Fic: Champagne's For Celebrating
Title: Champagne’s For Celebrating
Rating: NC-17
Length: 1655
Spoilers: We’ll say up to Sectionals 1x13, but really there aren’t any.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: Future fic. There is a slight warning for angst. I’ve been waiting to write this premise for a while. I never could get it right, but I think it’s because I always knew it wouldn’t really work. I apologize, it’s kind of crap. It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything, but I am working on something else, so hopefully I will get posting soon. Oh, and the title is from a Mayday Parade song, “Champagne’s For Celebrating (I’ll Have A Martini)” Unbetaed. All mistakes are mine, and there are probably a lot. I should not write in the middle of the night, probably.
It’s the stars that first made her smile. Gold stars litter the rooftop that is slowly emptying: most people half lifting others that are too drunk to operate any kind of machinery, and she’s glad that, in Manhattan, the odds are that they will be catching cabs.
She walks along a line of tables, fingers trailing over scratchy paper lining the row. A few of the sparkly stars drift to the ground, and her eyes follow them before gazing around the corner. It’s empty over here. Empty save one person, and it’s the one she has been waiting all night to approach.
The blonde hadn’t been all that discreet, and more than once she saw herself caught in those brown eyes, but she managed to slip away each time before the meeting could occur before she was ready. Seeing her there, standing at the edge of the roof, bent slightly at the waist to rest her forearms on the ledge, makes Quinn think this was all a mistake. Rachel was now a star in her own right. The wind picks up, tousling long chestnut brown locks, and any thought Quinn had of turning back drifts away like the glitter flying into the warm New York night.
Everything suddenly seems so quiet, even though it isn’t. Fifty-plus floors up to the roof of the building in Tribeca, and she could still have heard sounds of life below, but she can’t even hear the gusting wind sweeping across the top of the building. The calm sets in, and she carefully puts one foot in front of the other. The closer she gets, the steadier she feels, and then she’s there. Her pale hand reaches out to secure loose brown strands back behind the ear of the shorter woman.
“What-?”
The question hangs in the air as she’s finally able to look into the eyes that haunt her dreams. “I always said I’d be there for you when you won.” She tips her head, gesturing to the award resting nearby.
Brown eyes drop, looking at the ground. “It’s no Tony.”
She lets out a low chuckle, “A Drama Desk Award is pretty prestigious, you know?” She continues before she can be interrupted, “And don’t complain that it was for an Off-Broadway show.” She reaches out once more, fingers brushing along the other woman’s jawline and tilting her head back up. “I always knew you could do it.”
Soft lips press against her own before she can even respond. Her body responds for her, lips parting and tongue darting to swipe along the other woman’s bottom lip. It’s the answering moan that jerks her out of her haze.
“Rach, stop. We can’t…” She trails off, her forehead resting against the brunette’s. She closes her eyes, feeling unable to fight the hope, the desire, in the dark eyes before her. She feels slight movement and clenches her hands into fists at her hips.
“Just... let me…”
Quinn’s eyes flutter open at the soft spoken words. Rachel’s mouth is so close that with each syllable, each breath, her lips were brushing against Quinn’s. “Rach,” Quinn almost doesn’t recognize her own voice. The plaintive notes are covered up by a firm, yet deceptively soft, mouth.
Breaking for breath, Rachel murmurs, “Let me pretend. It’s what I do best.” She kisses Quinn again, desperately breathing, “We can pretend?”
Quinn knows she is gone. She had given in by the time Rachel put on a fake accent to amuse one of the guests early on in the celebration. She gave in when she watched the brunette strut across the stage two nights prior. She had been lost since they had been lost…so many years ago. Rachel doesn’t pull back to wait for a response, mouth working its way across Quinn’s jaw. She has already agreed. Didn’t she always?
Rachel’s lips on her neck make her shudder, and her mind unexpectedly clears. This was not how it was going to happen. Not this time. She stiffens, her hands moving to Rachel’s hips and pushing her away. She presses the shorter girl up against the railing, moving close once more. And they’re touching again, chest to chest, hips to hips. She leans in, capturing Rachel’s lips in a rough kiss. Tonight would not be perfect. Perfect was lost long ago. Perfect was the two of them under the sheets, slick skin sliding together. A perfect fit. No. Tonight she needs to pretend that didn’t exist. She needs to forget, and what always worked before was losing herself inside Rachel.
