Who Says It's So?

Written for pup_named_peter over at glee_kink, I think this story is to blame for my now-serious obsession with baker!Puck. Seriously.
Inspired, ever so slightly, by my own grandma; also, a humongous thanks to my lovely July for helping me out with this!

I hope you enjoy!

Puck had learned how to bake early on in life. Around the time of his fifth Chanukkah, he remembered getting punished-for what, he couldn't remember. What he did remember was that his Savta had dragged him, kicking and screaming, into the kitchen as a recruit to help make the Challah bread for their holiday meal.

His crocodile tears had stopped when her grandmotherly, weathered hands, bare without her rings and bracelets, began braiding the ropes of dough on the floured countertop. He had watched, mesmerized, as she quickly folded one strand over and overlapped it with another, only to repeat the process again until she made a beautifully woven loaf. As she covered the dough with some oiled plastic wrap, he clapped his hands excitedly and said, "Savta, do it again!"

She smiled then, and took out another serving of dough to braid. He stayed with her for most of the afternoon, watching her knead and braid, sometimes trying his own hand at it.

Of course he wasn't perfect at first-not even close, but it was fun and challenging. She told him once that Puck's mom and his Aunt Connie couldn't bake for shit (she'd muttered something in Hebrew that he couldn't hope to remember but the sentiment was the same), so it was a relief that someone in the family would learn the tradition of making Challah. So while Finn and his other friends spent their time building Lego towers and goofing off, he was attached to his Savta's hip, helping her out with making Challah. By the time he was in second grade, his expertise expanded to include homemade pies, cakes, cookies, and different breads. He still recalled, with an annoyed fondness, making brioche from scratch-without the help of electric mixers.

When some of the other boys made fun of him for liking to bake brownies instead of playing Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles in the yard after school, Puck told his grandmother that he had to stop helping her in the kitchen.

"Why, Noah?" She'd asked curiously as she separated some eggs for sponge cake.

"My friends say it's what girls do," Puck had muttered, scuffing his Nikes on the linoleum floor.

Her face took on that angry, righteous look that all women on his mom's side were notorious for, and she nearly hurled the next egg she cracked into the sink. "A Vue Shtet Geschreiber?" She asked. Who says it's so?

And so he stayed at his Savta's side, learning the ins and outs of baking, though he stopped making his pastime something he shared with friends and classmates. Finn's cupcake privileges ended when he got Puck an Easy-Bake for Christmanukkah one year, because even if it was an innocent present-his friend couldn't have had a malicious bone in his body-it didn't help Puck's self-esteem any. And hello, he wasn't a little girl! He could totally handle a real oven-he had the burn scars to prove it.

He had since made shitloads of things, from angel's-food cake to meringues, along with several diabetic versions of recipes for his aunt. Baking Challah bread, however, had a special place in his heart. He did it just like he remembered his since-passed Savta had told him to, though he skipped the "Separating Challah" blessing she always had insisted on performing when he almost set the house on fire.

It was nearing the Shabbat, and since he had nothing planned for today, he was given Challah duty… not that he really minded. He would have done all of the kneading and mixing by hand-it was strangely cathartic-but it wasn't the best idea when he was babysitting his little sister, because he constantly had to put down what he was doing to make sure Mackenzie wasn't getting into trouble.

He was just popping the dough hook onto the mixer when he heard his cell phone go off in another part of the house. "Macy!" He called into the living room, "Bring me my phone!"

His little sister flew into the kitchen in a blur of pink and giggles. "Oh! Hi, Kurt! It's Mackenzie! Yeah, but he's busy making-"

"Thank you, Macy," Puck said, snatching his phone from his little sister. She stuck her tongue out at him, grabbing a handful of raisins from one of the bowls on the counter before flying back into the living room. "Hey, babe. What's up?"

"Nothing much. I got some gift shopping out of the way, but I'm not even close to being done yet." Kurt's melodic voice, even over the phone, did funny things to Puck, and he didn't realize he'd been grinning until Mackenzie told him to stop being such a creeper from her spot on the sofa. Kurt chuckled. "How about you? I swear, if you tell me you're going out with the boys again-"

"No" Puck disagreed quickly, still smiling slightly as he turned the mixer on. "No sneaking into bars tonight. Finn had plans with-" He stopped. Rachel was a bit of a sore topic for Kurt. "Finn was busy."

"So what're you doing?" Kurt asked. "And what the hell is that noise? It sounds like you've got a Godzilla vibrator on the loose. And if that's the case, why wasn't I invited?"

Puck busted out laughing, flushing when Mackenzie made another smartass remark. "It's nothing. If that was the case.. " he lowered his voice "you would've been tied to my bed by now."

