A/N: So first I accidentally delete all my stories in trying to edit them after realizing that my pretty little ampersand line-breaks didn't actually transfer, leaving the whole story kind of just... smooshed together, and then I wake up and realize what happened. I clearly need more practice at again. That said, thank you so much for bearing with me and my line-break fail, and I will miss all of the reviews I got from all of you that I deleted so dearly ;_; you are all so wonderful and nice and it's great to know people are enjoying your stuff. So thank you! And again, I apologize. This has to get annoying if you're getting constant notifications 3

Watching Jesse perform Bohemian Rhapsody had been like digging a dagger into a paper cut.

Watching him- because really, none of the others mattered in any of this, not even Shelby- take that trophy was like pouring hydrochloric acid into the wound.

Rachel Berry had never felt quite so gutted.

"Are you sure? You don't have to stay here and wallow in misery, you know. That's just unnecessary."

Kurt meant well, but sometimes he really didn't understand the melancholia that went into serious devotion like this.

"I'm sure. I just... need some time alone, I think. I'll just call one of my dads to be picked up- he works right by here, anyway. You guys go on without me."

"Oh, fine. It's not like you're missing out, or something. It's not exactly going to be a party bus heading back."

He looked just as defeated as Rachel felt.

"Was it really worth it?"

"Yes," Jesse answered stoically, refusing to look at Shelby. She was stupid for asking. Of course it was worth it.

Half an hour later, the auditorium had been cleared out not only of its patrons, but the janitors, leaving the parking lot deceptively empty.

There was one exception, but the owner of the black Range Rover was nowhere to be seen.

When Jesse had been eight years old, his parents had given each of their children their own safety deposit boxes that served as a kind of bank safe to keep their savings in. They were still meager at that time, fueled only by the regular birthday and Christmas money donations from their grandparents and the occasional guilt contributions from their father for not being around a whole lot. As the third of four children, Jesse had briefly held his position in the spotlight as the youngest, only to be eclipsed by his little brother.

Something clearly had to give.

It had taken Jesse about a week to teach himself how to pick a lock, and it showed.

Over the following several weeks Jesse continually stole small sums of money from each of his siblings' boxes, leaving them and their parents to wonder what had happened that their money was disappearing. Were they really so careless as to spend all their money so quickly? They'd been quick to reassure them no, but when they looked to Jesse's box, it still held the same sum of money it had held weeks ago.

He'd never be so stupid as to stow stolen money there, instead creating a second bottom to his desk drawer only he knew of.

By the end of the year, he had amassed a small fortune for an eight-year-old. It was only a matter of time that he moved on to bigger and better things.

Like breaking into the theatre he'd just performed in.

"You know we're locked in here, right?"

Rachel hadn't heard him coming in, jerking her head up at the sound of Jesse's voice.

"What? No... that's not possible. I've only been here-"

"It's 8 o'clock, Rachel."

Rache had never been good at admitting defeat. Her jaw set, she did her best to retain the stoic expression on her face. Changing the subject was the only solution. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

"I'm reveling in the melancholia of the moment. You're going to Nationals. You have no right to be upset."

There was something in the air that spoke of other losses- Nationals seemed as far away as it seemed trivial in this moment compared to the girl in front of him.

Why had he agreed to the egging, again?

"Well?" she shot at him as she clambered up onto her feet, still clad in that ridiculous outfit. He hadn't changed either, but he didn't look nearly as stunning as she did on stage. It was unfair. She had no right to be so beautiful. "Don't you have something to say for yourself, Jesse St. James?"

He didn't.

"Not really," he said, looking every bit as stoic as he didn't feel. As much as he tried, he couldn't force himself not to stare.

"I'm going to be in the dressing room. You're going to do me one last favor and stay far away from there, because you owe me at least thatmuch. I deserve my dignity."

"You can't lose what you never had to begin with," he commented coldly at her retreating form, instantly cursing himself.

"You're an asshole," she whispered under her breath just loud enough for him to hear before her voice broke and she sped up, her shape retreating backstage.

It was so much easier when she wasn't looking at him.

It took half an hour for Rachel to reemerge from the dressing room. Her eyes looked as if they had been dyed red, but he didn't say anything.

"You've decided to grace me with your presence again? And here I thought you never wanted to see me again since I'm such an asshole."

"I got hungry," she said quietly. It killed him to see her so damn defeated.

"We can always raid the concession stand," he quipped, a small smile on her face.

It took him less than a minute to break into the concessions. There was no popcorn, and aside from the water fountains in the theatre, no drinks, but they had all the pre-packaged snacks and sweets at their disposal they could have ever wanted.

He'd missed being civil with Rachel.

"It's not really a balanced meal, but it'll do," Rachel muttered through the sticky caramel taking hold of her teeth.

