Okay, I know I told you all that I wouldn't be writingfor a long time, but then this little baby popped into my head, and I had to see where it would lead to! Tests are going well so far, and I find that writing is VERY relaxing to me. So here's to me writing to the complete detriment of my tests!
Also, Rachel's going to seem quite OOC for the first few chapters, but all willbe explained as the story progresses.
I don't want to use emotional blackmail or anything, but I've worked pretty hard on this, and I'd really love to know any opinions, ideas or questions you may have. So please leave a review and let me know if I should bother continuing or just stick to my other story
Regards,
Jeni
Noah Puckerman shot his trademark sexy smirk as he started to strum his guitar to his band's most famous song. Both the smirk and the song caused massive cheers of response from the crowd, especially the ladies. He put his mouth up to the microphone, an intentional slur to his voice as he heard the bass player start to play along with him, before the drums came in. On the chorus, the bassist sang along with him as he shouted smoothly into the microphone, and as the chorus died down the instrumental piece started. He shot a wink towards the left of the room, and almost laughed when he saw about five girls fight over who he winked at.
He may not have been headlining the consert, but there was no doubt in his mind that everyone would leave this arena tonight with praises for him on their lips. He always knew that he was good, but it was only a couple of months ago that everyone else started to realise it too.
He was getting a taste of what it was like to be famous, and if he got his way, he was going to get the full meal.
Finishing up the song, he said a quick and lazy goodbye to the crowd before leaving the stage of screaming, adoring fans. Hearing adamant chants of 'encore,' he smiled to himself, before securing his guitar around his neck again and sauntering back onto the stage, waving at the crowd, who broke into applause, screams and loud whistles.
It was the good life, at last. And he was soaking up every minute of it.
Backstage was a known place for wild sex with faceless groupies. After his contribution to the show, there were four girls waiting for him in his dressing room, flirtatiously twirling their hair and explaining that they pulled some strings with security in hopes of meeting him. A smirk broke across his face and the girls practically swooned at him. He was used to casual sex with women who worshipped him, but he was only starting to get used to groupies, and the fact that they'd do anything for/with/to him at his command.
"One moment ladies, just gotta put away Suzan here," he said, nodding towards the guitar in his hand. It was a Fender acoustic, and no matter how ready, willing and able these girls were (which they definitely were), he was going to make sure that the only guitar he owned that he didn't but from a pawn shop didn't get a single scratch on it.
Politely exiting his dressing room, after leaving a subtle hint that they could get warmed up in his absence, he walked until he was right behind the still lit stage and handed over his guitar to one of the stage crew. The young boy took it with extreme care and looked at it in awe as he placed it gentlyinto the case and secured the locks. Puck supervised every moment, making sure the boy didn't do a single thing wrong to hurt his baby. To his credit, the kid treated it as if it were made of thin glass and would break if it was held too tightly.
"Great show, Mr. Puckerman," the teenager said, almost timidly. He nodded and mumbled a quick thank you before turning on his heel to walk back to his dressing room.
He spotted a pair of legs in his peripheral vision, a pair that was worthy of a double take - which was rare, now that he's seen more beautiful women than he could imagine. There was a pair of black knee-high socks painted onto the legs in question, and as he followed them upward, he saw a dark denim skirt, which covered what looked to be a fantastic ass, and further upwards he saw long, chestnut brown hair with a black lace top hidden under the shiny tresses. His mouth momentarily went dry before he swallowed the lump in his throat and walked over towards her confidently.
"First time backstage?" he asked casually. The girl with the killer legs turned around towards him, and he saw her face for the first time. Her thick fringe was long enough to brush against the top of her eyelids, which had heavy black eyeliner on them. There was a confused but indignant pout to her full, luscious lips.
"Excuse me?" Her voice was authoritive and slightly husky. But he wasn't going to back down at her cold demeanor or her strong, assertive voice. He lifted one arm and leaned against one of the beams supporting the stage, in what he liked to call his sex pose. He heard music starting on the stage, and figured that it was the last band up before the headlining band. He paid no attention to the music, instead focusing all of his energies on the beautiful girl with the killer body in front of him.
