This Kiss, Chapter Two
Title: This Kiss
Author: poetzproblem
Fandom Glee
Characters: Rachel Berry / Quinn Fabray
Word Count: 3974
Rating: R
Summary: One pivotal moment can change everything.
Spoilers/Warnings: hrough A Very Glee Christmas. Then AU. Cursing, sexual references, FemSlash.
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or the characters, just like to play with them.
A/N: Written for a Faberry prompt, but can't remember where. 'Rachel and Quinn share a kiss during a game of spin the bottle. From that night forward both girls desperately try to deny what they felt; what they feel. ..The other Glee kids know what’s up and attempt to play matchmaker.'
Chapter One
The First Sign of Crazy
"So, that was fun tonight, huh?"
Quinn looked pointedly at Sam, her eyebrow raised. "Are you a moron? Were we even at the same party?"
"Uh, yeah?"
Quinn just rolled her eyes and turned back to stare out the passenger window into the starless night, mentally ticking off the streetlights they passed on the drive back to her house.
"C'mon, Quinn," the boy coaxed, "I know you don't like Rachel and all, but it really wasn't that big a deal. We could've stuck around a little longer."
Her hands balled into fists on her lap. "Easy for you to say" she grumbled between gritted teeth. "You're not the one who had to suffer the humiliation of kissing Stubbles."
"I don't get why you have such a problem with her. Yeah, she's a little intense and kind of selfish, but…"
Quinn's head whipped to her left to spear him with a hard glare. "I swear to God if you start singing her praises the only thing you'll be getting intimate with from now on is your hand."
"Wow," Sam muttered with a shake of his head as he eased his car to a stop in the driveway of Quinn's two story Victorian. "I've gotta say, the head bitch attitude really isn't doing anything for me right now."
Seriously? Quinn did not need this right now. "Too bad for you. It's doing wonders for me." With a vicious yank to the handle, she pushed the door open, gracefully unfolded her body from the car, and, after slamming the door shut with a little extra force, she marched up her walkway and into her house without a glance back to her so-called boyfriend.
Once inside, Quinn tossed her keys on the hallway table and sagged against the door, dragging the fingers of her left hand through her hair. The house was dark with no sign of her mother having waited up for her return, and that was probably a good thing. They'd managed to begin tentative repairs to their damaged relationship, but it was still touch and go. Judy Fabray was never going to win mother of the year, but at least she'd stopped-well, cut back on-the drinking. She was trying, and so was Quinn.
Heaving a sigh, she quietly made her way up the stairs and into her bedroom, shedding her cardigan along the way. Moving on autopilot, she stripped out of her dress and threw on a comfortable t-shirt and sleep shorts, then made her way to the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face. Nightly rituals completed, she padded back to her room and threw herself across the bed. Her eyes drifted closed and she took a deep breath, willing her body to relax and her mind to shut down. It worked for all of thirty seconds before the memory of Rachel's kiss invaded her senses.
Quinn still wasn't entirely sure what had happened. She'd gone from being a reluctant participant to practically devouring the other girl in the blink of an eye. She remembered thinking Rachel's lips were soft, then catching a faint taste of raspberry mixed with some other unidentifiable flavor, and the combination had been intoxicating. A not-at-all unpleasant heat had shot down into her belly and exploded into places decidedly further south. And for the first time in her young life, she'd wanted.
She'd kissed boys before. Not dozens or anything-she wasn't a slut like Santana and Brittany-but there'd been a few. Her first kiss had been with David Pyle at the beginning of freshman year; the late start thanks in part to an overly strict father and firm Catholic upbringing. It was hardly more than an awkward press of stiff lips that felt so weird that she'd had to stifle a giggle. She'd given him the benefit of the doubt and they'd valiantly tried it a few more times with the same sad results. Needless to say, he hadn't impressed her and had soon been kicked to the curb, the subject of jokes about lizard lips. Quinn really had been a major bitch, even then. She didn't even think poor David still attended McKinley. He might have transferred to the Dalton Academy, or something.
Finn was the first boy she'd ever gotten serious with, and kissing him had been nice, if a little sloppy, but he'd never managed to do anything in their make out sessions that made her want to rethink her above the waist and over the bra rules. That was probably a good thing, seeing that his little problem would have undoubtedly left her completely unsatisfied.
Puck had just been a mistake. Coach Sylvester had been on her case about her weight, and Finn had been making noises about joining glee club, and Rachel freaking Berry had been making doe eyes at her boyfriend. Quinn had been pissed off and feeling bad and Puck had been there, telling her everything she'd needed to hear, like a devil on her shoulder that she just didn't have the will to fight. So she'd let him take her home and hand her a few wine coolers and convince her that giving up her virginity to him wasn't the worst idea in the history of womankind. The saddest part-besides the nine months of feeling like a whale and being pushed to the bottom of the food chain, and the pain of giving birth to and then giving up her baby-was that the sex hadn't even been particularly good.
