HSN Exchange Fic: The Sun Never Sets (2/2), for neimans
Title: The Sun Never Sets (2/2)
Rating: NC-17
Pairings/Characters: Puck/Rachel, Santana, Brittany (implied Santana/Puck, Santana/Brittany)
Warnings: N/A
Word count: ~7000 (total ~15,700)
Disclaimer: This Glee fanfiction is based upon the television show of the same name. All characters and situations other than my own are sole property of Ryan Murphy Productions and 20th Century Fox Television.
Summary: On their last night in Mexico, Santana has a plan that's bound to get someone in trouble.
A/N: Thank you to my lovely, lovely beta. ♥ neimans I hope you enjoy this!
Rachel sits on the edge of the fountain with Puck, grateful for the cool mist from the splashing water, while Santana and Brittany flirt with locals who speak better English than any of them will ever speak Spanish. It's a nice night, even if it's still too hot out.
The phone in Puck's pocket beeps, and he nearly knocks over the bottle of tequila sitting between them when he tries to get it out. Rachel picks it up and sets it on her other side.
"Those phones are only for emergencies," she says as he reads the text message.
"My boy hooking up is an emergency," he says.
She feels her face heat up, even though he's not looking at her.
"You'd have the hotel room all to yourself." She looks up at him through her lashes, but he's looking over at Santana and Brittany with hungry eyes as they make out, ignoring the catcalls of the Mexican boys.
Rachel frowns. She hoped she was wrong. She really honestly did, but with Santana's evasiveness, and Puck's apparent fixation on her -
Well. Rachel isn't stupid. She's more than aware of what it's like, being interested in a boy that only stares at someone else. She just wishes she wouldn't have to keep experiencing it. Her eyes narrow, watching Santana's fingers curl in Brittany's hair.
Santana got Rachel's solo. She's not getting Puck tonight.
"Is it really that exciting?" She asks, shifting closer and bumping their shoulders together.
"Two girls going at it?" Puck asks, "Yeah. Absolutely."
"Why?"
"Dunno. It just is."
Clearly, Puck isn't interested in conversation, even one about two girls kissing. Rachel has to know, absolutely has to know, so she asks, "Is there something going on between you and Santana?"
"What? No."
"You keep staring at her."
"She's hot, and she's making out with another chick, Rachel. A dude's going to stare."
They're quiet then, and Rachel feels strange, uncertain. She doesn't like feeling uncertain, and perhaps he just wants to watch two girls kissing, but Rachel's never liked being second best. She's never been one to appreciate silence, either.
"Have you given any thought about what you want to do in the future?" She picks up the tequila bottle next to her. The label is brown, with tiny gold stars bordering the lettering. She peels the label a little, wondering if means something.
He shrugs, still staring. "Dunno. Clean pools."
Rachel frowns. "We live in Ohio."
"We can't all go to Los Angeles," he says. There's a tight edge to his voice that Rachel doesn't understand, but before she can question him about it, Puck sighs and rubs his hand over his face. He actually looks away from Santana and Brittany. "My uncle's got a job in construction. He can probably get me in there."
She feels it building up, the criticism and the importance of a well thought out twenty year plan, and Rachel knows she can't let it out. She twists the top off the bottle quickly and takes a swig.
It burns, sharper than she expected and more bitter, too. Rachel chokes on it, her throat constricting a little, eyes watering as she coughs loud enough to draw Santana's attention away from Brittany. She watches Rachel wipe her mouth with the back of her hand, laughing brightly before she turns back to Brittany.
"Easy there. Not so fast." Puck rubs her back. It's warm here, even at night, but the tops of his fingers brush against the skin above the back of her tank top, and she shivers.
Rachel leans in closer and shifts her body towards him. He doesn't even attempt to touch her breasts, even though she's certain that he's perfected a maneuver for situations such as this. Even though she let him earlier. Has she crossed into the territory where he doesn't even realize that she's female anymore? Is that what's going on?
"That's awful," she says. She might not even be talking about the tequila.
Puck laughs. "You get used to it."
She doesn't know if she wants to get used to it. The idea that Noah Puckerman doesn't even find her attractive anymore, it's awful, thinking about that. Rachel remembers a time when he'd have touched her inappropriately just because he could. When he tried to make out with her when she was dating Jesse. Or when he made outrageously filthy suggestions in her ear even though she was dating his best friend.
When did that stop? And how did she not notice it happening?
"You're better than that. Cleaning pools? You're capable of more," she says, wiping away the tears in her eyes. Puck stares at her. She wishes the thoughts and emotions of others weren't such a mystery to her. She can't read him at all. She shifts away a little and pulls the hem of her skirt down, holding onto the neck of the bottle and settling it into her lap.
"What would you do, if you could do anything? Anything at all?"
Puck doesn't answer her right away, taking so long that she thinks he's not going to. They rarely have conversations like this, a few stolen moments when she happened to be in the right place at the right time, instead of any desire he had to confide in her.
"Start a band. That'd be cool."
"A band? With Finn?"
He shrugs. "Yeah, maybe."
A band. It's admirable, and he's certainly talented. With some training and more discipline and a lot of work, he might be able to do it. Play a few bar gigs around Lima and eventually work his way to bigger bars and bigger cities. People have done it before, started from the lowest roots and climbed to the pinnacle of success.
She's been training since she was three months old, and Rachel's dreams haven't changed at all in the past few years, but she's definitely more aware of the outlook. She definitely has more star potential than anyone she's ever met - with the possible exception of Jesse, though it hurts to think about that - but not everyone will be able to recognize that in her.
Jealousy, perhaps, or the inability to cope with her personality, but it's something she has absolutely no control over.
She hates it. Rachel likes to be in control. She definitely likes having things the way she wants them. She looks down, circling her fingers around the neck of the bottle and running her thumb over the rim.
"A band. What would you call it?"
Puck leans back against the bench; he's still watching Santana and Brittany, but his eyes have a distant quality to them.
Rachel shifts, turning her body towards him again.
"MILF Patrol," he says finally.
She leans back, blinking. "MILF Patrol?"
"Or Five Knuckle Shuffle," he says, making the appropriate hand gesture.
"Noah Puckerman! That's completely disgusting."
"It's natural, babe." He grins, and Rachel can't help but to smile back. She flips her hair over her shoulder; he watches her do it, but otherwise does nothing. Nothing at all besides look back at Santana and Brittany.
Hope, she thinks, is a nasty thing. It dies quietly in her chest and hurts more than something that never really had life in the first place should. Rachel smiles sadly and says quietly, "We should head back. It's pretty late. Our flight is fairly early tomorrow."
He gets up to retrieve Santana and Brittany from the salacious stares and suggestions from the local boys. He doesn't even fight her.
She wonders if she secretly wanted him to.
-
Santana pushes the call button for the elevator before she frowns and digs in her purse.
"Hey, Rachel? Do you have your room key? I think I left mine at the bar."
Rachel blinks and digs in her own purse, just to make sure. She's certain that her room key is right where she left it, tucked away safely. it is. She holds it up to show Santana. "I do."
She smiles and snatches it from Rachel's hand, backing away quickly. "Thanks!"
"Hey!" Rachel says, starting to follow her, but Brittany giggles, pulling Santana into the elevator with her.
"We're sexiling you," she says over Santana's shoulder. "Have a good night!"
"Oh, game on," Puck says, attempting to follow them into the elevator. Santana stops him with a hand on his chest, pushing him back out the doors.
"Come on. You've got to be kidding me."
"Sorry, Puck. Not tonight." Santana puckers her lips in a poor imitation of a kiss and waves at Rachel, the only room key in her hand. The elevator doors close quietly, and Rachel thinks she should have seen this coming.
"Fuck."
"We could take the stairs," Rachel says, watching the little numbers above the elevator light up.
"Whatever." Puck says and pushes the call button.
Rachel looks at her feet. He doesn't say anything else, just leans against the wall, waiting. Was this Santana's plan all along? Get control of the room for tonight? She could have simply asked, instead of getting Rachel's -
What? Her hopes up?
Ridiculous.
Puck probably doesn't talk about her at all, and Santana never wanted anything but an empty room for the night. She's only surprised that it hadn't happened sooner in the week.
In the elevator, she leans against the wall, hands behind her back. She runs the front of her foot up the back of her calf, and tries not to think about the potentially embarrassing situation she could have just put herself in. Noah Puckerman might be easy, but Rachel knows her track record involving the opposite sex.
"I really wanted to get laid tonight," Puck tells the ceiling. "She's been acting whack for the last couple days and she's leaving next week. And tonight was just - I don't know what's up with her. I knew I should have played all my cards on that chick at the bar."
