Author's note: I'm not pleased with this chapter. Though, it's quite long, to make up for all the short ones.

Calories. He needed calories – now! His dad would freak if he saw just how he had parked his car in the driveway, he had raised his boy better than that, but Kurt just did not care at the moment. Nobody was home and he needed something to calm his nerves with before he collapsed. It was a miracle that he managed to get home in one piece; the car had swayed dangerously along the ditches on the way home. His hands trembled when he fumbled with the keys to the front door and once inside, he did not even bother with taking of his shoes. His eyes were set upon the fridge. He pushed away those low-fat, low-calories excuses for ice-cream without hesitation and pulled out a container marked "Finn". Sorry, Brother. Desperate times calls for desperate measures. Kurt yanked open a drawer to fetch a spoon, ripped the lid off and buried his spoon in Ben & Jerry's deliciousness. Chocolate Fudge Brownie. Dear Gaga, he had not tasted this in… He actually could not remember the last time. The icy treat filled his mouth and relief washed over his body. With every spoonful melting upon his tongue, his hands shook less and his heartbeat steadily returned to its original pace. He was finally able to take a few steps and sink down upon a chair. His legs almost gave in with some sort of odd exhaustion.

Calm down, Kurt, you need to get this straight. Hah. "Straight". Funny. Okay, so Puck was acting terribly out of character. Not only did he seem to have gone homosexual all of a sudden, but he also was so… tremendously gentle. That was the terrifying part about it. Kurt had thought that he understood it all during that Friday night. Puck had an obvious problem and needed someone to see to it. Kurt just happened to be there. Right. That was how it had gone down, but it did not explain the strange encounter in the restroom. He had felt and he had not felt nor seen any sort of… standing ovation. Kurt was unable to feel any sort of anger, just a great deal of confusion. He was a smart kid, but he just did not get it. What was going on?

And why, in the name of beautiful designer boots, did he run out of there like his pants was on fire? He did not like Puck, he did not want to be with Puck and he did not have such feelings for Puck. Then why did he make him so weak? Everything had been so intense in there, so overwhelming. There had been no air and only the sound of his own heartbeat had been audible. Puck was not supposed to make him react in that way. He was not… not Finn. Kurt stared down into the empty container, which had been filled with ice-cream for what felt like a few minutes ago. His stomach churned unpleasantly. He felt ill, but did not know if it was because of his sudden change of diet or the realization that he actually did sort of not distaste Noah Puckerman. It physically hurt him to think about it. A groan and a grimace, his forehead sunk helplessly down upon the cool surface of their kitchen table.

There was something buzzing and vibrating inside of his bag. His fingers searched blindly for it upon the floor before his mind and eyes caught up with him. The display screen of his cell blinked furiously and he pressed the right button before bringing it to his ear. He did not even have time to greet whoever was on the phone before a worried voice reached him.

"Kurt? Kurt, are you there?"

"… Dad?"

Kurt sat up straight in his seat, scrunching up his face as he looked around. The clock upon the wall told him that he had been sitting there for the last three hours. Oh. He might have fallen asleep.

"You okay, kiddo? They called from school and told me you weren't there today."

Kurt cleared his throat, absentmindedly rubbing his eyes with his free hand in hopes of getting a somewhat clear vision.

"I'm fine, Dad."

"Kurt… We talked about this, didn't we? You're not supposed to say you're fine when you're not."

He had to smile. He just had to.

"Really, I'm fine."

"Then why didn't you show up for school?"

He had gone to school. He had gone to school, gotten thrown into a dumpster and then had this really awkward and amazing moment with the school's infamous, self-proclaimed stud who had done some truly horrible stuff to him. No, this was not the conversation for his Dad. Burt Hummel did not want to hear this.

"I… I went, but…" Lie, Kurt. Lie. "… got ill. M-my stomach hurt. I drove home again, but didn't want to bother you. I'm sorry, I forgot about telling someone at school."

There was silence at first, a long quiet moment in which Kurt doubted that his lie was convincing enough.

"Okay, son. Are you at home now?"

"Yes. I fell asleep."

"I'm at the shop, you mind coming over? If you're getting sick, I don't want you to be alone."

Everything was alright now again, between father and son. Sure, there were times when he really just wanted to tell Finn to leave his dad alone. Just because he did not have one of his own, did not mean that he could go stealing someone else's. But then again, Carole had been there for him too. If Finn could share, so could Kurt. The black Navigator steered into the yard of Hummel's Tires & Lube and he easily slid out of his car. He really did hate lying to his father, but sometimes he had no choice. There were conversations he was not ready for, things Kurt needed to protect him from. This was one of those things.

"Hi, Dad."

