Glee Fic: written into your palm
I think smc_27 and I talk a lot about bartender!Rachel, so much so, that it's probably going to end up working itself into all my fics somehow lol. Anyways. This is for you, S. Because you're fabulous and you always give the best prompts. And, and I finally finished this one off.
written into your palm
it’s a pretty simple rule: a little whiskey this never really hurts anyone.
glee | will/rachel | AU | 3,284 words | adult
-
"I can't believe you pimped me out to your boss," Rachel says finally.
It's a rare day off and she's standing in her bedroom, her jeans low on her hips. She has her boots on already, her arms halfway into her t-shirt as she glares at him. Her hair's a mess too, wild and framing her face, and Puck just leans back on her bed, smirking before he shrugs.
"Look," he says. "Totally get that it's your day off - and that it's rare and shit that you get two day off from this play, but dude. I told you and you know better. I'm collecting on my favor."
She rolls her eyes.
Rachel hasn't been a bartender since college and the early days of her auditions and needing to meet rent. It was a good job, even better because she was good and she knew that she was good. She's never been a heavy drinker either. She's just always had an eye for mixing and tastes and pulling her friends out of impromptu moments of trouble.
But Puck, Noah, her oldest friend, is the only one who's ever capitalized on any of that and she's not entirely sure how she got talked into bartending with him tonight, or how his boss deemed it okay, but instead of a long bath and early night, she's getting ready to leave for a long work day.
"I'm wearing heels for you," she mutters.
"I know." He grins and reaches for her, pulling her by the legs to stand in between his. His mouth brushes her thigh. "You're the best bro ever, blah blah blah. Listen, all tips are yours and I'll step in when any asshole is trying to get fresh - but you know me, there's a wedding party and all the ladies require my attention."
She snorts. "You're gross."
She's also sure that Puck could talk her into anything - and that he has - but this is most definitely one to add to the list.
Winston's is on the Lower Eastside, a dime bar that seems pretty out of place for the area as it is. She likes it though on first glance. It's dark and smokey and there are too many booths, all cut into the space for some kind of privacy. Puck makes a dry comment about his boss being way too into Old Hollywood, or something, but she barely pays attention.
It's around midnight that they start playing Billie Holiday and Puck and his private party are well-occupied. Rachel's garnered quite a crowd of her own, opting to flash a mysterious smile or two when someone asks her if she's that Rachel Berry and then some more. But she's trying not to let this be some weird flashback into her early years living in New York and sets out to enjoy herself anyway.
"What can I get you?" she asks the next open seat. The man smiles at her and shrugs and all she can think is oh, okay one of those. She leans against the bar, brushing her bangs back and studying him. "Let me guess then," she says.
He laughs. "Well, all right."
"You're a scotch guy," she says smoothly. She puts down a napkin and coaster in front of him, reaching for a glass. "But that's only when you're alone or with comfortable company," she says, and pulls a whiskey bottle out from underneath the bar. "When you're out, it's just a straight whiskey."
His mouth curls and she pushes the glass to him, lightly and with her knuckles. His head tilts to the side and eyes her before he drinks it, bringing it to his mouth and then watching her all the same. Her mouth twitches and she wipes her hands.
"You're good," he says.
"I'm rusty," she says, and flashes a lazy smile. It makes him laugh and she catches the slight crease in his mouth. It's a small dimple and then another customer calls for her attention.
It's soda water and another round of beers for a group of guys that keep trying to see if her breasts are real. It's not hot yet either. She still grabs a few cubes of ice from an open glass of hers, sliding them into her mouth and sucking lightly before she swallows them.
The scotch and whiskey man is watching her. When she catches him, he smiles again and she decides that she likes his smile. It's lazier than before, half-caught across his mouth as if he's trying to figure out what to do with her.
"Haven't seen you before," he calls.
"Helping out a friend," she answers.
She looks around and everyone seems to be taken care of. Billie Holiday switches off and it's an instrumental and she's really missing that opportunity to take a hot bath, she thinks. Her shoulders are a little sore and she's going to have to be walking straight into a pretty rigorous rehearsal come Monday.
"I'm a regular," the man says. She catches his gaze again and she steps closer to his side of the bar. "I didn't know Puck had friends."
