![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
the wind blows, the angels sing
HOLY SHIT THIS THING GOT LONG ON ME. Glee!fic.
The Wind Blows, The Angels Sing (or, Cloud of Toxic Sex: A Love Story)
NC-17 | Will/anything with a pulse, Kurt/Puck, and eventual Will/Finn aside from all the other nonsense | ~5,000 words (Possibly 15,000 overall. YEAH. LONG.)
Will "accidentally" ingests a reverse love potion. (Terri had nothing to do with it) Many hormones are had, some revelations are made.
Terri Shcuester is a desperate woman, in desperate times, with a desperately fake pregnancy and a lot of spare time with which to plot against her husband, who needs to spend a lot less time teaching underprivileged kids how to sing and more time with his pregnant (okay not really, but he doesn't know that) wife. All she's really saying is this is totally his fault for pushing her to this point.
Him, that bright orange hussy, and a lot of hysterical hormones.
While Will was at school, doing god knows what, Terri had been downtown, wearing the darkest, biggest pair of sunglasses she owned and a big floppy hat to cover her face. The store she was looking for had a bright purple awning with a crude yellow eye drawn on it, and she'd looked up and down the street twice before she was brave enough to go inside.
She came out half an hour later, her purse slightly heavier.
___
Kurt still needs help on his high F, after it wobbled him out of the diva off; and he and Artie still need figure out how to execute some choreography without footwork, only not in those words because Will thinks he might actually have to hit himself if he talks to Artie about footwork; speaking of which Finn still needs individual lessons because he's still in 'knock everyone else down' football mode, which is not good for stage and Rachel is... Well. Rachel.
Basically, Will is swamped. He eats, sleeps and breathes New Directions. He probably even drinks it in his coffee, which tastes pretty off this morning.
"New blend?" Will asks Terri. She'd insisted on waking up an hour earlier than usual and making him breakfast. He hasn't stopped smiling at her all morning (even though his eggs are a little burnt. It's the thought that counts.).
"Thought you'd want to try something different," she says sweetly.
"I like it," Will says (which isn't entirely true, but he doesn't not like it.)
Terri gives him a sweet smile and touches his hand. Will smiles back.
And then Will takes one look at the clock and nearly keels over, because usually he'd have left twenty minutes ago.
"I have to go," he says, jumping up from the table and cramming the last piece of toast in his mouth. He runs at the door, grabbing his keys off the table as he goes.
"Bye," Terri shouts. Will yells something back around his food, pulling on his jacket at the same time.
___
Puck -- even though they're supposedly friends now that they're in Glee together, but he still has to show off in front of all his real loser jock friends -- laughs when he grabs the handle of Artie's wheelchair and gives him a rough push down the hallway. Artie goes spinning down the hallway at what feels like fifty miles per hour, his fingers grab it his wheels and get tangled in the bruising spokes. A wall of lockers looms in front of him and Artie throws his arms up to cover his head.
He comes to a very abrupt and painless halt, and his head knocks into Mr. Schue's collarbone. The teacher is holding on to his armrests, having apparently flung himself in front of Artie to save him from imminent lockery demise.
Mr. Schue smells really good.
"Thanks," Artie blurts, "thank you, Mr. Schue." The way that rhymes makes Artie feel more than marginally ridiculous.
"You okay, Artie?" Mr. Schue asks, and whoa his face is really close.
"Yeah, I'm fine." Mr. Schuester sighs and frowns in the direction that Puck headed in.
"That's good. I think I need to have a talk with him... Think you can get to class alright?"
Artie just nods. Mr. Schue takes off after Puck, leaving Artie alone with the very, very weird feeling his stomach.
___
It's a total accident when Puck slushies Mr. Schuester. Honest. Only, now Schue is covered in red mush and Puck feels really... bad about that. Not bad that he's going to have to write an essay or do detention time or some other lame shit like that, which would be weird enough in itself, because Noah Puckerman doesn't care about that. But bad that he got goo all over Schuester's sweater vest.
Which, coupled with the vague urge to lick it off him, is so way out of the ballpark for Puck that he wants to get himself tested for gayness. Only that would mean he got some kind of disease from Hummel, and that would be even worse than being secretly gay for a teacher.
"-- are you even listening to me, Puck?"
"No," Puck answers with a shrug. Schue wipes slushie off his face with a paper towel.
"I said that I'm not angry with you for throwing your drink on me--"
"Awesome, can I go?" Puck says, standing up.
"-- but, I am angry with you for pushing Artie," he says forcefully. Forceful Schuester has about the same level of force Puck's little sister has when playing with her dolls. "Why would you do that?"
"I don't know," Puck shrugs, "I felt like it."
Schuester throws his paper towel away angrily -- the trash can doesn't even wobble when it hits, pathetic -- and advances towards Puck. There's slushie clinging to his curls, and for some reason it reminds Puck of this porno he watched last year. Soaking wet lesbian Swedish bikini models fucking on the beach, bits of sand clinging all over them the way slushie is clinging to Schuester. The chunk Puck is staring at melts and runs down Schuester's face and leaves a sticky red trail down his neck. Puck licks his lips absently.
"You can't mistreat your classmates like that," Schuester says, crossing his arms over his chest. "Especially Artie."
"Yeah, sure," Puck says. He needs to get out of Schuester's office before he does something really homo. He grips the door handle for dear life. "Whatever, I won't do it again. Can I go now?"
Schuester pouts -- which did not look that mind-numbingly sexy yesterday, what the hell is wrong with Puck? -- and says "I'm not sure I believe you."
"I'm sorry, okay? Jesus, can I just go already?"
Schuester bites the corner of his lip -- sweet Moses Puck will bend him over the desk if he doesn't get out of this cloud of noxious gay right the fuck now -- and sits on his desk.
"You promise you won't do it again?"
"Yes. Christ," Puck says.
"Fine," Schue sighs, and Puck is out the door so fast he probably left an afterimage. He needs to work out for a few hours and jerk off. In that order.
