Kurt was obsessed. Beyond the point of reality. Sitting in his basement bachelor pad, he was dumbstruck by the video playing on the screen in front of him. Sent to him in an e-mail from Mercedes with the subject line: Saw this and thought you might like it :P Like it? Kurt was pretty sure he was in love. He hasn't been this excited since he saw Beyonce strut her stuff at the AMAs. This, in many ways, was so much better. The clothes, the moves, the beat – Oh, God, the beat. It enchanted the small teen, ensnaring his body and soul.

The question now was whether or not Kurt was going to pursue this. If there was one thing Kurt was sure of, it was that he knew himself. He had one of the most obsessive personalities of anyone he knew (second only to Rachel Berry herself). If he was going to do this, he was going to do this right. No half-assed fangirling on his part. Oh no. This called for costumes and lessons and hours in front of the computer, studying, memorizing the movement of hips (that he did not completely have and was completely jealous of), and maybe even picking up a little Arabic... This was going to take time away from Glee and Mercedes and friends (new concept for him) and AP World History and –

Re-watching the video one more time sealed the deal; Kurt was going to do this. Wasting no time, he logged on to some sites and ordered a dozen hip-skirts and matching tops. This was going to be fun.

The first couple of days were spent immersing himself in this exotic new world. After school, he went straight to the bookstore and bought Arabic Culture and Language for Dummies. To be honest, he was shocked that the local Lima bookstore had it. The Mid-West wasn't so culturally inclined, especially with the current political situation (most people still thought George Bush Jr. was the best thing that ever hit the country). Kurt had to stifle a snort when the store owner rang him up and muttered, "That's right, son, understanding the enemy is the first step toward destroying them."

That was Lima for you. One step forward, ten thousand steps back. Kurt merely rolled his eyes, grabbed his purchase and headed home, all the while mumbling about bigotry and stupid, backward towns.

In his basement, Kurt put his surround sound system to use and blasted Arabic songs he found on the Internet. He proceeded to lie on his bed and read up on the culture that gave him this new obsession.

Hours later, he emerged from his self-imposed exile to get dinner started. He pouted slightly as he did so. Kurt wasn't over the moon about some of the information he gathered.

Apparently, belly-dancing had its roots in ancient fertility rituals. It was supposed to prepare women for childbirth. Huh.

When Burt came home to grumbles about "women having all the fun" and "stupid uteruses" and "penises are so inconvenient", he wisely chose not to comment.

The disheartening information aside, Kurt was having the time of his life with his new hobby. He started slow, first listening to the songs and beat and developing his instinctive movements. Kurt had a great ear for beats and, almost unconsciously, his body moved, gyrated, and shook to them. He knew that his choreography wasn't true to the dance genre, but he figured that loosening his body up was a good way to start.

It wasn't long after explored how many directions his hips could move that he turned his attention to Shakira, the siren that originally drew him into this world. Connecting his computer to his wide-screen television and propping up his mirror next to the screen Kurt created a makeshift dance studio.

Watching the Lebanese-Colombian woman slither up and down the screen reminded him of snake charmers and their pets. It was as if she had no bones in her body, only muscles and fat enclosed in smooth, smooth skin.

Kurt knew then that he had to learn this. It was too sexy and beautiful not to. While dances like "Single Ladies" and "Push It" made it very evident that Kurt knew how to shake the hips God gave him, he was frustrated to find that, as hard as he tried, he could not emulate the moves Shakira was making.

Sitting down on the floor, he crossed his legs and just watched. He has watched it close to sixty times already, but he was missing something. Suddenly, a flash of muscle jutting out from her abdomen underneath that smooth, smooth skin provided his epiphany.

Stupid. Stupidstupidstupid. It's called belly-dancing for a reason. Up until now, Kurt had been using his legs, more specifically, his toned thighs to shake his hips. Belly-dancing was about the abdominals.

Shaking his head at his own ignorance, Kurt got up and proceeded to attempt the dance.

