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Various Glee commentfic
I still haven't posted my feelings on "Original Song." It's coming! I just have so many feelings that it's overwhelming! It has also not been my week, dudes; overwhelming in a vastly less entertaining way. But ENOUGH OF THAT. I've been utterly addicted to Tumblr lately, which contributes to my LJ radio silence. But it led to fic! So here are a couple of quick things that I wrote based on tumblprompts. Which is a word. I am making it one.
Title: coffee break
Fandom: Glee
Rating: PG
Characters: Blaine Anderson, Brittany Pierce, Kurt Hummel
Summary: Brittany wanders into the Lima Bean.
Count: 1283 words
Notes: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
msmoocow, who requested Blaine-Brittany interactions. This is set just before "Original Songs."
* * *
Blaine almost feels like he needs a chaperone.
It’s not like anyone’s going to accuse him of untoward behavior; they’re sitting at a table in the Lima Bean in front of at least 30 people and he’s very up front about his sexual orientation, and anyway, Brittany may be a little slow, but he’s fairly certain she could bench press him if she felt in any way threatened by him.
What he feels bad about is the fact that they’re coming dangerously close to discussing Regionals right now, and he’s not sure A) if she realizes she can’t off-handedly mention anything about what she’s been rehearsing, or B) how many New Directions will believe him if he says that she didn’t say anything of the sort. McKinley has (well-deserved, from what Kurt has told him) trust issues.
“You know we can’t talk about glee, right, Brittany?” Blaine asks, as kindly as he can.
“I know,” Brittany says, matter of fact. “Everybody’s still fighting about songs.”
Blaine can feel his eyebrows creep up his forehead. “Seriously?” Kurt has mentioned the New Directions’ state of chronic under-preparation, but this is cutting it really close. “Regionals are in four days.” Brittany opens her mouth, and Blaine immediately has grave doubts about what’s what’s going to come out of it. “—Actually, you know what? Never mind.”
She blinks at him, then nods and lets her gaze drift to her coffee cup. She’s picking at the cardboard holder with her nails.
“Brittany?” Blaine asks gently. “What are you doing here?”
“Coach said to fuel up before motocross practice, so I brought my motorcycle for a coffee,” Brittany says, like that makes perfect sense.
Blaine stares at her.
“But nobody else is here yet.” Her face brightens. “Kurt.”
Kurt?
It takes Blaine a second to realize the implication of that greeting — mostly, that Kurt is supposed to be meeting him any time now — and turn around. Kurt is standing several feet behind him, hand on the strap of his bag and wariness writ large in every inch of his expression. “Brittany,” he says, and he slowly sets his bag down. Blaine leans over and pulls it under the table, out of the way of people’s feet, while Kurt draws up a third chair.
“Fraternizing with the enemy, I see,” Kurt says, and Blaine isn’t sure which one of them he’s talking to. Blaine huffs a soft laugh and slides Kurt’s mocha across the table; Kurt’s lofty, bemused-but-confused expression shifts into something gentler (something that, if Blaine is really honest with himself, would scare the crap out of him if he allowed himself to acknowledge it). He smiles faintly at Blaine, a silent thank you, and wraps his long fingers around the cup.
Meanwhile, Brittany’s face has scrunched up. “I’m totally not,” she says. “Artie is my boyfriend, and Blaine has different plumbing, so that would be cheating.”
Kurt politely sputters his first sip of coffee into his hand. Blaine’s eyebrows are seriously trying to become one with his hair. “What??” he asks.
Wiping his mouth and hand with a stack of napkins, Kurt says in a lightning-fast low aside, “I absolutely have no idea, but I don’t think I’m ready for whatever the answer is.” Looking back toward Brittany, Kurt raises his voice back to conversational level. “Brittany—” He apparently notices Brittany’s downcast look at the same time that Blaine does, because his face abruptly softens, and his voice is quiet when he says, “Boo.”
Kurt is watching her like Blaine isn’t even at the table; like no one but Brittany is in the coffee shop. It’s the intent expression that Kurt tends to turn on new Vogue editorials or the sheet music for an unfamiliar song. The expression is somehow simultaneously sharp and very, very kind. Blaine wasn’t kidding when he told Mr. Hummel that Kurt was the most moral, compassionate person he’s ever met.
“What’s going on?” Kurt asks, as gentle as Blaine has ever heard him.
Brittany doesn’t answer right away; Blaine contributes, “She’s … confused.”
The incredulous look that Kurt shoots him speaks volumes.
