Glee Fic: How Rachel Berry Started Lovin', Touchin', Squeezin' Another (2/3)
The reason for her problem is obvious. Releasing her breath in an irritated huff, Rachel curses her thorough vocal training. All those breathing exercises have paid off in her singing, but apparently her breath control is simply too good for Tina's trick. She's finally discovered a drawback to perfection.
The pleasant tingles and sense of satisfaction she’d been feeling die out as she realizes she’s been thwarted, and Rachel frowns up at the ceiling. Losing sucks, and that’s what this feels like, although she’s not sure who she’s lost to. But Rachel Berry is not so easily beaten, she decides, thumping a fist on her mattress. The list is still tucked under her pillow, and there’s no way she’s giving up on number three. She needs a plan B, that’s all.
*
Rachel invites Finn over on a Wednesday night - her dads are working late.
When the doorbell rings, she jumps out of her seat, stands almost to attention. It’s like time slows down, and all she can do is stand there, staring wide-eyed at the door. Then the bell rings a second time. Shaking her head at her own foolishness, she runs to get it.
After a deep breath to steady her nerves, Rachel opens the door, smiling widely and craning her neck to meet Finn’s eyes as she lets him in.
“Thank you for coming,” she says, and she stretches up on her tiptoes to plant a careful kiss on his cheek. When she settles back down onto her heels, he grins at her for a moment, then grabs her face in his hands and smacks one on her lips, too.
Rachel loves the way Finn kisses. It’s like all of his attention is on her; a spotlight of Finn-focus. No matter how absentminded or disinterested he may seem sometimes, no matter how often he zones out while she’s waxing poetical about the value of Rogers and Hammerstein, when he kisses her she remembers that he loves her.
He pulls back too soon and smiles, nodding his head a little. “The superman of kisses,” he reminds her, crossing his arms proudly.
Her own smile fades a little at the reference to their failed Nationals experience, but she shoves that thought away, stretching her lips into another smile; less bright this time, but Finn doesn’t notice, so it’s alright.
Rachel leads Finn into the living room by the hand, and leaves him there as she makes a quick stop to the kitchen. She pours them each a glass of her parents’ wine (from two different bottles, to make the loss less noticeable). It’s not that she thinks Finn will need to be drunk to do this for her, he’ll just be more open to discussion with a little alcohol in him.
Finn is sprawled over the couch when she gets back. She sits next to him, rather more daintily, and offers him his wine glass. His hands dwarfs the glass. While he tries it, she puts her movie selection into the DVD player.
Rachel hasn’t actually seen The Unbearable Lightness of Being before, but it was the only movie in her dads’ collection that looked sexy and wasn’t about two guys. She didn’t think Finn would be comfortable watching a movie like that, frankly, so she went with the one with a beautiful woman in lingerie on the cover instead. Stage two of her action plan: get his teenage hormones raging with an erotic movie experience. All things considered, this should be the easiest part. This is the guy who almost agreed to quit Glee Club for an over-the-bra shot at Quinn’s breasts, after all.
However, it becomes clear as the night goes on that things aren’t going as planned, and Rachel begins to feel increasingly foolish. The movie has its moments, sure; there are scenes that leave her mouth dry and force her to try and cross her legs as unobtrusively as possible. Still, there is an edge of tragedy and desperation to the plot that she hadn’t accounted for in her plan, and she’s more sad than turned on. God, she knew she should have read the synopsis on Wikipedia first.
She also hadn’t accounted for the effect the wine (and a historical romance) would have on Finn. Only a quarter of the way through the movie, she realizes that his eyes are closed and he’s snoring quietly. She shakes him awake, but five minutes later he’s asleep again.
On-screen, Tereza discovers Sabina and Tomas are lovers, but Rachel can’t even properly appreciate the melodrama because Finn’s still sleeping and every second she waits, staring at his slack face, the more nervous she becomes. She’s getting a serious case of cold feet about the plan. Seduction is all well and good, but what if it’s too much? What if he leaves?
He won’t, she reminds herself, he loves me. So she pauses the movie and leans over him. She kisses him softly, cupping his face in her hands, until he responds sleepily, slowly coming back to consciousness.
“Finn,” she whispers.
“Wha’ happened? The movie - is it -“
“No, it’s okay,” she says. “It was boring anyway.” It wasn’t, not really. “Just listen to me, okay? Just listen.”
He nods agreeably, sliding his palms up and down her biceps slowly. The warmth of his hands, and his affection, gives her the courage to continue.
“I want you to do me a favor.”
“Anything,” he says, with that pleased look he gets when he knows he’s said the right thing.
Rachel almost falters then, in the face of his earnest, half-closed eyes, but no. She’s the Glee Club’s rising star, she’s the most talented person at McKinley High, and one day she’s going to rule Broadway. She can do this.
“Finn, I know we haven’t, uh, done much. Anything, really. Well, that’s not totally true, I let you touch my breasts sometimes, and on the last day of school, you remember? I let you grind against me in the choir room until you - and you shouldn’t be embarrassed by how fast that was, it’s really a common problem among teenage boys, as I hear, not that I have much experience -“
“Rachel!” His hands aren’t rubbing her arms anymore, and while he’s looking more alert, he’s also looking less happy. “I get it, okay, we’ve done stuff. You don’t need to drag up my -- my problem. A guy doesn’t like to hear about that.”
She blushes. Said too much, overshot her boundaries, once again. “Right. Sorry.”
