run for the hills!

silence is my self defense. [solo]

Mon, 12 Nov 2012 02:53:00 -0500

Tagging: Noah Puckerman
Time: Evening, 3/2 (post-‘Mouth Full of Words’)
Location: Puckerman home
Notes: Ma is curious, but they don’t exactly talk about it.
Extra: Shitty solo is shitty.

When the door snaps shut behind him, the first thing he hears is, “Where’ve you been, Noah?”

Puck’s not even past the foyer, is busy toeing off his shoes, hand steadying him on the wall. Ma’s voice came from the kitchen, he thinks, and the closer he listens in, the more confirmation he gets: the rattle of the fridge door shutting, the pop of tupperware, the clatter of silverware. He kicks his shoes against the hall console and shuffles across the dirty carpet.

“The tracks,” he answers shortly, dropping down onto their couch to stare at the television. Some dumb kid’s show is on, so Alannah must’ve been in; he watches a blue cat yell at what looks like an orange fish, but he doesn’t hear a word. His ears are ringing hollow, white noise and the deafening sound of his own thoughts. He doesn’t even hear the floor creak underneath his ma’s footsteps as she comes into the living room, wiping her hands methodically on her frayed sweater.

“…Who was that boy?”

Puck’s eyes cut to his ma, and she looks exhausted.

“I told you,” he says. “A friend of mine.”

There’s a look on her face, a flash of skepticism, and Puck likes to think he can read the face of the fucking world, but he can’t peg his ma’s expression down. The fact that they’re even dancing around the topic of Kurt already makes the insides of like, his knees feel wobbly and empty, the pit of his stomach rolling over in nausea - maybe because he hasn’t eaten. Maybe sick-excitement: the memory of Kurt’s mouth on his, his cold hands, the way he’d said you were always my first choice like Puck was worth the fucking effort. The responsibility, in retrospect, is fucking terrifying. Except Puck’s not scared. Puck’s never scared.

Ma’s hovering the way she did when she first visited him in juvie, like the officers hadn’t just told her what the rules and regulations of the facility were. Like she was afraid of plastic chair set out for her, like she didn’t get him. Puck looks back at the television, and she sinks onto the edge of the couch, hands folding.

“Yes, you did.” She speaks slowly, nods. “What’s his name?”

Puck considers blowing her off. Getting up and walking to his room, but Ma had grown a spine sometime last week and taken the lock off his door, so there was no point.

“Kurt.” He’s tracing the patterns on their lumpy couch, trying to erase the feel of Kurt’s skin beneath his fingers. “Kurt Hummel.” For the first time in a while he feels like telling her a little more, about how he’s in glee with him, how Kurt like, voluntarily sits with him at lunch, even if he had to invite himself the first few times. How his fucked up face was because he was, somehow, sticking up for Kurt.

But he doesn’t say any of that.

Ma looks thoughtful for a moment, and he can see her in the corner of his eye. Her face clears a bit.

“Burt Hummel’s boy.” It’s a statement, not a question. Puck nods anyway.

“One and only,” he deadpans.

“That’s good,” she murmurs as an afterthought. She’s smoothing the hem of her shirt, gets up and wanders out of the room and for a minute, Puck thinks that’s the end of it. Except she comes back with an icepack wrapped in a scratchy dish towel. “Here, baby.”

And shit, she hasn’t called him baby since he drove the fucking Volvo through the convenience store, since he was sitting across from her and she shot off that loaded question, that why? The way she’d looked at Kurt earlier makes his heart pick up tempo, makes it slam against his chest, and suddenly he’s experiencing full-blown nausea and he’s not sure how to deal with it, isn’t sure how he’s going to react if she asks something about him and Kurt - as a set, not individually. It’s not like it’s obvious or anything, he doesn’t think, not to people who don’t go to school with Kurt, even though Puck had lived off correct assumptions his entire school career, and Puck’s not even sure how to answer if she broaches that topic, what he is himself.

“Is he…” she begins, and Puck’s about to launch himself off the couch. She presses the pack against his face. “Are you— “

Puck might actually vomit.

“You used to bully him, didn’t you?”

And just like that it’s as though she’s taken a needle to the building pressure in his chest. Puck relaxes into the cold seeping through the towel. He can hear the blood rushing through his ears, going back to the places it’s needed most and not all building up in his head.

“Yeah,” he says breathlessly. His saliva sticks in his throat when he swallows. “Yeah, I did.” He struggles with his words, eyes cutting to his ma, cautious. She looks sad, a little resigned, but…weirdly okay.

“What a mensch.” She sounds like she’s trying to joke, and he huffs something that passes for a laugh. He hears the toilet down the hall flush, and Alannah comes barreling into the room a moment later, throwing herself onto the couch. Puck isn’t even phased when she grabs onto his shirt; her hands are damp. At least he knows she washed her hands. He only lifts his eyebrows at her.

“Noah!” she shouts. “Kurt was here, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah?”

She punches him in the chest pretty hard for a kid. Ma snaps a hand at her and Alannah is pacified, even abashed.

“But he didn’t tell me,” she says, pouting. “Kurt’s my friend too.”

Ma rolls her eyes. “But he came here for your brother, not for you. Maybe next time.”

“Whatever,” Alannah says like she’s over it, but she throws herself down, tight next to Puck’s side, arms crossing hard across her chest. She looks so upset about missing his friend that he almost feels bad, but not bad enough, and he covers her face with his hand just to hear her shriek and lick his palm. Puck wipes his hand down her cheek. Their mother sighs loudly and sets the ice pack on his thigh, which he brushes off quickly because the ice is already melting. She gets up and moves back around the couch, pauses at the threshold of the kitchen.

”Want me to warm up your dinner?” she asks, and Puck shoves Alannah away to twist around to look at her and nod.

His ma’s watching him, eyes still dark, still tired looking, but the expression on her face is a little clearer, makes his stomach swoop again with how easy he can read these emotions.

Her gaze is searching, it’s questioning, like what she’d asked wasn’t what she’d meant to bring up, like maybe she had a handful more to press him with. His pulse flutters uneasily, and when Alannah goes to get up next, he impulsively yanks her down into a headlock, makes sure to keep her on the couch with him until even their ma decides to turn in to bed.

Audio

Sun, 11 Nov 2012 05:25:00 -0500

mouth full of words.

Sun, 11 Nov 2012 01:55:23 -0500

Tagging: Noah Puckerman & Kurt Hummel
Time: Evening, 3/2
Location: Out near the tracks
Notes: There’s a lot left unsaid.

Kurt

Kurt hates him moving away, hates that look on Puck’s face. He wants to fix it, hold Puck close and somehow make him see what Kurt sees. But if the past few years have taught him anything it’s that he can’t do that. He can’t make someone else love themselves the way they should, but he’s not going anywhere. And that’s the best he knows how to do.

His stomach lifts a bit at the almost casual “babe”, but it knots again at the way Puck reacts. And he doesn’t want to go back, doesn’t want to face the realities of what had just happened. He just wants to walk close again and not let Puck let him go.

But he knows that his dad will be getting worried about him if he doesn’t text soon and his phone is in the car. Probably Sam too, which makes his stomach knot for other reasons but he’s not going to think about that until he has to. He sighs, “You’re right. I guess.”

He’s quiet for a few moments as they start to walk, wants to ask about Alannah. Wishes that he could bully the larger teen into letting him see the younger girl but doesn’t want to push things with Puck’s mom. Doesn’t want to rock the boat even more than it’s already been rocked.

Puck

“Of course I am.”

It’s meant to be a joke, but it falls flat, comes a little too late, it’s too soon. Puck grinds his teeth and jams his hands into his pockets. He tells himself it’s not a safety precaution.

The walk back is quiet. It’s heavy, and he’s tempted to talk Kurt into stopping, into turning back again, to walking all the way to the train yard with him and just…staying the night there. It’s stupid, and he hasn’t slept there in a while, and it’s cold, most of all, but the closer they get to the subdivision, the more unsettled he feels. When he shoves the fence open again, his hand unconsciously moves like it wants to settle on Kurt’s back, guide him through.

