When they got together (And he means finally, finally together. Not that brief period when he was too fucked up to know what he wanted and she was too eager to care), Finn could spend hours at a time just thinking about her hands. And his. Their hands together. He didn't know if he was being weird or creepy. He guessed if he ever told Puck about it, the guy would probably call him a pansy-ass chick or some other thing along that line. But for the longest time, he was obsessed with her hands. They were small and dainty (She called herself that once. He looked it up and thought it was fitting). And ridiculously soft. When he held them, sometimes it felt like holding the hands of a child. It sounds wrong but he doesn't mean them the way it sounds. He just means that her hands are small, like a little kid's (He wonders if it's a sign that you're losing it when you start having to explain yourself to your subconscious).
He knew the chances are they really weren't all that small. And his weren't exactly ginormous. But the fact was, hers were just smaller than most and his were larger. And it was odd because you would think they wouldn't be such a perfect fit because of that, but when he held her hand it just felt like it was exactly how it's supposed to be. His fingers could cover her whole palm. He liked the feeling of that. Like he was able to hold all of her completely, safely. He thinks it's because he's clumsy. He doesn't like to hold things made out of glass because nine times out of ten he's going to drop them. So when his palm can cover hers whole, he figured there was no space for him to screw that up. For once, there was something that would be safe in his hands, something he wouldn't drop because hers were so small and his were so big. It was the perfect combination.
She likes to twine their fingers together. After a while it just becomes automatic. Their fingers just know where to go, never overlapping with one another, always side by side. She would squeeze their interlaced hands tightly whenever she gets excited about something. She squeezes them whenever she gets sad too. Like when they were watching this documentary on television about teenage pregnancy and this woman came on and talked about how much she regretted giving her daughter away. Her face was straight but he could tell she was upset by the death grip she had on his hand. He changed the channel and they spent the rest of the day watching the Spongebob marathon. On his father's birthday, he always gets a little depressed. He doesn't even know why, really. But the day always reminded him of his mother and the day that telegram came to their house and told them his father was never, ever coming back. When he told her this, she cried and kissed him. But the one thing that actually made him feel better about it was the feel of her hand squeezing the life out of his. He thinks that the hand squeezing is like their private version of the morse code. Like it was their private distress signal or something.
He likes to graze his thumb along the knuckle of hers when they hold hands. It has a calming effect on him. He likes to think it does the same for her too because he notices that when he does this when she's in one of her moods, her temper deflates a little. It was minuscule really. She would still be completely worked up. But he would see the tension lines along her eyes fade and the line of her lips would soften whenever he does it. So he does it a lot. Especially during glee.
Once when they were in his room, he had played with her right hand idly as she talked about her plans to get them to Nationals the next year. He likes to trace the patterns of her palm line, even though she always complains that it tickles. She never pulls away though, so he know she doesn't really mind. He was tracing one that goes all the way from the space between her thumb and forefinger to the bottom of her palm, near her wrist. "Your hands are cute" he had told her nonchalantly. She had stopped talking then and he looked up to see her smiling at him in amusement. "Cute?" She had asked. "Yeah. They're really small and pretty and mine can practically swallow them whole. It's perfect." Her smile was shy and he could see a reddish tinge coloring her face and making its way to the collar of her shirt. He wondered where it would stop, if maybe it would go on and on until her whole body was blushing. When he thinks about it now, he thinks that was the moment his obsession with her hands stopped, and his obsession with pretty much the rest of her body began.
Her lips are unreal. Her bottom lip is full and plump and her upper one is slightly thinner, but it would still graze against his perfectly and covers his whole. He thinks she would probably call them luscious if he ever asks. He never does because he's afraid he might sound just a little bit too obsessed. He thought a lot about her lips after he kissed her the first time. They covered his fully unlike Quinn's which were smaller and thinner and never seemed to feel as right against his as hers do. He thinks her lips are kind of like pillows. They're soft and comfortable and just warm enough to make him always, always want to come back. He wishes he's better at words and at sounding poetic, because he doesn't think she would appreciate it if she knew he compares her lips to pillows.
They're soft and pink and sometimes he can feel his whole body tingling when he stares at them for too long. She bites them when she's nervous and the sight of her slightly wet lips always remind him of their kisses and the way her lips would would part open a little before it meets his. He loves to touch them when they're alone in his room (or hers) and they're both lying on the bed. He likes to brush his fingers slowly against them, his digits barely making contact with her lips. Her lips would always part slightly against his hand and he would be able to feel her hot breath against them. He thinks maybe the reason why he loves it so much is because she always seem to be holding her breath when he does this, her entire body taut and frozen and her exhales coming in short and stunted pants.
