The Best Man 2/?
Title: The Best Man
Chapter: 2/?
Rating: M
Characters: Puck/Rachel, minor Finn/Tina
Word Count: 4100
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."
So now he's got Rachel's list stuck on the refrigerator with all the stuff he's got to do in order to get Finn married off and there's a lot of shit on it.
Some of it he can't complain too much about. Because who the hell else is going to come up with a playlist for the music? (No way they're going to suffer through some lame-ass DJ.) He loves his friends, but their taste in music sucks. Showtunes? Some Latvian punk band that only uses percussion instruments? Frampton? No fucking way. So yeah, he's got that.
He's also going to be in charge of picking up Tina's parents at the airport. Jackpot. Mrs. Cohen-Chang is sweet and makes these amazing pork-filled dumplings that she likes to push on him like they're some kind of gateway drug to the wild world of non-kosher food.
And speaking of food, cake-tasting? Best thing ever. Seriously, he and Finn go to like four different bakeries and pretend to take notes and fucking stuff themselves. And then Finn just gives the bakers his 'confused' face, and they bring out more cake. He's pretty sure they would have gone for five but Tina complains that it creeps her out when they keep calling each other late at night to talk about ganache filling. Whatever. Shit is delicious.
Some of the crap Rachel wants him to do, he's less enthused about. Especially number seven which is innocuously labeled 'wedding shower.' What the hell is a Jack and Jill shower anyway? Is Jack banging Jill or what, because otherwise he's not interested. That said, obviously, he's going to do it anyway. Spending extra time with Rachel is like the exact opposite of horrible and ever since this wedding thing came up he's been thinking that just staring at her legs might not be the best way to get her.
No, now he's going to stare at her tits too.
Kidding.
Or not really. Girl loves appreciation, and he's going to appreciate the hell out off her. So he holds her gaze a little longer, stands an inch closer, touches her more frequently. When he holds the door open for her, he crowds her a tiny bit, so she has to brush by him to get by. And she totally notices too. She's smiling and friendly like always, but when they're in a room together he can feel her eyes on him. And shit, it's hot outside, but those little sundresses: short, short, short, with thin straps that he could just ease down her shoulders and then the entire thing would slip off and pool at her feet. He doesn't remember quite so much skin being on view last summer.
Maybe she's trying to kill him. But if so, not until he's confirmed the caterers and done every other damn thing on his list.
Right, the list, the wedding: sometimes he forgets about that. He does make sure to bitch when he remembers though, but only so he can watch Rachel lose her shit when she thinks he's 'not living up to his responsibilities'. That's hilarious, basically like senior year all over again when she decided that he was going to a four-year college if it killed him. Yeah, him not her. When he mentioned that, she said the world couldn't afford to miss out on her talent. (He's not going to tell her, but he kind of agrees.)
Over time, the line between his jobs and her jobs start to blur and that's how he ends up shopping on a Monday afternoon about four weeks before the big day. He hates shopping and why, out of all her friends, she's dragging his ass out looking for some kind of 'non-traditional' bridesmaid's dress is beyond him. He doesn't even get the whole dress thing anyway since the wedding is at City Hall and the reception is in some crazy boho art gallery, not to mention that Tina is apparently 'constructing' her dress out of found materials.
It's his only afternoon off all week and he could be at the gym, or at a bar, or watching a game and where is he? Sitting on some crappy bench outside the dressing room of this vintage shop, which as far as he can tell means that the clothes here are old. Like as old as the prune-faced bat running the place who keeps licking her lips at him like she can't decide if she wants to eat him or fuck him or both.
Fuck, it's been forty minutes and judging by the running commentary trickling out to him, Rachel's rejected about five dresses already and he hasn't seen shit. Where the hell is she? Shouldn't she be out here, protecting him from whatever obscene thing is going on with the clothes-hangers at the register?
"Noah, I need you," Rachel's voice floats out over the curtain.
That'll do.
He gives the bat a look which he hopes she interprets as 'all right, gonna go fuck my very serious girlfriend all up and down your dressing room, so mitts off lady,' and head into the back.
And immediately changes his mind about shopping. It's a good, good thing. Really.
Rachel's in this long, sweeping emerald dress that makes her skin look great and fuck there's a lot of skin to see because it vees low in front with this complicated tie under her tits and he settles back against the door frame to enjoy the view.
