fic: keep it loose, keep it tight - 1/2 - glee, brittany/quinn, nc-17
Title: Keep It Loose, Keep It Tight (1/2)
Author: zerodetorres
Characters: Brittany/Quinn
Rating: NC-17
Length: 6,310/13,467
Timeline: AU
Summary: Brittany rolls into Quinn's life with startling blue eyes, an infectious laugh, and an unapologetic penchant for nudity. [Originally a Brittana prompt from the fluff meme about Santana being an uptight businesswoman and Brittany being a surfer. Swapped out Santana for Quinn.]
(Revised) Notes:
For blueowls. ♥
Thanks to bradyyface and lynnearlington for giving this complete read-throughs and being awesome and helpful, with special mentions to losdosmos for putting up with my crazy and dealan311 for titling this fic after an Amos Lee song.
Quinn Fabray is starting to get a headache. A really big damn headache. She stares at the woman in her office doorway and tries to remember that they are best friends.
"Look, Fabray. Take a week off. You've got so many vacation days stacked up, boss barely knows what to do with you."
"Lopez…"
"No, listen," Santana continues, stepping into Quinn's office. "Your parents left you a freaking beach house down in the sunshine state. You have three weeks of paid vacation, and frankly, I'd have snatched them off your ass already if I could. What the hell are you still doing here? You just wrapped up that big Jacobson case, and you've got nothing backlogged for maybe the first time since you stepped into this office."
Quinn sighs. "I can't just leave."
"Yes, you can," Santana insists. "Listen, go soak up some Florida sun." She waves a hand at Quinn. "You're looking a little transparent lately."
Quinn rolls her eyes. "It's called being white, Lopez. Try it sometime."
Santana smirks. "Whatever. Also? Pick up a hot little blonde on the beach and fuck her senseless. Trust me, you need the lay." When Quinn doesn't reply, Santana offers, generously, "Or a brunette, if that's what you're into. Redheads though…" She makes a face. "They can be kinda crazy. Perfect for you though, right?"
"Oh my god," Quinn groans. "Please stop talking."
Santana grins. "Already told Sylvester you're taking next week off. She can't wait to get rid of you."
"You did what?"
"Almost booked your flight, too," Santana adds with a cheeky grin, "but I blew my last paycheck on a down payment on my Ducati."
Quinn shakes her head. "I can't believe you actually ride that thing everywhere."
"Are you kidding?" Santana's eyes widen. "Do you know how much it drives the ladies nuts in the pants? And how hot do I look in leather?"
Quinn holds up a hand. "Okay, stop. You're such a pain in the ass, you know that?"
"For trying to get my best friend to go on vacation," Santana remarks sarcastically. "I'm terrible."
The corners of Quinn's lips twitch. "Okay. Okay, fine. Not a week though. I have work." She purses her lips. "How about this? I'll fly down for three days. Happy?"
"Yeah," Santana laughs, rolling her eyes, "because I derive so much pleasure from being stuck here while you're off lying on the beach sipping cocktails and getting hot surfer chicks into your bed."
Quinn bites back a smile. "Get out of my office, Lopez."
Santana laughs as she turns to leave. "I'm taking your Blackberry before you go," she calls out over her shoulder.
Quinn takes a deep breath as soon as Santana disappears. She isn't sure she even remembers how to vacation anymore.
--
Quinn's flight down is at half-past three on a Saturday. Santana volunteers to drive her to the airport, but ten minutes into the ride, Quinn regrets the decision.
Santana's knuckles whiten against her steering wheel. "I'm so sick of you burying your head in work."
From the passenger's seat, Quinn throws Santana a dirty glare. "What the hell? I'm going, aren't I?"
"But you're not happy about it," Santana remarks, shaking her head. "Shit, Fabray, you need to loosen up. That stick up your ass is about to come out your mouth."
"Shut up," Quinn growls.
"No, seriously." Santana fires Quinn a pointed look. "Do you know what your own laugh sounds like? Because I don't remember."
Quinn rolls her eyes. "I laugh."
"Yeah, sarcastically. You're like, dead inside or something."
Quinn clenches her jaw. "I'm fine."
Santana turns to Quinn as she pulls up to a red light. "Look, I don't know what happened to you these past couple of years, but trust me, you need this vacation. Law school ate your soul, and all these cases? You're taking them too personally."
Quinn bristles. "I can handle my own shit, Lopez."
Santana shrugs her shoulders. "I'm just saying. You deal with broken families day in and day out. It's getting to your head."
Quinn chooses not to dignify that with a response. Truth is, she takes her cases home with her. She lies awake with images of battered women late at night and lets homeless children haunt her nightmares. But she isn't about to admit that to anyone, not even Santana. Especially not Santana.
As though sensing the shift in Quinn, Santana sighs. "Will you just try to have some fun? Forget all your depressing cases for a few days. Clear your head."
Quinn nods tensely. "Sure."
Santana gives Quinn a skeptic look. "Yeah. You know, you're starting to remind me a little of your old man."
Quinn refuses to let that comment get to her, because she knows the only fucking reason Santana says it is to get a reaction out of her. So she digs her nails into her seat belt and turns to look out the window. They spend the rest of the ride in silence.
Soon enough, Santana pulls up to the airport. The two women step out, and they hug. Quinn sighs, because the grudge is over and they're friends again and it's reassuring.
Santana smiles, a hint of affection creeping past her exterior. "Have a good time, Q."
--
Quinn doesn't remember the last time she was here. Before law school, for sure. Probably back in high school, when her parents had dragged her and her sister here every summer. It's a nice place. Two-story beach house facing a private strip of white sand on the eastern end of Sanibel Island, off the coast of Fort Myers. It's secluded enough to appease Quinn, but close enough to a more commercial zone so she doesn't have to eat tree bark for the duration of her stay.
She fishes out her keys and unlocks the door, pushing it open. With a heave, she tugs her suitcase inside and kicks the door closed behind her. The house smells musty from disuse, and Quinn abandons her suitcase at the entrance, then sets out to pull open some windows and let in some fresh air.
The flight down from New York City had taken three hours, plus another hour cabbing here from the airport. Now that she's finally here, the sun has already set, and honestly, Quinn is more than a little exhausted. She pulls out her phone and taps a text to Santana. It takes her about ten years, because Santana really had taken her Blackberry before she'd left, and Quinn has no idea what this T9 business is, but it needs to go die in a fire.
Got here okay. This is a shit phone.
Almost immediately, the phone buzzes in her hand.
Imma take good care of your crackberry. Have a good time, Q. Remember to pick up some hot ass.
Quinn chuckles and slides her phone onto the kitchen table. She drops her purse down next to it and returns to the suitcase. She manages to dig out half a chicken salad sandwich she'd picked up at the airport. As she begins munching on it, she decides to make a quick check of the place.
The kitchen area is small but well-equipped. She makes a note to go pick up some groceries tomorrow morning and stock the fridge with some beer. Next to it is the dining room, with a modest round glass-topped table. Four chairs circle the table, and she remembers the many meals they'd had here, when she'd been younger and much more impressionable.
The living room is furnished with a cushioned wicker couch and armchair set. The best part of the entire building, as far as Quinn is concerned, is the open quality of the living room, which essentially amounts to a large glass window in lieu of any type of wall, extending up over the ceiling like a skylight. She remembers lying here at night, watching the ocean beside her and the stars above her, and thinking that the world was larger than she could ever imagine. She's learned over the years that it's not, but a little part of her will always hold that wonder.
She makes quick work of the rest of the place, from the two bedrooms where she and her sister always used to fight over who would get the one with the balcony, to the garage below that houses two ATVs and a dune buggy, to the pool, hot tub and hammock out front, and finally to the master bedroom upstairs. She'd called the custodian a few days back and gotten him to come in and change the sheets, and in that moment, the bed looks extremely inviting.
Quinn stuffs down the rest of her sandwich, digs out a bottle of water and downs that too, then pulls out some toiletries and a change of clothes. She'll call it a night early, she decides.
She has to let the water run for a while before hopping in the shower, but otherwise, she manages to clean up and get herself to bed. She stares up at the slanted ceiling for a while, just breathing in the humid Florida air. A vacation. She doesn't remember the last time she'd had one of those.
