Just a little A/N: If you ship PucKurt, definitely read a story called "Crazy Hearts." It's written by the amazingly talented Clef Longfellow. I've been writing for years, and I've never read an author with more promise and raw talent. Check it out STAT.

"You're. Kidding."

Mark Salling was an open-minded guy. He was. He had all types of friends: gay, straight, fat, skinny, potheads and prisses. He had always considered himself the alpha male, the straightest guy ever. It wasn't that he didn't notice other men, he did. And he openly admitted it. He just never felt sexually attracted to them. There had never been college experimentation, not even a drunken kiss at a bar. Sure, he had slept with his fair share of women, but sex with another man never crossed his mind.

He held his script precariously with one hand, almost afraid that it would bite him. He read the last scene once, twice. By about the sixth time, it was really setting in. He knew that there would be role switching in the episode "Props", and he had his suspicions about who he'd end up being. Playing Blaine opposite Cory Monteith's Kurt was a pleasant surprise; he'd figured a switch with Chord's character would have been more appropriate, but he was more than a little curious about how he'd look dressed all preppy and proper, with an actual full head of hair. When he first heard that Cory was filling Chris's rather colorful (not to mention tall) shoes, he chuckled to himself; he could already hear Cory's deep voice softened into Kurt's sweet lilting voice.

What he had NOT expected, however, was that Ryan Murphy was going to write in a kiss for the couple to share, in this episode of all episodes. Kurt and Blaine had never been overtly physical with each other before, and it seemed mighty coincidental that NOW was the time for their passions to ignite. Mark ran a shaky hand through his Mohawk, more than a little uneasy. He sat down heavily in the oversized chair in his trailer, flipping back through the scene. Okay. Time to really digest this. There wouldn't be any horizontal kissing; put one check in the pro column. Everybody's clothes were staying on; check number two. Tongues? Unfortunately, yes. Mark let out a frustrated.

"Ah, so I see you read it." Mark nearly jumped out of his skin. Cory stood in the doorway, filling it almost completely with his tall, lanky frame. Mark took a few deep breaths to calm his racing heart.

"Christ, Cory, wear a friggin' bell or something! I will never understand how someone as big as you can walk so stealthily." Cory chuckled and motioned for Mark to scoot over so he could sit. It was, regrettably, the only comfortable seat in the trailer, and the close proximity, while never having bother Mark before, was painfully obvious now.

"I think Ryan just wants to see two jocks making out. That way he can check it off his bucket list or something," Cory joked, trying to lighten the mood. Mark smiled wanly, but Cory could still tell that he was uncomfortable. "Did you wanna talk about it? Or, I dunno..." Cory looked up at Mark shyly, "…work on it a little?"

Mark didn't know what was wrong with him. He and Cory had run lines together a hundred times before. Why was this so damn hard? He cleared his throat. "I'm not gonna lie to you, dude. I am nervous as hell right now."

Cory raised an eyebrow. "What the hell for? It's ME, man. Same guy you've run lines with for three years. We've been through the ringer. Why does kissing me bother you?"

Mark looked baffled. "I have no idea. I don't know what the problem is. I always thought that I was this open-minded, forward thinking guy. And here I have to kiss a dude one time, and I'm freaking out. What does that even mean?"

Cory ran a hand through his hair. "I guess you're human." Mark scoffed, but Cory shushed him. "I was nervous too, Mark. Like, seriously nervous. I mean, I've kissed guys before. Some for scenes, and some because I was drunk and it seemed like a good idea at the time. The key is to not let the fact that it's a guy get in the way. Just pretend I'm Dianna or Naya. You know, with slightly smaller breasts, and maybe a hairier chin."

That did it. Mark let out a throaty laugh, and just like that, the tension was broken. "Okay. I guess we can run lines now. Sorry for being such a punk."

So they did. They ran lines for an hour, but they both agreed to hold off on the kissing until the very end. That way, there wouldn't be the awkwardness of kissing over and over. They figured that once would be plenty.

The moment came. Cory's face was inches away, and Mark could. Not. Stop. Laughing. Every time he would try to make a sexy face, he would remember that he was gonna kiss Cory friggin' Monteith and he lost it again.

"Damn it, Mark, if you can't get your shit together, I'm gonna pack up my shit and go home," Cory said, mostly kidding but a little exasperated. "It's me. It's not that hard." Cory had a funny thought. "Not yet, anyway."

Mark only laughed harder. Tears were streaming down his face, and just when he thought he wasn't going to be able to pull it together, he felt hands grab the back of his neck and pull him forward into Cory's face, their lips smashing together. THAT sobered him.

Both men froze. Their eyes were open, but when Cory shifted a little, their kiss deepened by accident and Mark's eyes fell shut out of habit. Cory was surprised. He had always wondered about Mark Salling. He knew better than anyone how many women there'd been over the years, and he'd always been curious about his kissing prowess. He tentatively slid his tongue out to trace Mark's bottom lip (was that a whimper? Nah, couldn't have been) and before he knew what was happening, Mark was sliding up and over, straddling Cory's hips.

Confused, and more than a little aroused, Cory's hands found their way to Mark's back, sneaking up under his white tank and holding him closer. Mark, for his part, rocked forward experimentally, allowing their crotches to brush together briefly. The guttural groan that came out of Cory's mouth was just enough to break the spell. Mark jumped out of Cory's lap like his ass was on fire, crashing to the ground and scooting as far away as he could.

"Dude." His throat was raw with want. He tried again. "Dude." It was the only word he could manage. He could still feel Cory's hands on his back, his tongue on his lips. His heart was hammering in his chest. "What the hell just happened?"

Cory was frozen in place, his arms still slightly raised. He dropped them into his lap and whimpered when they bounced off his still-half-hard erection. He grabbed a pillow and used it to cover the evidence, his face turning tomato red. "I have no friggin' idea." He took a shaky breath. "I mean, we were rehearsing. Right? So maybe we got a little carried away-"

"A little? Cory, I'm HARD right now. That is not good. Not good at all." Mark absentmindedly palmed his crotch through his jeans; the image was enough for Cory's dick to go from semi-erect to full-blown hard. He stood on shaky legs, and Mark was relieved to see him moving toward the door. His stomach dropped, however, when Cory reached over to lock the door.

FUCK.