Like Ships

[acontrollist]

The apartment is empty when Rachel walks in. Not that she expects anything different. They've been married for a little more than a month, but since their honeymoon, she's actually gotten to spend time with Noah that wasn't just the two fo them sleeping next to each other or shoveling takeout into their mouths before they passed out maybe a grand total of 3 times. 4, if you count the quickie on the couch, which Rachel doesn't really, since she's pretty sure she was asleep before he even pulled out and she's not sure she would have remembered it happened at all the next day if there hadn't been that bruise on her ribs.

Needless to say, the whole baby thing? Hasn't happened. She was ovulating last week and didn't get to see him at all (she woke up halfway when he got into bed, and then again when he got out to go back to work) those days. Rachel's frustrated to say the least and she kicks her shoes hard into the back of their closet, grumbling to herself.

Comments

[acontrollist]

"I jumped down your fucking throat because all I want is 20 minutes with my husband without his ego jumping down my throat!" But whatever. She's not going to sit here and argue with him, not when she can see his coworkers walking around through the glass panes that make up one wall of the room. He apologizes, and Rachel just shakes her head a little, still moving to get ready to go. She's just 300% done with today. And about 25% done with tomorrow, to be honest. She doesn't react to his touch, too tired, too starved for it to pull away but still stung enough to keep from leaning into it. "Love you too."

Zipping her jacket, she shakes her head in response to his offer. "I'll take a cab." A cab driver won't come back and report to her husband that she cried on the way home, and she won't give in to the urge to yell at a cab driver about stupid hours and burst appendixes. She just needs to be anonymous for a little while.

"I'll see you...whenever." She can't even promise it'll be when he gets home, because she'll either be asleep or on her way out for rehearsal. And who knows where he'll be whenever she manages to fight her way through the crowd and back to their apartment?

do the next post and I'll have him come home during my next post <3

[but_idontlie]

It's not his ego. Asking if Brody's a better kisser? Fuck, he just doesn't want Rachel to forget about him, or to get off on Brody 'cause he's the guy she sees most often. [He's kind of fucking jealous. He should have auditioned for the show himself. Hell, he'd see his wife more that way.]

She allows herself a few moments' press of her cheek to his hand before moving away; his hand drops to his side. "Okay. Just... call me so I know you got back okay." The remainder of his shift will go easier if he knows that she's home, tucked into bed, sleeping. Maybe she'll feel better in the morning. He'll still be exhausted, but whatever. He's been awake for longer than 24 hours before now; this will just be another one of those times [he'll try to stay up with her]. "See you when I get home, in the morning," he murmurs, standing to walk her out, leaving his Thai on the table.

[acontrollist]

His ego, his jealousy, whatever. Either way. Rachel's point is that she hasn't seen her husband, really seen him in days and she'd really like to spend some time with him that doesn't involve him poking at her about some guy she's kissing for her job.

"Sit down, Noah. Finish eating." Rachel picks up her own Thai, shouldering her purse. Fight or not, he's still on his lunch break. A much needed one at that. They're both losing weight, but hers is more from stress and Noah's the one that gets all cranky when he doesn't eat. "I'll call you when I get home."

She doesn't cry in the cab. She sniffles a little, in the shower, but by the time she lays down, her head is pounding and her back feels like a column of knots and she's too tired to cry, too tired for nearly anything and she doesn't even realize that she's falling asleep until she's gone.

[but_idontlie]

At this point, he's screwed enough now that escorting her downstairs will just make her angrier. He's resigned to sinking deep into the couch and digging into his Thai as she walks away, out the door. It tastes good, sure. The noodles are hot and peanutty, the bite of the chili-garlic sauce making him thirsty. It'll have to keep him going through the remainder of his shift and through the ride home. [Honestly, it's fucking awesome. He needs to order from this place, like, all the time. There are few foods as awesome as Thai when you've been working for way too fucking long.]

