A/N: This is why I can't do smut. Seriously, this started out inspired by 23 Days by Framing Hanley. And it turned into... well, what it is. Awesome song, awesome band... and yeah. This is post-2X12 but not based on any spoilers or anything. Just my own dark cave of a mind. I hope you guys enjoy it. Thanks for reading.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. End of story.
We Never Lost It All
He leaned into the bench a little harder, leaning down as he extended his arm and then pulled the hand weight back. He huffed out a breath, still unable to see anything but the red that flooded his vision every time he thought about it.
It had been twenty-three days since he had told her that kissing Quinn was like fireworks. She had sweetly asked about when he kissed her and he hadn't been able to answer. He couldn't make himself say the truth, but he couldn't lie either. So he'd sat there, trapped, as she stammered and stumbled out of the room. His mom had cuffed him when he told her why she'd seen Judy Fabray just outside, dragging Quinn who looked as close to death as Finn felt.
Why had she looked that way? Because he'd made her look that way.
How could they be the only two at the school with mono? Wasn't mono the 'kissing disease'? What the hell did he think he was doing kissing Quinn Fabray after all she had done?
Where was Rachel? He hadn't been able to spit it out other than to say they'd broken up. She knew it, she offered a little bit of half-assed comfort and then she'd stopped talking.
He pushed forward. He was still fairly exhausted all of the time, but life had gone on. His mom made him come to school and made him promise not to kiss anyone until he had been cleared by Doc Rynders.
He shook his head and blew out another breath as he pulled his arm back up into his body.
He hadn't lied to Rachel since the Santana thing. Not once. He was totally confused. He was still confused. He watched her, he saw her moving on, and he wanted punch his locker. Twice he'd actually done it, but who was counting?
Deep down, he knew he'd hurt her when he said she had done something bad. He was the one person who had promised not to write her off, the one who had told her he loved her no matter what stupid, drama-queen shit she pulled. And he did. There was something about the moments she realized she had been wrong. She never, ever said the words, but there was something about the moments when she looked to him for help fixing whatever she had screwed up. There was something that made him feel powerful and bigger-than-life.
Rachel was the only person who could give him an ego boost with a single, brown eyed glance.
He relied on that feeling. The football game, the kissing booth, all that other stuff, it was just a distraction and it was totally fake. There was nothing compared to the feeling of kissing her.
He switched the weight to the other hand and began the sawing motion again. Judging from the fact that his left arm felt like Jell-o, the weights were way too heavy. He just didn't care anymore. He was hoping if he made himself tired enough, his head would shut the fuck up. Not likely.
There was only one thing, one person who could calm it all down. She could slow the world down and make him see everything so much clearer. It didn't even take a kiss, because that's all it took to make him spin. But how did it actually feel?
It had been a long time since he really, really kissed her. He had been afraid to when she had approached him at the kissing booth and slapped down her money. Truth be told, and only to himself, he knew if she kissed him that he would just fucking lose it. Any control, any reason he had not to kiss her or love her or forgive her… it would just be gone.
He didn't understand why he was so scared to kiss her. He had done it so many times before, and each time felt good. Even when it should've been mixed with guilt because he was cheating on a pregnant girlfriend, or even when it should've been mixed with hesitance because he knew he was pushing them past some imaginary line in their relationship, it felt good. It felt like playing with fire, but in a good way. Was there a good way to play with fire?
All he knew was each kiss they shared had a way of starting a fire he didn't have the strength or the desire to fight. She made him feel like he was burning alive and he had never been happier to die like that, or to push it a little further. Every inch of unexplored skin, every breathless moan he earned from her for the first time, it made whatever he was feeling ignite, exploding and leaving him blind and breathless.
Fireworks were simple compared to how Rachel made him feel.
There was a flip side to it, though. With all the stuff churning around in his mind, he couldn't forget the way he felt when she told him she'd kissed Puck. Heart pounding, ears ringing, and the nagging need to get away from her as fast as possible—it was another kind of burn. It was the kind of burn that hurt so much he couldn't figure out how to make it stop. The kind of burn that he thought would kill him from the inside out. He couldn't even remember exactly what he'd said to her as he walked away, other than admitting that he didn't know she had the power to make him feel that way.
