But I hate you, I really hate you
So much I think it must be true love
Kurtbastian AU: Kurt is a bartender at a small New York City bar, and works as a freelance fashion designer from his home when he's not serving drinks. A new regular, however, has turned his entire perspective on himself and his expectations upside down.
(title & lyrics from P!nk's True Love)
"Hey, babe."
Kurt doesn't even have to turn around to see who it is; all he does is continue drying the glass in his hands with renewed vigor, imagining that he's scrubbing that obnoxious smirk off of a too-familiar face. A face that he's now seen twisted beautifully in release, a face that he really, really shouldn't be looking forward to seeing again.
"The silent treatment," the voice says again, and Kurt can hear the amusement in it. "Alright, I'll play. But you weren't exactly quiet on Saturday--"
"Are you going to order something or do I have to deal with you all night again?" Kurt asks, refusing to turn around. He'd feel bad for the now extra-dry glass, but at least it's a distraction. He's not sure what he'd do if his hands were free. Probably slap the guy's smug rodent face into oblivion.
Or just take hold of it and pull him in for a searing kiss that leaves them both breathless and wanting. Who knows?
"Looks like I win."
"Okay, listen to me, Mr. Smythe," Kurt hisses, spinning to face the counter, on which Sebastian's elbows are resting. He leans as close as he can dare to the man, whose recognizable cologne catches him off-guard for a moment before he plows onward. "I don't know what the fuck I was thinking on Saturday night, but there is no way that's happening again. You're the biggest asshole I've ever met -- which is really saying something -- and I would be perfectly fine if you walked out of this bar and my life for good."
Something different appears in Sebastian's expression; it looks almost apologetic, but it's gone before Kurt can digest anything.
"You should really have a drink," he says, the smirk back in place. "You're kind of uptight for someone who's supposed to be serving alcohol to thirsty and/or horny college students."
"I'll show you uptight," Kurt mutters to himself as he nods to someone that has appeared to Sebastian's right, taking the order in his stride despite the anger (and maybe more) coursing through him. He slides the drink across the bar and picks up the bills dropped in its place, giving the customer his usual smile as he tips his head in farewell.
He wishes he could say he's ignoring Sebastian, but he can't help but notice the man staring at him in contempt (or is it awe? Kurt can never tell anymore).
God, he's a mess.
"You're good at that," Sebastian says after a while, surprising Kurt in the middle of mixing yet another drink. It's not terribly busy, but it's busier than most other Tuesday nights.
"At... bartending?" Kurt asks doubtfully, sliding the finished product across the counter.
"I guess so. I don't know, you're just really focused and..."
Kurt raises his eyebrows in an attempt to prompt Sebastian to finish, but the sentence trails off into thumping music and the sound of some basketball game playing on the nearest television.
"Anyway, babe, you up for a repeat?"
Kurt narrows his eyes. "You've got some nerve, you know that?"
"I can't help it if I've become addicted to the sight of you naked in my bed."
"It was one night," he mumbles, hating himself for having no witty responses ready in his arsenal. Hating Sebastian for putting him in this position and hating the way he kind of loves it.
"Just goes to show what kind of effect you have, hm?"
"Fuck off."
"Dance with me," Sebastian says, completely unfazed. "Have a drink, dance with me, and if you still want me to leave after that, I will."
"How do I know you won't drop something in my drink?" Kurt asks, though he's already reaching for an empty cocktail glass.
"Just trust me. Can you do that?"
"I must have lost my mind, but fine," Kurt finds himself saying. It's just one drink, just one dance, just one last time he has to deal with this sewer rat. Except he's starting to think of it as one last chance to finally fall over the edge into that bottomless pit that is a single four-letter word -- but no, he can't think like that. Because it's completely untrue.
As untrue as true love itself.
He makes a piña colada for himself and waves over the only other bartender that's working, whispering a quick apology and a promise to make up for the lost time another day before slipping out from behind the counter to sit next to Sebastian.
"The master has left his post," Sebastian muses, and Kurt rolls his eyes.
"I sincerely hope you're not thinking that I'll be going anywhere with you later," he says lightly, taking a sip of his cocktail and feeling the warmth of alcohol as it settles into his body.
"Not thinking, just knowing," Sebastian returns with an wink.