"So, is it a yes?" she asks with a confident smile. Rachel Berry with six years of New York City under her belt knows when she looks good, and she seems to take his eyes burning over every inch of her as answer enough. She spins and practically her whole back is on view and she looks over her shoulder at him. "There's a little hook here." She reaches back and brushes the fabric at the small of her back. "Could you?"
Why, fuck yes, he could. He crosses over to her and finds the hook, hands brushing her soft skin when he fastens it, and then he runs his fingers along the straps that cross in the middle, before bringing them up to her shoulders.
Meeting her eyes in the mirror (and pleased as fuck because her cheeks are definitely pinker than they were) he tells her, "This is your dress, babe."
"It is, isn't it? Unfortunately it's going to blow my clothing budget for the month," she says, wrinkling her nose.
"Rach, it's used. How fucking expensive could it be?" he asks absently, rubbing small circles with his thumbs, and thinking about kissing a line from there to the nape of her neck.
"It's vintage Halston, Noah, " she giggles and twists so he can see the price tag dangling under her arm. He steadies her with one hand on her hip (totally unnecessary, but hot) and reads it.
Wow. Ouch. He got less than that when he finally sold his truck and yeah, it was a piece of shit, but this is a piece of fabric. Then again, maybe it is worth the money because this is a piece of fabric that she's clearly not wearing panties under. Or possibly just a thong. He spends a few very pleasant moments thinking about the possibilities when the scary sex-face lady comes back to see if they need any help. Now she's giving Rachel the eye, and he's pretty sure that what she means is help with a three-some, so he does his best to hustle Rachel out of there. Several hundred dollars and fifteen layers of tissue paper later, they make their escape.
And he's thinking that the whole thing wasn't all that bad. One store, one hour. It seems like his mother and his sister take way longer than that. And bonus, now they've got the rest of the afternoon to play.
"Hey, we're like five subway stops from my place," he says smoothly. "We could go hang out, kick back, have a drink. I'm pretty sure you left a bottle of that fruity vodka shit you like in the freezer from our last party."
"Oh I'd love to Noah, but this is my only day off all week, and I really need to find a pair of shoes to go with this dress," she says regretfully. "It takes me forever to find a pair I like."
Fuck. Well, on the bright side the universe is back in balance because he's right back to hating shopping.
*****
He doesn't see her all week, even if he thinks about her once or twice a day. Mostly naked. He's not even going to feel guilty about it, because today was so craptastic that if he didn't have Rachel's ass to focus on, he would have killed someone. Probably that talentless hack of a pop-princess who kept everyone waiting while she sent her 'people' out for a series of McFlurries all afternoon, only to take a bite and whine about the toppings. Seriously, he almost went all Berry on her ass and started yelling at her about the effects of dairy on vocal cords, not that it would have made much of a difference given how much autotune they had to use to correct her wavering key changes.
Bitch wouldn't have lasted a month in Glee club.
Anyway, he's been working since nine in the morning and now it's 11:30 at night and it's still like a million degrees out. And of course since he's bone-tired, he has to wait forever for his train and the AC is out on the car he's on, and when he gets to his building those stupid college kids in 2B have puked on the stairs again. Basically, he's in a shitty mood and the only thing keeping him going is the thought of collapsing on the couch with a beer and the Indians game.
That plan is shot out of the water as soon as he opens the door to the apartment to find Rachel, Tina and Finn sitting in the living room, giggling.
Somehow he doesn't really mind at all. (Maybe because the tank-top and shorts combination that Rachel's rocking would put wood on a dead man.)
"Nooooooah!" Rachel calls out from where she's sitting sideways, draped over the chair, with her tanned legs looking a mile long. Tina's looks up from Finn's lap where she's busily trying to unbutton Finn's shirt with one hand (and he's really, really trying to unsee where her other hand is) and smiles loopily.
"Hey man," Finn says cheerfully. "Guess what? We found a bottle of vodka in the freezer!"
Yeah, they did.
He goes to the refrigerator and gets a beer and it's a pretty easy choice to settle on the floor and lean against Rachel's chair, just letting the flow of their rambling conversation wash over him. Flicking on the television, he tries to concentrate on the Indians' closer putting the Twins out of their misery, even though he's very aware of Rachel's leg against his back and the way her hand comes to rest near his shoulder.
She waits until the final out and when he mutes the post-game commentary, asks quietly, "Rough day?"
"Pretty much," he admits, leaning back a little more.
