Noah Puckerman was in an extremely good mood at the moment. He and Santana had managed to stop insulting each other long enough to make out, and she was SOOO letting him get to second base.

They usually used the storage closet for their 2:30 makeout session, but it was being cleaned today. Just as Puck managed to unhook the strap with a small 'pop', and his hands started inching upwards, they were both greated with a squeal of suprise.

They both turned to find Rachel Fucking Berry, standing in the doorway of the empty classroom with her mouth hung open in obvious disgust. Her huge, liquid brown eyes, were staring at Puck in an accusing manner than made him seriously uncomfortable. He shouldn't feel guilty, shit, this was just Berry they were talking about.

Just Berry with her big brown eyes, and her long, soft looking, mahogany curls, and killer body, made of of soft lush curves and smooth angles, just Berry with- Wait! Why the Fuck was Noah Puckerman thinking about Berry's hair

"Puc- Santa- I don't-"

A couple of uncharachteristically inarticulate sounds escaped from the lips of Rachel Berry, that was, before she turned on her heels and ran from the classroom. Puck looked down, and realized with equal measured suprise and disgust, that one of his hands had been reaching out towards the tiny little jew. To do what? Stop her? Fuck that.

Puck sighed and removed his other hand out from under Santana's shirt, ignoring her latin cursing he was sure was directed at the girl who had just run from the room, and tiredly ran his rough, callused hands through the short tuft of hair that shapped the mohawk on top of his.

Santana huffed in frustration, reaching back to hook her bra-strap before exiting the room without even so much as a good bye.

Fuck it.

Nothing killed the mood like a nosy Rachel Berry.

It was safe to say that glee class was more awkard today than usual. Puck sat in his usual seat, right behind Berry, and she was acutely aware of his gaze on the top of her head.

Usually, Puck just zoned out when he wasn't performing and stared at Berry's ass, which was always perfectly fitted a myriad of pathetically tiny skirts.

But today he was antsy.

He didn't know why, because it wasn't like everbody didn't know about him and Santant. They were fuck buddies, so it shouldn't be a big deal. Then again, everything with Berry was a big deal.

But for some reason, this thing with Berry was getting under his skin, and Puck didn't like that. Not one bit.

Suprisingly, there was very little singing in class today, and Mr. Schu let them out early. It was probably because he wanted to go sit in Mrs. Pillsbury's office and pretend to need help with something even though the whole class knew they were head over heels for each other.

Today, just as usual, Puck was outta there the second the bell rang. He had made it out to his car when he realized that he had left his backpack in the choir room. With an impatient sigh, and something akin to a growl, Puck turned and jogged back into the, now almost empty, school.

Back to the choir room, he grabbed his bag, and noticed a small pink one sitting off to the side. The monogrammed bag was obviously some designer shit, with gold stars woven all over the front, and the pink material had the initials "R. B." sewn on the front with some fancy swirly letters, so he assummed it must be Rachels.

Puck briefly considered taking it home and bringing it to her the next day, and deciding it would be the right thing to do, he slung it over his shoulder with his own bad and began to walk towards the door, slower this time, thinking over what a good Jew he was being. After all, he was doing it because he and Rachel were the only two smokin hot Jews in school, they had to stick together. And maybe if he helped her with her bag, she wouldn't tell anyone what she had seen earlier that day and get him and San in trouble...again. (it wasn't exactly the first time they had been caught in an umm *mental cough* compromizing position)

As Puck exited the room, pink bag in tow, he ran right smack into one Rachel Berry. Ad would be expected, Puck's massive form carried much more momentum than her tiny frame, and she tilted backwards dangerously, arm's flailing in a very un-berry-like manner, as if she was about to fall, and Puck grabbed her shoulders to steady her, not counting on just how close that would bring her body to his.

Her eyes met his with righteous indignation.

"Noah Puckerman! What the heck are you doing with my bag?"

Heck?

The last time Puck had heard the word 'heck' he had been in 6th grade, ya know, before everyone had grown balls. But, if he had to pick one person at McKinley whose balls still hadn't dropped, it'd be Rachel Berry, despite all Santana's man-hand's comments. He quickly glanced down at her hands, surmising that they were nearly identical to his own in tone, both of them being Jewish and all, and noted that they were, in fact, quite small and petite.

Everything about her was small and petite actually, and he couldn't help but find it cute that she still couldn't (or wouldn't) cuss. Wait a minute! Did he just find something about Rachel Berry cute? He had to get out of here.

"You left it. I was gonna bring it to you tomorrow."

His voice was gruff, low, he was just trying to get out of here before God Forbid, he found something else about Rachel Berry cute.

She huffed.

Dammit, that was fucking cute.

Conceeding his point.

"Fine. Thank you Noah."

She held out her hand with an expectant look in her eye. How was it that when she said his real name, Noah, it didn't make his skin crawl with the unwanted familiarty that was caused when other girls he was fucking...or even just trying to fuck... would call him by it?

He decided that a little further investigation on this topic wouldn't be a bad idea...but he had to make sure she'd keep her mouth shut first, so he glanced down at her outstreched hand and upturned palm, then said,

"Nuh uh, hold on a second."

Her eyes tightened, and she was looking less friendly by the second, not that she and Noah were ever particularly friendly in the first place. So She asked,

"What do you want?"

He grinned lecherously, his first response that that particular question comming out of other mouths. Rachel, however, didn't take his bullshit. She raised one, perfectly manicured eyebrow with a look that was akin to amusement. He gave up.

