Even Angels Have Their Wicked Schemes
She isn't really drunk when she sleeps with Puck. That is just a lie she makes up when she starts throwing up in the morning and finally takes a pregnancy test, watching the two tiny lines appear- two lines that have no clue that they are ruining her life. She is a bit tipsy, maybe, but not fully-fledged drunk like Santana is, the brunette up-chucking the meagre contents of her stomach into the blooming white roses of Tony Matheson's mother's carefully tended garden, the vomit staining metallic blue against the white petals of the roses. She is balancing on the thin tightrope between sober and drunk, tip-toeing across the rope completely unsure of where she should end up. One slip-up and she can end up remembering nothing of the evening; another slip and she can end up more upset than she already is.
And sure, she does feel fat that day, the result of her hormones raging the days after she ends her period, the chemicals in her body trying to settle back down into happy content. It doesn't help that her mother drags out the photos of Frannie as soon as she comes home from school that afternoon, sighing with excitement over how beautiful her older sister is, and how easy it will be for her to win the title of 'Miss Ohio' at the competition next weekend. She could bag a prince, fill her fingers with glittering jewels, starve herself until she is rail-thin, pray piously every Sunday, dedicate her time to helping others, but she can never ever match up to Frannie. Her mother lets out a reluctant sigh as she packs the photo album away, the spine almost splitting underneath the weight of all of the photographs, and murmurs to Quinn softly that she should be more like her sister. More attractive, more intelligent, more devout, more caring, more slim! It is true what they say; the second child does live in the shadow of the first.
And Finn really doesn't seem eager to listen to her whinge about her parents and their over-coming mass of expectations that they thrust at her every day like they should do love, so she finds herself slugging down wine cooler after wine cooler, the alcohol burning the tender taste-buds on the tip of her tongue and the back of her throat. Finn finds his way over to his football buddies, and becomes trapped in their masses, wide-eyed and fidgeting as they discuss numerous plays. She doesn't bother to help him escape, he deserves to suffer.
Puck is slightly buzzed, he says so himself as he encounters her in the crowded backyard that has even her feeling slightly claustrophobic, his constants and vowels slurring into one gigantic mass of words. She stares up at him, green eyes transfixed, and has to wonder why she has never given him a second look. Sure, Finn is the star of the football team, the quarterback, and he is respected by many, but Noah Puckerman is jaw-dropping, eye-popping hot. He is like a Roman god, carefully chiselled from a slab of marble to form a perfect statue, all lean muscle and sculpted stomach- in comparison to Finn's gangly limbs and somewhat dopey appearance. And that isn't just the alcohol talking... well maybe slightly. He may not have the power on the football squad that Finn possess, but he has his own business and he is so, so, so willing to listen to her complaints about her family and screw it all, that means something right now.
And Puck is a competent lover, she has heard so herself from the numerous girls he has bedded; more so from Brittany and Santana who are more than happy to over-share with her on their many, many, many sexual encounters. Not that she means to have sex with him, not right then and there (that thought hasn't even entered her mind as of yet), but it is nice to know that little tid-bit of information, to store it away for future reference. She is scared more than anything that when the time comes for them to have sex, Finn won't know how to do it, his fingers will fumble and beads of sweat will break out on his forehead. She needs, no craves, the confidence that when she does stumble down that path, she will be safe in the knowledge that at least one of them knows what they are doing.
Puck leads her to a recent vacated two-seater couch in Tony's family room, brushing nacho-cheese chip crumbs off of the seat for her before she sits down, an action she takes delight in seeing. Finn doesn't even bother to open a freaking car door for her when they go out, he just buckles himself in, hands firmly at nine and three on the steering wheel, and blinks stupidly at her surprised and still figure outside of the passenger side until she sighs reluctantly and lets herself in, too exasperated by his lack of chivalry to even complain about it. All she wants is to have a guy who will delight in treating her like she is a lady from one of those old black-and-white movies where everything turns out okay in the end and the romance between a man and woman is kept firmly to a simple peck. Quinn knows that she can train Finn up to be like one of those men, but does she really have to? She doesn't want to have to treat him like an unruly puppy dog, reining him in at every single sign of misbehaviour.
She expels a lung-full of air tiredly, her right index finger rubbing out the furrows that have settled in her forehead, the other hand nursing a half-empty wine cooler that she occasionally sips from. The chatter from the crowded room slowly gets to her, and she rests her head more and more on Puck's shoulder, delighting in the slow movements of his chest as he engages in the seemingly simple but actually complicated act of respiration. She has learnt all about the human body systems in last few weeks of Science class and she slowly brings all of the facts to the front of her mind (however befuddling they may be at the start), trying to envision all of the parts of the human body working right now in Puck's spectacular body. The heart pumping blood around the body, the lungs accepting and expelling air, the digestive system slowly digesting his dinner, his kidneys working overtime to process the large amount of alcohol he has consumed over the last few hours. It is almost magical, the human body, if not sort of disgusting.
