It's past midnight and the only reason she opens the door when her parents are in Chicago for a dental conference is because she'd know the squeak of Puck's brakes anywhere.
To be blunt, he looks terrible. Like he's been crying for the past week, just like Quinn has. Mercedes hasn't seen too much of Quinn, but the girl's taking the adoption harder than she'd thought.
"Quinn isn't here, you know," she says, leaning against the doorframe. The metal is cold through her pajama top. "She's back with her mom."
Puck looks like he's been kicked in the gut. "She really forgave that bitch? Finn told me what Judy said when they told her about the baby."
"Guess so. She moved out last week."
Puck shuffles his feet, scuffed Adidas sneakers dark against the white of her porch. It's not freezing out - it's May, barely under 65 degrees - but Puck huddles into his McKinley jacket and looks so miserable that Mercedes opens the door.
"One time offer, white boy," she says, her arms folded. "And only because my parents aren't here to have a nuclear meltdown."
He does his best to leer at her, but it doesn't have any heart to it. Puckzilla's lost his bite and now he's just a regular guy who's had his heart stepped on and who's running to his ex for some sympathy booty. Not that they ever hooked up before, and not that she's likely to accommodate him, but she's spent enough time watching Puck and Santana to know what his impending-sex face looks like.
Even when they were "dating" - she's not stupid, the air-quotes are there for a reason - he never came to her house. They hung out at Breadstix or in the glee room or in his car parked at McKinley. Neutral ground, because there, they had an audience and they could safely pretend that they weren't tolerating each other's company for the popularity-boost.
Kurt's told her, Quinn's told her, Tina's told her . . . even Mr. Schue has told her that she was too good to be messing around with Puck. That she deserved better. But the thing is, Puck treated her like a lady when they dated. He kissed her on the cheek and bought her dinner and never once pressured her into anything. And, oh yeah, sang her a seriously banging cover of Sinatra. There's not too much to improve upon.
So when he sits next to her on the couch and starts playing with the lace edging the sleeves of her pj's, she raises an eyebrow at him.
"Can you just . . . not yell at me for a little while?" he asks, before she can say anything. "Everyone else has got that covered."
She sighs and laces her fingers through his. "What are they yelling at you for?"
"Leave Quinn alone. Apologize to Finn. Treat Santana better. Quit snapping at my mom and sister. Don't throw Hummel or Abrams into any more dumpsters. Take your pick."
"Well, they're all really good suggestions. Especially the one about not throwing people into dumpsters. Like, say, my best friend."
His head tips back against the wall. "I'm not fucking stupid. It was a mistake and I did it to be popular and it was a shitty idea."
Mercedes doesn't say anything, because well, what more can you really tell him? No one changes overnight, though for Quinn and Beth, he's been trying. That counts.
"Then if you know it was a mistake, what do you want me to tell you?"
Puck tugs her toward him, smooth and practiced like a dance move. He brushes a piece of her hair back, trying and failing not to meet her eyes.
"Not a damn thing, Jones."
She's not one of those girls that falls at his feet. Probably because she knows just how easily he can step on people. It wasn't just Kurt and Artie who Puck slushied and bullied. It used to be Rachel and Tina and Mercedes, too.
She shakes her head. "None of that, Puckerman. I ain't Santana or Rachel, and your pouty lips, while totally hot, ain't gonna work."
"This isn't - I don't -"
Noah Puckerman, short on words? Now, that's a shocker.
His hands slide over her shoulders and down her back, and she can't help but shiver a little. But she fixes him with a hard look and won't let him off the hook.
"What is this, then?"
His grip tightens, fingers digging into the small of her back. "You're the only girl I've ever met who makes me think about what I do. And it drives me up the fucking wall, but I kind of like it, too."
"And you thought you'd show your appreciation by showing up for a booty call?"
"No," he grits out, head falling against the side of hers. He smells like boy - sweat and salt and Axe body spray - and she almost forgets to breathe, because he's so close to her for the first time. "I wanted to do something for someone else. And you're - you're my friend. Like, as close as I've ever been to being friends with a chick."
