We Go Together Like Little Girls and Chainsaws: Puck/Rachel, R
Title: We Go Together Like Little Girls and Chainsaws
Author: marliskelsey
Pairing,Character(s): Puck/Rachel
Rating: R, for language
Word Count: 1,744
Spoilers: None, really, but 1x13 Sectionals to be safe.
Disclaimer: I do not own Glee. I can only dream.
Summary: Lingerie, rings, and one extremely burly female janitor.
A/N: This is a sequel to This Reluctant Love, so takes place after high school. AU. Enjoy!
Well, fuck.
Puck should have seen this coming. It’s Rachel, for Christ’s sakes. Sometimes he thinks she just sits there when he’s not around and makes lists on ways to push his buttons.
But obviously Rachel would want to get married eventually. Obviously.
Because, damn, everybody knows that Puck is and will always be a hormonal teenage boy at heart. And he may have settled down and started doing the domestic act, but he’s still just as badass as he was in high school. The mohawk’s still intact, despite Rachel’s many attempts to shave it off while he’s asleep.
He’s still working on the revenge plans for that little debacle.
Anyways, Puck’s not afraid to admit that the word commitment sends him running like a little girl. Sure, he was all gung-ho to step up for his kid back in the day, but jeez, this is marriage. He’s always kind of hoped he could just be a wild stallion for the rest of his life.
And yeah, he likes living with Rachel and being in a relationship and definitely the benefits of those two things, but Puck’s just not the marrying type.
Figures. You get in too deep with Rachel, you’re fucking engaged by the time you’re twenty-three.
* * *
It starts the day they move into their apartment.
Rachel’s yapping like there’s no tomorrow, bustling around the little place and showing Puck where she wants all her shit to go, and Puck’s just sort of tuning it all out and randomly placing furniture. He wonders if maybe he should take his shirt off, pretend that he’s warm. That would shut her up.
He’s about to rip the thing off when Rachel gets quiet, like some mystical being like Santa Claus or some shit just granted his wish.
“Babe? You okay?” He wonders when wishing started working for him. But this is such a rare occurrence that despite the fact that Puck does not care, ever, he worries that Rachel may have gotten miraculously sick in the last thirty seconds.
She’s standing stock still, facing away from him and staring into a little room just off the kitchen/dining room. He struggles a minute before putting a hand on her shoulder.
Puck feels her shaking, and there’s shiny stuff on her cheeks, and oh fuck, she’s crying.
He swears that sometimes Rachel’s more hormonal than the most pregnant woman in the history of the world.
“Why are you crying?” Dammit, it’s been nearly five years since they graduated from high school and he’s still really bad with crying women. Rachel sniffles, swipes at her eyes. “I’m not sad, Noah. It’s just that I had the most wonderful idea ever.” Oh God, usually Rachel’s “most wonderful ideas ever” mean a new musical in their DVD collection or a “date-night” that’s less of a date and more of a time in which Puck is supposed to listen to every single thing that Rachel says. And there’s not even any sex at the end.
“What’s that?” he asks, warily. Rachel turns to face him and there’s a brilliant smile on her face. He contorts his face into a semblance of a grin.
“We should have a baby.”
The room spins and Puck has to put a hand on the kitchen island to steady himself. “What?”
Rachel claps and her smile gets even wider. “Just think about it! You already have such a lovely daughter in Adrianne, and her parents send you pictures every month. But wouldn’t it just be incredible if we had a baby of our own? Maybe a son! You could teach him about sports and we could sing to him, Noah! And look, this little room could be the nursery!” Puck rubs his head.
He was sort-of planning to convert that room into his man-den.
“Rachel, we’re just now moving in together. And now all of a sudden, you want a baby?” He shakes his head.
Rachel’s mouth snaps shut and her eyebrows pull together in uncertainty. “I -oh. Of course.”
She wanders over to where Puck dropped the couch and sits down, looking at her feet. Rachel’s plans don’t often have flaws, so when there is one, she goes into this weird, silent bubble that still, to this day, freaks Puck the fuck out.
Rachel sighs. “It does seem awfully soon to have a child. I suppose - I suppose seeing the room just sparked those thoughts in my head.” She looks kind of sad, and Puck feels bad so he wraps his arms around her and kisses her hair.
“It’s okay. Let’s just enjoy this spankin’ new love-den of ours before we think about making some little rugrats to mess up the carpets.”
* * *
A month later, Rachel’s figured out her plan.
