Banging Miss Crazy

Summary: Puck hooks up with a crazy flexible chick. It's a mistake. Only it happens again. And again. (sassy_26 bday fic) M-rating for language and suggestion.

Disclaimer: Glee's not mine. Don't sue. Pretty please with a cherry on top.

AN: AU-fic written especially for the birthday of sassy_26. Happy birthday. I hope you like your present.

In his defense, the crazy chick was also crazy hot.

Uptight, with the prissy skirts that still showed mucho leg, and while the Puckerone was usually a tits man, he could definitely make an exception for those legs. For a midget the girl had a really spectacular pair of legs on her.

And while the chick was intense and used way too many big words – "your technique is exemplary", which obviously meant that he was one hell of a lay – she was also a slightly horny drunk and … She had no gag reflex.

Like, seriously. He had died and gone to heaven, which was between those pouty lips.

So, basically, he figured: flexible brunette with no gag reflex equals all win for the amazing Puckzilla! He'd actually consider getting seconds – and maybe thirds – with this one, which he hadn't wanted since his mind-fuck of a high school ex-girlfriend.

But of course, then she opened her mouth. To talk.

And his first thought was: who the hell is this Tony guy?

"This will be excellent source material to draw from when I play Maureen in Rent," she just ranted on and on and on and ON. "Because obviously the director is going to pick me for the part, and even though it is not on my list of important female roles on Broadway, it is a part that was once played by the stunning and talented Idina Menzel. But I am to play this part, I needed this experience of the slutty drunk to make my performance more authentic. While I am not a Method actress, I do believe in…"

"Shut the hell up," he interrupted her, feeling the beginning of a headache.

This chick was off the reservation, completely batshit crazy. Honestly.

"That is not respectable behavior, Noah," she reprimanded him in that eerie tone that reminded him way too much of his mother when she was mad at him again. "You should know better than to interrupt a young lady such as myself like that."

She called him Noah. He shoulda known better than to give her his real first name. He had only just given up on his mom when it came to calling him by that name. Rebecca Puckerman did not abide nicknames. Even if the real name was embarrassing as fuck. Noah did not even rate in comparison to some of his bros.

Well, Arthur was just really bad. Artie did not hate it, but he knew that if the name had been given to him, he woulda changed it. So, no, Noah wasn't that bad.

"Are you listening to me," crazy chick pushed a finger into his shoulder.

"No," he immediately answered, not caring if the truth hurt her feelings. "I'm not."

This was one chick he was going to escape from ASAP. Sure, she was a great lay, but even her flexibility and lack of a gag reflex (shit, he was getting hard just by thinking about it) did not make up for all the crazy. He doubted anything could make up for this amount and kind of crazy. Well, maybe if she was up for a threesome. Or role-play.

Save images to spank bank.

"Well, you've lost your usefulness," she was extremely blunt all of a sudden. "You can go now. Don't forget your clothes. Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

What a bitch!

Not that he actually wanted to stay, but he was honestly tempted to be a real jerk about this. Fuck tempted, he was going to be a jerk about this. Women always wanted to get another taste of the Puckerone, even after he'd called it off. He'd had a few stalkers even, some creepy cougars who didn't understand what the word "no" meant.

Nobody dismissed Puckzilla!

"You're going to be moaning my name at night," he grinned at her, knowing this from his previous encounters. "When you're hot and bothered and your hand's down your pants."

The perfect "oh" her mouth formed just made him even harder. Shit, no gag reflex and he was burning his bridges. Well, batshit crazy trumped the lack of a gag reflex. And the flexibility. She was some kind of dancer. Too bad she was a total crazy bitch.

"Your crudeness was infinitely more charming when I was intoxicated," was her answer.

"You being uptight was less annoying when I got you between the sheets," he was quick to make her angry again. "I'm so out. See you… Never."

He grabbed his shit – pretty much just his clothes and his wallet – and walked out the door, without looking back. Well, maybe once, 'cause the sheets had dropped and he had a great shot of her boobs to add to the spank bank. Score!

