Can't Judge A Book
Title: Can't Judge A Book...
Rating: T (Only for language - it's Puck, what do you expect?)
Genre: Humour
Summary: Puck was of the belief that you could tell a lot about a girl by the contents of her underwear drawer...
‘I’ll go get some brownies Noah. Would you like some milk as well?’
‘Uh... sure.’
Rachel beamed and turned on her heel, marching purposefully out of her room. Puck quirked at eyebrow at her retreating back. Who was this girl; Strawberry Shortcake? Who drank milk after school anymore?
The silence that fell over the room was unsettling, because from the second he’d stepped in, Berry hadn’t shut up. After about ten minutes, okay, if truth be told, two minutes, he’d lost track of what she was saying and from that point in he’d had no idea what the hell she was babbling about. Occasionally he could pick up one word he’d understand but usually it was either ‘Glee’ or ‘School!’
Otherwise he was completely lost.
Puck shuffled on her bed uncomfortably. God he should have known what he was getting into as soon as she walked in. The girl was so naive, she didn’t even pick up his implication when he grinned at her, plucking a corner of a magenta sheet between his fingers, waggling his eyebrows with a suggestive, ‘So this is your bed...’
And now she was fetching him milk while he sat in her bedroom. It looked like this room could belong to a ten year, but only if the ten year old was really uncool. It looked like Dora the fucking Explorer had exploded in there.
Puck continued to wiggle awkwardly. Why the hell had she left him alone in here?
Cautiously he peered out the open door, looking for any signs of Berry’s return. When there was none, he quietly pushed himself up from her bed and crept over to her dresser.
He snuck around her room, fingering everything in his reach. Crap and rather ugly ornament of cows or some shit, arranged in cutesy positions. A vase of carnations with a gift tag labelled from one of her fathers. Her camera was set up in the corner of the room and for a brief, vague moment he wondered whether she’d ever filmed any kinky stuff. The thought was gone as soon as it had appeared, because honestly, kinky wasn’t an adjective he could use in a room that looked like this.
He ambled over to her shelves, his fingers sweeping along the spines of the DVDs. West Side Story. Annie. Rent. My Fair Lady. The Sound of Music. Jesus Christ Superstar. God, what was wrong with this girl? He continued to read through them all, relieved to find a title similar to something he’d see in his Mom’s collection, but it was still all girly shit; Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Roman Holiday, Casablanca, Gone With The Wind.
Her magazines were lined up neatly and with vague horror, he realized they were all alphabetized. To his disappointment he didn’t find a hidden stash of girl porn that he’d been secretly hoping she would. Maybe Berry could be into that kind of thing secretly?
He shuffled along to her dresser, where numerous jars and bottles were lined up proudly. As a typical teenage boy he took the time to ponder over everything that was foreign and unusual. He unscrewed lids, dipped his fingers into some odd green goop, grimacing and swiping it off on his jeans. He pulled the caps off bottles, and read the labels. He didn’t even know girls put lotion there…
What the hell did Berry do with all this shit? Did all girls have this amount of crap to preen themselves with?
He popped the lid off a glass bottle, cautiously sniffing it. Immediately, an odd sweeping sensation swooped over him. It smelt... familiar. He peered at the bottle and leant back in to smell it again. It smelt like Berry, and god damn him if it didn’t smell... good.
He lingered briefly on the bottle, spraying it idly in the air around him, surprisingly himself at how much he liked the smell. God he was turning into a chick.
With that horrifying thought in mind he turned back to her bed, falling back onto the mattress. A plush, white monkey fell onto the bed beside him and he picked it up, wrinkling his nose as he studied. He tried, fruitlessly to place the monkey in the same meticulous position Berry had had him in, but failed, the monkey flopping back onto the mattress.
Defeated, he turned to one spot of interest to Puck, a grin spreading on his features. He sat at her night stand, where another ugly cow ornament, an alarm clocked adorned with stickers and a chirpy picture of her and her father’s framed in a bright frame sat. Beneath it, lay something interesting.
He always believed he could understand everything he needed to know about a girl by the contents of her underwear draw. For example, Santana kept small bottles of whiskey and boxes of condoms, tucked neatly amongst her favourite slutty underwear from Forever 21. Quinn had kept wholesome, white briefs with a Bible and prayer book resting on top and Brittany had a number of mismatched underwear sets with a journal filled with drawings of ducks and inexplicably, a box of unopened cookies. So, Berry was the next test.
He wasn’t surprised as he reached the first layer. Typical, cutsie panties with pictures of Tweety Bird and daisies on them. And they were folded. Who the hell folded their underwear anyway?
He scrounged through, wondering whether Berry truly was just as he had expected. And then his fingers grazed on something really unexpected.
