Chapter One: Going Crazy

Once Santana stepped toward his outstretched hand in the partner-swapping choreography, he couldn't hold back any longer. "This is hard. And I don't mean the dancin'." He raised his head from her ear and snapped his wrist the other direction to send her on her way.

Santana rolled her eyes, completing the spin and returning. "Seriously, Puckerman? That's all you got today? Whatsamatter, Zizes not give your balls back yet?"

"What are you doin' later? Come check."

The band took a break. San put her hands on her hips and glared at him. "Gonna have to do better than that if you're seriously wanting a piece of this," she declared, sweeping her hand over her body.

Puck sighed. He slipped up behind her, slipping a hand down to caress her ass on its way to her waist. His lips grazed the side of her ear. "How 'bout you come over later and let me spread you out on my bed? I missed the way you taste, baby. My tongue's getting lonely, and only you can help me."

Santana just raised her eyebrow and walked away, going to get a bottle of water from the vicinity of her chair. "Maybe. I'm not totally convinced."

Puck raised an eyebrow, but motion caught the corner of his eye and he stopped before he actually started walking toward her. He jerked his head to look off the side and saw Rachel, turning quickly. Fuck. He kinda hoped the hot little princess hadn't heard that. She was big on sexual harassment. Like, zero tolerance before she reported that shit. She just didn't understand.

Puck decided his best defense was offence. He sauntered over casually, watching Rachel suddenly act busy by brushing non-existent dirt or whatever off her skirt. "'S'up, my hot little Jewish American Princess? We 'bout done with rehearsal yet? I got plans for later."

Her faintly pink cheeks got darker and she ducked her head down even as she stammered out her response. "I-I'm not sure, Noah. You'll have to check with Mr. Schue. I, of course, am always of the firm belief that there's no such thing as too much practice..."

She kept on, but Puck tuned out her words, distracted by her body language. Her hands were fluttering all over the place, like she couldn't figure out what to do with them. She kept licking her lips and shifting restlessly from one foot to another. She talked on and on and on, more than usual, almost like she was trying to...

Wait a second.

His eyes sharpened. Son of a bitch. Puck might have been shit at school, but he was a master at reading women. And it only took one more brief glance to know what was really going on.

Rachel Berry was turned on.

The real question was just what he wanted to do with that. His glance flicked to Finn, even if he hadn't been her main interest for a long time now. Finn was chatting with Brittany about something, even God probably wasn't interested in that conversation, but it didn't take much to figure out he wasn't the source of Rachel's...hot and botheredness.

Fuck. That wasn't the best way to think about her. That would get him nowhere fast.

His eyes swept the choir room, looking for any other possible source of her sudden change in behavior. There wasn't any. There was no explanation—except for something about him. He sighed. Why was he always the fucking reason? And why, with her, did it feel like this was a problem instead of an opportunity?

Seriously. Don't get him wrong; he had eyes for fuck's sake. Berry was hot as fuck, there was no doubt about that. That ridiculously tight body, those legs, that mouth...

Okay, he needed to stop that line of though immediately.

He reached down and adjusted himself. Discretely.

She was also not the kind of girl he usually went for. No way would she be down for the kind of hook-up that was his specialty, and he wasn't about to board the Crazy-Train on a trip to Boyfriend City. He caught her sneaking another glance and his pants tightened in response.

Well, there was nothing to say he couldn't at least have a little bit of fun with this, maybe get a couple of bites of Berry on the way. No harm, no foul.

…right?

There had to be a time limit on things like this anyway. Finn and Rachel were way over. It was totally okay for him to test these waters now. Rachel would be leaving for New York round abouts the middle of July -and shut up, November is not that far from July-so he should maybe get while the getting was good. Especially if she was acting like that because he'd opened his mouth. His conversation with Santana had not been public. If she had overheard, well, she had to have been listening. Not that he minded, but if she was going to be that nosy about it, she'd better fucking be prepared to deal with it.