She laughs, shaking her head. "We grew up with each other," she adds, and he whistles. Her gaze softens though. "Noah's a good guy though. Thinks too much with certain parts of his anatomy, but there is a reason why we've been friends this long. And his mother."
Rachel flashes a wicked smile and the man laughs. It isn't long until she's called off again for customers. She remembers why she doesn't miss this.
It's a little after three when the bar closes and she finally sees Noah. She sits next to him while he counts his tips for the night. Her tips are already in an envelope and they're both waiting around for his boss.
The band's already left for the night. She knew the bassist, Artie or whatever. He's a nice guy and took contemporary composition with her back in school. They weren't friends, but it's still nice to see a familiar face here and there.
When Noah finishes counting, he's grinning and she's rolling her eyes. He says nothing about how much he's made and she's pretty sure it has everything to do with the drunken, if not misplaced, nipple ring story the bride-to-be passed along time on her way out.
"So swapping stories worked out for you, huh?" she asks dryly, and his smirk deepens. He reaches for her envelope, but she smacks his hand away. "Never change," she says too.
He laughs, but it's short and it takes her a minute to realize that two drinks-whiskey is sitting down next to her. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled and cuffed to his elbow. His collar is opened too, wider than she remembers, with the next three buttons open at his throat.
"Thanks for helping out tonight," he says.
She's staring because Puck elbows her in the side. She manages to swallow and smile, shrugging. "It was nice," she says. Her voice is softer now without the music and she bites back a wince when she hears how husky it gets. Puck coughs into his hand and she swears she hears you would.
"I'm Will," he says too.
Part of her realizes that Puck's boss spent most of the night watching and talking to her, but really doesn't know how to process that. Will, she corrects herself. He's handsome, in strange, classical kind of way. She's caught off-guard by his smile too and the way she can feel her eyes slide along the column of his throat, as she studies him lazily. He's sliding her tips over to her and she makes a sound of protest, dropping her hand back over his to stop him.
"It's fine," she murmurs. She offers a smile. "Keep it. Just don't give it to Puck."
"Hey - "
Rachel smirks, but she doesn't take her gaze off of Will either. He tilts his head to the side and she realizes that he's putting two and two together too. His mouth drops open and next to them, Puck says something like tips are mine anyway but she knows that he's just trying to be an ass. She still doesn't look away from Will either and then she sees that same lazy smile that rolls onto his mouth from earlier in the night. She's not flustered, she's curious, and that's probably a dangerous thing all around. But Rachel is never good at stopping herself either.
"Just buy me a drink next time," she says softly, and suddenly, that's the end of that.
Except she doesn't hear from him.
It's fine, really, it's fine and she's knee-deep in crazy hours again with rehearsals. Puck still drops buy for early breakfasts because their hours somehow manage to grab each other from time to time. But he makes no mention of Will either, as if he's waiting for her to burst out and just say it. The thing is, and he knows better than anyone else, Rachel has never been that kind of girl.
Thursday night has rehearsal wrapping up early though. Two of the choreographers have the flu and the director is swearing up and down it's because someone from the chorus went ahead and said MacBeth. Nobody laughs because the director is that kind of director and Rachel makes sure to hang back so that she can rub her ankle in peace.
Her co-star just took a sharp turn too fast, but then again, she thinks, no one's Jesse and the fact that he expects everyone to operate in the same panicked speed that he does - it's just not okay. So she sits on the stage as the janitor starts cleaning up and the lighting guys upstairs go over the schedule for the rest of the week.
It's a few moments of peace too, her fingers rolling over the bruise on her ankle and adjusting the ice so that it stays steady.
"Hey."
She looks up and Will is walking down one of the aisle. He's wearing a leather jacket and his shoulders are covered with snow. She bites back a groan and manages a smile all in the same split of time.
"Hi," she says breathlessly. She licks her lips and he stops in front of her, sitting off the side of the stage. Her free leg dangles and his fingers graze over her knee. She offers him another smile. "What are you doing here?"
"That drink," he says.
Rachel laughs. "That drink, huh?"
He grins and it's sheepish. She watches him run a hand through his hair. "It looks like I should have called first," he says. "Puck did give me your number."
She snorts. "Of course he did."