He ran away. He went to practice, he ran his guts out, he almost killed himself by fumbling more than one scrimmage play, and in the end Bieste had thrown her clipboard right at his head and told him to pay attention. The clipboard nearly taking his ear off was the first thing he remembered after the words coming out of Rachel's mouth lost their sound.
She was sorry…she was so sorry… she hadn't meant it.
The weight clattered to the ground, the metal-on-tile crunch earned a hearty "What the fuck, Hudson?" as the weight rolled into the bottom of the lockers right by him with a thunk.
He looked up to see Puck watching him with open concern. It was the first time Finn had been to weight training since the whole mono thing. Seemed like he had some stuff to work through.
Finn squeezed his eyes shut tight. He was starting to see red, like he always did when he thought about Rachel. Puck approaching him now would not be good.
It wasn't Puck's fault. It was Rachel's fault. It was his fault. He had screwed things up even more by kissing Quinn, and he knew that now. He also knew now how it felt to be the other guy and it wasn't like he thought. Now that he had walked that walk, he could only imagine how much Puck hated himself.
Because no matter what, Finn had lost Rachel in the process. It was guaranteed Finn hated himself more.
When was the last time he and Rachel had kissed? When was the last time he loved her and that was all there was between them? He huffed out a breath before he reached down to pick up the loaded weight he'd been using, then crossed the weight room to put it back on the rack where it belonged.
The last time they had kissed…he searched his memory. He couldn't remember.
The look on her face as Santana spilled about his lie, the look that made him wish he were burning alive? He hadn't been able to look at her and had looked at the ground instead. He could remember that—sure. Why couldn't he remember the last time they kissed? And why did it matter so damn much?
Puck was approaching him, was talking, and judging by the way he was walking by dropping one shoulder with every other step, he was saying something gross. Finn wasn't sure, his ears were ringing again.
He couldn't answer Rachel when she asked what it was like to kiss her because he couldn't remember. He couldn't remember when he kissed her without feeling guilty about lying. He couldn't remember what it was like to kiss her with nothing else in the way. All he knew was that he missed kissing her.
Finn muttered something to Puck. Whatever it was, Puck stopped walking and stopped talking or at least Finn thought he did. He couldn't be sure. Finn cleared out the weight room, not even bothering with a shower before he threw on his school clothes and left the school in a hurry. He had to find Rachel. He needed to kiss her. He needed to remember.
He knew he missed her, now he just needed to remember why. And he couldn't be bothered to figure it out any more than that. What day of the week was it? Where was she? Would she be home? He didn't think she would answer him if he called or texted her. But he didn't even know what day it was. If he couldn't remember how it felt to touch her, he sure as shit couldn't remember what day of the week it was or where she would be at any given time. Even half the time when they spent every waking moment together he had to ask constantly where she would be if he really wanted to know.
He tugged his phone out of his jacket pocket, pulling a little harder and swearing as it got tangled in the pocket lining. He pulled it into both hands, looking down as he tried to keep one eye on where he was walking as he texted.
Where are you?
He sent the message before he could think too much about it. When it had been a full minute since the 'sent message' displayed on his screen with the little envelope zooming around, his pounding heart jumped up into his throat.
Fuck. He shouldn't have done that. He didn't have the right to text her like that anymore. He sounded like a stalker.
It was a couple more minutes of pacing outside his truck before his phone beeped and buzzed against his palm.
Home. Why?
He let out a breath and noticed how shaky it was. Why was this so hard? It was hard because he was still confused. He had marched out of the locker room with purpose, had been so focused on something and now it had slipped away. What did he need? Why did he need to know where she was?
Can I come over? I need to see you.
He had to back up and retype three or four times before he got it out. The keys on the touch screen seemed impossibly small in his big hands, under his shaking fingertips.
That's not a good idea.
His heart sunk. At least she had answered. That was progress, wasn't it? He hadn't reached out to contact her, but even in school she didn't talk to him. She didn't walk past him, she didn't sit by him, and when she had to talk to him for glee, she totally didn't look at his face. Not even once.
