Sit Down and Take in The Clichés (1/3)
This has been written for a prompt by hellolover11 , who simply said she wanted vampire!Puck.
Again, this is waaaay out of my comfort zone.
Second and last part will probably be posted on Sunday Monday.
He meets her somewhere outside his Fight Club on Friday. She looks about forty, MILFy and compelling. So he flirts, and she smiles. He is charming and introduces himself as Noah, and she reciprocates with a strange sounding La Maga that rings to him as Spanish or something. And she invites him to her house for a drink and he thinks that he’s gonna get really, really lucky.
Turns out she really did just want a drink. From him.
When he wakes up he’s alone, stranded in the middle of nowhere, and there’s an aching, jarring sensation entangling his muscles in tight knots that make him want to howl and cry for an hour or two, also his head’s been pounded with a hammer from the insides, and he can feel bile rising up to his mouth . He’s pretty fucking sure that he’s never been in this much pain ever.
Also, the sun is about to come up (and his eyes hurt) and he’s got the freaky suspicion that he’s been bitten by a vampire, and possibly turned into one himself. So he doesn’t really know what’s going to happen when the sun does come up. Is he gonna disintegrate? Burst up in flames? Explode all over the place, like something out of a B-class movie?
It’s in the middle of a mild -but rising fast- panic attack that he can start feeling a cold, cold sensation running over his entire body; it’s something akin to submerging yourself in freezing water, but so intense that he can feel pins and needles everywhere. After that, it all stops. The pain, the headache, the stinging sensation in his eyes. It all just stops.
And just like that, with a groan and an oh shit, i’m so fucked he drifts towards unconsciousness again.
The next time he wakes up, he’s lying on his own bed. And there’s no ache anywhere.
He is just seriously freaked out, because that wasn’t a dream or an hallucination; he’s damn sure that he was bitten by that Maga chick, and that at some point along the night he woke up somewhere that so wasn’t his room.
“Oh, Noah. You’re awake.” His mother is peeking through the door. She sounds nonchalant and even, but her eyes are betraying the ruse. She has dark bruises under them, and they look shiny and depthless. The way they always do when she’s worrying sick about something.
Puck kind of feels guilty about how frequently his ma wears that look on her face., and how frequently that ‘something’ she worries about has to do with him.
“What happened, ma?” He asks, sitting up, voice hoarse and raspy. His throat hurts a little when he tries to talk, and swallowing his spit proves to be a little more challenging than it should.
His ma comes into the room and sits next to him on the bed, pushing her hand onto his forehead. “That’s what I’ve been wanting to ask you, bubbala.” She stops, looking him up and down for a while, before continuing. “Some woman brought you home this morning. She didn’t say where she found you, or what happened to you; she just asked me if I was your mother, carried you up here from her car, and then she left.”
She looks sort of impressed for a second or two, and Puck can’t blame her, he’s not by any means fat, but he is a little weighty, considering all his muscle.
“I was so worried about you that I didn’t ask her any questions. And I don’t really remember anything about her other than how strong she was. Can’t remember how she looked like, or what her car looked like. It’s a bit strange. Can you remember her? Did she do something to you? You look like roadkill, honey. ”
He tries to remember La Maga. He’s not that surprised when the only thing that he can recall about her are sharp teeth and the soft mewl she let out when she sank them into his throat, breaking skin too easily.
“Ma, I think she did something really creepy to me.”
He tells her the whole story.
He has fangs. They are pointed and very disturbingly white, and long. But they sort of retreat when he wants them to, so that’s kind of cool. Also, he has these badass bite marks on his neck that make him look studly and debauched.
Eveything else (asides from the way he looks paler and wrecked, but that will probably fade away in no time) is pretty much the same, he has a reflection, he’s not allergic to garlic or some shit like that, and he definitely isn’t harmed by the sun’s presence (though he does feel tingly and a bit uncomfortable if he is in direct exposure for a while), and thank fuck, he doesn’t sparkle.
In fact, everything is so normal that his mother’s first reaction is a coldly skeptical one, not that Puck will blame her, because he would’ve probably reacted the same way if anyone had come up to him and told him Hey dude, guess what? I’m a vampire. Awesome, right?
(Either that or he’d have laughed on this sorry loser’s face and then tossed them in the dumpster just for trying to play smart.)
But then they discover his fangs, and after that, in capricious experimentation, Puck lifts his bed -his mother perched on it, a bit terrified and trying to avoid hitting her head with the ceiling- with one hand. And yes, Puck’s always had the best guns around, but even he knows that he wouldn’t have been able to do that yesterday.
