Hey, everyone! Yes. I wrote Will/Puck. I was happy just keeping these two as a guilty pleasure, but a prompt on the Multi-Ship One Sentence Meme (Puck or Will showing thanks to the other with sexiness) apparently had other plans. Please, do not comment this going on about how teacher/student is wrong or whatever. This fic is clearly labelled. If you don't like the ship or the subject matter, just click the back button and move on. If you do like them, though, and like the fic, please drop a review. I'm kind of nervous since I've never written teacher/student before. It's new territory for me.

WARNINGS: Teacher/student obviously. Also, please be aware that in this fic, Puck is still seventeen. I'm not sure what the consent laws in Ohio are, but I understand that it can be a touchy subject, so please be aware of the warnings in choosing to read.

Disclaimer: If Glee belonged to me...Season Two would have gone a hell of a lot differently.

Shelter From The Storm

Once upon a time, Noah Puckerman was a whore. There was no way around that. He fucked housewives that were too damn old and got paid to clean pools he never even saw most days. He had been a whore and the whole damn town knew. So it made him feel a bit shitty (okay, a lot). Whatever. He was a badass. He could handle it.

What he couldn't handle was his mom kicking him out one night in the middle of July. She did it every so often, get drunk off her ass, scream at him, call him every name in the book, use his head for target practice and throw the bottle of whatever alcohol she was using to destroy her liver with. He'd accepted it. Those nights, he'd kiss Sarah's head and tell her to keep her bedroom door. Their mom never went after Sarah, but there wasn't any harm in being sure that if she decided to try, she wouldn't be able to get to her.

If it was summer, usually, he'd just bunk at a friend's place or sleep in the backyard. That wasn't an option tonight, not with the thunderstorm crashing above him and rain pouring down so hard that it actually hurt.

He stood on the sidewalk for a long while, trying to figure out where to go. Any of the friends he was close enough with that they'd lend him a couch without too many questions were gone, whisked away to camps and vacations, or had a new stepbrother that wouldn't accept "she gets pissed sometimes" as a good reason to not call the cops on his less-than-fit mom. There was no way he was breaking into the school during summer, not even for a place to sleep. He hated that place enough during the school year. His car wasn't an option since his mom had sold that in one of her fits after juvie.

He was shivering by the time he finally gave in to his last option and started walking through flooding streets towards Mr. Schue's.

He was trembling and soaked to the bone by the time he slipped in behind someone and made it up to the apartment. Tried not to look too much like a drowned rat as the door opened, but if Mr. Schue's face was anything to go by, he'd failed epically.

With a quick "got in a fight with my ma", he was pushed towards the bathroom to shower and warm up.

"I'll leave some clothes by the door."

The water felt good after standing in the cold rain and Puck stood under the showerhead a bit longer than he normally would. Looked around and spotted the sheer amount of hair products Mr. Schue actually had. He didn't think Santana owned this much crap.

Maybe Sylvester was right about his hair.

He took a whiff of one bottle before he used it. Pretended that the smell of sandalwood didn't make his cock twitch. Failed.

Puck leaned against the shower wall and let his hand run down his chest and to his cock. Took it in hand and closed his eyes.

He wasn't gay.

He just...wanted his teacher.

Ever since juvie, Mr. Schue had been pulling him into his office every so often just to talk and see how he was doing.

"I do care."

The more they met up, though, the closer they got. Mr. Schue stopped sitting on the other side of his desk, opting instead to sit next to Puck, and as the months went on, those chairs kept getting closer until they were practically leaning into each other. They didn't talk about it or about the times they got closer than a teacher and student ever should. There was almost a kiss once, a couple weeks before Nationals, but then Mr. Schue sprang out of his chair like the thing was on fire and let him go. He'd left, frowning, and not entirely sure what he was more upset about. That he'd almost kissed his very male teacher or that he didn't.

But he wasn't gay.

He still liked chicks, but...

He moaned softly as he pumped his dick. Ran his thumb over the top and bit his lip as he glanced towards the closed door.

If anyone asked him later, Puck wouldn't know what to tell them. One second, he was in the shower and the next, he was calling Mr. Schue's name in the hallway, dripping wet and a towel around his hips.

"In the bedroom. Do the clothes fit okay?"

Puck wouldn't know. He didn't even look at them.

His heart was hammering in his chest as he knocked once and pushed the door open. Slipped inside as he swallowed thickly and walked towards his teacher.

Mr. Schue practically jumped out of his skin when he turned around. Dropped his book and stared at Puck, wide-eyed. Puck didn't miss the way his eyes lingered on the water still dripping down his chest. "Puck, what-"

Stopped when Puck took another step so that their chests were pressed together. Looked up at the man that was only a couple inches taller than him. He could have said it was a thank you for giving him a place to stay for the night. He could have said it was something both of them had wanted for a while.

Puck didn't say any of that. Instead, he tilted his head forward, lips millimeters away from Mr. Schue's. Paused. Went for it, knowing full well that if he didn't, Mr. Schue would have said no.

