Rachel/Quinn, NC-17
Title: Accidental Protogyny
Author: catreadingdiary
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Rachel/Quinn, Kurt
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Don't own Glee.
Word count: ~4000
Summary: Quinn has a penis. Kurt helps her find pants that fit. Then there’s a date with Rachel Berry.
A/N: Part One and Part Two. Thanks, beta, you know who you are
On Saturday morning Quinn woke up early, without her alarm. She'd been having a pleasant enough dream, but something subconsciously snapped in her mind, and when she opened her eyes her hand went straight to her crotch, as though she was hoping that the past two days had been a mere nightmare. She found, though, that it was still true - she had a dick.
"Ugh," Quinn moaned, rolling onto her side and blinking as her eyes adjusted to the light. The clock indicated that it was still early morning; she could go back to sleep if she wanted. But Quinn knew that staying in bed would be a bad idea - she'd stayed in bed all day yesterday, and look what that had accomplished. She was pretty sure she was broken up with Finn, and now on top of that she had a date with Rachel Berry. In public. Where people could, like, see them together. Sure, Rachel had been good enough company in the past few days - she had a certain je ne sais quoi, if by je ne sais quoi one meant a real talent with her tongue. And legs. And beautiful hair. And some sex toys.
Quinn could feel a low ache between her legs as her thoughts scattered. Oh no, she thought. Not again. She leapt out of bed and decided the first thing to do would be to start the day with a cold shower. It would help... clear her mind. Yeah. That's it. Her mind.
One thing was for sure - there was no way Quinn was going to wear a skirt. Thursday at school would have been a lot more bearable if she'd worn pants.
So her first plan of action was to ransack her closet and find something to wear. However, it seemed that every pair of pants Quinn owned was too tight around her junk. She tried on several pairs of jeans, slacks, and sweats, with and without underpants, and still she could not get the fabric to lay right. No matter what she did, her endowment was both obvious and uncomfortable.
"This is unbelievable," Quinn muttered. "What the hell do guys do about this?"
That was when she realized the answer - guys wear clothes designed for guys. If she wanted to be comfortable and unobtrusive, she'd have to go shopping in the men's department.
Quinn glanced back over her shoulder at her alarm clock. It was nearly time for the nearest shopping center to open. She looked back in her closet for something that would help her blend in, since the last thing she wanted to do was stand out while shopping for men's clothes.
She tried on everything. What fit didn't look at all flattering; what was flattering didn't fit. It was impossible to hide her package and look even vaguely female at the same time, and Quinn couldn't handle it. She couldn't handle going out looking like a slob, but it seemed that was her only option.
It was just so frustrating; the only thing Quinn could do was sink down on the small bench inside the dressing room, hold her head in her hands, and cry.
But she hadn't even started sobbing yet when she was interrupted. "Quinn, is that you?" someone asked from the other side of the dressing room door.
It was undeniably the voice of Kurt Hummel. There was no way Quinn could mistake it after he'd sung a ten-minute Celine Dion medley to help the Cheerios win Nationals this year. Quinn's suspicions were concerned when she peered beneath the door and saw a pair of designer shoes gleaming beneath the fluorescent lights.
"Go away," she mumbled. "Nothing to see here."
"Are you crying?" Kurt asked. "Because, Fabray, I know you're the head bitch in charge most of the time, and this is completely unbecoming of you. What's the matter - having a fat day?"
Quinn couldn't even muster the energy to come back with a snappy putdown. "Leave me alone," she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper and raspy from her tears.
There was a short silence; apparently one way to deal with Kurt's snarkyness was to stun him with sadness. "Are you okay?" he asked, and this time there was a tone of concern in his question.
Quinn drew in a deep breath and briefly considered lying, just to make him go away, but lying was too much effort. "No," she sighed. "Nothing's okay."
There was another pause, then another question. "Do you want to talk about it?"
She didn't even hesitate. "Not particularly!" she called out. Even if she did want to talk about it, she had no idea how she'd explain the situation.
"So you'd rather continue to cry in a public dressing room, all by yourself with no one to bitch to," Kurt concluded.
Well, when he put it that way, she sounded pathetic.
"Fine," she said. She reached over to the door and pulled open the latch. "You can come in if you want to - oh, wait a sec..." she started, but it was too late. Kurt had heard her invitation and let himself inside before she had a chance to cover up the obvious bulge in her pants.
Of course, that wasn't the first thing he noticed. "Oh, Quinn, it's so bad that you've stopped doing your hair?" he remarked, noticing that her still-wet hair was pulled back in a ratty ponytail. He looked at her, hot mess that she was, starting from the head down, so he tsk-tsked at her slovenly appearance before he even got to her sore spot. When he reached it, his eyes went wide. "Quinn are you packing?"
