Fic: Shed your skin (NC-17) Puck/Rachel, Glee
Title: Shed your skin
Author: JaqofSpades
Fandom: Glee
Characters/Pairing: Puck/Rachel
Rating: NC-17 (frequent bad language and explicit sexuality)
Wordcount: 2100
Summary: If she wanted safe, then what the fuck was she doing here? On the football field, ten o'clock at night, with the asshole who'd denied they'd ever been friends?
A/N: Written for Day 7 of the Smuckleberry Week challenge on Tumblr. Prompt: public sex. (Which, on reflection, I have turned into mere outdoor sex. Fail!)
A/N 2: This is in the Reciprocity universe, set the night of the dumping in Mash Up. Vaguely A/U because I've taken liberties with time frames.
***
He's halfway through a quart of Jack when she finds him. He'd heard her coming, heard her climbing up each rung, and his dumb traitor heart must have forgotten she'd fucking dumped him, because it does that weird jump he'd only just gotten used to. Rachel, it rejoices. Rachel!
“Rachel,” he slurs, and has he really had that much to drink? “Fuck do you want? Forget to grind my balls into little pieces or something? Here,” and he makes a show of unzipping his pants. “Put what's left in Finn's locker or something.” His drunken laugh doesn't even convince him, and fuck. That better not be pity on her face.
“Noah. You're drunk.”
Fuck yeah he's drunk. Plans to get drunker, too. Because he's obviously not had enough Jack if he's thinking how cute she looks, the hood of her red jacket framing her huge brown eyes and gorgeous pouting lips. He wants to bite those lips, suck on them, make them the fucking departure point for all points fucking south.
She just wants to rag on him some more.
“Why did you tell everyone we broke up because I wouldn't let you touch my breasts?”
He rolls his eyes. “Because we did?” And if she can't figure out why he's lying through his teeth, then she needs to study the fuck up. This is high school. Fuckheads give her enough shit without him in the mix.
“You touched my breasts, Noah! And quite a lot of me besides,” she huffs, and his heart pangs a little when he realises she sounds … hurt. “Are you ashamed of having been with me?”
And no. Fuck no. Rachel Berry had let him into her bed and given him her trust and kinda obliterated him with how fucking hot she was. Yeah, maybe most of their relationship had taken place in her bedroom, but that was only because he legit loved it there. Her Dads were never around, the damn bed was the most comfortable thing ever, and, well - Rachel. In Rachel's bedroom. With her lips, and her legs, and the noises she makes when she comes.
It'd been so fucking amazing he'd vowed to be a good boyfriend. For three whole weeks he'd done his best not to fuck up, and he was still doing it, really, if it included keeping his mouth shut about just how good she was. Even if she had decided they were done.
Bullshit reason that it was. She wanted Finn?
Fuck that. He knew what she wanted. She wanted his lips, and his tongue, and yeah, even if she hadn't had it yet, she wanted his cock. (The way the girl liked to grind? Crystal. Fucking. Clear.)
And Finn made her feel safe? If she wanted safe, then what the fuck was she doing here? On the football field, ten o'clock at night, with the asshole who'd denied they'd ever been friends?
Safe's not what you're looking for girlie.
And maybe it was the Jack talkin', after that. (Or his jealousy. Or his broken fucking heart.)
*
“Ashamed? Yeah, I'm fucking ashamed, baby. I'm ashamed I was so fuckin' careful with you. I'm ashamed I never figured out this was just short-term, just a few fucking weeks of you taking the bad boy for spin. If I'd known that, I would'a taught you to give a decent bj, or to ride my cock like the fuckin' freaky cowgirl I know you gotta be. Most of all, I'm fucking ashamed that I actually started to think someone might want me for a change!”
He turned his face into the dark to hide what he thought might be tears. She would'a heard the crack in his voice, though. His little breakdown had been so fucking loud half the town would'a heard. He hunched himself into the darkest corner so that maybe when the cops showed, they'd be lost in the shadow.
Nobody had taught Rachel Berry how to keep a low profile. She's a beacon in her sexy Red Riding Hood coat, arms flying about as she launches into a rant, pushing closer and closer until she's yelling up into his face.
“What do you mean, want you? Everyone wants you, Puck. Every girl at school! They send me notes telling me exactly who you've fucked, when you fucked them, and when they're going to fuck them next! And if it's not that, they were giving me the odds on when we going to break up … it's as if we were just this big joke!”
