five times puck got rachel to break the law and one time they get caught
Glee. Puck/Rachel. 5,845 words. Prompt from xxtisheryxx : Five times Puck gets Rachel to break the law and the one time they get caught. Title nicked from The National.
Patterns of Fairytales
everything we ever planned to ever do.
---
“Noah Puckerman, I am not kidding, I will seriously call the police right now if you take one more step towards that car.”
“Shut up, Berry, and get over here.”
“I’m quite certain the Lima County Sheriff’s Department would be more than happy to get a thug like you off the streets.”
“Oh please, Sheriff Crowley’s my homeboy.”
“Noah.”
He knew that Noah. It wasn’t her usual get-your-ass-over-here-or-I’ll-tear-your-balls-off Noah, it was her help-me-I’m-just-a-scared-pouty-puppy Noah: basically the one thing about her annoying-ass self that rendered him completely and utterly defenseless. So he stopped and turned around, and of course, there she was looking like a scared little kid; her arms wrapped tightly around her pea coat and her stockinged legs shivering in the night air.
He walked back towards her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Remind me again, who it was that told me all she wanted was to feel the sweet satisfaction of destroying something he loves?”
“Well, yes, I did say that but-”
“-And who was it that lured you into his love shack with his ‘dreamy eyes’ and fruity Vocal Adrenaline hair, only to crush your soul?”
“Yes, I know, but-”
“-And, oh yeah, who was it that told you no matter how good the sex is, fraternizing with the enemy is a bad idea?”
“We didn’t have sex, but-”
“-Me, that’s who. And as usual, I was right. So for once in your life, would you please listen to the Gospel of Puckerone? I have wisdom beyond my years and you’re lucky I’m not charging you for it.”
“But Noah-”
“God Berry, I’ve had it up to here with your buts, okay? Now this is what we in the biz call a window of opportunity.” He turned around and stood beside her, his arm slung over her shoulders.
“And what biz might that be?”
“Um, hello, juvenile delinquency and petty crime.”
She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, her body tensing up as he leaned his face closer to hers and pointed towards the Silver Xterra in front of them. She didn’t really know what was going on between her and Noah, but when Quinn miscarried and Finn went back to her, they just kinda…Started hanging out with each other. It made sense though. Puck didn’t actually hate her as much as he made people think, and as it turned out, fucking your boy’s girlfriend was less badass and more asshole. So, at the end of the day, Puck had no one and Rachel had no one and she still needed to practice her vocal runs and he still maybe secretly kinda liked lying in bed with her and listening to her overdramatic sobfests. To be honest though, it was less the listening he liked (feelings still made him want to blow serious chunks) and more her big brown eyes and pouty lips; the curve of her thigh as her skirts rode further and further up. No, they didn’t fool around (at least not at first) but she let him touch her, and once when she somehow got him to talk about Quinn and Babygate, she actually kissed him. And fuck if he knew why, but somehow, that one kiss felt more gratifying than any cougar fuck ever could.
She, on the other hand, had given up on high school boys entirely. If her one-sided love affair with Finn showed her anything, it was that fairy tales didn’t exist. At least not at McKinley. She was actually very proud of how she handled the whole situation. She forgave him - he was the sweetest boy she’d ever known, after all, and it wasn’t his fault he couldn’t stop loving Quinn - but it still hurt. Which was probably what drove her back to Noah to begin with. It seemed fitting, really: two heartbroken teens commiserating over lost loves. Not that Puck was much of a commisserater, but he had no friends and surprisingly, he listened when she was sad. There were even times she was convinced the feeling of his hands on her skin could drown out even the deepest of sorrows. She knew it probably wasn’t the best idea she’d ever gone along with, but somehow they fit, and really, that was all she needed.
So yeah, she didn’t know what exactly this was, but she was pretty sure the foggy warmth of his breath and the feeling of his body pressed against hers was the reason why her heart was racing.
“Dude may be flaming but he’s still a dude. So trust me when I tell you, that gay-ass car right there? Is something he loves. Probably not as much as this Glee shit, but y’know, you take what you can get.”
“Noah-”
He reached into his pocket and pulled a Swiss Army knife out and held it in front of her. “All you gotta do is take care of the front tires, okay? I’ll do the rest.”
She stared at the knife reluctantly. When she didn’t take it from him, he rolled his eyes and stuffed it back into his jacket.
“Hey don’t knock it ‘til you try it. Honest to God, a good fuck is probably the only thing better than a good ol’ fashioned tire slashing.” When her look of disgust didn’t fade, he sighed and turned her around to face him.
“Rachel. This dickweed sexed you up and hung you out to dry, all for some stupid Glee routine. I know you think I have ‘no moral compass,’ but even I can see that shit’s whack. You can’t tell me he doesn’t deserve this.”
Generally speaking, Puck liked that they didn’t put a label on what they had. And yeah, he knew that since they weren’t together, he didn’t really have any claim over her, but it wasn’t like having the freedom to see other guys meant Rachel ever did. That is, until this douchebag came along and she suddenly had “things to do” on Friday nights. (What the fuck?) Maybe he was a little jealous at first, but that didn’t mean she deserved what that asshole gave her. (Even if it did make her come running back and gave him a valid excuse to want to beat the living shit out of him.)
“How many times do I have to tell you, we didn’t have sex. I’m not some floozy who gives my virginity up to anything with a penis.”
He raised his eyebrows and her cheeks flushed.
“All I’m saying is that whatever happened between the two of you clearly fucked you up real good. Because I’ve seen a lot of girls cry in my day, but you…” He trailed off, digging his hands deep in his pockets. There was a reason why Puck was the way he was: so he wouldn’t have to get trampled by people he was stupid enough to care about. Rachel hadn’t learned that lesson yet, and seeing her live through it was kinda rough. (Opposed to popular opinion, he wasn’t completely soulless.)
“Listen,” he reached out and took her hand in his, “all I’m saying is he deserves it, okay?” He said it with a conviction so foreign to her. Was this what it felt like to have someone who cared enough to actually stand up for you? You knew someone was your friend when they offered to slash the boy who broke your heart’s tires, right? (The rational side of her brain knew, no, this wasn’t; this was something more.)
“Come on, babe, let’s fuck his shit up.”
She looked down at their entwined hands, then up at him. His eyes were twinkling.
He laughed quietly and stepped towards her, placing his other hand on her hip. “When good girls go bad…” His grin grew as he sang softly and his fingers encircled her wrist.
When she finally broke a smile, he lifted her off the ground and spun her around.
“Okay, so you get the front tires and I’ll do the back. Now hurry the fuck up before anyone sees us!”
“If I get arrested for this-”
“It’ll be totally worth it, so shut up and start slashing.”