He finally makes it home at six-thirty in the fucking morning after showering at work and taking the MTA. It's already light outside, and he stops for a Dean & DeLuca, knowing that there's a good chance that Rachel will be awake and hoping that she's in a better mood now than she was when she'd left the precinct. Opening the door, coffees in hand, he locks it behind himself with a soft click, sliding the chain in the lock and twisting the deadbolt.

He removes his shoes so that he doesn't make noise, setting the coffees on the table for a brief moment. The apartment is quiet, and he carefully walks toward their bedroom. He wears sweats - something he can easily sleep in, 'cause he keeps a change of clothes in his locker for days like this, something clean to wear after he showers - and dislodges his badge and sidearm from his clothing, placing them atop the dresser with the intention of moving them to the nightstand drawer later. "Rach, baby?" he murmurs, not wanting to wake her if she sleeps, but wanting to know if she's awake. "Brought you coffee."

[acontrollist]

The hard plastic click of his holster is what wakes her. She's on her side, back to the door and so she hears his voice but doesn't turn to look at him immediately. Shifting a little, she cranes her neck to glance at the clock on her bedside table. Her alarm won't be going off for another hour, but she can already feel the sleep hangover settling in behind her eyes so trying to go back to sleep is useless. Her hair's come out of his braid, so she's pushing it out of her face as she sits up, swinging her legs out of bed. Coffee does sound good...

"Thanks." She stretches, turning slightly on the bed to look at him. The bitch thing still stings a little a lot, and right now it's not doing much besides irritating the hell out of Rachel. She's got an extra hour before she needs to start getting ready for work, they're both awake, and she can't shake her hurt feelings about last night. Great timing. Really. They could be baby making right now. God.

"So..." She runs her fingers through her hair, trying to work out some of the tangles. "How was work?"

[but_idontlie]

He moves to sit beside her, a coffee in each hand; he holds hers patiently while she rakes her fingers through her mussed hair. "Long," he answers honestly. "I missed you. Shitty because I was there all day, all night." He hesitates. "And I didn't get to fix us before you left. M'sorry, Rach. I know this sucks for you, and I totally get why you're angry about it." He is, too; he's just quieter about it, but that's the way he's always been with his emotions. He doesn't talk about them, not really, and especially when there's not a damn thing he can do about the situation.

"How about you, you sleep okay? M'sorry I woke you up."

[acontrollist]

And Rachel's the exact opposite. She's never had much of an emotional filter, and though she's gotten more tactful the older she's gotten, she still loses control of it when she's angry or tired. And lately, all she's been is tired. She takes her coffee, fitting her hands around the sides and nodding a little. "I'm just tired. We both are. And I shouldn't have gotten upset about the Brody thing." Granted, bitch shouldn't even be in his vocabulary regarding his wife, but Rachel can at least own up to her part in making him mad now.

"I didn't even realize I'd fallen asleep." She admits, turning to look at the clock again. "When do you have to go back in?"

[but_idontlie]

"It just sucks, knowing he's with you all the time, getting to do the shit I should be doing to you," he tries to explain, his voice quiet. It's a mixture of jealousy and frustration. He knows that the guy isn't going to make a move on his wife, and - even if he did - Rachel is here, with him, for a reason. She's always been with him. That won't change just because they're going through shit. But to know that work takes him away so long and so unpredictably, and when he thinks, What's Rachel doing right now?, his thoughts are filled with Brody kissing her, touching her, making her gasp and moan. Even if it's just for the show, just pretend, he's still the one sitting at a desk or riding patrol while Brody gets to pretend with Rachel.

He's fairly certain that it would bother her, if the shoe were on the other foot. If it was Rachel working her ass off in a job she alternately loved and hated, and he got to spend his days working with an attractive co-star, touching her and kissing her and getting a point-blank view of her body.

It's that another guy gets to do this stuff, and he hasn't been able to do it. They either work opposite schedules or they're too fucking exhausted to even begin.