And now there was Sam. He was cute, and sweet, and kind of a dork in a sometimes adorable way. Maybe she wasn't exactly in love with him, and maybe she hadn't started dating him for the right reasons, but he made her smile and she really needed that after last year. Yeah, he was even more image obsessed than she was, which was totally saying something (to the effect of shallow, much?) and no, kissing him didn't exactly set her world on fire, but she was kind of relieved about that part. She'd been perfectly serious about recommitting to her vow of celibacy, and she didn't need some boy tempting her into having sex when she knew first hand what the consequences could be.
But one kiss from Rachel Berry had redefined temptation, and Quinn hadn't even been self aware enough to realize what was happening to her. She'd been so lost in Rachel and her own unexpected response that she might have dragged her down to the carpet right there in Puck's living room had Rachel not suddenly had the good sense to pull away. And apparently Quinn had no sense at all, because she'd seriously been about two seconds away from just grabbing Rachel and kissing her again until Santana had made that comment about getting her freak on, and Quinn had realized exactly what she'd been doing-and how much she'd been enjoying it.
Damn it! Quinn slammed her palms against the mattress and squeezed her eyes shut tight. Stop thinking about Rachel. She's nothing! A loud mouthed, egocentric, boyfriend stealing little freak. You don't even like her, and you sure as hell don't want to kiss her again. You don't.
"I don't," she whispered into the darkness. It was just a…a weird glitch, or something. She'd just gotten caught up in the moment. She'd been agitated and annoyed and…and riled up. Yes, that was it! She'd probably confused anger for passion. That could happen, right? Especially to hormonal, emotional teenagers. It didn't actually mean anything.
Sighing, Quinn turned over onto her side and curled her knees up against her chest, resolved to forget about the whole fiasco. Tomorrow she'd call Sam and graciously accept his apology for being an oblivious, Rachel Berry defending jerk, and then everything would go back to normal.
•••
The sea of students parted in waves as Quinn Fabray stalked down the hall Monday morning. The set of her shoulders and scowl on her face was a shining beacon warning everyone to keep out of her path. One poor, acne faced freshman, nose glued to his iPhone, missed the signals and made the mistake of loitering too close to her locker. A sharp elbow connected with his shoulder and his precious phone went clattering to the floor. "Watch it, crater face," Quinn growled. The boy stared dejectedly down at his phone, and for a minute he looked like he might actually say something, but then he saw the murderous look on the head cheerleader's face and scampered away without a word. Shaking her head, Quinn tore her locker open and began grabbing her books, grumbling under her breath about stupid freshmen and self righteous boyfriends.
"Talking to yourself is the first sign of crazy, you know." Quinn slammed the metal door shut and glared at Santana, who was casually leaning against the row of lockers with her arms crossed. "Of course," Santana continued, "you kinda already dove head first into the crazy at Puck's party."
Quinn jabbed a finger into Santana's shoulder. "Don't even go there. I don't want to hear one word about Berry or that disgusting, meaningless, kiss. Especially from you. Don't think I don't know exactly what you and Britt get up to behind closed doors. Half the time you don't even close the door."
Santana grabbed Quinn's wrist and wrenched it away. "First, don't fucking poke me unless you want a throw down, because I will kick your fat ass and Schuester won't be around to save you this time. Second, I wasn't talking about you slobbering all over the troll doll. I was talking about the over the top diva storm out-which, by the way, you totally suck at-but since you're obviously full-on committed to the cray-cray, maybe we should explore your Berry-licious lip trip to Lesbos."
Quinn's face paled, then flushed red with rage and she got right up into Santana's personal space, voice dropping dangerously low. "Shut. The hell. Up. I'm not…like that."
Santana didn't even flinch. "Puh-lease, denial much? You are so a pressed lemon."
Quinn recoiled with a confused scowl. "What the hell is a pressed lemon?" she asked through gritted teeth.
"A lemon that is pressed," Brittany chimed in, appearing from behind Quinn and sliding over to Santana with a sweet smile. She held up a curled pinky, and Santana grinned back and hooked her own pinky with Brittany's in a gesture that Quinn had watched them perform a hundred times. She felt a weird pang in her stomach-it kind of felt like jealousy.
Santana turned uncharacteristically quiet. "Look Q. We may have our issues, but I know you. I know when you're about to go off the rails and I'd rather not have to suffer through the carnage of another train wreck. Just…keep your shit together, okay?"
Quinn crossed her arms. "Not that I don't appreciate your false concern, S…oh wait, I totally don't."
Santana rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Don't say I didn't warn you. C'mon, B." She started to walk away, pulling Brittany along beside her, who glanced back in bewilderment.
"But she's still all pressed."
Quinn wasn't exactly sure what Santana and Brittany had been implying, but she had a vague-alright, fairly unmistakable-idea, and it only added to her agitation. Her weekend had been bad enough. Sam hadn't bothered to answer his phone or respond to her texts until Saturday evening, and then he'd had the balls to expect her to apologize to him for being a bitch. She'd called him an unsupportive dick, and hung up on him. She was so not looking forward to the inevitable face to face confrontation. Especially now, when she knew that she needed him. Santana's accusation had hit a nerve, one that had been way too close to the surface since Friday night.