He curls his hand into a fist and follows him through instead.

Porch and street lights guide the way, and Puck’s never noticed how the grass is dead in patches in their yard, or that the flowers Ma had planted to try and spruce the place up are overgrown with weeds. He’s not sure why these things are standing out to him now, but he focuses on them through the dusk, because it’s easier to focus on them than Kurt in his peripheral. All he wants to do is fit his silhouette under his arm.

When they get to Kurt’s Nav, Puck hovers awkwardly, eyes shooting towards the un-drawn blinds at the front window of his house, hands flexing into fists in his pockets.

“Guess I’ll see you later?” He sounds a little rough. There’s an apology on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t say it. Instead, he reaches out like he’s going to touch Kurt’s cheek, except he catches himself, redirects himself to grip Kurt’s shoulder and squeeze, and it’s fucking awkward and so unlike him. “Text me or somethin’. When you get home. If you want.”

He shrugs like it doesn’t matter either way, but his thumb is already stroking the juncture where Kurt’s neck meets his shoulder and the moment he wonders what it would be like to kiss him there, he’s yanking his hand away and backing up the broken, cement walkway back to the house.

He waits until Kurt’s gone before he actually goes inside.

mouth full of words.

Thu, 08 Nov 2012 01:18:10 -0500

Tagging: Noah Puckerman & Kurt Hummel
Time: Evening, 3/2
Location: Out near the tracks
Notes: There’s a lot left unsaid.

Kurt

Kurt doesn’t pull away, doesn’t hesitate to meet Puck’s gaze as he silently refuses to move away but still waits to be asked. He relaxes as the hands press their way down his face and towards his neck, he leans into them thoughtlessly and presses himself impossibly closer.

His heart beats faster as Puck steals his lips again and he’s only half aware of the train as it starts to pass even though it’s so loud he’s sure that the sound will ring in his ears for hours, and even though it’s shaking the ground under his feet. But Puck’s lips are wholly distracting in a way that makes any kiss Sam ever gave him seem even more ‘eh’ than they had before. This is the kissing he’s always dreamed of and he wishes that he could give Puck more than just until the train passes.

But he’s still guilty, he’s always told himself that he won’t be that guy. But here he is, arms wrapped around one of his boyfriend’s best friends and he shouldn’t want to do this. He shouldn’t even be there, but he is. And he can’t seem to bring himself to regret it, not when his lips are opening just a little and Puck’s more than he’s ever thought.

The train is gone too soon, the sound fading even as Kurt forces himself to pull away. He’s breathless as he keeps his gaze on Puck, “Can you wait for me?” His voice is soft, “Just….just awhile. Then we can figure out this,” He gestures between them, “We’ll figure it out together okay? We both…just deserve to do this right.” He swallows, “You deserve better.”

He hesitates, the temptation to lean in and kiss him one last time almost irresistible but he manages to pull back. But one of his hands can’t help but stay on Puck’s arm.

Puck

By this point, Puck’s lips are buzzing and so are his eardrums, and the skin beneath his hands is warm. His throat bobs with a swallow, tongue sliding over his lower lip, and reality fucking blows. He can’t seem to stop petting what skin he can get at, thumb stroking Kurt’s cheek the way he’d done to him only moments before. He’s just tracing the curve of his ears before he catches himself and stills his hands, dropping them hesitantly to Kurt’s shoulders.

He wants to say he doesn’t, he really fucking doesn’t deserve better, because he ruins things. It’s just his nature, but those are words he can’t even tell his shrink, so Puck looks away, the muscle in his jaw jumping as he nods. Puck’s the one who doesn’t have his shit together. Puck’s the one getting into fights under the pretense that he’s being honorable. Puck’s the one that set Kurt up. He’s the one who put that soft-sad look on his face.

His teeth grind and he nods again, more for himself than anyone else, and pulls his hands away.

“It’s getting dark, babe,” he says after a moment. Puck opens his mouth, stricken, palm instantly sliding over his mohawk. “Sorry. Fuck.” He grips the back of his neck hard, eyes fixing on the ground. “We should probably head back.”

Else he’s going to wait for the next train. And the next and the next. Puck takes a step back out of Kurt’s touch and jerks his head back the way they came. God, it’s cold.

Audio

Wed, 07 Nov 2012 03:05:18 -0500

mouth full of words.

Mon, 05 Nov 2012 23:39:42 -0500

Tagging: Noah Puckerman & Kurt Hummel
Time: Evening, 3/2
Location: Out near the tracks
Notes: There’s a lot left unsaid.

Kurt

Kurt lets out a long sigh as he gazes at Puck, wishing being told he was honest made him feel better but it honestly just makes him feel worse about the fact that he’s spent the majority of the past few weeks using Sam. It doesn’t matter that he’s spent the whole time hoping, willing, needing to feel more than he did. The laugh makes his stomach drop unhappily and again his fingers clench so that he won’t reach out and touch the familiar arm.

He doesn’t react to Puck’s request, doesn’t jump to reassure him that he is going to break up with Sam. Because he’s honest enough with himself that he knows he wold have done it either way at this point, and he knows it won’t be fun but…something about Puck’s tone makes him hurt.

The last words make it impossible Kurt not to step forward, impossible for his arms not to snake around Puck’s waist. Kurt rests his cheek gently against Puck’s shoulder, “We’ll always be us.” His voice is just as soft, but firm, “You’re more than just…whatever we are when we kiss. You’re my best friend. That isn’t going to change.”

He shrugs a bit, face still pressed against the familiar shoulder, “I’m not going to lie, things won’t be easy for awhile. But even if we argue and you do something stupid I’m not going to run off. Just because things get difficult I’m not going anywhere. Okay?” He pulls away just enough to look up at Puck, “Okay?”

Puck

Fuck, it’s hard to think when Kurt’s wrapped around him. It’s warm and it’s reassuring and he feels a little less uncertain when he’s holding on, even though it’s like everything is tilting on its axis, because Puck wasn’t ever sure this was something he wanted. Not Kurt or his trust or his friendship. Feels like he’s thirteen, back when his dad made his first appearance after his disappearing act, the way Finn had been there even though Puck had pretended to be okay. Feels a little vulnerable. Feels a little too much and still not enough. Except Kurt has replaced the place Finn has voided. Kurt’s made his own space, and this one…it just feels like more.

His swallow is thick. Repeated. He can feel Kurt’s words, feel every breath he takes and every tiny, distracting movement his body makes. This feels natural even if he isn’t hugging back.

“Okay,” he finally parrots, low. His arms twitch at his sides. “Okay. I believe you.”

Puck’s gaze is searching, dark, guarded the way a wounded animal’s would be. Kurt’s eyes are way too blue in the coming dark, surprisingly warm in spite of it— promising. The ground’s vibrating beneath his feet, the train’s coming. His fingers are cold when they land on Kurt’s cheeks, cold when they trace, splayed, down his neck, thumbs petting his skin like he can’t help it.

“Kurt?” His thumbs stroke the edges of his jaw.

He wants what they are when they kiss. Fuck, if he doesn’t want it more than anything right now. He’s not sure he can say that, form those words quite yet without bolting later; he doesn’t trust himself, even if Kurt seems to trust him enough for the two of them.

“Just— gimme until the train passes, okay?” he says. The please is unspoken. He doesn’t give Kurt time enough to respond before he’s kissing him again, nose cold, lips warm.

mouth full of words.

Mon, 05 Nov 2012 17:00:29 -0500

Tagging: Noah Puckerman & Kurt Hummel
Time: Evening, 3/2
Location: Out near the tracks
Notes: There’s a lot left unsaid.

Kurt

Kurt’s stomach is in knots as he gazes up at Puck, trying to figure out how to explain why yeah he does have a bit of a history with have stupidly serious crushes on random guys. Like Finn. Or Sam even. And why this…whatever this is right now had already left all of that so far in the dust that it isn’t funny.

