Title: Mourir pour la danse

Author: L3af Con3yb3ar

Rating: M

Warnings: AU, OOC, Explicit Sexual Content, Dub-Con, Crude Language, Cross-dressing, Graphic Violence, Character Deaths

Characters: Kurt Hummel, Noah Puckerman, Blaine Anderson, Rachel Berry, Finn Hudson, Jesse St. James, Mike Chang, and others

Disclaimer: I do not own Black Swan, Glee, Swan Lake, or anything affiliated.

(This chapter contains explicit sexual content).

Part Four

Dressed in an expensive Armani tuxedo, courtesy of Puck, Kurt entered the lobby of the theatre, already filled with rich, old sponsors dressed in fancy tuxes and designer dresses. He noticed most of the other dancers already scattered about, comfortably socializing.

With a daunted breath, he scanned the area, searching for someone, anyone to speak to, as he felt entirely out of his element. Brittany, who stood with Santana, spotted him and waved. He squinted and saw her mouthing at him to come join them but Santana grimaced his way and pulled her through the crowd, instead joining Jesse and his date. It seemed as if Jesse had been on a crusade to turn everyone against him ever since he'd been cast as the lead.

Jealous, alone, and small in the packed area, Kurt made his way to the edge of the room and stood near one of the large marble pillars. The week before, he'd made it clear to Puck that he didn't belong at this extravagant event but the older man insisted that it would be rude of the company's new Swan Prince to miss the benefit gala for the ballet. As soft piano music played, he awkwardly stood there, playing with his tie and cuffs and watched the upper-east side crowd mingle with each other.

"Kurt," he felt a gentle brush against his shoulder and looked up to see Puck, dressed handsomely in a designer tuxedo. He didn't bother shaving for the party, but it worked out in his favor. Kurt thought he looked perfect, "There you are." Puck handed him a glass of champagne and kissed him on the cheek, smirking at the growing blush under the brunet's eyes. Kurt didn't drink any of the champagne, "You look…you look stunning."

"Thank you." He avoided eye-contact, deciding not to mention that Puck himself had bought it for him as an incentive to coming to the event—or that the older man looked far more handsome than he did.

"Is something wrong?"

"No," Kurt shook his head, "I'm fine," he lied and pressed himself closer to Puck for comfort, who wrapped a free arm around his waist.

"You don't want to be here, do you?"

"It's a bit overwhelming."

Puck scoffed and squeezed his side, "Is there something wrong with my showing you off?"

"None of the company members even like me," Kurt said, "What makes you think all of these people will have something positive to say?"

"Because I'll have them thrown out if they don't," Puck joked.

"You don't have to protect me."

Waving at passing couple, Puck replied, "Yes, I do," he pressed a kiss to Kurt's temple, "Think you can make it through another hour?"

Kurt sighed, hesitantly taking a sip of champagne and grimacing at the taste, "My stomach hurts."

Solemnly, Puck nodded and offered his arm, "I'll introduce you around," he leaned closer and threatened, "For god's sake, at least pretend to look happy."

Kurt gasped at the quiet command, then frowned and took the crook of his arm, following closely as Puck maneuvered them through the crowd. They approached an elderly—rich—couple and Kurt tried his best to smile, the collar of his shirt suddenly feeling tighter.

Puck gently pushed the brunet in front of him, keeping a hand on his lower back, "Everyone, I want you to meet Kurt Hummel, our new swan prince," he grinned, flaunting off his prize, "Kurt, this is Mr. and Mrs. Fabray."

The elderly woman, her face caked in make-up, held out a bony hand, adorned with heavy jewelry, "A pleasure, my dear," Kurt bowed his head and took her hand.

"Nice to finally see a young face, Noah," Mr. Fabray added, eyeing Kurt up and down before licking his lips, much to the younger man's dismay, "How old?" Noticing Kurt's discomfort, Puck gently gripped his arm and forced a smile.

"Excuse us for a moment." He led the brunet away from the couple, and once out of earshot, "Ignore him—he's a pig, but one of our biggest sponsors. I apologize."