Rachel looks at her feet.
"I'm supposed to be rooming with Santana," she says softly, even though they both already know that. Rachel runs her fingers over the rim of the tequila bottle and wonders if she could just take a sip straight. No limes, no salt. Maybe it'll be easier the second time around. Maybe it wouldn't be as awful.
She looks up in time to watch Puck run a hand over his hair. Rachel wonders what it feels like. She remembers the Mohawk better than she thought she would, even with her excellent sensory perception memory. She remembers the prickly hair under her palms contrasted against the soft almost curl of the hair. She flushes, wondering what it would feel different to her now.
The elevator dings, breaking her out of her ridiculous fantasies.
She could just go knock on the room door, or call Mr. Schuester and tell him that she accidentally got locked out of her room. She wouldn't be that careless though, and he might ask her what she was doing out of her room at this hour anyway.
Puck steps of the elevator. "C'mon. Finn's in Tina's room. You can sleep in his bed."
He doesn't wait for her to follow him, and Rachel hesitates, watching him walk away from her.
It doesn't have to be a fantasy, does it? No, Rachel thinks, she's Rachel Berry and she always goes after what she wants. No harm in that, besides the possible sting of rejection. But then, her peers have been rejecting her for the entirety of her high school career.
Rachel smooths her hair behind her ears, takes a deep breath and starts walking. She catches up to him just as he's sliding his key card into the slot. The little light turns red, and Rachel wonders if it's a sign. Is it a warning, an omen, anything telling her to stop now, while she still can?
Puck doesn't seem to sense her agitation, sliding the card back in, slower this time, almost exaggeratedly so.
Rachel swallows, wondering when her throat went dry. If it turns red again, she'll leave. If it turns red, she knows it's a sign that this isn't something she wants to do, that this is a mistake. She'll know -
It's green.
"You coming or what?" Puck asks and she blinks at him, feeling the flush start to creep into her cheeks. There's absolutely nothing sexual in his gaze, but Rachel has trouble gathering her thoughts. It's hard to think, looking at him and realizing that he has no idea what she's thinking.
She's turned him away so many times, too focused on whichever boyfriend she had at the moment, determined that he was the one - her one and only - and there wasn't anyone else she could possibly want. She did everything to put a halt to his harmless flirtations until they were fewer and farther between, until they eventually stopped altogether.
She almost likes that he's completely unaware of what she's going to offer him tonight.
Rachel steps into the room ahead of him. He shuts the door behind her and brushes past her into the room. It's not the first time he's touched her tonight, but Rachel feels it, visceral and real, all the way down to her toes.
She takes a step back and leans against the door, watching him shrug off his button down, stripping down to the white wife beater - what a ridiculous name for a shirt - underneath. He sits down on one of the beds, reaching for his shoes.
Rachel plays with the handle beneath her hand. She could leave. This isn't how she pictured her first time, in a hotel in a Mexican city, with a boy that she isn't dating, isn't even in love with. Sometimes, she wonders if she even really likes him all that much. He may have stopped throwing slushies in her face and saying such awful things about her, but sometimes it's hard for her to forget their history. Even if they are somewhat friends now.
She could -
Clearing her throat, she asks, "What if I don't want to sleep in his bed?"
Puck looks at her, eyebrows raised. "You wanna sleep on the floor?"
"No. I meant-" She flushes hot, closing her eyes to gather her thoughts. Admitting it shouldn't be this hard. But it's her, Rachel Berry, and everything is hard for her. She has to work for everything else in her life; why should this be any different? She opens her eyes and lifts her chin. She can do this. She wants to do this.
"What if I want to sleep in your bed?" Rachel asks, stepping away from the door. "With you."
Puck goes still, shoe still half on. He doesn't look at her, like he doesn't believe she's actually there, saying these sorts of things to him.
"Would that be a problem?" She asks, taking another step closer. She sets the tequila bottle on the television stand. Why isn't he looking at her? "If I wanted- if I want to."
"What are you saying, Rachel?"
"I've been trying to seduce you all night." The words are easier now, flowing more like what she's used to. "Rather ineptly, apparently. I believe that our chemistry, while I've admittedly done everything to ignore it until now, is rather remarkable and I'd rather not put this opportunity to waste. How often are we going to be in Mexico?"
Puck still isn't looking at her; he's not even facing her, even if his eyes are slanted in her direction. Looking at her feet, maybe. Or her legs. She's always thought they were one of her best physical attributes.
She frowns at his inability to keep up with her train of thought. She licks her lips and pauses to consider her seduction technique. Words like hers don't work on a boy like Noah Puckerman. She might want them. She might need them, but if he does, he's excellent at hiding it. Rachel takes a step closer and then she slips her feet out of her shoes. The carpet is soft under her toes, plush, and her feet sink into it with each step, one, two, three until she's right in front of him.
He looks up at her, something undefinable in his eyes and the lines of his mouth. Maybe lust, and maybe hope. She doesn't know, but he's not pushing her away. He's not saying no.
"Rachel. If you're fucking with me -"
She shakes her head and wipes her hands on the back of her skirt as subtly as possible. She doesn't know if Puck noticed, but he's not saying anything about it if he did.
"I'm not. I want this."
"Did Santana put you up to this? It's not funny if she did."
Rachel shakes her head. Santana may have been the catalyst, but this isn't about her. It isn't about anything but Rachel.
"She says you talk about me all the time," Rachel says, watching him closely. There's a flicker in his eyes, and a telling clench to his jaw. She smiles, even when he tries to hide it. "Santana can't make me do anything I don't want to do."
Puck smirks a little, an easy curve to his mouth and she wonders if he's remembering that public debacle at Regionals, loud and angry over that solo, but only leading to Santana's eventual triumph. He reaches out and curves his hand around to the back of her knee and slides it up, slowly, slowly, watching her face the entire time. Rachel swallows, nerves and want thick in her throat.
This is. She almost can't believe she's actually going to do this.
But then he touches her other leg, pushing that hand up until they're both high on the back of her thighs and she knows that this is what she wants. He still looks a little shell-shocked, waiting, like he thinks they're playing some sort of game. Who breaks first.
Rachel doesn't like games unless she's certain she's going to win. She touches his hair, sinking her fingers into it. It's long enough that it's soft and not prickly, but short enough that she couldn't get a grip if she tried. She watches her hand slide over the curve of his scalp, all the way down to rest at the nape of his neck.
He pulls her forward suddenly, nearly toppling her. Rachel grips his shoulders to steady herself. She feels warm all over, inside and out, and her throat feels constricted when she swallows.
"This is very reckless and irresponsible," she says quietly, realizing the ridiculousness of this entire situation, in a foreign country, propositioning a sexual encounter with someone that used to torment her. Someone she doesn't know if she'll see ever again after this summer.
If she even sees him again during the summer.
"Most of the best ideas are." Puck leans back. "Look, if you're not really into this, you better tell me now. I'd rather not have to jerk off in the bathroom later."
She opens her mouth. Is she in or is she out? She's not entirely certain that this is how she wants the night to go. Rachel doesn't even know if she's certain of anything anymore. She's not sure she likes the feeling. Her mouth is dry. It makes it difficult to swallow.
Rachel focus on the thin fabric under her hands, the way it lays over the curve of his shoulder, thumb slipping under the edge to touch his collarbone. She watches it for a moment, the smooth line of his shoulder, and then she leans forward to kiss him, just a bare brush of her mouth over his.
It's quick, and sweet, and nothing like the kisses they once shared. It's not like it was when they rolled around on her bed, nor is it like the aborted forbidden kisses she almost let him steal once. There's no one else in this room with them, and that has been their problem all along. Too focused on other people and not the possibility of each other. She, in particular, has been too focused her own goals, her own dreams to understand the implications of what they could have been, if she'd only taken a step back and paid attention to anything that wasn't gilt with stardust.
He threads his hand in her hair, careful, like he thinks he might break her. Maybe he will. Maybe she will.
Rachel's not certain she particularly cares right now. She shifts closer, until she's pressing against his chest, but she pulls away from the kiss. She doesn't go far, resting her forehead against his, eyes closed, and she just breathes. Shaky and fluttery, but certain. How long has she wanted him without realizing it?
His nose pushes against hers, and then he presses their mouths together again, a little firmer, a little hungrier. She opens for him a little and tilts her head, attempting to control the angle.
Rachel's so focused on relearning the shape of his mouth - they only dated for a short period of time, but she thinks she memorized the talents of his mouth - that it startles her when he slips a hand under her shirt.
She pulls away, blinking at him. He slides it higher, slow and careful, like he suspects he's going to spook her. This might, but it's more in the way he's looking at her, intent and almost wary.