That's all.

"Whatever, Berry," he jumped in, because God only knew how long she would keep talking if he let her. He'd heard her talk plenty before, so he knew there was a very real possibility they would still be there next Tuesday if he didn't put his foot down. "Got another one of those?" he gestured toward the water bottle she was rolling between her palms.

Shocked that he would interrupt her, she closed her mouth and mutely shook her head. She knew she should berate him for his non-entirely-unsurprising lack of manners, but it was all she could do at the moment to keep her focus on breathing.

She hadn't meant to listen—really. It was more of a wrong place, wrong time thing. But she couldn't get the tantalizing image out of her brain, of Noah's hands, Noah's mouth, Noah's tongue...

She wasn't even aware he'd taken her water from her numb fingers. But she was certainly aware of the drop of water clinging to the corner of his mouth as he chugged, of the ripple of his throat muscles as he swallowed.

What on earth was wrong with her?

She shook it off and shook her head. "Why don't you help yourself, Noah? I'm sure speaking that way is certainly enough to work up a sweat."

He raised an eyebrow and pulled the water away from his lips at the same time. "You're just jealous."

Her face crumpled. "Whatever." He dropped down next to her in the vacant chair to her left and looked at her with amusement as she continued. "What could I possibly be jealous of? Your limited and extremely vulgar display of both poor grammar and poor taste?"

He leaned forward, his voice hitting a low register; he was going to have to end this conversation right quick if he was actually going to walk away. "All of the above. And you want me to use my skills on you."

She couldn't help the shiver that raced down her spine at his words. Everyone in Lima knew of his reputation, and from some of the things she'd overheard previously, everything he was rumored to be capable of was at least well founded, if not all true.

Unfortunately for her, she also couldn't hide the shiver his question gave her. Puck smiled in satisfaction.

Your move, Princess.

He smiled to himself as he walked away, feeling her eyes on him the entire way. This was going to be so much fun.


Puck whistled as he walked in the next day, unsurprised to see Rachel already sitting on the front row with her feet tucked under her chair and her hands in her lap. Well…okay. Maybe it made sense she was paying attention since Schue was already yammering on about their assignment. He probably should've made more of an effort to be on time, just to increase the amount of time he had to feel out the situation.

He'd had all day today to think about it. And he really thought Berry needed someone to loosen her up with some dirty talk. Especially if Finn's dirty talk during their relationship had been anything like his utter fail at smack talk during COD. Boy was usually schooled by 13 year olds who's screen names were related to those stupid Matrix movies.

Neo was not a God. Mmmkay?

He knew not everyone was lucky enough to have such a badass name that could be related to their actual name, but still. Anyway, he needed to focus on the here and now. And here and now, he was sitting behind Rachel Berry with one objective. It popped into his head like it was scrolling over the corner of the video game. Make Berry squirm.

He was realistic enough to know it was never gonna go anywhere, which was actually kind of a nice change. He could let his imagination-and his mouth-run wild. And wild it would be. His imagination was filthy, and judging by the look on Berry's face yesterday, she already knew what his mouth was capable of.

This should be a breeze.

He jutted his chin nonchalantly at Schue's sarcastic "nice of you to join us, Puck", settling in to the chair behind Berry. He waited until Schue picked the lesson back up before he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the back of her chair. He took a breath, prepared to fire the opening salvo.

He lost his train of thought when her perfume hit him. Fuck, when did she get to smell so good? It went straight to his crotch, and the view down the front of her shirt was not helping his situation even a little bit.

Focus, Puckerman.

"Nice rack, Berry," he whispered, stirring the hair next to her ear. He watched the blush climb up her chest and smirked to himself.

Rachel had steeled herself as soon as Puck had walked in the door. She was absolutely determined that whatever...happened yesterday, it was an anomaly and not to be repeated. At any cost.

She lasted until she felt his hot breath on her skin. She zeroed in on his crude words, trying to ignore the physical sensations he was, well, arousing in her.

