A/N: I can't explain it, but I have a ridiculous obsession with doing these things where I fill in the blanks left in episodes; plus Finchel smut is a guilty pleasure
He sucks; he fucking sucks. The water is ice cold, and it's almost a punishment he deserves for sucking so much. He's an idiot; is there another word for idiot, a stronger word, because he's pretty sure that is the right word for how stupid he really is. He should have known that he wasn't good enough; only a complete dumb ass would sit around for twenty minutes thinking that a recruiter was going to come to talk to him. His palm slams into the shower wall, over and over, and the sound echoes in the enclosed space. He can't believe how stupid he is; it was stupid to think that Rachel Berry, the most amazing girl he's even known, would really want to have sex with him. She's too smart, too beautiful, too talented, and too good for him; he'll never deserve her, and he knows it. The tears start to fall, and he doesn't bother to even try hiding them. No one's around to see it because most of the team went home to change and get ready for the show tonight, and he's glad. He doesn't want anyone to see him crying in the shower like this. Everything hurts, and it's not the hit he took from that linebacker in the third quarter; he's only felt like this once, when he thought he lost Rachel for good.
"I fucking suck!" He screams it into the empty room, and the echo is like a hundred voices agreeing with him.
He hates himself because he's selfish; he wants to be with her so damned badly, but he'll never deserve her. He'd only hold her back. His whole body shivers, and his clothes cling to his skin and make him feel colder; the water is almost icy, and it stings like needles all over his body. The only warmth he feels is from the tears streaming down his face, and his fist slams into the shower wall, making his whole hand ache. But he doesn't give a fuck about the pain because he's a loser, and maybe he deserves to hurt; maybe this will teach him a lesson about being stupid enough to think he could ever be good enough. His dreams are dead; he's nothing, and he's always going to be nothing. He's not going to college, and he's not going to get out of this town; Rachel's going to leave him behind because he sure as hell doesn't want to be the loser holding her back. He knows that eventually going to have to let her go and it's selfish of him to keep trying to hold on to her now.
Coach comes through the locker room, shouting that it's time to lock up, and he's forced to drag himself from the shower and dig up dry clothes; he can't be late for Rachel's opening night, no matter how shitty he feels. He won't ruin this for her. By the time he gets in his truck he's only got like an hour before the show starts, and he needs a real shower and to stop by the flower shop before he gets there because he's saved from his last three paychecks so that he can buy her a really nice bouquet. When he gets to the house, he races passed his mom and Burt in the living room, ignoring their stares, and slams the bathroom door shut; in record time he strips down and jumps in the shower, cranking the hot water up until it turns his skin red. He hopes the heat will do something to make the pain go away and maybe wash away the failure, but it really doesn't help at all; instead the hot water just stings his skin and he breaks down again. Everything is a blur as he gets dressed and hurries out of the house; he stops at the flower shop and buys a dozen red roses, the biggest nicest ones they've got, and he hopes they'll make up for the fact that he's the biggest loser she could've picked next to Jacob Ben Israel.
He really wishes Brittany or Tina or even Quinn had been at the door to backstage when he tried to deliver the flowers; he's totally not in the mood for Santana's bitchiness, and he has to swallow back a nasty retort when she calls him a string of stupid names that pretty much call him fat, ugly, and a loser. It's not like he hasn't heard them a million times before. He tells her the flowers are for Rachel and leaves before there's a scene, hoping like hell Santana just delivers them without being a total bitch about it. Rachel deserves a perfect opening night, and he doesn't want anything to mess it up, least of all him, which is why he doesn't want her to see him before she goes on stage. He knows she'll ask him what's wrong, and she won't stop asking until he tells her; it's just better if he lets her have her opening night with no distractions, and his mood is definitely a distraction.
He wishes he'd tried out for Tony because it sucks watching her do all this stuff with Blaine and knowing that she's spending all her time with him lately; yeah, he gets that it's all for the show and Blaine's totally gay and dating Kurt, but Rachel's still his girlfriend and he wants to be her leading man again. But it's not like he stood a chance of getting to play Tony anyway cause he can't dance worth a damn and clearly Blaine's a better singer, and it feels like he's just sitting there, watching her dreams take her away from him forever. He knows she's a star and that she's so much bigger than this town or he'll ever be. But then she sings, and it takes his breath away; there's something about her voice and the way it sinks into his heart and touches him, and for a moment he can forget how much everything else sucks because this is beautiful. He could listen to her sing forever and pretend that she's singing these songs about loving someone to him and not Blaine being Tony. No one's looking at him, and he's glad because he feels the tears stinging his eyes again.
