A/N: This is my first fic, and very much unbeta'd. Originally posted at LJ, I thought I'd finally bring it over here. The prompt that instigated this fic was, "Rachel's Broadway dreams don't go her way. Instead, she becomes a stripper, and Puck becomes one of her customers."
As a warning, this first chapter is pretty… um, crude and smutty. Apologies if I've offended anyone, but you've been duly warned. For the rest of you, enjoy.
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The place was a dive, marked by the sour scent of unwashed bodies, stale cigarette smoke, and paunchy bartenders. He scowled as he walked through the broken beaded curtain, following his chattering friend to an unoccupied corner of the neon-illuminated stage. His feet made sticky sounds on the floor before he flopped into a plastic deck chair that had seen better days.
"Why the hell are we here again," he said, not even bothering to put the questioning inflection in his voice.
Lenny grinned. "Pussy," he said, looking around in awe at the half-naked waitresses. "What's the matter, Puckerman? Girls aren't your thing?"
Puck scowled again, leaning back in his rickety chair. "Not the place I'd go to get laid," he grumbled.
"Trust me, the girls are hot here, and everything's real. None of that silicone shit," his friend said, gazing appreciatively at the jiggling figure on stage. All Puck could do was snort. The tall blonde in front of him was naturally endowed, sure, but her eyes were hardened and her movements were jittery and reluctant.
"Chick looks like she's strung out on a five-dollar bag of snow," he commented boredly, running a hand through his cropped hair. The mohawk was gone, but he'd kept the habit of ruffling the bristles as if it was still there.
Lenny rolled his eyes. "Just wait and see," he said, snagging a waitress for two beers. "Hey, listen – you don't like the show, I promise you, I'll pay you back for the cover, and we'll call it a night. Okay?"
Puck doubted that Lenny would pay him back – after all, the man had a padlock on his wallet and a tightwad wife to boot – but he figured, why the hell not. I'm giving this an hour, then I'm outta this shithole dump.
"Thank you, Bambi! Boys, our next dancer is up! Let's have a round of applause for Cherry!" the emcee boomed, his voice framed by the crackle of the speaker system.
He turned his head as the waitress returned with their beers. He passed one back to Lenny. "Seven dollars," the waitress said, eyeing him appreciatively. He passed her a ten, and winked as he told her to keep the change – he wasn't even remotely interested, but flirting was like breathing to him – and turned around to the stage as the lights dimmed to a pale blue.
A deep, throbbing beat pulsed through the room as the music started, and he leaned back, chugging his beer. Idly he checked his watch – eleven-forty.
Onstage, the worn red velvet curtains were suddenly thrown back, and a petite brunette stalked onstage, her hands resting proudly on her hips. Lenny hooted, and Puck's gaze flickered to the figure. Long legs were the first thing that flashed through his head, strapped in black ice picks that accentuated her shapely calves. He noticed the black lace next, demure compared to the garish red satin that the blonde had been wearing, and the breasts encased in said material. High and firm, they swayed as she arched her back to the beat of the song.
Her lips were lipsticked in a slick pout and curved into an alluring smile as she swung herself around the metal pole at the end of the stage. He craned his neck in curiosity. The back was just as good as the front, he observed idly. Her ass was shapely, not too large for his taste, well-toned and barely covered in a thong made with the same black flirty lace.
She sensually curved her body in a backwards swinging motion, legs twining around the metal. The building momentum had her whipping around the pole, drawing a roar from the crowd. Her knees parted, widened in the air as she sank to the ground, allowing the pole to support her body. It wasn't until the fourth revolution that he saw her face clearly. Underneath the cloud of tousled chestnut hair, her dark chocolate eyes were rimmed in heavy black eyeliner and deep purple eye shadow. As her shoulders brushed the floor, her eyes met his.
Holy shit.
---
Push me, and then just touch me
Till I can get my satisfaction
He vaguely remembered that she'd taken dance lessons – if you must know, Noah, every budding Broadway star needs to be experienced in all of the performing arts so that she can take on a wide range of roles, after all, I am going to have my first Tony by the age of twenty-four – but never would he have ever dreamed that it would have culminated into something this erotic.
Push me and then just touch me
Till I can get my satisfaction
She turned to face him, gripping the pole high above her head. As he watched, she did an open-air split with those sinfully long legs, and slid to the stage, her lace-wrapped crotch caressing the cool metal in a moist kiss.
He could literally feel the blood draining from his head.
Push, push, push, push,
push, push, push, push,
push, push, push, push,
push, push, push, push
As the audience shouted in appreciation, she lay with her back to the floor, snapping her pelvis to the pounding bass. Her hands cupped her covered breasts, plumping them towards the front row. Almost lazily, her eyes met his again, and her tongue came out to lick her lips.
