The City 11/?
Title: The City
Chapter: 11/?
Warning: NC-17
Pairing: Puck/Rachel
Summary: Somewhere between coffee at Dean and Deluca and riding the Staten Island Ferry just for fun, he starts to think that it actually makes a lot of sense for the two of them to end up going rogue the week after graduation. Puck/Rachel future fic.
Word Count: 5,093
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.
(Chapter 10)
Between Rachel's new fame (she says it's not, he says it is; there have been interviews and photo shoots and all that kind of stuff) and her performances and Puck's work, they haven't seen much of each other. It's a little too reminiscent of the time before everything went bad, so Rachel changes her sleep schedule a little bit and stays up some nights when he gets home late. They'll watch late night television together on the couch and talk about whatever. Or if he works the night shift, she'll have breakfast waiting for him so he can eat before he heads to his den/office to sleep. If he has the day off and she has two shows, he'll meet her at the theater and they'll go out for dinner together.
(She ignores her friends every time they tell her she acts like a girlfriend and Puck acts like a boyfriend.)
But it's weird, she thinks, because the more they make fun of her, the more she thinks that wouldn't be so bad. Actually, it'd be amazing.
There are moments when she thinks she's totally in love with him. Like when she gets cold and instead of her getting up and grabbing a sweater from her room, he'll take his off and give it to her. Then it'll smell like him and already be warm from being on his body and she gets that rush of something coursing through her. Or if they're shopping and she's taking too long for his liking, he'll grab her hand and weave their fingers together so he can pull her along. (Sometimes she's slow just so he'll do it.)
It's ridiculous, she knows, falling for your best friend, your roommate, and the only person you truly know.
But is it? Is it really that crazy or out of the ordinary that she develop feelings for him? If she's telling the truth, the feelings have probably been there all along.
So now she spends more time than she should thinking about if he thinks about her. If he feels anything for her. If he wants her.
If he loves her.
She's replying to a few emails in her candle-lit bedroom when the door opens and closes at midnight, a little too loudly for her liking. Not because it bothers her, but because she knows something's bothering him.
She hears the fridge door slam, then the unmistakable sound of a beer being cracked open. It's not like him not to say hello to her before doing something else.
When she steps into the kitchen, he's standing there leaning against the counter with one hand resting on the surface.
"Hey," she says quietly.
"Shit. Did I wake you up?" he asks worriedly. She smiles, and somehow that makes him feel better.
"No. I was awake," she tells him. He just nods slowly and it worries her. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"Noah." She tilts her head at him, just to let him know that he can't fool her. "What's wrong?"
He takes a big breath and lets it out, then tips his head back. "Just had a really shitty day, that's all."
As she looks at him, she notices the tension on his face, how rigid his shoulders appear. She'd offer a massage if she knew how to give one. She's worried about him, though, because he usually doesn't let things get to him. The other couple times he's had rough days at work, he's gone out with the guys afterward for beer. Rachel knows a lot more talking goes on during those outings than he probably wants to admit. She wonders why they aren't out doing that now.
"Maybe it would help to talk about it," she suggests. "You never really talk about work."
"It's fine. You don't need to listen to my stories." He says it like it's a ridiculous notion, which she thinks is pretty stupid.
"Noah, you know all about my work."
He knows she's trying to help, and he loves her for it, but he just can't deal with this right now. She's too good to him, but he really doesn't want her to have to think about the stuff he has to deal with. It's not fair to her.
"Your work is different," he reminds her. "Your work is..."
"Is what?" she asks quietly, taking a step closer.
"Dammit, Rach!" he shouts, slamming his fist on the counter. She flinches, but he's not looking at her, so he doesn't notice. "You don't want to hear about the shit I see! You don't want to hear about us walking into a room and seeing a seven year old girl, dead, with hand prints on her neck from where her own father strangled her!" When he looks at her, he feels like a jackass, because she looks scared, and she shouldn't be scared of him. "You don't wanna fucking hear that shit." There are tears in her eyes and he hates himself. He closes his eyes and turns toward her, setting his beer down on the counter. "Fuck. I'm sorry. I didn't..."
"That's terrible," she says quietly. "That's..."
"It's disgusting. And I don't want you to have to deal with it," he says. His voice is sincere, and his eyes are soft, like he's really worried about how she'll react if he tells her what he encounters. "This isn't like watching CSI on television, where you can just say it isn't real and change the channel after."
"Which is why you should talk about it."
"I don't want to talk about it," he says seriously. "I just want to forget about it right now."
The last thing he expects is her to take another step towards him and lean up to press her lips to his.
He'd think nothing of it, but this isn't like those other little kisses she gives him sometimes. This is her lips lingering against his and her hand coming to rest on his hip. And this time, he can't help but kiss her back.
"Rach..."
She presses herself against him and runs her hand over his cheek gently. "Let me help you forget."
Maybe it's crazy. Maybe she shouldn't be doing it, shouldn't be letting herself do this right now, but seeing him come undone, which he rarely, if ever, does, just reminds her of the man she knows he is, the one she loves sometimes, and she loves him right now.
He doesn't know why he kisses her, pulls her against him and lets her ball his shirt in his fists. He really shouldn't. The memory of what happened the last time they did this is still fresh in his mind. But then, all the good memories are there, too, the way she said his name and how he felt to be inside her and how it was the best sex he'd ever had. If he thought he was just using her as an escape, he'd pull himself away from her. But it's not that.
