The thing about Mercedes, Kurt decided, was that she was both talented and original and didn't try to hide it. She was unapologetic, and he liked that because he was also unapologetic. (She was also clearly more evolved than most of the teenagers wandering around the halls of McKinley High.) She, he thought, would make a good friend. The only problem was that he had no clue how to actually make friends.
"I'd like a fag hag," he told Noah over the phone. "Someone to go shopping with me when you're not around."
"Someone who knows her Hermes from her Prada?" Noah suggested, a smirk in his voice.
"Knowledge of designers is purely optional," Kurt replied determinedly, "that can be taught. Talent and intelligence can not."
"So just talk to her, Kurt. Break out that platinum card I gave you and take her on a spree. Bond over mochas."
"What if she says no?"
"Baby, nobody in their right mind says no to you."
So when opportunity presented itself in the form of a single girl's couple-envy Kurt leaped at the opportunity. He found himself lying automatically when she asked him if he'd ever kissed anybody, used to the idea of keeping his relationship with Noah a secret, and quickly passed on to a much better idea. Shopping.
They bonded over accessories, not mochas, and a shared dislike of Rachel's melodrama and constant monopolising of solos. Several trips to the mall later, plus a few afternoons spent watching old musicals in Kurt's basement room or discussing music at lunch during school, and Kurt figured he'd successfully made a friend.
The only issue with so much close contact was that Mercedes started noticing when Kurt received mysterious texts in the middle of the afternoon, or had to hang up in the middle of a conversation to take another call. They spent so much time together that when Kurt begged off hanging out over the weekend with the weak excuse of 'dance class' Mercedes called him out on it by showing up on the doorstep on Saturday morning.
Kurt was half way through packing for a night away from home when she showed up at the top of the basement stairs.
"What are you doing here?" Kurt asked, surprised and still holding the folded-up silk pyjamas that he'd been about to tuck into his overnight bag.
"Your dad let me in," Mercedes explained as she walked down the steps. "I came over to see what was such a big secret that you can't tell me about."
"It's not a secret," Kurt protested, even though it was. He tucked the pyjamas away into his bag and then added the soft, padded case that he kept his makeup and moisturiser in. "I have to go soon or I'm going to be late."
"Go where?" Mercedes asked, crossing her arms.
Kurt closed his overnight bag and turned to look for his messenger bag, which was already packed with all of his usual gear. He couldn't see it on his desk or vanity, and when he turned around again Mercedes was holding the bag, one eyebrow arched. Kurt knew her well enough by now to know that she wasn't above holding his bag ransom for an answer. "The Hampton Inn," he said finally.
"Why?" Mercedes prompted, holding up his bag.
"I'm meeting someone."
"The same someone you keep texting in class and blowing me off on the phone for?"
Kurt nodded stiffly. "Yes."
"And you're staying the night?"
"Yes."
"And your dad doesn't care?"
"This isn't the first time I've done this," Kurt explained, nervously checking the time. Noah's flight would have gotten in to Lima Airport an hour ago, which was plenty of time for him to collect baggage and go through security. He'd probably be in a rental car by now, on his way to the hotel. "As long as I don't get in trouble and I'm back home in time to go to school on Monday he doesn't say anything."
"How often do you do this?" Mercedes asked, and it was clear that Kurt's answers had just opened up more questions for her. "Who are you going to see? Who do you talk to on the phone all the time?"
Kurt bit his bottom lip, then regretted it when he realised he'd have to reapply his lipgloss. He thought about lying to Mercedes, but he valued her friendship too much to risk losing it now. "I... My boyfriend," he said quietly. "I'm going to see my boyfriend. He lives in New York, so we don't get to see each other very often, but he flies down whenever he can. Once a week if I'm lucky."
"Once a week," Mercedes repeated, both eyebrows raised now. She didn't seem surprised to hear the word 'boyfriend', it was the other details she was having trouble with. "You have a boyfriend who lives in New York who flies down once a week and stays at the only three star hotel in the whole of Lima?"
Defeated, and sensing that he wasn't going to be getting his bag back any time soon, Kurt sighed and sat down on the edge of his bed. "Yes. He's sort of my sugar-daddy," Kurt admitted, and flashed her a sheepish little smile.
Mercedes crossed the room and sat herself down on the other side of Kurt's bed, one leg tucked up underneath her. "You have to tell me everything," she demanded, and pulled Kurt's messenger bag into her lap, "or you're not getting this back. Ok, I'll start you off. He's older, and he's gotta be rich... What's lover-boy's name?"
