+ mouth full of words.
- Tagging: Noah Puckerman & Kurt Hummel
- Time: Evening, 3/2
- Location: Out near the tracks
- Notes: There’s a lot left unsaid.
He kept his gaze trained on Puck and rolled his eyes, he wasn’t a martyr. He had no plans to die for any cause and he wanted to say so. And he wasn’t really doing it for others; he didn’t come out so that others would try it. He’d done it because he didn’t like lying about himself like he was ashamed. Because hewasn’t ashamed of himself. Not really. Not even when people talked about him.
He rolled his eyes at the semi-joke about his headphones and muttered something under his breath about them not being that heavy but he didn’t correct Puck because he could see what Puck was saying. Despite himself almost.
He blinked at the comment about Sam, huffing a soft laugh and shaking his head. Puck had it wrong. Sam was too good for him. Too nice and too blonde and he just tended to grin at Kurt almost vacantly when he talked about how he’d discovered a new artist on Spotify and he treated Kurt like he might break sometimes. Kurt wasn’t sure when he’d stopped wanting that, someone that’d just humor him and open doors and be ridiculously charming to his dad when they met. But it wasn’t what he wanted, which he guessed was the best possible example of how sometimes your wants change.
He shivered as their fingers interlaced and he felt a bit breathless, but he couldn’t help but frown again as Puck denied that he should be trusted and Kurt was about to open his mouth and protest that he definitely should trust Puck because he was Kurt’s only friend. But he stopped because he noticed how Puck kept moving closer and Kurt couldn’t help but let his eyes wander down to Puck’s lips before snapping his gaze back up to Puck’s eyes.
Puck was still so close though and Kurt felt his heart starting to race as he started wondering if it wasactually about to happen. But then it did and Puck was kissing him and one of his hands was pressed against Kurt’s cheek and Kurt couldn’t help but melt against him.
Kurt liked Sam. A lot. And…he’d even kissed Sam once or twice. Short, chaste kisses that Sam had leaned in and pressed against his lips before leaning back and almost bashfully asking if that’d been okay. And they had been okay. Really. Kurt had liked them, he hadn’t been bowled over by them liked he’d always thought his first kiss would but…they’d been nice and Sam was a sweet guy.
All of that completely flew out the window as Puck kissed him, and Kurt wasn’t thinking as he moved to rest his hand softly against Puck’s chest. The thought of pulling away didn’t even cross his mind as he kissed Puck back and felt him press closer.
The moment Kurt’s hand landed on Puck’s chest, over a heart he knew was beating faster than mach fucking 5, loud too, like it was breaking a series of sound barriers, Puck relaxed. As much as he could relax when Kurt was kissing him back and all Puck wanted to do was kiss him like he was making up for lost time, and it wasn’t often a kiss felt like a first kiss to him. This was one of Puck’s kingdoms, he was fucking great at this, but Kurt— whose mouth was warm, soft, but really firm— made him feel…not fumbling, but electric. Like there was another layer to it, that it went beyond physical attraction, and that was new— that…he hadn’t really felt that since his first actual kiss.
His hand slid from Kurt’s cheek to the back of his head, fingers moving through his hair, tugging gently to coax him to tilt his head. As soon as their lips slotted together, Puck pressed harder into it, brought his other hand up to Kurt’s neck like he wanted to hold him in place and show him this was what the fuck the problem was, not doing this, not being able to do just this every time he saw him at school— in the hall, in the choir room, in the cafeteria. Not being able to taste the song Kurt had just sung, or those stupid celery sticks he brought to lunch, or his smart-ass return on something dumb thing Puck had said.
Not being able to because Evans was, and jesuschrist, Puck should have felt guilty, maybe even did a little bit, but it wasn’t enough to make him stop. Thinking that this was somebody else’s boyfriend didn’t stop him from parting his lips just a little to breathe in Kurt’s small, hitched breath, or to stop him from tracing— quickly, lightly— the inside edges of Kurt’s lips with the tip of his tongue. Because Kurt was also Puck’s, he’d been his first,and the sense of entitlement was blinding, consuming.
Puck brushed his thumb across the shell of Kurt’s ear as he pulled back, only to swoop in and press a quick, hard kiss to his lips again because he couldn’t help himself.
“I looked too,” he admitted, rushed and quiet. He stole another kiss, because jesus, that’s all he’d been wanting to do forever now and fuck everything if he wasn’t going to take advantage of the fact Kurt was letting him do it since he didn’t know how Kurt was going to take it now that the surprise must have worn off. He was so tired of lying and being angry because of it. “In the lunchroom—” he elaborated “— when you danced. I was looking too.”
I’m still looking, he wanted to say, and I was at the top of that stupid list, and I don’t wanna be one of your closet cases. The whistle of a faraway train sounded, distant and muffled by miles. The cold was secondary; Puck felt like he was burning from the inside out.