Fic: Riding in Trucks
Title: Riding in Cars with Boys Riding in Trucks with a Slightly-Deranged Girl who Definitely Isn't Your Girlfriend.
Author: Soliloquyrain
Pairing,Character(s): Puck/Rachel
Rating: R cause Puck has the mouth of a 16 year old boy and the hormones to match.
Word Count: 3077
Spoilers: Aired Episodes
Summary: Puck may or may not go to class today, Rachel is terrible at talking dirty, and Truck Ownership is contended (It's not her damn truck).
Author's note: [Prompt: A pencil, a Christmas gift, Messing around in the Puck-mobile during school hours] I was prompted with Smut, but I couldn't do it, guys! I dunno! I think the holidays just have me way too fluffy lately! So, here. Have some fluff. It's totally mediocre and dialog heavy and really choppy and bad weird? But idk, this fic didn't like me dudes. So please don't judge me. Set in the Sixty-Four Colors universe.
Sixty-Four Colors
The Scientific Method
theberrifairy is my soul mate. That is all.
-----
They've been this weird thing for a few weeks now; he refuses to call her his girlfriend (it doesn't annoy her as much as he thought it would), but they certainly stopped being just friends at some point, even though they still kinda drive each other crazy 95% of the time. The other 5%, they're naked.
Anyways. They've gotten into the habit of driving to school together.
They usually go in his truck, if only because when she drives she takes control of the radio--"My car, my rules, Noah"--and he just can't start his day to fuckin' Barbara Streisand. Not to mention the fact that she's like, anally punctual, so when she drives she's at his house at 7:00 even though school doesn't even start until 7:50.
At first, she was the perfect passenger. She kept her hands to herself, didn't touch anything, didn't change anything. She talked alot, but after almost a month around her, he'd gotten kinda used to tuning that out.
As she gets more and more comfortable in his truck, however, she's getting a little... handsy. And not in the good way. She started by fiddling with the seat position. And then the heat. And then the volume.
When she starts reaching for the tuning dial, he is not afraid to slap her hand away. "Berry, I swear to God, I am not afraid to throw you out of a moving vehicle."
She glares at him, but doesn't reply.
He knows that glare. Yeah, she's been spending way too much time with Santana, definitely.
They arrive at school at 7:46--now that's what he calls timing--and she frantically gathers her bags and tightens her coat around her and she reaches for the door. He grabs her wrist, pulling her back into the truck as she's about to jump out.
She raises her eyebrow, and he raises his. Two can play that game.
She leans over and kisses him goodbye.
He slips her tongue.
-----
She's back again at 8:45 (no, he still hasn't left his truck, he's got History 1st period which means: free period), and she must not have seen him because when she pulls the passenger side door open, she squeals and jumps back with a start.
"Noah! What in the heck are you doing out here?"
"Crossword," he mumbles, tapping his pencil against the newspaper in his hand, "What's a 7-letter word for absolute God in the sack?" He chews the eraser in mock thought, staring intently at the puzzle.
"You can get over that stupid nickname for yourself, really, because I refuse to call you a Viking when it doesn't even make the slightest bit of sense. And Viking has 6 letters, not 7. "
"Yeah, but the second I is silent," he grins, pointing his thumb at himself.
Rachel rolls her eyes with a huff, "That's doesn't even--whatever, I need to get to class." She reaches down under her seat--uh, the passenger seat, cause it's totally not hers or anything--and pulls out a thick white binder covered in gold stars. "Are you even going today?"
"I was considering it."
"Right. Well, Mrs. Adams is expecting me back, so I really must go, as some of us are actually interested in academic success."
"She teaches English?"
"History."
"Right, right. The one with the rack."
"I think she prefers Mrs. Adams."
"God, I'd love to motorboat those."
"Ok, I have no idea what you're talking about, but since you said it, I'm going to assume it's disgusting."
