Fic: In The Darkness
Title: In The Darkness
Pairing: Rachel/??
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 850
Summary: Alone in the pitch black of the empty auditorium at the end of another excruciating school day, Rachel let the first tears rip through the carefully constructed mask she wore through the halls.
Warnings: Sex
Disclaimer: Not mine, never were, blah blah woof woof.
A/N: Trying something different here, guys. I've been super careful not to give any clues as to who the second person in the pairing is - Quinn? Santana? Brittany? - because I want you all to tell me.
Vote, in the comments. Spread the word. I'll give it a week or so, then I'll write a companion piece from the point of view of the mystery person, and it will be whichever of the three girls gets the most votes. You'll be able to see the whole scene from their point of view, and understand the motives behind it.
Just as a by the by, this takes part in an Alternate Universe where Quinn was never pregnant, so please don't read the lack of baby belly as it not being her - it could still be. It might not be. I just didn't want anyone to discount her purely for that reason.
I've never done anything like this before, interactive I mean, so I hope I get a decent response, or else I'm going to feel pretty bummed out hahaha. Also my smut writing was pulled out of the back of the closet and dusted off, so if it's a little rusty, forgive me.
Alone in the pitch black of the empty auditorium at the end of another excruciating school day, Rachel let the first tears rip through the carefully constructed mask she wore through the halls.
Great, heaving, gasping sobs racked her small frame, and she beat her fists against her knees, hoping for some physical pain to drown out a little of her emotional pain. Why? Why did everyone hate her? She knew that on the inside she was just like everyone else, trying to make her way through the cruel and confusing world. And sure, she knew and used more words than most kids her age, and she had a driving ambition, but those things shouldn't set her apart, should they? If anything they should merely be facets of a larger personality that ideally people would get to know.
But for that to happen, first someone would have to care just a tiny bit. And Rachel was certain that that was not the case, and never would be.
She hadn't realized how much noise she was making, lost in the dark and her own thoughts, until she felt the fingertip being dragged from between her shoulder blades all the way down to her tailbone. She froze, tensing at the knowledge that someone was there, with her in the dark.
The fingertip became a hand, caressing up and down her back and sides, becoming bold enough to graze her breasts on each up stroke.
“Ssh,” came a whisper. “It's okay. Don't turn around.” It was just the merest hint of a whisper, not enough to even ascertain whether the whisperer was male or female. Rachel faltered, mustering all her resolve. She was Rachel Berry. She wouldn't be Rachel Berry if she didn't at least put up a token protest, despite how flimsy and half hearted that protest might turn out to be.
“Who's there?” she attempted to say, but the words died in her throat, resurrected as a needy whimper as a set of impossibly soft lips attached themselves to her neck, sucking with just enough pleasure to send liquid fire coursing through her veins. Having never gone further than simple, chaste kissing, Rachel had had no idea how ridiculously sensitive her neck was - oh, right there! She reached out, grasping blindly for whoever it was. She felt soft curves, long hair - a girl. But who?
Knowing who she was became less important as the lips began to suckle harder, and in the back of her mind Rachel knew there was going to be a mark there. She didn't care, couldn't care, couldn't do anything but let things happen. She spent so much time not allowing herself to feel anything, blocking out all the pain and anguish that came with being herself. It was a relief to let her eyelids flutter shut, giving herself over completely to the sensations, to experience something that didn't make her hurt for once.
Hands were tugging gently on her sweater, guiding it up and over her head, unbuttoning her blouse, pushing the sides apart, teasing her breasts with the lightest of caresses before reaching around behind her and unclasping her bra, pushing her shirt down her arms until it dropped in a heap on the floor. Her bra wasn't far behind and Rachel shivered, not at the temperature but at the feeling of being seen by a mysterious lover.
“So beautiful,” came the whisper, then there were lips wrapped around her nipple and Rachel was gasping in surprise and pleasure, clutching at the long, soft strands of the girl's hair. A jolt of arousal shot through her, settling low in her stomach. Little gasps were coming from her mouth, she'd never felt this before and it was good, so good.
She was being guided to lie back, the two of them wrapped in the still darkness, her back bare and cold against the wood of the stage. It added another layer to her arousal, knowing that whoever was doing this to her, was doing it here in the one setting Rachel might have chosen herself. Lips became teeth, nipping sharply at her nipple, and she cried out, louder than she had intended. “Let it out,” came the whisper, picking up in volume enough to be heard over Rachel's breathy cries but still not quite loud enough to figure out who it was. “Be loud. Don't hold back.”
Her skirt was being unzipped by unseen hands, they were sliding it down her legs and off. Her knee socks were removed one by one, her panties were last of all to go and for one brief, shining moment of clarity Rachel tried to sit up, put a stop to this, put a stop to whoever this was doing this to her under the cover of darkness. A warm palm was placed low on her stomach, fingertips brushing soft dark curls, and any hope of rational thought was lost.
