Chapter Two: Underestimation

On Monday, Puck was skulking down the halls of McKinley, anger written clearly on his fine features. It was coming close the end of first period, and he was already pretty sure that his day couldn't get much worse. On his way in – early – he was slushied by Azimo, someone had spray-painted his locker hot pink and Figgins was out for his blood for something he didn't do – for once.

After showering the grape-flavoured stickiness off his body and out of the Mohawk, scrubbing his locker and taking a bollocking, he was just about ready to beat someone senseless. Or fuck senseless.

He needed an easy lay. He needed an opportunity. He needed someone like… the fashion-shrouded male standing at his locker, apparently sorting his hair or putting on some girly face product, although it was hard to tell because his back was turned towards Noah. Afterall, Kurt had said to take him up on the offer should he ever need a hand… or mouth…

Puck couldn't help that his eyes wandered over Hummel's designer clothes, a powder blue turtle-neck sweater – probably cashmere – a pair of tight-fitting, blue Levis – those I can appreciate – and a pair of sissy shoes. There were accessories, but Puck would be damned if he knew what was what.

Noah sauntered towards Kurt with every intention of charming the little queer to within an inch of his virginity, but as he drew nearer and the tardy bell rang, leaving only the two of them in the corridor, Puck knew something was wrong. Something in the way that Kurt hung his head instead of holding it high like he usually did; like he was better than anyone in this hell-hole.

Continuing towards the slender boy until he stood behind him, Puck couldn't help the sharp intake of breath as he took in the sight of the fresh, large bruise that Hummel was currently attempting to cover with make-up. Kurt jumped before he glared at Noah.

"What do you want, Puckerman?" Kurt applied a little more make-up as he spoke, his face pulling strangely. "Come to finish what the others started or to start something new?" The unshed tears glistening in Kurt's eyes betrayed his feelings and took away the sting of his harsh words. Puck noticed how the ex-cheerio straightened himself and squared his jaw as he looked into Noah's eyes, sizing the footballer up. "Well?" He prompted, applying another layer of cover-up.

Hesitantly, Puck reached out and grabbed Kurt about the waist, shutting his locker door as he guided the other boy down the halls to the deserted nurse's room, ignoring Kurt's quiet protests.

"Puck!" He hissed, finally wrenching himself out of the bigger boy's grip. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Puck worked quietly, checking for an ice-pack and for the baby wipes he knew were around. Once he had located the wipes, he tossed them at the other boy, "Get that girly shit off your face." He grumbled.

Kurt looked surprised as Puck prepared the ice-pack, wrapping the ice in cloth to prevent cold-burn to Kurt's face. Deciding that he should probably do as he'd been told, the smaller boy delicately removed the make-up on his face around his eye and at the top of his cheek, wincing as he did so. His skin was warm and painful, swelling rapidly, much to Kurt's dismay.

Puck told him to sit down and took a chair to sit in front of him. He moved chestnut bangs out of blue-green eyes before murmuring, "This'll hurt a little but it'll stop the swelling." He placed the pack against Kurt's eye as he closed them. The smaller boy hissed and gripped at the sleeve of Noah's letterman jacket before relaxing and sighing appreciatively as the pain in his face dulled a little. He hesitantly reached to keep the pack against his face, gently pushing Puck's hand away.

Only once Puck was sure that Kurt had a steady grip on the pack did he remove his own hand and lean back into his own chair, observing the other boy wordlessly.

"Who did it?" He asked softly, breaking the tense silence.

Kurt cracked open his good eye and stared at Noah, raising his eyebrow, "Want to congratulate them?" He asked back, his eyes wary.

Puck growled and ran a hand through his Mohawk, "No. Just tell me who did it."

Kurt stared at him for a few more moments before shutting his eye again and leaning his head back a little, "Don't see why you'd care, Puck. Not so long ago, you were doing the same thing. You know as well as I that there's no point in squealing, the high school hierarchy makes sure that I stay at the bottom of the food chain." Kurt shrugged, "This isn't really anything new."

Puck shook his head, glaring at Kurt, "I never hit you," he protested hotly, "I've slushied, dumpster tossed and locker slammed you, but I never hit you."

"And you think that makes you better than the guy that did this…?" Kurt returned his gaze, pointing with his other hand at the ice-pack. "Puck, I don't think you realise just how much more hurtful the homophobic slurs are – and you're the worst for it, alongside Santana. I remember every single time a person has called me a name and the hurt is just as raw." Kurt relaxed again, closing his eye. "For you, high school is like a breeze, whether you're in glee club or not; for people like me… well, we're expected to keep our heads down, keep quiet, so excuse me if that's what I want to do, Puckerman."

Puck mulled this over, his eyes wide and his mouth opening and closing in a horribly embarrassing manner. It was true; after all, he knew that picking on someone like Kurt was a sure-fire way to make sure he didn't get into trouble. I suppose he just always seems so untouchable, I never thought of how he might feel.

"Look, if you tell who did it, I'll make sure it doesn't happen again." Noah said, his brows drawing into a frown.

"Just leave it, Puck. I appreciate that you've helped me out… I hadn't thought of actually treating it, but if you get involved, you'll go back to juvie or they'll just get worse; increasing slushie attacks or whatever." Kurt sighed, taking the ice away from his face and opening his eyes to stare at Noah. The bigger boy flinched a little as he took in the very-much visible bruise, a startling contrast to Kurt's naturally pale skin. "Thanks, Noah, but I don't think you quite understand what would happen to you as well, if you defended me. Besides," he lowered his voice to a stage whisper cupping a hand around his sensual mouth, "you wouldn't want anyone to think that the sex-shark Puckerman has been swimming in dolphin-infested waters, now would you?"

And with that parting comment, Kurt left, making a quick get away to his locker to re-apply his make-up. Puck sat still for a few more moments.

After joining glee, Puck could understand where Kurt was coming from. It wasn't easy to just take the insults and the humiliation thrown his way alongside the slushies – in fact he respected Kurt's silence. He growled lowly as Kurt's bruised face flashed across his mind and rubbed a hand across his Mohawk.

And with that, Noah Puckerman realised that he had grossly underestimated Kurt. Kurt Hummel had the strength to bear the weight of every homophobic slur in order for people to vent their anger. But Noah also came to the rather unsettling realisation that if the slight kicker had that sort of strength, perhaps he had the strength to completely ignore the Puckerman-seduction.