a chance to make it good somehow
Title: a chance to make it good somehow
Chapter: 1/1
Warning: NC-17. Fictable prompt #34 - Lightning/Thunder. Set after Dominated Hand, but you don't need to read that story to follow this one.
Character: Puck/Rachel
Summary: Remember when Puck admitted his fear of storms? Well, Rachel has a plan to cure him of it.
Word Count: 7,110
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Her power goes out not even ten minutes after the first strike of lightning. Her fathers buzz around the house, lighting candles, a fire in the fireplace, even though it's the beginning of July and it's plenty warm out. It's for light, they say, and Rachel doesn't argue. It makes sense, she supposes. They open a bottle of wine and pull out Scattergories, then sit themselves down at the coffee table in front of the fireplace.
They love storms. Rachel does too, really.
It's just that she knows someone who doesn't, and it's silly, since he's clearly old enough to take care of himself, but she tends to worry about him. A lot. More than she should, probably. She's a worrier by nature, and he's an easy person to worry about.
Especially since she knows he's afraid of thunderstorms. And this is a bad one (supposed to be the worst in almost two decades). She also knows his mother and sister are on a camping trip with the JCC and he's home alone. Her fathers also know he's home alone, and there's no way they'll let Rachel go over there. If she tells them about Noah's fear, not only will they just insist he come over to their house, but Noah will be upset with her for telling anyone about his fear. She promised him she wouldn't.
She excuses herself so she can run upstairs and try to call Noah. There must be something wrong with the cell towers or something, because it just rings once and then the line goes dead.
There's a large rolling of thunder and she tries to picture him alone in his house, but she can't.
... ... ...
Fuck thunderstorms. Fuck stupid heat and stupid pressure systems and static and whatever the hell it is that causes that shit.
Seriously.
And this just has to happen when he's home alone.
See, usually his sister's with him, and she gets all scared and acts like a total baby, so he'll pull her onto his bed and make it seem like it's this big inconvenience and she's stupid for freaking out.
What? He can't have her thinking he's scared of shit, okay? What kind of big brother would he be if he wasn't invincible to her or whatever?
There's one person in the world who knows of this stupid fear he's got, and she's across town and he refuses to call. He's not some douchebag who needs his girlfriend to hold his hand through a storm.
But that lightning looked really fucking close.
... ... ...
"Sweetie, are you okay? You're usually beating us both handily by now," Daddy asks about an hour later, when she can tell the storm has settled over them and won't be leaving any time soon. The news said earlier that the thunder and lightning would carry on through the night, well into the morning. Given that it's barely 11:00, she knows there is a lot more to come.
"You love storms," Dad adds. "You aren't scared."
"No," she insists, shaking her head. And she's not a liar. She's not one to lie, and certainly not to her fathers. Well, she has in the past, and she realizes very quickly that it's always because of Noah, these little white lies. "It's just Noah is all alone in that house, and you know boys. I mean, he probably doesn't have any candles." (He does. They're in his bedroom and they're used often.) "And without his mother there, he probably has no idea what to eat. Not to mention..."
"Rachel, you aren't going over there," Dad says firmly.
See, her fathers like Noah. They have no problem with Noah and Rachel dating. They do, however, have a problem with even the thought of Rachel having sex with anyone.
"But what if I..."
"No," he says, and it doesn't appear that there's any room for argument.
"I'm almost 18 years old," she argues.
"In another six months," Dad chuckles.
"Dad!"
"Okay," Daddy intervenes. He rests his hand on his husband's arm. "I don't like the idea of Noah being alone in that house, either. The storm is rather vicious." Rachel tries not to smile too widely. She knows Daddy always gets his way. (Where do you think she gets it from?) "I'd suggest he come here, but there's no way of getting ahold of him."
"We could pick him up," Dad insists. He's practically reaching for his keys.
"Or, Brian, we could trust her."
Rachel is watching this like a tennis match, looking between the two of them as they talk. The look on Dad's face right now does not bode well for her, she knows.
"You're suggesting we let her go over there and spend an evening alone with her boyfriend," Dad says, shaking his head.
"You know they're sleeping together."
"Daddy!" Rachel cries, staring at him wide eyed.
"Honey, we're not stupid."
Dad shakes his head and takes a deep breath, then looks over at Rachel. She tries to look relatively innocent, despite the horribly embarrassing fact that has just been brought to light. She's not foolish enough to think her fathers wouldn't assume she and Noah have been intimate. The thought of them talking about it, however, is enough to make her hands shake.
"Please, Dad," she says when she decides he's taking too long to answer.
He looks at her and shakes his head gently, like he knows he's outnumbered and there's no way he can say no. "Fine." She squeals and throws her arms around his neck. "If you end up pregnant, we're forcing marriage. Think long and hard about that, please."
She laughs and pulls away, sees Daddy rolling his eyes. "I'll keep it in mind," she says. She's not going to get pregnant (Noah is almost shockingly diligent about birth control, citing, well, prior experiences as motivation). And really, she knows her father well enough to know he's bluffing.
"Go pack a bag," Daddy says. She looks at him, completely surprised. "Well, you're staying overnight. I'm the liberal parent, but you're sleeping in pajamas," he laughs.
She kisses his cheek quickly and heads for the stairs. She has the perfect backpack for this. It's black and waterproof, and maybe actually Noah's that she 'borrowed' from him in an effort to deter him from going on some ridiculous 'mission' with Mike and Matt. (What? They were certainly going to get arrested or something, and she wasn't having that.)
Anyway, her clothes fit perfectly inside, and she meets her Dad at the door so he can drive her across town.
... ... ...
He's in his room with some candles lit. And to be honest, these things are really only supposed to be for sexy time. It's fucked that his room smells like this and all he can think of is Rachel. Specifically, sex with Rachel. Then thunder rolls outside and not even thinking about Rachel naked can stop him from jumping a little bit.
When he hears the front door open and close, he is really, really freaked out. There's no way in hell he's going to let someone burglarize his house in the middle of this fucking storm. He hates this shit, but he's a man, and he's not enough of a pussy not to grab a baseball bat and go to town on whoever the hell's prowling in his house.
He walks down the stairs slowly with the bat raised over his shoulder and his heart hammering against his ribs. He can't fucking handle this right now. Motherfucker picked the wrong house.
He can hear this person (god, he hopes there's only one person). He hears a thud, like something wet hitting the floor, then someone shaking something, like a coat or whatever. He steps off the last step and onto the carpet, knowing that there's only about 10 feet between him and the psycho who's about to get his ass beaten in with a Louisville Slugger.
Then he rounds the corner and raises the bat, and Rachel's screaming her freaking face off, and damn, if he was close to a heart attack before, he's pretty much close to death now.
"Jesus Christ, Rachel," he breathes out, dropping the bat on the floor. He grabs her and pulls her against him, and she tentatively wraps her arms around his middle, clutching him tightly. "Scared the hell out of me." She's shaking in his arms and he hates tonight. Seriously. It blows. "I didn't...Fuck. I thought..."
"I'm sorry," she whispers. She moves her arms so they're around his neck, presses her face into his shoulder. "I knocked. You didn't answer."
"The hell are you doing here?" he asks. He kisses her temple, then her forehead before he pushes her away.
"I knew you were alone, and I talked to my dads and they said I could come here and be with you," she says quietly, looking up at him. She can barely see him, it's so dark, but then there's a flash of lightning and she sees his face. She can feel his hands grip her hips a little tighter, and she isn't sure if it's because he's scared or because he's thankful she's there. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"Noah," she says, almost laughing. He may be a lot of things, but he's surprisingly terrible at lying to her. "I have a bag. I'm allowed to stay."
