Notes: I love a warm reception as much as the next psycho.

Warnings: (Minor) Character death, graphic violence, boy/boy sex.

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September

It was an extra-large grape slushy, freshly poured and waiting for a victim. The carrier scouted the immediate area, saw a notable target, and zeroed in. A smirk. He took aim. And suddenly a hand whacked the cup from underneath, sending the icy cold grape mixture flying. "What the fuck, Puckerman!" Karofsky exploded, still clutching the mostly-empty cup, his fingers suddenly cold and sticky, purple splatters dotting his sneakers and the cuffs of his jeans.

"One," Puck replied, holding up his index finger. He smirked, and clapped Karofsky's shoulder condescendingly. "Better luck next time, Dave."

Number two happened between classes in the five minute window students had before officially being late to their next class. Karofsky had cut the last ten minutes of his last class to get to the cafeteria and back. It never occurred to him to check whether Puck was anywhere around as he prepared to douse Rachel Berry in the face... Only to get his hand slammed from underneath for the second time in as many hours.

"That's two," Puck told him, a downright evil grin on his face as he marched past Karofsky and offered his arm to Rachel. Shocked, Rachel let herself be whisked away down the hall before she remembered that her next class was in the opposite direction and had to run to avoid being late.

The sleeve of Karofsky's letterman jacket was stained a sticky pink. His shoes felt tacky, the liquid soaked through to his socks. "Fuck," he said eloquently. "You are so dead, Puckerman."

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October

It was ten to midnight when Puck took off his gloves, dug out his phone, and called Kurt. He had a cut on his cheek from a lucky punch where Donahue's class ring had caught him and the knuckles on his right hand were scraped and still bleeding sluggishly. The inside of his gloves were tacky with the blood, but he didn't care. As long as it was just the lining of the thick leather gloves he was fine, and he'd already removed the ring and dropped it into the handy can of bleach he'd taken to keeping in the back of his pickup.

He had the body dumped in a nice secluded area, nobody had seen him, and everything else had gone as smoothly as possible. There was just one small problem that he'd forgotten to think about. And there was only one person Puck felt confident enough to call for that kind of help.

It took Kurt six rings to pick up. "What is it?"

"Hummel," Puck said. He knew the perfect way to get Kurt to come to him, no questions asked. "Want to see a dead guy?"

For a moment there was total silence on the other end of the line.

"Where?" Kurt asked breathlessly. "Puck. Where are you?"

"You can't take your car," Puck warned. "You'll have to catch a cab to Ross and walk from there. I'll wait for you there."

There was another pause, and this time Puck could hear the sound of fabric rustling. "I'll be there in half an hour," Kurt promised. Puck thought for just a moment about leaving his sports bag where it was on the floor, then thought better of it. There was like a million-to-one chance of anyone stumbling on Donahue's body, but just on the off chance... Puck was going to be taking all of his incriminating evidence with him.

He watched Kurt get out of the taxi, dressed down in skinny jeans and a pale blue sweater, the sneakers he wore for Cheerios practice on his feet. Puck waited for the cab to leave before he stepped out of the shadows and walked up to Kurt. "Hey, Hummel."

"Puck," Kurt nodded to him, then frowned at him when he caught a good look at the other boy under the streetlight. "What happened to your face?"

"Nothing. Anyway, I need your help with something."

"I thought you were going to show me a body."

"I will," Puck promised. "After. You're good with cars, right?"

"Oh my god. What did you do?"

"Nothing. The truck just crapped out on me, ok? You fix it, I'll show you the dead dude, then we leave." Puck shrugged and started leading Kurt towards the abandoned pipe works building that he'd dumped the body in. He'd researched the location before he picked it. The place was for sale, and had been for about two years already. Puck had even gone so far as to check its market value against the asking price just to make sure it wouldn't suddenly sell right after he dumped Nathan's stone-cold corpse in the basement. He was pretty damn sure it wouldn't. "No big deal," he concluded.

"We'll have to fix your face too," Kurt informed him, bossy even in the middle of the night in a strange part of town on the way to see a murder victim. "There's no way you can go home looking like that."

