Sometimes It's Not So Easy [3/3]
Title: Sometimes It's Not So Easy
Chapter: 3/3
Warning: NC-17
Pairing: Puck/Rachel
Summary: He's a teacher, and she's a student, and there's a line they can't cross. Puck's never been good with rules, and Rachel? Rachel always gets what she wants.
Word Count: 25,000 (total)
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Finn calls him a couple days later. Puck hasn't seen (fucked) Rachel again, but he really wants to. Obviously. It's not like he can just walk up to her in the hall and tell her to come to his place and strip naked as soon as she's in the door. But fuck, that'd be hot.
Anyway, Finn, as usual, makes some stupid comment about Puck banging high school girls. He's done it since Puck got the job, but it bothers him way more now.
"Fuck you, dude. You don't even know."
They leave it at that and talk about something else, but Puck is on edge for the rest of the day, because if anyone finds out - even Finn - Puck is totally and completely screwed.
... ... ...
By Friday, Rachel is going crazy. Not only because she's barely spoken to Noah since Monday morning (just hellos in passing, and subtle smiles in the hallway). The real problem is that she and Santana still aren't speaking, and she hates it. They've had these fights before, mostly about 'trivial' things, like when Rachel decided to break up with Mike, or when Santana was on that crazy three day fast Coach Sylvester had the Cheerios on, and was such a bitch (and Rachel hates using that word) that no one could stand being around her. But this is different. This is real life and the future and an actual problem. They both said things that were far too harsh, really, and Rachel wants to apologize. She also wants to receive an apology. She knows her best friend, though, and she knows Santana won't talk first.
The whole school knows they're fighting. They're attached at the hip most of the time, and they haven't so much as said a word to one another all week. The entire glee club has tried to intervene (Matt and Mike, for the most part) but Santana has avoided the whole thing impressively.
When Rachel gets a text from 'N' (how he got her number, she isn't sure, but his came up unknown before she saved it with the same initial he used to sign his text) telling her to come over after dinner, she knows there's only one person she can talk to about this. Even if they're fighting, Santana will keep a secret if asked, and Rachel wouldn't trust anyone with this information more than she'll trust Santana. It's kind of like an olive branch, she supposes. And she thinks Santana will probably be practically giddy to know Rachel has started some kind of relationship (though she's hesitant to call it that) with the sexy new teacher.
"Hi," she says quietly, walking up to Santana during lunch. Matt smiles, kisses Santana's temple before walking away. "Do you have a minute?"
Santana shrugs. "I guess."
"Can we go somewhere quiet?"
Santana arches her brow. "Do you want to make out, or have a conversation?" she teases, and Rachel laughs, because it's widely known that Santana had some kind of sexual relationship with her friend Brittany before the blonde moved to Omaha with her parents. "Choir room?"
Rachel nods and they head down the hall together, and as soon as they round the corner, she sees Noah leafing through a stack of papers as he walks, head down with a pencil between his teeth. She fights the urge to shudder. She knows what he can do with those lips and those hands, and it's all she can think about. He doesn't notice her, and she's torn between being relieved and disappointed.
Once they're in the choir room, Santana finds a chair and sits down, and Rachel sits down beside her, tucking her hands under her thighs.
"I need a favour," Rachel states. Santana lifts her brows incredulously. "Just hear me out, okay?"
"Fine," Santana sighs.
"I need you to cover for me tonight," Rachel says quietly.
"Cover for you?" Santana seems interested now, and Rachel wants to laugh. If it has something to do with deceit, you can bet the girl will pay a little more attention. "You're not coming to Mike's party?"
Rachel shakes her head. That had been the plan, of course, until about 10:00 this morning when she checked her Blackberry between classes and saw a better offer. (She only feels a little bad about calling it that.)
"I have to tell you something," Rachel says, turning in her seat a little bit. "And you cannot tell anyone. Anyone, Santana. This is...What I tell you can't leave this room."
"Okay," Santana says in confusion.
Rachel takes a deep breath and closes her eyes tightly. She doesn't know how to say this, so she figures she'll just do it fast and hope for the best.
"I slept with Mr. Puckerman."
Santana is quiet for a minute, until Rachel opens her eyes, then she starts laughing really hard and shaking her head. "Seriously?" she asks, and Rachel nods. "Oh my god, that's fucking awesome. Was he amazing? I bet he's huge. When did this happen? D'he bend you over his desk or something?"
"Santana!" Rachel cries as her cheeks flush red. "I'm not getting into the details with you right now." Santana rolls her eyes, but nods. It's a widely known fact that Rachel isn't nearly as open about her 'sex life' as Santana is. "I just need to be able to say I'm staying at your house tonight."
Santana holds her hand up. "Wait. You're doing it again?" Rachel bites her lip and looks down. "Holy shit. It was so good that you're doing it again. Why the hell didn't you tell me about this when it happened?"
Rachel laughs. "We haven't been speaking!"
"Which is stupid anyway. And this is huge."
"This is stupid," Rachel insists. "I don't know what I'm doing. It's a horrible idea, but...God, Santana, he's..."
Santana laughs and shakes her head. "Wow," she says. Rachel looks at her questioningly. "He fucked all those big words right out of your head."
Rachel squeals and shoves at Santana's arm, and they're both laughing, shoulders pressed together, and it's safe to say their friendship is going to be just fine after their fight. They might not even talk about it, and Rachel honestly doesn't think that's such a bad thing right now. Maybe that's just because she's now looking forward to her evening with Noah, since she has a believable cover and she knows she can trust Santana. (Always.)
She texts him back after she and Santana finish eating lunch with the guys in the cafeteria. When she sees Noah in the afternoon, he rubs the back of his neck and smiles, and she can feel his eyes on her as she walks away.
... ... ...
She gets Santana to drop her off at Noah's house after dinner, before she heads to Mike's party. Santana now knows all the details, now (well, not all; Rachel is a firm believer that there are things that should stay private) and hasn't stopped making comments all evening. Rachel is trying not to blush too hard ("He has a stash of condoms in his drawer! Classic!") or cringe ("Every girl in school wants to fuck him, and you're the one who got naked in his office.") or smile too widely ("It's actually kind of sweet that he's, like, into you.")
When she knocks at the door, she hears his footsteps running to answer, and he pulls the door open. He's standing there in dark jeans and a dark grey tee shirt, and he smiles when she walks past him. She really wasn't going to wear a skirt, but she couldn't resist. The way he's looking at her lets her know that was a good decision.
"You look really sexy. You know that, right?" he asks, looking her up and down.
Tiny black pleated skirt, brown knit sweater, hair done perfectly. And she slips her feet out of her shoes so she's just in knee socks on his hardwood floor. It's all he can do not to throw her on the couch right now with himself between her legs. But the reason he wanted her to come over was so he could actually have sex with her in a bed. Well, so he could have sex with her in general, but yeah, a bed would be ideal.
"Thank you," she says quietly. He steps towards her and his hands land on her hips. "So do you."
He grins and leans in to kiss her, and he really doesn't mean for them to get carried away, but he can't help it. He's seen her all week, watching her and stealing looks at her in the hallway. He walked past her one day when she was in the choir room and heard her sing, and he was hard as fuck in his office for nearly an hour, thinking about her voice and how she'd sounded when he made her come. So yeah, he kisses her for a while, until she's literally perched on the back of the couch with her arms around his neck. She arches herself against him, and that's when he pulls away a bit.
"I didn't just want you here for that," he says. "For this." She smiles and nods her understanding. "I actually thought we could hang out or whatever."
"Okay," she says breathlessly. "Fine." She grabs the front of his shirt, kisses the hinge of his jaw. "We can."
He grins as she runs her hand down his chest and slips it beneath his shirt at his back. They can hang out. Later. In his bed. Right now, he grabs her thighs to lift her up so she can wrap her legs around his waist, and he carries her to his room.
Besides, this totally has to count as hanging out, right?
He doesn't tell her to leave her skirt on, but she does, and he feels like a dirty old man for about two seconds, then she's straddling him and telling him to hand her a condom. She's naked except for the black fabric wrapped around her hips, and she holds it up as she rides him. There's a split second where he wonders if she's done this exact thing before, but then she leans down and kisses him, and it feels so fucking good that he doesn't care.
She shimmies out of her skirt afterward, when he's laying on his back with his hand behind his head, watching her. He's shameless, not embarrassed at all to be laying there completely naked, and somehow that gives her confidence, too. She walks to the bathroom and takes a drink of water, cleans herself up a little bit. He's under the sheets when she walks back into the room, and she hears him mutter something about her body as he pulls back the covers for her.