He really doesn't believe that she wants to do this.
The slow press of his hand over her hip, up her side, slowly moving faster, like he's building towards a crescendo. She doesn't understand the male obsession with breasts, but her heart is stuttering in her chest, off beat and loud in her ears.
It's not like she's never let a boy get this far before. Jesse, and then Finn, several times, and she enjoyed it with both of them, but she doesn't know if anyone's ever looked at her like Puck's looking at her now. He presses the heel of his palm first and then his entire hand fits over her breast. His hand settles more firmly over her, thumb sliding along the edge of her bra, and Rachel is suddenly very glad that Santana made her ditch her cardigan earlier.
When he curves his thumb into the cup of her bra, flat of his fingernail pressing over her nipple, he looks down, like he can see through her shirt. She feels flushed and feverish.
"This is what it's like when I allow you to touch my breasts," she says, leaning back, away from him, and gripping the hem of her shirt and and then it off over her head.
He swears, low and drawn out. Her body is exceptionally fit. Rachel knows she takes excellent care of herself. But she's never been this naked in front of a boy.
His hands are on her back, pulling her up to him, mouth hot against her collarbone, lower, lower until he can slide his tongue over the edge of her bra, right along the line of the lace.
"Oh," she says and feels him grin against her skin before he licks again, sharp eager flicks of his tongue. His hands slip lower, pulling her forward. Her stomach clenches when she feels - when she feels him between her legs.
Her hands shake a little when she peels off his shirt and tosses it behind him. She knew about his excellent arms, even if she's never admitted to him exactly how she feels about them.. The rest of him is just as impressive; Rachel's particularly drawn to the ring hanging from his nipple. She reaches out and touches it, uncertain whether it's completely obscene or if she really is crazy and it's actually intriguing. Attractive, like the tense muscles of his chest and not like an overdone display of some symbolic teenage rebellion that she doesn't know if she'll ever understand.
"It's hot, right," he says. It's not a question, and she's not entirely sure what she thinks of it, but the rest of his body is more than adequate.
"You're very physically attractive."
He grins and kisses her, hands splayed on her hips before he reaches for the zipper of her skirt, fumbling a little bit, but then she untangles herself from him and stands to push it down her hips.
Rachel stands there in her underwear and bra and has a brief moment of panic. They don't match. They should match for her first time. She feels herself flush with the embarrassment of it all, looking at her feet and playing with the ends of her hair.
Puck doesn't seem to care. He leans back on his elbows, legs splayed open. "Take 'em off."
She hesitates and then slips the straps off her shoulders before she reaches around and unhooks the clasp, dropping to the carpet. Rachel closes her eyes, hooks her hands in her underwear and pushes them down, and completely aware that he's watching her every move as she steps out of them, toeing them away.
It takes her a moment before she can actually look at him again; he's not looking at her face, his hand resting over the join of his legs, gaze sliding down the line of her body. Rachel holds her head up, looking at a spot over his shoulder and waiting for his censure. She tries to control the rate of her breathing and minimize the shake in her hands, but it's not an entirely successful attempt.
She knows what people say about her. It's never been limited to just their doubts in her mental stability or her wardrobe, but they're wrong. They're wrong. She might be stealthy about being hot and not just mildly attractive, but this is Noah Puckerman.
He's seen his fair share of beautiful women, if the rumors are true.
He sounds hoarse, tight. "I knew you were hot, but damn, Rachel."
She flushes, ducking her head a little bit, hiding the pleased smile behind the curtain of her hair. It's easier to look at him now, even if he's still staring at her body, and the heel of his hand is pressing between his legs.
Rachel feels off kilter when she walks back towards the bed. Should she sway her hips a little more? Like they do in the movies? She doesn't feel all that sexy, not at all like in the books that she hides under her bed.
Puck sits up and reaches for her, resting his hands on her hips and kissing her stomach lower and lower. Is he going to -
He kisses her hip and then grins up at her. He cups the back of her knee and pulls it down until it's resting on the bed. It's easy enough to straddle him, sucking in her stomach a little to prevent any possibility of unseemly rolls, and then he reaches down and opens his jeans. Rachel sits back and watches, rises up on her knees so he can push his jeans off.
She stares at him.
"Ever seen one before?"
She shakes her head, watching him stroke it a few times. He seems inordinately proud of it. Maybe he has the right. He looks big, even if she has no comparison except the pictures in the science textbooks from the early nineties and any online research she may have done. (It's not the same. Not the same at all.)
She touches him carefully, with just the tips of her fingers, testing out the feel of hot, smooth skin, slick with sweat and there are white beads of precome at the tip.
Rachel knows what it is. She's seen enough movies and studied enough anatomy, but she still flushes, thinking about it. She touches it and smears it between her thumb and forefinger. It's sticky and viscous, and when she looks up, Puck's eyes are dark, dark enough to make her breath catch in her throat.
It's more than simple relief when he closes them and leans forward to nuzzle against the side of her face, curving his hands over her upper arms. There's a flush on his chest, and the thin sheen of sweat highlights the cords of his muscles. She presses her fingers down the side of him and then curves her whole hand around him. He groans, low in his throat.
He thrusts up into her hand, upsetting her balance. Rachel tumbles to the side, unable to stay steady, but it doesn't matter. Puck rolls her on her back and kisses her, hand sliding down her thigh and back up again, curving over her hip.
He leans his weight on one elbow, touching her carefully between her legs with his free hand. She's never been touched like this. Not by Jesse, not even by Finn.
"Lift up," he says, and when she complies, Puck presses a finger inside her. Rachel stares up at the ceiling, inhaling shakily; it feels, it feels -
She's not sure what to think of it. He moves his finger carefully, slowly. It's not incredibly strange, not after a few moments, even if there is a strange ache in her lower back, spreading around to her stomach. It's so hot; sweat's beading on her shoulders and above her lip, and she can't think, not at all, especially when he's looking at her like that, intent and with a deliberateness that she's not sure she's ever known before. She can't remember.
Rachel can't remember much right now.
She tenses a little and turns her head and finds the corner of his mouth. It feels like her chest is tightening, banding around her lungs, and she can't catch her breath. Not with the slow slide of his finger, and when he adds another and curls them inside her, Rachel gives up trying. She thinks only about the slow press of his mouth over hers, and then pulls his fingers out and they're wet against her thigh, resting there.
What is he doing? She needs more than this, even though his mouth feels wonderful and amazing, and his body is warm, half on top of her. He kisses her again, slow and languid. Lazy, like they have all the time in the world.
Rachel frowns and impatiently pushes at his chest, "Noah, Noah -"
She feels him tense inexplicably, a sharp shudder of his body.
"Shit, he says, "shit," and rolls over onto his back. Rachel blinks and looks at him, a little chilled without his body heat next to her, even with how hot it is in the room. He has a hand over his face, and he's breathing harshly.
Frowning, she wonders what on earth his problem is as she swings her leg over his hips. Puck stares at her, and Rachel would wonder what he's thinking, but she has much more important things on her mind.
"Condom?" She says. Rachel always has one on hand, just in case, even if she's not typically spontaneous enough to actually need it. But it's in her room, tucked away in the bottom of her suitcase.
He leans over the side of his bed for his jeans, and she stares at his, at his -
She has no idea what to call it. She knows the words, the clinical and the colloquialisms, but everything she can think of sounds completely ridiculous in her head. Ridiculous or vulgar, so she reaches out and touches the ring in his nipple instead.
It makes him groan, and she would file that away for later, but she's more interested in sliding her hand down to his -
"Woah, wait, wait." Puck grips her wrist and pulls her hand away from him, thumb tracing a slow circle along her pulse point.
"Noah. Don't. I want-" She shifts her hips forward, but he reaches out and holds her as still as he can.
"Stop. Moving."
He sounds so serious that she actually listens, staring at the crease in his forehead and then the smudge of his eyelashes against his skin. It must last at least a minute before he opens his eyes and offers her the condom that he's holding between his knuckles.
She takes the condom from his hand and tears it open. It's green. Stoplight green, but Rachel hesitates, and then she offers it back.
"Show me."
She paid extensive attention in sex education, and she's done research, but she feels ridiculously shy, embarrassed almost, that she's going to do this with him.
It's better when his fingers fumble when he takes the condom from her, even if it only lasts for a moment. The confidence he has when he settles it over the head calls to her. Rachel likes certainty; she likes when everything resolves the way she wants it to, but she also likes the way he's biting his lip and clearly avoiding looking at her as he rolls it down.
Rachel nods. It doesn't look that hard; she thinks she could do it. "Now take it off."
Puck blinks. "What?"
"I want to put one on."
He stares at her.
