A/N: All that remains is fluff. As usual, grammar 'errors' are intentional, but spelling mistakes are not. Don't own, and it looks better in serif.

"morning," kurt says.

puck levers himself up, and shivers. the fire died out sometime in the middle of the night, and it is cold. outside, the snow is still falling; the snowdrifts that are untouched are higher than ever, which means that his driveway is buried under seven feet of snow (an exaggeration, somewhat, it's maybe more like half a foot.) everywhere else is already shoveled out - either manually, or someone's brought out a home snow-shovel. the public ones must have come around sometime after he fell asleep, because the roads are clear.

"you're still here?" puck asks, quietly. doesn't kurt have to go home? he's sleepy enough not to think about faggishness. that only happens once he's had enough time to work up enough hate and contempt, and quite frankly he can't look at kurt right now without thinking of his voice, high and keening and musical, whispering and whimpering his name. warmth lights in his stomach, almost cold where he's so hot, and he shakes his head.

kurt traces a hand over his stomach, and puck shakes his head further and pushes it away. kurt's face falls, but puck hauls himself up.

"brush my teeth," he says, the way kurt runs his tongue over his lips (his or puck's) beginning to play in his mind over and over, like a skipping record.

"oh," kurt says, and smiles for him, still happily naked, and puck grunts at him. he pulls on his jeans as he goes - there might be a few feet of snow outside his window, but his window is open - WHEN WAS IT OPEN, IT'S BLOODY COLD - and the neighbour opposite might object. or come over to complain. and that would be disastrous.

the bathroom tiles are extraordinarily cold to his bare feet, but puck bears it. he showers as a matter of habit, brushing his teeth in the shower. morning breath be gone. pah. as he rinses and soaps up his body, making sure to clean around his extremely muscular body (that all the girls moan for) and groin because he doesn't really want to get carpet burns around there, and dried come is gross and probably unhygienic, puck luxuriates in the hot water. it is really, really cold outside. he starts to feel a little more like himself. More than he has, since his parents left. Even his hearing has begun to become a little better. The events of last night, cleansing and purifying though they were, are becoming a distant memory.

"Puck?" Kurt calls through the door.

Puck stops showering instantly. Memories flood through his head, and his morning wood instantly becomes morning rock. Or concrete. Or diamond.

He shakes his head. He's no pussy vampire who sparkles or shit like that. Even though his cock is actually a girl's best friend...

...and Kurt's...

He shakes his head.

"Yeah?" he calls through the shower and toilet door. "What's up?"

"Do you have any clothes?" Kurt calls back. "Mine are still wet. I hung them up in your laundry, but it's really cold out here."

Puck shoves the shower door outside and wraps the towel around his waist, opening the toilet door and walking out in a blast of steam.

"What are you doing still naked? You'll freeze yourself in this w-"

Puck trails off because Kurt is naked. And he's smiling. And his eyes are vacant because he's staring at Puck's chest and swallowing. Something in his stomach lights. But it's mostly because Kurt's naked and he remembers last night. Because men don't feel. Emotions, he means. Not skin. Because he remembers Kurt's skin. And how Kurt touched him. Yeah.

"Oh, never mind," Puck says. "Come on."

Puck's junior year football jersey is still a bit too big for Kurt. The edge of the shirt goes past his knees. He hasn't quite realised that Kurt is actually so much smaller than he is, and a twinge of guilt wracks him when he realises that this is why it's so easy to toss Kurt into a dumpster. Then he doesn't think about it at all.

(he wonders why he's actually feeling protective of kurt, and then he remembers kurt's mouth on his cock and his tongue stroking the-yeah, that's why. nobody, Nobody Else, is going to get to bully kurt. ever. not if it means kurt's tongue is going to-think about something else, noah. stop being distracted.)

"Don't you have to go home?" Puck asks, trying to act detached when he's really not. Because he's still staring at the back of Kurt's shirt when Kurt leads the two of them out into his living room, staring at his name on Kurt's back and finding himself smiling.

"No," Kurt says, whirling to look him in the eye. Puck stops smiling instantly. It's not...It's not masculine.

"Uh, I...Well, my dad's not really one for the Christmas spirit," (neither is Puck's family, he wants to add but doesn't) "-and he's going to think I'm over at Mercedes-" (fat girl, his mind said, with awesome voice, so, much much respect) "-or, Brittany's house."

(brittany?) "Brittany?" What the hell did Brittany have to do with Kurt? Kurt was gay, right, and...hang on, no one kissed that well without prior practice.

