How can I hurt when holding you?

[acontrollist]

After round 3, they fall asleep again. Rachel wakes up first, and realizing that her Dads are probably home, she scribbles down a little note for Noah. Thank you. Signed with a star and a heart. She sets an alarm on his phone for him so that he'll be able to get up and shower before his Mom gets home, sitting it on top of the note on his nightstand and pressing a kiss to his forehead before she's gone.  Sunday, she doesn't do anything. She turns her phone off, and spends all day drifting in and out of sleep, only getting out of bed when her back and thighs feel stiff or her Dad calls her to eat.

Monday is the worst, though. It's not that she's not happy for Kurt. She is. He's still her best friend and she's going to support him in whatever way she can. But when he runs squealing past her to Blaine's locker at the end of the hall before first period, screaming about his acceptance and hugging and doing a little happy dance that attracts the attention of Tina and Artie and Ms. Pilsbury and it-...it's too much. She should be over there, dancing with him, happy, except she can't be. All she can think about is that crumpled letter in the wastebasket in her room, the ink blurry from the way she'd only been able to stand in her foyer and cry over it. When the sharp metal of her locker cuts into her finger enough to hurt, she finally lets go, shutting it. And Rachel Berry has never skipped school before, but the only thing she can think of to do is turn around...and walk out.

Comments

[acontrollist.livejournal.com]

"Do we need some?" She at least knows what lube is, but she didn't think she'd really need it if it was just her hand...right? "Why would you need fl-...oh." She turns bright red again, turning her focus back to the hand pumping his length steadily. He asks what she wants him to do, but there's only so many things that she knows about so she tucks her forehead against the crook of his neck. "I just...I wanna do this for you. You don't have to do anything." This isn't a new sentence for her. But this time, she isn't saying it because she knows she's not getting anything out of this deal anyway (she knows Puck can do much better for her than she can for him), but because it's genuinely true. Because Saturday was amazing and she's gotta repay him somehow.

[but_idontlie]

"Help you slide your hand," he points out, rolling his hips in demonstration. The slickness seeping from his tip is enough to aid the gentle strokes of her fingers, but if she wants to really get him off, wants him to cry her name and thrust his hips against her palm, then lube is the way to go. "Baby, you don't need lube when I'm inside you," and his fingers slip between her thighs again, finding her heat and stroking there, the tips of two fingers just barely fitting inside her. [Find a happy place!] "You're - so wet. S'not like you need lube." His fingers still inside her, she tucks her body close against his, his lips brushing against her temple as he whispers to her. "I wanna make you come, Rach. Love seeing your face. Y'know how hot it was, you calling my name? That voice calling my name when you were fucking falling apart? That's what I wanna hear, baby. Every time I make you come, you're fucking saying I'm the one who makes you feel that way. That's better than a fucking Tony or a Grammy or whatever." His fingertips curl inside her, and he presses them deeper. "

[acontrollist.livejournal.com]

She guesses that he has a point. She'd certainly be able to move faster if she had a little extra lubrication and maybe that's how he liked it. She rolls onto her back, reaching into the drawer near her shoulder to pull out the lube. She's not sure how much to use, so she goes for a quarter sized drop in her palm before she wraps her fingers back around him, spreading the gel before she curls her fingers back around him and resumes stroking, a little faster, grip a little firmer to compensate for the extra lubrication.

His finger slides against her slick lips and she whimpers, pressing her lips to his collarbone, sucking just a bit before she pulls away for air. "Not yet." She pants, trying to angle her hips away. "I can't - when you -" She can't concentrate and it's throwing off her stroke, making her hesitate just as she presses against the tip. "After. You promised you'd teach me how. Show me after I do this..." She can only learn one thing at a time, of course.

