come a little closer baby baby
It's not like she means for the phone to ring. It's an accident, swear to God himself and possibly Moses. But it rings anyway, loud and clear in the middle of the night, and Rachel nearly yelps as she shifts backwards to grab it.
"Berry? It's two in the fuckin' morning, what the hell are you calling me for?"
She's not necessarily surprised he's upset - after all, it's a cold day in hell when Rachel Berry is awake past midnight, and though he doesn't have that particular grogginess in his voice that signifies she's woken him from a deep sleep, it's still past what classifies as socially acceptable chatting hours and therefore of course he's upset.
"Berry!"
"Sorry. Sorry. I- hello, Noah."
It's two in the morning and she desperately hopes the gasp in between the syllables can be mistaken for a half-yawn, because she can feel Santana smirking against her thigh and --
"-- Oh!"
That, on the other hand, is decidedly less ambiguous.
"Berry, what the hell are you doing."
Her brow furrows slightly and her tongue presses against the roof of her mouth as she tries to formulate an answer. It isn't easy, not with Santana's fingers tracing along her skin. It's hard enough to remember why she didn't just chuck her phone against the wall. (She didn't, of course, because personal property is valuable and her dads certainly would have had questions about loud noises in the middle of the night.)
"I'm... ah, putting together new, uh, choreography for Glee club!" If her voice sounds too high on the last syllable, it's only because she's thrilled to be back in the saddle again. So to speak.
"At two in the morning?"
"Dedication to my goals of us winning Nationals is very - oh- important to me, Noah!"
There's a lull. One short moment where he doesn't say anything at all, where the only sound is Santana's soft inhale before her tongue slides against the folds of Rachel's ---
" --- No!"
"No what? Berry, Jesus, can you take it down a notch? I'm tryin' to headshot Finessa here and your wailing about Glee club is not helping."
If she groans, it has nothing to do with the fact that Santana's hands are pressed flat on top of her hips or with the fact that Santana's teeth are tugging at the single most sensitive part of her body. Violent video games, that's the reason.
Her free hand manages to clasp onto the sheets of her bed, fingers pushing hard enough to tense the muscles in her forearm, and her other pushes at the buttons of her phone wildly before dropping it off the side.
The sound of computerized gunfire fills the air a moment later, and Rachel doesn't even have to look down to see Santana rolling her eyes. Speakerphone was not her intention, but there's little to be done when the phone is on the floor and both of them are mildly predisposed.
She thumps the bed with her fist at one point, teeth gritted together to hold in the moan that bubbles up in her throat, and Puck's voice comes up from the floor without missing a beat.
"Am I on speakerphone? While you twirl around and shit? Seriously, how bad do you need a fucking audience?"
The image of an audience - not a Broadway one, for once, but of Noah Puckerman watching her squirm and beg as Santana slides her fingers inside her - fills her head almost immediately, and this time, Rachel can't hold back. It's halfway between a cry and a groan, soft and low and (almost) inaudible, but no such luck.
He laughs.
"Berry, christ, I know you're probably dying for a good time after Finessa here left you hanging, but Jesus."
The fact that Santana's fingers spread out inside her, pushing against her walls with enough force to possibly rip her in half, clearly has nothing to do with Noah's almost offering. It's simply a practical method to avoid cramping in her knuckles.
"No... no, of course not, I... landed a little too hard on my ankle, that's... that's all."
The mocking leaves his voice almost immediately, and if she wasn't halfway to choking Santana with her legs, she'd feel a little moved by the sincerity. Instead, all she can do is breathe in through her nose and try, so God help her, not to kick her feet against Santana's back.
"You okay? Because I mean, I can come bring you, like, some booze or whatever to ease the pain if you broke something or some shit."
"Noah, I'm - I'm fine, mmph. Really. I'm totally fine."
Except for the fact that Rachel Berry never says totally because, hello, this is not like Sweet Valley High. She has a vocabulary and she knows how to use it... except for when there's two fingers inside her and a mouth smirking against her clit as she practically tears a hole in her sheets with her nails.
"Yeah, ok."
"I'm fine!"
The fact that they both say please is a total coincidence. It has nothing to do with the fact that Noah Puckerman definitely does not buy her lies or with the other, alternative fact that Santana Lopez has sat up to smirk at her like the cat that ate the canary. Neither of them. It's a coincidence. That's all.
"Please what, Berry?" She's silent for a moment, mouthing please and I'll do anything and Santana! as fast as she possibly can, and it's apparently the answer he was waiting for. "Or were you not talking to me?"
"I... what?"
"Come on. This isn't junior high. Just fucking come already so I can hang up on your ass."
"Fuck off, Puckerman."
She'd scold Santana for her language, but she's a little too busy screaming at the moment.
"Next time let me watch."
She adds slapping Noah Puckerman to her mental to-do list. Underneath return the favor, of course.