i'm tired of using technology
Title: i'm tired of using technology
Chapter: 1/1
Warning: R
Pairing: Puck/Rachel
Summary: It starts with Facebook. Fictable prompt #37 - Technology
Word Count: 5,800
Disclaimer: Don't own.
It starts with Facebook. Yeah, he's got one. He and Finn set them up in junior high when everyone else was, and of course, no one can delete their pages. Seriously. You can't get rid of it, or you miss what everyone's doing, who's hooking up with who, who's tagging photos of you after the party the other night.
Puck honestly thinks the whole thing's pretty dumb, so he only signs in like, once a week to see what's up. Mike is still hooking up with Brittany and Brittany is still hooking up with Santana. When Puck and Santana used to be together, he tried so fucking hard to get himself a threesome, and seriously, if Mike gets in on that shit first, Puck's gonna be pissed.
Quinn and Finn's new again relationship is now Facebook Official. Matt's soccer team has over 100 fans, most of whom are girls, so good for him. Tina and Artie keep tagging one another in pictures from the stuff they've been doing over the summer, and it's just as annoying as it is kind of awesome. (What? He's not a total jerk. Even he can admit that they're basically perfect for one another.) And Kurt and Mercedes are those annoying people who always comment on every damn status change or photo or whatever. He'd un-friend them, but he can't be bothered.
But then he sees that he's got a new message and he immediately hopes it's some hot girl.
He's not exactly wrong.
Rachel Berry has requested to be his friend. The little message she send him is just :) and he's torn between thinking that's stupid and at least a little cute. He's smiling, though, and he figures why not? It's not like they've seen one another since school ended for the summer.
Actually, they've barely talked at all since last year. There was a whole big thing with glee club and auditions and she was pissed at him for not taking things seriously, and he may have told her that not everyone's life revolves around 'something as stupid as glee club'. He didn't mean it, not the stupid part anyway. He likes glee club. He doesn't like anyone (Rachel especially) telling him what to do. And then she and Finn broke up and the glee club unofficially picked sides for a little while until things were all cool again. It was pretty much a no brainer for Puck, since Finn has been his best friend since they were like, seven and chased old lady Mohr's cat through the neighbourhood and up a tree just for fun.
So yeah, Rachel stayed in her group and he stayed in his, and that was kind of it until the broken hearts were healed or whatever.
But shit, he's got everyone else on his Facebook, and he's not really one to deny anyone access to what little information he puts on there.
So after they're 'friends', he takes it upon himself to look at her page.
Rachel Berry is new to Facebook. Ah!
He's smiling again. That's pretty dumb, since...whatever. It's Rachel, and like, half the shit she says and does is hilarious without her meaning for it to be. But really? She's new to Facebook? Where the hell has she been? Oh, right. MySpace. Which pretty much became the lamest thing ever as soon as Facebook came around.
He's her only friend.
He's her only friend?
She friend requested him first.
Weird.
He figures he should write on her wall, and he smirks as he does.
Popped your wall cherry, Berry. You're welcome.
When he checks up on this later and more of their 'friends' are her 'friends', he smiles to himself when most of the comments on her page are kudos to him for saying what he said.
Rachel Berry does not think Noah Puckerman is funny.
He 'likes' her status, just because her page is basically all about him, and he thinks that's pretty awesome.
... ... ...
He's at Finn's place one day, walks into his best friend's bedroom in the middle of the afternoon to see him sitting on his bed with his computer in his lap, typing something. He's smiling and stuff, and fuck, if Puck just walked into a weird chat session between Finn and Quinn, he's probably going to throw up all over the place. That shit is just weird and he really doesn't need to think about it, much less be around to see it go down.
"Hey," Finn says as he laughs. "Just give me a sec."
"Dude, say goodbye to your girlfriend so we can go to the range," Puck says. Honestly, they're driving out to Haverville to the sweet new driving range there. And he's pretty sure he can get free lemonade from the girl he knows who works at the little club house or whatever, so that's a bonus.
"I'm not talking to my girlfriend," Finn says as he types. Puck's impressed he can do both at the same time. "Talking to Rachel."
"Rachel has IM?" Puck asks, picking up the football off Finn's shelf and spinning it in his hands. "Weird."
"Yeah. I guess Tina told her it was weird that she wasn't online or whatever, so she's got all this stuff now. She's only on sometimes." Finn looks at the screen and smiles. "She says hi."
"Cool. Can we go?"
(He did not just smile over Rachel saying 'hi'.)
They've had this Facebook flirtation for a couple weeks. She commented on one of the pictures Santana took at his baseball game. That comment was actually pretty funny. His shirt was untucked and she wrote, 'They'd never let you play in The Show with a uniform like that.' It was hot, really, 'cause how in the world does Rachel know the rules of MLB uniforms? Or that the MLB is called The Show. Weird.
He's home that night, sipping one of the beers his mom was gullible enough to think are non-alcoholic, and he's got his laptop sitting next to him. He's signed into IM, but he's 'invisible', because there are a whole lot of people on there he doesn't really want to talk to right now (last month's hookup? no) and he's wondering how hard it'd be to add Rachel. Probably pretty easy. She seemed to want to be his Facebook friend pretty desperately or whatever.
So he searches for her name. He doesn't know her email address, but really, how many Rachel Berry's can there be?
One. (He's sure she'd be thrilled to know that, actually.)
He takes a few more drinks of beer as he tries to decide if he really needs her on his list. But what harm can it do, really? Finn said she isn't on all the time or anything, so that's fine, and it's not like he's always signed in or anything. So he sends the request and closes his laptop, turns on the television and finds Alien vs. Predator playing on some crappy station.
A couple days later when he signs in she's online, and the box pops up, and in purple lettering she types, Hi! and he actually laughs. What? It's cute how she's all excited.
He talks to her for a bit, mostly stupid stuff, like her telling him she's just changed her profile picture (it's a shot of her with, like, a wind machine or something blowing her hair around, and she looks pretty good, actually) and asking if he had fun at the driving range.
After about 10 minutes, she says she has to go to her voice lesson. He really should get to work anyway.
Talk to you soon? she asks.
Yup. Later, Rach
She sends him a smiley, and he shakes his head. He's in a pretty good mood for the rest of the day.
