A/N: Thank you so very much for all the favourable reviews! Please feel free to leave more! Anyway, this chapter goes off on a tangent, you might think, but rest assured it's got its rightful place in this fic. It can't all be smutty now, can it? Oh, and btw, the time this story plays in is the summer right after their Senior year at high school.

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"Sso whatcha think ofit?" he slurred, hanging onto the banisters outside the door of her door as if his life depended on it.

"What do I think of what? The inane way you, Sam and Puck behave whenever there's so much as a whiff of alcohol in the air? Or Santana Lopez once again taking pleasure in driving the proverbial stake into some poor girl's heart as she publicly devoured that boy? I wish she'd at least leave the younger ones alone."

Rachel felt moderately annoyed at the way the evening had ended up. The summer was drawing to a close faster than she was comfortable with, and attending the numerous farewell parties thrown in the senior's honour had begun to feel like a chore rather than fun. At least to her – while she wished she could just stay home with Finn and spend time with him rather, it was clear that he seemed to enjoy himself immensely. But she knew him – she knew that this last summer of going to asinine parties and behaving like a drunken buffoon was his way of saying goodbye to his high school self, so she went along. At least, with her there, she knew he wasn't going to get into any trouble.

"Th'movie! 'meant th' movie, Rach-" he said, and stumbled past her into her room where he shuffled over to her bed and slumped more than threw himself backwards onto it, his head landing in between the pink pillows. Shawn the stuffed toy-sheep fell off the headboard and landed on his face. "Geddoff me, you!" she heard him mumble but he made no attempt to move the toy; instead he crossed his arms over his chest and pulled his mouth into a satisfied smirk, his eyes closed.

Movie? Having felt a little peeved for a moment that she'd wasted an excellent jibe at Santana's expense on her too-drunk-to-care boyfriend, Rachel looked down at the spectacle before her and decided Santana wasn't worth her time anymore. She'd already picked the latino's deplorable actions apart with Mercedes and Quinn, and if Finn's grin was anything to go by, he hadn't heard her anyway. So instead she tried to think of whether there had been a movie playing at any time during the party that night. She could recall something in the background on one of the tv screens while he and the other Glee boys had been busy making fools of themselves playing poker with a bunch of college kids someone had invited, but she hadn't paid attention to that at all, spending her entire time with her girls instead.

"I didn't watch it, Finn."

His eyes still closed and the grin still in place, he raised one hand off his stomach and patted the empty space next to him on the bed. "Cmon'ere, babe."

She sighed, and bent down to pull off the shoes from his feet that were dangling off the side of her bed. This was why she didn't like these party nights anymore – they'd been novel and fun in the beginning but she'd rather spend her nights talking, making love to a sober Finn rather than an inebriated Finn. Especially since the nights they could still be together like this were getting lesser and lesser, the moment of their own farewell as they were parting to go to different schools in different states coming uncomfortably closer. She knew that it wasn't leaving him unaffected – but she wished he'd have chosen a different way than by just seeking oblivion in getting drunk every now and then. It wasn't fair on her.

"Don'tellim, bu'I alwaysh 'ink'th'Threepio soundsh 'bit like Kurt…" his voice floated across the bed to her as she busied herself with his second shoe, and she knew he was more talking to himself than to her. Who or what was Three-Pee-Oh? "… wuddn' he look jussht hila-hil- funny wearin'one 'f Kurtsh' knee-long sshweaterssh?"

Rachel looked up and stared at her boyfriend's face. Kurt hadn't worn one of those for a long time – and who was this Threepio and what did he sound like, that Finn thought Kurt had better not know he sounded like him? Something told her Kurt wouldn't feel flattered at all.

"Who is Three-Pee-Oh?" she asked him, curious now, and moved forward to kneel on the bed next to him.

"Hesha'droid," was his prompt reply, and then he chuckled to himself. "Whaddif Kurt wassh all gold like 'im?"

She'd been about to undo his belt and his jeans buttons in order to pull off his pants and had just been about to heave another sigh at his ridiculous drunken mumblings, but the sudden mental picture of Kurt looking like a golden robot with spindly arms and legs while singing Le Jazz Hot popped into her mind. Bursting out with laughter, she collapsed onto the bed alongside him, her arm coming to rest on his chest.

For a good few minutes they were both unable to stop giggling like maniacs, him still with his eyes closed, his arm now slung around her shaking shoulders, her breaking out in new fits of giggles as she told him song after song of 'Golden Robot Kurt's repertoire. But then his chuckling got lesser and quieter and she realised he was about to drop off to sleep, and she suddenly felt close to tears.

