April 23, 2010 (Rachel is 16, Quinn is 18)
QUINN: It's late, but there's a lamp on and I'm in her room. For a second, I think maybe I haven't traveled at all, that I just dozed off or something. But I'm on the floor and I'm naked. And while that still doesn't entirely negate the time travel theory, the bed gives it away. First the comforter, the one she got rid just last month, after Madison poured grape juice all over it. Also, the bed itself has since been replaced.
I sit up, and she's on the bed, in a tank top and a pair of Joe Boxer pajama pants, knees pulled up to her chest. Her hair's up in a loose ponytail, and though her eyes are tired, she's absolutely beautiful.
She pulls the white earbuds out of her ears and there's a small smile. "Hey."
"Hi." At first, I don't really make an effort to cover myself, because this is Rachel, she sees me undressed a lot of the time. Actually, she prefers me that way. But she's staring at me, which we both realize at the same time and reach for the same throw blanket at the foot of the bed.
"Sorry. I'm just not used to seeing you naked... without the baby."
I wrap the blanket around myself, then plant myself on the bed at her feet. "What's today?"
"April 23rd, 2010."
I grin. "The due date."
She nods. "But she came-"
"- a week early."
"Yeah. On your birthday."
"I remember. I was there."
"When are you-"
"It's been about six months since I was with you in the dance room. For me, anyway. But it's only been about half that time for you, right?"
She nods. The headphones wrap around the iPod and she sets it aside on the nightstand. "You're asleep, downstairs in your room, with Madison. I think you're asleep, anyway."
I remember this. I told her to go up and get some rest, because, all week she'd been doting on me and the baby and eventually exhausted herself. I'd be downstairs all night, rocking and reading to the baby, catching naps between feedings.
"We... eventually... do more... right?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, I love you so much and we do plenty... and I know we will again soon, but..."
A smile hits me once I understand what she's asking. And, really, if she only knew. "You're still worried about the sex, aren't you?"
I scoot up and sit next to her, leaning against the pillows, still holding the blanket around me. "Listen, once summer gets here, you won't know what hit you. In about two weeks, I go on a mission to put my body back in shape, and, trust me, you definitely appreciate it."
She smiles at that, glancing at me, at the blanket, like she's trying to see through it. "You like it, though, right?"
"Sex? Yes. Definitely."
"I mean... specifically..." She's trying to get at something, and it's rare to see her so cautious when it comes to bedroom talk. Rachel Berry isn't shy and certainly not all that reserved when it comes to these things.
Then, it hits me. I know exactly what she's talking about. Even though we'd gotten substantially physical by this point in her timeline, I'd been very unsure about the idea of oral stimulation while I was pregnant. Which is utterly ridiculous, seeing as how I, in my present time, can't seem to get enough. But, back then, I was still self conscious and clinging to religious repression. We'd get to it that summer, and curse that we hadn't discovered it much sooner. To Rachel's credit, while she verified time and time I again whether or not I wanted her to try it, she never once request I return the favor for her. Not before the baby, anyway. Current Rachel, my Rachel, has no qualms about requests and demands.
I look at her and see her need, her desire, her exhaustion. I know it's going to be a rough month or so in the sexual needs department, for both of us, because of the baby, because of my recovery, because we're still hormone addled teens.
"Hey, it all works out."
"I know. I just... I worry. Like, am I any good at it? Because I haven't had any practice. And, I'm very diligent about practicing."
"Good at-" I laugh, because it's ridiculous, Rachel Berry questioning her own ability. "Rach, honey, don't worry. You're a natural talent at anything involving your mouth."
She blushes at that, but smiles. I think about kissing her, and briefly ponder the ethics of possibly doing more than just than. But she beats me to it. Her mouth finds mine, her hands are in my hair, she's pushing me back against the pillows. I can feel how badly she wants, needs this contact.
RACHEL: It's like that day in the dance room. She's Quinn, but she's different. She knows things. I tug at the blanket, pulling it open then leaning back so I can take in the sight of her. I've always loved looking at Quinn, always thought she was beautiful with the baby in her belly, but this is a whole new experience. Her abs are tight, I'm not worried about jarring anything.
"Wait," she says, and I worry I've done something wrong, that she's putting a stop to this. Instead, she rolls us over so I'm on my back and her hands are up my shirt, touching and caressing me before she pulls the fabric up over my head.