"Totally is," he says, keeping his eyes trained on the newspaper, "wholly degrading. 10-letter word. To place in a particular spot." A long silence passes and when he looks up, she is glaring at him. "You don't know it?"
"I'm going to class, Noah."
"If you don't know it, just say so. It's ok if you suck at crosswords. Can't be good at everything..."
"Pigeonhole."
He brings his pencil down to the paper, nodding his head just slightly in understanding. "Right, right. Is that with a 'J' ?"
She blinks. "What?"
"Don't blame me, blame Ohio's public education system. I mean, you do know how to spell it, right?"
She climbs into the cab of the truck, snatching the paper from his hands. "Seriously, Noah, if you'd just go to class--" she stops short, staring at the crossword, "you didn't even fill in the puzzle! All you did was draw dirty pictures!"
"Yeah, I know. Don't look at what 47 down is doing to 34 across, it's kinda demeaning. Unless you think you'd be into that?"
"You're a pig."
She hands him the newspaper, clearly trying to bite back a smile and he tosses it onto the bench behind him; it lands unceremoniously amongst the rest of the garbage, and she purses her lips in disgust.
"That's why your truck is a mess. Don't you ever clean up in here? What is that smell, anyways?"
"What smell?"
"It smells like rotten meat."
"I think you just answered your own question then, Berry."
"Maybe we should get rid of it?"
"...get rid of what?"
She twists in the seat, leaning over into the back to dig through months worth of rubbish. "Newspaper from a month ago, maybe? Or how about this, oh look, it's the math homework you said you lost and then made me redo it for you, an unopened box of chocolates?"
He looks up at the mention of food. "Oh, yeah, I forgot about those," he says, grabbing them from her and tossing them on the dashboard. "Brittany gave them to me for Christmas, even though I've told her like seven times that I'm Jewish. I don't think she can wrap her head around the idea of not celebrating it. I didn't have the patience to explain it to her."
"And what's this? ... ew, Noah."
She pulls a magazine from the back, settling herself back into the seat beside him.
"Shit," he says, pulling the Hustler magazine from her hands, "I have been looking everywhere for this thing."
"Maybe you should take greater care to keep that in an inconspicuous place, especially given that you know you have a lady in the truck with you."
"Why? I don't feel the need to hide my shit. Like that little pink box in the very back of your underwear drawer. Never figured you'd have a glass one, that was a pleasant surprise."
She flushes, cheeks and ears tinted red in seconds. "I'm never leaving you alone in my room, again."
"Don't have to, I got that shit memorized." He remembers stumbling across that box and knowing what it was without even opening it. But of course, he still totally did; he used it on her later that night while she pressed a pillow over her face because her fathers were in the next room. He flips the magazine open and thumbs through a few pages silently, only lifting his eyes when she clears her throat.
"As interesting as it is to sit here and watch you peruse your Playboy--"
"Fuck Playboy, way too many articles."
"Oh, well excuse me--"
He opens his mouth but she cuts him off with a huff and a flippant wave of her hand.
"--and don't tell me I'm welcome, thank you. It's all garbage, all of it." As if to emphasis her point, she snatches the magazine back from him, flipping through a few pages.
He sucks in a sharp breath of air, fully aware that his not-a-girlfriend was now looking at other naked women.
"I mean, what's the point in giving an interview naked?" she says, leaning back into the seat, "Does she think her list of Most Favorite Movies is suddenly more interesting because I can see her breasts?"
"It really is a lot more interesting when you can see her breasts."
"Her favorite thing is pearl necklaces? Do people even wear those anymore?"
She is so absorbed in the magazine that she doesn't see his eyebrows shoot up his forehead. "Yeah, some girls do. Santana used to wear em all the time."
Rachel frowns at the pages, furrowing her eyebrows together. She's jealous, he realizes with a start and he's not sure if he should be laughing at her for being jealous over that, or a little unsettled because they're now in the jealousy stage of their not-relationship. "You bought her jewelry?"
