Kurt stared out the window and sighed, watching as the couple outside laugh and hold hands, as they strolled happily down the sidewalk. Couple after couple followed them, playfully laughing as the fluffy snow drifted down around them. Kurt forced his gaze away from the street outside, and down at his hands that were clasped around his cooling mug of hot chocolate.

To put it simply, Kurt hated Christmas. Actually, he hated the holidays in general. The presents, the lights and music, the decorations and colors. Everything about the holidays – the happiest time of the year – made Kurt physically sick to his stomach. When Kurt had been six, while everyone else sat around their Christmas tress, opening presents with their parents and siblings, Kurt had been saying their last goodbyes to his beloved mother, as she lay on life support, brain dead from attempted suicide.

Kurt blinked back the warmth of tears as he sucked in a deep breath, shaking his head to rid himself of the sadness. Whenever he thought of his mother, he would always end up crying. And although that wasn't a bad thing, and Kurt usually let himself cry, he wasn't particularly fond of the idea of crying in a cafe on Christmas eve. He took a sip of his hot chocolate, closing his eyes and calming himself as he thought about the holidays.

When he was younger, Christmas had been his favorite time of year. He'd loved everything about it, right down to picking out a tree to cleaning up the wrapping paper after the presents had been opened. His mother had been part of it, always taking two weeks off at Christmas time to spend with him. They'd build snowmen and snow forts, bake Christmas-themed cookies and drink eggnog while they waited for his father to come home. He loved Christmas Eve, when he was too excited to sleep and stayed awake half the night, only to wake up at the crack of dawn to open presents with his parents, and having hot tea while he waited for his mom to make breakfast. After his mother's death, Christmas turned into a chore and Kurt hated it. He hated the lights and the decorations, and especially the music. Jingle Bells, Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree and even Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer made Kurt want to cringe and shove his earphones in to listen to vintage Lady Gaga while he worked. Maybe working in a local coffee shop was just asking for crappy Christmas music (and really, did the couple that owned the place have to be so cheery all the time?), but Kurt could never say no to more hours, because he was still paying his way through school.

It was times like this that Kurt missed the Lima, Ohio, and really, it didn't happen that often, but when it did, he could remember every detail of it, the good and the bad. Living in Lima had been easy compared to living in New York. Growing up in Lima, he's woken up, gotten his fashionable self ready for school, went to school, got tossed into the dumpster, get slushied, change into the second outfit he always had in his locker and finish the day with an iced peppermint white chocolate mocha with Mercedes. He'd had money to spend on expensive clothes, and time to spend with friends on the weekends. Hell, he's had friends in Lima. Mercedes, Tina, Artie – he'd even through Rachel in with that group – had been there for him, no matter what happened. They'd gone through slushies, and verbal attacks in the hallway by Sylvester together, and Kurt missed the closeness that he'd shared with them.

Being in the big city wasn't all what it was cracked up to be. When the New Directions had come to New York for Nationals, Kurt had seen it as his big opportunity to find himself. The minute he'd walked off the plane, he wasn't the weird gay kid with the flashy clothes. He was Kurt Hummel, soon-to-be Broadway star, and he could have really gotten used to it. He'd eaten breakfast at Tiffany's and performed on stage with Rachel. It was in that moment, up on stage, that he knew he was meant for this life. The dazzling lights, the music, the sets; everything that was there was calling to him.

But then reality had set in, as it usually does, and ruined the moment. They'd lost Nationals, and not only that, but they'd lost hard. They'd failed (And Kurt firmly believed it was because of Finn, his step brother, and Rachel's kissy faces on stage), and Kurt had began to rethink his priorities. Sure, Kurt knew he was talented, but he also knew that many people tried to make it in show business, but never made it anywhere. And suddenly, all those speeches from his father about "thinking about his future" and "having a back up plan" meant a lot more to him when he had his eyes open to what was going on around him. His dad hadn't said those things to Kurt because he hadn't believed in him as Kurt had thought; he'd said them because he was scared that Kurt would have nothing to fall back on if he failed.

