Hi everyone! So I found this story half finished on my computer and after eating my weight in Easter eggs and hot cross buns I decided to finish it and post it. Let me know what you think! Thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed my stories so far, I really appreciate it. Keep them coming, I love reading them :)
Manda- as always darling this is for you. If it wasn't for you, I never would have started doing this in the first place. So thanks so much- full credit goes to you! Hope you like it
Disclaimer- I don't own Glee. This means, sadly for me, that I don't own Puck and Santana. Fail.
Enjoy- Happy Easter!
Libby xx
It's raining. And she hasn't seen him all day and her head is swimming with thoughts of him. It makes her eyes blurry, makes her heart flutter, makes her head spin. God, if she didn't want him so badly she'd laugh at how fucking pathetic she sounded.
She stalks up to Puck's front door, all wet and dripping and feeling very much like a hot shower. Preferably with Puck in it, but hey she'll take what she can get.
As she gets closer to the door, she notices two Post-Its stuck to the front. The top one is from Jane.
Working night shift tonight. See you tomorrow darling. Be good!
The last comment makes her laugh; Jane knows them all too well. Santana loves that woman. Sure, her son is a complete ass sometimes but Jane has been more of a mother to her than her own ever has, and Santana's not quite sure she will ever be able to thank her enough.
The second (judging from the almost illegible scrawl) is from Puck. She feels almost sorry for the teachers at school having to decipher this, but years of love letters, of secret notes in her locker, of Valentines day cards when she was least expecting it have made her very good at reading his writing, which she secretly prides herself on.
You want me, you have to find me.
God, she thinks, he is so immature. And she's not in the mood for games right now. She just wants to get inside, put on one of Puck's old sweatshirts (she's always loved the smell of him; it's a mixture of cookies and cologne. Innocence and just a hint of desire all jumbled into a scent that makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand up) and crawl into bed. Preferably with Puck in it, but hey, if she can't find him….
The door is locked.
So she trudges around the back of the house to where she knows Jane keeps the spare key. But the fake rock is gone (finally, she thinks, someone has recognised that the stupid thing actually looks nothing like a rock, and practically screams "I'm the keeper of the spare key- I'm not really a rock! Don't be fooled!"), and in its place is another Post-It.
Hahaha. Nice try. Guess again.
She's wet and cold and her hands are starting to go numb. And she's not enjoying this at all. Well, fuck him, she thinks. She runs back to her car, rage darkening her pretty features and curses streaming like a black ribbon from her mouth, fully intending to leave Puck alone with his game and go home. Then she notices a Post-It on her windscreen, pinned under her windscreen wiper and getting more drenched by the second.
Leaving? Come inside babe. I'm waiting.
"The door is locked, you asshole" she mutters to no one in particular. She's tired of this now; she doesn't want to play anymore. The rain is mirroring her mood- all cloudy and dark and not at all wanting to play a round of Find Puck. And she's literally thinking of ways to murder him when she notices another Post-It sticking out from under her car wheel. She thinks this is getting ridiculous, isn't quite sure of the game he is playing (and how exactly he is doing it), but all the same can't help the smile that plays on her lips.
By the way, I've unlocked the door.
And sure enough, when she looks back the door is open. It's like some sort of children's book, the kind she thinks she might read to their kids, if they ever get to that point before she kills him. But she's kind of curious now, the excitement is fizzing in her stomach, making her hands tingle and staining her cheeks cherry red.
But the house is dark and there's no sign of him and she's craving him so badly it's making her feel a little bit sick. As hard as they try, they really can't stand to spend too much time away from each other; it's been that way ever since they were little and charged into each others lives in a whirl of braids, jellybeans and dinosaurs. When she reaches the bedroom door, there's another Post -It, and it makes her laugh and makes her eyes glitter.
You're a bit slow princess. Hurry up!
And for a moment she thinks it's all a joke, that she's been expecting too much, that the balloon her heart has become is about to pop with disappointment. Because he's not here, she can't see him, the room is empty.
