Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10407171.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Glee
  Relationship:
      Rachel_Berry/Will_Schuester
  Character:
      Rachel_Berry, Will_Schuester, Noah_Puckerman
  Additional Tags:
      Episode:_s01e01_Pilot
  Stats:
      Published: 2009-08-06 Words: 2152
****** Needed ******
by openhearts
Summary
     Originally posted at Porn Battle VIII
The slushie was blue raspberry this time and Rachel was at her locker after a
long and arduous Glee practice. They were stepping up their game with
choreography and by the time Will finally told them to go home around eight
p.m. she was sweating through her tank top. Lovely. She sang under her breath
and absentmindedly went through a few of the steps as she looked over which
textbooks she would have to take home.
“Bravo! Encore!” From behind her.
She turned, startled, but the smile was already spreading over her face so it
was that much worse.
Splash.
“Freak!”
A horrified shriek came out of her as Will rounded the corner on the way from
his classroom. He saw Rachel covered in blue and glanced at Puck sauntering
away, tossing the empty cup from hand to hand.
“Mr. Puckerman!” Will shouted. Puck halted and turned.
“Yeah, Mr. Schuester?” Suddenly Puck had all the bravura of a wet kitten.
“Detention.”
Puck rolled his eyes. “For how long?”
“I’m thinking until sometime next year.”
Rachel, her back still turned to Puck, was quietly rubbing the slushie from her
eyes and glanced quickly at Will when Puck grumbled and kept walking.
Will looked down at her. Strands of her ponytail were sticky and glistening
with blue, there was blue running down her cheeks and arms, sliding in clumps
down her neck to her chest and – oh. Nevermind.
She brushed again at her eyes and sniffled, her arms falling limply back to her
sides. He reached a comforting hand out to her shoulder and cringed at the
coldness that oozed between his fingers.
“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” She nodded without a word and followed him
obediently into his classroom.
“I think I have some paper towels in here somewhere,” he muttered as he dropped
his briefcase back on his desk and shrugged off his jacket. Rachel stood
awkwardly next to his desk while he rummaged through a cabinet. She watched his
dress shirt strain over his shoulders as he reached and sighed a little in
spite of herself.
“Here we go, come ‘ere.”
He sat her on a desk and handed her some of the paper towels. She smudged them
over her hair and stomach and he pressed one to the side of her face next to
her ear.
“Thank you Mr. Schuester,” she said softly. She caught his eye and felt the
paper towel in his hand trail down over her neck. She smiled a little. “You’re
like my knight in shining armor.”
Will felt the grin spread over his face before he could stop it. He looked at
his shoes and stepped away.
“I don’t know about that.” He sat on a desk opposite hers and scratched the
back of his neck.
“I do.”
Rachel dropped the paper towels that were now wet and stained blue and stood.
He tried not to watch her chest rise and fall with each of her breaths. She
took the few steps to him and paused until he had to look at her.
She stood still between his knees smelling like sugar and sweat and hair spray,
and he knew that’s how she would taste, just knew it. And it sounded good.
Better than hormones and Splenda and imported Australian moisturizer.
One of Rachel’s sticky little hands touched the side of his face and the other
fell to his thigh and he had a brief flash of Emma hyperventilating over the
melted ice and very very blue artificial dyes pressed in a vague handprint on
his pants.
He started to do what he was supposed to do – pull away, get distance, explain
to her gently that . . . oh hell. Her fingers touched his lips.
Will wanted to tell her that it would be okay, that someday she would be the
star she so desperately wanted to be and that she would feel the acceptance her
effort demanded. That Puck was probably just doing it because he was threatened
and because he actually liked her and couldn’t admit it.
Instead of saying it all he touched her hand, held it in his against his mouth
and kissed her palm (it just seemed easier at the moment than finding the
words.)
Will took Rachel’s hand away from his mouth, watched her eyes dilate when he
licked his lips. He let her lean forward and kiss him first. He let her rest
her hands on his chest too – God that felt good, just her hands on his chest
while he kissed her.
His hands spread over her small hips and brought her a step closer; Rachel
opened her mouth for him and he danced his tongue softly against hers. The sigh
she let out filled him with every wrong thought he knew existed and a few he
didn’t.
He pulled her into him, wrapped her up in him, not caring about the blue or the
time or the half-open door. His hands moved up from her hips under her tank top
to drag stickily over her skin. His fingertips lined up with her delicate ribs,
his thumbs brushing against the undersides of her breasts. Another sigh, half
moan this time, flowed into his mouth from hers and he was sure he’d end up in
hell.
When he ran a hand over her hair she rolled her head back, offering him miles
of skin from her chin to the neckline of her tank top and he just didn’t care
about hell anymore. He sucked the wet blue sugar off of her while her fingers
flexed over his shoulders.
He trailed his tongue over her skin like a needle on a record; the sounds that
came out of her for him were just another kind of music she made. Singing at
Glee, barking orders and counting steps, and now moaning, sighing and
whimpering in the half-darkened classroom.
She was so much less scary this way, and so much moreso. Her desire and
dedication were intimidating, even to him, because it made him realize that
maybe she knew how to get what she wanted better than he did.
