Ladies And Gentlemen, Listen Up Please (I Don’t Want To Be Your Hero) (21/29)
Title: Ladies And Gentlemen, Listen Up Please (21/29)
Pairing: Rachel Berry/Quinn Fabray, Santana Lopez/Brittany Pierce, minor Artie Abrams/Tina Cohen-Chang
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Nothing owned, no profit gained.
Spoilers: AU
Summary: “Sometimes, people are born a little different.”
This nightmare of a day has felt like the longest of her life, and Quinn figures she won’t be getting to sleep easily tonight. She’s right.
Weirdly, it isn’t even because she can hear whimpers and sniffles coming from the opposite side of the room, where Brittany is curled against Santana’s chest, trembling so hard the whole bed-frame shakes audibly. Although that certainly doesn’t help.
No, this whole insomnia thing has a hell of a lot more to do with Quinn’s own racing mind. With how she can’t forget how it felt to dig her fingers ravenously into Santana’s neck. How it felt to pull the very life from the other woman. How terrified those dark eyes went, finding Brittany over her head and silently screaming in frustration.
She can’t stop replaying it. Over and over, the shouting and the growling and the malicious hunger raging inside all the while.
And Rachel’s face. Oh God, how badly it had wanted Rachel. Wanted to take her, wanted to claim her, wanted-
She’s really not sure.
She really doesn’t think she wants to know.
Even worse, under all of this, under Brittany’s tears and Santana’s low murmurs and the echoes reverberating around and around inside Quinn’s head, there’s the rest of it. The tension of Mike’s jaw. The pink flare around Puck’s eyes. The vacancy of Artie’s expression.
And the image she can’t shake, no matter how hard she tries, of Kurt. Kurt, curled like a lost child alone in his room. Kurt, who she can hear sobbing through the wall until the heavy clunking footsteps of Puck and Finn sleepily padding their way to him interrupt. She pictures them silently clambering under the covers, too tired and too wrecked to care that straight men don’t generally sleep with the likes of Kurt Hummel. Too tired and too wrecked to care that they are mashed together as tightly as possible and still falling off the bed from all sides. Too tired and too wrecked to do anything more than slip strong arms around the fragile boy, tuck him close, and hum rock ballad lullabies until he finally drifts off.
It’s a bizarre image. She wouldn’t believe it if not for how thin these walls are. Or, truthfully, if she hadn’t gotten out of her own otherwise-empty bed and slunk out to check.
She wishes she didn’t feel so absolutely shitty about everything; there’s something adorable and reeking of blackmail about the protective way Puck’s hand splays across Kurt’s stomach, Finn’s chin resting atop coiffed brown hair. They’re like the world’s most insufficient parents. She wishes she could better appreciate the sight.
She wraps her arms around herself, shivering a little in her tank top and flannel pants. The apartment gets cold at night-downright frigid, really. She hasn’t had a chance to notice as much before now, since sleeping next to Rachel is more or less like snuggling a space heater. Especially since the brunette, for all her silent scars and unpredictable behavior, is the most consistent cuddler Quinn has ever shared a bed with.
It’s not hard to imagine why she thinks she might like that about the other girl. It is hard, however, to imagine that affection ever leading her to a happy, cheery, not-heart-rending place. She swallows it down.
Speaking of Rachel-she’s beginning to get tired of losing track of their fearless leader. The woman is little, not invisible, and the fact that she’s not so easily located makes Quinn think maybe she’s gone out again. Alone, and at night-the stupidest idea ever, under any circumstances, but she wouldn’t put it past Rachel. The girl seems, to put it gently, to be losing it in the wake of Mercedes’…well. Mercedes in general.
It comes as a giant relief, therefore, when Quinn rounds the corner to the living room and is instantly greeted with a gently lilting melody.
It’s not like Quinn doesn’t listen to music; contrarily, she likes to think of herself as incredibly well-rounded where genres are concerned, her iPod carrying everything from Motown and classic rock to bad 90s pop ballads. Music is one the greatest addictions of her life.
All the same, she has never heard someone sing this way before, with such raw emotion. She can’t make out the words-they’re in another language; if she had to guess, she would suggest Hebrew-but it doesn’t matter. The sound is startlingly beautiful, cutting straight through her chest and leaving her with unexpected tears in her eyes.
Who knew Rachel Berry could sing like this?
It’s something extraordinary, straight off the radio in tone, pitch, and clarity, and straight out of heaven in everything else that counts. The sheer emotion unsettles Quinn, jerks the carpet under her feet, threatens to untangle the last vestige of control she’s got left.
Safely boxed in by the hallway, she watches the tiny brunette stand at the window, forehead nudged against glass, breath coming and going in visibly warm puffs. She looks worn out, worn through, in some intolerably deep fashion. Like she’s fading fast from the real world, the world Quinn wishes so heartily to return to.
A chill rips through her at the thought. Where, if she fades completely, will Rachel go?
She longs to understand-the song, the girl. Nothing makes sense anymore; she wishes Rachel would.
Because there is a definitive model for what Rachel should be, and she knows it. Small and beautiful and strong, all free will and frustrating intensity. Rachel should be on a stage somewhere, calling shots and making demands. Especially with this voice-this magical, holy thing she’s been hiding beneath her sparrow’s breast. Rachel should have the world at her feet.
She shouldn’t be here, in some discontent apartment building, nursing a guilt she is far too tiny to bear.
Quinn almost doesn’t realize she has moved into the room until Rachel shifts, lips closing around the final note as she glances over her shoulder. Embracing rather than smothering, as though unbothered by her sudden audience, her voice carries smoothly through the shadows to die gently upon Quinn’s ears. She wonders if applause would be inappropriate.
She assumes so.
“That was beautiful,” she says softly, keeping a safe distance. Rachel meets her eyes.
“My childhood was a well-rounded expression of the arts,” she explains after a moment, looking very much uncertain about the words as they come to rest between them. “Singing was…has always been my favorite.”
“You do it wonderfully,” Quinn tells her, arms wrapped around herself. “What was the song?”
“A farewell,” Rachel murmurs evasively. Quinn nods, feeling awkward.
“I liked it. If-if that’s not too strange a thing to say.”
Rachel smiles wanly. “Not strange. Thank you. I don’t get to share my talents terribly often anymore. Not since-not a for a good long while now.”
A thousand questions spring to mind: past, future, inquiries as to who Rachel was born to be prior to all of this superhero nonsense. With certain effort, Quinn swallows them all.
“Can’t sleep?” she settles for commenting, leaning her weight cautiously against an armchair. Rachel’s shoulders bob skyward.
“It hasn’t been the sort of day most conducive to dreaming.” Her mouth twists. “Nothing pleasant, anyway. I thought it best to stay up, think about the next step.”
“Aren’t you wiped out?” Quinn presses, eyeing Rachel’s pale cheeks, the loose hang of her arms at her sides. “What kind of battle strategy can you come up with on that kind of exhaustion?”
“Hopefully one that keeps us going,” the brunette mutters, more to herself than in response to the question. Quinn frowns.
“So what’ve you got?”
From the weight of Rachel’s silence, she guesses not much. She sighs.
“Rach…”
Dark eyes zip to her own, glittering with uncertainty. “You…never mind.”
“What?”
Rachel looks almost shy, almost shaken. “You called me Rach.”
“So?” Quinn wonders, rubbing her cheek uncomfortably. “It’s just a nickname.”
From the way Rachel looks at her, she guesses this is not as simple as it seems.
“What about you?” the brunette asks at last. “Shouldn’t you be resting after today’s ordeal?”