"I'll have you know that on the off chance I do end up alone with you, Mr. Smythe, it will be my decision," Kurt says in a mocking tone.
"Bossy."
"Last time I checked, you had no problem with me riding you senseless into the mattress," he hisses, officially off duty and perfectly at liberty to say whatever he likes. Or maybe the alcohol is just getting to him; he's never been much of a heavyweight. "You talk a lot about fucking, but somehow I get the feeling you're even better at getting fucked."
"Would you like to find out?" That trips up Kurt's words for a split-second, the image of Sebastian underneath him again, a sheen of sweat on his skin as he gasps out those same pretty noises that have been in the back of Kurt's mind since Saturday night, the way he would ride up the mattress with each rough thrust -- because no matter what his confused emotions might be, Kurt isn't about to go easy.
"I have standards." Standards that he's been ignoring, but standards nonetheless.
"Uh-huh. Ready?" Kurt glances down at the glass in his hands, realizing that it's empty and that he has no reason to put this off any longer.
"As I'll ever be."
Sebastian leads the way to the dance floor, which is far from the intrusive sound of the televisions and their sports recaps. It's just music and moving bodies -- fewer than Kurt would have liked, if he's honest with himself. Without being in a crowd, he's exposed, and he doesn't like it in this case. He's worried that Sebastian will figure out the truth before he's ready to admit it to himself.
And then Sebastian's hands are on his hips, his mouth is at his ear, and everything else seems to melt away in the back and forth of their movements. He's not sure when it happened, but suddenly Sebastian's nipping, sucking at his neck -- there's going to be a mark, he's sure of it, but Kurt doesn't have a reason to care at the moment.
"Come home with me," Sebastian whispers, hot and low in Kurt's ear. "Fuck me, Kurt."
And then Kurt's agreeing; how could he not? He has fallen -- it actually happened long ago, and only now is he realizing it.
He could blame it on the alcohol, but that would be a blatant lie, he thinks as they hail a cab. He's not that drunk at all, really. He could say he's just in it for the sake of a good fuck, but not only is that a lie, that's completely disrespecting the talk he'd had with his dad so long ago.
Whether or not it's just that for Sebastian, Kurt can't deny the fact that there's more than sex on his mind.
He really hates Sebastian Smythe, he's thinking as he's pressed up against the inside of Sebastian's apartment door, his tongue tasting and lips already sore.
hm, not particularly. I do miss people that used to be but have changed over time, though
3: What if I told you that you were pretty?
here, I would probably smile and squeak and show gratitude. in person, I would most likely assume that a) you’re just being nice, b) it’s a teasing remark (it’s happened too many times for me to count) or c) you mean it, in which case I’d do the same as here
28: What is something you currently want right now?
time for myself, time to write, time to sleep, just time oh my god that would be nice
This was just going to be short, cuddly puckurt and then emotions got in the way.
Kurt had no idea when it became his job to greet every visitor, but he found himself getting off the couch when there was a knock on the apartment's door, waving Rachel down. He heard her call out to him from the kitchen, her voice betraying her irritation.
"We are not taking in any more flatmates. I don't care what the story is, Kurt, just say no."
He scoffed; her pride was still injured from today's breakfast run-in with a very blunt Santana Lopez. He doubted that Santana would have taken no for an answer from either of them, but he didn't push the topic. Instead he slid the door open, expecting something mundane like a neighbor requesting that Rachel and Brody be more quiet. I can dream.
It wasn't a neighbor -- it was Noah Puckerman, carrying only a single backpack and wearing a ridiculous hat that made him look at least twenty years older. And not in the good way.
"Hey, mind if I bunk here for a bit?"
"Kurt, who is it?"
Kurt just stood in the doorway, utterly confused. "Don't you live in L.A.?" he asked, ignoring Rachel's approaching footsteps and her subsequent gasp.
"I'm taking a break for personal reasons," Puck said, shrugging carelessly. "Care to help a brother out?"
"Absolutely not!"
"Fine," Kurt muttered at the same time as Rachel's outburst. He turned to her and sighed. "It'll only be a few days. Right?" he added, giving Puck a stern glare.
"Yeah, of course. If I stayed longer, I'd have to pay a share of the rent."
