Dominated Hand [5/?]
Title: Dominated Hand
Chapter: 5/?
Warning: NC-17
Pairing: Puck/Rachel
Summary: He doesn't expect Rachel to be good at poker, and there's no way he's going to let her beat him. Turns out that when the stakes are high, Puck comes to play. "Whoever loses has to be the other's slave."
Word Count: 6,342
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Rachel looks at herself in the mirror as she twists the ends of her (admittedly perfect) hair around her ringers. She waited until her fathers left for the day before getting dressed, because she's sure they'd question her wardrobe 'choice'. As soon as she said goodbye to them, she went back to her closet and grabbed the dress.
She knows this is going to spell ridicule.
But then again, other girls wear outfits like this on a regular basis. She knows she's not other girls, but surely it won't be so strange that she's wearing a dress instead of a skirt. Every time she wears her yellow jeans (they're fabulous, even if no one else can admit it) people look at her because she doesn't have bare legs. (It's not because her jeans are yellow.)
But this - this dress and these shoes - wearing this, she actually feels like she could fit in if she wanted to. She and Santana have been talking a little more. Yesterday, she was in front of Quinn in line at the cafeteria, and the two carried on a pleasant conversation until they went to their table. They sit at the same table now, but Rachel was talking to Artie about an audio/visual project, and Quinn was talking to Brittany about something or another.
Anyway, she thinks maybe she's just dressing like the other girls and no one is likely to notice.
She most certainly does not expect to see Noah standing against his truck when she walks out of her house to head to school.
And she doesn't necessarily hate the way he's got one brow raised, a smirk on his lips. He lets out low whistle and pushes himself off his truck, walking towards her.
"Best idea ever," he says. His eyes are fixed solely on her legs. "You look fuckin' hot, babe."
"Thank you, I think."
"You sure you wanna go to school?" he asks. The little grin on his face lets her know he's about to say something suggestive. "'Cause if you just wanna stay here and let me..."
She holds up her hand and grimaces. "I'm going to stop you right there," she says. (She's sure the butterflies in her stomach will stop fluttering any moment now.) "What are you doing here?"
"Checking you out before anyone else can," he answers honestly. "And giving you a ride to school."
"I have a car."
"Thanks for the update," he says sarcastically. He takes her bag from her, tosses it into the bed of his truck. "C'mon. Don't wanna be late."
"Noah, I really was intent on driving. I have dance class this evening after glee, and..."
"I can drop you off," he says. He wrenches the door open and gestures for her to get in. "I don't have all day, darlin'. Get your sexy ass in the truck."
She opens and closes her mouth a couple times.
Did he just call her sexy?
She doesn't question it (or how she's going to get home from dance class). She just gets up into the truck and lets him close the door behind her. After all, he's never really hid the fact that he finds her attractive. It's just a little surprising, because, save for a couple silly little instances, he's never attempted to pursue her romantically. She wonders why that is. Maybe she really is too high maintenance for him.
"So, you find a partner or what?" he asks.
"Pardon me?"
"You said you needed a partner for your class or whatever. You found someone?"
How in the world does he remember this shit? That was from a night when he was drinking and thinking of all the nasty shit he wanted (wants) to do to her, and he remembers this stupid little detail? Just something small she said? Fucking weird.
"Actually, I did, yes," she says with a smile. "Jonathan."
There's something about the stupid look on her stupid (hot) face that pisses him off.
Okay, it's total jealousy. What, is she into this dude or something? Why else would she be smiling like that? No one is that good a dancer.
And seriously. Ballroom dancing is kinda...well, there's like touching and stuff, and he doesn't think he really wants anyone to be touching her.
He wants to be touching her.
Leave it to Rachel Berry to find time to run game even when she's acting as his slave.
What the fuck?
"Well, who the fuck's this Jonathan guy, anyway?" he asks, annoyed as he pulls off her street.
"He goes to West Lima. He actually plays football!" He pulls his truck over to the side of the road. Not exactly smoothly, either. She's holding onto the safety handle on the door, bracing her feet on the floor. "Noah!"
"Jonathan Davis? The QB from West Lima?" he questions. She shrugs her shoulder and nods. "You can't fucking go out with that dude!"
She laughs.
Fucking bitch.
(But goddamn, her laugh is so cute.)
"I'm not going out with him, I'm dancing with him. And I would have thought for sure you would have made fun of him for being a dancer," she says.
She's still laughing.
No, really. What the actual fuck?
"I will. Trust me. By second period, everyone in Lima will know he's a big dancing gay, but..."
"I find that highly offensive, as the child of..."
"Whatever. Listen. You can't fucking hang out with that dude," Puck says seriously, looking over at her. Now she just looks confused.
"Why in the world not?"
"Because I fucking hate that guy!" he shouts. She flinches at the sound of his raised voice. "West Lima kills us every year, and I swear to god, he and Santana totally fucked at a party when she was my girl."
"Noah, I..."
"I'm the boss. I won't allow it," he says smugly. Her eyes narrow dangerously and he's pretty sure he's about to get laid into.
"Now you listen to me, Noah Puckerman," she says, turning towards him. Her dress rides up, and yeah, he looks. Whatever. She looks totally hot when she's pissed. "I haven't exactly given much resistance to many of the things you've ordered me to do. I think this outfit is a perfect example of that." He smirks. (It actually is pretty perfect.) "But when it comes to things that actually affect my life, such as my dance classes, you get no say. You're not my boyfriend and you're certainly not my father. So I will dance with Jonathan, and I'm sure we'll be fantastic together."
He tightens his jaw and he squints darkly at her. She's not supposed to be fantastic with this other douchebag.
"Fine," he says, pulling the truck back onto the road. "But I'm coming to watch."
"Noah!"
"Maybe get a little cell phone video of that fucktard prancing around like a..."
"Don't you dare say the word," she says seriously. "And you're not coming."
"Am too."
"Are not."
"Am too."
"Are not!"
"Rachel," he laughs. "I'm fucking coming."
And if Jonathan Fucking Davis just happens to assume that Rachel is Puck's girlfriend, he's not going to clear up that little misunderstanding.
Fuck it.
(And he's totally taking video, by the way.)
...
She's immediately uncomfortable when they walk into school. The first people they see are Mike, Matt and Finn, who all look at Rachel with wide eyes. Matt's practically drooling (Puck doesn't like it, but he keeps his cool). Mike is smiling and nodding appreciatively, and Finn just looks shocked.
"Everyone's staring at me," Rachel says quietly. "This is terrible."
"'S'cause you look awesome," Puck says. She waves to the boys and she's surprised when Noah doesn't leave her side to talk to them. He walks with her. "What?" he laughs when she looks at him. "I can't walk with you now?"
"You never really have before," she reminds him.
Well, fuck. That's true. "Whatever."
When she sees Kurt and Tina standing near her locker, Rachel gets nervous again. "Noah, I think this was a terrible idea. I feel completely out of my skin, and..."