Her lips find mine, again, then my neck, then lower, breasts, stomach, just below my belly button. My breath catches when I realize what she's about to do. Her fingers are barely hooked over the edged of the pants and her eyes are gazing up at me, waiting for something. An answer? Permission? I nod. I nod a lot, actually. I want this. I need this.
She grins, and my pants and underwear are gone, just like that. Her mouth trails up my inner thigh, her breath is hot against my skin. And then it's there, her tongue is right there, and it's warm and it's perfect and it feels softer, maybe more intimate that what we've been doing. Not really better or worse, just new. Different.
"Oh my god," I manage, my hand resting on her head, fingers moving through blonde hair. Her hands slide over the skin of my stomach and settle there, her feet up in the air, casual. I realize I've never seen Quinn in this position before, lying on her stomach. It's subtle and it's fresh and it's suddenly another detail about her that I love.
But whatever list I was rolling through in my mind is gone now, because I can't focus on anything but that feeling. Whatever she's doing, however she's doing it, is increasing my heart rate and tightening my fingers in her hair. "Quinn..." I breathe, my hand reaching for, grasping hers. Her eyes meet mine and it's one of the most erotic moments of my young life, which, granted, isn't saying much, but I'm convinced it's noteworthy. If I could actually see her mouth, I'm sure she's smiling or, more likely, smirking, at me.
It's slow and steady, the release that comes from this. Again, different. My free hand clutches the bedspread, the other still tangled in blonde tresses. I tense, clutch, contract and she doesn't stop until I actually relax and urge her upward. I don't know the etiquette of this, but all I want to do is kiss her, and when I do, I taste what has to be me on her mouth, lips, and tongue.
"I love you," I say, content and sated.
QUINN: The biggest giveaway that this is a first experience for her, is the fact that she's not already making the move for seconds. She's never greedy, just determined. But here, now, this girl is fulfilled and sleepy and already beginning to doze. Which is prefect, because I can tell I'm about to be back home, very soon.
Tomorrow, she'll bring me flowers. I'll assume they're for the baby. She won't say otherwise.
March 6, 2019 (Quinn is 26 and 18, Rachel is 25)
RACHEL: It's just us and then, suddenly, it isn't. Someone else is in the room. If I didn't know better, I might be scared, but I now it's her. Who else could it be? Though, I'm cursing her timing.
Actually, I should be cursing our timing. Because Quinn knew she'd be here tonight, right now. I'm sure it's written down, somewhere. But I just got back from a two week tour with a children's show and she surprised me with dinner and what was supposed to be a romantic evening at home, since Madison's over at Brittany's.
"Sorry" is the first word out of her mouth when she sees us.
Even though the lighting's dim, the fact that the only illumination in the room is candles is probably a dead giveaway to what we're up to.
"I'll just wait out..." She trails off as she stands and moves for the door.
"It's okay, you don't have to go," says Quinn, my Quinn, right now Quinn. She's already got her shirt back on. Her ability to dress so quickly is uncanny, though necessary, I know. "I forgot you'd be here."
"Oh," is all the traveling Quinn says. But she takes the robe that's offered to her and slips it on.
"You're what... 18?" Quinn asks herself.
"Yeah. I just came from the night before Rachel's eighteenth birthday."
I smile. That was a really good birthday. Quinn had thrown me a surprise party. And, the private after party was particularly memorable.
QUINN: It's awkward. Not as awkward as, say, your mother walking in on you trying to get intimate with yourself, literally, you and the other you, in bed. But awkward in the sense that I know I've interrupted something because I've seen that look in Rachel's eyes, and I'm the one who puts it there.
So, when I ask myself to stay, I know it's out of courtesy. I wrap the robe around myself and make small talk about when I'm from, but I don't hear whatever the next question is, because my eyes can't pull away from what's sitting on the nightstand.
It's like slow motion, when they both turn their heads to see what I'm looking and I know I'm beet red and probably stammering, but I can't stop looking at it and thinking about why it's there. And, I'm not offended or disturbed or anything, I'm curious and suddenly picturing every single use for it.
Rachel and I have only been together for less than two years, so we really haven't branched out past the basics. Basics that are serving us very,very well, thank you. Still, I can't help but wonder.
RACHEL: She's staring at it like she's never seen a strap on before. Then I realize, maybe she hasn't. Not in person, anyway. It was a couple years into our relationship, our real time relationship, that we started dabbling with toys.
