Glee Fanfic: A Heart That Hurts is a Heart That Beats (1/2)
Title: A Heart That Hurts is a Heart That Beats
Author: somebodysangel/nyafangirl
Word Count: ~8500
Rating: Hard R
Summary: Her words only made his smile fall, so she used her body; it was the only way she knew would make him forget, at least temporarily.
Disclaimer: If I owned it, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction.
Notes: Huge thanks to fuzzy_paint and becca_radcgg for all the handholding and characterisation help. And griffin_wolf for the beta - I will convert you yet!
It had been one month, one week and three days. Not that she was counting or anything.
She told everyone they were fine, that he was working through it. They believed her, for the most part. Everyone was still coming to terms with what had happened; it was such a shocking event for such a small town. Only their real friends, those who looked into Rachel’s eyes when she lied, who bothered to ask more than the simple question, knew the truth. Well, as much truth as Rachel was able to share, which wasn’t really all that much. She didn’t know why Puck was pulling away from her.
…………
It was their year. Senior year. There were no older, bigger students to push them around or play pranks (though there had been few bigger than Puck in junior year). With the dramas of sophomore year well and truly behind them, the Glee kids were ready for a great school year.
This year, they would win Nationals. Rachel was sure of it. They’d come third the previous year, and a few promising freshmen had been graced with an invitation to the now-popular Glee club. Over the past two years, she had come to realise that in order for the club - and, by association, her - to be successful and famous, they had to work as a team. So she gave up a few solos for the benefit of the group - Santana was better at the pop songs, and Mercedes could belt out RnB like Beyonce herself - and they improved from ninth to third in a single year. But this year, they were going to win that huge gold trophy. After their first Glee practice, she could almost feel the weight of it in her hands.
The accident happened the first week of October.
In one of her unusually observant moments, Brittany was the first to notice Matt was missing from Glee practice. He skipped class almost as often as Puck, so an absence from lessons was one thing, but Rachel knew he’d never been more than a few minutes late to Glee since the spider incident. Unlike most of the members, Matt didn’t allow everyone else’s problems to distract him from the task at hand. The others weren’t sufficiently concerned, in Rachel’s opinion; Kurt even made a sarcastic comment about her being “obsessed” with Matt when she brought up the issue a third time.
She’d give anything for her concern to have been unwarranted.
…………
The funeral was nothing like what Rachel would have expected. Matt had never seemed like the type who would have chosen white lilies and baby’s breath. A extra-loud sob brought Rachel’s attention to Matt’s mother weeping in front of her, and she realised he hadn’t chosen anything. He would never make any decisions again.
Puck’s hand left hers to spread a football jersey over the coffin, then gripped tightly when he returned to her side. She leaned into him slightly, just enough to provide the comfort she knew he was seeking, even if he refused to speak about it. Staring at the unnaturally shiny coffin, she wondered why it needed to sparkle when everyone was viewing it through the sheen of tears anyway. She made a mental note to request a non-shiny c- she inhaled shakily. The word she was searching for was ‘matt’.
After the coffin was lowered out of sight, guests slowly filed away from the gravesite. By unspoken agreement, the Glee club stayed behind, a black-clad huddle opposite Matt’s family. Eventually even his parents left, the priest following closely behind.
Bright fall sunlight shone on the bereaved group, and Santana glared up at it, as if she was berating the weather for having the nerve to be nice. Mercedes and Kurt stood sentinel on either side of her, though they knew better than to actually touch her. The tragedy had united the Glee club in a way even two full years together had been unable to do. There was no discernable gap between the ‘jocks’ and the ‘original Gleeks’, and though not everyone was physically touching, the connection between them was obvious. Brittany and Tina were openly sobbing in one another’s arms, while Mike stood stoically beside Artie, both blinking furiously to prevent tears from escaping. Finn and Quinn were a mirror image of Puck and Rachel; hands clasped tightly, the boys with teeth gritted against their grief, the girls allowed their feelings to show unashamedly.
