He's talking to Santana after Glee practice, making plans to hook up later, when Rachel interrupts with a forced cough and an excuse me but could I borrow Noah for a moment?
Santana's lips curl and her nose scrunches up and it would be kind of funny, if it wasn't a sure sign he wasn't getting any later. "Whatever," she snaps, turning on her heels. She's halfway out the door when she calls back, "Oh and you can forget about tonight 'Noah'; I just remembered I have to wash my hair."
It's a kick to the balls but not unexpected so he sucks it up and turns to face Rachel. "Did you need something or was cockblocking me your end game?"
Her eyes grow large and her face turns blood red. "Cock…what…no…I just…," she stammers, sounding an awful lot like the Asian chick did in the beginning.
"I don't have all day Berry," he prompts, hitching his book bag farther up on his shoulder to drive home his point.
She sucks in a deep breath and nods, "Right. I was hoping I could coerce you into being the videographer for my latest MySpace project. It would only take an hour. Two tops."
"What's in it for me?"
Her lips purse in disapproval, "Why does there have to be something in it for you? Can't you just do it out of the kindness of your heart?"
"No," he states flatly.
"Fine," she sighs and he can practically see the gears turning inside her head. "I'll let you touch my boobs."
It's not the answer he's expecting but he plays along. "...Really?" he asks, stepping closer to her.
"No, not really!" she shrieks, pushing him back roughly. "But I will pay for pizza if you don't spend the entire time complaining."
-0-0-
He goes. Mostly because Santana's not answering his texts and Finn's still not talking to him so really, he has nothing better to do. That's what he tells himself anyway because he'd never admit that he kind of digs the Marsha Brady thing she's got going on with the knee high socks and short skirts, or that she's not quite as annoying when her mouth's not running, or that he kind of gets off on making her blush. No, he goes because he's bored and it's an open invitation into her bedroom.
Her dad's aren't home, so after the fourth ring with no answer he lets himself in and heads up the stairs. "Why am I here again? And why didn't you ask Finn to…" He steps into her room and the question freezes on his lips.
She's by her dresser, in the sexiest Santa suit he's ever seen. If it were guaranteed that something like that would shimmy down his chimney on Christmas Eve he'd have to seriously consider switching religions.
"You're staring."
He's at a complete loss for words, so he just nods and lets his eyes rake over her again, drinking in every inch of skin that's on display, every curve that's hugged tight by the shiny, red material. The scrutiny causes her to squirm and she clasps her hands in front of her in an effort to cover herself up but all that really does is draw his eyes to the swell of breasts that peek out over the low cut corset.
"Noah!" she finally cries.
The desperation in her voice sends the air rushing back into his lungs. "You do know you're Jewish, right?" he teases.
She relaxes a little. "I'm well aware, but some of my avid viewers are not and I thought I'd post something a little seasonal for them, to thank them for their support."
"Avid viewers...?" he asks.
She turns away from him, tugging on the skirt, and he takes a moment to enjoy the curve of ass that's peeking out from underneath the white cotton that lines the hem. All that dancing's done her good.
"Yes, I have quite the following. Believe it or not some people actually see my star potential."
"Your dads don't count," he chuckles, making his way over to the camcorder she has set up on the other side of the room. He adjusts the LCD screen and zooms in so that she's front and center before asking, "So are we going to do this thing or what?"
She smiles and nods a quick affirmative before reaching over and hitting the play button on her iPod docking station. He's heard the song before, recalls that it's one of Brittany and Santana's favorites, but the second the first syllable slides from between her lips he forgets all about the Cheerios because, if nothing else, Rachel Berry is mesmerizing when she's in performance mode.
Santa baby, just slip a sable under the tree, for me
Been an awful good girl
Santa baby, hurry down the chimney tonight
-0-0-
Three and a half hours later his ears are ringing and if he has to hear that stupid song one more time he's going to throw her iPod out the window. She opens her mouth to suggest they run it again but he quickly interjects. "Don't!"
Her mouth shuts and her lips purse together in a pout that may have been kind of hot an hour ago but now it's kind of infuriating. He's hungry, and bored, and painfully hard from the little dance number that had her spinning around and bending over and holy crap that skirt was way too short for that kind of thing.
He flops down on her bed, ignoring the appalled look she gives him when his dirty sneakers hit her pristine, white comforter. "I think it's time to renegotiate the terms of my services," he says, eyeing her from the corner of his eye.