"First shift tomorrow," he murmurs, taking a sip of his coffee and following her gaze to the clock. I'm free 'til eight a.m. tomorrow. Fuckin' sweet. "So, I have today and tonight with you, then I gotta be up and out the same time as you for rehearsal tomorrow. I'm not the only person covering Drew, so it's not gonna be doubles and overtime every day." It'll probably kick his ass, but he's fully prepared to stay up with Rachel and fall asleep on her dressing room couch when she's onstage, catching a nap during rehearsal, a nap during a show, before sleeping with her when the show is over for the night.

[acontrollist]

"He's not doing anything to me, Noah!" She throws her hands up a little. "That's my point. I don't care about Brody. I don't. You're the one who makes such a big deal out of it." Sitting her coffee on the table, she turns to face him. "He's not even really kissing me." Because stage kissing? Nothing like the kind of kisses she gets from her husband. "Brody's my friend and a good majority of the time, he's not even hard and he's got the hots for Amanda anyway."

Nodding, she picks up her coffee to take another sip. It's Wednesday, so the shows should be thin, meaning she might actually make it home around 10:30. Which is actually pretty good. "Good. You'll actually get some sleep." And they'll maybe actually get to spend a little time together. "I'll try to get through the crowds at a reasonable time..."

[but_idontlie]

"I know you don't," he returns calmly. "Even if nobody's getting off on it, he still gets to do shit to you that I don't." She faces him; he reaches one hand forward, gently sliding it beneath the top of her pajamas to cup a bare breast in his palm, stroking over her nipple with his thumb. He can feel it harden beneath his hand, the skin drawing tight, and he exhales shakily. "The last time I got to do that was when we got back from our honeymoon," he murmurs. And, even though it means nothing, even though it's pretending, Brody gets to do a rougher version of that every night.

[Also, he's a classy bastard. Amanda's married.]

"Can I come with?" He's fully prepared for her to say no, but he doesn't really give a shit. If he has the time to be with her, he'll take it. "I can crash on the couch when you're onstage. I'll bring the iPad. Swear I won't bug you, I don't wanna stay here all day by myself when I could be with you." For coffee breaks, lunch breaks, times when somebody else is rehearsing a scene and she's got some time to waste.

[acontrollist]

Her mouth's half open when he reaches over and up her shirt and she realizes, for a split second that she's about to ask him what he's doing. She hasn't actually questioned him touching her since they were in high school and the question dies in her throat (as it should), coming out as she shaky breath instead, her hands moving up to wrap around his biceps as she leans forward into his hand. "I know. It doesn't-...this is better, though."

"You really want to sit at the studio all day? You'll be bored out of your mind." Well...not exactly, probably. Her coworkers really like him, and since some of them are going on the tour, they're not as hardcore as Rachel right now. So they'll probably talk to him. Rachel, though, will likely only acknowledge him in passing, focused on trying to stay in Wendla's headspace between shows and rehearsals.

[but_idontlie]

"Shit, Rach," he murmurs, his pupils dilated and voice low. His hand never drops away; his other hand slides over, pushing the waistband of her pajamas down slightly to cup a bare hipbone. "Baby, I -" He can't complete the rest of the sentence, swallowing past a sudden lump in his throat. This is the most contact they've had in days. It's bullshit, really. They're married. They're trying to conceive. They should be fucking like bunnies.

"I'll sleep," he offers. "I need the sleep. I just don't wanna do it here while you're there." It doesn't bother him that she'll be busy, rehearsing or performing; he can find things to do.

[acontrollist]

"Yes." She doesn't know what exactly she's saying yes to right now, but she's nodding, repeating that one syllable and trying to pull off his shirt with one hand and tugging at her own with the other until she finally gives up on him and uses both hands to yank her shirt up over her head and tossing it behind herself. "Yes, yes, yes..." It's the most he's touched her in...God, she can't remember but it's like someone opened the floodgates and she's gone from nothing to need want need, scooting closer to wrap her arms around his neck and seal her lips over his.

"It's kind of loud and the couch isn't very comfortable but...you're welcome to come along, if you want." She won't mind having him there, she just knows that Noah kind of turns into a little boy when he's bored.

[but_idontlie]

Sex won't fix their argument. It's not a substitute for apologies or talking or even spending time together [they've been deprived of that; time is the only cure]. With that in mind, though, this is long overdue.