___
"-- and I've got a doctor's appointment after school that you'll have to drive me to, you need to stash my maternity sweats in your locker; if it's too small just move the rest of your stuff to your gym locker, Finn, I'm sure it'll fit--"
There is no way Finn can focus on Quinn's harping. He doesn't like to think of it like that, because it makes him think of fish, which makes him imagine being trapped in a small glass bowl with his overly-pregnant girlfriend, and nobody wants that thought in their head -- but Quinn's relentless with her nagging. Finn feels like a carcass, rotting in the desert and Quinn is the small, pretty blonde vulture that slowly eats him between fits of nagging and gossip. Or, y'know, something without an animal metaphor as his girlfriend, because bestiality is gross.
Mr. Schuester, however, is definitely not gross.
Finn swears that every head turns to face front when the teacher walks in -- something that hasn't ever happened in Spanish class.
"Sorry, sorry I'm late," he says. His clothes have a splatter pattern that Finn, and probably the rest of the class, easily recognize. Schue's been slushied. Cherry flavor, if Finn's not mistaken. Finn feels the uncharacteristic urge to shake whoever had the nerve to slushie the coolest teacher around.
"Who do you think did it?" Quinn whispers, her bills momentarily forgotten.
"Who would do it?" Finn responds. He's finding it hard to imagine anyone wanting to embarrass Mr. Schue, he's just so nice.
"Puck," Quinn says bitterly. Santana hums an affirmation from her other side.
Brittany is staring at Mr. Schue, biting her lip and twirling a long strand of hair around her finger. Finn is alarmed. Schue probably would be too, if he wasn't too busy teachering around his desk to notice. "Did he like, cut his hair or something?"
"I don't think so," Kurt says from Finn's other side. "And yet..."
"He seems totally different," Santana finishes. Finn and Quinn nod in unison. It's the first time she's agreed with him in weeks.
___
Karma -- not that Puck believes in that, but it's not like he's never heard it either -- is a total bitch, because as soon as he's absolutely sure that he's sweated everything, including his breakfast, out is when Schuester waltzes into the locker room, like he's haunting him or something. Puck's personal gay phantom. Awesome. Riding the rainbow train right behind Schuester is Hummel, gazing adoringly in the teacher's direction.
"That's really nice of you, Kurt, thanks."
"Oh, no problem, Mr. Schue, here," Hummel says. The way he's smiling at Schuester strangely reminds Puck of some small animal staring up at a princess in a Disney movie. All they need is a well placed beam of sparkling sunlight and the faint sound of birds chirping. "I'll grab it, be right back," he says with a sweet little wave -- Puck gags and laughs at the same time -- and runs off.
Schuester looks at Puck, eyes widening. He tips his head in a brief nod of acknowledgement and sends an awkward wave in his direction. Puck scowls at the same time his stomach clenches.
"Here you are," Kurt says breathlessly as he comes running back with a clean gym shirt. Oh. That. What the hell, is Puck blushing? Puck throws a towel over his shoulders and marches towards the showers, turning just in time to see Schuester wriggling out of his slushie-stained sweater.
Puck thinks he needs to go get something else out of his locker. In the other direction. Now.
If he just so happens to check out the goods -- pale, skinny, no boobs. Hummel gives him the evil eye -- no harm done.
And if his hand just so happens to... wander, well. At least now he knows that Schuester yelps like a Chihuahua when his (nicely firm) ass is grabbed.
___
The living room has just been tamed into the state that Terri wants it to be in -- utterly perfect, with the home shopping network playing on the TV -- when her peace is disturbed by a knock on the door. She frowns at the door, hoping that whoever is on the other side senses her displeasure and just leaves by themselves. They don't. In fact they have the tenacity to knock again.
Terri sighs heavily and pushes herself up, bending her knees awkwardly and cradling the pad over her stomach -- she stays in character, Terri Schuester is and always will be a method actress -- and waddles her way over to the door.
"Yes?" she answers icily, opening the door. The man on her doorstep isn't anyone she knows, or anyone she wants to know. He's fat, short and goateed, wearing a grease stained t-shirt with All My Best Friends Are Orcs written across it.
Terri wants him far, far away from her home.
"You the lady who bought the love potion?"
She grabs his arm and pulls him inside faster than he can blink.
"Don't go yelling things like that where people can hear you!" she hisses, quietly. A quick look out the door tells her that no one is close enough to have heard him. Crisis averted.
"Uh," he glances around nervously and gulps when he realizes that Terri is blocking the only exit. "Sorry? That was you though, right?"
"Of course, nitwit," Terri snaps. "What about it?"
"We, uh, well..." he says, running his fingers through his thinning hair.
"Spit it out!"
"There... wasamixup," he coughs, staring determinedly at the blank space just to the right of Terri's head.
"A mix up," Terri repeats.
"Yes."
"With my... stuff."
"Yes."
"So," Terri asks, taking a single step toward the frightened man. "What did I put in my husband's coffee this morning?"
The man laughs skittishly. "Your husband? Really? Oh, that's bad."
Terri glares so hard she thinks his eyebrows singe.
"Well... It's kind of a love potion... except, not. I mean, it does make people fall in love, only the effect is much more... generalized."
"Get to the point," Terri hisses, tapping her foot.
"Everyone your husband comes into contact with for the next... twenty four hours, or so... will fall in love with him. Sorry?"
___
Kurt walks Will back to his room, which is a little unnecessary, but nice, and Will's not complaining if one of his New Directions kids wants to talk to him at all. It's mostly small talk, Will complementing Kurt's fabric softener (his shirt smells really good, flowery) and Kurt happily telling Will horror stories from before he started washing his own clothes (his dad had no idea how to separate, or cold wash. Don't even get him started on the dry clean only clothing.), and it puts Will in a great mood. His next class seems to rocket by -- everyone's so well behaved today -- and he settles down to lunch at his desk, a stack of papers in front of him.
His lunch even tastes better than usual, even though he knows it the same old sandwich and prepackaged cookies he has every day.
Brittany drew him a little smiley face in the margins of her test. It says hi mr. s under it. Will writes his own little Hi under hers before he grades it. It's not wonderful -- okay, it's barely average, but Brittany's trying and that alone is enough to sustain Will's warm fuzzies.
Quinn's paper is excellent, as usual. She must've spilled perfume on it or something, because the smell's actually making Will a little dizzy. Kurt's test is a close second -- weird, he doesn't normally dot his I's with hearts. Finn's not really even in the running, Will's sad to say.