She returns his look wearily. "You want Chinese instead of pizza?"
He pushes himself up so he's resting on his elbows and shakes his head no. "I want boobs. Boobs need to be back on the table."
She sighs and he braces himself for a lecture but it doesn't come, instead she furrows her bottom lip between her teeth and then concedes, "Fine. But over the shirt and if you tell anyone…"
"Deal," he interjects, letting the threat hang in the air.
And then she's there, in front of him, hands on hips, and eyes looking around wildly at anything and everything but him. He reaches out, circling her wrists and pulls her down onto the bed with him. Their bodies collide and she's finally forced to look directly at him.
"Noah, I…"
He shuts her up with a kiss. It starts out chased and light, but then her lips part and the tip of her tongue is teasing his, and he's suddenly starved for the taste of her. His hands fist into her curls, knocking off the Santa hat she'd been wearing and drawing her closer. Teeth graze, tongues tangle, and every time she moves she brushes against his erection.
She sighs into his mouth and he shifts beneath her, using his hip to guide her onto her back. His lips move across her cheek to the base of her ear. He nips it gently as his left hand moves up her side and his thumb lightly grazes the side of her breast.
"Noah," she purrs and he freezes because this is usually when she says something reasonable (read: stupid) that ruins his fun.
She's looking up at him expectantly, wide eyes and swollen lips and fuck he's got butterflies and he DOES NOT do butterflies. He's about to pull away, about to throw out an insult, and leave when her hands slide underneath the back of his shirt, soft skin against hard muscle, and he can't think of a single mean thing to say to her so he kisses her instead.
He kicks off his shoes and one knocks into the tripod the camcorder's resting on, it wobbles and shifts but luckily doesn't fall over. Rachel notices though and pulls away from him slightly. "You did remember to turn that off, right?"
"Yeah, of course," he replies, as he quickly pulls his tee shirt over his head, adding it to the pile that's growing on the floor. She watches with bated breath because she's never seen him without it and the sight is absolutely beautiful. He settles back between her thighs and she traces the planes of his chest with the palm of her hand savoring the feel of it.
"Did that hurt?" She asks, brushing a finger lightly over his pierced nipple.
He sucks in a sharp breath and tries to think about dead kittens, baseball, getting kicked in the gonads, anything to keep from putting an early end to their festivities. When he gets his hormones in check, he shakes his head no but answers, "Like a bitch."
She leans up and kisses the sensitive nub, letting her tongue glide over the silver hoop, and he instantly sees stars. Not just the one Rachel will undoubtedly become one day or the gold ones that adorn the walls of her room but brilliantly, blinding stars that dance behind his eyelids. Her hands start to move against his skin again, sliding down his abdomen and he feels her finger's fumble with his fly.
He reaches down to stop her and then looks her directly in the eyes. "Are you sure about this?" He asks, because once his pants are off he's not sure he'll be able to stop himself.
She nods, swallowing around the lump that's formed in her throat. Her fingers move beneath his, unfastening the button and gliding his zipper down. When she pushes the denim past his hips she's surprised to find he's not wearing any underwear.
"Laundry day," he mumbles against her skin, as the tip of his tongue slides along her collarbone. He dips lower, leaving a wet streak in his wake and when he reaches the top of her corset he feels her arch up to meet him.
It's glorious really, the way their hips move in tandem, the way she practically hums against his skin, the way her thighs part to accommodate him. He doesn't want to pull away, doesn't want it to end because the second that it does she's bound to realize she's made a mistake, a big mistake and she'll probably end up going right back to Finn. It wouldn't be the first time and she wouldn't be the first girl but it would fucking break him. So he just lays there, nose buried in her neck, drinking in the scent of her skin, the smell of her shampoo, the feel of her curls against his face and he thinks that if it were possible he'd want to stay right there, like that forever.
She breaks the silence. He's not surprised.
"I think it would be in the best interest for both of us and our vastly different reputations if we kept this between ourselves," she suggests.
And just like that her mouth ruins everything. He pulls away from her, dumps the dirty condom (contrary to popular belief he does learn from his mistakes) into the trash can beside her dresser because he knows it will horrify her, and pulls on his jeans before asking, "In the best interest of our reputations or in the best interest of your relationship with Finn?"
"He's your friend too, Noah." She replies, pulling one of the rumpled blankets up around her.