“Just - you know, just spit it out.”
“O-okay,” she says. She looks him straight in the eyes, and confesses, “I want you to touch me, Finn. And then I want you to -- to hold me down, not let me breathe until I come.”
The last part comes out in a rush, and Finn goes rigid beneath her, giving her one of those looks that say, I so didn’t hear what I think I just heard. Then he sputters out, “You want me to what?”
“It’s called breathplay, Finn, it’s - I looked it up online, and there’s nothing wrong with it. It’s just this fascination that I have, and - I thought I could share it with you,” she says, slowly transitioning between defensiveness and indignation as a cover for the humiliation tightening her throat.
“That’s not - God, Rachel, that’s not something you just say! Look, if you’re kinky, that’s fine, whatever, but most people just watch porn or fly solo with the weird stuff, you know?”
“I tried, Finn! I tried, okay? But I couldn’t - I couldn’t do it by myself, it wasn’t doing anything for me,” she says tremulously, gripping his arms tightly as she tries to make him understand. “But I thought, maybe it’s the experience that’s important. Maybe it’s about adrenaline, and trust, more than anything else. And I trust you, and I thought you trusted me.”
There are tears dragging at Rachel’s lashes, seeking to break free, but she won’t let them. She searches Finn’s face desperately, and hope burns in her chest when he relaxes, wiping a hand across his face. He looks defeated, and if he’s been beaten, that means she’s won.
A shaky smile spreads across her face when he sighs. He looks up at her and says, “I do trust you, Rachel, you know that. I still think this is weird, okay, but I’ll give it a try. Because I love you.”
“Okay,” she breathes, “okay.”
The heady thrill of triumph races through her, and Rachel leans down, kisses him thoroughly. Then she stands up and hurriedly gulps back the rest of her wine. The actress’s tearful eyes watch from the screen as she takes Finn’s hand and leads him from the living room.
Thus far her plan has been a total failure, and Finn clearly isn’t aroused at all, so the moment her bedroom door is shut she’s kissing him, pulling him down into her arms. It’s sloppy, desperate, but it does the trick; Finn likes attention almost as much as she does. He starts to respond more fervently, pushing her back towards the bed.
When the back of her knees hit the frame, they buckle, and she drags him down with her as she falls. He looms over her on all fours and she scrabbles at the zipper of her dress. She drags the tag down, fingernails catching sharply on the metal, then pulls her arms out of the sleeves and shoves the fabric down her body. It tangles around her ankles, and Finn nearly tears it helping her kick it off.
“You are so hot,” Finn mumbles into her neck. “Jesus, you are so hot,” and she arches up into it, into his lips and his flattery.
He’s grinding his hips against hers, pushing her into the mattress, but it’s not enough. Rachel grabs his hand with desperate fingers and shoves it between her legs. She thrusts up into his palm as he kisses her. His fingers are clumsy, but they do the trick, and she swallows back a whimper when his thumb finds her clit.
It’s now or never. Rachel leans up and kisses him, deeply. She whispers, “I love you, Finn Hudson,” and it comes out like an order. He stares at her in confusion, then his eyes widen in epiphany and he responds. He raises his hand to cup her face, his thumb brushing her throat, and says hoarsely, “what do I do?”
The final stage: execution. She’s done a little research, so they should be able to muddle their way through this. Wikipedia didn’t really go into detail on how erotic asphyxiation works with a partner, and she’d been hesitant to venture into the Google search engine. Noah’s story about the time he searched ‘prostate’ cemented in her a healthy fear of the internet. Nevertheless, she explains what she knows, demonstrating with her own hand. “You’re going to have to place your hand over my face like so,” and she covers her mouth with her palm, pressing her fingers up until they block her nostrils. “Of course you’ll continue the vaginal stimulation simultaneously, and -“
“Rachel, words with more than three consonants aren’t sexy,” Finn interrupts, squinting down at her, breaking her stride. She stares at him for a second, bemused, then informs him, “Syllables, Finn, not consonants. Otherwise words like, like “fuck” or “cunt” wouldn’t be so predominant in pornography.”
“Not really the point, Rach,” he mutters sullenly, “and have you ever even watched porn?”
“Also not the point, Finn,” she says. “Just - just put your hand over my mouth and don’t stop unless I pass out. Okay?”
He sort of pauses at that, like he hadn’t considered the possible consequences of this game of hers, but Rachel doesn’t let him rethink his decision. She takes a deep breath of air, in through her nose, then grabs his hand in hers. She places it over her mouth. There’s a moment of utter stillness, as he squints down at her and she adjusts to the feel of his warm hand pressed up against her lips, then his fingers begin to move anew between her thighs.
It’s undeniably exciting, the thought that while one hand pleasures her, the other is slowly smothering her. His palm is humid and moist over her mouth and against her nose, a leaden weight that draws more and more of her attention as her lungs begin to ache. His other hand is pressed up against her clit, pushing it this way and that. It lacks finesse, but it’s combined with the dizzy feeling that’s spiraling through her mind as she struggles to inhale past Finn’s fingers, and together they’re dynamite.
Sweat breaks out across Rachel’s forehead as her hips push up into Finn’s hand. He has one finger in her and he’s working in a second. Her mouth is completely dry, her chest is clenching as it seeks relief. Every twinge and burn sings that she’s close.
Her whole body is under attack; first her abs and then her other muscles start to scream for air. Her eyes scrunch shut with pleasure as she arches feebly up into Finn’s chest. She thinks, yes, yes, almost, and then it’s like she can’t think at all because all her focus is on the aches in her lungs and between her thighs.
