All righty gals and gents. This story is based off Buffy and Twilight myth. Yes, I know nothing good could come from such a union but here we are.*begins sweeping the floor*
The story revolves around the idea that our beloved Glee Club exists in a world where vampires and demons are very much real. For a millennia, a lone girl stood in the fight against the encroaching darkness. A slayer. Then a few months ago the rules began to change. People who had the potential to be slayers, became slayers.
Warning roll call: foul language. Puckurt? Not sure yet.
Unedited
Puck first saw him while navigating the outskirts of Lima, striding the roadside in tight black jeans, white Doc Marten boots, and an ivory wool sweater that belonged on a Vanity Fair cover model.
The boy treaded the dusty night with confidence that reminded Puck...of himself actually. A hint of the Puckster that made him lock on to the small framed boy with confusion.
The boy ...Puck thought silently...is beautiful.
In the glimpse that Puck caught of the boy's face, he saw pearl white skin and hair too fucking hard to imitate without looking gay. The boy was a roadside ghost in Lima's starlight.
The foreign thought twisted a knot in Pucks stomach.
Never in his fucking life had he seen another guy, supernatural or regular flavor, that qualified as beautiful in his eyes.
Except for the late Quinn Fabray, the girls in glee club failed to come close to pretty to him. Prude. Raging bitch. Easy. In love. Dumped him. Each of them had a trait that put off Puck one way or another. Yet even without their quirks or shitty attitude, they wilted in comparison to Quinn. It made Puck smile.
The comforting thought had already been proven unhealthy in a brief visit to a grief counselor a few months after Quinn's death. It wasn't fair to measure the worth of the living exhaling people with the stiff, nearly-always-perfect dead. But it was expected.
The town of Lima had seen a record low in "spontaneous blood leaks" this year, thanks to the work of the McKinley glee club. Everyone in the group did their part to keep the quiet town bloodbath-free, without recognition besides the occasional "Oh my god what the fuck was that" by rescued innocents.
The few members who weren't Slayers found alternative ways to help their teammates fight demonic forces. Tina swam deep into the magiks pool for reasons that Puck managed to find strangely hot.
Swearing to never become a liability to Mike during nightly patrols, Tina's knowledge of the magiks now put her somewhere above a Slayer, power wise. Now if one of them got torn up to the point that a Slayer's healing factor wasn't enough or a formidable demon refused to do right and die, a cell phone call to Tina would usually end their worries with a spell or lightning bolt.
I can probably take her on, a thought Puck kept to himself.
Slaying was to Puck like sex was to, well, Puck. Both involved skill, strength and one partner willing to pound the crap out of the other partner. Since the phrase, "Slayer's will often lead brief brutal lives," left Berry's glossed lips, pride swelled in how he served the small town.
The fact that being a slayer endowed superhuman strength, senses, and a short but intense life suited him like a fine leather boot. Fuck, it provided him peace of mind. Living beyond 25 or 30 was never a future he looked forward to.
With Quinn gone and the possibility of harming Beth by lingering for long, a short life being extraordinary was the fucking jackpot. Unlike the rest of the estrogen squad in glee, Puck even managed to luck out of having crap inducing prophetic dreams. Win-win really.
Puck's red Jeep Comanche came to a halt in the road. No androgynous stranger was about to break the peace they had worked hard to establish in Lima.
Had it been Quinn driving, she would've steamed rolled over the stranger and asked questions later.
Checking his rearview mirror for the silhouette of the stranger, Puck found the first sign leading to the nature of the road side traveler. Besides the empty road's reflection, there was no sign of the stranger's image on the mirror, not even a Scooby Doo-esque ghostly outline.
"Knew it," he murmured under his breath. Vampire .
Puck craned his neck around and saw the boy walking towards the truck, his face shrouded under the cover of night. Puck could hear the soft crunching of gravel under the white boots but the distinct lack of a heart beat made him clench his fists. Sign number dos.
A ready silver stake was hidden deep in his right sleeve, needing no effort in slipping it out and stabbing the vampire when the time came.
Another glance to the road caught Puck by surprise. The boy was already by the foot of the truck, eyes casually glancing at the interior of the truck bed.
Seeing the boy's face up close was like being blasted by a cold wind that chilled Puck's chest. Whoever the young man was, the vampiric transformation had turned him gorgeous.
