Notes: The end of this chapter does not mark the end of the 'September' section. I'm still working on refining the next piece, but it should pick up immediately after, instead of moving on to October again.
Warnings: (Minor) Character death, graphic violence, boy/boy sex.
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October
Puck sat behind the wheel of his truck, hands already encased in his trusty leather gloves. It was one in the morning and his mother thought he was staying the night at a friend's place. His backpack lay on the seat beside him, his bowie knife within easy reach and a fresh can of bleach in the truck bed. He watched the house in silence, waiting for the party to die down and for Dave Karofsky to come stumbling out towards his car.
He was wide awake, anticipation keeping him alert. Kurt had been texting him at random intervals during the night but so far Puck had only answered twice, not wanting to take his eyes off the house in case he missed his opportunity when it came.
The moment came close to two in the morning.
Puck saw Karofsky's face under the street light and leapt out of his truck. He crossed the road silently and came up behind the other boy. A quick, sharp hit across the back of the head with the heavy handle of his knife and Karofsky lurched forwards, vomit exploding from his mouth onto the sidewalk as he fell to his knees. Puck moved quick, shoving a tennis ball into Karofsky's open mouth. He didn't care if the other boy choked. It wasn't as if when or how the boy died really mattered that much, as long as he wound up dead.
He grabbed Karofsky's arms and pulled the zip-ties from the pocket of his hoodie. In seconds he had the other boy bound and quickly dragged him across the road and to the back of the truck. The adrenaline pumping through Puck's body made him strong. He grinned wickedly through the window as he shut the door on the other boy's horrified face.
Puck crossed to the other side of the truck and jumped back in. He shut his door, started the engine, and turned briefly to smirk over his shoulder at the bound and gagged hockey player in the back seat. "Time's up," he said. "You're about to find out what happened to your friends."
The truck rumbled down the street, the radio playing Mindless Self Indulgence.
It took half an hour to get to where Puck had planned for them to go, and in that time Karofsky managed to pass out briefly and wet himself. Puck wrinkled his nose as he hauled the other boy out of the truck and dumped him out on the dirt. The area around the overpass was completely silent. At this time of night nobody was around for miles and the rare semitrailer that rumbled overhead never stopped to look around.
Under here they might as well have been invisible.
Puck set up the lights from his backpack, kerosene lanterns that burned bright enough to see by and low enough not to attract attention. He pulled out his knife, and then had a wicked thought and pulled out his phone. He snapped a quick photo of Karofsky lying in the dirt and scrolled down his contacts until he got to Kurt's number. One picture message later and he smirked down at Karofsky.
"Guess where I'm going to stick you," he said, showing the dazed and drunken boy his bowie knife. "Just fucking guess."
Karofsky groaned around the tennis-ball gag, eyes wide and unfocussed.
Puck crouched down by his legs, knife out, figuring he'd better get the precautions out of the way first. The other boy made a noise of protest and tried to kick, aware enough to figure out a thing or two about what would happen next. Puck had researched this in anatomy books in the library. His knife ripped through denim and flesh. Karofsky screamed, the sound muffled by the gag.
Blood soaked quickly through the boy's worn jeans, his legs twitching, body curling as if to somehow get away from the pain. Puck had just cut his hamstrings. There was no way Karofsky could get away now.
Puck stood up again and snapped another picture with his phone. He grinned, the blood pumping hard through his veins, adrenaline and endorphins making him feel giddy. "I love this part."
When it was done he stood over the body for a moment, knife dripping, breathing heavy. It took a while to make himself move, to walk back to the truck and drop his knife into the bleach. He leaned against the side of his truck for a moment, recapturing his composure. When he turned back to the body he was grinning.
He took out his phone and walked a circle around Karofsky's corpse, stopping to take photos that were as graphic as his pixel count would allow. He saved them, tucked his phone away, and made use of his gloves to drag the body further under the overpass and into a clump of scraggly bushes where it wouldn't be seen from the road. He scuffed out the marks left by the body and his shoes, kicked loose dirt over the blood.
Fifteen minutes later, all of his gear packed up, gloves in a plastic bag at the bottom of his pack, Puck sent the photos to Kurt while he sat in his truck.
His phone buzzed barely a minute later with Kurt's reply. Puck opened the picture message and chuckled to himself; "Kinky slut, Hummel." He tossed the phone down to the seat beside him without closing the message. The slightly blurred photo of Kurt's hand gripping his naked cock rode shotgun beside Puck on the way back into Lima.