"It's cold," she says, curling into his arms. He kisses her lazily, exploring her mouth with his tongue. It's hotter already, and she wonders if he knew that trick would work, the combination of body heat, blankets, and his mouth on hers.
"Okay?" he asks. He can feel himself getting tired, and he'll be up and ready to go again in an hour, but sleeping next to her right now sounds amazing. She nods against him, holds him tightly, and he switches off the light. "Get some sleep, Rachel." She takes a deep breath and lets out a little hum. "Gonna want you again soon."
Her stomach flutters and she almost tells him she's ready again now, but he exhales slowly and he has his eyes closed, so she takes the opportunity to sleep, because she doesn't plan on doing much of it later.
... ... ...
They manage to carry on for two weeks. No one but Santana knows. Mike and Matt ask what Rachel's been up to, since she hasn't been around much, but when they ask if she's seeing someone new, Santana scoffs and calls them idiots, and the curiosity ends there.
Rachel gets to school early some days, and Noah jokes that she's now an expert in 'over the desk' sex, and she blushes until he calls her adorable and kisses her, then pulls her onto his lap on his desk chair, and he uses his hand to get her off again before people start showing up for the day.
She spends a couple more nights at his house, and almost an entire weekend when her fathers go away. She doesn't really ask why he won't go to her place, even though she invited him. She knows they're walking a tightrope, and one wrong move will have them completely falling (and not in the way she thinks she could if the situation were any different). She won't let him jeopardize his job any more than he is already, and she can't risk people finding out. She doesn't want to be known in this town as the girl who slept with a teacher and got him fired. That's just not the name she wants for herself.
All that said, she's just really not ready to stop what she's doing yet. She feels like this is some kind of adult relationship, and the fact that it's just the two of them makes it more real somehow. They talk about things, about his music and his friends and family, and she tells him about her crazy dreams and ideas, and how she'd ultimately love to direct musicals once her career as a performer is over. And he smiles and supports her and tells her she can do whatever she wants, and it doesn't sound like it's just something a teacher says to a student. It sounds like something a boyfriend would say to his girlfriend.
But it feels like there's a definite timeline on what they're doing. It's not just because she's leaving in September (to go where, she's still not sure, and it would be great if those acceptances would come in immediately).
She thinks it has something to do with the fact that as soon as she has graduated, they could, potentially, go public with this whole thing if they wanted to, and from what he's told her, he's not really the type.
... ... ...
Puck is in his office after his after school indoor soccer practice. Yeah, he spearheaded that program when he noticed how out of shape some of the kids at this school are; least he can do is try to change something, you know? He's for 40 boys and girls who scrimmage in the gym after school twice a week, and he actually has a lot of fun messing around and watching them. They have a good time, and they're getting some exercise, so he thinks he's pretty awesome for campaigning to Figgins to let him start this up.
He opens the bottom drawer of his desk, the one he usually keeps locked, and feels his dick stir when he sees her bright blue panties sitting there on top of the change of work out clothes he keeps in there. He remembers her putting them there a few days ago. She was wearing these cute black pants with her sweater with the snowflakes by the wrists, and they'd pulled the drawer open for leverage (don't ask; they're still coming up with new ways to use that desk...) and she'd locked eyes with him as she dropped them into the drawer. He knows she left them there on purpose. He also knows that he walked around half-hard all day because every time he saw her, all he could think about was her not wearing anything under her pants.
He's just considering taking them home and putting them to good use. He can't do what he wants to do with them while he's in his office after hours with the janitorial staff hanging around; he's going home anyway, and he knows this thin little pair of panties will fit perfectly in his pocket. He's just about to say 'fuck work' and stand up, grab his keys, and pick up a pizza and a couple beers on his way home when the door swings open, slams closed, and Rachel runs straight towards him, practically jumping onto his lap. Her knees are on either side of him and she's kissing his face all over, and he thinks he saw a piece of paper in her hand or something when she came in before she accosted him.
"Uh. Hey," he says laughingly as she sits back on his legs. He's pretty sure she just felt that he's already pretty hard (and she wasn't even in his presence when that shit happened.)
"I got into UCLA!" she says happily. Her eyes are all bright, and there's this fucking cute as hell little dimple on her cheek, and she's biting her lip as she waits for his reaction. "I got in, Noah!"
He smiles and kisses her, settling his hands on her ass under her skirt. "Congrats, baby. That's amazing."
It is, he thinks. It also means she's leaving to go to California in a matter of months, and this, her on his lap, kissing him and leaving her panties for him to do with what he pleases is all going to end. He's known it all along. But knowing and accepting are two different things. And he's always been the kind of guy who ignores things until they slap him in the face. This is the slap in the face he's been waiting for.
"Let's go to your house," she says quietly, tugging at his earlobe with her teeth.
It's risky, them leaving so closely behind one another, her parking her car down the street from his house and letting herself in. But she kisses him in the doorway to his bedroom, and it already feels different, and he thinks this might not happen again after today so he doesn't say anything that might fuck it up.
... ... ...
"I'm leaving," she says sometime after two in the morning. She's called Santana, then her fathers, and no one is going to worry about her.
He kind of is.
Well, he's worried about himself and having to give her up, which is pretty much about her, and this sad little voice she's using on him right now is only confirming what he's known all along.
"Yeah."
She turns onto her side and holds the sheets to her chest. He pulls the comforter up over her shoulder. She's always complaining about how cold he keeps his house. She smiles a bit, tucks her hair behind her ear.
"What are we doing?" she asks quietly, toying with the corner of the pillow as it sits between them. He looks to the ceiling.
"Ending this, I guess," he says. He hears her let out a breath and looks over, and she's just staring at him. "Well, we are, right?"
Her eyes get really shiny and he wants to swear and maybe yell and tell her it's all her fault in the first place, for seducing him (he did it right back) and leaving (they both know she'd never stay; she's too good to stay) and making him actually care about her (she didn't even do anything special, and it just happened, this...whatever he feels for her).
"We can't continue this, can we?" she asks. She drops her hand and her head falls back onto the pillow dramatically. "We both knew it was a bad idea to start it, but...continuing it..."
"When you're leaving and no one can ever know anyway," he finishes for her. She nods, which messes up her hair, so he reaches over and plays with it a little bit, focusing on that instead of the fact that she's about two seconds away from crying. "Should probably stop now before you get all crazy about me or something."
She lets out a little laugh and moves closer to him.
(She's already crazy about him.)
"You should be younger," she whispers against his shoulder. He moves his hand so it's tucked between her thighs, just above her knees. It's a weird place to put it, but he doesn't care. It feels good. She feels good.
"You should be older," he says, smiling. "'S'feels familiar." She just nods, wets her lips and kisses his bicep before her hand slides across his stomach, just below his chest. "Fun while it lasted." She nods again, and blinks rapidly because she does not want to start crying. "You gonna say something?" He pulls away so he can look at her, and she turns her face into the pillow so he can't see. He does anyway. "Rachel."
She closes her eyes when the pad of his thumb brushes her cheek. She doesn't know how or why he's smiling right now, but she thinks she might just adore him for it.
"I don't want to be the silly girl who cries," she admits quietly.
He realizes he's never around for this part. Mostly because he's never really done this part. His last 'relationship' was well over before they called it over, so he just packed up whatever shit was in her dorm room and got out of there and there were no tears. Other than that, he's just never called, or broken plans, or said something harsh over the phone. He's never seen the tears, if there were any.
The tears? Fucking suck.
"C'mere," he says, pulling her towards him.
He doesn't know what else to say. He just lets her lay there with him, tracing letters on his chest (he knows which ones, but he doesn't say anything about it - doesn't want her to stop) until she falls asleep.
They don't sleep together again. Not that he doesn't want to. Of course he wants to. They're just both in over their heads already, and they really don't need to make it any more difficult. He makes her tea in the morning (she smiles, because he never used to have tea; he bought it for her) and toasts bagels, and they talk about her going away to school like it isn't killing both of them that she's leaving.
He kisses her at the door, soft and slow, teases her that it's something to remember him by. She doesn't say she wouldn't forget him anyway, but she's thinking it.
And when she sees him at school on Monday, she avoids his eyes and the awful feeling pulling at her heart.
... ... ...
There are two more months of that feeling, seeing him in the halls every day. His office eventually gets moved closer to the gym after the old coach's office was renovated. His name is on the door and everything, his diploma and teaching certificates go up on the walls, and he moves some books onto the shelves. She goes in there only once, and it's before school one day. He's organizing text books and turns when she knocks at the door. She's got a plant in her hand, smiles as she sets it on the desk, and neither of them says a word. He just winks and she walks out the door as quickly and quietly as she came.