Maybe Santana had been right. She needs something like this. Something away from the chaos of the courthouse, away from cases about domestic violence and child abuse.
Quinn closes her eyes, and her exhausted body pulls her to slumber.
--
"You're not hiding away in your beach house, thinking about legal shit, are you?"
Quinn rolls her eyes and pins her phone between her ear and her shoulder, simultaneously trying to lug her suitcase upstairs. "No, Lopez."
"Man," Santana laughs, "you suck at this. You do realize that the whole point of going away by yourself for a few days is to get shitfaced and hook up with as many hot chicks as you can get your hands on, right?"
"That's you," Quinn counters. "I'm a responsible adult."
Santana snorts. "Right." There's some shuffling and unintelligible muttering at the other end, then Santana groans. "Gotta go. Sylvester's riding my ass again. See what I'm putting up with, just so you can get some summer lovin'? Better not disappoint me, Fabray."
"Your selflessness knows no bounds," Quinn intones sarcastically, groaning as she finally manages to drag her suitcase into the master bedroom.
"Yeah, yeah," Santana chuckles. "Say what you want, but I know how to have a good time. You, on the other hand, apparently need some reminding."
"Hanging up now," Quinn tells her best friend before doing just that.
Quinn pockets her crappy phone and sighs. She just can't seem to relax. She'd managed to get some good rest the previous night, but now that she's up and about again, she feels restless. Tension coils tightly in her muscles and she takes a deep breath in an attempt to soothe her nerves.
A plan. She just needs to know what she's going to do for the rest of the day. She likes knowing she has a purpose.
First, she needs to find a place for brunch. She hates that word, but it's already pushing ten, and she hasn't had a single thing to eat all morning. Her stomach is about to digest itself.
Second, food. And coffee. She needs to stock up the kitchen so she doesn't have to make runs every morning. She'd been lucky to find a packet of instant coffee in her purse - yes, she carries caffeine around with her - but she knows that if she doesn't get her morning cup of joe, she morphs into Sue Sylvester's demon spawn. That can't be conducive to this relaxing thing.
Third, lounging on the beach sounds like a nice way to spend her first day. Not like she has anything better to do.
Quinn zips open her suitcase and rummages around until she comes away with her swimsuit and a pair of denim shorts. A far cry from the skirt suits she wears to work every day, but she's already stuffy in her tank top and short shorts. Humidity is not her friend.
She changes quickly, then stares at herself for a moment in the body-length mirror hanging in the master bedroom. She almost doesn't recognize herself. She tugs at her dark purple halter bikini top, mildly uncomfortable. Her stomach grumbles loudly, and she shakes off her hesitation. She needs to chill out.
Quinn grabs a beach bag she'd brought, empties her purse into it, and makes her way to the garage downstairs, fighting the dust to unlock and heave open the large tin garage door. Blinding sunlight streams in, and Quinn squints against the brightness. A yellow dune buggy sits at one end, while two smaller all-terrain vehicles - navy blue and deep crimson - occupy the other side.
After a quick check to make sure everything's working and it's filled with gas, she hops onto the blue ATV and pulls on the matching helmet and gloves. The key is already in its slot, so she reaches down and turns it, starting the engine. An unexpected rush of adrenaline hits her when the vehicle whirrs to action under her. Maybe Santana had been onto something with that goddamn motorbike of hers.
She drives out of the garage slowly, and it takes her a moment to get used to the feeling of controlling the thing again, but she settles into it.
As soon as she pulls onto the beach, she can see the bustle of activity further down the strip. Quinn tightens her grip on the handles and releases the handbrake.
--
By the time Quinn manages to feed herself and stock the beach house with some emergency groceries, it's already getting into late afternoon. She rides her ATV back to the public section of the beach, and though the sun's already low in the sky, she figures she can get a few hours of beach time in before she calls it a night. Santana would be so thrilled, Quinn thinks with an eye-roll. She can almost hear the brunette sarcastically calling her a party animal.
It's not that Quinn doesn't want to enjoy her time here. It's just that it mostly feels like a chore. Like she's filling some terrible obligation. Maybe there's something wrong with her, but she'd rather just be back at work. Work is what she knows. Protecting people who need protection is what she knows. Relaxing on the beach? Not so much. She doesn't really know how to fix that.
Quinn parks her ATV, removes and secures her gear, then heads toward the water, beach bag over her shoulder. She picks an abandoned chair, drapes her towel over it, and lies down. She snaps on her aviators and plugs in her ear buds.
A light breeze blows across the beach, but the air is still warm, and Quinn settles for watching the waves. When she'd passed by in the morning, there'd been many families and young children dotted along the edge of the water, but now, it's a lot quieter.
Quinn falls into a pleasant lull, and eventually, the sky begins to darken. Streaks of orange and pink and purple stretch across the horizon, the colors reflecting off the water as waves continue to roll in.
From the corner of her eye, Quinn catches a trio of surfers heading toward the water, surfboards clutched under their arms. More specifically, Quinn's eyes latch onto a thin blonde around her age. Heat rises up Quinn's neck as she takes in the surfer's toned limbs and defined abs, a red bikini highlighting her curves and leaving just enough to the imagination.
One of the blonde's companions, a tan mohawked guy with broad shoulders, turns to the other two and says something, motioning wildly in the air. The third surfer, a tall Asian, reaches over and playfully shoves the mohawked guy. The blonde throws back her head and laughs, and Quinn feels a smile spread across her lips.
What the hell.
Quinn turns back to the sky and tries to pay no attention to the three surfers, but she cannot help but watch as the three paddle out and climb to their feet on their boards, expertly riding the waves like they're an extension of their bodies. The mohawked guy falls off his board a lot, but that's mostly because he spends most of his time trying to show off to the other two. Quinn's eyes mostly trail the blonde, who moves like she's following some kind of choreography. It's graceful and enchanting and completely sexy.
Quinn averts her eyes, but she quickly finds herself staring again. She tries to focus on the Asian with the really nice set of abs, but before long, she's back to the blonde. Finally, she resigns herself to her fate. Besides, it's not like it's a crime to watch, especially when the subject is so damn easy on the eyes. At least it'll be a good story to tell Santana.
Quinn watches the three surfers - or, the girl, whatever - until after the sun sets and the sky turns navy. The lights along the beach illuminate the water, allowing beachgoers a few more hours of makeshift daylight, but as the sky continues to darken, Quinn begins to worry about the surfers. She's already shivering a little in the t-shirt she's pulled on, and she can't imagine the water being warmer. But just as she's legitimately contemplating approaching the edge of the water, the blonde begins paddling back, with her two companions closely behind her.
Quinn forces herself to look away so she isn't caught staring, and she does such a good job of it that she doesn't notice someone approaching until the blonde with the red bikini is hovering over her chair, sans surfboard. Quinn nearly jumps out of her seat in surprise, but she manages to keep it together.
The blonde flashes a smile. "Hey."
Quinn tugs out her ear buds. "Hi."
"I'm Brittany," the blonde offers.
Quinn nods noncommittally and chooses not to reply, hoping this Brittany character will just leave her alone. But Brittany kneels down next to Quinn's seat, suddenly, and presses her elbows against the armrest.
"You were watching us," Brittany remarks with a grin.
"No, I wasn't," Quinn replies, feeling her ears burning. Her muscles grow tense. She's never been more thankful for the aviators sitting on her nose, hiding her eyes, because now that she's getting a good look at the girl up close, Quinn cannot help but notice that she is attractive. Really, really hot, actually.
Brittany smiles again. "My friend Puck-" She flicks her chin briskly over her shoulder, and Quinn follows that line of vision to find the Asian holding two surfboards and the mohawked guy waving at them. "He wants to know which one of us you were watching." She leans closer, and Quinn flushes, feeling the heat rising in her chest. "We've got a twenty riding on your answer," Brittany explains.
Quinn swallows. "I wasn't watching any of you," she manages.
Brittany frowns. "Oh. I could've sworn…"
"Tell him I said you," Quinn offers before she can stop herself. "So you can win your bet, I mean. I wasn't staring. At any of you."
