Title: The benefits of honesty
Word count: 4504
Rating: R
Spoilers: For Sectionals - just that they got there. The rest you would have already known. Slight spoilers for True Blood season two and Buffy season two.
Disclaimer: I do not own them. But if I did, Puck would be my sex slave. Also all references to non-Glee related material belongs to people who are not me either. But thanks to Charlaine Harris, HBO, The people who cast Kevin McKidd in Rome and Joss Whedon. They are all made of WIN!
Summary: On the bus ride from Sectionals Puck takes his anger out on Rachel and a weird friendship develops.
Author's Note: Mark, if you're reading this, you better be as good as I make you out to be! :) Dedicated to soliloquyrain cause this is what she asked for (sorta) [puck/rachel bonding on the bus from sectionals, brittany, a brownie, smut]. ;)

Feedback is love! Please leave some! :)

The elation doesn't fade as New Directions step on to the bright yellow bus, with the exceptions of Artie – who is moved up by the bus lift – and Finn – who has to drive Mr. Schuester's car back to Lima. The excitement and joy is tangible, especially for Rachel. Her emotions are on the same high of adrenaline they got an hour earlier as she ripped open a curtain and sang the opening notes of her favourite song in front of a willing and waiting audience. An audience that turned to putty at the sound of her voice. Not that she's going to let that one blissful moment go to her head.

She's sitting on her own bench in the small bus, partly because she can, and partly because everyone else is – not that she's one to follow, she's most definitely a leader. Her small bag with her costume, make up and emergency pack (tooth brush, toothpaste, floss, hairspray, pins, safety pins, extra ribbon, band-aids) lies beside her on the seat, effectively allowing her to maintain a tranquil glee-bubble.

"Hey guys, who wants to share this brownie I found on the ground outside our bus?"

She hears a snicker from Santana, "Brittany, that is not a brownie."

"Well, than what is it?"

Rachel doesn't even look up at the exchange. She doesn't really want to know what Brittany has picked up. Everyone on the bus laughs at Britt's expense but one (save herself, of course).

Puck is sitting alone in the back of the bus, staring out the window, watching the cars drive by one-by-one.

"They are totally like Buffy and Angel," she hears someone whisper. "Totally fated to be together and not at the same time. Like their timing is never right. But their love story is epic. Or like Finn might turn into the uber badass version of himself after he sleeps with Rachel and experiences a moment of true happiness."

She thinks it might be Matt, but she's not sure. Either way, she has more important things on her mind.

She breaks the cardinal rule of bus travel and walks from her seat over to Puck's. He doesn't move or acknowledge her in any way, continues to look out the window, his face completely blank.

Everyone else on the bus is still talking animatedly, so they don't need to worry about being overheard. If only he'd talk with her.

It's a three hour bus ride from the arena to Lima, her ipod is dead, and she didn't bring a book, and the high from performing is fading now. Besides he clearly needs someone to be on his side right now. He does. Whether he accepts that or not is still in question.

"I understand why you didn't say anything, you know." She says quietly. "I'm not saying it was the right decision to make, but I understand why you made it."

He laughs darkly and looks at her directly for the first time since that moment in the hallway. "What do you understand, Berry? How I could choose to fuck my best friend's girl? How I could lie to him about that? How even after I knew she was pregnant with my kid, I let her make all the choices? How I kept lying to him for months? Fucking months?"

She doesn't respond aloud but puts a hand over top of his. He jerks away quickly.

"You think you understand? You have no fucking clue."

"Puck," she starts quietly, "I understand the difficult choices you had to make before you were ready. I understand that Quinn made choices for both of you. I understand that a mistake might have cost you not only a potential relationship with Quinn, but also your friendship with Finn. I understand that your situation is not black and white."

She's very careful not to call him Noah, because at this moment he's not Noah.

"I'm not my dad. I'll never be my dad." The anger has left his voice and he turns to stare out the window again. "I can't be my dad."

She doesn't say anything to try and placate him. She can't even think of where to begin. She wonders if maybe he loves his daughter like her fathers love her, loved her even before she was a possibility. She thinks he does.