Kurt flushed. "Noah Puckerman."
Mercedes stared at him. "Boy, tell me you're joking."
Kurt shook his head. "I'm not."
"Noah Puckerman. The Noah Puckerman? As in owner of the most successful trio of fashion magazines since Vogue?" Mercedes was outright gaping at him. "He's like twenty years older than us!"
"Eleven," Kurt corrected her, "he's twenty-seven. Mercedes, please. You can't tell anyone." He bit his lip again and glanced at the basement door just to make sure that it was closed. "Not anyone," he stressed. "Noah could get into a lot of trouble and..."
"And?"
"And I... I'm in love with him."
Mercedes was silent for a moment. She handed over Kurt's bag and shook her head. "Boy, you are fixing for a heartbreak. I won't tell anyone, for now. But when you get your heart broken over this I'm going to be right here saying 'I told you so'."
Kurt sighed in relief. He threw the strap of his messenger bag over his shoulder, grabbed his overnight bag and jumped off the bed. He paused to hug his friend. "Thank you, Mercedes. I have to go," he added as he pulled away from her and hurried up the steps, "I'm going to be late!"
Kurt would admit to speeding a little on the way to the hotel, but he felt justified when he arrived and could see a black Porsche already parked in the lot's VIP space. The Porsche was a little tame compared to Noah's usual taste in cars, but Kurt could see the rental tag in the back window and couldn't imagine who else it would belong to. He entered the hotel lobby and went up to the front desk. The woman behind the counter gave him an odd look when he said "I'm here to see Noah Puckerman" but smiled politely enough when she told him to please wait while she called the room.
She picked up the phone on the desk and punched in a few numbers. Kurt half suspected that she was just humouring him, but then she heard the muffled sound of a voice answering the phone. "Mr. Puckerman?" The woman said, "I'm sorry to bother you, but there's a young man at the front desk who -" She was cut off by a few words on the other end of the line. "Of course," she said after a moment, "I will. Thank you for your time." The woman hung up the phone and turned back to Kurt. "Mr. Puckerman is on the top floor in room 317. He says you should go right up."
"Thank you," Kurt nodded politely and breezed past the reception desk to the elevators.
Less than a minute later he was standing outside room 317 on the third floor. He knocked on the door and stepped back.
He had to wait in the hall only three seconds before Noah flung open the door and grinned at him. "Baby, I missed you," Noah purred and leaned down to press a kiss to Kurt's lips in full view of anyone who might choose to walk past.
Kurt kissed back and slid his arms around Noah's neck as he tasted bitter coffee and the tiniest hint of mint. They didn't part until Noah had pulled him into the room. Kurt only let him away long enough to shut the door before he pulled the man back to him, eagerly seeking more of Noah's intoxicating kisses.
He let himself be walked back to the bed and dropped his messenger bag down beside it, his other bag already forgotten by the door. Arms wrapped around him, pulling him tight against Noah's hard, muscular body. God, Kurt loved Noah's body. He started undoing the buttons of Noah's shirt, impatient to see more of the man's smooth, olive skin. He had the shirt almost completely unbuttoned when he was distracted by large hands pushing the jacket from his shoulders.
Kurt let Noah undress him, knowing that his face was flushed and his hair mussed and not caring about that at all. He let the man strip him naked and push him down onto the neatly made double bed. He arched and writhed under Noah's clever hands and hot, wet mouth. He didn't notice that Noah must have stripped down at some point until the man's naked body was suddenly covering his own - skin to skin, burning hotter than hot. Kurt whimpered and pressed his face against Noah's neck when one large hand coaxed his leg up and to the side so the man could grind up against him from a different angle.
Kurt came with a whimper, slicking his and Noah's stomachs with more than sweat. He kept pushing his hips up to meet Noah's rolling downward thrusts, eagerly meeting his lips for messy, uncoordinated kisses. He knew when Noah was close from the way his body tensed, and just a few seconds later Kurt was watching the look on his face when he groaned.
'I did that', he thought, feeling smug and sated.
Noah kissed him one more time, then rolled off him and onto his side on the bed. Kurt still felt kind of shy being naked around him, but the way Noah looked at him sort of made up for it.
"You have no fucking idea how much I've been wanting to do that," Noah told him. "I love hearing your voice on the phone when I jerk off, but it's not the same. I want to be able to touch you like this..." He reached out and trailed a hand through the mess of sweat and semen that stained Kurt's pale skin. "All the time. I want to see your face when you come. I want to kiss you. I want to watch you suck my cock."
