if I could tell you 7/?
Title: If I could tell you
Chapter: 7/?
Rating: M
Characters: Puck, Rachel, OC
Word Count: 4300
Summary: Puck and Rachel get another chance when unexpected events bring her to his doorstep years after graduation.
*****
By the time she's buckled Connor into his car seat and set out on the now-familiar route across town, she's worked it all out in her head. Of course Noah's ready to have some time to himself, he's practically been glued to her apartment for the last three days, fixing, cleaning, lifting and lugging everything in sight and she can't help worrying that homemade waffles for breakfast is a poor return for all his assistance. (In her defense, she did buy him real maple syrup to go on top.) Chances are he's dying to get back to his normal schedule, to have his apartment to himself and spend time with friends (and girlfriends) that don't have quite so many immediate needs to tend to.
The best thing to do is have a quick dinner and then she and Connor will make an early night of it. Well possibly the best thing would be for them to spend the night in their own apartment, with or without Connor's pajamas, but since Ray's already set up his painting gear and cranked up the Eagles ("I like always paint better to 'Desperado') to top volume, Noah's going to have to deal with them for one more night.
She's determined to give him all the space he needs and when they arrive, she keeps Connor occupied in their room (scratch that, Noah's guestroom) so that he can get a little more time to himself.
That lasts about twenty minutes until the delivery person, plugged into an enormous set of headphones, arrives with their pizza. She's standing in the doorway with Noah, handing him cash to split the cost, when the teen breaks into falsetto, crooning, "You want it, you got it! If you want it, baby you've got it. Just bust a move!" While naturally she knows that he's most likely singing the summer's dance remix of the Young MC classic, all she can think about is Will Schuester's strange obsession with rap and when Noah catches her eye and grins, she knows he's thinking about the same thing.
They manage to contain themselves until the door closes and then they both burst out laughing, leaning against the door together with Connor dancing around them, delighted, even if he doesn't understand it. Then they sit on Noah's living room floor because Connor wants a picnic and eat their pizza and discuss Mr. Schue's most memorable performance. (She maintains that the shock value secures 'Gold-digger' the top spot while Noah argues that the extreme inappropriateness of his Lil' Wayne medley senior year should be awarded extra points.)
From there they move on to other New Directions performances. Noah is forced to go to his bedroom and pull out his old guitar from under his bed to prove that he still remembers the tune to 'Big-Ass Heart' and she's absolutely rolling on the floor laughing at the way he hums the inappropriate bits instead of singing them. (She's also wondering why he isn't playing the gorgeous new guitar on the stand right in front of him, but seeing that Gibson is like seeing an old friend and she doesn't want to question it.)
Over time and a second bottle of beer, the stories get a little more personal.
"You did not!" she squeals, tossing a throw pillow at his head from her spot in front of the couch.
He dodges and stuffs his last bite of pizza in his mouth. "Given the length of your skirts? Totally did. Seriously, you doubt me? I'm hurt, Rachel."
She flicks a quick glance through to the kitchen where Connor is making a tower with all Noah's plastic containers and then rolls her eyes at him. "Well, you I suppose I can believe, but Matt Rutherford was always so sweet!"
"Don't you believe it. Matty got a lot of play and anyway it was his idea in the first place. He even made up a chart: color, cut, material, how likely they were to match your knee-socks. If only you had spun a little faster we could have gotten some actual data," he says wistfully.
While the fifteen-year-old her might possibly have been offended at the thought of those two miscreants hoping for a glimpse of her panties, she can't raise up much indignation about it now and though she's trying hard to glare at him, she knows her lips are twitching in amusement. (The rest of her is feeling something else, something a little warmer.)
Still, sitting there across from her with a hint of his old brashness in his smile, he looks entirely too pleased with himself.
"I demand reparations," she says firmly. "You owe me another song."
"How do you figure that?" he asks. "I mean the way I see it, I've already relived my first attempts at songwriting for your entertainment. Where's the give and take? Bring on 'My Headband.'"
"I would...but sadly I've completely forgotten the lyrics," she laughs, leaning forward so she can pat his leg. "Sorry."
"Likely story," he teases back. He stands, stretches (his shirt rides up and he's right in front of her, and so is that little strip of skin the movement reveals...mmmm) and collects the plates, taking them into the kitchen and she should make herself useful instead of gawking. Moving to the side table she starts to collect the cups and napkins (while Connor seems to think that his shirt is perfectly adequate to wipe his mouth with, she'd rather not encourage that) and makes a mental note to leave a lidded plastic cup with Noah for the next time they visit.
