I Now Pronounce You Husband and Keeper - Glee - Sue/Will
Title: I Now Pronounce You Husband and Keeper
Pairing: Sue/Will
Word Count: 5450
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Pegging, dub-con, Sue.
A/N: Written for the 'pegging' square on my Kink Bingo card. I blame these guys for refusing to discourage me.
Summary: Sue needs a trophy husband, and she knows just the man for the job.
George Belliveau had got married.
That whore.
Sue Sylvester watched with irritation as he strutted around on her television screen, cheerleading trophy tucked under one arm and trophy wife hanging off of the other. She was blond and ditzy and clearly only interested in his coaching abilities. Ex-cheerleader, Sue could tell at a glance. Past her prime. Pathetic.
With a miffed snarl of annoyance, Sue silenced the television with a pointed stab of the remote. The screen fell black with a disappointed click, and she crossed her arms over her chest. There was no way that she would allow a second-rate coach like Belliveau one-up her.
A plan was needed.
Sue was very good at plans.
*
She walked past the choir room the following day after school, clicking her fingers in its general direction. The cheerleaders sprung to their feet, well-trained, and even grotesquely swollen Quinn twitched in her seat. Sue was glad she didn't bother moving. With a belly like she'd swallowed a beach ball, she looked like the slightest movement might split her down the middle and leave them with a mohawked, mini-failure for all the Glee club to deal with.
(After a moment's pause, she mentally noted down 'induce birth' as plan #414 to destroy the club).
"Schuester, my office, now," she ordered, hanging in the doorway.
The barnacle-haired buffoon paused in his moral corruption of his kids for long enough to sigh at her in irritation. The sound was grating. "Sue, we've talked about this. You can't keep interrupting practice like this. It's not fair on the kids."
She wasn't sure whether or not they had talked about that in the past (she had a tendency to think of other things when he talked; his voice was boring), but she didn't care now enough to notice or comment on the matter. "Your kids won't get any better whether you're here to hold their hands or not. My office, Schuester. Now."
Squaring his shoulders, Will stuck his over-sized chin in her direction: in an animal, it would be a display of masculinity. Sue wasn't sure what it was supposed to accomplish from a specimen like Will Schuester. "Whatever you have to say you can say it right here."
She blinked, once. Will's little club were watching, but that was irrelevant when it came to her pride. They were nothing. "We're getting married, hubby," she told him, smiling with a triumphant bounce on her sneakers. "Tomorrow lunch time. See you there."
With a waggle of her eyebrows, she was off.
It didn't take Schuester long to jog after her. "Sue?" he asked, scurrying on his little dancer-legs in order to keep up with her. "What's going on?"
Angry.
She liked him when he was angry. 'Liked' for certain definitions of 'found more tolerable than usual'.
"Wear a suit," she instructed. "Something fancy. I don't want to be seen with you looking like that."
He followed her into her office. The anger seemed to have tightened the curls on his head. Once this was over, maybe she'd look into passing him on for scientific study. She pointed him towards a seat, and he perched upon it as she paced to the opposite side of her desk.
"Do you see this file, William?" she asked, tapping on the incredibly thick folder that was weighing down her desk. "This file contains irrefutable proof that you have been bribing the judges of Regionals for several years."
The way that Will's eyes nearly popped out of his skull was a quiet delight to watch. "What have you done?"
"I had my team of private investigators look into what you've been up to instead of monitoring my girls 24-7." She hadn't liked leaving the Cheerios unwatched for a day, knowing they might slip up in their appointed diets, but this had proved more important. "We have proof of payments going back ten years. Ten years. You should be ashamed."
Will spluttered in strange disbelief and stood up to take the file from beneath her nose. She frowned in disapproval but watched as he flicked through the pages, taking in her indisputable evidence. "You're taking my rent as evidence of bribes?" Will asked, looking up at her in scrunchy-faced confusion.
If this was going to work, she would have to train that look out of him. It wouldn't shame Belliveau at all.
"If you'll look further," she invited with a wave of her hand, "you'll see that your landlord just so happens to be the third-cousin of one of the judge's childhood friends. The evidence speaks for itself."
Will looked as if he was about to explode from confusion. It was to be expected. His brain was abnormally small.
"So, Schuester, here's the deal. I need someone on my arm for the next month, and you need this incriminating evidence to go far, far away. I think we have the solution to both our problems." She made herself smile in encouragement. It hurt her face to smile at him.
"What is this about Sue?" Will snapped at her. Bickering like a married couple already - this was going to work perfectly. "Are you trying to hurt me?"
"I need a husband and you are the only suitable candidate. This isn't about you. You're convenient and the best I can do in a pinch."
If there was more time, she would have found someone a thousand times more impressive - but, in the interests of haste, Will Schuester was the best that this measly little school could offer.
"You can't do this," Will protested.
She was bored. Very, very bored.
"The situation is very simple. You marry me for one month, and this file disappears. Otherwise, this scandal is going to break, and you and your little glee club are going down. Think it over. I'll see you here tomorrow."
He complained a little more, whining and spluttering and making inefficient threats, but she had stopped listening to him.
His voice really was very grating.
*
It was a beautiful ceremony. This should go without saying.
Sue had acquired a new, white track suit for the occasion, and the relevant press had been invited along. Her Cheerios did a choreographed number in their honour and she spent one quarter of their yearly budget on fireworks. Her groom may not have looked half as happy as he should have (he was being given the honour of being her husband: it should have been the highlight of his weak, sheltered life) but a few reminders of their agreement got him to smile for the cameras.
He came to live with her. She cleared a trophy or two out of the box room and very generously said he could sleep in the space that had been created. "You can't be serious," he said. She blinked at him. "There isn't even room to lie down. There's no bed."
"It'll help you man up," she said. "When I was in the circus, we slept on nails every night just to keep our minds sharp."
"You- What?" Will spluttered. She hoped that, one of these days, she was going to break his brain for good. "It doesn't matter. I'm not sleeping here."
"You can have the bottom right corner of my bed, if you'd prefer," Sue offered. It was where her feet usually went. He could keep them warm so that at least he would be contributing something to this marriage.
She left him to think it over and retreated to plan her next Cheerios routine. That night, Sylvester (she'd had his name legally changed to match hers; she would inform him of this when the moment was right) was already asleep in her bed when she reached it, curled up like a neutered puppy dog.
