Glee Fic: they call them little luxuries
For smc_27, who said it best when she said our entire relationship was based on enabling. And a lot of love. For the first of many prompts, this one being ‘rachel/will’ and ‘in the summer’ and of course, stuff.
they call them little luxuries
no one likes going home in the summer. this is why most people have weddings; then it’s a sleepy summer at best. (future fic)
glee | will/rachel | general spoilers | 3,316 words, R.
-
The summer she comes back to Lima, one of her cousins is getting married. There is time between workshops; she's been asked to participate in two this summer because she's a senior now and one of the writers is a good friend. Coming back is also a reassurance for her dads because she's turning down graduate school for a tiny apartment, a bartending job, and auditions.
She's not in the wedding, but by the time she sneaks outside during the reception, she already feels like she's drowning in silk and pink, the bridesmaid dresses enough to give everyone nightmares. It's still hot outside and she presses her beer to the back of her neck, ignoring the water it slides into her dress.
"Rachel Berry."
She stiffens, eyes wide with surprise. When she turns, he's just standing there, leaning against the doorframe.
"Mr. Schue," she says evenly.
"Will."
She laughs. Her tongue rolls against her teeth. She moves to sit too, against a small nook. Her heels are starting to dig into her skin and she’s promised not to take them off until someone starts dancing because then, at the very least, she has some kind of excuse.
"Mr. Schue," she says, and her hand presses the bottle back against her neck. There is a loud crack in the speakers inside, the music sort of breaking, catching in between songs. "Friend of the groom?" she guesses.
"Yes," he says. He steps out, moving to sit next to her. He stretches out, picking at his sleeves. His fingers then turn, starting to roll them back over his arms.
"Is he nice?"
He smirks. "Do you care?"
She laughs, caught and not at all shy about it. She shrugs, offering the beer to him. It's probably lukewarm at best, but he brings it to his mouth anyway.
"I have a lot of cousins," is all she says.
They don't really start catching up until they go back inside and they find out that air conditioner in the venue is broken and he asks her to dance anyway. His fingers are slick against her back, resting just over the part where the fabric of her dress and skin meet. Every so often she catches herself being lulled by the lazy circles his thumb makes.
"So auditions," he says.
"Mmmhmm." Her dress feels like it's going to peel off at this point. "I had an offer," she says, "my sophomore year to jump right into it, but I promised my dads I'd finish school first and not defer. And now, here I am, one more year left."
"Nervous?" he teases, and his mouth grazes her ear. Her lips curl. "I won't tell," he says.
She throws her head back and laughs. It catches the eye of another dancing couple nearby. Rachel smiles.
"No," she says. "I worry about some things. But nervous? No."
There is a sense of confidence that's always been there, maybe nervously so when she was his student. But when she looks at him, she completely serious and there's an ease too. He's watching her and she can't decide how that makes her feel.
"What?" she asks.
"Nothing." Rachel raises an eyebrow. "Nothing," he laughs, and his hand shifts against her back. It moves to her hip and then back to rub lightly against her shoulder. “I just - I’ve seen everybody,” he says.
“Everyone?”
“Yeah. I run into Finn pretty regularly,” he says slowly, almost carefully. If it were any other day, maybe years ago, she might have flinched. But she just watches him curiously. “Not Kurt though,” he says too. “I heard he moved to Paris with his boyfriend to study and work - ”
“Internship,” she says. She nods too. “And it’s very serious,” she adds.
He shrugs. “The others, there are the occasional emails and parents that are still here. I guess part of it is that it’s my last year here.”
If she’s surprised, it doesn’t seem to show. She draws back just to be able to look at him. Her hair brushes over her eyes and she lets her hands press against his chest, rubbing lightly and then moving to link around the back of his neck.
“New York,” he says first.
She laughs softly. “I was going to guess.”
“There’s a teaching job.”
“Where?”
“Private sector,” he answers. “Pays better. Sue Sylvester isn’t around to make me question my existence - ” she laughs out loud, shaking her head. But he continues: “I don’t know. I think I can be in the city in different ways and still feel like it’s something.”
She’s quiet because she’s had this conversation with herself before, between the pressure from her parents and the tiny bits of conversations she’s had with teachers and friends, both in and out of the industry. There’s a lot to confess; there are people who are more than ready to tell her i told you so if she makes any misstep.
“So you’ll be in the city,” she says.
