Work Text:
The letter arrives on a Wednesday. He's on his way to pick up Kurt, keys in one hand and he's running a little late, so he thinks about skipping it and just checking his mailbox later. Except the longer he and Kurt are together, the less time he makes to come back to his own place, and the mailman gets kind of bitchy if he doesn't clean out his box every so often.
So he stops in what passes for a lobby in his building, wrestling with the mailbox key for a second before he gets the ancient box open and pulls out his mail. It's mostly junk, a credit card offer and a notice that it's time to get his teeth cleaned, and a postcard from some local car dealer addressed to whoever lived here before him.
But nestled in the center of the pile is a white envelope, the expensive kind you buy at stationary stores. His address is hand-written in a neat, loopy script he hasn't seen in awhile, but he recognizes anyway. Puck tosses the rest of the mail in the trash can near the door and just stares at the envelope for a minute, trying to decide if he should open it now or just shove it back in the box and deal with it later.
Except again, who even knows when later will be, and if he doesn't open it now it's just going to eat at him until he drives himself and probably Kurt crazy. So he takes a deep breath, then he scowls at himself for being such a pussy about a fucking letter and he slides his finger under the glue holding it closed.
There's a single sheet of paper inside, the same loopy handwriting scrawled across the page. It's folded around a picture, and Puck closes his eyes for a second before he forces them back open and looks at it.
At first they got pictures all the time, loads of them, sometimes in their e-mail but sometimes printed like this. But Beth's...damn, almost five now, and the pictures don't come all that often anymore. Mostly it's just right around Christmas and then again right after her birthday, and every time it's sort of a shock to see how much she's changed. Like, he knows kids grow up and everything, but it's pretty fucking weird to watch it play out in twice-a-year installments instead of seeing each little change as it's happening.
This picture is one of those department store portraits, the kind with the fake background and the bad lighting. She's grinning like a trooper, though, and Puck feels a little surge of pride that his kid's not throwing a fit about getting her picture taken.
She's wearing a black and white dress with a big red velvet bow around the waist, sitting in front of a pile of fake presents with her knees drawn up and her arms clasped around them. Posing, like she's a natural born performer.
Puck smiles at the thought, then laughs softly when he realizes how pissed his mother's going to be about the Christmas presents. She's still mad at Quinn for not even trying to find a nice Jewish family to adopt Beth, even though they both know Beth wouldn't be Jewish anyway because Quinn's not. Then again, maybe that's why his mom's been pissed at Quinn for the past five years.
He glances down at the letter, taking in the usual bullshit:
Dear Noah,
We hope you're doing well. Summer's getting so big and she's bright and happy and so curious about the world around her. We think of you and Quinn and thank God every day for the gift you've given us.
He doesn't bother reading the rest; it says pretty much the same thing as every other letter they've sent, mostly about how grateful they are and how they made the right decision, like they still need somebody to tell them that after all this time. Maybe Quinn does, but he doesn't ask.
Kurt's classes get out early on Wednesdays, so by the time Puck pulls up at the curb he's already standing there. Usually when Puck picks him up from school he makes a big show of pulling off his helmet and climbing off his bike, then he grabs Kurt and kisses him hard in front of whoever the fuck happens to be watching. It makes Kurt blush and stutter every time, but Puck can tell he loves it by the way he says Noah, all scandalized while he looks around to see who's watching.
Today he pulls off his helmet, but he doesn't get off his bike and hook an arm around Kurt's waist to drag him into a big, showy kiss.
"Hey," he says, reaching back to grab Kurt's helmet and hand it over. "Sorry I left you hanging."
"It's fine." Kurt frowns at him for a second, head tilted to the side and it makes him look a little like a bird. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah," Puck answers, because what else is he going to say? He can't tell Kurt that he's got an envelope stuffed in the inside pocket of his leather jacket, and even though he knows it's just his head messing with him, it feels like it's pressing down on his chest.
