A/N: Them bitches at Fan Forum were working me like a slave to get this finished. Now I'm tired and need to sleep.


It happened at a party, of all places. How generic.

It's not like Puck expected her to show up at this type of party. Granted, she was the star quarterback's girlfriend and the head cheerleader; but Quinn would have to have snuck out of her house like lightning to get to this party, so he guessed she must have been running from something. Maybe her family, maybe Finn. Anyway, Finn wasn't even at the party - for reasons somehow unknown - so it was even more unusual for Quinn to arrive.

Like the annoying jackass persona he proudly bestowed upon himself, Puck grinned at her when she showed up. "Hey, Fabray. Wine cooler?" He held out the drink tantalizingly to her, and when she hesitated, he urged, "You won't get drunk. Or maybe you will. Up to you."

Quinn took a deep breath and pursed her lips before snatching the drink from his hand, indulging in her first long gulp of alcohol. She sputtered slightly and Puck's smile grew wolf-like.

"What is that?" Quinn sighed disgustedly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

Puck was struck with the innocence of the statement, and his smile plummeted down a couple watts. "Wine." He shrugged nonchalantly. "It's alcohol, babe. Not too much of it. Actually, I think it's rather fruity."

Quinn reluctantly took another sip, then another, until the glass was downed and her eyes were watering. Puck felt a pang of unease. He didn't exactly like Quinn Fabray, but he didn't hate her, either, and giving her a drink when she obviously couldn't hold alcohol well was something short of torture. She was - for the most part, when it came to alcohol and sex, due to her psychopathic parents' Christian-upraising - innocent. And he hated himself a little.

Puck decidedly grabbed the empty glass from her, hiding his good deed behind another grin. "Not another sip, Fabray. Don't want you to end up puking all over the place."

Quinn's eyes grew hard and defiant; Puck was momentarily stunned. He'd never seen Quinn anything other than full of smiles and virtuous. It scared him. Shocked him. Excited him.

Quinn jumped up to take the glass from him, rewarded when he prize slipped easily from his grasps, and a small smile glowed on her face. "I want another," she announced quietly, looking up at him with pleading brown eyes. "Come on, Puck," she added again when she noticed his tentativeness. "One more, that's it."

Puck's lips twisted into a wry smile. "Fine." He nodded towards the makeshift bar, where Steven was pouring drinks.

Quinn bit her lip and turned back to him. "Come with me?"

It made an uneasy feeling in Puck's stomach at the way she was looking at him. Her eyes, slightly glassy from the drink, but still clear, were trained on his face, as if she knew something he didn't. It unnerved him. Usually he had a perfunctory script for conversations with Quinn, but this girl was not the Quinn Fabray he knew.

Still, he followed her. Puck wasn't a good guy, in his own perception. But there was a certain thing about Quinn that he had to obey - she had this aura of perfection surrounding her like a halo, and, anyway, since Finn wasn't here, it was kind of Puck's obligation to watch her. Even if it meant giving up some quick sex in a closet with Santana.

He nodded once and she smiled. Even her smile was different. The world needed to start spinning again.

Puck contemplated it when he trailed behind her - even Quinn's dress was too short, too tantalizing. He found his eyes drifting too often to her backside, and even more than once he had to force himself to look away.

Quinn was biting her lip considerably as she waited for her drink, fingers drumming on the counter and eyes casting around the room. She looked nervous.

"What's eating you?" Puck asked roughly as he came to her side, his own gaze penetrating. He hated it when he didn't know what was going on. He hated being left out of the loop.

Quinn thanked Steven and took a small sip of her drink, her face contorting only once as she downed the rest of it. Rather than answering him, she turned exasperatedly and crossed her arms, assessing him critically. Finally, "Nothing."

"Nothing?" Puck raised an eyebrow, seething at her insistence.

"Nothing." Quinn nodded and it didn't quite meet her eyes when she looked away.

Puck's eyes narrowed slightly but he didn't bug her any further. Whatever. It was her problem, not his. And he shouldn't have to make it his own problem by asking. That was messy, and that was pointless. Right? Right.

So he left her alone.


- - -


Quinn felt fat.

To put it simply, she felt fat. If she wanted to get technical, she could come up with a million and one reasons as to why she felt unimportant and insignificant that day. She could come up with reasons as to why she felt ugly, why she felt unwanted.

Really, the root of all problems was Sue Sylvester. "Fabray! If you lost a few hundred pounds maybe the pyramid wouldn't fall!"

Yeah, fuck you, too, coach. Go suck a nut, or something.

