Fic: The Way We Are
Title: The Way We Are [1/?]
Author: Unequivocally / une_fille
Characters/Pairings: Puck/Rachel, Finn/Brittany, Puck and Rachel being whores.
Rating: PG-15/R for language
Word Count: 6133
Spoilers: None
Summary: They'd said forever, once, as teenagers and they'd both meant it. It turns out, they can't really put up with each other for more than a few weeks at a time. But fuck, she always came back. Before now.
Disclaimer: Don't own Glee. Or The Way We Were
Author's Notes: A sequel of sorts to une_fille's The Square Root of Rainbows. Multiparter.
Chapter 1: Katie, it was never uncomplicated.
Chapter 2: You never give up, do you?
Chapter 3: You'll never find anyone as good for you as I am, to believe in you as much as I do or love you as much!
-----
Wouldn't it be lovely if we were old? We'd have survived all this. Everything would be easy and uncomplicated; the way it was when we were young.
Katie, it was never uncomplicated.
-----
So basically, he had said he was going to be a rock star and he ends up in a suit and tie. And whatever, his mother is happy and Rachel is happy (most of the time) and Finn busts his balls about it until Puck waves his corporate credit card in his face and organizes a few guys' nights out at the strip club and doesn't even complain when Finn lets Brittany tag along.
Plus, he's got a smokin' hot secretary, which is always a plus. Even though she spends most of her time hiding letters of resignation in his briefcase and gives him these exasperated looks that clearly say you're a moron and last week when Rachel visited, he overheard her giving her the "You could do so much better. Seriously." speech.
(He just assumes she wants in his pants. Who doesn't?)
But she doesn't quit and more important, she doesn't sue him for the blatant sexual harassment (even though she threatens both, often) which is pretty awesome in itself. So when she rings into his office on a Monday morning to say, "Sir, there's a call on line one for you," she doesn't get all pissy when he replies, "Hey, how many men does it take to open a can of beer?"
Instead, she just sighs and says, "There's a call--"
"How many? C'mon. Guess."
"I don't know... one?"
"Wrong. It should be opened when she brings it.” He clicks the game of Solitaire on his computer closed and swivels in his chair to put his feet on his desk. “’Sup, Carmen?”
"It's Stacy."
"Stacy?" He wracks his brain for a minute trying to come up with which Stacy, and he asks, “Stacy from Missouri? The one with the pierced--”
An angry huff on the other end of the line cuts him off and he finally hears, “No, I’m--never mind. I'll transfer her."
"Hi Puck," Brittany trills as soon as she is through, "Oh, and Stacy told me to tell you if you call her Carmen again, she's going to put rat poison in your coffee."
"Right," he mutters. Fuckin' Stacy. "What's up?"
"I'm setting the places for dinner Wednesday," Brittany chirps. "And I need to know if you and Rachel are talking to each other this week."
"Unless she goes batshit insane before then, yes. So tell her to be on her best behavior."
"Puck," she says slowly, "I think the last time was your fault because Rachel has two dads and if you call one of them Mama B that's--"
"Britt, you obviously don't understand our multifaceted relationship."
"Oh, there's a lot I don't understand," she agrees brightly. "Does multifaceted mean the same thing as toxic? ’Cause that's what Rachel calls it."
“No Britt, toxic means I'm totally a Viking in the sack," he grumbles and he snaps his phone shut, his good mood effectively nutchecked.
-----
He leans his head back against the back of the couch and closes his eyes, the silence in the apartment broken only by the rhythmic stomping of her feet and the banging of drawers.
"I have fucking HAD IT," she bellows from their room. Well, there's the yelling too. “I don't know why I keep doing this to myself! I can't for the life of me figure it out!" A closet door bangs shut as she laughs sardonically to herself.
"I know why!" He calls from the couch, "It's my giant--"
"Shut UP!" she screeches and a shoe flies from the hallway towards the couch. Ok, bad timing, maybe.
"Come get this piece of shit hair... thing," he says, waving his hand towards the contraption and as she stomps out of the bedroom he adds, "that you spent 200 fucking dollars on." She'd sworn it was worth the money but fuck him if he couldn't tell the difference between when she did and didn't use it.
She swoops down into the living room like a damned bird of prey and picks it up, yanking the cord out of the outlet. "Thanks," she snaps back and stomps back towards the bedroom.
"Whatever, Psycho," he murmurs, closing his eyes once more.
Thing about Rachel Berry is: she has ears like a damn hound when it benefits her, and so within seconds she is flying out of the bedroom, waving that damn hair thing in her hand. "That's the kind of shit I'm talking about, Noah!" And god damn, her voice is so high he always waits for the dogs down the block to start barking along with her, and he makes a point of wincing to show her.
"God damn, Berry, tone it down a fucking notch."
"I hate you!" she roars, and stomps back into their bedroom, kicking the door closed with such force that the whole apartment shakes.
He hopes none of their neighbors have called the cops. Again.
He's silent for the rest of her song and dance, cause no matter she's said in the past, she'll always take the solo over the duet. She packs up all her clothes while damning him to hell, mocks his manhood as she tosses her keys into the garbage and she's getting kind of good at this because she's done in 30 minutes flat when the first few times took hours.
The door swings open and she struggles to heave her shit through it, and he figures if he's gonna say something, he'll need to say it now.
"You gonna go crash uptown?"
She drops one of the bags from her shoulder and blows a strand of hair from her eyes, "Yes, I'm going back to my place."
"Your place? Fucking bullshit, I pay the rent on that shithole."
"Actually, you ass, it's a lovely apartment. Stacy picked it out."
“Does it matter how lovely it is? You and I both know you're just going to sit in it and crying like a fucking child for a few days before you come crawling back. ”
She turns back and gives her bags a vicious kick and they tumble out the door. "Goodbye Noah," she says quietly over her shoulder, closing the door behind her.
Well, that's a first.
-----
By lunch the next day, she still hasn't called him, so he figures he'll give Brittany a heads up. He calls her on his lunch break to tell her, "If you sit me next to that harpy I will have to stab somebody in the eye."
"Yes," she says disappointed, "I know, Rachel already called me and told me. I have to make dinner for her date now, too."
There is a beat before he says, "What? She has a date already? How does she already have a date?"
A sigh. "It must be her great ass." Puck's eyes almost bug out of his head. "I'll see you tomorrow, Puck."
-----
Brittany puts down a plate of what he assumes is supposed to be meatloaf in front of him. “Señor,” she smiles.
“Gracias, señorita,” he winks at her.
Finn gives them his standard “What’s going on? Who am I?” face like he always does when they start playing this game. He’s asked about a million times, ’cause everyone knows Britt was shit in Spanish back in high school.
But they don’t tell him, because Christ only knows what sort of mental breakdown he'd have if he ever found out about that one spring break in Cabo when he and Brittany both got a crash course in Spanish from one Santana Lopez. That shit’ll stay with you.
As he lifts his fork he hears her date, Richard--douche name if you ask him--clear his throat and say, "Mrs. Hudson, everything looks fantastic."
He glares at him over his food and can feel his grip tightening on his fork. It takes all of 4.7 seconds for him to decide that Rachel's date? He's a dick. When he starts talking about stock options and "summering" in the Hamptons, Puck's fairly certain his left eye is twitching. And when he sees him reach under the table and run his hands up Rachel's thigh, Puck stabs his meatloaf with such ferocity that the rest of the guests turn and stare at him.
Except her of course, she just smiles and sips her wine, turning the conversation back to how lovely the weather is today, don't you think?
"So, Richard," he hears himself saying, "has she asked you to spank her yet? Cause it took her a few dates before she got up the courage to ask me."
"Puck..." Finn warns.