There isn’t really time for him to respond though because the music is cut and somebody’s up, at the stage, ready to make another speech. They stand next to each other as the rest of the dancing couples gather to listen and someone makes a crack about how no one really ever plans a summer wedding well. He laughs when she smiles.
Rachel lets herself call him Will when she gets a call for a beer or two at a bar downtown that he doesn’t need to know that she’s been there already. It’s the second or third really hot day in Lima and her flight is on Tuesday morning, so she makes use of her last, last thin summer dress, throwing it over a pair of cowboy boots.
It’s a dime bar and nearly dark, the music a cheap fill of classics. She finds him in a booth closest to the stage, half-hidden in a corner and nursing a beer. There is one more bottle in front of him and he grins almost lazily at her.
“Hey,” she says, but her voice is sort of lost. He still sees her and nods, motioning for her to sit. She slides into the both, next to him, but not quite pressing against him. Her legs cross and she leans in, talking into his ear. “Am I late?”
“No,” he says back.
His nose bumps her cheek. She laughs and reaches for his beer without thinking, wrapping her fingers around its neck and stealing a sip.
At no point does she think that this is a terrible idea.
Dancing happens because it’s hard to hear him talk and there are already a few couples on the floor. She lets him take her hand and drag her to stand, laughing as he twirls around and she falls against his chest.
Her back is press against his chest too, for that moment, the fabric of her dress swinging against her legs. She laughs and his mouth presses against her shoulder. She’s three beers in and it’s starting to hit her too, the way it sort of just glides into her head and hands and how she can probably openly admit a bunch of things if he asked.
Instead she lets her hand run against his arm, her fingers sliding over the back of his hand and then letting it adjust against her dress. She watches his fingers as they pick at fabric and it sort of lifts a little over her skin. She sways and he laughs, turning her into him. His mouth brushes against her ear and she laughs into his neck.
“Who knew?” she teases. “Who knew you could dance like this?”
He chuckles, and it’s really true; they all knew that he could dance but it was more like a weird eruption of nervous energy and old moves.
“You can keep up,” he says.
“Was there any doubt?”
She grins at him, flashing her teeth. Her cheeks are flushed, but he doesn’t answer. It’s like the wedding when he squeezes her hip and lingers much too long.
“I can walk home,” she says. She’s gathering her hair up into a fist, pulling the elastic from around her wrist. She shoves her hair into a ponytail and he laughs, watching her as she sort of loses some of her balance.
This is a fourth, maybe a fifth beer, and he’s reaching for her arm and his keys, looping them together against him. She’s not drunk, but she’s buzzed enough. Mostly it’s been them sharing; she starts and he finishes or whatever excuse works right then. His shirt is sticking to him and she inhales a little, biting lightly at his shoulder just to see what he does.
“I’m not far,” she says.
He laughs. “I figured,” he says, and his fingers are curling around the end of her ponytail, tugging lightly. He doesn’t say i remembered because there’s that too. When she looks up at him, she sees that he’s flushed too and the corners of his mouth cock into some kind of smile. “I’m not far too,” he says.
It could be her. It may be more than her. She’s been here before, different people, different times, where she’s supposed to read into something and it’s less about the assumption. But this is dangerous, this has always been dangerous and unpredictable and stood on the mere foundation of what kind of relationship they really had.
“You were terrible to me,” she says, but doesn’t blurt. She draws back, meeting his gaze and cocking her head to the side. The beer, she’ll say later, it just makes her braver. “Sometimes,” she adds. “I know I wasn’t the easiest - and - and that goes for a lot of people, but I think, I know - but you … what?”
He’s smiling and she can’t remember see him smile before. She’s caught all sorts of little things now, since the wedding, and it forces her to feel like she’s been caught off-guard.
“You’re right,” he says.
Her mouth opens and closes. He’s shifting from foot to foot, his hands shoving into his pockets. The door opens behind him too and a loud mess of music seems to stumble out with a couple, who giggle past them and into the street.
She fists her hands over her dress and he steps forward, closer. He seems too tall all of the sudden. Her curiosity is almost too strong. She can’t resist picking back at him, at anything she doesn’t know.
“I am?” she asks.
He reaches forward, brushing his fingers against her jaw. His lips curl and his eyes are too, too dark.
“Do you want to be?”
