A/N: THANK YOU ENDLESSLY for all your kind words! I am so happy to see there is still a following for PR! Get ready for some smuuuuuuttttt!

Also? I was listening to Pandora's 1995 Spring Break station while editing this (with the wonderful RaeLeigh) and I SWEAR PANDORA SHIPS PR 5EVER. The songs were PERF.

It would be too poetic and shit to think that tonight would be the night that he'd sleep dreamlessly - not only is Rachel Berry laying beside him, but, damn, he was tired out from her...their...activities.

He hasn't had a deep, dreamless sleep since this whole nightmare began. And while last night's dreams were of Rachel and the sexy variety (and fuck, he's not complaining about those dreams), tonight's dream was just…

His ma. It was her, over and over again.

And when he wakes up in a cold sweat around 3am, Rachel's back curled into his side, he can't remember the details of the dream. But the thought that it was only and exactly that, a dream, brings him back down from whatever high he had been on when he closed his eyes. Reality.

She's not here. His mom is still gone. She's not going to come barging into his room in the morning, looking for some clue to his deviances. She always had this sixth sense of when he brought a girl home for some sexy time, and she usually gave him hell for it the next morning.

He sighs, wipes his hand across his forehead, and turns to face the back of Rachel's curvy outline. Her - his - shirt is all bunched up at her waist, so that when he rolled onto his side, Puck had felt a swipe of lace from her panties brush above his hip.

Normally, that shit would totally get him all hard, and he'd roll right on top of her and get it.

Instead, he watches a crumpled red 20, his football number 20 on the back of her -his- shirt, rise and fall with each of her long breaths. He peers over her shoulder, to see her hands tucked under her cheek, and her eyelashes fluttering for one, two breaths, and a light sigh, then stillness. His hand reaches out, tentative and light and then -

No. His shirt. His shirt, his bed, his not-girlfriend, here. Fuck, Puckerman, she's not your fucking girlfriend. Get your shit in line. This is trouble.

But she stayed. At least she stayed.

But fuck. This can't end well.

Honestly? Nothing seems to fucking end well, lately.

So he rolls back over, and tries to find sleep.

Rachel is disoriented when her eyes open, and she takes in the navy blue curtains, the plaid comforter around her. The faint smell of pine and Irish Spring soap and morning float in the air.

It's not her yellow room, no floral blankets, no teddy bear at her pillow. No white lace curtains, and this room, this foreign bedroom is a little chilly, and as she burrows further into the comforter, the activities of the previous evening start marching through her head when she hears a snore from the sleeping form next to her.

Oh. Yes.

Noah Puckerman.

Mmmm. She drowsily smiles as she remembers with a mix of incredulity and...oh my, Rachel, where his hands and mouth and lips and tongue were last night and where hers were, similarly, and while the room is still chilly, she is certainly warm now.

Puck snores again, and Rachel makes a mental note to pick up some of those nose strips from the pharmacy the next time she goes, because sleep apnea is nothing to take lightly, and also, I can just imagine laying awake next to him snoring and how losing my valuable sleep will affect my singing voice and -

Rachel. She reminds herself. He's not yours. There might not - probably won't - be another little sleepover.

But friends can care about friends' sleeping patterns. Vital oxygen could be stalling in his body, and not reaching his brain, and then -

Rachel.

She's wearing a t shirt of Puck's, of Noah's, she's sleeping in his bed, she basically accosted him last night, she made him cheat on Quinn. Quinn, his girlfriend.

And...and.

There is always going to be a third (technically, in this case, fourth) person in whatever relationship they have - whether it's friendship or something more, Finn Hudson will always be a name that dallies around Noah Puckerman and Rachel Berry.

She swallows the lump threatening to rise in her throat and focuses on the snow, falling lightly beyond the curtains outside the bedroom window.

"'Sup," she hears a voice and Puck rolls over to face her with a yawn. "Morning, babe."

That voice of his is all velvet and butter and she almost melts into him again, but no. No.

He's awake and she's awake and she's not letting her hormones rule her (yet, the little voice in her head whispers, as she attempts to ignore it). And so the reality, that she (and he) tried to push to the side last night? Is going to come in like a freight train soon and sooner.

But then he wraps his arm around her, pulls her into him and rests his chin on top of her head and she just...

Lets him. Just for one more moment, she grabs for a few more minutes of dodging reality, or trying to pretend that the circumstances surrounding them are as light as the snowflakes outside, melting as they hit the pavement.

She's so...she doesn't want to say it, but...fucked. She's so fucked.

