A/N: This is just another drabble featuring Stoned!Puck. It's based on the song Wow, I Can Get Sexual, Too by Say Anything namely the following verses: If I die and go to hell real soon, it will appear to me as this room. And for eternity I'd lay in bed, in my boxers, half-stoned with a pillow under my head…At this rate I'll be heading for electric chairs. I'm only human with my cross to bear. When she described her underwear I forgot all the rules my rabbi taught me in the old school. This was so much fun to write. I can't listen to Say Anything without thinking of Puck. Cheers.
Disclaimer: The characters belong to Ryan Murphy and Fox. I only own the idea and the baby laptop.
Puck had this recurring dream where he and Rachel fucking Berry of all people are trading sexy texts between Shabbat dinners. He was going to hell. He knew it. And honestly, at this rate, he may as well take what he can get and enjoy the ride while he still could. Puck figured at first that the Big Man Upstairs was sending him Rachel Berry to please his mother and therefore cement his spot up there behind the Pearly Gates. But then that bitch dumped him and poof, there goes heaven. This was an exaggeration of course, but who cares. Rachel Berry was, amongst other things, Puck's scapegoat. It was her fault he was currently half-baked, door jamb stuffed with dirty clothes, bedroom window wide open, and box-fan-stolen-from-the-garage blowing the sickeningly-sweet smell of marijuana into the crisp fall breeze. If it weren't for her precious fucking jackass of a club he wouldn't have needed to score the Chronic Lady off of that creeper Sandy Ryerson. And so what if this was a damn lie, too. Sometimes Puck needed to get out of his own head a little and the pot worked like a charm. Stripped down to his boxers, sprawled across his bed, his pillow had never felt so comfortable. Puck realized that if he did die, and the fiery tongues of hell burned at his heels, right here, in his bedroom, evil thoughts of Rachel Berry floating around his hazy, perverted mind: he could die pretty fucking happy.
***
He needed something to do with his hands. He had already eaten all of the junk food his mom kept in the top of the cabinets so his sister couldn't reach them. She could still climb though. Puck was still pretty stoned when he reached for his cell. There was this nagging voice in the back of his head (which sounded a lot like his Rabbi) that warned him against sending the dirty message to her, but he didn't really give a fuck about actually listening to it. He pushed send. And it took some coaxing, but Rachel Berry was still hot for him, I mean come on have you seen his guns (or the nipple ring for that matter). He knew when she kept replying that she was all his. And then she sent him a message that was so overwhelmingly hot in its simplicity that he almost didn't know what to do with himself: black, lacey, see-through. And then there was this shuffling sound coming from his window and when he looked up, he saw her there, edging her way inside his room. And he deserved to be happy once in a while given his shit burden. Now Puck should have realized this at the time because when Rachel finally pulled herself into his room and she was only wearing the aforementioned undergarment: this was clearly another sexy-time dream starring Rachel Berry. Puck could care less. The electricity running through his veins as he called out her name was blinding.
***
When Rachel woke up the next morning, she had an inbox full of text messages from Puck of all people. Something about them told her he'd forgotten to take the setting off of T9.