"Mm," Jesse replied nondescriptly as he leaned against the glass case behind them. So much lawlessness all in one night, and all because of Rachel. Stupid, stupid Rachel.

He couldn't have cared less.

"You could have warned me or something, you know," she said, dangling her legs off the side of the stage as he lay sprawled out on the floor behind her his hands entwined behind his head. Even the way they were sitting was dramatic.

"No, I couldn't have. It wouldn't have been realistic."

"I didn't know it was that important."

"They know me too well."

"Winning Nationals must be really important for you. For the fourth time and all."

Every word out of Rachel's mouth felt like a punch to his gut. Sitting up, he ran a hand over his face. Why was it so damn hard to just tell her he was sorry? That he hadn't meant any of it. That he missed her more than anything. That he'd broken into the damn theatre just so he could pretend to be locked in here with her for the night.

"Yeah," he rasped. "I guess it was."

By midnight they'd resolved that the stage was much more uncomfortable than expected, and retrieved blankets from the prop room to lie on, Rachel having refused to simply leave it for a more comfortable room.

Lying on the floor side by side, staring up at the rafters, Jesse decided that a fourth consecutive national championship hadn't been worth it by the long shot. He could have stayed by Rachel's side, in Lima. As much as his friends, his fame, his perks were back at Carmel, Rachel was more important than all that.

With her, they could have taken Nationals by storm. Just the two of them. It would have been more than enough.

"Would you have still come to McKinley even if I hadn't refused to, you know. Sleep with the enemy."

"Yes." Jesse couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this numb. He was the enemyagain.

"It was never about sex?"

"Sex is an additional perk that completes a fulfilled, happy relationship and brings it full circle. No, Rachel. I didn't need to have sex with you. It would have been nice, but let's be serious, I have more self-control than that."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not so crazy horny out of my mind like that idiot Jacob at your school that I'm going to sit there and pant for you to give it to me. I don't do begging. Ever."

Sitting up, he saw the frown cross Rachel's face. "Am I not attractive, or something? Is that what you're saying?

"Rachel, that's not what I'm saying," he sighed, clearly exasperated as he sat up beside her. "I'm saying that it makes no difference to me."

"So I would have been just another notch on your bedpost, is that it?"

"We didn't have sex, Rachel!"

"Like you even wanted to! Apparently I would have just been... convenient!" Clambering up to her feet, he noted the way her legs were shaking. It made him want to take hold of her and whisk her away.

"It's not like you even would have put out! There's no point to us even talking about this!" Jesse, too, had risen to his feet, frustration with her getting the better of him. Why couldn't they just have a nice conversation without her constantly trying to pick at him? Get him agitated?

"I said I didn't want to sleep with the enemy, you transferred schools- you never tried to get me into bed with you ever again! Was I just that boring? Just that... cheap?"

She hadn't been. It had been the exact opposite, in all honesty, but Rachel didn't care about honesty right now. She was angry, and he was getting angrier.

"Yes, that's just it. I never cared about you, and I never will, and I just wanted you for a cheap fuck, and you were just too damn high-maintenance to keep up with that I decided it wasn't worth it! You meant nothingyou little spoiled brat!"

"You said you loved me!"

"I LIED!" he hollered, looking furious, feeling the anger building up inside of him slowly rising to a peak.

The expression on Rachel's face was enough to break his heart.

"Rachel-"

He watched as she suddenly turned on her heel, faster this time, before breaking out into a run.

Some people would say that Jesse St. James had no soul, no compassion, no heart. He'd always hoped Rachel to be the only person to know differently.

"I think you're wrong."

The voice broke through his reverie as if by force, jolting him up and out of his sitting position on the floor of the stage. He had yet to move since she'd left him.

"About?"

"I think you've always wanted me."

Turning around to look at her, his eyes grew wide. Of course any reputable theatre would have props and costumes fit for Chicago, but he never expected to see Rachel Berry in lingerie, let alone black, lacy lingerie and the garters to match. And those heels...

"Rachel, what did you-"

"I'm proving you wrong," she countered, sounding every bit as angry as she had before. "I'm not just some bedpost notch. You wantme and you can't deny it anymore, Jesse St. James."

She was right. He did want her, more than anything. He'd never thought that it would come to something like this, but what was he supposed to do? He couldn't help it.

"I don't know what you're trying to prove."

"This," she said, walking up to him as he backed up against the wall behind him, every step of hers resounding clearly on the floor of the stage. Wordlessly, she reached down to grab his growing erection through his pants, touching him with terrifying fervor. "See?" she breathed. "You can't help it. You want me."

Before she had the chance to react, he grabbed hold of her wrists, turning both of them around and pinning them above her head as his body pressed flush against hers. "Of course I want you," he ground out, lavishing his attack on her neck with almost feverish intensity, grinding his hips against hers. He wantedher to feel how hard she was making him, the little bitch.