He knows he’s selfish, knows that it isn’t fair to Sam or Puck that he can’t seem to pull away from the familiar form, but now that he’s allowed and he knows that Puck won’t hate him for touching it’s so difficult not to. So he doesn’t pull his hand away, and lets his thumb sweep along the familiar cheek and along the still visible bruises that make his stomach knot for complete different reasons.

He waits patiently, listening and forcing the hope that’s blooming in his chest down because expectations aren’t fair and he knows that. He can’t help but start to protest at Puck’s words, hating anyone that’s ever made him feel like less than the person Kurt’s gotten to know slowly over the past few weeks.

His shoulders drop as he lets Puck step away, colder and feeling slightly alone as he watches the other teen. “You’re wrong.” His voice is soft as he looks down, “You didn’t make me do anything. And I can’t regret that.” His lips twisted slightly, “I’m now sure that kind of person that makes me if I’m honest but.” He shrugs as he shoves his own hands into his coat, “I can’t…I won’t make you do anything Puck. I won’t try and hold this over you or force the issue. But you aren’t that guy, and I wish you could see yourself how I see you.” He’s a bit sad as he watches Puck almost wanting to shake him.

But a small part of him knows that Puck has a point, that maybe rushing into this isn’t the best idea. Even if that isn’t the way Puck framed the statement. He swallows thickly because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if Puck pulls away completely, if he doesn’t have whatever they have in the halls of McKinley anymore.

Puck

Puck turns his face into Kurt’s hand. He’s selfish too, selfish because he’s using Kurt as some sort of anchor, some sort of excuse, when he’s not even sure how to answer any of his questions. A part of him is certain he’s taking advantage of Kurt’s kindness, because he’s never been above manipulating a situation, but then he’s not used to this— whatever this is. This attention, this want, being first. It’s exhilarating and terrifying and he thinks it’s something he could easily take, lose himself in. He wants to seek out Kurt’s skin with his lips, wants to press kisses to his palm, and it’s a foreign craving, but feels like a natural one. He swallows audibly and doesn’t.

“It makes you honest,” he says when there’s space put between them. This is what feels strange, feels foreign in a bad way, and the chill isn’t helping like he’d hoped it would. He still wants to reach out and touch— his face, his neck, his shoulders, him, with hands and mouth and arms and body— even looking at Kurt makes his fingers twitch; he tucks them into fists.

All this time wanting and he’s not even taking. Dr. Davis would call it growth. He’s calling himself a bitch.

“You’re honest,” he repeats, voice gruff. He tries to smile. “And biased. Or whatever.” It’s hard to think when he looks at Kurt, so he casts his gaze away towards the tracks, wondering why he had to have a conscience, wondering why they couldn’t be up there still, making out. His laugh doesn’t sound very humorous, comes out as a puff of white smoke.

“Which is good for me ‘cause it keeps you around.” He means it, smile tentative as it is grateful. It falls away. “Kurt….” He inhales shakily. “I know you won’t.”

He scrapes his teeth over his lower lip, hand coming up to rub at the tension bunching at the back of his neck. “But. I. Want you to break up with Evans.”

Puck’s eyes flick up, swing away. He knows Kurt already said he would, but he needs to repeat it for himself, and it sounds even more selfish out loud than in his head. Like an ultimatum, or a threat. “‘Cause if you don’t, I’m not—” he pauses, hand leaving his neck to travel over his mohawk. “I know I’m gonna keep fuckin’ up until I can’t anymore.”

And it’s his turn to be honest, so he is, even if it’s at the expense of Kurt’s happiness. Even though he doesn’t say you should break up with him ‘cause I want you to be with me. Because even though he wants that more than he’s wanted anything in recent memory, he doesn’t think he’s ready. Looking at Kurt, he knows he’s not.

“I just…I want us again,” he says quietly. He lost Finn and Quinn and Santana, fucked those up personally. But this one? Even if he’s being selfish and childish and it’s not really personal growth and he’s still being a bitch— he can’t lose this one.

mouth full of words.

Tue, 01 May 2012 19:12:23 -0400

Tagging: Noah Puckerman & Kurt Hummel
Time: Evening, 3/2
Location: Out near the tracks
Notes: There’s a lot left unsaid.

Kurt

Kurt wants to wilt when Puck said that he headn’t thought he’d wanted Kurt, because as silly as it sounds the idea of Puck not wanting to want him hurt a little. But most things hurt and it’s silly and that isn’t how Puck meant it and Kurt knows that so he just keeps his chin up for the few long moments between that and Puck’s almost hesitant admission, and it’s not a great declaration of love but it’s something Kurt can hold on to.

He keeps his gaze on Puck’s face and doesn’t pull away, even though the sudden thoughts of Sam make his stomach flip in a way that isn’t nearly as pleasant as how nervous he’d been about being close to Puck. Kurt is fairly certain it’s the only time the thought of Sam has made his stomach flip and it’s horribly unfair to the other teen. To his boyfriend. Although he doesn’t really feel like one and Kurt knows all of this is just wrong but he can’t seem to find it within himself to care.

“I didn’t ‘hook up’ with Sam, first of all.” His voice is wry and he doesn’t stop himself from reaching up to gently cup Puck’s cheek, “I didn’t want to assume I…I have a bit of a history seeing what I want to see. Especially when it comes to boys.” He runs his thumb gently over Puck’s cheek and he hates the way the bruises cover the familiar skin but he still can’t manage to keep his eyes away from Puck’s face.

Kurt lets his eyes fall, “I…I’m going to end up breaking up with Sam no matter what now.” The words are difficult and he feels a remote kind of guilt, “I can’t…I can’t just…do that to him.” He’s said it already but he feels like he needs to say it again, make sure Puck understands. “I don’t…know what you do want from me…but…I’d rather you not feel like hitting anything anymore.”

It isn’t what he wants to say, but what he wants to say is dangerous and he doesn’t know how to approach this with Puck. Assuming feels dangerous and Puck isn’t known for being the kind of person that settles into a relationship. Although Kurt’s slowly finding out that Puck doesn’t really match his reputation any more than Kurt matches his own. It shouldn’t surprise him, but it still does from time to time so he’s just not sure how he’s supposed to go from there.

PUCK

Puck wonders if he shouldn’t have said anything. If maybe he should have swallowed down the truth, just so Kurt wouldn’t have to sacrifice…whatever it was he had going with Evans. Because right now he felt like he was exposing himself, making himself vulnerable, asking for it. And it’s not like he’s never not done that before, put himself on the line, but it’s been a while. A good, long while, and history likes to repeat itself, so why not the bad parts? Even though the hand on his face — and jesus, is Kurt’s hand soft — made him feel important. Even though Kurt saying he was going to break it off with Sam made him feel triumphant.

He knew that feeling. It was the same feeling he had when Quinn turned up at his house. When she chose him over Finn. When she was into him for all of an hour.

But Kurt had said he was his first choice. That made this different. More different than the obvious— with Kurt being a guy and wanting him and—

God, he was being such a pussy and his eyes were beginning to throb.

“You see what you wanna see with boys often?” Puck smirks, tentative, joking, except his eyes are hard and dark and cautious. Kurt said he didn’t, but Puck can’t help but wonder what he would have done if he had hooked up with Evans. Which is fucking stupid, he acknowledges that, remembers when he’d lost his temper in front of his psych and called Quinn a slut, and pot meet the fucking kettle, had that not gone over well. He knows better now. Tries to know better. It’s not like Puck is shiny and new. It’s not like he’s in one piece even.

“Yeah.” It’s all he says about Sam for a while, because he’s actually thinking about what he wants to say for once, except everything jumbles together and it’s Kurt’s fault; it’s easier to focus on how long and slightly curled his eyelashes are than it is to form a functional sentence.

“I want— “ You? “— I don’t think —” He pauses. And what does he want? He’s fucking nervous, because he knows what he wants right now, and right now seems so long-term, except he’s never been long-term before. He flounders, obviously frustrated with himself.