He finishes his grading, and his lunch, in record time. It's amazing what a good mood can do.
___
"I know what you're doing, and it won't work," Kurt says, hands on his hips. Puck raises both eyebrows. His lower lip quivers like he's going to laugh.
"Yeah?" Puck asks, drawing himself up to his full height. Even half naked and soaking wet, fresh out of the shower -- okay, especially in gym shorts and dripping, Jesus Christ he has a nipple ring -- he's really damn intimidating. And big. Why did Kurt think that confronting this gorilla in his native habitat -- the boy's locker room -- was such a great idea?
"And what am I doing?" he asks.
"Mr. Schue," Kurt blurts. He has a carefully formatted and persuasive sentence in his head, all lined up and ready to go, but his mushmouth isn't having that. Pity, it was a good one too. "You're acting out on him to get attention, it's classic. You like him."
Puck's mouth curls upward in his customary asshole smirk. Kurt keeps going before Puck can cut him off or beat him up or something.
"And you need to back off."
"What?" Puck asks. Score one for Kurt.
Not that he's keeping score. This is about love, not winning. And, yeah, he knows that switching from Finn to Mr. Schue so fast doesn't sound like love, but it sure feels like it. Besides, he's a teenager, he's supposed to fall fast and hard into the arms of a new man every so often.
Or, that's how it works in musicals, which Kurt has always kind of preferred to real life anyway.
"Back. Off." Kurt says. His brain is supplying his theme music for him, something brave and dashing. "Mr. Schuester is not some practice dummy for your half-assed bi-curious bullshit. Leave him alone, or you'll have to deal with me."
Kurt feels pretty damn good. Finally, a win for the well-dressed underdog.
Until Puck laughs in his face, that is.
"Deal with you? Yeah, like that's hard," he says, crossing his arms over his chest. "All I have to do is get a dumpster over here."
"Bring it," Kurt says.
He had to open his mouth.
Puck's fist comes out of nowhere, a flesh-toned brick crashing into his jaw and knocking him back on his ass. Kurt's kicker calf goes haywire, lashing out and connecting rather solidly with Puck's bare knee, squishing Kurt's toes against the inside of his shoe. Puck grunts in pain and Kurt dodges to the side just in time to avoid being stomped in the kidneys.
He has fighting reflexes. Who knew?
"Hummel," Puck growls. Kurt backs into the wall, using it to push himself up. This is bad, no, this is worse than bad, this is fucking horrible. He has no idea what he's doing, and he's pretty sure he's past the curl up in a ball to protect your organs stage of the fight. He hasn't even watched any wrestling or ninja movies or anything vaguely helpful in this area.
Puck looms in, shoulders tense and freakishly large, blocking Kurt's escape. His hand lashes out to pin Kurt to the wall and Kurt's brain turn's off.
He comes to a second later, hauling ass into the hallway, yelling for a teacher, any teacher, there's a psychopath trying to kill him.
He's pretty sure he just lost his mind, because, if he's remembering right and not in like, a coma or something and just dreaming all this; he just grabbed Puck's wrist and spun his momentum back on him to get free, with a move he's done so many time's it's instinct by now.
Kurt Hummel just pirouetted his way out of a fight.
Score two for him.
___
The temptation for Will to take a nap at his desk is too great to resist. He's just laid his head down on his arms when he hears it.
Music.
It starts suddenly, breakneck guitar lacing in with something brass -- a saxophone? -- before the voice starts.
"T-t-teacher, stop that screaming!"
No.
"Teacher, don't you see? Don't wanna be no uptown fool," Rachel's voice sings. The sound sends shivers down his spine. It's his duty to peek his head out into the hallway, even though he really doesn't want to.
Rachel appears to have erected a miniature stage in front of his door, causing a severe hallway traffic jam. The students lined up along either side snicker at her -- and at Will. Rachel spots him and crooks her finger seductively, begging him to come closer.
Will gulps and promptly looks around for someone else to deal with this. Or a tank.
Nothing.
Steeling himself, Will takes a brave step forward.
"What..." he clears his throat, "what are you doing, Rachel?"
"Did you like it, Mr. Schue?" she asks brightly. Artie gives Will a baleful look from where he sits behind her, mouthing sorry. The jazz band looks equally repentant. The students lining the hallways watch quietly, chattering just low enough that Will can't hear them.
"Um. Well, you... sounded very good," Rachel's smile widens, "but the stage and song choices are extremely inappropriate, Rachel."
"Oh. But you liked the song?"
Artie frantically shakes his head no from behind her.
"That doesn't matter," Will says. "I'm going to have to report you to Principal Figgins." A brief, mean-spirited cheer goes through their audience.
Will really wishes he was sleeping right now.
___
"Hot for teacher?"
"Yes."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Damn," Mercedes sighs, torn between impressed and chagrined. She knew that Rachel didn't have a subtle bone in her body, but declaring her undying lust for Mr. Schuester through song? "Something is not right with that girl."
Kurt nods, settling himself in his chair. He won't let Mercedes ask about the bruise on his jaw, but he did let her cover it up with makeup and fuss over him for a while, which helped a little. Not much though.
"What is it about Mr. Schue that got her so crazy?"
"Well, I can sort of see the appeal..."
"Uh huh," Mercedes says. Kurt blushes -- that bruise is getting bigger, he better let her put ice on it or she'll pin him and do it anyway -- and tugs on the cuffs of his designer jacket.
Interesting.
___
Finn's on his way to Math -- which he hates more than he thought was ever possible. What is the point of imaginary numbers if they just make the problem harder? -- innocently walking down the hallway when a crumpled sheet of paper bounces off his shoulder. He looks in the direction it came from and sees Rachel.
In detention. By herself, with a terrifying smile. She waves him over and Finn hesitantly comes.
"Yes?" he asks. He's leaning slightly away from Rachel -- instinct -- and she reaches out of the detention room and grabs his arm, pulling him in. Holy crap, she's strong for someone so small.
"I need you to do something for me," she says, stuffing something in his hand. Whoever's in charge of detention is asleep at her desk, Finn is so screwed. "Get this to Mr. Schuester."