By the next Wednesday, Kurt had it figured out. He had his entire life mapped out in front of him, from that Wednesday to the time he was twenty-three. He could still feel the call of New York, and had decided that New York College of Arts and Science seemed like the most amazing idea of life. He thanked the God he didn't really believe in that he'd taken enough psychology and English classes through out freshman and sophomore year to qualify him for the programs that he wanted. One session with Ms Pillsbury had him a one way ticket to six scholarship opportunities, as well as a vast wealth of knowledge about the psychology programs at CAS. And so, Kurt had begun to actually plan his life. Maybe Brian Ryan had been right, that not everyone would go on to become performers, and maybe it wasn't what he had wanted to hear at the time, but the big, fat fail known as Nationals had made Kurt realize that he couldn't just go to New York and pray for the best. Kurt had watched his friends flounce around for the next year, dating the same people and dreaming about things that probably weren't going to happen, and by the time university applications had come around, Kurt, Artie, Tina, Mike and Quinn were the only ones to actually apply anywhere. Both Quinn and Artie had been accepted to the California Institute of Technology, and shared an apartment together, while Tina and Mike had decided to go to Berkeley, where they were both studying English. When it came down to it, Kurt would still consider them his close friends, as they talked religiously over Facebook and had weekly Skype sessions on Sunday nights.

Kurt grinned softly, rubbing the soft skin of his lower lip with his knuckle. Facebook had come in handy, indeed, when it came to seeing where everyone was now, just a few short months after graduation. Rachel had tried to blackmail him into letting her stay at his apartment until she was "discovered", but he'd shot that down as soon as it'd come out her mouth. He could barely stand her for a little less than an hour – how was he supposed to deal with her for a few months? She'd flown to New York with him, and flown back alone less than two months later. According to her plentiful Facebook status updates, the theater was not, in fact, her calling. About three days after she'd arrived home, her relationship status had changed to in a relationship with Finn Hudson. Kurt had just rolled his eyes and logged off, not wanting to deal with that drama.

Santana and Brittany had, unsurprisingly, gone to Los Angeles. After a few months of no modeling jobs, the girls had turned to the fabulous world of lesbian porn, in which both were doing quite well in. (Brittany had been nominated for an AVN for Best New Starlet, and both girls had been nominated for Best All-Girl Sex Scene.)

Mercedes had stayed in Lima, working at the local Starbucks (and, really, Kurt couldn't care less about her, since their falling out over her bitchy acts in school once she became a Cheerio) and Finn, his step brother, had just stuck to working in Kurt's father's garage for a living, while taking over Kurt's old basement bedroom.

Kurt shook his head, flipping soft strands of hair that fell into his eyes out of his face. Most of his former glee mates had been total idiots when it came to their futures, but Kurt was certainly glad that he wasn't. Swallowing the last of his hot chocolate, he flagged down the waitress – and closest friend. Daphne Turner was a soft spoken, dark haired, bronzed goddess with a soft spot for Kurt, and a big thing for girls. They may not be the closest of friends, but she was always willing to listen and she'd been one of the first people that Kurt had met in New York.

"Refill, darlin'?" she asked softly, her Southern drawl – Kurt guessed Louisiana, but she'd never tell him – thick as she smiled at him. He smiled back, handing her his mug.

"That'd be great, Daphne," he replied, giving her a little bit of a nose wiggle. She laughed with happiness at that.

"Gi' me a sec, 'kay?" She turned on her heel and walked away, empty mug in hand. Less than two minutes later she was back, a new mug – this one dark blue – filled with steaming hot chocolate and chilled whipped cream. She set it down in front of him, giving him a little pat on the shoulder as she did. "Thought you needed something a little sweet, so the cream's on me, yeah?"

Kurt grinned happily, licking some of the whipped cream off of the top. "Thanks, Daph." He wiped his lips with the napkin, and tried to discreetly crane his neck to get a good look at the front of the shop, where a few amps were set up. Every night was open mic night at Angelo's, as Daphne would say.

"He's in the back, Kurt," Daphne whispered softly, watching as Kurt blushed at being caught. She crouched down and pointed to the back of the room. Kurt turned his head and bit his lip to hold back the grin.