"Mmm..." Kurt hummed in interest, "Maybe later, baby. I actually wanted to stop over, if it's alright with you."

Puck rolled his eyes. "You know you're welcome over whenever, Kurt. I wish you'd stop asking me for permission to come."

"Well, it's not my fault you like orgasm games so much." Kurt remarked, and Puck could see that smirk clear as day in his mind's eye. "Sorry, you set yourself up for that one, honey."

"How you were still a virgin when I met you, I'll never know," Puck said to the ceiling, shaking his head. "So when're you gonna co-when will you get here?"

Kurt quelled his snickers as best he could. "I'm stuck in a bit of traffic, and I wanted to go home and shower. I'll be over in a bit, though." He paused. "Did you guys want me to pick up some dinner on my way? I'm feeling kind of Taco Bell-Fresco-menu tonight."

"Yeah, sure. Just get Macy the beef tacos, and you know what I like."

"I do, don't I?" Kurt purred, laughing as Puck threatened to hang up on him. "Okay, okay! I have to go anyway-I'm on a main road and the last thing I need is a ticket. See you soon, Noah."

"Bye, Kurt." Puck smiled until he looked at his too-stretchy dough. "Crap."

Kurt walked in just as Puck began braiding the Challah. "In the kitchen!"

He heard the boy greet Macy, and then his light footfalls could be heard nearing the kitchen threshold. Puck glanced up to see Kurt with both eyebrows almost disappearing into his hairline as he watched Puck work.

He grinned, because surprising people who thought they had him figured out, going against their expectations of him, it was kinda thrilling. "C'mere" He commanded, nodding his chin towards Kurt before continuing his handiwork.

"What's that?" He asked, accepting a peck on the lips when Puck leaned towards him.

"Challah bread. I'm making it for the Shabbat."

They stood in comfortable silence as Puck made quick work of braiding the strings of dough, with Kurt's arms wrapped around his waist as his boyfriend glanced over Puck's shoulder to observe. "I know you're not a complete ignoramus when it comes to the kitchen, but… You're not Betty Crocker-scary, are you?"

Puck chuckled as he pinched the end of the loaf, compacting it a bit before gently setting it on a baking sheet covered with some parchment paper. He carefully brushed the loaf down with some egg-wash as he said, "I love baking, but I don't think I'm that intense about it. Could you hand me that plastic wrap over there?"

Once the bread was left to rest for a bit and the oven set to preheat, Kurt all but dragged Puck to his room. "Eager much, Hummel?" He quipped as Kurt shoved him onto the bed in a straddle.

"I've been… eager…" Kurt hissed, rubbing their groins together, "since glee. But finding you in the kitchen-" He chose to kiss Puck senseless instead of finishing his sentence, and Puck had to admit that he didn't have a big problem with it.

Their quickie was doubly quick (what with the off chance that Puck's kid sister could walk in unannounced in the middle of the action), but it was no less rewarding.

Kurt made a contented little noise as he lay his head on Puck's chest. "You know, our food's probably getting cold." He murmured offhandedly. Kurt sat up and wiped something off Puck's stubbly cheek. He grinned and held up a white, flour-covered digit. "It was starting to bug me."

"Mm, I'm kinda hungry anyway. C'mon, babe." He helped Kurt up and they set themselves to rights in the upstairs bathroom before wandering back into the kitchen, hand-in-hand.

"Do you have to do anything to your… what is it?" Kurt asked as he popped Puck's food into the microwave.

"Challah bread, and not yet." He smirked as he recalled what Kurt had said earlier. "So, me being domestic turns you on, huh?"

Kurt flushed. "I was hoping you wouldn't remember that once I went down on you." He muttered, playing with some greens in his salad.

"So it's true."

The diva rolled his eyes and turned to hide his deepening blush as he handed Puck his burritos. "Shut up and eat."

By the time he inhaled his burritos and stole a few cinnamon twists from Macy, it was time for the bread to get into the oven.

He bent over and slid the braided dough onto the piping-hot baking stone, reveling in the quiet hissing the food made. It always reminded him of the warning noises of a snake, which explained why, for two years, he just called it 'snake-bread' because 'Challah' was too hard to pronounce.

Puck stood back up and closed the oven door, turning around only to catch Kurt quickly averting his gaze, cheeks once again rosy. Puck snickered. "You are so weird! You're serious about this kink thing!"

"Shut up!" Kurt whined, slapping a palm to his forehead in mortification. He pouted and grumbled when a still-chuckling Puck wrapped him up in an embrace.

"It's alright, Kurt." He cooed. "We can even role-play, if you really want. I'll be the baker, you can be the dough…" Puck grinned devilishly as he leaned over to whisper into Kurt's ear. "And I'll pound you. All. Night. Long."