Brittany lights up and leans closer, her face hovering inches from Quinn's. Her breath is warm, and her eyes are so damn blue. Quinn tries to ask the surfer what she's doing, but before she gets a word out, Brittany's lips are pressed lightly against hers, and her question transforms into a soft moan. The kiss is quick, gentle, and chaste, even, but Quinn's heart races in her chest like she's getting the first breath of fresh air in years.
Brittany smiles brightly when she pulls away. "You sure you weren't staring at me?" she asks, looking down at her side.
Only then does Quinn notice that her hand had somehow made its way to Brittany's ribcage, her palms and fingers pressed against Brittany's skin. Quinn snaps away, mildly horrified.
Quinn sits up, trying to clear her head. "What'd you even do that for?" she manages to ask.
"It was a thank you for the twenty," Brittany explains innocently. "You're cute. You here on vacation?"
Instinctively, Quinn bristles. "No offence, but that's really none of your business."
Brittany laughs. "I don't care. I just haven't seen you around." She studies Quinn for another moment, almost curiously. "I'm a surfing instructor here, but I'm off this week." Brittany bites her lip. "Where are you staying?"
"Like I said-"
"Okay, okay." Brittany shrugs and begins to push herself to her feet. "Thanks for winning me the bet."
Quinn doesn't know why her hand snaps to Brittany's wrist, but it does, and she finally answers, "Beach house at the end of Periwinkle."
Brittany gasps and drops back to her knees. "No way! That place is sweet. Me and Mike used to sneak in there in the winters when nobody was around and-" Brittany suddenly looks conflicted. "I shouldn't have told you that."
Quinn laughs, genuinely laughs for the first time in too long, and Brittany beams, as though she knows how rare the occasion is.
But then, something changes, and Brittany's hand slides to Quinn's hip. She seems to wait a moment, almost for something to stop her, but Quinn finds herself paralyzed, heat bleeding through her denim shorts.
"You here with anyone?" Brittany asks with a grin.
Quinn shakes her head. She knows where this is going, but where she'd expected you looking for some company?, she gets instead:
"Wanna have sex? It'll be fun. I'm pretty good at it."
That's Quinn's first indication that this girl isn't like the others.
--
Quinn isn't sure what had compelled her to actually agree to Brittany's proposition - maybe because this Brittany girl is the hottest thing she's laid eyes on in a long time - but now that they've made it to her bedroom, she hesitates. Because she's not her best friend, and she doesn't do these things.
Brittany snakes her arms around Quinn's midsection from behind, her chin falling to her shoulder, and Quinn tenses.
"You okay?" Brittany asks, loosening her grip.
"Yeah," Quinn nods, "it's just…" She swallows hard, and something about the way Brittany is watching her makes her admit, "It's just been a while."
Brittany giggles near her ear. "Not a problem," she murmurs, breath hot as she tilts her head and begins planting kisses all along Quinn's neck, against her bare shoulders.
Quinn's eyes flutter shut, and she tilts her head to grant Brittany access. Tension flows away from her chest, slithering down her body to settle low in her belly.
Brittany wastes no time walking them to the bed and nudging Quinn onto the mattress. Quinn settles in the middle and watches as Brittany moves to straddle her.
"You're sweet," Brittany declares, smoothing her palms under Quinn's shirt, down her sides.
"How do you figure?" Quinn asks, sounding a little breathless.
"You made me wear the helmet," Brittany explains, hinting obviousness.
"I wasn't being sweet," Quinn quickly counters. "That ATV's made for one person. I wasn't about to go to jail for you because you can't hang on tightly enough."
Brittany shrugs, smiling as she palms her way up Quinn's side. "I held on pretty tightly," she drawls, letting her fingers squeeze gently. Her hands move to cup Quinn's breasts through her bikini top, thumbs flicking out to run over hardened tips. "What's your name?"
Quinn arches at the sensation. "It doesn't matter," she exhales around a groan.
Deciding that things aren't happening quickly enough, Quinn lifts herself up and flips them around, pinning Brittany to the bed. Brittany smiles, almost in amusement, as Quinn's hand reaches down between their bodies, finding warm flesh and toned muscle.
Find a hot blonde and fuck her senseless. Isn't that what Santana had said? Quinn needs this. Needs to feel life pressed under her, around her, inside her. Needs the release. Needs to forget, just for a moment, all the stresses in her life. And this girl… this girl is hot and willing and hell if Quinn doesn't know an opportunity when she sees one.
Quinn slips her hand under the fabric of Brittany's bikini bottoms, seeking and finding slick heat. Quinn wastes no time; the other girl is wet and ready. Brittany moans when Quinn enters her, and the sound shakes something awake at Quinn's core. She thrusts with purpose, tight muscles surrounding her fingers, and when Brittany comes with a gasp, her body shuddering with the force of her orgasm, Quinn helps her ride it out, feeling boneless and out of breath.
Brittany is quiet as she flips Quinn over and unbuttons Quinn's jean shorts. Quinn watches Brittany slide them off, taking her bikini bottoms with them, and a wave of self-consciousness suddenly floods her.
"You're so tense," Brittany murmurs as she settles between Quinn's legs, gently spreading them apart. "Relax," she adds, the word ghosting across Quinn's inner thigh and making her squirm.
Brittany presses her mouth to Quinn's clit, eliciting a gasp from Quinn's throat, then lifts her head and brushes a kiss to Quinn's pelvis.
"Is this okay?" she asks gently.
Quinn nods. "Keep going," she croaks.
Brittany doesn't need to be told twice. She lowers herself and begins lapping at Quinn's entrance, and Quinn feels a rush of heat, her nerve endings all tuning in to the way Brittany is building her up, all lips and tongue and the lightest brush of teeth. Brittany's hands find Quinn's hips, and she holds on as she thrusts her tongue inside, tearing a cry from Quinn's throat. Brittany keeps her pace, in and out, in and out, and Quinn's whole body stiffens before she comes undone, hands fisting her sheets as pleasure rocks her.
Brittany slows her movements to a stop and pulls away, licking her lips. She pulls off both pieces of her bikini and climbs up the length of Quinn's body to settle down next to her. For a moment, Quinn almost thinks the other girl is gearing up for round two, but then Brittany nuzzles against her neck and yawns.
"Told you I was pretty good," Brittany murmurs.
Quinn doesn't really know the usual etiquette for these kinds of things, but Brittany has basically fallen asleep next to her, so she waits a few minutes, climbs out of bed, and changes into some sleepwear. Surfer chick may be comfortable with random nudity, but she doesn't need this to become a professional liability. She climbs back into bed and pulls the blankets over both their bodies.
The last thing Quinn remembers before falling asleep is Brittany's arm sliding over to rest across her abdomen.
For the first time in a long time, Quinn's dreams are devoid of broken homes and battered families.
--
"There better be a hot girl in your bed, Fabray."
"Lopez," Quinn grumbles into the phone, squinting against the sun beaming through the window. "Just because you still have to work at eight in the morning, doesn't mean I want to hear your voice blaring into my ear at eight in the morning."
"It's ten," Santana deadpans. She chuckles knowingly. "That good, huh?"
Quinn groans and turns over in her bed. Unexpectedly, she bumps into a warm, solid, naked body. She can't hold back her surprised gasp.
Santana's laughter is loud and coarse in her ear. "Man, Fabray, exactly how drunk were you last night?"
"I wasn't," Quinn hisses, careful not to wake Brittany up.
"No, seriously," Santana chuckles, "I expect pictures."
Quinn watches Brittany for a moment, trying to figure out what to do. It's too early for her mind to be able to process any of this, and while she hadn't known exactly what to expect, she knows it hadn't been this. "Shit," she curses under her breath.
"How hot is she?" Santana presses, her amusement evident. "Scale from one to ten, where one is the new intern - you know, the one with the teeth? - and ten is me."
Quinn snorts. "You are not a ten."
"Oh, come on," Santana complains. "I would've put you at a solid nine."
Quinn smirks, momentarily forgetting about her bedmate. "Are you saying you're hotter than me?"
"Well… yeah. Though even I have to admit I'm a little surprised; wasted no time taking my advice, huh? Was it a good lay?"
