FEEL LIKE MAKIN' LOVE
He never has sex with her. He makes love to her… every single time, always. Each time they are intimate, just like the first time, he is sure to remind her they are making love and not just having sex. 'I love you Rach' has become like the secret passcode to Finn's personal Eden, a perfect sanctuary where absolutely no one but him will ever be permitted entrance. It's a giving of a part of himself to her and her reciprocating… It's an emotional, spiritual, sacred bond that he'll only ever share with her and no other.
He sometimes reflects on his life with her and tries to guesstimate the number of times he's been buried deep inside her, fruitlessly trying to count the number of hours spent enrapt in that eternally blissful union with her - the percentage of his life has been swept away inside everything that is Rachel Berry. He decides it's a pretty big number but he always wishes it was higher, because as far as he's concerned, it's about the only thing worth living for most of the time. Making that connection with her, fusing together and becoming as one being with two shared hearts and minds; it's everything that means anything to him. SHE is everything that means anything.. And she always has been.
As he relaxes in the sanctity of their bed, one arm propped behind his head pushed deep into the pillow, he loses himself in their memories. Maybe it's not normal, the amount of passion and desire he has for this one human being. Maybe some would call it co-dependent - but it simply isn't. They lead fully functional day to day 'normal' lives separately, independent of one another and have individual experiences to come home and share with each other, but their time alone together, here in this room, that's the best time.
All of this is not to say they have some plain vanilla, generic love life together. No, their love making has many flavors. The romantic kind - mostly for celebrations, special occasions and following sappy chick flick date nights. The good morning wake up variety (one of Finn's personal favorites) which often turns into the in-the-shower variety. The fuck me up against a wall version (another of Finn's favorites) that frequently includes alcohol and various stages of undress - typically with her shoes still on, because yeah, it's super hot and he loves the feel of those heels digging into his backside. Then there's the one-two punch of 'I hate you'/angry sex in combination with make-up sex - he'd be lying if he said these weren't as mind blowing as all the others – sometimes moreso, even if they don't happen that often. Public spaces get their fair share of credit in this catalog too. Restrooms, movie theaters, darkened corners and coat closets all work well, but so do theater projection rooms, stairwells and yeah, even a bus stop once (it was super late at night and they were both really tipsy and completely horny). Honorable mentions go to kiss and make it better, role play, seduction, waking-in-the-middle-of-the-night-half-asleep, multitasking (that one was acquired with practice and skills developed over time), and the just plain carnal, dirty, hot and bothered varieties - with or without foreplay (because sometimes now means RIGHT NOW).
Sex is just a physical act of pleasure. Finn never wanted just that; there are so many things in life that bring him pleasure, things he can do with or without anyone else involved. No, his connection with Rachel is way deeper than some basic low level cardio workout with a happy ending. Every time, every act, every instance they find themselves fully immersed in each other, it's an awakening event for him. It's like the first listen to a beautiful piece of music or seeing a sunrise over an ocean vista. If he got to choose his death that's how he'd go out, one last time inside Rachel – no second guessing needed.
More important than how pleasurable it is for him is how much he enjoys pleasuring her. He honestly emotionally, physically cannot finish until and unless he hears her screaming his name in ecstasy and feels her coming undone all around him. Okay maybe sometimes it's a little co-dependent, but not in an unhealthy way. It didn't always used to be like that but it is now, and he honestly can't remember when or how it happened. She's just become such an integral part of the physical act that he needs it. He needs HER.
Times like tonight, in the quiet darkness of their room where he's awaiting her return from late night rehearsals, he lies in bed, anticipating. Counting all the ways she makes his life better, makes HIM better. She challenges him, inspires him, makes him want to be the guy she always imagined he could be (and oftentimes he hopes he lives up to the guy she already thinks he is). She brings him so much joy. He hopes he does the same for her in return – and he's pretty sure he does. She deserves no less than that. She's that kind of special and she deserves - no, COMMANDS - his full and undivided commitment and attention. He hates the word PERFECT, but he can't think of another word to better describe her. Not that she doesn't have faults because everyone does, but he loves and accepts those parts of her too, just as she loves and accepts his. It's all part of that something special which they have together.