Brittany, though, lifts her head and peers at Blaine. “How did you know?” she asks, awed. To Kurt: “Does his power come from his hair?”
Kurt slowly blinks twice, and then he visibly shakes off the question. “What’s confusing?” he asks, and he pats her hand.
Her expression of childlike wonder slips away. “I love Santana,” she says, with what has to be one of the saddest sad faces Blaine has ever seen, “but I love Artie, too; I can’t break up with him.”
It takes Blaine half a second to place a face to the name — Santana was very memorable, both in person and in Kurt’s anecdotes, but he has only been in the same room as the New Directions a couple of times, and that’s a lot of names and faces at once — but he definitely has a blurry memory of long dark hair and body shots off Brittany’s stomach.
“Nobody’s asking you to break up with Artie,” Kurt says, looking like he’s confused but trying to be soothing at the same time.
“Santana did,” Brittany says quietly.
Kurt says, “—Oh,” and Blaine says, “Whoa.”
“We don’t talk or have lady kisses now,” she continues, in that same heartbreaking monotone. Her voice rises just a little in muted frustration. “I don’t know how to make Santana my friend again.”
Blaine exchanges a glance with Kurt, who looks totally floored.
Maybe that’s his cue. “Well,” Blaine says, “Brittany,” and then he stops for a second to give himself time to think. Honestly, he has no idea what to say. “Have you tried talking to Santana about this?”
Wordlessly, she shakes her head.
“Talking might be a start,” Kurt says. There’s a hint of sarcasm there, but it’s not nasty or directed at Brittany, and he says it into the lid of his coffee.
“Okay,” Brittany says, very seriously, and she frowns at her coffee for several seconds. Then she gets up. “I guess everybody else got their bike coffee at Starbucks; I should go to practice. Bye Kurt. Bye Kurt’s friend.” She picks up her helmet, her backpack, and her cup of coffee, and she wanders out as randomly as she’d wandered in.
In her wake, they stare at each other for several seconds, and then Blaine lets his face pull into a quizzical frown even as he smiles, and Kurt seems to take that as a cue for a brief bark of laughter. “Did that really just happen?” Blaine asks.
Kurt doesn’t dignify that with a response. “You cannot tell anyone about this,” he says, “ever. If word gets back to Santana that we’re aware that she made some kind of moves on Brittany and was rebuffed, we’ll become stains on the filthy pavement of a back-alley somewhere.”
“Come on, Kurt,” Blaine says, laughing. “I mean, I wouldn’t say anything, but really? She’d murder us? Isn't that a little dramatic?”
“I doubt that anyone aside from Brittany has ever lived to tell the tale, but I’d be willing to bet my entire collection of vintage belt buckles that hell hath no fury like a vulnerable Santana Lopez,” Kurt says darkly, and Blaine thinks about that for a minute.
“My lips are sealed,” Blaine promises, and Kurt’s eyes flick down minutely, then quickly go all the way down to his mocha.
Title: basic pinning
Fandom: Glee
Rating: PG-13/borderline R
Characters: Lauren Zizes/Noah Puckerman
Summary: Puck issues a really stupid challenge.
Count: 796 words
Notes: Forweyrdchic, who requested Lauren/Puck with the prompt of "physical." (You don't even know how close I came to writing them just mocking Sue and Olivia Newton John's video.) This is what a half-nelson looks like!
* * *
“Off,” orders Lauren as her cell phone continues to ring, buzzing on the bedside table.
Straddling her hips, his shirt off and his jeans half unzipped, Puck stares down at her. He looks like she has personally betrayed him. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I told you I was gonna get a call and, no matter where your dick was at, I was gonna take it. Take a chill pill, Puckerman,” she says, and she pats him condescendingly on the thigh. “I’ll be right back.”
Maybe that last sentence, cooed like Puck was a six-year-old who wouldn’t understand big words, was a little much. It was a little something, clearly, because he looks at her and then he lowers his weight so that he’s sitting on her.
Does he actually think he’s pinning her? That’s adorable.
“Cute,” Lauren says, hearing her phone continuing to buzz. “You best step off, or I will make you.”
Puck raises an eyebrow at her. “Well, that,” he drawls, “sounds interesting,” and he very deliberately doesn’t move a muscle.
Well then. If Puckerman wants to play this game (the one where he asked her starry-eyed dumb questions three months ago about whether dudes get wood while wrestling her) — they’ll play this game.
“O-kay,” Lauren deadpans without the slightest change to her flat expression, but she’s grinning on the inside as she surges up all at once.