"Kurt, you can't seriously--"
"Yes, I can," he said firmly, stepping aside to let Puck in. Puck scanned the loft, humming appreciatively before turning back to Kurt and Rachel, who had been engaging in a silent battle of wills behind him.
"I won't get in the way, I promise," he said, raising his left hand. Good enough for me, Kurt thought, and he gave Rachel a last, hopefully menacing look as he directed Puck to the living room area.
"We weren't exactly prepared for a visitor," he began, and Rachel let out a huff from the doorway, "but the couch will be fine, right?"
"Yeah, that's cool, man. This is a big place," Puck said unnecessarily, gesturing around the room. Rachel stomped back to her curtain-partitioned area as Kurt rolled his eyes; he was plenty used to her moods by now.
"Well, it took long enough to set up," he said before walking to the kitchen, sure that Puck would probably appreciate something to eat. He still had no idea what exactly brought him here -- but Kurt intended to find out, one way or another. "A week of painting, bargain shopping, hauling, and minor construction work is a week too long."
"You guys did it all yourself?" Puck sounded impressed as he followed him, nodding when Kurt indicated the fridge.
"Mostly me, but at least Rachel enjoyed the painting. Thank God my dad gave me a basic understanding of remodeling."
"Huh." Kurt looked back at Puck, who was openly staring at him with an odd expression. But then the moment broke, and Puck was opening the fridge and-- "Yes!"
"What?"
"Oh-- Nothing." Puck pulled his head out from the fridge, clearly hiding something away in his jacket. He closed the door and started back towards the living room. "I'll eat later, I guess."
"Wh-- Noah!" Puck turned around, caught off-guard by the use of his first name. Except he didn't correct Kurt like he did most everyone else; Kurt realized after a moment that he never had been corrected, not even in high school. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind, where all the other unimportant-yet-intriguing things went. "I know you took something. Was it the steak? Because I'll have you know, that cost a damn fortune and there's no way you can eat it without cooking--"
Puck mumbled something, and Kurt cocked his head to the side, frowning.
"Come again?"
"It's Nutella," Puck said, a bit louder this time. Kurt blinked, sure that he had heard wrong again. But sure enough, Puck brandished the brand-new jar of Nutella that Rachel had bought the day before, grinning sheepishly. "It's good stuff."
"I can't argue with that," Kurt said after a moment of stunned silence. Why was he so surprised? He'd never imagined that Noah Puckerman, resident delinquent and closeted good samaritan of McKinley, would enjoy something so... not Puck. Then again, Kurt hadn't really known him all that well. For some reason, the revelation seemed intimate, like the kind of discovery made when two people first move in and start to learn each others' quirks.
Or maybe it was just Nutella and nothing else.
"Share it with me?"
"Uh, sure," Kurt replied, feeling the exact opposite of sure. He grabbed a bag of pretzels from one of the cupboards and went to the living room, where Puck had made himself comfortable on the couch.
"Pop a squat, man." Kurt couldn't help but chuckle as he did exactly that, maintaining a respectful distance between them. No matter how long ago sophomore had been, there was still the slightest sliver of apprehension when it came to Puck, particularly now when everything seemed... normal. Like Puck actually lived there, like he snagged comfort snacks from the food every day while Kurt sighed in fond resignation. It was weird, but not altogether unpleasant. Still, he stayed back; instinct, Kurt supposed.
The door slid open with a resounding screech (Must be time to fix it again, Kurt thought, groaning internally) and Santana came breezing in as she usually did, a shopping bag in hand.
"Hey Puckerman," she said, and then she was gone, disappearing into her room.
"Did she know?"
"I don't think so," Puck said, though he seemed fairly uninterested in Santana's disturbing knowledge of everything that happens in the apartment -- he was currently trying to lean across Kurt, reaching for the pretzels.
"Hey, hey, magic words," Kurt said, holding them away from Puck, who frowned, obviously thinking. Then his face broke into a crooked grin, and Kurt stared at him, slightly worried.
"I'll blow you? Those words, right?" Kurt tried to be indignant, but the unexpected thrill that had just sparked down his spine seemed to have rendered him incapable.
"Whatever," he muttered, tossing the bag into Puck's lap and standing up. "It's getting late; I should go. Blankets are in the closet over there."