See, normally he'd be all over this, pulling her to his bedroom and insisting he get her out of her wet clothes. Even if they're not really wet. They've never had a whole night to themselves, not since that first one, really. As soon as they started dating, her dads all of a sudden had rules and curfews and all that shit. Whatever. He knows that's normal and whatever, but god, a night alone in a house with his girl would be nice every once in a while.
The thunder that claps over them makes him flinch. He thinks she's awesome for not laughing. He grabs her bag and her hand and pulls her to the stairs. She's talking about the fireplace at her house, how her dads love storms and play board games and drink wine and eat ice cream so it doesn't go to waste. Puck tells her he really doesn't want to think of her dads getting drunk and playing around with ice cream now that she's not there. She hits his arm and squeals his name, and it actually makes him laugh.
She's so amazing for coming over.
They step into his bedroom and he sees the little smile on her face when she sees the candles lit. She's so thinking the same thing he was earlier. Her hair is wet, and she takes off her socks immediately. He thinks the jeans she's wearing have to be a little wet, too, and that thought just takes him to a whole different place. She might just be the best distraction ever.
"I didn't bring pajamas," she announces after a particularly close lightning strike. That gets his attention. Even though her father told her to take them, she didn't. She loves sleeping in Noah's clothes, and the last time he was at her house, he took back his favourite tee shirt, the one she stole two weeks ago without him noticing.
"What?"
She tugs his hand and then pushes him gently so he takes the hint and sits down on his bed. "I want my tee shirt back," she tells him.
"Sorry, your tee shirt?" he says, leaning back on his hands. "Fuck that. It's my tee shirt."
"It looks better on me," she says laughingly.
She walks closer and steps between his legs. His hands slide up the back of her thighs to rest on her ass. Her jeans are wet from the rain. Every time he thinks he wants to take them off her, he's distracted by thunder or lightning and he loses his concentration. That's how afraid of storms he is. Even sex can't distract him.
"I see you looking at me when I wear it," he tells her, smirking smugly. She rolls her eyes. "You stare, baby."
Her hands land on his shoulders, thumbs moving slowly over his shirt. "Maybe I'm just thinking of the last time I wore it when we were together," she argues.
Fuck, that was a good day. She'd gotten out of dance class early and stopped at his place when his mom was working. His sister was at a friend's place, and he had the house to himself. He hadn't even told Rachel that. It was like she had radar or something that let her know when he was home alone. That's a handy feature in a girlfriend. Anyway, he'd been wearing that shirt. It stayed on for like, five minutes after she got there. Then she'd pulled it on so they could take a nap after. He woke her up with his hand between her legs, and after checking the clock, he knew his mom was going to be home in 20 minutes. He told Rachel, and she begged (seriously, it was adorable and sexy at the same time) for a quickie. He'd just pushed the tee shirt up around her waist and fucked her while she was still wearing it.
No wonder they both love that shirt so damn much.
"That was good," he admits.
"Good?" she laughs. "Noah, you..."
She stops speaking, looks down, and he can see her blushing. It's on her cheeks and neck and working its way under the top she's wearing. Whatever she was going to say was definitely going to be awesome, and he wants to hear it.
"What?" he asks, pulling her closer, hands still on her ass. She shakes her head. "C'mon, baby. Tell me."
"It's just..." She sighs, closes her eyes, and talks faster than usual. "You had a bite mark on your shoulder for a week and a half. Good is hardly an apt description."
He laughs a bit, because that's true. He did have a bite mark on his shoulder for a week and a half. And she got pissed at him for taking his shirt off when they were at a party at Santana's, because they all knew who and what that bite was from. Whatever. He's proud of that shit. He can make her scream, and if she doesn't want to do that, she tends to kiss him really hard (sexy), bite down on him (so fucking hot), or, if their position allows, bury her face in a pillow. They're so fucking good together. And they're good at fucking together.
He moves her body so she can sit down on his thigh, fits his hand around the back of her neck and pulls her in for a kiss. The lights flicker like they want to come back on, but then switch off immediately again. Puck flinches, tries to pull away, but Rachel puts her palm on his cheek and keeps her close to him. If he didn't know any better, he'd say she's trying to distract him.
"Rach," he says against her lips. He laughs when she doesn't stop kissing him, just does it a little harder. She's totally got plans, here. "Pretty sure your dads didn't let you come here so you could fuck me."
She remembers that conversation before she left the house. She bites her bottom lip and shrugs her shoulder. Her fathers aren't idiots. In fact, when she'd gotten out of the car, Dad threw one more 'use protection' at her before she closed the door. They clearly don't have any misconceptions about what's going on in this house tonight. That should freak her out. It doesn't, though, because she realizes how much they trust her and treat her like an adult.
"That doesn't mean I can't, does it?" she says coyly, hand running through his hair.
He takes a deep breath. See, when she gets like this, it's almost impossible to say no to her. Who could? A conversation similar to this one had him inside her one night in her room while his mom and her dads were downstairs having coffee after dinner. That was one of the times he had to keep her quiet. He'd actually put his hand over her mouth. It worked, but she wasn't so thrilled about it after. He just asked her if she was happy to have a boyfriend who knew how to make her come like that. That shut her up. (Of course she was happy about it.)
She's fucking crazy, this girl, but in, like, the most awesome way ever.
"Okay," she says, standing up and moving away from him. "Have you eaten? We should have a snack. Are you craving anything? I wouldn't mind...Oh my god! Do you have popsicles? We should eat them before they melt."
See? Crazy.
That doesn't mean he doesn't have a kickass (and totally dirty) image in his head of her eating a popsicle.
It's interrupted by the goddamn thunder.
Seriously, this storm is trying to ruin his life. First, it almost gave him a heart attack, then he nearly bludgeoned (fuck you, he knows that word) his girlfriend with a baseball bat, and now she's totally telling him he can do whatever he wants to her (okay, he's hoping that's what she's really saying) and he can't fucking concentrate on it because of the goddamn storm.
It's time to man up. Fear of thunder storms? What kind of pussy is he? That's right, he's not one. He's never been one, and he's not about to fucking start. Even if Rachel's the only one who knows, he's gotta kick this shit.
She's got a candle in her hand, and sometime when he was thinking about all that, she put her hair in a ponytail. It looks hot, her hair all wet and curling at the ends. He likes it. He grabs onto it, gives it a tug. She squeals out his name and leans over to kiss him. How she knew that was exactly what he wanted, he has no clue, but whatever. He doesn't really like to admit how well she knows him already. It freaks him out.
Anyway, she takes his hand and tells him to get a candle, that they're going downstairs to see if there is anything they can eat right away. They both notice that he holds her hand a little tighter when the wind picks up and hits the rain hits the window harder. But she hops up onto the counter and watches as he opens the freezer to see what's inside. He grabs two popsicles and hands one to her.
"I want the cherry," she says, holding the orange one he gave her out.
"So do I."
"You're supposed to be nice to me, Noah. Boyfriends are supposed to be caring and understanding, and if your girlfriend..."
"Bullshit," he laughs, walking over to her. Her knees are together, which kind of blows. He bites the top off his popsicle and she gasps. "Jesus, you're such a drama queen."
Not only is she appalled that he wouldn't trade, but that he somehow managed to speak with a mouthful of something so cold. Sure, the words came out a little muddled, like he was trying not to hurt his mouth, but still. She really wanted the cherry one. She leans forward and licks a slow stripe up the side of the popsicle, hears him groan despite the fact that she's very focused on staring him in the eye.