Kurt nodded and took a sip of his drink, "It's fine." They stopped at the stairs and Kurt watched Puck grip his glass, angrily, avoiding Kurt's eyes. "Noah, it's okay," he soothed, smoothing the older man's tux-suit, "Don't be mad…"

"And he should know better, he has a daughter your age—he should know better." Kurt nodded and stood on his toes to kiss Puck's lips, hoping to avoid any conflicts. "Come," smiling, Puck led him up the staircase to the landing, overlooking the lobby.

Eyes wide, Kurt nervously watched the crowd intermingle below and Puck caressed his face, "Stand up straight," he chided, "Chin high." He stood behind Kurt and placed a hand on his back, "Remember, you're a prince now."

Kurt took another sip of champagne and followed his instructions, his stomach tightening. Puck held his hand and faced the room.

"Everyone, your attention, please!" Below, the guests looked up at them, hundreds of eyes gazing at once. Kurt took a large gulp of his drink, gripping Puck's hand tighter in apprehension. "Please, excuse the interruption. Undoubtedly, I'm sure by now many of you have heard the news of our former dancer's departure. Rachel Berry has accepted the offer to dance for the Mariinsky Ballet in Russia." At the soft, applause, Kurt felt his heart drop. He was still convinced that she had decided to leave the company because of him.

"But as we say 'adieu' to one Odette, we welcome another. You may have noticed this dazzling creature by my side," Puck grinned, running a thumb over Kurt's hand as he blushed and looked away from the crowd, "Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you our new star, Kurt Hummel." There was some restrained, polite applause. "Bow," Puck whispered to Kurt.

Kurt stepped forward and gracefully bowed his head, a genuine smile coming to his face as the applause grew. His eyes scanned the crowd.

Puck continued, "Soon, you will all have the pleasure of seeing him perform in our all-new production of Swan Lake," he raised his glass, "Tonight, we toast to him," the rest of the room followed, "To all of you, to Rachel's wonderful transition, to Kurt's thrilling debut, and to the light and dark in all of us," he clinked his glass with Kurt's and downed his drink. Kurt followed. Puck smiled at him, approvingly, and kissed him on the mouth then offered his arm. Bashfully closing his eyes, Kurt smiled and took Puck's arm, following him down the stairs into the horde.

The sponsors and guests surrounded him, leaning in for a kiss on the cheek, offering their hands, and Kurt did his best to preserve a smile, despite there being so many of them. Somehow, he lost Puck in the scuffle. Finally overwhelmed, Kurt politely excused himself from the crowd, pushing his way toward the bathroom.

Hidden away from the zealous crowd in a bathroom, Kurt stared, disapprovingly, at an open gash in the cuticle of his middle finger. He picked at the skin before pumping some liquid soap into his hands and began scrubbing, allowing the water to rinse it down the drain; however the peeling only continued to bother him. He bit down on his lip and started pulling the piece of skin. The abrupt knock on the door, or the sting in his finger, made him flinch.

"Just a second!" he cried in a shaken voice, his forehead clammy with sweat. He ignored the pounding on the door and continued to pull the loose skin back, whimpering as he tore a thick layer all the way to the knuckle, "Oh my god…" Blood gushed from the wound and dripped into the sink, turning some of the water a dark red color. "I said: Just a second!" He tore his eyes away from his hand to shout at whoever was on the other side of the door.

His eyes widened in bewilderment when he looked at his finger, which was clear of any blood or abrasions, as was the sink. In fact, the loose skin seemed to be back in place, as if Kurt never touched it at all. He nervously glanced up at his reflection in the mirror and proceeded to finish up, wondering if his mind had been playing tricks on him again. He was way too tired to be here, whether Puck wanted him to or not.

Turning off the faucet and drying his hands, he regained his composure and attempted a smile in the mirror. He held his chin high, and stalked to the exit, unlocking and opening the door. "Come on, open the fuck up!" Mike had his fist raised, about to bang on it again. His face brightened when Kurt emerged, "Hey!"

Kurt smiled and avoided his eyes, "Sorry."