Despite Quinn's conviction to forget the incident with Rachel, her subconscious had dredged it up in her dreams for the past three nights-explicit dreams of dark eyes and dark hair, soft lips and toned legs, and kisses that sent chills running down her spine and heat pooling between her legs. She'd woken up aching every damn time. She felt dirty and wrong, because it was Rachel, and Rachel, despite Quinn's many and varied insults indicating otherwise, was very much a girl. A straight girl with a boyfriend. Just like Quinn was a straight girl with a (currently in the doghouse) boyfriend. She even had the cheesy promise ring to prove it. She was not gay. She couldn't be. She was Catholic. She'd been taught all her life, both at church and at home, that homosexuality was a sin.
She wasn't homophobic or anything. Despite what the bible said, she didn't really have a problem with other people being gay. She had no problem with Kurt or his (almost, maybe, boy)friend, Blaine. She just couldn't see choosing that lifestyle for herself. And yeah, she understood that it wasn't really a choice-because really, who would choose to be tormented and taunted and discriminated against?-but it was a choice for her. The good, righteous, ethical choice. She had chosen to date guys. She'd been pregnant for God's sake. Wasn't that proof enough of her heterosexuality?
It's not like she'd ever checked out other girls in the locker room. Okay, yes she had, but not in a gay way. All girls scoped out the competition, right? Comparing and contrasting? It wasn't sexual. She never got turned on when she caught Brittany and Santana being…well, Brittany and Santana. That weird twisting in her belly was revulsion, not arousal. She'd know the difference, wouldn't she?
So what if she'd maybe really enjoyed kissing Rachel-more than she'd enjoyed kissing any of her boyfriends. She'd just apparently had boyfriends who sucked at kissing. So what if she'd woken up Saturday morning at 3:00 am after one of those dreams and spent the next two hours lying awake, analyzing every interaction that she'd ever had with Rachel Berry, looking for any signs of a preexisting attraction, only to discover, to her horror that she had, in fact, been unusually fixated on the girl since freshman year. But it so wasn't because of some repressed sexual attraction or anything; it was only because Rachel was such an easy target-self-centered and annoying, with a better-than-everyone attitude that had always rubbed Quinn the wrong way.
And yes, Rachel was extremely talented, and maybe Quinn really did lov-like-like listening to her sing. She could also admit that she had a habit of staring at Rachel when no one else was watching, but it was only because Rachel was really passionate when she was performing, or ranting about...well, anything, and you couldn't help being strangely drawn to her. Quinn could even acknowledge, to herself anyway, that Rachel was kind of pretty in an unusual way, and yeah, also kind of hot sometimes too, but that was purely from an objective stand point-the whole comparing and contrasting thing again. Sue Sylvester's first rule of competition was know your enemy.
Overall, Quinn was happy to classify her feelings for Rachel Berry as very strong dislike, tempered with occasional bouts of grudging respect. The sex dreams were just another sign of an overly hormonal teenager with way too much shit on her mind that manifested in weird and abstract ways.
The real problem, she'd decided, was that she'd been too nice to Rachel lately, and that had to change. Quinn was going to restore the natural order of things. First, she'd get Sam back into line, and then-then she'd make sure Rachel Berry got reacquainted with the queen bitch.
•••
"Hey dude, how was your weekend?"
Sam Evans winced slightly at the force of Finn's hand as it slapped down on his shoulder, and glanced over to his friend. "Uh, alright I guess."
"Cool." Finn grinned, clearly not picking up on Sam's unenthusiastic response. "Mine was awesome. Rachel let me feel her up under her shirt, and I kicked Puck's ass in our Call Of Duty marathon Saturday. He blamed it on his hangover, but it still totally counts. I, uh, would have called to invite you, but Puck kinda hates your guts…you know, with the whole Quinn thing."
"Oh," Sam muttered dismally. "Speaking of Quinn-when you guys were together, did she ever, ah, call you a dick and refuse to speak to you again until you apologized for whatever it is she thinks you did wrong?"
Finn paused, a blank look falling over his face for a beat before he started chuckling, then outright laughing, at least until he caught the embarrassment on Sam's face. "Sorry, man. I've been there. Believe me. My advice, just say you're sorry and that she was totally right and you were totally wrong."
"But," Sam started, but Finn silenced him with a frown and a hand in the air.
"She was totally right, and you were totally wrong. If you're lucky, she won't break up with you."
Sam blanched, "She wouldn't do that, would she?"
Finn shrugged, "It's Quinn. She does whatever she wants. Freshman year, she totally made the captain of the varsity basketball team cry in the middle of the cafeteria. I think that dude had to move to Pittsburgh the next day, or something. But hey," he grinned and slapped Sam's shoulder again, "Good luck."
