Ficlet: Prayers (Puck/Rachel) Rated NC-17
Title: Prayers
Author: JaqofSpades
Fandom: Glee
Characters/Pairing: Puck/Rachel
Rating: NC-17 (language, explicit sexuality)
Wordcount:
Summary: They both want things too much.
A/N: for pintsizedloudmouth on tumblr. Prompt was “Puck and Rachel trying to have kids”.
*
Puck knows his strengths. He's a damn good musician. Can swing mean left hook. Talk anyone into pretty much anything. Loves his girl something fierce.
Apparently, he isn't all that good at being “supportive”. Or “understanding”. And he doesn't have “even a shred of empathy!” (Google told him empathy means putting yourself in someone else's shoes. He's just sayin - Rachel's shoes aren't the fucking problem.)
So, month ten and he'd studied that dinky little calendar so he'd know exactly when she'd be able to tell. Surprised her with freshly fucking squeezed orange juice. In a proper glass. On a tray.
“So. Wanna test?”
He practises looking calm and patient as she moves into the toilet to pee on the little stick thing. They're looking for a plus. It'd be a plus if it was positive, he smirks.
Her face tells him it's not. She shrugs, climbs back into bed, and turns her face into his shoulder.
“Maybe we've left it too late,” she mumbles through little hiccuping sobs.
Maybe he wasted too many of his swimmers. Maybe God gives you a set number of kids. Maybe this is karma's huge bitch slap, he thinks.
Fuck that shit, though. They'd be amazing parents. They deserve this. There's at least one kid out there that deserves them.
He slides her onto her back and pushes the black silk up towards her belly button. His lips linger on her abdomen, and he sends a prayer to the whoever the fuck listens to these things.
We're ready, guys. Waiting, here. Please.
And then Noah Puckerman makes love to his wife slowly, because last time, they tried fast. He's not surprised, somehow, that their baby doesn't want to be the result of a good, hard fuck … this kid will be about love, and tenderness, and happily-ever-fucking-after. So he slides into her slow, his hands framing her face, hazel eyes fixed on liquid brown, lips whispering together as their bodies sing the harmony.
When her pitch changes, he grinds into her, mashing her clit between them but refusing to pick up the pace, keeping it slow, and hot, and heavenly. Those needy little moans, the gasps she gives when she's close, the broken words of pleasure - they're his signal, to rear up and hold her high, her ankles locked behind his back as she shudders around him. He surrenders to the pressure behind his balls then, flooding into her, hopes and dreams and prayers for the future riding on the back of a few million microscopic angels.
They stay like that for long, uncomfortable minutes, hoping that science will help their miracle along. Rachel's read all the books, and yeah, he's bookmarked a few things on the Internet, because no matter how much everyone tells them to just relax, they want this.
They want it so badly.
(They both want things too much.)
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 (language, explicit sexuality)
Wordcount:
Summary: They both want things too much.
A/N: for pintsizedloudmouth on tumblr. Prompt was “Puck and Rachel trying to have kids”.
*
Puck knows his strengths. He's a damn good musician. Can swing mean left hook. Talk anyone into pretty much anything. Loves his girl something fierce.
Apparently, he isn't all that good at being “supportive”. Or “understanding”. And he doesn't have “even a shred of empathy!” (Google told him empathy means putting yourself in someone else's shoes. He's just sayin - Rachel's shoes aren't the fucking problem.)
So, month ten and he'd studied that dinky little calendar so he'd know exactly when she'd be able to tell. Surprised her with freshly fucking squeezed orange juice. In a proper glass. On a tray.
“So. Wanna test?”
He practises looking calm and patient as she moves into the toilet to pee on the little stick thing. They're looking for a plus. It'd be a plus if it was positive, he smirks.
Her face tells him it's not. She shrugs, climbs back into bed, and turns her face into his shoulder.
“Maybe we've left it too late,” she mumbles through little hiccuping sobs.
Maybe he wasted too many of his swimmers. Maybe God gives you a set number of kids. Maybe this is karma's huge bitch slap, he thinks.
Fuck that shit, though. They'd be amazing parents. They deserve this. There's at least one kid out there that deserves them.
He slides her onto her back and pushes the black silk up towards her belly button. His lips linger on her abdomen, and he sends a prayer to the whoever the fuck listens to these things.
We're ready, guys. Waiting, here. Please.
And then Noah Puckerman makes love to his wife slowly, because last time, they tried fast. He's not surprised, somehow, that their baby doesn't want to be the result of a good, hard fuck … this kid will be about love, and tenderness, and happily-ever-fucking-after. So he slides into her slow, his hands framing her face, hazel eyes fixed on liquid brown, lips whispering together as their bodies sing the harmony.
When her pitch changes, he grinds into her, mashing her clit between them but refusing to pick up the pace, keeping it slow, and hot, and heavenly. Those needy little moans, the gasps she gives when she's close, the broken words of pleasure - they're his signal, to rear up and hold her high, her ankles locked behind his back as she shudders around him. He surrenders to the pressure behind his balls then, flooding into her, hopes and dreams and prayers for the future riding on the back of a few million microscopic angels.
They stay like that for long, uncomfortable minutes, hoping that science will help their miracle along. Rachel's read all the books, and yeah, he's bookmarked a few things on the Internet, because no matter how much everyone tells them to just relax, they want this.
They want it so badly.
(They both want things too much.)
Disclaimer: This fanfiction was written for personal enjoyment rather than profit. No infringement on the rights of the intellectual property owners is intended.