fic: suspension - glee, puck/santana, r
Title: Suspension
Author: zerodetorres
Characters: Puck/Santana, very minor implied Brittany/Santana and Puck/Quinn
Rating: Hard R
Length: ~1100
Timeline: mid-S2
Summary: Something changes the moment Brittany turns her down for sex.
Notes: Yes, I do occasionally write het. ;)
Something changes the moment Brittany turns her down for sex.
“I’m dating Artie now,” Brittany had explained, eyes darting everywhere but Santana’s face. “He’s my boyfriend, and I’m dating him.”
Santana hadn’t bothered fighting that assessment. Pleading with Brittany meant that she wanted her for more than sex, and all that lady babies Melissa Etheridge crap is not something Santana has the energy or the resolve to deal with.
She goes to Puck, mostly because he’s practiced and easy and knows her body, knows what she likes and how she likes it. Not as well as Brittany does, but he fills her like only a quick fuck can, hands steady around her hips as he bends her over his bed and takes her from behind. It’s satisfying in a way that makes Santana feel full. Not tender or taken care of like when she does it with Brittany. Just full.
They don’t cuddle afterwards, but they never do. He lies there with his hands clasped behind his head, a satisfied smirk across his lips. Santana breathes evenly next to him and stares up at the ceiling. The silence between them is familiar and strangely reassuring.
“You staying the night?” Puck grunts, reaching over and pinching one of her exposed breasts.
Santana slaps his hand away and smirks up at him. “Do I ever?”
Puck grins a little at that. “Felt like you were out to prove something tonight,” he says lightly. “Not that I’m complaining. That was like, the best sex I’ve gotten in a while. Since before my stint in juvie, for sure.”
Santana rolls over and straddles him. She likes the feeling of control, likes the way Puck is already hardening beneath her.
“You want to talk about it?” Puck offers around a groan, his hands finding her thighs and squeezing. “Whatever you’re trying to prove?”
Santana shakes her head. “No. You want to fuck me again?”
Puck laughs breathlessly. “Yeah.”
She rides him hard and fast, hips bucking to a frantic beat as their pleasured sighs fill the room. Puck is watching her with a sly smile, and when he slides his palms around to cup her breasts, she moans and picks up the pace. Seemingly spurred on by the sound, Puck flips her over and thrusts into her with abandon, and Santana’s protest catches in her throat when she realizes how incredible the new position feels. Puck’s lips latch onto her neck, and he’s sucking a path up to her earlobe when she comes, body shuddering as pleasure ripples through her. He pulls out and jacks himself off onto his sheets, his free hand thumbing her clit.
“If you try that again,” Santana gasps, “you’re a dead man.”
Puck smirks as he flops down on top of her, his chest pushing against her heaving breasts. “Babe, don’t even lie. You enjoyed it.”
Santana rolls her eyes but doesn’t shove him away. “You’re lucky you’re a decent fuck.”
“Decent?” Puck scoffs. “Puckzilla’s sexual prowess is legendary.”
Santana bites back a smile and runs a hand through his mohawk. “You’re such a screw-up,” she mutters, but the words leave her lips with unintended affection.
Puck drops a kiss to her lips as he plays absentmindedly with one of her breasts. “Man, you and your fucking lesbian drama, Lopez.”
Santana tenses. “The hell are you talking about?”
“Your little blonde wonder,” Puck replies. “That’s why you’re here? You’re always so worked up about her, especially now that she’s dating that wheelchair kid.”
Santana gives him a shove, and he falls to the side. “I’m worked up ‘cause you’re still talking,” she fires back.
“Santana, I’m not an idiot. You’re either fighting with Brittany or pissed at her. You don’t come around otherwise. It’s actually kind of insulting.” Puck stares at her for a moment, almost as though expecting her to speak. When she doesn’t, he continues, “Look, I’m cool with being your fuck buddy, but I’m not a complete asshole. You’re upset.”
“Fucking Artie,” Santana finally grumbles, moving her hand up to shield her eyes. “Brittany’s holding out on me. No way that cripple does it better than me.”