Santana asks her if she wants to talk about it, and she says that no, she doesn't. She just wants to finish the year and not have to see him around every corner and try not to make it seem like she knows what it feels like to have him touch her, tease her and coax her to release.
The look on his face sometimes lets her know he's trying to do the same thing.
... ... ...
He watches her, sometimes, when she comes to games or hangs out in the gym while the Cheerios practice (does she do that on purpose, put herself in his line of sight?) She's happy, he knows, which is really great, but any time she looks at him, he can tell she's feeling the same way he is. Really fucking pissed (okay, she'd say 'upset') that they had to stop what they were doing. It was fun, and it was nice, and he hasn't enjoyed being with a woman that much in...Honestly? Ever. But it's wrong, and he knows it, and so does she, and it'd never work out.
He goes on a date with one of Quinn's friends. She's nice and she's pretty hot, but he can't bring himself to care. When Finn asks him about it, he just says he's not feelin' it, that he could drive a truck through the gap in her teeth and he can't handle it. It's not exactly a lie. It's definitely an exaggeration.
Truth is, he just doesn't want anyone else right now. It's totally fucked up, because he's always just been able to quit one girl and move on to the next one.
Rachel's been different all along. He should have known it'd be harder to get over her, too.
... ... ...
Graduation day, Rachel is valedictorian and wears her red sash over her black robe and addresses the crowd and says all the right things.
Noah is in a suit and smiling, and claps and stands with everyone else when she's done. He always told her she was, "totally fucking smart," and all the teachers in the lunch room talked about what a great student she was. She doesn't miss that inside info as much as she misses him.
Mr. Schuester brings over a beautiful little bouquet of flowers and tells her they were just sitting in the choir room with her name on the card. It doesn't say who they're from, but she knows anyway. She smiles at him across the gym and he meets her eyes, tucks his hand into his pocket and looks to the ground before focusing his attention on his conversation with Matt's dad again.
... ... ...
She doesn't see him again before she leaves for L.A., and it's definitely for the best. It's stupid and probably a mistake, but she and Mike fool around, sort of almost dating, for the last two weeks before she gets on her flight. He's going to Berkeley, and everyone (herself included, some days) thinks it would be great if they were together again while in California.
It's him who ends it while he's helping her pack her books, and she doesn't feel anything at all. She kisses his cheek and tells him not to worry, that she's not hurt, and he smiles and says they're just better as friends. They are, she knows. Some days she doesn't know what she'd do without him.
He says, "you'd just find some other dude and make him fall madly in love with you, and then you'd forget all about me eventually," when she tells him. He's joking, and she laughs, even as she hopes it's not true.
... ... ...
He's 25 and the athletic director at McKinley High. Apparently there was an anti-doping policy and Sue Sylvester failed it. He doesn't ask questions, really, just takes over her bigger, nicer office just after the school year has let out, takes advantage of his raise, and buys a house in one of the nicer neighbourhoods in town. It's nothing huge, but it's his, and he loves it.
It's hot as hell, summertime in Ohio, and he's turned into one of those people who obsessively cares about his lawn (got a sweet riding mower, and that thing is awesome). He seals his driveway and organizes his garage. He turns his basement into a sweet rec room with a bar and a pool table.
This is all two weeks into summer, and he's going nuts.
He's got friends in town now. There's Will, who has a little girl with curly hair and cute as a button and who for whatever reason loves Puck. He's babysat a few times, and it scares the hell out of him, how much he loves little kids. And then there's RJ and Ethan (who he calls 'E', because he thinks Ethan is a lame name and has no problem explaining this to his buddy) who play on his rec baseball team and are his best friends outside of Finn. It's practically a beer league, but whatever. It's fun and the guys are a blast and don't entirely suck. They won the league trophy last year, which was pretty sweet.
Basically, he's got a pretty sweet life here. Lima isn't so bad after all. He's dated a few women, a couple more seriously than the others, and his bed hasn't exactly been cold, if you know what he's saying. It's not like he's turning into high school Puck again, but he's a dude and he's pretty sure he needs sex to live, and that's not a theory he particularly wants to test, thanks anyway.
But this summer? This summer is going to suck. It already does. RJ and his girlfriend are about to get engaged, and that's all the dude will talk about. Ethan and his wife just found out they're expecting their first kid, so he's pretty preoccupied. Puck's happy for his friends, but really, Finn can only come to town every so often, and it's usually with Quinn in tow, and he's getting bored.
Not that he doesn't love having summers off. That shit's golden.
But then he's sitting on his back deck, cold bottle of beer sweating in his hand and looking out over his yard, and he realizes he really needs something to do, because he's thinking a pool would fit perfectly here, and he does not need another project that's going to suck money from his account.
... ... ...
Rachel has been in L.A. for three years straight, save for little Hanukkah breaks and a weekend or two here and there in the summer. The thing is, her apartment building in L.A. is being demolished (she can't understand why; the thing has been perfect and is just barely 50 years old). She's loved the apartment for the last two years after living on campus her first year. But now all her things are in storage, and she's found a new place but can't move in until the end of August. Really, she had no reason to stay in L.A. and spend a whole lot of money on short term housing when she could just come home and have a nice summer with her fathers. Santana and Matt are staying in Chicago, but that's close enough and she plans to visit them, and they plan to visit her. Everything seems to be working out.
But then she's sitting in her backyard sipping a margarita after dinner one night, and she realizes she doesn't really know anyone in town anymore, and she's thinking about crashing on Santana and Matt's sofa for the entire summer, but given that they're planning a wedding, she doesn't think that would go over so well.
... ... ...
She's driving around in her air conditioned car, looking for ways to cool down. Even her backyard pool is up over 90 degrees, so that does little to take the heat from her body. She's consumed more non-fat soy frozen yogurt in the last week than ever in her life, and she doesn't think she could consume any more of it if she tried. She's wearing a tiny pair of denim shorts, flip flops and her bikini top. She's usually more conservative than this, but with the heat wave and the fact that practically no one knows who she is here anymore, she's decided she can step out of her comfort zone a little more, and jump right into another one. She really did try to at least put on a tank top before, but it just didn't work out. It clung to her skin immediately, making her sweat until she pulled it off again and threw it on the floor (another thing uncharacteristic of her).
She's driving past the liquor store when she decides that cold beer sounds like just about the best way she can think to beat the heat. Her fathers have just about every kind of alcohol other than beer. They've never stocked it in the house unless they were hosting some kind of party. She thinks a six pack of Bud would make her life.
She groans when she gets out of her car, because the heat hits her and makes her hair stick to the back of her neck. She pulls it up and gathers it at the top of her head as she walks to the door, then drops her hear and reaches for the door handle. She ignores the sign on the door that says, 'No Shoes, No Shirt, No Service,' and the guy her age standing behind the desk seems to be staring at her chest instead of telling her to cover it. She can't even find it in her to scold him. That's how hot it is.
Walking straight to the coolers at the back of the store, she rests her palm on the cool glass, then runs it over the back of her neck as she weighs her options. Even though she really likes it, she's never really been much of a beer drinker. She didn't know there were so many different kinds. Some of the cans are so pretty, and some of the names are downright silly. But she likes the look of this Stella Artois, so she grabs a 12 pack of that (she's got all summer to finish it; she doesn't think twice about buying so much).
... ... ...
He's out of beer. Totally not acceptable. It's four million degrees outside and inside gets boring really fast. Both situations are remedied by beer.
He walks into the liquor store and nods to the kid behind the counter before heading to the back. He smirks and quirks his brow when he sees the seriously hot girl in little shorts and a bikini, her long dark hair falling almost to the small of her back. She's got her hand on the back of her neck under her hair, and when she opens the cooler and reaches for whatever she's buying, he checks out her ass, and there's something really familiar about all of it. The colour of her hair, the curve of her hips, her skin tone, her legs, and that ass...
He spent a lot of time staring at that ass in various states of dress (or undress).
So he walks up behind her before he turns around, and if it was hot before, it's even hotter when he can smell some expensive perfume. He notices a tiny little tattoo on the back of her shoulder, just two little music notes, and fuck him if that's not the sexiest thing he's ever seen.
"Good choice," he says. He's talking about the beer, but he really could mean the tattoo, growing her hair, the wardrobe choice, the fact that she's obviously been getting sun and colouring her skin.
She turns around, eyes wide and hair swishing around her shoulders.