"He told me he'd save me the speech too since I sign his paychecks."
Rachel manages to laugh and the ice pack slides off of her ankle. She sighs and shakes her head, reaching for her boots. Nothing a bath can't cure, she thinks. She pulls her legs up onto the stage and slides her feet into her boots as he relaxes next to her still.
"Bad time then?" he asks. "I mean, I did want to come and catch you either way - but you look like you've had a day."
"Like you wouldn't believe," she says. She pulls her hair loose, her legs sliding off to the stage. She moves off the end carefully too, putting her weight on her ankle with a soft hiss.
When she looks up, Will is already reaching for her back. She can't help but blush.
"I just want to go home and take a long bath," she murmurs. "My co-star and dance partner was acting like the anti-Christ today and our director, I think, walked himself into a meltdown. So either a blizzard is on its way and people are preemptively freaking out, or it's just time to hide under my covers."
Will laughs. She doesn't know what it is about him either, but she's smiling and relaxing and it's just really, really strange for her to feel this open with anyone. He's pulling at her coat too, helping her into it before he offers to walk her outside to grab a cab to take her home. They don't really talk about anything either. Her arm slips into his and he tells her something about the customers that ask about her, how they can't believe that she was there, and she makes a joke about coming back every once in awhile.
It's just that, outside, plans change too. "Let me take you home," he says.
The universe, as it turns out, is determined to let her have that bath. Will says something about making her dinner and she lets him, glad that for once, she actually has food in her apartment and not Thai from down the street. Thanks to Puck too, there's a mix of serious wine and liquor and she just tells him to help himself out.
She reemerges though, half-drawn by the smells. Her hair is wet and loose and she has a towel wrapped around herself, clutched at the front by her hand and a knot against her breasts.
It's a terrible idea, she thinks. It's just that she can't stop herself.
"Mmm."
He's in her kitchen and when he turns, his eyes darken. The corners of his mouth turn and she doesn't even bother with the apologies, making her way to see what he's doing for dinner.
"I poured a scotch," he says next to her. She's aware of the glass at her hip. He's made a tremendous stew and she's laughs when he pulls in his spoon, only to lift it to her mouth for her to try. She blows at the broth lightly and leans, tasting it.
"Good?" he asks too.
She nods. "Really delicious," she says. Her fingers flex against her towel. She can't help but smile at him. His fingers brush over her mouth, his thumb catching some bit of an invisible spill against her lip. She bites lightly at his finger. "But you only poured one glass."
"I like sharing," he says.
Rachel laughs. "You do?"
"No." His fingers catch her chin and then he's bending over her, his mouth grazing hers before he smiles too. "I'm terrible at it, really."
"We have something in common then."
He laughs then too, or it's her, again, but it really doesn't matter because he's kissing her and the grip she has on her towel completely disappears. She can feel the fabric slip from her skin, just as his mouth opens against hers, and when she brushes her tongue against his, it's his hand that opens against her naked hip.
It's good to know, after all.
Rachel finds that she likes the way he spreads her out over the kitchen floor. Both his hands wrap around her thighs and it's his tongue that slides over her clit, dragging lazily along her slit and into her pussy. She makes a soft sound and digs her fingers into his hair, rolling her hips against his mouth.
"I've never done this - this before," she breathes, and she feels him grin against her skin. He slides a finger inside of her, drawing back to watch her too. Her hips jerk and she lets her head roll back as he slides a second finger inside of her too.
He doesn't answer either, and it's a flick, a twist of his wrist as he starts to unravel the rhythm he wants to watch her in. His fingers feel long and hard, but she wants more, she thinks, she needs more than that from him. So she watches him too, her hands cupping her breasts, running lightly over her skin and then her belly too. She lets her hand drag back into his hair and she tugs and tugs, until he lets out a laugh and shifts up to kiss her.
He calls her baby when he wraps his hand around his dick, when she watches him stroke himself, legs still spread and still wet and aching. Her mouth curls and she gives him a lazy smile, shifting so that he can drag his weight over her and then guide himself inside of her too.
"God," he hisses. "Rachel - baby."
She lets out a shaky laugh and hooks her leg around his hip. She moans when he presses himself against her harder. The floor is cool and slick against her back, but it doesn't even matter because he's inside and when he bites at her neck, she almost sighs with relief.