He was bent over at the waist, his absolutely perfect ass on display as he did so, fiddling with something in his guitar case. Kurt caught the sight of tanned forearms as he moved, and the teasing flash of a colorful tattoo.

"I'll leave you to your oglin'," Daphne grinned, getting up from her crouch and heading toward the counter.

Angelo's may make a decent cup of coffee, but it sure as hell wasn't the reason that Kurt came back to it every Friday and Saturday night. On his first night at Angelo's, while he waited to Daphne to finish changing in the back, he had waltzed in through the door, a tilt to his mouth and a guitar in hand. Kurt had decided, that right then and there, that he was in complete lust. And then when the man had sat on a bar stool and started strumming, he was in love. But then the guy, the one with the ridiculous mohawk (that actually looked really good on him), had opened his mouth and sung, Kurt had decided that he was giving his virginity to the guy. They didn't have to be in love or anything like that; it could be anonymous sex in the back of the coffee shop for all he cared. That man's voice was sex and whiskey and warmth and sin all wrapped into one beautiful package.

So, in true Hummel form, Kurt had sort of, maybe, perhaps stalked the guy for the next three months. Kurt thought "stalking" was a bit of a harsh term, so he preferred "admiring from afar". And, really, was it stalking if he only showed up on Fridays and Saturdays to catch a glimpse of such a beautiful specimen of the male form?

Daphne sure as heck thought so.

But Kurt didn't really care, because it was his daydreams, and sometimes it was his daydreams that got him through the day. In those fantasies, the man would be his lover – and they're have great sex – and he'd never be lonely or scared or worried about anything. He didn't have an enormous amount of debt piling up, he didn't have to barely eat to makes ends meet, and he didn't have to live in his crappy apartment where he went home every night. No, in his fantasies that man was rich and successful, and Kurt didn't have to worry about things like money, and he didn't cry at night, wishing his mother was still around because there was always someone there to hold him when he got a little sad. Yes, Kurt loved his daydreams and fantasies, but he knew they'd never come true. The man who sang at the little cafe on most Friday nights? He would probably never be with Kurt, and he probably had a job at some garage, and he probably wasn't even that good in bed.

But, Kurt had amended finally, it was okay to dream as long as he didn't walk around with his head in the clouds, and really, the dreams were reserved for late into the night, Fridays and Saturdays.

Kurt sipped at his hot chocolate as he watched the man, using his pinky finger to scoop up some whipped cream. He sighed contentedly like a teenage girl in puppy love as he watched the man move from the back of the room to the front. The man was utterly gorgeous, that was for sure. He was tall, dark and handsome. His legs were long and always perfectly encased in a pair of tight jeans, his arms were thick with muscles that were showed off by his short sleeved shirts that he seemed so fond of, no matter the weather. His skin was tanned and so freaking lickable, and his arms were dusted with fine dark hairs. He looked like one of those jocks in school that Kurt had always fantasized about. He was a man, and Kurt bet that he tasted like a man, and probably fucked like one too.

Kurt licked his lips, dragging his eyes up and down over the guy. Yeah, he was really, really good looking, but it wasn't only that. It was his voice. It was so good, like thick Scotch rolling over broken glass, smooth, with just the right amount of rasping to make Kurt want to cream his jeans. And yeah, maybe he did go home at night and jerk off to the image of the man leaning over him, tanned hands, calloused from playing guitar replacing his own smooth, pale ones, whispering dirty words into his ear. That didn't make him weird, it made him wishful.

So Kurt sat, biting at his lip and licking at his whipped cream as he watched the man move, his strides long and powerful. Kurt watched as he set up at the front of the shop, sitting down on a stool and pulling the guitar in front of him. Kurt sat back in his booth, cup in hand, as he waited for the show to begin. He wondered what the man would play today. Perhaps a little Pink Floyd to begin? He'd started with Foster The People the week before, and ended with a soft Citizen Cope ballad. Or maybe, Kurt thought, he'd single another one of his own songs, or one from an obscure artist that no one had ever heard of.

Soft strumming brought Kurt's attention back to the man. He sat up a little straight, just in case – no matter how unlikely it was, because he'd never noticed Kurt before.

