A/N: I'm warning you now, smut ahead.
I turn the lights out
I clean the sheets
You change the station
Turn up the heat
And now you`re sitting
Upon your chair
You`ve got me tangled up
In your beautiful black hair
{Sea Wolf – The Violet Hour }
He's there in less than ten minutes, actually. Turns out there's a sneaky little way around all the traffic in New York, through a couple of alleyways and around a few dodgy buildings and you're in their driveway.
The apartment block is friggan' huge. Puck has a suspicion Jesse likes showing off. (Of course he does. Second regionals – when McKinley won – they had their jackets bedazzled in a self-portrait of themselves.)
Puck presses the buzzer about sixty times. He knows she hates this kind of stuff. "Hello?" Rachel calls over the intercom, sounding annoyed.
As he's waiting in the lift, he's already thinking about her, in front of him, in her panties . . . See, last time, they were yellow right, and-
His train of thought must've been swept out of his brain by the breeze. Rachel opens the door, standing there in this pink night slip thing, and it's got white lace on it and it's cotton and holy shit, he can't speak.
She's not wearing a bra, either.
Wow.
"Do you want to come in?" Rachel asks innocently.
"Yeah," he nods, his eyes still raking over her body. "That'd be good."
"So, while Jesse is-"
"I don't want to hear his name. At all. It's a gay name. Who calls someone Jesse, I mean-"
"Noah?"
"Yeah?"
"Please, shut up, now."
Like those are the magic words, he's got his lips on hers. His fingertips are running through her hair, and she thinks is a thousand times better with Puck than it ever was with Jesse. When he starts tugging on the hem of her dress, though, she has to intervene. "Noah- Noah- Wait, no, really . . . Stop for a minute- Can we get out of the doorway first?"
Puck's head snaps around to see that the door is still wide open and he can hear some little kids running down the hallway. A twelve-year-old pokes his through the door, his jaw practically on the floor.
"Scram, kid, she's way out of your league," Puck grunts, slamming the door shut.
"Noah," she warns, but she's biting her lip in this playful kind of way that always tells him whether she's mad or horny.
"So . . . Bedroom? Kitchen? Shower? Your house, your choice, baby," he says with a grin.
She pauses for a minute, then takes his hand and drags him up the stairs. "This way . . ." Rachel murmurs in an incredibly sexy, shy way. She reaches her room (their room) with the wide, open windows and the balcony that gives a great view and ensuite. You know, all the stuff Rachel deserves.
But she's pulling his shirt up over his shoulders and tossing it onto the floor, and so who really cares? Jesse might provide for her, but Puck makes her happy. Maybe Rachel isn't so wrong for wanting both of them. Maybe he'd do the same thing, if he was in her position.
Hah, no he wouldn't. Like anyone would choose Jesse St James.
(He forgets she sort of already has.)
Rachel presses herself against him, dragging the zipper of her dress down slowly. His thoughts go out the window with that. His fingers slides down her body, making her shiver slightly. With a flick of his wrist, the pink cotton straps are falling down her shoulders, and with another, the material pools at her feet. Rachel looks at him blankly – almost shyly – as his eyes graze over her body, scrutinizing and analysing and sorting incoherent thoughts from coherent ones.
Puck moves in to kiss her again. His lips are brushing against her jaw, her throat, her collarbone. Down the valley of her breasts and across the plain of her stomach. She almost jumps when she feels his tongue against her nipple, and the moan that escapes her lips is uncontrollable when his teeth graze against her skin gently.
Rachel really, really, really wants Puck to be touching her right now, but she doesn't know how to ask and she doesn't want to rush it. But when his fingers are tugging on her hair slightly, its enough to make her realise that she needs this.
"Noah . . ." she mumbles, her thumbs slipping beneath the waistband of hr underwear as she yanks them off. "Just- Now, okay?"
Rachel can feel his silent laughter shaking his frame as he picks her up and sits her on the bathroom bench. She rests her head on his bare shoulder as his hands push her knees apart slightly. She's always loved his hands – musician's hands. Truthfully, watching them sweep over piano keys and strums low chords had always been totally, utterly sexy back in high school. It was nothing like this though – watching was nothing like having him playing her body like his favourite instrument.