"Yeah?" Kurt said, looking innocent and putting a finger into his mouth. Puck gritted his teeth and locked his gaze on Kurt's, using all his concentration to not show anything out of the ordinary. It felt more like morning steel...

"Brittany and I are good friends."

"Did she teach you how to kiss?" Puck said, even managing to sound just interested.

"She was my first partner, yes," Kurt said, smiling.

Morning steel, hell, more like morning ... weights. Lots of weights.

Puck almost collapsed with his hand over his eyes. Then he didn't, because that would be unmanly. Instead, he cleared his throat. And tried not to look at Kurt's ass. Or think about Brittany naked with Kurt and him in the same bed. Or Santana and Kurt. Or Quinn and Kurt. Or anyone and Kurt with him in the same bed. Fuck. Hot. Um, what was he thinking about again?

"So," he said, and was proud that his voice didn't waver or crack even a little. "What do you want to do?"

Kurt was already kneeling by the fireplace, and his shirt lifted a bit -

Morning weights, hell, morning - concrete. Rock solid, morning concrete. Yeah.

"Relight the fire," Kurt said. "It's still really cold."

Huh, funny. Puck hadn't noticed. Odd, the shower's effects should've faded a while ago.

"I've got goosebumps everywhere." Kurt shuddered. "Even places I shouldn't have goosebumps."

"Mmhm," Puck said, and held Kurt around his waist. "I can think of things we could do."

"No, Puck, stop," Kurt said. "I mean, I'd like to, but uh," he looked at Puck, "I'm kind of...sore."

"Oh," Puck said, and stopped. "Um."

Morning something-harder-than-steel, hell. Morning feather boa. Wait, feather boa? Ugh! That was so gay!

Then there was a brief moment where Puck realised that he was actually still holding a boy around the waist with his not-so-hard-on poking into said boy's back, before he released him quickly and stumbled away.

"I, um," Puck said, "I'm just going to clean up."

He did. He even got out the steam vacuum cleaner to clean the carpet.

Kurt sighed. Puck's shirt was kind of dirty, but it was better than the freezing cold parka and shirts he was wearing last night. And, okay, it had the bonus that it smelled like Puck.

He sighed in ... well, hotness, remembering how Puck looked like when he walked out of the shower. And the fact that Puck was still around him, even after he ... well - Kurt felt the blood flow into his cheeks - had hot, hot sex. He sucked on his lower lip. No way he was going home. He was going to stay, recover from his butt hurting, and then seduce Puck into giving him some more. In the meanwhile -

"I think we should make hot chocolate," he said.

Puck stopped with his jerky cleaning. Ooh, jerking. Kurt got his mind back on track with an effort.

"Hot chocolate?" Puck said, then cleared his throat. "Uhh..."

"Are you alright?" Kurt asked. "Are you falling sick?"

"N-no," Puck said, his eyes a little vacant. "Hot chocolate. Right. I'll just...I'll go get the fixings for that, then."

Puck went off to the kitchen. After a half a minute of sitting on the sofa, Kurt shrugged. He wouldn't know how to make hot chocolate the proper way, anyhow.

Puck cursed himself. Stupid, stupid! What do you do when the guy you slept with wakes up-oh shit, he slept with a guy-focus-and wants to do something with you? It's different with girls. Girls, he could kick out. But this is a guy! This is Kurt Hummel! Shit, shit, shit.

"Hey," Kurt said from his kitchen door, and Puck stiffened in surprise. nonono, don't think stiffened...

"Hey," Puck said. He cleared his throat and tried again. "What's, uh, what's up?"

Up. Nonono, don't think of 'up'...

"Nothing," Kurt said, low and seductive from the kitchen doorway where he was posing. "I just thought I should make my own hot chocolate. Because you wouldn't know how to do it properly."

Puck stiffened. ...Nonono...

"Are you insulting my hot chocolate skills?" he said. "I'll have you know, I've made girls faint from the awesomeness of my hot chocolate."

"Yes, I am," Kurt said, brushing by him. "Where do you keep your dark chocolate?"

"Chocolate?" Puck narrowed his eyes. "My cocoa powder is right here."

Kurt looked at him. Just looked at him. Puck started to squirm under his eyes. "Is that what you've been drinking all of these years?"

"Um," Puck said. "Yes?"

Kurt raised the back of his hand to his forehead. "Oh my. Well, it's a good thing I didn't trust you with my hot chocolate, then." He fixed a gaze directly on Puck. "Where do you keep your dark chocolate."

It wasn't a question. Puck licked his lips. Kurt licked his lips. And started breathing heavily. Puck broke the cycle, took out his mom's dark chocolate from the cupboard, and tossed Kurt the golden box. "Knock yourself out, Kurt."