"He was my best friend up until you had that nasty bout of honesty. I guess the truth only applies to some secrets, huh?"
"That's not fair."
He can see her through the mirror. She's on the verge of tears and he can't help but think that it serves her right. A bright red light on the camcorder catches his eye too and it suddenly all falls into place. He turns, pinning her with a deathly glare and in an eerily calm voice asks, "The video, was it for Finn?"
She looks away and he has his answer. He's a fucking idiot because he actually cared, because he actually wanted to help. "Unbelievable," he mutters, grabbing his tee shirt and shoes from the floor. He's out the door before the first tear falls but halfway down the stairs he can hear her start to cry. It stops him in his tracks and for a fraction of a second he thinks of going back but then he thinks of Finn, and Quinn, and the baby, and the walls suddenly close in on him. He can't breathe, he needs air, and so he leaves. He climbs into the cab of his truck, turns on the ignition, and presses the gas pedal as far as it'll go towards the floor.
He wakes up with a splitting headache and his little sister pounding on his bedroom door, screaming at him to get up. He groans, slowly opening his eyes. A sharp pain pierces through his left temple at the first hint of light but he fights past it because he knows once his sister is done beating down his door it'll be his mother's turn and she'll be able to tell he's been drinking. With all the strength he can muster he pushes himself up out of bed, his stomach lurches and he nearly knocks the brat over on his dash to the bathroom.
He thinks about skipping school, about staying home, and playing sick but he doesn't want to give her the satisfaction. The best defense is a good offense and he has it on pretty good authority that she finds him completely offensive. So he'll go, and he'll smirk when he passes her in the hall, and he'll throw little innuendos at her during Glee practice because he won't give her the upper hand, he won't let her know that she's gotten to him.
"Are you alright, Noah?" his mother asks in concern, when he finally makes it downstairs. She puts the back of her hand against his forehead to feel for a fever but he bats it away.
"I'm fine, Ma." He reassures her with a kiss to the cheek, as he picks up a piece of toast and a glass of juice and heads out the door.
-0-0-
He knows instantly that something's off. The whispers and stares are nothing new, they started shortly after Finn found out about the baby, but there's an undercurrent to them this morning that sets him on edge. He spots Santana halfway down the hall and she's smirking, fuck that's not a good sign, but it's not until Rachel pulls him into the empty computer lab that he finds out how bad it really is.
She's furious. She's rambling on and on in a high pitched shrill that he can't decipher, all the while pulling a CD out of her bag and putting it into the disc drive of a nearby computer.
"If that's a mixed tape for Finn I don't want to hear it," he interjects, but she shoots him a look that shuts him up quickly.
"You told me you turned it off," she exclaims, once the computer is up and running and she has it where she wants it to be. She motions to the screen and he turns to see what she's talking about.
At first all he sees is the mirror in her bedroom but then the camera shakes and turns, and it's a crystal clear shot of her bed with him and her on it. He's shirtless and she's wearing that stupid Santa suit and he suddenly feels sick all over again.
"You told me you turned it off," she repeats, crossing her arms in front of her and narrowing her eyes at him.
"I did…or at least, I thought I did," he replies. He reaches for the eject button and takes the disc out.
"Look it's not that big of a deal, we'll just destroy the thing. You can buy Finn a card like a normal person."
He breaks the CD in half and then breaks each half again before handing all the pieces back to her. "There. Problem solved."
She shakes her head and slaps the pieces down on the computer desk. "The problem's not solved, Noah!" she cries. "Because I uploaded that video to my MySpace account last night."
"So take it down."
"I did, this morning but it already had over a thousand hits. Apparently Santana emailed the link to the entire student body."
"Does Finn know?"
"No, not yet, but it's only a matter of time before someone tells him."
"Fuck!" He kicks the chair and it bumps into the desk, sending the broken bits scattering. "It's gone now, right?" he asks. "It's been deleted, destroyed, whatever. I mean even if someone tells Finn there's no proof, no one could have made copies or anything, right?"
"I don't think so."
"You don't think so? Jesus Christ, Rachel! We need to be sure, one hundred percent sure, that it's gone for good."
"I don't know, okay! I'm not a computer genius. I know how to edit and post. That's it."
"This is bad," he sighs, rubbing at the headache that's gone from sixty to a thousand in the span of a few minutes. "Find out about the dubbing thing. Ask Artie, or Tina, or the afro dude that wants to do you. I'll talk to Santana. Hopefully Finn will stay in the dark long enough for us to get a handle on this."
