A/N: This will be roughly 7-8 chapters. Written from yet another prompt Melissa/Cheapen left me. She's fantastic and deserves all the credit for the storyline.
It's not very often (never) that Puck has an entire house to himself for more than like, a couple hours. Not only does this suck for general sexin' (which is usually his main concern) but it also means he can't throw the kind of party that everyone knows the Puckerone is capable of throwing.
So when his mom tells him she's going to Cinci to visit his aunt (who's fuckin' nuts and has like, framed pictures of her cats all through her house and a plastic cover on her couch), Puck is pretty stoked. Even more when she says she's taking Hannah.
When she tells him that she doesn't want him to miss a whole Friday of school, so he can stay alone?
Well, shit. That's like, the jackpot right there.
The school year is almost over, and the weather has been super nice, so he's been working on getting their pool all clean and ready for the summer. It's a little cool for that yet, but he figures that if any girls want to hop in at this fucking epic party he's gonna throw, he's not going to stop them. Nope.
He's pretty sure this is going to be the most awesome party in the history of his time at McKinley. People are going to talk about this for months. And he's only a junior, so it'll be even more epic, outshining the seniors and their lame parties. (Seriously, lame. A 24 and a COD3 tournament is not a party, guys.)
He tells Finn first, then Mike and Matt, and they're all on board. Matt's older brother is totally awesome and doesn't have a problem buying them alcohol as long as they give him cash and a little extra for his trouble. Whatever. Slipping the dude $5 for walking into the grocery store is fine, Puck supposes.
Quinn, Santana and Brittany are next, just because he sees them next. Actually, they walk up while he's talking to the guys. Finn and Quinn are back together after her brief interlude with Puck after last year's Sorry, Puck's Baby, Not Yours. Santana and Brittany are...well, they're Santana and Brittany.
So his core group of friends know, and he doesn't spread it around too much other than that, because if people start talking too much, it'll be huge and get back to his mom or something.
But the groundwork is laid. If Finn, Matt and Mike and three of the Cheerios are there, Puck knows people will show. As if they wouldn't anyway.
But then two days before she goes away, his mom is talking his ear off about fucking bullshit. Like, honestly. He can feed himself without her help. He's a total master in the kitchen. She knows this. He doesn't know why she insists on telling him what's in the freezer. He has eyes. He can look. But whatever. That's not the worst part.
"Noah, please be careful. And don't do anything stupid. I don't mind if you have a couple friends over, but I will know if you have a party, and you will be grounded for the entire summer. And I mean no video games, no friends, no camping trip with Finn."
"Are you serious?" he asks. He knows she is, but, you know, just to be clear...
"I am serious. Mrs. Levitz is keeping an eye on the house. She'll report back to me," she says. She starts walking away, back into the kitchen to finish the dishes or whatever.
"Hold up!" he calls after her. She stops and turns back around. "How many friends do you consider 'a couple'?"
She laughs and shakes her head. "10," she says seriously. "10 friends." He thinks about it. How the hell is he going to pick 10 people to invite? "Although it would be nice if you just invited your friends from glee club over."
"Are you kidding me? Those losers can't come here!" he cries, getting up off the couch and walking toward her. "Mom, seriously."
"Well, you don't have to have them. You don't have to have anyone, actually."
He knows an ultimatum when he hears one.
So that's how he finds himself shuffling into glee rehearsal and telling everyone to come to his place on Saturday night and bring whatever they want to eat or drink because he's not fucking supplying that shit.
And who knows? It could be fun. Right?
Oh, god. This is going to suck so hard.
The Thursday night his mom and sister leave, he waves from the front door as they drive away, then promptly cranks some of the offensive rap that his mom hates, grabs a bag of chips and one of the beers she doesn't know he keeps in the back of the fridge in the garage, and turns on a baseball game.
This is the fucking life.
Friday at school, all the glee kids are talking about the gathering at his place.
All the kids but Rachel.
He can't have that. He and Rachel aren't best friends - aren't really friends at all, except for a couple times he actually like, told her shit - but she's invited or whatever, and he's not a dick like the rest of the club. They don't invite her anywhere. Or they do, then not-so-subtly hint that she's really not that welcome. He thinks that's pretty shitty of them, even if she does drive people a little crazy and talk too much and critique absolutely every note everyone sings. That doesn't mean she deserves to be treated like shit.