Carefully coifed brown hair rested on his head, paired with light eyes that could've been described as "kind" by Puck if he was ignorant of the true nature of the young man. A groomed angular face without a scar or blemish, he was almost angelic. The thought further twisted the nervous knot in Puck's stomach.
Before he could will his body to open the door, the young man was next to it, gently tapping the window with a pale index finger.
Dumbstruck, Puck stared back at the young man, unaware that his mouth hung open. Drop the stunned shit and stab the ghostly skank, his conscience screamed. Stab him through the window! Your truck looks like fuck anyway!
"Hey," was all Puck could muster as he rolled down the driver's window
"Hi," the young man said, a small smile on his lips.
Fake smile is fake, his conscience commented. Why aren't you stabbing?
"I've never done this before but I'm looking to get a ride to Lima," the young man said. "33rd and Van Ness, specifically. I know hitchhikers get a bad rep but if I walk another mile in these boots, they will be bloody red by the time I get to my house."
A sexy stupid part of Puck, the one he called Puckasaurus, bought the excuse and naiveté oozing out of the young man. It ignored his slayer instincts and obvious signs. Hell, it even bulldozed over the fact that the hitchhiker had a dick. Maybe.
"Is that all you want?" Puck said absentmindedly, fighting the reflexive smirk that would spread across his face whenever the possibility of sex was appealing. A second later the shock of what he had said hit him.
The young man took a step back, the question obviously making him uneasy. "That was...yes that's all I want."
"Oh god, sorry," Puck said, "I didn't mean you were some roadside whore or vampire-" Somehow the young managed to look even more uneasy. "Excuse me?" he replied.
Puck squirmed. He was being killed in the most humiliating way possible.
Conversing with a vampire was definitely something he had never experienced.
Tackling, staking them in the heart, and wiping off the dust from his letterman jacket was the preferred form of communication. Although he did kiss one vampire cheerleader not too long ago.
"You know, the slutty temptress kind? 'I love Lucy'?" Puck's cracking voice capable of disturbing sleeping dogs. "...vamps?"
The young man shifted in his stance. "No."
Rather than wait for awkward silence to prematurely kill him, Puck unlocked the door to the passenger seat. "Its a bit dirty inside but I'll take you home," he said, slipping the silver stake into his sleeve. "No offensive but you seem like a delicate guy. Wouldn't want you to find something out here you couldn't handle."
The thirty minute drive to the heart of Lima was stone quiet, occasionally broken by the rattle of the truck's transmission. "Thinking of replacing you're tranny?" the young man finally asked.
"My what?" Puck taken a back by the question. "You're transmission, " the young man said. " Its been rattling the whole drive and the fact the you're driving 45 miles an hour on a 65 mile road tells me you couldn't outrun the cops if you had to."
Noah eye's opened wide at the sentence, causing the young man to blush. "My dad was a grease monkey with an auto shop in Lima."
Beautiful and knows cars, Puck thought. "Yeah, I've been meaning...to get it changed." Shooting a smile at the young man, his breathing quickened when the smile was warmly returned.
"Name's Puck by the way," he said, extending one hand to the nameless passenger.
"Kurt," the young man replied, his smaller hand shaking Puck's.
Frigid in his grasp, Puck resisted the urge to clench his jaw. Sign number tres, he thought.
In the blurry seconds it would've taken Puck to stake the young man, Kurt pointed to a distant house outside the driver's window. "I'm good here," Kurt said, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the passenger door of the speeding truck.
"Wait-," was all Puck was able to yell out as Kurt hopped out. The young man noisily landed on his feet, the black concrete of the suburban neighborhood cracking under the pressure of his landing.
Hitting the brakes for the second time tonight, Puck stormed out of his truck, the hesitations and doubts on the nature of his passenger fleeing his mind. "Strike number cuatro you bastard," Puck murmured, sliding the stake out of the sleeve of his jacket.
Kurt remained motionless as he stared at Puck advancing, an awkward marble statue in the middle of the road.
The glow of an approaching car's headlights behind Puck broke the Slayer's concentration, causing him to glance back in precaution. Before Puck could return his attention to Kurt, instinct told him that the vampire was gone.
"Fuckthisheartmolestingskank," Puck muttered, aching to stomp the black out of the concrete where the Kurt had stood.
A woman wearing a yellow bee suit slowly drove by in a black mustang, wondering why a cursing teenager was standing in the middle of the street at 2 a.m.
Thank god she was leaving all the weirdness in Lima.
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