"No, it's totally cool!" Mike said, "Forgive me—that was rude. I just had like four glasses of wine and I kinda have to—

"Right," Kurt interrupted and stepped to the side, allowing him to enter, "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, thanks," Mike grabbed his arm—what was with everyone doing that to him lately? Sure, he might have been smaller than everyone else and he and Puck were sort of dating but that didn't give anyone else the right to shove and grab and throw him around like a ragdoll. He had to deal with enough of that in high school. Why should he have to continue to put up with it? Regardless, he turned to Mike, interested in what he had to say, "And hey, I think you looked great up there—during the toast. Despite all of the rehearsals and stuff, I'm pretty excited to perform with you."

Kurt courteously smiled again and nodded, "Excuse me..."

He rushed out of the bathroom, leaving Mike to wonder if he'd said anything to somehow offend the brunet. Was he just too shy to engage in friendly conversation? Or was he even aware of the man's sad attempt at flirtation?

Mike shrugged it off, until something on the floor caught his eye.

Curious, he bent down to pick up a single black feather.

Kurt entered the empty auditorium, most of the house-lights off. The large velvet curtain loomed above the stage—displaying some of the half-finished sets—with a few warm spotlights scattered about. Slowly, Kurt made his way down the aisle, stopping in front of the orchestra pit. Looking around again, he climbed the steps leading up to the stage, in eyes wandering in astonishment at the large space. He smiled, imagining people in the thousands of empty seats, cheering for him…applauding him.

Carefully taking off his tux jacket, he threw it aside, slipping out of his shoes next. He began moving through a routine, closing his eyes while allowing his feet to take him through the steps. Gracefully raising his arms, he hummed the familiar music, twirling about the stage—completely in his own world. For the first time, his movement wasn't controlled. He felt completely at ease with the choreography, once he didn't try so hard to master it.

An abrupt applause broke his concentration and he opened his eyes, he stopped dancing.

"Wh—who's there?"

He stared into the dark wings, gasping when he saw a shadow move.

"Hello?"

Blaine, tipsy and probably coked up on drugs, emerged from the wings, a grin plastered on his face and a glass of wine in his hand, "Hey."

Self-conscious, Kurt slipped his shoes back on and moved to retrieve his jacket, a blush on his cheeks.

"Wait, hey—I'm sorry," Blaine said quickly, "You don't have to stop. I didn't know anyone else was in here."

"Uhm… sorry," Kurt said, avoiding his eyes.

Blaine shook his head, "Don't apologize to me," he was dressed smartly in a tuxedo as well; his black hair slicked back, "That was really pretty."

"Thank you."

"Needed to blow off some steam?"

Kurt nodded, his eyes darting around to figure out an escape route. Aware of this, Blaine smirked.

"You don't have to be afraid of me," he took a drink of his wine, "I'm harmless, I promise. Oh, and look, we can finally have that drink!" he held out the wine glass toward Kurt, who politely declined by shaking his head.

"That's okay."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

"It'd make the party less unbearable," Kurt shook his head again, "Suit yourself," another sip, "More for me!" a grin.

Kurt started toward the stairs to walk down into the house, feeling uncomfortable being in the same perimeter of the strange, short man.

"You know, if you need to blow off some steam, then really fucking do it!" The brunet turned around, staring at Blaine in disbelief. Blaine scoffed at his expression and downed the rest of his drink. He then kicked off his shoes, smiling as he did so, "What? Don't look at me like I'm retarded! I'm serious—fuck, I'm practically offering you free therapy here!"

Kurt folded his arms, "…and how do you suggest I do that?"

"Duh, dumb-dumb, it's called 'emotional expression'," he said, setting down his wine glass onto the stage.

"Right."

"Ugh, here I'll show you," Blaine walked a ways from Kurt and suddenly launched into the last part of the Big Swan choreography... not at all graceful…and not much effort put into it.

"That's very sloppy-looking," Kurt said with a cringe.

Blaine chuckled, "I bet you can't guess how I'm feeling!"

"You're uhm…unsteady?"

