fic: methodical (glee)
rachel/quinn, nc-17, ~1050
includes anal sex, rimming; from this prompt
At almost eighteen (the mental Rachel in her head corrects seventeen years, eleven months, three weeks and two days) and as the graduating class-oh hell, the entire school’s only not-gay but still non-straight person (the correct term is pansexual, Quinn), Rachel can be nothing less than methodical (read: completely effing insane) in the relationship even now.
Quinn cannot be expected to mute her feelings on this tendency.
“Oh my god…”
Rachel mutters something behind her but doesn’t lose focus.
Between rocking uselessly against the mattress and wanting to twist around and strangle the midget settled between her legs, Quinn presses her forehead into the sheets and curses the fact that she can’t actually hate this girl.
Fingers slip-slide inside her like Rachel is trying to get the last M&M out of the bag instead of just trying to get her off and she shudders in frustration, lifts her ass like a damn idiot (how the hell does Rachel always make her feel like a whore?) and grinds out, “Totally ready now, come on-”
“I’m not sure yet…” Quinn almost shrieks, “…further preparation to prevent injury.”
“Rach, I’m going to beat you to death with your stupid fake dick-” Quinn does shriek this time, yanking hard on the sheets when damp fingers open her easily and a tongue flicks once, twice, experimentally. “God- god-” Her ass is in the air again (how does Rachel always get her ass in the air?) as Rachel probes her, pulls away for a moment of consideration (her forehead is wrinkled and her eyes are squinty and she looks like she’s planning some kind of mass mutiny, Quinn knows) and then returns to tongue her more forcefully. “Ungh…”
Sex is embarrassing.
The contact ends too suddenly but Quinn barely has a moment to voice a complaint (mainly because she has her face pressed dumbly into the bed and, god, she probably looks like a murder victim) as the bed dips and Rachel shifts, skims small but openly possessive hands up her hips. Her hips are tilted precisely and her fists might clench in the sheets then but she isn’t nervous.
A moment of pressure that grows, Rachel’s fingers flexing comfortably in the flesh of her hips before Quinn’s body opens around the sudden penetration. There’s a nervous “Are you-?” behind her but Quinn only shudders in an odd mix of relief and enjoyment, babbles uselessly until Rachel slides deeper. “Tell me if you want me to-”
The words end in a yelp when Quinn rocks back anxiously, mutters, “Move” the way she always tells the little Cheerios to launch themselves into the air faster, higher, and add in an extra flip to hell with broken bones, dammit.
There’s a momentary hesitation, her girlfriend unsure before Quinn somehow feels her spine snap back into place, hears her take a sure breath and feels her get a better grip on Quinn’s hips.
Her smugness at getting her way (nobody else gets their way with Berry) only lasts a second.
Because Quinn had barely managed not to laugh when Rachel had slipped out of the bathroom with the bright purple dildo and the basic black harness, stopped herself only because her girlfriend’s eyes were a little too bright and her lower lip was a little too obvious even across the room from where she’d been sitting on the bed but in hindsight there is nothing funny about Rachel and the bright purple dildo.
Because Rachel is already moving, slow at first but already sure as Quinn gets a better grip on the sheets, pants out her surprise and excitement as the pace quickens almost immediately.
Quinn shouldn’t be surprised, there’s nothing that Rachel Berry is bad at because she’s good at everything (okay, except for that one thing) and this- is good-
Between one thrust and the next Rachel’s body folds around hers, change of angle making her breath catch in her throat as hands cup her breasts, as a nail flicks her nipple almost casually. “Rach-”
She really doesn’t want to come yet, damn it, not after all how long it took-
A mouth grazes her neck before teeth sink almost delicately into her shoulder and she shudders, rolls her eyes up so hard it should hurt but doesn’t because there’s nothing but Rachel fucking her fast and easy and if someone had told her three years ago she’d be bent over-
Her orgasm is sudden, brutal, voice breaking into a little shriek as Rachel pants into her neck, grip turned possessive and rhythm just this side of too much.
One arm shifts to circle her middle as the other hand skims down her belly, as fingers slip quick between her thighs before Quinn can make another one of her embarrassing Rachel is making me cross-eyed noises. She babbles her approval even though she doesn’t have to, strung tight and already close a second time as Rachel nuzzles her neck.
An actual nuzzle like a puppy or something and it should not be sexy, it should just be annoying except oh, hey, Quinn’s coming again, little cry choked as Rachel groans and shakes all around and behind and on top of her.
God, if someone had told her told her this three years ago, she might have avoided the whole drama with the airport and the Eiffel Tower and everything else because god she even loves the part after the good part when Rachel is curled around her and murmuring Quinn's name like it's her favorite word.
Quinn sags as soon as Rachel’s grip loosens, face dropping uselessly into the mattress. She manages a noise only when she feels Rachel draw out, shudders a little because ow a little bit but not really in a bad way, not yet.
“Quinn?” Her hair is swiped back, her head lifted so that Rachel can check her like an X-rated version of Florence Nightingale: The Musical. “Did I do-?”
