(Author's note: Warnings in this chapter for mild bullying, m/m sex and discipline. If you're reading concurrently, or wish to reread, the story of Adam and Kurt, this follows chapter 10 in Just Keep Coming Around, which can be found at archiveofourown. org/works/307854/chapters/521323 The first part of Chapter 11 of JKCA falls into the space in the center of this chapter, after they eat dinner: archiveofourown. org /works/307854/chapters/525549
The unfortunate locker incident mentioned in this chapter happened in chapter 2 of the story before this one, Bending in the Archer's Hand: archiveofourown. org /works/254675/chapters/400627
Oh, and long ago, I wrote a kind of sequel to the event in this chapter, an AU-ish Donutverse futurefic. You can find it here (but read this chapter first): archiveofourown. org /works/244932
Music credits at the end. Enjoy! -amy)
Episode 1.15: The Power of Madonna, Part Three - Kurt
Mercedes leaned in at lunch, her arm around Kurt's shoulders, and whistled at the picture on his phone. "Hot. Definitely hot."
"I know," Kurt sighed, holding up the screen and admiring it in profile. "I wish. But I was talking about her last night, and now I can't get her out of my mind. Something about her curves..."
"Sure, if that's your kind of thing." Mercedes shrugged. "But I wouldn't mind giving her a ride."
"What the hell are you guys looking at?" Tina said, craning her neck. When she saw, she made a face. "Oh. A car."
"Not just any car," Kurt insisted. "A 1964 and a half Mustang convertible. This one's in Caspian Blue. 260 v8, leather interior." He sighed wistfully. "I think I may lose my power of speech."
"Doubtful," Mercedes snorted, with a nudge. "Anyway, you've got no reason to stop talking. You're going to see Lady Gaga next weekend. It doesn't get much better than that. Are you absolutely losing sleep over it? Are you packed yet? Girl, don't we need to go shopping?"
"Yeah," Kurt said, touching the screen. He really didn't know how to say I'm not looking forward to my trip for the reasons you think, anymore. He didn't know what to say. After the conversation he'd had with Finn and Noah about being honest,now here he was with this friendship... possibly more... that he couldn't ever talk about with anyone. He tucked himself back into his maroon hoodie and sighed.
Mercedes cocked her head. "Don't tell me you're having second thoughts. I know you haven't traveled before, Kurt, but really, it's not a -"
"No," he said, setting the phone down. "No, it's not that. It's - complicated. And I don't think I can tell you."
Tina's eyes widened, and she gestured at the exit. "If you need me to go, I can -"
"Either of you," he expanded. "Anyone, really. It's..." He thought hard, biting his lip. "Well... it's this car. I have a - a fantasy, about owning one someday. And now there's a very nice model... that I might get to have. It's rather unexpected."
"You might get to have a car?" Tina said, looking confused, but Mercedes gestured for her to shush.
"This car," she said, gazing at him intently. "It might be in California?"
Kurt closed his eyes. "It might be."
She nodded. "This car's name wouldn't be Max, would it?"
For a moment, Kurt wasn't sure how to respond. Mercedes' eyebrows went higher on her forehead. She sighed. "Quinn told me something about Puck's boyfriend, Max, from Santa Fe. He's, like, some big shot and nobody can talk about him. Is that him?"
"Yeah," Kurt whispered, feeling stunned. It was almost harder, hearing Mercedes say untruths about Adam. He wanted to stop her and say no, no, wait, his name's not Max, it's Adam, and he's the most amazing man... and he invited me to sleep in his bed with him and Noah. But he knew he couldn't, no matter how much he might want to. "That's... not his real name. But that's who I was talking about."
Tina looked back and forth from Mercedes to Kurt. "This is the guy Puck went to Santa Fe to meet?"
"No, he - he didn't meet him until he got there, and it was just chance. But he's... incredible." He let out a shaky laugh, leaning back in his chair. "He sings. On, uh, on stage. And he has this absolutely unbelievable voice. But Noah can't tell anybody about who he really is."
"And now you, and he...?" Tina looked troubled. "Kurt, you're already in a... complicated relationship. Are you sure you want -"
He let his eyes close again. "Yes. I think so. … I don't know. God... I really can't."
"Hang on, hang on." Mercedes took his hand and took a deep breath. "Puck knows about this, and he's okay with it?"
Kurt thought about what Puck had said to him the night before, when he asked the same question. I'm fucking thrilled. Do you get that? You can have anybody you want, I don't care, as long as it makes you happy - but you, and Adam? Other than you and Finn, it's kind of the best thing ever.
"Yes," he said. "He's okay with it."
"And Finn?" She pointed that eyebrow at him. "He's okay, too? Because, yeah, I don't know when I started caring about Finn Hudson, but..."
"Yes," Kurt repeated, loud enough to startle the girls at the table next to theirs. He brought his volume down. "Yes. He's okay. I... we talked, last night, all of us. But really, nothing's happened, and... I don't even know, yet, what's going to happen."
"Okay," Mercedes said. Her arms wrapped around him, warm and comforting. He tried not to cry. "This just seems like a lot more stress than you need, Kurt."
That made Tina laugh. "You haven't noticed? I think Kurt thrives on drama."
"True," he admitted. He smiled at both of them. "I hate keeping things from you."
"Yeah, I'm not crazy about it either." Mercedes patted his hand. "But I'll take what you've got. Honestly, Kurt, your life's better than my soap."
Kurt did his best to focus on the ordinary events of school. He took notes in American History - not very good notes, admittedly, but they were probably better than the ones Finn or Noah had taken, so he could at least share them when they studied - and smiled in all the right places at Artie's terrible joke on the way to Glee.