“I swear,” Santana spoke, her voice strong despite the undercurrent of grief. “The bastard who did this is going to pay. Big time.”
“And how exactly do you expect that to happen, San?” Puck asked in a hollow tone. “It was a fucking hit and run. No-one saw the driver.”
She sniffed derisively. “Still.”
Mike moved forward and laid a hand on her shoulder. The gentle comfort was too much for her already-fragile composure, and she crumbled. A single tear escaped long dark lashes, leaving a shining trail down her perfectly made-up face.
Rachel watched as Santana took a deep breath to gather herself, swiping angrily at the traitorous tear. She looked different in black, Rachel thought. Despite her reputation as the tough-as-nails Cheerio nobody crossed, Santana didn’t wear much black, choosing to show off her perfect skin with bright colours that few could pull off. But today, the brightest colour anyone wore was Finn’s white shirt.
Clearing her throat, Santana shrugged Mike’s hand away. “We done with the crying? Let’s go get drunk.”
………
The loss of a classmate - a friend - was a terrible experience, especially given the tragic way Matt had met his untimely demise. Over the next few weeks, the Glee club members struggled to put their grief behind them. During that first week after the funeral, Tina’s and Brittany’s eyes were almost constantly red, and entry into the music room was so traumatic that Mr Schue was forced to place a box of tissues on the piano. It was two weeks before Mike spontaneously danced during rehearsal, and even longer before Santana showed up at all.
Puck was a little less obvious in his grieving. So subtle, in fact, that even Rachel didn’t understand what was going on at first. Then one night, on one of their marathon phone calls, he cut her off mid-ramble.
“That’s great and all, Rach, but Coach worked us really hard at practice today, and I’m fucking trashed.”
It was only after he said it that Rachel heard the exhaustion in his voice, and it was so pronounced she wondered how she’d missed it. Was she really that self-involved? Surely nothing she had to say was so important it was worth risking her boyfriend’s health?
“I’m going to bed. See you tomorrow, babe.” And he hung up.
She stared at the phone uncomprehendingly. What had just happened? One minute they were happily chatting (well, okay, she had been doing most of the talking, but he did contribute occasionally), the next, he was gone. The dial tone echoed in her ear, but her brain was too preoccupied with Puck’s abrupt departure to actually process the drone. In all their time together, almost seventeen months, he had never hung up without waiting for a goodbye. Even when they were fighting, she was the one who would slam the phone down in anger, not him.
Much more troubling was the interruption. One of the things she liked most about being with Puck was that he didn’t interrupt her, no matter how boring he found her topic of discussion. Instead, he would wait for her to take a breath, then change the subject. And despite his complaints and insults, he did listen to what she had to say - so she gave him the same courtesy, on the rare occasion he deigned to show her his soul.
Today, he’d not only cut her off mid-ramble, but hadn’t provided an alternate topic for them to ruminate upon. Was it just because of his grief over Matt’s death? Or maybe something more complicated?
That night she had trouble sleeping. It was the first time Puck was the cause, but not the last.
………
Rachel was hyper-aware of Puck’s every movement the next few days at school, trying to figure out just how much she hadn’t noticed over the past three weeks. It wasn’t much. He still made her carry his books when they walked together to class, his arm around her - but his fingers didn’t dip below her waistband to stroke the skin of her hip. When he attended lessons, he still pulled her to the back of the room to sit beside him - but no longer passed her dirty notes. At Glee, he still sat next to her and leaned against her - but his teasing whispers in her ear were conspicuously absent.
On Thursday afternoon, they had their usual homework session. Though Rachel was the only one who did any homework - Puck played his guitar, and sometimes even sang for her. Well, he used to. That day he lounged on her bed and fiddled with her iPod, earbuds firmly in his ears. Rachel found her concentration wavering; she’d never realised just how accustomed she’d become to his soft acoustic tunes.