Her fingers trail through the short hair at the base of his scalp and he has to fight back a shiver. "The sixteen-year old YouTube sensation?"
He kind of loves how she remembers that. "In the flesh. Way too much of it, actually. Flashed her panties to the entire sound booth twice."
She laughs, low and throaty. "The sixteen-year old you would have loved that."
"Fuck no. I definitely had better taste than that, " he scoffs. He did. Mostly. Still, it can't hurt to remind her of that. "Went out with you, didn't I?"
He tilts his head back to see how she's going react and she does look a little taken aback.
"For a week, Noah," she protests lightly.
He shrugs. "Hey, you dumped me. Not my fault your taste was all screwed up."
She narrows her eyes and is probably going start giving him all sorts of shit about that when a dull thud surprises them both. Finn and Tina are up. Well, Finn is anyway, and he's slammed Tina into the wall on the way to the bedroom. Probably hard for Finn to see where he's going with T trying to suck his face off. Looks like she's fine though: currently, she's pushing his jeans down with her heels, exposing a blue pair of boxers with little Marios running all over them.
Shit, he only wishes this was the first time he'd seen this. Go figure: Finn and vodka.
"Hey dickhead, bedroom," he hollers and without looking Finn gives him the finger, but he does fumble for the doorknob and the two of them crash inside. Literally. Sounds like Finn took out the lamp again. He pushes himself to his feet and turns back to Rachel, who's looking more amused than anything else. "They do this at your place too?"
She giggles and nods.
"Come on. We can listen to music or something in my room," he says, reaching for her hand and carefully pulling her up. She's a little breathless and wobbly on her feet and she looks up at him half-confused and half-suspicious, like she thinks it might be some sort of line. Fuck that. He's got way better lines. "Rach, you live in a converted brownstone: thick walls, good soundproofing. Here, not so much." Almost in response, he hears a high pitched squeal from the next room and then the unmistakeable sound of Finn's headboard hitting the wall again and again. "Let's go before it really starts getting noisy," he urges.
Rachel eyes go wide and she follows him without comment through the kitchen and towards his room, but she puts on the brakes right outside his door and leans up against it. "And what do you when you bring someone home, Noah? Try to compete?" she asks with a twinkle in her eye.
"You volunteering?" he asks , his mouth moving before his brain has a second to catch up.
She winks at him, she fucking winks at him, and sashays into his room, and you can bet your ass he follows, but she's already squealing and rushing over to the corner of his room, where his guitar is resting on its stand.
"Noah! Play for me," she begs, pushing it into his hands and then she curls up on his bed leaning against his pillows.
Fuck, he's dying to touch her, but he doesn't want to scare her off and besides, he's not sure how much of that fifth she's responsible for putting away. (He's not interested in being anyone else's drunken regret.) So instead he settles on the end of the bed and does some old Clapton because her dad used to play her his albums when she was little, singing a few of the lyrics at half-volume as he strums.
She joins in on 'Layla' (don't read too much into it), and they've always sounded good together but there's something different about this. Maybe it's because it's late at night or because it's just the two of them, or maybe it's even the way the dim light from the lamp in the corner falls on her face, but he's got this weird heaviness in his chest.
It's not the first time, not with Rachel anyway, and he's only ever had one way of dealing with it. So when the last note dies, he puts his guitar aside and his hand on her ankle, his thumb brushing the hollow behind the bone. He doesn't look up, not even when she props herself up and curls her fingers around his forearm.
"Noah?' she asks and he doesn't have a real answer but he moves his hand higher, rubbing soothing circles up her calf, leaning forward to drop a kiss to the soft skin on the inside of her knee. She inhales sharply when his tongue flicks out and tastes the same spot he just kissed and her grasp on his arm tightens as she draws him towards her.
He looks up finally, almost nervous, and her eyes are dark and her hair is tousled and her lips are parted and fuck regrets; suddenly nothing is as important as kissing her. His lips find hers and then his head is buzzing with the soft and sweet burn of his mouth tilted over hers. It heats up quickly, just like it always did, and soon they're exploring each other, trading control back and forth, tongues touching and then retreating before starting the teasing dance again.
It's heady and breathless and he moans when she takes his bottom lip between her teeth and nips, the sensation sending a shock all through him and shit, he can feel himself harden against her leg in response.
"Love it when you do that. I almost forgot," he mutters against her jaw, kissing a trail her to ear and sliding one hand to the edge of her shorts, dipping beneath to trace the lace edge of her panties.