The next day, when he came into school clutching his sore abs, he cursed himself for skipping the crunches Coach Ken made the rest of the team do at practice. He was sore in places he didn't even know he had.

It only took a couple of weeks before Kurt was moving with the best of them. Hips, back, chest popping and jutting; gyrating and shaking. He closes his eyes and moves. Never before has he felt so erotic, so sexy, so free. He lets the music wash over him as he navigates his body through the waves of sound.

It only gets better when his costumes arrive. It took some time to get used to the lack of material around his midsection, but he does and learns to love how his body looks when he dances out of the confines of cotton and silk. His favorite part of the ensemble, however, has to be the hip-skirt. It is a piece of translucent fabric, studded with metal disks that jingle and jangle when he sways. He adores that sound. It empowers him. When he moves, he is untouchable. Oh, how he wishes he could wear the hip-skirt all day long, to school and around his tormentors. Even they couldn't touch him.

By now, he's an expert in all things Middle-Eastern. He can identify the haunting vibrations of the oud, an instrument that vaguely resembles a mandolin, the pounding beat of the dumbek, the drum played by tapping hands instead of drumsticks.

For dinner, he forgoes his usual mixed-greens salad for tabouleah, a Syrian-Lebanese salad made of parsley, tomatoes, and burgurhl wheat. He greets Mercedes with a habibti (Arabic for beloved one) instead of "honey". During Rachel's diva-fits at Glee, he has taken up rolling his eyes at the ceiling and muttering, "Houlah kooit illa bin Allah" (rough translation: Only with the strength of God can I deal with you. Kurt was delighted when he discovered this little tidbit. Of course the Arabs had an answer to Rachel Berry. They had an answer to everything else, after all).

He used to dream of visiting Paris. Now, his plans include a trip to Damascus. Aladdin had replaced the Lion King as his favorite Disney movie.

No, Kurt didn't have a problem. He merely had an interest.

Two months into his hobby, Kurt still hasn't let anyone into his Arabian fantasy world. No one knew about the countless hours he devoted to moving his body in the exotic, ancient art. He was itching to show somebody. Actually, he was itching to show-off, but that was only semantics.

His opportunity came in the form of Mr. Schuester (as a lot of his opportunities have. As frustrating as he can be, Kurt loves the man).

"Guys, Regionals are right around the corner and I am more than a little concerned about our dancing. Vocal Adrenaline is going to bring it. We need something that pops and shows off our originality and uniqueness."

"Maybe another wheelchair number? You know, since the last one didn't really work out," suggests Finn.

"We can't. People will think that we stole it from Jane Addams," Artie bitterly remarks. Kurt's heart goes out to him. He knew how much that number meant to his wheelchair-bound friend. Later, Kurt will suggest that they do "Proud Mary" for a school assembly as a consolation to Artie. Right now, however, Kurt's mind is working overtime as he comes up with a plan.

As Rachel opens her mouth to no doubt suggest something ridiculous, Kurt interjects, "Mr. Schue, what if I told you that I had a way of impressing the judges with a dance number, solve the problem of the mandatory duet piece, and appease every diva in this room?"

Mr. Schuester raised his eyebrows in slight disbelief and smiled, "I'd say you were my savior."

Kurt grins, wide and excited, "Give me until Thursday."

It was settled. In two days, Kurt and who ever else was involved in the soprano's plan was to present their piece.

That afternoon, when Glee was over, Kurt implored Mercedes and Rachel to go over to his house. That conversation was a trip.

"You two, as the leading ladies of this group, will be perfect for what I have in mind."

Mercedes' mouth drops open in shock, "Boy, you want me to work with her. Are you trippin' or are you drunk?"

Rachel crosses her arms against her chest and stomps her foot, "Mercedes, I must once again emphasize the importance of teamwork and cooperation. I would be honored to work with you on this piece. I'm sure that working with me will be beneficial for you, as well. I could help with your inclination to sing sharply at times—"

Kurt reacts quickly to prevent the violent response Mercedes was going to give the pint-sized diva, "Ladies! Believe me, this song will showcase both your talents equally." His eyes implored Mercedes to agree.