"Calm the fuck down, cupcake," he says. She actually cracks a smile at the nickname. "You look awesome. Don't worry about it."
Rachel is in the middle of putting her books into her locker, her dance bag on the top shelf, and Kurt walks over with one arm across his torso, his elbow resting on his wrist. He's got his index finger pointed in her direction, a brow raised.
"Miss Berry, who put this together for you?" he asks.
Rachel looks down at herself for what feels like the hundredth time. "Oh, actually..." She feels Noah push his elbow none-too-gently into her back, sending her forward a couple inches. She gets the hint; he doesn't want her to mention his apparent good taste in fashion. "I just wanted to wear this dress. I had to make it appropriate for school."
"It's lovely, really," Kurt admits. "No wonder Puck is hovering."
"Fuck you, Hummel," Puck says. No one accuses him of...
Whatever.
"Defensive," Kurt mumbles.
"I gotta go see Coach T.," Puck mumbles. "Later!"
Rachel shakes her head and goes back to gathering her things for her first class.
Kurt is behind her, checking the labels on her clothes and mumbling to himself about some kind of transformation.
...
"Let me guess," Santana says, slipping into the desk next to Rachel in history. "Puck totally wanted to see you wearing something like this."
"I swear, you're the only one who understands any of this," Rachel says.
Santana laughs and shakes her head. "Puck likes to be in control."
Rachel looks at Santana with a certain amount of surprise on her face. "I don't think I want to hear the story of how you came to know that."
"No, probably not," Santana says. Both girls open their books and smile at Quinn when she walks into the room and takes an open seat near the front. "Hey." Rachel looks over at Santana and notices the soft look in Santana's eyes. "You do look really hot today, though." Santana starts laughing when Rachel blushes. "Don't worry. I'm not coming on to you. Just thought you should know. But I bet someone already told you at least five times this morning."
"It really is quite terrifying how well you know this situation," Rachel laughs.
Santana shrugs her shoulder and taps her pen on her textbook. "I just know him, that's all."
Rachel resists the urge to ask whether or not all this attention Noah is giving her means anything at all.
...
"Wanna skip class and show me your panties?"
She drops her books on the floor.
His chest is pressed against her back, his forearm bracing him against the locker next to hers.
And she's fairly certain she's close to saying yes. There's a noise that's threatening to tear from the back of her throat, and it's taking every ounce of self-restraint (and maybe respect) not to push herself back against him. There's a heat coursing through her, pooling right at the very bottom of her stomach.
This is not a normal reaction to such a crass statement and someone infringing on one's personal space.
"You're hesitating," he says, moving his thigh so it brushes against the back of hers. If she thinks he doesn't notice the way her breathing has changed since he walked up, she's mistaken. He knows turned on. She's totally turned on.
"I'm just appalled at your lack of tact," she says, finally finding her composure again. She pushes back against him, her behind coming in contact with his hips sharply to push him away. It works. (She definitely hears the low groan he lets out when their bodies touch.) "You need to mind my space."
"Oh, I'm minding your space, baby," he says. His hand lands on her hip and she spins around, attempting a glare. She's smiling, though.
"You have this incredible, yet infuriating, way of making anything sound like a sexual innuendo," she states.
He's looking down the front of her dress. He hears her anyway.
"I know, right?" he says proudly. He picks up her books and hands them to her. "But seriously. Panties. Don't tease me."
"Noah!" she hisses, shifting her eyes either way down he hall. No one seems to care that they're talking. "I am not teasing you. You're the one coming up with ridiculous - "
"Awesome," he interrupts.
" - scenarios, most of which seem to include you or I, or possibly both of us, in far less clothing than we're currently - "
He smirks. "You know me so well, buttercup."
"Basically, I'd like you to stop." Because it's hard for me to want you to stop. "And, really? Buttercup?"
He laughs softly and shrugs one shoulder. "Thought I'd try it out." She rolls her eyes, smiling up at him. "Yes or no on the panties? Because I need to decide what to do this period if I'm not sneaking a peek."
"You're disgusting," she says, slamming her locker door closed, pushing away from him and starting down the hall.
"So that's a no, then?" he calls after her.
She raises her wrist and flicks it twice, and he just grins as he heads the other way down the hall.
(But seriously...what kind of panties is she wearing?)
...
Before glee starts, he tells Matt and Mike to fuck off and quit staring at her, because not only are they being way too obvious, but he doesn't like the thought of anyone stepping in there before he can.
Hence, going to her dance class to make sure Jonathan Fucking Davis keeps his hands above the waist.
Seriously, he has a hard time himself. Her ass looks super hot in that tight dress. And he sees no pantylines whatsoever, so she's either wearing a thong (hot) or nothing at all (can't even fathom...mind going a million dirty places). The only person who sees him looking so intensely is Santana, and he's pretty sure that's just because she's looking too.
So he mouths 'back off' during one number when they're facing one another and Rachel is in both their lines of sigh, and Santana laughs so hard they have to start the song over.
...
"Rachel, what the hell? How much shit can one person fit in their locker?"
"I have a lot of things, Noah, and I would normally leave my dance clothes in my car during the day, but seeing as you showed up at my house this morning demanding that I ride to school with you, that option was stolen away from me today."
Jesus. Whatever.
"'C'mon. Don't you have a schedule or something?" he asks, slumping back against the wall.
"I do. Which is why I need you to wait here so I can quickly change in the washroom before we leave," she says, slinging her bag over her shoulder. She hands him her back pack, and he holds it by the strap as he stares at her.
"Why does it feel like I'm your slave right now?"
"Because you decided to be a brute and be my bodyguard for a class I would have been perfectly content to attend on my own," she says over her shoulder. The last word gets cut off as the bathroom door closes behind her.
Well, shit. He's pretty sure she's right. And he definitely knows he doesn't care if he has to hold her bag for her or drive her to dance class or wait around and listen to shitty classical music while she twirls around with some loser.
She walks out of the bathroom wearing strappy heels, a flowy skirt that comes to the knee, and a loose-fitting top that's low cut in the front and back with a skinny-strapped tank top underneath. He honestly doesn't know if he likes this look or the other one better.
"What?" she asks when she notices him staring. "Come on. Class starts in a half hour and I need to warm up properly."
He doesn't tell her how hot she looks. You know, because he doesn't want to like, give her a complex or anything.
It's not because he just doesn't know how to say it in a new way. Fuck that.
...
"So what kinda class is this anyway?" Puck asks as they walk up the stairs to her dance studio. All he is seeing are a bunch of like, 30 year old people, and they don't really seem like the type Rachel would normally dance with.
But shit. He doesn't really know anything about this part of her life.
"Noah," she says as the reach the top of the stairs. "Have you ever heard of the samba?"
He shrugs one shoulder and shakes his head. She just smiles and pushes the door to the studio open.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
It's like sex on a hardwood floor.