Kurt watches him for another beat, then he pulls his helmet on and climbs up behind Puck. The first few times he did it were kind of a disaster; he was nervous and clumsy, and he hung on so tight Puck had a little trouble steering. But it's been over two months now, eight weeks of more or less the same routine, and these days Kurt slides onto Puck's bike like he belongs there. His hands grip Puck's hips, not too tight but enough to let him know Kurt's there.
And that's the thing about his bike -- there's no conversation on the way back to Kurt's place, just the wind pushing back against them and the street noise around them. He can feel Kurt's hands on him, feels the bike vibrating under them, and he can still feel the press of the envelope inside his jacket.
He lucks out with a parking space not too far from Kurt's building, taking his time shutting off the engine and sliding out of the saddle. When he turns around Kurt's standing on the sidewalk holding his helmet, hair sticking out in a way that would give him a panic attack if he could see it, and Puck would laugh, except Kurt's chewing on his bottom lip and looking...well, kind of scared.
"What?"
"I was hoping you'd tell me."
And yeah, he sounds pissed, but Puck's been translating his moods long enough now to know he thinks something's wrong, and he's bracing himself to hear that it's him. Which is just stupid, because they've been through all this before. Puck sighs and reaches into his pocket, then he pulls out the envelope and hands it to Kurt. He takes Kurt's helmet and his own -- because those fuckers are expensive, and this is L.A., so of course somebody's going to steal them -- and heads toward Kurt's building.
He's almost to the elevator when Kurt catches up with him, and Puck braces himself for a bitch fit about why Puck didn't just tell him in the first place, but Kurt doesn't say anything. They just stand there waiting for the elevator, side by side and nobody talking, and okay, maybe that's even worse than a bitch fit.
Except Kurt reaches for his helmet again, shifting it to his other hand before he reaches out again and catches Puck's hand in his. Which leaves them standing in front of the elevators with their matching helmets, holding hands and not looking at each other, and it's maybe the gayest thing Puck's ever done, but he kind of likes it anyway.
They've never really talked about any of this. Not because Puck minds, really, but the way he figures it, there's not much to say. He had a kid, and when it came time to decide what happened to her, he didn't really get a say. So now he gets pictures a couple times a year and yeah, it's like a knife in his gut every time, but he'd still rather have them than not have anything at all.
Kurt's still holding his hand when they get off the elevator, and Puck lets himself be dragged down the hall and into the apartment he sees more than his own. Puck drops his helmet on the floor of Kurt's room and sits down hard on the edge of the bed, leaning back to watch as Kurt pulls his school bag over his head and sets it on the chair at his desk. He sits down next to Puck, thighs pressed together as he opens the crisp white envelope and pulls out the picture.
"My God, her mother should be arrested for crimes against fashion," Kurt murmurs, under his breath like he doesn't even know he's saying it. And he probably doesn't, because ragging on other people's clothes is, like, instinct for him, but it makes Puck laugh, which makes it pretty much exactly the right thing to say.
He leans in and presses a kiss against Kurt's temple, catching a glimpse of the picture in the process. And yeah, it's a pretty ugly dress, but his chest still feels too tight when he looks at it.
"My mom's gonna freak when I send it to her. It's one thing to know she was adopted by Gentiles, but this is just rubbing it in her face."
"You're not going to keep it?"
Puck shrugs and reaches out, running a finger along the edge of the image before he realizes what he's doing and pulls his hand away. "I've got a picture already. Besides, it makes her feel better, I think. She can't be part of my kid's life, but at least she can see she's doing okay, right? Even if she is surrounded by Christmas shit."
Kurt smiles down at the picture for a second before he looks up at Puck again. "I could make a copy, if you want. We have a really nice scanner in the workroom at school. It's mostly for designing textiles, but no one will mind if I print out one little picture."
He opens his mouth to tell Kurt not to bother, that the picture he's already got is fine and he doesn't really need this one around to remind him of how much time has passed. He sees them every time he goes home, and anyway, it's not like he's going to forget what his own kid looks like. So he opens his mouth to say thanks, but don't waste your time, except what comes out is, "Really?"
"Yes, really," Kurt says, and he looks so happy about it Puck's glad he didn't say no. "I can do it tomorrow."
