Fic: A Different Song (1/1)
Title: A Different Song
Author: cranberry_pi
Rating: NC-17 for porniness.
Spoilers: Original Song.
Summary: I promise, this is almost my last kick at the can re: the Piano Scene. Also, I wrote this early this morning in the aftermath of surgery, so sorry if it sucks!
“A real estate agent?” Rachel’s blood boils. “A real estate agent, Quinn? That’s the grand dream you have for your future?”
Quinn steps back a pace, taken by surprise. “Rachel, you’re kind of missing the point-“
“No!” Rachel shouts. “No, I’m not missing the point! We’ll get back to discussing Finn in a minute, Quinn, but this is ridiculous! You’re attractive, and you’re reasonably talented, and you have all that cheerleading experience, and the best thing you can think of to do with your life is be a real estate agent? That’s such an incredible waste!”
“Why do you even care?” Quinn steps toward her, regaining her confidence. “What possible difference does it make to you what I do with my life?”
“I don’t know! But it matters! You’ve come so far in the last year, with your baby and the way you’ve learned to sacrifice for the greater good, and what I thought was a bit of burgeoning feminism, and now you’re telling me that you’re going to live in this crappy town and be someone’s wife and someone’s mother, just because you’re too scared to find a life you really want for yourself? It’s infuriating!”
Quinn’s slap surprises both of them, and Rachel reels. “How dare you! How dare you tell me that the choice I’m making isn’t the one I want! You don’t even know me!”
Rachel slaps her in return. “I know you better than anyone in this school, Quinn! I know the image you try to project to everyone, and I know the real you! Finn told me, once, what your first words were when you told him you were pregnant. That you thought you had a shot at getting out of this town! And now you’re happy to stay here? To wallow in some sad little middle-class trailer park life? I don’t believe you!”
Quinn steps closer, and this time her slap isn’t a surprise - it’s calculated, and hard enough to rock Rachel back on her heels. But she doesn’t back off, instead reaching out and grabbing a fistful of Quinn’s hair. “Stop hitting me,” she hisses.
“Fuck! Let go of my hair, you bitch!” her eyes are watering at the pain, but it doesn’t stop her from kneeing Rachel in the stomach. The air leaves her in a rush, and she staggers back, releasing her hold. Quinn gives her a hard two-handed push. “Don’t you dare visit in my intentions, Rachel! God, you’re so frustrating! You really do think you know me so well!”
Rachel growls, launching herself at Quinn and driving her backward into the piano. Her back collides with the instrument, and she cries out in pain. Rachel holds her in place, glaring at her. “No one knows you like I do, Quinn! No one’s watched you like I have!”
“So, what, you’re some kind of freaky stalker? Get off me!” she rakes her nails across Rachel’s cheek, cutting her open, but Rachel’s grip only tightens - until she leans in and kisses Quinn, hard and possessively. Quinn tries to push her off, but she won’t be moved - and suddenly Quinn finds herself kissing back. It’s not sexy, not in the traditional sense - there’s no tenderness in their embrace, no soft words and slow touches. It’s hard, and fierce, and there’s teeth meeting lips, drawing blood, and tongues fighting for dominance until a desperate need for oxygen separates them. Rachel takes in the sight of Quinn, her lips bloody and her pupils blown, and pulls her sweater roughly down her arms until they’re bound up in it before grabbing her shirt with both hands and tearing it open. Quinn’s breasts are heaving with each breath, straining against the lace of her black bra, and Rachel pulls it up and away from them.
Quinn growls wordlessly, arching her back as Rachel roughly grabs her rock-hard nipples, twisting them hard enough to make her scream. Then Rachel’s foot finds her skirt, and she uses the heel of her shoe to tear it off. Quinn’s panties are visibly wet, and Rachel pulls them off with a sharp tug that rips the seams. Quinn starts to protest, but Rachel silences her by shoving her own underwear roughly into her mouth.
Rachel holds Quinn against the piano with one hand, as her other reaches down between her legs to her dripping sex. She’s not gentle or careful, she’s rough and brutal as she buries three fingers knuckle-deep. Quinn screams into the fabric in her mouth, her hips bucking furiously to meet Rachel’s thrusts. It’s only a minute before she comes with a scream, a rush of come pouring down Rachel’s hand to her wrist. Rachel withdraws, and releases her hold on the blonde, and Quinn sinks to the floor. Her arms are still tangled in her sweater and she hits the floor hard, groaning into her panties. She tries to spit them out but can’t manage on her own, so Rachel helps her out before she kneels on the floor next to her.
“What the fuck,” each word comes on a separate breath as she tries to regulate her racing heart, “was that?”
“I’m sorry,” Rachel, unbelievably, is blushing. “I don’t know what came over me.”
There’s a cough from behind them, and Quinn scrambles to try and cover herself. Santana walks out into the spotlight, smirking. “Don’t bother, Q, it’s nothing I haven’t seen in the shower. I was just coming to tell you guys Schue wanted to see you, but I think I’ll tell him you’re busy with the songwriting. Personally, I think you two should do that at Regionals. We’ll win in a landslide.”
“Santana,” Rachel starts, but she’s cut off by a dismissive wave of the hand.
“Save it. Can I just say, it’s about fucking time? I wondered how long you two could dance around each other before you figured it out. And Juno, I’d say you owe the Hobbit big time - hurry up and return the favour she did you. I’ll make sure everyone knows the auditorium’s off limits this afternoon.” Still smirking, she walks out. Quinn takes a measured look at Rachel.
“You can slap me again if you need to,” Rachel grins.
Quinn laughs. “I think we’ll skip that part. Let’s see what kind of song you can compose while I fuck you.”