"It's been a long time," she gasps, arching up against his fingers, while trying to tug his t-shirt over his head, yanking at it impatiently and throwing it to the floor.
"Too long," he says as he presses one finger against the damp fabric between her legs. "And I never got to do everything I wanted to do with you." He drops his head to her chest and mouths at one nipple through the thin fabric of her tank top, wetting it and then sucking, feeling it harden even through the material. "Never got to look at and kiss and touch those gorgeous tits."
"Feels good," she breathes and he watches as her hand drifts to her other breast, her fingers tightening around her nipple and teasing it and pinching it to a peak.
"So fucking hot," he groans. "Never got to do this either." He works his hand into his panties and she's so hot and wet and perfect, it's all he can do not to grind into her leg like a teenager as he slides one finger up into her. "God, baby, you're soaked."
"Wait, Noah, wait," she pants into his shoulder.
Shit. He buries a groan and pushes himself off her, but she doesn't yell, or leave. Instead she comes up to her knees, just inches from him and peels her shirt off, and his head is...he can't take his eyes off her, or his hands, or his mouth and he takes one peak into mouth, laving it with his tongue, fingers gliding back and forth along her spine, pulling her in closer. Her hands are moving between them, playing with the button of his shorts, carefully undoing his zip and sliding her hand inside to stroke his length back and forth.
"Fuck, Rachel." His hips thrust into her hand when she passes over the sensitive tip, and he captures her hand and pulls away before he loses it. He shrugs his shorts off and then eyes gleaming, lays her back on his bed. "I want to see you."
He finishes undressing her, sliding her shorts and panties off her gorgeous ass and there she is, propped up on her elbows, legs slightly parted and he can see the shine of arousal clinging to her skin.
"Well?" she asks boldly, undulating slightly under his gaze.
She's fucking amazing, every inch of her.
"Even better than I imagined," he says, touching her lightly, drawing imaginary lines on her thigh, tracing her ribcage just under her breast, feeling the rise and fall of her chest as her rapid breaths match his own.
"You imagined me?" she asks, spreading her legs more fully and pulling him impatiently in between them. "You imagined this?"
Hell yes. Probably better not to go into too much detail though.
"Baby, all the fucking time." He's hovering above her now, gripping one thigh almost roughly and as she pushes up towards him, his cock brushes against her slick pussy and he just wants to sink into her. Condom. A condom would be a good idea. Scrabbling through his bedside drawer, he finds one and hands it to her because he wants her hands on him again and besides he needs to know that she's as in to this as he is.
She smiles, eyes hooded, and it's so fucking seductive that he can't help kissing her again, thrusting his tongue alongside hers and then of course, he has to tear his mouth away so he can watch when he feels her slide it on, his forehead pressed to hers as she smooths it all the way down.
"Noah," she says quietly as she shifts restlessly underneath him.
"Rachel?" he murmurs, kissing her jaw, her hairline, the hollow behind her ear.
"I want you. I want you inside me. Please."
He groans and settles fully between her thighs and then he's slowly pressing in, an inch at a time. And fuck, she's so hot and tight around him that he just wants to pound into her, but instead, he bottoms out, shuddering, waiting for her response.
She calls out his name, and then, "more," her nails digging in slightly, pushing back and that's it, what he wants, what he's waiting for. He pulls out, snaps back in hard, loving the gasp she lets out, and the way she tries to bring him closer with her heels against his ass.
Settling into a rhythm, he guides one of her legs up over his elbow and he has to grit his teeth against the sensation, how good it is and how much he wants her. Her hands are everywhere she can reach and her back is arching, and her nipples are right there for him to lick and suck and nip, so he does, wrenching a moan from her.
Fuck, it doesn't seem like long, not nearly long enough until she's shaking and fluttering against him, so he flicks her clit gently, rubbing alongside it, and she's falling over the edge, bucking up and crying out against his shoulder. And watching that, and just her, all heat and slickness and the smell of sex mixed in with her perfume, it's all he can take and with two or three sharp jerks, he buries himself in her, pulsing into the condom, and she rubs his scalp gently as he shakes.
After, they're both quiet and it kind of freaks him out, but when he gets rid of the condom and turns out the light, she's right there, curling up under the sheet with him, head on his chest. Her hair tickles, but whatever, he's not inclined to move, maybe not ever again.
He falls asleep to the sound of her breathing.
