XI

~ Sheets-N-Things ~

Sitting at his vanity that Saturday morning, Kurt found himself speaking to Brittany via speakerphone. He'd placed the handset right next to him so that his mouth was an appropriate distance away and while the two spoke, he applied the finishing touches of concealer underneath his eyes. With a few dabs of his finger, the Eminence purple that held within it several tints of blue was now fully covered, rendering his face so much brighter to when he'd woken up, which had to be said, hadn't been that long ago. In fact, he'd just walked out of the shower when his phone had rung and his towel had fallen from his slick body by the time he'd answered it. Yet speaking to someone over the phone, naked and nude, felt oddly relaxing.

Now speaking to Brittany and Kurt was learning of a highly anticipated upcoming personal project of hers - a music video. The blonde had had an idea for one for quite some time, citing the Cheerios as one of her influences but also the panned assembly performance from Glee club, as well as Kurt's solo soon after. She'd taken it upon herself to approach Artie in regards to directing it, whilst also enlisting the help from the AV club, assembling quite a number of crewmembers for the video's construction. The only aspect of the project left to be decided on was who was going to be featured, the vast array of mise en scene elements that needed to be arranged and of course, what the actual music was going to be.

"A music video? That sounds so fun, Britt," smiled Kurt, rising from his vanity as he picked his phone up on the ascent. In response to the enthusiasm that burst like a myriad of colors from his tongue, Brittany squealed in childlike delight, yet Kurt recalled that same squeal in Glee. Frowning, he pressed the issue. "But don't you want to get the Glee assignment Mr. Schue gave us out of the way before you move onto this? I thought I was helping you find a song you wanted to perform."

"You did help me, Kurt. I found the song I'm singing on your iPhone. You've got great music on there," replied Brittany, Kurt grinning to himself as she complimented his music library. His taste in music may be feminine, but it sure got the job done. "Anyway, the thing I wanted to ask is, do you want to be in the video with me? I'm recruiting the Cheerios and some the Titans and I wondered if you wanted to be in it as well. I really want you in it, Kurt. You're so pretty."

"The Titans? Can they even dance?"

"Not really, but they can thrust, and believe me, they did a lot of thrusting in and out of m-"

"Okay Britt, I'll take your word for it. I'm sure you've done the leg work."

"So does that mean you're in? Pretty please!"

"I don't know, Britt," murmured Kurt; as he almost sense her deflate over the phone. It wasn't as if he were flat out rejecting Brittany's offer. He could very well take it up, but student short films and music videos were often displayed on various video-sharing sites to gain exposure, and Kurt didn't feel like gaining exposure. He was content with the attention he had. "I mean it sounds cool but what are you doing to do with the video? You're not going to put it up on YouTube are you?"

"Don't worry, Kurt, I'm not going to put it on the internet. It's just going to be featured on the AV show reel on any school open days so we show all the parents what we get up to," replied Brittany matter of factly, Kurt nodding, impressed at how the blonde had really thought all this through beforehand. "Plus if Sylvester likes it, we can do the same for the Cheerios. It'll feature you, me and it'll be amazing. So what do you say? Please say you're in. Everybody else has."

Sitting himself down on his bed, Kurt pondered the offer. He wasn't really enthusiastic about learning more choreography, considering the ones he had to do for the Cheerios as well as Glee were already very extensive but he supposed exceptions could be made for Brittany. In terms of performing in the video, there didn't seem to be that much to worry about. He could now dance rather well, had stage presence as well as onscreen charisma and he now had enough confidence to undergo this project without much hesitation. In addition, the attractive aspect of film was that one could retake shots and scenes as many times as one liked whilst when one did it live, one only had one try and that was the final product. It sounded good.

"Alright Britt, I'll be in your video," smiled Kurt, laughing as he heard the blonde over the phone jumping up and down, as if she were herself on the her own bed, wearing down it's springs with energetic jumping that would soon end with her lodging herself into the ceiling, pieces of plaster flying everywhere. "All I ask in return is that you tell me what you're using as the music for the video as soon as you decide on a song, and that you teach me the choreography to it way before we film."

"Oh, didn't I say? I'm using 'Be My Lover' by Inna. You also had her on your iPhone. I swear it's like magic, you have everything you ever need on that thing," answered Brittany, Kurt once again nodding in approval at the song choice, for it was a monster. A saucy like mixture of pop and dance, produced by Afrojack and METI, killer produces that would be sure to have everyone on their feet begging everyone to be their lovers. Now this was going to be one hell of a music video.

"I can already tell you're going to have a field day choreographing for this, Britt, and I now it's going to be good because it's you," complimented Kurt, his mind conjuring into existence moves that sure to set the heat high. Bodies were going to be close, everyone touching, the eyes, the thrusting. This thing was going to be one hot affair. "I only hope I look good whilst dancing. I feel like my loosens all the time so that by the time it's over, I have hair absolutely everywhere."

