's face when he finally looks at himself in the mirror. With a toe he drags a sheet up over them, yawning while tucking it in close at Kurt's side and pulling the other teen (who's warm like a furnace, no wonder he always kicks the blankets off when he sleeps) up higher so they're face to face. Kurt opens his eyes, still sleepy enough to probably not remember anything, so Puck takes a chance.

"So uh... you wanna be my boyfriend or whatever?" He's beyond comfortable blaming the great sex for ruining any smoothness he was going for there.

Kurt yawns and nods his head, "Thought you'd never ask." He tucks his face against Puck's shoulder and judging by the even wash of breath over his skin, is quickly back asleep. Puck feels a different sort of warmth wash over him and closes his eyes, fingers fitting perfectly into the curves of Kurt's body as he holds the other teen against him. Fuck if he knew what he was doing, but as long as it kept feeling this right, Puck wasn't gonna be a bitch and argue with it.

Fucking Kurt Hummel.

Fic: Over the Edge of the World

2009-11-02T05:29:19Z

Title: Over the Edge of the World
Author: louie x
Pairing: Kurt/Puck
Word count: 4751
Rating: R/NC-17
Summary: Four instances that Puck finds himself surprised by an inebriated Kurt; and one time the tables are reversed.
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: Random bunny that nibbled on my brain. Title from a Joe Jackson song, 'Drunk Song'.

The first time; he tastes like some foul booze that Puck couldn't name and slick, minty lip gloss.

It's in between classes, ones that Puck's cutting since, really, he's aiming for a football scholarship and doesn't need something like calculus. Besides, Puck's been acing the tests since math tends to come to him as unconsciously as memorizing plays on the field. His mom says it's his Jewish heritage, even though it's kinda messed up since it's a stereotype that grates against Puck's nerves, but fuck it; he's not gonna complain.

But back to Kurt and his random attack on Puck's person.

Kurt catches him in the hall, looking like some strange debauched schoolboy. Like he stepped out of a porno set in some naughty, naughty boarding school and Kurt is the one that got passed around to anyone who raised their hand fast enough to call dibs. His tie's crooked and his face is flushed, something that sets off alarms even to Puck -who could care less about how Kurt looks- and he pauses in his sneaking back to the nurses office for a nap to raise his brows at the skinny teen.

"Dude," Kurt's head snaps up at Puck's voice. His reaction is almost like Kurt had no idea the jock was standing there. Puck approaches Kurt a bit cautiously, like one would a confused, drugged dog that the cops are chasing and just darted with a tranq. "Dude, you okay? What happened to you?"

He touches Kurt's shoulder, trying to ground the other teen to the moment. That is apparently a big, big mistake. Puck had no idea how much strength that tiny little body had squirreled away beneath the trendy layers of clothes. Kurt shoves him and Puck blames the surprise of it for why he stumbles back the few steps and strikes the lockers.

Now it's on though. Puck's frowning, about to throw Kurt over his shoulder and walk him out of the school to chuck the kid into the trash, but the other teen's climbing him like a fucking tree. Arms around his shoulders and neck, one hand grasping the hair at the back of his head, and one leg tangles around Puck's stronger one.

Then there's the whole kissing part.

Kurt's mouth is pressing tight against Puck's own. The shock of it freezes the jock still. His hands are on Kurt's hips, unsure how to react to the softer than soft lips prying his own open. The tang of mint from the slick gloss clashing with the alcohol still on Kurt's tongue but fuck if the guy doesn't know how to kiss.

Puck will deny it until he dies that for a few moments, not only did he kiss Kurt back, but may have even made an embarrassing sound. Something that... you know.. sounded like a groan that could have been misunderstood as you know, feeling good. Being assaulted by the gay mascot of all of Lima, Ohio is not a situation that Puck would have ever considered to feel good. No way did he shift his hips, feeling a spark of something deep in his gut because of an answering grind forward from Kurt as he presses so tight against him.

Over their heads, the bell rings and Puck snaps out of it. He shoves Kurt back, putting a good two arm lengths between them and leans back against the lockers. Kurt looks horrified. Like he was the one who got jumped and Puck's tongue shoved -in some damn skilled twists- into his mouth

Before Puck can even start the 'what the fuck?' that's bubbling up only now from his mind, Kurt takes off running. Shifting and licking his lips, Puck frowns at the shiver that comes from tasting the mint that's still smeared over his mouth.

Later, he finds out Kurt called Miss Pillsbury 'Bambi', mourned the loss of her mother, and threw up all over the clean-freak's shoes. Puck laughs with the rest of the jocks as the word spreads like wild fire from those who saw it happen. The next day, Kurt swears he remembers nothing and Puck figures it's in everyone's best interest to go along with that story.

If he notices Kurt staring at him any more than usual, he opts to ignore it.

The second time, they're at a victory party at someone's house -Puck really has no idea whose, he was just shoved into a car and they all rode off screaming into the night- after a game where they stomped on the other team. Literally shoving their faces into the mud and pulling out their ace card, Queen of the field Hummel, to dance his way to three field goals and a bitchin' lead.

Kurt's on a couch, firmly wedged between the bulk of the Cheerios, giggling along with the rest of them. They hush up when one of the team walks past, an obvious clue that they're gossiping about the jocks. Puck wonders if anyone else finds it weird that the star kicker is far more comfortable amongst the pleated skirts than the letter jackets. He ignores the nagging thought and turns back to his third or fourth beer, chugging it down and grinning at some stupid joke Mark and Mike are snickering over.

An hour passes and Puck wonders just who could afford all of the booze getting passed around. He smiles at Finn, who's face is flushed and is attempting to navigate his giant body through the tight press of celebrating teens to try to find Quinn. She's next to Kurt and has been for most of the night, the two exchanging whispers and grins. Any drink passed to her that seems like it might be spiked is handed to Kurt, who smiles at her like it's no problem at all, drinks it and lets her take the credit for the empty glass. He's got no idea why there's some sort of camaraderie between them, as Puck -even from where he's standing just within earshot, pretending to listen to whatever a few of his teammates are talking about- can't imagine anything the two might have in common in order to, you know, bond.

"Hey, hey," Finn says with a grin when he finally reaches the couch. "You're not thinking of trading me in for a slimmer, more accessory friendly model are ya?" Quinn laughs behind her hand, ruby lips curled in an honestly amused smile. It's then that Puck sees she's been holding Kurt's hand for most of the night, their fingers intertwined. His free hand holds some sort of fruity colored drink while hers has a fizzy soda. Puck leans against the wall and tries not to think about her reasons for being the 'designated driver'. No, no he certainly doesn't think about the warm, living little person in her belly that's probably doing some kind of mini-rumba with all the caffeine she's taking in.

Puck downs his umpteenth beer and shakes the thought away. Instead he laughs at watching Finn try to take Kurt's seat, upsetting two Cheerios who had to get up to make room for the jock. They suck their teeth and fawn over Kurt's clothes instead, complimenting his sweater -as he's the only one who didn't keep any of his uniform on- and one strokes a hand over his perfectly styled hair.

"You're such a cutie, really," one of them says to Kurt, smiling at Brittany, who's got her arm through Kurt's. Possibly in friendship, or as Puck notices now, possibly to keep Kurt upright as he's leaning against her taller form. "I can't believe you don't have a girlfriend yet, unless you are really.. you know.. that way."

"That way?" Kurt questions.

She grins, laughing openly in a way that almost turns her plastic Barbie facade into something that looks real. "Yeah, everybody thinks you're gay." Kurt seems unfazed at the suggestion and shrugs his shoulders, then gets distracted by the gesture as he watches his shoulders move in one more absent shrug. His eyes swing back up to the Cheerios. "I've only ever kissed one person and it was a guy. A hot guy."

Puck's stomach drops out as the girls giggle; like sharks in bloody water, two more cheerleaders sidle up next to Kurt.

"Really?" one asks.

Another smiles, leaning in closer, "Was it anyone we know? A guy on the team maybe?"

Kurt watches them look around, as if there will be some sort of neon arrow pointing toward whoever managed to kiss Kurt. Puck's stomach drops down to his sneakers and he clears his throat before pushing forward. His arm drapes over Kurt's shoulder, tugging the teen away from the gaggle of girls. "Don't you ladies think you need the company of a real man rather than Boy meets Boy here?" he teases. The fact that he opens with a tease diffuses any suspicion that he's covering up for what he overheard... or at least he hopes so.

The girls roll their eyes and shake their heads. Brittany just sighs as if she's got to speak to a child who's pestering the adults. "Puck, sometimes what a girl really needs is a guy who understands the words coming out of her mouth. Kurt's like... he's like perfect."

Puck snorts, putting his hand to his ear to mockingly question 'what?' while Kurt beams widely beside him. "Whatever," Puck adds and steers Kurt away from the girls. The skinny teen protests for a moment, but Puck feels the way Kurt clings to him with one arm and how his feet drag like they're useless on the floor.

"Shit man, you're fucking hammered."

Kurt mumbles against Puck's shoulder, his head dropping down while his eyes shut. Puck's eyes dart around, looking for a quiet spot or where the partiers are thinning out and leads Kurt out into the driveway. Behind one of the larger vehicles parked there, Puck leans Kurt against the back and puts his hands on the other teen's shoulders to steady him. "You not gonna hurl are you?"

"Mmm," Kurt hums, considering the question as if it were some philosophical puzzle. "Nope... but, I do think I wanna kiss you again."

Puck's about to tell Kurt to fuck off and, by the way, don't be blabbing that shit all around, when a hand grabs onto his shirt and drags him in close. He just barely puts his palms up on the SUV's back window to catch himself before squishing the kicker. Kurt, meanwhile, has lined up their mouths and fuck if he's not still just as good as the time before. However, Kurt must be either more drunk or more comfortable with not getting interrupted this time around as he's taking his time. The jock wonders why he keeps getting this end of the drunken Kurt stick; it's not like Kurt was climbing over the girls or hell, Finn -the usual recipient of Kurt's googly eyes- when the taller teen took Kurt by the hand to help him out of his tight squeeze of a seat earlier. Why Kurt keeps jumping him or hell, why Puck isn't stopping him is about all the sober thought that Puck can manage.

The rest is finding it fascinating that Kurt's lip gloss tastes like something citrusy this time around. And that Kurt is groaning, downright cheap porn kind of groaning, and grinding his body forward while pulling Puck's against his to pin himself tighter against the car. There's some weird Twlight Zone shit going on and Puck pulls away long enough to look around, to double-check they're alone and no one's watching, before giving up and diving back into those plump, shiny lips. Back to how hard he can feel the other teen is as Kurt grinds his hips forward, standing on tiptoe so he can reach Puck's hip.

