Fic: Lucky (4/?)
Title: Lucky
Author: cranberry_pi
Rating: NC-17 for graphic sex.
Spoilers: Up to "Mattress," sort of. It's AU in that Quinn had a pregnancy scare, but wasn't really pregnant.
Summary: An attempt at this prompt.
WARNINGS: Cancer, Character Death.
CHAPTER WARNING: Explicit het sex.
A/N: I know, I know - the tag says Faberry, so what's with the Quinn/Finn sex? It was included, honestly, because I really felt that the story needed it. I rarely (read: never) write het sex, particularly of the graphic kind, but the story demanded it, and so there it is. I'm sorry if it puts everyone off, but if you'd rather skip it, then as soon as you get to the section in question just scroll down and read the chapter's last line, and you'll get the important bit.
A/N 2: I realised too late after I posted chapter 3 that I should have thrown in a reminder - Quinn's not a virgin in the physical sense. Chapter 1 talks about her night with Puck and how she thought she was pregnant - Russell just never found out about that. When Quinn talks in her bucket list about losing her virginity, she means in a way that counts, not because she was drunk on wine coolers. I hope that makes sense, and I apologise for not phrasing it better in chapter 3.
“Your mistakes do not define you now,
They tell you who you’re not.”
Fear. In the weeks since her diagnosis (almost a month now, a sixth of the way there, some traitorous part of her mind insisted on adding), Quinn thought she had begun to understand fear. Perhaps even to master it. But as she spent her second (she thought - the days were blending together, in a singular haze of agony) straight day in bed, clutching spasmodically at her head between bouts of being sick into the wastebasket beside her bed, she discovered that there was no controlling it. There was no amount of mental toughness that could drive out the thought - what if this went on for weeks? What if this was how she’d spend the remainder of her days, crying and whispering nonsense because she simply couldn’t focus through the pain? Could she live like that?
But on the second night, the painkillers the doctor had prescribed by phone and Finn had brought to her finally started to act. He had never left her side - he’d cleaned the wastebasket, spoken to her in soothing tones, brought her water when she could drink. As she opened her eyes for the first time without pain, she saw the tears still drying on his face. “Finn,” she whispered, “it’s okay.” She was absurdly grateful that Russell had chosen those days to be away on business, or she would have suffered alone.
“Quinn?” he squeezed her hand. “How are you? Can I get you anything?”
“What day is it?” she asked, panicked. “Did I miss Sectionals?”
“No,” he soothed, “no, it’s only Thursday. But you’re in no shape-“
“Don’t tell me I can’t do it,” she said, with a ferocity that felt at odds with her near-helplessness. “I need to do this.”
“Okay,” he nodded, but she couldn’t tell whether he was agreeing or simply not arguing. “What can I do?”
“Um,” she blushed, “can you help me to the bathroom?”
“Of course,” he didn’t bat an eye, just took a firm grip of her hand and pulled her slowly into a sitting position. The room spun, and she blinked hard. It returned to a stationary position, and she let Finn help her to her feet. She took small, hesitant steps, and he kept a comfortable hand on her all the way. It was his turn to blush when they reached her bathroom door. “I’m going to leave the door open, okay? I’ll walk a few steps down the hall, and I swear to god, I won’t look or anything, I just don’t want you to fall over or something and not be able to get in and help you.”
Quinn nodded, too embarrassed to say anything. She left him at the door and made her way inside, performing her ablutions as carefully as she could. She was only now, as her head cleared, noting the way her sweat-soaked nightgown was clinging to her, and she longed for a shower - but wasn’t willing to try that just yet. Instead she washed her hands and splashed cold water on her cheeks before returning to Finn, who helped her back down the hall and into bed. “What else can I do?” he asked, stroking her cheek.
“I’m starved,” she confessed.
“I, uh, I can’t cook.”
“There’s some soup in the fridge, I think - it’s in a clear container. Could you just heat me some up in the microwave?”
“Sure,” he nodded, “totally.” He made to leave, but she grabbed his arm.
