Bright Particular Star VII
Bright Particular Star
*****
Title: Bright Particular Star
Chapter: 7/10
Rating: M
Characters: Puck/Rachel
Word Count: ~4000
Summary: When he really needs someone, it's his truest instinct to go to her...
("Wait.")
So he's totally not some kind of asshole.
All evidence to the contrary, his mother raised him right and he sure as fuck knows that 'no' means 'no'. He's not going to push her to do anything she doesn't want to do, even if her lips are pink and swollen and her eyes are half-lidded and her thighs are still parted a little for him, because of him.
Fact is, it doesn't matter at all that her body is into it, if her head isn't.
("This has the potential to be quite complicated.")
No shit.
Sex has never been complicated for him.
The consequences maybe, (you can bet your ass he's religious about wrapping it up now). The morning after, sure, awkward at times. Getting it, sometimes, although pussy has never been all that difficult for him to find. But sex itself is as natural as breathing. And honestly, usually he puts just about that much thought into it.
But this, with Rachel? He's lying on the floor (again), so fucking close to her he can smell her perfume and all he can think about is her mouth and her hands all over him and those fucking awesome little noises she makes when he touches her just right. And then remembering her falling apart under him and he should be wishing like hell it was because of his dick and not his hand, but he doesn't even care because she's looking at him all soft and open, and he's wanting shit, he doesn't even know what. Whatever it is though, it sure as hell isn't in the cards.
So maybe she's right. 'Cause once he's had her, really had her, taken everything from her and given it all right back, he's got a feeling that he isn't going to want to stop.
Three minutes later, he's convinced her right onto the floor next to him (no sex is one thing, he never said anything about not touching her) and not long after that, he's got his face buried in her hair and he's listening to her breath even out as she falls asleep.
Well, hell.
Was this what she meant by complicated?
*****
She's in the shower when he wakes up the next morning which sucks on multiple levels because A: she's not still sleeping all sprawled out on him (whatever, he likes it, sue him) and B: he's not in there with her. On the other hand, he thinks as he stands and tries to stretch the stiffness out of his muscles, maybe he's avoided having her yell at him for stupidly persuading her to sleep on the floor. Plus it also gives him time to think about Mrs. Wasserman, his 87 year old neighbor and Reynolds, that dude from high school with the missing testicle and anything else it takes to get his mind off all that tight little package of wet, naked goodness.
He's not disappointed when she comes out already dressed (lie: he totally is, until he's dead or something, there is never going to be a time when he doesn't want to see her in just a towel or preferably less). But then she comes straight over to him, and says good morning with a small smile and if it's not like she's telling him she needs him right now, she also isn't freaking out about last night, so he's willing to call that a win.
Also a win that she's biting her lip and looking a little distracted while trying not to stare at his chest. Awesome.
She's got a couple of hours of work to do for her internship--just filing and sorting mail today, but she's still buzzing with excitement over it. They agree on a place to meet when she's done and then she's gathering her things and he thinks she's just going to leave with that wave when she turns back and surprises him with a kiss. Fucking good surprise, she's up on her toes and he snakes his arm around her, pulling her in and damn he loves that strawberry lipgloss.
Pulling back, she sighs a little and his hand tightens on her hip momentarily and his dick starts talking. "You know I'm good if you want to change your mind. Totally normal for you to want a piece of this."
Her lips twitch like she's trying to hold back a smile even as she narrows her eyes. "Should I change my mind, you'll be the first to know." And then she pats him on the ass and walks out the door.
The rest of the day? Like that, only more so.
He meets her around noon in Central Park and they walk around the reservoir and when that gets too hot, they find a shady spot under some trees. After some maneuvering, they settle comfortably at angles to each other with him flat on his back looking up at the patterns the leaves make against the sky and her with her head resting on his chest. And the whole time their conversation has been friendly, easy, which should confuse the fuck out of him. For two people who barely talked in high school, they sure don't run out of things to say.
So, maybe she's right, maybe they are friends but if that's the case, they're like friends who touch all the time, just small touches, like her hand on his elbow when she wants to make a point or him pulling a piece of grass from her hair when they stand up again, his hands skimming down her arms.