It's not that she's forgotten about him. She's pretty sure that one could never forget about the older authority figure one engaged in an illicit affair with. There's also the fact that he is who he is and looks the way he does (even better now, somehow) and she's spent the last three years dating men who couldn't make her feel the way he did, emotionally or physically.
So if she checks his hand for a ring, she really can't be faulted.
And when she brushes at her hairline, collecting the little beads of sweat there, and watches as his tongue wets his lips a little bit, she gets a little bold.
But he cuts her off before she can offer to share.
"Are you even old enough to buy that?" he asks with a smirk.
She narrows her eyes and pouts a little. "You know very well how old I am, Mr. Puckerman."
"Back to calling me that, huh?" She shrugs her shoulder and he looks at her chest. Totally not his fault. "How've you been?"
"Hot," she answers automatically. He looks her up and down and takes a deep breath. "That's not what I meant."
He laughs again, shakes his head. She's still the same girl, just a little older (hell yes) and definitely hotter (how's that possible?) and standing right in front of him with nothing in their way.
"What are you doing here? I haven't even seen you since...Three years ago."
"Summer in Lima. Doesn't get more exciting than this," she says.
She's surprised how nonchalant she can be when her heart is beating this hard and she's definitely sweating. It can't be attractive, but the way he keeps staring at her when he thinks she's not paying attention tells her otherwise.
(And she remembers three years ago, when she'd laid on her stomach on his bed after he'd made her come so hard she had to bite the pillow to keep from screaming too loudly, and he'd licked the sweat from her spine and told her everything about her tasted so fucking good he wanted to eat her. And then he did, in a manner of speaking.)
She's flirting with him, even if she doesn't realize it. And her skin is glistening between her tits, and it's all he can do not to lick it away right here in the middle of this store with the skeezy guy behind the counter staring at her ass.
"So," he says, taking the case of beer from her. She runs a cold hand over her collarbone and he's already thinking of a hundred places to stop between here and his place so he can fuck her. "I'm not your teacher any more."
She tries very hard not to smile. "No, Noah." He smirks and steps closer. "You aren't."
He backs her up against the cool door of the freezer, and she takes a sharp breath when her shoulders feel the chill. He sets the case of beer on the shelf next to them, then puts his hands on her hips and leans down, whispering a kiss across the apple of her cheek.
"Wanna come to my place?" he asks. She's got her hand on his skin under his shirt, and he'd love to tell her to stop (he's hard as hell already) but he figures it's only fair, since she's practically half naked in front of him.
But then she shakes her head.
"Mine," she says, looking up at him through her eyelashes.
It honestly takes him a second to realize she's talking about her house and not laying claim to him or something. Not that he hates either scenario.
He kisses her, because she's not stopping any of this, and he's pretty sure they're going to be fucking in less than an hour. Plus, it's nice and cool next to this freezer, and she might actually even be a little cold now, because her nipples are hard, pressed against his chest. She tastes just amazing as she always did, and he honestly cannot wait to sample the rest of her. Every inch. Over and over again.
"Let's go," he says gruffly as he pulls away. She kisses the side of his mouth, licking to get the light pink gloss left behind by her lips, then pushes him a little bit.
"Get my beer," she tells him, and she smiles when he laughs.
She's sure to brush against him when she slips away, and he catches her hand before she can get too far. He stands behind her while she pays, runs his hand over the front of her shorts as she stands there making small talk with the guy at the counter. Her shoulders tense a little, but no one can see what he's doing, since the counter is so tall and there are only three people in the store. He presses his hips against her ass a little, and she moans, covering it quickly with a cough, then sending her elbow into his ribs before grabbing her change. He picks the case up off the counter and smacks her ass gently to get her moving. Seriously. He needs to fuck her, like, three years ago.
They have lost time to make up for.
... ... ...
She tastes like beer and sweat and strawberry lip gloss when he kisses her and presses her back into her mattress. Her top was easy enough to get off (please; as if those little ties could stop him for more than about two seconds) and he's got his hand down the front of her shorts as he kisses her.
"This is so crazy," she breathes out, arm hooked around his neck. He leans down and takes a nipple into his mouth as he slips one finger easily into her. "God, Noah."
"I thought about this," he admits quietly. "So much."
He's not lying. One of the women he dated, he realized was a lot like Rachel. When he went to dinner with Will and Emma and Will pointed it out after, laughing and shaking his head, Puck's breath caught in his throat, and he broke up with the girl the next day. He never really knew the reason why.
More than that, even, he'd think about her on his own, just every once in a while. It would always start off with wondering how she was doing out there in L.A., if she liked school and had a lot of friends. Then he'd wonder if she had a boyfriend. Then he'd think about how badly he'd wanted to be her boyfriend once upon a time. Then he'd think about the time he spent with her and how fucking good she felt wrapped around him in every possible way.
So yeah. He thought about this, about using his hand or his mouth or his cock to make her breathe all heavily and say his name like she used to.
Like she just did.
She's dying for him to take off her shorts (and his as well, actually) but that would mean he'd have to stop touching her, and she doesn't want that. Knowing him (and she thinks she might still, somehow) he'll drive her crazy using every method he can possibly think of before she's begging him to just push himself inside her. She doesn't think it'll take her long to get to that point.
No one is like him. No one treats her - pleases her - like him. She opens her mouth to tell him, but he kisses her instead, and she decides she'll let him know later. He's saying something about her being wet for him (she is) and wanting him (she does) and how he plans to make her come again and again and again until she can't take anymore (she hopes).
"Start now," she says breathlessly, fingers threading through the hair at the back of his neck. He chuckles against her skin and looks at her, brushes his lips against hers far too softly.
"Still bossy," he murmurs. "I like it."
She arches against his hand, pushing herself forward and rocking her hips against him. He smiles, locks eyes with her as he pushes another finger into her and she digs her nails into his skin. He doesn't doubt that he could get her off using nothing but just his baby finger, and yeah, he'd love to just get foreplay out of the way so he can sink into her and fuck them both stupid, but she really loved the dirty talk (always did) so he tells her it's a good thing she's home all summer, because he wants to take her every possible way, in every possible place he can think of. She says yesyesyes, and he doesn't know if she's responding to his words, or the way his fingers are curling inside her, or both.
"God, I fuckin' missed you," he says, a little more quietly than he means to, his lips on the hinge of her jaw next to her ear. Her back arches and she's coming around his hand, wet, and hot, and loud, and he kisses her hard because she's so fucking hot he can't stand it.
Once she's back on solid ground, she reaches for his belt and pulls down his zipper so fast it's impressive, then pushes down her own shorts when he stands to let his pants and boxers fall to the floor. She's naked on her bed waiting for him, and she can't help but moan when he uses his wet fingers to stroke himself as he crawls back towards her. She opens her legs and he presses into her immediately, just the tip, and she rolls her hips, groaning in frustration when she can't get him to give her anything more. His hand is on her hip, the other braced just above her shoulder, but she manages to slide further down the bed, pushing herself onto him.
She's so fucking impatient it's making him a little crazy. She clearly wants to be fucked, and he's obviously the one who's going to do it, but he doesn't have a condom, and he needs to fix that before this gets any further.
"Wait, baby," he breathes out. "Condom."
She shakes her head, drags him towards her and kisses him. "I'm on the pill. Please."
He pushes into her the rest of the way, licks at her neck when she tips her head back, kisses the hollow of her throat before he starts moving. He realizes she's talking, and he starts paying a little attention to that instead of just the sensation of her hot and tight around him, but he can really only catch one thing before she's telling him she wants more.
(What he catches? "Missed you, too.")
When they come together, it's like gravity, and he knows it's going to take a hell of a lot more for him to let her go than it did last time. She's breathing heavily, and there's sweat rolling down her temple. He catches it with his tongue, stays inside her until she squirms.
She's laying there, sweaty, sated and sticky, with him next to her, and she gives herself a moment to catch her breath before she even dares to look at him.
"Would you like another beer?" she asks, leaning up on her elbows and trying to roll away.
He grabs her wrist and hauls her back to him. "You're not going anywhere."
He grabs a tissue from her bedside table, pushes her thighs apart, and chuckles when she sucks in a breath as soon as he's touching her, wiping her clean. (And yeah, he may pay a little extra attention to her clit, but he doesn't think he can be blamed, really.) He drops the tissue into the trash can and lays down again, pulling her onto him so she's laid out flat against his chest.
"You really miss me?" he asks quietly, fingers slipping through her hair easily. She nods and presses her lips to his chest. "Me, or the way I make you fall apart a little bit?"
She laughs, which he thinks feels really good, and reaches down between them, stroking him softly, silencing his groan with a kiss.
"Everything," she says quietly, lips barely touching his.
