A/N: Another fill in response to one of sara345's prompts: "Fundraiser for Glee. The girls decide to run a kissing booth and are taking it in turns to sit at it. When Rachel's turn comes Puck is pretty pissed at the number of boys that 'crawl out of the woodwork' wanting to kiss her." Enjoy!

The football field was filled with booths selling stuff and students milling around. It was Friday, and the second half of the day had been reserved for this club fundraiser. It was a little crazy, but Puck figured it was better than being in class.

Or, you know, going through the effort to not be in class.

The only problem was the whole fundraising part. He hadn't gotten roped into doing anything himself—he'd done his good deed with his special brownies, thanks—but the girls in glee had decided the club needed money for costumes and should have a booth to get it.

Normally he was down with anything where other people did the work and he reaped the rewards, but this time? Not so much.

'Cause the girls had decided to run a kissing booth. And Schue had agreed.

And Figgins had agreed.

Shit, did no one else see how much they were asking for disaster here? Teenage boys plus low level prostitution was just… bad, man.

He wasn't worried about Santana and Brittany. They'd probably kissed most of the guys in school already anyway; this would be like a fucking stroll down memory lane for them.

Mercedes was actually kind of excited about this; she could take care of herself if anything happened.

Quinn was single and on the warpath after (another) Finn screw up, so she was probably looking at this whole thing as revenge.

And Tina… well, Figgins asked Schue not to include Tina in the booth because dude still thought she was a vampire princess or some shit. Whatever, Tina was with Artie and they'd both looked kind of relieved.

But Rachel… he didn't like the thought of her doing it. It made his stomach hurt like he'd had a bad burrito or something. And shut up, it wasn't like that—they were sort-of friends now, and putting Berry in a kissing booth at an event where icy drinks were being sold was just asking for humiliation. She was a weird, emotional chick. She might actually get hurt.

He would have been concerned if any of the other chicks were at risk, too. He would have.

Puck saw her walking away from a food booth eating an apple—who the hell bought plain apples at fairs? Fuck, who sold plain apples at fairs?—and walked over to join her. "Hi."

"Hi, Noah. Isn't this great? Oh, did you see the fresh fruit at the renaissance club's booth? My idea."

Of fucking course. Sometimes he still wondered why they were even kind-of friends. "Yeah, looks great."

She didn't notice that he'd rolled his eyes when he said it. "I saw Quinn a little while ago. She said our booth's doing well."

He glanced over to glee's booth. Santana was the one running things there now, and she had the kind of line you'd expect from someone who was both hot enough that you'd want to kiss her(even if you already had before) and intimidating enough that you'd fear what might happen if you didn't support her cause. Rachel's shift at the booth was after Santana's, and she was the last girl in the rotation.

There was no special reason why he knew that. "So you're actually going to do this?"

"Of course I am. It's for the good of glee club. Why wouldn't I?"

He shrugged. "Doesn't seem like your kind of thing, I guess."

She lifted her nose and primly smoothed back her hair, unsure of how to take that comment. Was he implying that she was too stuffy to take part in a fun, harmless activity, or that selling her kisses like a street peddler was beneath her? "To be honest, I was a little uncertain about the idea when Brittany suggested it, but Santana defended it quite well during the deliberation process." She paused before reluctantly admitting, "And the other girls outvoted me."

Puck had to laugh at that; there was the Berry he'd come to know.

"But it's working. I mean, sure, selling kisses for a dollar makes me feel a little like a cheap trollop—obviously we're worth far more than that—but Santana probably had a point when she said that making this a success while charging my proposed fifty dollars a person might require something more than a peck on the lips. When she mentioned private rooms and cops, I had no choice but to relent."

He choked on… nothing. Air. Since when was air dangerous?

Apparently since he started imagining Santana and Rachel discussing private sex rooms and 'more.' Jesus, did she even get how many dudes would jump at a chance to get 'more'?

This was a fucking bad idea. He had to try to shut this shit down quick.

"It's cool that you agreed to this," he lied. "You know, doin' it Santana's way."

She frowned in confusion. "Santana's way?"

"You know—taking turns, letting everyone see what the line looks like for each of you."

"It's a fundraiser, Noah, not a contest." But her voice already sounded uncertain, insecurity and her competitive nature flaring up.

"You sure 'bout that?"

"Of… of course I am."

He lifted an eyebrow. That was it, just lifted one eyebrow.

And apparently put the fear of the whole male student body in her. Her eyes grew wide and just a little terrified and yeah, Puck felt like a bit of an ass for even bringing it up. "Oh, God, Noah! What if my shift starts and no one comes? I know my talent speaks for itself, but my track record with men has been less than stellar."

"I'm sure you'll be fine, Rachel. And hey, try not to think about how Santana's over there, watching the booth and probably counting how many guys pass through each girl's shift."

Her eyes grew bigger. "Counting?"

Okay, strike "bit of." He was an ass.

But if he was an ass who could talk this chick out of puckering up for anyone with some extra lunch money, he'd be okay with that. "You know, you don't have to do this. We probably already have enough cash for new shit to wear."

He thought she'd back down. God knew the girl was obsessed with how other people saw her.