She fumbles with his clothes and gets nowhere; he's taking too long to pull his hands from her body and she's too fucking desperate, her hands trembling in her impatience. Her shirt hits the floor [she gave up on his clothing], and he pulls himself away, just for a moment, to yank his t-shirt over his head and toss it on the ground, shove his sweats down around his thighs and ankles, before he grabs her naked body in his arms again, holding her tightly. "Fuck, yes," he manages, his mouth meeting hers, pressing hungry kisses to her lips, the curve of her jaw, her chin, trailing down her neck and the throbbing pulse there... "Baby, need." Fuck ovulating. He just wants his wife.

"I'm fuckin' tired enough that it won't matter," he tells her honestly. "I'll sleep and when I'm not sleepin', I'll fuck around on the iPad, watch a movie or something. I've been up for, like, two days or something. I'm gonna crash."

[acontrollist]

Rachel isn't worried about the argument right now. They were both wrong, they've both apologized, and being okay with it isn't going to happen immediately just because of that. But that doesn't mean they can't get started with the making up. After all, after apologies are doled out, you're supposed to start forgiving.

Is she wrong for thinking make up sex is a super fun part of that?

He takes care of his own shirt and sweats while she wiggles out of her panties, up on her knees and poised like she's nearly ready to leap, propelling herself forward the second he reaches back out for her. "I'm right here." She needs too. She's not thinking about getting pregnant, not right now, not with her husband so close for the first time in what feels like forever. They can fool around later. Foreplay and sweet nothings and yada yada but now? Right now, she wastes no time grabbing at him, tugging to lay down on the bed.

[but_idontlie]

He's always been a fan of make-up sex. It's one of the best parts of arguing or fighting. But... shit, this is the one relationship he never wants to fuck up. With Santana, sure. He didn't give a shit. But Rach? God, he'll sit there and be emo until she's satisfied, just as long as they can be good again.

"I know." For the first time in forever - hey, they're both awake, and they have enough time to get naked. [Somebody better pinch him 'cause he's pretty sure this is a dream.] He crawls onto the bed, dropping onto his stomach and knocking the breath from his lungs. Rach. He doesn't speak; he's too busy kissing her, rolling to his back, tugging her to straddle him. His hands move between her thighs, encouraging, stroking; he takes himself in hand and rubs between her thighs, impatient, feeling her dripping as he kisses her.

[acontrollist]

If it's a dream, shared dreaming is definitely something they're going to have to do more research on and replicate, with the amount of quality time they've been getting lately. He pulls her on top and she laughs, a little breathless against his lips. In highschool, she'd always thought Noah was the kind of guy who wanted to be completely in control in the bedroom. The way he has a tendency to pull her on top is still an unexpected change from her expectations even after all these years.

Except that's not what she wants right now. She's perfectly content to ride his fingers for right now, wet, not soaking but enough (at least, enough as she has patience for) but when he bucks up against her, she sits back, pulling him with her so that she's in his lap, facing him, pressed together from their collarbones to their hips.

There's barely enough space to reach down and wrap her fingers around him, rocking her hips forward to sink onto him.

[but_idontlie]

The rest of the day [the night, the day prior, all of it] melts away; he loses himself in her smile, wide and bright. Sometimes, it's fun to be in charge, to just push her over onto her hands and knees or up against a wall and to slide easily inside her willing body.

[Admittedly, it's fun when she's on top. He gets to just recline on the bed, Rachel straddling his hips and sliding up and down his length - sometimes twisting her hips in circles or figure-eights, sometimes rising up on her toes or spreading her thighs wider to sink low - and when she gets really close or excited, she gasps as she bounces, and it's so fucking hot to see those beautiful tits bounce with the motion of her body. His eyes are fucking drawn to them. And he can pull her low and kiss her, can take a nipple in his mouth, or suck on her fingers, or bring his own hands between her thighs and rub the pad of his thumb against her body as she rides him.]

