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Something seems off with what Finn’s telling him. When he gets home from practice he types ‘girls have prostates’ into the search bar. The first result is something about cancer. Puck doesn’t click on it, because he really doesn’t want to think about Mrs Hudson having cancer. She’s too awesome for cancer. The second result is Wikipedia. He clicks that, obviously. Wikipedia knows everything ever.
The problem is that while sometimes it explains things in normal words, sometimes it’s ridiculously scientific. After the first paragraph Puck scrolls aimlessly. None of this shit about the ‘anterior fibromuscular zone’ or ‘transurethral microwave thermotherapy’ makes sense. And then he gets to a bold header about the male sexual response. It’s only a link and two sentences, but one of them is about how a guy can orgasm just from his prostate being touched. That seems kind of crazy. Puck can’t get off from his dick only being touched, or his nipples only being touched. It’s sort of hard to believe there’s anywhere on his body that’s a secret button that only needs to be touched before he’s coming all over the place.
Curious, Puck clicks the link under the header, ‘prostate massage’ written in bright blue hypertext. The next page isn’t about crazy magic orgasm buttons. It’s all about diseases that can be cured by prostate massage. Puck wonders if Mrs Hudson looked into all of that, because one of the paragraphs talks about how doctors just prescribe antibiotics, but sometimes they don’t work. If she doesn’t know, she probably should before she commits to surgery. Puck opens a new tab and googles prostate massage.
Nothing on the first page of results is about health. It’s all about tantric sex. Puck opens each result in a new tab and spends the next half hour reading. The more he reads the more he’s interested. Kinda pissed that none of the cougars he’s helped out over the summer have done any of the stuff the websites list, maybe, but way more intrigued than anything else.
The first thing that comes to mind is to just grab something to put up his ass. If Steve-O can do it and stay completely hetero, why can’t Puck? He doesn’t have to use a toy car in a condom. There’s probably a dozen objects in each room of his house that are thin enough with rounded edges that he could use. The problem is Steve-O never looks like he’s enjoying himself. The entire point of trying this is to enjoy himself so intensely there’s an instant orgasm. The only thing Puck can figure is to call on an expert.
That’s how Puck finds himself on the Hummel doorstep. Kurt looks half confused, half pissed off, and half scared when he answers the door. And all queenie, of course. Which, normally Puck would rip on him about it, but since he’s here for maybe some queenie stuff he won’t bother.
“Why are you here, Puckerman?”
“I want a favor.” Well, Kurt will like it equally, but Puck’s a generous dude. He can let Kurt think he owes him. “Wanna put your fingers in my ass?”
“I’ll call the cops,” Kurt replies.
“What the hell!” Puck shouts. Puck doesn’t like cops, and cops don’t like him. “It’s not like it’s sexual harassment. You’re a fag, you like asses.”
“Gay people don’t like every member of the same sex in the human race.”
“I’m not asking every gay guy to put fingers in four billion asses. I’m asking you to do it to me.”
Kurt crosses his arms over his chest. There’s a bruise on his bicep. Puck wonders for a second if he did it, or if it was one of the other guys. “You’re a horrible person Puck.”
“What’s that have to do with you getting your jolly gays off?”
“You know what?” Kurt pulls his phone out of nowhere and holds it a foot in front of Puck’s face. “Tell me again. I’ll record it. Not for blackmailing, I really don’t care enough about you to bother. Just so that it’s your own voice reminding you you asked for this when you inevitably become enraged.”
Whatever. If that’s what Hummel needs so he can sleep at night. “Pissed off future self, I totally want Kurt to fuck me with his fingers. No dick though. That shit totally isn’t happening.”
“Kurt Hummel, what are you doing?” Kurt says to himself under his breath. Louder he says “My bedroom’s in the basement. Take off your socks when you take off your jeans.”
The room seems not very Kurt-like. It’s white and sterile, not flashy and gay. But Puck doesn’t really actually care. He’s not here for decor.
He considers positions for a second once he’s naked. He could be on his hands and knees, or back, or bent over the bed. None seem any better than the others. Of course, Hummel has an opinion. “Go on your hands and knees.”
Puck’s half tempted to follow orders. After all, Kurt knows this stuff. Instead he lays on his front. You let one person tell you what to do, next thing you know you’ll be pushed around by everyone. Hummel’s got crazy bedsheets. They’re as fancy as his clothes always are. Nothing normal with pilled patches and stains from occasionally eating in bed, this fabric’s as smooth as a windbreaker.
“Fine, do that.” Puck can practically hear the eyeroll.
Puck can feel the bed shift when Kurt sits in between his spread legs. Puck jumps when a hand on either of his asscheeks pushes them apart.