When Kurt comes, in his pants, it's accompanied by this breathy sound against Puck's mouth. A perfect pitch of an 'oh' and Puck can't not stare at Kurt's little porcelain doll face twisted from his orgasm. Then follows a shudder that causes him to dig his nails into the Puck's back. Yeah, he'll be sporting those marks on his shoulders for a while. Puck ignores and will never, ever admit that he's... somewhat hard himself. It'll go away... surely it's just from drinking and that Kurt's such a girl his dick can be confused, even as Puck lets Kurt lean against him as he starts to make these little sleepy, happy noises.

Kurt's passed out by the time the cab that Puck calls for him gets there, and he grumbles about not wanting to leave the kid alone. He looks back to the house of partiers and sighs, figuring that Kurt'll owe him BIG for this act of fucking chivalry. He eases Kurt down into the back seat, letting him curl up on his side and sits down, only to realize he's not quite sure where Kurt lives.

His mom doesn't bat an eye in the morning when Kurt, wearing some of Puck's clothes -which look humorously gigantic on him- is mumbling over coffee about his headache at their kitchen table. She merely commends her responsible son for taking care of a fellow teammate and uses the family listing (given to all the football team parents) to call Kurt's dad to come pick him up. Kurt goes home in one of Puck's extra jerseys and the jeans he wore the night before.

They don't breathe a word of what happened that night again.

The third time is ah... not so much Kurt being drunk exactly. At least they were all whacked out on that vitamin D shit, so Puck understood no one was really at fault for what they were doing. Finn had been doing jumping jacks while practicing his verb conjugations. In Spanish. The other guys were having a graffiti war on the blackboard, which turned into a very complicated race track and them drawing little cars, racing the lines of colored chalk from one end to the other.

Kurt was quiet, quiet and breathing hard.

Puck thinks back to those first few hours, thinking it was odd that Kurt wasn't doing anything. Course, now he's got Kurt in an empty classroom, sitting on the teacher's desk and he's sucking a very precise mark on the skinny teen's neck. It's got to be just right so the fairy can't hide it with one of the many, from the seemingly endless supply of, scarves or neckties that he wore.

He couldn't stop thinking about it, the way that Kurt wore so many layers and so many things. It was like he was hiding beneath the colors and clothes, like he was trying to bury himself or something. So he takes his time, undoing all the buttons -redoing a few when he didn't like the way they came apart- on the swishy shirt of the day, pushing up the layer beneath and slides his fingers over the skin of Kurt's stomach. Puck eases Kurt back, laying him flat and watches as the flush reaches all the way down to his chest.

Strange, Kurt being so quiet. Puck looks up at his face and checks that he's hasn't been undone into some sort of coma from getting his clothes opened. Kurt smiles, laughing then and tips his head back to absently read the words on the board upside down. He offers a smile back to Puck and says that Puck's face is strangely symmetrical.

"It means you're good for breeding."

Puck shuts him up, shuts himself up from saying something stupid about himself or Quinn, by kissing Kurt and biting his lower lip. Kurt tastes like raspberries this time and Puck growls lightly at having done this enough times to have a catalogue in his mind of Kurt's mouth. He pulls back, breathing quickly and rests his palms on the desk by Kurt's head. "We.. uh... I shouldn't be doing this."

A dismissive roll of Kurt's eyes is all the warning Puck gets before his jeans are open and the kicker's baby-soft hand is around Puck's cock. Stroking him until he's hard, until he's pushing forward against his hand and the swell of Kurt's own dick beneath the smooth fabric of his pants. They stop trying to talk then, Puck just going with the flow. Meanwhile his heart feels like it's beating out one of Mr. Schu's old rap songs through his skin. He shivers, bucking against Kurt's hold and feels the other teen smile, whispering against his cheek.

It's not exactly filth that he says. Just honest truths about Puck being his first in just about everything. If he remembers correctly; his first kiss, his first 'frottage' -whatever the fuck that means- and now, apparently his first hand job. He's not sure how he feels about all this, since Kurt's eyes have gotten this weird, distant shine and Puck's scared there's some Disney fairytale shit going on in the kid's head.

"Maybe you'll be my first fuck too."

Damn, damn, damn, Puck thinks. Not Disney.

Puck comes in Kurt's hand as soon as those green eyes lock onto his. It wasn't distance he saw before, it was Kurt thinking about getting fucked by Puck. Which yeah, Puck can see why Kurt might be getting some mixed signals, what with his cum on his stomach and all. But... sex...

He tells himself the thought of sex wasn't what really pushed him over the edge and sits up. His body feels shaky and his head hurts. Puck does up his pants and pulls away. Kurt shifts onto his elbows, idly drawing his finger through the mess on his stomach before lifting his eyes back to the jock's face. He looks like some kind of weird pictorial in Playboy.. if Playboy had pretty-faced, skinny boys like Kurt in it. Fuck, fuck, now he'll never be able to look at his mags again without thinking of that.

Kurt is sucking his fingers clean when Puck drags himself away. He feels like crap and figures he'll just duck into the nurses office to get some rest like he usually does. She's a babe. Well, Puck can be honest and hell yeah, she looks crazy but she's hot as hell too. The nurse just smiles at him, all tight shirt and blonde hair and Puck reminds himself that she's married to Mr. Schue.

She gives him more of that vitamin and Puck hopes he can keep clear of Kurt for the rest of the day.

The fourth time is more Puck's fault than anything else, really. He wasn't expecting the sales of his cupcakes to be so phenomenal but then again, they were made with 'special' dark chocolate. The money was for a good cause anyway, so who the hell would care that every single little ingredient wasn't quite elaborated on?

When he watches Mercedes fight through the crowd to get another serving of his cupcakes, he chuckles-- the girl's got the munchies. She bought two the last time. She smiles at Quinn, who asks the question that Puck's been dying to, but in a more polite girl-language way than he ever would have.

"Oh, I ran into Kurt just after I got those and we ended up splitting one, but then he took the other for himself. Twiggy bitch, if you ask me. He can eat for that whole damn football team and never gain a pound." Mercedes rolls her eyes and shares a laugh with Quinn and Finn beside her. Puck feels a nagging doubt instead, pretending he's not paying attention when he's really thinking far too hard on what he just heard.

Vitamin D was just some over the counter meds B.S. and that turned Kurt into this little sex bunny. Alcohol just seemed to make him a kissing whore who was intent on Puck. God knows what pot would do to him. He gives the money to Quinn, giving her a serious look so that she'd consider what he said before, about what she should do with the cash. Then he tags in Mercedes and excuses himself to use the toilet.

When really, he's looking around for where Kurt might have wandered off to, high and in who knows what kind of state. The proverbial angel on his shoulder says that Puck's just looking out for Kurt. Bros before ho's and all that. Also that since Kurt seems to be utterly and totally gay, not all the guys in the school would be as understanding about a good groping by Kurt's soft little hands. Puck doesn't deny it that he's pretty easy about sex and well, for a dude, Kurt's pretty awesome at all they've done so far.

The little devil on Puck's shoulder just laughs and says he wants to fuck him.

It takes a little more than fifteen minutes, but Puck finds Kurt in the bathroom behind the stage of their auditorium. Just a single-stall set up, and Puck's glad for it since Kurt's in there with a hand down his pants and the door slightly ajar.

"God," Kurt swears as he laughs, eyes glassy despite the reddish tint to them. "You're better than a bloodhound." Puck is pulled in by the front of his shirt and pressed against the door. All too familiar now, Kurt is twisting one leg around his to get some sort of upward thrust, so Puck can feel how hard he is against his thigh.

Against the obvious evidence otherwise, Puck tries to deny it in between the kisses.

This time it's his hand around Kurt, pulling and teasing his thumb over the tip, all to watch the other teen's face. How he flushes and bites his lower lip, groaning and twisting once Puck has him propped up on the edge of the sink. Kurt's hands are on his face, in his hair, or squeezing at his shoulders. Sliding his fingers everywhere and anywhere they can reach until he's got his hands in Puck's back pockets and is letting the jock grind forward against his thigh.

All the while Puck's not even thinking about how weird it is for another guy's dick to be in his hand. It's different from handling his own junk, but Kurt's a bit too distracting to focus on that. It seems so trivial, but Puck now knows that when he drags his thumbnail slowly down the underside, it makes Kurt whimper in this way that makes Puck ache for -fuck- more.

Kurt comes on his hand and licks his fingers clean. Makes sure that Puck stays and watches it this time. He's lazy in his motions, but thorough. Like it's a mindless task which comes as easily to the teen as breathing. It's the hazy, lazy point of the high setting in and Puck feels a strange twist in his gut mingling with the still burning arousal. It wouldn't surprise him if it's that damn shoulder angel trying to kick him in the nuts.

But it's hard to listen even to that guy when Kurt's got his tongue trailing up the length of his middle finger after deep throating it.

The next time, Puck tries to remember how he got into the position he finds himself in. He's not quite sure why he's at Kurt's house, but then distantly he recalls the team inviting themselves over after the skinny teen finally got his letter jacket. They wanted to celebrate and wanted it to be a surprise. Finn knew that Kurt's dad was gone for a few days and well, the team descended.

They all brought booze, food, and made as little mess as they could -once they all received Kurt's death glare accompanied threat to 'keep tidy'- in the kicker's rather nice looking home. Puck wondered briefly what it was his dad did and why there weren't any pictures up for him to see Kurt's mom. It bugged him, since there were pictures of his dad all over the place. Just staring down at him no matter what-- his mom didn't want them to forget the man so she never took them down.

But that's besides the point, since Kurt's in his lap with his hands up Puck's tee to stroke the lines of his muscles. He's laying back in the other teen's bed. The room is mostly white with a few posters of musicians and movies; bands that make Puck wince just thinking about them and movies he'd never expect Kurt to like. His head spins so he shuts his eyes, tipping his head to one side.

Kurt's hand cups his cheek, stroking over the bone there lightly until Puck looks at him. The smaller teen is perfectly sober. He's utterly in control and Puck thinks he'll never let Mike and Mark team up together to make a 'real man' drink ever again. They're like the Willy Wonkas of alcohol because all Puck can think is the word 'beautiful..' as Kurt flashes this little lopsided smile.

"You're so, so drunk. If i were a better man, I'd just let you sleep it off. I think I owe you a little sleepover here anyway."

Puck breathes in slowly through his nose and nods his head. His fingers slide up Kurt's expensive jeans to rest on his thighs,"You were really tired then."

"Yep, you wore me out." Kurt replies flippantly. Puck just chuckles, closing his eyes for a few moments before opening them to look up at Kurt. They look at one another in silence for longer than Puck's comfortable with. He resorts back to being easy, it's a comfortable instinct that needs less of his brain than he's capable of using at the moment. Puck tugs on Kurt's belt loops, encouraging the other teen forward and draws him into a long, leisurely kiss.

Kurt rests his elbows on the bed by Puck's head. Their bodies are pressed tight from hip to collarbone and that flexible little body is driving Puck insane as Kurt does these little rolling curls that grind them together. Like a horizontal tango that makes Puck want to practice choreography with Kurt more often.