But Mr. Schue threw him for a loop when he wrote the name Madonna on the board and underlined it with a flourish. "What comes to mind when you see that name?"
"Genius," Rachel declared. Kurt felt himself waking up for the first time that day.
"Icon," he added breathlessly.
"Hall of Fame MILF," Puck added. Kurt kicked the back of his chair, but Puck just smirked.
Mr. Schue nodded. "So, we're all aware of Madonna's musical and cultural significance. Which is why this week your assignment is to come up with a Madonna number."
A chatter of excitement spread through the girls in Glee, while the guys mostly looked stunned. Rachel immediately turned to Kurt, and he responded to her excited smile, feeling the rush of ideas flowing through him. "I don't even know where to start," she whispered, reaching across the risers for his hand. But Puck frowned.
"Mr. Schue," he said, wrinkling his brow, "as a dude, Madonna makes me feel kind of uncomfortable."
"And you didn't feel uncomfortable wearing that eyeliner last week?" Santana muttered under her breath.
Finn glared at Santana and jumped to Puck's defense. It made Kurt feel a little funny to hear him do it, but he smiled at Finn anyway. "Yeah, she's smokin' and everything, but can't some of us do something else? Uh, the guy version of Madonna?"
"Adam Lambert?" Brittany chirped.
Finn choked and turned red. "I was thinking more like Pantera."
Mr. Schue went into a diatribe about treating the girls in Glee with respect, but Kurt listened with only half an ear, nodding vaguely. He'd had a sudden inspiration, all the parts of which were laid out in his head like the scenes of a movie. It probably didn't hurt that he'd seen the Vogue video over four dozen times. I know exactly how it will go, he thought. When Mr. Schue paused for breath, Kurt raised his hand.
"Mr. Schue," he said, "I don't think we can have an honest conversation about Ms. Ciccone without acknowledging her images are as indelible as her songs. I would like to honor her contributions by tackling a multimedia project. With Mercedes."
She turned around and smiled at him. Rachel looked vaguely hurt to be excluded. Kurt made a mental note to find some way to include her in the project, too.
"Great - go for it, Kurt," Mr. Schue said, waving a magnanimous hand at him.
"I'm still not done." Puck crossed his arms with a wounded pout. Kurt nudged him again with his foot, but he was ignoring him. "No chick intimidates Puckzilla. I just don't think her music translates to show choir."
"Really?" said Rachel. "Well, I, for one, couldn't disagree more. I can think of several songs that translate perfectly - and I'm going to prove it. Who's with me?"
Mr. Schue split the class up into three groups for the rest of the period. One group discussed Rachel's Express Yourself project; Mercedes, Artie and a few others listened to Kurt outline his ideas for the Vogue video experience. The remaining guys - and they were all guys - were with Puck. He was talking about something with fierce concentration, but Kurt couldn't quite hear what it was. By the end of class, Puck's group looked like they had something to work on, judging by the high-fives and grins. Puck came over to Kurt and put a casual arm around his shoulder.
"Multimedia project, huh?" he said, nodding at Kurt's rough storyboard. "Looks pretty awesome, baby."
"Don't try to butter me up," Kurt said briskly. "You were dissing my Madonna. It's not going to end well for you."
"I wasn't," Puck protested. "She's awesome. I just don't think guys' voices are cut out to sing her songs. Uh, except maybe yours." He grinned. "Actually, you'd sound pretty fucking amazing singing that one song, Live to Tell...?"
"Too little, too late," he said. The idea was somewhat compelling, but Kurt waved him away, making shooing motions at the door. "We have costumes and lighting ideas to talk about, sweetheart. Go on; I'll see you at home later."
Puck didn't look very happy about this idea, but he obliged, taking his backpack and heading out behind Finn. Rachel's group had finished by now, and Rachel caught up with Finn on the way out the door, chattering about their choreography.
"You know, I think there might be some tuxedo vests in the costume room that we could alter for the video," Mercedes said, rubbing her chin. "Though I doubt they'd have any that would fit me."
Kurt shook his head. "That doesn't matter, anyway, since you're singing the Madonna part."
"Me?" Mercedes gave him the biggest duh look. "No way. That part is for you, Kurt. If there was anybody I ever wanted to sing backup for, it's you."
Kurt felt his cheeks burning, but he smiled. "Please. You're the most insanely talented singer I know, and that includes Miss Wanna-Be Material Girl, Rachel Berry, over there. You've got plenty of Madonna in those lungs of yours."
"But you sound just like her," Mercedes demurred. "You're meant to sing this. Come, on, Kurt, let's hear it."
Kurt laughed, and leapt into his best imitation of early Madonna.
Some boys kiss me, some boys hug me
I think they're O.K.
If they don't give me proper credit
I just walk away
They can beg and they can plead
But they can't see the light, that's right
'Cause the boy with the cold hard cash
Is always Mister Right, 'cause we are -
"Well, he sure sounds like a girl," drawled a voice from the hallway, followed by a long, lanky redhead wearing a nasty grin. Kurt felt his smile drop from his face and he took a step back.
"You're interrupting our rehearsal, Rick," Mercedes snapped. "This isn't your classroom."
"Hey, school's over," said Karofsky, emerging from the other doorway. Kurt hadn't even thought to move for the second exit, but it looked like the two hockey players had effectively cut off both routes of escape. "And it's a free country. We're not doing anything wrong."