---
It didn’t take long for Finn to forgive him; come on, it was Finn, and they had been best friends since they were seven. He had no problem telling Puck what a douche he thought he was, but also that, at the end of the day, Puck was the closest thing to a brother he had. Family always came first, so no matter how awful things got, he had no choice but to forgive.
But that didn’t mean things went back to the way they were before, because they didn’t. Not even close. Quinn still couldn’t stand the sight of him (the memory of their dead little girl - her dead little girl - was too fresh) and every time he saw her, he got hit by this intense wave of nausea (same reason: it was all too soon). So while he and Finn laughed and joked and dicked around in basketball and sometimes in Glee, it didn’t make much of a difference, because outside of all that, Puck still had no friends. Turned out being a douche didn’t guarantee sustained popularity, and once you took away Puck’s minions, the fear factor was knocked down considerably. Meaning: basically everyone at McKinley hated his guts. He really and truly did not give a fuck though. If he said it once he said it a thousand times: school was for suckers, and fuck man, so was popularity.
None of that mattered anyway, ‘cause he had this weird unspoken thing growing between him and Rachel that kept him pretty entertained most of the time. They tried to keep it on the down low (literally and figuratively) so most of the time they saw each other, it was usually in one of their bedrooms and in various states of undress. Somewhere along the line, though, things did change. For instance, one night, she brought a movie with her when he was supposed to be babysitting his sister. He tried to push her up the stairs and to his room when she came in, but she was too fast and plopped down on the couch before he could stop her. To make matters worse, she fucking refused to get up. So he sat down too, and as she made small talk with the brat, he figured maybe some roaming hands might convince her that wholesome fun wasn’t what she came over for. But no, she swatted his hands away (“Your brother is insufferable.” “Tell me about it!”) and he ended up having to watch some flick from the stone age staring James Dean.
Somewhere in the middle of the movie, she got up to make some popcorn and came back with a big bowl in one hand and a blanket in the other. The brat’s eyes were transfixed on Dean as Rachel motioned for him to scoot over. He moved begrudgingly and she handed him the bowl before stretching her legs across the couch and resting her head on his lap. And there it was.
See, things like that should have really freaked the fuck out of him, but…It kind of did the opposite. No, he wasn’t going soft, not at all; it was more like that feeling before a big game, when your nerves are insane and your head is everywhere, but then you put your headphones on and all the crazy just…Fades away. It was exactly like that, actually. So instead of saying something really fucking awful or trying to finger her under that blanket, he tossed a handful of popcorn in his mouth, passed the bowl to his sister and ran his fingers lazily through Rachel’s hair. When his hand wandered down her arm, she took it between hers and pressed a warm kiss on his palm, and he thought maybe being a dick all the time was slightly overrated.
After the movie, he decided James Dean was kind of a badass, so he tried out being a loner for a little while at school. Needless to say, it wasn’t long before he came to the conclusion that the whole thing was a waste of time. One night, he told Rachel he was thinking of dropping out of school altogether and getting a job down at the body shop on Main Street (he always liked cars and been pretty good with his hands) and she bit his head off. Some shit about throwing away his future, and popularity not being everything, and people depending on him. He was pretty sure no one depended on him for anything, and he told her that, and she just stared at him, her jaw agape. She shook her head and laughed bitterly.
"Yeah, guess no one does. I better go." (Fun fact? Puck was also killer at fucking up good things.)
The next day, he stopped by her locker before first period and told her maybe dropping out was a bit dramatic; that all he really needed was just something to do outside of school that was completely unrelated to McKinley (“Other than you, obviously”).
When he opened his locker a week later, a flyer fell out, her girly handwriting scrawled across the top: They’re looking for a guitarist. This would be perfect for you!!!
The band was some emo-shit indie rock knock-off that wore matching black suits at gigs and had liner notes for songs called “The Interlocutor” and “Parsimonious Heart,” but they sounded good, and the more Puck thought about it, the more he really wanted this. Not just to be in a band, but fuck, to be a part of anything, really. Anything more real than that fake-ass Glee shit with a bunch of losers who hated his guts.
The band was okay with him still being in high school - the lead singer was 22, the drummer 24, and the bassist still a senior at East Lima - so they gave him the spot, but on one condition: that he got rid of the retarded Mohawk. (He almost told them to fuck themselves, but new times call for a new look, right? Maybe it was for the best.)
After a month of playing weddings and birthday parties, they got their first real gig at some club downtown. When he told Rachel, she practically mauled him (“You know, I’m still waiting for you to thank me for changing your life.”) and he laughed and told her they better hit up his cousin Ronnie ASAP for a fake ID since the show was only a week away.
“Wait right there. Fake ID? I will do no such thing.”
“It’s an over 21 show and there’s no chance in Hell you’re wussing out on me.”
“I am all about supporting your burgeoning music career, but if you expect me to break the law and obtain a falsified form of identification, then you’ve got another thing coming, mister!”
“Here we go…”
“My Uncle Denny’s in law enforcement and he told me-are you listening to me, Noah, because this is important-he told me-”
“You know what? Uncle Denny can shove it.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me, your dumbass Uncle Denny can shove it. You are coming to this show whether you like it or not because there’s exactly one person in this godforsaken town who doesn’t want to burn me at the stake or put me in jail-”
“-I’m not entirely opposed to the latter.”
“And I’m gonna need someone I know there to witness the birth of a legend. So after school tomorrow, you and I are going to Ronnie’s place and we’re gonna have him take your fucking picture-”
“Wait, I get to have my picture taken?”
---
A few weeks after their first real gig, one of his bandmates had a party, and Puck surprised even himself when he asked her if she wanted to come with. At that point, he could have been drowning in pussy from all across Lima, young and old alike, but something always stopped him. Namely, that nagging feeling he got in the pit of his stomach that told him he was cheating on her (see, he does have a moral compass). Plus, he didn’t see the point of chasing tail when he already had a pretty hot one tucked away; certainly hotter than any of the skankhoes that threw themselves at him at his shows. So yeah, he asked her, and it shouldn’t have felt weird ‘cause they’d been fucking for a good month, but it did because…Was he asking her out?
See, even though they were pretty much dating at this point, neither of them actually called it that. They didn’t call it anything really, or even acknowledge in any way that what they were doing was definitely more than an overly friendly game of footsie. Puck found that really fucking weird though, and not just because this was unusual behavior for a chick; rather, because this chick was Rachel Berry. The idea of her being okay with anything vague and undefined just seemed unnatural. He didn’t question it though; if there was one thing he learned in his seventeen years of life, it was that you always go with the flow. So they’d tumble into bed together, her pulling at his clothes, him whispering a muffled babybabybaby into her neck, and they didn’t think about the next day or even the next minute.
He ended up inviting her through text. Yeah, it was just some stupid party, but calling her up felt way too much like he was asking her out, and at least this way he didn’t have to hear the awkward silence. There was a little delay in her reply message, but he told himself it was because he was on Verizon and she was on AT&T; which was total bullshit, by the way. The girl was the world’s fastest text messager and the delay was because she couldn’t believe Noah was asking her out.