She pushes more firmly against the shorter woman and feels Rachel’s legs part to accommodate her. She grins into the kiss, straight white teeth pulling against Rachel’s lower lip. Oh yes. She remembers this. She remembers the feel of her, pliant, malleable. Her mouth moves across Rachel’s jaw and to her ear, and her right hand trails down the shorter woman’s side. Down, over a hip, hand curving to the contours of a firm thigh beneath the short black dress. Her fingers curl, and she tugs Rachel’s leg up, positioning herself even closer.
The actress groans as Quinn hits her… right. there. Her head tilts back, brown hair draped over the ledge. Her hips rock against the precisely positioned hipbone. Quinn leans over her, taking her earlobe between her teeth and giving it a tug before kissing behind her ear. Quinn breaks the silence, “I know you like it when I take my time.” Her breath is hot in Rachel’s ear as she continues, “But I hope you’ll forgive me if I make this quick.” The words are barely off her lips when she grabs Rachel’s other leg, careful to position herself so Rachel won’t fall, and guides the other woman’s legs to wrap around her waist. She leans back slightly and can see the surprise in Rachel’s eyes. She knows she’s stronger now than she was the last time… at the thought her smirk falters, and she does the only thing she knows in that moment.
Rachel’s mouth is eager, and Quinn has to keep taking control. Her palms are under Rachel’s upper thighs, keeping her steady as the smaller woman rocks impatiently against her. She’s had enough. She widens her stance, left hand moving up to tangle in thick brown hair. She pulls, not too gently, and her eyes map the face in front of her. Rachel’s mouth was slack, partially open. Quinn could feel her chest rising and falling with each hot breath that made its way out. Beautiful brown eyes were partially hidden under heavy lids, and the blonde feels her heart clench. Her fingers tighten in Rachel’s hair, getting her attention. “It’s my show, love.” The endearment leaves her mouth unbidden, but she doesn’t focus on it, instead moving back in when Rachel acquiesces.
Her left hand moves down slowly. She cups Rachel’s face, angling her head better, before trailing down to her chest. Her palm brushes over Rachel’s breast, a stiff nipple evident through the dress. Her fingers tease over and around, before pinching it and relishing the feel of Rachel’s hips canting up against her. Quinn knows that Rachel is searching, begging for the right friction, and if the hands that are grasping at her back, her shoulder blades, her neck, are any indication… she is more than ready.
Her left hand journeys lower, grasping at Rachel’s hipbone, and rocking herself up against the brunette. A gasp, a moan, a low keening wail… and Quinn can’t take it anymore. Her hand slips between them, beneath the too-short black fabric. Just as she suspected, there are no barriers.
It’s hot and wet. And Quinn wants more. Two fingers press against Rachel’s clit, and Rachel bucks against her hand, legs tightening around Quinn’s waist. Quinn is aware of a similar pulsing between her own legs, and every moan that escapes Rachel’s lips is a reminder. She’s losing focus, her fingers moving of their own accord. Rachel is writhing against her, and any rhythm to her movements has left. With a high pitched groan, she shudders against Quinn, freefalling, and her body feels so heavy, yet so light.
Quinn can’t look at her. She gazes past Rachel, and her eyes blur as she takes in the sight of 7th Ave lit up in the distance. She feels Rachel’s grip on her waist loosen and she swallows hard. She takes a slow step back, allowing Rachel to regain her footing. She hazards a glance at her ex, and regrets it. Quinn can see the wonder in Rachel’s eyes, tinged with regret, yes, but still there. She removes her hands from the small woman’s waist, straightening her own dress self-consciously.
When Rachel tries to kiss her she takes another step back. A slight shake of her head is all she can afford. “I… I can’t.”
The brunette’s brow furrows and she takes a step in Quinn’s direction. “But I didn’t. You didn’t get to…”
Quinn smiles, her face feeling like it is breaking with the lie.
“Quinn. I…”
But Rachel doesn’t continue, and Quinn can’t blame her. “I should go. I have an early flight.”
“I never… I wish…” Rachel isn’t forming complete thoughts and Quinn steps forward, kissing her once, chastely.
“You said it couldn’t work,” Quinn whispers, knowing her voice would crack otherwise.
Rachel opens her mouth to respond, probably to jump into a full on rebuttal, but Quinn covers her mouth with her own. Just once more.
She tastes Rachel’s tears, salty and warm against her face and lips. Her heart breaks, but Quinn pulls back. “Congratulations, Rachel.” There’s no trace of malice, because Quinn feels none. Her hands move down Rachel’s arms, fingers entwining with the actress’. She forces another smile, and finds this one comes a little easier. “Love you.” She lets go, and walks away.