"Yet," muttered Kurt, eyeing Rick warily. They didn't call him Rick the Stick for nothing - and it wasn't because he was tall and skinny; it was his speed with maneuvering the puck. His swing could do some damage before either of them could do anything about it.
"I was hoping I might find your boyfriend," Karofsky purred. "That would be the one who'd promised to give Rick here a blowjob."
"Fuck that," said Rick, but Karofsky put up a hand, and Rick stayed in the doorway.
"Nobody's giving anybody anything." Kurt hated the way his voice sounded so terrified. Strong. Be strong. They won't pay attention if you can just show them you don't care. But he'd never figured out how to do that. He did care. He was scared, and hurt, and so angry he could -
Karofsky took another step, and Kurt grabbed the choir stool beside him, shoving it to the floor with a clatter. "Get the hell out of here!" he shouted. Karofsky raised an eyebrow, glancing back at Rick, and smiled. He came forward.
Mr. Schue emerged from his office. He paused when he saw Karofsky. "Anything I can help you with, David?" His voice was mild, but he wasn't smiling.
"Just stopping in to tell Kurt how much I liked his song," Karofsky replied. He was all sweetness now, his face relaxing. "He's so talented."
"Yeah, he is." Mr. Schue wasn't moving. "I think they said they had some more work to do, so why don't you save the compliments for another time?"
"Sure, Mr. Schuester." Karofsky headed toward Rick, motioning him back into the hallway, and they took off without another word. But Kurt saw Karofsky flash him the peace sign, the obscene gesture that Kurt knew stood for Puck and Finn, and the things they'd done with Kurt in the janitor's closet, months ago. He closed his eyes.
"Thanks," he whispered. He felt Mercedes' hand on his arm.
"Puck told me David's been bullying you, Kurt." Kurt opened his eyes to see the hard expression on Mr. Schue's face. "I thought that had subsided. The business with the locker -"
"No, it's nothing like that," Kurt assured him. He shivered. "They slushied Noah the other day. That's all."
"It's still not okay," Mr. Schue insisted. "If this happens again, I want you to come tell me right away. I won't let them treat you, or any other student, unfairly."
"C'mon, Kurt, let's go look in the costume room," Mercedes said, gathering her things. "Thanks, Mr. Schue."
The hallways were nearly empty, but Kurt found himself glaring at every student who passed them, looking for something to do with the adrenaline inspired by their brief encounter. Mercedes watched him with concern.
"God, I thought maybe it was over," she sighed. Kurt laughed, though it wasn't funny.
"Karofsky's never going to leave me alone," he said flatly. "He hates me."
"He's just a small-minded bigot who's threatened by your glamorous self." She put an arm around Kurt as they walked. "You're not going to let him scare you, now, are you?"
Every day, he wanted to say, but in that moment, it was too much to confess. He put on a brave smile. "No way."
They rummaged through the racks in the costume room. The vests were hopeless, but they found some vintage tuxedo jackets that Kurt thought he could work with. "Brittany's mom is dynamite with a sewing machine," he said, fingering the cheap satin lining. "I'll take them over to her house later this week."
"You need to try this on." Mercedes held one jacket up against Kurt's back, then draped a white length of satin over it. "And this scarf. You could do your hair just like in the video."
He smiled despite himself. "I've got some pomade in my gym locker."
They were giggling on their way down to the locker room, Mercedes carrying an elegant black suit. "That neckline looks just like the dress in Madonna's third costume change," Kurt said. "If we can focus the camera up here, it wouldn't matter if the rest of the outfit wasn't quite right. You need a mirror?"
"The girls' locker room has plenty of mirrors," said Mercedes. "Just yell for me when you're ready, okay?"
An empty men's locker room didn't smell much better than a crowded one, sadly, but Kurt managed to struggle out of his multiple layers while holding his breath. The jacket really was perfect for the video. He gave his bow tie a tug to straighten it and folded the soft satin around his neck. He had to apply even more hair product than usual to get the right look, but even in the glare of the locker room lights, it looked good.
"Vogue," he murmured, hearing the faint echo, and smiled.
Kurt poked his head into the girls' locker room. It did smell better. Completely unfair. "Mercedes? Come see."
Mercedes emerged far enough to ooh and aah over Kurt. "The suit doesn't fit me, though," she said sadly. "Way too tight in the bust. Whoever made this outfit made it for somebody built like you."
"I'm not playing Madonna," Kurt insisted. "It's going to have to be you. Or else we ask Quinn or Rachel or somebody to do it." He grimaced, touching his hair. "I hate to say it, but I'm going to have to wash my hair before I put my own shirt back on. I don't want to think about getting pomade out of Versace."
"I'll hang this back up in the costume room, then," she said, retrieving the tuxedo jacket and white satin scarf from Kurt. "Be right back. We should stop at Consigning Women on the way home to look for more costume ideas."
Kurt took as quick a shower as he could. He hated hearing the open echoes of the room around him. It never felt quite safe to be in there alone, even enclosed in the security of his shower cubicle.
It was completely silent when he came out, but it was clear someone had been there while he'd been showering. For one thing, there were snowy, indistinct footprints on the floor.
For another, all of his clothes were gone, along with his towel.
Kurt slowly approached the red and white pile of neatly folded clothing that had been left in their place. They might be booby-trapped for all he knew. But once he lifted the note off the top of the pile, he knew exactly what the trap was. It was the clothing itself.
You're so invested in sounding like a girl, read the note, in surprisingly neat script. I thought you might like to dress like one, too. On the bench was his wallet and his car keys. His bag was gone.