The black girl sighs in resignation, "What do you have in mind?"

Kurt's answering smile lit up the entire room.

Thursday rolled around almost too quickly for Kurt. As excited as he was for this, he was nervous. After all, he was about to belly-dance in front of people for the first time. He was about to dance in front of Quinn and Artie and Finn and Puck – oh, shit! Puck! How the hell had he forgotten about Puck.

In the months after Sectionals and Babygate implosion, the group suffered some re-structuring. Finn eventually forgave Puck and Quinn. However, he decided to stay friends with Quinn and entered a relationship with Rachel. Kurt was surprised at himself. After the initial shock, there wasn't any pain. It seems that the Finn-crush burned out just as quickly and intensely as it came on. And bonus points: Rachel mellowed out. Slightly, but a little nevertheless.

In addition to new relationships, new friendships were born. Quinn and Artie walked into Glee one day, laughing and joking around as if they've been friends forever. The details are lost on Kurt, but he's happy for them. Likewise, Brittany, Mike and Rachel suddenly started a dancing support group, breaking out into routines in the middle of crowded hallways. Tina and Santana discovered mutual musical interests and a friendship blossomed there.

To outsiders (and insiders, if he was going to be perfectly honest), however, the most surprising interaction to come about was that between Kurt, Mercedes, and Puck. One day, tired of his moping around, Mercedes approached Puck, determined to snap him out of it. A lot of cursing and profanities were exchanged, unsurprisingly.

Years later, Kurt might understand what had happened. As of now, however, he had no clue. In the course of the (very loud) "conversation", Puck had shifted gears and suddenly, the black diva and resident bad-boy were arguing over professional basketball teams. Basketball. Color Kurt surprised.

From then on, Mercedes and Puck were inseparable. As Mercedes and Kurt were always together (and that was never going to change), Kurt found himself spending a good deal of time with Noah Puckerman. Color Kurt surprised.

Their friendship was not wholly based on the proximity issue. On the contrary, Kurt found that he had many things in common with the mohawked tight end. They both were obsessed with the TV show House (although Kurt had problems with Puck being a Huddy shipper. Ugh. Gag. House was so gay for Wilson. And Wilson? Three ex-wives aren't enough to convince you that your best friend is who you actually want?), which lead to Monday nights spent in Kurt's basement. Another, more unexpected, commonality was their love of Harry Potter ("Wait, you can read?"). There, they also fought over interests ("Are you kidding, Hummel? Harry hates Draco!" "There's a fine line between love and hate, and an even thinner line between hate and lust, Puckerman!"), but found some common ground ("Of course Black and Lupin were screwing. 'Embraced like brothers', my sweet, Jewish ass").

Longer story made (slightly) shorter, Kurt started to develop feelings for his ex-tormentor. It was inevitable, really. Puck is hot, reasonably intelligent (more so than Finn, at least), funny – did he mention hot?

Which is why this situation was nearly laughable. How the hell did he forget that Puck, the object of his affections, was going to watch Kurt dance almost half-naked. Oh, shit. Shitshitshitshit.

His breath was coming in short gasps as he freaked out. Mercedes and Rachel, who had just entered the room, rushed over to him.

"What's wrong? Are you okay? Do you need the nurse?"

"Chill, white girl!" Mercedes then turned to Kurt, "Kurt, what's wrong?"

Looking at her with wide eyes, he squeaked out, "I'm going to dance in front of Puck!"

"You just realized that? I thought this was part of your master plan to seduce him."

"Master plan? Master plan? There is no master plan! I'm supposed to repress these feelings and move on, Mercedes. I'm not supposed to act on them!"

She snorted, "Well, too late for that. Might as well play it up for all it's worth."