She doesn’t let her own tears fall until she’s safely on the elevator.
Rating: NC-17
Length: 1655
Spoilers: We’ll say up to Sectionals 1x13, but really there aren’t any.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: Future fic. There is a slight warning for angst. I’ve been waiting to write this premise for a while. I never could get it right, but I think it’s because I always knew it wouldn’t really work. I apologize, it’s kind of crap. It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything, but I am working on something else, so hopefully I will get posting soon. Oh, and the title is from a Mayday Parade song, “Champagne’s For Celebrating (I’ll Have A Martini)” Unbetaed. All mistakes are mine, and there are probably a lot. I should not write in the middle of the night, probably.
It’s the stars that first made her smile. Gold stars litter the rooftop that is slowly emptying: most people half lifting others that are too drunk to operate any kind of machinery, and she’s glad that, in Manhattan, the odds are that they will be catching cabs.
She walks along a line of tables, fingers trailing over scratchy paper lining the row. A few of the sparkly stars drift to the ground, and her eyes follow them before gazing around the corner. It’s empty over here. Empty save one person, and it’s the one she has been waiting all night to approach.
The blonde hadn’t been all that discreet, and more than once she saw herself caught in those brown eyes, but she managed to slip away each time before the meeting could occur before she was ready. Seeing her there, standing at the edge of the roof, bent slightly at the waist to rest her forearms on the ledge, makes Quinn think this was all a mistake. Rachel was now a star in her own right. The wind picks up, tousling long chestnut brown locks, and any thought Quinn had of turning back drifts away like the glitter flying into the warm New York night.
Everything suddenly seems so quiet, even though it isn’t. Fifty-plus floors up to the roof of the building in Tribeca, and she could still have heard sounds of life below, but she can’t even hear the gusting wind sweeping across the top of the building. The calm sets in, and she carefully puts one foot in front of the other. The closer she gets, the steadier she feels, and then she’s there. Her pale hand reaches out to secure loose brown strands back behind the ear of the shorter woman.
“What-?”
The question hangs in the air as she’s finally able to look into the eyes that haunt her dreams. “I always said I’d be there for you when you won.” She tips her head, gesturing to the award resting nearby.
Brown eyes drop, looking at the ground. “It’s no Tony.”
She lets out a low chuckle, “A Drama Desk Award is pretty prestigious, you know?” She continues before she can be interrupted, “And don’t complain that it was for an Off-Broadway show.” She reaches out once more, fingers brushing along the other woman’s jawline and tilting her head back up. “I always knew you could do it.”
Soft lips press against her own before she can even respond. Her body responds for her, lips parting and tongue darting to swipe along the other woman’s bottom lip. It’s the answering moan that jerks her out of her haze.
“Rach, stop. We can’t…” She trails off, her forehead resting against the brunette’s. She closes her eyes, feeling unable to fight the hope, the desire, in the dark eyes before her. She feels slight movement and clenches her hands into fists at her hips.
“Just... let me…”
Quinn’s eyes flutter open at the soft spoken words. Rachel’s mouth is so close that with each syllable, each breath, her lips were brushing against Quinn’s. “Rach,” Quinn almost doesn’t recognize her own voice. The plaintive notes are covered up by a firm, yet deceptively soft, mouth.
Breaking for breath, Rachel murmurs, “Let me pretend. It’s what I do best.” She kisses Quinn again, desperately breathing, “We can pretend?”
Quinn knows she is gone. She had given in by the time Rachel put on a fake accent to amuse one of the guests early on in the celebration. She gave in when she watched the brunette strut across the stage two nights prior. She had been lost since they had been lost…so many years ago. Rachel doesn’t pull back to wait for a response, mouth working its way across Quinn’s jaw. She has already agreed. Didn’t she always?
Rachel’s lips on her neck make her shudder, and her mind unexpectedly clears. This was not how it was going to happen. Not this time. She stiffens, her hands moving to Rachel’s hips and pushing her away. She presses the shorter girl up against the railing, moving close once more. And they’re touching again, chest to chest, hips to hips. She leans in, capturing Rachel’s lips in a rough kiss. Tonight would not be perfect. Perfect was lost long ago. Perfect was the two of them under the sheets, slick skin sliding together. A perfect fit. No. Tonight she needs to pretend that didn’t exist. She needs to forget, and what always worked before was losing herself inside Rachel.