He joins the standing ovation almost immediately with tears in his eyes because he knows where Rachel belongs; she breathtaking up on stage, taking her bows, and she's earned every cheer in the auditorium and more. He knows she belongs in the spotlight; she's destined to be a star, and he's going to be a nobody stuck in Lima without her. It's easy enough to blend in the crowd and get out of the auditorium before Rachel finds him; she was all excited about going to her first after party, and he just can't bring himself to be around people right now. Besides, he doesn't want her asking about the recruiter because he knows he won't be able to control his emotions and he's not going to ruin her night with his shitty news. He drives home alone, music blaring from the radio to drown out his thoughts, and he almost doesn't hear his phone go off with a text message from Kurt. When he checks it at the red light just before he gets home he lets out a soft sigh; normally he'd be excited to have the house to himself, but not tonight.
He finds the money Burt and his mom left on the counter for him to order food if he wants, but he doesn't feel hungry; he doesn't feel anything really, except emptiness. Pizza isn't going to make him feel better. He throws himself onto the couch, burying his face in his hands, and wishes that he could forget everything that's happened all week; maybe then he wouldn't feel so shitty about everything, like the fact that the recruiter didn't want him and that Rachel didn't even want him, not really. She only wanted to have sex with him so that she could play a better Maria, not because she was ready or wanted him; sometimes he wonders if she'll ever want him the way he wants her, if she'll ever want to be with him that way. Either way he figures he doesn't deserve that anyway. Everything comes flooding back, and he just wants to scream and throw things and punch the wall; but he knows that won't help, and he's not about to fuck up the house while his mom and Burt are in Toledo. So he just sits there, trying not to cry and wishing he was somehow better, until there's a knock at the door.
"Hi." She looks so sweet and shy, and he can't help but feel surprised that she's even there; the way she's looking at him makes him feels so many things at once. "I-I got your flowers; they were beautiful."
"You were really good." His voice is flat, and he hates himself for not being more excited for her.
"Can I come in?" Her voice cracks and she's staring up at him with those beautiful eyes; so he steps aside to let her into the house, still avoiding her face.
"Where is everybody?" Her words are almost too soft for him to hear, and he turns around to see her settling on the couch and removing the cape thing she's wearing.
He tells her where everyone is, and when she asks him why he didn't go to the after party he knows she thinks he's angry with her about the other night; it still stings when she mentions it, but he's not angry with her. He's pissed at himself for thinking that it would happen and hurt that she was using it to be a better actress, but he's not pissed at her. Suddenly he hears himself blurt out that the recruiter didn't want him, and everything pours out of him at once; he tells her everything, about how he waited for the recruiter, how the recruiter told him that his football career ends in high school and that he'd reached his ceiling. It's all he can do not to cry again because it hurts so damn much to even think about it. He doesn't mean to start screaming, but the explosion happens before he can stop it; he's not sure what makes Rachel Berry so strong or so amazing, but he's grateful when instead of judging him or being scared she's suddenly in front of him, her hands on his knees and her voice soft and soothing.
He doesn't know why she believes in him so much, especially since no one else seems to, but somehow he actually believes her when she says that he's just outgrown his dreams and that he'll just have to find new ones; she's always so supportive, and when she promises that they'll figure it out together, he believes her. She tells him that he's special, and he wishes he could believe that too. It's when she says she's giving him something no one else will ever get that he gets confused, and suddenly she's kissing him, holding him close. He gets it, but it's wrong this time; she shouldn't be doing this because she wants to make him feel better. He doesn't want it to be because she pities him or something; he doesn't want her to throw it away and regret it like he did. It should be special for her, with someone special who deserves her.
"You don't need to do this, okay?" His voice is so full of pain even he can hear it, and it makes him feel pathetic. "The play's over, there's no point—"
"No," she insists, "the point is – is I was wrong and stupid and immature and, probably not for the last time, lost in my ambition, and…"
"And now?" He almost doesn't want to know the answer.
"And now I'm just a girl, here with a boy that she loves, and wanting to remember this moment for the rest of her life."