"Kinda. I'll give you one too, if you want." He feels himself harden at the thought of it, and he can't help the smirk that breaks out on his face at the mental image, but when she looks up at him with genuine smile, he kinda feels a little bad.
Kinda.
He takes the magazine back and tosses it onto the dash, next to the forgotten chocolates and last weeks (unfinished) homework, and then shifts in his seat, turning his entire body to face her.
"C'mere," he says, and he reaches out to grab her hand.
"I am not going to fool around with you on school grounds, Noah," she protests, but she lets him take her hand and pull her closer to him, anyways.
She lays against his chest, tucking her head under his chin, and he cant help but notice the way her skirt sort of rides up just barely as she stretches out along the seat; he catches a glimpse of yellow panties with daisies on it, and it makes his stomach drop.
"Not even over-the-clothes action?"
"Really, you are incorrigible," she scoffs, beginning to sit up, but he leans down and traps her mouth with his, cutting her off from further complaints. He attempts to slip his tongue between her lips, and she pulls away, shooting him a look. "I'm not fooling around in your Puck-wagon or shag-mobile or whatever foul, disgusting name you've christened it."
"Babe, we've discussed this. It's the Puck-Mobile."
He slides his hands under her thick winter coat, running them down her back and dragging his fingers along her spine; she feels so warm, it's almost enough to make him feel sleepy. She arches her back at the touch, stretching against him and he pushes her coat down her shoulders just a bit.
"Keep it on," she says, though he can hear her resolve breaking, "I'm about to leave."
He ignores her protests and begins to push the article off of her shoulders, but she sits up, pulling away from him. "C'mon, Rach," he says (whines), "how often are we totally alone like this?"
"Almost every single night?"
"Yeah, but then we gotta worry about waking up the brat and shit." She tosses him a look as she begins scooting back towards her door, and he feels an unfamiliar feeling sink over him--desperation. It's not a good look on him, and he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.
"I'll do anything!"
She stops, her hand on the handle, and looks back at him over her shoulder. "Noah--"
"Wait," he hastens to add, "I need to be very clear on this: I only meant something completely degrading and demeaning to me as a human being."
"You're such a--"
"I know, I know, a pig."
"I was going to say deviant, actually." There is a long pause between them, and finally, she removes her hand from the door and leans back in her seat. "Actually, now that you mention it. There has been something I've been wanting to ask of you."
He straightens in his seat, damn impressed with himself for holding off her departure for another moment, and tries not to look too enthused when he leans towards her. "What?"
"Well, I... I kind of want to see you to do what I did for you."
There is a long beat, and he lifts his eyebrows just barely. "What?"
"You know. Remember. In your room..." She flails her hands about hopelessly, as if that will stir his memory, and he continues to watch her in (mock) confusion.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"You know. When I..."
"Go on."
"When I... oh, Noah, don't make me say it!"
"Rachel Berry, I haven't the slightest indication what it is you're talking about."
"Oh forget it! Forget I asked!" She sighs dramatically as she starts to clamber out of the cab and he vaults himself across the seat, grabbing her hand before it can touch the handle.
"I'll totally jack it for you Berry, if that's what you want."
"Ugh, could you be more crude?"
"I think I can, actually."
She huffs--he's come to love that sound, it means he's getting under her skin--but she remains perfectly still, making no move to escape. After a beat, she raises her eyebrow at him (maybe she hasn't been spending too much time with Santana, maybe she's been spending too much time with him) and he knows that's his cue to continue.
"Sweet," he breathes, his jeans already undone before she can even settle herself next to him, her eyes fixed intently on him; she has barely gotten comfortable before he is already working his hand over himself with that Puckerman grin on his face.
He's gotta admit, her intense gaze is a little weird at first, but once she starts nibbling her lower lip and eying him like a Golden Globe, he gets kinda into it. He works his hand in slow, steady strokes and lets his eyes fall shut, relaxing his head against the headrest of the seat.
"What are you thinking about," she says and her voice is so low he can barely hear it over his own harsh breathing.