It’s a strange question. It doesn’t answer anything either. It doesn’t feel important though and maybe that’s, there, what’s about to get her in trouble.
“You frustrate me,” she says. “And I’m going to kiss you,” she says too.
He swallows then. “Okay.”
His fingers brush over her mouth and she bites at the tips of his fingers. She laughs a little and then blows against his skin. He makes this sound and his hand moves to drop against her hip. He pulls her into him and she twists her fingers into his shirt.
She makes sure to smile too. “Take me home first,” she says.
Will makes no mention of the boxes in his apartment. She doesn’t ask about his house either, the one that he had back when she was in school; it’s all implied that he’s going to be in the city and that she’s going to be there too and maybe, maybe her world’s about to get a lot smaller than she’s ready to know.
He’s lazy, pulling the straps of her dress down, smoothing his palms against her shoulders and then along her eyes. His mouth twists when he realizes she’s not wearing a bra and she’s breathless when she says something along the lines of it’s just too hot anyway to answer any crack. The dress drops slowly against her skin though, down, lower and lower against her waist, then to slip against her thighs and legs. It pools at her feet and she steps over it, watching his fingers as they curl against her breast.
“Keep the boots on,” he says, and she laughs huskily, threading her fingers through his hair as he lowers his mouth to her skin. He bites at her nipple, his tongue swirling over the skin. It flicks over the teeth marks and she moans.
“You’re going to make a mess,” she teases, breathlessly, and her head falls back, her ponytail sweeping against her skin. She rolls her hips forward and his arm wraps around her waist, holding her closer.
“You want me to make a mess,” he shoots back. “You like that you can come here,” he says, biting at her shoulder. He licks away at the teeth marks. “And drive me insane, baby.”
She’s humming and laughing, her fingers dusting over his jeans and then his belt. She pulls and he bites at her nipple again. She can hear herself say something about too much clothes and how he laughs against her skin to agree. She manages to pull back the buckle of his belt too.
“I want to make a mess,” she says then and it’s probably true, because it can be messy and it’s not about consequence, or him and her and that weird sense of tension - or maybe it is and it’s finally here, unexpected and waiting. She doesn’t know.
He doesn’t say anything back and he’s peeling back her panties too, dipping his fingers into the fabric and running them against her skin. She lets her legs part and they fall too, with her dress and somewhere on the floor.
Rachel just decides she likes this too.
She calls him Will, like really calls him Will after he fucks her against the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist, boots dangling over his falling jeans. They’re laughing and his dick is still inside of her, his mouth biting at her neck.
“Your apartment will miss you,” she says cheekily.
There is sweat running down against the column of her throat and his tongue draws right back over it, sweeping lightly against her skin. She moans too.
“I’m sure,” he says, “the new one will like me just as much.”
He shifts and then slides a hand between them, his fingers brushing against her belly just before he pulls out. She misses the feeling and it’s quick and surprising, the way her legs stay sticky and lazy too. He lets her down to her feet and her boots scrape against the floor. Her legs feel shaky and she leans into kiss him, running her mouth over his, biting at his lip and letting her tongue sweep over his.
He growls and his hand is in her hair, tangling - the elastic had snapped, dropped and is lost somewhere towards the front. She grins against his mouth.
“Are you all right?” he asks, and she laughs softly, nodding. She squeals when he throws an arm around her waist again, swinging her into him and pulling back down the hall.
She manages to kick off her boots and he’s done with the rest of his clothes, the two of them trying desperately not to stumble over more boxes. When they reach the bedroom, he’s pressing her back into the bed and his sheets.
She feels the mess of fabric against her back and laughs again, her legs twisting into his as rests against her side. He props his head up with his hand and then turns slightly, resting his chin in his palm and to look down at her.
“Are you nervous?” she asks.
“Were you?”
She’s quiet, her eyes closing. She feels his hand move over her breasts, brushing lightly against the curve and then dropping to stretch against her stomach. He brushes circles into her skin and she manages a sigh.
“Yes,” she says. “Of course,” she says too. “I would have never admitted it because I think I - I gave myself more to prove than anyone else. There are people bigger and bolder than me, larger in life that would have probably scared everybody here. I’ve had to learn a lot more things about myself that I don’t like and more things that I didn’t know how to do. Is it perfect? No, of course not. But I think being nervous was kind of the best that happened to me.”