"Ding, ding, ding!" he shouted, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. And then he took a bow, arms outstretched, nearly toppling over, before bursting into a hysterical fit of giggles, "I think I've had way too much to drink," he paused, staring at Kurt indifferently, "Wait, wait, what was your name again? Clark?"

Appalled, Kurt stepped forward, "It's Kurt."

"Right!" Blaine clapped his hand and shook his head, laughing at himself, "I was kidding anyway. Your turn!"

"I don't think—

"Nooooo! No, no, no, no, no!" Blaine drawled, shaking a finger at him, impatiently, "No you don't, mister. C'mere, don't be shy," he held out one of his hands and fell onto his ass, "You get your cute little butt over here and show me one of your dances," he said as he jiggled his hips, "But put all of your emotion and shit into it. Make it fucking count. Let all of your sadness and anger and… muck…or whatever out! Come on!"

Kurt recoiled, hesitant. As a result, Blaine put on his best puppy-dog face—despite the brunet thinking he only looked constipated.

"Please?"

A sigh; Kurt removed his shoes again and Blaine squealed in delight, "Awesome!" He sat back as Kurt began dancing a part of the black swan's pas de deux, just awkwardly going through the motions—not serious at all. Unsatisfied, Blaine shook his head and laughed, "What the hell was that?"

Kurt gawked at him, offended by his criticism, "What?"

"Give me a break," the raven-haired man accused, childishly, standing up and folding his arms, "That's not how you feel!"

Embarrassed and agitated at the other man's smug expression, Kurt started again. This time, a lot more heated. He threw all of his pent up emotion and energy into the choreography, making it incredibly intense and fluid, despite its sloppiness. Astonished, Blaine stepped back, smiling at Kurt, and once he stopped, he unfolded his arms and clapped.

"Bravo!"

Kurt smiled, timidly, and gave an adorable little curtsey, "I think that's enough…" he laughed.

Meet in the lobby, Kurt remembered, wrapping up in his coat. He agreed to go home with Puck for the night, but the older man had yet to show up after fifteen minutes, probably schmoozing with more sponsors. A few people were out in the lobby, but besides them, he was the only one left in the large space.

In the very middle of the room stood a full-sized statue—brooding on a perch.

He watched the dark sculpture, a giant bird, skeptically. Though it remained completely still, there was something so sinister about it, as if he'd seen it before…in a dream maybe. Perhaps it was the shape of its crooked beak. Maybe it was its spread wings. Maybe it was even its human-like shape.

Just as he turned around to re-enter the theatre and look for Puck: "That was some show earlier." Kurt immediately recognized the scathing voice, "You may have noticed this dazzling creature by my side," it mocked.

"What are you doing here, Rachel?" Kurt said, his cheeks turning red in shame.

"What am I doing?" she scoffed, flicking an invisible piece of lint from her blue-grey Grecian-style, one-shoulder Versace gown. The slit, ending at the thigh, showed off her toned legs. Kurt realized that this was the first time in a week that he'd see her, noting that she looked absolutely radiant, as if she stepped out onto a red carpet—however, she was alarmingly drunk, "You say that like I haven't carried this company on my shoulders for the past ten years—you should be thanking me," she took a sip of wine, glaring at Kurt in disgust, "I simply came to support everyone—and wish you, especially, a spectacular season."

With little patience to put up with her shit at the moment, Kurt closed his eyes and faked a smile, "Thank you, Rachel," he said, sarcastically.

Rachel smirked, "Did he give you my dressing room yet?"

If he had known she'd attend, he wouldn't have come. Hell, he would have at least taken the opportunity—before the toast—to find her and perhaps mend their friendship, but with her malicious remarks, the chance seemed vague. Two could play at that game: "I'm so sorry you're leaving the company."

"Awe… Are you now?" she cooed, sneeringly, "How sentimental of you."

"I never meant to hurt you," Kurt said, honestly, "Why are you still angry? I have no intentions of stealing Noah—

"Fuck Noah!" she roared, "This isn't about him—I'm trying to keep you from getting hurt!"