Then Finn’s fingers are coming off her mouth, and the great weight that’s been bearing down on her chest is abruptly gone. She opens her eyes, totally disgruntled at the way he killed her moment, and she sees his face.
She’d been so caught up in the sensations that she didn’t even notice his reaction. Now, though, she sees the disgust, and it hurts her in a completely different way than the slushies or Quinn’s slap did. It feels more like finding out someone else is getting her solo, but not someone like Mercedes who can handle it. Like - like if Brittany got her solo, and Finn was the one that gave it to her. She’s nearly speechless with humiliation and fury. Nearly.
“Finn, what -“
“Jesus, Rachel, don’t even start!” He’s shoved himself away from her bed, and is hunched over near the door now, an angry flush overtaking his face and making him ugly. “You - you - I can’t do this!”
She scrambles up until she’s kneeling on the bed. “No, wait, Finn, it’s okay. You just got a little spooked, and, and I can understand that. It’s not a normal thing, I know, not what you’d expect a girl like me would want, but it is and I want to share it with you. Won’t you share it with me?”
Her pleading eyes seem to have no effect on him, as he shouts, “Not normal? It’s fucking weird, Rachel! Your face was red, Rachel, like fire hydrant red under my hand. That’s not hot, okay? That’s not sexy. This,” and he gestures savagely at the bed, at what they were doing, “isn’t sexy.”
She’s frozen. His angry words have turned her to stone. Her dads will come home and find her, like a princess out of a tragic myth, and they’ll sob over her concrete body. Andrew Lloyd Webber will write a musical about it, and it’ll make millions. He’ll probably have to leave out the part about the breathplay, though, if he really wants it to take off. All this flashes through her mind in the space of a breath, and still she is frozen.
“I thought I could do this again,” he says, “I thought I could handle your crazy, but... this is way too much.”
He stands tall, staring down at her, and opens the door. Finally she moves, snapped from her stupor, and she reaches for him with one arm, saying, “No, Finn, please -“
Turning back to her, he throws out a final shot. “And it felt like all your stupid stuffed animals were judging me with their little plastic eyes.”
He slams the door behind him, and she starts to cry.
*
For what feels like the millionth time, Rachel picks herself back up.
Well, that’s not exactly true. Her dads help some, too. When they get home to find her sobbing angrily into her pillow, the outbox of her phone full of pleading messages with no replies, they bring her a glass of warm milk, rub her back, offer to watch The Sound of Music with her. When that’s over, they talk her out of doing a complete overhaul on her room, ditching the pinks and the pastels for greys and blacks to suit her mood. They don’t ask why she’s so upset, and she doesn’t tell them, but it’s enough to know they care. At least someone does.
She takes a day to herself, to eat low-fat ice cream and sing around the house at the top of her lungs. She films herself performing “If (You Hadn’t But You Did)” from the Broadway classic Two on the Aisle, and posts it online using a viewing filter that only allows certain people to watch it (read: everyone from Glee Club minus Finn. And Santana, for that matter, but that’s just common sense.) It’s a song full of aggression and vindictive pleasure, and it gives her back some of the power and confidence Finn took when he left her. If she pictures him as the dead husband from the song, well, that’s fine too.
Everyone copes with hardship differently, and this is how Rachel Berry does it.
At the end of the day, she sits herself down in front of her mirror. She goes through a mental list of all the things that have happened today that say, “Rachel, you’re a wonderful person and you deserve better than that bizarrely tall coward.” Mercedes, Brittany, and Mr. Schue all left complimentary comments on her video, when she went down to the store to buy pink lemonade (the only kind she’ll drink) some guy she didn’t know checked out her legs, plus she recorded a version of “Don’t Stop Believing,” doing all the harmonies herself, and overlaid them until she had a cover performed entirely by herself. It sounded beautiful, of course.
All in all, she thinks as she stares at her reflection, today has more than made up for the embarrassment of yesterday. Which brings her to her next question: will she try again?
Oh, not with Finn, of course. That ship has sailed; the fat lady has sung. This time, it’s over. No matter how hard he begs or how many songs he sings. She’s given him a million chances, and he’s proved that he can’t handle her. He’s just a boy, really, and that’s not enough anymore.
She nods emphatically at herself in the mirror. She’s totally over him. Now she’s free to pursue her real love without distraction: her future. But she frowns, because Tina’s words are still ringing in her ears, even after all that’s happened, and somehow, giving up on that particular fantasy now would feel like conceding that Finn’s right. And he’s not. He’s just not, and she’ll never think he is again after the way he treated her.
However much she doesn’t want to admit it, this is something she can’t pull off on her own. That rankles fiercely, but it’s true. In order to pursue this to its end, she’s going to need to find someone willing. Someone who isn’t as easily freaked out as Finn.
Is it worth it? That’s the big question: is it worth the potential humiliation, or worse, the potential non-platonic-or-Broadway-related feelings that might result if she tries again. She’s this close to swearing off romance altogether, seriously. Her newfound obsession, and the knowledge that, like Velma Kelly in Chicago, she can’t do this alone, are the only things stopping her from doing it.
Rachel stares into her own eyes for a long, long time before she finds her answer. It comes to her suddenly: she needs to be free to pursue her future without distraction. This thing, this kink she needs to work out, is a distraction, the kind that’ll only go away once it’s been satisfied. Thus far, it’s been as stubborn as she is. She’s going to need to do it right if she wants it out of the forefront of her mind, drawing her focus away from her destiny.