Snuggling against him she buried her face into his shirt and fought against the urge to cry. This wasn't the time for it. It was still a couple of weeks until they had to leave Lima, she wasn't going to spend any of it wallowing in misery, especially not if she was with him… she'd promised herself she wouldn't, and that was that.

"Luvvyoshomushhh…." He whispered into the quiet room, and his free hand came away from his chest to slowly brush away a few strands of her hair from her face.

That was all it took to make her resolve disappear into thin air. Clutching at his shirt pocket as if it contained the anchor that would forever tie her to him, hot tears spilled from her eyes and soaked into his shirt. His hand patted the back of her head before he shifted himself sideways, draping his entire arm around her, pulling her closer to himself until her head was nestled in the hollow underneath his chin. That close, smelling the familiar scent of his aftershave still lingering on his skin, it was a thousand times harder to stop the flow of tears, and while she'd held back before, she had not the strength to do so now.

"Sssssssssssssssshhhhhhh- Rach don'crypleashdon'cry," he mumbled into her hair, and moved his head down to touch her forehead with his lips in a hesitant kiss. Rachel turned her face up towards him, touched her forehead to his, her eyes shut tight against all of the misery that she wished she could simply make disappear again. But the tears wouldn't stop rolling down her cheeks, no matter how much his fingers tried to wipe them away. "Ssshhhhh babe, 'sh'okay," she heard him whisper again and again, his voice growing fainter.

Annoyance stirred in her once again at that - how could he fall asleep in the middle of comforting her? She opened her eyes, tried to see past a curtain of tear-soaked eye-lashes, blinked away the blurredness in order to check on him. She expected to see eyes drowsy with the onset of sleep, set in a face at peace with the world as he slipped into some dream; she didn't expect to see his eyes tightly shut, his face a mask of despair, his lips trembling as he had them pressed tightly against one another. And as she watched, a tear escaped from the corner of his right eye.

And just like that, her own mood shifted, her misery being swept away by the sheer force of the love she felt inside her own heart for this boy. Her arms snaked around his neck; she needed to hold him close, feel him fully against her, feel his heart beat against hers; hungrily she pressed her lips to his, her tongue seeking entrance to him, seeking to console, to comfort, to steal away his despair.

With a low moan, he let her. As she dipped her tongue into his mouth to meet his own, his hands reached up to the back of her neck, stroking her there, running his fingers through her hair in that way that he knew would turn her on almost instantly. He was rewarded by her body shivering against his, a breathy sigh escaping from her lips as she pulled away from his mouth and started lavishing his chin and neck with kisses. His leg slipped over hers, and with one quick move he'd turned around onto his back again, pulling her along so her body was right on top of his.

She immediately made herself more comfortable, sliding backwards until she felt the familiar presence of his hardening erection between her legs. Letting go of his neck, she quickly pulled her shirt off, staring down at him as he looked up at her out of hooded eyes. Shifting her body just a tad bit forward and into him, she reached back with both hands and slowly undid the clasp of her bra. She heard him draw a sharp breath as she pulled the offensive item off, and then his hands were on her breasts, cupping them, stroking them, playing with each nipple as he liked to do.

But his arms felt heavy, and after a few moments his fingers went back to that spot on the back of her neck and pulled her head down to him. Another shiver ran down her spine, the vibration setting her core on fire, and she pressed herself down hard against his straining cock.

Pulling his shirt out of his pants she pushed it up towards his neck, and attacked his stomach and ribs with her tongue, leaving a trail of wet skin all the way down to his beltline where her shaky hands were once again busy opening his pants, pulling them and his boxers down and pushing aside her own panties.

But she failed to get a moan out of him when she rubbed her wet pussy along the length of his hard cock.

Looking up at his face, she realised why. He was blissfully asleep, that trademark half-grin etched on his face. Groaning to herself, she slumped forward and let her head rest on his heart, knowing from experience that it would be pointless to try and wake him now.

. . . . . . . . .

Lying there still in the same position half an hour later, feeling irritatingly unfulfilled, she'd decided she might as well use this opportunity to go ahead with the crazy plan she'd come up with a few weeks ago. Her first attempt had been pointless, born out of a spur-of-the-moment idea with no information to back her up.

She knew anything she'd do to him while he was in this state of drunken oblivion would likely go completely unnoticed, so why shouldn't she do it? And it was only fair – in a way – for leaving her so unsatisfied. Actually, in more ways than that one; for at least she would have a piece of him always with her. Even if it wasn't going to be as good as having him there with her, she would have this one memento of him, and perhaps that would make it a tiny bit less difficult to be apart? She hoped so. She really did.

Careful not to disturb him too much, Rachel slowly lifted herself up and off her boyfriend's body, to go look for the box of utensils she'd prepared and hidden from plain eyesight and read the instructions very carefully one more time.