"Alright, alright... it was a joke," he mutters. He takes a sip of wine before clearing his throat, "I didn't actually wait for her to ask, anyways."
Finn's nostrils flare just slightly as he turns his gaze onto Puck, and Brittany sighs unhappily into her usual glass of chocolate milk (which Finn poured into a wine glass so she wouldn't feel left out.)
His question goes ignored, and Rachel just dabs her napkin at the corner of her mouth and says, "You know, Noah, Richard here is a whiz at numbers. Maybe you should let him take a look at your portfolio. Tell us, how much does one make when they spend their day mentally regressing with their hand down their pants?"
"I don't know Berry, about as much as a frigid bitch, I guess."
Finn finally steps in, smoothing his napkin in his hands nervously, "Uh, guys," he stumbles, "Really, does this have to happen now?"
"You're right, Finn, I apologize, if Noah and I want to discuss his complete and utter lack of mental stability or the fact that I can't get him to behave like a human being, let alone a gentleman, this is not the place to have that discussion."
Oh fuck her. "Or how about the fact that she's an uptight, controlling--" He is interrupted by a swift kick to his shins, and he looks up to Finn staring at him so intently that he's actually going cross eyed.
"Don't worry dude, I got this," Puck assures his friend before turning to her, "Rachel, you're being a brat and Finn wants you to shut the fuck up."
"Oh, that is rich coming from you, you arrogant--" she sputters for a second before settling on, "cad!"
“Cad? Jesus, Berry. Way to lose your edge. I think lame Richard could come up with something better and he's only known me for 20 minutes.”
"I refuse to resort to vulgar name-calling at my friends dinner table, unlike you, you uncultured ass."
"Why bother trying to hide it, Berry? Are you saving all that crazy for him later? Or is he into that weird shit?"
"Now wait just a minute--" Richard starts, and Puck turns his gaze on him.
"Hey new guy? Nobody's talking to you."
"I'm pregnant," Brittany sighs, pushing her mashed potatoes around her plate glumly.
Everyone snaps their heads to look at her. Even Berry shuts up for once.
He wants to congratulate them but then he sees Richard's thumb rubbing Rach's shoulder and something inside him rages.
"Congrats, Britt,” he blurts out. “Whose is it?"
The room goes quiet and Finn is staring at him so intensely that he even feels a stab of guilt; when he hears Rachel swear "God, Noah," he knows he's done his job so he just leans back in his chair and tosses Brittany a grin. "Felicidades, señorita," he says, only half-mocking and he winks at her.
"Thanks!" She says, smiling brightly, "It's mine and Finns!"
Finn turns his gaze away from him to give his wife a loving kiss. Conversation resumes and everyone gets up to to congratulate the happy couple. Rachel takes the long way around the table, making sure to pass by him. "Isn’t there anything you don’t ruin?” she hisses at him, her fingernails digging into his shoulder.
“I dunno,” he shrugs. He pries her hand off of him and holds it tightly in his; until her angry expression melts and she lets him tug her down to his eye level. “But some things are broken way before I get around to them.”
The crowd around Finn and Britt doesn't dissipate for a while, so he grabs the bottle of wine nearest to him and heads out to their front porch, tossing one more look over his shoulder at Rachel, who got over his barb quickly enough to go beam at their friends as though nothing had happened.
He takes out the pack of cigarettes from this pocket (a habit he picked up from Rachel, surprisingly. She'd taken it up during her run in Chicago, and then walked away without a look back. It hadn't been that easy for him.)
"I wish you'd quit those," he hears as he takes the first pull.
"Yeah, well," he mutters in reply, blowing the smoke over his shoulder and away from her; she always hated it when he blew it right in her face. "Rach, fuck this place, seriously. Come home." She sighs and shakes her head, and he rolls his eyes. "Ok, look, I'm sorry for whatever it was I said, ok? I can't even remember what the fuckin' fight was about."
"I don't want to go home, Noah."
"What, you're still pissed?" He expels a deep breath of air and flicks some ash to the ground. "I'm sorry, alright? I don't know what else you want me to fucking say, Rach. That it won't happen again? Shit."
She presses her fingers to her head and sighs. "I can't believe you," she mumbles, "I can't believe you're being so blasé about this."
"What the fuck else is there to say?"
"I'm tired, Noah," she whispers, blinking back tears.
"Hey, it's cool," he mumbles around the cigarette. "We'll go home, I'll give you one of those massages you love..."
"And what about Richard?"
"Since when did you actually start caring about these assholes? Fuck him, let's just go, he'll get the picture real quick, just like the others."
She shakes her head no, fixing her gaze on him. "No, I'm tired, Noah. I'm tired of--of fighting, all the time. Of the screaming and throwing things and staying up all night because you've stormed out again and I don't know where you are."
"I know, baby, I know." He takes her hand and pulls her toward him, but she doesn’t budge an inch. “C’mon, don’t be like that."
"No," she says firmly, dropping her hand and rubbing her arms, if only to keep herself from grabbing out for him. "No, I don't want this anymore."
"I know, I'm sorry I've been an asshole. Things'll be different now, promise you."
She lets out a sound that's half-scoff, half-laugh and shakes her head at him again. "How many times have we had the it'll be different talk, Noah? No, I don’t want this. Us. Or what's left of us, anyways. I'm just done."
"So what, you're serious about that guy?" he scoffs, pointing his thumb towards the front door. "Rach, the guy's a fucking tool."
She sighs and runs a hand through her hair, exasperated. "No, it has nothing to do with him. It's us! We argue, and fight and we just--do you even like me half the time? Cause sometimes I can't tell. I'm just, tired of it. I can't do it anymore. I can't."
"Fine."
"Wh--what?" She's shaking, and he doesn't know if it's the cold or the crying. All he know is that it's not his problem anymore. "That's it? That's all you have to say? Fine?"
He shrugs his shoulders. "Fine."
She nods dumbly, wrapping her arms around herself and looking down the street; to hide her tears, he assumes, but he doesn't care anymore. "Fine," she repeats, "That's that, then."
They both jump when the door opens and Richard steps out. He looks between the two before placing a hand on Rachel's back. "Is everything alright out here?"
Rachel takes a deep breath and nods at him, taking his hand and pulling him towards the door. "I'm ready," she smiles. She always was a great actress; you'd never know anything had just happened.
"Congratulations on landing Berry," he nods to the douche. Rachel's probably got the wrong idea, though, cause she looks at him with something alarmingly like pity on her face. "Let me know if the blowjobs are worth the headaches, cause so far they're breakin' even."
-----
He spends the rest of the night killing a case of beer and dialing Carmen's phone. By the next morning, he has left her 7 and a half voice mail messages, all in various stages of rage (he thinks there may be a tearful one, as well. Or two.)
When he gets to work the next day, she has coffee waiting for him on his desk, and the muffins don't even spell out the usual I QUIT.
He spends the morning alternating between playing Halo on his computer and calling Finn to list off all the reasons he absolutely doesn't miss Rachel. By lunch time, he's half way through.
"And she's so anal about the toothpaste. Like, does it really matter where the fuck I squeeze the tube, as long as it comes out? At least I'm brushing my teeth, fuck."
Finn sighs, bored, and mutters a few uh-huhs into the phone.
"And, I mean, we both know she's gonna cave any second now, so really she's just setting herself up to look like a fucking idiot."
"I guess," Finn says slowly, contemplative. "But I...." he trails off, letting the sentence hang in the air.
"But what?"
"She mentioned to Britt she's got a date with him tonight. That expensive place downtown. He seems to like her, Puck."
