FIC: "Regrets, I've Had A Few" [RPF; Lea Michele/Dianna Agron]
Title: Regrets, I’ve Had A Few
Fandom: Glee/RPF
Pairing: Lea Michele/Dianna Agron
Rating: Mature, warning for DubCon, drunk!sex.
Word Count: 3533
Summary: MOAR ANGST!! Written for the Glee_Angst_Meme. Prompt - Lea/Diana; First time, DubCon. ‘They were drunk. They had sex. Only Dianna didn't know Lea was still a virgin and she can't remember if Lea said 'yes'. And yes, Virginia, there is a happy ending!
Disclaimer: While the characters are based upon real people, this is a work of fiction intended for fun and not profit.
ETA: Because, dammit, it was for the Glee *Angst* meme not Kink meme!!
**
You meant it when you said you could fuck her all night. Of course, you were really, really wasted when you said it but the sentiment was still the same. You’re not really sure when your relationship with her went from friends, to besties, to a little crush that went from love then exploded into full-born lust. Maybe even an obsession.
Lea getting her own place was, honestly, the best thing that could have happened. The longer the two of you lived together, the harder it was to content yourself with the whole best friends routine. Because you didn’t just want her anymore, you desired her, you craved her.
Your head’s pounding a little but it’s nothing a couple aspirin and a long, hot shower can’t take care of. So you stretch your nude body big-cat like across the mattress, pushing your arm towards her side of the bed because you want to feel her warmth against you. Instead..
You feel nothing.
“Lea?” Mumbles from your lips as you open your eyes and lift your head. The bedroom’s empty. Judging by the silence, so is the apartment. This doesn’t bother not, not really, but okay, maybe just a little. Because, just as you could fuck her all night, you could fuck her all day too. And, right now, you really, really want to especially now that you’re sober.
The shower is the longest and hottest you’ve taken since.. well, since the last time you got completely trashed. Which, admittedly, seems to be happening a bit too much lately. You’ve all been going to so many parties lately.
The shower ends because the water’s gone cold. You dress, brush your teeth, comb then pull back your wet hair into a ponytail. Zombie-like, you make your way to the kitchen. The water’s ice cold, feels so good and you drink, like, a gallon of it before making your way back to the bedroom. It’s a Friday, first day of a three-day weekend for the entire cast and crew. And you think spending half of it in bed is the best idea next to fucking Lea day and night.
In your bedroom, ready to just crawl back onto the mattress and yank the sheets over your head, something catches your eye and you freeze.
There’s blood on the sheets.
Not a lot, just a couple smears, like a nosebleed caught a few seconds too late. Except, you don’t remember either or you getting elbowed in the nose, the location of the blood is nowhere close to where a nose would be and you know Lea’s not on her period. The two of you are so close, your cycle’s are practically in sync.
So why is there blood on the bed?
The night before begins to replay in your mind.
**
Another party. You’re all there. There’s laughing, dancing and alcohol flowing like it’s going out of style. You’re on your third vodka-cranberry, ten-feet tall and bulletproof. Eyes scanning about the room, you finally find her. She’s in a corner, quietly smoking a cigarette because she’s been ‘on’ all fucking day, working the press, giving interview after interview, taking photo after photo, autograph after autograph. And you know she’s standing there by herself because she needs a moment to de-stress.
“Hey,” you say as you walk over to her. She just smiles back. She’s had a few drinks herself and she looks kinda like you feel. More than buzzed, less than drunk.. maybe.
Emboldened, mostly by the liquor, you wrap your arms around her waist. She turns her head to keep from blowing smoke in your face. You pull her closer to you, hips against hips, breasts against breasts. And then your face is nuzzling against her neck, heartbeat skipping because you licked your lips and the tip of your tongue brushed against her neck, the taste of her skin filling your mouth.
The two of you stand like this for what feels like an eternity. It’s almost like dancing because you’re swaying a little, grinding your hips a little.
“Dianna,” she finally says, giggling lightly.
“Lea,” you mumble into her neck, stilling your hips. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t pull away either. You pull your head back, just enough to see her eyes. “What would you do if I kissed you right now?”
She blinks, half squints. Not quite certain if this is still a game or not. That friendly flirting thing you two always do. She opens her lips like she’s about to say something but you don’t wait to hear what she has to say.