So he walks up to her before glee rehearsal starts and she's shuffling through her papers looking for the right song.
"Hey," he says.
"Good afternoon, Noah."
"Yeah, look," he says, before she can start babbling about something (it just happens; sometimes he thinks she doesn't even mean to talk, she just doesn't know how not to talk). "You coming to my place tomorrow night?"
She looks up at him, then, and she's genuinely surprise. He's inviting her again? No one ever reminds her of their gatherings, unless it's to list a bevy of reasons why she wouldn't have fun at them. (And no, she's not naive enough to think that doesn't mean they just don't want her there.)
"Oh, I have...I hadn't decided," she says, because telling him she's going to dinner and a movie with her fathers, she's sure would only encourage ridicule. "I'm sure no one wants me there anyway."
She says it under her breath and he rolls his eyes. It's a wonder the girl has any confidence at all.
"Fuck it. I do," he says. He's not really sure why, but he thinks it's the truth anyway. "So come. People are showing up around 8:00 or whatever."
She's a little too shocked to do anything more than nod.
So by 10:00, Puck's actually starting to think this 'party' might not actually be so lame after all. Matt's bro came through on some beer and liquor, and Santana brought her own vodka for herself and Brittany. Finn and Quinn brought a few bags of chips, and Kurt made some (fucking delicious) dip concoction. Mercedes brought non alcoholic drinks (aka: mix) and Tina and Artie made cookies together (of course they did).
Puck is currently on his second Jack on the rocks.
Not a bad start to the evening.
Finn and Matt are currently sipping beers and attempting to teach Kurt the ins and outs of Gran Tourismo, which Puck is finding absolutely hilarious. Video games aren't exactly Kurt's thing, but Finn is (ha!) so he's attempting. Puck laughs every time Kurt runs into the wall and throws his hands up in frustration. Mike is talking (and demonstrating) dance moves in the kitchen with Brittany and Santana, dancing along to one of the mixed CDs someone brought. Puck asks and finds out that almost everyone brought their own mix, which is pretty fucking cool, actually, and Puck's pretty sure all those are going to get left behind. Sweet. New music.
By 11:00, he's wondering where Rachel is. She said she'd come, didn't she?
He hopes one of the glee douches (okay, Mercedes or Kurt) didn't get to her and tell her she shouldn't come or something stupid like that. He doesn't know why he cares so much, but it's weird, having a glee gathering without her there. It feels wrong. Probably because she's, like, the musical glue that holds them together. And holy shit, did he actually just think that?
Time for more booze.
He doesn't know who suggests it, but the poker set comes out (and Puck has an awesome one he got for his birthday last year, clay chips and all) and the guys sit around the kitchen table. It's just Puck, Mike, Matt, Finn and Artie playing. But Tina's on Artie's lap, Quinn is on Finn's, and Santana and Brittany are sitting, sharing a chair, between Mike and Matt. (Puck has it on good authority that Santana's been trying to set up some kinky foursome between those guys and she and Britt, so he sends her a smirk and a raised brow and she winks back at him.)
Quinn is 'helping' Finn, which just means that she's whispering in his ear, asking him questions, and he's trying to basically tell her to fuck off without actually telling her to fuck off. Girl doesn't know anything about poker. Finn is garbage anyway, so it's not like she's going to make him any worse. Mike and Matt are both pretty good, since they're the guys he normally plays with, and Artie is surprisingly aggressive, but not in a stupid way. He just bluffs really well and takes a couple hands because of that. Literally, once he has a pair of twos but takes all the chips anyway, just because he makes it seem like he's got some epic hand. Puck's going to have to keep his eye out for that guy.
Because losing a poker game at his own house? Well, that is just not happening.
When Rachel walks into the kitchen, it's about 11:30 and she's wearing denim shorts and a flowy grey tank top that looks super hot on her. Puck's a dude. He notices these things.
Everyone (well, except the people who are driving) has had enough to drink that they're all pretty happy and greet her warmly when she walks over and stands next to Kurt at the counter in the kitchen.