This position - both of them seated, hugging each other, Rachel straddling his lap - is a good one; he can do all of those things and rock his own body for a long, slow fuck that will probably make them scramble to get her to rehearsal on time. She's the one to guide him, and he exhales a low groan against her mouth as he feels the wet slip of her skin, pushing inside her until all he feels is Rachel.

[Yeah. The first time they did this? He never would have imagined she'd become his wife. And it feels so amazing without condoms; it's even more amazing, knowing that there is nothing that she keeps from him now.]

"I love you," he breathes, panting out the words between kisses. "Love you, love you - shit, baby - not enough time," his mouth leaves her lips and slides over her jaw, biting at her earlobe, his arms wrapped around her body to the point that it's difficult for him to breathe [she's held so tightly against his chest, his breath shuddering]. "Wanna fuckin' do this for days."

[acontrollist]

This isn't her favorite position. Oddly enough, at least to her inner 14 year old (who had all these expectations about love and sex and the things you do in bed), she kind of prefers for Noah to just bend her over. On her knees, over the counter or the back of the couch. Either way. Of course, she won't tell Noah that. He'll probably never stop attempting to bend her over even at the most inconvenient times.

But that's neither here nor there.

The point is, that while this isn't her favorite position, it's perfect for right now. She can actually look at him, can feel him, pressed as close as their bodies can allow right now, for the first time in what seems like a lifetime. And she takes full advantage of it, digging her nails against his shoulders and moving slowly, gently, enough to rock her hips and feel him sliding and moving in her, but not enough so that the rest of her loses contact. "I love you. God, love you, love you..." Leaning forward, she seals her lips over his, leaning their foreheads together when the kiss breaks. "I'll-...no rehearsal."

It'll be fine. They'll finish in time enough for her to call Brody and the crew knows. How stressed she's been, how little she's seen her husband. They'll understand. It's just one rehearsal and their Isle's the one who needs work, not her.

[but_idontlie]

No rehearsal. He can barely believe what she says. Rachel doesn't call in for any reason, but he's absolutely fine with this. [He'd encourage it more often, but he knows that not only will she not call out, but that he'll get a brief lecture for his troubles. That part of Rachel, at least, hasn't changed.

He can feel the press of her nails against the skin of his bare back, the tightening of her thighs around his waist as she rocks and whispers. She's always so good, so responsible and strong. She's the stoic one in their relationship; sure, she's a drama queen, but she's there when nobody else is. Hell, she let him drag her to New York City without a plan, with nothing other than a few bags, a little money, and each other. He's the tough guy, he's the cop, but he'd really be nothing without Rachel, and they both know it.

They suddenly have more time, the opportunity to lie together in bed and actually wake up together. It had been a shock when their shifts made time together difficult; they had always had the luxury of time. They have a reprieve from their busy schedules this morning, and he intends to make the most of it. He kisses her again, slow and tender, breath shaky as his lips touch hers. Rocking, he clenches his muscles, shifting back and forth as he moves inside her. There's enough of him to fit perfectly, to touch all of her; wrapping his arm more fully around her ribs, he reaches between their bodies with an errant hand, stroking the curve of her neck, brushing his fingertips over her bare breasts and down the hollow between them, gently mapping the curve between her hipbones with his hand.

[acontrollist]

She leans back just barely, allowing space for the broadness of his hand against her skin. It's less contact than she wants, right now, but she can give him that much. She can trade his warmth against her chest for the way his callouses spark light up and down her spine when they slide over her skin. Its enough, right now. Without rehearsal, she won't have to be at the theater until noon so they have time, really, for all the things they both want right now. Neither of them are very patient people but after being forced into it for weeks on end, they can do that now. Take their 6 hours and make the most of it, make their greed productive.

Unwinding her arms from around his neck, she wraps her fingers around his wrist, slipping his hand down until there's no more space for him, until she can press his fingertips against where they're joined. That's what she's missed. Not sex, not per say, but his touch. His hands on her waist, in her hair. Not his body, because he's given that to too many women for her to count but she thinks - she knows - the way he touches her is different. She can feel it, in the way his fingertips press into whatever skin they're up against, that he loves her. That he needs her, by the way he clutches her closer.