He knows they need to talk. He's no idiot, he knows that this is Rachel Berry he's got here, and she's gonna want some fucking encyclopedia explanation of whatever transpired last night but he's still disarmed by his dreams about his ma and Rachel all angelic and shit snuggled next to him, that he just wants to steal a little more fucking time of this, whatever this is, before it all gets fucked up again, because it will, and he's gonna have to remember not just the hot sexy time and that ass, but also that it was really fucking easy to ask Rachel to stay last night. Although it would be better to forget how easy it was, but right now, no, just a little more fucking time.

"Noah." It's a muffled voice, because her face is still buried in his chest. "Noah."

He sighed. He knew this was coming.

"You know we need to talk about," She pulls away slightly and looks up at him. "About this. Whatever this is."

He sighed again. "Can't we just make out s'more?"

She was quiet.

"So, we can make out more?" He says, hopefully.

Oh, there's that look. That Rachel Berry look, the one that he almost put out of his mind.

"Noah, we need to just….figure things out." Rachel sits up and crosses her legs, untangling herself from his grip, mentally and physically. "We can't keep...well...we can keep, but it's not prudent or…"

"Rachel. Why do we even have to figure it out?" He's half kidding, but there's a part of him that's serious. "Why does everything have to be in black and white and who the fuck cares? We're both grown ups, and if we want to be fuck buddies -"

"I am nobody's," "She spits the term out, "FUCK. BUDDY. Noah! My goodness, is that all I am? Really?"

Uh oh. Perhaps his word choice was just a little bit…

"I'm not just a DVR that you can watch when it's convenient for you! I am a human being, with emotions! I have needs, true, that is true I am a woman and you...you fulfill those needs quite well, but, for heaven's sake, Noah! You have Quinn! A long-term girlfriend! And you need to -"

"I need to nothing, Rachel. I need to grieve my fucking mother. I need to get my shit together and figure out where Becca is going to live, because we sure as hell can't afford a mortgage." Reality was certainly coming at him, and hard. "I need to get my mind back in the game, because I need to go back to fixing airplanes in less than four days, and I need to stop having sexy dreams about you, especially if you think I'm going to fucking propose to you now just cause your mouth sucked my dick last night."

Rachel's eyes were wide, and shit, this always happens, words just kind of fall out of Puck's mouth and he can't control them ever and can't take them back and he can't ever seem to stop once he starts and then it's all -

"I'm not fucking Finn Hudson, Berry, you can't rope me into being a husband with your magical pussy and a little bit of tongue."

Whoops. He knew the minute he snarled those words that they were the absolute wrong-est words he could ever say in the history of words, as Rachel's face flew through a shit ton of emotions in mere seconds - first crumpled, then reddened, then purpled, then seized up, then white.

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.

"Rachel. Shit. Rach, I didn't -"

She got up and started grabbing her littered pieces of clothing from his bedroom floor. "No, no, Puck, it's fine," The way she says his name...the way she called him Puck...shit. "I wanted it this way. This….this random hookup, me, a location for your seed to sow. I'm fine." She pulled on her skirt, which looked ridiculous with the McKinley t-shirt still on, but now was not the time for him to critique her wardrobe. "I wanted this to not mean anything and you have perfectly, adequately, inherently, and exactly proven that, yes, we do not need to define a thing. You can't define something that was never there in the first place. And that's fine. Fine."

He doesn't like how she keeps saying, "fine," because he can tell by her face, and how her voice keeps going up at the end, that its totally not fine, and, fuck. Goddamn mouth.

"You need to go back to your life, your job, your...girlfriend," Rachel's jaw was set as she took one last look at Puck. "I was just a distraction for you to get some hormonal tension out, and now you need your space to grieve and regroup, and, Puck, I will give you that space."

And with that, she slammed the door and Puck felt like a royal fucking idiot.

She didn't mean to slam the door. Rachel didn't want him to see how angry, how hurt she was. She needed to be as flippant in her body language as she meant for her words to be, but that's never easy.

At least she kept the tears in her eyes until she made it to her car. And then she realized she still was wearing his t shirt under her peacoat, and after that she realized she was anything but fine because, like she said last night, it's never an easy nothing with her and Noah, there's always something, there always will be something.

Because, Rachel, she thought, angrily. Because you don't just watch someone who means nothing to you, someone who is just a 'fuck buddy', sleep. You don't stare at her, you don't stroke her cheek with a sigh. You just. Don't.

Rachel is a light sleeper, she's always been a light sleeper. When he rolled over last night, the motion awoke her immediately, but she stilled herself, pretending to sleep. She felt him stare at her, she felt his fingertips on her cheek.

