The Best Man 1/?
Title: The Best Man
Chapter: 1/?
Rating: M
Characters: Puck/Rachel, minor Finn/Tina
Word Count: 2900
Prompt: "He's the best man. He's got three jobs. Keep the rings safe, get the groom to the church on time, and bang the maid of honour."
Hudson and the hard stuff is always a mistake. Really, Finn can drink beer all night long, no problem. Like who the fuck is going to notice when his goofy-ass smile just gets a little goofier? But anything over 7%, doesn't matter what it is, it's a nightmare. Tequila? He pukes everywhere usually starting with the taxi ride home. That kind of shit gets you blacklisted by cab companies. Whiskey? He gets in fights. Well, okay only one, but that was enough because Puck has no interest in taking on a bunch of drunk Yankees fans. He likes the Indians as much as the next guy, but there are some things you don't say about A-Rod in a sports bar in the Bronx. (Even if it's true.)
But son of a bitch, nothing is worse than rum, or maybe it's the mixers. If he's told Hudson once, he's told him a thousand times, stay away from anything that has to be decorated before you can drink it, but the fucker's obsessed with cocktails. Nine times out of ten all he has to deal with is listening to him talk about complete shit ("Seriously, it's like paper...and it's an umbrella! How does that even work?") and that's bad enough but at least then he can just nod once in a while and then throw a blanket on him when he falls asleep on the couch.
The tenth time?
"I love you, man! You know that, right?"
This, as Puck is trying to get the number of the sexy little brunette at next table. He throws her a wink before turning back to his roommate.
"Look Hudson, it's a little late to go gay on me here. Think of your fiancee, dude. Shit, think of the three grand you just dropped for that rock on her finger."
"Tina!" Finn's face brightens. "She's just so...wow, I still can't believe she said yes!"
Puck can't either, but hell, tastes vary.
"Yeah, she's awesome," he agrees easily, because it's true and also because hopefully Finn will spend the next half hour talking about Tina's tits and stop messing with his game. The brunette is eye-fucking him over her drink right now and it's been a while. (He's fucking busy at work right now, okay?)
"Puck, we've been through a lot together, like how you knocked me out of that tree in second grade and I broke my arm and that thing with the thumbtacks and...," Finn rambles on and on and shit, this is going to take awhile. Puck just sighs. For some reason when Finn really gets an idea stuck in head it's almost impossible to make him let it go. Privately, he thinks that's about the only thing that can explain three years of off and on Finn and Rachel bullshit in high school.
Now, of course, he's thinking about Rachel as he automatically checks the time on his phone. She's been done at the theater for over an hour now, so she probably isn't coming out tonight. It sucks, but it's not surprising; she's been kind of messed up ever since she ditched Eric-the-cheating-dickhead last month and Tina isn't around tonight to convince her ass out of the apartment that the two of them share. He notices this shit, all right? He's observant and he's been tight with Rachel for a while now, their sort-of friendship in high school developing into something more when he and Finn moved out here two years ago after scraping through OSU.
"...Figgins gave me detention for a week! And don't forget that time, senior year when you convinced Rachel that giving me a...you know...would be bad for her vocal cords and I never got a chance to...not cool, man."
What? Never? Totally filing that thought away for later.
"...and I wish you would put the milk back in the fridge when you're done with it. Spoiled milk tastes nasty and it's probably dangerous or something. But despite all that you're my best friend, and I wouldn't want anyone else by my side when Tina and I tie the knot. Buddy, I want you to be my best man."
Huh. Best man. He'd be kind of touched or something, if about 90% of his brain function hadn't moved straight to his dick the second Rachel and blow-job appeared in the same thought process. But only because she's always been sneaky-sexy and duh, blow-job and...oh fuck it, who is he kidding? He's been thinking about Rachel's mouth and the rest of her since Becky Solomon's Bat Mitzvah party in 8th grade. She blew him off that night which kind of pissed him off (for several years), but looking back, he thinks maybe she was just oblivious. (Some things never change.)