"Well, the experienced groupies know that they should try to get in to the lounge," he explained in response. "Or if they're trying to be more specific towards their musicians, the dressing rooms are the best place to go. Mine is just down that hall by the way. It's about two doors down. There are some other girls there right now, but I'm sure we could all work something out." His mind drifted down that path, seeing exactly how they could all work it out.
"I'm not a groupie," she said bluntly, crossing her arms, and displaying her modest yet mouth-watering chest. He forced his eyes back up to her smoky brown ones and shrugged one shoulder casually.
"Fangirl, music-enthusiast, whatever makes you comfortable sweetheart," he uttered non-chalantely. He saw her scowl at the pet name, and smirked. She had some fight in her, that was clear. In his experience, that translated to being dynamite in the bedroom.
Before he could continue his teasing, she turned on her heel and walked away. His eyebrows crinkled as he saw her walk up the spiral staircase at the side of the stage. It led to the top half of the main stage, where the drumkit was usually set up. He waited for a member of stage crew to take her back down, but nobody moved. He then heard a feminine voice booming from the speakers.
"Good evening Detroit!" There were hollers in response, the crowd going completely crazy, and the music picked up. The voice sang, loudly and smoothly, the rock song perfect for her pitch. He saw Legs sauntering down the steps of the main stage and towards the crowd. She was jumping up and down, microphone in her hand, and the crowd was following suit. At the chorus, the crowd was singing along just as loudly as she was, and when the song winded down at the end, the last notes of the guitar couldn't be heard over the fans chanting 'SABOTAGE!' He guessed that that was the band's name. They started another song, one heavy on the bass, and she started to sing with a husky but quiet voice, that kept building and building towards the chorus, until she was screaming into the mic.
He was impressed, he had to admit. She worked with the crowd, she sung spectacularly, and she looked hot while doing it. It explained why she didn't look like the average desperate swooning groupie. It also explained the 'self respect' vibe that no other woman backstage seemed to have. Shame. He could have done some excellent things while those legs were wrapped around his waist.
"Oh my God, I can't believe we're missing Sabotage!" he heard a woman say behind him, followed by a chorus of agreements. He heard hurried clicks of high heels and in the corner of his eye, he saw four girls running around the back of the stage to rejoin the crowd. He vaguely recognised them as the girls from his dressing room and muttered a curse word under his breath. He knew that during the after-party, he could get girls just like them, but still. Being cock-blocked was no fun.
It was bad enough that she wasn't some desperate girl who was looking to sleep with someone of his status. No, she had to be a rockstar who was stealing his fans.
Who the hell was this girl?
Puck smiled smugly as he exited the quiet, dimly lit room with the soft furniture. An incredibly hot blond with a blood red dress and stockings with suspenders followed after him, wiping her mouth daintily with a devious smirk on her face.
"Thank you Noah! Thank you so much!"
"It's Puck," he said as a reflex. He hated how girls thought that they knew him just because they knew that his first name was Noah, and he bought coffee from Starbucks once, and that he liked vintage motorbikes. Plus, he hated the 'thank you's he got from the girls. she just gave him a blowjob, and you didn't hear him thanking her.
"Sorry. Puck."
He walked back into the main room of the house. The headlining band were hosting an after-party at theirs, and of course he made an appearance.
"Dude, where the hell have you been?" he heard his best friend ask. The tall skinny asian made his way towards him, two beers in one hand as he handed one to Puck, who graciously accepted.
"Sorry Mike, I was kind of in the middle of... Someone." He laughed at Mike's face, screwed up in disgust.
"You're a pig sometimes, man. Anyway, why don't we mingle with some people you don't intend to bang? You know, get our names out there a little more?"
Puck nodded and followed suit. The band was starting to get more recognition than they had ever dreamed, but it never hurt to rub elbows with the fatcat celebrities. Mike had started to converse with a crowd of people who had waved him over, all of them dressed in suits. Puck looked around to see their drummer standing and awkwardly talking to an adoring fan. Finn never really knew how to handle crazy girls who wanted to marry him even though he didn't know them. Puck knew that the secret was to fuck them and leave them. Finn was too much of a 'good guy' or whatever.
"Puckerman!" he heard a voice shout out, knowing the voice before he turned around to see the dark haired latina beckoning him over with a lazy wave of her hand. He walked over to his manager to see her with a glass of wine in her hand as she conversed with some guy who looked more done-up than she did.
