Title: And the Puck rolls down the ice
Characters: Puck/Rachel, various cast members, and a brief appearance by Papa Puckerman
Word Count: just under 5K
Summary: AU. Noah "Puck" Puckerman discovered hockey when he was six years old, twenty years later it is his whole life.
Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, Ryan Murphy and Co. do. No copyright infringement intended.
AN: Too many people to thank (they know who they are). Yes, we Canadians (for the most part) love our hockey. So why not put my favourite things together in an epic monstrosity.
Feedback is always appreciated.
Noah Puckerman is six years old the first time he tries on hockey skates. The second his dad finishes pulling the laces hard he actually thinks it feels really weird and kind of bad. It hurts a lot more than his regular shoes with the Velcro on them. But his dad is going to skate with him, so he smiles. His mom is at home with the baby, stupid Sarah. Besides, having free time with his dad is so rare, he's going to love every minute of it even if his feet fall off.
He's wearing his favourite sweater and a pair of mittens that his mom made him bring (he told her that he didn't need them but she wouldn't listen. She always treats him like such a baby).
His dad isn't wearing any gloves. Noah wants to leave his pair on the bench somewhere but he knows that his mom will be really mad if he comes home without them.
"You ready, buddy?"
He can't do anything but look and nod at his dad as their hands link and they walk over the black rubber that bounces a bit with each step (which should be hard, but it isn't).
His dad steps onto the ice first, the skates slide a bit underneath him, and yeah, maybe Noah's a little bit afraid because it's ice and ice is slippery (like this one time when he accidentally left the ice cubes from his drink on the floor then his dad slipped and fell. His dad said some bad words that day). Noah really doesn't want to fall.
He sucks in a deep breath and steps out onto the ice holding on to his dad's hand. He walks along, picking up his feet, keeping close to the boards.
"Noah, try to glide. Leave your feet on the ice and push with one foot, then the other." His dad turns around and skates backwards. Noah thinks that one day he'd like to be able to do that.
So he tries, sliding one foot along the ice then the other. Just as he's beginning to smile and get a rhythm he hits a rut in the ice and falls, hitting his knees hard. He doesn't cry though, because only babies cry and he's not a baby anymore. But maybe his eyes sting a little bit.
His dad picks him up, whispering nice things into his ear – "You did a great job, buddy. You fell and you didn't even cry. I'm really proud of you." - and they try again, sliding along together.
By the end of the free hour at the local rink, Noah Puckerman knows that he loves skating. He sits on the bleachers as his dad removes his skates, slowly pulling at the ties until he can move his toes again.
A group of older boys glide out onto the ice in baggie shirts with helmets and funny sticks. They're moving a small black thing around and around. He feels one skate come off but keeps watching the boys. They set out these weird net things, and Noah is absolutely fascinated.
"Dad, what's that?" He pulls on his dad's sleeve.
"It's just a hockey game, Noah."
"Hockey." He watches as one of the boys slaps the puck up high into the net and raises his arms (it's kind of like when his dad watches football and those guys get the ball past the line and they start to dance, only different).
He thinks he likes it. Maybe he should try out this hockey thing.
Twenty years later, he still feels that thrill whenever he laces up his own skates, though he doesn't think about his dad anymore (bastard left them when Puck was nine with no warning).
He's playing professionally in the league he always wanted to. It's his career (not just a job, but a calling).
He loves going to practice in the mornings. Coach is normally pretty tough on them, making them do sprints and drills and whatever. Doesn't change the fact that the Ohio Titans haven't won a game all season.
He plays along with some stand-up guys. Hudson isn't just his captain, but also his best friend. They room together on road trips. Rutherford, Chang, and Hummel are pretty great, too. Good friends to have in a tight spot (which he finds himself in fairly frequently). They've all been playing together for four years now, so they're a cohesive unit.
If only they could get the rest of the team to improve. They all seem to spend more time taking penalties than anything else.
Which is maybe why the Ohio Titans publicly announce on the 30th of September, three weeks before their season opener, that they have new ownership.
It isn't until after practice, where Coach Tanaka has casually mentioned the shift to the team as a whole, that the shit really hits the fan.
