Author: coffeeandcupcakes PM
Why you should never leave Noah Puckerman in charge of redecorating ... especially when he's enlisted one Rachel Berry to help. Puckleberry.Rated: Fiction T - English - Humor/Romance - Puck & Rachel B. - Words: 3,563 - Reviews: 9 - Favs: 36 - Follows: 1 - Published: 12-30-10 - Status: Complete - id: 6605524
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
based on a true story: mine! this is basically what happened when me and my boyfriend tried to paint my room. it's been on my system for a while, so i
thought i'd share it with y'all. AU, I guess. Set in the summer when finchel were dating but with puckleberry instead because they're so damn awesome. xD
If the person that was banging on his door didn't shut up, Puck swore he was going to make them.
It was second month of summer vacation, and all Puck had done for the last month was hang out with his girlfriend and play video games, or go to the cinema, or just hang out doing nothing.
But now someone was waking him up at the ungodly time of - he turned his head to look at his clock - 10.12am and that had ruined his summer. Okay, maybe not his summer, but certainly his day. He remained underneath his sheets, his head jammed underneath the pillowcase in an effort to block out the sun and the banging.
"Noah?" His mother's voice drifted through the door, muffled at first, but got louder and clearer as she open the door. "Noah, honey, are you awake?"
"I'll take that as a yes, then," Deborah said, smiling. "Some of my girlfriends and I are going out for the day today, remember?" she said, before continuing without an answer. "And Hannah is spending the day at Emily's house today so you have the house to yourself."
"The house to myself? All day?" Puck perked up slightly, even going as far as to hesitantly poke his head out from under the pillow.
"Yes. But on one condition," his mother said, raising a finger.
Puck huffed as he retreated underneath his covers again. "Knew there was a fucking catch."
"Hey! Language!" Deborah said, raising an eyebrow at her seventeen-year-old son. (It had been his seventeenth earlier this month). "At least you could hear me out. I want you to wallpaper and paint the living room."
"Wait - you want me to redecorate the living room? I thought you were getting people in to do that?" Puck rose once again from his covers with his question. The living room of the Puckerman household had been emptied and covered with dust sheets two days ago, for when wallpaper-putter-upper/painter people were coming to redecorate. Or so Puck had thought.
"Yes, well, it's all just a little too expensive, Puck, do you know how much these people are charging, especially in the current financial climate?"
He nodded. They weren't exactly drowning in cash right now.
"Fine." He slipped down underneath the covers again, determined to get at least another hour of sleep.
Deborah beamed, and left, before turning back around when she was halfway out the door. "Please, don't make a mess. Not like the last time when you 'painted' the kitchen."
"Mom, for the last time, I slipped in the paint. I wasn't my fault that it stained the freakin' floor."
"Yes, sweetie, of course it wasn't," Deborah cooed sarcastically, walking over to the bed and ruffling the tuff of hair that was all she could see of her son. "See you later. So, wallpaper and paint is in the kitchen. I want the large wall opposite the fireplace wallpapered and the rest painted. Don't make a mess, and there is food in the fridge and emergency money in the drawer if you want a pizza or anything. Okay?"
"Bye, honey!" Deborah trilled as she left. Seconds later the doorbell rang and Puck could hear a woman's voice indistinctly chatting to her mother before the door slammed shut and Deborah's car engine burst into life. A few seconds later, the Puckerman household was once again silent.
For about three seconds.
A buzzing noise was heard, before the loud beats of AC/DC's Highway to Hell sounded, and it was a few seconds before Puck's head popped up at the sound of his mobile phone. Rachel had changed it to some Barbara Streisand song that he couldn't remember the name of, for a joke, and he couldn't be bothered changing it back until recently. He had forgotten that he'd chosen AC/DC.
He reached around blindly for a moment, not bothered to removed his head from against his pillow, before he found his phone. He didn't bother looking at the caller-id at this time in the morning. It was probably his Mom, telling him to remember something or other she'd said only thirty seconds before.
"Hello?" he said, slightly exasperated.
"Hello to you, too," the amused voice said, a voice that was definitely not his Mom, and Puck laughed a little hoarsely down the phone. It was a voice he could recognise anywhere.