Puck's right arm settles around her shoulder, pulling her closer to him, and he whispers softly in her ear, "Do you want to go somewhere quieter? I can snatch a pack of wine coolers from Tony's fridge, and we could just..." he shrugs softly, his words trailing off. The action forces her head off of his warm shoulder and she settles back into an upright position, still right next to him on the couch. The skin of her lower thigh is pressed flush against the rough denim of his jeans, and she stares at him, eyes unblinking. "...Y'know, talk or something." He holds the palms of his hands out in front of him, shaking his head as he interprets her silence as confusion, and murmurs, "Not that we have to do anything, you're Finn's girl and all and that's just wrong."
Quinn laughs quietly, before half-shrugging in acceptance and pushing herself off of the couch. She misses his body head instantly and shivers in response to the sudden cold, pulling her thin crocheted white cardigan closer to her chest, the half-empty wine cooler still dangling from her hand, the liquid swishing. She smiles down coyly at Puck, trying to mirror Santana's seductive measures that she has seen so many times, tugging the corner of her lower lip into her mouth and biting on it softly in thought. "I'd love to," she says finally, grinning happily at him and outstretching her free arm to tug him up from the couch. "My parents are out at date night tonight, and they won't be back until midnight at least." She leaves the suggestion open for interpretation, who knows what the night will bring?
Unfortunately, Puck weighs much more than she has ever expected, and the action of trying to tug him up sends her flying into his lap, squealing softly in his ear at the sudden and forceful contact against his chest. She intakes a breath quickly, trying to calm herself down. The muscles of his chest are flush up against her breasts, and the very action of breathing is becoming restricted from the pressure. She tries not to think about the feeling of his body underneath her own, staring off at something random at the corner of her left eye, and gnawing her lower lip as she pulls herself off him. "Sorry about that," she murmurs quietly as she stands up once more, smoothing down her red and white Cheerios skirt, the pleats shifting with the movements of her hands. She didn't have the time to change after practice, so she just threw on a cardigan, fixed her blonde ponytail and came here; and now she regrets that decision not to change as Puck's eyes follow her movement as slithers of her thighs are revealed. She quickly crosses her arms across her WHMS emblazoned chest, raising a perfectly plucked blonde eyebrow in question.
In an action that should really disgust her and unnerve her, Puck stands up from the couch and licks his lips softly, staring right at her. "I didn't mind," he tells her, chuckling at her pursed lips. He rubs his hands together in order to create heat caused by friction, and grins at her. "So, I'll go get those wine coolers then?" he questions, stepping even closer to her. She shivers, and this time it is not from the cold. He smells wonderful, all musky and man- whereas Finn prefers to douse himself in an old bottle of his father's cologne for these kind of 'special' occasions. Never mind that the cologne itself is ten years out of the date, but it does not suit Finn at all.
She shrugs in response to Puck's question, releasing her arms from her chest and allowing them to hang limply at her side. "If you like," she answers carelessly, returning his unblinking stare.
He returns her shrug, chuckling softly. "I'll take that as a yes then Fabray," he says quickly, tucking a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear. The feeling of his warm fingers against the chilled skin of her cheek is sensational, and she is suddenly filled with eagerness to get away from this stupid party, to get alone with Puck and just live. Screw her parents, and screw their expectations. Screw Frannie for being the perfect daughter in every aspect and not allowing Quinn a share of her golden spotlight. Screw Finn for not caring more. Screw Puck for being so unscientifically handsome. And finally, screw herself for being so weak, for being so attracted to Puck- for not finding comfort in Finn's arms, but rather seeking it out from his best friend.
"I'll be back in a minute," Puck tells her, walking away slowly until he reaches the archway of the kitchen door. He winks slyly at her, and she has no choice but to stay exactly where she is, shivering from the cold wind and eager with anticipation.
What will happen next will be the consequences of her parent's expectations, Frannie's perfectness, Finn's carelessness, and Puck's appealing good looks. It will also be her own fault, she cannot deny that because she isn't drunk; she knows exactly what she is getting into, and what sort of messes can originate from what she is going to do. One day in the far-off and frightening future her parents, Frannie, Finn and Puck will all know that they were the ones who caused her to stray from the original path, that they were ones who let her to be lured into the devil's dungeon. Not that she doesn't go willingly, she has no reason to be adamant about her own innocence because she wants this. She wants to be with Puck right now more than anything she can remember.
It is just bad luck, plain and simple, that the condom broke and she learns by first-hand experience exactly what kind of messes can happen when you stray away from the original path.
But the consequences of her actions are not the first thing on her mind as Puck saunters over to her, a packet of wine coolers dangling from his left hand and smirk lining his lips. She meets him halfway towards the door, her mind and body a jumble of nerves and excitement that can only come from doing the wrong thing, and she does not look back.
Because the only thing she can possibly beat Frannie in is being bad, and tonight she is going to prove just how well she excels at it.
Title obviously taken from the lyrics of Rihanna's version with Eminem of 'Love the Way You Lie (Part Two)', I have no ownership of it and only thought that it suited the story. This whole story is based on the fact that Quinn always said that she was 'drunk' when she slept with Puck, but Puck pointed out in 'Blame it On the Alcohol' that it would take more than three wine coolers to get drunk. Anyway, hope you all enjoyed and don't forget to review! x