Standing in the doorway, she considered the sight of him for a moment or two, the way that he was clinging to the pillow and the white t-shirt draped across his chest. Despite his major personal failings and dire commitment to underdogs, she had been right: he made an excellent trophy husband.
Covering her hands with a sheet, she pushed and shoved him out of the way so that she was free to lie and lounge in her bed as she was accustomed to doing. If she ended up cuddling the curly-haired man-monkey in the night, neither one of them was willing to sacrifice their pride by mentioning it in the light of day.
*
Will refused to quit his job at the school.
"It is undignified for you to work when I am capable of supporting you," Sue said, flicking through her monthly budget rather than looking up at him as he fumed from the other side of her desk. The wedding ring on his finger always caught her attention when he was whining to her: she liked the sight of it, and was mentally sizing him up for a collar already. "I've spoken to Figgins about it already, and he agrees that your performance as a teacher is disgraceful. We are searching for your replacement as we speak."
"I'm not quitting," Will insisted. "If either one of us is going to quit, it should be you - as my wife."
She really, really did not like that word. "I prefer the term 'keeper'."
"I'm not going to call you that."
"Eh." No great loss. It was how she was going to introduce herself to his parents anyway. "If you insist on continuing to work here, I need you to do so for free. Your salary is going to go straight into the budget for my Cheerios." It wouldn't help much, but it might be enough to fund her glitter supplies for the smaller numbers.
Will huffed and puffed several times, and she waved him towards the door of her office. "I'm bored with this conversation," she announced.
She thought that he tried making a threat or two of his own before he left, but she didn't pay attention. The second-hand embarrassment was unpleasant.
In his absence, she got to work on slotting his salary into her budget. If she couldn't have the glee club's cash, she could at least have Will Sylvester's.
*
Two weeks in, and she thought that their marriage was going remarkably well. William had stopped complaining as much (she'd broken him, she could tell) and Cheerleading Monthly had devoted a twelve-page spread to their whirlwind romance: there had been a half-page column devoted to George Belliveau and his tramp.
A triumph, that was for sure.
There were further trials to be overcome, starting tonight: a celebratory dinner for the end of the year. As the reigning champ of Nationals, she was expected to there, and she fully intended to have Will waiting on her. When she'd told him as much, he'd nodded meekly without a single complaint; it had been disappointing, and she had made sure to scowl at him and deride his choice of clothes.
Sue Sylvester did not make mistakes, but if she did it was possible that breaking Will's soul and selling it to the devil may have been one.
She wore a black tracksuit with sparkling diamante, and she sat at the head of the main table looking down at the other lesser coaches (most of them extremely lesser). Will was at her side, with a bow tie strangling his neck and with his lesbian curls newly tightened. It was an irritating distraction, but when the untalented idiot who taught boarding school tramps how to cheerlead without a team was talking to her, she was glad to be distracted.
And, she would swear, she wasn't even aware of reaching out for his curls until she heard a peasant across the table saying, "Awww!"
With a jerk, she burst out of her private thoughts and realised that she had one of Will's spring-like locks of hair wrapped around her forefinger. The expression on his face was one of frustrated forbearance, and the woman sitting on the other side of the table was looking at them as if they were adorable. Adorable - her, Sue Sylvester.
With an unhappy hmph, she pulled her finger away from Will and made sure to yank his hair slightly as she did so. Stupid, magnetic hair. Once she was done with him, maybe she would sell him to the US military for scientific testing.
"You guys are so sweet," her follower chirped at her.
Sue made sure to snort her disapproval. Sue Sylvester was many (amazing, indestructible) things. 'Sweet' was not one of them.
She left Will to deal with smiling and wooing the intruder coach; when their meal was done with, she walked to the bar alone and left him to chatter among peons that were his intellectual equals.
Cursed George Belliveau cornered her at the bar. She remained impassive in the face of his French-faced smile. "I see you have brought your new husband," Belliveau said. His no doubt lice-infected bride was talking with a gaggle of long-dressed simpletons on the other side of the room. "Strange. I imagined he would be younger."
"I don't rob cradles, Belliveau." She had once, but there had been nothing romantic about it. "You picked a post-teen ex-cheerleader past her prime. I got me a talented rising star with all-natural hair and no silicone implants. I think it's clear who has the bigger catch."
She realised, reluctantly, that she was going to have to allow her new husband to win Regionals now, for the sake of her own reputation. They couldn't be a power couple if he continued to be a loser.
"He hasn't proved himself to be exceptionally talented tonight," Belliveau sneered.
That was down-right rude. Sneering at Will Sylvester was her job, not his.
"He can speak Spanish, rap, and no doubt rap in Spanish. He runs one hell of a show choir and, I might add, has an ass that I have bounced quite a few quarters off of in my time." She added 'forcing her to defend William' to her long, long list of why she hated Belliveau. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a husband to fondle. You are not invited."
She knew that that would be cruelest indignity of them all, to be so excluded from something so wonderful. Crossing back over to where Will was impressing young women, she placed her arm around his shoulders. "There's a piano here. You should sing," she told him.
Take that as a demonstration of talent.
With a pat on his rump she encouraged Will on his way, not that he really needed a great deal of encouragement. She knew what those singing types were like, always so eager to step into the waiting spotlight. As she watched him launch into a rendition of a song she couldn't name and didn't care for, a smile twitched at her unwilling lips: having a husband wasn't so bad after all.
*
"You did good tonight, champ," Sue said, as Will lay on 'his strip' of the bed. He was marking Spanish papers with a big red pen. Sometimes Sue chose to make the Cheerios write essays about their chosen sport, purely for the joy of marking their failure in damning red ink.
"Glad I could impress," Will replied without looking up. She really did hate it when he didn't give her his full attention. She was marvellous. She deserved to be marvelled at.
"And I've decided that you're going to win at Regionals."
Cautiously, William raised his gaze to look at her, lips parted in questioning silence. That was more like the reaction she wanted.
"That's very kind of you, Sue," Will said, still looking at her as if she was going to bite him. It was tempting, she'd admit. "Why?"
"If you lose now, it reflects badly on me. I can't have that." Her reputation was the most important thing in the entire world - she had to win. Always. "I'll pull some strings, whip your little rugrats into shape. I've even called my guy in stage management and told him I don't want the stage to collapse during your numbers."