Banged another crazy chick. Never doing it – or her – again - Puckerone

If it makes you feel any better, I gave her boyfriend a blowjob last week – Satan

Shit, that chick could always make him feel better – after she'd cut off his balls for referring to her as a "chick". And he had witnessed her skill with a knife first hand several times – he valued his junk too much to let her near it.

Santana was his friend. Seriously. He respected her too much to do her – or actually, he respected Mr. Lopez' ability with a shotgun too much to do his daughter. And Satan's mad skills with a butcher's knife. Scary family. And insane, the lot of them.

"Not you again," the crazy chick showed up again.

"Likewise," he was ready to turn around and walk away.

If he stayed here much longer he was either going to fuck her against a wall, in broad daylight with everyone watching, or get into a seriously annoying screaming contest and ruin his reputation as campus stud. And that would suck.

"Shit," he heard her curse and was stunned silent.

That chick did not have the foul mouth he had had since he was like eight.

"My ex-boyfriend is coming over," she looked at something behind him, quickly. "And the consequence of that is that I do really insane things. So… Here goes."

Score! Ex-boyfriends – especially the recent ones – always led to sluttiness.

And this one was very recent. Satan made sure of that.

"Hey Rach," the ex-boyfriend was all innocent smiles and goofiness.

"Finn," she scrunched up her face in anger. "Meet Noah."

Well, fuck him sideways. She dated the quarterback? He was going to get his ass pounded unless he was really careful. Or not. He was not the careful kind.

"How'd you like Satan," he blurted out.

"Satan," Rachel aka the crazy chick turned to him with the Glare of Death.

He'd fucked himself over ten times over. Not like he wanted another chance with this chick anyway. Too much crazy in that tight package. Really tight package. No gag reflex and flexible. Shit, was the talking bad enough to give that up?

"Apparently your ex was blown away by my BFF's talents," he mocked.

Blown away. Talents. Hehe. Oh yeah, he was a hilarious BAMF.

"You're friends with that skank," crazy chick was now really thinking about killing him.

"I'd say she wasn't a skank, but I'd be lying," he shrugged. "And yeah, friends."

It was easy calling San a skank or a slut. She called herself that a lot of the time, and he was dubbed a manwhore. They didn't give a shit.

"How on earth did a Neanderthal like you manage to charm me," Crazy was pissed.

"I'm hot, you were drunk and looking for revenge sex," he gave an honest answer.

Honesty was the best policy, his mother said. It was pretty much the one lesson he had actually listened to. The only thing his mom taught him that actually stuck. The one thing that Rebecca Puckerman was actually proud of her asshole son for. He was honest.

"Well, that is certainly true," she admitted he was right.

"What," the quarterback was surprised and pissed off.

"You wanted some tramp to get on your knees for you," she bit at her ex. "So I went out and tried that and some other positions. It was quite nice, actually. Better than nice. And certainly much better than you have ever been. Goodbye Finn."

Oh, that was awesome! This chick was awesome!

"And maybe next time he'll think before he cheats," he got his mom's favorite country song stuck in his head, singing it to the crazy chick.

"Your singing is not bad," almost a compliment, that was weird.

From this chick, the Broadway chick, "not bad" was pretty much the highest praise possible. And she had an awesome revenge style. Seconds sounded good right about now.

"Revenge sex," he asked, hoping it'd work for him again.

He really wanted to try that no gag reflex thing again. And there was this one position that he wanted to try, and she was probably bendy enough. Oh yeah!

"That would be acceptable," she agreed. "I acquiesce to your request."

So, that meant yes, right? Screw it, he'd just go for it anyway.

Remember that crazy chick I said last week that I wouldn't bang again? Can we start the 'again' bit today? – Puckzilla

Just like last week, only minus the hangover.

He was still a manwhore, and she was still crazy.

"I am going to kill you," she gave him that glare of death again.

Oh, really scary. This midget was actually trying to threaten him. Laughable.