Of course, she's only presuming that he wants them to visit again. But he does seem to enjoy spending time with Connor and they've had a nice evening together and maybe instead of disappearing into her room (again, his room, she needs to remember that) after bedtime, they could curl up on the couch and watch a movie together. Does he own Funny Girl? Probably not. And there's no way she's watching Fight Club again or whatever else in that genre he's obsessed with these days. What about...."Oof!"
In retrospect, she should have been paying less attention to Noah's likely movie selection and more attention to where she was going because when she turns to bring everything back to the kitchen, she slams straight into him.
She drops everything and bounces backwards, eyes watering a little because she hit face-first (actually nose first) and his arms fly out to catch her, gripping her tightly by the shoulders and they both overbalance and end up pressed together from chest to thigh for a moment.
"You okay?" he asks and she must have hit him harder than she thought because he's out of breath.
"Um...I think so," she replies, bringing one hand to her face and wincing. "Sorry." She'd say more, but he's still very close and the faint spicy smell of the his soap or cologne or whatever it is, is both very familiar and also very distracting.
"Did you bump yourself? Right here? Ouch," he murmurs, rubbing the bridge of her nose with one fingertip and she kind of (completely) gets caught up in the moment because he's looking at her in that way again and when her tongue darts out to wet her lips, his eyes are tracing the movement and neither of them are moving back as fast as they should be or even at all and she really wants....
"Who are you? And what the hell is going on here? Puck?"
The two of them jump apart like a bucket of cold water has been thrown on them, which in effect, it has, and Rachel peeps around his shoulder to see a tall blonde with her arms crossed, tapping one angry foot in the doorway.
Oh shit.
Noah frowns down at her briefly (wait, did she say that out loud?) before putting a comforting hand on her elbow. That's probably a mistake on his part because the woman (Jen. You know her name Rachel, don't be catty.) starts in with a few choice words and she's shocked and possibly guilty enough to let them fly over her head. Well, she catches the word hussy several times, or at least she hopes to god it's hussy, and Noah's saying something like 'old friend' and 'it's not what it looks like.'
Oh dear. If she thought it would be at all helpful, she'd advise him to avoid that exact wording in the future.
In the middle of the fray, her son walks out of the kitchen and straight up to her. Looking up, he tugs on her hand. "Mommy, that lady said a bad word," Connor says placidly. "You did too." Turning to Noah he asks, "Are you going to play with me now?"
*****
Son of a bitch.
'It's not what it looks like'?
God, he wants to kick his own ass for that one because in his experience that particular phrase does nothing but make you look as guilty as hell. Which (technically) he is not. Fuck, when Rachel slammed into him it's not like he was going to let her fall and hurt herself or something (there's a tiny part of him that still feels a little guilty for the buttered-floor thing junior year). And after that? He was just making sure she was okay and it's not like he was doing it with his lips or anything.
Okay, he wants to. But he wants to kiss Mila Kunis too and that's not happening any time soon either.
It takes a while for him to explain things while Rachel and Connor disappear into their room.
"So let me get this straight," Jen says sharply. "This woman from your former Glee Club shows up on your doorstep with a kid...and by the way, what the hell is a Glee Club and in what universe would you be part of one?"
"That's...kind of a long story, actually." So there may be a few things he's never really gotten around to telling her about. Sure, Jen met his mom and sister the last time they were visiting (not like he had much of a choice on that one actually) but other than that they don't exactly talk much about his past. He's got a photograph or two lying around, but that's it. Shit, half the reason he moved out here was to get away from all that small-town bullshit, particularly when it's a small town that's seen and enjoyed every misstep you and your family has ever made.
"Never mind. She's living here?"
"Just for a couple of days," he says defensively. "While her apartment gets fixed up."
"Well, I had to ask. I mean she looks awfully comfortable here and I have to assume that's her soygurt in the refrigerator. Not to mention the fact that she's currently reading bedtime stories to her son in your spare bedroom. The child that you assure me isn't yours."
"No. Connor isn't mine," he grits out, trying to hold on to his temper. "I told you that. Rachel and I ran into each other once in Lima about two years ago and that's the extent of it since high school."
"Well then," she snipes back, "Forgive me if I'm a little confused because you know what, Puck? It's strange that a woman you've seen once in a decade shows up here out of the blue, it's strange that you moved her in here when giving her the number of a decent hotel would have been sufficient and most of all, it's strange that this is the first I've heard of it. What exactly am I supposed to think? Especially when I cut my trip a day short and came straight from the airport especially to be with you."
Truth? He hasn't figured out what he should be thinking about the whole damn mess himself.