Rachel, who looked shocked initially, offered her two-cents, "I'm sure Noah will appreciate this." At Kurt's expression, she said, "Kurt, you and I might not always see eye to eye-" Mercedes snorted. "-but I think you did a wonderful job with this selection. And your dance? It is nothing short of-" Rachel blushed, "-sexy."

Kurt and Mercedes' eyebrows rose to their hairlines, "Jeez, girl, how hard was that for you to say?"

Rachel glared, before bursting into giggles, "Look, it's Prince Charming!"

As one, Kurt and Mercedes whirled around. Sure enough, Puck had just entered the choir room and was heading over to the threesome.

Rachel and Mercedes stepped back and, not-so-subtlety shoved Kurt forward. He jingled. Puck smirked down at the shorter boy and raised one eyebrow. Kurt blushed.

"Hello, Puck."

"Hey, Hummel. What's with the raincoat?"

"It's a trenchcoat and my outfit is a surprise," Kurt responded haughtily, sass and confidence returning. Flirting he was good at.

"Oooh, a surprise?" Puck's grin was almost feral, but not threatening, "I was interested to see your miracle number before. Now I'm excited." He practically purred the last part.

Kurt's blush spread from his cheeks up to his forehead and down his neck. He knew that Puck was only playing around. He was saved by the arrival of the rest of the club and Mr. Schuester.

"Alright, everyone take your seats! We have a performance to watch today. Kurt, you ready?"

With an intake of breath and small smile, Kurt nodded, "As I'll ever be."

"Let's do it!"

Mercedes and Rachel took their places on either side of Kurt, facing the seated Glee club. "So, this is a preview. I didn't have enough time to teach Rachel and Mercedes the dance and the song, so they'll only be singing. If you like it, I'll teach them and the rest of the girls."

Mr. Schue nodded and smiled, clearly excited for their performance.

Kurt took a second to survey the rest of the club. Tina, Artie, and Brittany all offered smiles in support. Santana looked bored. Finn gave him a thumbs up and Quinn mouthed, "You go, girls". Mike and Matt were bouncing in their seats and Puck, well, Puck could not look more interested. He leaned forward in his seat and narrowed his eyes, eyebrows furrowed. Kurt gulped.

Mercedes nudged him with her elbow and he snapped out of it. Think of Patti, Idina, Kristin. Think of Shakira! Gaining the confidence he needed, Kurt threw off his Marc Jacobs full-length trenchcoat. There was a collective gasp that broke the silence of the room. Kurt smirked. Showtime.

His outfit was quite the surprise. Skin-tight, cropped black top that resembled a sports bra (if he was a girl, of course) that showed off the taut stomach he'd developed. On his hips, he wore black leather pants that fit like a second skin under a black hip-skirt that tied off at the side. The silver coins jingled as he moved slightly. To put it mildly, Kurt Hummel looked utterly fuck-able.

Clearly, everyone else thought so. Everybody's eyes widened, if not bugged out at the sight of Kurt. The object of attention smirked more, gaining confidence with every look. Most of all, though, from Puck's expression. If there ever was an example of dumbstruck, Puck was it. Kurt examined him further and found a hint of something unidentifiable among the many expressions that flitted across Puck's face. If Kurt wasn't mistaken, he'd say that Puck was aroused. Oh, yeah. Wait until I start!

Kurt turned to the CD player perched on top of the piano. Hitting the play button, he waited for his debut begin.

A melody broke the silence. A haunting trumpet/violin combination filled the room. Kurt was almost giddy with how ideal this song was. The duet, originally performed by Beyonce and Shakira, fitted Rachel and Mercedes' ranges perfectly and offered Kurt a lot to work with, choreography-wise.

Rachel started it off with her crystal-like voice: Ay, Ay, Ay

Nobody likes being played

Oh, Mercedes, Mercedes

Oh, Rachel, Rachel (hey)

Kurt immediately followed the beat, rolling his hips up and down, side to side. He twisted and slithered his arms to a position above his head, crossing them at his wrists.