Suddenly, I have an idea. The kind of idea I'm not sure I should share or not. Only my Quinn can see the look on my face and she already knows what I'm thinking.
"You might as well try it on," she says to her younger self. "It certainly won't be the last time you wear one." Quinn's already off the bed and handing it to her.
My mind suddenly races with the possibilities that could come out of this. I've been around both two Quinns before, but the situations were always more public and less intimate. Sure, yes, I've thought about something like this, two of them, both in love with me, wanting me, touching me. What woman with a time traveling wife wouldn't imagine that?
I sit up, forgetting that I was holding the sheet over myself, and it falls, and I'm naked, but I really don't care because I'm alone with my wife, even if she's two people, right now.
QUINN: This should probably seem weird, me showing myself how to adjust the harness of a strap on while Rachel watches, wide eyed and eager. It's not weird, though. Not really. It's just me and the woman I love. And me. Older me who looks like she's in damn good shape.
"What year is it," I ask, not that it's very important, right now. But I'm definitely curious at what point we're so comfortable with sex that we're so willing to improvise. I also wonder if this has happened before.
"2019," I hear me say. Which means I'm twenty-six, eight years older than myself. I think that just barely qualifies me as a cougar. Or would, if I was planning to have sex with myself. Which, I have before. And likely will tonight, especially if Rachel has anything to do with it.
There's something about her, when she's older, that I'm drawn to. Maybe it's maturity or the fact that she's always known me. I don't know. Whatever the case, I love her, whenever I see her. And right now, I want her.
I glance over at myself, knowing what I want to do, but still a little unsure. "This is okay, right?"
"It's up to you," Quinn says, glancing back at Rachel, who looks like she's about ready to pounce on both of us.
Rachel rises up off the bed, not caring that she's totally nude. Though, she never really cares about things like that, especially not at home. She stops in front of us, takes me by the hand, gives the other me a wink, then leads me back to the bed.
While we're still standing, she slips her hand behind my neck and pulls me in for a kiss. So far, I've only ever kissed her out of time on two other occasions, once that she knows of now, and once that hasn't happened yet for her. I'm always amazed at how it's so very much the same, and, yet, different.
She moved back onto the bed and pulls me with her. The... appendage... is somewhere between us. Right now, her attention is on my breasts, hands groping, feeling, almost as if she's comparing what I feel like to the Quinn. Or, that's what I assume she's doing.
Then we're kissing again, heavy and heated. This is what she's like when she's ready, when she's done waiting, if I tease her too long, this is her saying she wants me. Her legs fall open, wider, and she's got her hand wrapped around... it.
I break the kiss and look down at her, as if to make sure this is what she wants, really. There's a look on her face that suggests if I stopped what was about to happen, she'll kill me right there and destroy the entire space-time continuum.
I lean back, my legs folded underneath me, my own hand grabs the shaft as I prepare to give Rachel what she wants. There's a dip in the bed and warmth behind me, a mouth pressing close to my ear.
I hear my own voice say, "Go slow at first. She gets worked up really fast and it's easy to get lost in it. But draw it out a little. Make her ask for it."
Rachel's attention seems to temporarily be distracted from the previous task at hand, because she's staring at the both of us. I take a moment to try and figure out what she wants, but Quinn is already well aware of what's going on. I feel warm breath on my neck and a hand on my stomach. My eyes drift shut and the breath is followed by lips, kisses, a single light bite. I turn my head and we're kissing each other, me and myself. I haven't done this since before Rachel, and it's always been one of the stranger parts of interacting with myself.
Weirdness be damned, because the moan that comes from Rachel as she watches us makes it well worth getting over any mild qualms I might have about it.
"Fuck, that's hot," is her exact opinion on the matter.
Quinn breaks the kiss and nods toward Rachel. "Lady's waiting."
She stays behind me for a moment, chin on my shoulder, arms wrapped around me. I can tell they're having some kind of moment, because they're looking at each other, not saying anything, the same way I do with Rachel when words are irrelevant.
Then, it's just me, because Quinn's moved off to the side like some kind of sex referee. I position myself so I'm lying between her legs, the silicon in my hand, again. I gently, cautiously press into her. I have to remind myself that, while this is my first time with this, it's not hers. She arches up against me as it pushes into her, and I revel at the fact that I can get her to make that face with both my hands free and be in a position where I can see her. Once I'm all the way in, I rock back, pulling out, starting a rhythm. Her fingers dig into my back, her legs are wrapped around me. She's definitely into this. Of course, that's Rachel with just about any sexual activity.
