Consoling the Queen
Author: lloydoholic
Disclaimer: I sadly don't own Glee.
Summary: Puck can't beat up the whole school. That doesn't mean he won't make Kurt feel better another way.
Spoiler: 2x20 Prom Queen
Pairing/ Characters: Puck, Kurt, Blaine (Puckurt pre-slash, if you squint)
Warnings: slight swearing.
Rating: PG
It wasn't noticeable but Puck was furious.
Ever since Kurt came back they've been on better, almost friendly terms. They didn't talk a lot, but affection (and whoa! Where did that come from?) was about action and not about words. That was the philosophy that Puck lived by (not counting the whole baby gate fiasco).
Anyway, they were bros and that came with certain responsibilities and obligations. Such as beating up anyone who even dared to look the wrong way let alone hurt the boy. The actual beating up part had do be done very discreetly of course. He didn't want to land back in juvie if he could help it.
After Santana had started her anti-bullying movement Puck was nearly out of work- not that he minded all that much except for his dwindling bad-ass reputation.
The punchline (pun so not intended) of this gigantic fucked-up joke called high school was that he beat up ass holes to help the people he cared about. Or he slept with them, but that was another story altogether.
The problem with this current mess was that he didn't know who'd caused it. And he could hardly beat up the whole school for voting Kurt. There was nothing for him to do. Not right now.
So he sucked it up, grinned and danced with Lauren. He had fun. He goofed around. And he ignored Kurt's too pale skin and red-rimmed eyes, his way too cheerful and therefore fake smile, his stiff shoulders and the way he was attached to that prep boy of his.
The evening was slowly drawing to a close. Groups of people were already leaving while a few were sitting at some of the scattered tables, drinking the last of the not-so-spiked punch and talking in hushed voices. The members of the glee club who hadn't been kicked out were still around, though.
Puck found himself orbiting around Kurt and keeping an eye on him (hopefully being not too obvious). When the countertenor was at last relatively alone, Puck couldn't help but approach him. The mohawked teen bumped lightly into the smaller boy's shoulder, which made Kurt's eyes snap up to meet his own.
They kept staring at each other in silence.
Kurt eventually lifted one of his perfectly shaped eyebrows, looking faintly amused.
"You look dashing," he offered shyly.
"And Her Majesty is gorgeous Herself," he admitted and grinned broadly.
Kurt blushed. "Thank you."
And then the crowned boy sighed and brought this brief moment of happiness to an end. He looked down and tugged self-consciously at his skirt.
"If it's the skirts that evoked this, maybe I should stop wearing them like Blaine and dad told me to."
Puck frowned. What?
"Stop it," he growled forcefully. Kurt looked up with wide eyes.
"You love to wear girl's clothes, so what? They can all just go fuck themselves! The way I see it, McKinley gave you the opportunity to wear a crown, to stand in the spotlight, skirt and all. For once they didn't ignore you but instead took notice. And no matter their intentions, you showed them that you're strong and beautiful! So fuck 'em!"
Kurt was close to start crying and Puck did the only thing he could. He put his arms around him, drew him close, until their cheeks were pressed together.
Kurt tentatively hugged him back.
This close Puck could smell the fruity shampoo Kurt used on his silky hair, could smell the lingering traces of hairspray (probably organic), could smell his skin. He wondered briefly how he was supposed to carry on with his life without Kurt's scent right there.
"You know, it's not fair that you look so hot wearing your crown. Like a real princess!" he mumbled into Kurt's ear that was way too close to be appropriate. The countertenor giggled and Puck had to hold on even tighter, feeling giddy when the other finally fully relaxed into his embrace.
They stayed like this for far too long, but Puck didn't care.
Until someone cleared their throat, that was, and therefore effectively breaking the peace.
Puck leaned back to glare at whomever had the audacity to bother the infamous Puckosaurus but refused to fully let go of Kurt.
Blaine frowned at him with a dark expression carved on his usually bland face. Puck felt some sort of malicious joy for putting it there.
Kurt tugged a little bit at his arms but was ignored quite skilfully.
"I'd appreciate if you'd let go of my boyfriend," Blaine informed him calmly. And why couldn't he be openly angry like any normal person?
"Listen, dude, he may be your boyfriend, but he's still my boy- you don't get to tell me what to do!"
"Puck.." Kurt sighed.
"Apparently someone ought to," there was a certain edge to the other's voice now.
"Blaine.." their prom queen almost whined, sounding tired.
Puck let go of Kurt and faced the short singer. And man, that wasn't right! Kurt should be with someone who was taller than him. Wasn't the girl supposed to be the shorter one? And Kurt was definitely girlier than most girls.
Anyway. Puck was really getting into the zone, but before either of them could do or say something to start a fight, Kurt chimed in.
"Please stop."
There was a sharp edge to his voice that made them pause and listen.
"Blaine," he continued, "Puck and I usually don't really talk."
Whoa! What was that supposed to mean? The mohawked teen stiffened. Kurt noticed and touched his arm lightly.
"But we are still- and it pains me deeply to say this," he grimaced, "we are still 'bros'."
Puck couldn't help the shit-eating grin that spread across his face. Well said!
"This is Puck's way of making me feel better," the countertenor went on.
"You shouldn't be afraid that I would cheat on you, Blaine, because I won't," he added very quietly and stared at his boyfriend through his long lashes.
They were doing that weird conversation-with-their-eyes thing for a few long moments, and he was starting to get uncomfortable watching them, before Blaine finally smiled and nodded. Puck didn't like it, like, at all. He itched to say some of the things he bet would spark enough of mistrust to make them break up eventually. But he didn't. For once he kept his mouth shut and his hands mostly to himself, stopping short of ruining another relationship. Hurt like a bitch, though.