Then there were lips on hers, the same impossibly soft lips that were doing such wonderful things to her neck, kissing any trace of doubt or reluctance away. Hands were moving, touching everywhere at once, caressing in places Rachel hadn't dreamed would feel so good. She let her head fall back, wincing only slightly as it collided with the hard wood of the stage, but the hands were back between her legs and she was finding it hard to focus on any discomfort in her head now.
“You're so wet,” came the voice, still too soft to discern any identity from.
Dripping was closer to the truth. Rachel had touched herself plenty of times, but it had never felt like this before. The fact that it was someone else's hands driving her higher was part of it, but also the anonymity, the secrecy, the darkness and oh God the stage, they were doing this on the stage, everything was combining in a really good way and Rachel didn't know how much more she could take.
A single questing finger pushed inside her, so, so gently, and Rachel bit her lip to keep from making too much noise - despite the voice telling her to be loud, Rachel wasn't sure she wanted to let herself get too loud. The finger slowly pressed all the way in, the little stab of pain quickly subsiding into pleasure as the finger curved, stroking something inside of Rachel she hadn't even known was there. She cried out finally, loud, throaty and probably off key but she didn't care, it was too good.
The finger kept up the gradual, slow pace, stroking firmly against that place with every movement and Rachel might have been embarrassed at how wet she was, if she could form a coherent thought. She was awash in a sea of pleasure, her brain reduced to so much applesauce. The finger was joined by a second, and something changed, the rhythm was faster, the movement less gentle, and Rachel couldn't stop, she knew she was getting louder and louder with every thrust but she was getting closer. She was so close, so fucking close.
The dam broke and Rachel came, came hard, feeling herself clench helplessly around the fingers. She all but screamed her release, reaching out, desperately grasping for something to hold on to, and wrapped her arms around the warm mystery body. Sobbing again, but this time in pleasure, her hips moved in time with the still thrusting fingers, feeling herself back in the brink within moments. She sought lips blindly with her own, rewarded with a hot, wet, open mouthed kiss that muffled her second orgasm as it slammed her already vulnerable body.
As Rachel came down from the high, her brain reengaged and she felt her face redden. She had a horrible, sinking feeling that there was an unseen punchline waiting to reveal itself, that this had all been an elaborate set up to ruin her further. Fumbling for her clothes she dressed quickly as best she could, waiting for the inevitable.
A hot tongue traced itself around her ear and she gasped, feeling herself get wet all over again. “I don't hate you,” the voice admitted from right behind her. “I'm sorry.” There was an open mouthed kiss to the spot on her neck that made her moan, a hint of teeth, then nothing. Rachel was alone again in the darkness.
P.S. I could even be persuaded to write all three of their points of view. Like alternate endings. If people wanted to see them. That is all.
Pairing: Rachel/??
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 850
Summary: Alone in the pitch black of the empty auditorium at the end of another excruciating school day, Rachel let the first tears rip through the carefully constructed mask she wore through the halls.
Warnings: Sex
Disclaimer: Not mine, never were, blah blah woof woof.
A/N: Trying something different here, guys. I've been super careful not to give any clues as to who the second person in the pairing is - Quinn? Santana? Brittany? - because I want you all to tell me.
Vote, in the comments. Spread the word. I'll give it a week or so, then I'll write a companion piece from the point of view of the mystery person, and it will be whichever of the three girls gets the most votes. You'll be able to see the whole scene from their point of view, and understand the motives behind it.
Just as a by the by, this takes part in an Alternate Universe where Quinn was never pregnant, so please don't read the lack of baby belly as it not being her - it could still be. It might not be. I just didn't want anyone to discount her purely for that reason.
I've never done anything like this before, interactive I mean, so I hope I get a decent response, or else I'm going to feel pretty bummed out hahaha. Also my smut writing was pulled out of the back of the closet and dusted off, so if it's a little rusty, forgive me.
Alone in the pitch black of the empty auditorium at the end of another excruciating school day, Rachel let the first tears rip through the carefully constructed mask she wore through the halls.
Great, heaving, gasping sobs racked her small frame, and she beat her fists against her knees, hoping for some physical pain to drown out a little of her emotional pain. Why? Why did everyone hate her? She knew that on the inside she was just like everyone else, trying to make her way through the cruel and confusing world. And sure, she knew and used more words than most kids her age, and she had a driving ambition, but those things shouldn't set her apart, should they? If anything they should merely be facets of a larger personality that ideally people would get to know.
But for that to happen, first someone would have to care just a tiny bit. And Rachel was certain that that was not the case, and never would be.
She hadn't realized how much noise she was making, lost in the dark and her own thoughts, until she felt the fingertip being dragged from between her shoulder blades all the way down to her tailbone. She froze, tensing at the knowledge that someone was there, with her in the dark.
The fingertip became a hand, caressing up and down her back and sides, becoming bold enough to graze her breasts on each up stroke.
“Ssh,” came a whisper. “It's okay. Don't turn around.” It was just the merest hint of a whisper, not enough to even ascertain whether the whisperer was male or female. Rachel faltered, mustering all her resolve. She was Rachel Berry. She wouldn't be Rachel Berry if she didn't at least put up a token protest, despite how flimsy and half hearted that protest might turn out to be.