"Do it again," he rasps. She laughs and shakes her head, unwrapping her stupid orange popsicle. He actually really loves orange, he was just being a jackass before. "C'mon, baby. Do it again."
"No," she says defiantly. She doesn't even lick her popsicle until he's distracted by looking out the window into the yard, where a branch has fallen off the oak tree. She accidentally kicks him, though, and he turns back to her just in time for her tongue to get to the top.
"Rachel." She starts shaking her head again, and he figures two can play this stupid, childish game. He grabs her wrist, pulls her hand in his direction, and bites the top off her popsicle.
He knows she hates that shit. As much as she gets on his ass about sharing or whatever the fuck, she's totally selfish. It's cool, though, 'cause he is, too. They're kind of awesome together.
They start talking anyway. Apparently she went to the mall with Santana last night when he had baseball practice. They hadn't met up after because he had to see his mom and sister off and Rachel had a dinner thing with her dads. He asks her the same thing he asks her every time she goes shopping.
"D'you get anything slutty that I'll like?"
She kicks his shin. "Don't be gross."
"What?" he laughs. He steps forward and nudges her legs apart so he can stand between them. He also steals the last bite of her popsicle and hands her the rest of the cherry one. He starts talking before she can go on and on about how sweet he is. "You went with Santana. No doubt she went into slutty stores."
There's a loud crash of thunder, then a lightning strike, and he closes his eyes. Rachel hooks her legs around his and her hands end up on his hips.
"I got something," she says, getting his attention again. "You might like it."
He lets out a hum and leans into her, pulls her forward so they're basically as close as they're going to get in his mom's kitchen. "Probably," he mumbles.
"We should go back to your room," she says against his lips.
She knows that if she can get him to focus on her long enough, he'll eventually just stop thinking about the storm and being scared. He thinks about sex 90 per cent of the time, so it shouldn't be very difficult to get him to be in the frame of mind she wants him in.
Yes, she's planning on seducing him out of his fear. It could work, okay?
"Yeah?" he asks. She smiles. He's definitely not thinking about the storm right now, when her hand is holding onto the front of his belt and their faces are close together.
Being with Noah has convinced her that her seduction techniques are top notch. He's very responsive to her advances. She likes that he is. She likes that she knows what he likes. And vice versa, if you want to be specific. Like right now, his hand is on her thigh, on the outside of her knee. His fingertips are brushing the skin there, just like he knows she likes.
(It was very difficult explaining to everyone why she was wearing pants for a week after he gave her a hickey in that spot. That's not to say it didn't feel wonderful when he was doing it.)
"Baby, you keep touching me there and we won't make it to my room," he tells her gruffly, putting his hand over the wrist that's between them. She's barely touching him, just focusing on his belt. She supposes they really do just know exactly how to get to one another.
And they've already learned that they can't have sex in this kitchen. He knows it and so does she. See, it was totally not his idea, but she was over and they were sitting together, and she ended up on his lap, then he kissed her. After that, her hand traveled down and she was working him like a pro through his jeans, but he looked up and saw his mom's stupid work calendar, and the tray of clean dishes he knew she'd done, and his mom was fucking everywhere, so that kind of put a stop to all that. He was really fucking thankful that Rachel didn't laugh at him for...you know...not being able to do it there. (He made it up to her later. Twice.)
Anyway, she pushes him away and grabs the candle next to her, and he figures he should do the same. As she's walking up the stairs in front of him, he really, really hopes she's wearing this thing she bought and that she'll let him unwrap her like a present or something. He could totally get on board with that.
And just as he's starting to think maybe the storm is leaving or something and he might actually be able to concentrate on giving it to his girl like she's clearly begging him to, lightning flashes. Rachel stops at the top of the stairs and kisses him. It's just gentle or whatever, and it kind of sucks because he loves kissing her so fucking much and he definitely wants more. Seriously, they kiss a lot. More than people might think. Yeah, the sex is amazing and they do that, too, but they have these conversations that are kind of mid-makeout, when they both need a breather (literally). They talk about all this heavy stuff, then they're right back to kissing again. She's seriously so awesome.
She pushes the door closed, and he wants to ask her why, since they're the only ones home and stuff, but she takes the candle from his hand and puts it on his desk. The room looks awesome right now and she looks amazing in it. He sits down at the edge of his bed and thinks back to that first night he had with her, when she stripped for him. Fuck, that was hot. And he hasn't been able to talk her into a repeat performance, but he's totally downloaded some songs for her to dance to if she ever actually agreed. Whatever.
She pulls the elastic from her hair and shakes the ponytail loose, tucks her hands into the strands. He leans back as he watches her, supports his weight on his elbows. He looks to where her bag is on the floor, assumes she's going to grab it and go change, then open the bathroom door like she did that time she bought this cute nightgown and wanted to show him (she thought it was sexy just because it was satin; it was sexy because it was on her, but it wasn't anything fancy). They were at her place that time, but whatever. Same thing.
"Santana helped me pick it," she says out of nowhere.
He smirks. "Don't tell me that shit."
"Why?" she asks confusedly.
"'Cause 's'hot."
She rolls her eyes. "It wasn't like whatever you've got going through your head right now," she tells him seriously.
"Well don't fuckin' ruin it for me."
She laughs and walks over, takes his face in her hands and kisses his forehead. "Would you like to see it?" she asks, toying with the bottom of her shirt after letting him go.
"Wait, you're wearing it now?" he asks. Annnd, he's hard. Shut up. It doesn't take much to get him going around her. She blinks all slowly and nods. "Yeah, I wanna see."
To be honest, no matter what she tells him, he knows he's going to picture her in some fucking fancy lingerie store with Santana. They'd show each other what they were trying on and stuff and talk about him in the process. And then there's the fact that Santana (in real life) tells him how hot she thinks Rachel is. Fuck. He can work with all that. Then maybe Rachel'd say something about how good he is (he's damn good, and all three of them know it) and Santana would agree.
Shit. She's unzipping her jeans. Focus, Puckerman.
She pushes them down off he hips and he's watching her pretty closely, because she's sexy as hell and her legs totally drive him crazy. Then he leans forward, because what's covering her lower half now that her jeans are on the floor, is just black lace, and it makes her ass look fucking killer. There are little tiny bows near her hips, and it's like the whole area is the promised land. When she pulls her shirt up, he notices that a wide strip of lace goes up the middle of her stomach. There's another bow, then a different kind of lace covering her tits. He can see her nipples, and there's all sorts of skin left bare between her boobs.
The fact that she bought this with him in mind has him close to losing his shit.
"Damn," he breathes out. She's standing there in front of him in the sexiest fucking thing she's ever worn, and there's this little smile on her face, like she wasn't sure he'd like it and is relieved he does. "Rachel, this is...Holy fuck."
This was exactly the reaction she was hoping for when she'd bought this particular item. She knew he'd enjoy it; he enjoys her in anything she wears. She wanted him drooling, which he practically is. The storm just happened to fall on the right day that she could use this even more to her benefit.
Not to mention they've got a whole house to themselves for the night.
She walks over to him, stands between his legs again and puts her hands on his shoulders. He can't help that his hands curve around her ass and pull her closer.
"I'm glad you like it," she says quietly.
He's really fucking tempted to lean forward and take a nipple in his mouth through that lace. "Love it," he corrects her, still staring at her chest.