[but_idontlie]

"If you don't wanna use lube," he suggests mischievously - as lightly as he can with her fingers wrapped around him - "you could put me inside you, use some of you. You're so wet, babe," but, before she can do that, she rolls onto her back and fumbles in the drawer for the berry-flavored lube [he can smell it from where he lies, close to her, and he arches his back and nuzzles against her cheek, thrusting his hips against her hand. The slide of his length in her fist is easier now, and his jaw goes slack, a moan slipping from his lips accompanied by a gasp of her name as his eyes close briefly.

At her request [and because he, too, is having trouble maintaining concentration; girl is fucking phenomenal at handjobs, and he's pretty sure that she's going to have to wait for hers unless she wants to ride his face after this], his hand goes limp, resting against one thigh because he doesn't have the necessary brain power to move his hand right now. "Baby," he moans, rolling his hips, wriggling close to her so that his slick length bumps against her stomach, moving closer so that it's pinned between their bodies, and he pulls his hand from between her thighs to lift her knee over his hip with wet fingers. "So fucking good at this, gonna make me come, Rach. Wanna come, baby. Where... show me where." They have a few options, which either involve doing laundry, or throwing tissues or baby wipes in the trash, or showering together afterward. He tilts his head, kissing her messily and blindly, his lips skidding over the corner of her mouth and cheek. "So fucking good," he praises, rolling his hips against her hands again. "So close."

[acontrollist.livejournal.com]

Now that he's not touching her, she can devote all of her brainpower to this. To memorizing what makes him moan loudest, shift his hips against her hand (and her hips, when he pulls her knee over his waist and she can't help the little whimper that breaks out. He's so close, and she's suddenly so empty. But she's going to finish what she started). She learns that he likes a little bit of a twist just underneath the head, that he likes a little extra press down against the crease between his erection and his balls. She's never really gotten to do this before but she also learns that she fucking loves it. It figures that Rachel Berry would get off on power, but that's not it (entirely). Noah mentioned something about loving to watch her fall apart, how beautiful she looked and Rachel thinks maybe that's a part of it too. 'Cause his eyes are closed and his eyelashes and fluttering against his cheekbones and his lips are wet and slightly parted and this may be the most genuine she's ever seen him and it's...well. It's beautiful.

Where? It's a question that she almost asks for him to clarify but she picks it up pretty quick. Where. Well she doesn't want to create laundry for him or anything, and he's already aimed and primed and ready so there's no need to really maneuver around. She'd go for sealing her mouth around him (she has no gag reflex and it's always something she wanted to try.) but that's too much moving around and she's not up for that right now. Plus, she wants to really see his face. So she uses her free hand to tug his jersey up, tucking it underneath her arms so that he has the whole expanse of her breasts and stomach to splatter. She wants to say something. Feel like she should, since he's always so talkative...but she doesn't know what to say. The only thing she can think of is to shift a little closer and press her lips just underneath his earlobes and breathe.

"Noah."

[but_idontlie]

He is touching her, just not the way he wants to, and not the way she wants him to touch her. It would be like playing Twister, with thighs here and knees here and hands here, bent and twisted and not enough room to move with her hands against the firm muscles of his abdomen and the concave curve of her stomach, the arcs of her hipbones [he loves the way his wet fingers leave swirls over them when he strokes her, twirls his fingers; it's so fucking hot to see the designs shine in the daylight]. Her hands are perfect as they glide over his skin. He has to give her credit for being experimental, for trying different things to gauge what he likes and to see how he reacts to the way she presses the tip of her finger down against a nerve, or the way she flicks his tip [the mohel did a good job, baby, don't you like it?]. The way she strokes him, with the right pressure and the right twist and a fuckton of enthusiasm, makes him even more positive that he's going to embarrass himself.

At least, given that, she answers the where question pretty quickly. He can feel the drag of the jersey as she drags it up her torso; her skin is hot against his, and he has a feeling that he's going to nail most of the sheets with the way they rest together, on their sides. It doesn't matter; she's Rachel, and they're there, and laundry's stupid. "Aaah," he moans at the touch of her lips. [She found one of his sensitive spots; his cock jerks in her hand, dribbling slickly.] His hips rock harder, and he bumps against her stomach-and-hipbone with every thrust, every twist of her fingers. "Rach... fuck, Rach." More moaning follows her name, punctuated with gasps of breath and harder thrusts; he turns his head, searching blindly for her lips and thrusts hard against her body, spilling in pearly ribbons over her stomach and ribs.