When he wakes up the next morning, she's gone.
Chapter: 2/?
Rating: M
Characters: Puck/Rachel, minor Finn/Tina
Word Count: 4100
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."
So now he's got Rachel's list stuck on the refrigerator with all the stuff he's got to do in order to get Finn married off and there's a lot of shit on it.
Some of it he can't complain too much about. Because who the hell else is going to come up with a playlist for the music? (No way they're going to suffer through some lame-ass DJ.) He loves his friends, but their taste in music sucks. Showtunes? Some Latvian punk band that only uses percussion instruments? Frampton? No fucking way. So yeah, he's got that.
He's also going to be in charge of picking up Tina's parents at the airport. Jackpot. Mrs. Cohen-Chang is sweet and makes these amazing pork-filled dumplings that she likes to push on him like they're some kind of gateway drug to the wild world of non-kosher food.
And speaking of food, cake-tasting? Best thing ever. Seriously, he and Finn go to like four different bakeries and pretend to take notes and fucking stuff themselves. And then Finn just gives the bakers his 'confused' face, and they bring out more cake. He's pretty sure they would have gone for five but Tina complains that it creeps her out when they keep calling each other late at night to talk about ganache filling. Whatever. Shit is delicious.
Some of the crap Rachel wants him to do, he's less enthused about. Especially number seven which is innocuously labeled 'wedding shower.' What the hell is a Jack and Jill shower anyway? Is Jack banging Jill or what, because otherwise he's not interested. That said, obviously, he's going to do it anyway. Spending extra time with Rachel is like the exact opposite of horrible and ever since this wedding thing came up he's been thinking that just staring at her legs might not be the best way to get her.
No, now he's going to stare at her tits too.
Kidding.
Or not really. Girl loves appreciation, and he's going to appreciate the hell out off her. So he holds her gaze a little longer, stands an inch closer, touches her more frequently. When he holds the door open for her, he crowds her a tiny bit, so she has to brush by him to get by. And she totally notices too. She's smiling and friendly like always, but when they're in a room together he can feel her eyes on him. And shit, it's hot outside, but those little sundresses: short, short, short, with thin straps that he could just ease down her shoulders and then the entire thing would slip off and pool at her feet. He doesn't remember quite so much skin being on view last summer.
Maybe she's trying to kill him. But if so, not until he's confirmed the caterers and done every other damn thing on his list.
Right, the list, the wedding: sometimes he forgets about that. He does make sure to bitch when he remembers though, but only so he can watch Rachel lose her shit when she thinks he's 'not living up to his responsibilities'. That's hilarious, basically like senior year all over again when she decided that he was going to a four-year college if it killed him. Yeah, him not her. When he mentioned that, she said the world couldn't afford to miss out on her talent. (He's not going to tell her, but he kind of agrees.)
Over time, the line between his jobs and her jobs start to blur and that's how he ends up shopping on a Monday afternoon about four weeks before the big day. He hates shopping and why, out of all her friends, she's dragging his ass out looking for some kind of 'non-traditional' bridesmaid's dress is beyond him. He doesn't even get the whole dress thing anyway since the wedding is at City Hall and the reception is in some crazy boho art gallery, not to mention that Tina is apparently 'constructing' her dress out of found materials.
It's his only afternoon off all week and he could be at the gym, or at a bar, or watching a game and where is he? Sitting on some crappy bench outside the dressing room of this vintage shop, which as far as he can tell means that the clothes here are old. Like as old as the prune-faced bat running the place who keeps licking her lips at him like she can't decide if she wants to eat him or fuck him or both.
Fuck, it's been forty minutes and judging by the running commentary trickling out to him, Rachel's rejected about five dresses already and he hasn't seen shit. Where the hell is she? Shouldn't she be out here, protecting him from whatever obscene thing is going on with the clothes-hangers at the register?
"Noah, I need you," Rachel's voice floats out over the curtain.
That'll do.
He gives the bat a look which he hopes she interprets as 'all right, gonna go fuck my very serious girlfriend all up and down your dressing room, so mitts off lady,' and head into the back.
And immediately changes his mind about shopping. It's a good, good thing. Really.
Rachel's in this long, sweeping emerald dress that makes her skin look great and fuck there's a lot of skin to see because it vees low in front with this complicated tie under her tits and he settles back against the door frame to enjoy the view.