Quinn opens her mouth to tell Santana to can it, but suddenly, Brittany stirs, her hand blindly reaching out. Quinn tenses, frozen in place. Slowly, Brittany blinks the sleep out of her eyes, and she shifts closer, until she's lying flush against the length of Quinn's body. Brittany presses a lazy kiss to Quinn's collar.
"Who are you talking to?" she murmurs, voice heavy with the last remnants of sleep.
Quinn can hear Santana's voice in her ear, but she can't make out any of the words. "Nobody," she answers.
Brittany opens an eye, then closes it again. "Can I talk to her?"
"No," Quinn replies firmly.
"Mm, okay," Brittany articulates, burying her face against Quinn's neck. A warm hand slides to Quinn's hip. "Why are you dressed?"
Quinn is surprised to find herself still reacting to the touch, to Brittany, this girl she doesn't know but cannot help but feel attracted to. Her hip instinctively pushes against Brittany's, legs nestling together. She forces her attention back to her phone.
"Are you hearing anything I'm saying, Fabray? Shit, she doesn't like, have her hand down your pants right now, does she? 'Cause I mean, I want details but this is way too close for comfort. I'm not into watching. Or listening. Whatever."
Brittany begins pressing kisses to Quinn's neck, and her hand has found its way under Quinn's tank top and is halfway up her back. Quinn shuts her eyes and doubles her focusing efforts.
"Lopez," she lets out, trying to keep her breath even. "I gotta go."
Santana laughs. "Yeah, I don't need to hear any of this. Glad you're finally getting some though. Was a little worried I'd have to help you out with that, and I'd really prefer not doing you if I can avoid it. No offense."
"None taken," Quinn manages before shutting off her phone and tossing it to the bedside table. She turns her attention back to Brittany, who is smiling at her.
"Morning," Brittany murmurs affectionately.
"Morning," Quinn echoes, a smile spreading across her lips. She brushes a few stray strands of hair away from Brittany's face. "You're still here," she remarks softly.
Brittany smiles. "Where else would I go? I mean, I could walk, but that'd take me a good hour just to get back to the part of the beach we were at last night, and another half-hour to get back home." Brittany pauses. "I'm kinda lucky you're not a psycho killer."
"Could say the same for you," Quinn returns good-naturedly. "You really sneaked in here when my family wasn't around?"
"Yeah," Brittany laughs, "but don't tell anyone. We didn't break anything. It was mostly for kicks."
Quinn tugs Brittany closer without even realizing she's doing it. "You want a ride home?" she asks. "Or, if you want to call one of your friends and have them pick you up…"
Brittany tilts her head and smiles. "Eager to get rid of me?"
"No, I just thought-" Quinn trails off, unsure. She suddenly wishes there was a handbook for dealing with these kinds of situations. "I'm not kicking you out or anything. I just thought you'd want to get home. You can stick around if you want."
Quinn closes her eyes and presses her face against Brittany's hair, breathing in a light scent of sea salt. She doesn't know why she'd even offered. She doesn't really want Brittany to stay, because barely twelve hours ago, she'd worked this woman - a completely stranger - up to an orgasm, one that had been mind-blowingly reciprocated. Yeah, awkward.
Except strangely, it's not. There's something about the way Brittany is pressed against her now, gently touching her like they've been doing this for ages. Like it's okay.
Brittany presses a kiss to Quinn's jaw. "What are you doing today?"
"Nothing planned. Maybe just hang out here."
Brittany slides a hand under Quinn's top and absentmindedly strokes the skin across her abdomen. "Do you have eggs?"
Quinn's head jerks up, and she feels the blood draining from her face. "What?"
"And flour and stuff," Brittany clarifies with a smile. "I want to make you breakfast. Are you a vegan?"
"Oh." Quinn breathes a quiet sigh of relief. "No, I eat everything."
Brittany's giggle is muffled against Quinn's throat.
Quinn flushes and clears her throat. "And I stocked up yesterday but it's mostly just instant or frozen food. And coffee. I need coffee."
Brittany jumps up. "I'll make you some!"
Quinn watches Brittany climb out of bed and walk out of the room completely nude. As soon as Brittany disappears down the stairs, Quinn sighs and stares up at the ceiling. Part of her wants to drive this girl home and forget about the previous night. Another part of her - the part that is currently winning - is curious. Curious and lonely, if she's honest with herself.
Quinn has never had a problem being alone. She's buried her head in school and work for so long that it's become second-nature, and she really doesn't mind having time to herself. That's what she'd thought this would be; a few days away from big city lights and busy streets. A few days of quiet self-reflection.
But this girl. This girl who is unapologetically affectionate, unflinchingly frank, and so different from everyone else in Quinn's life. If nothing else, it'd felt nice to wake next up to a warm body. And while Quinn doesn't really do one-night stands, the sex had been pretty fantastic.
Pushing away the covers, Quinn gets up off the bed and makes her way downstairs, limbs heavy. Brittany is standing next to the coffee maker, reading the back of a cereal box. She's still buck naked, and Quinn's eyes quickly skim her curves.
"You want something to wear?" Quinn offers, trying not to stare.
Brittany looks up from her cereal box and smiles crookedly. "You don't like what you see?"
Heat rises up Quinn's neck. "Not that. I just-never mind."
"Where are you from?" Brittany asks, placing the cereal box down on the counter and reaching up to open the cabinet.
"Up north," Quinn hand-waves as she slides onto a stool.
Brittany reaches into the cabinets to pull out two coffee mugs. "Why are you being so evasive?" she asks. "We had sex. I think knowing where you live falls a little below that." She pauses expectantly, but when Quinn keeps quiet, Brittany continues, "You sound like a New Yorker."
"Born and raised," Quinn finally confirms, watching cautiously as Brittany pours two cups of coffee and pads over. She slides onto the stool next to Quinn's and holds one mug out to her. Never one to turn down caffeine, Quinn takes it appreciatively. "Thanks."
"You never told me your name." Brittany blows lightly at her coffee and takes a small sip, eyes wide and observant over the top of the cup.
Quinn shrugs and takes a drink herself, the liquid scalding against her tongue, down her throat.
"I told you mine," Brittany tries again.
"I never asked for yours," Quinn points out, her voice taking on an unkind edge.
Brittany purses her lips but drops it. "You want breakfast?"
Quinn looks around the kitchen. "Did you actually find breakfast food in this place?"
"Nah, but there's this place Mike and I go to sometimes. Can I ride on your ATV with you again? That was fun."
"There are two downstairs. You can take the other one." Quinn takes another sip of coffee. "Who's Mike?"
"Oh, he's my roommate." Brittany waves her hand over the top of her head. "He was the one with a full head of hair."
"The Asian," Quinn remarks with an acknowledging tilt of the head.
Brittany nods, then puts down her coffee and stands up. Immediately, she's in Quinn's personal space, nestling herself between Quinn's legs and snaking her arms around Quinn's neck. Brittany's bare breasts press tightly against Quinn's chest, and Quinn takes a quick breath.
"Get dressed," Quinn instructs, lowering her eyes and trying to focus on anything other than Brittany's skin. "Fucking get dressed," she repeats through gritted teeth when Brittany's hand slides to her neck.
Brittany finally stills. "Will you make up your mind?" she asks, rather impassively. "One minute you're all over me and the next you're acting like you've never seen someone naked before."
Quinn lets out a breath. It'd be so easy, so much more uncomplicated, to tell this girl to go home and then spend the rest of her time here either avoiding her or ignoring her. Instead, Quinn reaches out and pulls Brittany against her.
"Stay."
It's neither a request, nor an order. To her own ears, it sounds almost like an offer. But Brittany seems to be waiting for something.
"Go get dressed?" Quinn asks, keeping her voice gentle. "And we'll get some breakfast."
Brittany smiles faintly and presses a quick kiss to Quinn's lips, then hops up and heads back up to the master bedroom. Quinn quietly finishes her coffee and makes her way upstairs as well. She finds Brittany back in her bikini but looking around like she's a little confused as to what to do next.
"Not sure any of my clothes would fit you, so-"
Brittany stares at her. "Are you calling me fat?"
Quinn pulls her lips into a straight line. "Does your breakfast place let you in like that?"