He fucking wants her.
He pulls her tee shirt over her head and runs his hands down her back as her tongue delves into his mouth, moving against his own. He doesn't know what she's been drinking, but she tastes like peppermint, and her lips are really, really fucking soft. And she's wearing nothing but a bra and her pajama pants, standing in front of him and pushing herself as close to him as she can.
As she toys with the bottom of his tee shirt, he takes her wrists in his and pulls away (as much as it kills him to do it). "Are you sure about this? Because last time..."
"This isn't like last time," she says quietly, looking into his eyes. "It's not."
"How's it different?" He doesn't know why he asks. He thinks he just wants to hear her say that it's not just sex. She just bites her lip (which is totally hot). "How, Rachel?"
"It just is," she promises. "I want you." She wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him softly, so softly that their lips barely touch. "So bad, Noah."
"Dammit, Rach," he sighs. He can't say no to something like that. And she hasn't answered his question. Well, she has, but he doesn't know what the fuck her answer means. "I want you too."
She gathers her courage and loses herself in the sensation of his hands running slowly up and down her back. She takes another step towards him, so they can't get any closer, and runs her hand through his hair.
"Not just right now, though. Right?" she asks. His eyes meet hers and he's smiling a little bit.
(He swears she can feel how fast his heart is beating right now.)
"No, not just right now," he admits.
The way she smiles and kisses him again leads him to believe that she feels the same way, that they're on the same page for once.
There will be no more questions tonight.
She doesn't even know how long they stand there, just kissing, and the goosebumps on her skin are from his touch, feather light. He's touching her like he never has, kissing her like he never has. It's gentle, like he doesn't want to stop kissing her and he'll do this for as long as she'll let him. It's not like last time. There's no urgency to this, no rush. And yes, they're still in the kitchen, but she's sure they'll make it to her room at some point.
And as nice as slow is, she's getting impatient. She reaches between them and unbuckles his belt with one hand as the other pushes up his tee shirt, and he laughs against her mouth. He pulls away and tugs his shirt up over his head, and he swears he's going to lose his shit when she bites her bottom lip and stares at his body.
"So sexy," she murmurs as she leans in and presses kisses along the planes of his chest, up his neck until she reaches his mouth again.
And if she's trying to kill him, he decides this is the right way to do it.
She slides down his zipper and he rests his forehead against hers. He still doesn't know if he should really believe this is happening. He thinks he's wanted it since the last time they did this.
He unclasps her bra and carefully pulls it down her arms, then it falls to the floor with her shirt and his. His hands move up her sides until they settle on her breasts, and she arches her back a little bit into him. Her skin is hot to the touch, and she pulls him closer, which does nothing for how hard he is except make him let out a groan.
"Fuck, Rachel." He doesn't even know what that means. It's just what he says, because she's pressing against him in all the best ways, and if he didn't know where the night was going, he wouldn't be sure if he wanted more or less of her.
(More, though. Always more.)
When she starts kissing her way down his chest, over his stomach, pushing down his jeans in the process, he can't help the way his hands slip into her hair. Then she's on her knees in front of him, kissing along the waistband of his boxers before she pushes them down off his hips.
He absolutely cannot tell her to stop.
She runs her hands down the back of his thighs and smiles wickedly when he unwillingly thrusts his hips forward. He's just about to start begging or something equally as embarrassing, but then she leans forward and swirls her tongue over his tip. He moans and looks down at her, her perfect mouth taking him in, further and further, and he brushes her hair back, totally just to get a better view. She holds up her arm, and he's not sure what the fuck she's doing, but then he sees the hair elastic sitting on her wrist, and he actually laughs.
Coolest. Girl. Ever.
He knows shit all about making ponytails and stuff, but he's kind of desperate to get her hair out of the way (he thinks she is too) so he gathers her hair in one hand and slips the elastic around it into a messy pony tail, that, if he may say so, looks pretty fucking hot.
"You're a dirty girl, aren't you, baby?" he asks. Her eyes meet his and she lets out an 'mmm' which sends the most amazing sensation through his body. "Fuck. God..."
He always knew those years of talking and singing and talking had to do wonders for that mouth of hers. And he didn't get enough of a demonstration the last time they did this. And she's a perfectionist, so it's pretty much a given that she'd be fucking excellent.
But then he's hitting the back of her throat, and he swears he's about thirty seconds from coming in her mouth. Which, judging by the way she's looking up at him, she wouldn't be adverse to.
Even so, he grabs onto her ponytail (gently, of course) and tugs her backward just a little bit. Her lips pull away from him, and she actually fucking pouts. She didn't want to stop.
He just really, really needs to fuck her.
She gets to her feet and grabs the beer from the counter, taking a swig, then handing it to him. She bends down, right in front of him (her ass grazes his cock and she giggles when he groans) and gathers their shirts and her bra, then walks away.
He's standing there, totally confused, and then she glances over her shoulder at him and says, "coming?"
Fuck yes.
He catches up to her halfway between the kitchen and her bedroom, and he wraps his arms around her and kisses her shoulders and her neck. She can't walk when he's doing this. She's totally distracted by the way his fingertips are dipping below the waistband of her pajama pants.