“I want everything,” he says finally, almost harshly, because he wants to be honest, has to be, and he knows his answer is selfish. “Like right the fuck now, but I’m not good enough—” and a hand goes up, because he knows Kurt well enough to know he’ll protest, because Kurt’s so fucking good “—I’m not, ‘cause I just made you cheat on your boy, and I don’t deserve what you could be offering. I don’t— for once I don’t wanna be that guy.”

And he stops before he says, we can try and take it slow except Puck doesn’t know the meaning of slow, and he’d rather not suggest something he knows he’ll be terrible at. But if he learned one thing in juvie, it’s caution, and he thinks— he thinks that maybe if Kurt does break up with Sam, he needs a grace period. Or maybe Puck is the one that needs a grace period to figure out what he wants exactly, and for how long, because Puck breaks the things he wants. He always has.

The next train whistle sounds that much closer.

Photo

Sun, 15 Apr 2012 23:30:31 -0400

electricized: Charvel Explorer Shazam Bass 1984 The eighties...

Mon, 02 Apr 2012 22:10:46 -0400

electricized:

Charvel Explorer Shazam Bass

1984

The eighties glam metal is resumed right there. I swear i can hear some Def Leppard just by looking at that bass. This is straight from San Dimas era, in other words, the best of Charvel. For sale

mouth full of words.

Sun, 18 Mar 2012 00:02:41 -0400

Tagging: Noah Puckerman & Kurt Hummel
Time: Evening, 3/2
Location: Out near the tracks
Notes: There’s a lot left unsaid.

Kurt:

Kurt hated Puck stiffening, and he clung harder, burying his face against Puck’s shoulder as he waited to be pushed away. For the inevitable look, the one even Sam had sent him at one point. That half ashamed, half regretful look when anyone realized that what they were doing could have in the slightest way be considered gay. He’d even gotten those looks from Finn and really Kurt should be used to them now, but they still cut.

He blinked against the unfamiliar shirt before looking up to meet Puck’s incredulous gaze as that hand settled against his neck as if to keep him close and Kurt opened his mouth for a moment before closing it to chew his lip thoughtfully. A blush spread across his face as he glanced away from Puck but after a few moments of pulling himself together he cleared his throat and met Puck’s gaze again.

“You were always my first choice Puck. I…I don’t…I don’t know when I started feeling this way but…but Sam isn’t you.” He glanced down, “He isn’t the one I wanted to see at lunch. Or to be watching me when I danced. And…and he wasn’t the one I wanted to hold hands with or…or any of that silly stuff.” He shook his head against Puck’s shoulder, “I…I wanted you but….but I didn’t…I didn’t want to assume just because we were friends you’d be interested and…then you kissed me?”

He glanced up at Puck, trying to keep himself calm. “I…We can forget that happened if you want. But…but I don’t want to.” He needed to stop talking. He needed to just…breathe for a few moments because he was getting ahead of himself. Puck hadn’t said anything about forgetting it, but he hadn’t said anything about his own feelings either.

PUCK:

A part of him sort of wanted to touch the blush on Kurt’s face. A big part of him. Puck wanted to ease his lip from his mouth and just touch more than what he was, because a hand on the neck wasn’t enough. He’s not sure what made him keep his hands to himself— as much as he could, anyway— because he hadn’t when he and Quinn had been alone. Not even the remembrance of Finn as his best friend had been enough, and Puck and Sam certainly weren’t buddies. Then again, holding onto Quinn had been like trying to keep sand in the palm of his hands. She had only stayed so long as it took her to slip away.

Kurt? Kurt’s attention, the way he rested against Puck’s shoulder, the way he sort of leaned into him as he spoke made it difficult for Puck to concentrate on his words. It was foreign, made him feel uncertain, like he suddenly didn’t quite know what to do with a person that wanted him back. He didn’t. Not really. There were about a million and one ways he could fuck this up.

It made him nervous. Doubly nervous, because it was Kurt and Kurt was also a guy, except that didn’t seem to matter, it only mattered how much it didn’t, and he kept turning circles in his own head, and God, he wasn’t making any sense.

“I didn’t think I did,” he says after a long silence. His tongue feels thick in his mouth, and his body can’t decide whether it’s hot or cold. It’s warm where Kurt’s skin meets his, so Puck focuses on that. “Want you, I mean. I didn’t think I wanted you.”

He hates words, because they sound clumsy in his mouth, but this has been building up for too long now. He doesn’t know how to explain how he didn’t mean any of what he did, but he finds himself wanting to try.

“But I do. Y’know. Want you.” Puck wants desperately to flatten his mohawk, but his free hand hangs limp at his side.

He knows physically that he does. Kurt seems emotionally invested in this though, and Puck— he wants to be too, but it scares him, because he’s horrible with words and emotions, which is probably why he’s in anger management and why he drove Ma’s car through—

“I don’t wanna forget,” he says, voice firm, surprising. “I don’t want you to forget either.” And it’s not like it’s been that long since he’d kissed Kurt, not long enough for the look to have disappeared. Puck passes his thumb over Kurt’s lips, finds it easier to look at them instead of eyes that are damn near green in the twilight.

“I didn’t mean— what I did about Evans. I didn’t mean to push you to him,” he admits. Then backtracks: “Well, I did. I thought maybe if you n’ him hooked up, I’d be off the hook.” Puck shrugs his shoulders, looks away. “‘Cept that’s never really worked for me, you know?” A pause. “Obviously you know. Made it worse.” His laugh is humorless. “I just know that whenever you’re with him I wanna hit something.”

He shrugged his shoulder on the side of his busted face. “So I did.”

mouth full of words.

Thu, 15 Mar 2012 00:55:40 -0400

Tagging: Noah Puckerman & Kurt Hummel
Time: Evening, 3/2
Location: Out near the tracks
Notes: There’s a lot left unsaid.

Kurt:

Kurt gazed up at Puck as he spoke and shook his head slightly at the too even tone and the way he thought Kurt was going to use him that way. Kurt could technically understand, sort of. But it was so off base that he almost wanted to laugh. But at the same time he a part of him wanted to cry because it was obvious that people had used Puck that way before.

Kurt just moved closer, abandoning his hold on Puck’s arm to tug it around his shoulders until it settled there the way he’d wanted for longer than he liked to think about, and he wrapped one of his arms around Puck’s torso. He clung to the larger teen, half expecting him to pull away. “No. None of that.” His voice was soft as he settled his cheek against Puck’s shirt, “I’ve already tried settling for second best once because I thought my first choice didn’t want me.” He glanced up at Puck with a soft smile, “But you proved me wrong just now.”

He leaned up and pressed a soft kiss against Puck’s cheek, “I shouldn’t have even tried dating Sam. Not when I knew he wasn’t really the person I wanted.” He hesitated for a few moments longer before pressing his cheek against Puck’s shirt again. Just staying close and trying not to think about how he’d have to break up with Sam soon. Even if Puck didn’t want him after all. There was no way he’d be able to be with Sam after this. He just hoped this was what Puck wanted, that he was what Puck wanted.

Because there was no way Puck could ever be second best to Kurt. He wasn’t sure when it’d happened but he needed Puck there, even when he was growly and distant or messing with Kurt’s headphones. It scared Kurt to think he might lose that, but…he had to try. Even if Puck wanted to just forget it had happened or keep it on ‘down low’ or whatever it was called. Kurt could handle that as long as he was with Puck.

PUCK:

Puck wasn’t expecting Kurt to tuck himself under his arm, a line of warmth pressing right into his silhouette, and he wasn’t expecting him to wrap an arm tight around his waist. And he didn’t have time to feel awkward, because they fit together well, and having Kurt under his arm seemed natural, and that was a little scary. Puck thought about moving away— this was getting too comfortable, too much like something he could get used to— but he wanted so badly to take advantage of the moment, and Puck had never been one to deny himself anything.

None of what? he’d been about to ask when Kurt laid his head against him, and that was enough. Enough for him to stop, to stiffen against Kurt’s side and over his shoulder. Puck set his jaw stubbornly, felt frustration burning the back of his throat because Kurt wasn’t allowed to tell him what he could and couldn’t say. Except—

I’ve already tried settling for second best once because I thought my first choice didn’t want me.

