awritinglilypea | Glee Fic: His Clothing 1/1 (Puckleberry) NC-17

Title: His Clothing
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Rachel Berry/Noah Puckerman
Rating: NC-17
Complete: Yes.
Genre: Smut, pwp.
Summary: Noah loves the sight of Rachel in his clothes.
Warnings: Contains explicit sexual content.

Written for

glee_kink_meme the prompt was "Rachel loves to wear Puck's clothes. Puck finds it absolutely sexy, and can't resist himself. ;)"

Rachel is fucking hot.

He’s known this for a while, of course, because they’ve been dating for three years, and only fucking for one and why the hell wouldn’t he wait for her to “be ready” if he didn’t find her hot?

He doesn’t know what’s hotter, the fact that she can hold her breath longer than any other girl he’s ever met in his life or the fact that she’s completely, without a doubt, his.

Puck woke up to the sound of humming in the bathroom one morning as Rachel did her morning preparations for the day, and laid back with a soft happy sigh because sometimes, even though he’d never admit it he liked to listen to her sing, and hum.

He opened his eyes a little while later, sliding off the bed he padded into the kitchen and his eyes widened, his dick got hard and his blood rushed in his ears.

Noah Puckerman had just become three different cliches about sex in a matter of a minute he didn’t fucking care.

She was wearing his jersey from high school.

Puck hadn’t even known it was in the apartment, and oh God, were those his boxer briefs?

He swallowed, letting out a stifled groan he covered his eyes and tried to calm himself down, using those deep breathing exercises she had introduced to him in high school and had been pushing on him ever since.

When he uncovered his eyes she was standing in front of him, a look of concern in her eyes and a jug of orange juice in one hand.

There’s another reason he loves her so freaking much, she makes the best noises when he surprises her.

Hell, she makes the best noises when he does anything to her.

The jug falls to the ground, and he feels it splatter against his feet but who gives a damn.

Rachel makes a small sound of outrage but pretty soon she’s moaning into his lips as he grips her hips and lifts her onto the low table at their breakfast nook.

And to think he’d hated the thought of having a “nook anything” originally. It was officially his favourite room in the whole fucking apartment.

It doesn’t take him long to get the boxer briefs off her and he briefly entertains the thought of trying to bind her wrists with them before tossing it, and the briefs away and kissing her again.

Their teeth clack together, it’s a little too messy and she tastes like oranges but he couldn't care less because she’s wearing his jersey and that’s ridiculously hot.

Rachel lets out a gasping/choked moan arching into him as his hands slid underneath the jersey, thumbs pressing into her nipples before he released her mouth and lifted the jersey enough to get at them.

Puck can hardly waste a moment before he’s sliding deep inside of her, his tongue flicking along the edge of one of her nipples before his teeth capture it.

Her hips buck against his and Puck is groaning in desperation, driving hard and fast into her, his lips now at her throat, teeth leaving marks in her skin.

Rachel would normally be complaining, bruises are hard to cover for auditions but right then all that matters is meeting every thrust and him, and he’s her whole world and it only takes a little while longer before she’s crying out his name and her muscles are clamping down around him.

Puck grips the jersey in two hands, keeping it lifted, fingertips digging into her skin until he lets out a growl sounding moan against her skin and finds his release inside of her.

Holding her close he tries to catch his breath and his fingers cramp as he releases the jersey and licks a drop of sweat from her neck.

“What was that for?” Rachel asks him when she’s finally able to speak, brown eyes seeking out his and filled with a lazy sense of lust.

Puck laughs softly, shaking his head he presses his lips to hers momentarily.

“You’re wearing my clothes,” he murmurs, his voice emerging hoarsely from his throat.

Rachel’s cheeks colour, and he’s pretty sure that’s hot too because what kind of girl does the things she does in bed and still blushes.

“Oh,” her voice is quiet as she leans into him. “You get to clean up the orange juice.”