Today’s ordeal. Quinn grimaces. “Like you said. Not conducive to sweet dreams.”
She’s sort of glad Rachel doesn’t ask if she means Mercedes or the incident in the basement. She isn’t certain which is more heavily responsible for how she feels right now.
Rachel leans back against the window, watching Quinn steadily. Something is there, she thinks-some silent judgment, though she can’t gauge it beyond the vague notion of its presence. It should make her uncomfortable, and in a way, it does-but not nearly the way she expects.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Rachel says, too hastily. Her calm demeanor is slipping, Quinn notes, the mark of how poorly this day has gone. It’s actually sort of cute.
Not that I need that shit right now.
“You just…” Rachel hesitates, brow furrowing. “How…”
“Spit it out, Berry,” Quinn snaps, sounding too much like Santana even to her own ears; she smiles faintly to soften the command. Rachel’s gaze intensifies.
“What was it like for you?”
The urge to play dumb is extreme. Quinn resists. “Bad,” she replies as coolly as she can. “Really awful.”
“That’s not very descriptive,” Rachel muses. Quinn shrugs.
“It’s all I’ve got. If you’ve never been through it, I don’t know how to put it into words. That loss of control…I’ve never felt so helpless before. So evil.”
“You’re not evil, Quinn,” Rachel interrupts sharply. The blonde rubs her jaw.
“Sure as hell felt like it.”
“You’re not,” Rachel repeats, stepping nearer. “Neither is the power. I know it seems awful right now, but-“
“Not seems, Rachel,” the blonde snaps. “Is. You weren’t there, you have no idea-have you ever lost control to that degree? To the point where you didn’t know yourself? Where you were fully capable of killing and enjoying it? That’s not human, Rach. That’s…that’s evil. As evil as it gets. You have no idea.”
“You’re certain of that?” Rachel presses, mouth thin with obvious annoyance. “You’ve got my whole life determined? Every nook and cranny, every secret pain-I suppose you know everything there is to know, everything I’ve been through? All the absolute shit?”
Taken aback by the sudden frustration, Quinn stares at her numbly. “Rachel-no offense, but my power, this thing in me-“
“Is no better or worse than any other has the potential to be,” Rachel cries, tiny fists clenching against her legs. “You don’t seem to understand-“ Pausing, she shakes her head, sucks in a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be raving like this. I forget sometimes that you don’t have a true conception of…this…”
“This being?” It’s curious; Quinn feels as though she should be growing defensive in light of Rachel’s aggravation. Certainly, she’s been set off by less. But there is something contained in Rachel’s drawn face, her tired eyes-something Quinn suspects could explain everything.
Or at least part of why she feels so damn connected to this girl.
“How vast this all is,” Rachel says with surprising gentleness. “You clearly are still thinking of this in simple terms.”
“There is nothing simple about how I’m thinking,” Quinn argues. Rachel almost smiles.
“Not true. You think this prophecy is binding. You think, just because Kurt saw you in a vision, you’re set apart. Different, even from the rest of us.”
“I could destroy everything,” the blonde protests. “He said so, Rach. You agreed. Don’t go changing the rulebook now.”
“Nothing has changed,” Rachel presses. “Kurt had a vision. This is not rare. These people, the people you’ve met, all living under one roof. Do you think that happened by mistake? A convenient occurrence, chanced by some higher power? I found them. Each one. Almost all of them because of Kurt’s visions.”
“He called me the fucking Silencer,” Quinn growls. “He said-“
“Kurt is not without his flaws,” Rachel comments mildly. “Melodrama being among them. And I admit, he isn’t alone there. Please, don’t think I’m making light of the situation,” she adds when Quinn, feeling more or less like she’s watching a tennis match where Rachel is the sole player, strikes the chair gently. “You are dangerous. You are very dangerous. If Rayne were to get hold of you, it could mark disaster. Everything we have told you is true.”
“But?”
“But,” Rachel allows, “you aren’t alone. You’re not the only deadly force contained under this roof. The others…the number of fires Tina and Puck have caused, the number of near-miss catastrophes, are innumerable. Finn has projected himself off of buildings. As a child, during her first shift, Santana came within inches of murdering her own brother before she gathered control of her animal instincts. And I…let’s just say I’m more aware of what it feels like to lose control than you realize.”
Quinn watches her, throat tight. “What’s your point?”
“My point,” Rachel says calmly (and Quinn finds herself thinking they wind up at this crossroads too often; she wishes Rachel would fall into the habit of explaining herself without force), “is that nothing positive will come from you sectioning yourself off from the rest of us. You need to share your feelings, Quinn. We can help. We-contrary to some of the actions presented this afternoon-want to help.”
“And how exactly do you plan to do that?” Quinn asks, perhaps too bitterly. “You put such effort into being forthcoming, don’t you? And being, you know-around in general.”
It’s almost entertaining, seeing Rachel have the gall to look dumbfounded. Too bad she’s too tired for games.
“Where do you go, anyway? One of your people is killed and you just leave? How do you think that’s helpful?”
She’s posed this question too many times today without answer. And now Rachel’s looking at her like Quinn just kicked her puppy, which, again, would be amusing, except…
“Mike and Matt had-“
“And those two!” Quinn exclaims as quietly as she can. “They don’t talk. Yet Matt’s got that whole sketchy…thing he does. How does he do that?”
“Well, he-“
“And why do you take them with you instead of someone proactive? God, Rachel, you can’t just go out wandering when everything falls to shit. What happens if you’re killed? What are the rest of us supposed to do?”
Is it her ears, or is she starting to sound a little too overzealous again?
Rachel seems to feel it too, gauging from the flicker of amusement dancing in her tone when she carefully asks, “Are you gearing up to let me respond to any of these inquiries, or are you simply wearing yourself out in this mania?”
Quinn sags against the chair, eyes closing.
“Yes. Sorry. Please.”
Silence stretches throughout the room for a beat while Rachel regards her, clearly expecting to be interrupted again. When Quinn looks away, out the window behind the other woman, she clears her throat.
“Mike and Matt,” she begins, “are both loyal, invaluable young men. I assure you, on a mission composed strictly of reconnaissance, they are of the utmost benefit. Do you remember their gifts?”
“Mike senses lies,” Quinn recites grudgingly, feeling like a ten-year-old at a spelling bee. “And Matt freaks my shit out.”
Amazingly, Rachel giggles. “Not the way I would choose to phrase it, though I can see your point. Consider, if you can, the value of we three: Mike, able to sense truth, Matt, able to mute the gifts of enemies-“
“And what if your enemies had guns instead of gifts?” Quinn can’t resist blurting. Rachel reaches out, covering Quinn’s hand with her own; the blonde blinks, not having realized how close the other woman has come.
“And I,” Rachel continues as though Quinn never spoke, “being able to enter the minds of anyone wishing us harm. Quinn, I promise you, it was the best possible team for the circumstance.”
“The circumstance being what?” Rachel’s hand is warm over hers, the contact somewhat dizzying. Quinn swallows.
“Searching out weaknesses.” Rachel smiles, pacifying. “Like any textbook psychopath, Rayne has both supporters and what certain comic book enthusiasts among us insist upon calling a lair. I was seeking a way in, specifically to locate…”
She trails off, face losing all its humor in an instant. Quinn instinctively turns her hand under Rachel’s, giving the girl a squeeze and holding on for dear life.
“Mercedes’ body,” she recognizes softly. “You went without the others.”
Blanching, Rachel nods. “I admit, the quest would have been simpler if David Karofsky had not recently been murdered himself. His knack for invisibility would have been impressive. But we make do with what we’ve got, I suppose, and I didn’t want Kurt to-I didn’t see it necessary to subject to pain more people than I needed for the job.”