"You." He's dumb, alright? Not stupid.
"Yeah, but thinking about what exactly?"
"Uh. I just told you.You."
"Yes, but what about me?"
"God, I don't know. Your tits, ok? I'm thinking about your tits." He clenches his eyes shut tighter as he feels his concentration wavering, and he can feel the seat shift as she scoots herself closer to him.
"And what else?"
"Your ass."
"What about it?"
"The way your ass sticks up in the air when you go down. Jesus, Rach, please stop."
There is a long beat, and he finally begins to relax into the seat again, quickening his pace. He thinks she's finally satisfied when she says, "Are we on a bed?"
"Yeah, whatever, fuck."
"Who's bed?"
"Oh, my God, Berry. I am about to throttle you."
"Noah, would you like to ejaculate on my breasts?"
He groans. Leave it to Berry to sanitize one of his dirtiest, nastiest fantasies. "Babe, do me a favor. Just stop talking."
She complies, and there is a long moment of silence, broken only by the sharp inhale of his breath and he is just about to silently thank God for getting her to keep her trap closed when she speaks again.
"Ok," she says in her matter-of-fact voice, "so, I am going down on you."
Holy Christ, she's fucking narrating this to him.
"Yes."
"And my butt is sticking up."
"God, yes."
"And I'm using my mouth on you. And I am touching myself."
"Ohmygod."
"Oh! God!" she gasps, jumping in her seat just a little bit, "I just realized, Noah, what if someone finds us in here?"
"Our truck is locked, just shut up, ohgodi'mgonna--"
He comes with a groan, biting into his lip as he messes his hand, and breathes her name a few times as he strokes himself through his orgasm. He takes a few deep breaths as he comes down before her hand on his shoulder pulls him from his haze, and he opens his eyes and turns to look at her.
She is staring at him with big watery eyes, giant smile plastered on her face. He feels himself swell with pride as he grabs a sheet of paper to clean his hand (he'll later realize it was sheet music. Rachel would shit herself).
"So, how was that, baby?" he purrs, tossing the crumpled paper into the back and moving himself closer to her. Surely, by now, she's bound to be all sorts of worked up and he's already imagining his head between her legs, her hands scratching his scalp, the way her thighs tighten--
"You called it our truck," she breathes, her goddamn eyes nearly twinkling.
"What? No, I didn't. Rachel, what about, you know, the show."
She smiles at him knowingly before leaning over and kissing him chastely on the cheek. "Our truck." she repeats. Then, "Ok, I really have to get back to class, Noah! Bye!"
She is out the door in a flash and he is too dumbfounded to say anything as she waves sweetly at him before slamming the door closed and bounces (fucking bounces) back towards the school.
-----
Once she returns to her class (with a blush in her cheeks) she apologizes profusely to Mrs. Adams for her extreme tardiness and fabricates a story detailing the experience of searching through her truck (the words bring a smile to her face) for her homework.
Mrs. Adams nods vigorously (because she understood her plight or because she just wanted her to settle down, she cannot tell) and Rachel has barely taken three steps towards her seat when the silence in the room is broken by a shrill bell. A fire drill.
She follows her classmates out to the hall, and the noise of the bell coupled with the chatter of a gaggle of high school students who just landed a free period is enough to make her buzz with noise, and she nearly sags with relief when they are out the front door and in the open air.
She scans the parking lot quickly, and a smile works its way to her face when she sees him leaning against the truck with his arms crossed.
She finds it easy to separate herself from the rest of the student body, and there is so much commotion that nobody even notices her bound to the truck and lean against him.
"Still haven't gone in, have you?"
"Oh, I went in," he says, glancing at the crowd of students before tossing her a sloppy grin, and she knows exactly what he is implying. She sends him a glare that clearly says Noah, but he just smirks as he pulls the driver's side door open and motions for her to get in. "C'mon, let's get outta here."
"In our truck?" She calls back over her shoulder and he groans as he follows her in, too annoyed to pay attention to the way her skirt rides up as she's climbing in.