Her lips are better than you imagined, softer, fuller, wetter. She tastes like grapefruit, vodka and tobacco. Which you don’t mind because it’s her. She shivers against you when she opens her lips and you worm your tongue into her mouth. You take a hand, slide it up her side, casually slipping it through the fabric cut almost obscenely low under her arms. Her reluctance to wear bras is your advantage. You touch her lightly, softly as you kiss, grazing your thumb over her nipple which is now hard as a rock. She moans into your mouth and it’s now her hips that are slowly grinding against yours.
The kiss breaks because, honestly, air. She chuckles, pulling her cigarette up to eye level, the cherry having burned down to the filter. “I guess I didn’t need this,” she laughs.
You just press your forehead against hers. “Let’s go home.”
Her place is closer but you want her at yours. It’s felt so empty since she moved out. The cab ride takes forever because she won’t let you touch her, so the two of you merely hold hands, smiling, giggling.
Your fingers are shaking by the time you get to your door. She’s bolder now. The hallway is quiet, hallway. She wraps her hands around your waist, her breasts pressing against your back.
“Nervous?” she laughs.
The door finally opens and you practically yank her into the space. All that pressure that’s been building, the denial, the yearning, the wanting, it breaks the final barrier between the two of you. You want her. She wants you back.
You don’t have to pretend anymore.
Pushing and pulling and kissing, the two of you finally make it to the bedroom. You pull off her dress, she pulls off yours. When you’re finally naked, finally get her on the bed, you have to pause because the sight of her takes your breath away. There’s a light still on, which is good, because you can see everything - her golden, honey colored skin, full breasts and completely erect nipples, long legs with oh-so-toned thighs. Then you lick your lips when your eyes meet the vee of her legs and the perfectly trimmed landing strip.
She’s gazing up at you, almost demurely. You look up at her and she breaks the eye contact, cheeks darkening in the dim light of your bedroom.
You clamber onto the bed, starting at her ankles you kiss your way up - ankle, calf, side of knee, thigh, inside of thigh. Her legs open wider, she opens herself wider to you, flushed and swollen and, God, she’s so fucking wet. Lea moans, so do you as you swipe your tongue and her taste fills your mouth. You lick, suckle, swirl, prod and poke, eyes practically rolling in the back of your head because she tastes so damn good.
The pressure’s building between your legs and the grinding you’ve been doing to relieve the pressure just isn’t working. At all. You wanna come. You want her to come. You want your fingers inside her when you both do.
And then you’re climbing up her, pressing down, moaning as you straddle her thigh.
“Di..”
You cut her off with a kiss. Her hands are on your shoulders, nails kinda digging into the flesh. So you take her hands by the wrists, cross them over the other and pin them over her head. She’s wriggling beneath you now and it feels so good, so good. Her leg, the one not clamped between your thighs, lifts and drapes over the swell of your hip.
“God, I wanna fuck you so bad,” you say as your hand slides between the two of you, into her warm and wet folds. You press one, two, no, three fingers at her opening.
“Di..” she breaks the kiss, tensing beneath you. Her voice weak and soft. “Wait..”
You push your fingers into her.
**
“Oh God!” Your legs go rubbery. You feel sick to your stomach. You need to sit down. But not on the bed, God, not on the bed. Scrambling, you tear apart your bedroom because your cell’s not where you put it. When you finally find it, your hands are trembling as you speed dial her number.
“This is Lea, you know what to do.”
“Call me,” you say, trying not to let your voice crack. “Please.”
Lea doesn’t return your call, or the twenty or so ones after that, or your texts, emails. A day goes by and you’ve called, like, the entire cast.
‘Have you talked to Lea?’
‘Have you seen Lea?’
‘Do you know where Lea is?’
‘Nope.’
‘No.’
‘No.’
Saturday evening rolls around and the cast is about as panicked as you are. You take the initiative and go to her apartment, entering with the spare set of keys she gave you when she signed the lease. Her apartment’s empty and looks like it’s been this way for awhile, since that night. You’re standing in her apartment about to call her Mother when your phone buzzes.
It’s an email from Lea sent to everybody. Everybody. Not solely to you.
‘Thanks for your concern. I’m fine. See you Monday - L’
You dial her number again and get her voicemail. You don’t bother to leave a message. Instead, you just flop down on her couch and start to cry, wondering what the Hell you‘ve done.