Ok, she thought. Ok. Fine. I'm not going to leave things like this. She steeled herself. Pull yourself together, Rachel; start using your brain, she scolded. I know Noah Puckerman. I know how terrified he is of any sort of emotion, and he probably is on one tumultuous rollercoaster of emotions right now.

He gets a free pass.

And if he wants to label us as...as…

We can be friends with benefits.

She has wondered about what sex with him would be like, so. But she's still not anyone's...fuck buddy. She has standards.

But you know what? Why not. He's right, why not. Rachel furrowed her brow. I am a modern, empowered woman, and Noah Puckerman, my goodness, Noah Puckerman. She never felt so alive, so electric, such a magnetic and insatiable thirst as when his hands were on her. Even in high school, even when they were merely kissing, there was something there, akin to a rudimentary sexual awakening, that one human being could cause that much salacity with a touch, a few passing-by kisses.

It has been awhile, she reminded herself. A really long while since anyone touched you, let alone set you ablaze like that, Rachel. Ever. No one ever set you ablaze like that.

But why now? Why all of a sudden, now can't I resist Noah? I was never like this before.

Was I?

Maybe things are just...louder now?

She took a deep breath. I want this. And if "this" stays between the sheets and nothing more?

Then, ok.

Time to go redeem yourself, pull out your inner Olivia Pope, and do some damage control over whatever emotions of yours that might have been misconstrued as needy and demanding.

She's going back in.

Why does he do that, why the fuck does his fucking mouth just run itself off and he can't stop himself and, fuck.

Rachel's not just some fuck buddy, he knows that. She never could be, and she never would be. There's just too much damn history and, ok fine, maybe he wouldn't have broken it off with her back in high school if he could have kept his dick in his pants and didn't have to go get Quinn pregnant and Jesus, things would have been so crazy different. But he should have known, Rachel wouldn't ever be "just" anything. She'd never let herself be, and, to be honest, he doesn't...ok, maybe he doesn't want her to be, but fuck.

Fuck.

Trouble, trouble, stop this shit, Puckerman.

And then to bring up Finn. He didn't need to bring up Finn, shit, why did it always go back to Finn.

"Puck!" Becca was yelling up the stairs. "Puck, someone's at the door for you!"

Shit, he thought. Becca was awake. Becca saw Rachel storm out of here. Crap.

He took the stairs two at a time as he bounded down them, and skidded to a stop when he saw... Rachel at the door. He scrubbed his hand over his neck, trying to look casual. "Rach. Hey."

"Yeah, funny thing, how she's here so," Becca paused dramatically. "So early in the morning." Becca turned around and walked past her brother, up the stairs. "And wearing the exact same skirt as yesterday." She drawled in a whisper. Puck shoved her.

"Noah," Rachel cordially replied. "Good morning."

"Um. Yeah," What the fuck is happening here? "'Sup?"

"Is your grandmother in the vicinity?" Rachel peered inside, looking around the living room. "Perhaps we could…" She hesitates. "Discuss some things."

Wordlessly, he held the door open to her.

"By the way, Puck," Becca's voice hollered singsong down the stairs. "I forgot to tell you, Nana Connie went home last night. You were too...busy for me to interrupt."

He rolled his eyes but, hey, at least question was answered. "Fucking pain in the ass," He groaned. "So. Coffee?" He swept his arm out, inviting her into the kitchen in an exaggerated grand gesture. "Chair?"

"No, thank you," She stood by the table and smoothed her skirt, crossing her legs at the ankles as she leaned against the table.

"Coat's still on, Berry," He pointed out, as he filled the filter with coffee grounds.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm a bit chilly, Noah, thank you."

As the coffee pot percolated, he hopped onto the kitchen counter. "Listen, Rach," he began, lowering his voice. "I'm sorry I was such an asshole before."

"No, no," Rachel waved him off. "I fear my...emotions might have misled you to believe I expected something else from you." She took a deep breath. "The question I was really asking was what our….our story would be."

"Story?"

"Yes, our story." She smiled. "Just in case it gets back to Quinn, or anyone else, about my consistent attendance at shiva, and our curious disappearances, I thought we should align an alibi. It's just easier that way."

Huh?

"I - what?" He creased his brow. "Shit, Rach, I was a major dick upstairs and I didn't mean to bring up -"

"Noah," Rachel stood up and walked over to him. "I don't need a label on this...whatever this is. If you want it to be purely lascivious and wanton, that's fine."

"Wonton?"