Berry (10:43:04 PM): I’d love to, but Artie’s parents are out of town and he’s having some people over Friday night as well. I know it’s 'not your scene' but could we swing by both?
She was right, the Glee thing wasn’t his scene at all, but he said okay. She suggested they go there first, but he refused; there was no chance in hell he was going to that Glee gay-fest sober.
“But if we go there now, we can leave in half an hour and be done with it! Noah, I’m lucky they even invited me, I’ve gotten the silent treatment for a good six weeks because of that Vocal Adrenaline debacle.”
“I’m not shitting you, I refuse to set foot in that house without at least three beers in my system, okay? Just because I stay on the stupid Glee Club doesn’t mean I don’t want to gouge my eyes out whenever I’m around them.”
She eyed him for long moment before speaking up. “You know, I’m not as clueless as I look.”
“What the fresh hell are you talking about, woman?”
“I know the games you play, Puckerman. You think if we go to Tim’s first, we’ll lose track of time and miss Artie’s altogether, don’t you?” Well, he actually was hoping he’d get her so trashed, she’d forget about Artie, but same difference.
“Berry, you’re nuts.”
“Then promise me we’ll leave at a decent hour and still make it to Artie’s.”
Her glare was unwavering, and finally, he raised his arms in defeat.
“Fine, okay! I promise! Shit, man.”
Tim’s party was fun but everyone was 23 and 24 and there was no beer pong. Instead, there was a lot of getting trashed and talking about philosophy. Rachel found it absolutely captivating; less the conversations themselves and more the fact that there was actually subset of Lima Losers who debated the merits of Hume and Kant in their free time. They didn’t hang out with them though, and instead ended up on the side of the basement with Dave and a bunch of his friends from East Lima. Puck thought Rachel knew a few of them, but when he came back from the keg with two plastic cups, he found her sitting alone on a couch in the corner, adjusting the ribbon in her hair.
“I got you the regular brew, figured you could use some meat on those midget bones of yours, Berry.” He handed her the cup and plopped down beside her. She sniffed it and scrunched her nose.
“That was very sweet of you Noah, but I’d rather not.”
“Are you serious?”
“Of course I’m serious! Alcohol is atrocious for my vocal range.”
“So you’re not even gonna take a sip?”
“No, thank you.”
He looked at the cup then glared up at her suspiciously.
“You realize the whole point of going to parties is for the free alcohol, right?”
“Yes, Noah, that’s quite apparent, thanks for the enlightenment. And silly me, here I was thinking you invited me because you enjoyed my company.”
“Whoa whoa whoa, don’t go all chick on me and change the subject. You know, all this time, I thought you never drank because you never had the chance to, but now I get it…You’re chicken.”
He took a swig of beer and leaned back on the couch.
“What?”
“I said you’re a chicken, Berry. C-H-I-K-I-N.”
“Okay first of all, you clearly haven’t been making the most of that Merriam-Webster Dictionary I bought for you. Second of all, just because I make the conscious decision to abide by the laws of our country - which, you may be shocked to discover, were actually created for our safety and well-being - does not make me a chicken.”
“You know what I think? I think that sounds like something a chicken would say.”
“If you call me a chicken one more time, I swear I’ll dump that beer over that pea-brained head of yours.”
“All I’m saying is I find it hard to believe that a girl like you would be scared of anything, let alone a little cup of beer. No wonder you’re such a tight ass all the time.”
She clenched her teeth and tilted her head towards him.
“You think being a jerk is part of your Puckerman charm, but it’s really not. In fact, it makes me want to get up and-”
She stood and he laughed before placing one of his cups on the ground and pulling her down on his lap.
“Hey now, no need to go all diva on my ass, you know I’m just playin’.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck (force of habit) and he smiled lazily up at her.
“I don’t understand why you peer pressure me all the time, no means no.”
“True, true…” he reached down again and picked up the second cup. “And I’d be down with that if I knew you had a real reason that you didn’t want to drink. Like, okay, see, if you were one of those really serious Jews who like, kept Kosher and shit and didn’t get trashed because of religious reasons...That would make sense. But you’re not, so you have no excuse.”
“Some may argue my talent is just as important as my faith.”
“Bullshit, Berry. You’re just chicken.”
She stared at him menacingly, and after a prolonged moment, reached out and snatched the cup from his hand.
“Ugh, you are absolutely hopeless,” she muttered as she chugged its contents (“Damn, girl!”) and threw the red cup to the ground. “There, happy? I drank your vile beverage. Now if that was laced with date rape drug, I am totally testifying against you.”
"Hate to break it to you, but I'm pretty sure I don't need date rape drug to get in your panties, B."
An hour later, she had downed two more beers (on her own volition) and was officially, completely and unceremoniously trashed. She didn’t hold her alcohol well (unsurprisingly) but seeing her like that made him wish he got her loosey goosied sooner. She was all hands when she was plastered, which was quickly climbing the ranks on his list of favorite things about her. But really, what he loved even more than that was how fucking free she was. Sure, he could get her loose when it was just the two of them, but being an uptight pain in the ass was something he assumed was an invariable constant that was 100% Berry. But boy was he wrong.
She was standing in front of him, her hands thrown over her head, her hips moving slowly with the rhythm of the music, and he could have sworn he was getting a hard on just looking at her.
“Noahhh,” she whined, “dance with me!”
She reached a hand out towards him, but before he could stand, she was climbing over his lap, bracketing his waist with her knees. She settled herself comfortably over him and giggled. “Looks like someone’s happy to see me!”
A rumble echoed from deep in his throat and he pulled her more firmly against him, his hands brushing over the sides of her skirt, then pushing her polo shirt up so skin met skin.
“Listen, baby, you know-you know I want to-”
Seriously, if she didn’t stop rubbing against him-
“Listen,” He reached up and framed her face in his hands and laughed. “You know I want nothing more than to fuck the shit out of you right here, right now, but you’re plastered, baby, and it’s not even 11 o’clock.”
“Oh! Wait!” She hopped off him and looked at her empty wrist, forgetting she hadn’t actually worn a watch since the third grade. “11 o’clock! Artie’s party!” When she started laughing hysterically, he grabbed her hips to steady her. “That rhymes!”
When they got to Artie’s place, Puck had sobered up (a little) and she absolutely had not. In fact, when Artie opened the door, she took his head in her hands and planted a long, wet kiss on his forehead.
“Uh, thanks?”
“God, Artie, you know I love you right? I love you, I love you, I love you!”
“Sorry, dude, we just got back from a friend’s place, and she, uh, had a few.”