"It's not your fucking truck."
-----
Author: Soliloquyrain
Pairing,Character(s): Puck/Rachel
Rating: R cause Puck has the mouth of a 16 year old boy and the hormones to match.
Word Count: 3077
Spoilers: Aired Episodes
Summary: Puck may or may not go to class today, Rachel is terrible at talking dirty, and Truck Ownership is contended (It's not her damn truck).
Author's note: [Prompt: A pencil, a Christmas gift, Messing around in the Puck-mobile during school hours] I was prompted with Smut, but I couldn't do it, guys! I dunno! I think the holidays just have me way too fluffy lately! So, here. Have some fluff. It's totally mediocre and dialog heavy and really choppy and bad weird? But idk, this fic didn't like me dudes. So please don't judge me. Set in the Sixty-Four Colors universe.
Sixty-Four Colors
The Scientific Method
theberrifairy is my soul mate. That is all.
-----
They've been this weird thing for a few weeks now; he refuses to call her his girlfriend (it doesn't annoy her as much as he thought it would), but they certainly stopped being just friends at some point, even though they still kinda drive each other crazy 95% of the time. The other 5%, they're naked.
Anyways. They've gotten into the habit of driving to school together.
They usually go in his truck, if only because when she drives she takes control of the radio--"My car, my rules, Noah"--and he just can't start his day to fuckin' Barbara Streisand. Not to mention the fact that she's like, anally punctual, so when she drives she's at his house at 7:00 even though school doesn't even start until 7:50.
At first, she was the perfect passenger. She kept her hands to herself, didn't touch anything, didn't change anything. She talked alot, but after almost a month around her, he'd gotten kinda used to tuning that out.
As she gets more and more comfortable in his truck, however, she's getting a little... handsy. And not in the good way. She started by fiddling with the seat position. And then the heat. And then the volume.
When she starts reaching for the tuning dial, he is not afraid to slap her hand away. "Berry, I swear to God, I am not afraid to throw you out of a moving vehicle."
She glares at him, but doesn't reply.
He knows that glare. Yeah, she's been spending way too much time with Santana, definitely.
They arrive at school at 7:46--now that's what he calls timing--and she frantically gathers her bags and tightens her coat around her and she reaches for the door. He grabs her wrist, pulling her back into the truck as she's about to jump out.
She raises her eyebrow, and he raises his. Two can play that game.
She leans over and kisses him goodbye.
He slips her tongue.
-----
She's back again at 8:45 (no, he still hasn't left his truck, he's got History 1st period which means: free period), and she must not have seen him because when she pulls the passenger side door open, she squeals and jumps back with a start.
"Noah! What in the heck are you doing out here?"
"Crossword," he mumbles, tapping his pencil against the newspaper in his hand, "What's a 7-letter word for absolute God in the sack?" He chews the eraser in mock thought, staring intently at the puzzle.
"You can get over that stupid nickname for yourself, really, because I refuse to call you a Viking when it doesn't even make the slightest bit of sense. And Viking has 6 letters, not 7. "
"Yeah, but the second I is silent," he grins, pointing his thumb at himself.
Rachel rolls her eyes with a huff, "That's doesn't even--whatever, I need to get to class." She reaches down under her seat--uh, the passenger seat, cause it's totally not hers or anything--and pulls out a thick white binder covered in gold stars. "Are you even going today?"
"I was considering it."
"Right. Well, Mrs. Adams is expecting me back, so I really must go, as some of us are actually interested in academic success."
"She teaches English?"
"History."
"Right, right. The one with the rack."
"I think she prefers Mrs. Adams."
"God, I'd love to motorboat those."
"Ok, I have no idea what you're talking about, but since you said it, I'm going to assume it's disgusting."
"Totally is," he says, keeping his eyes trained on the newspaper, "wholly degrading. 10-letter word. To place in a particular spot." A long silence passes and when he looks up, she is glaring at him. "You don't know it?"