"Do you like that?" is whispered huskily against his ear. Puck will kill whoever says it, but he whimpers slightly. It's a moan, a real manly noise, but it's stuck in his throat because Kurt's hard too and it makes his dick jump in his jeans. "Yeah, yeah..." he encourages and grabs onto Kurt's ass to have him keep up his motions.

They kiss again. Puck's eyes drift shut and he snorts as Kurt takes advantage of the moment by going after his neck. He helps Puck out of his tee and slides his hands over the planes of the jock's muscles. A thumb teasing and pressing at his nipple ring and Puck bites his lower lip as he leans up for another kiss. Kurt pulls back at the last moment, a smile curling on his lips.

"Do you like me?"

Puck doesn't remember what he says. Just that he comes in Kurt's mouth and doesn't regret whatever it was. He wakes up in the morning tucked up against Kurt's back, him in his boxers and Kurt in some pajama set that remind Puck of the old Richie Rich cartoons.

It freaks him out a bit that he might have said yes. Kurt's a nice guy, kinda made of spun sugar, but he wouldn't have let Puck sleep in his bed if he said 'no'. But Kurt's warm in his arms and against his chest. It's a rather nice distraction; if anything it's starting to lull Puck back to sleep.

He shifts Kurt closer, tucks his head down and takes in a soft, subtle sniff of the smooth skin of the smaller teen's neck. There are lingering traces of cologne and shampoo, something like sweet tropical fruits in his hair and that expensive 'fresh skin' smell of Calvin Klein or Armani, like the scented magazine ads nestled between Miss November and Miss October.

Kurt's continual association with, and his steadily becoming better than, porn should bother Puck. He figures he should be freaking out and running from that fact alone. Instead he buries his face against Kurt's neck, breathing deep another scent to put on "Puck's unnatural flavors of Kurt Hummel" list. Something to savor as he drifts off, not minding that Kurt turns in his sleep to burrow against his chest for a proper -never to be spoken of, to anyone- cuddle.

A note of thanks

2009-11-01T16:23:34Z

Just wanted to thank everyone who offered either threats of harm onto the wrong-doer or hugs for me because of what happened earlier this week. Thankfully, it was only slightly monetarily painful to get the phone replaced and the number hasn't changed! Huzzah for lessening the evils in life!

So again! THANK YOU PEOPLES, I surely don't deserve ya'll but will work hard to make sure that I do :D

PSA

2009-10-28T17:51:02Z

For those of you who are in contact with me via my phone?

Yeah, don't call it right now. This morning it was swiped right out of my hand on the train en route to work so if you text/call I won't get it OR get weird texts/calls from me? I apologize from in front if that happens.

Dunno what the situation is going to be like. I'm not holding my breath for getting my phone back but hopefully the extremely nice detectives that I spoke to for the past three or so hours will get him at least.

Right now though, I find my I WILL TAZER UR BRAINMEATS Ianto mood icon highly appropriate. Keep on zappin, Jones~

Fic: Show Me Secrets You Didn't Know Was Inside

2009-10-24T17:20:37Z

Title: Show Me Secrets You Didn't Know Was Inside
Author: louie x
Pairing: Kurt/Puck (hints at Will/Finn?)
Word count: 4147
Rating: R/NC-17
Summary: Gifts should never be questioned, especially when Sasha Fierce is playing along.
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: Glee's eaten my brain (Fandom Gods help me) and per my beta pixie's requests I'll start posting up some of the stuff that I've been writing :D Hope it's enjoyed!

"Kurt!"

The teen jumps, having just plucked his headphones from his ears, at the sound of the teacher so joyously shouting his name. He clears his throat and squares his shoulders, peering over at Mr. Shuester as he jogs down the hall to catch up with his student. He tells himself not to get distracted by the teacher's wide, honest smile, or the way he seems so keen on physical contact in a variety of forms.

Like the hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly while Mr. Shue smiles that knee-melting smile. The one that even gets Finn to scuff his feet and hide his blushing face by finding something fascinating in the opposite direction of the man in question.

"Hey, last minute room changes happened. Do you think you could go to the usual practice room and put this sign up?" An official looking document with a bit of tape at the top is pushed into Kurt's open hands. He blinks down at the teacher's handwriting, informing the Glee club of practice being moved. "Just umm.. stick it on the door and flick the lock on the inside, that way nobody can get in and sit around by themselves."

Kurt nods his head at the request. Another smile flashes and he offers one back, distracted from a quip about unquestioning servitude for the young man who can break-dance better than most people Kurt's seen on television. Really, he should bring up the idea of having him try out for 'So You Think You Can Dance' but that would mean Mr. Shue would be absent from Glee club... which would leave Sylvester in his place.

He shudders and turns on his heel, squaring his shoulders against the thought of being left in the hands of that woman. How she manages to herd a group of girls without them all going insane and killing one another is impressive; the football team's hormones making them downright homicidal at times -Kurt should know- so he can only imagine what the group-cycle for those girls must be like.

Letting himself into the room, Kurt's humming absently to himself while taping the sign to the plate glass of the door. He holds it open with one foot, leaning around to flick the lock on the inner knob when he spies what looks suspiciously like a hallucination or some insane Penthouse letter kind of dream. Tied to the feet of the piano, his arms spread wide, is a shirtless Noah Puckerman.

He seems happy to have someone show up, but less than pleased at just who it is. Kurt closes the door behind him, fingers twisting the lock shut and breaks his eyes away from Puck's squirming seated form to check that the shade isn't going to pop and roll up to expose them. "Well.. either Santa Claus has a very strange sense of humor, or you've made some new friends that I need to go thank for years of dumpster diving." Kurt's voice is casual, keeping his tone light as he walks closer to Puck like one would a wounded, trapped animal. He sets his bag down by an empty chair and slides off his brightly colored jacket as well.

"Shut the fuck up, Hummel," Puck says. His face is well schooled to be stern, mad, and as intimidating as he can be AKA the usual sneer that Kurt is accustomed to. "Fucking Cheerios attacked me."

Kurt sits down, out of the reach of Puck's strong legs, and takes a moment to imagine the girls' fury. "What? Break one too many hearts or hymens?" He's feeling bold, the monster of his high-school social life is contained and Kurt cannot help but pull the tiger's tail just a bit now that he has the chance. Puck doesn't take too kindly to the words, but he snorts and smirks.

"Don't be jealous nobody's after your ass-cherry, Hummel. You'll find your queen one day. Now just fucking untie me."

Weighing the pros and cons of leaving Puck to his own (perhaps deserved or perhaps just in the wrong place & wrong time) fate, Kurt tucks one of his legs beneath the other and leans forward to rest his chin on one bent, raised knee. He licks his lips and cocks his head, eyeing Puck's slightly discheveled hair and is proud he at least attempts to look casual about taking in all the tanned, fucking amazing looking torso on display. "I'll let you go," he says, finally, softly. "As long as the conversation we're about to have never leaves this room and you don't use it against me in the future, got it?"

"Oh god.. are we gonna talk about feelings or something?"

"Sex."

Puck blinks, shifting his shoulders; they're probably starting to ache, his arms spread so wide from the ropes keeping him affixed to the piano legs. He looks almost like he's been left in mid-hug, though his lax fingers and weary expression as he sits on the floor is enough to say otherwise. "Sex... um.." Kurt feels a thrill of pride dance through his stomach along with all the vomiting butterflies dancing the samba at getting the upper-hand with the jock. "Yeah okay," Puck replies, "What did you wanna talk about?"

"You won't tell anyone else?"

"What the fuck do you want from me Hummel? A pound of flesh? Yes, private conversation in exchange for freedom." Most likely to get some sort of appropriate revenge on the girls, but Kurt thought they were, at best, expendable casualties in a quickly forming devious plan.

He still stays out of reach of Puck's legs, knowing the runner's legs are impossibly strong and wouldn't put it past Puck to put him in some sort of deadly leg lock. Clearing his throat, Kurt flips his hair off his brow and smirks with as much bravado as he could muster at that moment. "I have a theory as to why you've become a giggolo for the local women. Actually having a clean pool to swim in aside, you can't tell me that you're not basically getting paid to be the steamy affair all the housewives are dreaming of."

Proud he got the words out without a stutter, Kurt waits for them to sink in. Judging by the surprised squint and raised brow from Puck, it was most certainly not the way the jock was expecting the conversation to go. He opens his mouth to answer, instead just shifting his legs open ever so slightly as Kurt shifts to his knees and moves closer.

"I think you like being told what to do."

Puck looks at Kurt from his hair to his knees, then back again. Like he's gone mad and has decided to talk Puck to death or something. "What the hell-" He's interrupted by Kurt's warm hand on his shoulder, soft, soft fingers trailing up to his bicep. "These women," Kurt plows on before he loses his nerve, "they're so lonely and so needy that they've planned these scenarios out for years. Knowing exactly how they want to be touched, how they want their husbands to touch them but never will.

"Then there's you, handsome pool boy, who will do whatever they say."

Kurt bites the bullet and moves, on his knees, within the splay of Puck's parted legs. He sees them bend, not readying a kick but indeed gaining a bit of purchase upon the tiled floor. Puck licks his lips, "... You think about me having sex a lot, Hummel?"

"Kurt," the other teen reminds. "And, since we're not discussing this ever again... yes, I do." His hands are still on Puck's bare skin, tracing the lines of his shoulder muscles and daring to drag a fingertip along his collarbone. "Finn... is Finn.. but he's kind of dumb, between you and me. You... you go after the women who need you so bad, so much, that I bet you barely get an opinion as they get off thanks to you being everything they've wanted in sex, after so much time without."

"So what's your point here?" Kurt was glad that Puck wasn't shouting at him for calling the other teen, basically, a whore. What he did in non-school hours wasn't really any of Kurt's business and it seemed to keep Puck on an even keel. He leans in, their faces only a few inches away as his hands dip to rest on the top set of Puck' six pack.

"I'm saying that I want to give you some orders and have you be a good boy for me, Noah." Kurt has no idea where this deep, breathy voice comes from within him. It's like his own personal Sasha Fierce; some hardcore version of himself that's all about getting this close to Puck and taking advantage of every moment. That he's already half-hard might have something to do with it too, but Kurt's not going to nitpick until later. Not with the way that Puck's looking at him, eyes darting from one of Kurt's to the other in between the occasional flicking downward. "Um.. so... glad to hear your input and all that," Puck pauses before clearing his throat- "Kurt, you gonna let me up anytime soon?"

The Gleek smiles and drags his thumb over the divit of Puck's navel. "I'm not done talking yet. Is there anything you'd like to add though?" He watches the way Puck's thoughts race just behind the shifting color of his eyes and smiles at how the pupils widen fractionally as that curious thumb fingers the silver through the jock's nipple. "You want to deny my theory, say that I'm wrong that you get off at being somebody's perfect dream lover who does exactly what they need to feel so, so good?"