"You feel so good," she breathes, and it's intense, maybe too intense, the ache that happens when his dick starts to slide in and then out of her. The sensation is heavy and it's just the way it feels when his skin slides over her skin, how slick he's making her and just knowing that she's getting to him the same way.
He's settling all of his weight into her now, and she's pumping into him pleas, half-mumbled and lazy and biting at his ear. She just wants him to fuck her and when he picks up the pace, he's driving his dick into hard and fast and deep. Her hands dig into his back and she throws her head back, feeling his teeth slide over her skin, her fingers curling into his hair.
Her nails break skin and he hisses. "You're so fucking tight," he breathes, and she can feel herself start to clench around him.
She doesn't know how it ends, or cares, because she's breathing into his neck and he's lifting her, resting back on his knees so that she can ride out the rest of his orgasm, her orgasm, so he can watch her all the same.
It's just like that first night anyway.
They never have that drink, or dinner for that matter; somehow, Rachel still end up half-naked in his shirt, in his kitchen and a week later, above the bar and eating leftovers from Will's Thai place down the street. She bites lightly at a piece of corn when Puck comes in, neither knocking nor surprised to see her here.
"It's four in the morning," she says.
He laughs. "Bar's closed," he says and rolls his eyes. "Will's on his way up - I figured I'd ask him for pointers and tips tonight."
"You're full of it," she shoots back.
She's here because most of the city is shutting down for the impending blizzard and Will told her to come here since her rehearsals are over for the week. She doesn't know what they are. She doesn't care. It's just nice to have sex and just figure it out as she goes along.
That's how she knows she been friends with Puck too long anyway.
Will comes in after Puck and heads straight for her, wrapping an arm around her waist and brushing his mouth against her neck. Her lips curl. Puck's eyes narrow and for a second, the energy in the room seems to be a little too much. Rachel is calm though and she rubs her fingers lightly against Will's arm and manages to roll her eyes back at Puck.
He seems completely at ease with inviting himself in further, moving to sit on one of the stools at the kitchen bar. When he steals the rest of her food, Will groans and it's just that easy, really, for her to do.
She's dead serious when she says it too. "You started this."
Puck laughs the loudest, of course.
written into your palm
it’s a pretty simple rule: a little whiskey this never really hurts anyone.
glee | will/rachel | AU | 3,284 words | adult
-
"I can't believe you pimped me out to your boss," Rachel says finally.
It's a rare day off and she's standing in her bedroom, her jeans low on her hips. She has her boots on already, her arms halfway into her t-shirt as she glares at him. Her hair's a mess too, wild and framing her face, and Puck just leans back on her bed, smirking before he shrugs.
"Look," he says. "Totally get that it's your day off - and that it's rare and shit that you get two day off from this play, but dude. I told you and you know better. I'm collecting on my favor."
She rolls her eyes.
Rachel hasn't been a bartender since college and the early days of her auditions and needing to meet rent. It was a good job, even better because she was good and she knew that she was good. She's never been a heavy drinker either. She's just always had an eye for mixing and tastes and pulling her friends out of impromptu moments of trouble.
But Puck, Noah, her oldest friend, is the only one who's ever capitalized on any of that and she's not entirely sure how she got talked into bartending with him tonight, or how his boss deemed it okay, but instead of a long bath and early night, she's getting ready to leave for a long work day.
"I'm wearing heels for you," she mutters.
"I know." He grins and reaches for her, pulling her by the legs to stand in between his. His mouth brushes her thigh. "You're the best bro ever, blah blah blah. Listen, all tips are yours and I'll step in when any asshole is trying to get fresh - but you know me, there's a wedding party and all the ladies require my attention."
She snorts. "You're gross."
She's also sure that Puck could talk her into anything - and that he has - but this is most definitely one to add to the list.
Winston's is on the Lower Eastside, a dime bar that seems pretty out of place for the area as it is. She likes it though on first glance. It's dark and smokey and there are too many booths, all cut into the space for some kind of privacy. Puck makes a dry comment about his boss being way too into Old Hollywood, or something, but she barely pays attention.