"I..." Will shook his head as if he was trying to get rid of unwanted thoughts. Sue was surprised to learn that he had thoughts at all. "Thank you, Sue. That's great news."
Sue nodded: for him, it was probably the best news that he would receive in his entire career. Sue Sylvester was a winner, through and through. "Don't be too grateful. It's for my benefit, not yours."
Will rolled his eyes at her. "Don't worry; I wouldn't make the mistake of thinking you'd do anything out of the goodness of your heart."
"I don't have a heart. I had it replaced with an arc reactor. More efficient." That might've been a movie. She didn't care - it sounded like something she would have done, so it was true. "Now quit your marking and roll over. I need to get me some beauty sleep."
She didn't need it. She was radiant at all moments in all universes. She wanted it. A sleepless Sue Sylvester left bodies in her wake.
Will placed the essays that he had been marking on the floor next to his 10% strip of the bed (she had measured it down to the last millimeter). She slipped under the covers after a quick stretch, and was in the process of settling down when Will asked, "Sue? Can I ask you a question?"
"You may not," she answered.
He didn't listen. Wily bastard. "Why are you doing this? I've been trying to understand, and I can't. You don't need a husband to impress people - you are impressive, all on your own."
He was right, of course. She was magnificent. "You're not my only nemesis, William," she said. At last count, she had fifteen. With great power, came many enemies. She was determined to crush each and every one of them - but Will Sylvester was further down the list of her hate-priorities than he realised. "Being married to you hasn't been as intolerable as I had expected."
For a moment, William hesitated, before he conceded, "Likewise."
Sue nodded in contentment. This was as close to pillow-talk as she was willing to get. "You may kiss my cheek," she told him. It seemed like an appropriate marital gesture.
She stared up at the ceiling so that she didn't have to look at the expression on his face. If he declined, she decided that she would take everything from him in the divorce, including his hair. She could donate it to a group of song-birds for a nest.
As she was contemplating exactly what she was going to do with his meagre possessions, she felt the brush and bump of Will's lips against her cheek, dry and fleeting. His hand rested against her shoulder and his breath puffed across her skin, a rare burst of human contact.
"Good night, Sue," he murmured, before he rolled back onto his spot of the bed and turned his back on her.
Her cheek tingled with contact. She didn't smile; she didn't have to.
One simple moment of contact had convinced her that she was angrily in love with one William Sylvester.
*
She deployed her Cheerios to ensure that New Directions won Regionals, and in doing so she had to close her ears to Will's protests: something about it being illegal to deprive students of sleep for 48 hours. That was the kind of attitude that would have ensured he would never win. She would train it out of him.
He made her dinner and she made him a protein shake and Sue found herself satisfied with the exchange.
The meal wasn't even poisoned.
If she wore her best track suits at all times, and if she shined her most impressive trophies so that he would notice, nobody else thought that it was extraordinary behaviour. No one commented on it, even if the glee kids were habit to gossiping behind the backs of their teachers.
("Is he really married to her? Surely that's, like, selling your soul. To Satan."
"They seem happy."
"Stockholm syndrome. I've read all about it."
Damn kids.)
When William's ex-wife came knocking at her door, Sue made sure to mark her territory in no uncertain terms. She couldn't have any tramp sniffing around, trying to take what was now rightfully hers. Sue liked owning things, especially shiny things, and especially things that nobody else could have. As of three weeks ago, that category included her new husband.
The attention of the cheerleading circle moved to other things, no longer interested in the ins and outs of her shock marriage, but she didn't mind as much as she should have. She had managed to upstage Belliveau and make sure that nobody cared about his little dalliance at all; everything beyond that objective was an irrelevance.
Sitting at her kitchen table drawing up plans for the latest Cheerios routine (elephants, needed more elephants), she heard the turning of William's key in the front door. She leaned back in her kitchen chair and waited for him to enter, knowing perfectly well what was coming.
"We won!" Will exclaimed as he entered. "Regionals. We won. You should've seen the kids, Sue, they were amazing."
She grinned wide, and didn't tell him that that was probably because she had threatened, blackmailed or seduced all of the judges separately. He would disapprove. "I knew you had it in you, Sylvester," she said, and he was giddy enough that he didn't even do his customary face-pull at the sound of his new name. She stood up from her chair and grabbed the champagne bottle waiting on her counter. "I figured we'd celebrate in style," she said, waving it at him.
He smiled, relieved and thrilled, and she hadn't seen him smiling at her like that since he'd given her swing lessons. The memory of them made her want to start tapping her feet in merriment, to get him to swing her around like she was a teenager again. With steel willpower, she managed to restrain herself.
Or, well, mostly. There may have been some humming involved, and that alone should have been proof to her that she needed to exorcise William from her mind: Sue Sylvester did not hum.
She was focused upon the bottle, enough that it was a surprise when she felt Will invading her personal space, standing far closer than any other person would have a right to do. If a civilian did that, she would be forced to file for sexual harassment. He smiled, dimples at all, and she squinted at him suspiciously. "I think I have you to thank for our success today," he said, his voice dipping far lower than it ordinarily would. "If you had still been riding my ass, it would have been impossible to practice."
She blinked in acceptance. If she had wanted to crush them, they would have been crying in a depressed funk on the floor right now, all of them. "You're standing very close to me," she observed in an accusation.
He didn't back off. "I know."
And he kissed her.
And it didn't make her vomit.
His hand cupped the back of her head as if he was foolish enough to think that he was in charge of this situation. His mouth bumped against hers, clumsily at first, and with more confidence when she didn't immediately bite his head off and feed it to the nearest dogs she could find. Tempting, but in this instance she had other concerns.
She grabbed the front of his shirt in two tight fists and swung him around to slam him against the kitchen table. He grunted in alarm but it was easy enough to swallow that down, even if it was more difficult to resist the urge to hurt him again. A William in pain was her favourite kind, as it turned out.
She licked inside his mouth, pressing him back against the table, and decided that she should have been doing this all along. She hated him, but she liked him too, and now she owned him.
"I want you stripped and in my bedroom in one minute," she instructed as she released him, "or there will be consequences."
As exciting as it would be to come up with what exactly those consequences would be, William only hesitated for a bare moment before he listened and did as he was told, stripping off his shirt as he walked towards their shared bedroom. She let him go first, listening to the shuffling of his footsteps, and paused to lean down and pick up the champagne bottle that she didn't remember dropping. Placing it on the counter, she then reached into her Very Special Secret Cabinet beneath the sink.