"You're going to look great, Kurt. I can just see it now anyway: you living in New York and being discovered because of the video. Which leads you to become a dancer, actor or model and then you perform on stage where, I don't know, a really hot millionaire sees you and falls in love with you and you have lots of lots of sex and you live happily ever after," ranted Brittany as Kurt laughed at the preposterous story of opportunities that were going to present themselves from being in her project.

Wishing her a hearty goodbye, with the blonde doing the same, her parting words cheerful and happy, Kurt ended the call. He dropped the phone back onto his bed and lay there, over viewing the conversation, breathing a sigh of relief as he remembered Brittany hadn't even touched the topic of Finn Hudson's party the other night. After all, she'd attended but she didn't know what had happened with him and Puckerman. Most didn't, and it was just as well. Bringing the subject of the jock into the conversation would have rendered the pleasant and high-spirited chat they were having, bitter. It wouldn't have been fair on Brittany to weigh her down with his own problems, even if she may have been interested to know.

Shaking his head, Kurt got up from his bed and stretched his arms and legs before he made his way over to his wardrobe, opening the doors wide and scanning his clothes. Nothing really screamed 'wear me in a music video!' His wardrobe was too plain, simple and a bit dull to be filmed since all the outlandish outfits he had in the past had been thrown away, in favor of the classic, clean and contemporary. Then again, Brittany had mentioned altered versions of the Cheerio Uniforms, taking influence from the outfits in Glee's 'Can't Speak French' number, she planned on touching them up with tastes of French lingerie, with possible lashes of delicious bondage splashed here and there. Very risqué for cheerleaders.

Nevertheless, Kurt was glad he'd accepted to be a part of Brittany's video. He was going out into town with his father today and perhaps he could nip into certain stores, check out what they had and jot down ideas for outfits as well as any props that may be of use, although judging by the town's less than impressive selection of stores, it would be an egg hunt for the right things. If Brittany wished to have anything specific, she'd have to order it online, which would mean trips into town wouldn't be needed, which also meant no running into Puckerman for Kurt, because somehow, someway, Kurt would always find himself in the company of the jock. Perhaps today would be different. Perhaps Puckerman wouldn't be watching him.

.

Glee

.

Later that afternoon, Kurt tagged along with his father to a store he didn't at all like the look of. 'Sheets-N-Things' was one of those shops you didn't visit if you wanted to find the really good quality products – or good quality anything for that matter. Burt had wished to check it out ever since they had moved in, claiming that the store had been there ever since he'd been a child. In fact, it had been where he had landed his very first job as a teen, stacking all sorts of from mattresses and duvets to decorative gnomes and pebble bobble fountains. Kurt, nodding, but not impressed by the nostalgia his father was going through, trudged on heavy feet towards the sliding glass doors, only listening because there really wasn't much else to do.

The warehouse-like home improvement and garden center was large in size to say the least. There were aisles and aisles stocked full to the brim with most kitchen, furniture, garden, decorating, do-it-yourself and bathroom appliances and as Kurt stopped to observe it all, he decided he was not going to be a posh little bugger with a stuck up attitude. He was going to give the place a chance, if not for that then for his father's sake, who was eying everything around him with a glazed glint in his eye. Once they'd entered, Burt informed him that he would be checking out the bathroom department to look for a new shower he had read about in a magazine and, with a wave, he set off to his left, Kurt watching him go as he went.

This actually reminded Kurt that he had to start researching new showers for himself. He was still stuck with one built for an elderly occupant and even though that made the surface area of the whole cubicle that much bigger, the handles and seat just kept getting in the way. Admittedly, after laborious days induced by continuous Cheerio workouts and having to always be on his guard for jocks, Kurt could just sit down, let himself relax against the cool tile wall, which would also work as an ice pack to ease away bruises after frequent locker shoves, and if he found himself too tired to get up, the handles were only an arms length away. However, at this, Kurt winced. Even thinking about it made him feel old. All of it had got to go.

With a little project of his own now scribbling itself down in his mind's to do list, Kurt made his way to the paint department, where tubs and tubs of paints lined the wall as well as their appropriate swatches underneath. There was even a machine by the side of the main display that looked as if it were some kind of mixer. One poured in as little or as many colors as one wished and your desired shade would be created, although judging by the mess, it was evident people didn't know much about color, or chemistry. Besides, Kurt wasn't looking to paint his room or any room, since his grandmother had that already covered, but he thought it might be useful to memorize the color names should he ever think of redecorating in the future.

Coming across a beautiful shade of crimson red, its provocative pigments winking back at him seductively, Kurt recalled how it was known to signal one being a loose and degenerate prostitute. For some it could work very well, for instance on Santana's wall, or even better yet, on Puckerman's face. Kurt blinked at the thought of dropping a tub of red paint on the jock's head and although it was a highly tempting idea, he knew he was already in trouble with him. Plus, thinking about the boy just rendered his nerves rather fidgety and as he tore his eyes away from the colorful display and made his way towards the cushions lined up with the rugs, candles and picture frames, his attention was once again brought back to reality.