Sam watched Finn lumber down the hall and grimaced, feeling (not for the first time) that Finn was secretly hoping that his relationship with Quinn would tank. They were mostly friends, but from time to time that underlying sense of competition reared up and caused friction between the two boys. Sighing, he closed his locker and started toward the history class that he shared with his (hopefully still) girlfriend.
He'd spent the weekend reflecting on the stupid argument they'd had, and yeah, he probably shouldn't have called her a bitch, but he'd be lying if he said he was okay with the hateful insults that dripped so carelessly off Quinn's tongue. That shit was just not cool. Especially when, for once, Rachel Berry really hadn't deserved it. Okay, Rachel mostly never deserved half the crap that people said to her, but who was he to defend her? That was what Finn was supposed to be doing.
It wasn't like Sam hadn't heard the horror stories about Quinn-heck, she'd lied to Finn about being the father of her child and basically tortured him with guilt so he'd stay with her and take care of her and her medical bills. The general consensus at McKinley was that Quinn was a much better person since the whole baby thing, but yeah, there were moments when she was less than pleasant to be around. She was still a little bitchy, and kind of fanatical about her image and maintaining her (their) popularity, and maybe a little too invested in besting Santana and making snide comments about Rachel. He'd thought the Rachel thing was because of the Finn thing, and had worried briefly that maybe Quinn still had feelings for her ex-boyfriend until Kurt had assured him that Quinn had been firing pointed insults at Rachel for years-long before Finn Hudson had registered on either of the girls' radars.
So the whole kiss thing had been kind of weird. Sam had expected Quinn to refuse. After all, Quinn's desire to torture Rachel had been made clear in the very first conversation he'd had with her. Then again, maybe that was ultimately why she'd given in, since Rachel was actually defending Quinn's right to say no in a way that made her own agreeability-and therefore, herself-seem superior. One of the first things he'd learned about Quinn was that she didn't like to lose, so it totally made sense that she'd want to prove a point to Rachel, and Santana, and probably even Puck. Don't underestimate Quinn Fabray. Sam just hadn't been expecting the kiss to be so…hot. He'd been shocked speechless, along with everyone else, until the girls had jumped apart looking even more stunned than their friends. Then Quinn had upgraded her bitch mode to super size, threatened Santana, verbally degraded Rachel, stormed out on their friends, and topped the night off by calling Sam a moron. If he didn't know that Quinn was totally into guys, he might be worried that she was, like, repressing her secret love for Rachel Berry, or something. Who was he kidding? He was kind of worried…
And now he had a choice. He could stand his ground, call Quinn out (he wouldn't even acknowledge the unintentional pun-oh, except he sort of just did) and possibly lose her. Or, he could keep his opinions to himself, let her vent her bitchiness on targets that were not him, and hopefully get to keep the head cheerio as his girlfriend. Sighing, Sam smoothed a hand over his bangs and entered the classroom, his eyes immediately landing on the gorgeous blonde. She was sitting, posture perfectly straight, toward the back of the room, and there was an empty desk next to her that was calling out his name. He'd worked so hard to win her over. They were the golden couple, poised to rule the school. He wasn't about to give that up because of a little adversity. Rachel Berry would just have to fend for herself.
•••
Quinn was aware of Sam sliding into the desk next to her, and she slanted him an unaffected glare. He flashed her what she was sure he thought was a charming grin, and she raised an eyebrow. He so wasn't getting off that easily. She felt a flicker of triumph when his smile disappeared and he bowed his head sheepishly. Good boy, she thought, ignoring the obedient dog metaphor that sprang to mind, even if it was kind of fitting.
Sam leaned toward her, quietly murmuring, "Hey, I'm…uh…really sorry. You know, about the other night, and…um…hanging up on you and everything. I was wrong."
Quinn's eyebrows inched up a little higher. That seemed way too easy. "Are you really sorry, or are you just telling me what I want to hear so that I'll forgive you?"
A look of confusion clouded his features. "Ah…really sorry?"
"So you know what you did wrong?" she pushed. Sam bit his lip and appeared to be carefully thinking about the correct answer. Quinn suppressed a laugh. Really, boys were so predictable.
"I should have been more supportive of your feelings," he finally answered. "And I shouldn't have called you a bitch. You were right to be pissed at me, and I promise I won't do it again."
"So," she purred, "if I wanted you to make it up to me by, say, giving Berry a slushie facial today, you'd do it?"
He paled a bit and gulped in a deep breath. "I really, really wish you wouldn't ask me to do that, you know, because of Finn, but…yeah, I would."
Quinn smiled and reached out to stroke Sam's cheek, feeling a little high on the power she apparently had over him. "You're forgiven. And don't worry, you're off the hook on the slushie front. I've already made arrangements."
Sam frowned, and looked like he was ready to question her further, but the teacher chose that moment to enter and call the class to attention. Quinn turned to face forward and opened her notebook, diligently refocusing all her attention to the lecture on World War II.