— except Kurt punched whatever angry words had been coming up right back into his mouth and straight out of his body.

“What?” he said dumbly, without thinking. Kurt turned that smile on him and Puck forgot how to swallow. Confusion crashed across his face, but not fast enough, messy enough, to cover the strange and sudden flair of hope. He didn’t have to speak, though, not when Kurt’s lips brushed his skin, not when he was telling Puck it’d been him he’d wanted.

And Puck— Puck felt like a fucking idiot, because he’d pushed him away when he hadn’t wanted to. He’d lied to himself, then did it again when he caught himself staring too long, too hard at Kurt during class and lunch and glee. When he came over to hang out, when he played with Alannah, when he worked on his truck. This all felt like a chance for something, and he didn’t know what to do with it, how to even begin to handle it. He’d never gotten many chances before. Puck turned into Kurt when he rested his head against him, hand on the back of Kurt’s neck to keep him there; his heart felt like it was in his skin rather than inside his body.

“What…” he began again, lips rolling into his mouth. “…Are you saying?”

mouth full of words.

Tue, 13 Mar 2012 23:33:13 -0400

Tagging: Noah Puckerman & Kurt Hummel
Time: Evening, 3/2
Location: Out near the tracks
Notes: There’s a lot left unsaid.

Kurt:

Kurt shuddered softly as Puck started to kiss him harder and god that wasn’t fair. Because being pressed that close to Puck was perfect and he’d never been pressed that close to anyone before. Not really. But Puck’s cool and was pressing up under his shirt and against his skin and he’d never even thought of kissing Sam this way. Be he didn’t want to stop kissing Puck. He never wanted it to end. Not really.

But suddenly Puck was pulling away and saying something about stopping and Kurt absentmindedly swayed forward for a moment, but Puck was stepping away and not looking at Kurt anymore and Kurt was a bit dazed as he watched Puck scoop up his jacket and make his way down the small incline. He shivered lightly and shook his head, crossing his arms because he’d gotten used to Puck’s body heat pressed against him and the sudden lack made him feel vulnerable.

Well that or the fact that in less than twenty minutes there would be a train where he was standing. Either way he felt oddly exposed as he scrambled down the small incline of rocks until he was standing near Puck again.

And he felt it again. That stupid distance that had been between them since Sam had taken him out to dinner that first time. He’d hated it, even though it was silly of him because it hadn’t ever been a literal thing. But he felt like Puck was slipping away again, like he couldn’tjust reach out and touch Puck if he wanted to.

He swallowed thickly and almost unconsciously reached out to lay a hand on Puck’s arm again for a moment before wrapping his arms around it and pressed close, unwilling to face reality yet. He pressed his cheek against the scratchy material of Puck’s jacket and gazed up at him for a few moments, “I…I don’t want this to be the only time I get to kiss you.” His voice was soft, almost hesitant. Like he was afraid that Puck would prefer to forget that it happened at all, because a small part of him was afraid that Puck would want to forget it. And that was the completely the last thing he wanted at all.

He was nervous about it though. He’d never done this, not like this, not with someone that hereally cared about. He wasn’t even sure the little he’d done with Sam could count as even slightly the same, he certainly didn’t feel the same and he’d never been this nervous about Sam.

PUCK:

Space was supposed to work. Space was what Dr. Davis was all about. Give Finn space. Give Quinn space. Give your mom space, because they need time to process you, like just because he’d been in juvie, they needed to re-acclimate themselves to his presence and the fact that he was trying. Puck was trying to apply the same method to Kurt. It was hard to think around him, to keep his hands to himself, but that’s what he was supposed to do, right? And yeah, maybe a part of him kept away because he felt bitter, but he wasn’t quite sure who he felt bitter towards.

God, he wanted to touch Kurt again. But— friendship. Friendships were important right about now, and kissing his only friend, wanting his only friend— Puck was aware that it was problematic. So instead of reaching out again, like how he’d done with Quinn, his hands buried themselves in his pockets. Him and Quinn had never been friends anyway. Not really. This was different somehow, though Puck couldn’t put his finger on why, or how, other than the obvious, so he just kept walking, kept trying to ignore the fact that Kurt was in his peripheral, and so fucking close.

And then closer, because Kurt was suddenly pressed to his side, arms around his own arm, cheek against his shoulder, and christ, that wasn’t fair. He was warm, and so present, and Puck could even smell him, had to consciously stop himself from wetting lips that were quickly becoming chapped in the cold.

And it wasn’t fair because he couldn’t help but tense, couldn’t stop the weird hope blossoming dead-center in his chest, and jesus, he felt like a fucking girl. Kurt looked at him like— like— all eyes and tentative honesty and nervous stammer, and no one had been nervous around him before, not unless clothes were coming off. Not like feelings were fucking involved. Puck shoved that all down, though, swallowed and tore his eyes away from Kurt. None of this was really okay.

“Okay,” he said. “So what? You want me to be your dirty little secret?” He spoke like they were negotiating a deal, like he’d be one-hundred percent okay with Kurt cheating on Evans. And he didn’t care, he really fucking didn’t, but it made him tired, and if second-best was all he could get, fine. He’d take it.

“Second’s always good too.”

mouth full of words.

Mon, 12 Mar 2012 00:55:09 -0400

Tagging: Noah Puckerman & Kurt Hummel
Time: Evening, 3/2
Location: Out near the tracks
Notes: There’s a lot left unsaid.

Kurt:

Kurt sighed into the kiss, smiling against Puck’s lips. He was almost wondering if Puck had gotten it. If he understood just how much he meant to Kurt and he had a sinking feeling in his gut that he hadn’t. He couldn’t help but gasp as Puck pulled him closer and started kissing him in a way that literally no one had before.

It was almost maddening, being pressed against Puck that way and wanting something he didn’t understand how to ask for. It was only so long before he tentatively started kissing back, hesitantly brushing his tongue against Puck’s and shivering slightly.

He didn’t want to think about what this was, not yet. Because he’d known as soon as Sam smiled at him that if Puck ever called Kurt would be gone before Sam even had a chance to react, which was literally happening at this point. Kurt should feel guilty, he really should. And he did, a bit in a distracted way. He’d never wanted to hurt Sam, and there was no way he was going to get out of this without hurting Sam at this point. But Puck had always been his first choice and Kurt wondered if Puck really realized that as he wrapped his arms around him. Probably not. Puck had a way of being the most confident yet unconfident person Kurt knew.

And suddenly Kurt wanted to tell him, to make it clear that he’d just been killing time until Puck had figured out if he was interested or not. That he’d feel bad about it but he wanted Puck from the beginning and there was no way he was going to give up the chance to have this to stay with Sam.

But that meant Kurt had to break the kiss and while he knew it wasn’t going to last forever but he seriously wasn’t ready to give up the way he was pressed against Puck or the way Puck’s lips felt against his. So he just whimpered softly and pressed forward and tried to press even closer, which probably wasn’t possible but he still tried. They could figure out Sam and all of the rest of it later, together. Because Kurt wasn’t letting Puck go.

PUCK:

They needed to stop. They really needed to, because they were making out on the tracks, and while they weren’t in danger of getting hit by a train, it was chilly and evening was falling. But then Kurt whimpered, and Puck growled in response, gripping the back of shirt and no doubt making it a mess of wrinkles. Not that he cared, since he was too busy kissing Kurt hard enough to bruise, hard enough so that when he pulled away, he wouldn’t forget that Puck had been there.

It was definitely the first time he’d ever had a guy pressed so tight against him, practically retrofitted, and it felt foreign, different, but not weird; unusual, maybe. Even Charlie had had…well, breasts, he guessed. A part of Puck wondered why he wasn’t freaking out, but it felt good and there was no way he’d deny that.