"Ok fine. I want you not to tell anyone what you saw today."

She cocked her head to the side innocently, face purpously blank. Puck sighed. Was she really gonna make him spell it out for her?

One more look at her oh so innocent expression.

Yep, she was.

"About Santana and me making out...OK?"

She just flipped her hair and sighed, obviously happy to be back in charge of the situation...or so she thought.

"Of course Noah. It's none of my business if you want to waste your time getting in trouble and become a loser who does nothing with his life."

Her tone was flip. But Pucks fists were instantly clenched, and before Rachel could so much as blink, Puck had pushed her up against the side of a locker and was vehemently growling inches from her face.

"Listen good Berry."

His voice was a low, primal growl, that (when used in other situations) had the panty dropping power of Brad Pitt on a good day.

"The only reason I ever let Santana call me a loser was because we were fucking. You don't get that priviledge!"

He practically spit the words, and was beyond suprised to see that she wasn't cowering in fear, in fact, quite the opposite. Her liquid brown eyes were on fire, and practically seared him as she pushed foward, amber specks shooting out like the licks of flames. His hands were on her hips he realized, and the soft, lush, curves strained against his grip as she brought her face dangerously close to his, not realizing the effect she could have on his body by pressing against him exactly like she was.

"You listen to me Noah."

Again with the Noah!

"The reason Santana called you a loser is becuase all she knows you for is a sexual plaything."

He struggled to ignore just how fucking hot it was that Berry had just said the word sexual...and called him a plaything.

"I called you a loser because I see how much talent and passion you have. I see you sing in class, and it gives me goosebumps! But you don't even act like you care!"

Her voice was reaching that dangerous, high pitched midgit level that only Rachel Berry could exucute perfectly, and the words comming out of her mouth were so foreign that all Puck could do was stand still and listen...at least at the moment.

"She calls you a loser because she doesn't think you can do anything. And I call you one because you could do so much, and you waste it all on being a rebel and protecting your badass image."

By now Puck and Rachel were both breathing heavily,but for very different reasons, and Puck didn't even try to ignore the fact that her soft breasts were pushed up against his chest. They distracted from the sharp sting of her words.

"You could be anything you wanted Noah Puckerman, and you don't even try."

Rachel's dark chocolate, amber speckled eyes had reached their fiery peak, and her voice was nearly raw with the passion of the words she had held inside for so long. There was no denying the fact that she had felt dissapointed, and maybe even a little hurt, when she saw Puck and Santana earlier, because if she was being honest, she had foolishly expected more from him.

In that second, it was like someone had taken Puck's whole world and turned it inside out. 5 minutes ago, he would have looked at Rachel Berry and scoffed at the self obsessed drama queen who thought she was above everyone else. The righteous little ice princess who wouldn't even let him get to second base back when they dated for a week, but he had been totally, and completely, wrong.

The fiery, brown eyed, little spit fire in front of him wasn't Rachel Berry. She was someone completely different.

Before his brain recognized and approved of his body's action, Noah had already shoved Rachel back further against the locker, and descended upon those full, moist lips.

A small sound of suprise escaped her mouth, before Rachel relented to Puck's expert kissing tecnique. He didn't even bother with trying to coax her tongue out of her mouth, before he was already in hers. Licking, nipping, tasting, exploring.

This was nothing like their other kisses. She had been removed, distant. She had been imagining Finn. Right here and now, she couldn't have thought of another guy if she had tried. Much less the dopey gentle giant that acted as the football team's cliche'd quarterback.

Puck's hand roaved upwards, grazing her breast. Rachel moaned into his mouth. Her hands reached around him, scratching his back.

This was the number one, most erotic kiss Puck had ever experienced. Rachel seemed to be straining to reach his mouth, which made sense since she was so short. Puck reached down to her thigh and heard her soft moan, before hooking her legs around his hips and pressing her further back. Puck realized he had gone rock hard, and Rachel seemed to notice this about the same time as him.

She tried pulling back, but she was already pressed tightly up against the locker, legs around his waist, there was no escape. One of his hands held her face, fisted in her thick, silky, chestnut locks. The other was roaming continually from her hips, to her soft glorious ass, back up to her breast.

Suddenly, without much warning, her fist clipped him in the jaw as she bit down on his bottom lip.

He Roared with suprise, the painfully loud sound echoing off the walls and down the hallways of the not quite yet empty school, and startling more than one teacher left idling in their classrooms. He lunged back, unsteady on his feet.

Rachel probably would have fallen as well, due to her current weakened (yes by Puck's kisses) physical state, and general absense of mind, if it wasn't, however, for all those dance classes she had taken for years, honing her balance perfectly for her inevitable career in broadway.

They were about 3 feet apart now. Both staring at the other with eyes widened by shock. Puck raised his hand to his lip, and felt the warm, wet, liquid that told him she had broken skin. He knew he should be mad, but he looked over at her, with her tousled hair, red, swolen mouth, and anxious liquid eyes, and could feel nothing but an animalistic, possessive, attraction.

Before he could say anything, think anything, or even breath really, Rachel Berry was off, running down the hall at an impressive speed.

He looked down and saw the little pink bag still on the floor.

She had left that Damn Pink Bag.

He could give it to her tomorrow. Maybe he could talk to her then, ask her about what just happened. He wanted to see her again, wanted to touch her again, wanted to...

Oh shit! He wanted Rachel Berry.