A/N: I tried to write a story in which Finn and Rae finally do the dirty, but Rae was being stubborn and refusing to take her clothes off, so...this happened. I left it kind of open ended; you can, like me, choose to imagine that they finally get their freak on. Or not.

Thanks to Joanna for publishing on my behalf!

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He says - are you listening? He says, Finn says, "You're beautiful."

Did you hear that? He's looking at you, the cocooned, fearful mess of you, the bulging stomach and thick thighs and fucking hazardous breasts and he says, "Beautiful."

"Stop." You're pushing him away again, pushing his hands from your sides and when he looks at you like that - oh, god, he'll never understand, will he? "Finn, I can't - "

"Rae," he mumbles, pulling you closer again, even though you don't wind yourself around him, don't fall back into him, "you know we don't have to have sex if you don't want to?"

"I do," you blurt quickly, "I do want to have sex with you. A lot. Loads of sex."

He's huffing out a laugh, his stupid, beautiful smile just centimetres from yours. "You're gorgeous, Rae," he whispers, and then he is capturing your lips again. He kisses you, softly, with all the tenderness, all the awe that he shouldn't feel for someone like you - no. Stop. Stop.

"Stop."

He lets his head fall forward into the crook of your neck, sighs against your skin. "You're beautiful," he says quietly. "When will you believe me?"

"I'm sorry." You are sick of apologising, but it is all you have left: "I'm sorry, Finn."

"Rae - "

"Why are we even doing this - "

Rage thunders across his face. "Because I care about you!" he grinds out, his face still very close to yours. You should feel - what? Pain? Fear? Guilt? But you just feel worthless. "I fucking love you, Rae!" His shoulders slump in defeat and then he is shaking his head slowly, disbelievingly. "I fucking love you."

You want to say it back, you want to say it again and again, louder and louder and louder but - but you just can't. Saying it will make it real. If you say it - if you say it he can hurt you. If he leaves - oh, god.

(But he loves you. Aren't you listening?)

"I'm sorry."

He exhales sharply through his nose. "Don't be sorry," he says tersely. "Stop being fucking sorry, and be honest with me. Talk to me, Rae, for fuck's sake."

"I - Finn, you're - " you stammer, and then stop. Close your eyes. Breathe. You can do this. Talk to him. "You're perfect. You're bloody perfect. And I'm me, Finn, I'm this - this big, fat, ugly - "

"No," he snaps. His hand snatches your wrist, pulls you close once more. "Don't do that. You're perfect to me. You're beautiful, and I fancy the pants off you."

You blink, watching his mouth form words you cannot comprehend. "Do you care about me, Rae?" he asks, his lovely, light eyes waiting expectantly.

You nod. Furiously. "I love you," you mumble, though your chest constricts and your stomach thunks pathetically at your feet.

"Then stop worrying." He kisses the corner of your mouth. "Let me love you."

You nod, but your heart is pounding erratically. And then his hands are there again, at your sides, rubbing along your back and your arms and your chest and caressing your face and you are melting into him, trying to forget forget forget -

But then you're whispering, "I'm sorry," over and over and over, your fingers digging into his wrists, and you are.

You really are.

"Sorry."