“Finn - thank you. Thank you so much for not leaving me by myself.”
“I would never do that,” he promised. “As long as you want me here, I’ll be here.” He smiled and disappeared down the hall.
The headache had begun shortly after the scene that Santana and Rachel had made in Breadstix - a coincidence, certainly, but it was terribly appropriate. Quinn had been hoping, despite her feeble protests, that Santana would walk over to the table and force the truth out of the diva, but it didn’t pan out that way. Rachel saw her coming, and tried to leave before she reached her. Santana got in her way. There was shouting, and then there was a fistful of Rachel’s hair in her hand, and she was being dragged toward Quinn. Then Rachel, in a move that surprised everyone, kicked the back of Santana’s knee. She dropped, releasing the hair she held, and Rachel made her escape before anyone could catch up to her. Quinn winced, wondering what the repercussions had been over the last few days.
The microwave beeped, and Finn returned with the soup she’d asked for. He filled a spoon and extended it toward her. She raised an eyebrow. “You’re not serious. I can feed myself, Finn, I’m not that badly off yet.”
“I know,” he assured her. “I just - I wanted to do this. Could you let me?”
She wanted to argue - she was sixteen years old, after all, and the idea of being spoon-fed like an infant should have been insulting. But the honesty in his open features, combined with the tenderness he’d demonstrated over the last two days, won her over in the end. She nodded, and he smiled. She sipped the lukewarm soup - his microwave skills were apparently comparable to his cooking ones - and swallowed gratefully. He lovingly fed her the bowl, and gently dabbed the corners of her mouth with a napkin when she was done. She blinked hard against a flood of tears and cleared her throat.
“Could you lie down with me?” she whispered. Finn looked panicked. “Not like that - I’m not ready for that yet. Just - spoon me while I sleep?” He nodded and climbed in beside her. She was asleep quickly, but awake just long enough to hear Finn whisper “I love you.”
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She leaned on him just a little as they walked into the choir room the next day, and she was gratified to see that both Santana and Rachel were alive and apparently unharmed. She took a seat next to Finn and laid her head on his shoulder.
“Quinn,” Will said warmly. “It’s really good to see you. How are you feeling?”
She bit back a sarcastic response - he was asking out of kindness, and didn’t deserve it. “Better, Mister Schue, thanks. Looking forward to tomorrow.”
“That’s what I like to hear!” he grinned. “You guys are going to rock - I’m so proud of all of you, and the work you’ve put in. Can I talk you all into one final practice?” He could, as it turned out.
Less than twenty-four hours later, everything had turned upside down. Will wouldn’t be coming with them, due to some kind of incident with his wife, and they were left with Miss Pillsbury as their faculty advisor. She kept looking at Quinn on the bus ride to the competition like she wanted to have an impromptu counselling session, but Quinn’s glower seemed to convince her it would be a bad idea. Quinn looked back at Rachel, who hadn’t spoken a word to her since she came back, but the other girl wouldn’t meet her eyes.
Brittany and Santana dropped into the seats behind her and Finn. “How’s it going, Q?”
“Good - you?”
“Fine - I want you to know the only reason I didn’t kill the midget after she kicked me was because Britt talked me out of it.”
“Thanks, sweetie,” Quinn patted Brittany’s hand. “I appreciate it.”
“So, are you giving that one up as a lost cause?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Quinn shrugged. “Nothing I can do to make her talk to me, right?” She saw the look in Santana’s eyes. “Okay, rephrase - there’s nothing I want to do to make her talk to me. I’m just going to let it go.”
They arrived at the competition pumped and ready, and were thrilled to see that they’d be up first. As they waited for the music to start, Quinn stood behind a closed door that led to the aisles as the others waited behind the stage curtain. The first notes played, and she stepped through the door into a spotlight that followed her down the aisle. She began to sing, and in that moment, as everyone looked right at her, she understood what drew Rachel to performing. The bright spotlight shone, and she made sure as she looked into the crowd that each of them was met with her most dazzling smile. With perfect timing, she stepped onto the stage as she began the second verse, and the thick black curtain parted to reveal the rest of New Directions. As her final word floated in the auditorium air like a balloon, she was met with thundering applause, and she immediately ranked the moment as one of the best of her life. She floated through the two remaining numbers, and despite the twinge of a headache she never stopped smiling.