... ... ...
He's at a party for Brittany's birthday when he sees Rachel for the first time all summer. He decides it's weird that it's almost the end of July and they live in this tiny town and this is the first they've run into one another. It's kind of a night time pool party, so she's wearing this dark denim skirt with her pink bikini top, and she looks surprisingly hot, even if she's holding her arms shyly, trying to cover herself as she talks to Tina and Mike.
Maybe once a week or something, they're on IM at the same time. They take turns messaging one another first, and they laugh when they talk about Finn and Quinn running out of gas on a back road when Finn tried to be romantic and take Quinn to pick wildflowers. Rachel insists that Finn means well, and Puck reminds her that Quinn was so mad she didn't talk to her boyfriend for three days. Puck's pretty sure that no matter how cool Rachel is with Finn and Quinn being together, she still just a little bitter sometimes and probably laughs her ass off about her ex-boyfriend's fuck ups.
Anyway, they talk. And he doesn't want to, you know, punch himself in the throat when it happens. So he thinks he might like actually talking to her in person or something. It doesn't hurt that he's on his third glass of JD. When she walks his way, smiling a little bit as she tries to head back into the house, he holds out his arm and it almost clotheslines her. It hits her along the top of her chest, across her shoulders, really, and she stops walking.
He doesn't know why, but he spends the next 15 minutes talking to her, listening to her go on about the weekend trip she and her fathers are talking to Chicago, and he laughs when she tells him she'll post the photos on her Facebook. He tells her she's suddenly addicted, and she laughs a little. She's gotten a bit less shy about her bathing suit and stuff, which he thinks is pretty cool, actually. She's got one hand tucked into the back pocket of her skirt as she sips her girly vodka cooler.
He doesn't really know why, but he pulls his phone out and asks for her phone number. It's not even so he can try to hook up with her or anything. He blames it on the alcohol anyway.
And he definitely spends way too much time wondering why she doesn't ask him for his number.
... ... ...
He doesn't call her or anything. Fuck. No. Noah Puckerman is not going to call Rachel Berry. Not happening.
He texts her instead. Tells her to Have fun in Chi-Town. And signs the text with his name, which he normally wouldn't do, but since she doesn't have his number in her phone or anything, he wants her to know who it's from. She texts back a thank you and says she's trying to 'whittle down' her packing from two bags to just one. He laughs, because she's going away for like, three days, so what the hell does she need? A couple skirts, some underwear and some shirts or something. Whatever. She's a total girl.
He tells her to bring him back a souvenir.
She asks him what he wants.
He tells her a pair of panties in her size with Chicago written on the ass would be pretty awesome.
She doesn't respond.
... .. ...
He's in bed when she calls him.
Not so bad to wake up from a mid-afternoon nap to her voice, but that's not really the point.
She tells him she has something for him, and would he like to meet her somewhere to get it?
He can think of some things he'd like from her. (BJ, virginity. Wait. Is she a virgin? He wants to find out. Preferably the fun way, not just by asking.)
Anyway.
He likes her bedroom. It's yellowy and girly and there's always new shit on the walls to look at. (And by 'always', he means, 'those few times he was actually in her room'.) It's weird that he actually digs it, but he does. It's kind of like her, a little intense and kind of overwhelming, but nice and pretty, in a not-so-obvious way.
So he tells her he'll come over, if that's okay, and she gets all excited, telling him she got this really great kosher virgin margarita mix from some store in downtown Chicago, and she'll make some for him. And yeah, even her use of the word virgin is hot, but he really wishes she'd slip a little tequila in there and live a little. But whatever. He'll take what he can get.
And really, he didn't expect to get anything. She hasn't texted him since the panties suggestion, so he kind of thought she was pissed and whatever and he'd have to sweet talk her and smooth shit over when he saw her next and stuff. This is better.
She's on her front porch with a little tray of drinks on the table between the two chairs, and she smiles when she sees him pull up to the curb. He'd park in her driveway, but his truck tends to leak oil when it's hot, and she'd probably castrate him or something if he got her pavement dirty.
He's walking towards her, and he wonders how it's possible that she got hotter since he saw her last. She's in these little shorts and a black tank top with some kind of red bra thing underneath, and her hair is pulled up into one of those messy bun things that are always strangely sexy. And she's smiling at him as she sets her glass onto the table, wiggles her fingers in his direction as he walks up the steps.
"Hey," he says casually. He flops down in the empty chair without her telling him to, and she hands him a margarita glass. It's pretty girly, but whatever. He doesn't want to be a dick and complain. "Thanks." He takes a sip - that shit is good, even without the tequila - and rests the glass on his knee. "So where's my present?"
She shakes her head and smiles. "It's good to see you, too, Noah," she teases.
He thinks it's kind of awesome that she has jokes. Even if they're not great ones. He shrugs his shoulder. "Always is, right?"
She rolls her eyes as she laughs. "I don't know if you'll even like this," she warns him. "It's...Well, there's a story."
"'Kay," he says as she passes him the little rectangular box, wrapped in dark blue tissue paper (and really, did she have to wrap it?).
"Well, we were shopping one day, early in the morning before it got too hot on Michigan Avenue, and Daddy was buying us lattés at Starbucks, and he started getting really excited." She looks at him and he's really trying to pay attention, 'cause she's talking all fast and stuff. "Open it," she commands. He starts tearing at the paper. "Anyway, in front of him, Alex Rios was ordering a decaf Americano, and so Daddy just had to talk to him. I got him to sign this for you, because I know you're a baseball fan. And even if you aren't a fan of the White Sox, I though...Well, I thought you might like it."
He's holding in his hand a signed Starbucks sleeve with Alex Rios' signature on it. It's fucking awesome. Random and weird and awesome. Even weirder? Her name is written on the side, too, with the specifics of her drink or whatever.
But yeah. Alex Rios' autograph. She's so cool. Who knew?
He takes a sip of his margarita as he looks at the brown cardboard thing in his hand, and he tries to think if he owns anything as awesome as this. Other than his guitar, probably not.
"Do you...do you like it?" she asks nervously.