He imagined he could feel Kurt’s heartbeat opposite his, felt the trembling inhalations of breath against his stomach, and it made Puck think of his stupid dance up on that table, dressed in clothes that must have been spray-painted on, hair loose and damp with sweat. The image made him groan into Kurt’s mouth, the hand that had been pinned to the small of Kurt’s back shoving up under his shirt to touch cool, smooth skin. His palm fit against the barely-there slope of his hip, hips that were pressed to his, hips that had snapped and rolled over strong thighs to friggin’ Beyonce—

Puck pulled away with a sucking breath, lips damp and vibrating.

“We should stop.” He didn’t sound very convinced they should be stopping at all, definitely notany time soon, and his thumb was still absently stroking Kurt’s hip where his hand was lodged under his shirt, which absolutely failed to make his case. Puck licked the corner of his mouth and swallowed audibly. God, stopping seemed like a really dumb fucking thing to do, and even after he’d suggested it, Puck was leaning in again to kiss Kurt, but he paused. He wasn’t stopping because of Evans. He didn’t really give a shit about him; they weren’t friends. But Puck— if he didn’t stop now, he wouldn’t, period. With some sort of force of will, he put space between their bodies, stepping back and away from Kurt. The cold swept back between them on a soft breeze.

Jesus, it really was cold outside.

Puck bent to pick up his jacket, punched his arms through the sleeves and cast a furtive glance Kurt’s way.

“Let’s get off the tracks,” he said. His voice was rough. “The train will probably be around in fifteen.”

When Puck turned around to slide down the incline, scattering pebbles in his wake, he licked the corners of his mouth again and had to adjust himself. Kurt was all over everywhere.

mouth full of words.

Sun, 11 Mar 2012 05:55:32 -0400

Tagging: Noah Puckerman & Kurt Hummel
Time: Evening, 3/2
Location: Out near the tracks
Notes: There’s a lot left unsaid.

Kurt:

This was nothing like any of the kisses Kurt had shared with Sam, and a small part of him deep down, the part that wasn’t swooning because Puck was kissing him, was yelling something about morals and cheating and this being wrong wrong wrong. But most of him was too busy absentmindedly moving to grip Puck’s shirt and tilting his head just so and not even thinking of pulling away. His other hand settled against Puck’s shoulder, pulling them together closer and noting how Puck’s heart under his hand seemed to be going as fast as his own.

He kissed Puck back as best as he knew how, gasping and shivering at the almost hesitant tongue against his lips. He’d wanted it for what felt like forever now, probably only really a few weeks but he’d thought about it. And it’d always been Puck that he’d looked for when things went south in Glee, or when he’d danced or when he’d been forced back to earth by ugly words. He’d always gone looking for that broody face, glaring at the world like he had something to prove and he’d only not been there once.

Kurt couldn’t help the soft sound of disappointment as Puck pulled away, but before he could even shiver from the brush against his ear Puck’s lips were against his again in another short, demanding kiss. Kurt slowly opened his eyes to gaze at Puck fairly distracted by the hands still against his skin but he couldn’t help but smile at that, even as Puck stole another kiss and he just melted against him more.

He knew he was blushing as he met Puck’s gaze and he knew that there were problems. Sam being one of the largest but…Puck had been looking at him. Puck had wanted him. It hadn’t just been Karofsky, Sam and Blaine.

He leaned forward to brush their noses together softly, almost intimately, “Good.” He didn’t mean for his voice to come out so hushed, as if he was telling a secret, “I wanted you to be. I…I really reallywanted you to be.” He bit his lip almost nervously as he gazed at Puck, not willing to pull away even though he was pretty sure he heard some sort of whistle and they were standing on train tracks and the thought of that was slightly terrifying.

But Puck was right there, and he was half afraid if he pulled away he’d never find his way back to being this close again. Even though he was fairly certain that was preposterous at this point since he was fairly certain that this meant Puck was at least attracted to him. And he wasn’t sure what that meant for him either so he tried not to think about it as he almost hesitantly leaned forward and kissed Puck again. It was softer than the times Puck had kissed him but…it was the first time he’d ever kissed Puck and even though it was just a brief press of lips he was happy with it.

PUCK:

“That so?” Puck didn’t quite smile, though he looked far more relaxed than he had earlier. Up close, Kurt’s eyes were startlingly bright, quicksilver-blue, the kind of color that should have been cold, but wasn’t. His stare made Puck’s stomach feel weird, made it tremble, and he wasn’t sure if it was from desire, or some strange, unnameable fear. No one had ever looked at Puck the way Kurt was now— Quinn once, before she realized what they’d been doing and it shuttered right off her face. Puck wondered how long it would take for Kurt to come to that same realization as well.

But he was leaning in, blue eyes becoming shut eyelids and dark lashes, and Kurt’s lips moved over Puck’s, soft and tentative and warm. It was Puck’s turn to make a soft noise, a hum, as quiet as the kiss was gentle. The hand curled around the back of Kurt’s neck came to rest against his jaw, thumbs brushing over Kurt’s ears.

Puck wondered if Evans kissed Kurt like this, carefully, like he would break. He wondered if he’d asked permission, because he was honorable, and a bit surprising or whatever the fuck Kurt had said. The thought was cause enough for Puck to pause, eyes slitting open.

He wasn’t dumb enough to think Kurt would just break up with Evans for him— because even though Kurt had wanted Puck to look, that didn’t mean he was ready to give up what he had.

God, Puck should have known this would happen. That as soon as he pushed Kurt towards Evans, as soon as Kurt had tightened his belt and just gone for it, Puck would want him even more. Pushing someone away had never had a great success rate. He shouldn’t have tried to play yenta, because now he was still just second best and he really— for once he didn’t want to ask Kurt about it, because hearing it—

Puck didn’t finish that thought. His grip tightened a fraction, tugging Kurt closer to kiss him harder, gradually turning that chaste kiss into something a little hungrier, teeth nipping, tugging at his lower lip, licking into his mouth without ever quite entering. And he didn’t know it himself, but it was Puck’s way of telling Kurt this is what you’ll be missing. Puck dropped a hand and hooked it roughly around Kurt’s waist, pulling him flush against his body, and it was so much better that way. The cold couldn’t creep in that way.

He screwed his eyes shut and took advantage of the moment while it lasted.

mouth full of words.

Thu, 08 Mar 2012 18:25:21 -0500

Tagging: Noah Puckerman & Kurt Hummel
Time: Evening, 3/2
Location: Out near the tracks
Notes: There’s a lot left unsaid.

Kurt:

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.

PUCK:

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.

mouth full of words.

Wed, 07 Mar 2012 23:21:33 -0500

Tagging: Noah Puckerman & Kurt Hummel
Time: Evening, 3/2
Location: Out near the tracks
Notes: There’s a lot left unsaid.

Kurt:

Kurt sighed and shook his head a bit, almost sadly. “This is my battle. You know Figgins. For someone who isn’t terrible he’s not far off. He thinks vampires are real Puck, he’s got the craziest religious ideas I’ve ever heard. I can hardly expect him to help me.” He chewed his lip for a few moments, “And…and those other closet cases as you so fondly call him, are part of the reason why I have to stay okay.” His voice was resigned, “I can’t falter because there are people watching me. And not just the bullies.” And it was true. Coming out he’d inadvertently become the gay kid, and that had made him some kind of example or something without him really meaning for it to happen that way. And he’d laugh it off from time to time, but he took it seriously. He wasn’t just going to let them get to him because he wasn’t alone, there were others watching to see if he could handle it. And maybe if he could they’d be able to eventually. Even if before Puck he’d felt alone almost constantly, he’d always known it wasn’t true.

He sighed at the mention of Sam and shook his head again, “Sam isn’t ready for this. I…I knew that.” He scoffed at himself, “I should have just…left well enough alone. Because I know what’s going to happen now. He’s going to get hassled when I’m not there or his parents will find out and the next thing I know it won’t be me it’ll be him.” His voice was just a little bitter and he knew it wasn’t fair of him to feel these things, but he knew they’d be true soon enough.

