A scene mentioned in Conversion, told in much more detail for those of you who were wondering what happened that night. :)
~Jessica

Puck wasn't quite sure why he had invited Kurt to his birthday party in the first place, but when his mother had made out the guest list, his name had just popped up. He'd invited the entire football team, as well as most of the Glee club, so it just made sense for Kurt's name to appear on the list. Of course, he hadn't done something as lame as making paper invitations— it wasn't middle school, for Goodness' sake— but he had made sure that everyone who was coming knew that they were, and those who weren't coming knew that they weren't.

So Hummel had shown up at exactly nine o'clock, before anyone else had arrived. He looked sceptically around the living room as Mrs. Puckerman ushered him inside, glancing at the untouched table laden with snacks and the off-turned stereo. "Am I early?" he'd asked in his prissy voice, one hand on his designer-jean covered hip, "I thought you said nine?"

"I did," Puck said, shoot his mother a look that made her scurry into the kitchen like a mouse, "But no one shows up at a party when it starts. It's called being fashionably late."

Kurt gave a huff and crossed his arms over his chest indignantly. "About how long will my fellow party-goers take to arrive?" he asked, "Am I going to be sitting here with you for an hour?"

Puck rolled his eyes, but the shrill sound of the ancient doorbell spared Kurt from his vicious retort. "See, Finn's here already," he said with false-enthusiasm. He noticed vaguely how Kurt's eyes lit up, but didn't think anything of it as he sauntered to the door to open it.

"Happy birthday, Puck," Finn greeted cheerfully, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his football jacket, "Hey, Kurt." Kurt raised a hand in greeting and smiled anxiously. Finn's attention shifted once again to his best friend, one eyebrow raised and a grin forming. "Have you spiked the punch yet, or is it still safe to drink?" Puck smirked.

"Well, that depends. What's your definition of safe?"

Kurt was perched delicately on the edge of the couch, watching the party unfold around him. The Cheerios minus Quinn had all shown up together shortly after Finn, and one of them had promptly turned the stereo on to a deafening decibel. As the jocks began to arrive, no one paid any attention to him; which was just fine, by his taste. He could just sit here and disdainfully observe the lower beings that were gathered around him.

By ten o'clock, almost everyone whom Kurt had assumed were invited had arrived, and most of them were already thoroughly drunk. The living room floor had turned into a cesspool of grinding teenagers, moving to music so loud he could feel it in his chest. He had very little idea of how he was supposed to enjoy himself at such a party, but his father refused to pick him up until at least midnight.

"Socialize, my arse," Kurt grumbled, straightening his clothing wearily. Whatever his father had hoped would happen at this party— that Kurt would 'make more friends' and 'meet people who shared common interests,' perhaps?— obviously wasn't. The only people who seemed to be 'socializing' were Rachel and Finn, who stood slightly apart from the others near the refreshments.

Finn was talking to Rachel, trying to help her fit in with the rest of the guests, but he wasn't doing that for Kurt. Kurt felt a pang of jealousy as he fixed his gaze on Rachel, who laughed at something Finn had said and flipped her hair. He could see Finn's eyes light up at the movement, and it didn't help to lighten his already darkening mood.

"Not enjoying yourself, sweetie?" slurred a high-pitched voice from above him.

Kurt looked up at met eyes with a pretty girl he didn't recognise, besides the red-and-white uniform. He usually made it an imperative not to associate himself with the Cheerios, and an obviously intoxicated one probably wouldn't make for excellent conversation, but...

"Not really," he sighed, deciding quickly that it was better to talk to an airhead than to talk to no one at all. She smiled softly and plopped herself down onto the couch beside him.

"Me neither," she said, taking a dainty sip from her cup of spiked-punch.

This fact surprised Kurt a little. Not about her drinking, of course. But he was almost shocked at the fact that she wasn't having a good time. The girl was very attractive, so surely Puck or one of the other Neanderthal athletes would be trying to court her by now?

"Oh?" he inquired, actually feeling interested after his last hour and a half of boredom. "Why?"

She sighed and sunk into the soft cushions, shrugging and nearly spilling her drink on herself. She took another sip before really answering.

"You see him?" She gestured to a group of jocks laughing on the other side of the room. Kurt had no idea to which one she was referring, but nodded anyway. "Well, he decided that this—" She swept her arm across, indicating the entire room. "—would be a great place to end our relationship." She hiccoughed drunkenly.

Kurt felt sorry for her, so he gently patted her on the shoulder. "There, there," he said in an attempt to comfort her, "You're probably too good for him, anyway."

She stared at him, bleary-eyed. "You—" She hiccoughed again. "Really think so?"

Kurt smiled and nodded at her, and then next thing he knew, his shirt was wet and he had a warm, wet mouth pressed against his own. It took him a moment to realise that she was kissing him— rather enthusiastically, in fact— and that she had dropped her cup on him. It wasn't an entirely unpleasant experience, minus the fact that she was female and the stench of alcohol on her breath of nauseating, but he quickly pushed her off of him nevertheless.

"I really don't think that was appropriate," he said haughtily, fearfully examining the red stain that had spread across the upper-half of his very expensive blue polo-shirt. He felt the shift in weight on the couch as the girl got up and left, probably to go cry in a corner somewhere, or to throw herself at some other unsuspecting gentleman.