Apparently startled despite the fact that he was blatantly asking for it, Puck yells. He’d make a seriously crappy wrestler. By the time he gets a handle on what’s happening and fights back in earnest, Lauren has had two solid seconds, which is all the time that a state champion really needs. He’s still bucking, though, even after she throws him onto his stomach; even after she has her hip firmly planted (Zizes ain’t going nowhere once that hip’s on the mat, or, in this case, the mattress) and has slipped her arm under his so that she can shove his face into the pillows. He’s wiggling and swearing and trying to slip out of the hold. That’s the grossly charming thing about Puckerman. He doesn’t know when to quit.
Lauren thoughtfully eyes the still-open expanse of sheets; she decides that she has just enough space to teach him a lesson without knocking them both onto the floor. She rams her shoulder into his armpit (he groans something that sounds equal parts winded and turned on) and relentlessly shoves.
It’s a beautiful half-nelson; one that Coach Hardison would clap her on the shoulder for if she pulled it off on the practice mat. Lauren keeps her legs in a textbook-perfect wide stance and her arm wrapped around Puck’s head and neck.
Puckerman has no idea what’s hitting him, or how to counter pure wrestling gold. He rolls right over, still kicking at the air, and they wind up exactly where they’re supposed to — Puck flat on his back with his head in the pillows and his face pressed into Lauren’s side, and Lauren on top of him with her breasts compressed against his chest, glancing over the edge of the bed.
She reaches out with her free hand and snags her phone off the bedside table.
“Are you checking your texts right now?” wheezes Puck’s resigned, annoyed voice, breath tickling that line between bra and skin.
“You just got Zizes’d. Deal with it,” Lauren says, thumb flying as she taps out a one-handed response to Tina.
To her mild surprise, he actually does deal with it. He’s quiet through the 15 or 20 seconds that it takes her to finish and send the text. After she turns her phone off and puts it back, she glances down. She can’t see much of him from this angle; mostly his side and the back of his shoulder, muscle standing out as he grips at her back. His face is tucked just below her armpit and against the side of her bra, and despite her best efforts — mostly because she wants to mock him for the “do guys ever get erections while they fight you” question til the end of time — his hot, steady breaths are kinda gettin’ her there.
“Are you giving up yet or what, Puckerman?” Lauren finally asks, like she could do this all day (because she could, even if it would be a waste of the prime two hours before her mom comes home from work).
“Actually,” says Puck, muffled but sounding smug as shit, given that he’s practically nestled in her breasts, “I’m pretty good here.”
Lauren elbows him in the chest before she loosens her hold enough that she can kiss him.
Title: no one's got what we've got going
Fandom: Glee
Rating: PG?
Characters: Mike Chang/Tina Cohen-Chang, Rachel Berry, Mercedes Jones, Quinn Fabray
Summary: Mike and Tina make excuses for their disinterest in joining the venn diagram of Glee Club/Celibacy Club relations.
Count: 1032 words
Notes: Forsvz_insanity's request! Title from "Dress and Tie" by Charlene Kaye.
* * *
The first week that it happens, Mike goes deer in the headlights and Tina politely says that they have plans that conflict with the timing of the Celibacy Club meeting, and that’s that. They go to Mike’s house after school and happily make out on the couch until it’s time to go pick up his sister; Tuesdays are fifth-grade basketball practices, and thus their one day without a chatty 10-year-old third wheel who really loves Super Mario and the color pink.
Quinn accepted the excuse and seemed to have extended the invitation more out of courtesy than anything, to make sure they didn’t feel left out, and Tina genuinely thought that that was the end of it.
Until the second week, that is.
Rachel corners them between classes and starts saying something about using Celibacy Club time for extra rehearsals. She’s talking in what Tina privately thinks of as waterfall mode, words tumbling over each other as she barrels onward regardless of what anyone else tries to do or say. It’s a vaguely terrifying force of nature.
“—ry important to our sense of cohesion as a group that we spend further time honing our selections for Regionals,” Rachel says, and it’s three long seconds of silence as students push past in the hall before Tina realizes that Rachel has finally finished.
“Um,” says Tina, which is a mistake.
“There’s a parade,” Mike blurts, and Rachel frowns; Tina and Mercedes stare at him incredulously.
Mike has killer abs and he’s the sweetest boy Tina knows, but he’s the worst liar in the history of the world.
“That—” he continues desperately, “—we are going to.”