Burt Hummel looked up from his work, bending over the hood of an elderly Volvo, to welcome his son.

"Tummy feeling okay?" was the first thing he asked and Kurt only nodded in reply. If he noticed the solemn look upon Kurt's face, he did not comment it.

"There's an old Camaro -65 in the back which could use some patching up. Do you feel up for it?"

Kurt did not hesitate before nodding again. Keeping his hands and mind occupied was just the thing he needed now and a Camaro was always fun. If someone ever asked him, he would deny it blankly, but it was almost a relief to change out of his slim designer clothes and into the blue coveralls. If anyone could rock a coverall, it was Kurt Hummel. A vague smile fluttered across his lips as he watched the tiny embroidery saying "Kurt" upon the thick fabric. This was one of the very few things he had in common with his father – the ability to dissect a car engine in about five seconds. Sure, working on the Camaro would ruin his nails, but at least he would have something to do.

Behind the building where Burt Hummel kept his tools and had his cashier, was something resembling a scrapyard. There was where the Camaro stood, waiting patiently for a loving hand. Kurt pushed the baseball cap his dad had given him on top of his head. There was a slight reluctance in the act, though he figured that he was not going anywhere except home that day. He did not have to look impeccable. No one would come looking for him, he could you stay there for a couple of hours, getting his hands dirty and greasy with old oil and just…

"Kurt?"

He froze to the spot.

Holy shit. Sure, Puck could admit that he had checked Kurt out from time to time. He was practically a girl anyway, with that high-pitched voice and fashion sense and you know… being all lady-fabulous. And he did have a nice ass. Those tight pants he usually wore really did not leave much to the imagination. So he might have had a few indecent thoughts about Kurt Hummel, but nothing, nothing did even remotely resemble what stood before him.

Puck had paid the Hummel-Hudson house a visit after school, just to meet Mrs Hudson in the doorway and been told that Kurt was at the garage with his father. He had heard rumours about his dad being a mechanic, but the picture of the resident fag in a garage just… It did not make sense. He figured Hummel would just whine about getting dirt- and grease stains on his clothes. Mrs Hudson had kindly asked him if she could help him, and well, he could have given her his jacket, but… he did not want to. He wanted to give it to him himself, get the lost-and-found reward for returning it. The thought had made him chuckle mischievously to himself after gotten the directions to Hummel's Tires & Lube.

He had only taken two steps into the garage before a mountainlike man stepped in his way and rumbled in a voice which was supposed to be service-minded, but just sounded downright scary. His name tag said "Burt". Hell, that could not be a coincidence.

"Can I help you?"

"Are you Kurt's dad?" Puck asked softly.

He was never good with the dads. The moms loved him, but the dads…

"Kurt forgot his jacket in school, I thought I'd bring it over."

"And you are?"

"Noah Puckerman, sir. We're in Glee together and in football before he quit."

There was a moment of silence, in which Mr Hummel before him seemed to assess him – figure out if he was allowed anywhere near his son or not. He passed the first test.

"He's in the back."

And yeah, that was how he ended up staring at Hummel's ass, because the kid was bending over the hood of a classic car dressed in a blue coverall, the top buttons unbuttoned to show off a white tank top underneath, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and… you did not come closer to a real life porno than this.

"Kurt?"

Holy Versace. He knew who stood behind him even before he turned around to see his face. That voice belonged to Noah Puckerman, no doubt about it. Kurt slowly stretched his back, absentmindedly drying his fingers on the towel hanging from the pocket near his hip. Slowly, very slowly, he turned to face him. The second their eyes met, Kurt was unable to move beneath his intent stare. Puck watched him the same way he watched a sandwich after football practice. It sent a pleasurable thrill throughout his body.

"W-what are you doing here?"

Puck took a small, hesitant step towards him and Kurt realized now what it was which he gently grasped in his hands. His Alexander McQueen coat.

"You forgot your jacket", he replied. "And I know how much you care about your clothes and stuff, so I… uhm, yeah, brought it here."

Oh. Kurt could only blink in surprise. That was actually kind of… nice of him.

"You could've just given it to Finn." Or left it, but he did not say that.

Puck raised an eyebrow in that ridiculously cocky and slightly hot way, lips pursed together in a somewhat amused expression.

"You really think it would come home in one piece if Finn was responsible for it?"

As much as Kurt hated to admit it, Puck was absolutely right. Finn was not to be trusted with his most fabulous coat. It looked completely unharmed in the jock's hands. It somehow eased the furious fluttering within his body, which was replaced by a nervous tingle. It resembled what he had used to feel while looking at Finn. Damn it. He shook his head in reply.

"My hands are a bit dirty… could you put it in the backseat?"