[acontrollist.livejournal.com]

He's moaning and gasping her name and she thinks that if this is how she sounded on Saturday while he worked her then she sounded pretty fucking hot. He says her name and she suddenly understands exactly what he was saying earlier about the way her name sounded on his lips, how it drove him crazy because she fucking loves the way her name sounds on his lips and its not just because she's a bit of an egomaniac. She keeps pumping him, slowing until finally she stops and reaches for tissues on the nightstand, wiping herself clean.

For a few minutes, she just lays curled against him, letting him catch his breath. Then she says "You said you'd show me how to...do it. Myself. Do you have to be-..." Hard? "For that?" 'Cause she's kind of uncomfortable here and if you can't fuck her then she's gotta figure out something.

[but_idontlie]

He can't breathe. His head falls to the pillow, half against her body, and it barely registers when she shifts her body to grab the tissues from the nightstand. Rachel turns partway, rolling to her back to wipe her chest and stomach clean [he would have suggested a shower, or taken care of her, but she handled it before he had a chance], and then rolls back against him [he snuggles against her, fitting his head against hers, but he'll never admit it]. She's the one to finally break the silence, as his heart thunders in his chest and the flush slowly fades from his skin.

His eyes still closed, and his breathing shallow, he brushes slightly-parted lips over her cheekbone. "Mmmmmm, do what?" he murmurs, his voice thick. "Make yourself come? You still got lube on your hand, baby? ...Gimme your hand." His own hand lightly curls around her bottom, stroking the sleek line of her thigh, following the curve of her hip to thread their fingers together between their bodies, and drag their hands to the point where her thighs press together. "Move your leg like before," he breathes the instruction, his lips soft against hers, his eyes opening for the first time. The hazel in them is warm, his gaze tender. "We need room, Rach. I'll get you started and then you can - you can tell me what you want me to do, if you wanna keep going or... do something else."

[acontrollist.livejournal.com]

She drops another dollop of lube on her fingers when he asks, though she's fairly sure that she's absolutely soaked already. She fits her leg over his waist to give them more room as he instructs, forehead pressing against his shoulder as she watches them, letting him take her hand, shuddering and rocking forward when their fingers brush the lips of her pussy. "I want to do this." She says softly, tucking her other knee against his chest, both legs bent and spread open. "I wanna learn...after, maybe we can-..." She glances up to meet his eyes, her own blown almost black and hazy, before she curls one finger away from his, unable to resist teasing at the slit of her pussy just a bit and she shivers. "Do as planned. But this first. You promised, Saturday..."

[but_idontlie]

He can feel the heat emanating from her body; he's so used to being a human furnace but she's the warm one right now (and he's just the sleepy one because that orgasm? seriously fucking awesome). Turning his head slightly, his lips brush over her temple, their tangled fingers spreading to brush between her thighs and memorize her intimate anatomy by touch. With some difficulty, he bends his head to kiss her knee, spreading her body open with his fingers. She shivers in his arms, telling him to begin.

He already has. He can feel slippery heat, and soft silky skin, folds and dips and a tender knot that makes her body jump in his arms. "You feel so fucking good, baby," he murmurs, nuzzling against her cheekbone, encouraging her to tip her head upward for more kisses. "You gotta... find the spots with - with your fingers. Rub - that, rub that. Circles. Feels good. Little bit, tell me when it starts feeling really good. Shouldn't hurt. Slow, Rach."