**
It’s early Sunday morning and you awake to the sound of a key sliding into the door.
She enters her apartment, looking tiny and frail, all deeply bundled in her coat and scarf. She’s pale and there are dark circles under her eyes, like she’s been crying as much as you have. Probably more.
She stops in her tracks as you rise from the couch, hands nervously shoved into your pockets. “Hey.”
Her face is blank, unreadable.
“Listen, Lea..” You move towards her and she takes a step back, a hand raised defensively. Her movements crystal clear - she doesn’t want you near her. All you’ve ever wanted and, just like that, it’s gone.
She blinks a couple times to hold back the water filling her eyes, trembling lips held tight together. “I think you should leave.”
“Okay.” Is all you can manage say. Somehow, despite your brain screaming, your legs move you towards the door.
“And set the key over there.”
You thought you’d realized how badly you’d hurt her but this cuts you to the bone. Makes your chest seize, rends your heart like a piece of your soul has just been ripped out.
What ever’s left in you, you find the strength to pull her key from the ring and leave it on the table next to the door. Then, you step through it.
It’s not enough. You know it’s not enough but you have to say it anyway. “Lea, I’m sorry.”
Lea closes the door.
**
A sucker punch to the gut is waiting for you when you arrive onset. Lea’s asked to be moved to another trailer. Nobody really knows what’s going on, but they know something BIG has happened between the two of you. You’ve all been so close, closer than family in some ways and, now, a schism is building and nobody knows which side to fall on because they don’t know which one of you is the Yoko breaking up the band.
You try not to cry when you enter the half-empty trailer the two of you shared. A day goes by and then another and another, until a week has passed. A week of you two sharing scenes, staring into each other’s eyes then immediately breaking it when the Director says cut. A week of trying desperately not to stare at her during the table readings.
The ache builds within you like a tightly lidded kettle under too much steam. Even though you know you don’t deserve to feel sorry for yourself, you can’t help it. You lost more than a potential lover, you’ve lost your best friend.
It’s Friday and the pressure’s become too much. You’ve lived off crumbs before and you’ll live off them again if she would just throw you one tiny piece. You knock on the door of her trailer, forgetting to announce it’s you.
“Come in.”
You enter, slowly, cautiously. Like she might just throw something at you. There’s a thin haze of smoke in the tiny space, an ashtray filled with more cigarette butts than what Lea normally smokes in a month.
She’s sitting on the tiny couch, reading next week’s script. She’s dressed as Rachel. And you feel bad for noting the difference because Lea’s wearing a bra.
She senses your presence, looks up from her script and her eyes go wide.
“Hey,” you say in your Quinn outfit and fake belly strapped around your waist. “Can we talk? Please.”
Her lips purse, brows crinkle, the indecision written all over her face. But you can’t keep it in you anymore so you talk first.
“I’m sorry, Lea. I am so, so sorry. I didn’t know..”
“That’s the part that hurts the worst,” she cuts you off, her voice tinged with anger and sadness. “It wasn’t the sex. Okay, that was part of it. I mean, you were so sweet to me, so loving and then..” her voice quavers and she stops, collecting herself. “You were my best friend.”
“I didn’t know. I thought..”
“You thought what everyone else thinks!” She’s up on her feet, tossing the script onto the couch, hands balling into fists. “Lea’s a slut. Lea’s been around the block a couple times. I’m sleeping with everybody. But from you?” she slumps back onto the couch like all the energy’s been sapped from her body. “I wanted it to be special,” she says with a voice so weak, so frail, it cuts what’s left of you into pieces so small, you‘re not sure if there‘s anything of you left.
She’s right. You did think of her that way. She was always the flirty one, the open one. So comfortable in her own body, with her sexuality. Hell, she bared her breasts on Broadway. She talked about sex, sometimes in ways that would make a sailor blush. You just.. assumed. Assumed because you were too busy thinking of all the kinky shit you wanted to do to her, instead of thinking, let alone, asking the simplest, most basic question. Because, it’s only now that you think of that night when you and the girls were playing 20 questions and someone asked Lea how she lost her virginity. Only now that you remember how Lea changed the subject on a dime, her cheeks practically bursting into flames from embarrassment, without ever really answering the question. God, the answer was RIGHT in front of you!