He knew. He had intercepted as many of the notes as he could, and threatened never to date another Cheerio ever if they didn't stop. But he wasn't in all of her classes, and he couldn't get into her locker, or hack her email or MySpace page.
“I thought it myself, you know. That was a dare, or some sort of prank you were playing, but then I thought, well, Rachel, what if it is? What have you got to lose? He's beautiful and you want him and maybe this is your only chance at having him. So I took a chance and you were so good, Noah, so good to me, but they made it so hard to believe you! I felt like I was flinging myself off this precipice, and there was no one there to catch me, but the crazy thing was - I still wanted to do it! I wanted it so much, Noah. I want everything too much, and I can't … I just can't have that yet!”
And this was what he did not understand. This was what hurt the most, because he knew damn well it wasn't about Finn, or him, not really. It was about Rachel's little vision of how things should go, her attempt to stage manage her fucking life. But if he couldn't force her to live life rather than act it out, who the fuck would?
“It's gonna be me, baby. That's fucking who.”
“Huh? You're making no sense, Noah.”
“Really? Well, I'll use really small words then. This isn't a fucking stage, baby. You can't expect me to exit stage right, and him to come in stage left. I'll be fucked if I let that happen, and I'll be fucked if I just let him have you!”
She's knee-to-knee with him now, so it's an easy thing to scoop her up by the waist and dump her straight in his lap, flailing legs on one side, thrashing body on the other. She squeals and flings her arms around his neck, leaving his hands free to shoot under her skirt and yank at her knickers, forcing them down past her knees, and then to her ankles.
“Noah!” she says, and she's not ranting anymore. It's her usual question disguised as a stroppy demand, and for once, he wants to have the right answer. He doesn't, though. Being the good guy hurt too fucking much, so he forces himself back into Puck's skin.
“Don't you think I deserve a goodbye fuck?”
She gasps, and she's trying to wriggle away, he figures. His hand, though, is still between her legs and Puck's got this. All he has to do is uncurl his fingers, and slide them up and down her slit to make her wriggle some more. Wriggle and writhe and squirm until his hand is buried in her, two fingers inside, testing and stretching and teasing.
He's an utter fucking bastard if he takes her virginity out here, on the bleachers, he tells himself, and he's easing back a little when she moans loud and long.
“Puck. Oh God, Puck,” she says, and yeah. That's that.
He surrenders to his fate and pushes her away a little so that one hand can finish undoing his jeans, sliding them down his butt 'til he was bare assed naked on the freezing aluminium. If he gets frostbite of the nads, it better be fucking worth it, he thinks viciously. She better be fucking worth it.
He makes the mistake of looking at her, then, sprawled over his lap with her skirt bunched up to her waist, legs apart, dark pubes wet and curling. She looks like an X-rated after-school special, one on the dangers of teenage sexuality or something. It makes him think, alright - where the fuck had he put condoms, he wonders wildly, and pats around in the back pocket of his jeans until he feels the familiar shape.
Her eyes widen as he produces the foil square, and his narrow. Moment of fucking truth, baby.
“Rachel. Yes or no?”
And since God had just confirmed he really is an asshole bastard, he encloses her entire mound with one hand, teasing her folds with the tips of his fingers, and nudging her clit with his thumb.
She moans and opens her legs wider, but it's not enough. Not this time. “Gotta ask me, baby. Ask me nice,” he stresses, and pinches her clit as punctuation.
“Fuck you,” she growls, but she's already moving, he notices, her hips swivelling around to straddle him.
He raises an eyebrow. “Not quite.” And doesn't the girl know he's giving her a chance to walk away, to be rid of his asshole self?
But she's not walking away. No. This girl? She's fucking running towards her downfall.
“Please. Fuck. Me.” she enunciates, grabbing the condom out of his hand and ripping it open with her teeth.
She's obviously never put a condom on before, he thinks as she slowly rolls the latex down his cock. Too slow, too careful, too nervous. She's like that, though, on technicalities. Likes to get them right. When it comes down to it (and it has, she's lifting herself up on her knees, now, hovering over him, teasing the tip of him with the brush of her pubic hair and the soft whisper of desire-slick skin), she likes to get on with the job. (Sinking down, pushing through a grimace. He grabs her hips and makes her stay put for a bit, before letting her go a little further. Deeper.)