As they gathered for the trophy presentations, she clung to Finn’s side with all of her nervous tension radiating through her grip. She prayed, her eyes closed and her lips moving soundlessly, begging God to just let her have this one moment. And then she heard the judge’s pronouncement - they’d won. She cried buckets, and gratefully accepted the hugs and congratulations of her fellow club members - even Rachel embraced her tightly, not meeting her eyes as she did so. Only as the group broke into smaller groups of two and three celebrating students, leaving her and Finn with a small circle of space to themselves, did she stand on her toes to whisper in his ear. “Is your mother home?”
“Uh - no,” he shook his head. “Why?”
She fluttered her eyelashes, and he got it. “No, no she isn’t - can we go now?”
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was the least they’d ever worn in front of each other - Quinn in a lacy black bra and black boy shorts, and Finn in his white jockey shorts. There was no mistaking the bulge in them, and she smiled coyly. “Come here,” she led him to his bed, pushing him down to straddle him. She kissed him, deeply, feeling the coarse stubble on his chin scrape against her. He was timid where she was aggressive, probing at his lips with her tongue. He groaned into her mouth, and it sent a shiver of want straight to her core. She disengaged and kissed her way down his chest, stopping just above the waistband of his underwear. He put a hand on hers.
“Quinn, wait - you don’t have to do this. I mean - if you’re only - because,” she stopped him in the most effective way she could think of - wrapping a hand around the erection tenting his shorts and moving it slowly up and down. He stopped making any noise but soft groans.
“Finn, listen to me - you’re the only boy I’ve ever dated. I like you. And I don’t want to die without experiencing this with someone special - at least once. But I don’t want to rush you into anything. I want your first time to be special.”
“If it’s with you,” he raised his head to look her in the eye, “it’s special.”
She smiled and hooked two fingers in his underwear, pulling them down and out of the way. She was hardly an innocent - she had the internet, same as everyone else, and there’d been her drunken encounter with Puck as well - but it was only the second male member she’d ever seen in the literal flesh, and the size of it surprised her. But, emulating what she’d seen in porn, and what Santana had told her boys liked, she tossed her hair back over her shoulder and wrapped her lips around it. It wasn’t at all like the movies, she discovered quickly - she couldn’t get much of him into her throat without gagging - but she bobbed her head enthusiastically, and she could hear Finn crying out. She flicked her tongue along the shaft experimentally, and his cries got louder.
“Quinn!” he shouted, “I’m going to - you’ve got to-“
She knew what he was expecting - that she’d stop before he came. But she redoubled her efforts instead, and was rewarded as he began to stiffen and pulse in her mouth, ending in a stream of warm come that shot into her throat. She was surprised and somewhat put off at the taste - it was salty, nothing like she’d expected - but she kept on until he collapsed underneath her, drained. She smiled at him with hooded eyes and licked her lips before crawling up beside him and falling into his arms.
He was crying, and she wiped the tears from his face. “Quinn,” he whispered. “Oh, god, Quinn.”
“Was I - okay?” she asked, suddenly shy and self-conscious in the aftermath.
“You were - wow,” he breathed. “Do you still want to - I mean-“
“Why don’t you get me warmed up while you recover?” she kissed him, and he switched positions so she was on her back underneath him. He undid the front clasp of her bra and gasped as her breasts were revealed.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, ducking his head to take a rock-hard nipple in his mouth. Quinn gasped, her back arching as heat rushed to her centre.
“Fuck!” she hissed. “Oh, Finn, oh fuck!” his hand found her other breast and massaged it gently, and she quivered with want under him. He alternated between the two for a few minutes, until her nipples were sore from the attention, and then took her example and kissed his way down her chest. With a look for reassurance - she nodded - he pulled down her panties and threw them aside. She could feel his cock getting hard against her as he stared reverently at the damp thatch of blonde hair between her legs.