He hums and when his fingers slip between her thighs, she can’t help but laugh again. She feels his fingers brush lightly against her clit and she parts her legs, just a little, before opening her eyes to look at him.
“You’ll be fine,” she murmurs.
“I know,” he says. She bites her lip and lets his thumb roll against her clit again, his fingers relaxing against her thigh. “But there can only be one you,” he says too.
“It’s not a competition, Will.”
Rachel says it and tries to watch the change in the way he looks at her. It’s different when it’s sex, and now, now, when he slides a finger inside of her. She feels him move it slowly, so that she can feel his skin and how desperately good the sensation is when he slides a second finger inside of her too.
She moans and his expression never changes, a mix of heavy curiosity and need. The corners of his mouth turn, just slightly, as her hips buck forward. He twists his fingers and she bites her lip.
Rachel feels so open, but not exposed, as if there were some secrets still brimming at the surface, almost teasing him. It’s still about control and what she can and won’t let him have. But it’s still her hips that respond to the motion of his hand, the rhythm and how good his fingers feel inside of her.
She is sticky from before and this orgasm builds a lot faster, sloppier than the first, his thumb rubbing at her clit too. She likes when he drags his nail against it, and how his mouth grazes hers when he leans down, just to catch another one of her moans.
“It was finally a compliment though,” he says quietly, and it’s an admission all the same.
He watches her fall apart again, much later, much, much later when the sun is sort of peeking out from under some of his curtains. She says something stupid like you and curtains and he laughs, mouth buried between her legs, his tongue sliding inside of her. He calls her baby and then oh so tight because she likes it, she likes how his voice sort of falls into her, high and low and really, really, it shouldn’t be a surprise that she gets off completely this way.
She wears her sticky sundress in the morning, over her boots as she slides onto his counter. This is after breakfast and she can’t find her panties, uncaring as she writes her name and number on a napkin.
He’s watched her braid her hair and steal the last of his toothpaste, just to kiss him after. She’s deliberate with how she writes and then folds the napkin, tucking it into the pocket of his jeans as he stands between her legs.
Don’t be a stranger, she almost says. It’s because she doesn’t chase, has learned not to chase, and patience is always a virtue as they say, all the same. At some point he will confess too, just so that she can go and call him Will again, because he likes it just as much as she does when he calls her baby.
Will takes the number from her. She decides to smile instead.
they call them little luxuries
no one likes going home in the summer. this is why most people have weddings; then it’s a sleepy summer at best. (future fic)
glee | will/rachel | general spoilers | 3,316 words, R.
-
The summer she comes back to Lima, one of her cousins is getting married. There is time between workshops; she's been asked to participate in two this summer because she's a senior now and one of the writers is a good friend. Coming back is also a reassurance for her dads because she's turning down graduate school for a tiny apartment, a bartending job, and auditions.
She's not in the wedding, but by the time she sneaks outside during the reception, she already feels like she's drowning in silk and pink, the bridesmaid dresses enough to give everyone nightmares. It's still hot outside and she presses her beer to the back of her neck, ignoring the water it slides into her dress.
"Rachel Berry."
She stiffens, eyes wide with surprise. When she turns, he's just standing there, leaning against the doorframe.
"Mr. Schue," she says evenly.
"Will."
She laughs. Her tongue rolls against her teeth. She moves to sit too, against a small nook. Her heels are starting to dig into her skin and she’s promised not to take them off until someone starts dancing because then, at the very least, she has some kind of excuse.
"Mr. Schue," she says, and her hand presses the bottle back against her neck. There is a loud crack in the speakers inside, the music sort of breaking, catching in between songs. "Friend of the groom?" she guesses.
"Yes," he says. He steps out, moving to sit next to her. He stretches out, picking at his sleeves. His fingers then turn, starting to roll them back over his arms.
"Is he nice?"
He smirks. "Do you care?"
She laughs, caught and not at all shy about it. She shrugs, offering the beer to him. It's probably lukewarm at best, but he brings it to his mouth anyway.
"I have a lot of cousins," is all she says.
They don't really start catching up until they go back inside and they find out that air conditioner in the venue is broken and he asks her to dance anyway. His fingers are slick against her back, resting just over the part where the fabric of her dress and skin meet. Every so often she catches herself being lulled by the lazy circles his thumb makes.
"So auditions," he says.