So, whatever. It was stupid and pointless to get worked up over something Sue said. Sue says a lot of things. Doesn't mean they're all true, right? And, so what if Quinn packed a couple pounds? Made her curvy, right? Guys like curvy, don't they? Finn likes curvy. So curvy is fine. Really. It's all fine.

So she wondered if she was really fat.

Quinn thought she'd cried everything out at home in the bathtub with the lights off. But she didn't, apparently. Because alcohol invokes certain feelings and pushes them to the surface, something she wished she'd have known when she accepted the drink from Puck. And then got another. Like a rebel she was not.

So she came to a party to make herself feel rebellious. Snuck out like she'd hardly ever done before, managed to evade her parents, and entered a house reeking of pot and booze. She had a drink because she wanted to be fun.

Maybe if she was more fun, people would overlook that she wasn't as thin as Santana or Brittany.

But instead it left her lightheaded and full of tears. Damn it, she shouldn't feel so sad over nothing. Because Sue was just being a bitch, as usual. But it still didn't help. No, not one bit.

And then Puck swung open the door to the unmarked bedroom with a wine cooler in hand.

And that didn't help, either.

"There you are." Puck nodded to himself, as if satisfied that he found her, and closed the door. He seemed to miss the fact that she was crying. Or that he completely ruined her privacy.

Quinn huffed and looked away, furiously wiping the tears. Puck was probably going to say something like, "Where's Finn? Lover-boy leave you for Mindless Cheerio #4?" or, "If you're at a party, you should have fun, and stop being a whiny little schoolgirl."

Instead, Puck sat down next to her and asked bluntly, "Where's Finn?"

She was kind of right, at least.

"Home." With the single syllable, she managed not to fall apart, and the choked lump in her throat was stifled. Quinn just wanted Puck gone so she could deal with her overwhelming self-pity alone. Wallowing like an invalid was done best without the school's biggest jackass in the room.

"And missing this party?" Puck snorted disbelievingly. "Must be his parents."

Quinn made a noncommittal sound, still averting her face from his, trying her best to keep him from the fact that she was on the verge of a public meltdown in Steven's guest room.

"Hey - are you crying?"

Apparently she should have tried harder.

"Yes, Puckerman," Quinn snapped, refusing to look at him. "I'm crying. Fantastic notion, don't you think? Call the press, alert Figgins! Quinn Fabray is crying!"

Puck was silent for a while, probably registering her words. Then, "Why?" like it was the most simple thing on earth. She kind of wanted to hurt him. Or tell him to get the hell out of the room so she may bawl in peace. Or however much peaceful it could get.

Quinn released a bitter laugh, breathless, appalled at his audacity. Why should he care? No, he probably just wanted to laugh in her face. Like Puck does, to people. Because Puck was a jackass. So Quinn shouldn't tell him a thing. Because it was stupid. And pointless. Because Puck didn't care. Obviously.

"Do you think I'm fat?"

Quinn ignored her conscience yelling at her and instead turned pleadingly to Puck, who was most likely ready to run with his tail between his legs after that little question. She shouldn't have asked.

Puck froze. "Uh," he started.

Quinn sighed. "Never mind, don't answer that." She tried to smile. Failed miserably. Closed her eyes instead. "Can you please, just, uh... go?" Trying to be eloquent wasn't working for her, so she resorted to caveman language that maybe he'd understand.

"I don't think you're fat." Puck shrugged nonchalantly, almost appearing embarrassed, as if he couldn't care less whether or not the statement meant the world to her. "Not really. Not at all," he added when her eyes flew open.

Quinn contemplated the answer for a moment.

Then she kissed him.


- - -


It was kind of nice.

Really nice, actually. Kind of awesome, to be precise. It was kind of awesome.

Puck had spent many days of his life fantasizing about Quinn Fabray. Many, many days, and even more nights. He was allowed to. It was in the guy-code that you were totally allowed to jack off to your best friend's girl as long as said best friend never found out. So it wasn't like he was breaking some rule. He was following the rules exactly.

The code also strictly permits any sort of physical contact with the best friend's girl and the best friend. He broke that rule when Quinn straddled him. Or rather, she broke the rule. That would be his excuse. "Dude, I never broke the rule, Quinn did."

But Puck wasn't a good guy, so he allowed her to break the code with him. And if it meant he could slide his hands underneath her dress and fondle with his prize a little, then so be it.

Her hands were soft as they gripped the back of his neck. Very soft. And gentle, but demanding. Really, she was kind of perfect. And he was a lucky bastard.