"Sup, Rach. Sorry. Thought you were my freakin' Mom."
Puck sat up, rubbing a small bit of sleep out of his eye. "Not in a bad way. I thought she was calling me to tell me to do something else. She's been talking stuff at me all morning."
"All morning? Why, did your Mom actually manage to get you up at some sort of reasonable time this morning? I did wonder why you answered the phone so promptly."
"All morning, ten minutes ago, same fucking difference." It was a well-known thing between them that Rachel was an early riser (a really early riser) while Puck was known for sleeping in until the early hours of the afternoon. Rachel had taken it upon herself to make sure Puck was up and ready at the very latest 11am, and Puck had quickly found it wasn't as bad as he had originally thought. In fact, it was a very enjoyable way to wake up.
"Why didn't you come over this morning?" Puck continued, pouting slightly as if Rachel could see over the phone.
"My dads took me out for breakfast."
"You've been out for breakfast already? It's like dawn or something," Puck said, picking at his bedcovers.
Puck could hear her television in the background, she was watching Chicago. Again. "Noah, it's nearly half ten in the morning. That does not count as dawn. That's like, six in the morning when the sun rises."
Puck rolled his eyes, even though she couldn't see him.
"My mom wants me to redecorate."
"Redecorate? Redecorate what?"
"The living room. I've got to wallpaper it. And paint it." Puck's voice was put out and his pout (that was not going to be seen by any other person apart from (maybe) Rachel in his whole life) was back on.
"Really? Why? It looked fine last time I was over."
"The living room hasn't been decorated since, like, the fucking Stone Age and Mom thinks it will put the value of the house up if we paint it. And rather than pay someone to do it she wants me to do it!" he exclaimed, expecting sympathy from his girlfriend.
"Aw, too much like hard work for you, honey?" Was all he got. Rachel's sarcastic tone drifted through the phone and made Puck smile. It was almost as if she could see his face. A idea struck Puck that made him bite his lip and would also make the day go way, way better.
"Yeah. I'll just be working my ass off, in my house, by myself, lonely as … some lonely person."
Rachel laughed, and Puck thought he'd never, ever, ever get bored of hearing the sound. After months of having to watch her laughing with Jesse St. Jackass, and then with Finn, it was like music to his ears when she was laughing with him. Not that he'd tell anyone that. He didn't want to start sounding like some sappy girl. "Where's your mom?"
"Out for the day, with some friends. Even Hannah's with friends. Raa-aaaach, can you come over and help me decorate? Please?"
Puck could tell from her voice that she was playing with him, she'd already made up her mind.
There was a few seconds of silence on the phone before Rachel sighed in that melodramatic way she always did. "Fine. I'll be there in half an hour."
Puck smiled, before frowning. "Half an hour? But Rach, you live ten minutes away."
"I know," came her voice, now slightly disjointed. She was obviously moving around, in her bedroom most likely, as Puck heard her turn her television off and open and close a couple of drawers. "But I have to find something to wear that is appropriate for redecorating and the outfit I wore for breakfast isn't suitable before you even mention it."
"Chill, babe," Puck said, chuckling. "I'll see you in half an hour. Love you."
"Bye. Love you too." The phone line disconnected, the buzzing tone ringing through his phone.
He snapped his phone shut and sighed. He had half an hour to get ready before Rachel came. He threw the phone carefully on his bed as he started towards the bathroom. A shower would be a good place to start. After a quick shower and a rendition of Don't Stop Believin' to his showerhead, Puck threw on an old pair of jeans and a random tee-shirt. It'll all be going in the laundry anyway, but he reckoned his Mom might just kill him if he wore anything other than his scruffiest clothes. In his opinion, they weren't any different from his other clothes, except that they were older.
It was about ten minutes later, when he was sitting on a countertop, eating a bowl of cereal (his specialty - it didn't require anything other than a bowl, spoon, milk and cereal) when the doorbell rang once more. He carried the bowl with him as he swung open the door to let his girlfriend enter.
"Hah Ach," he said, mouth full of Cornflakes. He looked her up and down for a moment while he chewed, before swallowing. "Are you wearing jeans?"
Rachel smiled as she shut the door behind her. "Contrary to popular belief, I do own a pair. I don't wear them often, though. They aren't really jeans as much as jean shorts," she said, picking at them. They were awfully short, but it was the height of summer.