"You're not going to, like, photoshop her into baby Vogue shit or something, are you?"
"Vogue's a magazine, not a fashion house," Kurt says, right back on autopilot. Then he blinks and glances over at Puck, eying him for a second before he continues. "Besides, she's got your bone structure. That look really cries out for a more classic aesthetic. Ralph Lauren, maybe."
"Sometimes you're really fucking weird, Hummel."
Kurt grins like it's a compliment, and okay, it kind of is. But he's still admiring Puck's bone structure or whatever, so he's not complaining.
"I promise I will keep her tragic Midwestern fashion intact."
"You can ditch the bow if you want."
"Thank God," Kurt says, and Puck laughs all over again.
"So you think you can ditch the Hummel family festivities long enough to come over for Hanukkah dinner?" Puck asks. "My mom's gonna get all weepy and shit as soon as she opens this, then she'll go hide in the kitchen for-fucking-ever and cry into the latkes, and we can go make out in my old room while we wait for her to pull herself together. She might even forgive you for being a Gentile once I tell her you made the picture."
For a second Kurt just stares at him like maybe whatever Puck just said came out in a foreign language. And he's pretty sure it didn't, because he barely scraped a passing grade in Spanish back in high school, and that was only because Schue took pity on him and Santana did his homework.
Still, Kurt's just looking at him like he's still trying to work out what Puck just said, so he tries again. "You are going home for Christmas, right? I mean, I know we're bailing on Thanksgiving, but I kind of promised my mom I'd show up for Hanukkah this year. Anyway, the last time I talked to Burt on Facebook he made it sound like it was a done deal."
Kurt flinches the way he always does when Puck mentions talking to his dad on Facebook. He doesn't get why; mostly they just talk about sports. Besides, it's not like Puck has a father to ask how he's doing or send him Youtube links of rednecks blowing up cars and shit, so it's kind of nice. And it takes the heat off Kurt, because he sure as hell doesn't want to watch explosion videos, so the way Puck figures, he's doing everybody a favor.
"Please, you know my father's delusional." Kurt presses a hand over his face, like he's really trying to decide which is worse: spending two weeks in Ohio with his folks, or spending two weeks in L.A. without Puck. "You're really going?"
"I promised my mom." He pulls Kurt's hand away from his face, then he leans in and presses his lips to the corner of Kurt's mouth. "Come on, it might be fun. Besides, if you stay here we're both stuck with two weeks of nothing but phone sex, and that'll really suck."
"Why on earth did you say you'd stay two weeks?" Kurt asks, but he's turning toward Puck and mouthing the words against his skin, which is as good as saying he'll go, as far as Puck's concerned.
"Didn't seem that long before we hooked up," he says, his hand sliding into Kurt's hair to angle his head just so. "So what do you say? You know you'll go crazy without me anyway."
Kurt rolls his eyes, but the blush ruins the effect. Puck grins against his mouth and pushes forward for another kiss, and for a minute Kurt lets him. Then he leans back out of Puck's grip and glares.
"Fine, I'll go. But it's going to be terrible. Between my stepmother and your mother we probably won't even see each other."
"Baby, you know I won't let that happen," Puck says, and he means it. Because yeah, Kurt would go crazy without him, but not as crazy as Puck. And maybe that really does make him some kind of stalker like Starr keeps telling him, but as long as Kurt's not complaining, he doesn't care.
"You coming to the show tonight?" he asks, and if he sounds like he cares a little more than usual, Kurt doesn't call him on it. Instead he just nods and pulls himself out of Puck's grip long enough to tuck Beth's picture carefully in his school bag.
"So do you need to call in reinforcements or what?" Puck asks when Kurt turns to look at him again. For a second he just stands there, watching, and it takes a lot of effort to wait for Kurt to move instead of reaching out to take. Then he crosses back to the bed and pushes a knee between Puck's thighs, and Puck takes the hint and plants his legs wide apart so Kurt can press in close.