Chapter Three
Author: poetzproblem
Fandom Glee
Characters: Rachel Berry / Quinn Fabray
Word Count: 3974
Rating: R
Summary: One pivotal moment can change everything.
Spoilers/Warnings: hrough A Very Glee Christmas. Then AU. Cursing, sexual references, FemSlash.
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or the characters, just like to play with them.
A/N: Written for a Faberry prompt, but can't remember where. 'Rachel and Quinn share a kiss during a game of spin the bottle. From that night forward both girls desperately try to deny what they felt; what they feel. ..The other Glee kids know what’s up and attempt to play matchmaker.'
Chapter One
The First Sign of Crazy
"So, that was fun tonight, huh?"
Quinn looked pointedly at Sam, her eyebrow raised. "Are you a moron? Were we even at the same party?"
"Uh, yeah?"
Quinn just rolled her eyes and turned back to stare out the passenger window into the starless night, mentally ticking off the streetlights they passed on the drive back to her house.
"C'mon, Quinn," the boy coaxed, "I know you don't like Rachel and all, but it really wasn't that big a deal. We could've stuck around a little longer."
Her hands balled into fists on her lap. "Easy for you to say" she grumbled between gritted teeth. "You're not the one who had to suffer the humiliation of kissing Stubbles."
"I don't get why you have such a problem with her. Yeah, she's a little intense and kind of selfish, but…"
Quinn's head whipped to her left to spear him with a hard glare. "I swear to God if you start singing her praises the only thing you'll be getting intimate with from now on is your hand."
"Wow," Sam muttered with a shake of his head as he eased his car to a stop in the driveway of Quinn's two story Victorian. "I've gotta say, the head bitch attitude really isn't doing anything for me right now."
Seriously? Quinn did not need this right now. "Too bad for you. It's doing wonders for me." With a vicious yank to the handle, she pushed the door open, gracefully unfolded her body from the car, and, after slamming the door shut with a little extra force, she marched up her walkway and into her house without a glance back to her so-called boyfriend.
Once inside, Quinn tossed her keys on the hallway table and sagged against the door, dragging the fingers of her left hand through her hair. The house was dark with no sign of her mother having waited up for her return, and that was probably a good thing. They'd managed to begin tentative repairs to their damaged relationship, but it was still touch and go. Judy Fabray was never going to win mother of the year, but at least she'd stopped-well, cut back on-the drinking. She was trying, and so was Quinn.
Heaving a sigh, she quietly made her way up the stairs and into her bedroom, shedding her cardigan along the way. Moving on autopilot, she stripped out of her dress and threw on a comfortable t-shirt and sleep shorts, then made her way to the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face. Nightly rituals completed, she padded back to her room and threw herself across the bed. Her eyes drifted closed and she took a deep breath, willing her body to relax and her mind to shut down. It worked for all of thirty seconds before the memory of Rachel's kiss invaded her senses.
Quinn still wasn't entirely sure what had happened. She'd gone from being a reluctant participant to practically devouring the other girl in the blink of an eye. She remembered thinking Rachel's lips were soft, then catching a faint taste of raspberry mixed with some other unidentifiable flavor, and the combination had been intoxicating. A not-at-all unpleasant heat had shot down into her belly and exploded into places decidedly further south. And for the first time in her young life, she'd wanted.
She'd kissed boys before. Not dozens or anything-she wasn't a slut like Santana and Brittany-but there'd been a few. Her first kiss had been with David Pyle at the beginning of freshman year; the late start thanks in part to an overly strict father and firm Catholic upbringing. It was hardly more than an awkward press of stiff lips that felt so weird that she'd had to stifle a giggle. She'd given him the benefit of the doubt and they'd valiantly tried it a few more times with the same sad results. Needless to say, he hadn't impressed her and had soon been kicked to the curb, the subject of jokes about lizard lips. Quinn really had been a major bitch, even then. She didn't even think poor David still attended McKinley. He might have transferred to the Dalton Academy, or something.
Finn was the first boy she'd ever gotten serious with, and kissing him had been nice, if a little sloppy, but he'd never managed to do anything in their make out sessions that made her want to rethink her above the waist and over the bra rules. That was probably a good thing, seeing that his little problem would have undoubtedly left her completely unsatisfied.
Puck had just been a mistake. Coach Sylvester had been on her case about her weight, and Finn had been making noises about joining glee club, and Rachel freaking Berry had been making doe eyes at her boyfriend. Quinn had been pissed off and feeling bad and Puck had been there, telling her everything she'd needed to hear, like a devil on her shoulder that she just didn't have the will to fight. So she'd let him take her home and hand her a few wine coolers and convince her that giving up her virginity to him wasn't the worst idea in the history of womankind. The saddest part-besides the nine months of feeling like a whale and being pushed to the bottom of the food chain, and the pain of giving birth to and then giving up her baby-was that the sex hadn't even been particularly good.