He presses a kiss between her breasts, but she pulls away before he can do anything else. (Fuck, he doesn't even know where to start right now. He just wants it all.) He looks up at her, and she thinks it's adorably pathetic, the look on his face. She leans down, kisses him gently as she pulls up his shirt, and they part so she can tug it over his head.
She runs her hands over his chest as she sinks to her knees between his legs.
"Rachel," he says, and she leans up to kiss him. He tries to keep her close like that, but she sits back on her legs again.
"It's not about me, Noah," she says.
Holy fucking shit. "Are you trying to make me cream my pants?" he asks. He doesn't really mean to say it out loud, but it happens.
She smiles this fucking little smile she only ever wears when it's just the two of them, which is a good thing because it's one of the hottest things she does. When she reaches for his belt again, he tries to read the look in her eyes. He knows her well enough by now to know that it's just plain filthy.
"Actually, I'm trying to get you out of your pants."
Once she has his fly undone (carefully, and he loves her for that shit) she moves her palm over him a couple times. He'd normally swat her hand away, but honestly, if she wants to get him off with her hand or her mouth right now, he doesn't think he's going to stop her. He's got all night to get her out of that little...whatever the fuck she's wearing.
She tucks her hand into the pocket of his jeans a little bit, tugs on them, and he figures he's supposed to stand up. When he does, she gets up on her knees again, and her face (mouth) is literally right in front of where he wants her to use it. Eventually. She gets his boxers off and whether she means to or not, she licks her lips. She leans forward, but he puts his hands on either side of her face and tips her head back so he can look at her.
"Do that thing with your hand that I love," he tells her. She smiles, nods, and he sits down again.
As she wraps her hand around him and listens to him let out a throaty noise, she realizes there have been at least two claps of thunder he hasn't noticed since she took her clothes off. Her plan is working out nicely, she thinks. She puts her free hand high on his thigh, and he wraps his fingers around hers as he watches her stroke him. It's strange, she thinks, because her hands are so small and Noah is...well, he's not. She's surprised he likes this as much as he does. But he seems to love her technique. She watches his eyes flutter closed when she 'does that thing he loves'. She twists her wrist, feels the muscle of his leg twitch beneath her hand. He lets out a noise, then calls her baby and tells her not to stop.
She has no intentions of stopping.
She's so fucking good at this. It's amazing. He thought he was so over getting handjobs. Seriously. Now that girls are willing to use their mouths and let him fuck them and stuff (well, there's only one girl now, but whatever) he thought he'd never have to get a handjob again. But then the first time it was Rachel's 'week off' from, you know, doing stuff, they were hanging out at her place and her hand somehow ended up in his pants, and he basically changed his opinion on handjobs as an endgame to orgasm. Her hands are awesome and she's so good with them.
He's got his eyes closed when he feels her mouth close around him. He opens them and looks down just in time to meet her eyes, see her lips stretching around his cock. There's no way she's smiling, but it kind of looks like she is, and he's not going to question it. She doesn't talk about it much, about this. He likes to think that since she does it pretty often, she likes it nearly as much as he does. She uses her tongue, and sometimes just the right amount of teeth, just enough to get his attention (as if she doesn't already have it) and it feels amazing.
He slips his hands into her hair and tips his head back when he feels her pull off, then pay all sorts of attention to the tip. She circles her tongue around him, then licks him from base to head. He wants to give her a prize for making him feel so good, but the only things he can think of right now are fucking filthy, and she probably wouldn't appreciate it. He doesn't want to kill his chances or have him mad at him, so he doesn't bring it up. Besides, she puts her mouth around him again, bobs her head a couple times, and he's hitting the back of her throat, so that's really all he can think of from that point.
"Fuck," he grounds out when she swallows around him. "Rachel."
It's meant to be a warning. If she doesn't stop, he's going to come in her mouth, and even though he hasn't (even though that crazy night a while back, she told him he could) he doesn't ever want to just do it. Girls hate that shit.
But she's not stopping. Actually, she's doing this thing with her tongue that he's never felt her do before, and then she deep throats him again, and he tries to pull her off, but she's resisting.
"Rach."
She looks up at him, locks eyes with him and swallows again. He can't hold out anymore. He just can't. He lets go, groaning her name and a few curses, has to close his eyes again. She swallows what he gives her, and it feels fucking amazing. His girlfriend is so fucking incredible. He feels her tongue moving up and down his shaft a couple times, cleaning him off or something. He doesn't know. He just knows it feels really good, how slow she's moving after he just came so hard.
He falls onto his back and holds out a hand, and she must get the idea, because she takes it and stands up. She lets go, though, and he opens his eyes again to see her grab the bottle of water off his bedside table and take a drink. It's way hotter than it should be. Then he looks her up and down in that thing she's wearing and realizes the whole thing is bare from the top of her ass to the base of her neck. He's totally spent right now, but he wants to get her out of that thing so bad.
She sits down next to him, and her hip brushes his side as she runs her hand over his stomach. She leans over and kisses him, and he lets her, because he's pretty sure he'd give her anything in the world she wanted after that performance.
"I really, really wanted to fuck you," he says. He's really damn tired, and a little out of his head still. She's sexy as fuck and looking down at him with this little smile on her face.
"Well, we have all night, don't we?" she asks quietly.
He needs a little bit of time, but yeah, she's got a point. There's no rush. He could take a little nap right now if he wanted to. If she wasn't laying down on top of him with one of her legs between his.
"How do I get you out of this thing?"
She laughs at how sleepy his voice is. She makes fun of him for being a cliché, always falling asleep right after. She thinks it's cute, though, when he gets all tired like this. His movements slow down and get a little softer. His hand, right now, is skimming up and down her spine.
She should have thought this through a little better. She's incredibly aroused and he's half asleep. She knows he won't leave her like this, but waiting seems like a terrible option at the moment.
"There's a tie," she says, and his hand moves up and tugs at the strings. "Noah, you're barely awake."
He flexes his thigh where she's pressing against him and grins lazily at her. "You're wet." She blushes, so he kisses her cheek. "'M'not gonna leave you hangin'."
"I know that," she laughs, even as he pulls the lace off one breast and replaces it with his hand. His hand slides up her body and lands on the back of her neck, and he pulls her in for a kiss. "Noah."
It's this little whisper he loves, and shit, if she keeps making sounds like that, he's going to need less time than either of them thought.
"I need you naked, Rach. Right now," he says, tucking his hand under the lace that's covering her ass so it can rest on bare skin. Her laugh fans out against his lips and he kisses her again.
She gets up on her knees, straddling his leg, and lets the lace fall off her body so it's just being held up by her hips. He wastes no time slipping his hand inside and sitting up to take a nipple in his mouth. She's so fucking wet. She totally gets hot off going down on him. God, he loves that.
"Noah," she breathes out, her hands pushing at his shoulders. "Noah, stop and let me..."
Thunder sounds outside, shakes the house a little bit.
He doesn't even flinch.
She's looking down at him, brushes a hand through her hair to get it out of her face as he asks, "It's still storming?" and turns to look out the window.
She giggles a bit and takes his face in her hands, kisses him so good it pulls a moan from the back of his throat. She stands up, then, and lets the rest of her...whatever that thing is...fall to the floor. His hands find her hips and they're both smiling, and not just because they're both naked and he's more awake again.
"My plan worked," she says, laughing a little bit when he raises his brow.
He pulls her onto the bed again so her knees are on either side of him, then flips them so she's on her back. "My girl is smart," he mumbles against her lips. She laughs again.
And really, he thinks she looks crazy beautiful when he's inside her and lightning strikes.
