A/N: This one is all Kurt. Perhaps it will help delve into his thought process behind his behavior during coffee date, and give the guy a little reprieve, lol. I hope so, anyway.

Blessed Benefits

Kurt

It's like his brain was being squeezed in a vice grip while simultaneously being waltzed on in tandem by Lorraine's skinniest spiked heels.

He had so much to get finished, but he was admittedly dragging.

Fucking advil had yet to kick in, and the longer he kept his face pressed against his desk, the heavier his eyelids seemed to feel; drooping against his dangerously waning will power.

The office phone was ringing off the hook. He was seconds away from just taking it off the receiver so he could avoid cringing at the explosion of noise corresponding with every new call.

It was funny. He'd met with Puck only a few days prior, and this stupid headache has been plaguing him on and off since their impromptu reunion.

He's trying to stay committed to his denial. But he has a strong suspicion that's exactly what's fiercely gnawing at his brain and causing him to feel what he imagined an oncoming anuerism felt like.

He felt horrible for leaving the way he had. When the anger over the audacious request had essentially subsided, he was left with nothing but the image of Puck's face.

Puck's face... He'd been associated with the guy for nearly a decade, and he can't recall ever observing that look of pure vulnerability and devastation before.

You knew immediately when the guy was pissed. But you were never certain of any deeper emotional depth or pain as it was carefully masked behind some neutral state of disinterest or outright reckless behavior.

Kurt wanted to call him. He really did. Hell, the minute that he sat in his car, tears spilling fast and body wracked with gross, unattractive sobs - he wanted to give in and call. God, he had never been an attractive cryer. Thank the stars he'd managed to keep his cry face at bay long enough to make it to his car. Wait... right, not calling - he just felt too scarred by his own actions; like they were irreparable.

Kurt doesn't think it's pride - not really. He's so tired of thinking, that he's finally allowed his truth to breathe.

He was honestly scared.

He was scared of tying himself to something so conclusive; the terminal part, not the commitment part. Well a little bit of the committment part too; there had to be some level of involvement for Puck to have access to his benefits and physically put them into place. There would be more of seeing him, being around him. But really the whole thing feels like the adult 2.0 version of facing his mom dying.

He was scared for Puck. After he was done wanting to beat him with his heeled boot of course for asking this of him in the first place. But he gets it. After a lot of self reflection, he truly does.

In retrospect, he wished he could've slowed down long enough to actually process the news instead of letting his inner woman takeover; drowning him in his emotions and leading him to super bitchy, over-reactive land where he tended to vacation from time to time.

He wasn't wrong for being upset. He can stand by that. But everything else that followed...

Maybe he couldn't come back from what he'd said. Puck had probably already written him off as soon as Kurt pushed open that glass door.

He hears the urgent knock through the cocaphonous blaring of his inner thoughts.

"What?" He groans.

"Kurt. I'm really sorry - I - um - I told him that you weren't available. But he's insisting on seeing you."

"Mickey, I told you. I don't want to take any meetings today. I just - I can't today. Tell them I just found out my cat contracted kitty AIDs. Tell them my heart is brimming with liquid asshole and I need to get it pumped before I can deal with people. I don't care."

"You don't have a cat."

"I know that. Please - please... Just firmly but in a politically correct manner, evade them."

"Even me?"

Mickey was bumped out of the way and left glaring daggers at a tall man with a wavy length of blonde-brown hair, disheveled in a way that always managed to look impeccably enticing.

Maybe it was the fact that several tendrils always found their home laid quite strategically over sensuous teal colored eyes. Or maybe it was that fucking perfectly tailored Armani slim fitted grey suit cut to sickening perfection, hugging the lean-athletic build like it was genetically grown in some laboratory for only his body alone.

And maybe...

Shit... shit, shit, shit. Seriously - down Kurt.

"A-Alan. W-what are you doing here?"

Breathe Kurt. Keep breathing.

"Funny you should ask. I was actually - sorry it's hard for me to speak to you when your little guard dog is practically breathing down my neck. Does he need a treat to get him to go away?"

"You have no right to -"

"Mickey. Um - don't mind him. Just give us a minute. Okay?"

"A-are you sure, Kurt? I can get security."

"Not necessary. Just a minute. A small one. Please."

Mickey nods somberly and closes the door. But not before shooting the ultimate death glare at Alan upon his departure.

"Where did you find that feisty little cockblocker?" Alan asks, obviously amused.

"Never mind him. So. Are you gonna answer my question?"

