Fic: It's just a moment of change, 4/?
Title: It’s just a moment of change, 4/?
Rating: PG-13
Words: 1,697
Warnings: Puck’s mouth/mind
Spoilers: 1x16, Home (kinda), otherwise AU
Summary: It's times like these when he knows he could like her.
When Puck steps back out into the cool night air, Berry is standing at the bottom of the stoop with a pouty look on her face. She looks pissed but the effect leaves him in a bit of a daze; he smiles unknowingly. And it might be the weed talking, but he thinks he could like her like this.
And then she talks.
“If you’re incapable of driving, how do you expect to go home to your family in this state?”
“It’s called Visine and breath mints. You’re talking to a vet, right here,” he responds dismissively.
“Says the seventeen-year-old boy who’s been drinking and smoking all night and thus has impaired judgment,”
“Uh, babe, I turned eighteen in like March. I’m a fucking man.”
He narrows his eyes at her before brushing past her to get to her car. The grass rustles beneath the weight of his steps as he cuts across the front lawn. She’s close behind with quick padded steps as her sandals bounce against the sidewalk.
“What about your truck, Noah? How are you going to pick it up? Won’t your mother question the whereabouts of your vehicle?”
“Oh. My. God. Shut. Up.”
Eventually they settle the argument. Well, Rachel settles the argument by deciding she’s going to wait for him to sober up. So they sit in the cabin of his truck, because it’s roomier and now that he thinks about it - her car is pretty fugly.
“Dude, I don’t need a fucking babysitter.”
“Noah, you and I both know that the second I step out of this car, you’ll drive away and I refuse to be liable for anything that happens. Just deal with it,” she finishes quietly, turning to look out the window.
He sighs heavily and lays back into the driver seat, tucking his hands behind his head as he shuts his eyes. Fighting with Berry is sometimes a lost cause because this chick is fierce. She likes to rumble.
“I figured with your small feat of unusual heroism, I could return the favor.”
He flickers one eye open, turning his neck to look at her. The hell?
“I was this close to giving in,” she says, pinching her fingers together for emphasis.
Except she’s staring at the dashboard and he doesn’t know what she’s talking about, so he thinks this might be a personal crazy moment she’s having.
“I just cannot believe that I was so close to actually allowing my insecurities of being disliked, ostracized, and justifiably envied to pressure me into consider even smoking that… that…”
“Joint?” He offers.
She wraps her tiny hands around her throat with big eyes and whispers, “I wasn’t even thinking about the harmful effects to my esophagus, much less my voice,”
He doesn’t know what an esophagus is but his eyes linger on the way her hands are clasped around her slender neck. It’s kind of erotic.
“It ain’t that big of a deal, Berry,” he says, closing his eyes.
“It is to me.”
He sits back up in his seat but doesn’t say anything because at this point he doesn’t think anything he says or does will make her shut the hell up about it.
“Did you know that since the school year ended and summer break began, that no one, not one person has asked me to just hang out? Well, aside from Jesse St. James, the prior male lead for Vocal Adrenaline and now Carmel High alumni, who carried them to win their fourth consecutive Regional title.”
She’s such a psycho.
“Oh, please don’t judge me, Noah. He’s been attempting to woo me since the third week of June. His efforts have been futile, so there’s no need for worry. I’m suspecting he’s entertaining the idea of a summer fling before he dashes off to some university in California.”
“The homo that looked like Schuester’s kid?”
“Although he’s trained in theatre arts and has impeccable personal hygiene and sense of style, Jesse St. James is far from being homosexual… and he does not resemble Mr. Schuester in the least.”
She says it like it’s fact when Puck knows that he’s got skills in lying (which is the same shit as acting), wears deodorant and brushes his teeth, and looks fucking good in anything (particularly his birthday suit). But he will never be mistaken for a homo.
“Like I said, gay.”
She has this amused smile on her face, even though he can tell she still disagrees. And when she doesn’t say anything - it’s times like these when he knows he could like her.
It’s fucking two in the morning when Puck slowly wakes up. His lower back feels like shit and he’s fucking freezing his nuts off (not happening ever). Across the bench seat, Berry is KO’ed in this sort of fetal position, propped against the door and holy shit, he can see a little bit of panty but most of all, he notices that she’s shivering.