“I hate to state the obvious,” Quinn points out, “but I haven’t seen the body.”
Grief etches itself along Rachel’s features. “The details are inconsequential,” she murmurs. “Suffice to say, we failed.”
Quinn’s heart aches at the other woman’s tone. “It’s not your fault.”
Those familiar eyes flash defensively. “I never said it was.”
“But you feel it,” Quinn observes, slowly pushing herself away from the chair and further into Rachel’s space. The smaller woman frowns, gaze moving to the floor with an uncharacteristically uncertain jerk.
“I’m not looking for absolution, Quinn, and if I were-“
“It wouldn’t be mine to give,” Quinn confirms, stepping directly into Rachel’s personal bubble. The brunette refuses to look at her. “But I think you need something. If not absolution, maybe just comfort. Does that really seem so unreasonable?”
Rachel’s head shakes skeptically. “I’m a leader, Quinn. Comfort isn’t something I’ve got time for.”
Despite herself, Quinn smiles sadly, a hand coming to rest against the uneasy woman’s cheek. The skin dutifully pinkens under her touch.
“Everybody needs comfort when shit like this goes down, Rach. That’s human. You’re human. Right?”
She can see in brown eyes that she’s got Rachel cornered. It feels decidedly more satisfactory than she would have guessed, to watch a full bottom lip work its way between even, nervous teeth.
“What are you trying to do, Quinn?” Rachel whispers, too brokenly for the blonde’s taste. She tilts her head back, questioning, brown hair tumbling down her back; it’s almost enough to break the spell, to push Quinn to safety once more.
Except she can feel something stirring again, deep down . Less frightening, less brutal, but no less intense. She swallows.
“Honestly, I don’t know.”
“Then why-“ Rachel cuts herself off with a breath as Quinn’s fingertips ease along her cheekbones, cupping her face gently. “Quinn. Don’t…”
“Why not?” Quinn hears herself whisper, forehead bent against the smaller woman’s. She nudges Rachel’s nose almost imperceptibly with her own, inching her head from side to side. The brunette exhales shakily, the heat of her breath skirting across Quinn’s lips.
“Contact breeds commitment,” Rachel murmurs, eyes flickering momentarily shut. “Commitment breeds consequence. Quinn, I can’t-“
“You are,” the blonde observes softly, ghosting her lips just barely across Rachel’s. “And it’s okay.”
She can’t explain why they’re doing this; despite the words that have just fallen from her lips onto Rachel’s, she’s not even sure how okay it really is. She can feel Rachel trembling as her body urges forward against the blonde’s, small hands coming to clutch the front of her shirt almost desperately. Her skin is warm, her cheeks flushed as Quinn slides the pads of her thumbs back and forth, at once affectionate and hungry.
It’s the thing inside doing it, she tells herself anxiously, as her stomach knots around itself. It’s the thing, the darkness, the power that so desperately wants to take Rachel, to make her its own. But more than that…
It’s also her.
She’s hovering here, lips barely grazing Rachel’s, their breath mingling in short, even pants. She feels like they’re moving in slow motion, every stroke of Rachel’s fingers through her t-shirt scorching just a little bit hotter than the last. It’s like she’s toeing the edge of something massive-maybe something she’s just not ready for, maybe something she’s been ready for since the first moment Rachel’s battered, cryptic frame stumbled into Flannigan’s.
“Quinn,” Rachel husks, a split second before the blonde angles her head that last fraction of an inch and swallows her next breath. It’s not an easy kiss, for all their erotic caution; within seconds, she has Rachel’s full bottom lip between her teeth, nipping and sucking as the brunette arches into her. She hears a muffled groan, feels the material between her shoulder blades pull taut as Rachel yanks hard on her shirt to pull her closer.
It’s intoxicating, and maybe even a little wrong, to be standing in this dim room, crushing Rachel Berry against her body like this. Feeling Rachel’s hands slide around her back, her mouth opening with such craving under Quinn’s ravenous kisses-it’s almost more than Quinn can handle. She bears down a little harder, fingers slip-sliding into thick brown hair, feet bracing more firmly against the floor.
It’s what it needs, she can tell; the beast is humming, clutched like a fist in the center of her gut. Every kiss, every exhilarating swipe of Rachel’s tongue against her own, every scratch of Rachel’s blunt nails as her hands sneak up under Quinn’s shirt and splay across her bare back-it’s like rocket fuel. She feels hot all over, hot and strong, like she could do anything as long as Rachel keeps molding close, whimpering softly into her mouth.
More than that, it seems to be what Rachel needs. She’s never done this before-“this” more or less being defined as ‘jumping another girl in the wake of a woman’s death’-and maybe it’s not the brightest decision she’s ever made, but something in Rachel’s too-haunted, too-old eyes seems to scream for more.
Then again, maybe it’s less her eyes and more the pull of her hands as they roam freely, tracing manic patterns into Quinn’s skin, nails digging and releasing when she pulls the brunette’s earlobe between her teeth and growls. Maybe it has nothing whatsoever to do with her eyes, and everything to do with the way her hips press forward, bucking instinctively against the thigh Quinn has shifted between her legs. Forget the eyes-it’s much more likely that the insistence of Rachel’s kiss, the fiery trail her tongue leaves as it nudges and dances against Quinn’s, is what’s driving the point home.
Rachel-carefully controlled, prim, staunch leader of this ragtag batch of misfit idiots-needs her. And by this point, Quinn’s pretty sure she’s got no other choice but to give in.
She can’t keep this up for much longer on her feet, that much is certain; Rachel keeps grinding against her, mewling, and it’s doing all sorts of amazing things to Quinn’s balance. Bowing her head, she sinks her teeth lightly into the smaller girl’s shoulder and hisses, “Floor. Now.”
Surprisingly strong hands catch around the back of her neck as Rachel obediently sinks to her knees, dragging Quinn down with her. “Wouldn’t our bed be-“
“Santana,” Quinn points out shortly, easing the dark-haired woman onto her back and stretching out atop her even as the word ‘our’ sends a jolt through her system. Fingering the collar of Rachel’s shirt, she smiles, watching annoyance dart across flushed features.
“She does it to me,” Rachel mutters petulantly. Quinn buries her head in the young woman’s shoulder, suppressing a snort.
“Well, maybe she deserves it, but Brittany’s been through kind of a lot today.”
Rachel meets her eyes, serious for a long, hovering second-a second in which Quinn sees reflected how much they’ve all gone through today, Santana included. Then, abruptly, her face splits into a broad, mischievous grin.
“Plus, we’re already down here.” The words come out sexy and unrestrained, her hand sliding around Quinn’s neck to rest once more against the front of her shirt. The blonde swallows, vibrantly aware of the warm body beneath her own, hips twitching lightly in anticipation.
Banter could so easily continue, but the tension in her chest won’t be alleviated from words alone. Nudging her nose against Rachel’s, Quinn breathes the other woman in, pressing her lips down in a slow, heady kiss. The brunette makes a low, satisfied sound, one that inspires Quinn to keep up exactly that pace-measured, deliberate-until Rachel’s wandering hands pull her shirt up and up. She pauses long enough to lean back and squirm until the article of clothing is a bitter memory against the floorboards, and Rachel’s eyes grow wide. Quinn bites her lip.
Part of her wants to ask-the girl, she thinks, it’s the girl inside who is feeling so self-conscious about her nudity, about putting her admittedly-decent body on display for a woman who has been training and toning for years; the darkness certainly has no such qualms-if this is okay. Part of her wants to reach down and pull some reassurance from Rachel right now, before they go any further. Part of her needs to know that this is the right course of action.
