XII

~ Pucker Up Puckerman ~

Kiss, kiss me, say you miss, miss me
Kiss me love, with heavenly affection
Hold, hold me close to you, hold me, see me through
with all your heart's protection…

It was the following Tuesday afternoon and Kurt was standing in front of the Glee club singing his solo. He was the fourth member performing after Rachel, Artie and Tina, standing with the piano behind him with his arms outstretched on the black gleaming wood, not so much as a support as perhaps a viewer may think, but more of a nonchalant center piece that heightened the boy's affable presence, a sort of cool sophistication only a tuxedo could bring. Everyone seemed to be enjoying his recital or at least exhibited signs of being mildly interested in it, with Mr. Schuester sitting in the corner smiling encouragingly and Brittany swaying from side to side in her seat, her eyes closed as she sank into the beautiful melody.

Raising his hands from the piano behind him, Kurt began gesturing with them, his fingers painting a picture in the air as his arms seemed to flow effortlessly behind them like two porcelain trains. He'd always been told that he'd had the tendency to express himself through his arms and hands, but he'd never brought them to attention when singing. To his father, his hands were flawless. Kurt was flawless, seeming like a real professional. Once every word, every syllable, every note, and every beat was memorized, whether it be whilst he prepared for bed or cooed every morning at his shower head, he was clockwork, the natural instincts puppeteering him with graceful gestures through the first verse and right into the second.

Thrill, thrill me with your charms
Take me in your arms and make my life perfection
Kiss, kiss me, darling, then kiss me once again
make my dreams come true…

Brittany gradually opened her eyes like a baby's fresh from sleep and ceased her swaying, her huge smile never leaving her happy face as Kurt walked slowly towards them all, his eyes connecting with everyone else in the room as he sang his heart to them. If she had been perfectly honest, she had been expecting him to sing a rather more modern song, one that may have been a tad more upbeat and not so much on making out, but she found that even though she was very much sure Kurt had never experienced desire for someone to kiss him as strongly as he did now, it didn't matter. It felt real. Kurt's voice wasn't the only part of him doing the talking, but his lips. Oh God, his lips, so soft and puckered, begging for that kiss.

Kurt was bringing all the life and emotion needed to the tune and not overdoing or exaggerating it. He wasn't a 'character' - a 'role'. He must've had the ability to see himself already on the stage, an illusion. This illusion he could control from inside himself. He was controlling how the illusion would be perceived by those in plastic seats in a high school music room. It was enough for Brittany to awe at as Kurt winked at her cheekily before making his way back to the piano but in doing so, removed himself from the door that hadn't been in her line of view. What she saw caused her to break away from the song and stare wide-eyed at the visitor. It was most unusual that he was standing there looking in yet it made perfect sense.

Kiss me, hold me, take me, thrill me, kiss me
This is the moment, oh thrill me…

Puckerman was standing on the other side of the door, looking into the room through the strip of glass in it's paneling and staring at Kurt who had now pulled himself up to lie on the piano, his head supported by an arm while his other stroked the wood with a finger. The pale boy looked as if he were so at ease, that he knew exactly who he was performing to, but he didn't, that was the problem. Looking around discreetly, Brittany shifted her head to everyone else in the room, but by their engaged attentions, they had not noticed Puckerman. Every single set of eyes was locked on the singing boy and as Brittany tried to refocus on his singing, tried to get back into it, she was constantly distracted by the jock's presence.

If it had been anyone else she would have been extremely agitated, for this was a damn good performance, but as it was Puckerman and to know that he was gazing upon Kurt no less, her anger softened to bear a smile that only she could understand, no other. She wished to see the jock's face, wished to see it pulled into an expression of something, but what with the reflective glass in the way, she couldn't. Brief flickers of emotion in Puckerman's eyes was all she was afforded. The wonderment that Kurt was so easily melting a song like smooth toffee cream into all their ears, as well as the awe that he was entertaining them all, someone he was picking on but who was still able to shine like a fiery beacon. It was all there.

Thrill me, thrill me, take me, take me
And make my life perfection
Take me, darling don't forsake me
Kiss me, hold me tight, love me, love me tonight…

"Why is Puckerman standing there?" Mercedes' voice was loud as she suddenly noticed the mohawked boy's presence by the door. Brittany winced as the pianist ceased to play and everyone's heads turned in unison like a lighting flash to the door where the jock was standing. The blonde took in a breath as she observed Puck's face morph from an expression of admiration to one of fear as he became aware of everyone staring at him curiously, their gazes full with aberrance.

Puck hadn't meant to get caught or eavesdrop, but as he had decided to skip his math period much preferring to sleep in the nurses' office, the sound of Kurt's voice had wafted from under the door and into the hall. The jock had, of course, heard his voice before but it was just so unique that one couldn't help but pay attention to it, and he really was no exception. When he had poked his head through the glass, Kurt had been so in his element, judging by the way he had carried himself as if he was on air, singing of kissing, singing of being taken with those neon lips and cunt-shaped mouth, but as soon as Puck's cover had been blown by that black diva chick, the air had disappeared to reveal wide blue eyes looking right back at him.

Kurt looked on as he had turned to face the door. He looked on to see Puckerman now glancing at everyone through the glass like a deer caught in the headlights, until the jock finally came to settle his unsure gaze on him. Yet as soon as he did, Puckerman's doubt vanished, as if Kurt's eyes were the only familiar set of eyes in a crowd of people he didn't know. Familiar, comfortable, and close. The jock had come to listen to him sing and maybe if they hadn't had the history they had had together Kurt would have been happy to invite him in, to direct him to a seat in the front row and for him to hear a one to one personal burning desire of his to be heard through song, but it was Puckerman, a boy to be aware of.