And now you’re brain is trying desperately to come up with the right words to make it all better, only to come up short. You took something from her she can never get back because you were too drunk, too caught up in your own desires to step back and consider hers. It cuts to the bone because you realize when she said she wanted it to be special, there were unsaid words hanging in the air. She wanted it to be special. She wanted it to be special with you.
“What do we do now?” you ask because it’s the only thing you can think of to say that doesn’t sound weak or patronizing.
“I don’t know,” she answers. Which is kind of good because, at least, she’s talking to you.
“I’m in love with you.”
She lifts her head, looks you straight in the eye. “I know.”
**
She calls on Saturday. The conversation’s short, awkward but you’re happy because at least she called.
**
The week’s go by and things get.. better. Not like before just better. She actually looks you in the eye. When you’re with your cast mates, she actually talks to you.
There’s the day you’re sitting at the table for a reading and she takes the seat next to yours.
There’s also the day, and you’re not really sure how this happened, other than that‘s how the Director blocked it - you and Lea standing next to each other. She moves and it’s just instinctual - the hand you place on the small of her back. You feel her shiver at your touch, the quick glance from the corner of her eye and the slight blush darkening her cheeks.
It takes everything you have to not squeal like a 12-year-old girl at a Jonas Brothers concert or, worse, do cartwheels across the floor.
**
It’s the end of the season. A wrap party. It’s not like you’re an alcoholic or anything but you haven’t touched the stuff since that day which almost feels like a decade ago.
She’s standing in a corner by herself, the cigarette’s lit but she hasn’t taken a drag. Not that you’ve been watching her the entire evening like some deranged stalker or something. You take a chance, walk over to her, keeping the distance between you casual.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” she smiles back. “It’s my last one. After this, I’m quitting.”
“Good for you,” you smile back.
A silence grows between you underneath the music blaring from the speakers and the multiple conversations filling the room. She lifts her cigarette but before it can reach her lips she stares at it then puts her arm back down.
“Fuck it,” she finally says, shaking her head. She finds a half-empty cup filled with beer and puts the cigarette out in it. She turns back to you, takes a half step closer. She threads her fingers together, nervously worrying them back and forth now that she doesn’t have anything to do with her hands.
“I miss you,” she says and your chest seizes and your heart skips a beat.
“I miss you, too.”
She steps closer and you almost step back because the two of you haven’t been this close in a long time. She tilts her head down then peers up at you, a coy smile on her lips. “What would you do if I kissed you right now?”
There are words but they can’t seem to make their way out of your mouth even though your lower jaw has totally dropped.
She doesn’t wait for you to answer. Her hand lifts, she presses her fingertips gently on the corner of your chin, then brings her lips to yours. A whimper escapes your throat as your lips touch, your insides melt, your heart about to burst because you don’t think you’ve ever been so happy in all your life.
She draws her arms around your shoulders, opens her mouth, deepens the kiss. Your heart’s pounding like a drum but you will yourself to wrap your arms around her waist, like before. Like the day you did everything wrong.
The kiss breaks. She nuzzles her nose along the side of yours, leans in and whispers, breathlessly, into your ear, “Take me home.”
**
All the two of you do is kiss.. on the couch.. with your clothes on. It feels good. It feels right. You cry. Just a little and she kisses away your tears. Which makes you feel unworthy and worthless because you should be the one to take away her pain, the pain you caused, and not vice versa.
**
It’s a month later. She’s moved back into your apartment. It’s like before but definitely, definitely better. Because there’s more kissing involved now and you’re more than willing to content yourself with just kissing. It’s more than you ever had before.
The two of you are on the couch. She’s straddling your legs, hands in your hair, practically holding you down as she kisses you senseless. Your hands are on her thighs, fingers just under the hem of her ‘Rachel length’ skirt.
She pulls back. You open your eyes because, well, the kissing’s stopped and you rather enjoy the kissing. You open your eyes and she’s looking down at you, this heated look in her eyes. Something you’ve definitely not seen before.
She opens her mouth, brows crinkling in frustration a little because the words won’t come out.
“Lea?”
Her breath is warm and wet on your face as she exhales the breath she‘s been holding for, like, forever. “Make love to me.”
Your body tenses. “Are you sure?”
Her lips spread into the widest smile you’ve ever seen. She loves you. She trusts you. And this time, neither of you will regret it.