Until she sees the tent. The tent made of sheets and chairs, a muddle of fairy lights and cushions that evoke memories so strong she thinks she may have actually gone back to being 6 years old. Back to when they were innocent and they played hide and seek and made up fairy tales under cotton blankets and colourful pillows. Back to when their love was as simple as princes and princesses and rescues from dragons. Back when they knew nothing of broken hearts, of jealousy, of betrayal, where the only things that mattered was the fort not falling down and whether they could have ice cream for dinner. And them being together.
His voice floats out of the tent, pulls Santana out of her memories.
"San, are you going to come in here or what? The picnic won't eat itself!" She can hear laughter in his words, he's excited, wants to show her what he's done.
So she crawls into the tent, right into his arms, inspects his handiwork. It's an explosion of colour. There's pretty patterned cushions, candles (thank goodness none of them are lit. Jane would have a heart attack otherwise, and she's pretty sure Puck knows it). The fairy lights he's somehow strung up outside are creating little fireworks all around them, it's almost like they are in some sort of fantasy cave. It's romantic and magical and it's more than making up for the soggy journey to get here. Santana sees the plate of cupcakes and almost squeals with delight (next to Puck, her weakness is cupcakes, and the clever bastard knows it). She snuggles further into his arms and admires his efforts.
"Surprised?" he asks, pressing his lips to the top of her head. He's knows he's biased, but he thinks she's beautiful. Her hair has gone curly where it's been kissed by the rain, and she's all warm and rosy from the glow of the lights. She smells of rain and perfume, and Puck thinks it's adorable how excited she is by this. He makes a mental note to do it more often.
"Very. I'm even more surprised by your cooking. Didn't know you had it in you, Jamie Oliver." She mocks him, playfully elbows him in the ribs.
"Oh yeah. The cupcakes. I almost burnt my mowhawk off. Would you believe I almost set fire to the kitchen?"
She would. There is a reason Jane keeps a fire extinguisher behind every door in the house, and the number of the fire department and the nearest hospital displayed in almost comically large writing next to the oven, and the microwave, and even the TV. And she isn't it.
"God, I'm lucky to still have you then, huh?" she laughs, cradling his head in her hands and kissing him full on the mouth to show her appreciation. He tastes of sugar, love and rain clouds. They unwind from each other, and he crawls over to the cupcakes, grinning at her, candle flickering mischief in his eyes.
He hands her a cupcake. And planted in the icing on this one there's another Post-It, anchored by a jelly baby. She's got to hand it to him. He's gone all out today, and this is one of the most romantic things he has ever done. And she loves him that much more for it.
I love you.
It's lame and it's soppy but she gets it and she's touched he did it and she can't help but throw herself at him.
She doesn't know whether it's the cupcakes, or the fact that Puck's lips are on her neck and his fingers are tracing her curls, but she's gone all dizzy and breathless and completely lost track of any thought that was spinning around her head. All she can see is him, all she can feel is him, and for a moment it feels like they can stay like this forever.
Until Santana's foot kicks the chair.
And Puck's masterpiece collapses around them. He's lost in a jungle of sheets, light, cushions and her. And she's somehow rolled onto the cupcakes; she's got chocolate on her caramel skin and icing mysteriously decorating her eyelashes.
He laughs as he kisses the cake off her cheek, making her blush and turn the colour of a rosebud. He thinks it's cute, thinks she's gorgeous, knows how lucky he is to have her. She leans into him, wraps her arms around him, lays her head in his shoulder. She's over whelmed, she feels loved, and she thinks he's amazing.
"You've outdone yourself Puckerman" she smiles, eyes sparkling with the simple pleasure of just being near him.
He kisses her nose, gets cupcake on his chin.
"You know it princess."
"Though I think you may need to work on your construction skills. They haven't changed or improved very much. I distinctly remember the tent falling down a lot when you built it."
She's teasing and he knows it but he plays her game anyway.
"Well, I was the only one that built the forts. All you did was look adorable and stand around waiting to be rescued."
"Hey, it worked didn't it?" Santana pouts and laughter bubbles from her lips as he kisses his agreement and wraps his arms around her waist. The fairy lights are fireflies on their bodies as they lie in the lovely mess of their tent, surrounded by cushions and cake and colour. Jumbled with sheets and memories, they knot themselves together as passion takes over and a single thought sings through both their heads.
Best picnic ever.