“You can touch it, Finn,” she whispered, and that seemed to startle him into motion. She spread her legs wider, letting his fingers trail a slow path across her slit. She moaned softly as he probed at her entrance, brushing her clit along the way. “Are you ready?” she asked huskily.
“God - yes.”
“You’ve got a condom?”
“Yeah,” he scampered off the bed and over to his dresser, returning with a box. His putting it on was a fumbling process, his inexperience showing, but she made sure through looks and soft sounds to convey how ready she still was. “Uh,” he said hesitantly as he got back on the bed, “how do I, uh-“
“Relax, Finn,” she whispered. “Just get up on top of me, okay?” He did, in a series of hesitant motions. “Now use your hand to put your dick in me - no, a little higher. Little higher - right there,” she confirmed. “Now thrust - slowly, though.” He entered her carefully, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. He stopped immediately, looking down at her with concerned eyes.
“Are you okay?”
“Slow,” she reminded him, tears in her eyes. “Slowly,” he moved in her, awkward and fumbling but careful and loving - and as the pain started to dissipate, the pleasure of the act took centre stage instead. Her night with Puck was a dim, fumbling, alcohol-fuelled memory that she regretted every day. This was different - it was a spiritual experience, in a way that church had never been for her - the feeling of the two of them, connected so completely, was holy. It gave her pause, thinking of her father’s motivations for keeping her “pure.” His abstinence-or-nothing sex education philosophy, the chastity ball that he’d planned, all of it - was it to keep her from finding out the power she had, the power she could gain from this most simple of human acts?
She could feel herself building toward an amazing crescendo - and then, too soon, Finn came with a grunt. She tried to keep the disappointment from her face, not wanting to detract from his first time. He pulled out of her, leaving an aching emptiness in his wake, and shuffled up the bed to rain soft kisses across her face. He was weeping, and she kissed the salty tears before pulling him into a soft embrace, his head resting on her chest.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you too, Rachel,” she replied, stroking his head.
4.) See the ocean (either one)
Author: cranberry_pi
Rating: NC-17 for graphic sex.
Spoilers: Up to "Mattress," sort of. It's AU in that Quinn had a pregnancy scare, but wasn't really pregnant.
Summary: An attempt at this prompt.
WARNINGS: Cancer, Character Death.
CHAPTER WARNING: Explicit het sex.
A/N: I know, I know - the tag says Faberry, so what's with the Quinn/Finn sex? It was included, honestly, because I really felt that the story needed it. I rarely (read: never) write het sex, particularly of the graphic kind, but the story demanded it, and so there it is. I'm sorry if it puts everyone off, but if you'd rather skip it, then as soon as you get to the section in question just scroll down and read the chapter's last line, and you'll get the important bit.
A/N 2: I realised too late after I posted chapter 3 that I should have thrown in a reminder - Quinn's not a virgin in the physical sense. Chapter 1 talks about her night with Puck and how she thought she was pregnant - Russell just never found out about that. When Quinn talks in her bucket list about losing her virginity, she means in a way that counts, not because she was drunk on wine coolers. I hope that makes sense, and I apologise for not phrasing it better in chapter 3.
“Your mistakes do not define you now,
They tell you who you’re not.”
Fear. In the weeks since her diagnosis (almost a month now, a sixth of the way there, some traitorous part of her mind insisted on adding), Quinn thought she had begun to understand fear. Perhaps even to master it. But as she spent her second (she thought - the days were blending together, in a singular haze of agony) straight day in bed, clutching spasmodically at her head between bouts of being sick into the wastebasket beside her bed, she discovered that there was no controlling it. There was no amount of mental toughness that could drive out the thought - what if this went on for weeks? What if this was how she’d spend the remainder of her days, crying and whispering nonsense because she simply couldn’t focus through the pain? Could she live like that?