She pushes more firmly against the shorter woman and feels Rachel’s legs part to accommodate her. She grins into the kiss, straight white teeth pulling against Rachel’s lower lip. Oh yes. She remembers this. She remembers the feel of her, pliant, malleable. Her mouth moves across Rachel’s jaw and to her ear, and her right hand trails down the shorter woman’s side. Down, over a hip, hand curving to the contours of a firm thigh beneath the short black dress. Her fingers curl, and she tugs Rachel’s leg up, positioning herself even closer.
The actress groans as Quinn hits her… right. there. Her head tilts back, brown hair draped over the ledge. Her hips rock against the precisely positioned hipbone. Quinn leans over her, taking her earlobe between her teeth and giving it a tug before kissing behind her ear. Quinn breaks the silence, “I know you like it when I take my time.” Her breath is hot in Rachel’s ear as she continues, “But I hope you’ll forgive me if I make this quick.” The words are barely off her lips when she grabs Rachel’s other leg, careful to position herself so Rachel won’t fall, and guides the other woman’s legs to wrap around her waist. She leans back slightly and can see the surprise in Rachel’s eyes. She knows she’s stronger now than she was the last time… at the thought her smirk falters, and she does the only thing she knows in that moment.
Rachel’s mouth is eager, and Quinn has to keep taking control. Her palms are under Rachel’s upper thighs, keeping her steady as the smaller woman rocks impatiently against her. She’s had enough. She widens her stance, left hand moving up to tangle in thick brown hair. She pulls, not too gently, and her eyes map the face in front of her. Rachel’s mouth was slack, partially open. Quinn could feel her chest rising and falling with each hot breath that made its way out. Beautiful brown eyes were partially hidden under heavy lids, and the blonde feels her heart clench. Her fingers tighten in Rachel’s hair, getting her attention. “It’s my show, love.” The endearment leaves her mouth unbidden, but she doesn’t focus on it, instead moving back in when Rachel acquiesces.
Her left hand moves down slowly. She cups Rachel’s face, angling her head better, before trailing down to her chest. Her palm brushes over Rachel’s breast, a stiff nipple evident through the dress. Her fingers tease over and around, before pinching it and relishing the feel of Rachel’s hips canting up against her. Quinn knows that Rachel is searching, begging for the right friction, and if the hands that are grasping at her back, her shoulder blades, her neck, are any indication… she is more than ready.
Her left hand journeys lower, grasping at Rachel’s hipbone, and rocking herself up against the brunette. A gasp, a moan, a low keening wail… and Quinn can’t take it anymore. Her hand slips between them, beneath the too-short black fabric. Just as she suspected, there are no barriers.
It’s hot and wet. And Quinn wants more. Two fingers press against Rachel’s clit, and Rachel bucks against her hand, legs tightening around Quinn’s waist. Quinn is aware of a similar pulsing between her own legs, and every moan that escapes Rachel’s lips is a reminder. She’s losing focus, her fingers moving of their own accord. Rachel is writhing against her, and any rhythm to her movements has left. With a high pitched groan, she shudders against Quinn, freefalling, and her body feels so heavy, yet so light.
Quinn can’t look at her. She gazes past Rachel, and her eyes blur as she takes in the sight of 7th Ave lit up in the distance. She feels Rachel’s grip on her waist loosen and she swallows hard. She takes a slow step back, allowing Rachel to regain her footing. She hazards a glance at her ex, and regrets it. Quinn can see the wonder in Rachel’s eyes, tinged with regret, yes, but still there. She removes her hands from the small woman’s waist, straightening her own dress self-consciously.
When Rachel tries to kiss her she takes another step back. A slight shake of her head is all she can afford. “I… I can’t.”
The brunette’s brow furrows and she takes a step in Quinn’s direction. “But I didn’t. You didn’t get to…”
Quinn smiles, her face feeling like it is breaking with the lie.
“Quinn. I…”
But Rachel doesn’t continue, and Quinn can’t blame her. “I should go. I have an early flight.”
“I never… I wish…” Rachel isn’t forming complete thoughts and Quinn steps forward, kissing her once, chastely.
“You said it couldn’t work,” Quinn whispers, knowing her voice would crack otherwise.
Rachel opens her mouth to respond, probably to jump into a full on rebuttal, but Quinn covers her mouth with her own. Just once more.
She tastes Rachel’s tears, salty and warm against her face and lips. Her heart breaks, but Quinn pulls back. “Congratulations, Rachel.” There’s no trace of malice, because Quinn feels none. Her hands move down Rachel’s arms, fingers entwining with the actress’. She forces another smile, and finds this one comes a little easier. “Love you.” She lets go, and walks away.
She doesn’t let her own tears fall until she’s safely on the elevator.