"Puck, this is Kurt Hummel. He's the manager for Starstruck Records." Puck had heard of that label. It was pretty fucking hard not to, they were currently the biggest indie and rock label in the world. He straightened himself up slightly, trying to look as professional as possible as he shook the young man's hand firmly.
"Relax, he's not here to offer you a deal," Santana chided. "He and I were just discussing the possibility of you singing a duet with one of his up-and-coming stars. Could get you a lot more recognition, and if you do well, Kurt here says that he might just sign your band on." Puck perked up in response. Santana was a fantastic agent, and she was always able to get them an important gig or some media coverage, but she'd really outdone herself this time. Starstruck was every rocker's dream, and the possibility of a deal with them was almost enough to give him wood.
He spoke with Kurt for another few minutes before Kurt's phone started ringing. He politely excused himself to answer it, leaving Puck and his latina agent alone.
Puck pulled Santana in for a bear hug, which she pulled away from immediately.
"Don't be getting too excited yet, this deal will only work if you don't blow it, and knowing your track record, you probably will. Now, finish up your beer and come with me. Some media girl wants to ask you some questions about the concert."
"No fucking way!"
"Dude, STARSTRUCK RECORDS! Those dudes discovered Driftless Pony Club!"
Puck laughed at his fellow band mates' excited responses and nodded. "Well, they're gonna test me out with a collaboration with some chick first, and if they think I'm suitable, we've all got a record deal."
"Remind me to buy Santana something sparkly," Finn gushed happily.
"I know," Puck responded. "I swear, if she didn't have a life partner or whatever, I would fuck her; that's how grateful I am!"
Mike raised an eyebrow. "You'd fuck her anyway, that has nothing to do with grattitude."
The three of them laughed. Puck opened another beer while the song changed to a faster one.
"Well, I'm going to go find a friend. Have to see her before she leaves," Mike got up from his seat, ready to walk away.
"Okay, but dude, keep the record deal under wraps. It took me ten minutes to convince San to even let you guys know, she'll nail my sac to the wall if anyone else finds out."
Mike saluted in silent agreement and walked away.
"I might go find Santana, just to say thank you. Then I'm heading home. Quinn wants me to take a look at her car tonight." Finn got up from his set and left the room, leaving Puck to look out at the crowd in the big open area that was now the dedicated dance floor. He eventually grew bored of all of the girls beckoning him over, so he stood up and walked upstairs, hoping to find the bathroom. As he started to walk up, he saw the girl from the concert walking down, her eyes on the floor as if she didn't want to be disturbed. His eyes followed her ass as she walked by him, jumping from the second last step to the floor and continuing her stride towards the back of the room. It was surprisingly cute, coming from a girl with so much attitude, and such a small stature. Seriously, he just realized how tiny she was.
Suddenly, he didn't need to piss anymore. He turned around, trying not to barrel down the stairs in case someone thought he was crazy. He didn't know the girl's name, and he assumed that if he called out "Legs," she wouldn't respond. So instead, he just folowed her, hoping to get close enough to murmur something sexy in her ear so as she'd turn around, or blush, or roll her heavy, smoky, dark eyes at him. You know, some form of reaction that would lead to them making small talk for a few minutes until he made his move. He knew from the concert that the girl had a great pair of lungs on her, and he'd bet any money that he could make her scream out if the opportunity arose. Plus, she kind of owes him after she fucked up what was going to be a sure thing with four horny women.
Before he could catch up with her, she was ambushed by two other guys; one of them blond with what looked to be a baboon's ass grafted on to his lips, and the other one with dark brown hair, glasses and an awkward, lean frame. They were both smiling at her, chatting animatedly about how they hardly saw her all night, and he didn't wait to hear her response, just turned around and walked towards the porch. He'd get her alone some time later. His body almost shuddered in pleasure with the thought.
He saw the hosts of the party, the headlining band, hanging out together with cigarettes in their hands. Well, the singer didn't have one, he was just sipping on his beer. Puck walked over to them and sat down, lighting up a smoke of his own and talking to them about the gig. While he was doing this, he let his mind wander.
