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]

Tears run shiny tracks down her cheeks, and he can see it even though she tries to brush them away with her hands; he can see the way she jumps at the sound of her name when he calls it a second time. His head tilts as he tries to get a better angle on the situation, and he's smart enough to put two and two together even if she says otherwise. Because Rachel Berry crying in her car after the whole Kurt-NYADA thing in the hallway? It's absolutely related and don't you dare tell him it isn't.

She opens the door to him and he ignores her words, just steps around it and leans in, reaching into the car with one hand to roughly cup Rachel's cheek as he shakes his head. "You and me," he says, and those three words seem like they're gonna be a theme or start some sort of secret trend for the two of them. "Let's get out of here. Let's just get out of here before everybody realizes we told 'em to go suck a dick. Your dads home?"

[acontrollist.livejournal.com]

He reaches into the car and she's sure he's going for some sort of grope or something equally vulgar but he...just cups her cheek. Before she really thinks about it, her eyes slide closed and she hiccups again, softly, tilting her head towards his calloused palm. You and me. He says and she smiles a little in spite of herself. "Language, Noah." She sniffles, wiping at her eyes again. "Daddy's off today...he...said he'd stay in case I decided I couldn't handle school today. But I'm not sure how he'll feel about you being there. I'm not sure I want to go there anyway..." She's not sure if being coddled like her fathers would or being told to get over it like some of their fellow Glee members would is worse, but either way neither of them are what she needs.

"Can we go to your place?"

[but_idontlie]

For what isn't the first time, he thinks of the day on the bleachers after he sang "Sweet Caroline" to her in front of everybody at Glee Club just to prove that he could be her leading man. He really had it in him all along to be that guy, to be Noah instead of Puck. [There was still absolutely some Puck in him, but he likes it better when there's Puck in her.]

She smiles as his thumb grazes over her cheekbone; she doesn't shy away from his touch, instead turning towards it. "Yeah, we can go to my place," he answers, her request coming almost simultaneously to his offer. "But we're gonna take my truck. Kinda have this fantasy about hanging your panties off my rearview, babe." With a wink, he brushes his thumb over her lips, leaning in for a kiss before hesitating. They haven't - shit doesn't feel right and Rachel isn't Santana and he can't just fuck her and hold her hand and do whatever he wants with her. It's different, and he needs to figure out how that shit rolls before he royally fucks it up... again.

[acontrollist.livejournal.com]

She's rolling her eyes at the comment about the panties in the rearview, but she's not as offended as she lets on (and she suspects Puck knows that). There's something sweet about it, maybe the fact that he's fantasized about her. And okay, it's subtextually sexual, but not...overtly and is it weird that she thinks that's sweet? Actually, he does a lot of sweet things...you just have to know how to read him. And Rachel thinks she's getting pretty good at it. He leans in to kiss her, but hesitates and No, no, no, Puckerman, we can't have that.

She fists both hands in his t-shirt and pulls him down, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "Thank you. For following me out." For caring. She leaves her backpack in the car, locking it behind herself and taking his hand, before heading over to his car. She needs to get off of this campus as quickly as possible and Noah's moving too slow.

[but_idontlie]

The playful smirk curled over his lips only grows as she rolls her eyes, exaggerating her irritation. She's Rachel Berry, and they've known each other since they were kids. He's fairly certain that he could get away with murder when it came to her [but he really isn't willing to test that theory] and, depending on who his victim happened to be, she might even help him hide the body. But he's pretty sure that he's gaining himself some Berry Points even if he really just is trying to be a good guy and even if he is worried about her. Her rejection from NYADA was enough to send her running to his bed on a Saturday morning, and she just needs something safe now to distract her.

He thinks, anyway. Kind of like Finn's mailman, only for a different reason.

The hands on the steering wheel slide over the muscles of his stomach and chest, twisting in the stretchy black fabric as she tugs downward and he leans into her car. "Mmmmmmmm," the breath tumbles from his lips as he plants one hand on the back of her seat, pressing his mouth to hers firmly, his eyes closed. "Come on, baby," he breathes, blinking as the kiss breaks and he pulls away, his fingers tangled with Rachel's as she locks her car and turns away. "My truck... over there." He points to a parking spot overshadowed by hanging deciduous trees. "Come on."