It was where she kept the very best of her toys.
Pulling out the box, she removed her harness and then surveyed her choice of weaponry: it was a well-maintained collection that would have been illegal in several states, strap-ons, dildos and vibrators to make a weak man blush. With greedy eyes, she wanted to shove them all inside, but she didn't think that her husband was likely to be able to take it. First timer, probably.
All the same, she grabbed the biggest of her collection, a meaty black thing that easily filled the circle of her hand. Ridged and decorated, it would be quite an education introduction for Will.
When she made it through to the bedroom, strapped up and ready, Will was lying on the bed in eager delight, stripped down to his underwear. "I thought I said naked," she insisted, with no memory if she had really said anything of the sort.
Will, eyes nearly bugging out of his head, was not busy correcting the situation. Instead he was staring at her plastic cock, at the size and beauty of it. "Sue?" he asked, with a waver that spoke of a hundred different shades of alarm.
"You think I'll let you near me that minuscule wiggler of yours? My way's gonna be much better for us both," she said. Will still looked highly dubious, but she was sure he would come around. Bryan Ryan had done so with very little encouragement, and they were cut from the same cloth. "Don't worry about it, champ - I know exactly what I'm doing."
That was actually an understatement. She was the self-appointed fucking champion of the universe. Nobody did it better. Nobody could do it better.
"Roll over onto your front. I'll go gentle." At first, anyway.
Walking forward, her plastic member swayed back and forth with each step - but after staring at it in alarm as it approached, Will still turned over after pulling off his underwear. He didn't say anything, but he wasn't vocally objecting.
She sat down at the side of the bed and leaned over into her bedside cabinet, pulling it open and pushing aside a small trophy or two in order to withdraw the bottle that she was searching for. KY, a pegger's best friend - if Sue had had best friends, anyway.
She hid her fingers inside a condom and enjoyed the grunt when she first slid a pair of slick fingers inside of Will. Definitely a first timer, tight and tense. "Ease up. It'll feel better for you if you stop being such a tight-ass," she warned. With the end of her strap-on rubbing against her clit, Sue was already having a grand time.
Took a while, far too long, but she managed to get Will to relax and stop being so on-edge, until her fingers were slipping in and out of him quite easily, no resistance. He was breathing through his nose, eyes closed, allowing her to do whatever she wanted: what could be more of a turn-on than that?
She crooked her fingers in order to make him jerk and spasm as she rubbed against the exact right patch of skin, but that was the only taste that she gave him before she withdrew her fingers. He was left lying against the bed, sweat already beading on his forehead.
"Hands and knees, hubby," she instructed with a small pat of his ass, before she threw away the condom covering her fingers and rolled a new one over her cock. As she watched, Will shuffled up onto his knees for her, and took an extra moment before he gathered the strength to push himself up on his hands as well. "Well done."
She crawled onto the bed behind him, still fully clothed on her top-half even if she'd had to strip off her trousers to wear the harness. With Will fully naked without a stitch to protect him, she still won. Big style.
"This is going to hurt a little," she warned him, as gentle as she was willing to be - she already felt certain that she was using up her reserves of sympathy. There couldn't be much left after this.
She stood behind him and gripped her plastic cock in one thick fist, guiding it to his tight asshole and pushing in, just an inch or two at first. Instantly, all the air in Will's lungs rushed out, as if he couldn't physically contain it: too full already. He was stretched wide around her, and she gave him only a moment of mercy before she rocked further inside, splitting him open before her. Slow at first, until the soft cheeks of his ass pushed against her hips: fully embedded.
As he wriggled and whined, panting and pained, she ran a hand over the smooth skin at the small of his back, soothing him as much as she cared to do. There was an inherent thrill to seeing him so undone, to being able to have him spread underneath her at her disposal.
She leaned heavily against him and withdrew, before fucking back inside of him. Speed overcame care and Will's arms collapsed beneath him, leaving him ass-up for her. His wedding ring glinted gold in the dim light from their bedside lamps, and she stared at it as she fucked him, her upper lip curled in a pleased snarl.
"Are you ready to come, William?" she asked, looking down upon him. His legs were trembling and his breathing spluttered. Stimulated and sore, he still didn't try to reach down to touch himself: he must've known she wouldn't allow it. She made the rules here. Sue Sylvester always made the rules. Sooner or later, everyone learned that. "Just from my cock?"
He wheezed a response, something unintelligible that she didn't care to listen to anyway. With the hard, insistent push of her end of the dildo against herself, this was becoming less about Will and more about her, as all situations should be. She could feel it building, feel the world burning at her finger tips.
In a vague, absent-minded way she was aware of Will shuddering to release beneath her, but she was so busy fucking him into the mattress that she didn't really give a damn. Her cheeks flushed and she held him down, held him motionless as she chased her own climax, gritting her teeth in effort.
When she was done and they'd collapsed beside each other in a sweaty, disgusting mess, they stared at the ceiling in unison.
"Just so you know," Will said, "we're still getting divorced at the end of the month."
"Good," Sue said, knowing that she would now have to hunt out some extra dirt on Will for the next time she needed a husband. "And don't think I'll be going easy on you and your band of merry men now I've reamed your ass. You won Regionals because of me. You won't win Nationals."
She will make sure of it.
"Okay," Will agreed, and she could hear the sound of a smirk in his voice and it didn't make her want to squish him. "We've got another week or so before the divorce..."
"Plenty of time." There were a great many more toys in her box. She planned on using each and everyone of them before she released Will into the wild.
*
One Year Later
Watching the television in her office, Sue scowled in disapproval at the screen. George Belliveau had a new wife: someone blonde and bendy and British. The wedding had been accompanied by a 100-strong team of cheerleaders, twirling, spinning and acrobating through the air.
This was absolutely unacceptable.
Stomping behind her desk, she grabbed for the telephone and narrowly avoided crushing it in the strength of her grasp. "Detective," she said when her PI answered the phone. "I need information on William Schuester. By tomorrow."
The stunning reunion of the Cheerios coach with her true love was bound to make everyone forget the Belliveau even existed - and getting a second shot at Schuester's ass was nothing more than a side-benefit. Hanging up the phone, she took a seat behind her desk and breathed deeply: reaching for a pen, she started to plan.