He stands there, just inside the door, watching the couples dancing (writhing against one another) on the floor. This is fucking crazy, dude. There's one chick, totally hot, in this bright pink little dress with fringe and shit, and she's got her leg up around this dude's hip as he practically thrusts into her.
Oh, this is the kind of dancing he could get on board with.
Then he sees Rachel talking with Jonathan Fucking Davis, and he realizes that she's going to be doing this with that dude.
He knows he'll look like a completely jealous asshole if he says anything to her about it, so he takes a seat on one of the folding chairs against the wall and gets his phone out. But fuck, even his plan to post this shit on Youtube is shot to hell, because this Simba dancing or whatever the hell she called it is totally hot. It'd probably send the girls Jonathan Fucking Davis' way, dropping their panties in a pile next to him or something.
Fuck.
Rachel starts stretching or whatever, so Puck starts watching her instead.
This slavery thing seems to be taking a back burner today. He needs to think of something to make her do or the whole day will be a loss.
"Puckerman," Davis says by way of greeting.
"Davis," Puck says, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms.
"What are you doing here?"
"Not dancing like a loser," Puck replies, just because it's easy. Davis rolls his eyes. "Came with Rachel."
Davis gets this stupid look on his face. "Well, have fun watching."
The way he says it makes Puck want to beat the fucker within an inch of his life.
Rachel waits in the middle of the room for Jonathan to finish speaking with Noah. When he walks over to her, he's smiling, and he takes her hand in his, getting into position for their warmup. It's a simple waltz, just to get their muscles ready for their real routine, which is already choreographed and they've both worked on with their instructor. Rachel is certain they're going to do well, but they only have an hour, so as soon as the Latin music comes on, she's taking position and looking at Jonathan, waiting for him to catch up. It takes him no time at all, and she thinks maybe this isn't the worst pairing. Actually, she knows he's better than people think. He hasn't had any chance to shine, really. That's where she comes in.
She's sweating as they work on this one tough part of the choreography over and over again. It requires her to put her leg over his forearm, him to straighten her leg and caress her calf as she arches her back. He's taller than her last partner, so it's not the simplest thing to just pick up on, and if they do it wrong, she ends up on the floor on her behind or worse, her head. So far that hasn't happened. She appreciates that he's there to catch her if she goes off-balance.
Once she thinks they have it close to perfect, she suggests they take it from the top, and she adjusts her shirt, smiling at Noah as he watches her start the music again.
"Your boyfriend's watching pretty closely," Jonathan says to her.
"He's not my boyfriend," Rachel insists. She grabs his hand and pushes it into proper position on her back.
"He's not your boyfriend, but he's coming to watch you dance? Puck isn't exactly the type to..."
"Please focus," she interrupts. "If we want to be ready for the regional ballroom competition in July, we need to channel our energy."
He pulls her in tight, which is actually what he's supposed to do, but then she sees him glancing over with a smug smile at Noah, whose jaw is clenched as he sits with his elbows on his knees. Rachel doesn't know what's going on, but she'd bet (apparently she hasn't learned her lesson yet...) it has something to do with jealousy.
"He might not be your boyfriend, but he totally wants to be," Jonathan says as he spins her roughly, then pulls her back against him.
God, she really loves Latin ballroom. Jonathan is an adept partner.
So why is she so focused on and worried about Noah? And why was she so defensive earlier, interrupting Jonathan before he had a chance to talk about Noah's reputation like he knew him.
And why does part of her wish it was Noah's hands on her body, his pelvis arching against hers during the choreography, his face dragging against her neck during the most sensual section?
She's glad they're almost finished. She's suddenly far too hot.
They manage to make it through the entire routine, and while there is plenty to work on - quite a lot, actually - they've got the basic steps down. She feels confident that, come the competition, they'll be in top shape.
She's just exhausted at the moment. She walks over to where Noah is sitting, reaches for her bottle of water from her bag and takes a long drink. She must look ridiculous. She knows she's covered in sweat. Her hair is in a messy bun, pieces falling around all over. But Noah is just staring at her.
"What?" she asks, putting a hand on her hip.
"Nothin'."
"I find that hard to believe."
"You looked good out there, babe," he says. They both look over when they hear Jonathan's soft laughter. Puck rolls his eyes.
That fuckin' guy was just all up in Berry's business, and Puck didn't like it one bit. Especially not the part where Rachel put her back to his chest, shimmied down to the floor, and Davis hooked his hands under her arms, pulled her back up, then basically dry humped her ass.
This was a bad idea.
"Bye, Rachel," Jonathan says from the door.
"Goodbye," Rachel says, smiling sweetly. After JFD is out of the room, Rachel sits down in the chair next to Puck. "So? Do you still think dance is only for homosexual men?"
He scoffs and looks over at her. "At one point, I wanted to hand him a rubber just in case."
"Noah!" she giggles, swatting his arm. "That's terrible." He smirks and shrugs one shoulder. "And I would never...do that...with Jonathan."
Best news he's heard all day.
"No?"
She shakes her head and screws the cap back on her metal water bottle. She stands and slings her bag over her shoulder.
"I like my men just a little more badass," she says as she walks away, turning her head to glance at him.
He gets up and follows after her, heading down the stairs and out into the parking lot towards his truck. He grabs her bag from her, but doesn't unlock the door. He presses her back against the metal, and it's hot against her back.
"Careful with that talk, Rachel," he says, his fingertip running along her hip at the top of her skirt. He can't read the expression on her face. He backs away before she can launch into some speech about him treating her like an object or some shit.
But fuck. What'd she mean by what she said? Was she just busting his balls, or does she actually want him? Because, dude, he's so there. He'll take her right here in this parking lot if she wants it. All he needs is for her to say 'yes' and he's pretty much ready to go.
"Come on," he says, opening the door for her. "We're going to your house. I'm starving for some supper and I want chocolate chip cookies."
"I don't have chocolate chip cookies," she says, brow furrowed. She rolls her eyes when he smirks at her.
"You're gonna make me some," he tells her.
He gets into the car and she just shakes her head at him. "You know, I really thought you'd have something worse for me to do than baking cookies."
"Just you wait."
There's a knot in her stomach and she can't tell if it's dread or desire.
...
Her fathers have already eaten, which isn't out of the ordinary on the days she has dance class, so she makes pasta with rosé sauce and sautéed chicken, garlic bread and Caesar salad for herself and Noah. While their food is cooking, she whips up a batch of cookies and puts them in the oven so they're hot and waiting when Noah is ready for them. He's currently doing his homework (she doesn't think he's really doing much, but his books are open) at her kitchen table.
When he walks over and takes a cookie off the cooking rack just as she's draining the pasta, she scolds him and actually slaps his hand.
"Noah! You'll ruin your appetite."
"Nuh uhn," he mumbles, his mouth full of cookie. "My appetite's un-ruinable."