She nods but she's got a terrified look on her face, the kind a person would get if they were forced to step into the spotlight on center stage in front of a large crowd of people wearing only their underwear. He feels it too as he steps out into the hall and all eyes turn in his direction.
-0-0-
She's not hard to find since they have first period together. He catches her outside the classroom talking to Brittany and as he moves towards them they start to sing that stupid fucking song. "Cute," he chides, nudging Brittany out of the way and trapping Santana between him and the wall. He backs her up against the firm surface and leans in close. "What the hell were you thinking?"
"I was thinking it would be fun to watch you squirm for once," she replies, that damn smirk twisting her lips up into dimples and her eyes flashing fire. She really was Satan incarnate.
He barks a laugh, because he knows how to play this game, he's played it with her before. So he leans in even closer, his breath brushing against her ear and he settles his hand between her legs, brushing his thumb lazily over the soft skin of her thigh. "Are there copies?"
He feels her breath catch, feels her hands pushing against his chest, but he doesn't budge. "Why would I tell you that?" She asks.
He chuckles, letting his hand slid farther up, underneath her skirt. "Because, babe, I know a secret or two about you, like the things you and Brittany like to do behind closed doors."
Her hands fist into the cotton of his tee shirt and he knows he's got her despite her protest of, "No one will believe you. It'll be your word against mine and Brittany's."
That's when he plays his ace in the hole, "I'm pretty sure they'll believe me because I still have those pictures from camp."
He sees her lips purse and it's finally his turn to smirk. He pulls back, meeting the fire in her eyes with his own, "Are. There. Copies?"
"No," she replies, with a roll of her eyes. She slides out from between him and the wall and reaches for Brittany's hand, before pulling the other girl towards their classroom.
"Santana," he calls after her, stopping her before she disappears through the door. "If I find out you're lying, I will ruin you."
-0-0-
He heads to Glee early because he knows she'll be there and she is. She's sitting at the piano; shoulders slumped in defeat, and her head resting against the lid of the large instrument. He gets that familiar pain in his chest, the one he never used to have before Rachel Berry sung her way into his life. He tries to ignore it as he crosses the room and sits down next to her.
"Bad day?" he asks, nudging her shoulder playfully.
She looks at him like she's never seen him before, like he's sprouted a second head, or he just told her he's fallen in love with Kurt, and he knows he's put his foot in his mouth again. He sighs, getting up and pacing around the room.
"I don't know what you want from me Rachel," he says, hands on hips, back towards her.
"I want you to care to, Noah," she says, voice tiny and shaking. "I want you to care that the whole school watched me lose my virginity on MySpace. I want you to care that Finn's hurting and this isn't going to help. I want you to care that Quinn's carrying your baby, about something, anything other than yourself, for just once."
"I care, okay!" he snaps, turning around to face her. "He's the best friend I've ever had. He's the only person, other than my mother and you, whose opinion of me actually matters and he hates me. So yeah, I care that Finn's not talking to me, that he's hurting. And I care that Quinn's carrying my kid and that she's going to hand it over to complete strangers and there's nothing, nothing, I can do about it. And I care about you, although sometimes you make it fucking impossible because you never shut up, and you're in love with Finn, and this whole triangle, quad-whatever, is so 90210 that I want to kill myself."
She's silent, it's a first, and she swallows thickly as a tiny smile lines her lips. "...90210?" she finally asks, and he throws his arms up in the air because, really, that's what she takes away from his tirade.
"The chicks are kind of hot," he offers lamely, in way of an explanation.
She laughs, genuinely laughs, and he thinks it's the greatest music he's ever heard. She stands and makes her way over to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him. He hugs her back because he really does care and he wants her in his life in whatever capacity she's willing to be there in. When she pulls away he lets go, but can't quite meet her eyes.
"I talked to Santana," he says. "She said there are no copies."
"I know," Rachel replies. "She told me at lunch…after apologizing."
"What are we going to do about Finn?"
She shrugs, "I don't know. I guess we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."
He nods and the bell rings and brings with it the rest of the Glee club. It's awkward at first but he sits next to Rachel with a look on his face that dares any of them to say anything, and when Mr. Schue comes in with a new number for them to learn everyone is easily distracted by the new music and the new dance routine. The tension fades and he realizes that Glee just might be the second best thing that's ever happened to him.