"Yeah," Brittany laughs.
Quinn smiles. "Then let's go."
Part 2
Author: zerodetorres
Characters: Brittany/Quinn
Rating: NC-17
Length: 6,310/13,467
Timeline: AU
Summary: Brittany rolls into Quinn's life with startling blue eyes, an infectious laugh, and an unapologetic penchant for nudity. [Originally a Brittana prompt from the fluff meme about Santana being an uptight businesswoman and Brittany being a surfer. Swapped out Santana for Quinn.]
(Revised) Notes:
For blueowls. ♥
Thanks to bradyyface and lynnearlington for giving this complete read-throughs and being awesome and helpful, with special mentions to losdosmos for putting up with my crazy and dealan311 for titling this fic after an Amos Lee song.
Quinn Fabray is starting to get a headache. A really big damn headache. She stares at the woman in her office doorway and tries to remember that they are best friends.
"Look, Fabray. Take a week off. You've got so many vacation days stacked up, boss barely knows what to do with you."
"Lopez…"
"No, listen," Santana continues, stepping into Quinn's office. "Your parents left you a freaking beach house down in the sunshine state. You have three weeks of paid vacation, and frankly, I'd have snatched them off your ass already if I could. What the hell are you still doing here? You just wrapped up that big Jacobson case, and you've got nothing backlogged for maybe the first time since you stepped into this office."
Quinn sighs. "I can't just leave."
"Yes, you can," Santana insists. "Listen, go soak up some Florida sun." She waves a hand at Quinn. "You're looking a little transparent lately."
Quinn rolls her eyes. "It's called being white, Lopez. Try it sometime."
Santana smirks. "Whatever. Also? Pick up a hot little blonde on the beach and fuck her senseless. Trust me, you need the lay." When Quinn doesn't reply, Santana offers, generously, "Or a brunette, if that's what you're into. Redheads though…" She makes a face. "They can be kinda crazy. Perfect for you though, right?"
"Oh my god," Quinn groans. "Please stop talking."
Santana grins. "Already told Sylvester you're taking next week off. She can't wait to get rid of you."
"You did what?"
"Almost booked your flight, too," Santana adds with a cheeky grin, "but I blew my last paycheck on a down payment on my Ducati."
Quinn shakes her head. "I can't believe you actually ride that thing everywhere."
"Are you kidding?" Santana's eyes widen. "Do you know how much it drives the ladies nuts in the pants? And how hot do I look in leather?"
Quinn holds up a hand. "Okay, stop. You're such a pain in the ass, you know that?"
"For trying to get my best friend to go on vacation," Santana remarks sarcastically. "I'm terrible."
The corners of Quinn's lips twitch. "Okay. Okay, fine. Not a week though. I have work." She purses her lips. "How about this? I'll fly down for three days. Happy?"
"Yeah," Santana laughs, rolling her eyes, "because I derive so much pleasure from being stuck here while you're off lying on the beach sipping cocktails and getting hot surfer chicks into your bed."
Quinn bites back a smile. "Get out of my office, Lopez."
Santana laughs as she turns to leave. "I'm taking your Blackberry before you go," she calls out over her shoulder.
Quinn takes a deep breath as soon as Santana disappears. She isn't sure she even remembers how to vacation anymore.
--
Quinn's flight down is at half-past three on a Saturday. Santana volunteers to drive her to the airport, but ten minutes into the ride, Quinn regrets the decision.
Santana's knuckles whiten against her steering wheel. "I'm so sick of you burying your head in work."
From the passenger's seat, Quinn throws Santana a dirty glare. "What the hell? I'm going, aren't I?"
"But you're not happy about it," Santana remarks, shaking her head. "Shit, Fabray, you need to loosen up. That stick up your ass is about to come out your mouth."
"Shut up," Quinn growls.
"No, seriously." Santana fires Quinn a pointed look. "Do you know what your own laugh sounds like? Because I don't remember."
Quinn rolls her eyes. "I laugh."
"Yeah, sarcastically. You're like, dead inside or something."
Quinn clenches her jaw. "I'm fine."
Santana turns to Quinn as she pulls up to a red light. "Look, I don't know what happened to you these past couple of years, but trust me, you need this vacation. Law school ate your soul, and all these cases? You're taking them too personally."
Quinn bristles. "I can handle my own shit, Lopez."
Santana shrugs her shoulders. "I'm just saying. You deal with broken families day in and day out. It's getting to your head."
Quinn chooses not to dignify that with a response. Truth is, she takes her cases home with her. She lies awake with images of battered women late at night and lets homeless children haunt her nightmares. But she isn't about to admit that to anyone, not even Santana. Especially not Santana.
As though sensing the shift in Quinn, Santana sighs. "Will you just try to have some fun? Forget all your depressing cases for a few days. Clear your head."
Quinn nods tensely. "Sure."
Santana gives Quinn a skeptic look. "Yeah. You know, you're starting to remind me a little of your old man."
Quinn refuses to let that comment get to her, because she knows the only fucking reason Santana says it is to get a reaction out of her. So she digs her nails into her seat belt and turns to look out the window. They spend the rest of the ride in silence.
Soon enough, Santana pulls up to the airport. The two women step out, and they hug. Quinn sighs, because the grudge is over and they're friends again and it's reassuring.
Santana smiles, a hint of affection creeping past her exterior. "Have a good time, Q."
--
Quinn doesn't remember the last time she was here. Before law school, for sure. Probably back in high school, when her parents had dragged her and her sister here every summer. It's a nice place. Two-story beach house facing a private strip of white sand on the eastern end of Sanibel Island, off the coast of Fort Myers. It's secluded enough to appease Quinn, but close enough to a more commercial zone so she doesn't have to eat tree bark for the duration of her stay.
She fishes out her keys and unlocks the door, pushing it open. With a heave, she tugs her suitcase inside and kicks the door closed behind her. The house smells musty from disuse, and Quinn abandons her suitcase at the entrance, then sets out to pull open some windows and let in some fresh air.
The flight down from New York City had taken three hours, plus another hour cabbing here from the airport. Now that she's finally here, the sun has already set, and honestly, Quinn is more than a little exhausted. She pulls out her phone and taps a text to Santana. It takes her about ten years, because Santana really had taken her Blackberry before she'd left, and Quinn has no idea what this T9 business is, but it needs to go die in a fire.
Got here okay. This is a shit phone.
Almost immediately, the phone buzzes in her hand.
Imma take good care of your crackberry. Have a good time, Q. Remember to pick up some hot ass.
Quinn chuckles and slides her phone onto the kitchen table. She drops her purse down next to it and returns to the suitcase. She manages to dig out half a chicken salad sandwich she'd picked up at the airport. As she begins munching on it, she decides to make a quick check of the place.
The kitchen area is small but well-equipped. She makes a note to go pick up some groceries tomorrow morning and stock the fridge with some beer. Next to it is the dining room, with a modest round glass-topped table. Four chairs circle the table, and she remembers the many meals they'd had here, when she'd been younger and much more impressionable.
The living room is furnished with a cushioned wicker couch and armchair set. The best part of the entire building, as far as Quinn is concerned, is the open quality of the living room, which essentially amounts to a large glass window in lieu of any type of wall, extending up over the ceiling like a skylight. She remembers lying here at night, watching the ocean beside her and the stars above her, and thinking that the world was larger than she could ever imagine. She's learned over the years that it's not, but a little part of her will always hold that wonder.
She makes quick work of the rest of the place, from the two bedrooms where she and her sister always used to fight over who would get the one with the balcony, to the garage below that houses two ATVs and a dune buggy, to the pool, hot tub and hammock out front, and finally to the master bedroom upstairs. She'd called the custodian a few days back and gotten him to come in and change the sheets, and in that moment, the bed looks extremely inviting.
Quinn stuffs down the rest of her sandwich, digs out a bottle of water and downs that too, then pulls out some toiletries and a change of clothes. She'll call it a night early, she decides.
She has to let the water run for a while before hopping in the shower, but otherwise, she manages to clean up and get herself to bed. She stares up at the slanted ceiling for a while, just breathing in the humid Florida air. A vacation. She doesn't remember the last time she'd had one of those.