Well, she considers, there are worse ways to lose your virginity. Even if they don't go all the way, there's still plenty of things she's never done. And turning down Noah Puckerman might possibly be the dumbest idea on the planet.
"You don't think this-" she points to him, then herself, "is going to screw that up?"
"We're kind of already screwed up," he points out. "Or, at least, I am. You're just awesome."
Okay, she can't fault that logic.
She decides to kiss him, because she's not going to be one of his conquests and she doesn't need to be handheld through this. She presses her lips to his, and like a tidal wave, he opens his mouth and swipes his tongue against hers and pulls her to lie next to him on the couch. He's big, solid, and she's never really noticed that sitting in his car or dancing with him in glee club. His arms surround her and his one leg is lying atop hers, and she feels small, for one of the first times in her life.
There's a pillow bunched under her side, and she shifts to move it. As she arches, still kissing him, she presses more firmly against him and can feel his dick hardening against her belly. He groans deep in his throat, and pulls her close again, not letting her squirm away. Holds her firm and steady, swallowing her gasps and rocking a little against her. He almost purrs when she shoves his jacket off him - hello biceps and thank you football training.
God, this is fucking surreal. Puck - sex shark, cougar-chasing Puck - is making out with her on her couch when her parents aren't home, and is making happy noises for her.
"Move your leg," he rasps, kissing down the side of her neck and using one hand to urge her left leg to wrap around his hip. "Like this."
She gasps, because she can feel him, thick and hot right there, and now she's just tangled up in him. His one leg is between hers, right hand wrapped around her thigh and left hand cupping her cheek, body pressed to hers, and she feels like they're going to burn up. Puck's hand moves up to shove at her pajama top, baring her stomach and breasts and okay, she's not entirely comfortable with baring that much skin, but the sound he makes when he dips his head to look at her is awesome.
"Fuck, you're hot," he says, shifting to free both hands. He places them just below her breasts, framing them, and looks up at her. "Can I?"
Mercedes nods, and his hands slide upwards, thumbs brushing over her nipples and making her gasp and moan. He plays a little, seeing what she likes, alternating between rubbing and twisting and pinching. God, it's good, little shoots of fire running from her breasts to her pussy, which is probably dripping wet as she grinds against his dick. There's at least three layers of fabric between them, but it feels like there's nothing when he lowers his head to suck her nipple into his mouth.
And whoa, she didn't even know she knew some of those curse words, but Puck's laughing a little into her skin as he licks and sucks her. Her hands clench in his hair, holding him closer as she arches up into his mouth and cries out. She feels like she's going to burn up, spontaneous human combustion. No wonder people are so stupid when it comes to sex, if it feels like this.
She yanks at Puck's tee-shirt, pushing it up his back and working her hands underneath to touch his skin. She digs her nails into his abs and he almost growls at her, pulling the shirt over his head and diving back down to continue licking her breasts. Yeah, okay, they're kind of spectacular, but she wants to do something to him. Make him growl or swear some more.
Her hand slides down to touch him through his jeans, and Mercedes bites back a gasp. He's still wearing a layer of clothes, but he's so hard and hot for her and the weight of his dick is solid, pulsing in time with his instinctive thrusts into her hand.
"Jesus," he pants, "you don't - you know you don't-"
She keeps touching him, steady strokes and a rub of her thumb to the tip that makes him almost whine in frustration. "Kinda want to," she answers. "I don't wanna be the girl who makes you do all the work and still won't put out."
"You think that matters?"
"When you've been banging Santana, yeah. She probably does-"
He kisses her then, mouth wet and harsh against hers. "Stop. You're not her and if I wanted her, I'd be with her, not you. Okay?"
She nods, and after careful consideration tempered mainly by the fact that she wants to see all of him, unsnaps his jeans. He pulls his mouth away from her breast, looks at her in what she thinks is half pride and half shock, and helps her peel the jeans down. He hooks his fingers into her pajama pants, but she stops him.
"I don't think I can do that yet."
A moment, then he nods. "Okay. Whatever you want."