"I'm going to class, Noah."
"If you don't know it, just say so. It's ok if you suck at crosswords. Can't be good at everything..."
"Pigeonhole."
He brings his pencil down to the paper, nodding his head just slightly in understanding. "Right, right. Is that with a 'J' ?"
She blinks. "What?"
"Don't blame me, blame Ohio's public education system. I mean, you do know how to spell it, right?"
She climbs into the cab of the truck, snatching the paper from his hands. "Seriously, Noah, if you'd just go to class--" she stops short, staring at the crossword, "you didn't even fill in the puzzle! All you did was draw dirty pictures!"
"Yeah, I know. Don't look at what 47 down is doing to 34 across, it's kinda demeaning. Unless you think you'd be into that?"
"You're a pig."
She hands him the newspaper, clearly trying to bite back a smile and he tosses it onto the bench behind him; it lands unceremoniously amongst the rest of the garbage, and she purses her lips in disgust.
"That's why your truck is a mess. Don't you ever clean up in here? What is that smell, anyways?"
"What smell?"
"It smells like rotten meat."
"I think you just answered your own question then, Berry."
"Maybe we should get rid of it?"
"...get rid of what?"
She twists in the seat, leaning over into the back to dig through months worth of rubbish. "Newspaper from a month ago, maybe? Or how about this, oh look, it's the math homework you said you lost and then made me redo it for you, an unopened box of chocolates?"
He looks up at the mention of food. "Oh, yeah, I forgot about those," he says, grabbing them from her and tossing them on the dashboard. "Brittany gave them to me for Christmas, even though I've told her like seven times that I'm Jewish. I don't think she can wrap her head around the idea of not celebrating it. I didn't have the patience to explain it to her."
"And what's this? ... ew, Noah."
She pulls a magazine from the back, settling herself back into the seat beside him.
"Shit," he says, pulling the Hustler magazine from her hands, "I have been looking everywhere for this thing."
"Maybe you should take greater care to keep that in an inconspicuous place, especially given that you know you have a lady in the truck with you."
"Why? I don't feel the need to hide my shit. Like that little pink box in the very back of your underwear drawer. Never figured you'd have a glass one, that was a pleasant surprise."
She flushes, cheeks and ears tinted red in seconds. "I'm never leaving you alone in my room, again."
"Don't have to, I got that shit memorized." He remembers stumbling across that box and knowing what it was without even opening it. But of course, he still totally did; he used it on her later that night while she pressed a pillow over her face because her fathers were in the next room. He flips the magazine open and thumbs through a few pages silently, only lifting his eyes when she clears her throat.
"As interesting as it is to sit here and watch you peruse your Playboy--"
"Fuck Playboy, way too many articles."
"Oh, well excuse me--"
He opens his mouth but she cuts him off with a huff and a flippant wave of her hand.
"--and don't tell me I'm welcome, thank you. It's all garbage, all of it." As if to emphasis her point, she snatches the magazine back from him, flipping through a few pages.
He sucks in a sharp breath of air, fully aware that his not-a-girlfriend was now looking at other naked women.
"I mean, what's the point in giving an interview naked?" she says, leaning back into the seat, "Does she think her list of Most Favorite Movies is suddenly more interesting because I can see her breasts?"
"It really is a lot more interesting when you can see her breasts."
"Her favorite thing is pearl necklaces? Do people even wear those anymore?"
She is so absorbed in the magazine that she doesn't see his eyebrows shoot up his forehead. "Yeah, some girls do. Santana used to wear em all the time."
Rachel frowns at the pages, furrowing her eyebrows together. She's jealous, he realizes with a start and he's not sure if he should be laughing at her for being jealous over that, or a little unsettled because they're now in the jealousy stage of their not-relationship. "You bought her jewelry?"
"Kinda. I'll give you one too, if you want." He feels himself harden at the thought of it, and he can't help the smirk that breaks out on his face at the mental image, but when she looks up at him with genuine smile, he kinda feels a little bad.
