Everybody Knows You Cried Last Night
by dwilivia
Summary: He's been fucking up everyone else's relationships, so why not add Mr. Schue's one to his list of faults as well? PUCK/QUINN, PUCK/SANTANA, PUCK/EMMA
Warnings: Sex, Bad language, Teacher/Student relations, Some Violence.
The first time Quinn allows him to hold her hand down the hallways of McKinley High, Puck recalls Santana's long, hard stare from her locker as they pass by and feels a fleeting shadow of guilt. Not because he actually cares about what Santana thinks, but it's just that he's fucked up so many relationships in the past, he doesn't want to add anymore disgrace to his already long and extensive list of faults.
He looks away, and sees that Quinn is smiling at him perfectly, and her hand is slim and lithe and wonderful in his, and Santana's disapproving face is wiped momentarily from his mind.
Of course, when Finn walks by them, it is a different matter altogether. Because, despite the fact that he'd royally screwed up their friendship by sleeping with Quinn and then knocking her up, Puck still wants to make amends. He wants to set things right with Finn. Beside him, he can feel Quinn starting to tremble, just a tad, and he squeezes her hand and they head straight in Finn's direction, bravely.
Finn has a little frown on his face when he glances down at their linked fingers, and his eyes still hold a little bit of sadness and hurt that the past two weeks since sectionals hasn't quite erased. Finn averts his eyes, walks right on, his lips tight and unsmiling.
Puck knows Quinn wants to cry, and when she rushes into the nearest bathroom, her shoulders huffing with her sobs, he doesn't know what to do.
Fuck this. It's too hard to pretend like Quinn and he will ever be alright.
--
He sits with Brittany and Santana during lunch, and listening to their little quips, watching them share a salad, is far easier than trying to clean up his little fuddle with Quinn and Finn. He scoots in and brushes his leg against Santana's bare one and she stiffens and drops her salad fork. She doesn't look up at him.
Puck is pretty sure Santana is mad at him, but she isn't coming out to say it. Because, truth of the matter is, even though Santana likes to act all tough-girl and stoic in matters that pertain to their casual fucking, deep down he knows she must feel something for him, even if it is buried underneath layers of heartache and denial. He cannot bring himself to feel the same way about her, (and believe him, he's tried), but Santana Lopez is no Quinn Fabray.
What Puck really wants is everything to be easier, for everyone to just come out and say what they really want. He'll be honest if someone ever sat down with him to ask what he wanted.
He wants Quinn, that's not hard to see. He wants her so badly it makes his teeth hurt. He can still remember how things used to be when they were still friends, even before she went steady with Finn. She used to be so happy and perfect. Even back then, he just wouldn't ever be good enough for all that Quinn Fabray is.
He is momentarily distracted by Brittany lifting her fork to Santana's lips, offering her a bite of salad, chiding her to eat, and it is then he's noticed that Santana hasn't picked up her fork since she dropped it.
His eyes are raised to watch the display, where Brittany leans forward with her fork and Santana takes a bite, chewing slowly, making a small moan of appreciation while closing her eyes. Brittany looks ecstatic, clapping and making some idiotic remark about how lovely Santana looks while eating the salad.
And as daft as that statement is, Puck finds that he's starting to get hard from that little moan. Santana's leg brushes his this time, and Puck curls his fingers under the table, reminding himself about Quinn Fabray, about his guilt, about what a jerk he is to string Santana along like that.
--
He's reprehensible.
Twenty minutes later, he's starting to push aside her panties and touch her everywhere. Santana's legs are wrapped around his waist and her back is slammed against the locker room walls. Her breasts are bared to him and they're even more spectacular than he last remembered, but he might attribute it to the fact that he hasn't been laid in over a month, and he's randy and everything looks and feels and tastes doubly good to him.
His mouth attacks her breast and she's crying out, wriggling furiously into his prodding fingers, grinding her clit against one of his knuckles. Her juices are wetting his whole hand, and as he withdraws his fingers to have a taste, she whimpers and sneaks her own hand down to cup his erection. Puck closes his eyes with a brief groan, finally remembering why he ever gave Santana the time of day. He slides her down the wall and she gets on her knees quickly, unzipping his fly before he even has time to think and has her mouth on him before he can breathe.