But no. This had to be the time for Rachel to show she had some balls. "Of course I do. I gave my word." She threw the apple core into a trash can and straightened, smoothing her blouse, her skirt. She was basically gonna be selling herself to the guys at their school—guys who'd tossed slushies in her face and mocked her—and she hadn't even tried to dress differently today.

God help her. That big-eyed kitten on her top was not gonna help make sales.

"It's for glee, right? That's what matters."

"Yeah, sure. Good luck."

"Thank you," she replied seriously before striding off to the booth. He could hear her muttering, "This is for glee. This is for glee," under her breath as she went.

He watched her walk over like a miserable little soldier, sure that she was about to get blown to pieces because she just wasn't up to her damn mission, and couldn't help feeling a little bad. Maybe he should have offered to stop by the booth if things went badly. They were sort of friends now, and that was a friend-like thing to do, right? In an "if you were stung by a jellyfish I'd pee on your leg" kind of way.

So, yeah. If she was completely tanking at the booth, he'd spend a buck to kiss her. Small sacrifices and all that.

She said something to Santana, who laughed; they were actually getting along these days, which was kind of weird, but he was lookin' out for her, so who was he to talk? Then the cheerio picked up her bag and left Rachel alone at the booth.

Well, not really alone, Schue was there "supervising," but he'd allowed this whole damn mess to take place, so Puck didn't exactly trust the guy's judgment when it came to his girl.

Girls. The glee club chicks had sort of become his girls.

Fuck, he needed some sleep if he was callin' Berry his girl in his head.

There were some guys still in line who'd come for Santana, and Puck mentally winced as he waited for them to leave, waited to see how much the rejection stung Rachel. Except they didn't leave.

Why the hell weren't the fuckers leaving?

Rachel took her seat on the stool and smiled brightly at the first guy in line, and waited for him to hand the money over to Schue before she leaned forward.

Jacob appeared in line before their lips had even touched. Like, literally, he ran across the field—little creep had probably been shittin' his pants all day waiting for this moment. Puck was pretty sure he also squealed like an excited little girl, but shit, honestly? Not that surprising.

The surprise? The other fucking guys who were suddenly approaching the booth. The first guys, sure—they were already standing in line and felt like hiding the fact that they were douchebags by sticking around and kissing Rachel when they couldn't get Santana. But these new asses? They came out of nowhere. For Rachel. Kitten shirt and all.

The fuck?

Puck stood back and watched as the line progressed, and honestly it was innocent enough. She smiled and said a few words to some of them, but she kept her lips shut during the brief kisses, he could see that from where he was standing.

The weird thing, though? It still bugged him.

And he could've called who the worst offender would be the minute they announced this dumbass idea weeks ago. Fucking Jacob Ben-Israel. The kid was leering like a dirty old man at a titty bar as he approached Rachel, and as soon as their kiss was over, he ran—legit ran—to the back of the line to do it again.

Fists clenched, Puck waited for Schue to step in. Obviously this was not okay. Anyone could see that. Rachel looked like she was gonna puke or scream every time Jacob found his way to the front of the line again—two times, three…

Why the fuck wasn't Schue doing something about this?

When time four was about to roll around and Schue was actually off talking to the teacher managing the next booth, Puck'd had it. He walked over and grabbed Jacob by his shirt, pulling him out of line so they were face-to-face. "You're done here," he stated, trying to be calm when he really wanted to hurt someone and had a whole line of candidates at the ready.

Jacob blinked at him rapidly, hands hovering in the air. "But I'm—I'm a paying customer, Puckerman," he stuttered.

"The first time you're a paying customer. Maybe the second. By the third you're a stalker, and by the fourth you're asking my fist to meet your face."

"But—"

Puck tightened his grip, lifting Jacob a bit off the ground. "Dude, seriously? Give me a reason to hurt you. Please."

Jacob squeaked and shook his head. "No, no. I'll go."

"Good." He released him, and Jacob retreated so fast that he tripped over his own feet and nearly fell. Puck walked over to the booth, stood behind Rachel, who looked completely startled and equally grateful, and crossed his arms over his chest. "All right. I guess we've gotta do this shit."

"Um, Noah? What are you doing?" Rachel hissed.

He shrugged. If he thought he had a chance of getting away with it, he'd be taking her the hell away from this place. Since that wasn't gonna happen, he was going for the only other option. "Someone needs to guard the booth."

She smiled brightly back at him, then bit her lip and glanced up at her next kiss—a junior who wasn't looking too sure of himself all of a sudden. "Okay, then. Hi."

He hated this. Really hated it. Most of the guys didn't even do anything he could object to, but at least there were a couple. He needed the anger outlet.

"Hey, keep your hands to yourself or I break them off. And you—do you even go to this school? Get the fuck out of here."

There was a little less traffic at the booth once he was there, but Rachel didn't seem to notice. And when it was finally three and they were done, she stood from her perch and turned to him with a little smile on her face before standing on her tip-toes and kissing him.

He was so startled that he barely had time to think that he was probably the hundredth guy she'd kissed in the past hour and a half.

She was blushing when she pulled back, but her shrug was calm enough. "Payment," she explained. "You were a pretty good bodyguard. Too bad you didn't think to watch the booth when any of the other girls were here."

"Yeah," he murmured, noting the sparkle in her eyes that said she might know why, "too bad 'bout that."