[acontrollist.livejournal.com]

She heads towards where he points, his truck shaded in the corner. He probably has some really technical reason for parking there. The sun fades the paint. Birds tend to poop on it more when it's out in the open. The sun casts shadows on him when he sleeps through 4th period. But she really doesn't care about any of them right now. All she cares about is the fact that it's close and ready to go as soon as they are. Approaching the passenger's side, she waits for him to unlock it before she climbs into the truck, buckling herself in.

By the time he climbs into his seat, she's gone back to thinking. Her hands are folded into her lap, fingers twisted together. Out of all of the things she's done with Noah over the past couple of days, talking about her feelings regarding what's been going on in her life hasn't been one of them. She glances out of the window, crossing her ankles and resisting the urge to pull her knees up to her chin and bury her face there. "Is it dumb that I care so much?" She asks softly. "It's...it's just school. I should be stronger than this." Except she's been Stronger than this for four years and she's so tired. That's all. She's just tired of being disappointed. By Finn, by the teachers that were supposed to protect and encourage her, by the people she thought were her friends...Mercedes had asked why everyone was so afraid to hurt Rachel's feelings. But...everyone hurt Rachel's feelings. She was just good at hiding it behind her talent and determination. Until Friday, of course, when her talent and determination didn't even matter anymore.

[but_idontlie]

He always parks his truck in the same place, under this tree that buds in the spring and is leafy in the summer, the leaves falling on top of the truck cap he sticks on there in mid-September because that's where he sticks his shit and curls up with a sleeping bag sometimes if he's drunk or he just doesn't want to go home. He could probably live in the back of his truck if he wanted to, and he might have a cooler in there with an elaborately hidden case of beer for lonely nights. [And you better believe that he's got condoms back there, too.] And it's easy to find in the sea of cars, and people know enough to not park in his fucking spot, and yeah maybe it's a longer walk to the doors but it also means that nobody fucks with his parking spot. He pulls into the lot, he goes right for that spot, and it's always empty. Always. He likes that feeling of certainty. He likes the knowledge that, if anybody needs to find him or his truck, they go to that spot.

He crosses the back of the truck and unlocks her door, first. It's an older truck without power locks and his hands find her hips to boost her up into the seat [and he checks out her skirt as it flies up; he sees panty, hell, yeah] and shut the door after she swings her legs into the truck.

He crosses around the front, unlocking his own door and jumping in, sticking the keys into the ignition and waiting for the truck to run for a few minutes. His baby likes to warm up before he rides drives her. In the silence, he glances at Rachel, who stares out the window and the trees, the buds and new leaves sprouting from them because it's March and new and all of this shit that's supposed to bring good things because winter's supposed to be over and they're supposed to be growing the fuck up and getting the fuck out of Lima. "It's not just school," he says finally, after her words reverberate in his head for thirty seconds. "It's not just school for you, you know? S'your fucking dream. It's, like, all you ever wanted, you know? You were always, like, I'm Rachel fucking Berry and I'm going to get the fuck out of Lima and get on Broadway and be a star because I'm a fucking star. That's always been you, babe. S'not just school. S'more than that."

With a half-shrug, he reaches across the bench seat and tugs playfully on her skirt. "You just gotta figure out another way to get what you want, you know? Like, it's not just school, but... it is just school. Some people need school to teach them shit, and other people just know it. Like, Mozart. Mozart was, like, five when he wrote Twinkle, Twinkle. He was a fucking genius and he could kick the asses of everybody who went to school for writing music on the fucking piano, right? So, just figure out a way to kick ass and take names without school. You're Rachel fucking Berry, right?"

[acontrollist.livejournal.com]

She laughs. That's all she can think of to do. Because why does Noah even know that and did he just pick the song because of the name and honestly, it's better stress relief than crying so she'll take what can get.He's trying to make her feel better and it's working, so that's all that matters. She laughs until her sides hurt and tears stream down her face and she's surprised to find that not only does she have some left over but she isn't crying in the slightest. Her hand finds his, squeezing it tight in her lap as she tries to catch her breath.

She doesn't know what to do, or say as the laughter dies down. She wants to reassure him that she's not laughing...at him though. "Thank you, Noah." She lets go of his hand, reaching up under her skirt and shimmying out of her panties (they're white with a little red bow on the front), hanging them on the rearview mirror before she braces her hands on the leather between them, leaning over to kiss the corner of his mouth. "But you're wrong, you know. I'm Rachel Barbra Berry." She presses a kiss full on his lips then, settling back into her seat and crossing her legs. "Let's go. If I have to look at this building much longer I may actually have a fit."