It was three in the morning when Puck parked his truck a block away from the Hummel's house. He walked the rest of the way and ducked down the side of the Hummel's house until he found the basement window. The window was already cracked open, Kurt waiting for him in a chair underneath dressed in silk pyjama pants and a royal blue sweater that ended half way down his thighs.
"Hey, Princess," Puck murmured, just loud enough for Kurt to hear.
The other boy practically jumped out of his chair and turned around to look up at the basement window. "Noah," he breathed, cheeks flushing pink. His lips quirked into something like a smile. "I got your messages."
"Thought you'd like that. Can I come in?"
Kurt glanced towards the stairs to the basement door, then looked back at Puck and nodded. "Just be quiet," he warned the other boy. "It's three in the morning, if my dad catches you here I'll be grounded for a month."
"Quiet as a fucking mouse," Puck agreed. He jimmied the window open enough that he could slide in feet-first, not caring about the dirt on his shoes. He dropped down to the chair, then stepped to the floor. Kurt was looking at his feet and the dirt he was tracking inside, so rather than get bitched at Puck kicked his sneakers off at the foot of the chair.
Kurt grabbed at him then, pale, delicate fingers gripping tight into Puck's hoodie and yanking him closer. Puck stepped forward to press their bodies together, fisting his hands in the back of Kurt's sweater and frankly not giving a fuck if he ruined it. He crashed his mouth down against Kurt's, tongue thrusting out to taste the pale boy's mouth.
Together they stumbled back and crashed down onto the bed with a muffled thump. Gravity was pressing Puck's body down against the boy underneath him, creating a delicious friction that he was hesitant to break in order to let them both move up onto the bed properly. Puck pulled away just long enough to move, and took the opportunity to take his hoodie off. He pulled at the fabric of Kurt's sweater, sliding his hands up underneath until he found skin.
One of Kurt's silk-clad legs hooked over Puck's hip, pulling him closer and molding the lower half of their bodies together. Puck arched his back, pressing them together tighter, and when he leaned back down again his mouth sought Kurt's neck. He bit lightly, worrying at the pale skin with his teeth until he had marked a small bruise into the flesh.
Kurt's fingers dug in under Puck's shoulder blades. Puck could tell, just from the noise that Kurt bit back, that the other boy had just come in his pants.
"Too worked up to wait, Hummel?"
Kurt retaliated by biting down on Puck's lip with their next kiss. Pale hands pushed on his shoulders and Puck rolled, nearly falling off the edge of the bed before regaining his balance. By the time he was settled again Kurt had already unzipped his jeans and had shoved a hand inside. Soft, sure fingers wrapped around him and Puck closed his eyes.
All of the excitement and adrenaline built up over the night came roaring back into his system. The feel of Kurt's mouth against him, his fingers tight and teasing, sent a static shockwave through his body.
If they kept doing this - this routine of stalk-kill-fuck - past Puck's list, he had the feeling that he'd turn out just as freaky as Kurt when it came to death.
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Late September
Magic Li's was, at first glance, completely ignorable and totally overpriced. From the outside the store appeared run down, the paint on the windows chipped, the neon light about the door tacky rather than inviting. In the window live fish swam listlessly back and forth while depressed-looking crabs just sat there with their pincers tied to their bodies. Inside was all white and black tiling, with a menu board above the register that listed misspelled items that looked like they'd been priced at least 50% more than they were actually worth.
Even the parking lot was run down, the tarmac chipped, cracks in the sidewalk, and one lonely streetlamp that buzzed and emitted a pale orange light.
You would never know just by looking at it that the shop actually sold the best Chinese food in town. (And to top it off, the owners weren't even Chinese - they were Korean.) Puck had been going there every second Thursday of the month since practically forever. When he was a kid he'd gone with his mother, but now that he was old enough to drive and his mother didn't like leaving the house for anything but work Puck was usually just handed a couple of notes and trusted to bring back the usual for dinner.
He showed up at the shop just before the sun set completely, in that weird time before it started to get dark. He parked his truck outside and walked straight up to the counter to rattle off his usual order. The girl at the register - the owners' daughter - advised him of a twenty minute wait, so Puck nodded to her and walked back outside again intending to go around the block a couple of times on foot while he waited.
He got only as far as the edge of the building when he heard something that made him stop. It sounded like a scuffle, a quiet fight going on at the back of the building where there were no streetlamps and no security cameras - just a small staff parking area that was never used and a large dumpster belonging to the restaurant.
For a moment Puck had no idea why he'd stopped. It was none of his business what went on at the back of Magic Li's.
Then he heard the muffled sound of a very distinctive voice and knew why it concerned him. He recognised that voice. He even recognised that tone - indignant and just a tiny bit scared but trying hard not to show it. There was no contest, no decision. Puck squared his shoulders and made his way around the back of the building.