“Technically, you're fucking me,” he says between gritted teeth, searching for anything that can distract him from the heat of her, the hotness of them. “Take it easy. Not so much, Rach,” he groans as she plunges down, swallowing his shaft with a surprised yelp of pain.
He stills her hips again, but then she twitches out of his hands and begins to experiment. (Circles must'a felt good, but those little pants suggest frustration. A slow, heavy grind brings tears to her eyes, but leave her shuddering.)
“You're close, baby. Want me to get you off?”
She nods quickly, and if he hadn't been about to shoot his load before (and fuck yeah, he was) then the tortured little “oh please” would have set him off. He angles himself backwards to give them some room, seizes her hips, and then works her up and down on his cock, a slow slide right to the tip, and then a fast slam down. Slide. Slam. Slide. Slam.
His cock is beginning to pulse when he realises she's not gonna come like this, he can't do it with his cock alone. But maybe, with Rachel, he's not alone…
“Touch yourself, baby. Rub your clit for me,” he begs, needy and desperate.
She gives a shaky laugh and then reaches down between them, fingers sliding over her clit at first, then flicking in quick little movements. He forces himself to watch her, to concentrate a little, and fuck her slow and deep. When she's rubbing frantically with the heel of her hand, he lets her take over, and is fucking astonished when she begins to slam herself down, the force reverberating right through them and into the superstructure of the bleachers.
Hot, wet friction, he thinks blindly. Pretty much what they were. Just friction, rubbing up against each other, making sparks.
Sparks. Flames. Fucking inferno, this girl, he thinks as the world dissolves into a series of wrenching convulsions, red spots behind his eyelids and his hands holding onto her hips so fucking tight she'll be bruised tomorrow.
Good, he thinks, but his jaw is clenched with regret.
Puck'll be boasting about those bruises come Monday morning, but tonight? Maybe she'll let him have a few more hours of being Noah.
(He hates how much he wants that.)
fin
Disclaimer: This fanfiction was written for personal enjoyment rather than profit. No infringement on the rights of the intellectual property owners is intended.
*
Author: JaqofSpades
Fandom: Glee
Characters/Pairing: Puck/Rachel
Rating: NC-17 (frequent bad language and explicit sexuality)
Wordcount: 2100
Summary: If she wanted safe, then what the fuck was she doing here? On the football field, ten o'clock at night, with the asshole who'd denied they'd ever been friends?
A/N: Written for Day 7 of the Smuckleberry Week challenge on Tumblr. Prompt: public sex. (Which, on reflection, I have turned into mere outdoor sex. Fail!)
A/N 2: This is in the Reciprocity universe, set the night of the dumping in Mash Up. Vaguely A/U because I've taken liberties with time frames.
***
He's halfway through a quart of Jack when she finds him. He'd heard her coming, heard her climbing up each rung, and his dumb traitor heart must have forgotten she'd fucking dumped him, because it does that weird jump he'd only just gotten used to. Rachel, it rejoices. Rachel!
“Rachel,” he slurs, and has he really had that much to drink? “Fuck do you want? Forget to grind my balls into little pieces or something? Here,” and he makes a show of unzipping his pants. “Put what's left in Finn's locker or something.” His drunken laugh doesn't even convince him, and fuck. That better not be pity on her face.
“Noah. You're drunk.”
Fuck yeah he's drunk. Plans to get drunker, too. Because he's obviously not had enough Jack if he's thinking how cute she looks, the hood of her red jacket framing her huge brown eyes and gorgeous pouting lips. He wants to bite those lips, suck on them, make them the fucking departure point for all points fucking south.
She just wants to rag on him some more.
“Why did you tell everyone we broke up because I wouldn't let you touch my breasts?”
He rolls his eyes. “Because we did?” And if she can't figure out why he's lying through his teeth, then she needs to study the fuck up. This is high school. Fuckheads give her enough shit without him in the mix.
“You touched my breasts, Noah! And quite a lot of me besides,” she huffs, and his heart pangs a little when he realises she sounds … hurt. “Are you ashamed of having been with me?”