"Noah. My room," she breathes out as his other hand comes up to caress her breast. "Please."
"You're begging? Not like you, Rachel," he teases, nipping at her ear.
"Just do what I tell you."
He chuckles and grips her hips, pulling her back towards him. "I don't fucking think so, babe."
She reaches for the waistband of her pants, but he grabs her wrist, then turns her around so she's facing him. He's totally naked, and she's wearing just her pajama bottoms, and he thinks that she doesn't really want to boss him around. She just wants him to touch her. He pushes her backwards so she's stumbling into her bedroom, and he doesn't really know why, but he kicks the door closed behind them.
When her knees hit the side of the mattress, he hooks his arms around her waist and holds her tight to him, then leans down and kisses her hard on the mouth. Her hands run down his bare sides and then move around to rest on his ass. He groans from low in his throat and grinds himself against her stomach, and she breaks the kiss to let out a guttural moan. It's got to be the sexiest thing he's ever heard.
He hooks his fingers beneath the waistband of her pants and flicks his wrist, pulling them down so they pool at her feet. She's not wearing any underwear. She giggles when his head falls to her shoulder.
"Were you planning this?" he murmurs against her skin, brushing his lips across her collarbone. It'd be really, hot (hotter) if she had planned it.
"Happy accident," she breathes out.
"Fuck." It's kind of a laugh, and she runs her hands through his hair, then pulls him with her when she lays down on her bed. He's laying next to her on his side, pressed against her, and she kisses him again. He feels like he's been kissing this girl this way forever. It's strange, really, how comfortable it is, how right it seems. But it's still totally hot, at the same time. "Tell me what you want, baby."
She closes her eyes and tips her head back. As much as she loves that he wants to do this for her, and as romantic as she thinks it might be, she'd be happy with just about anything at this point.
"Just you," she whispers, reaching down to stroke him.
"Say it, Rach." He leans toward her a little more, his lips grazing her neck as he speaks.
"I just did!"
"Wasn't clear."
"You're such a jerk," she says, which makes them both laugh a little bit. "Noah." He pulls away from her so he can look at her. "I want..." Her eyes are locked with his, and he doesn't think she's paying attention to the hand that's ghosting over her stomach, but then she spreads her legs a little and he smirks as he slips his hand between them. "Oh..."
"Hmm?" he mumbles, kissing her cheek. "You were saying?"
She sinks back into the mattress, and there's a part of her that wants to tell him to shut the hell up and just keep doing what he's doing. But of course he's not going to let her get away with that. But she doesn't know what words to use. Make love to me sounds far too serious. She's never been one of those girls who was bold enough to tell a man she needed him inside her.
So though she's used the word only a handful of times in her entire life, she decides she'll speak his language.
"Fuck me, Noah. Please." The last part comes out a little breathily, because he rubs his middle finger over her most sensitive spot a little harder than he has been.
He thinks she's trying to make him come before he's even inside her. Her talking like that is enough to make him press himself against her and kiss her. He notices she's moving, sliding a little further away from him, which feels like pretty much the worst thing in the world. When he looks over, she's got her hand in the drawer of the bedside table, and she hands him a condom.
"Last time..." he says stupidly.
"This isn't like last time," she repeats.
She doesn't want to think about how he manages to kiss her until she's breathless at the same time as he slips a condom on with one hand, but he does it, and she thinks it's just about the hottest thing in the world. Just about. Because when he spreads her thighs with his hands, then leans over her, he presses against her deliciously. He's not even inside her yet and she's already so close it's almost frightening.
He kisses her, and his hand lands on her hip as he enters her. She lets out this sexy noise from the back of her throat, and it nearly kills him, he swears. He stays still for a few moments, because he thinks she needs it, and he definitely does. This isn't going to last at all if he doesn't try to take his time.
But then Rachel lifts her hips and presses him closer, her hands at the small of his back, and she murmurs, "please," again, and he pulls out almost completely, just so he can see if he can make her make that sound again. He does.
"God," he breathes out as he starts a rhythm. "You know how fucking hot you are, baby? Fuck, I can't believe it took us this long."
She bites her lip and smirks, leaning up to kiss him, then trailing her lips along his jaw and towards his ear. "You wanted me," she whispers, lips grazing his earlobe. He's already admitted to this once tonight. She doesn't know why she says again, like she needs confirmation.
He moans as he pushes into her, hitching her leg a little higher. "So bad. God...so bad, Rach."
"Noah," she says breathlessly. "Shut up now."
He actually laughs, then kisses her again. Time to get serious. He wants to make her come so hard she forgets her own name. Judging by the way she's digging her fingertips into his shoulder blades, he thinks he might be able to do it.
The thing is, he's the fucking king of the dirty talk. He's had a lot of practice and a lot of success. In fact, he's used it before when he was ready to let go and his partner wasn't there. Now Rachel's telling him to shut up, and he thinks that's hot as hell, but at the same time, he thinks it's weird that she's so talkative all the time, and so quiet right now. He'd love to hear some dirty stuff come from her mouth. But then he'd run the risk of this being all over too soon, because he's sure that if she said something especially hot, he'd be totally fucked.