Puck doesn't reply, but he's breathing a bit harder. Kurt takes that as a good sign and leans in until he can feel that warm air brushing over his cheeks. Lips nearly touching, Kurt's voice drops to a barely there whisper as he speaks in between light brushes of their mouths against one another.

"Say no..."

They're not really kissing, just touching, feeling and tasting the sensations. Kurt's terrified that Puck will Hulk-out and smash his face in, making him bleed all over his new pants. The fact that he's downright silent is almost more terrifying than Kurt can stand, shifting to pull back but Puck's surging forward. Either he'd been keeping the slack he had secret, feeling out what Kurt's intentions were, or he was hurting himself in order to press a hard kiss to the other boy's mouth.

Kurt groans and cups Puck's face, pressing him back against the piano once more. He squirms closer as he opens his mouth, letting Puck kiss him like he's on a mission to map and own the territory of Kurt-tongue-landia. A hand dips down, closing Puck's legs so he can sit on the jock's thighs, pressing close against him from hip to shoulder.

Their kiss breaks and Kurt moans against Puck's cheek, eyes shut as he pants for breath. "This doesn't leave the room either, yeah?" Puck's question makes Kurt wonder just how on the mark he was. How Puck seems to live for sex, to live to please. It sends shivers along his spine and he nods his head; ignoring the momentary shift of control. "You going to do as your told, Puckerman?" he asks with a tilt of his head. "Maybe I want you to fuck me, maybe that's my big dream that I need your help with. Or maybe I want to put my dick in your mouth... have you suck me off..." Kurt wills this Fierce side of himself to stay to the foreground, even though his face is flushed dark at speaking so filthy to Puck of all people. Though, judging by the stifled sound just behind Puck's grit teeth and how dark his brown-blue-brown eyes have become.

Lust... Puck is looking at Kurt with lust in his eyes and that alone almost makes Kurt come in his pants. Surely he's dreaming because it shouldn't be so easy to push these buttons he's convinced himself that Puck has. That he's a head-strong jock who beats up on people but gets off on being ordered about, almost used by his sexual partners.

Again, Kurt kisses him but takes his time to push himself from crotch to mouth against Puck's almost brick-wall of a body. He's so warm, practically burning through Kurt's expensive clothes right down to his skin as they press against one another desperately. Yes, Puck is just as eager and just as hard -judging by that thumping, wonderfully pokey thing pressing against his inner thigh- as Kurt is, which makes the slender teen groan into the kiss.

"Say no," Kurt repeats as they part again. The last thing he needs is some gay panic bullshit with Puck crying rape. He'd never survive in jail; he's too pretty, and the thought of becoming a child-bride for someone makes Kurt's blood run cold. It's enough of a request, he hopes, that Puck would understand his desire for explicit permission to take advantage of the situation.

Puck instead bends his knees, shuffling Kurt's body closer so that the hardness of the jock's dick trapped within his jeans rubs along the inseam of Kurt's trousers. "If you don't start doing something, I'll have to clean a hell of a lot of pools to pay for the damage I'm going to do to this piano." Sasha Fierce needs little encouragement after that, even though Kurt's mind is screaming and running around the room with his arms in the air. His first kiss, taken under somewhat questionable circumstances, and then there was Puck letting him... letting him do whatever he wanted with the jock's fine self.

"I want to watch you come, Noah," Kurt breathes against his ear. "Been curious to know if you're loud or... or if you bite your lip..." His cock pulses against his tight briefs as the words just fall out of his mouth unrestrained. Reaching between them, he gets Puck's jeans open and isn't surprised that the other teen goes commando beneath. The stiff length of his dick springing up, flushed dark with blood even though it wasn't quite fully hard. That all changes though when Kurt takes it in his hand after a show of licking his palm for Puck's sake. Friction burns can be such a turn off, no need to not take care of his boy while he gets to knock-off a few things on his list of life-goals.

Bag a jock, check.

Bag a hot jock, check.

Maybe make a jock you know, with stupid hair, and a ridiculous attitude squirm at your every motion like you're some kind of Earth-bound sex god....

Puck groans as Kurt starts to jack him off, hand moving fast then slow just to make the other teen restless.

Kurt smiles to himself, panting as he watches the precum start to leak from the tip, and checks off that last item from his list. He thumbs the tip of Puck's dick and pauses, making sure that he's being watched as he raises his hand to his mouth and licks some of the stickiness from his thumb. Puck's eyes are glued to him, mouth open as he breathes and he grits his teeth against a grunt of enjoyment.

"I like the way you taste," Kurt explains. "I always thought I would."

He gives no warning for undoing his own pants, pushing his briefs aside, and then taking both of their cocks back into his soft hand. They kiss, sucking and biting at one another's mouth or the easiest to reach bit of skin, while rocking against one another. Puck is incredibly responsive, nicely loud though not so much that Kurt would be concerned about drawing attention from the hallway. Just enough to echo into his ears and to skid around his brain until it's saved there forever.

Never before has he been so aroused, so hard and so eager to get off.

"Thought.. thought you were wantin' to get fucked, Kurt," Puck says after he most-assuredly left a hickey on Kurt's neck. That the other teen seemed so unfazed by the idea had Kurt's hand moving faster, groaning as he shut his eyes to savor the sparks of new pleasure just under the lowest layer of his skin.

"Mmm.. yeah but.. but not here.."

Kurt lets the words end after that, feeling how Puck's stomach is growing more and more tense as they're getting closer. He thinks about how it would feel to have the hardened flesh in his hand up his ass, where only his fingers and a small specialty toy have dared entrance. He pictured Puck's hands on his hips, as he's bent over something, and that cock up his ass making him babble like a man gone mad.

"Yeah, yeah that sounds fucking.. ah.. amazing.." Puck's voice startles Kurt aware. Damned Sasha Fierce said all of that out loud and Kurt feels his face burn. It's quickly forgotten however when Puck sets out to leave another mark on his neck, just above where the silken scarf is tied, hanging low over his tee shirt neckline.

"Keep talking, Kurt," a rough demand growls against his skin.

So he does. He talks about sneaking glimpses in the locker room and how distracting he finds Puck's uniform pants, how tight they are on his ass. How hot it was to see them all dance to Beyonce on the field, the gear only adding to the hot absurdity of the moment. Puck grunts and rolls his hips up into Kurt's grip, biting at his lower lip while resting his brow against Kurt's shoulder when the smaller teen brings up how he's lost count of how many times he's wanted to take Puck's piercing into his mouth. To tease it and roll it against his tongue, to suck until it pulled on the nipple trapped within and it got hard and Puck begged him to stop teasing.

His free hand darts out, tugging at the knots that the cheerios bound about the jock's wrists. Kurt manages to free Puck's right hand and groans as the strong arm winds around his waist, tugging him closer for them to just grind against each other. Cock sliding against cock, Kurt had just enough of one remaining braincell to mourn the fact that his clothes were going to be messed up by Puck for an entirely different reason.

Puck doesn't even wait for his second hand to be freed to spill the two onto the floor. Kurt lets out a grunt of surprise as his back is pressed to the cold linoleum but forgets the discomfort as Puck rolls his hips forward, practically fucking Kurt into the floor as he rubs his dick against the smooth material of Kurt's clothes. Winding a hand around them again, Kurt fists as much hair as he can on the back of Puck's head and drags him into a hard, biting kiss.

He comes first. His back arching and shoes scuffing aginst the floor as his heels ineffectually search for purchase while his head falls back with a shout. Puck's not long after, waiting for Kurt to open his eyes and Kurt shivers, groaning as he gets what he wanted and gets to watch Puck come apart as he orgasms. The strong face slack, mouth open and panting, cheeks flushed and eyes dark. Puck grits his teeth loosely, his pleased cry trapped somewhere between the back of his throat and his nose but he holds eye contact as he comes over Kurt's hand.

Slumping forward, Puck buries his face against his neck and lets out a shaking breath as his body shivers. Kurt reminds himself to feel proud later, that he'd done something that amazing to Puck -for Puck- and hopes he won't get hell for it during school hours. He keeps his arm around Puck's bare waist and lifts his head enough to peer at the white smear across his palm and fingers.

Puck watches as Kurt taps his fingers together, curious about it's consistency, and licks two of his fingers clean. The jock's hips shift forward, an unconscious rub of his sensitive dick against Kurt's body as he watches with rapt silence as Kurt licks his hand clean.

"None of the Cheerios do that."

Kurt snorts and shakes his head, "You so need to brush up on your pillow talk."

He surprisingly gets another kiss for his response, closing his eyes as Puck seems curious about the exchange now that he's got a hand free. Touching Kurt's hair, his cheek, sliding his palm down the line of his shoulder and his side to his hip. Puck even grabs his ass, making Kurt let out a surprised squeak, and grins at the reaction.

Pulling apart, he helps Kurt to sit up and frees his own hand. Puck then reaches out and steals Kurt's scarf, using it to clean himself up and after a moment's hesitation, dabs at Kurt's shirt in an effort to wipe up most of the stain on the pale pastel colored fabric. Kurt waves his attempts off, murmuring a quiet thanks, but is then left with a sullied, expensive neck accessory. As he's deciding what to do with it, Puck manages to find his shirt, that had been tossed onto the piano strings by the girls, and tugs it on over his chiseled body.

Kurt absently mourns the change of scenery.

He folds the scarf up and gets to his feet, fixes his pants and shoves the scarf into a pocket in his bag. Taking out a small mirror from another pocket, he silently begins to fix his hair from where Puck's curious touching had mussed it. The quiet in the room gets Kurt's attention, closing the folding mirror just before Puck's arms wind around him from behind. He's tugged against Puck's chest, one hand on his chin and a finger sliding into his mouth while the other hand dips beneath the line of his pants to trace his hipbone. Kurt struggles for a moment before he moans, figuring he deserves a bit of reciprocation after all that madness earlier -damn Sasha Fierce- and lets his tongue twist around Puck's finger.

It was apparently the answer the jock was looking for as Kurt's let go and pushed against the nearby wall. Puck towers over him, hands on either side of his head as he eyes Kurt like something potentially hazardous to his health.

"Phone," he says tersely. One hand moves to wait, palm up and fingers curling to beckon Kurt into action. Shifting from where he was, hoping he'd get the device back, Kurt unlocks his iPhone after he digs it out of his bag and hands it over. Puck takes only a few moments, thumb flying over the keyboard like nothing, then hands it back with a darkened screen.

He pulls away and shoots a smile over his shoulder, "Looks like we won't even be late for Glee practice. You might want to think about covering your neck up though, Hummel." With a twist of the knob, he lets himself out and leaves Kurt in a room that smells like sex, and the surreal nature of the situation rolls back onto the teen threefold.

Unlocking his phone, Kurt frowns when his password doesn't work. A few more tries
and still the red screen shows up, frustrating the teenager. He lets out a breath, counts to ten, and damns the jock who he can still taste on his tongue.

