Four Times Puck Watched Mercedes Dance (And The One Time He Joined Her)

After receiving a text message, Mr. Schuester left the room, muttering something about Ms. Pillsbury and point-zero-one-percent and Clorox wipes. So he would be awhile.

Mercedes hooked her iPod up to a speaker, and was scrolling through her music. She clicked on one, and soon the sound of:

Clap, clap, clap, clap your hands. Clap, clap, clap, clap your hands

filled the room.

"What is this, Aretha?" Santana asked, with enough amusement in her voice I knew she wasn't just being a bitch.

"This, J. Lo, is proof that you've never been to a black people party," Mercedes responded.

"Um, I'm one-fourth black."

"I'll have you know that one of my two gay dads is African American, and I have never heard this…song. Is this even music? Because the word 'music' implies rhythm and

harmonies and a very talented voice – like my own – to create sound that transcends—"

"Yeah, we got it." Artie cut Rachel off. "It's kind of like 'Step in the Name of Love,' right? And you follow the words of the song to create a dance?"

"Yes! And I can teach it to you guys! C'mon, it'll be fun!" Mercedes was already on her feet.

"I can help," Matt offered. That was a given.

"I know it, too," Brittany said. That was also a given. Brittany may have been dumber than Finn (dolphins are gay sharks, wtf? Dolphins are just gay, period.), but she could

dance. For real.

Mercedes grinned. "Okay, so you can hold on to an honorary black card for today. C'mon, everyone up! Follow the words."

The song continued:

To the left. Take it back now, ya'll.

One hop this time. Right foot, let's stomp.

Left foot, lets stomp. Cha-cha real smooth.

We somehow managed to be dancing in a square, and it was actually fun because the song told us what to do and if we screwed up, it would still look good.

To the left. Take it back now, ya'll .

Five hops this time. Right foot, lets stomp. Left foot, lets stomp…

How low can you go? Can you go down low? All the way to the flo'?

How low can you go? Can you bring it to the top?

I ended up behind Mercedes (and then, somehow, in front of her), and watching her "hop five times" and "go down low" was the fucking highlight of my day. I'd never thought of

her as anything other than that black chick from Glee who can really sing. But there I was, watching her tits and ass moving, and realizing that I was a tits and ass man, and

realizing that I wanted into Mercedes' pants so much that the front of my jeans got tighter.

We danced through the song twice. By that time, even Rachel had gotten into it. Mr. Schue returned to find us right in the middle of the Charlie Brown, and joined in. Man, Mr.

Schue tries so hard to be cool sometimes, and usually just looks like a white boy from the 'burbs. This was no exception. But it was fun.

That night, images of Mercedes doing the Cha Cha Slide kept me awake.

I haven't gone to math class in three years. And that's not just because I've been faking headaches. No, every fucking week Coach Sylvester has a Cheerio assembly. And I get to

see girls in short skirts and tiny tops do handstands and roundoffs and all that crap. It's awesome. And, since the Cha Cha Slide thing, I'd kind of wanted to see more of Mercedes

in motion. Damn, I wish she would wear those Cheerio skirts.

We had an assembly today. First, Sylvester talked about…something. I think it was immigration. I wasn't paying attention, probably because it was completely unrelated to the

Cheerios performance. I know she likes to be a Colbert-Report-meets-Ann-Coulter knockoff, but Jesus Christ woman. Shut the fuck up sometimes.

The Cheerios danced onto the gym floor to the beginning notes of "Bootylicious." I couldn't see Mercedes anywhere, then I heard her voice…coming from the top of the bleachers.

Yeah, she was channeling Berry there, with the whole misdirection shit.

Santana, can you handle this?

Brittany, can you handle this?

Kurt, can you handle this?

I don't think they can handle this.

She marched down the bleacher steps, ass and hair swinging. Then she stopped at my row. She grabbed my hand and looked me dead in the eye, singing:

Read my lips carefully, if you like what you see

Move, groove, prove you can hang with me

By the looks I got you shook up and scared of me

Buckle your seatbelt, it's time for takeoff

I got hard instantly.

The cheerios did handstands and roundoffs and hair epilepsy, or whatever the fuck Brittany called it, and I watched Mercedes for the entire thing. Oh, her voice was good too.

How the fuck did she not have a boyfriend?

I don't think you're ready for this jelly

I don't think you're ready for this jelly

I don't think you're ready for this

'Cause my body's too bootylicious for ya babe

"So Ms. Sylvester has a disabled sister?" Mike asked, disbelieving.