And no. Fuck no. Rachel Berry had let him into her bed and given him her trust and kinda obliterated him with how fucking hot she was. Yeah, maybe most of their relationship had taken place in her bedroom, but that was only because he legit loved it there. Her Dads were never around, the damn bed was the most comfortable thing ever, and, well - Rachel. In Rachel's bedroom. With her lips, and her legs, and the noises she makes when she comes.
It'd been so fucking amazing he'd vowed to be a good boyfriend. For three whole weeks he'd done his best not to fuck up, and he was still doing it, really, if it included keeping his mouth shut about just how good she was. Even if she had decided they were done.
Bullshit reason that it was. She wanted Finn?
Fuck that. He knew what she wanted. She wanted his lips, and his tongue, and yeah, even if she hadn't had it yet, she wanted his cock. (The way the girl liked to grind? Crystal. Fucking. Clear.)
And Finn made her feel safe? If she wanted safe, then what the fuck was she doing here? On the football field, ten o'clock at night, with the asshole who'd denied they'd ever been friends?
Safe's not what you're looking for girlie.
And maybe it was the Jack talkin', after that. (Or his jealousy. Or his broken fucking heart.)
*
“Ashamed? Yeah, I'm fucking ashamed, baby. I'm ashamed I was so fuckin' careful with you. I'm ashamed I never figured out this was just short-term, just a few fucking weeks of you taking the bad boy for spin. If I'd known that, I would'a taught you to give a decent bj, or to ride my cock like the fuckin' freaky cowgirl I know you gotta be. Most of all, I'm fucking ashamed that I actually started to think someone might want me for a change!”
He turned his face into the dark to hide what he thought might be tears. She would'a heard the crack in his voice, though. His little breakdown had been so fucking loud half the town would'a heard. He hunched himself into the darkest corner so that maybe when the cops showed, they'd be lost in the shadow.
Nobody had taught Rachel Berry how to keep a low profile. She's a beacon in her sexy Red Riding Hood coat, arms flying about as she launches into a rant, pushing closer and closer until she's yelling up into his face.
“What do you mean, want you? Everyone wants you, Puck. Every girl at school! They send me notes telling me exactly who you've fucked, when you fucked them, and when they're going to fuck them next! And if it's not that, they were giving me the odds on when we going to break up … it's as if we were just this big joke!”
He knew. He had intercepted as many of the notes as he could, and threatened never to date another Cheerio ever if they didn't stop. But he wasn't in all of her classes, and he couldn't get into her locker, or hack her email or MySpace page.
“I thought it myself, you know. That was a dare, or some sort of prank you were playing, but then I thought, well, Rachel, what if it is? What have you got to lose? He's beautiful and you want him and maybe this is your only chance at having him. So I took a chance and you were so good, Noah, so good to me, but they made it so hard to believe you! I felt like I was flinging myself off this precipice, and there was no one there to catch me, but the crazy thing was - I still wanted to do it! I wanted it so much, Noah. I want everything too much, and I can't … I just can't have that yet!”
And this was what he did not understand. This was what hurt the most, because he knew damn well it wasn't about Finn, or him, not really. It was about Rachel's little vision of how things should go, her attempt to stage manage her fucking life. But if he couldn't force her to live life rather than act it out, who the fuck would?
“It's gonna be me, baby. That's fucking who.”
“Huh? You're making no sense, Noah.”
“Really? Well, I'll use really small words then. This isn't a fucking stage, baby. You can't expect me to exit stage right, and him to come in stage left. I'll be fucked if I let that happen, and I'll be fucked if I just let him have you!”
She's knee-to-knee with him now, so it's an easy thing to scoop her up by the waist and dump her straight in his lap, flailing legs on one side, thrashing body on the other. She squeals and flings her arms around his neck, leaving his hands free to shoot under her skirt and yank at her knickers, forcing them down past her knees, and then to her ankles.
“Noah!” she says, and she's not ranting anymore. It's her usual question disguised as a stroppy demand, and for once, he wants to have the right answer. He doesn't, though. Being the good guy hurt too fucking much, so he forces himself back into Puck's skin.
“Don't you think I deserve a goodbye fuck?”
She gasps, and she's trying to wriggle away, he figures. His hand, though, is still between her legs and Puck's got this. All he has to do is uncurl his fingers, and slide them up and down her slit to make her wriggle some more. Wriggle and writhe and squirm until his hand is buried in her, two fingers inside, testing and stretching and teasing.