As far as answers go, that was probably the best.
Chapter: 3/3
Warning: NC-17
Pairing: Puck/Rachel
Summary: He's a teacher, and she's a student, and there's a line they can't cross. Puck's never been good with rules, and Rachel? Rachel always gets what she wants.
Word Count: 25,000 (total)
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Finn calls him a couple days later. Puck hasn't seen (fucked) Rachel again, but he really wants to. Obviously. It's not like he can just walk up to her in the hall and tell her to come to his place and strip naked as soon as she's in the door. But fuck, that'd be hot.
Anyway, Finn, as usual, makes some stupid comment about Puck banging high school girls. He's done it since Puck got the job, but it bothers him way more now.
"Fuck you, dude. You don't even know."
They leave it at that and talk about something else, but Puck is on edge for the rest of the day, because if anyone finds out - even Finn - Puck is totally and completely screwed.
... ... ...
By Friday, Rachel is going crazy. Not only because she's barely spoken to Noah since Monday morning (just hellos in passing, and subtle smiles in the hallway). The real problem is that she and Santana still aren't speaking, and she hates it. They've had these fights before, mostly about 'trivial' things, like when Rachel decided to break up with Mike, or when Santana was on that crazy three day fast Coach Sylvester had the Cheerios on, and was such a bitch (and Rachel hates using that word) that no one could stand being around her. But this is different. This is real life and the future and an actual problem. They both said things that were far too harsh, really, and Rachel wants to apologize. She also wants to receive an apology. She knows her best friend, though, and she knows Santana won't talk first.
The whole school knows they're fighting. They're attached at the hip most of the time, and they haven't so much as said a word to one another all week. The entire glee club has tried to intervene (Matt and Mike, for the most part) but Santana has avoided the whole thing impressively.
When Rachel gets a text from 'N' (how he got her number, she isn't sure, but his came up unknown before she saved it with the same initial he used to sign his text) telling her to come over after dinner, she knows there's only one person she can talk to about this. Even if they're fighting, Santana will keep a secret if asked, and Rachel wouldn't trust anyone with this information more than she'll trust Santana. It's kind of like an olive branch, she supposes. And she thinks Santana will probably be practically giddy to know Rachel has started some kind of relationship (though she's hesitant to call it that) with the sexy new teacher.
"Hi," she says quietly, walking up to Santana during lunch. Matt smiles, kisses Santana's temple before walking away. "Do you have a minute?"
Santana shrugs. "I guess."
"Can we go somewhere quiet?"
Santana arches her brow. "Do you want to make out, or have a conversation?" she teases, and Rachel laughs, because it's widely known that Santana had some kind of sexual relationship with her friend Brittany before the blonde moved to Omaha with her parents. "Choir room?"
Rachel nods and they head down the hall together, and as soon as they round the corner, she sees Noah leafing through a stack of papers as he walks, head down with a pencil between his teeth. She fights the urge to shudder. She knows what he can do with those lips and those hands, and it's all she can think about. He doesn't notice her, and she's torn between being relieved and disappointed.
Once they're in the choir room, Santana finds a chair and sits down, and Rachel sits down beside her, tucking her hands under her thighs.
"I need a favour," Rachel states. Santana lifts her brows incredulously. "Just hear me out, okay?"
"Fine," Santana sighs.
"I need you to cover for me tonight," Rachel says quietly.
"Cover for you?" Santana seems interested now, and Rachel wants to laugh. If it has something to do with deceit, you can bet the girl will pay a little more attention. "You're not coming to Mike's party?"
Rachel shakes her head. That had been the plan, of course, until about 10:00 this morning when she checked her Blackberry between classes and saw a better offer. (She only feels a little bad about calling it that.)
"I have to tell you something," Rachel says, turning in her seat a little bit. "And you cannot tell anyone. Anyone, Santana. This is...What I tell you can't leave this room."
"Okay," Santana says in confusion.
Rachel takes a deep breath and closes her eyes tightly. She doesn't know how to say this, so she figures she'll just do it fast and hope for the best.
"I slept with Mr. Puckerman."
Santana is quiet for a minute, until Rachel opens her eyes, then she starts laughing really hard and shaking her head. "Seriously?" she asks, and Rachel nods. "Oh my god, that's fucking awesome. Was he amazing? I bet he's huge. When did this happen? D'he bend you over his desk or something?"
"Santana!" Rachel cries as her cheeks flush red. "I'm not getting into the details with you right now." Santana rolls her eyes, but nods. It's a widely known fact that Rachel isn't nearly as open about her 'sex life' as Santana is. "I just need to be able to say I'm staying at your house tonight."
Santana holds her hand up. "Wait. You're doing it again?" Rachel bites her lip and looks down. "Holy shit. It was so good that you're doing it again. Why the hell didn't you tell me about this when it happened?"
Rachel laughs. "We haven't been speaking!"
"Which is stupid anyway. And this is huge."
"This is stupid," Rachel insists. "I don't know what I'm doing. It's a horrible idea, but...God, Santana, he's..."
Santana laughs and shakes her head. "Wow," she says. Rachel looks at her questioningly. "He fucked all those big words right out of your head."
Rachel squeals and shoves at Santana's arm, and they're both laughing, shoulders pressed together, and it's safe to say their friendship is going to be just fine after their fight. They might not even talk about it, and Rachel honestly doesn't think that's such a bad thing right now. Maybe that's just because she's now looking forward to her evening with Noah, since she has a believable cover and she knows she can trust Santana. (Always.)
She texts him back after she and Santana finish eating lunch with the guys in the cafeteria. When she sees Noah in the afternoon, he rubs the back of his neck and smiles, and she can feel his eyes on her as she walks away.
... ... ...
She gets Santana to drop her off at Noah's house after dinner, before she heads to Mike's party. Santana now knows all the details, now (well, not all; Rachel is a firm believer that there are things that should stay private) and hasn't stopped making comments all evening. Rachel is trying not to blush too hard ("He has a stash of condoms in his drawer! Classic!") or cringe ("Every girl in school wants to fuck him, and you're the one who got naked in his office.") or smile too widely ("It's actually kind of sweet that he's, like, into you.")
When she knocks at the door, she hears his footsteps running to answer, and he pulls the door open. He's standing there in dark jeans and a dark grey tee shirt, and he smiles when she walks past him. She really wasn't going to wear a skirt, but she couldn't resist. The way he's looking at her lets her know that was a good decision.
"You look really sexy. You know that, right?" he asks, looking her up and down.
Tiny black pleated skirt, brown knit sweater, hair done perfectly. And she slips her feet out of her shoes so she's just in knee socks on his hardwood floor. It's all he can do not to throw her on the couch right now with himself between her legs. But the reason he wanted her to come over was so he could actually have sex with her in a bed. Well, so he could have sex with her in general, but yeah, a bed would be ideal.
"Thank you," she says quietly. He steps towards her and his hands land on her hips. "So do you."
He grins and leans in to kiss her, and he really doesn't mean for them to get carried away, but he can't help it. He's seen her all week, watching her and stealing looks at her in the hallway. He walked past her one day when she was in the choir room and heard her sing, and he was hard as fuck in his office for nearly an hour, thinking about her voice and how she'd sounded when he made her come. So yeah, he kisses her for a while, until she's literally perched on the back of the couch with her arms around his neck. She arches herself against him, and that's when he pulls away a bit.
"I didn't just want you here for that," he says. "For this." She smiles and nods her understanding. "I actually thought we could hang out or whatever."
"Okay," she says breathlessly. "Fine." She grabs the front of his shirt, kisses the hinge of his jaw. "We can."
He grins as she runs her hand down his chest and slips it beneath his shirt at his back. They can hang out. Later. In his bed. Right now, he grabs her thighs to lift her up so she can wrap her legs around his waist, and he carries her to his room.
Besides, this totally has to count as hanging out, right?
He doesn't tell her to leave her skirt on, but she does, and he feels like a dirty old man for about two seconds, then she's straddling him and telling him to hand her a condom. She's naked except for the black fabric wrapped around her hips, and she holds it up as she rides him. There's a split second where he wonders if she's done this exact thing before, but then she leans down and kisses him, and it feels so fucking good that he doesn't care.
She shimmies out of her skirt afterward, when he's laying on his back with his hand behind his head, watching her. He's shameless, not embarrassed at all to be laying there completely naked, and somehow that gives her confidence, too. She walks to the bathroom and takes a drink of water, cleans herself up a little bit. He's under the sheets when she walks back into the room, and she hears him mutter something about her body as he pulls back the covers for her.
