AN: So this is the end and I can't thank you enough for all the love. You all are a pleasure to write for!

He finds someplace for them to be alone together and it doesn't even surprise her because he's Noah Puckerman, so of course within three hours of arriving at the theater on Saturday, he'd be able to navigate the bustle of a dozen or so teams backstage and lead her to this unused and slightly dusty dressing room on the far side of the building. In a distant corner of her mind she suspects he probably bribed or charmed the stage manager into providing the key, but she doesn't really care. Mr. Schuester most likely thinks they're at lunch with everyone else, (admittedly the part where she told him that they'd be at lunch with everyone makes that almost a certainty) and she should feel guilty about telling an outright lie, but no, that's not even on her radar.

At this exact moment in time, she cares about two things: the stage where in a few hours her team will be kicking ass and taking names and the boy who's currently brushing his lips along her ear while insinuating one hand underneath her blouse. And lucky her, those two things aren't even remotely in opposition.

"You nervous baby? Got butterflies? Because I can help with that," he whispers, the words vibrating against her skin, sending a pleasurable thrill down her spine.

Yes. Yes to everything, to the nerves and the butterflies that are never absent when she's about to perform. And yes to the fingers making warm circles on bare skin and the hard press of his thigh in between her legs.

Honestly, there's no question that as far as relaxation techniques go, this is going to destroy visualization and deep breathing exercises.

He takes her moan for the affirmative that it was meant to be and nibbles a gentle trail down the the curve of her shoulder, while she works the buttons of his shirt and then tugs it off, exposing his hard arms and chest. Smiling, she takes a moment to appreciate the view, eyes only darting up when he laughs.

"I can't help it," she fake-pouts, stepping backwards. "You're gorgeous."

"I'm hot," he corrects. "You on the other hand? Gorgeous. This is gorgeous." He advances and cards one hand delicately through her hair before cradling the base of the skull and pulling her in for an quick kiss. Then he smiles wickedly. "Especially spread out across my pillow."

"Well, since I worked hard enough to get there, it's certainly a relief to know you enjoyed it." She's definitely teasing him here, because they may have only been together for a few days, a few busy days full of packing and rehearsals and stolen moments in the hotel corridors between room checks, but she's already figured out that any reference to the lengths she went to in order to be with him drives him absolutely wild. Admittedly, bringing it up still makes her blush a little, but the results? Totally worth it.

Like now.

His eyes darken and he grabs the hem of her blouse and smoothly pulls it over her head and then his mouth follows and burns all along her exposed skin, while his fingers dig into her hips. She has to clutch his shoulders for balance because her knees are weak but the damp ache centered between her thighs is an incredible motivator. Looking around wildly, she sees a small sofa wedged into the corner and it gives her ideas.

She pulls him up so she can fasten her mouth to his, kissing him hard, and then sliding one hand along the front of his pants, she traces his rigid length, enjoying the groan she pulls from deep in his throat. Working his button and zipper carefully, she slips her hand inside, enjoying contrast of hard and smooth, stroking once, then again while he buries his face into neck and breathes out her name. Taking advantage of his distraction, she guides him backwards, pressing him down into a seated position on the sofa and when he chases her with his hands she shakes her head laughingly and steps back.

He up looks at her with half-lidded eyes. "I thought I was planning on relaxing you."

"You will," she promises, flicking the clasp on her bra and letting it fall to the floor. Another minute and her her skirt slides down to pool at her feet and she's standing in front of him in a scrap of lace underwear that along with a few other items that she fervently hopes will make his mouth fall open, formed the basis of a last-minute trip to Victoria's Secret.

"Shit Rach, this works too," he groans, lifting his hips so he can shove his pants down around his knees and palm his cock, while she watches breathlessly.

This won't the first time they've actually had sex; he'd sneaked into her room on Wednesday night while she was trying to pack and made her see stars on top of the neatly folded piles of clothes she had spread all over her bed. (And then kept kissing her and tickling her and making her giggle when she insisted he help her repack.) And last night they'd slipped away while the group was at the hotel pool; he'd wedged the door of the changing room shut and then pressed into her against the wall while she bit into his shoulder to keep from screaming out his name. And while she enjoyed those experiences immensely, he was definitely the creative force behind them and right now she's in the mood for something a little more take-charge.

She nudges his knees apart and steps between them.

"Do you want to take these off?" she asks softly, hooking one finger under the material at her hip.

His eyes close briefly and she can see him swallow and then he reaches for her, hands skating up her legs, tracing the edging of lace along the crease of her thigh.

"These is pretty," he says thickly, rubbing the material between his fingers and then dragging her panties down her thighs. "But like I said before, this is gorgeous." He presses a kiss just below her belly-button and another, lower down and the sound that comes out of her throat is halfway between a sigh and a moan. She's fairly certain her legs are going to give out, so before that happens she straddles his knees. Reaching down, she finds his wallet and the condom she knows he's keeping in there, (she's safe, he's safer) and with her forehead to Noah's, they both watch as she carefully smooths it on.

"So fucking hot, baby," he murmurs against her skin, dipping his head to take one nipple into his mouth, sucking and nibbling as she arches against him. She groans and moves closer, sliding her hips against him, letting his cock bump against her clit and then drag along her slit and then back again and again, until they're both half out of their heads with it. And when she's aching and ready and he's straining against her, she pushes up and then sinks back down on him, letting him fill her completely.

It's perfectperfectperfect, exactly what she needs, and she has to fight not to dig her nails into his skin when he hisses out her name.