Kurt stood with his back against the wall, boxed in on one side by the dumpster and the other by a senior that Puck recognised from school. Nathan was tall, broad, and as well as being on the hockey team he spent his weekends at the gym. He was also a jerk who ran in the same general crowd as Karofsky, and right now he was totally asking for an ass-kicking.
"Hey," Puck called, catching the older boy's attention. "You want to back off there, assface?"
"Puckerman," Nathan said, glancing back over his shoulder. "You want to leave before you get your face pounded?"
Puck cracked his knuckles and let Nathan see it when he balled his hands into fists. "Wanna see who gets pounded? I've got twenty minutes to kill and I'm bored as fuck."
"I can take care of myself," Kurt piped up, glaring at both boys even as his voice trembled a little.
"Not a chance, Princess," Puck said, at the same time as Nathan snapped "Shut it, fag".
Puck made the first move. That's the most solid thing he could remember about the next couple of minutes. Puck threw the first punch, Nathan hit back, and from there it was all a blur. Puck dodged, blocked, and slammed his fist into Nathan's solar plexus to drive the wind from him. At one point Nathan managed to get a good hold on him, but Puck wasn't above playing dirty and slammed his knee into the older boy's groin to get him to let go. He slammed the toe of his steel-caps against the inside of Nathan's ankle and suddenly the boy was going down.
Puck went with him, using his weight to help slam him against the concrete step. Nathan grunted as the air was driven from his lungs again. He tried to get back up, but Puck was there with a knee on his back to stop him. A hand gripped Nathan's hair, slamming his forehead down against the concrete again, and one more.
"Puck!"
The shocked, nervous cry brought him back to reality. Puck looked down at the limp body underneath him. He stood up and backed off, knuckles stinging, parts of his torso aching where Nathan had gotten in a couple of really good hits. He noticed Kurt staring at him, face flushed, eyes wide, and self-consciously brushed dirt from his pants. "It's ok," he assured Kurt. "I'm fine. He's fine. Just knocked out." Puck poked Nathan with the toe of his boot. "He'll have one hell of a headache when he... Huh."
That was a lot of blood on the concrete. Puck pushed harder with his boot, he rolled Nathan over and then took a step back in surprise. The boy's eyes were still open, and blood was still seeping from the crack in his skull. "Holy shit."
"Oh my God," the whimper came from Kurt. "Oh my God," Kurt said again, sounding oddly breathless, "he's dead!"
For one very brief moment, just a split second, Puck considered calling the police. Or an ambulance. Hell, he considered rushing to the back door of Magic Li's and asking for help. Then other things began to pop into his mind. He'd just killed someone. Nathan. He'd just killed Nathan... and upon reflection... he wasn't at all worried about that. What he was worried about was getting blamed.
No. Getting caught.
Puck looked around the lot. He glanced at the building to check for security cameras - there had never been one here before, but it didn't hurt to check. Nothing. The only person around, the only witness, was Kurt Hummel. Puck looked at the other boy only to see Kurt staring at him with a very odd look on his flushed face. He looked excited, even reverent.
"Noah..." Kurt blinked, licked his lips, and took a deep, shuddering breath. "You just killed Nathan."
Puck didn't protest the use of his real name, too busy staring at Kurt and trying to figure out what the hell was going on. He looked the other boy up and down - face flushed, eyes wide and dark, body trembling, noticeable bulge in his already-tight pants. "Holy fuck," Puck blurted, "you're totally fucking hard right now."
"You're an idiot!" Kurt snapped, his cheeks flushing a brighter red than before. "You... You need to clean this up before anyone sees. You need to get rid of the evidence before someone calls the police."
"Me? What are you going to be doing?"
"I," Kurt informed him, raising a hand to brush his hair away from his forehead, "am going to go home. I'm not the one who killed him."
"No," Puck replied, unable to keep the taunt from his tone; "You just stood there and watched and popped a boner."
"You'll need bleach," Kurt continued, ignoring him. "And something disposable to wrap the body in. If you pour the bleach over the blood on the concrete it will disintegrate and they won't be able to get any significant forensic evidence from what's left behind. Then you'll need to get rid of the body..."
Puck stared at Kurt for a moment. "Have you done this before?"
"Don't be stupid!" Kurt snapped. The pale boy looked from Puck to the body and then away. "I simply have an interesting browser history and... and may have watched several films..." Kurt cleared his throat. "I'm going now. Remember, bleach. And don't leave your fingerprints anywhere either."