"Hell if I know," he says firmly. "But I can tell you this. She's my friend and I'm not turning my back on her or her kid."
Like on cue, Rachel and a mutinously scowling Connor re-appear with (fuck) that damned backpack over her shoulder. "We're just about ready to go, so...."
"Wait, what about your apartment?" he asks, at the same time Connor is muttering, "I said I want to play!" and he's caught between smiling and trying to bury the stupid pang of disappointment he's feeling.
"I've already called Ray and told him to put away the paint and brushes for the night." She turns to him. "Thank you so much for everything, but we shouldn't take advantage of your hospitality any longer."
"Don't go," Jen says suddenly.
Huh? That's...surprising and he's got to admit the abrupt turn around is kind of fucking with his head.
"I'm sorry?" Rachel says cautiously.
"I should be the one saying that to you," Jen smiles brightly. "I have to admit that I was somewhat taken aback at first but stay for a few minutes and we can get to know each other. I won't keep you for long because I'm sure you're dying to get home and tuck this adorable little munchkin into bed..." She gives a little wave to Connor who keeps his hand firmly wrapped around the hem of his mother's shirt and he doesn't entirely blame the kid because Jen's kinda showing a lot of teeth. "...but since you and Noah are such old friends, we should be friends too."
"Um...well, I suppose we could...," Rachel says, and if that glance she's shooting him is meant to be a request for guidance, he's got nothing.
"Of course you can!" Jen says, seating herself on the couch and patting the spot next to her. "So, I understand you're re-decorating? Tell me more about that."
Awesome. There's no possible way this can go wrong.
He looks down at Connor who's yanking clothes and shit out of the backpack in an attempt to get at his toys (he gets a flash of panty and fuck, is that lace?).
"All right kiddo," he says, "looks like it's just you and me for the moment. What do you want to do?"
*****
Rachel and Connor leave after an awkward half hour and now it's just him and Jen (still awkward, but whatever) and once he's done asking about her trip, neither of them seem have much to say. He offers her something to eat, but she says that she's already had a bite and that she's going to take a long shower to wash the airport smell off. (She looks fine, so is it shitty that he thinks she's mostly just pissed that she had to fly coach again?) He picks up a little and then settles down on the couch with the last of the six-pack to watch the Giants-Padres game. By the time Jen gets out of the bathroom, San Francisco actually has a no-hitter going in the seventh, so apparently that means it's time to talk.
"She is just so sweet," Jen chirps as she sinks down next to him on the couch.
"Who, Rachel?" he asks, surprised, looking away from the screen.
"Yes, Rachel," she says acidly and then when he blinks, the smile is back.
"Yeah, I guess," he replies and he's not trying to be a wise-ass, there's just a million things he thinks about Rachel: she's tough, stubborn, funny, talented and sexy as fuck. Sweet doesn't even make the top ten.
"I do feel a little sorry for her, though" Jen says with a sigh. "It's so hard to meet new people when you move to a big city like this. It must be a such huge transition for her. There must be a book group somewhere in her neighborhood, or maybe she does scrap-booking or knitting. I could get my legal assistant to do some research and make up a list."
Knitting? Connor would stab someone with one of the needles in under three minutes. "I don't think that's...."
"It's really no problem, Sandi doesn't mind. Wait, here's an even better idea. We could set Rachel up with Neil!"
All of a sudden, the pizza isn't sitting well in his stomach at all and he takes another swig of his beer. "The guy from accounting? I don't think so. Isn't he like, forty or something?"
"He'd be perfect! I'm almost certain he has kids so they'd have something in common and besides that means that unlike here, his place is bound to be child-proofed. Connor is a little doll, but I don't know how Rachel isn't a total wreck what with all the sharp corners and choking hazards and breakable things around here. I know my heart was in my throat when he was grabbing at the guitar I got you for your birthday last year."
"The guitar was fine," he says shortly, trying to cut her off before she starts going on about how he never plays the thing (it's a beautiful vintage Martin D-45 Dreadnought, but the damn thing costs more than the car his mother drives). "And look, Rachel's just barely out of her marriage, so I seriously doubt she's looking for something like that right now."
"And that would be with Connor's father? Do you know him?"
"I knew him. We all went to high school together." Among other things. And this? This is why he doesn't talk about high school. Or Lima. Or Finn, Rachel, or really any combination that includes any of them.
"Oh, were they high school sweethearts? That's so sad! Do you think there's any chance of them getting back together? For Connor's sake I mean."
"Rachel and Finn? No." Fuck, he hopes not, but even as she's saying it, he's remembering the maybe five minutes of junior year that he thought that Rachel was really over Hudson, (also known as the five minutes he thought he might have a chance). Didn't last then.