“Who's there?” she attempted to say, but the words died in her throat, resurrected as a needy whimper as a set of impossibly soft lips attached themselves to her neck, sucking with just enough pleasure to send liquid fire coursing through her veins. Having never gone further than simple, chaste kissing, Rachel had had no idea how ridiculously sensitive her neck was - oh, right there! She reached out, grasping blindly for whoever it was. She felt soft curves, long hair - a girl. But who?
Knowing who she was became less important as the lips began to suckle harder, and in the back of her mind Rachel knew there was going to be a mark there. She didn't care, couldn't care, couldn't do anything but let things happen. She spent so much time not allowing herself to feel anything, blocking out all the pain and anguish that came with being herself. It was a relief to let her eyelids flutter shut, giving herself over completely to the sensations, to experience something that didn't make her hurt for once.
Hands were tugging gently on her sweater, guiding it up and over her head, unbuttoning her blouse, pushing the sides apart, teasing her breasts with the lightest of caresses before reaching around behind her and unclasping her bra, pushing her shirt down her arms until it dropped in a heap on the floor. Her bra wasn't far behind and Rachel shivered, not at the temperature but at the feeling of being seen by a mysterious lover.
“So beautiful,” came the whisper, then there were lips wrapped around her nipple and Rachel was gasping in surprise and pleasure, clutching at the long, soft strands of the girl's hair. A jolt of arousal shot through her, settling low in her stomach. Little gasps were coming from her mouth, she'd never felt this before and it was good, so good.
She was being guided to lie back, the two of them wrapped in the still darkness, her back bare and cold against the wood of the stage. It added another layer to her arousal, knowing that whoever was doing this to her, was doing it here in the one setting Rachel might have chosen herself. Lips became teeth, nipping sharply at her nipple, and she cried out, louder than she had intended. “Let it out,” came the whisper, picking up in volume enough to be heard over Rachel's breathy cries but still not quite loud enough to figure out who it was. “Be loud. Don't hold back.”
Her skirt was being unzipped by unseen hands, they were sliding it down her legs and off. Her knee socks were removed one by one, her panties were last of all to go and for one brief, shining moment of clarity Rachel tried to sit up, put a stop to this, put a stop to whoever this was doing this to her under the cover of darkness. A warm palm was placed low on her stomach, fingertips brushing soft dark curls, and any hope of rational thought was lost.
Then there were lips on hers, the same impossibly soft lips that were doing such wonderful things to her neck, kissing any trace of doubt or reluctance away. Hands were moving, touching everywhere at once, caressing in places Rachel hadn't dreamed would feel so good. She let her head fall back, wincing only slightly as it collided with the hard wood of the stage, but the hands were back between her legs and she was finding it hard to focus on any discomfort in her head now.
“You're so wet,” came the voice, still too soft to discern any identity from.
Dripping was closer to the truth. Rachel had touched herself plenty of times, but it had never felt like this before. The fact that it was someone else's hands driving her higher was part of it, but also the anonymity, the secrecy, the darkness and oh God the stage, they were doing this on the stage, everything was combining in a really good way and Rachel didn't know how much more she could take.
A single questing finger pushed inside her, so, so gently, and Rachel bit her lip to keep from making too much noise - despite the voice telling her to be loud, Rachel wasn't sure she wanted to let herself get too loud. The finger slowly pressed all the way in, the little stab of pain quickly subsiding into pleasure as the finger curved, stroking something inside of Rachel she hadn't even known was there. She cried out finally, loud, throaty and probably off key but she didn't care, it was too good.
The finger kept up the gradual, slow pace, stroking firmly against that place with every movement and Rachel might have been embarrassed at how wet she was, if she could form a coherent thought. She was awash in a sea of pleasure, her brain reduced to so much applesauce. The finger was joined by a second, and something changed, the rhythm was faster, the movement less gentle, and Rachel couldn't stop, she knew she was getting louder and louder with every thrust but she was getting closer. She was so close, so fucking close.
The dam broke and Rachel came, came hard, feeling herself clench helplessly around the fingers. She all but screamed her release, reaching out, desperately grasping for something to hold on to, and wrapped her arms around the warm mystery body. Sobbing again, but this time in pleasure, her hips moved in time with the still thrusting fingers, feeling herself back in the brink within moments. She sought lips blindly with her own, rewarded with a hot, wet, open mouthed kiss that muffled her second orgasm as it slammed her already vulnerable body.
As Rachel came down from the high, her brain reengaged and she felt her face redden. She had a horrible, sinking feeling that there was an unseen punchline waiting to reveal itself, that this had all been an elaborate set up to ruin her further. Fumbling for her clothes she dressed quickly as best she could, waiting for the inevitable.
A hot tongue traced itself around her ear and she gasped, feeling herself get wet all over again. “I don't hate you,” the voice admitted from right behind her. “I'm sorry.” There was an open mouthed kiss to the spot on her neck that made her moan, a hint of teeth, then nothing. Rachel was alone again in the darkness.
P.S. I could even be persuaded to write all three of their points of view. Like alternate endings. If people wanted to see them. That is all.