Pairing: Sue/Will
Word Count: 5450
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Pegging, dub-con, Sue.
A/N: Written for the 'pegging' square on my Kink Bingo card. I blame these guys for refusing to discourage me.
Summary: Sue needs a trophy husband, and she knows just the man for the job.
George Belliveau had got married.
That whore.
Sue Sylvester watched with irritation as he strutted around on her television screen, cheerleading trophy tucked under one arm and trophy wife hanging off of the other. She was blond and ditzy and clearly only interested in his coaching abilities. Ex-cheerleader, Sue could tell at a glance. Past her prime. Pathetic.
With a miffed snarl of annoyance, Sue silenced the television with a pointed stab of the remote. The screen fell black with a disappointed click, and she crossed her arms over her chest. There was no way that she would allow a second-rate coach like Belliveau one-up her.
A plan was needed.
Sue was very good at plans.
*
She walked past the choir room the following day after school, clicking her fingers in its general direction. The cheerleaders sprung to their feet, well-trained, and even grotesquely swollen Quinn twitched in her seat. Sue was glad she didn't bother moving. With a belly like she'd swallowed a beach ball, she looked like the slightest movement might split her down the middle and leave them with a mohawked, mini-failure for all the Glee club to deal with.
(After a moment's pause, she mentally noted down 'induce birth' as plan #414 to destroy the club).
"Schuester, my office, now," she ordered, hanging in the doorway.
The barnacle-haired buffoon paused in his moral corruption of his kids for long enough to sigh at her in irritation. The sound was grating. "Sue, we've talked about this. You can't keep interrupting practice like this. It's not fair on the kids."
She wasn't sure whether or not they had talked about that in the past (she had a tendency to think of other things when he talked; his voice was boring), but she didn't care now enough to notice or comment on the matter. "Your kids won't get any better whether you're here to hold their hands or not. My office, Schuester. Now."
Squaring his shoulders, Will stuck his over-sized chin in her direction: in an animal, it would be a display of masculinity. Sue wasn't sure what it was supposed to accomplish from a specimen like Will Schuester. "Whatever you have to say you can say it right here."
She blinked, once. Will's little club were watching, but that was irrelevant when it came to her pride. They were nothing. "We're getting married, hubby," she told him, smiling with a triumphant bounce on her sneakers. "Tomorrow lunch time. See you there."
With a waggle of her eyebrows, she was off.
It didn't take Schuester long to jog after her. "Sue?" he asked, scurrying on his little dancer-legs in order to keep up with her. "What's going on?"
Angry.
She liked him when he was angry. 'Liked' for certain definitions of 'found more tolerable than usual'.
"Wear a suit," she instructed. "Something fancy. I don't want to be seen with you looking like that."
He followed her into her office. The anger seemed to have tightened the curls on his head. Once this was over, maybe she'd look into passing him on for scientific study. She pointed him towards a seat, and he perched upon it as she paced to the opposite side of her desk.
"Do you see this file, William?" she asked, tapping on the incredibly thick folder that was weighing down her desk. "This file contains irrefutable proof that you have been bribing the judges of Regionals for several years."
The way that Will's eyes nearly popped out of his skull was a quiet delight to watch. "What have you done?"
"I had my team of private investigators look into what you've been up to instead of monitoring my girls 24-7." She hadn't liked leaving the Cheerios unwatched for a day, knowing they might slip up in their appointed diets, but this had proved more important. "We have proof of payments going back ten years. Ten years. You should be ashamed."
Will spluttered in strange disbelief and stood up to take the file from beneath her nose. She frowned in disapproval but watched as he flicked through the pages, taking in her indisputable evidence. "You're taking my rent as evidence of bribes?" Will asked, looking up at her in scrunchy-faced confusion.
If this was going to work, she would have to train that look out of him. It wouldn't shame Belliveau at all.
"If you'll look further," she invited with a wave of her hand, "you'll see that your landlord just so happens to be the third-cousin of one of the judge's childhood friends. The evidence speaks for itself."
Will looked as if he was about to explode from confusion. It was to be expected. His brain was abnormally small.
"So, Schuester, here's the deal. I need someone on my arm for the next month, and you need this incriminating evidence to go far, far away. I think we have the solution to both our problems." She made herself smile in encouragement. It hurt her face to smile at him.
"What is this about Sue?" Will snapped at her. Bickering like a married couple already - this was going to work perfectly. "Are you trying to hurt me?"
"I need a husband and you are the only suitable candidate. This isn't about you. You're convenient and the best I can do in a pinch."
If there was more time, she would have found someone a thousand times more impressive - but, in the interests of haste, Will Schuester was the best that this measly little school could offer.
"You can't do this," Will protested.
She was bored. Very, very bored.
"The situation is very simple. You marry me for one month, and this file disappears. Otherwise, this scandal is going to break, and you and your little glee club are going down. Think it over. I'll see you here tomorrow."
He complained a little more, whining and spluttering and making inefficient threats, but she had stopped listening to him.
His voice really was very grating.
*
It was a beautiful ceremony. This should go without saying.
Sue had acquired a new, white track suit for the occasion, and the relevant press had been invited along. Her Cheerios did a choreographed number in their honour and she spent one quarter of their yearly budget on fireworks. Her groom may not have looked half as happy as he should have (he was being given the honour of being her husband: it should have been the highlight of his weak, sheltered life) but a few reminders of their agreement got him to smile for the cameras.
He came to live with her. She cleared a trophy or two out of the box room and very generously said he could sleep in the space that had been created. "You can't be serious," he said. She blinked at him. "There isn't even room to lie down. There's no bed."
"It'll help you man up," she said. "When I was in the circus, we slept on nails every night just to keep our minds sharp."
"You- What?" Will spluttered. She hoped that, one of these days, she was going to break his brain for good. "It doesn't matter. I'm not sleeping here."
"You can have the bottom right corner of my bed, if you'd prefer," Sue offered. It was where her feet usually went. He could keep them warm so that at least he would be contributing something to this marriage.
She left him to think it over and retreated to plan her next Cheerios routine. That night, Sylvester (she'd had his name legally changed to match hers; she would inform him of this when the moment was right) was already asleep in her bed when she reached it, curled up like a neutered puppy dog.
