Feelings are kind of gross, you guys. I like reading them, but I don't like writing them despite knowing how much they add to any story, especially ones like mine that don't have explosions or car chases. But here are your feels, since I want people to enjoy reading this, I'm hiding now. I own nothing! Love- Maya

Noah was quiet on the way home, staring blankly at the road ahead. Kurt (after coming down from the clouds) could barely keep his eyes on the road, he was so busy sneaking sidelong looks at Noah. He was out of patience in six minutes. "You okay, Noah?"

"Mm? Yeah." He didn't look up, though, nor did he change his expression.

"You sure? You're really quiet."

"I'm not known for being a talker."

Kurt frowned. "You are, with me. What's wrong?"

Noah was silent again, but Kurt's patience was renewed with progress, so he waited. Eventually, Noah said casually, "So, another kiss without permission."

Kurt had to look at him to properly express his incredulity. "What are you talking about?"

"Surprise face-rape. Some more."

Kurt scowled at Noah's street. "This and that are different."

"I didn't see a difference."

"Yeah, well, they're my lips, so."

Noah turned to him, a fierce look in his eye that Kurt couldn't logically interpret. "Then tell me what made it different, Kurt, because I was trying to think of a reason not to lay him out on the pavement."

Kurt pulled up to the Puckerman house and put his baby in park so he could turn and stare at Noah. "What, for kissing me? Noah, that was celebrity-to-fan, and it had nothing to do with you or anyone else."

"So if I had—" he cut himself off with a stricken look, then grabbed his bookbag. "I'll see you tomorrow," he muttered, and then he was out of the car and all but powerwalkng to his door.

Kurt watched him for a few dumbstruck seconds before collecting himself enough to jump out and run after him. "Noah!"

He froze, hand on the doorknob, but slowly turned when Kurt reached him. "Kurt…"

"Yes, that's me. Now, what were you saying? You bolted in the most suspicious way." Noah stared at Kurt's Marc Jacobs boots. Kurt gently wrapped his fingers around Noah's wrist, and Noah's gaze shifted to Kurt's hand.

"So," Noah began uncertainly, "it was just because it was Adam? Because you're a fan?"

Kurt's brow furrowed—Noah had been making exactly no sense over the past few days—but he answered, "Well, yes; I'd kiss Lady Gaga, too, if given the chance. I mean, Adam Lambert being a ridiculously hot guy doesn't hurt, but—"

"What if it was me?"

Kurt froze completely for a few seconds, but recovered enough to give an uncomfortable laugh. "What are you talking about?"

Noah finally lifted his head, but his gaze was entirely too intense for Kurt to deal with. "Come on, Kurt."

"I…" Kurt shook his head and let go of Noah's wrist. "Go on inside."

Noah stopped Kurt from taking his step back by entangling their fingers, which felt alarmingly intimate. Kurt looked up to see Noah still staring at him, his free hand slowly rising. It came to rest on the side of Kurt's neck, gentle but heavy, and Kurt was startled to realize how close they were. Noah's eyes were begging for something as they bored into Kurt's, and Kurt couldn't look away, come hell or high water. He watched as Noah leaned in, slow and steady; he could move away easily, he knew, but he didn't. Even when Noah's fingers slid up his neck to brush the short hairs on the back of his head, he didn't snap at him about it; he was transfixed by the questions in Noah's eyes.

Noah was a breath away, and still Kurt just watched him, so he saw the moment that those eyes dropped to his lips. For some reason, all Kurt could think to do was close his own eyes.

Kurt's lips were soft. That didn't really surprise Puck; Kurt's lips had always looked plush and smooth. However, it was one thing to see it and something entirely different to experience it firsthand, to feel the softness against his own lips, under his hands.

And Puck liked it.

Kurt wasn't moving away, but he wasn't responding either. Puck was just about to pull away—he was just like that closeted dickweed that forced this on Kurt, he was so sorry—when Kurt's fingers tightened around Puck's and his lips began to move.