"What does that mean?" Quinn asked. She wasn't even embarrassed as much as confused.
"How can I explain this clearly?" Kurt said to himself, running his hand through his perfectly coiffed hair. "Allow me to rephrase the question in the most delicate way I can. Quinn, do you have a dildo in your pants?"
Quinn blushed. "No!" she blurted out, immediately regretting it. Letting him think that would have been a lot easier than trying to explain what was really the problem.
But Kurt was adamant. "Quinn, you're either lying," he said, "or you have some explaining to do."
Quinn hid her face with her hands. "It's... it's... ugh," she began. "Listen, Kurt," she told him, "you can't tell anyone what I'm about to tell you."
Kurt raised his eyebrow, curious. "I make no promises."
Quinn didn't know what else to do, so she thought perhaps she could make him a deal. In her head she listed everything she could possibly offer him, but he probably already had make-up and clothes and good grades in math class. The only thing she had to offer as collateral, though, was Finn. "If you keep this a secret, I will break up with Finn," she told him. "Once and for all."
Kurt tried to hide the sudden flash of excitement on his face, but Quinn knew she had him.
"He'll be all yours," she added, hoping to drive the point home further. "I know what you've already been up to. If I dump him then you won’t have to sneak around anymore. Might as well even make it official."
Kurt gave in. "Fine," he replied. "Cross my heart and hope to die."
Quinn breathed in deeply - the best way to explain was to go the direct route. "I grew a penis the other day," she said, and Kurt's eyes widened with disbelief. "I don't really know how," she continued, "just that it was a magic spell, I guess, and Rachel said she'd get rid of it if... " Here she trailed off, not sure if she wanted to let Kurt know she'd been blackmailed into a date with Rachel. Then she might have to reveal all the sex they'd been having over the past few days. She decided it would be best to skip over that part. "Rachel said she'd get rid of it, but in the meantime I have to get new clothes. It's hard to hide."
"So I see," Kurt said. "Well, Quinn, you're in luck, because Mercedes was busy today and I felt the need to do some shopping. I could help you find more appropriate clothes to wear - ones that will not only hide your package, but look good while doing it."
Quinn bit her lip, hesitant. It wasn't that Kurt lacked style - he had more than enough panache to go around - but she was worried about what might happen if she spent all day with him. She could barely keep it in her pants, for one thing, and she didn't know if she could trust Kurt enough not to take advantage of that fact. "I appreciate your offer," she said sadly, "but I don't think I'd be comfortable with that."
"I'm offering to be your personal stylist for the day, Quinn," Kurt replied. "You know as well as I do that I'm the best-dressed person in the midwest. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. What could possibly be holding you back?"
"The penis." Quinn folded her hands in her lap as though she didn't want the appendage to hear. "It's got, like, powers or something. I'm afraid you'll..." she began to say, but when she heard herself say it out loud, she realized how stupid it would sound. "I don't know."
Kurt sighed and crossed his arms across his chest. "You're afraid I'll see it and be overcome with lust for you," he said, nonplussed.
"Well..." Quinn mumbled, "yes."
"Oh honey, trust me, that is the farthest thing from my mind," Kurt told her. "I'm homosexual, not penis-sexual. Having a penis doesn't make you a man any more than being gay makes me a woman."
Quinn cocked her head, confused. Talking to Kurt sometimes made her feel the way Brittany must feel all the time.
Kurt picked up on her confusion, though, and tried to clarify what he was saying. "A dick on the outside doesn't change who you are on the inside," he said. "I mean no offense, of course - you're just not my type, cock or no cock."
"That's..." Quinn began, smiling, "that's a huge relief, actually." She sat up straight, not realizing she'd been hunching over the whole time, as though trying to hide herself with her whole body. "I could really use your help, though, if the offer still stands."
"I will have you dressed to kill in an hour or less," Kurt answered. "Now stand up and let me get a good look at your waist - it'll help trying to figure out what size you'd wear."
After estimating her size, Kurt vanished for a while, and Quinn waited patiently until a package flew up over the door and landed on the floor in her dressing room. She picked it up and turned it over. "This is guy's underwear," she said.
"I know," Kurt replied, "and you owe me ten bucks for it."
"I can't wear this," Quinn told him sternly.
"I can guarantee you'll be more comfortable with that than you would be in panties, or going commando," Kurt insisted. "Just try a pair."
"Kurt, I don't know," Quinn answered, still in need of convincing.
"It's either those or control-top granny panties, and trust me, these are much cuter."
"Okay," Quinn said, ripping open the top of the package and pulling out a pair. They were boxer-briefs, and though they were cut much differently than the underwear she was used to, she found it was a lot more comfortable around her junk. "You're right," she said. "This is much better."
