Author's Note: Inspired by a glee_kink_meme prompt that I can't find anymore, that asked for Puck/Quinn and sweatshirt sex.

If anyone asked, the reason she started doing it was because winters in Connecticut tended to be cold, and the heater didn't always work quite right, so she had to find alternate ways of warming herself up on days when Puck was off at work.

But really, it was because she found his sweatshirts to be more comfortable than hers. She had a few of course - her favorite was one that had Yale emblazoned across it in bold blue letters - but they were never quite warm enough or comfortable enough for her taste. And Puck had a really bad habit of leaving his laundry laying around their apartment in little fabric mountains, almost like their apartment was a further extension of his childhood bedroom or something. At first, it had been annoying, picking up dirty socks and t-shirts from the couch and tossing them in with her laundry, but after a while, it was almost endearing.

Besides, it gave her the opportunity to wear his sweatshirts while he was off at work and she was stuck at home working away on her dissertation. They were warmer and cozier and - if he had worn it somewhat recently, so that his scent still lingered on the threads of the fabric - it almost felt like he was there with her, embracing her and supporting her in her research. It was a silent motivation, as if he was tacitly saying, "I know you can do it, Quinn." She'd return the favor, but she was pretty sure that her flimsy little blouses would look like Barbie doll clothing on him. Her catch always was though - she had to take the sweatshirts off before he got home. Not because she thought he'd hate it, but because, if Puck was there, she wanted him to warm her up and not his clothing.

Until one day when she nodded off while in the midst of research. She had been trying to find an appropriate quote from it that she could use to accurately support her point, but the caffeine crash had been too abrupt. It caught her off-guard, and soon enough, her hair scrunched under her arm and her face planted into the crease of the pages. And she was wearing his old red McKinley football team sweatshirt, the one that hung low enough on her that it could serve as a mini-dress instead of a shirt on her.

She awoke to see Puck hovering over her, one eyebrow perfectly arched as he took in the sight of his girlfriend in his clothes. "My girl in my clothes. So damn hot," he said in a low murmur.

"You - you weren't supposed to be home for two more hours," she said, yawning and rubbing her eyes with quick strokes, as she grabbed at the collar of the sweatshirt with panic. She caught a glimpse of the wall clock out of the corner of her eye; it was over three hours since the last time she had looked.

"Babe, you fell asleep." He ran his thumb over hers, gently pushing it down to press against the fabric. "I wouldn't have woken you up - except that you did."

She blushed and looked up at him. "Your sweatshirts are comfortable."

"And I'm even more comfortable than some ratty old shirt of mine." She stood up; he eased her into his touch, rubbing his hand along the inside of her thigh, swiping stripes against her exposed skin. "I'm warmer, and will make you feel much better." She whimpered slightly and leaned into him, brushing her lips along the side of his neck and kissing him softly. He tried to lift it off of her, but the thought of the momentary disconnect was far too much for Quinn; she leaned back into him, arching her back and opening her mouth against his skin, over and over again, trying to make him forget that he ever wanted her to stop doing this, if even for a second.

Undeterred, he slid his pants down, and moved her underwear aside; he slid inside her, with a startled gasp from both. Somehow it was much different to still be wearing most of their clothes while having sex; fabric rubbed against fabric frantically as he moved inside her. Her legs scrabbled against him. The sensation was so much different than anything she was used to, but it wasn't a bad thing.

This was so much better of a better use of her study time than actually studying could ever be, she thought, before everything went crystal white before her eyes. The paper she was working on could always wait for another time.

And maybe she'd let him catch her in one of his shirts again. He had that one t-shirt she had her eye on for when it was warmer, after all...