With anyone else, this would just be some teasing extension of foreplay and shit, the heat the two of them are producing could probably burn the city down. She's got some experience (fuck his life) and she never really was the shy retiring virgin, even when she was a virgin, and damn, he'd like to think that they're on the same page. Everything he knows is telling him that if he doesn't leave soon, something is going to happen between the two of them. And whether it's a repeat of last night (totally good) or whether it goes further (even better) he's starting to feel like he's on that piece-of-shit go-kart he and Finn built, careening down Hawthone Hill.
(All he broke then was his arm.)
They're still in the park and it's all trees and the New York skyline rising up in the distance. He's almost convinced himself to be smart for once in his life and just leave before it all gets fucked up, when he notices the silence has grown a little less friendly. When he turns to look at her, she's got that annoyed 'why aren't you listening to me' face. (Hudson had a long term lease on that shit.)
"Sorry. Distracted by all the..." and he trails off, waving a hand at their surroundings. More or less believable than the fact that Rachel Berry is slowly taking over his mind?
Definitely less, but she buys it anyway because all she says is, "That's fine, Noah." Then she's looking down and fiddling with her bag while she's walking.
"Tell me," he says. She's biting her lip and it goes straight to his dick for a second, how bad he wants her to be biting his lip.
"There's a party tonight. I know it would make for a long drive tomorrow, but I'd love for you to go with me."
Long drive is an understatement. It basically means he'll have to leave really fucking early and drive straight through. It's a shit idea.
"All right. Sounds good."
Since when has he listened to common sense? Since never, that's when.
*****
Party turns out to be at some trust fund baby's apartment a few blocks away from Rachel's place. The two of them hang out for a while, and then she gets pulled away by a few girls she knows, and he starts talking baseball to some guy he met at her dorm the last time he was in town. The night wears on, and he ends up in the living room with some blonde yapping at him and he's listening disinterestedly, while keeping a close eye on Rachel's hemline across the room. Girl is one stray breeze from showing panty and it's a total flashback to every Glee practice ever.
At some point the blonde gets pissed, (he's a little surprised, mostly because he'd forgotten she was there) and she's hissing something about his girlfriend keeping him on a short leash. He doesn't argue because it'll make her leave him the fuck alone and besides, whatever, he likes it. On the heels of her departure, Rachel makes her way over to him with a glass of wine in her hand and a beer for him.
"I didn't mean to leave you here on your own for so long," she says, perching on the edge of the couch next to him.
"I kept myself entertained," he says easily, touching her upper arm gently with the cold beer bottle, so she'll turn and look at him, watching in fascination as goosebumps rise along her shoulder.
"The blonde? I noticed." She makes a face.
"Nope. Just watching you." He's close enough (and yeah, he's looking for it) to see the short, sharp inhale and the way she takes quick a sip of her wine. "Notice you're holding your liquor a little better than the last time I saw you partying."
She frowns, puzzled and then laughs. "Graduation night! God, I had such a headache the next morning."
"Yeah, well Tina was always heavy-handed with the rum."
"Now you tell me!"
And as long as they're on the subject of things he probably should have told her. "I wanted to kiss you that night too."
She's quiet for so long, he's about to start backpedalling, blame it on the (three) beers or distract her (piss her off?) by commenting on the way her tits look in that dress. (Amazing just so you know and he's nearly sure no bra.)
"You didn't because of Finn, right?" she asks finally and for a minute he doesn't get it. Because of Finn? Shit, it he was enough of a dick to fuck Finn's girl just for the thrill of bagging the head cheerleader and chastity queen rolled into one, then he certainly would have been enough of an idiot to kiss the one girl Hudson ever dated that he actually had feelings for. (Or has feelings for. Maybe.)
"Finn had nothing to do with it. I didn't kiss you because you didn't want me to."
She won't meet his eyes, but he sees her tongue flash out and wet her top lip nervously. "Noah...I think I always thought about you more than I should have."
All this? All this feeling swirling around somewhere in his chest? Totally just the effect of his jeans tightening. Which doesn't even make any sense. Shut up.
