
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/434280.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Fandom:
      Glee
  Relationship:
      Rachel_Berry/Noah_Puckerman
  Character:
      Rachel_Berry, Noah_Puckerman
  Additional Tags:
      Smuckleberry_Week, Public_Sex, Virginity
  Collections:
      SmuckleberryWeek_-_An_outpouring_of_Rachel/Puck_love
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-06-15 Chapters: 1/? Words: 2070
****** Shed your skin ******
by JaqofSpades
Summary
     If she wanted safe, then what the fuck was she doing here? On the
     football field, ten o'clock at night, with the asshole who'd denied
     they'd ever been friends?
Notes
     Written for Day 7 of Smuckleberry Week on Tumblr, to the prompt
     'public sex'. This follows on from my story, Reciprocity.
***
He's halfway through a quart of Jack when she finds him. He'd heard her coming,
heard her climbing up each rung, and his dumb traitor heart must have forgotten
she'd fucking dumped him, because it does that weird jump he'd only just gotten
used to. Rachel, it rejoices. Rachel!
“Rachel,” he slurs, and has he really had that much to drink? “Fuck do you
want? Forget to grind my balls into little pieces or something? Here,” and he
makes a show of unzipping his pants. “Put what's left in Finn's locker or
something.” His drunken laugh doesn't even convince him, and fuck. That better
not be pity on her face.
“Noah. You're drunk.”
Fuck yeah he's drunk. Plans to get drunker, too. Because he's obviously not had
enough Jack if he's thinking how cute she looks, the hood of her red jacket
framing her huge brown eyes and gorgeous pouting lips. He wants to bite those
lips, suck on them, make them the fucking departure point for all points
fucking south.
She just wants to rag on him some more.
“Why did you tell everyone we broke up because I wouldn't let you touch my
breasts?”
He rolls his eyes. “Because we did?” And if she can't figure out why he's lying
through his teeth, then she needs to study the fuck up. This is high school.
Fuckheads give her enough shit without him in the mix.
“You touched my breasts, Noah! And quite a lot of me besides,” she huffs, and
his heart pangs a little when he realises she sounds … hurt. “Are you ashamed
of having been with me?”
And no. Fuck no. Rachel Berry had let him into her bed and given him her trust
and kinda obliterated him with how fucking hot she was. Yeah, maybe most of
their relationship had taken place in her bedroom, but that was only because he
legit loved it there. Her Dads were never around, the damn bed was the most
comfortable thing ever, and, well – Rachel. In Rachel's bedroom. With her lips,
and her legs, and the noises she makes when she comes.
It'd been so fucking amazing he'd vowed to be a good boyfriend. For three whole
weeks he'd done his best not to fuck up, and he was still doing it, really, if
it included keeping his mouth shut about just how good she was. Even if she had
decided they were done.
Bullshit reason that it was. She wanted Finn?
Fuck that. He knew what she wanted. She wanted his lips, and his tongue, and
yeah, even if she hadn't had it yet, she wanted his cock. (The way the girl
liked to grind? Crystal. Fucking. Clear.)
And Finn made her feel safe? If she wanted safe, then what the fuck was she
doing here? On the football field, ten o'clock at night, with the asshole who'd
denied they'd ever been friends?
Safe's not what you're looking for girlie.
And maybe it was the Jack talkin', after that. (Or his jealousy. Or his broken
fucking heart.)
*
“Ashamed? Yeah, I'm fucking ashamed, baby. I'm ashamed I was so fuckin' careful
with you. I'm ashamed I never figured out this was just short-term, just a few
fucking weeks of you taking the bad boy for spin. If I'd known that, I would'a
taught you to give a decent bj, or to ride my cock like the fuckin' freaky
cowgirl I know you gotta be. Most of all, I'm fucking ashamed that I actually
started to think someone might want me for a change!”
He turned his face into the dark to hide what he thought might be tears. She
would'a heard the crack in his voice, though. His little breakdown had been so
fucking loud half the town would'a heard. He hunched himself into the darkest
corner so that maybe when the cops showed, they'd be lost in the shadow.
Nobody had taught Rachel Berry how to keep a low profile. She's a beacon in her
sexy Red Riding Hood getup, arms flying about as she launches into a rant,
pushing closer and closer until she's yelling up into his face.
“What do you mean, want you? Everyone wants you, Puck. Every girl at school!
They send me notes telling me exactly who you've fucked, when you fucked them,
and when they're going to fuck them next! And if it's not that, they were
giving me the odds on when we going to break up … it's as if we were just this
big joke!”
He knew. He had intercepted as many of the notes as he could, and threatened
never to date another Cheerio ever if they didn't stop. But he wasn't in all of
her classes, and he couldn't get into her locker, or hack her email or MySpace
page.
“I thought it myself, you know. That was a dare, or some sort of prank you were
playing, but then I thought, well, Rachel, what if it is? What have you got to
lose? He's beautiful and you want him and maybe this is your only chance at
having him. So I took a chance and you were so good, Noah, so good to me, but
they made it so hard to believe you! I felt like I was flinging myself off this
precipice, and there was no one there to catch me, but the crazy thing was – I
still wanted to do it! I wanted it so much, Noah. I want everything too much,
and I can't … I just can't have that yet!”
And this was what he did not understand. This was what hurt the most, because
he knew damn well it wasn't about Finn, or him, not really. It was about
Rachel's little vision of how things should go, her attempt to stage manage her
fucking life. But if he couldn't force her to live life rather than act it out,
who the fuck would?