“Great,” Quinn assures her thinly, only vaguely aware that the now-shiny purple dildo is bobbing at almost eye level and yet sure she doesn’t really care with the bare thigh resting along her belly and the arm around her middle and Rachel smells great after sex. “You did great-”
Rachel almost pokes her eye out.
includes anal sex, rimming; from this prompt
At almost eighteen (the mental Rachel in her head corrects seventeen years, eleven months, three weeks and two days) and as the graduating class-oh hell, the entire school’s only not-gay but still non-straight person (the correct term is pansexual, Quinn), Rachel can be nothing less than methodical (read: completely effing insane) in the relationship even now.
Quinn cannot be expected to mute her feelings on this tendency.
“Oh my god…”
Rachel mutters something behind her but doesn’t lose focus.
Between rocking uselessly against the mattress and wanting to twist around and strangle the midget settled between her legs, Quinn presses her forehead into the sheets and curses the fact that she can’t actually hate this girl.
Fingers slip-slide inside her like Rachel is trying to get the last M&M out of the bag instead of just trying to get her off and she shudders in frustration, lifts her ass like a damn idiot (how the hell does Rachel always make her feel like a whore?) and grinds out, “Totally ready now, come on-”
“I’m not sure yet…” Quinn almost shrieks, “…further preparation to prevent injury.”
“Rach, I’m going to beat you to death with your stupid fake dick-” Quinn does shriek this time, yanking hard on the sheets when damp fingers open her easily and a tongue flicks once, twice, experimentally. “God- god-” Her ass is in the air again (how does Rachel always get her ass in the air?) as Rachel probes her, pulls away for a moment of consideration (her forehead is wrinkled and her eyes are squinty and she looks like she’s planning some kind of mass mutiny, Quinn knows) and then returns to tongue her more forcefully. “Ungh…”
Sex is embarrassing.
The contact ends too suddenly but Quinn barely has a moment to voice a complaint (mainly because she has her face pressed dumbly into the bed and, god, she probably looks like a murder victim) as the bed dips and Rachel shifts, skims small but openly possessive hands up her hips. Her hips are tilted precisely and her fists might clench in the sheets then but she isn’t nervous.
A moment of pressure that grows, Rachel’s fingers flexing comfortably in the flesh of her hips before Quinn’s body opens around the sudden penetration. There’s a nervous “Are you-?” behind her but Quinn only shudders in an odd mix of relief and enjoyment, babbles uselessly until Rachel slides deeper. “Tell me if you want me to-”
The words end in a yelp when Quinn rocks back anxiously, mutters, “Move” the way she always tells the little Cheerios to launch themselves into the air faster, higher, and add in an extra flip to hell with broken bones, dammit.
There’s a momentary hesitation, her girlfriend unsure before Quinn somehow feels her spine snap back into place, hears her take a sure breath and feels her get a better grip on Quinn’s hips.
Her smugness at getting her way (nobody else gets their way with Berry) only lasts a second.
Because Quinn had barely managed not to laugh when Rachel had slipped out of the bathroom with the bright purple dildo and the basic black harness, stopped herself only because her girlfriend’s eyes were a little too bright and her lower lip was a little too obvious even across the room from where she’d been sitting on the bed but in hindsight there is nothing funny about Rachel and the bright purple dildo.
Because Rachel is already moving, slow at first but already sure as Quinn gets a better grip on the sheets, pants out her surprise and excitement as the pace quickens almost immediately.
Quinn shouldn’t be surprised, there’s nothing that Rachel Berry is bad at because she’s good at everything (okay, except for that one thing) and this- is good-
Between one thrust and the next Rachel’s body folds around hers, change of angle making her breath catch in her throat as hands cup her breasts, as a nail flicks her nipple almost casually. “Rach-”
She really doesn’t want to come yet, damn it, not after all how long it took-
A mouth grazes her neck before teeth sink almost delicately into her shoulder and she shudders, rolls her eyes up so hard it should hurt but doesn’t because there’s nothing but Rachel fucking her fast and easy and if someone had told her three years ago she’d be bent over-
Her orgasm is sudden, brutal, voice breaking into a little shriek as Rachel pants into her neck, grip turned possessive and rhythm just this side of too much.
One arm shifts to circle her middle as the other hand skims down her belly, as fingers slip quick between her thighs before Quinn can make another one of her embarrassing Rachel is making me cross-eyed noises. She babbles her approval even though she doesn’t have to, strung tight and already close a second time as Rachel nuzzles her neck.
An actual nuzzle like a puppy or something and it should not be sexy, it should just be annoying except oh, hey, Quinn’s coming again, little cry choked as Rachel groans and shakes all around and behind and on top of her.
God, if someone had told her told her this three years ago, she might have avoided the whole drama with the airport and the Eiffel Tower and everything else because god she even loves the part after the good part when Rachel is curled around her and murmuring Quinn's name like it's her favorite word.
Quinn sags as soon as Rachel’s grip loosens, face dropping uselessly into the mattress. She manages a noise only when she feels Rachel draw out, shudders a little because ow a little bit but not really in a bad way, not yet.
“Quinn?” Her hair is swiped back, her head lifted so that Rachel can check her like an X-rated version of Florence Nightingale: The Musical. “Did I do-?”
“Great,” Quinn assures her thinly, only vaguely aware that the now-shiny purple dildo is bobbing at almost eye level and yet sure she doesn’t really care with the bare thigh resting along her belly and the arm around her middle and Rachel smells great after sex. “You did great-”
Rachel almost pokes her eye out.