"That's not even a word," she says, hand on her hip.
"Whatever. These are fuckin' delicious, bunny." She turns to him quickly and starts laughing. "What?"
"Daddy calls me bunny."
"Oh, Christ," he groans. "Forget I ever said that. I'm not gonna be all up in your Oedipal fantasies."
She scrunches her face. "First of all, ew, no," she says. He laughs a little bit. "Second of all, I am very impressed that you know what the Oedipal complex is."
"I watch a lot of Criminal Minds, babe. Sometimes that shit gets fucked up," he says seriously. He grabs another cookie and she glares at him until he puts it back. "Fine. But I'm dying, here. We almost ready to eat?"
"If you'd be patient for two minutes, I'd put a salad and some bread in front of you," she says.
He pushes his books out of the way (not like he was actually doing homework anyway) and watches as she moves around the kitchen, grabbing plates and setting out the salad, cutting the bread on the wooden cutting board before walking it over to the table. He's actually, like, polite enough to wait for her to sit down before digging in, even though he's fucking starving his ass off.
Which would be a damn shame, because his ass is pretty awesome.
She sits down in what he knows is her spot, which happens to be diagonal from where he's sitting, and she gives him this fucking adorable little smile as she reaches for her fork.
And it's pretty damn weird that they're like, sharing a meal or whatever. But it's not awkward or anything. It's just that until a few days ago, they hardly ever spoke. Maybe once a week or whatever, and it was usually about nothing. Like her bitching him out about glee stuff, or him making fun of her for being kind of intense and scary during rehearsal.
And as far as having a slave goes, this day has been super light. Sure, she wore that sexy as hell outfit and he got to reap the benefits of looking at her wearing it all day. Then her dance class, which was actually super hot, even if she was writhing with that fucking douchebag he hates.
But he's really glad he has actual shit for her to do for the next few days. Oh yeah, he's thought this out.
They're talking about her dance class (her choice, not his) and he says something about the way her skirt rode up every time she bent backwards (which happened to be a lot, for the record) and he totally could have seen her underwear if she hadn't been wearing stupid shorts or whatever underneath. She shakes her head and laughs, tells him he's a pervert. He just shrugs his shoulder and forks more food into his mouth.
One of her dads walks into the kitchen a few minutes later, claiming he needs a drink or something. Puck knows 'I'm just checking to make sure this boy isn't defiling you' when he sees it. So he keeps his head down, eats his food, and tries not to laugh too hard when her dad tries to take a cookie and Rachel absolutely looses her shit.
"Those aren't for you!" she cries. Her dad just laughs and looks at her like she's crazy. Puck gets the impression that kind of look is a common one in this house. "They're for Noah."
"You're baking him cookies?" her dad asks with a raised eyebrow.
"He...I..."
"My mom can't bake to save her life," Puck says. It's a lie. She's kind of an awesome baker. But now that he thinks of it, she doesn't really ever make cookies. "Rachel offered. But I don't need, like, a whole batch of cookies. Go nuts, man."
He thinks he's been too casual, but her dad just picks up a couple cookies, holds them up as if to say thank you, and shakes his head as he walks out of the room.
"You just lied to my father!" Rachel hisses.
"White lie," Puck says with his mouth full. "No big. And I can't eat all those cookies, babe. I don't stay in shape like this by eating like that."
She starts laughing. "Just about every time I've seen you in the past week, you've been eating some kind of junk food."
He rolls his eyes. "Whatever. I was sharing."
When she smiles, he forgets to add onto that sentence that she probably doesn't know anything at all about sharing. And anyway, she's really not as selfish as she comes off. He knows that first hand.
After they've finished eating, she's standing at the sink, rinsing dishes before setting them in the dishwasher.
God, she's hot.
So he does what might be becoming his favourite thing to do.
He walks up behind her, rests his hand on her hip and presses himself against her. "I'm gonna go," he says in her ear. She smells fucking awesome, sweet, actually. He wants so badly to taste her.
"Noah, my dads..."
"Oblivious," he says. He doesn't elaborate, doesn't say they're oblivious to how badly he wants to fuck their daughter.
She pulls herself away from him, reaches for a Tupperware container and starts placing cookies in it. He leans back against the counter, eating one of these delicious treats as she works.
"Here," she says, handing him the container. "I'll see you tomorrow. Should I clear my after-school schedule?"
He smirks at her. She's learning.
"Yup," he says.
"What are you going to make me do?"
"Not telling," he insists. He slings his backpack over his shoulder. "Talk to you later, Rach."
She watches him leave, and it's becoming very hard to ignore the fact that she doesn't actually mind taking care of him a little bit.
...
Her phone rings around 10:00, just as she's laying in bed reading a book before she turns the light out at exactly 10:30. It's her nightly routine. Reading non-school sanctioned books, she finds, helps clear her mind and keep her on her toes, as far as literature goes. She likes to keep up with the best sellers.
It's Noah. She knows it before she even answers. Who else would call her this late at night?
"Whatcha doin'?" he asks in a singsong voice.
"I'm..." Do not tell him you're in bed. "I'm reading."
"Something sexy? Like one of those lady porn books?"
"What on earth are you talking about?"
"You know. Romance novels or whatever. My mom reads 'em. They're totally pervy," he says. She rolls her eyes, but she's acutely aware that she's smiling.
"I'm reading a book called The Disappeared. It's about..."
"Yeah, if it's not dirty, I don't really care," he says. She's not surprised. "What're you wearing?"
"I'm hanging up now," she says, doing her best not to laugh.
"Not so fast," he says casually. "Don't you think that as my slave, I should get to picture you..."
"I most certainly do not," she interrupts. "I told you before, I won't be treated like some kind of strange fantasy."
"Too late for that," he mumbles. She hears him loud and clear. Her body is 10 degrees hotter than it was five minutes ago. "And there's nothing strange about it."
"I'm hanging up," she says. "Don't call again this evening."
"Why?" he asks. She can hear the cockiness in his tone. "Would I catch you doing something you don't want me to know about?" His voice is low, gravelly. She feels it in the pit of her stomach. "I don't mind being your fantasy, Rach. Even better if you tell me about it later."
She's a little breathless. No one has ever really spoken to her this way before, not on the phone.
"Noah."
"It's okay, Rach. Everyone does it. I already have today. Twice. Might go for round three," he says. "It'd help if you told me you're wearing some lace or something."
"Goodnight, Noah," she bites out, ending the call before he can spew anymore filth.
She crosses her legs one over the other as she lays in bed. She wonders if it was his plan all along to make her feel this way.
She thinks he's been trying to since that day in his driveway.
(He's been succeeding.)
She bites her lip hard, tries to focus on her reading. At 10:15, her book ends up on her bedside table and she turns out the light.
At 10:25, she dips her hand into her shorts. She wishes she could say she's cursing his name when she says it aloud.
But it's not like that at all.