'P-U-C-K' doesn't open it up but 'N-O-A-H' does. Kurt wonders if the heat in his stomach, flopping around like it's readying for the olympics, is anger or something else that he's a bit intimidated to admit to himself just yet. Once the phone unlocks, the last page it was opened to pops up onto the screen.

It's a contact setting with Puck's name and phone number; beneath it, a note about needing pool cleaning services. 'I'll make a non-MILF exception for you, I'm free Tuesdays and Sundays.'

Kurt wonders if his father would enjoy their pool no longer holding leaves. It might encourage the both of them to use it more if it wasn't such a daunting task to take care of. Chewing on his lower lip, Kurt trails off into a fantasy of Puck taking up his invitation of lemonade and fucking him senseless in his bed. Following orders and making Kurt feel like how he's always wanted to feel.

Just thinking about it makes his heart beat faster.

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Kurt heads off to rehearsal in the new room, shutting off the light in the empty one, and whistles a happy tune as he walks down the hall.

Bullet points of random pros and cons

2009-09-19T17:12:58Z

Lists are fun~

Pro: Dissidia = unparalleled amounts of win

Con: Dissidia's large funtimes has aggrivated my tendon pains in my elbow. Now I have to ween myself off of it and wear a brace that takes the stress off the tendon in my left elbow that runs from my thumb to the inside of my elbow joint.

Pro: I've pretty much got the train systems down pat. Travelling is becoming less and less of an anxiety conjurer.

Con: People suck. People suck especially hard if I'm stuck behind them, attempting to dash to necessary trains and they stop in the middle of the stairs -a full-on stop- in order to check their blackberry. This makes it so I have to dash around them to catch my train, then they get annoyed and attempt to push past me. I've never wanted to Hulk out more and strike a person with a broken train pole before in my life.
People flirt with conductors, the ones who have the little window in the middle of the train and control the doors, and keep the train delayed for upwards of fifteen minutes. Etc etc etc etc

Pro: Starting the wheels turning on original fiction idea.

Con: Very hard self-critique. I wonder how many times I'll have to restart this one :D

Pro: Have gotten a Field Guide to Demons and a copy of the Necronomicon. Life is... interestingly awesome with new bizarre reading materials. At the least, it's research for prior mentioned original story.

Con: Original author of said Necronomicon died mysteriously because of his involvement with the cursed text. Don't need more negative karma in my life.

Pro: New Supernatural! Filled with win!

Con: .... Are there such things as cons to new Supernatural? :D

Leaving but posting mmmm priorities

2009-09-15T13:21:44Z

Oh Big Bang :D How could I have missed out on you for this long? Here, here. Have some pre-debut vids of one of my favorite guys in the group, T.O.P. (aka Seunghyun)along with fellow bandmember G-Dragon (aka Jiyong).

Random post of livingness

2009-09-12T15:55:03Z

So yeah... Just a heads up to people who I chat on AIM or other instant messengers since I've been basically AWOL on them for a while now. Work is work, work is being an adult -as scary as that is- and work is exhausting to my brain as I'm there for nearly twice as long as I get sleep on most nights. My ability to multi-task four or five conversations at once has dwindled to well... not being on any sort of messenger at all!

Which has me feeling bad that I've fallen out of communication of some people that I actually DO want to talk to. I know that keep in touch with emails isn't the same. It's not the same quickness or satisfaction of a real conversation, yeah, but at the moment -especially for the duration of this month as we're doing a big auction at the job- it's the best that I can offer for keeping in touch.

Those who know how to chat me up know my email, know how to prod at me and that is the best way as of late. Sorry isn't quite enough for falling off the proverbial map, but I suppose it's good for me to prioritize post-work brain relaxation into sleep -as I get like three/four hours after coming home from work to eat, relax, clean myself up, and then get to bed- without feeling like I've totally nixed myself out of being reachable.

Also, Laur! I know I've been really, really bad with you especially. Words of apology don't make up for it, and I'm sending out your package soon. I was checking the discs I burned for you a few days ago and for some reason they were sending up warning pop-ups about being bad discs so I got my hands on some new ones and will reburn what you wanted this weekend and hopefully get your care package out early next week! *hugs*

Hurt myself laughing

2009-08-30T03:44:24Z

This movie makes all the Tales from the Crypt movies whimper with envy at it's hysterical awesomeness :D

Too good not to share

2009-08-28T03:37:28Z

Two posts in one night, scandalous!! Perhaps NSFW because of the content~

Fic: The Alchemy of Life

2009-08-28T02:53:09Z

Title: The Alchemy of Life
Author: louie x
Pairing: Mickey/Jake and Mickey/OMC
Word Count: 1962
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Inspired by this fandom secret
Disclaimer: Nothing here belongs to me, just viciously inspired and loving every moment of it.
A/N: Banged this out in a couple hours after my betapixie sent me the secret in an email. Please enjoy!

Jack was proud, pleased, and offended when you turned him down.

His invitation to his team, that is. Nothing else with Captain Cheesecake there, of course. No sweeping dip of a kiss like the one he teasingly gave Martha when UNIT came to pick her up. No, no thanks. According to Martha, Jack can at least take care of those urges for man-tongue kisses with some suit he's got on that team of his.

You're fine with that. Jack's smile seems wider, more real since you last saw him. Not the liar and actor that Rose described in her stories of her adventures. Maybe this guy that Jack had back at his was the answer for such a happy Jack-boy.

But that's all a different story. That's not why you wanted to hang back... well, not entirely. Really, the thought of a life without your Nan, watching Rose lick her own private Doctor, and without Jake....

Jake, you remember him. Mouthy ginger brat who thought he was invincible as long as he kept smiling. The cheshire wanker who held the fastest record for loading any gun of any caliber on the special ops team of the Torchwood London branch. Your team, that you two led together.

That was, course, until he died taking a bullet for you. Died in your arms, in moments. No prolonged death in hospital. No gasping for breath while violins hummed in the background. No last words. None of that shit that the telly lies to you about.

Jake just went down and never came back up. By the time you turned him around and held him in your arms; you knew there was nothing left. Still you shook him, said his name, waiting through your blurring vision for some sign of your mate's usual grin along with words of him being okay. The smoke bombs didn't help to keep things clear or quiet either. Not that it wasn't a dangerous mission where anyone could have gotten hurt. Truly you all knew that, when you disembarked to stop an attack from a scourge that had ripped its way through from one of Rose's earlier attempts to get back to the Doctor on her Earth.

Not that she seemed to care that she tore apart the universe, using countless amounts of resources -and people- to do so. No, not when there was two of him now oh-so-overjoyed to see her.

You remember when it was just you and Jake. When you were still fighting the Cybermen on his Earth and the machines were limping enough for the occasional day-off in their war. Those nights it wasn't odd for the two of you to sit outside in a park, on a tired old bench, and share a drink or fifteen under a night sky. Usually, just before you were totally hammered, one or both of you would have strange moments of clarity. Like being hit by momentary enlightenment or a backhand across the face from some passing God, the thoughts would fall out of your mouths to either silent agreement or raucous laughter.

Once Jake said, "On a dare, I got my prick stuck in a bottle when I was eleven."

That sent you both rolling about, tumbling one after the other from the bench onto the soft grass at your feet.

Another time, he confessed, "I met Ricky the day after I ran away from home. Dad was a drunk bastard and I got tired of making up excuses for black eyes." You didn't know what to say but let him have an extra shot of the scotch you were sharing.

You said once, "In school, people called me Mickey Mouse and it bloody well stuck.Even followed me to the place I worked at before comin' here." When he laughed, you rolled your eyes and shook your head. "Yeah yeah, get on with it then. I'm sure you'd love to just spread that around the other guys."

"Nope," came the reply. That was, course, after Jake got a grip on himself and dabbed the tears from his eyes. His face was flushed, both from booze and his giggling like a fool. "Cos you see, Mouse," the other man scooted a bit closer, all under the guise of telling a secret but was, in actuality, sneaking the bottle out from between the two of you to get more for himself. Jake took a long swig, wincing at the burn down his throat but then laughed. Breath clouding above his head even though the night wasn't that cold.

"In school, one of the bullies we had was this American shithead, right? He used to call me 'Cheddar'."

A moment of silence passed before you grinned and laughed along with him.

Another time, you confessed, "Sometimes I think Rose'll stop being so obsessed with the Doctor and remember we were happy once. That I made her happy. Now... Now when she looks at me, all I can see in her eyes is some stupid booby-prize when she wanted that damn giant stuffed toy at the carnival of life..." You trailed off, mouth growing closer to the bottle until you took several long gulps to push the thoughts away.

"You still love her?" Jake asked hesitantly.

"Dunno." It's honest at least. You didn't know what you two have, let alone if what you had was anything real since it was so quickly forgotten. "Woulda married that girl if I had the chance, I think." You were starring off into space then, thinking back to a wedding you remember as a little boy that was so beautiful and lovely. How easily you can think about Rose being there, beautiful as ever, but not as the little baby she ought to have been.

But your memories from then are thin, smoke-like wisps of images and sensations.

Jake's hand was on your shoulder but you ignore it, too busy trying to bury yourself in your drink. Its not until his fingers were stroking your scalp, fingers twisting in little circles along your short hair in a way that snapped your attention right into the moment.

Somewhere in your head, you were telling yourself to run and go find some pretty blond and work out all these issues relatively alone. Not with Jake and his eyes, only focused on you, or that hand that started sending shivers down your spine.

Not that mouth, always grinning, down-turned just enough to silently voice his dislike of Rose before it was pressed against yours. Soft, perfect, a small bite to get you to remember to breathe and damn, you'd forgotten how long it was since you'd done anything like that.

The annoying voice from before was loud again, but on one point you found yourself agreeing with it. You broke the kiss, "I'm not Ricky," tumbling out of your mouth before you can rationally stop yourself. Real smooth of you to twist that knife right after sticking your tongue down his throat.

Jake just laughed again, cuffing you on the side of the head. "Stupid Mouse, I know that."

You could never be the Doctor. Not in a million years. But you could be brave like him. Be clever and quick on your feet. Be a hero who saved countless lives; all of that you could do, you DID do and still Rose's eyes were turned toward the stars.

You could never be Ricky and made that clear from day one. But Jake wasn't kissing Ricky then. No, he was kissing you and listening to you blather on and on.

That was your first, and far from your last, kiss.

But he took a bullet for you and hit the ground in silence. The comfort of it being an instantaneous death did little to heal the ache of his face in death. How the blood that pumped out of his chest also fell in slow drips from his parted lips. Even worse, how his eyes were fastened on some distant point, unfocused beneath his heavy lids until you closed them with a soft touch.

A week after you turn down Jack's job offer, the world's looking a bit more normal again, even if it was just cosmically towed across the universe and nearly blown up on the whim of the mental father of all Daleks. You can't ignore the pride in your heart at the resiliency of your species, bouncing back so quick, how it makes you breathe in deeper the fresh air of the twilight hour.