Chapter: 1/1
Warning: NC-17. Fictable prompt #34 - Lightning/Thunder. Set after Dominated Hand, but you don't need to read that story to follow this one.
Character: Puck/Rachel
Summary: Remember when Puck admitted his fear of storms? Well, Rachel has a plan to cure him of it.
Word Count: 7,110
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Her power goes out not even ten minutes after the first strike of lightning. Her fathers buzz around the house, lighting candles, a fire in the fireplace, even though it's the beginning of July and it's plenty warm out. It's for light, they say, and Rachel doesn't argue. It makes sense, she supposes. They open a bottle of wine and pull out Scattergories, then sit themselves down at the coffee table in front of the fireplace.
They love storms. Rachel does too, really.
It's just that she knows someone who doesn't, and it's silly, since he's clearly old enough to take care of himself, but she tends to worry about him. A lot. More than she should, probably. She's a worrier by nature, and he's an easy person to worry about.
Especially since she knows he's afraid of thunderstorms. And this is a bad one (supposed to be the worst in almost two decades). She also knows his mother and sister are on a camping trip with the JCC and he's home alone. Her fathers also know he's home alone, and there's no way they'll let Rachel go over there. If she tells them about Noah's fear, not only will they just insist he come over to their house, but Noah will be upset with her for telling anyone about his fear. She promised him she wouldn't.
She excuses herself so she can run upstairs and try to call Noah. There must be something wrong with the cell towers or something, because it just rings once and then the line goes dead.
There's a large rolling of thunder and she tries to picture him alone in his house, but she can't.
... ... ...
Fuck thunderstorms. Fuck stupid heat and stupid pressure systems and static and whatever the hell it is that causes that shit.
Seriously.
And this just has to happen when he's home alone.
See, usually his sister's with him, and she gets all scared and acts like a total baby, so he'll pull her onto his bed and make it seem like it's this big inconvenience and she's stupid for freaking out.
What? He can't have her thinking he's scared of shit, okay? What kind of big brother would he be if he wasn't invincible to her or whatever?
There's one person in the world who knows of this stupid fear he's got, and she's across town and he refuses to call. He's not some douchebag who needs his girlfriend to hold his hand through a storm.
But that lightning looked really fucking close.
... ... ...
"Sweetie, are you okay? You're usually beating us both handily by now," Daddy asks about an hour later, when she can tell the storm has settled over them and won't be leaving any time soon. The news said earlier that the thunder and lightning would carry on through the night, well into the morning. Given that it's barely 11:00, she knows there is a lot more to come.
"You love storms," Dad adds. "You aren't scared."
"No," she insists, shaking her head. And she's not a liar. She's not one to lie, and certainly not to her fathers. Well, she has in the past, and she realizes very quickly that it's always because of Noah, these little white lies. "It's just Noah is all alone in that house, and you know boys. I mean, he probably doesn't have any candles." (He does. They're in his bedroom and they're used often.) "And without his mother there, he probably has no idea what to eat. Not to mention..."
"Rachel, you aren't going over there," Dad says firmly.
See, her fathers like Noah. They have no problem with Noah and Rachel dating. They do, however, have a problem with even the thought of Rachel having sex with anyone.
"But what if I..."
"No," he says, and it doesn't appear that there's any room for argument.
"I'm almost 18 years old," she argues.
"In another six months," Dad chuckles.
"Dad!"
"Okay," Daddy intervenes. He rests his hand on his husband's arm. "I don't like the idea of Noah being alone in that house, either. The storm is rather vicious." Rachel tries not to smile too widely. She knows Daddy always gets his way. (Where do you think she gets it from?) "I'd suggest he come here, but there's no way of getting ahold of him."
"We could pick him up," Dad insists. He's practically reaching for his keys.
"Or, Brian, we could trust her."
Rachel is watching this like a tennis match, looking between the two of them as they talk. The look on Dad's face right now does not bode well for her, she knows.
"You're suggesting we let her go over there and spend an evening alone with her boyfriend," Dad says, shaking his head.
"You know they're sleeping together."
"Daddy!" Rachel cries, staring at him wide eyed.
"Honey, we're not stupid."
Dad shakes his head and takes a deep breath, then looks over at Rachel. She tries to look relatively innocent, despite the horribly embarrassing fact that has just been brought to light. She's not foolish enough to think her fathers wouldn't assume she and Noah have been intimate. The thought of them talking about it, however, is enough to make her hands shake.
"Please, Dad," she says when she decides he's taking too long to answer.
He looks at her and shakes his head gently, like he knows he's outnumbered and there's no way he can say no. "Fine." She squeals and throws her arms around his neck. "If you end up pregnant, we're forcing marriage. Think long and hard about that, please."
She laughs and pulls away, sees Daddy rolling his eyes. "I'll keep it in mind," she says. She's not going to get pregnant (Noah is almost shockingly diligent about birth control, citing, well, prior experiences as motivation). And really, she knows her father well enough to know he's bluffing.
"Go pack a bag," Daddy says. She looks at him, completely surprised. "Well, you're staying overnight. I'm the liberal parent, but you're sleeping in pajamas," he laughs.
She kisses his cheek quickly and heads for the stairs. She has the perfect backpack for this. It's black and waterproof, and maybe actually Noah's that she 'borrowed' from him in an effort to deter him from going on some ridiculous 'mission' with Mike and Matt. (What? They were certainly going to get arrested or something, and she wasn't having that.)
Anyway, her clothes fit perfectly inside, and she meets her Dad at the door so he can drive her across town.
... ... ...
He's in his room with some candles lit. And to be honest, these things are really only supposed to be for sexy time. It's fucked that his room smells like this and all he can think of is Rachel. Specifically, sex with Rachel. Then thunder rolls outside and not even thinking about Rachel naked can stop him from jumping a little bit.
When he hears the front door open and close, he is really, really freaked out. There's no way in hell he's going to let someone burglarize his house in the middle of this fucking storm. He hates this shit, but he's a man, and he's not enough of a pussy not to grab a baseball bat and go to town on whoever the hell's prowling in his house.
He walks down the stairs slowly with the bat raised over his shoulder and his heart hammering against his ribs. He can't fucking handle this right now. Motherfucker picked the wrong house.
He can hear this person (god, he hopes there's only one person). He hears a thud, like something wet hitting the floor, then someone shaking something, like a coat or whatever. He steps off the last step and onto the carpet, knowing that there's only about 10 feet between him and the psycho who's about to get his ass beaten in with a Louisville Slugger.
Then he rounds the corner and raises the bat, and Rachel's screaming her freaking face off, and damn, if he was close to a heart attack before, he's pretty much close to death now.
"Jesus Christ, Rachel," he breathes out, dropping the bat on the floor. He grabs her and pulls her against him, and she tentatively wraps her arms around his middle, clutching him tightly. "Scared the hell out of me." She's shaking in his arms and he hates tonight. Seriously. It blows. "I didn't...Fuck. I thought..."
"I'm sorry," she whispers. She moves her arms so they're around his neck, presses her face into his shoulder. "I knocked. You didn't answer."
"The hell are you doing here?" he asks. He kisses her temple, then her forehead before he pushes her away.
"I knew you were alone, and I talked to my dads and they said I could come here and be with you," she says quietly, looking up at him. She can barely see him, it's so dark, but then there's a flash of lightning and she sees his face. She can feel his hands grip her hips a little tighter, and she isn't sure if it's because he's scared or because he's thankful she's there. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"Noah," she says, almost laughing. He may be a lot of things, but he's surprisingly terrible at lying to her. "I have a bag. I'm allowed to stay."