There is no way she's ever mentioning this to him. Ever.
Chapter: 5/?
Warning: NC-17
Pairing: Puck/Rachel
Summary: He doesn't expect Rachel to be good at poker, and there's no way he's going to let her beat him. Turns out that when the stakes are high, Puck comes to play. "Whoever loses has to be the other's slave."
Word Count: 6,342
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Rachel looks at herself in the mirror as she twists the ends of her (admittedly perfect) hair around her ringers. She waited until her fathers left for the day before getting dressed, because she's sure they'd question her wardrobe 'choice'. As soon as she said goodbye to them, she went back to her closet and grabbed the dress.
She knows this is going to spell ridicule.
But then again, other girls wear outfits like this on a regular basis. She knows she's not other girls, but surely it won't be so strange that she's wearing a dress instead of a skirt. Every time she wears her yellow jeans (they're fabulous, even if no one else can admit it) people look at her because she doesn't have bare legs. (It's not because her jeans are yellow.)
But this - this dress and these shoes - wearing this, she actually feels like she could fit in if she wanted to. She and Santana have been talking a little more. Yesterday, she was in front of Quinn in line at the cafeteria, and the two carried on a pleasant conversation until they went to their table. They sit at the same table now, but Rachel was talking to Artie about an audio/visual project, and Quinn was talking to Brittany about something or another.
Anyway, she thinks maybe she's just dressing like the other girls and no one is likely to notice.
She most certainly does not expect to see Noah standing against his truck when she walks out of her house to head to school.
And she doesn't necessarily hate the way he's got one brow raised, a smirk on his lips. He lets out low whistle and pushes himself off his truck, walking towards her.
"Best idea ever," he says. His eyes are fixed solely on her legs. "You look fuckin' hot, babe."
"Thank you, I think."
"You sure you wanna go to school?" he asks. The little grin on his face lets her know he's about to say something suggestive. "'Cause if you just wanna stay here and let me..."
She holds up her hand and grimaces. "I'm going to stop you right there," she says. (She's sure the butterflies in her stomach will stop fluttering any moment now.) "What are you doing here?"
"Checking you out before anyone else can," he answers honestly. "And giving you a ride to school."
"I have a car."
"Thanks for the update," he says sarcastically. He takes her bag from her, tosses it into the bed of his truck. "C'mon. Don't wanna be late."
"Noah, I really was intent on driving. I have dance class this evening after glee, and..."
"I can drop you off," he says. He wrenches the door open and gestures for her to get in. "I don't have all day, darlin'. Get your sexy ass in the truck."
She opens and closes her mouth a couple times.
Did he just call her sexy?
She doesn't question it (or how she's going to get home from dance class). She just gets up into the truck and lets him close the door behind her. After all, he's never really hid the fact that he finds her attractive. It's just a little surprising, because, save for a couple silly little instances, he's never attempted to pursue her romantically. She wonders why that is. Maybe she really is too high maintenance for him.
"So, you find a partner or what?" he asks.
"Pardon me?"
"You said you needed a partner for your class or whatever. You found someone?"
How in the world does he remember this shit? That was from a night when he was drinking and thinking of all the nasty shit he wanted (wants) to do to her, and he remembers this stupid little detail? Just something small she said? Fucking weird.
"Actually, I did, yes," she says with a smile. "Jonathan."
There's something about the stupid look on her stupid (hot) face that pisses him off.
Okay, it's total jealousy. What, is she into this dude or something? Why else would she be smiling like that? No one is that good a dancer.
And seriously. Ballroom dancing is kinda...well, there's like touching and stuff, and he doesn't think he really wants anyone to be touching her.
He wants to be touching her.
Leave it to Rachel Berry to find time to run game even when she's acting as his slave.
What the fuck?
"Well, who the fuck's this Jonathan guy, anyway?" he asks, annoyed as he pulls off her street.
"He goes to West Lima. He actually plays football!" He pulls his truck over to the side of the road. Not exactly smoothly, either. She's holding onto the safety handle on the door, bracing her feet on the floor. "Noah!"
"Jonathan Davis? The QB from West Lima?" he questions. She shrugs her shoulder and nods. "You can't fucking go out with that dude!"
She laughs.
Fucking bitch.
(But goddamn, her laugh is so cute.)
"I'm not going out with him, I'm dancing with him. And I would have thought for sure you would have made fun of him for being a dancer," she says.
She's still laughing.
No, really. What the actual fuck?
"I will. Trust me. By second period, everyone in Lima will know he's a big dancing gay, but..."
"I find that highly offensive, as the child of..."
"Whatever. Listen. You can't fucking hang out with that dude," Puck says seriously, looking over at her. Now she just looks confused.
"Why in the world not?"
"Because I fucking hate that guy!" he shouts. She flinches at the sound of his raised voice. "West Lima kills us every year, and I swear to god, he and Santana totally fucked at a party when she was my girl."
"Noah, I..."
"I'm the boss. I won't allow it," he says smugly. Her eyes narrow dangerously and he's pretty sure he's about to get laid into.
"Now you listen to me, Noah Puckerman," she says, turning towards him. Her dress rides up, and yeah, he looks. Whatever. She looks totally hot when she's pissed. "I haven't exactly given much resistance to many of the things you've ordered me to do. I think this outfit is a perfect example of that." He smirks. (It actually is pretty perfect.) "But when it comes to things that actually affect my life, such as my dance classes, you get no say. You're not my boyfriend and you're certainly not my father. So I will dance with Jonathan, and I'm sure we'll be fantastic together."
He tightens his jaw and he squints darkly at her. She's not supposed to be fantastic with this other douchebag.
"Fine," he says, pulling the truck back onto the road. "But I'm coming to watch."
"Noah!"
"Maybe get a little cell phone video of that fucktard prancing around like a..."
"Don't you dare say the word," she says seriously. "And you're not coming."
"Am too."
"Are not."
"Am too."
"Are not!"
"Rachel," he laughs. "I'm fucking coming."
And if Jonathan Fucking Davis just happens to assume that Rachel is Puck's girlfriend, he's not going to clear up that little misunderstanding.
Fuck it.
(And he's totally taking video, by the way.)
...
She's immediately uncomfortable when they walk into school. The first people they see are Mike, Matt and Finn, who all look at Rachel with wide eyes. Matt's practically drooling (Puck doesn't like it, but he keeps his cool). Mike is smiling and nodding appreciatively, and Finn just looks shocked.
"Everyone's staring at me," Rachel says quietly. "This is terrible."
"'S'cause you look awesome," Puck says. She waves to the boys and she's surprised when Noah doesn't leave her side to talk to them. He walks with her. "What?" he laughs when she looks at him. "I can't walk with you now?"
"You never really have before," she reminds him.
Well, fuck. That's true. "Whatever."
When she sees Kurt and Tina standing near her locker, Rachel gets nervous again. "Noah, I think this was a terrible idea. I feel completely out of my skin, and..."
