There is absolutely nothing gay about this.
Well, duh, there is – Finn and Hummel. But not him. Really, he's only here out of curiosity, and not that kind of curiosity – he just wants to know if all that shit he heard about Finn letting Kurt be the one to stick it to him is true. And give him an epic punch if it is. I mean, Puck doesn't really have a problem with Finn's newfound ability to swing both ways – little weird, but it gets the chicks around them hot which usually means Puck gets some pussy – but, dude, this is Hummel. The same kid who didn't want to be thrown in the dumpster because his clothes were designed by some famous guy. If he's the man in this relationship, then it's official: Finn Hudson is dead. And/or is desperate need of an ass-kicking.
Either way, it's still probably not a good idea for them to see him dangling off the ledge of Finn's bedroom window for a peek.
He forces the curtains open, as little as he can so they don't notice him.
It's true. Oh it's true.
Finn is actually fucking moaning as Kurt fucks him, flat on his back and spreading his legs. It takes Puck a few seconds to notice the colors on Finn's wrists – red-and-silver on one, green-and-black on the other – and realize that Kurt is using those fucking designer scarves to tie Finn up; oh god.
"Harder, Kurt, please," Finn honest-to-god fucking begs, while Kurt smirks and grips Finn's massive thighs with his tiny hands. He leans down, pressing harsh bite-kisses to Finn's next and making him gasp. Puck desperate tries to comprehend the scene in front of him; Kurt Hummel in charge, Finn loving the cock, and – holy crap, is that a vibrator on the bedside table?
Puck is instantly, horrifying hard.
No. No, he insistently tells his cock. He is not gay, or even like Finn, and he is so not going to get off on two guys fucking, especially not his best friend and the resident queer they used to throw in the dumpster. He's not. He only came here to see if those fucking rumors were true, and hence if he needed to punch Finn back to reality – obviously they were, so he should really just go now. And this is not getting him hot. His cock is a lying traitorous bastard, and he is not going to let it–
"Kurt, please. I need you. I need more."
Ah, fuck it.
Puck desperately wants to jerk off; his cock is pretty much killing him – how did it get that hard, that fast – but he stays still, because he's very unsteadily hanging on this ledge and his feet are on some shit; Puck's pretty sure if he moves he'll fall and like, die. And that would suck.
Kurt smirks, one hand lazily spreading across Finn's chest to play with and tease his nipples in time with his thrusts. "Mmm. Tell me what you are, Finn."
That seems to snap something in Finn as he throws his head back, crying out. "Kurt, please!" he yells. "Oh god, I'm your whore; I'm your little freaking cockslut, god, please fuck me harder!"
Kurt smirks and grabs Finn's ass with both hands, thrusting harder and leaning up to fucking pull on one of those scarves with his teeth.
Puck tries to repress the sound he makes; like "Gah-um-aah-ush." He fails pretty spectacularly, but Kurt and Finn don't hear inside. Puck is pretty much grinding against the wall – uncomfortable, but if he doesn't give his dick some friction right now, he's pretty sure it's going to like, fall off.
Finn moans again, contorting his body and sort of pushing Kurt's face back down with his forearms to kiss him. Their lips lock, dirty and messy and wet as the fuck, and that seems to be what sends Finn over the edge, gasping and grinding and pulling against those silk scarves – Hummel must be good with knots, to make those keep Finn's weight down – as he comes, spluttering all over Kurt's chest. Hummel follows a second later with a low groan, and Puck can't help it.
He loses his footing and falls, winding up flat on his ass in Finn's mom's flowerbed, his dick sticking up like a "United Nation of Potential Queer" flagpole.
Well, fuck.