“We’re watching it!” Tina jumps in, because at this point, that’s all she can do, and because Mike shoots her a frantic, adorable HELP ME face the second that Rachel turns away from him. “On … the computer. Online. After rehearsal. … On the computer.”
Rachel is a whole lot of things, but she isn’t stupid. “You mentioned that part,” she says, borderline snippy. “What kind of parade?”
Tina blinks once, twice, and then says: “How come you guys never try to get Mercedes or Finn to come to your meetings? They’re in glee, too.”
“Excuse me, I,” says Mercedes, putting her hands up, “am celibate ‘cause there’s not a boy at this school that could handle this sex bomb, not because I think it’s some great idea.”
“And Finn isn’t dating anyone; I’m sure of it,” Rachel says impatiently, like that explains everything (and it kind of does, when it comes to why she’s really in the Celibacy Club), and the other three exchange is she for real? and oh, that’s just sad glances.
Tina is sympathetic to unrequited love and she actually kind of likes Rachel most of the time, as overbearing as she can be, but she does not want to be the one to inform her that she’s the last person to figure out that Quinn and Finn are totally still macking.
She puts her finger on her nose and, while Rachel isn’t looking, mouths, ‘Not it.’
Mike immediately does the same the second that he spots what she’s doing, and Mercedes hisses through her teeth at them, then sighs.
“Rachel,” Mercedes says, and she reaches out and gently wraps her hand around Rachel’s elbow. “Come on, girl. We’re gonna talk.”
Tina thinks that that will be the end of it, but somehow, the next week, it isn’t.
She’s ready to get her righteous blade of sex positivity on, her shoulders coming up and her mouth opening, but surprisingly, Mike snaps first.
“Sex!” he yelps, and every head in the chorus room snaps to look at them. Rachel looks deeply startled. “Sexy sex sex, sex! We’ve having it! It’s safe and it’s good—” He stops, and then he points at Rachel, Tina thinks mostly because he’s being emphatic and she happens to be standing right in front of him, but also because she’s the one who started trying to drag all of them (Mercedes and Finn included this time) into a club meeting again. “—No, it’s fantastic, and it totally works for us, and—”
He has very clearly run out of things to say, and out of immediate frustration; Tina wants to step forward to rescue him but her mouth is stuck open.
“—You guys can suck it!” Mike finishes, and then he stomps out the door.
He passes Mr. Schue coming in as he goes out. “Hey Mike!” Mr. Schue greets jovially, and Mike makes an inarticulate noise and continues down the hall.
Mr. Schuester stares after him, then turns to look at the glee club.
Lauren applauds.
Tina catches up to Mike on the front steps, where he’s sitting with his knees tucked up. It’s raw and cold outside, the piles of snow and sand at the edges of the parking lots still high. He didn’t stop at his locker to get his coat; he must be freezing. He starts to spring up the second that he sees her come through the doors, his face an open book of guilt, but she waves him down and then sits beside him, wrapping both her arms around his nearer bicep and leaning into him.
“I’m really, really sorry, Tina,” he says. “I shouldn’t have said any of that stuff; it wasn’t any of their business.”
“It wasn’t,” Tina agrees cheerfully, and she rubs his cold arm and drapes her cobwebby black scarf around his neck. He slowly smiles at her, his frown lines easing up. “It was all true, though,” she continues. “I mean, we do have safe sex, it is fantastic, and anybody who has a problem with that can suck it.”
Mike laughs, like he’s a little surprised but totally charmed. “You’re not mad?”
She immediately shakes her head. “No way. Besides,” she says, sly, and she gently tugs him in by the scarf, “it was kind of hot.” They smile, huddled together on the front steps, and Tina brushes their noses together.
Title: coffee break
Fandom: Glee
Rating: PG
Characters: Blaine Anderson, Brittany Pierce, Kurt Hummel
Summary: Brittany wanders into the Lima Bean.
Count: 1283 words
Notes: For
msmoocow, who requested Blaine-Brittany interactions. This is set just before "Original Songs."* * *
Blaine almost feels like he needs a chaperone.
It’s not like anyone’s going to accuse him of untoward behavior; they’re sitting at a table in the Lima Bean in front of at least 30 people and he’s very up front about his sexual orientation, and anyway, Brittany may be a little slow, but he’s fairly certain she could bench press him if she felt in any way threatened by him.
What he feels bad about is the fact that they’re coming dangerously close to discussing Regionals right now, and he’s not sure A) if she realizes she can’t off-handedly mention anything about what she’s been rehearsing, or B) how many New Directions will believe him if he says that she didn’t say anything of the sort. McKinley has (well-deserved, from what Kurt has told him) trust issues.
