A/N: Drabble prompted by tiltingaxis, 'Only When I Sleep' by The Coors.

Pretty sure this is not what she was expecting, but it's smut, so hopefully she'll forgive me. It doesn't fit it any current drabble collections (no pic but very NSFW) so I'm dropping this by its lonesome.

Disclaimer: Glee is not mine.

only when I sleep

She sees him everywhere. Well, sort of.

It's more like she glimpses him from the corner of her eye but when she turns her head, he's not there.

He never is.

He's just someone her mind made up.

That's what she tells herself every time she wakes up with the taste of this stranger on her tongue and in her memories. He's so very real, and feels so very real by the delicious ache between her legs. She closes her eyes, and tries to remember what he looks like, what he smells like, anything about him at all. She can remember what he feels like and how she feels when his lips and hands are all over her body. But that's it. Just messy hair, hair she likes to run her hand through, tugging tightly while his tongue probes and flicks between her legs.

Her dreams are the same every night. Starring this same stranger.

Reluctantly, she forces herself out of bed and to the bathroom. She has a crazy day ahead of her, and it wouldn't do to dwell on naughty dreams about a man who doesn't exist.

:::

Today is actually brutal. Her feet hurt when she leaves the concert hall. It's dark, much later than she's used to leaving and the security guard calls her a cab, opening the door for her with a smile when it gets there and bids her good night, and a safe travel home.

Right before he closes the door though, a messy mop of hair catches her attention and she cranes her head, hoping against all hope that someone is there this time.

There's nobody there, just a few of her cast-mates hurrying out the front door, all blonde and perky singers. She smiles nervously at Stan, the security guard, nodding at him as the cab pulls away.

She just wants to get home, to a hot bath, to sleep in late, relax a little until her show opens the next night.

:::

Stars burst behind her eyes as her body floats away.

She's dreaming - or at least she thinks she is - with her mysterious dream lover hovering above her, pressing her into the sheets, hands curling around her chest, holding her close, skin to skin; she can feel his heartbeat thudding against her.

Turning in his arms, she wraps her legs around his waist, arms winding around his neck as his lips linger on the skin of her shoulder, teeth scraping, tongue licking hot.

"Rachel," he murmurs hoarsely.

Her name is a whisper that seems to echo in the room and in her mind as she pants and crushes her body closer to his.

"More."

Her dream lover growls and nips at her neck, tongue swirling over her chest. He rests her against the pillows, his touch languid as his finger dips and curls inside her while his teeth pulls at her nipple. She feels his thumb circling her clit, another finger slipping in as he fucks her slow with his hand.

She cries out, his body fervent as it covers hers, grasping at the sheets as his pace increases. She rubs herself against his hand, still begging him to go harder.

She whimpers when he pulls his fingers from her, eyes flying open. He presses his fingers to her lips and her tongue snakes out to taste her own wetness coating his fingers. She grabs hold of his hand, takes his fingers into her mouth, licking them clean, sucking on them as he moans, other hand squeezing her thigh impatiently.

He spreads her legs wider for him, rubbing his cock against her slickness before surging inside with a low rumble. Her body shudders at the sweet, familiar invasion and she arches her back, sighing when his lips brush her chest before his teeth claims a nipple. She falls back onto the bed, her breast falling from his mouth with a wet pop, lifting her head to watch as his cock slides in and out of her.

He pulls back almost all the way out before thrusting forward again. Her nails dig into his shoulder as he does it again and again, making her whimper with each stroke, slapping against her almost painfully.

His fingers pinch at her clit and she screams out as her orgasm surprises her, his cock still stroking. He pulls her legs up and wider apart, pressing harder, sweat dripping from his body onto hers.

Her eyes roll back in her head as his fingers keep flicking against her wetness, acquiescing when she begs him to go harder.

:::

Her body aches when she wakes up the next morning.

Her fingers trail a familiar path from her neck, across her chest to the swollen flesh between her legs, her face getting warm as memories sharp and so fucking real flash behind her eyes.

His cock, hard and throbbing, pushing in and out of her, hands squeezing her waist as his orgasm claims him.

She remembers calling out his name as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her. She opens her eyes wide, sitting up on her elbow, looking down at the faint purplish bruises mottling her skin.

Warm lips passing softly over each one.

Finn.

She has a name. Finally.

She lays back on the bed, clutching the pillow close to her chest.

"Finn," she breathes out, smiling shyly.

Her alarm clock goes off then, and she sighs heavily and pulls herself off the bed, wincing as she walks to the bathroom. How can she have an orgasm that powerful while she's in a dream and have the physical marks on her body when she wakes up?