Maybe Santana had been right. She needs something like this. Something away from the chaos of the courthouse, away from cases about domestic violence and child abuse.
Quinn closes her eyes, and her exhausted body pulls her to slumber.
--
"You're not hiding away in your beach house, thinking about legal shit, are you?"
Quinn rolls her eyes and pins her phone between her ear and her shoulder, simultaneously trying to lug her suitcase upstairs. "No, Lopez."
"Man," Santana laughs, "you suck at this. You do realize that the whole point of going away by yourself for a few days is to get shitfaced and hook up with as many hot chicks as you can get your hands on, right?"
"That's you," Quinn counters. "I'm a responsible adult."
Santana snorts. "Right." There's some shuffling and unintelligible muttering at the other end, then Santana groans. "Gotta go. Sylvester's riding my ass again. See what I'm putting up with, just so you can get some summer lovin'? Better not disappoint me, Fabray."
"Your selflessness knows no bounds," Quinn intones sarcastically, groaning as she finally manages to drag her suitcase into the master bedroom.
"Yeah, yeah," Santana chuckles. "Say what you want, but I know how to have a good time. You, on the other hand, apparently need some reminding."
"Hanging up now," Quinn tells her best friend before doing just that.
Quinn pockets her crappy phone and sighs. She just can't seem to relax. She'd managed to get some good rest the previous night, but now that she's up and about again, she feels restless. Tension coils tightly in her muscles and she takes a deep breath in an attempt to soothe her nerves.
A plan. She just needs to know what she's going to do for the rest of the day. She likes knowing she has a purpose.
First, she needs to find a place for brunch. She hates that word, but it's already pushing ten, and she hasn't had a single thing to eat all morning. Her stomach is about to digest itself.
Second, food. And coffee. She needs to stock up the kitchen so she doesn't have to make runs every morning. She'd been lucky to find a packet of instant coffee in her purse - yes, she carries caffeine around with her - but she knows that if she doesn't get her morning cup of joe, she morphs into Sue Sylvester's demon spawn. That can't be conducive to this relaxing thing.
Third, lounging on the beach sounds like a nice way to spend her first day. Not like she has anything better to do.
Quinn zips open her suitcase and rummages around until she comes away with her swimsuit and a pair of denim shorts. A far cry from the skirt suits she wears to work every day, but she's already stuffy in her tank top and short shorts. Humidity is not her friend.
She changes quickly, then stares at herself for a moment in the body-length mirror hanging in the master bedroom. She almost doesn't recognize herself. She tugs at her dark purple halter bikini top, mildly uncomfortable. Her stomach grumbles loudly, and she shakes off her hesitation. She needs to chill out.
Quinn grabs a beach bag she'd brought, empties her purse into it, and makes her way to the garage downstairs, fighting the dust to unlock and heave open the large tin garage door. Blinding sunlight streams in, and Quinn squints against the brightness. A yellow dune buggy sits at one end, while two smaller all-terrain vehicles - navy blue and deep crimson - occupy the other side.
After a quick check to make sure everything's working and it's filled with gas, she hops onto the blue ATV and pulls on the matching helmet and gloves. The key is already in its slot, so she reaches down and turns it, starting the engine. An unexpected rush of adrenaline hits her when the vehicle whirrs to action under her. Maybe Santana had been onto something with that goddamn motorbike of hers.
She drives out of the garage slowly, and it takes her a moment to get used to the feeling of controlling the thing again, but she settles into it.
As soon as she pulls onto the beach, she can see the bustle of activity further down the strip. Quinn tightens her grip on the handles and releases the handbrake.
--
By the time Quinn manages to feed herself and stock the beach house with some emergency groceries, it's already getting into late afternoon. She rides her ATV back to the public section of the beach, and though the sun's already low in the sky, she figures she can get a few hours of beach time in before she calls it a night. Santana would be so thrilled, Quinn thinks with an eye-roll. She can almost hear the brunette sarcastically calling her a party animal.
It's not that Quinn doesn't want to enjoy her time here. It's just that it mostly feels like a chore. Like she's filling some terrible obligation. Maybe there's something wrong with her, but she'd rather just be back at work. Work is what she knows. Protecting people who need protection is what she knows. Relaxing on the beach? Not so much. She doesn't really know how to fix that.
Quinn parks her ATV, removes and secures her gear, then heads toward the water, beach bag over her shoulder. She picks an abandoned chair, drapes her towel over it, and lies down. She snaps on her aviators and plugs in her ear buds.
A light breeze blows across the beach, but the air is still warm, and Quinn settles for watching the waves. When she'd passed by in the morning, there'd been many families and young children dotted along the edge of the water, but now, it's a lot quieter.
Quinn falls into a pleasant lull, and eventually, the sky begins to darken. Streaks of orange and pink and purple stretch across the horizon, the colors reflecting off the water as waves continue to roll in.
From the corner of her eye, Quinn catches a trio of surfers heading toward the water, surfboards clutched under their arms. More specifically, Quinn's eyes latch onto a thin blonde around her age. Heat rises up Quinn's neck as she takes in the surfer's toned limbs and defined abs, a red bikini highlighting her curves and leaving just enough to the imagination.
One of the blonde's companions, a tan mohawked guy with broad shoulders, turns to the other two and says something, motioning wildly in the air. The third surfer, a tall Asian, reaches over and playfully shoves the mohawked guy. The blonde throws back her head and laughs, and Quinn feels a smile spread across her lips.
What the hell.
Quinn turns back to the sky and tries to pay no attention to the three surfers, but she cannot help but watch as the three paddle out and climb to their feet on their boards, expertly riding the waves like they're an extension of their bodies. The mohawked guy falls off his board a lot, but that's mostly because he spends most of his time trying to show off to the other two. Quinn's eyes mostly trail the blonde, who moves like she's following some kind of choreography. It's graceful and enchanting and completely sexy.
Quinn averts her eyes, but she quickly finds herself staring again. She tries to focus on the Asian with the really nice set of abs, but before long, she's back to the blonde. Finally, she resigns herself to her fate. Besides, it's not like it's a crime to watch, especially when the subject is so damn easy on the eyes. At least it'll be a good story to tell Santana.
Quinn watches the three surfers - or, the girl, whatever - until after the sun sets and the sky turns navy. The lights along the beach illuminate the water, allowing beachgoers a few more hours of makeshift daylight, but as the sky continues to darken, Quinn begins to worry about the surfers. She's already shivering a little in the t-shirt she's pulled on, and she can't imagine the water being warmer. But just as she's legitimately contemplating approaching the edge of the water, the blonde begins paddling back, with her two companions closely behind her.
Quinn forces herself to look away so she isn't caught staring, and she does such a good job of it that she doesn't notice someone approaching until the blonde with the red bikini is hovering over her chair, sans surfboard. Quinn nearly jumps out of her seat in surprise, but she manages to keep it together.
The blonde flashes a smile. "Hey."
Quinn tugs out her ear buds. "Hi."
"I'm Brittany," the blonde offers.
Quinn nods noncommittally and chooses not to reply, hoping this Brittany character will just leave her alone. But Brittany kneels down next to Quinn's seat, suddenly, and presses her elbows against the armrest.
"You were watching us," Brittany remarks with a grin.
"No, I wasn't," Quinn replies, feeling her ears burning. Her muscles grow tense. She's never been more thankful for the aviators sitting on her nose, hiding her eyes, because now that she's getting a good look at the girl up close, Quinn cannot help but notice that she is attractive. Really, really hot, actually.
Brittany smiles again. "My friend Puck-" She flicks her chin briskly over her shoulder, and Quinn follows that line of vision to find the Asian holding two surfboards and the mohawked guy waving at them. "He wants to know which one of us you were watching." She leans closer, and Quinn flushes, feeling the heat rising in her chest. "We've got a twenty riding on your answer," Brittany explains.
Quinn swallows. "I wasn't watching any of you," she manages.
Brittany frowns. "Oh. I could've sworn…"
"Tell him I said you," Quinn offers before she can stop herself. "So you can win your bet, I mean. I wasn't staring. At any of you."