"Brittany flew to Vancouver this morning," Kurt answers, arms sliding around Puck's shoulders. One hand lands on the back of his head, stroking across Puck's scalp in that way that makes Puck want to fucking purr. "Honestly, with the way she's been going on you'd think she'd landed a part in a Johnny Depp movie. It's a walk-on role for a Fox show. How much of a break can that really be?"
Puck hears the hint of bitterness in Kurt's voice, and it makes him grin and grip Kurt's hips to drag him even closer. He doesn't call Kurt on it; there's no point, not when he knows exactly how life has a way of not working out like you planned. He's pretty okay with the way his life is working out, though, and he thinks Kurt mostly is too.
He leans up to press their mouths together, hands sliding up Kurt's back to push under his shirt. "If you've got homework or something to do before the show, you better tell me now."
"It can wait," Kurt answers, and Puck sure as hell hopes he means it can wait until tomorrow, because he's not planning to let Kurt out of bed until it's time to leave for the show. Maybe not even then, and this is the first time he's seriously considered blowing off the band and staying home.
Kurt's, like, made of layers, and his wardrobe's no exception. Lucky for Puck he's an expert at peeling back Kurt's layers, sure fingers slipping tiny buttons through their holes, digging out weird hidden zippers that mostly don't even have a point. He opens snaps one-handed and drags layer after layer off Kurt and onto the floor without ever pulling his mouth away from its exploration of Kurt's neck.
The whole time Kurt's just standing between his thighs, hands on Puck's shoulders and lips parted and letting himself be worshiped. Like utter fucking adoration is exactly what he deserves, and yeah, he's got a point there.
Puck's mouthing words along his skin, all the stuff he's said a million times and will say a million more, just so he's sure Kurt never forgets how much he wants this. And okay, maybe he's still doing a little penance for being such a douchebag when they were kids, but he doesn't have any problem at all with showing Kurt over and over how sorry he is for that.
Not that he thinks they would have hooked up way back then, if he'd been more comfortable with liking guys at the time. Even if he was less of an asshole back in school, he still would have been him, sure of himself and sexy as fuck and taking what he wanted without asking anybody's permission.
And Kurt still would have been Kurt, prim and uptight and kind of apologetic about being such a flamer, and now Puck knows that's mostly because he hated disappointing his old man, but at the time he just figured Kurt was a pussy, and he's never found shame attractive. So it wouldn't have worked back then, but he's just fine with that too, because they've got now, and he fucking loves the way it's working out now.
Once he gets Kurt out of his clothes he pulls back just far enough to reach between them, closing his hand around Kurt's dick and stroking slow. He's got one hand on the small of Kurt's back, the other moving on his dick and he's just watching, taking in the slow spread of heat across Kurt's bare chest and the way his eyelids flutter every time Puck's thumb slides across the head of his dick.
"Damn," he says, half to himself, "I fucking love you."
He can hear how surprised he sounds about it, and the truth is it is kind of a surprise, because he never went looking for this. When he kissed Kurt that first time in the bar it was just to piss off Mark, to make sure he knew that Puck didn't let anybody in far enough to hurt him.
Then he took Kurt home and proved what a bullshit lie that was, because he was so far gone by the end of their first date, and he hasn't regretted it once.
Kurt pushes forward until they're kissing again, hard and breathless like he's trying to pour everything he's thinking into that one kiss. Like if he just sucks hard enough on Puck's tongue, everything he's feeling will somehow be transferred right into Puck's brain and he won't have to say anything at all. Puck's pretty sure it's working, because his chest is tight and he can't do anything but kiss Kurt back like his fucking life depends on it.
Kurt's bucking up into his grip, sort of whining against his mouth and Puck knows he's close already. And that's just fine with him, because he's got plans and they've got all day to let them play out. He feels Kurt's body shake against him and tightens his arm around Kurt's waist, murmuring encouragement against Kurt's mouth as he tightens his grip and fists Kurt hard.
There's a moment right before Kurt comes when he opens his eyes, mouth still pressed against Puck's and it's kind of weird, just looking at him from this close up. Then Kurt kisses him hard again, sucking in Puck's air like he can't breathe without the help. A second later he's tensing against Puck, whole body rigid and jerking three hot, wet bursts of come on Puck's fingers and his own belly.