Puck's fingers, around Kurt's and in Kurt's hair, tensed as he ignored the desperation he could taste on his own tongue. He pulled Kurt a little closer, chests just brushing, his thumb stroking the skin behind Kurt's ear, and he could barely stand the shiver he felt slide through Kurt's body in response. Kurt's free hand landed on Puck's bicep, perfectly manicured nails just scraping the bare skin as his fingers flexed and relaxed, and Puck gave a shiver of his own.

He pulled away, at last and too soon, but only far enough to rest his forehead against Kurt's. he could feel Kurt's heavy breath across his tingling lips, and realized that he was breathing just as hard; it was only a kiss, how could that be? "Kurt," he whispered, not that he really had anything else to add.

"Noah." Puck looked to see Kurt's eyes, hazy and dark, fixed on his.

"Kurt, I—" Puck had to catch his breath; he swallowed to wet his throat and saw Kurt's eyes track the motion. "Kurt, please, can I just—can I kiss you?"

Kurt gave a breathless little laugh. "You did."

"Yeah, just." Why couldn't he words right now? Get it together, Puckerman. "I just want to. Touch you more, and—will you kiss me?"

Kurt's eyes cleared as Puck watched, going wider and wider. "I, um." His hand slipped from Puck's arm, his eyes falling as well. He took a half-step back, restoring the appropriate bro-bubble, disentangling their fingers and locking his own hands behind his back. "I, uh. I have to um." He gestured vaguely to his car, still not raising his gaze from the pavement. "I'll just. Um." He took more steps back; he was totally out of Puck's reach, and Puck could only watch. "I'll—I'll see you tomorrow." Kurt's eyes finally met Puck's, so briefly that puck couldn't read them, and then he was off, powerwalking back to the street and scrambling into the Navigator.

Kurt tore down the street and out of sight, and Puck could only stand there.

Puck's mother found him on the couch, staring blankly into space, when she got home hours later. "Noah? What on earth are you sitting in the dark for?"

Puck shook himself and looked at her. "Hey, Ma." He looked around, having not noticed the coming darkness. "What time is it?"

"Almost nine, now answer my question."

Puck looked at his hands in his lap, missing the feel of Kurt's fingers. "Dunno," he mumbled.

Ruth considered her son for a few seconds before sitting beside him and laying a hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

Puck couldn't remember the last time she'd called him that; probably pre-Quinn. "Nothing. Stuff."

"What stuff?"

Puck glanced briefly at her concerned face. "I dunno, just… I like kinda someone, I guess."

Ruth nodded. "Alright, and what, she doesn't like you back?"

Puck tensed, trying to set the rug on fire with his gaze alone. "I don't think he does."

There were three seconds of silence before she repeated, "'He'?" Puck nodded, tensing further and staring harder as he waited for screaming, crying, denial, something. But then his mother said, "Well, why doesn't he like you?"

"Ma? What-?"

He looked up to see her smiling at him. "Sweetheart, I don't care who you like, as long as they're good people. It doesn't matter to me as long as you're loved, safe, and happy." He could only stare, speechless, and she frowned. "Now why doesn't he like you? Is he straight, in the closet, what?"

"I. Uh." Puck recovered, giving his mom a watery smile before answering, "No, he's neither of those things. I used to pick on him though."

"Noah Puckerman, we've talked about you bullying other kids before—"

"I know, I know, and I stopped a while ago." Ruth relaxed, patting his shoulder, and he went on, "I think he's even started to forgive me, at least enough to be friends with me. He said he wouldn't leave me like everyone else and I believe him and just—" He didn't notice her grip tightening protectively on his shoulder as he turned to look at her. "He's so beautiful, Ma, in so many ways."

Ruth's free hand came to pat Puck's knee as she smiled at him. "I'm sure he is, baby, especially to you. He sounds lovely." He smiled brightly at her, inexplicably thrilled that she could see how awesome Kurt was. "You'll have to bring him for dinner."

"Wha-? No, Ma, wait—"

"No buts." She patted his cheek. "You're a smart, beautiful, charming boy, and I' m sure you'll win him over soon." She stood and headed toward the kitchen, tossing over her shoulder, "At which point you will bring him home for dinner." She didn't see him lean his head on the back of the couch, but she definitely heard him groan his resignation.