There's something about being with Noah like this that she knows is different. It's not just that he's so good (he is; god, he is). It's something to do with trust, with how well he knows her. She doesn't understand that, really, since they've only done this a few times, and even then it was like he knew everything about her. He knows where to touch her and how to kiss her. He feels so goddamn good inside her that it makes her wonder how she has ever thought she could be with someone who isn't him.
"Stop thinking," he says, and the sound is muffled against her neck as he kisses her.
She doesn't know how he knows. She thinks she likes that he does. Then she realizes he's moving them so she's on top, and she giggles a little bit, then lets out a highly unattractive (to her own ears, anyway) grunt when she feels him deeper than he was before.
She just sits there on top of him for a moment, her hands running up and down his chest. He's moving his hands over her smooth thighs. When she leans forward to kiss him, he moans at the way her hips roll against his and her chest presses up against him.
"You're going to make me work for it?" she asks with a dirty little smile, rotating her hips. He sees stars and hisses out her name.
"Fuck yeah."
She laughs again. He doesn't know why this turns him on even more, but it does. He's very close to just lifting her up himself (she weighs like, 100 pounds; he could lift her with one hand) when she sits up again and starts moving against him. She feels so good, so tight, around him that he closes his eyes because the visual is almost too much right now. Her messy hair and her swollen lips are just the tip of the iceberg. Then there's the matter of her, naked, riding him. And he can't bear to think of what she's doing with her own hands, because they sure as fuck aren't touching him right now. Curiosity gets the best of him and he opens his eyes, only to see her with one hand on her breast and the other trailing down her stomach.
No fucking way is he going to let that happen.
He flips them over again and she wraps her legs around his waist, locking her heels at the small of his back.
"You don't even know," he says gruffly. "You're so fucking sexy, Rachel. I can't even..."
She kisses him hard and starts meeting him thrust for thrust again. "Shut. Up," she repeats forcefully. As forcefully as she can when her voice is stuck somewhere in her chest.
He's just about to tell her that he likes it when she bosses him around, but then she arches her back and digs her heels into his back, moaning out his name, which makes him pretty much lose his train of thought. He snaps his hips and she clenches around him just once.
"Baby..."
"Noah. So close."
He repeats the same action a few times, until she's curling her fingers around his bicep and she lets out this noise that's almost a whine as she tips her head back. One more stroke and she's calling out his name, tightening around him, and he lets his head fall to her shoulder as she takes him with her. He wants so badly to look at her, but he's so far gone that he can't open his eyes.
He collapses on top of her, her legs still tight around him and her hands still on his skin. It's tacky with sweat, and when she kisses his neck, her tongue darts out to taste him. They're both breathing heavily, and when he tries to pull himself away from her, Rachel tightens her thighs and lets her hands run down his arms.
"Not yet," she whispers. "I like you here."
He shifts his hips just once. He's pretty sure that's not exactly what she means. "Me too," he says quietly. They smile at one another and he kisses her hard, letting his tongue slip past her lips to move against her own. He pulls away before he has a chance to get carried away again. She whines when he pulls out so he can move off her. "Sorry."
(He honestly doesn't know why he's apologizing.)
She laughs a little bit, and when he lays down next to her after pitching the condom, she lets herself think that it's crazy that they have separate bedrooms. She wants to keep him here.
"Stay in here with me," she says, nuzzling closer to him, draping her arm across his stomach.
"Plan on it."
"Promise?"
"Yeah," he says, pressing a kiss to her hair.
He doesn't expect her to get up and walk out of the room. He's not sure where she's going or what she's doing, but it's way too cold without her laying there next to him. He runs his hand over his face before getting up and tugging back the covers so he can slip into bed.
She returns with a glass of water in her hand, and he watches as she takes a long sip. She hands the glass to him and he takes a drink, then sets it on the bedside table as Rachel steps closer to him.
He notices the faint red marks on her hips from where he was holding her, and he runs his hands lightly over the spots, kissing her soft skin as she stands there next to the bed. Then she catches sight of herself in the mirror. She looks thoroughly had. It makes her smile a little bit.
"My hair looks ridiculous," she laughs, reaching up to pull the elastic from her 'ponytail' (if it can even be called that at this point.)
Puck reaches up and grabs her wrist, then pulls her back towards him. "Leave it," he says gruffly. His hands ghost over the skin of her back, and she just smiles as they both move to get back into bed. "It's sexy"
"You just like it because you made it look like this," she says, laughing softly, and he smirks, all proud.
She slips beneath the covers and into his arms, and it all feels so right that she knows it should terrify her. But nothing about Noah scares her anymore. It all just works.
"We should talk tomorrow," she says after blowing out the candle by her bedside that had been lighting the room.
"Mmm. No avoiding me," he teases, letting his hold on her tighten momentarily.
"No avoiding," she confirms. "What time do you work?"
"2:00."
She lets out a little mewl and turns in his arms so her chest is pressed against his and their legs tangle together. "Good. That means we can do all that again in the morning."
She feels him hardening against her thigh, and she laughs a little. "Not funny," he insists. "You can't say that."
"Sleep, Noah," she says, kissing him gently, running her hand down his back.
Sleep is just about the last thing on his mind. And yet when he closes his eyes after noticing her breathing slow down, he finds that he falls asleep quickly.
His girl wears him out.
And she is his girl.
He's going to see to it.
