A/N: Hi everyone! I'm sorry I've been MIA for a while, but school started and I'm only just now feeling like my head is above water. I'm currently outlining a multi-chapter, but I hope you all enjoy this one-shot in the meantime.

every chorus was your name

She's thrilled, of course she's thrilled to be on Broadway.

Kurt might laugh and say that while she's thrilled, she's not at all surprised, since she's basically been planning this from the moment Daddy first played the soundtrack to West Side Story in her nursery, but he's wrong. She might be confident in her talent, but she's realistic enough to know that even with all of her gifts and the years of hard work, there's an element of luck involved and she's still passionately grateful every time she walks into the theater or when she's backstage waiting for her call, or when someone recognizes her on the street and asks for her autograph.

So to be part of a certified hit, playing to a sold-out theater every night, working with a group of amazingly talented people? It's not beyond her wildest dreams, but it's pretty close. There are even whispers, (just whispers, but still) of a nomination for Best Featured Actress when the Tony Award Nominations are announced in May. All this, and she's still only twenty-three.

She has to admit though, it is a little tricky to explain to Grandma Berry that all this acclaim stems from a role in which she sings about her inability to get a decent orgasm and then later on about her deep, personal connection with her sex toy.

Maria never had problems like this.

She goes to an open casting call for Chastised: the Musical halfway through her senior year at Tisch because she thinks it's important to start getting her name out there, and also because practically everyone else in her program is as well. After all who wouldn't want to work with the creative team that came up with The Book of Mormon? She auditions for Susie, the evangelical Senator's daughter and doesn't make it to the second round which while disappointing, doesn't overly surprise her since the character is described as tall, blonde and icy. While she waits around for one of her classmates who at least has the advantage of being one of the three, she decides to try for a bit role, Ronnie, who's described with one only word: sex bomb.

(So what if she's about as much of a sex bomb as she is a tall, icy blonde. That's why it's called acting.)

Channeling her very best impression of Santana, she does her best to wow them with her version of Louise's 'Let Me Entertain You' from Gypsy. She gives it a big finish, dropping a shoulder strap while looking back through her lashes. At first it seems to go over really well. The casting director even runs out to get Trey Parker. Then, not so much. She may not have much experience yet, but she's relatively sure that most auditions don't end with the director of the musical literally falling out of his chair roaring with laughter and sending footage from his phone to his colleagues. Even the pianist is choking something back and she suspects he's from the Brad school of musical accompaniment. (Four years in Glee with that man, and not a single word.)

It's not her finest moment and it's all she can do to try to extricate herself graciously rather than executing the patented Rachel Berry storm-out, when Trey starts hugging her and telling her that she's totally a genius for subverting all of their expectations for the role and will she come back so that Matt and Robert can see her as well?

Well yes. Yes she can. And of course she's thrilled that he liked her interpretation of Ronnie, who definitely has the potential to be a fascinating character in her own right.

(Now that is acting, bitch.)

A half-dozen meeting later and Rachel has dropped out of NYU twelve credits shy of graduation and with a role that's been bumped up from what's basically a named member of the chorus to having one and then two songs.

Two songs about her character's somewhat alternative sex life, but honestly, it's well worth the explanations.

Everyone (almost) comes to see her on Broadway.

Dad and Daddy are there of course in front row seats on opening night, filling her dressing room with pink roses and then again every time they come to town. They drink out of Chastised mugs and wear Chastised t-shirts and sing the lyrics to the show really loudly in the car (she's on the soundtrack!) and she loves them for it.

And Kurt because even if they aren't roommates any more, he's been with her every step of the way in New York and besides, he'll kill her if he's not her date to the first cast party. (It's kind of cute how he thinks Blaine isn't aware of his tiny little crush on Andrew Rannells.) Since Blaine is free-lancing for an online magazine, it's practically work for him. And Mercedes makes the trip up from Philadelphia at least once a month anyway and she loves the show, (even if Rachel privately suspects that she thinks she could do a better job).

All her Tisch friends come: Anton and Amanda and Ben and a few more and they're all probably wishing her well and envying her in equal measure. (It's not laudable, but she finds both to be very gratifying.)

The rest of them are unexpected, but she's surprised to find that she's pleased and excited to see them all the same.