“You know we can’t talk about glee, right, Brittany?” Blaine asks, as kindly as he can.
“I know,” Brittany says, matter of fact. “Everybody’s still fighting about songs.”
Blaine can feel his eyebrows creep up his forehead. “Seriously?” Kurt has mentioned the New Directions’ state of chronic under-preparation, but this is cutting it really close. “Regionals are in four days.” Brittany opens her mouth, and Blaine immediately has grave doubts about what’s what’s going to come out of it. “—Actually, you know what? Never mind.”
She blinks at him, then nods and lets her gaze drift to her coffee cup. She’s picking at the cardboard holder with her nails.
“Brittany?” Blaine asks gently. “What are you doing here?”
“Coach said to fuel up before motocross practice, so I brought my motorcycle for a coffee,” Brittany says, like that makes perfect sense.
Blaine stares at her.
“But nobody else is here yet.” Her face brightens. “Kurt.”
Kurt?
It takes Blaine a second to realize the implication of that greeting — mostly, that Kurt is supposed to be meeting him any time now — and turn around. Kurt is standing several feet behind him, hand on the strap of his bag and wariness writ large in every inch of his expression. “Brittany,” he says, and he slowly sets his bag down. Blaine leans over and pulls it under the table, out of the way of people’s feet, while Kurt draws up a third chair.
“Fraternizing with the enemy, I see,” Kurt says, and Blaine isn’t sure which one of them he’s talking to. Blaine huffs a soft laugh and slides Kurt’s mocha across the table; Kurt’s lofty, bemused-but-confused expression shifts into something gentler (something that, if Blaine is really honest with himself, would scare the crap out of him if he allowed himself to acknowledge it). He smiles faintly at Blaine, a silent thank you, and wraps his long fingers around the cup.
Meanwhile, Brittany’s face has scrunched up. “I’m totally not,” she says. “Artie is my boyfriend, and Blaine has different plumbing, so that would be cheating.”
Kurt politely sputters his first sip of coffee into his hand. Blaine’s eyebrows are seriously trying to become one with his hair. “What??” he asks.
Wiping his mouth and hand with a stack of napkins, Kurt says in a lightning-fast low aside, “I absolutely have no idea, but I don’t think I’m ready for whatever the answer is.” Looking back toward Brittany, Kurt raises his voice back to conversational level. “Brittany—” He apparently notices Brittany’s downcast look at the same time that Blaine does, because his face abruptly softens, and his voice is quiet when he says, “Boo.”
Kurt is watching her like Blaine isn’t even at the table; like no one but Brittany is in the coffee shop. It’s the intent expression that Kurt tends to turn on new Vogue editorials or the sheet music for an unfamiliar song. The expression is somehow simultaneously sharp and very, very kind. Blaine wasn’t kidding when he told Mr. Hummel that Kurt was the most moral, compassionate person he’s ever met.
“What’s going on?” Kurt asks, as gentle as Blaine has ever heard him.
Brittany doesn’t answer right away; Blaine contributes, “She’s … confused.”
The incredulous look that Kurt shoots him speaks volumes.
Brittany, though, lifts her head and peers at Blaine. “How did you know?” she asks, awed. To Kurt: “Does his power come from his hair?”
Kurt slowly blinks twice, and then he visibly shakes off the question. “What’s confusing?” he asks, and he pats her hand.
Her expression of childlike wonder slips away. “I love Santana,” she says, with what has to be one of the saddest sad faces Blaine has ever seen, “but I love Artie, too; I can’t break up with him.”
It takes Blaine half a second to place a face to the name — Santana was very memorable, both in person and in Kurt’s anecdotes, but he has only been in the same room as the New Directions a couple of times, and that’s a lot of names and faces at once — but he definitely has a blurry memory of long dark hair and body shots off Brittany’s stomach.
“Nobody’s asking you to break up with Artie,” Kurt says, looking like he’s confused but trying to be soothing at the same time.
“Santana did,” Brittany says quietly.
Kurt says, “—Oh,” and Blaine says, “Whoa.”
“We don’t talk or have lady kisses now,” she continues, in that same heartbreaking monotone. Her voice rises just a little in muted frustration. “I don’t know how to make Santana my friend again.”
Blaine exchanges a glance with Kurt, who looks totally floored.
Maybe that’s his cue. “Well,” Blaine says, “Brittany,” and then he stops for a second to give himself time to think. Honestly, he has no idea what to say. “Have you tried talking to Santana about this?”