It feels like nothing hehas ever felt before. He's rocking against her, feeling his brain shutting off and curling his fingers into the locks of her ponytail, and he stops her just before he completely lets go.
He takes her hand, pulls her straight against his body, making her giggle, and he kisses her, tasting himself on her tongue. Steady fingers start to pull away the rest of their clothes, and the exact moment he manages to unzip her skirt, he hears short, unsure footsteps and a string of curses start to erupt in his head.
Santana hears the sound, too, and she gasps and clings on to him. His legs can't move, and his brain isn't exactly the most functional organ in his body right now, and the minute he sees Miss Pillsbury walking into the gym locker, he wonders exactly how much suspension one can clock up for attempted sex in the gym locker room.
--
Her face is almost as red as her hair, and her eyes become impossibly wider as she takes in the display. Instantly, she turns away, and Puck and Santana start to gather their clothes and pull them on as quickly as they can. Puck curses, because he's still hard and he can barely zip up his jeans, while Santana can't find her bra and she wonders if her nipples can be seen through the rather thin material of her cheerleading outfit.
Puck learns that Miss Pillsbury stutters when she's embarrassed.
"I'll, I'll... I'll see yyou two in.. in.. my office.." She mutters, her eyes still averted, "Right after you... uh... after you uhm... get dressed."
When she stalks from the room in her prim little fashion, Puck cannot help but check out her butt in that tight little white pencil skirt that hugs her in very nice places. Her hips sway slightly, and her heels make her legs look long and shapely. And Puck likes legs on a woman.
"Oi!" Santana slaps the side of his head and he just shrugs, turning to face her with that smug little 'I-can't-help-it look. She crosses her arms loosely for a brief moment, as if deciding if she should yell at him, then goes off to find her bra.
--
Miss Pillsbury's office smells like a hospital and one doesn't have to even know the woman to see that she's a nutcase. Puck spies the assortment of cleaning devices and solutions that line the side of her desk, neatly, according to size, and the two different types of hand sanitizer (one for dry hands, and the other that is lavender-scented) that are an arm's reach away. Miss Pillsbury squirts an unholy amount of the stuff into her hands and rubs them together in a practiced manner, four circles around the palms, twice in between each finger, and another four circular motions around the back of her hand. Santana stares in disgust at the display and Puck nudges her knee, as if to tell her to behave.
Miss Pillsbury folds her hands neatly over her desk and a glint of a ring on her middle finger catches the light. Puck stares at it, wondering if Mr Schue had already proposed, but he doesn't think much about it. His eyes return to Miss Pillsbury's large, brown ones, and she smiles gently at the two of them, then reaches behind her to select from a wide range of pamphlets that have an array of various 'self-help' messages. Puck wants to laugh at the ones that say, So You Like Touching Yourself, and My Mother is Bipolar, but Miss Pillsbury returns with one for him and one for Santana. Hers says, I Have Problems Staying Pure while his says, Sex-Obsessed! Help!
He actually does laugh then, which startles the guidance counsellor. "Miss P," He says, in his typical, offhanded manner, "I am not sex-obsessed. And Santana," He steals a quick look at the brunette, "isn't at all concerned about staying pure. This is whacked." He gets up to leave when the sight of Will Schuester and his thunderous expression causes him to take a step back.
"Sit down, Puck." Mr. Schue says, firmly, and Puck sends him a glare before sitting down in resignation. This isn't going to be good, because from what he's heard, Mr. Schue isn't the most forgiving when it comes to infidelity, which is technically what Puck's been caught in.
Mr. Schue leans against Miss Pillsbury's table, his arms folded, and the creases in his forehead are becoming more and more pronounced. It makes him look old, life-weary, and every bit his boring, nerdy self. He and Santana are forced to endure Mr. Schue's lectures for an hour, with Miss Pillsbury cutting in every so often to point out something or another. Puck mostly tunes out, instead, he sneaks his hand up Santana's thigh, feeling the contour of shapely leg while her skin breaks out into goosebumps, and it excites him that she knows how enthralling it is to be doing this when they could potentially be caught.