He'd never kissed a guy before.

It felt different. It was still lips on lips, but it was something about the way two flat chests touched and the arms that encircled his waist after a few seconds.

At least in his head, Puck could admit that he liked it.

Mr. Schue's arms tightened around him, pulling Puck even closer. Their hips ground together and Puck made a half-moan into the kiss when he felt something press against his thigh. That was not Mr. Schue's wallet.

His arms drew up around his teacher's neck, both of them trapped in a push/pull to the bed. Puck felt the mattress against the back of his knees as his towel fell away, leaving him completely bare. He fell back with a simple shove, watching and stomach doing flip flops while Mr. Schue stripped away his t-shirt and pajama pants.

They were kissing again in a second, Puck pressed between the mattress and a hard body as Mr. Schue's lips drifted from his lips to his jaw.

"We shouldn't be doing this," Mr. Schue breathed as his lips made their way to his neck. Puck pulled him closer in response, rolling his hips so their erections brushed together.

The first time Mr. Schue's hand touched his dick, Puck gasped. His eyes flew open for a moment before fluttering shut as his teacher worked him. Whined softly before he could stop himself when the hand disappeared. Squeaked (because unmanly or not, it's what he fucking did) when he felt a lube-slick (and where the hell did that shit come from?) finger at his ass.

Mr. Schue shushed him softly, stroking his stomach with his free hand as the one at his ass pushed a finger past the ring of muscle.

It felt weird. Puck had never touched himself there, resolute in his idea that ass-play like that was for guys that wanted to get fucked. As he was lying there, though, with Mr. Schue thrusting a finger in and out of him, a part of him couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to get fucked. Maybe it wasn't that bad. Gay guys did it all the time.

The second finger hurt a bit. Wondered if maybe he should change his mind about the whole maybe-wanting-to-get-fucked thing. Two fingers felt weird. Having a dick up his ass (and Mr. Schue wasn't small) would probably hurt like a-

Puck shouted, strangled. "What the fuck-"

Mr. Schue grinned, focusing his attention on the spot that was making Puck see stars. "That would be your prostate."

Prostate. Right. Now he remembered. He'd done all that research when he thought Mrs. H was having hers removed. He'd read that it could feel good, but holyfuckingshit.

Puck reached up behind him, grasping at the headboard as he rode Mr. Schue's fingers. He barely flinched at the third finger, too lost in the feeling of .

"Mr. Schue," he moaned, long and drawn out.

Mr. Schue moved his hand faster in response as he moved to kiss Puck again. Broke away after a minute to whisper into his ear, "Do you want me to fuck you?"

He couldn't deny that he'd whimpered the yes. Wondered as he heard a condom wrapper tear open where the fuck the hesitant Mr. Schue had gone and why hadn't they done this sooner?

He felt strangely empty when the fingers disappeared. Tensed up when a condom-clad cock was positioned at his ass. Part of him wanted to run. If he left now, he could deny all of this.

His eyes met Mr. Schue's and he didn't want to run. He bit his lip, closing his eyes as a hand touched his cheek. Let out a muffled cry when Mr. Schue pushed inside.

They both stilled, waiting for the pain of the intrusion to fade before Puck reached for the hand on his cheek and entangled their fingers. Squeezed.

"Go," he whispered.

The first thrust was careful and Puck didn't doubt that the older man could see that he was new at this.

He was surprised, though. With how they'd been earlier and the way Mr. Schue had spoken, Puck thought that it was going to be something fast and dirty. He hadn't thought for a second that it would be slow, their bodies rocking together in a way that he'd never experienced before. Everyone he'd ever been with, it had been rushed. Housewives hurrying to get off before their husbands got home, Quinn hurrying so they didn't get caught, Santana hurrying to just get off (and probably get back to Brittany). He'd been having sex since he was thirteen and it had never been like this, like the person he was in bed with actually gave a shit about him.

He pressed his forehead to Mr. Schue's, eyes shut tight so he wouldn't see the teary shine. He wasn't going to cry during sex. Not happening.

He pushed it back as he kissed Mr. Schue, one hand knotted in curls, the other still holding his teacher's. Moaned into the kiss as a well-aimed thrust sent a shock through his body.


That was it. Puck's back arched as he came, trembling in Mr. Schue's arms. Rode it out as Mr. Schue followed after him.

They lay there after, naked and sweaty under the blanket and just staring at each other. They'd crossed a line. Mr. Schue had slept with a student and despite his own history, Puck had never actually slept with a teacher. He was still seventeen. Mr. Schue could get in serious trouble if anyone found out.

But still...he didn't regret it. He regretted a lot of his past encounters, but he couldn't bring himself to regret this one.

Puck put one hand between them as he closed his eyes. Tried not to smile like an idiot when Mr. Schue took it after a long minute.

So maybe he was a bit in love with his teacher.


"Thank you," he murmured, half into the pillow.

"For what?" Mr. Schue whispered.

"For giving a shit."

The End