But that part is minimal, and squirmy, and kind of pathetic. And it is far overshadowed by the hunger, the desperation prompting her to guide Rachel out of her own clothing, until smooth skin rides effortlessly against smooth skin. Mouth working over Rachel’s, tongue tracing plump lips, Quinn groans at the sensation of small, round breasts crushed beneath her own. She slides a leg between Rachel’s, the breezy material of her pajama pants growing damper by the minute as she angles up and watches the other woman’s head tip back in pleasure.
Rachel is undeniably beautiful, hips canting to meet Quinn’s thigh, hair splayed around her head as she reaches up to hold tight against the taller woman’s shoulders. Quinn watches her, spellbound, and finds herself setting a heated rhythm, grinding too softly to give her what she needs. It’s amazing how good this feels, straddling this woman’s leg, listening to her sigh and whimper. The clenching feeling in her chest tightens, the beast prowling back and forth in silent ecstasy, as Rachel gives a strained gasp.
“Harder,” she mumbles, nails clutching at the back of Quinn’s neck. “Oh.”
Quinn feels a feral grin slipping across her own lips as she eases her leg free and replaces it with a hand tucked down the front of the other girl’s pants. The reaction is instantaneous: Rachel’s eyes roll back, mouth falling open. Quinn’s stomach twists.
It’s warm in the room and getting warmer, and with every determined stroke she offers, her system thrums harder. Rachel’s body is coiling beneath hers, her hips rocking into Quinn’s hand, her moans muffled against the taller woman’s shoulder; as Quinn pushes two fingers inside, Rachel’s hand blindly works its way up to return the favor. There’s a split second of fumbling-to be expected, Quinn thinks dazedly, since Rachel is a little distracted at the moment-and then blissful entrance. She gasps, jerks, tries to keep steady.
Hell, if she thought Rachel was the only one who needed this…
Her whole body feels full, vibrant, like nothing else matters. Not death, not violence, not the terror that comes with this whole bizarre mess she’s managed to get into. All that matters is Rachel, writhing beneath her with a thumb on her clit, whimpering and plunging in exactly the most captivating manner possible. All that matters is how beautiful this moment is-
And how she feels. How, moreover, it-this thing inside, with scratching talons and howling triumph-feels. This is exactly what it wanted earlier, she senses: to have Rachel. Maybe it never even mattered how; possession is possession. And right now, she-it-possesses Rachel completely. It’s apparent in the way her eyes struggle to stay open, in the slow sink of white teeth into a full bottom lip, in the press and pitch of her hand, her whole body. Rachel is hers.
The growl catches her off-guard; Rachel’s head tilts as if towards the simple sound, her lips parting in a gasp as Quinn pumps her fingers a little faster, angling a little deeper. She feels Rachel’s legs spread beneath her, urging her further in, like her body would like nothing more than to embrace Quinn’s entire self through this act. Her stomach twists pleasurably at the thought, twitching as Rachel’s dark eyes slide open and capture hers, aroused and intense as anything Quinn has ever seen in her life.
“Oh,” Rachel moans, “oh, your eyes. Oh my God, Quinn, I-I-“
Whatever it is, Quinn-and the thing inside of her, roaring with such mindless rapture-doesn’t give her time to finish. She tilts up, thumb coming down in a rough press against that thrumming bundle of nerves, and Rachel’s sanity seems to give completely. Her head jerks back, her hips coming up to receive each forceful thrust, Quinn’s name a repeating breath that swells and dies on her lips over and over again.
She rocks herself upon Rachel’s fingers, formulating her own grinding rhythm while the brunette pants for air, groaning and squirming as she rides the aftershocks. One small hand skims up from where Rachel has been clutching at her back, scratching through wild blonde hair and holding tight to the back of her skull; that intense gaze meets hers again, but this time, there’s something extra, something that goes beyond simple arousal. Quinn’s eyes roll in her head, the raw power in her gut mounting and bursting as Rachel nudges simultaneously with a steady thrust of her fingers and a velvet mental stroke that ripples from the edge of Quinn’s mind straight down to her core.
She collapses atop the smaller woman, barely remembering to catch herself at the last second before rolling onto her back. Without missing a beat, Rachel snuggles against her side, breathing heavily into her neck.
Several moments slip by, undetected, in the darkness; somewhere in the back of her mind, it occurs to Quinn that they are sprawled-naked from the waist up, the both of them-in a very easily-spotted location. It’s probably not the wisest of decisions.
Then again, what they’ve just done probably can’t be construed as “wise”, either. She smiles stupidly against the crown of Rachel’s head.
“Well,” the brunette mumbles at last. “That…you…”
“Uh huh,” Quinn replies dumbly. Rachel’s hand reaches across her body and squeezes her wrist.
“Did you…did you like…” She’s never heard Rachel this flustered with words before. It’s sort of ridiculously adorable.
“Yes,” she replies, taking pity upon the smaller woman. Rachel lifts her head.
“That last thing…that I did. That was okay?” She looks worried. Quinn cups her cheek gently, pleased when brown eyes close and the girl nuzzles into her palm.
“It was…incredible,” Quinn assures her, smiling. “Godly, even. What was-“
“A taste,” Rachel murmurs, almost shyly. “Of…how deep it goes. My gift.”
Quinn hums and nods, running her thumb across the bridge of Rachel’s nose. The brunette grins.
“And you,” she breathes, “you were…are…just…”
“A stud,” Quinn teases. The laugh she receives in return is surprisingly brash, echoing off the furniture; she claps a hand over Rachel’s mouth to stifle it.
“Yes,” the brunette deadpans when she’s able to speak again. “Exactly. But more than that…I think-did you feel something tonight? Something to do with your ability?”
Quinn frowns. “Why?”
“Well, I feel…don’t be alarmed, but I think I saw…something, just before I...” Rachel trails off, biting her lip.
“My eyes?” Suddenly nervous, she pushes herself up on her elbows and tilts her head. “What about them? Did they…was I…”
“It wasn’t like before,” Rachel muses, slinging a leg over to rest between Quinn’s knees. “That would have been, no offense meant, somewhat terrifying. This was different. Usually, when your power asserts itself, as you’ve noticed, your eyes go…”
“Black as hell,” Quinn recalls, Mercedes’ voice ringing in her ears. “Devil eyes.”
Rachel’s shoulders tense, as though she had forgotten for a euphoric moment all about her fallen comrade. She shakes her head. “Yes, right. Like that. But tonight, they were...pretty.”
“Pretty?” Quinn repeats disbelievingly, arching a quizzical eyebrow. “Pretty, really?”
“Mm hmm.” Though her smile has gone a little sharper once more, there is no denying the affection reflected in the expression. “Gold. A little shimmery. And only in the iris area, which, truthfully, is much less disturbing than when the whole nine miles go.”
“Nine…yards.” Despite herself, Quinn smirks. “Yards. It’s a football reference, Rach.”
The brunette’s forehead creases. “What did I say?”
“You-never mind.” Sliding an arm around the smaller woman’s waist, Quinn draws her close and presses a kiss against her temple. “So you think my eyes are pretty?”
“Very,” Rachel confirms, wriggling a little in her grasp. “Which does suggest, you realize, that I was right.”
“About what?”
Even in the shadows, she can’t deny the shit-eating quality of the other woman’s grin. “You’re certainly not evil, Quinn Fabray. Not in the least. And furthermore, if you listened to me, I think-”
There are few things more satisfying, Quinn discovers as she rolls them over and pins Rachel to the floor again, than shutting up a Rachel Berry I-told-you-so tirade with only the use of her tongue.
