"I can't do this!"
Puck's pretty sure he jumps or something, though he's trying to fucking sleep, and he's disoriented as hell, trying to figure out what's going on.
All he knows is that the door swung open and Rachel walked in and started yelling.
"The fuck?"
"It's my first day of rehearsals. I can't do this!"
"You can," he mumbles. He doesn't mean to mumble it, but fuck. He's got to work in five hours, so he was hoping to sleep for, you know, four more.
"I can't! Maria is iconic. She's timeless. She's perfect! I can't mess with perfection, Noah! What if everyone hates my portrayal of this amazing character!?" she cries, moving over to sit on the bed.
"You're fucking crazy," he says. "You know this part better'n anyone. Don't be stupid."
Honestly, he's just saying whatever he can to get her out of his room so he can go back to sleep. But it must be the right thing, because she leans over and kisses him quickly, then smiles all bright and gets up. So he closes his eyes, figuring he's done his part and now she'll leave.
"Wish me luck!" she demands. She actually stomps her foot. He hears her heel on the hardwood.
"Luck."
"You're the worst roommate I've ever had," she laughs. He smiles to himself and she leans over to kiss his cheek. "Also kind of the best."
"You'd be better if you didn't wake me up!" he calls at her as she leaves the room. She doesn't say anything, just laughs and closes the door behind her.
It really shouldn't be as easy as it is to fall back to sleep. But then he just thinks about her lips on his and then his cheek and then her saying something about being the best and it's pretty simple.
----
He's playing Call of Duty one morning, talking to Finn on headset as they battle together, and Rachel's sitting at the dining table in her pajamas and robe, reading the newspaper. They, miraculously, both have the day off, and after Noah's through with his 'date' (she calls it one because she knows he hates it) with Finn, the two of them have plans to, well, do absolutely nothing. She doesn't want to change out of her pajamas, and Noah's wearing sweats and an NYPD tee shirt, which she's sure he'll wear all day.
"Fuck you! I can't believe you didn't get that guy! You said you had my fucking back, man." Rachel laughs softly and shakes her head. "Good thing I'm wearing a fucking vest. Jesus Christ. It's like I'm playing with a goddamn girl right now."
Rachel looks over, though she can only see his profile and he probably isn't paying attention to her at all. "Hey!"
"Yeah, you know what? On second thought, a girl'd probably have better fucking coordination than you and your behemoth thumbs," he continues. Rachel laughs a little harder, mostly at his correct usage of the word behemoth. "What the fuck ever. Just cover me, alright? I'm going into this building...Fuck that! You can't shoot for shit!"
(All this would really bother Rachel, the cursing and the clearly violent nature of the game they're playing, but she's come to find it entertaining, listening to Noah get into this silly game. And if she ever called it silly to his face, he'd probably stare her down until she took it back.)
Rachel takes a sip of her coffee, then gets up to get the pot from the kitchen and pours herself another cup before walking over and topping up Noah's cup, though she's sure it'll be cold by the time he takes his hands off the controller to drink it.
"Thanks, babe," he says, shooting her a wink. "No! Fuck, not you, dude. Why would I call you babe?" Rachel laughs again. It's actually pretty hilarious listening to one side of this conversation. "I am not going to tell her hi for you. Will you get your fucking head in the game? I'm about to get a-fucking-nihilated here, and you're daydreaming about Rachel." He pauses the game, takes a sip of his coffee, and then rests his controller on his knee. "Fuck this. You suck. I'm going."
(He still gets pissed when he thinks about Finn and Rachel together.)
He switches off the television and gaming console, then runs his hand over his head and slumps down at the table across from Rachel with his coffee in his hand.
"Are you about done?" she asks with a grin. "I don't think I've ever heard so many profanities in such a short amount of time."
He scoffs. "It was pretty much just one profanity, repeated a lot."
"Oh, well that's okay then," she laughs. He nods and she turns the page of the newspaper. "You know, I was thinking. We could move if we wanted to."
"Why would we wanna do that?" he asks with a furrowed brow. When she glances up at him, it's like he honestly thinks it's the craziest thing he's ever heard.
"Well, we can afford it, for one," she says, laughing softly. "We could move into Manhattan. It'd be closer to work, and you could actually have a bedroom."
"I like my den/office," he says seriously, smiling fondly.
"I know you do. But don't you think it's time we got you a grown up bedroom, Noah?" she asks. She leans forward and he absolutely can't help if he looks at her chest, because she's pushing her boobs together and up and damn, there's no way he can keep his eyes from that.