"Sorry. A lot's happened since you asked it. Refresh my memory."

"You. Being here. At my job. Unannounced."

"Oh I've tried to announce it. Several times today. A few last week. You on the other hand weren't trying to receive or reciprocate my contact attempts."

Kurt's heart literally feels like a cement cinderblock.

"Can you blame me?"

Alan smiles, flashing a mouthful of brilliantly white teeth. He steps forward, hands in his pockets as if he was taking a casual stroll down some fairy tale pathway paved from fucking magical gum drops.

"Kurtie. We've talked about this. It was practically a year ago -"

"Seven and a half months actually." Kurt spat while standing up in front of his desk, his arms crossed over his chest as if cloaking himself from potential harm.

"Right. Well, you know I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Oh. Was that what that was? Your attempts to not hurt me. I'd hate to see when you actually try."

"Look Kurtie. I'm not here to dredge up the past. I was in the neighborhood and I wanted to see you. No agenda. No placating BS. I honestly just wanted to see you. That's all."

"Well you saw me. Now you should go."

Alan chuckles; a sound that reeks of apathy. He pauses near Kurt's desk, staring around the room as if gathering his thoughts, apparently lacking any intent to actually follow Kurt's wishes. Not exactly shocking news there.

"You redecorated your office. It's nice. It's very you."

"Great. Just something else that isn't worth you keeping your dick in your pants for then."

"C'mon Kurt. I'm trying here."

"Now doesn't matter. Don't you get that?"

Alan steps further into Kurt's space, causing him to lean back into the desk.

"You know I was always a bit hard headed."

Kurt's breathing has picked up pace. This was too much. What the hell is happening? It's like he can't look away from those fucking so pale, beautifully green eyeballs that were currently boring into him, drilling him into a frozen standstill.

"Yeah. I see that hasn't changed."

"People don't change Kurt. Circumstances, actions. But people. People are always who they are. And I - am someone who still cares about you, and wants to be in your life. If you'll let me."

"Be in my life? As what exactly?"

"As whatever you'll have me as. But a friend for starters."

"I take that it didn't work out with Romeblow, or Romeho or whatever."

"Romero. And no. Alas, he was too much of a free spirit for my tastes."

"Couldn't keep his foreign dick in his pants either then?"

For the first time Alan seems struck. Only for a second; his eyes narrowing in submission, but a cool sneer quickly replacing the momentary lapse.

"He wasn't what I needed. In the end. So speaking of, are you dating anyone?"

"Sorry?"

"You. Is there some extremely lucky man out there who gets to claim you?"

It was at that moment he was pulled from his inner wall of panic by the noises being made outside his door. Grunts, cursing, and mild thumping sounds signifying someone trying to enter his office.

"I told you - you can't go in there!"

"It's already done short stack."

The door handle was being jostled, then a figure suddenly bursts through the entrance.

"P-Puck?"

It's a millisecond - so rapid that it may have been an illusion. But Kurt thinks he caught a brief twinge of the infamous Puckerman side-grin before it melted off of his face just as fast as it had appeared.

"Hi. Uh - sorry. I hope this isn't some meeting about your clothes or something."

Mickey's fuming, red-faced and unsettled as he combs his fingers through his hair to reset the strands that had escaped their gel slickened confinement during their exchange.

"Kurt. I tried to stop him. He wouldn't listen. And he took my cell phone! And that was after unplugging my desk phone!"

"Dude, you threatened to call security. I told you all I wanted to do was talk to him. Chillax, and I'll give you the damn phone back."

Kurt had to stop himself from laughing at the absurd sight. Puck was holding the cell phone over his head while using his other hand to keep Mickey at arms length. He couldn't help but think of the typical jerk older brother being an ass to the younger brother scenario - an ages seven and younger type exchange.

"Puck. Give the phone back."

"Yeah but he's gonna call -"

"Mickey. Get your phone. And give us some space. Please. I'm very sorry, but I need time to re-explain the idea of manners to this Neanderthal."

Puck groans and hands the phone back. Mickey reclaims it with a snatch, a look of seering indignation marring his normally warm features. He then vacates the office, shutting the door behind himself with abnormal force.

"Kurt I just needed to say this. And if you want to throw me out on my ass or call the cops or whatever afterward, then fine. But just let me get this out first."

He wasn't sure if it was the aura of determination, or the passion highlighted in his honey colored eyes. Perhaps the feeling of owing him for his own display the other day.