"Well of course he likes her," Puck scoffs, "just look at her. Rachel may be a fucking nutcase, but she's a hot nutcase. That doesn't mean any of them can handle her and once she realizes that, she'll be over this stupid game of hers."
"Puck..." Finn says hesitantly, "I think she likes him too."
"It's been like, 48 fucking hours! Man, fuck this shit.” He slaps his hand down onto the worn intercom button of his phone, “Carmen, cancel my dinner meeting. Hudson and I have important plans!"
"No we don't."
Her voice comes back over the intercom, confused. "WHAT dinner meeting?"
"We're going to that restaurant cause I want to watch her have a miserable time and then realize exactly what she's giving up."
"I don't know if this is such a good idea, Puck."
"Quit being a pussy."
"Take your finger off the intercom button, Mr. Puckerman."
"Sorry Carmen."
"It's Sta--"
He cuts the intercom off and leans back in his chair. "Right, Hudson. I'll be there at 7 PM, be fuckin ready." He hangs up the phone before Finn can puss out and turns his attentions back to his game of Halo.
-----
Richard the Dick picks the lamest fucking restaurant in town, obviously.
"Dude, I don't know if this is such a good idea," Finn says nervously as Puck all but drags his ass to the front doors.
"It'll be fine, stop being such a pussy," Puck grumbles, "We'll get in, have some snacks, a few drinks, watch her make a total fool of herself, and then I'll go home to wait for her when she comes crawling back."
"Wow," Finn breathes, stepping into the place and taking in the tacky gold and marble decor and Puck rolls his eyes. Berry hates this kind of shit and a big part of him is happy that Richard has committed such a serious fuck-up already.
"Dinner for two?"
"Hey, man," Puck slaps the host on the back, "think we can score a table near the babe with the douchy asshole?" He slips a twenty into the guy's breast pocket and ignores the sneer.
"I'll see what I can do," he replies stiffly, before flouncing off.
Something pokes him in the back. "Puck," Finn whispers. "Puck!"
"What?" he asks, turning to face him.
"Look," he says reverently. Finn nods his head towards the dessert table and that's when Puck sees it: a chocolate fountain.
"Dude, don't."
"No, I gotta..."
Puck grabs Finn’s shoulder and squeezes until he sees his best friend flinch. “Don’t.”
“Puck, it’s a fountain. Of chocolate,” he emphasizes with his arms flailing toward the flowing dark chocolate. “I’ve just-I’ve gotta touch it,” he pleads.
The host is a total dick, but he does keep his word and seats them a few tables away from Rachel and that douche. He watches them over the top of his menu while Finn boggles at the prices.
"Dude, Puck, I got a fucking teacher's salary," he grumbles.
"Whatever man," he says without looking away from her, "just get what you want, I got this."
Finn follows his gaze to the other table and sighs. "I dont know man, she's doing the hair flippy thing. That means she's happy, doesn't it?"
He ignores Finn and watches them intently to see her leaning across the table, tracing the rim of her wine glass with a fingertip. Richard says something (something fucking retarded, he's sure) that makes her throw her head back with a laugh, and he can hear the tinkling sound from across the room. Once she finally (finally) pulls herself together, she leans forward again and starts speaking.
He tries to read her lips but she’s working her lower one between her teeth. It's a look he's generally come to equate with you are so getting laid tonight.
After the waiter takes their order (he bets she's ordered a salad even though she can put food away like a pro), she takes her napkin off her lap and heads towards the washroom.
"Dude, I'll be back," Puck says, jumping up from his seat and tossing the menu onto the table.
"Dude--"
"Whatever, just get what you want," he throws over his shoulder and follows her.
He slips into the ladies room moments after her and scopes out the stalls, grateful they're empty. He saunters up behind her at the sink, and when he runs his hands over her hips she doesn't even flinch
"I saw Finn walking by the chocolate fountain a few times," she says, sighing and turning to face him, "What are you doing here, Noah?"
"What are you doing here, Berry. I took you here once and you complained about how stuffy it is."
She yanks a paper towel out of the dispenser and rubs her hands violently before tossing it away. "That wasn't me."
Oh, shit.
"Excuse me," she huffs, "my date is waiting. Tell Finn I said hi."
She starts to move away from him, and he reaches out to grab her wrist, tugging her back to him gently. "Wait, wait, why the rush?" She tugs her hand from his grip with an exasperated sigh and he drops his hands to her waist, stepping against her. "That asshole can wait."
"Noah," she sighs, rubbing a hand over her forehead, "I don't want to do this, Ok? I don't. Just let me go."
"Ok," he whispers, tracing his thumbs over the curve of her hips as he presses his body flush against hers, and she purses her lips in annoyance.
"I mean it," she warns half-heartedly, "I have nothing else to say to you." She brings her hand up to his chest, presumably to push him away but it ends up just resting there. "I can't," she sighs weakly and he brings one of his hands up to cover hers.
"Ok," he repeats, leaning down slowly, and he hears her gasp something that sounds like don't, but she holds her breath as their noses touch. "Don't what?"
"Don't do this to me," she whispers, but she makes no move to pull away. He traces circles against her skin as he pins her against the sink, fisting a handful of her dress in his palm. Her eyes slip closed just before their lips touch and when he finally kisses her, she sighs against his mouth.
He presses his body against hers and lets go of her hand to get a grip on the sink behind her as he pries her mouth open with her tongue, and though he feels her hesitate, she lets him; when he sucks on her tongue (he did pay attention to some things; it always, always drove her crazy) she sort of melts against him and he moves his hips against hers.
"Noah, stop."
"Ok," he says against her lips as he grabs her to lift her up, and places her on the tiny sink. Her knees part, and he steps between them, running his hands down her thighs to hitch her legs around him as she tugs at his shirt, pulling it from the waist of his pants.
As one hand idly runs up the inside of her thigh and up her dress, the bathroom door bangs open and she gasps, pulling away from him with a start.
"Oh dear," mutters the old lady from a few tables down. "I'll just... oh dear." She stumbles out quickly, shaking her head in disgust as she mutters about kids, today.
Rachel pulls away from him and unwraps her legs from around his waist, ignoring his grumbles of protest. She pushes him away from her, smoothing her skirt around her legs. "You never took me here," she says softly and drops off the sink. "You never took me here because you said the only reason any man would bring a date here was to get in her pants--"
"You don't think that asshole is trying to get in your pants?" He scoffs but she ignores him.
"You never took me here because you said you'd already been in my pants and you didn't have to worry about impressing me anymore." She turns to the mirror to reapply her lipstick, watching his reflection. "You said you had nothing left to prove. Your words, Noah, not mine."
"So what, that's what you want?" he says disbelieving, "Some fancy stuffy restaurant? Fine, I'll fuckin' take you, I didn't know you were into that shit."
"That is not the point, Noah. God, just forget it. I need to get back."
"No you don't. Rach, stop being stupid."
"Oh, I'm being stupid. Right. That's funny, ’cause I feel like I'm finally making the first smart decision in years. Can't you respect--you know what? Forget it! I am not having this conversation with you in a public bathroom. I have to go." She pushes past him, and as she's about to step out of the restroom, she calls back over her shoulder, "Tell Finn I said hello, and then go home."
He takes a moment to compose himself and he has to use all of his restraint to not smash something on his way back to the table. He shifts the front of his pants discreetly, figuring this probably isn't the time or place to be sportin' raging wood. As he approaches Finn, he can see that old woman, towering over him, whispering in hushed, scandalized tones.
"Saw him in the bathroom with a hussy, I did," she says, and when she notices him closing in on them, she narrows her eyes and pats Finns hand lovingly. "You deserve better, dear." she mutters before walking away, glaring at Puck as she does so.
"What the fuck was that about?" he says, sliding back into his chair. "And what the fuck are you wearing?"