"I heard that it was some chick." Matt is always the most soft spoken guy on the team, but even he seems angry at this news. The team hadn't known that ownership was up for sale. Would the new owner be making changes in the line up? Dicking around with the team?
"I saw her and she looks like a fucking fifteen year old," Dave Karovski, their goalie, said.
"What the fuck would a chick know about hockey, Puck?" The nickname "Puck" had been given to him sometime in junior high school and it had stuck.
"Normally nothing, dude, but that's no fucking surprise. Chicks like that are normally only interested in one thing: money. It's fucking sick. She's probably just some snotty nosed cunt who couldn't possibly care at all about the team or the game. Probably looking for some quickie investment or some shit. I'm sure she'll stay out of our hair."
At least he really hopes so.
After practice the next day, Tanaka tells Puck the new owner wants to speak to him, so after he showers and redresses he takes the elevator up to the 500 level offices.
The glass door still has the prior owner's name on it, printed in that peeling paint that's supposed to stay forever, but is really easy to take off with a putty knife. He wonders why she hasn't taken care of that already.
He knocks politely even though she must be expecting him and enters when she calls out for him to come in.
The first thought that occurs to him when he walks into the office is that she looks nothing like a fifteen year old. He would know, his sister was one just a few years ago. And Sarah sure as shit did not look like this chick. Glossy brown hair, pulled back halfway, dark brown eyes that seemed to take up the half of her face left over from that wide mouth of hers, slim shoulders, small boobs (kind of a downer, but not a deal breaker by any means), a white shirt meeting a black skirt at a slender waist.
She rises from her desk and stretches out a hand motioning to the chair in front of it (he sees just a hint of thigh underneath the painfully short skirt of her suit). He sits down, leaning back in the soft chair and folding his hands in his lap.
"Mr. Puckerman, I'm sure you can perfectly comprehend why I've requested your presence here today." She's hot as fuck, with a voice to match, but why does she talk like a Rhodes Scholar? Why can't she just talk like a normal human being?
"No, actually I have no idea why you wanted me to come in." He wants nothing more than to be able to take in that tight little body of hers. She might cover it up with a blouse and jacket but he's seen what's under that table and it's a short little pencil skirt (the only reason he knows that it's called a pencil skirt is 'cause he grew up with two chicks in the house. He was bound to pick up some shit from them).
"I'm absolutely aware, Mr. Puckerman, that you don't believe I have either the knowledge base or the resolve to stay with this team. I understand that you think me a simpleton, and a quack, and a slew of other derogatory things, one of which I believe was a 'snotty nosed cunt who couldn't possibly care at all about the great game of hockey or my team.' Did I get that right?" She folds her hands on the desk like she's nervous, but he knows that she's not. She knows exactly what she's doing and how she's doing it and why. And fuck, she's totally going to kick him off the team, isn't she? Because yeah, he said that shit, but it's just locker room talk (mostly).
Whatever anyone else may say about Puck, he is not a pussy, and he's not a liar. So he uses silence to confirm her story. He does, however, raise an eyebrow.
"In the future I would ask that you kindly keep you opinions of me to yourself, or at the very least out of my locker room. You are on my team and, as such, are my property for as long as I decide to keep you. I can trade you at any time. I can send you to our farm team in Bumfuck, Nebraska. I can ruin your life. Is that plain enough for you, Mr. Puckerman?"
And all he can think is how fucking hot she is when she's all riled up (when her eyes flicker over him) and how much he'd like to watch her free fall. Naked, of course, and on his cock, or his mouth, or his fingers. Fuck if he's not hard, and it's only partly because he can totally dig when the chick takes charge.
But on the other hand this chick is trying to tell him to shut up and put up. Basically calling him out on his shit and who the fuck does she think she is? Oh, yeah. The new owner. The fucking hot new owner.
"Sure, babe. It's clear," he says as his eyes run blatantly over her body. She stands up from her chair and he takes in the yards of leg she shows because of the belt she wears as a skirt, the tight (tight, tight) blouse she wears buttoned up just past the upper edge of her boobs (he knows it's supposed to be modest but it's not really). The V of the neckline is not deep and along her collarbone rests a simple silver chain with a small Star of David. His gaze trails up even further, past the pin straight shiny brown hair, to a soft chin, up to full, fuck me lips (that would look amazing painted red and sliding over his cock leaving oil-based rings around him as she swallows – oh fuck). Over a nose that is maybe too big to keep her from being gorgeous or even beautiful, but it gives her an edge. Her eyes are outlined in kohl, smudged enough to look sexy (like she just woke up from being thoroughly fucked and didn't have time to fix herself properly).