He hadn't expected Karofsky's writing to be so tidy - or that he'd be able to spell, use grammar or adequately punctuate his sentences. Somehow that made him all the more terrifying. Kurt unfolded the Cheerios uniform and shook it out, trying not to let the feelings of panic choke him.
"Mercedes?" he called, but it came out in a strangled whisper. Still naked, he edged closer to the door, feeling more exposed than he knew what to do with. "Mercedes?" There was no answer. He called as loudly as he could. "Anybody - Mercedes, are you there?"
Still no answer. Kurt thought, Hey, at least I'm not in a locker this time, and stifled the hysterical laughter that followed. Then he turned back to the pile of clothes and the note, and took a long breath.
He hesitated only a moment longer before struggling into the cheerleading top. The skirt only reached to mid-thigh. Kurt was particularly conscious of the fact that Karofsky hadn't left his underwear.
"You can do this," he muttered, smoothing the pleats. You're no stranger to humiliation.
Kurt didn't learn until much later that Rick had crank-called the office to lure Mercedes away from the locker room. He accepted her frantic apology, of course, once she found out what had happened. He wasn't at all upset at her.
At the time, as he exited the boys' locker room wearing the cheerleading uniform, all he could think was: This is exactly what Mr. Schue was saying in Glee about the way boys think about girls. That being a girl is shameful. I can't let this be about that, no matter how embarrassed I am, no matter how powerless I feel.
He tipped his chin up, straightened his shoulders, and faced the world as a Cheerio.
Kurt took a cue from the unfortunate locker incident and resolved to tell Finn first, but Sarah was there when he got home. She just looked him up and down and wrinkled her nose. "You joined the Cheerios?"
"No," he sighed. "I have to change, and I have to find Finn. Is he here?"
"Still finishing up basketball practice," Sarah said. "But Noah's in the kitchen. Are you okay?"
"Not really. I have to - just let me go talk to Noah, all right?"
She let him through without another word, but her expression was clear. You're going to explain this to me, right? He nodded tiredly, tugging the Cheerios top straight as he moved toward the kitchen. It was far too tight across his shoulders.
Puck was at the stove, stirring a pot with a wooden spoon and moving his hips, chanting:
If I take you from behind
Push myself into your mind
When you least expect it
Will you try and reject it
If I'm in charge and I treat you like a child
Will you let yourself go wild
Let my mouth go where it wants to -
He turned, noticed Kurt, and stopped. The spoon fell out of his hand. He just stared for a long, long moment, his mouth slack. Kurt didn't say anything, staring back, watching the expression change on Puck's face from shock to concern to something else he wasn't sure he could identify.
Then Puck crossed the kitchen floor and took Kurt's arms in his strong hands, gripping him a little more tightly than was comfortable. "Tell me," he demanded.
It was too much for him to handle. Kurt felt his control slip away as he closed his eyes and started to cry.
"Baby," Puck said unhappily. He hugged him awkwardly, gingerly, like Kurt might break. Kurt didn't have the heart to say you're doing it wrong, so he just let him hold him and pat his back while the tears fell. "Hey... what happened? What's with the outfit?"
"You don't want to know," Kurt sniffled, his chest constricting.
"Did you - dude, just tell me, okay? This isn't funny."
"Damn right it's not funny," Kurt hissed. "You think this is a joke? Fine. I went into the locker room to try on a costume for Glee, and then I showered, and when I came out of the shower my clothes were gone. And Karofsky and Rick left me this. Are you happy?"
Puck pulled away to stare at him again, and his face went hard. It reminded Kurt so much of Mr. Schue's expression in the choir room that he almost laughed. "Those fucking pricks," he swore. Then he stormed out of the kitchen, leaving the pot bubbling on the stove. He was still wearing his Is that a sausage on my grill, or am I just happy to see you? apron. Kurt heard the front door open, then slam closed. A minute later, Puck's truck roared to life, and quickly disappeared.
"Shit," said Kurt. He peered into the pot and put the lid on what appeared to be marinara sauce, turning the stove off. Then he sat at the kitchen table and rested his head in his hands.
When Sarah appeared again in the doorway to the kitchen, he let her lead him downstairs. Without a word, she opened his second drawer and handed him a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt. She crossed through their connecting bathroom and into her room, turning on some music as she returned. Kurt had shed the skirt, leaving it on the floor in a heap, something he never did with clothing, but he hadn't managed to get the tight-fitting top off yet.
"Lemme help you with that." Sarah took his arms over his head and shimmied the shirt off his shoulders. "Damn, Kurt, you've got biceps."
"I know," he said dully. "It's a little weird for me."
"Don't talk to me about weird," she snorted. "Not until you've bled for a week and lived to tell about it."
"Point." He watched her pick up the skirt and the top and fold them reasonably neatly on top of his bureau. Then she paused, picked them up again, and dropped them outside his doorway onto the floor. He wasn't sure how she had realized he couldn't bear to have them in the room with him, but somehow she had.
Then she stood in the doorway and crossed her slender arms. "You're going to eat something, right?"
"I need to talk to Finn," he said. "Can I borrow your phone?"
Finn didn't pick up right away, which may have been because it was Sarah's number, but Kurt thought it might have been because he'd been in the shower following basketball practice. There was something ominous about Finn being in that same locker room following the events of that afternoon. He called back a second time, and Finn picked up then.
"Baby, what's going on?" he said cautiously.
Kurt tried to take an even breath. "Why do you ask?"
"Because Rick came up to me halfway through practice and practically gloated, right in my face. Said he had your bag, your phone. I looked inside it, Kurt. Your clothes... they were in there. Are you okay?"