Pairing: Rachel Berry/Quinn Fabray, Santana Lopez/Brittany Pierce, minor Artie Abrams/Tina Cohen-Chang
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Nothing owned, no profit gained.
Spoilers: AU
Summary: “Sometimes, people are born a little different.”
This nightmare of a day has felt like the longest of her life, and Quinn figures she won’t be getting to sleep easily tonight. She’s right.
Weirdly, it isn’t even because she can hear whimpers and sniffles coming from the opposite side of the room, where Brittany is curled against Santana’s chest, trembling so hard the whole bed-frame shakes audibly. Although that certainly doesn’t help.
No, this whole insomnia thing has a hell of a lot more to do with Quinn’s own racing mind. With how she can’t forget how it felt to dig her fingers ravenously into Santana’s neck. How it felt to pull the very life from the other woman. How terrified those dark eyes went, finding Brittany over her head and silently screaming in frustration.
She can’t stop replaying it. Over and over, the shouting and the growling and the malicious hunger raging inside all the while.
And Rachel’s face. Oh God, how badly it had wanted Rachel. Wanted to take her, wanted to claim her, wanted-
She’s really not sure.
She really doesn’t think she wants to know.
Even worse, under all of this, under Brittany’s tears and Santana’s low murmurs and the echoes reverberating around and around inside Quinn’s head, there’s the rest of it. The tension of Mike’s jaw. The pink flare around Puck’s eyes. The vacancy of Artie’s expression.
And the image she can’t shake, no matter how hard she tries, of Kurt. Kurt, curled like a lost child alone in his room. Kurt, who she can hear sobbing through the wall until the heavy clunking footsteps of Puck and Finn sleepily padding their way to him interrupt. She pictures them silently clambering under the covers, too tired and too wrecked to care that straight men don’t generally sleep with the likes of Kurt Hummel. Too tired and too wrecked to care that they are mashed together as tightly as possible and still falling off the bed from all sides. Too tired and too wrecked to do anything more than slip strong arms around the fragile boy, tuck him close, and hum rock ballad lullabies until he finally drifts off.
It’s a bizarre image. She wouldn’t believe it if not for how thin these walls are. Or, truthfully, if she hadn’t gotten out of her own otherwise-empty bed and slunk out to check.
She wishes she didn’t feel so absolutely shitty about everything; there’s something adorable and reeking of blackmail about the protective way Puck’s hand splays across Kurt’s stomach, Finn’s chin resting atop coiffed brown hair. They’re like the world’s most insufficient parents. She wishes she could better appreciate the sight.
She wraps her arms around herself, shivering a little in her tank top and flannel pants. The apartment gets cold at night-downright frigid, really. She hasn’t had a chance to notice as much before now, since sleeping next to Rachel is more or less like snuggling a space heater. Especially since the brunette, for all her silent scars and unpredictable behavior, is the most consistent cuddler Quinn has ever shared a bed with.
It’s not hard to imagine why she thinks she might like that about the other girl. It is hard, however, to imagine that affection ever leading her to a happy, cheery, not-heart-rending place. She swallows it down.
Speaking of Rachel-she’s beginning to get tired of losing track of their fearless leader. The woman is little, not invisible, and the fact that she’s not so easily located makes Quinn think maybe she’s gone out again. Alone, and at night-the stupidest idea ever, under any circumstances, but she wouldn’t put it past Rachel. The girl seems, to put it gently, to be losing it in the wake of Mercedes’…well. Mercedes in general.
It comes as a giant relief, therefore, when Quinn rounds the corner to the living room and is instantly greeted with a gently lilting melody.
It’s not like Quinn doesn’t listen to music; contrarily, she likes to think of herself as incredibly well-rounded where genres are concerned, her iPod carrying everything from Motown and classic rock to bad 90s pop ballads. Music is one the greatest addictions of her life.
All the same, she has never heard someone sing this way before, with such raw emotion. She can’t make out the words-they’re in another language; if she had to guess, she would suggest Hebrew-but it doesn’t matter. The sound is startlingly beautiful, cutting straight through her chest and leaving her with unexpected tears in her eyes.
Who knew Rachel Berry could sing like this?
It’s something extraordinary, straight off the radio in tone, pitch, and clarity, and straight out of heaven in everything else that counts. The sheer emotion unsettles Quinn, jerks the carpet under her feet, threatens to untangle the last vestige of control she’s got left.
Safely boxed in by the hallway, she watches the tiny brunette stand at the window, forehead nudged against glass, breath coming and going in visibly warm puffs. She looks worn out, worn through, in some intolerably deep fashion. Like she’s fading fast from the real world, the world Quinn wishes so heartily to return to.
A chill rips through her at the thought. Where, if she fades completely, will Rachel go?
She longs to understand-the song, the girl. Nothing makes sense anymore; she wishes Rachel would.
Because there is a definitive model for what Rachel should be, and she knows it. Small and beautiful and strong, all free will and frustrating intensity. Rachel should be on a stage somewhere, calling shots and making demands. Especially with this voice-this magical, holy thing she’s been hiding beneath her sparrow’s breast. Rachel should have the world at her feet.
She shouldn’t be here, in some discontent apartment building, nursing a guilt she is far too tiny to bear.
Quinn almost doesn’t realize she has moved into the room until Rachel shifts, lips closing around the final note as she glances over her shoulder. Embracing rather than smothering, as though unbothered by her sudden audience, her voice carries smoothly through the shadows to die gently upon Quinn’s ears. She wonders if applause would be inappropriate.
She assumes so.
“That was beautiful,” she says softly, keeping a safe distance. Rachel meets her eyes.
“My childhood was a well-rounded expression of the arts,” she explains after a moment, looking very much uncertain about the words as they come to rest between them. “Singing was…has always been my favorite.”
“You do it wonderfully,” Quinn tells her, arms wrapped around herself. “What was the song?”
“A farewell,” Rachel murmurs evasively. Quinn nods, feeling awkward.
“I liked it. If-if that’s not too strange a thing to say.”
Rachel smiles wanly. “Not strange. Thank you. I don’t get to share my talents terribly often anymore. Not since-not a for a good long while now.”
A thousand questions spring to mind: past, future, inquiries as to who Rachel was born to be prior to all of this superhero nonsense. With certain effort, Quinn swallows them all.
“Can’t sleep?” she settles for commenting, leaning her weight cautiously against an armchair. Rachel’s shoulders bob skyward.
“It hasn’t been the sort of day most conducive to dreaming.” Her mouth twists. “Nothing pleasant, anyway. I thought it best to stay up, think about the next step.”
“Aren’t you wiped out?” Quinn presses, eyeing Rachel’s pale cheeks, the loose hang of her arms at her sides. “What kind of battle strategy can you come up with on that kind of exhaustion?”
“Hopefully one that keeps us going,” the brunette mutters, more to herself than in response to the question. Quinn frowns.
“So what’ve you got?”
From the weight of Rachel’s silence, she guesses not much. She sighs.
“Rach…”
Dark eyes zip to her own, glittering with uncertainty. “You…never mind.”
“What?”
Rachel looks almost shy, almost shaken. “You called me Rach.”
“So?” Quinn wonders, rubbing her cheek uncomfortably. “It’s just a nickname.”
From the way Rachel looks at her, she guesses this is not as simple as it seems.
“What about you?” the brunette asks at last. “Shouldn’t you be resting after today’s ordeal?”
Today’s ordeal. Quinn grimaces. “Like you said. Not conducive to sweet dreams.”
