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[Skipping temple. Knocking on your door.]

LJ POST

[NYADA isn't just significant. NYADA is everything. Her whole life until last September was preparing her voice, her mind, her body for Julliard. The move to New York. The trip to the bottom of the ladder she could climb to be a star and then when Pilsbury had told her that Julliard didn't have a musical theatre program...but then she'd given her NYADA instead and she'd worked for that. Rachel Berry had goals. She was going to go to NYADA with Kurt. Blaine would join them a year later, and the 3 of them were going to rule New York together. She would be a star and then she would get married and-]

[Nothing. Because Kurt was going to New York and leaving her behind and Finn was...a moot point and Rachel had nothing. Her whole life, she'd had nothing, no real friends, nothing but her voice and the sureness that she was getting the fuck out of this cow hole but now she isn't so what does the rest of it matter for anyway?]

[You wanna see how ready she is, Noah? He grabs her hands and the dress falls, leaving her in just her bra. Just her bra. That she'd only really worn for the purpose it served, teasing Noah. But panties were unnecessary and therefore non-existent. She slides her arms around his neck and kisses him, just like before, just like that night in her bed and she'd wanted then too. But she'd been a different person, then. Berry had kissed him in her bed and pushed him away because Berry had goals that didn't include losing her virginity that night. Rachel could give a shit about anything but losing herself right here, right now.]

[NYADA is everything, but Puckerman doesn't know that. And even if he did, it wouldn't necessarily matter. It's all relative, and all that matters is how Rachel feels about it and what that means for him and for life itself (and that's so fucking Zen of him), regardless of what exactly NYADA is. It sounds like a bad STD, and if it was Santana saying something about NYADA, he'd point-blank ask if she picked up an ointment for that. He's not really a guy with goals, short of getting the fuck out of Lima and fucking as many chicks as he can in the process (because he's a stud and there's no reason not to, okay?). He doesn't have a plan because nobody ever believed in him and he never really believed in himself, never really believed he ever had anything worth a damn to give the world except for the eight thick inches between his thighs and a daughter who's being raised by the biological mother of the ~~hot Jew~~ ~~girl~~ woman who stands in front of him. College? He hadn't even applied. What was the fucking point? He could just work a trade or something, go work at Hummel's Tire and Lube with Finn or clean pools or whatever. It didn't fucking matter.]

[Her hands in his, he can actually feel the fabric of the dress slip down her body, her bare skin pressing hot against his forearms until the only things separating them are her bra and the clothes he wears. He drops her wrists (her body is so warm), his callused palms sliding over her ribs - fuck, she's tiny - and up her back, his fingertips sliding along the band of her bra as her arms curve around his neck to hold him as she presses her lips to his.] Mmmm, babe. [He murmurs against her lips, his eyes closing the remainder of the way as he blindly unfastens her bra, his hands drawing the fabric around to the front of her body and dropping the bra as he cups her breasts in his hands, his thumbs finding her nipples and drawing circles around them slowly. She stands naked before him, his kisses persistent and soft, his touches gentle and reassuring. He means to work her up, wanting her to beg him for reasons other than wanting to just forget the feeling of rejection.] Beautiful. You're so fucking beautiful, B. You know that, right? People don't tell you that shit, but it's true.

[He can say nobody has ever believed in him, but that isn't true. He's just not looking from belief from the right people. Rachel's always believed he had potential. Whether it was the potential to just be a nice guy, and not the asshole everyone thinks he is (that he thinks he has to be?) or the potential to go somewhere with his music ('cause the boy is talented.) or the potential to do well in school if he just tried (we're not even going to go into her whole stance on his potential to parent...). Except when Rachel speaks, no one is listening to Rachel. Everyone is tuning out 'Rachel freakin' Berry' and maybe if he did less of that, Noah wouldn't think that no one believed in him.]

[There are goosebumps over every inch of her skin. She's never done this before and the anticipation is enough to make her shiver, even if he wasn't touching her. He hums against her lips and the vibration strikes down to her toes. She's shorter than him, and has to push up on the balls of her feet to deepen the kiss then, short nails scraping at the base of his 'hawk. Then her bra's gone and she can feel the callouses on his fingers against the previously untouched flesh and all she can do is moan. Why didn't she let him do that before?]

[She'd expected him to move much faster. She'd expected this...whirlwind, but he was being so gentle, reassuring..like he cared. Maybe this was part of the appeal, then.] Rachel. [She corrects him when he calls her 'B'. The Berry is gone is unspoken.] You told me once. [She slips her hand beneath his shirt.] Told me I was pretty...

[He can feel her rock on the balls of her feet, rising up a few inches and pressing her body firmly against his; he can feel every curve of her, warm and better than he'd imagined her, even with his vast experience. Her arms tighten around his neck, forcing their lips together as he opens his mouth to hers. She tastes sweet, minty, and he's distracted from her taste (he doesn't want to be) by the light press of her nails against the nape of his neck and the way she moans into his mouth.]

Rachel. [He breathes, breaking the kiss for just a moment as she slips her hands beneath his shirt and scratches her nails gently over his muscled abdomen. The touch makes him shiver, and he reaches downward to grab the hem of his shirt and yank it up and over his head, tossing it to the floor at their feet before reaching out for her again.] You're fuckin' beautiful, babe. Always were. Why'd you think I wanted you to keep your nose so bad? S'my favorite. So beautiful. [He kisses her again, his hands moving to take hers and drawing them to the the button of his jeans and abandoning them. She can handle unfastening his pants on her own; his hands move up to curve around her breasts again, his lips kissing a trail over the curve of her jaw, heading in the direction of her chin.]

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