"Mr. Puckerman." Damn, he likes the way she says his name, like it's got a melody. "I am not in the habit of being ogled by employees, so kindly desist. You are my player and, as such, our relationship will be kept strictly asexual, platonic, and business-like." She steps around the desk with those legs ending in those towering heels that only midgets wear to try and make them seem normal sized or whatever. "You will not make any advances towards me and I will not have to file a complaint of harassment with the board."
A girl like that, one who requires effort and skill and class (who might seem like a challenge, a thrilling sexual conquest), isn't worth the time. He's practically drowning in willing pussy. So why waste the energy since she clearly cannot appreciate the wonder of the Puckerone.
"Fair enough, Ms- ?" His voice trails off because she never really did introduce herself though he knows her name perfectly well.
"Berry," she says putting out a hand for him to grab and shake (her handshake is firmer than he'd anticipated but whatever, she's still just a chick), "Rachel Berry."
"You do write the checks, after all." He winks at her and gives her a final appraisal before walking to the door.
"Mr. Puckerman?"
"Yeah, babe?" He turns to look at her and he's not entirely prepared for what he finds – her small body propped up on the edge of her desks, legs crossed primly (yeah right!) in front of her, hands on either side of her body, leaning back ever so slightly. If her legs were open he'd totally bury his tongue inside her.
And while he's busy fantasizing about how good she would taste to him, she's giving her retort.
"Prepare for some changes. The status quo is dead." She turns around, officially dismissing him.
The rink is locked the next morning, with a note "Practice cancelled" on the door.
He starts the free day at the gym with Finn. After doing a bit of cardio and some weights they head over to his apartment to play X-Box, 'cause what guy in his right mind would spend a free day doing anything else?
Dinner is pizza and beer with the boys and then some poker.
He hardly has time at all to think about the new hottie behind the owner's desk.
Hardly.
Except that after the guys leave (Finn complaining that his girlfriend is waiting for him at home, fresh off the afternoon shift at the hospital; Matt and Mike putting in that their wives are waiting at the bar) and he's alone with his hand, he imagines that it's hers.
When he comes, it's hard and with her name on his lips and her body in his mind.
The first thing he notices when he parks his truck at practice the next day is that Coach's car isn't in the lot.
There is, however, a nice looking red Hummer there.
The locker room is unnaturally tense. The guys don't talk as they put on their pads and lace their skates before walking out to the ice.
When he steps out he understands why.
"Listen up you mindless mouth-breathing morons, your Coach Tanaka has taken a permanent sabbatical called 'termination papers.' You call me Coach now. That, or Queen Sylvester. I'm here to turn you all from the losers you are into the winners I need. I want a damn hovercraft and you are going to help me get it. Now skate, you mindless pussies. One thousand laps of the rink."
She's tall, pushing six feet, so she is at eye level for most of the guys save Hudson. Her hair is cropped and blonde, her eyes are a bright blue. She might be pretty if she didn't so obviously bat for the other team. Well, technically he guesses they bat for the same team, 'cept she's a woman(dinosaur/monster hybrid) going after women and he's a dude so it's not really the same at all. Not that he's got a problem with that. Hell, he and Hummel get along just great, even in the showers when the kid is looking him up and sighing and shit. He knows that he's a hot commodity, so what if the token gay guy on the team wants to check him out? He's made it abundantly clear that he is a women-only kind of dude, so they're totally cool.
"What are you waiting for? Or should I make it two thousand laps just to make it easy on you?"
He doesn't understand what the fuck is going on, even as Rachel Berry's ominous words run through his head talking about a fucking status quo or something. What did that even mean anyway?
She works them hard that day.
And not in the good way.
Puck never thought he would ever say that he missed Tanaka, but he does.
He steps into the shower never thinking anything when the locker room door opens as he lathers his soap.
