Life is Never What You Wanted [Quinn/Santana]
Title: Life is Never What You Wanted
Rating: M?
Word Count: 1327
Pairing: Quinn/Santana
Author's Note: Written for this prompt. I'm so sorry my first thought was to make it depressing but, well, here we are. Enjoy!
--
Quinn hasn’t told you why she’s here and, because it’s been almost four hours since she showed up, asking you to buzz her in, you don’t think she’ll ever tell you. This doesn’t stop you from forming your own theories, like Quinn’s looking for another go around because she’s bored, but you don’t say anything. You had just gotten home from your shift barely ten minutes before Quinn came by.
You two made chit chat, caught up like this is some regular occurrence, and then you were both sucked into what was playing on the tv (first it was She’s All That, now some E! True Hollywood Story). There’s a lot of noise coming from outside, which is normal given where you live, but it peaks Quinn’s curiosity and, before you know it, she’s going to the window you had propped open right before the buzzer sounded. She pokes her head out of the window. “You should come see this,” Quinn calls over her shoulder, her hands gripping the window pane. You know it’s nothing you haven’t already seen but you amuse her, pushing yourself off the couch. Quinn gracefully climbs on to the fire escape, her brown skirt that was an appropriate length before inching up her thighs. You can’t be sure if your mind is playing tricks on you or not, but you can’t swear that Quinn’s wearing underwear.
This is Quinn though, and you know her (maybe not as well as you once thought but you do). It’s obviously your drowsiness and the sun and any other factor that could mess with your sight.
There’s a car accident down on the street. A taxi is practically wrapped around this fucking mini van. The drivers look like they’re still in their respective cars, though you don’t see a driver in the taxi. Instead you see Quinn’s leg bending at the knee, her fingers outlining the web of scars on the outside of her leg. You can hear an ambulance coming as more and more people come out of the woodwork to stare at the scene. No one moves to help. Quinn’s other hand grips the rusty railing but her face remains blank. It doesn’t matter that her face seems disconnected from the rest of her, you know that Quinn’s mind is going a mile a minute.
“How long has it been anyway?”
Quinn turns away when the ambulance pulls up. She brings her hair over her shoulder, looks at you a little differently. “A year today.”
“So that’s why you’re here,” you say as you sit down on the escape. You pull the loose brick from the wall and grab the cigarettes and lighter you keep there. “Do you want me to ask how you are? Because I wasn’t aware we did that.”
Quinn smirks just so as you light the cigarette sitting between your lips. “No, I don’t want that. I wouldn’t be here if that’s what I wanted.”
You glance down at the wreck and notice they have to use the jaws of life to get out the taxi driver. The mother who rammed him sits, only frazzled, with her two kids in the back of one of the ambulances. “Did the guy who hit you get hurt?” Quinn shakes her head. You notice Quinn pressing her fingertips into her thigh through her skirt. “So, what do you want me to do? Talking isn’t what you want so… Should I buy booze and let you control our Netflix for the day?”
Quinn shakes her head again, leaning on the rail. You try not to blow smoke in her direction but the wind carries it back to her. “I want you to have sex with me,” she breathes out, honestly and unashamed. Bold, like most everything Quinn says or does. “I had a plan to seduce you but, well.” The tools start cutting through the distorted metal with so much noise that you wouldn’t have heard Quinn had she continued. “I just want a reminder of why I decided to keep on living.”
You weren’t aware that was a decision Quinn actually made. Maybe you’re interpreting it wrong or maybe you just want to be.
Stubbing out the cigarette that you’ve only taken two puffs from, you wave her over. Quinn walks like an expert on the grated floor in her wedges. She stands beside you, glancing back at the accident.
They still haven’t gotten the taxi driver out.
You touch her calf and Quinn looks down, eyebrow carefully arched. “Why me?”
Quinn pushes a bit of your hair back, giving her an unobstructed view of your face. “You’ve seen all my scars.” Quinn shrugs just a little. “Only seems right.”
Your hand travels up her leg and you feel Quinn shiver under your touch. Your fingertips brush the curve of her ass, touching only skin when you venture just a little further. You let out a small laugh, which causes Quinn to stiffen, but you shake your head as you pull your hand out from under her skirt. “I really thought I was imagining you going without,” you tell her as you grab your hand and tug on it.