*****

"You weren't at school today, I wanted to make sure that you were okay," she says as she stands at his door, a plate of freshly made brownies between them.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks for the concern," is his angry and sarcastic reply as he tries to close the door on her.

"I made these for you." She yells it to him. "Chocolate always works to cheer me up when I'm feeling blue. Maybe we can have a two person pity party?"

He must know, surely he must know that Finn hasn't come running to her. He waves to her and talks to her at school. He's her co-captain at Glee. But she wants him to be more than that. And he's not.

Puck grabs the plate of brownies but leaves the doors open a crack for her to enter.

He walks straight through the house, but she pauses by the front door to take off her boots. Once she's carefully removed and rezipped them, she walks down the hall into the living room.

Puck is sitting on the couch watching some show on T.V. about the ancient Roman civilization. He unwraps the plastic covering the plate and pops one of her brownies into his mouth, then motions her to the coffee table to grab one for herself. It melts into a chocolaty mess in her mouth as she sits next to him on the couch.

The show is very bloody, and takes lots of poetic license. And there's an awful lot of sex. Not that she's a prude or anything but she's not used to seeing half naked and writhing people on television.

"What are you watching?" She asks finally.

"Rome." He responds.

"Well, it's certainly interesting." She says as one of the women strips off her dress for the second man since she's been sitting beside Puck.

He makes a sound in his throat, maybe in agreement, or acknowledgement. She doesn't know.

As the credits roll at the end of the show Rachel realizes that she and Puck have eaten at least half the brownies and said practically nothing to each other. But they haven't insulted each other either. In fact, it's been kind of nice. Just sitting with him, no real expectations.

"Look, Puck...."

"Don't start. We aren't friends, Berry. We're not. You don't know what I'm going through. You can't possibly. And don't start with the pity. I don't want to hear it. I fucked up. I know. I didn't think things through, and I should have. Just because you happened to be there when I needed someone to talk to doesn't mean that I've had a magical personality transformation."

"I know." She moves to put her hand over his, and unlike the last time, he takes it.

She traces patterns on the skin of his hand, stars and circles, triangles, quadrilaterals, octagons and hearts. Any shape she can think of while he lets her. They sit there, shifting subconsciously closer to one another with each passing second, until his arm touches hers from her wrist all the way to her shoulder.

Eventually his fingers lace with hers as they continue to sit silently.

******

At school the next day he acts like nothing has changed and she spends most of her day talking to Finn, who is really her only friend at this juncture, and no matter how much she wants to be more than that she's not willing to screw up whatever they have. Besides he just went through a seriously harsh break up with his first real girlfriend. And it's going to take time for him to get over that.

Glee practice is the highlight of her day. Finn stands beside her to one side and Puck stand on the other side. Neither of them are speaking to Quinn, and if she weren't so sad all the time Rachel probably wouldn't care. As it is, there's really nothing she can do about it.

The rehearsal goes well, as well as can be expected especially after Brittany says that "a capella" means with ice cream when Mr. Schue asks. They sing their songs and do them well.

After practice when everyone is gone, Puck stays behind, like he already knows that he's going to take her home.

He does.

*****

It's not long before word gets out that they're spending time together.

Maybe it's that he doesn't really have friends outside of Glee anymore. Football season is over and the popular crowd have outed him because of Quinn and Finn. Sometimes he sits and talks with Artie after school (she knows because she's watched them silently before), but mostly he keeps to himself or talks to her.

She goes over to his house a few times a week and they watch whatever raunchy show he's currently into.

Right now it's "True Blood" and if she's feeling really honest with herself she'll admit that part of her current obsession with Eric Northman is how much like Puck he is. Often mean, sometimes faithful to a fault, witty, and really sexy as hell. It's something about how he moves, all sinuous and elegant. She watches Puck (more often than she'll ever admit aloud) walk down the hall sometimes with that slow and easy gait to his steps, and well, the thoughts he invokes are not always kosher.

The school crowd, meaning really everyone in Glee, seem to have no problem with the two of them being friends (aside from Finn, who can't understand why she would waste her time with Puck of all people).

At times they sit together on the couch not touching at all. At other times, she can't breathe because he's so close and he smells so amazingly masculine. And it certainly doesn't help watching these amazing sex scenes.