“Yes.”
END
Fandom: Glee/RPF
Pairing: Lea Michele/Dianna Agron
Rating: Mature, warning for DubCon, drunk!sex.
Word Count: 3533
Summary: MOAR ANGST!! Written for the Glee_Angst_Meme. Prompt - Lea/Diana; First time, DubCon. ‘They were drunk. They had sex. Only Dianna didn't know Lea was still a virgin and she can't remember if Lea said 'yes'. And yes, Virginia, there is a happy ending!
Disclaimer: While the characters are based upon real people, this is a work of fiction intended for fun and not profit.
ETA: Because, dammit, it was for the Glee *Angst* meme not Kink meme!!
**
You meant it when you said you could fuck her all night. Of course, you were really, really wasted when you said it but the sentiment was still the same. You’re not really sure when your relationship with her went from friends, to besties, to a little crush that went from love then exploded into full-born lust. Maybe even an obsession.
Lea getting her own place was, honestly, the best thing that could have happened. The longer the two of you lived together, the harder it was to content yourself with the whole best friends routine. Because you didn’t just want her anymore, you desired her, you craved her.
Your head’s pounding a little but it’s nothing a couple aspirin and a long, hot shower can’t take care of. So you stretch your nude body big-cat like across the mattress, pushing your arm towards her side of the bed because you want to feel her warmth against you. Instead..
You feel nothing.
“Lea?” Mumbles from your lips as you open your eyes and lift your head. The bedroom’s empty. Judging by the silence, so is the apartment. This doesn’t bother not, not really, but okay, maybe just a little. Because, just as you could fuck her all night, you could fuck her all day too. And, right now, you really, really want to especially now that you’re sober.
The shower is the longest and hottest you’ve taken since.. well, since the last time you got completely trashed. Which, admittedly, seems to be happening a bit too much lately. You’ve all been going to so many parties lately.
The shower ends because the water’s gone cold. You dress, brush your teeth, comb then pull back your wet hair into a ponytail. Zombie-like, you make your way to the kitchen. The water’s ice cold, feels so good and you drink, like, a gallon of it before making your way back to the bedroom. It’s a Friday, first day of a three-day weekend for the entire cast and crew. And you think spending half of it in bed is the best idea next to fucking Lea day and night.
In your bedroom, ready to just crawl back onto the mattress and yank the sheets over your head, something catches your eye and you freeze.
There’s blood on the sheets.
Not a lot, just a couple smears, like a nosebleed caught a few seconds too late. Except, you don’t remember either or you getting elbowed in the nose, the location of the blood is nowhere close to where a nose would be and you know Lea’s not on her period. The two of you are so close, your cycle’s are practically in sync.
So why is there blood on the bed?
The night before begins to replay in your mind.
**
Another party. You’re all there. There’s laughing, dancing and alcohol flowing like it’s going out of style. You’re on your third vodka-cranberry, ten-feet tall and bulletproof. Eyes scanning about the room, you finally find her. She’s in a corner, quietly smoking a cigarette because she’s been ‘on’ all fucking day, working the press, giving interview after interview, taking photo after photo, autograph after autograph. And you know she’s standing there by herself because she needs a moment to de-stress.
“Hey,” you say as you walk over to her. She just smiles back. She’s had a few drinks herself and she looks kinda like you feel. More than buzzed, less than drunk.. maybe.
Emboldened, mostly by the liquor, you wrap your arms around her waist. She turns her head to keep from blowing smoke in your face. You pull her closer to you, hips against hips, breasts against breasts. And then your face is nuzzling against her neck, heartbeat skipping because you licked your lips and the tip of your tongue brushed against her neck, the taste of her skin filling your mouth.
The two of you stand like this for what feels like an eternity. It’s almost like dancing because you’re swaying a little, grinding your hips a little.
“Dianna,” she finally says, giggling lightly.
“Lea,” you mumble into her neck, stilling your hips. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t pull away either. You pull your head back, just enough to see her eyes. “What would you do if I kissed you right now?”
She blinks, half squints. Not quite certain if this is still a game or not. That friendly flirting thing you two always do. She opens her lips like she’s about to say something but you don’t wait to hear what she has to say.