"It's cold," she says, curling into his arms. He kisses her lazily, exploring her mouth with his tongue. It's hotter already, and she wonders if he knew that trick would work, the combination of body heat, blankets, and his mouth on hers.
"Okay?" he asks. He can feel himself getting tired, and he'll be up and ready to go again in an hour, but sleeping next to her right now sounds amazing. She nods against him, holds him tightly, and he switches off the light. "Get some sleep, Rachel." She takes a deep breath and lets out a little hum. "Gonna want you again soon."
Her stomach flutters and she almost tells him she's ready again now, but he exhales slowly and he has his eyes closed, so she takes the opportunity to sleep, because she doesn't plan on doing much of it later.
... ... ...
They manage to carry on for two weeks. No one but Santana knows. Mike and Matt ask what Rachel's been up to, since she hasn't been around much, but when they ask if she's seeing someone new, Santana scoffs and calls them idiots, and the curiosity ends there.
Rachel gets to school early some days, and Noah jokes that she's now an expert in 'over the desk' sex, and she blushes until he calls her adorable and kisses her, then pulls her onto his lap on his desk chair, and he uses his hand to get her off again before people start showing up for the day.
She spends a couple more nights at his house, and almost an entire weekend when her fathers go away. She doesn't really ask why he won't go to her place, even though she invited him. She knows they're walking a tightrope, and one wrong move will have them completely falling (and not in the way she thinks she could if the situation were any different). She won't let him jeopardize his job any more than he is already, and she can't risk people finding out. She doesn't want to be known in this town as the girl who slept with a teacher and got him fired. That's just not the name she wants for herself.
All that said, she's just really not ready to stop what she's doing yet. She feels like this is some kind of adult relationship, and the fact that it's just the two of them makes it more real somehow. They talk about things, about his music and his friends and family, and she tells him about her crazy dreams and ideas, and how she'd ultimately love to direct musicals once her career as a performer is over. And he smiles and supports her and tells her she can do whatever she wants, and it doesn't sound like it's just something a teacher says to a student. It sounds like something a boyfriend would say to his girlfriend.
But it feels like there's a definite timeline on what they're doing. It's not just because she's leaving in September (to go where, she's still not sure, and it would be great if those acceptances would come in immediately).
She thinks it has something to do with the fact that as soon as she has graduated, they could, potentially, go public with this whole thing if they wanted to, and from what he's told her, he's not really the type.
... ... ...
Puck is in his office after his after school indoor soccer practice. Yeah, he spearheaded that program when he noticed how out of shape some of the kids at this school are; least he can do is try to change something, you know? He's for 40 boys and girls who scrimmage in the gym after school twice a week, and he actually has a lot of fun messing around and watching them. They have a good time, and they're getting some exercise, so he thinks he's pretty awesome for campaigning to Figgins to let him start this up.
He opens the bottom drawer of his desk, the one he usually keeps locked, and feels his dick stir when he sees her bright blue panties sitting there on top of the change of work out clothes he keeps in there. He remembers her putting them there a few days ago. She was wearing these cute black pants with her sweater with the snowflakes by the wrists, and they'd pulled the drawer open for leverage (don't ask; they're still coming up with new ways to use that desk...) and she'd locked eyes with him as she dropped them into the drawer. He knows she left them there on purpose. He also knows that he walked around half-hard all day because every time he saw her, all he could think about was her not wearing anything under her pants.
He's just considering taking them home and putting them to good use. He can't do what he wants to do with them while he's in his office after hours with the janitorial staff hanging around; he's going home anyway, and he knows this thin little pair of panties will fit perfectly in his pocket. He's just about to say 'fuck work' and stand up, grab his keys, and pick up a pizza and a couple beers on his way home when the door swings open, slams closed, and Rachel runs straight towards him, practically jumping onto his lap. Her knees are on either side of him and she's kissing his face all over, and he thinks he saw a piece of paper in her hand or something when she came in before she accosted him.
"Uh. Hey," he says laughingly as she sits back on his legs. He's pretty sure she just felt that he's already pretty hard (and she wasn't even in his presence when that shit happened.)
"I got into UCLA!" she says happily. Her eyes are all bright, and there's this fucking cute as hell little dimple on her cheek, and she's biting her lip as she waits for his reaction. "I got in, Noah!"
He smiles and kisses her, settling his hands on her ass under her skirt. "Congrats, baby. That's amazing."
It is, he thinks. It also means she's leaving to go to California in a matter of months, and this, her on his lap, kissing him and leaving her panties for him to do with what he pleases is all going to end. He's known it all along. But knowing and accepting are two different things. And he's always been the kind of guy who ignores things until they slap him in the face. This is the slap in the face he's been waiting for.
"Let's go to your house," she says quietly, tugging at his earlobe with her teeth.
It's risky, them leaving so closely behind one another, her parking her car down the street from his house and letting herself in. But she kisses him in the doorway to his bedroom, and it already feels different, and he thinks this might not happen again after today so he doesn't say anything that might fuck it up.
... ... ...
"I'm leaving," she says sometime after two in the morning. She's called Santana, then her fathers, and no one is going to worry about her.
He kind of is.
Well, he's worried about himself and having to give her up, which is pretty much about her, and this sad little voice she's using on him right now is only confirming what he's known all along.
"Yeah."
She turns onto her side and holds the sheets to her chest. He pulls the comforter up over her shoulder. She's always complaining about how cold he keeps his house. She smiles a bit, tucks her hair behind her ear.
"What are we doing?" she asks quietly, toying with the corner of the pillow as it sits between them. He looks to the ceiling.
"Ending this, I guess," he says. He hears her let out a breath and looks over, and she's just staring at him. "Well, we are, right?"
Her eyes get really shiny and he wants to swear and maybe yell and tell her it's all her fault in the first place, for seducing him (he did it right back) and leaving (they both know she'd never stay; she's too good to stay) and making him actually care about her (she didn't even do anything special, and it just happened, this...whatever he feels for her).
"We can't continue this, can we?" she asks. She drops her hand and her head falls back onto the pillow dramatically. "We both knew it was a bad idea to start it, but...continuing it..."
"When you're leaving and no one can ever know anyway," he finishes for her. She nods, which messes up her hair, so he reaches over and plays with it a little bit, focusing on that instead of the fact that she's about two seconds away from crying. "Should probably stop now before you get all crazy about me or something."
She lets out a little laugh and moves closer to him.
(She's already crazy about him.)
"You should be younger," she whispers against his shoulder. He moves his hand so it's tucked between her thighs, just above her knees. It's a weird place to put it, but he doesn't care. It feels good. She feels good.
"You should be older," he says, smiling. "'S'feels familiar." She just nods, wets her lips and kisses his bicep before her hand slides across his stomach, just below his chest. "Fun while it lasted." She nods again, and blinks rapidly because she does not want to start crying. "You gonna say something?" He pulls away so he can look at her, and she turns her face into the pillow so he can't see. He does anyway. "Rachel."
She closes her eyes when the pad of his thumb brushes her cheek. She doesn't know how or why he's smiling right now, but she thinks she might just adore him for it.
"I don't want to be the silly girl who cries," she admits quietly.
He realizes he's never around for this part. Mostly because he's never really done this part. His last 'relationship' was well over before they called it over, so he just packed up whatever shit was in her dorm room and got out of there and there were no tears. Other than that, he's just never called, or broken plans, or said something harsh over the phone. He's never seen the tears, if there were any.
The tears? Fucking suck.
"C'mere," he says, pulling her towards him.
He doesn't know what else to say. He just lets her lay there with him, tracing letters on his chest (he knows which ones, but he doesn't say anything about it - doesn't want her to stop) until she falls asleep.
They don't sleep together again. Not that he doesn't want to. Of course he wants to. They're just both in over their heads already, and they really don't need to make it any more difficult. He makes her tea in the morning (she smiles, because he never used to have tea; he bought it for her) and toasts bagels, and they talk about her going away to school like it isn't killing both of them that she's leaving.
He kisses her at the door, soft and slow, teases her that it's something to remember him by. She doesn't say she wouldn't forget him anyway, but she's thinking it.
And when she sees him at school on Monday, she avoids his eyes and the awful feeling pulling at her heart.
... ... ...
There are two more months of that feeling, seeing him in the halls every day. His office eventually gets moved closer to the gym after the old coach's office was renovated. His name is on the door and everything, his diploma and teaching certificates go up on the walls, and he moves some books onto the shelves. She goes in there only once, and it's before school one day. He's organizing text books and turns when she knocks at the door. She's got a plant in her hand, smiles as she sets it on the desk, and neither of them says a word. He just winks and she walks out the door as quickly and quietly as she came.