[but_idontlie]

His eyes widen in surprise as he tracks the motion of her hand beneath her skirt [he'll helpfully assist her in removing her panties, but she's hanging them from the rearview mirror as some sort of reward before the offer can leave his lips, and that's good enough for him]. "I like Rachel fucking Berry better," he decides, his hand sliding from her skirt to her hip as she turns to kiss him, her lips full and soft against his. "You're better than that yenta, babe. I don't wanna think about her when I'm thinking about you." His fingers find the strip of skin where her cardigan, silky camisole, and skirt meet, rubbing back and forth, callused fingertips smoothing over her skin. "We need to stop anywhere before we go back to my house or we good to go?" he asks softly, his eyes on hers.

[acontrollist.livejournal.com]

"Wrong order, Noah." She grins, face barely an inch from his. Seriously, 4 hours with his dick in her almost 2 days ago has reduced her to this. "I believe you mean you like Rachel Berry fucking better." She corrects him. His fingers are rough, calloused but gently against the skin of her hip and she shakes her head, sitting back down in her seat. "Nope. Not unless you wanna buy me a grape slushie. Considering I'm not getting out of this car without my underwear." She has to have some morals. "Otherwise, I'd like to just leave."

[but_idontlie]

His jaw drops for a moment, but he recovers nicely and laughs as he shakes his head. "You're so fucking hot," he breathes against her lips, stealing another kiss before she settles into her seat once more.

Suddenly, pressing his foot heavy on the gas pedal and reversing direction out of the parking space and out of the lot no longer seems like a brilliant plan, not when the truck cab is heating up the way it is and there's a whole lot of nothing between him and Rachel's thighs. "You sure you want to just leave?" he questions, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a mischievous smirk as he nods toward McKinley. "Wanna give them a big fuck you instead? They're in class right now doing shit and right now I could be in you doing you." It's not as though anyone would know, unless they were to walk outside and see them, but it's more the symbolism of the thing. Rachel's a girl, and girls are into symbolism and all that shit [right?]. Railing her on school property while they're supposed to be in class [and, okay, it's not like they're in an empty classroom or the showers or anything, although that is definitely going on his To Do list] is unprecedented when it comes to Rachel Berry.

[acontrollist.livejournal.com]

She rolls her eyes, folding her hands in her lap again. Of course, where it was innocent before, when she had on panties, now that she's only got the thin cotton of her skirt between her hands and bare skin.

"Noah-..." Okay, so the symbolism isn't lost on Rachel. But...no. "Noah, I just wanna go. I want to be somewhere where I can't think about this place or see it or...please? It's not the school's fault and besides. I'd rather you be...in me doing me in your bed. Where it's warm and there's lot of space and I don't have to worry about my knees cracking the leather while I ride you and where we can take a nap right after..." She sounds like she's making a grocery list, glossing right over the fact that she plans to ride him as if it's milk and she's also going to need tomatoes and ketchup and etc...

[but_idontlie]

"No, but it's everybody there," and even as he says it, he's shifting into Reverse and lifting the emergency brake, craning his neck and tapping the gas pedal to zoom backwards, the truck swooping out of the parking space before stopping, shifting into Drive, and traveling forward out of the parking lot itself. Fuck McKinley. Fuck the people inside it. That's enough for today, and nothing else matters.

"That's really what you want?" he finally asks after he pulls out onto the main street, reaching across the seat to rest his palm against her thigh, cupping his fingers around it easily. "You know you can always find me and ask me for that shit, babe. I'm not fucking anybody, like, exclusive or anything, so I'm yours whenever you want me. You don't have to deal with jealous chicks. M'all yours."

[acontrollist.livejournal.com]

"That's exactly what I want. Well. It's not all I want." There were certain things you promised to show her on Saturday that there just ended up not being time for. She lays her hand against his, curling her fingers around the palm of his hand and nodding. "You shouldn't-...I don't mean to make you feel like that. Like all you mean to me is sex. You're a good person, and you've been a good friend it's just that right now I don't have room in my head for anything that requires me to...well. Think." Which is a weird thing for Rachel Berry to admit, that she wants to stop thinking, but it's true.