He puts down his beer bottle, distantly pleased that his hand isn't shaking and does the same with her wine glass which she releases nervelessly, automatically. Then he stands, grabs her wrist, and hauls her up and out the door, and he thinks she's going to start protesting about how rude this is, but she just follows him with her eyes shining and her lips parted and if she keeps looking at him like that, they aren't even going to make it back to her place.
In fact, they manage to make it to the stairwell, and he's hoping like hell that everyone else is thinking elevator, because the two of them, they're just on each other and it's not very gentle, tongues plunging and teeth clashing, and he's got his hand under one of her knees, pulling it up and around his hip, grinding into her, her dress riding up to who knows where. He slides one dress strap down and holy fuck almost dies because yeah, he was pretty sure she wasn't wearing a bra but when he's running his tongue along the underside of that pert little breast, it does something to his head and not just his cock.
He pulls her nipple into his mouth, suckling and then catching it delicately in his teeth and she's whimpering and clutching at the back of his head and his shoulder, when the stairwell door slams open and a group of drunk partiers crash by, laughing. He blocks her in, covering her with his body, and she buries her head in his shoulder, gripping his shirt. When the stairwell clears, she's looking up at him hazily, doubtfully and he's suddenly so desperate to convince her, he barely recognizes his own voice.
"This doesn't have to be anything we don't want it to be. It can just be us." And he's losing her, she's stiffening up, the line of her spine tensing under his fingertips. "It's just us, right here, right now. Rachel. Rachel."
And he's said something or done something and he doesn't know what but he doesn't have time to think because she's melting back into him. "Not here," she breathes up at him.
The relief is so sharp he almost laughs because, yeah, probably not a great idea to fuck her on the stairs.
Twenty minutes later, when he's watching her slip the thin straps off her shoulders, allowing her dress to slide down and pool by her feet, he's definitely willing to admit that fucking her in her room is a much, much better idea. And he'd tell her that if his head wasn't spinning and it's all he can do to try and hold his shit down. He's dizzy thinking about the possibilities and the part of him that wants to explore and kiss and caress every inch of her for hours is at war with the part that wants to take her up against the door this minute and give them the release they both want. (Fucking finally.)
And somewhere in the back of his head, he's asking himself what made her change her mind about this. Is she's going to change it back now, or worse, regret it later? And hell, how and when is this going to come back to bite him, break to bits in his fingers, turn to ash? But it's such a remote voice, and he has so much experience ignoring it, and then she's looking at him challengingly, with a sexy smile on her lips and her thumbs hooked under the waistband of the scrap of black lace barely covering her ass and fuck no, he wants that job, so he manages to choke out a "let me...."
He shucks off his jeans and shirt to even things out and then closes the space between them, kissing her with just the right combination of pressure and heat and softness, just the way she likes, the way he found out she liked when they were both sixteen and for a few hours they could pretend that the world ended at her bedroom door.
She's kissing a trail along his jawline and he actually shudders when her soft voice vibrates near his ear.
"You must think I'm crazy," she says. "Or at the very least, capricious." She nibbles his earlobe. "But I've always, my entire life, gone after what I wanted and I think I'll die if you leave tomorrow and we never get a chance to do this. " And she slides one hand to the front of his boxers, tracing the outline of his cock, looking down, watching her hand against him.
And there it is again, the shadow of the girl she was, sitting on the bleachers and telling him that she wants everything too much. But this time what she wants is him, and he's damn well going to do something about it.
"Die, huh?" he murmurs, thrusting gently into her hand, relishing the moan he pulls from her when he scrapes his fingertips up and down her sides. "Can't have that."
He knots one hand in her hair, winds the other behind her back, almost supporting her because she's pressing herself against him so tightly, he's not even sure how she's keeping her balance. And yeah, outstanding, but he's got a girl to get naked.
It almost makes him laugh, the little pissed off grumble she makes when he pulls back, not far, still close enough to see her eyes darken when he stares hotly down at her, close enough to hear her hiss of indrawn breath with he guides her backwards until her back hits the cold wall next to her bed.
He makes his way down her body, pressing kisses and words like "beautiful...," and "goddamn perfect...," and "fuck, those legs...," into her skin until he's kneeling in front of her, working her panties slowly down her legs, helping her step out of them.