The girl at the table gets up to go to the bar, casting a flirtatious look at him over her shoulder. It's a pretty clear invitation, but whatever, he's kind of over it already. Her legs are good, but not great and her tits are too big. If he wanted fake, he'd be trying to convince Santana that she still wanted cock on the side.
Besides, getting out of this best-man shit is going to take all his concentration. Don't get him wrong, he's all in favor of Cohen-Chang making an honest man of his roomie, and God knows he looks good in a suit, but the entire thing sounds like a lot of work and his wedding strategy usually revolves around finding out how long the open bar lasts and then scoping the room for talent. Which in this case means....
"Yeah. Fuck, I'm on board. Let's get this shit done."
While Finn starts tearing up and hugging him, he's wondering if the best man has any pull when it comes to setting an early wedding date. Because now that he's had a chance to consider, he realizes two things. First: no question, if the fact that Tina and Rachel have been attached at the hip since senior year of high school means anything, Rachel Berry is going to be Tina's maid of honor. And second, ignoring all that other wedding crap (as he fully intends on doing), the best man only has three real jobs: keeping the rings safe, getting the groom to the church on time and banging the maid of honor.
He's pretty sure it's a rule or something and Rachel, she lives for that shit, right?
Well, he can hope so at least.
The thought of it puts him in a good enough mood that when Finn orders another three or four rounds (five? At some point he kind of loses track), he doesn't even make fun of the paper umbrellas.
*****
So fuck, he's not stupid. This is Rachel Berry and with her it's never simple (never boring either), so she's not going to fall into his lap just because he wants her to. If it were that easy he's have sealed the deal years ago.
Still, and it might just be because he's still a little drunk, he can't help thinking about how awesome it would be to wake up and just find her there in his bed. Naked for preference. With her on top and his hands on her tits, teasing and plucking at her nipples, while she writhes against him. And her mouth would be all swollen and red from kissing and her hair would be down around her shoulders and kind of mussed up like she's just been fucked. And then he's pushing up into her and she's throwing her head back and riding him and there's this kind of annoying-yet-familiar music coming from somewhere really close and....
Shit.
He's totally still asleep isn't he?
Groaning, he feels around on his bedside table for his phone, taking a glance at the clock at the same time. Who the fuck calls at 10:30 on a Saturday morning?
"Noah? I didn't wake you did I?" Rachel's voice is warm and vibrant and excited and it does nothing to help calm the situation that's currently tenting the bed-sheet draped low on his waist.
"Mmmmphh."
Morning's not really his thing.
She starts talking a mile a minute about Finn&Tina and isn't it exciting, Noah! and he's not really paying attention to because A: he feels like he's gargled sandpaper and B: he's using most of his available braincells trying to figure out how to to tell her that she should be his, like, yesterday. It turns out he misses some important details. Or actually, all of them.
"So is that all right with you, Noah?"
He risks opening one eye only to immediately squeeze it shut again against a stray sunbeam that's trying to stab him in the head.
"Noah?" Rachel asks again.
What? "Um, sure?" he hazards.
"Great! I'm just leaving now, so I should be at your place in about half an hour. Do you want me to pick up anything?"
He grunts something and she says a cheerful goodbye and hangs up. Half an hour? Fuck, he needs a shower. And coffee. And most of all a blow-job. But since he's not going to get that last one anyway, he settles for taking his cock into his hand, gripping it smoothly, sliding up and down, building on the curling heat low in his stomach as he tries to recapture his dream from earlier.
Rachel dripping wet against him, teasing the fuck out of them both as she drags her slit against the head of his cock. Rachel keening while he surges up into her, whispering filthy things into her ear.
He's stroking a little harder now, letting his thumb brush along the sensitive slit, keeping a steady beat and this isn't going to take long; the ache is just right as his balls begin to tighten.
Rachel calling out his name when he seeks out her clit and then the perfect rhythm; feeling her tremble and flutter around his length as she lets go.
His toes curl and his hips jerk into the air, seeking contact with someone who isn't there and then he collapses back and spurts hotly against his belly.