And then, after his 'guy moment' is over, he thinks about what she's said. And he thinks that he doesn't want his own bedroom. He likes what he has now. The next bedroom he moves into, he wants to be the one he shares with the woman he's with. (Don't fucking call him sentimental.) And yeah, more than once or twice or 50 times, he's thought that sharing a room with Rachel wouldn't be half bad.
"I like this place," he says firmly. "It's comfortable, and I like this area, and it's ours."
She smiles and turns back to the paper. "Okay, then."
She doesn't bring it up again after that.
----
Rachel has a rare day off from rehearsals, and all she wants to do is sleep in (which she does), and have a long bath too soothe her muscles before going for a coffee and just spending a lazy day at home.
She's overtired, exhausted and a little out of it when she steps from her room and into the hall to head to the bathroom. She is wearing absolutely nothing but a long-ish Van Halen tee shirt (care to venture a guess who she stole that from?) and she's rubbing her eye with her fist, though she knows how bad that is for her skin.
She absolutely does not expect, when she pushes the bathroom door open, to see Noah standing there.
Wearing absolutely nothing.
"Oh my god!" she cries, covering her face with her hands and spinning around so her back is to him.
He's laughing. She's sure she's 10 shades of red. Does he have to look so good? She'd swear he was perfection if that thought wouldn't get her into all kinds of trouble. The truth is, she's seen him with his shirt off a million times.
She hasn't spent a lot of time staring at his naked lower half.
Some time, not a lot of time. She shouldn't have this feeling, this heat between her legs and tightness in her stomach right now. He's her roommate, for crying out loud. So what if they've slept together? So what if, sometimes, she thinks about it? So what if she might want to do that again?
She is so screwed.
And oh god. This tee shirt isn't really long enough to be wearing nothing underneath. She wouldn't even be walking around the apartment like this, except she was under the impression that he was working early.
Her hand goes to the back of her shirt, tugging it down while the other hand stays covering her eyes. She could not be more embarrassed.
His laughter isn't helping.
"Stop laughing!" she shouts angrily. This is so not what she needed first thing this morning. "Are you decent!?"
"I like to think I'm more than decent, Rach," he says. She can hear him smirking.
"Noah!"
"Relax, Rachel, you can turn around."
She does so slowly, still clutching the bottom of her tee shirt, now with both hands. He raises his brow at her, wondering why she's doing that. He can tell she's not wearing a bra. That's really no big deal, since she often doesn't wear one around the apartment. He's certainly not about to complain.
And she's totally checking him out, eyes moving from his chest to his hip, where his left hand is holding a towel closed around him.
"You alright there, Berry?" he asks laughingly.
"Shut up! What are you doing here?"
"Um...I live here," he draws out slowly. She closes her eyes tightly and grimaces. "My shift got switched. I have to go in for 11:00."
"Oh."
"Rachel, you've seen me naked before." He watches as her eyes fly open and her cheeks go red again. "I mean, that was different, you know, since..."
"Stop talking," she pleads. "Just...stop talking."
"Hey," he says, stepping closer to her. He rests his hand on her shoulder and she looks up at him. "It's no big deal." He smirks to himself and she braces herself for whatever comment is coming. "Well, it's a big deal, but I don't have to tell you that."
"Noah, I'm serious. If you don't stop making jokes about this..."
"Come on, Rach. It's funny." He smiles at her and she rolls her eyes. "You know, I can tell you aren't wearing anything underneath my shirt."
"You most certainly cannot tell!" she cries, pulling back from him. He looks her up and down.
(He wonders if she knows she's just admitted it.)
"Yes, I can. You're all fidgety."
"Please don't make this more embarrassing than it has to be," she says, locking eyes with him. He reaches for her wrist, then in one swift motion, has her pinned against the counter. "Noah," she gasps.
"It's only embarrassing because you're letting it be embarrassing," he tells her. "Just relax."
His voice is all low, and he's not pressed up against her, but she wants him to be. His hands are on either side of her, keeping her in place, and she honestly doesn't even know when he tied the towel around his waist properly. She clearly missed that part. She shouldn't be cursing that. She shouldn't be wishing he'd touch her, anywhere, just to feel his hands on her. She most definitely should not want to push her lower half against his.
God, he makes her crazy.