[Mercedes] He said I'm worth it, his one desire

[Rachel] I know things about 'em that you wouldn't wanna read about

[Mercedes] He kissed me, his one and only, (yes) beautiful Liar

[Rachel] Tell me how you tolerate the things that you just found out about

Kurt's hips moved as if they were independent from the rest of his body. They followed the violin. His torso, however, followed the drum, popping up and down in time with the percussion.

[Rachel] You never know

[Mercedes] Why are we the ones who suffer

[Rachel] I have to let go

[Mercedes] He won't be the one to cry

Kurt twirled around, his back now to his audience. He emphasized his movements by shaking his ass in time with the trumpet, almost writhing back and forth. His arms moved down to his sides fluidly. Turning his head back toward the front, he sent a sultry look over to his audience. Puck looked mesmerized, mouth parted slightly, as he heaved breaths.

[Mercedes] (Ay) Let's not kill the karma

(Ay) Let's not start a fight

(Ay) It's not worth the drama

For a beautiful liar

[Rachel] Can't we laugh about it

(Oh) It's not worth our time

(Oh) We can live without 'em

Just a beautiful liar

Kurt once again twirled forward and kneeled, ass resting on his heels, knees on the ground. He bowed forward, arms outstretched, as if bowing to royalty. Slowly, following the beat, he gyrated his torso up to sitting position, arms outstretched over his head.

[Rachel] I trusted him, but when I followed you, I saw you together

[Mercedes] I didn't know about you then 'till I saw you with him again

[Rachel] I walked in on your love scene, slow dancing

[Mercedes] You stole everything, how can you say I did you wrong

Not ceasing the gyrating, he slowly lifted himself up, slithering all the way. Now, he resembled a snake climbing out of its basket. His body, folding in a sinusoidal wave, starting from his feet up to his arms, side to side.

As Rachel and Mercedes carried the song into the next chorus, Kurt fell completely into the rhythm. His eyes were half-lidded and he looked like he was writhing in pleasure and ecstasy. Which, in a way, he was. This dance was addicting and delicious. He found it ironic that everyone believed that only slave girls were forced into this dance. If anything, it was feminist in its design and execution. The dance radiated with sexuality and power from the inside outward. It celebrated the erotic. Kurt has never felt more in control or more desirable in his entire life. One sway of his hips and he has the attention of everyone in the room. The power was intoxicating.

[Rachel] Tell me how to forgive you

When it's me who's ashamed

[Mercedes] And I wish could free you

Of the hurt and the pain

(Both) But the answer is simple

He's the one to blame

The song has reached its climax and so has Kurt's dance. The bridge is excellent for choreography because it is most true to Arabic music. Kurt is once again on his knees, torso swaying from side to side. He picks himself up and raises his arms above his head. His hips move to one side and then up and down to the other side. It's beautiful and hair raising. At a beat of the drum, one arm twirls down to chest level, extended, wrist flicking his hand up and down.

At the call of the trumpet, his arms switch positions, with the one at his chest moving to above his head and vice versa. Next, his hip juts to the side and it takes its time moving back to his torso, up and down, up and down. Suddenly, he turns so that his side is to Mr. Schue and the rest of the club. Now, for his finale. Legs together, he thrusts his pelvis forward and rolls the rest of his torso forward, chest following. His body is in a perfect arch now, rolling up and down. His chest and pelvis pop opposite one another. Kurt's head is so low to the ground that he looks like he's going to perform the gymnastic exercise bridge. He doesn't, however, suspending his body without the aid of his arms.

[Mercedes] (Ay) Let's not kill the karma

(Ay) Let's not start a fight

(Ay) It's not worth the drama

For a beautiful liar

[Rachel] Can't we laugh about it

(Oh) It's not worth our time

(Oh) We can live without 'em

Just a beautiful liar

Kurt lifts himself up, once again without the aid of his arms He turns sharply to face forward and ends his routine with his head tilted to the side, his hip jutted out to the opposite side and chest popped out. Rachel lets out the last of the song and, just like that, his masterpiece is over.

