A/N: I know I normally post "parts" that have around 6k words, and this one is a short one. But...I just felt this bad boy needed to stand alone, and deserved it's own "part", separate from anything else... since it is what we've all been waiting for, haha. ENJOY! 3

When Rachel was younger, her dad had a client who owned a fleet of small motor yachts. Every year on the Fourth of July, this client would invite the all the Berrys down to New York City to float around the East River on one of the boats and see the Macy's fireworks up close and personal ("How did they get clearance from the Coast Guard for that, Dad?" "Very rich people, honey."). Since, obviously, it was a very expensive jaunt for just a long weekend, they only went one year, when Rachel was 13.

It was complete and utter magic.

They had spent the whole afternoon sailing around the East River. Rachel basked in the hot sun, enjoying the warmth on her skin, the aroma of the sea air and the gentle saltwater spray on her face as the yacht jumped wave after wave. She loved being on the water and seeing the city, her city (because, of course, at age 13, Rachel knew that New York City was going to be hers one day) from an atypical viewpoint, yet still live and in person. The normally intimidating hustle and bustle of New York was transformed into a peaceful view from the waters, yet, she was still "a part of it, New York, New York," like Frank Sinatra crooned.

And then...the nighttime.

The sky would light up over and over again, raining with sparkles, bursting with color, and Rachel felt as though each individual ribbon of glitter was trickling down on her and her alone. Every explosion sent Rachel's belly into a tailspin of delicious excitement and fervor; she felt the rumbles down to her toes. She reveled in the contrast of the moment - she felt the anchored boat lazily loll back and forth, but her body was internally rocketed by the sounds and sights of the fireworks above her.

It was an event she would hold on to long after the last drops had disintegrated on the water. How the entire evening had ignited all of her senses, all at once - she'd never thought such an experience could exist, let alone happen to her.

And even less, did she think such an experience could happen to her again.

Until she followed Noah Puckerman to his bedroom.

Maybe it was the Long Island Iced Teas. Maybe it was the poetry of this being their "last night." Maybe it was the honesty of the evening.

Maybe it was that song from the jukebox.

It seemed to Rachel that every time they had "hooked up" (she hated that term, but, unfortunately, it was appropriate), it felt like….like a stopwatch was going to go off, that one of them was going to jump back into reality and realize what was happening, who was happening, and stop the momentum.

Tonight was different.

When he turned around to face her after closing his door, gazing at her with hungry eyes and a half smirk, she felt a ripple surge down to her toes even before he encircled his arms around her. Puck began to kiss her cheek, her ear, her neck, and she slowly sucked in a deep breath, a lazy smile on her face.

They stood there, in the middle of the room, no imminence, and Puck cradled her face in his hands gently as they kissed.

This is the Noah, she thought. My Noah.

There was no rush. There was no alarm that would awaken them. For the first time, there didn't need to be.

It's as if the world has finally given us its blessing, she thought.

Serendipity.

It's like, fuck, finally. Finally she's not his mistake, finally he's not hers, and there's no Quinn, no Finn, no bullshit to get in the way and he is going to take his damn time exploring and devouring every square inch of her because, fuck.

Finally.

He didn't realize how long he'd really been waiting.

But seriously. Finally.

He loved that black lace shirt and all, but he loves it even more on the floor. So he breaks their kiss, and Rachel shivers as his fingertips graze over the inner side of her arms when he pulls the shirt over her head. Puck moves to nibble the skin of her bare shoulder, curving his lips up and over to her collarbone, and Rachel exhales.

She slides her hands up and down his biceps, the cut ridges of his forearms as he holds her hips steady, all while working his lips on her neck. Rachel's legs are about to give out (and just over some kissing, no less, she dazedly thinks), so she backs herself onto his bed and he crawls to lean over her.

"So," he kisses her neck, "Fucking", he moves up to below her earlobe, "Hot." He whispers the last word into her ear, his hot breath sending shivers down her spine.

Rachel is immobile (again, from just a kiss! She's astounded. Rachel, imagine what's going to happen when…). Puck pushes himself up onto his knees, straddling her, and pulls his t shirt over his head. She goes to reach for him, to pull him in, but he catches them, intertwines his fingers with hers and pushes their clasped hands against the pillow. "No, babe," he whispered. "Just wanna kiss you. More." He holds her hands above her head while moving his mouth back to her lips.

Ok. Ok, yes.

Yes, yes, yeeeeeeeeeeees.

She's laying there in this black stringy top thing and those jeans still, and he doesn't even see a whole lot of skin and she's the most fucking beautiful thing he has ever seen God damn.

Puck's seen her in tank tops and jeans before. It's not like this is some sacred Rachel Berry ground he is viewing for the first time.

But at the same time?

It's different now.

And he kind of is seeing something for the first time and fuck.

She's just so fucking. Damn.

Rachel needs her arms around him. She needs to touch him, to feel him more than his hands, she wants his body against hers. She breaks free of his fingers and pulls him down on top of her. Puck can feel her breaths heaving in and out, and before he lowers himself completely on top of her, he peels her camisole off to reveal…

Nothing.

She wasn't wearing a bra underneath the camisole.

"Fuck," he swears in a low voice. "God damn, baby. You are just…"

She tugs him down to her again, and they are chest to chest and now, now he wants to move fast because there's all this Rachel Berry under him and he needs it all now, all at once.