He turns to her and smiles. "It's awesome. Thanks." She beams at him and nods her head, all proud, like she's super happy to have done something right. (He doesn't know that she's ever really done anything wrong.) "You didn't have to get me something."
"I know," she says, looking to the ground. "I wasn't going to. Not after what you suggested." He smirks and she shakes her head again. "But I wanted to."
He says, "cool," because he doesn't know what else to say. "You uh...You wanna go for a walk or something?"
She shakes her head lightly, smiles and pulls her feet up onto the chair so her knees are pressed against her chest. "It's nice here."
They sit there, mostly quiet, which is weird at first, because she's usually, you know, not quiet. But they just sip their drinks and don't say much for almost two hours, until his phone rings and his mom asks him if he's going to be home in time for dinner. He stands, stretches, and thanks her again for the awesome gift. She squeals when he ruffles her hair, bats his hand away as he laughs.
"Later, Rachel," he says, just like he always does.
She stands and smoothes out her shirt, and he tries not to get caught checking out her legs. "Goodbye, Noah."
He's in his truck when she bends down to pick up her shoes to take them into the house, and he watches her as he turns the key in the ignition, and okay, he's got a bit of a thing for her.
... ... ...
He doesn't talk to her for a week. Not that he doesn't want to or anything. She's not on Facebook, not on IM, and he didn't text her or anything, but he knows Artie did when a bunch of them were going to drive out to the lake and she was invited, but responded saying she couldn't go. Shame, really, since seeing her in a bikini floating in an inner tube would have basically made his week.
He calls her one night when he's at that very lake by himself, bored and trying to find something to do. And yes, she's the first person he thinks of. And yes, he wants to do her, but he really just wants to talk to her, too, or whatever.
"Hello?" she answers, and she sounds confused, like no one ever calls her at night or something. They probably don't.
"What's up?" he asks.
"I...nothing," she says. "Are you okay? It's late. Do you need help, or..."
"It's only 10:00," he reminds her, smirking as he lets some sand fall between his fingers. "Just at the lake."
"And you called just to talk?" she asks skeptically.
He lays down and looks up at the sky, almost completely dark, a few stars out and stuff. "Yeah."
"Oh," she says. Her voice is all quiet and he realizes people probably don't ever just call her to talk.
So he asks her if she thinks she's too good for them or something, if that's why she didn't come with them to swim and hang out the other day, and she laughs and recites her entire schedule. It's pretty crazy, he admits, but he also tells her she's gotta 'fuckin' let loose' and 'hang out with real people sometimes'. And he's pretty impressed with what she says to that.
"Well, maybe we could do something sometime," she says quietly. He wonders where she is in her house, if she's on her bed or on her porch. Maybe in her living room in the dark or something. Why would she be? He doesn't know. He just thinks it'd be kind of hot.
And honestly, he didn't think she'd, like, ask him out. Maybe it's not a date. He'll definitely try to make it end like one.
"What're you doing right now?" he asks. She actually laughs. "What? Come hang out. It's nice and cool by the lake. 'S'fuckin' hot everywhere else."
"It is rather warm in my room," she says. Good. Now he can picture her on her bed in next to nothing (what? it's hot out). "But I can't just leave this late at night."
"You got curfew?"
"Yes. Not until one, but if I leave now..."
"Tomorrow night," he interrupts. "Meet me. 9:00. Don't be late."
She laughs. "When have I ever been late?"
He says nothing more, closes his phone without saying goodbye. She'll probably be pissed about that, but he figures she'll get over it quickly enough. He lays there on the sand just listening to the sound of the water, until she texts him five minutes later.
I'd appreciate a goodbye next time before you hang up.
He smiles and scrolls through his contacts until he gets to her name. She answers right away, and he wants to laugh, because her voice is all even like she didn't just basically bitch him out via text.
"Goodnight, Rachel."
"Goodnight, Noah."
... ... ...
He gets there before her, because he figures if he wants to have any hope in hell of touching her or, you know, getting her undressed at all, he has to set some kind of a mood. And Rachel? He's pretty sure she's into romantic shit, like flowers and candies and all that clichéd garbage he's never done, doesn't care about, and doesn't ever plan to do.
But he buys strawberry shakes and makes sure the music he has playing in his truck is something she won't totally hate. Oh, and he's wearing a shirt that makes his chest and arms look fucking killer, and hey, girl's gotta appreciate that. It's hot as hell, so he's really hoping he'll get to appreciate her body. You know, to look at it. Touching it would be the icing on the best kind of cake.
It's official. He totally wants to bang her.
It kind of snuck up on him, but it's weird, because he felt it before, too. When they dated or whatever, he honestly thought there was a chance he'd get to be the one to get her to experience all things sexual for the first time. She told him she'd never been french kissed before, after they'd been making out for a while and she wanted to make sure she was doing it right. It wasn't even like he could tell. If she hadn't said anything, he never would have known. She was pretty happy when he told her that. Not happy enough to let him put his hand beneath her skirt, but whatever. He still honestly doesn't know how much she's done (and he's not about to ask Finn that shit) but he'd like to do stuff with her. Like, everything she'll give him the green light for.
She pulls up and she's got on this tiny (miniscule) pair of denim shorts. They're so short the pockets are coming down out the bottom at her thighs. It's really, really damn sexy. And she's wearing this thin little tank top, loose so it's off her skin, and a bikini top underneath. He wonders if she's got the bottoms on under her shorts. He'd be totally on board with finding out. Her sunglasses are white, and she pushes them up onto her hair as she walks towards him.
"Here," he says, handing her the shake from where he sits on the ground.
"What's this?" she asks. She sits next to him and crosses her legs indian-style, which makes her shorts ride up a little more. They're literally just covering her. Pretty sure if she laid on her stomach, he could totally see her ass. And that would be awesome.
"Strawberry," he tells her. "You like it, right?"
She takes a sip, smiles and nods. "Thank you," she says quietly, and he shrugs his shoulder. Two bucks for a milkshake really isn't a hardship, but it's pretty cool that she's into it. "How are you?"
"'S'hot out," he says, holding his cup between his knees. "Summer's crazy."
"It is busy," she tells him. He knows all about her dance schedule and all the stuff she does with her dads. They've covered that on IM and the phone. "It's nice here, though."
