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.

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[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..."

[but_idontlie]

[He's kind of a pro at dirty talking. Maybe it's dirty for most people, but he's not most people. He's just fucking honest when his girl's sliding up and down his cock like she's working a fucking stripper pole, grinding against him and gasping in his arms.]

He can feel the slice of her nails, sharp against his thick skin; that's gonna hurt like a bitch when he stands under the hot spray of the shower, but whatever. It's not like she hasn't scratched the hell out of him before [there have been times where he's been covered in scratches and scrapes, some of them bloody and some of them not] and it's always good when she gets into it that much that she just claws him.

She shakes so hard that he'd swear [any other time] that it was a seizure. It's the flutter of her body around him, quick and harsh, that's the dead giveaway [coupled with the tears] that all is well, beyond well, in Rachel-land. [And in Noah-land, he's fucking his wife and not his hand. Win.] His hand moves to her hip, driving her down tighter against him as he arches his own back against her, again and again. Teeth sink into her shoulder [and that may or may not leave a mark, but that's what stage make-up is for] as he comes in hot spurts, pushing deeper and deeper until his hips ache, before his body goes boneless and he slumps against her.

[acontrollist]

He'll have scratches, and she'll have bruises the size of his fingertips, pressed against her hip and her back and the insides of her thighs to match her tattoo. Sex is not an experience either of them walk away from unscathed. But after hiding marks and fading bruises for years, Rachel's gotten to be a pro and Noah just never really tries to hide his at all. She thinks he thinks they're trophies, or something.

She's full. Of him, in more ways than one, almost to the brim but she doesn't even consider letting him move. She does have a split second of Oh god, he just came in me, no condom, no pill, what are we doing- before it dawns on her that duh. This is good. And as a result, Noah needs to stay right where he is.

Or maybe not. "...Should I elevate my hips?" It comes out just a bit slurred, but it's still a valid question.

[but_idontlie]

She tips her head where it rests nestled against his shoulder, and he half-smiles [with exhaustion, happy exhaustion] and brushes his lips over her neck. "Don't know," he whispers. "Should make you come again, though. S'posed to help." He's not exactly certain how it's supposed to help; it's something about his orgasm happening first and hers happening second, some scientific thing that he really should have checked out before now. Whatever. Not that he wants to move or anything, but if they want to give this their best shot?

"Lie down with me," he suggests, his eyes still closed with the intensity of it all. "M'gonna use my hands," 'cause he doesn't have it in himself to fuck her again, and using his mouth on her would have the opposite effect, "and make you come and then you can call in and we can go back to sleep." It's the best idea he has, and - while she should probably call before he works her, because this one might be so good that she's practically comatose afterwards - time is kind of a factor here. "Mmmm... so good, Rach. Love you."

[acontrollist]

He starts to lean back and Rachel laughs, shaking her head. "No, I-. Noah, I can't." Usually, she's not at all against multiple orgasms. But that just...completely took it out of her. There are still slight tremors humming under her skin, she's still sensitive enough that everytime one of them shifts, it makes her shudder just a bit. And she just can't imagine a) anyone touching her right now without it nearly hurting and b) staying awake through all it'd take to get there in the first place.

"I have to call in to work." But she moves with him, too tired to really resist him and not quite ready to move away from the warmth of his body. "Love you too, baby..."

[but_idontlie]

One hazel eye cracks open, and his bones stretch beneath his skin as the tiniest of yawns escapes. Bet you can. But she's really fucking sleepy, shivering against him even as she eases down to cuddle against his chest. One arm flings to the side, fumbling and knocking a few things off the beside table on his side [no, he can't see what fell] before he grasps his phone and draws his hand back to the bed. "Use mine, call in," he mutters. They're five breaths from just passing out here and sleeping until the Second Coming. [He'd say it was the First Coming, 'cause they're Jewtastic and all, but the First Coming was a few minutes ago... so, Second Coming is probably more accurate.]

"Seriously," he yawns again, gathering her hair in one hand and dropping it over one shoulder as he hugs her closer, "if you wake up first and I'm good to go, climb on. That was so fuckin' good. I don't wanna lose time with bullshit if I only got you 'til the show." They both know that she'll come off that performance high fucking fast, and be borderline limp in his arms by the time they reach their apartment once more, good for nothing but bed. [Maybe a glass of wine, but definitely bed.] "Best make-up sex ever," he decides, even if that's not completely what it was. [Absence-makes-the-heart-grow-fonder sex? Hopeful baby-making sex? Wake-my-girl-up-'cause-she's-so-hot sex? Jealousy sex? Dammit, he needs to leave a mark in some random place that'll be covered during the show, just so that fucker can see it and remember.]