Picking up a cushion that had caught his eye towards the front of the shelves, Kurt stroked the smooth material with his hand, genuinely impressed with the quality. The medium-sized head rest had the British flag imprinted on it and it served to remind him of the American rug he had back at home. The design had been purposefully aged to achieve that tatty, vintage look that was so popular and in trend nowadays and as he rested his head on it, it dipped without great force before remolding itself back into its original shape. Kurt loved products that were like this. They were so enjoyable to lounge on, now tucking it under his arm as he continued to browse, his eyes clouded in vague interest as he kept them open for treats.

However, as he neared the back end of the shop, he came across a black door, cleverly hidden in a little alcove, 'Staff Only' written in clear white text on its front. As Kurt peered for a closer look, he caught sight of a glistening code lock, encrusted with silver buttons. When he'd been little, he'd loved to press them all and laugh manically like some deranged scientist in a laboratory, but being older, the sight didn't hold his interest for very long and he shrugged, going back to examine a set of intricate doorknobs, ranging from Victorian to the modern era. Tentatively reaching out to touch the most opulent one of them all, a garden summer house doorknob of Georgian design, Kurt stopped when he heard running footsteps coming his way.

By the sounds of them he guessed they belonged to a child, yet at the speed they were going at, he'd have to go with quite an athletic child, one with a fast pair of limbs. Looking down the aisle, Kurt caught sight of a girl no older than eight, he guessed, with chocolate brown hair and tanned skin come hurtling towards him. He barely had time to swerve out of the way as he was unceremoniously shoved aside, his eyes following the girl as she continued down the aisle at full speed, turning to her right and disappearing around the corner. Pulling a face of irritation, Kurt rubbed his now pained side before returning to the doorknobs on display, huffing in further aggravation when the dull ache took its sweet old time to recede.

Barely thirty-seconds had passed when another set of footsteps came down the aisle. Kurt hesitated yet gave in to glance wearily in their direction, noticing a woman in her forties, her breath coming out in short pants as she was with no doubt struggling to keep up with an-eight-year-old child. Rounding the corner just like the girl had done, the woman disappeared and Kurt had to wait a few seconds before he was sure he wasn't going to get interrupted again. That, unfortunately, was all in vain, for as he moved over to inspect a good looking collection of cupboard door handles ranging from American Classic to French Country, he heard the child shriek in pleasure, crying out a name he really didn't want to hear at the moment.

Pulling his eyes away from the displays with a sigh, Kurt peeked around the corner to see Puckerman, walking out from the staff door, the Sheets-N-Things apron in his hand. This was the first time Kurt knew anything about the jock working here. He'd simply been informed that Puckerman cleaned pools and serviced the women who owned them but when he came to think of it, it was September. The seasons were changing and with that he guessed, the jock's monthly occupation, which he had to say, was an improvement. Sheets-N-Things did appear to be a popular store for high school teens looking for part time work and it did seem to be an all right place to work if you were into cavernous warehouses and air thick with wood soot.

Puckerman had barely taken three steps when the bouncing girl who'd all but catapulted Kurt into hard ass door knobs threw herself into the jock's arms for a bone-crushing hug. Such a heartwarming scene, everyone positioned so perfectly, but naturally posed, a touching sight one might see on a family postcard, 'Happy Hanukkah from the Puckermans!' For Kurt, it was like looking at a tableau made to spark surprise, even shock. The idea of their son being intimate with another human being was hard to comprehend. Perhaps it was solely in the presence of his family that Puckerman would exhibit signs of affection. Perhaps a moma's boy, perhaps overly protective of his sister. Whatever his relationship was with them, it was very close.

This was all that remained of the Puckerman family. The man of the house had long deserted them in favor of brewing his own beer named 'Puckerman's Special Sauce', which allegedly didn't taste all that nice. Puckerman's mother was a good looking lady. Her olive skin was still flushed and clammy-hot from the chase with faint perfume of sour-lemon, almost chemical like, absorbed into it, still lingering somewhat heavily in the same aisle she'd passed Kurt in. She had beautiful green slightly bloodshot eyes that spoke of light alcohol abuse, or perhaps mere exhaustion and her wetted pink lips were smiling down at her hugging children as a loving mother would, a happy family, incomplete somehow but well connected. Very happy in fact.

Kurt knew that this wasn't Puckerman he was seeing before him, it was Noah. All the signs were there. There was no hint of a smirk, no evil glint in his eye and clenched fists showing anywhere. He just looked like the typical teenage boy, greeted by his family after what Kurt assumed was his shift here in the store. His face seemed placid, calm and composed with nothing but love shining down on his little sister and at that second, Kurt felt somewhat yet begrudgingly attracted to him. Okay, that was enough sightseeing on the Sheets-N-Things safari, as he rubbed at his eyes before sighing, turning around to walk down the aisle. He couldn't let this new opinion of Puckerman disrupt the old image for fear of something else cropping up.