Push, push, push, push,
push, push, push, push,
push, push, push, push,
push, push, push, push
She rolled over on hands and knees, wiggling her ass in the air, swaying her head back and forth. Dark hair flooded around her shoulders, curls sinking into the valley between her breasts. He hadn't realized how stacked she'd been in high school – all those ugly grandma sweaters had a habit of making him look the other direction – but fuck.
Lenny poked him in the elbow. "I told you," he shouted.
"Whatever, asshole," was all Puck said, his eyes glued to the writhing female in front of him.
Push me and then just touch me
Till I can get my satisfaction
She began crawling across the stage, her eyes locked onto his, dragging the tips of her breasts alongside the floor with each step. When she was directly in front of him, she sank back onto her ankles and palmed her breasts again, her fingers sinking into the cleavage. Lenny gaped like a fish. "Dude!" he croaked.
Push me and then just touch me
Till I can get my satisfaction
Puck stared at her with wide eyes, his cock throbbing through his jeans - like a fucking adolescent - as she slid her hands down her lithe body. The skin between her thighs was shiny in the electric blue neon. Fuck, she's wet. As if she'd read his thoughts, she parted her knees wider to his hungry gaze, her damp curls peeking underneath the lace underwear.
Satisfaction, satisfaction, satisfaction, satisfaction,
satisfaction, satisfaction, satisfaction, satisfaction,
satisfaction
She rose to her feet with an alluring smile, swiveling her hips one last time, and disappeared through the curtains. He could only blink as the white stage lights came on and the emcee's booming voice echoed off the stage. "Let's give a hand for Cherry!"
Lenny elbowed him, grinning when Puck jolted in response. "What'd I tell ya, Puckerman? Wasn't that hot? I thought I was gonna blow my load! I never get that kind of action from the missus - "
"Yeah, you were right," Puck said tersely, abruptly pushing his chair back.
"Hey, where you goin'? There's still more girls – "
"See you later, douchebag," he flung over his shoulder.
---
She sauntered through the door – sauntered would be the best word to describe her rolling walk, he thought – and stopped short when she caught sight of him. Her breath caught, because what she'd merely guessed on stage was truly real – it was him.
He was slouched in the only chair in the small room, a bottle of beer dangling from his fingertips. Legs encased in pale denim were lazily stretched in front of him. The muscles rippled under his t-shirt as he took a long swig of his beer. Appreciative green eyes slowly crawled over her body, sending chills rippling through her spine – lingering at her breasts, her pussy, the legs wrapped in what she privately called her death trap stilettos.
The door slammed shut behind her, signaling the beginning of his half-hour – he'd actually paid an exorbitant amount of money to be with her, she thought with a brief surge of panic – and he toasted her in welcome.
"Hi, Berry."
He'd never heard her curse while they'd been in school together, but she did then, a low fuck slipping out between her rouged lips. His gaze slid over her, pale skin and black lace, and his smile became roguish.
"Never thought I'd ever see you step foot in a strip club, much less dancing in one," Puck drawled, patting his knee.
She rolled her eyes, briefly reverting back to the young girl he'd slushied in high school. "That makes two of us," she said tartly.
The brevity of her speech surprised him; he had been expecting a While you must be finding great enjoyment in my downfall, I sincerely hope that there is a part of you which finds yourself taking pity on me, because this was never part of my carefully orchestrated five-year plan for conquering Julliard, and Broadway, and the whole universe. "You wanna tell me how the hell you became a stripper?" he asked almost casually, taking a swig from his beer. "Because as far as I knew, the old Rachel Berry wouldn't even let me touch her boobs, much less dance half-naked in public."
"Things change."
He arched a brow, appraising her from head to toe. "Baby, do they ever."
Rachel's skin prickled hotly at his relentless gaze. On stage, she'd done her usual stage routine, doing what she'd been taught to do, except for one significant difference – she'd caught his eye, and she'd felt something warm in the depths of her body. She'd been eager to break that predatory gaze, but she'd kept glancing over at him, wondering, knowing that it was him.
Aware of the ticking clock and the Big Brother camera monitoring her progress from the corner, she strode over, stopped between his legs, flinched a little when he dropped the empty beer bottle and circled her waist with his hands. "Let's just get this over with," she said curtly.
Puck flexed his fingers, marveling at the softness of her body. "What's the rush? Aren't you eager to spend time with an old friend?"
She slipped her knees over his hips, her knuckles bone-white against the arms of his chair. She bit her lip when his fingers stroked the lush curve of her behind.
Once upon a time, she'd always been the one to break the silence with inane chatter, talking until he wanted to burn himself alive with her precious sheet music. "It was really hot, the way you kept staring at me with those bedroom eyes of yours," he remarked as she slowly swiveled her hips around.
"Typical stage tricks meant to make more money," she tossed back without thinking, and watched his eyes glint dangerously.