"Then why don't you take what's yours?" she breathed, the surprise at his sudden retaliation having left her face almost too quickly, as if she'd been expecting it.

She'd been baiting him.

As his respect for her grew, so did his erection, and he could feel himself growing painfully hard.

"Maybe I will." It wasn't a maybe. He couldn't think straight anymore, anger, frustration, and lust mixing into a dangerous combination, only further fueled by the emotions he didn't want to- no, didn't needto- address. He wanted to ravish her, destroy her, and finally claim her as rightfully his.

If he saw Hudson's ogre-hands on her one more time-

Growling dangerously low in his throat, he replaced two hands with one, pinning both of her tiny wrists with one hand as the other tore down one side of the flimsy bra she was wearing, his mouth attacking her nipple it with the desperation of a dying man, alternatively biting, licking, suckling.

"Jesse, please-"

"What," he spat, returning to eye level, grinding his hips into hers once more with the firm resolution of taking what was his. "What else could you possiblywant from me."

"Say it," she countered, and he could feel himself stiffen.

"No."

As if it was a desperate attempt to shut her up, he kissed her, hard, reveling in the fact that she was kissing him back just as urgently and wantonly as he was kissing her, tongues dueling for the upper hand as his hand groped at her breast. Biting his bottom lip, Rachel seemed to purr her own approval of the way his hand and mouth were dealing with her, and she pulled one leg around him, daring him to keep going.

"Say it," she said again, pressing her sex against his as he groaned.

"No," he insisted once more, forcefully pulling his pants open with his free hand as he tore off her panties.

She looked like the very definition of sex in this moment, dark, disheveled, and positively ruinedby his touches.

"Did you let Hudson touch that gorgeous body of yours?"

"No," she moaned as he touched his fingers to her clit, stroking with fierce desperation. There was nothing gentle about it. "And I won't."

Growling, he pushed his fingers inside of her going faster, harder at her urging. She was so wet- how was he supposed to contain himself? "So you're still-"

"Yes."

"Are you protected?"

"Yes," she whimpered. "Are you clean?"

Groaning his affirmation, he hoisted her other leg up onto his waist as well, positioning himself as he finally let her hands go in order to support her from below in order to thrust into her, pushing inside in one clean stroke. When she cried out, he knew she hadn't been lying. Guilt reared its ugly head, flashing across his features as if by force, and he buried his face in her shoulder.

"Tell me when."

"It's fine, just keep going," she whispered, her voice cracking as she held onto him.

When he pushed inside of her again, long, slow strokes, it felt much more like the sex he'd always imagined them to have for her- theirfirst time. Almost romantic, much more like love-making than fucking, despite the evident rough, angry quality of their union right now.

Whimpering, Rachel tugged at his hair at the base of his neck, her legs seemingly pushing him deeper. "Stop going easy on me, I'm tougher than that," she ground out.

So much for epic romance.

But by the time he felt halfway to his own orgasm, Rachel appeared to be enjoying herself, moaning with every thrust, telling him to stop being such a pussyand just fuck her into oblivion.

That was when the wall wasn't good enough anymore.

Picking her up, he strode over to their blankets, laying her down before grabbing hold of her legs, propping them up over his shoulders, digging his fingers into her hips.

"You want to be fucked? Fine."

Pushing into her hard and fast enough to make her scream his name, he suddenly felt her come, the pulsing of her walls triggering his own orgasm just a few moments later, pushing into her a couple last times before collapsing on top of her with only his arms to barely prop him up.

It was like the wind had gone from his sails when Rachel tugged him closer, urging his body to nestle against hers and tuck his head in the crook of her neck.

They sat for a long time without either of them saying anything, nothing but their breaths and heartbeats to intermingle in the silence of the auditorium that had just before been filled by their moaning, whimpering, and screaming.

There was no shame in what they had just done, not even for Rachel. They had both needed this.

Finally, Jesse closed his eyes, his forehead cold against the floor.

"I didn't lie. I've always loved you," he breathed, feeling a breath escape him that he hadn't known he'd been holding. "And I'm pretty sure that I would miss you even if I had never even met you."

"I know," she whispered, the dampness of Rachel's tears feeling hot against his face. "Every day that I think I've missed you more than anything, the next day keeps getting worse."

"You can't tell anyone."

"I know."

Watching Rachel disappear into her house as he watched from the corner of her street- he wasn't about to let either of her dads spot the Range Rover, or he'd be left for dead- his heart felt leaden, heavier than even before.

Jesse had been to far too many funerals as it was, but this was worse, he decided, as much as he hated the formality and excessively black fashion statements. Everyone pretending they cared about the person dying- here they were just pretending they didn't care for each other.

Maybe it'd be for the better.