DISCLAIMER: I neither own Glee nor the characters. They are the property of Ryan Murphy and FOX. This is purely for fun. Enjoy! :)

A/N: Can you tell that I loved The Power of Madonna? This fic will be more than one chapter, not sure how many, but expect angst! Cause you all know how much The Minsk loves her angst!

Sex, Lies, and Glee

Chapter One: The End of Finnocence

He stared at his reflection in the mirror of the motel bathroom; the kinda sketchy one in the shadow of the highway in the bad part of town. If he had it his way, he would be in a much nicer place. Preferably a spacious, well-lit, bedroom painted in pastels with stuffed animals lining the shelves on the walls.

Taking a deep breath, he tried in vain to shake that idea out of his mind. He had to focus on the task at hand. He hadn't shelled out the cash for this room just to sit around and think about how he'd fucked shit up with Rachel. In fact, thinking about Rachel was the very last thing he should be doing before having sex with another girl. She was on a date of her own with Jessie, and he had a sinking feeling that she was on her way to losing her Big-V as well. The thought alone was like a wrecking ball to his heart. He'd lost her in every way possible. He was hoping that having sex with Santana would numb the pain of losing Rachel. He pushed his thoughts of Rachel out of his mind and steeled himself for what he was about to do. He had a hot cheerleader in the next room who was willing to punch his V-card, and he needed to man up before she thought he was gay or something.

He looked at himself in the mirror one last time. Santana's voice carried into the poorly-lit bathroom, wondering where he was, and he stuttered out a response nervously as his heart started to pound fiercely in his chest. This was it. After tonight, he would no longer be a virgin. He said a silent farewell to "Virgin Finn" in the mirror, and walked out of the bathroom.

The room was small, and dark with generic furniture and "No Smoking" signs spread throughout the space. A bright, obtrusive light from the "Motel" sign leaked into their room and bathed the bed in a red glow. A bed had never looked so intimidating.

Lying in a lavender-colored nightie on the unwelcoming neutral fabric of the motel bed, was Santana Lopez. Cheerleader. Popular. Bitchy. Hot. He'd never seen a girl in so little clothes before when they weren't in a bathing suit. Her eyes were smoldering and sexy, and she slid across the comforter to beckon him to the bed.

He was frozen. Terrified. Shitting himself.

His mind was racing so fast he couldn't keep up with what was going on in his head. He couldn't figure out what his brain was telling him, what his heart was telling him, and what his dick was telling him. They all wanted different things. So he closed his eyes and tried to forget that Santana was waiting for him not two feet in front of where he was standing. He took a deep breath, and sorted out the jumble of thoughts in his messed-up head.

His heart was telling him he wanted Rachel, but he knew he couldn't have her. She belonged to someone else now.

His mind was telling him he wasn't ready, that something about this wasn't right.

His dick was telling him to get the hell on that bed and have sex with the hot cheerleader. RIGHT FUCKING NOW.

As always, his dick won the battle.

He walked towards the bed slowly, as if he was a man taking his last steps. When he got to the edge of the bed, he felt Santana's long, sharp nails, almost like claws, dig into his shirt. She pulled him down for a kiss that was meant to be sexy, but ended up sloppy because he was caught off guard from her claws pinching his nipples. Those things were fucking sharp.

She looked him up and down, like he was a piece of meat on display. He felt very self-conscious. She'd been with a bunch of guys before, and he was more virginal than a cat-toy. What if he wasn't good in bed? What if she compared his junk with other guys?

He was so nervous he didn't even realize he wasn't turned on until she started to get grabby. One of her eyebrows arched up in confusion and he grew even more nervous under her questioning gaze. He tried staring at her boobs and thinking about what was about to happen, but nothing was working. So he closed his eyes, and thought about the one thing that never failed to turn him on.

Rachel.

He thought about her olive skin and how it almost looked like Santana's dark Latina skin in the pale lighting of the room. Tenderly, he touched her dark hair and imagined that it was Rachel's. His face fell forward into the dark locks. With his head buried here, he didn't have to see her face; he could just imagine that it was Rachel he was holding close to him.

The girl in his arms started to push him down onto the bed and he let her, giving into his fantasy, and letting her take control.

She looked at herself in the mirror, soaking in the image of herself in her very best nightie, with a matching capelet that took her forever to find at last year's Renaissance Faire. She looked perfect. She was groomed and polished and her boyfriend was willing and waiting in the next room.

So why couldn't she leave her bathroom? Why couldn't she go and have sex with her handsome, charming boyfriend?

Because he's not Finn. The idea was on repeat in her mind, and as much as she didn't want to admit it, it was true. As awkward and uncomfortable as things had been between them lately, she couldn't deny in her heart that she still wanted her first time to be with Finn.

She felt anger pulse through her at her heart's own weakness. Finn was a lost cause. Things were never going to work out between them and she had to accept that before it started to control her life. She had a new man now. Someone who was distinguished and classy and talented and charming. Someone who could do a fox-trot that would make your knees weak. Someone who knew the Sondheim catalog just as well as she did.