"Calm the fuck down, cupcake," he says. She actually cracks a smile at the nickname. "You look awesome. Don't worry about it."
Rachel is in the middle of putting her books into her locker, her dance bag on the top shelf, and Kurt walks over with one arm across his torso, his elbow resting on his wrist. He's got his index finger pointed in her direction, a brow raised.
"Miss Berry, who put this together for you?" he asks.
Rachel looks down at herself for what feels like the hundredth time. "Oh, actually..." She feels Noah push his elbow none-too-gently into her back, sending her forward a couple inches. She gets the hint; he doesn't want her to mention his apparent good taste in fashion. "I just wanted to wear this dress. I had to make it appropriate for school."
"It's lovely, really," Kurt admits. "No wonder Puck is hovering."
"Fuck you, Hummel," Puck says. No one accuses him of...
Whatever.
"Defensive," Kurt mumbles.
"I gotta go see Coach T.," Puck mumbles. "Later!"
Rachel shakes her head and goes back to gathering her things for her first class.
Kurt is behind her, checking the labels on her clothes and mumbling to himself about some kind of transformation.
...
"Let me guess," Santana says, slipping into the desk next to Rachel in history. "Puck totally wanted to see you wearing something like this."
"I swear, you're the only one who understands any of this," Rachel says.
Santana laughs and shakes her head. "Puck likes to be in control."
Rachel looks at Santana with a certain amount of surprise on her face. "I don't think I want to hear the story of how you came to know that."
"No, probably not," Santana says. Both girls open their books and smile at Quinn when she walks into the room and takes an open seat near the front. "Hey." Rachel looks over at Santana and notices the soft look in Santana's eyes. "You do look really hot today, though." Santana starts laughing when Rachel blushes. "Don't worry. I'm not coming on to you. Just thought you should know. But I bet someone already told you at least five times this morning."
"It really is quite terrifying how well you know this situation," Rachel laughs.
Santana shrugs her shoulder and taps her pen on her textbook. "I just know him, that's all."
Rachel resists the urge to ask whether or not all this attention Noah is giving her means anything at all.
...
"Wanna skip class and show me your panties?"
She drops her books on the floor.
His chest is pressed against her back, his forearm bracing him against the locker next to hers.
And she's fairly certain she's close to saying yes. There's a noise that's threatening to tear from the back of her throat, and it's taking every ounce of self-restraint (and maybe respect) not to push herself back against him. There's a heat coursing through her, pooling right at the very bottom of her stomach.
This is not a normal reaction to such a crass statement and someone infringing on one's personal space.
"You're hesitating," he says, moving his thigh so it brushes against the back of hers. If she thinks he doesn't notice the way her breathing has changed since he walked up, she's mistaken. He knows turned on. She's totally turned on.
"I'm just appalled at your lack of tact," she says, finally finding her composure again. She pushes back against him, her behind coming in contact with his hips sharply to push him away. It works. (She definitely hears the low groan he lets out when their bodies touch.) "You need to mind my space."
"Oh, I'm minding your space, baby," he says. His hand lands on her hip and she spins around, attempting a glare. She's smiling, though.
"You have this incredible, yet infuriating, way of making anything sound like a sexual innuendo," she states.
He's looking down the front of her dress. He hears her anyway.
"I know, right?" he says proudly. He picks up her books and hands them to her. "But seriously. Panties. Don't tease me."
"Noah!" she hisses, shifting her eyes either way down he hall. No one seems to care that they're talking. "I am not teasing you. You're the one coming up with ridiculous - "
"Awesome," he interrupts.
" - scenarios, most of which seem to include you or I, or possibly both of us, in far less clothing than we're currently - "
He smirks. "You know me so well, buttercup."
"Basically, I'd like you to stop." Because it's hard for me to want you to stop. "And, really? Buttercup?"
He laughs softly and shrugs one shoulder. "Thought I'd try it out." She rolls her eyes, smiling up at him. "Yes or no on the panties? Because I need to decide what to do this period if I'm not sneaking a peek."
"You're disgusting," she says, slamming her locker door closed, pushing away from him and starting down the hall.
"So that's a no, then?" he calls after her.
She raises her wrist and flicks it twice, and he just grins as he heads the other way down the hall.
(But seriously...what kind of panties is she wearing?)
...
Before glee starts, he tells Matt and Mike to fuck off and quit staring at her, because not only are they being way too obvious, but he doesn't like the thought of anyone stepping in there before he can.
Hence, going to her dance class to make sure Jonathan Fucking Davis keeps his hands above the waist.
Seriously, he has a hard time himself. Her ass looks super hot in that tight dress. And he sees no pantylines whatsoever, so she's either wearing a thong (hot) or nothing at all (can't even fathom...mind going a million dirty places). The only person who sees him looking so intensely is Santana, and he's pretty sure that's just because she's looking too.
So he mouths 'back off' during one number when they're facing one another and Rachel is in both their lines of sigh, and Santana laughs so hard they have to start the song over.
...
"Rachel, what the hell? How much shit can one person fit in their locker?"
"I have a lot of things, Noah, and I would normally leave my dance clothes in my car during the day, but seeing as you showed up at my house this morning demanding that I ride to school with you, that option was stolen away from me today."
Jesus. Whatever.
"'C'mon. Don't you have a schedule or something?" he asks, slumping back against the wall.
"I do. Which is why I need you to wait here so I can quickly change in the washroom before we leave," she says, slinging her bag over her shoulder. She hands him her back pack, and he holds it by the strap as he stares at her.
"Why does it feel like I'm your slave right now?"
"Because you decided to be a brute and be my bodyguard for a class I would have been perfectly content to attend on my own," she says over her shoulder. The last word gets cut off as the bathroom door closes behind her.
Well, shit. He's pretty sure she's right. And he definitely knows he doesn't care if he has to hold her bag for her or drive her to dance class or wait around and listen to shitty classical music while she twirls around with some loser.
She walks out of the bathroom wearing strappy heels, a flowy skirt that comes to the knee, and a loose-fitting top that's low cut in the front and back with a skinny-strapped tank top underneath. He honestly doesn't know if he likes this look or the other one better.
"What?" she asks when she notices him staring. "Come on. Class starts in a half hour and I need to warm up properly."
He doesn't tell her how hot she looks. You know, because he doesn't want to like, give her a complex or anything.
It's not because he just doesn't know how to say it in a new way. Fuck that.
...
"So what kinda class is this anyway?" Puck asks as they walk up the stairs to her dance studio. All he is seeing are a bunch of like, 30 year old people, and they don't really seem like the type Rachel would normally dance with.
But shit. He doesn't really know anything about this part of her life.
"Noah," she says as the reach the top of the stairs. "Have you ever heard of the samba?"
He shrugs one shoulder and shakes his head. She just smiles and pushes the door to the studio open.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
It's like sex on a hardwood floor.