"I burn a hole in, in the map I made; not sure what I missed," he began, his voice gentle and whispery, almost haunting in the way they echoed around him. Kurt tried to place the song, but found himself unable to. "And I just make the same mistakes. Can I be more than this? This is all, this is all we ever were; at least I loved enough to hurt, enough to hurt.

"I play the fool, yeah, I play the losing game. And let go of my innocence, and I don't have, I'll never be the same. Can I just be more than this, more than this? If this is all, this is all we ever were; at least I loved enough to hurt, enough to hurt.

"I was standing in the rain, had my face in the mirror. And I made nothing into bliss, and I found losing was just a trend. Yeah, is there more than this?"

Kurt stared, lips parted and damp with saliva. The sounds of the man's voice and guitar blended together in a way that sent a slippery shiver down his spine. The man's voice was so full of emotion, this longing and betrayal, maybe even a hate simmering underneath the surface. Every emotion was clear on his face, and the edge of desperate need was evident in his voice and the way his lips formed the words. Kurt didn't know how long he stared for, but by the time he had zoned back into what was really going on around him (and not just the attractive, muscular, dream man at the front of the cafe), Daphne was cleaning up the counters and the machines, and the only people left in the little coffee shop were the man and Kurt himself. Kurt shook his head, clearing it of the thoughts that whirled and swirled around in his head before taking a last gulp of hot chocolate and getting up from his seat, tossing his favorite slate grey pea coat on as he did. Digging into his pocket, he the ten dollar bill that had been sitting there for almost a week and placed it underneath the mug.

"Bye, Daph!" he called out, giving her a smile and a little wave as she turned to look at him. She gave him a grin, made an obscene gesture with her hands in the dreamy looking man's direction and gave him a thumbs up. Kurt just rolled his eyes and headed out the door, casting one last longing look at the man who was bent over his guitar case. Kurt sighed as he walked into the chilly, night air, wincing at the strong gust of wind that stroked across his cheek as soon as he stepped out onto the street. He stood underneath the awning, looking up at the sky as little fluffy clouds of snow drifted down, adding layer after layer to the already two-inch high snow. Kurt frowned as he saw the snow, thinking back to that morning when he'd checked the weather for the day. Two days before Christmas, and New York was supposed to get a huge snow storm. Kurt was less than impressed with this information, and had made the best of it by dancing around in his underwear to some Lady Gaga before work.

Groaning, he dug into his pocket and tugged out his phone, a crappy flip phone that he'd gotten for thirty dollars at a garage sale. While Kurt used to be able to afford fancy clothes and the latest iPhone, he could no longer do so while living on his own and saving up for his university debt. So Kurt had sold off his wardrobe (well, a few pieces he hadn't been able to part with), and started to show at Goodwill, and the reality of it was just sad to Kurt. Goodwill? That's what he could afford, and he couldn't believe that he'd ever been so dumb as to spend so much money and time on such expensive and frivolous clothing when there were more important things in life. Like bills and school and evil professors who are clearly slightly homophobic.

He was about to dial the number to the cheapest cab company when a voice spoke to his left. "Uhm, hey."

Kurt's head jerked up and he, for a lack of a better word, stared. He just stared at the dreamy, masculine, sexy, fucking gorgeous man that he'd been kind of stalker for the better part of three months who had spoken. He was pretty sure that if it were possible, his tongue would roll down all the way to the floor, and he'd start humping the guy's leg on command. Even when he spoke – just regular, old words, no singing at all – his voice was like sex. Sex and dark chocolate with a hint of something spicy. He could practically taste the words, and they tasted like the most delicious orgasm on his tongue.

Kurt realized he had been staring at the man for half a minute when he flushed a deep crimson color. Luckily it was covered by his wind burned cheeks. "Oh, uhm, hello," he croaked, cursing himself mentally for the nervous quiver in his voice. The man didn't seem to notice, so Kurt called himself safe on that one.

"Do you know what time it is?" the man asked, and Kurt couldn't help but just stare at his gorgeous, dark pink lips moving to form the words. He frowned as the man made a face.