Blue eyes widened in misunderstanding, "I don't know what you're talking about…"

"Just…" she paused, scoping the area in case anyone happened to eavesdrop on them, "Just…please walk away. Drop out..."

Horrified, Kurt backed away, "What?"

"Let Jesse—hell, even Blaine—let one of them be the swan prince!" Kurt rolled his eyes. Was this her idea of "reasoning" with him? Insulting and then persuading him to leave the show? "Kurt, I could never live with myself if it happened to you—you don't—I mean—anyone but you! I know what it's like!"

"What is the matter with you?"

Rachel stormed up to him and clutched his arm, her eyes bulging out in misery as she screamed in his face, "Are you fucking stupid?"

"You're jealous!" Kurt fumed, as he tried to pry his arm away, wincing at her death grip.

"What?"

"You never cared about me," Kurt accused, "You're just jealous that you're too old to play Odette!"

"I don't care about Noah OR the role—don't you get it?" Dropping her wine glass in favor of gripping his upper arms, she cried, "Listen to me: I'm trying to help you!"

He cried out as shards of glass spread out onto the floor. The rouge liquid spilled onto him. Kurt thought he saw a flash of madness in her eyes as he felt Rachel digging her nails into his skin through layers of clothing. She proceeded to shake him, her face turning a dark hue of red.

"Let go of me," he demanded, "You're out of your fucking mind!"

"What the hell is going on here?" In protective-mode, Puck stomped up to the pair, violently ripping the smaller girl away from Kurt, "What are you doing to him? What are you saying?"

"Listen, I have to talk to you" Rachel tugged the front of his coat, and he winced at the stench of alcohol on her breath, "Noah, please tell him… For the love of god, choose someone else! Don't let It take him!"

Annoyed, Puck pulled away from her, smoothing his suit and rolling his eyes, "You're drunk—and we're leaving, come on Kurt," he said, gently taking the brunet's hand into his and leading him away from the hysterical woman.

"Don't you walk away from me! You know what I'm talking about, Puck—you're a heartless fucking bastard! You know what It does to people!"

"Good night, Rachel."

"There'll always be someone younger—prettier—than you to come along," she seethed at Kurt, "You're nothing special!"

Allowing Puck to drag him away, Kurt turned back to her, betrayal and pain in his eyes. He genuinely wished nothing but the best for his now former best friend, but it was difficult pretending to be kind when she repeatedly tore him down just for her sick benefit, "Good luck in Russia, Rachel."

"Fine!" she screeched, "Enjoy it, little prince!"

Kurt couldn't shake the feeling that, rather than saying all of that just to be cruel, she might have been sending him a warning.

Kurt eyed all of the artwork on the walls from his position on Puck's bed, his tuxedo coat draped around a sofa a few feet away. Puck emerged from the bathroom, his white shirt open and his bow tie loosened. Shamefully, Kurt looked away and rubbed his arms. The cab-ride back to his director's apartment was completely silent. Kurt hadn't a clue what the frantic woman was going on about, and he didn't want to know. He reassured himself that it was only her jealousy—for being cast as the swan prince, for dating Puck—and that the older man wasn't hiding something from him. She obviously had some serious mental issues, and Kurt was way too stressed to worry about them.

"Kurt."

He looked up and sought out Puck's eyes in the dimly-lit room, "Hmm?"

"What's on your mind?"

In no mood for conversation, Kurt shrugged, "I don't know."

Puck sat down on the bed next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder, "You were wonderful tonight," he said, "They tried to eat you alive but here you are in one piece, right?"

Kurt nodded, smiling a bit, "I was okay."

"My survivor," Puck said, nuzzling him, "My little prince."

Blushing, Kurt turned away.

"Don't think about them." Kurt closed his eyes, bowing his head, "Don't think about her."

"Noah—

"I don't want there to be any boundaries between us."

Tenderly, Puck pressed a gentle kiss to Kurt's neck, one hand moving to massage his upper-thigh, the other undoing the buttons of his dress-shirt. Kurt remained still, nervous—unsure of whether or not he was ready to move forward with the older man. Aware that his hands were placed on either side of his thighs, he lifted one, slowly bringing it to touch Puck's face, moaning as his lips sucked and kissed sensitive points on his neck.