(Chapter 12)
Chapter: 11/?
Warning: NC-17
Pairing: Puck/Rachel
Summary: Somewhere between coffee at Dean and Deluca and riding the Staten Island Ferry just for fun, he starts to think that it actually makes a lot of sense for the two of them to end up going rogue the week after graduation. Puck/Rachel future fic.
Word Count: 5,093
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.
(Chapter 10)
Between Rachel's new fame (she says it's not, he says it is; there have been interviews and photo shoots and all that kind of stuff) and her performances and Puck's work, they haven't seen much of each other. It's a little too reminiscent of the time before everything went bad, so Rachel changes her sleep schedule a little bit and stays up some nights when he gets home late. They'll watch late night television together on the couch and talk about whatever. Or if he works the night shift, she'll have breakfast waiting for him so he can eat before he heads to his den/office to sleep. If he has the day off and she has two shows, he'll meet her at the theater and they'll go out for dinner together.
(She ignores her friends every time they tell her she acts like a girlfriend and Puck acts like a boyfriend.)
But it's weird, she thinks, because the more they make fun of her, the more she thinks that wouldn't be so bad. Actually, it'd be amazing.
There are moments when she thinks she's totally in love with him. Like when she gets cold and instead of her getting up and grabbing a sweater from her room, he'll take his off and give it to her. Then it'll smell like him and already be warm from being on his body and she gets that rush of something coursing through her. Or if they're shopping and she's taking too long for his liking, he'll grab her hand and weave their fingers together so he can pull her along. (Sometimes she's slow just so he'll do it.)
It's ridiculous, she knows, falling for your best friend, your roommate, and the only person you truly know.
But is it? Is it really that crazy or out of the ordinary that she develop feelings for him? If she's telling the truth, the feelings have probably been there all along.
So now she spends more time than she should thinking about if he thinks about her. If he feels anything for her. If he wants her.
If he loves her.
She's replying to a few emails in her candle-lit bedroom when the door opens and closes at midnight, a little too loudly for her liking. Not because it bothers her, but because she knows something's bothering him.
She hears the fridge door slam, then the unmistakable sound of a beer being cracked open. It's not like him not to say hello to her before doing something else.
When she steps into the kitchen, he's standing there leaning against the counter with one hand resting on the surface.
"Hey," she says quietly.
"Shit. Did I wake you up?" he asks worriedly. She smiles, and somehow that makes him feel better.
"No. I was awake," she tells him. He just nods slowly and it worries her. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"Noah." She tilts her head at him, just to let him know that he can't fool her. "What's wrong?"
He takes a big breath and lets it out, then tips his head back. "Just had a really shitty day, that's all."
As she looks at him, she notices the tension on his face, how rigid his shoulders appear. She'd offer a massage if she knew how to give one. She's worried about him, though, because he usually doesn't let things get to him. The other couple times he's had rough days at work, he's gone out with the guys afterward for beer. Rachel knows a lot more talking goes on during those outings than he probably wants to admit. She wonders why they aren't out doing that now.
"Maybe it would help to talk about it," she suggests. "You never really talk about work."
"It's fine. You don't need to listen to my stories." He says it like it's a ridiculous notion, which she thinks is pretty stupid.
"Noah, you know all about my work."
He knows she's trying to help, and he loves her for it, but he just can't deal with this right now. She's too good to him, but he really doesn't want her to have to think about the stuff he has to deal with. It's not fair to her.
"Your work is different," he reminds her. "Your work is..."
"Is what?" she asks quietly, taking a step closer.
"Dammit, Rach!" he shouts, slamming his fist on the counter. She flinches, but he's not looking at her, so he doesn't notice. "You don't want to hear about the shit I see! You don't want to hear about us walking into a room and seeing a seven year old girl, dead, with hand prints on her neck from where her own father strangled her!" When he looks at her, he feels like a jackass, because she looks scared, and she shouldn't be scared of him. "You don't wanna fucking hear that shit." There are tears in her eyes and he hates himself. He closes his eyes and turns toward her, setting his beer down on the counter. "Fuck. I'm sorry. I didn't..."
"That's terrible," she says quietly. "That's..."
"It's disgusting. And I don't want you to have to deal with it," he says. His voice is sincere, and his eyes are soft, like he's really worried about how she'll react if he tells her what he encounters. "This isn't like watching CSI on television, where you can just say it isn't real and change the channel after."
"Which is why you should talk about it."
"I don't want to talk about it," he says seriously. "I just want to forget about it right now."
The last thing he expects is her to take another step towards him and lean up to press her lips to his.
He'd think nothing of it, but this isn't like those other little kisses she gives him sometimes. This is her lips lingering against his and her hand coming to rest on his hip. And this time, he can't help but kiss her back.
"Rach..."
She presses herself against him and runs her hand over his cheek gently. "Let me help you forget."
Maybe it's crazy. Maybe she shouldn't be doing it, shouldn't be letting herself do this right now, but seeing him come undone, which he rarely, if ever, does, just reminds her of the man she knows he is, the one she loves sometimes, and she loves him right now.
He doesn't know why he kisses her, pulls her against him and lets her ball his shirt in his fists. He really shouldn't. The memory of what happened the last time they did this is still fresh in his mind. But then, all the good memories are there, too, the way she said his name and how he felt to be inside her and how it was the best sex he'd ever had. If he thought he was just using her as an escape, he'd pull himself away from her. But it's not that.