"Dude, what happened to sharing?"
"Maybe tomorrow," Kurt said, and he meant it. He wanted to get to know the real Noah Puckerman, and if that meant sharing his Nutella -- well, he wasn't going to complain. "Goodnight, Noah."
"G'night, Kurt."
I could get used to that, he thought, pulling the curtains closed. Not that he wanted to. It was just nice to have another guy at the apartment, even if it was Noah Puckerman. Perhaps especially if it was Noah Puckerman, but he didn't let himself think on that any longer.
----
Kurt couldn't sleep. He tossed and turned until the sheets were tangled up in a lump on one side of the bed, leaving him with just the comforter, and that certainly wasn't enough. Not that he cared to get up just to rearrange his bed -- he simply resigned himself to shivering as he tried to drift away.
There was an odd sound, and he thought it might have been something in the pipes; it wouldn't be the first time, after all. But he had the feeling it wasn't just the old building creaking its lamentations this time, so he grudgingly sat up, shuddering from the crisp bite of a loose breeze as he pulled off the blanket. He yawned, checking the time: 1:57 AM. Fantastic.
Kurt swung his legs over the edge of the mattress, wincing at the feel of the cold boards even through his socks. Tugging a sweater on and sticking his hands into his pockets, he stood up and carefully pulled the curtains so that he wouldn't wake anyone up.
Except, when he finally detected the source of the sound, it was immediately evident that someone else was already awake. And it wasn't Santana snooping around, not this time.
It was Puck, and he was... crying? Kurt listened hard, but there could be no other explanation. A lump caught in his throat as he realized the twisting mire of Puck's life -- a deadbeat father, a criminal record, a very close call at graduation time, and who knew what else. It was a lot to think about at once, and Kurt... well, he didn't understand, not exactly, but he could sympathize with the rough and tumble of a life lived with your back to the wall and what seems like an entire army staring you down.
After hovering on the spot for a moment, unsure, Kurt decided to take action. He didn't know how Puck would react, but he had to do something. No one deserved to suffer alone in the dead of night as Kurt had often done in the past, even if it was one of the very guys that had caused such unrest so long ago.
"Hey," he said softly, and he could see Puck's shape freeze in the dark as he stepped closer. "Noah, are you okay?" Of course he wasn't, but what else could he say?
"I'm fine," Puck said, though he didn't look at Kurt. His voice was strained and forceful, as if by pretending he could break away from whatever thoughts he was having. "You can go back to sleep, I swear I won't wake you up anymore."
"No."
"No what?"
"No, I'm not going to just go to sleep when you clearly need someone," Kurt said, and he settled himself on the arm of the couch. His eyes had adjusted completely to the darkness now, and he could see that Puck was sitting, slumped and defeated, against the opposite arm, looking more vulnerable than Kurt could have imagined possible.
"I don't need anyone."
"Really?"
"Fuck, can't you just leave me alone?" Kurt bit back his retort, aware that fighting back as usual would be no help. Instead he shrugged, resolving to sit in silence until Puck let him in.
After a minute or two, Kurt wondered just how much practice Puck had in the art of pretending. Pretending to be braver, stronger -- pretending to be okay, maybe not great but at the very least okay. It shocked him then, just how much he could relate to Puck, and he wanted so badly to help him, the man that went off the beaten track to escape the memories of it.
"It's stupid," Puck finally said, and Kurt listened in quiet earnest. "I was driving back to L.A. from Lima and I stopped at this gas station in the middle of nowhere. I guess it was family-owned -- there were some kids running around, just being kids, you know?"
Kurt nodded, and carefully slid down to sit on the couch. He was still on the opposite end of it, but Puck seemed to appreciate the move.
"Anyways, there was this one girl, who... fuck, she was so beautiful. Not in that way, but you know what I mean. Light brown hair, probably two or three years old, and she wouldn't leave me alone. Kept asking me why I was there, where was I going, all that shit. Pretty normal stuff, right?"
Kurt nodded again. Puck shifted slightly in his seat, taking a deep breath.
"Right before I left, she pulled on my shirt. And all she did was tell me that she learned how to write the first letter of her name and asked me if I wanted to see. I didn't want to say no, so I watched her use a green pen to draw the letter R on my receipt. It was backwards. After that I left, and I just turned around and came here. I can't take L.A. right now, and people would ask too many questions in Lima."