She’s sort of glad Rachel doesn’t ask if she means Mercedes or the incident in the basement. She isn’t certain which is more heavily responsible for how she feels right now.
Rachel leans back against the window, watching Quinn steadily. Something is there, she thinks-some silent judgment, though she can’t gauge it beyond the vague notion of its presence. It should make her uncomfortable, and in a way, it does-but not nearly the way she expects.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Rachel says, too hastily. Her calm demeanor is slipping, Quinn notes, the mark of how poorly this day has gone. It’s actually sort of cute.
Not that I need that shit right now.
“You just…” Rachel hesitates, brow furrowing. “How…”
“Spit it out, Berry,” Quinn snaps, sounding too much like Santana even to her own ears; she smiles faintly to soften the command. Rachel’s gaze intensifies.
“What was it like for you?”
The urge to play dumb is extreme. Quinn resists. “Bad,” she replies as coolly as she can. “Really awful.”
“That’s not very descriptive,” Rachel muses. Quinn shrugs.
“It’s all I’ve got. If you’ve never been through it, I don’t know how to put it into words. That loss of control…I’ve never felt so helpless before. So evil.”
“You’re not evil, Quinn,” Rachel interrupts sharply. The blonde rubs her jaw.
“Sure as hell felt like it.”
“You’re not,” Rachel repeats, stepping nearer. “Neither is the power. I know it seems awful right now, but-“
“Not seems, Rachel,” the blonde snaps. “Is. You weren’t there, you have no idea-have you ever lost control to that degree? To the point where you didn’t know yourself? Where you were fully capable of killing and enjoying it? That’s not human, Rach. That’s…that’s evil. As evil as it gets. You have no idea.”
“You’re certain of that?” Rachel presses, mouth thin with obvious annoyance. “You’ve got my whole life determined? Every nook and cranny, every secret pain-I suppose you know everything there is to know, everything I’ve been through? All the absolute shit?”
Taken aback by the sudden frustration, Quinn stares at her numbly. “Rachel-no offense, but my power, this thing in me-“
“Is no better or worse than any other has the potential to be,” Rachel cries, tiny fists clenching against her legs. “You don’t seem to understand-“ Pausing, she shakes her head, sucks in a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be raving like this. I forget sometimes that you don’t have a true conception of…this…”
“This being?” It’s curious; Quinn feels as though she should be growing defensive in light of Rachel’s aggravation. Certainly, she’s been set off by less. But there is something contained in Rachel’s drawn face, her tired eyes-something Quinn suspects could explain everything.
Or at least part of why she feels so damn connected to this girl.
“How vast this all is,” Rachel says with surprising gentleness. “You clearly are still thinking of this in simple terms.”
“There is nothing simple about how I’m thinking,” Quinn argues. Rachel almost smiles.
“Not true. You think this prophecy is binding. You think, just because Kurt saw you in a vision, you’re set apart. Different, even from the rest of us.”
“I could destroy everything,” the blonde protests. “He said so, Rach. You agreed. Don’t go changing the rulebook now.”
“Nothing has changed,” Rachel presses. “Kurt had a vision. This is not rare. These people, the people you’ve met, all living under one roof. Do you think that happened by mistake? A convenient occurrence, chanced by some higher power? I found them. Each one. Almost all of them because of Kurt’s visions.”
“He called me the fucking Silencer,” Quinn growls. “He said-“
“Kurt is not without his flaws,” Rachel comments mildly. “Melodrama being among them. And I admit, he isn’t alone there. Please, don’t think I’m making light of the situation,” she adds when Quinn, feeling more or less like she’s watching a tennis match where Rachel is the sole player, strikes the chair gently. “You are dangerous. You are very dangerous. If Rayne were to get hold of you, it could mark disaster. Everything we have told you is true.”
“But?”
“But,” Rachel allows, “you aren’t alone. You’re not the only deadly force contained under this roof. The others…the number of fires Tina and Puck have caused, the number of near-miss catastrophes, are innumerable. Finn has projected himself off of buildings. As a child, during her first shift, Santana came within inches of murdering her own brother before she gathered control of her animal instincts. And I…let’s just say I’m more aware of what it feels like to lose control than you realize.”
Quinn watches her, throat tight. “What’s your point?”
“My point,” Rachel says calmly (and Quinn finds herself thinking they wind up at this crossroads too often; she wishes Rachel would fall into the habit of explaining herself without force), “is that nothing positive will come from you sectioning yourself off from the rest of us. You need to share your feelings, Quinn. We can help. We-contrary to some of the actions presented this afternoon-want to help.”
“And how exactly do you plan to do that?” Quinn asks, perhaps too bitterly. “You put such effort into being forthcoming, don’t you? And being, you know-around in general.”
It’s almost entertaining, seeing Rachel have the gall to look dumbfounded. Too bad she’s too tired for games.
“Where do you go, anyway? One of your people is killed and you just leave? How do you think that’s helpful?”
She’s posed this question too many times today without answer. And now Rachel’s looking at her like Quinn just kicked her puppy, which, again, would be amusing, except…
“Mike and Matt had-“
“And those two!” Quinn exclaims as quietly as she can. “They don’t talk. Yet Matt’s got that whole sketchy…thing he does. How does he do that?”
“Well, he-“
“And why do you take them with you instead of someone proactive? God, Rachel, you can’t just go out wandering when everything falls to shit. What happens if you’re killed? What are the rest of us supposed to do?”
Is it her ears, or is she starting to sound a little too overzealous again?
Rachel seems to feel it too, gauging from the flicker of amusement dancing in her tone when she carefully asks, “Are you gearing up to let me respond to any of these inquiries, or are you simply wearing yourself out in this mania?”
Quinn sags against the chair, eyes closing.
“Yes. Sorry. Please.”
Silence stretches throughout the room for a beat while Rachel regards her, clearly expecting to be interrupted again. When Quinn looks away, out the window behind the other woman, she clears her throat.
“Mike and Matt,” she begins, “are both loyal, invaluable young men. I assure you, on a mission composed strictly of reconnaissance, they are of the utmost benefit. Do you remember their gifts?”
“Mike senses lies,” Quinn recites grudgingly, feeling like a ten-year-old at a spelling bee. “And Matt freaks my shit out.”
Amazingly, Rachel giggles. “Not the way I would choose to phrase it, though I can see your point. Consider, if you can, the value of we three: Mike, able to sense truth, Matt, able to mute the gifts of enemies-“
“And what if your enemies had guns instead of gifts?” Quinn can’t resist blurting. Rachel reaches out, covering Quinn’s hand with her own; the blonde blinks, not having realized how close the other woman has come.
“And I,” Rachel continues as though Quinn never spoke, “being able to enter the minds of anyone wishing us harm. Quinn, I promise you, it was the best possible team for the circumstance.”
“The circumstance being what?” Rachel’s hand is warm over hers, the contact somewhat dizzying. Quinn swallows.
“Searching out weaknesses.” Rachel smiles, pacifying. “Like any textbook psychopath, Rayne has both supporters and what certain comic book enthusiasts among us insist upon calling a lair. I was seeking a way in, specifically to locate…”
She trails off, face losing all its humor in an instant. Quinn instinctively turns her hand under Rachel’s, giving the girl a squeeze and holding on for dear life.
“Mercedes’ body,” she recognizes softly. “You went without the others.”
Blanching, Rachel nods. “I admit, the quest would have been simpler if David Karofsky had not recently been murdered himself. His knack for invisibility would have been impressive. But we make do with what we’ve got, I suppose, and I didn’t want Kurt to-I didn’t see it necessary to subject to pain more people than I needed for the job.”