He fucking wants her.
He pulls her tee shirt over her head and runs his hands down her back as her tongue delves into his mouth, moving against his own. He doesn't know what she's been drinking, but she tastes like peppermint, and her lips are really, really fucking soft. And she's wearing nothing but a bra and her pajama pants, standing in front of him and pushing herself as close to him as she can.
As she toys with the bottom of his tee shirt, he takes her wrists in his and pulls away (as much as it kills him to do it). "Are you sure about this? Because last time..."
"This isn't like last time," she says quietly, looking into his eyes. "It's not."
"How's it different?" He doesn't know why he asks. He thinks he just wants to hear her say that it's not just sex. She just bites her lip (which is totally hot). "How, Rachel?"
"It just is," she promises. "I want you." She wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him softly, so softly that their lips barely touch. "So bad, Noah."
"Dammit, Rach," he sighs. He can't say no to something like that. And she hasn't answered his question. Well, she has, but he doesn't know what the fuck her answer means. "I want you too."
She gathers her courage and loses herself in the sensation of his hands running slowly up and down her back. She takes another step towards him, so they can't get any closer, and runs her hand through his hair.
"Not just right now, though. Right?" she asks. His eyes meet hers and he's smiling a little bit.
(He swears she can feel how fast his heart is beating right now.)
"No, not just right now," he admits.
The way she smiles and kisses him again leads him to believe that she feels the same way, that they're on the same page for once.
There will be no more questions tonight.
She doesn't even know how long they stand there, just kissing, and the goosebumps on her skin are from his touch, feather light. He's touching her like he never has, kissing her like he never has. It's gentle, like he doesn't want to stop kissing her and he'll do this for as long as she'll let him. It's not like last time. There's no urgency to this, no rush. And yes, they're still in the kitchen, but she's sure they'll make it to her room at some point.
And as nice as slow is, she's getting impatient. She reaches between them and unbuckles his belt with one hand as the other pushes up his tee shirt, and he laughs against her mouth. He pulls away and tugs his shirt up over his head, and he swears he's going to lose his shit when she bites her bottom lip and stares at his body.
"So sexy," she murmurs as she leans in and presses kisses along the planes of his chest, up his neck until she reaches his mouth again.
And if she's trying to kill him, he decides this is the right way to do it.
She slides down his zipper and he rests his forehead against hers. He still doesn't know if he should really believe this is happening. He thinks he's wanted it since the last time they did this.
He unclasps her bra and carefully pulls it down her arms, then it falls to the floor with her shirt and his. His hands move up her sides until they settle on her breasts, and she arches her back a little bit into him. Her skin is hot to the touch, and she pulls him closer, which does nothing for how hard he is except make him let out a groan.
"Fuck, Rachel." He doesn't even know what that means. It's just what he says, because she's pressing against him in all the best ways, and if he didn't know where the night was going, he wouldn't be sure if he wanted more or less of her.
(More, though. Always more.)
When she starts kissing her way down his chest, over his stomach, pushing down his jeans in the process, he can't help the way his hands slip into her hair. Then she's on her knees in front of him, kissing along the waistband of his boxers before she pushes them down off his hips.
He absolutely cannot tell her to stop.
She runs her hands down the back of his thighs and smiles wickedly when he unwillingly thrusts his hips forward. He's just about to start begging or something equally as embarrassing, but then she leans forward and swirls her tongue over his tip. He moans and looks down at her, her perfect mouth taking him in, further and further, and he brushes her hair back, totally just to get a better view. She holds up her arm, and he's not sure what the fuck she's doing, but then he sees the hair elastic sitting on her wrist, and he actually laughs.
Coolest. Girl. Ever.
He knows shit all about making ponytails and stuff, but he's kind of desperate to get her hair out of the way (he thinks she is too) so he gathers her hair in one hand and slips the elastic around it into a messy pony tail, that, if he may say so, looks pretty fucking hot.
"You're a dirty girl, aren't you, baby?" he asks. Her eyes meet his and she lets out an 'mmm' which sends the most amazing sensation through his body. "Fuck. God..."
He always knew those years of talking and singing and talking had to do wonders for that mouth of hers. And he didn't get enough of a demonstration the last time they did this. And she's a perfectionist, so it's pretty much a given that she'd be fucking excellent.
But then he's hitting the back of her throat, and he swears he's about thirty seconds from coming in her mouth. Which, judging by the way she's looking up at him, she wouldn't be adverse to.
Even so, he grabs onto her ponytail (gently, of course) and tugs her backward just a little bit. Her lips pull away from him, and she actually fucking pouts. She didn't want to stop.
He just really, really needs to fuck her.
She gets to her feet and grabs the beer from the counter, taking a swig, then handing it to him. She bends down, right in front of him (her ass grazes his cock and she giggles when he groans) and gathers their shirts and her bra, then walks away.
He's standing there, totally confused, and then she glances over her shoulder at him and says, "coming?"
Fuck yes.
He catches up to her halfway between the kitchen and her bedroom, and he wraps his arms around her and kisses her shoulders and her neck. She can't walk when he's doing this. She's totally distracted by the way his fingertips are dipping below the waistband of her pajama pants.
