Title: Daddy's Boy

Summary: Kurt knew his father loved him, he just didn't realise how hard Burt found it at times. Burt didn't mean what he said; not really. He was just tired, and talking with an old football friend reminded him a bit too much of what he had given up for Kurt.

Pairings: Little bit of Puckurt, Burt/Kurt father-son troubles

Warnings: Homophobic slurs, bad language, sexual references. Burt might come across as a real dick at first, but no fear, ultimately he's still kind and loving Burt Hummel.

Chapters: Was supposed to be a oneshot, but will probably be a threeshot.

It's Kyle here! So, I called my family today to wish them Merry Christmas, and when I was talking to my dad (who I love, honestly) I was reminded of this thing that happened when I was about seventeen years old, maybe sixteen. So what did I decide to do? Put it into a story! Certain lines are taken from the truth, you'll probably be able to guess as you go along. I embellished a bit to include some Puckurt, in reality my experience didn't result in a cute/hot/beautiful romance with a sexy mohawked jock.

Please review, it makes me happy to know people care. Christmas is a time of sharing, after all!

-Kyle xxx

(one)

Kurt never enjoyed his father's guy nights. It wasn't that he didn't like his dad having a good time - he just didn't particularly like the company his father kept while having it.

Many of Burt Hummel's old school and college friends had left Lima, but every time they passed within a hundred mile radius they would stop by, claiming to only have time for a quick drink, but more often than not would end up staying the night in the spare room. It was always a night full of empty beer bottles and greasy pizza boxes and loud football reruns.

Kurt just stayed out of the way.

It was the first guy night since Finn and Carole moved in, and after an unnecessary explanation from her fiancé Carole had decided to have a girl's night with her sister on the other side of town. The visitor? A tall man with squarely curved jaw line and sharp green eyes by the name of Vincent Mallory, Vince to most and Vinnie to his closest friends.

Burt had introduced his old football friend to his son and his almost-stepson, eagerly arguing with Kurt over whether or not he was allowed to have his usual beers and take out. Vinnie had made polite conversation with Finn about school football and possible colleges while Kurt pointed out with a forceful hand drinking beer meant he would have to eat healthily instead of take out, threatening to call and cancel any take out orders that were made. He offered the two men some healthily cooked fries (not the same, Burt had argued good-naturedly) and chicken salad. They'd accepted the fries and declined the salad with a mutual look of distaste at the suggestion.

Kurt and Finn were joined for the evening by their almost-lodger, Noah Puckerman, who seemed to spend more time at the Hudson-Hummel home than his own. He'd arrived just as Burt and Vinnie began a gentle banter of College Football versus Deadliest Catch, and had nodded respectfully towards the two men as he waltzed coolly towards Kurt's basement bedroom, where Finn and Kurt were already snapping at each other - Finn wanting to have a sci-fi marathon, Kurt claiming it had been far too long since he'd watched Moulin Rouge.

Puck quickly settled the matter by choosing Fight Club. Finn had been confused as to why Kurt wouldn't want to watch Star Trek, but would watch a violent action-y film; Puck simply winked at the slender boy, knowing all too well Kurt Hummel would have no complaints about watching half naked men getting sweaty together. Kurt blushed, still a little uncertain of the unspoken truce-slash-friendship that he'd somehow managed to form with Puck, but grateful for the mohawked teen's discretion, even if it was carried out with an unnecessary amount of silent teasing.

They settled down to watch the film, Finn lounging over the overstuffed beanbag while Kurt stretched across his bed, Puck curled at its foot, occasionally pinching Kurt's toes when a sticky, sweaty Brad Pitt came onto the screen. The sounds of Burt Hummel's guy night weren't too loud, but Kurt still smiled at the sound of his father's faint laughter from upstairs - he hadn't heard his dad quite so young sounding since before his heart attack.

"Hey, Kurt?" Finn mumbled just as Edward Norton and Helena Bonham-Carter began arguing in the middle of a restaurant. They'd passed Kurt's favourite moment in the movie, so he didn't mind being disturbed too much; despite this, he attempted a tone of mild irritation as he replied.

"Yes?"

"Are you like, hungry?"

"What do you want, Hudson?"

Puck snorted at Kurt's sigh, and Kurt kicked him hard in the ribs.

"Just…food? I don't really care."

"Carrot sticks?" Kurt smirked.

"Dude!" Finn protested, and Kurt saw Puck bite the duvet to hold back another chuckle.

"I'll get you some ice cream," Kurt grumbled, unaffected by the wide grin he received from his soon-to-be-stepbrother, who looked ready to hug him, if only he'd had the energy to heave himself off the beanbag.