She ambushes Puck after dinner, and he should have known something was up when she made practically every single food-item he had ever mentioned liking. And now she’s sitting all serious on their couch, and Puck’s figuring out how fast he’ll have to run to make it to the door without her catching him.
“Noah,” she begins, taking a deep breath. Puck’s leg twitches, begging for an escape.
“Seeing as it’s too soon for us to have children, I was wondering if you would be up for . . . other options.” Puck’s ears perk up. Because come on, he’s Puck, he finds sexual innuendo in everything. “Oh yeah?” He smirks and slides closer.
She smiles primly and places a hand on his chest. “I was thinking. It may be too early for children, but . . . how do you feel about marriage?”
Fuck. Puck splutters for a second before vaulting himself off the couch in a beeline for the front door.
* * *
Puck has successfully avoided Rachel for the past two days, but he knows it can’t last forever.
She’s waiting for him when he gets home from work. There are candles, and mood-music, and Rachel’s in that lingerie thing that Puck bought her for Valentine’s Day last year and before now, has been too shy to wear (despite hours of pleading) so Puck thinks he’s about to get very, very lucky.
He sits down on the couch, grinning in anticipation. Until Rachel sits down beside him and gets the familiar old-lady, you-and-I-are-going-to-talk-seriously-now look on her face.
Shit. So close.
“Spit it out, Rachel. I know you’ve been dying to say it.” She pouts a little. “I - fine.” Rachel squares her shoulders. “I think that we should get married.”
Rachel pulls a little velvet box from in between the couch cushions.
He’s prepared for this. “Rach, I love you. I would like nothing more than to spend my life with you, preferably doing dirty things. But I’m kind of liking this not-being-married business.”
Puck knows he’s messed up, because Rachel’s eyes are all wide and shiny and her lower lip is shaking like it does just before she’s about to cry. He panics. “Isn’t the dude supposed to propose to the chick anyway? Like, traditionally?”
Suddenly, there’s a smug little grin on Rachel’s face and she’s creeping towards him slowly.
Puck wonders if it’s safe for your sanity to be afraid of the woman who makes your food.
“Well,” she remarks casually, “if that’s how you want to do it.” Rachel’s hand darts out like a snake and snatches his fist. With a strength that no one would expect of a five-foot-three midget chick, Rachel pries his fingers open and clucks disapproving at the little white half-moons where Puck has been digging in his nails. There’s really no use arguing when Rachel’s like this.
Rachel leans over just a bit, enough to give Puck a good view down her shirt and to whisper in his ear. “You know you want to, Noah. Because I have something that you want too.”
With that, she opens the box and shakes the ring into his palm, folding his fingers over top of it.
And Puck bolts.
* * *
So, yeah, the silent treatment sucks. Hard.
Rachel’s refusing to talk to him until he proposes, and Puck’s getting restless. He’s a man! He has needs! Needs that can only be fulfilled by the girl that’s practically bribing him to marry her.
Fuck, she came to bed last night wearing nothing but his old McKinley football jersey. Puck’s convinced that she’s trying to kill him.
And there may be a small part of him that could actually enjoy being married to Rachel.
But no, that’s not why he’s doing this. He’s doing this because he has urges and he needs them taken care of, and he needs someone to cook for him because he’s shit-useless at it, and he needs his Berry back.
So, finally, over a silent breakfast at the kitchen island, Puck clears his throat. Rachel looks up from her oatmeal and grapefruit, smiling expectantly. Puck picks at his bacon. “So, uh, do you wanna get married?” He looks down, because suddenly the flecks in the countertop are the most interesting things in the world.
The breakfast plates are pushed aside with a crash and Rachel’s climbing over the fucking countertop and throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him and murmuring “yesyesyesyes” over and over again.
Then, she all but drags him to the bedroom.
Puck could get used to this being engaged stuff. He just hopes it gets better once they’re actually married.
* * *
Okay, so Puck thought he had a few more years to sew his wild oats, but the married life isn’t so bad. It’s pretty much the same as living together, except with more sex. And Rachel cooks for him more. It’s a pretty good deal, now that he thinks about it.
Plus, there’s something about her being Rachel Berry-Puckerman - he remembers the argument over the last name like it was yesterday because there was lamps thrown and really awesome make-up sex - that makes him warm inside, like she’s all his, forever. Not that he’d ever admit to sappy shit like that.
They’ve been married for a month when Puck gets a text message at the recording studio. He flips open his phone.
RACHEL (1:34) : Guess what? I’M PREGNANT!!
It takes all three of his band mates and one extremely burly female janitor to pick him up off the floor of the recording booth.
Because, damn. He was just getting used to doing his own laundry.