Kurt gaped. "You're horrible, Noah!" He giggled and tried to act affronted.

"I learned from the best." Puck could feel Kurt's pulse speed up beneath his lips as he trailed lazy kisses along Kurt's neck.

When they heard the front door open, Puck and Kurt leapt apart from each other like they were on fire. Mrs. Puckerman's familiar voice drifted into the tense silence of the room; they were still fixing their clothes and hair as Puck's mom made her way into the kitchen. "Noah, take my bags for me? I've been on my feet for-" She smiled in surprise as she spotted Kurt standing a laughably long distance away from her son. "Kurt! I haven't seen you since… what, yesterday?" She asked teasingly. Kurt flushed and grinned sheepishly. "I'm just kidding, it's nice seeing you, sweetheart."

Puck put his mom's shopping bags into her bedroom, and when he came back into the kitchen, Kurt and his mom were discussing department store sales. He rolled his eyes fondly as he peeked in on the baking bread. Puck nodded in satisfaction; it was coming out just like Savta's. He tented a sheet of aluminum foil over the bread to keep it from browning too much, feeling nostalgic as he inhaled the sweet, yeasty aroma.

"Oh Noah, it smells just like hers." His mother said proudly, kissing his cheek as he shut the oven again. "She'd be proud, your grandma, considering I manage to burn store-bought crescent rolls."

"No worries, Mrs. Puckerman. My smoke alarm is my number one fan," Kurt supplied with a self-depreciating grin. She laughed in delight, patting Kurt's arm.

"Well, I'm going to soak in the tub for a bit. Tell Macy she needs to get her butt to bed after her TV show, Noah." She kissed both their cheeks before heading off to her room.

"I thought you could cook," Puck accused, not wasting any time in pulling Kurt into a hug. "You lyin' to score brownie points with my mom?"

Kurt huffed indignantly. "I can. I was referring to my baking skills, which leave a lot to be desired, especially when compared to yours."

Puck grinned and pressed a kiss to Kurt's mouth. His mind proceeded to happily assault him with fantasies of them sharing a kitchen together. Kurt would handle dinner while Puck worked on the dessert-they'd do it together. Maybe Kurt would get ticked off when Puck used the last spatula, and maybe Puck would use said spatula for more than just frosting cakes. But it wouldn't really matter in the end, because they'd be in love.

Puck froze. In love? What the fuck? He felt like his stomach was a flailing, frenzied fish as he released Kurt, watching as the boy danced (yes, danced) over to the adjacent counter and picked up his forgotten salad.

After a silent moment, Kurt looked over at him and swallowed his mouthful. His brow furrowed cutely. "You okay, baby? You look like you just saw a ghost."

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Fine." He took a huge gulp of his coke under the guise of Badass in Control, only to nearly hack it right back up. Stupid windpipes, they had the worst timing.

Kurt still looked a bit concerned, but he just shrugged it off. Kurt knew just as well as Mrs. Puckerman how stubborn Puck could be. It was one of the flaws they had in common, which wasn't always the best thing: their longest fight, according to a very ticked off Mercedes, had lasted for a solid week.

"Watch your bread, hun. The oven timer's at three minutes."

When it was time to pull the bread out of the oven, Kurt stood close by, watching as Puck carefully maneuvered the Challah onto a cooling rack.

He glanced over at Kurt's sigh, grinning at the look of ecstasy on that gorgeous porcelain face. "You are brilliance, you know that?" Kurt murmured, placing a spontaneous, sweet kiss on the side of Puck's mouth. "I refuse to share you with anyone else. Ever." An innocent remark made Puck's veins simultaneously combust and freeze over, as he jerked his head around to stare at Kurt in surprise. "What did I say?"

"Uh-nothing? It's just…" He was at a loss for what to say, and Kurt observed him, the way a hawk would ponder its prey with a calculating detachment. (He probably had that deer-in-headlights look that the school counselor perfected to an art form.) "…Ever?"

Kurt must've caught on to Puck's train of thought, because all of a sudden his always-expressive eyes sharpened with realization. He looked nervous-it reminded Puck of dumpster-tossing days past-but his voice didn't waver when he spoke. "Noah... I know you've never been in a serious relationship-and neither have I!" He added at Puck's indignant glare. "And it's only been a couple of months. But…" He broke their stare to sheepishly observe his expensive, shiny shoes in the harsh lighting. "Being with you feels… it feels final. I mean, you're probably thinking what do I know, considering you're pretty much my first everything, but-"

Puck smashed their lips together with little finesse, shoving Kurt none too gently into the fridge. The boy in his possessive grip didn't seem to mind, though-quite the opposite, if his moan when his head banged against the fridge door was any indication at all.