The last thing he remembers her going on about was something to do with dreams.
He doesn’t feel like going home and having his mom rip him a new one and a silent Rachel Berry is always more preferable. So, he digs around in the back of the cabin looking for a hoodie. He pulls out his varsity football sweater - the bold red lettering stares at him defiantly. But it’s funny how stuff like that doesn’t mean shit anymore.
He scoots closer to her, drapes the sweater around her body, and then passes the fuck out.
The next morning is even colder and the passenger side is vacant, just a rumpled sweater there. And that’s when he hears God.
“What are you doing?”
He rubs the eye boogers out and gawks at the bush just a foot away from the Abram’s mailbox because there’s no freakin’ way. And he’s thinking, it ain’t me. Sorry, God, but you must have the wrong Noah.
But then he hears a tap on the driver side door and when he rolls his window down, Artie Abrams is there in his wheelchair and a burgundy velour bathrobe. Dude, looks straight up pimp.
“If you have no place to go, I don’t mind you staying till like tomorrow ‘cause that’s when my parents come back. Otherwise, my neighbor Mrs. Shields will have you arrested for loitering.”
“Loitering? Like throwing trash on the ground?”
“No. Like hanging out in a public area for too long.”
“Well, that’s fucking retarded.”
“I agree.”
Puck gives him a head nod because for real, this kid is pretty dope. And he is really jealous of his Hugh Hefner robe right now.
“By the way, your artwork on Ashleigh’s face is my new cell phone background,” he holds it up for confirmation.
Puck’s a little proud of himself right now.
But on the drive home he can’t stop thinking about how Berry dipped out on him like that. And they didn’t even have sexy times - what the fuck?
--
That night he texts her so she’ll have something to think about.
U left ur pantys in my truk.
When she doesn’t respond like immediately (like she normally would with some lengthy argument how he’s ‘incorrigible’ and blah blah blah). He quickly adds:
O wait. Sum1 elses.
But she never responds.
And it’s been almost a week since he sent that last text and he thinks he could be having Berry withdrawal which is fucked.
--
Finn’s back in town and calls him to shoot some hoops. And toss around a pigskin. And maybe go to the shooting range (paint gun shooting range… lame…) because he’s had to share a room with Kurt for almost two weeks and he can’t stop thinking about nighttime facial treatments (which sounds SO wrong) and Alexander Wang, he says.
And Puck is all for it because he’s frustrated and he’s jacked off like ten times in the past four days and it’s not working.
“You were in the middle of a god damn forest. Didn’t you like go fishing or hunting or do anything kind of manly?”
“We went fishing with like everyone. And that only lasted a couple of hours because Kurt was getting sun burnt. And mom was bored anyway. Burt doesn’t hunt because it like upsets Kurt. We went hiking. I think that’s the manliest thing we did. Because the rest of the time we watched these musicals and romances movies and I slept a lot. I don’t even want talk about it anymore,” Finn huffs as he launches the football back to Puck.
They ghost around the topic of Quinn - it’s still a sensitive subject. Apparently, her parents shipped her off to live with her grandparents in Pennsylvania for the summer. Then she’s off to Liberty University in Virginia. Finn’s the one who’s telling Puck this even though, he really doesn’t care. It’s just weird since Puck had to give up a baby he had with her while she was still Finn’s girlfriend. In his humble but right opinion, she screwed them both over. He resents her and envies her at the same time for being such a manipulative cunt. He’s dated some cruel ass bitches, but ain’t no one got shit on Quinn Fabray.
Okay, but seriously, what the fuck is Rachel Berry scheming up that short skirt of hers?
Why hasn’t she called him or furiously texted him back like a speech about how he’s so awesome for practically snuggling with her in the front seat of his car? And not once did he try to score some ass. Maybe she’s playing some sort of game. If you really think about it, Berry is crazy cunning in her own way. Because somehow he can’t stop thinking that something is off, that something is not right and it’s been so distracting that all he thinks about is her. He can’t even think about other girls, much less fuck them.
And this is why his right wrist is cramped as shit. So when he throws the ball to Finn, it clocks him right in the face.
