Puck watched the minutes slip by on the clock as Rachel slept. The party was still going on downstairs, probably would be for another hour or so, so he was in no rush. But he should be. He should be hooking Rachel up with Jew-Fro; should have sent her his way over half an hour ago. Instead he just let her lay there, her head on his bare chest, him playing with the soft tendrils of her dark hair, taking in her vanilla and strawberry scent. He had a job to do, but he looked at her and couldn't bring himself to do it—it was just too hard to give her up. He wanted her so bad; he lo—
Oh shit.
Puck's head snapped up in sudden realization. He slowly slid Rachel off of his chest, reaching in the dark for his jeans and stumbling into the bathroom. As he turned on the light, contorting his body in the mirror, his masked-face noted a small scratch on his back not made by fingernails. And then he realized: his CA must have fallen out of his pocket and grazed him at some time in the night. If it had been after that indescribable blow job…
Puck didn't want to think about it. He'd seen the effects of the damn drug, and he desperately wanted to believe that he hadn't accidentally dosed himself with goddamn Cupid's Arrow when he'd flopped back after receiving the best orgasm by oral sex of his life. However, the affectionate names; the looks he realized he'd been giving her since then—he may very well be fucked (and not in a good way).
He had to get out of there. He knew he couldn't finish the job and hand her off to Jacob—he cared too damn much to do that—but he also knew they'd both be screwed if Quinn found them together. So he made up his mind, pulled on his jeans, and walked resolutely back to the bed.
He made sure his mask was secure before gently shaking her awake. She stirred, slightly disoriented in the unfamiliar room, then blushed as she realized the incredibly impulsive action she'd taken. He also noticed, with a tinge of guilt, the slight hurt in her face as she took note of his being redressed and no longer in bed.
"Babe," he told her softly, kissing her forehead. "The party's going to be over soon—we'd better head back down."
Her eyes flashed upward. "Goodness!" she all but exclaimed, groping in the darkness for her clothes. "I'd better make sure my friends haven't deserted me on the assumption I was already gone."
Puck felt a desire to offer her a ride, but he suppressed it, knowing seeing her again would be a bad idea. He instead watched in silence as she pulled on her clothes, refitting her mask, and swept her messy hair into a ponytail. She began walking to the door, turning back to him just before she left.
"So," she paused, afraid to ask the question. "Will I ever see you again?" She held her breath as she felt the weight of the words fill the room.
Rachel tried not to show her hurt as he gruffly responded. "I don't know." He walked up to her quickly, and embraced her, and Rachel couldn't help but wonder if his uncertainty had to do with what he wanted or her own social standing (or lack thereof). "I won't forget you though," he whispered into her ear as he kissed her cheek gently, and she felt herself shiver.
She rushed downstairs as soon as he turned away, unsure of her ability to maintain a cool exterior in the face of such a connection broken in such a short span of time. She found Kurt, who. for once, had not taken notice of her mysterious disappearance and did not question her sudden desire to leave, nor her quiet reflection the entire ride home.
Puck tried to ignore the flutter in his stomach Monday morning. He'd been trying to suppress the drugs in his system all weekend, to no avail. Every time he thought of Rachel—Berry, he corrected himself angrily—he'd gotten hard thinking about their unbelievable night together and have to rub one out or take a cold shower. He didn't trust himself to call up Santana for relief, because he was almost positive that Ra-Berry's name might slip from his lips. He couldn't stop thinking of her lips, her smell, her legs wrapped around his waist…
Goddamn. School was most definitely not the place to be thinking about any of this. He gripped the item he carried harder, determined to force the midget out of his head. As he walked through the hallway, his breath hitched involuntarily as he suddenly saw her.
She was obviously different than she'd been that night—her makeup was more natural, her outfit playing more to the eccentric, with a plaid skirt and yellow sweater. And yet, as she smiled, she still had this glow to her that he couldn't seem to shake out of his head. Yet.
He walked straight up to her, only stopping to wind back his right arm and thrust the bright red slushy forward into her face, causing its bright expression to twist down into shock. As the drink dripped down her neck onto her clothes, he listened to the enthusiastic laughter echoing in the halls at her humiliation, and waited for his own satisfaction to settle in.
As he watched her scuttle down the hall to the nearest bathroom, Puck smirked—he was a badass; he was a stud; he was…an asshole. He turned to walk away before anyone noticed his less than fully satisfied demeanor, but not before he caught eyes with none other than Quinn Fabray. Her expression of sadistic pleasure was almost enough to make him nauseous, and he gave her a quick nod before heading to the nurse's office to sleep off the drug and his damn guilt.
Rachel had spent most of her weekend contemplating her rash action at Santana's party. She'd considered the possibility of her drink being spiked, or her size simply making her ridiculously unable to hold her alcohol. However, she couldn't help but conclude that the deciding factor had to be the incredible magnetism of her mystery Noah.
She'd spent an equal amount of time trying to determine the identity of said boy. Noah wasn't an incredibly common name, especially in Lima, but there were still 8 in her high school according to the yearbook, and for some strange reason (ie, probably drunk) she was having trouble recalling any discernable features. She'd been able to rule out Noah Addams from chemistry simply because she was sure she'd remember if her stranger's right arm had a massive birthmark. Both Noah Puckerman and Noah Reynolds were excluded based on their jock status and the fact that they slushied and tormented her all but daily. And Noah Francisco from biology was out because she knew his eyes were brown from their Mendelian genetics labwork, and if there was something she couldn't forget about her Noah, it was his amazing green eyes. However, this still left four that she felt dubious of, not to mention any of the possible non-McKinley boys Santana was known to invite to her soiree's.
When Monday rolled around and she'd found that her tryst was apparently as unknown as her mystery man, she'd simply decided to enjoy the experience for what it had been, and had floated to her classes with a bright smile on her face.
Until Noah "Puck" Puckerman assaulted her with a slushie. As she rushed to the bathroom and began rinsing her hair, she reflected to the mirror, "Well, at least I'm sure of one Noah it's not."