Santana asks her if she wants to talk about it, and she says that no, she doesn't. She just wants to finish the year and not have to see him around every corner and try not to make it seem like she knows what it feels like to have him touch her, tease her and coax her to release.
The look on his face sometimes lets her know he's trying to do the same thing.
... ... ...
He watches her, sometimes, when she comes to games or hangs out in the gym while the Cheerios practice (does she do that on purpose, put herself in his line of sight?) She's happy, he knows, which is really great, but any time she looks at him, he can tell she's feeling the same way he is. Really fucking pissed (okay, she'd say 'upset') that they had to stop what they were doing. It was fun, and it was nice, and he hasn't enjoyed being with a woman that much in...Honestly? Ever. But it's wrong, and he knows it, and so does she, and it'd never work out.
He goes on a date with one of Quinn's friends. She's nice and she's pretty hot, but he can't bring himself to care. When Finn asks him about it, he just says he's not feelin' it, that he could drive a truck through the gap in her teeth and he can't handle it. It's not exactly a lie. It's definitely an exaggeration.
Truth is, he just doesn't want anyone else right now. It's totally fucked up, because he's always just been able to quit one girl and move on to the next one.
Rachel's been different all along. He should have known it'd be harder to get over her, too.
... ... ...
Graduation day, Rachel is valedictorian and wears her red sash over her black robe and addresses the crowd and says all the right things.
Noah is in a suit and smiling, and claps and stands with everyone else when she's done. He always told her she was, "totally fucking smart," and all the teachers in the lunch room talked about what a great student she was. She doesn't miss that inside info as much as she misses him.
Mr. Schuester brings over a beautiful little bouquet of flowers and tells her they were just sitting in the choir room with her name on the card. It doesn't say who they're from, but she knows anyway. She smiles at him across the gym and he meets her eyes, tucks his hand into his pocket and looks to the ground before focusing his attention on his conversation with Matt's dad again.
... ... ...
She doesn't see him again before she leaves for L.A., and it's definitely for the best. It's stupid and probably a mistake, but she and Mike fool around, sort of almost dating, for the last two weeks before she gets on her flight. He's going to Berkeley, and everyone (herself included, some days) thinks it would be great if they were together again while in California.
It's him who ends it while he's helping her pack her books, and she doesn't feel anything at all. She kisses his cheek and tells him not to worry, that she's not hurt, and he smiles and says they're just better as friends. They are, she knows. Some days she doesn't know what she'd do without him.
He says, "you'd just find some other dude and make him fall madly in love with you, and then you'd forget all about me eventually," when she tells him. He's joking, and she laughs, even as she hopes it's not true.
... ... ...
He's 25 and the athletic director at McKinley High. Apparently there was an anti-doping policy and Sue Sylvester failed it. He doesn't ask questions, really, just takes over her bigger, nicer office just after the school year has let out, takes advantage of his raise, and buys a house in one of the nicer neighbourhoods in town. It's nothing huge, but it's his, and he loves it.
It's hot as hell, summertime in Ohio, and he's turned into one of those people who obsessively cares about his lawn (got a sweet riding mower, and that thing is awesome). He seals his driveway and organizes his garage. He turns his basement into a sweet rec room with a bar and a pool table.
This is all two weeks into summer, and he's going nuts.
He's got friends in town now. There's Will, who has a little girl with curly hair and cute as a button and who for whatever reason loves Puck. He's babysat a few times, and it scares the hell out of him, how much he loves little kids. And then there's RJ and Ethan (who he calls 'E', because he thinks Ethan is a lame name and has no problem explaining this to his buddy) who play on his rec baseball team and are his best friends outside of Finn. It's practically a beer league, but whatever. It's fun and the guys are a blast and don't entirely suck. They won the league trophy last year, which was pretty sweet.
Basically, he's got a pretty sweet life here. Lima isn't so bad after all. He's dated a few women, a couple more seriously than the others, and his bed hasn't exactly been cold, if you know what he's saying. It's not like he's turning into high school Puck again, but he's a dude and he's pretty sure he needs sex to live, and that's not a theory he particularly wants to test, thanks anyway.
But this summer? This summer is going to suck. It already does. RJ and his girlfriend are about to get engaged, and that's all the dude will talk about. Ethan and his wife just found out they're expecting their first kid, so he's pretty preoccupied. Puck's happy for his friends, but really, Finn can only come to town every so often, and it's usually with Quinn in tow, and he's getting bored.
Not that he doesn't love having summers off. That shit's golden.
But then he's sitting on his back deck, cold bottle of beer sweating in his hand and looking out over his yard, and he realizes he really needs something to do, because he's thinking a pool would fit perfectly here, and he does not need another project that's going to suck money from his account.
... ... ...
Rachel has been in L.A. for three years straight, save for little Hanukkah breaks and a weekend or two here and there in the summer. The thing is, her apartment building in L.A. is being demolished (she can't understand why; the thing has been perfect and is just barely 50 years old). She's loved the apartment for the last two years after living on campus her first year. But now all her things are in storage, and she's found a new place but can't move in until the end of August. Really, she had no reason to stay in L.A. and spend a whole lot of money on short term housing when she could just come home and have a nice summer with her fathers. Santana and Matt are staying in Chicago, but that's close enough and she plans to visit them, and they plan to visit her. Everything seems to be working out.
But then she's sitting in her backyard sipping a margarita after dinner one night, and she realizes she doesn't really know anyone in town anymore, and she's thinking about crashing on Santana and Matt's sofa for the entire summer, but given that they're planning a wedding, she doesn't think that would go over so well.
... ... ...
She's driving around in her air conditioned car, looking for ways to cool down. Even her backyard pool is up over 90 degrees, so that does little to take the heat from her body. She's consumed more non-fat soy frozen yogurt in the last week than ever in her life, and she doesn't think she could consume any more of it if she tried. She's wearing a tiny pair of denim shorts, flip flops and her bikini top. She's usually more conservative than this, but with the heat wave and the fact that practically no one knows who she is here anymore, she's decided she can step out of her comfort zone a little more, and jump right into another one. She really did try to at least put on a tank top before, but it just didn't work out. It clung to her skin immediately, making her sweat until she pulled it off again and threw it on the floor (another thing uncharacteristic of her).
She's driving past the liquor store when she decides that cold beer sounds like just about the best way she can think to beat the heat. Her fathers have just about every kind of alcohol other than beer. They've never stocked it in the house unless they were hosting some kind of party. She thinks a six pack of Bud would make her life.
She groans when she gets out of her car, because the heat hits her and makes her hair stick to the back of her neck. She pulls it up and gathers it at the top of her head as she walks to the door, then drops her hear and reaches for the door handle. She ignores the sign on the door that says, 'No Shoes, No Shirt, No Service,' and the guy her age standing behind the desk seems to be staring at her chest instead of telling her to cover it. She can't even find it in her to scold him. That's how hot it is.
Walking straight to the coolers at the back of the store, she rests her palm on the cool glass, then runs it over the back of her neck as she weighs her options. Even though she really likes it, she's never really been much of a beer drinker. She didn't know there were so many different kinds. Some of the cans are so pretty, and some of the names are downright silly. But she likes the look of this Stella Artois, so she grabs a 12 pack of that (she's got all summer to finish it; she doesn't think twice about buying so much).
... ... ...
He's out of beer. Totally not acceptable. It's four million degrees outside and inside gets boring really fast. Both situations are remedied by beer.
He walks into the liquor store and nods to the kid behind the counter before heading to the back. He smirks and quirks his brow when he sees the seriously hot girl in little shorts and a bikini, her long dark hair falling almost to the small of her back. She's got her hand on the back of her neck under her hair, and when she opens the cooler and reaches for whatever she's buying, he checks out her ass, and there's something really familiar about all of it. The colour of her hair, the curve of her hips, her skin tone, her legs, and that ass...
He spent a lot of time staring at that ass in various states of dress (or undress).
So he walks up behind her before he turns around, and if it was hot before, it's even hotter when he can smell some expensive perfume. He notices a tiny little tattoo on the back of her shoulder, just two little music notes, and fuck him if that's not the sexiest thing he's ever seen.
"Good choice," he says. He's talking about the beer, but he really could mean the tattoo, growing her hair, the wardrobe choice, the fact that she's obviously been getting sun and colouring her skin.
She turns around, eyes wide and hair swishing around her shoulders.
It's not that she's forgotten about him. She's pretty sure that one could never forget about the older authority figure one engaged in an illicit affair with. There's also the fact that he is who he is and looks the way he does (even better now, somehow) and she's spent the last three years dating men who couldn't make her feel the way he did, emotionally or physically.