"No," he said, feeling his bottom lip curling into a grimace. "No. Noah - he's coming after Rick, and Karofsky. You have to stop him. I don't know what he's going to do, but -"
"Kurt." Finn's voice was short and commanding now, and Kurt stopped talking, holding his breath on the sob that threatened to overtake him. "Karofsky - did he hurt you?"
"No. Nobody laid a hand on me. Noah can't do anything to him, Finn; he's going to get suspended."
Finn ignored his tone of voice and went grim and quiet. "Yeah. He might. I might not stop him, either."
"Finn!"
"Hey, I'll try, but... well, you know how much effect I have on him these days. Can I get your promise that you're not hurt?"
"Just scared, and angry, and..." Kurt gulped. "I need you. Please."
"You're there with Sarah? Can you call your dad, have him come home a little early? My mom's at the hospital until late, but I could..." He heard Finn sigh. "Forget it. I'll be home as soon as I can."
Home. Finn seldom called it home. Kurt knew Finn didn't mean his own house, the one with his dad's furniture, with all the memories of their past life. It was this house he meant, Kurt's and his dad's and Sarah's, the one Finn stayed at more often than not these days. Our home. They were small comfort right then, those words, but he hung on to them anyway, something he could clutch to his chest and believe in and hope for. Our home.
"Yes," he whispered, "please, come home."
"I will," said Finn. "I love you, Kurt."
Kurt set the phone on his desk and stared at the floor until Sarah came back into his room. She didn't knock.
"Can I call Tatenui now?" she asked. "Or should I try Noah? Because he might actually listen to me, even if he's not gonna listen to Finn."
Kurt didn't bother to ask how Sarah understood Finn and Puck's relationship, because he knew she'd seen plenty over Christmas break, enough to fill in some gaps. Actually, she seemed to get it better than his dad did. He nodded. "Try both of them, but I wouldn't be surprised if Noah doesn't answer. He's got his own vendetta against Rick and Karofsky, and I think he might do something really stupid today."
"Noah's awesome at doing stupid things for what he thinks are good reasons," Sarah agreed. She didn't seem concerned, though, and Kurt didn't have the energy to pursue it. He just nodded, closing his eyes again. This time Sarah pulled him into a hug, and he had never been more grateful for it.
"Don't talk about it," she whispered. "Wait for Finn. Come help me finish dinner. We'll bake chocolate chip cookies if he takes too long."
Kurt might have appreciated Sarah's care more if he hadn't felt so drained. It wasn't like there wasn't anything good about spending an evening making dinner with Sarah. It was that all of it had the same bland flavor, the same wasteful grey color. He couldn't see the value in any of it. But he let her do her steady best to make the marinara and to put the pasta on to boil, while he sliced the vegetables and sautéed them.
"So - they took your clothes?" Sarah watched him nod, and rolled her eyes. "What, are they twelve? Can't they come up with something better than that?"
"I think Karofsky had a particular message in mind." He set the spatula on the counter, watching the slices of squash sizzle in the pan. "He's trying to make me feel powerless. Which, uh, he does. But I think in this case, he picked the wrong method, because he's trying to do it by implying that girls are somehow... less. And that just pissed me off."
"Of course it did," she declared. "Girls are obnoxious and catty and kind of stupid, but they're not any worse than boys."
Kurt smiled, kissing her cheek. "You've got that right. Boys can be sufficiently obnoxious and catty and stupid all on their own."
His dad got home first, and he was livid. "Kurt, I'm calling the school," he said, slamming his keys down on the table.
Kurt exchanged a glance with Sarah. "Dad, trust me, it's just going to make things worse. I'm not in any danger. They're just messing with me, trying to imply that I'm - that I'm the girl in this relationship." He felt his face go red as he realized what his dad probably thought about that.
"Well, as far as I can tell, there aren't any girls in your relationship. It seems to me they're humiliating you in front of the whole school." He glared at Kurt. "You want me to sit around and let that happen?"
"No." Kurt put a hand on his dad's arm. "I want you to let me handle it in my own way. And if I need help, or if I feel like I'm in any danger, believe me, I'll come to you. Okay?"
Burt sat down slowly at the kitchen table. For a moment, Kurt thought that he looked far more tired and confused than he had this morning. He looks old, thought Kurt.
"I do trust you, Kurt," he said at last. "And I'll stay out of it, for now. But I don't like it."
"You're not the only one who thinks that." Kurt heard the front door open and close. "That might be another one of them, right now."
Sarah gestured at the dining room. "Go on, I'll finish dinner. You can wash dishes for me tonight."
Kurt hurried into the entryway to find both Puck and Finn standing silently. Puck had dirt all over the legs of his jeans, and he looked as sullen and pouty as Kurt had ever seen him. Finn wasn't touching him, but he watched Puck warily, as though he was a firecracker that might blow up at any moment. He had Kurt's messenger bag strapped over his shoulder.
"You gonna tell him?" said Finn. "Because I will, if you don't."
"Fuck you," Puck shot back, glaring at Finn. "It's none of your fucking business."
"Hey!" His dad's bark froze Puck in his steps, and he glanced up to see Burt standing in the doorway, his expression outraged. "You know I won't have language like that in this house."
It seemed for a moment that Puck was going to yell at his dad, but then he looked at Kurt, and seemed to deflate. "Sorry," he muttered.
"Now, can the three of you talk this out without cursing, or hitting one another? I'd like to be sure we all agree that we're on the same side, here. All of us. Because I think we still have enough rooms in this house for the three of you to all get sent to them at the same time."
"It'll be okay, dad," Kurt said, indicating for Puck to precede him down the basement steps. "We'll be back upstairs for dinner."