Kurt could feel his face flushing bright red, but he couldn't deny the thrum of arousal that swept through his body listening to Noah talk. "I want to," he admitted shyly, his eyes trailing slowly down Noah's naked body. "I think about it..."
He looked up again to see Noah smirking. "How about we stay in today, baby? We'll take a bath together, watch something on cable, mess around on the bed..."
Kurt couldn't see anything wrong with that idea.
.
.
As it turned out, Kurt never actually wound up using the pyjamas he'd packed. He wore them for about fifteen minutes in the evening after his skincare routine before Noah stripped him down again and pulled him close. Before he knew it Kurt was spreadeagled on the bed with two of Noah's fingers inside of him. He used his mouth to get Noah off for the first time, following the instructions that Noah panted out breathily.
Afterwards, curled against Noah's chest under the blankets on the stiff hotel bed, Kurt felt tired and content. He almost missed it when Noah informed him; "I'm thinking about buying a house here in Lima."
"What?" Kurt asked, pulling back a little so he could blink up into Noah's hazel eyes and try to gauge if the man was actually serious. "You want to buy a house here?"
"It makes sense," Noah said with a shrug, though Kurt didn't see it that way. "I'm sick of staying in hotels," he explained. "I'm down here practically every weekend. Why not get myself a summer home... in fucking Lima."
Kurt bit his lip. He spread his palm flat against Noah's chest, right over the man's heart. "Does it mean I'd get to see you more often? Given that a house is much more desirable accommodation than a three star hotel."
"A house means longer stays. And fucking conference calls and my PA bitching at me from the office."
"But you could stay longer."
"As long as it's your place too. You get a key," Noah told him with a smirk. "So you can show up any time you want whether I'm there or not."
"When will you start looking?" Kurt asked, the idea of Noah buying a house in Lima even more appealing than it had been before. He couldn't help but imagine what the house might look like on the inside, a classy interior design in colours that matched, original paintings on the walls. It would feel like a haven. He loved it already.
.
.
Barely a week later he received a key in the mail from a very flustered courier. Kurt was confused until his phone buzzed and he read the text from Noah telling him the address of their brand new, shiny, unfurnished house. 'rushing escrow for an extra ten thousand' the text read 'fucking greedy cows. ours on monday. decorate how you want.'
Kurt actually squealed.
.
.
He took Mercedes with him to view the house as a concession for having sworn her to silence. It was a four bedroom, two bathroom affair that boasted polished wood floors and a kitchen that was all black marble and stainless steel. If Mercedes hadn't believed that Kurt was involved with Puckerman before, she certainly believed it now.
"I'm thinking ultramodern," Kurt said as he stood in the middle of the empty living room, imagining what would go where. "In blacks and beige."
"I'm thinking you're the luckiest boy I have ever met," Mercedes replied, potentially revaluating her initial belief that Kurt was headed for nothing but heartbreak. Someone who was in it just for a quick bump'n'grind with a slice on the side usually didn't buy an entire freaking house for them.
Kurt grinned at her. "I know. I am, aren't I?" He dug in his bag for a moment and whipped out the platinum card Noah had given him. "Let's go furniture shopping."
.
.
Noah was there on Monday when the house officially became his, and when Kurt had arranged for his furniture choices to be delivered. He stood in the kitchen, a bottle of rum in one hand and a plastic cup in the other. After a moment he thought better of it and tossed the cup, knocked back a shot straight from the bottle, and placed the rum on the counter.
"Cheers," he said to himself, and smirked.
He approved every single choice Kurt had made when it came to outfitting the house with the bare basics of a design. He could see the potential in the few pieces, and resolved to contact his bank for a higher spending limit on Kurt's card before he left Lima again.
Kurt was glowing, in the middle of his element as he directed the delivery men on where to send the furniture. He looked like an unholy cross between stuck up billionaire housewife and ruthless executive, and Noah thought it was nothing short of adorable. It proved too much of a feat to wait until the delivery men had gone, so Noah said a quiet 'fuck it' and just kissed the boy full on the mouth anyway.
"Want to go shopping for home wares?" Noah asked the teen, thinking about kitchen appliances and matching silverware.
Kurt, who loved anything to do with shopping and visual aesthetics, beamed at him.
.
.
"... it's clear favouritism," Kurt complained, taking a glass of sparkling mineral water from the kitchen to the downstairs living room where Evita was playing, muted, on the widescreen. He sat down and swapped the phone to his other hand.