See, normally he'd be all over this, pulling her to his bedroom and insisting he get her out of her wet clothes. Even if they're not really wet. They've never had a whole night to themselves, not since that first one, really. As soon as they started dating, her dads all of a sudden had rules and curfews and all that shit. Whatever. He knows that's normal and whatever, but god, a night alone in a house with his girl would be nice every once in a while.
The thunder that claps over them makes him flinch. He thinks she's awesome for not laughing. He grabs her bag and her hand and pulls her to the stairs. She's talking about the fireplace at her house, how her dads love storms and play board games and drink wine and eat ice cream so it doesn't go to waste. Puck tells her he really doesn't want to think of her dads getting drunk and playing around with ice cream now that she's not there. She hits his arm and squeals his name, and it actually makes him laugh.
She's so amazing for coming over.
They step into his bedroom and he sees the little smile on her face when she sees the candles lit. She's so thinking the same thing he was earlier. Her hair is wet, and she takes off her socks immediately. He thinks the jeans she's wearing have to be a little wet, too, and that thought just takes him to a whole different place. She might just be the best distraction ever.
"I didn't bring pajamas," she announces after a particularly close lightning strike. That gets his attention. Even though her father told her to take them, she didn't. She loves sleeping in Noah's clothes, and the last time he was at her house, he took back his favourite tee shirt, the one she stole two weeks ago without him noticing.
"What?"
She tugs his hand and then pushes him gently so he takes the hint and sits down on his bed. "I want my tee shirt back," she tells him.
"Sorry, your tee shirt?" he says, leaning back on his hands. "Fuck that. It's my tee shirt."
"It looks better on me," she says laughingly.
She walks closer and steps between his legs. His hands slide up the back of her thighs to rest on her ass. Her jeans are wet from the rain. Every time he thinks he wants to take them off her, he's distracted by thunder or lightning and he loses his concentration. That's how afraid of storms he is. Even sex can't distract him.
"I see you looking at me when I wear it," he tells her, smirking smugly. She rolls her eyes. "You stare, baby."
Her hands land on his shoulders, thumbs moving slowly over his shirt. "Maybe I'm just thinking of the last time I wore it when we were together," she argues.
Fuck, that was a good day. She'd gotten out of dance class early and stopped at his place when his mom was working. His sister was at a friend's place, and he had the house to himself. He hadn't even told Rachel that. It was like she had radar or something that let her know when he was home alone. That's a handy feature in a girlfriend. Anyway, he'd been wearing that shirt. It stayed on for like, five minutes after she got there. Then she'd pulled it on so they could take a nap after. He woke her up with his hand between her legs, and after checking the clock, he knew his mom was going to be home in 20 minutes. He told Rachel, and she begged (seriously, it was adorable and sexy at the same time) for a quickie. He'd just pushed the tee shirt up around her waist and fucked her while she was still wearing it.
No wonder they both love that shirt so damn much.
"That was good," he admits.
"Good?" she laughs. "Noah, you..."
She stops speaking, looks down, and he can see her blushing. It's on her cheeks and neck and working its way under the top she's wearing. Whatever she was going to say was definitely going to be awesome, and he wants to hear it.
"What?" he asks, pulling her closer, hands still on her ass. She shakes her head. "C'mon, baby. Tell me."
"It's just..." She sighs, closes her eyes, and talks faster than usual. "You had a bite mark on your shoulder for a week and a half. Good is hardly an apt description."
He laughs a bit, because that's true. He did have a bite mark on his shoulder for a week and a half. And she got pissed at him for taking his shirt off when they were at a party at Santana's, because they all knew who and what that bite was from. Whatever. He's proud of that shit. He can make her scream, and if she doesn't want to do that, she tends to kiss him really hard (sexy), bite down on him (so fucking hot), or, if their position allows, bury her face in a pillow. They're so fucking good together. And they're good at fucking together.
He moves her body so she can sit down on his thigh, fits his hand around the back of her neck and pulls her in for a kiss. The lights flicker like they want to come back on, but then switch off immediately again. Puck flinches, tries to pull away, but Rachel puts her palm on his cheek and keeps her close to him. If he didn't know any better, he'd say she's trying to distract him.
"Rach," he says against her lips. He laughs when she doesn't stop kissing him, just does it a little harder. She's totally got plans, here. "Pretty sure your dads didn't let you come here so you could fuck me."
She remembers that conversation before she left the house. She bites her bottom lip and shrugs her shoulder. Her fathers aren't idiots. In fact, when she'd gotten out of the car, Dad threw one more 'use protection' at her before she closed the door. They clearly don't have any misconceptions about what's going on in this house tonight. That should freak her out. It doesn't, though, because she realizes how much they trust her and treat her like an adult.
"That doesn't mean I can't, does it?" she says coyly, hand running through his hair.
He takes a deep breath. See, when she gets like this, it's almost impossible to say no to her. Who could? A conversation similar to this one had him inside her one night in her room while his mom and her dads were downstairs having coffee after dinner. That was one of the times he had to keep her quiet. He'd actually put his hand over her mouth. It worked, but she wasn't so thrilled about it after. He just asked her if she was happy to have a boyfriend who knew how to make her come like that. That shut her up. (Of course she was happy about it.)
She's fucking crazy, this girl, but in, like, the most awesome way ever.
"Okay," she says, standing up and moving away from him. "Have you eaten? We should have a snack. Are you craving anything? I wouldn't mind...Oh my god! Do you have popsicles? We should eat them before they melt."
See? Crazy.
That doesn't mean he doesn't have a kickass (and totally dirty) image in his head of her eating a popsicle.
It's interrupted by the goddamn thunder.
Seriously, this storm is trying to ruin his life. First, it almost gave him a heart attack, then he nearly bludgeoned (fuck you, he knows that word) his girlfriend with a baseball bat, and now she's totally telling him he can do whatever he wants to her (okay, he's hoping that's what she's really saying) and he can't fucking concentrate on it because of the goddamn storm.
It's time to man up. Fear of thunder storms? What kind of pussy is he? That's right, he's not one. He's never been one, and he's not about to fucking start. Even if Rachel's the only one who knows, he's gotta kick this shit.
She's got a candle in her hand, and sometime when he was thinking about all that, she put her hair in a ponytail. It looks hot, her hair all wet and curling at the ends. He likes it. He grabs onto it, gives it a tug. She squeals out his name and leans over to kiss him. How she knew that was exactly what he wanted, he has no clue, but whatever. He doesn't really like to admit how well she knows him already. It freaks him out.
Anyway, she takes his hand and tells him to get a candle, that they're going downstairs to see if there is anything they can eat right away. They both notice that he holds her hand a little tighter when the wind picks up and hits the rain hits the window harder. But she hops up onto the counter and watches as he opens the freezer to see what's inside. He grabs two popsicles and hands one to her.
"I want the cherry," she says, holding the orange one he gave her out.
"So do I."
"You're supposed to be nice to me, Noah. Boyfriends are supposed to be caring and understanding, and if your girlfriend..."
"Bullshit," he laughs, walking over to her. Her knees are together, which kind of blows. He bites the top off his popsicle and she gasps. "Jesus, you're such a drama queen."
Not only is she appalled that he wouldn't trade, but that he somehow managed to speak with a mouthful of something so cold. Sure, the words came out a little muddled, like he was trying not to hurt his mouth, but still. She really wanted the cherry one. She leans forward and licks a slow stripe up the side of the popsicle, hears him groan despite the fact that she's very focused on staring him in the eye.