But he couldn't not listen. Even if he tried.

"You have my attention."

"Kurt, I fucked up. Like royally. And I'm really, really sorry. I didn't come here to see if you'd reconsider. That doesn't matter. What matters is that I wasn't thinking about you in the situation. I was just - I was scared, okay? And um - I just didn't know what else to do. I kind of still don't honestly. So - yeah. I'm sorry if it came across insensitive and selfish. I'm pretty good at being both of those things most of the time. But you didn't and don't deserve that. So is it cool if we could, y'know - stay friends? 'Cause I'm gonna need as many of those as I can get if I'm gonna deal with this thing."

Kurt's speechless. For the first time in a long time.

And just like that, it was if the other day had never happened. At least not the bad parts.

There's a state of what Kurt can only describe as being spellbound that's surrounded them; the silence brewing with good energy. A warm, inviting, positive energy; with a hint of what he could easily mistake as underlying recklessness.

It's abruptly shattered by the sound of slow clapping which brings him away from Puck's earnest hazel gaze.

"Bravo. I don't know who you are. But that was really fantastic. I should've taken notes. Brawny and submissive. Didn't think that a power bottom was your type, Kurtie."

Puck's eyes drag away from Kurt, his jaw clenching tightly as he slowly takes in Alan.

"You some client or coworker or something?"

"Nope."

"Then I suggest you keep your smart ass comments to yourself."

"And who the hell are you?"

"He's my fiancé," Kurt interjects.

Yep. There was that sense of recklessness he'd thought he'd gleaned before.

Both Puck and Alan direct a look of utter disbelief at Kurt as they stare blankly at him.

"Your what?" Alan sputters.

"My fiancé. Oh, right. How rude of me. Alan Williams. This is Noah Puckerman. My perfectly timed fiancé."

Kurt doesn't break eye contact with Puck.

Puck shoots him a genuine smile. Kurt knows that they didn't need to say anything more in the moment; that somehow, they'd come to an understanding with each other that didn't require justification.

Puck walks over to the pair as if an invisible barrier had been broken with those words.

"You're not serious," Alan cries indignantly.

"He is dickface. Very." Puck puts his arm around Kurt's shoulders protectively, as if to prove the point, leaving Alan no choice but to step back.

"I'm his - uh - soon to be full time partner, man candy, lover - er - guy. And - um - this gorgeous - pole smoking little porcelain doll... Well, he's the love of my life."

"Wow, Kurtie. I didn't get the impression that you were taken. I didn't spot a ring."

"Oh. I just - I - uh -"

"Was getting them cleaned. Plus I had some rhinestones I wanted to get put inside the eyes of the super rad skull on mine. Baby knows how I like round, pretty things. Eh, babe?" Puck jokes, punctuating the statement by slapping Kurt's ass with stinging force, resulting in Kurt voicing a strangled yelp.

"Ooh... you. You're just - so silly," Kurt bites out through clenched teeth. Kurt knows his face is painted rouge at this point. Blotched and probably hideous.

He doesn't know what the hell he's doing. At all. But he didn't mind wiping that smug look off of Alan's face; centimeter by centimeter.

He hams it up a bit further, leaning into Puck, and lightly tracing his hand over Puck's chest. If he happened to linger a little longer than necessary, well he was playing a part. Sue him.

"So how long have you been together?" Alan poses with an overt mix of curiosity and peevishness.

"Since high school." "Three months." Puck and Kurt blurt out at the same time.

Both of them halt, then Kurt reiterates.

"We've known each other since high school. But we - um - officially got together about three months ago."

"I've never met you before." Alan addresses Puck skeptically.

"You haven't met a lot of my older friends from high school." Kurt points out.

Alan falls into a tight lipped silence then, examining the pair with judgmental eyes. The expression was unfortunately familiar, and Kurt thoroughly loathed it. He'd seen it enough times directed at him to know how belittling it could be.

"Seems you didn't waste anytime did you Kurtie?"

"Why waste it when we're - um - totally in man love and shit," Puck answers.

"Well you'll have to let me know when the wedding is. But until then, I'll be seeing you around. I just moved back into town a few weeks ago, so I'm sure we'll be fated to bump into each other again at some juncture."

Just as Alan moved to leave, Kurt overhears Mickey's hushed voice being drowned out by a much louder one behind the door, which then flies open with a crushing swing.

"Kurt what the hell is going on?!" Lorraine laments in a shrill tone.

"I was just leaving. But you should ask his fiancé." Alan remarks coolly.

