"So how much trouble are you in?" Kurt asks, his breath warm on the back of Puck's ear.
Puck shrugs and continues drawing on his arm with his black marker. He's really digging skulls today, but they're just not coming out as badass as he wants them to. Maybe some terrifying red eyes?
"Puck, talk to me."
"About what?" he says gruffly, looking over his shoulder so Kurt can see his face and the black eye there. "About how my ma kicked the shit outta me after the cops told her what we were doing?"
Kurt growls a little and pulls Puck by the jaw so he can get a better look at the bruise. Puck lets him. "She had no fucking right."
Puck nods in agreement and shivers when Kurt presses the pad of his thumb into the bruise. It makes him feel wanted, useful, owned. Licking his lips, he says, "She wants me to go back to dating girls."
Kurt lets up on the pressure and smooths his hand down Puck's unmarked cheek. "Do you want to go back to dating girls? Being the perfect high school football star?"
"Fuck, no, babe," Puck replies, taking Kurt's hand from his face and kissing the dead songbird tattoo above his wrist. "I'm not that guy. Never was."
"No, I guess not," Kurt says wistfully. He takes Puck's face in his hands and pulls him up into a tight kiss, ignoring the study hall monitor when she calls across the cafeteria at them.