Say My Name
Drabble: 100 words x 9
Warning(s): Smut ahoy! Rated M for a reason.
When it happens the first time, Puck thinks nothing of it.
They're messing around in a barely-used equipment shed, because after impregnating a chick, Puck wants nothing to do with the ladies. And Kurt… He figures Kurt's just desperate.
Things are reaching a painful, amazing high, moans get louder and breaths quicken. When that tight, hot hole is clenching down on him, he thinks he blacks out for a second as he comes.
Kurt makes a strangled noise, and then: "Holy--Finn!"
And Puck could care less, because he doesn't notice anything other than the pulsing, heated flesh surrounding his cock.
The third time… he's irked.
Their second meeting is quite the same as before, but you know what they say: third time's a charm.
So when Kurt's calling out Puck's bro's name, Puck growls and fastens piercing teeth on the pale skin right above Kurt's collarbone. He wails from the pain/pleasure combination, but Puck can still hear Finn's name being uttered by those bruised lips.
He doesn't know why it matters. It's not like Kurt's his boyfriend; it was made clear in the beginning: no commitment. So how come when Kurt screams Finn as he comes, Puck's chest tightens unpleasantly?
By the sixth time, Puck has to do something.
So after the post-coital haze has dissipated slightly, Puck turns to Kurt, whose eyes are closed. "Hummel." The boy hums in response. "I didn't know you still had a thing for Finn."
Kurt freezes, and his jaw muscles jump when he snaps his mouth tightly shut. Pale eyes scald him. "It's none of your business, Puckerman."
"But it is, if you suddenly decide to seduce Finn and leave me high and dry. So to speak."
"You. Are an ass." Kurt ignores Puck's pleas, threats, and bargains, escaping when he's physically proper.
The seventh time is put on hiatus, because Kurt refuses to speak, even look at Puck anymore. Finn asks him what's up, Mr. Schue's frustrated when he forgets the choreography, and Mercedes glares if he even glances at Kurt's back.
It's a sign of how much he wants to fix things that he doesn't mind Mercedes knowing.
"What?" Kurt snaps when Puck manages to corner him.
"I'm sorry. I don't care if you say his name. I--"
Kurt stops him, ponders him, before slowly smiling. "Free period?"
Puck wonders why he's not totally satisfied, since Kurt's back in the game.
Eight, nine, ten times fly by, and on eleven, there's a change of pace.
Puck's angling himself so he hits that bundle of sensitive nerves, and Kurt's biting his fist in order to keep from keening. Puck notices a strange, new gleam in those washed-out blue eyes, and he feels warm and molasses-like when he's caught in that gaze.
And then Kurt's eyes close, his head falls back: surefire signs he's about to come. Puck quickens his pace to a frenzy, and is rewarded with a series of mewls.
It's only later that he realizes Finn! was never cried out.
Number thirteen, true to spirit, was the unlucky fuck.
Because they are assigned as project partners in history, Puck was at Kurt's place. Mr. Hummel wasn't in, so they were working upstairs in the living room, splayed on a cloudlike powder-blue sofa.
Industrialization grows dull, and they abandon their studies in favor of more… interesting activities.
Kurt's one leg is draped over the back of the couch, the other embracing Puck from behind, and they're not very far off from exploding. It's more vocal since they're all alone, and then--
"Fuck, Kurt!"
He makes a quick escape to avoid confrontation.
Now their roles pull a one-eighty, and Kurt's trying to talk while Puck does all of the avoiding.
He doesn't know why it happened; it was just reflex. And he doesn't know when it happened; when fuck-toy became person became Kurt is anyone's guess.
So because he doesn't have answers for Kurt, let alone himself, he steers clear of unique eyes and pale skin and--. Yeah.
He functions well enough, and more than two weeks pass without a single fuck in obscure places.
But a small part of him aches, wishes that Kurt was more persistent and less easily deterred.
It was stupid to think he'd never have to deal with Kurt, period. But when Mr. Schue pairs them up for a singing exercise, he feels like he's being tossed into the shark tank.
Things are more than awkward, to say the least, and it's doubly-tense because they're assigned Even the Nights Are Better.
When glee finally lets out, Puck struggles to escape, but then there's a hand grabbing his wrist, holding him back.
They're alone in the stifling silence of the classroom. Puck struggles, to no avail.
"It's okay," Kurt finally whispers, soft and soothing, "because I don't mind."
They're back on, and a small part Puck never noticed missing in his heart is fit to burst when he's buried inside Kurt again.
He takes it slow and steady, rocking rhythmically to a beat they can only hear. Kurt's slowly unwinding, and it's amazing to watch.
It's safe, in the privacy of Kurt's bedroom (Mr. Hummel's AWOL again), and there's screaming and moaning and other brilliant noises. It's coming, and Puck speeds up. Bedsprings squeak and protest as Puck pounds and pounds and pounds into Kurt's pliable body.
"Mmm! Noaaaah," And fuck, if that isn't music to Puck's ears.
Author's Commentary: Oh, how I love thee, slashy smut. c: You make everything hot and bothered and better.
I hope I didn't offend anyone with my sub-par sex scenes; I really enjoyed cranking this one out (despite the fact it's 4AM and I'm still awake). And I think I'm kind of getting addicted to this pairing, because I can't stop thinking of story ideas for Kurt/Puck. Sigh.
Anyway. I hope you liked it! Dumpster Fetish will more than likely be complete by the beginning of next week. (Rhyming, yay!) Until then!