"I think this is a very important part of my sexual education -"
She knows that look, the you're crazy look, the wide and disbelieving eyes. It makes her frown.
"Noah-"
"Later. We can. Later. C'mere."
Puck grips her hips and guides her. He doesn't ask her if she's ready. Maybe he doesn't want her to back out; maybe he knows she's ready. It doesn't matter either way, because then he's there and he's pressing inside her, slowly, a gentle rocking motion until he's all the way in. Rachel braces herself against his chest, absently agitating his nipple ring under her index finger. It's strange, having him inside her, a sharp edge of discomfort, and an odd sort of pain. Rachel twists her hips carefully, testing it out. It's a little odd and more uncomfortable than anything.
"Baby," Puck says, holding onto her hips. Rachel frowns at him and she twists her hips down, against the grip of his hands. It's not - Rachel doesn't know what it is, really, so she does it again, easier this time because Puck's hands have slipped from her hips to rest on her thighs.
"Oh, wow," he says, letting his head fall back and staring slack jawed at the ceiling.
She can't help it. She giggles, letting it bubble over and spill out. They won't stop, even when she covers her mouth with her hand. Puck looks affronted, and that only makes her laugh harder and harder until she can't catch her breath, writhing away from him.
Not that she goes far because as she shifts, the angles change, and it's suddenly good. Very, very good. She pants, her stomach clenches, and she blinks at him.
She twists her hips again, slowly, testing for what she wants as he swears, but she isn't really interested in what he's saying. She just wants to chase that amazing feeling, capture it like she's going to capture her dreams.
Rachel offsets a little too far, and he slips out of her. Puck rolls her on her back and presses back inside her, pinning her to the bed as he kisses her. Her hands slip on the sweat on his back, and Rachel says, "Noah, Noah," until she can't catch her breath, words hitching and breaking in the back of her throat, until his voice breaks, off pitch and a little flat as he swears into the curve of her neck, going tense.
He's still inside of her. Rachel touches the curve of his back carefully, sliding her fingers against the shake in his body.
"Hold still," he says, settling his mouth on her neck. He takes her hips, twisting them a little, but then he slips his hand between them, fingers touching her again and again until her body arches up against him. She thinks she yells, or tries to, but all she hears is the roaring in her ears, the tight coiling of her body like a strained note, strange and off beat, but better than anything she's ever known before.
Even singing.
"Oh fuck," he says, pressing her down into the bed with his body. "Fuck, that's hot."
Rachel would agree, if she could verbalize anything, if her tongue didn't feel so thick in her mouth. She just wants to melt languidly into the bed, letting her body twitch every so often in tiny aftershocks of pleasure.
She watches him with dazed eyes as he peels off the condom, opens the drawer of the bedside table and drops it inside. She reaches out and lazily traces the swell of his bicep.
"Why didn't we do this when we were dating?" Puck asks.
"We dated for four days," Rachel says when she finds her voice again.
"So?"
She smiles lazily at him as he gets out of bed and turns off the light. She stays awake, even if she's drowsy and exhausted and definitely on the verge of sleep.
In the darkness, he touches the side of her face, and Rachel nuzzles at his fingertips. She doesn't care if it means something or nothing at all.
-
He wakes her up in the early dawn - Rachel's not even sure the sun is completely up yet - with his mouth on the nape of her neck and his hand ghosting over the swell of her hip.
It's not an unpleasant way to wake up.
It's even better when he realizes that she's awake and then slides his hand between her legs.
-
Surprisingly, Rachel doesn't see anyone on her trek back to her room. Not at all like the movies, not with judgmental looks and assuming frowns. She's not sure she'd care anyway.
Rachel knocks three times in a sharp staccato beat on her room door, waiting impatiently. Santana opens the door wearing a bathrobe. She leans against the door frame with a knowing smile on her face.
Rachel's still in last night's clothes. Mostly. Puck wouldn't let her have her underwear back. She knows he has them, even if he pretended not to know what happened to them. She knows she could desperately use a shower; the sweat is dry on her skin, sticky and her hair is simply horrendous.
It's more than clear what happened last night.
"You enjoy it?"
She's too sated to pretend that she doesn't know what Santana's talking about, but Rachel simply smiles and pushes past her. Santana follows her into the room. Brittany's sprawled out on Santana's bed, dressed and ready to go.
"Immensely."
"Yeah? What'd he do? Go down on you? He's good at that."
Rachel digs in her suitcase for her flight home clothing. "Santana, I'm not going to talk about my sex life with you."
"Why not? We share so many secrets." Her tone carries a slight mocking edge, but Rachel ignores it, ignores that Santana follows her all the way to the bathroom.
They share more secrets than Rachel is strictly comfortable with.
"Do you think she's going to attempt to seek her revenge?"
Santana looks at her like she's crazy. Santana laughs. "We basically stole a quarter of the Cheerios' budget. Ms. Sylvester is going to murder us in our beds. There's a reason I'm getting the hell out of dodge."
Rachel looks up quickly. "You're leaving?"
"Yeah, I've got a cousin on the Gulf coast of Georgia. She won't be home most of the time and we like the beach. Plus, I need to work on my tan."
"We," Rachel says slowly. "You're taking Brittany with you."
Santana looks at her like Rachel should have expected that. Maybe she should have. Rachel stares at her, wondering if maybe -
She cuts the thought off and doesn't say anything, staring in the mirror until Santana shrugs and leaves the bathroom, but not without tossing a wicked, "Maybe next time I'll join you," over her shoulder.
-
Rachel looks up from her romance novel when Puck drops in the chair next to her. Her book flips closed, and she loses her page. Not that it matters. She doesn't remember anything from the last five pages anyway, too distracted by the ache between her thighs.
"How long 'til you leave for LA?"
"Fifty-five days."
Fifty-five days, three hours and thirteen minutes, to be precise. This morning, it seemed like forever. Now, Rachel feels strangely conflicted; she wants to leave, more than anything she wants to go achieve her dreams, but looking at Noah, attractive even in the hellish lights of the airport, and knowing that she wants him even more now -
No. She won't ever choose a boy over her career again.
"Fifty-five days," she says again.
"There's a lot we could do in fifty-five days," Puck says slowly. He's looking straight at her, like nothing else exists but her. It's the kind of attention she's always wanted. From anyone really, a spotlight so bright she can only hear the adoration she rightfully deserves.
Rachel thumbs across the corner of her book, smiling at the sound.
"Is that so?"
"Baby, you have no idea. You should sit with me. On the plane." He grins. "I've never had sex on a plane before."
"Noah!"
"Just think about it," Puck says. He touches her knee before he gets up and wanders over to the vending machine. She watches him go, amused.
Rachel looks over at the rest of the Glee club. Mr. Schuester looks better rested than any of them. She pauses, mildly curious as she watches Finn and Tina sitting closely together, the occasional shy glances between them as they talk quietly with Mr. Schuester.
Kurt and Mercedes, the rest of the Glee club hardly matter to her anymore. She's moving on and moving forward, like she always knew she would.
Santana's standing by the counter. She might be flirting with the flight attendant; Rachel's not really sure.
Rachel isn't interested in dealing with jealousy or fighting for Puck, but Santana stares at her with an unreadable tilt to her mouth which only means that she isn't irate about Rachel's interaction with him.
They're in Mexico for another thirty minutes or so. It's the last time they'll probably even see each other - on Rachel's part, anyway. Santana will see Rachel on the silver screen, all over magazine covers and possibly over the tabloids as well - and Rachel's more than okay with that.
Rachel quirks her eyebrow and smiles. She'll have to steal Santana's ticket if she wants to sit next to Puck.
-
ABOUT THE FIC THAT YOU ARE REQUESTING
Character(s) or pairing(s): Puck/Rachel
Do you prefer R or NC-17 smut?: bring on the smut baby
Prompts (minimum of 3, no maximum!):
1. Established relationship, Rachel takes Puck to NYC for long weekend, his first time there, she wants to show him the city, he wants to see how many public places he can convince her to have sex with him.
2. ND loses at a competition (sectionals/regionals/
nationals, you pick) and Rachel basically goes silent for however long and no one knows what to do with her. Puck decides quiet Rachel gets old quick and decides to make her scream his name.
3. ND go on a senior trip together after graduation to Mexico, drunken shenanigans ensue, Santana's main goal is to be a bad influence on Rachel and get her to finally drop her V card, manipulates scene to get Puck involved in her plot without him realizing he's being manipulated, sexytimes follow.
Things you DON’T want in your story (kinks or sex acts that gross you out, characters you despise, etc.): I don't like explicit slash (you want to tell me that Kurt and Mike Chang are in love, great, just no big descriptive scenes please) and I basically hate Finn Hudson and his ginormous self with a passion.