His eyes moved back to Puck, his gaze softening and a small smile spreading across his face. “But…if it’s your fight too I guess it’s nice to know that I’ll be on the winning team.” Puck’s hand felt warm over his own and Kurt wasn’t going to pull away, he had no desire to and Puck was right there. He was talking like this was his cause too and it made Kurt wonder if maybe…but he needed to stop that because he’d projected his own feelings onto others enough times to know that it was a truly horrible idea.

He shook his head at Puck’s statement and couldn’t help but step closer, not really thinking about what this was beyond trying to get Puck to see what he saw.. “You are better Puck. You’re thousands of times better than they are. You just don’t believe it yet.” His voice was gentle as he gazed at Puck fondly and squeezed his forearm for emphasis. “You think I’d go anywhere like this with any of them? I…I trust you Puck.” He gave a slight shrug and his smile widened a bit, “And I don’t trust many people. Not the way I trust you.” He wished he could make the move, turn his hand to hold Puck’s and just press close because maybe Puck would understand then, maybe he’d see how much he’d grown to meanto Kurt and maybe then he’d stop talking like he wasn’t half as good as he was. Even though if Kurt was honest he’d admit that he didn’t really understand either.

PUCK:

“You don’t gotta be responsible for anybody but yourself, Kurt. Jesus, I mean— why do you gotta be the martyr?”

But then again, Puck didn’t really get that kind of responsibility, that obligation, because he didn’t have anyone looking at him any further than how fast he could lay them. He didn’t have to be good; that wasn’t the straw he’d drawn. He never had to be any more than what he projected, or what others expected. But here was Kurt, carrying all of McKinley’s secret gay population on his shoulders— and there were a fair few, because Puck played with them on a team before, picked up cues, was something himself. It made his stomach lurch with guilt, made him feel like he was hiding truths way too big beneath skin too little. He’d finally stopped lying to himself, but he was still lying to Kurt and he was sick of it.

“Your headphones are heavy enough,” he joked. It fell flat.

He had no right to feel flashes of jealousy at the mention of Sam’s name, no right to feel small triumphs over the fact that whenever Sam did come up, it was like Kurt didn’t want to talk about it. It made Puck wonder why, made him want to dig. He wanted to reassure Kurt, tell him fuck WMHS, you can go after whoever the hell you want, and you wanted Sam, so whatever. But he didn’t— Puck didn’t want Kurt to go after whoever he wanted. Not because of some stupid social hierarchy. Puck just didn’t want to face coming to terms Kurt wanting to be around anyone but him. Sharing was hard enough. Actually, sharing was fucking impossible.

So instead of anything reassuring, he went with what he knew best. “Well, fuck Evans if he can’t handle it,” he said, voice low, flippant. “He made his bed. If he can’t lay in it, someone else can. His friggin’ loss.”

He sounded…not bitter. Harsh, maybe, fervent, because he was. Because Puck knew Kurt deserved someone with a thick fucking skin. Someone who didn’t have anything to lose— and if they did, Kurt deserved to know he was worth the risk and the loss. Puck could feel his heart rattling in his chest. The closer Kurt got, the louder it became— insistent, hard to ignore.

I…I trust you Puck.

And God, no one had even ever pretended to care that much for him before. Puck’s grip on Kurt’s hand tightened and he didn’t even hear his jacket hit the tracks when he thread their fingers together against his forearm.

“You shouldn’t,” Puck said with a humorless smirk, because he still wasn’t convinced he was worth the time of day. His eyes flicked from one point on Kurt’s face to another, catching his eyes, then dropping to his mouth again; his body was a wall of heat and the temptation was too strong to ignore. “I’m the kinda guy that steals his best friend’s girl.” Puck’s nose brushed Kurt’s, felt the tickle of the edge of his lips with the next movement of his own.

“I’m the kinda guy that kisses a good guy’s boy,” Puck murmured, tilting his head to press their lips together. If this was his only chance, so be it, but he was tired of lying to Kurt, tired of pretending Kurt dropping everything didn’t mean something, tired of Kurt feeling alone when he really fucking wasn’t. Not now. If he fucked up, it wouldn’t be the first time, or the last, but Puck kinda figured— as he lifted his hand to curve it against Kurt’s cheek— that’d it be the best.

mouth full of words.

Wed, 07 Mar 2012 17:11:02 -0500

Tagging: Noah Puckerman & Kurt Hummel
Time: Evening, 3/2
Location: Out near the tracks
Notes: There’s a lot left unsaid.

Kurt:

Kurt’s first reaction to Puck’s foot catching on the rail was to reach out and steady him, but his hand stopped short uncertainly. Another old habit from years of people flinching away from him, but it didn’t matter because Puck righted himself within minutes and Kurt couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips as Puck fell into step beside him.

He jerked a bit at Puck’s words though, turning to look at him with wide eyes as he gazed at him. He frowned as Puck continued and he almost didn’t know what to make of this. But mostly for the first time he felt like…someone cared. Even if Puck throwing his jacket off was a bit…startling and dramatic he was getting this upset because someone had said something about him.

And if he was honest with himself this meant more than anything those idiots on the baseball team said. Their words were more insidious and they’d probably haunt Kurt for a while but Puck cared.

But then Puck was speaking another and Kurt felt himself stiffen a bit and his own teeth grit despite himself. And as soon as Puck’s sentence was done Kurt was stepping forward on instinct, into Puck’s personal space. Gazing the scant half inch that Puck might have on him on a bad day at his one friend, his was face hard and serious as he poked the firm chest hard. “You are not a lima loser.” He voice wasn’t as loud as Puck’s but it was sharp and he meant it, “Anyone that told you that even once is aliar.” He didn’t step away as he kept Puck’s gaze, “You are no more a fuck up than I am a fag and if you call yourself that or infer it around me again…or if…” He floundered a bit because really he couldn’t threaten Puck. It’d be a joke. They both knew Kurt couldn’t take him in a fight, “I don’t know what I’ll do but you’ll hate it.”

He took a deep breath and pulled back a bit, just enough to get out of Puck’s personal space as he tried to force himself to relax. “You can’t say that about yourself.” His jaw clenched before cutting his eyes back to meet Puck’s gaze again, “And I’ll stop bullshitting when you do.” He took a deep breath, “I..Ihave to be okay. I can’t depend on Figgins to fight my battles, I can’t depend on Shuester and I certainlycan’t count on Finn. So I have to deal with it my way.” He swallowed thickly, “And if you show weakness-“ he stopped and took a deep breath, “If you react. Let them know that their words hitsomething in you then they just come back 100 times stronger and they dig at that place until-“ He broke off again and shook his head.

“Words might not just be words but I’m not going to let them know I’m hurt.” He glanced down at Puck’s arms, “I’m not going to give them that kind of power over me. Not ever again.” He shook his head again, “And you wouldn’t have been like them. You never…you haven’t ever called me that. At least not to my face. And I don’t care if you did before we were friends.” He gazed at Puck stubbornly, “You’re better than that. And better than them.” He sighed after a few moments and hesitantly laid a hand on Puck’s arm, “You have to be cold though…” His voice was softer as he frowned at Puck almost worried, “Its cold Puck.”

PUCK:

He wanted to taunt him, to say I can take whatever you dish out, because Puck didn’t want to believe that Kurt could do anything to hurt him, do anything that he’d hate. He didn’t want to think Kurt even had that power over him, but he hadn’t thought Kurt a lot of things, and Kurt was turning all of that on its head; something in the back of Puck’s brain knew he wouldn’t stand a chance. The point of contact, that hard jab that spidered out like cracks of heat, those hard words, Kurt’s nearness and the way his eyes seemed to darken with something so fucking righteous it made Puck’s skin buzz, tunneled his focus entirely. He swallowed hard, opened his mouth, but said nothing. He could hear, feel, his heart in his ears.

I’m all of those things and then some, Puck wanted to say, but Kurt’s words burned them off the tip of his tongue. He’d spent so much time believing he was the poster-child for every one of those words that it was difficult to dismantle, difficult to throw off and stop being because then what would he be then? But Kurt, with his mouth set and his eyes and words sharp as glass— Puck wanted to be something else. Thought he could maybe try. Still, he set his jaw defiantly, glared at Kurt like he was taking away an identity that was worth something, and barely breathed.