The bed shifts as she feels Puck readjusting himself next to her. “Santana, you can’t be that dumb.”
Santana turns toward him and flashes him a threatening glare.
“You think because you can fuck her better, you can have her?” Puck asks with a dry chuckle. “If the world worked that way, we wouldn’t be here trying to take something from each other.”
It’s probably the most insightful thing Puck’s ever said, and it makes Santana both love him and hate him a little for it. Silence stretches between them, and Santana rolls to her side to face him.
“You still hung up over Quinn?”
Puck breathes out a sigh. “This isn’t about Quinn.”
Santana rests her hand over his abdomen. The act is platonic in nature, an attempt at comfort, and Puck’s hand moves to cover hers.
Quietly, he says, “She had my kid.”
Santana’s forehead presses against Puck’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
And there’s an understanding they both have about what they’re doing. It’s a temporary high, a hit of something that’s tangible, that masks everything they’re feeling inside. It’s uncomplicated, and it’s what Santana needs. Something easy and familiar.
“You staying the night?” Puck asks again. It’s different this time.
Santana lifts herself to kiss him, and she feels his lips curl into a grin against her mouth.
“Do I ever?” she teases.
Puck pulls her body flush against his and draws a blanket over their naked bodies; she lets him hold her.
“She’s going to forgive you, you know,” Puck mumbles against her ear.
Santana squeezes her eyes shut. “Puck.”
“Get her back before she really falls for Artie,” he continues. “Don’t fuck it up just ‘cause you’re a scared little shit.”
Santana jabs her elbow into his side, but it only makes him hold her tighter. She feels tears prickling her eyelids and tucks in her chin to hide it. Puck reaches down between her legs and swipes the pads of his fingers across her clit.
“We can have another go if you want,” he offers generously.
Santana nods. “One more round. Try and keep up.”
Puck rolls her to her back, his hand still at the apex of her thighs, and she feels the anxiety flooding away, replacing with heat and pleasure.
There are things in Santana’s life that are uncertain, and relationships that are unsteady. But what she has with Puck, she understands, and for the moment, it’s what she has, and it is enough.
Author: zerodetorres
Characters: Puck/Santana, very minor implied Brittany/Santana and Puck/Quinn
Rating: Hard R
Length: ~1100
Timeline: mid-S2
Summary: Something changes the moment Brittany turns her down for sex.
Notes: Yes, I do occasionally write het. ;)
Something changes the moment Brittany turns her down for sex.
“I’m dating Artie now,” Brittany had explained, eyes darting everywhere but Santana’s face. “He’s my boyfriend, and I’m dating him.”
Santana hadn’t bothered fighting that assessment. Pleading with Brittany meant that she wanted her for more than sex, and all that lady babies Melissa Etheridge crap is not something Santana has the energy or the resolve to deal with.
She goes to Puck, mostly because he’s practiced and easy and knows her body, knows what she likes and how she likes it. Not as well as Brittany does, but he fills her like only a quick fuck can, hands steady around her hips as he bends her over his bed and takes her from behind. It’s satisfying in a way that makes Santana feel full. Not tender or taken care of like when she does it with Brittany. Just full.
They don’t cuddle afterwards, but they never do. He lies there with his hands clasped behind his head, a satisfied smirk across his lips. Santana breathes evenly next to him and stares up at the ceiling. The silence between them is familiar and strangely reassuring.
“You staying the night?” Puck grunts, reaching over and pinching one of her exposed breasts.
Santana slaps his hand away and smirks up at him. “Do I ever?”
Puck grins a little at that. “Felt like you were out to prove something tonight,” he says lightly. “Not that I’m complaining. That was like, the best sex I’ve gotten in a while. Since before my stint in juvie, for sure.”
Santana rolls over and straddles him. She likes the feeling of control, likes the way Puck is already hardening beneath her.
“You want to talk about it?” Puck offers around a groan, his hands finding her thighs and squeezing. “Whatever you’re trying to prove?”
Santana shakes her head. “No. You want to fuck me again?”
Puck laughs breathlessly. “Yeah.”