By the time Schue wraps up his little speech, he's half got Santana's panties slid down her thighs and has begun to prod into her wetness, but he retracts his fingers, wipes them on his jeans and bids the two teachers goodbye. He leaves the room with Santana, and outside of the office, she slaps his cheek.
"Don't ever try that again." She says, threateningly, and adjusts her panties from under her skirt while she glares heartily at him.
Puck just gives her one of those annoyingly handsome smiles as he leans forward to whisper, "You'll come back, Santana. You always do."
Her face ignites with fury and he turns on his heel, whistling down the hallway, just as the bell signals seventh period.
--
Hell hath no fury like two cheerleaders scorned.
He's covered, head to toe, in Quinn Fabray's lunch, which was a mess of Meatball Marinara and a side of coleslaw and ranch beans. She's standing, her hands on her hips, with green-blue eyes staring out at him accusingly. He knows he's done something horrifically wrong. But she's not exactly the most accommodating girl, either. At least he did it behind her back.
And just as he tries to explain to her, to reason out the scenario in the locker room, he spots Santana Lopez smirking at him while sipping her chocolate milk through a straw. Beside her is Matt making love-sick eyes at her and Puck's stomach churns.
Before he has time to think, Quinn Fabray stalks angrily from the cafeteria. Some of the glee kids are staring at him, and he's not sure if he likes Kurt's smug look, or if he should be annoyed by Tina's wry smile. It is Mercedes that offers him the most consolation, and she gives him a pointed look at only a diva like her could muster, as if to chide him to follow poor Quinn, you idiot!
He finds himself out in the hallway, some moments later, only to see Quinn crying against a locker, with goddamned Finn Hudson beside her.
Finn sees him first, and he rears up like an angry lion whose territory is threatened. His ears turn red, like they always do when he's severely pissed off about something, and Puck isn't the least bit threatened.
"I just want to talk to her." Puck says, as amiably as he possibly can. But Finn isn't listening.
"Go away, Puck." Finn says, tucking Quinn neatly behind him, "You had your chance. You're not allowed to hurt her anymore."
Puck sneers at him, for after all, he doesn't have much left but his bad-boy snarkiness. "You think you're such a hero. You're really just as bad as me. Stringing along two girls." He sneaks a glance at Quinn who is trembling behind Finn. "Rachel isn't going to like this."
Finn's anger becomes an almost palpable force, and he shoves Puck into the nearest row of grey lockers. "I am nothing like you." He snarls into Puck's ear, and because Finn is taller, though not necessarily stronger, he slams Puck into the metal lockers, knocking the wind out of him and, he is quite sure, bruising his back.
This time, Puck doesn't want to fight back. He's tired. He shoves Finn aside, gives Quinn a brief glance, then hobbles away.
Fuck this.
--
Puck finds himself wandering the halls of McKinley High, even though it is fourth period and he's supposed to be in Spanish with Mr. Schue. But Spanish class is more than he can take right now because both Finn and Quinn are in that class, too, and he'd rather escape the melodrama and tension for a little while.
Surprisingly, he finds himself outside Miss. Pillsbury's office, and she's on her knees with gloves on, cleaning the side of her desk. Her prim little white blouse falls forward, exposing the creamy peach demi-bra that she has on, and Puck's eyes widen in interest. She doesn't seem to notice him as he steps closer, watching as Miss. Pillsbury starts to scrub at the sides, her breasts doing an amazing wiggling action that is starting to give him goosebumps.
She stands up suddenly, and while the view of her chest is yet again concealed, her pencil skirt has ridden up to mid-thigh, exposing the creamy white skin of her slender legs. Puck feels like a goddamn pervert, but he's starting to have all sorts of thoughts about Miss P and those breasts and legs and when she turns around and he sees her bum, all curvy and squeezable encased in that mauve pencil skirt of hers, he decides that he'd very much like a closer look.
He knocks on the door, politely, and as Miss. Pillsbury turns, he tries his best to look troubled while stepping through the door.
"Puck?" She says, in genuine surprise. "How.. how.." she clears her throat. "How lovely to see you."
He wants to snort. It's not a lovely visit at all.
