Untouched
When he was younger, he wanted to become a drummer. He wasn't into the heavy metal stuff Puck said was cool; he wanted to play steady and have a good beat. So when he was 13, his mother got him a drum set and he practiced until he could play to any beat.
He meets her, sophomore year, he's 15 and he figures he's got to find his calling, his talent if he any. Then he hears her sing. And he's screwed. Her voice is like that of a canary whistling his awake. It's as if he's slept into a dark slumber all these years and only she could bring that bright light into his life, giving him meaning. So he joins, under duress of course. His reputation and his prissy little blonde girlfriend make him suffer under their wrath. So he quits, straight after. He can't deal with this. Of course, she has something to say about it. He rolls his eyes, she's taken charge without even asking anyone else, the self proclaimed dictator. He can't say no to those chocolate eyes and chestnut silk smooth curls as she walks away, her toned legs retreating. Then it happens. All of it.
The kissing, the dreams of her legs wrapped around his waist, her naked underneath him, his fingers running through her locks. The bowling date and her slapping his cheek red, leaving a burn on his face. Little does she knows, he's always burning up for her. He closes his eyes shut as he slams his big head against the pillowcase of his bed, his dusky pink nipples puckering under his fingers as he cups her tiny round breasts, her moans and his moment. Oh shit. He wants Rachel.
He wants her after Quinn messes up with the horrible lie. He wants her when he's walking in the rain crying his eyes out like a girl after finding out news that changes his life forever. But mostly he wants her, with him, in him, around him. So he knocks on the door and she's in these pyjamas that looks like something a kid would wear, her eyes widen at the sight of him soaked to the brim. Before she can speak his lips are on her, drawing her closer to him by the waist and she stumbles against the wall as he kisses her, her neck, her jaw, her ears and takes her mouth in whole. She moans against him and his hands ride up her skirt, into the lining of her hips. She stops him, her hands coating his. Just on word. 'No.' Another rejection takes his off the edge and he cries into her chest that night, soaking her vest as she rubs his back, soothing him with her kind words. Her voice is like magic to his ears and he wishes she would let him have her, here, now, all night. But he doesn't cos they're friend and that would be crossing boundaries, taking advantage of a bad situation. They're friends.
Then his days go by as he drones on. Completely empty. He was going to raise a child, His child, until he found out his best friend fucked his girlfriend and he lied to him. She's there with the calendars and the dates, her overzealous smile and her words aren't magical anymore. Just sound he wants to silence. That Jesse kid charms her with his fine curly hair, big words and suave air. Fuck. When did things get so screwed up? He wants her, just needs time. He's 16 when he sees her kissing anyone other than his, with tongue. Then he feels his chest constrict and pangs, his glands swelling up and stares down at the floor. He's loving her with his body and she's looking at him with those eyes. He wishes it was him.
Santana comes to him with a proposal, she's like the hottest girl in school and he gets to touch her breasts, bigger than hers and her olive skin moulds into his as he fucks her in a dimly lit hotel room. There's no kissing, no moans, no release. It's just sex and it lasts as long as a dent to his newly brought car. He lost it to the common cheerleaders. He closes his eyes that night, wishing it was Rachel's honey skin, her small breasts, her clit, her brown hair. He swallows. Guilt.
He wants things to go back to normal. No glee club. No tiny brunette. No pregnancy. He just wants his life back. They get together, properly over the summer after that douche bag eggs her and leaves her hanging. Her mother abandons her. He thought he had it tough. She's on his porch crying her eyes out after they lose and he holds her. They talk, she takes him to see all these plays he doesn't understand but that's fine because she's here, with him, in his arms and he gets to kiss her.
She's found out. Oh God, please don't tell me she knows. She doesn't let him touch her. He finds that funny since she's so affectionate usually. There's a distance between them now and they talk. He wishes he didn't hear those words cos they make him crumble into nothing when she utters them. 'It's over.' She wipes her tears and walks away. She waited for him for an entire year and he couldn't wait a lousy week. He sucks. Finn Hudson sucks. He punches a wall and his hands bleed. He deserves it; he hurt her more, the pain goes.