"Um, I don't think I should..." Finn starts.
Rachel squeezes his hand -- hard, ow -- around a sheet of notebook paper and stares at him.
Tears well up in the corners of her eyes.
"Okay! Okay, don't cry!" Finn says, taking his hand away. Rachel brightens immediately.
"Thanks, Finn," she says, waving him out the door like a servant. He doesn't have much choice but to leave, taking his crumpled piece of paper with him. He waits a whole five minutes before dodging into a bathroom and opening it. The late bell rings while he skims, but this is worth missing class.
Oh Mister Schuester,
I cannot breathe for my love
Of you is too strong.
Would you please be mine?
Mine to hold and sing to sleep
Be my everything.
We could be a song,
A perfectly formed duet
In the key of love.
Sincerely, Rachel Berry.
Finn loses it at key of love. Poor Mr. Schue, directly in the path of all Rachel's crazy. Finn starts to catch his breath when he notices that Rachel's put a sparkly pink heart sticker next to her name at the bottom of the note, sending him into fresh gales of laughter.
Once he stops shaking he slips the note into his back pocket and heads to Math. He can't wait to get to Glee and see Schue's face when he reads it.
___
As much as it pains him -- and it really, really does -- to admit it, Puck kind of has to admire Hummel's use of dance moves during a fight. Sure, he's never seen anything gayer in his life, but he's also never met anyone gayer in his life, so that's to be expected. He makes his way to Glee prepared to be civil -- until Schuester leaves, then he'll beat the shit out of him. Respectfully. Sort of.
Hummel's already there, perched on his seat with his legs crossed and his back straight like a beauty queen. He's gossiping with his fag hag and gives Puck a brief but withering glance as he sits down. He must've grown some balls in the hour or two since their fight.
Puck's cool with that. It just means there's more of Hummel for him to hit.
Finn sets his stuff down in the seat between Puck and Hummel, Puck wants to call him on it, but he's not there long enough to say anything to him. He goes into Schuester's office with a grin. When they both come out a few seconds later the teacher's face is a weird purplish color.
___
After an hour of singing the opinionated best of the eighties, Kurt is really happy to be going home. He's just gotten to his car and pulled his keys out when a wall in a football jacket hits him and pins him to the ground.
"Like to see you get out of this one," Puck growls. Kurt would like to see that too. He's bracketed in by Puck's arms and the two cars on either side of them, one being Kurt's very own baby. The only way he's getting out is with help, and no one's going to see them unless they're right on top of them.
In short: he's fucked. And Puck knows it.
Kurt's car keys are about two inches away from his hand. If he can get them then he might have a chance, he inches his hand in that direction, watching out of the corner of his eye.
"You bastard," he hisses.
"That the best you got?"
"Not even close."
Kurt's hand is just about to close around his keyring, when Puck leans back, freeing up his arms to start beating Kurt up in earnest. Kurt's legs spasm, and his knee goes up into Puck's crotch, but his angle isn't any good for force.
Puck groans. Not in pain.
Kurt feels his heart skip a beat and pushes up, gently. Puck grinds into his leg, shifting his weight over Kurt. That's interesting.
"What. Fuck," Puck gasps. Kurt presses his knee against Puck harder, fascinated. He can feel Puck growing hard against his leg and slides his knee against Puck's dick through his jeans, Puck's gasp making his own feel tighter. "Hummel," Puck whimpers, his eyes wide and dark. His mouth is hanging open, soft around the sounds he making as Kurt brings him closer to the edge.
If Puck wasn't holding him down Kurt would be attacking that mouth.
Puck shudders when he comes. He pushes himself off the ground and walks away before Kurt can even really figure out what just happened.
___
Terri's ready to pounce by the time Will gets home. The bitch who ran the front desk wouldn't let her in to the school, having recognized her from her brief stint as a nurse and threatened to call the police. And none of the first floor windows were unlocked, so she had no real choice but go home.
Will walks in the door and doesn't look as though he's committed adultery, which is good. He looks more tired than anything else, thick red rims around his eyes and all Terri wants to do is make him dinner and tuck him into bed.
Wow. That love potion stuff is good. Terri reins in her mothering and prepares to interrogate.
"You have no idea how glad I am to be home," Will says, peeling his jacket off and hanging it up. Terri's heart melts a little. "Today was insane."
"Yeah?" Terri asks, against her better judgment. "What happened?" Will sighs and sits next to her on the couch, sinking into the cushions. Terri absently rubs his nearest shoulder.
"Rachel, she's one of my Glee kids, made a scene in the hallway, and then wrote me poetry." Terri feels a flicker of hatred for Rachel. "And I'm wearing one of my other kid's clothes because I got slushied."
"They still do that?" Terri asks, impressed. Will leans into her and she wraps her arm around him, trying to soothe the knots out of his shoulders.
"Yeah," he sighs. "I should go change."
Terri's hands move up to massage Will's neck, keeping him rooted to the couch.
"Feels good," Will says, closing his eyes. Terri hums and leans forward to kiss her husband. She feels like they haven't touched in so long -- Will wraps his arm around her and pulls her against him -- why is that? She knows there's a reason, but she can't remember. She wraps her arms around Will's neck, absently playing with his hair. Kissing Will is good. She likes it. Why did she stop? Will's hand slides up the back of her shirt and she remembers -- too late.
"Terri..." he pulls back wide eyed. His fingers are touching the strap of Terri's pregnancy pad. "What's this?"
"Nothing!" She says, too fast, too high pitched. "It's nothing!"
"Doesn't feel like nothing," Will says, tracing the strap around to Terri's front. It rests on the pillow in the shape of a pregnant belly as he stares at her in shock.
"It's-- "
"You're not pregnant."
"Will! Come on, that's crazy!" she says, wriggling away from him. Will's hands clamp tight around her hips and hold her in place.
"You're not pregnant," he repeats in a whisper. Terri reaches out to him, hoping to calm him down. His grip on her suddenly goes lax -- scaring her more than anything else ever has -- and he's pushing past her, making his way out the door.
"Will!" Terri screams.
"Don't follow me," he says. He doesn't sound angry, or sad, or anything else Terri would expect. He sounds emotionless and cold, his voice freezing Terri to the couch.