“I hate to state the obvious,” Quinn points out, “but I haven’t seen the body.”
Grief etches itself along Rachel’s features. “The details are inconsequential,” she murmurs. “Suffice to say, we failed.”
Quinn’s heart aches at the other woman’s tone. “It’s not your fault.”
Those familiar eyes flash defensively. “I never said it was.”
“But you feel it,” Quinn observes, slowly pushing herself away from the chair and further into Rachel’s space. The smaller woman frowns, gaze moving to the floor with an uncharacteristically uncertain jerk.
“I’m not looking for absolution, Quinn, and if I were-“
“It wouldn’t be mine to give,” Quinn confirms, stepping directly into Rachel’s personal bubble. The brunette refuses to look at her. “But I think you need something. If not absolution, maybe just comfort. Does that really seem so unreasonable?”
Rachel’s head shakes skeptically. “I’m a leader, Quinn. Comfort isn’t something I’ve got time for.”
Despite herself, Quinn smiles sadly, a hand coming to rest against the uneasy woman’s cheek. The skin dutifully pinkens under her touch.
“Everybody needs comfort when shit like this goes down, Rach. That’s human. You’re human. Right?”
She can see in brown eyes that she’s got Rachel cornered. It feels decidedly more satisfactory than she would have guessed, to watch a full bottom lip work its way between even, nervous teeth.
“What are you trying to do, Quinn?” Rachel whispers, too brokenly for the blonde’s taste. She tilts her head back, questioning, brown hair tumbling down her back; it’s almost enough to break the spell, to push Quinn to safety once more.
Except she can feel something stirring again, deep down . Less frightening, less brutal, but no less intense. She swallows.
“Honestly, I don’t know.”
“Then why-“ Rachel cuts herself off with a breath as Quinn’s fingertips ease along her cheekbones, cupping her face gently. “Quinn. Don’t…”
“Why not?” Quinn hears herself whisper, forehead bent against the smaller woman’s. She nudges Rachel’s nose almost imperceptibly with her own, inching her head from side to side. The brunette exhales shakily, the heat of her breath skirting across Quinn’s lips.
“Contact breeds commitment,” Rachel murmurs, eyes flickering momentarily shut. “Commitment breeds consequence. Quinn, I can’t-“
“You are,” the blonde observes softly, ghosting her lips just barely across Rachel’s. “And it’s okay.”
She can’t explain why they’re doing this; despite the words that have just fallen from her lips onto Rachel’s, she’s not even sure how okay it really is. She can feel Rachel trembling as her body urges forward against the blonde’s, small hands coming to clutch the front of her shirt almost desperately. Her skin is warm, her cheeks flushed as Quinn slides the pads of her thumbs back and forth, at once affectionate and hungry.
It’s the thing inside doing it, she tells herself anxiously, as her stomach knots around itself. It’s the thing, the darkness, the power that so desperately wants to take Rachel, to make her its own. But more than that…
It’s also her.
She’s hovering here, lips barely grazing Rachel’s, their breath mingling in short, even pants. She feels like they’re moving in slow motion, every stroke of Rachel’s fingers through her t-shirt scorching just a little bit hotter than the last. It’s like she’s toeing the edge of something massive-maybe something she’s just not ready for, maybe something she’s been ready for since the first moment Rachel’s battered, cryptic frame stumbled into Flannigan’s.
“Quinn,” Rachel husks, a split second before the blonde angles her head that last fraction of an inch and swallows her next breath. It’s not an easy kiss, for all their erotic caution; within seconds, she has Rachel’s full bottom lip between her teeth, nipping and sucking as the brunette arches into her. She hears a muffled groan, feels the material between her shoulder blades pull taut as Rachel yanks hard on her shirt to pull her closer.
It’s intoxicating, and maybe even a little wrong, to be standing in this dim room, crushing Rachel Berry against her body like this. Feeling Rachel’s hands slide around her back, her mouth opening with such craving under Quinn’s ravenous kisses-it’s almost more than Quinn can handle. She bears down a little harder, fingers slip-sliding into thick brown hair, feet bracing more firmly against the floor.
It’s what it needs, she can tell; the beast is humming, clutched like a fist in the center of her gut. Every kiss, every exhilarating swipe of Rachel’s tongue against her own, every scratch of Rachel’s blunt nails as her hands sneak up under Quinn’s shirt and splay across her bare back-it’s like rocket fuel. She feels hot all over, hot and strong, like she could do anything as long as Rachel keeps molding close, whimpering softly into her mouth.
More than that, it seems to be what Rachel needs. She’s never done this before-“this” more or less being defined as ‘jumping another girl in the wake of a woman’s death’-and maybe it’s not the brightest decision she’s ever made, but something in Rachel’s too-haunted, too-old eyes seems to scream for more.
Then again, maybe it’s less her eyes and more the pull of her hands as they roam freely, tracing manic patterns into Quinn’s skin, nails digging and releasing when she pulls the brunette’s earlobe between her teeth and growls. Maybe it has nothing whatsoever to do with her eyes, and everything to do with the way her hips press forward, bucking instinctively against the thigh Quinn has shifted between her legs. Forget the eyes-it’s much more likely that the insistence of Rachel’s kiss, the fiery trail her tongue leaves as it nudges and dances against Quinn’s, is what’s driving the point home.
Rachel-carefully controlled, prim, staunch leader of this ragtag batch of misfit idiots-needs her. And by this point, Quinn’s pretty sure she’s got no other choice but to give in.
She can’t keep this up for much longer on her feet, that much is certain; Rachel keeps grinding against her, mewling, and it’s doing all sorts of amazing things to Quinn’s balance. Bowing her head, she sinks her teeth lightly into the smaller girl’s shoulder and hisses, “Floor. Now.”
Surprisingly strong hands catch around the back of her neck as Rachel obediently sinks to her knees, dragging Quinn down with her. “Wouldn’t our bed be-“
“Santana,” Quinn points out shortly, easing the dark-haired woman onto her back and stretching out atop her even as the word ‘our’ sends a jolt through her system. Fingering the collar of Rachel’s shirt, she smiles, watching annoyance dart across flushed features.
“She does it to me,” Rachel mutters petulantly. Quinn buries her head in the young woman’s shoulder, suppressing a snort.
“Well, maybe she deserves it, but Brittany’s been through kind of a lot today.”
Rachel meets her eyes, serious for a long, hovering second-a second in which Quinn sees reflected how much they’ve all gone through today, Santana included. Then, abruptly, her face splits into a broad, mischievous grin.
“Plus, we’re already down here.” The words come out sexy and unrestrained, her hand sliding around Quinn’s neck to rest once more against the front of her shirt. The blonde swallows, vibrantly aware of the warm body beneath her own, hips twitching lightly in anticipation.
Banter could so easily continue, but the tension in her chest won’t be alleviated from words alone. Nudging her nose against Rachel’s, Quinn breathes the other woman in, pressing her lips down in a slow, heady kiss. The brunette makes a low, satisfied sound, one that inspires Quinn to keep up exactly that pace-measured, deliberate-until Rachel’s wandering hands pull her shirt up and up. She pauses long enough to lean back and squirm until the article of clothing is a bitter memory against the floorboards, and Rachel’s eyes grow wide. Quinn bites her lip.
Part of her wants to ask-the girl, she thinks, it’s the girl inside who is feeling so self-conscious about her nudity, about putting her admittedly-decent body on display for a woman who has been training and toning for years; the darkness certainly has no such qualms-if this is okay. Part of her wants to reach down and pull some reassurance from Rachel right now, before they go any further. Part of her needs to know that this is the right course of action.