He's older now, 18, ready for Ohio State and the football scholarship. The typical dumb jock ticket out of Lima, just as he'd initially planned. She made him feel like he could be anything he wanted to be. He wanders into the empty auditorium and he hears her voice again, cutting through the empty audience. She's made for the stage and she knows it. He smiles. Wry and maybe even sad. They don't talk as he places himself on the seat, brown eyes meeting in a gaze. But he doesn't walk away this time, grabbing her arm and pulling her to his laps, ignoring her protests to let go. 'Never', he whispers against her cheek, his arms around her. There's emptiness now, in the air, without her voice and her rambles. He yearns for her music, her words. He hates the silence. She doesn't talk, nor does her. He cups her face and kisses her, hard, until her lips are bruised and she falls against the seats, her skirt riding up. He hovers over her and her hands unbuckle his belt, opening his button as his own roam her creamy skin. He's imagined her like this, under him as he takes her.
That night, her nails dig into his shoulders, steadying them as he fucks her hard, over and over again, stifling her moans with his mouth. His large hands cup her round breasts, exposed second after sliding her shoulder straps of her little blue dress. He takes his shirt off. The sounds she makes are that of a hummingbird, a symphony he could listen to forever. She moans against his mouth while her thumb brushes his tip, erect and ready to fit into her. She arches back, topless and the thin lining of her panties under his fingertips.
'Fuck me.' She demands and he obliges, slipping inside her as she holds onto him, scratching his back against and again as he thrusts into her. He kisses her breasts, sucking her nipples hungrily as she moans, setting him off. They've roamed every inch of her tiny frame and she's kissed himself tenderly on every muscle in his large body, one last strike and she comes. 'Finn!' He kisses her hair, matted from the intense sex they just had. He tells her, as if time's running out. 'I love you; I'm so sorry, baby.' Her head drop to his shoulders, her heavy lids shut close as she falls asleep. He carries her home that night.
The birds chirp and he awake to find her petite body flush against his giant frame, her arms rounding his chest, her head below his chin. She seems content, breathing against him. She's completely naked, her nipples raw from him sucking them all night along and her hips sore from his thrusts, he feels her stir a little. He smiles, holding her against him. He's about to doze off when he hears it. 'I love you, Finn Hudson'. It's barely a whisper but it's just them in the break of dawn, he chuckles as she huddles closer to him.
He doesn't know when she woke up but she's all dressed up now, her hair in a bun and her little blue dress accenting her delicate curves, she turns to see him as he stirs on the bed. She swallows. This is going to be tough. 'Finn?' He grunts, his morning eyes locking against her very alert chocolate brown ones. 'Yeah?'
'I slept with Jesse. He was my first.' She says it quickly and abruptly, as if repeating it would make it worse. He doesn't understand. When? How? Where? He must have been staring at her too long cos she comes over to him, sitting on the edge of the bed, a good distance between, as if wary of his reaction. She sighs, her shoulders rising, waiting for him to speak.
'When we were broken up. You were with Quinn. In the hotel room of the NY theatre where we held nationals. All night long. He made me feel good'. She answers all his questions before he can ask them. That concludes their chapters, if there was ever a story to them that was written right.' He doesn't care; he wrestles her onto the bed as he towers over her again. She's alarmed but relieved. He fingers her clit roughly as she moans softly, a steady pace like a drum beat to a singer. He gets it now. They fit.
She heads to NYU, majoring in theatre, she makes the summer theatre program but doesn't mention Jesse's a part of it and they part ways as she shines like a star in the sky. He beats his drum, playing along to the march of his own rhythm.
He sees it on the news, Mr and Mrs St James, the newest Broadway power couple. She's not his anymore. He let go a while ago; he smiles for her. Her smile is sickenly bright, her teeth a blinding white and her face as he remembered, and her lips still rosy red as he recalls caressing them with his. Her silk gown sticks in all the right places and her breasts perky as he remembers them against his tongue. Her moans, her giggles, her kisses and smiles are his now. Maybe she was never really his to have.
He's older now and he doesn't regret a thing. Sometimes he wishes things were untouched, left unchanged and he followed a straight line. But most days he's glad he had to tiptoe on zigzags because it led him to her.