"Goodness, Noah. No wonder you have girls crawling all over you, with manners like that. Not to mention such excellent opening lines," she returned coolly, hoping he didn't see the blush she couldn't control.

"I call 'em like I see 'em, sweetness. If I'da known you had such a fine pair hiding under your sweater the last time we played tonsil hockey, I woulda tried a lot harder to get my hands on 'em."

Her whisper was almost sputtered. He was amazed that Schue continued to drone on, unaware of the conversation occurring. First of all, there was the fact that Rachel looked sunburned. While it was snowing outside. Second of all, there was the open mouth that he could see, just from being behind her and slightly off to the side. She finally managed her response and he dropped his head to hide his grin.

"Who says I would've let you?"

"The two pebbles pointing out there as I speak. Maybe we should ask them if they need a good tonguing."

She didn't mean to drop her notebook. Or her textbook. Or her pencil. But all three clattered to the ground, and everyone in the room stopped what they were doing to stare at her. At least she could pretend her fiery face was from embarrassment, and not from the hot jolt of desire that settled between her shaky thighs at the thought of Noah Puckerman's tongue on her suddenly aching nipples.

"S-sorry," she managed with a weak smile, leaning over to pick up her belongings and giving Puck a stellar view of her ass in the process.

He kept his head down—and was really only kind of enjoying the butt-shot—until everyone had settled back into their pre-interruption comas.

"Your ass looks almost as tasty as your tits," he commented. His head was still down so he couldn't see anything about the change in her posture, but he could sure hear her offended gasp. So could everyone else.

He waited until she sat back up, tucking her hair behind her ears, before he struck again. "I sure would love a bite, baby," he purred.

As if the thought of his tongue on her skin wasn't bad enough, now she was picturing his teeth nibbling up and down her neck. She pressed her legs together as hard as she could, finally giving in to her urge to squirm.

Puck smiled, satisfied. Objective achieved.

"Noah." She finally said, her voice stern and strong and deadly serious. Once again, class came to a screeching halt as he sat up and relaxed into his usual tipped-back pre-nap position.

"Do I need to separate you two?" Schue asked sternly. Being the people-reading pro, Puck noticed the difficulty the man had keeping the smirk off his face.

"No," Puck said. "I can keep my mouth to myself." He couldn't keep the smirk off his own face. But did he ever really try?

Once again, it was just a couple of minutes of waiting and watching until everyone else had settled in. Schue was busy trying to teach them musical theory, so the lecture was boring and complicated and total crap. He leaned forward again, darting his hand out to twist one of her long, silky brown curls around his index and middle finger. Her posture stiffened and he heard her sharp inhale.

"Noah Puckerman," she hissed, but only out of the corner of her mouth. "You promised. Knock it off."

"I said I would keep my mouth to myself. I never said anything about my hands," he clarified. He let the finger that was idly twisting her hair brush against the shiny fabric of her shirt and he had to bite back a sigh. Her shampoo smelled almost as good as her perfume. Or wait…which one was which? He couldn't tell. And sitting back in his chair was sort of out of the question just now (unless he wanted to be questioned for possible lewdness again) so there would be no escaping it.

She really really hoped he was far enough back that he wouldn't see the goosebumps that erupted all over her whole body at his touch. She told herself—sternly—that she wasn't holding her breath, waiting for him to move that tiny, little inch upwards where her shirt ended and the back of her neck began, but as soon as he did, she couldn't stop the sigh that escaped.

He let his fingertip trace the neckline on her shirt, enjoying first the sigh she let loose, and then her exaggerated swallow, but then Schue said something about breaking up into groups and asked them to "count off" like they were fucking seven years old or some shit. He cleared his throat and sat back.

Today was only day one. He'd gone easy on her today. Tomorrow would be time to crank it up a notch.

He rubbed his fingers together lightly, trying to erase the feel of her silky skin that still burned him. It only bothered him a little that he was not entirely successful.