[but_idontlie]

"Just say you want my monster cock, Rachel Berry," he teases, the words coming quickly to his lips in a sudden effort to lighten the mood as he smiles and squeezes the fingers she presses to his palm. "Just say it, it's totally cool and we both know it's true." It probably is true, and that may or may not be all she wants, and they both know it, but it doesn't need to be said unless she wants to take it there. He's still dealing with the I'm Puck and I'm a stud and I don't do exclusive, but this is Rachel and Rachel is Rachel thing. "I know you're dealing with shit," he tries to reassure her, his thumb rubbing over her knuckles as he makes a left-hand turn, one hand on the steering wheel as he drives smoothly. "It's cool. I'm not going to push you to, like, talk and shit. I don't have a vagina but whatever's gonna make you feel better, you know I got your back. Especially if your back is naked. And then I got your front, too." He winks, tugging her close to drop a kiss on her lips at a stop sign. "And you know I'd have your back and kick ass and take names even if you didn't let me fuck you the other day. You know that, right?"

[acontrollist.livejournal.com]

"Monster implies that it's something bad." She replies, the barest hint of a smile on her own lips. "My prom dress is backless." She tells him at the mention of her naked back and front. She's not exactly sure why she says it, and to be honest, she's not even sure if she's going to prom anymore. Their theme this year is Hollywood Lights, so she doesn't have some pink fluffy prom bomb this year so she could wear the dress to any event where she needs to dress up, and the theme is a little sensitive to her right now.

She turns and kisses him back, sighing against his lips. It's brief, but it still serves to shut her brain down for just a second and it's welcome relief. His sentiment is too sweet, though, and of course her brain turns right back on and tries to figure out what he means. She cuts herself off by saying "I did say you were a good friend, didn't I?" and kissing him again. "I meant it."

[but_idontlie]

"Monster means huge," he points out. "Like, freak-huge. Huge. I'm bigger than Finn." Hell, yeah. "And I wanna put it in you on prom night. You gonna go with me and let me fuck you on the football field, up against the goal posts, babe?" It's only fitting, after all, now that he's co-captain of the football team and he is so gonna lead them to a second championship this year. Fuck everybody giving Finn the recognition last year, because it was his pep talk that got the rest of the football players out on the field to help win the game. All Finn did was go find the cheerleaders. "I mean, you saved the team last year, babe. Saved our asses and helped us get the championship. That goalpost is special."

That kiss shoots through his body and, fuck, he is so screwed when it comes to Rachel Berry. "Uh, yeah," he opens his eyes, wrinkling his brow and looking at her like she might be an idiot, just this once. "But you know me and my rep. I'm a stud. You just gotta know that I'm here for, like, more than just the awesome sex. I know you got fucked over with the school thing and -" He brakes, pulls over, throws on his hazard lights and rakes his hand over his mohawk, grunting. "Fuck," he mutters. "Touch my dick, make sure it's still there, okay? Full commando, so, anything you wanna do."

[acontrollist.livejournal.com]

"Monster does not mean huge. There are plenty of tiny monsters, Noah. Gremlins, raccoons..." She points out. "Huge means huge." He brings up Finn's size and she can't really do anything but blush and avoid his eyes. Would it kill his ego if she told him that Finn was longer? But he's also pretty useless with it and Noah's thicker and...yeah. Yeah. She blinks over at him, eyes a little wide. "Noah, are you asking me to be your prom date?"

"Noah, I'm not touching your dick until we get to your house." Also. She just said dick. She's totally no going to blush. "Look at me, okay?" She turns to face him in the seat. "I know you. And I know your rep. But since when have I ever really cared about what other people think of you? You're the one who's always cared and I just want you to be the person you really are because that's who I'm the most comfortable with. Not the badass who threw slushies in my face because it was cool at the time." Oh god. Too much thinking. Here, Noah, have another kiss.

When they pull into his driveway, she hops right out of the car (on purpose, because the leather catches the back of her skirt and flashes him a little) and heads up onto his porch, leaning her back against the wall next to the front door, waiting for him to unlock it.

[but_idontlie]

"You calling my dick tiny?" he asks with a sideways glance and a raised eyebrow, which lifts even higher at her blush. [It might kill his ego. Besides, Finn's isn't longer. At least, not when they've got them out and Santana's got a ruler in her hands because they're, like, sixteen and this shit is important, okay?] The blush morphs into sudden surprise, and he kind of shakes his head like it doesn't matter to him because it's senior prom and the junior prom they had last year kind of sucked ass anyway [except for Finn getting kicked out, which was kind of funny]. "I don't know if I'm gonna go 'cuz last year sucked, but if you don't have anybody to go with or anything and you wanna go, we could go," is all he says. He might as well cut off his balls and hand them to her right now.