Wordlessly, she shakes her head.
“Talking might be a start,” Kurt says. There’s a hint of sarcasm there, but it’s not nasty or directed at Brittany, and he says it into the lid of his coffee.
“Okay,” Brittany says, very seriously, and she frowns at her coffee for several seconds. Then she gets up. “I guess everybody else got their bike coffee at Starbucks; I should go to practice. Bye Kurt. Bye Kurt’s friend.” She picks up her helmet, her backpack, and her cup of coffee, and she wanders out as randomly as she’d wandered in.
In her wake, they stare at each other for several seconds, and then Blaine lets his face pull into a quizzical frown even as he smiles, and Kurt seems to take that as a cue for a brief bark of laughter. “Did that really just happen?” Blaine asks.
Kurt doesn’t dignify that with a response. “You cannot tell anyone about this,” he says, “ever. If word gets back to Santana that we’re aware that she made some kind of moves on Brittany and was rebuffed, we’ll become stains on the filthy pavement of a back-alley somewhere.”
“Come on, Kurt,” Blaine says, laughing. “I mean, I wouldn’t say anything, but really? She’d murder us? Isn't that a little dramatic?”
“I doubt that anyone aside from Brittany has ever lived to tell the tale, but I’d be willing to bet my entire collection of vintage belt buckles that hell hath no fury like a vulnerable Santana Lopez,” Kurt says darkly, and Blaine thinks about that for a minute.
“My lips are sealed,” Blaine promises, and Kurt’s eyes flick down minutely, then quickly go all the way down to his mocha.
Title: basic pinning
Fandom: Glee
Rating: PG-13/borderline R
Characters: Lauren Zizes/Noah Puckerman
Summary: Puck issues a really stupid challenge.
Count: 796 words
Notes: For
weyrdchic, who requested Lauren/Puck with the prompt of "physical." (You don't even know how close I came to writing them just mocking Sue and Olivia Newton John's video.) This is what a half-nelson looks like!* * *
“Off,” orders Lauren as her cell phone continues to ring, buzzing on the bedside table.
Straddling her hips, his shirt off and his jeans half unzipped, Puck stares down at her. He looks like she has personally betrayed him. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I told you I was gonna get a call and, no matter where your dick was at, I was gonna take it. Take a chill pill, Puckerman,” she says, and she pats him condescendingly on the thigh. “I’ll be right back.”
Maybe that last sentence, cooed like Puck was a six-year-old who wouldn’t understand big words, was a little much. It was a little something, clearly, because he looks at her and then he lowers his weight so that he’s sitting on her.
Does he actually think he’s pinning her? That’s adorable.
“Cute,” Lauren says, hearing her phone continuing to buzz. “You best step off, or I will make you.”
Puck raises an eyebrow at her. “Well, that,” he drawls, “sounds interesting,” and he very deliberately doesn’t move a muscle.
Well then. If Puckerman wants to play this game (the one where he asked her starry-eyed dumb questions three months ago about whether dudes get wood while wrestling her) — they’ll play this game.
“O-kay,” Lauren deadpans without the slightest change to her flat expression, but she’s grinning on the inside as she surges up all at once.
Apparently startled despite the fact that he was blatantly asking for it, Puck yells. He’d make a seriously crappy wrestler. By the time he gets a handle on what’s happening and fights back in earnest, Lauren has had two solid seconds, which is all the time that a state champion really needs. He’s still bucking, though, even after she throws him onto his stomach; even after she has her hip firmly planted (Zizes ain’t going nowhere once that hip’s on the mat, or, in this case, the mattress) and has slipped her arm under his so that she can shove his face into the pillows. He’s wiggling and swearing and trying to slip out of the hold. That’s the grossly charming thing about Puckerman. He doesn’t know when to quit.
Lauren thoughtfully eyes the still-open expanse of sheets; she decides that she has just enough space to teach him a lesson without knocking them both onto the floor. She rams her shoulder into his armpit (he groans something that sounds equal parts winded and turned on) and relentlessly shoves.
It’s a beautiful half-nelson; one that Coach Hardison would clap her on the shoulder for if she pulled it off on the practice mat. Lauren keeps her legs in a textbook-perfect wide stance and her arm wrapped around Puck’s head and neck.
Puckerman has no idea what’s hitting him, or how to counter pure wrestling gold. He rolls right over, still kicking at the air, and they wind up exactly where they’re supposed to — Puck flat on his back with his head in the pillows and his face pressed into Lauren’s side, and Lauren on top of him with her breasts compressed against his chest, glancing over the edge of the bed.