"Good," Kurt said. "I'll be right back with a few pairs of pants."
He brought her an armload at a time: boot-cut, wide-leg, low-rise - just about anything that didn’t have pleats in the front. “It may be the preferred style of Artie Abrams,” Kurt told her, “but no woman has looked good in pleated-front pants since 1989.”
She pulled on a pair of boot-cut jeans that were loose enough in front to give her junk ample room to hang out while still hugging her feminine curves in the back. “I think these are good,” she told him, and he handed her two more pairs in different washes.
“It wouldn’t hurt to get a few extras,” he told her. “They’ll look good on you, dick or no, so even after... whatever... happens, you can wear them. Plus, they’re on sale.”
Quinn smiled gratefully. “Thanks, Kurt.”
“Word of advice,” he added, "if it gets to be too visible, you can pull it into the band of your underwear. It might be uncomfortable at first, but it’ll hide it.”
"Thanks for your help, Kurt."
He cocked an eyebrow. "So Finn will be a free man?"
"He's all yours. Trust me." Quinn Fabray had another person in mind, after all - someone with whom she had a date later.
“Let me know how it goes on Monday,” Kurt said, offering Quinn a gentle hug. “With Rachel, I mean.”
Quinn froze. She hadn’t told Kurt about her date by accident, had she? The less people who knew about it the better; it was bad enough that she’d have to be seen in public with her. “With Rachel?” she muttered helplessly.
“Yeah,” Kurt said. “She’s helping you get rid of the dick, isn’t she?”
“Oh, right.” Quinn breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks for helping me find something to wear until then, though.”
“It was my pleasure being your personal stylist. See you at Glee practice.”
Quinn was intentionally late getting to Breadsticks. It wasn’t that she had wasted a lot of time going through her closet trying to find the right thing to wear (although she had, even though she half-expected to see Rachel in a hideous cast-off Catholic schoolgirl uniform as per usual). It was that she had made up her mind to be as disagreeable and difficult as possible. Rachel was blackmailing her, after all. She certainly didn’t want to encourage that sort of thing. Just because she’d had sex with Rachel more times than she could count on one hand in the past few days, she still didn’t really like her very much.
When she arrived at the restaurant, it was apparent that Rachel had been waiting for her for a while. She could see her already seated in a booth, facing the door. Even in spite of her lateness, however, Rachel smiled and stood to greet Quinn when she entered the room.
And Rachel Berry was dressed to impress. When she stepped away from the table, Quinn could see almost her entire leg, her black miniskirt was so short. It hung low on her hips, revealing a sliver of her midriff. Her tight corset-style top showed off her tiny waist and was low enough in the front that Quinn thought they might pop out of their own accord if Rachel so much as breathed in too deeply. Rachel’s showing off all this skin only reminded Quinn of how she’d already gotten to see most of it, touch most of it, even taste it. The sudden recollection made her semi-hard, and Quinn followed Kurt’s advice and flipped her dick up into the waistband of her pants as she sat down. “You look like a sad clown hooker,” she remarked as she slid across the vinyl seat, reminding herself of her earlier resolution to be difficult. Somewhere in the back of her mind, however, Quinn began thinking about how she’d gone all day without an orgasm, and she wasn’t sure, now that she’d been turned on, if she’d be able to go the whole meal without sneaking into the bathroom for release.
“Thank you,” Rachel replied. If anyone knew how to deflect a mean comment, it was Rachel Berry. “You look very nice as well. Those jeans are very flattering.”
Quinn pulled a face, wondering if Rachel had already caught a glimpse of her hard-on before she tucked it away, but she didn’t say anything about it.
“Since you were late, I took the liberty of ordering a drink for you, and some appetizers,” Rachel continued.
“Um,” Quinn began. “I’m a Cheerio, and we have a very strict diet regimen.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about it, Quinn,” Rachel said slyly, winking. “If you’re worried about ingesting too many calories, I happen to know a few ways I could help you work them off tonight.”
“Tonight?” Quinn said. “Tonight we already have plans. We’re going to get rid of the thing.”
Rachel suddenly looked very disappointed. “I thought we could go back to my place first,” she said, dejected. But then the disappointment in her eyes gave way to something else - shock? surprise? horror? - as she looked not at Quinn but over Quinn’s shoulder, at the door. “Quinn, don’t turn around,” she said, very serious.
“Why?” Quinn asked, and without hesitating she looked over her shoulder to see who it was. Mr. Schuester had just come in with his wife, Terri, and Quinn turned back to Rachel, very confused. “What’s the matter? It’s just Mr. Schue.”
“Pretend you didn’t see them,” Rachel hissed. “Maybe he won’t see us.”