Turns out Puck and Rachel showing up at Artie’s house together, let alone trashed, was the talk of the party. After they started leaving Glee together every week, there were rumors swirling around that something was going on between the two of them, but no one really cared enough to get to the bottom of it. But this? Man, they’d be talking about this shit for months.
The party wasn’t as lame as Puck expected; a decent number of people turned out (not all of which were total losers-probably with the help of Santana and Brittany) and dude even had a keg too (thanks to Finn, Puck figured). It wasn’t like he got to enjoy any of that though, because he ended up spending most of the night trying to get Rachel to keep her clothes on and not treat the crowd to a medley of her favorite Streisand tunes.
“Listen to me, B, listen to me.” He couldn’t stop cracking up, the look on her face was just too much. “Baby, you gotta chill out okay, you’re starting to scare the locals.” He looked around and Kurt, Finn and Mercedes were staring at the two of them, their jaws agape.
“Dude, how was I supposed to know a couple beers would make the girl go apeshit?” He was laughing freely and they were too, and shit, this girl was insane but god, he loved it.
“Shut up you guys, just shut up!” She was laughing too as she walked towards Kurt, pulling Puck’s arm behind her. “Listen, okay, just listen. My boyfriend,” She turned around and poked a finger in Puck’s chest then turned back to the three of them, Mercedes trying hard to stifle her laugh, Kurt clearly repulsed, and Finn looking confused and slightly hurt. “My boyfriend is in a band, and they play songs, and one day, they’re gonna play his songs, and all you-all you silly people, you just don’t get it okay? Because we’re in love.”
Oh shit.
He would have come back with some quick and ruthless jab about her being a good fuck (douchebaggery was his best defense mechanism when someone put him in a corner), but before he had a chance, she turned around and slid her hands over his waist and under his shirt. Her eyes were closed and the smile on her face more serene than anything he’d seen on her.
Fuck the Gleeks, he thought. It’s not like they matter anyway.
“You wanna know a secret?” She whispered loudly, standing on her tiptoes.
“You think I’m sexy, don’t you?”
She rolled her eyes then hoisted herself up (with his help, of course) so her lips were next to his ear.
“I think I might be in love with you, Noah,” she whispered, softly this time. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he looked at her seriously, his hand running up and down her bare thigh. “But don’t tell Puck, he’s kind of a dick.”
“Sorry to break it to you, babe, but Puck already knew.”
(Shut up, he was kind of a romantic, okay?)
---
“No, I absolutely refuse.”
“Come on, Rach, live a little.”
“I find that I already live quite a lot, thank you very much.”
“…Says the girl who returns Blockbuster movies three days before they’re due.”
“I’m just considerate, okay?”
“Jesus, Berry, this isn’t a big deal. I know for a fact that the Bradfords are out of town this whole week.”
“You say that as though it justifies us trespassing on their private property.”
“We’d get away scot free! Who’d find out if they’re not home?”
“Hello, their neighbors.” She leaned back against his truck and sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Listen, Noah, a criminal record will completely decimate my chances of getting into Juilliard, and I’m sorry, but swimming in the Bradfords' pool just isn’t worth it.”
“If we got caught. Which we won’t.”
“You have no way of guaranteeing that.”
He laughed and shook his head, then walked towards her, trapping her against the car.
“Babe, look at who you’re talking to. We won’t get caught.”
She stared at him for a long while, his grin grating on her resolve.
“…Okay, fine. But you have to promise me, Noah-”
He kissed her quickly and laughed. “I promise, B.”
“You don’t even know what I was gonna say-”
His eyes softened. “I promise.”
The sun was high in the sky when they snuck over the fence in the Bradfords’ backyard, and the luxurious above ground pool looked like an oasis on a sweltering summer day. Though Puck shut down his “pool cleaning business” long ago, he still kept tabs on the best ones (pools, not cougars, surprisingly) for days like this. Ideally, this should have been happening after midnight and the two of them naked (“I find your eagerness to prance about nude highly unsettling.” “I’m just sayin’, if you got it flaunt it.”) but Rachel refused. For the most part, he was pretty good at testing her limits, but even he knew anything involving public nudity was a bit much.
Puck had already tossed away his T-shirt and footed his cargo shorts into the grass when Rachel was surveying the area.
“No one’s around, Rach.”
“I know, but…” She shuffled nervously, so with a sigh, he took her hand and led her to a corner of the yard with high bushes.
“Here, I got you, okay?” he turned his back to her with a grin and spread his arms out wide.
When he turned back around, she was standing awkwardly in baby pink cotton panties and a matching bra. “Mmm, Berry cotton candy, my favorite.” He laughed and grabbed her hand, pulling her towards the pool. “Now come on, it’s hotter than hell out here.”
After a couple small strokes and a lot of splashing, Puck felt her small hands grip his as she floated towards him. He’d seen that smile before: in his bedroom the night after they took Nationals. He grinned back at her as she wrapped her slick arms around his neck and pressed her body tightly against his.
“You are such a delinquent.”
“Hey, so are you.”
---
So it was basically Puck’s dream to convince Rachel to have sex with him behind the bleachers. He didn’t know why really, maybe because it’s what all the studs did in the movies, but really he’d settle for any form of public sexing. He was an adrenaline junkie, plain and simple, and there was something about the constant fear of getting caught that got him off (probably because in his best fantasies, they were always caught by some really hot lady cop who decided to get in on the action). That was his dream, yeah, but he knew he never had a chance. Still, that didn’t stop him from putting in the request for his birthday. And much to his sincere surprise? She actually fucking agreed. Well, not to straight up public sexing, per se, but sexing in the back of his truck at the drive-in. It was like the hard PG-13 version of his triple X fantasies, but it was better than nothing.
The amazing part about the whole thing though was that it was like someone swapped his girlfriend with this amazingly aggressive sex panther woman, because there was no nagging or complaining or warnings about what she’d do to him if she got arrested, just sexy smiles and black lace lingerie (did she buy that for him? Best birthday present ever). She settled him down in the back thirty minutes in and held his face in her hands, whispered throaty “happy birthdays” between kisses as she undressed him then guided his hands over her.
Most of it felt like a dream to him (was this Rachel Berry going down on him or Megan Fox? He really wasn’t sure) except when he caught the sight of a fat old cop peering into the front seat, then pulling his flash light out.
“Oh shit! Get up, Rachel, getupgetupgetup.”
When her dads picked her up from the police station, her fingers were entwined with his and they were laughing quietly to each other. Of course, they snatched her away and gave Puck the verbal beatdown to end all verbal beatdowns (very impressive, he thought, for two gay dudes) but he didn’t care because her hand was covering her face and she was still laughing. Rachel Berry got busted and she was laughing about it.
When their eyes met, she blew him a kiss and mouthed two words: happy birthday.
(Totally worth it.)
author's note: Thanks viennawaits for your help talking through some stuff! Also, my style can be a bit weird, and most of the time I just kind of write without paying much mind to the continuity of narrative voice and things like that, so if this was really confusing, please tell me!
