Chapter 22: Risky Business
This chapter is a response to a prompt from XxXkinnerzXxX. Hope you like it :)
Mrs. P. rapped on Puck's bedroom door and entered when her son yelled, "I told you to get lost, Tam!"
"Is that any way to talk to your sister, Noah Puckerman?" Puck's mother stood in the doorway, a laundry basket in her arms.
"Ma, we're trying to study here, and she's being a real pain." And contrary to what teenagers usually meant when they said they were studying with their boyfriends, the boys actually were studying. They sat on the floor separated by text books and notes. Kurt was trying to get Puck to recognize that there was such a thing as subtext. Puck didn't have the patience to delve for the meaning under words, mostly because he just didn't give a fuck. Kurt had a feel for language, while Puck was in sync with all things numerical. When it came to math, the roles were reversed and Puck became the tutor. Spending a Saturday afternoon struggling with 'interpretations' consumed all of Puck's very limited amount of patience. He had zero left for his little sister being annoying. After the third interruption, Puck had picked Tamara up and deposited her on the other side of his closed bedroom door.
Kurt got up from his place on the floor, stepped over the assortment of paper and books, and smiled at Puck's mother. "Need any help with that?"
"Thanks, Kurt." Mrs. P. gave Kurt the basket. "Just put it on the bed, I'll put the clothes away when you boys are finished studying."
"Oh, Noah can put them away. I'll remind him." Kurt pretended not to see the death glare his boyfriend sent him.
Mrs. P. smiled at her son's boyfriend. Watching Noah and Kurt these past months, she had decided that the slender teen was good for her son. Noah's marks were better, he had applied to college, and there was no hint of the wildness that got him sent to Juvie. Her son was happy and she knew that Kurt deserved the credit for demolishing the chip on Noah's shoulder. "Kurt, I don't know if Noah told you but we have a family wedding coming up and he needs a new suit."
"No, I don't." Looking good for a bunch of relatives he almost never saw was not high on Puck's list of priorities. Kurt looked from Mrs. P. to his boyfriend, his eyes lit with the thrill of the hunt, and Puck knew he was screwed. "Ah, crap!"
The next afternoon found Puck driving his beat up old clunker and complaining the whole way to the mall, while his boyfriend sat in the passenger seat and ignored him. "I'm not spending my hard-earned pool money on a suit. Ugh! I hate ties! No way am I going to blow a bunch of money to look like a middle-aged accountant. Not going to happen!"
That got Kurt's attention. He pulled his gaze from the window. "You're right, that's not going to happen. Accountant! Please!" He leaned over and patted Puck's thigh. "Stop freaking out, I'm in charge here."
Instantly distracted by the cascade of memories Kurt's words triggered, Puck stopped freaking out. A slide show of images blazed behind his eyes; Kurt's hands on him, in him, digging into his hips, turning his ass red, Kurt's lips whispering orders, his eyes lit with a fire that seared through Puck. Kurt was a fucking revelation when he was in charge. Of course, he was also dick-hardening hot when Puck took the reins, so basically Puck was the luckiest guy on the fucking planet because he had Kurt.
Two and a half hours later, Puck stood in front of a mirror and didn't recognize himself. Oh, his boy was good! He was a fucking clothes savant! He stared at his reflected image; black jeans falling over high-gloss, black lace-up shoes, a white dress shirt under a black leather jacket that was cut like a suit jacket; lapels, back vents, even the de rigueur four buttons on the sleeves. His smoothed his hand down the front of the jacket, fingers lingering over the soft, supple leather. "Kurt, I can't afford this."
Kurt sat on the bench that ran from one side of the dressing room to the other surrounded by discarded pants and shirts. He caught his breath at the way the jacket hugged Puck's shoulders, and framed his hips, hinting at the edible ass under the leather. Oh, yes! Tearing his eyes off his boyfriend's ass, Kurt focused on Puck's admission. "No problem, I can."
Puck spun to face Kurt, pissed and proud. "I am not your fucking charity case, Hummel. You are not buying this for me!"
Kurt stood and planted his palm on Puck's chest, pushing him back against the mirror. "I'm not buying it for you." He brought his other hand up, spreading both hands across Puck's chest, shoving the jacket open. He slid his hands down the shirt, over a six-pack of muscles and warm skin, and tucked his fingers under the waistband of Puck's jeans. Tracking his eyes up Puck's torso, over the neck showing in the open collar of the shirt, along the jaw tight with Puck's effort to ignore his response to Kurt's touch, to the mouth … Kurt leaned in a licked along the seam of Puck's lips, and stared directly into the hazel eyes. "I'm buying it for me." He pushed one leg between Puck's, opened his mouth over his boyfriend's and did his best to swallow Puck's tongue. Puck's head banged into the mirror, but the moan escaping into Kurt's mouth was all about want, not pain. He rode Kurt's leg, his cock hard in the jeans that were not yet his. As he nipped at Puck's lower lip, Kurt worked Puck's zipper open. He wrapped a hand around the hard shaft and slid to his knees. Looking up, his eyes on Puck's, he licked a line from base to tip. "I'm buying this jacket, now shut up, I'm busy here." He sucked Puck down, making small whimpering sounds of pleasure as his lips slid along the silken skin.
Puck dropped his hands down, one onto Kurt's shoulder, one into the thick hair. He bucked into Kurt's mouth, closed his eyes and shut-the-fuck-up.
"How are you doing in there? Do you need a different size or colour?" The fiftyish saleswoman, who looked like someone's grandmother, called through the dressing room door.
Kurt looked up and witnessed the unimaginable; the McKinley bad-ass, eyes wide with shock, face panicked. Grinning around Puck's cock, Kurt sucked the hard length, and lapped his tongue around the crown. His lips locked around Puck's heat, Kurt laughed as Puck tried to pull him off. But Kurt wasn't going anywhere, he wrapped a hand around Puck's sac, squeezing gently and Puck groaned.
"Are you okay?" The saleswoman rapped on the door, concern in her voice.
Jesus Fucking Christ! Puck swallowed and forced words out of his throat. "Yes. I have everything I need, thank you."
"No problem, call if you need help."
Listening for her receding footsteps, Puck threaded his fingers through Kurt's hair, held the countertenor's head still, and fucked his mouth. Kurt's hands snaked around Puck's body and clenched into his ass cheeks, fingers digging in through the denim. The feel of Kurt's mouth, the heat and wet friction of his tongue, the risk factor in doing this in a fucking dressing room, a thin door between them and discovery had Puck firing down Kurt's throat in seconds. Sliding down the mirror behind him, Puck slumped down onto the floor facing Kurt. "Okay, you can buy the fucking jacket."
Two weeks later, as Kurt was slipping into bed, his phone buzzed with a text from Puck.
From Puck: the wedding invite came
Kurt stared at the words, thinking, "Yeah, so?"
From Kurt: yeah?
From Puck: you're my plus one, Princess
From Kurt: you want me to come to the wedding with you?
Puck leaned back against his headboard, fingers flying over his phone, mouth smirking.
From Puck: yeah, genius.
From Puck: looking forward to getting my mouth on your cock this time. think we'll get the same saleslady?