But on the second night, the painkillers the doctor had prescribed by phone and Finn had brought to her finally started to act. He had never left her side - he’d cleaned the wastebasket, spoken to her in soothing tones, brought her water when she could drink. As she opened her eyes for the first time without pain, she saw the tears still drying on his face. “Finn,” she whispered, “it’s okay.” She was absurdly grateful that Russell had chosen those days to be away on business, or she would have suffered alone.
“Quinn?” he squeezed her hand. “How are you? Can I get you anything?”
“What day is it?” she asked, panicked. “Did I miss Sectionals?”
“No,” he soothed, “no, it’s only Thursday. But you’re in no shape-“
“Don’t tell me I can’t do it,” she said, with a ferocity that felt at odds with her near-helplessness. “I need to do this.”
“Okay,” he nodded, but she couldn’t tell whether he was agreeing or simply not arguing. “What can I do?”
“Um,” she blushed, “can you help me to the bathroom?”
“Of course,” he didn’t bat an eye, just took a firm grip of her hand and pulled her slowly into a sitting position. The room spun, and she blinked hard. It returned to a stationary position, and she let Finn help her to her feet. She took small, hesitant steps, and he kept a comfortable hand on her all the way. It was his turn to blush when they reached her bathroom door. “I’m going to leave the door open, okay? I’ll walk a few steps down the hall, and I swear to god, I won’t look or anything, I just don’t want you to fall over or something and not be able to get in and help you.”
Quinn nodded, too embarrassed to say anything. She left him at the door and made her way inside, performing her ablutions as carefully as she could. She was only now, as her head cleared, noting the way her sweat-soaked nightgown was clinging to her, and she longed for a shower - but wasn’t willing to try that just yet. Instead she washed her hands and splashed cold water on her cheeks before returning to Finn, who helped her back down the hall and into bed. “What else can I do?” he asked, stroking her cheek.
“I’m starved,” she confessed.
“I, uh, I can’t cook.”
“There’s some soup in the fridge, I think - it’s in a clear container. Could you just heat me some up in the microwave?”
“Sure,” he nodded, “totally.” He made to leave, but she grabbed his arm.
“Finn - thank you. Thank you so much for not leaving me by myself.”
“I would never do that,” he promised. “As long as you want me here, I’ll be here.” He smiled and disappeared down the hall.
The headache had begun shortly after the scene that Santana and Rachel had made in Breadstix - a coincidence, certainly, but it was terribly appropriate. Quinn had been hoping, despite her feeble protests, that Santana would walk over to the table and force the truth out of the diva, but it didn’t pan out that way. Rachel saw her coming, and tried to leave before she reached her. Santana got in her way. There was shouting, and then there was a fistful of Rachel’s hair in her hand, and she was being dragged toward Quinn. Then Rachel, in a move that surprised everyone, kicked the back of Santana’s knee. She dropped, releasing the hair she held, and Rachel made her escape before anyone could catch up to her. Quinn winced, wondering what the repercussions had been over the last few days.
The microwave beeped, and Finn returned with the soup she’d asked for. He filled a spoon and extended it toward her. She raised an eyebrow. “You’re not serious. I can feed myself, Finn, I’m not that badly off yet.”
“I know,” he assured her. “I just - I wanted to do this. Could you let me?”
She wanted to argue - she was sixteen years old, after all, and the idea of being spoon-fed like an infant should have been insulting. But the honesty in his open features, combined with the tenderness he’d demonstrated over the last two days, won her over in the end. She nodded, and he smiled. She sipped the lukewarm soup - his microwave skills were apparently comparable to his cooking ones - and swallowed gratefully. He lovingly fed her the bowl, and gently dabbed the corners of her mouth with a napkin when she was done. She blinked hard against a flood of tears and cleared her throat.
“Could you lie down with me?” she whispered. Finn looked panicked. “Not like that - I’m not ready for that yet. Just - spoon me while I sleep?” He nodded and climbed in beside her. She was asleep quickly, but awake just long enough to hear Finn whisper “I love you.”
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She leaned on him just a little as they walked into the choir room the next day, and she was gratified to see that both Santana and Rachel were alive and apparently unharmed. She took a seat next to Finn and laid her head on his shoulder.
