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.

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[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.