There's enough light filtering in from the streetlight that Puck can make out the milky white slope of Kurt's shoulders and the subtle, almost delicate curve of his spine. Kurt's loose and lax the way he only ever is right after an orgasm; he almost reminds Puck of Play-Doh when he gets like this and Puck has to fight the urge to try to and mold or reshape him.
In five minutes, give or take, Kurt will start to come back to himself. It'll start with his fingers, which will twitch and curl in against his palms when he presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. It goes faster after that, tension steadily creeping back into the lines of his body, and his eyes sharpening to laser precision. He doesn't bother to clean the come or sweat off of his body before pulling his clothes back on--he prefers his shower to Puck's and he never wears anything over that isn't due for the dry cleaner's--and then it's just a matter of a few practiced movements to finger comb his hair into something that doesn't look too much like sex hair.
Puck will watch the entire show propped up against his headboard with the sheet riding too low on his hips to hide anything. He'll smirk, half out of habit and half out of defense, as Kurt gathers up all of the evidence that he was ever here, and when the other boy slips out of the room without so much as a single word or a backward glance, he'll flick his hand in a small, sarcastic wave.
It's their routine, perhaps the only thing in Puck's life he could classify as theirs, and it's as used and worn in as his favorite jeans. Exactly once he'd made the mistake of saying, "You could stay if you wanted."
Kurt's eyes had flicked over his face almost too quickly to track and those pretty lips had twisted with something that was mostly obscured by the shadows, but might have been scorn. "No. I don't think so," he'd said; it had taken nearly a month before he came back to Puck's bed and so Puck hadn't asked again.
So Kurt will leave. Right now it's just Puck's bed, but soon enough it'll be Lima, and then he'll be well and truly gone, so far away that Puck will never be able to reach him.
And that's fine, or something like it, because Kurt's not the kind to play games and he was clear about what he wanted out of this from the beginning, and Puck has no right to be angry or upset.
Puck wishes he was a little less prone to playing games himself.
There's three, maybe four minutes left before Kurt starts to pull himself together, though, and Kurt is still laying there all sweet and open and easy. And if Puck uses that time to press his face into the soft hair at the nape of Kurt's neck and pretend that this is his to keep, then who does that really hurt?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
branchandroot
no subject
Date: 2012-01-17 05:44 am (UTC)In five minutes, give or take, Kurt will start to come back to himself. It'll start with his fingers, which will twitch and curl in against his palms when he presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. It goes faster after that, tension steadily creeping back into the lines of his body, and his eyes sharpening to laser precision. He doesn't bother to clean the come or sweat off of his body before pulling his clothes back on--he prefers his shower to Puck's and he never wears anything over that isn't due for the dry cleaner's--and then it's just a matter of a few practiced movements to finger comb his hair into something that doesn't look too much like sex hair.
Puck will watch the entire show propped up against his headboard with the sheet riding too low on his hips to hide anything. He'll smirk, half out of habit and half out of defense, as Kurt gathers up all of the evidence that he was ever here, and when the other boy slips out of the room without so much as a single word or a backward glance, he'll flick his hand in a small, sarcastic wave.
It's their routine, perhaps the only thing in Puck's life he could classify as theirs, and it's as used and worn in as his favorite jeans. Exactly once he'd made the mistake of saying, "You could stay if you wanted."
Kurt's eyes had flicked over his face almost too quickly to track and those pretty lips had twisted with something that was mostly obscured by the shadows, but might have been scorn. "No. I don't think so," he'd said; it had taken nearly a month before he came back to Puck's bed and so Puck hadn't asked again.
So Kurt will leave. Right now it's just Puck's bed, but soon enough it'll be Lima, and then he'll be well and truly gone, so far away that Puck will never be able to reach him.
And that's fine, or something like it, because Kurt's not the kind to play games and he was clear about what he wanted out of this from the beginning, and Puck has no right to be angry or upset.
Puck wishes he was a little less prone to playing games himself.
There's three, maybe four minutes left before Kurt starts to pull himself together, though, and Kurt is still laying there all sweet and open and easy. And if Puck uses that time to press his face into the soft hair at the nape of Kurt's neck and pretend that this is his to keep, then who does that really hurt?