"I get into fights all the time. A little cut like that is nothing."

"I don't care. You're in that ridiculous fight club aren't you? Do you have a first aid kit in your car, in case you get hurt?"

"Yeah." Puck wasn't a total dumbass.

"I'll fix your car," Kurt said, lips shaping the words as if they were set in stone. "You'll show me the body, then I'll fix your face. And then we leave."

"Fine, Princess. Whatever your bitchy highness commands."

"And if you think this counts as a date," Kurt added, in what Puck suspected was just to have the last word, "you should think again."

Puck still considered it a date. It would end pretty much the same way, so why call it anything else? They went somewhere, shared an activity, talked about common interests... And then - considering what he knew about Kurt that nobody else did - they probably had sex in the pickup after he'd gotten all worked up over his kinky death fetish.

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"One day you will get caught," Kurt told him plainly, examining the small cut on Puck's cheekbone, followed by the larger grazes on his knuckles. "You do realise that, don't you?"

Puck shrugged dismissively. He refused to wince when the cotton ball soaked in antiseptic touched his skin. "So?"

"So getting caught would be stupid. This," Kurt elaborated, voice sharp despite the gentle way he handled the grazes on Puck's knuckles, "is stupid."

"You think it's fucking hot. Admit it."

"You're stupid."

Puck didn't even try to reply, he just waited for Kurt's lips to seal over his own and thrust his tongue straight past those strawberry flavoured lips and into the hot, wet cavern of his mouth. The freshly cleaned grazes on his knuckles stung as he grabbed hold of Kurt's ridiculously expensive sweater and yanked the other boy closer, down onto his lap. Their bodies pressed together through the too-heavy layers of their clothing. Puck rolled his hips upwards, voicing a soft groan into Kurt's mouth when the other boy rocked down against him in answer.

"F-fuck you," Kurt gasped, breathless, into the kiss.

"Yeah," Puck replied, pulling away just enough to grin at Kurt's flushed face and smudged lipgloss, "fuck me."

"We're in the men's room of an abandoned fah-actory." Kurt's voice hitched and he pressed his hips forward into the hand that had somehow wormed between their bodies to cup him through his jeans. "There's a body in the..." The hand fumbled with the zipper on his jeans, dragging the zip down slowly. "The basement. And your truck is still... We should move your truck."

"Shut the hell up," Puck told him, shoving his hand impatiently into Kurt's jeans and pulling out his erection. "You want this sucked or not, huh? Gets you so hot, doesn't it?" Puck teased, leaning forward to suck a red mark against Kurt's collarbone. "Imagining me sticking that guy with my knife... I still got it here, Hummel. I haven't even stuck it in the bleach yet."

"Idiot," Kurt whined. "Fucking stupid, big..." He slid off Puck's lap with a noise of frustration and stood, hand flying to his belt. "Alright," he snapped, quickly undoing his pants properly and shoving them down off his hips. Puck nearly licked his lips at the view. "Hurry up. We'll make this quick and then we're getting the hell out of here."

"No problem here," Puck replied, popping the buckle of his belt open. He stood, and pushed his jeans down without undoing them, silently thanking whatever 'talentless imbecile' came up with the fashion trend of pants at least a size too big. Puck watched Kurt's pretty blue eyes drop hungrily to his naked cock. "You want this in you?" Puck asked, reaching down to wrap a fist around himself, "or you want me to bend over so you can fuck me like the sick little animal you are?"

"Show me the knife," Kurt answered immediately, cheeks flushed and eyes dark with excitement. "Show me the knife and bend over."

Puck kind of loved that look on the other boy's face. He turned around and bent over to retrieve the knife from the shirt he'd wrapped it in, then braced himself against the bench he'd been sitting on and held out the knife to one side for Kurt to see. He could hear the other boy's footfalls, listening to each step as Kurt came up behind him. Soft, warm hands way too large to belong to a girl smoothed down over his naked hips.

"Fuck," Kurt breathed, and one of his hands dipped between Puck's spread legs to fondle his balls before sliding back to rub over the entrance to his body. "Lube?"