"So, is it a yes?" she asks with a confident smile. Rachel Berry with six years of New York City under her belt knows when she looks good, and she seems to take his eyes burning over every inch of her as answer enough. She spins and practically her whole back is on view and she looks over her shoulder at him. "There's a little hook here." She reaches back and brushes the fabric at the small of her back. "Could you?"
Why, fuck yes, he could. He crosses over to her and finds the hook, hands brushing her soft skin when he fastens it, and then he runs his fingers along the straps that cross in the middle, before bringing them up to her shoulders.
Meeting her eyes in the mirror (and pleased as fuck because her cheeks are definitely pinker than they were) he tells her, "This is your dress, babe."
"It is, isn't it? Unfortunately it's going to blow my clothing budget for the month," she says, wrinkling her nose.
"Rach, it's used. How fucking expensive could it be?" he asks absently, rubbing small circles with his thumbs, and thinking about kissing a line from there to the nape of her neck.
"It's vintage Halston, Noah, " she giggles and twists so he can see the price tag dangling under her arm. He steadies her with one hand on her hip (totally unnecessary, but hot) and reads it.
Wow. Ouch. He got less than that when he finally sold his truck and yeah, it was a piece of shit, but this is a piece of fabric. Then again, maybe it is worth the money because this is a piece of fabric that she's clearly not wearing panties under. Or possibly just a thong. He spends a few very pleasant moments thinking about the possibilities when the scary sex-face lady comes back to see if they need any help. Now she's giving Rachel the eye, and he's pretty sure that what she means is help with a three-some, so he does his best to hustle Rachel out of there. Several hundred dollars and fifteen layers of tissue paper later, they make their escape.
And he's thinking that the whole thing wasn't all that bad. One store, one hour. It seems like his mother and his sister take way longer than that. And bonus, now they've got the rest of the afternoon to play.
"Hey, we're like five subway stops from my place," he says smoothly. "We could go hang out, kick back, have a drink. I'm pretty sure you left a bottle of that fruity vodka shit you like in the freezer from our last party."
"Oh I'd love to Noah, but this is my only day off all week, and I really need to find a pair of shoes to go with this dress," she says regretfully. "It takes me forever to find a pair I like."
Fuck. Well, on the bright side the universe is back in balance because he's right back to hating shopping.
*****
He doesn't see her all week, even if he thinks about her once or twice a day. Mostly naked. He's not even going to feel guilty about it, because today was so craptastic that if he didn't have Rachel's ass to focus on, he would have killed someone. Probably that talentless hack of a pop-princess who kept everyone waiting while she sent her 'people' out for a series of McFlurries all afternoon, only to take a bite and whine about the toppings. Seriously, he almost went all Berry on her ass and started yelling at her about the effects of dairy on vocal cords, not that it would have made much of a difference given how much autotune they had to use to correct her wavering key changes.
Bitch wouldn't have lasted a month in Glee club.
Anyway, he's been working since nine in the morning and now it's 11:30 at night and it's still like a million degrees out. And of course since he's bone-tired, he has to wait forever for his train and the AC is out on the car he's on, and when he gets to his building those stupid college kids in 2B have puked on the stairs again. Basically, he's in a shitty mood and the only thing keeping him going is the thought of collapsing on the couch with a beer and the Indians game.
That plan is shot out of the water as soon as he opens the door to the apartment to find Rachel, Tina and Finn sitting in the living room, giggling.
Somehow he doesn't really mind at all. (Maybe because the tank-top and shorts combination that Rachel's rocking would put wood on a dead man.)
"Nooooooah!" Rachel calls out from where she's sitting sideways, draped over the chair, with her tanned legs looking a mile long. Tina's looks up from Finn's lap where she's busily trying to unbutton Finn's shirt with one hand (and he's really, really trying to unsee where her other hand is) and smiles loopily.
"Hey man," Finn says cheerfully. "Guess what? We found a bottle of vodka in the freezer!"
Yeah, they did.
He goes to the refrigerator and gets a beer and it's a pretty easy choice to settle on the floor and lean against Rachel's chair, just letting the flow of their rambling conversation wash over him. Flicking on the television, he tries to concentrate on the Indians' closer putting the Twins out of their misery, even though he's very aware of Rachel's leg against his back and the way her hand comes to rest near his shoulder.
She waits until the final out and when he mutes the post-game commentary, asks quietly, "Rough day?"
"Pretty much," he admits, leaning back a little more.