Quinn folded her hands on the table and watched Mr. Schuester’s wife practically drag him past them to a table in the back, but once he saw them he lifted his hand. “Wait, Terri, I want to say hi to some of my students!” he said brightly, and while she rolled her eyes and stalked to the table without him, he turned to Rachel and Quinn with a huge grin on his face. “Hi ladies!” he said, too cheerfully. “What’s going on? Girls’ night out?”
Quinn jumped at it. “Yes, girls’ night out, that’s what this is,” she said. “Definitely not a date or anything.”
Mr. Schuester ignored her, however, and leaned in close to Rachel. “I thought we had plans tonight,” he said, his voice low. “This is why you cancelled them at the last-minute?”
Rachel didn’t reply, and Quinn felt something bubble up inside her, something ugly and vicious. What was it - possessiveness? Jealousy? Either way, Quinn could feel her face grow hot as Mr. Schuester continued to whisper into Rachel’s ear.
“You look fantastic tonight, by the way,” he told her. “If you really want to hang out with Quinn, you should invite her along next time instead of just cancelling on me. You know I’m flexible.”
Rachel started to shift uncomfortably in her seat, and Quinn finally interjected. “Your wife is waiting for you, Mr. Schue,” she said to him. “I think she’s getting pissed.”
Mr. Schuester straightened, reaching up to fix his tie. “I see,” he said. He looked at Quinn with narrowed eyes, and she suddenly regretted speaking up. “Tell you what, ladies, since you enjoy spending so much time together, why don’t you come up with a duet to perform for Monday’s practice?”
Rachel, always eager to please, jumped at the Mr. Schuester’s suggestion. “We’d love to!” she said, practically squealing. Quinn plugged her ears at the sound. “Doesn’t that sound exciting, Quinn?”
“Sure,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. As Mr. Schuester walked back to the table where his wife was waiting, Quinn kicked Rachel under the table. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“Quinn, I never miss a chance to sharpen my performance skills. You know that.”
“But now I’m stuck doing it with you,” Quinn groaned. She wanted to say something about how creepy Mr. Schuester was, or how inappropriate it was for Rachel to be carrying on with him like that, but she realized that it was a jealous thought, and she was trying to convince herself that there was no way she was jealous over Rachel Berry.
Rachel smiled widely. “You love doing it with me, don’t even lie.”
Quinn blushed, but she even as she prepared a snarky comeback, she realized how true it was. “Yeah, well,” she sputtered. “I still can’t believe you’re going to drag me into some stupid Glee club thing on a stupid whim.”
“We should get started right after we eat!” Rachel said brightly. “I’ll even let you pick the song if you don’t mind my taking over the choreography entirely.”
“Um, I thought we had something else to do right after dinner.”
Rachel folded her hands primly on the table and started speaking to Quinn in that overly-clipped tone she used to be condescending. “Quinn, I think it’s important that we prioritize our issues and focus first on what’s most important. I need applause to live, and you’ll be fine with an extra appendage until Monday evening.”
Quinn leaned back into her seat and crossed her arms. “If that’s the way it’s going to be, Berry,” she said, exasperated, “you are really going to owe me for this.”
“Anything,” Rachel replied, picking up what Quinn was laying down. She kicked it up a notch by sliding off her shoe and running her foot along the inside of Quinn’s leg, tracing the inseam of her jeans all the way up to her crotch. Quinn was still hard, and it wasn’t long before Rachel found her cock through her jeans. She pressed the ball of her foot against the base of Quinn’s shaft and slowly moved it in around in a circle.
Quinn breathed in deeply and slouched a little in her seat so Rachel could reach better. Even through layers of fabric, her touch felt so good, and Quinn began to think that maybe being out with Rachel in public wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
Finally the waitress showed up with their appetizers, and while Rachel gave her order quickly and efficiently, Quinn had to resort to pointing at pictures at the menu because she was biting her tongue to keep from moaning too visibly. Rachel’s foot massage of sorts was really hitting the spot for her, and when the waitress disappeared to the kitchen Quinn felt all her muscles relax. She practically melted into the vinyl cover of the seat, and she slid her hand down the front of her pants to loosen it up a little bit. She looked stealthily around her to make sure no one was watching, and then maneuvered her cock out of her zipper. Rachel twirled her foot around Quinn’s shaft, and strangely enough even the texture of her pantyhose felt soothing to Quinn. She started thrusting her hips, ever so subtly, as Rachel bobbed her foot up and down along the length of her shaft. It wasn’t long before Quinn was on the edge, and she pulled the napkin into her lap and spread it out as best she could, just barely in time to catch her orgasm before she got jizz all over the bottom of the table.
“So,” Rachel said, relaxing her foot and sliding it back into her shoe, “how are your appetizers?”
“I think I’ve worked up an appetite.”
“I hope so,” Rachel replied. “Maybe I could talk you into some dessert after all.”