With that, Kurt's eyebrows furrowed as he stared Puckerman down. He rejected the jock's sense of familiarity, he left him to feel alienated and alone in the wake of eyes that did not look upon him with kindness, and so within the next second flat, Puckerman had stumbled back nervously, pulled his eyes away from Kurt's and vanished. Gone. The pale boy continued looking at the door, his eyes staring at the now empty glass until he was brought out of his trance by the whispering now circulating in the room. Mr. Schuester had gone to talk to the pianist and everyone had got closer together to whisper their thoughts on the odd event that had occurred, all except for Brittany who was looking back at him apologetically.

Kurt made to nod, as if the whole thing wasn't worth mentioning, that he was fine, and that at least before he'd been interrupted, he'd done well. Yet even as he did, Brittany continued to fix him with an expression that knew he'd been affected, that had knowledge of what was really going on, but she didn't know what was going on did she? It wasn't as if she was aware of what was going on between him and Puckerman. She wasn't privy to the fact that the boy had been the one to kiss him in the gym, the fact that Puckerman had looked as if he had wanted to kiss him in the corridor, the fact that he had criticized Puckerman on his abysmal kissing skills or the fact that he was being forced into teaching him how to kiss.

It's not as if Brittany knew any of these things, but then again the blonde wasn't so much of an extrovert as a she was an introvert inside. She didn't pick up on the obvious, just the very discreet, and at that thought, Kurt began to squirm under her gaze. She knew, didn't she, Kurt shifting as he bit his lip nervously. She may not have known about his and Puckerman's arrangement, but she knew the jock had kissed him. After all, he now recalled Brittany being there in that gym class. She hadn't been standing alongside him and the set of people who had been blindfolded, which meant that she'd had plenty of time to see what Puckerman had done, but then, why had she hidden it from him? Why hadn't she said anything?

Even though Kurt hadn't finished his song, his applause and set of positive feedback was duly awarded to him and he was allowed to return to his seat. Sinking slowly back into his chair, he rested his hands on his thighs and stared down at the floor in deep thought. The whispering had subsided somewhat with now the only odd fleeting comment here and there and before too long, Mr. Schuester had come up to direct Quinn to where she ought to stand for her solo. She handed over the piano accompaniment to the pianist, stated the key she wished to have it played in, before returning to the center of the room and looking out over everyone with her hands by her sides, a beautiful smile gracing her lovely face.

However, despite being on the Cheerios and being used to performing in front of others, the blonde still appeared a little shy. Kurt supposed she'd never sung that often in front of others, and as she began to sing, he noticed how she was indeed nervous by the quivers of her notes. She didn't possess a particularly loud or powerful voice that could carry itself beyond many rows of seats if they had been in the auditorium, but there was a delicacy about it, a gossameriness that he liked listening to. With a thought suddenly rising to attention, Kurt could actually see her with Puckerman. Yet that was odd. Why was he thinking that? Maybe he saw them together. His mind certainly did. Maybe she would be able to… tame him.

Snapping himself out of his strange thoughts, Kurt managed to catch the final chorus of Quinn's pleasant but rather short rendition of Kylie Minogue's 'Flower', no euphemism intended. Applause rang out and she curtsied in front of them, coming back up and making her way over to the seat beside Kurt instead of the seat she'd been in beforehand. Turning to look at her, Kurt could see it in that moment. If Puckerman had a girl unlike Santana, a sweet girl who could soften his gangster-like heart into something cooler and less turbulent then maybe Kurt wouldn't be at the brunt of his attacks as much. Maybe that same girl could teach Puckerman how to kiss instead of Kurt. Maybe she'd help him out with anything at all.

Quinn could be that girl and although she had claimed that she hated Puckerman for his insensitive attitude towards others, especially his treatment of Kurt, there was no missing the glances she sometimes shot him, glances that were obvious to the naked eye that she found him at least physically attractive - his carved build that was strong and buff with arms that would be her castle to a throne room of a heart, that sexy swagger motored by a powerhouse of hip muscles fully pumped for thrusting and finally that smirk that was the first step to it all, to a set of libidinous events that had Quinn fantasizing about tanned skin, touching herself to masculine, sweating tanned skin. Yes, Kurt had noticed. He'd noticed everything.

This was perfect, Kurt smiling as he brought his eyes out to the front. This was his ticket to finally get rid of Puckerman and if he managed to lure and persuade Quinn into thinking on the same wavelength as him, it was going to work to everyone's advantage. Except, how was he going to prove to her that Puckerman was capable of change? That he could be so much more than just eye candy? That was going to be a challenge because, as far as he knew, the jock was still really the same: an abusive, womanizing, mohawked buffoon. He was still the boy McKinley knew him to be and of course, if Kurt wanted this to change, he was going to have to deal with Puckerman himself. No one else was going to do it for him.

If the jock was going to force Kurt into these ridiculous sessions then he might as well get something out of it too, except for practicing his kissing skills. Kurt was going to have to mold the boy into someone more pliable, to dispose of Puck and bring forth Noah, and all of this had to be done without either Puckerman or Quinn noticing. It was going to be a challenge. Puckerman could be very attentive, observant and aware of his surroundings, yet if Kurt were to kiss his brains out, the jock would become oblivious to everything. As for Quinn, she was smart; she could catch onto the fact that Kurt was playing her Fairy Godfather or Sergeant Matchmaker in all this, yet if she was kept at a distance, her suspicions wouldn't arise.

