the reluctant lobotomist (fourfreedoms) wrote,
the reluctant lobotomist
fourfreedoms

Fic: Rewrite, Reboot, Remake

Title: Rewrite, Reboot, Remake
Author: fourfreedoms
Fandom: Glee
Pairing,Character(s): Kurt/Puck
Rating: PG-13 for kissing and swearing
Spoilers: Up through 1x05
Summary: Kurt muses aloud about Puck's sex drive. He gets a little more than he bargained for.
Notes: This is for memphis86 on her birthday, because she was too cold for a banana split.



At the end of the invitational, after Mr. Schue had given his whole inspirational ‘we made it through’ speech and left, Kurt and Puck are the only ones left in the band room changing. Just goes to show that burly dick-for-brains preens just as much as Kurt does. If Puck weren’t so skeezy, dare he say unclassy, he might actually respect that. As it is, he still can’t get over how April drunkenly fell on Puck’s mouth and he just kissed right back. He likes April, but that was just inappropriate.

“Are you always up for it?” Kurt mutters derisively. Kurt places so much control over his libido, because he’s already being tossed into dumpsters, he’s not asking to get lynched here. But so do most of the guys at McKinley. All the girls worth having are in the celibacy club so they have to sit and pretend they think about their math homework every 24 seconds rather than sex. Puck seems to exist in some nebulous existence where those rules don’t apply to him. Kurt knows for a fact that he’s torn through more than half of the celibacy club. Brittany told him.

“Why? You asking?”

It startles Kurt who didn’t think Puck heard, but when he looks up, he finds Puck smirking at him, his t-shirt half on, abs rippling underneath dusky skin. Kurt’s staring and Puck’s watching him stare.

He swallows precipitously and belts out a ragged, “As if,” knowing his face is flaming. He turns away, fingers catching on the buttons of his Vivienne Westwood button-down and really hopes Puck won’t upgrade him to port-o potty rolling during their morning torture fests.

He hears Puck heave up his bag and hunches in on himself. He knows Puck won’t hurt him when there’s nobody to watch and comment on his manliness, but he doesn’t want to spark any ideas in that gaping-morass of sexual conquests and high school clichés that Puck uses to think.

Puck leans in close as he walks past Kurt, lips almost at Kurt’s ear. “It wouldn’t be so bad you know—that pretty red mouth wrapped around my dick.” He chuckles and pushes out the doors.

Kurt is left gaping.

The next morning he expects to be dumped in the dumpster and then ground in it. Possibly spit or pissed on for good measure, because there’s no way that Puck can handle that level of gayness he spouted last night without responding with extreme levels of testosterone-fueled cruelty.

When the defensive line comes for him just after he’s parked his car, Puck shakes his head. “Nah, I have to stand next to him during Glee Club and he always smells like ass.” The football players shrug and walk off, while Kurt blinks, fingers white-knuckled on the strap of his designer messenger bag. Kurt would like the world to know that Puck does not stand next to him during rehearsal because Kurt would rather be back in the dumpster than endure that, but also that he does not smell. After years of garbage Kurt’s pretty good at getting the smell out. So whatever that was just there, Kurt at least knows it was one whopping big lie.

And so it continues. For weeks. Puck opens doors for him, he stops whaling on him in practice, and he doesn’t tease anymore about how his balls haven’t dropped in the locker room. He doesn’t scamper around the lockers the way the other boys in practice do so that he can’t look at their packages. He proudly displays himself like he’s looking to be on the cover of Kurt’s next muscle mag. Puck is really not bad looking, Kurt had been aware of this intellectually, but when he sees Puck after he’s just out of the showers, chest beaded with water, it’s a whole different ballgame. And then Puck’s started bringing that acoustic guitar to rehearsal and fiddling around on it. He seems so soulful and deep when he’s strumming away at Jeff Buckley and Elliott Smith. Kurt doesn’t know what to do. It may or may not be driving him a little insane.

So finally after practice, he lingers. Purposefully pretending to check his nails and making sure his bag is pristine and everything inside is organized according to color while Puck sticks the acoustic guitar back in the case. They’re all alone and he means to do this confrontation with a little finesse, sort of a James Cagney calling-Puck-out type of thing. Only that’s not what happens. He winds up blurting, “What are you doing?”