[acontrollist.livejournal.com]

He's only vaguely coherent but she can understand what he's saying still. He directs her middle finger against her clit and she jerks against him a little, the bundle of nerves sensitive to the touch. As instructed, she starts to circle the tiny nub, slowly, breathing deep and slow against his skin. Tilting her head upwards, she presses a soft kiss to his lips and sighs, the taste of him sending shivers down her spine. "Feels good." She whimpers and she can feel herself starting to get wetter, lips starting to swell, her entrance pulsating, eager to clench around something. "Noah..." She gasps, hips bucking forward a bit.

[but_idontlie]

"Keep going," he mutters against her lips, her hips shifting against his, her thigh rocking in the rhythm of her movements. The way her hand is moving will get her there, yes, but it's time to add a different element to the mix, and he can feel the changes between her thighs that signal that she's just about ready [slow twitches, flutters, and she's hot and slick, dripping]. His hand slips away from hers, curling his palm against hers, three long fingers stroking against her teardrop-shaped entrance. "M'gonna find your G-spot," he informs her lowly, "so keep going." Without waiting for her response, he slides his fingers into her body and curls them toward her bellybutton, searching for the change in texture he knows is there. "Mmmmm," he breathes against her lips, sinking his fingers inside her to the knuckle and flicking, rocking his hips against hers as he pins their hands between their bodies. "Fuck, baby. You feel so good."

[acontrollist.livejournal.com]

She's supposed to be learning how to do this herself. But she can't find it in herself to protest when his fingers slip deep. And it's not the one she was expecting. He goes straight to three and she arches back, whining his name as she clenches hard around his fingers. She can't exactly help the string of intelligible, helpless gasping that breaks out of her throat as she rides against his hand for a bit, her finger still rubbing circles around her clit. She starts moving faster just as he curves his fingers and finds that bundle of nerves buried deep in her. "Noah." It's almost a squeak and she would be embarrassed if it didn't feel so fucking good. "Oh god, oh god, I-..fuck..."

[but_idontlie]

Rachel fucking Berry is talented, and she's probably a stellar multi-tasker, but even somebody as talented as Rachel Berry would probably have difficulty following Puck's directions at this point. She isn't riding his cock [which means that he can think], and she can barely string two words together [which means that she can't], and it just makes more sense for them to work on these parts individually before adding them together. [And, like any good teacher, he'll give her homework and make himself available for private tutoring sessions.]

He can feel the point at which she writhes on his fingers, riding his hand, and he encourages her. "Good, baby," he praises, suddenly feeling more awake than he's felt in hours. "Come on. Wanna feel you come for me. S'gonna feel so good." His hand never ceases its movements, fingers curling and thrusting and rubbing, massaging in tight circles. "Come on, Rach. Wanna feel you, let go," he urges.

[acontrollist.livejournal.com]

At this point, it's virtually impossible for Rachel to ignore any of Noah's requests. Not when he's making her feel so good, better than she's ever felt, making her entire body sing. Praising her doesn't hurt either, and the way he says Baby only makes her drip and moan and squirm and her orgasm is on her before she can really process what's going on around her. She arches, finger still flicking blindly, her free hand scratching at the base of his neck.

She barely gives herself time to recover though, before she's fumbling back for the condom and pulling it open, rolling it down along his renewed erection. "Want you. Want you in me, want-...fuck, Noah, Noah, Noah..." She's still shaking a bit, muscles still liquid, but all she can focus on is the throbbing and the emptiness in her pussy when she presses a hand to his shoulder and pushes him back, straddling his waist and sinking down onto him without any preamble. "Yes."

[but_idontlie]

He can barely think; his wrist is pinned between their bodies as she rocks against him, his fingers soaked with how much she wants this, her movements uncoordinated and moans more sounds than actual words. As she comes down and her movements slow and then stop, the flutters decreasing in frequency, he moves to slip his fingers from her body. She surprises him, reaching for the condom and reaching for his length, but all he can think is thank fuck because he's really fucking dying over here when she shoves him onto his back, climbs atop him, and sinks down with a soft exhale. "Fuck," he moans, his hands moving to her hips as he shifts, planting the soles of his feet on the mattress and shifting for leverage. "Fuck, baby, you feel so good." It won't be long, not with the way she's still fluttering around him, not with the way she's tight around him, trembling, her cheeks rosy and hair and eyes dark. He could bang this chick for the rest of high school and never get bored, he's officially deciding right now. "Yes," he agrees, his hands on her hips helping her to ride.