After Mr. Schuester dismissed them all, praising those who'd all performed very well that day and saying that the remaining members had to perform their songs on Thursday, Kurt made his way out of the choir room and towards his locker. He was now going to have to drive home and teach Puckerman how to kiss and to say he'd rather dance to music, play The Sims 3 or draw even would have been a possibility he would much rather have committed to. Come to think of it, he hadn't given his address to the jock, nor had he given his number to him or even added him as a friend on Facebook. He had no contact with Puckerman and Kurt couldn't guess if that was supposed to be a good or bad thing, given the circumstances.

In all honesty, he was starting to pray that the jock had forgotten about the session, that maybe he'd come to his senses and ditched the idea in favor of chasing after some Cheerio before sticking a hand up her skirt, that he'd wished to get totally hammered before ordering an inordinate amount of pizzas to feast on or to even go and destroy a bunch of nerds and geeks by the bus stop before dumping their bespectacled corpses in the nearest dumpster ready for pickup next morning, but as Kurt shut his locker and found Puckerman right there, leaning on the set of neighboring lockers with his school bag over his shoulder and an expectant look accompanied by a snide glint his eye, he knew that God wasn't going to grant his one wish.

.

Glee

.

The basement bedroom lights rose to attention as the bedroom door opened. The golden tinted hue of the inbuilt lights in the ceiling cast a rather homely glow in its wake and as Kurt led the way down, he deposited his bag and jacket by his desk, laid the outer garment on the chair and swiveled around to see Puckerman descend the last few set of steps, those athletic hands buried almost shyly in his jean pockets, wide hazel eyes darting around taking everything in, like a puppy fresh from the pound as it discovered its new home. Kurt decided not to say anything. It felt as though one loud movement could spook Puckerman, make him jump, so he settled on watching him, taking in invisible mannerisms and habits he'd not noticed before.

The drive here had been for the most part, silent, with Puckerman having first inquired after his gas-guzzling Navigator, having looked over it with awe, believing it to be too big for Kurt, like a child given too expensive a toy to play with, yet Kurt played with it well, drove it like the smooth ride it was, treating his 'baby,' as if it was his baby. The insides were leather lined in cream shade, so spacious and comfortable, they could have had their lesson in the backseat if they'd wanted but no such idea was proposed within the silence that had nobody talking except for the man on the radio. Just a voice of noise to them as Kurt had driven quietly, feeling those hazel eyes on him, yet not in rapacious way, but just the luxury of a look, inquisitive.

The Macbook Air was on his bed, soon flipped open with the tab 'How to Kiss' appearing on the screen. Kurt had diligently spent all last night reading up it, eventually capturing his interest, the technique behind the art of kissing, for it was an art, the way to coordinate the many muscles in the mouth, learning of the vast collection of kisses out there, ones he'd heard of, 'The French kiss' and the 'Single lip kiss' to kisses unknown to him, the 'Butterfly kiss' and the 'Spiderman Kiss'. Every single kiss that had been covered in the films and in the novels, as well as many pornographic movies, he had had to get to know and all because Puckerman was having a narcissistic crisis that really ought to have had nothing to do with him, but did.

Reading about it was as far as Kurt could go. It's not as if he had anyone at the time to practice with and he wasn't about to borrow a mannequin head form the local bride store in town, no way. He had to use Puckerman, who had since left his position by the stairs to make his way around the room, his hand outstretched, picking up, checking and putting down small objects as if was a cousin going about his room, inspecting Kurt's fragrance bottle to his stuffed Teddy Bear head he'd bought at a flea market. The jock's fingers stroked every surface whether is was the cool glass of the end tables or the silk from the bed's quilt, everything was paid attention, now attempting to memorize the feeling, the many textures, the lingering essence.

"So… uh… should we like… start kissing," asked Puckerman as Kurt frowned back up at him. Why was the jock so nervous? For heaven's sake, he was the one who wanted this. He was the one who wanted to learn to kiss; the least he could do was exhibit a little more confidence that was becoming of him. Turning the Macbook towards Puckerman, Kurt watched as the jock leaned down before swiftly bringing his head back up. "Could you read what it says? On the screen there?"

"Why? Can't you read it yourself?" Kurt asked, brows deepening as Puckerman lifted his hand rather quickly to scratch at the back of his head, a habit commonly associated with discomfort. Thoughts whirring through his head to one conclusion, Kurt rolled his eyes and huffed in irritation. If the jock was afraid of coming near him in case he caught the 'gay', what the hell were they doing? What the hell was this? Puckerman had enrolled himself in this little charade; it was his job to get out.

However, as the jock trailed his hand over his Mohawk, rubbing his palm over the hair with so much force it looked as if he were about to set fire to it, Puckerman eventually ceased as he took in the look on Kurt's face. As if like a scolded child, he brought his hand down and along with the other, buried it into his pockets as the pale boy offered a suggestion, his tone cold and sharp. "I can increase the brightness if that'll help you or I can try to maximize the screen if you can't see it properly."

"No, it's just I… I have shitty eyesight, okay? I have really bad depth perception," admitted Puckerman, turning away and scuffing the rug with his feet as Kurt's frosty comportment ebbed away in favor of surprise, a pang of guilt, but above all relief. Sure, he'd been taken aback by the news, along with remorse that he'd got rather short with the jock, but he was mostly glad that Puckerman hadn't been getting all falsely hygienic over his sexuality. It wouldn't have made sense.

Now however, Kurt pondered poor vision and depth perception as genuine hindrances to kissing. Perhaps sufferers had to work that much harder relying on their sense of touch even though sight wasn't that greater factor in the process what with eyes being closed during the act. This was all starting to become rather interesting but before he could continue, Puckerman turned around and spoke. "It would just be easier for the both of us if you just read whatever you have on the screen there."