“Quinn,” Will said warmly. “It’s really good to see you. How are you feeling?”
She bit back a sarcastic response - he was asking out of kindness, and didn’t deserve it. “Better, Mister Schue, thanks. Looking forward to tomorrow.”
“That’s what I like to hear!” he grinned. “You guys are going to rock - I’m so proud of all of you, and the work you’ve put in. Can I talk you all into one final practice?” He could, as it turned out.
Less than twenty-four hours later, everything had turned upside down. Will wouldn’t be coming with them, due to some kind of incident with his wife, and they were left with Miss Pillsbury as their faculty advisor. She kept looking at Quinn on the bus ride to the competition like she wanted to have an impromptu counselling session, but Quinn’s glower seemed to convince her it would be a bad idea. Quinn looked back at Rachel, who hadn’t spoken a word to her since she came back, but the other girl wouldn’t meet her eyes.
Brittany and Santana dropped into the seats behind her and Finn. “How’s it going, Q?”
“Good - you?”
“Fine - I want you to know the only reason I didn’t kill the midget after she kicked me was because Britt talked me out of it.”
“Thanks, sweetie,” Quinn patted Brittany’s hand. “I appreciate it.”
“So, are you giving that one up as a lost cause?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Quinn shrugged. “Nothing I can do to make her talk to me, right?” She saw the look in Santana’s eyes. “Okay, rephrase - there’s nothing I want to do to make her talk to me. I’m just going to let it go.”
They arrived at the competition pumped and ready, and were thrilled to see that they’d be up first. As they waited for the music to start, Quinn stood behind a closed door that led to the aisles as the others waited behind the stage curtain. The first notes played, and she stepped through the door into a spotlight that followed her down the aisle. She began to sing, and in that moment, as everyone looked right at her, she understood what drew Rachel to performing. The bright spotlight shone, and she made sure as she looked into the crowd that each of them was met with her most dazzling smile. With perfect timing, she stepped onto the stage as she began the second verse, and the thick black curtain parted to reveal the rest of New Directions. As her final word floated in the auditorium air like a balloon, she was met with thundering applause, and she immediately ranked the moment as one of the best of her life. She floated through the two remaining numbers, and despite the twinge of a headache she never stopped smiling.
As they gathered for the trophy presentations, she clung to Finn’s side with all of her nervous tension radiating through her grip. She prayed, her eyes closed and her lips moving soundlessly, begging God to just let her have this one moment. And then she heard the judge’s pronouncement - they’d won. She cried buckets, and gratefully accepted the hugs and congratulations of her fellow club members - even Rachel embraced her tightly, not meeting her eyes as she did so. Only as the group broke into smaller groups of two and three celebrating students, leaving her and Finn with a small circle of space to themselves, did she stand on her toes to whisper in his ear. “Is your mother home?”
“Uh - no,” he shook his head. “Why?”
She fluttered her eyelashes, and he got it. “No, no she isn’t - can we go now?”
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was the least they’d ever worn in front of each other - Quinn in a lacy black bra and black boy shorts, and Finn in his white jockey shorts. There was no mistaking the bulge in them, and she smiled coyly. “Come here,” she led him to his bed, pushing him down to straddle him. She kissed him, deeply, feeling the coarse stubble on his chin scrape against her. He was timid where she was aggressive, probing at his lips with her tongue. He groaned into her mouth, and it sent a shiver of want straight to her core. She disengaged and kissed her way down his chest, stopping just above the waistband of his underwear. He put a hand on hers.
“Quinn, wait - you don’t have to do this. I mean - if you’re only - because,” she stopped him in the most effective way she could think of - wrapping a hand around the erection tenting his shorts and moving it slowly up and down. He stopped making any noise but soft groans.
“Finn, listen to me - you’re the only boy I’ve ever dated. I like you. And I don’t want to die without experiencing this with someone special - at least once. But I don’t want to rush you into anything. I want your first time to be special.”
“If it’s with you,” he raised his head to look her in the eye, “it’s special.”