"And maybe a white tee-shirt wasn't the best plan," Puck said, tugging softly on the item of clothing. "We are painting, y'know."
Rachel raised an eyebrow, with one hand on her hip. "It's an old shirt. Have you had enough of criticizing my outfit choices?" she said, trying to sound icy but instead she just sounded amused.
"Yeah, yeah, you look damn hot though," he said, pulling her closer by the hem of her baggy tee and kissed her firmly on the lips. He could feel her smiling underneath his lips, and he smiled back.
"You taste like cornflakes," she announced in a deadpan voice, before once again breaking into a huge grin. "But there's no time for that. Where's the stuff for your living room?" She was rubbing her small hands together, getting ready for the task that lay ahead.
"God, we don't have to get started on that shit right away, y'know," Puck said, wandering through to the kitchen and placing his now near-empty breakfast bowl in the sink. He'd clear it up later. "In here," he called to Rachel, who bounced in happily and grabbed several rolls of wallpaper and a tin of paint.
"You know, I've never actually painted a room before," Rachel said cheerfully as she carried various tools through from the kitchen into the living room.
Puck stopped, halfway out the living room door. He poked his head back around it as Rachel sat cross-legged on the dust-sheeted floor, wondering how to open a can of paint.
Rachel shook her head, not taking her eyes off the tin. "No. Whenever we redecorated the house, my dads always got people in to paint and wallpaper. They may love interior design, but they aren't exactly handy with tools and DIY is probably their idea of a nightmare … but it can't be that hard, can it?" Rachel looked up at Puck, her eyebrows creased together in a frown.
"Well, It's not that hard, if you know what you're doing … so you're lucky you have me, I guess. Or you would be in deep shit," he said, as Rachel rolled her eyes at his language. Even though it would never come out of her mouth, she knew better than to try and stop Puck from cussing. Apparently that's how boys speak to each other, in sexual innuendos and curses.
Puck had turned around to get the last few tools when Rachel's voice stopped him. "Noah?" she asked, meekly. He turned around, frowning. Rachel never sounded meek, never.
She looked slightly embarrassed as she stared hard at the tin of paint. "How do you open it? There doesn't seem to be a cap or ring-pull or anything … " she trailed off, turning the tin of paint upside down, as if the lid would just fall off by itself.
Puck smiled. "Be right back," he said, and jogged through to the kitchen. Rachel heard him rattling around in the kitchen for a few moments before he came back, screwdriver in hand. "Rach, baby," he said, wiggling the screwdriver in front of her. "Watch and learn." He slide the screwdriver underneath the lid and prised it off gently, catching the lid in his hand so it didn't fall onto the dust sheet.
Rachel bit her lip at the simplicity of it. "Well, actually, it's not obvious because it's not got any instructions or anything on it so if you've never actually painted before how are you supposed to know to prise it open with a screwdriver? That's just - "
"Common knowledge," Puck concluded, earning himself a punch in the arm from Rachel, who is scowling at him. "Ouch," he said, rubbing his arm. She actually hadn't hurt him - how could she have hurt him, the tiny thing that she is? - but he was after the sympathy.
He could tell from Rachel's face that he wasn't getting any.
Rachel picked herself up from the floor and walks over to where a stack of brushes are lying. She picked two up, keeping one in her left hand and used her right hand to throw one of them to Puck, who caught it with all the expertise of a football player.
"Now, which walls does your mother want painted again?" she asked, frowning at the four walls of the Puckerman's living room.
"These three," Puck pointed them out. "You take that wall, and I'll take this wall, yeah?" he said, and as Rachel nodded her approval he dipped his brush into the paint before glancing up at her. "You do know how to paint, right?" he asked her, smirking slightly.
"Of course I know how to paint, Noah. Don't be ridiculous."
"Says the girl who didn't know how to open a tin of paint."
Rachel huffed, turning away from Puck and dipped her own brush into her own tin of paint, before applying it to her section of wall.
It was a few moments before anyone spoke. "Berry! You're fucking doing it wrong," Puck said, smirking.
(She wasn't, he just wanted to wind her up.)
