Takes place Senior Year, second semester
Puckleberry, mention of Finnchel, Luck.
Spoiler alert! Shelby Corcoran is due to make an appearance in season 2, thought I have no idea when or for what, so I ran with it.
A/N: I'm trying to force myself to write more to push out of a writing funk, so some of these pieces are a little rough. But I liked this idea, and I love Puckleberry, so I ran with it. Also, we're pretending Puck's birthday is sometime in February.
reviews always welcome, even the not-so-nice ones
"Dammit Berry," Puck grumbled, wriggling uncomfortably from behind his blindfold. "Where the hell are we even going?"
This had to be, hands down, the dumbest thing he'd ever agreed to. He should've just walked away when she'd told him it had nothing to do with sex.
Puck headed to his locker lost in though. It was Wednesday morning: hump day. He barely went to any of his classes anyways and he was ready for the week to be over. Although the only thing that made that different from any other week was that his birthday was Saturday, and he was stoked. Some of the guys were throwing him a party, and he was hoping to get back some of his credibility as a stud since his breakup with Lauren before break (apparently, the Sectionals curse of way too much drama had been doomed to continue into his senior year). He'd also been debating what kind of tattoo to get for the last month (he was still torn between a hot naked chick or a flaming guitar, or some combination of the two).
He shut his locker, only to find a glee midget staring up at him. Puck sighed, but more out of habit than anything else: being "friends" with Rachel Berry really wasn't as bad as he used to think. Since sophomore year, and all the Finn drama (thank God for the end of that soap opera), she…well, hadn't mellowed out, but more found other things to focus her obsessive drive on (like life after high school), and seemed more than willing to just relax when she was around Puck.
"What's up, Berry?" he asked her, smirking at her expression—she looked so excited she might explode. "Did you and Tony finally hook up?"
"What are your plans for this weekend?" she asked him urgently, ignoring his long-running joke about her obsession with the Tony awards. He arched an eyebrow in surprise, and she seemed to realize her intense appearance, as she then took a deep breath and looked up at him with more composure.
"What I meant," she corrected herself. "Was that, if you were available and amenable to such a proposal, I have an activity planned to celebrate your birthday that I thought you might find particularly enjoyable—"
"Rache," he interrupted her: give Rachel Berry a chance and she'll talk into next century. "That's nice of you, but I got plans—party, and hook up with any chick above an 8—preferably a 9." He purposely gave her an assessing glance. "You want me to put you on the list for a ride on the Puckasaurus?" he leered, only half-joking (nobody could joke about those legs).
"Actually, Noah," the brunette replied, rolling her eyes. "As enticing an offer that may be, I have higher aspirations in life than to be on the list of your birthday indiscretions. Regardless, this activity takes place on Sunday afternoon, so perhaps you could write a break in your schedule after noon?"
And so he'd agreed, allowing Berry to pick him up in her little silver Prius at 11:45, taking the water and aspirin she'd brought for his slight hangover, and—at first—gratefully accepting the blindfold she'd given him, effectively blocking the light and allowing him to sleep for the first hour and a half of the trip.
Of course, the blindfold was less appreciated when he woke up and she insisted he keep it on until they arrived, even going so far as pulling over when he moved to take it off. And when she told him in no uncertain terms the trip was not about sex, he'd simply flopped back into his seat and grumbled.
"For goodness sake, Noah," she chastised him. "We're almost there; show some self-restraint."
Puck was not known for his self-restraint—dating Lauren Zizes had pretty much taken all of the self-restraint he'd had, since the woman moved slow and she sure as hell wasn't going to let him get some elsewhere. Go figure when he was finally getting somewhere she dumped his ass. He was almost 100% certain he had no self-restraint left.
Suddenly he felt the car turn off, and simultaneously heard Rachel announce, "Okay; we're here!"
He all but ripped off the blindfold and jumped out of the car, only to find himself in a school parking lot.
"Seriously woman?" he asked, staring at her incredulously. "Tell me you did not drive me two hours to fucking Ashland to see the fucking high school glee club or some shit."
Rachel exhaled in exasperation. "I brought you here for some culture Noah," she explained. "I thought watching a performance would be beneficial to your range of experiences, and since you had nothing planned but debauchery—"
Puck pretty much tuned out her lecture at that point. He should have known Berry would waste his awesome birthday weekend by trying to expand his mind or some shit. Looking at the marquee at the school entrance, he realized that she had brought him to a ballet recital.
"Fuck no, midget," he interrupted her, crossing his arms stubbornly. "I am not throwing away the rest of my birthday watching chicks prance around in fucking tutus—shit's not gonna fly."
He reached for the door, but found that the tiny brunette had already locked it and was now striding over to him, glaring daggers.
"Noah," she bit at him, "you are ruining your birthday present, and you have no idea how much planning went into getting this to happen; so please, for once, just do what I ask and trust me."
She grabbed his arm and began dragging him toward the auditorium. He let her, and tried to think of the positives of the situation (one of the batshit crazy things she'd taught him over the last year or so that kind of worked—there's always a positive in every negative situation, Noah): there were bound to be some hot moms and sisters and shit in the audience. Hell, maybe he could get a couple numbers before they left.
Rachel paid for the tickets, took two programs, and found seats for them near the front. Apparently they'd been running late, because the lights dimmed as soon as they'd sat down.
And then Puck realized that not only was he at a fucking ballet show, he was at a fucking little kid ballet show. The girls prancing in front of him couldn't have been older than ten.
"Berry," he hissed. "What the fuck?" He wasn't a dance enthusiast, and he certainly wasn't a fucking pedophile, so why the fuck were they here?
She shushed him and kept her eyes trained on the stage. He could see her mind whirring as she mentally critiqued the girls twirling in front of them, probably dividing them into "has potentials" and "should quit while their aheads". He slumped into his seat, now really annoyed with the diva sitting next to him.