Kurt swallowed harshly, but pulled out his phone to check the time. "It's almost ten six-"

"Listen, that was the lamest thing I've ever said in my entire life, and to be totally honest, I don't care what time it is. Really, I just want to say that I know that you've been eye-fucking me for the past few weeks and it's a really big turn on and I was wondering if you wanted to go home with me tonight?"

Kurt was floored. He'd seen him? Seriously, he'd seen him (at least he'd only noticed him for a few weeks and not the past few months, otherwise the man would probably be headed for the hills), he was turned on by him (and that never happened; he was even told in high school by his first serious boy crush that it looked like he was passing wind when he tried to make sexy faces), and he wanted to go home with him?

Kurt didn't know what compelled him to give the man a small nod of confirmation, but he did and it was in that moment he knew that this was where it all became real.

His name was Noah Puckerman (but he preferred Puck), he was twenty-seven-years-old, lived in a loft in SoHo and had a fabulous collection of Terry Richardson originals hanging in his living room. Kurt didn't really spend that much time looking at them, although he would have killed to, because he had taken less than three steps into the loft when Noah had yanked him around and crashed their mouths together. Kurt had stood there, frozen in shock, and then it was like a frenzy came over him as he slipped his tongue inside Noah's mouth, curling and gliding the soft flesh around Noah's own tongue, and making these soft, whimpering noises in the back of his throat. Noah gave as good as he got, one hand slipping into Kurt's hair, the other sliding down his back to grip his ass. Kurt groaned, pushing up against Noah's front and rubbing the bulge in his pants against the strong thigh between his legs. In a tangle of limbs, they managed to make it to the bedroom and fall onto the bed without breaking contact.

Noah sat up, breaking the contact between their mouths, tugging his shirt over his head and straddling Kurt's waist. Kurt bit his lip to hold back the groan that built in his throat as he stared up at Noah. His body was so beautiful, all taunt muscle and tanned, smooth skin. Kurt traced the lines and indents of his abs with a finger as he reared upwards, crushing their mouths together and tangling their tongues. Noah started to work on his coat, stripping it off of him before moving onto his shirt. He unbuttoned Kurt's jeans and tugged them off along with his boxers, leaving Kurt naked and hard before him. Noah looked down at Kurt's cocked, and raised an eyebrow. It was pretty much the perfect dick. Smaller than his, but not many people were bigger than him, pale on the shaft but flushed a dark pink at the tip. He wrapped his hand around the shaft, squeezing softly, which elicited a soft whimper from Kurt. He thumbed down the foreskin, brushing the pad of his thumb across the smooth glans. Lifting his eyes to Kurt's, his smirked wickedly and dug his thumb into the slit at the top of Kurt's dick. Kurt's mouth dropped open and he let out a silent scream as he arched his back, jerking his hips into Noah's hand.

"Noah – please, just please," Kurt begged softly, writhing below him. Noah grinned happily and stood up, unsnapping and kicking off his jeans and underwear. He crawled over top of Kurt and reached for the drawer beside him, grabbing a bright purple condom wrapper and a half used bottle of lube. He dropped them beside Kurt's thigh, and gripped Kurt's ankles, pulling them over his shoulders. He looked down at Kurt's flushed face, his bright eyes shining with need and his lips kiss-swollen. He eyes traveled down his body, to his prominent collar bones that were just begging to be bitten, the perked nipples that looked like them needed to be sucked, the indent of muscles of his stomach (and holy fuck, Kurt had a decent set of cum gutters) to his flushed cock, which lay hard against his belly. Licking his palm, Noah wrapped his hand around Kurt's dick, stroking it from root to tip while his free hand wrapped around his own cock, pressing the mushroom-shaped head against Kurt's little hole, rocking forward slowly with each stroke to Kurt's cock. Kurt mewled, clawing at Noah's shoulders with each movement.

"I can't – I need -" Kurt sputtered, tossing his head back. Noah just nodded, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to Kurt's mouth. Kurt whimpered, pressing his ass up impatiently, the head of Noah's cock firmly pressed against his hole. He groaned, slipping his tongue back into Noah's mouth and wiggling his hips desperately, trying to fit Noah inside of him. Noah pulled back, the corners of his mouth lifted slightly, and moved his dick away from Kurt's ass. Kurt's eyes snapped open, a desperate protest in his eyes as he reached from Noah. Noah just shook his head and straightened his back, pulling Kurt's ass up onto his knees for easier access.