Rating: NC-17
Pairings/Characters: Puck/Rachel, Santana, Brittany (implied Santana/Puck, Santana/Brittany)
Warnings: N/A
Word count: ~7000 (total ~15,700)
Disclaimer: This Glee fanfiction is based upon the television show of the same name. All characters and situations other than my own are sole property of Ryan Murphy Productions and 20th Century Fox Television.
Summary: On their last night in Mexico, Santana has a plan that's bound to get someone in trouble.
A/N: Thank you to my lovely, lovely beta. ♥ neimans I hope you enjoy this!
Rachel sits on the edge of the fountain with Puck, grateful for the cool mist from the splashing water, while Santana and Brittany flirt with locals who speak better English than any of them will ever speak Spanish. It's a nice night, even if it's still too hot out.
The phone in Puck's pocket beeps, and he nearly knocks over the bottle of tequila sitting between them when he tries to get it out. Rachel picks it up and sets it on her other side.
"Those phones are only for emergencies," she says as he reads the text message.
"My boy hooking up is an emergency," he says.
She feels her face heat up, even though he's not looking at her.
"You'd have the hotel room all to yourself." She looks up at him through her lashes, but he's looking over at Santana and Brittany with hungry eyes as they make out, ignoring the catcalls of the Mexican boys.
Rachel frowns. She hoped she was wrong. She really honestly did, but with Santana's evasiveness, and Puck's apparent fixation on her -
Well. Rachel isn't stupid. She's more than aware of what it's like, being interested in a boy that only stares at someone else. She just wishes she wouldn't have to keep experiencing it. Her eyes narrow, watching Santana's fingers curl in Brittany's hair.
Santana got Rachel's solo. She's not getting Puck tonight.
"Is it really that exciting?" She asks, shifting closer and bumping their shoulders together.
"Two girls going at it?" Puck asks, "Yeah. Absolutely."
"Why?"
"Dunno. It just is."
Clearly, Puck isn't interested in conversation, even one about two girls kissing. Rachel has to know, absolutely has to know, so she asks, "Is there something going on between you and Santana?"
"What? No."
"You keep staring at her."
"She's hot, and she's making out with another chick, Rachel. A dude's going to stare."
They're quiet then, and Rachel feels strange, uncertain. She doesn't like feeling uncertain, and perhaps he just wants to watch two girls kissing, but Rachel's never liked being second best. She's never been one to appreciate silence, either.
"Have you given any thought about what you want to do in the future?" She picks up the tequila bottle next to her. The label is brown, with tiny gold stars bordering the lettering. She peels the label a little, wondering if means something.
He shrugs, still staring. "Dunno. Clean pools."
Rachel frowns. "We live in Ohio."
"We can't all go to Los Angeles," he says. There's a tight edge to his voice that Rachel doesn't understand, but before she can question him about it, Puck sighs and rubs his hand over his face. He actually looks away from Santana and Brittany. "My uncle's got a job in construction. He can probably get me in there."
She feels it building up, the criticism and the importance of a well thought out twenty year plan, and Rachel knows she can't let it out. She twists the top off the bottle quickly and takes a swig.
It burns, sharper than she expected and more bitter, too. Rachel chokes on it, her throat constricting a little, eyes watering as she coughs loud enough to draw Santana's attention away from Brittany. She watches Rachel wipe her mouth with the back of her hand, laughing brightly before she turns back to Brittany.
"Easy there. Not so fast." Puck rubs her back. It's warm here, even at night, but the tops of his fingers brush against the skin above the back of her tank top, and she shivers.
Rachel leans in closer and shifts her body towards him. He doesn't even attempt to touch her breasts, even though she's certain that he's perfected a maneuver for situations such as this. Even though she let him earlier. Has she crossed into the territory where he doesn't even realize that she's female anymore? Is that what's going on?
"That's awful," she says. She might not even be talking about the tequila.
Puck laughs. "You get used to it."
She doesn't know if she wants to get used to it. The idea that Noah Puckerman doesn't even find her attractive anymore, it's awful, thinking about that. Rachel remembers a time when he'd have touched her inappropriately just because he could. When he tried to make out with her when she was dating Jesse. Or when he made outrageously filthy suggestions in her ear even though she was dating his best friend.
When did that stop? And how did she not notice it happening?
"You're better than that. Cleaning pools? You're capable of more," she says, wiping away the tears in her eyes. Puck stares at her. She wishes the thoughts and emotions of others weren't such a mystery to her. She can't read him at all. She shifts away a little and pulls the hem of her skirt down, holding onto the neck of the bottle and settling it into her lap.
"What would you do, if you could do anything? Anything at all?"
Puck doesn't answer her right away, taking so long that she thinks he's not going to. They rarely have conversations like this, a few stolen moments when she happened to be in the right place at the right time, instead of any desire he had to confide in her.
"Start a band. That'd be cool."
"A band? With Finn?"
He shrugs. "Yeah, maybe."
A band. It's admirable, and he's certainly talented. With some training and more discipline and a lot of work, he might be able to do it. Play a few bar gigs around Lima and eventually work his way to bigger bars and bigger cities. People have done it before, started from the lowest roots and climbed to the pinnacle of success.
She's been training since she was three months old, and Rachel's dreams haven't changed at all in the past few years, but she's definitely more aware of the outlook. She definitely has more star potential than anyone she's ever met - with the possible exception of Jesse, though it hurts to think about that - but not everyone will be able to recognize that in her.
Jealousy, perhaps, or the inability to cope with her personality, but it's something she has absolutely no control over.
She hates it. Rachel likes to be in control. She definitely likes having things the way she wants them. She looks down, circling her fingers around the neck of the bottle and running her thumb over the rim.
"A band. What would you call it?"
Puck leans back against the bench; he's still watching Santana and Brittany, but his eyes have a distant quality to them.
Rachel shifts, turning her body towards him again.
"MILF Patrol," he says finally.
She leans back, blinking. "MILF Patrol?"
"Or Five Knuckle Shuffle," he says, making the appropriate hand gesture.
"Noah Puckerman! That's completely disgusting."
"It's natural, babe." He grins, and Rachel can't help but to smile back. She flips her hair over her shoulder; he watches her do it, but otherwise does nothing. Nothing at all besides look back at Santana and Brittany.
Hope, she thinks, is a nasty thing. It dies quietly in her chest and hurts more than something that never really had life in the first place should. Rachel smiles sadly and says quietly, "We should head back. It's pretty late. Our flight is fairly early tomorrow."
He gets up to retrieve Santana and Brittany from the salacious stares and suggestions from the local boys. He doesn't even fight her.
She wonders if she secretly wanted him to.
-
Santana pushes the call button for the elevator before she frowns and digs in her purse.
"Hey, Rachel? Do you have your room key? I think I left mine at the bar."
Rachel blinks and digs in her own purse, just to make sure. She's certain that her room key is right where she left it, tucked away safely. it is. She holds it up to show Santana. "I do."
She smiles and snatches it from Rachel's hand, backing away quickly. "Thanks!"
"Hey!" Rachel says, starting to follow her, but Brittany giggles, pulling Santana into the elevator with her.
"We're sexiling you," she says over Santana's shoulder. "Have a good night!"
"Oh, game on," Puck says, attempting to follow them into the elevator. Santana stops him with a hand on his chest, pushing him back out the doors.
"Come on. You've got to be kidding me."
"Sorry, Puck. Not tonight." Santana puckers her lips in a poor imitation of a kiss and waves at Rachel, the only room key in her hand. The elevator doors close quietly, and Rachel thinks she should have seen this coming.
"Fuck."
"We could take the stairs," Rachel says, watching the little numbers above the elevator light up.
"Whatever." Puck says and pushes the call button.
Rachel looks at her feet. He doesn't say anything else, just leans against the wall, waiting. Was this Santana's plan all along? Get control of the room for tonight? She could have simply asked, instead of getting Rachel's -
What? Her hopes up?
Ridiculous.
Puck probably doesn't talk about her at all, and Santana never wanted anything but an empty room for the night. She's only surprised that it hadn't happened sooner in the week.
In the elevator, she leans against the wall, hands behind her back. She runs the front of her foot up the back of her calf, and tries not to think about the potentially embarrassing situation she could have just put herself in. Noah Puckerman might be easy, but Rachel knows her track record involving the opposite sex.
"I really wanted to get laid tonight," Puck tells the ceiling. "She's been acting whack for the last couple days and she's leaving next week. And tonight was just - I don't know what's up with her. I knew I should have played all my cards on that chick at the bar."
Rachel looks at her feet.
