He slowly chewed his food, sitting at the breakfast table. She'd decorated it for…well, Tuesday, apparently. It had dainty little flowers all over it. She was quite proud of the design, though his focus was elsewhere.

He watched her as she had her back turned to him, still in her nightclothes. She would choose a pair of short-shorts and tank-top after his insanely hot wet dream. (No pun intended.) He couldn't stop staring; even if he tried, the image of her in that shower would still be etched in his mind. Even if it was only a dream, it was definitely the hottest thing he'd seen in a while.

He sat with his hips squarely under the table. Even the cold shower didn't quite do the trick. It just kept coming back.

"I'm going to do our laundry," she announced.

His eyes widened. "You can't do that!" He hadn't meant to yell, of course, and it caught even her off guard.

She frowned. "Why not?" She turned to him, her hair framing her face perfectly. "I'm your guest here, and I think I caused enough trouble last night." She poured her milk, having no idea how true those words were.

But he couldn't let her see those sheets. He was, after all, a teenage boy, but it was still embarrassing. "B-because." He paused. "I burned them."

She stood, a bit stunned. "Why in the world would you do that?" She sat near him, their legs touching.

He jumped back, her face falling even more. "Because my mom wouldn't buy me new ones. So I guess she'll have to now, won't she?" He stormed up, keeping his back slightly turned from her. She picked at her cereal, too naïve to really understand what was happening.

She sighed a little as he stayed hovered over near the fridge, making sure she couldn't see his front lower-half. "Is this about last night?" she asked, eyes focused on her cereal. "Because I realize that was a bit insensitive of me."

He turned only his head, as if allowing her to finish. "I-I do this thing where I talk before I speak," she went on to explain. "And, I was a little inebriated…" She trailed off for a moment. "The point is, that's not really what I think of you."

He turned his head back, his jaw clenched gently. "Yeah?"

She quietly cleared her throat and slid out of her seat, walking up behind him. Slowly, she slid her hands along the muscles of his back, making an attempt at being sexy. "Y-yeah," she tried to imitate, though she was obviously nervous. "I think you're handsome. And kind." She continued the gesture, a bit too short for direct eye contact at the angle she was standing.

"Handsome?" he pondered aloud. He'd never been called that before. Especially not sober. "You think I'm handsome?" He smiled, his dimples making their presence known again.

Instead of answering, she began placing intimate little kisses on his back. By this time, he'd put on a white t-shirt, though he couldn't tell at this point. Each kiss was like fire on his skin.

"What're you doing?" he asked, his voice hinting of cracking.

She continued her journey up his back, landing right between his shoulders. "I remember last night perfectly," she finally answered. "And I want to thank you…" She hesitated. "For helping me not do something I might have regretted later."

He felt his face wrinkle in thought, not really having any sort of idea as to what this could be. She turned him around, as if knowing what he was going to ask.

"You wouldn't sleep with me when I was drunk," she explained. "And I no that not many other guys would do that." She gently patted his chest, not even noticing his problem down south.

"It's really no big deal," he began, right before she kissed him. He felt his brows raise again, his hands hovering near her, though not on her.

She stood up on her tiptoes, giving it a bit more definition, but not ferocity, as she had approached the first time. (Thank god.) If she was anything like his dream, she was probably a really good kisser. And she was proving him right so far.

After a moment, his primal side took over. He was a boy, and she was kissing him, so he figured it would be stupid not to take advantage of the situation. He rested his shaking hands right on her butt, giving it a soft squeeze.

She jumped a bit. He had really nice hands - and much like his own dream - he was very gentle. Granted, she would have maced anyone else who tried it, but it worked for him. She moved forward into him more, his problem now more obvious to her. But she didn't care. In fact, she sort of looked forward to it.

Sliding her hands down his stomach, she found the hem of his shirt and quickly removed it. His eyes widened a little at the sudden coolness that found his skin.

She carefully ran her hand down his stomach, leaning up and biting his lip, pulling him back until her butt hit the wall. He followed her, stumbling a bit behind her. The last thing he wanted to do was crush her to death.

As she made contact with the wall, he pulled her shirt off, leaving her in just her bra. They swung around, knocking magnets off the refrigerator, the cat meowing distressfully. She paused for a moment, pulling away and latching her legs around his hips. She could feel his excitement through her shorts.

He swung her back around into the other wall, knocking some more pictures over. His mom was probably going to be pretty angry, but he didn't really stop to think about it. (He did, however, stop to pick up her vase they'd knocked over.)

"The couch," she mumbled against his lips as they met hers again. He shook his head, his strong arms cradling over to the counter. Her eyes widened a little. People had to eat off that, right? Or at least make their food on it. At this point, he didn't care if it was on the moon, in the shower, or on the golf course.

He reached around her back, unhitching her bra for her. He seemed to be an expert at it, having it off in only a few seconds time. She carefully ran her hands along his muscles, her heels pushing off his shorts.

He sprung to life, a nervous laugh blowing past her lips. "Oh, wow, that's…" She blushed hotly, his lips already on her neck. She couldn't concentrate; no one had ever really had this effect on her before.

She wasn't as confident in her movements, though it wasn't obvious. He was hovering near her ear now, and she was finding it to be one of her sweet spots. She'd have to keep that in mind.