Rachel arrived the next morning with an extra spring in her step. After a sleepless night, her restless dreams filled with all the wickedness Noah Puckerman promised, she was even more determined to keep the upper hand today. She got her belongings out of her locker, allowing herself a satisfied smirk at her hairstyle. She checked her locker mirror once more, tucking a couple of stray hairs back in place then shutting the door firmly, sure that she had outwitted him this time.

She jumped in fright when she turned around and ran smack in to the object of her focus.

Noah's eyes skimmed her form—all of it—but lingered a little bit on her head. She knew exactly why and she fought valiantly to keep the smirk off her face. And she wanted to make a comment about 'checkmate', but she was reasonably sure he wouldn't get it because he'd been unreceptive to her dad's attempts to teach him chess several years ago.

"Mornin', Berry," he drawled, his eyes still not focusing on her face.

"Good Morning, Noah," she said simply. He leaned forward and dear God, he wasn't expanding his crude behavior to the hallways, was he? Her heart kicked up into a faster, more staccato rhythm and she licked her lips quickly.

What she couldn't see, that he could see, was that her eyes had changed color, ever so slightly. Because her pupils were more dilated now; and thanks to his eighth grade health teacher (who had later been caught being very naughty with an underage student, so the guy had focused on crap like this in his lessons), he knew that meant she liked what she saw. Meaning she liked him. He learned everything he needed to know in eighth grade health.

"Nice look, Heidi. We yodeling in Glee today?"

Rachel rolled her eyes, pushing past the feeling in the pit of her stomach that had started bubbling when he gave her the once-over. "Very funny, Noah. I'll have you know that long hair attracts vermin. I'm simply trying to minimize the risk." She smiled smugly.

Puck snorted. Vermin. Rotten little brat. Well, two could play that game. "You're right, babe. Would hate to have you get all...itchy and nobody to help you scratch. See you 'round."

She took a deep breath, but had to tell herself to stop watching him go before she could head to her class that was in the opposite direction.

Back when she was with Finn, who had been her last regular boyfriend, she had kind of found herself wishing he would just play this way. He was really not extremely playful in nature, nor was he overtly flirtatious. Perhaps that was the draw a person like Noah held for her. She had never felt as though she were witty, or even extremely sexy, and maybe that was the reason why. That was not to say Finn hadn't had…effective…methods, exactly; rather, just what she had craved or was craving now was entirely different. Would there be anything wrong with exploring that more verbal, more base, desire? It wasn't as though she would ever do anything with him. The true question was if she could outplay him. She thought she might be able to. She had far more patience and a more studious nature on her side. If she could just hold on today, which she thought she could manage as long as he couldn't toy with her hair, she could study up and bring it tomorrow.

As she reached her class, she had to fight the urge to nod resolutely to herself. Next week, it would be brought. She would head him off at the pass today, but Monday? On Monday, she would annihilate him at his own game.


He had showed up for the suck fest early. He hated thinking of it like that, but he really fucking hated the actual school aspect that was starting to take hold in there. Rachel had decided they needed to actually fucking learn something, like in writing, and Schuester had agreed with her and was trying to teach them. Anyway, he had showed up early even though very little threatened to hold his attention once he got there. Rachel was nowhere to be found.

They didn't have a class together in the even block. Well, okay, not exactly any that he attended on the regular. He didn't give a shit about European History, and even the hot little Miss Crosby who was their teacher couldn't fucking make him. If pencil skirts didn't help him have an interest, nothing was going to. But other than that, there wasn't a common class on the schedule, and so that meant he'd had all day to wonder if she was serious about that goddamn hair.

Braids? What was he supposed to fucking do with braids? And to make it worse, she had wrapped them around each other. That was like the Cheerios' ponytails with an extra fuck-you attached.