Pushing her hands away from her hips, he links his fingers with hers and bites gently down on the crease of her leg once and then when he hears her gasp, again, sucking hard and then laving spot with his tongue.
"Noah," she calls and he hears the tremor in her voice.
"Yeah, baby. It's okay," he says soothingly. He moves her hands to his shoulders, feels her nails bite in a little, which god...and then he hooks her left leg over his shoulder and she's open for him, all warm and wet and exactly like what he's been imagining forfuckingever, only better. He runs a fingertip along her slit, gathering moisture, then watches her face, her eyes half closed, the sweep of her tongue across her lips, as he sucks her wetness off his finger.
"Fuck, don't tease..."
Shit, he could lose it from that alone, her pretty little mouth curling around the word.
And honestly, he's not planning on saying 'no' to her ever, so he angles in, licking a narrow ribbon along the exact line his finger had followed, then moving alongside her clit with flicking motions that make her cries bounce off the walls in a way that makes him hope her neighbors are heavy sleepers.
He's got one hand at her hip holding her up against the wall because she doesn't seem to be doing a very good job of that herself and the other sliding between her legs. He's taking his time, paying attention to the noises she makes, the minute thrusts of her hips, trading back and forth between sliding his tongue deep inside her and then his fingers. Using feather light touches followed by pressure followed by sloppy sucking kisses over and over again until she's tightening everywhere, her heel digging into his back, fingers gripping his shoulders and the back of his head.
"Right there...just a little more...Noah!" With his name, she hits a breathy note that he's sure is going to be etched into his brain permanently and she's coming, all her tension releasing in a series of waves rippling across her body. And then, when the last of it dies away, he almost has to catch her as she starts to slide down the wall. Shifting them both quickly, he pulls her into his lap, her back against his chest, his cock pressed up against her and he wants to bury himself in her, but right now he'll just smooth her hair away from her face and kiss the dip of her shoulder.
She's breathing in hard, her eyes closed tightly and then without warning she twists in his grip, kissing him hard, her tongue darting out to taste herself on his lips, which fuck, he doesn't care who you are, that shit is hot.
"Noah. Bed." she demands and he smirks because that's all him, thank you very much, but his complacence is replaced by something like awe when she pushes herself off him, and spreads herself out on the bed, one hand trailing up her side to pinch a nipple, the other brushing at the apex of her thighs.
"Fuck...Rach," he groans and her smile is the mirror of his own as he crawls up on the bed to join her.
*****
Much later she, not even fucking joking, she must have literally fucked his brains out because it's three a.m. and the two of them are on her bed curled up together just quietly kissing and talking a little after round two. She's laughing at something he said and she braces herself up on one arm looking down at him and just like that his mouth is dry and his mind is empty and he just flat-out asks, "Would you do it? If you were in my position. Would you call him, or see him or whatever?"
She slides one leg over him and pushes all the way up, lightly balancing just above his hips and god he loves that she's not shy about her body.
"If it were Shelby you mean," she says thoughtfully. "I don't know if I could. I'm definitely not saying you should. I do think you should give it some very serious thought though, and soon."
"But not right now, right?" he says, bringing his hands to her hips and pulling her down against him, groaning at the slide of her slick pussy against his cock.
"No, not right now," she breathes, leaning over him to grab another condom off the bedside table.
*****
He's up early in the morning cursing silently because he can't afford to ignore the light slanting through the curtains for another minute. He kisses her awake and she swats sleepily at him, probably thinking that he wants to go again (which isn't an unreasonable assumption since his hand is slipping between her thighs. Fucking impossible to resist.)
"Baby," he says softly, "I've got to go."
That wakes her, and she sits up a little, and she's so gorgeous with her hair in a tangle and her skin glowing against the white bed sheet that's loosely covering her.
He wants to say something, but almost can't because his heart is beating so hard he thinks he's about to have a heart attack. And besides, words have always had a way of letting him down.
"That wasn't nothing, you know," he says finally, awkwardly. "I mean it wasn't just because you were there and that dress was fucking hot. It wasn't meaningless."
She reaches over to him and cups his cheek and he closes his eyes and leans into it a little.