Mr. and Mrs. Schuester don't make opening night, but make an appearance not long after that. Will looks a little uncomfortable and Emma is bright red when she sees them after the show, but Emma's also seven months pregnant, and Rachel has never seen them look happier. A month or so later, Santana and Brittany make a road trip of it from Miami and Tina and Mike drive down from Boston to join them. At the club after the show, Santana almost sticks her tongue down Rachel's throat and definitely squeezes her ass while congratulating her for 'slutting it up on stage and making Auntie San so proud.'

She's actually kind of flattered.

Finn and Quinn turn up together just before Thanksgiving. Finn brings her flowers after the show, but looks confused and Quinn is tight-lipped. (Was it something she sang?) She watches them walk off hand-in-hand and is relieved to find that while she does feel a pang at the sight, it's small and easily forgotten.

Artie goes when his boss sends him to New York for a conference and Sam has a three-day layover at JFK and even Matt Rutherford surprises her at the stage door when he gets into Columbia for med school.

She decides she's not really expecting anyone else, so she's certainly not disappointed when they don't turn up.

That's surprisingly zen for her and it lasts until his, excuse her language, his freaking mother turns up, with the entirety of the Lima ladies book club in tow. They insist on taking her out to a late dinner and their frank conversation makes her blush far more than anything in the script ever has, but not one word about Noah Puckerman crosses Miriam Puckerman's lips.


The Tony nominations are announced on May 2nd and she's watching of course, even though she promised herself that she wouldn't make herself crazy and there it is, among seven other nominations for Chastised, her nomination for Best Featured Actress and she's jumping up and down and screaming and Kurt is right there with her, screaming too. (He's obviously not much help in the helping-her-not-be-crazy department, but she doesn't even care.)

Jimmy Fallon has been her favorite every since the cast did the media rounds right after the opening. The morning talk shows with their 3:00 AM wake-up calls are too difficult to fit into her schedule and as for Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert, she's never understood the point of fake news shows. Doesn't her generation have a difficult enough time understanding current events without someone making them up? Letterman is too sarcastic. Kelly Ripa flat out scares her.

But Jimmy Fallon is sweet and funny and a talented musician in his own right. So when he's the first to book her after her nomination, she's thrilled. She goes on with a dress that she spent hours shopping for with Kurt and shoes that cost approximately her weekly salary and she feels absolutely gorgeous when she walks out on the set.

Jimmy gives her a grin and a thumbs up and then: "Ladies and gentlemen, singing 'Holy O' from the hit musical Chastised, please welcome Rachel Berry!"

The Roots play the familiar opening notes and after blowing a kiss to them and then to the audience, she sings:

There, right there, oh god no not that!
An inch to the left might make me feel...
If I'd known he'd need such precise instructions
I wouldn't have bothered with these heels

Oh Holy O! Holy O! I'm praying for you now
What does it take? Must I always be alone?
Always begging for some attention
to my erogenous zones?

He says my tits are quite perfect
He says my ass is divine
But I'm just getting warmed up and he's going
Lord could you send him a sign?

The audience is with her and with that familiar rush she slips into the zone of a song she performs six times a week. With the last refrain of the chorus, her arms rise up in the air and she finishes with that final big note that she loves. By the time the applause finally dies down she's seated in the comfortable chair next to Jimmy.

They talk a little about her nomination (!) and then then she shares a few funny (and definitely late-night) stories from the show.

"Really? That big?" Jimmy asks, holding his hands apart and looking nonplussed.

She nods. "The props director went all over the city looking for something that you could see from the back row of the theater. Finally, the props department had to make one," she confides.

His eyes widen. "Yet another selling point for the building trades. If late night doesn't pan out, I think I know my next career move. So Rachel, tell me more about your character, Ronnie."

Even if her original enthusiasm for the character was faked, Rachel really does adore her now and she smiles brightly.

"Ronnie is introduced in the first act as a woman who is praying to god because her partner isn't meeting her sexual needs and through her story arc she's able to connect with her friends and family on a deeper level and that's mirrored by the way she learns to take care of herself."

"And it's implied that she takes care of herself with the...prop?"

"Yes," she confirms, giggling.

"Got it. There's just one more thing I've got to ask. How in the world did you prepare for this role?" He turns to the audience. "I mean look at her people, she's gorgeous, right?" The clapping and whistling and hollering is immediate and enthusiastic. "So do you say to your boyfriend, 'hey, could you not satisfy me tonight'? Or maybe, 'go ahead honey, watch the game, have a few more beers and then come to bed and just do a half-assed job of it'."