"Yup," he says, sipping his drink and looking out over the water. "I like it here. It's quiet."
"So you just come here alone and sit? Pour over your thoughts?" she asks, and there's a bit of a joke in there he's not sure he appreciates, but when he looks at her, he sees her eyes all shiny and stuff and he figures he can't really be pissed.
"I have thoughts," he tells her, trying not to smile too widely. She's cute when she decides to have a sense of humour. She bites her lip, like she might want to say something more, but doesn't think she wants to take the joke any further. "Water's nice, too."
"Is it?" she asks. She slips her finger under the tie of her bikini to straighten it out over her collarbone. He watches her. It's totally sexy. "We could go in."
He smirks against his straw. "Yeah?"
"Sure," she says. She stands, sets her cup in the sand so it won't fall over, and unzips her shorts. He watches with a certain amount of interest. (A lot of fucking interest.) "Coming?"
He smirks at her and pulls his shirt over his head before standing and grabbing the bottom of hers, tugging at it for no reason before walking away. He's at the edge of the lake when she stands next to him, dipping one toe in the water. He watches her pull it out, set it on the ground. It gets all covered in sand, and it's like she realizes she's half naked (he is not complaining) and starts moving her arms to cover her stomach, and takes a step back so she's out of his line of sight a bit. He's not having that. He grabs her wrist and tugs her forward so they're both ankle-deep in water.
"Noah!" she squeals. "It's cold!"
"It's nice. Come on." He slips his arm around her waist and she doesn't fight him on it. He takes that as a pretty good sign. So he pulls her easily so she's standing in front of him. She looks up at him and swallows, and he rests his hands on her hips where her bikini covers her skin. "Hey."
"H-hi," she stutters, letting her hand fall to his chest.
He knows she knows he's going to kiss her. He thinks he might want to mention it anyway, just so she doesn't freak out.
"Gonna kiss you," he says, eyes on her lips.
She nods. Then licks her lips. Then he kisses her. It's pretty awesome, how soft and smooth her lips are, how warm her hand is on his chest, how she takes a step towards him and makes a little noise when he pulls her the rest of the way. She opens her mouth for him without having to be prompted, which he definitely loves, and she tastes like summer and strawberries and ice cream and a whole lot of exactly what he wants to taste right now.
He weaves their fingers together on one hand, holds her waist with the other, and pulls her back to the sand, near where they were sitting before. He thinks, fleetingly, that it'll be pretty hard to get her onto her back from standing, straight onto the ground. But she's the one who pulls away from him, sits down, and doesn't stop him when he gets onto his knees, pushes himself towards her and forces her to lay on her back. She's smiling when he covers her body with his.
"Good?" he asks, hand sliding up her side. She nods, so he kisses her again.
And okay, he doesn't get her undressed any more, because she's already in just her bathing suit, but it's certainly not all bad. Nothing is bad, actually. She doesn't even stop him when, just once, he dares to sneak his hand between her legs, just to see if she's as into it as he obviously is (he's making sure to press against the inside of her thigh so she can tell). She's wet, even through her bathing suit bottoms, and he smiles against her lips as they kiss and she bites back a moan. He pulls his hand away, because really, getting arrested for fingering a girl on a public beach isn't exactly what he wants, and Rachel would totally lose her shit if that happened.
It's completely dark, and his lips actually kind of hurt from kissing so much, not that he's complaining. They're on their sides, now, legs tangled together and his hand at the small of her back, rubbing the skin there a little bit and keeping her as close to him as he'll let her. It's pretty close. She's whined about sand in her hair, but didn't ask to move. His truck is right there, and he'd lay her out on a blanket in the back if she wanted, but she doesn't really seem to mind. The sand is cooling beneath them, and the moon is high, and the water is hitting the shore.
It's kind of romantic or whatever, and he's pretty sure girls actually care about that shit. He'll pretend it's important to her if it'll make her smile that crazy (sexy) smile of hers.
"It's late," she says as his lips slide across her collarbone. "I should..."
He runs his hand up her side so it's resting at the side of her breast (he's snuck a few feels here and there, which is really, really awesome and she hasn't stopped him). "Hmm."
"I think..." He kisses her mouth again, and she laughs a little bit, pushes at his chest. "You need to let me finish."
He's been hard as fuck for like, two hours. (Yeah, he can control his shit, thank you very much.) He'd love it if she'd finish him.
"What?" he asks, pulling back just enough to let her talk. He gets a look at her lips, all red and swollen and glistening a little bit from, you know, spit and stuff. Sexy. He tries not to groan.
"I should get home before my dads worry," she says quietly. Her hand is smooth and warm and running over his back, from his shoulder blade to the top of his shorts.
She doesn't want to go home. He kisses her when he realizes it.
"Noah," she giggles.
She's smiling when he pulls away. He rolls onto his back and realizes for really the first time that the issue in his pants is basically all his to deal with. Not that she hasn't given him a fuckton of good material, but it's not like it's gonna be her hand doing the work.
"Okay. Fine."
She sits up and tries to get the sand off her body. He helps her. She giggles and swats his hand when he runs his hand over her boob. There's no sand there, but whatever. He tells her he's just being thorough, and she laughs and takes his face in her hands, kissing him before she stands up. God, that girl's body is killer.
"We didn't even swim," she points out as she buttons her shorts.
He reaches for his shirt and pulls it on as he thinks about what a damn shame it is to send a girl home alone that wet. Such a waste.
He stands up and sets his hands on her bare sides before her shirt covers them. He kisses her when she has the shirt on (over his hands, which he doesn't mind so much). He pulls away after a moment and watches her lick her lips. Goddamn.
"Call me tomorrow and we can try again," he says with a smirk.
She smiles back, bites her lip. "Why don't you call me?" she asks.
He doesn't really know what the difference is, really, but he nods, leans in to press his lips to hers again. He watches her walk away, then get into her car, and he heads to his truck, follows her down the crappy little road back towards town. When they go their separate ways, he realizes he's been smiling since he got behind the wheel.
She texts him to tell him she got home okay, and he replies one handed and says he did, too (she'd totally freak if he didn't let her know). She writes that she'll see him tomorrow, and there's a little happy face, and know what? He thinks the rest of this summer will be amazing if the rest of his nights are like this one.