As soon as he can put a coherent thought together he wonders how much longer he's going to be able to keep on ignoring how fucking in to her he is.
Between that and everything else, he's a little late getting into the shower obviously, so she's waiting there in the living room when he gets out. Yeah, she's got a key just like Tina does, for emergencies, and you can bet your sweet ass she takes advantage of that whenever she's in the neighborhood and wants a clean bathroom. (Don't act so surprised: he knows how to keep his place clean, Miriam Puckerman runs a tight ship.) It's not like he cares, because she'll stay and shoot the shit if he's home, but it has been awkward once or twice, like last year when she let herself in to find him fucking some girl from Finn's office over the arm of the sofa.
Actually, 'awkward' may be down-playing it, Rachel hasn't sat on that side of the sofa since.
Right now? He can work with this, because he's basically naked except for this tiny-ass towel wrapped around his hips and her eyes are wide and he wonders if she knows that she's gripping her bottom lip in her teeth as her eyes roam all over him. It's not like a surprise; she's always loved the gun-show and the two of them have chemistry in spades, but whatever, he still likes it.
Then he sees what she's got in her hands and he legit moans.
Coffee. And not just any coffee, but coffee from his favorite place that's completely out of her way, and he knows without even asking that it's made up exactly the way he likes and he thinks he could totally fall in love with her for this.
Where the hell did that come from? Clearly what he means is that he'll fuck her extra good like she deserves.
Shut up.
Anyway it kind of kills the mood because she's giggling as he moves blindly to the cup and takes it from her, collapsing on the couch. It feels like his brain function is literally being restored in liquid form and there's a comfortable silence for a few minutes before he croaks out a fervent 'thanks.'
"It's my pleasure, Noah," she smiles, "I have to admit that I did have some idea of what I was getting into after Finn stumbled in around 3:00 AM. Somehow he missed Tina's bedroom and ended up sleeping on the kitchen floor."
Sounds like Finn. There's a reason he had to put child-proof locks on the window leading out to the fire-escape. "It probably made sense to him at the time. Rum last night."
She nods like that's enough of an explanation, which come to think about it, it probably is. "Are you hungry?" she asks.
"I could eat," he says cautiously because sometimes her idea of breakfast involves eggless eggs and that fake sausage that tastes like pencil erasers.
"Good, I brought bagels too," she says, disappearing into the kitchen.
Bagels? Daaamn, she's laying it on thick. Since he knows how her devious little mind works, he waits for it and she doesn't disappoint.
"And Noah?" she chirps, popping her head around the corner again. "Get dressed. We've got work to do."
Does he know this girl or what?
She isn't fucking kidding either. 'Work' ends up being a color-coded chart outlining the various wedding responsibilities she needs him to carry out.
"Planning a wedding takes a lot of effort and attention to detail and Tina and Finn are both extremely busy right now. Tina's got a gallery opening coming up in a few weeks and Finn been putting in a lot of hours at work," she says seriously, re-capping her pink highlighter and taking out a yellow.
It's true. Tina's finally starting to get hot after years of being exactly one step up from a starving artist and Finn does put in more hours than most selling advertising space for a local radio station, even if Puck knows for a fact that at least few of those hours are spent playing Angry Birds. He still gives her a look though because she might not be the lead yet, but she gets a ton of positive attention from the critics for playing Anita in West Side Story. And he's not exactly hurting for work either because a good sound engineer is always in demand.
"I know we're all busy," she adds, correctly interpreting his expression, "but they're going to need our help because Tina has her heart set on an early date."
Excellent. Only....
"Hey, T's not knocked-up is she?" he asks, a little worried. Look, it's not an unreasonable question. Just because Finn wasn't the one who did it last time doesn't mean he can't. Puck's pretty sure Ms. Holiday explained all that shit to Finn back in junior year.
"No," she scoffs, slapping his arm and adding shit to his 'to do' column.
"Okay, okay," he mutters. "Hey! Take it easy on that list, Rach!"
Not that he really minds. And there it is, the answer he was looking for earlier is smacking him in the face: probably not much longer at all.