And it hurt just a little bit. Who in the hell was she to act like she was hurt? Who in the hell was she to act all sad and broken up? It didn't matter anymore who's fault it was or why things had happened. All that mattered to him right now was kissing her. He wanted that damn feeling back and he knew she was the only one who could provide it.
Please?
He hopped up in the truck. It was only March, the afternoon was still a little chilly, and he had come outside all sweaty. He didn't want to feel like he was freezing, but it was just as real on the inside of him as it was on the outside of him. He really, really needed to kiss her. He couldn't deny it.
He turned the key in the ignition but didn't drive. He closed his eyes and slammed his head against the steering wheel. Damn it, Rachel. Please? Didn't she know he needed her? He needed her. That was all there was to it.
His eyes glanced to the digital clock display. She would quite likely be home alone. She was right; it wasn't a good idea. But he still needed her anyway. He wasn't sure what he would do if she asked him to take no for an answer—but he thought he might break.
His phone finally beeped.
Five minutes and we're staying outside.
He didn't reply because he was already pulling out of the parking lot.
It hadn't been so long ago this was all reflex for him. Get out of practice. Go to Rachel's house. Make out. Do homework. Put his mom off for five more minutes that turned into twenty. Eventually say goodnight and sneak out of the house after her dads had gone to bed thinking he was already gone.
There wasn't much to it. But somehow, it was all he needed and it kept him going. In more ways than one.
He missed it. He missed her. He missed how she made him feel when it was good—before all the bad stuff. Would it be possible for them to have it for one night? Like borrow it? He needed that feeling before he went crazy. He'd never been into drugs, but maybe this is what it felt like. Maybe Rachel was his drug. Maybe he was addicted to her because right now he thought he would just explode if he couldn't kiss her again. He needed to remember what it felt like to kiss her, when he could feel it in his fingertips and his legs and his stomach and…and just when he could feel it everywhere.
God, he missed her. If he really did this, would one night be enough? Would he be able to just kiss her one time and walk away? He wasn't very good with self-control and he knew it. He had never wanted to lose control with her because he didn't want to hurt her.
But that was back when he thought she would never hurt him. And now that he knew what it felt like to lose her… well, he wasn't sure she could understand what that felt like.
He pulled to a stop in front of her house, looked up at the familiar outside of the townhouse, and he sighed. He banged his fist against the steering wheel.
He was seriously losing it. He shouldn't be here. He couldn't do this. It might kill him.
But she pulled the door open and he couldn't not do it.
So he got out of the truck and tucked his keys into his jacket pocket as he walked up the driveway to the door where she was waiting.
She looked over his face, took in his heavy breathing, and she offered a fake smile. He knew it was fake.
"Hi," she said. It was the first time she had looked at him since the last time. And the last time, all he had seen was sadness and regrets and hurt and… that wasn't how she was looking at him now and he felt a little bit better. Maybe this was okay. Maybe he could find a way to make this right. When he didn't respond and he just kept looking at her so intensely, she opened the door a little wider.
"What happened to staying outside?" He asked, keeping his glance low and his hands in his pockets.
"It's too cold," she said simply. She moved back so there was room for him to step inside. He remembered the house rules all too well and automatically shucked his shoes off, leaving them in the tiled entryway before he peeled his coat off and turned to hang it on the row of hooks just inside.
Her laugh was a little nervous. She was never nervous. When had he become the guy that made her nervous? His ears started ringing again.
"That looked like a habit," she said lightly, and diverted her gaze. This was the part of Rachel he was used to seeing; the top of her head.
"I guess," he said. He really, really wanted her to look at him. He wanted to talk to her face, not her hair.
Her voice was quiet, reserved. "What are you doing here?"
His voice was even quieter. "I miss you." He ran a hand down her arm and squeezed her hand. "I really, really miss you."
She took a step away and shook her head. "I can't do this. It isn't fair for you to ask me to, Finn. Not this time."
He sighed. "I know. I know it's not fair." He swallowed hard, trying to bite back his guilt and his anger for just a minute. "None of it is fair."