But that part is minimal, and squirmy, and kind of pathetic. And it is far overshadowed by the hunger, the desperation prompting her to guide Rachel out of her own clothing, until smooth skin rides effortlessly against smooth skin. Mouth working over Rachel’s, tongue tracing plump lips, Quinn groans at the sensation of small, round breasts crushed beneath her own. She slides a leg between Rachel’s, the breezy material of her pajama pants growing damper by the minute as she angles up and watches the other woman’s head tip back in pleasure.
Rachel is undeniably beautiful, hips canting to meet Quinn’s thigh, hair splayed around her head as she reaches up to hold tight against the taller woman’s shoulders. Quinn watches her, spellbound, and finds herself setting a heated rhythm, grinding too softly to give her what she needs. It’s amazing how good this feels, straddling this woman’s leg, listening to her sigh and whimper. The clenching feeling in her chest tightens, the beast prowling back and forth in silent ecstasy, as Rachel gives a strained gasp.
“Harder,” she mumbles, nails clutching at the back of Quinn’s neck. “Oh.”
Quinn feels a feral grin slipping across her own lips as she eases her leg free and replaces it with a hand tucked down the front of the other girl’s pants. The reaction is instantaneous: Rachel’s eyes roll back, mouth falling open. Quinn’s stomach twists.
It’s warm in the room and getting warmer, and with every determined stroke she offers, her system thrums harder. Rachel’s body is coiling beneath hers, her hips rocking into Quinn’s hand, her moans muffled against the taller woman’s shoulder; as Quinn pushes two fingers inside, Rachel’s hand blindly works its way up to return the favor. There’s a split second of fumbling-to be expected, Quinn thinks dazedly, since Rachel is a little distracted at the moment-and then blissful entrance. She gasps, jerks, tries to keep steady.
Hell, if she thought Rachel was the only one who needed this…
Her whole body feels full, vibrant, like nothing else matters. Not death, not violence, not the terror that comes with this whole bizarre mess she’s managed to get into. All that matters is Rachel, writhing beneath her with a thumb on her clit, whimpering and plunging in exactly the most captivating manner possible. All that matters is how beautiful this moment is-
And how she feels. How, moreover, it-this thing inside, with scratching talons and howling triumph-feels. This is exactly what it wanted earlier, she senses: to have Rachel. Maybe it never even mattered how; possession is possession. And right now, she-it-possesses Rachel completely. It’s apparent in the way her eyes struggle to stay open, in the slow sink of white teeth into a full bottom lip, in the press and pitch of her hand, her whole body. Rachel is hers.
The growl catches her off-guard; Rachel’s head tilts as if towards the simple sound, her lips parting in a gasp as Quinn pumps her fingers a little faster, angling a little deeper. She feels Rachel’s legs spread beneath her, urging her further in, like her body would like nothing more than to embrace Quinn’s entire self through this act. Her stomach twists pleasurably at the thought, twitching as Rachel’s dark eyes slide open and capture hers, aroused and intense as anything Quinn has ever seen in her life.
“Oh,” Rachel moans, “oh, your eyes. Oh my God, Quinn, I-I-“
Whatever it is, Quinn-and the thing inside of her, roaring with such mindless rapture-doesn’t give her time to finish. She tilts up, thumb coming down in a rough press against that thrumming bundle of nerves, and Rachel’s sanity seems to give completely. Her head jerks back, her hips coming up to receive each forceful thrust, Quinn’s name a repeating breath that swells and dies on her lips over and over again.
She rocks herself upon Rachel’s fingers, formulating her own grinding rhythm while the brunette pants for air, groaning and squirming as she rides the aftershocks. One small hand skims up from where Rachel has been clutching at her back, scratching through wild blonde hair and holding tight to the back of her skull; that intense gaze meets hers again, but this time, there’s something extra, something that goes beyond simple arousal. Quinn’s eyes roll in her head, the raw power in her gut mounting and bursting as Rachel nudges simultaneously with a steady thrust of her fingers and a velvet mental stroke that ripples from the edge of Quinn’s mind straight down to her core.
She collapses atop the smaller woman, barely remembering to catch herself at the last second before rolling onto her back. Without missing a beat, Rachel snuggles against her side, breathing heavily into her neck.
Several moments slip by, undetected, in the darkness; somewhere in the back of her mind, it occurs to Quinn that they are sprawled-naked from the waist up, the both of them-in a very easily-spotted location. It’s probably not the wisest of decisions.
Then again, what they’ve just done probably can’t be construed as “wise”, either. She smiles stupidly against the crown of Rachel’s head.
“Well,” the brunette mumbles at last. “That…you…”
“Uh huh,” Quinn replies dumbly. Rachel’s hand reaches across her body and squeezes her wrist.
“Did you…did you like…” She’s never heard Rachel this flustered with words before. It’s sort of ridiculously adorable.
“Yes,” she replies, taking pity upon the smaller woman. Rachel lifts her head.
“That last thing…that I did. That was okay?” She looks worried. Quinn cups her cheek gently, pleased when brown eyes close and the girl nuzzles into her palm.
“It was…incredible,” Quinn assures her, smiling. “Godly, even. What was-“
“A taste,” Rachel murmurs, almost shyly. “Of…how deep it goes. My gift.”
Quinn hums and nods, running her thumb across the bridge of Rachel’s nose. The brunette grins.
“And you,” she breathes, “you were…are…just…”
“A stud,” Quinn teases. The laugh she receives in return is surprisingly brash, echoing off the furniture; she claps a hand over Rachel’s mouth to stifle it.
“Yes,” the brunette deadpans when she’s able to speak again. “Exactly. But more than that…I think-did you feel something tonight? Something to do with your ability?”
Quinn frowns. “Why?”
“Well, I feel…don’t be alarmed, but I think I saw…something, just before I...” Rachel trails off, biting her lip.
“My eyes?” Suddenly nervous, she pushes herself up on her elbows and tilts her head. “What about them? Did they…was I…”
“It wasn’t like before,” Rachel muses, slinging a leg over to rest between Quinn’s knees. “That would have been, no offense meant, somewhat terrifying. This was different. Usually, when your power asserts itself, as you’ve noticed, your eyes go…”
“Black as hell,” Quinn recalls, Mercedes’ voice ringing in her ears. “Devil eyes.”
Rachel’s shoulders tense, as though she had forgotten for a euphoric moment all about her fallen comrade. She shakes her head. “Yes, right. Like that. But tonight, they were...pretty.”
“Pretty?” Quinn repeats disbelievingly, arching a quizzical eyebrow. “Pretty, really?”
“Mm hmm.” Though her smile has gone a little sharper once more, there is no denying the affection reflected in the expression. “Gold. A little shimmery. And only in the iris area, which, truthfully, is much less disturbing than when the whole nine miles go.”
“Nine…yards.” Despite herself, Quinn smirks. “Yards. It’s a football reference, Rach.”
The brunette’s forehead creases. “What did I say?”
“You-never mind.” Sliding an arm around the smaller woman’s waist, Quinn draws her close and presses a kiss against her temple. “So you think my eyes are pretty?”
“Very,” Rachel confirms, wriggling a little in her grasp. “Which does suggest, you realize, that I was right.”
“About what?”
Even in the shadows, she can’t deny the shit-eating quality of the other woman’s grin. “You’re certainly not evil, Quinn Fabray. Not in the least. And furthermore, if you listened to me, I think-”
There are few things more satisfying, Quinn discovers as she rolls them over and pins Rachel to the floor again, than shutting up a Rachel Berry I-told-you-so tirade with only the use of her tongue.