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

[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.]