Need was building inside of Kurt, a desperate hunger that was tearing him apart from the inside out. He needed everything, everything that was Noah. He needed his mouth and his hands, his body and his dick. Especially his cock, and he really needed his cock in him. Kurt whined, arching his back, trying his best to press against Noah.

"Sh, sh," Noah murmured softly, cupping a hand around Kurt's cheek, rubbing his thumb in small circle on one high cheekbone. "You gotta be patient, babe. Don't wanna hurt you."

"I don't care," he whined, rubbing his cheek against Noah's hand. His mind was filled with one thing, sex with Noah. He didn't care where he was, or what he should be doing; he forgot all the words to Bad Romance, he forgot what he got on his latest test, he forgot his father's birthday, but most importantly, he forgot that his mother had committed suicide. All there was was Noah, his body and his scent; there was only Noah and how he was making him feel. For the first time in many years, Kurt only thought of himself. "I want you, please."

Noah leaned down again, rubbing the tip of his nose along Kurt's before pressing a fleeting kiss to his lips. "I have to stretch you out, 'kay?"

Kurt just nodded, pressing his lips to Noah's. Noah broke the contact, sitting up and grabbing the little bottle of lube. Popping the lid, Noah poured a decent amount of the slick substance onto his fingers. Placing his slick fingers to Kurt's hole, he rubbed slow circles around the puckered skin, his free hand wrapped around Kurt's cock, giving it slow, long strokes. Kurt was more than thankful for the slow treatment, because really, he was fucking petrified about what was going on. The idea of someone being inside him, and the reality were two different things, and the reality scared him to death. But Noah was being slow and thoughtful, making sure he had pleasure while he did what he needed to. Kurt watched with dark, lust-filled eyes as Noah froze.

"What is it?" he asked quietly, his body tensing as Noah look up at him.

"You've never done this before, have you?" He whispered the words, like it was the darkest, most secretive thing in the world. Kurt considered lying for a split second, thinking that he probably didn't want to have sex with a virgin, but before he could stop himself, he was nodding. Noah swallowed. "Okay, do you still wanna do this?"

This time, Kurt didn't hesitate as he nodded, almost fervently. "More than anything."

Noah grinned. "We'll take it slow, 'kay? Tell me when it feels good, and tell my if I hurt you." Kurt felt pressure, and then a glide of something inside of him. Gasping, he arched his body away from the intrusion. "It's okay. It feels weird, I know, but it gets better, okay?"

Kurt nodded again, taking deep breaths and focusing on Noah and his hands. Noah worked slowly, pressing his finger in and out gently, rubbing across his prostate with each inward motion. Kurt arched and gasped, moaned and panted with each glide, and when Noah added another finger, this one slick with more lube, Kurt felt more than okay with the slight twinge of pain that shot through his lower back. Noah kept jerking him, not enough to make him come, but enough to keep the pleasure coming, even when he scissored his fingers apart and added a third.

"Ready?" he asked softly, thumbing at the head of Kurt's dick and pulling his fingers free of the tight grip of Kurt's body.

"I...yeah," he whispered softly, nodding his head. Noah leaned forward, pressing one last kiss to Kurt's mouth before pulling back and grabbing the condom. Ripping the foil with his teeth, he pulled the condom free and placed it over the tip of his cock. Grabbing one of Kurt's hands, he pulled it to his dick, circling Kurt's fingers over the condom, rolling it down with him. Grabbing the lube, he smeared a copious amount on the condom, to the point where some dripped onto the comforter. He wiped the excess on the sheets, before grabbing Kurt's hips and angling them. He pressed the blunt tip against Kurt's hole, and pressed inwards, forcing the head inside of Kurt's body, pressing in until his hips were pressed flush against Kurt's ass.

"Fuck," Kurt groaned, tossing back his head. It hurt more than he thought it would, and there was nothing pleasurable about this. Noah moved one of his hands to Kurt's flat stomach, rubbing slow circles on it.

"It gets better."

"Promise?"