She’s got to try again.
That’s when Rachel gets one of her Ideas. A crazy, awful, wonderful idea, the kind anyone else would shy away from. But not her. It’s like she’s some kind of genius or something, in spite of the B- she got in history last year. She’s the kind of genius that comes up with Ideas that are so - so insane that no one else would try them, and no one else could pull them off. Like singing “With You I’m Born Again” dressed in religious apparel. That’s just brilliant, even if no one else could see it.
So, the Idea. It’s going to take some research, that’s for sure. Rachel drags out her laptop, pops it open, boots it up. When she opens her Myspace page, a new comment pops up, this one from Tina.
U sound awesome, Rachel! A little intense, but hey, i’m 1 to talk right? Lol :)
Rachel’s lips quirk upwards as giggles bubble up in her throat. Somehow, the text-abbreviations give the message a chipper tone - “effervescent,” even, as Tina might say. Really, though, this is like some kind of omen, it’s a sign that her plan’s going to work. Rachel can feel it.
For research, she again foregoes Google - searching ‘how to start a kinky lesbian affair’ is such a bad idea not even Rachel would try it. Instead, she logs in to Facebook, and reaches out to the (currently and happily retired) master of seduction himself.
Rachel Berry: Noah?
There’s no reply for a minute, and she taps her fingers impatiently against the wood of her desk. Then the chat bubble dings, and Rachel leans forward eagerly to see the response.
Puck Puckerman: sup babe
Rachel Berry: I don’t think Lauren would much like you calling me that, Noah.
Silence, so Rachel hurries on before she loses his interest.
Rachel Berry: I’d ask what you’ve been up to this summer, because manners are important even though I’ve got more pressing matters on my mind, but I’m kind of in a hurry. So. Can I ask you a question?
Puck Puckerman: shoot
She pauses. Like the Phantom sang, once this question is out there, she’ll be past the point of no return. No backward glances. She steels herself, then types: How does one seduce a girl?-and presses the enter key.
This time the reply is immediate.
Puck Puckerman: what, r u gay now?
This isn’t about sexuality, it’s about satisfaction, but she doesn’t much feel like explaining that. She’s not sure Puck would see the difference.
Rachel Berry: Just answer the question, Puckerman.
Puck: shit, next thing u know i’ll be the only hetero left in this club. new directions, that’s for damn sure, a new gay direction for every ex-straight teenager. just couldn’t resist the power of boobs, could u?
Rachel Berry: Puck! Answer the question!
She waits for his next entry, but he’s taking his own sweet time. She can just imagine him, scratching his mohawk bemusedly, wondering if she was gay when they dated. If she thought about a girl while making out with him. She didn’t, of course. She thought about Finn. That’s over with, though.
Finally, his reply appears on the screen. She can’t help but appreciate Noah for this much: shocked and disgruntled though he may be, he still gives her what she asks for. He helps, in his own way.
Puck Puckerman: same way you would a guy, probably, not that i’ve ever seduced a guy. except on a dare once but it’s not gay if it’s a dare.
Puck Puckerman: so yeah - same as a guy, only probably with more chocolates and flowers and shit. girl stuff.
Rachel Berry: Thanks, Noah. Have a nice summer, stay in touch, etc :)
Puck Puckerman: yeah whatever rachel.
Puck Puckerman: you too.
She logs off, and closes her browser. The smile on her face has been slowly growing wider since his final message came through. Finally, victory is practically in her grasp, and she’s going to chase it with all her not-inconsiderable willpower.
It begins with an email, because she can’t lure her new target in as easily as she did with Finn. Outside of Glee Club and the odd party, they don’t really interact much. That strikes Rachel as odd, actually, because they share a love of theatricality and aspirations of a career in musical theatre. She’s formed friendships on far less. Anyway, she can’t simply call Tina up and ask her if she wants to come over. Maybe someone like Quinn or like Mercedes could pull that off, someone with that casual charm and charisma, but Rachel doesn’t have that edge. ‘Socially awkward’ is something of an understatement, she’s been told. Thus, the email.
To: tinadoublec@mckinley.ca
From: rachelbarbraberry@mckinley.ca
Dear Tina,
You’ve been invited to a party at my house this Sunday! It’ll be a night of fun, drinking, and mirth; you’re sure to enjoy yourself! Please RSVP at your earliest convenience.
Your host,
Rachel Berry.
There. Formal yet casual, inviting yet not overinvested. A perfectly classy email, Rachel thinks, and she adds a few asterisks to the end of her name to replace her signature star.
Loathe though Rachel is to admit it, though, the odds of Tina coming to relax at her place are extremely low. Rachel still remembers how ready her friends were to ditch her party before Noah broke out the liquor. It comes down to that ease some people have around others - the ability to just ‘chill out’. That’s one thing Rachel just can’t do, and right now it could be the fatal flaw in her plan. Damn it!
There’s nothing for it. As much as Rachel values honesty, some things are more important. She makes a few small changes to the email and sends it off. She leans back in her chair and smiles back at her reflection, a satisfied gleam in her eye.
Dear Tina,
You’ve been invited, along with a select group of my closest friends, to a party at my house this Sunday! It’ll be a night of fun, drinking, and mirth; you’re sure to enjoy yourself! Given the exclusive nature of this invitation I must ask you to keep it on the “D-L” : P (that means down-low, by the way. In case you didn’t know.) Please RSVP at your earliest convenience.