She rides him hard and fast, hips bucking to a frantic beat as their pleasured sighs fill the room. Puck is watching her with a sly smile, and when he slides his palms around to cup her breasts, she moans and picks up the pace. Seemingly spurred on by the sound, Puck flips her over and thrusts into her with abandon, and Santana’s protest catches in her throat when she realizes how incredible the new position feels. Puck’s lips latch onto her neck, and he’s sucking a path up to her earlobe when she comes, body shuddering as pleasure ripples through her. He pulls out and jacks himself off onto his sheets, his free hand thumbing her clit.
“If you try that again,” Santana gasps, “you’re a dead man.”
Puck smirks as he flops down on top of her, his chest pushing against her heaving breasts. “Babe, don’t even lie. You enjoyed it.”
Santana rolls her eyes but doesn’t shove him away. “You’re lucky you’re a decent fuck.”
“Decent?” Puck scoffs. “Puckzilla’s sexual prowess is legendary.”
Santana bites back a smile and runs a hand through his mohawk. “You’re such a screw-up,” she mutters, but the words leave her lips with unintended affection.
Puck drops a kiss to her lips as he plays absentmindedly with one of her breasts. “Man, you and your fucking lesbian drama, Lopez.”
Santana tenses. “The hell are you talking about?”
“Your little blonde wonder,” Puck replies. “That’s why you’re here? You’re always so worked up about her, especially now that she’s dating that wheelchair kid.”
Santana gives him a shove, and he falls to the side. “I’m worked up ‘cause you’re still talking,” she fires back.
“Santana, I’m not an idiot. You’re either fighting with Brittany or pissed at her. You don’t come around otherwise. It’s actually kind of insulting.” Puck stares at her for a moment, almost as though expecting her to speak. When she doesn’t, he continues, “Look, I’m cool with being your fuck buddy, but I’m not a complete asshole. You’re upset.”
“Fucking Artie,” Santana finally grumbles, moving her hand up to shield her eyes. “Brittany’s holding out on me. No way that cripple does it better than me.”
The bed shifts as she feels Puck readjusting himself next to her. “Santana, you can’t be that dumb.”
Santana turns toward him and flashes him a threatening glare.
“You think because you can fuck her better, you can have her?” Puck asks with a dry chuckle. “If the world worked that way, we wouldn’t be here trying to take something from each other.”
It’s probably the most insightful thing Puck’s ever said, and it makes Santana both love him and hate him a little for it. Silence stretches between them, and Santana rolls to her side to face him.
“You still hung up over Quinn?”
Puck breathes out a sigh. “This isn’t about Quinn.”
Santana rests her hand over his abdomen. The act is platonic in nature, an attempt at comfort, and Puck’s hand moves to cover hers.
Quietly, he says, “She had my kid.”
Santana’s forehead presses against Puck’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
And there’s an understanding they both have about what they’re doing. It’s a temporary high, a hit of something that’s tangible, that masks everything they’re feeling inside. It’s uncomplicated, and it’s what Santana needs. Something easy and familiar.
“You staying the night?” Puck asks again. It’s different this time.
Santana lifts herself to kiss him, and she feels his lips curl into a grin against her mouth.
“Do I ever?” she teases.
Puck pulls her body flush against his and draws a blanket over their naked bodies; she lets him hold her.
“She’s going to forgive you, you know,” Puck mumbles against her ear.
Santana squeezes her eyes shut. “Puck.”
“Get her back before she really falls for Artie,” he continues. “Don’t fuck it up just ‘cause you’re a scared little shit.”
Santana jabs her elbow into his side, but it only makes him hold her tighter. She feels tears prickling her eyelids and tucks in her chin to hide it. Puck reaches down between her legs and swipes the pads of his fingers across her clit.
“We can have another go if you want,” he offers generously.
Santana nods. “One more round. Try and keep up.”
Puck rolls her to her back, his hand still at the apex of her thighs, and she feels the anxiety flooding away, replacing with heat and pleasure.
There are things in Santana’s life that are uncertain, and relationships that are unsteady. But what she has with Puck, she understands, and for the moment, it’s what she has, and it is enough.