"I wasn't expecting you to break up with Quinn or to uproot any part of your rapidly changing and confusing life, especially right now. And I certainly didn't mean to imply that I wanted any sort of commitment from you."

"The fuck's lascivious mean?"

"Noah, when you leave for Texas again at the end of the week, I will leave for New York, and," She shrugged with a tiny smile. "C'est la vie."

"Rachel, seriously, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"I'll see you this evening. For the last shiva and for...after," She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek, and whispered in his ear. "And while I do enjoy sleeping in your t shirts, I'll bring my nightie this time."

She flipped her hair over her shoulder as she walked away. "Then again, there is something to be said for sleeping au natural instead."

Now, he does know that phrase, au natural means naked, and, wait, did Rachel just say she wants to be fuck buddies?

The fuck?

So, ok, by typical societal standards, what she did would possibly be considered slutty. And maybe wrong, being that she is perpetuating, and encouraging, her role as "the other woman", especially the other woman to someone who she considers a friend (but Quinn Fabray also did horrid things to her so...ok).

But at the same time, taking control of her body, her hormones, her desires, felt amazingly empowering.

And it just feels, right, she thought. And, oh, so, electric and volcanic, and it's never felt that way, with anyone before. The thoughts that pop into her brain at these random moments throughout the day, the positions and places in her that shivered when she recalled their previous dalliances, and imagined future ones - she never thought with her hormones, and only her hormones, before. Rachel always plotted and planned and charted every decision, especially those related to her sexuality. Sometimes on paper, ok maybe there were a few Excel spreadsheets that she unabashedly created; most of the time, she pro and conned her way about in her mind.

But this, this was just - like magnetic. She wants, she goes, she gets.

And she gets all right.

So maybe she will just run with this and do exactly what her words to Noah were earlier.

And maybe she'll dress accordingly, also.

Rachel arrived in the early evening to the Puckerman residence, as promised, and continued to maintain her M.O. from previous shivas - be a friend, be there, be present but not too present.

She was listening (fine, pretending to listen) to old 's recent hip replacement woes. Luckily, Mrs. T was one of the most oblivious people in the entire temple, so she didn't notice Rachel was only nodding occasionally, and at the complete wrong times in the conversation.

Becca was giving her these sly knowing looks every now and then, and while Rachel was not ashamed in the slightest of her exploits with Becca's brother, she knew that girl would take any shred of information and attempt destruction of the Quinn/Puck relationship.

Like that would be such a tragedy.

Rachel Berry!

She admonished herself severely. While you may be the other woman for a short period of time, that gives you no certification to wish the demise of a relationship.

She crinkled up her nose as she took a sip of her tea, and Mrs. Trachtenstein started in on the travesty of medical billing these days. So maybe she does feel just the tiniest twinge of guilt for going behind Quinn's back like this. I still can't get over the fact that she could barely be bothered to spend 24 hours here with her boyfriend, Rachel thought. And...and…

No, Rachel. Don't go there. This is not 'if Noah Puckerman was my boyfriend I would…'

She bit her lower lip, and glanced across the room at Puck, sitting with Nana Connie. He caught her eye, and winked.

And...if Noah loves Quinn that much…

She managed a tiny smile back at him after his wink.

He said he can't stop thinking about me. He said last night, when we were in the laundry room. That he knew what he was doing. That I wasn't a mistake.

Does he love Quinn, though? I mean, if he loved her...if he loved her enough, wouldn't I then be a mistake? I mean, that...well, it wasn't lovemaking (yet), but how could it have absolutely nothing behind it? How could he be in love with someone else, yet doing these...things...with me?

Maybe all they did was make out (all you did? Her inner monologue reprimanded her yet again. Rachel Berry, he had his tongue in...places). But, ok, if they made out and fooled around and it ended at that last night…

I told him I was staying the night. I didn't give him the option. What is it going to end at tonight?

How much longer is she going to deny that, oh God, she wants it to not end? Would she have stopped if he hadn't last night?

Sex without love, without a relationship, she thought. Sex without a relationship isn't that new a concept to her.

But I don't know if I know sex independent of love, she thought. And I don't know if that's what this could be. Or should be.

Or is.

He loves Quinn, doesn't he...but ...but I'm the one in his bed.

By that logic, I don't understand how this thing we have isn't considered a mistake by him.

Rachel heaved a great sigh. I don't know what it is, I don't know why it's happening now, of all times, but... She closed her eyes and swallowed the lump in her throat.

Goodness, Rachel...what is it that you do want?