"If you say your eyesight is as bad as you say it is, why are you on the football team? Don't you need good sight for a sport like that?" He inquired as the jock turned to face him only to shrug and look away. Kurt was hoping for some kind of justified response more evolved that that, and as Puckerman walked around the room, his hazel eyes wandering over the many inbuilt wardrobe doors in the wall, Kurt tried again. "Do you at least have decent peripheral vision? Color blindness at all?"

"No, but my peripheral vision's not that much better than my depth perception. They both kinda suck," replied Puckerman civilly, opening one of Kurt's closets and scouring its insides, before retracting his head and closing the doors. That had been a discovery. Kurt's rather unostentatious wardrobe contained nothing within that belonged in the Liberace House of Crap, but rather stylish pieces of a simple nature. Pastel and pale, soft and fresh, all a diaphanous second skin to Kurt's delicate frame.

"I wear contacts so that I don't have to wear dweeby glasses in public, but I had to take them out after school today because they were hurting my eyes," continued the jock, gesturing vaguely to his eyes in a somewhat insecure manner. "I don't know what's wrong with them but I'm going to have to go back to the opticians, have them check 'em out. I mean, no way are my eyes going to fuck up my life even further by turning me into some four-eyed geek. It'd totally ruin my rep."

"Well do you have your glasses with you now?" Asked Kurt, taking in every single twitch of expression that appeared across Puckerman's face. It was evident the jock indeed had them with him, but he just didn't want to show them. Emulating the looks of the 'dweebs' he bothered at school would only render someone like him hypercritical, and what with learning how to kiss for someone of his school stature, it would again only render the line between him and them that much finer.

At these set of thoughts, Kurt couldn't help but try to picture Puckerman in glasses. It some ways he could see the jock in Hipster specs, specs that gave off a cool indie look, but not so much in regular glasses. It definitely would be something to see, yet Puckerman still seemed rather hesitant. Maybe it was just as well. Kissing with glasses might have been trickier. "Okay, um, look Puckerman, maybe we should do this another time. Perhaps when you actually have your contacts with yo-"

"No, we're doing this now. I want to do this today," replied Puckerman firmly, snapping himself out of his phase of equivocation before marching determinately back towards the bed and plonking himself near the foot of the duvet. After he'd settled himself once Kurt had made room for him, he pulled out - now without much hesitation - a rather smart charcoal shaded glasses case from inside his Letterman jacket pocket in the wake of a small smile widening on the pale boy's lips.

He'd thought Puckerman wouldn't be as yet comfortable to do this around him, yet as Kurt watched the jock who got a high from tormenting others, the jock who supposedly could lift objects to rival Tarzan himself and the jock who could arouse a girl so fast she'd have to change her sopping wet underwear within the next second, pull out a simple set of black-rimmed glasses from the case and slide them on, he was proven wrong. "What? Quit staring at me Hummel or I'll break your nose!"

"Oh yeah, like my lips are going to look real attractive covered in blood. Talk about natural lipstick gone wrong," replied Kurt flatly as Puckerman let out a sigh, his eyes now making easier work of making out what was on the laptop screen before raising his sight once again to the pale boy. Now it was Kurt's turn to stare as the jock's hands fidgeted, his fingers whisking amongst themselves in now another nervous habit the brunet had seen today. They just seemed to be counting.

However, sensing Puckerman's increasing discomfort, Kurt relented his staring before shuffling closer to the jock as well as bringing the laptop along with him. They'd have to be close for this to work. They didn't want anything going wrong again and having Kurt later having to drink a liter of water before finishing off a tin of Vaseline in one go, an aftermath Kurt thought best not to reveal to an already sensitive jock. "Anyway, so I've done my research and I have an idea why you may be going wrong."

"Okay. What is it?"

"You lose control of your lips, you know? You're letting them get away with you."

"Oh, does that also include the-"

"The mouth, tongue, teeth all of it. They all came down on me like a siege."

"Christ. Okay, um... God," whispered Puckerman to himself, shifting on the bed and repositioning his glasses so he could look at the laptop in more detail. Kurt had brought up, in his opinion, a very useful site stocked full to the brim with pictures, videos and explanations about the ideal way to master and practice with your partner, the perfect way to kiss from just a feather-like touch to raw passion. "So how do we fix this? Are we going to go through all of these?"

"Well it's up to you. We can either work through them all from the basic kisses to the more difficult ones, you know, start you off from scratch or we can pick and choose the kisses that would be more beneficial or favorable to you instead of going through every single one, because trust me, some are pretty weird," replied Kurt, smiling slightly bitterly as he recalled coming across kisses that sometimes had absolutely nothing to do with the lips, yet held within them their own erotic value.

"Could we go from scratch? I just don't think I'm good enough to start picking and choosing the ones I want to do," suggested Puckerman, looking over at Kurt as if he feared the boy wouldn't have the patience, however Kurt simply nodded. The boy knew what it was it was like having to run before he could walk. Being a Cheerio could attest to that. Thank God for Quinn and Brittany, smiled Kurt as Puckeman smiled appreciatively. "So, what am I doing wrong before we actually start."

"Well, it's just that you rush, and when that happens you lose coordination of what you're doing. There's no real sense of direction, it's all off, it's all over place," explained Kurt, trying to be as detailed and as thorough as he could, choosing his words wisely that would best put across what he had experienced. "So what you need to do is slow down, you know, relax your face, ease your jaw and calm yourself. Only then will everything else follow like your mouth and your tongue."

"Slow down, got it," nodded Puckerman, engraving the advice right into his mind before returning all his attention to Kurt. The pale boy had since scrolled down to a particular kiss named the 'peck kiss' and was at the moment brushing up on what it entailed, quickly scanning its description before straitening back up and facing Puckerman once again. The jock likewise removed his glasses from his face, folded them up and placed them beside him, his vision now altered without them on.