"Do it again," he rasps. She laughs and shakes her head, unwrapping her stupid orange popsicle. He actually really loves orange, he was just being a jackass before. "C'mon, baby. Do it again."
"No," she says defiantly. She doesn't even lick her popsicle until he's distracted by looking out the window into the yard, where a branch has fallen off the oak tree. She accidentally kicks him, though, and he turns back to her just in time for her tongue to get to the top.
"Rachel." She starts shaking her head again, and he figures two can play this stupid, childish game. He grabs her wrist, pulls her hand in his direction, and bites the top off her popsicle.
He knows she hates that shit. As much as she gets on his ass about sharing or whatever the fuck, she's totally selfish. It's cool, though, 'cause he is, too. They're kind of awesome together.
They start talking anyway. Apparently she went to the mall with Santana last night when he had baseball practice. They hadn't met up after because he had to see his mom and sister off and Rachel had a dinner thing with her dads. He asks her the same thing he asks her every time she goes shopping.
"D'you get anything slutty that I'll like?"
She kicks his shin. "Don't be gross."
"What?" he laughs. He steps forward and nudges her legs apart so he can stand between them. He also steals the last bite of her popsicle and hands her the rest of the cherry one. He starts talking before she can go on and on about how sweet he is. "You went with Santana. No doubt she went into slutty stores."
There's a loud crash of thunder, then a lightning strike, and he closes his eyes. Rachel hooks her legs around his and her hands end up on his hips.
"I got something," she says, getting his attention again. "You might like it."
He lets out a hum and leans into her, pulls her forward so they're basically as close as they're going to get in his mom's kitchen. "Probably," he mumbles.
"We should go back to your room," she says against his lips.
She knows that if she can get him to focus on her long enough, he'll eventually just stop thinking about the storm and being scared. He thinks about sex 90 per cent of the time, so it shouldn't be very difficult to get him to be in the frame of mind she wants him in.
Yes, she's planning on seducing him out of his fear. It could work, okay?
"Yeah?" he asks. She smiles. He's definitely not thinking about the storm right now, when her hand is holding onto the front of his belt and their faces are close together.
Being with Noah has convinced her that her seduction techniques are top notch. He's very responsive to her advances. She likes that he is. She likes that she knows what he likes. And vice versa, if you want to be specific. Like right now, his hand is on her thigh, on the outside of her knee. His fingertips are brushing the skin there, just like he knows she likes.
(It was very difficult explaining to everyone why she was wearing pants for a week after he gave her a hickey in that spot. That's not to say it didn't feel wonderful when he was doing it.)
"Baby, you keep touching me there and we won't make it to my room," he tells her gruffly, putting his hand over the wrist that's between them. She's barely touching him, just focusing on his belt. She supposes they really do just know exactly how to get to one another.
And they've already learned that they can't have sex in this kitchen. He knows it and so does she. See, it was totally not his idea, but she was over and they were sitting together, and she ended up on his lap, then he kissed her. After that, her hand traveled down and she was working him like a pro through his jeans, but he looked up and saw his mom's stupid work calendar, and the tray of clean dishes he knew she'd done, and his mom was fucking everywhere, so that kind of put a stop to all that. He was really fucking thankful that Rachel didn't laugh at him for...you know...not being able to do it there. (He made it up to her later. Twice.)
Anyway, she pushes him away and grabs the candle next to her, and he figures he should do the same. As she's walking up the stairs in front of him, he really, really hopes she's wearing this thing she bought and that she'll let him unwrap her like a present or something. He could totally get on board with that.
And just as he's starting to think maybe the storm is leaving or something and he might actually be able to concentrate on giving it to his girl like she's clearly begging him to, lightning flashes. Rachel stops at the top of the stairs and kisses him. It's just gentle or whatever, and it kind of sucks because he loves kissing her so fucking much and he definitely wants more. Seriously, they kiss a lot. More than people might think. Yeah, the sex is amazing and they do that, too, but they have these conversations that are kind of mid-makeout, when they both need a breather (literally). They talk about all this heavy stuff, then they're right back to kissing again. She's seriously so awesome.
She pushes the door closed, and he wants to ask her why, since they're the only ones home and stuff, but she takes the candle from his hand and puts it on his desk. The room looks awesome right now and she looks amazing in it. He sits down at the edge of his bed and thinks back to that first night he had with her, when she stripped for him. Fuck, that was hot. And he hasn't been able to talk her into a repeat performance, but he's totally downloaded some songs for her to dance to if she ever actually agreed. Whatever.
She pulls the elastic from her hair and shakes the ponytail loose, tucks her hands into the strands. He leans back as he watches her, supports his weight on his elbows. He looks to where her bag is on the floor, assumes she's going to grab it and go change, then open the bathroom door like she did that time she bought this cute nightgown and wanted to show him (she thought it was sexy just because it was satin; it was sexy because it was on her, but it wasn't anything fancy). They were at her place that time, but whatever. Same thing.
"Santana helped me pick it," she says out of nowhere.
He smirks. "Don't tell me that shit."
"Why?" she asks confusedly.
"'Cause 's'hot."
She rolls her eyes. "It wasn't like whatever you've got going through your head right now," she tells him seriously.
"Well don't fuckin' ruin it for me."
She laughs and walks over, takes his face in her hands and kisses his forehead. "Would you like to see it?" she asks, toying with the bottom of her shirt after letting him go.
"Wait, you're wearing it now?" he asks. Annnd, he's hard. Shut up. It doesn't take much to get him going around her. She blinks all slowly and nods. "Yeah, I wanna see."
To be honest, no matter what she tells him, he knows he's going to picture her in some fucking fancy lingerie store with Santana. They'd show each other what they were trying on and stuff and talk about him in the process. And then there's the fact that Santana (in real life) tells him how hot she thinks Rachel is. Fuck. He can work with all that. Then maybe Rachel'd say something about how good he is (he's damn good, and all three of them know it) and Santana would agree.
Shit. She's unzipping her jeans. Focus, Puckerman.
She pushes them down off he hips and he's watching her pretty closely, because she's sexy as hell and her legs totally drive him crazy. Then he leans forward, because what's covering her lower half now that her jeans are on the floor, is just black lace, and it makes her ass look fucking killer. There are little tiny bows near her hips, and it's like the whole area is the promised land. When she pulls her shirt up, he notices that a wide strip of lace goes up the middle of her stomach. There's another bow, then a different kind of lace covering her tits. He can see her nipples, and there's all sorts of skin left bare between her boobs.
The fact that she bought this with him in mind has him close to losing his shit.
"Damn," he breathes out. She's standing there in front of him in the sexiest fucking thing she's ever worn, and there's this little smile on her face, like she wasn't sure he'd like it and is relieved he does. "Rachel, this is...Holy fuck."
This was exactly the reaction she was hoping for when she'd bought this particular item. She knew he'd enjoy it; he enjoys her in anything she wears. She wanted him drooling, which he practically is. The storm just happened to fall on the right day that she could use this even more to her benefit.
Not to mention they've got a whole house to themselves for the night.
She walks over to him, stands between his legs again and puts her hands on his shoulders. He can't help that his hands curve around her ass and pull her closer.
"I'm glad you like it," she says quietly.
He's really fucking tempted to lean forward and take a nipple in his mouth through that lace. "Love it," he corrects her, still staring at her chest.