I establish a steady pace, pleased with myself for figuring this whole thing out so easily. One of her hands releases its grip on me and reaches for Quinn, who takes it and kisses each finger, then the palm. It's unreal, how I'm her and they're us.
Rachel pulls me back down for another kiss, then says, "Hold on." She pushes me up and off of her, then moves over to Quinn. They kiss and it's intense, watching them, like it's some kind of live home sex video in three dimensions. Four, really.
She lowers her head down Quinn's body, stopping to drop kisses here and there, then settles between her legs. For a couple seconds, I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to do next, but then realize she's still propped up on her knees, waiting for me. There a glance over her shoulder, brown eyes looking back at me, and she doesn't even have to say anything.
RACHEL: It's better than I could have ever imagined. My mouth is on her while she's pressing into me from behind. I'm pretty sure my head might explode. I rock back against her while I work my tongue over my Quinn. She's just as wet as I am from all of this. Then again, she's always been a bit of a narcissist.
We build back up to a nice steady pace, but it's almost too nice. Like she's trying to be careful, and Rachel Berry doesn't do careful.
"Harder," I say, reluctantly pulling my mouth just long enough to get the word out. She responds well to instruction, she always does. I groan into the wetness, my tongue bumping harder against Quinn with each thrust from the other Quinn. Hands are tangled in my hair, hands grip my hips, and they're all the same hands, only not. Really, honestly, I'm surprised I haven't had to think of the mailman already.
After a little while, she slows down again, and I can't help but think my Quinn is giving her some kind of cues as to what to do.
"More, baby, please?" I whimper. The request goes out to either of them, really. And they both respond. The hands tighten in my hair and the strokes increase. I'm rolling back, hard, against her, trying to focus on the fact that I now have two fingers deep in my wife, the Quinn who just groaned my name.
It's finally too much or just enough, I'm quaking and then I'm over the edge, crying out and collapsing against the blonde in front of me. She pulls me up closer to her and kisses my face. I know she's not finished, but I'll get to her in a minute. Right now, I have no voluntary motor functions.
I can hear her, the other Quinn, unfastening the harness, then feel her move up behind me and she presses a kiss to my shoulder.
"Thank you," she whispers, and I laugh at the absurdity of her thanking me for that. I doze off for a few minutes, and when I wake up, she's gone.
But my Quinn is right where she's supposed to be. She shrugs and says, "Now you know why I practically jumped you that night."
I laugh. "When I asked what got into you, you just said you missed me."
"Well, I did." She places a single kiss on my nose. "And you remember what I gave you for your eighteenth birthday?"
"Of course, two tickets to Cabaret." But I know that's not the answer she's looking for. That night, after the party, she'd taken me up to our room and handed me a box from the adult store. "You know, I just thought you were a natural. I didn't know you'd had lessons."
"Learned from the best, didn't I?"
I shut her up by kissing my way back down her body and picking up where I left off.
October 2, 2016 (Rachel is 23, Quinn is 16 and 23)
QUINN: I wake up on the floor and my hands immediately move to my stomach. I'm in my seventh month and this is only the second time I've traveled while pregnant. It's also the first time I've traveled since knowing about Rachel. In fact, I just left her. She was in the kitchen making spaghetti, because I'd been craving it all day.
I sit up. The room's lit by a lamp in the corner and butterfly twinkle lights across the window. This is a child's room, given the size of the junior sized bed and the small table in the corner. On top of the green and yellow striped comforter is a white grown-up sized robe, a tank top, and a pair of Superman boxer shorts.
I quickly grab the clothes and pull them on, the boxers proving to be incredibly comfortable. In fact, the entire ensemble seems like it was purposely selected for someone pregnant, like me. The door creaks as it pushes open just a little, and a small face peeks into the room.
It's a little girl, about six years old. I suddenly wonder if this is Rachel's room, because at some point in time I learned I'd be going back to visit her. Except this girl is blonde.
"Hi," she says, pushing her way past the door. She doesn't seem shy or afraid of me.
"Hello," I say, sitting on the edge of the bed.
"You're very pretty."
She moved to the table and picks up a folded piece of paper, which she promptly hands to me. "I was worried I wouldn't know what to say, so Mama said to write it down. But," she looks me over, "you seem regular."