"Hello." He says. "I gotta lot of things on my mind. I was thinking you'd be the right person to talk to."
Miss. P smiles. "Of course. Please, take a seat."
He sits down and watches as she pulls off the gloves and clears away the cleaning liquids.
"So, how can I help you, Puck?" Her eyes gleam with sincerity as she clasps her hands together. He smiles, then leans forward.
"Everyone thinks I'm a screw up." He begins, not really sure how much of this story telling is real. "I can't do relationships. I've screwed it up with Rachel that one time, and then Quinn, who's still goddamned pregnant with my kid, and I can't seem to work it out with her either. And there's Santana, who I'm just casually.. uh... seeing on the side, too. And now she hates my guts." Puck folds his arms across his chest, leaning back into the chair with his legs splayed out, trying to look as off-handedly bad-ass as possible. He doesn't know why he wants to hold this image up, even in the stuffy office of little Miss Prim-and-Proper Pillsbury, but all he knows is, he wants to see more of that peach bra that's making her boobs look delicious and soft.
He knows how to seduce a woman. Old ones, young ones, pregnant ones, they all come flocking to him. It's something about the little smirks he gives, the nice guns, and the mohawk that draws them. He's sure Emma Pillsbury won't be the first or the last to succumb to his charms.
Miss Pillsbury starts to ramble, about things he's not sure he wants to hear about. She talks about morals, about responsibility, and she gestures in quick, ordered motions, which do wonderful things for her chest. Puck finds that he's staring, again, wondering about her pale breasts, wondering what colour her nipples are (he'd wagered brown, because she doesn't seem blonde enough to pull off pink, like Brittany's are) .
His jeans grow tight, and being the jerk that he is to want more, he stretches out his legs and brushes his leg against Miss Pillsbury's own stocking-clad one. She stiffens and draws back instantly, the words of her little speech dying on her lips. An awkward silence dawns upon the room, and Puck summons one of his heart-melting smirks and leans forward.
'I'm sorry." He murmurs, but he isn't sorry at all. Mischief is dancing in his eyes and Miss P's cheeks have taken on a blush that is rather attractive. So, she's going to play the blushing virgin, is she? Well, Puck isn't one to turn down an offer like that.
He stands up slowly, his hands splayed out on her table, until he's face to face with her. She's swallowing, her blush intensifying, and he smells the faint trace of roses, or posies, or something so goddamned girly and arousing.
"What're y-you doing, Noah?" Miss P whispers, her eyes searching his, and then, because he knows she cannot help it, she sneaks a look at his full lips, stretched in that wry little smirk of his, and then comes back up to look his straight in the eyes.
His smirk widens.
"Did you like what you saw in the gym lockers?" He begins, dangerously, and her throat constricts with the effort of a swallow. "Did you like it when I had Santana against those lockers? With my mouth on her breasts? Making her squirm, making her come.." He deliberately trails off, watching Miss P raise her hand to her chest, timidly trying to quell the rising fear in her. He likes that he's infinitely more powerful than her, taller, stronger, more intimidating.
He moves to brush his lips against her one pearl-studded ear, to which she shudders lightly. "Does Mr. Schue do that to you, huh?" A rush of breath from his little red-headed counsellor, and he gathers that Mr Schue hasn't yet pricked this little cherry blossom.
"I could show you," Puck whispers. "I could give you everything that he can't man up to."
He looks down into her blouse and catches sight of her breasts encased in that pale-peach demi-bra again, and he reaches down to finger the first button of her shirt. Miss P gasps, and moves back slightly, but not far enough to discourage any further affection from him. With swift deftness he's picked up over the years, he flicks the first white button open, exposing the light freckles of her chest. She's closing her eyes, and Puck wonders whether she's enjoying this little display of recklessness or if she's trying hard to convince herself of how wrong it is. But until she's figured that little dilemma out, he'll take his liberties, because he's a fucking bad ass and horny.
He presses warm, wet kisses down the side of her neck, and from the way her fingers are clutching the desk tightly, he knows that she likes this, a lot. Her blush has spread to her neck, to the tops of her breasts, and her breathing's gone erratic, and the little breathy whispers are making the back of his neck tingle pleasantly.