She reached down, slowly beginning to stroke him. A loud moan erupted from him, causing her to stop.

"A-am I hurting you?" His brows furrowed. "N-no, keep going," he mumbled, guiding her hand back down south. He moaned again, though a bit quieter, seeing it scared her the first time.

Slowly, his hands traveled to her breasts again, giving them a gentle squeeze. They were as nice as he dreamed about.

She squeaked a little, her free hand lightly digging into his back, leaving a small trail behind it. He was at full mass now, her hand and their other activities being a bit too much for him to handle.

He carefully pushed down her shorts, revealing her lack of underwear. His eyes widened at the sight of this. She seemed so proper.

Within a matter of seconds, he'd worked himself between her thighs, teasing her with his excitement. Her eyes brimmed with tears at the initial pain; it made him feel bad enough to pull her off the counter and hold her in his arms.

He stopped, walking her up to his bed and laying her down on top of it. Her eyes followed him, curious and a bit watery.

"What are you doing?" she asked with a sniffle, too far in the process to stop at this point.

He laid down beside her, tenting them with his blanket. "Making it a little better for you." His brows pulled down in confusion. "That's okay, right?"

She looked back up at him, her thumb softly stroking his cheek before she kissed him again.

He reciprocated, moving back into position, her legs wrapping around his waist. The mood softened, but the passion was still there. He deepened the kiss, deciding to keep it intimate as he went for it again.

She inhaled a sharp breath, her heels digging into the sheets. He went as slow as he could for a few seconds, her breath shaky, but slowly returning to a more stable state. He looked down at her, their noses brushing the whole time.

She finally nodded, giving him the permission he needed to continue. He began to drive his hips slowly, venturing a bit deeper each time. The bed softly creaked beneath them, their eyes exploring each other, even under the darkness of the covers.

Her hands slowly slid down his chest, thumbs brushing over each freckle, as if counting it and saving it for a later time. If he had the capacity to smile, he would have.

He leaned down and began places intimate kisses along her skin, wherever his lips landed. She ran her hand through his hair, causing it to stand straight up. His hips continued to drive farther and farther inward, the sensation becoming too much for both of them minutes later.

She felt her body start to shake a little, his arm winding around her to hold her closer to him; his body was doing the same. It only took a few seconds for both of them to succumb to each other.

He stayed where he was for a minute, a thin layer of sweat coating him. "A-are you…"

She stayed silent beneath him, her breathing still a little uneven.

"Rach?" he asked, backing away.

She frowned up at him, the gravity of the situation slowly settling in.

—

It never took long for her to realize when she regretted something. (Except the trap door thing. She still stood by that.) He lay beside her, comfortingly running his hand through her hair.

"You were amazing, if it helps," he said, letting his guard down.

"Of course it doesn't help. Don't be foolish." By this point, she was well-covered, most of the blanket on her. Not that she minded the view.

He frowned in return. "Well why not?"

She looked up at him, her eyes pleading with him not to have to answer that.

"Please just tell me."

"Because it was heat-of-the-moment, Finn," she said, looking away.

He frowned a little. "So…it didn't…" He hesitated. "It didn't mean anything?"

She sighed dramatically. "Of course it meant something. It's something I can never give to anyone else," she spat, her eyes darkening with regret. "But I'm sure you have plenty of those cases. Taking girls' hearts with you, collecting your stories for your little friends." She spun around in bed, sitting up.

He stared in disbelief, his eyes locked on her back. "Well you didn't mind when we were going at it," he mumbled.

She turned to glare at him, still covered by the blanket. "Going at it?"

He returned the glare, sitting up on his elbow. "Yeah. If I seem to recall, you're the one who kissed me."

"You could have stopped me!"

"Well maybe I didn't want to!" he barked, hushing immediately after. She stared in shock. He cowered a little. "Maybe I…maybe I was kind of hoping that you were starting to think differently of me." He swallowed nervously.

Oh, god. This conversation again. "I already explained it to you," she said, choosing one of his shirts to wear. She slid it over her head before turning around, covering him. "We're from different worlds."

All he could look at was her shirt…well, his shirt. "That looks good on you."

"Don't," she said, hand on his arm. "This is hard enough."

He sighed. "It doesn't have to be, you know. It's not rocket science."

"I came here to serve time, not sleep with the town badboy."

"You don't even know me."

His words rang in her ears for a moment. That much was true; she'd gone as far as sleeping with him, but they hadn't really talked much about him. After her first night, she'd never made another effort. "Fine," she said, sitting Indian-style. She'd still neglected underwear, giving him quite a generous view.

Of course, his gaze was there. She brought his head up to look at her. "What did you really do to get stuck with me?"

He shifted a little. "I don't know if we should talk about this," he finally said.

"You just slept with me. I think you owe it to me." Her brow raised.

"OK. Fine." He sat up, his muscular frame being covered by the sheets. She was a tad disappointed in that decision. "But…you have to promise not to judge me, or whatever."

She nodded a little. Maybe she didn't want to know.

He opened his mouth to talk, playing with the ends of the blankets; the little string coming loose and his mom walking through the front door were his only saving grace.