Chapter: 1/1
Warning: R
Pairing: Puck/Rachel
Summary: It starts with Facebook. Fictable prompt #37 - Technology
Word Count: 5,800
Disclaimer: Don't own.
It starts with Facebook. Yeah, he's got one. He and Finn set them up in junior high when everyone else was, and of course, no one can delete their pages. Seriously. You can't get rid of it, or you miss what everyone's doing, who's hooking up with who, who's tagging photos of you after the party the other night.
Puck honestly thinks the whole thing's pretty dumb, so he only signs in like, once a week to see what's up. Mike is still hooking up with Brittany and Brittany is still hooking up with Santana. When Puck and Santana used to be together, he tried so fucking hard to get himself a threesome, and seriously, if Mike gets in on that shit first, Puck's gonna be pissed.
Quinn and Finn's new again relationship is now Facebook Official. Matt's soccer team has over 100 fans, most of whom are girls, so good for him. Tina and Artie keep tagging one another in pictures from the stuff they've been doing over the summer, and it's just as annoying as it is kind of awesome. (What? He's not a total jerk. Even he can admit that they're basically perfect for one another.) And Kurt and Mercedes are those annoying people who always comment on every damn status change or photo or whatever. He'd un-friend them, but he can't be bothered.
But then he sees that he's got a new message and he immediately hopes it's some hot girl.
He's not exactly wrong.
Rachel Berry has requested to be his friend. The little message she send him is just :) and he's torn between thinking that's stupid and at least a little cute. He's smiling, though, and he figures why not? It's not like they've seen one another since school ended for the summer.
Actually, they've barely talked at all since last year. There was a whole big thing with glee club and auditions and she was pissed at him for not taking things seriously, and he may have told her that not everyone's life revolves around 'something as stupid as glee club'. He didn't mean it, not the stupid part anyway. He likes glee club. He doesn't like anyone (Rachel especially) telling him what to do. And then she and Finn broke up and the glee club unofficially picked sides for a little while until things were all cool again. It was pretty much a no brainer for Puck, since Finn has been his best friend since they were like, seven and chased old lady Mohr's cat through the neighbourhood and up a tree just for fun.
So yeah, Rachel stayed in her group and he stayed in his, and that was kind of it until the broken hearts were healed or whatever.
But shit, he's got everyone else on his Facebook, and he's not really one to deny anyone access to what little information he puts on there.
So after they're 'friends', he takes it upon himself to look at her page.
Rachel Berry is new to Facebook. Ah!
He's smiling again. That's pretty dumb, since...whatever. It's Rachel, and like, half the shit she says and does is hilarious without her meaning for it to be. But really? She's new to Facebook? Where the hell has she been? Oh, right. MySpace. Which pretty much became the lamest thing ever as soon as Facebook came around.
He's her only friend.
He's her only friend?
She friend requested him first.
Weird.
He figures he should write on her wall, and he smirks as he does.
Popped your wall cherry, Berry. You're welcome.
When he checks up on this later and more of their 'friends' are her 'friends', he smiles to himself when most of the comments on her page are kudos to him for saying what he said.
Rachel Berry does not think Noah Puckerman is funny.
He 'likes' her status, just because her page is basically all about him, and he thinks that's pretty awesome.
... ... ...
He's at Finn's place one day, walks into his best friend's bedroom in the middle of the afternoon to see him sitting on his bed with his computer in his lap, typing something. He's smiling and stuff, and fuck, if Puck just walked into a weird chat session between Finn and Quinn, he's probably going to throw up all over the place. That shit is just weird and he really doesn't need to think about it, much less be around to see it go down.
"Hey," Finn says as he laughs. "Just give me a sec."
"Dude, say goodbye to your girlfriend so we can go to the range," Puck says. Honestly, they're driving out to Haverville to the sweet new driving range there. And he's pretty sure he can get free lemonade from the girl he knows who works at the little club house or whatever, so that's a bonus.
"I'm not talking to my girlfriend," Finn says as he types. Puck's impressed he can do both at the same time. "Talking to Rachel."
"Rachel has IM?" Puck asks, picking up the football off Finn's shelf and spinning it in his hands. "Weird."
"Yeah. I guess Tina told her it was weird that she wasn't online or whatever, so she's got all this stuff now. She's only on sometimes." Finn looks at the screen and smiles. "She says hi."
"Cool. Can we go?"
(He did not just smile over Rachel saying 'hi'.)
They've had this Facebook flirtation for a couple weeks. She commented on one of the pictures Santana took at his baseball game. That comment was actually pretty funny. His shirt was untucked and she wrote, 'They'd never let you play in The Show with a uniform like that.' It was hot, really, 'cause how in the world does Rachel know the rules of MLB uniforms? Or that the MLB is called The Show. Weird.
He's home that night, sipping one of the beers his mom was gullible enough to think are non-alcoholic, and he's got his laptop sitting next to him. He's signed into IM, but he's 'invisible', because there are a whole lot of people on there he doesn't really want to talk to right now (last month's hookup? no) and he's wondering how hard it'd be to add Rachel. Probably pretty easy. She seemed to want to be his Facebook friend pretty desperately or whatever.
So he searches for her name. He doesn't know her email address, but really, how many Rachel Berry's can there be?
One. (He's sure she'd be thrilled to know that, actually.)
He takes a few more drinks of beer as he tries to decide if he really needs her on his list. But what harm can it do, really? Finn said she isn't on all the time or anything, so that's fine, and it's not like he's always signed in or anything. So he sends the request and closes his laptop, turns on the television and finds Alien vs. Predator playing on some crappy station.
A couple days later when he signs in she's online, and the box pops up, and in purple lettering she types, Hi! and he actually laughs. What? It's cute how she's all excited.
He talks to her for a bit, mostly stupid stuff, like her telling him she's just changed her profile picture (it's a shot of her with, like, a wind machine or something blowing her hair around, and she looks pretty good, actually) and asking if he had fun at the driving range.
After about 10 minutes, she says she has to go to her voice lesson. He really should get to work anyway.
Talk to you soon? she asks.
Yup. Later, Rach
She sends him a smiley, and he shakes his head. He's in a pretty good mood for the rest of the day.