"Thanks for showin' up," Puck says, sipping his drink. "You decided to grace us with your presence, huh?"
She rolls her eyes at him in a totally playful way. "I had plans. I said I'd come. Are you playing Texas Hold 'Em?" she asks.
"Clearly," Puck mumbles.
"Take my spot," Artie says. "I have to be home by midnight. Tina's got to drive me."
Finn laughs. "Rachel, do you even know how to play?"
The rest of the guys chuckle to themselves as Rachel pulls up a chair and Artie moves out of the way. "How hard can it be, right? Daddy watches it on television and I've seen it a couple games," she says, shrugging one shoulder.
Mike is practically laughing as he deals. Matt looks at Puck, who looks at Rachel. "You sure?" Puck asks. "Wouldn't want to send you home crying or something. It's not that easy to just play."
There's something in her eyes when she answers him. "I'm sure I'll be fine. I do tend to excel at the things I attempt."
"Suit yourself," he says.
They get a little distracted because Kurt fixes Rachel a martini that she doesn't really want, and she argues with him that she has to drive, but he tells her that one drink won't hurt if she's sticking around for a while. Mike and Matt both get up to get more beers and Brittany and Santana do a bang up job of distracting them.
"Hey!" Puck calls. "You girls wanna fuckin' get back over here and play? And I'm not talking about Britt and San."
There's eye rolling and grumbling and name-calling, and Rachel finds herself smiling, because she thinks that this party is actually quite fun, even if she did show up late and miss most of Artie and Tina's stay. Kurt is being nice to her, and while she knows that's because he's three sheets to the wind, she isn't going to complain. Mercedes appears to be having a good enough time that she's not bothering to be snarky to Rachel. Finn and Quinn are sickeningly cute, like they always are, and that stopped bothering her sometime last summer after the two got together again. She and Finn are still close friends, and she and Quinn are actually closer now, too. They've hung out after school a couple times, and they've eaten lunch together. Not that Quinn would admit that to anyone. Rachel still knows it happened.
"I call," Rachel says once they're focused on the game again.
"Hang on there, champ," Puck says laughingly. "Wait your turn."
"Oh." She bites her lip in embarrassment. "Sorry. I got excited."
Puck cocks his brow as she looks at him. "How excited?"
"Stop it," she says, reaching over to hit his arm.
He likes this relaxed Rachel.
They play the hand and Mike wins, which leaves Finn with not so many chips, Mike with plenty, Matt with a good amount, Puck with most (yes), and Rachel with her inherited pile from Artie, who was a close second to Puck.
Puck wins the next hand after a cute (no...silly) debate with Rachel over big blinds and small blinds, even though she ends up with two jacks, ace high. He has two queens, then picks up another on the river.
"Guys, I'm losing so hard," Finn announces with a laugh. He's got just a little stack of chips in front of him. "And we've gotta go as soon as I'm out."
"So soon?" Rachel asks, sipping her martini. Puck definitely does not (totally does) think she looks sexy doing it.
"Well, not everyone shows up at 11:30, Rach," Finn teases, and Rachel rolls her eyes.
"Dude, just go all in," Mike says as they start the next hand. Finn shrugs his shoulder and pushes his chips to the middle of the table, and everyone oo-s and aa-s like it's some huge tournament.
No one else notices, because they aren't paying attention, but Puck watches Rachel's little hand, the chips she's holding. She flips them in her hand like a pro, like someone who's actually good at playing poker. And the thing that really pisses him off is that he's been trying to perfect this trick forever, the one where you have two chips and you flip one over the other and it's totally awesome. She's doing it over and over without even looking at her hand. No one can do chip tricks unless they actually play poker. Why else would she learn how to do that? And there's this little look on her face that he swears is straight up devious.
He has a feeling they're all about to get played.
And yet he's still surprised when she bluffs like a fucking champ and the pot grows and she takes the hand with nothing but a pair of sixes.
Everyone's looking at her as she sweeps the chips towards her. "What?" she asks. "I got lucky."
"Uh, no," Mike laughs. "You just fucking sharked us."