"Rachel gets all the solos without even needing to try, which is perfectly fine for almost everybody else because they manage to snare decent solo time of their own. But me? I'm in the chorus, forever in the background, and shot down the one time I actually ask outright for a chance to sing the song. Because it's not 'accessible' enough."
"Schuester is a douche," Noah replied. "Fuck accessible. I don't know about this Rachel chick, but you have a voice to die for."
Kurt sighed. He wished that Noah was on the couch beside him instead of somewhere in his apartment in New York. It felt good to vent to him over the phone, but it felt better when the purr of the older man's voice was right by his ear. "In any case," Kurt said, his eyes on the muted Madonna as she cooed Evita's last goodbye, "it's all academic. Mr. Schue has made up his mind."
"This is where his being a hardass gets in the way. Alright, baby... When do the rehearsals for this new song start?"
"Thursday," Kurt replied, frowning a little as he thought about Rachel belting out his number. "I may just decide to be sick that day."
"Don't do that. Listen, Kurt. I'll take the day off tomorrow and come down to talk to Schuester myself."
Flustered, Kurt nearly dropped his water on the couch. "What? No. Noah, you don't have to do that."
"You want to sing the song, right? You'll sing the fucking song or I'll punch Schuester in the face."
"Noah... I appreciate your enthusiasm, but -"
"But nothing," Noah interrupted him. "I'll take you out to dinner while I'm there. You'll just have to owe me one."
Kurt couldn't argue with Noah when he was in one of his stubborn moods, and he didn't really want to. The idea of getting the chance to sing his favourite song was far too tempting to flirt with false modesty. He liked the idea of Noah getting Will to back down off his high horse. "And how can I repay you?"
"Shoot my PA?"
Kurt was startled into laughter at the suggestion, having expected something completely different, something more serious. Possibly sexual.
"Seriously," Noah chuckled. "I'll think of something, baby. Don't you worry." There was a lull in the conversation before Noah spoke again. "You staying at our place tonight?"
"Mm-hm," Kurt replied. He bit his lip, watched the credits roll, and added; "I'm not even sure my dad notices that I'm gone half the time. I practically live here and he hasn't said a word."
"Do you want him to?"
"No... But it would be nice if I thought he cared."
.
.
Will Schuester liked to think that he was a pretty perceptive guy. He might be a little manipulative sometimes, but you had to be if you wanted to avoid the issues that came from other people's manipulations. Will was also the kind of guy who liked to encourage his students to be the best they could be, to open their wings and not be afraid of what other people had to say about it. He liked to be inspiring. He liked to imagine that he was helping give his students the kind of experience in high school that he'd had.
He didn't like to be reminded of the few times he'd had his head shoved into a cistern or water balloons thrown across the ground with careful precision only to burst right against his crotch, delivering the double-whammy of pain and humiliation.
The man currently standing in the doorway, casually blocking Will's exit from the class room reminded him of those times. The man was tall, broad-shouldered, olive-skinned, and screamed confidence. He wore a suit that looked like it had been made for him, which struck Will as being really out of place.
"Will," the man said, and his voice had hardly changed since high school, "we need to talk."
"Puck?" Will asked, just to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. He'd been sure Puck had moved out of Lima sometime after graduation. "What are you doing here?"
"Back into the classroom, Schuester," Puck said, and suddenly it was almost like Will was a student again, being backed into a corner by a bully. "We're not having this conversation out in the hall."
"I don't know if you've realised this, but lunch is going to be over in a few minutes," Will said, reminding himself that high school was almost ten years ago and that he, not Puck, was the one in authority here. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave before my next class gets here."
"Your next class can sit and spin. I already wasted enough time looking for you in the staff room. Kurt Hummel," Puck said bluntly. "You're going to give him a shot at that solo."
"What?" Will wasn't entirely sure he'd heard right. He gave the other man an odd look. "You came here to talk about my glee kids?"
"Just the one, Schuester. Kurt. The kid with the girly voice. The kid you knocked back."
"Is this about Defying Gravity? That issue is resolved. Rachel sings the lead this time, and I promised to find an appropriate song for Kurt."
"You mean you gave the part to your underage girlfriend."
"Now just a second," Will started, disturbed by the taunt. He knew it was just an insult, a throwaway line that Puck was using to bait him, but he couldn't let Puck get away with just walking all over him. "There is nothing inappropriate going on between me and any of my students. Rachel is a good singer, the choir's female lead, and -"
"No." Puck held up a hand. "Don't give me some stars-in-your-eyes, everybody believe in themselves bullshit. I don't want to hear it."