He wandered around the room, pretending to read the lame-ass posters Schue had put up on the brick-face walls. He wasn't going to sit down until she came in and picked a chair. Even if she came in right at the bell. It's not like he gave a shit about being in his seat on time like she did. And if there was one thing he knew about that girl, it was that she cared about being on time. Like, for everything.

Rachel waited until the last possible minute, amusing herself by watching Puck stroll around the choir room like he hadn't a care in the world, but his eyes betrayed him by the way he scoured every inch of the room repeatedly, a cute little pucker right between his brows. She could almost hear him thinking, he was concentrating so hard. When the bell finally rang he looked once more toward the door, shaking his head a bit. Because Schue was already giving him the world's dirtiest look, given that he was the only one who wasn't already in his seat, he dropped into the closest chair to his present location, which ended up putting him in the back corner and furthest from the door.

She slipped in and shadowed him, staying just outside his line of vision, scurrying up to the last row of seats and sitting quietly on the chair in the corner opposite his. He crossed his arms with a ferocious scowl, totally ignoring Mr. Schuester, casually leaning back in his chair and trying to check out the risers without appearing to be looking. He finally spotted her, his face freezing with shock. She gave him a smirk and waved her fingertips at him.

He started trying to think of ways to slide down—like maybe if he actually exercised some fucking patience he could do it one seat at a time without anyone noticing. He fought the urge to nod to himself and started off. One chair to the right; seven more to go. His effort didn't matter because as soon as his ass dropped in the second chair of his move, he heard…

"Okay, we're taking a break today because today is the start of an important annual tradition: boys versus girls. We increased the competition last year by encouraging the groups to do a different style of music from their normal repertoire, but this year the requirement is simple. It just has to be a mashup," he said with a shrug. "Other than that, the sky is the limit. Rachel has already requested the girls go to the auditorium to work. The boys will stay here. So head on out."

Noah sighed as he watched her slip out of the room like she could hardly contain the smirk. The problem was, he had an idea. She had just kicked it up to another level.

The benefit she had failed to understand before? They were fairly well unsupervised. Well, usually Schue went in with the girls to keep them from killing each other, which meant the boys would be unsupervised.

Other than the on-time thing, Noah knew at least one other thing about her. She was a compulsive phone checker. She kind of had to be because of her dads' pain-in-the-ass car rotating system, but this would only work in his favor today. As soon as Schue and his messenger bag were gone, Puck whipped his phone out of his pocket.

My second favorite thing to lick is a neck. Guess what's #1.

He could hardly choke back the chuckle as he snapped the phone closed.

Puck forced his thoughts back to the assignment, but all he could hear was Finn yammering on and Artie jumping in with blah, blah, fucking blah...

Whatever. He checked his phone but she hadn't responded. He smiled to himself and fired round two.

If memory serves, it's either really cold in there right now or those tight little nipples are waiting for me right now. But you're wrong. Guess again.

There. That should get a rise out of her. Lord knew it was getting a rise out of him. He shifted in his chair and tried once more to look remotely fucking interested so he didn't end up singing Backstreet Boys or some shit.

He was about to suggest some Beastie Boys or Kid Rock when his phone vibrated in his hand.

I am not going to dignify that with an answer, Noah. I would suggest you concentrate on your lesson lest you find yourself on the losing team. Again.

He smirked.

"What do you think, Puck?" Finn asked, looking to him. It was almost default. Puck was the wingman. This time, though, the wingman had not a fucking clue and was too busy trying to form his textual comeback.

"Sounds good," Puck said. He shifted in his chair again, this time to lean all the way forward.

"I knew he wasn't paying attention!" Kurt gasped triumphantly. "We need to take his phone."

Puck put on his best Homo, puh-lease look and arched an eyebrow. "You do not. You need to leave me alone and stop proposing stupid shit for us to sing," he shook his phone back and forth for emphasis. "Lest we end up losing to the chicks again."

"Rachel texting you smack talk?" Finn asked. He pulled his own phone out of his pocket. If she were texting shit like that to Puck, it was just a matter of time until he received one, too.