"Mmmhmm." Her dress feels like it's going to peel off at this point. "I had an offer," she says, "my sophomore year to jump right into it, but I promised my dads I'd finish school first and not defer. And now, here I am, one more year left."
"Nervous?" he teases, and his mouth grazes her ear. Her lips curl. "I won't tell," he says.
She throws her head back and laughs. It catches the eye of another dancing couple nearby. Rachel smiles.
"No," she says. "I worry about some things. But nervous? No."
There is a sense of confidence that's always been there, maybe nervously so when she was his student. But when she looks at him, she completely serious and there's an ease too. He's watching her and she can't decide how that makes her feel.
"What?" she asks.
"Nothing." Rachel raises an eyebrow. "Nothing," he laughs, and his hand shifts against her back. It moves to her hip and then back to rub lightly against her shoulder. “I just - I’ve seen everybody,” he says.
“Everyone?”
“Yeah. I run into Finn pretty regularly,” he says slowly, almost carefully. If it were any other day, maybe years ago, she might have flinched. But she just watches him curiously. “Not Kurt though,” he says too. “I heard he moved to Paris with his boyfriend to study and work - ”
“Internship,” she says. She nods too. “And it’s very serious,” she adds.
He shrugs. “The others, there are the occasional emails and parents that are still here. I guess part of it is that it’s my last year here.”
If she’s surprised, it doesn’t seem to show. She draws back just to be able to look at him. Her hair brushes over her eyes and she lets her hands press against his chest, rubbing lightly and then moving to link around the back of his neck.
“New York,” he says first.
She laughs softly. “I was going to guess.”
“There’s a teaching job.”
“Where?”
“Private sector,” he answers. “Pays better. Sue Sylvester isn’t around to make me question my existence - ” she laughs out loud, shaking her head. But he continues: “I don’t know. I think I can be in the city in different ways and still feel like it’s something.”
She’s quiet because she’s had this conversation with herself before, between the pressure from her parents and the tiny bits of conversations she’s had with teachers and friends, both in and out of the industry. There’s a lot to confess; there are people who are more than ready to tell her i told you so if she makes any misstep.
“So you’ll be in the city,” she says.
There isn’t really time for him to respond though because the music is cut and somebody’s up, at the stage, ready to make another speech. They stand next to each other as the rest of the dancing couples gather to listen and someone makes a crack about how no one really ever plans a summer wedding well. He laughs when she smiles.
Rachel lets herself call him Will when she gets a call for a beer or two at a bar downtown that he doesn’t need to know that she’s been there already. It’s the second or third really hot day in Lima and her flight is on Tuesday morning, so she makes use of her last, last thin summer dress, throwing it over a pair of cowboy boots.
It’s a dime bar and nearly dark, the music a cheap fill of classics. She finds him in a booth closest to the stage, half-hidden in a corner and nursing a beer. There is one more bottle in front of him and he grins almost lazily at her.
“Hey,” she says, but her voice is sort of lost. He still sees her and nods, motioning for her to sit. She slides into the both, next to him, but not quite pressing against him. Her legs cross and she leans in, talking into his ear. “Am I late?”
“No,” he says back.
His nose bumps her cheek. She laughs and reaches for his beer without thinking, wrapping her fingers around its neck and stealing a sip.
At no point does she think that this is a terrible idea.
Dancing happens because it’s hard to hear him talk and there are already a few couples on the floor. She lets him take her hand and drag her to stand, laughing as he twirls around and she falls against his chest.
Her back is press against his chest too, for that moment, the fabric of her dress swinging against her legs. She laughs and his mouth presses against her shoulder. She’s three beers in and it’s starting to hit her too, the way it sort of just glides into her head and hands and how she can probably openly admit a bunch of things if he asked.
Instead she lets her hand run against his arm, her fingers sliding over the back of his hand and then letting it adjust against her dress. She watches his fingers as they pick at fabric and it sort of lifts a little over her skin. She sways and he laughs, turning her into him. His mouth brushes against her ear and she laughs into his neck.
“Who knew?” she teases. “Who knew you could dance like this?”
He chuckles, and it’s really true; they all knew that he could dance but it was more like a weird eruption of nervous energy and old moves.
“You can keep up,” he says.
“Was there any doubt?”
She grins at him, flashing her teeth. Her cheeks are flushed, but he doesn’t answer. It’s like the wedding when he squeezes her hip and lingers much too long.