"This is a bad idea," she almost whispers. She tries to move her hands, but she doesn't know where to put them without touching them, so they just stay in front of her, between them, all-too-close to an area she's aching to touch.
He takes a breath and closes his eyes. "Yeah. You're right," he says regrettably, pulling away from her.
He backs away completely, adjusting his towel (and he knows she knows exactly why), and leaves the bathroom.
He doesn't say goodbye before leaving for work.
She lays in the bathtub for an hour, hoping she can talk herself out of craving him so badly.
----
He's in a shitty mood all day. Jay asks what's wrong, and Puck just says that he had a rough night and didn't get much sleep.
He doesn't mention that he's living in the fucking world capital of sexual tension or whatever, and that he wants to fuck his roommate. Again. Repeatedly.
Dammit. His life would be way less complicated if Rachel wasn't so...so...perfect.
Seriously, she's perfect for him. At least he thinks so.
She thinks it's a 'bad idea.'
Fuck.
----
After their last rehearsal before opening night, Rachel stops by the box office and has a ticket set aside. She writes Noah's name on the front in her ever-present pink Sharpie, then leaves the ticket at will call while her friends wait for her so they can go out for milkshakes (which yes, they know are terrible for them, but it's Rachel's tradition after the last rehearsal, and they all thought it sounded kind of amazing.)
"So who's coming to see the star tomorrow night?" Jana, who's playing Rita, asks.
"Just Noah."
"Boyfriend?" Oscar inquires, arching one brow.
"Roommate," Rachel says, though the smile on her face probably tells a completely different story.
It'd help if she knew what story that was. Or even what she wanted it to be.
(No, she hasn't been thinking about his naked form at every spare second since she saw it a week and a half ago. She hasn't.)
"Please. I know that face," Jana insists. "Who is he? What's he like? Have you given into the temptation of living with a man?"
"I am not answering that!" Rachel cries, mortified. Her cheeks flush red and she really wants to ignore that she's totally giving herself away, but her friends are laughing at her. "We've known one another since high school. We moved here together, sort of, and we've lived together pretty much since then. Except for a four month detour. He's a police officer."
"And you've totally slept with him," Oscar says, like it's just a fact. Rachel covers her face with her hands. Even a double chocolate milkshake can't save her from this conversation. "Oh, you so have."
"It was like, a year ago!"
"But it happened," Jana says. "So what, you guys are just friends now?"
"Yes," Rachel insists.
"But you want more," Oscar states.
"How are you doing this?!" Rachel cries laughingly. They all giggle a little, and Rachel tries to flick some milkshake at Oscar, but he ducks out of the way. "It's not that I want more. I don't think. Or maybe I do. The situation is just so complicated. There are years and years of issues there between us. He used to torment me, and then we dated for like a week in high school. After that, we were merely acquaintances and performed in the same show choir. He showed up at the bus station when I was leaving town, and we just kind of...fell together. We live together, and it's...he's my very best friend."
"A friend you sleep with." Jana can barely hide her amusement.
"A friend I have slept with. Once. Well, more than once, but only one night," Rachel says, turning red again when she realizes just what she's confessed. "Whatever! The point is, Noah and I are just roommates. There's nothing more going on."
"Honey, you are in so much denial. It's almost cute," Oscar says before taking a sip of his shake. "Are you dating anyone else?" (He knows the answer.) "Is he?"
Rachel thinks, then realizes very quickly that Noah hasn't had any girls to the apartment since she moved back in. And then she tries to remember if he's stayed out over night since she moved back in. The only times she can think of have been when he's worked the night shift, no others.
"No," she says, almost like it surprises her, too.
Her friends share a look, one that doesn't go unnoticed by her, and then there are a few moments of complete silence, and Rachel thinks they're finally past this particular topic of conversation.
"So," Oscar says, leaning across the table. "Was it good?"
Rachel dramatically rests her head on her forearm on the table.
This is not a conversation she wants to have.
It'll just make her think about the situation even more, which, suffice it to say, would be almost all the time.
And she has other things to focus on right now. Things other than Noah Puckerman and how badly she wants him, 95 per cent of the time.
----
Since they attended her cast party the night before and Puck had actually worked all day, he didn't get a chance to get her flowers. Which sucked. He felt like the worst friend in the world.
But by the end of the night, Rachel was so high on the love people were showering on her at her cast party, and so tipsy on the champagne that had been flowing, Puck pretty much tucked her into bed as soon as they got home. (And so what if he told her again how proud he is and kissed her forehead as her eyes drifted closed?)