Author: catreadingdiary
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Rachel/Quinn, Kurt
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Don't own Glee.
Word count: ~4000
Summary: Quinn has a penis. Kurt helps her find pants that fit. Then there’s a date with Rachel Berry.
A/N: Part One and Part Two. Thanks, beta, you know who you are
On Saturday morning Quinn woke up early, without her alarm. She'd been having a pleasant enough dream, but something subconsciously snapped in her mind, and when she opened her eyes her hand went straight to her crotch, as though she was hoping that the past two days had been a mere nightmare. She found, though, that it was still true - she had a dick.
"Ugh," Quinn moaned, rolling onto her side and blinking as her eyes adjusted to the light. The clock indicated that it was still early morning; she could go back to sleep if she wanted. But Quinn knew that staying in bed would be a bad idea - she'd stayed in bed all day yesterday, and look what that had accomplished. She was pretty sure she was broken up with Finn, and now on top of that she had a date with Rachel Berry. In public. Where people could, like, see them together. Sure, Rachel had been good enough company in the past few days - she had a certain je ne sais quoi, if by je ne sais quoi one meant a real talent with her tongue. And legs. And beautiful hair. And some sex toys.
Quinn could feel a low ache between her legs as her thoughts scattered. Oh no, she thought. Not again. She leapt out of bed and decided the first thing to do would be to start the day with a cold shower. It would help... clear her mind. Yeah. That's it. Her mind.
One thing was for sure - there was no way Quinn was going to wear a skirt. Thursday at school would have been a lot more bearable if she'd worn pants.
So her first plan of action was to ransack her closet and find something to wear. However, it seemed that every pair of pants Quinn owned was too tight around her junk. She tried on several pairs of jeans, slacks, and sweats, with and without underpants, and still she could not get the fabric to lay right. No matter what she did, her endowment was both obvious and uncomfortable.
"This is unbelievable," Quinn muttered. "What the hell do guys do about this?"
That was when she realized the answer - guys wear clothes designed for guys. If she wanted to be comfortable and unobtrusive, she'd have to go shopping in the men's department.
Quinn glanced back over her shoulder at her alarm clock. It was nearly time for the nearest shopping center to open. She looked back in her closet for something that would help her blend in, since the last thing she wanted to do was stand out while shopping for men's clothes.
She tried on everything. What fit didn't look at all flattering; what was flattering didn't fit. It was impossible to hide her package and look even vaguely female at the same time, and Quinn couldn't handle it. She couldn't handle going out looking like a slob, but it seemed that was her only option.
It was just so frustrating; the only thing Quinn could do was sink down on the small bench inside the dressing room, hold her head in her hands, and cry.
But she hadn't even started sobbing yet when she was interrupted. "Quinn, is that you?" someone asked from the other side of the dressing room door.
It was undeniably the voice of Kurt Hummel. There was no way Quinn could mistake it after he'd sung a ten-minute Celine Dion medley to help the Cheerios win Nationals this year. Quinn's suspicions were concerned when she peered beneath the door and saw a pair of designer shoes gleaming beneath the fluorescent lights.
"Go away," she mumbled. "Nothing to see here."
"Are you crying?" Kurt asked. "Because, Fabray, I know you're the head bitch in charge most of the time, and this is completely unbecoming of you. What's the matter - having a fat day?"
Quinn couldn't even muster the energy to come back with a snappy putdown. "Leave me alone," she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper and raspy from her tears.
There was a short silence; apparently one way to deal with Kurt's snarkyness was to stun him with sadness. "Are you okay?" he asked, and this time there was a tone of concern in his question.
Quinn drew in a deep breath and briefly considered lying, just to make him go away, but lying was too much effort. "No," she sighed. "Nothing's okay."
There was another pause, then another question. "Do you want to talk about it?"
She didn't even hesitate. "Not particularly!" she called out. Even if she did want to talk about it, she had no idea how she'd explain the situation.
"So you'd rather continue to cry in a public dressing room, all by yourself with no one to bitch to," Kurt concluded.
Well, when he put it that way, she sounded pathetic.
"Fine," she said. She reached over to the door and pulled open the latch. "You can come in if you want to - oh, wait a sec..." she started, but it was too late. Kurt had heard her invitation and let himself inside before she had a chance to cover up the obvious bulge in her pants.
Of course, that wasn't the first thing he noticed. "Oh, Quinn, it's so bad that you've stopped doing your hair?" he remarked, noticing that her still-wet hair was pulled back in a ratty ponytail. He looked at her, hot mess that she was, starting from the head down, so he tsk-tsked at her slovenly appearance before he even got to her sore spot. When he reached it, his eyes went wide. "Quinn are you packing?"