"What is it this time," he rolled his eyes at her.

"I pulled a muscle trying that one thing you just had to try," her voice was raised. "I go to Juilliard, you know. I need my muscles in perfect condition. I have a dance recital next week that I must perform well in to keep my scholarship. You could have ruined my entire future with your – sexual deviance."

Where did this chick come from, one of his mother's romance novels?

"I'm sorry, did you not have multiple orgasms," he was triumphant.

"That is so not the point," crazy chick's face was turning bright red. "If I enjoyed it or not, and I did, my muscle is currently damaged. I will require rest now."

So, that was a no on round four. Or was it five? He'd lost count.

"I thought you were honest enough to just tell me to get the hell out," he sniped.

"Do you want to stay," crazy Rachel asked in return.

Did he want to stay with the angry chick who would not let him do her? Was that even a question that needed an answer? The Puckerone did not do charity.

"You only want me around if you want to get laid," he grabbed his stuff again, knowing where this was going. "I'll just leave before we kill each other."

And with the two of them, that was totally something to be worried about. They were either screwing each other or fighting over how crazy she was. And since she was being crazy again, about a muscle cramp she'd be over in about a day, he'd better get far away from her. She already blamed him for something that was partly her fault.

"Would it kill you to be nice," was the question he got next.

"Probably," he shrugged, putting his clothes back on. "Don't know. Haven't tried it."

She totally wanted to try that position too, and now she was going back on it because she got an ouchie. Pathetic. She'd never had rope burn from being tied to Mrs. Maurier's bed posts for about 50 hours. That hurt like a son of a bitch.

"You are such a jerk," she threw his jacket at his face.

"And you're a crazy bitch," he put the jacket on. "What else is new?"

That just got him a pillow in the face, but since the pillow was pink and fluffy, he didn't really think it was all that threatening. He liked that she tried, though. She was fiery, and that made her even greater in the sack. Shame she was a little crazy.

"I'll see you at the bar next week," he tried a parting shot. "Your muscle should be healed by then. And knowing Satan, she'll be all over your ex. I'll see you."

She'd be there. And so would he. Sex with this chick did not get old.

It was a 10 min screaming orgasm. I don't care that you were next door and didn't appreciate all the noise – Puckmeister

So, Satan wasn't too pleased with him taking someone home.

Especially not since she had worked half the night – not on a guy this time, but an actual job – and wanted to sleep while he took the chick to places she'd never been before.

Like say, black out orgasms. Or the 10 minutes of screaming Satan had to listen to.

"I'm tired," the girl in his bed yawned just a bit.

"Cause I wore you out," he teased with a grin, stretching lazily.

"And I wore you out," the chick ran a hand over his guns. "I require sustenance."

He'd been right about seeing her again. He spotted her pretty much the second he came into the bar, hanging around in some corner, trying to keep both her cheating ex and any other creeps away from her. He had played her knight in battered armor. It got him a very eager girl in his bed. And very, very little sleep. But he could work with that.

"So, food," he deciphered her crazy talk.

"Yes please," she smiled at him.

His boxers were on – cooking commando had been a bad experience – and he was fixing them his famous pancakes. He was disturbed at how friendly this all seemed.

"So, is this going to be a thing now," he asked, flipping pancakes.

"I like you," Rachel told him, bluntly.

The chick didn't mince words. He liked that about her. It made her a bitch to be around, but it also made her hilarious and kinda awesome. Two sides to that coin!

"I could like you," he shrugged, trying to be honest.

"Hurry up and get there already," she was sassy to boot.

The pancakes were thrown onto a plate quickly, all fire turned off as he pushed her onto the kitchen counter and showed her just how much he liked her.

Later, Satan complained about the insanitary kitchen. He introduced her to Rachel. They bitched at each other and then decided they were friends.

Chicks. Crazy. The lot of them.

AN: I live for comments of any kind. Thanks! And everyone, tell Sassy_26 a happy birthday!