Finn and Kurt took a seat on the couch, but Puck moved restlessly around the basement room, circling them. Finn passed Kurt's bag over to him, then took his hand. "You okay?" he asked quietly.
"Better," Kurt said. "I'm managing. What happened?"
"I didn't hit him, if that's what you're wondering," Puck grumbled. "Not that I didn't totally want to."
The expression on Finn's face was hard to read. Kurt watched him wrestling with something. "You know Rick's car?"
Kurt did. Rick was very proud of it. "The 1956 Chevy Bel Air. My dad did some custom work on it." He held his breath. "Noah..."
"Britt gave me the bag of fertilizer," Puck said. "I didn't steal it."
"I don't think she knew what you were going to do with it." Finn's face contorted, and he looked away just as Kurt realized what was going on. Finn was trying not to laugh.
"Noah, what did you do?" Kurt begged. "Would somebody just tell me?"
Puck crossed his arms and looked obstinate. "I put a little bit in each seat, and some more on all the floors. And on the dash. And I just left it for him to find, when he got out of basketball practice."
Kurt closed his eyes, picturing the scene all too well. "Are you saying you covered Rick's precious baby - the car he works on every chance he gets - in shit?"
"He deserved it," Puck protested. "Tell me he didn't."
Kurt took a deep breath. "Sweetheart... that's not the point." He reached out his hands, and Puck came right over to him, clinging to them like he was going to drown. "You can't make this a he-hurt-me-first revenge match. It's never going to get better. I'm always going to be gay, and they're always going to be jerks."
"Yeah, and I'm always going to kick their asses for wanting to hurt you." Puck wasn't backing down. Kurt just shook his head.
"I can't - I can't deal with this right now, Noah." He touched Puck's face. "Why don't you get out of those dirty clothes and meet us upstairs for dinner."
He nodded silently, and went into Kurt's room to change. As soon as he'd closed the door, Finn offered his arms, and Kurt stumbled back to the couch to sit on his lap, shaking.
"God, Finn," he said, and then started laughing. Once he started, he couldn't stop. Finn held him as tightly as though he were sobbing - and, really, it wasn't all that different.
"It was priceless," Finn whispered, making Kurt laugh harder. "Really. You should have seen Rick's face. I'm just glad Puck had already taken off, or else there really would have been a showdown."
He nodded, wiping his eyes on Finn's t-shirt. "Does he know it was Puck?"
"I guess he's got to. You'd never do anything like that, and I was at practice with him the whole time." Finn kissed him, and then again, and again, over and over again. "Baby... let me just have a minute to freak out, okay? And then I'll be all right."
"Yes," Kurt said, feeling the compression of Finn's fierce embrace. He groaned. "Yes - please."
"When they were threatening Puck in the hallway last week... I just needed for you to be safe." He gripped Kurt's neck in one hand, and Kurt gasped, tipping his head back. The energy between them was desperate and raw and so necessary. It wasn't like that very often, but Kurt drank it down, filling up on Finn's need to take care of him. He met Finn's wild gaze.
"I'm safe," he promised. "Shaken, but not broken."
The door to Kurt's room opened, and Puck emerged, looking somewhat more subdued in one of Kurt's t-shirts and boxers. He eyed the two of them. "You guys want some time alone?" he muttered.
"No, dork," said Finn, grinning. He held out a hand. Puck made a face, like he smelled something bad, but he came over and took it.
Kurt took the other. Even lopsided and misshapen, it was their circle, still the three of them. He breathed it in. Home.
"Thanks for coming back to me," he said, watching Puck struggling, but willing to leave it alone. For now. "Both of you. Let's go have some dinner."
Once they finished the dishes, Finn kissed him and picked up his bag. Kurt watched him with some trepidation. "You're going… back to your house?"
Finn nodded. "I haven't finished my math, and Carl's been coming down on me about doing my Spanish. I don't think I can slack off this week, especially not with us flying out on Friday. But I'll be here tomorrow night." He nodded at Puck, who was slouched at the dining room table, noodling on his guitar. "Anyway, I think he probably needs something from you tonight."
Kurt felt a shiver of anxiety. It was hard not to feel inadequate when it was clear that what Puck needed was so much more than he could deliver. Thank god he's going to see Adam in five days."You're probably right," was all he said. He didn't want Finn to worry.
Finn gave him a little wave. He stopped next to Puck on his way out, speaking quietly to him. Puck didn't respond, but he didn't say anything nasty, either, which at this point might be all Kurt could expect from him. Then he disappeared, and the front door opened, closed.
It was quiet in the kitchen. Kurt stayed there for a few minutes, listening to Kurt playing a song on his guitar. Under his breath, he sang along:
My life is not a game that I play to entertain you
And if you can do it better, then you're welcome to my fame
I'm not gonna waste my time correcting myths and rumors
You believe what you wanna believe
I don't wanna say goodbye
I don't need a reason to cry
Kinda makes me wanna
Kinda makes me hafta
Puck stopped when he noticed Kurt in the doorway to the kitchen. He frowned at him. "What?"
"I didn't know you knew so much Madonna," Kurt said.
Puck shrugged. "Sarah listened; I kind of had to memorize it. And I told you, nothing wrong with Madonna. She's not in my range, is all."
Kurt approached him slowly, and when Puck didn't move away, he stood behind him, putting a hand on his neck where it met his shoulder. Puck sighed, relaxing into his touch.
He bent and touched his lips to Puck's temple. "Are you just about done here?"
"I guess. I was thinking about heading home."