Chapter: 1/?
Rating: M
Characters: Puck/Rachel, minor Finn/Tina
Word Count: 2900
Prompt: "He's the best man. He's got three jobs. Keep the rings safe, get the groom to the church on time, and bang the maid of honour."
Hudson and the hard stuff is always a mistake. Really, Finn can drink beer all night long, no problem. Like who the fuck is going to notice when his goofy-ass smile just gets a little goofier? But anything over 7%, doesn't matter what it is, it's a nightmare. Tequila? He pukes everywhere usually starting with the taxi ride home. That kind of shit gets you blacklisted by cab companies. Whiskey? He gets in fights. Well, okay only one, but that was enough because Puck has no interest in taking on a bunch of drunk Yankees fans. He likes the Indians as much as the next guy, but there are some things you don't say about A-Rod in a sports bar in the Bronx. (Even if it's true.)
But son of a bitch, nothing is worse than rum, or maybe it's the mixers. If he's told Hudson once, he's told him a thousand times, stay away from anything that has to be decorated before you can drink it, but the fucker's obsessed with cocktails. Nine times out of ten all he has to deal with is listening to him talk about complete shit ("Seriously, it's like paper...and it's an umbrella! How does that even work?") and that's bad enough but at least then he can just nod once in a while and then throw a blanket on him when he falls asleep on the couch.
The tenth time?
"I love you, man! You know that, right?"
This, as Puck is trying to get the number of the sexy little brunette at next table. He throws her a wink before turning back to his roommate.
"Look Hudson, it's a little late to go gay on me here. Think of your fiancee, dude. Shit, think of the three grand you just dropped for that rock on her finger."
"Tina!" Finn's face brightens. "She's just so...wow, I still can't believe she said yes!"
Puck can't either, but hell, tastes vary.
"Yeah, she's awesome," he agrees easily, because it's true and also because hopefully Finn will spend the next half hour talking about Tina's tits and stop messing with his game. The brunette is eye-fucking him over her drink right now and it's been a while. (He's fucking busy at work right now, okay?)
"Puck, we've been through a lot together, like how you knocked me out of that tree in second grade and I broke my arm and that thing with the thumbtacks and...," Finn rambles on and on and shit, this is going to take awhile. Puck just sighs. For some reason when Finn really gets an idea stuck in head it's almost impossible to make him let it go. Privately, he thinks that's about the only thing that can explain three years of off and on Finn and Rachel bullshit in high school.
Now, of course, he's thinking about Rachel as he automatically checks the time on his phone. She's been done at the theater for over an hour now, so she probably isn't coming out tonight. It sucks, but it's not surprising; she's been kind of messed up ever since she ditched Eric-the-cheating-dickhead last month and Tina isn't around tonight to convince her ass out of the apartment that the two of them share. He notices this shit, all right? He's observant and he's been tight with Rachel for a while now, their sort-of friendship in high school developing into something more when he and Finn moved out here two years ago after scraping through OSU.
"...Figgins gave me detention for a week! And don't forget that time, senior year when you convinced Rachel that giving me a...you know...would be bad for her vocal cords and I never got a chance to...not cool, man."
What? Never? Totally filing that thought away for later.
"...and I wish you would put the milk back in the fridge when you're done with it. Spoiled milk tastes nasty and it's probably dangerous or something. But despite all that you're my best friend, and I wouldn't want anyone else by my side when Tina and I tie the knot. Buddy, I want you to be my best man."
Huh. Best man. He'd be kind of touched or something, if about 90% of his brain function hadn't moved straight to his dick the second Rachel and blow-job appeared in the same thought process. But only because she's always been sneaky-sexy and duh, blow-job and...oh fuck it, who is he kidding? He's been thinking about Rachel's mouth and the rest of her since Becky Solomon's Bat Mitzvah party in 8th grade. She blew him off that night which kind of pissed him off (for several years), but looking back, he thinks maybe she was just oblivious. (Some things never change.)