Continued
The Wind Blows, The Angels Sing (or, Cloud of Toxic Sex: A Love Story)
NC-17 | Will/anything with a pulse, Kurt/Puck, and eventual Will/Finn aside from all the other nonsense | ~5,000 words (Possibly 15,000 overall. YEAH. LONG.)
Will "accidentally" ingests a reverse love potion. (Terri had nothing to do with it) Many hormones are had, some revelations are made.
Terri Shcuester is a desperate woman, in desperate times, with a desperately fake pregnancy and a lot of spare time with which to plot against her husband, who needs to spend a lot less time teaching underprivileged kids how to sing and more time with his pregnant (okay not really, but he doesn't know that) wife. All she's really saying is this is totally his fault for pushing her to this point.
Him, that bright orange hussy, and a lot of hysterical hormones.
While Will was at school, doing god knows what, Terri had been downtown, wearing the darkest, biggest pair of sunglasses she owned and a big floppy hat to cover her face. The store she was looking for had a bright purple awning with a crude yellow eye drawn on it, and she'd looked up and down the street twice before she was brave enough to go inside.
She came out half an hour later, her purse slightly heavier.
___
Kurt still needs help on his high F, after it wobbled him out of the diva off; and he and Artie still need figure out how to execute some choreography without footwork, only not in those words because Will thinks he might actually have to hit himself if he talks to Artie about footwork; speaking of which Finn still needs individual lessons because he's still in 'knock everyone else down' football mode, which is not good for stage and Rachel is... Well. Rachel.
Basically, Will is swamped. He eats, sleeps and breathes New Directions. He probably even drinks it in his coffee, which tastes pretty off this morning.
"New blend?" Will asks Terri. She'd insisted on waking up an hour earlier than usual and making him breakfast. He hasn't stopped smiling at her all morning (even though his eggs are a little burnt. It's the thought that counts.).
"Thought you'd want to try something different," she says sweetly.
"I like it," Will says (which isn't entirely true, but he doesn't not like it.)
Terri gives him a sweet smile and touches his hand. Will smiles back.
And then Will takes one look at the clock and nearly keels over, because usually he'd have left twenty minutes ago.
"I have to go," he says, jumping up from the table and cramming the last piece of toast in his mouth. He runs at the door, grabbing his keys off the table as he goes.
"Bye," Terri shouts. Will yells something back around his food, pulling on his jacket at the same time.
___
Puck -- even though they're supposedly friends now that they're in Glee together, but he still has to show off in front of all his real loser jock friends -- laughs when he grabs the handle of Artie's wheelchair and gives him a rough push down the hallway. Artie goes spinning down the hallway at what feels like fifty miles per hour, his fingers grab it his wheels and get tangled in the bruising spokes. A wall of lockers looms in front of him and Artie throws his arms up to cover his head.
He comes to a very abrupt and painless halt, and his head knocks into Mr. Schue's collarbone. The teacher is holding on to his armrests, having apparently flung himself in front of Artie to save him from imminent lockery demise.
Mr. Schue smells really good.
"Thanks," Artie blurts, "thank you, Mr. Schue." The way that rhymes makes Artie feel more than marginally ridiculous.
"You okay, Artie?" Mr. Schue asks, and whoa his face is really close.
"Yeah, I'm fine." Mr. Schuester sighs and frowns in the direction that Puck headed in.
"That's good. I think I need to have a talk with him... Think you can get to class alright?"
Artie just nods. Mr. Schue takes off after Puck, leaving Artie alone with the very, very weird feeling his stomach.
___
It's a total accident when Puck slushies Mr. Schuester. Honest. Only, now Schue is covered in red mush and Puck feels really... bad about that. Not bad that he's going to have to write an essay or do detention time or some other lame shit like that, which would be weird enough in itself, because Noah Puckerman doesn't care about that. But bad that he got goo all over Schuester's sweater vest.
Which, coupled with the vague urge to lick it off him, is so way out of the ballpark for Puck that he wants to get himself tested for gayness. Only that would mean he got some kind of disease from Hummel, and that would be even worse than being secretly gay for a teacher.
"-- are you even listening to me, Puck?"
"No," Puck answers with a shrug. Schue wipes slushie off his face with a paper towel.
"I said that I'm not angry with you for throwing your drink on me--"
"Awesome, can I go?" Puck says, standing up.
"-- but, I am angry with you for pushing Artie," he says forcefully. Forceful Schuester has about the same level of force Puck's little sister has when playing with her dolls. "Why would you do that?"
"I don't know," Puck shrugs, "I felt like it."
Schuester throws his paper towel away angrily -- the trash can doesn't even wobble when it hits, pathetic -- and advances towards Puck. There's slushie clinging to his curls, and for some reason it reminds Puck of this porno he watched last year. Soaking wet lesbian Swedish bikini models fucking on the beach, bits of sand clinging all over them the way slushie is clinging to Schuester. The chunk Puck is staring at melts and runs down Schuester's face and leaves a sticky red trail down his neck. Puck licks his lips absently.
"You can't mistreat your classmates like that," Schuester says, crossing his arms over his chest. "Especially Artie."
"Yeah, sure," Puck says. He needs to get out of Schuester's office before he does something really homo. He grips the door handle for dear life. "Whatever, I won't do it again. Can I go now?"
Schuester pouts -- which did not look that mind-numbingly sexy yesterday, what the hell is wrong with Puck? -- and says "I'm not sure I believe you."
"I'm sorry, okay? Jesus, can I just go already?"
Schuester bites the corner of his lip -- sweet Moses Puck will bend him over the desk if he doesn't get out of this cloud of noxious gay right the fuck now -- and sits on his desk.
"You promise you won't do it again?"
"Yes. Christ," Puck says.
"Fine," Schue sighs, and Puck is out the door so fast he probably left an afterimage. He needs to work out for a few hours and jerk off. In that order.