"Okay, I think we'll start with the 'peck kiss'. It's the simplest kiss out there so I don't think we'll have too much trouble with it," began Kurt, bringing his eyes away from the screen as he shuffled closer to Puckerman, his knees coming up to almost brush up against the jock's larger leg. "What you need to know is that this kiss is quick and closed-mouthed. It's often used in a social environment as a sign of friendship or affection and it can be either on the cheek or on the lips, like so."

Leaning his body forwards, Kurt neared Puckerman, but ceased to go any further when he noticed the jock had yet to move. It was as if he needed a clear sign of approval to be allowed to near Kurt's lips again after he'd had a past of going for them without permission, or that the lips that seemed to detest him were now enticing him in for a kiss. As a result, the pale boy felt rather silly. His lips were slightly puckered, being offered like a sweet treat, yet they were left bare and without contact. It wasn't until he'd gestured in exasperation with his hand for the jock to also lean in, that Puckerman let out a nervous breath before they both entered each other's personal space, aimed and angled their faces until their lips met. Touchdown. Contact.

During the kiss, Kurt was once again reacquainted with the taste of Puckerman's lips and mouth. They didn't taste much of anything, maybe a slight hint of honey and sugared waffles, a likeness to Little Debbie's Honey Buns but fried and sweetened at the same time. It was hard to tell. His nose was similarly hit with an efflux of pleasant masculine body odor wafting up from the jock's now gaping tee shirt neckline, enveloping his senses even more as the attention now switched. For Puck, Kurt tasted a cross between a Fluffernutter on Wonderbread and warm apple compote with just a hint of rhubarb. Don't ask him why or how. It was just the strangest yet the most addictive thing ever, a brunch like snack until dinnertime that evening.

However, the tasting didn't last long. It wasn't meant to and after around two or three-seconds, Kurt pulled away, nodding in approval as Puckerman responded in a somewhat odd fashion. He was licking his lips as if he were trying to savor the taste of the brunet's mouth on his, as if he wanted to save the taste of marshmallow fluff and peanut butter on classic white bread, which he did. Kurt in turn, decided to ignore it in favor of leaning over across his bed, retrieving a Vaseline lip care tin from the first draw and bringing it over. Some of the kisses required some kind of lip balm to decrease friction and besides, they couldn't get to the more complicated kisses if their lips were going to be a tad dry. It wouldn't offer a lot of lubrication.

"How was that? Was… that any good?" Puckerman asked apprehensively as he watched Kurt lather a small amount of Vaseline onto his lips before putting the tin down on the bed. In response, the boy nodded curtly, keeping firm eye contact with the jock so as to let him know he was not lying, which he wasn't. Kurt was telling the truth and he'd had no problem letting the jock in on that fact. It brought him pleasure to bestow news that evidently meant a lot to Puckerman.

Meanwhile, as Kurt returned to look at the screen, Puck sighed in relief. It was as if a weight had been lifted already, and all from just one-peck kiss, just a kiss that small. It wouldn't be considered much to many, or if anything, but it was enough for the jock to almost lean on the bedpost behind him with his arms behind his head and a satisfied smirk playing on his lips, lips that now lingered with the taste of Kurt, not that he minded. He shifted his position on the bed and once again felt his leg stroke Kurt's knee, causing the brunet to look back around at him guardedly. However, they both brushed it off as nothing as Kurt eventually finished scrolling down the page until he came upon the next kiss, its picture appearing on the screen.

This one, the Lip Gloss kiss, appeared to be more intimate than the peck kiss, which hadn't admittedly been all that difficult to do and judging by the accompanying illustration it didn't look any different from the average kiss. Yet as Puck leaned forward to squint at the small print, he soon gave up in favor of picking up his glasses and going in for a clearer look. As soon as his hand landed on his specs, however, a paler hand landed on his arm. He looked up to see Kurt eying him with a sympathetic look that understood wearing glasses rendered him even more self-conscious than he already was, and in response Puck could only return the gesture with an appreciative smile as he put down the specs and refocused his attention on Kurt.

"Okay, the Lip Gloss kiss. I didn't really want to go over this one but I suggest we do because you're bound to come across a girl who's wearing mountains of it, especially in high school. Lip gloss in huge with teenage girls and it can be quite tricky to avoid being drowned in cherry-flavored goo," he explained rather sarcastically, Puckerman letting out a deep chuckle as Kurt abruptly stopped scanning the screen to look over at him, his blue orbs wide with puzzlement and surprise.

By the looks of it, Puckerman was admiring him with friendly eyes, the very same eyes that had looked upon Kurt at the fancy dress store in the mall. They gave out a warmth that could heat any barrier to heat the core within, a signature trait that Kurt attributed to only one other person he knew - Noah. Noah was here. "Now, unfortunately, I don't have any lip gloss on me because I don't wear the stuff, only Vaseline which basically has the same consistency but doesn't taste like artificial crap."

"Yeah, I can tell because your lips are all shiny and... good looking," Puckerman complimented as he gestured to Kurt's lips, some of the light from above reflecting of the glossy coat. Smiling, the pale boy was about to thank him but as the jock made to lean in and kiss him, it was Kurt's turn to not reciprocate. He pressed a finger to Puckerman's lips with his smile widening as he took in the look of confusion on the jock's features. "What is it, Hummel? I haven't started kissing you yet."

"I've yet to explain what you have to do, Puckerman. It's promising to see your enthusiasm because it will definitely speed things along, but it's best if I let you know how to do it," explained Kurt, watching how the mocha brown pigments in Puckerman's skin danced into a shade of dark rose as the jock swore lightly down at the comforter before letting out a breath of amusement. However, Kurt didn't mind. He found it flattering, funny and sweet. Yep, the air was definitely changing.