But at the same time, he wants to just.

Savor it. Savor her. Savor all of this.

Slowly.

He flicks his tongue across her nipple and she arches her back into him, pushing herself into him, and, Jesus, they're both still wearing pants and his hard-on is just fucking insane right now.

He can talk himself down from an erection, he can make himself last, but damn this is just...damn.

This isn't a, "I'm 13 and gonna blow my load cause, look, boobies," kind of thing.

He's at second fucking base and it's as good as an orgasm already.

He starts to work on her other breast with his hand, while attending to the first one with nibbles, pausing to blow softly on the spots he is lapping at. Back when they first started making out, as teenagers, Puck learned that Rachel totally gets off on opposites like that. Hot then cold, soft touch, then rough, and he filed that information away (and maybe used it in his spank bank a few times) (fine, maybe more than a few).

"Oh Noah, oh Noah, oh Noahhhhh…."

And, damn, he loves how she calls him Noah.

Rachel is thisclose to climaxing right then and there with just his mouth on her chest . "Please," she pants breathlessly, "Noah, please…"

"Please what, sexy? Tell me," he looks up and his eyes shoot straight through her. "What do you want?"

"Please oh please, pants off, oh God, please…"

He kneels up and hooks his fingers under the waistband of her jeans, sliding his thumbs to span her waist, moving his hands behind her, cupping her rear. "These pants, baby? You want...these pants?" He's teasing her, taunting her, and it's making her wet, wet, and wetter.

"Noah, oh God, please, oh Noah," she's moaning.

He flicks his thumb and forefinger around the button fly and slowly pulls the zipper down. His hands still on her hips and his fingers stretch to caress her rear, again, and his forearms push the jeans down her legs.

Holy fuck, she's got satin lace black panties on. Fuck.

Sweet mother of God.

"Baby, you are a fucking gorgeous. Work. Of fucking art."

She loves how he is taking charge of her. She does. But if she doesn't get her hands on him, touching him, feeling his skin under her fingers soon...

And he needs to be out of those pants. Now.

Rachel takes a deep breath and while Noah is leaning back, admiring her, she takes him by surprise, pulls him down and rolls him over on his back. Now Rachel is the one straddling, and she leans back on his thighs and slides her body up and down his. She feels his hands fit into the curve of each of her hips and she scoots up to meet his mouth with hers, so her knees are on either side of his chest, her core flush against his torso while she dances her fingertips over his (oh, so sharp and sexy jawline, I love that jaw), and now Puck is the one moaning. "Oh God, babe, I can feel your wetness through your panties," he murmurs into her mouth as she swirls her tongue around his. "Baby, you are so hot, you are just...mmmm, Rachel…."

She kisses her way slowly down his body, neck, shoulders, arms, chest, her fingers skating over his hard abdomen, pausing briefly at the waist of his jeans. "Noah…"

"Oh God, baby, yes, yes, yes."

Don't need to tell her twice. She pulls the jeans down in one foul swoop and, Oh goodness, tight black boxer briefs and she is, once again, astounded by him.

She's seen it before. But this, tonight? It's all just….different somehow.

He's fucking magnificent, she thinks unabashedly. When he cocks a brow at her, she realizes she's said it aloud, but she's just too worked up to care.

She called him fucking magnificent. She didn't know the half of fucking magnificent. Not unless she'd seen herself on the verge of orgasm.

There are so many things he wants to do to her. So many things with his mouth, his hands.

He doesn't want to rush.

And they have time, now. They have time. And for once a fucking future maybe, he thinks, surprised at how easy that thought flowed out of him.

But right now, he really wants...but at the same time he wants to wait and...but he really needs...

"Noah," Rachel whispers, crawling forward to him, stretching her tiny frame out on top of his. "Noah, I - please, I need you inside me, now. Now."

Yes.

Yes, that's what he needs.

She knows he can bring her to the brink, and over it, again and again. He's certainly proven that to her many a time (and many a time more, she hopes). And she knows she has the same power over him, and she has tricks in her back pocket that she plans on using with him.

But there's no rush for that now.

And she doesn't feel like she has to smash a gamut of sexual positions and licks and tickles and touches into one evening.

Because they finally. Don't. Have. To rush.

They have time.

He leans up to meet her lips, and she slides underneath him.

He's used to asking the girl, "Are you sure?' right before "that moment." With Quinn, with almost any chick, he's learned to give them an "out", if they need it. It clears his conscience, so he's not forcing anyone to do anything.

For the first time, like, ever?

Rachel asks him. First.

"Noah," she places her hands on either side of his face, and looks into his hazel eyes. "Noah. Are you sure?"

Fuck yes. He's never been any surer of anything in his entire life.

One elbow propping him up above her, he reaches into his bedside table. "Condom."

"And pill."

"Rach, baby, are you sure?"

"Oh, Noah, so, so, so sure." She pulls him down to her.

And it's fireworks and explosions and flames and the salty sweet taste of sweat and the peaceful tranquility juxtaposed with the waves of pleasure careening through her.

And it's perfect.

So, so, so perfect.

And if he knew that this was what he had been waiting for?

I would've waited 3 fucking lifetimes for that.