"You're awesome, dude."

"Yeah, dude!" Puck crowed after Kurt, who narrowed his eyes playfully.

"You want some, Noah?"

"Puck would like some," Puck pushed pointedly with a disapproving frown. Kurt smiled sweetly, shrugging as he walked away.

"Whatever you say, Noah."

Kurt sauntered up the steps, purposefully ignoring the flirty gaze Puck sent after him because he was determined to not blush this time. He carefully opened the door at the top of the stairs, not wanting to interrupt his father's conversation, but was surprised to find himself walking into an empty living room.

Just as he was about to call out, he heard voices coming from the kitchen and realised the two men must have relocated to the kitchen. He didn't exactly mean to eavesdrop, it was an honest accident. He just heard a few words, and then suddenly he found himself rooted to the spot, paralysed by the conversation taking place only a few feet away, hidden from around the corner.

"…real good job, she's not exactly Ellie, but she sounds like a great gal. And that Finn's a real sport, ain't he?" Kurt smiled at Vinnie's approval of Carole and Finn, over the past few weeks they had finally starting to feel like a completion of the half-family he and his father had lived as for far too long.

"Yeah, I reckon I've done pretty good. I love them both, so..."

"That's the main thing…shame about your kid, though."

Kurt froze, and he felt his father do the same, despite not being able to see either of them.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Burt Hummel's voice was expressionless, words spoken hesitantly, as if he wasn't entirely sure he wanted an answer.

"Aw come on, Burt. Don't look at me like that. You gonna tell me you're proud of being a homo's daddy?"

Kurt's mouth went dry. He tried wetting his lips, but his tongue seemed to have swollen, constricting his breaths and catching his words.

"You want to rethink that sentence, Vincent?" Burt asked, slow and deliberate.

A wave of love washed over Kurt, and a weak smile pulled at his lips. In that moment he heard the soft snap of the basement door open, and his head whipped around to see Puck looking upon him with a questioning gaze, looking confused when Kurt shook his head to silence the question about to leave his lips. Puck stopped next to Kurt, wondering what they were doing.

It became all too clear when the drawling reply to Burt's question met their pricked ears.

"Burt, I know you. I've known you a long time. Look me in the eye and tell me if you had a line of possible sons, you'd pick your little Princess out of the entire bunch every time."

Kurt looked shamefully away as he saw Puck's expression melt into bemusement, a frown creasing his brow and his mouth pulled downwards.

"Vin…that's my kid," Did Burt sound…tired, as he said that? He hiccupped, and Kurt wondered vaguely how many beers they'd managed to get through already. "And I don't expect you to understand. He's my child, and I love him. I'd love him if he was attracted to girls, to guys, or to goddamn puppy dogs."

For a second it seemed like a compliment, and the smile had almost reached Kurt's facial muscles when his throat began to burn.

"Okay, you can't claim to be totally fine with your queer son and then compare gayness to bestiality, Burt."

"I did not-"

"You just compared your son having sex with guys to having sex with dogs. You telling me you like any of that shit?"

Puck had stepped closer, Kurt could hear his breathing, feel it on his neck. Reaching blindly backwards he searched for Puck, and the jock seemed to understand, because a surprisingly tender hand grasped Kurt's, squeezing lightly in comfort.

"I'm not saying it's easy, Vin. I'm saying I do it because I love my kid."

"But if you could, you wouldn't say no to a straight son?"

"…A straight son would probably be easier, yes," Burt's voice was still slow, contrasting oddly with Vincent's quips and bursts of derisiveness. "But he'd not be Kurt if he was straight." Kurt didn't even have space in his head to feel guilty as he possibly broke Puck's hand, clasping tightly and refusing to let go of the older teen's fingers, his only lifeline.

"So you're telling me-"

"Vincent," Burt grumbled; his voice seemed to break, and Kurt flinched back a little, his shoulder hitting Puck's chest. "I'm not saying I wake up every morning and thank god my son has a hard life ahead of him. Kurt's a good kid; he takes care of me, helps out in the garage, and he does me proud. And yeah, maybe I am kind of disappointed we don't have any football traditions. Maybe I am sad I'll never rush to the hospital, have to shut up shop early for the day and tell everyone I pass that I'm in a hurry because I'm about to be a grandfather. Maybe I feel awkward that I can't talk to Kurt about girls and we won't do the father-son girl talk things I had with my dad…"

Puck stepped closer, if that was even possible. His hand still in Kurt's, his front flush against Kurt's back, but he didn't dare speak. He could hear Kurt gasping for breath, too scared to move. He wanted to say something, anything to spare the boy the pain, but he seemed to have lost his voice. His words tangled in his throat, and he bit his lip fretfully.