His eyes wandered while she stayed where she had been. She was dressed in her usual after-school clothes, a striped zip-hoodie and jeans. Although the hoodie was zipped almost to the top, he could see the edge of a dark blue shirt underneath peeking out. He desperately wanted to know if it was a tank top and he didn't even know why. His eyes drifted over her chest and up to her bare neck.
Once upon a time, she had worn her own name there in the hollow of her collarbone, tucked close and right into her throat. Then it was his name. Then it was the star necklace he'd given her. He hadn't said anything when he noticed she stopped wearing it, and he didn't know exactly when he noticed, but he had. He reached out, his arms long enough to touch her even after she had stepped back. He traced his finger gently, hesitantly, over the bare spot.
"I miss you," he said again.
"Why?" She asked doubtfully, her head shooting up to look at him. The intensity in her eyes was like when she argued or when she put someone in their place, knowing she was right. His inhale was sharp as he prepared to defend himself.
He stammered through it a little at first, his normal 'dealing with Rachel' mode a little rusty and caught off-guard. "I..I… you asked me how it felt when I kissed you."
She nodded. "Yeah, I asked you that a month ago, Finn. And you didn't answer me. You didn't answer," she echoed. She shook her head. "And now it's too late."
"I couldn't answer you because I don't have words for how it feels."
"That's almost as flattering as not saying anything," she said, her words filled with acid and laced with anger.
His finger was still on her throat. He couldn't move it. It was the only part of his body he could feel, the part that was connected to her.
His eyes searched hers for the challenge. The look that dared him to kiss her. It wasn't there.
"Whatever it is, Rachel, I need to feel it again." He was begging. He didn't recognize his own voice. "Please?"
She shook her head, and he saw tears welling in her eyes. "You should go kiss Quinn if you want to feel good. Apparently I don't do that for you."
His eyes closed. He wasn't good with words or explaining. He knew it. He had always skated by without it because the girl in front of him had some sort of oceanfront property inside his head. He didn't have to tell her how he felt. She just knew.
"You do more than that," he said. He swallowed and her eyes went wide. He couldn't see any white left in them at all, only brown, begging him.
"So why didn't you say that a month ago?"
He closed his eyes. More words? Really, Rachel?
"I don't know," he choked out. "There's a lot of stuff we still need to say."
She stepped back again and he wasn't touching her anymore. She was standing on the bottom stair of the staircase that led up to her room.
"Oh, I think telling me you were officially breaking up with me said it all. If that didn't, kissing your ex-girlfriend while she was dating someone else certainly did."
He dropped his hands to his hips. "I know how it feels. To be the other guy now. It sucks worse than being the one who did it. It sucks knowing you're being used." He stepped closer to the bottom step. "I hate myself for it."
She frowned and slid her hands inside his jacket. "I know that feeling."
"It sucks," he admitted.
She nodded. "Yes it does," she agreed. She had moved closer to him and looked up. Even though his head was still hanging, she was looking right in his eyes when she did that. "Do you think kissing me will make it better?"
"Kissing you makes everything better," he said. He lifted his hand to take hers and press it to where his heart was pounding against his chest. He leaned down the little distance required to press his lips against hers. Her fingers curled around the muscle in his chest. He could feel her grasping at the cotton of his t-shirt, her fingers under his, and his heartbeat tripled—easy.
And it wasn't fireworks. It was a slow burn that was starting right under her hand. It was starting there and spreading outward, spilling over him. He didn't think it would ever go away. He didn't want it to go away.
She gasped as she pulled away from it, shocked at the physiological proof of his words right under her fingertips.
"I'm going ask you again, Finn. Don't fuck with me," she said flatly. His eyes widened. Why was it that her saying a dirty word went straight to his pants? God, that was hot. "How does it feel when you kiss me?"
He was looking over her face, still breathing hard. "Fire," he said simply.
"What's the difference between fire and fireworks?" She asked, ducking from his attempt to keep kissing her to demand more answers.
"Fire doesn't go away. Fireworks are over fast," he said quickly. Frustrated at the loss of contact, he took her jaw in both his hands and pressed his lips to hers again.