He was getting a drink when Becca appeared behind the fridge door like she fucking apparated all Harry Potter and shit.

"You totally banged Rachel last night didn't you." It was a statement, not a question.

"Shut it, Bec," He hissed, slamming the fridge door closed. "You don't know shit."

"I saw her stomp out of here this morning, and then ring the doorbell like, 15 minutes later." Becca shrugged. "It was just me here, I don't know who she is keeping secrets from."

He shoved his thumb in his eye. "Becca, just...fuck off about it all, ok?"

"Are you gonna dump Quinn?" She prodded. "You should, you know. She sucks."

"Becca, Jesus!" He slammed his hand on the table and she jumped.

"I'm sorry, Puck, but I feel like she just uses you. You're there when she needs you, and when she doesn't, then that's it. it's always been like that. With Beth, then after she was gone, Quinn dropped you, she didn't need you till she needed you again, whether you wanted her or not." With the mention of his daughter's name, Puck's eyes hardened at his sister.

"And it was like that when you first went to Texas too, Puck, that first weekend you were allowed visitors. I saw the plane ticket you bought for her on Mom's credit card bill. I know she was supposed to come visit and she bailed. She was at McKinley that weekend, I saw her talking to Coach Sylvester. She should have been visiting you."

"Wait, you check Mom's credit card bills?"

"THAT'S what you take away from this?"

"I'm just asking."

"Well, yes. I want to make sure she's not," Becca sighed and closed her eyes. "Wasn't. There was a time I accidently found out she used a credit advance on her card to send money to Dad. And obviously she never saw that money again, so I used to sneak the bills from her file cabinet, just to make sure."

"What the -"

"Noah. Not the issue here."

He angrily sighed.

"Anyways. I really don't think Quinn cares about you like you think she does. And honestly? I don't think you care about her that way, either." Becca held up her hands in surrender. "And before you deny it, whatever, I don't care, you do you, dude. I'm just giving my opinion."

They were both quiet for a moment.

"Puck." Becca looked him in the eye. "Noah. Don't be a dick to Rachel. I like her. Nana Connie likes her. And you know Mom loves…" she swallowed. "Loved. Loved Rachel. I don't care what you do with the rest of the crackwhores you go after, or used to go after, or whatever."

She turned around to leave the kitchen and looked over her shoulder. "It's no secret that I hate Quinn. I hate what she did to you, I hate how she plays you out, how she scrubs you down and then flicks her fingers and brings you back up again, only to drop you when you need her most. But Rachel, she's...I don't know, she's not Quinn. And I just feel like Mom would...would be really disappointed if you didn't…" Her voice trailed off and she paused. "Just don't be a dick to her."

At least now that Becca knows, he doesn't have to figure out some clever way to sneak her up to his bedroom. And Nana Connie, well, she left relatively early.

Ok, maybe he was just paranoid or something? But did Nana Connie actually just wink at him over Rachel's shoulder, as she hugged her goodbye? The fuck? It's like psychic Jew power or some shit here.

Anyways, it was no big deal when Becca went up to bed, and she just called a "G'nite, guys," over her shoulder. The lights were dimmed in the living room, the house was neat and tidy after the visitors had all left. And they were alone.

"So."

"So."

Rachel studied her hands in her lap. Puck considered the moment.

"Wanna go take a shower?" He waggled his eyebrows at her.

"What? Noah!"

He smiled devilishly. "Well. Do ya?"

She paused, remembering everything - well, almost everything - from her earlier inner monologue. About how ignited she was, is, whenever he touches her. About how she's thinking with her lust, passion, not her brain or emotions.

About how, already, the mere mention of a shower with him is kindling the fire pooling in her belly.

Oh, and his arms. His lovely, lovely arms, wrapped around her.

"Yes."

"Yes?!"

"Sure. Why not."

"Well, ok then!"

He grabbed her hand and pulled her upstairs and, fuck, it's time for that dream from the other night to come the fuck true, hot damn.

She's demurely unbuttoning her dress and shimmying her tights down her legs while Puck's back is to her, pulling his shirt over his head. She can appreciate - she can more than appreciate - the sharp curvatures of muscles that define his back and his arms, cut in places that she's only seen in anatomy textbook illustrations.

"Rachel, are you sure you're ok with this?" His back is still to her, and he begins to turn around. "I mean, with fucking around and shit, and -"

She deliberately chose to wear one of her very favorite (and skimpiest) lingerie sets, and, Rachel could tell by the way his eyes were panning over her deliciously, that he certainly approved.