He knows she means it, and he has to believe her because she's Rachel and she means everything she says; he leans forward, capturing her lips with his, her fingers tangling in his hair, and he pulls her closer, his hands covering her back. She's so tiny, and he feels like she might break if he holds her too tightly, even though she's told him a thousand times that she's not breakable; he doesn't admit it to anyone, but their size difference is scary as hell because he could really hurt her by accident and he knows it. Suddenly they're in the floor and she's in his lap, and damn if it doesn't feel like heaven to have her pressed so close to him; she does that thing where she bites his bottom lip and tugs and then her tongue darts out to soothe the bite, and he runs over the whole fucking postal service just to keep himself under control.
"Are you sure?" He pulls back, and he can't help but stare for a moment.
"I'm sure, Finn; I've never been surer of anything in my entire life." Her voice is soft and kind of sexy, and she kisses him again.
"Let's go upstairs." He's only really suggesting it because he knows she'll be more comfortable, and he wants her to be comfortable and her first time to be special.
"No, let's stay here, by the fire." His heart immediately starts pounding in his chest again, and he swears she can probably hear it; reluctantly he gets up, and he practically falls all over himself to rush upstairs.
When he gets back downstairs she's sitting in front of the fire, and it's almost like she's glowing for real; she's never looked more beautiful, not that she isn't always beautiful, than in this moment. She's literally sitting in front of a fire, waiting for him, waiting for him to come and make love to her, and it's breathtaking. She helps him arrange the pillows and comforters he brought down, and she giggles softly that it's almost like their first kiss in auditorium with the picnic, which fills him with a nasty feeling of regret for running out on her. But he won't run out on her this time; this time he'll stay, and he'll stay for as long as she'll have him, which is he hopes is forever. He settles on the blanket next to her, and she snuggles close to him almost back in his lap; she's so soft and warm, and her body seems to fit next to his as it was made for just that. When she kisses him again his hands tangle in her hair, and she sort of melts into him; he lets his hands drop down her back, playing with the zipper of her dress, and she murmurs permission to unzip it. His hands keep shaking, which makes him fumble with the zipper, but the moment he feels the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her slip his nerves seem to calm.
Her hands slip under his sweater, her fingers tracing his spine and making his muscles tighten under his undershirt, and he lets his eyes fall closed for a moment; every touch is gentle and patient, and he moves almost painfully slow until she actually whimpers for more. His hands slide lower, reaching her waist and slipping beneath the skirt of her slip to find her butt, and he presses her closer; when she rocks her hips they both moan in response, and the next thing he knows she's insistently tugging on his sweater, and he has to pull back to let her pull it over his head and toss it aside. He can feel her hands tremble, and it almost surprises him how suddenly eager she is because her fingers are sliding down his chest and slipping under his t-shirt; it's like she's never touched him before and she's trying to memorize ever inch of him, and it feels so unbelievably amazing. His eye widen when her hand reaches his fly, and there's this determined look on her face when she unbuttons and then unzips; her trembling fingers graze his erection, and it sends a jolt through him so fast that he can't hold back the moan of her name that escaped.
"Let's lay down," she murmurs the suggestion as soon as he's shucked his jeans and tossed them into the growing pile next to them, and he's too caught up in staring at her to actually do more than nod.
It's so warm, almost too warm, when he slips beneath the comforter next to Rachel, but then the thought is erased from his mind because she's leading his hand towards her body, and suddenly he finds bare skin as his fingers travel up her side beneath the slip. He's wanted to touch her like this for so long; hell, he's dreamed about it almost every night, especially after they got so close the other night, and now that is suddenly real he's not sure what to do. He feels her tug at his t-shirt, and he lets her pull it off too, leaving him in just his boxer briefs; for a minute he's self-conscious, but Rachel always makes him feel at ease and the way she's looking at him makes him almost feel like he really is the hottest guy ever. Gently and carefully, he presses her back against the pillows, hovering above her, and he lets his hand slide up her inner thigh until he reaches the edge of her underwear, his eyes widening when he discovers the damp fabric; when she releases this high incredible mewling moan at his touch, he suddenly feels more confident, and as his lips travel down her neck, breathing her in, and his hands hook the hem of her slip. The moment it's whisked over her head, she's suddenly shy, and she moves to cover herself up again; he doesn't get why, not when she's so damned beautiful.