This time, her tongue darted out of her mouth and traced his lips. It was all he needed. He opened his mouth to let her tongue in, pressing his tongue against hers as he bent down a little to grasp at the back of her thighs, not even thinking about his actions. She didn't question him, either, even though it was way more than they'd ever done before. She gave a certain little jump and hooked her legs around his waist and he groaned appreciatively.
Maybe she was trying to kill him. It was that feeling that he would be okay dying right now though.
He stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her to him tightly as he started walking up the stairs. Left foot… right foot…left foot. He stopped and kissed her harder.
"Why'd you stop?" She asked, pulling away. Her eyes were wild and she was breathless, her perfect chest heaving up and down against his as he panted for breath, too.
"Trying to get up the stairs without killing us both," he said. He took advantage of the break in kissing, as much as he hated the break, to take the last four stairs and turn to go down the hallway to her room at the end. He pressed his lips against her cheek, the warmth rising to the spot he kissed. He let his tongue dart out to taste her clean skin, finally landing on the spot that always got her that was halfway down her neck between her ear and her shoulder. She dropped her head back, the motion tightening her legs' grasp around him as her hips drove forward to rub against him. Even then, with the warm contact of her brushing against the most sensitive part of his body, the breathless moan she let out went through him faster.
They were in her room, thank God, but he didn't really know how. He wasn't going to worry about it right now. He was going to worry about the fire and he was going to feel every flame as it lapped at him where he stood. And he was going to enjoy it. This is what he had needed.
So many things flooded him, so much that he couldn't even put it into words. He didn't want to try putting it into words.
He set her down on the ground, trying to be careful but still feeling stinging disappointment as he feet reached the ground. Then again, their mouths were still dancing together, their tongues thrusting against each other. It was familiar. It was warm. It was wet. She reached her hands up and slipped the jacket down over his shoulders, down his arms and it fell to the ground, his keys and phone echoing a thump behind him. He reached his own hands up to pull her hair out of its loose ponytail. It poured through his fingers, the fire pulsing through him making him sensitive enough to feel every strand of liquid chocolate. She pressed her body close to his and their feet moved in a quick move, almost like a dance step, halted by the edge of the bed as they kissed desperately.
She gasped in surprise, but then pulled her waist away from his so she could climb up onto the bed. As she pressed her hands into the plush comforter to help get settled a little bit, he tugged down the zipper on her shirt. The tank top underneath was the soft, crinkly one with lace at the bottom. He loved it because when his fingers were on high-alert and feeling everything like they were now, the rough texture sent a jolt of something hot down right down his spine and it pooled in his stomach and made him kiss her that much harder. He tugged at the hem of her shirt, hesitating a little bit to pull back and look at her. Her eyes were wide, the brown turned nearly black, and her hair was everywhere. She pulled her hands out of his hair to lift her arms straight up over the head.
Fuck if he needed any more invitation than that. He peeled the shirt away from her skin and there she was, totally topless in front of him. It was the first time he had actually seen her breasts, naked and in person instead of imagined and behind his eyelids.
Her breathing was off the charts as she watched his reaction to seeing her body. He looked at her eyes as he brushed a thumb across her nipple, dropping his curious gaze just in time to see it tighten with the contact. Her chest was still heaving, drawing his attention to her breasts. He brought his index finger and thumb together, experimentally pinching and her head fell back with a moan.
With that perfect exposure, he was helpless and he pressed his lips to the same spot that made her cry out a moment ago. Her reaction was even stronger now, with his hands on her chest at the same time. She grasped for the bottom of his shirt and tugged up, but he was too tall from where she was sitting on the bed. He lifted his hands up and pulled it off, watching her looking over him.
He had been shirtless before. The slight blush of her cheeks was nothing new, but it was still sweet and hot and it was all he needed to lean forward, using his motion rather than any force to lay her back on the mattress.
He kissed her again, his knuckles the only thing holding his weight off of her. Her tongue danced along his. The sharp taste of mint in her lip gloss rubbed against his tongue and cooled the fire but it was in a good way. She lifted her feet up to the bed, though, to give herself enough leverage to grind against him. He dropped down to one elbow and slid his other hand all the down her bare back to grab her ass through the jeans she wore like a second skin.