"Yeah."

"Then move."

Noah did. He pulled back until only the tip was left buried inside Kurt, and drove forward, a slow, deliberate pace, not too fast but not too slow. And then it didn't hurt as much anymore, and Kurt was wrapping a hand around his dick, stroking it back to full hardness, and pushing his hips up, trying to push Noah deeper inside of him. When Noah switched the angle, tilting Kurt's hips up a little bit, he pressed his cock firmly against Kurt's prostate, sending little shocks of pained pleasure up Kurt's spine. And then he was fucking him, harder and faster, his strokes deepening and lengthening with each movement, and Kurt couldn't hold on any longer. The pressure against his prostate, Noah'sandhis own hand on his dick, stroking, was too much for him to handle, and he came with a shout, clamping down harshly onto Noah, letting out a silent scream with his head tossed back.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Noah groaned, his hips giving a few little jerks as he filled the condom, every muscle in his body tense as white pleasure burst behind his eyes. He collapsed on top of Kurt. A few minutes passed before he gently pulled out of Kurt, stroking his side at the wince that he gave, and disposed of the condom. Rolling over, he tucked Kurt under his arm and laid his hand on his hip. Kurt snuggled into the warmth of Noah's embrace.

"Thank you," he whispered softly, and closed his eyes, almost missing the soft press of lips to his shoulder.

Kurt had a plan. It had been a good plan, a simple plan. Go to Noah's home, have sex with Noah, go home, never see Noah again. Simple, yes? So easy, but apparently, Mother nature did not agree. Noah's plan seemed quite similar to his, where there was sex and then nothing else, but nope. Instead Kurt was sitting at Noah's kitchen table, awkwardly sipping on a cup of coffee. Noah sat on the other side of the table, doing the same, and avoiding all eye contact.

"Okay, so this is awkward." Kurt winced at the harsh words.

"I'm sorry, really. I can go if you -" he mumbled, turning his eyes away from Noah. He stared down at his cup, watching the milky coffee swish around.

"No, you really shouldn't."

Kurt looked up finally."But I can -"

"It's a blizzard outside." He gave Kurt a pointed look and took a gulp of coffee before standing up. He grabbed Kurt's almost-empty mug. "I'd feel bad about letting you go out in this. More coffee?"

"Oh, yeah. Sure," Kurt replied, nodding his head and crossing his arms. He was wearing one of Noah's shirts, a grey button up with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. "This is awkward."

Noah looked back from where he was at the counter, filling the mugs with hot coffee. "Yeah, pretty much." He poured cream and sugar into Kurt's, stirred it three times and set it in front of him. "You're not too sore, eh? I remember my first time. Couldn't sit properly for three fucking days."

Kurt flushed red, and hid his embarrassed smile behind his cup, taking tentative sips to calm his reddened cheeks. He set the cup down after a moment, a little more composed. "I'm, uh, fine," he mumbled, averting his eyes from Noah's face. He shifted slightly in his seat, wincing at the slight pain that sparked in his back. He wasn't exactly in pain, and it didn't really hurt, but it was more than a little uncomfortable. It was like he was still inside of him, deep and there, and always constant.

Noah smirked, cocking an eyebrow as he sat down. "You're seriously embarrassed about that?"

"It's not exactly every day conversation!" Kurt huffed, rolling his eyes at him. "I'm not exactly sore," he admitted after a moment.

"Do you wanna take a bath? It helps," Noah offered, leaning back in his chair. Kurt bit his lip. A hot bath sounded fabulous at the moment. Although Noah had helped to clean the last of the lube up after he'd woken him up with a fantastic blowjob, he just wanted to lay and soak.

"Would you mind?"

"No, not really." Noah stood, stretching his hand out to Kurt. "Come on."

Kurt took his hand, allowing himself to be pulled up from the chair.

Noah tugged him along the hallway, stopping at the linen closet to pull out three fluffy white towels, and handing them to Kurt to hold. Kurt looked down at the towels in his hands. "Wait, are you joining me?"

Noah tossed his head back over one shoulder and gave him a wicked grin. "Why, of course. I've seen you naked, but now I was to see you naked and wet."