"Now from what I gather, this type of kiss is supposed to be fun and flirty," began Kurt, cringing at the use of such cheesy language used to describe a rather childish kiss. He supposed it made sense. "Your girlfriend is supposed to coat on lip gloss or chapstick, rub their lips against yours until your lips are coated as well and if you want to be extra daring, you can use… wait for it… flavored, fruity lip gloss! That's right! Now you can get one of your five a day just by kissing someone else!"

Puckerman burst out laughing, his head flipping back in hilarity as Kurt giggled at the boy's explosive sign of amusement. He took in how when the jock genuinely smiled, it was as if it brought a whole new angle to his face, a whole new undiscovered dimension of his features that were like signature traits of Noah. There was also something about the way he moved his body. Movement was not put on; there was no show, no sense of display, just freedom in skin. In the end, Kurt's humor had not only exposed such characteristics, but it had done them good to let themselves go and once the jock's laughter had subsided, Puckerman shook his head, a light chuckle on his smiling lips before they both positioned themselves for the kiss.

As their lips met, it was instantly noted by both that this kiss was better. Due to the light coat of Vaseline on Kurt's lips, they glided over Puckerman's pout, covering them with the soothing jelly until both of their mouths were lubricated. However, something was different. It felt as though Puckerman's lips were wider and the longer they remained connected, the wider they became, until as Kurt pulled away, his eyes curious, he was proven right. A soft smile had graced the jock's pink lips, his expression oozing with satisfaction even after Kurt had pulled away, whilst he'd continued to lean in an attempt to prolong the kiss, causing him to lose balance and quickly whip out his hand on the bed for support, lest he land flat on his face.

"Well, you're doing well, Puckerman. You haven't screwed up once," assured Kurt light heartedly as he flashed a smile at the jock, a smile that was just as eagerly returned accompanied with a hint of pride. Turning to face his laptop once more, the brunet flicked down to the next kiss, The Single-Lip kiss which, from the description did look a little trickier than the other two, but he was willing to give it a try since his tanned kissing partner hadn't as yet suctioned his face off.

However, as he continued to scan the article, his eyes flittered down at the time at the bottom right-hand side of the screen, as if like a warning and at this, Kurt gasped as it neared the hour. Their time was almost up. He would only be able to fit another kiss in before his father was due to return so without hesitation he turned to Puckerman, who was in the middle of licking the Vaseline off his lips. "Puckerman, will you stop eating the Vaseline. It's unflavored petroleum jelly."

"Sorry."

"Anyway, next we have the Single-Lip Kiss, okay?"

"Okay."

"This one is going to be harder so you are going to have to be more careful."

"How much more careful? What do I have to do exactly?" Asked Puckerman somewhat casually yet as he took in the rather anxious streaks of light in Kurt's eyes, he frowned. He wanted to ask the boy what was up, whether anything was wrong, but it didn't look as if Kurt was in the mood to be asked such a question. Instead, he peered at the large picture on the screen whilst trying to ignore the brunet's minor restlessness and edge. "Do I only kiss one of your lips or what?"

"Essentially yes, but there's more to it than that," replied Kurt, Puckerman pulling away from the screen as the boy began to explain. Kurt had personally not encountered this kiss very often. In fact, he didn't believe it was very well known seeing as kissing two lips instead of one doubled the fun. However, since it was for Puckerman, Kurt suspected that the jock wished to have a whole library of kisses at the tip of his lips so as to further please his girls and their sexually-aroused mothers.

"Alright, to give someone a kiss like this, all you need to do is take one of their lips between yours and gently suck or tug on it, whichever one you prefer," began Kurt, catching the two options circling each other in Puckerman's hazel vaults as if contemplating which would be more relishable. "It's supposed to be romantic and if done correctly can lead the girl or whoever you're kissing to experience a certain state of mind where she believes her knees are going to give way."

"Should we do this standing up then? We could use the outcome of you either falling or not to judge if I've done it right," suggested Puckerman as Kurt paused to think about the proposition. He doubted very much that his knees would give way. The jock was a bare beginner, a mere novice; however, it was good to see him exhibiting confidence. Kurt just feared the ultimate outcome - that he wouldn't fall, resulting in all that Puckerman self-esteem to come crashing down once again.

"Oh and don't worry Hummel, I'll catch you if you fall," smirked Puckerman, Kurt smiling appreciatively back as they hopped off the bed and into the center of the room. There the jock removed his Letterman jacket to reveal an unkempt white sleeveless tee-shirt underneath as well as those impressive 'guns' that were due to 'catch' Kurt if he'd fall. Well, at least they looked strong enough. "Stop me if I suck or tug too hard, okay Hummel? I don't want to rip your lip off or something."

"Just keep those arms prepared, alright. I might fall if I pass out from the pain," joked Kurt, smiling. It was meant as a light-hearted and funny comment, but judging by the struck expression on Puckerman's face that also conveyed a trace of hurt, he knew he'd carelessly struck a nerve. Frustrated by his own poor choice in vocabulary that had hit the jock's sore spot right on, Kurt stepped forward until his feet met Puckerman's toes, lifted his head up and offered his lips ripe for the taking.

Puckerman, taking the hint, lowered his face to Kurt's and let his mouth gently land on his plump bottom lip. However, he'd not even begun sucking before Kurt felt the jock's lips quiver with nerves, the vibrations rattling his own pout which, in the end, ruined it. Pulling away from the boy and eying him with a soft look that he hoped would ease Puckerman's fretting anxiety, Kurt spoke quietly. "Puckerman, relax, breathe. You've been doing well, there's no need for you to worry like this."