"You're so hot," he gasped. "I missed you. I wanted you." He moved his lips from her mouth to drag them down her chest. He didn't really know what to do here. They'd never gotten this far in their makeouts before. The feel of her skin, of his chest rubbing against hers as they insistently pressed against each other so intimately, was enough to set him totally on edge.
"I love you," she moaned. He paused and shot his head up.
"You do?" He asked. As hot as all of this was, he had never factored in love, really. He knew he loved her. He could still feel it all the way deep down, but he didn't think she still felt the same way.
"Of course I do," she said sadly. "Don't you love me?"
"Of course I do," he said forcefully. "I always have." He kissed her again and again, moving slower and less urgently now. The words were almost like a bucket of cold water—but not quite. It just changed everything from a flash burn to something else entirely. It slowed their motions down, removed the urgency. He was flying high on her, the kisses they'd shared coursing through his veins; he could relax and take his time now.
She had other plans.
"You never asked me how I feel when you kiss me," she said casually.
He pulled back to look at her. "I…I assumed it was the same." He scowled. "It's not?"
She shrugged. "Well I guess there's no way for us to know because it's all subjective." He could feel her fingertips fluttering around her waist, brushing against his skin irregularly. What was she doing?
Before he could even process it, she had unbuttoned the fly on her pants, taken his hand and slipped it down inside. His jaw dropped and he felt all the tension in his body, even in his tired arms, coiling in the pit of his stomach. It was like it drew in all the fire, all the flames that had made his skin and his fingertips so sensitive, and focused it on his stomach. Then it dropped, like a lead weight, straight south.
He thought he had known hard before. He'd had no idea. He gasped as he moved his fingers, feeling all the warmth and wetness that proved her desire for him. It was so hot he didn't know how his fingers weren't burned. Shit, maybe they were. He really could've cared less.
He retracted his hand and eased off her, but immediately reached for the waistband of her pants so he could get rid of the part that was cutting into his wrist. He moved her hips just enough to help him slide them down and she used her feet to first get tangled in, the wriggle free of her pants. He wasn't sure if she knew her underwear had been included in the mess of denim now on the floor, but she didn't seem to care as she looked back up at him uncertainly.
This is so much more than he had expected. There was no way he could go back to just kissing now. No fucking way. If kissing was a drug… well, this was flying.
He swallowed, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth that was suddenly dry. He didn't know what to do from here. But he knew he had to do something because she was already shaking and looking at him like she needed something.
He leaned over and kissed her again, running his hands over her body without the well-known interruption of clothing layers.
Finally, growing impatient with his feather-light touches and uncertainty, she reached down to undo his jeans and then used her feet to slide them over his hips. Much like she'd been unaware before, he didn't know she had managed to get his boxer shorts down with the rest of his clothes. He was pressed against her, totally naked and she was looking down at him curiously.
He was losing control of everything…of his breathing… he was pretty sure his heart was going to explode and fuck, was it even possible for your heart to stop run out of beats when you weren't quite seventeen and you were reasonably healthy?
He looked down at her, still looking at him curiously as she started to run her hands over his abdomen.
He had the answer. Yes. It was possible, because he was pretty sure he was already dead. Her fingers tickled against his thigh, so close to his erection and his hips charged forward beyond his control and brushed against her thigh as she dragged her tongue along his neck.
"Rach," he choked out.
"Hmm?" She asked, not moving her tongue or letting up as she pressed her lips to the spot and began to suck.
Not only had his heart stopped, his eyes were going to roll right back out of his head. Hadn't his mom told him once that if he rolled his eyes they would get stuck that way? He was pretty sure that was the case. And the image of Rachel underneath him and naked would be permanently engraved there, too.
"Rach," he rasped again, unable to come up with any other word.
She looked up at his face with a smile.
"You know, when we were dating," she began. Yeah, that tone took him down a notch. "I looked up solutions… you know, to help…"
Never mind. He was back to so turned on he might explode. She had thought that seriously about having sex with him? Really?
His hips were grinding against her now and there was no way he could control it. "…. and?"
