It was a skill she would brag about if it wasn’t embarrassing, but the moment Puck entered an area, she sensed it. She had to fight her eyes from not-so-casually checking him out; it made easier though to replace the wondering eyes with a middle-finger, or more recently, nods. When he approached, the usual lethal amount of glares were substituted for a mild glare that may have had a twinge of a welcoming glare. “Loving it, and being the best little heater a girl not dressed for the weather could ask for.” She patted Puckfasa on his head, smiling down at him and pursing her lips to give him an air kiss. He wasn’t focused on her though, far more interested in playing hard to get with Puck.
He scooted closer, smelling his finger like he wasn’t familiar, and his gigantic hands weren’t perfect to be petted with. Finally, he abandoned Santana’s lap for his. “Although, we need to work on his loyalty,” she snickered, getting out her last resort, the itchy blanket, to cover her lap. “Enjoying the prowl around the park?” She asked, coming off mildly interested, for the sake of not caring, and she was distracted by the movie. Trying to anticipate the next scene that would make her jump out of her skin.
Puck wasn’t gonna lie. It was pretty cool to see this dastardly clever cat, the one that Puck had given Santana for her birthday all those years ago -- back when they’d dated in high school -- creep towards his outstretched hand. Puckfasa was just a kitten then, a little mewing thing with sharp-as-fuck claws. And from what Puck had been able to observe from afar in the last 10 or so years, from just your run-of-the-mill gentle-stalking over Facebook and Instagram, the feline was a perfect match for his mistress.
As Puckfasa settled on his lap, Puck chuckled and scratched the furry dude behind the ears. “Nah, this boy knows who his daddy is. Huh, buddy? Yeah, who’s yo’ daddy?” A satisfied smile grew on his face as Puckfasa headbutted his palm; a warm, gentle, welcoming purr rumbled from deep within the cat. Never in a million years would Puck admit out-loud that he was a cat person... but there’s just something about petting a clawed demon and having a senses overload just from feeling and hearing the cat’s purrs. Puck’s attention shifted back to Santana as he watched her pull the blanket over her lap. “Yeah, somethin’ like that. Better than last year anyway,” he said, nonchalantly, trying to match Santana’s own laissez faire demeaner; though, his eyes told another story. Even though the movie was worth his undivied attention, he couldn’t help but look around at the company gathered around them, a mischevious twinkle in his wandering gaze.
“What ‘bout you? Gotten into any trouble yet?”