"Sorry, I'm just… It's just your comment threw me off a bit and now I'm freaked out I'm gonna fuck it up and… and you're gonna say I suck at this an-" mumbled Puckerman as he stared at the ground, his eyes finding the flag of their nation now extremely interesting, but before he could finish his stumbled mess of a sentence, Kurt had brought his lips to his, melting now muffled words back down the jock's throat in a simple plan to make him shut up and as predicted, it worked.

Grateful for Kurt's quick thinking, Puck lowered his lips to the brunet's bottom lip and as softly as he could, moulded his mouth around it. He began ever so tenderly tugging it, treating it as if the boy's satin soft lips were made of the finest silk or even the most luxurious Egyptian cotton. It was certainly a strange matter, comparing Kurt's pout with expensive materials but that's how Puck now treated Kurt when they kissed, as if he was a delicate porcelain doll, one false move and he would crack. His hands had also been uselessly planted by his side at first but no longer had he realized this then he'd awkwardly weaved them around the slender hips in front of him as if he were a young teen slow dancing at a school disco.

Finally pulling away from Puckerman, Kurt retracted his lips as the jock followed suit, yet only to see Puckerman frowning right back at him. To the jock, Kurt hadn't felt as if he was going to fall, tumble over or anything. He had stayed very much upright and steady for the whole duration of the kiss, not a sway out of balance and keeping perfect stance and posture throughout. Yet all this was now wreaking havoc on Puckerman's fortitude, undermining it with doubt. If he wasn't able to make the gay kid weak at the knees, his chances with any chick in school was pretty much fucked. Bad kissers made for bad everything else. If he couldn't do shit with his lips and mouth, what on earth what they going to think his dick was going to do? Fuck.

Meanwhile, Kurt was looking down at this feet as he'd since brought a finger up to trace where Puckerman had sucked and tugged at his lip as if he were one from a newborn baby, so soft, so incredibly soft. The jock had done everything that he'd been told to do and had more importantly got it right, but like the brunet had predicted, he'd not fallen into Kurt-shaped goo on the floor. His knees had remained stable and fixed throughout, with Puckerman's hands on his hips acting as further supports to an already well-grounded structure, leading Kurt to arrive to the conclusion that one only fell if one had feelings for their partner. Believing in his theory, no wonder he hadn't budged an inch. He had no feelings for Puckerman.

"Wow, I really suck at this," murmured Puckerman dismally, stepping away from Kurt as he picked up his Letterman jacket and tugged it on. His arms hung heavily by his sides, he bit his lip and a frustrated exhale of breath steamed out from his flared nostrils. "I just can't believe that all those chicks were faking it. They had to get all sensitive and shit and think of my feelings. Fuck my fucking feelings; I could have made it better for them! God damn it, I could have if they'd only not been scared of me!"

Girls were scared of Puckerman? That was odd. Apart from the fact that due to the jock's formidable build and tyrannical status in school, a sense of intimidation could most understandably arise, Kurt would have thought the last people you'd want to seep fear into were the ones you wanted to do the nasty with as he continued to listen. "All they needed to do was tell me to make it better. That's all they needed to do. Is that so hard? Now I'm here and... I can't even make you sway just a little."

"Puckerman, you have to remember, I'm a boy. I'm... let's say sturdier than the girls that you've kissed in the past," explained Kurt, cautiously nearing Puckerman as the jock began to fasten up his jacket with frustrated fingers too enraged to actually connect any buttons. Their allotted lesson time was over, but there was something in Kurt that wished them to end this session on a good note, rather than one that would have Puckerman leaving with an ego even more bruised than before.

As a result, Kurt tried to think of at least something to say that would offer the jock some comfort, some reassurance that he was progressing well, yet as Puckerman eventually let out a growl that dissipated into a sigh of provocation, his hands faltering to his sides with his shoulders slumping and downcast, Kurt went ahead. "Plus Puckerman, everyone you've been with has been attracted to you whereas me, not so much. I'm just not really into you. I don't see you in that way."

"You don't?"

"You didn't think I did, did you?"

"Kinda, yeah."

"Why would you think that?"

At this, Puck opened his mouth to answer, but closed it as he looked away. Why had he thought that? Why had he assumed Kurt would be into his looks? To be honest, he had always thought himself to be easy on the eyes and he'd never once had any problem with his image, though now knowing that the first openly gay person he'd ever met in his life didn't think he was all that had him stumped. He now felt pressured to work out more, as well as deepen his tan, anything to reinstate his sex appeal. Kurt was tearing down his ego with every personal revelation. 'Bad kisser', 'Not attracted to you'. All of this was only highlighting a certain foreign feeling of physical insecurity within him that he felt needed the most attention, needed healing.

"Hold on," began Puckerman, stepping back only to peel off his jacket and wife beater with enough speed and force, Kurt was sure he'd heard the latter tear, as if those 'guns' had meant it rip apart, to expose, to show off, the jock before him once again, breathing hard, with Kurt's baby blue eyes shocked as the most sculpted chest he'd ever seen on a teenage boy in his life stopped mere inches from him. "Are you saying you don't like this? You don't even want to, I don't know, touch it maybe?"

"Puckerman, put your clothes back on. This is unnecessary and inappropriate," Kurt protested, alleviating the space between them only to have it recaptured once again, with Puckerman now closer, watching him, taking hold of his fair hand and placing it on his chest. Kurt's eyes had since averted themselves only to widen as his fingers were directed into grooves, roaming a hard, compact body, so broad, with it now voicing, rich, "Look at me, Kurt," with Kurt now looking, surrendering to the sight.

