Chapter 23: Tradition
Kurt sat in the stands bordering the McKinley football field, one leg swinging impatiently, as he texted friends who were lucky enough to not be here, stuck waiting for the Titans practice to be over. Kurt never came to Puck's practices, games were torture enough, but his baby was undergoing a delicate surgical procedure in his Dad's garage, and Puck had volunteered to be his ride home.
Tapping his text screen closed, Kurt slipped his phone away. He glanced at his watch and then at the field. Finally! The football coach blew his whistle and the teenage Neanderthals punched and shoved at each other as they straggled off the field. He rolled his eyes as Puck pounded on Finn's helmet and snapped a hand to Karofsky's ass. Nope, did not miss football, not even a little! Picking his way carefully down from the stands, Kurt scanned each step to make sure his new grey suede Cole Haan wingtips, with blue laces and matching blue soles didn't come into contact with anything too disgusting. A glob of spit or a clump of gum were not getting anywhere near these shoes!
Puck pulled his helmet off and grinned as he watched Kurt descend from the stands, obviously being very careful where he put those new shoes he was so thrilled with. His chestnut hair gleamed in the late afternoon sun, his body lean and supple, as he navigated the cement steps. Puck had a major problem with how long it took Kurt to peel off his skinnys but he had to admit the too-tight pants looked good on him. As Kurt got closer, now walking the gravel path on the perimeter of the field, Puck noticed the chain that wrapped Kurt's hips and trailed down his left leg, almost to the knee. The grin slipped off his face, as he watched the silver links slide along Kurt's thigh with every step he took, hunger replacing humour in a heartbeat.
Kurt reached the relative cleanliness of the grass and looked up to find Puck staring at the chain decorating the side seam of Kurt's skinnys. Oh yeah, he knew that look! He slid his hand down his thigh, fingers playing with the chain. "You like?"
Puck heard the satisfied tone in Kurt's voice, and pulled his eyes off his boyfriend's body long enough to see the I-know-you-want-some-of-this challenge in his sea-green eyes. The choir boy look was gone, replaced with a taunting, teasing promise of everything sensual. Oh yeah, he knew that look!
Reaching out, Puck latched his fingers into the chain threaded through Kurt's belt loops, and tugged. "You weren't wearing this at lunch."
Kurt laughed as he moved into Puck's body. "I wasn't?"
Puck slid his fingers over the silver chain. The links were heavy, industrial looking, smooth to the touch. "I would have remembered this, Princess."
Kurt leaned into Puck, catching the length of chain at his thigh and dragging it over Puck's abs. "Yeah?"
Puck groaned as Kurt let the chain dangle over his boyfriend's groin. Kurt wanted to play and that had Puck's cock trying to rise under the padding in the compression shorts he wore under his uniform.
Looking directly into Puck's eyes, Kurt swung the chain, making it dance against the laces that tied Puck's football pants. "It's a very long chain, Puck. It can wrap around so many interesting body parts."
"Fuck!" Puck wrapped his hand around Kurt's wrist, stilling the maddening length of chain. "When did you become such a pervert?"
Kurt laughed. Puck's words were not a complaint and he knew it. "Oh, I've always been a pervert. I just don't feel the need to inform everyone of that fact." He slipped his hand out of Puck's grasp and stepped into the McKinley jock's side.
Walking off the field, carrying his helmet in one hand, his other arm around Kurt's shoulders, Puck was more than pleased with the thought that no one else knew the countertenor the way he did. "So, I'm the only one who knows that porn runs in your veins?"
Kurt slipped out from under Puck's arm. "So far." Grinning at the nonplussed jock, Kurt walked away from his boyfriend.
"So far? So far?" Puck charged after the ex-kicker and pulled him under the stands, backing a laughing Kurt up against a support beam. "I gave you my letterman jacket, Hummel. That means you're mine."
Kurt didn't say anything. He just smiled as he untied the knot on the chain and pulled it slowly through the belt loops on his jeans. Puck watched the silver slither up Kurt's thigh and over his hips, watched as the chain pooled in his boyfriend's hands.
Kurt spread his hands, the silver chain hanging between them. "Turn around."
Puck looked up from the silver links in Kurt's hands to the dark crystal of his eyes. The wide mouth was closed on a small smile but the eyes were serious. He wasn't kidding, he expected Puck to turn around.
They weren't into dom/sub anything. It wasn't about who listened to who. It was about running with whatever they felt in the moment. It was about expressing themselves, asking for what they wanted, or thought they wanted. Sometimes they got it wrong; making out via the fight club had been a total bomb, but they were up for trying anything once. They gave each other the freedom to be who they were. They learned who they were with each other.
Puck turned, a shiver of anticipation trickling along his spine, as Kurt stepped up behind him.
"Put your arms behind your back." Kurt pressed a kiss into the side of Puck's neck, his breath warm on Puck's skin.
Puck tilted his head, offering more skin to the teen standing behind him. He loved the feeling of Kurt's body along his back, or along his front, over him, under him, in him. Puck didn't think the time would ever come when Kurt's touch felt wrong. He held his arms out behind him, wrists together, not surprised at all when Kurt used the chain to bind his arms.
When Kurt ran out of chain, he wrapped his arms around his boyfriend, and tucked his chin on Puck's shoulder. "You okay? Too tight?"
Puck shrugged, testing the chain twined around his arms. "Nah, I'm good."