He is met with silence. No one says a word, choosing to sit there, mouths gaping and eyes wide. Just as Kurt is about to bolt out of the room in tears, Finn breaks the silence.

"Oh, fuck."

And dam breaks. Suddenly, everyone is on their feet (except for Artie, of course), clapping and cheering wildly. Cries of "That was so HOT!" and "Holy shit, I had no idea that he could move like that!" with the response of "I had no idea anybody could move like that!" filled the air.

The room was chaotic. Mike was popping and locking in attempts of recreating what Kurt just did. Quinn and Brittany were squealing over the routine. Finn and Mr. Schue still looked a little out of, shaking their heads dumbly, still clapping. Mercedes and Rachel tackled him with hugs and squeals.

"You were amazing!" Rachel is jumping up and down. Mercedes chimes in, "So sexy. SO sexy!"

Kurt is gasping, regaining his breath, thin layers of sweat coating his body, he is smiling, high off adrenaline and success. As he starts to congratulate the girls on their awesome singing, a whistle cuts him off.

Mr. Schue, who has since recovered, removes his fingers from his mouth. "Attention, attention everyone! Everyone take a seat!"

Kurt , Rachel, and Mercedes take seats in the front row and turn their attention toward Mr. Schuester, who now occupied the place they did.

"Guys, that was really…surprising." Kurt's heart fell. He didn't like it.

"I have no doubts that it'll be equally surprising to the judges. It's unique. It's attention grabbing."

Kurt held his breath. Rachel and Mercedes, who occupied the seats on either side of him, each take one of his hands in their own, squeezing them in support and anxiety.

"Which is why I've decided that this will be our OPENING NUMBER AT REGIONALS!"

Kurt (to his chagrin), Rachel, and Mercedes screamed. As did most of the club. People slapped his back and threw themselves at him in partial hugs. Matt started off the chant, "New Directions, what? New Directions, what? Hey, ho, spread the word, Vocal Adrenaline is comin' third!"

Kurt threw back his head a laughed. He's never been this happy. The club is on their feet, dancing, bouncing, and chanting, "Hey, ho, spread the word, Vocal Adrenaline is comin' third!"

For the second time that day, Kurt mentally kicks himself for forgetting about Puck. He turns his head, eyes moving around the room. Puck was nowhere to be found.

Mr. Schue is laughing, but trying to quiet them down, "Guys, GUYS! I know you guys are excited, but we need to work on the number! Let's take it from the top and incorporate back-up vocals."

As Mr. Schue is assigning parts to everybody, Kurt excuses himself under the guise of splashing water on his still flushed face. In reality, he went looking for Puck.

Who he had found in a neighboring classroom. Puck was raging in the empty room, pacing madly, kicking chairs out of his way. Kurt couldn't understand what he was muttering under his breath.

"Puck?"

It was almost comical, the way Puck whirled around to face him. His (beautiful and impossibly hazel) eyes are wide, like the clichéd deer-caught-in-the-headlights.

Kurt takes some steps toward him. Puck's eyes trail down his body, resting on Kurt's bare abdomen. When Kurt gets closer, however, Puck's eyes trail back to his face. Kurt, now less than a foot away from Puck, looks up into his eyes. They're black. His pupils are so dilated; they swallowed the iris.

"Did you not like my dance?" Kurt asks in a soft voice.

In a second and flash of movement, he is pressed against the wall with Puck plastered against him.

"Did I like your dance?" Puck's voice is gravelly and hoarse, "FUCK, Kurt. I tried SO hard to not like you. Not get turned on by those plump lips and pert ass. SO hard. Jesus, even your voice is a turn on. One conversation on the phone and I'm hard as a rock! And it's not just sex! It's House and Harry fucking Potter and trips to the fucking mall!"

Kurt is still, transfixed by the hard body against his own and the emotion pouring out of this beautiful man before him.