Puck rolled his eyes as they dissolved into mashup possibilities again. He whipped his phone back out and moved his fingers expertly over the keys, this time interrupting his typing to smack down Kurt's Broadway-related suggestion.

I know how to make you lose. Your panties. They have a bow on 'em today or polka dots?

He sat back and waited. He wasn't disappointed.

Really? That's your comeback? How very disappointing, Noah. You're clearly worried about this upcoming competition if you've regressed from nipples to panties. So once again, I suggest you return your attention to the task at hand and not embarrass yourself further with this ridiculous conversation.

Puck's eyes widened. Holy fuck. Berry said nipples. He blinked a couple of times, shifting in his chair again, trying to hide his suddenly raging erection.

Oh, Berry. Now you've done it.

He let out a long, low breath. He really needed to get that stupid dick under control. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to banish the image of her mouth, her teeth sinking into her lip as she texted the word; inevitably his mind would flash to her kissable lips around her mouth, uttering something hot like the word nipples attached to a phrase like suck my or kiss my. She wasn't the kind of girl that uttered those words as a comeback, but it didn't mean his stellar fucking imagination hadn't thought it up anyway. Goddamnit.

He finally shook it off and leaned forward in his chair, laser gaze focused on the phone. She wanted to kick him up a notch? Turnabout was fair fucking play, woman.

How do you figure? Panties means moving south and I'm good with going down. You'd be good with me going down, too. Bows or polka dots, I bet they're all wet.

The only place you're going down, Puckerman, is in public flames when we stomp your ass on this mash-up. FOCUS.

Puck chuckled quietly. Oh, he was so getting to her. Puckerman and ass? She was ready to blow.

I am focusing, Berry. Focusing on my hands on your thighs, spreading your legs apart. Focusing on how good you're gonna taste on my tongue.

He hit send and leaned back to wait for the explosion, smiling widely.

"So, we all agreed then? Nickelback and My Fair Lady?" Finn looked around, and Puck nodded absently, waiting for his phone to signal an incoming message. Just as he registered what he'd agreed to and opened his mouth to voice his disapproval, the choir room doors slammed open.

The boys all jumped in surprise, turning to see a furious Rachel storming across the floor. Her scowling face was beet red as she stamped across the floor. They all watched in silence as she snatched the phone away from Puck, spinning on her heel and marching back the way she came, her chest heaving. Just before she left, she paused, looking back at Puck with an evil grin. "Lace," she announced, slamming the door behind her.

"Why did she say lace?" Sam asked slowly, his head moving from the door to Puck.

Puck, for his part, had not imagined her lips saying that word and the jumble of images, her voice and her body and… fucking lace fucking tease… he couldn't formulate a comeback. "Did she…she took my phone?"

Finn laughed and arched an eyebrow. "If they're wearing lace costumes, they're gonna totally kick our asses. I don't think that mashup is gonna be epic enough, guys."

And as the boys all started frantically discussing how to step up the competition, Puck was just stuck… Lace. Lace costumes. Wet, lacy underwear.

Even the fact that he knew most of her red face and breathlessness was caused by lust, there was no way she was gonna win this one; someone was going down all right and it was totally gonna be her.


Puck had spent most of that night, all of Saturday, and the better part of Sunday with his hand down his pants. It felt kinda like middle school again, which was just fucking ridiculous. And then he would start wondering if she was having the same problem, and his own problem would start all over again. He was going fucking postal or something—either way, whatever he'd done to this point still hadn't taken the edge off and he still wanted more.

His phone had been waiting for him in his locker when Glee was over on Friday afternoon; he found it hilarious that she had deleted her phone number. He had his ways of getting that shit and he couldn't even remember if he'd gotten it from her to begin with. Not to mention the fact that her phone number was ridiculously easy to remember. Some flaw in the system had ended her number with '5678' so if he could count he could still harass her. He wondered if harassing her would take the edge off. He decided to find out.