Lace. His curiosity piqued, he peered in deeper. Beneath all those white underpants, lay Utopia. Endless pairs of bright, lacy and oh-so-enticing thongs. They weren’t that cheap shit Santana loved, rather the real deal, a heap of expensive, proper lingerie. There were black scraps of silk masquerading as underwear and lime lace that contained so little material that is seemed criminal to pay money for them. Berry had surprised him.
Suddenly he was preoccupied with thoughts of her wearing them. Did she wear those panties to Glee practice? If not, when and whom did she wear them for? And why wasn’t that guy him? If he’d known about this he would have been in her room a lot sooner, batshit crazy chick or not?
Then his fingers brushed against something hard at the very back of the drawer and his stomach dropped. Without even looking he knew exactly what that was.
A flush of desire swept his whole body, his teenaged mind racing with images that he really, really shouldn’t be having. It was so wrong. This was Berry.
‘Oh, Puck, my Dads have to go buy some more milk!’ Rachel’s voice announced, floating from outside the door.
Jolted out of his reverie, he slammed the drawer shut, frozen with surprise. He crossed his legs, trying to hide his desire and attempted to hoist an innocent expression on his face. Rachel glided into the room and sat down on the bed beside him, setting the tray down on the nightstand. She too crossed her legs, her short skirt rode up a little and for a fleeting moment he wondered what underwear she was wearing today.
Rachel frowned and Puck knew that she knew. She realized he’d been snooping in her underwear like the pervert he totally was. Instead, her lips pouted sadly and she reached behind him. When her hands reappeared, she was clutching her white monkey in her hands, a forlorn expression on her face.
‘You moved my monkey Noah?’
The relief that Puck felt was indescribable and he shook his head, feigning guilt.
‘I’m sorry Berry. I just uh… really love monkeys, that’s all.’
Like that, Rachel’s face lit up and she beamed, ‘Oh... well in that case, that’s fine. Monkeys are wonderful aren’t they? I have a whole collection of plush toys if you’d like to see...’
And like that, the naive toddler Berry was back.
Later that evening as he walked home, he contemplated what he had learnt that evening. What he had learnt was that Rachel Berry was a total paradox - innocent, naive, a toddler in every sense of the word, but she had some secret sexy side that she was hiding from everybody. What he had learnt was that one bedroom could tell everything and yet nothing at all about a person. So perhaps that old shit proverb that his mother prattled off to him all the time had a bit of truth. You never could just a book by it’s cover, or a girl by her room. But perhaps you could judge her by her underwear drawer...
What did you think? :D I hope you all enjoyed it! On the side note of a possible continuance of Pillow Talk, I'm working on it, so keep your eyes peeled...
Rating: T (Only for language - it's Puck, what do you expect?)
Genre: Humour
Summary: Puck was of the belief that you could tell a lot about a girl by the contents of her underwear drawer...
‘I’ll go get some brownies Noah. Would you like some milk as well?’
‘Uh... sure.’
Rachel beamed and turned on her heel, marching purposefully out of her room. Puck quirked at eyebrow at her retreating back. Who was this girl; Strawberry Shortcake? Who drank milk after school anymore?
The silence that fell over the room was unsettling, because from the second he’d stepped in, Berry hadn’t shut up. After about ten minutes, okay, if truth be told, two minutes, he’d lost track of what she was saying and from that point in he’d had no idea what the hell she was babbling about. Occasionally he could pick up one word he’d understand but usually it was either ‘Glee’ or ‘School!’
Otherwise he was completely lost.
Puck shuffled on her bed uncomfortably. God he should have known what he was getting into as soon as she walked in. The girl was so naive, she didn’t even pick up his implication when he grinned at her, plucking a corner of a magenta sheet between his fingers, waggling his eyebrows with a suggestive, ‘So this is your bed...’
And now she was fetching him milk while he sat in her bedroom. It looked like this room could belong to a ten year, but only if the ten year old was really uncool. It looked like Dora the fucking Explorer had exploded in there.
Puck continued to wiggle awkwardly. Why the hell had she left him alone in here?
Cautiously he peered out the open door, looking for any signs of Berry’s return. When there was none, he quietly pushed himself up from her bed and crept over to her dresser.
He snuck around her room, fingering everything in his reach. Crap and rather ugly ornament of cows or some shit, arranged in cutesy positions. A vase of carnations with a gift tag labelled from one of her fathers. Her camera was set up in the corner of the room and for a brief, vague moment he wondered whether she’d ever filmed any kinky stuff. The thought was gone as soon as it had appeared, because honestly, kinky wasn’t an adjective he could use in a room that looked like this.
He ambled over to her shelves, his fingers sweeping along the spines of the DVDs. West Side Story. Annie. Rent. My Fair Lady. The Sound of Music. Jesus Christ Superstar. God, what was wrong with this girl? He continued to read through them all, relieved to find a title similar to something he’d see in his Mom’s collection, but it was still all girly shit; Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Roman Holiday, Casablanca, Gone With The Wind.