But he wasn't Finn.

He'd broken her heart more times than she would like to admit. They had a history with more ups and downs than a roller coaster. But she was in love with him. Head-over-heels, crazy in love with him. She didn't know whether or not it was because he was 6'3 or had eyes as warm as hot cocoa. Whether or not it was his voice or the way he made her feel like her name was already in lights; but she loved that boy.

And it was tearing her apart inside. She was afraid that no one would ever compare to Finn Hudson. And that she would never be ready if it wasn't with him.

But she had to move on. They both had to move on. She could remember the way he'd looked at her while they rehearsed the other day. He'd looked so upset when he found out about Jessie. Then after they rehearsed she'd wanted to kiss him so badly. . .

NO! She had to stop repeating the same patterns with Finn. She might not be ready for sex, but she was ready to move on. First he didn't want her, now he did. This kind of relationship wasn't healthy. They needed to go back to just being friends. It would be better for the both of them.

Besides, an angry voice whispered in her mind, he's out on a date with Santana Lopez right now. The girl who had admitted that she'd never said no to sex. Ever. She had to fight back tears imagining Finn with Santana. They weren't even dating and he was planning on sleeping with her! He might not care about the importance of sex and losing his virginity, but she knew better. She was going to wait.

She looked in the mirror again and nodded her head. She would turn down Jessie, but lie to Finn about it. If he knew that she'd done it with Jessie, maybe he would take the hint that she was trying to get over him. Being around him was weakening her defenses. She hated to lie, especially to him, but she felt like it was the only way to get him to move on.

She opened the door to see her boyfriend, Jessie St. James, waiting expectantly for her, a puzzled look on his handsome face. He was such a gentleman; so dashing, so debonair, so eloquent.

So why couldn't she get Finn Hudson out of her head? Her mind was screaming the answer to her as she lied to Jessie about why she couldn't go through with the dirty deed.

Because you love him. You'll never get over him. And you'll save yourself for him until the day you die.

She was afraid that had been the reason.

Finn definitely didn't feel sexy, that's for sure. Sexy was the last thing he felt at the moment. Right now, he felt like he needed a shower. A hot shower. A hot shower with one of those loofahs that scrubbed your skin until it was red and raw. He needed that kind of shower as soon as he dragged himself home.

The empty containers from Santana's burger littered his passenger seat as he maneuvered through the streets of Lima and back home. When he parked his car in front of his house, he shut off the ignition and let his head fall back against the head-rest of his seat, succumbing to the overwhelming emotions flowing through him.

He wanted to get out of his clothes and burn them. He wanted to shower until every cell on his body was removed and replaced with fresh skin. He felt dirty. And not in a good way. In a filthy way.

He peeled himself off of the seat and lumbered into the house awkwardly, like he was liquid inside of his skin. He didn't feel like himself. He barely threw the junk out of his pockets beofre striping down naked and hopping right into the shower. He put the water up as hot as his skin could tolerate before letting his head fall forward onto the still-cold tile with a thud. The hot steam billowed around him, smothering him in a cloud of heat and vapor as he sunk into his mind and contemplated his feelings.

He felt like shit.

It hadn't helped anything. Having sex hadn't changed a damn thing.

In fact, he was pretty sure he felt worse now than he did before.

It had meant nothing. Nothing.

And now he felt nothing.

The water became scalding and he felt like he was melting under the intensity of the heat. He turned the temperature down a bit, but relaxed in the steam of the shower.

After standing under the hot water until his fingers resembled dried fruit, he'd realized a few things about himself.

First, was that he was no longer a virgin. That was a fact, but the funny thing was, he still felt like a virgin. In his heart, he knew he had been wrong to do it with someone he didn't care about. In the real world, he was technically not a virgin, but in his heart he still felt like one.

Second, he would not do it again unless it was with the right person. The person he cared about more than anything. He would wait for her as long as it took.

Third, that person was Rachel. Hands down. He cared about her, no, that wasn't enough. He loved her. And he would wait for her until that Jessie kid was out of the picture.

Fourth, Rachel couldn't know. He didn't care if it made him look prude or dorky, to tell people that he didn't have sex with the loosest Cheerio on the squad, but he didn't care. She could never know about this.

Finally tiring of the hot water, he shut off the shower and grabbed his robe. He laughed mirthlessly as he thought about what he would tell Rachel in school on Monday.

Hey Rachel, I'm in love with you and realized it only after sleeping with a girl I didn't care about. Now I'm pretending to be a virgin so you don't think I'm a jerk who fools around with any tail that comes my way. Oh by the way, did you lose your virginity to the team's enemy? Because that would suck balls.

He had to work on that.

Salut mes amis!

A New Story! This one will be quite the angsty fic. Sex, lies and Glee! What a great combo!

Until Next Time. . .*sings* Don't Stop. . . Reviewing!

Merci Mille Fois

The Minsk