Kinda.
He takes the magazine back and tosses it onto the dash, next to the forgotten chocolates and last weeks (unfinished) homework, and then shifts in his seat, turning his entire body to face her.
"C'mere," he says, and he reaches out to grab her hand.
"I am not going to fool around with you on school grounds, Noah," she protests, but she lets him take her hand and pull her closer to him, anyways.
She lays against his chest, tucking her head under his chin, and he cant help but notice the way her skirt sort of rides up just barely as she stretches out along the seat; he catches a glimpse of yellow panties with daisies on it, and it makes his stomach drop.
"Not even over-the-clothes action?"
"Really, you are incorrigible," she scoffs, beginning to sit up, but he leans down and traps her mouth with his, cutting her off from further complaints. He attempts to slip his tongue between her lips, and she pulls away, shooting him a look. "I'm not fooling around in your Puck-wagon or shag-mobile or whatever foul, disgusting name you've christened it."
"Babe, we've discussed this. It's the Puck-Mobile."
He slides his hands under her thick winter coat, running them down her back and dragging his fingers along her spine; she feels so warm, it's almost enough to make him feel sleepy. She arches her back at the touch, stretching against him and he pushes her coat down her shoulders just a bit.
"Keep it on," she says, though he can hear her resolve breaking, "I'm about to leave."
He ignores her protests and begins to push the article off of her shoulders, but she sits up, pulling away from him. "C'mon, Rach," he says (whines), "how often are we totally alone like this?"
"Almost every single night?"
"Yeah, but then we gotta worry about waking up the brat and shit." She tosses him a look as she begins scooting back towards her door, and he feels an unfamiliar feeling sink over him--desperation. It's not a good look on him, and he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.
"I'll do anything!"
She stops, her hand on the handle, and looks back at him over her shoulder. "Noah--"
"Wait," he hastens to add, "I need to be very clear on this: I only meant something completely degrading and demeaning to me as a human being."
"You're such a--"
"I know, I know, a pig."
"I was going to say deviant, actually." There is a long pause between them, and finally, she removes her hand from the door and leans back in her seat. "Actually, now that you mention it. There has been something I've been wanting to ask of you."
He straightens in his seat, damn impressed with himself for holding off her departure for another moment, and tries not to look too enthused when he leans towards her. "What?"
"Well, I... I kind of want to see you to do what I did for you."
There is a long beat, and he lifts his eyebrows just barely. "What?"
"You know. Remember. In your room..." She flails her hands about hopelessly, as if that will stir his memory, and he continues to watch her in (mock) confusion.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"You know. When I..."
"Go on."
"When I... oh, Noah, don't make me say it!"
"Rachel Berry, I haven't the slightest indication what it is you're talking about."
"Oh forget it! Forget I asked!" She sighs dramatically as she starts to clamber out of the cab and he vaults himself across the seat, grabbing her hand before it can touch the handle.
"I'll totally jack it for you Berry, if that's what you want."
"Ugh, could you be more crude?"
"I think I can, actually."
She huffs--he's come to love that sound, it means he's getting under her skin--but she remains perfectly still, making no move to escape. After a beat, she raises her eyebrow at him (maybe she hasn't been spending too much time with Santana, maybe she's been spending too much time with him) and he knows that's his cue to continue.
"Sweet," he breathes, his jeans already undone before she can even settle herself next to him, her eyes fixed intently on him; she has barely gotten comfortable before he is already working his hand over himself with that Puckerman grin on his face.
He's gotta admit, her intense gaze is a little weird at first, but once she starts nibbling her lower lip and eying him like a Golden Globe, he gets kinda into it. He works his hand in slow, steady strokes and lets his eyes fall shut, relaxing his head against the headrest of the seat.
"What are you thinking about," she says and her voice is so low he can barely hear it over his own harsh breathing.
"You." He's dumb, alright? Not stupid.
"Yeah, but thinking about what exactly?"