He stands there, just inside the door, watching the couples dancing (writhing against one another) on the floor. This is fucking crazy, dude. There's one chick, totally hot, in this bright pink little dress with fringe and shit, and she's got her leg up around this dude's hip as he practically thrusts into her.
Oh, this is the kind of dancing he could get on board with.
Then he sees Rachel talking with Jonathan Fucking Davis, and he realizes that she's going to be doing this with that dude.
He knows he'll look like a completely jealous asshole if he says anything to her about it, so he takes a seat on one of the folding chairs against the wall and gets his phone out. But fuck, even his plan to post this shit on Youtube is shot to hell, because this Simba dancing or whatever the hell she called it is totally hot. It'd probably send the girls Jonathan Fucking Davis' way, dropping their panties in a pile next to him or something.
Fuck.
Rachel starts stretching or whatever, so Puck starts watching her instead.
This slavery thing seems to be taking a back burner today. He needs to think of something to make her do or the whole day will be a loss.
"Puckerman," Davis says by way of greeting.
"Davis," Puck says, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms.
"What are you doing here?"
"Not dancing like a loser," Puck replies, just because it's easy. Davis rolls his eyes. "Came with Rachel."
Davis gets this stupid look on his face. "Well, have fun watching."
The way he says it makes Puck want to beat the fucker within an inch of his life.
Rachel waits in the middle of the room for Jonathan to finish speaking with Noah. When he walks over to her, he's smiling, and he takes her hand in his, getting into position for their warmup. It's a simple waltz, just to get their muscles ready for their real routine, which is already choreographed and they've both worked on with their instructor. Rachel is certain they're going to do well, but they only have an hour, so as soon as the Latin music comes on, she's taking position and looking at Jonathan, waiting for him to catch up. It takes him no time at all, and she thinks maybe this isn't the worst pairing. Actually, she knows he's better than people think. He hasn't had any chance to shine, really. That's where she comes in.
She's sweating as they work on this one tough part of the choreography over and over again. It requires her to put her leg over his forearm, him to straighten her leg and caress her calf as she arches her back. He's taller than her last partner, so it's not the simplest thing to just pick up on, and if they do it wrong, she ends up on the floor on her behind or worse, her head. So far that hasn't happened. She appreciates that he's there to catch her if she goes off-balance.
Once she thinks they have it close to perfect, she suggests they take it from the top, and she adjusts her shirt, smiling at Noah as he watches her start the music again.
"Your boyfriend's watching pretty closely," Jonathan says to her.
"He's not my boyfriend," Rachel insists. She grabs his hand and pushes it into proper position on her back.
"He's not your boyfriend, but he's coming to watch you dance? Puck isn't exactly the type to..."
"Please focus," she interrupts. "If we want to be ready for the regional ballroom competition in July, we need to channel our energy."
He pulls her in tight, which is actually what he's supposed to do, but then she sees him glancing over with a smug smile at Noah, whose jaw is clenched as he sits with his elbows on his knees. Rachel doesn't know what's going on, but she'd bet (apparently she hasn't learned her lesson yet...) it has something to do with jealousy.
"He might not be your boyfriend, but he totally wants to be," Jonathan says as he spins her roughly, then pulls her back against him.
God, she really loves Latin ballroom. Jonathan is an adept partner.
So why is she so focused on and worried about Noah? And why was she so defensive earlier, interrupting Jonathan before he had a chance to talk about Noah's reputation like he knew him.
And why does part of her wish it was Noah's hands on her body, his pelvis arching against hers during the choreography, his face dragging against her neck during the most sensual section?
She's glad they're almost finished. She's suddenly far too hot.
They manage to make it through the entire routine, and while there is plenty to work on - quite a lot, actually - they've got the basic steps down. She feels confident that, come the competition, they'll be in top shape.
She's just exhausted at the moment. She walks over to where Noah is sitting, reaches for her bottle of water from her bag and takes a long drink. She must look ridiculous. She knows she's covered in sweat. Her hair is in a messy bun, pieces falling around all over. But Noah is just staring at her.
"What?" she asks, putting a hand on her hip.
"Nothin'."
"I find that hard to believe."
"You looked good out there, babe," he says. They both look over when they hear Jonathan's soft laughter. Puck rolls his eyes.
That fuckin' guy was just all up in Berry's business, and Puck didn't like it one bit. Especially not the part where Rachel put her back to his chest, shimmied down to the floor, and Davis hooked his hands under her arms, pulled her back up, then basically dry humped her ass.
This was a bad idea.
"Bye, Rachel," Jonathan says from the door.
"Goodbye," Rachel says, smiling sweetly. After JFD is out of the room, Rachel sits down in the chair next to Puck. "So? Do you still think dance is only for homosexual men?"
He scoffs and looks over at her. "At one point, I wanted to hand him a rubber just in case."
"Noah!" she giggles, swatting his arm. "That's terrible." He smirks and shrugs one shoulder. "And I would never...do that...with Jonathan."
Best news he's heard all day.
"No?"
She shakes her head and screws the cap back on her metal water bottle. She stands and slings her bag over her shoulder.
"I like my men just a little more badass," she says as she walks away, turning her head to glance at him.
He gets up and follows after her, heading down the stairs and out into the parking lot towards his truck. He grabs her bag from her, but doesn't unlock the door. He presses her back against the metal, and it's hot against her back.
"Careful with that talk, Rachel," he says, his fingertip running along her hip at the top of her skirt. He can't read the expression on her face. He backs away before she can launch into some speech about him treating her like an object or some shit.
But fuck. What'd she mean by what she said? Was she just busting his balls, or does she actually want him? Because, dude, he's so there. He'll take her right here in this parking lot if she wants it. All he needs is for her to say 'yes' and he's pretty much ready to go.
"Come on," he says, opening the door for her. "We're going to your house. I'm starving for some supper and I want chocolate chip cookies."
"I don't have chocolate chip cookies," she says, brow furrowed. She rolls her eyes when he smirks at her.
"You're gonna make me some," he tells her.
He gets into the car and she just shakes her head at him. "You know, I really thought you'd have something worse for me to do than baking cookies."
"Just you wait."
There's a knot in her stomach and she can't tell if it's dread or desire.
...
Her fathers have already eaten, which isn't out of the ordinary on the days she has dance class, so she makes pasta with rosé sauce and sautéed chicken, garlic bread and Caesar salad for herself and Noah. While their food is cooking, she whips up a batch of cookies and puts them in the oven so they're hot and waiting when Noah is ready for them. He's currently doing his homework (she doesn't think he's really doing much, but his books are open) at her kitchen table.
When he walks over and takes a cookie off the cooking rack just as she's draining the pasta, she scolds him and actually slaps his hand.
"Noah! You'll ruin your appetite."
"Nuh uhn," he mumbles, his mouth full of cookie. "My appetite's un-ruinable."
"That's not even a word," she says, hand on her hip.