He presses a kiss between her breasts, but she pulls away before he can do anything else. (Fuck, he doesn't even know where to start right now. He just wants it all.) He looks up at her, and she thinks it's adorably pathetic, the look on his face. She leans down, kisses him gently as she pulls up his shirt, and they part so she can tug it over his head.
She runs her hands over his chest as she sinks to her knees between his legs.
"Rachel," he says, and she leans up to kiss him. He tries to keep her close like that, but she sits back on her legs again.
"It's not about me, Noah," she says.
Holy fucking shit. "Are you trying to make me cream my pants?" he asks. He doesn't really mean to say it out loud, but it happens.
She smiles this fucking little smile she only ever wears when it's just the two of them, which is a good thing because it's one of the hottest things she does. When she reaches for his belt again, he tries to read the look in her eyes. He knows her well enough by now to know that it's just plain filthy.
"Actually, I'm trying to get you out of your pants."
Once she has his fly undone (carefully, and he loves her for that shit) she moves her palm over him a couple times. He'd normally swat her hand away, but honestly, if she wants to get him off with her hand or her mouth right now, he doesn't think he's going to stop her. He's got all night to get her out of that little...whatever the fuck she's wearing.
She tucks her hand into the pocket of his jeans a little bit, tugs on them, and he figures he's supposed to stand up. When he does, she gets up on her knees again, and her face (mouth) is literally right in front of where he wants her to use it. Eventually. She gets his boxers off and whether she means to or not, she licks her lips. She leans forward, but he puts his hands on either side of her face and tips her head back so he can look at her.
"Do that thing with your hand that I love," he tells her. She smiles, nods, and he sits down again.
As she wraps her hand around him and listens to him let out a throaty noise, she realizes there have been at least two claps of thunder he hasn't noticed since she took her clothes off. Her plan is working out nicely, she thinks. She puts her free hand high on his thigh, and he wraps his fingers around hers as he watches her stroke him. It's strange, she thinks, because her hands are so small and Noah is...well, he's not. She's surprised he likes this as much as he does. But he seems to love her technique. She watches his eyes flutter closed when she 'does that thing he loves'. She twists her wrist, feels the muscle of his leg twitch beneath her hand. He lets out a noise, then calls her baby and tells her not to stop.
She has no intentions of stopping.
She's so fucking good at this. It's amazing. He thought he was so over getting handjobs. Seriously. Now that girls are willing to use their mouths and let him fuck them and stuff (well, there's only one girl now, but whatever) he thought he'd never have to get a handjob again. But then the first time it was Rachel's 'week off' from, you know, doing stuff, they were hanging out at her place and her hand somehow ended up in his pants, and he basically changed his opinion on handjobs as an endgame to orgasm. Her hands are awesome and she's so good with them.
He's got his eyes closed when he feels her mouth close around him. He opens them and looks down just in time to meet her eyes, see her lips stretching around his cock. There's no way she's smiling, but it kind of looks like she is, and he's not going to question it. She doesn't talk about it much, about this. He likes to think that since she does it pretty often, she likes it nearly as much as he does. She uses her tongue, and sometimes just the right amount of teeth, just enough to get his attention (as if she doesn't already have it) and it feels amazing.
He slips his hands into her hair and tips his head back when he feels her pull off, then pay all sorts of attention to the tip. She circles her tongue around him, then licks him from base to head. He wants to give her a prize for making him feel so good, but the only things he can think of right now are fucking filthy, and she probably wouldn't appreciate it. He doesn't want to kill his chances or have him mad at him, so he doesn't bring it up. Besides, she puts her mouth around him again, bobs her head a couple times, and he's hitting the back of her throat, so that's really all he can think of from that point.
"Fuck," he grounds out when she swallows around him. "Rachel."
It's meant to be a warning. If she doesn't stop, he's going to come in her mouth, and even though he hasn't (even though that crazy night a while back, she told him he could) he doesn't ever want to just do it. Girls hate that shit.
But she's not stopping. Actually, she's doing this thing with her tongue that he's never felt her do before, and then she deep throats him again, and he tries to pull her off, but she's resisting.
"Rach."
She looks up at him, locks eyes with him and swallows again. He can't hold out anymore. He just can't. He lets go, groaning her name and a few curses, has to close his eyes again. She swallows what he gives her, and it feels fucking amazing. His girlfriend is so fucking incredible. He feels her tongue moving up and down his shaft a couple times, cleaning him off or something. He doesn't know. He just knows it feels really good, how slow she's moving after he just came so hard.
He falls onto his back and holds out a hand, and she must get the idea, because she takes it and stands up. She lets go, though, and he opens his eyes again to see her grab the bottle of water off his bedside table and take a drink. It's way hotter than it should be. Then he looks her up and down in that thing she's wearing and realizes the whole thing is bare from the top of her ass to the base of her neck. He's totally spent right now, but he wants to get her out of that thing so bad.
She sits down next to him, and her hip brushes his side as she runs her hand over his stomach. She leans over and kisses him, and he lets her, because he's pretty sure he'd give her anything in the world she wanted after that performance.
"I really, really wanted to fuck you," he says. He's really damn tired, and a little out of his head still. She's sexy as fuck and looking down at him with this little smile on her face.
"Well, we have all night, don't we?" she asks quietly.
He needs a little bit of time, but yeah, she's got a point. There's no rush. He could take a little nap right now if he wanted to. If she wasn't laying down on top of him with one of her legs between his.
"How do I get you out of this thing?"
She laughs at how sleepy his voice is. She makes fun of him for being a cliché, always falling asleep right after. She thinks it's cute, though, when he gets all tired like this. His movements slow down and get a little softer. His hand, right now, is skimming up and down her spine.
She should have thought this through a little better. She's incredibly aroused and he's half asleep. She knows he won't leave her like this, but waiting seems like a terrible option at the moment.
"There's a tie," she says, and his hand moves up and tugs at the strings. "Noah, you're barely awake."
He flexes his thigh where she's pressing against him and grins lazily at her. "You're wet." She blushes, so he kisses her cheek. "'M'not gonna leave you hangin'."
"I know that," she laughs, even as he pulls the lace off one breast and replaces it with his hand. His hand slides up her body and lands on the back of her neck, and he pulls her in for a kiss. "Noah."
It's this little whisper he loves, and shit, if she keeps making sounds like that, he's going to need less time than either of them thought.
"I need you naked, Rach. Right now," he says, tucking his hand under the lace that's covering her ass so it can rest on bare skin. Her laugh fans out against his lips and he kisses her again.
She gets up on her knees, straddling his leg, and lets the lace fall off her body so it's just being held up by her hips. He wastes no time slipping his hand inside and sitting up to take a nipple in his mouth. She's so fucking wet. She totally gets hot off going down on him. God, he loves that.
"Noah," she breathes out, her hands pushing at his shoulders. "Noah, stop and let me..."
Thunder sounds outside, shakes the house a little bit.
He doesn't even flinch.
She's looking down at him, brushes a hand through her hair to get it out of her face as he asks, "It's still storming?" and turns to look out the window.
She giggles a bit and takes his face in her hands, kisses him so good it pulls a moan from the back of his throat. She stands up, then, and lets the rest of her...whatever that thing is...fall to the floor. His hands find her hips and they're both smiling, and not just because they're both naked and he's more awake again.
"My plan worked," she says, laughing a little bit when he raises his brow.
He pulls her onto the bed again so her knees are on either side of him, then flips them so she's on her back. "My girl is smart," he mumbles against her lips. She laughs again.
And really, he thinks she looks crazy beautiful when he's inside her and lightning strikes.