This is a fanfic of a fanfic. It was written for Fearful_Little_Thing's AWESOME serial killer fic, Stick (Like a Pig). If you have not read that, this will make NO SENSE WHATSOEVER.

Well, it might make a little sense, but it won't be as much fun.

So go here: www. fanfiction .net/s/6180301/1/Stick_Like_A_Pig and read this first! And THEN you can come back and read this Interlude! It fits in between parts 2 and 4, and you'll understand after you read everything.

Even better, go to her LJ and read it there (fearfullt. livejournal. com) because on her LJ, she has included an illustration for every chapter.

And if you've read my work, you know Fearful = Fox = my most amazing fanartist friend whose work is TO DIE FOR.

For this chapter, the illustration is here: http:/ /i2. photobucket. com/ albums/ y6/ FantismalSpider/ Illustrations/ SLAPInterludebyFox. jpg

This is also rated M not because THIS scene is M (it's actually probably barely PG), but because the fic as a whole is M. I'm sorry to disappoint, but that's just how it is.

I do not own Glee, nor do I own S(LAP)

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STICK (LIKE A PIG): INTERLUDE

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Kurt slipped back into the house, turning the deadbolt on the front door slowly, toeing off his shoes before he even stepped out of the front hall. The lights were all off, so Burt was still (thankfully) in bed. Kurt could make his way through the house blindfolded, so he didn't reach for any light switches as he padded toward his room, sneakers in hand.

Unfortunately, Burt was not still in bed, a fact, Kurt realized when the lights flipped on, momentarily blinding him. He winced, raising an arm to cover his eyes.

"It's after midnight."

Kurt's lips turned down in a distasteful moue at the sound of his father's voice, turning to face the man leaning against the wall by his door. "Sorry..."

"Sorry? That's all you've got for me?" Burt's arms were crossed, and he was still dressed for sleep, in loose cotton pants tied around his waist, an old t-shirt on top. "You're not in your room, not in the house, not even a note..."

"It was a spur-of-the-moment thing," Kurt said. "I'm sorry. Next time, I'll leave a note."

"I almost called the police, Kurt."

Kurt sighed. "How many times do I need to apologize before you let me go?"

"Where were you?"

"Out."

"Kurt."

Kurt just barely refrained from rolling his eyes. It was after midnight, and Puck's call had woken him from his beauty sleep. He had fixed a car, fucked a murderer, and sucked him off in his truck before Puck had dropped him off outside his house... and he had an English test the next day. One with essay questions, which were harder to half-ass than multiple choice. He just wanted to climb back into his bed now (and maybe let his mind return to Donahue's body...). "I was with a friend, okay?"

"Which friend? A guy friend, or a girl friend?" Burt was looking suspiciously at Kurt, and the boy suddenly had to fight down a smirk. Oh, he could definitely use this to his advantage...

"Puck," Kurt answered, letting his hands wander over his sweater, seemingly-nervously tugging on it, turning his head just a little to the side. He could still feel the mark Puck had left against his collarbone, and if he tugged his sweater just enough, his dad should be able to see it. Yes. He knew he had been successful when Burt's eyes snapped to the base of his neck. "Noah Puckerman. He's... in Glee. On the football team."

"Why did you sneak out to a guy's house after midnight?" Burt's voice sounded tight. Kurt wondered, momentarily, how dirty Burt's thoughts were right now. Just what did Burt think he'd been up to?

"It wasn't his house," Kurt answered. Drop my eyes to the floor, just a touch of flustered... "He... uh... it was his truck. It broke down. He doesn't have insurance," speed up the pace, make it sound like a sudden inspiration for a lie... "so he called me to see if I could fix it for him. And I could. Because he's a friend. So he dropped me off, and... yes. That's it. All that happened." Repeated reassurances to convince Dad that that's not all that happened...

Burt rubbed his hand over his face tiredly. "Kurt... you like this, this Puck guy?"

More embarrassment, don't meet his eyes... "Mm... sorta... yes..."

"Have you been helping him, er, 'fix his truck' for a while?"

Kurt let his eyes flick to Burt's face before back down to the tile floor. No verbal answer, just a small nod.

Burt made a sound that wasn't quite a groan, and Kurt kept his triumphant smile from breaking through. "Just... just go to bed now. And stay there this time. And... and if you feel the urge to fix any more vehicles in the middle of the night, leave a note. And preferably an address and several contact numbers, full names of anyone who will be there..." Burt rubbed his face again and shook his head. "We'll talk about this tomorrow. Don't think you're getting off. This conversation isn't over. It's just after midnight, and I'm exhausted."

"Me too," Kurt quickly agreed with a nod. "Fu-ixing trucks takes a lot of energy."

Burt eyed Kurt suspiciously before giving another shake of his head, leaving the room with Kurt's very best fake-innocent smile at his back.

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The next morning, Burt sat sullenly staring into his coffee mug as Kurt made himself a smoothie. When he had finished with the blender and slid into the seat opposite his dad, Burt spoke up without looking up. "I want to meet him. Bring him over for dinner. Wednesday—I'll close up early."

"Of course," Kurt said, nodding contritely. He even waited until Burt had left the room to finish getting ready for work before breaking out his smug grin of success. Puck might think they just had a freaky death-sex thing going on, but Kurt had standards. If Puck wanted to continue to fuck him, he'd have to admit that they were dating. And if Kurt had to manipulate his father to get Puck to admit that they were dating, well... so be it. Kurt had hooked up with Lima's youngest serial killer. He wasn't about to let anything ruin his fun...