No specific time had been scheduled to meet back up with his father, a father who'd never let Kurt out of his sight when he'd been younger, taking his little hand, pudgy in baby fat with his own larger one and never letting go until they'd leave. That or he'd been placed in the shopping cart seat, there to be pushed around large warehouse stores like this one, though Burt had never thought it safe for his little lungs, inhaling such copious amounts of wood dust and fumes wafting up from lead based paints as if Kurt had been breathing in ground glass that would shred his throat from the inside out, not wishing to go as far as placing an anti-pollution mask on his face as they did on so many in China, but getting in and out as fast as possible.

Entering the area on the first floor, Kurt was met with ranges upon ranges of bathrooms from the Nurture range to the Cuba range, to the Sorrano range to the Antilles range. Every single range you could think of and it was here, all of them set up with their sinks, toilets and showers for all customers to browse upon. Booklets containing information on every model accompanied each display and the prices that were printed in bold at the bottom were agreeable. When he had first set foot in the store, Kurt had not been expecting much, but everything here looked pretty decent, more than decent when he came across the likes of the Olympus range. He was like a kid in a candy store, except it sold bathrooms. God, he was so weird.

Nowadays Kurt had noticed that bathrooms, as well as kitchens, were rapidly changing from the once quaint family spaces of American suburbia to full out right clinics, white wastelands that reminded one of Botox injections and Restylane implants. It was the 'perfect reduction' they called it, where you had as little furniture and appliances as was possible to live off. Not only did you have to change your wardrobe to make the latest fashion statement, but also your house. Everything had to be cool. You couldn't wash your hands in a sink anymore, it had to be a bowl, or, of course a shiny flat surface where water poured onto and into infinity. Baths weren't that much better. If anything you no longer had bath tubs, but small coconut husks.

Moving to a round mirror featured in the Crystal range, Kurt inspected his face with the inbuilt lighting that circled the whole mirror. It was a nice effect, but it only served to make his face look rounder than it really was, so he moved to the next. This rectangular mirror in the Verda range did improve his reflection but seemed to stretch his face more vertically than necessary so yet again he moved. The third mirror he came across was very much just right, perfectly proportionate, returning an accurate and all right reflection. It wasn't as if he liked his face anyway. Plus, he didn't want to be experiencing a Goldilocks and the Three Bears scenario only with mirrors and he wasn't tempted to chant Queen Ravenna's question from Snow White.

However, as soon as the thought popped into his head, it stayed there and Kurt couldn't help himself. Glancing around to see that no one was near or worse, watching, he faced the mirror head on, his face looking determinedly back at him. He knew he was being immature and ridiculous, but he shrugged it off in favor of admiring the splendid mirror that looked like an exact replica of the one used in the thirties film. Large and oval in shape with an opulent golden frame forming its side, with a price that must have cost an arm and a leg, which made it all the more tempting, he stepped closer into position, transporting himself into the fairy tale kingdom that had the mood descending and his character appearing as into the glass he stared.

"Flame in the magic mirror, come from the farthest space. Through wind and darkness I summon thee, speak, let me see thy face," Kurt recited, as he tried to remember word for word the lines from the film. Lifting his hands from his sides and dropping the cushion he had been holding down onto the ground, he switched roles from the queen to the mirror, his voice lowering so as to imitate the floating green mask shrouded in purple smoke. "What wouldst thou know my king?"

"Magic mirror on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?" He lifted his head high, his hands stroking his cream-colored jeans as he pouted exaggeratedly back into the mirror, his eyes batting like Jessica Rabbit, yet taking in his comic take on flirtation which couldn't fool even a monk, Kurt burst into laughter, only resuming his stance once he had settled down. "Famed is thy beauty, Majesty, but hold a lovely maid I see. Rags cannot hide her gentle grace; alas, she is more fair than thee."

"A lash for her. Reveal her name!" He commanded indignantly, gasping in mock shock into the mirror as he glared at it, his eyes forming from slick whisks of sex into a look of dangerous scarlet fury. As he crossed his arms across his chest defiantly, he imagined flames burning within his irises, or moreover his aqua eyes bubbling like that from a volcano erupting from underneath the calm skin of the ocean. "Lips red as the rose, hair black as ebony, skin white as snow-"

"Lady Hummel," said a deep voice behind Kurt as the boy jumped in horror, almost crashing into the mirror as Noah Puckerman's reflection suddenly appeared right behind him. Kurt had thrown his hands out in the midst of the surprise and his fingers had splayed themselves out across the glass like a spider's, yet as soon as he retracted them, his fingerprints remained, hot and warm against its rather cool reflective surface. So warm in fact, that they had yet to disappear, to vanish.

"Actually, its Snow White, but whatever," replied Kurt coldly, not appreciating being ambushed. Ever since moving to Lima, he'd been jumped on more times than any other time in his life, and it didn't seem to be dissipating. Sure, he'd suspected someone would round the corner whilst viewing the bathroom displays before catching sight of him, a 'what the hell is that kid doing?' expression crossing their face, but he'd not anticipated Puckerman coming to play peek a boo with him. God no.