So, yeah. A vampire. With fangs. And super-strength. And, also, a steady pulse and the need to breathe and, like, eat (which makes him think that as far as vampires go, he’s kind of weird).
By the time Sunday comes around his mother and him have looked just about everywhere for information on his condition. They’ve gone through books upon books about vampires (from classical lit to trashy preteen romances, to books on different myths about them), have scouted almost every site in English on the Internet, and read every single medicine book they could get their hands on. Puck’s never read this much in his entire life.
But at least they have a little more knowledge when they are done.
From what he’s gathered he’s not dead, which he already knew since hey, his heart is still beating, nor is he going to live eternally (that, somehow, makes him feel a little better) or be eternally sixteen. He’s just got some sort of unconventional (odd like hell) disease that will have him craving blood at least once every week for the rest of his life, and a less than mild sensitivity to the sun that he probably won’t even notice unless he spends a whole summer day sun-bathing or something like that.
“Noah, you are a vampire. A vampire. How cool is that?” Sarah looks so excited, so utterly childish -in this merry way that he almost never sees anymore from her- that Puck can feel his heart sort of melting in a way that’s not that manly, and he’ll never really admit to to anyone ever.
“Damn cool.”
All in all, it’s not that bad is what he concludes.
That is, until Monday. Because Monday means school, and school means people, and people means discovering there’s another unforeseen development to this unusual illness of his, a development that nobody has written any-fucking-thing about anywhere..
As soon as he’s on McKinley’s hallways, he’s hit by about a thousand different enticing scents, and all this colorful shapes, and a solid wall of sound, and this intense surge of arousal. Serious arousal. Not that inherent little cloud of horniness that always sort of lingers around a red-blooded teenage boy. Full on arousal, with a painful boner.
Which is all sorts of weird, because he can’t really tell what about the whole mixture of things he’s perceiving with his newly acquired heightened senses is getting him this hard; and it is also all sorts of uncomfortable, because he’s just sprung one in the middle of the halls for no discernible reason, and even though he’s always been an extremely sexual individual (and prided himself on it), this hasn’t happened to him since he was about twelve.
He takes this on stride however and just sets his mind on solving the problem at hand and getting on with his day.He finds a pretty dark haired Cheerio (Melissa, perhaps? Or maybe Jessica) that’s always been sort of slutty and convinces her to have a quick fuck in one of the janitor’s closets.
It’s good, despite the fact that it’s quick and a little painful, it’s better than he remembers, hotter. It’s all slick skin with soft -almost invisible- hairs, and a steady rythm of breathy moans that make him want to stick himself inside this girl’s mouth and feel the keening noises surrounding his dick.
They finish and it’s good, it’s just not enough. When this Melissa chick smiles lewdly and pleased at him, and walks away with a contented and lazy spring to her step, he can just feel that it isn’t nearly enough. He’s still got the same prickling sensation all over that’s asking him to snap and get off, even with his spent cock innocuously tucked in his trousers, he’s still full of primal desires and this itch that’s impossible to scratch.
He tries to ignore it and heads off for first period.
By the end of second period he knows that whatever this is, it isn’t going away. He’s too distracted to even try to pay attention (not that he’s ever done it, but he’s never lacked the capacity to), there’s too much noise, and too much of those alluring smells everywhere, and he is having too much trouble staying focused on anything, even Finn has already noticed that something’s wrong with him, and that must mean that it is fucking obvious, because Finn is about the least observant person to ever exist.
He skips third period to get it on with a pretty blond senior girl that had some class or other with him last year. She blows him on the boy’s locker rooms, all lingering doe eyes that she’s probably learnt from porn, and dirty slurping sounds that make him grab her hair a little harder and grunt like a feral creature.
After that, he returns the favour going down on her while wondering how she’d look on her hands and knees for him.
When they’ve both come she emmits a breathy laugh and says, casually:
“You’re never this enthusiastic, Puck.”
Something inside him starts churning, slowly, and he’s hit by a vague wave of nausea and by that soft voice of hers coming from nowhere, tinted with an invisible sneer I wonder what’s going on with him now. Maybe he’s gotten another cheerleader pregnant.
He bolts.
By the time the school day’s ending, Puck’s been lying down in the nurse’s office for about an hour, perhaps. He knows the nurse would’ve had kicked his ass out of here quite a long time ago under any other circumstances (they haven’t been on the best terms since she discovered that Puck has essentially lied to every single nurse the school has ever hired just to get out of math), but he’s thrown up at least twice, and there’s no way he can fake that.
She doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, either, and he really can’t explain precisely what the problem is. He’s in some sort of sensory overload, everything is too intense, too much, and still, not enough; there’s a lacking something that’s driving him crazy, reducing him to jerky movements and half-formed thoughts and a strong reminiscence of pain.
“Noah?” He’s got his eyes closed, in the hopes that that will keep the strong imageries at bay, but he can easily recognize Hummel’s voice. “Are you okay? Mr. Schue sent me to see how you were doing, we’re about to start glee.”
“I’m sick, Hummel. I’m definitely not in the mood to listen to Berry’s screeching today.” And he’s really not up to the spasms he’s probably going to feel if he’s got to sit in the choir room with twelve people that on a good day make him slightly homicidal, and not up to wanting to fuck at least a half of them right there in the middle of the rehearsal.
He’s so lost thinking about all the reasons why going to glee today’s not a fucking good idea that he doesn’t notice that Hummel’s getting closer until the guy’s putting his soft hand on his forehead. “You’re not warm, so you probably aren’t running a fever. Have you been faking illnesses to avoid math class again?”
Puck’s about to tell him not too kindly to go away when he notices that, all of a sudden, he feels better. Everything has gone silent around him, he can’t hear anymore thoughts -after that second girl, he’d started hearing them everywhere, voices without an embodiment that were starting to drive him crazy -, and the smells are still there, but floating around sort of unobstrusively; when he opens his eyes, the colors in the room have stopped swirling and trying to merge with one another.
“Noah? Hey, are you alright? Okay, maybe you are sick, after all.” Hummel says, and takes his hand away from Puck’s forehead, and he almost whimpers pathetically at the loss.
And right then he looks at Hummel (who’s all worried blue eyes and curled pink mouth and soft, pale skin; and when Puck focuses, he can hear the way his heart is beating in a fast rhythm that makes him want to put his ear to the other boy’s chest) in shock, and that hunger of sorts that’s been growling and tearing him up all day is quelled by an abrupt and focused want for the little dude that’s staring at him with a half-concerned-half-annoyed expression.
“Oh, shit.”
Kurt lifts an eyebrow at him in bemusement and he’s nearly blinded by the impulse to get the guy naked and see what it would take to make him lift both eyebrows during sex.
Maybe if you bit him... Something sultry and coercing inside of him suplies.
“Oh, shit.”
.
.
Again, this is waaaay out of my comfort zone.
Second and last part will probably be posted on Sunday Monday.
He meets her somewhere outside his Fight Club on Friday. She looks about forty, MILFy and compelling. So he flirts, and she smiles. He is charming and introduces himself as Noah, and she reciprocates with a strange sounding La Maga that rings to him as Spanish or something. And she invites him to her house for a drink and he thinks that he’s gonna get really, really lucky.
Turns out she really did just want a drink. From him.
When he wakes up he’s alone, stranded in the middle of nowhere, and there’s an aching, jarring sensation entangling his muscles in tight knots that make him want to howl and cry for an hour or two, also his head’s been pounded with a hammer from the insides, and he can feel bile rising up to his mouth . He’s pretty fucking sure that he’s never been in this much pain ever.
Also, the sun is about to come up (and his eyes hurt) and he’s got the freaky suspicion that he’s been bitten by a vampire, and possibly turned into one himself. So he doesn’t really know what’s going to happen when the sun does come up. Is he gonna disintegrate? Burst up in flames? Explode all over the place, like something out of a B-class movie?
It’s in the middle of a mild -but rising fast- panic attack that he can start feeling a cold, cold sensation running over his entire body; it’s something akin to submerging yourself in freezing water, but so intense that he can feel pins and needles everywhere. After that, it all stops. The pain, the headache, the stinging sensation in his eyes. It all just stops.
And just like that, with a groan and an oh shit, i’m so fucked he drifts towards unconsciousness again.
The next time he wakes up, he’s lying on his own bed. And there’s no ache anywhere.
He is just seriously freaked out, because that wasn’t a dream or an hallucination; he’s damn sure that he was bitten by that Maga chick, and that at some point along the night he woke up somewhere that so wasn’t his room.
“Oh, Noah. You’re awake.” His mother is peeking through the door. She sounds nonchalant and even, but her eyes are betraying the ruse. She has dark bruises under them, and they look shiny and depthless. The way they always do when she’s worrying sick about something.
Puck kind of feels guilty about how frequently his ma wears that look on her face., and how frequently that ‘something’ she worries about has to do with him.