Your host,
Rachel Berry ***
*
(Part Three)
The pleasant tingles and sense of satisfaction she’d been feeling die out as she realizes she’s been thwarted, and Rachel frowns up at the ceiling. Losing sucks, and that’s what this feels like, although she’s not sure who she’s lost to. But Rachel Berry is not so easily beaten, she decides, thumping a fist on her mattress. The list is still tucked under her pillow, and there’s no way she’s giving up on number three. She needs a plan B, that’s all.
*
Rachel invites Finn over on a Wednesday night - her dads are working late.
When the doorbell rings, she jumps out of her seat, stands almost to attention. It’s like time slows down, and all she can do is stand there, staring wide-eyed at the door. Then the bell rings a second time. Shaking her head at her own foolishness, she runs to get it.
After a deep breath to steady her nerves, Rachel opens the door, smiling widely and craning her neck to meet Finn’s eyes as she lets him in.
“Thank you for coming,” she says, and she stretches up on her tiptoes to plant a careful kiss on his cheek. When she settles back down onto her heels, he grins at her for a moment, then grabs her face in his hands and smacks one on her lips, too.
Rachel loves the way Finn kisses. It’s like all of his attention is on her; a spotlight of Finn-focus. No matter how absentminded or disinterested he may seem sometimes, no matter how often he zones out while she’s waxing poetical about the value of Rogers and Hammerstein, when he kisses her she remembers that he loves her.
He pulls back too soon and smiles, nodding his head a little. “The superman of kisses,” he reminds her, crossing his arms proudly.
Her own smile fades a little at the reference to their failed Nationals experience, but she shoves that thought away, stretching her lips into another smile; less bright this time, but Finn doesn’t notice, so it’s alright.
Rachel leads Finn into the living room by the hand, and leaves him there as she makes a quick stop to the kitchen. She pours them each a glass of her parents’ wine (from two different bottles, to make the loss less noticeable). It’s not that she thinks Finn will need to be drunk to do this for her, he’ll just be more open to discussion with a little alcohol in him.
Finn is sprawled over the couch when she gets back. She sits next to him, rather more daintily, and offers him his wine glass. His hands dwarfs the glass. While he tries it, she puts her movie selection into the DVD player.
Rachel hasn’t actually seen The Unbearable Lightness of Being before, but it was the only movie in her dads’ collection that looked sexy and wasn’t about two guys. She didn’t think Finn would be comfortable watching a movie like that, frankly, so she went with the one with a beautiful woman in lingerie on the cover instead. Stage two of her action plan: get his teenage hormones raging with an erotic movie experience. All things considered, this should be the easiest part. This is the guy who almost agreed to quit Glee Club for an over-the-bra shot at Quinn’s breasts, after all.
However, it becomes clear as the night goes on that things aren’t going as planned, and Rachel begins to feel increasingly foolish. The movie has its moments, sure; there are scenes that leave her mouth dry and force her to try and cross her legs as unobtrusively as possible. Still, there is an edge of tragedy and desperation to the plot that she hadn’t accounted for in her plan, and she’s more sad than turned on. God, she knew she should have read the synopsis on Wikipedia first.
She also hadn’t accounted for the effect the wine (and a historical romance) would have on Finn. Only a quarter of the way through the movie, she realizes that his eyes are closed and he’s snoring quietly. She shakes him awake, but five minutes later he’s asleep again.
On-screen, Tereza discovers Sabina and Tomas are lovers, but Rachel can’t even properly appreciate the melodrama because Finn’s still sleeping and every second she waits, staring at his slack face, the more nervous she becomes. She’s getting a serious case of cold feet about the plan. Seduction is all well and good, but what if it’s too much? What if he leaves?
He won’t, she reminds herself, he loves me. So she pauses the movie and leans over him. She kisses him softly, cupping his face in her hands, until he responds sleepily, slowly coming back to consciousness.
“Finn,” she whispers.
“Wha’ happened? The movie - is it -“
“No, it’s okay,” she says. “It was boring anyway.” It wasn’t, not really. “Just listen to me, okay? Just listen.”
He nods agreeably, sliding his palms up and down her biceps slowly. The warmth of his hands, and his affection, gives her the courage to continue.
“I want you to do me a favor.”
“Anything,” he says, with that pleased look he gets when he knows he’s said the right thing.
Rachel almost falters then, in the face of his earnest, half-closed eyes, but no. She’s the Glee Club’s rising star, she’s the most talented person at McKinley High, and one day she’s going to rule Broadway. She can do this.
“Finn, I know we haven’t, uh, done much. Anything, really. Well, that’s not totally true, I let you touch my breasts sometimes, and on the last day of school, you remember? I let you grind against me in the choir room until you - and you shouldn’t be embarrassed by how fast that was, it’s really a common problem among teenage boys, as I hear, not that I have much experience -“
“Rachel!” His hands aren’t rubbing her arms anymore, and while he’s looking more alert, he’s also looking less happy. “I get it, okay, we’ve done stuff. You don’t need to drag up my -- my problem. A guy doesn’t like to hear about that.”
She blushes. Said too much, overshot her boundaries, once again. “Right. Sorry.”
“Just - you know, just spit it out.”
“O-okay,” she says. She looks him straight in the eyes, and confesses, “I want you to touch me, Finn. And then I want you to -- to hold me down, not let me breathe until I come.”
