A/N: sort of a blink-and-you'll-miss-it smut lol. Set during 4x04
They're lying on her bed in her makeshift bedroom in New York, and she has her back to him, the side of her face pressed into the pillow. He watches the steady rise and fall of her body, gently pulling the sheets down from the top of her shoulder to the small curve of her back. Rachel has a small cluster of freckles just under her right shoulder blade. He doesn't think anyone knows this, except maybe her dads or something. They're miniscule, and barely noticeable, and the first time he saw it was just a few weeks after New York weekend, back when they were still living in some vacuumed state of bliss, sneaking around behind their parents' backs to make out any chance they got.
He remembers her dress, the way it fell to the tops of her knees, and how the red and blue stripes contrasted with the smooth beige of her skin. She had a white headband on her head because it was the 4th of July and she color coordinates with everything. He remembers them in his room, their hormones running high with their hesitant touches and all those feelings they can't seem to put into words. He remembers daring himself to creep his hand up to her boobs, and the moment she pulled away to sit up, and how his heart had raced when he thought he'd gone too far. She'd stared at him, her wide brown eyes unreadable in his darkened room with the shades drawn, and when she quietly requested for him to help her with the zipper at her back, he thought he was dreaming. It was the first time he ever saw her naked, and they didn't do much of anything really, but he can still remember the furious beating of his heart and the way she trembled against his awestruck fingers. And he remembers the small cluster of freckles on her back and the sound of her giggle when he put his lips there.
She hates them, those freckles, even though she can't see them. She thinks it's a blemish, an imperfection on her smooth skin that some hypothetical dickhead director is going to use against her some day in some hypothetical topless/ nude scene (he never tells her that just the idea of her doing those kind of scenes in front of people bursts his blood vessel. He's smarter than that you know). But he doesn't. He loves them, just like he loves every other part of her. He loves how unnoticeable they are, loves that he's the only one who knows they're there. She's a star, and one day everyone will love her, but he loves that there'll be one of those few things about her that only he will know, and only he will love.
Of course, back then thoughts like these comes easy to him, back when being together forever seemed like an inevitable fact instead of his highest form of wishful thinking.
For a moment, he's propelled back to his happiest Summer, as he runs his fingers softly over those freckles he loves, his hard and calloused hand grazing against her impossibly smooth skin. She stirs at his touch, but she doesn't wake up and he inches closer, shifts his body closer on the bed until it's touching hers when he scoots down, replacing his hand with his lips, softly kissing the space below her shoulder blade.
He feels kind of like a kid again, like they're still two teenagers sneaking around behind their parents' backs to make out (only it's Kurt instead, and this swanky New York apartment feels nothing like home). God, he hasn't felt like a kid in such a long time. In this moment, he is happy. And he can't seem to remember the last time he felt happy. He was sure that the feeling kind of went away with her back when he was running after that train, his body frozen as it rounded a corner and disappeared. For now, he's slipped into that vacuumed state of bliss, and he's determined to stay there, at least for this moment. Rachel is still asleep, and he winds his hand around her to rest it against her stomach, his large palm covering her waist. He feels her stomach caving in, and he grins against her skin, trailing his hand up to the curve of her breast. He leans up, pressing his lips against the shell of her ear before he whispers.
"I know you're not sleeping."
She doesn't say anything, but her shoulder shakes imperceptibly before it gives way to a small giggle as she rests her small hands on top of his, gripping his wrist before she turns in his arms. Her eyes are wide open when she looks at him, shining with the same love and affection he has become accustomed to in the last four years (he doesn't deserve it. Never has). The make-up around her eyes is smudged, and she looks like a raccoon, but she's still the most beautiful girl he knows.
"Hi," she whispers, leaning up to kiss him. He chuckles against her lips, and his hold around her tightens.
"Hi baby. Did you have a good nap?"
"Hmm," she nods, her lips moving up to his cheek. He grins, and she presses her lips into his dimple. "Did you?"
"I wasn't sleeping."
Rachel pulls back, looks at him incredulously.
"Finn Hudson? Not taking a nap? What has the world come to?"
He rolls her eyes at her teasing words, and tickles her ribcage to punish her. She squeals, trying to pull away, but he only pulls her closer (he never wants to pull away).
"I was looking at you," he tells her honestly. She smiles at that, and it's almost shy as she buries her face in his neck.
"I missed this," she tells him, and he feels the vacuum crack, but he smiles and flips them over, caging her beneath him. She looks up at him, waggling her eyebrows suggestively in a joking manner, and he laughs, leaning forward for a kiss.
"Kurt's going to be home soon," she tells him, her breathing hitch as his fingers move lower.
"I don't care," he mutters, and she snorts, shaking her head.
"Of course you don't."
"You'll just have to be really quiet," he murmurs against her ear. She sighs as she buries her fingers in his hair and curls her leg around his.
"Okay." He smiles, and she smiles, before her hands start to roam and when the room is silent, safe for the muffled sounds of their moans, he pulls back to her surprise, making sure that he looks her in the eye.
"I love you," he whispers. Her questioning expression melts into a giant beam, and it's like blinding light, brightening his world.
"I love you too."
(There are a million and one things nagging in the back of his brain. All his failures and shortcomings and fear, but he pushes them away, and buries his face against her neck instead, buries himself into her.)