She reaches out with her free hand and snags her phone off the bedside table.
“Are you checking your texts right now?” wheezes Puck’s resigned, annoyed voice, breath tickling that line between bra and skin.
“You just got Zizes’d. Deal with it,” Lauren says, thumb flying as she taps out a one-handed response to Tina.
To her mild surprise, he actually does deal with it. He’s quiet through the 15 or 20 seconds that it takes her to finish and send the text. After she turns her phone off and puts it back, she glances down. She can’t see much of him from this angle; mostly his side and the back of his shoulder, muscle standing out as he grips at her back. His face is tucked just below her armpit and against the side of her bra, and despite her best efforts — mostly because she wants to mock him for the “do guys ever get erections while they fight you” question til the end of time — his hot, steady breaths are kinda gettin’ her there.
“Are you giving up yet or what, Puckerman?” Lauren finally asks, like she could do this all day (because she could, even if it would be a waste of the prime two hours before her mom comes home from work).
“Actually,” says Puck, muffled but sounding smug as shit, given that he’s practically nestled in her breasts, “I’m pretty good here.”
Lauren elbows him in the chest before she loosens her hold enough that she can kiss him.
Title: no one's got what we've got going
Fandom: Glee
Rating: PG?
Characters: Mike Chang/Tina Cohen-Chang, Rachel Berry, Mercedes Jones, Quinn Fabray
Summary: Mike and Tina make excuses for their disinterest in joining the venn diagram of Glee Club/Celibacy Club relations.
Count: 1032 words
Notes: For
svz_insanity's request! Title from "Dress and Tie" by Charlene Kaye.* * *
The first week that it happens, Mike goes deer in the headlights and Tina politely says that they have plans that conflict with the timing of the Celibacy Club meeting, and that’s that. They go to Mike’s house after school and happily make out on the couch until it’s time to go pick up his sister; Tuesdays are fifth-grade basketball practices, and thus their one day without a chatty 10-year-old third wheel who really loves Super Mario and the color pink.
Quinn accepted the excuse and seemed to have extended the invitation more out of courtesy than anything, to make sure they didn’t feel left out, and Tina genuinely thought that that was the end of it.
Until the second week, that is.
Rachel corners them between classes and starts saying something about using Celibacy Club time for extra rehearsals. She’s talking in what Tina privately thinks of as waterfall mode, words tumbling over each other as she barrels onward regardless of what anyone else tries to do or say. It’s a vaguely terrifying force of nature.
“—ry important to our sense of cohesion as a group that we spend further time honing our selections for Regionals,” Rachel says, and it’s three long seconds of silence as students push past in the hall before Tina realizes that Rachel has finally finished.
“Um,” says Tina, which is a mistake.
“There’s a parade,” Mike blurts, and Rachel frowns; Tina and Mercedes stare at him incredulously.
Mike has killer abs and he’s the sweetest boy Tina knows, but he’s the worst liar in the history of the world.
“That—” he continues desperately, “—we are going to.”
“We’re watching it!” Tina jumps in, because at this point, that’s all she can do, and because Mike shoots her a frantic, adorable HELP ME face the second that Rachel turns away from him. “On … the computer. Online. After rehearsal. … On the computer.”
Rachel is a whole lot of things, but she isn’t stupid. “You mentioned that part,” she says, borderline snippy. “What kind of parade?”
Tina blinks once, twice, and then says: “How come you guys never try to get Mercedes or Finn to come to your meetings? They’re in glee, too.”
“Excuse me, I,” says Mercedes, putting her hands up, “am celibate ‘cause there’s not a boy at this school that could handle this sex bomb, not because I think it’s some great idea.”
“And Finn isn’t dating anyone; I’m sure of it,” Rachel says impatiently, like that explains everything (and it kind of does, when it comes to why she’s really in the Celibacy Club), and the other three exchange is she for real? and oh, that’s just sad glances.
Tina is sympathetic to unrequited love and she actually kind of likes Rachel most of the time, as overbearing as she can be, but she does not want to be the one to inform her that she’s the last person to figure out that Quinn and Finn are totally still macking.
She puts her finger on her nose and, while Rachel isn’t looking, mouths, ‘Not it.’
Mike immediately does the same the second that he spots what she’s doing, and Mercedes hisses through her teeth at them, then sighs.
“Rachel,” Mercedes says, and she reaches out and gently wraps her hand around Rachel’s elbow. “Come on, girl. We’re gonna talk.”