Kurt blushed again. e pulled Kurt into the bathroom, and took the towels from his hands. Dropping them on the counter, he turned to Kurt as he pulled his t-shirt over his head. He kicked off his sweats and bent over the bathtub, turning of the taps. Kurt stared at his ass, his mouth going dry. Yeah, Noah was pretty much perfect.

He straightened his body and then stepped into the bathtub, sinking down into the water. He leaned back against the smooth porcelain and cocked an eyebrow. "You coming?"

Kurt stripped out of Noah's shirt and boxers quickly, before stepping into the tub and settling between his legs. Resting his back to Noah's front, he tipped his head back to stare into Noah's eyes.

"My mother killed herself when I was six. It was on Christmas, early in the morning," he mumbled softly, his eyes half lidded. Noah didn't say anything for a moment, just curled his arms around Kurt and held him close. Kurt closed his eyes, his head resting on Noah's shoulder, and listened to Noah's steady breathing.

"My fiancee had an abortion and then left me for my best friend. It was Christmas Eve."

The only thing that was heard was the rushing of the water from the tap.

"I wanted to name her Beth," he whispered softly into Kurt's ear, his lips tracing the lobe. "She was six months in. It's been three years."

"My mom hung herself. I found her when I went downstairs to wait for my dad and her to open presents." Kurt paused. "I'm sorry for using you."

Noah huffed a laugh into the curve of Kurt's shoulder, licking at the skin softly before pulling back. "I'm not. We're both pretty fucked up."

Kurt smiled. "Yeah, I guess we are." Tipping his head to the side, he pressed his mouth to Noah's, stroking his tongue with his own, tickling the roof of his mouth with the tip. Noah slid his hand down Kurt's stomach, into the water and curled his hand around Kurt's cock, stroking his hand up and down slowly as he kissed him.

"Do you want to keep forgetting?"

"Yeah, I do."

It was almost two days later when the snow finally let up. They'd lost power after the first day, and both Kurt and Noah had spent hours laying in bed, playing cards and laughing, talking about things. And sex, a lot of sex. Kurt had learned that topping was almost as good as bottoming, but he liked the feel of strong arms on him. Noah said that he was the kind of person who liked to be touched, and while topping for him was great, for Kurt, bottoming was his way to show intimacy.

Kurt had laughed almost hysterically when he realized exactly who Noah Puckerman was. Noah had joined in the laughter when he realized that Kurt, in fact, had no idea that he was an actual musician, and didn't just do it as a hobby. The awards lining his cabinet kind of clued Kurt into the reality of it. Noah had called himself a cradle robber when he realized that Kurt was still, in fact, seventeen, and that his birthday had was on the thirty-first of December.

Both Kurt and Noah had forgotten everything that had made them hate the holidays over those three days.

Finally, when it was time to go home, Kurt almost cried. He didn't want it to end, the perfection that was those few days. He'd forgotten everything that he'd hated, something that never happened, and he'd felt happier than he'd ever felt before. So as Kurt stood near the door, in his now-clean clothes from three days before, and Noah in just a pair of sweats, he wanted to hold onto Noah and never let go.

"I guess this is bye, then," he said softly, giving Noah a soft smile. He didn't return it, just stared at Kurt with his lips thinned into a line. Kurt winced at the look, and turned to leave. "Thanks for putting up with me for the last couple of days. Bye, Noah."

A hand reached out and grasped his upper arm, turning him around and pinning him to the door. Noah's lips attacked his, pressing deeply into his mouth. When he pulled back, Kurt was dazed and more than a little confused.

"Do you...wanna spend Christmas with me? Like, I know that I'm Jewish and everything, and that I don't really cele-" He was cut off by Kurt launching himself at him, lips colliding and tongues tangling.

"Yeah, I'd like that," Kurt said with a nod after he'd pulled away from the kiss. "But I seriously need some new clothes."

Noah grinned, pressing his forehead against Kurt's. "That can be arranged."

Cupping Kurt's face, Noah kissed him, pushing him up against the door and pulling Kurt's legs around his waist. And Kurt smiled into the kiss, because for the first time in a very long time, Kurt was going to have a very, very happy holiday.