“I can walk home,” she says. She’s gathering her hair up into a fist, pulling the elastic from around her wrist. She shoves her hair into a ponytail and he laughs, watching her as she sort of loses some of her balance.
This is a fourth, maybe a fifth beer, and he’s reaching for her arm and his keys, looping them together against him. She’s not drunk, but she’s buzzed enough. Mostly it’s been them sharing; she starts and he finishes or whatever excuse works right then. His shirt is sticking to him and she inhales a little, biting lightly at his shoulder just to see what he does.
“I’m not far,” she says.
He laughs. “I figured,” he says, and his fingers are curling around the end of her ponytail, tugging lightly. He doesn’t say i remembered because there’s that too. When she looks up at him, she sees that he’s flushed too and the corners of his mouth cock into some kind of smile. “I’m not far too,” he says.
It could be her. It may be more than her. She’s been here before, different people, different times, where she’s supposed to read into something and it’s less about the assumption. But this is dangerous, this has always been dangerous and unpredictable and stood on the mere foundation of what kind of relationship they really had.
“You were terrible to me,” she says, but doesn’t blurt. She draws back, meeting his gaze and cocking her head to the side. The beer, she’ll say later, it just makes her braver. “Sometimes,” she adds. “I know I wasn’t the easiest - and - and that goes for a lot of people, but I think, I know - but you … what?”
He’s smiling and she can’t remember see him smile before. She’s caught all sorts of little things now, since the wedding, and it forces her to feel like she’s been caught off-guard.
“You’re right,” he says.
Her mouth opens and closes. He’s shifting from foot to foot, his hands shoving into his pockets. The door opens behind him too and a loud mess of music seems to stumble out with a couple, who giggle past them and into the street.
She fists her hands over her dress and he steps forward, closer. He seems too tall all of the sudden. Her curiosity is almost too strong. She can’t resist picking back at him, at anything she doesn’t know.
“I am?” she asks.
He reaches forward, brushing his fingers against her jaw. His lips curl and his eyes are too, too dark.
“Do you want to be?”
It’s a strange question. It doesn’t answer anything either. It doesn’t feel important though and maybe that’s, there, what’s about to get her in trouble.
“You frustrate me,” she says. “And I’m going to kiss you,” she says too.
He swallows then. “Okay.”
His fingers brush over her mouth and she bites at the tips of his fingers. She laughs a little and then blows against his skin. He makes this sound and his hand moves to drop against her hip. He pulls her into him and she twists her fingers into his shirt.
She makes sure to smile too. “Take me home first,” she says.
Will makes no mention of the boxes in his apartment. She doesn’t ask about his house either, the one that he had back when she was in school; it’s all implied that he’s going to be in the city and that she’s going to be there too and maybe, maybe her world’s about to get a lot smaller than she’s ready to know.
He’s lazy, pulling the straps of her dress down, smoothing his palms against her shoulders and then along her eyes. His mouth twists when he realizes she’s not wearing a bra and she’s breathless when she says something along the lines of it’s just too hot anyway to answer any crack. The dress drops slowly against her skin though, down, lower and lower against her waist, then to slip against her thighs and legs. It pools at her feet and she steps over it, watching his fingers as they curl against her breast.
“Keep the boots on,” he says, and she laughs huskily, threading her fingers through his hair as he lowers his mouth to her skin. He bites at her nipple, his tongue swirling over the skin. It flicks over the teeth marks and she moans.
“You’re going to make a mess,” she teases, breathlessly, and her head falls back, her ponytail sweeping against her skin. She rolls her hips forward and his arm wraps around her waist, holding her closer.
“You want me to make a mess,” he shoots back. “You like that you can come here,” he says, biting at her shoulder. He licks away at the teeth marks. “And drive me insane, baby.”
She’s humming and laughing, her fingers dusting over his jeans and then his belt. She pulls and he bites at her nipple again. She can hear herself say something about too much clothes and how he laughs against her skin to agree. She manages to pull back the buckle of his belt too.
“I want to make a mess,” she says then and it’s probably true, because it can be messy and it’s not about consequence, or him and her and that weird sense of tension - or maybe it is and it’s finally here, unexpected and waiting. She doesn’t know.
He doesn’t say anything back and he’s peeling back her panties too, dipping his fingers into the fabric and running them against her skin. She lets her legs part and they fall too, with her dress and somewhere on the floor.