He was sullen and uncommunicative (even more so than usual) at dinner with her fathers, and refused her offer to stay the night. There was something to be said for liberal, open-minded parents; they made sure she was educated about contraception, then said it was her decision. But that night, even the promise of sex couldn’t convince Puck to stay with her.
Long after his truck had disappeared from view, she stayed at the window, staring out at the empty night. Her lips still tingled from his goodbye kisses, and her arms ached where he’d clutched at her; she wouldn’t have been surprised if there were finger-shaped bruises there tomorrow. It was almost as if he was marking her as his, in a way only she would know.
………
Over the next week, she watched helplessly as the distance between them grew larger and larger, until he barely spoke to her in public. The worst part was, he didn’t seem to notice the change; and, other than a select few members of Glee, no-one else did either. Where once Rachel had looked forward to the classes she shared with her boyfriend, now the empty seat beside her was a cruel reminder of how easily her life could turn around.
The day he ignored her entirely was the first night it happened. She was getting ready for bed, had just turned out her light, when something tapped on her window. Gasping, she grabbed a lamp and whirled around to face the intruder.
It was Puck.
Setting down the lamp with a chuckle, Rachel moved to open her window. She sat on the bed, watching his muscles move under his sweatshirt as he climbed into the room. It had been a long time since he last snuck into her bedroom; not since her seventeenth birthday, when her fathers had declared she was old enough to make her own decisions with regards to sexual conquests.
“Noah, wh-” He cut off her question with his lips, kissing her fiercely. Underneath his familiar flavour, she could also taste alcohol; the taste of loneliness. His fingers traced up and down her spine, burning her through the thin fabric of the tank she wore.
Eventually, she had to pull back to breathe. He followed her, as if he was afraid to let her move further than an inch away.
She placed a finger on his lips and smiled gently. “Hey. I know you think you’re Superman, but we mere mortals need to breathe on occasion.”
The relief in his eyes was unlike anything she’d seen from him, and she realised he had legitimately been worried about her rejection. This confused her; his behaviour of late was understandable, given the circumstances, and Rachel couldn’t find a reason to refuse his advances. Yet when she opened her mouth to ask him about it, she found herself on her back with Puck’s tongue down her throat once again. Not that she was complaining, especially with the full length of his body pressing her into the mattress.
Slowly they undressed one another, fingers, lips and tongues caressing every inch of newly revealed skin. When they were finally naked, he trailed fingers down her stomach, the gentle touch halfway between arousing and tickling. Two long fingers slid inside her, and she arched up, her breasts moving directly towards his waiting mouth. His lips closed over a nipple, at the same time as his thumb came down on her clit. The dual sensation was close to overwhelming, and she gasped loudly.
His movements were almost lazy, fingers stroking slowly as he kissed his way across her chest. The gradual increase in her arousal gained momentum as she neared the edge, though he ignored her pleas to speed up. Then, just as she was becoming incoherent with pleasure, he scissored his fingers inside her and bit down on a nipple.
Her climax was sharp and sudden. Her head flew back so fast the throw pillows scattered, every muscle in her body tensed, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Gold stars appeared on the underside of her eyelids, sparkling so brightly she wanted to close her eyes against the light.
When she eventually regained the ability to think, she opened her eyes, smiling languidly. His grin was wide and lecherous, but his gaze held sadness. She quickly sat up and took his face in her hands, wanting to erase that expression from his face. Her words only made his smile fall, so she used her body; it was the only way she knew would make him forget, at least temporarily.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and thrust her pelvis up against his, pulling his torso down at the same time. He groaned into her ear, a guttural sound that emphasised just how aroused he was. Just in case the evidence against her stomach had been too subtle.
They both flung an arm out to rummage for a condom in Rachel’s bedside table. Puck snagged a foil packet first, then threaded his fingers through hers, trapping the condom between their palms. Together they ripped open the packet and slid it on, only fumbling a little, despite the awkwardness of using two disconnected hands.