"You're soft. Useless. If you thought today's practice was hard, please walk your whiny ass out of my locker room because you belong to me now, and if you're too chicken-shit to take this tea party you're not fit to be on my squad. At age one I had mastered the ancient art of water torture. By the age of five I could demonstrate ten different ways to kill someone with a toothpick as my only weapon. Eleven saw me joining the armed forces and fighting the war in Iraq, the first time around. Twenty saw me back as a sniper. Imagine what I'm capable of today."
Coach Sylvester doesn't seem to care that half of her players are naked or mostly naked so he just continues to shower while listening to her speech. He thinks is supposed to be inspiring, but he's not sure.
"If you thought this pitiful charade of a practice was hard, try swimming through an ocean squall, that's hard. Practice tomorrow at 5. If you're going to be late, don't bother coming at all. We start the cuts next week and you'll save my printer some ink."
With that she stomps out of the room.
He concentrates on rinsing the sweat off his body rather than on Coach Sylvester's rant. She's already tougher than Tanaka ever was, even when he was raging mad.
He doesn't think about it anymore until he steps out of the shower with a towel wrapped loosely around his hips and the locker room talk begins.
"Who the fuck does she think she is?"
"What's her problem?"
"Why'd they fire Coach?"
"I don't think that lesbo has ever played hockey before. What would she know about coaching it?"
His pants are on and buttoned before Finn steps in to stop the trash talking.
"Let's give her a chance, guys. She seems really dedicated and maybe we'll start to win. You remember what that was like right?"
That shuts them up quick.
When he leaves, it's with some questions of his own, but he's smart enough to keep his mouth shut. Sylvester is their coach now, Tanaka is gone. It's not like they were fucking BFFs of anything anyway. In Puck's humble opinion, the other guys should just suck it up.
"Hudson! Puckerman!" Coach Sylvester yells at him from across the ice a week later. The practices haven't gotten any easier. In fact, Sylvester's demands have become even more insane since that first one. The locker room bitching has increased, too. They're all acting like little whiny five year olds and he's fucking sick of it.
He skates over to her out of breath, waiting for Finn to join them before saying, "Yeah, Coach?"
"What do you think you're doing?"
"Running drills, Coach," Hudson says.
"Really? Because from what I could determine you and your pathetic team of doughboys were having a little Mexican fiesta over there. I want you to run those drills again, and this time I want you to run them hard." She yells at him, and yeah, he's a little bit scared ('cause fuck, Sylvester is a scary bitch when she wants to be, which is all the fucking time).
As they're skating away, he speaks quietly to Finn. "Dude, she's fucking insane."
"Yeah, but does it work for her?"
Puck nods because he really does believe that Sylvester is going to shake things up in a good way. So he rushes over to his group and they run them again. Faster this time and harder.
It's not until practice ends almost two hours later that he looks into the stands and sees Rachel Berry, wearing pants this time. Still looking hot as ever. And even though his body is tired, seeing her gives him a boost, especially when her eyes lock with his and she shudders out a breath before licking her lips.
When he leaves the locker room that day, it's with some extra swagger to his step.
The thing is, even with all of Sylvester's crazy, the team has actually improved and by the time their first game rolls around they actually manage to score some goals. Maybe they don't win just yet, but they score, which is better than nothing.
After the game he sees Rachel stalking the tunnel between the locker room and the ice.
He's already halfway to her before she whispers his name.
"Yeah, babe." He steps right up in front of her, pressing her into the wall without lifting a finger. Her lips are a shiny pink colour tonight, her hair is slightly curled and messy, but the suit remains proper. He does lift a finger then, dragging it along her fabric covered arm. Up, then down, then back up again, never once taking his eyes off her lips because he still can't get the image of her swallowing hard around his cock out of his head, and even more than that he wants to know what she tastes like and if she wears the sticky kind of lip gloss or the slippery kind.
"You played well tonight." Hell yeah, he had.
He finally looks into her eyes, to see her watching him with interest.
"But there's still room for improvement. I'll see you at tomorrow's practice," she says as she pushes past him and walks down the hallway.
She leaves him standing there with his fingers suspended in mid-air. And he just knows that he has to have her.
"Alright, you pathetic mouth-breathers, you're still crap out there on the ice." They'd won a game last week, the first since early last season, but Sylvester takes insane pleasure in riding them hard (in a completely non-sexual context). "So, next week we will be extending practice by two hours, every day."