Finn fingers the edges if his bib before announcing proudly, "I ordered lobster."
"Lobster, eh?" Puck asks, raising his eyebrow. "You better be putting out for the money I'm laying down on you tonight, Hudson."
"Hmph," Finn sniffs. "No wonder Rachel left your ass."
"Hey asswipe," he says as he delivers a swift kick to him under the table, "Not kosher."
"I deserve better than you. Even the old lady thinks so."
Puck sneers at him as a smirk breaks out onto Finn's face. "Eat some fucking bread, Christ."
"I'm saving my appetite. For lobster," Finn shoots back as he taps his fingers on the table impatiently. "So let me guess, you found Rachel?"
He scoffs, rolling his eyes, "I almost had her on the bathroom sink, til that crusty old bitch walked in."
"So let me get this straight... You followed Rachel into the bathroom, like a creep, got her all hot and bothered and sent her back to Richard?"
Puck rolls his eyes, taking a bread bun from the table and tearing it in half. “Oh please. Like she’s gonna want low-grade beef after getting a taste of prime rib.” He stuffs a piece of bread in his mouth and ignores Finn’s disgusted expression when he speaks, still chewing, “She’ll be crawling back any second now.”
“Um, right,” Finn answers, fiddling nervously with his silverware. “Just do everyone a favour and don’t turn around.”
“What?” Puck asks as her turns his head over his left shoulder and the half-chewed bread almost falls right out of his mouth. Rachel’s sitting so close to the fucker that she’s practically in his lap and the asshole’s actually feeding her like she’s some fucking infant that can’t do it herself.
He must black out for a minute or something, because one second he's crushing the bread bun in his fist and the next it's bouncing off the back of Richard's head with enough force to land on the next table over. He snaps back around and looks at Finn wide-eyed, ‘cause that did not just happen.
There's no way anyone could know where that projectile bun even came from and they're just going to forget it ever fucking happened.
Then, of course, Finn throws himself under the table to hide, and ends up overturning the whole thing.
-----
Puck kicks the trashcan at the corner of the street. "Nice going, Hudson."
"Oh, right,” Finn shouts, throwing his arms up in the air in frustration, “this my fault. I decided it was a good idea to go stalk Rachel because I'm sad and pathetic and too much of an idiot to talk to her like a normal person, I am the one who tried seducing her in a bathroom because I can't wrap my head around the fact that not everything revolves around me and I'm the one who chucked bread at someone, like a child," he heaves breathlessly from the outburst, kicking the ground petulantly. “I was gonna get lobster.”
“Hey, are you done bitching?” Puck grumbles, heading towards the car. “Whatever, let's get the fuck out of here."
Finn throws a look over his shoulder at the restaurant and sighs, "Wait, man," he says nervously, "I forgot my coat."
"What coat?"
"Just wait here, ass."
It's not even two minutes later when Finn explodes back out the door, chocolate covering the entire front of his body. "Dude, run!" he yells, taking off down the street.
"You didn't..."
"RUN!"
-----
When they get back to Finn’s place, breathless and panting Britt takes one look at her husband and says sagely, “Chocolate incident; I’ll get some towels” as though this kind of shit happened to them all the time.
Puck’s about to leave them to it when Brittany’s phone starts playing some god awful Celine Dion song. He eyes the phone on the table as it lights up, and he can distinctly see the name “RBerry” flash across the screen. Brittany either doesn’t hear it or feels that wiping chocolate out of Finn’s eyes is somehow more important than answering so he picks it up from the table and starts waving it erratically in her face, “Answer it, Brittany. ¡Por favor!”
Brittany takes the phone from him and presses it to her ear with one hand while the other continues to work at cleaning chocolate off of her husband. "Hello?" she trills brightly, "Hi Rachel. Yes, Puck's here. Right, I'll tell him." Puck tries not to look too interested when his name is obviously brought up, but then Brittany turns to him with a frown. "Rachel said your cars getting towed."
Fuck. He knew he forgot something.
She ignores the crestfallen look on his face and turns her attentions back to Finn. "Well, how was it?" she continues, wiping the last bit of chocolate off of back of Finn's neck (seriously, how the fuck?) as she says, "What'd you order? Mm-hmm. Was it good? Oh, that's nice. Are you going to sleep with him?"
Puck nearly falls over himself trying to snatch the phone from Brittany's hand. "Ok, well, tell me how it goes!" she says and snaps the phone shut with a smile. When she sees him staring at her she gasps. "Oh! I'm sorry! Did you want to say goodbye?"
"Britt, call her back," he growls, thrusting the phone at her once more. "Now."
"But..." her eyes dart from side to side and then she leans down to whisper quietly, "she's busy."
He waggles the phone at her urgently, "She always needs warm up time, I swear, she's not busy yet. Call her."
She frowns at him and takes the phone from his hand. "She's going to be mad," she says sadly, dialing. She holds the phone to her ear for a few seconds and then clips it shut again. "Voice mail. She must have shut it off."
"Call back and leave her a message," he blurts. He tries to ignore Finn miming someone cutting his balls off because really, who's the one married with a kid on the way? and turns his attention back to the blonde. "C'mon señorita, do it for El Puckerone."
"What am I supposed to say?" she asks breathlessly, her eyes wide with confusion.
"Tell her to call you back, it's an emergency."
She sighs again sadly, "I don't want to lie to my friend, Puck."
"It's not a lie, Brittany. Bad things will happen if Rachel fucks that guy. Evil things."
Brittany's eyes go wide and she gasps. "Like what?"
"Ok, now you're scaring her," Finn interrupts, standing and putting his hand on Brittany's shoulder. "Let it go, Puck."
"Fine," he mutters, but he throws one last Hail Mary by giving her his sad puppy dog face (her words, not his) and he sees her resolve crumble like it has countless times before. Britt grabs the phone from his hand and gives him a small smile.
Brittany redials Rachel’s number, squirming in place awkwardly. "Hi, Rach, it's me. Brittany. Um, Puck said..." she trails off and looks to him with wide eyes, obviously unable to lie on her own.
He rolls his eyes and mouths to her, "I met someone tonight, super hot. She's sucking my dick now." He mimes what he thinks is obviously a blow job and Brittany nods in understanding.
"Puck said to tell you he met someone and he's sucking his dick now."
He ignores Finn's choking laughter and shakes his head vehemently to the blond. "No, she's sucking my dick!"
"Wait, no, you're sucking his dick, now. I think? Hang on." She covers the microphone with her hand, "Who is sucking who, Puck?"
"Forget it, Brittany," he sighs. "Just hang up the phone."
She bites her lip and turns back to the phone, "I need to go Rachel, Puck looks kinda mad, and I think it's my fault." Brittany hangs up the phone and Puck runs his hands over his eyes with a sigh. "Sorry Puck," she squeaks, and he just shrugs his shoulders.
“Whatever, Brittany, it's cool. I'm just gonna go home. I'm exhausted."
She reaches out and pats his shoulder solemnly. "I'm sure she's having a wonderful time. There's no need to worry."
-----
When he steps into his apartment he tries not to think about shit like how quiet it is, cause fuck, it's her loss, right?
He stumbles in the dark towards his bedroom and he has just barely kicked off his boots when his phone chimes at him.
11:34: The tow truck driver left me his card. I'll email you the information in the morning.
He replies before his brain can even process the message.
11:38: Too busy to do it now, Berry?
He stares at the phone in his hand and every passing second amounts to a million images exploding in his head of what she could possibly be doing instead of answering him back. He thinks of the sounds she makes and the way her whole body moves and if that was ever just for him, and just as he's ready to throw the damn phone against the wall, it chimes again.