"I'm supposed to be rooming with Santana," she says softly, even though they both already know that. Rachel runs her fingers over the rim of the tequila bottle and wonders if she could just take a sip straight. No limes, no salt. Maybe it'll be easier the second time around. Maybe it wouldn't be as awful.
She looks up in time to watch Puck run a hand over his hair. Rachel wonders what it feels like. She remembers the Mohawk better than she thought she would, even with her excellent sensory perception memory. She remembers the prickly hair under her palms contrasted against the soft almost curl of the hair. She flushes, wondering what it would feel different to her now.
The elevator dings, breaking her out of her ridiculous fantasies.
She could just go knock on the room door, or call Mr. Schuester and tell him that she accidentally got locked out of her room. She wouldn't be that careless though, and he might ask her what she was doing out of her room at this hour anyway.
Puck steps of the elevator. "C'mon. Finn's in Tina's room. You can sleep in his bed."
He doesn't wait for her to follow him, and Rachel hesitates, watching him walk away from her.
It doesn't have to be a fantasy, does it? No, Rachel thinks, she's Rachel Berry and she always goes after what she wants. No harm in that, besides the possible sting of rejection. But then, her peers have been rejecting her for the entirety of her high school career.
Rachel smooths her hair behind her ears, takes a deep breath and starts walking. She catches up to him just as he's sliding his key card into the slot. The little light turns red, and Rachel wonders if it's a sign. Is it a warning, an omen, anything telling her to stop now, while she still can?
Puck doesn't seem to sense her agitation, sliding the card back in, slower this time, almost exaggeratedly so.
Rachel swallows, wondering when her throat went dry. If it turns red again, she'll leave. If it turns red, she knows it's a sign that this isn't something she wants to do, that this is a mistake. She'll know -
It's green.
"You coming or what?" Puck asks and she blinks at him, feeling the flush start to creep into her cheeks. There's absolutely nothing sexual in his gaze, but Rachel has trouble gathering her thoughts. It's hard to think, looking at him and realizing that he has no idea what she's thinking.
She's turned him away so many times, too focused on whichever boyfriend she had at the moment, determined that he was the one - her one and only - and there wasn't anyone else she could possibly want. She did everything to put a halt to his harmless flirtations until they were fewer and farther between, until they eventually stopped altogether.
She almost likes that he's completely unaware of what she's going to offer him tonight.
Rachel steps into the room ahead of him. He shuts the door behind her and brushes past her into the room. It's not the first time he's touched her tonight, but Rachel feels it, visceral and real, all the way down to her toes.
She takes a step back and leans against the door, watching him shrug off his button down, stripping down to the white wife beater - what a ridiculous name for a shirt - underneath. He sits down on one of the beds, reaching for his shoes.
Rachel plays with the handle beneath her hand. She could leave. This isn't how she pictured her first time, in a hotel in a Mexican city, with a boy that she isn't dating, isn't even in love with. Sometimes, she wonders if she even really likes him all that much. He may have stopped throwing slushies in her face and saying such awful things about her, but sometimes it's hard for her to forget their history. Even if they are somewhat friends now.
She could -
Clearing her throat, she asks, "What if I don't want to sleep in his bed?"
Puck looks at her, eyebrows raised. "You wanna sleep on the floor?"
"No. I meant-" She flushes hot, closing her eyes to gather her thoughts. Admitting it shouldn't be this hard. But it's her, Rachel Berry, and everything is hard for her. She has to work for everything else in her life; why should this be any different? She opens her eyes and lifts her chin. She can do this. She wants to do this.
"What if I want to sleep in your bed?" Rachel asks, stepping away from the door. "With you."
Puck goes still, shoe still half on. He doesn't look at her, like he doesn't believe she's actually there, saying these sorts of things to him.
"Would that be a problem?" She asks, taking another step closer. She sets the tequila bottle on the television stand. Why isn't he looking at her? "If I wanted- if I want to."
"What are you saying, Rachel?"
"I've been trying to seduce you all night." The words are easier now, flowing more like what she's used to. "Rather ineptly, apparently. I believe that our chemistry, while I've admittedly done everything to ignore it until now, is rather remarkable and I'd rather not put this opportunity to waste. How often are we going to be in Mexico?"
Puck still isn't looking at her; he's not even facing her, even if his eyes are slanted in her direction. Looking at her feet, maybe. Or her legs. She's always thought they were one of her best physical attributes.
She frowns at his inability to keep up with her train of thought. She licks her lips and pauses to consider her seduction technique. Words like hers don't work on a boy like Noah Puckerman. She might want them. She might need them, but if he does, he's excellent at hiding it. Rachel takes a step closer and then she slips her feet out of her shoes. The carpet is soft under her toes, plush, and her feet sink into it with each step, one, two, three until she's right in front of him.
He looks up at her, something undefinable in his eyes and the lines of his mouth. Maybe lust, and maybe hope. She doesn't know, but he's not pushing her away. He's not saying no.
"Rachel. If you're fucking with me -"
She shakes her head and wipes her hands on the back of her skirt as subtly as possible. She doesn't know if Puck noticed, but he's not saying anything about it if he did.
"I'm not. I want this."
"Did Santana put you up to this? It's not funny if she did."
Rachel shakes her head. Santana may have been the catalyst, but this isn't about her. It isn't about anything but Rachel.
"She says you talk about me all the time," Rachel says, watching him closely. There's a flicker in his eyes, and a telling clench to his jaw. She smiles, even when he tries to hide it. "Santana can't make me do anything I don't want to do."
Puck smirks a little, an easy curve to his mouth and she wonders if he's remembering that public debacle at Regionals, loud and angry over that solo, but only leading to Santana's eventual triumph. He reaches out and curves his hand around to the back of her knee and slides it up, slowly, slowly, watching her face the entire time. Rachel swallows, nerves and want thick in her throat.
This is. She almost can't believe she's actually going to do this.
But then he touches her other leg, pushing that hand up until they're both high on the back of her thighs and she knows that this is what she wants. He still looks a little shell-shocked, waiting, like he thinks they're playing some sort of game. Who breaks first.
Rachel doesn't like games unless she's certain she's going to win. She touches his hair, sinking her fingers into it. It's long enough that it's soft and not prickly, but short enough that she couldn't get a grip if she tried. She watches her hand slide over the curve of his scalp, all the way down to rest at the nape of his neck.
He pulls her forward suddenly, nearly toppling her. Rachel grips his shoulders to steady herself. She feels warm all over, inside and out, and her throat feels constricted when she swallows.
"This is very reckless and irresponsible," she says quietly, realizing the ridiculousness of this entire situation, in a foreign country, propositioning a sexual encounter with someone that used to torment her. Someone she doesn't know if she'll see ever again after this summer.
If she even sees him again during the summer.
"Most of the best ideas are." Puck leans back. "Look, if you're not really into this, you better tell me now. I'd rather not have to jerk off in the bathroom later."
She opens her mouth. Is she in or is she out? She's not entirely certain that this is how she wants the night to go. Rachel doesn't even know if she's certain of anything anymore. She's not sure she likes the feeling. Her mouth is dry. It makes it difficult to swallow.
Rachel focus on the thin fabric under her hands, the way it lays over the curve of his shoulder, thumb slipping under the edge to touch his collarbone. She watches it for a moment, the smooth line of his shoulder, and then she leans forward to kiss him, just a bare brush of her mouth over his.
It's quick, and sweet, and nothing like the kisses they once shared. It's not like it was when they rolled around on her bed, nor is it like the aborted forbidden kisses she almost let him steal once. There's no one else in this room with them, and that has been their problem all along. Too focused on other people and not the possibility of each other. She, in particular, has been too focused her own goals, her own dreams to understand the implications of what they could have been, if she'd only taken a step back and paid attention to anything that wasn't gilt with stardust.
He threads his hand in her hair, careful, like he thinks he might break her. Maybe he will. Maybe she will.
Rachel's not certain she particularly cares right now. She shifts closer, until she's pressing against his chest, but she pulls away from the kiss. She doesn't go far, resting her forehead against his, eyes closed, and she just breathes. Shaky and fluttery, but certain. How long has she wanted him without realizing it?
His nose pushes against hers, and then he presses their mouths together again, a little firmer, a little hungrier. She opens for him a little and tilts her head, attempting to control the angle.
Rachel's so focused on relearning the shape of his mouth - they only dated for a short period of time, but she thinks she memorized the talents of his mouth - that it startles her when he slips a hand under her shirt.
She pulls away, blinking at him. He slides it higher, slow and careful, like he suspects he's going to spook her. This might, but it's more in the way he's looking at her, intent and almost wary.
He really doesn't believe that she wants to do this.