“It's gonna be me, baby. That's fucking who.”
“Huh? You're making no sense, Noah.”
“Really? Well, I'll use really small words then. This isn't a fucking stage,
baby. You can't expect me to exit stage right, and him to come in stage left.
I'll be fucked if I let that happen, and I'll be fucked if I just let him have
you!”
She's knee-to-knee with him now, so it's an easy thing to scoop her up by the
waist and dump her straight in his lap, flailing legs on one side, thrashing
body on the other. She squeals and flings her arms around his neck, leaving his
hands free to shoot under her skirt and yank at her knickers, forcing them down
past her knees, and then to her ankles.
“Noah!” she says, and she's not ranting anymore. It's her usual question
disguised as a stroppy demand, and for once, he wants to have the right answer.
He doesn't, though. Being the good guy hurt too fucking much, so he forces
himself back into Puck's skin.
“Don't you think I deserve a goodbye fuck?”
She gasps, and she's trying to wriggle away, he figures. His hand, though, is
still between her legs and Puck's got this. All he has to do is uncurl his
fingers, and slide them up and down her slit to make her wriggle some more.
Wriggle and writhe and squirm until his hand is buried in her, two fingers
inside, testing and stretching and teasing.
He's an utter fucking bastard if he takes her virginity out here, on the
bleachers, he tells himself, and he's easing back a little when she moans loud
and long.
“Puck. Oh God, Puck,” she says, and yeah. That's that.
He surrenders to his fate and pushes her away a little so that one hand can
finish undoing his jeans, sliding them down his butt 'til he's bare assed naked
on the freezing aluminium. If he gets frostbite of the nads, it better be
fucking worth it, he thinks viciously. She better be fucking worth it.
He makes the mistake of looking at her, then, sprawled over his lap with her
skirt bunched up to her waist, legs apart, dark pubes wet and curling. She
looks like an X-rated after-school special, one on the dangers of teenage
sexuality or something. It makes him think, alright – where the fuck had he put
condoms, he wonders wildly, and pats around in the back pocket of his jeans
until he feels the familiar shape.
Her eyes widen as he produces the foil square, and his narrow. Moment of
fucking truth, baby.
“Rachel. Yes or no?”
And since God had just confirmed he really is an asshole bastard, he encloses
her entire mound with one hand, teasing her folds with the tips of his fingers,
and nudging her clit with his thumb.
She moans and opens her legs wider, but it's not enough. Not this time. “Gotta
ask me, baby. Ask me nice,” he stresses, and pinches her clit as punctuation.
“Fuck you,” she growls, but she's already moving, he notices, her hips
swivelling around to straddle him.
He raises an eyebrow. “Not quite.” And doesn't the girl know he's giving her a
chance to walk away, to be rid of his asshole self?
But she's not walking away. No. This girl? She's fucking running towards her
downfall.
“Please. Fuck. Me.” she enunciates, grabbing the condom out of his hand and
ripping it open with her teeth.
She's obviously never put a condom on before, he thinks as she slowly rolls the
latex down his cock. Too slow, too careful, too nervous. She's like that,
though, on technicalities. Likes to get them right. When it comes down to it
(and it has, she's lifting herself up on her knees, now, hovering over him,
teasing the tip of him with the brush of her pubic hair and the soft whisper of
desire-slick skin), she likes to get on with the job. (Sinking down, pushing
through a grimace. He grabs her hips and makes her stay put for a bit, before
letting her go a little further. Deeper.)
“Technically, you're fucking me,” he says between gritted teeth, searching for
anything that can distract him from the heat of her, the hotness of them. “Take
it easy. Not so much, Rach,” he groans as she plunges down, swallowing his
shaft with a surprised yelp of pain.
He stills her hips again, but then she twitches out of his hands and begins to
experiment. (Circles must'a felt good, but those little pants suggest
frustration. A slow, heavy grind brings tears to her eyes, but leaves her
shuddering.)
“You're close, baby. Want me to get you off?”
She nods quickly, and if he hadn't been about to shoot his load before (and
fuck yeah, he was) then the tortured little “oh please” would have set him off.
He angles himself backwards to give them some room, seizes her hips, and then
works her up and down on his cock, a slow slide right to the tip, and then a
fast slam down. Slide. Slam. Slide. Slam.
His cock is beginning to pulse when he realises she's not gonna come like this,
he can't do it with his cock alone. But maybe, with Rachel, he's not alone…
“Touch yourself, baby. Rub your clit for me,” he begs, needy and desperate like
he's never been.
She gives a shaky laugh and then reaches down between them, fingers sliding
over her clit at first, then flicking in quick little movements. He forces
himself to watch her, to concentrate a little, and fuck her slow and deep. When
she's rubbing frantically with the heel of her hand, he lets her take over, and
is fucking astonished when she begins to slam herself down, the force
reverberating right through them and into the superstructure of the bleachers.
Hot, wet friction, he thinks blindly. Pretty much what they were. Just
friction, rubbing up against each other, making sparks.
Sparks. Flames. Fucking inferno, this girl, he thinks as the world dissolves
into a series of wrenching convulsions, red spots behind his eyelids and his
hands holding onto her hips so fucking tight she'll be bruised tomorrow.
Good, he thinks, but his jaw is clenched with regret.
Puck'll be boasting about those bruises come Monday morning, but tonight? Maybe
she'll let him have a few more hours of being Noah.
(He hates how much he wants that.)
 
*
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