She kissed him again and pulled him onto his feet and back with her a stumbling
few steps to his desk. She broke away from him, hands still resting on his
shoulders before they slipped down and she pulled herself back to sit on his
desk. He watched her, brown eyes and reddened lips, still a streak of blue down
one of her cheeks. Will’s breath was coming in half-gasps and he felt his pulse
pounding everywhere. Rachel reached her hand out to him, curled her fingers
into his collar and tugged.
“Rachel-”
“Please,” she whispered, and her eyes wouldn’t leave his and he couldn’t find
it in himself to reject her even if it was the right thing to do. She tugged
harder, and he had to take that step forward so her thighs spread against his.
Had to.
He touched his forehead to hers and led one of her legs around his hip with a
soft hand, leaning forward slowly, bracing himself with his other hand on the
desk next to her. He watched her eyes widen little by little as he tipped her
backward, wouldn’t break contact as he felt one of her hands settle over his on
the desk. Her leg tightened around him until his hips pressed against her and
she let out a little gasp when she felt him hard even through their clothes.
She closed her eyes and touched his neck, fingertips under his collar and over
his pulse. She tilted her face slowly up, their noses bumped, and then she was
kissing him again (harder and deeper, why was she so good at this?) and her
tongue ran against his tasting like honey and mint. And blue raspberry.
He brought his hands to her ribs again, this time brushing his thumbs higher
and underneath the sports bra she wore under the tank top. She pushed his hands
away only to peel the tank off and drop it behind her onto his chair. She met
his eyes and held them while he lowered her onto her back so her ponytail just
hung over the edge of the desk.
He couldn’t stop touching, hands snaking so easily over her – it shouldn’t have
been so easy. But she pressed her hands down and lifted her hips when he tugged
on the elastic of her pants and pulled them down her legs, so he ran his hands
back up and over her thighs and leaned back down to taste her stomach. She
shifted her hips up against him and threaded her fingers into the hair at the
base of his skull.
He felt the tension coiling in him, sliding tightly even over his forehead as
he pulled her back up and brushed a strand of hair back off her forehead as
their mouths met again. He slipped his other hand down and his fingers nudged
inside her underwear. Inside her. Rachel was sticky and sweet everywhere, even
where the blue raspberry didn’t reach.
She gasped and it sounded so shocked that he stopped what he was doing and
watched her. One of her hands clenched at his shoulder pressing wrinkles
indelibly into his shirt and her eyes were screwed shut.
He touched the side of her face softly and felt the flush he could see on her
skin. She shook her head and looked at him with hooded eyes. “Don’t stop.”
A grin spread over his mouth and he sang softly through it, “believin,’” into
her ear. Her laugh dissolved in her throat under his tongue and her fingers
tugged at the collar of his shirt until he pulled his hands away from her and
let her pull it over his head, foregoing the buttons.
Rachel’s darkened eyes followed his undershirt as it fell back over his chest
down to his belt. She reached for it, and their hands fumbled together to
unbuckle it and push his pants away while their tongues slid together and their
breath mingled. Will kicked out of his shoes and pants and then found himself
standing in his classroom in his boxer briefs and a tshirt staring at Rachel
Berry shimmy out of her underwear on his desk.
Maybe he could have stopped then (again; there were so many times he could have
stopped but it never felt like it would be worth it to hurt her when it felt so
good not to) but before he could think about it she was pulling him back to
her. She wedged one foot on the edge of the desk and wrapped her other leg
around his hips until he ground against her and felt her wetness through his
underwear. Then there was no going back.
They used the condom he had in his wallet (Terri: “I don’t see why that’s still
in there Will, we’re trying to have a baby.”) and Rachel barely muffled her
groan when he pressed inside, one hand guiding himself into her and the other
wrapped protectively around her waist.
She clung to him and stared down at their bodies fusing, at his fingers
brushing higher over the nub of screaming sensations she felt pulsing between
them. She strained against him as he moved slowly deeper and pressed her mouth
hotly all over his neck, her whimpers buzzing into his skin.
He’d almost forgotten what it felt like to have sex without his fertility being
called into question.
“Mih, m-”
“Don’t,” he breathed into her hair, “don’t call me- God, Rachel. Will. Call me
Will.”
“Will. Is it-am I . . ?”
“Oh, Rachel,” he stilled for the smallest moment and she watched him. “You’re
special. You’re beautiful, you’re . . . you’re special. You’re special . . .”
Rachel melted when she came. It was counterintuitive, but she was so tightly
wound anyway that if she arched her back and curled her toes during orgasm she
probably would have snapped a muscle. She just barely shivered and made a
little shocked sound from the back of her throat. Her eyes opened wider and her
lips curled around a perfect little “oh” and she sighed through it into his
chest, a long half-voiced breath, while inside she trembled around him without
rhythm.
Will moaned from the back of his throat and squeezed her hand with their
fingers threaded together, kissed her hard and pumped in deep and slow until he
broke too and every sound went away except her breath and he saw stars on the
backs of his eyelids. His hands spread over her back and he breathed in against
her hair until she looked up at him, expression a little shocked.
He kissed her gently, cradling her face in his hands while her eyes drifted
closed. He pulled away and leaned down to taste the skin on her shoulder. The
tang of fake raspberry was gone.
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