What was the appeal of Legs, apart from the obvious? He concluded that it was that she wasn't some submissive, squealing little fangirl. She wouldn't just bend over (although he'd love to see that) and let him have his way. She'd fight for control, for dominance. She'd probably have to be tied up before she'd give him control. He groaned inwardly at the thought of her wrists tied to his bed posts, writhing naked on his bed while he teased her until she begged him.
One thing was for certain. He needed to fuck this girl.
He's felt this yearning for other girls before. He needed to fuck Quinn in High School; which ended up with Finn going crazy at him, and not even looking at him for months. He needed to fuck Santana, which he did, once, but she cried afterwards because she knew she was a lesbian and she felt dirty and shit. And he needed to fuck some girl called Peyton, who told him she was pregnant with his baby afterwards. She aborted the kid, which was the worst day of his entire life, and led to a solid 12 day drinking binge.
So one thing was for certain: this desire for Legs? It wasn't going to work out well. In fact, it was going to be a disaster, like it was every other time.
But seriously. He, like, needed to fuck her.
He found himself actually enjoying the fuck out of talking to this band. The guitarist told him that he had some great riffs, which meant a lot, because Puck fucking loved this dude's skills with a six string. His name was Aaron, and he seriously knew his shit. The bassist was called Gary, and he was a typical chill, relaxed bassist. He talked to Puck for ages about sports, but never moved an inch unless he was bringing his beer bottle to his lips or whipping his head to get his dark hair out of his face. The drummer, known as Howie, would occasionally interrupt conversation with a hilarious one-liner or two, and had everyone at the table laughing. And the singer, Jesse, was telling him about how he used to be an arrogant little prick who thought he'd make it on Broadway. Howie and Puck ripped the shit of him when he mentioned Broadway, while Gary and Aaron laughed knowingly.
"Hand on my heart. I was in show choir in High School and went to Julliard for college before I got kicked out for failing everything except my major. If I hadn't have gotten kicked out, who knows? Maybe you guys would see me on some billboard for West Side Story instead of rocking out in Detroit." Puck laughed and shook his head, not able to believe what was being told to him. Jesse St. James was a legend known for being almost too cool to function. It was hard to believe that he used to dream of singing in shitty little musicals for a living.
Some blonde girl in a power suit walked up to the table with a tray of beers, handing them out to the group.
"Don't expect me to be doing this often, boys. This is your one and only treat for doing so well tonight." She winked friendlily to them and walked away.
"Our agent," Jesse explained.
"We must have done great, she usually doesn't even talk to us until a few days after the show," Gary remarked, leaning forward to grab a beer. He took a quick slug. "Ah, nice and cold."
"My agent's the same," Puck remarked. "She comes to parties like this to meet important people and help us out, but she'll avoid us like the plague if she can help it." They all shared a small chuckle and started to share horror stories about their agents before they heard a small throat-clear, causing them to turn towards the source of the noise.
"Hey guys, great party, but we should probably be heading out soon. Artie needs to help a different band with their album." It was the blond kid from earlier, the one that was talking to Legs.
"No problem man, we still on for a jam session next week?" Aaron asked. The blond shook his head.
"My girlfriend's gonna be in New York for a couple of days, so I'm gonna show her around the city," he replied. "But I'll call you up some other time, we'll arrange something then."
"Cool. Great show tonight, Sam. Oh, and I'm loving the new singer. It was about time you tried to get some sex appeal into the band." The comment came from Howie, and everyone nooded their agreement, sealed with a quick chuckle. Sam laughed along.
"Well, Matt was great, but he's going in a different direction. But Rachel's just what we needed."
"Tell me about it," Jesse agreed. "I told you she'd be awesome. She always was." Jessie's eyes glazed over, as if reliving some kind of incredible memory. Puck's eyebrows rose as Sam walked away.
"You know her?" he asked Jesse
"Oh God yeah. Rach and I go way back. Surprised she became a rock chick to be honest. That girl was more into Broadway than I was." He laughed before finishing up his beer. "Might go say goodbye to her actually. Thank her for the show and all that. I'll be back in a few minutes."
Puck took another pull from his beer bottle, slipping back into conversation with the remaining band members whilst contemplating the things he learned about Legs in the space of a few hours.
It had been a long time since he had gotten to know a girl's name before he fucked her. Maybe this was a good start.
Another plea to review and let me know what you think. Come on, most of you are already signed in :P