11:45: Goodnight Noah
-----
Author: Unequivocally / une_fille
Characters/Pairings: Puck/Rachel, Finn/Brittany, Puck and Rachel being whores.
Rating: PG-15/R for language
Word Count: 6133
Spoilers: None
Summary: They'd said forever, once, as teenagers and they'd both meant it. It turns out, they can't really put up with each other for more than a few weeks at a time. But fuck, she always came back. Before now.
Disclaimer: Don't own Glee. Or The Way We Were
Author's Notes: A sequel of sorts to une_fille's The Square Root of Rainbows. Multiparter.
Chapter 1: Katie, it was never uncomplicated.
Chapter 2: You never give up, do you?
Chapter 3: You'll never find anyone as good for you as I am, to believe in you as much as I do or love you as much!
-----
Wouldn't it be lovely if we were old? We'd have survived all this. Everything would be easy and uncomplicated; the way it was when we were young.
Katie, it was never uncomplicated.
-----
So basically, he had said he was going to be a rock star and he ends up in a suit and tie. And whatever, his mother is happy and Rachel is happy (most of the time) and Finn busts his balls about it until Puck waves his corporate credit card in his face and organizes a few guys' nights out at the strip club and doesn't even complain when Finn lets Brittany tag along.
Plus, he's got a smokin' hot secretary, which is always a plus. Even though she spends most of her time hiding letters of resignation in his briefcase and gives him these exasperated looks that clearly say you're a moron and last week when Rachel visited, he overheard her giving her the "You could do so much better. Seriously." speech.
(He just assumes she wants in his pants. Who doesn't?)
But she doesn't quit and more important, she doesn't sue him for the blatant sexual harassment (even though she threatens both, often) which is pretty awesome in itself. So when she rings into his office on a Monday morning to say, "Sir, there's a call on line one for you," she doesn't get all pissy when he replies, "Hey, how many men does it take to open a can of beer?"
Instead, she just sighs and says, "There's a call--"
"How many? C'mon. Guess."
"I don't know... one?"
"Wrong. It should be opened when she brings it.” He clicks the game of Solitaire on his computer closed and swivels in his chair to put his feet on his desk. “’Sup, Carmen?”
"It's Stacy."
"Stacy?" He wracks his brain for a minute trying to come up with which Stacy, and he asks, “Stacy from Missouri? The one with the pierced--”
An angry huff on the other end of the line cuts him off and he finally hears, “No, I’m--never mind. I'll transfer her."
"Hi Puck," Brittany trills as soon as she is through, "Oh, and Stacy told me to tell you if you call her Carmen again, she's going to put rat poison in your coffee."
"Right," he mutters. Fuckin' Stacy. "What's up?"
"I'm setting the places for dinner Wednesday," Brittany chirps. "And I need to know if you and Rachel are talking to each other this week."
"Unless she goes batshit insane before then, yes. So tell her to be on her best behavior."
"Puck," she says slowly, "I think the last time was your fault because Rachel has two dads and if you call one of them Mama B that's--"
"Britt, you obviously don't understand our multifaceted relationship."
"Oh, there's a lot I don't understand," she agrees brightly. "Does multifaceted mean the same thing as toxic? ’Cause that's what Rachel calls it."
“No Britt, toxic means I'm totally a Viking in the sack," he grumbles and he snaps his phone shut, his good mood effectively nutchecked.
-----
He leans his head back against the back of the couch and closes his eyes, the silence in the apartment broken only by the rhythmic stomping of her feet and the banging of drawers.
"I have fucking HAD IT," she bellows from their room. Well, there's the yelling too. “I don't know why I keep doing this to myself! I can't for the life of me figure it out!" A closet door bangs shut as she laughs sardonically to herself.
"I know why!" He calls from the couch, "It's my giant--"
"Shut UP!" she screeches and a shoe flies from the hallway towards the couch. Ok, bad timing, maybe.
"Come get this piece of shit hair... thing," he says, waving his hand towards the contraption and as she stomps out of the bedroom he adds, "that you spent 200 fucking dollars on." She'd sworn it was worth the money but fuck him if he couldn't tell the difference between when she did and didn't use it.
She swoops down into the living room like a damned bird of prey and picks it up, yanking the cord out of the outlet. "Thanks," she snaps back and stomps back towards the bedroom.
"Whatever, Psycho," he murmurs, closing his eyes once more.
Thing about Rachel Berry is: she has ears like a damn hound when it benefits her, and so within seconds she is flying out of the bedroom, waving that damn hair thing in her hand. "That's the kind of shit I'm talking about, Noah!" And god damn, her voice is so high he always waits for the dogs down the block to start barking along with her, and he makes a point of wincing to show her.
"God damn, Berry, tone it down a fucking notch."
"I hate you!" she roars, and stomps back into their bedroom, kicking the door closed with such force that the whole apartment shakes.
He hopes none of their neighbors have called the cops. Again.
He's silent for the rest of her song and dance, cause no matter she's said in the past, she'll always take the solo over the duet. She packs up all her clothes while damning him to hell, mocks his manhood as she tosses her keys into the garbage and she's getting kind of good at this because she's done in 30 minutes flat when the first few times took hours.
The door swings open and she struggles to heave her shit through it, and he figures if he's gonna say something, he'll need to say it now.
"You gonna go crash uptown?"
She drops one of the bags from her shoulder and blows a strand of hair from her eyes, "Yes, I'm going back to my place."
"Your place? Fucking bullshit, I pay the rent on that shithole."
"Actually, you ass, it's a lovely apartment. Stacy picked it out."
“Does it matter how lovely it is? You and I both know you're just going to sit in it and crying like a fucking child for a few days before you come crawling back. ”
She turns back and gives her bags a vicious kick and they tumble out the door. "Goodbye Noah," she says quietly over her shoulder, closing the door behind her.
Well, that's a first.
-----
By lunch the next day, she still hasn't called him, so he figures he'll give Brittany a heads up. He calls her on his lunch break to tell her, "If you sit me next to that harpy I will have to stab somebody in the eye."
"Yes," she says disappointed, "I know, Rachel already called me and told me. I have to make dinner for her date now, too."
There is a beat before he says, "What? She has a date already? How does she already have a date?"
A sigh. "It must be her great ass." Puck's eyes almost bug out of his head. "I'll see you tomorrow, Puck."
-----
Brittany puts down a plate of what he assumes is supposed to be meatloaf in front of him. “Señor,” she smiles.
“Gracias, señorita,” he winks at her.
Finn gives them his standard “What’s going on? Who am I?” face like he always does when they start playing this game. He’s asked about a million times, ’cause everyone knows Britt was shit in Spanish back in high school.
But they don’t tell him, because Christ only knows what sort of mental breakdown he'd have if he ever found out about that one spring break in Cabo when he and Brittany both got a crash course in Spanish from one Santana Lopez. That shit’ll stay with you.
As he lifts his fork he hears her date, Richard--douche name if you ask him--clear his throat and say, "Mrs. Hudson, everything looks fantastic."
He glares at him over his food and can feel his grip tightening on his fork. It takes all of 4.7 seconds for him to decide that Rachel's date? He's a dick. When he starts talking about stock options and "summering" in the Hamptons, Puck's fairly certain his left eye is twitching. And when he sees him reach under the table and run his hands up Rachel's thigh, Puck stabs his meatloaf with such ferocity that the rest of the guests turn and stare at him.
Except her of course, she just smiles and sips her wine, turning the conversation back to how lovely the weather is today, don't you think?
"So, Richard," he hears himself saying, "has she asked you to spank her yet? Cause it took her a few dates before she got up the courage to ask me."
"Puck..." Finn warns.
