Title: Suburban Trash
Rating: R
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Puck/Kurt, OCs
Genre: Drama.
Word Count: 2332
Warning: Sex, swearing, sometimes-graphic violence. Possible OOCness.
Disclaimer: I don't own it and I'm not making any money from it, this is pure entertainment and not intended to offend.
Author Notes: This was the chapter I decided that yes, they do make bets like that all the time.
Summary: Kurt has this plan for how his life is meant to turn out. This plan includes very specific ideas of what he should be doing, and where he should be living, and who should conveniently die.
.
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Normally the Thursday morning headlines were dull community or sports pieces, political news, the sorts of things only vaguely relevant to most people's interests. Normally you didn't buy the paper on a Thursday for the headlines. This Thursday was different. Emblazoned across the top of the page were the words 'Local Businessman Missing', right next to a recent photograph of a smiling thirty-something year old man.
According to the article, local man Robert Cripley had been reported missing by his wife, after he hadn't come home in two days. A search of his office revealed nothing, but Cripley's car had been found parked on the outskirts of town near the interstate, along with his wallet and keys. At present the evidence pointed to foul play, but there were no suspects at this time.
Doug shook his head at the paper, frowning as he read the article the full way through. He was on his second coffee of the morning, dressed and ready to head off to work, and already the media was trying to sell him a world full of bad news. The article didn't make you read between the lines to figure out that nobody held much hope for Cripley turning up alive.
"It's such a shame," Marcia said, clucking her tongue.
Doug looked up from the paper and across at his wife, who was buttering toast at the counter, dressed in a sensible skirt, blouse, and fluffy bunny slippers. "What's a shame?" Doug asked, thinking that she might mean the newspaper headlines.
"Well they've been here for nearly three weeks and we still hardly know them," Marcia replied, turning around to look at her husband, a piece of buttered toast held in her hand. "They hardly ever mix with the rest of the neighbours. Remember when we first moved here? We were on first names with the whole street in under a week."
Doug sighed. He glanced to the left, in the direction of 56. "Maybe they're just private people, Marcie. Not everyone likes to socialise so much. Anyway, you're on a first name basis aren't you?"
"I am," Marcia agreed. "But I seem to be the only one." She looked thoughtful, tapping a corner of her toast against her mouth. "You know, maybe it's all about timing. Janice told me she went over with a pie the other day but nobody answered."
"Maybe they weren't home."
"Well there is that, but the truck was parked right there in the driveway." Marcia looked even more thoughtful. "Maybe I should ask Kurt if his partner is a deep sleeper. He might not have heard her."
"Or he knew better than to let Janice in without a good line of defence," Doug suggested. He folded up the paper and set it down by his coffee cup. "You know what she's like. She's a nice woman but she could talk the ear off a statue."
"I was thinking..."
Doug waited patiently for Marcia to continue, adding in a subtle glance at his watch.
"You know that barbecue we were planning on having on the sixth?" Marcia paused, and smiled. "I think we should make it a get to know you barbecue. We'll send out invites to everyone on the street, B-Y-O drinks, and give everyone a chance to get to know our new neighbours."
Doug shook his head. "I have an argument for that," he told his wife, "but I need to get going if I'm going to be at work on time." He stood and crossed the kitchen to kiss her on the cheek. "I'll just say goodbye to the kids..."
"It's ok," Marcia told him, walking behind him into the living room where Holly and Braedon were eating their cereal in front of the TV. "I know you're not entirely comfortable with the fact that our neighbours are gay. But really, Doug. They're a couple. It's not like they're going to be checking you out."
"Marcie," Doug replied, and kissed Holly's forehead, "I'm not a homophobe."
"What's a homophone?" Holly asked, looking perplexed.
"You're fielding that one," Marcia informed her husband.
Doug left for work without having managed to express his opinion on why exactly a get to know you barbecue was a bad idea. The truth was that the couple in 56 did make him uncomfortable, but he was sure it wasn't for the reason that Marcia thought. Doug was an enlightened, twenty-first century male. He watched Queer Eye and still sometimes went to support meetings at AA, where he interacted with a cross-section of society that spanned a vast range of race, age, and socio-economic status. He wasn't uncomfortable because the couple in 56 happened to be a pair of homosexual lovers.
He was uncomfortable because he kept getting the feeling that at least one of the men in 56 really didn't want anything to do with the rest of the people who lived on Hartley.
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Kurt had been one of the first people to know about Robert Cripley's disappearance. In fact, he was the second person ever to be informed of it – and straight from the source. One quick phone call after midnight from the side of the road, cars passing by to distort the sound of Puck's voice, and Kurt had snuggled in under the blankets in their bed to wait until his boyfriend got home. He had spent the next hour waiting patiently, and the hour after that squirming around under the blankets until he finally gave up and got out of bed. He had paced around, stealing impatient glances at whatever timepiece happened to be close by. Puck had finally made it home just before three in the morning, only to be jumped on as soon as the front door was closed behind him.
Kurt woke up later that morning thoroughly regretting his measly three hours of sleep and had dragged himself out to the kitchen for caffeination, resenting his boyfriend for having the foresight to have arranged a day off. Kurt still needed to go in to work. He smoothed ivory foundation over his face to hide the circles under his eyes, perched a pair of expensive sunglasses on his nose, and pumped himself full of coffee.
He spent the day in a stupor, joked about partying too late, and left early. Kurt flopped onto the couch and fell asleep in front of Bewitched, only to wake up an hour later to a plate of French toast and a very thorough massage.
"Mm," Kurt purred, leaning back into the hands that rubbed their way down his back, "I have the best boyfriend in the world."
"Don't think you don't owe me," Puck replied. He kissed the back of Kurt's neck.
