Broadway Baby

[acontrollist]

Rachel's packing when the phone rings. It's not a ringtone she immediately recognizes (Don't Rain on My Parade, her general one) as belonging to one particular person, but when she looks down at the number she contemplates not answering at all. It's the casting director for Spring Awakening, that much she's sure of. And since it'd be rude to not answer, she picks up the phone, all the while preparing herself for the worst.

"Rachel Berry speaking!" The girls' got a game face if nothing else. "Yes, yes, of course I remember!...O-oh?....Oh. Oh my God, oh my-yes. Yes, yes of course! I'd be honored! Thank you so much!" The next 5 minutes of the conversation goes that way. Oh my God and Thank you so much and This means so much and a million other exclamations intended to keep her from crying on the phone with her -- her -- casting director. "Thank you. Thank you so much. I'll see you soon, then!" She finally hangs up after a few more thanks yous, dropping her phone on the bed and turning to bolt into the living room.

Of course, she manages to stop herself halfway down the hall. Be cool, Berry. After a few deep breaths, she manages to cool her jets and stride into the living room instead. Noah's watching some silly game and she knows he hates it when she gets in front of the tv, but she's going to do it anyway. Crossing in front of him, she pulls his ankle down from where it's resting on the opposite thigh and takes a seat right in his lap. After prying his beer out of his hands and wrapping her arms around his neck she leans in, kissing a slow trail up his neck to his ear.

"Have you ever made love to a Broadway Starlet, Mr. Puckerman?"

Comments

[but_idontlie]

She's nearly incoherent, babbling, Noah and God and more, moaning and screaming, panting with sharp breaths and cries of pleasure. He's fucking a Broadway starlet, just as she'd promised, fulfilling a fantasy that had been present in both of their minds since the very day she'd crawled into his bed for the first time after her NYADA rejection [whether they'd been willing to admit it or not]. "Rach," he moans, his voice low, eyes half-lidded in ecstasy as he moves, back and forth, back and forth, the rhythm automatic and quick, now, as he chases his own pleasure now that they've found hers together. Her toes still indent into the muscles of his calves, nails still digging crescents into the backs of his hands as he holds them tightly, her body still shaking beneath his as he arches his own body against hers and cries her name aloud in a huge rush of breath and heat and fluid as he pulses within her body [so familiar]. His mouth skitters against hers, his kiss wet and sloppy, uncoordinated because just about everything is out of his control at this point [he wants to make it good for her but he's pretty sure that he already has, in the way that matters; his heart thunders in his head or maybe that's just her heart against his chest, they're pressed so close]. He's so much heavier than she is and he does his best to slump to the side when he collapses against her, trying to let the bed take most of his weight [positional asphyxia is a bitch] as he breathes noisily into her hair, his heart thundering like the grounds of the Kentucky Derby.

[acontrollist.livejournal.com]

Her ears are ringing, the blood rush starting to die down. She swallows around a gasp for air, throat raw and she knows they'll be getting dirty looks from the neighbors later if the slight pain in her throat is any indication of her volume. Not that she cares much. She's on Broadway and she's getting married. She deserves to be as loud as she wants, at least this once. Noah tries to at least fall to the side so as not to crush her, but she's not quite ready to let him go yet. Turning a little, she wraps her arms around his torso and loops their legs together to keep him from pulling too far away. His weight on her will be uncomfortable later. Maybe. But as of right now? She doesn't want it to go anywhere. Turning her head, Rachel brushes her lips lazily over whatever skin she can reach, dry lips catching against his sweaty skin. "I love you." She mumbles, kissing his shoulder, then his jaw. She's said it so many times tonight [She says it so many times every day. It's like breathing now.] but she doesn't care. Because it's true. Because it's like all of her dreams have just come true in the span of about a week and most of it? Revolves around him. Around being here, with him. Around loving and being loved and happy. He deserves to know how appreciated he is.

[but_idontlie]

The blood pounds in his chest, in his abdomen, in his throat and in his head; it comes in heavy thumps that make him feel as though he's just run the ING New York City Marathon [he's training for it, yeah, but not actually running it yet]. Rachel turns into his body, her arms and legs wrapped around him and her face burrowed against the hollow of his neck, his arms surrounding her as her breath warms his throat. "Mmmmmm," he manages, twitching weakly, half-inside her, half-against her inner thigh. They've got the rest of tonight to relax together before she has to leave for Coco's, and then - then, the next time they have this, they'll be husband and wife, legally, even though this is technically supposed to be a marriage just for convenience and safety [they both know that it's a real marriage, for themselves, even if they'll have the show marriage and everything that comes with it in a few years; he feels more right about this than he has about anything else, including New York and the NYPD]. He has to keep breathing, soft pants coming despite the ache in his chest stemming from the earlier exertion [fuck, and he thought he was in amazing shape].

Rachel's lips ghost over his collarbone, and his find her forehead, skimming over strands of hair stuck sweaty to her temple. "So fucking beautiful," he barely whispers, his eyes half-lidded with lust and pleasure and love [and exhaustion, 'cause he'd be fucking lying if he didn't add that last one in there; he'd finally met someone who was his match in every way, except for the ways in which she complemented him, balancing him out in the ways he needed balancing. "S'dumb," to say now, when we're lying here like this, "but you're a good mom to Beth," and I know you're gonna be a great mom when we finally make it happen. "M'lucky I got you'n'we're here in New York. Making our shit real." The place of lights and dreams, where he gets to be a father and a husband and a real man, saving the world and packing heat, and she gets to have her name in lights, performing onstage the way she'd always known she would, even in the face of adversity and people telling her that it wouldn't happen. A smile quirks lightly over his lips, his eyes still half-closed. "I just fucked a Broadway star and I got the movie to prove it. The guys are never gonna believe this shit."