“Just to make this clear, you get that I hate you, right?”
Puck shrugs. “That’s cool. That means we don’t have to make out before you milk my prostate.”
“Oh holy... I’m going to need you to not call it that.”
“That’s what it’s called. All the websites said it.”
“How about you just don’t talk at all?”
This time Puck’s the one rolling his eyes. But whatever. He’ll keep his damn mouth shut. Santana’s asked for worse, and Brittany’s asked weirder, and his MILFs have asked for a lot kinkier. Cutting the chit-chat isn’t really a problem for him.
The problem comes a few minutes later, when there’s a slicked up finger in his ass and Puck hasn’t come yet. What kind of bullshit is this? “Do it better.”
“Give me more than three seconds.”
“That’s all the internet said you needed.” If Kurt’s drawing this out to make it more gay, Puck’s gonna hit him.
“The internet says a lot of things, because there are like a hundred trillion websites. Not everything is true.”
Puck’s trying to come up with a snappy retort when Kurt pushes another finger in. Again he clamps down before his body relaxes and he lets it happen.That’s when Hummel starts to move his hand. His fingers are fucking in and out of him, and shit, he just used the word fucking, maybe this is a bit more homo than he’d planned for. But how the hell is he supposed to feel bad about his impending gayness when Kurt’s fingers brush against something and sweet and salty Jesus, that is definitely the thing the internet was talking about.
“That, there. Do that.”
Kurt does, and he does it well. Puck rubs the side of his face into Kurt’s pile of pillows and thinks about how he’s going to make sure that the next mom he fucks puts something in his ass while he’s fucking her. Like maybe if he seduced her in the kitchen she could use the handle of something.
“More.”
“I’ve already got three fingers in you. What do you want, for me to fist you?”
The words should be horrifying. They should make Puck want to punch Kurt in the face and flee while he still can. But he doesn’t. He just insists “more.”
Kurt pulls his fingers out entirely, and Puck thinks he might roll onto his back and stab him. Fuckin’ contrary little shit. But before Puck can explode there’s something pressing against his asshole, and then it’s sliding into him. Whatever it is, it’s cold and completely smooth. And it’s more. It’s definitely more. Puck doesn’t care what it is, he just shoves his ass up and back and groans when the edge of the wide object hits his prostate.
“Anyone ever tell you you top from the bottom?” Kurt mutters.
Puck doesn’t reply. He doesn’t know what that means, but it’s probably an insult, and if he knows he’s going to have to stop this so he can lay the smackdown. He’d rather just not know. Same with the object. If he doesn’t know what’s inside him he’s free to imagine it being one of a thousand things. It’s hotter, not knowing.
“Don’t come on my sheets.”
Puck snorts. Where else is he supposed to come? Magically just appear in a bathroom stall ten miles away to shoot into the toilet?
It’s a few more thrusts before it becomes an issue; more stamina than most sex newbs would have, but not up to his normal standard. Clearly this prostate thing is a great thing. Puck clenches around the object and comes, spitefully dragging his dick on as much sheet as he can. If he gives stupid prissy Kurt a heart attack, so what? Puck’s already gotten what he needs. Only when Kurt’s pulled the cylinder from him and Puck’s body is finished spasming does he roll over onto his back, throwing his arm behind his head as he does. He’ll walk of shame in a minute, for now he’s just gonna savour the moment.
“Shit that was good. So freakin’ happy I’m not getting prostate surgery like Finn’s mom.” Puck has plans, big plans.
Kurt sneers. “You really are stupid. Women don’t have prostates.”
Puck’s world goes from post-orgasmic haze to righteous annoyance in an instant. Finn lied to him. That means he needs to figure out what Finn’s actually doing, then track him down and kick his ass. So Puck sits up and reaches for his socks and definitely doesn’t gasp when the movement makes his stretched ass twinge. That would make him a pussy.
There’s a bottle of lotion sitting on the side table. Puck can’t know for sure that’s what Kurt used, but it looks the right size, and when he picks it up it’s tacky, like it might be covered in drying lube.
“I’m taking this.”
“What a lovely souvenir.” Kurt says, not looking at him. The boy is still hard in his pants, and the nicest thing Puck can do is fuck off so he can jerk off.
Orgasms tend to put him in a good mood. He does the guy a favour and leaves then. Let Kurt have his time jacking off because he touched a guy. It’s no lamer than anything Finn would do. Puck happens to know Finn came instantly when Quinn touched him in the hot tub. But now is not the time to reminisce. Now is time to plan Finn’s punishment for lying to him. He’s just gotta find somewhere to store the bottle first.