"Actually, the term card sharp is seen as more negative, while card shark carries a more positive connotation. They're frequently misused," she says. "I suppose it just depends on how you meant that. I assume, since I just took your chips, that you meant it negatively."
Rachel Berry. Dropping knowledge about poker.
What kind of world is Puck living in where this is normal?
Finn and Quinn leave for the evening, and everyone says goodbye and waves and whatever, and then Santana and Brittany decide they both want in on the game, that they've watched enough and want to play. Matt and Mike decide to help them, so Puck deals the girls in and tries really hard to be patient as they learn the game.
And it is totally, completely, undeniably sexy that Rachel is good at poker. Even Santana admits it.
"What the fuck?" he asks after Rachel has swept three hands in a row. "How'd you learn to play like that?"
She gets this wicked little smile on her face as she deals. "It's a long story involving Matt Damon and Edward Norton and my love of both of them."
The guys at the table look at one another then back at her. Matt is the most curious, apparently. "What? That sounds like a story that needs to be told."
Rachel smiles and sets the cards on the table. She's a little surprised at how she has the attention of everyone in the room. This rarely happens, unless she's singing (and even then, sometimes it doesn't happen).
"Well, I fell for Matt Damon when I saw Good Will Hunting. And that's just such a brilliant film that...well, that's a conversation for another day," she says, and the girls all nod. The guys are all WTF because honestly? What the fuck? "And so then I found myself watching any Matt Damon movie I could find. He really is quite talented. I had known Edward Norton from a couple of his smaller roles." Puck is looking right at her, and she doesn't break eye contact. "And then I saw Rounders."
"Kick ass movie," Mike says before taking a sip of his beer.
"Isn't it?" Rachel says, looking at him with a smile on her face. "It's amazing. And they make the game sound so intricate, and intelligent, and full of nuances and strategy." Puck? Puck's pretty sure she's never been hotter than she is right now. "So naturally, I decided I needed to learn everything I could about the game and become a master."
Mike laughs and picks up his cards. "So you learned to play poker because you had crushes on two actors?"
Rachel shrugs her shoulders. "I suppose if you want to put it that way."
"Well, shit," Puck says, taking a swig of his drink. "Next you're gonna be talking about how you think Fight Club is a masterpiece."
Her eyes light up as she looks at him. "It is a masterpiece!"
Where has she been all his life?
After two more hands, Puck decides they need to up the stakes. Especially since Brittany and Santana are fucking terrible.
"We gotta make this more interesting," he says after Mercedes and Kurt leave. It's just the six of them at the table, three guys and three girls.
"How do you mean? You want to play for actual money?" Rachel asks. He's distracted by the fact that she seems kind of excited by that.
But he shakes his head. "Nope."
Mike and Matt both laugh and Santana rolls her eyes. Brittany's stacking her chips to look like a bunny or some shit.
"What?" Rachel asks worriedly.
"How about if I win the next hand, you have to kiss Santana," Puck says, looking at Rachel. Her eyes go wide and she starts shaking her head and starts stacking her chips. "Come on, Rach. It'll be fun."
"Yes, for you, you...you...horny teenaged boy!" she cries. He just laughs.
"All you have to do is make sure I don't win, then," he says, kinking his brow.
She's sitting right next to him, Santana on her other side. She should not let herself be pressured into this. But really, she's having so much fun. And she's confident in her sexuality. There's nothing wrong with two girls kissing. Santana and Brittany demonstrate that on a regular basis. And she's certainly open to all kinds of relationships. Sure, she's strictly heterosexual and she knows that about herself, but there's no shame in kissing another girl.
She looks to Santana, who just shrugs her shoulder. "Fine," Rachel says, looking back over at Puck, who appears to be impressed. "But if I win, you have to kiss Matt."
"What?" Matt yells.
"Fuck no," Puck says, shaking his head.
"It's only fair," Santana insists, which makes both guys glare at her. "Just make sure she doesn't win."
Rachel smiles. She and Santana have never really been friends, but this certainly seems like they might be on that track.
"I hate you right now," Puck mumbles as he starts dealing.