"How? How can I possibly be doing it wrong?" Rachel asked, stepping back from her wall and seeing if Puck's was any different. It wasn't.
It took a few moment of squinting at walls and looking back at forth before Rachel realised Puck was laughing at her.
The boy in question was bent over double in his mirth, his paintbrush dangling loosely from his hand as his other one was set on his knee.
Rachel frowned for a few moments, before realising the perfect opportunity that was in front of her. She grabbed Puck's paintbrush from his hand and smeared it so there was a inch thick sky blue streak of paint across his left cheek, before smirking at her handiwork and placed his brush back in his hand as if she had done nothing.
"Raaaaach! What'd you do that for?" He said, going cross eyed as he tried to inspect the damage done to his cheek.
"You were making fun of me," Rachel said, shrugging her shoulders as she went back to painting. Puck had other ideas though, as he dipped his brush into fresh paint and drew a long, thick streak down her thigh, over her knee before ending halfway down her shin.
"Noah! Stop that immediately!" Rachel squealed, trying to shake her leg away from Puck's brush.
Puck smirked. "It's your fault for wearing such short shorts," he said, before sticking his tongue out. "That's quite hard to say, isn't it? Short shorts."
He was too busy telling her off for her choice of clothing that he failed to notice Rachel had sprayed the entire right side of his body (t-shirt included) in paint, and had hit the side of his face as well.
"You know what shit you've started now, Rach, don't you?" he said menacingly, soaking his brush in paint as he advanced on her like a predator with his prey.
"No," Rachel said innocently, backing away from her boyfriend.
"War!" He yelled, thrusting his brush out so that the paint splattered all over her white top.
"Oh, thank God I wore old clothes," Rachel said, as she trailed her brush down his arm.
He retaliated by dripping his own fingers straight into the paint and drew army-style streaks along her cheekbones. Rachel scrunched up her nose as the paint smell stung her nose for a second, but she soon got her own back as she plunged her whole hand in the paint and ruffled Puck's mohawk with the same hand. His look of outrage made her cackle in glee as she ran around his living room, evading his dripping, sky-blue paint covered hand as he chased her.
"Gotcha!" he yelled as he tackled her to the ground, leaving a large handprint on her thigh as he straddled her.
"Gerroff!" Rachel yelled, using her ridiculously strong inner thigh muscles to flip them over so she was straddling him, and pushed her entirely blue hand against his neck so he had a tiny handprint on his neck. He smiled as he grabbed her wrist, pulling her down towards him, as one hand went up to gently yank her hair closer to he could fucking kiss her senseless already.
Both teens froze in their respective positions as Deborah Puckerman's voice rang though from the hallway. They scrambled up guiltily, grabbing paintbrushes and starting painting as though nothing had happened, although their clothes begged to differ.
"Sorry, love, I forgot my wallet! Are you getting the room d - what in the world happened here?"
Deborah stood dumbfounded at the sight in front of her. There was paint all over the dust sheets, trails of the stuff that was still wet. Puck's mohawk was completely sky-blue, he had a handprint on his neck, one arm was completely blue, had one streak of his face and his entire left side of his body was blue.
His girlfriend wasn't much better though, as Deborah turned to Rachel. The first thing she noticed was the army-style streaks across her cheekbones, then she saw the front of her formally white top was splattered with dots of blue, and one of her legs was streaked with blue while the other one had handprints all over it.
It didn't take a rocket scientist to work out what had happened - especially when you pair it with the fact there had been a lot of paint used up, yet the walls were barely painted at all.
"Sorry?" Puck said, apologetically, trying to school his features into an apologetic face.
Deborah just shook her head. "This is the last time I get you to paint a room for me," she said, struggling not to smile at the scene in front of her. "Just get the room done, okay? And you better start praying there isn't any paint on the carpet."
"Yeah, Mom," Puck said, turning dutifully back to painting his section of wall. He heard his mom close the front door and slam a car door shut as she drove away once more.
Rachel turned to Puck. "You got off lightly," she said as she painted, "My Dads would have killed me. They'll kill me when I go home looking like this!"
Puck smirked. She obviously hadn't realised the Puck-sized handprint that he'd managed to land on her ass. Oh, she'd definitely be killed when she got home …