And now there was Sam. He was cute, and sweet, and kind of a dork in a sometimes adorable way. Maybe she wasn't exactly in love with him, and maybe she hadn't started dating him for the right reasons, but he made her smile and she really needed that after last year. Yeah, he was even more image obsessed than she was, which was totally saying something (to the effect of shallow, much?) and no, kissing him didn't exactly set her world on fire, but she was kind of relieved about that part. She'd been perfectly serious about recommitting to her vow of celibacy, and she didn't need some boy tempting her into having sex when she knew first hand what the consequences could be.
But one kiss from Rachel Berry had redefined temptation, and Quinn hadn't even been self aware enough to realize what was happening to her. She'd been so lost in Rachel and her own unexpected response that she might have dragged her down to the carpet right there in Puck's living room had Rachel not suddenly had the good sense to pull away. And apparently Quinn had no sense at all, because she'd seriously been about two seconds away from just grabbing Rachel and kissing her again until Santana had made that comment about getting her freak on, and Quinn had realized exactly what she'd been doing-and how much she'd been enjoying it.
Damn it! Quinn slammed her palms against the mattress and squeezed her eyes shut tight. Stop thinking about Rachel. She's nothing! A loud mouthed, egocentric, boyfriend stealing little freak. You don't even like her, and you sure as hell don't want to kiss her again. You don't.
"I don't," she whispered into the darkness. It was just a…a weird glitch, or something. She'd just gotten caught up in the moment. She'd been agitated and annoyed and…and riled up. Yes, that was it! She'd probably confused anger for passion. That could happen, right? Especially to hormonal, emotional teenagers. It didn't actually mean anything.
Sighing, Quinn turned over onto her side and curled her knees up against her chest, resolved to forget about the whole fiasco. Tomorrow she'd call Sam and graciously accept his apology for being an oblivious, Rachel Berry defending jerk, and then everything would go back to normal.
•••
The sea of students parted in waves as Quinn Fabray stalked down the hall Monday morning. The set of her shoulders and scowl on her face was a shining beacon warning everyone to keep out of her path. One poor, acne faced freshman, nose glued to his iPhone, missed the signals and made the mistake of loitering too close to her locker. A sharp elbow connected with his shoulder and his precious phone went clattering to the floor. "Watch it, crater face," Quinn growled. The boy stared dejectedly down at his phone, and for a minute he looked like he might actually say something, but then he saw the murderous look on the head cheerleader's face and scampered away without a word. Shaking her head, Quinn tore her locker open and began grabbing her books, grumbling under her breath about stupid freshmen and self righteous boyfriends.
"Talking to yourself is the first sign of crazy, you know." Quinn slammed the metal door shut and glared at Santana, who was casually leaning against the row of lockers with her arms crossed. "Of course," Santana continued, "you kinda already dove head first into the crazy at Puck's party."
Quinn jabbed a finger into Santana's shoulder. "Don't even go there. I don't want to hear one word about Berry or that disgusting, meaningless, kiss. Especially from you. Don't think I don't know exactly what you and Britt get up to behind closed doors. Half the time you don't even close the door."
Santana grabbed Quinn's wrist and wrenched it away. "First, don't fucking poke me unless you want a throw down, because I will kick your fat ass and Schuester won't be around to save you this time. Second, I wasn't talking about you slobbering all over the troll doll. I was talking about the over the top diva storm out-which, by the way, you totally suck at-but since you're obviously full-on committed to the cray-cray, maybe we should explore your Berry-licious lip trip to Lesbos."
Quinn's face paled, then flushed red with rage and she got right up into Santana's personal space, voice dropping dangerously low. "Shut. The hell. Up. I'm not…like that."
Santana didn't even flinch. "Puh-lease, denial much? You are so a pressed lemon."
Quinn recoiled with a confused scowl. "What the hell is a pressed lemon?" she asked through gritted teeth.
"A lemon that is pressed," Brittany chimed in, appearing from behind Quinn and sliding over to Santana with a sweet smile. She held up a curled pinky, and Santana grinned back and hooked her own pinky with Brittany's in a gesture that Quinn had watched them perform a hundred times. She felt a weird pang in her stomach-it kind of felt like jealousy.
Santana turned uncharacteristically quiet. "Look Q. We may have our issues, but I know you. I know when you're about to go off the rails and I'd rather not have to suffer through the carnage of another train wreck. Just…keep your shit together, okay?"
Quinn crossed her arms. "Not that I don't appreciate your false concern, S…oh wait, I totally don't."
Santana rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Don't say I didn't warn you. C'mon, B." She started to walk away, pulling Brittany along beside her, who glanced back in bewilderment.
"But she's still all pressed."
Quinn wasn't exactly sure what Santana and Brittany had been implying, but she had a vague-alright, fairly unmistakable-idea, and it only added to her agitation. Her weekend had been bad enough. Sam hadn't bothered to answer his phone or respond to her texts until Saturday evening, and then he'd had the balls to expect her to apologize to him for being a bitch. She'd called him an unsupportive dick, and hung up on him. She was so not looking forward to the inevitable face to face confrontation. Especially now, when she knew that she needed him. Santana's accusation had hit a nerve, one that had been way too close to the surface since Friday night.