This is different, though.
It is.
Shit, Jen's still talking and now she's looking kinda pissy. What did he miss?
"So are you coming to bed or not?" she asks, standing and stretching in front of him.
"Um, yeah," he replies, trying to sneak a peek at the television screen where the Giant's pitcher has just issued a walk. "You go ahead and I'll be in as soon as the game's over. It's already the eighth inning, so I shouldn't be long."
"Choosing baseball over your girlfriend, Puck?" she says archly, making a tiny face.
Shit. "Jen, it's a no-hitter," he explains.
"A no-hitter? Aren't they supposed to hit the ball?"
He barks out a laugh. "You really want an answer to that?"
"You're right, much too dull. Anyway, I'm exhausted, so don't take long," she says, leaning down to kiss him.
She's only been gone a week, so why should it feel so strange?
*****
The Padres break up the no-no in the ninth for the tie and the game ends up going thirteen innings before San Diego pulls a win out of their ass with a bloop single. When he turns out the lights and slips into bed next to Jen, he's careful not to wake her. She said she was tired. He's being considerate.
*****
He wakes up early and pads quietly into the kitchen in his boxers to start the coffee maker. While he's at it, he throws some whole-wheat bread in the toaster and starts the kettle for her tea because she probably won't sleep in, even though she ought to be fucking exhausted, especially given their activities last night. (He allows himself a smirk because, yeah, it was a good night. Repeatedly.)
He's just digging through the cupboard for that almond butter shit that she likes when a pair of arms wrap around him from behind. "Hey! You didn't wake me," she pouts.
"Sorry, baby," he says soothingly, "You know what Doctor Wu said. You need your rest." He turns to face her and oh fuck, she's in one of his white dress-shirts and that's it. It's buttoned low, and he absolutely has to trail a finger down the vee of exposed skin, while the his other hand slides underneath up to her hip and jackpot, no panties. That and the noise she makes, a sigh that's almost a moan, has him hard in an instant and she knows it, pressing herself against him teasingly.
"Dr. Wu is an old fuss-budget," she says breathlessly. "You'd think he'd never seen a pregnant woman before."
He damn well better have because this guy is supposed to be the top OBGYN in the Bay area. Only the best for his girl and their tiny alien baby. (He's smart enough to keep it to himself but those ultrasound pictures are kind of freaky.)
"Besides, I don't want to think about Dr. Wu," she continues. "We've got the place to ourselves this morning and I want to finish what I started last night."
What she started?...Oh fuck yes! A good morning is getting better and better because she's sinking down to her knees in front of him and tugging his boxers down, nuzzling her nose and cheek against him and blowing a warm stream of air against his skin. Her small hand circles him and strokes him slowly, her wrist twisting just the way he likes, while she tongues his slit and then takes him in a few inches, all warm and wet around him, before backing off.
"Baby, baby, please," he whines and fuck you, he loves morning head and if he has to beg for her to hurry the hell up and suck his dick, it's totally worth it. He wraps both hands in her dark hair, still all tousled and curly from their wild night, not to guide her because Rachel is just so so so good at this, but because for some reason he desperately wants her to look up at him and she does, her brown eyes wide and her smile takes his breath away. (Well, that and the fact that she's licking her lips.)
Hold on. Something's not right.
No, forget it, fuck, he's an asshole. Rachel's hot mouth is on his cock again and her tongue is doing this thing along the underside that he loves, so what the fuck could be wrong? Not when he's brushing the back of her throat and she's swallowing around him and just like that he's so fucking close.
Rachel.
Damn it all to hell, he's fucking dreaming again and just as the thought appears in his head, all the pieces start to disappear, the kitchen, the smell of coffee, the gentle curve of her stomach, all of it is fading away...only not entirely.
Because even though he's opening his eyes in his own bedroom with the morning sun streaming through the windows, he's definitely got his hands wrapped up in someone's hair, only it's the wrong color and texture and more to the point, someone definitely has her mouth wrapped around him and is moving up and down only it's Jen, not Rachel. He's just...it's totally fucked up but...god...it feels so good and then before he can get his shit together, he's coming hard, spurting up into her mouth, and at the same time biting his bottom lip so hard he tastes blood.
In a few minutes he returns the favor. It's part of his code, hell, it's all of his code, and besides there's not single solitary reason why he shouldn't be fucking his girlfriend.
*****
After he's in the shower for a really long time, the hot water pouring down his back while he rests his forehead on the cold tile, unable to stop running it all through in his head. Shit. There's not a single reason not to except that he wants the wrong girl.
Chapter 8