"Alright, alright... it was a joke," he mutters. He takes a sip of wine before clearing his throat, "I didn't actually wait for her to ask, anyways."
Finn's nostrils flare just slightly as he turns his gaze onto Puck, and Brittany sighs unhappily into her usual glass of chocolate milk (which Finn poured into a wine glass so she wouldn't feel left out.)
His question goes ignored, and Rachel just dabs her napkin at the corner of her mouth and says, "You know, Noah, Richard here is a whiz at numbers. Maybe you should let him take a look at your portfolio. Tell us, how much does one make when they spend their day mentally regressing with their hand down their pants?"
"I don't know Berry, about as much as a frigid bitch, I guess."
Finn finally steps in, smoothing his napkin in his hands nervously, "Uh, guys," he stumbles, "Really, does this have to happen now?"
"You're right, Finn, I apologize, if Noah and I want to discuss his complete and utter lack of mental stability or the fact that I can't get him to behave like a human being, let alone a gentleman, this is not the place to have that discussion."
Oh fuck her. "Or how about the fact that she's an uptight, controlling--" He is interrupted by a swift kick to his shins, and he looks up to Finn staring at him so intently that he's actually going cross eyed.
"Don't worry dude, I got this," Puck assures his friend before turning to her, "Rachel, you're being a brat and Finn wants you to shut the fuck up."
"Oh, that is rich coming from you, you arrogant--" she sputters for a second before settling on, "cad!"
“Cad? Jesus, Berry. Way to lose your edge. I think lame Richard could come up with something better and he's only known me for 20 minutes.”
"I refuse to resort to vulgar name-calling at my friends dinner table, unlike you, you uncultured ass."
"Why bother trying to hide it, Berry? Are you saving all that crazy for him later? Or is he into that weird shit?"
"Now wait just a minute--" Richard starts, and Puck turns his gaze on him.
"Hey new guy? Nobody's talking to you."
"I'm pregnant," Brittany sighs, pushing her mashed potatoes around her plate glumly.
Everyone snaps their heads to look at her. Even Berry shuts up for once.
He wants to congratulate them but then he sees Richard's thumb rubbing Rach's shoulder and something inside him rages.
"Congrats, Britt,” he blurts out. “Whose is it?"
The room goes quiet and Finn is staring at him so intensely that he even feels a stab of guilt; when he hears Rachel swear "God, Noah," he knows he's done his job so he just leans back in his chair and tosses Brittany a grin. "Felicidades, señorita," he says, only half-mocking and he winks at her.
"Thanks!" She says, smiling brightly, "It's mine and Finns!"
Finn turns his gaze away from him to give his wife a loving kiss. Conversation resumes and everyone gets up to to congratulate the happy couple. Rachel takes the long way around the table, making sure to pass by him. "Isn’t there anything you don’t ruin?” she hisses at him, her fingernails digging into his shoulder.
“I dunno,” he shrugs. He pries her hand off of him and holds it tightly in his; until her angry expression melts and she lets him tug her down to his eye level. “But some things are broken way before I get around to them.”
The crowd around Finn and Britt doesn't dissipate for a while, so he grabs the bottle of wine nearest to him and heads out to their front porch, tossing one more look over his shoulder at Rachel, who got over his barb quickly enough to go beam at their friends as though nothing had happened.
He takes out the pack of cigarettes from this pocket (a habit he picked up from Rachel, surprisingly. She'd taken it up during her run in Chicago, and then walked away without a look back. It hadn't been that easy for him.)
"I wish you'd quit those," he hears as he takes the first pull.
"Yeah, well," he mutters in reply, blowing the smoke over his shoulder and away from her; she always hated it when he blew it right in her face. "Rach, fuck this place, seriously. Come home." She sighs and shakes her head, and he rolls his eyes. "Ok, look, I'm sorry for whatever it was I said, ok? I can't even remember what the fuckin' fight was about."
"I don't want to go home, Noah."
"What, you're still pissed?" He expels a deep breath of air and flicks some ash to the ground. "I'm sorry, alright? I don't know what else you want me to fucking say, Rach. That it won't happen again? Shit."
She presses her fingers to her head and sighs. "I can't believe you," she mumbles, "I can't believe you're being so blasé about this."
"What the fuck else is there to say?"
"I'm tired, Noah," she whispers, blinking back tears.
"Hey, it's cool," he mumbles around the cigarette. "We'll go home, I'll give you one of those massages you love..."
"And what about Richard?"
"Since when did you actually start caring about these assholes? Fuck him, let's just go, he'll get the picture real quick, just like the others."
She shakes her head no, fixing her gaze on him. "No, I'm tired, Noah. I'm tired of--of fighting, all the time. Of the screaming and throwing things and staying up all night because you've stormed out again and I don't know where you are."
"I know, baby, I know." He takes her hand and pulls her toward him, but she doesn’t budge an inch. “C’mon, don’t be like that."
"No," she says firmly, dropping her hand and rubbing her arms, if only to keep herself from grabbing out for him. "No, I don't want this anymore."
"I know, I'm sorry I've been an asshole. Things'll be different now, promise you."
She lets out a sound that's half-scoff, half-laugh and shakes her head at him again. "How many times have we had the it'll be different talk, Noah? No, I don’t want this. Us. Or what's left of us, anyways. I'm just done."
"So what, you're serious about that guy?" he scoffs, pointing his thumb towards the front door. "Rach, the guy's a fucking tool."
She sighs and runs a hand through her hair, exasperated. "No, it has nothing to do with him. It's us! We argue, and fight and we just--do you even like me half the time? Cause sometimes I can't tell. I'm just, tired of it. I can't do it anymore. I can't."
"Fine."
"Wh--what?" She's shaking, and he doesn't know if it's the cold or the crying. All he know is that it's not his problem anymore. "That's it? That's all you have to say? Fine?"
He shrugs his shoulders. "Fine."
She nods dumbly, wrapping her arms around herself and looking down the street; to hide her tears, he assumes, but he doesn't care anymore. "Fine," she repeats, "That's that, then."
They both jump when the door opens and Richard steps out. He looks between the two before placing a hand on Rachel's back. "Is everything alright out here?"
Rachel takes a deep breath and nods at him, taking his hand and pulling him towards the door. "I'm ready," she smiles. She always was a great actress; you'd never know anything had just happened.
"Congratulations on landing Berry," he nods to the douche. Rachel's probably got the wrong idea, though, cause she looks at him with something alarmingly like pity on her face. "Let me know if the blowjobs are worth the headaches, cause so far they're breakin' even."
-----
He spends the rest of the night killing a case of beer and dialing Carmen's phone. By the next morning, he has left her 7 and a half voice mail messages, all in various stages of rage (he thinks there may be a tearful one, as well. Or two.)
When he gets to work the next day, she has coffee waiting for him on his desk, and the muffins don't even spell out the usual I QUIT.
He spends the morning alternating between playing Halo on his computer and calling Finn to list off all the reasons he absolutely doesn't miss Rachel. By lunch time, he's half way through.
"And she's so anal about the toothpaste. Like, does it really matter where the fuck I squeeze the tube, as long as it comes out? At least I'm brushing my teeth, fuck."
Finn sighs, bored, and mutters a few uh-huhs into the phone.
"And, I mean, we both know she's gonna cave any second now, so really she's just setting herself up to look like a fucking idiot."
"I guess," Finn says slowly, contemplative. "But I...." he trails off, letting the sentence hang in the air.
"But what?"
"She mentioned to Britt she's got a date with him tonight. That expensive place downtown. He seems to like her, Puck."
"Well of course he likes her," Puck scoffs, "just look at her. Rachel may be a fucking nutcase, but she's a hot nutcase. That doesn't mean any of them can handle her and once she realizes that, she'll be over this stupid game of hers."
