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

[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."

[acontrollist.livejournal.com]

She comes under him, back arched, thighs quivering even as she starts to come down but he doesn't stop. And she would swear (if she could, but that requires coherent thoughts) that he's trying to make her come again, his mouth and tongue working against her nipples and making her whimper and writhe, sensitive. "Noah." She whispers his name again, hands slicking down the thin sheen of sweat on his back, feeling the muscles there flex as he thrusts once, twice, and them comes. Even through the condom she can feel him, deep and so warm that it makes her moan aloud again.

His head is against her heaving chest and she hums to herself when he tells her about the trashcan. At this point, moving to look or toss the condom or whatever is too much work. But a shower sounds good. "After I regain motor function." She agrees, fingers combing through his mohawk. But along with regaining motor function, she's also regaining coherent thought and...

And it didn't bug her, before, when Noah had flipped them over. It'd worked out wonderfully for both involved but now that she's capable of thinking more than Oh god, don't stop, so good, it's driving her nuts and she has to ask. "Noah? Earlier, when I was on top, you...stopped me. And I was just wondering, because notes are extremely important to improving performance and I would very much like to improve...I was just wondering what I wasn't doing correctly, or what I could...improve upon."

[but_idontlie]

"After," he agrees, although he doesn't entirely know what he's agreeing to do after. He removes the condom, an action he could probably perform in his sleep, and wipes his hands on the bedsheets when it drops with a soft liquid thud in the trash can. And the after doesn't entirely matter, not when he fits his head into the void against her head and neck, wrapping his arms around her body and hauling her close, almost atop him, definitely to the point of cuddling. [Oh, Rachel. He loves how tiny you are, and the way that you fit perfectly in his arms. How the hell did you get this perfect?]

It takes him a few moments before he shakes his head minutely, sighing and merely hugging her closer. "Fuck, Rach," he mutters, dragging his lips over her temple, one hand finding her breast and cupping it, his thumb and fingertip finding her nipple and rolling it between the pads of his fingers. "Baby, s'not bad. You looked tired. Puckasaurus did you good, and I wanted to fuck you. S'okay. You were awesome. I love fucking you, Rach." He kisses her temple again, his lips traveling over her skin and into her hair. "M'fuckin' tired. If I wake up first, can I go down on you?" [It's a genuine question; he wants permission first, but he's pretty sure she'll give it.]

[acontrollist.livejournal.com]

Rachel's surprised that she's not more disgusted that he just wipes his hands on the sheets, but a lot of things regarding the way she feels about Noah and the things he does are starting to surprise her and she's starting to think that maybe being surprised is just a waste of time. The mood gets tense, suddenly and she forces a smile, responding "You just did." to his "Fuck, Rach." "I-...really?" She's used to being told that she's a good singer, a good dancer, things she's trained at for years. Things she's honed, but it's different when someone-when Noah-tells her that he loves having sex with her. And she has no delusions. She doesn't think he's saying that she's the best he's had. She knows she's not. But he's also the resident expert in sex so for him to say that she's good makes her feel good. It's a kind of validation that Rachel didn't think she'd ever need.

You'd think that laying in bed, naked and sweaty and slightly sticky would completely obliterate all feelings of modesty and embarrassment. But she blushes at his question and shrugs, folding both legs over his hip and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "If you wake up first." She nods. Although, she's seen how heavily Noah sleeps...waking up first doesn't seem like it's gonna happen.

[but_idontlie]

He wipes his hands on the flat sheet on his side of the bed, thank-you-very-much; Rachel won't touch it, but he has no energy to get out of bed, and he doesn't want to touch her with sticky slick fingers. "Really," he murmurs, callused fingers sliding around the curve of her breast and feeling the heft of it against his cupped palm. "You don't get that? Babe, you know I wanna be here with you, right? If sex was all I wanted, I could get it from anybody. I want to be with you." It's not just the sex. It's definitely not just the sex. As to whether he's ready to admit that to himself or to her, he isn't certain. He's here with her now, not with anyone else. He has no desire to be with anyone else, to kick her out or leave her here or to be anywhere other than wrapped up with her, in his bed, as the sunlight trickles through his curtains and they ignore everything - NYADA, school, Beth, everything.

His arms wrap even tighter around her and he buries his face against the curve of her neck, nuzzling closer to her as he brushes his palm over her hip. "Sweet. You taste so fucking good. M'gonna be hungry when we wake up."

[acontrollist.livejournal.com]

She hums, arching up to his hand again. She could get used to this, she thinks. Just laying here, with him, just feeling-wait, what? She goes tense, but doesn't open her eyes. Did he really just say what she thinks he said? He's probably like the third girl he's ever said that too, but she isn't sure what to-...what? And if that's what he really wants (because she's heard that you're not supposed to say those things in the heat of sex or the afterglow because hormones cloud your judgement), what does she want? If she's honest with herself? He's...amazing on so many levels. Talented, smart (when he applies himself.), sweet (when he wants to be. But she's seen him with his Nana and his baby sister) and...so good in bed but-

She was almost committed to marrying his best friend less than 4 months ago. And granted, she wouldn't have ever said yes, but the fact was that they were together enough that he thought it was appropriate to ask. And until the night that Finn actually asked, Rachel was sure it was in their future. Part of Rachel thinks its bad enough that she's laying here with him now, naked and tired and well fucked. But the way she feels right now (or felt, until Noah said that), is too good to give up. Too good to mess up by giving him something that she may not be ready to give.

She laughs nervously, shrugging, glad he's mostly asleep (and therefore probably too inattentive to notice the gears turning in her head). "That provides no actual sustenance, Noah." She mumbles, scratching her nails through his mohawk, watching him fall asleep.