Her lips are better than you imagined, softer, fuller, wetter. She tastes like grapefruit, vodka and tobacco. Which you don’t mind because it’s her. She shivers against you when she opens her lips and you worm your tongue into her mouth. You take a hand, slide it up her side, casually slipping it through the fabric cut almost obscenely low under her arms. Her reluctance to wear bras is your advantage. You touch her lightly, softly as you kiss, grazing your thumb over her nipple which is now hard as a rock. She moans into your mouth and it’s now her hips that are slowly grinding against yours.
The kiss breaks because, honestly, air. She chuckles, pulling her cigarette up to eye level, the cherry having burned down to the filter. “I guess I didn’t need this,” she laughs.
You just press your forehead against hers. “Let’s go home.”
Her place is closer but you want her at yours. It’s felt so empty since she moved out. The cab ride takes forever because she won’t let you touch her, so the two of you merely hold hands, smiling, giggling.
Your fingers are shaking by the time you get to your door. She’s bolder now. The hallway is quiet, hallway. She wraps her hands around your waist, her breasts pressing against your back.
“Nervous?” she laughs.
The door finally opens and you practically yank her into the space. All that pressure that’s been building, the denial, the yearning, the wanting, it breaks the final barrier between the two of you. You want her. She wants you back.
You don’t have to pretend anymore.
Pushing and pulling and kissing, the two of you finally make it to the bedroom. You pull off her dress, she pulls off yours. When you’re finally naked, finally get her on the bed, you have to pause because the sight of her takes your breath away. There’s a light still on, which is good, because you can see everything - her golden, honey colored skin, full breasts and completely erect nipples, long legs with oh-so-toned thighs. Then you lick your lips when your eyes meet the vee of her legs and the perfectly trimmed landing strip.
She’s gazing up at you, almost demurely. You look up at her and she breaks the eye contact, cheeks darkening in the dim light of your bedroom.
You clamber onto the bed, starting at her ankles you kiss your way up - ankle, calf, side of knee, thigh, inside of thigh. Her legs open wider, she opens herself wider to you, flushed and swollen and, God, she’s so fucking wet. Lea moans, so do you as you swipe your tongue and her taste fills your mouth. You lick, suckle, swirl, prod and poke, eyes practically rolling in the back of your head because she tastes so damn good.
The pressure’s building between your legs and the grinding you’ve been doing to relieve the pressure just isn’t working. At all. You wanna come. You want her to come. You want your fingers inside her when you both do.
And then you’re climbing up her, pressing down, moaning as you straddle her thigh.
“Di..”
You cut her off with a kiss. Her hands are on your shoulders, nails kinda digging into the flesh. So you take her hands by the wrists, cross them over the other and pin them over her head. She’s wriggling beneath you now and it feels so good, so good. Her leg, the one not clamped between your thighs, lifts and drapes over the swell of your hip.
“God, I wanna fuck you so bad,” you say as your hand slides between the two of you, into her warm and wet folds. You press one, two, no, three fingers at her opening.
“Di..” she breaks the kiss, tensing beneath you. Her voice weak and soft. “Wait..”
You push your fingers into her.
**
“Oh God!” Your legs go rubbery. You feel sick to your stomach. You need to sit down. But not on the bed, God, not on the bed. Scrambling, you tear apart your bedroom because your cell’s not where you put it. When you finally find it, your hands are trembling as you speed dial her number.
“This is Lea, you know what to do.”
“Call me,” you say, trying not to let your voice crack. “Please.”
Lea doesn’t return your call, or the twenty or so ones after that, or your texts, emails. A day goes by and you’ve called, like, the entire cast.
‘Have you talked to Lea?’
‘Have you seen Lea?’
‘Do you know where Lea is?’
‘Nope.’
‘No.’
‘No.’
Saturday evening rolls around and the cast is about as panicked as you are. You take the initiative and go to her apartment, entering with the spare set of keys she gave you when she signed the lease. Her apartment’s empty and looks like it’s been this way for awhile, since that night. You’re standing in her apartment about to call her Mother when your phone buzzes.
It’s an email from Lea sent to everybody. Everybody. Not solely to you.
‘Thanks for your concern. I’m fine. See you Monday - L’
You dial her number again and get her voicemail. You don’t bother to leave a message. Instead, you just flop down on her couch and start to cry, wondering what the Hell you‘ve done.