Puck looks up from his guitar, his face suspiciously blank. “Huh?”

Kurt puts his hands on his hips. “Are you trying to make me fall in love with you so that you can publicly embarrass me for being a silly fag? Because I have seen this movie before.”

Puck stares at him. “You—”

Kurt cuts him off. “I have known you since the 6th grade, Noah Puckerman, and I know there’s no way you had a change of heart.”

Puck’s baffled expression melds into an amused one and Kurt is pretty sure that was not supposed to happen. “Do you?” Puck asks, stepping closer.

Kurt eyes dart around the room, anywhere but at Puck as he closes the distance between them. Okay, this was definitely not supposed to happen. “Do I what?” he says, eyes level over Puck’s right shoulder.

Puck tips up his chin with one callused forefinger, forcing him to meet Puck’s eyes. “Love me.”

Kurt chokes, knowing his face has gone bright red again. “Of course I don’t love you! Are you mad? You can’t just fall in love with someone after a few weeks.”

Puck smiles and leans in closer so that his lips are hovering over Kurt’s. Puck needs a Tom Tom or something because he has gone way off the map here, and Kurt clearly doesn’t know how to give him directions back to normal expected behavior. “But you want me, right?” Puck presses.

“N—no.”

Puck laughs, hand on his chin moving to stroke down over his throat. “Yeah, you do.”

He closes the scant inches between their mouths with a chaste barely there brush and when Kurt makes a high-pitched involuntary noise Puck pushes him back through the mess of chairs and abandoned music stands to hit the wall. Oh god, Kurt thinks, and then Puck is kissing him again, pressing him back into the wall and flicking past Kurt’s lips with the tip of his tongue. And it’s good. Frankly it’s amazing.

Puck must be really good at sex. Kurt doesn’t know anything about it at all. It’s unfair, terribly, terribly unfair. Puck should not be able to make him feel this good. He should not be able to press his thigh right over Kurt’s crotch so that he starts to get hard. Or brush his thumb over Kurt’s pulse so that it spikes up dizzyingly, or sink his teeth gently into Kurt’s lower lip so that he arches unconsciously away from the wall and into the heat of Puck’s body.

Puck pulls away, that teasing laugh that Kurt has had as a constant companion through his secondary school life spilling out over his lips. Kurt leans back against the wall, eyes closed. He can’t bear to see Puck’s gloating expression.

“Was that your first kiss?” Puck asks, thumb tracing over Kurt’s lower lip. Kurt doesn’t reply, but he knows Puck finds his answer in the way his chest rises and falls like he just ran wind sprints with the team. “I can’t believe you wear lip-gloss,” he says and Kurt opens his eyes to see Puck licking the edge of his thumb.

“F-fuck you,” Kurt replies, ashamed of how wobbly it sounds.

Puck shakes his head. “You really don’t know how to swear.” He crowds against Kurt again. “You have to say it like you…” he breaks off, rolling their hips together and Kurt breathes out “goddamn it,” completely helpless. Puck grins. “That’s better.”

“Why?” Kurt asks, and they both know he’s not talking about swearing.

Puck leans in to kiss him again and Kurt can’t figure out why he doesn’t push him away. This is not fun, this is demeaning. But he tips his head back so that Puck can explore his mouth further and finds himself sliding his hands down over Puck’s ass, fingers curling to hit the inside seam of Puck’s jeans. Puck doesn’t mind, he doesn’t shove him away like it’s been made too real what they’re doing. His ass cheeks flex under Kurt’s palms and he thrusts against him so that Kurt can’t help making strangled noises into their messy liplock. Puck seems obsessed with his lower lip, he sucks on it and tugs it with his teeth, he nibbles at the edges and darts his tongue just inside. Kurt doesn’t understand any of this.

Puck wrenches his mouth away and this time, Kurt is somewhat gratified to note, he too is breathing hard. His eyes are on Kurt’s mouth when he says, “You know, this could be the movie where you beat me at my own game.”

*

Tags: fic, glee, kurt/puck
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