She looks down at you, confused. You pat your lap to make it more obvious. “Out here,” Quinn asks.
You nod. There’s the sound of metal hitting the concrete but neither of you turn to look.
It takes her another second or two before Quinn kneels next to her, her knees digging into the weathered metal. When Quinn doesn’t immediately move to straddle you, you tap her leg, pull it across your lap. She settles on to you, a familiar weight. You suck a finger between your lips, the tobacco smell lingering, before settling your hand between Quinn’s spread thighs.
She’s more wet than you thought she would be. It only takes a few swirls against her clit, a few well placed kisses along the column of Quinn’s neck, and a strong grip on the blonde strands at the back of her head before you can slip one finger into her. A breathy sigh toys with the hair near your ear as you pump into Quinn. There’s a sudden pause in the grating sound below them and you take that brief moment to add another finger, thrusting faster, harder. You’re rewarded with a moan that hitches and hips starting to work in time with your hand.
Noise surrounds you again and Quinn takes advantage of it, releasing the sounds you know she’s capable of; low moans and grunts when you don’t give her exactly what she wants. Her hands wrap around the straps of your tank top when you curl your fingers. She’s starting to sink a little too far down and you pat her hip with your free hand, nudge her to rest her weight on her knees. You glance up to see her face when she listens to you, watches the way her face contorts conflictingly; her eyebrows furrow in pleasure and then briefly in pain as the metal digs into the skin on her knees. “Do you feel that,” you question her, fucking her harder than you think you ever have. Your hand is soaked to the point where you think that you can feel Quinn dripping down your wrist. “Do you feel alive?”
The ambulance starts its siren as her cunt tightens around your fingers. “Yes,” she gasps. Her breathing is labored, each intake filling Quinn’s chest to the point where her breasts run against yours. She pulls you closer, claims your lips for her own, and you grope her through her striped sweater. She’s braless too, but that isn’t surprising, her nipple already pebbled by the time you seek it out. You take it between your thumb and forefinger, twisting, pinching, as you bury three fingers in Quinn roughly.
The siren is quieter, further away, but it still muffles the cry Quinn releases towards the sky when she comes.
Rating: M?
Word Count: 1327
Pairing: Quinn/Santana
Author's Note: Written for this prompt. I'm so sorry my first thought was to make it depressing but, well, here we are. Enjoy!
--
Quinn hasn’t told you why she’s here and, because it’s been almost four hours since she showed up, asking you to buzz her in, you don’t think she’ll ever tell you. This doesn’t stop you from forming your own theories, like Quinn’s looking for another go around because she’s bored, but you don’t say anything. You had just gotten home from your shift barely ten minutes before Quinn came by.
You two made chit chat, caught up like this is some regular occurrence, and then you were both sucked into what was playing on the tv (first it was She’s All That, now some E! True Hollywood Story). There’s a lot of noise coming from outside, which is normal given where you live, but it peaks Quinn’s curiosity and, before you know it, she’s going to the window you had propped open right before the buzzer sounded. She pokes her head out of the window. “You should come see this,” Quinn calls over her shoulder, her hands gripping the window pane. You know it’s nothing you haven’t already seen but you amuse her, pushing yourself off the couch. Quinn gracefully climbs on to the fire escape, her brown skirt that was an appropriate length before inching up her thighs. You can’t be sure if your mind is playing tricks on you or not, but you can’t swear that Quinn’s wearing underwear.
This is Quinn though, and you know her (maybe not as well as you once thought but you do). It’s obviously your drowsiness and the sun and any other factor that could mess with your sight.
There’s a car accident down on the street. A taxi is practically wrapped around this fucking mini van. The drivers look like they’re still in their respective cars, though you don’t see a driver in the taxi. Instead you see Quinn’s leg bending at the knee, her fingers outlining the web of scars on the outside of her leg. You can hear an ambulance coming as more and more people come out of the woodwork to stare at the scene. No one moves to help. Quinn’s other hand grips the rusty railing but her face remains blank. It doesn’t matter that her face seems disconnected from the rest of her, you know that Quinn’s mind is going a mile a minute.
“How long has it been anyway?”
Quinn turns away when the ambulance pulls up. She brings her hair over her shoulder, looks at you a little differently. “A year today.”