She worries at her bottom lip, turning the water up to scalding hot. She needs to wash away the dream so she can focus on her opening night performance for tomorrow. Worrying about her sanity can take a rain check, she decides. As she steps under the water, a memory of Finn pressing her onto the cool shower wall flashes in her mind, legs shaking as she leans against the tiles.

She bites her lip to hold onto the moan threatening to escape.

After spending too long and not still enough time in the shower, she wraps her robe around her and walks back to her bedroom. A flash of movement catches her eye and she sighs, closing them briefly, willing the memories of Finn and her dreams away as she tries to focus on the now.

She hums a song as she dresses, one that's always been a favourite of hers. She remembers singing it all the time when she was younger, dreaming of the day when she'd have a great love of her own.

When he takes me in his arms
The world is bright, all right…
What's the difference if I say I'll go away
When I know I'll come back on my knee someday
For whatever my man is, I am his forever more…

"Rachel."

A low, seductive voice whispers her name and glances around the room, frowning in surprise. She doesn't expect to see anyone because she lives alone. She shakes her head, unwrapping her wet hair from the towel as she grabs a brush to attempt to tame the wild mess.

Behind her in the mirror, stands a man, tall and broad, hands crossed over his chest. He's wearing jeans but barefoot, and bare-chested with a tattoo on his right arm, brown hair sticking up in disarray on his head.

She whirls around in fright, clutching her robe tight to her body, eyes widening at the stranger staring at her.

He just appeared out of nowhere. Because she's pretty certain there was no one else in her apartment. Goosebumps prickle over her skin as she stares at him, as he stares at her, silent, intense amber eyes watching her.

Her phone is on the night table. Beside him. She grips the brush in one hand and her curling iron in the other, holding them in front of her as she tries to back away to the door.

"Rachel,"

He calls her name again and something ripples over her skin, like a caressing touch. She gasps as her nipples suddenly harden and heat spreads through her, her hot centre throbbing with want, making her legs tremble. She's surprised at her body's reaction to this intruder.

"Who are you?! I know judo and I will kick your ass if you come near me! I'm calling the cops!" She cries out.

The man in front her smiles gently, one side of his mouth pulling up into a dimpled smile as he cocks his head and surveys her, his eyes raking unabashedly over her body.

She clutches her robe tighter, backing into the dresser behind her.

The way he looks her is almost familiar... like he knows about the birth mark right behind her knee. The mark on her thigh from when she had fallen from the tree in her front yard and a rock had buried itself in her skin. The two moles above her right nipple.

The reason why her body is so pleasantly sore from a delicious dream.

"You know I won't hurt you," he rumbles softly. His voice is gentle and quiet, and doesn't sound like it belongs to someone so imposing.

If he had wanted to, he could have come into the shower where she was naked, more vulnerable. Why wait until she was almost dressed? Still, she's uncomfortable at the strange familiarity she feels towards the man standing in front of her, and why she wasn't you know - freaking the fuck out.

"Yea, well, I'm not psychic so forgive me if I don't take you at your word!"

He chuckles softly at her and takes a step forward.

"No, no, no! You stay right there until the police get here!"

"Rachel," the man sighs, "you know who I am. You have no need to be afraid of me."

She can't explain it, but somehow she knows he's right. He means her no harm. Warm amber eyes bore into hers and he extends a hand towards her, his entire arm looking like it was sculpted from marble, fingers long and thick as they beckon her to him.

She blinks at them and then looks up to the stranger. He's huge, broad shoulders, big hands. But his face is so relaxed and youthful, freckles scattered over the bridge of his nose and cheeks, jaw scruffy and angular. Messy hair.

"Who are you?" She asks again.

As if in answer, memories and images suddenly flood her mind: late night kisses and seeking hands, hard body pushing into hers, strong fingers curling inside her, tongue wrapped around her clit, floating on a cloud of ecstasy as he spreads her legs and fucks her hard into oblivion.

She drops the brush and curling iron to the floor in a clatter, pressing her back into the wall, her hands flying to cover her mouth as she stares at him with wide, disbelieving eyes.

He winks at her and holds his hand out again, his fingers curling her towards him.

"Please?"

She remembers how those fingers felt, brushing over her skin, running through her hair, caressing her chin, cheek and lips, soft and tender.

"Rachel."

She nearly faints when he calls her name again, squeaking in surprise as the sound of it pulls her from one erotic fantasy into reality, large, foreboding and too sexy for words.

"Finn?"

Finn smiles, his eyes melting to happy pools of molten gold as he strides towards her.

"Finally."

A/N2: Finchel smut army. Report.

Keeping this open in case I decide to continue. Song is 'My Man' by Bra Streisand.