"So this is what you do in your spare time, is it Hummel?" Asked Puckerman casually, roaming his eyes on every mirror around, before bringing his sight back to the one in front of him. By now, both boys were looking at each other's reflection, with Kurt's eyes no longer faking anger from his little role playing sketch from before, but genuinely maddened that what was reflected in his magic mirror was a menace. Chuckling, Puckerman shook his head in derision. "God Hummel, you're so fucking weird."

"Oh and declaring yourself as Captain Slutty McSlut qualifies as an occupation under the norm," Kurt retorted as he crossed his hands over his chest once again whilst his eyes continued to scrutinize the other boy. Yet, at these words, satisfaction seemed to dwindle. There he was at it again. He should have just ignored Puckerman's insult and walked away but he just couldn't do that without lowering himself even further. He was just offending himself and that was depressing.

Puckerman descended into an expression of displeasure and at this, Kurt took it as his signal to leave. Being violently smashed into glass was one of the many ways the jock could deal with him, what with them being in the land of mirrors, but as Kurt turned around slowly, he picked up his cushion and decided to face his foe. "You know what Puckerman, I'm going to be mature about this and ignore you from now on. You don't exist to me. I'm not going to satisfy you with sticking around."

"You're not going anywhere, Gaylinda, you're staying right where you are," ordered Puck as he pushed Kurt right up against the large mirror behind him, placing both his hands on either side of the boy's head like a clamp, ever crushing, ever closing in. The glass felt strong and solid on Kurt's back, but even to him it seemed to quiver, and at this, his hold on his cushion could only tighten. He pulled it flat against his chest for support, for comfort, anything. He didn't at all like where this was going.

He supposed by the predatory look in Puckerman's eyes that he was at the end of his luck trail. Just the way the jock was licking his lips in anticipation proved to Kurt that he wasn't going to be meeting his father at the cash register in one piece. If anything, bits of him would be on the conveyer belt soon enough. "This is how it goes, Hummel. I make your life hell for being a homo and you get to say absolutely nothing about it, except you haven't been playing by the rules have you?"

"Rules? No, there are no rules to this stupid game you insist on playing," Kurt retorted as he brought his eyes from Puckerman's face to the area around him, begging anyone in the vicinity to see what was being done to him and to possibly save him from his peril, but no. No one was coming to his rescue and the only thing now was to pray for mercy, beg that his body wouldn't get mangled and his organs rearranged from the many upcoming countless kicks and punches.

"Oh Hummel, you just don't learn do you?"

"From you? What's there to learn, you're an idiot."

"Nope, you just don't learn."

"The only thing I'm not learning is if you hate me so much, why are you here?" Asked Kurt, finding himself inquiring after something that baffled him. It didn't look as if it had caught Puckerman off guard, but it rendered his expression, especially his eyes, rather calculative. "Aren't you afraid you might turn gay from the fairy dust I apparently might blow in your face? Aren't you afraid that I might try to jump your bones, because if you're not then I praise you. You're not as stupid as you look."

"That's right Hummel, I'm not, but I'm also more observant than I look. I saw you behind the aisle when my family came to see me. You really should learn not to stick your big nose out so far next time," taunted Puck as he smirked at the way Kurt fumed in front of him, his cheeks flushing like two candy apples as his fists clenched around the cushion. Kurt didn't want to stand here, trapped and helpless against a mirror by a boy who was obviously enjoying himself, but he couldn't run away either.

He felt his feet were planted where they were and any escape whether it be ducking under Puckerman's arm and fleeing or spitting in his smug face and then running away could not be executed. He'd only be wrenched by his collar and pushed back against the glass. Smirking, Puckerman continued. "Be careful Hummel, get your cheeks any redder and hotter than they already are and you'll burst into flames. We wouldn't want your oh so precious white as snow skin to burn now would we?"

"Well that's an interesting take on customer service. Maybe I ought to report you to your supervisor."

"You're not going anywhere."

"Puckerman, does your job really entail you to do this? To stalk customers before creeping up on them?"

"No, but when your big nose is in the picture it's good to go that extra mile, don't you think?"

"Just piss off back to your redneck, white trash disjointed bunch of people you call a 'family'. I wouldn't want to deprive them of a son who has nothing better to do but instill fear in others like some psychopathic rodent," snapped Kurt as Puckerman's laughter ceased just as quickly as a firing turret. His smile disappeared and the humor in his eyes fizzled out to reveal him gaping back at Kurt, the smaller boy's mouth hanging open as well at the sudden realization at what he had just said.

There was no doubt about it. What he had uttered had hurt Puckerman. Probably more than calling him a lowlife scum, but Kurt never thought in a million years that he would continue spouting out such poison. It was a side to him that was foreign and to be completely honest, he was starting to hate it. Now, all he could do was watch as the jock's face seemed to crumple, wince almost. Puckerman had lowered his head to the ground as if he were nursing a gunshot wound to the stomach, until finally, hazel eyes rose before Kurt's own, but these hazel orbs were not of a jock, but of someone else - Noah. Kurt was seeing Noah again, yet it did not last long. Noah seemed to disappear in the midst of flames of an upcoming fire.