Dialogue was unnecessary. Even when she mewled a little in the back of her throat when he nipped at her bottom lip, or when she absently wrapped her legs around his waist. Or when she gasped as she noticed his completely obvious hard-on. He wanted to say something like, "Holy shit, this is hot," but dialogue was completely unnecessary.

He was breaking the guy-code. Badly.

Was the door locked? Did it matter?

"Is the door locked?" she asked against his neck.

"Does it matter?" he countered against her shoulder.

Not really. She was kissing him again. And it was perfect. Awesome. Puck didn't have many words for it. It was just... good. It tasted good. Like strawberries or something fruity like that. And it felt good. He wanted her badly and she was giving herself to him and it just felt so good.

Then she unzipped her dress.

There was warmth rippling through his chest. Either he was horny or having a heart-attack.


- - -


It felt cold in the room without her dress.

There was sweat on her brow and on his cheeks and lipstick smeared on his lips and she felt completely un-fat.

Puck's lips were moving to her neck and she had to calm the racing heart that thumped sporadically against her ribcage, vehemently making itself heard in the quiet room. She had to struggle not to cry out even when his tongue licked a sizzling trail to her chest.

Quinn's head was tipping back and she, for a moment, could forget that she was cheating (horribly) on Finn, just giving herself in to pleasure at the hands of Noah Puckerman. At the lips of Noah Puckerman. And tongue. If she tried hard enough, Finn Hudson just didn't exist anymore, and she was simply a single girl giving herself to a (kind of) single guy. It felt right.

She was a virgin.

"I'm a virgin." Quinn didn't know why she chose that moment to say those words, and she was afraid it would completely turn him away from her, and she'd have to go home to a cold shower.

Through the slight haze in her eyes, Quinn could see Puck's eyebrows furrow.

"Hot," he commented. He didn't seem to care. Quinn blinked dubiously at him as he looked up from his blatant eye-dragging up and down her bare chest.

"What?" Puck frowned.

Quinn just shook her head silently, blonde hair slicked to her sweaty neck. She had no words. It wasn't right. She knew it wasn't right that she was doing this. But there was something great about him wanting her - something so perfect about it. He was a connoisseur of women. If he wanted her, she was fuckable. It made her feel great.

Puck took her silence as indifference and slowly slipped out of his jersey, propping a brow at her as if to ask her if he was doing the right thing. Sex. Right, it was basically all about sex.

"You're beautiful, you know that?"

Not quite the words Quinn was expecting, but she took them anyway without contemplation and kissed his neck, his cheek, his lips, his shoulder. Everywhere she could touch, she kissed, thanking him and wanting him and begging for some consolation.

"You're so beautiful," he went on softly into her ear, sending those first few waves of wanting down her stomach. "I've always wanted you. Everyone wants you. You're so much better than Santana and Sue can fuck off and..."

She stopped listening and instead focused on his voice, guttural as he poured the secrets into her skin, her mouth.

There was a sin about this, right? She was breaking, like, two sins. She was breaking two basic rules of the earth.

Quinn unbuttoned his jeans.

There was probably another sin about that, too.


- - -


Puck was naked. Quinn was naked.

They were going somewhere with this. Things were coming out of this. For better or worse was an entirely different question.

Tentatively, with the steady calmness of someone with much practice, Puck waited at her entrance, like a gentlemen that he was not. He was never a gentlemen. He always simply took what he wanted and didn't care what anyone else said. Didn't give a shit. But he would hate himself if he pushed in without Quinn's approval. He would hate himself forever.

Quinn's fingernails were gripping his shoulders. He found her didn't mind the pain so much.

Her eyes fluttered open and they were glassy, from the alcohol or the sorrow or the lust, he wasn't sure. Her lips parted as if she'd not realized how far this had gone. This being them - he liked the way that sound. Them, us, we. Three perfect words. Made him seem like he was a part of something.

Instead of asking him to pull out, like Puck half-expected, Quinn bit her lip and nodded her head once, nestling her head into the crook of his neck. For a moment he was stunned and had to wait. Had to completely pause from everything, from the world, to snapshot the moment to memory.

Quinn Fabray, naked and sweating and trembling, with her face buried into his neck.

Then he entered her and she gasped shrilly into his skin. For a moment, he completely hated himself.

Then they were moving. Moving slowly, steadily, painlessly, both eyes closed and mouths pressed firmly together to stop a scream or cry of ecstasy. In an unfamiliar bed and in unfamiliar circumstances, they moved. Up, down, sharp, shallow, slow. Tension and build-up and sweat and salt and lust.

"Come with me?" she'd asked. And he followed.

"Come with me?" he murmured into her skin, waiting, waiting, waiting.

She opened her eyes. And she followed.