___
"-- and I've got a doctor's appointment after school that you'll have to drive me to, you need to stash my maternity sweats in your locker; if it's too small just move the rest of your stuff to your gym locker, Finn, I'm sure it'll fit--"
There is no way Finn can focus on Quinn's harping. He doesn't like to think of it like that, because it makes him think of fish, which makes him imagine being trapped in a small glass bowl with his overly-pregnant girlfriend, and nobody wants that thought in their head -- but Quinn's relentless with her nagging. Finn feels like a carcass, rotting in the desert and Quinn is the small, pretty blonde vulture that slowly eats him between fits of nagging and gossip. Or, y'know, something without an animal metaphor as his girlfriend, because bestiality is gross.
Mr. Schuester, however, is definitely not gross.
Finn swears that every head turns to face front when the teacher walks in -- something that hasn't ever happened in Spanish class.
"Sorry, sorry I'm late," he says. His clothes have a splatter pattern that Finn, and probably the rest of the class, easily recognize. Schue's been slushied. Cherry flavor, if Finn's not mistaken. Finn feels the uncharacteristic urge to shake whoever had the nerve to slushie the coolest teacher around.
"Who do you think did it?" Quinn whispers, her bills momentarily forgotten.
"Who would do it?" Finn responds. He's finding it hard to imagine anyone wanting to embarrass Mr. Schue, he's just so nice.
"Puck," Quinn says bitterly. Santana hums an affirmation from her other side.
Brittany is staring at Mr. Schue, biting her lip and twirling a long strand of hair around her finger. Finn is alarmed. Schue probably would be too, if he wasn't too busy teachering around his desk to notice. "Did he like, cut his hair or something?"
"I don't think so," Kurt says from Finn's other side. "And yet..."
"He seems totally different," Santana finishes. Finn and Quinn nod in unison. It's the first time she's agreed with him in weeks.
___
Karma -- not that Puck believes in that, but it's not like he's never heard it either -- is a total bitch, because as soon as he's absolutely sure that he's sweated everything, including his breakfast, out is when Schuester waltzes into the locker room, like he's haunting him or something. Puck's personal gay phantom. Awesome. Riding the rainbow train right behind Schuester is Hummel, gazing adoringly in the teacher's direction.
"That's really nice of you, Kurt, thanks."
"Oh, no problem, Mr. Schue, here," Hummel says. The way he's smiling at Schuester strangely reminds Puck of some small animal staring up at a princess in a Disney movie. All they need is a well placed beam of sparkling sunlight and the faint sound of birds chirping. "I'll grab it, be right back," he says with a sweet little wave -- Puck gags and laughs at the same time -- and runs off.
Schuester looks at Puck, eyes widening. He tips his head in a brief nod of acknowledgement and sends an awkward wave in his direction. Puck scowls at the same time his stomach clenches.
"Here you are," Kurt says breathlessly as he comes running back with a clean gym shirt. Oh. That. What the hell, is Puck blushing? Puck throws a towel over his shoulders and marches towards the showers, turning just in time to see Schuester wriggling out of his slushie-stained sweater.
Puck thinks he needs to go get something else out of his locker. In the other direction. Now.
If he just so happens to check out the goods -- pale, skinny, no boobs. Hummel gives him the evil eye -- no harm done.
And if his hand just so happens to... wander, well. At least now he knows that Schuester yelps like a Chihuahua when his (nicely firm) ass is grabbed.
___
The living room has just been tamed into the state that Terri wants it to be in -- utterly perfect, with the home shopping network playing on the TV -- when her peace is disturbed by a knock on the door. She frowns at the door, hoping that whoever is on the other side senses her displeasure and just leaves by themselves. They don't. In fact they have the tenacity to knock again.
Terri sighs heavily and pushes herself up, bending her knees awkwardly and cradling the pad over her stomach -- she stays in character, Terri Schuester is and always will be a method actress -- and waddles her way over to the door.
"Yes?" she answers icily, opening the door. The man on her doorstep isn't anyone she knows, or anyone she wants to know. He's fat, short and goateed, wearing a grease stained t-shirt with All My Best Friends Are Orcs written across it.
Terri wants him far, far away from her home.
"You the lady who bought the love potion?"
She grabs his arm and pulls him inside faster than he can blink.
"Don't go yelling things like that where people can hear you!" she hisses, quietly. A quick look out the door tells her that no one is close enough to have heard him. Crisis averted.
"Uh," he glances around nervously and gulps when he realizes that Terri is blocking the only exit. "Sorry? That was you though, right?"
"Of course, nitwit," Terri snaps. "What about it?"
"We, uh, well..." he says, running his fingers through his thinning hair.
"Spit it out!"
"There... wasamixup," he coughs, staring determinedly at the blank space just to the right of Terri's head.
"A mix up," Terri repeats.
"Yes."
"With my... stuff."
"Yes."
"So," Terri asks, taking a single step toward the frightened man. "What did I put in my husband's coffee this morning?"
The man laughs skittishly. "Your husband? Really? Oh, that's bad."
Terri glares so hard she thinks his eyebrows singe.
"Well... It's kind of a love potion... except, not. I mean, it does make people fall in love, only the effect is much more... generalized."
"Get to the point," Terri hisses, tapping her foot.
"Everyone your husband comes into contact with for the next... twenty four hours, or so... will fall in love with him. Sorry?"
___
Kurt walks Will back to his room, which is a little unnecessary, but nice, and Will's not complaining if one of his New Directions kids wants to talk to him at all. It's mostly small talk, Will complementing Kurt's fabric softener (his shirt smells really good, flowery) and Kurt happily telling Will horror stories from before he started washing his own clothes (his dad had no idea how to separate, or cold wash. Don't even get him started on the dry clean only clothing.), and it puts Will in a great mood. His next class seems to rocket by -- everyone's so well behaved today -- and he settles down to lunch at his desk, a stack of papers in front of him.
His lunch even tastes better than usual, even though he knows it the same old sandwich and prepackaged cookies he has every day.
Brittany drew him a little smiley face in the margins of her test. It says hi mr. s under it. Will writes his own little Hi under hers before he grades it. It's not wonderful -- okay, it's barely average, but Brittany's trying and that alone is enough to sustain Will's warm fuzzies.
Quinn's paper is excellent, as usual. She must've spilled perfume on it or something, because the smell's actually making Will a little dizzy. Kurt's test is a close second -- weird, he doesn't normally dot his I's with hearts. Finn's not really even in the running, Will's sad to say.