It was amazing, seeing her on that stage. It's like that part was written for her. And he doesn't even care if his buddies were making fun of him for pulling on a suit in the locker room and making himself presentable to go to a Broadway show. They all knew where he was going, who he was going to see, and he told them to fuck off when they started giving him shit about it.
Her cast party was kind of awesome too. She stuck with him pretty much all night, not that he needed her too. She introduced him to all her friends and costars, and they were actually impressed that he knew the play so well. Then he made a joke about Rachel not exactly being quiet when she was rehearsing songs or running lines, and that got a few laughs and a cute little scowl from Rachel.
And now it's his day off, and he's up at 7:00, getting coffee and breakfast and flowers, and reading the reviews in the paper before she sees them (so he knows if he has to comfort or congratulate). He's one of those schmucks who buys 10 copies of each of the papers that's reviewed the show, then he heads home.
Rachel's already awake, though just barely, he thinks. She's rubbing her eye, and her hair is shooting off in every direction. Her pants are askew, the little bow that's supposed to be in the middle is off to the side a bit, and her (his) NYPD tee shirt is wrinkled.
She looks amazing.
Then she notices the roses resting in the crook of his elbow and she smiles lazily at him. "Noah."
He walks towards her, kisses her forehead and hands her the bouquet. "This seems like a red roses kind of production," he explains.
Her heart beats like crazy in her chest.
"Thank you," she almost whispers, smelling the gorgeous red roses in her hands. She eyes the bags in his hands, then notices the stack of papers in the plastic bag. "What...?"
"Coffee," he insists, handing her a paper cup from the same coffee shop she used to work at. "Blueberry danish." He passes her the pastry in its little bag (it's her favourite, okay?) "Reviews."
He pulls out the Post, The Times, The Daily News, and The Observer. She tenses as she stares at the papers like they're bombs or something. He pushes her towards the dining table and forces her to sit down, then he sits next to her and takes a dramatically long sip of his coffee and a bite of his bagel. He does it just to piss her off. Of course. When he leafs slowly through the pages to get to the section he needs, she stomps her foot on the ground.
"Hurry!" she cries. "God, you're just doing this to annoy me! You're such a shit disturber!"
"You're just figuring this out now?" he asks with a laugh.
"Noah! Read."
Okay, now she's scaring him.
He clears his throat and glances to the page, complete with a picture of Rachel as Maria. "I'm just gonna skip to the good parts. The parts about you. You can read the rest of the shit later," he informs her, and she actually laughs. "Rachel Berry's portrayal of the beautiful Maria is just that; beautiful. She brings a charisma, an elegance to a role oft-played. Simply put, Berry is lovely, just as any Maria should be."
"Oh my god!" she cries.
"Now, hang on. That's just one of them," he reminds her, pulling out the arts section of the Times. "Berry steals the show. Perhaps it's easy to assume that would be the case, given that Maria is the central character. Berry makes her worth watching, no matter how many times one might have seen the show. It's new, it's fresh, it's inviting. There's a sense of heartbreak and longing that has been missing from productions of West Side Story in recent years. Rachel Berry has brought the star back to this show."
He looks up at her after he's done reading, and she's crying. She's full on crying. She buries her face in her hands and shakes her head. "I can't believe it. This is...It's crazy!"
"It's all you, babe," Puck says seriously. She stands up and moves to sit on his lap, which he thinks is a little weird, but he's not about to complain because, you know, he's not a moron. "You're a star."
Those must be some kind of magic words, because she leans forward and kisses him gently, then throws her arms around his neck.
It'd be a hell of a lot easier to not be into this girl if she didn't do things like that.
But it's like every time she kisses him, he feels just how much more he wants from her. And normally, he'd be the kind of guy who'd just grab her and kiss her and tell her he wanted her, and that'd be that.
But with Rachel, it's different.
With Rachel, it's always been different.
----
Any time he meets her at the theater, which is about once a week, give or take, Rachel tries to keep her friends from seeing him. They've all already met him, of course, but Rachel doesn't like the way Maya was eyeing him, and she doesn't like the way Jana and Oscar look at her when Noah is around. They aren't exactly subtle, and the last thing Rachel needs is Noah knowing that she's talked about him with them.
Oh god. Actually, the last thing she needs is him knowing what, exactly, she said to them.