The plum lace bra was unlined, with a tiny satin bow covering the clasp at the center. The cups were cut low, and he could see through the lace, the brown outline of her nipples. His eyes darkened as they trailed down to the matching thong panty, also plum lace, also sheer, also deepening in color at the juncture of her legs.

"Fuck me," he swore in a low voice. His darkened eyes fueled her, turned her on even more.

"I'm fine, thanks," Rachel smiled and walked past into his (thankfully) private bathroom, opening the sliding shower doors. "You have a nice shower, Noah."

He followed her. "And you have a nice ass, Berry." He lightly slapped her rear as she bent over to turn the water on, and she squeaked in surprise.

"Noah!"

"Whatever, babe," he drawled as he yanked her into the steamy, running water.

"Noah! I still have my underwear on! As do you!"

"Couldn't wait," he murmured, his lips already against her neck. "No time. Need you. Now." He slipped the thin straps of her bra off and began to pepper kisses on her shoulder, as one hand flicked the clasp in the front, and the garment fell to the shower floor.

"Noah," she moaned. "Noah, my bra is -"

"Shut up." He moved to take her nipple into his mouth and she moaned again, this time more breathily, dragging his name out to several syllables. His tongue worked around the hardened point, and he tested her, biting down, not hard, and when she squeaked, again, then mewled, he moved to the other, and duplicated his routine, a hand caressing her behind as he nibbled and sucked.

His hand moved to her hip, and his thumb hooked and snapped the elastic string of her thong. "So hot, babe," he moved his mouth back up to her neck, and stretched the fingers of his free hand up throughout her damp hair, palming the back of her head.

His thumb snapped the elastic on her hip again. "So hot...just for me, right?"

She threw her head back as he nibbled there, right there, below her earlobe. "You, Noah, for you, all for you." she breathed.

She could feel his hard length through his damp boxer briefs, against her belly, and she rubbed herself up and down against him, grinding him, and he grew even harder and had to start thinking again about spinach and dentures and the Boston Red Sox before this ends real fucking quick.

His tongue swept around hers, as he nibbles on her bottom lip, sucking her moans into his mouth. He dances his fingers off of her hip, and moves over her panties at her opening, trailing lightly, tapping a rhythm out, teasing her.

"Please, Noah," she begged. "Please, please…"

"Please what, baby?" He looks at her flushed cheeks, her heaving chest and his hand slowly, slooooowly scrapes from the back to the front, taunting her until she speaks. "Tell me, sexy, tell me what you want."

"Noah," she holds his gaze. "Noah, I want to. I want to have sex with you, now. Right now." She bites her swollen lips and looks at him, all bright eyes and red cheeks. Her arms are still wrapped around his neck, and she grazes her fingertips over the nap of his neck, at his hairline. The steam surrounding them, curling around them. She pushes up to her tiptoes and puts her lips right next to his ear, enunciating each word. "Fuck. Me. Noah."

He sucks in a breath.

God damn, he wants to, more than anyfuckingthing in God's green earth, but no.

It's not going to be like that.

But he'll make it worth it.

So instead he spins her around so she was facing the stream of water, pulling her against his chest. One arm wrapped around her waist, the other works its way into her thong, between her folds, up and down as her breath quickened and starts to come in jaggedly. He dipped one, then two fingers inside her, his thumb rubbing circles and patterns on her. His mouth sucked her neck and she knew there would be a mark tomorrow and she didn't care because, oh, oh, ohhhh Noaaahhhhhhh, and she threw her head back on his shoulder, arched her back, and came into his hand once before he slowed his pace. As her muscles continued to twitch, he brought his speed up again, and she felt another wave of heat and vibration crash through her, as she yielded after her second orgasm, her knees giving out as he caught her.

Hell yeah, he could get off on that alone. Fuck, he almost did, as she was rubbing up and down against him as he was playing with her. He was rock hard, and he just needed, like, 3 seconds and he'd be done, man, but then she collapsed against him and it was just fucking perfect and he didn't care at all about finishing himself off because Rachel fucking Berry and her moans.

But then she turns around and drops to her knees, pulling his soaked boxer briefs with her, and all of a sudden his dick was between her tits and she was pushing them up and together around him and simultaneously licking his tip and holy fucking shit holy fucking shit shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitttttttttttttttttttt.

SO. MUCH. BETTER THAN THE FUCKING DREAM FUCK.

"We're selling the house." They're laying in his bed together, exhausted, her damp hair splayed over his bare chest, head resting on his shoulder. "Bec and I decided today."