The slow press of his hand over her hip, up her side, slowly moving faster, like he's building towards a crescendo. She doesn't understand the male obsession with breasts, but her heart is stuttering in her chest, off beat and loud in her ears.
It's not like she's never let a boy get this far before. Jesse, and then Finn, several times, and she enjoyed it with both of them, but she doesn't know if anyone's ever looked at her like Puck's looking at her now. He presses the heel of his palm first and then his entire hand fits over her breast. His hand settles more firmly over her, thumb sliding along the edge of her bra, and Rachel is suddenly very glad that Santana made her ditch her cardigan earlier.
When he curves his thumb into the cup of her bra, flat of his fingernail pressing over her nipple, he looks down, like he can see through her shirt. She feels flushed and feverish.
"This is what it's like when I allow you to touch my breasts," she says, leaning back, away from him, and gripping the hem of her shirt and and then it off over her head.
He swears, low and drawn out. Her body is exceptionally fit. Rachel knows she takes excellent care of herself. But she's never been this naked in front of a boy.
His hands are on her back, pulling her up to him, mouth hot against her collarbone, lower, lower until he can slide his tongue over the edge of her bra, right along the line of the lace.
"Oh," she says and feels him grin against her skin before he licks again, sharp eager flicks of his tongue. His hands slip lower, pulling her forward. Her stomach clenches when she feels - when she feels him between her legs.
Her hands shake a little when she peels off his shirt and tosses it behind him. She knew about his excellent arms, even if she's never admitted to him exactly how she feels about them.. The rest of him is just as impressive; Rachel's particularly drawn to the ring hanging from his nipple. She reaches out and touches it, uncertain whether it's completely obscene or if she really is crazy and it's actually intriguing. Attractive, like the tense muscles of his chest and not like an overdone display of some symbolic teenage rebellion that she doesn't know if she'll ever understand.
"It's hot, right," he says. It's not a question, and she's not entirely sure what she thinks of it, but the rest of his body is more than adequate.
"You're very physically attractive."
He grins and kisses her, hands splayed on her hips before he reaches for the zipper of her skirt, fumbling a little bit, but then she untangles herself from him and stands to push it down her hips.
Rachel stands there in her underwear and bra and has a brief moment of panic. They don't match. They should match for her first time. She feels herself flush with the embarrassment of it all, looking at her feet and playing with the ends of her hair.
Puck doesn't seem to care. He leans back on his elbows, legs splayed open. "Take 'em off."
She hesitates and then slips the straps off her shoulders before she reaches around and unhooks the clasp, dropping to the carpet. Rachel closes her eyes, hooks her hands in her underwear and pushes them down, and completely aware that he's watching her every move as she steps out of them, toeing them away.
It takes her a moment before she can actually look at him again; he's not looking at her face, his hand resting over the join of his legs, gaze sliding down the line of her body. Rachel holds her head up, looking at a spot over his shoulder and waiting for his censure. She tries to control the rate of her breathing and minimize the shake in her hands, but it's not an entirely successful attempt.
She knows what people say about her. It's never been limited to just their doubts in her mental stability or her wardrobe, but they're wrong. They're wrong. She might be stealthy about being hot and not just mildly attractive, but this is Noah Puckerman.
He's seen his fair share of beautiful women, if the rumors are true.
He sounds hoarse, tight. "I knew you were hot, but damn, Rachel."
She flushes, ducking her head a little bit, hiding the pleased smile behind the curtain of her hair. It's easier to look at him now, even if he's still staring at her body, and the heel of his hand is pressing between his legs.
Rachel feels off kilter when she walks back towards the bed. Should she sway her hips a little more? Like they do in the movies? She doesn't feel all that sexy, not at all like in the books that she hides under her bed.
Puck sits up and reaches for her, resting his hands on her hips and kissing her stomach lower and lower. Is he going to -
He kisses her hip and then grins up at her. He cups the back of her knee and pulls it down until it's resting on the bed. It's easy enough to straddle him, sucking in her stomach a little to prevent any possibility of unseemly rolls, and then he reaches down and opens his jeans. Rachel sits back and watches, rises up on her knees so he can push his jeans off.
She stares at him.
"Ever seen one before?"
She shakes her head, watching him stroke it a few times. He seems inordinately proud of it. Maybe he has the right. He looks big, even if she has no comparison except the pictures in the science textbooks from the early nineties and any online research she may have done. (It's not the same. Not the same at all.)
She touches him carefully, with just the tips of her fingers, testing out the feel of hot, smooth skin, slick with sweat and there are white beads of precome at the tip.
Rachel knows what it is. She's seen enough movies and studied enough anatomy, but she still flushes, thinking about it. She touches it and smears it between her thumb and forefinger. It's sticky and viscous, and when she looks up, Puck's eyes are dark, dark enough to make her breath catch in her throat.
It's more than simple relief when he closes them and leans forward to nuzzle against the side of her face, curving his hands over her upper arms. There's a flush on his chest, and the thin sheen of sweat highlights the cords of his muscles. She presses her fingers down the side of him and then curves her whole hand around him. He groans, low in his throat.
He thrusts up into her hand, upsetting her balance. Rachel tumbles to the side, unable to stay steady, but it doesn't matter. Puck rolls her on her back and kisses her, hand sliding down her thigh and back up again, curving over her hip.
He leans his weight on one elbow, touching her carefully between her legs with his free hand. She's never been touched like this. Not by Jesse, not even by Finn.
"Lift up," he says, and when she complies, Puck presses a finger inside her. Rachel stares up at the ceiling, inhaling shakily; it feels, it feels -
She's not sure what to think of it. He moves his finger carefully, slowly. It's not incredibly strange, not after a few moments, even if there is a strange ache in her lower back, spreading around to her stomach. It's so hot; sweat's beading on her shoulders and above her lip, and she can't think, not at all, especially when he's looking at her like that, intent and with a deliberateness that she's not sure she's ever known before. She can't remember.
Rachel can't remember much right now.
She tenses a little and turns her head and finds the corner of his mouth. It feels like her chest is tightening, banding around her lungs, and she can't catch her breath. Not with the slow slide of his finger, and when he adds another and curls them inside her, Rachel gives up trying. She thinks only about the slow press of his mouth over hers, and then pulls his fingers out and they're wet against her thigh, resting there.
What is he doing? She needs more than this, even though his mouth feels wonderful and amazing, and his body is warm, half on top of her. He kisses her again, slow and languid. Lazy, like they have all the time in the world.
Rachel frowns and impatiently pushes at his chest, "Noah, Noah -"
She feels him tense inexplicably, a sharp shudder of his body.
"Shit, he says, "shit," and rolls over onto his back. Rachel blinks and looks at him, a little chilled without his body heat next to her, even with how hot it is in the room. He has a hand over his face, and he's breathing harshly.
Frowning, she wonders what on earth his problem is as she swings her leg over his hips. Puck stares at her, and Rachel would wonder what he's thinking, but she has much more important things on her mind.
"Condom?" She says. Rachel always has one on hand, just in case, even if she's not typically spontaneous enough to actually need it. But it's in her room, tucked away in the bottom of her suitcase.
He leans over the side of his bed for his jeans, and she stares at his, at his -
She has no idea what to call it. She knows the words, the clinical and the colloquialisms, but everything she can think of sounds completely ridiculous in her head. Ridiculous or vulgar, so she reaches out and touches the ring in his nipple instead.
It makes him groan, and she would file that away for later, but she's more interested in sliding her hand down to his -
"Woah, wait, wait." Puck grips her wrist and pulls her hand away from him, thumb tracing a slow circle along her pulse point.
"Noah. Don't. I want-" She shifts her hips forward, but he reaches out and holds her as still as he can.
"Stop. Moving."
He sounds so serious that she actually listens, staring at the crease in his forehead and then the smudge of his eyelashes against his skin. It must last at least a minute before he opens his eyes and offers her the condom that he's holding between his knuckles.
She takes the condom from his hand and tears it open. It's green. Stoplight green, but Rachel hesitates, and then she offers it back.
"Show me."
She paid extensive attention in sex education, and she's done research, but she feels ridiculously shy, embarrassed almost, that she's going to do this with him.
It's better when his fingers fumble when he takes the condom from her, even if it only lasts for a moment. The confidence he has when he settles it over the head calls to her. Rachel likes certainty; she likes when everything resolves the way she wants it to, but she also likes the way he's biting his lip and clearly avoiding looking at her as he rolls it down.
Rachel nods. It doesn't look that hard; she thinks she could do it. "Now take it off."
Puck blinks. "What?"
"I want to put one on."
He stares at her.
"I think this is a very important part of my sexual education -"
She knows that look, the you're crazy look, the wide and disbelieving eyes. It makes her frown.