Rachel just decides she likes this too.
She calls him Will, like really calls him Will after he fucks her against the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist, boots dangling over his falling jeans. They’re laughing and his dick is still inside of her, his mouth biting at her neck.
“Your apartment will miss you,” she says cheekily.
There is sweat running down against the column of her throat and his tongue draws right back over it, sweeping lightly against her skin. She moans too.
“I’m sure,” he says, “the new one will like me just as much.”
He shifts and then slides a hand between them, his fingers brushing against her belly just before he pulls out. She misses the feeling and it’s quick and surprising, the way her legs stay sticky and lazy too. He lets her down to her feet and her boots scrape against the floor. Her legs feel shaky and she leans into kiss him, running her mouth over his, biting at his lip and letting her tongue sweep over his.
He growls and his hand is in her hair, tangling - the elastic had snapped, dropped and is lost somewhere towards the front. She grins against his mouth.
“Are you all right?” he asks, and she laughs softly, nodding. She squeals when he throws an arm around her waist again, swinging her into him and pulling back down the hall.
She manages to kick off her boots and he’s done with the rest of his clothes, the two of them trying desperately not to stumble over more boxes. When they reach the bedroom, he’s pressing her back into the bed and his sheets.
She feels the mess of fabric against her back and laughs again, her legs twisting into his as rests against her side. He props his head up with his hand and then turns slightly, resting his chin in his palm and to look down at her.
“Are you nervous?” she asks.
“Were you?”
She’s quiet, her eyes closing. She feels his hand move over her breasts, brushing lightly against the curve and then dropping to stretch against her stomach. He brushes circles into her skin and she manages a sigh.
“Yes,” she says. “Of course,” she says too. “I would have never admitted it because I think I - I gave myself more to prove than anyone else. There are people bigger and bolder than me, larger in life that would have probably scared everybody here. I’ve had to learn a lot more things about myself that I don’t like and more things that I didn’t know how to do. Is it perfect? No, of course not. But I think being nervous was kind of the best that happened to me.”
He hums and when his fingers slip between her thighs, she can’t help but laugh again. She feels his fingers brush lightly against her clit and she parts her legs, just a little, before opening her eyes to look at him.
“You’ll be fine,” she murmurs.
“I know,” he says. She bites her lip and lets his thumb roll against her clit again, his fingers relaxing against her thigh. “But there can only be one you,” he says too.
“It’s not a competition, Will.”
Rachel says it and tries to watch the change in the way he looks at her. It’s different when it’s sex, and now, now, when he slides a finger inside of her. She feels him move it slowly, so that she can feel his skin and how desperately good the sensation is when he slides a second finger inside of her too.
She moans and his expression never changes, a mix of heavy curiosity and need. The corners of his mouth turn, just slightly, as her hips buck forward. He twists his fingers and she bites her lip.
Rachel feels so open, but not exposed, as if there were some secrets still brimming at the surface, almost teasing him. It’s still about control and what she can and won’t let him have. But it’s still her hips that respond to the motion of his hand, the rhythm and how good his fingers feel inside of her.
She is sticky from before and this orgasm builds a lot faster, sloppier than the first, his thumb rubbing at her clit too. She likes when he drags his nail against it, and how his mouth grazes hers when he leans down, just to catch another one of her moans.
“It was finally a compliment though,” he says quietly, and it’s an admission all the same.
He watches her fall apart again, much later, much, much later when the sun is sort of peeking out from under some of his curtains. She says something stupid like you and curtains and he laughs, mouth buried between her legs, his tongue sliding inside of her. He calls her baby and then oh so tight because she likes it, she likes how his voice sort of falls into her, high and low and really, really, it shouldn’t be a surprise that she gets off completely this way.
She wears her sticky sundress in the morning, over her boots as she slides onto his counter. This is after breakfast and she can’t find her panties, uncaring as she writes her name and number on a napkin.
He’s watched her braid her hair and steal the last of his toothpaste, just to kiss him after. She’s deliberate with how she writes and then folds the napkin, tucking it into the pocket of his jeans as he stands between her legs.
Don’t be a stranger, she almost says. It’s because she doesn’t chase, has learned not to chase, and patience is always a virtue as they say, all the same. At some point he will confess too, just so that she can go and call him Will again, because he likes it just as much as she does when he calls her baby.
Will takes the number from her. She decides to smile instead.