He joins the musical because she makes him. Of course. He's not gay or anything. He doesn't even watch musicals. He just has a problem with denying her things, things that matter.
"I need an ethnic male to play against me" she tells him.
He rolls his eyes.
"I'm not Hispanic."
"Close enough."
He feigns slapping her face and she puts the script under his nose.
"You are my Bernardo, okay?"
He sighs and grunts and wines, but he says yes, because he can't really say no to her.
…
"There's dancing?"
She exhales air loudly, just like his mother does when she's exasperated with him.
"It's a musical, moron."
"So?"
"Never mind. We'll learn the dance on rehearsal."
"I can't even keep up in Glee" he pouts.
She rolls her eyes, but ruffles his hair in an affectionate way.
"It's not hard, okay? You'll be great. I'll help you."
He smiles and she smiles back. And it would be so easy to lean in and kiss her. But they don't do that anymore. Because she's a lesbian now and he kind of likes his daughter's new mom.
"So, what's the play about again?" he asks, tilting his head.
"Musical, you idiot."
"You're sounding like Rachel Berry."
She does an ugly grimace.
"Maybe I should I have found myself another Bernardo."
He reaches over and tickles her, below her collarbone. He thinks he's the only person knows about that spot. Because he knows her so well.
"I play your boyfriend, right?"
"Yeah" she smiles. "And you die."
…
He's not an actor. He's not a dancer. And he doesn't really have the voice for those preppy songs. He's really out of his element, but she isn't. She loves all of this, he can tell. She makes him watch the movie version of "West Side Story" and when he falls asleep in the middle of it, she gets pissed. She keeps stroking that red dress she's going to wear with an affection she never showed him.
"You turning into Rachel" he teases her.
She ignores him, takes off her clothes and steps into the dress. He watches her. She's still the hottest girl he has ever seen. That didn't go away with her turning gay. He still wants to do her, even if she suddenly only likes girls.
"How do I look?" she asks.
"Great."
"I love this dress."
"Take it off, I thought we were going to that party."
She pouts.
"Fine. Zip me down then."
He does. Her back is smooth and tan and he lets his fingers stroke her skin. She doesn't react, maybe she doesn't notice male interaction anymore. She gets out of the dress and pulls on a some more normal clothes.
"Let's go then" she says.
"Yeah."
…
He knows that it's acting. He's not stupid. But when she kisses him and dances close to him and winks at him, he almost believes it. It's not that big of a stretch. They did actually date once, when she was straight. They have slept together more times than he can remember.
"Puck, it's your line" Artie calls out.
He pulls himself together. Kurt is glaring at him. Rachel looks even more pissed.
"Look, if you're not serious about this…" she begins.
But Santana cuts her off.
"Just because he didn't watch the 'Wicked' bootleg as a child, doesn't me he can't be serious about this. He just needs some adjustment."
Rachel rolls her eyes. Santana grins at him, he smirks back. Yes, there's something there. This can't just be acting. There's something more.
…
The play, no, musical, is a big hit. He is crappy, he's acting is crappy and his dancing is even crappier, but they others are good. Rachel gets flowers thrown up on stage (from her dads) and Mike's mom cries. But Santana is the real star. She gets applauds so loud and so long that Rachel turns blue with envy.
"You were perfect" he whispers in her ear.
She doesn't hear. The noise is too loud.
"What?" she screams.
"You wanna try again?" he asks. "Me and you?"
She inclines her ear to him.
"I can't hear you!"
"I'll tell you after."
She nods and bows and curtsies and he wonders how he could ever have let her go.
…
He finally gets her alone. She's re-doing her make-up, looking flushed and giddy. He hasn't seen her this happy since forever.
"Berry wants to kill you" he says.
She smirks.
"She can try."
"Wanna do something tonight?" he asks, biting his lip.
She doesn't look at him, she looks at herself in the mirror.
"Can't, busy."
"Oh."
"I'm free tomorrow, wanna hang out then?"
"Yeah."
"I promise, no more fake kisses or death scenes."
"Right. Great."
She finally turns to him and smiles.
"God, I feel good."
She hugs him awkwardly. He holds her a fraction of second too long.
"You were great too" she tells him.
"Nah."
"Maybe not. But thanks for doing this."
"Anytime, you know that."
She nods and dances out of the room.
…
He goes by her house later. He just wants to know what she's doing. Her window is open, he can hear music. He creeps closer, feeling like Russian spy or a disgusting pedophile. And then he sees them. Santana stroking Brittany's cheek, leaning in to kiss her. Brittany giggles and kisses her back. The music is soft and romantic. They whispers things in each other's ear that he doesn't hear. And then, Brittany leans in and tickles Santana beneath the collar bone. The place only he knew about. His spot. And he leaves because he can't bare it.
…
"You feel nothing for me?" he asks.
She looks bewildered.
"What?"
"Nothing?"
"What are you going on about?"
"You just wanted me to play your boyfriend because of the play?"
"Musical. Puck, what is going on?"
"I love you."
"No, you don't. Shut up."
"I do, though."
"Puck…"
She looks panicky.
"Last night, I wanted to be with you, because I was happy and I wanted to be with you" he begins. "But you, you wanted to be with her."
"Come on…"
"You feel nothing for me?"
She steps closer and cradles his face.
"I had to try it, you know. I had to have a safe place to try if I still felt something when I kissed you."
"And?" he asks.
"I will always feel something for you."
"But it's not the same as it is with her?"
"No."
"Do you think that will change?"
Santana swallows.
"Honestly, I hope it doesn't."
…