... ... ...
He's at a party for Brittany's birthday when he sees Rachel for the first time all summer. He decides it's weird that it's almost the end of July and they live in this tiny town and this is the first they've run into one another. It's kind of a night time pool party, so she's wearing this dark denim skirt with her pink bikini top, and she looks surprisingly hot, even if she's holding her arms shyly, trying to cover herself as she talks to Tina and Mike.
Maybe once a week or something, they're on IM at the same time. They take turns messaging one another first, and they laugh when they talk about Finn and Quinn running out of gas on a back road when Finn tried to be romantic and take Quinn to pick wildflowers. Rachel insists that Finn means well, and Puck reminds her that Quinn was so mad she didn't talk to her boyfriend for three days. Puck's pretty sure that no matter how cool Rachel is with Finn and Quinn being together, she still just a little bitter sometimes and probably laughs her ass off about her ex-boyfriend's fuck ups.
Anyway, they talk. And he doesn't want to, you know, punch himself in the throat when it happens. So he thinks he might like actually talking to her in person or something. It doesn't hurt that he's on his third glass of JD. When she walks his way, smiling a little bit as she tries to head back into the house, he holds out his arm and it almost clotheslines her. It hits her along the top of her chest, across her shoulders, really, and she stops walking.
He doesn't know why, but he spends the next 15 minutes talking to her, listening to her go on about the weekend trip she and her fathers are talking to Chicago, and he laughs when she tells him she'll post the photos on her Facebook. He tells her she's suddenly addicted, and she laughs a little. She's gotten a bit less shy about her bathing suit and stuff, which he thinks is pretty cool, actually. She's got one hand tucked into the back pocket of her skirt as she sips her girly vodka cooler.
He doesn't really know why, but he pulls his phone out and asks for her phone number. It's not even so he can try to hook up with her or anything. He blames it on the alcohol anyway.
And he definitely spends way too much time wondering why she doesn't ask him for his number.
... ... ...
He doesn't call her or anything. Fuck. No. Noah Puckerman is not going to call Rachel Berry. Not happening.
He texts her instead. Tells her to Have fun in Chi-Town. And signs the text with his name, which he normally wouldn't do, but since she doesn't have his number in her phone or anything, he wants her to know who it's from. She texts back a thank you and says she's trying to 'whittle down' her packing from two bags to just one. He laughs, because she's going away for like, three days, so what the hell does she need? A couple skirts, some underwear and some shirts or something. Whatever. She's a total girl.
He tells her to bring him back a souvenir.
She asks him what he wants.
He tells her a pair of panties in her size with Chicago written on the ass would be pretty awesome.
She doesn't respond.
... .. ...
He's in bed when she calls him.
Not so bad to wake up from a mid-afternoon nap to her voice, but that's not really the point.
She tells him she has something for him, and would he like to meet her somewhere to get it?
He can think of some things he'd like from her. (BJ, virginity. Wait. Is she a virgin? He wants to find out. Preferably the fun way, not just by asking.)
Anyway.
He likes her bedroom. It's yellowy and girly and there's always new shit on the walls to look at. (And by 'always', he means, 'those few times he was actually in her room'.) It's weird that he actually digs it, but he does. It's kind of like her, a little intense and kind of overwhelming, but nice and pretty, in a not-so-obvious way.
So he tells her he'll come over, if that's okay, and she gets all excited, telling him she got this really great kosher virgin margarita mix from some store in downtown Chicago, and she'll make some for him. And yeah, even her use of the word virgin is hot, but he really wishes she'd slip a little tequila in there and live a little. But whatever. He'll take what he can get.
And really, he didn't expect to get anything. She hasn't texted him since the panties suggestion, so he kind of thought she was pissed and whatever and he'd have to sweet talk her and smooth shit over when he saw her next and stuff. This is better.
She's on her front porch with a little tray of drinks on the table between the two chairs, and she smiles when she sees him pull up to the curb. He'd park in her driveway, but his truck tends to leak oil when it's hot, and she'd probably castrate him or something if he got her pavement dirty.
He's walking towards her, and he wonders how it's possible that she got hotter since he saw her last. She's in these little shorts and a black tank top with some kind of red bra thing underneath, and her hair is pulled up into one of those messy bun things that are always strangely sexy. And she's smiling at him as she sets her glass onto the table, wiggles her fingers in his direction as he walks up the steps.
"Hey," he says casually. He flops down in the empty chair without her telling him to, and she hands him a margarita glass. It's pretty girly, but whatever. He doesn't want to be a dick and complain. "Thanks." He takes a sip - that shit is good, even without the tequila - and rests the glass on his knee. "So where's my present?"
She shakes her head and smiles. "It's good to see you, too, Noah," she teases.
He thinks it's kind of awesome that she has jokes. Even if they're not great ones. He shrugs his shoulder. "Always is, right?"
She rolls her eyes as she laughs. "I don't know if you'll even like this," she warns him. "It's...Well, there's a story."
"'Kay," he says as she passes him the little rectangular box, wrapped in dark blue tissue paper (and really, did she have to wrap it?).
"Well, we were shopping one day, early in the morning before it got too hot on Michigan Avenue, and Daddy was buying us lattés at Starbucks, and he started getting really excited." She looks at him and he's really trying to pay attention, 'cause she's talking all fast and stuff. "Open it," she commands. He starts tearing at the paper. "Anyway, in front of him, Alex Rios was ordering a decaf Americano, and so Daddy just had to talk to him. I got him to sign this for you, because I know you're a baseball fan. And even if you aren't a fan of the White Sox, I though...Well, I thought you might like it."
He's holding in his hand a signed Starbucks sleeve with Alex Rios' signature on it. It's fucking awesome. Random and weird and awesome. Even weirder? Her name is written on the side, too, with the specifics of her drink or whatever.
But yeah. Alex Rios' autograph. She's so cool. Who knew?
He takes a sip of his margarita as he looks at the brown cardboard thing in his hand, and he tries to think if he owns anything as awesome as this. Other than his guitar, probably not.
"Do you...do you like it?" she asks nervously.
He turns to her and smiles. "It's awesome. Thanks." She beams at him and nods her head, all proud, like she's super happy to have done something right. (He doesn't know that she's ever really done anything wrong.) "You didn't have to get me something."