He clutched her hips desperately as he thrust into her, as if he was afraid she would disappear from under his fingers. It was likely she’d have bruises tomorrow, but now, in the moment, she couldn’t bring herself to care. His mouth roamed her face and chest, kissing and licking nonsensical trails across her skin. She looped her arms under his to seize his shoulders, using the leverage to meet his thrusts with her own.
Sliding a hand down between their bodies, Puck pressed a thumb against her clit, causing her to tighten her grip on his shoulders. His thrusts became less rhythmical as he moved closer to climax, his mouth returning to hers. The alcohol was gone from his breath now; his lips tasted like the sweat pouring off his brow.
With one final groan, he let go, hand digging into her hip as though he could pull her inside himself. One more roll of his thumb, and the fire smouldering inside her burst into flame. He collapsed on top of her, murmuring her name against her breast.
In the silence afterward, she heard her own breathing, rapid and jerky. Her heart was pounding so hard she could feel it thudding against her rib cage. Every muscle in her body felt like butter, mushy and helpless. He lay heavily on her, crushing her into the mattress, and she could happily have lain there forever. She felt exhilarated, and exhausted, as if she could move mountains if only she could manage to move herself... but at the moment, she wanted nothing more than to just lie there with Puck’s weight on her, and know that he had come to her for this release.
He moved off her way too soon for her liking, ignoring her protests. Standing up, he collected his clothes and dressed silently. When Rachel regained the ability to form coherent thoughts, she propped herself up and started talking.
“Noah, you can’t keep doing this. You’ve been pushing me away ever since Matt died, and I gave you your space. I can appreciate that everyone grieves differently - I certainly have no personal experience that compares to your losing a friend of Matt’s calibre - and I would never ask you not to do so. But it seems like you’ve just decided to do it all on your own.” She slid across the bed to take his hand, forcing him to look at her. “I want to help you through this, Noah.”
He turned away from her pleading gaze, though his fingers squeezed hers. For a moment they sat in silence, and for the first time Rachel could remember, his eyes stayed off her naked body for more than two seconds. Actually, a lot more than two; he stood up and climbed out her window without so much as a backward glance.
Pale pink curtains fluttered in the breeze, the movement only barely registering in Rachel’s consciousness. She stared at the open window long after he’d disappeared from sight. Though it had been less than fifteen minutes since they’d finished having sex, the sheets were already cool against her bare skin. Suddenly cold, she pulled the covers up to her chin and curled into a ball. Resting her head on a pillow, she inhaled deeply, then smiled sadly. It smelled like him.
………
It happened again two nights later. And the night after that. For more than three weeks, he climbed through her bedroom window a few minutes after her bedroom light went out. They would make love, then he would leave the same way he’d arrived. She couldn’t predict whether he would or wouldn’t appear on any one night; neither could she convince him to stay when they were done.
After the second time, she swore it wouldn’t happen again; that she’d lock her window and ignore him when he tapped. She was his girlfriend, not some midnight booty call. But the next night, she found herself opening the window and turning out the light earlier than she otherwise would have.
Then she decided they wouldn’t have sex; he was going to talk, whether he liked it or not. He didn’t show up that night, or the next two. And when he did finally climb through her window, his face was so distraught, she threw herself into his arms. All she wanted was to take that look off his face - and sex was the only way he allowed her to do so.
When Puck was above her (or below; she didn’t mind being on top, though she did find it hard to sustain her movement as she became more aroused), his face relaxed and he allowed his enjoyment to shine through. Over the past few weeks, Rachel had seen him laugh and smile spontaneously - and the instant he realised what he was doing, he would school his features back into apathetic. She knew he felt guilty about enjoying himself when Matt no longer could, but try as she might, she couldn’t get him to talk about it.
And in their post-climactic haze, he would smile widely and hold her close. It was the only time she ever felt like they would move past this, that things would eventually go back to ‘normal’. But the moment she shifted off his chest, intent on talking, he would pull away and start putting on his clothes. The entire time, every single time, he never spoke a word.