The last part comes out in a rush, and Finn goes rigid beneath her, giving her one of those looks that say, I so didn’t hear what I think I just heard. Then he sputters out, “You want me to what?”
“It’s called breathplay, Finn, it’s - I looked it up online, and there’s nothing wrong with it. It’s just this fascination that I have, and - I thought I could share it with you,” she says, slowly transitioning between defensiveness and indignation as a cover for the humiliation tightening her throat.
“That’s not - God, Rachel, that’s not something you just say! Look, if you’re kinky, that’s fine, whatever, but most people just watch porn or fly solo with the weird stuff, you know?”
“I tried, Finn! I tried, okay? But I couldn’t - I couldn’t do it by myself, it wasn’t doing anything for me,” she says tremulously, gripping his arms tightly as she tries to make him understand. “But I thought, maybe it’s the experience that’s important. Maybe it’s about adrenaline, and trust, more than anything else. And I trust you, and I thought you trusted me.”
There are tears dragging at Rachel’s lashes, seeking to break free, but she won’t let them. She searches Finn’s face desperately, and hope burns in her chest when he relaxes, wiping a hand across his face. He looks defeated, and if he’s been beaten, that means she’s won.
A shaky smile spreads across her face when he sighs. He looks up at her and says, “I do trust you, Rachel, you know that. I still think this is weird, okay, but I’ll give it a try. Because I love you.”
“Okay,” she breathes, “okay.”
The heady thrill of triumph races through her, and Rachel leans down, kisses him thoroughly. Then she stands up and hurriedly gulps back the rest of her wine. The actress’s tearful eyes watch from the screen as she takes Finn’s hand and leads him from the living room.
Thus far her plan has been a total failure, and Finn clearly isn’t aroused at all, so the moment her bedroom door is shut she’s kissing him, pulling him down into her arms. It’s sloppy, desperate, but it does the trick; Finn likes attention almost as much as she does. He starts to respond more fervently, pushing her back towards the bed.
When the back of her knees hit the frame, they buckle, and she drags him down with her as she falls. He looms over her on all fours and she scrabbles at the zipper of her dress. She drags the tag down, fingernails catching sharply on the metal, then pulls her arms out of the sleeves and shoves the fabric down her body. It tangles around her ankles, and Finn nearly tears it helping her kick it off.
“You are so hot,” Finn mumbles into her neck. “Jesus, you are so hot,” and she arches up into it, into his lips and his flattery.
He’s grinding his hips against hers, pushing her into the mattress, but it’s not enough. Rachel grabs his hand with desperate fingers and shoves it between her legs. She thrusts up into his palm as he kisses her. His fingers are clumsy, but they do the trick, and she swallows back a whimper when his thumb finds her clit.
It’s now or never. Rachel leans up and kisses him, deeply. She whispers, “I love you, Finn Hudson,” and it comes out like an order. He stares at her in confusion, then his eyes widen in epiphany and he responds. He raises his hand to cup her face, his thumb brushing her throat, and says hoarsely, “what do I do?”
The final stage: execution. She’s done a little research, so they should be able to muddle their way through this. Wikipedia didn’t really go into detail on how erotic asphyxiation works with a partner, and she’d been hesitant to venture into the Google search engine. Noah’s story about the time he searched ‘prostate’ cemented in her a healthy fear of the internet. Nevertheless, she explains what she knows, demonstrating with her own hand. “You’re going to have to place your hand over my face like so,” and she covers her mouth with her palm, pressing her fingers up until they block her nostrils. “Of course you’ll continue the vaginal stimulation simultaneously, and -“
“Rachel, words with more than three consonants aren’t sexy,” Finn interrupts, squinting down at her, breaking her stride. She stares at him for a second, bemused, then informs him, “Syllables, Finn, not consonants. Otherwise words like, like “fuck” or “cunt” wouldn’t be so predominant in pornography.”
“Not really the point, Rach,” he mutters sullenly, “and have you ever even watched porn?”
“Also not the point, Finn,” she says. “Just - just put your hand over my mouth and don’t stop unless I pass out. Okay?”
He sort of pauses at that, like he hadn’t considered the possible consequences of this game of hers, but Rachel doesn’t let him rethink his decision. She takes a deep breath of air, in through her nose, then grabs his hand in hers. She places it over her mouth. There’s a moment of utter stillness, as he squints down at her and she adjusts to the feel of his warm hand pressed up against her lips, then his fingers begin to move anew between her thighs.
It’s undeniably exciting, the thought that while one hand pleasures her, the other is slowly smothering her. His palm is humid and moist over her mouth and against her nose, a leaden weight that draws more and more of her attention as her lungs begin to ache. His other hand is pressed up against her clit, pushing it this way and that. It lacks finesse, but it’s combined with the dizzy feeling that’s spiraling through her mind as she struggles to inhale past Finn’s fingers, and together they’re dynamite.
Sweat breaks out across Rachel’s forehead as her hips push up into Finn’s hand. He has one finger in her and he’s working in a second. Her mouth is completely dry, her chest is clenching as it seeks relief. Every twinge and burn sings that she’s close.
Her whole body is under attack; first her abs and then her other muscles start to scream for air. Her eyes scrunch shut with pleasure as she arches feebly up into Finn’s chest. She thinks, yes, yes, almost, and then it’s like she can’t think at all because all her focus is on the aches in her lungs and between her thighs.
