It was inevitable: Puck couldn't help but stare at all the lovely ladies of Glee club whipping their hair and writhing around in leather. It was like they stole an idea from one of his favorite sexual fantasies to reenact in all its splendor.
Except for the part where no one was straddling his lap and slowly removing their motorcycle jacket to flash him and give him one Glee Club dance routine he would remember forever – someone was slacking and missed that bit. The rest of it was spot on, though. Guitar riffs, cleavage, dim lighting, tight pants… there was no way any religious deity would have wanted to hear his silent prayers of gratitude due to the incredibly dirty thoughts racing through his mind at that moment.
He visually appreciated every fine female in front of him singing like a rock goddess and putting all-girl musical groups everywhere to shame, but there was one person he looked at more often than most. It wasn't as surprising coming from the other girls as it was from the blonde who tried so hard to be an angel but fell back to Earth every time.
These glances were stolen and sneaky, because he didn't want to appear too obvious about it. But if he was already damned for knocking Quinn Fabray up, he would agree to an eternity in a lower circle of hell if it meant he could peel down the zipper of her jacket with his teeth. As he rubbed his hand along his jaw and smirked in satisfaction his mischievous dark eyes briefly locked with all-too-knowing green ones, and that's all it took to reignite the spark that had faded but never flickered out entirely.
The number ended far, far too soon.
Approximately an hour later, the choir room was empty and silent save for Puck and the repeated tap-tap-tap of his pen into the binder on his lap. Probation meant he had to keep his grades up and refrain from getting caught screwing around. Home was chaos with his mother constantly nagging him about his temper, the library was filled with other people whose problems he had no intention of absorbing when he had so many of his own, but the choir room – especially in its abandoned and empty state – was a source of serenity and comfort where he could dare to be himself.
The soft shuffling of footsteps broke Puck out of his reverie, and the sight of one particular blonde was almost enough to knock the wind right out of his lungs. The way she strutted around in those stiletto boots was enough to send indecent thoughts flooding right back through his head. So much for math homework.
The surprised look on her face indicated Quinn was not expecting anyone else around. For a moment she began to turn to leave, but swiveled back around with a sharp sigh. "I left my keys in here somewhere," she explained in a tone that made it very clear she didn't need to do any explaining. The deceivingly indifferent nod he gave her in response elicited a haughty lift of her chin as she tugged the bandana off her head and sent blonde hair spilling over her shoulders.
A curious glance was settled toward what was apparently his homework; as much as he was trying to wring as much as possible from his badass reputation, perhaps he was trying to improve himself after all. "Something bothering you?" he muttered when he noticed her looking, and what she was looking at. "Nice earrings," she noted dryly as she started to search underneath a seat a few chairs down from his own, patting a palm around on the floor as she searched for the means to her way home.
Those sleek leather pants were so tight that it was at least a sin, if not downright illegal, to wear them. "Nice ass," he commented, shamelessly enjoying the fact that one Quinn Fabray was bent over in perfect view. "If I had known you looked this good in leather I would've asked you to wear it a long time ago, Q."
"Shouldn't you be tagging the side of the building with graffiti or something?" she sighed in exasperation at both his words and the fact that her keys seemed to have disappeared into thin air. Her hope was that a jab at his delinquent status would shut him up. It didn't.
"You're such a mouthy little bitch sometimes," he commented in a low tone, with a look that emanated approval with only an edge of disdain. The fact that he didn't take his crap – nor her, his – was one of the reasons they meshed so well together.
"Screw you." As soon as the words slipped past her lips, her nose scrunched up: she already had. The smirk on Puck's face as he stood up silently confirmed that he was thinking the exact same thing. Amusement quickly faded into thoughtfulness, and both awkwardly turned their heads to glance over their shoulders and look at anything in the room but each other.
After a few awkward moments, the silence was broken. "How was your date with Santana?" Did she sound bitter? She was.
"And Brittany," Puck corrected her with a roll of his eyes and a triumphant smirk that faded in an instant. "Didn't you go out with what's-his-face last weekend?" He knew very well what Sam's name was, but couldn't bring himself to say it out loud. It's not like he wanted to sound like he cared, or something as absurd as that. He did care, but no one wanted to believe that.
Quinn's annoyed snort and head-bob was accompanied by a step closer, followed by another, until she stood mere inches away. Her head tilted upward to look him in the eye, and one slender brow arched skeptically. "Does it matter?" she wondered. Puck could feel the faintest wisp of her warm breath against his neck. His own head tilted downward so he could stare into her eyes, while his hands unconsciously began to hover over both of her hips.
"It never has. Never will," Puck replied simply. There was only a flash of hesitation in her eyes before Quinn swiftly leaned forward, pressing her palms into his broad chest and crashing her lips against his. Emotions from six months of refusing to acknowledge that the other existed all bubbled up at the same time. One of his hands roughly dove into the soft strands of her long hair to greedily pull her closer, while the other groped her ass to cop a feel and draw her lower body against his own.
The minutes ticked by on the clock hanging above their heads; time certainly wasn't going to rip them apart. He hastily stumbled backward to lower himself into his seat, and she pulled herself up to straddle his thighs as the high heels of her boots dug into the floor for leverage. They remained this way for quite some time, with tangled tongues and lips, fingers curling into hair and shoulders and pulling as if neither would ever let go. Making good on his earlier promise to himself, Puck leaned forward and into her to unzip her jacket with his teeth just far enough so that his hands could reach in and cradle her chest. She felt dirty, but in the most delicious of ways. They needed each other. Desperately.
Delicate fingers wrapped around both of his wrists as Quinn reluctantly began to peel Puck's hands off of her lithe curves. Their lips broke apart as they both gasped heavily for air. There was confusion in his eyes, and sadness in her own. "We can't do this," she declared breathlessly while averting her eyes toward a corner of the room, cheeks flushed in arousal and shame. Her hair was still a ruffled mess from all the pulling he had done moments before.
"What the fuck do you mean we can't do this?" Puck growled as his chest heaved from the emotional pain. How many times would he hand her his heart only for her to crush it underneath her shoe?
"Because every time I look at you I think of her." Quinn responded so simply and softly that both their hearts shattered into a million tiny pieces. She was silent as she moved to stand, and although they could no longer bear to make eye contact the tension in the air was palpable.
He remained seated, lost in his own thoughts, while Quinn made a half-hearted attempt to straighten her clothes and make herself appear presentable. "I think of her too, you know," he meant for his words to sound sharper than they actually did. Instead, they came out gentle and understanding, because he know that feeling so well. The difference was that to Puck, it wasn't an excuse to keep avoiding each other. They needed to mend things, not abandon their feelings in perpetual neglect.
"I know." Quinn finally recognized, feeling a warmth in her heart that had disappeared for quite some time. Both hands lifted to tuck her mess of blonde hair behind both ears as she wandered the room in dazed confusion for the thing she was looking for – but her heart was too busy attempting to latch on what had just been rediscovered.
"We're not over, Fabray," he promised in a solemn, serious tone that carried defiantly through the air just before he lifted her keys out of his jacket pocket and tossed them over with a jingle. Both of Quinn's eyebrows lifted upward in mild surprise as her hands reached out just in time to make the catch. She should have known. Leave it to Puck to know how to get her alone. "We never were," she replied with the most fleeting of smiles before breezing out of the room as quickly as she came in.
On hold, perhaps, but not over. Never over.