"I know," she says, looking to the ground. "I wasn't going to. Not after what you suggested." He smirks and she shakes her head again. "But I wanted to."
He says, "cool," because he doesn't know what else to say. "You uh...You wanna go for a walk or something?"
She shakes her head lightly, smiles and pulls her feet up onto the chair so her knees are pressed against her chest. "It's nice here."
They sit there, mostly quiet, which is weird at first, because she's usually, you know, not quiet. But they just sip their drinks and don't say much for almost two hours, until his phone rings and his mom asks him if he's going to be home in time for dinner. He stands, stretches, and thanks her again for the awesome gift. She squeals when he ruffles her hair, bats his hand away as he laughs.
"Later, Rachel," he says, just like he always does.
She stands and smoothes out her shirt, and he tries not to get caught checking out her legs. "Goodbye, Noah."
He's in his truck when she bends down to pick up her shoes to take them into the house, and he watches her as he turns the key in the ignition, and okay, he's got a bit of a thing for her.
... ... ...
He doesn't talk to her for a week. Not that he doesn't want to or anything. She's not on Facebook, not on IM, and he didn't text her or anything, but he knows Artie did when a bunch of them were going to drive out to the lake and she was invited, but responded saying she couldn't go. Shame, really, since seeing her in a bikini floating in an inner tube would have basically made his week.
He calls her one night when he's at that very lake by himself, bored and trying to find something to do. And yes, she's the first person he thinks of. And yes, he wants to do her, but he really just wants to talk to her, too, or whatever.
"Hello?" she answers, and she sounds confused, like no one ever calls her at night or something. They probably don't.
"What's up?" he asks.
"I...nothing," she says. "Are you okay? It's late. Do you need help, or..."
"It's only 10:00," he reminds her, smirking as he lets some sand fall between his fingers. "Just at the lake."
"And you called just to talk?" she asks skeptically.
He lays down and looks up at the sky, almost completely dark, a few stars out and stuff. "Yeah."
"Oh," she says. Her voice is all quiet and he realizes people probably don't ever just call her to talk.
So he asks her if she thinks she's too good for them or something, if that's why she didn't come with them to swim and hang out the other day, and she laughs and recites her entire schedule. It's pretty crazy, he admits, but he also tells her she's gotta 'fuckin' let loose' and 'hang out with real people sometimes'. And he's pretty impressed with what she says to that.
"Well, maybe we could do something sometime," she says quietly. He wonders where she is in her house, if she's on her bed or on her porch. Maybe in her living room in the dark or something. Why would she be? He doesn't know. He just thinks it'd be kind of hot.
And honestly, he didn't think she'd, like, ask him out. Maybe it's not a date. He'll definitely try to make it end like one.
"What're you doing right now?" he asks. She actually laughs. "What? Come hang out. It's nice and cool by the lake. 'S'fuckin' hot everywhere else."
"It is rather warm in my room," she says. Good. Now he can picture her on her bed in next to nothing (what? it's hot out). "But I can't just leave this late at night."
"You got curfew?"
"Yes. Not until one, but if I leave now..."
"Tomorrow night," he interrupts. "Meet me. 9:00. Don't be late."
She laughs. "When have I ever been late?"
He says nothing more, closes his phone without saying goodbye. She'll probably be pissed about that, but he figures she'll get over it quickly enough. He lays there on the sand just listening to the sound of the water, until she texts him five minutes later.
I'd appreciate a goodbye next time before you hang up.
He smiles and scrolls through his contacts until he gets to her name. She answers right away, and he wants to laugh, because her voice is all even like she didn't just basically bitch him out via text.
"Goodnight, Rachel."
"Goodnight, Noah."
... ... ...
He gets there before her, because he figures if he wants to have any hope in hell of touching her or, you know, getting her undressed at all, he has to set some kind of a mood. And Rachel? He's pretty sure she's into romantic shit, like flowers and candies and all that clichéd garbage he's never done, doesn't care about, and doesn't ever plan to do.
But he buys strawberry shakes and makes sure the music he has playing in his truck is something she won't totally hate. Oh, and he's wearing a shirt that makes his chest and arms look fucking killer, and hey, girl's gotta appreciate that. It's hot as hell, so he's really hoping he'll get to appreciate her body. You know, to look at it. Touching it would be the icing on the best kind of cake.
It's official. He totally wants to bang her.
It kind of snuck up on him, but it's weird, because he felt it before, too. When they dated or whatever, he honestly thought there was a chance he'd get to be the one to get her to experience all things sexual for the first time. She told him she'd never been french kissed before, after they'd been making out for a while and she wanted to make sure she was doing it right. It wasn't even like he could tell. If she hadn't said anything, he never would have known. She was pretty happy when he told her that. Not happy enough to let him put his hand beneath her skirt, but whatever. He still honestly doesn't know how much she's done (and he's not about to ask Finn that shit) but he'd like to do stuff with her. Like, everything she'll give him the green light for.
She pulls up and she's got on this tiny (miniscule) pair of denim shorts. They're so short the pockets are coming down out the bottom at her thighs. It's really, really damn sexy. And she's wearing this thin little tank top, loose so it's off her skin, and a bikini top underneath. He wonders if she's got the bottoms on under her shorts. He'd be totally on board with finding out. Her sunglasses are white, and she pushes them up onto her hair as she walks towards him.
"Here," he says, handing her the shake from where he sits on the ground.
"What's this?" she asks. She sits next to him and crosses her legs indian-style, which makes her shorts ride up a little more. They're literally just covering her. Pretty sure if she laid on her stomach, he could totally see her ass. And that would be awesome.
"Strawberry," he tells her. "You like it, right?"
She takes a sip, smiles and nods. "Thank you," she says quietly, and he shrugs his shoulder. Two bucks for a milkshake really isn't a hardship, but it's pretty cool that she's into it. "How are you?"
"'S'hot out," he says, holding his cup between his knees. "Summer's crazy."
"It is busy," she tells him. He knows all about her dance schedule and all the stuff she does with her dads. They've covered that on IM and the phone. "It's nice here, though."
"Yup," he says, sipping his drink and looking out over the water. "I like it here. It's quiet."