B, you're gonna have to change your number if you want to get rid of me. I'm not going down that easy.

He tossed his phone absently back and forth from one hand to the other, mostly to try to keep himself from answering the Bone-A-Phone again. Unfortunately, both of his appendages responded at the same time, the one actually attached to his person so swiftly and violently he had to debate with himself for a few seconds as to which one to answer first. He honestly wasn't sure if he would be able to carry out a coherent textual assault on Rachel if he didn't ease his tension somewhat.

He decided to check out her answer first in the hopes it might assist him with his other problem if it came down to it.

Who says I wanted to get rid of you, Noah? Really, it wouldn't be very fair of me to not allow you to try to redeem yourself after that pathetic attempt to arouse my interest on Friday. And Rachel Berry is nothing if not fair.

He dropped the phone, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. Fair? She used the word arouse and then called herself fair? If he wasn't so turned on at the moment he might even have to admire her genius.

More than your interest was aroused. I know that for a fact.

Her reply was almost immediate, the timestamp on the bottom the same as the message he'd sent.

Prove it.

He actually laughed out loud, barking out a harsh, dry sound. She was an evil fucking little cockteasing genius, wasn't she? He didn't have anything to lose. He'd already been thinking about this shit for the better part of the weekend anyway.

He looked back down at the phone, ready to type out a reply even if he didn't know what the words would be, but then the phone buzzed in his hand again.

unless you want to play mangle the midget instead.

His jaw dropped. He wasn't sure at the moment if he wanted to mangle her...or strangle her. Seriously. How the fuck did she keep getting the upper hand?

So to speak, anyway. Technically, just to be clear, there were no hands laid on anyone here. None. At least not yet…and was she serious with that shit? Like was mangling a midget a fucking invitation? A written fucking invitation to come play in person?

Or was it all part of some game he'd started because he was the stud that could do shit like this and keep his fucking cool? But really…she dated guys (just the one) like Hudson, not guys who could match the shit she was pulling. She couldn't have meant it as an invitation, could she? There was only one way to find out.

Which midget are we talking about? I'll mangle you anytime.

He held his breath, his hands legit fucking shaking so hard he almost missed her reply

Mr. Puckerman, I would be severely disappointed if there was more than one midget in this equation.

Holy fuck, he couldn't breathe.

But from what I've heard, I'm fairly confident there isn't.

He sat down on his bed, staring at the words as he repeatedly flipped through the last several messages. He could do this. There was no way she was serious. He had to just remember it was a game. He had to forget lacy underwear, and forget her bubblegum lips that he knew from experience tasted as sweet as they looked and…

What are you wearing right now?

Yeah…that's right. He went back to the, like, grade school of flirting. That was all that was left in his brain when he filtered through the last week of brushes, blushes, touches, glances, and words. Fucking sue him. At least he was able to get that much out, considering there probably wasn't more than a teaspoon of blood left in his brain right now.

Really, Noah? I thought you were good at this sort of thing. Apparently I was mistaken. Good night, see you at school tomorrow.

He almost threw his phone against the wall. Fuck him running. He had to find his A game and right quick or he'd be resigned to playing thump the pump from here on out, 'cause he didn't think she'd give him another shot at this and San wasn't gonna cut it anymore. Hell, nobody else would, for that matter.

Just warming up baby 'cause whatever you're wearing, it's gonna look great on your floor in about two minutes.

Thirty excruciating seconds later he could finally breathe again.

Well, just be careful, because these are my favorite black lace panties.

Did he say a teaspoonful of blood in his brain? Make that zero teaspoonfuls. He sat down. He was legit about ready to fucking pass out. Was she serious with this shit? He had to find out before he even really thought about going over there.

Maybe we should leave them on. I'll just use my tongue everywhere else. Wouldn't want to fuck with perfection.

And perfection would be her, standing in front of him, in those black lace panties and breathing these kinds of words, giving him all kinds of permission.