"…I'm not saying I'm happy about all the trouble I have to go through to make sure my kid's safe. I'm not saying I love the harassment and the judgement and the prejudice that goes on. And I'm not saying I'm ready to accept my kid likes the get fucked instead of fucking…" The first tears spilled crystallised onto Kurt's cheeks as he winced. His father never swore like that, especially in such a crude context. His heart clenched painfully, and he fought for breath, leaning back ever so slightly into Puck. He didn't have it in him to be embarrassed. He could tell Burt was angry, but he had no idea where the anger was directed. at Vinnie? Or at him? "…but he's my son."

"So it's your duty to love him, that right? You love him the way he is because you have to love him," Vinnie finished, sounding smug.

The silence was only brief, but it was enough for Kurt, in his panicked state, to gasp a strangled sob of despair. The silence intensified, and Kurt staggered out of Puck's grasp, humiliation blossoming a scarlet stain in his cheeks as he found himself in full view of the kitchen. In the second or two that followed, Kurt saw Vincent's eyebrows raise in impassioned amusement, while Burt's entire expression fell, muscles relaxing from anger to fear in a heartbeat, before he turned on his heel and stumbled towards the front door.

He was outside by the time he registered two voices shouting his name, Burt's a cracked cry and Puck's a husky shout.

He ran. Without his keys he couldn't get in his baby and drive far away, so he had to run instead.

He wondered where Finn was up to in Fight Club, whether he'd realised he and Puck weren't back yet, and a line from the movie drifted into his head…I ran. I ran until my muscles burned and my veins pumped battery acid. Then I ran some more. He felt like the Narrator of Fight Club, only he wasn't running to something, he was running away. Something he'd sworn he'd never do.

He'd sworn on the grave where his mother was buried that he would never run away from the obstacles life threw him. And of all the people in this big bad world, it was his father that had pushed him to break that promise to himself.

He could hear Puck chasing him, and he cursed under his breath as air whistled up and down his throat in painful gasps and gulps. His muscles were burning, his veins pumping battery acid, and he was still running.

The rush of air slapped even colder against his damp cheeks, and his feet kept tripping over nothing, ankles jolting; he nearly tumbled to the floor several times, and he would yelp as he fought to keep his balance. Puck was catching up.

His father's voice was running around and around in his head, words jumping out at him, causing his heart to twinge with betrayal. Because nothing that had been said would have caused him to so much as bat an eyelid if anyone else had said it.

I will fight to the death for your right to love whoever you want. Kurt still had no doubt his father would do exactly that. But was that what he would be thinking while he was doing it? Would he fight for his son's rights, all the while thinking how goddamn disappointed he was that he was having to do it?

Puck's footsteps were practically on top of him, and Kurt let rip a scream of rage as he pushed faster, desperately avoiding the jock's outstretched hands.

In his efforts his legs gave out. His knees slammed into the pavement, shooting sharp pains right up his legs and his hands hit the floor, skin scuffed and gravel embedded between tiny droplets of blood. Puck almost fell over him, he had been so close to catching him. He collapsed around the smaller boy, wrapping his arms tightly around him as he muttered a constant stream of Hey, come on, hey, Kurt, hey, hey…and at first Kurt wondered why the boy was speaking so quietly, and then he realised it was because Puck's words were being drowned out by his own sobs.

Etiquette and fragile friendship bonds forgotten he pressed his face into Puck's shoulder, shifting in the boy's embrace to fist his shirt.

"It's ok," Puck was whispered into his hair, his voice hard and angry. Kurt flinched involuntarily at his tone, and Puck guiltily reached up a hand to pat the back of his neck in as comforting a gesture as he figured he could manage without making Kurt push him away.

The cold was swallowing them like the darkness. They were on an unfamiliar street, houses on both sides all dark and closed up, and yet so warm and welcoming. In the distance they heard the faintest cry of Kurt and Puck, Finn clearly having been sent out in search of them. The rumbling of a car was just about audible in the night's hum, and Kurt wondered idly if his dad was out looking for him, too.

So wrapped in his thoughts, he almost missed Puck's hesitant, gentle question.

"Want me to take you home?"

They both knew that by home they didn't mean back to the Hudson-Hummel house, but Kurt nodded anyway. He couldn't bring himself to protest as Puck scooped him up into his arms, or complain that, being male, he shouldn't be getting carried bridal style down the street by a McKinley High stud.

He just let the tears fall, hoping they would help wash away the scars of betrayal that had been cut at the words of his father.