"I know," she says.
*****
Title: Bright Particular Star
Chapter: 7/10
Rating: M
Characters: Puck/Rachel
Word Count: ~4000
Summary: When he really needs someone, it's his truest instinct to go to her...
("Wait.")
So he's totally not some kind of asshole.
All evidence to the contrary, his mother raised him right and he sure as fuck knows that 'no' means 'no'. He's not going to push her to do anything she doesn't want to do, even if her lips are pink and swollen and her eyes are half-lidded and her thighs are still parted a little for him, because of him.
Fact is, it doesn't matter at all that her body is into it, if her head isn't.
("This has the potential to be quite complicated.")
No shit.
Sex has never been complicated for him.
The consequences maybe, (you can bet your ass he's religious about wrapping it up now). The morning after, sure, awkward at times. Getting it, sometimes, although pussy has never been all that difficult for him to find. But sex itself is as natural as breathing. And honestly, usually he puts just about that much thought into it.
But this, with Rachel? He's lying on the floor (again), so fucking close to her he can smell her perfume and all he can think about is her mouth and her hands all over him and those fucking awesome little noises she makes when he touches her just right. And then remembering her falling apart under him and he should be wishing like hell it was because of his dick and not his hand, but he doesn't even care because she's looking at him all soft and open, and he's wanting shit, he doesn't even know what. Whatever it is though, it sure as hell isn't in the cards.
So maybe she's right. 'Cause once he's had her, really had her, taken everything from her and given it all right back, he's got a feeling that he isn't going to want to stop.
Three minutes later, he's convinced her right onto the floor next to him (no sex is one thing, he never said anything about not touching her) and not long after that, he's got his face buried in her hair and he's listening to her breath even out as she falls asleep.
Well, hell.
Was this what she meant by complicated?
*****
She's in the shower when he wakes up the next morning which sucks on multiple levels because A: she's not still sleeping all sprawled out on him (whatever, he likes it, sue him) and B: he's not in there with her. On the other hand, he thinks as he stands and tries to stretch the stiffness out of his muscles, maybe he's avoided having her yell at him for stupidly persuading her to sleep on the floor. Plus it also gives him time to think about Mrs. Wasserman, his 87 year old neighbor and Reynolds, that dude from high school with the missing testicle and anything else it takes to get his mind off all that tight little package of wet, naked goodness.
He's not disappointed when she comes out already dressed (lie: he totally is, until he's dead or something, there is never going to be a time when he doesn't want to see her in just a towel or preferably less). But then she comes straight over to him, and says good morning with a small smile and if it's not like she's telling him she needs him right now, she also isn't freaking out about last night, so he's willing to call that a win.
Also a win that she's biting her lip and looking a little distracted while trying not to stare at his chest. Awesome.
She's got a couple of hours of work to do for her internship--just filing and sorting mail today, but she's still buzzing with excitement over it. They agree on a place to meet when she's done and then she's gathering her things and he thinks she's just going to leave with that wave when she turns back and surprises him with a kiss. Fucking good surprise, she's up on her toes and he snakes his arm around her, pulling her in and damn he loves that strawberry lipgloss.
Pulling back, she sighs a little and his hand tightens on her hip momentarily and his dick starts talking. "You know I'm good if you want to change your mind. Totally normal for you to want a piece of this."
Her lips twitch like she's trying to hold back a smile even as she narrows her eyes. "Should I change my mind, you'll be the first to know." And then she pats him on the ass and walks out the door.
The rest of the day? Like that, only more so.
He meets her around noon in Central Park and they walk around the reservoir and when that gets too hot, they find a shady spot under some trees. After some maneuvering, they settle comfortably at angles to each other with him flat on his back looking up at the patterns the leaves make against the sky and her with her head resting on his chest. And the whole time their conversation has been friendly, easy, which should confuse the fuck out of him. For two people who barely talked in high school, they sure don't run out of things to say.
So, maybe she's right, maybe they are friends but if that's the case, they're like friends who touch all the time, just small touches, like her hand on his elbow when she wants to make a point or him pulling a piece of grass from her hair when they stand up again, his hands skimming down her arms.