Kurt clicked his tongue disapprovingly and made his way to the upstairs bathroom to see what could be done about the stain. He managed to make it less noticeable by running it under warm water, and hoped the rest would come out when he got home and put it in the wash.

There was a knock at the door that sounded rather urgent, so Kurt quickly put his shirt back on and unlocked it. A crazed looking jock threw him out of the bathroom by the scruff of his neck without giving him a second glance, slamming the door behind him. Kurt cocked an eyebrow and shook his head disapprovingly, because really, that was no way to treat your teammate.

The party was still in full swing when he returned, holding his head high as he descended the stairs. More people had arrived, most of whom he didn't recognise, and the living room was packed full of rowdy teenagers. Kurt somehow managed to squeeze his way through the teens that were dancing— if you could even call it dancing— and back to his spot on the now-vacant couch. He once against perched himself on the edge of it, this time looking at his watch. He still a whole hour before his dad would arrive to rescue him.

At eleven or so Puck was so drunk he could barely stand up straight, let alone think straight, but for some reason when he spotted Kurt Hummel sitting with one leg crossed over the other in a way that was just so girly, he felt strangely high. He blamed the alcohol.

He was about to direct his attention elsewhere when he noticed the dopey smile on the soprano's face; he thought for a second that Kurt was looking at him and felt extremely flattered. But as he followed his gaze more closely, he discovered that the boy only had eyes for Finn.

Puck groaned internally. Why on Earth did every single good-looking human being have to suddenly fall head-over-heels for Finn? He wasn't even all that handsome. Puck figured he was just as handsome as his best friend. He would later blame the alcohol at the burning anger and jealousy that slowly began to build in his chest as he watched Kurt admire Finn from across the room.

Well, he thought, smiling slightly, I guess I'll just have to show him what a real good-time is.

Puck downed the rest of his drink in one motion, ditching the empty plastic cup on a table as he made his way across the room. His eyes were fixed on his prey as he put on his best bad-boy smile and swaggered up to the couch in what he was positive would be seen as alluring. Kurt didn't even look up as Puck poised himself above the smaller teen, ready to strike.

"Hey Kurt," he practically purred, and Kurt's eyes shot up and locked with his. He seemed rather taken aback and even uncrossed his legs.

"Uh, hey?"

Puck smiled in what he hoped was an endearing way and sat down on the arm of the sofa. Kurt scooted over a fraction of an inch, but Puck pretended he didn't notice.

"So, Kurt," he purred again, fixing his target with an intense stare. "Sup?"

Kurt stared at him blankly, his mouth slightly open. In his drunken state, Puck's brain was working in strange ways; he took the younger boy's silence as invitation, and quickly descended upon his prey.

He passionately crushed his lips to Kurt's, and the soprano gave a squeak of surprise. He planted one hand on the back of Kurt's head, burrowing his hand in the perfectly quaffed hair and holding their lips together.

Kurt sat frozen, his mouth being assaulted for the second time that night. Not only had he experienced his first-ever kiss at this party, but his first kiss with each gender. His eyes were wide as Puck moved his lips against his own, trying to get him to reciprocate. He didn't.

Puck pulled away, a very confused look on his face. Kurt stared at him for a fraction of a second before his eyes darted to look past him in the direction of Finn, who was munching on a pretzel on the other side of the room.

Puck slowly turned to see what Kurt was looking at, and his heart sunk. Finn. Why was it always Finn? Puck turned back, only to find that Kurt had up and disappeared. He had snuck off while Puck had been distracted.

"Damn," he murmured, staring at the empty spot on the couch. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't disappointed. He was disappointed that Kurt hadn't accepted his advances, and disappointed that once again, Finn had beat him without even trying. He sighed and ran a hand through the short hair of his Mohawk.

Kurt, meanwhile, was already sitting on the front porch with his cell phone in hand, furiously texting his father a pleading message to come get him a little bit early. He wouldn't admit it, but there had been a connection in that kiss— and if it had gone on a little longer, perhaps he would not have been yearning for it to have been Finn.

Seeing Finn afterward, who hadn't noticed a single thing that was going on at the party, could've cut him deep. But it didn't. He didn't feel anything at all. He realised, for the first time, that there were other options than just Finn, and maybe those other options could be just as worth it. Maybe.

He wiped his eyes with the back of his arm, hoping to hell it didn't look like he was too upset as his father pulled into the driveway. He put on his best smile and got into the car, doing up his seatbelt without saying a word.

"So... did something happen? Are you... okay?" his dad asked when they were about halfway home.

"I'm fine," Kurt said through clenched teeth. "Honestly."

"So you didn't make any friends?" Kurt laughed daintily, patting his hair into place thoughtfully.

"With those urchins? Honestly, dad? They wouldn't know how to make conversation even if they weren't completely drunk."

"If you say so..." Burt trailed off, and the pair fell into a comfortable silence. Burt watched his son carefully, but there was no way he could know what his son was thinking about from his impassive face.

Kurt sighed and gazed out the window, his eyes unfocusing as he tried not to remember how Puck's lips had felt absolutely amazing, or how he had felt nothing when he looked at Finn just after. He tried not to imaging what it would be like if Puck could reciprocate his feelings.

He tried, but it was futile. He was attracted to Puck—and there wasn't a thing that could be done about it.