Their kiss is long and blissful; he closes his eyes and blocks out everything except Rachel. There's the weight of her in his arms and the scent of her hair and skin, the press of her lips against his and the taste of her, sweet and warm, like the lemon tea she's been drinking almost unceasingly. Her ass is warm against his palm and he cups it fondly, squeezing. This is it for him, and there's no place else he'd rather be.

"You pimping me out before our wedding?" he breathes, visibly shivering; one hand abandons her ass to wrap long fingers around her wrist, stilling her motions [he can't think when she's moving like this]. "Babe, s'hot, but I got over other chicks a long time ago. Now if you got some way to sneak into a theatre like you and Hummel did during Nationals just so I can fuck you on that stage, now, I'm down with that. Can you swing that, baby?"