Patterns of Fairytales
everything we ever planned to ever do.
---
“Noah Puckerman, I am not kidding, I will seriously call the police right now if you take one more step towards that car.”
“Shut up, Berry, and get over here.”
“I’m quite certain the Lima County Sheriff’s Department would be more than happy to get a thug like you off the streets.”
“Oh please, Sheriff Crowley’s my homeboy.”
“Noah.”
He knew that Noah. It wasn’t her usual get-your-ass-over-here-or-I’ll-tear-your-balls-off Noah, it was her help-me-I’m-just-a-scared-pouty-puppy Noah: basically the one thing about her annoying-ass self that rendered him completely and utterly defenseless. So he stopped and turned around, and of course, there she was looking like a scared little kid; her arms wrapped tightly around her pea coat and her stockinged legs shivering in the night air.
He walked back towards her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Remind me again, who it was that told me all she wanted was to feel the sweet satisfaction of destroying something he loves?”
“Well, yes, I did say that but-”
“-And who was it that lured you into his love shack with his ‘dreamy eyes’ and fruity Vocal Adrenaline hair, only to crush your soul?”
“Yes, I know, but-”
“-And, oh yeah, who was it that told you no matter how good the sex is, fraternizing with the enemy is a bad idea?”
“We didn’t have sex, but-”
“-Me, that’s who. And as usual, I was right. So for once in your life, would you please listen to the Gospel of Puckerone? I have wisdom beyond my years and you’re lucky I’m not charging you for it.”
“But Noah-”
“God Berry, I’ve had it up to here with your buts, okay? Now this is what we in the biz call a window of opportunity.” He turned around and stood beside her, his arm slung over her shoulders.
“And what biz might that be?”
“Um, hello, juvenile delinquency and petty crime.”
She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, her body tensing up as he leaned his face closer to hers and pointed towards the Silver Xterra in front of them. She didn’t really know what was going on between her and Noah, but when Quinn miscarried and Finn went back to her, they just kinda…Started hanging out with each other. It made sense though. Puck didn’t actually hate her as much as he made people think, and as it turned out, fucking your boy’s girlfriend was less badass and more asshole. So, at the end of the day, Puck had no one and Rachel had no one and she still needed to practice her vocal runs and he still maybe secretly kinda liked lying in bed with her and listening to her overdramatic sobfests. To be honest though, it was less the listening he liked (feelings still made him want to blow serious chunks) and more her big brown eyes and pouty lips; the curve of her thigh as her skirts rode further and further up. No, they didn’t fool around (at least not at first) but she let him touch her, and once when she somehow got him to talk about Quinn and Babygate, she actually kissed him. And fuck if he knew why, but somehow, that one kiss felt more gratifying than any cougar fuck ever could.
She, on the other hand, had given up on high school boys entirely. If her one-sided love affair with Finn showed her anything, it was that fairy tales didn’t exist. At least not at McKinley. She was actually very proud of how she handled the whole situation. She forgave him - he was the sweetest boy she’d ever known, after all, and it wasn’t his fault he couldn’t stop loving Quinn - but it still hurt. Which was probably what drove her back to Noah to begin with. It seemed fitting, really: two heartbroken teens commiserating over lost loves. Not that Puck was much of a commisserater, but he had no friends and surprisingly, he listened when she was sad. There were even times she was convinced the feeling of his hands on her skin could drown out even the deepest of sorrows. She knew it probably wasn’t the best idea she’d ever gone along with, but somehow they fit, and really, that was all she needed.
So yeah, she didn’t know what exactly this was, but she was pretty sure the foggy warmth of his breath and the feeling of his body pressed against hers was the reason why her heart was racing.
“Dude may be flaming but he’s still a dude. So trust me when I tell you, that gay-ass car right there? Is something he loves. Probably not as much as this Glee shit, but y’know, you take what you can get.”
“Noah-”
He reached into his pocket and pulled a Swiss Army knife out and held it in front of her. “All you gotta do is take care of the front tires, okay? I’ll do the rest.”
She stared at the knife reluctantly. When she didn’t take it from him, he rolled his eyes and stuffed it back into his jacket.
“Hey don’t knock it ‘til you try it. Honest to God, a good fuck is probably the only thing better than a good ol’ fashioned tire slashing.” When her look of disgust didn’t fade, he sighed and turned her around to face him.
“Rachel. This dickweed sexed you up and hung you out to dry, all for some stupid Glee routine. I know you think I have ‘no moral compass,’ but even I can see that shit’s whack. You can’t tell me he doesn’t deserve this.”
Generally speaking, Puck liked that they didn’t put a label on what they had. And yeah, he knew that since they weren’t together, he didn’t really have any claim over her, but it wasn’t like having the freedom to see other guys meant Rachel ever did. That is, until this douchebag came along and she suddenly had “things to do” on Friday nights. (What the fuck?) Maybe he was a little jealous at first, but that didn’t mean she deserved what that asshole gave her. (Even if it did make her come running back and gave him a valid excuse to want to beat the living shit out of him.)
“How many times do I have to tell you, we didn’t have sex. I’m not some floozy who gives my virginity up to anything with a penis.”
He raised his eyebrows and her cheeks flushed.
“All I’m saying is that whatever happened between the two of you clearly fucked you up real good. Because I’ve seen a lot of girls cry in my day, but you…” He trailed off, digging his hands deep in his pockets. There was a reason why Puck was the way he was: so he wouldn’t have to get trampled by people he was stupid enough to care about. Rachel hadn’t learned that lesson yet, and seeing her live through it was kinda rough. (Opposed to popular opinion, he wasn’t completely soulless.)
“Listen,” he reached out and took her hand in his, “all I’m saying is he deserves it, okay?” He said it with a conviction so foreign to her. Was this what it felt like to have someone who cared enough to actually stand up for you? You knew someone was your friend when they offered to slash the boy who broke your heart’s tires, right? (The rational side of her brain knew, no, this wasn’t; this was something more.)
“Come on, babe, let’s fuck his shit up.”
She looked down at their entwined hands, then up at him. His eyes were twinkling.
He laughed quietly and stepped towards her, placing his other hand on her hip. “When good girls go bad…” His grin grew as he sang softly and his fingers encircled her wrist.
When she finally broke a smile, he lifted her off the ground and spun her around.
“Okay, so you get the front tires and I’ll do the back. Now hurry the fuck up before anyone sees us!”
“If I get arrested for this-”
“It’ll be totally worth it, so shut up and start slashing.”
---
It didn’t take long for Finn to forgive him; come on, it was Finn, and they had been best friends since they were seven. He had no problem telling Puck what a douche he thought he was, but also that, at the end of the day, Puck was the closest thing to a brother he had. Family always came first, so no matter how awful things got, he had no choice but to forgive.
