I don’t own Glee. That’s Ryan Murphy.Author's Note:
Episode tag to 1x21, Funk.
Matt couldn’t help it. Rachel was wearing the shortest shorts he’d ever seen. They had to be designed
to draw a man’s attention and Rachel Berry was rocking the hell out of them. (Even if Santana had nearly had to stuff her into them herself. Which, hey, could’ve been hot.) But, yeah. Short shorts and choreography that had a lot of wriggle to it. He was definitely
giving her second and third looks.
He knew they were probably to show St. James, the asshole, what he was missing. If anybody asked, that was definitely what had him waiting to throw a heavy arm around her waist after she’d made her last salute to St. James. St. James’s eyes narrowed as Matt’s hand splayed across her hip.
She looked up at him in askance and he murmured, “Not now.”
As soon as they were backstage, she turned to him, arms crossed. “What, precisely, was that, Matthew Rutherford? You were quite presumptuously touching my person without providing a satisfactory reason.”
A high school student should not
be able to channel his mother at all, but especially not while wearing those shorts, so he mostly ignored her chiding. Matt smiled a little, eyes sliding down her legs before he caught himself, and said quickly as she started to frown, “That little bit of touching just made St. James jealous. Like, he’s finally figured out he traded a firecracker that has the best
legs capable of catching any guy’s attention for a bunch of soulless automatons. And that
, Rachel Berry, is revenge on a personal level.”
A blush started to spread across her face even as surprised and doubt flickered through her eyes.
“Rachel!” St. James called from across the stage as he hurried towards them.
She jerked, eyes widening in panic, before one of her hands latched onto Matt’s arms and her eyes pleaded with him.
He shifted closer to her, bent, and pressed a mostly chaste kiss to her plush lips as he cupped a hand around her hip, fingertips just
catching the curve of her ass. All, of course, within St. James’s view.
He pulled away and she slowly lifted her eyelids and, looking into those warm, sultry eyes, he maybe understood why Puck had been such a bitch to deal with for a couple of days after they broke it off and why Finn sometimes stared after her like a puppy being denied his favorite toy.
“Rachel!” St. James said sharply, long legged stride eating up the stage.
Her hand tightened and he shifted only enough to wrap his arm around her waist. She leaned into him, seeming to tuck into him perfectly.
“Rachel, may I speak to you privately?” Jesse asked, the level of precision in his tone signaling that he was really, truly pissed.
“Why? So you can crack another egg on my face? So the souls of even more
precious animals weigh on my conscious? I don’t think
so,” she said, a mighty shake of her dark mane of hair sending it swishing against Matt’s arm.
He smirked at her dramatics, tightening his arm to draw her closer because St. James liked to play the games and Rachel was a little too innocent to tell when a guy was talking out his ass. Also, it pissed St. James right off and the anger was the realest emotion he’d ever shown.
“We might have broken up but I know you, Rachel,” St. James said, voice lowering although his tone stayed measured. “You are going to be a leading lady, a star
. And stars don’t have lasting relationships with backup dancers.”
Matt’s smile dropped from his face and he tensed but he didn’t have to worry because Rachel? Went. Off.
The slap surprised everybody but Rachel steamrolled right on, shrieking, “How dare you? How dare you presume to understand anything
about New Directions when, clearly, you were never truly
a part of us? And how dare you declare Matt mediocre when his dancing skills outstrip yours threefold and his kindness outshines your bloody minded ambitions? Take your soulless automatons and leave. You chose, Jesse St. James, and you no longer have any say in my affairs.”
She flounced away and Matt shifted until he loomed over St. James, who was apparently finally remembering that this ‘backup dancer’ had another, more violent skill set. It didn’t hurt that Puck, Finn, and Mike suddenly loomed up out of nowhere.
“If you ever lift a hand to Rachel again, in any fashion, it won’t be eggs I break or tires I slash,” he said and he was suddenly gad that those were the first words St. James had ever heard him say. The better to intimidate, m’dear.
Matt grinned at the mental riff on Little Red Riding Hood and St. James took a hasty step back.
“It won’t last,” St. James declared, even as he kept backing away. “Even when we were dating, Puckerman tempted her and her heart was torn between me and Hudson. So, whatever you’ve got, it won’t last.”
Matt laughed, shaking his head. “Man, you really don’t get her. Nobody knows how Rachel Berry will react to anything except Rachel Berry. She’s one of a kind and you lost her.”
The others shifted so he could turn and lead the way backstage. He didn’t really care what
St. James did after that, he’d been schooled in both Funkification and the way to treat a lady.
Matt threw himself into a chair, ignoring several pointed stares and letting the excited chatter of the rest wash over him. He only startled a little when Rachel settled herself on the arm of his chair, hands tucked daintily between her knees.
“That you,” she said in that devastatingly quiet way she only occasionally had. “And I’m sorry you got caught in the middle.”
Matt looked into solemn eyes before he smiled brightly as he nudged one mostly bare thigh as he said, “If you wanna make it up to me, just keep wearing the hell out of those tiny shorts.”
She laughed, sending shy looks his way, and yeah, he could definitely see what made Puck and Finn act like total fools over this girl. Killer voice, killer legs, killer smile. Matt kind of wondered how he’d never noticed she was such a killer combo before.