They end up beating the shit out of each other in Finn’s backyard. And it’s really fun.
Rating: PG-13
Words: 1,697
Warnings: Puck’s mouth/mind
Spoilers: 1x16, Home (kinda), otherwise AU
Summary: It's times like these when he knows he could like her.
When Puck steps back out into the cool night air, Berry is standing at the bottom of the stoop with a pouty look on her face. She looks pissed but the effect leaves him in a bit of a daze; he smiles unknowingly. And it might be the weed talking, but he thinks he could like her like this.
And then she talks.
“If you’re incapable of driving, how do you expect to go home to your family in this state?”
“It’s called Visine and breath mints. You’re talking to a vet, right here,” he responds dismissively.
“Says the seventeen-year-old boy who’s been drinking and smoking all night and thus has impaired judgment,”
“Uh, babe, I turned eighteen in like March. I’m a fucking man.”
He narrows his eyes at her before brushing past her to get to her car. The grass rustles beneath the weight of his steps as he cuts across the front lawn. She’s close behind with quick padded steps as her sandals bounce against the sidewalk.
“What about your truck, Noah? How are you going to pick it up? Won’t your mother question the whereabouts of your vehicle?”
“Oh. My. God. Shut. Up.”
Eventually they settle the argument. Well, Rachel settles the argument by deciding she’s going to wait for him to sober up. So they sit in the cabin of his truck, because it’s roomier and now that he thinks about it - her car is pretty fugly.
“Dude, I don’t need a fucking babysitter.”
“Noah, you and I both know that the second I step out of this car, you’ll drive away and I refuse to be liable for anything that happens. Just deal with it,” she finishes quietly, turning to look out the window.
He sighs heavily and lays back into the driver seat, tucking his hands behind his head as he shuts his eyes. Fighting with Berry is sometimes a lost cause because this chick is fierce. She likes to rumble.
“I figured with your small feat of unusual heroism, I could return the favor.”
He flickers one eye open, turning his neck to look at her. The hell?
“I was this close to giving in,” she says, pinching her fingers together for emphasis.
Except she’s staring at the dashboard and he doesn’t know what she’s talking about, so he thinks this might be a personal crazy moment she’s having.
“I just cannot believe that I was so close to actually allowing my insecurities of being disliked, ostracized, and justifiably envied to pressure me into consider even smoking that… that…”
“Joint?” He offers.
She wraps her tiny hands around her throat with big eyes and whispers, “I wasn’t even thinking about the harmful effects to my esophagus, much less my voice,”
He doesn’t know what an esophagus is but his eyes linger on the way her hands are clasped around her slender neck. It’s kind of erotic.
“It ain’t that big of a deal, Berry,” he says, closing his eyes.
“It is to me.”
He sits back up in his seat but doesn’t say anything because at this point he doesn’t think anything he says or does will make her shut the hell up about it.
“Did you know that since the school year ended and summer break began, that no one, not one person has asked me to just hang out? Well, aside from Jesse St. James, the prior male lead for Vocal Adrenaline and now Carmel High alumni, who carried them to win their fourth consecutive Regional title.”
She’s such a psycho.
“Oh, please don’t judge me, Noah. He’s been attempting to woo me since the third week of June. His efforts have been futile, so there’s no need for worry. I’m suspecting he’s entertaining the idea of a summer fling before he dashes off to some university in California.”
“The homo that looked like Schuester’s kid?”
“Although he’s trained in theatre arts and has impeccable personal hygiene and sense of style, Jesse St. James is far from being homosexual… and he does not resemble Mr. Schuester in the least.”
She says it like it’s fact when Puck knows that he’s got skills in lying (which is the same shit as acting), wears deodorant and brushes his teeth, and looks fucking good in anything (particularly his birthday suit). But he will never be mistaken for a homo.
“Like I said, gay.”
She has this amused smile on her face, even though he can tell she still disagrees. And when she doesn’t say anything - it’s times like these when he knows he could like her.
It’s fucking two in the morning when Puck slowly wakes up. His lower back feels like shit and he’s fucking freezing his nuts off (not happening ever). Across the bench seat, Berry is KO’ed in this sort of fetal position, propped against the door and holy shit, he can see a little bit of panty but most of all, he notices that she’s shivering.