Her fingers trail through the short hair at the base of his scalp and he has to fight back a shiver. "The sixteen-year old YouTube sensation?"
He kind of loves how she remembers that. "In the flesh. Way too much of it, actually. Flashed her panties to the entire sound booth twice."
She laughs, low and throaty. "The sixteen-year old you would have loved that."
"Fuck no. I definitely had better taste than that, " he scoffs. He did. Mostly. Still, it can't hurt to remind her of that. "Went out with you, didn't I?"
He tilts his head back to see how she's going react and she does look a little taken aback.
"For a week, Noah," she protests lightly.
He shrugs. "Hey, you dumped me. Not my fault your taste was all screwed up."
She narrows her eyes and is probably going start giving him all sorts of shit about that when a dull thud surprises them both. Finn and Tina are up. Well, Finn is anyway, and he's slammed Tina into the wall on the way to the bedroom. Probably hard for Finn to see where he's going with T trying to suck his face off. Looks like she's fine though: currently, she's pushing his jeans down with her heels, exposing a blue pair of boxers with little Marios running all over them.
Shit, he only wishes this was the first time he'd seen this. Go figure: Finn and vodka.
"Hey dickhead, bedroom," he hollers and without looking Finn gives him the finger, but he does fumble for the doorknob and the two of them crash inside. Literally. Sounds like Finn took out the lamp again. He pushes himself to his feet and turns back to Rachel, who's looking more amused than anything else. "They do this at your place too?"
She giggles and nods.
"Come on. We can listen to music or something in my room," he says, reaching for her hand and carefully pulling her up. She's a little breathless and wobbly on her feet and she looks up at him half-confused and half-suspicious, like she thinks it might be some sort of line. Fuck that. He's got way better lines. "Rach, you live in a converted brownstone: thick walls, good soundproofing. Here, not so much." Almost in response, he hears a high pitched squeal from the next room and then the unmistakeable sound of Finn's headboard hitting the wall again and again. "Let's go before it really starts getting noisy," he urges.
Rachel eyes go wide and she follows him without comment through the kitchen and towards his room, but she puts on the brakes right outside his door and leans up against it. "And what do you when you bring someone home, Noah? Try to compete?" she asks with a twinkle in her eye.
"You volunteering?" he asks , his mouth moving before his brain has a second to catch up.
She winks at him, she fucking winks at him, and sashays into his room, and you can bet your ass he follows, but she's already squealing and rushing over to the corner of his room, where his guitar is resting on its stand.
"Noah! Play for me," she begs, pushing it into his hands and then she curls up on his bed leaning against his pillows.
Fuck, he's dying to touch her, but he doesn't want to scare her off and besides, he's not sure how much of that fifth she's responsible for putting away. (He's not interested in being anyone else's drunken regret.) So instead he settles on the end of the bed and does some old Clapton because her dad used to play her his albums when she was little, singing a few of the lyrics at half-volume as he strums.
She joins in on 'Layla' (don't read too much into it), and they've always sounded good together but there's something different about this. Maybe it's because it's late at night or because it's just the two of them, or maybe it's even the way the dim light from the lamp in the corner falls on her face, but he's got this weird heaviness in his chest.
It's not the first time, not with Rachel anyway, and he's only ever had one way of dealing with it. So when the last note dies, he puts his guitar aside and his hand on her ankle, his thumb brushing the hollow behind the bone. He doesn't look up, not even when she props herself up and curls her fingers around his forearm.
"Noah?' she asks and he doesn't have a real answer but he moves his hand higher, rubbing soothing circles up her calf, leaning forward to drop a kiss to the soft skin on the inside of her knee. She inhales sharply when his tongue flicks out and tastes the same spot he just kissed and her grasp on his arm tightens as she draws him towards her.
He looks up finally, almost nervous, and her eyes are dark and her hair is tousled and her lips are parted and fuck regrets; suddenly nothing is as important as kissing her. His lips find hers and then his head is buzzing with the soft and sweet burn of his mouth tilted over hers. It heats up quickly, just like it always did, and soon they're exploring each other, trading control back and forth, tongues touching and then retreating before starting the teasing dance again.
It's heady and breathless and he moans when she takes his bottom lip between her teeth and nips, the sensation sending a shock all through him and shit, he can feel himself harden against her leg in response.
"Love it when you do that. I almost forgot," he mutters against her jaw, kissing a trail her to ear and sliding one hand to the edge of her shorts, dipping beneath to trace the lace edge of her panties.