“What happened, ma?” He asks, sitting up, voice hoarse and raspy. His throat hurts a little when he tries to talk, and swallowing his spit proves to be a little more challenging than it should.
His ma comes into the room and sits next to him on the bed, pushing her hand onto his forehead. “That’s what I’ve been wanting to ask you, bubbala.” She stops, looking him up and down for a while, before continuing. “Some woman brought you home this morning. She didn’t say where she found you, or what happened to you; she just asked me if I was your mother, carried you up here from her car, and then she left.”
She looks sort of impressed for a second or two, and Puck can’t blame her, he’s not by any means fat, but he is a little weighty, considering all his muscle.
“I was so worried about you that I didn’t ask her any questions. And I don’t really remember anything about her other than how strong she was. Can’t remember how she looked like, or what her car looked like. It’s a bit strange. Can you remember her? Did she do something to you? You look like roadkill, honey. ”
He tries to remember La Maga. He’s not that surprised when the only thing that he can recall about her are sharp teeth and the soft mewl she let out when she sank them into his throat, breaking skin too easily.
“Ma, I think she did something really creepy to me.”
He tells her the whole story.
He has fangs. They are pointed and very disturbingly white, and long. But they sort of retreat when he wants them to, so that’s kind of cool. Also, he has these badass bite marks on his neck that make him look studly and debauched.
Eveything else (asides from the way he looks paler and wrecked, but that will probably fade away in no time) is pretty much the same, he has a reflection, he’s not allergic to garlic or some shit like that, and he definitely isn’t harmed by the sun’s presence (though he does feel tingly and a bit uncomfortable if he is in direct exposure for a while), and thank fuck, he doesn’t sparkle.
In fact, everything is so normal that his mother’s first reaction is a coldly skeptical one, not that Puck will blame her, because he would’ve probably reacted the same way if anyone had come up to him and told him Hey dude, guess what? I’m a vampire. Awesome, right?
(Either that or he’d have laughed on this sorry loser’s face and then tossed them in the dumpster just for trying to play smart.)
But then they discover his fangs, and after that, in capricious experimentation, Puck lifts his bed -his mother perched on it, a bit terrified and trying to avoid hitting her head with the ceiling- with one hand. And yes, Puck’s always had the best guns around, but even he knows that he wouldn’t have been able to do that yesterday.
So, yeah. A vampire. With fangs. And super-strength. And, also, a steady pulse and the need to breathe and, like, eat (which makes him think that as far as vampires go, he’s kind of weird).
By the time Sunday comes around his mother and him have looked just about everywhere for information on his condition. They’ve gone through books upon books about vampires (from classical lit to trashy preteen romances, to books on different myths about them), have scouted almost every site in English on the Internet, and read every single medicine book they could get their hands on. Puck’s never read this much in his entire life.
But at least they have a little more knowledge when they are done.
From what he’s gathered he’s not dead, which he already knew since hey, his heart is still beating, nor is he going to live eternally (that, somehow, makes him feel a little better) or be eternally sixteen. He’s just got some sort of unconventional (odd like hell) disease that will have him craving blood at least once every week for the rest of his life, and a less than mild sensitivity to the sun that he probably won’t even notice unless he spends a whole summer day sun-bathing or something like that.
“Noah, you are a vampire. A vampire. How cool is that?” Sarah looks so excited, so utterly childish -in this merry way that he almost never sees anymore from her- that Puck can feel his heart sort of melting in a way that’s not that manly, and he’ll never really admit to to anyone ever.
“Damn cool.”
All in all, it’s not that bad is what he concludes.
That is, until Monday. Because Monday means school, and school means people, and people means discovering there’s another unforeseen development to this unusual illness of his, a development that nobody has written any-fucking-thing about anywhere..
As soon as he’s on McKinley’s hallways, he’s hit by about a thousand different enticing scents, and all this colorful shapes, and a solid wall of sound, and this intense surge of arousal. Serious arousal. Not that inherent little cloud of horniness that always sort of lingers around a red-blooded teenage boy. Full on arousal, with a painful boner.
Which is all sorts of weird, because he can’t really tell what about the whole mixture of things he’s perceiving with his newly acquired heightened senses is getting him this hard; and it is also all sorts of uncomfortable, because he’s just sprung one in the middle of the halls for no discernible reason, and even though he’s always been an extremely sexual individual (and prided himself on it), this hasn’t happened to him since he was about twelve.
He takes this on stride however and just sets his mind on solving the problem at hand and getting on with his day.He finds a pretty dark haired Cheerio (Melissa, perhaps? Or maybe Jessica) that’s always been sort of slutty and convinces her to have a quick fuck in one of the janitor’s closets.