With anyone else, this would just be some teasing extension of foreplay and shit, the heat the two of them are producing could probably burn the city down. She's got some experience (fuck his life) and she never really was the shy retiring virgin, even when she was a virgin, and damn, he'd like to think that they're on the same page. Everything he knows is telling him that if he doesn't leave soon, something is going to happen between the two of them. And whether it's a repeat of last night (totally good) or whether it goes further (even better) he's starting to feel like he's on that piece-of-shit go-kart he and Finn built, careening down Hawthone Hill.
(All he broke then was his arm.)
They're still in the park and it's all trees and the New York skyline rising up in the distance. He's almost convinced himself to be smart for once in his life and just leave before it all gets fucked up, when he notices the silence has grown a little less friendly. When he turns to look at her, she's got that annoyed 'why aren't you listening to me' face. (Hudson had a long term lease on that shit.)
"Sorry. Distracted by all the..." and he trails off, waving a hand at their surroundings. More or less believable than the fact that Rachel Berry is slowly taking over his mind?
Definitely less, but she buys it anyway because all she says is, "That's fine, Noah." Then she's looking down and fiddling with her bag while she's walking.
"Tell me," he says. She's biting her lip and it goes straight to his dick for a second, how bad he wants her to be biting his lip.
"There's a party tonight. I know it would make for a long drive tomorrow, but I'd love for you to go with me."
Long drive is an understatement. It basically means he'll have to leave really fucking early and drive straight through. It's a shit idea.
"All right. Sounds good."
Since when has he listened to common sense? Since never, that's when.
*****
Party turns out to be at some trust fund baby's apartment a few blocks away from Rachel's place. The two of them hang out for a while, and then she gets pulled away by a few girls she knows, and he starts talking baseball to some guy he met at her dorm the last time he was in town. The night wears on, and he ends up in the living room with some blonde yapping at him and he's listening disinterestedly, while keeping a close eye on Rachel's hemline across the room. Girl is one stray breeze from showing panty and it's a total flashback to every Glee practice ever.
At some point the blonde gets pissed, (he's a little surprised, mostly because he'd forgotten she was there) and she's hissing something about his girlfriend keeping him on a short leash. He doesn't argue because it'll make her leave him the fuck alone and besides, whatever, he likes it. On the heels of her departure, Rachel makes her way over to him with a glass of wine in her hand and a beer for him.
"I didn't mean to leave you here on your own for so long," she says, perching on the edge of the couch next to him.
"I kept myself entertained," he says easily, touching her upper arm gently with the cold beer bottle, so she'll turn and look at him, watching in fascination as goosebumps rise along her shoulder.
"The blonde? I noticed." She makes a face.
"Nope. Just watching you." He's close enough (and yeah, he's looking for it) to see the short, sharp inhale and the way she takes quick a sip of her wine. "Notice you're holding your liquor a little better than the last time I saw you partying."
She frowns, puzzled and then laughs. "Graduation night! God, I had such a headache the next morning."
"Yeah, well Tina was always heavy-handed with the rum."
"Now you tell me!"
And as long as they're on the subject of things he probably should have told her. "I wanted to kiss you that night too."
She's quiet for so long, he's about to start backpedalling, blame it on the (three) beers or distract her (piss her off?) by commenting on the way her tits look in that dress. (Amazing just so you know and he's nearly sure no bra.)
"You didn't because of Finn, right?" she asks finally and for a minute he doesn't get it. Because of Finn? Shit, it he was enough of a dick to fuck Finn's girl just for the thrill of bagging the head cheerleader and chastity queen rolled into one, then he certainly would have been enough of an idiot to kiss the one girl Hudson ever dated that he actually had feelings for. (Or has feelings for. Maybe.)
"Finn had nothing to do with it. I didn't kiss you because you didn't want me to."
She won't meet his eyes, but he sees her tongue flash out and wet her top lip nervously. "Noah...I think I always thought about you more than I should have."
All this? All this feeling swirling around somewhere in his chest? Totally just the effect of his jeans tightening. Which doesn't even make any sense. Shut up.