"Rach," he whispers her name as her skin turns pink with her blush, and he gently moves her arms away from her body. "Don't, baby; don't you know how beautiful you are? You're so beautiful, baby; let me show you."
He's not sure where this sudden confidence is coming from, but he suspects it's the need to show her that's she's beautiful; damn whoever convinced her otherwise because that person is a jackass. His lips press to heated skin, traveling over the swell of her breasts until he captures a nipple, and she gasps. He feels like the fucking man because her hands are suddenly buried in his hair, tugging, and she's making these amazing sounds; he's pretty sure Rachel moaning is a sound he'll never be tired of, not ever. He pays equal attention to her other nipple, his tongue swirling around it until it stiffens in his mouth, and he does everything in his power to ignore his own erection. When she pulls him up to kiss him, he lets one hand slide down her abdomen, tracing the waistband of her panties, and she breathes out the word condom. He feels like an idiot because he left the box upstairs, but she points to the tiny bag she brought with her; he can't believe his luck, and he reaches over to get it. The clasp sort of springs open so things fall out, and he sort of scrambles to pick them up; when he looks up again, Rachel's shimmying out of her panties, and he can't look away, no matter how hard he tries, until she whispers his name.
"I'm ready." She murmurs the words so softly he can hardly hear them, and, before he can ask if she's sure, she's kissing him again.
"Baby—" It takes him a moment to regain control, especially when Rachel's fingers are tracing the small path of hair from his navel to the waist of his boxer briefs and then moving under them; he has to grab her wrist to stop her before her hand closes around his erection. "It'll be over before we start."
She nods slowly, and he pulls in a breath as she tugs his boxer briefs down his legs; his face heats up when he realizes that this is the first time that Rachel's seen him naked, and the blush only deepens because she keeps staring. She has to take the condom from him because the sudden realization that it's actually happening has his hands shaking so bad that he thinks he'll tear it, and he closes his eyes as she rolls it on, releasing a less than manly moan. Her eyes are on his when he opens them, and she smiles so brightly that for a minute he forgets to be nervous; her thighs part, and he settles between them, scared that he'll crush her if he's not really careful. He laces the fingers of one hand with hers, and she squeezes his hand tight as he guides himself into her, pressing forward slowly; at first he doubts he'll fit, and he moves as if she's made of glass and he could break her at any moment.
"I'm sorry, baby; I didn't mean to—we can stop if it hurts too much." He murmurs, kissing her softly as she winces, but she shakes her head.
"I'm ok, Finn. I just need a moment." Her grip tightens on his hand, and he pulls in a breath, waiting for her to relax. "You can move now, baby."
He moves slowly, and it's hard for him to establish a rhythm at first because he's so afraid of hurting her; his fingers stay laced with hers, and he presses that hand back into the pillows, kissing her softly and gently as he moves. Her other hand grips his bicep, and he has to flex it slightly to keep from wincing when her nails bite into it; slowly they start to move together, and it's the most amazing feeling in the world because it's like they are completely connected and nothing else in the world matters at all. He doesn't last long, no matter how hard he tries, and he kicks himself for it. He rolls over, afraid he'll collapse any moment and crush her, and she sort of clings to him like she's afraid that he'll disappear or something.
"That's was—" She's out of breath and her hair's a mess, but the smile on her face could light up the whole room. "That was incredible."
"I'm sorry you didn't—you know." He really hates that he couldn't get her off, but she rests a hand on his chest and smiles.
"I read that most girls don't, not the first time anyway." She presses a kiss to his shoulder. "Besides, there's always next time. "
"Next time?" He's honestly surprised because he feels like maybe Santana was right, that he's lousy in the sack.
"Of course," she whispers, settling herself on top of him, her body almost feather light; the blissful smile on her face makes his heart swell. "You didn't think this would be the only time, did you?"
"I love you, Rachel; I love you so much." His voice sort of cracks. "You're everything to me; you know that right?"
"I love you too. I always will."
He reaches out to stroke her hair, as if to ensure that she is really there, that it all really happened, and she smiles down at him before reaching to pull the comforter up over their bodies; he can't resist pressing a quick kiss to her forehead, then her nose, and then her lips, and a soft giggle escapes as she snuggles into his chest. All his worries seems so small now, and he figures, at least for now, he's going to just remember how good he has it because he has Rachel Berry and together they can do anything.