"Oh, I will," Kurt said. "Knife?"

While Puck made his hot chocolate from the powder mulishly, he kept watching Kurt out of the corner of his eye. Kurt whistled some tune that Puck didn't know, while chopping away at his mother's chocolate, slicing it into tiny chunks. What...Why...

"
Milk and brown sugar?" Kurt asked, the corner of his tongue poking out the side of his mouth. Puck suppressed the urge to lick Kurt's tongue. And then kiss him. And then bend him over the kitchen top.

...Okay, feather boa gone. Wood back.

Puck patted the containers beside him. "Only white sugar, sorry."

"Okay," Kurt said, frowning. "Whipped cream?"

"What?" Puck said.

"I'm making enough for two, so that you can drink hot chocolate the proper way. And you need whipped cream to really ... enjoy it. Where's your cream?"

"Um..."

"Oh, well, I suppose it will have to do without. Surely you have marshmallows?"

Puck grinned. "Yeah, got those. Bottom drawer."

Kurt bent over to get it.

Puck pressed harder against the counter. Damn libido...

"Puck?" Kurt said, looking up from where he was. Puck started stirring faster. "Where's your marshmallows?"

Puck narrowed his eyebrows and dropped to his knees. He stared blankly at Kurt's hand, holding a pack of marshmallows.

"Wha-" he started, just as Kurt kissed him.

Puck kissed back, twining his hands into Kurt's hair, even as Kurt slung both his arms around Puck's neck, the plastic of the marshmallow bag cool on the back of his neck.

"Okay!" Kurt said, breaking away. Puck blinked, slightly stupefied.

"Um," he said, and Kurt bounced straight back into making his hot chocolate, heating the milk up in a saucepan, mixed with chunks of melting dark chocolate, ladling the mixture into two mugs that he got out from the cupboard. As Puck watched Kurt's scrunched-up face while he judged exactly how much sugar he could put in and exactly how many marshmallows would fit, Puck smiled a bit to himself, and stuck his two mugs into the microwave.

"Okay, you win," Puck managed to get out, in between long, slow sips of Kurt's thick, creamy hot chocolate. Kurt watched him with a smug expression, while drinking from his own mug.

"Needs cinnamon," Kurt muttered under his breath.

The chocolate could be better? Puck puffed out a sigh of simultaneous longing and regret. This chocolate was good. So hot and thick it almost burned his tongue, but gooood.

Puck licked his lips to get some of the thick stuff off it, and had the distinct pleasure of watching Kurt's gaze grow vacant. He flicked his gaze away for a moment, not quite believing he was doing this. He dipped his finger in his hot chocolate. Then licked it off.

Yep, there went the vacant expression...Another try. Another!

Kurt scowled at Puck. There was no way that Puck wasn't doing that on purpose. He just dipped his finger into-ooh. Hang on. What was he thinking about again? Oh yeah. Revenge.

He dipped his pinky into the chocolate and licked it off. Slowly. Payback's a bitch, huh, Puck?

"It's really, really cold, Kurt. Can I put a shirt on now?"

"It was your idea," Kurt pointed out. "Who asked you to take your shirt off and slowly lick hot chocolate off the finger streak that you smeared on your chest?"

"You did," Puck protested. "You were the one who tried to lick my neck with the chocolate you put on me!"

"Oh, yes," Kurt said. "An excellent idea."

Puck rolled his eyes. "I think your clothes are dry now."

Kurt looked down. "Do you want me to go?"

Puck thought for a bit. Not really. He didn't really want Kurt to go. Pulling Kurt into a huddle (body warmth, sharing body warmth, not gayness, really, definitely not cuddling) he leaned back against the couch. "Tobogganing?"

Kurt smiled up at him, a shy smile that lit up his whole face. "You have one?"

"Uh," Puck said. "It's at your house."

"Oh, right! I should put Mercedes' shirt in my house. It's probably soaked through. Come on then!" Kurt struggled to his feet, kissing Puck to distract him enough to let go. It worked.

Puck carried the toboggan under his arm as Kurt skipped ahead from him, holding his head up to the sky and smiling. He blinked his eyelashes, and Puck swallowed.

"Okay, um, where are we going?" Kurt said.

"That's for me to know and you to discover," Puck said, smirking briefly.

"Puck!" a voice echoed. Both Kurt and Puck turned to look. Oh, shit. Matthew McConaugh.

"Hey," McConaugh slowed. His eyes narrowed. "What are you doing with the fag?"

Puck picked up Kurt in one smooth movement and ran for it. "Looking for a dumpster!"