When Rachel gets a seven/two off suit, she knows she's going to lose. This is the worst hand possible. She's really hoping someone will help her out so Puck doesn't win, but she's fairly certain that Matt and Mike are blowing this hand on purpose. Mike folded already and Matt is a terrible bluffer, so she knows he's got absolutely nothing. Brittany and Santana are just terrible (she'd like to teach them to avoid this situation in the future).
Sure enough, when she's forced to fold, Puck gets this ridiculously triumphant look on his face.
Honestly, he's just gotten Rachel to agree to kiss Santana. This is like, one of his fantasies come to life. He plays this hand so well that he could be on the goddamn pro tour. Turns out that when the stakes are high, Puck comes to play.
He manages a flush with help from the turn, and once the cards are all down, he sits back and crosses his arms, smirking smugly.
"This is completely unfair," Rachel says. "I wish I had proof that you dealt from the bottom of the deck."
"I didn't," Puck laughs.
"I'm sure you cheated somehow," she says viciously.
"Whatever, babe. Pucker up. And not just a little peck. It's gotta be ten seconds at least," he says. Matt and Mike nod in agreement.
"This is ridiculous," Rachel hisses.
But then she turns to Santana, who looks somehow both bored and amused at the same time. Rachel rests her hand on Santana's shoulder, and Santana slips hers into Rachel's hair, and then they're kissing and it's not so bad, really. Santana tastes like some fruity drink and blueberry lip gloss, and her lips are really quite soft compared to any boy Rachel has kissed.
Including Puck, whose lips were like wonderful little pillows.
(Did she really just think that?)
Puck is kind of transfixed by the sight before him, which is so fucking hot he can hardly stand it. Two of his ex-girlfriends making out (not really; whatever) in front of him. And they're like, giggling together and shit, and when Santana goes back in after the ten seconds are over and kisses Rachel a little more (for another good [fucking awesome] couple seconds) Puck is sure this party is honestly the best one he's ever been to.
"Happy?" Rachel asks as she turns back to him, licking her lips.
Jesus Christ. Totally.
"Uh huh," Puck mumbles. Matt and Mike simultaneously shift in their seats. "Now that I know you're game for making this shit interesting..."
"Noah, really, this is..."
"Strip," Puck says simply. Rachel's eyes go wide again.
"I'm game," Santana says, shrugging her shoulder.
"Whatever," Matt mumbles.
Rachel looks disgusted.
She is disgusted. "Absolutely not!" she says firmly.
Puck looks to the mountain of chips sitting in front of her. "Scared I'll win?" he asks.
"Absolutely not," she repeats, looking right at him.
"Look, you're awesome. You're, unfortunately, not gonna have to take anything off, probably. It'll just be more fun," Puck explains. "C'mon. I'm peer pressuring you. Just give in."
She actually laughs and does that chip trick again that kinda makes him want to throw her down on the table. (What? It's totally hot.) She looks at Brittany, who just smiles and shrugs one shoulder. Santana's smiling at her and Matt and Mike are looking at her expectantly.
And really, she's fairly certain she can knock Brittany and Santana out in a hand or two. Matt and Mike will be easy enough after that. Her only competition is Puck, and given that it's nearing 1:00, he'll probably ask her to leave before she even has to take off anything more than one of her sandals or her necklace.
"I'm in," she says, and she thinks Puck's smile is maybe just a little too wide.
Puck regrets this immediately when Rachel goes on a tear, winning another two hands. The guys are shirtless, and Brittany and Santana both bitched out and took off lame articles (a bracelet for Britt, a belt for San). It's pretty lame. The dudes are not supposed to be the nearly naked ones here. That's just fucking wrong.
When Puck finally wins a hand, Rachel rolls her eyes and slips off her sandals. Puck tries to argue and tell her that doesn't count, but she reminds him that Brittany has only taken off jewelry thus far, so he can't really make a case.
When Santana takes off her top, things get mildly more interesting.
Then, somehow, Rachel knocks Mike and Brittany out in the same hand. Puck tries to figure out how she did that. It's totally not right how good she is.
He wants to see some skin.