………
Twenty four days after that first late-night foray to her bedroom, Rachel witnessed Puck’s inevitable breakdown. The only problem was, he was crying in Santana’s arms, not hers.
Having helped Mr Schue pack up after Glee rehearsal, Rachel walked through the empty hallways alone. Even before Matt’s death, Puck had never volunteered to stay behind with her unless he was her ride home - and then only because he knew she was more likely to be receptive to his sexual advances if he stayed. Now she considered herself fortunate if he walked with her in the hallway.
A sniffing sound drew her attention to a partly-open door. Rehearsal had run later than usual, so there was a high probability that the occupant of the room was in Glee. Curiosity peaked, Rachel moved to the doorway and looked in, doing her best not to move the door and announce her presence. Despite wanting to be quiet, she was barely able to stifle her gasp when she saw who was crying.
Santana sat on the teacher’s desk, her face buried in Puck’s t-shirt, shoulders heaving with sobs. Puck was facing the door, so Rachel could see his tears streaking down his cheeks, even though his eyes were closed. His arms were looped around Santana’s back, holding her tightly - but they were stationary. Whenever Puck hugged Rachel, his hands roamed her back, tracing down her spine and along her bra.
The jealousy Rachel expected to feel never eventuated. Instead, a strange combination of sadness, loneliness and relief flowed through her. She was glad her boyfriend had finally let go of his grief, and yet the fact he’d chosen not to share it with her left a cold, empty feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Before they could discover her spying, Rachel slipped away, walking outside as quietly as she could. By the time she got home she was crying, though not for the reason her fathers assumed. When she woke on a tear-stained pillow the next morning, she felt an enormous weight missing from her shoulders, and realised that seeing Puck’s tears had allowed her to cry for Matt, too.
………
Two days later, he showed up at her front door to whisk her away on a date.
It was their first actual date since the accident. In true Puck fashion, he took her to the most popular makeout spot in Lima - though she had to smile when he produced a vegetarian burger for her. He stole her fries and finished her soda, the same way he always did. He laughed at her long words, swore more than was appropriate, and turned everything into a sexual innuendo, the same as always.
While she enjoyed the time spent with her boyfriend outside the bedroom, she was concerned at the sudden turnaround. But when she asked him, he refused to talk about it. Instead he kissed her senseless, whispering “I’m sorry” against her lips. When he finally pulled back to breathe, she smiled and told him it was okay; she was pleased he was finally dealing with his emotions, even if he’d chosen not to do so with her.
He didn’t climb through her bedroom window that night. Or the next night. But she didn’t dwell on it, because she had him back.
The Friday after their date, she grinned widely when a hand snaked out to pull her into the janitor’s closet. She had no doubt who it was - the touch of his fingers on her wrist made her whole body tingle - and so didn’t resist when his lips came crashing down on hers. Giggling, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. He pressed her against the wall and ran his palms up under her skirt, toying with the edge of her underwear. It was fun, flirty, and utterly teenage - she absolutely loved it.
“Mm, Noah…not here,” she managed to get out in between kisses.
“Bee…” he breathed into her neck, stroking the crease of her thigh.
She inhaled sharply when he rolled a knuckle against her, doing her best to stifle a moan. Quickly, he covered her mouth with his own, and extracted his hand from under her skirt. When he cupped her face to deepen the kiss, one finger felt cool against her cheek. It wasn’t until she disengaged her tongue from his and was able to think again that she realised what the wetness was.
The bell rang, and Rachel tilted her head away from his. “We have biology.”
“I have a private tutor,” he replied, tongue tracing the chords in her neck.
Though she had skipped class with him before, those times were rare, and mostly limited to first or last period, when they could take their time. Now it was third, and she wasn’t about to have sex with him in the middle (quite literally) of school. Especially considering their recent situation.