"So you just come here alone and sit? Pour over your thoughts?" she asks, and there's a bit of a joke in there he's not sure he appreciates, but when he looks at her, he sees her eyes all shiny and stuff and he figures he can't really be pissed.
"I have thoughts," he tells her, trying not to smile too widely. She's cute when she decides to have a sense of humour. She bites her lip, like she might want to say something more, but doesn't think she wants to take the joke any further. "Water's nice, too."
"Is it?" she asks. She slips her finger under the tie of her bikini to straighten it out over her collarbone. He watches her. It's totally sexy. "We could go in."
He smirks against his straw. "Yeah?"
"Sure," she says. She stands, sets her cup in the sand so it won't fall over, and unzips her shorts. He watches with a certain amount of interest. (A lot of fucking interest.) "Coming?"
He smirks at her and pulls his shirt over his head before standing and grabbing the bottom of hers, tugging at it for no reason before walking away. He's at the edge of the lake when she stands next to him, dipping one toe in the water. He watches her pull it out, set it on the ground. It gets all covered in sand, and it's like she realizes she's half naked (he is not complaining) and starts moving her arms to cover her stomach, and takes a step back so she's out of his line of sight a bit. He's not having that. He grabs her wrist and tugs her forward so they're both ankle-deep in water.
"Noah!" she squeals. "It's cold!"
"It's nice. Come on." He slips his arm around her waist and she doesn't fight him on it. He takes that as a pretty good sign. So he pulls her easily so she's standing in front of him. She looks up at him and swallows, and he rests his hands on her hips where her bikini covers her skin. "Hey."
"H-hi," she stutters, letting her hand fall to his chest.
He knows she knows he's going to kiss her. He thinks he might want to mention it anyway, just so she doesn't freak out.
"Gonna kiss you," he says, eyes on her lips.
She nods. Then licks her lips. Then he kisses her. It's pretty awesome, how soft and smooth her lips are, how warm her hand is on his chest, how she takes a step towards him and makes a little noise when he pulls her the rest of the way. She opens her mouth for him without having to be prompted, which he definitely loves, and she tastes like summer and strawberries and ice cream and a whole lot of exactly what he wants to taste right now.
He weaves their fingers together on one hand, holds her waist with the other, and pulls her back to the sand, near where they were sitting before. He thinks, fleetingly, that it'll be pretty hard to get her onto her back from standing, straight onto the ground. But she's the one who pulls away from him, sits down, and doesn't stop him when he gets onto his knees, pushes himself towards her and forces her to lay on her back. She's smiling when he covers her body with his.
"Good?" he asks, hand sliding up her side. She nods, so he kisses her again.
And okay, he doesn't get her undressed any more, because she's already in just her bathing suit, but it's certainly not all bad. Nothing is bad, actually. She doesn't even stop him when, just once, he dares to sneak his hand between her legs, just to see if she's as into it as he obviously is (he's making sure to press against the inside of her thigh so she can tell). She's wet, even through her bathing suit bottoms, and he smiles against her lips as they kiss and she bites back a moan. He pulls his hand away, because really, getting arrested for fingering a girl on a public beach isn't exactly what he wants, and Rachel would totally lose her shit if that happened.
It's completely dark, and his lips actually kind of hurt from kissing so much, not that he's complaining. They're on their sides, now, legs tangled together and his hand at the small of her back, rubbing the skin there a little bit and keeping her as close to him as he'll let her. It's pretty close. She's whined about sand in her hair, but didn't ask to move. His truck is right there, and he'd lay her out on a blanket in the back if she wanted, but she doesn't really seem to mind. The sand is cooling beneath them, and the moon is high, and the water is hitting the shore.
It's kind of romantic or whatever, and he's pretty sure girls actually care about that shit. He'll pretend it's important to her if it'll make her smile that crazy (sexy) smile of hers.
"It's late," she says as his lips slide across her collarbone. "I should..."
He runs his hand up her side so it's resting at the side of her breast (he's snuck a few feels here and there, which is really, really awesome and she hasn't stopped him). "Hmm."
"I think..." He kisses her mouth again, and she laughs a little bit, pushes at his chest. "You need to let me finish."
He's been hard as fuck for like, two hours. (Yeah, he can control his shit, thank you very much.) He'd love it if she'd finish him.
"What?" he asks, pulling back just enough to let her talk. He gets a look at her lips, all red and swollen and glistening a little bit from, you know, spit and stuff. Sexy. He tries not to groan.
"I should get home before my dads worry," she says quietly. Her hand is smooth and warm and running over his back, from his shoulder blade to the top of his shorts.
She doesn't want to go home. He kisses her when he realizes it.
"Noah," she giggles.
She's smiling when he pulls away. He rolls onto his back and realizes for really the first time that the issue in his pants is basically all his to deal with. Not that she hasn't given him a fuckton of good material, but it's not like it's gonna be her hand doing the work.
"Okay. Fine."
She sits up and tries to get the sand off her body. He helps her. She giggles and swats his hand when he runs his hand over her boob. There's no sand there, but whatever. He tells her he's just being thorough, and she laughs and takes his face in her hands, kissing him before she stands up. God, that girl's body is killer.
"We didn't even swim," she points out as she buttons her shorts.
He reaches for his shirt and pulls it on as he thinks about what a damn shame it is to send a girl home alone that wet. Such a waste.
He stands up and sets his hands on her bare sides before her shirt covers them. He kisses her when she has the shirt on (over his hands, which he doesn't mind so much). He pulls away after a moment and watches her lick her lips. Goddamn.
"Call me tomorrow and we can try again," he says with a smirk.
She smiles back, bites her lip. "Why don't you call me?" she asks.
He doesn't really know what the difference is, really, but he nods, leans in to press his lips to hers again. He watches her walk away, then get into her car, and he heads to his truck, follows her down the crappy little road back towards town. When they go their separate ways, he realizes he's been smiling since he got behind the wheel.
She texts him to tell him she got home okay, and he replies one handed and says he did, too (she'd totally freak if he didn't let her know). She writes that she'll see him tomorrow, and there's a little happy face, and know what? He thinks the rest of this summer will be amazing if the rest of his nights are like this one.