"A mentally-challenged sister," Rachel corrected.

"Her sister's name is Jean, and she lives at the nursing home at which we're performing," Mr. Schue said. "The nurses want to entertain the patients."

"The unwell residents," Rachel corrected.

"Jean is 68 years old," Mr. Schue continued.

"She is a geriatric, unwell resident, and is age-challenged!" Rachel corrected.

Hummel pulled one of his earphones out and turned to face the seat behind his. "Oh my god, Rachel, could you shut up and return to humming Streisand?"

"My baby is kicking me to get to you," Quinn grumped. She rubbed her belly protectively, and murmured endearments at it.

Tina giggled and Rachel glared at her. "I'm sorry," Tina said. And she giggled again behind the hand she'd placed over her mouth.

It was kind of amazing that they could hear each other at all, because the bus driver was blasting K101, Dayton's #1 Hip Hop Station playing "Nothin' but the hits. Nothin' but the

hits. Nothin' but the motherfuckin' hits." Actually, they were. Because the Black Eyed Peas' "My Humps" came on next, and…

"This is my song!" Tina cried. What the fuck?

"Isn't Marilyn Manson more your style?" Matt and Mike high-fived each other.

"Oh, knock it off," she said, and began singing.

What you gon' do with all that junk?

All that junk inside your trunk?

I'ma get, get, get, get you drunk

Get you love drunk off my hump

Mr. Schue looked like he wanted to disappear. Instead, he slid further down in his seat and continued talking to Ms. P, McKinley's resident Purell-toting hottie.

Artie was staring at Tina with interest. Probably because she was bouncing with glee. (Oh, and maybe the speed bumps the driver consciously ignored had something to do with

that, too.) Mercedes joined her:

My hump my hump, my hump my hump my hump

My hump my hump, my hump, my lovely little lumps

Check it out

Hell yes I wanted to touch her lovely lady lumps. Although the "lumps" thing was a definite fail, Fergie.

All the other girls joined in. Yes, even Rachel, who was actually starting to lighten up. I guess finding your mom will do that for you, even if she is the coach of your competition.

The girls stood up and began dancing in the aisle. Mike and Hummel joined them. Mr. Schue started to yell at them to be safe and sit down, but by then we had arrived at the old

people's home.

"It's a nursing home, Puck," Rachel said as we exited the bus. "Honestly, it is as if none of you have any idea what political correctness is, and why it is so relevant to our society,

and how we should be prudent and judicious in our word choice because…"

But I'd tuned her out to stare at Mercedes as she talked with Beyonce about whatever those two talked about.

"Hey, man. Are you…staring at Mercedes?"

I rolled my eyes. Of course Finn picked today to actually pay attention to shit. "No." I shouldered my guitar. "Now let's sing for some old folk."

"Okay, guys. We're going to try something new," Mr. Schue said. He began handing out sheet music.

"Finally!" Mike exclaimed. "The King of Pop!"

Mercedes cleared her throat and stood. "Let me just say, right from the start, that anyone who makes an MJ joke will have to answer to me. I will cut you. The brotha just died,

give it some time!" She sat down. Hummel patted her back.

"Who's MJ?" Brittany asked.

"Michael fucking Jackson!" Quinn yelled.

We all turned to look at her.

"Sorry, hormones." She bent to speak to her stomach, "And I'm sorry to you too, baby."

Brittany seemed unperturbed. "I love Michael Jackson."

"It is so fortuitous that I wore my glittery gloves today," Rachel said.

"I'm wearing a military-inspired jacket, like the one he wore to the 1984 Grammy Awards," Kurt returned.

"The glove trumps the jacket."

"The jacket trumps the glove."

"Does not."

"Does too."

"Hello? He was called The Gloved One!"

"I hate to say this," Santana interrupted, "but she got you there, Tinkerbell."

Kurt pouted. Mercedes patted his hand.

"Guys!" Mr. Schue shouted. "Why don't we get back to the music? Kurt, start us off."

Kurt looked less pissed off, and sang:

Hey Pretty Baby With The High Heels On

You Give Me Fever Like I've Never, Ever Known

You're Just A Product Of Loveliness

I Like The Groove Of Your Walk, Your Talk, Your Dress

Of course Mike had already started dancing. Brittany joined him. Mike swung her around a few times. Then Mercedes joined them.

