He's always been a fan of make-up sex. It's one of the best parts of arguing or fighting. But... shit, this is the one relationship he never wants to fuck up. With Santana, sure. He didn't give a shit. But Rach? God, he'll sit there and be emo until she's satisfied, just as long as they can be good again.

"I know." For the first time in forever - hey, they're both awake, and they have enough time to get naked. [Somebody better pinch him 'cause he's pretty sure this is a dream.] He crawls onto the bed, dropping onto his stomach and knocking the breath from his lungs. Rach. He doesn't speak; he's too busy kissing her, rolling to his back, tugging her to straddle him. His hands move between her thighs, encouraging, stroking; he takes himself in hand and rubs between her thighs, impatient, feeling her dripping as he kisses her.