Then what would you be doing with your tongue? Because I am perfection.

His eyes darted around his room. He would be flat out lying if he said he'd never considered it. He'd considered it plenty, he had just been either unwilling, unable, or unallowed to act on it in any combination over the last three years. But…well, it fucking sounded like she wanted an actual answer. He had to remember those plans and he had to put them into a text. He hoped it didn't kill him.

Well, first I'd just be tasting every square inch of you. Anywhere you want me to start?

Well, you did mention the neck as one of your favorites. Did you have a particular spot you've been wanting to try? Although I did want to mention that it's rather cold in here right now, considering said panties are all I'm wearing at the moment.

He was glad he was alone in the house because there was no way in hell he could have stopped the groan at the image her words gave him. He rolled over on the bed, rubbing against the mattress a little bit before he could stop himself. He did it again when her next text came in and fuck anyone who thought they wouldn't do the same.

Unless you count my heels.

At this point, he couldn't keep enough friction on his dick and text her back at the same time so he had a little bit of a dilemma. He went with it and called her; if she could get him this worked up through a few well-texted images…well, he was pretty sure she was enjoying this as much as he was. And let's face it—guys talked. He knew she wasn't a virgin any more, even if he didn't know or want the details.

He had already rolled over onto his back and dropped a hand inside the warm-up pants he was wearing. The need for friction was so constant he wondered if he might die in the three seconds it took him to dial. Her phone rang twice before she picked up.

"Hello, Noah," she purred, and the sound of her voice went straight to his dick. "I thought you might call."

"Berry," he grunted out, ignoring the confidence and the victory in her voice and sliding his hand faster, trying to catch up with his sheer need. "Tell me more about your shoes."

"Black, sky-high heels," she answered immediately, her tone dropping an octave. "I believe you guys commonly refer to them as 'fuck-me' shoes."

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

FUCK.

Berry dropped the f-bomb and that was all it took to make him blow his load right then and there. He tried to hold back, but he was so worked up by her tone and the pictures she painted in his head that he couldn't stop it. He hoped like hell she didn't know what was happening, but he couldn't muffle his shout of satisfaction.

He could tell by the icy silence on the other end of the phone that she knew exactly what had just gone down.

"Rach-" he eventually managed, still attempting to catch his breath.

"Thank you for calling, Noah, but it's getting late and I'm really tired. I'll see you at school tomorrow."

And just like that, she was gone.

Puck cursed loudly, his face hot with embarrassment that she'd made him lose control like that. Jesus, he was worse than fucking Finn, and that was saying a lot. He was kinda pissed at her for not letting him return the favor, or at least prove he could back up what he'd been promising. Especially because they had turned it into some sort of twisted competition and now all he wanted to do was be one up instead of one down.

He headed to the shower to clean up. He washed his hair, letting his humiliation die down some more, deciding right then and there that this wasn't over. Not by a fucking long shot. After all, what was one advantage of being a guy? Guys with enough drive and talent could get a two-for-one. She'd had her one…now it was his turn. And he was a guy with drive and talent to spare.

He couldn't wait for school tomorrow.


A/N part 1 - This is from a prompt on the Puckleberry Kink Meme at LJ and Laura (tjcrowfoot) graciously agreed to team up with me. This is one the funnest co-writes I've ever done, seriously. If you haven't checked outher stuff, YOU SHOULD. Like drop everything and go now. Also, we LOVE reviews. Like… seriously love them. And we promise to love you if you review for us.

A/N part 2 – How could not be fun with a prompt like that? Thanks for letting me tag along, this is a total blast to write. (and thank you for the shout-out). And ditto for reviews, it's what feeds our addiction and makes us want to keep writing. Can't wait for Ch2, bb!

Prompt: Puck discovers that Rachel likes dirty talk after he whispers something in her ear during Glee. He keeps at it every chance he gets until finally she cracks and tells him to prove what he's saying or shut up.