He puts down his beer bottle, distantly pleased that his hand isn't shaking and does the same with her wine glass which she releases nervelessly, automatically. Then he stands, grabs her wrist, and hauls her up and out the door, and he thinks she's going to start protesting about how rude this is, but she just follows him with her eyes shining and her lips parted and if she keeps looking at him like that, they aren't even going to make it back to her place.
In fact, they manage to make it to the stairwell, and he's hoping like hell that everyone else is thinking elevator, because the two of them, they're just on each other and it's not very gentle, tongues plunging and teeth clashing, and he's got his hand under one of her knees, pulling it up and around his hip, grinding into her, her dress riding up to who knows where. He slides one dress strap down and holy fuck almost dies because yeah, he was pretty sure she wasn't wearing a bra but when he's running his tongue along the underside of that pert little breast, it does something to his head and not just his cock.
He pulls her nipple into his mouth, suckling and then catching it delicately in his teeth and she's whimpering and clutching at the back of his head and his shoulder, when the stairwell door slams open and a group of drunk partiers crash by, laughing. He blocks her in, covering her with his body, and she buries her head in his shoulder, gripping his shirt. When the stairwell clears, she's looking up at him hazily, doubtfully and he's suddenly so desperate to convince her, he barely recognizes his own voice.
"This doesn't have to be anything we don't want it to be. It can just be us." And he's losing her, she's stiffening up, the line of her spine tensing under his fingertips. "It's just us, right here, right now. Rachel. Rachel."
And he's said something or done something and he doesn't know what but he doesn't have time to think because she's melting back into him. "Not here," she breathes up at him.
The relief is so sharp he almost laughs because, yeah, probably not a great idea to fuck her on the stairs.
Twenty minutes later, when he's watching her slip the thin straps off her shoulders, allowing her dress to slide down and pool by her feet, he's definitely willing to admit that fucking her in her room is a much, much better idea. And he'd tell her that if his head wasn't spinning and it's all he can do to try and hold his shit down. He's dizzy thinking about the possibilities and the part of him that wants to explore and kiss and caress every inch of her for hours is at war with the part that wants to take her up against the door this minute and give them the release they both want. (Fucking finally.)
And somewhere in the back of his head, he's asking himself what made her change her mind about this. Is she's going to change it back now, or worse, regret it later? And hell, how and when is this going to come back to bite him, break to bits in his fingers, turn to ash? But it's such a remote voice, and he has so much experience ignoring it, and then she's looking at him challengingly, with a sexy smile on her lips and her thumbs hooked under the waistband of the scrap of black lace barely covering her ass and fuck no, he wants that job, so he manages to choke out a "let me...."
He shucks off his jeans and shirt to even things out and then closes the space between them, kissing her with just the right combination of pressure and heat and softness, just the way she likes, the way he found out she liked when they were both sixteen and for a few hours they could pretend that the world ended at her bedroom door.
She's kissing a trail along his jawline and he actually shudders when her soft voice vibrates near his ear.
"You must think I'm crazy," she says. "Or at the very least, capricious." She nibbles his earlobe. "But I've always, my entire life, gone after what I wanted and I think I'll die if you leave tomorrow and we never get a chance to do this. " And she slides one hand to the front of his boxers, tracing the outline of his cock, looking down, watching her hand against him.
And there it is again, the shadow of the girl she was, sitting on the bleachers and telling him that she wants everything too much. But this time what she wants is him, and he's damn well going to do something about it.
"Die, huh?" he murmurs, thrusting gently into her hand, relishing the moan he pulls from her when he scrapes his fingertips up and down her sides. "Can't have that."
He knots one hand in her hair, winds the other behind her back, almost supporting her because she's pressing herself against him so tightly, he's not even sure how she's keeping her balance. And yeah, outstanding, but he's got a girl to get naked.
It almost makes him laugh, the little pissed off grumble she makes when he pulls back, not far, still close enough to see her eyes darken when he stares hotly down at her, close enough to hear her hiss of indrawn breath with he guides her backwards until her back hits the cold wall next to her bed.
He makes his way down her body, pressing kisses and words like "beautiful...," and "goddamn perfect...," and "fuck, those legs...," into her skin until he's kneeling in front of her, working her panties slowly down her legs, helping her step out of them.