The last thing he remembers her going on about was something to do with dreams.
He doesn’t feel like going home and having his mom rip him a new one and a silent Rachel Berry is always more preferable. So, he digs around in the back of the cabin looking for a hoodie. He pulls out his varsity football sweater - the bold red lettering stares at him defiantly. But it’s funny how stuff like that doesn’t mean shit anymore.
He scoots closer to her, drapes the sweater around her body, and then passes the fuck out.
The next morning is even colder and the passenger side is vacant, just a rumpled sweater there. And that’s when he hears God.
“What are you doing?”
He rubs the eye boogers out and gawks at the bush just a foot away from the Abram’s mailbox because there’s no freakin’ way. And he’s thinking, it ain’t me. Sorry, God, but you must have the wrong Noah.
But then he hears a tap on the driver side door and when he rolls his window down, Artie Abrams is there in his wheelchair and a burgundy velour bathrobe. Dude, looks straight up pimp.
“If you have no place to go, I don’t mind you staying till like tomorrow ‘cause that’s when my parents come back. Otherwise, my neighbor Mrs. Shields will have you arrested for loitering.”
“Loitering? Like throwing trash on the ground?”
“No. Like hanging out in a public area for too long.”
“Well, that’s fucking retarded.”
“I agree.”
Puck gives him a head nod because for real, this kid is pretty dope. And he is really jealous of his Hugh Hefner robe right now.
“By the way, your artwork on Ashleigh’s face is my new cell phone background,” he holds it up for confirmation.
Puck’s a little proud of himself right now.
But on the drive home he can’t stop thinking about how Berry dipped out on him like that. And they didn’t even have sexy times - what the fuck?
--
That night he texts her so she’ll have something to think about.
U left ur pantys in my truk.
When she doesn’t respond like immediately (like she normally would with some lengthy argument how he’s ‘incorrigible’ and blah blah blah). He quickly adds:
O wait. Sum1 elses.
But she never responds.
And it’s been almost a week since he sent that last text and he thinks he could be having Berry withdrawal which is fucked.
--
Finn’s back in town and calls him to shoot some hoops. And toss around a pigskin. And maybe go to the shooting range (paint gun shooting range… lame…) because he’s had to share a room with Kurt for almost two weeks and he can’t stop thinking about nighttime facial treatments (which sounds SO wrong) and Alexander Wang, he says.
And Puck is all for it because he’s frustrated and he’s jacked off like ten times in the past four days and it’s not working.
“You were in the middle of a god damn forest. Didn’t you like go fishing or hunting or do anything kind of manly?”
“We went fishing with like everyone. And that only lasted a couple of hours because Kurt was getting sun burnt. And mom was bored anyway. Burt doesn’t hunt because it like upsets Kurt. We went hiking. I think that’s the manliest thing we did. Because the rest of the time we watched these musicals and romances movies and I slept a lot. I don’t even want talk about it anymore,” Finn huffs as he launches the football back to Puck.
They ghost around the topic of Quinn - it’s still a sensitive subject. Apparently, her parents shipped her off to live with her grandparents in Pennsylvania for the summer. Then she’s off to Liberty University in Virginia. Finn’s the one who’s telling Puck this even though, he really doesn’t care. It’s just weird since Puck had to give up a baby he had with her while she was still Finn’s girlfriend. In his humble but right opinion, she screwed them both over. He resents her and envies her at the same time for being such a manipulative cunt. He’s dated some cruel ass bitches, but ain’t no one got shit on Quinn Fabray.
Okay, but seriously, what the fuck is Rachel Berry scheming up that short skirt of hers?
Why hasn’t she called him or furiously texted him back like a speech about how he’s so awesome for practically snuggling with her in the front seat of his car? And not once did he try to score some ass. Maybe she’s playing some sort of game. If you really think about it, Berry is crazy cunning in her own way. Because somehow he can’t stop thinking that something is off, that something is not right and it’s been so distracting that all he thinks about is her. He can’t even think about other girls, much less fuck them.
And this is why his right wrist is cramped as shit. So when he throws the ball to Finn, it clocks him right in the face.
They end up beating the shit out of each other in Finn’s backyard. And it’s really fun.