She laughs. "I don't have a boyfriend right now, but I think everyone has a partner...," or two or three or, ugh, all of them, "...in their past that for whatever reason, they don't have chemistry with."

Jimmy shakes his head in disbelief. "I'll bet one of your exes is kicking himself right now. We're going to take a break, but when we get back another song from the very lovely and talented Rachel Berry!"

As they go to commercial, Jimmy is pulled away almost immediately by the producer and she's left considering the mysteries of chemistry or to be specific, the lack thereof.

Like NYU Ben, her boyfriend for the first half of senior year. Great voice, intelligent, terrific with her dads. On paper, absolutely perfect. Between the sheets? Just...not. And then there was Luka, her yoga instructor. Look, hours-long tantric sex is one thing, but someone should tell him that if your partner dozes off during the act, you're doing it wrong. (Or at least she assumes so.) And Ryder. His charm and Upper East Side address had been impressive. His stamina and, well, his equipment, hadn't been. Even her experience with Finn, which she doesn't regret, or at least not precisely, even if prom night is a total cliche, would have been better if either of them had known what they were doing.

Just unfortunate chemistry.

A tiny part of her is still caught up in it during her duet with Jimmy (a fabulous cover of the Stone's Satisfaction). Which is ridiculous. It's just bad timing or terrible luck, or whatever. And even if she does have her own (appropriately sized) self-help tool in her bedside drawer, the universe is certainly not trying to tell her something.

Kurt calls her the morning after the show airs and goes on and on about how gorgeous her dress and hair and shoes were. And while he does like to take credit for her style (usually it's a variation of 'honestly Rachel, you couldn't have been my roommate for as long as you were and not picked up a few things') he's never boring about it, so she knows something must be up.

"Kurt, spill," she tells him sternly.

"I may have given your new phone number out," he says airily.

She groans. He does this from time to time, usually when he's feeling guilty about the state of perfect domestic bliss he's currently enjoying with Blaine in their Tribeca loft. It usually takes the form of trying to set her up with one of the cute boys he meets at the gym and that usually goes about like you'd think. (Ryder was a particularly egregious example.)

"Kurt," she sighs, "I've told you a million times, I'm perfectly happy with..."

"Yes, yes," he interrupts. "You're a model for us all. Anyway, Blaine and I driving up to Vermont for a few days. He's writing a piece on B&B's, lucky me! And you know the cell coverage up there! Very spotty. I probably won't get a chance to talk to you until this weekend. Sooo, I've got to run! Good luck!"

That was odd.

It makes a lot more sense when she's darting down 5th Avenue while balancing a cup of hot tea, trying to flag a taxi down and trying to answer her phone.

"Hey babe. Caught you on Fallon last night. That dress was fucking hot."

She stops dead in the middle of the sidewalk, her phone pressed to her ear, ignoring the flood of people surging around her. Really? That's how he's going to initiate the first conversation he's had with her in almost five years?

Here's the thing: she understood, probably more than anyone else in that close-minded, judgmental, hell-hole they called a hometown, what he was doing when he took off three days after graduation without a word to anyone, especially after the year he had. (He's probably the only one in the whole Shelby/Quinn/Beth mess who came off worse than she did, although she still maintains he had a lucky escape.)

She wasn't offended when he didn't call or write, even if they were kind of friends. When she went back for winter break and accompanied Dad and Daddy to temple, she looked for him certainly, but she wasn't surprised when he wasn't sitting next to his mother and sister. When Mercedes sent out long, chatty group emails every few months she correctly predicted that he wouldn't participate. (Bamf at gmail was taken apparently.) When Mike and Tina eloped to Las Vegas last year, she didn't expect to him to chip in for the IKEA gift-card that everyone else decided on.

So what if she's a little curious? So what if she'd like to know if he's dead or alive and if alive, what he thinks of her play? And so what if she thinks about him (or pictures him) from time to time? Totally normal. Because of the almost-friends thing. And also because she can freely admit that he's extremely attractive and of course being exposed to that kind of thing during a formative time in her developing sexuality...

Shut up.