She's exhausted, literally. After the show, she's in her dressing room, stripping the stage makeup from her face and pulling her hair into a simple ponytail, and she actually finds herself drifting off, even though she's clearly got things to do.
When she opens her eyes and looks in the mirror, she sees Noah standing against the door frame with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face.
"What are you doing here? I thought you told me to meet you outside," she says, grabbing another tissue.
"I got out earlier than I thought. Flashed the badge and the guy by the stage door let me in. You guys really oughta get tougher security in this place," he says, stepping towards her. He could be making fun of her right now; only half her face is covered in a thick coat of makeup, the other half bare.
"Maybe you just shouldn't abuse your power."
"What's the point of being a cop if I can't abuse my power?" he jokes.
He walks over and perches himself on the edge of her vanity, watching as she goes through her post-show routine. Well, he assumes it's routine. He's never really seen her this soon after a show. Usually, when they meet up, he just hangs around outside or goes to the coffee shop around the corner and waits for her.
"You know, this is pretty much the least attractive thing I could do in front of you," she says with a laugh, discarding yet another cotton ball.
"Rachel," he laughs, "we've been living together pretty much since we were 18. I've seen you without makeup before."
"I know, but...it's weird," she says quietly.
He gets up, stands behind her and starts rubbing her shoulders like he knows she likes. Their eyes lock in the mirror as she continues to wipe her face.
"You're beautiful," he almost whispers.
He watches as she gnaws at her bottom lip a little, as the blush creeps up to her cheeks, as she stares at him in the mirror, trying to figure out why that sounded different than their normal comments to one another. Is it in her head? Does he really think she's beautiful? She can't think of a time when he actually said the word. She doesn't know how to respond.
"Thank you."
He winks at her, and her stomach flips. His hands feel so good on her, gliding over the thin cotton of the plain white tee shirt she's wearing, and she thinks it'd be even nicer if she wasn't wearing anything at all.
Actually, she knows it would be.
Then she thinks about other things he does with his hands, other things she knows feel good, and she's sure her breathing has sped up.
"Rach?"
"What?" she asks quickly, pulled from very inappropriate thoughts.
"You alright? I lost you there for a sec."
"Fine," she answers, throwing on a smile. "I'm fine."
He looks at her like he doesn't believe her. She knows he doesn't.
She's almost certain he could follow her train of thought if he really wanted to.
(He wanted to. He totally knew she was thinking about him calling her beautiful, which she is, by the way. And then he saw that kind of far off look in her eyes, the one he knows he gets when he's thinking 'impure thoughts', as Rachel calls them.)
"You wanna grab a drink or something?" he suggests.
Tequila? Lots of it? (Fucking Hamptons weekend always messes with his head. He'd like a repeat. Or, you know, a lot of them.)
"Actually...oh..." She lets out this little moan when his thumb kneads between her shoulder blades. "There. Right there."
Jesus Christ.
He thinks she's trying to make it impossible for him not to want her.
(She's not actually trying to do anything; his talented hands are just reminding her how much she enjoys him, in every way.)
He focuses his attention and his thumbs on the spot that made her moan again (fuck, that sounds good, doesn't it?) and she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.
"You were saying?" he says after a few moments.
"It's just that Jana and Oscar asked if I wanted to...Oh my god, Noah," she breathes out. He smirks at her in the mirror. Yeah, he's awesome at this massage thing. "That's amazing."
He chuckles a little bit. "Apparently. Rachel Berry isn't finishing her sentences?"
"Shut up," she giggles. "They asked if I wanted to go out, but I said you and I have to get home."
"Yeah?" he asks, voice all low. "How come?"
She takes a deep breath. Mission accomplished, if you ask him.
"I just want to be at home. In my pajamas. Maybe getting more of this massage."
"Screw that, babe. What's in it for me?" he asks.
She stands up and reaches for her jacket. "I don't know. What do you want?"
He lets out a breathy laugh and they lock eyes. "This is a dangerous game," he says. She thinks he sounds half serious.
"Probably," she admits. She grabs her bag and heads for the door. "Come on. I don't want to have to wait for the subway."
Just like that, they brush it aside, all that flirting. When they get home, they watch ESPN and he drinks water as she sips tea. He doesn't continue the massage, but she gets all relaxed anyway.
He carries her to her bedroom when she falls asleep on the couch. She says his name in her sleep as he tucks her into her bed.
It's really hard not to just stay there with her.
Honestly? He gets the impression that she wouldn't really mind.