"Got none," Puck replied, he canted his hips back to make his back arch enticingly, bracing his other hand against the wall where Kurt could still clearly see the blood-smeared knife. "Use spit. Hurry up."

For a few very long seconds all Puck could hear was the wet sound of Kurt's mouth against his own fingers, then those fingers were touching him again, probing and pushing impatiently.

"I'm not gonna break, Princess. Hurry the f-ahh!"

Puck could sense the other boy's smirk in the way the two fingers now buried knuckle-deep into his body twisted and pushed. He could hear Kurt's heavy breathing and imagined him watching, looking down at his own hand as he fingered Puck's ass. "I don't suppose -" he could also hear the strain in Kurt's voice "- you have any condoms with you either..."

"I went out tonight to kidnap a guy and kill him before dumping his sorry-ass body," Puck replied through gritted teeth, willing his hips to stay still as the sudden burn melted into a dull ache mixed with flickers of pleasure, "I wasn't planning on getting fucked up the ass."

"You're such a jerk."

"Just fuck me already, Hummel."

Puck regretted his hastiness a moment later when Kurt's fingers left him. He forced his breath not to catch as he felt Kurt press in close behind him, the blunt tip of his cock pushing against Puck's barely-stretched hole. Kurt reached out and wrapped one of those hands around the knife handle over Puck's fingers. He rolled his hips forward until the head of his cock pushed into Puck's body.

"S-still not breaking?" Kurt sounded like he was smirking again.

"Kinky little bitch," Puck grumbled. He jumped at Kurt's sudden, loud smack to his ass. Then grinned and widened his stance as much as he could with his jeans pooled around his ankles. There were some definite merits to this, the pain mixed with bursts of pleasure when Kurt thrust in. It was exhilarating, almost the same as stabbing someone. He wondered if Kurt felt the same way, if fucking him was like killing. He wondered if it gave the other boy the same slow burn in the pit of his stomach, the same tingle against his spine that made his nipples tighten and his cock twitch.

Puck's body ached, the cuts on his knuckles stung, and his blood sang in his veins. He could feel every movement that Kurt made, could hear the way the other boy was panting, the small noises falling from his lips. Puck let his weight rest against the hand pressed to the wall and raised his other hand to touch himself. Kurt's hands were branding irons pressing against his flesh.

He'd feel this long after they parted ways, would touch himself again when he got home in the early hours of the morning when it was still dark enough to sneak inside unnoticed. He imagined Kurt doing the same to a memory of his body and groaned.

Kurt finished the same way he had before, with a choked-off whimper and a hand pressed to his mouth to stifle the sound. Still hard and left unsatisfied Puck stopped touching himself and waited for Kurt to pull out. It was sensible, as much as it sucked. If the body was found then the building might get searched from top to bottom for clues. Semen would be one huge clue, and while they'd need a DNA test to match it to him Puck wasn't going to take any chances. He'd seen enough cop shows to know there were some things you just didn't do.

Which wasn't much of a consolation when he was pulling his jeans up over his erection and reluctantly buckling his belt. He retrieved the slightly stained t-shirt from the floor and wrapped up his bowie knife again before shoving the shirt back into his bag. When Puck turned around again Kurt was perfectly dressed, not a hair out of place. If you ignored the blush and the bitten lips it was as if nothing had happened.

"You're all pink, Princess," Puck teased, and shoved his bag at Kurt. He knew there would be no complaints, if it had to do with murder then Kurt was the perfect accomplice.

"Is that a gun in your pocket or did you not blow your load yet?" Kurt replied airily. The pale boy flicked his hair from his forehead and hoisted the bag over his shoulder delicately. "Are we going now? We should move your truck before someone sees it."

"Blow me."

"When you've moved your truck and cleaned the knife."

Being involved with a bitch could be so fucking annoying, Puck mused as he watched Kurt turn on his heel and stalk out of the bathroom. But it was also so very rewarding. All he had to do was make it into the goddamn truck and away from the building before he shoved Kurt's head down against his crotch. It would be worth the wait.