"What does that mean?" Quinn asked. She wasn't even embarrassed as much as confused.
"How can I explain this clearly?" Kurt said to himself, running his hand through his perfectly coiffed hair. "Allow me to rephrase the question in the most delicate way I can. Quinn, do you have a dildo in your pants?"
Quinn blushed. "No!" she blurted out, immediately regretting it. Letting him think that would have been a lot easier than trying to explain what was really the problem.
But Kurt was adamant. "Quinn, you're either lying," he said, "or you have some explaining to do."
Quinn hid her face with her hands. "It's... it's... ugh," she began. "Listen, Kurt," she told him, "you can't tell anyone what I'm about to tell you."
Kurt raised his eyebrow, curious. "I make no promises."
Quinn didn't know what else to do, so she thought perhaps she could make him a deal. In her head she listed everything she could possibly offer him, but he probably already had make-up and clothes and good grades in math class. The only thing she had to offer as collateral, though, was Finn. "If you keep this a secret, I will break up with Finn," she told him. "Once and for all."
Kurt tried to hide the sudden flash of excitement on his face, but Quinn knew she had him.
"He'll be all yours," she added, hoping to drive the point home further. "I know what you've already been up to. If I dump him then you won’t have to sneak around anymore. Might as well even make it official."
Kurt gave in. "Fine," he replied. "Cross my heart and hope to die."
Quinn breathed in deeply - the best way to explain was to go the direct route. "I grew a penis the other day," she said, and Kurt's eyes widened with disbelief. "I don't really know how," she continued, "just that it was a magic spell, I guess, and Rachel said she'd get rid of it if... " Here she trailed off, not sure if she wanted to let Kurt know she'd been blackmailed into a date with Rachel. Then she might have to reveal all the sex they'd been having over the past few days. She decided it would be best to skip over that part. "Rachel said she'd get rid of it, but in the meantime I have to get new clothes. It's hard to hide."
"So I see," Kurt said. "Well, Quinn, you're in luck, because Mercedes was busy today and I felt the need to do some shopping. I could help you find more appropriate clothes to wear - ones that will not only hide your package, but look good while doing it."
Quinn bit her lip, hesitant. It wasn't that Kurt lacked style - he had more than enough panache to go around - but she was worried about what might happen if she spent all day with him. She could barely keep it in her pants, for one thing, and she didn't know if she could trust Kurt enough not to take advantage of that fact. "I appreciate your offer," she said sadly, "but I don't think I'd be comfortable with that."
"I'm offering to be your personal stylist for the day, Quinn," Kurt replied. "You know as well as I do that I'm the best-dressed person in the midwest. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. What could possibly be holding you back?"
"The penis." Quinn folded her hands in her lap as though she didn't want the appendage to hear. "It's got, like, powers or something. I'm afraid you'll..." she began to say, but when she heard herself say it out loud, she realized how stupid it would sound. "I don't know."
Kurt sighed and crossed his arms across his chest. "You're afraid I'll see it and be overcome with lust for you," he said, nonplussed.
"Well..." Quinn mumbled, "yes."
"Oh honey, trust me, that is the farthest thing from my mind," Kurt told her. "I'm homosexual, not penis-sexual. Having a penis doesn't make you a man any more than being gay makes me a woman."
Quinn cocked her head, confused. Talking to Kurt sometimes made her feel the way Brittany must feel all the time.
Kurt picked up on her confusion, though, and tried to clarify what he was saying. "A dick on the outside doesn't change who you are on the inside," he said. "I mean no offense, of course - you're just not my type, cock or no cock."
"That's..." Quinn began, smiling, "that's a huge relief, actually." She sat up straight, not realizing she'd been hunching over the whole time, as though trying to hide herself with her whole body. "I could really use your help, though, if the offer still stands."
"I will have you dressed to kill in an hour or less," Kurt answered. "Now stand up and let me get a good look at your waist - it'll help trying to figure out what size you'd wear."
After estimating her size, Kurt vanished for a while, and Quinn waited patiently until a package flew up over the door and landed on the floor in her dressing room. She picked it up and turned it over. "This is guy's underwear," she said.
"I know," Kurt replied, "and you owe me ten bucks for it."
"I can't wear this," Quinn told him sternly.
"I can guarantee you'll be more comfortable with that than you would be in panties, or going commando," Kurt insisted. "Just try a pair."
"Kurt, I don't know," Quinn answered, still in need of convincing.
"It's either those or control-top granny panties, and trust me, these are much cuter."
"Okay," Quinn said, ripping open the top of the package and pulling out a pair. They were boxer-briefs, and though they were cut much differently than the underwear she was used to, she found it was a lot more comfortable around her junk. "You're right," she said. "This is much better."
"Good," Kurt said. "I'll be right back with a few pairs of pants."