"Noah-"
"Later. We can. Later. C'mere."
Puck grips her hips and guides her. He doesn't ask her if she's ready. Maybe he doesn't want her to back out; maybe he knows she's ready. It doesn't matter either way, because then he's there and he's pressing inside her, slowly, a gentle rocking motion until he's all the way in. Rachel braces herself against his chest, absently agitating his nipple ring under her index finger. It's strange, having him inside her, a sharp edge of discomfort, and an odd sort of pain. Rachel twists her hips carefully, testing it out. It's a little odd and more uncomfortable than anything.
"Baby," Puck says, holding onto her hips. Rachel frowns at him and she twists her hips down, against the grip of his hands. It's not - Rachel doesn't know what it is, really, so she does it again, easier this time because Puck's hands have slipped from her hips to rest on her thighs.
"Oh, wow," he says, letting his head fall back and staring slack jawed at the ceiling.
She can't help it. She giggles, letting it bubble over and spill out. They won't stop, even when she covers her mouth with her hand. Puck looks affronted, and that only makes her laugh harder and harder until she can't catch her breath, writhing away from him.
Not that she goes far because as she shifts, the angles change, and it's suddenly good. Very, very good. She pants, her stomach clenches, and she blinks at him.
She twists her hips again, slowly, testing for what she wants as he swears, but she isn't really interested in what he's saying. She just wants to chase that amazing feeling, capture it like she's going to capture her dreams.
Rachel offsets a little too far, and he slips out of her. Puck rolls her on her back and presses back inside her, pinning her to the bed as he kisses her. Her hands slip on the sweat on his back, and Rachel says, "Noah, Noah," until she can't catch her breath, words hitching and breaking in the back of her throat, until his voice breaks, off pitch and a little flat as he swears into the curve of her neck, going tense.
He's still inside of her. Rachel touches the curve of his back carefully, sliding her fingers against the shake in his body.
"Hold still," he says, settling his mouth on her neck. He takes her hips, twisting them a little, but then he slips his hand between them, fingers touching her again and again until her body arches up against him. She thinks she yells, or tries to, but all she hears is the roaring in her ears, the tight coiling of her body like a strained note, strange and off beat, but better than anything she's ever known before.
Even singing.
"Oh fuck," he says, pressing her down into the bed with his body. "Fuck, that's hot."
Rachel would agree, if she could verbalize anything, if her tongue didn't feel so thick in her mouth. She just wants to melt languidly into the bed, letting her body twitch every so often in tiny aftershocks of pleasure.
She watches him with dazed eyes as he peels off the condom, opens the drawer of the bedside table and drops it inside. She reaches out and lazily traces the swell of his bicep.
"Why didn't we do this when we were dating?" Puck asks.
"We dated for four days," Rachel says when she finds her voice again.
"So?"
She smiles lazily at him as he gets out of bed and turns off the light. She stays awake, even if she's drowsy and exhausted and definitely on the verge of sleep.
In the darkness, he touches the side of her face, and Rachel nuzzles at his fingertips. She doesn't care if it means something or nothing at all.
-
He wakes her up in the early dawn - Rachel's not even sure the sun is completely up yet - with his mouth on the nape of her neck and his hand ghosting over the swell of her hip.
It's not an unpleasant way to wake up.
It's even better when he realizes that she's awake and then slides his hand between her legs.
-
Surprisingly, Rachel doesn't see anyone on her trek back to her room. Not at all like the movies, not with judgmental looks and assuming frowns. She's not sure she'd care anyway.
Rachel knocks three times in a sharp staccato beat on her room door, waiting impatiently. Santana opens the door wearing a bathrobe. She leans against the door frame with a knowing smile on her face.
Rachel's still in last night's clothes. Mostly. Puck wouldn't let her have her underwear back. She knows he has them, even if he pretended not to know what happened to them. She knows she could desperately use a shower; the sweat is dry on her skin, sticky and her hair is simply horrendous.
It's more than clear what happened last night.
"You enjoy it?"
She's too sated to pretend that she doesn't know what Santana's talking about, but Rachel simply smiles and pushes past her. Santana follows her into the room. Brittany's sprawled out on Santana's bed, dressed and ready to go.
"Immensely."
"Yeah? What'd he do? Go down on you? He's good at that."
Rachel digs in her suitcase for her flight home clothing. "Santana, I'm not going to talk about my sex life with you."
"Why not? We share so many secrets." Her tone carries a slight mocking edge, but Rachel ignores it, ignores that Santana follows her all the way to the bathroom.
They share more secrets than Rachel is strictly comfortable with.
"Do you think she's going to attempt to seek her revenge?"
Santana looks at her like she's crazy. Santana laughs. "We basically stole a quarter of the Cheerios' budget. Ms. Sylvester is going to murder us in our beds. There's a reason I'm getting the hell out of dodge."
Rachel looks up quickly. "You're leaving?"
"Yeah, I've got a cousin on the Gulf coast of Georgia. She won't be home most of the time and we like the beach. Plus, I need to work on my tan."
"We," Rachel says slowly. "You're taking Brittany with you."
Santana looks at her like Rachel should have expected that. Maybe she should have. Rachel stares at her, wondering if maybe -
She cuts the thought off and doesn't say anything, staring in the mirror until Santana shrugs and leaves the bathroom, but not without tossing a wicked, "Maybe next time I'll join you," over her shoulder.
-
Rachel looks up from her romance novel when Puck drops in the chair next to her. Her book flips closed, and she loses her page. Not that it matters. She doesn't remember anything from the last five pages anyway, too distracted by the ache between her thighs.
"How long 'til you leave for LA?"
"Fifty-five days."
Fifty-five days, three hours and thirteen minutes, to be precise. This morning, it seemed like forever. Now, Rachel feels strangely conflicted; she wants to leave, more than anything she wants to go achieve her dreams, but looking at Noah, attractive even in the hellish lights of the airport, and knowing that she wants him even more now -
No. She won't ever choose a boy over her career again.
"Fifty-five days," she says again.
"There's a lot we could do in fifty-five days," Puck says slowly. He's looking straight at her, like nothing else exists but her. It's the kind of attention she's always wanted. From anyone really, a spotlight so bright she can only hear the adoration she rightfully deserves.
Rachel thumbs across the corner of her book, smiling at the sound.
"Is that so?"
"Baby, you have no idea. You should sit with me. On the plane." He grins. "I've never had sex on a plane before."
"Noah!"
"Just think about it," Puck says. He touches her knee before he gets up and wanders over to the vending machine. She watches him go, amused.
Rachel looks over at the rest of the Glee club. Mr. Schuester looks better rested than any of them. She pauses, mildly curious as she watches Finn and Tina sitting closely together, the occasional shy glances between them as they talk quietly with Mr. Schuester.
Kurt and Mercedes, the rest of the Glee club hardly matter to her anymore. She's moving on and moving forward, like she always knew she would.
Santana's standing by the counter. She might be flirting with the flight attendant; Rachel's not really sure.
Rachel isn't interested in dealing with jealousy or fighting for Puck, but Santana stares at her with an unreadable tilt to her mouth which only means that she isn't irate about Rachel's interaction with him.
They're in Mexico for another thirty minutes or so. It's the last time they'll probably even see each other - on Rachel's part, anyway. Santana will see Rachel on the silver screen, all over magazine covers and possibly over the tabloids as well - and Rachel's more than okay with that.
Rachel quirks her eyebrow and smiles. She'll have to steal Santana's ticket if she wants to sit next to Puck.
-
ABOUT THE FIC THAT YOU ARE REQUESTING
Character(s) or pairing(s): Puck/Rachel
Do you prefer R or NC-17 smut?: bring on the smut baby
Prompts (minimum of 3, no maximum!):
1. Established relationship, Rachel takes Puck to NYC for long weekend, his first time there, she wants to show him the city, he wants to see how many public places he can convince her to have sex with him.
2. ND loses at a competition (sectionals/regionals/
nationals, you pick) and Rachel basically goes silent for however long and no one knows what to do with her. Puck decides quiet Rachel gets old quick and decides to make her scream his name.
3. ND go on a senior trip together after graduation to Mexico, drunken shenanigans ensue, Santana's main goal is to be a bad influence on Rachel and get her to finally drop her V card, manipulates scene to get Puck involved in her plot without him realizing he's being manipulated, sexytimes follow.
Things you DON’T want in your story (kinks or sex acts that gross you out, characters you despise, etc.): I don't like explicit slash (you want to tell me that Kurt and Mike Chang are in love, great, just no big descriptive scenes please) and I basically hate Finn Hudson and his ginormous self with a passion.