It was a nice chest. In fact, it was very nice indeed. A pantheon of muscle one could say that rivaled even the marble statues of Greece. Starting at the top was Puckerman's impressive thick neck and protruding Adam's apple set atop broad shoulders with significant distinction. His biceps and forearms, that seemed to flex on their own accord as if winking at Kurt, did justice to his chest, with his hands masculine and large in shape. His pectorals were noticeably defined with large golden brown nipples situated towards the bottom and a well-developed six-pack was bulging out and perfectly outlined right underneath, decorated with a dark trimmed treasure trail that spiraled right down his navel towards the V of his hips and beyond.

Yes, Noah Puckerman was nothing but bronzed muscle. Muscle Man Puck. Yet as soon as Kurt had finished the eye candy tour, the heated sweetness of it all seemed to sour into a bitter sight as he took in the anxious look on the jock's face. The fair boy had yet to say or moreover do anything to acknowledge what he was seeing in front of him, for apparently he was here not only to merely teach Puckerman how to kiss, but to nurse his aggrieved ego. With that thought in mind, Kurt forced himself to set free a sigh of pleasure through pouted lips, his eyes drooping as they raked over the jock's body and with a suggestive moan, he lost his balance and stumbled forwards, throwing his hands out onto Puckerman's chest for support.

"Whoa, I got you," Puckerman chuckled, whipping out his hands and holding onto the boy as Kurt struggled to regain his footing, like a kitten freshly fallen over, unbalanced with flailing paws, now resuming posture as the jock's hands remained on him as if he feared Kurt was not to be trusted on his feet without support, as if he didn't want to let him go... Now softly murmuring, Puckerman smiled, his voice now rich, warm and intimate. "You okay? I said I'd catch you if you fell, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did. Sorry about that," replied Kurt, forcing out a blush and laughing self-consciously, now looking down at his hands and gulping subtly to himself. His fingers were splayed over each pectoral, milk white on coffee beige. What a striking sight, almost tempting him to start exploring Puckerman's chest with a slight grazing of the nipple here and ghosting of the breath there, like foreplay meant to end with Kurt's fingers gripping onto the hard body for support as his mouth cried out.

"It's cool, Hummel," replied Puck, throwing Kurt a handsome smirk in thanks for the reassurance he'd so desperately needed. Maybe he wasn't totally fucked after all, watching as Kurt pulled away to fetch him his clothes, the jock's smirk widening as the boy failed to properly look him in the eye from apparent embarrassment, blue orbs shy. All he had to do was nail all this kissing shit and he'd be home free. "So Hummel, can we do this again sometime? I don't think we've covered everything."

"No, we haven't, and originally even though I knew we'd never get through them all, I was adamant on us only having the one lesson," replied Kurt, as Puckerman's smirk faltered. "However, since you've done well today Puckerman, I'm willing to go through more with you, granted that you continue doing well. You've still yet to learn how to control your breath, how to use your tongue and where to put your hands when kissing, but apart from that you're getting there. You did good."

"Thanks, Hummel," smiled Puck, somewhat missing Kurt's strawberry crimson shaded blush that had since melted into a creamy variation of soft peach as he pulled on his jacket before making his way over to the basement stairs. He felt like he wanted to say something, a cold 'cheers', or a dismissive 'thanks dude', or a threatening 'remember, if you talk, you're pound mush', but no, nothing. It didn't seem cool to end like that after such intimacy with a boy as cute as Milk Kun or Moofia Milk.

"Try to remember what we've gone through today, okay Puckerman? I won't be going over them again, we just won't have time. Oh, and one other thing..." began Kurt, making his way over to the listening jock by the first step. "Since I am your tutor, don't refer to me as Hummel or Lady Hummel or Lady or Lady Lips or Lady Face or lady anything when we're having our lessons, alright. At school, you can go nuts, but when you're here with him, call me Kurt. Think you can do that?"

"Sure, I can do that... Kurt."

"What about you? You want me to keep on calling you Pucker-"

"Just call me Puck. Everyone does."

"Okay... Puck. Free tomorrow after school?"

"See you then," parted Puckerman, climbing the stairs only to stop half way up before coming back down again, making his way over to Kurt, the boy now bewildered, and stopping. There he brought up his thumb to trail across Kurt's full lips, flesh on flesh so smooth there was no friction to speak of, so soft it had the jock weakening where he stood, his breaths broken and jagged as he smiled, now winking at him. "Look after those sweet lips whilst I'm gone Kurt; that Vaseline shit really works."

"Will do," breathed Kurt, and with that, Puck bounded up the stairs and out the front door, leaving in the midst of the cutest tingles that danced across the fair boy's lips like sugar as Kurt looked back over to his bed in thought. He was now to create a lesson plan for tomorrow, to compile a list of kisses he'd feel Puck was now ready to learn, for the jock was getting good and now that he was, teaching him didn't appear so much as a chore than predicted. Kissing him wasn't all that bad either.

To be perfectly honest, Kurt was looking forward to their next lesson. Today they'd shared warm smiles over bouts of laughter, promising kisses in a changing air, and over the course of the lesson, Puck had been very agreeable, cooperative and ever so gentle with him. Perhaps a little too gentle. Throughout it all, Kurt had felt as if something had been missing. It was all too emotionless, too blank and detached for what was really needed, and if he was here to teach this jock how to properly make out, he was going to have to fire up the heat. The only way he was going to be able to manage that, though, was to let himself go, and there really was only one solution. He was going to have to become attracted to Noah Puckerman.

~ 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: This is one of my favorite chapters. The song used is 'Kiss' by Marilyn Monroe from her film Niagara. I found it only fitting. The 'lesson' scene was particularly fun to write and one of the early ideas I had for the story. So cute and sweet with Puck's vulnerability coming through and Kurt's snarkiness at a low.

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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