Standing in the doorway, she considered the sight of him for a moment or two, the way that he was clinging to the pillow and the white t-shirt draped across his chest. Despite his major personal failings and dire commitment to underdogs, she had been right: he made an excellent trophy husband.
Covering her hands with a sheet, she pushed and shoved him out of the way so that she was free to lie and lounge in her bed as she was accustomed to doing. If she ended up cuddling the curly-haired man-monkey in the night, neither one of them was willing to sacrifice their pride by mentioning it in the light of day.
*
Will refused to quit his job at the school.
"It is undignified for you to work when I am capable of supporting you," Sue said, flicking through her monthly budget rather than looking up at him as he fumed from the other side of her desk. The wedding ring on his finger always caught her attention when he was whining to her: she liked the sight of it, and was mentally sizing him up for a collar already. "I've spoken to Figgins about it already, and he agrees that your performance as a teacher is disgraceful. We are searching for your replacement as we speak."
"I'm not quitting," Will insisted. "If either one of us is going to quit, it should be you - as my wife."
She really, really did not like that word. "I prefer the term 'keeper'."
"I'm not going to call you that."
"Eh." No great loss. It was how she was going to introduce herself to his parents anyway. "If you insist on continuing to work here, I need you to do so for free. Your salary is going to go straight into the budget for my Cheerios." It wouldn't help much, but it might be enough to fund her glitter supplies for the smaller numbers.
Will huffed and puffed several times, and she waved him towards the door of her office. "I'm bored with this conversation," she announced.
She thought that he tried making a threat or two of his own before he left, but she didn't pay attention. The second-hand embarrassment was unpleasant.
In his absence, she got to work on slotting his salary into her budget. If she couldn't have the glee club's cash, she could at least have Will Sylvester's.
*
Two weeks in, and she thought that their marriage was going remarkably well. William had stopped complaining as much (she'd broken him, she could tell) and Cheerleading Monthly had devoted a twelve-page spread to their whirlwind romance: there had been a half-page column devoted to George Belliveau and his tramp.
A triumph, that was for sure.
There were further trials to be overcome, starting tonight: a celebratory dinner for the end of the year. As the reigning champ of Nationals, she was expected to there, and she fully intended to have Will waiting on her. When she'd told him as much, he'd nodded meekly without a single complaint; it had been disappointing, and she had made sure to scowl at him and deride his choice of clothes.
Sue Sylvester did not make mistakes, but if she did it was possible that breaking Will's soul and selling it to the devil may have been one.
She wore a black tracksuit with sparkling diamante, and she sat at the head of the main table looking down at the other lesser coaches (most of them extremely lesser). Will was at her side, with a bow tie strangling his neck and with his lesbian curls newly tightened. It was an irritating distraction, but when the untalented idiot who taught boarding school tramps how to cheerlead without a team was talking to her, she was glad to be distracted.
And, she would swear, she wasn't even aware of reaching out for his curls until she heard a peasant across the table saying, "Awww!"
With a jerk, she burst out of her private thoughts and realised that she had one of Will's spring-like locks of hair wrapped around her forefinger. The expression on his face was one of frustrated forbearance, and the woman sitting on the other side of the table was looking at them as if they were adorable. Adorable - her, Sue Sylvester.
With an unhappy hmph, she pulled her finger away from Will and made sure to yank his hair slightly as she did so. Stupid, magnetic hair. Once she was done with him, maybe she would sell him to the US military for scientific testing.
"You guys are so sweet," her follower chirped at her.
Sue made sure to snort her disapproval. Sue Sylvester was many (amazing, indestructible) things. 'Sweet' was not one of them.
She left Will to deal with smiling and wooing the intruder coach; when their meal was done with, she walked to the bar alone and left him to chatter among peons that were his intellectual equals.
Cursed George Belliveau cornered her at the bar. She remained impassive in the face of his French-faced smile. "I see you have brought your new husband," Belliveau said. His no doubt lice-infected bride was talking with a gaggle of long-dressed simpletons on the other side of the room. "Strange. I imagined he would be younger."
"I don't rob cradles, Belliveau." She had once, but there had been nothing romantic about it. "You picked a post-teen ex-cheerleader past her prime. I got me a talented rising star with all-natural hair and no silicone implants. I think it's clear who has the bigger catch."
She realised, reluctantly, that she was going to have to allow her new husband to win Regionals now, for the sake of her own reputation. They couldn't be a power couple if he continued to be a loser.
"He hasn't proved himself to be exceptionally talented tonight," Belliveau sneered.
That was down-right rude. Sneering at Will Sylvester was her job, not his.
"He can speak Spanish, rap, and no doubt rap in Spanish. He runs one hell of a show choir and, I might add, has an ass that I have bounced quite a few quarters off of in my time." She added 'forcing her to defend William' to her long, long list of why she hated Belliveau. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a husband to fondle. You are not invited."
She knew that that would be cruelest indignity of them all, to be so excluded from something so wonderful. Crossing back over to where Will was impressing young women, she placed her arm around his shoulders. "There's a piano here. You should sing," she told him.
Take that as a demonstration of talent.
With a pat on his rump she encouraged Will on his way, not that he really needed a great deal of encouragement. She knew what those singing types were like, always so eager to step into the waiting spotlight. As she watched him launch into a rendition of a song she couldn't name and didn't care for, a smile twitched at her unwilling lips: having a husband wasn't so bad after all.
*
"You did good tonight, champ," Sue said, as Will lay on 'his strip' of the bed. He was marking Spanish papers with a big red pen. Sometimes Sue chose to make the Cheerios write essays about their chosen sport, purely for the joy of marking their failure in damning red ink.
"Glad I could impress," Will replied without looking up. She really did hate it when he didn't give her his full attention. She was marvellous. She deserved to be marvelled at.
"And I've decided that you're going to win at Regionals."
Cautiously, William raised his gaze to look at her, lips parted in questioning silence. That was more like the reaction she wanted.
"That's very kind of you, Sue," Will said, still looking at her as if she was going to bite him. It was tempting, she'd admit. "Why?"
"If you lose now, it reflects badly on me. I can't have that." Her reputation was the most important thing in the entire world - she had to win. Always. "I'll pull some strings, whip your little rugrats into shape. I've even called my guy in stage management and told him I don't want the stage to collapse during your numbers."