Fearing for his very life, Kurt speedily ducked under the jock's arm and ran. He ran like nothing else, weaving himself through the bathroom displays and into the bedroom department with his head whipping around for directions to the main entrance. He had to escape, get out of here, save his hide before he was skinned alive and his head mounted on Puck's wall like some hunter's mountain lodge trophy. Hopefully he would escape intact. Yet as he had pelted his way from Puckerman, his feet skidding on the floor, the jock was already bolting after him at running back speed, whipping the air, his agile limbs making quick work of closing down on his escaping prey, his hands preparing themselves for the attack. Kurt didn't stand a chance.

Puck threw himself at Kurt's back, the fair boy screaming in both pain and terror as they landed harshly on one of the more luxurious beds, Kurt's face digging itself into the comforter with enough friction to burn, his body crushing it from the weight of the boy above, crushing him, his rib cage constricting. He was finding it hard to breathe, almost panicking until his body was flipped to face his attacker, grabbing hold of his cushion in defense and repeatedly hitting Puckerman around the head with it, making sure to aim for the face, the eyes, to blind. With an object as soft yet as compact as the cushion he had, the best he could do was attempt to stun the jock into submission. Enough hits could disorient him, have him dizzy. With enough hits.

It was all in vain, however, as Puckerman, growing tired of being hit, grabbed hold of the cushion and threw it aside where it knocked over the side end table lamp and smashed to the floor. The sound of glass breaking had Kurt quick to push the jock back, to shove him aside, to get him away, but it was hopeless. This running back was just too strong. Kurt's arms were half the size in comparison to Puckerman's, half the size everywhere. His body was just this slender twig that could easily be manipulated in brawny hands, tan in color, easily grabbed hold as Kurt's wrists were clamped and forced on either side of a thrashing head, one that writhed in anger with beautiful blue eyes that stared furiously back up at him, Puck, the oppressor.

"Wanna hear a secret Hummel?" Asked Puck as Kurt's eyes offered nothing in return. He didn't want to know some sordid secret this boy had, yet as his eyes narrowed, the jock let out a dark chuckle, thoroughly enjoying how weak he looked right about now. The temptation to further torture Kurt strengthened, so did Puckerman's need to burst the confession from his smirking lips, a confession he knew would roil the boy's insides to no end. "I was the one who kissed you in gym class."

"What?" Gasped Kurt, his eyes widening and cheeks blushing as if he'd just been slapped across the face. Of course it had been Puckerman. Now that Kurt came to think of it, the jock matched the physique of his mystery gym kisser very covincingly. The Letterman jacket he'd grabbed a hold of atop a strong body with broad shoulders and a heavy presence, the lower half of Puckerman's face, the lips, the stubbled chin, and finally, the calloused fingers. Spluttering, Kurt asked, "Why?"

"Why? Believe me Hummel, I didn't mean to kiss you. I didn't even mean to have you as my partner," replied Puckerman, his aggressive facade somewhat melting into one of defense. "Brittany stole the hot Cheerio I wanted, and everyone else had been taken which meant I had no one to work with, except with you. Then I thought, no, this is actually going to be awesome. I mean, there you were blindfolded and I could totally mess you around, but then you grabbed me and kissed me."

"Me?! I would have fallen if I hadn't, and all because you were fondling my lips!"

"I wasn't 'fondling' your lip-"

"You were fondling them, Puckerman! Your thumb was all over them!"

"Yeah well... you've got unnaturally soft lips for a dude!"

"That didn't give you the right to touch them, you feeler, and it didn't give you an excuse to kiss them either!" Retorted Kurt, watching as Puckerman's face weakened. "That first kiss was an accident! It wasn't meant to happen, but you can't say that you didn't give me the second! You kissed me, Puckerman! You grabbed hold of me and you kissed me, and don't say you didn't like it because I know you did. You moaned your way through a fucking terrible kiss like the man whore you are!"

As Puckerman's tight grip on his wrists burned like red hot irons into his skin, a moan of agony escaped Kurt's soft lips, as the jock's hazel eyes lathered him like flies crawling over something sweet and sticky, the way a man's eyes would crawl creepily over a woman in the subway before masturbating in front of her, showing her his shiny-sticky hand. Just sick. Kurt couldn't believe Santana or any one of Puckerman's girls had enjoyed kissing this boy. To him, it had been as if a Venus flytrap had tried to suck him dry. A mouth that had tasted now of bitter almonds, no more tempting than a puddle of fresh vomit, as if Puck's lips had been lathered in poison set to kill him, to set to kill him now as without warning, Puckerman's lips were on his.

