Skank!Kurt/Puck Drabble #8/9 (NC-17)
Warning: cutting/scarification, blood play
Puck lays in Kurt’s bed with his arm slung over his eyes to block out the early afternoon light. Skipping class today has to be Kurt’s best idea ever. The silence stretches from when they’d crashed into Kurt’s house after third hour and quickly got off through a lunch hour nap and up until now, when Puck tries valiantly to get back to sleep.
But then Kurt stirs, kicking off his remaining boot and the jeans that were stuck on one leg because of it. He rolls and mouths his way up Puck’s hip until he bites at the bone with sharp teeth. Puck sucks in a surprised breath and shudders, “Fuck!”
Kurt rests his head on his arm, breath hot against Puck’s side and all the vulnerable skin there. His free arm traces patterns around Puck’s belly button as he whispers, “If I wrote my name on your skin, how long do you think it would take to fade?”
Puck shrugs, arm still over his eyes, and says, “Depends what sort of pen you use.” He can feel Kurt tracing the letters of his name with the tip of one finger. “Only mark permanent is a scar.”
Kurt sucks in a breath and rolls on top of Puck’s right leg. “There’s a thought.”
Puck uncovers his face and props himself up on his elbows so he can see the dangerous, thrilling glint in Kurt’s eyes. It makes his dick twitch, just under Kurt’s breast bone. Puck asks, “You want to scar me?”
“Yes,” Kurt replies, tracing the patch of skin just above where Puck’s short and curlies begin. “I want to carve my name into your skin. So you never forget me.”
“I could never forget you, baby,” Puck argues, though he has to admit he’s intrigued. “Think of the bitch-fit my mom will throw when she sees it!”
“No!” Kurt growls dangerously and presses Puck down with two heavy hands on his chest. “I’m the only one who gets to see it. I do this and you’re mine, Puckerman. For as long as the scars stay on your skin.”
Puck swallows loudly and nods. Kurt’s weight on his chest is making it hard to breathe. He’s dizzy and hard and itching, aching for the pain. Nodding, he whispers, “Make them deep. Forever.”
“Put your underwear back on,” Kurt orders as he lifts himself away and walks naked across to his bathroom. Puck finds his Batman briefs on the hallway floor and pulls them on before going back to the bed. When Kurt returns, he’s carrying a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a razor blade.
“Last chance to punk out,” Kurt says with an upraised brow.
Puck looks him right in the eye and says, “I ain’t punking out.”
After a long moment staring at one another, Kurt nods. He straddles Puck’s legs and pulls the waistband of his underwear down to expose the soft skin of his lower belly. The fabric pulls Puck’s hard cock down and away, making him want to rut against the pressure. It’s when Kurt splashes cold alcohol on his skin and wipes down the razor blade with more of the liquid that Puck realizes that this is actually going to happen. He makes himself stop holding his breath.
“Don’t move,” Kurt orders, slithering down so his chest is weighing down Puck’s thighs and his off hand holds Puck’s belly, just below his diaphragm. With so much concentration it’s almost scary, Kurt presses his blade against Puck’s skin and draws a slow line down. Puck hisses and fights the urge to arch his back against the pain, trying to focus on the clean, stinging pain of the cut. Puck looks down and sees that the inch-long wound is starting to well up with a thin line of blood.
Kurt dips his head and lays his tongue flat against the wound, licking up the blood. His tongue is warm and wet, soothing away the pain and Puck groans. “God, baby. Yes!”
Two more quick cuts at angles form a “K” and Puck is in blissful agony as Kurt prods one of the cuts with his tongue. The blade is sharp enough and the cut narrow enough that he can’t pull the skin apart with his tongue alone, but God, Puck wishes he could. He wants Kurt inside him in any way possible, but he knows if he voices his need out loud, Kurt’s just going to turn contrary and draw things out even slower.
By the time Kurt finishes the “R,” his clever tongue following each of the cuts in turn, Puck is drenched in sweat and shaking with the effort to keep still. He’s fighting the urge to push Kurt away in self preservation and the urge to rut against Kurt’s chest for some sort of relief.
Every breath, every beat of his heart feels far too intense, like Kurt cutting him open has made him aware of just how badly he fits in his skin and how much better he would feel finally free of it and floating just as a soul or a ghost or whatever. Of course, he knows that without his body, he wouldn’t be feeling what he’a feeling, so he stuffs his awareness back into his body just as Kurt finishes crossing his “T.”
“There,” Kurt says with a proud lilt to his voice, meeting Puck’s eyes as he dips down to lick that last line of blood away. Puck comes in his Batman underwear, untouched.