She is flipping absentmindedly through a maternity book Lynn Puckerman had insisted she buy, legs crossed daintily and sprawled out across Puck's bed. Peaceful and innocent. Exactly what she needs.

It's then that she hears the door opens, and Puck stumbles in with his trademark cocky grin and a beer bottle in his hand.

"You're drunk," she says flippantly, not even sparing him more than half a glance. She turns back to her book, pretending to be thorughly engrossed in the words, even though it's all bullshit she doesn't care about. "You can sleep on the floor tonight."

He naturally should argue at this, but he only comes to a stop at the side of his bed. He smells like booze. "Wanna fuck?"

She rolls her eyes. "Not tonight. You're completely smashed. Go to bed." She nods toward the floor, where an air mattress resides, haphazardly covered in cotton sheets. She usually sleeps there when Puck is sober, but when he's drunk, she finds it easier to convince him to sleep there.

"I don't want to sleep," he tells her, his voice angry and petulant like a child's. "I want to fuck. You." He raises the bottle to his lips again and takes another gulp, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "It's never been a problem 'till now..."

She continues to pretend she's much more interested in the book. "Baby hormones make me horny," she replies as offhandedly as she can. "But not tonight." With a gleam of frustration in her eyes, she finally does look up. "You have Mercedes now, anyway. Go fuck her."

He snorts at this. "Can you imagine doing her?" Revulsion flashes in his eyes, and he shakes his head mournfully. "It'd be like doing it with... a fucking marshmallow, or something." At the comparison, he grins goofily. "Anyway, she doesn't want me like that."

"Oh, how couldn't she?" she teases, finally giving up the facade and closing the book shut. "How awful it must be, to be such a stud, and not have a girl to fuck you. Boo-hoo."

He narrows his eyes, cocking his head curiously to the side. Despite his intoxication, he seems to understand something in his head, and smiles. "You're jealous," he declares at last. "You're jealous 'cause I'm going out with the fat black chick from Glee club." At her momentary silence, he crows, "You are!"

"You'd like to think that, wouldn't you?" She rolls her eyes once more, fixing her position to lay back on his bed. Her eyes are sleepy, and she can barely keep them open to glare at him. "It must flatter you're severely inflated ego."

He grins once more, leaning forward. He has a smile like a wolf. "I have you to do that for me, babe."

"Go away." She closes her eyes to avoid him altogether. "You're disgusting, and I'm tired. Go to sleep. Don't come home drunk anymore."

He is silent for some time, though she gets the idea he isn't listening to her. She remains awake, just in case. Finally, after a few moments, he whispers, "Would it bother you if I jacked off to the sound of your breathing?"

"The fact that that turns you on is disgusting. Again. Why are you such a pig?" She opens her eyes; he's still there, by the bedside, looking down at her intensely.

He frowns at her, rolling his shoulders. "You turn me on." He says it in a dejected, honest voice, still looking at her in that pleading way. "You're jealous, 'cause of that fat black chick." He seems to be adamant on this. "That's why you won't do me."

She isn't jealous. She may be slightly aggravated by seeing them in the hall, and even annoyed by the idea of them in general, but that doesn't constitute jealousy. He's wrong, of course. Puck is always wrong. "Let me sleep."

"But," he continues, "if I wasn't with... whatever her name is... you'd sleep with me again. Like you've been doing for like, two weeks now."

"Baby hormones make me horny," she repeats, as if this is any excuse. "Shut up. Let me sleep."

"I think you should stop blamin' it all on the baby hormones, babe," he says, and he's closer this time, pressing his lips insistently against her skin. "You want me. Why's that so hard?" He sounds a bit more cocky than he should, but it's Puck (of course).

She sighs contentedly, squirming with pleasure under the touch. At the movement, he slides himself onto the bed next to her, following his journey across her neck and to her lips, gauging her reaction.

"You're..." She can hardly seem to get the words out underneath his assailment of kisses, but at last: "You're an egotistical douchebag, Puck." Even so, she kisses him back, giving in, allowing herself to ignore the booze on his breath and the cocky grin he's still sporting. "You need to dump Mercedes."

"That's her name?" He sounds genuinely shocked. "Oh."

"Shut up," she repeats once more, silencing him with a kiss and a tug at his jeans. "Baby hormones are making me horny."