"Noah. My room," she breathes out as his other hand comes up to caress her breast. "Please."
"You're begging? Not like you, Rachel," he teases, nipping at her ear.
"Just do what I tell you."
He chuckles and grips her hips, pulling her back towards him. "I don't fucking think so, babe."
She reaches for the waistband of her pants, but he grabs her wrist, then turns her around so she's facing him. He's totally naked, and she's wearing just her pajama bottoms, and he thinks that she doesn't really want to boss him around. She just wants him to touch her. He pushes her backwards so she's stumbling into her bedroom, and he doesn't really know why, but he kicks the door closed behind them.
When her knees hit the side of the mattress, he hooks his arms around her waist and holds her tight to him, then leans down and kisses her hard on the mouth. Her hands run down his bare sides and then move around to rest on his ass. He groans from low in his throat and grinds himself against her stomach, and she breaks the kiss to let out a guttural moan. It's got to be the sexiest thing he's ever heard.
He hooks his fingers beneath the waistband of her pants and flicks his wrist, pulling them down so they pool at her feet. She's not wearing any underwear. She giggles when his head falls to her shoulder.
"Were you planning this?" he murmurs against her skin, brushing his lips across her collarbone. It'd be really, hot (hotter) if she had planned it.
"Happy accident," she breathes out.
"Fuck." It's kind of a laugh, and she runs her hands through his hair, then pulls him with her when she lays down on her bed. He's laying next to her on his side, pressed against her, and she kisses him again. He feels like he's been kissing this girl this way forever. It's strange, really, how comfortable it is, how right it seems. But it's still totally hot, at the same time. "Tell me what you want, baby."
She closes her eyes and tips her head back. As much as she loves that he wants to do this for her, and as romantic as she thinks it might be, she'd be happy with just about anything at this point.
"Just you," she whispers, reaching down to stroke him.
"Say it, Rach." He leans toward her a little more, his lips grazing her neck as he speaks.
"I just did!"
"Wasn't clear."
"You're such a jerk," she says, which makes them both laugh a little bit. "Noah." He pulls away from her so he can look at her. "I want..." Her eyes are locked with his, and he doesn't think she's paying attention to the hand that's ghosting over her stomach, but then she spreads her legs a little and he smirks as he slips his hand between them. "Oh..."
"Hmm?" he mumbles, kissing her cheek. "You were saying?"
She sinks back into the mattress, and there's a part of her that wants to tell him to shut the hell up and just keep doing what he's doing. But of course he's not going to let her get away with that. But she doesn't know what words to use. Make love to me sounds far too serious. She's never been one of those girls who was bold enough to tell a man she needed him inside her.
So though she's used the word only a handful of times in her entire life, she decides she'll speak his language.
"Fuck me, Noah. Please." The last part comes out a little breathily, because he rubs his middle finger over her most sensitive spot a little harder than he has been.
He thinks she's trying to make him come before he's even inside her. Her talking like that is enough to make him press himself against her and kiss her. He notices she's moving, sliding a little further away from him, which feels like pretty much the worst thing in the world. When he looks over, she's got her hand in the drawer of the bedside table, and she hands him a condom.
"Last time..." he says stupidly.
"This isn't like last time," she repeats.
She doesn't want to think about how he manages to kiss her until she's breathless at the same time as he slips a condom on with one hand, but he does it, and she thinks it's just about the hottest thing in the world. Just about. Because when he spreads her thighs with his hands, then leans over her, he presses against her deliciously. He's not even inside her yet and she's already so close it's almost frightening.
He kisses her, and his hand lands on her hip as he enters her. She lets out this sexy noise from the back of her throat, and it nearly kills him, he swears. He stays still for a few moments, because he thinks she needs it, and he definitely does. This isn't going to last at all if he doesn't try to take his time.
But then Rachel lifts her hips and presses him closer, her hands at the small of his back, and she murmurs, "please," again, and he pulls out almost completely, just so he can see if he can make her make that sound again. He does.
"God," he breathes out as he starts a rhythm. "You know how fucking hot you are, baby? Fuck, I can't believe it took us this long."
She bites her lip and smirks, leaning up to kiss him, then trailing her lips along his jaw and towards his ear. "You wanted me," she whispers, lips grazing his earlobe. He's already admitted to this once tonight. She doesn't know why she says again, like she needs confirmation.
He moans as he pushes into her, hitching her leg a little higher. "So bad. God...so bad, Rach."
"Noah," she says breathlessly. "Shut up now."
He actually laughs, then kisses her again. Time to get serious. He wants to make her come so hard she forgets her own name. Judging by the way she's digging her fingertips into his shoulder blades, he thinks he might be able to do it.
The thing is, he's the fucking king of the dirty talk. He's had a lot of practice and a lot of success. In fact, he's used it before when he was ready to let go and his partner wasn't there. Now Rachel's telling him to shut up, and he thinks that's hot as hell, but at the same time, he thinks it's weird that she's so talkative all the time, and so quiet right now. He'd love to hear some dirty stuff come from her mouth. But then he'd run the risk of this being all over too soon, because he's sure that if she said something especially hot, he'd be totally fucked.