Puck's mouth moves against his jaw while he waits for Kurt to relax, and when Kurt finally lets out a sigh and slumps against him, Puck levers him up and onto his back on the bed. Kurt's eyes are closed and his legs are spread, every inch of pale skin covered in red splotches. And Puck's still wearing all his clothes, but he doesn't stop long enough to undress.
He does kick his shoes off, because if Kurt pulls himself together long enough to notice Puck's shoes on his sheets, the mood's going to change pretty quick, and Puck's not planning to let anything ruin this. So he kicks off his shoes before he plants his knees on the mattress, between Kurt's legs and reaching out with slick fingers to scrape the pooling come off Kurt's stomach.
He gathers as much as he can before he pushes a finger inside Kurt, lubing him up with his own come. And it's hot, but not as hot as the moan Kurt lets out when Puck's second finger slides inside him. His own cock's pressing hard against his jeans, but Puck ignores it and uses his free hand to bend Kurt's knee and pull his legs even further apart.
Kurt's a team player when he's getting what he wants, so he angles his hips up to let Puck in, his fingers sliding even deeper and brushing the spot that makes Kurt's whole body shudder. Puck leans over and presses his mouth to the inside of Kurt's thigh, sucking on pale skin as he works his fingers in and out, hitting that spot over and over until Kurt's moaning and half-hard again.
And he could seriously do this for the rest of his damn life, just take Kurt apart at the seams and then put them both back together again. But Kurt's hips are moving, fucking himself on Puck's fingers and moaning and Puck might have an impressive amount of stamina, but he's only human.
He pulls his fingers out of Kurt slow, and when Kurt's eyes open to look at him Puck thinks for the first time in his entire life that he might actually come in his pants. He doesn't -- and thank God for that, because he still has a reputation here -- but it's a pretty fucking close call, and as soon as he gets his clothes off he grips the base of his cock to ease a little of the pressure.
His eyes close for a beat, maybe two, and when he opens them again Kurt's kneeling in front of him, hands on Puck and easing Puck's fingers off his own dick to roll the condom on. When he's done he looks up, and something about the look in his eyes makes Puck's heart pound so fucking hard against his chest that the only thing he can do is pull Kurt forward and kiss him again.
He's not sure if it's him or Kurt who makes it happen, but when the kiss ends Puck finds himself flat on his back with Kurt looking down at him. He's gripping Puck's dick loose with one lube-covered hand, slicking up the condom and easing himself down onto Puck and God, he's never going to get enough of this. The way Kurt's lips part when Puck presses inside him, hands on Puck's chest and lifting himself up before he comes back down, letting Puck fill him over and over.
He's never going to get enough of the way Kurt rides him like he can't get enough of Puck, like he wants him as hard and as deep as he can and no matter what Puck offers, Kurt will take it without question. Like he's greedy for it, and Puck loves that about him too.
But what he loves most of all is the way Kurt totally loses it, drops all the proper, buttoned up bullshit and the air he tries to give off like he's so above needing somebody the way he needs this. The way he needs Puck and nobody else, breathing "Noah" over and over as Puck props himself up on one elbow and reaches out with his other hand to fist Kurt's dick for the second time.
And he loves the view, but it's not enough, and when Puck can't take it anymore he angles Kurt off him, pulling him onto his knees and gripping his hips to slide back into Kurt in one sure thrust. And Kurt just takes it, bracing himself against the mattress and biting out instructions from between clenched teeth, all harder and move left and ohrightthere and God, he's pushy, but Puck loves that too.
He's laughing when he comes, collapsing onto Kurt's back to press kisses against sweat-slick skin while he waits for his body to catch up with his brain. When he finally pulls out Kurt drops to the mattress and rolls onto his back, and he's still hard, so Puck kneels between his legs again and pauses long enough to grin up at Kurt before he swallows him whole.