It's around midnight that they start playing Billie Holiday and Puck and his private party are well-occupied. Rachel's garnered quite a crowd of her own, opting to flash a mysterious smile or two when someone asks her if she's that Rachel Berry and then some more. But she's trying not to let this be some weird flashback into her early years living in New York and sets out to enjoy herself anyway.
"What can I get you?" she asks the next open seat. The man smiles at her and shrugs and all she can think is oh, okay one of those. She leans against the bar, brushing her bangs back and studying him. "Let me guess then," she says.
He laughs. "Well, all right."
"You're a scotch guy," she says smoothly. She puts down a napkin and coaster in front of him, reaching for a glass. "But that's only when you're alone or with comfortable company," she says, and pulls a whiskey bottle out from underneath the bar. "When you're out, it's just a straight whiskey."
His mouth curls and she pushes the glass to him, lightly and with her knuckles. His head tilts to the side and eyes her before he drinks it, bringing it to his mouth and then watching her all the same. Her mouth twitches and she wipes her hands.
"You're good," he says.
"I'm rusty," she says, and flashes a lazy smile. It makes him laugh and she catches the slight crease in his mouth. It's a small dimple and then another customer calls for her attention.
It's soda water and another round of beers for a group of guys that keep trying to see if her breasts are real. It's not hot yet either. She still grabs a few cubes of ice from an open glass of hers, sliding them into her mouth and sucking lightly before she swallows them.
The scotch and whiskey man is watching her. When she catches him, he smiles again and she decides that she likes his smile. It's lazier than before, half-caught across his mouth as if he's trying to figure out what to do with her.
"Haven't seen you before," he calls.
"Helping out a friend," she answers.
She looks around and everyone seems to be taken care of. Billie Holiday switches off and it's an instrumental and she's really missing that opportunity to take a hot bath, she thinks. Her shoulders are a little sore and she's going to have to be walking straight into a pretty rigorous rehearsal come Monday.
"I'm a regular," the man says. She catches his gaze again and she steps closer to his side of the bar. "I didn't know Puck had friends."
She laughs, shaking her head. "We grew up with each other," she adds, and he whistles. Her gaze softens though. "Noah's a good guy though. Thinks too much with certain parts of his anatomy, but there is a reason why we've been friends this long. And his mother."
Rachel flashes a wicked smile and the man laughs. It isn't long until she's called off again for customers. She remembers why she doesn't miss this.
It's a little after three when the bar closes and she finally sees Noah. She sits next to him while he counts his tips for the night. Her tips are already in an envelope and they're both waiting around for his boss.
The band's already left for the night. She knew the bassist, Artie or whatever. He's a nice guy and took contemporary composition with her back in school. They weren't friends, but it's still nice to see a familiar face here and there.
When Noah finishes counting, he's grinning and she's rolling her eyes. He says nothing about how much he's made and she's pretty sure it has everything to do with the drunken, if not misplaced, nipple ring story the bride-to-be passed along time on her way out.
"So swapping stories worked out for you, huh?" she asks dryly, and his smirk deepens. He reaches for her envelope, but she smacks his hand away. "Never change," she says too.
He laughs, but it's short and it takes her a minute to realize that two drinks-whiskey is sitting down next to her. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled and cuffed to his elbow. His collar is opened too, wider than she remembers, with the next three buttons open at his throat.
"Thanks for helping out tonight," he says.
She's staring because Puck elbows her in the side. She manages to swallow and smile, shrugging. "It was nice," she says. Her voice is softer now without the music and she bites back a wince when she hears how husky it gets. Puck coughs into his hand and she swears she hears you would.
"I'm Will," he says too.
Part of her realizes that Puck's boss spent most of the night watching and talking to her, but really doesn't know how to process that. Will, she corrects herself. He's handsome, in strange, classical kind of way. She's caught off-guard by his smile too and the way she can feel her eyes slide along the column of his throat, as she studies him lazily. He's sliding her tips over to her and she makes a sound of protest, dropping her hand back over his to stop him.
"It's fine," she murmurs. She offers a smile. "Keep it. Just don't give it to Puck."