Brittany lights up and leans closer, her face hovering inches from Quinn's. Her breath is warm, and her eyes are so damn blue. Quinn tries to ask the surfer what she's doing, but before she gets a word out, Brittany's lips are pressed lightly against hers, and her question transforms into a soft moan. The kiss is quick, gentle, and chaste, even, but Quinn's heart races in her chest like she's getting the first breath of fresh air in years.
Brittany smiles brightly when she pulls away. "You sure you weren't staring at me?" she asks, looking down at her side.
Only then does Quinn notice that her hand had somehow made its way to Brittany's ribcage, her palms and fingers pressed against Brittany's skin. Quinn snaps away, mildly horrified.
Quinn sits up, trying to clear her head. "What'd you even do that for?" she manages to ask.
"It was a thank you for the twenty," Brittany explains innocently. "You're cute. You here on vacation?"
Instinctively, Quinn bristles. "No offence, but that's really none of your business."
Brittany laughs. "I don't care. I just haven't seen you around." She studies Quinn for another moment, almost curiously. "I'm a surfing instructor here, but I'm off this week." Brittany bites her lip. "Where are you staying?"
"Like I said-"
"Okay, okay." Brittany shrugs and begins to push herself to her feet. "Thanks for winning me the bet."
Quinn doesn't know why her hand snaps to Brittany's wrist, but it does, and she finally answers, "Beach house at the end of Periwinkle."
Brittany gasps and drops back to her knees. "No way! That place is sweet. Me and Mike used to sneak in there in the winters when nobody was around and-" Brittany suddenly looks conflicted. "I shouldn't have told you that."
Quinn laughs, genuinely laughs for the first time in too long, and Brittany beams, as though she knows how rare the occasion is.
But then, something changes, and Brittany's hand slides to Quinn's hip. She seems to wait a moment, almost for something to stop her, but Quinn finds herself paralyzed, heat bleeding through her denim shorts.
"You here with anyone?" Brittany asks with a grin.
Quinn shakes her head. She knows where this is going, but where she'd expected you looking for some company?, she gets instead:
"Wanna have sex? It'll be fun. I'm pretty good at it."
That's Quinn's first indication that this girl isn't like the others.
--
Quinn isn't sure what had compelled her to actually agree to Brittany's proposition - maybe because this Brittany girl is the hottest thing she's laid eyes on in a long time - but now that they've made it to her bedroom, she hesitates. Because she's not her best friend, and she doesn't do these things.
Brittany snakes her arms around Quinn's midsection from behind, her chin falling to her shoulder, and Quinn tenses.
"You okay?" Brittany asks, loosening her grip.
"Yeah," Quinn nods, "it's just…" She swallows hard, and something about the way Brittany is watching her makes her admit, "It's just been a while."
Brittany giggles near her ear. "Not a problem," she murmurs, breath hot as she tilts her head and begins planting kisses all along Quinn's neck, against her bare shoulders.
Quinn's eyes flutter shut, and she tilts her head to grant Brittany access. Tension flows away from her chest, slithering down her body to settle low in her belly.
Brittany wastes no time walking them to the bed and nudging Quinn onto the mattress. Quinn settles in the middle and watches as Brittany moves to straddle her.
"You're sweet," Brittany declares, smoothing her palms under Quinn's shirt, down her sides.
"How do you figure?" Quinn asks, sounding a little breathless.
"You made me wear the helmet," Brittany explains, hinting obviousness.
"I wasn't being sweet," Quinn quickly counters. "That ATV's made for one person. I wasn't about to go to jail for you because you can't hang on tightly enough."
Brittany shrugs, smiling as she palms her way up Quinn's side. "I held on pretty tightly," she drawls, letting her fingers squeeze gently. Her hands move to cup Quinn's breasts through her bikini top, thumbs flicking out to run over hardened tips. "What's your name?"
Quinn arches at the sensation. "It doesn't matter," she exhales around a groan.
Deciding that things aren't happening quickly enough, Quinn lifts herself up and flips them around, pinning Brittany to the bed. Brittany smiles, almost in amusement, as Quinn's hand reaches down between their bodies, finding warm flesh and toned muscle.
Find a hot blonde and fuck her senseless. Isn't that what Santana had said? Quinn needs this. Needs to feel life pressed under her, around her, inside her. Needs the release. Needs to forget, just for a moment, all the stresses in her life. And this girl… this girl is hot and willing and hell if Quinn doesn't know an opportunity when she sees one.
Quinn slips her hand under the fabric of Brittany's bikini bottoms, seeking and finding slick heat. Quinn wastes no time; the other girl is wet and ready. Brittany moans when Quinn enters her, and the sound shakes something awake at Quinn's core. She thrusts with purpose, tight muscles surrounding her fingers, and when Brittany comes with a gasp, her body shuddering with the force of her orgasm, Quinn helps her ride it out, feeling boneless and out of breath.
Brittany is quiet as she flips Quinn over and unbuttons Quinn's jean shorts. Quinn watches Brittany slide them off, taking her bikini bottoms with them, and a wave of self-consciousness suddenly floods her.
"You're so tense," Brittany murmurs as she settles between Quinn's legs, gently spreading them apart. "Relax," she adds, the word ghosting across Quinn's inner thigh and making her squirm.
Brittany presses her mouth to Quinn's clit, eliciting a gasp from Quinn's throat, then lifts her head and brushes a kiss to Quinn's pelvis.
"Is this okay?" she asks gently.
Quinn nods. "Keep going," she croaks.
Brittany doesn't need to be told twice. She lowers herself and begins lapping at Quinn's entrance, and Quinn feels a rush of heat, her nerve endings all tuning in to the way Brittany is building her up, all lips and tongue and the lightest brush of teeth. Brittany's hands find Quinn's hips, and she holds on as she thrusts her tongue inside, tearing a cry from Quinn's throat. Brittany keeps her pace, in and out, in and out, and Quinn's whole body stiffens before she comes undone, hands fisting her sheets as pleasure rocks her.
Brittany slows her movements to a stop and pulls away, licking her lips. She pulls off both pieces of her bikini and climbs up the length of Quinn's body to settle down next to her. For a moment, Quinn almost thinks the other girl is gearing up for round two, but then Brittany nuzzles against her neck and yawns.
"Told you I was pretty good," Brittany murmurs.
Quinn doesn't really know the usual etiquette for these kinds of things, but Brittany has basically fallen asleep next to her, so she waits a few minutes, climbs out of bed, and changes into some sleepwear. Surfer chick may be comfortable with random nudity, but she doesn't need this to become a professional liability. She climbs back into bed and pulls the blankets over both their bodies.
The last thing Quinn remembers before falling asleep is Brittany's arm sliding over to rest across her abdomen.
For the first time in a long time, Quinn's dreams are devoid of broken homes and battered families.
--
"There better be a hot girl in your bed, Fabray."
"Lopez," Quinn grumbles into the phone, squinting against the sun beaming through the window. "Just because you still have to work at eight in the morning, doesn't mean I want to hear your voice blaring into my ear at eight in the morning."
"It's ten," Santana deadpans. She chuckles knowingly. "That good, huh?"
Quinn groans and turns over in her bed. Unexpectedly, she bumps into a warm, solid, naked body. She can't hold back her surprised gasp.
Santana's laughter is loud and coarse in her ear. "Man, Fabray, exactly how drunk were you last night?"
"I wasn't," Quinn hisses, careful not to wake Brittany up.
"No, seriously," Santana chuckles, "I expect pictures."
Quinn watches Brittany for a moment, trying to figure out what to do. It's too early for her mind to be able to process any of this, and while she hadn't known exactly what to expect, she knows it hadn't been this. "Shit," she curses under her breath.
"How hot is she?" Santana presses, her amusement evident. "Scale from one to ten, where one is the new intern - you know, the one with the teeth? - and ten is me."
Quinn snorts. "You are not a ten."
"Oh, come on," Santana complains. "I would've put you at a solid nine."
Quinn smirks, momentarily forgetting about her bedmate. "Are you saying you're hotter than me?"
"Well… yeah. Though even I have to admit I'm a little surprised; wasted no time taking my advice, huh? Was it a good lay?"