It doesn't take long; Kurt's overstimulated already, his ass red and probably a little sore and Puck circles a fingertip around his opening just to hear Kurt hiss. He presses hard against the taut skin behind Kurt's balls, mouth working his length like a high priced whore. Like he's a fucking pro, letting Kurt buck up into him, fucking his mouth until he's white-knuckling the sheets and coming on Puck's tongue.
Puck waits until Kurt stops trembling under him, mouth working loose around his dick until he finally lets Kurt slip out of his mouth. He kisses his way up Kurt's stomach, tongue tracing the hollow of his hip bone and the little trail of hair that starts just above his belly button. He tongues Kurt's nipple just for the hell of it, and when a hand slides across his scalp Puck makes a noise that is definitely not a purr and presses back into it.
He looks up to find Kurt watching him, looking smug and well-fucked and totally wrecked. His mouth's red and his lips are kind of puffy, and Puck catches the bottom one and sucks until Kurt's pushing up into him.
"Tell me you love me again."
Puck grins and slides a hand into Kurt's hair. "You know I do."
"Mmm," Kurt hums, thoughtful, and he parts his legs a little more to let Puck settle heavy and solid against him. He thinks vaguely that he should get up and deal with the condom before he's totally soft and it's a huge fucking mess, but when Kurt shifts under him he realizes he doesn't have to worry about the 'soft' part just yet.
"You realize going back to Ohio means two weeks of no sex, right?"
"Come on, that's not true. I told you, we can fool around in my old room. My mom doesn't care."
"First of all, ew," Kurt says, scrunching his face up and it would be cute if he wasn't busy telling Puck that he's closed for business until further notice. "We're not having sex in anybody's parents' house. I've never even met your mother, for one thing. And do you know how crowded it is at my father's house? Finn still lives there. I'm going to have to share a room with him for two weeks."
Puck's not crazy about the idea of that, now that Kurt mentions it. Not that he really thinks Kurt's still carrying a torch for his stepbrother, but he did moon over Finn for a long time. Then there's the fact that sharing a room pretty much guarantees they won't get any privacy at the Hummel compound, and maybe Kurt's got a point.
He sighs and pushes himself off Kurt, climbing out of bed to deal with the condom and maybe find something to wipe them both off with. He finds a towel in Kurt's laundry basket and climbs back onto the bed, taking his time wiping Kurt clean so he won't have to look at him.
"We could make it a shorter visit," Kurt says, and he sounds so fucking hopeful that Puck can't help laughing.
"Hanukkah's eight nights, babe. That's nine days right there, and after that we might as well stay for Christmas. You know if we bail before that Carole's going to be all hurt and shit."
Kurt looks like he wants to argue, but they both know Puck's right. They're adults now, with their own lives and their own futures -- and something surges in Puck's chest when it dawns on him that he's staring at his -- but they're young enough that their parents still think of them as kids. It doesn't help that fucking Hudson's still living in Mommy's house like the pussy he is, and that means Burt and Carole have a hard time thinking of Kurt out there on his own, taking care of himself.
Puck's mother...well, she's always going to hover whenever she manages to get her hands on him, and the thing with Beth probably didn't make it any better. It left a hole in Puck's life, sure, but it left one in hers too. It's not like he doesn't know that, he just don't know how to fix it. So he sends pictures and he visits when he can, but he knows it's never really going to be enough.
So two weeks of family and guilt and being treated like a couple kids. Two weeks of having to sneak around like they really are still teenagers, and if he knows Kurt at all it's going to be two weeks of working way too fucking hard to talk him into fooling around in places that make Kurt really uncomfortable.
If someone had asked him even four months ago if he'd go through that for anybody, let alone Hummel, the answer would have been a resounding 'fuck, no'. But two weeks of blue balls and maybe the occasional grope is still better than two weeks of Kurt on the opposite side of the fucking country, refusing to have phone sex with him and telling Puck it's his own fault for not keeping his ass in L.A. where it belongs.
So yeah, it's going to be a long fucking two weeks, and they'll probably have a terrible time. But they'll be together, and it turns out that's good enough for Puck.