Gently pushing Kurt into a lying-position on the mattress, Puck moved to his knees, swiftly pulling the belt from Kurt's hips, and immediately hardened at the sight of the red laced underwear—the one he'd specifically picked out for his boy—Kurt's throbbing member practically begging to pop out any second. Hungrily, Puck dove face-first into the fabric, tonguing and nipping at Kurt's skin through the material while, concurrently, pulling the dark slacks from pale, toned legs. He removed his own shirt and stared lustfully at the young man beneath him, now only in the white shirt, unbuttoned down to his navel, and lace briefs, "So beautiful," he sighed.

Petrified, Kurt moved to sit up, "Wait—

A hand shot out to keep him in place, "Do you trust me?" after a moment's thought, Kurt merely nodded his head 'yes,' shivering as rough hands stroked his thighs but suddenly tightened their grip at the nod. "Say it," Puck ordered, "I want to hear you."

"Yes," Kurt breathed, gripping Puck's hand in his own, "Yes, Noah…"

He nearly missed the glimpse of uncertainty in Puck's eyes, which had softened for a moment at the confession. Gently, he guided Puck's hand to the bulge in his briefs, "Plea—" stifling a gasp as the large hand forcefully cupped his balls, then proceeded to massage them, softly.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Puck cooed, leaning over to kiss his thigh before positioning his hand so that his thumb rubbed Kurt while his larger middle finger slipped into the crease and teased his little hole, hiding beneath the lace. Again, Puck pressed his mouth against Kurt's pelvis. A gentle nibble caused the brunet to arch his back, lifting his hips in order for Puck to slowly tug the briefs down his legs. He smirked at the thin bridge of pre-cum stuck to the waistband and immediately caught it with his tongue before pressing another kiss to Kurt's skin.

Removing his shirt, Kurt raised a leg, now a faint shade of red, slipping it through the underwear. Puck leaned forward again and slipped the tip of the leaking member into his mouth. Kurt bucked his hips, allowing his heels to rest on Puck's back, his hands moving past his head to fist the sheets. He shuddered at the feeling of warmth surrounding his cock, long tan fingers fondling his sac, and he no longer doubted that Puck had experience in something like this. He knew he wasn't very large, but he was no less amazed that the older man could swallow the entire shaft at once.

It didn't take more than a few licks and a pump of Puck's fist around his cock before he felt a small tinge in his lower back, "Noah…" With a soft cry, he arched upward, fingers wrapping around the sheets as he released his warm fluid into Puck's mouth.

Eventually, Puck's lips moved over his thigh, sucking and licking down to the pink ring of muscle between the red mounds of flesh. Kurt held a breath as the older man's tongue flicked against his asshole, suddenly slipping past the muscle and out again, "Noah…!" he cried, shuddering as Puck lapped at his hole as if it were his last meal. He tossed his head back, mewling while the skillful man tongue-fucked him. As he bit his lip, his little hand lowered to wrap around his cock, but retreated as a larger one slapped it away, possessively, "Please…"

The hand gripped him, almost painfully, and began pumping him again. Kurt writhed on the bed, moaning at the feeling of his lover's tongue darting in and out of him, plus the aching grasp on his member—never in his life had Kurt felt something as intense as this—

There was no warning before he felt a single finger quickly enter him. However he couldn't move his torso as Puck, who now appeared over him with a predatory glint in his hazel eyes, held a strong hand down against his stomach, his other hand now snaking its fingers in and out and in and out of Kurt—every now and then curling upwards to brush the bundle of nerves—before slipping in a second finger…eventually a third, prepping him for something even larger. Eagerly, Puck palmed himself through his slacks, the material grazing his sensitive tip. By now, he was completely rock-hard, watching Kurt with an intense gaze. He removed his fingers and stuck them between Kurt's lips, ordering the brunet to suck. This went on for a few minutes before he withdrew and allowed Kurt's barely-loosened asshole to swallow his fingers again.