"It's been a long time," she gasps, arching up against his fingers, while trying to tug his t-shirt over his head, yanking at it impatiently and throwing it to the floor.
"Too long," he says as he presses one finger against the damp fabric between her legs. "And I never got to do everything I wanted to do with you." He drops his head to her chest and mouths at one nipple through the thin fabric of her tank top, wetting it and then sucking, feeling it harden even through the material. "Never got to look at and kiss and touch those gorgeous tits."
"Feels good," she breathes and he watches as her hand drifts to her other breast, her fingers tightening around her nipple and teasing it and pinching it to a peak.
"So fucking hot," he groans. "Never got to do this either." He works his hand into his panties and she's so hot and wet and perfect, it's all he can do not to grind into her leg like a teenager as he slides one finger up into her. "God, baby, you're soaked."
"Wait, Noah, wait," she pants into his shoulder.
Shit. He buries a groan and pushes himself off her, but she doesn't yell, or leave. Instead she comes up to her knees, just inches from him and peels her shirt off, and his head is...he can't take his eyes off her, or his hands, or his mouth and he takes one peak into mouth, laving it with his tongue, fingers gliding back and forth along her spine, pulling her in closer. Her hands are moving between them, playing with the button of his shorts, carefully undoing his zip and sliding her hand inside to stroke his length back and forth.
"Fuck, Rachel." His hips thrust into her hand when she passes over the sensitive tip, and he captures her hand and pulls away before he loses it. He shrugs his shorts off and then eyes gleaming, lays her back on his bed. "I want to see you."
He finishes undressing her, sliding her shorts and panties off her gorgeous ass and there she is, propped up on her elbows, legs slightly parted and he can see the shine of arousal clinging to her skin.
"Well?" she asks boldly, undulating slightly under his gaze.
She's fucking amazing, every inch of her.
"Even better than I imagined," he says, touching her lightly, drawing imaginary lines on her thigh, tracing her ribcage just under her breast, feeling the rise and fall of her chest as her rapid breaths match his own.
"You imagined me?" she asks, spreading her legs more fully and pulling him impatiently in between them. "You imagined this?"
Hell yes. Probably better not to go into too much detail though.
"Baby, all the fucking time." He's hovering above her now, gripping one thigh almost roughly and as she pushes up towards him, his cock brushes against her slick pussy and he just wants to sink into her. Condom. A condom would be a good idea. Scrabbling through his bedside drawer, he finds one and hands it to her because he wants her hands on him again and besides he needs to know that she's as in to this as he is.
She smiles, eyes hooded, and it's so fucking seductive that he can't help kissing her again, thrusting his tongue alongside hers and then of course, he has to tear his mouth away so he can watch when he feels her slide it on, his forehead pressed to hers as she smooths it all the way down.
"Noah," she says quietly as she shifts restlessly underneath him.
"Rachel?" he murmurs, kissing her jaw, her hairline, the hollow behind her ear.
"I want you. I want you inside me. Please."
He groans and settles fully between her thighs and then he's slowly pressing in, an inch at a time. And fuck, she's so hot and tight around him that he just wants to pound into her, but instead, he bottoms out, shuddering, waiting for her response.
She calls out his name, and then, "more," her nails digging in slightly, pushing back and that's it, what he wants, what he's waiting for. He pulls out, snaps back in hard, loving the gasp she lets out, and the way she tries to bring him closer with her heels against his ass.
Settling into a rhythm, he guides one of her legs up over his elbow and he has to grit his teeth against the sensation, how good it is and how much he wants her. Her hands are everywhere she can reach and her back is arching, and her nipples are right there for him to lick and suck and nip, so he does, wrenching a moan from her.
Fuck, it doesn't seem like long, not nearly long enough until she's shaking and fluttering against him, so he flicks her clit gently, rubbing alongside it, and she's falling over the edge, bucking up and crying out against his shoulder. And watching that, and just her, all heat and slickness and the smell of sex mixed in with her perfume, it's all he can take and with two or three sharp jerks, he buries himself in her, pulsing into the condom, and she rubs his scalp gently as he shakes.
After, they're both quiet and it kind of freaks him out, but when he gets rid of the condom and turns out the light, she's right there, curling up under the sheet with him, head on his chest. Her hair tickles, but whatever, he's not inclined to move, maybe not ever again.
He falls asleep to the sound of her breathing.
When he wakes up the next morning, she's gone.