[acontrollist.livejournal.com]

She's sure she looks a mess. Her hair is all over the place, her lips feel bitten and swollen and she knows they're wet since she can't stop licking them, each panting breath drying them out. She's still wearing his jersey, the mesh material doing little to cool her skin as she moves atop him, sweat beading out of every pore. It looks like she'll be doing doing laundry after all. She tries a few different things, rocking back and forth, a few circles, bouncing a little and after a moment, she glances down at him (as much as she can, anyway. Her vision is a little hazy, pupils blown). "'ve never done this before." She explains. Of course, he probably already knows that, but she figures she'll give him fair warning.

Until she figures out this...figure-eighty thing and the first time she does it she actually has to stop and take a breath. "Fuck. Oh god..."

[but_idontlie]

If Rachel thinks that she looks a mess, all he sees when he fucking looks at her is perfection. She's five feet two inches of hot Jewish perfection, and he wants to fuck that perfection until she screams his name. The fact that she still wears his jersey makes him feel partially like she's his, because she's got that big white #20 on her chest as she experiments with different bounces and shifts to see what works the best for herself or for both of them [there are definitely a couple of moments when he moans, arching his back and grinding closer to her, his hands reaching up blindly for her breasts. "Waaaant." She's a fucking virgin and she's trying to explain it to him. It makes him grin faintly before grabbing her hips and yanking her harder against his body until his jaw drops and his head falls back. That figure-eight thing? He's done it before. He loves. "More," he nearly growls, his hands rising.

[acontrollist.livejournal.com]

She takes his hands, directing them up and underneath the jersey. She's nowhere near as well endowed as Quinn or Santana or his MILFs and she knows that. She would be insecure about it too, if she could think of anything besides the ache between her thighs, the way it throbs and mirrors the ache in her breasts and hell, they may be tiny but she needs him to touch them anyway. She cups her hands around his, showing him what she wants and when she bounces, she drags the pebbled tips of her nipples against his calloused palm and tightens around him, involuntarily, sobbing his name.

But she finds a rhythm with her hips that they both enjoy then, and his hands abandon her chest, grabbing her hips to direct her. "More." She agrees, slipping her own hands beneath the jersey to palm her breasts, whining and fluttering around him with each stroke, lightening shooting against her spine from her breasts and between her thighs, meeting to pool and coil in her belly. "More, Noah, please, please..." And technically, she's in control but he's pulling her just right so she figures she should defer to him on this one.

[but_idontlie]

He really doesn't give a fuck about boobs. Boobs are boobs, and Quinn never really let him touch hers - and, halfway through her pregnancy, if he even tried, she'd get funky wet circles on her shirt, so he stopped trying - and Santana's boobs were fake, so he really honestly likes Rachel's Jew Boobies better. She knows the way that she wants him to touch them, and she forms his hands around her skin, whimpering when he gets it just right. He squeezes, rubbing his palms in circles over her nipples again, twisting his hips in the same circular rhythm.

It's fucking hot to see her own hands moving beneath the jersey and knowing that she's stroking herself, his hands on her hips yanking her as he rocks and she makes sweet little sobs and gasps that signal him. More. More. Please. Please, Noah. They're words that he loves to hear, especially when they spill from Rachel's lips. He throbs inside her, and he knows that she can feel it. Fucking condom, because she's hot, and he can feel her through the latex, and she's so wet that he can feel her dripping on his bare skin, and it feels so fucking good that he can't stand it. "Ride me," he pants. "Just fucking bounce."