When Kurt stepped away, he took most of the heat with him, and Puck’s hands twitched instinctively in want to drag him near again. He’d never wanted to touch someone so badly, just to reassure them he was there, but he knew he wouldn’t know where to even set his hands, or how to stay them in one place. Puck watched Kurt hold himself together and didn’t help.

“It shouldn’t just be your battle,” Puck said quietly, anger brimming beneath the growl of his voice. “It’s mine too.” His lips pressed shut, and he didn’t even bother correcting himself with a because we’re friends. “It isn’t just your battle. Just because you’re out and Evans’s got one foot out of the closet or whatever the fuck he’s doing…there’s a shitton of other closet-cases that won’t come out because of the way they treat you. How is that fuckin’ fair? Figgins is full’a shit if he thinks this is an isolated case. I’m not gonna let you fight this alone.”

He shivered when Kurt laid his hand on him, but not because of the cold. Instinct wasn’t doing much to convince Puck to move away; in fact, it was doing the opposite, made him sway forward. It crossed his mind that Evans probably got to hold Kurt’s hand, that Puck was relegated to walking next to him, and not at his side. His fault, really. His fault, his loss.

“I’m not any better than them, Kurt,” he said, laying a hand over Kurt’s in order to move it away. Puck pulled his gaze away from Kurt’s hand and lifted his eyes to his face, though they anchored on his lips. “I just know better now.”

At least he thought he did.

mouth full of words.

Wed, 07 Mar 2012 02:46:26 -0500

Tagging: Noah Puckerman & Kurt Hummel
Time: Evening, 3/2
Location: Out near the tracks
Notes: There’s a lot left unsaid.

Kurt:

Kurt glanced up a bit surprised as Puck’s hand skated along the sleeve of his coat and he couldn’t help the small huff of laughter at the slight shove. He’d gotten used to those sorts of things from Puck, they weren’t hard enough to hurt anymore and Kurt didn’t mind. Not really. Generally he didn’t know how to handle physical contact with people, there was always this unspoken distance. Like if they even brushed him in the hall they’d catch whatever was wrong with him. So maybe it was a bit messed up but Puck not hesitating to shove him was almost…welcome? Kurt mentally shook his head at that.

Puck hadn’t ever treated him differently because he was gay, he’d always treated Kurt differently because he was Kurt. And Kurt was okay with that actually. So he just shook his head and smiled at Puck softly, “We both already knew I was fussy. This is hardly breaking news.” He raised an eyebrow delicately at Puck as he watched Puck moving along the track.

He eyed the small hill thoughtfully for a few moments before sighing and finally, hesitantly, scrambling up the pebbles to stand on the tracks too. He glanced in either direction nervously, vaguely wondering what it’d be like to get hit by a train before wincing away from that thought and looking at Puck again. Because the other teen might mess with him a bit but they were friends at the very least, and no matter how much snarking at him Puck did Kurt wasn’t going anywhere.

Kurt was inspecting the tree line when he heard Puck’s statement and turned to look at him almost incredulously.

He’d known that. Actually.

It was easy for him to play dumb about sports, no one expected him to know the difference and he never volunteered that he wasn’t completely dumb and had eventually picked up on the differences. And the different jocks tended to have different tactics so he’d noticed that too but…Puck wasn’t supposed to know that. He hadn’twanted Puck to know that. Or anything about the incident.

He swallowed thickly gazing down at his hands after a few moments. He was cold. Very cold. But Puck was worth it, really. But he felt a bit colder now that Puck had brought up that and Kurt wanted to go back to the silence. To wondering how many days Puck had spent walking along these tracks. To not having to face what had happened the other day.

It’d been a long time since he’d heard that word. He’d seen it on lips and felt the hatred in shoves and glances but…hearing it was different. Somehow it was worse. No matter what he said to Puck or to Sam or his father or Finn or Carole. He shook his head, “You should have gotten to play ball Puck. You’d have been good at it.” He glanced up at Puck again, forcing a small smile, “And it’s okay. There’s no need for bats or sticks or whatever Baseball uses.” He shrugged sarcastically, “I’m not sure how I want to know you know who did it but…” He sighed and slipped his hands into his pockets, “I don’t care because it doesn’t matter.”

And it didn’t matter. Because Kurt was okay. Like always.

PUCK:

Puck tried to shrug away Kurt’s little show of support, to be flippant about the fact that he had been banned from the field— all fields, really— until further notice, but it did bother him. Shrugging it off didn’t really do much except make the bitterness and shame slide over his shoulders and down his back. He knew he was good enough for ball— for baseball and football and basketball. He was good at those things, maybe the only things he was good at, but not being able to play only emphasized the stupid choices he’d made in his life, what an idiot he was in the grander scheme of things. The toe of his boot caught hard against a sleeper, jarring his foot. He caught himself and snorted. No use getting caught up in the what-ifs, though. Pity parties got him nowhere— just piss drunk and fucking depressed.

He matched Kurt’s stride to walk at his side, eye fixed resolutely on the sleepers.

“I can spot a douchebag a mile away,” Puck informed him laxly. He spread his arms as best he could while keeping his hands jammed in his pockets; buttons popped. “Takes one to know one, right? Flushed ‘em out. Don’t worry about the details.”

Details which involved enough blackmailing and threats to bodily harm to keep the team off Kurt’s back for a while. Or, in retrospect, land Puck back in juvie ‘til graduation. College graduation.

In which case he’d probably be in jail, but whatever. Semantics.

Being near Kurt both lulled Puck and put him on edge. Kurt listened to him, for one, thought a helluva lot more of him than Puck thought of himself. He looked over his shitty truck and humored his hyperactive sister. He was present, which was new.

But then he put him on edge, because the more time Puck spent with Kurt, the harder it got to focus. It became difficult separating Kurt’s issues from his own. Kurt’s issues became Puck’s issues.

And it was getting a helluva lot harder keeping his hands to himself, especially when Kurt said shit like it doesn’t matter.

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, Kurt,” he said. Puck’s voice was tight, ground out between his teeth. The same anger from before came surging up, bitter as bile. He swallowed hard, set his jaw again. ”It matters a whole fucking lot, so don’t gimme that line.”

The sound of his teeth grinding together filled in a short silence, the cold air stinging on the frustration he felt sparking all over again. He wanted to punch something, something solid, that would dent, that would bruise his hands. Instead he settled for curling his fist so tight his knuckles popped, his blunt fingernails bit crescents into his palms.

“It’s not okay. It’s not, and you fuckin’ know why?” Puck burst, voice raising. “‘Cause Figgins wanted to suspend me for defending myself or the one friggin’ friend I have— he’s so ready to suspend me if I so much as sneeze, but he won’t lift a finger against a bunch of bat-swinging ass-hats, lets ‘em get away with murder just ‘cause they wear a fuckin’ letter jacket! How is that fair?”

Puck’s hands came out then, to cuff the air to emphasize his point. Then seeing the leather sleeves of his jacket, he made a disgruntled sound and popped the rest of the buttons, just to yank it off. It snapped across the air like a flag caught in the wind as soon as it was off. Puck didn’t even notice the sting of pre-Spring air at first.

“Jesusfuck, dude, I was one of them! I was gonna be one of them all over again!” He turned to Kurt, voice like a gunshot in the cold and surrounding quiet. “Don’t tell me it doesn’t matter, ‘cause it does. ‘Cause I’ve been called a dumb jock and a Lima loser and a fuck-up all my life, and it may not’a been true back then, but it sure as hell is now, so fuck words just being words, Kurt. That’s bullshit and you know it!”

derekku: “It’s hard to argue when you won’t stop making sense ...

Sun, 04 Mar 2012 22:10:07 -0500

derekku:

“It’s hard to argue when
you won’t stop making sense
But my tongue still misbehaves and it
keeps digging my own grave with my

Hands open, and my eyes open
I just keep hoping
That your heart opens”