Title: Suburban Trash
Rating: R
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Puck/Kurt, OCs
Genre: Drama.
Word Count: 2427
Warning: Sex, swearing, sometimes-graphic violence. Possible OOCness.
Disclaimer: I don't own it and I'm not making any money from it, this is pure entertainment and not intended to offend.
Author Notes: I'm currently looking for a new beta reader to help me sort out some issues with the last couple of chapters. If you're interested in reading ahead and giving me some much-needed help, please send me a PM.
Summary: Kurt has this plan for how his life is meant to turn out. This plan includes very specific ideas of what he should be doing, and where he should be living, and who should conveniently die.

.


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The moving van showed up on Saturday morning, two days after the 'for rent' sign had been taken down from the property next door. Doug noticed it when he was making breakfast and watched the uniforms moving furniture and boxes back and forth for a while before losing interest. He couldn't see any sign of whoever was going to be their new neighbours (renters, instead of home-owners – Doug would confess to being a little suspicious of people who had no reason to really care about their house); There were only uniforms out there, and just the two moving vans. No other cars or people that he could see.

He shrugged and dismissed it, made his wife a coffee and broke up a squabble between five year old Holly and seven year old Braedon.

He didn't think anything of it until that afternoon when the flashy black jeep pulled up outside number 56 and out stepped the gayest man Doug had ever seen. He wasn't trying to be offensive or anything with that description, but it was the only way to describe the man currently standing out on the sidewalk outside number 56.

Thin, dressed in a lavender shirt and white pants, a scarf knotted about his neck and women's sunglasses perched on his porcelain-pale face. Hair perfectly coiffed. Nails probably manicured.

This guy was the kind of person Doug had only seen in movies, or in that sitcom from a few years back, Will & Grace.

"Hon," Marcia's voice interrupted his musing, "who's that, do we know him?"

"I think he's the renter moving in next door," Doug answered, frowning slightly. He supposed a gay guy would be much more likely to keep the place in good shape than any other renter.

"We should go and say hello later," Marcia told him, sliding an arm around her husband's waist. "To be polite."

"He doesn't exactly look like the type who'd appreciate the neighbours popping by just to be nice..."

"Oh." Marcia clucked her tongue and lightly whacked his arm. "You don't know what he'd appreciate. For all you know he'd love to know who his neighbours are, and maybe get to know some of the people around here."

Marcia was only half way through talking when the second car pulled up, into 56's driveway. This car, Doug noted, was much less swanky than the jeep. It looked like a work car, the sort of thing you'd drive around expecting it to get dirty. He thought he saw a toolbox in the back, the sort carried around by handymen or particularly organised construction workers. For a moment Doug had visions of a stereotypical muscle-man with a 70s porn style moustache.

The man who actually got out of the car half a second later was not what he was expecting. He got the tall and broad-shouldered part right, but the olive-skinned man who stepped out onto the sidewalk looked just like any other brickie or day labourer from any normal construction site. He was even dressed in worn jeans and a plain t-shirt.

"And who is that?" Marcia asked, knowing full well that Doug knew only as much as she did. She nudged her husband. "Watch out, honey, you've got some competition. Meow."

"I don't think that guy is competition," Doug pointed out, oddly uncomfortable watching it when the two men met in front of the gate and exchanged a kiss.

"We should say hello," Marcia said, and pulled away from Doug with a grin.

"Marcie," Doug protested, "they haven't even set foot on the property yet. Can't you wait?"

"No," Marcia replied, slipping her feet into shoes. "I think it would be nice if we went and introduced ourselves now."

Doug knew exactly where the children got their precociousness from. And it wasn't from his side of the family. Well, if he didn't follow her she'd only wind up getting too chatty and either scaring them or telling them embarrassing stories about the last street party. Doug sighed to himself and just walked out barefoot after his wife. The kids were playing outside in the back yard anyway, and they'd hear it half way down the street if either of them got into a scrape.

Marcia was already waving and saying a cheerful "Hiii!" by the time Doug got outside, and he stepped out onto the lawn in time to see both men turn, the painfully gay one reaching up to take off his sunglasses.