With a grunt, he drops his hand, leaning the side of his head against the headrest, gaze staring through the window at a point over Rachel's shoulder. Your rep, blah blah blah, always cared, blah blah, badass, blah blah blah blah blah, and then she's leaning closer and moving towards him and kissing him, and his arms wrap around her body and haul her closer. He'd be an idiot to push her away now.

He doesn't release her entirely; even as he drives the remainder of the way to his house, he keeps his arm over her shoulder, her body tucked against his side, his lips kissing her temple every so often. The drive is brief, and he removes his arm and opens the driver's side door, sliding from it [he catches her when she slides out after him, catching a little view and a lot of handful of bare ass, and fuck he loves that] and ignoring the backpacks in the truck bed. The cap will keep them safe and dry.

Jogging to the front door of his house, he unlocks the door like he's done a million times before [he can sneak in without waking Hannah or his mother, which is a talent developed from years of practice] and nudges her inside, shutting and locking the door easily behind her before exhaling. "We're here now and you can totally touch my dick now," he says before he can stop himself.

[acontrollist.livejournal.com]

"I'm saying that using a word that applies to both large and tiny things could maybe cloud your point. But you're absolutely far from tiny." She nods at his explanation for prom and says, "The theme this year is Hollywood Lights. I'm not sure if I'm going." It should be pretty self-explanatory. And if he isn't, he should ask, because Rachel doesn't assume that he's stupid and if he wants to play dumb he's going to really have to beef it up. Otherwise, she's not going to pander to this oblivious thing he's been trying to pull of with everyone else.

She's pretty sure he didn't listen to her speech at all; he rarely ever does. But he keeps her close the whole ride to his place and even though they don't speak, she's actually content in the silence for the first time in a long time. She wonders what Santana would say if she could see this. She'd probably accuse Rachel of brainwashing him or something.

She rolls her eyes and leans forward, pressing her chest to his and cupping him through his jeans. It lasts all of 10 seconds before she's pulling back, turning and heading up the stairs. "I believe I also requested a bed!" She calls over her shoulder.

[but_idontlie]

"You wanna, like, dress old-Hollywood?" he asks, because treating it like Halloween is a hell of a lot less gay than dressing up in formal shit and dancing because he has a feeling that this prom isn't going to be as fun as last year. "I don't know if Marilyn Monroe wore animal sweaters but you'd look hot all old-Hollywood, babe, and we would look fucking hot together if we went. Surprise the fuck out of everybody." He hasn't given it much thought to this point, but when he thinks Hollywood, he thinks Angelina Jolie and Johnny Depp, and he also thinks about old shit, like black-and-white movies and Scarface and Don Corleone and Marilyn Monroe and Gone With the Wind and all that old shit. "I could pull off James Dean, huh?"



When her tiny hand cups around him, all rational thought abandons his brain; it takes him a good twenty seconds before he can recover enough to chase her up the stairs and into his bedroom, wrapping his arms smoothly around her waist and pulling her backward against his hips, running the palms of his hands down against the lean muscles of her thighs. "You," he breathes in her ear, nibbling on the lobe, "are so fucking hot, Rachel-Berry, and you drive me fucking crazy, and I - can't - you are gonna - clothes on the floor and you better find one of my shirts you like 'cuz that's the only thing I wanna see you wear today if you need clothes." His lips drag from the sensitive patch of skin just below her ear down against her neck. "If you're not naked or wearing sheets, I mean." One hand on her thigh slides up until two fingers are pressed against bare slick skin beneath her skirt and he teases, tracing her entrance but refusing to do any more than that, rocking his hips against her bottom.

[acontrollist.livejournal.com]

"Marilyn Mon-" She grins. "My dress is a Marilyn Monroe replica, actually. I'll have to show you a picture of hers later, but it's gold and backless and really long with this slit up the thigh and-" Wait. This is Puck she's talking to. He doesn't care as long as he can see as much skin as possible. He says James Dean and she gives him a long once over before she shakes her head. "No. Tony Montana." Because his accent in West Side Story haunted her for about a month.

