Grand Gestures
In a boyfriend-boyfriend relationship, there was no "girl". Sure, Kurt might prefer being topped more often than not and sure, sometimes he had trouble opening a stupid jar but that didn't make him the "girl". Neither of them were the girl, he'd tell Puck, "-because as far as I can recall, neither of us have a vagina or boobs." Of course, that would get Puck smirking and saying something that would inevitably lead to him getting the sucker-punch of a lifetime (at least, until the next time he did something stupid).
While there was no "girl" to be had, Kurt knew they would both have moments where they needed to be cuddled, pampered and loved. As reassurance, maybe (like that one time Puck forgot to pick Kurt up from Dalton one hour and five missed calls later), or in this case, as a comfort.
"The worst part is, she hasn't even been around to yell at me." Puck said it without meeting Kurt's eyes, swirling a plastic spoon around in the probably non-Kosher puddle of what was left of their ice cream sundae. Kurt had gotten the gist of the story when Puck called him up thirty minutes earlier, but having his boyfriend tell him over the phone that his mother wasn't taking their coming out as well as they'd planned…
"She's a Jewish mom," Puck said when Kurt hesitantly voiced his concerns. "Acceptance is like, practically ingrained in her blood, especially when it comes to her one and only son who is-oh yeah, that's right-freaking awesome."
…Well, it was heartrending to say the least. There was a dramatic difference between hearing Puck stutter over his words and actually seeing how Puck's eyes watered mid-sentence.
Puck quickly recovered his badass façade with a cold smirk, flinging his triple-knotted cherry stem at some little kid blowing raspberries their way. Kurt rolled his eyes but reluctantly smiled back, partially because he wanted Puck to feel better… but mostly because his boyfriend had yet to notice he'd had some chocolate ice cream on his upper lip for five minutes and counting. It was adorable in a dorky, sort of gross way.
Kurt reached for Puck's hand under the concealment of their booth, flipping it so Kurt could press their palms together and weave his fingers through Puck's. He didn't say anything about Puck's unusually clammy hand, wordlessly running his thumb along the gap between Puck's thumb and forefinger for a few moments-a weird relaxing tip he'd found in some men's magazine while waiting for his dad in the cardiologist's. (Said magazine also gave him tips on how to give one hell of an erotic foot massage, but that was neither here nor there.)
"If she's as awesome as you claim, I'm sure she'll come around." Kurt wished he could say more-domore to make it better for Puck; he despised feeling so utterly helpless. He grimaced when Puck started blowing bubbles in his cola. "She'd have to be a freaking saint if she raised you."
Puck just grinned at him, chocolate mustache and all.
Kurt pulled up to the Puckerman house, and neither boy missed the slightly worse-for-wear compact car sitting in the driveway. "Um… do you think she'd be alright with me walking you inside?" Kurt asked quietly. "I don't want to cause trouble."
"No. Screw her," Puck hissed. Judging by his expression, he realized just how pathetic he sounded when there was no venom in his voice.
Kurt sighed and shut off the ignition, pocketing his keys. "Alright then. Come on, stud."
They walked into the house as if they'd set off a booby trap, tip-toeing into the quiet, darkened foyer with all the trepidation of seasoned narcs. "Ma?" Puck called.
No answer.
Kurt trailed behind Puck to his bedroom, frowning at the silence that shrouded the Puckerman residence. It was so quiet his ears rang and his skin began to prickle.
"I gotta clean my room," Puck warned as he opened his door for Kurt. If he'd been the religious type, Kurt would cross himself before entering the doorway. As it was, he simply held his breath (most boys were smelly creatures, though Puck was usually good about personal hygiene) and marched on in.
"Oh, it's not so bad." Kurt looked around Puck's bedroom. "Actually…"
"Huh," Puck grunted, freezing and looking around. "I guess my ma cleaned up for me… weird."
"Hey, wait a minute-Puck, what's that?" Kurt asked cautiously, pointing at something on Puck's made bed. He watched as Puck frowned, venturing over to the mattress and the colorfully colored… something.
"It's a… rainbow thing," Puck announced tonelessly, holding up the rectangular swatch of fabric between his fingers.
"A rainbow flag, Puck." Kurt corrected softly, his disposition softening. "A gay pride flag."
He watched as Puck stared at his bed for a while-so long that Kurt began to worry. "Puck, are you okay?"
"What? I-yeah," Puck murmured. "It's just… she left me a note."
Kurt walked over but didn't read the note, uncomfortably staring at Puck's closed-off expression until the mohawked boy rolled his eyes and gruffly told Kurt to "Read the damn thing, don't just gape at me like a dumbass."
Kurt rolled his eyes but (barely) refrained from shoulder-checking Puck, taking the proffered note.
No-No, I love you so much baby. Nothing would ever change that. I'm sorry if I made you think otherwise… consider me doing your chores an apology. Let that boy of yours know I plan on having a proper get-together with him and his family. xoxo Mom
"Wow, what a… what a grand gesture." He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. "You didn't tell me Rachel was your mother," he chuckled shakily.
"She's kinda ridiculous, isn't she?" Puck muttered, the barest trace of fondness in his voice.
"But she's your mother, and you're a silly little momma's boy." Kurt said with a teasing smile. "I think you should go find her, Puck."
"I will…" Puck murmured, leaning back against Kurt and looking at the note in the other boy's hand. Kurt wrapped one arm around Puck's waist, resting his chin on Puck's shoulder. "In a minute. I just need..."
"I got you." Kurt let Puck grab the note, kissing Puck's jaw in a small gesture of support.