You have no idea if he'll show up. Something in your gut always told you that the bench was important to Jake; a reason he hadn't gotten to spit out yet, maybe a few more nights of drinking and he'd have spilled whatever it was.

Still, you wait and have been waiting for the past three days.

When he touched your shoulder you were torn between throwing up from nerves or just grabbing him then and there. The only reason you didn't say anything, just looked up at him, was the looming knowledge of alternative universes being pretty fucking alternate when it came to details.

He's not dressed in a suit or anything that jarringly out of place, you thought while taking not-your-Jake in. Denims and a thin jumper cling to his still wiry, strong-looking body, they go well with the simple trainers on his feet and slight styling to his hair.

You missed the spikes but told yourself he wasn't your Jake.

"Um," he started with an embarrassed clearing of his throat. "Right, this is gonna sound weird but you mind if I sit where you are?" It wasn't as if the bench wasn't big enough, but once you thought about it, Jake did always get to their bench first and sit down on the same side.

When you slid away obligingly, a plaque that was pressed against your coat by your back catches your eye. Not-your-Jake ran his thumb over the inscribed words and stood in respectful silence for a fleeting moment.

'Amanda Simmons, beloved mother. 'Always look toward the next sunrise.'', it read.

His name is Jacob. He's going to a college in London, still undecided for a major so he's taking a little bit of everything. Computer sciences, history, music, and even a new line of courses that studied current events pertaining to extra terrestrial encounters.

Jacob smiles when you ask about the plaque. He explains about his mother and tells you of how she died of an illness, but peacefully at home. On this Earth, she grabbed him and ran before his father got too violent with either one of them. Her parents bought the bench where she would always take Jacob to play and where she married her second husband, a wealthy doctor that looked after her ginger-haired son like his own.

Jacob asks you out for drinks as your conversation lingers past dusk. He smiles again, casual and comfortable.

"Have we met before?" Jacob asks you as they walk away from the bench toward a pub. Thoughts of a wise-cracking rebel hero comes to mind, flittering between the number of freckles over his entire body -352, though its count was up for debate- to how Jake's mouth tasted after morning coffee on a long stakeout.

"It's just, I dunno. You seem..." you chuckle as the other man's words trail off. "Not familiar in the sense of you think you saw me doing something embarrassing on the tee-vee, I hope." You say. Laughing with you, Jacob sighs and lets the feeling drop in favor of freshly poured lagers.

For the record, your own personal record,let it be noted several 'dates' later you can happily settle on a count of 337 freckles on Jacob. From head to toe.

Movie spam time~!

2009-08-25T12:59:41Z

While waiting for my stomach to pick a direction to remain in, I busied myself with youtube and share the findings now because... well, some of this stuff needs to be seen by others :D

Take 'Ninja Assassin' the latest MTV fueled flick starring the one and only Kpop star RAIN as the titular woe-filled protagonist.

Apologies in advance for the ad at the beginning That's rather annoying indeed, YT, hopefully it won't do that for everyone :P BUT nonetheless, this is my amused face! You go Rain, you dip your toes into the American markets first with a strange rivalry with Stephen Colbert and now filling the spot that Jet Li's been slowly pulling away from. GOOD LUCK RAIN!! He was enjoyable in the Speed Racer movie, small part or not, I'm interested to see how he'll handle being the main character of his own action film.

Then there's this :D
Alice in Wonderland Trailer While yeah, some people might be tired of Johnny Depp being Tim Burton's on screen counterpart/muse/extension of self, I can't wait for this movie. Pity there's no Alan Rickman in this trailer, hopefully there will be more peeks of all the characters as it gets closer to the release date!

Ugh, seriously people?

2009-08-25T11:43:45Z

If your car is so, so loud that it sets off alarms of parked cars in it's wake... at 7:30 in the morning... then your car is too damn loud.

GTFO of my neighborhood, thanks.

Not your Grandmother's kind of Angels

2009-08-14T15:26:51Z

The new Paul Bettany film 'LEGION' is coming out soon. Here's a nice big bite of a trailer, over five minutes long, totally worth a look see. Creepy ice-cream man, though, is very, very creepy... Perhaps NSFW cos of blood, monsters, and violence.

Movie trailer for 'Gamer'

2009-08-04T04:44:59Z

Dude I'm so there :D

Stuff that causes vexation

2009-07-29T23:59:49Z

Most people, when employed Mondays through Fridays, look forward to the end of their work week. I find myself dreading each and every Friday to the point of shakes and stomach agida just thinking about it. I dread it because I wait for the day to end without my bosses firing me (as they are nice to at least give you the week to finish up).

Im pretty sure they like me, and I know I work hard, but tardiness is tardiness and I'm terrified of Fridays. Yeah.

It has been found!

2009-07-18T17:45:35Z

You ever have one of those thoughts where it trips over something in one of the many wrinkles in your brain.. which then drives you slightly mad because you can't remember what the hell it is you're attempting to recall?

I was advising a friend of mine to calm down, we were in midst of massive giggles in the back of a cab, and said for her to not 'collapse into a pile of bubble gum'. It just sort of fell out of my mouth, then led me to wonder where it came from. Also, why it was accompanied by the visual of a giant multiple breast laden monster and a fur loincloth wearing barbarian.

Bless google, bless it good. It led me back to a pilot of a cartoon from 2006 called 'Korgoth the Barbarian'. The first part is below, the other two parts in the pilot are under the cut :D Warnings for sex, blood, gore, and inappropriate humor!!

Children of Earth over all SPOILERS FOR EVERYTHING

2009-07-11T15:19:31Z

I'm still not sure, its churning about in my head at the moment still but the more I come back to it -Gwen pregnant, Ianto a liar about everything, and Jack off not being Jack anymore- the more it seems like less of THE END OF ALL THINGS and potentially still open-ended.

Hell, at least for the fic-writers its a lovely jumping off point for umpteen million things.

Gwen and Rhys plus one! I rather liked the thought of Gwen getting that family she monologued about in 1x06 Countrycide (the one interrupted by Torchwood's influence and then her insistence to sleep with Owen). Most likely with Jack gone and the hub gone Gwen will either slide into a UNIT-like position or be kicked up to a high ranking police job, yes yes? I rather like that thought for Gwen, surviving all the insanity of Torchwood with her child, her marriage, and many doors for a career still open to her. While sure, some people might shout MARY SUE powers to credit that unharmed lifestyle, I think it suits Gwen to be able to keep running forward now that she's been molded in Jack's image to be a hero AND a wife AND a mother.

Downers about Gwen's plot toward the end? Okay, I don't know about you, but when I make my videos about the world ending and this is my last statement before the aliens and/or government kill us all; I tend to do it WITHOUT small, easily frightened children around me. Aren't they supposed to be keeping these kids quiet and calm? Don't be runnin' off at the mouth then about the end of the world or a heroic Doctor that thinks we're lame and won't save us. Although, bravo on that because the ENTIRE time I was waiting for his noodly self to show up and reverse the polarity of something in order to save the day. MORE ON THAT IN A BIT!

So Ianto, after his final argument with Jack about telling him everything, is revealed by Rhiannon to still be a liar. His father is not this romanticized version of the Master Tailor that we've all deeply enjoyed and attributed Ianto's love of suits to. Which leaves us, as an audience, now with a once-again empty bag of what we thought was backstory to Ianto Jones. Glimpses between the conversations with his sister perhaps lead to an overbearing/abusive father? A son who molded himself however he could to please this figure in his life, a mother that's barely mentioned and is presumably deceased by this point, and a life that consists of his sister and her family as mere periphery details. The last point of course, could be him protecting them -as he did all throughout, save for when he wanted to borrow a child to poke at in the first day- but why lie about his father? I feel there's a conversation between Gwen and Rhiannon -although Rhiannon and Jack need to have a lovely sit down too, if you ask me *notes the bunny and sets it aside*- that would have been a lovely bit of expositional closure if we did learn a bit more about Ianto as a boy, as only his sister could say. Instead we get Gwen's care-bear-stare reaction to the news and that's the last we hear of it. Which us with our unknown depths Ianto Jones still being well, relatively unknown.

Jack, Jack Jack. Wow, does it EVER suck to be Jack this season. Bomb in the belly, shunned from his family, losing people he cares about through alien attack and by having to stand aside and sacrifice someone dear to him for the greater good. Phew, I don't blame him for wanting to get away from Earth. Despite doing a pretty good job of keeping the bulk of our species safe, maybe it would do him a bit of good to be someone else for a while. Someone who's not leaving behind so many dead lovers and colleagues, someone who can relax and not have to be the ill-fated hero for a while. Jack needs to not be Captain Jack Harkness and all that entails because Captain Jack Harkness is a cursed name of a lonely man.

There's a lot that I, as a fan, fanfic writer, and fan of his relationship with Ianto, feel could have been done for Jack's sake before episode four. And I'm not just meaning some random sex between him and Ianto for us to ooh and ahh at either :D But Ianto's death was quick, less than two minutes long, and while it was still tear-jerkingly tragic, the fact that Jack all but ignored him save for their argument prior up until that point somewhat stifled the poignancy of that death for me. We know that Ianto loves him. Now, it's officially been said out loud and we know that Ianto Jones loves Jack Harkness so much that it's something he's so frightened of he can barely talk to Jack about it at all. But Jack's emotional POV, up until he shouts at the 456 to take back what he said in order to stop the toxins from killing Ianto, we still don't really know. That's about the closest we've ever gotten to Jack admitting Ianto's importance and overall love for him. Just after he tells Ianto not to love, that it's all his fault, and not to leave him behind.

Why not just say he loves him too? Fans, viewers, book readers, whatever you are, if you know enough about Jack Harkness you know that love isn't a foreign concept to him. He fell in love with the original Harkness in 1x12 Captain Jack Harkness in one night! Why is it so difficult for him to turn to his button-nosed boyfriend and say that he loves him? Ianto instead suffers barbs from just about everyone around him, reminding him that Jack's dislike of the word couple and almost sneering jive at Ianto acting like one-half, make it seem like Jack takes their entire relationship as something... I don't know, casual? Unimportant? Where's the emotional depth and comfort that we know Jack feels? That James Moran's lovely Captain's blog has shown us that Jack can feel? Why does it seem like Jack loving Ianto has to be an off to the side, text only, secret?

The Doctor. I kind of like the internal meta that was Gwen's video recording of doom. That she's aware of him enough to know that it's a sore spot for Jack and never cornered him about it. And yet despite him being this hero who through sheer belief of his name turned into the tinkerbell-Doctor and beat the Master, not that Gwen knows about that per se, would for some reason turn his nose up at Earth and not help them. I'm not sure, he'd shame us all the way through, but I doubt he'd turn his back on all of the children.