So if she checks his hand for a ring, she really can't be faulted.
And when she brushes at her hairline, collecting the little beads of sweat there, and watches as his tongue wets his lips a little bit, she gets a little bold.
But he cuts her off before she can offer to share.
"Are you even old enough to buy that?" he asks with a smirk.
She narrows her eyes and pouts a little. "You know very well how old I am, Mr. Puckerman."
"Back to calling me that, huh?" She shrugs her shoulder and he looks at her chest. Totally not his fault. "How've you been?"
"Hot," she answers automatically. He looks her up and down and takes a deep breath. "That's not what I meant."
He laughs again, shakes his head. She's still the same girl, just a little older (hell yes) and definitely hotter (how's that possible?) and standing right in front of him with nothing in their way.
"What are you doing here? I haven't even seen you since...Three years ago."
"Summer in Lima. Doesn't get more exciting than this," she says.
She's surprised how nonchalant she can be when her heart is beating this hard and she's definitely sweating. It can't be attractive, but the way he keeps staring at her when he thinks she's not paying attention tells her otherwise.
(And she remembers three years ago, when she'd laid on her stomach on his bed after he'd made her come so hard she had to bite the pillow to keep from screaming too loudly, and he'd licked the sweat from her spine and told her everything about her tasted so fucking good he wanted to eat her. And then he did, in a manner of speaking.)
She's flirting with him, even if she doesn't realize it. And her skin is glistening between her tits, and it's all he can do not to lick it away right here in the middle of this store with the skeezy guy behind the counter staring at her ass.
"So," he says, taking the case of beer from her. She runs a cold hand over her collarbone and he's already thinking of a hundred places to stop between here and his place so he can fuck her. "I'm not your teacher any more."
She tries very hard not to smile. "No, Noah." He smirks and steps closer. "You aren't."
He backs her up against the cool door of the freezer, and she takes a sharp breath when her shoulders feel the chill. He sets the case of beer on the shelf next to them, then puts his hands on her hips and leans down, whispering a kiss across the apple of her cheek.
"Wanna come to my place?" he asks. She's got her hand on his skin under his shirt, and he'd love to tell her to stop (he's hard as hell already) but he figures it's only fair, since she's practically half naked in front of him.
But then she shakes her head.
"Mine," she says, looking up at him through her eyelashes.
It honestly takes him a second to realize she's talking about her house and not laying claim to him or something. Not that he hates either scenario.
He kisses her, because she's not stopping any of this, and he's pretty sure they're going to be fucking in less than an hour. Plus, it's nice and cool next to this freezer, and she might actually even be a little cold now, because her nipples are hard, pressed against his chest. She tastes just amazing as she always did, and he honestly cannot wait to sample the rest of her. Every inch. Over and over again.
"Let's go," he says gruffly as he pulls away. She kisses the side of his mouth, licking to get the light pink gloss left behind by her lips, then pushes him a little bit.
"Get my beer," she tells him, and she smiles when he laughs.
She's sure to brush against him when she slips away, and he catches her hand before she can get too far. He stands behind her while she pays, runs his hand over the front of her shorts as she stands there making small talk with the guy at the counter. Her shoulders tense a little, but no one can see what he's doing, since the counter is so tall and there are only three people in the store. He presses his hips against her ass a little, and she moans, covering it quickly with a cough, then sending her elbow into his ribs before grabbing her change. He picks the case up off the counter and smacks her ass gently to get her moving. Seriously. He needs to fuck her, like, three years ago.
They have lost time to make up for.
... ... ...
She tastes like beer and sweat and strawberry lip gloss when he kisses her and presses her back into her mattress. Her top was easy enough to get off (please; as if those little ties could stop him for more than about two seconds) and he's got his hand down the front of her shorts as he kisses her.
"This is so crazy," she breathes out, arm hooked around his neck. He leans down and takes a nipple into his mouth as he slips one finger easily into her. "God, Noah."
"I thought about this," he admits quietly. "So much."
He's not lying. One of the women he dated, he realized was a lot like Rachel. When he went to dinner with Will and Emma and Will pointed it out after, laughing and shaking his head, Puck's breath caught in his throat, and he broke up with the girl the next day. He never really knew the reason why.
More than that, even, he'd think about her on his own, just every once in a while. It would always start off with wondering how she was doing out there in L.A., if she liked school and had a lot of friends. Then he'd wonder if she had a boyfriend. Then he'd think about how badly he'd wanted to be her boyfriend once upon a time. Then he'd think about the time he spent with her and how fucking good she felt wrapped around him in every possible way.
So yeah. He thought about this, about using his hand or his mouth or his cock to make her breathe all heavily and say his name like she used to.
Like she just did.
She's dying for him to take off her shorts (and his as well, actually) but that would mean he'd have to stop touching her, and she doesn't want that. Knowing him (and she thinks she might still, somehow) he'll drive her crazy using every method he can possibly think of before she's begging him to just push himself inside her. She doesn't think it'll take her long to get to that point.
No one is like him. No one treats her - pleases her - like him. She opens her mouth to tell him, but he kisses her instead, and she decides she'll let him know later. He's saying something about her being wet for him (she is) and wanting him (she does) and how he plans to make her come again and again and again until she can't take anymore (she hopes).
"Start now," she says breathlessly, fingers threading through the hair at the back of his neck. He chuckles against her skin and looks at her, brushes his lips against hers far too softly.
"Still bossy," he murmurs. "I like it."
She arches against his hand, pushing herself forward and rocking her hips against him. He smiles, locks eyes with her as he pushes another finger into her and she digs her nails into his skin. He doesn't doubt that he could get her off using nothing but just his baby finger, and yeah, he'd love to just get foreplay out of the way so he can sink into her and fuck them both stupid, but she really loved the dirty talk (always did) so he tells her it's a good thing she's home all summer, because he wants to take her every possible way, in every possible place he can think of. She says yesyesyes, and he doesn't know if she's responding to his words, or the way his fingers are curling inside her, or both.
"God, I fuckin' missed you," he says, a little more quietly than he means to, his lips on the hinge of her jaw next to her ear. Her back arches and she's coming around his hand, wet, and hot, and loud, and he kisses her hard because she's so fucking hot he can't stand it.
Once she's back on solid ground, she reaches for his belt and pulls down his zipper so fast it's impressive, then pushes down her own shorts when he stands to let his pants and boxers fall to the floor. She's naked on her bed waiting for him, and she can't help but moan when he uses his wet fingers to stroke himself as he crawls back towards her. She opens her legs and he presses into her immediately, just the tip, and she rolls her hips, groaning in frustration when she can't get him to give her anything more. His hand is on her hip, the other braced just above her shoulder, but she manages to slide further down the bed, pushing herself onto him.
She's so fucking impatient it's making him a little crazy. She clearly wants to be fucked, and he's obviously the one who's going to do it, but he doesn't have a condom, and he needs to fix that before this gets any further.
"Wait, baby," he breathes out. "Condom."
She shakes her head, drags him towards her and kisses him. "I'm on the pill. Please."
He pushes into her the rest of the way, licks at her neck when she tips her head back, kisses the hollow of her throat before he starts moving. He realizes she's talking, and he starts paying a little attention to that instead of just the sensation of her hot and tight around him, but he can really only catch one thing before she's telling him she wants more.
(What he catches? "Missed you, too.")
When they come together, it's like gravity, and he knows it's going to take a hell of a lot more for him to let her go than it did last time. She's breathing heavily, and there's sweat rolling down her temple. He catches it with his tongue, stays inside her until she squirms.
She's laying there, sweaty, sated and sticky, with him next to her, and she gives herself a moment to catch her breath before she even dares to look at him.
"Would you like another beer?" she asks, leaning up on her elbows and trying to roll away.
He grabs her wrist and hauls her back to him. "You're not going anywhere."
He grabs a tissue from her bedside table, pushes her thighs apart, and chuckles when she sucks in a breath as soon as he's touching her, wiping her clean. (And yeah, he may pay a little extra attention to her clit, but he doesn't think he can be blamed, really.) He drops the tissue into the trash can and lays down again, pulling her onto him so she's laid out flat against his chest.
"You really miss me?" he asks quietly, fingers slipping through her hair easily. She nods and presses her lips to his chest. "Me, or the way I make you fall apart a little bit?"
She laughs, which he thinks feels really good, and reaches down between them, stroking him softly, silencing his groan with a kiss.
"Everything," she says quietly, lips barely touching his.
As far as answers go, that was probably the best.