He cups her jaw, raising her face to his to peer into those impossibly wide brown eyes, before he swoops down and kisses her.
Miss P squeaks and shuffles in her chair, pressing against his chest with her fingers but he relents, his tongue wetting her dry lips as he strokes them. He feels the moment her resistance breaks, and she relaxes a tad into his embrace. He takes the moment to really kiss her, slanting his face to meet hers at a sensuous angle. They're quite nearly breathless when they break apart, standing still, watching each other. The silence is deafening.
Puck shuts off the impending roar of his conscience that screams just exactly how wrong this whole thing is. He steps back slowly and places his hand on the door, as if to leave, and when he turns to see Miss P staring at him, her blouse unbuttoned and one side of her hair all messy (he must've done that without even knowing), he feels a rush of wanting that can't be explained.
His fingers find the switch that click the door lock in place. He shutters the curtains and draws the blinds.
Miss P hasn't so much as breathed.
Puck gives her a once-over and beckons her with the most alluring smile he can muster. He doesn't think it'll work, but she comes, anyway, taking off her heels first and tucking them into the corner of her table, before she walks over to his side of the room. Her eyes are filled with apprehensive fear and the moment she's within his grasp, he pulls her against his chest, his hands filling themselves full of her soft, round ass. She gasps at the unfamiliar contact, and wriggles in his tight grip, her hips coming right up against his hard cock and he lets out a harsh groan, causing her to stop and look down at their touching bodies.
"This is w-wrong, Puck." She whispers, in that tidy little voice of hers, and it's driving him mad because he wants to hear that exact same prissy little voice scream out his name in the throes of pleasure. He ignores her quip, and hoists her up, eliciting a squeak from her. He guides her legs around his hips with some effort because of her tight skirt, and then slides his hand up her thigh, carefully removing her stockings, then tossing them aside. He touches her legs again, and they're creamy smooth to his fingertips, but that's not all he wants to feel. He reaches further to press his knuckles against her slit and she shudders lightly, gasping. Puck smiles, then turns around so that she's pressed against the door, her hair spilling out in orange waves, as his fingers continue to tease her mercilessly.
Emma grabs the door handle for support as Puck's fingers weave between her folds. It felt so good, like she could scream and shudder and still not be able to express how wonderful it was to have him touch her like that. And then he was kissing her, thrusting his tongue into her mouth wildly, and suddenly, in the midst of all the wet, slick heat, she wishes it was his tongue licking between her thighs.
The image is vivid enough for her to scream out as Puck hits a really, really amazing spot inside her, and she can feel him smiling against her lips. She's close, and she grabs the back of his neck and hoists herself up so that he has enough room to work those magical fingers again.
True enough, she soon joins the ranks of all the hoards of women he's seduced with those fingers, shattering and shuddering in pleasure, in the frenzied haze of lust, and her cheeks burn with heat and she grasps on to him, trembling, feeling nothing but goddamned satisfaction.
She doesn't have time to fathom the thought. Puck has her on the floor within seconds, divesting her of the remaining clothes that she has on- her blouse is ripped off, her skirt loosened, and the non-descript cotton gray panties are, too, tossed aside. She notices that Puck doesn't immediately take off her bra, but rather, he spends some moments admiring her brassier, before reaching out to tangle a strap between his fingers, and then, to finally pull it down and expose her rosy, pink nipple.
She watches as his eyes light up with surprise, before he bends forward to suck the nub into his mouth and gently run his teeth along the tip. Emma arches her back off the floor and grabs the back of his head because she cannot help it, he's making it feel so good that she thinks she might die from the pleasure. She feels his lips move up her neck and to her ear to whisper, "I'd thought they'd be brown."
A giggle escapes her lips before she can think and she clasps a hand to her mouth in horror. It is as if she has crossed a line, somewhere. She may sleep with Puck, get off with him, but god forbid she ever laugh with him. It seems so bourgeois that laughter appears more an intimate sacrilege than sex itself.
