Author's Note: This was written speculatively pre-The First Time, so it strays a bit from canon!
Finn's helping her memorize lines for West Side Story when he makes the announcement.
"So…," he blurts out suddenly (and miraculously) in a single breath.
"I'm sorry?" Rachel says, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her hair.
Finn clears his throat. "Um, I said, that Burt and my mom are going away next weekend. For their one-year anniversary. Camping."
"Oh, that's nice! I can't believe it's been a whole year already," she says with a smile. "Was there anything else?"
He looks panicked.
"Finn? Are you alright?"
"I just, um," he begins, voice tremulous, "I thought maybe we could, you know – I mean, since we've been talking about it lately, and stuff –but if you're not ready we totally don't have to, I mean, I'm not going to pressure you or anything, it's, um, up to you. And stuff."
She blushes as the realization hits her. "Oh! Oh. Right, of course that's what you meant, I'm can be so impossibly dim sometimes, I'm sor – "
"Aw, c'mon, Rach. Don't worry about it," Finn tells her, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I know I'm not, like, the best with words, or anything."
Rachel fiddles absentmindedly with the hem of his sweater. "You underestimate yourself," she says.
They sit for a few moments in silence.
"Um, so does this mean you…don't want to, you know…?" Finn asks finally, voice betraying his nervousness.
"No!" she half-shouts and whirls around to face him, eyes blazing. "I mean – I do want to. I'm ready."
She leans in to kiss him, fingers curling gently around his wrist.
Rachel stops at his locker the next day during the five-minute interval between third and fourth period, heart pounding erratically in spite of the casual smile plastered on her face.
"Well, I've worked it all out with my dads!" she tells Finn. "As far as they know, I will be sleeping over at the Cohen-Chang residence on Saturday night."
He stuffs a handful of crumpled loose-leaf paper into his backpack, grinning at her. "Awesome!"
"It's a good thing I'm such a natural actress," Rachel remarks. "It comes in handy from to time."
Finn snorts, slamming his locker closed, but his expression grows suddenly serious. "Look, Rach, I just – I just want you to know that this means, like, a lot to me. And not just because I think you'll be good at sex…I mean, I know you'll be good at sex, 'cause you're good at like, practically everything…but, anyway, I just really love you so much. And I'm so excited to like, share this moment with you, you know?"
"I do know," Rachel sniffs, dimly aware that she can feel her eyes fill with moisture. "And I love you so much."
"I hope you don't mind that I've, um, planned some stuff. For before. I just really want it to be special for you."
"It will be special for me no matter what, because I'll be doing it with you."
He leans over to kiss her nose chastely.
"I just hope my radiance isn't too much for you," Rachel teases, with a brazenness that surprises even her.
Finn picks her up early on Saturday morning, taking care to arrive while Leroy and Hiram are out on their ritual jog to defray suspicion.
"You look so pretty," he tells Rachel as she climbs into his truck, arranging her skirt carefully over crossed legs.
"Thank you, Finn," she says quietly, suddenly so overcome with nerves that the English muffin in her stomach threatens to evacuate via her esophagus. "You look very handsome yourself."
He hands her a single rose with its stem still wrapped in plastic. "This is for you," he says. "I wanted to get you a whole bouquet, but I couldn't afford it."
"One is more than enough," Rachel assures him, and she kisses his stubbly cheek. "So, where are we off to on this grand adventure?"
"I thought we could go to Baldwin Park, for a little picnic. Kurt helped me bake a vegan sweet potato soufflé. It's kind of, um, lumpy, but I think it'll taste alright."
She laughs into her hand. "I think it sounds perfect."
It's only mid-afternoon by the time they make it back to Finn's house, and Rachel feels herself grow suddenly anxious about the bright sunlight streaming in through the windows of the Hummel-Hudson abode. For some reason, she'd always pictured being intimate as something that would happen in the security of darkness - it all seems somehow more intimidating in the light.
"Is everything okay?" Finn asks, the empty picnic basket slung over his shoulder.
She nods too vigorously. "Of course! Everything's okay! Better than okay!"
"You know, it's okay to be nervous," he says, offering her a half-smile. "I mean, I am, so."
Rachel stands up on her tiptoes to grip his face with both hands, kissing him with a desperation that almost embarrasses her.
"What did I ever do to deserve you, Finn Hudson?" she asks.
"You've had me from day one, Rachel Berry," he tells her. "You didn't have to do a thing."
They hold hands as he leads her up the stairs to his bedroom, and Rachel feels his palm grow sweaty in her own.
Finn closes the door gently behind them, afraid to make noise even in an empty house.
"Did you do all this for me?" Rachel asks, awed, as she peers around at the myriad of candles on every available surface of his room.