She was wearing another one of his shirts (ok, fine, maybe she likes the way his shirts smell. They smell like...like him. That's carnal, right? That's not...emotional). Rachel props herself up on her elbow to look at Puck's face, to gauge his expression.

"Are you...ok with that?" She asks, tentatively.

"Yeah," He sighed. "It's easier this way. We can't afford to continue paying the mortgage. I'm not here anymore, Becca can get an apartment by school, so what's the point of keeping it." He paused. "'Sides. I didn't exactly have the best memories here."

"Oh, Noah," Rachel laid back down on his shoulder. "This house is not all bad memories and sadness. There were some wonderful moments you spent here, I am sure of it."

He scoffed. "Yeah. It was great having your dad beat the shit out of you in the living room. Or laying in your bedroom at night listening to your mom cry over the bills she couldn't pay. Lawyer bills for juvie."

Rachel frowned.

"It was fanfuckingtastic when she reminded me how I was just like him, bringing home different girls every night. It was an absolute joy how I burned mac and cheese every damn night for me and Becca, 'cause Ma had to work double shifts to afford my dad's habits. Yeah," His face contorted. "Tons of sunshine and fucking rainbows."

Tears filled her eyes at his pain. She reached her hand down to his.

Friends hold hands sometimes. Friends with benefits can hold hands, right?

"You know, Noah," She started off in a quiet voice. "I have a good memory about this house." He grunted as she scooted up to face him. "I had my first kiss on your front steps."

"Hah. With who, Berry?"

"Noah!" She smacked him. "You, silly! And, if I do recall, it was your first kiss too!"

"Nope, mine was with Santana."

"What?" She replied incredulously. "Santana didn't move here till we were 12, and my first kiss was when we were, like, 8, so what are you -"

"Relax, crazy. I'm teasing."

Rachel scrunched up her nose and relaxed back onto his shoulder. "Do you remember?"

It was a hazy and hot day in late August, and Puck was sitting on his front steps with a lighter, trying to flick it on so he could burn some ants.

Maybe it would take his mind off of the ache under his eye, the pounding and pulsating that still hadn't subsided. His dad said it would stop hurting, "when you stopped crying about it like a fucking pussy." He also told him to "stop being so Goddamn loud all the damn time," and to "get the fuck out of the house already."

He thought burning ants was pretty un-pussy-like behavior. But his eye still hurt so, whatever. What a crappy day. His dad was an ass and would go on a rampage whenever he was hungover, his baby sister was screaming her head off, and his ma was sleeping after an all night shift at the hospital, so he couldn't even get her to drive him to Finn's house or something.

Stupid day. Stupid eye. Stupid Dad. Stupid everything.

Puck heard the scrape and screech of a bike tire, and looked up. Rachel Berry, this girl from his class who lived a few blocks away, was riding a large bike. It was actually almost funny to see this short tiny thing on this...this man bike, but if he let himself laugh, his eye would crinkle and hurt even more so forget it.

Stupid eye. Stupid day. Stupid big bike, he didn't even have a big bike. He just had his lame one from two years ago.

She's too small for that bike. That's the kinda bike he wanted, with the fancy brakes, and the mountain trail tires. Girls don't need that kind of bike. Not girls who will ride it in a stupid yellow dress with stupid flip flops on.

Stupid girls.

Rachel didn't notice him on the stoop until he spoke. "Yo, Berry," he called. "Your front tire is too low."

She rolled her eyes. "It's fine, Noah," she replied as she hopped off the bike and began to walk it over to him. "I rode all the way over here and it was fine the whole time." She stopped and stared at his purpled eye. "What happened to you?"

"Nuttin." He scowled. "You need a smaller bike, too. You're like a midget on that thing. Circus midget on too big a bike."

"Noah!" She stomped her foot. "Stop being mean. This is my daddy's bike. Mine is being fixed with a brand new horn and these glittery streamers that Dad found at the sporting goods store in Cleveland and -"

Right. Rachel had two dads. Sometimes he had one dad. Rarely, though.

He bet her two dads didn't hit her.

"Whatever, it's too big for you and your tire is flat. You look stupid on it."

"It is just fine, perfectly adequate, and besides, I need to make sure I get approximately 1 hour of cardio activity in per day to maintain my heartrate suitable enough for singing and hitting high notes, as well as to bring up my endurance. Bike riding is a great form of cardio training, Noah."

"You're gonna fall, Berry. Midgets shouldn't wear flip flops on a bike like that, either."