Puck doesn't seem to mind, though. His shirt is off within seconds, as are his jeans, and her eyes wander all over his tanned, muscled self, stopping to admire the strength of his body at certain interesting points: the curve of bicep, and flat of his stomach, the v of lean hips, and finally, to his cock that's nestled in a thatch of dark curls.
She wants to touch that, very much.
But she holds back. Instead, she spreads her legs and lets him in. He's bigger than she's accustomed to, which causes her to wince as he stretches her open, but soon it's all pleasure and wet suction and the slap of flesh on flesh and she's starting to spiral again. The floor beneath her is dirty, and she's pretty sure that Puck hasn't used a condom, and when she opens her eyes she catches sight of her skirt lying beside the dustbin. It's just not like her to not care about things like these, but it's so hard to concentrate on her OCD when Puck's moving inside her and all she can think about is how badly she wants to come for him...
There is a knock on the door, twice, a sharp rap. Emma gasps and suddenly, reality floods back to her. She's naked, on the floor, with a student who's impregnated the head cheerleader, goddamn it. She scrambles for her clothes, while Puck looks mostly pissed off while pulling on his boxers, and the minute she slides into her pencil skirt , the door is cranked open.
Fucking hell, is all Puck can think as he sees none other than Will Schuester at the door, holding a single stalk of rose with a big grin on his face.
--
The grin does not last long. In fact, the moment Mr Schue steps in, Puck feels an odd chill down his spine. He doesn't know what's going to happen, and that sort of scares him a little. Mr. Schue's eyes narrow as he catches a glimpse of half-naked Puck, but then, the look in his eyes turns to shock when he notices Emma crouched in the corner, hiding her nakedness behind her pencil skirt. Puck sees the exact moment when realisation dawns upon Mr Schue, and he sees the fist form before it comes out to sock him right in the face. He slams hard into Miss P's desk, his back catching the edge and causing him to groan.
Emma is starting to whimper in the corner, and while Puck's lying on the floor, aching, he sees Mr Schue approach her with deadly intent. He wishes he could help her, because he does feel sort of sorry for all of this, but damn it, he's just a dude, and a fucked up one at that. He just wants to get laid, really.
There are harsh words exchanged, with Mr Schue almost to the point of shouting. He's pretty sure Miss P is crying, and he wants it all to just stop. But it doesn't.
Mr. Schue doesn't report them, but the rumours spread anyway. He now gets odd looks in the hall, and especially disgusted ones from Quinn and Santana, but he doesn't give a shit anymore. He notices Mr. Schue taking careful pains to avoid both him and Miss P, and secretly, he's glad for it. He's tired of confrontation, of getting blamed, of taking responsibility. He just wants everything to slow down.
Miss P hasn't been the same, and neither has Mr Schue. She's been crying a lot lately, with her eyes being red and her voice hoarse, while he's static during practice and purposefully ignores Puck at every given moment. He wants to say he's sorry to Miss P, at least, but he doesn't. He doesn't even want to care anymore. He's been fucking up everyone else's relationships, so why not add hers and Mr Schue's one to his list of extensive faults?
Before he leaves school, he sees Miss Pillsbury in her car, her mascara running, singing along to a song while sobbing her heart out.
He has trouble sleeping later that night.
But he doesn't care. No, not a bit. Not even at all.
A/N:
BAH. PUCK/EMMA needs to happen :]
Title inspired by a song :]
MY. A. LEVELS. ARE. OVER. O.M.G :DDD
I wanted to write something for glee, and when I came across a few glee kink memes over at the lj community, I discovered one that struck me so hard, I was like, YES OMG THAT HAS TO HAPPEN! And then I had a few ideas, and then VOOM it came together so fast.
So with this fic, I busted both my "glee and (somewhat) hardcore smut" fic cherry. HAHAA. Smut wasn't as hard to write as I thought it'd be. I was having problems with writing the story from Puck's view, thinking of words to make the piece fluid and yet Puck-like. I think I ish supppahh phailz in that.
Anyway, I'm super satisfied with this and I can honestly say it's one of my better pieces. I would love writing more for glee, and I've been working on an Artie/Everybody fic. AHAHA. I love Artie. :]
Please leave me a review, and if possible, a prompt for a glee fic! I'd love to hear from you :}
Love,
dwilivia