He brought her an armload at a time: boot-cut, wide-leg, low-rise - just about anything that didn’t have pleats in the front. “It may be the preferred style of Artie Abrams,” Kurt told her, “but no woman has looked good in pleated-front pants since 1989.”
She pulled on a pair of boot-cut jeans that were loose enough in front to give her junk ample room to hang out while still hugging her feminine curves in the back. “I think these are good,” she told him, and he handed her two more pairs in different washes.
“It wouldn’t hurt to get a few extras,” he told her. “They’ll look good on you, dick or no, so even after... whatever... happens, you can wear them. Plus, they’re on sale.”
Quinn smiled gratefully. “Thanks, Kurt.”
“Word of advice,” he added, "if it gets to be too visible, you can pull it into the band of your underwear. It might be uncomfortable at first, but it’ll hide it.”
"Thanks for your help, Kurt."
He cocked an eyebrow. "So Finn will be a free man?"
"He's all yours. Trust me." Quinn Fabray had another person in mind, after all - someone with whom she had a date later.
“Let me know how it goes on Monday,” Kurt said, offering Quinn a gentle hug. “With Rachel, I mean.”
Quinn froze. She hadn’t told Kurt about her date by accident, had she? The less people who knew about it the better; it was bad enough that she’d have to be seen in public with her. “With Rachel?” she muttered helplessly.
“Yeah,” Kurt said. “She’s helping you get rid of the dick, isn’t she?”
“Oh, right.” Quinn breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks for helping me find something to wear until then, though.”
“It was my pleasure being your personal stylist. See you at Glee practice.”
Quinn was intentionally late getting to Breadsticks. It wasn’t that she had wasted a lot of time going through her closet trying to find the right thing to wear (although she had, even though she half-expected to see Rachel in a hideous cast-off Catholic schoolgirl uniform as per usual). It was that she had made up her mind to be as disagreeable and difficult as possible. Rachel was blackmailing her, after all. She certainly didn’t want to encourage that sort of thing. Just because she’d had sex with Rachel more times than she could count on one hand in the past few days, she still didn’t really like her very much.
When she arrived at the restaurant, it was apparent that Rachel had been waiting for her for a while. She could see her already seated in a booth, facing the door. Even in spite of her lateness, however, Rachel smiled and stood to greet Quinn when she entered the room.
And Rachel Berry was dressed to impress. When she stepped away from the table, Quinn could see almost her entire leg, her black miniskirt was so short. It hung low on her hips, revealing a sliver of her midriff. Her tight corset-style top showed off her tiny waist and was low enough in the front that Quinn thought they might pop out of their own accord if Rachel so much as breathed in too deeply. Rachel’s showing off all this skin only reminded Quinn of how she’d already gotten to see most of it, touch most of it, even taste it. The sudden recollection made her semi-hard, and Quinn followed Kurt’s advice and flipped her dick up into the waistband of her pants as she sat down. “You look like a sad clown hooker,” she remarked as she slid across the vinyl seat, reminding herself of her earlier resolution to be difficult. Somewhere in the back of her mind, however, Quinn began thinking about how she’d gone all day without an orgasm, and she wasn’t sure, now that she’d been turned on, if she’d be able to go the whole meal without sneaking into the bathroom for release.
“Thank you,” Rachel replied. If anyone knew how to deflect a mean comment, it was Rachel Berry. “You look very nice as well. Those jeans are very flattering.”
Quinn pulled a face, wondering if Rachel had already caught a glimpse of her hard-on before she tucked it away, but she didn’t say anything about it.
“Since you were late, I took the liberty of ordering a drink for you, and some appetizers,” Rachel continued.
“Um,” Quinn began. “I’m a Cheerio, and we have a very strict diet regimen.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about it, Quinn,” Rachel said slyly, winking. “If you’re worried about ingesting too many calories, I happen to know a few ways I could help you work them off tonight.”
“Tonight?” Quinn said. “Tonight we already have plans. We’re going to get rid of the thing.”
Rachel suddenly looked very disappointed. “I thought we could go back to my place first,” she said, dejected. But then the disappointment in her eyes gave way to something else - shock? surprise? horror? - as she looked not at Quinn but over Quinn’s shoulder, at the door. “Quinn, don’t turn around,” she said, very serious.
“Why?” Quinn asked, and without hesitating she looked over her shoulder to see who it was. Mr. Schuester had just come in with his wife, Terri, and Quinn turned back to Rachel, very confused. “What’s the matter? It’s just Mr. Schue.”
“Pretend you didn’t see them,” Rachel hissed. “Maybe he won’t see us.”