Somehow over the last few years, in the midst of a few extended dry-spells, Noah became her go-to masturbatory material and the insides of her eyelids have seen him naked more times than she can count.

Well. This is a little awkward.

"You there?" he asks, with a little less bravado in his voice.

"Um. Yes. I mean I'm currently blocking the sidewalk in front of Saks and I think I spilled my tea while I was trying to pull my phone out of my handbag and I'm definitely going to be upset if I got any on my clothes because while my dry-cleaning bill is nothing compared to what it used to be in high school, I did just get this skirt back from the cleaners and it's one of my favorites."

"Yeah, you're there." He laughs and the sound makes her stomach curl, which is just so unfair. "So Saks Fifth Avenue? That's near the Apple Store, right? The glass cube one?"

"Fairly near. Why?" she asks cautiously. Does he want her to stand in line for hours to get the new version of the iphone? Because that is not how she plans on spending her day off.

"Because, you know, I'm like, there. Or here. Whatever."

"Oh." Her breath is catching so she has to make a special effort to force the words out. "Will you be in town for long? I can recommend some places to visit. Obviously you saw most of the major attractions when we were here for Nationals, but I can recommend some places off the beaten path. I keep a list of all the best delis in Manhattan because Daddy loves his hot pastrami. Or possibly used record stores? There's this place on West 17th street that you might like. What are you interested in?"

"How 'bout you?"

Mmmmm. Usually when she imagines him saying that in exactly that low tone, she's...

"I thought we could catch up. Replace that tea maybe," he teases.

Oh, right. Of course.

"That would be nice," she says.

They left nice in the dust some time ago.

Nice was the hug her gave her when he showed up at the coffee place they agreed to meet at. Nice was when he pulled out a copy of the Chastised soundtrack and asked her to autograph it for his little sister. Nice was the hours they spent talking, the afternoon drifting away as she found out that he didn't so much disappear off the face of the earth as hitch-hike down to Austin, Texas and become immersed in the music scene, teaching guitar, writing music and playing for a local band.

The rest of it, his hand at the small of her back when he guided her to the table and the way he'd leaned in towards her, eyes roaming over her figure approvingly as he told her he wasn't surprised to see that she'd made Broadway her bitch and the hard press of his thigh against hers when they sat together on a subway car headed back to her place was something else entirely.

And oh god, this is too. He's behind her at her door, close enough so she can feel his body heat along her back and one hand sweeps the hair off the back of her neck, his thumb lightly brushing the spot where her neck and shoulder join. He's barely touching her and she's still fumbling with her keys in the lock because her hands are shaking so hard.

Finally, finally, the stupid door opens and she steps forward, kicking off her shoes, carefully putting her keys in the little bowl by the door and hanging her handbag on the hook where it belongs. It's just an attempt to calm her wildly drumming heartbeat because she can still feel the place where he touched her and it almost works until she catches sight of him in the hall mirror. He's leaning up against her closed door with his thumbs dug into his pockets, staring at her with dark eyes.

Her breath catches. She recognizes that expression; he used to look at her like that back in high school sometimes and it always made her feel something that she wasn't ready to examine at the time.

Turning back, she moves close, until she's almost standing between his legs and her hands smooth their way up his shirt almost shyly, which is ridiculous, because she'd known, they'd both known at some point in that coffee shop that this was where they were heading, and her quiet invitation at the entrance to the subway station was only a confirmation. Lifting her face up to his, she feathers a touch against his jaw, pulling him in and it's warm and soft and almost gentle when their lips meet.

She wants more, so she nips his bottom lip, returning instinctively to a move that she barely remembers, and that does it: he's opening her mouth with his and tugging her closer, one hand cupping her ass possessively. They trade kisses back and forth until she's breathless and dizzy and aching. She can't remember the last time she felt like this; she thinks it's possible that she's never felt like this.

"Don't stop," he mumbles into her shoulder, dropping a kiss and then a few more on the same spot he touched in the hall outside her door and it makes her knees week.

"Don't stop what?" she gasps. Honestly she's confused because at some point, he whirled her around so that she's the one pressed up against the door and she's not doing much of anything besides attempting not to slide down it as his hand insinuates itself under her blouse and plucks at her nipple.

"Don't stop this," he says, moving to her neck, inhaling hard when her fingers tug at the short hair at the base of his scalp. "I mean you can of course, because shit, I'm not gonna..." His nose nudges the hollow behind her ear. "Just...don't."

