Running Rebound
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.
When he hears the words from her, he isn't exactly surprised. But that doesn't make the reality of it hurt any less. In fact, he's temporarily overwhelmed with the sublimity of it all, swamped with anger, disappointment, betrayal, and loss. He doesn't know whether to slam his fist into Finn's face or just cry, so he settles for neither.
Instead he goes to the bathroom and just stands at the sink with his hands gripping the porcelain sides and head hung low. His breathing eventually evens out and he releases the death grip that has his knuckles turning white, raises his head. His eyes are oddly distant, almost unfocused, and he wonders why that look feels so familiar. He studies his reflection for a few long minutes before he realizes why.
He ends up at Rachel's house before he ever really makes up his mind about it, out of breath and knocking on the door before he can have the chance to lose his nerve. She looks confused when she sees him, her head tilting in a question and eyes searching for others.
"What do you want?" She sounds suspicious, eyes still darting nervously around him.
"Can I come in?"
She hesitates for a second but steps back and motions him in, closing the door behind him and sliding the lock into place.
"You've probably said less than ten sentences to me since you arrived here and suddenly you're making house calls? Who sent you?"
She looks panicked, and although he doesn't know why he still feels a pang of regret for whatever he did that made her so antsy.
"I just wanted to talk. Relax," he soothes, hoping to soften the tension in her stance.
But if anything she just bristles more. "You might be a nice guy but no one is that nice. What do you want?"
He doesn't mean to, but he can't stop the laugh that spills out. He should probably be insulted or at least annoyed but instead he finds her relentless defensiveness oddly endearing. Her eyes narrow at the sound of his voice and a frown tugs at the corners of her mouth. Before she gets the chance to twist his laughter into some sort of conspiracy theory against her he interrupts with a request to see her room.
It looks like he had expected, full of girlie things and stuff that only Rachel would find cute. Her closet door is slightly ajar and he can see glimpses of her notorious outfits, a variety of patterns and colors that should probably never be paired together but that Rachel can pull off with a strange sense of flair.
"Quinn broke up with me," he confesses, throwing himself backwards on the bed and enjoying the way her comforter seems to suck him in with its soft fabric. He stares intently at the ceiling and refuses to let his eyes stray lest he catch the pity in her own. He hears a light, "oh," and then feels the mattress dip under her weight as she sits beside him.
"It gets easier," she promises.
"How do you handle it?" he asks, running a hand through his hair.
"I just remind myself that I don't need anyone to hinder my future success. If I had someone around that much I'd never accomplish my full potential and reach gleaming and lustrous star status. I-"
"I asked how you handle it, not that crap you tell everyone else," he cuts in with a huff. He chances a look at her then and sees that haunted look from earlier, the one his reflection had stared him down with back in the school bathroom a few hours ago. She won't let herself look at him, but he still sees the tears threatening to fall. He gets that guilty feeling in the pit of his stomach again, but he has to know, and if Rachel doesn't have the answer then no one does.
"I-, Well I try to convince myself that I'm better without him. And when that doesn't work I try to settle for waiting. Then I get impatient and desperate and do something ludicrous that only serves to make him even angrier than he already is. Then I sulk in my lonely corner of shame until I can't stand it anymore and try to just plow forward. I'm a star; I have to act like one." She shrugs helplessly. "I suppose I don't really know how to handle it at all. I'm just a hopeless romantic – it's in my blood you know – and I don't know how to completely give up something I want. I'm sorry but I can't help. And now I'm just rambling on and on with no end in sight and you're just too nice to tell me to shut up." She looks over at him, suddenly self-conscious and just a little bit flustered.
"No, I get it. I guess," he says with a sigh. "But what do you do in the mean time, when that's all you can think about?"
"You could try thinking about something else I suppose," she shrugs. "Or someone else. You know, Mercedes was telling me about this supposedly delightful thing called Rebound at our last slumber party. Of course I'd heard of the term before but when it's applied to relationships it's completely different. Apparently you're supposed to 'hook up' with someone else that you find desirable and the resulting physical activities both distract you from your troubles and make the mourning period pleasurable. When you're at the bottom of the food chain at school like I am it's not really an option but with your athletic prowess and flowing gold locks I'm sure you could make it work."
Sam can feel the heat rise in his cheeks when he looks up at her. "Did you just tell me to go have sex with a random girl from school?"
"Not necessarily a random girl," she says, sneaking a sidelong glance in his direction. "Santana mounts pretty much anything that moves and looks remotely male. And you're probably a shoe in with Brittany too."
"What about you?" he asks, mostly in an attempt to make her feel as embarrassed as he does right now. If someone had asked Sam Evans a week ago what he would be doing on a Friday night, his answer would definitely have never involved 'talking sex with Rachel Berry'.
"M-me?" She looks incredulous and Sam nods in affirmation. She splutters for a moment and then looks away, but Sam can see her wringing her hands in her lap from where he's lying. "I hardly think I'm rebound girl material. I mean, look at me, Sam."
"I am," Sam tells her, pulling himself up so that the two of them are sitting shoulder to shoulder. "And I think you're being too hard on yourself." He ruffles her hair and grins when she turns to look at him with large, watery brown eyes.