"I thought it might help, um, set the mood? I made, like, a mix tape too– that might be totally weird and lame. We don't have to play it if you don't want."
"It's not weird or lame, Finn," she assures him, taking a tentative step in his direction. "It's incredibly romantic."
"Really?" he asks, beaming. "'Cause, I mean, that's what I was going for. You deserve romance, Rachel – you're amazing. Like, the most amazing girl I've ever met."
He closes the distance between them, taking her into his arms, and she can hear his heart pounding unevenly through the thin fabric of his button-down.
Rachel pulls away, smiling coyly, and tugs him gently in the direction of his bed. Finn doesn't need to be asked twice.
He handles her delicately, though, as if he's afraid she might break – lowers her onto the mattress as gently as a doll, takes care that the buttons of her dress don't tangle in her hair when he pulls it over her head.
"Are those new?" Finn splutters breathlessly when he's got her undressed, suddenly distracted by a sheer layer of white lace.
Rachel blushes, nodding. "I bought them special," she tells him. "Now, in the interest in fairness – it seems as though I am rather more in a state of undress then yourself. We ought to rectify that."
He nods his assent, shucking his shirt and belt clumsily, but his hands shake so badly that he struggles with the button on his jeans.
"Here, let me help you," Rachel offers, taking over, and pulls his jeans slowly down to the floor. He kicks them into a ball before climbing onto the bed and pinning her with a kiss.
She groans softly into his mouth, hands curling automatically around his bedspread, when she suddenly freezes.
"Stop," Rachel orders, and he flinches away from her so quickly it's as if she's scalded him.
"What? What is it? Did I do something wrong? Are you alright? We don't have to do this, you know, if you've changed your mind! I won't be mad, I promise."
"Oh! No, no, no, it isn't that," she amends, "it's just – the cowboys are sort of creeping me out."
"The cowboys?"
"On your sheets," Rachel explains. "I don't know, it's like they're watching me or something! That's probably stupid. I'm being so stupid, aren't I?"
"You're never stupid, Rachel," he tells her, tossing the pillows from his bed onto the floor. "Is that better?"
"Much," she assures him, and pulls him down to the rug with her.
"Do you think you're, you know, ready…down there?" Finn asks between kisses, and she shakes her head softly.
"Not quite yet."
He responds immediately, snaking a hand under the waistband of her panties and pushing a finger inside of her.
Her breath hitches and she moves against him almost unconsciously.
Finn uses his other hand to slide the strap of her bra down her shoulder, kissing her neck, her collarbone, her breasts.
She arches her back when his teeth graze her nipple, heat rising to her cheeks.
"Okay," Rachel whispers, stilling his hand. "I think – I'm ready now."
Finn reaches under the bed in tacit agreement, retrieving an unopened box of condoms, and Rachel finds herself struggling to suppress a giggle.
She sits up, drawing her knees against her chest as he fiddles with the packaging. She curls a lock of hair around her finger – her idle, nervous hands in need of occupation.
"Can you help me with this?" he asks, blushing. "I was, um, sick that day that we put them on the bananas in health class."
"Of course," Rachel says as he wriggles out of his boxers and throws them onto the growing heap.
She rolls it on slowly, her eyes never leaving his face, and the latex is slick and unfamiliar beneath her fingers.
Wordlessly, he lowers Rachel's back onto the pillows, and she can't help but be reminded of that day in the auditorium more than two years ago, the stage lights hot against her face.
"I want you to know that I don't like, take this lightly, or anything," Finn says as he maneuvers himself into the correct position. "I love you. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone or anything. Even more than football, and glee, and drums, and all those things combined."
"I love you too," Rachel manages, surprised to find that her throat is tight with unshed tears. "I love you so, so much."
He hooks his index finger around the waistband of her underwear, and she lifts her hips as he tugs them down the smooth expanse of her legs.
"This part might hurt a little, so I'll try and go as fast as possible," he says, reaching down between them to gently part her thighs. "Ready?"
She nods, guiding him into place, and he thrusts into her in one smooth motion.
At first, the pain is so intense she wants to cry out, but the look on Finn's face grounds her, and she only whimpers quietly into his mouth.
"Are you alright?" he pants, "Should I stop?"
"Just give me a minute," Rachel tells him, exhaling slowly, and she rocks slowly, experimentally against his hips.
"Okay. I'm good."
He thrusts carefully against her, and she runs her hands slowly up and down his back, her eyes squeezed shut, riding alternating waves of pain and pleasure. She kisses his chin, his eyes, the fuzz on his earlobe –she wants every inch of it to be hers, to touch every part of him.
Rachel feels the outlines of their bodies overlap, blur, and disappear.
In the end, she doesn't see stars or fireworks or a winged chorus of angels – but what she does see is Finn, his eyes so wide and clear and full.
And Rachel thinks that's even better.