"Baby, why do you call me Noah?" he asked, wrapping his arm around her. Puck and his girlfriend were laying in the hammock in his backyard together, just enjoying the day.

She sat up, her hair falling back into place. She planted a small hand on his chest for balance and looked at him with watery doe eyes.

"Do you not like that I call you Noah?" she questioned sadly.

"God no, Berry! That's not it, I swear. I kind of like it, to be honest..." He sat up with her, scratching his 'hawk. "I'm just wondering why, is all."

An expression of relief passed over her face before she launched into her response. "Noah, your mother gave you a lovely name at birth and I intend to honor her by referring to by your actual name."

"Shh, Berry!" he exclaimed, placing a finger on her lips. "If my Ma hears you spouting that mushy crap, she might love you more than I do!" She rolled her eyes and removed his finger.

"Noah, you know perfectly well that your mother is not home right now, as isn't Sarah."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. But she worries me sometimes. She's like a Jewish ninja that'll tell me more than I want to know about the wedding she's been planning since we were cute little baby Jews."

She laughed, running her fingers through the thin strip of hair.

"I assure you, Kurt might be worse, and that is without any reference to our religion. He's already claimed rights to my unborn children, going on about little Barbra's and Puck Jr's, so that he'll have superstar godchildren."

"My kids will be fucking bad ass superstars," he corrected. "God, even Puck sounds wrong coming from those lips." He leaned down to meet the mentioned lips, both of them grinning into it. Not too long after, he deepened it, before she had to break off for air.

"I just don't like the way it sounds," she admitted. "Puck. Puck. Puck," she tried, even singing the last pronunciation. "Okay, maybe in that last key, but do you think it really fits?"

"Not at all," he said, wrinkling his nose childishly. "I like how you say Noah though, baby. It's so fucking sexy." They fell back into the hammock, kissing urgently, inhaling each other with each breath or stolen press of lips against lips.

To him, Rachel smelled like wonderful, girly flowers or fruit and happiness, even though he thought it sounded totally fucking fruity. He would shoot anybody who heard him, and had sworn to carry that shit to the grave.

To her, Noah smelled like pure man and cleanliness. She wasn't ashamed to tell that to anybody else either.

But both couldn't help but smile when taking in the other. They were intoxicating. A mutual addiction.

He moved to press his lips into hers and she sighed happily, then remembered something suddenly.

"Noah?"

"Yeah, baby?"

"You do know that 'Puck' is the name of a fictional woodland fairy, don't you?"

"What?"