When he finally pulled his eyes open and looked at her, she smiled. "And nothing. I decided it would be more fun to figure it out ourselves."
He pulled himself up on top of her and was shocked when her legs relaxed so she could cradle his body against hers.
"Rach…I…"
"This doesn't change anything," she whispered. She reached down to grasp him in her hand.
He rubbed his nose against hers. "Hang on," he said. She released him and he slid his tongue down her body slowly, finally resting on his knees on the floor beside her bed. He grabbed her hips to pull her toward him and then slid his tongue over the part of her anatomy she'd kept most hidden. Her hips charged up off the bed and she grabbed the comforter in her fingers.
"Finn, you don't have to…" her protest was cut off sharply when he slid a finger inside her.
Truth be told, he had no idea what he was doing here. This was the most intimate thing he had ever done. All he knew was he wanted to make her feel good.
He remembered Puck saying something about an ice cream cone. He squeezed his eyes shut tight. He really, really didn't want to think about Puck right now. But at the same time, remembering all that hurt just gave him more motivation to do this right. Rachel had options. Ice cream cone.
She finally tugged on his head, the insistence of the motion dragging him up off his knees and back on top of her. He was practically numb, unable to hear her words or anything over the pounding of his heart and blood pulsing through his ears as she angled her hips.
"Do you have a condom?" She asked slowly. Okay, he heard that. Would she freak out if he admitted he did?
He swallowed once against his dry throat, still breathing hard. "Yeah," he finally said slowly. "Do you?"
She laughed out loud, and it broke through all the tension. Were they actually going to do this? This wasn't the point. Fuck, he'd just wanted to kiss her. He had promised himself he'd never feel this unprepared for sex again.
He studied her face for just a minute before he broke to retrieve the condom from his wallet. He'd put it there after his first time with a silent promise to himself she was the only girl he would use it with.
Hey, even as he felt dirty and like a cheater and occasionally like a whore, in this moment he knew that he was at least not breaking that one promise he'd made to himself. And he wasn't breaking a promise he'd made to her either. Maybe he was finally learning.
He remembered the flash of motion that had been gloving up last time, and repeated it exactly before he laid back down on top of her. He could feel her shaking beneath him. Or wait… was that him shaking?
He kissed her again. He remembered the time his mom had taken him and Puck clear up to Columbus to go to an amusement park. Puck had talked him into doing one of those bungee jumping/sky diving things and the instructor had told them to just pull the ripcord and then they would be flying.
It was kind of like that, but hotter.
He watched her slowly; he had come over here driven by a need he didn't understand, the lust and love and anger all mixed together in a big pit. That didn't mean he wanted to hurt her. If anything, he had come here first because he understood and it was the opposite. How could he do this with her when he hated himself already for what he had done to her?
Then her lips were at his ear, her tongue was dancing along the lobe and making him shutter and her breath was warm.
"Please?" She asked. He didn't even recognize the low growl of her voice. His hips rolled forward. A centimeter or so was all he'd needed anyway. It was like he was totally disconnected from his own body as they connected for the first time.
He moved slowly first, pulling back to watch her face even as he was so caught up in how it felt. She smiled awkwardly and then moved her leg to hook it over his hip, like she was acknowledging everything was okay and she was okay and it was like the ripcord again.
Falling. Flying. High. Like kissing only… on fire.
"Rach…" he groaned. He pressed his forehead to hers. "I'm sorry…I'm so sorry."
Her breathing was too heavy for her to answer. Her hips were moving faster now, so were his. He remembered the first time they had danced together. It had been awkward at first because he didn't know where he could decently put his hands. And here they were, full circle and still feeling the same way.
It was hard to pretend he'd never lost anything in the middle parts.
They seemed to remember their dancing at the same time and he could feel everything…all the anger, all the loneliness and the hurt and the love and lust and just everything gathering right in the middle of him. It was his heart, but it was physical, tangible, and all he could do was close his eyes and whisper her name into her hair as he held on as tight as he knew how.
They were both shaking for a long time; how long he didn't know. He finally pulled back enough to look over her face. She was sweaty and her hair was fanned out all around her on the blanket. Her legs were still wrapped around him but she was slowly relaxing and letting them down.