He's down to his jeans (belt-less, socks-less, bracelet-less) and Rachel's still wearing her shirt and shorts when Mike and Matt decide they have to go and Brittany and Santana go with them. Brittany's driving, since she's the only one who hasn't been drinking.
Rachel gets up from her seat.
"Whoa," Puck says, tugging on her hand, stopping her from walking away. "Where do you think you're going?"
She looks at him like he's crazy and everyone else hangs around to see what's going to happen. "I thought I'd go. It's late, and..."
"You got a curfew?"
"No, I don't have a curfew, but I'm sure your mother wouldn't be pleased to know you had a girl alone at your house," she says. For some reason, everyone else laughs at that.
"Have you met me?" Puck asks with a laugh. "We've got a game to finish here. Bragging rights, you know?"
Rachel opens and closes her mouth a couple times, like she wants to say something but can't.
"Relax," Santana says as she pulls her shirt back on. "He's not as much of an ass as everyone thinks. You're safe."
For whatever reason, that actually makes Rachel feel better. It's close to two am, and her fathers told her to just stay over (yes, they knew this party was taking place at a boy's house) if she drank anything. They're pretty lenient. And she does trust Puck, maybe against her will, but she does. She knows he'd never do anything to hurt her.
"Fine," Rachel says. She rests both hands on the table as she stands across from Puck. "I guess I can stay long enough to kick your sorry behind."
"Oh!" Mike cries. "She's breaking out trash talk now!"
"Lame trash talk," Puck says.
She raises her brow at him. God, that's hot, too. "Need I remind you that one of us is still fully clothed and the other isn't?"
Matt chuckles a little and Santana is eagerly awaiting Puck's response to that statement.
"Okay. We're upping the ante," Puck says.
"What does that mean?" Rachel asks warily.
"Slave for a week. Whoever loses has to be the other's slave."
Rachel scoffs and shakes her head. "I don't think so. First strip poker and now this? No."
"What?" Puck asks, standing and setting his hands on the table, mimicking her. Mike and Matt look at one another, then back to the table. "Scared you'll lose?"
She should not let him get away with using this tactic twice in one night, but she can't help it. He's appealing to her competitive side (which might just be quite big) and she can't back down.
"Deal the cards," she says as she sits down. He pulls his shirt back on and thinks he should have left it off. Distraction or whatever.
They say their goodbyes to the other four as they leave, and Puck is already shuffling the deck. The house seems a lot quieter as soon as she hears the click of the front door, and she wonders what she's gotten herself into.
Slave for a week? All she's getting in her head are images of him 'forcing' her into depraved acts. Most of them are sexual.
So why did she say yes? And why is she still sitting here? And why does she smile at him from across the table?
"I won't make you do anything sick," he tells her. "Don't worry."
It's meant to be a taunt, she knows, but the look in his eyes tells her it's also the truth.
"How generous," she says. "And I've really been searching hard for a partner for my ballroom class. Your frame, I'm sure, would be terrible, but it'd be better than dancing with Mr. Schoenfeld, who smells like scotch mints and moth balls."
The look on his face is priceless. She almost cracks a smile when she sees that she's got pocket kings, but she knows she can't give herself away.
"That's just one thing I can think of off the top of my head," she insists. "I'm sure there is plenty I can find for you to do."
"Yeah, well, my room's pretty disgusting right now. Hasn't been cleaned in about a year. I'm sure you wouldn't mind."
She's wishing they were playing heads up. Why aren't they, actually?
"Alright, enough of this. Burn and turn," she says seriously, eyes narrowed at him across the table.
She's worried momentarily, because something flashes across his face, but then he checks and she calls, and he's too stubborn not to match her.
That just makes it sweeter when she wins the hand. His stack of chips has a considerable dent in it.
They trade wins, not talking much as Rachel munches on pretzels and he sips another drink. He's not drunk, which he's pretty thankful for, because he needs to be at the top of his game so he can win this shit.
He cannot lose to Rachel Berry. He can't.
"Fuck this," he says, slamming his glass down on the table. "Heads up play. Winner take all."
The smile she gives him should not make his pants tight. This? This poker playing, competitive, do anything for a victory, Fight Club loving Rachel Berry? God, she might be his perfect woman.
