Written after Showmance.

A sunny yellow house in suburbia atop a perfectly manicured lawn, mid-afternoon. Harsh sunlight beat down on a rusty orange Toyota in the drive and a man in a blood red football jersey stood on the door step. He rang the bell once, turned to look nervously over his shoulder, and rang the doorbell again. A faint yell from within the house; the man rang the doorbell a third time.

"Look, I appreciate the effort - I really do – but my fathers and I have no interest in being Jehov- Finn?"

Rachel Berry stood in the doorway, a half-empty pint of Ben and Jerry's in one hand, hair knotted on top of her head. She was barefoot, and wore only a pair of grey sweatpants and a black tanktop.

Finn – who was entirely taken aback at seeing Rachel in anything other than an entirely put-together state – made a slightly strangled noise, then cleared his throat. "Uh, Rachel?" He watched as she turned a previously unseen shade of scarlet.

"My Daddy's at work, and Dad's at the country club and-" she started to struggle to explain her state, but it seemed to occur to both of them simultaneously that Finn was the one who ought to be explaining himself. "Wait, what are you doing here?"

Finn's hand slipped nervously to the back of his neck. "Uh, Rachel? We need to talk."

"Oh!" Rachel said, as though this explained everything, and stepped out of the doorjamb to allow him inside. As Finn crossed the threshold he immediately drew in on himself in an effort to leave the absolutely suffocating décor of the entry hall undisturbed. The walls were painted a deep burgundy, and shelves were pushing in from either direction, covered with trinkets vying for the visitor's attention. One entire wall seemed to be devoted to showcasing Rachel's achievements. Countless ribbons, trophies, and photographs cluttered the shelf-space along with stacks of yellowing report cards and several dozen childhood paintings. The other wall was adorned with what appeared to be kitschy souvenirs from various exotic locales.

By the time Finn managed to tear his eyes from this scene, Rachel was long gone. A little frantic, Finn hurried out of the entry hall and into the expansive room at the end. A large screen television was at the far end of the room, surrounded by airy looking rugs and a pair of snow white couches. To the left, on either side of the fireplace were sliding glass doors, thrown open to what appeared to be a room decorated entirely in navy blue. To the right was a kitchen table, as well as a kitchen painted in airy yellows and blues and covered in blonde wood and white granite. This was where Finn finally spotted Rachel, practically buried in the refrigerator.

"Would you like a drink, Finn? We have Coke, Sprite, Rootbeer, and Dr. Pepper. Or how about some ice cream? We have more or less every kind imaginable. Daddy's addicted." She pulled herself out of the refrigerator long enough to glance up at him and see him gaping at her the room. "Oh, yeah, my fathers both have very distinctive styles... They had a tournament in Wii Bowling to see who'd get to decorate which room."

Finn licked his lips – this was becoming awkward, quickly. Her false cheeriness wasn't very stable – it was changing rapidly between perfect hospitality and poorly disguised attempts to distract him. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. He opened his mouth to tell her that he was leaving, but she narrowed her eyes before he could even get a good breath in. He blinked, and quickly changed tactics. "Uh, can I have a Coke?"

"Sure," Rachel said, quickly switching back to false brightness. She passed him his Coke, bumped the refrigerator closed with her hip, and then crossed the room to plop down on one of the couches in all of her lounge wear glory. Cautiously, Finn popped the tab on his Coke and crossed to sit on the opposite couch, very carefully safe-guarding against any possibly for spills, even as Rachel sloppily attacked her ice cream.

"I, uh, wanted to talk about today," Finn said slowly.

"What's to talk about?" Rachel asked, immediately stuffy and clearly wounded.

"You know, what we have to talk about," Finn snapped and then immediately blushed.

"It obviously didn't mean anything to you," Finn could have sworn he heard her sniffle, head buried in the carton of chocolate chip mint, "so, clearly, it's nothing to me, either."

Finn scrunched his eyes tightly closed, instinctively trying to force out this newfound drama in its entirety. Did she really think that those kisses had meant nothing at all to him? He wasn't Puck, for Christ's sake. Did she honestly believe that he was so superficial? Didn't she know that if he had more control and wasn't terrified of cumming all over her and she wanted it as well, he'd have no place in celibacy club anymore? His thoughts were quickly getting off track. "Of course it meant something to me, Rachel, I-"

"Yeah, maybe it meant an easy fuck," Rachel said sharply, the unexpected swear sounding quite foreign on her lips. "Well, I'll tell you right now that I have no interest in anything commitment free. If Quinn's restrictions make it difficult for you to...be satisfied, too bad. You're just gonna have to take it up with someone else."

"I don't think I want anyone else," Finn breathed, untouched Coke shaky in his hand. Rachel paused warily, a spoonful of ice cream halfway to her mouth. "You were right, Rachel. I do have feelings for you, and I wasn't man enough to admit it." His Coke can was visibly shaking as he leaned towards her, and she was unsurprised to find herself leaning in as well. "I...Quinn was always just... I mean, come on, Rachel, I joined celibacy club to get in her pants!" Rachel didn't even try to bite back her responding snicker. "This is different."

Rachel quickly deflated again, her resumed attack on her ice cream punctuated with another sniff. "If you think a few kind words are gonna get me to let you do what you want – while dating Quinn, nonetheless – you are sorely mistaken."

"I've dumped Quinn. And it's okay, I'm used to waiting."

With several, very carefully measured steps, Rachel rose, crossed the rug, and took his can from him. He followed her warily as she briskly went to the kitchen and set his untouched Coke and her clean bowl on the counter.

And then, with one smooth motion, she turned and threw the entirety of her weight into the solid brick wall that was Finn Hudson.

Seeing as she was so much shorter than he, in order for her to kiss him without him entirely bending in half, she had to quite literally jump him. Luckily, years of being a football player had given Finn fabulous reflexes, and he caught her with one hand under her ass, the other steadying them both on the counter behind her. Her mouth was all over him, and he was the farthest thing from trying to stop her. Her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, so it was fairly easy for Finn to heft her onto the counter without breaking contact. She forcibly jerked him towards her, smacking his hips against the counter, effectively leaving them both clutching each other, panting.

"This," Finn started, but then trailed off in an effort to return his heart rate to normal.

"This," Rachel agreed with a shaky breath and a huge grin.

"Rachel, I want to do this right."

Rachel considered for a moment, lips pursed. "Really? 'Cause I just want to do this."