He finishes his grading, and his lunch, in record time. It's amazing what a good mood can do.
___
"I know what you're doing, and it won't work," Kurt says, hands on his hips. Puck raises both eyebrows. His lower lip quivers like he's going to laugh.
"Yeah?" Puck asks, drawing himself up to his full height. Even half naked and soaking wet, fresh out of the shower -- okay, especially in gym shorts and dripping, Jesus Christ he has a nipple ring -- he's really damn intimidating. And big. Why did Kurt think that confronting this gorilla in his native habitat -- the boy's locker room -- was such a great idea?
"And what am I doing?" he asks.
"Mr. Schue," Kurt blurts. He has a carefully formatted and persuasive sentence in his head, all lined up and ready to go, but his mushmouth isn't having that. Pity, it was a good one too. "You're acting out on him to get attention, it's classic. You like him."
Puck's mouth curls upward in his customary asshole smirk. Kurt keeps going before Puck can cut him off or beat him up or something.
"And you need to back off."
"What?" Puck asks. Score one for Kurt.
Not that he's keeping score. This is about love, not winning. And, yeah, he knows that switching from Finn to Mr. Schue so fast doesn't sound like love, but it sure feels like it. Besides, he's a teenager, he's supposed to fall fast and hard into the arms of a new man every so often.
Or, that's how it works in musicals, which Kurt has always kind of preferred to real life anyway.
"Back. Off." Kurt says. His brain is supplying his theme music for him, something brave and dashing. "Mr. Schuester is not some practice dummy for your half-assed bi-curious bullshit. Leave him alone, or you'll have to deal with me."
Kurt feels pretty damn good. Finally, a win for the well-dressed underdog.
Until Puck laughs in his face, that is.
"Deal with you? Yeah, like that's hard," he says, crossing his arms over his chest. "All I have to do is get a dumpster over here."
"Bring it," Kurt says.
He had to open his mouth.
Puck's fist comes out of nowhere, a flesh-toned brick crashing into his jaw and knocking him back on his ass. Kurt's kicker calf goes haywire, lashing out and connecting rather solidly with Puck's bare knee, squishing Kurt's toes against the inside of his shoe. Puck grunts in pain and Kurt dodges to the side just in time to avoid being stomped in the kidneys.
He has fighting reflexes. Who knew?
"Hummel," Puck growls. Kurt backs into the wall, using it to push himself up. This is bad, no, this is worse than bad, this is fucking horrible. He has no idea what he's doing, and he's pretty sure he's past the curl up in a ball to protect your organs stage of the fight. He hasn't even watched any wrestling or ninja movies or anything vaguely helpful in this area.
Puck looms in, shoulders tense and freakishly large, blocking Kurt's escape. His hand lashes out to pin Kurt to the wall and Kurt's brain turn's off.
He comes to a second later, hauling ass into the hallway, yelling for a teacher, any teacher, there's a psychopath trying to kill him.
He's pretty sure he just lost his mind, because, if he's remembering right and not in like, a coma or something and just dreaming all this; he just grabbed Puck's wrist and spun his momentum back on him to get free, with a move he's done so many time's it's instinct by now.
Kurt Hummel just pirouetted his way out of a fight.
Score two for him.
___
The temptation for Will to take a nap at his desk is too great to resist. He's just laid his head down on his arms when he hears it.
Music.
It starts suddenly, breakneck guitar lacing in with something brass -- a saxophone? -- before the voice starts.
"T-t-teacher, stop that screaming!"
No.
"Teacher, don't you see? Don't wanna be no uptown fool," Rachel's voice sings. The sound sends shivers down his spine. It's his duty to peek his head out into the hallway, even though he really doesn't want to.
Rachel appears to have erected a miniature stage in front of his door, causing a severe hallway traffic jam. The students lined up along either side snicker at her -- and at Will. Rachel spots him and crooks her finger seductively, begging him to come closer.
Will gulps and promptly looks around for someone else to deal with this. Or a tank.
Nothing.
Steeling himself, Will takes a brave step forward.
"What..." he clears his throat, "what are you doing, Rachel?"
"Did you like it, Mr. Schue?" she asks brightly. Artie gives Will a baleful look from where he sits behind her, mouthing sorry. The jazz band looks equally repentant. The students lining the hallways watch quietly, chattering just low enough that Will can't hear them.
"Um. Well, you... sounded very good," Rachel's smile widens, "but the stage and song choices are extremely inappropriate, Rachel."
"Oh. But you liked the song?"
Artie frantically shakes his head no from behind her.
"That doesn't matter," Will says. "I'm going to have to report you to Principal Figgins." A brief, mean-spirited cheer goes through their audience.
Will really wishes he was sleeping right now.
___
"Hot for teacher?"
"Yes."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Damn," Mercedes sighs, torn between impressed and chagrined. She knew that Rachel didn't have a subtle bone in her body, but declaring her undying lust for Mr. Schuester through song? "Something is not right with that girl."
Kurt nods, settling himself in his chair. He won't let Mercedes ask about the bruise on his jaw, but he did let her cover it up with makeup and fuss over him for a while, which helped a little. Not much though.
"What is it about Mr. Schue that got her so crazy?"
"Well, I can sort of see the appeal..."
"Uh huh," Mercedes says. Kurt blushes -- that bruise is getting bigger, he better let her put ice on it or she'll pin him and do it anyway -- and tugs on the cuffs of his designer jacket.
Interesting.
___
Finn's on his way to Math -- which he hates more than he thought was ever possible. What is the point of imaginary numbers if they just make the problem harder? -- innocently walking down the hallway when a crumpled sheet of paper bounces off his shoulder. He looks in the direction it came from and sees Rachel.
In detention. By herself, with a terrifying smile. She waves him over and Finn hesitantly comes.
"Yes?" he asks. He's leaning slightly away from Rachel -- instinct -- and she reaches out of the detention room and grabs his arm, pulling him in. Holy crap, she's strong for someone so small.
"I need you to do something for me," she says, stuffing something in his hand. Whoever's in charge of detention is asleep at her desk, Finn is so screwed. "Get this to Mr. Schuester."
"Um, I don't think I should..." Finn starts.