The scene that changes everything happens mid-season two. No one's naked. And yet.

Her eyes are glued to the screen as Eric and Sookie attempt to leave the well guarded church. She doesn't even notice Puck's body right up against hers anymore because he's been there for what feels like hours and it's natural. And something magical happens, the characters form a bond. Sookie says his name and it's laced with something unexpected (Rachel thinks it's maybe lust). Eric responds by leaning in close (Rachel's breath hitches) and whispering in her ear (and Puck's breath rushes across Rachel's ear, in tandem), "Trust me."

Puck's looking at her, studying her so closely and she really can't breathe. She doesn't know if she's just forgotten how or if he's stolen the ability from her. But his hand slides up to her face and his fingers trace her lips (which part) and suddenly (and not so suddenly) he's kissing her.

And she's kissing him back, sighing into his mouth when his tongue reaches out to touch hers. Her hands roam along his shoulders, down his back, pulling him closer to her, or her closer to him. In the background she can dimly hear Eric's sweet southern speak before his voice lowers. With Puck's taste inside her and his hands in her hair and Eric's voice in her head she trembles, sliding her hips over his.

Puck pauses then. Pulling his mouth away from hers (her hands protest by pulling him back – or at least trying to) he pauses the show and speaks to her.

"Trust me, Rachel." The words flow over her warm and tender over already sensitive skin, and she can't respond with words.

His eyes close and her lips touch above his eyes one-by-one, then down his cheek, across his chin, to the other cheek, along his nose, until finally returning to his lips.

His sister is at a friend's house.

His mom is working the night shift.

They're all alone in the big house, which is how they're able to watch cable porn-lite on the big screen.

But as his fingers twist and turn in her hair and his lips move along her, she doesn't think about any of that. He tastes dark, desperate and wonderful to her, like something forbidden but vital. A milkshake right before going on stage, or that extra chocolate after dinner. He tastes like a bad choice, and she loves making it.

Her hands pull at his t-shirt until their mouths break apart to pull it over his head completely. Her hips slide forward and back along his as she moves into an easier position. She's still so small compared to him, her knees resting on either side of his body, her chest pressed hard into his as their lips fuse again. His hands work at the buttons on her shirt, then the button on her jeans and his.

"We should stop." His voice is rough. It sends chills down her back, and excites parts of her body that no one has touched but her.

"Why?" She asks as her tongue licks a salty river along his neck up to his ear before kissing down it, pausing for good measure at the junction where his neck meets his shoulder.

"Because..." She's pretty sure he's trying to think of a real reason to stop, his hands have stopped moving on her, but she's not giving in so easily. "Well, because you're... well,... damn, Rachel."

"You want to stop because...." She moves his hand up to close over her breast covered in soft cotton (yes, a functional utilitarian bra. It's not like she planned this you know). He groans. "Are you trying to protect my virtue? Maintain my innocence?" She places his other hand under the white fabric cupping the soft skin underneath, causing her nipple to tingle with the toughness of his hand. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe I'm ready to be rid of all of that?"

He lifts her by her hips which are still for the first time in minutes awaiting his response.

"Rachel, you're not that girl," he says as he moves her to sit beside him, his hands leave her body and he turns to face her.

"What do you mean? I'm not that girl who is good enough to sleep with? Am I too young for you? What is my IQ too high?" She's angry. Really livid. But she refuses to cover herself. She's proud of her body, she works hard to keep it fit and flawless.

"No, you're not that girl who just decides to sleep with anyone to get it out of the way. That's not you. You're candles and rose petals on the bed and soft music and feelings. Everything I can't give you." And just like that he ruins everything. "You've been a good friend to me, and you deserve to have someone who'll tell you this, and since I'm the only person here right now, I guess that means it's me."

She looks down at her pants, buttons and zips them back up, then grabs her shirt off the ground. She's halfway to the door in an embarrassed huff before he speaks again.

"Berry, stay. Watch the rest of the episode. It's epic." He pulls his shirt on over his head and does up his pants.

She sits down on the opposite end of the couch from him, but somehow during the rest of the episode where Eric offers himself as a sacrifice in exchange for his maker and Sookie, she finds her hand in Puck's, his fingers slipping along hers calmly.