"I tried! Because sex and relationships RUIN things. I ruin things! It was working so well. SO well. Until you fucking wear THAT and you move like a FUCKING snake without any FUCKING bones!"

Kurt heard enough. He wiggles his arms free, grabs Puck's face, and smashes their lips together.

It's not perfect. Between Puck's mental state and Kurt's inexperience the kiss is borderline painful. There is a lot of teeth and tongue and – oh. Kurt's head is spinning as Puck responds to the kiss and takes charge. He runs his tongue along Kurt's bottom lip and Kurt opens his mouth in response. Their tongues are twirling around each other in a mess of muscle and saliva.

Kurt takes the time to wrap his lips around Puck's tongue and sucks. A moan is ripped out of Puck and he grinds his crotch down against Kurt's. That's when Kurt feels Puck's erection for the first time. He's hard! Go me! That was the last coherent thought Kurt could muster as Puck attacks his neck while sliding his hands under Kurt's flimsy top to play with his nipples.

Kurt is keening, head heavy with lust and desire. Through his haze, however, a melody reaches his consciousness. Mr. Schue must have started rehearsal. As Beautiful Liar floats into the room, Kurt and his body does the only thing that it can ever do in response to that beat and rhythm: it dances.

Kurt recreates the dance he choreographed against Puck's body, his erection grinding beautifully against Puck's.

"Jesus, FUCK, KURT!" Puck has no choice but to try to get closer to the writhing body beneath him. On a particularly brutal stab of hips against hips, Kurt's head flies back against the wall with loud CRACK! Kurt is beyond the point of caring, however, too focused on the sensations being created by his and Puck's bodies.

In an unusual flash of clarity, Kurt takes a moment to push Puck back into a chair behind him. Puck is confused and missing the contact, but it returns as Kurt straddles him and continues the rhythm set before, now with the added bonus of gravity. Puck groans and scrambles to remove the material covering Kurt's chest. Hurling it across, the room, he buries his face in the smooth planes of Kurt.

Kurt, above him, is loosing it. Head spinning, he closes his eyes and throws his head back, wailing, "Noooooaaaaah!"

Puck is bucking beneath him, matching every roll of Kurt's hips with a thrust of his own. He's getting so close, so close, so close.

"KURT!" Puck comes violently, almost throwing Kurt off him and would have succeeded if not for the hands griping Kurt's hips so tightly, tattooing his fingerprints into the white skin.

Kurt, meanwhile, experiences a sharp burn of desire in the pit of his belly in response to Puck's orgasm. Tears squeeze out of his tightly shut eyes as he rapidly approaches the first orgasm brought on by someone else. His hips move frantically now, rolling and stabbing and thrusting and grinding. His breath is coming in short, deep gasps. If this got any hotter, if he got any harder…

Kurt seizes up and screams as his orgasm hits him. He collapsed against Puck, blacking out at the intensity of the experience.

Puck, who has since recovered, wraps his arms around the soprano's trembling frame. Rubbing his hands up and down Kurt's back and muttering, "It's ok, I've got you", he slowly brings Kurt back to reality.

Kurt lifts his head up to look at Puck and Puck can see dried tears on his flushed cheeks.

"That was-" Kurt pauses to cough and regain his voice.

"Amazing." Puck finishes for him with a radiant smile.

Kurt brushes his lips against Puck in a gentle caress. There is no fire, no urgency, only comfortable content.

After a minute, he pulls back and looks down at his lap, which is still straddling Puck's, remarking, "Do you have any idea of hard it's going to be removing leather pants from semen crusted skin?"

Puck laughs long and loud and pulls Kurt down so that their foreheads are touching, "How did you learn to dance like that?"

Instead of answering, Kurt softly sings a part of one of his favorite Lebanese songs, "Ya hilu, huzi hilu, Ana shifte annunek."

END

That last part means, "How beautiful, How beautiful is my luck, I saw your eyes"