She's not even really kissing him anymore, just whimpering against the seal of his lips and rocking with the clench of his muscles, letting him lead from underneath. "Don't stop."

[but_idontlie]

Her body is so warm against his. That's one of the strongest sensations he feels: pure heat. He's admittedly chilly from his walk in the cool March air and, while he's like a human furnace at the best of times, Rachel has been asleep in bed for so long that every touch of her body is like a lick of flame on his overly sensitive skin.

[He wants her that badly right now. Bitching about not getting his dick wet enough in high school doesn't even come close to this.]

His hand slides lower, her delicate fingers wrapped tightly around his wrist ["Fuck, your hand's so small, babe. You really think you can get this condom on me? Pretty sure you can't reach around my dick."] as she drags his hand down and down and down. He feels wet, and volcanic, and the sweet slide of himself as he pushes into her and pulls out again, barely moving 'cause he likes holding her this close, with an arm wrapped around her body. He moans, softly; his fingertips skid, dipping lightly into her as he pulls away, sliding up to rub circles as he pushes in again. He couldn't stop even if he wanted to [and he'd be crazy if he ever wanted to stop].

"I love you," he whispers in response, twisting his fingertips harder, pushing in deeper. "Love you so fuckin' much, baby."

[acontrollist]

He presses harder against her (and she shouldn't be surprised, not really. Noah's always been one to push, to prod and jump limits and lines. Especially when it comes to their sex life) and she nearly shouts, jerking hard against his chest before wrapping her arms back around him tight. Her balance feels off, just a little, and she could lean back and let him take over but she doesnt want that. Isn't willing to sacrifice their closeness just yet. Instead she curls her legs back, after a little bit of shifting, tucking her toes into the rumpled piles of the sheets to get some more leverage.

She can push forward easier this way, can press herself up against the rough skin of his fingertips harder, faster, and she's edging up quickly. And really, Rachel has no qualms about taking care of herself when Noah's working but she's been too tired, too upset, and she honestly can't remember the last time she had an orgasm. "Noah-...Noah, Noah, baby," Her hips lose their rhythm and she sobs against the skin of his neck. "'M so close."

[but_idontlie]

That thrust, that press of fingers, maybe they were a little too hard for her at first 'cause she jolts and clings to him even tighter; before he can really process it, she's found some way to tangle herself up in the covers and push harder against him. He can feel it, in some distant part of himself. He can feel that she's getting tighter around him, quivering with every thrust, rolling her hips against his hand as he works her.

Yeah, he's not going to last much longer than that. [The only reason he's lasted so far is because he's got a fuckton of sexual experience. You don't become a Sex God if you gotta think of the mail, dude.]

Her hips smack against his when he isn't expecting it; her control is slipping and slipping fast. "Fuck, baby," he encourages, his voice rough, partially soothing and partially desperate. "Come for me. Just let go. Let go, baby, I got you. Come for me, wanna feel you. Wanna hold you, wanna watch you. Wanna hear you fuckin' scream my name. Wanna - wanna come inside you, fuckin' fill you up, all mine." He bites her earlobe, arching himself against her, pinning his hand between their bodies. "Fuckin' love you, babe," he hisses low in her ear.

[acontrollist]

His voice does it. It always does, really, and she doesn't make it too far past his command ("Come for me") before she's jerking against him again and shaking, settling against his lap because she just-. She can't. She can't force herself to move or bounce or do much of anything besides dig her nails into the skin of his back and cry his name. He'll get hell tomorrow, angry red welts still healing on the back of his neck but it's nothing his coworkers haven't seen before.

Her toe cramps but she doesn't feel it, not really, mouthing at the skin of his neck as she just comes...and comes and comes and there might actually be tears on his chest and shoulder but it's okay. It's okay. "I love you." She presses forward, working her hips as best she can when she gets the presence of mind. "I love you. Love you, love you so much fuck-...come in me. Come in me, Noah, please..."