"Quinn really doesn't know what she's passing up," Rachel sniffs, managing to give him a small but grateful smile.
And really, he had never intended to end up kissing Rachel Berry, self-titled star and diva of William McKinley High, but he was doing it now and it's actually – surprisingly – nice. He pulls back and apologizes, wanting to get the tears off her cheeks and that surprised look off her face so he can stop feeling like a jerk.
"S- I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"
"No, no don't apologize," she interrupts, wrapping her arms around the blonde boy's neck and pressing their lips together again. Sam leans into her and follows the brunette down as she lets her body fall on the bed. It's different then making out with Quinn, Sam thinks. Rachel is less confident with the way she moves against him, but her subtle enthusiasm more than makes up for it.
She still has one hand tangled in his hair but the other is making its way up his shirt. She traces the lines of his abs with appreciative fingers. "Take your shirt off," she murmurs, her breath warm against his ear and sending a shiver down his spine. He hooks the hem of his shirt with his thumbs and tugs it off, not caring to watch where it lands.
Her shirt has ridden up slightly while they kiss, and Sam chooses to try his luck by running one hand along her stomach and edging his way up slowly. When his fingers catch the bottom of her bra he hesitates because he's about to get farther with Rachel then he ever got with Quinn. But then Rachel grabs his hand and guides it the rest of the short distance to her breasts and suddenly Sam just doesn't care.
He places kisses on her cheek, then neck, and finally her collarbone, frowning as the material of her shirt keeps him from getting much farther. "Your turn," he whispers, not missing the hitch in her breathing as he helps her out of her top. He massages her breasts through her bra while he kisses at her throat and she presses herself against him in an attempt to create as much skin to skin contact as possible. His left hand trails down her side, stopping to cup her ass and pull their crotches together. Her hips buck against his and Sam isn't sure who just made that desperate sound he just heard.
"Sam? Sam. Sam?"
"Huh?" He hardly hears her calling but when he does he has to admit that he kind of likes the breathy way that his name sounds coming from her kiss-bruised lips.
"I don't like your pants."
He shimmies out of them without a second thought and he's grateful that there's one less layer between the two of them. Rachel grabs him then and Sam can't stop himself from moaning against her lips. She's rubbing her thumb against his member and even though the flimsy material of his boxers feels like too much he's still enthralled with the sensations her motions are bringing. She slides her hand under the elastic waistband and grips his shaft. Her strokes are tentative at best but getting braver by the second and Sam thrusts against her hand when she increases her speed. He can feel himself close to the finish line when the touch of her hand suddenly disappears, leaving him panting, confused and a tiny bit peeved. "Rachel?" he queries, cracking open an eye that he doesn't remember closing.
"Touch me?"
Rachel is blushing a furious red color, but she's already wriggling out of her short red skirt and Sam notices that the blue polka dot pattern on her underwear matches the one on her bra. "Cute," he coos, kissing one of the circles on her chest.
"I've just never done this before." She looks embarrassed but Sam just gives her a reassuring smile and promises that it's okay. "We'll take it slow." He gets her kissing again, running his tongue along her lip and nipping gently. He rubs her through the simple cotton panties, feeling the wetness even through the material. She spreads her legs for him and he takes it as a sign to continue, moving under her panties and sliding a finger into her womanhood. She moans against him as he moves, mumbling incoherent praises for more between kisses.
"Sam Evans, I want you."
And that has got to be the sexiest five words he's ever heard in sentence form. Her face is flushed with lust and he's getting lost in those big brown eyes of hers. "Please?" Her voice has an edge of begging in it that Sam finds unexpectedly seductive.
"Are you sure this is okay?" he asks, already positioned over her now but not wanting to overstep his boundaries. She nods at him and says yes, and it takes all of his willpower not to just bury himself in her as hard as he can. "Tell me to stop if I hurt you," he instructs before entering her slowly.
She digs her fingernails into the skin of his back and whimpers against the sharp pain that movement creates. He freezes uncertainly, watching the tears beading at the corners of her eyes with growing apprehension. "S'ok," she manages. "Just hurts. Keep going." He obeys, keeping the rhythm slow and steady until he feels her relax underneath him.
The whimpers melt into the passionate moans from earlier and Sam thrusts harder, wanting. The two move together, all sweat and need and pleasure. This doesn't feel like he thinks rebound should, like spite or revenge. No, this feels like so much more - goodrightyesyesohyes - and it makes the experience so much better. He pulls out before he climaxes, leaving white strings of his seed on Rachel and the comforter, and lets his body collapse against the brunette.
Sam places a few more kisses along her jawbone and then rests his head in the crook of her neck. "You're beautiful, Rachel." He hugs her against him and she sighs into the touch. Her heart is still racing and Sam is glad she can't see his gleeful grin.
"My dads say I should never trust what a guy says as long as my clothes are off," she laughs.
"Well if you want to go get dressed so I can say it again, I'll wait," he teases.
She bites back a laugh and for the first time since he's arrived in Lima, Sam feels like he's made a good decision.