Tina thinks that that will be the end of it, but somehow, the next week, it isn’t.
She’s ready to get her righteous blade of sex positivity on, her shoulders coming up and her mouth opening, but surprisingly, Mike snaps first.
“Sex!” he yelps, and every head in the chorus room snaps to look at them. Rachel looks deeply startled. “Sexy sex sex, sex! We’ve having it! It’s safe and it’s good—” He stops, and then he points at Rachel, Tina thinks mostly because he’s being emphatic and she happens to be standing right in front of him, but also because she’s the one who started trying to drag all of them (Mercedes and Finn included this time) into a club meeting again. “—No, it’s fantastic, and it totally works for us, and—”
He has very clearly run out of things to say, and out of immediate frustration; Tina wants to step forward to rescue him but her mouth is stuck open.
“—You guys can suck it!” Mike finishes, and then he stomps out the door.
He passes Mr. Schue coming in as he goes out. “Hey Mike!” Mr. Schue greets jovially, and Mike makes an inarticulate noise and continues down the hall.
Mr. Schuester stares after him, then turns to look at the glee club.
Lauren applauds.
Tina catches up to Mike on the front steps, where he’s sitting with his knees tucked up. It’s raw and cold outside, the piles of snow and sand at the edges of the parking lots still high. He didn’t stop at his locker to get his coat; he must be freezing. He starts to spring up the second that he sees her come through the doors, his face an open book of guilt, but she waves him down and then sits beside him, wrapping both her arms around his nearer bicep and leaning into him.
“I’m really, really sorry, Tina,” he says. “I shouldn’t have said any of that stuff; it wasn’t any of their business.”
“It wasn’t,” Tina agrees cheerfully, and she rubs his cold arm and drapes her cobwebby black scarf around his neck. He slowly smiles at her, his frown lines easing up. “It was all true, though,” she continues. “I mean, we do have safe sex, it is fantastic, and anybody who has a problem with that can suck it.”
Mike laughs, like he’s a little surprised but totally charmed. “You’re not mad?”
She immediately shakes her head. “No way. Besides,” she says, sly, and she gently tugs him in by the scarf, “it was kind of hot.” They smile, huddled together on the front steps, and Tina brushes their noses together.
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I should tell you, though, last night I was like, o_O; reading Brittany without having seen the show and having an actress to put to the character is a little weird and disturbing. (This is nothing against you, of course; I don't know if you can maybe imagine what I mean? It's a little creeps!! the...was it you who said something once about how childlike they made her? It's weird to read it without having any idea who the character is in the show.)
(The other two are not.)
(I am still overall delighted.)
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Maybe especially Puck and Lauren. And Brittany. And- all of them.
Also, I have vacation this week! Wanna chill?
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Hell yes! If you mean the week that is about to start; I've actually got weekend plans, for once in my life! But lunch or dinner next week would be fab.
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And your ficcage really makes me want to, bebe. Like whoa.
I don't know Puck or Lauren from Adam, but I love, love, love them here.
In short: <3!
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I love your way with characterization. (And banter! And words. AND ALL OF IT.)
Although, aiya, I do see what you mean about Brittany and uncomfortableness. Hilarious fic, but oof.
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Well, for what it's worth, (A) this is only my interpretation, and (B) she has actually been more together/coherent, when it comes to the entire love triangle with Artie and Santana, than ... at pretty much any other point this season. So there's that, at least!
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Oh, Brittany, how much do I love you and your motocross? A LOT.
Kurt’s lofty, bemused-but-confused expression shifts into something gentler (something that, if Blaine is really honest with himself, would scare the crap out of him if he allowed himself to acknowledge it).
GORGEOUS. Freaking gorgeous.
“We don’t talk or have lady kisses now,” she continues, in that same heartbreaking monotone. Her voice rises just a little in muted frustration. “I don’t know how to make Santana my friend again.”
Oh, my heart, my heart.
"basic pinning" is a) badass, b) so freaking in character, c) hot as hell, and d) hilarious.
"no one's got what we've got going" is amazing AND exactly what I wanted to see from Tina and Mike. So, so much love for them and their safe sex and their AWESOMENESS.
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The rest, especially the Klaine + Brittany one, were completely fantastic too. Poor Britt really does come across as even creepier and sadder here without Heather's acting to fill her in, though I also have a headcanon that while Britt is a little bit reality-dumb she understands something abstract and personal like feelings very well, and is able to figure those things out.