Then Finn’s fingers are coming off her mouth, and the great weight that’s been bearing down on her chest is abruptly gone. She opens her eyes, totally disgruntled at the way he killed her moment, and she sees his face.
She’d been so caught up in the sensations that she didn’t even notice his reaction. Now, though, she sees the disgust, and it hurts her in a completely different way than the slushies or Quinn’s slap did. It feels more like finding out someone else is getting her solo, but not someone like Mercedes who can handle it. Like - like if Brittany got her solo, and Finn was the one that gave it to her. She’s nearly speechless with humiliation and fury. Nearly.
“Finn, what -“
“Jesus, Rachel, don’t even start!” He’s shoved himself away from her bed, and is hunched over near the door now, an angry flush overtaking his face and making him ugly. “You - you - I can’t do this!”
She scrambles up until she’s kneeling on the bed. “No, wait, Finn, it’s okay. You just got a little spooked, and, and I can understand that. It’s not a normal thing, I know, not what you’d expect a girl like me would want, but it is and I want to share it with you. Won’t you share it with me?”
Her pleading eyes seem to have no effect on him, as he shouts, “Not normal? It’s fucking weird, Rachel! Your face was red, Rachel, like fire hydrant red under my hand. That’s not hot, okay? That’s not sexy. This,” and he gestures savagely at the bed, at what they were doing, “isn’t sexy.”
She’s frozen. His angry words have turned her to stone. Her dads will come home and find her, like a princess out of a tragic myth, and they’ll sob over her concrete body. Andrew Lloyd Webber will write a musical about it, and it’ll make millions. He’ll probably have to leave out the part about the breathplay, though, if he really wants it to take off. All this flashes through her mind in the space of a breath, and still she is frozen.
“I thought I could do this again,” he says, “I thought I could handle your crazy, but... this is way too much.”
He stands tall, staring down at her, and opens the door. Finally she moves, snapped from her stupor, and she reaches for him with one arm, saying, “No, Finn, please -“
Turning back to her, he throws out a final shot. “And it felt like all your stupid stuffed animals were judging me with their little plastic eyes.”
He slams the door behind him, and she starts to cry.
*
For what feels like the millionth time, Rachel picks herself back up.
Well, that’s not exactly true. Her dads help some, too. When they get home to find her sobbing angrily into her pillow, the outbox of her phone full of pleading messages with no replies, they bring her a glass of warm milk, rub her back, offer to watch The Sound of Music with her. When that’s over, they talk her out of doing a complete overhaul on her room, ditching the pinks and the pastels for greys and blacks to suit her mood. They don’t ask why she’s so upset, and she doesn’t tell them, but it’s enough to know they care. At least someone does.
She takes a day to herself, to eat low-fat ice cream and sing around the house at the top of her lungs. She films herself performing “If (You Hadn’t But You Did)” from the Broadway classic Two on the Aisle, and posts it online using a viewing filter that only allows certain people to watch it (read: everyone from Glee Club minus Finn. And Santana, for that matter, but that’s just common sense.) It’s a song full of aggression and vindictive pleasure, and it gives her back some of the power and confidence Finn took when he left her. If she pictures him as the dead husband from the song, well, that’s fine too.
Everyone copes with hardship differently, and this is how Rachel Berry does it.
At the end of the day, she sits herself down in front of her mirror. She goes through a mental list of all the things that have happened today that say, “Rachel, you’re a wonderful person and you deserve better than that bizarrely tall coward.” Mercedes, Brittany, and Mr. Schue all left complimentary comments on her video, when she went down to the store to buy pink lemonade (the only kind she’ll drink) some guy she didn’t know checked out her legs, plus she recorded a version of “Don’t Stop Believing,” doing all the harmonies herself, and overlaid them until she had a cover performed entirely by herself. It sounded beautiful, of course.
All in all, she thinks as she stares at her reflection, today has more than made up for the embarrassment of yesterday. Which brings her to her next question: will she try again?
Oh, not with Finn, of course. That ship has sailed; the fat lady has sung. This time, it’s over. No matter how hard he begs or how many songs he sings. She’s given him a million chances, and he’s proved that he can’t handle her. He’s just a boy, really, and that’s not enough anymore.
She nods emphatically at herself in the mirror. She’s totally over him. Now she’s free to pursue her real love without distraction: her future. But she frowns, because Tina’s words are still ringing in her ears, even after all that’s happened, and somehow, giving up on that particular fantasy now would feel like conceding that Finn’s right. And he’s not. He’s just not, and she’ll never think he is again after the way he treated her.
However much she doesn’t want to admit it, this is something she can’t pull off on her own. That rankles fiercely, but it’s true. In order to pursue this to its end, she’s going to need to find someone willing. Someone who isn’t as easily freaked out as Finn.
Is it worth it? That’s the big question: is it worth the potential humiliation, or worse, the potential non-platonic-or-Broadway-related feelings that might result if she tries again. She’s this close to swearing off romance altogether, seriously. Her newfound obsession, and the knowledge that, like Velma Kelly in Chicago, she can’t do this alone, are the only things stopping her from doing it.
Rachel stares into her own eyes for a long, long time before she finds her answer. It comes to her suddenly: she needs to be free to pursue her future without distraction. This thing, this kink she needs to work out, is a distraction, the kind that’ll only go away once it’s been satisfied. Thus far, it’s been as stubborn as she is. She’s going to need to do it right if she wants it out of the forefront of her mind, drawing her focus away from her destiny.
She’s got to try again.