Quinn folded her hands on the table and watched Mr. Schuester’s wife practically drag him past them to a table in the back, but once he saw them he lifted his hand. “Wait, Terri, I want to say hi to some of my students!” he said brightly, and while she rolled her eyes and stalked to the table without him, he turned to Rachel and Quinn with a huge grin on his face. “Hi ladies!” he said, too cheerfully. “What’s going on? Girls’ night out?”
Quinn jumped at it. “Yes, girls’ night out, that’s what this is,” she said. “Definitely not a date or anything.”
Mr. Schuester ignored her, however, and leaned in close to Rachel. “I thought we had plans tonight,” he said, his voice low. “This is why you cancelled them at the last-minute?”
Rachel didn’t reply, and Quinn felt something bubble up inside her, something ugly and vicious. What was it - possessiveness? Jealousy? Either way, Quinn could feel her face grow hot as Mr. Schuester continued to whisper into Rachel’s ear.
“You look fantastic tonight, by the way,” he told her. “If you really want to hang out with Quinn, you should invite her along next time instead of just cancelling on me. You know I’m flexible.”
Rachel started to shift uncomfortably in her seat, and Quinn finally interjected. “Your wife is waiting for you, Mr. Schue,” she said to him. “I think she’s getting pissed.”
Mr. Schuester straightened, reaching up to fix his tie. “I see,” he said. He looked at Quinn with narrowed eyes, and she suddenly regretted speaking up. “Tell you what, ladies, since you enjoy spending so much time together, why don’t you come up with a duet to perform for Monday’s practice?”
Rachel, always eager to please, jumped at the Mr. Schuester’s suggestion. “We’d love to!” she said, practically squealing. Quinn plugged her ears at the sound. “Doesn’t that sound exciting, Quinn?”
“Sure,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. As Mr. Schuester walked back to the table where his wife was waiting, Quinn kicked Rachel under the table. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“Quinn, I never miss a chance to sharpen my performance skills. You know that.”
“But now I’m stuck doing it with you,” Quinn groaned. She wanted to say something about how creepy Mr. Schuester was, or how inappropriate it was for Rachel to be carrying on with him like that, but she realized that it was a jealous thought, and she was trying to convince herself that there was no way she was jealous over Rachel Berry.
Rachel smiled widely. “You love doing it with me, don’t even lie.”
Quinn blushed, but she even as she prepared a snarky comeback, she realized how true it was. “Yeah, well,” she sputtered. “I still can’t believe you’re going to drag me into some stupid Glee club thing on a stupid whim.”
“We should get started right after we eat!” Rachel said brightly. “I’ll even let you pick the song if you don’t mind my taking over the choreography entirely.”
“Um, I thought we had something else to do right after dinner.”
Rachel folded her hands primly on the table and started speaking to Quinn in that overly-clipped tone she used to be condescending. “Quinn, I think it’s important that we prioritize our issues and focus first on what’s most important. I need applause to live, and you’ll be fine with an extra appendage until Monday evening.”
Quinn leaned back into her seat and crossed her arms. “If that’s the way it’s going to be, Berry,” she said, exasperated, “you are really going to owe me for this.”
“Anything,” Rachel replied, picking up what Quinn was laying down. She kicked it up a notch by sliding off her shoe and running her foot along the inside of Quinn’s leg, tracing the inseam of her jeans all the way up to her crotch. Quinn was still hard, and it wasn’t long before Rachel found her cock through her jeans. She pressed the ball of her foot against the base of Quinn’s shaft and slowly moved it in around in a circle.
Quinn breathed in deeply and slouched a little in her seat so Rachel could reach better. Even through layers of fabric, her touch felt so good, and Quinn began to think that maybe being out with Rachel in public wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
Finally the waitress showed up with their appetizers, and while Rachel gave her order quickly and efficiently, Quinn had to resort to pointing at pictures at the menu because she was biting her tongue to keep from moaning too visibly. Rachel’s foot massage of sorts was really hitting the spot for her, and when the waitress disappeared to the kitchen Quinn felt all her muscles relax. She practically melted into the vinyl cover of the seat, and she slid her hand down the front of her pants to loosen it up a little bit. She looked stealthily around her to make sure no one was watching, and then maneuvered her cock out of her zipper. Rachel twirled her foot around Quinn’s shaft, and strangely enough even the texture of her pantyhose felt soothing to Quinn. She started thrusting her hips, ever so subtly, as Rachel bobbed her foot up and down along the length of her shaft. It wasn’t long before Quinn was on the edge, and she pulled the napkin into her lap and spread it out as best she could, just barely in time to catch her orgasm before she got jizz all over the bottom of the table.
“So,” Rachel said, relaxing her foot and sliding it back into her shoe, “how are your appetizers?”
“I think I’ve worked up an appetite.”
“I hope so,” Rachel replied. “Maybe I could talk you into some dessert after all.”