She moved her hips so crazily hot that I actually got pissed as fuck that I hadn't ever noticed how fucking amazing her body was. Yeah, she was fat, plus-size, whatever. But who

says some fat girls aren't hot (and some skinny girls are not)?

Rachel wanted her chance to shine, but Mercedes wanted to sing, so they alternated.

I Like The Feelin' You're Givin' Me

Just Hold Me Baby And I'm In Ecstasy

Oh I'll Be Workin' From Nine To Five

To Buy You Things To Keep You By My Side

I Never Felt So In Love Before

Just Promise Baby, You'll Love Me Forevermore

I Swear I'm Keepin' You Satisfied

'Cause You're The One For Me

The Way You Make Me Feel

we all joined in. We were all on our feet, trying to keep up Mike and Brittany. I danced with Santana, Brittany, Tina. I even gave Wheelchair Kid a high-five. It was a feel-good


Mercedes tossed off her Technicolor zebra hoodie and kept dancing and laughing. And I wanted to join her but I didn't. Hummel was cock blocking, and the only reason I wasn't

pissed was because he's a homo.

Besides, I wasn't sure it was my cock or my heart that was hurting. And that was the fucking lamest, Lifetime movie-est, Thelma and frickin' Louis-ish line ever.

I left the bathroom to see…

"Snap!" Mercedes shrugged her hoodie on. "I left my purse in the practice room. I'll go back and get it; go ahead without me."

Kurt smirked. "Your psychedelic leopard-print purse? I'll wait."

"No, I know your dad wants you home early today." She held out her hand for their distinctive handshake — finger snapping, jazz hands, and hair adjusting ensued. Their whole

friendship: What the fuck? It's like they need an intervention, or something.

"Okay. Call you later, diva!"

"See ya, diva!" Mercedes smiled at her friend, then headed back to the practice room.

It took me two minutes to decide to follow her, mostly because I didn't want to seem like a creep. Then I realized: I wasn't a creep. I was a beast. I was Puckzilla, hear me roar —

or whatever dinosaurs did. And I was going to capture my chocolate…. If Mercedes were an animal, which would she be? Probably a vicious ass koala bear.

I peeked in the window of the door to the practice room, only to find that Mercedes was not grabbing her purse. Instead she was, like, grinding the air. I could faintly hear "Get

Low" through the door. I pushed it open.

"Do you mind?"

"Can I join you?" I stepped behind her before she could answer, and grabbed her hips with both hands.

She didn't protest, and kept dancing.

3,6,9 damn she fine

hopin she can sock it to me one mo time

Get low, Get low

Get low, Get low

To the window, to the wall

To the sweat drop down my balls

To all these bitches crawl

To all skeet skeet motherfucker, all skeet skeet got dam

To all skeet skeet motherfucker, all skeet skeet got dam

And then she was grinding against me and I was pushing back on her and her ass was so close and her belly was so soft and her hair smelled like…citrus strawberry stuff, and

… we were … crunk.

Mercedes turned to face me. "Okay, I'm going to pull a Rachel and say that I wholeheartedly disapprove of referring to women as b*****s, and I am only dancing to this song

because the beat is seriously bumping."

"That is so hot," I blurted out.


"You pulling a Rachel. And dancing. And singing. And your body. Damn, your body." I stepped behind her again, and dared to move my hand to her breasts.

She checked me. "Woah, woah, back up. I don't hook up, and I don't put out with just anybody. I need to be in a committed relationship. You DO NOT want to play this sistah."

I knew she would say that. "We're just dancing."

"Then either you tell me you want to be with me, and we can go from there — if I believe you, Puck — or you can keep your hands on the PG parts of my body. Capiche?" She

was staring at me with those deep brown eyes.

"How about we dance now, and I think about your offer? Because I am seriously considering it, but I'm a sex shark. If I stop moving, I die!"

She laughed. "Okay. This is a one-time offer. I know you've been staring at me."

"Finn, that bastard!"

Mercedes looked confused. "Um, no? I'm just observant, Puck."

"Yeah, well…"

"C'mon, the song's almost over." She pulled me back behind her. I wrapped my arms around her and we danced to the end.

Bend over to the front touch toes

back dat ass up and down and get low (get low)

Bend over to the front touch toes

back dat ass up and down and get low (get low)


Cha Cha Slide – DJ Casper

Bootylicious – Destiny's Child

My Humps – Black Eyed Peas

The Way You Make Me Feel – Michael Jackson

Low – Lil' Jon