"It's the other way!"

Puck reversed direction, got out of sight, and doubled back.

"Lying," Puck said to his carriee, "Is a good way to get out of awkward positions."

Kurt sniffed, then giggled. "Yes, okay. Are we there yet?"

"No," Puck said.

"Oh, and," Kurt said, snuggling into Puck's side, "I can think of different ways to get out of awkward positions." His smile was positively wicked. "Much more fun ways."

Puck swallowed. Then thanked fortune that he was wearing thick, cold-resistant pants, because there was no way Kurt would have missed the bulge he'd just gotten.

Kurt shifted around him. Okay, so he wasn't going to miss it at all.

The snowdrift was high. And huge. And Kurt stared at it, wondering just how that much snow had actually managed to form in the middle of the night.

"Whoa," Puck said, staring at it. "That's...That's perfect."

Kurt, not so much a fan of adrenaline, couldn't really agree. Then again...

"Let's go!"

If he agreed to what Puck was enthusiastic about, there would be a higher chance of him getting what he wanted. And what he wanted was - well. It probably wasn't polite to think of what he actually wanted. He hid his smile behind his glove. It was cold enough that he'd mostly forgotten about the pain, after all. Letting the glove fall away from his face and the excitement to rise within him, Kurt smiled a little more. "Okay," he said.

The top of the snowdrift was unsteady, the snow a little bit slushy. The drift had been packed to get to such a height, but it was a drift created mostly by snowflakes falling (and probably by some snow-shovels using it as a dumping spot), and so it was hard-going.

Puck set the toboggan down on the snow. Looking out beyond its curved edges, Kurt saw the slope down. The long slope down; steep and high, and the trees a ways beyond it. He bit his lip, but acceded; he climbed onto the sled, albeit somewhat gingerly.

Puck clambered in after him, wrapping his arms around Kurt. The strength of the arms, the steadiness, warmed Kurt; Kurt leaned back into him.

The trees below were fletched with lines of snow on the branches, the lack of leaves bar the evergreens; from the commercial district beyond came the sound of carolling.

"Are you ready?" Puck breathed into his ear, and Kurt was distracted. Puck's breath, hot and wet, filled him with bubbles, prickling and rising from inside his stomach, bubbly champagne throwing off the biting cold against his face. The cleanness of the snow against Puck's spice and musk.

"No," he said, his voice trembling a little.

"It'll be alright," Puck said, and pushed off with an ungloved hand.

"Oh, oh, oh," Kurt moaned, his anticipation and nerves mitigated by Puck's presence at his back. He fought a grin as Puck stiffened...both ways.

Kurt doesn't notice through the triumph when the toboggan picks up speed.

Or when the bottom cracked.

"What, the hell, Noah?" Kurt almost screamed at him through the wreckage of the toboggan. "My butt is sore - again - but this time because it was travelling through snow at fifty miles an hour!"

Puck untangled himself from Kurt and propped himself up on an arm. The nonchalance failed to work as his arm slipped through the snow. Puck's head dropped several inches. It was the shocked look on his face that made Kurt giggle for a microsecond before swinging back to rage.

"Can I make it better?" Puck offers with a leer. "Maybe by kissing it?"

Kurt glared at him. He got to his feet, dusted his clothing, gloves, and hair off, before stalking in the other direction.

Puck caught up to him in three quick strides, praising everything he could that Kurt wasn't running away from him this time,

He seized Kurt by his hands and swung him around, putting a hand on Kurt's chin and swinging his his face upward. He leaned down and kissed Kurt, dropping his hands to intertwine his fingers through Kurt's.

When he broke away from the kiss, Kurt stared at him.

"I still haven't forgiven you, you know," Kurt said. "One kiss won't do that."

"Maybe two?" Puck said. "Or three?"

"Or more," Kurt said, but he seemed less annoyed.

they bring the toboggan in for repair at six in the afternoon. walking out again, the shafts of sunlight through the clouds angle in to shower them with gold. when kurt tells him so, puck doesn't seem to think much of that metaphor. but the snowflakes that fall - puck doesn't mind kurt's metaphors, not when kurt makes sure to catch each snowflake with his tongue. out of sight of the shops, puck kisses kurt again. kurt smiles like he would when he sips proper hot chocolate with lindt dark chocolate, and kisses puck back. puck takes kurt's hand in his, and they stroll along the suburban sidewalks, the gold light threading through the pattern of each tree's snow-heavy branches.

it is three days until christmas. christmas, because puck's parents aren't home to argue. he can't wait for christmas, kurt realises - but at least his presents are all under the trees.

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