"I'm fine! I made it all the way over here!" She turned and stuck her tongue out at him, as she awkwardly mounted the bike and started to pedal away. "Ugh, you're such a know-it-all, Noah Puckerman and you're so mean, so just -"

She didn't see the pebble in front of the curb, and the bike bounced. The flattened front tire caught on the pebble, her flip flop got stuck in the spokes, and Rachel went down, hard, on her side, the bicycle falling on top of her.

Puck ran to her and lifted the bike off. "Shit, Rachel, are you ok?!"

Her right shin was all torn and tattered skin, bleeding, up to her thigh, and her yellow dress was speckled red and brown with dirt and blood. "Noah, language!"

"Jesus, you're all scraped up!"

"Leave me alone! I'm fine!" She pushed him away as he was trying to brush gravel off of her knee. "Ouch!" Rachel squinched her eyes closed, and he saw tears forming in the corners.

"Does it hurt? I can get you a band aid or something."

She started sniffling, her shoulders shaking.

"Damn, Rachel please don't cry, don't cry." He felt like an asshole for teasing her before, even if he was right, he didn't mean for her to fall like that. "My mom's a nurse, she can fix it, lemme go get her." He started to stand up to go inside.

"No! No, please don't," Rachel reached out to stop him. "My...I'm...she'll call my daddy. And I'm not supposed to ride this far, and I just wanted to go somewhere alone and ride by myself and now I am all scraped up and there's blood on me and…" A new flood of tears began to roll down her cheek.

"Ok, ok, just calm down," He paused. "I've seen my ma clean my scrapes a hundred times, lemme go get some stuff, I'll be right back."

He ran into the house for the first aid kit and some wipes. He was about to go back outside when he stopped. Puck turned around to go into the freezer, and dug around for…

"A ha!" He triumphantly pulled out a grape popsicle.

He returned outside to a sniffling Rachel and handed her the popsicle after he laid the first aid kit on the ground next to her. "Here."

"What's this for?"

"You like grape, right? I can get you another flavor…"

"No...no, I love grape."

"Ok, cool."

She didn't even notice the sting of the antiseptic spray Puck used on her leg as she was licking the rapidly melting grape popsicle. He was just finishing with the last of three supersize bandages in a row on her shin, when she took the last bite of popsicle.

"Done."

"Oh...oh, Noah, thank you, I didn't even notice you doing anything."

"Yeah," he grinned. "That's why I gave you the popsicle. Whenever my ma fixed me up, she gave me one to distract me."

Rachel stood up gingerly and brushed the remaining dirt off of her dress. "Well...I guess I'm going to go home." She smiled sheepishly "Walk home, that is."

"Are you...are you ok to walk home and stuff?" He looked down at the ground and scuffed the toe of his sneaker in the dirt. "I mean, your sandal and stuff."

She smiled. "I'm ok Noah, thank you." She blushed. "That was...really sweet of you to take care of me." She bit her lip and looked up at him, her cheeks tinged with pink, her lips stained purple from the popsicle.

Puck thought she kind of looked kind of….cute. For a girl and all.

Rachel took a step closer and started to lean up towards him, on her tiptoes.

At the very last moment, Puck moved his face, and the kiss she meant for his cheek landed right on his lips.

They both froze in place, before parting a moment later.

Rachel's eyes widened. "So. So, um, thank you Noah, for, um...right. Thank you." She turned away and hurriedly pushed the bike up the street.

Puck watched her scurry away. He licked his lips, tasted grape popsicle, and grinned.

You know what, it wasn't that bad a day. Not a bad day at all.

"Yeah," he finally responded to Rachel. "Yeah. I remember."

He remembered how she snuck sugar cookies in his backpack when he was 9, and he came to school with a split lip.

He remembered how she came and sat with him on his stoop when he was 10, and his dad left for good, and even though his dad was a shithead, he still wanted a dad.

He remembered how she was the only one who stayed with him in the hospital waiting room, when Shelby took Beth away, when he held his daughter for the last time. He sat with his head in his hands and her hand on his back.

He remembered how she sat next to him at Finn's funeral. She held his hand. He should have been holding hers first, but she just sat next to him in the church and held his hand.

They both lay in silence, and he rolled over on his side to face her. Puck brought his hand to her face, his fingers slowly, gently sweeping over her cheek, his thumb, lingering. He tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

She's just so...she so fucking 's always been this...something to him, and wherever he goes there's always this piece of her with him, no matter how hard he tries - or doesn't try - she's there.

And she's here now, she stayed here, and she came back here, and just.

Fuck. Fuck, this is trouble. He needs to think with his dick, he needs to remember, what this is.

Whatever this is. Or isn't.

Fuck.