Pushing her hands away from her hips, he links his fingers with hers and bites gently down on the crease of her leg once and then when he hears her gasp, again, sucking hard and then laving spot with his tongue.
"Noah," she calls and he hears the tremor in her voice.
"Yeah, baby. It's okay," he says soothingly. He moves her hands to his shoulders, feels her nails bite in a little, which god...and then he hooks her left leg over his shoulder and she's open for him, all warm and wet and exactly like what he's been imagining forfuckingever, only better. He runs a fingertip along her slit, gathering moisture, then watches her face, her eyes half closed, the sweep of her tongue across her lips, as he sucks her wetness off his finger.
"Fuck, don't tease..."
Shit, he could lose it from that alone, her pretty little mouth curling around the word.
And honestly, he's not planning on saying 'no' to her ever, so he angles in, licking a narrow ribbon along the exact line his finger had followed, then moving alongside her clit with flicking motions that make her cries bounce off the walls in a way that makes him hope her neighbors are heavy sleepers.
He's got one hand at her hip holding her up against the wall because she doesn't seem to be doing a very good job of that herself and the other sliding between her legs. He's taking his time, paying attention to the noises she makes, the minute thrusts of her hips, trading back and forth between sliding his tongue deep inside her and then his fingers. Using feather light touches followed by pressure followed by sloppy sucking kisses over and over again until she's tightening everywhere, her heel digging into his back, fingers gripping his shoulders and the back of his head.
"Right there...just a little more...Noah!" With his name, she hits a breathy note that he's sure is going to be etched into his brain permanently and she's coming, all her tension releasing in a series of waves rippling across her body. And then, when the last of it dies away, he almost has to catch her as she starts to slide down the wall. Shifting them both quickly, he pulls her into his lap, her back against his chest, his cock pressed up against her and he wants to bury himself in her, but right now he'll just smooth her hair away from her face and kiss the dip of her shoulder.
She's breathing in hard, her eyes closed tightly and then without warning she twists in his grip, kissing him hard, her tongue darting out to taste herself on his lips, which fuck, he doesn't care who you are, that shit is hot.
"Noah. Bed." she demands and he smirks because that's all him, thank you very much, but his complacence is replaced by something like awe when she pushes herself off him, and spreads herself out on the bed, one hand trailing up her side to pinch a nipple, the other brushing at the apex of her thighs.
"Fuck...Rach," he groans and her smile is the mirror of his own as he crawls up on the bed to join her.
*****
Much later she, not even fucking joking, she must have literally fucked his brains out because it's three a.m. and the two of them are on her bed curled up together just quietly kissing and talking a little after round two. She's laughing at something he said and she braces herself up on one arm looking down at him and just like that his mouth is dry and his mind is empty and he just flat-out asks, "Would you do it? If you were in my position. Would you call him, or see him or whatever?"
She slides one leg over him and pushes all the way up, lightly balancing just above his hips and god he loves that she's not shy about her body.
"If it were Shelby you mean," she says thoughtfully. "I don't know if I could. I'm definitely not saying you should. I do think you should give it some very serious thought though, and soon."
"But not right now, right?" he says, bringing his hands to her hips and pulling her down against him, groaning at the slide of her slick pussy against his cock.
"No, not right now," she breathes, leaning over him to grab another condom off the bedside table.
*****
He's up early in the morning cursing silently because he can't afford to ignore the light slanting through the curtains for another minute. He kisses her awake and she swats sleepily at him, probably thinking that he wants to go again (which isn't an unreasonable assumption since his hand is slipping between her thighs. Fucking impossible to resist.)
"Baby," he says softly, "I've got to go."
That wakes her, and she sits up a little, and she's so gorgeous with her hair in a tangle and her skin glowing against the white bed sheet that's loosely covering her.
He wants to say something, but almost can't because his heart is beating so hard he thinks he's about to have a heart attack. And besides, words have always had a way of letting him down.
"That wasn't nothing, you know," he says finally, awkwardly. "I mean it wasn't just because you were there and that dress was fucking hot. It wasn't meaningless."
She reaches over to him and cups his cheek and he closes his eyes and leans into it a little.
"I know," she says.