In a split second, Puck was out of his trousers—apparently, he'd decided to go full commando for the party—and reached over to his dresser to pull out a golden wrapper. Kurt stared at him in apprehension, his mouth going dry at the size of Puck's girth. His dick stood at attention, uncut, probably no less than nine inches. Swiftly, Puck tore the wrapper open with his teeth and pulled the latex over his throbbing, veiny cock, pinching the tip. He lay between Kurt's thighs, lining himself up to the young man's puckered entrance and placed his hands on either side of his head. Dark hazel eyes peered into striking baby-blue ones.

Kurt saw adoration…possessiveness. Maybe even lov—

"Are you ready?"

Biting down on his lip, and hesitantly shifting his eyes, he nodded.

"Look at me, Kurt," Puck gripped his chin, forcing the brunet to face him, "You have to tell let me know—I won't continue if you don't say it."

Look at him, Kurt.

"Just say the word, and I promise I'll stop."

Finally, he opened his eyes and nodded, "Yes," he breathed, his grip on Puck's biceps tightening, "Go ahead."

With a sharp thrust, only his engorged tip entered Kurt's wet little hole, stopping immediately after Kurt drew a sharp breath and clenched his eyes shut, the pain unbearable, "Baby, look at me…" a skeptical Kurt opened his eyes and whimpered when Puck kissed him softly, "I'd never hurt you."

Trusting Puck, he wrapped his arms around his broad neck, one heel digging into his back while the other rested on his shoulder. The older man pushed himself in further and further until he was buried balls-deep. Kurt moaned, his eyes glazing over at the discomfort and his toes curling. He ran his hands up and down Puck's back, feeling himself being stretched open. Without stopping his movement, Puck removed the small hands from his shoulders with one large one and held them in place above Kurt's head.

The room was silent, save for Kurt's barely-audible moans, his mouth wide-open, and the headboard pounding against the wall.

Puck repeatedly forced himself into the smaller body, lowering his mouth to lick and pinch at Kurt's hardened nipples. He brushed a hand through brown hair, staring deep into his eyes while sharply thrusting his hips forward.

Puck removed his thick cock and lifted Kurt's leg, throwing him onto his stomach. With a gasp, Kurt gripped the pillow next to his head, suddenly terrified of what the man would do to him next, and shifted it underneath his belly. He wanted to be on his back again. At least he felt a little at ease as he stared longingly into Puck's eyes.

"Get on your knees," Puck commanded. In less than a second, Kurt did exactly as told, afraid of the repercussions should he disobey any order, but held onto the pillow, subtly rutting against it.

Tan fingers spread open plump, pink cheeks, kneading them like dough. Puck licked the moist hole before sliding his tongue back into the moaning brunet.

Kurt arched his back, grasping the pillow as Puck buried his entire face into the crease. It didn't take long until he repositioned himself. His eyes caught sight of the reddish marks on the young man's shoulder—which now looked like four finger nails had clawed at the skin.

"Have you been scratching yourself?" he inquired, running a finger over it. Kurt shrugged him off and bucked his hips against him, worried that the rash had gotten worse. He'd have to look at it later.

"No," he whimpered, "Keep going."

Now dubious at his behavior, the older man suddenly pushed himself into Kurt. The brunet winced each time Puck entered him, rough hands massaging either side of his hips while a strong chest pressed against his back. He felt teeth tug at the skin on his neck, a warm breath over his ear, and a slimy tongue along his back.

What felt like an eternity was merely only half an hour before Puck collapsed on top of Kurt with a loud grunt, his lower back shuddering as he spurted into the condom a few minutes after Kurt shot into his hand. "Fuck…" Their bodies glistened with sweat in the meager lamplight. Puck removed his hand from Kurt's pulsating cock and allowed the younger man to lick it clean, tensing at he felt the whimpering boy clench around him in reflex.

"Mmh, Noah…"

After Kurt finally relaxed from his spasms, Puck slowly pulled out of him, earning a gasp from the young dancer, "Are you all right?" Watching him crawl over to one side of the bed and curl into a fetal position, he felt proud being the one to take Kurt's virginity.