"Sure…"

Kurt hurried around the car to open the door. The inside was relatively clean and almost acceptable for his coat. It would have to do. He turned around just in time to end up face to face with Mr Hot Jock who sort of took his virginity. Great. Blood rushed towards his cheeks. Puck leaned pass him to put the coat on the leather seat. Kurt could practically feel the heat radiate from his godsend body and… Puck was unnecessary close. He held his breath, bright eyes set upon him as his back hit the car. Then… his eyebrows creased in confusion as he noticed the slightly swollen area around the jock's right eye. He did not manage to suppress the worry within his chest and before he knew it, his fingers quietly caressed the sensitive skin. It would turn blue, green and purple eventually.

"What happened to your eye?"

"I… I had a disagreement with Karofsky and Azimio."

"You're sugar-coating it."

"Fine", that smirk again and Kurt did not feel his knees give in. "… I beat the crap out of them."

"Why?"

The look he then received reminded him so much of Friday night that he could do nothing but blush deeply. Once again – how did he become the dumb one?

"They threw you in the dumpster", Noah finally replied in a simple tone, almost monotone. As if it was that easy, but if Kurt knew anything, it was that nothing was easy. On the contrary, everything was hard when you stood backed up against a car with the hottest jock in school far into your personal space. Yes, pun intended.

"You shouldn't have…"

"I know."

Kurt slowly lowered his hand, realizing that he still cupped his cheek gently. Grease stained his skin, a vague line underneath his eye, where his thumb had carefully touched him. He instantly reached for his towel.

"You've got a little something…"

"Leave it."

His voice was airy, almost inaudible but still firm – Kurt obeyed immediately and the towel was forgotten. Noah leaned in closer, his hand holding his weight against the car's roof right behind Kurt's shoulder. Closer, closer… He lost the ability to breathe about then, eyes fixed upon parted lips. Closer yet again and his heart was surely pounding its way out of his chest. Though, he just had to know…

"W-why?"

Noah paused, looking at him quietly for a few torturing seconds. The answer was as simple as the earlier one.

"Because I want to."

Lips crashed against lips, passionately locking together in fierce determination. At this point, Kurt's knees really did give in – he could not possibly deny it when he practically tumbled to the ground. If it was not for Noah's arm around his waist, he would have been sitting flat on his ass right now. Shaking arms snaked around the jock, hands gripping for everything, anything he could cling onto. There was a lack of technique and finesse in the way he met his lips, but it did not seem to matter much to Noah. If anything, he gripped him more fervently, pressed their bodies oh so close. He could feel his erection against his hip. His hand forced the baseball cap to the ground, fingers burying themselves in chocolate brown hair and for once, Kurt did not care that his otherwise flawless coif was ruined. Tongues wrestled, saliva was swapped. It was all sloppy and desperate, on the verge of distasteful, but he had never felt more alive than in the moment Noah bit down on his lower lip. Forceful hands yanked his arms out of the sleeves of the coverall, reaching out for his pale skin, making marks with lips, teeth and tongue. A vague cry-out escaped him while kisses trailed down his neck. He wanted to be bruised, marked in any way possible, so he would never ever forget this and…

"Kurt? You out here?"

… it was over before it even had time to begin.

When Burt Hummel came around the corner, Noah Puckerman stood with his hands shoved down the pockets of his jeans with an appropriate distance in between himself and Burt's son. The butch mechanic, so different from his kid, came to an immediate halt and watched the two youngsters eerily. Something dark and terrifying filled his eyes at the sight of them. Kurt looked visibly flustered, his hair uncharacteristically unruly and swollen lips parting with every ragged breath. He seemed to hold onto the car door for dear life, as if he would collapse without its support. That punk, on the other hand, just seemed a bit out of breath and his eyes burned like a thousand suns when he looked at Kurt. Greasy fingerprints covered his shirt.

"Puckerman, was it?"

The kid nodded hastily.

"You know, Puckerman… I've got a shotgun in my office. If you lay a hand on my son…"

"Dad!"

"If you lay a hand on Kurt", Burt continued loudly, ignoring his son's widened and shocked eyes. "I'm not afraid to use it."

All colour drained from that thug's face. Something pleasant filled him at the realization – fear sure came in handy sometimes.

"No need, Mr Hummel. I was just leaving."

Oh yeah, run away now, kiddo. Hurry.

"Uhm, Kurt, I…"

"Too much talking and too little running, kid."

"Right, sir, I just… Kurt, front pocket!"

And the kid ran.

Author's note: As said, I'm not pleased with this chapter. The first part is utter crap. The second part is… bearable, but just because they make out. Anyway, it was the best I could do at this moment. Don't hate me.