There's something about the way he says it. It's not smooth or practiced or anything like what she would expect and oddly enough, it gives her confidence. She brings one hand lower, down along his chest and abs and then continues down along the front of his jeans.

"You want me," she says, tracing his hardness through the fabric.

"Fuck," he moans, "so bad." He grinds against her, trapping her hand between their bodies. "Baby, that feels...," He nips at her earlobe, kisses her hard on the lips and then presses his forehead to hers and his voice is gravelly and low. "I want to make you feel good too. Take my time and touch you everywhere. You gonna let me, Rach?"

Is she going to let him?

She pushes him back half a step and he groans, but goes and for a split second, she considers taking the out. She knows him and she trusts him and he won't push her to do anything she doesn't want to do. (He'll try like hell to convince her, but that's as far as it will go.) It would probably be the smart thing to do. They could sit on the couch and watch a movie and maybe even order pizza and then he'd go back to his life and she'd go back to hers and she could pretend not to be disappointed when he doesn't show up at the ten-year reunion.

The thing is that she doesn't want an out and she doesn't have a shadow of a rationale for that.

When she trails her fingers down one arm, lingering on his bicep for a minute before taking his hand and leading him towards her bedroom, she decides that rationales are overrated.

It's all a crazy whirl of his hands and his mouth all over her body, teasing but at the same time promising everything. And then he's sinking into her, filling her up in a way that immediately has her arching up into him, balancing on a knife's edge, while he hisses out her name in her ear. His first thrusts are slow and deliberate, but she's urging him on, breathless, winding around him, until something more unrestrained takes over.

There's the salty sheen of sweat, and a pleasant burn deep in her muscles as he pulls her legs up and back to change the angle and then her own voice made almost unrecognizable, echoing in her ears. The whole world seems to start and end where their bodies meet and it build and builds and builds until colors start exploding behind her eyes and their rhythm breaks down in the best possible way.

Godohgodohgod. This is so much better than her fantasies.

"You okay?" he asks sometime later, lazily running his fingers up and down her spine and kissing her shoulder. She hums happily, unwilling to attempt actual speech and she can feel his mouth against her skin, smiling.

Groaning a little, she pulls away and props herself up on one elbow to look at him and sure enough, he's got a giant smirk on his face.

"Someone looks satisfied with himself," she says, lifting one brow (and yes, that is a trick she picked up from him.)

"Yep," he replies simply, reaching for her again and rolling her beneath him.

She would work up some indignation over his 'I got her good' face, but three orgasms in under an hour kind of takes it out of a girl. Plus, judging by the way he's kissing a hot, damp trail down her body and nudging her thighs wider, he seems to be going for some sort of record and if there's one thing Rachel Berry respects, it's a person with goals.

They're scavenging for something to eat in her kitchen, amicably bickering about ordering take-out for what by now would be an extremely late dinner. (She thinks it's necessary if they don't want to make a meal out of crackers, he doesn't want either of them to have to put on clothes to answer the door.) When she argues that they'll both need strength for round whatever they're on he grudgingly agrees and she's so pleased with her victory that as soon as she's done ordering half the items off the menu of her favorite Thai place, she sinks to her knees and blows him right there in the kitchen.

He's still gasping and clutching at the countertop for support when her door buzzer sounds, so she shrugs on his t-shirt and signs for the food. She turns back around to find him staring at her. He reaches out and carefully rubs the hem of her (his) shirt between his thumb and forefinger.

"You have never been as fucking hot as you are right now," he breathes.

The takeout bag ends up untouched in the fridge.

That night, when she's curled up against him, just drifting off, she realizes she still doesn't know what he's doing in New York, or how long he'll be here, or even where he's supposed to be staying. It worries her for a moment and then he sighs and mumbles something in his sleep and pulls her closer and she lets out a breath and closes her eyes.

It can wait until tomorrow.

She's going to bring it up, she really is.

But they sleep in late and by the time they wake up they're both starving, so they devour the take-out cold for breakfast, sitting on her couch and watching Casablanca because she loves it and he vetoed all her musicals. They get to the end of the movie and he's pissed because Elsa leaves with Victor instead of staying with Rick.

"What the fuck, Rachel? Victor's just a crying little bitch!" he says, scowling.