Kissing on a whole was supposed to be healthy, biology's way of determining who in nature you were most genetically compatible with, with some naming it the 'mate assessment tool. It increased the levels of oxytocin, the body's natural calming chemical and also increased endorphins, the body's feel-good chemicals. Swapping saliva was also noted to increase dopamine, which aided in feelings of romantic attachment. Yet where was the romance? Where was the attachment? Why was there only pain, the taste of blood? Kurt had been quick to assess Puck as an undesirable mate with a firm prediction that if the jock was to carry on like this for the rest of his life, he'd remain alone in a cold bed with an even colder sex life.

The jock was crushing his lips, sucking them raw, a hard pressured bite near the bottom with Kurt's jaw now exhausted, aching as if it had been clamped in Jigsaw's Reverse Bear-Trap only to be ripped apart. His skin was sanded to its bare bones. It felt roughened, coarsened by his broad shouldered attacker, a giant troll who was rubbing his stubbled jaw against his sensitive skin, like spikes they felt, unshaved and grating his skin down to a reddened mess, Kurt's reaction nothing but confusing in Puckerman's eyes. The jock had since pulled away, licking his lips, observing Kurt's throbbing pout before recapturing them only to have the boy moan in anguish yet again. He just didn't get it. What the hell was he doing wrong?

Kurt couldn't do anything. Attacking jock's face wasn't going to work. It was too broadly built. Those cheekbones of his holding it together like a steel structure, such strong bone structure, but down in between the thighs where protection was non existent, vulnerable, Kurt took his chance. As Puckerman's mouth was fixed on his, he lifted, aimed and threw his knee up against the boy's groin causing the jock to remove his lips from his and howl in pain. He keeled over, his hands grasping his crotch as Kurt took this as his chance to escape, launching himself from the bed, making to flee, oh how he was now free, but with a traitorous foot tangling itself in the messed up duvet, he fell, balance lost and toppling hard to the ground.

Pulling himself up, he was just about to make a run for it when a large muscular body landed on him and flipped him over, Puckerman once again pinning him down with Kurt once again squirming, struggling under the harsh grip, aiming yet again for the groin, but it was no use. There was no overpowering the jock and there was no use fighting him. Although Puckerman was still wincing severely from the attack to his crotch, he yet again had the upper hand and Kurt's energy was quickly depleting, his body now unmoving, as if boneless as a doll's just thrown from a high balcony only to smash to the floor, the blue eyes now drooping until closed, flopping, dead. He'd given up. Puckerman could have his lips, he didn't care anymore.

"Hummel... oy, Hummel..."

"Go away."

"Hummel, look at me."

"No."

"Kurt please, will you just open your eyes and look at me," whispered Puckerman callously as Kurt frowned and opened them to see the jock looking around and then back down at him, his eyes suddenly worried, nervous and anxious as if his supervisor were just around the corner or if he was only just now remembering the many cameras in the store. Whatever Puckerman was thinking had suddenly rendered him more self-conscious and Kurt couldn't have prayed for a better time.

Huffing a sigh, Kurt was at least thankful that his thrashing was somewhat postponed, and with seeing this now calmer side of Puckerman, he was able relax under the jock's nope loosening grip. Puckerman didn't appear to be as domineering as before, not as aggressive but moreover passive and as Kurt observed him, the boy lowered his head so that his whisper could only be heard by them and no one else. "What is it… I mean what… why don't you like my kisses?"

"Why are you asking me this, and why, most importantly, do you care?" Kurt asked in return as Puckerman groaned. He removed himself from on top of the boy and released his wrists, leaning against the bed and drawing his knees up as he looked once again at Kurt, who at that point was nursing the skin around his hand with a pained look on his face. "Just stick to kissing girls, Puckerman. You're going to make everyone's life easier if you just stick to girls. What I think doesn't matter."

"It does," replied Puck as Kurt blinked at the sheer bluntness enforced in the tone. He watched as the jock lifted his head out of his knees in which he'd buried it before letting out another groan, this one of deep frustration. "Look, Hummel, up until now, I've never been bad at macking out. I was so confident at it that I didn't need to even think about what I was doing for it to be good for any chick or hot Milf but now, now I don't want to kiss anyone, and it's all your fault."

"What? How is it-"

"You called the kiss we had a 'fuck up', and I haven't kissed anyone since."

"Thank God. No one should have to go what I went through."

"What makes you think you were even good yourself?"

"Was I?" asked Kurt curiously, bringing himself to sit cross legged beside Puckerman as the jock's mouth opened to say something, possibly a 'hell no', but instead, it closed. His eyes darted to the ground; he looked away, his body shifting reluctantly. Kurt didn't know what the reaction was meant to signify but he was smart enough to guess that to some degree, and despite being a noob in all this kissing business, he had been good. Although how, he did not know.

