1. I don't own Glee.
Notes: On the whole, I don't write much in terms of explicit sex. I think it shows. But this prompt begged it and I gave in. This is pretty much AU from the get-go. Think of it as one way Glee could have started if it was on HBO or the CW instead of FOX or something. Written for the drabble meme at PR Livejournal again.
Warnings: Bad decisions, bad language, wandering hands, Rachel's lack of gag reflex. Minors engaging in not-exactly-sex. Valid M rating.
Spoilers: None! :D
It Could Be Romance
It happens at the first rager of freshman year. The new guys on the team—the few freshmen with the good fortune to play today—are surprisingly talented and McKinley celebrates an unexpected win. Rachel only knows this by-the-way. Football isn't on her list of interests. Popularity is. She needs to get a leg in with the in-crowd because high school domination comes in one form only.
Her night would be going a lot better if her shadow hadn't been replaced by the highly obnoxious Jacob Ben-Israel. She gets weird looks wherever she walks. No one will talk to her because he seems to think that the louder he screams about wanting her virginity, the more likely she is to give it to him.
For the record, it's never going to happen. Never.
She's practically running down a hallway to escape him when a tall figure drives a wide shoulder into Jacob's chest and sends him roughly into the wall. Rachel blinks at the sudden appearance of a letterman jacket in the semi-darkness.
She knows of the boy staring down at her—number 20, running back, star of the night—but they've never spoken to each other. She wonders if he noticed her predicament or if his presence is merely coincidence. Noah Puckerman has been throwing Jacob into the dumpster since fifth grade so this supposed act of chivalry could just as easily be misinterpreted bullying.
She would say something but she's spent most of the night amidst the bright lights and loud music in the backyard, not really knowing anyone, not really speaking to anyone, and drinking from the liberal supply of red cups. She isn't stupid; she tasted the alcohol in the punch, felt the burn along her arms, she just chose to ignore it. Her inability to do anything to but stare and flush under this boy's gaze has her regretting that choice.
Just when she opens her mouth to force anything out, he turns away from her and grumbles a harsh threat at her curly-haired nuisance. Jacob looks heartbrokenly between them (Rachel wishes she had been able hear what Noah had said just now) then scampers off. Her audible sigh of relief draws the attention of her wholly unlikely saviour.
He looks at her and she can feel every nerve ending in her body. He is sinfully handsome. She's acutely aware of him as he drags his eyes over her entire frame then takes a step closer effectively filling all of her personal space. She holds her breath when he leans in to speak into her ear.
She shudders at feeling of his breath on her skin. (She has never felt like this before—it terrifies her but she wants more.)
"Rachel," she manages.
Her tone is something deep, quiet and foreign to her own ears. He doesn't seem to mind. He presses her back against a door. Then he quirks an eyebrow and half-smirks at her; it's the single sexiest expression she has seen on anyone, ever. She thinks she moans (to her knowledge, she has never moaned before in her life). Whatever sound she makes, it makes his eyes go dark.
She cuts him off, "I know who you are."
Instead of being irritated like most people are when she interrupts them, his smirk simply deepens. She thinks she might have just stroked his ego a little bit. If it gets him to keep talking to her, she's willing to stroke other things of his. From what she's heard, he probably wouldn't object.
Someone jostles him and he uses the forward momentum to press himself against her. His nose brushes her cheek a little before he asks, "Wanna go somewhere private?"
Rachel knows exactly what he means. Like she said before, she's not stupid; she is making very specific choices. This one is a bit heavier than whether or not to ignore the alcohol in the punch. A long look at the boy in front of her and her decision is made.
Upstairs, they don't even make it into a bedroom. The unlit hallway is deserted because whoever is hosting is obsessive about keeping people downstairs. Noah just stepped over the makeshift barrier and then lifted Rachel over effortlessly. His hands haven't left her body since.
They get about halfway toward the double doors at the end of the hall before he groans and pulls her back to him. When he spins their bodies, she gets a little disoriented from the combination of motion, liquor and boy. Everything feels too intense, too much. She loves it.
There's no time to think about that though, not when he's kissing her hot and wet and lewd. He kisses her lips open and invades her mouth. He doesn't have any particular taste—not the way she expects from what she's read—but he feels amazing. The slip and slide of their tongues and lips and the rough edge of teeth is startlingly erotic. Her heart can't beat fast enough for it.
As his hands glide up and down her sides, she can feel heat building between her legs. She's aroused, so very aroused—she shifts her legs and knows that she's wet. She's wet for Noah Puckerman. The thought alone sends a rush of warmth flooding her panties and this time she definitely moans.
He pulls away and starts kissing his way down her neck. He's aiming for her breasts. His fingers consistently graze the outer curves of her chest but that isn't what she needs. While she's sure the feeling of his large hands kneading her flesh would be amazing, she doesn't want him touching there now. She's doesn't need him to touch her there. She needs his touch between her thighs.
Boldly she reaches up, grasps his hand and drags it downward. He pulls his face away to look at her but she doesn't stop. When their hands start moving back up her leg, he curses quietly. Then, even though she's in control, she still gasps when his hand presses against her.
"Fuck, you're amazing."
His words are a burst of heat along neck. The more important heat is the one he's stroking with fingers. He's not slow and nervous, his fingers are sure and directed and she admires his skill as her knees buckle.
No one has ever touched her like this. This is the first time someone else's hand has felt her swell and slickness. His thumb rubs a rhythm rough and foreign on her clit. His two fingers reach deeper inside her than her own have ever managed. It's incredible and incredibly fast; she can't believe she's so close already.
"I like your socks."
"Your socks. They're fucking sexy."
There's only one thing she can think to say in response—not that she can think much at all—so she mumbles, "Thank you."
She feels him nod against her shoulder before he latches onto the skin at the junction of her neck and shoulder. His hand is working her faster and faster, harder and harder. Then he curls his fingers and swipes his thumb roughly and she's coming all over his hand. Her orgasm is like a freight train hitting her with such force she has to bite into his jacket so she doesn't scream. She can't afford to risk her voice and the scream that threatened to escape her would have made her hoarse.
Noah drops her home after she sucks him off in the master bedroom. He is very nearly reverent when she demonstrates her lack of gag reflex.
After she's done swallowing and he's done shuddering, he looks her dead in the eye and tells her, "I'm keeping you."
Prompt: (302): he was fingering me, then looked down and said "i like your socks"