"Never done that before..." She says softly. And okay, maybe she kind of has. Or at least she's tried to. Trying to drive Finn crazy used to be a national past time of hers. But no one has ever said that and meant it (at least she thinks Noah does, because he's a lot of things but he's not a liar). He slips his fingers between her thighs and all she can really do is spread her stance a little, rocking down against his fingers and back against the erection she can feel at her back. "Bed...we should...and-...jersey." Because he mentioned his shirt and now she has this awesome idea. "Get your jersey."

jfc i want to see him as james dean

[but_idontlie]

The expression of casual indifference he wears - because prom is just one of those things, and when Lauren wanted the Prom Queen tiara, he was totally into getting it for her, but now he doesn't really give a fuck about prom because he just doesn't give a fuck - shifts into a wide grin to match Rachel's. Because this could be fun, and NYADA is no longer her future, and he doesn't really have a future, and what-comes-next is basically up to them. They choose. They decide. And they can really do whatever the fuck they want to do, and if they want to go to prom together and really take the Hollywood Lights theme to a whole different level and break out a little theatricality, then they'll rock that bitch. He pulled it off when he was all Sammy Davis, Jr., for Mercedes, and he can do it for Rachel, and he'll leave McKinley with the kind of bang that may or may not include fucking Rachel Berry onstage with a spotlight.

[He's totally up for leaving with that kind of bang, by the way.]

Tony Montana. He cocks his head and the grin widens. "Pretty good. Not like I got any problem getting the women," he teases. "But I wanna try out James Dean anyway. He was a stud, Rach."


"Better fucking not," he mutters, rolling his hips against her body, one hand slipping up her stomach and ribs to cup a breast in one hand, finding her nipple through her bra between his thumb and fingertip. "You're gonna look so good in my shit, baby. I'm gonna be the only one who's in you." It's rather presumptuous on his part, but he knows that he satisfies her, and she spreads her thighs and rocks her hips between his body and fingers, and that's all the more confirmation that his body does things to hers that nobody else has been capable of doing. "I'll take care of you," he breathes in her ear, pulling his fingers from her body and trailing them over her lips before sliding them into his own mouth and savoring her taste with a deep groan. "You don't need the jersey now. All we need is a mirror. I want you to watch how good you look when I fuck you."

[acontrollist.livejournal.com]

Prom committee hasn't really started yet, and Rachel's been thinking off pulling out of everything and just spending her last year as quietly as possible, as far away from WMHS as possible. But this actually does sound fun and maybe this year for Prom she'll sing something...uplifting and Finn can dance with whoever the hell he wants and she'll dance with Noah and there'll be no fighting and she doesn't really care who wins prom queen because she's pretty sure that if she really just wanted the tiara, Noah would get her one (and then bend her over in his room and fuck her while she wore it, which doesn't sound like too bad of an idea).

"I suppose. But didn't James Dean wear a leather jacket? If we go together, Tony Montana's messy casual, but still formal, iconic outfit will go much better with my dress. But if you go as James Dean, we're driving as slow as possible. I have no desire to curse your car or end my prom night in a fire wreck a la James Dean's Porsche."

She unbuttons her cardigan, brushing it aside and tilting her head back against his shoulder when his fingers find her nipple. The only bra that she's really wearing is the bit of elastic and cloth built into her camisole, and even through the extra layer she's so sensitive and she can feel every roll and flick and his fingers. "Contradictory." She whimpers when he promises to take care of her, then stops touching her. She rolls back against his hips, sliding her hands back to cup the back of his neck and licking her lips when he leaves her taste there. "No, I - I'm gonna ride you and I wanna...wear your number while I do..."

[but_idontlie]

"We'll figure shit out," he says, "and I'll take care of you, and fuck you so good after." There. That's all that really needs to be said about prom. If nothing else, he'll do a better job than Finn ever could.

She clearly hates that his fingers slip from her, but it's something that needs to be done [well, okay, he could just fuck her here, but she did say bed, and he doesn't trust himself to get her up the stairs quickly enough with his fingers plunged inside her body]. "Shhhhh," he murmurs, his tongue sliding along the shell of her ear as he soothes her. "Gonna take care of you. Upstairs, baby. Jersey's in the closet and I still wanna watch. Gonna lift the jersey, babe. You know how hot you look when you come? You're, like, the fucking hottest thing I've ever seen. Walk with me," and he shuffles her slowly toward the stairs, his hands gripping her hipbones, lips dropping kisses over the curve of her neck. "Come on."