What she wants is to see him come. A little vindictive, yeah, but he's Puck, and she wants to know that she can make him do that. Lose it. She's seen and read enough porn to know that you don't attempt handjobs dry, so she starts to lick her palm, then thinks of a better idea and holds it up to his face.
"Lick it, and I'll jerk you off."
That shark's grin crosses his face, and he laughs wickedly. "Creative. I like it."
He doesn't just lick her palm, he fucking worships it. Laves it with his tongue, leaving glistening trails of saliva. He pays attention to each finger, sucks them one by one into his mouth and bobs his head suggestively as he wets each one.
"Damn, boy," she whispers. "You've done that before?"
He releases her ring finger with an audible pop. "You wanna know if I've sucked dick?"
"Maybe," he drawls, rolling his hips against her. "Why, you like the idea?"
The answer, of course, is, "Hell yes."
"Twice," he says. "Blew Finn once when we got shitfaced after a game. Blew this other dude, husband of one of my pool ladies. Bitch was kinky and liked to watch."
"Bet it was hot."
"You know it," he says, returning to her hand and closing his mouth over her pinky.
He's completely thorough, and Mercedes is practically squirming because his mouth, his tongue, is just amazing. More than enough to make her wonder if he'd be that thorough, that focused and eager, if it were her pussy he was licking. He finally pulls off her hand, then settles back against the cushions with a smug smirk, raising his eyebrow in challenge.
Okay, Mercedes, she tells herself. It's a handjob, not advanced calculus.
She starts with a light stroke, experimenting. Fast and slow strokes, tightening and loosening her grip in response to his groans and thrusts. There's a little bit of pre-come, so she smears it over the head of his dick and watches his eyes cross as her thumb dips into the slit. He grows even harder in her hand, dick flushed red, and she laughs a little under her breath when, experimentally, she drags the tips of her nails lightly up the shaft and he actually shouts.
"You're evil," he pants. "You know that, right?"
"How am I evil?"
He slides over on the couch and pulls her onto his lap. She sits back on his thighs, and readjusts her angle, and she doesn't see his hand creeping up until he has two fingers pressed tight to the crotch of her pajama pants.
"All give and no take, and you're a fucking tease about it, too," he says, rubbing her through the cotton and watching her mouth fall open in a gasp. "C'mon, baby. Race you there."
And yeah, it's officially a race. Her hand on his dick, sliding up and down, thumb circling around the head the way he likes; his hand against her pussy, rubbing hard and fast as she rocks against him. His mouth trails up her neck, biting a little, but pressing kisses to the stinging flesh.
He comes first - which is to be expected, he'd gotten a head start - spilling hot and sudden over her hand. She feels victorious; she got Noah Puckerman to come using just her hand and he'd wanted to do more with her. He doesn't stop his hand motions, but he does trace the line of her pajama pants with his fingers.
"Let me touch you," he says, voice deeper and raspier than usual and mmm, it hits her right between the legs. "I'll leave the pj's on. Just wanna feel you all hot and wet. I know you are."
Biting her lip, she nods, and he brushes his fingers over her bare stomach and then further down. Skims over the curls between her legs and stops, watching her. When she's looking at him, he slides his fingers through her folds, cool against her heat and wetness. He circles her opening, but unlike some of the horror stories she's heard, doesn't go right for sticking his fingers in her. Instead, he lightly rubs her clit, and her knees almost buckle.
And once he's found it, he refuses to let it go, working her with his fingers until she's gasping and grinding against his hand. She shuts her eyes and jesus, it's like a fucking kaleidoscope, bright lights and colors. Like when she's getting herself off, she can tell she's close, leans down to whisper it in his ear.
He presses a little harder, and that's all it takes to make her come. Once she catches her breath, she pulls her shirt back on, and curls up next to Puck.
"I, uh, wow," she says, lost for words.
"Don't worry," he says, kissing her cheek and putting his arm around her. "You're gorgeous. Totally not a problem."
She falls asleep in his arms. When she wakes up the next morning, she watches him for a little bit and notices something.
Beth looks like her father when she's sleeping.
Pulling a blanket over him, Mercedes decides he deserves breakfast.