Puck just kept them there, in a determined effort to stop time, even as the Grandfather clock in the parlor chimed eight o'clock. He stroked his callused finger reverently down the fine planes of Kurt's jaw line, brushing soft, reddish-brown hair back behind that deliciously blushing shell of an ear. He nipped at its tip just for good measure. "Kurt, I… I love you. I think," He amended quickly. "I mean, I don't know much about love, outside of family and friends. But it feels kind of the same as loving my sister, or my mom, or Finn… just… I love more things about you that I don't associate with them."

"Like what?" Kurt asked somewhat breathlessly, and Puck was about to call him out on being self-obsessed, but in those eyes, those soulful eyes, behind the haze of lust and fire, was insecurity, doubt.

"I love your ass, obviously." He snickered as he squeezed that tight butt in his hands, pulling Kurt closer to him. "And your cock. I love your cock, a lot. Then there's your lips and your tongue, and-oh! Your hipbones, for sure. They're so... hip-bony and nice to touch." He demonstrated by rubbing one through Kurt's jeans.

"Of course, I love your personality-even if you can be a bit of a diva bitch sometimes. And your feet are cute, no matter what you say." Kurt flushed prettily, smiling up at Puck. Something in him grew taut and suddenly snapped, and it was like a dam let loose; words rushed out, unfiltered and honest. "I love your smile, your voice-when you sing, when you talk, when you whisper, even when you're screeching at me like a banshee."

He stuck his tongue out at Kurt when he was hit on his bicep. "It's true. And your eyes, they're so gorgeous and expressive. I love how I can look into them and know how you're feeling. They're a pretty color, too-are they blue, or green, or something else? I can never tell," He rambled, getting a bit nervous now, because Kurt's eyes, right now, were glazed over with tears. He'd better not screw this up.

"But you know, while there's the added bonus of amazing sex, there're still more reasons for why I love you. Basically, I love you… just because you're you." He finished on a bashful note, because how lame could he get?

Kurt wrapped his hands around Puck's neck to pull him into a gentler kiss. He only removed his mouth from Puck's when he had to sniffle in some air. "I love you, too, Noah. Even if you're a bit of a blockhead sometimes, I think I'm the luckiest person in the world, obscenely luckier than Rachel. And you can bake, but whether that's a good thing is hips don't stay trim on their own, after all." He grinned up at Puck, and Puck had to say, compared to Quinn-her "pregnancy glow" was a 100-watt light bulb, and Kurt, all on his own, was the sun.

"Noah, can I have some bread before I-ewww!" The younger girl giggled where she stood in the hall. "You guys, stop being so gooey and gross!"

Puck rolled his eyes, but didn't let a twitchy, nervously chuckling Kurt go. "One slice, that's it. It needs to last till tomorrow. And who you callin' gooey? I'm not the one covered in sticky apple empanada shit!"

He tucked Mackenzie into bed after slicing up the Challah, making sure she was snugly wrapped up in her pink butterfly sheets. He smiled down at her, ruffling her mousy hair. "Night, kid."

"G'night, Noah. And Kurt," She said a bit louder to the figure waiting in the hall.

"Night!"

Puck chuckled as he walked out, flicking the lights off. "See you in the morning."

Kurt wrapped him in a hug by his closed bedroom door, and Puck slipped his arms around Kurt in turn, swaying them slowly back and forth. They kissed leisurely and happily, not in any rush.

"I should be going," Kurt sighed after a while. He rested his head against Puck's solid chest. "My dad'll be waiting for me."

"Stay the night," Puck suggested. "You can call your dad to let him know what's up, and I'm sure I have something you'll fit in for pj's."

"I don't know…"

"C'mon, babe. It's the weekend." Puck kissed him with more fire. "And we can do stuff."

"Stuff, huh?" Kurt smirked. "Alright. But only because I've been thinking about being fucked while I'm cuffed down to your bed. For some reason."

Puck snickered mischievously, pushing them inside his room. The door was quickly closed and locked up, and they made it to the bed in record time. "The only thing is, I don't have a Godzilla vibrator for your greedy ass."

Kurt gave a sarcastically resigned glance to Puck's bulging jeans. "I'll take what I can get, I suppose." He sighed in a put-upon manner, only to burst out laughing when he got his ass pinched.

"Fucking brat."

Kurt's eyes smiled up at him in the dim light, tracing a soft finger over the bridge of Noah's strong nose. "And you love it."

Puck bent down to kiss him sweetly. Before things went spiraling in a tornado of sex and mindless, primitive lust, he just took in this gorgeous feeling, a feeling not unlike post-coital warmth. He moved just so he could breathe into lips of heaven, with uncharacteristic and honey-like intimacy, "I do," He admitted with a dopey grin. "I really do."

(Translate: Savta: Hebrew; "grandmother.")