The girl at the table gets up to go to the bar, casting a flirtatious look at him over her shoulder. It's a pretty clear invitation, but whatever, he's kind of over it already. Her legs are good, but not great and her tits are too big. If he wanted fake, he'd be trying to convince Santana that she still wanted cock on the side.
Besides, getting out of this best-man shit is going to take all his concentration. Don't get him wrong, he's all in favor of Cohen-Chang making an honest man of his roomie, and God knows he looks good in a suit, but the entire thing sounds like a lot of work and his wedding strategy usually revolves around finding out how long the open bar lasts and then scoping the room for talent. Which in this case means....
"Yeah. Fuck, I'm on board. Let's get this shit done."
While Finn starts tearing up and hugging him, he's wondering if the best man has any pull when it comes to setting an early wedding date. Because now that he's had a chance to consider, he realizes two things. First: no question, if the fact that Tina and Rachel have been attached at the hip since senior year of high school means anything, Rachel Berry is going to be Tina's maid of honor. And second, ignoring all that other wedding crap (as he fully intends on doing), the best man only has three real jobs: keeping the rings safe, getting the groom to the church on time and banging the maid of honor.
He's pretty sure it's a rule or something and Rachel, she lives for that shit, right?
Well, he can hope so at least.
The thought of it puts him in a good enough mood that when Finn orders another three or four rounds (five? At some point he kind of loses track), he doesn't even make fun of the paper umbrellas.
*****
So fuck, he's not stupid. This is Rachel Berry and with her it's never simple (never boring either), so she's not going to fall into his lap just because he wants her to. If it were that easy he's have sealed the deal years ago.
Still, and it might just be because he's still a little drunk, he can't help thinking about how awesome it would be to wake up and just find her there in his bed. Naked for preference. With her on top and his hands on her tits, teasing and plucking at her nipples, while she writhes against him. And her mouth would be all swollen and red from kissing and her hair would be down around her shoulders and kind of mussed up like she's just been fucked. And then he's pushing up into her and she's throwing her head back and riding him and there's this kind of annoying-yet-familiar music coming from somewhere really close and....
Shit.
He's totally still asleep isn't he?
Groaning, he feels around on his bedside table for his phone, taking a glance at the clock at the same time. Who the fuck calls at 10:30 on a Saturday morning?
"Noah? I didn't wake you did I?" Rachel's voice is warm and vibrant and excited and it does nothing to help calm the situation that's currently tenting the bed-sheet draped low on his waist.
"Mmmmphh."
Morning's not really his thing.
She starts talking a mile a minute about Finn&Tina and isn't it exciting, Noah! and he's not really paying attention to because A: he feels like he's gargled sandpaper and B: he's using most of his available braincells trying to figure out how to to tell her that she should be his, like, yesterday. It turns out he misses some important details. Or actually, all of them.
"So is that all right with you, Noah?"
He risks opening one eye only to immediately squeeze it shut again against a stray sunbeam that's trying to stab him in the head.
"Noah?" Rachel asks again.
What? "Um, sure?" he hazards.
"Great! I'm just leaving now, so I should be at your place in about half an hour. Do you want me to pick up anything?"
He grunts something and she says a cheerful goodbye and hangs up. Half an hour? Fuck, he needs a shower. And coffee. And most of all a blow-job. But since he's not going to get that last one anyway, he settles for taking his cock into his hand, gripping it smoothly, sliding up and down, building on the curling heat low in his stomach as he tries to recapture his dream from earlier.
Rachel dripping wet against him, teasing the fuck out of them both as she drags her slit against the head of his cock. Rachel keening while he surges up into her, whispering filthy things into her ear.
He's stroking a little harder now, letting his thumb brush along the sensitive slit, keeping a steady beat and this isn't going to take long; the ache is just right as his balls begin to tighten.
Rachel calling out his name when he seeks out her clit and then the perfect rhythm; feeling her tremble and flutter around his length as she lets go.
His toes curl and his hips jerk into the air, seeking contact with someone who isn't there and then he collapses back and spurts hotly against his belly.