I'm not really sure what she's talking about, but maybe the paper will help. The outside has a drawing of a heart and a seahorse while the inside features a few lines of six year old lettering, beginning with "Dear Mommy." I nearly drop the note, but I recover and keep reading. "The date is October 2, 2016. You can stay for dinner. Love, Madison."
My mouth is hanging open, but I quickly shut it as I look up at her. "You're..." My hand rubs over my swollen belly.
"Madison Amelia Fabray-Berry." She bows dramatically, then tosses her hair over her shoulder. While I'm still getting used to dating Rachel back in my time, I can easily see how this child is a joint product of us both. "How old am I?" she asks.
"Um, six?" is my guess.
She sighs as she flings her head back, arms outstretched, then straightens back up. "No, I mean, that me," she clarifies, pointing at my stomach.
"Oh!" I realize this is a kid who is clearly up on at least the basics of where babies come from. Or, at least, where they're stored before birth. "You're seven months and counting."
RACHEL: I'm in the kitchen, cooking veggie burgers. I know Quinn's due to show up any minute. And I can tell the other Quinn is already here, because there are voices coming from Madison's bedroom. I load the burgers onto a plate and turn off the stove. Timing is always important in this household, because one of us is always coming or going, between college classes, rehearsal, Madison's school and lessons, and everything in between. It was at least nice to have a heads up about our impromptu dinner guest.
"Madison! Wash up for dinner!" I call down the hallway. "Have Quinn... er, your mom help you, if you need it."
I hear more conversation, then footsteps to the bathroom, running water, a brief debate about how long hand washing is supposed to take, more footsteps, and then she's there, in our dining room, looking pregnant and tired but grateful.
"Hey," I say, before immediately pulling a chair out from the table. "Sit down, get off your feet." Quinn's always talking about the weirdness and stress of traveling and the last thing I want is for her to have any problems. Not that it would be too serious, because Madison's right there, climbing into her own seat plain as day, obviously born just the way was supposed to be.
Quinn sits and I put a hand on her shoulder before bending down to kiss the top of her head. She leans against me for a moment, in a non-verbal moment of thanks.
I hear the front door and know it's Quinn, my Quinn, coming home from class.
QUINN: "Sorry, ladies. The express train wasn't feeling very expressive." I dump my book bag by the front door and kick off my shoes. As expected, there's an extra me at the table, tonight. In my other hand I'm still holding a plastic bag from the bodega on the corner and as I approach the table, I reach inside and produce a bottle of Vitamin Water. I still like the stuff now, but when I was pregnant with Madison, I practically bathed in it.
She takes the drink. "Thanks."
"Do I get one?" asks Madison, because this is definitely a case of Like Mother, Like Daughter.
I fish a second bottle out of the bag and hand it to her, but I wave a warning finger in her direction. "Have me help you open that."
Madison nods and passes the bottle to Quinn, who twists off the cap. "Thank you," is her reply, and I'm pleased that my daughter is being well behaved and not scaring the crap out of my pregnant self.
Rachel kisses my cheek and asks me to help her grab the rest of the food and bring it to the table.
An hour later, the food is gone and so is Quinn.
March 12, 2010 (Quinn is 16, Rachel is 16)
RACHEL: When she reappears in the living room, I almost cry in relief. I immediately throw my arms around her. "Don't do that, again."
Quinn laughs, despite the fact that she's totally naked and just came back from who knows where. "Can't really help it, Rach."
I pull back and wipe at my eyes, because before she'd come back, I'd been crying, worried. There's a throw blanket on the couch within reach, so I grab it and drape it over her. "I just... I don't think you should go like that... with the baby."
"She's fine," she assures me. "I... saw her. That's where I was."
I wonder if I heard her correctly. "You were with her?"
Quinn nods and smiles, "Yeah. She's pretty awesome. Well, she is at six. Maybe she grows up to be a total bitch, I don't know."
I want to ask more, but I know she doesn't like divulging too much about what she learns. Even though she insists she can't change things. But knowing this much is enough, for now. I pull her in for a kiss, glad to have her back, even though she was only gone for an hour, but this is the first time she's left me during our actual timeline.
"Can you..." I know my request is ridiculous, but I ask it, anyway. "Quinn, can you please not leave again until after she's born?"
There's a pause, like she's trying to decide if it's a promise she can make. But finally, she just says, "Okay."
And I believe her.