"You knew it was me each time you looked my way."
Rachel faltered for a moment. Gotcha, he thought.
Her eyes narrowed when his thumb slid across her inner thigh, gathering the slickness of sweat and arousal that dripped from the apex of her legs. "Don't get too touchy, or the bouncers will kick you out," she said tersely.
He leaned back, smiling wolfishly. "Damn, and I thought I was getting a fuck for the two-fifty I shelled out," he growled.
"Go to hell." She began grinding her hips against his to the pulsing beat of the music, her eyes distantly averted. But he smirked, grasped two handfuls of hair, and pulled her closer.
"I saw how wet you were when you were on that stage," he murmured, his hot breath caressing her ear. "Was it because of me?"
Her hips hesitated briefly, before she continued to grind against him. "Don't," she said lowly.
Puck stared into her eyes, his gaze full of lust and something else. She could feel her thighs slipping against each other as she turned and shimmied against his crotch. His cock was hard, throbbing through the thick material of his jeans, and almost without thinking, she let out a moan. She could feel the length of him against her, she could imagine how he would feel inside her, she could –
"What the hell are you doing here?" he murmured, breaking her from her trance. She looked at him over her shoulder, tousled curls cascading down her back. He thrust one hand into her hair again, splaying the other hand over her stomach, pressing her against him.
"Don't," she whispered again, and he didn't know what she was referring to.
He suddenly had the urge to throttle her senseless. Puck was pissed for a variety of reasons – leading contenders being the week's rent he'd forked over so this girl from the past could hump him stupid and send him home to finish the job with Palmela Anderson and her five friends, and the apocalyptic reality of Rachel fucking Berry as a stripper – but that didn't even come close to the jarring fact that he really wanted to fuck her brains out.
He turned her around until she was facing him. "Take your top off," he said roughly. "I'm allowed, aren't I? Take it off."
Her eyes darkened, and he almost expected a refusal, until she hitched her legs around his hips again and began to swish her crotch against his erection. She closed her eyes, swirling her hair back and forth until the scent of costly perfume wafted around them. His gaze dropped to her breasts, straining against the black lace bra. She slipped her hands against herself, rubbing in circles until her nipples jutted proudly against the lace.
He groaned, licking his lips in anticipation.
Her fingers slid to her cleavage, fumbling with the front clasp. His hands clenched on her thighs, wanting to lean forward, take the clasp between his teeth, bury his face between her tits. She unsnapped it and slowly peeled the material back.
Even in the garish red light, her breasts were beautiful – high, firm, absolutely real. His eyes never left them as she shook out of her bra. Holy fuck, was his thought as she gripped the back of his chair and arched above him, swaying luxuriously to the beat of the music. Her rosy nipples were puckered, ready for his mouth. He pressed her forward, moving her closer to him, but she sank against him and smoothed her chest over his. His mouth watered with the thought of sucking on her breasts, making her even more wet between her –
"Enjoying what you paid for?" she said, the caustic tone in her voice ripping through the haze in his mind. It slammed through him like a sledgehammer, the sudden rage at the idea that she was flashing horny assholes like this every night.
"I better get my money's worth," he snapped, and his hips thrust upwards just as he gripped her waist and pushed her body towards him.
Her head snapped back at the delicious friction, and for a moment she allowed herself to enjoy the taut muscles underneath her hands, his thick arousal rocking against her. She'd never been this turned on, ever, even during her other dances. But even though she wanted him, the way he'd stared at her during her stage routine had been much more than just superficial interest. And the alternative route of plundering her secrets, humiliating her in ways that the slushies hadn't done back in high school, was not open for discussion.
"That's all you got?" she taunted. "You're losing your touch. I expected better from you, Puck."
He leaned forward, anger swirling in his chest at her words, the cynical pop around his nickname. He roughly pulled her against him. "Bitch," he hissed.
She realized too late that she had miscalculated – utterly, dangerously, completely miscalculated - as he yanked her hair back and covered her mouth with his.
He tasted like bar peanuts, beer, a hint of nicotine. She whimpered as he ravaged her mouth, his tongue sweeping across hers in a hot rush. She gripped his shirt in her fists, feeling the rippling muscles underneath her palms. He untangled himself from her hair, cupped a breast in his hand and tested the weight while a thumb flicked across her nipple. A moan slipped from her lips, and he repeated the motion again and again, tasting her broken cries from her mouth. He wrapped his free arm around her waist and bucked against her, sliding his hand underneath the waistband of her panties, fumbling with his zipper -
The door slammed open, and a heavyset bouncer slammed his meaty fist against the door. "You're done with this one, Cherry. No touching, you know the rules," he announced, unceremoniously hauling Rachel off him. "Get out."
"What the fuck! I didn't even – "
But she was already disappearing through the doorway, clutching her bra to her chest.