Kurt tried not to feel it like a slap. He's going to do anything he can to push you away,he could hear Finn saying. He smoothed Puck's head. "Not yet. We've got some business to take care of first."
Puck gave him a look like he was nuts. "Whatever."
This translated pretty clearly as you don't know what I need, or possibly you're not nearly enough for me, but Kurt wasn't going to let him alone with that thought long enough to be convinced. "Look at me. Come on."
Puck kept his eyes fixed on the table for another five seconds while Kurt waited patiently, then sighed and looked up. Kurt smiled encouragingly. "That's it. I'm not angry, sweetheart."
Puck looked suddenly uncertain. "No?"
"No," insisted Kurt. "We had a hard day. You made some bad choices. I need to address them with you, but I'm not angry. I know you did it because you love me and you want to protect me."
"Yeah," Puck agreed vehemently. "I do. 'Cause it's not right, what they're doing to you."
"And you think what you did to Rick's car was right?"
His stubborn expression came back. "He deserved it."
Kurt made his voice as gentle as he could, stroking his hand over the skin of Puck's head, to his shoulders, and back again. "You said that before. I disagree. And, tell me, who's in charge here?"
Puck waited a few moments before answering. "You, I guess."
Ah.Kurt held out a hand. "Your guitar, please."
He looked startled. "Uh, Kurt, what –"
"I'm just setting it over here." He took it carefully by the fingerboard and set it in the corner. "You… come with me, right now."
He didn't speak any more loudly or sharply than he had been, but Puck moved with alacrity, leaving the chair where it was, and followed Kurt downstairs. Sarah watched them leave from the upstairs couch with his dad, but she didn't make a comment.
Kurt felt the tension inside himself growing, winding up, like a rubber band stretching tighter, tighter. By the time they reached his room, his jaw was clenched and his hands were restless. I need this, he thought, always amazed to discover it. How do I always forget so easily?
But the answer was clear. He'd spent his whole life dealing with the stress of his life in conventional ways. To suddenly have this unconventional method at his disposal, no matter how effective… it was a shift in paradigm. He knew it would take time to make it part of himself.
Kurt drew Puck close to him, kissing him, letting him feel the need in his touch, in the way he positioned his body, establishing his control. Puck didn't resist long, and soon he was open-mouthed and gasping with desire, stumbling against the bed. Kurt palmed his erection through his boxers and brought his mouth right against his ear.
"I'm going to ask you this question again," he said. "And I want a better answer. Who's in charge here?"
"You," Puck said immediately, groaning, his hips moving in a slow grind against Kurt's hand. "God, you are, please."
"Better. So, tell me, sweetheart… what's going to happen to you if Rick goes to the police and files a report against you for destruction of property?" He didn't move his hand away, but held it still, not giving him any more pressure than Puck could get by thrusting.
"Uh…"
"Even if there's no associated citation, I imagine they'll fine you. Who's going to pay it? My dad? You think he'll appreciate that?"
Puck had a pained expression now, and Kurt didn't think it had anything to do with his erection. "God, Kurt, I didn't –"
"No, you didn't. And you don't, do you? That's why you need – me." He almost said us, but Puck wasn't ready to think about Finn. "Remember? It's part of our agreement?"
Puck squeezed his eyes shut. "I'm such a fuck-up."
"Stop that," Kurt said sharply. He grabbed Puck's hands and held them tight in his. "Everybody needs help sometimes. This is one way I can do it for you. I want to, sweetheart. You may not feel bad about that, understand?" Puck hesitated for a moment, then nodded. Kurt took a deep breath. First hurdle.
"Good." He touched Puck's chest, making light circles, while the other hand stroked down Puck's back to rest on his bottom. "Now, I know you're not going to Finn for help right now… but you're going to see Adam in five days. He gave me something to make this easier. A tool. I want you –"
"Kurt!" Puck looked horrified. "You're not going to –"
Kurt cut him off with a sharp strike on his behind. "I want you to get your paddle."
"Fuck, Kurt," Puck moaned, but Kurt could feel the way he was responding to the idea, how he was suddenly vibrating with need, his muscles tense and his cock straining for friction.
"Yes. And I want you to take off your shorts and your shirt, and kneel right here on the bed. Quickly, now." He released Puck with a little push, and watched him stumble, wide-eyed in shock - then go right to the bureau and thrust his hand under Kurt's clean handkerchiefs to get the small leather paddle Adam had sent as a holiday gift.
They hadn't had an opportunity to use it yet. No, that wasn't exactly true. It was that Kurt had been afraid, afraid that he wouldn't do it right, that it wouldn't work. That even with the tool, he still wouldn't be enough for Puck. And that would be the end, for them. Discovering that he couldn't satisfy Puck, in this way he so clearly needed, would destroy him. But he had to know. And he wasn't going to give up, not yet.
"Go on," he said, making his voice stern, and watched Puck jump to obey, stripping off his shirt and shorts and climbing onto the bed, hard and quivering. Kurt ran a hand down his back, watching the goosebumps rise on his smooth, muscled flesh.
"So beautiful," he murmured. "Such a good boy. Hand it to me, now."
Puck passed the paddle to Kurt, and he grasped it in his right hand, feeling the firmness of it, its quiet, simple strength. There wasn't anything showy about it, but it was well-made, with no rivets or overlapping parts, stitched securely around the edges in a simple double row. Kurt thought of the suede flogger, the way the impact made him feel when compared to Finn's hand, and he shivered. This would be intense.
But Noah needs that, he thought, and braced himself against the bed.
"You made a careless choice," he said, his hand with the paddle resting on Puck's back, "and for that, you need a reminder."