It’s good, despite the fact that it’s quick and a little painful, it’s better than he remembers, hotter. It’s all slick skin with soft -almost invisible- hairs, and a steady rythm of breathy moans that make him want to stick himself inside this girl’s mouth and feel the keening noises surrounding his dick.
They finish and it’s good, it’s just not enough. When this Melissa chick smiles lewdly and pleased at him, and walks away with a contented and lazy spring to her step, he can just feel that it isn’t nearly enough. He’s still got the same prickling sensation all over that’s asking him to snap and get off, even with his spent cock innocuously tucked in his trousers, he’s still full of primal desires and this itch that’s impossible to scratch.
He tries to ignore it and heads off for first period.
By the end of second period he knows that whatever this is, it isn’t going away. He’s too distracted to even try to pay attention (not that he’s ever done it, but he’s never lacked the capacity to), there’s too much noise, and too much of those alluring smells everywhere, and he is having too much trouble staying focused on anything, even Finn has already noticed that something’s wrong with him, and that must mean that it is fucking obvious, because Finn is about the least observant person to ever exist.
He skips third period to get it on with a pretty blond senior girl that had some class or other with him last year. She blows him on the boy’s locker rooms, all lingering doe eyes that she’s probably learnt from porn, and dirty slurping sounds that make him grab her hair a little harder and grunt like a feral creature.
After that, he returns the favour going down on her while wondering how she’d look on her hands and knees for him.
When they’ve both come she emmits a breathy laugh and says, casually:
“You’re never this enthusiastic, Puck.”
Something inside him starts churning, slowly, and he’s hit by a vague wave of nausea and by that soft voice of hers coming from nowhere, tinted with an invisible sneer I wonder what’s going on with him now. Maybe he’s gotten another cheerleader pregnant.
He bolts.
By the time the school day’s ending, Puck’s been lying down in the nurse’s office for about an hour, perhaps. He knows the nurse would’ve had kicked his ass out of here quite a long time ago under any other circumstances (they haven’t been on the best terms since she discovered that Puck has essentially lied to every single nurse the school has ever hired just to get out of math), but he’s thrown up at least twice, and there’s no way he can fake that.
She doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, either, and he really can’t explain precisely what the problem is. He’s in some sort of sensory overload, everything is too intense, too much, and still, not enough; there’s a lacking something that’s driving him crazy, reducing him to jerky movements and half-formed thoughts and a strong reminiscence of pain.
“Noah?” He’s got his eyes closed, in the hopes that that will keep the strong imageries at bay, but he can easily recognize Hummel’s voice. “Are you okay? Mr. Schue sent me to see how you were doing, we’re about to start glee.”
“I’m sick, Hummel. I’m definitely not in the mood to listen to Berry’s screeching today.” And he’s really not up to the spasms he’s probably going to feel if he’s got to sit in the choir room with twelve people that on a good day make him slightly homicidal, and not up to wanting to fuck at least a half of them right there in the middle of the rehearsal.
He’s so lost thinking about all the reasons why going to glee today’s not a fucking good idea that he doesn’t notice that Hummel’s getting closer until the guy’s putting his soft hand on his forehead. “You’re not warm, so you probably aren’t running a fever. Have you been faking illnesses to avoid math class again?”
Puck’s about to tell him not too kindly to go away when he notices that, all of a sudden, he feels better. Everything has gone silent around him, he can’t hear anymore thoughts -after that second girl, he’d started hearing them everywhere, voices without an embodiment that were starting to drive him crazy -, and the smells are still there, but floating around sort of unobstrusively; when he opens his eyes, the colors in the room have stopped swirling and trying to merge with one another.
“Noah? Hey, are you alright? Okay, maybe you are sick, after all.” Hummel says, and takes his hand away from Puck’s forehead, and he almost whimpers pathetically at the loss.
And right then he looks at Hummel (who’s all worried blue eyes and curled pink mouth and soft, pale skin; and when Puck focuses, he can hear the way his heart is beating in a fast rhythm that makes him want to put his ear to the other boy’s chest) in shock, and that hunger of sorts that’s been growling and tearing him up all day is quelled by an abrupt and focused want for the little dude that’s staring at him with a half-concerned-half-annoyed expression.
“Oh, shit.”
Kurt lifts an eyebrow at him in bemusement and he’s nearly blinded by the impulse to get the guy naked and see what it would take to make him lift both eyebrows during sex.
Maybe if you bit him... Something sultry and coercing inside of him suplies.
“Oh, shit.”
.
.