There's something about being with Noah like this that she knows is different. It's not just that he's so good (he is; god, he is). It's something to do with trust, with how well he knows her. She doesn't understand that, really, since they've only done this a few times, and even then it was like he knew everything about her. He knows where to touch her and how to kiss her. He feels so goddamn good inside her that it makes her wonder how she has ever thought she could be with someone who isn't him.
"Stop thinking," he says, and the sound is muffled against her neck as he kisses her.
She doesn't know how he knows. She thinks she likes that he does. Then she realizes he's moving them so she's on top, and she giggles a little bit, then lets out a highly unattractive (to her own ears, anyway) grunt when she feels him deeper than he was before.
She just sits there on top of him for a moment, her hands running up and down his chest. He's moving his hands over her smooth thighs. When she leans forward to kiss him, he moans at the way her hips roll against his and her chest presses up against him.
"You're going to make me work for it?" she asks with a dirty little smile, rotating her hips. He sees stars and hisses out her name.
"Fuck yeah."
She laughs again. He doesn't know why this turns him on even more, but it does. He's very close to just lifting her up himself (she weighs like, 100 pounds; he could lift her with one hand) when she sits up again and starts moving against him. She feels so good, so tight, around him that he closes his eyes because the visual is almost too much right now. Her messy hair and her swollen lips are just the tip of the iceberg. Then there's the matter of her, naked, riding him. And he can't bear to think of what she's doing with her own hands, because they sure as fuck aren't touching him right now. Curiosity gets the best of him and he opens his eyes, only to see her with one hand on her breast and the other trailing down her stomach.
No fucking way is he going to let that happen.
He flips them over again and she wraps her legs around his waist, locking her heels at the small of his back.
"You don't even know," he says gruffly. "You're so fucking sexy, Rachel. I can't even..."
She kisses him hard and starts meeting him thrust for thrust again. "Shut. Up," she repeats forcefully. As forcefully as she can when her voice is stuck somewhere in her chest.
He's just about to tell her that he likes it when she bosses him around, but then she arches her back and digs her heels into his back, moaning out his name, which makes him pretty much lose his train of thought. He snaps his hips and she clenches around him just once.
"Baby..."
"Noah. So close."
He repeats the same action a few times, until she's curling her fingers around his bicep and she lets out this noise that's almost a whine as she tips her head back. One more stroke and she's calling out his name, tightening around him, and he lets his head fall to her shoulder as she takes him with her. He wants so badly to look at her, but he's so far gone that he can't open his eyes.
He collapses on top of her, her legs still tight around him and her hands still on his skin. It's tacky with sweat, and when she kisses his neck, her tongue darts out to taste him. They're both breathing heavily, and when he tries to pull himself away from her, Rachel tightens her thighs and lets her hands run down his arms.
"Not yet," she whispers. "I like you here."
He shifts his hips just once. He's pretty sure that's not exactly what she means. "Me too," he says quietly. They smile at one another and he kisses her hard, letting his tongue slip past her lips to move against her own. He pulls away before he has a chance to get carried away again. She whines when he pulls out so he can move off her. "Sorry."
(He honestly doesn't know why he's apologizing.)
She laughs a little bit, and when he lays down next to her after pitching the condom, she lets herself think that it's crazy that they have separate bedrooms. She wants to keep him here.
"Stay in here with me," she says, nuzzling closer to him, draping her arm across his stomach.
"Plan on it."
"Promise?"
"Yeah," he says, pressing a kiss to her hair.
He doesn't expect her to get up and walk out of the room. He's not sure where she's going or what she's doing, but it's way too cold without her laying there next to him. He runs his hand over his face before getting up and tugging back the covers so he can slip into bed.
She returns with a glass of water in her hand, and he watches as she takes a long sip. She hands the glass to him and he takes a drink, then sets it on the bedside table as Rachel steps closer to him.
He notices the faint red marks on her hips from where he was holding her, and he runs his hands lightly over the spots, kissing her soft skin as she stands there next to the bed. Then she catches sight of herself in the mirror. She looks thoroughly had. It makes her smile a little bit.
"My hair looks ridiculous," she laughs, reaching up to pull the elastic from her 'ponytail' (if it can even be called that at this point.)
Puck reaches up and grabs her wrist, then pulls her back towards him. "Leave it," he says gruffly. His hands ghost over the skin of her back, and she just smiles as they both move to get back into bed. "It's sexy"
"You just like it because you made it look like this," she says, laughing softly, and he smirks, all proud.
She slips beneath the covers and into his arms, and it all feels so right that she knows it should terrify her. But nothing about Noah scares her anymore. It all just works.
"We should talk tomorrow," she says after blowing out the candle by her bedside that had been lighting the room.
"Mmm. No avoiding me," he teases, letting his hold on her tighten momentarily.
"No avoiding," she confirms. "What time do you work?"
"2:00."
She lets out a little mewl and turns in his arms so her chest is pressed against his and their legs tangle together. "Good. That means we can do all that again in the morning."
She feels him hardening against her thigh, and she laughs a little. "Not funny," he insists. "You can't say that."
"Sleep, Noah," she says, kissing him gently, running her hand down his back.
Sleep is just about the last thing on his mind. And yet when he closes his eyes after noticing her breathing slow down, he finds that he falls asleep quickly.
His girl wears him out.
And she is his girl.
He's going to see to it.
(Chapter 12)