Title: Tell Me What You Want (What You Really, Really Want)
Category: Glee
Genre: Romance/Drama/Humor
Ship: Puck/Rachel
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: "I try so hard not to love you, but I always fail" by murasaki-mariposa (Tumblr)
Word Count: 1,396
Summary: "Is this the part where I start getting pissed that you're embarrassed to be seen with me?"

Tell Me What You Want (What You Really, Really Want)
-1/1-

Puck sat on the edge of her bed, pulling on his jeans as he listened to her humming as she got ready in the bathroom.

He looked over and smirked as she shook her hips, wearing only a pair of pink and white polka-dot underwear.

"We should go out tonight," he called to her.

Her humming paused and she leaned back, blinking at him. "Out?" she said, her brows hiked.

"Yeah, Rach, it's what normal people do when they're not at work or screwing around."

Her nose wrinkled. "Don't be coarse."

He rolled his eyes. "Fine, making love… Like horny bunnies."

"No ah!" she complained, but laughed anyway.

"C'mon…" He stood, hiking his jeans and pulling up the zipper but leaving them unbuttoned. He padded across the floor and into the bathroom, wrapping his arms around her waist and squeezing. "We'll get dinner, stop at the blues club you've been yapping about…" He shrugged.

Rachel bit her lip, her eyes falling, and she pulled away from him. "I thought we agreed things would be casual… No dates," she reminded, staring at her collection of expensive make-up as she fiddled with it, moving it around, lining it up in alphabetical order.

He sighed, hands on his hips, and stared at the back of her head. "I'm not asking you to marry me, 'm asking you out for Thai and some music… We eat take-out and listen to Muddy Waters all the time!"

"Yes, but that's in the privacy of our apartments," she reminded, brow furrowed as she focused on her lipsticks.

"Is this the part where I start getting pissed that you're embarrassed to be seen with me?" he wondered, brow cocked.

"Of course not!" She raised her chin and stared at him through the mirror. "I just… I thought you wanted this to be… casual and I…" She sighed, her shoulders slumping. "Noah, you know how I am. If I don't have clearly defined boundaries and if we don't know exactly what this is, then I'm going to do something silly. I… I'm going to make a fool of myself for you and you're not going to want that or you're not going to be preparedfor just how intense I can be and then e-everything is ruined; our friendship, our relationship, and it will all be over Thai food and a misunderstanding of where casual ends and serious begins."

He stepped up closer, his front pressed to her back, and he slid his arms around her again, hugging her waist, hands splayed over her stomach. "What do you want, Rachel?" He stared down at her, watching as her eyes darted and her teeth bit into her lower lip. "What do you want us to be?"

"I never let myself think about it," she said, raising her chin stubbornly.

"Bullshit," he muttered. Pressing his cheek against her hair, he turned his mouth down so it brushed her ear as he said, "You're always thinking… Even when you want your brain to shut up, it won't. So what do you think about us? What'd you plan in your head?"

She swallowed thickly and her eyes fell closed. "Sometimes… When I let myself get fantastical… And remember, this is only when I'm feeling particularly romantic…"

"Which is always," he snorted.

She slapped his forearm. "I occasionally think about what it would mean if things were more serious…"

"And?"

She shifted her feet. "And I don't know, I… I think about if we were dating regularly…" Her mouth curved up in a faith smile. "How we would have a place; a restaurant or a park bench, somewhere that represented us. And we would go there on the weekends or when we had time off. It would be special." She sighed wistfully. "And at night, we would come home together, and you would play your guitar or work on your songs, and sometimes we would sing and sometimes we wouldn't. And we'd make dinner together and talk about our days and we'd make love each night and I'd wake up and you'd be there, every morning. And we'd fight over who got the shower first and you'd complain that my morning routine was too much and you wanted to sleep in…" She smiled. "And we'd kiss every day before work and after work and I'd have something to look forward to during the day. Seeing you. Knowing you were at home, waiting for me. And we'd have anniversaries and holidays together and your mom would cry when we got engaged and she'd plan our whole wedding. Well…" She chuckled. "At least until my dads intervened because they've had it planned since I was four, and we'd have to merge the two somehow so no one was hurt…" She nodded. "We'd have kids; two. A boy and a girl. We'd name our daughter Samantha and our son Eli, after your zayde, and I'd cry at the Grammy's when you win and you'd clap louder than anyone when I got my well-earned Tony. And you'd be there for every opening night and I'd hear every song you wrote before it was put on your new CD. And we—we'd grow old together… With grandchildren and amazing careers to cushion us. And one day someone will ask us how we met and I'll tell them that it started with a Glee club and a grape slushee, but it was the middle that was amazing… When a boy and a girl chased their dreams and found each other along the way…" Her thumb stroked in and out of his knuckles, his hand flat across ribs. She opened her eyes then and met his gaze in the mirror. "But that's when I get romantic."

He stared at her a long time, her uneven breathing making her chest rise and fall heavily, and he wrapped his arm up and around her chest, squeezing her opposite shoulder. He ducked his head down and buried his face in her neck. She relaxed into him, raising her hand to curve around the back of his neck, nails gently scratching. "I don't want to get my hopes up," she whispered. "I try so hard not to love you, but I always fail…"

He snorted and she stiffened.

"It's not funny," she told him seriously.

He raised his head. "No, it's hilarious…" He cocked an eyebrow. "I pushed the casual thing because I thought it'd take time to convince you to date me for real… 'Cause you were always so damn out of reach that I thought, I dunno…" He shrugged. "I'd seduce you into sex and after that, I'd just worm my way in, make you fall for me… But you've wanted it to be real the whole damn time, didn't you?"

She turned her head and looked up at him, her brows raised. "Noah, when have I ever been casual about romance?"

He smirked. "So we can do this then? Thai and Blues?" He dropped his head down and sucked a kiss against her bare shoulder. "And all that other stuff'll just happen as we go…"

She nodded, smiling brightly. "Sure…" She stroked his arm. "I'm thinking a spring wedding."

He rolled his eyes. "We haven't even had our first date."

She shrugged. "You opened this box, Noah. I told you to be prepared."

"What the hell's wrong with eloping?" He shook his head. "No pre-planned spring-wedding. Just a quickie thing in Vegas," he suggested, eyes wide.

"Absolutely not," she argued. "How will that look in my biopic?"

He smirked teasingly. "What biography is complete without a fake Elvis, Rachel?"

"If you don't stop, we're not having sex until the third date," she warned, wagging a finger for emphasis.

He grinned and slid his hands up, cupping her boobs and rubbing his thumbs around her nipples. "Liar."

She bit her lip and arched her back. "Well… maybe just this once…"

He laughed before grabbing her up into his arms and carrying her back to bed. She laughed happily as she threw her arms around his neck.

"I'm still not saying yes to Elvis," she told him.

He tossed her down in the bed and raised an eyebrow as he shoved his jeans off. "Bet I can convince you."

Rachel smiled. "I'm willing to let you try."

He never swayed her; but they had a lot of fun arguing the finer points.

[End.]