"I thought you'd never ask," she says as she shuffles the deck and starts to deal without ever breaking eye contact.
This can't be the same girl he sees every day at school. It can't.
She's disappointed when she draws a seven/nine off suit. But it's not the worst thing she could have gotten, that's for sure. She draws an eight and a jack on the flop, so she thinks she might just have a chance at winning, though she knows the odds are certainly against her.
And she honestly does not know what horrible things she'll have to do for him. She's sure it'll be worse than just cleaning his room. Actually, that doesn't sound that bad at all. She can think of worse things he could suggest.
Oh, god. Now she's thinking of all the horrible things he could suggest.
"Alright," he says. "Show."
She gnaws at her lip knowing that if he has anything, he's won. And the way he's looking at her, she knows he has.
"Of course," she pouts as she turns her cards over. "The one hand I have nothing is this one." He smiles at her and sits back in his chair. "Well? What do you have?"
He lays his cards on the table. "Full house. Jacks over sixes."
She lets out this frustrated little growl that he shouldn't find cute, and stands from her place. "This is so unfair! I won more hands overall than you did! This is pure bad luck! And I had to kiss Santana!"
"Oh, I remember," he says gruffly. When she turns to him, she's absolutely glaring, and he just knocks back the last of his drink. "Gotta tell you, Rach. You were a lot of fun tonight."
"This is the worst night of my life!" she cries, throwing her hands in the air. "Granted, kissing Santana wasn't exactly torture, since it's just a kiss and she's got lovely lips, don't you think?" He's just looking at her, thinking about what she's just said, and all he can think about is some fucked up (amazing) threesome, but then she starts talking again. "And now I have to be your slave for a week? This is absolutely ridiculous!"
"Hey," he says, trying not to laugh at her. "I was trying to give you a compliment."
She sighs and runs her hands through her hair. "I know. And thank you. I did have a good time. Actually, this was much more fun than I even thought it was going to be," she admits. "Thank you for having me."
His dirty mind is taking that in a way he's pretty sure she'd slap him for.
(He really wants to have her. He's very aware they're in his house alone.)
(And she has no curfew.)
(And he's half-hard. Dammit.)
"I should be going," she says. She doesn't know why he's looking at her that way, but it's making her feel...something.
"Not so fast," he says, reaching for her wrist. "You think this mess is gonna clean itself up?" They look around the kitchen at the same time, note the mess of empty bottles and cups on the counter, the table, still covered in cards and poker chips, the bowls of potato chips spread throughout the room. "You got this, yeah? Lock up when you leave."
She's just staring at him. It's nearing 3:00 in the morning and he's telling her to clean his house.
"You can't be serious."
"Sure I am, slave," he says. He has the gall to wink at her. "'Night!"
He walks out of the room (he's pretty sure he should get a medal for that shit, for not at least trying to have sex with her tonight) and towards the stairs and he can hear her muttering to herself under her breath.
He's pretty happy he doesn't have to clean up, though.
As soon as he's got his bedroom door closed behind him, he pulls off his shirt and steps out of his pants and boxers. Tonight has been surprisingly awesome, made more awesome by the fact that Rachel's totally hot (he doesn't know how she hides that so well) and kissed Santana without much of a fight. And actually, he's pretty sure she liked it. So he fists his length in his hand and can't help how hard he gets when he thinks about Rachel being just however many feet away, cleaning his house for him. He comes hard when he hears her singing in the kitchen. (He's not even thinking about her kissing Santana.)
Good god, what's happening to him?
It takes Rachel about an hour to clean the kitchen and living room, and she does it well. She does not do anything halfway. And she figures the only way this 'slave' thing is going to be tolerable for her is if she does things right. She doesn't need him jumping down her throat and critiquing her for how she does things.
She takes the empties outside and, instead of leaving them in the garage for his mother to potentially find, she drops them into the back of his truck. Once she's wiped down the counters and placed the bowls and cups in the dishwasher, she finds a piece of paper and a pen and writes him a note. She tells him to take the empties to the recycling center. She reminds him to turn on the dishwasher.
She writes her phone number at the bottom of the page after her name.
She doesn't know why she does that. She's going to blame exhaustion.