*****

By the time they reach the end of True Blood Season Two she is fully in love with Eric Northman, even more so than Matt's Buffy obsession. She's pretty sure how she feels about Eric is how Matt feels about Buffy and Angel, though they've never really talked about it in depth, epic is a word she's heard him use before once or twice.

Her head is against Puck's chest as the credits roll. She'd say that she was shocked by the proposal but she's not. She wonders what Eric is going to do now. In fact, her body really hums with all the excess energy she gets from watching the sexually charged show.

"Oh my God, I cannot wait another year for new episodes. I need to know what Eric is going to do about this new drama."

"Hmmm..." He says, shifting to stand up. "You want to read the books? My mom has them all in her room, she'd be fine with you borrowing them. I understand there's some kind of shower scene and neon pink pants or something, I don't know. I haven't read them. Prefer the show."

"Okay. You're sure she won't mind?"

"Nope," he walks towards the stairs. "Come on up and I'll get them for you."

She smiles and follows him. They haven't so much as kissed since that embarrassing afternoon four weeks earlier. She's tried very hard to push all of those thoughts out of her head, but sometimes it's hard to hide the mesh of arousal she feels from the show's explicit content, Alexander Skarsgard's amazing voice and body, and Puck (as they've become almost one person in her head).

She walks behind him until they make it to his mom's room, he steps inside and rummages around on the bookcase for the series while she waits at the door.

When he has the books in hand, they walk over to his room, as he opens the door, she inhales sharply.

He's done it.

Everything he said that afternoon.

There are candles scattered around the room, not lit, but there. He put a rose in a vase on his desk. It's white and perfect. And his ipod is connected to his speakers and isn't pumping out a hard rock mix for the first time since they've been "friends."

He puts the books down on the desk beside the rose and turns to her. "Look, I'm not... I can't do the words and whatever. I'm not perfect. I'm not even... well,... If you're serious about this, about doing this together, I wanted it to be more than just some casual fuck downstairs on the couch. And I... "

Her mouth covers his violently then. And his response is instant. And in seconds the music and flower and lights are forgotten and the only thing that matters is what they're doing to each other.

Her tongue pressing against his, curling, stroking, caressing. Then her lips moving along his body, down his throat stopping where she can feel the vibrations of his quiet moans seep through her body like molasses soft and sticky, building and building inside her. Pulling his shirt off quickly, smiling at him as he makes a comment about her comfort and how she really needs to be wearing less clothing. So she pulls of her own shirt and makes quick work of her bra this time before leaning up against him, pressing her chest into his.

Oh, it's heavenly, with his mouth on her shoulder and her soft skin rubbing against his, the friction between them is exquisite. And she's not ashamed to show him her body. Maybe it's a combination of the moments they shared together or just that they are friends (or maybe something more), but the real all-encompassing awkwardness is not there. She still feels it slightly, but not like she imagined she would.

When his fingers move to tweak at her nipples she sighs onto his skin. She wants to tell him, to share what this feels like to her but all of her words have been thrown into this giant blender in her head, mixing with emotion until nothing is left but feeling and no way to describe it or explain it.

But somehow the sigh is enough.

When he moves his hands down to the skirt she's wearing, as it is a school day and she did come directly from Glee to his house for their weekly fix, he pulls at the zipper and slides it off her along with her socks. He is still wearing his jeans and she is still in her underwear. She kisses a wet trail down his chest, along the plains of his abdomen until she grasps the button and zipper one in either hand, pulling and pushing and manipulating the dense fabric until she has what she wants, him in his boxers.

"Rachel?" his voice stops her mouth and her hands.

"Yes?" She looks down at him shyly for the first time since they began their explorations.

"Are you really sure about this? This isn't something you can take back you know. Are you really sure this is what you want?"

She's sure he can read the certainty in her eyes, but just in case he can't she nods. "I'm sure that I want you. I want you to show me how it's supposed to be."

His arms, his beautifully sculpted arms, stretch around her and flip her onto her back and she smiles just before his lips claim hers again and again, and again.