Quinn opens her mouth to tell Santana to can it, but suddenly, Brittany stirs, her hand blindly reaching out. Quinn tenses, frozen in place. Slowly, Brittany blinks the sleep out of her eyes, and she shifts closer, until she's lying flush against the length of Quinn's body. Brittany presses a lazy kiss to Quinn's collar.
"Who are you talking to?" she murmurs, voice heavy with the last remnants of sleep.
Quinn can hear Santana's voice in her ear, but she can't make out any of the words. "Nobody," she answers.
Brittany opens an eye, then closes it again. "Can I talk to her?"
"No," Quinn replies firmly.
"Mm, okay," Brittany articulates, burying her face against Quinn's neck. A warm hand slides to Quinn's hip. "Why are you dressed?"
Quinn is surprised to find herself still reacting to the touch, to Brittany, this girl she doesn't know but cannot help but feel attracted to. Her hip instinctively pushes against Brittany's, legs nestling together. She forces her attention back to her phone.
"Are you hearing anything I'm saying, Fabray? Shit, she doesn't like, have her hand down your pants right now, does she? 'Cause I mean, I want details but this is way too close for comfort. I'm not into watching. Or listening. Whatever."
Brittany begins pressing kisses to Quinn's neck, and her hand has found its way under Quinn's tank top and is halfway up her back. Quinn shuts her eyes and doubles her focusing efforts.
"Lopez," she lets out, trying to keep her breath even. "I gotta go."
Santana laughs. "Yeah, I don't need to hear any of this. Glad you're finally getting some though. Was a little worried I'd have to help you out with that, and I'd really prefer not doing you if I can avoid it. No offense."
"None taken," Quinn manages before shutting off her phone and tossing it to the bedside table. She turns her attention back to Brittany, who is smiling at her.
"Morning," Brittany murmurs affectionately.
"Morning," Quinn echoes, a smile spreading across her lips. She brushes a few stray strands of hair away from Brittany's face. "You're still here," she remarks softly.
Brittany smiles. "Where else would I go? I mean, I could walk, but that'd take me a good hour just to get back to the part of the beach we were at last night, and another half-hour to get back home." Brittany pauses. "I'm kinda lucky you're not a psycho killer."
"Could say the same for you," Quinn returns good-naturedly. "You really sneaked in here when my family wasn't around?"
"Yeah," Brittany laughs, "but don't tell anyone. We didn't break anything. It was mostly for kicks."
Quinn tugs Brittany closer without even realizing she's doing it. "You want a ride home?" she asks. "Or, if you want to call one of your friends and have them pick you up…"
Brittany tilts her head and smiles. "Eager to get rid of me?"
"No, I just thought-" Quinn trails off, unsure. She suddenly wishes there was a handbook for dealing with these kinds of situations. "I'm not kicking you out or anything. I just thought you'd want to get home. You can stick around if you want."
Quinn closes her eyes and presses her face against Brittany's hair, breathing in a light scent of sea salt. She doesn't know why she'd even offered. She doesn't really want Brittany to stay, because barely twelve hours ago, she'd worked this woman - a completely stranger - up to an orgasm, one that had been mind-blowingly reciprocated. Yeah, awkward.
Except strangely, it's not. There's something about the way Brittany is pressed against her now, gently touching her like they've been doing this for ages. Like it's okay.
Brittany presses a kiss to Quinn's jaw. "What are you doing today?"
"Nothing planned. Maybe just hang out here."
Brittany slides a hand under Quinn's top and absentmindedly strokes the skin across her abdomen. "Do you have eggs?"
Quinn's head jerks up, and she feels the blood draining from her face. "What?"
"And flour and stuff," Brittany clarifies with a smile. "I want to make you breakfast. Are you a vegan?"
"Oh." Quinn breathes a quiet sigh of relief. "No, I eat everything."
Brittany's giggle is muffled against Quinn's throat.
Quinn flushes and clears her throat. "And I stocked up yesterday but it's mostly just instant or frozen food. And coffee. I need coffee."
Brittany jumps up. "I'll make you some!"
Quinn watches Brittany climb out of bed and walk out of the room completely nude. As soon as Brittany disappears down the stairs, Quinn sighs and stares up at the ceiling. Part of her wants to drive this girl home and forget about the previous night. Another part of her - the part that is currently winning - is curious. Curious and lonely, if she's honest with herself.
Quinn has never had a problem being alone. She's buried her head in school and work for so long that it's become second-nature, and she really doesn't mind having time to herself. That's what she'd thought this would be; a few days away from big city lights and busy streets. A few days of quiet self-reflection.
But this girl. This girl who is unapologetically affectionate, unflinchingly frank, and so different from everyone else in Quinn's life. If nothing else, it'd felt nice to wake next up to a warm body. And while Quinn doesn't really do one-night stands, the sex had been pretty fantastic.
Pushing away the covers, Quinn gets up off the bed and makes her way downstairs, limbs heavy. Brittany is standing next to the coffee maker, reading the back of a cereal box. She's still buck naked, and Quinn's eyes quickly skim her curves.
"You want something to wear?" Quinn offers, trying not to stare.
Brittany looks up from her cereal box and smiles crookedly. "You don't like what you see?"
Heat rises up Quinn's neck. "Not that. I just-never mind."
"Where are you from?" Brittany asks, placing the cereal box down on the counter and reaching up to open the cabinet.
"Up north," Quinn hand-waves as she slides onto a stool.
Brittany reaches into the cabinets to pull out two coffee mugs. "Why are you being so evasive?" she asks. "We had sex. I think knowing where you live falls a little below that." She pauses expectantly, but when Quinn keeps quiet, Brittany continues, "You sound like a New Yorker."
"Born and raised," Quinn finally confirms, watching cautiously as Brittany pours two cups of coffee and pads over. She slides onto the stool next to Quinn's and holds one mug out to her. Never one to turn down caffeine, Quinn takes it appreciatively. "Thanks."
"You never told me your name." Brittany blows lightly at her coffee and takes a small sip, eyes wide and observant over the top of the cup.
Quinn shrugs and takes a drink herself, the liquid scalding against her tongue, down her throat.
"I told you mine," Brittany tries again.
"I never asked for yours," Quinn points out, her voice taking on an unkind edge.
Brittany purses her lips but drops it. "You want breakfast?"
Quinn looks around the kitchen. "Did you actually find breakfast food in this place?"
"Nah, but there's this place Mike and I go to sometimes. Can I ride on your ATV with you again? That was fun."
"There are two downstairs. You can take the other one." Quinn takes another sip of coffee. "Who's Mike?"
"Oh, he's my roommate." Brittany waves her hand over the top of her head. "He was the one with a full head of hair."
"The Asian," Quinn remarks with an acknowledging tilt of the head.
Brittany nods, then puts down her coffee and stands up. Immediately, she's in Quinn's personal space, nestling herself between Quinn's legs and snaking her arms around Quinn's neck. Brittany's bare breasts press tightly against Quinn's chest, and Quinn takes a quick breath.
"Get dressed," Quinn instructs, lowering her eyes and trying to focus on anything other than Brittany's skin. "Fucking get dressed," she repeats through gritted teeth when Brittany's hand slides to her neck.
Brittany finally stills. "Will you make up your mind?" she asks, rather impassively. "One minute you're all over me and the next you're acting like you've never seen someone naked before."
Quinn lets out a breath. It'd be so easy, so much more uncomplicated, to tell this girl to go home and then spend the rest of her time here either avoiding her or ignoring her. Instead, Quinn reaches out and pulls Brittany against her.
"Stay."
It's neither a request, nor an order. To her own ears, it sounds almost like an offer. But Brittany seems to be waiting for something.
"Go get dressed?" Quinn asks, keeping her voice gentle. "And we'll get some breakfast."
Brittany smiles faintly and presses a quick kiss to Quinn's lips, then hops up and heads back up to the master bedroom. Quinn quietly finishes her coffee and makes her way upstairs as well. She finds Brittany back in her bikini but looking around like she's a little confused as to what to do next.
"Not sure any of my clothes would fit you, so-"
Brittany stares at her. "Are you calling me fat?"
Quinn pulls her lips into a straight line. "Does your breakfast place let you in like that?"
"Yeah," Brittany laughs.
Quinn smiles. "Then let's go."
Part 2