Hands trembling, fluttering from his shoulders down to his arms and then back again, she works to find the measured rhythm she wants. She rolls forward to grind on the upthrusts and her thighs tremble at the effort needed to keep her movements slow and steady and everything is heat and slickness and the drumbeat building between them. One of his hands drift lower and ghosts over her clit, rubbing a series of teasing circles so insubstantial they barely exist.

Gasping out "harder," she covers his hand with hers, directing his movements and demanding more pressure.

"Keep touching yourself," he says hoarsely before sliding his hand away and then gripping her hips, surging beneath her, moving her up and down in fierce thrusts.

"Love this," she keens, feeling the first ripples of her climax. "So good!"

"Fuck," he grunts, slamming up into her. "Always wanted this. Always wanted you."

She buries her face into his neck and lets go with his name, pulsing around him and he's following with whispered, half-heard promises against her hair.

There are things like costumes and sound checks and warm-ups to worry about, but even given all that, it takes them both a long time to move. With his warm hands stroking her back lazily, she's not sure that she even wants to.

But on the other hand, she doesn't think she's ever felt more like singing than she does right now.

"All right, ten minutes people!" Kurt crosses the stage behind the closed curtain with clipboard in hand. "Finn, if you touch Brad's score again, I won't be responsible for his actions. Brittany, spit that gum out...no! Not there! Sam, I swear if you don't un-pop that collar right now, there will be blood. Or just me yelling at you. Either way...!"

New Directions scatters in obedience to Kurt's commands, except for the two dark heads bent together in quiet conversation center-stage. With Rachel leaning into Puck and one of his hands spread out along the small of her back, it's an intimate picture, but one that the members of New Directions have quickly become accustomed to over the last week, with varying degrees of approval, confusion, and in his own case, outright exultation.

Watching the two of them fills him with a deep sense of satisfaction that stems from a job well done and there's only one conclusion that Kurt Hummel can come to: he is an absolute genius.

He'd take more time to appreciate the appealing picture the two of them make, (and applaud his own brilliance) but the sound of his father's voice calling his name from the wings shakes him out of his reverie and he hurries over.

"Dad, what are you doing back here? Shouldn't you be in your seat?"

"Carole's saving my spot," Burt says, tugging uncomfortably on his tie. "I just thought I'd tell you to, what is it? Break a leg, right? I know you guys have worked hard to get here and I wanted to make sure you know I'm proud of you."

Kurt pulls his dad into a hug because some things (admittedly very, very few things) are worth the chance of a wrinkle on this jacket. When they pull back, Burt looks over his shoulder and Kurt can see confusion settling over his features.

"Hey, isn't that the Puckerman kid? And Rachel?"

Kurt turns to find the two of them still linked together in a loose embrace, beautifully lit by the warm amber glow of a single pin light, because even subconsciously, Rachel is always going to know how to set a scene. (It's one of his favorite things about her.)

"Absolutely." And thankfully for his sanity's sake, not a moment too soon.

"Is, uh, your brother okay with that?" Burt asks hesitantly.

Kurt waves this off. "Finn? Not to worry. That ship has sailed, landed and gone into dry-docks to have the barnacles scraped off."

"Carole was saying something like that. Still, I never would have put those two together."

"Mmmm. I admit on the surface they may not be the obvious choice, but they're actually kind of perfect together."

Burt shakes his head wryly. "I recognize that tone, Kurt. Did you have something to do with this?"

Something to do with it? Only if his Dad means planning the entire thing from start to finish when it became completely obvious that the two of them weren't going to be able to come back from whatever ridiculous misunderstanding had derailed them from what Kurt has long considered their inevitable reunion.

"Maybe," he replies circumspectly.

"You know, your mom was a romantic too."

Kurt smiles, "I remember. Now you should get to your seat and I should inform those two that we're on in five minutes."

Rachel smiles up at Noah as she straightens his tie. "There. Perfect. "

Noah smirks and wraps his arms a little more tightly around her. "Always was, baby. I just hid it well."

"Oh, you had your moments," she saying rolling her eyes at him, while at the same time leaning a little closer.

He shrugs and says quietly, "The good ones were all with you."

Oh my.

She breathes in sharply, eyes zeroing in on his mouth. "Kurt will kill me if I smudge my lipstick...," she says regretfully.

"It's kiss-proof!" Kurt chirps over her shoulder. "I bought it specially." He watches the two of them benevolently, obviously waiting. "Well? What are you waiting for? Curtain's about to go up."

"Yeah, we got it from here, Hummel," Noah laughs.

Kurt mutters sotto voce, "Right. Now the two of you can do it all on your own."

Rachel blows a kiss to him as he turns to leave. "Thanks for everything, Kurt. You've been wonderful."

He smiles and waggles his fingers and Rachel assumes that he's heading over to his stage mark, but of course it's impossible to tell, because she's got goosebumps all up and down her arms and there's a rushing noise in her ears because her heart is beating a thousand times a minute, and it seems quite likely that the only thing keeping her standing is Noah. It seems ridiculous, this out-sized reaction to a single (perfect, passionate, amazing) kiss.

A minute later, when the curtain rises and the music swells and New Directions lifts its collective voice and she can still feel the sensation down to the tips of her fingers and toes, she realizes that she never wants it to go away.

And that night, when the winner is announced and the first person to reach her is him as the rest of them try to hoist a trophy bigger than she is into the air, she thinks that he feels the same way.

A/N: Again, thank you all so much! Your feedback is much appreciated. :)