[acontrollist.livejournal.com]

Bounce. Right. Right, she can do that. She presses her toes to the mattress, using her knees and the well formed muscles in her thighs to push up...and ease back down. It's slow going at first while she tries to get the hang of it, hands dropping from under the jersey to brace on his chest. Her fingers toy with the nipple ring just slightly and she grins tiredly, triumphantly, way too into the way he twitches and swells underneath her. But even as a dancer, she's starting to tire, ache in a not so good way and when she just...drops back down, she stills for a second, gasping and mouthing at the underside of his jaw before she does it again, and again, and again, whimpering his name each time he slams up inside of her. "Noah." She whimpers. "Please...oh God..."

[but_idontlie]

Her rhythm stutters. She's still so fucking new to this, riding him like a pony [has she ever gotten horseback riding lessons before? he needs to ask her sometime], and he bucks beneath her and curses under his breath as her fingertip catches in the hoop of his nipple ring. The visual is amazing; he can see himself slip in and out of her, slick against the shiny covering of the condom [he'd look better against her skin, but he's not going to fuck this up with Rachel]. It's enough to make him grab onto the backs of her thighs and help her rise up and down on him, arching his hips and pushing deeper into her, helping her bounce.

She gives up eventually, lying fully atop him and shifting her hips against his as she licks against jaw. "Baby," he breathes, his eyes closed and jaw slack. "Rach." With a sudden burst of energy, he flips them to lie between her thighs, his palms pressed to the mattress. "I got this," he mutters, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head as he drops his ear to press to her chest, thrusting his hips against hers to the rhythm of her racing heartbeat.

[acontrollist.livejournal.com]

"Baby." She lets out this breathless little moan against his skin when he calls her that, but it's cut off by a squeal and a winded giggle (don't worry, Puckerman, she's not laughing at you.) when he flips them and she wraps her arms around his shoulders, hooking her ankles together at the base of his back as he starts up this furious rhythm. And Rachel knows she's loud but she can't even bring herself to care right now, her short nails digging into the skin of his shoulders as he pounds into her. She recognizes the rawness in her throat before she realizes she's she's screaming, the jersey sticking to her skin with sweat.

She lets go of him long enough to sit up on her elbows and tug it off, but she drops it against the pillow next to her when he catches her g-spot from that new angle and she drops back, back arching, hands pushing sweaty strands away from her face as he fucks her. "Noah...Noah, I'm gonna come-" and she's trying to warn him, really, but she doesn't realize how close she is until she says that and her thighs tense, squeezing tight against his hips as she bucks hers once, twice, then loses it, her whole tiny frame shaking as she falls apart underneath him.

[but_idontlie]

Rachel's heels dig into his lower back, just above his hips; she hangs onto him like a tiny monkey as he growls and bites at her collarbone, pounding into her as his knees dig into the rumpled covers of the bed. He barely feels the dig of her nails into the thick skin of his shoulders and upper back before she releases him enough to push herself upward and rip the jersey over her head, tossing it - somewhere.

Her body shifts as he moves, hitting something deep within her that makes her stretch out her limbs and visibly shudder, moving with her and arching over her as she cries his name in warning only moments before she clenches violently around him, her body writhing beneath his own.

[but_idontlie]

She flutters around him as she comes down, slowly; he keeps pushing through her movements and shivers, his pace still quick, her name panted on his lips as he drags his teeth over one nipple and bites gently. His tongue traces a circle around the dark puckered skin there before sliding to its twin and repeating the action, pressing his lips to her breast and mouthing at it as he grinds his hips from side to side and pushes even deeper inside her. He'd crawl inside her if he could, a low moan rumbling from his chest. A few more deep thrusts, and he spurts into the condom with a shocked expression as he tries to prevent from falling - dead weight - atop her; he lands against her side instead, and instantly nuzzles himself into her side. "Moved a trash can next to my bed," he mutters softly without opening his eyes. "Don't wanna get up." He'll be able to remove the condom, tie it off, and simply drop it in the trash can. "Shower with me after."