The team would groan, but they know that only makes Sue Sylvester even meaner and more determined, so her resolution is met with silence. Just a long look between him and Finn.
The next day every player shows up and no one complains when Sue sticks to her guns and keeps them running drills and plays until midway through the afternoon.
He sees Rachel in the stands every day but he never finds her in the tunnel waiting for him.
December's game schedule allows for Puck to spend almost a week at home in Lima with his mom and sister. He's a bit late for Hanukkah, but Sarah and his mom forgive him and exchange gifts anyway.
Mid-way through the break he invites Finn, Matt and Mike over for an X-Box showdown.
The evening is filled with Halo. He fucking laughs each time he blows some fucking alien's head wide open. "Die, motherfucker, die," Finn screams at the T.V.
Mike and Matt mostly exchange quiet high fives each time they shoot at the foreign bodies, though Puck thinks Matt gets satisfaction from seeing the blood spatter on the grass, or the beach, or the concrete. Puck does too, so he's in no position to judge.
He hardly thinks of Rachel Berry at all (though he doesn't hook up either).
The Titans start to win in earnest after the break. Which, of course, is when things change.
They're playing Michigan on a Thursday night at the arena and it's a physical game. Guys have been pounded into the boards all night, but that doesn't really faze Puck. He's a physical player so he doesn't make any changes to his game.
But Hudson does. He's been hitting and checking hard all game. But this jerk, 42, comes and hits him from behind into the boards. Hudson goes down, but there's no call (fucking refs). Thank God Karovski is on his game; he keeps the puck out of the net and stops the play. Hudson fucking limps off the ice, and goes straight into the dressing room with Sylvester's blessing.
Suddenly Coach is right behind Puck's helmet, hitting it lightly saying, "Go get him," like she's unleashing a caged animal and giving him leave to hunt and kill. Finn's his boy and more than that, he's the captain, and you can't just hit the captain and expect to get away with it. So Puck waits on the ice until 42 shows up again.
When the guy gets the puck, Puckerman does what he does best. He pushes the guy hard and the douche retaliates.
Before he really internalizes what's going on (because, face it, fighting is like breathing to Puck), both players' gloves and helmets are skidding along the ice somewhere.
Puck just keeps hitting, and the guy keeps hitting back.
He doesn't know what eventually makes him stop. If it's someone's arms pulling him off, or someone yelling at him. He looks down at his hands, his knuckles are covered in lacerations. Then he looks at the ice which has a weird sort of red splatter pattern on it. His blood, and the douchebag's.
He's kicked out of the game, but he doesn't really care because the look on Sylvester's face is one of pride. He swears he hears her yell "Good job, Puckerman," to him before he goes down the tunnel to the locker room.
"Puck, what happened, dude?" Finn is all concerned when Puck walks into the locker room with three minutes gone in the third period.
"I got into a bit of a scuffle," he responds as one of the trainers, Kirk (yes, like Captain Kirk – that dude was badass), starts to clean and bandage the cut he feels stinging over his eye. "I'm done for the game."
"Why the hell would you do that, dude? You're supposed to lead the team when I'm not there, and I'm clearly not able to right now and you're down here with me. Who is left out there?" It sounds almost like Finn is pissed at him. Pissed that he fucking defended Finn's C from those assholes.
"They can't go after you and expect to get away with it," he says after a few minutes of silent contemplation.
It's maybe the most serious talk they've ever had during a game. Ever. And they've played together for ten years, since they were both sophomores.
"Okay Hudson, time to go." Finn slides off the chair and walks in his skates to the door.
"Thanks," Finn tells Puck as he exits to go and see the on-call doctor.
"Yeah, whatever, man." He smiles back at his friend until the door closes behind him.
Berry walks through the locker room door maybe five minutes after Finn leaves. She walks right up to Kirk, doesn't say a fucking thing to Puck.
They're speaking in low tones so he can't really hear what they're talking about.
She doesn't say a word to him. Not a single one, from the time she enters to the time she leaves two minutes later. She does, however, look at him and for the first time since he's entered the locker room, he feels sick. The way she's looking at him almost makes him feel ashamed. Almost.
She nods her head sharply at him and leaves.
He just hopes this fight hasn't fucked things up for him.