Ever since the young, ambitious dancer stepped foot into the audition room four years prior, there was something…something that triggered inside of Puck, wanting to pursue the male, care for him, break him, protect him, love him. And even now, he knew very little about Kurt outside of rehearsals, about his family, the company he kept—however, his timidity was one of the many things he found so alluring about the brunet.

Many of the other dancers practically threw themselves at his feet, not-so-subtly begging for the man's attention. Sure, every now and then Kurt would take a moment to visit him in his office, bringing him tiny trinkets and such—but Puck figured that was just his gratuity for often coaching the dancer, accepting him into the company. He knew the young man wanted to make him proud by working extremely hard, so it came as a shock to him when Kurt boldly showed up two weeks ago, begging for the part of the swan prince—before biting him, of course.

Did he feel bad about seducing Kurt only a few weeks after breaking it off with Rachel, a relationship that had gone on for years?

Not really.

Fuck that proud bitch for being so damned conceited. Her transfer to the Mariinsky company in Russia would do them both—and the rest of the company—some good.

Puck pressed an affectionate kiss to Kurt's cheek before climbing off of the bed and striding into the bathroom. After throwing the condom into the toilet, he slid back into bed beside Kurt, taking in his beautiful appearance, "Look at me." Kurt turned around, slightly puzzled. Puck trailed his tongue against his lips, groaning with pleasure as he sucked on the red, bruised organs.

"Thank you," Kurt said, bashfully.

'Thank you?' Puck thought, 'for what? Taking your virginity?' He chuckled and turned off the lamp behind him before pulling the blanket over their nude bodies, "Good night my little prince."

The moon served as the only light in the bedroom.

After what seemed like hours, Kurt opened his eyes, gasping in confusion at the nude figure lying asleep next to him.

Puck.

He realized that he was still curled up next to his company director—and possible boyfriend—in his bed, the sheets still a bit damp with the faint smell of sweat and cum.

Shaken, he pushed the thought out of his mind for the moment before looking over at the nightstand: the clock read '2 A.M.' Careful not to wake the older man, Kurt pushed the satin sheets from his bare torso—he'd have to search for his clothing in the dark—but froze as he felt Puck stir beside him. Fortunately, he didn't wake, and Kurt supposed he looked a lot less stressed while sleeping.

The very thought brought a smile to the brunet's face as he watched Puck's chest rise and fall. His bare feet grazed the hardwood floor and he almost crawled back into bed, annoyed at how chilly the floor felt. No. He needed to get out of there now. Not to mention that Finn was probably worried about him.

He stood up before stumbling a bit, his knees feeling weak. Puck had been a far too rough—pinching him, groping him, scratching him; the sensual, barbaric way he repeatedly slammed into his body—despite it being Kurt's first time. But during…he felt loved, wanted—the way Puck's toned arms held him close the entire time, his lips never leaving the younger man's pale skin even as they switched into various positions. His feet brushed against something soft on the floor—Puck's dress shirt.

Figuring that this would suffice, at least until he could have it dry-cleaned and returned to Puck, Kurt slipped his arms through the sleeves; the cuffs went past his finger tips. His eyes hadn't yet adjusted to the dark and he almost tripped over his pants. He stumbled but caught himself on the sofa—making little noise. He quickly slipped his legs into the slacks, and searched the floor for his belt, watching Puck's form as he did so. Eventually, he found his belt, his shoes, the tux jacket, and his coat.

With another longing glance back at Puck, Kurt proceeded to tip-toe out of the apartment, suffering a limp along the way. Luckily, he was able to hail a taxi.

He doubted that he'd be able to bear the walk-of-shame to the nearest subway station, nearly ten blocks away.

A/N: First sex scene I've written. Ever. Wow. Let me know what you think! I had thoughts about splitting this chapter up, since it went over my 6000 word-per-chapter limit. Because of that, scenes that were originally supposed to show up in this chapter will take place in the next.

Thanks for reading!