Alan then squeezes past the duo standing slack jawed in the doorway. Mickey seems both disappointed and disbelieving, while Lorraine's expression had transformed from murderous to inquisitive; like she was examining one of Kurt's newest proposals.

"Kurtie. I'll be in touch," Alan announces just before disappearing.

Finally after a moment of silent evaluation to which Kurt feels like his heart is close to exploding, Lorraine breaks it with a much more friendly air.

"Well, I see that you've taken my advice." She exclaims, raking her ravenous Cougar eyes up and down Puck's physique. He feels Puck press into him more under her blatant sexual scrutiny.

"Ms. Warrenson. He tore the wire out of the phone, and basically ripped the phone out of the wall!"

"Hush, Mickey! It's a phone - not a diamond encrusted time machine. Hm. I like. I really like. Obviously Puerto Rican -"

"I'm not actually Puerto Rican -"

"With a good hard face. Soft, amber colored eyes that ooze sex appeal, but also say 'I'll love you... and your fatherless kid, and your elderly grandma too if only you'd invite me in and let me be with you' - what's the word? ... Yielding. No wait! Delicate, that's it. Warm, and delicate."

"Hey!"

"Wrapped up in a wannabe badboy package. Sheer perfection."

"Uh - what's happening right now?" Puck questions with an affronted expression.

"I don't know." Kurt whispers back. "Just go with it."

"Kurt. I don't know who this Puerto Rican, garden tool wielding stallion with Geronimo's ridiculous haircut is -"

"My fiancé."

"Right. Well your exotic mail order husband is going to be the face of our newest campaign."

"Wait - I'm what now?"

"Lorraine. He doesn't know anything about modeling. That's not -"

"A discussion we're going to have. Because he's it. And you want to make me happy, right?"

"Yeah - but -"

"No buts. Except his in my photos for your line. End of dialogue. Now not that I don't mind a little office sex."

Kurt is dying. He knows it. His face was on fire. And he could feel Puck shifting uncomfortably next to him. But to his credit, Puck was still pressed to his side, arm slung over his shoulder where he'd originally planted it minutes before.

"Hell I'll usually encourage it. Especially between you two. Because good God, the levels of sexy are causing me to awkwardly fantasize as we speak. But we really can't have him or your other ex-boyfriend's coming by to drop trou for epic threesomes at the work place."

"I - we -"

"Save it, Hummel. Report to me later with your ideas for your boy toy. Oh, and congrats. Make sure to get me an invite to the wedding."

Lorraine then struts out of the office, followed lamely by Mickey who closes the door with an almost defeated air.

Kurt slumps out from Puck's hold, leaning against the desk with his eyes closed.

Puck slides next to him, leaning against the desk in a similar manner.

"So? How are you gonna tell 'em?"

"Tell them what Puck?"

"I mean. It's cool. I can just storm out of here. Make a scene. Yell about how you're too good for me. Maybe use that asshat with the lustrous wavy woman hair as an excuse. Whatever you need to so we can - y'know, 'break up' and help you save face. I'm sure your scary little midget boss will understand."

"What are you talking about?"

"Us. Like - the marriage thing. You don't have to do it. I'm not expecting it."

"Oh we're way beyond expectations Puck. I think it's safe to say that we're both in this together now."

"Wait - what?"

"You heard her. I need you for this project. And now they all know you as my fiancé. Plus Alan - he - it'll be better so he can be... I don't know. Just -"

"You don't have to explain. I get it."

"Bless you."

Kurt was thankful. Because how do you explain that you basically wanted to make your ex jealous and regretful, and maybe cry his shame while he re-apologized until his throat was raw? That, and he just didn't want to give Alan the satisfaction of knowing that Kurt was still sadly alone after their break up.

For all those reasons. But also because after all was said and done, he wanted to help Puck. Despite his initial reservations, and their sordid past. It just felt... well, right.

"So that tool was really your ex?"

"Unfortunately."

"Dude. I'd never thought I'd say this. Especially about anybody you'd be involved with. But I actually think you got a better deal with me. And that's saying something."

Kurt exhales a heavy sigh, trying to allow his body to seep the intense rigidity that came with this crazy making, soap opera charade that just occurred in his office.

"For once Puck, I'm not arguing with you there."

A/N: Hope you guys liked it! Let me know your thoughts. I wrote this while fighting sleep so here's to it not being impacted by that too much. Thanks for the reviews and keep 'em coming.