It's all of that and more that brought him into the jewelry store two months ago (y'know, the one where they gift wrap a little robin's egg blue box with a pearly white satin ribbon), that's had him planning for the better part of the past year HOW and WHEN and WHERE to ask this question. THE question, the only one he's been thinking of asking her for the past 12 or so years, probably beginning the day he first kissed her on that stage. He wonders if it can really be considered a question when, after all, he's pretty sure he KNOWS what her answer is going to be. This isn't so much of a riddle needing an answer it's more like a foregone conclusion or a predictable natural outcome. He's not worried about the asking part… it's the context. He wanted it to be special. He wanted it to be memorable. He wanted it to be THEM. There's nowhere else that encapsulates all of that better than the place where he is right now and the person he's about to be inside of very shortly. So he's decided all the where-when-hows of the asking, and he figures she and Kurt can deal with the rest, he'll just show up where and when he's told sometime later down the road.
A sudden quickening of his pulse to the clicking sounds of a key in a tumbler alerts him that she's close. But he already knew that – their tether really does add a sixth sense dimension between them. He always knows when she's close. There's a near imperceptible tiny flutter, almost an itch, that he feels deep in the pit of his stomach when she's nearby. It took a long time – years probably – for him to correlate that feeling to her; the fact that once he notices that sensation, she always appears in his view within minutes. He's often pondered the origins of that feeling too. Certainly that can't be a normal thing shared between most couples. He actually talked to Rachel about it before and she admitted to experiencing the exact same feeling, but while his presents as an unscratchable itch, hers is a deep muted burn. She likened it to a campfire in the rain once. A smoldering ember almost flamed out, waiting to be stoked. He loved that description, and of course he's happy to reignite and stoke the flames.
His itch slowly progresses into an ache now as she enters the darkened room. He's already getting hard as her light floral citrus scent swirls around in a delicious haze and wracks his senses. The familiar rustling sounds of her clothes stripping off is heightened by his lack of vision in the black of the room. He sees the view clearly in his mind's eye from muscle memory. The fabric stretches across her taut skin as she lifts the soft material over her head and drapes it on the armchair near the desk, her long silky hair cascading back down around her shoulders. He sees the shimmy of her hips as she wriggles and slides out of her skinny jeans and panties. The last piece she always saves for him, because he's told her it's his favorite part – the bra clasp. Finn's become quite skilled in the art of two finger unclasping. Sometimes he only needs one, depending which bra it is.
She slides under the covers wordlessly and rolls up onto his chest for her usual lips-on-lips greeting, as his one hand cups the hollow of her cheek while the other snakes along her back (and yeah, it's a one finger night). He smiles into their hello kiss, discards the lacy nuisance material to the bedside floor below and whispers his standard "hey beautiful, welcome home." She retorts with her typical "hey handsome I missed you." A few moments of hands and lips caressing hair and flesh and an exhaled "I love you Rach," and their concerto begins.
But tonight there's a little change in modulation to their music. As they climb the scales of intimacy together, approaching the bridge to the final chorus, he becomes stock-still. This throws her off at first and her whimper in protest sets off the jackhammer that is his heartbeat. Without disconnect, he reaches over to the bedside table and flips on the tiny nightlight she uses as a book reader just to add a touch of illumination in the room.
"I need to see your face babe."
"Finny, I love to see your face too bu —"
"Shhhh... " he silences her with a languid steamy kiss and a couple of slow deep thrusts of his hips as he pulls the tiny parcel out from under her pillow and lays it between them on her bare chest. "Just say yes."
He watches the tears form in her ever widening eyes as a smile stretches across her gorgeous face. With their still-laced fingers, he helps her pull the ribbon free to reveal the one-carat brilliant round cut precious gem set in platinum hidden inside. He silently resumes his rocking rhythm slowly, waiting for her response, which first comes in the form of her lips crashing onto his followed by the single syllable of three letters he knew were all but a given. (The best part was how she kept saying that little one syllable word over and over and over for the next 20 minutes until they hit their syncopated crescendos.)
It's just another Wednesday night. A light spring rain pattering and plinking against the pane of glass looking out from their bedroom. "I love you so much Finn. You make me so happy… I can't wait to be your wife." Finn holds her tightly against his chest, feeling the warmth of her tears dripping across his skin, their legs messily intertwined under the twisted sheets, pressing soft kisses against her head and breathing her in deeply, cementing this moment in his memory by sight, sound and smell. He'd always known he'd never love anyone the way he loves her, and now he knows for sure he'll never have to worry about that again (not that he ever had any doubts).
. . . . .
A/N - for some reason I had Bad Company's 'Feel Like Makin' Love' playing in a loop in my head the hole time I wrote this. It wasn't there until the words started to flow... Finn just brings his own soundtrack to the party I s'pose? Hope you enjoyed... PLEASE REVIEW! :)
THANKS AGAIN SO MUCH FOR READING!
FINCHEL FOREVER xoxoxo
FINN HUDSON LIVES RIGHT HERE..ALWAYS!