Kurt moved his hands down Puck's chest, tracing the defined muscles under the football jersey. "You're wearing my chain, Noah. That makes you mine."
No one called him Noah, even his mother called him Puck most of the time, unless she was pissed at him about something. When he was in nursery school, Puck thought it was cool to have the same name as one of the characters in his story books. In middle school though, sometime around Grade 3, the biblical name became dorky and he was more than happy to adopt the contraction of his last name that his friends used.
Back when they were still being obnoxious to each other, in sophomore year, Kurt had started calling him Noah in retaliation for Puck taunting him with Princess. Puck would have pulverized anyone else who dared to use his given name, and the first time Kurt said it, he almost had. His fingers had curled into a fist as he looked at the shorter teen, trying to decide where to land his punch. Two years ago, Kurt had barely come up to his shoulder and yet he stood there challenging Puck, defiance and pride flashing in his eyes. Puck found himself lowering his fist, backing down, because he knew courage when he saw it. Kurt hadn't had the muscles, not back then, but he had the kind of courage that Puck wanted for himself, courage that came from knowing yourself, respecting yourself.
The names had stuck, become their own personal endearments. No one else called Kurt princess and got away with it. No one else called him Noah. Only Kurt could whisper his name and make things tighten in Puck's body.
Kurt peeled himself off Puck and walked around the other boy, to stand in front of him. He was never going to understand the national obsession with football, but on Puck, the uniform was hot. Kurt was not one to complain about skin-tight uniform pants and shoulder pads that practically screamed testosterone. All that power leashed under his chain, Puck's arms locked behind his back, oh, yeah, that had the blood pounding into Kurt's cock. Staring into Puck's eyes, his own stark with want, Kurt flicked the button on his fly open.
Puck watched the flush steal over Kurt's fair skin, lust turning his crystal eyes stormy, and his own breath sped up. With everyone else Kurt was contained, in control. Puck could do this to Kurt, make him lose it, and that was just fucking hot!
Slipping to his knees, Puck smirked up at his boyfriend. "You know you're breaking with tradition here, Princess."
Sliding the zipper down on his skinnys, Kurt muttered. "How so?"
Puck laughed. Kurt cracked him up, who the fuck said "How so?" Most guys couldn't string two words together when their dick took over, but Kurt, Kurt turned into a freaking dictionary. "The Cheerios blow the players after a game, Kurt."
Kurt grinned as he pulled his straining cock out of his painfully tight pants. "I'm not a Cheerio anymore, Puck and that was just a practice." Stepping closer to his boyfriend, his new shoes brushing Puck's knees, Kurt tapped the head of his cock on Puck's chin. "We can start our own tradition."
Sliding his tongue over Kurt's crown, Puck thought about some of the new traditions they had started; dripping wax on each other at Hanukkah, blow jobs under ribbon bondage at Christmas, yeah, he was all over new traditions.
It was a little tricky doing this with his hands behind his back. It was weird not being able to touch Kurt. He wanted to dig his fingers into that ass, play with Kurt's balls, and stroke over his entrance. He couldn't do any of the things he usually did while he sucked Kurt off, and why was that so freaking hot? He sucked hard, pulling back on Kurt's length, right to the tip, too far, Kurt slipped out of his mouth and Puck whined as he moved his head trying to get Kurt back.
"Shhh! Here I am baby." Kurt tipped Puck's chin up and pushed his cock back into Puck's mouth.
Puck held his mouth open, perfectly still, and looked up at Kurt, telling him to move, to fuck him.
One hand on Puck's shoulder, the other hand lightly holding Puck's jaw, his thumb tracing over Puck's cheek, Kurt felt himself moving in and out of Puck's mouth. "Oh, God! Noah! So fucking good!"
Kurt poured down Puck's throat and leaned over the kneeling teen, his hands on his boyfriend's shoulders, panting. "Oh, fuck! Oh, fuck!"
Puck shifted on his knees. "A little help here, Princess."
"Oh, shit, sorry." Kurt helped Puck to his feet, and had the chain off his arms in seconds. Silver links forgotten on the ground beside them, the boys held each other, licking into each other's mouths, molded together.
Easing apart, Puck grabbed his helmet off the ground where he had dropped it earlier and Kurt picked up his belt. Threading it back through his belt loops, he looked at his boyfriend. "Can you wait till we get home, Noah? I want you to fuck me."
Okay, for that he could hold out a little longer, but just to mess with the diva he looked around; empty field, empty school. "What's wrong with here?"
Kurt looked at the ground under the stands, covered in candy wrappers and ditched ice cream sticks, and various other too gross to think about trash. With a disdainful sniff, he turned and started for the parking lot. "In these shoes?"
Puck grinned and caught up to Kurt, sliding an arm around the countertenor's waist. "But it was okay for me to kneel in that garbage?"
Kurt tapped a palm to Puck's backside. "Your pants were already dirty, Noah."
"Right!" Puck beeped the doors on his clunker open, clicked into his seat belt, and smirked at his boyfriend in the passenger seat. "You know I'm not good with waiting, Princess, makes me a little impatient."
"A little impatient?" Kurt settled back in his seat and returned Puck's smirk. "I know waiting makes you a lot impatient."
Puck snorted as he turned the key in the ignition. "Oh, you're asking for it Hummel!"
Kurt grinned at his boyfriend. "Yes I am."