But that didn’t mean things went back to the way they were before, because they didn’t. Not even close. Quinn still couldn’t stand the sight of him (the memory of their dead little girl - her dead little girl - was too fresh) and every time he saw her, he got hit by this intense wave of nausea (same reason: it was all too soon). So while he and Finn laughed and joked and dicked around in basketball and sometimes in Glee, it didn’t make much of a difference, because outside of all that, Puck still had no friends. Turned out being a douche didn’t guarantee sustained popularity, and once you took away Puck’s minions, the fear factor was knocked down considerably. Meaning: basically everyone at McKinley hated his guts. He really and truly did not give a fuck though. If he said it once he said it a thousand times: school was for suckers, and fuck man, so was popularity.
None of that mattered anyway, ‘cause he had this weird unspoken thing growing between him and Rachel that kept him pretty entertained most of the time. They tried to keep it on the down low (literally and figuratively) so most of the time they saw each other, it was usually in one of their bedrooms and in various states of undress. Somewhere along the line, though, things did change. For instance, one night, she brought a movie with her when he was supposed to be babysitting his sister. He tried to push her up the stairs and to his room when she came in, but she was too fast and plopped down on the couch before he could stop her. To make matters worse, she fucking refused to get up. So he sat down too, and as she made small talk with the brat, he figured maybe some roaming hands might convince her that wholesome fun wasn’t what she came over for. But no, she swatted his hands away (“Your brother is insufferable.” “Tell me about it!”) and he ended up having to watch some flick from the stone age staring James Dean.
Somewhere in the middle of the movie, she got up to make some popcorn and came back with a big bowl in one hand and a blanket in the other. The brat’s eyes were transfixed on Dean as Rachel motioned for him to scoot over. He moved begrudgingly and she handed him the bowl before stretching her legs across the couch and resting her head on his lap. And there it was.
See, things like that should have really freaked the fuck out of him, but…It kind of did the opposite. No, he wasn’t going soft, not at all; it was more like that feeling before a big game, when your nerves are insane and your head is everywhere, but then you put your headphones on and all the crazy just…Fades away. It was exactly like that, actually. So instead of saying something really fucking awful or trying to finger her under that blanket, he tossed a handful of popcorn in his mouth, passed the bowl to his sister and ran his fingers lazily through Rachel’s hair. When his hand wandered down her arm, she took it between hers and pressed a warm kiss on his palm, and he thought maybe being a dick all the time was slightly overrated.
After the movie, he decided James Dean was kind of a badass, so he tried out being a loner for a little while at school. Needless to say, it wasn’t long before he came to the conclusion that the whole thing was a waste of time. One night, he told Rachel he was thinking of dropping out of school altogether and getting a job down at the body shop on Main Street (he always liked cars and been pretty good with his hands) and she bit his head off. Some shit about throwing away his future, and popularity not being everything, and people depending on him. He was pretty sure no one depended on him for anything, and he told her that, and she just stared at him, her jaw agape. She shook her head and laughed bitterly.
"Yeah, guess no one does. I better go." (Fun fact? Puck was also killer at fucking up good things.)
The next day, he stopped by her locker before first period and told her maybe dropping out was a bit dramatic; that all he really needed was just something to do outside of school that was completely unrelated to McKinley (“Other than you, obviously”).
When he opened his locker a week later, a flyer fell out, her girly handwriting scrawled across the top: They’re looking for a guitarist. This would be perfect for you!!!
The band was some emo-shit indie rock knock-off that wore matching black suits at gigs and had liner notes for songs called “The Interlocutor” and “Parsimonious Heart,” but they sounded good, and the more Puck thought about it, the more he really wanted this. Not just to be in a band, but fuck, to be a part of anything, really. Anything more real than that fake-ass Glee shit with a bunch of losers who hated his guts.
The band was okay with him still being in high school - the lead singer was 22, the drummer 24, and the bassist still a senior at East Lima - so they gave him the spot, but on one condition: that he got rid of the retarded Mohawk. (He almost told them to fuck themselves, but new times call for a new look, right? Maybe it was for the best.)
After a month of playing weddings and birthday parties, they got their first real gig at some club downtown. When he told Rachel, she practically mauled him (“You know, I’m still waiting for you to thank me for changing your life.”) and he laughed and told her they better hit up his cousin Ronnie ASAP for a fake ID since the show was only a week away.
“Wait right there. Fake ID? I will do no such thing.”
“It’s an over 21 show and there’s no chance in Hell you’re wussing out on me.”
“I am all about supporting your burgeoning music career, but if you expect me to break the law and obtain a falsified form of identification, then you’ve got another thing coming, mister!”
“Here we go…”
“My Uncle Denny’s in law enforcement and he told me-are you listening to me, Noah, because this is important-he told me-”
“You know what? Uncle Denny can shove it.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me, your dumbass Uncle Denny can shove it. You are coming to this show whether you like it or not because there’s exactly one person in this godforsaken town who doesn’t want to burn me at the stake or put me in jail-”
“-I’m not entirely opposed to the latter.”
“And I’m gonna need someone I know there to witness the birth of a legend. So after school tomorrow, you and I are going to Ronnie’s place and we’re gonna have him take your fucking picture-”
“Wait, I get to have my picture taken?”
---
A few weeks after their first real gig, one of his bandmates had a party, and Puck surprised even himself when he asked her if she wanted to come with. At that point, he could have been drowning in pussy from all across Lima, young and old alike, but something always stopped him. Namely, that nagging feeling he got in the pit of his stomach that told him he was cheating on her (see, he does have a moral compass). Plus, he didn’t see the point of chasing tail when he already had a pretty hot one tucked away; certainly hotter than any of the skankhoes that threw themselves at him at his shows. So yeah, he asked her, and it shouldn’t have felt weird ‘cause they’d been fucking for a good month, but it did because…Was he asking her out?
See, even though they were pretty much dating at this point, neither of them actually called it that. They didn’t call it anything really, or even acknowledge in any way that what they were doing was definitely more than an overly friendly game of footsie. Puck found that really fucking weird though, and not just because this was unusual behavior for a chick; rather, because this chick was Rachel Berry. The idea of her being okay with anything vague and undefined just seemed unnatural. He didn’t question it though; if there was one thing he learned in his seventeen years of life, it was that you always go with the flow. So they’d tumble into bed together, her pulling at his clothes, him whispering a muffled babybabybaby into her neck, and they didn’t think about the next day or even the next minute.
He ended up inviting her through text. Yeah, it was just some stupid party, but calling her up felt way too much like he was asking her out, and at least this way he didn’t have to hear the awkward silence. There was a little delay in her reply message, but he told himself it was because he was on Verizon and she was on AT&T; which was total bullshit, by the way. The girl was the world’s fastest text messager and the delay was because she couldn’t believe Noah was asking her out.