"I..." Will shook his head as if he was trying to get rid of unwanted thoughts. Sue was surprised to learn that he had thoughts at all. "Thank you, Sue. That's great news."
Sue nodded: for him, it was probably the best news that he would receive in his entire career. Sue Sylvester was a winner, through and through. "Don't be too grateful. It's for my benefit, not yours."
Will rolled his eyes at her. "Don't worry; I wouldn't make the mistake of thinking you'd do anything out of the goodness of your heart."
"I don't have a heart. I had it replaced with an arc reactor. More efficient." That might've been a movie. She didn't care - it sounded like something she would have done, so it was true. "Now quit your marking and roll over. I need to get me some beauty sleep."
She didn't need it. She was radiant at all moments in all universes. She wanted it. A sleepless Sue Sylvester left bodies in her wake.
Will placed the essays that he had been marking on the floor next to his 10% strip of the bed (she had measured it down to the last millimeter). She slipped under the covers after a quick stretch, and was in the process of settling down when Will asked, "Sue? Can I ask you a question?"
"You may not," she answered.
He didn't listen. Wily bastard. "Why are you doing this? I've been trying to understand, and I can't. You don't need a husband to impress people - you are impressive, all on your own."
He was right, of course. She was magnificent. "You're not my only nemesis, William," she said. At last count, she had fifteen. With great power, came many enemies. She was determined to crush each and every one of them - but Will Sylvester was further down the list of her hate-priorities than he realised. "Being married to you hasn't been as intolerable as I had expected."
For a moment, William hesitated, before he conceded, "Likewise."
Sue nodded in contentment. This was as close to pillow-talk as she was willing to get. "You may kiss my cheek," she told him. It seemed like an appropriate marital gesture.
She stared up at the ceiling so that she didn't have to look at the expression on his face. If he declined, she decided that she would take everything from him in the divorce, including his hair. She could donate it to a group of song-birds for a nest.
As she was contemplating exactly what she was going to do with his meagre possessions, she felt the brush and bump of Will's lips against her cheek, dry and fleeting. His hand rested against her shoulder and his breath puffed across her skin, a rare burst of human contact.
"Good night, Sue," he murmured, before he rolled back onto his spot of the bed and turned his back on her.
Her cheek tingled with contact. She didn't smile; she didn't have to.
One simple moment of contact had convinced her that she was angrily in love with one William Sylvester.
*
She deployed her Cheerios to ensure that New Directions won Regionals, and in doing so she had to close her ears to Will's protests: something about it being illegal to deprive students of sleep for 48 hours. That was the kind of attitude that would have ensured he would never win. She would train it out of him.
He made her dinner and she made him a protein shake and Sue found herself satisfied with the exchange.
The meal wasn't even poisoned.
If she wore her best track suits at all times, and if she shined her most impressive trophies so that he would notice, nobody else thought that it was extraordinary behaviour. No one commented on it, even if the glee kids were habit to gossiping behind the backs of their teachers.
("Is he really married to her? Surely that's, like, selling your soul. To Satan."
"They seem happy."
"Stockholm syndrome. I've read all about it."
Damn kids.)
When William's ex-wife came knocking at her door, Sue made sure to mark her territory in no uncertain terms. She couldn't have any tramp sniffing around, trying to take what was now rightfully hers. Sue liked owning things, especially shiny things, and especially things that nobody else could have. As of three weeks ago, that category included her new husband.
The attention of the cheerleading circle moved to other things, no longer interested in the ins and outs of her shock marriage, but she didn't mind as much as she should have. She had managed to upstage Belliveau and make sure that nobody cared about his little dalliance at all; everything beyond that objective was an irrelevance.
Sitting at her kitchen table drawing up plans for the latest Cheerios routine (elephants, needed more elephants), she heard the turning of William's key in the front door. She leaned back in her kitchen chair and waited for him to enter, knowing perfectly well what was coming.
"We won!" Will exclaimed as he entered. "Regionals. We won. You should've seen the kids, Sue, they were amazing."
She grinned wide, and didn't tell him that that was probably because she had threatened, blackmailed or seduced all of the judges separately. He would disapprove. "I knew you had it in you, Sylvester," she said, and he was giddy enough that he didn't even do his customary face-pull at the sound of his new name. She stood up from her chair and grabbed the champagne bottle waiting on her counter. "I figured we'd celebrate in style," she said, waving it at him.
He smiled, relieved and thrilled, and she hadn't seen him smiling at her like that since he'd given her swing lessons. The memory of them made her want to start tapping her feet in merriment, to get him to swing her around like she was a teenager again. With steel willpower, she managed to restrain herself.
Or, well, mostly. There may have been some humming involved, and that alone should have been proof to her that she needed to exorcise William from her mind: Sue Sylvester did not hum.
She was focused upon the bottle, enough that it was a surprise when she felt Will invading her personal space, standing far closer than any other person would have a right to do. If a civilian did that, she would be forced to file for sexual harassment. He smiled, dimples at all, and she squinted at him suspiciously. "I think I have you to thank for our success today," he said, his voice dipping far lower than it ordinarily would. "If you had still been riding my ass, it would have been impossible to practice."
She blinked in acceptance. If she had wanted to crush them, they would have been crying in a depressed funk on the floor right now, all of them. "You're standing very close to me," she observed in an accusation.
He didn't back off. "I know."
And he kissed her.
And it didn't make her vomit.
His hand cupped the back of her head as if he was foolish enough to think that he was in charge of this situation. His mouth bumped against hers, clumsily at first, and with more confidence when she didn't immediately bite his head off and feed it to the nearest dogs she could find. Tempting, but in this instance she had other concerns.
She grabbed the front of his shirt in two tight fists and swung him around to slam him against the kitchen table. He grunted in alarm but it was easy enough to swallow that down, even if it was more difficult to resist the urge to hurt him again. A William in pain was her favourite kind, as it turned out.
She licked inside his mouth, pressing him back against the table, and decided that she should have been doing this all along. She hated him, but she liked him too, and now she owned him.
"I want you stripped and in my bedroom in one minute," she instructed as she released him, "or there will be consequences."
As exciting as it would be to come up with what exactly those consequences would be, William only hesitated for a bare moment before he listened and did as he was told, stripping off his shirt as he walked towards their shared bedroom. She let him go first, listening to the shuffling of his footsteps, and paused to lean down and pick up the champagne bottle that she didn't remember dropping. Placing it on the counter, she then reached into her Very Special Secret Cabinet beneath the sink.