Her magazines were lined up neatly and with vague horror, he realized they were all alphabetized. To his disappointment he didn’t find a hidden stash of girl porn that he’d been secretly hoping she would. Maybe Berry could be into that kind of thing secretly?
He shuffled along to her dresser, where numerous jars and bottles were lined up proudly. As a typical teenage boy he took the time to ponder over everything that was foreign and unusual. He unscrewed lids, dipped his fingers into some odd green goop, grimacing and swiping it off on his jeans. He pulled the caps off bottles, and read the labels. He didn’t even know girls put lotion there…
What the hell did Berry do with all this shit? Did all girls have this amount of crap to preen themselves with?
He popped the lid off a glass bottle, cautiously sniffing it. Immediately, an odd sweeping sensation swooped over him. It smelt... familiar. He peered at the bottle and leant back in to smell it again. It smelt like Berry, and god damn him if it didn’t smell... good.
He lingered briefly on the bottle, spraying it idly in the air around him, surprisingly himself at how much he liked the smell. God he was turning into a chick.
With that horrifying thought in mind he turned back to her bed, falling back onto the mattress. A plush, white monkey fell onto the bed beside him and he picked it up, wrinkling his nose as he studied. He tried, fruitlessly to place the monkey in the same meticulous position Berry had had him in, but failed, the monkey flopping back onto the mattress.
Defeated, he turned to one spot of interest to Puck, a grin spreading on his features. He sat at her night stand, where another ugly cow ornament, an alarm clocked adorned with stickers and a chirpy picture of her and her father’s framed in a bright frame sat. Beneath it, lay something interesting.
He always believed he could understand everything he needed to know about a girl by the contents of her underwear draw. For example, Santana kept small bottles of whiskey and boxes of condoms, tucked neatly amongst her favourite slutty underwear from Forever 21. Quinn had kept wholesome, white briefs with a Bible and prayer book resting on top and Brittany had a number of mismatched underwear sets with a journal filled with drawings of ducks and inexplicably, a box of unopened cookies. So, Berry was the next test.
He wasn’t surprised as he reached the first layer. Typical, cutsie panties with pictures of Tweety Bird and daisies on them. And they were folded. Who the hell folded their underwear anyway?
He scrounged through, wondering whether Berry truly was just as he had expected. And then his fingers grazed on something really unexpected.
Lace. His curiosity piqued, he peered in deeper. Beneath all those white underpants, lay Utopia. Endless pairs of bright, lacy and oh-so-enticing thongs. They weren’t that cheap shit Santana loved, rather the real deal, a heap of expensive, proper lingerie. There were black scraps of silk masquerading as underwear and lime lace that contained so little material that is seemed criminal to pay money for them. Berry had surprised him.
Suddenly he was preoccupied with thoughts of her wearing them. Did she wear those panties to Glee practice? If not, when and whom did she wear them for? And why wasn’t that guy him? If he’d known about this he would have been in her room a lot sooner, batshit crazy chick or not?
Then his fingers brushed against something hard at the very back of the drawer and his stomach dropped. Without even looking he knew exactly what that was.
A flush of desire swept his whole body, his teenaged mind racing with images that he really, really shouldn’t be having. It was so wrong. This was Berry.
‘Oh, Puck, my Dads have to go buy some more milk!’ Rachel’s voice announced, floating from outside the door.
Jolted out of his reverie, he slammed the drawer shut, frozen with surprise. He crossed his legs, trying to hide his desire and attempted to hoist an innocent expression on his face. Rachel glided into the room and sat down on the bed beside him, setting the tray down on the nightstand. She too crossed her legs, her short skirt rode up a little and for a fleeting moment he wondered what underwear she was wearing today.
Rachel frowned and Puck knew that she knew. She realized he’d been snooping in her underwear like the pervert he totally was. Instead, her lips pouted sadly and she reached behind him. When her hands reappeared, she was clutching her white monkey in her hands, a forlorn expression on her face.
‘You moved my monkey Noah?’
The relief that Puck felt was indescribable and he shook his head, feigning guilt.
‘I’m sorry Berry. I just uh… really love monkeys, that’s all.’
Like that, Rachel’s face lit up and she beamed, ‘Oh... well in that case, that’s fine. Monkeys are wonderful aren’t they? I have a whole collection of plush toys if you’d like to see...’
And like that, the naive toddler Berry was back.
Later that evening as he walked home, he contemplated what he had learnt that evening. What he had learnt was that Rachel Berry was a total paradox - innocent, naive, a toddler in every sense of the word, but she had some secret sexy side that she was hiding from everybody. What he had learnt was that one bedroom could tell everything and yet nothing at all about a person. So perhaps that old shit proverb that his mother prattled off to him all the time had a bit of truth. You never could just a book by it’s cover, or a girl by her room. But perhaps you could judge her by her underwear drawer...
What did you think? :D I hope you all enjoyed it! On the side note of a possible continuance of Pillow Talk, I'm working on it, so keep your eyes peeled...