Berry (10:43:04 PM): I’d love to, but Artie’s parents are out of town and he’s having some people over Friday night as well. I know it’s 'not your scene' but could we swing by both?
She was right, the Glee thing wasn’t his scene at all, but he said okay. She suggested they go there first, but he refused; there was no chance in hell he was going to that Glee gay-fest sober.
“But if we go there now, we can leave in half an hour and be done with it! Noah, I’m lucky they even invited me, I’ve gotten the silent treatment for a good six weeks because of that Vocal Adrenaline debacle.”
“I’m not shitting you, I refuse to set foot in that house without at least three beers in my system, okay? Just because I stay on the stupid Glee Club doesn’t mean I don’t want to gouge my eyes out whenever I’m around them.”
She eyed him for long moment before speaking up. “You know, I’m not as clueless as I look.”
“What the fresh hell are you talking about, woman?”
“I know the games you play, Puckerman. You think if we go to Tim’s first, we’ll lose track of time and miss Artie’s altogether, don’t you?” Well, he actually was hoping he’d get her so trashed, she’d forget about Artie, but same difference.
“Berry, you’re nuts.”
“Then promise me we’ll leave at a decent hour and still make it to Artie’s.”
Her glare was unwavering, and finally, he raised his arms in defeat.
“Fine, okay! I promise! Shit, man.”
Tim’s party was fun but everyone was 23 and 24 and there was no beer pong. Instead, there was a lot of getting trashed and talking about philosophy. Rachel found it absolutely captivating; less the conversations themselves and more the fact that there was actually subset of Lima Losers who debated the merits of Hume and Kant in their free time. They didn’t hang out with them though, and instead ended up on the side of the basement with Dave and a bunch of his friends from East Lima. Puck thought Rachel knew a few of them, but when he came back from the keg with two plastic cups, he found her sitting alone on a couch in the corner, adjusting the ribbon in her hair.
“I got you the regular brew, figured you could use some meat on those midget bones of yours, Berry.” He handed her the cup and plopped down beside her. She sniffed it and scrunched her nose.
“That was very sweet of you Noah, but I’d rather not.”
“Are you serious?”
“Of course I’m serious! Alcohol is atrocious for my vocal range.”
“So you’re not even gonna take a sip?”
“No, thank you.”
He looked at the cup then glared up at her suspiciously.
“You realize the whole point of going to parties is for the free alcohol, right?”
“Yes, Noah, that’s quite apparent, thanks for the enlightenment. And silly me, here I was thinking you invited me because you enjoyed my company.”
“Whoa whoa whoa, don’t go all chick on me and change the subject. You know, all this time, I thought you never drank because you never had the chance to, but now I get it…You’re chicken.”
He took a swig of beer and leaned back on the couch.
“What?”
“I said you’re a chicken, Berry. C-H-I-K-I-N.”
“Okay first of all, you clearly haven’t been making the most of that Merriam-Webster Dictionary I bought for you. Second of all, just because I make the conscious decision to abide by the laws of our country - which, you may be shocked to discover, were actually created for our safety and well-being - does not make me a chicken.”
“You know what I think? I think that sounds like something a chicken would say.”
“If you call me a chicken one more time, I swear I’ll dump that beer over that pea-brained head of yours.”
“All I’m saying is I find it hard to believe that a girl like you would be scared of anything, let alone a little cup of beer. No wonder you’re such a tight ass all the time.”
She clenched her teeth and tilted her head towards him.
“You think being a jerk is part of your Puckerman charm, but it’s really not. In fact, it makes me want to get up and-”
She stood and he laughed before placing one of his cups on the ground and pulling her down on his lap.
“Hey now, no need to go all diva on my ass, you know I’m just playin’.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck (force of habit) and he smiled lazily up at her.
“I don’t understand why you peer pressure me all the time, no means no.”
“True, true…” he reached down again and picked up the second cup. “And I’d be down with that if I knew you had a real reason that you didn’t want to drink. Like, okay, see, if you were one of those really serious Jews who like, kept Kosher and shit and didn’t get trashed because of religious reasons...That would make sense. But you’re not, so you have no excuse.”
“Some may argue my talent is just as important as my faith.”
“Bullshit, Berry. You’re just chicken.”
She stared at him menacingly, and after a prolonged moment, reached out and snatched the cup from his hand.
“Ugh, you are absolutely hopeless,” she muttered as she chugged its contents (“Damn, girl!”) and threw the red cup to the ground. “There, happy? I drank your vile beverage. Now if that was laced with date rape drug, I am totally testifying against you.”
"Hate to break it to you, but I'm pretty sure I don't need date rape drug to get in your panties, B."
An hour later, she had downed two more beers (on her own volition) and was officially, completely and unceremoniously trashed. She didn’t hold her alcohol well (unsurprisingly) but seeing her like that made him wish he got her loosey goosied sooner. She was all hands when she was plastered, which was quickly climbing the ranks on his list of favorite things about her. But really, what he loved even more than that was how fucking free she was. Sure, he could get her loose when it was just the two of them, but being an uptight pain in the ass was something he assumed was an invariable constant that was 100% Berry. But boy was he wrong.
She was standing in front of him, her hands thrown over her head, her hips moving slowly with the rhythm of the music, and he could have sworn he was getting a hard on just looking at her.
“Noahhh,” she whined, “dance with me!”
She reached a hand out towards him, but before he could stand, she was climbing over his lap, bracketing his waist with her knees. She settled herself comfortably over him and giggled. “Looks like someone’s happy to see me!”
A rumble echoed from deep in his throat and he pulled her more firmly against him, his hands brushing over the sides of her skirt, then pushing her polo shirt up so skin met skin.
“Listen, baby, you know-you know I want to-”
Seriously, if she didn’t stop rubbing against him-
“Listen,” He reached up and framed her face in his hands and laughed. “You know I want nothing more than to fuck the shit out of you right here, right now, but you’re plastered, baby, and it’s not even 11 o’clock.”
“Oh! Wait!” She hopped off him and looked at her empty wrist, forgetting she hadn’t actually worn a watch since the third grade. “11 o’clock! Artie’s party!” When she started laughing hysterically, he grabbed her hips to steady her. “That rhymes!”
When they got to Artie’s place, Puck had sobered up (a little) and she absolutely had not. In fact, when Artie opened the door, she took his head in her hands and planted a long, wet kiss on his forehead.
“Uh, thanks?”
“God, Artie, you know I love you right? I love you, I love you, I love you!”
“Sorry, dude, we just got back from a friend’s place, and she, uh, had a few.”
Turns out Puck and Rachel showing up at Artie’s house together, let alone trashed, was the talk of the party. After they started leaving Glee together every week, there were rumors swirling around that something was going on between the two of them, but no one really cared enough to get to the bottom of it. But this? Man, they’d be talking about this shit for months.