Also maybe because it always ends with his body pressing into hers, his hands under her shirt and hers fisted desperately in his hair trying to pull him in closer. That's pretty much impossible unless he actually finds a way for his whole body to be completely inside of hers. Sometimes he thinks it would be kind of awesome if that was possible. He doesn't tell her this because it sounds like something that might freak her out. Occasionally, it freaks him out too.
His heart always hammers against his chest by the time his hands find their way onto her skin. There were times when he needed to stop and take a breath because he really thought he might pass out. When things reach this stage, it was usually time for him to summon the mailman. But she doesn't care about that so that takes at least a little bit of the pressure off him. He thinks she actually likes it, the fact that he would fall apart so completely because of her. Things get a little bit easier after a while. The mailman's appearances starts to dwindle down.
Her waist is tiny, just like the rest of her and when he splays his hand over her stomach, the tips of his fingers will skim the underside of her bra. He could feel her stomach falling in when this happens and the blush he used to wonder about will make their way all over her waist, her body becoming hot against his touch. He used to position his body carefully over hers. He didn't allow himself to put his whole weight on her because she was a midget and he was a giant, and he was afraid of suffocating her with his huge frame. One day, she had pulled him abruptly down by his arms and taken off-guard, he fell on top of her hard. She had grunted at the weight but it didn't seem to phase her at all. Her arms had snaked their away around his body and she had pulled him against her tighter, more of his body bearing down on hers, as her lips crashed almost violently against his. He stopped being so careful after that.
Her neck is another obsession. He never used to think necks were something anyone would marvel over. He thought its only purpose was to hold up your head, to help with the movement of your skull. It didn't take him long to figure out she didn't share his opinion. It didn't take long for her to change his mind either. The first time they ever made out was three weeks after Regionals. He had went over to her house to watch a movie and her fathers were out of town. The truth was that he had been feeling antsy for the past two weeks, trying to take it as slow as she wanted it to be. She never said anything, but he figured since all they do is kiss and hug and hold hands that maybe that was all she wanted. Thirty minutes into whatever movie they were watching (he honestly could not remember a thing prior to them being all over each other), he found himself being straddled on the couch, her hands roughly fisting against his pullover.
The first time she kissed his neck, his whole body had shivered and the mailman came screaming into his brain. She had pulled back when he pretty much froze, a questioning look on her face. "Did I do something wrong?" she had asked softly and he had a hard time trying to tell her that the problem was she did something right. He encountered a newfound love and appreciation for necks that night. She has a small mole on the base of her neck that he likes to kiss. He finds the sound she makes when he breathes over her pulse point to be the most fascinating melody he has ever heard.
There is a word she taught him once, when she was trying to choreograph a routine for their duet. Sensual. She said their moves and the way they looked at each other should be sensual. He had looked blankly at her, unable to comprehend. He knew sense. He knew sexual. But what the heck was sensual? She looked momentarily taken aback when he tells her this, before her expression gave way to a slightly amused smile. "It's like something that heightens your senses," she explained, her hand absentmindedly waving at the air around her as she tried to find the words that would perfectly describe what she meant. "Something that will lure the audience in, give them some sort gratification so they would be interested to see more".
It had taken him about a minute to realize she wanted them to get the audience turned on. He felt himself turning red then, uncomfortable at the thought of anybody watching the both of them getting it on on stage. When he tells her this, she had rolled her eyes and giggled. "We won't be 'getting it on' on stage. That's not what I meant. We would just be... teasing them, for a lack of a better word. We want them to be interested Finn. Get them maybe a little hot and bothered". It's a good thing, she had assured him. "It'll show them we've got chemistry". He wasn't sure he wanted the audience to know they've got chemistry. He knew it, she knew it and he thought that should really be enough.
When he came home that night, he had looked up the word sensual in the dictionary, just in case he had misunderstood what she meant to say. Merriam-webster told him that it meant 'relating to or consisting in the gratification of the senses or the indulgence of appetite', so he looked up gratification. His first thougt was that there was no way they were going to be sensualising anything in front of a bunch of people. His second thought was that sensual was another word he is learning to describe Rachel Berry.