He's such an experienced kisser. She can't decide which way she likes the best. Sometimes it's the barest brush of lip. A whisper or a breath. Sometimes it's so hard that she feels her teeth crack against his. Sometimes their tongues can't get close enough, their bodies can't be close enough. And sometimes it's just the right mix of all the other kinds, gentle and deep and meaningful. If she weren't so involved in the moment she might wonder whether that was the experience talking or just the man.

He works her underwear down her legs slowly, hands drawing lightning paths slowly along the supple skin of her thigh, zigging and zagging at will until she shivers in delight.

This is one of the many reasons why she chose him.

Her eyes are closed tightly so that she moves on a wave of sensation only, tremors floating through her as his mouth moves its way back up her body, stopping to worship parts of her she never would have expected, like along her side just above her hip, or the crook of her elbow, even the shallow dip of her ankle is explored by his mouth. She feels completely claimed by him. Every inch.

"Puck," she calls his name and hears him removing his boxers with a sound of acceptance. "Do you have ... because I don't... I'm not... We need to be safe." The words stumbling out of her quickly even as she hears him open a drawer and rip into a foil packet.

"Do you want to help me?" He asks, moving her hand on top of his to roll down the latex barrier to keep her from turning into a teenage statistic. He stiffens in her hand when she slides her lips over his again. And in return she feels the heat pool between her legs.

"Have you ever orgasmed before?" Her eyes fly open and she feels her cheeks heat (and her arousal grows even more).

"You know, 89 percent of women and 95 percent of men had admitted to using masturbatory techniques."

"So that's a yes, right?" He smiles down at her as his fingers stroke one of her nipples to a peak, then the other one, before sliding down her body to tangle in the curls over her pelvis. Her legs press together anxiously. "That's kind of hot, you know. I'm going to bring you up so high so fast, you're going to scream for me to stop." He whispers the words against her lips one hand working on himself as two fingers slide gently into her with no preparation. His thumb finds her clit and brushes against it hard as he pushes his two fingers in and out and in and out. The sensation is too much for her, her body tenses abruptly, muscles spasming around his fingers, before her body relaxes. But he doesn't stop, keeps working his fingers, twisting them, scissoring, until finally he adds a third finger to the mix and pushes up deep inside her.

"Oh, God... Noah...Don't stop. Please don't stop." His fingers slide around and around, in and out, and his mouth attacks her breast, sucking hard on the tender flesh. She screams.

And he's at her entrance, where no one else has ever been but her, and he's pushing inside, and it hurts. More than she thought, but less than she'd heard. And he's still running a finger around her clit, his lips have moved up to hers, kissing gently, in an almost heartbreaking way. But he's not moving.

It really is the most incredible feeling to have someone else become a part of you. To feel their body merge swiftly with yours. She can almost feel his heart beat inside her own chest. She understands easily how people can equate this kind of intimacy with love and how easily problems can arise.

He stays inside her, deep, touching parts of her she didn't even know existed.

Until she's ready. Until her hips and her body beg her to move, bring back that friction that built up so strongly that she had to let go of everything. And so she bends her knees – he sinks deeper. Wraps her legs around his – deeper still. And she moans as he withdraws just slightly then slides back home again. Then again, a little bit longer, and longer still, until her hips are working with his, crashing together and retreating simultaneously in a dance she's never rehearsed before.

And his fingers run along her skin, touching everywhere, possessing her, as her nails dig into the skin on his shoulders pulling him towards her faster and faster.

She loves the music that their breaths and bodies make together. A series of sighs and moans, slides and scratches, as a sheer coat of perspiration covers them both.

"Mine," he whispers against her, "all mine." And his lips crash on hers as she falls over the edge. He follows immediately.

As her muscles relax she keeps her legs and arms around him, his mouth still exploring hers, but softly now, with a kind of gentleness she saw in him when he showed her the rose and the music and candles they've left unused.

He slips out of her, rolls over to dispose of the used condom before pulling the covers of his bed up around them, sliding an arm around her.

"So that's what all the fuss is about."

He laughs, for the first time since the truth about Drizzle, or whatever her name is now, came out. A real laugh of joy.

And she thinks whatever they are to each other now (and things have changed, she knows), somehow they'll be okay.