As soon as he can put a coherent thought together he wonders how much longer he's going to be able to keep on ignoring how fucking in to her he is.
Between that and everything else, he's a little late getting into the shower obviously, so she's waiting there in the living room when he gets out. Yeah, she's got a key just like Tina does, for emergencies, and you can bet your sweet ass she takes advantage of that whenever she's in the neighborhood and wants a clean bathroom. (Don't act so surprised: he knows how to keep his place clean, Miriam Puckerman runs a tight ship.) It's not like he cares, because she'll stay and shoot the shit if he's home, but it has been awkward once or twice, like last year when she let herself in to find him fucking some girl from Finn's office over the arm of the sofa.
Actually, 'awkward' may be down-playing it, Rachel hasn't sat on that side of the sofa since.
Right now? He can work with this, because he's basically naked except for this tiny-ass towel wrapped around his hips and her eyes are wide and he wonders if she knows that she's gripping her bottom lip in her teeth as her eyes roam all over him. It's not like a surprise; she's always loved the gun-show and the two of them have chemistry in spades, but whatever, he still likes it.
Then he sees what she's got in her hands and he legit moans.
Coffee. And not just any coffee, but coffee from his favorite place that's completely out of her way, and he knows without even asking that it's made up exactly the way he likes and he thinks he could totally fall in love with her for this.
Where the hell did that come from? Clearly what he means is that he'll fuck her extra good like she deserves.
Shut up.
Anyway it kind of kills the mood because she's giggling as he moves blindly to the cup and takes it from her, collapsing on the couch. It feels like his brain function is literally being restored in liquid form and there's a comfortable silence for a few minutes before he croaks out a fervent 'thanks.'
"It's my pleasure, Noah," she smiles, "I have to admit that I did have some idea of what I was getting into after Finn stumbled in around 3:00 AM. Somehow he missed Tina's bedroom and ended up sleeping on the kitchen floor."
Sounds like Finn. There's a reason he had to put child-proof locks on the window leading out to the fire-escape. "It probably made sense to him at the time. Rum last night."
She nods like that's enough of an explanation, which come to think about it, it probably is. "Are you hungry?" she asks.
"I could eat," he says cautiously because sometimes her idea of breakfast involves eggless eggs and that fake sausage that tastes like pencil erasers.
"Good, I brought bagels too," she says, disappearing into the kitchen.
Bagels? Daaamn, she's laying it on thick. Since he knows how her devious little mind works, he waits for it and she doesn't disappoint.
"And Noah?" she chirps, popping her head around the corner again. "Get dressed. We've got work to do."
Does he know this girl or what?
She isn't fucking kidding either. 'Work' ends up being a color-coded chart outlining the various wedding responsibilities she needs him to carry out.
"Planning a wedding takes a lot of effort and attention to detail and Tina and Finn are both extremely busy right now. Tina's got a gallery opening coming up in a few weeks and Finn been putting in a lot of hours at work," she says seriously, re-capping her pink highlighter and taking out a yellow.
It's true. Tina's finally starting to get hot after years of being exactly one step up from a starving artist and Finn does put in more hours than most selling advertising space for a local radio station, even if Puck knows for a fact that at least few of those hours are spent playing Angry Birds. He still gives her a look though because she might not be the lead yet, but she gets a ton of positive attention from the critics for playing Anita in West Side Story. And he's not exactly hurting for work either because a good sound engineer is always in demand.
"I know we're all busy," she adds, correctly interpreting his expression, "but they're going to need our help because Tina has her heart set on an early date."
Excellent. Only....
"Hey, T's not knocked-up is she?" he asks, a little worried. Look, it's not an unreasonable question. Just because Finn wasn't the one who did it last time doesn't mean he can't. Puck's pretty sure Ms. Holiday explained all that shit to Finn back in junior year.
"No," she scoffs, slapping his arm and adding shit to his 'to do' column.
"Okay, okay," he mutters. "Hey! Take it easy on that list, Rach!"
Not that he really minds. And there it is, the answer he was looking for earlier is smacking him in the face: probably not much longer at all.