"I'm Marcia and this is my husband Doug," Marcia introduced them, "we've been wondering who was going to rent this house since the sign first got put up. It's nice to see this place finally being occupied."

"Marcia," the smaller man smiled at her, his voice high and effeminate. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Kurt," he said, reaching out to shake Marcie's hand, "and this is my partner Noah."

"Puck," the other man supplied.

"This is such a nice neighbourhood," Kurt said, obviously used to doing most of the talking, "I feel so lucky that we managed to squeeze in before someone else did."

"It's a good neighbourhood," Doug agreed, "most people around here are pretty friendly."

"So I can see!" Kurt laughed politely.

"If you don't mind," Puck interrupted, taking a step back towards the house, "I'm gonna go start unpacking. Doug. Marcia." That said, Puck turned away and walked straight into the house without looking back or giving any other attempts at politeness.

Kurt just smiled and shook his head ruefully. "You'll have to forgive Noah," he said, tapping his folded-up sunglasses against his collarbone, "he's just peevish because he has the night shift this month and I'm keeping him awake past his bedtime to move boxes. The poor baby."

"Oh no," Marcia assured him, "I understand completely. You should see Doug before his morning coffee, it's like watching an angry, blind bear stumbling around the kitchen." She laughed.

Kurt grinned at her. "Men and caffeine," he joked, "one does not work without the other."

"Oh, and I'll give you three guesses as to which!"

They laughed together this time, and Doug shook his head. Marcia had made a friend. There was no sidestepping embarrassing block party stories now. The conversation came to a natural end after a few more minutes of polite banter and Kurt eventually excused himself to go and start 'supervising'. Marcia followed Doug back into their own house.

"See," she said to him, poking his bicep, "and you were worried that a rental house would attract the wrong kind of people."

.


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Doug was sort of expecting the controversy so it didn't come as too much of a shock when, barely a half hour after their short discussion with the new residents of number 56, Janice from 60 had decided to pop over for a chat.

Doug was the one who answered the door, and he managed a relatively polite smile at the horse-faced bottle blonde gossip. "Afternoon, Janice," he greeted her, "I take it you're after Marcie?"

"If she's in," Janice replied sweetly, not too subtly glancing over towards 56 every couple of seconds. "I can wait out here if you like, if you haven't had a chance to clean yet..."

"Don't be silly," Doug said, shaking his head and stepping aside to let her in. If he let her stay out there on the porch she'd only make it obvious that she was spying, and he didn't want to be associated with Janice's nosiness. "Come on in. Marcie's out back keeping an eye on the kids."

Doug walked Janice through the back yard, where Marcie was keeping an eye on Braedon and Holly, then retreated to the living room to watch weekend sport and drink iced tea. He'd given up on alcohol before Braedon was born, in those two awful years that Marcie had almost left him. He had a certificate from AA, and a ban on alcohol in the house. The whole street knew about it, but being a recovered alcoholic was nothing close to gossip.

The kind of gossip Janice was after was obvious. She wanted to know what was up with the two new cars outside 56, whether or not she'd been mistaken about that kiss, and all sorts of other irrelevant information. Who they were, what they did, where they worked, where they had lived before then.

Why she didn't just go over and ask the new neighbours herself was beyond him. Doug wouldn't pretend to know how women thought and operated.

.


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Janice was still gossiping in the back yard with Marcia two hours later, and Doug was starting to wonder about his wife's taste in friends. Marcie was a great woman and he loved her to pieces, but how she could stand Janice was a complete mystery to him.

Doug flicked the channel to the five o'clock news, beginning to think about what exactly he should cook for dinner. It was a house rule that he cooked on weekends, while Marcia cooked on weekdays. It worked out nicely given their respective jobs – Doug worked a nine to five as the branch manager of a bank in the next suburb over, while Marcia listed her occupation as 'home maker' and sometimes tooled little craft projects to keep herself busy.

The doorbell interrupted Doug's musings on dinner and he sighed and levered himself out of his chair to answer the door. He hoped it wasn't Karen from across the road come to join in on the gossiping outside. He got his wish, in a roundabout sort of way, when he opened the door on his new neighbour.