“So that’s why you’re here,” you say as you sit down on the escape. You pull the loose brick from the wall and grab the cigarettes and lighter you keep there. “Do you want me to ask how you are? Because I wasn’t aware we did that.”
Quinn smirks just so as you light the cigarette sitting between your lips. “No, I don’t want that. I wouldn’t be here if that’s what I wanted.”
You glance down at the wreck and notice they have to use the jaws of life to get out the taxi driver. The mother who rammed him sits, only frazzled, with her two kids in the back of one of the ambulances. “Did the guy who hit you get hurt?” Quinn shakes her head. You notice Quinn pressing her fingertips into her thigh through her skirt. “So, what do you want me to do? Talking isn’t what you want so… Should I buy booze and let you control our Netflix for the day?”
Quinn shakes her head again, leaning on the rail. You try not to blow smoke in her direction but the wind carries it back to her. “I want you to have sex with me,” she breathes out, honestly and unashamed. Bold, like most everything Quinn says or does. “I had a plan to seduce you but, well.” The tools start cutting through the distorted metal with so much noise that you wouldn’t have heard Quinn had she continued. “I just want a reminder of why I decided to keep on living.”
You weren’t aware that was a decision Quinn actually made. Maybe you’re interpreting it wrong or maybe you just want to be.
Stubbing out the cigarette that you’ve only taken two puffs from, you wave her over. Quinn walks like an expert on the grated floor in her wedges. She stands beside you, glancing back at the accident.
They still haven’t gotten the taxi driver out.
You touch her calf and Quinn looks down, eyebrow carefully arched. “Why me?”
Quinn pushes a bit of your hair back, giving her an unobstructed view of your face. “You’ve seen all my scars.” Quinn shrugs just a little. “Only seems right.”
Your hand travels up her leg and you feel Quinn shiver under your touch. Your fingertips brush the curve of her ass, touching only skin when you venture just a little further. You let out a small laugh, which causes Quinn to stiffen, but you shake your head as you pull your hand out from under her skirt. “I really thought I was imagining you going without,” you tell her as you grab your hand and tug on it.
She looks down at you, confused. You pat your lap to make it more obvious. “Out here,” Quinn asks.
You nod. There’s the sound of metal hitting the concrete but neither of you turn to look.
It takes her another second or two before Quinn kneels next to her, her knees digging into the weathered metal. When Quinn doesn’t immediately move to straddle you, you tap her leg, pull it across your lap. She settles on to you, a familiar weight. You suck a finger between your lips, the tobacco smell lingering, before settling your hand between Quinn’s spread thighs.
She’s more wet than you thought she would be. It only takes a few swirls against her clit, a few well placed kisses along the column of Quinn’s neck, and a strong grip on the blonde strands at the back of her head before you can slip one finger into her. A breathy sigh toys with the hair near your ear as you pump into Quinn. There’s a sudden pause in the grating sound below them and you take that brief moment to add another finger, thrusting faster, harder. You’re rewarded with a moan that hitches and hips starting to work in time with your hand.
Noise surrounds you again and Quinn takes advantage of it, releasing the sounds you know she’s capable of; low moans and grunts when you don’t give her exactly what she wants. Her hands wrap around the straps of your tank top when you curl your fingers. She’s starting to sink a little too far down and you pat her hip with your free hand, nudge her to rest her weight on her knees. You glance up to see her face when she listens to you, watches the way her face contorts conflictingly; her eyebrows furrow in pleasure and then briefly in pain as the metal digs into the skin on her knees. “Do you feel that,” you question her, fucking her harder than you think you ever have. Your hand is soaked to the point where you think that you can feel Quinn dripping down your wrist. “Do you feel alive?”
The ambulance starts its siren as her cunt tightens around your fingers. “Yes,” she gasps. Her breathing is labored, each intake filling Quinn’s chest to the point where her breasts run against yours. She pulls you closer, claims your lips for her own, and you grope her through her striped sweater. She’s braless too, but that isn’t surprising, her nipple already pebbled by the time you seek it out. You take it between your thumb and forefinger, twisting, pinching, as you bury three fingers in Quinn roughly.
The siren is quieter, further away, but it still muffles the cry Quinn releases towards the sky when she comes.