"Whatever. These are fuckin' delicious, bunny." She turns to him quickly and starts laughing. "What?"
"Daddy calls me bunny."
"Oh, Christ," he groans. "Forget I ever said that. I'm not gonna be all up in your Oedipal fantasies."
She scrunches her face. "First of all, ew, no," she says. He laughs a little bit. "Second of all, I am very impressed that you know what the Oedipal complex is."
"I watch a lot of Criminal Minds, babe. Sometimes that shit gets fucked up," he says seriously. He grabs another cookie and she glares at him until he puts it back. "Fine. But I'm dying, here. We almost ready to eat?"
"If you'd be patient for two minutes, I'd put a salad and some bread in front of you," she says.
He pushes his books out of the way (not like he was actually doing homework anyway) and watches as she moves around the kitchen, grabbing plates and setting out the salad, cutting the bread on the wooden cutting board before walking it over to the table. He's actually, like, polite enough to wait for her to sit down before digging in, even though he's fucking starving his ass off.
Which would be a damn shame, because his ass is pretty awesome.
She sits down in what he knows is her spot, which happens to be diagonal from where he's sitting, and she gives him this fucking adorable little smile as she reaches for her fork.
And it's pretty damn weird that they're like, sharing a meal or whatever. But it's not awkward or anything. It's just that until a few days ago, they hardly ever spoke. Maybe once a week or whatever, and it was usually about nothing. Like her bitching him out about glee stuff, or him making fun of her for being kind of intense and scary during rehearsal.
And as far as having a slave goes, this day has been super light. Sure, she wore that sexy as hell outfit and he got to reap the benefits of looking at her wearing it all day. Then her dance class, which was actually super hot, even if she was writhing with that fucking douchebag he hates.
But he's really glad he has actual shit for her to do for the next few days. Oh yeah, he's thought this out.
They're talking about her dance class (her choice, not his) and he says something about the way her skirt rode up every time she bent backwards (which happened to be a lot, for the record) and he totally could have seen her underwear if she hadn't been wearing stupid shorts or whatever underneath. She shakes her head and laughs, tells him he's a pervert. He just shrugs his shoulder and forks more food into his mouth.
One of her dads walks into the kitchen a few minutes later, claiming he needs a drink or something. Puck knows 'I'm just checking to make sure this boy isn't defiling you' when he sees it. So he keeps his head down, eats his food, and tries not to laugh too hard when her dad tries to take a cookie and Rachel absolutely looses her shit.
"Those aren't for you!" she cries. Her dad just laughs and looks at her like she's crazy. Puck gets the impression that kind of look is a common one in this house. "They're for Noah."
"You're baking him cookies?" her dad asks with a raised eyebrow.
"He...I..."
"My mom can't bake to save her life," Puck says. It's a lie. She's kind of an awesome baker. But now that he thinks of it, she doesn't really ever make cookies. "Rachel offered. But I don't need, like, a whole batch of cookies. Go nuts, man."
He thinks he's been too casual, but her dad just picks up a couple cookies, holds them up as if to say thank you, and shakes his head as he walks out of the room.
"You just lied to my father!" Rachel hisses.
"White lie," Puck says with his mouth full. "No big. And I can't eat all those cookies, babe. I don't stay in shape like this by eating like that."
She starts laughing. "Just about every time I've seen you in the past week, you've been eating some kind of junk food."
He rolls his eyes. "Whatever. I was sharing."
When she smiles, he forgets to add onto that sentence that she probably doesn't know anything at all about sharing. And anyway, she's really not as selfish as she comes off. He knows that first hand.
After they've finished eating, she's standing at the sink, rinsing dishes before setting them in the dishwasher.
God, she's hot.
So he does what might be becoming his favourite thing to do.
He walks up behind her, rests his hand on her hip and presses himself against her. "I'm gonna go," he says in her ear. She smells fucking awesome, sweet, actually. He wants so badly to taste her.
"Noah, my dads..."
"Oblivious," he says. He doesn't elaborate, doesn't say they're oblivious to how badly he wants to fuck their daughter.
She pulls herself away from him, reaches for a Tupperware container and starts placing cookies in it. He leans back against the counter, eating one of these delicious treats as she works.
"Here," she says, handing him the container. "I'll see you tomorrow. Should I clear my after-school schedule?"
He smirks at her. She's learning.
"Yup," he says.
"What are you going to make me do?"
"Not telling," he insists. He slings his backpack over his shoulder. "Talk to you later, Rach."
She watches him leave, and it's becoming very hard to ignore the fact that she doesn't actually mind taking care of him a little bit.
...
Her phone rings around 10:00, just as she's laying in bed reading a book before she turns the light out at exactly 10:30. It's her nightly routine. Reading non-school sanctioned books, she finds, helps clear her mind and keep her on her toes, as far as literature goes. She likes to keep up with the best sellers.
It's Noah. She knows it before she even answers. Who else would call her this late at night?
"Whatcha doin'?" he asks in a singsong voice.
"I'm..." Do not tell him you're in bed. "I'm reading."
"Something sexy? Like one of those lady porn books?"
"What on earth are you talking about?"
"You know. Romance novels or whatever. My mom reads 'em. They're totally pervy," he says. She rolls her eyes, but she's acutely aware that she's smiling.
"I'm reading a book called The Disappeared. It's about..."
"Yeah, if it's not dirty, I don't really care," he says. She's not surprised. "What're you wearing?"
"I'm hanging up now," she says, doing her best not to laugh.
"Not so fast," he says casually. "Don't you think that as my slave, I should get to picture you..."
"I most certainly do not," she interrupts. "I told you before, I won't be treated like some kind of strange fantasy."
"Too late for that," he mumbles. She hears him loud and clear. Her body is 10 degrees hotter than it was five minutes ago. "And there's nothing strange about it."
"I'm hanging up," she says. "Don't call again this evening."
"Why?" he asks. She can hear the cockiness in his tone. "Would I catch you doing something you don't want me to know about?" His voice is low, gravelly. She feels it in the pit of her stomach. "I don't mind being your fantasy, Rach. Even better if you tell me about it later."
She's a little breathless. No one has ever really spoken to her this way before, not on the phone.
"Noah."
"It's okay, Rach. Everyone does it. I already have today. Twice. Might go for round three," he says. "It'd help if you told me you're wearing some lace or something."
"Goodnight, Noah," she bites out, ending the call before he can spew anymore filth.
She crosses her legs one over the other as she lays in bed. She wonders if it was his plan all along to make her feel this way.
She thinks he's been trying to since that day in his driveway.
(He's been succeeding.)
She bites her lip hard, tries to focus on her reading. At 10:15, her book ends up on her bedside table and she turns out the light.
At 10:25, she dips her hand into her shorts. She wishes she could say she's cursing his name when she says it aloud.
But it's not like that at all.
There is no way she's ever mentioning this to him. Ever.