"Uh. I just told you.You."
"Yes, but what about me?"
"God, I don't know. Your tits, ok? I'm thinking about your tits." He clenches his eyes shut tighter as he feels his concentration wavering, and he can feel the seat shift as she scoots herself closer to him.
"And what else?"
"Your ass."
"What about it?"
"The way your ass sticks up in the air when you go down. Jesus, Rach, please stop."
There is a long beat, and he finally begins to relax into the seat again, quickening his pace. He thinks she's finally satisfied when she says, "Are we on a bed?"
"Yeah, whatever, fuck."
"Who's bed?"
"Oh, my God, Berry. I am about to throttle you."
"Noah, would you like to ejaculate on my breasts?"
He groans. Leave it to Berry to sanitize one of his dirtiest, nastiest fantasies. "Babe, do me a favor. Just stop talking."
She complies, and there is a long moment of silence, broken only by the sharp inhale of his breath and he is just about to silently thank God for getting her to keep her trap closed when she speaks again.
"Ok," she says in her matter-of-fact voice, "so, I am going down on you."
Holy Christ, she's fucking narrating this to him.
"Yes."
"And my butt is sticking up."
"God, yes."
"And I'm using my mouth on you. And I am touching myself."
"Ohmygod."
"Oh! God!" she gasps, jumping in her seat just a little bit, "I just realized, Noah, what if someone finds us in here?"
"Our truck is locked, just shut up, ohgodi'mgonna--"
He comes with a groan, biting into his lip as he messes his hand, and breathes her name a few times as he strokes himself through his orgasm. He takes a few deep breaths as he comes down before her hand on his shoulder pulls him from his haze, and he opens his eyes and turns to look at her.
She is staring at him with big watery eyes, giant smile plastered on her face. He feels himself swell with pride as he grabs a sheet of paper to clean his hand (he'll later realize it was sheet music. Rachel would shit herself).
"So, how was that, baby?" he purrs, tossing the crumpled paper into the back and moving himself closer to her. Surely, by now, she's bound to be all sorts of worked up and he's already imagining his head between her legs, her hands scratching his scalp, the way her thighs tighten--
"You called it our truck," she breathes, her goddamn eyes nearly twinkling.
"What? No, I didn't. Rachel, what about, you know, the show."
She smiles at him knowingly before leaning over and kissing him chastely on the cheek. "Our truck." she repeats. Then, "Ok, I really have to get back to class, Noah! Bye!"
She is out the door in a flash and he is too dumbfounded to say anything as she waves sweetly at him before slamming the door closed and bounces (fucking bounces) back towards the school.
-----
Once she returns to her class (with a blush in her cheeks) she apologizes profusely to Mrs. Adams for her extreme tardiness and fabricates a story detailing the experience of searching through her truck (the words bring a smile to her face) for her homework.
Mrs. Adams nods vigorously (because she understood her plight or because she just wanted her to settle down, she cannot tell) and Rachel has barely taken three steps towards her seat when the silence in the room is broken by a shrill bell. A fire drill.
She follows her classmates out to the hall, and the noise of the bell coupled with the chatter of a gaggle of high school students who just landed a free period is enough to make her buzz with noise, and she nearly sags with relief when they are out the front door and in the open air.
She scans the parking lot quickly, and a smile works its way to her face when she sees him leaning against the truck with his arms crossed.
She finds it easy to separate herself from the rest of the student body, and there is so much commotion that nobody even notices her bound to the truck and lean against him.
"Still haven't gone in, have you?"
"Oh, I went in," he says, glancing at the crowd of students before tossing her a sloppy grin, and she knows exactly what he is implying. She sends him a glare that clearly says Noah, but he just smirks as he pulls the driver's side door open and motions for her to get in. "C'mon, let's get outta here."
"In our truck?" She calls back over her shoulder and he groans as he follows her in, too annoyed to pay attention to the way her skirt rides up as she's climbing in.
"It's not your fucking truck."
-----