**
It’s early Sunday morning and you awake to the sound of a key sliding into the door.
She enters her apartment, looking tiny and frail, all deeply bundled in her coat and scarf. She’s pale and there are dark circles under her eyes, like she’s been crying as much as you have. Probably more.
She stops in her tracks as you rise from the couch, hands nervously shoved into your pockets. “Hey.”
Her face is blank, unreadable.
“Listen, Lea..” You move towards her and she takes a step back, a hand raised defensively. Her movements crystal clear - she doesn’t want you near her. All you’ve ever wanted and, just like that, it’s gone.
She blinks a couple times to hold back the water filling her eyes, trembling lips held tight together. “I think you should leave.”
“Okay.” Is all you can manage say. Somehow, despite your brain screaming, your legs move you towards the door.
“And set the key over there.”
You thought you’d realized how badly you’d hurt her but this cuts you to the bone. Makes your chest seize, rends your heart like a piece of your soul has just been ripped out.
What ever’s left in you, you find the strength to pull her key from the ring and leave it on the table next to the door. Then, you step through it.
It’s not enough. You know it’s not enough but you have to say it anyway. “Lea, I’m sorry.”
Lea closes the door.
**
A sucker punch to the gut is waiting for you when you arrive onset. Lea’s asked to be moved to another trailer. Nobody really knows what’s going on, but they know something BIG has happened between the two of you. You’ve all been so close, closer than family in some ways and, now, a schism is building and nobody knows which side to fall on because they don’t know which one of you is the Yoko breaking up the band.
You try not to cry when you enter the half-empty trailer the two of you shared. A day goes by and then another and another, until a week has passed. A week of you two sharing scenes, staring into each other’s eyes then immediately breaking it when the Director says cut. A week of trying desperately not to stare at her during the table readings.
The ache builds within you like a tightly lidded kettle under too much steam. Even though you know you don’t deserve to feel sorry for yourself, you can’t help it. You lost more than a potential lover, you’ve lost your best friend.
It’s Friday and the pressure’s become too much. You’ve lived off crumbs before and you’ll live off them again if she would just throw you one tiny piece. You knock on the door of her trailer, forgetting to announce it’s you.
“Come in.”
You enter, slowly, cautiously. Like she might just throw something at you. There’s a thin haze of smoke in the tiny space, an ashtray filled with more cigarette butts than what Lea normally smokes in a month.
She’s sitting on the tiny couch, reading next week’s script. She’s dressed as Rachel. And you feel bad for noting the difference because Lea’s wearing a bra.
She senses your presence, looks up from her script and her eyes go wide.
“Hey,” you say in your Quinn outfit and fake belly strapped around your waist. “Can we talk? Please.”
Her lips purse, brows crinkle, the indecision written all over her face. But you can’t keep it in you anymore so you talk first.
“I’m sorry, Lea. I am so, so sorry. I didn’t know..”
“That’s the part that hurts the worst,” she cuts you off, her voice tinged with anger and sadness. “It wasn’t the sex. Okay, that was part of it. I mean, you were so sweet to me, so loving and then..” her voice quavers and she stops, collecting herself. “You were my best friend.”
“I didn’t know. I thought..”
“You thought what everyone else thinks!” She’s up on her feet, tossing the script onto the couch, hands balling into fists. “Lea’s a slut. Lea’s been around the block a couple times. I’m sleeping with everybody. But from you?” she slumps back onto the couch like all the energy’s been sapped from her body. “I wanted it to be special,” she says with a voice so weak, so frail, it cuts what’s left of you into pieces so small, you‘re not sure if there‘s anything of you left.
She’s right. You did think of her that way. She was always the flirty one, the open one. So comfortable in her own body, with her sexuality. Hell, she bared her breasts on Broadway. She talked about sex, sometimes in ways that would make a sailor blush. You just.. assumed. Assumed because you were too busy thinking of all the kinky shit you wanted to do to her, instead of thinking, let alone, asking the simplest, most basic question. Because, it’s only now that you think of that night when you and the girls were playing 20 questions and someone asked Lea how she lost her virginity. Only now that you remember how Lea changed the subject on a dime, her cheeks practically bursting into flames from embarrassment, without ever really answering the question. God, the answer was RIGHT in front of you!