Speaking of the Doctor, I had a shower epiphany while digesting the very last scene in my head again. You know, the one where ~~the Doctor~~Jack was saying goodbye to ~~Rose~~Gwen on the ~~Bad Wolf Bay~~ hilltop. Where she thought he should stay behind for her and he told her that that was an impossible request, basically. He needed to be away and good on for him attempting to move past, not get bogged down by the deaths he's been mired with for how many hundreds if not thousands of years now? Stop copying and pasting yourself RTD, WE CAN ALL SEE IT!

Alice and Johnson need to be on a new action team now. Yes, Alice understandably might hate Jack but please to use that hatred to protect the world from this ever happening again. TW3 2.0 anyone? :D

Lastly, the most tragic death of all, has to be that of John Frobisher and his family. A man who got lumped on every which way and just kept his head down until it became too much. If he'd only held out a sliver of hope, his children would be fine and the world saved. But in a moment of despair, he lifted his head and took control in an extremely dire situation. While yes, I cried when Ianto died, I feel like I ought to actually mourn the beautifully crafted character of Frobisher after the ringing of those four fateful shots.

Children of Earth episode four bandwagon SPOILERS

2009-07-10T12:32:33Z

So... yeah.

I think what vexes more than the actual events of killing off both Ianto and Clem -which in it's proximity to Ianto's death, will be COMPLETELY overshadowed, poor guy- but that given the history of RTD's writing I have little to no faith that today's episode (Day Five) will have any sort of.... mending. Notoriously, RTD's epic finales have fallen on their face at the very end, left horrible tastes in my mouth, and felt like a night of binge drinking with a terrible hang over in the morning that ruins the fun partying just prior.

But I'll give props where they're due too; Days 1-4 have been impressive! While yeah, I agree with other people out here on our vast, wonderful internets, I'm not sure quite what was Jack's plan when he got a chance to see the 456 other than to die (as his usual plan) after mouthing off at them. Which yeah, not quite sure what else would've been done at the moment because the drama of the last five minutes is still making my brain kind of mushy, but it does seem a fail filled plan even on paper XD C'mon Jack, you've been around for how many years? That handy flashback in the beginning told us that they threatened with horrific bioweapons before -wasn't the 12 kid trade to stop that from happening?- so it's a bit silly to just forget that they would at least THREATEN this, let alone use it on the sassy, ballsy TW crew.

Jack seems to be a bit floundering, in general, aside from being the go-to guy who can do your suicide runs for you and come back with a smile as he hands in his report of 'mission accomplished'. We, the viewers, are seeing Gwen and Ianto grow into competent members of Torchwood while Jack floats about being secretive, angsty, swishy (since he got his coat back), but still relatively inert. Other than driving around, remembering something he should have remembered earlier, and again the whole dying lots but coming back thing; what has Jack done so far?

My next question is this thrill that RTD has with killing off people from our main group, if he does so every season (and yes, I do include Suzie's death in the first season in this category) doesn't it somewhat cheapen those deaths? If the sacrifice of Owen and Tosh is overshadowed by subsequent deaths because a season can't go by without losing another main character, then.... bad writing, y/n? I'm not sure, I'm still stuck on that myself.

Death=realism, sure, I get that. But I'm watching a sci-fi program meant to extend disbelief that's used gloves to bring back the dead and allows chavy shop girls to save the world repeatedly. If this is the same RTD-created universe where Rose can build a device in an AU that basically splits the known existence down the middle, basically giving the universe enough leeway to allow Caan to fly in and bring back Davros, BUT there's no magical ressurection in episode five? I might be a bit disappointed. It's fifty-fifty time here, RTD! THE FATE OF YOUR SHOW HANGS IN THE BALANCE OF IANTO'S RETURN. Which sounds an awful lot like a blubbering fan who can't handle death of characters (I was messed up by Tosh and Owen plenty, but taking Ianto away too does seem too much in that now more of our cast has died than survived) in dramatic and real situations, I know. But seriously, whether the fandom or the creators like it or not, Ianto is a POPULAR CHARACTER. There are several people who's ljs I follow that have basically dusted their hands and set the series aside to not watch again if Ianto is dead for good.

It's very, very risky. Beautifully tragic, well acted, well done in all aspects -Euros Lyn, again I applaud your visuals- but Day Five sits teetering on quite the fandom chasm of doom if it's not handled right.

I want to have faith in RTD's skill as a writer, creator, and producer. I do. He's done some BRILLIANT things, really! But I don't know. I'm torn, which as a fan upsets me not because I want to be fluffed and folded and coddled into comfort, but because I honestly think that this series might crash and burn because of this bold maneuver.

Am I enjoying Children of Earth? Overall? Yes, it's above and beyond anything before it in some places but drags in others. The actors have been amazing, the direction is gorgeous, and the writing (James Moran still gets mega love, chopping block to the FACE! will never not be awesome) for the most has been GOOD :D

Do I want Ianto to come back, perhaps with some alien-added longevity to his lifetime? Suuuure, that'd be awesome and something to focus on in the hypothetical season four! HOW ARE THE KIDS STILL KIDS? WHAT IS THE 456 DOING TO THEM? CAN IT BE USED AS AN ANTIDOTE/AUTO-REVIVE?

Am I holding my breath? Well... surprise me RTD. C'mon, prove that you're as brilliant as you keep saying and wow me with this last episode. Please?

P.S. LOOK LADY CHARACTERS DONE RIGHT! LOIS, JOHNSON, AND ALICE! LOVES THEM~ (Also, Alice and Johnson need to be in some sort of action team in the future, y/y?)

Fic: Mood Switch

2009-07-04T20:05:41Z

Title: Mood Switch
Author: louie x
Pairing: Kangin/Leeteuk
Word Count: 911
Rating: R
Summary: The fans aren't the only ones who keep up with Jungsoo's cyworld updates.
Disclaimer: RPF is just fiction. I do not own them, do not have any say in their lives, etc etc.
A/N: Has anyone else been outrageously depressed by Leeteuk's cyworld as of late? Seriously, somebody need to hug that man until he finally relaxes. Today's posts were just... well, this fic happened because of them~

He closes his laptop and sits in silence; mind racing as his lower lip worries between his teeth. There are simple answers to the problems set before him, most certainly. However, those answers have consequences in the long run that twist like knives in his gut.

It's hours later when he finally decides what to do. The thumbprint lock clicks open and a slender body slips through the entrance. Shoes are forgotten not far from the door, a jacket tossed near a coat rack, and shuffling steps walk deeper into the dormitory. Exhaustion is clear in the posture, the gait, and he can't help but move from his room to sweep the young man into his arms.

There's a whine, only at first. A hint of protest in the pressure of hands against his chest before the brow drops onto his broad shoulder. Neither say anything, neither speaks a word until he hears the soft hiccups of acceptance in the form of tears and gentle sobs.

His arms tighten around his friend, walking back to his room and laying them both down on the too-too small bed. At least there's a modicum of privacy with the lights off and lack of windows interrupting the darkness. Folding their bodies together, he starts to remove layers of clothing keeping the pale, scarred skin at bay. Kissing the hints of pain and trauma once the other young man's on his stomach, he rubs away lines of tension writ tight into the muscles and bones. Works his hands over knots until little grunts and moans give way to relaxation. The tears finally stop, little rubs of the smooth face against the slightly plush pillow dry the tracks left like stains upon skin.

Moving to face one another, they kiss. Hands cupping faces as tongues tenderly stroke, tangling only to shy away, as the attempt is to calm and not overexcite. Arousal is not something that will be ignored, but it's not his goal for the man beneath him. He kisses his way down to a strong throat, licking at the dip of the collarbone on the too, too skinny frame. There's concern in his mumbles, soft words against the bone to encourage more sleep, more food, more overall care to the well being of someone so dear to him.

"I love you," he whispers. They're words he can never say aloud in public. Words no one else can know and it rips him inside to know that they bring forth more tears from his lover. It's a warm heat that brushes over his fingers; it tastes of the rain and the ocean as he kisses them away. But it doesn't stop him from whispering the words again and again. Every tear that falls he licks away, the sobs he catches in his mouth with more embraces, until the body beneath him clings tightly to him.

They rub and thrust, hands touching everywhere and anywhere as the passion of the moment begins to crest. Pain and sadness twist into pleasure and euphoria, driving the orgasms from their bodies. Gasping for breath against his shoulder, there's a soft sound of laughter mingling between the hurrying pants for oxygen. He's not sure if it's good or bad to hear the mirthful tones and shivers, unable to do anything but hold his lover tight against him.

No one bothers them the next morning, allowing for an easy day of rest and recuperation. Too many nights gone by without sleep, without proper meals, every bit of it a simple sacrifice for the bigger picture of countless fans screaming their names. He awakens to an empty bed, ignoring the pains in his chest, as he knows his lover's gone off again to work tirelessly at one thing or another.

On one hand, he makes them all look bad with such an ethic toward their duties. On the other, it will shorten his life to burn so brightly for so long, so young.

He reaches under his pillow where a small box should have been hidden but instead pulls back a folded piece of paper. Where a birthday present was wrapped and carefully hidden, a surprise for his lover that morning, sits instead a note with his name across the top. Unfolding it, he thinks of the necklace with the secret locket hidden behind a pendant's face. Within it is picture of them together, smiling and happy with an arm around each other, and an engraving of 'no matter what, you will be in my heart' on the opposing inner panel.

The note bears only one sentence, written in his lover's slightly angled handwriting.

It reads: I love you too, Youngwoon.

Kangin leans back against his bedding and tips his face against the pillow. There he can smell Leeteuk's shampoos and the faint hint of his tears the night before. Never has he heard the words but often they're left for him in text message or notes placed where he will always be able to find them.

Strangely enough he never minds the anonymity of what translates to be affection from the other man. Nor does Kangin ever once doubt the sincerity of them, regardless of not hearing them from Leeteuk's smiling lips. He looks over the note one last time and carefully replaces it under his pillow.

Later that day, he watches the Sukira broadcast on the computer and cannot fight the grin to see the sparkling silver around Leeteuk's neck.

Nine fingered salute~

2009-07-02T12:25:57Z

I was accidentally nommed upon by my piggie Spock and now have a painful wound on my index finger. This interferes with things like... lots of stuff. Although, I'm more upset about having to wear a band-aid, which gets my finger all pruny and itchy, than the actual bite itself. Ahh priorities.

Meanwhile~ Here have some random links that are both amusing, gross, or just plain interesting :D

Sewer Monsters exist!! And are very, very gross. Embedded on this page is a video that's made it's way about the internet of 'monsters' within this one sewage pipe but they look more like strange kicking egg sacs than anything else. Barf bags might be necessary as ugh, totally turned my stomach BUT IT IS TOO BIZARRE NOT TO SHARE!

Bollywood style He-Man! I don't know the right way to use the English language to describe how awesome this is :D

Flight of the Conchords do their Robots song Because everyone needs a bit of these New Zealanders in their day. For reals, these guys I've listened to umpteen billion times over and I still laugh like a ninny.