She offered him a watery smile and repeated her earlier words. "It still doesn't change anything, Finn."
It felt like his heart stopped beating. How in the hell did she do that? He was sixteen. He couldn't physically have a heart attack. Could he?
"No," he said slowly. "I still love you too much for my own good."
She blinked and sniffled. "Can you move, please?"
Her small request just about killed him but he did as she asked. He went into the small (and very pink, by the way) bathroom that was attached to her room to clean up a little bit. He couldn't even look at himself in the mirror before he went back out.
She was already dressed and his clothes were folded on her bed. He dressed quickly but watched her carefully, sneaking glances at her like they were sips of water during basketball practice.
He could look at her again without seeing red or feeling mad. He looked at her and it was just the good stuff again—the love and the wanting and the fire. How did she do that? He was sure she came with magical properties of some kind. But calling her a witch was probably not exactly the way to her heart.
Finn sat down in her desk chair to tie his tennis shoes. She went into the bathroom and closed the door.
"Rach," he began. "We really need to talk about this."
She didn't answer, at least not in words but he knew he heard a sniffle.
Once his shoes were tied, he pressed his hand against the door. How many times had he stood out here and begged her to come out? More than he could count probably. Her freak-outs had been enough to set him on edge, too, to make him feel like he was as crazy as she was. And yet, here he was, begging her for the chance to do it all again. This was so not what he'd had planned.
"Rach…"
When she flung open the door, she was crying. But she smiled. "We don't need to. Why do we have to worry about tomorrow?"
"What do you mean?" He asked.
"I already told you this doesn't change anything. You know it doesn't." She shrugged. "I…I…"
She was usually not the one stuttering. He didn't really know what to do with that. So he moved two steps forward and kissed her—hard.
"Shut up," he said simply.
She reared back. "Excuse me?"
"Shut up," he said again. He smiled. "I just want to feel how I feel when I kiss you. That's all I want. I want to pretend like it didn't fall apart."
"But it did," she said firmly. "It fell apart and you kissed Quinn and you broke my heart and I broke your heart and if we pretend it never happened then it's just going to happen again."
He took a step away and dropped his head. "So… this is it, huh? You expect me to just leave and forget about all of it?" He moved forward again and put his hands on her shoulders. "This is what love is made of. If I leave without us figuring this out…"
"It's just going to happen again," she said. She nodded. She sniffled and raised her hands to wipe at her damp cheeks. "I'm not ready for all that, Finn."
"I'm ready for the good parts again. I miss you."
"I miss you, too."
"So let's just pretend it's always been okay."
"Why could you forgive Quinn and not me? What she did was so much worse." She finally blurted out.
She was standing in front of him, crying about the same old thing. There was no pretending, there was no going back. It would choke them, kind of like the words choked him. "Yeah, but what you did hurt a lot worse because it was you." She watched him, but she knew he wasn't done yet. "And I never dealt with all that other stuff, I just put it away so I could be with you. So when it came back, it all came back and I took it out on you. And I'm sorry."
Her exhale was shaky and uncertain. "I'm sorry, too. You need space to deal with all of that. I'm not good at giving space."
He laughed. "No, you aren't. But I've had space and now… now all I have is loneliness and the fact that I miss you and I love you. I don't love her. I never really did."
She nodded and laughed a little, feeling stupid as she wiped at her damp eyes. "Well I guess we can pretend it never happened, then."
He nodded and pulled her against him. "Please?" He waited until he felt her relax against him before he asked his next question. "So, just one more thing."
"What's that?"
"Exactly what else have you researched when it comes to sex? Because I totally want your help figuring all that stuff out."
"Well, if it took you twenty-three days to explain how it feels when we kiss, I think it's going to take us a lot longer to figure out intercourse."
"Yeah, I'll definitely need more practice," he agreed. She rolled her eyes and swatted at him again, but he didn't miss the way her hand lingered on his stomach as he rocked her back and forth in their embrace.
It was warm. It was safe. It was familiar.
But it wasn't fire.
At least not until he kissed her again.