That’s when Rachel gets one of her Ideas. A crazy, awful, wonderful idea, the kind anyone else would shy away from. But not her. It’s like she’s some kind of genius or something, in spite of the B- she got in history last year. She’s the kind of genius that comes up with Ideas that are so - so insane that no one else would try them, and no one else could pull them off. Like singing “With You I’m Born Again” dressed in religious apparel. That’s just brilliant, even if no one else could see it.
So, the Idea. It’s going to take some research, that’s for sure. Rachel drags out her laptop, pops it open, boots it up. When she opens her Myspace page, a new comment pops up, this one from Tina.
U sound awesome, Rachel! A little intense, but hey, i’m 1 to talk right? Lol :)
Rachel’s lips quirk upwards as giggles bubble up in her throat. Somehow, the text-abbreviations give the message a chipper tone - “effervescent,” even, as Tina might say. Really, though, this is like some kind of omen, it’s a sign that her plan’s going to work. Rachel can feel it.
For research, she again foregoes Google - searching ‘how to start a kinky lesbian affair’ is such a bad idea not even Rachel would try it. Instead, she logs in to Facebook, and reaches out to the (currently and happily retired) master of seduction himself.
Rachel Berry: Noah?
There’s no reply for a minute, and she taps her fingers impatiently against the wood of her desk. Then the chat bubble dings, and Rachel leans forward eagerly to see the response.
Puck Puckerman: sup babe
Rachel Berry: I don’t think Lauren would much like you calling me that, Noah.
Silence, so Rachel hurries on before she loses his interest.
Rachel Berry: I’d ask what you’ve been up to this summer, because manners are important even though I’ve got more pressing matters on my mind, but I’m kind of in a hurry. So. Can I ask you a question?
Puck Puckerman: shoot
She pauses. Like the Phantom sang, once this question is out there, she’ll be past the point of no return. No backward glances. She steels herself, then types: How does one seduce a girl?-and presses the enter key.
This time the reply is immediate.
Puck Puckerman: what, r u gay now?
This isn’t about sexuality, it’s about satisfaction, but she doesn’t much feel like explaining that. She’s not sure Puck would see the difference.
Rachel Berry: Just answer the question, Puckerman.
Puck: shit, next thing u know i’ll be the only hetero left in this club. new directions, that’s for damn sure, a new gay direction for every ex-straight teenager. just couldn’t resist the power of boobs, could u?
Rachel Berry: Puck! Answer the question!
She waits for his next entry, but he’s taking his own sweet time. She can just imagine him, scratching his mohawk bemusedly, wondering if she was gay when they dated. If she thought about a girl while making out with him. She didn’t, of course. She thought about Finn. That’s over with, though.
Finally, his reply appears on the screen. She can’t help but appreciate Noah for this much: shocked and disgruntled though he may be, he still gives her what she asks for. He helps, in his own way.
Puck Puckerman: same way you would a guy, probably, not that i’ve ever seduced a guy. except on a dare once but it’s not gay if it’s a dare.
Puck Puckerman: so yeah - same as a guy, only probably with more chocolates and flowers and shit. girl stuff.
Rachel Berry: Thanks, Noah. Have a nice summer, stay in touch, etc :)
Puck Puckerman: yeah whatever rachel.
Puck Puckerman: you too.
She logs off, and closes her browser. The smile on her face has been slowly growing wider since his final message came through. Finally, victory is practically in her grasp, and she’s going to chase it with all her not-inconsiderable willpower.
It begins with an email, because she can’t lure her new target in as easily as she did with Finn. Outside of Glee Club and the odd party, they don’t really interact much. That strikes Rachel as odd, actually, because they share a love of theatricality and aspirations of a career in musical theatre. She’s formed friendships on far less. Anyway, she can’t simply call Tina up and ask her if she wants to come over. Maybe someone like Quinn or like Mercedes could pull that off, someone with that casual charm and charisma, but Rachel doesn’t have that edge. ‘Socially awkward’ is something of an understatement, she’s been told. Thus, the email.
To: tinadoublec@mckinley.ca
From: rachelbarbraberry@mckinley.ca
Dear Tina,
You’ve been invited to a party at my house this Sunday! It’ll be a night of fun, drinking, and mirth; you’re sure to enjoy yourself! Please RSVP at your earliest convenience.
Your host,
Rachel Berry.
There. Formal yet casual, inviting yet not overinvested. A perfectly classy email, Rachel thinks, and she adds a few asterisks to the end of her name to replace her signature star.
Loathe though Rachel is to admit it, though, the odds of Tina coming to relax at her place are extremely low. Rachel still remembers how ready her friends were to ditch her party before Noah broke out the liquor. It comes down to that ease some people have around others - the ability to just ‘chill out’. That’s one thing Rachel just can’t do, and right now it could be the fatal flaw in her plan. Damn it!
There’s nothing for it. As much as Rachel values honesty, some things are more important. She makes a few small changes to the email and sends it off. She leans back in her chair and smiles back at her reflection, a satisfied gleam in her eye.
Dear Tina,
You’ve been invited, along with a select group of my closest friends, to a party at my house this Sunday! It’ll be a night of fun, drinking, and mirth; you’re sure to enjoy yourself! Given the exclusive nature of this invitation I must ask you to keep it on the “D-L” : P (that means down-low, by the way. In case you didn’t know.) Please RSVP at your earliest convenience.
Your host,
Rachel Berry ***
*
(Part Three)