Despite Quinn's conviction to forget the incident with Rachel, her subconscious had dredged it up in her dreams for the past three nights-explicit dreams of dark eyes and dark hair, soft lips and toned legs, and kisses that sent chills running down her spine and heat pooling between her legs. She'd woken up aching every damn time. She felt dirty and wrong, because it was Rachel, and Rachel, despite Quinn's many and varied insults indicating otherwise, was very much a girl. A straight girl with a boyfriend. Just like Quinn was a straight girl with a (currently in the doghouse) boyfriend. She even had the cheesy promise ring to prove it. She was not gay. She couldn't be. She was Catholic. She'd been taught all her life, both at church and at home, that homosexuality was a sin.
She wasn't homophobic or anything. Despite what the bible said, she didn't really have a problem with other people being gay. She had no problem with Kurt or his (almost, maybe, boy)friend, Blaine. She just couldn't see choosing that lifestyle for herself. And yeah, she understood that it wasn't really a choice-because really, who would choose to be tormented and taunted and discriminated against?-but it was a choice for her. The good, righteous, ethical choice. She had chosen to date guys. She'd been pregnant for God's sake. Wasn't that proof enough of her heterosexuality?
It's not like she'd ever checked out other girls in the locker room. Okay, yes she had, but not in a gay way. All girls scoped out the competition, right? Comparing and contrasting? It wasn't sexual. She never got turned on when she caught Brittany and Santana being…well, Brittany and Santana. That weird twisting in her belly was revulsion, not arousal. She'd know the difference, wouldn't she?
So what if she'd maybe really enjoyed kissing Rachel-more than she'd enjoyed kissing any of her boyfriends. She'd just apparently had boyfriends who sucked at kissing. So what if she'd woken up Saturday morning at 3:00 am after one of those dreams and spent the next two hours lying awake, analyzing every interaction that she'd ever had with Rachel Berry, looking for any signs of a preexisting attraction, only to discover, to her horror that she had, in fact, been unusually fixated on the girl since freshman year. But it so wasn't because of some repressed sexual attraction or anything; it was only because Rachel was such an easy target-self-centered and annoying, with a better-than-everyone attitude that had always rubbed Quinn the wrong way.
And yes, Rachel was extremely talented, and maybe Quinn really did lov-like-like listening to her sing. She could also admit that she had a habit of staring at Rachel when no one else was watching, but it was only because Rachel was really passionate when she was performing, or ranting about...well, anything, and you couldn't help being strangely drawn to her. Quinn could even acknowledge, to herself anyway, that Rachel was kind of pretty in an unusual way, and yeah, also kind of hot sometimes too, but that was purely from an objective stand point-the whole comparing and contrasting thing again. Sue Sylvester's first rule of competition was know your enemy.
Overall, Quinn was happy to classify her feelings for Rachel Berry as very strong dislike, tempered with occasional bouts of grudging respect. The sex dreams were just another sign of an overly hormonal teenager with way too much shit on her mind that manifested in weird and abstract ways.
The real problem, she'd decided, was that she'd been too nice to Rachel lately, and that had to change. Quinn was going to restore the natural order of things. First, she'd get Sam back into line, and then-then she'd make sure Rachel Berry got reacquainted with the queen bitch.
•••
"Hey dude, how was your weekend?"
Sam Evans winced slightly at the force of Finn's hand as it slapped down on his shoulder, and glanced over to his friend. "Uh, alright I guess."
"Cool." Finn grinned, clearly not picking up on Sam's unenthusiastic response. "Mine was awesome. Rachel let me feel her up under her shirt, and I kicked Puck's ass in our Call Of Duty marathon Saturday. He blamed it on his hangover, but it still totally counts. I, uh, would have called to invite you, but Puck kinda hates your guts…you know, with the whole Quinn thing."
"Oh," Sam muttered dismally. "Speaking of Quinn-when you guys were together, did she ever, ah, call you a dick and refuse to speak to you again until you apologized for whatever it is she thinks you did wrong?"
Finn paused, a blank look falling over his face for a beat before he started chuckling, then outright laughing, at least until he caught the embarrassment on Sam's face. "Sorry, man. I've been there. Believe me. My advice, just say you're sorry and that she was totally right and you were totally wrong."
"But," Sam started, but Finn silenced him with a frown and a hand in the air.
"She was totally right, and you were totally wrong. If you're lucky, she won't break up with you."
Sam blanched, "She wouldn't do that, would she?"
Finn shrugged, "It's Quinn. She does whatever she wants. Freshman year, she totally made the captain of the varsity basketball team cry in the middle of the cafeteria. I think that dude had to move to Pittsburgh the next day, or something. But hey," he grinned and slapped Sam's shoulder again, "Good luck."