"The world, darling," Kurt said. "And so much more."
It took two days for the story to hit the newspapers, and by that time Kurt was very much recovered from his sleepless night at the beginning of the week. He heard the news in the morning at work and expressed only moderate concern – the sort that was appropriate coming from someone who knew of the man but had never met him, and had never said more than two words to the man's father. He chipped in ten dollars for a bouquet to go to the father. An act of kindness that he managed to suggest in a way that made it sound like another designer's idea and not his.
Kurt had a feeling that an expensive and beautiful wreath of flowers being delivered to Matthew Cripley's office would be one more straw for the camel's back. The breaking point would be, of course, when he realised he was never getting to see his son again. Kurt sat back to wait patiently for that day. He didn't much care if it took days, or weeks, or even a couple of months.
His plan wasn't time-sensitive. He had all of the time in the world.
When Kurt got home that afternoon Puck's truck was already parked outside the house by the curb, leaving the driveway for Kurt's jeep. Feeling exceptionally chipper after a day of nothing but good news, Kurt shouldered his bag and hopped out of the car with a smile. The house was really starting to feel like a real home. As much as he was sure Puck would deny it, he was also sure that the other man was feeling the same way.
Kurt climbed the three steps up to the front porch and was just about to open the front door when a voice calling his name made him stop. He turned to see Marcia from next door standing by the short fence that divided their properties, waving at him. Kurt smiled at her and nodded. "Marcia," he greeted her pleasantly, having decided that he liked her enough to possibly adopt her as a second-tier friend. The kind he could gossip with and go on shopping trips with, not the kind he shared any significant bond with. "What are you doing outside with no shoes on? You'll ruin your skin that way."
"Psh," Marcia responded, and laughed. "If a little grass and dirt ruins your skin then you have a problem."
Kurt moved to lean against the porch railing. "I always have a problem," he told her primly. "It's such a tragedy being so attractive. I really have no idea how I cope."
"I'm sure it affects you deeply and terribly," Marcia nodded. "But," she said, holding up a finger. "I'm hoping you can put aside your tragic beauty for a while this weekend and come over on Saturday for a barbecue. Half the street is going to be there, and we'd love to have you and Noah as well."
"A barbecue?" Kurt repeated thoughtfully. He had picked this neighbourhood for the kind where everyone knew each other's names. It wouldn't hurt, he thought, to have more than one good character reference under his belt. "What time?"
"Oh, just come over any time in the afternoon. It's going to be at our house in the back yard, so you can show up whenever you like. It's going to be BYO if you want anything alcoholic to drink," Marcia added, "otherwise there will be soda and juice for the kids."
"I'll have to bring something nice for dessert," Kurt announced, thinking of the price of large cakes and not of making anything himself, "since you're the one hosting."
"You don't have to do that," Marcia assured him, though he knew a dessert wouldn't be turned away if he showed up with one. "Just bring your sweet self and your lovely partner and we'll take care of the rest."
"I'll let Noah know not to make any plans," Kurt agreed. He waved a goodbye to his neighbour and unlocked the front door. By the time he closed the door behind him Marcia was already headed back inside to her own house. He found Puck sitting in front of the TV, beer in hand, looking very much like a typical, average American male. The show that was playing had something to do with from the ground up renovations, which was no doubt considered very masculine.
Kurt dropped his bag on the kitchen counter. He slipped off his jacket, and disappeared into the bedroom to change into something a little more comfortable for around the house. He returned to the living room in one of Puck's shirts and a pair of ass-hugging jeans.
Puck took one look at him and said: "No."
Kurt pursed his lips, if only to bend down and kiss his boyfriend's lips, blocking the TV screen. "I haven't said a thing. You have no idea what I want."
"I know you want something," Puck responded. He tried looking around Kurt, and gave up after a few short seconds when it became clear that the other man wasn't going to move. Instead Puck turned his hazel eyes back to Kurt's face and arched an eyebrow. "Is it couch-sex?"
"No," Kurt said, climbing into Puck's lap and wrapping his arms around the other man's neck. "But if you're lucky I may change my mind on that."
Puck's hands settled on Kurt's hips. "So what is it?"
Kurt smiled. He leaned forward and kissed Puck again. He made it slow and sensual, slipping his tongue out to flick against the other man's lips. By the time the kiss ended one of Puck's hands had migrated to Kurt's ass, and the other had crept up to cup the back of his head. Kurt pressed another quick kiss to his boyfriend's mouth, then told him; "We've been invited to a barbecue on Saturday."
Puck groaned and let his head fall back against the back of the couch.
"They'll have hamburgers," Kurt wheedled, running his hands over Puck's shaved head. "I hear that's traditional fare for a barbecue, isn't it? Lots of red meat, a little salad, large quantities of beer... which we will have to bring ourselves."
"They're a bunch of nosy bitches," Puck protested.
"I'm not above bribing you with couch sex and blowjobs." Kurt raised his eyebrows pointedly and rolled his hips deliberately forward against the other man.
"Can I start a fight?" Puck asked, hands wandering up under the t-shirt that fit him perfectly but that hung off Kurt's frame with plenty of room to spare. Kurt knew he wasn't serious (or at least wouldn't do it, even if he was serious). Instead of answering he arched his back and took the shirt off, leaving him sitting in Puck's lap wearing nothing but a pair of jeans. Puck leaned forward to kiss the pale skin laid bare in front of him. "I give even odds," he said, "for some broad hitting on me in front of you, or some douche trotting out the 'f' word."
"Fifty on you actually enjoying yourself."
Puck chuckled against Kurt's collarbone. "I'll take that bet," he said, and got to work sucking a mark into pale skin.