Rachel squeezes his hand -- hard, ow -- around a sheet of notebook paper and stares at him.
Tears well up in the corners of her eyes.
"Okay! Okay, don't cry!" Finn says, taking his hand away. Rachel brightens immediately.
"Thanks, Finn," she says, waving him out the door like a servant. He doesn't have much choice but to leave, taking his crumpled piece of paper with him. He waits a whole five minutes before dodging into a bathroom and opening it. The late bell rings while he skims, but this is worth missing class.
Oh Mister Schuester,
I cannot breathe for my love
Of you is too strong.
Would you please be mine?
Mine to hold and sing to sleep
Be my everything.
We could be a song,
A perfectly formed duet
In the key of love.
Sincerely, Rachel Berry.
Finn loses it at key of love. Poor Mr. Schue, directly in the path of all Rachel's crazy. Finn starts to catch his breath when he notices that Rachel's put a sparkly pink heart sticker next to her name at the bottom of the note, sending him into fresh gales of laughter.
Once he stops shaking he slips the note into his back pocket and heads to Math. He can't wait to get to Glee and see Schue's face when he reads it.
___
As much as it pains him -- and it really, really does -- to admit it, Puck kind of has to admire Hummel's use of dance moves during a fight. Sure, he's never seen anything gayer in his life, but he's also never met anyone gayer in his life, so that's to be expected. He makes his way to Glee prepared to be civil -- until Schuester leaves, then he'll beat the shit out of him. Respectfully. Sort of.
Hummel's already there, perched on his seat with his legs crossed and his back straight like a beauty queen. He's gossiping with his fag hag and gives Puck a brief but withering glance as he sits down. He must've grown some balls in the hour or two since their fight.
Puck's cool with that. It just means there's more of Hummel for him to hit.
Finn sets his stuff down in the seat between Puck and Hummel, Puck wants to call him on it, but he's not there long enough to say anything to him. He goes into Schuester's office with a grin. When they both come out a few seconds later the teacher's face is a weird purplish color.
___
After an hour of singing the opinionated best of the eighties, Kurt is really happy to be going home. He's just gotten to his car and pulled his keys out when a wall in a football jacket hits him and pins him to the ground.
"Like to see you get out of this one," Puck growls. Kurt would like to see that too. He's bracketed in by Puck's arms and the two cars on either side of them, one being Kurt's very own baby. The only way he's getting out is with help, and no one's going to see them unless they're right on top of them.
In short: he's fucked. And Puck knows it.
Kurt's car keys are about two inches away from his hand. If he can get them then he might have a chance, he inches his hand in that direction, watching out of the corner of his eye.
"You bastard," he hisses.
"That the best you got?"
"Not even close."
Kurt's hand is just about to close around his keyring, when Puck leans back, freeing up his arms to start beating Kurt up in earnest. Kurt's legs spasm, and his knee goes up into Puck's crotch, but his angle isn't any good for force.
Puck groans. Not in pain.
Kurt feels his heart skip a beat and pushes up, gently. Puck grinds into his leg, shifting his weight over Kurt. That's interesting.
"What. Fuck," Puck gasps. Kurt presses his knee against Puck harder, fascinated. He can feel Puck growing hard against his leg and slides his knee against Puck's dick through his jeans, Puck's gasp making his own feel tighter. "Hummel," Puck whimpers, his eyes wide and dark. His mouth is hanging open, soft around the sounds he making as Kurt brings him closer to the edge.
If Puck wasn't holding him down Kurt would be attacking that mouth.
Puck shudders when he comes. He pushes himself off the ground and walks away before Kurt can even really figure out what just happened.
___
Terri's ready to pounce by the time Will gets home. The bitch who ran the front desk wouldn't let her in to the school, having recognized her from her brief stint as a nurse and threatened to call the police. And none of the first floor windows were unlocked, so she had no real choice but go home.
Will walks in the door and doesn't look as though he's committed adultery, which is good. He looks more tired than anything else, thick red rims around his eyes and all Terri wants to do is make him dinner and tuck him into bed.
Wow. That love potion stuff is good. Terri reins in her mothering and prepares to interrogate.
"You have no idea how glad I am to be home," Will says, peeling his jacket off and hanging it up. Terri's heart melts a little. "Today was insane."
"Yeah?" Terri asks, against her better judgment. "What happened?" Will sighs and sits next to her on the couch, sinking into the cushions. Terri absently rubs his nearest shoulder.
"Rachel, she's one of my Glee kids, made a scene in the hallway, and then wrote me poetry." Terri feels a flicker of hatred for Rachel. "And I'm wearing one of my other kid's clothes because I got slushied."
"They still do that?" Terri asks, impressed. Will leans into her and she wraps her arm around him, trying to soothe the knots out of his shoulders.
"Yeah," he sighs. "I should go change."
Terri's hands move up to massage Will's neck, keeping him rooted to the couch.
"Feels good," Will says, closing his eyes. Terri hums and leans forward to kiss her husband. She feels like they haven't touched in so long -- Will wraps his arm around her and pulls her against him -- why is that? She knows there's a reason, but she can't remember. She wraps her arms around Will's neck, absently playing with his hair. Kissing Will is good. She likes it. Why did she stop? Will's hand slides up the back of her shirt and she remembers -- too late.
"Terri..." he pulls back wide eyed. His fingers are touching the strap of Terri's pregnancy pad. "What's this?"
"Nothing!" She says, too fast, too high pitched. "It's nothing!"
"Doesn't feel like nothing," Will says, tracing the strap around to Terri's front. It rests on the pillow in the shape of a pregnant belly as he stares at her in shock.
"It's-- "
"You're not pregnant."
"Will! Come on, that's crazy!" she says, wriggling away from him. Will's hands clamp tight around her hips and hold her in place.
"You're not pregnant," he repeats in a whisper. Terri reaches out to him, hoping to calm him down. His grip on her suddenly goes lax -- scaring her more than anything else ever has -- and he's pushing past her, making his way out the door.
"Will!" Terri screams.
"Don't follow me," he says. He doesn't sound angry, or sad, or anything else Terri would expect. He sounds emotionless and cold, his voice freezing Terri to the couch.
Continued