Puck adds another finger, and Rachel knows soon he's going to brush over that spot inside her. She's counting on him to.
But when he leans down and pulls back, Rachel just about topples on the bench. She grasps onto the bench for support, because his hands are gone now, and all she can feel is this throbbing need.
Puck's tongue darts inside of her. Her breathing is unsteady; she's still a little shocked from his lips against her thigh, his tongue exploring her. When he pulls away for a second time, her shoulders slump back against the wall as she groans. Rachel's mouth is open to complain, but Puck presses his lips to hers before she's got even got one syllable out. "Later. I promise."
She'll take his word for it. Rachel hooks her fingers through the belt loops of his jeans, guiding him back out of the ensuite and towards the bed. She drops onto the bed while Puck unzips his pants and practically flies out of them. Rachel slips her hand into his boxers, her fingertips ghosting over his erection before dropping the last piece of material to the floor. He's just settled down, hovering over her, when his face lights up.
"Shit! Condom," Puck explains, digging through his back pocket, snatching up his wallet and searching it. Rachel watches him, mostly impatient and slightly nervous. He kisses her before going back to his pre-protection position – hovering over Rachel – and looks her in the eyes. "Baby, you won't regret this," he tells her, which she thinks is his way of saying something reassuring and sweet; saying she isn't actually a bad person for this. And she has to believe him. She has to.
Puck slides into her slowly, breathing against her neck, before pulling out and pushing back in again. Over and over, until Rachel feels like she's getting higher and higher, and right now, she's at the very top. She's this close to-
It runs through her whole body. It's uncontrollable and dangerous, in these circumstances, to like (love) this so much. Rachel can hear her name being called out distantly, and so she knows he's hit his orgasm too.
Ten minutes later, she opens her eyes. Puck's lying beside her, though she doesn't remember him pulling out, looking tired. She notices the condom in the trashcan on the other side of the room. Rachel almost tells him to throw it away somewhere else – to get rid of the evidence – because that's Jesse's side of the bed. She doesn't, however. Instead, Rachel shifts over until she feels his body heat and shuts her eyes closed.
Puck wakes up the next morning to a cloudy New York day, the smell of Rachel's perfume and an empty place beside him where Rachel was supposed to be. He's almost positive she's done a runner. Maybe he'll just wait here for Jesse to get home, then . . .
He wouldn't do it to her. She knows that too.
Puck collects his wallet and shirt and other forgotten items that had been splayed across the room. He's done this walk of shame a few (way)too many times. Depending on the girl and the circumstances, if he's about to get away this early, he's usually got his head held high in triumph. Nothing sucks more than a girl who wants you to hang around – or worse yet, won't leave. This morning, though, he doesn't really feel anything. It's just this kind of blank, empty blur of thoughts and feelings he should be having, but he's not. This Rachel thing is really messing him up.
(He won't give it up though. Not if he has a chance.)
As Puck is about to turn right and head out into the apartment hallway, he smells something. Something good. Something that makes his stomach grumble in hungry agony, because, now that he thinks about it, he hasn't eaten in about sixteen hours.
If Jesse's come home with a surprise breakfast for Rachel, not only is Puck going to be in a shit-load of trouble, but he's going to be unpleasantly surprised to see Rachel wouldn't even have the guts to stick around after something like that.
Except, unless Jesse has died his hair chocolate brown, grown it to his waist and turned into a small Jewish girl, then that's Rachel. She stuck around.
Puck lets out a breath he hadn't known he had been holding, and drops his shoes on the ground. Rachel jumps at the sound, running a hand through her hair and eyeing the pancakes cooking. "Sorry- I just- You scared me," she mutters. Puck smirks, inhaling the wonderful aromas.
"What're you cooking?"
"Chocolate chip pancakes."
His mouth goes dry. He hasn't had them since he was, like, fourteen and his mom would still occasionally cook him breakfast instead of handing him a box of fruit loops. It looks like Rachel is cooking them just the way Rina Puckerman did too – heavy on the chocolate chip. Yum.
"Sweet," Puck grins, opening her fridge and scanning over the contents. "You know what tastes amazing on chocolate chip pancakes?"
Rachel puts a hand on her hip and raises an eyebrow. "What?" She sounds so suspicious.