Kurt felt like a bobblehead, nodding away even though he still wasn't sure what all this meant, but something clicked.
"How old is Beth?" he asked gently, and it was as if he'd shattered a dam. Puck crumpled against the arm of the couch, taking shuddering breaths and Kurt wanted nothing more than to comfort him -- but still he held back. Puck eventually calmed down, nodding to himself.
"She's almost three. She can probably write the letter B perfectly; I feel like she's smart like Quinn. Hopefully not quite as crazy, but I'm not much better. I can't be a dad to her like I want to. I'm not going to see her write her name for the first time or sing her first song or anything like that. I thought I figured all this out last year but I guess I'm just too fucking weak to move on."
"Hey, no," Kurt said, and he inched closer, stretching a tentative hand to Puck's shoulder. Puck seemed to relax at the touch, which gave Kurt the little confidence he needed. "Loving someone isn't a weakness."
"Yeah? It didn't help Romeo or Juliet, unless I read Sparknotes wrong."
"That's a bad example," Kurt said, smiling now. "When it's right, it won't leave you alone. It'll turn you into the strongest man alive and, in the next second, send you crashing, helpless, to the worst of the worst. Anyone that can love can experience it, and it's the opposite of weak to let yourself go like that. Shutting yourself out -- that's weak, in my opinion."
"Is that what it felt like?"
"What?"
"When... you know." He knew, and it still hurt. "Do you still..."
"I don't know." And it was the honest truth. "But even if it turns out that I don't, I don't regret any of it. You know why?"
"Why?"
"Because I got to experience the highs of love, which are worth the lows. There are a lot of lows--" Puck scoffed, and Kurt had to shake his head at himself. "--but it doesn't matter. I loved, and I was loved, and it was breathtakingly perfect."
"Better than Nutella?" Kurt looked up in surprise at Puck, who had his signature cheesy grin in place. He laughed, ignoring the way his heart jumped over a beat or two. Or twenty.
"It's a close call, but yes."
"I guess I can handle it." And then, "Thanks a ton, man."
"It's my pleasure. You're good now?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I think so." Kurt squeezed Puck's shoulder instinctively and made to get up, his thoughts already on his bed. "Wait."
He froze, looking back at Puck curiously. Puck suddenly looked embarrassed, his eyes darting around the empty room as if he could find the words he wanted written on a wall somewhere.
"Can you... stay with me?"
"I-- Sure." Kurt sat down, back in the spot he'd just vacated, and Puck shook his head.
"No, I mean, like. Fuck-- Hang on." Puck shifted awkwardly until he was mostly laying on the arm of the couch. Then he patted the spot in front of him, eyes asking for permission. Kurt's eyes, on the other hand, grew wide as he realized what Puck was asking -- Puck, of all people.
"You want to spoon me?" It sounded strange, though pleasant, to say it out loud. "Noah?"
"Yeah?" Kurt looked at him, skeptic. "Come here, bro."
"Fine, bro," he conceded, rolling his eyes as he lay down on the couch next to Puck. "Just for the record, this is about as un-brotherly as you can get."
"So?" And Kurt had to think about that. Maybe it didn't mean anything, but if it did--
But then Puck's arm was around his waist, tentative and unsure as he pulled Kurt flush against his chest. This is way better than my bed, he thought before he could stop himself. Puck threw a blanket over the top of them haphazardly and settled in, his breath warm against Kurt's neck.
"Is this where you say 'no homo?'" Kurt asked, only half-teasing, scared of what he might get in return. What he didn't expect was Puck's completely serious response, muffled and spoken in a half-asleep state.
"Nah. I'd be lying." And he was asleep, and Kurt was finally slipping into sleep himself despite the frantic buzzing of his thoughts. They could wait until morning, he decided.
For now, he was content. He'd uncovered part of the real Noah Puckerman, and he looked forward to learning even more, if Puck would let him.
Hello I'm Ginny and I like to torture people with perfect elaborate sebklaine headcanons and also sometimes I write really amazing stuff that makes people cry. And DON'T listen to Apple Candy like I STRONGLY discourage that a whole bunch. Yeah, I'm pretty awesome. :-)