"Puck..." Finn says hesitantly, "I think she likes him too."
"It's been like, 48 fucking hours! Man, fuck this shit.” He slaps his hand down onto the worn intercom button of his phone, “Carmen, cancel my dinner meeting. Hudson and I have important plans!"
"No we don't."
Her voice comes back over the intercom, confused. "WHAT dinner meeting?"
"We're going to that restaurant cause I want to watch her have a miserable time and then realize exactly what she's giving up."
"I don't know if this is such a good idea, Puck."
"Quit being a pussy."
"Take your finger off the intercom button, Mr. Puckerman."
"Sorry Carmen."
"It's Sta--"
He cuts the intercom off and leans back in his chair. "Right, Hudson. I'll be there at 7 PM, be fuckin ready." He hangs up the phone before Finn can puss out and turns his attentions back to his game of Halo.
-----
Richard the Dick picks the lamest fucking restaurant in town, obviously.
"Dude, I don't know if this is such a good idea," Finn says nervously as Puck all but drags his ass to the front doors.
"It'll be fine, stop being such a pussy," Puck grumbles, "We'll get in, have some snacks, a few drinks, watch her make a total fool of herself, and then I'll go home to wait for her when she comes crawling back."
"Wow," Finn breathes, stepping into the place and taking in the tacky gold and marble decor and Puck rolls his eyes. Berry hates this kind of shit and a big part of him is happy that Richard has committed such a serious fuck-up already.
"Dinner for two?"
"Hey, man," Puck slaps the host on the back, "think we can score a table near the babe with the douchy asshole?" He slips a twenty into the guy's breast pocket and ignores the sneer.
"I'll see what I can do," he replies stiffly, before flouncing off.
Something pokes him in the back. "Puck," Finn whispers. "Puck!"
"What?" he asks, turning to face him.
"Look," he says reverently. Finn nods his head towards the dessert table and that's when Puck sees it: a chocolate fountain.
"Dude, don't."
"No, I gotta..."
Puck grabs Finn’s shoulder and squeezes until he sees his best friend flinch. “Don’t.”
“Puck, it’s a fountain. Of chocolate,” he emphasizes with his arms flailing toward the flowing dark chocolate. “I’ve just-I’ve gotta touch it,” he pleads.
The host is a total dick, but he does keep his word and seats them a few tables away from Rachel and that douche. He watches them over the top of his menu while Finn boggles at the prices.
"Dude, Puck, I got a fucking teacher's salary," he grumbles.
"Whatever man," he says without looking away from her, "just get what you want, I got this."
Finn follows his gaze to the other table and sighs. "I dont know man, she's doing the hair flippy thing. That means she's happy, doesn't it?"
He ignores Finn and watches them intently to see her leaning across the table, tracing the rim of her wine glass with a fingertip. Richard says something (something fucking retarded, he's sure) that makes her throw her head back with a laugh, and he can hear the tinkling sound from across the room. Once she finally (finally) pulls herself together, she leans forward again and starts speaking.
He tries to read her lips but she’s working her lower one between her teeth. It's a look he's generally come to equate with you are so getting laid tonight.
After the waiter takes their order (he bets she's ordered a salad even though she can put food away like a pro), she takes her napkin off her lap and heads towards the washroom.
"Dude, I'll be back," Puck says, jumping up from his seat and tossing the menu onto the table.
"Dude--"
"Whatever, just get what you want," he throws over his shoulder and follows her.
He slips into the ladies room moments after her and scopes out the stalls, grateful they're empty. He saunters up behind her at the sink, and when he runs his hands over her hips she doesn't even flinch
"I saw Finn walking by the chocolate fountain a few times," she says, sighing and turning to face him, "What are you doing here, Noah?"
"What are you doing here, Berry. I took you here once and you complained about how stuffy it is."
She yanks a paper towel out of the dispenser and rubs her hands violently before tossing it away. "That wasn't me."
Oh, shit.
"Excuse me," she huffs, "my date is waiting. Tell Finn I said hi."
She starts to move away from him, and he reaches out to grab her wrist, tugging her back to him gently. "Wait, wait, why the rush?" She tugs her hand from his grip with an exasperated sigh and he drops his hands to her waist, stepping against her. "That asshole can wait."
"Noah," she sighs, rubbing a hand over her forehead, "I don't want to do this, Ok? I don't. Just let me go."
"Ok," he whispers, tracing his thumbs over the curve of her hips as he presses his body flush against hers, and she purses her lips in annoyance.
"I mean it," she warns half-heartedly, "I have nothing else to say to you." She brings her hand up to his chest, presumably to push him away but it ends up just resting there. "I can't," she sighs weakly and he brings one of his hands up to cover hers.
"Ok," he repeats, leaning down slowly, and he hears her gasp something that sounds like don't, but she holds her breath as their noses touch. "Don't what?"
"Don't do this to me," she whispers, but she makes no move to pull away. He traces circles against her skin as he pins her against the sink, fisting a handful of her dress in his palm. Her eyes slip closed just before their lips touch and when he finally kisses her, she sighs against his mouth.
He presses his body against hers and lets go of her hand to get a grip on the sink behind her as he pries her mouth open with her tongue, and though he feels her hesitate, she lets him; when he sucks on her tongue (he did pay attention to some things; it always, always drove her crazy) she sort of melts against him and he moves his hips against hers.
"Noah, stop."
"Ok," he says against her lips as he grabs her to lift her up, and places her on the tiny sink. Her knees part, and he steps between them, running his hands down her thighs to hitch her legs around him as she tugs at his shirt, pulling it from the waist of his pants.
As one hand idly runs up the inside of her thigh and up her dress, the bathroom door bangs open and she gasps, pulling away from him with a start.
"Oh dear," mutters the old lady from a few tables down. "I'll just... oh dear." She stumbles out quickly, shaking her head in disgust as she mutters about kids, today.
Rachel pulls away from him and unwraps her legs from around his waist, ignoring his grumbles of protest. She pushes him away from her, smoothing her skirt around her legs. "You never took me here," she says softly and drops off the sink. "You never took me here because you said the only reason any man would bring a date here was to get in her pants--"
"You don't think that asshole is trying to get in your pants?" He scoffs but she ignores him.
"You never took me here because you said you'd already been in my pants and you didn't have to worry about impressing me anymore." She turns to the mirror to reapply her lipstick, watching his reflection. "You said you had nothing left to prove. Your words, Noah, not mine."
"So what, that's what you want?" he says disbelieving, "Some fancy stuffy restaurant? Fine, I'll fuckin' take you, I didn't know you were into that shit."
"That is not the point, Noah. God, just forget it. I need to get back."
"No you don't. Rach, stop being stupid."
"Oh, I'm being stupid. Right. That's funny, ’cause I feel like I'm finally making the first smart decision in years. Can't you respect--you know what? Forget it! I am not having this conversation with you in a public bathroom. I have to go." She pushes past him, and as she's about to step out of the restroom, she calls back over her shoulder, "Tell Finn I said hello, and then go home."
He takes a moment to compose himself and he has to use all of his restraint to not smash something on his way back to the table. He shifts the front of his pants discreetly, figuring this probably isn't the time or place to be sportin' raging wood. As he approaches Finn, he can see that old woman, towering over him, whispering in hushed, scandalized tones.
"Saw him in the bathroom with a hussy, I did," she says, and when she notices him closing in on them, she narrows her eyes and pats Finns hand lovingly. "You deserve better, dear." she mutters before walking away, glaring at Puck as she does so.
"What the fuck was that about?" he says, sliding back into his chair. "And what the fuck are you wearing?"