Putting aside the jaw-dropping question of how anyone could reach adulthood without knowing the basic plot of Casablanca, she can't help giggling at him. "Maybe you should have agreed to a musical, Noah. They tend to have happier endings."

He stares at her. "You're laughing at me?"


"Oh, you're in for it now," he says, standing and pulling her to her feet.

"Do tell," she purrs and then squeals when he drags her off to the bedroom.

He's the one who finally brings it up, even if it's obliquely.

"You gotta work tonight?" he asks quietly, playing with her hair while her head is pillowed on his shoulder.

She raises her head to glance at the clock on her bedside table. "Mmmm. Yes. I need to get in the shower soon." She nibbles at her bottom lip. "Do you need to go just yet? I...I haven't asked if you have other plans while you're here."

He tucks a few strands behind her ear and runs his thumb along her jawline. "I can stay for a while." He swallows hard (is he nervous?), "In fact, I'd really like that."

"I'd like that too," she says and then a happy thought strikes her. "I know! You can go with me to the theater tonight! I'll call the box office now. I'm sure they can dig me up a single somewhere! You'll love it Noah! I mean you heard one of my songs on The Late Show...," she stares at him suspiciously here, "...you were listening to my song, Noah, not just staring at my breasts in that dress, I hope! But the story itself is wonderfully uplifting and of course there's more than enough sexual references to keep you engaged and..."

"Yeah, about that Rach," he interrupts, "I'll totally go. It's a great show and you look hot at fuck in it, not to mention you sound amazing." He scrubs his hand across his head before continuing, "Which I happen to know because I've seen it before."

"My show? What do you mean you've seen it before?" she frowns. "When have you seen it?"

"Not too long ago. My band, the one from Austin,...the guys and I thought we'd give New York a whirl. Figured we had to at least try for the brass ring."

If he thinks they aren't going to discuss exactly whose idea that was, he's crazy, but right now she's got bigger fish to fry.

"How long?" she demands.

He sits up and leans against the headboard, the bed-sheet sliding dangerously low on his hips, but if he thinks that's going to distract her, he's sadly mistaken.

"Like maybe about three months ago. I've, uh, got a place out in Flatbrush."

She punches his shoulder, ignoring his pained yelp. "Three months! You've been here for three months! And you waited all this time to call me!" Wait, does he think...? She smacks him again. "It was the dress wasn't it! Did you just see me on television and decide to try to get me in bed for old time's sake?"

"No! Shit, the dress was incredible, but that wasn't it!" he yells, rubbing his arm.

"Well? What was it then?" she fumes, yanking the sheet off him completely and wrapping it around herself.

He glares at her. "I thought you were dating Ben-the-perfect-Jewish-boyfriend! The NYU one! The one your dads are totally in love with! The one my mother would not shut up about, even when I offered to pay her! The one your stupid fucking facebook page says you're in a relationship with!"

"Ben! Are you kidding me?" she shrieks, jumping to her feet, "We've been broken up for months!"

"I know that now! You told Fallon you were single!"

Two nights ago. Oh. That does sort of make a difference.

Hold on.

"I haven't updated on facebook in ages." She ignores his mumbled 'no shit' and sits down heavily on the side of the bed. "You stalk my facebook page?"

"No! Definitely not!" He slides towards her, puts a hand on her shoulder. "Okay, maybe a little. Fuck, don't make it sound creepier than it is. Look, I should have told you right away, you know, full disclosure but five years is a lot to catch up on. I was working my way up to, I don't know, asking you on a date or something, and then you invited me back to your place and it was pretty much all I could do to not to pull you on top of me on the train ride. And shit, baby, your ass walking up those stairs? I almost died there and then."

She doesn't exactly hate that.

"So, you're here? In New York?" she asks, letting her hand rest on his thigh.

"Yeah," he says, pushing her hair aside and finding that spot on her neck, the spot she likes or that he likes, whichever one it is.

"And you're planning on sticking around for a while?"

He nods and strokes one hand up her spine. "If you want me to be, I want to be. I'm in."

"That sounds like an excellent idea," she assures him, grabbing his hand and pulling him to the shower. Multitasking is a good thing. She may be celebrating her new exact-status-to-be-determined boyfriend, but there's no way that she's going to be more than just the teensiest bit late for work tonight.

A/N: Thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you think!