"Puck -"
"You're going to let Kurt try out for the lead in that song, or so help me I'll drag you to the boys room right fucking now and give you the swirlie of your life."
Will looked at the other man and the stubborn set of his shoulders. He had no doubts that Puck would actually try it, and only minimal conviction that he wouldn't succeed. "You want me to let Kurt audition for the solo?"
"I want you to give the kid a chance."
Will stopped and thought about it, and not just out of a reluctance to revisit his less pleasant high school experiences. He thought about his own preconceptions, about what he was trying to teach his kids with their wheelchair experiment. He sighed.
Puck must have sensed his defeat because he nodded. "I'll be watching, Schuester."
Puck turned around and left the classroom. Will watched him go, suddenly aware of the milling crowd of students clustered outside the door. He waved them inside, starting to think about how exactly he could pitch the idea of a tryout without Rachel throwing a fit.
.
.
Kurt was a little surprised to see the silver Porsche in the school's parking lot at lunch. He knew Noah had taken to renting the Porsche while he was in Lima, mainly to cut down on the mileage being eaten up by the Lamborghini and to enable Noah to take a plane instead of spending five hours behind the wheel just for a weekend away. Still, Kurt reasoned, Noah had said he would talk to Will for him and he couldn't do that without actually showing up at the school.
He put it from his mind and enjoyed the rest of his break between classes. If he started thinking about seeing Noah later on he'd only lose focus in class and possibly make a fool of himself if he was caught daydreaming.
He was so determined not to think about it that he completely forgot that Noah would have spoken to Mr. Schuester.
It all came back in a rush the instant he sat down in the choir room and Mr. Schue announced that instead of automatically giving Rachel the part like he'd said, he was going to let Kurt try out for it as well and have the rest of the choir vote on who was the better singer for the part.
Kurt was ecstatic. He was even feeling gracious enough to announce that the rest of the club had to promise to vote for the better singer, and not just the person they liked more (which was him). Even having said that he was pretty sure he'd wind up with the lead.
He even let Rachel go first.
It was maybe only partly because he wanted to watch her face when he totally destroyed her through song. The look on Will's face was strangely similar. Kurt took a breath, held it, and let it go only when all ten hands raised for him.
.
.
"What made you change your mind?" Kurt asked, a little dryly, when the rest of the choir had already filed out of the room. It was just him and Mr. Schuester left, and the room seemed much larger without the rest of the glee kids. Quieter, Kurt reflected, more serious. As befitted his question.
"Puck came to speak to me," Will said. He corrected himself a moment later at Kurt's puzzled look. "Noah Puckerman. We used to call him 'Puck' in high school. I didn't know you two were friends."
"Yes," Kurt said, watching Will's face closely for any sign that he thought Noah's involvement unusual. "We've known each other for a while now."
Will smiled at him. "Well, it's good to see you making friends outside school, Kurt."
For just a moment Kurt entertained the idea of telling his teacher in blunt detail about exactly how friendly he and Noah actually were, if only to smack Mr. Schuester in the face with his own obliviousness. This was not the first time that Mr. Schue had completely failed to grasp what was actually going on when it came to Kurt and social interactions. "Thank you," Kurt said instead. He paused by the door to add; "For the record, all I wanted was a chance."
Will nodded at him. "From now on I'll be sure to give you one."
Kurt left wondering if Mr. Schuester even realised that he'd just implied that he never had before.
.
.
Noah was already there when Kurt arrived at the house, dressed impeccably in tailored Armani and pacing back and forth behind the living room couch as he finished up a call to someone that Kurt guessed was most likely his PA. Kurt had never actually spoken to the man himself, but Noah had told him enough that he automatically pictured a thin, twitchy man with hipster glasses and a penchant for overreactions. The fact that Noah hadn't fired him yet spoke in his favour. "... do I pay you for, you creepy little nerd?"
Kurt didn't interrupt the call. He walked into the living room and gave Noah a kiss on the cheek before he continued on to the bedroom to put his bag away and get changed. By the time he emerged again Noah was done with his phone call. He pulled Kurt close and wrapped his arms around the teen's waist. "Hey baby," Noah smiled, "how was school?"
"Mr. Schuester gave me the solo," Kurt reported, sliding his hands up Noah's chest. "After I auditioned and won the part through a unanimous vote. He told me that 'Puck' made him change his mind. He said they used to call you that in high school. He also said that it's good that I'm making friends outside of school."
Noah smirked. "Are we friends, Kurt?"
"I think we're a little more than friends, Puck."