As she extracted herself from his embrace, then the closet, she wondered how this had happened. When had she turned into the kind of girl who tolerated being treated like an object? And not just an object - a sex toy. For almost four weeks, her so-called boyfriend had pretty much ignored her during the day, then expected sex at night. And she had obliged him, because it was the only way she could show him how she felt - the only way he would allow her to do so. But now he expected things to go back to ‘normal’ with no explanation.
“You’re the one who wants to go to class, Rach, get a fucking move on.” Puck prodded her in the back with a pen - the only thing he was carrying.
Shooting him a look over her shoulder, Rachel readjusted the stack of textbooks in her arms. “Would it kill you to help me with these?”
He shrugged. “You want me to go with you to class, I’m going. I don’t do textbooks.” With these words he swept past her and walked into their biology classroom. Though he didn’t turn to hold the door open for her, he did push it far enough that she was able to slip through before it closed.
Rachel began to apologise for their tardiness, but the teacher waved her away - he was obviously impressed Puck was in the classroom at all. Puck tugged her to the back of the room, taking the books from her arms so she could sit down.
After situating herself and getting out her notes, Rachel turned her attention to the teacher’s lecture. For a few minutes, she listened and took notes on DNA replication. Then he turned off the lights and started a tape on cloning. The instant the tape began, Rachel felt a tap on her arm, and a note was slid under her fingers.
Wanna replicate our DNA at lunch?
She couldn’t help but smile; even if he had missed the point of the lecture, the fact he knew what it was about was proof he’d at least listened.
You need to listen to what Mr Hawkes is saying, Noah. Replication occurs whe-
He was apparently watching her write, for he pushed her hand away and pulled the note back towards him.
Whatever, Bee. You going to leave me with blue balls or what?
It took a palm over her mouth to stop the chuckle escaping. She shook her head and wrote a final word, showing it to him before crumpling the paper into a ball.
Later.
Though she turned her gaze back to the video, Rachel’s mind was racing. He was acting as if nothing had happened. The problem was, something had. Puck had yet to speak a word about how he was working through his grief. Granted, he didn’t usually talk about “girlie shit like feelings”, but this wasn’t just a bad grade or losing a football game - this was the death of a friend. Rachel herself had talked to her fathers, Miss Pillsbury, Brittany and Quinn. The only time she’d seen Puck even close to admitting anything was that night she’d seen him crying with Santana. Not knowing how to bring up the topic, Rachel had given him what he wanted - his space. She had hoped that allowing him to deal with things in his own way would prove to him she wasn’t the shallow, clingy girlfriend so many high school girls were. Yes, she was only seventeen, but she was more mature than most high school seniors.
Puck squirmed in his seat, his jean-clad thigh brushing against her bare one, and she smiled. He was still there beside her. She’d let him go, and he’d returned to her. That meant something right? The last time she’d given a boyfriend space, he’d left her completely. But she had known Finn wasn’t over Quinn; it wasn’t altogether unexpected. Matt’s death had been absolutely unforseen, and Puck’s reaction had terrified Rachel. She’d invested so much in their relationship, she wasn’t sure how she’d cope if he decided to end things. The nights he didn’t come through her window, she would lie awake most of the night, wondering whether he’d chosen to climb into someone else’s bedroom - whether he’d finally realised she needed him way too much. She had few true friends, and none close enough to be considered ‘best’. He was the foil for her social ineptitude, the anchor for her soaring dreams, the confidant for her secrets; he was her everything.
When he’d shown up at her front door for the date, her heart had felt free for the first time since the funeral. It was irrational and stupid that she should have allowed her own happiness to rest so entirely on the shoulders of another - let alone a boy - and yet…
………
By the next weekend, things were back to normal. Although Puck still hadn’t spoken to her about his feelings, he seemed to be moving past the tragedy. Dates, sleepovers and school makeout sessions resumed, and people stopped questioning whether there was anything wrong. Rachel herself had decided to let him deal with things in his own way.
Then, unpacking her overnight bag after spending the weekend at Puck’s house, Rachel found them. A pair of bright red spankies.
………
Part Two