The party wasn’t as lame as Puck expected; a decent number of people turned out (not all of which were total losers-probably with the help of Santana and Brittany) and dude even had a keg too (thanks to Finn, Puck figured). It wasn’t like he got to enjoy any of that though, because he ended up spending most of the night trying to get Rachel to keep her clothes on and not treat the crowd to a medley of her favorite Streisand tunes.
“Listen to me, B, listen to me.” He couldn’t stop cracking up, the look on her face was just too much. “Baby, you gotta chill out okay, you’re starting to scare the locals.” He looked around and Kurt, Finn and Mercedes were staring at the two of them, their jaws agape.
“Dude, how was I supposed to know a couple beers would make the girl go apeshit?” He was laughing freely and they were too, and shit, this girl was insane but god, he loved it.
“Shut up you guys, just shut up!” She was laughing too as she walked towards Kurt, pulling Puck’s arm behind her. “Listen, okay, just listen. My boyfriend,” She turned around and poked a finger in Puck’s chest then turned back to the three of them, Mercedes trying hard to stifle her laugh, Kurt clearly repulsed, and Finn looking confused and slightly hurt. “My boyfriend is in a band, and they play songs, and one day, they’re gonna play his songs, and all you-all you silly people, you just don’t get it okay? Because we’re in love.”
Oh shit.
He would have come back with some quick and ruthless jab about her being a good fuck (douchebaggery was his best defense mechanism when someone put him in a corner), but before he had a chance, she turned around and slid her hands over his waist and under his shirt. Her eyes were closed and the smile on her face more serene than anything he’d seen on her.
Fuck the Gleeks, he thought. It’s not like they matter anyway.
“You wanna know a secret?” She whispered loudly, standing on her tiptoes.
“You think I’m sexy, don’t you?”
She rolled her eyes then hoisted herself up (with his help, of course) so her lips were next to his ear.
“I think I might be in love with you, Noah,” she whispered, softly this time. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he looked at her seriously, his hand running up and down her bare thigh. “But don’t tell Puck, he’s kind of a dick.”
“Sorry to break it to you, babe, but Puck already knew.”
(Shut up, he was kind of a romantic, okay?)
---
“No, I absolutely refuse.”
“Come on, Rach, live a little.”
“I find that I already live quite a lot, thank you very much.”
“…Says the girl who returns Blockbuster movies three days before they’re due.”
“I’m just considerate, okay?”
“Jesus, Berry, this isn’t a big deal. I know for a fact that the Bradfords are out of town this whole week.”
“You say that as though it justifies us trespassing on their private property.”
“We’d get away scot free! Who’d find out if they’re not home?”
“Hello, their neighbors.” She leaned back against his truck and sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Listen, Noah, a criminal record will completely decimate my chances of getting into Juilliard, and I’m sorry, but swimming in the Bradfords' pool just isn’t worth it.”
“If we got caught. Which we won’t.”
“You have no way of guaranteeing that.”
He laughed and shook his head, then walked towards her, trapping her against the car.
“Babe, look at who you’re talking to. We won’t get caught.”
She stared at him for a long while, his grin grating on her resolve.
“…Okay, fine. But you have to promise me, Noah-”
He kissed her quickly and laughed. “I promise, B.”
“You don’t even know what I was gonna say-”
His eyes softened. “I promise.”
The sun was high in the sky when they snuck over the fence in the Bradfords’ backyard, and the luxurious above ground pool looked like an oasis on a sweltering summer day. Though Puck shut down his “pool cleaning business” long ago, he still kept tabs on the best ones (pools, not cougars, surprisingly) for days like this. Ideally, this should have been happening after midnight and the two of them naked (“I find your eagerness to prance about nude highly unsettling.” “I’m just sayin’, if you got it flaunt it.”) but Rachel refused. For the most part, he was pretty good at testing her limits, but even he knew anything involving public nudity was a bit much.
Puck had already tossed away his T-shirt and footed his cargo shorts into the grass when Rachel was surveying the area.
“No one’s around, Rach.”
“I know, but…” She shuffled nervously, so with a sigh, he took her hand and led her to a corner of the yard with high bushes.
“Here, I got you, okay?” he turned his back to her with a grin and spread his arms out wide.
When he turned back around, she was standing awkwardly in baby pink cotton panties and a matching bra. “Mmm, Berry cotton candy, my favorite.” He laughed and grabbed her hand, pulling her towards the pool. “Now come on, it’s hotter than hell out here.”
After a couple small strokes and a lot of splashing, Puck felt her small hands grip his as she floated towards him. He’d seen that smile before: in his bedroom the night after they took Nationals. He grinned back at her as she wrapped her slick arms around his neck and pressed her body tightly against his.
“You are such a delinquent.”
“Hey, so are you.”
---
So it was basically Puck’s dream to convince Rachel to have sex with him behind the bleachers. He didn’t know why really, maybe because it’s what all the studs did in the movies, but really he’d settle for any form of public sexing. He was an adrenaline junkie, plain and simple, and there was something about the constant fear of getting caught that got him off (probably because in his best fantasies, they were always caught by some really hot lady cop who decided to get in on the action). That was his dream, yeah, but he knew he never had a chance. Still, that didn’t stop him from putting in the request for his birthday. And much to his sincere surprise? She actually fucking agreed. Well, not to straight up public sexing, per se, but sexing in the back of his truck at the drive-in. It was like the hard PG-13 version of his triple X fantasies, but it was better than nothing.
The amazing part about the whole thing though was that it was like someone swapped his girlfriend with this amazingly aggressive sex panther woman, because there was no nagging or complaining or warnings about what she’d do to him if she got arrested, just sexy smiles and black lace lingerie (did she buy that for him? Best birthday present ever). She settled him down in the back thirty minutes in and held his face in her hands, whispered throaty “happy birthdays” between kisses as she undressed him then guided his hands over her.
Most of it felt like a dream to him (was this Rachel Berry going down on him or Megan Fox? He really wasn’t sure) except when he caught the sight of a fat old cop peering into the front seat, then pulling his flash light out.
“Oh shit! Get up, Rachel, getupgetupgetup.”
When her dads picked her up from the police station, her fingers were entwined with his and they were laughing quietly to each other. Of course, they snatched her away and gave Puck the verbal beatdown to end all verbal beatdowns (very impressive, he thought, for two gay dudes) but he didn’t care because her hand was covering her face and she was still laughing. Rachel Berry got busted and she was laughing about it.
When their eyes met, she blew him a kiss and mouthed two words: happy birthday.
(Totally worth it.)
author's note: Thanks viennawaits for your help talking through some stuff! Also, my style can be a bit weird, and most of the time I just kind of write without paying much mind to the continuity of narrative voice and things like that, so if this was really confusing, please tell me!