"Hello," Kurt greeted him, "I'm sorry to impose, but I was wondering if you had a can opener I could borrow. Ours seems to have gone missing somewhere between here and downtown."

"That's no problem," Doug replied politely, and waved the other man into the house. "I'll just see if I can find it for you."

"Thank you." Kurt stated. He stepped delicately inside and looked around, taking in the walls covered in family portraits and one of a kind oil paintings forwarded on by Marcia's mother. The whole house was done in shades of warm beige, yellow and white. A set of happy colours for a happy home. Kurt nodded. "You have a lovely house, Doug. I must say I'm impressed with this colour scheme."

Doug had no idea what to say to that. "You'll have to tell Marcie," he said, rummaging through the kitchen drawers, "she makes all the executive decisions on the house."

"I will," Kurt replied, stopping to examine one of the oil paintings on the wall. "Now this is an interesting piece. I could definitely use this artist."

"Are you in art?" Doug asked, thinking that it wouldn't be too far off the mark. He had visions of the younger man as an art gallery's administrator, or curator, or whatever they were called. He looked young for the job, but it fit him and his fancy lavender shirt.

"Interior design," Kurt replied, "at the moment."

So Kurt was in interior design and his partner was obviously a labourer. Doug hadn't even been gossiping and already he knew more about their neighbours than Janice did. It gave him an odd sense of satisfaction. He found the can opener and held it out towards the other man. "There you go," he said, "one can opener."

Delicate, artistic fingers took the can opener, and Kurt smiled at him. "Thank you so much, Doug. I promise I'll have it back as quick as can be."

.


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"I love having neighbours," Kurt said as he breezed into the half-unpacked kitchen, can opener in hand. He set the gadget down on top of the marble bench top and continued turned to Noah, who sat at their brand new kitchen table, half-asleep and grumpy. "Pay up," Kurt announced, pointedly placing a hand down on the bench near the can opener, "I win."

"That doesn't count," Puck said. "It's a can opener."

"We bet that I couldn't borrow something only hours after moving in," Kurt corrected. "You never specified that it had to be a cup of sugar. Pay up."

"I fucking hate you."

"You love me to pieces," Kurt corrected, watching Puck stand and take off his t-shirt.

.


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There were no curtains on the bedroom windows yet and Puck had never been a big believer in turning out the lights. He was very visual and so was Kurt. He liked being able to see what he was doing, and who he was doing, liked being able to see the shining trail of saliva left behind by his tongue against his lover's thigh.

Kurt pushed Puck down flat against the mattress, face down, hips propped up by a pair of cushions stacked underneath him. He ran his hands over Puck's back, thumbs brushing the line of his spine, until both hands were cupping his lover's ass, spreading the cheeks apart.

"Mmph," Puck muttered against the bedcovers, head pillowed by his own arms. "Pervert."

"Villain," Kurt replied in a soft coo, rubbing his thumb over the entrance to his lover's body.

"Slut," Puck murmured. "Come on, I'm leaving for work in an hour."

.


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Marcia went to close the bedroom curtains and stopped, suddenly blushing, her eyes wide.

"What?" Doug asked, already dressed in pyjamas, mouth still filled with the taste of toothpaste. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Marcia said, and quickly snapped the curtains shut.

Suspicious and frowning, Doug walked across the room to peek out through a tiny gap between the curtains. He saw the trouble immediately with how their bedroom window lined up with one of the windows decorating 56's master bedroom. Their windows were curtainless, free of even a sheer lace covering to blur out the details of the inside. The light was on, giving a clear visual of everything going on inside – including the tanned, muscular body stretched out over the king sized bed and the pale, lithe form above it.

Doug turned away from the window, uncomfortable and ill. "Marcie..."

"The kids are asleep," Marcia assured him, her face still red. "Holly's room is on the other side of the house. Doug..."

"Maybe we could get them some curtains. As a housewarming gift."

Curtains firmly closed, Doug turned off the bedroom light. He was in bed, Marcia already asleep beside him, when he heard the faint rumbling roar of the work truck from next door. Light flashed briefly over the bedroom curtains, disappearing when the truck rumbled off down the road.