Fic: Cerebellum, By Invitation Only

2009-06-27T17:15:48Z

Title: Cerebellum, By Invitation Only
Author: louie x
Pairing: Master/Doctor, Master/Donna
Word Count: 2247
Rating: R
Summary: Donna Noble has been many places in the universe, but the last place she expected to be was downloaded -again- into someone's mind.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, this is all BBC and RTD, etc etc. SPOILERS for the season 3 and season 4 finales.
A/N: Written for a friend's birthday with the request of Donna and the Master bonding in some way. She gave me permission to repost publicly~ Thanks to the beta pixie for help!

She awakes in what seems to be a rather lavish tea party.

Looking around, Donna Noble sits up from where she's slumped upon the table and brushes some of her auburn locks from her eyes. The people are either eating or idly chatting amongst one another. The sounds are white noise, not quite interesting enough yet to catch her attention fully. Dips and buzzes of various languages in between bites of food, as if the words are just as habitual a motion as the chewing was for their mouths.

"Ah, she rises," a voice slurs from the front of the table.

Donna looks up and sees a man in a crisp black suit staring at her. He sits at the head of the table, fingering a half-empty glass of wine next to his untouched plate. Their eyes meet and Donna shivers. She knows that man's face from the television, from verbal description, when the Doctor’s eyes would go distant and hurt.

As a super-temp, she had to learn faces before names. Donna was very good at picturing people in order to give other employees directions toward a person in question. The man, who sits at the head of the table just to her left, grins and inclines his head in a mock greeting.

"Noble, Donna Noble, " he coos. "It is a bit of a spy name, you ever think of settling down into a steady line of espionage for employment?"

The Master's smile has yet to slide off his face. Donna is determined to not show any sign of weakness; the Doctor was surely... somewhere. She replies, with an added toss of her hair as she sits up taller, "Depends on if I get partnered up with something more than a noodle. Like that new Bond fella, someone a bit more three-dimensional."

She sips her wine and he laughs. His hand slaps against the tabletop, which stops the motion of the rest of their attendees at the table. Their eyes are empty and pale, staring at Donna and the giggling Timelord beside her. "This is his collection of lovers, friends, and the long-lost who've touched his hearts."

"The what now?" Flashbacks of being 'collected' by a future library, a husband and children, a sudden flash of an ache in her heart as her breath catches in her chest. Beside her, the Master just shakes his head, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Oh nothing like that. Merely this is where people who are important to him go. Sort of a spot of honor when he knows he's lost them for good," he replies.

Lost for good. She shifts and tries to think back to the last thing that happened to her before waking up at this table. The universe was within her reach, headache aside, she could keep up with the Doctor and be the friend -the mate- he wanted.

Then his hands were on her and there were tears in his eyes and... and.…

"Mmm," the Master hums. "Sounds like he stole everything from you. Ripped it right out of your cerebellum and turned you into your vapid, pre-him, self."

"The selfish bastard," Donna swears before she realizes it. It startles the Master, obviously, as his brows almost leap off his face, before he laughs. Donna finishes her glass of wine and glares at the other people at the table until they go back to busying themselves with food and drink.

Time passes strangely in this place, the woman notices. The large group of them, so far too diverse to count, are of various species and humans from all sorts of era and ages. "All dead or dying or lost," the Master tells her. He's become a constant that Donna, despite finding him irksome with his manic cheek, has become a welcoming reminder that she's not entirely alone. It's a house with no windows, no doors -just doorways- and an innumerable gallery of rooms.

"See that French bit there?" The Master says while they were eying a lovely blonde in a large period-piece gown. "Dear Doctor got to know her tongue first through a fireplace, but she's gone now. Pity though, she was apparently quite the kisser."

Donna greets the woman, who curtsies and smiles. A true French Lady that speaks highly of the Doctor, but seems saddened that it's been so long since she's seen him.

The Master introduces her to a petite waitress, who vibes like an adventurer despite her servant's outfit. She grins wide and openly at Donna. Waiting only a few moments into their conversation to talk about the secret rooms and passageways of their accommodations. Astrid will be the one to find the missing windows or a real door, Donna thinks. She lets the Master take her arm as they seek out another bottle of wine to open and share.

"You're someone he hates, he told me about you," she says over the swirling violet in her glass. "Why're you here if this is where he puts people he wants to keep around?"

The Master blinks at her before shrugging, an elegant and strangely sedate motion for the animated man. "We were in love once. Well, a few dozen times probably by now. Regenerations can change a person, not always in the best of ways, but he and I have a rather intricate history."

His stories about their time as children, as students, as enemies, and as friends all come with the Master throwing himself left and right in order to act out the tales. One arm over his head, imaginary sword in hand, as he describes various duels they had in older-formed but younger regenerations. The Master hops about on one foot as he describes fooling the Cybermen while attempting to save not one, but four forms of the Doctor trapped within the games of Rassilion back on their home planet.

"What's Gallifrey like?" Donna asks. They're sitting on the floor, backs against the wall, and the Master has taken off his shoes. He was complaining just prior about all the running the Doctor does and how his own feet could never have gotten used to it -a backhanded compliment to Donna wearing heeled shoes around the Timelord- and rubs them sympathetically regardless of being still for the past god-knows how many hours.

Looking to her, the Master pauses before he chooses to answer. "It's a home that hated me. A home that shunned me because I was a statistical anomaly." She frowns, not understanding what he means, so the Master takes her hand and leads her into an adjoining room. There at the center of an entirely white room, a purple vortex spins. It hums with an enchanting beat, the steady heartbeat of time thrumming throughout their bodies as they watch it swirl. "This fucked up thing sat on Gallifrey and all good little Timelords and ladies had to face it before going into the academy. You either become enlightened like most, maddened like very few, or you run, like some. Like the Doctor did."

Donna squeezes the Master's hand as he talks. His eyes seem unable to tear away from the vortex and Donna, her mind tingling with just whispers now of the Doctor's knowledge, thinks that the Master got a bad hand dealt to him. Madness wrapped within a purpose to not be forgotten, it's what any explorer/scholar/adventurer would do. The Master was consumed as a boy by the purpose of every Timelord and has been clawing at the one person who bothered to get close enough to him to care.

"He loves you, you know."

He snorts in reply, turning and leading her from the room. Music fills the place of the vortex's song, as it seems their other guests have gathered in the dance hall for a strange mix of old waltzes and Britney Spears. The Master dances on the tables and does a strip tease, garnering both hoots of enjoyment and gasps of shock from the crowd. Donna just grins and wishes she had notes in order to stick them into the amusing heart-stamped boxers he's wearing.

They have sex only once and it's while they're both startlingly drunk. He calls out a name she doesn't recognize but knows in her gut belongs to the Doctor. She thinks of a man who stuttered but loved her and now lives thirty centuries in her future. It's awkward and unfulfilling, they both decide never to do it again. Although the Master has a fondness of her breasts that makes Donna blush.

He is entirely unapologetic about randomly palming or groping them in mid conversation regardless of whom else is involved. Donna learns to laugh, to throw her head back and join his laughter as his thumb brushes over her nipple through her bra.

Sometimes they watch the vortex together. Just leaning against the wall, heads and shoulders touching. Their fingers barely brush against one another on the smooth parlor floor and Donna sighs contently. It doesn't even bother her when she starts to hear the drumbeat of the vortex in other rooms of the palatial estate. The Master notices it before she does, fighting a look of sympathy and madness in his eyes as he spots her fingers tapping the pattern out on the table. He intertwines their fingers in a tight hold and Donna lets out a sigh as it stops them both from succumbing to the enchanting sound.

Days, years, months could pass and Donna has no idea. They don't really sleep per se, but close their eyes and awake in different rooms refreshed and in a change of clothes. It's an odd existence, a prison without any doubt, but at the very least she's well taken care of. There's a strange tingle in her gut and the Master grins as he spots a blond-haired man in a cricket outfit chatting up a gaggle of Queens in the dance hall. This Doctor is funny and young, not mired by war or Rose, and Donna hugs him before she realizes it. "I don't think we've met yet," this Doctor says with a grin as he returns her hug regardless.

"No," Donna says with tears in her eyes. "No you haven't. But you just keep on smiling, you stupid Martian, and that'll be enough for now."

The Master shakes his head to stop this Doctor from correcting her that he is most certainly not from Mars. Not that there's anything wrong with being from the little red planet, of course.

One by one, she meets the prior regenerations. It's all very odd and disconcerting, to know so much about a person, to feel them when they're in the room, but to have them stare so blankly at her. She gets used to smiling away the feeling and holding out her hand, "Donna Noble, companion, human, and super-temp." A few of the Doctors are rude, prudish older men, while others are younger and quite sassy in ways that leaves her aching from bouts of laughter. They all have different reactions to the Master, though understanding where they are in the sense of emotional/mental containment, they don't do much other than raise a brow and clear their throats.

Finally, her Doctor shows up.

It pains her to think that it means he's died, of sorts. That someone else touches the TARDIS's controls and rushes about the universe, running everywhere as he causes trouble left and right while trying to save too many to count. She throws her arms around him, squeezing him tight. "Lucky I don't get a paper cut on your skinny self, Doctor," she says between tears. "Couldn't put a bite of food into that big mouth of yours and put on a few, hmm? You make the rest of us look positively porkish standing next to you."

He grins and holds her back, kissing her brow and her cheek. "Yeah well, my lifestyle doesn't allow much for sitting around and stuffing my face. More of the 'big explosions, please don't shoot, wait-what what what?' kind of existence as of late." The Doctor lets her go and sees the Master behind her, dressed in his usual sedate dark suit and white shirt, and takes pause. They stare at one another until Donna scoffs and steps aside, shoving the Master forward.

"Go on," she encourages with a wave of her hands. "I'll go get us some drinks. You two catch up, hug, shag, whatever. Just don't take too long, I'm sure we got loads to talk about!" Donna ducks out of the room, feeling the vortex banging away at her brain, and waits out in the hall until the count of ten. Peeking back inside, she chews on her lower lip as she sees the two men clinging silently to one another as if intent to fuse themselves into one body.

"Koschei," the Doctor whispers. His fingers tighten against the dark material on the Master's back. The other man just grins against the brown-coated shoulder, his mirth bubbling up into uncontrollable laughter. "Romantic idiot," the Master murmurs. "No one's called me that in years. Not even the other yous."

Donna grins to herself and returns to her quest of fetching spirits for the occasion of her Doctor's sort of death. Even though she exists now, an echo of herself at her peak of existence, in some corner of the living Doctor's vast mind, its become far less of a dire experience with it's latest addition.

Last minute post before I run out to work

2009-06-26T13:11:56Z

I love this for being something officially done and NOT being a fanvid (not that there's anything wrong with fanvids) but these two have had the love for 40+ years. We'd all be lucky to have such lasting fun and friendships :D