"Hey - "
Rachel smirks, but she doesn't take her gaze off of Will either. He tilts his head to the side and she realizes that he's putting two and two together too. His mouth drops open and next to them, Puck says something like tips are mine anyway but she knows that he's just trying to be an ass. She still doesn't look away from Will either and then she sees that same lazy smile that rolls onto his mouth from earlier in the night. She's not flustered, she's curious, and that's probably a dangerous thing all around. But Rachel is never good at stopping herself either.
"Just buy me a drink next time," she says softly, and suddenly, that's the end of that.
Except she doesn't hear from him.
It's fine, really, it's fine and she's knee-deep in crazy hours again with rehearsals. Puck still drops buy for early breakfasts because their hours somehow manage to grab each other from time to time. But he makes no mention of Will either, as if he's waiting for her to burst out and just say it. The thing is, and he knows better than anyone else, Rachel has never been that kind of girl.
Thursday night has rehearsal wrapping up early though. Two of the choreographers have the flu and the director is swearing up and down it's because someone from the chorus went ahead and said MacBeth. Nobody laughs because the director is that kind of director and Rachel makes sure to hang back so that she can rub her ankle in peace.
Her co-star just took a sharp turn too fast, but then again, she thinks, no one's Jesse and the fact that he expects everyone to operate in the same panicked speed that he does - it's just not okay. So she sits on the stage as the janitor starts cleaning up and the lighting guys upstairs go over the schedule for the rest of the week.
It's a few moments of peace too, her fingers rolling over the bruise on her ankle and adjusting the ice so that it stays steady.
"Hey."
She looks up and Will is walking down one of the aisle. He's wearing a leather jacket and his shoulders are covered with snow. She bites back a groan and manages a smile all in the same split of time.
"Hi," she says breathlessly. She licks her lips and he stops in front of her, sitting off the side of the stage. Her free leg dangles and his fingers graze over her knee. She offers him another smile. "What are you doing here?"
"That drink," he says.
Rachel laughs. "That drink, huh?"
He grins and it's sheepish. She watches him run a hand through his hair. "It looks like I should have called first," he says. "Puck did give me your number."
She snorts. "Of course he did."
"He told me he'd save me the speech too since I sign his paychecks."
Rachel manages to laugh and the ice pack slides off of her ankle. She sighs and shakes her head, reaching for her boots. Nothing a bath can't cure, she thinks. She pulls her legs up onto the stage and slides her feet into her boots as he relaxes next to her still.
"Bad time then?" he asks. "I mean, I did want to come and catch you either way - but you look like you've had a day."
"Like you wouldn't believe," she says. She pulls her hair loose, her legs sliding off to the stage. She moves off the end carefully too, putting her weight on her ankle with a soft hiss.
When she looks up, Will is already reaching for her back. She can't help but blush.
"I just want to go home and take a long bath," she murmurs. "My co-star and dance partner was acting like the anti-Christ today and our director, I think, walked himself into a meltdown. So either a blizzard is on its way and people are preemptively freaking out, or it's just time to hide under my covers."
Will laughs. She doesn't know what it is about him either, but she's smiling and relaxing and it's just really, really strange for her to feel this open with anyone. He's pulling at her coat too, helping her into it before he offers to walk her outside to grab a cab to take her home. They don't really talk about anything either. Her arm slips into his and he tells her something about the customers that ask about her, how they can't believe that she was there, and she makes a joke about coming back every once in awhile.
It's just that, outside, plans change too. "Let me take you home," he says.
The universe, as it turns out, is determined to let her have that bath. Will says something about making her dinner and she lets him, glad that for once, she actually has food in her apartment and not Thai from down the street. Thanks to Puck too, there's a mix of serious wine and liquor and she just tells him to help himself out.
She reemerges though, half-drawn by the smells. Her hair is wet and loose and she has a towel wrapped around herself, clutched at the front by her hand and a knot against her breasts.
It's a terrible idea, she thinks. It's just that she can't stop herself.
"Mmm."
He's in her kitchen and when he turns, his eyes darken. The corners of his mouth turn and she doesn't even bother with the apologies, making her way to see what he's doing for dinner.
"I poured a scotch," he says next to her. She's aware of the glass at her hip. He's made a tremendous stew and she's laughs when he pulls in his spoon, only to lift it to her mouth for her to try. She blows at the broth lightly and leans, tasting it.
"Good?" he asks too.