She smiled and hooked two fingers in his underwear, pulling them down and out of the way. She was hardly an innocent - she had the internet, same as everyone else, and there’d been her drunken encounter with Puck as well - but it was only the second male member she’d ever seen in the literal flesh, and the size of it surprised her. But, emulating what she’d seen in porn, and what Santana had told her boys liked, she tossed her hair back over her shoulder and wrapped her lips around it. It wasn’t at all like the movies, she discovered quickly - she couldn’t get much of him into her throat without gagging - but she bobbed her head enthusiastically, and she could hear Finn crying out. She flicked her tongue along the shaft experimentally, and his cries got louder.
“Quinn!” he shouted, “I’m going to - you’ve got to-“
She knew what he was expecting - that she’d stop before he came. But she redoubled her efforts instead, and was rewarded as he began to stiffen and pulse in her mouth, ending in a stream of warm come that shot into her throat. She was surprised and somewhat put off at the taste - it was salty, nothing like she’d expected - but she kept on until he collapsed underneath her, drained. She smiled at him with hooded eyes and licked her lips before crawling up beside him and falling into his arms.
He was crying, and she wiped the tears from his face. “Quinn,” he whispered. “Oh, god, Quinn.”
“Was I - okay?” she asked, suddenly shy and self-conscious in the aftermath.
“You were - wow,” he breathed. “Do you still want to - I mean-“
“Why don’t you get me warmed up while you recover?” she kissed him, and he switched positions so she was on her back underneath him. He undid the front clasp of her bra and gasped as her breasts were revealed.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, ducking his head to take a rock-hard nipple in his mouth. Quinn gasped, her back arching as heat rushed to her centre.
“Fuck!” she hissed. “Oh, Finn, oh fuck!” his hand found her other breast and massaged it gently, and she quivered with want under him. He alternated between the two for a few minutes, until her nipples were sore from the attention, and then took her example and kissed his way down her chest. With a look for reassurance - she nodded - he pulled down her panties and threw them aside. She could feel his cock getting hard against her as he stared reverently at the damp thatch of blonde hair between her legs.
“You can touch it, Finn,” she whispered, and that seemed to startle him into motion. She spread her legs wider, letting his fingers trail a slow path across her slit. She moaned softly as he probed at her entrance, brushing her clit along the way. “Are you ready?” she asked huskily.
“God - yes.”
“You’ve got a condom?”
“Yeah,” he scampered off the bed and over to his dresser, returning with a box. His putting it on was a fumbling process, his inexperience showing, but she made sure through looks and soft sounds to convey how ready she still was. “Uh,” he said hesitantly as he got back on the bed, “how do I, uh-“
“Relax, Finn,” she whispered. “Just get up on top of me, okay?” He did, in a series of hesitant motions. “Now use your hand to put your dick in me - no, a little higher. Little higher - right there,” she confirmed. “Now thrust - slowly, though.” He entered her carefully, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. He stopped immediately, looking down at her with concerned eyes.
“Are you okay?”
“Slow,” she reminded him, tears in her eyes. “Slowly,” he moved in her, awkward and fumbling but careful and loving - and as the pain started to dissipate, the pleasure of the act took centre stage instead. Her night with Puck was a dim, fumbling, alcohol-fuelled memory that she regretted every day. This was different - it was a spiritual experience, in a way that church had never been for her - the feeling of the two of them, connected so completely, was holy. It gave her pause, thinking of her father’s motivations for keeping her “pure.” His abstinence-or-nothing sex education philosophy, the chastity ball that he’d planned, all of it - was it to keep her from finding out the power she had, the power she could gain from this most simple of human acts?
She could feel herself building toward an amazing crescendo - and then, too soon, Finn came with a grunt. She tried to keep the disappointment from her face, not wanting to detract from his first time. He pulled out of her, leaving an aching emptiness in his wake, and shuffled up the bed to rain soft kisses across her face. He was weeping, and she kissed the salty tears before pulling him into a soft embrace, his head resting on her chest.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you too, Rachel,” she replied, stroking his head.
4.) See the ocean (either one)