Sam watched Finn lumber down the hall and grimaced, feeling (not for the first time) that Finn was secretly hoping that his relationship with Quinn would tank. They were mostly friends, but from time to time that underlying sense of competition reared up and caused friction between the two boys. Sighing, he closed his locker and started toward the history class that he shared with his (hopefully still) girlfriend.
He'd spent the weekend reflecting on the stupid argument they'd had, and yeah, he probably shouldn't have called her a bitch, but he'd be lying if he said he was okay with the hateful insults that dripped so carelessly off Quinn's tongue. That shit was just not cool. Especially when, for once, Rachel Berry really hadn't deserved it. Okay, Rachel mostly never deserved half the crap that people said to her, but who was he to defend her? That was what Finn was supposed to be doing.
It wasn't like Sam hadn't heard the horror stories about Quinn-heck, she'd lied to Finn about being the father of her child and basically tortured him with guilt so he'd stay with her and take care of her and her medical bills. The general consensus at McKinley was that Quinn was a much better person since the whole baby thing, but yeah, there were moments when she was less than pleasant to be around. She was still a little bitchy, and kind of fanatical about her image and maintaining her (their) popularity, and maybe a little too invested in besting Santana and making snide comments about Rachel. He'd thought the Rachel thing was because of the Finn thing, and had worried briefly that maybe Quinn still had feelings for her ex-boyfriend until Kurt had assured him that Quinn had been firing pointed insults at Rachel for years-long before Finn Hudson had registered on either of the girls' radars.
So the whole kiss thing had been kind of weird. Sam had expected Quinn to refuse. After all, Quinn's desire to torture Rachel had been made clear in the very first conversation he'd had with her. Then again, maybe that was ultimately why she'd given in, since Rachel was actually defending Quinn's right to say no in a way that made her own agreeability-and therefore, herself-seem superior. One of the first things he'd learned about Quinn was that she didn't like to lose, so it totally made sense that she'd want to prove a point to Rachel, and Santana, and probably even Puck. Don't underestimate Quinn Fabray. Sam just hadn't been expecting the kiss to be so…hot. He'd been shocked speechless, along with everyone else, until the girls had jumped apart looking even more stunned than their friends. Then Quinn had upgraded her bitch mode to super size, threatened Santana, verbally degraded Rachel, stormed out on their friends, and topped the night off by calling Sam a moron. If he didn't know that Quinn was totally into guys, he might be worried that she was, like, repressing her secret love for Rachel Berry, or something. Who was he kidding? He was kind of worried…
And now he had a choice. He could stand his ground, call Quinn out (he wouldn't even acknowledge the unintentional pun-oh, except he sort of just did) and possibly lose her. Or, he could keep his opinions to himself, let her vent her bitchiness on targets that were not him, and hopefully get to keep the head cheerio as his girlfriend. Sighing, Sam smoothed a hand over his bangs and entered the classroom, his eyes immediately landing on the gorgeous blonde. She was sitting, posture perfectly straight, toward the back of the room, and there was an empty desk next to her that was calling out his name. He'd worked so hard to win her over. They were the golden couple, poised to rule the school. He wasn't about to give that up because of a little adversity. Rachel Berry would just have to fend for herself.
•••
Quinn was aware of Sam sliding into the desk next to her, and she slanted him an unaffected glare. He flashed her what she was sure he thought was a charming grin, and she raised an eyebrow. He so wasn't getting off that easily. She felt a flicker of triumph when his smile disappeared and he bowed his head sheepishly. Good boy, she thought, ignoring the obedient dog metaphor that sprang to mind, even if it was kind of fitting.
Sam leaned toward her, quietly murmuring, "Hey, I'm…uh…really sorry. You know, about the other night, and…um…hanging up on you and everything. I was wrong."
Quinn's eyebrows inched up a little higher. That seemed way too easy. "Are you really sorry, or are you just telling me what I want to hear so that I'll forgive you?"
A look of confusion clouded his features. "Ah…really sorry?"
"So you know what you did wrong?" she pushed. Sam bit his lip and appeared to be carefully thinking about the correct answer. Quinn suppressed a laugh. Really, boys were so predictable.
"I should have been more supportive of your feelings," he finally answered. "And I shouldn't have called you a bitch. You were right to be pissed at me, and I promise I won't do it again."
"So," she purred, "if I wanted you to make it up to me by, say, giving Berry a slushie facial today, you'd do it?"
He paled a bit and gulped in a deep breath. "I really, really wish you wouldn't ask me to do that, you know, because of Finn, but…yeah, I would."
Quinn smiled and reached out to stroke Sam's cheek, feeling a little high on the power she apparently had over him. "You're forgiven. And don't worry, you're off the hook on the slushie front. I've already made arrangements."
Sam frowned, and looked like he was ready to question her further, but the teacher chose that moment to enter and call the class to attention. Quinn turned to face forward and opened her notebook, diligently refocusing all her attention to the lecture on World War II.
Chapter Three