She nods. "Really delicious," she says. Her fingers flex against her towel. She can't help but smile at him. His fingers brush over her mouth, his thumb catching some bit of an invisible spill against her lip. She bites lightly at his finger. "But you only poured one glass."
"I like sharing," he says.
Rachel laughs. "You do?"
"No." His fingers catch her chin and then he's bending over her, his mouth grazing hers before he smiles too. "I'm terrible at it, really."
"We have something in common then."
He laughs then too, or it's her, again, but it really doesn't matter because he's kissing her and the grip she has on her towel completely disappears. She can feel the fabric slip from her skin, just as his mouth opens against hers, and when she brushes her tongue against his, it's his hand that opens against her naked hip.
It's good to know, after all.
Rachel finds that she likes the way he spreads her out over the kitchen floor. Both his hands wrap around her thighs and it's his tongue that slides over her clit, dragging lazily along her slit and into her pussy. She makes a soft sound and digs her fingers into his hair, rolling her hips against his mouth.
"I've never done this - this before," she breathes, and she feels him grin against her skin. He slides a finger inside of her, drawing back to watch her too. Her hips jerk and she lets her head roll back as he slides a second finger inside of her too.
He doesn't answer either, and it's a flick, a twist of his wrist as he starts to unravel the rhythm he wants to watch her in. His fingers feel long and hard, but she wants more, she thinks, she needs more than that from him. So she watches him too, her hands cupping her breasts, running lightly over her skin and then her belly too. She lets her hand drag back into his hair and she tugs and tugs, until he lets out a laugh and shifts up to kiss her.
He calls her baby when he wraps his hand around his dick, when she watches him stroke himself, legs still spread and still wet and aching. Her mouth curls and she gives him a lazy smile, shifting so that he can drag his weight over her and then guide himself inside of her too.
"God," he hisses. "Rachel - baby."
She lets out a shaky laugh and hooks her leg around his hip. She moans when he presses himself against her harder. The floor is cool and slick against her back, but it doesn't even matter because he's inside and when he bites at her neck, she almost sighs with relief.
"You feel so good," she breathes, and it's intense, maybe too intense, the ache that happens when his dick starts to slide in and then out of her. The sensation is heavy and it's just the way it feels when his skin slides over her skin, how slick he's making her and just knowing that she's getting to him the same way.
He's settling all of his weight into her now, and she's pumping into him pleas, half-mumbled and lazy and biting at his ear. She just wants him to fuck her and when he picks up the pace, he's driving his dick into hard and fast and deep. Her hands dig into his back and she throws her head back, feeling his teeth slide over her skin, her fingers curling into his hair.
Her nails break skin and he hisses. "You're so fucking tight," he breathes, and she can feel herself start to clench around him.
She doesn't know how it ends, or cares, because she's breathing into his neck and he's lifting her, resting back on his knees so that she can ride out the rest of his orgasm, her orgasm, so he can watch her all the same.
It's just like that first night anyway.
They never have that drink, or dinner for that matter; somehow, Rachel still end up half-naked in his shirt, in his kitchen and a week later, above the bar and eating leftovers from Will's Thai place down the street. She bites lightly at a piece of corn when Puck comes in, neither knocking nor surprised to see her here.
"It's four in the morning," she says.
He laughs. "Bar's closed," he says and rolls his eyes. "Will's on his way up - I figured I'd ask him for pointers and tips tonight."
"You're full of it," she shoots back.
She's here because most of the city is shutting down for the impending blizzard and Will told her to come here since her rehearsals are over for the week. She doesn't know what they are. She doesn't care. It's just nice to have sex and just figure it out as she goes along.
That's how she knows she been friends with Puck too long anyway.
Will comes in after Puck and heads straight for her, wrapping an arm around her waist and brushing his mouth against her neck. Her lips curl. Puck's eyes narrow and for a second, the energy in the room seems to be a little too much. Rachel is calm though and she rubs her fingers lightly against Will's arm and manages to roll her eyes back at Puck.
He seems completely at ease with inviting himself in further, moving to sit on one of the stools at the kitchen bar. When he steals the rest of her food, Will groans and it's just that easy, really, for her to do.
She's dead serious when she says it too. "You started this."
Puck laughs the loudest, of course.