Author: cranberry_pi
Rating: NC-17 for porniness.
Spoilers: Original Song.
Summary: I promise, this is almost my last kick at the can re: the Piano Scene. Also, I wrote this early this morning in the aftermath of surgery, so sorry if it sucks!
“A real estate agent?” Rachel’s blood boils. “A real estate agent, Quinn? That’s the grand dream you have for your future?”
Quinn steps back a pace, taken by surprise. “Rachel, you’re kind of missing the point-“
“No!” Rachel shouts. “No, I’m not missing the point! We’ll get back to discussing Finn in a minute, Quinn, but this is ridiculous! You’re attractive, and you’re reasonably talented, and you have all that cheerleading experience, and the best thing you can think of to do with your life is be a real estate agent? That’s such an incredible waste!”
“Why do you even care?” Quinn steps toward her, regaining her confidence. “What possible difference does it make to you what I do with my life?”
“I don’t know! But it matters! You’ve come so far in the last year, with your baby and the way you’ve learned to sacrifice for the greater good, and what I thought was a bit of burgeoning feminism, and now you’re telling me that you’re going to live in this crappy town and be someone’s wife and someone’s mother, just because you’re too scared to find a life you really want for yourself? It’s infuriating!”
Quinn’s slap surprises both of them, and Rachel reels. “How dare you! How dare you tell me that the choice I’m making isn’t the one I want! You don’t even know me!”
Rachel slaps her in return. “I know you better than anyone in this school, Quinn! I know the image you try to project to everyone, and I know the real you! Finn told me, once, what your first words were when you told him you were pregnant. That you thought you had a shot at getting out of this town! And now you’re happy to stay here? To wallow in some sad little middle-class trailer park life? I don’t believe you!”
Quinn steps closer, and this time her slap isn’t a surprise - it’s calculated, and hard enough to rock Rachel back on her heels. But she doesn’t back off, instead reaching out and grabbing a fistful of Quinn’s hair. “Stop hitting me,” she hisses.
“Fuck! Let go of my hair, you bitch!” her eyes are watering at the pain, but it doesn’t stop her from kneeing Rachel in the stomach. The air leaves her in a rush, and she staggers back, releasing her hold. Quinn gives her a hard two-handed push. “Don’t you dare visit in my intentions, Rachel! God, you’re so frustrating! You really do think you know me so well!”
Rachel growls, launching herself at Quinn and driving her backward into the piano. Her back collides with the instrument, and she cries out in pain. Rachel holds her in place, glaring at her. “No one knows you like I do, Quinn! No one’s watched you like I have!”
“So, what, you’re some kind of freaky stalker? Get off me!” she rakes her nails across Rachel’s cheek, cutting her open, but Rachel’s grip only tightens - until she leans in and kisses Quinn, hard and possessively. Quinn tries to push her off, but she won’t be moved - and suddenly Quinn finds herself kissing back. It’s not sexy, not in the traditional sense - there’s no tenderness in their embrace, no soft words and slow touches. It’s hard, and fierce, and there’s teeth meeting lips, drawing blood, and tongues fighting for dominance until a desperate need for oxygen separates them. Rachel takes in the sight of Quinn, her lips bloody and her pupils blown, and pulls her sweater roughly down her arms until they’re bound up in it before grabbing her shirt with both hands and tearing it open. Quinn’s breasts are heaving with each breath, straining against the lace of her black bra, and Rachel pulls it up and away from them.
Quinn growls wordlessly, arching her back as Rachel roughly grabs her rock-hard nipples, twisting them hard enough to make her scream. Then Rachel’s foot finds her skirt, and she uses the heel of her shoe to tear it off. Quinn’s panties are visibly wet, and Rachel pulls them off with a sharp tug that rips the seams. Quinn starts to protest, but Rachel silences her by shoving her own underwear roughly into her mouth.
Rachel holds Quinn against the piano with one hand, as her other reaches down between her legs to her dripping sex. She’s not gentle or careful, she’s rough and brutal as she buries three fingers knuckle-deep. Quinn screams into the fabric in her mouth, her hips bucking furiously to meet Rachel’s thrusts. It’s only a minute before she comes with a scream, a rush of come pouring down Rachel’s hand to her wrist. Rachel withdraws, and releases her hold on the blonde, and Quinn sinks to the floor. Her arms are still tangled in her sweater and she hits the floor hard, groaning into her panties. She tries to spit them out but can’t manage on her own, so Rachel helps her out before she kneels on the floor next to her.
“What the fuck,” each word comes on a separate breath as she tries to regulate her racing heart, “was that?”
“I’m sorry,” Rachel, unbelievably, is blushing. “I don’t know what came over me.”
There’s a cough from behind them, and Quinn scrambles to try and cover herself. Santana walks out into the spotlight, smirking. “Don’t bother, Q, it’s nothing I haven’t seen in the shower. I was just coming to tell you guys Schue wanted to see you, but I think I’ll tell him you’re busy with the songwriting. Personally, I think you two should do that at Regionals. We’ll win in a landslide.”
“Santana,” Rachel starts, but she’s cut off by a dismissive wave of the hand.
“Save it. Can I just say, it’s about fucking time? I wondered how long you two could dance around each other before you figured it out. And Juno, I’d say you owe the Hobbit big time - hurry up and return the favour she did you. I’ll make sure everyone knows the auditorium’s off limits this afternoon.” Still smirking, she walks out. Quinn takes a measured look at Rachel.
“You can slap me again if you need to,” Rachel grins.
Quinn laughs. “I think we’ll skip that part. Let’s see what kind of song you can compose while I fuck you.”