It was where she kept the very best of her toys.
Pulling out the box, she removed her harness and then surveyed her choice of weaponry: it was a well-maintained collection that would have been illegal in several states, strap-ons, dildos and vibrators to make a weak man blush. With greedy eyes, she wanted to shove them all inside, but she didn't think that her husband was likely to be able to take it. First timer, probably.
All the same, she grabbed the biggest of her collection, a meaty black thing that easily filled the circle of her hand. Ridged and decorated, it would be quite an education introduction for Will.
When she made it through to the bedroom, strapped up and ready, Will was lying on the bed in eager delight, stripped down to his underwear. "I thought I said naked," she insisted, with no memory if she had really said anything of the sort.
Will, eyes nearly bugging out of his head, was not busy correcting the situation. Instead he was staring at her plastic cock, at the size and beauty of it. "Sue?" he asked, with a waver that spoke of a hundred different shades of alarm.
"You think I'll let you near me that minuscule wiggler of yours? My way's gonna be much better for us both," she said. Will still looked highly dubious, but she was sure he would come around. Bryan Ryan had done so with very little encouragement, and they were cut from the same cloth. "Don't worry about it, champ - I know exactly what I'm doing."
That was actually an understatement. She was the self-appointed fucking champion of the universe. Nobody did it better. Nobody could do it better.
"Roll over onto your front. I'll go gentle." At first, anyway.
Walking forward, her plastic member swayed back and forth with each step - but after staring at it in alarm as it approached, Will still turned over after pulling off his underwear. He didn't say anything, but he wasn't vocally objecting.
She sat down at the side of the bed and leaned over into her bedside cabinet, pulling it open and pushing aside a small trophy or two in order to withdraw the bottle that she was searching for. KY, a pegger's best friend - if Sue had had best friends, anyway.
She hid her fingers inside a condom and enjoyed the grunt when she first slid a pair of slick fingers inside of Will. Definitely a first timer, tight and tense. "Ease up. It'll feel better for you if you stop being such a tight-ass," she warned. With the end of her strap-on rubbing against her clit, Sue was already having a grand time.
Took a while, far too long, but she managed to get Will to relax and stop being so on-edge, until her fingers were slipping in and out of him quite easily, no resistance. He was breathing through his nose, eyes closed, allowing her to do whatever she wanted: what could be more of a turn-on than that?
She crooked her fingers in order to make him jerk and spasm as she rubbed against the exact right patch of skin, but that was the only taste that she gave him before she withdrew her fingers. He was left lying against the bed, sweat already beading on his forehead.
"Hands and knees, hubby," she instructed with a small pat of his ass, before she threw away the condom covering her fingers and rolled a new one over her cock. As she watched, Will shuffled up onto his knees for her, and took an extra moment before he gathered the strength to push himself up on his hands as well. "Well done."
She crawled onto the bed behind him, still fully clothed on her top-half even if she'd had to strip off her trousers to wear the harness. With Will fully naked without a stitch to protect him, she still won. Big style.
"This is going to hurt a little," she warned him, as gentle as she was willing to be - she already felt certain that she was using up her reserves of sympathy. There couldn't be much left after this.
She stood behind him and gripped her plastic cock in one thick fist, guiding it to his tight asshole and pushing in, just an inch or two at first. Instantly, all the air in Will's lungs rushed out, as if he couldn't physically contain it: too full already. He was stretched wide around her, and she gave him only a moment of mercy before she rocked further inside, splitting him open before her. Slow at first, until the soft cheeks of his ass pushed against her hips: fully embedded.
As he wriggled and whined, panting and pained, she ran a hand over the smooth skin at the small of his back, soothing him as much as she cared to do. There was an inherent thrill to seeing him so undone, to being able to have him spread underneath her at her disposal.
She leaned heavily against him and withdrew, before fucking back inside of him. Speed overcame care and Will's arms collapsed beneath him, leaving him ass-up for her. His wedding ring glinted gold in the dim light from their bedside lamps, and she stared at it as she fucked him, her upper lip curled in a pleased snarl.
"Are you ready to come, William?" she asked, looking down upon him. His legs were trembling and his breathing spluttered. Stimulated and sore, he still didn't try to reach down to touch himself: he must've known she wouldn't allow it. She made the rules here. Sue Sylvester always made the rules. Sooner or later, everyone learned that. "Just from my cock?"
He wheezed a response, something unintelligible that she didn't care to listen to anyway. With the hard, insistent push of her end of the dildo against herself, this was becoming less about Will and more about her, as all situations should be. She could feel it building, feel the world burning at her finger tips.
In a vague, absent-minded way she was aware of Will shuddering to release beneath her, but she was so busy fucking him into the mattress that she didn't really give a damn. Her cheeks flushed and she held him down, held him motionless as she chased her own climax, gritting her teeth in effort.
When she was done and they'd collapsed beside each other in a sweaty, disgusting mess, they stared at the ceiling in unison.
"Just so you know," Will said, "we're still getting divorced at the end of the month."
"Good," Sue said, knowing that she would now have to hunt out some extra dirt on Will for the next time she needed a husband. "And don't think I'll be going easy on you and your band of merry men now I've reamed your ass. You won Regionals because of me. You won't win Nationals."
She will make sure of it.
"Okay," Will agreed, and she could hear the sound of a smirk in his voice and it didn't make her want to squish him. "We've got another week or so before the divorce..."
"Plenty of time." There were a great many more toys in her box. She planned on using each and everyone of them before she released Will into the wild.
*
One Year Later
Watching the television in her office, Sue scowled in disapproval at the screen. George Belliveau had a new wife: someone blonde and bendy and British. The wedding had been accompanied by a 100-strong team of cheerleaders, twirling, spinning and acrobating through the air.
This was absolutely unacceptable.
Stomping behind her desk, she grabbed for the telephone and narrowly avoided crushing it in the strength of her grasp. "Detective," she said when her PI answered the phone. "I need information on William Schuester. By tomorrow."
The stunning reunion of the Cheerios coach with her true love was bound to make everyone forget the Belliveau even existed - and getting a second shot at Schuester's ass was nothing more than a side-benefit. Hanging up the phone, she took a seat behind her desk and breathed deeply: reaching for a pen, she started to plan.