Puck let his head hang down, his back heaving in erratic breaths. "Yes… sir."
"Yes," Kurt agreed. "That's right. And I'm going to keep going, sweetheart, until I think you're done. Do you understand? No counting tonight. Just let me take care of it."
It was a risk, but they'd never used safe words or anything like that before, and Kurt wasn't going to require them now. Puck had placed his trust in Kurt's hands from the very first day he'd let him hold him, when Kurt had offered to help take care of him, on that day Puck had made them breakfast at his house. He wondered what Adam would say about safe words.
"Yes, sir," came Puck's quiet reply, his back bending as he rested his head on his crossed arms. He waited, trembling. Kurt's hand stroked down his spine.
The first impact always seemed easy to handle, Kurt knew, and Puck usually took a while to move from appreciation to discomfort on his way to release, but by the third stroke of the leather paddle, Kurt could already tell the difference. He was making more noise, squirming and twisting away, and Kurt had to tell him several times to hold still. Even with the distance between the second floor and the basement, he had a moment of unease when Puck gave a shout.
"My father wouldn't like being woken up by this," he cautioned, and after that, Puck muffled his face in one of Kurt's pillows. Perhaps he even had the wherewithal to consider Sarah, sleeping two doors away in her own room. Knowing how they'd grown up, the noises she was usedto dealing with – he never wanted her to think he was hurting Puck, no matter what she might understand about their relationship from her eleven-year-old perspective.
It went on for what seemed like a long time, but Puck didn't let go of his control completely until Kurt leaned in and reassured him, "I'm okay, sweetheart. Let me see that you are, too."
"I can't," Puck moaned through gritted teeth. "I can't… all I can think about is you, and that goddamn fucking asshole Karofsky, taking –"
"He didn't take anything from me, Noah." Kurt was starting to hesitate a little, watching with each swat of the paddle how the flesh of his thighs and buttocks were becoming more red and raised. "My clothes, yes, but – he couldn't take my pride. He couldn't take this away from us. How could he? He can't touch what we have."
"I should have been there." He wasn't resisting at all anymore, just taking it, taking what Kurt had to give him, letting the impact drive him into the bed. "What good am I to you if I can't – if I can't-"
Oh, sweetheart. Kurt felt his own heart wrench. He resisted the urge to stop and hold him, knowing he couldn't give up now. This was what Noah needed. Instead, he intensified the strokes, hanging on to Alex's advice: You can't do lasting damage with a paddle, as long as you don't hit anything fragile. Puck cried out.
"I don't need you to protect me," Kurt snapped, feeling the tension surge and peak. "I just need you to let go. Do it. Now."
And, to Kurt's astonishment, Puck did, his muscles relaxing all at once in a series of enormous sobs. "I'm sorry, Kurt, I'm so sorry… so sorry, baby, I let you down…"
"No," Kurt begged, "no, no, don't say that, you're fine, you did just fine, sweetheart…" He let the paddle fall as he climbed up on the bed behind Puck, suddenly frantic to touch his skin, to feel the contact of Puck's body, under him, holding him down. "God… I need – Noah?" Kurt clutched him in both arms, not caring about Puck's raw, red skin, but thrusting against him. Puck met his thrust with a desperate whine.
"Yeah, baby, please… I need that too, come on…"
Kurt didn't quite believe what he was doing, but before he could think, his sweatpants were on the floor and the lube was in his hand. He was preparing Puck and himself in quick, fierce strokes, and then he was on top of him, crushing him into the mattress. Claiming him.
"Mine," he said, with each breathless stroke into Puck's body, and heard Puck's begging response, yours, please, yes. "Mine; you're mine."
It was over in minutes, his own cries escalating to overtake Puck's, and he had to put his own hand over his mouth to stifle the sound. Then Kurt was panting, his legs like jelly, and he fell onto the bed beside Puck.
"Are you okay?" he asked anxiously, touching Puck's behind, and giving a little exclamation at his flinch. But Puck was laughing.
"No – baby, I'm fine, I'm totally – fuck – really." With an effort, Puck rolled to his side, shifting his legs gingerly. "Holy shit."
"I think you're going to have some bruises," Kurt said, somewhat horrified. Puck laughed harder.
"I think I'm gonna have trouble sitting," he clarified. "For fuck's sake, Kurt; Adam used the lexan paddle on me when he came to visit on New Year's, and it didn't feel like this. What the hell did you do?"
"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm – " Then he stopped, shook his head, and gave a helpless laugh of his own. "No, I'm not. I'm not sorry at all."
Puck grinned at him, his face flushed and streaked with tears, but looking entirely relaxed and completely satisfied. "You'd better not be."
Kurt appreciated that Puck never seemed averse to cuddling afterwards, because he always seemed to need that, the reassurance of touch, the connection between them. He was careful to allow some space, but Puck didn't seem to need that, either, and tucked himself in flush against Kurt's stomach.
"That, uh…" Puck chuckled, already drowsy. "That seemed pretty intense for you, too."
"Yeah," Kurt whispered, and kissed his head. "I think we both needed it. And tomorrow, when I talk to Adam, I'll be sure to thank him for his present. It really… made an impression."
Music credits:
"Material Girl," Madonna, from Like A Virgin, 1984. www. youtube watch?v=R0FXPqYpt0g
"Erotica," Madonna, from Erotica, 1992.
www. youtube watch?v=WyhdvRWEWRw
"Goodbye to Innocence," Madonna, from Just Say Roe, 1994.
www. youtube watch?v=EmvPHmnvHG4