Puckerman at the time had been in control. Kurt had just been along for the bumpy ride, but he supposed it had something to do with his lips, his favorite feature. Always red, thick and full, Gauva scented with a subtle sheen. Good pouts made for natural born kissers and Puckerman had very much fallen under their spell like some lovesick fool. Their softness had enraptured him greatly. Kurt had sensed the pleasure, yet now Puckerman was anything but in pleasure. Kurt's question seemed to still have him at unrest. His left knee was swaying slightly, he was biting his lip and his nostrils were breathing in at a more pronounced rate than before. He looked as if he were about to throw a tantrum, which was partly true.

"That is so not the point! This is my problem!" Retorted Puck, shifting uncomfortably in the wake of Kurt's piercing gaze as he refused to acknowledge that the boy had a fine pair of lips. Cunt-shaped. Damn those lips! Puck snorted to himself as Kurt eyed him with disdain, looking away as the jock kept his gaze on his profile. Having a mouth like that. He guessed it made sense for a cock sucker. Yet had Hummel even sucked a cock? Could he deep-throat? Would he spit or swallow? F-fuck...

Clearing his throat at the inappropriate and deeply unsettling thought, as if he'd just been caught fantasizing about fucking Satan's mistress at Temple, Puck shifted, his cheek's flushing. He didn't want his mind full with that kind of stuff. However, as he pulled himself out from his self-embarrassment, Kurt took this as his queue to leave. The boy made to stand up, but Puck grabbed onto his hand somewhat gently before coaxing him down once again. "What is it now, Puckerman?"

"Please, Hummel... I..." murmured Puckerman, still holding onto Kurt's hand as the pale boy sighed. It did make sense that the jock would now be discouraged after receiving his first scathingly negative review from a kiss. The first criticism of anything was always the hardest bullet to swallow, yet with Puckerman, he was finding it rather difficult to stomach, until he neared him, the jock's eyes awash in hope. "Could you... I mean, would you mind... teaching me to kiss... better maybe?"

"Teach you to… no."

"How about some lessons? Four maybe?"

"How about zero."

"Three?"

"Zero."

"Two?"

"Zero."

"Eight?"

"Puckerman for the love of God, I'm not going to give you lessons on how to kiss. Firstly because nothing would revolt me more and secondly, I simply don't know how to do it myself. I have no experience in this department, okay? Only you," Kurt replied. "Go to Santana or someone who has at least a vague idea of what they're doing but not me. I don't know why you're resorting to me. I'm a boy, Puckerman. A boy who hasn't kissed anyone in his life except for you."

"You've brought this on yourself, Hummel. Either you teach me to kiss or so help me God I will pound you into the ground until you find yourself marching for communism in China," threatened Puckerman, his hopeful eyes now replacing themselves with a much darker tone of hazel. There they darkened and darkened and darkened, but not so much in actual anger, but in a frustration come about from desperation. This was clearly very important to Puckerman. Very important.

However, no matter how bigger of a deal this was to anyone, Kurt now felt forced to help the jock. That's if he didn't want to resemble something raw in a butcher's shop no less and at this point in time he didn't want to worry his father with stories of bullying. With a final sigh, he turned to face Puckerman and reluctantly nodded his head and of course, at this, the jock's eyes lightened considerably, smiling gratefully, a smile Kurt was too pissed to acknowledge. "Thanks Hummel. I'll try to be-"

"No Puckerman, I'm doing this for you, so you listen here, alright," replied Kurt as he got up and started making the ruined bed, smoothing out the creases and patting the lumps flat on the silk quilt before picking up his cushion and looming over Puckerman. "Just come round by my house Tuesday after school and we'll get this over and done with. I'm not doing more than a single lesson with you, one and a half max if you're going to freak out all over me. Understand?"

"Sure," smiled Puckerman. Much to Kurt's annoyance the jock was looking back up at him with a look akin to triumph as he nodded and in that moment, his anger billowed. If Noah Puckerman had thought he'd won over Kurt Hummel, he was sorely mistaken. He wasn't the only one who could play dirty. For all the jock blindly knew, Kurt's upcoming lesson could be nothing more than a puckered death trap. Oh yes, Kurt Hummel was about to get all Poison Ivy on a certain boy's ass.

"Don't think for a second that I'm looking forward to bringing your kissing confidence back because let me tell you this, there is nothing inside you but anger, resentment and bitterness and the sooner I help you out with this narcissistic problem of yours, the better," snapped Kurt, the jock's smile now fading as he found himself drowned in the smaller boy's shadow. "For you, Puckerman, are nothing but an empty shell in a badly-laundered Letterman jacket and a mohawk. Goodbye."

~ PLEASE REVIEW ~

(But if you wish to criticize, may it be constructive. I'm not going to learn from my mistakes and improve if you vent.)

Author's Note: Snow White and Seven Dwarfs was my favorite Disney film for such a long time, I used to be obsessed with it as a child. Its only recently that I've seen similarities between Snow White's appearance and Kurt's, even if they aren't identical, and when I wrote in the mirror, I just couldn't help writing in the film's all time classic scene.

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the characters from Glee since I don't own the show. I'm not earning money from this and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. I mean only to please whoever stumbles upon my Love Story.

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