And now you’re brain is trying desperately to come up with the right words to make it all better, only to come up short. You took something from her she can never get back because you were too drunk, too caught up in your own desires to step back and consider hers. It cuts to the bone because you realize when she said she wanted it to be special, there were unsaid words hanging in the air. She wanted it to be special. She wanted it to be special with you.
“What do we do now?” you ask because it’s the only thing you can think of to say that doesn’t sound weak or patronizing.
“I don’t know,” she answers. Which is kind of good because, at least, she’s talking to you.
“I’m in love with you.”
She lifts her head, looks you straight in the eye. “I know.”
**
She calls on Saturday. The conversation’s short, awkward but you’re happy because at least she called.
**
The week’s go by and things get.. better. Not like before just better. She actually looks you in the eye. When you’re with your cast mates, she actually talks to you.
There’s the day you’re sitting at the table for a reading and she takes the seat next to yours.
There’s also the day, and you’re not really sure how this happened, other than that‘s how the Director blocked it - you and Lea standing next to each other. She moves and it’s just instinctual - the hand you place on the small of her back. You feel her shiver at your touch, the quick glance from the corner of her eye and the slight blush darkening her cheeks.
It takes everything you have to not squeal like a 12-year-old girl at a Jonas Brothers concert or, worse, do cartwheels across the floor.
**
It’s the end of the season. A wrap party. It’s not like you’re an alcoholic or anything but you haven’t touched the stuff since that day which almost feels like a decade ago.
She’s standing in a corner by herself, the cigarette’s lit but she hasn’t taken a drag. Not that you’ve been watching her the entire evening like some deranged stalker or something. You take a chance, walk over to her, keeping the distance between you casual.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” she smiles back. “It’s my last one. After this, I’m quitting.”
“Good for you,” you smile back.
A silence grows between you underneath the music blaring from the speakers and the multiple conversations filling the room. She lifts her cigarette but before it can reach her lips she stares at it then puts her arm back down.
“Fuck it,” she finally says, shaking her head. She finds a half-empty cup filled with beer and puts the cigarette out in it. She turns back to you, takes a half step closer. She threads her fingers together, nervously worrying them back and forth now that she doesn’t have anything to do with her hands.
“I miss you,” she says and your chest seizes and your heart skips a beat.
“I miss you, too.”
She steps closer and you almost step back because the two of you haven’t been this close in a long time. She tilts her head down then peers up at you, a coy smile on her lips. “What would you do if I kissed you right now?”
There are words but they can’t seem to make their way out of your mouth even though your lower jaw has totally dropped.
She doesn’t wait for you to answer. Her hand lifts, she presses her fingertips gently on the corner of your chin, then brings her lips to yours. A whimper escapes your throat as your lips touch, your insides melt, your heart about to burst because you don’t think you’ve ever been so happy in all your life.
She draws her arms around your shoulders, opens her mouth, deepens the kiss. Your heart’s pounding like a drum but you will yourself to wrap your arms around her waist, like before. Like the day you did everything wrong.
The kiss breaks. She nuzzles her nose along the side of yours, leans in and whispers, breathlessly, into your ear, “Take me home.”
**
All the two of you do is kiss.. on the couch.. with your clothes on. It feels good. It feels right. You cry. Just a little and she kisses away your tears. Which makes you feel unworthy and worthless because you should be the one to take away her pain, the pain you caused, and not vice versa.
**
It’s a month later. She’s moved back into your apartment. It’s like before but definitely, definitely better. Because there’s more kissing involved now and you’re more than willing to content yourself with just kissing. It’s more than you ever had before.
The two of you are on the couch. She’s straddling your legs, hands in your hair, practically holding you down as she kisses you senseless. Your hands are on her thighs, fingers just under the hem of her ‘Rachel length’ skirt.
She pulls back. You open your eyes because, well, the kissing’s stopped and you rather enjoy the kissing. You open your eyes and she’s looking down at you, this heated look in her eyes. Something you’ve definitely not seen before.
She opens her mouth, brows crinkling in frustration a little because the words won’t come out.
“Lea?”
Her breath is warm and wet on your face as she exhales the breath she‘s been holding for, like, forever. “Make love to me.”
Your body tenses. “Are you sure?”
Her lips spread into the widest smile you’ve ever seen. She loves you. She trusts you. And this time, neither of you will regret it.
“Yes.”
END