"Whipped cream," Puck says slowly, lifting his eyebrows suggestively. He advances on her, shaking the can threateningly.
"No! Not on my new shirt!" she hisses, wrapping her arms around herself protectively. "On the pancakes, Noah, not on the woman cooking them."
Puck shrugs casually. "Or we could do both."
"No."
"Come on, Rach," he laughs. At this point, Rachel is just about cowering against the bench while Puck is hovering above her, can in hand. "It'll be fun. It'll be fun and sexy."
"No!"
Puck laughs as he swipes the whipped cream over her nose, creating a tiny dot. He takes her head in his hand, licks it off and kisses her.
"Okay, okay," she sighs, turning around and flipping the pancakes onto a plate. "Breakfast first, and then we'll talk about the whipped cream."
That pretty much means he's won. Whipped cream and a weekend alone? She'd be stupid not to take it.
The pancakes are fucking amazing. He eats three before she tells him to stop. Being the delicate little thing she is, she only eats one and a half, and so he gets the rest anyway. Today is going to be good.
Rachel is cleaning up the dishes in the sink when he strolls up behind her, wraps his arms around her waist and kisses the shell of her ear. She turns slightly at the touch, kissing him over her shoulder.
"Okay, okay. So, back to the whipped cream subject-"
Rachel and Puck both hear it. The sound of footsteps down the hallway, the quiet racket of a suitcase being pulled along behind whoever is walking, echoes through the seventeenth floor. Rachel recognises his voice because he's humming; Puck recognises his timing because Jesse St James ruins everything.
"No," Rachel whispers, running a hand through her hair, her free hand gripping the bench for support. "You have to hide- You have to get out, Noah!"
"What do you want me to do? Jump out the window?" he mutters sarcastically.
"Go stand behind the bookcase. When he comes into the kitchen, run for it-"
"My wallet-"
"I'm working today from three until nine. Come and get in from me then."
"Rach-"
"Shh!" Rachel hisses, pushing him towards the right side of the bookcase. If Jesse walked straight into the kitchen and didn't turn around, Puck would be fine. If he turned around, though . . .
Rachel looks at Puck nervously as the key clicks in the lock. Jesse appears a few seconds later, his huge suitcase in hand and his hair perfect and he's looking just plain handsome.
She shouldn't ask for more than Jesse. Jesse should be enough.
(He's not, though.)
"Rachel," Jesse sighs, smiling. Puck just about gags and blows chunks all over St James' fancy bookcase, but he holds it in for Rachel. "God, I've missed you." Jesse kisses Rachel then, the way Puck had kissed her time and time again last night and this morning. He'd like to say it made him sick, but it didn't even do that. It made him feel like a loser.
Jesse's back is turned, so Puck goes to make a run for it.
"Hang on; I just have to go get my laptop bag out of the car. I couldn't carry it all," Jesse explains, turning around. Rachel's mouth is hanging open – she's noticed Puck standing there too. It's hard to miss him creeping out the doorway.
"Jesse! I was just about to tell you . . . Puck came over, just to se how we were going. We haven't spoken in months, have we Puck?"
His eyes are angry, but he goes along with it anyway. "Yeah. It's been a long time."
Jesse takes a step forward. "You visited my girlfriend at ten in the morning?"
"On my way to work," Puck murmurs. "I got to go. I'm running late."
"Bye, Puck," Rachel says airily. "I'll be at work today, if you want to have a chat over a latte."
"Yeah, sure," he replies, flying out the door.
Jesse watches him go, his brow creased and a fist clenched in his pocket. "He's not- He wouldn't- Look, Rachel, you don't think that maybe Puck . . . . Likes you?"
Rachel decides to play it stupid to be safe. "Of course he likes me. We're friends."
"But more than friends. Maybe he wants you-"
"Oh, please, Jesse," she interrupts. "As if anything could ever happen between me and him."
She kind of likes this lying thing. It's sick and wrong but she's good at it, and there are only a handful of things she's talented at. But when she is good at something, she tends to be very good, and she's counting on that to some how get through this mess.
Your arms are lovely
Yellow and rose
Your back's a meadow
Covered in snow
You love all sailors
But hate the beach
You say "Come touch me"
But you're always out of reach
{Sea Wolf – The Violet Hour}