He's an utter fucking bastard if he takes her virginity out here, on the bleachers, he tells himself, and he's easing back a little when she moans loud and long.
“Puck. Oh God, Puck,” she says, and yeah. That's that.
He surrenders to his fate and pushes her away a little so that one hand can finish undoing his jeans, sliding them down his butt 'til he was bare assed naked on the freezing aluminium. If he gets frostbite of the nads, it better be fucking worth it, he thinks viciously. She better be fucking worth it.
He makes the mistake of looking at her, then, sprawled over his lap with her skirt bunched up to her waist, legs apart, dark pubes wet and curling. She looks like an X-rated after-school special, one on the dangers of teenage sexuality or something. It makes him think, alright - where the fuck had he put condoms, he wonders wildly, and pats around in the back pocket of his jeans until he feels the familiar shape.
Her eyes widen as he produces the foil square, and his narrow. Moment of fucking truth, baby.
“Rachel. Yes or no?”
And since God had just confirmed he really is an asshole bastard, he encloses her entire mound with one hand, teasing her folds with the tips of his fingers, and nudging her clit with his thumb.
She moans and opens her legs wider, but it's not enough. Not this time. “Gotta ask me, baby. Ask me nice,” he stresses, and pinches her clit as punctuation.
“Fuck you,” she growls, but she's already moving, he notices, her hips swivelling around to straddle him.
He raises an eyebrow. “Not quite.” And doesn't the girl know he's giving her a chance to walk away, to be rid of his asshole self?
But she's not walking away. No. This girl? She's fucking running towards her downfall.
“Please. Fuck. Me.” she enunciates, grabbing the condom out of his hand and ripping it open with her teeth.
She's obviously never put a condom on before, he thinks as she slowly rolls the latex down his cock. Too slow, too careful, too nervous. She's like that, though, on technicalities. Likes to get them right. When it comes down to it (and it has, she's lifting herself up on her knees, now, hovering over him, teasing the tip of him with the brush of her pubic hair and the soft whisper of desire-slick skin), she likes to get on with the job. (Sinking down, pushing through a grimace. He grabs her hips and makes her stay put for a bit, before letting her go a little further. Deeper.)
“Technically, you're fucking me,” he says between gritted teeth, searching for anything that can distract him from the heat of her, the hotness of them. “Take it easy. Not so much, Rach,” he groans as she plunges down, swallowing his shaft with a surprised yelp of pain.
He stills her hips again, but then she twitches out of his hands and begins to experiment. (Circles must'a felt good, but those little pants suggest frustration. A slow, heavy grind brings tears to her eyes, but leave her shuddering.)
“You're close, baby. Want me to get you off?”
She nods quickly, and if he hadn't been about to shoot his load before (and fuck yeah, he was) then the tortured little “oh please” would have set him off. He angles himself backwards to give them some room, seizes her hips, and then works her up and down on his cock, a slow slide right to the tip, and then a fast slam down. Slide. Slam. Slide. Slam.
His cock is beginning to pulse when he realises she's not gonna come like this, he can't do it with his cock alone. But maybe, with Rachel, he's not alone…
“Touch yourself, baby. Rub your clit for me,” he begs, needy and desperate.
She gives a shaky laugh and then reaches down between them, fingers sliding over her clit at first, then flicking in quick little movements. He forces himself to watch her, to concentrate a little, and fuck her slow and deep. When she's rubbing frantically with the heel of her hand, he lets her take over, and is fucking astonished when she begins to slam herself down, the force reverberating right through them and into the superstructure of the bleachers.
Hot, wet friction, he thinks blindly. Pretty much what they were. Just friction, rubbing up against each other, making sparks.
Sparks. Flames. Fucking inferno, this girl, he thinks as the world dissolves into a series of wrenching convulsions, red spots behind his eyelids and his hands holding onto her hips so fucking tight she'll be bruised tomorrow.
Good, he thinks, but his jaw is clenched with regret.
Puck'll be boasting about those bruises come Monday morning, but tonight? Maybe she'll let him have a few more hours of being Noah.
(He hates how much he wants that.)
fin
Disclaimer: This fanfiction was written for personal enjoyment rather than profit. No infringement on the rights of the intellectual property owners is intended.
*