Finn fingers the edges if his bib before announcing proudly, "I ordered lobster."
"Lobster, eh?" Puck asks, raising his eyebrow. "You better be putting out for the money I'm laying down on you tonight, Hudson."
"Hmph," Finn sniffs. "No wonder Rachel left your ass."
"Hey asswipe," he says as he delivers a swift kick to him under the table, "Not kosher."
"I deserve better than you. Even the old lady thinks so."
Puck sneers at him as a smirk breaks out onto Finn's face. "Eat some fucking bread, Christ."
"I'm saving my appetite. For lobster," Finn shoots back as he taps his fingers on the table impatiently. "So let me guess, you found Rachel?"
He scoffs, rolling his eyes, "I almost had her on the bathroom sink, til that crusty old bitch walked in."
"So let me get this straight... You followed Rachel into the bathroom, like a creep, got her all hot and bothered and sent her back to Richard?"
Puck rolls his eyes, taking a bread bun from the table and tearing it in half. “Oh please. Like she’s gonna want low-grade beef after getting a taste of prime rib.” He stuffs a piece of bread in his mouth and ignores Finn’s disgusted expression when he speaks, still chewing, “She’ll be crawling back any second now.”
“Um, right,” Finn answers, fiddling nervously with his silverware. “Just do everyone a favour and don’t turn around.”
“What?” Puck asks as her turns his head over his left shoulder and the half-chewed bread almost falls right out of his mouth. Rachel’s sitting so close to the fucker that she’s practically in his lap and the asshole’s actually feeding her like she’s some fucking infant that can’t do it herself.
He must black out for a minute or something, because one second he's crushing the bread bun in his fist and the next it's bouncing off the back of Richard's head with enough force to land on the next table over. He snaps back around and looks at Finn wide-eyed, ‘cause that did not just happen.
There's no way anyone could know where that projectile bun even came from and they're just going to forget it ever fucking happened.
Then, of course, Finn throws himself under the table to hide, and ends up overturning the whole thing.
-----
Puck kicks the trashcan at the corner of the street. "Nice going, Hudson."
"Oh, right,” Finn shouts, throwing his arms up in the air in frustration, “this my fault. I decided it was a good idea to go stalk Rachel because I'm sad and pathetic and too much of an idiot to talk to her like a normal person, I am the one who tried seducing her in a bathroom because I can't wrap my head around the fact that not everything revolves around me and I'm the one who chucked bread at someone, like a child," he heaves breathlessly from the outburst, kicking the ground petulantly. “I was gonna get lobster.”
“Hey, are you done bitching?” Puck grumbles, heading towards the car. “Whatever, let's get the fuck out of here."
Finn throws a look over his shoulder at the restaurant and sighs, "Wait, man," he says nervously, "I forgot my coat."
"What coat?"
"Just wait here, ass."
It's not even two minutes later when Finn explodes back out the door, chocolate covering the entire front of his body. "Dude, run!" he yells, taking off down the street.
"You didn't..."
"RUN!"
-----
When they get back to Finn’s place, breathless and panting Britt takes one look at her husband and says sagely, “Chocolate incident; I’ll get some towels” as though this kind of shit happened to them all the time.
Puck’s about to leave them to it when Brittany’s phone starts playing some god awful Celine Dion song. He eyes the phone on the table as it lights up, and he can distinctly see the name “RBerry” flash across the screen. Brittany either doesn’t hear it or feels that wiping chocolate out of Finn’s eyes is somehow more important than answering so he picks it up from the table and starts waving it erratically in her face, “Answer it, Brittany. ¡Por favor!”
Brittany takes the phone from him and presses it to her ear with one hand while the other continues to work at cleaning chocolate off of her husband. "Hello?" she trills brightly, "Hi Rachel. Yes, Puck's here. Right, I'll tell him." Puck tries not to look too interested when his name is obviously brought up, but then Brittany turns to him with a frown. "Rachel said your cars getting towed."
Fuck. He knew he forgot something.
She ignores the crestfallen look on his face and turns her attentions back to Finn. "Well, how was it?" she continues, wiping the last bit of chocolate off of back of Finn's neck (seriously, how the fuck?) as she says, "What'd you order? Mm-hmm. Was it good? Oh, that's nice. Are you going to sleep with him?"
Puck nearly falls over himself trying to snatch the phone from Brittany's hand. "Ok, well, tell me how it goes!" she says and snaps the phone shut with a smile. When she sees him staring at her she gasps. "Oh! I'm sorry! Did you want to say goodbye?"
"Britt, call her back," he growls, thrusting the phone at her once more. "Now."
"But..." her eyes dart from side to side and then she leans down to whisper quietly, "she's busy."
He waggles the phone at her urgently, "She always needs warm up time, I swear, she's not busy yet. Call her."
She frowns at him and takes the phone from his hand. "She's going to be mad," she says sadly, dialing. She holds the phone to her ear for a few seconds and then clips it shut again. "Voice mail. She must have shut it off."
"Call back and leave her a message," he blurts. He tries to ignore Finn miming someone cutting his balls off because really, who's the one married with a kid on the way? and turns his attention back to the blonde. "C'mon señorita, do it for El Puckerone."
"What am I supposed to say?" she asks breathlessly, her eyes wide with confusion.
"Tell her to call you back, it's an emergency."
She sighs again sadly, "I don't want to lie to my friend, Puck."
"It's not a lie, Brittany. Bad things will happen if Rachel fucks that guy. Evil things."
Brittany's eyes go wide and she gasps. "Like what?"
"Ok, now you're scaring her," Finn interrupts, standing and putting his hand on Brittany's shoulder. "Let it go, Puck."
"Fine," he mutters, but he throws one last Hail Mary by giving her his sad puppy dog face (her words, not his) and he sees her resolve crumble like it has countless times before. Britt grabs the phone from his hand and gives him a small smile.
Brittany redials Rachel’s number, squirming in place awkwardly. "Hi, Rach, it's me. Brittany. Um, Puck said..." she trails off and looks to him with wide eyes, obviously unable to lie on her own.
He rolls his eyes and mouths to her, "I met someone tonight, super hot. She's sucking my dick now." He mimes what he thinks is obviously a blow job and Brittany nods in understanding.
"Puck said to tell you he met someone and he's sucking his dick now."
He ignores Finn's choking laughter and shakes his head vehemently to the blond. "No, she's sucking my dick!"
"Wait, no, you're sucking his dick, now. I think? Hang on." She covers the microphone with her hand, "Who is sucking who, Puck?"
"Forget it, Brittany," he sighs. "Just hang up the phone."
She bites her lip and turns back to the phone, "I need to go Rachel, Puck looks kinda mad, and I think it's my fault." Brittany hangs up the phone and Puck runs his hands over his eyes with a sigh. "Sorry Puck," she squeaks, and he just shrugs his shoulders.
“Whatever, Brittany, it's cool. I'm just gonna go home. I'm exhausted."
She reaches out and pats his shoulder solemnly. "I'm sure she's having a wonderful time. There's no need to worry."
-----
When he steps into his apartment he tries not to think about shit like how quiet it is, cause fuck, it's her loss, right?
He stumbles in the dark towards his bedroom and he has just barely kicked off his boots when his phone chimes at him.
11:34: The tow truck driver left me his card. I'll email you the information in the morning.
He replies before his brain can even process the message.
11:38: Too busy to do it now, Berry?
He stares at the phone in his hand and every passing second amounts to a million images exploding in his head of what she could possibly be doing instead of answering him back. He thinks of the sounds she makes and the way her whole body moves and if that was ever just for him, and just as he's ready to throw the damn phone against the wall, it chimes again.
11:45: Goodnight Noah
-----