Disclaimer: I own nothing. All belongs to Glee writers and creators.
A/N: Incredibly spur-of-the-moment and lame. Hope to get a chapter of 'The Choice I Make' up within the next couple days. Peace out, y'all.
Santana could really pack a punch. Seriously, it felt like the whole right side of Quinn's face was going to explode, even with the ice pack she'd been holding to it for approximately thirty minutes. Fifteen of which were spent (not) listening to Rachel babble at her about this whole Sunshine chick…thing.
Honestly, Quinn didn't know what Rachel was freaking about. Sure, the hobbit could belt it, and yeah, she was good—even if her name did make her sound like a Care Bear. But Rachel would always be the obnoxiously talented midget diva to Quinn—nobody was taking that place anytime soon, no matter how many Beyonce songs they sang or how short they were. And she was pretty sure everyone in glee club felt the same way, so seriously. She needed to stop talking about it.
Or just stop talking, period. That would be nice, too, but Quinn was pretty sure she wouldn't be doing that any time soon.
Quinn readjusted the pack and hissed. Wasn't ice supposed to numb the pain? Stupid nurse. Figgins needed a new interviewing process, she decided. And Mr. Schuester needed to not abandon her in the choir room where she was free to be preyed upon by midget freaks looking for a shoulder to cry on.
Where was Finn? Maybe she could pawn Rachel off on him….
Unfortunately, they were alone in the choir room. Even Brad had gone off somewhere, and Mr. Schuester had left the lights low when he left, meaning he probably wasn't coming back. In fact, he was probably standing outside Ms. Pillsbury's office with extra big puppy dog eyes and a plate of 'I Love You' cookies. Quinn briefly wondered if that's what Rachel had done to tell Finn she loved him before casting the idea aside as nauseating, which she didn't need on top of the aches and pains Santana had given her.
The blonde sighed. Well, if she was going to be stuck with the troll until she left, she may as well tune in once in a while. Just to see what was on. Maybe Rachel was playing the 'I'm afraid Finn is going to lose interest and break up with me' track. Or, even more entertaining, the 'my offer of friendship is, as always, open, Quinn' track.
"…mildly aroused by the whole thing, which was, quite frankly, rather unexpected, as I've only ever been attracted to boys before, and while I'm certainly not opposed to same sex relationships, I haven't actually considered the possibility of one for myself. I always assumed I was straight, which I suppose could stem from my parentage, seeing as I was only exposed to attraction to males as an option. How—"
"Wait!" Quinn yelped, staring wide-eyed at her.
Rachel's brand new bangs bounced as she whipped her head in the blonde's direction, looking just as startled as Quinn felt. The newly reinstated head cheerleader felt she had more right to that particular emotion at the moment, however, since she was pretty sure the midget was trying to tell her she'd gotten turned on by a girl.
"What?" she rasped. Rachel opened her mouth, so she interjected with, "A-are you saying you're…gay?"
She almost choked on the word. The brunette paused—to give the question serious consideration—and Quinn could literally hear her heart beating in her ears. It was going awfully fast, for some reason, which she was sure had everything to do with being freaked the hell out. Rachel was coming out of the closet to her? Really?
"Well, not gay exactly," Rachel said at last, and Quinn's jaw dropped. "Most likely bisexual. I'm not certain. I think I'll have to explore it more fully to know for absolute certain." She nodded with one of her cheeky, 'oh, I'm so brilliant' smiles, and Quinn stared some more.
"B-but you're with Finn," she reminded her uncomfortably, shifting in her chair.
The bisexual thing was a little better. Sort of. It wasn't like Quinn didn't know people who dabbled in both (Santana and Brittany, anyone?), but the notion was still making her heart race. She absently adjusted her ice pack again, this time only distantly aware of the sting it elicited.
"Yes, I know," Rachel replied, looking somewhat amused. "I didn't say I was about to leap into bed with the first female I find. I just meant I'd have to explore the possibility of attraction further."
Quinn scowled, miffed by that condescending tone. "Why are you talking to me about this?" It's not like I have experience, she added silently.
The brunette cast a quick glance over the room and shrugged, answering in that same patronizing tone, "You're the only one here."
That only pissed the blonde off even more. She didn't know why, since a minute ago she'd been wishing Rachel would either shut up or talk to someone else about her problems, but it did. Quinn brushed that aside and focused on her first instinct: glaring at her. The midget sighed, expression turning almost melancholy.
"To be honest, the idea of it is a little discomfiting," she admitted softly, and Quinn sighed—of course there was another monologue coming. What had she been thinking? "Again, I'm not against it or anything, but…well, I'm already enough of an outcast at this school, even within glee club. If 'bisexual' is added to the already formidable list of reasons to peg me a loser, I'm…I'm afraid it'll be even worse. And what if I am gay? I know I said before that I didn't think so, but it's a serious possibility. I mean, I'll be the first to admit that Finn isn't as…well-rehearsed as Jesse or Noah, but seeing as we're in love, I thought it would be…."
Quinn did not know what to say to any of this. Rachel was right—being bisexual or gay would make her life even more of a living hell than it already was. It didn't matter for people like Brittany or Santana, because they were popular, so people overlooked it. Rachel was already annoying, short, and bossy. She didn't need 'lesbo' added to that.
The blonde didn't know how she felt about that part—but she did know how she felt about Rachel's inadvertent admission that things with Finn weren't exactly top-notch. It made her want to laugh so badly tears almost leaked out of the corners of her eyes from the strain of holding it in.
"Different," Rachel finished quietly, and Quinn's laughter—thankfully—faded when she remembered that the brunette was in the middle of a very serious discussion with herself. "But maybe I'm worrying for nothing. Perhaps the way I feel with Finn is as good as it gets. Although, the way I felt earlier was better than anything I'd ever felt with any boy before, even if it didn't last long. And—"
Quinn did not know what possessed her to do it. It could've been the desire to shut Rachel up; it could've been the low lighting; it could've been the way Rachel's bangs kept falling into her eyes that way….. And it also could've been that Santana hit her so hard earlier she was sustaining some brain damage.
Whatever it was, it was irresistible. As soon as the thought entered her mind, it turned into desire, which relayed to action, and Quinn dropped the ice pack to her lap and seized the back of Rachel's neck before she could think twice about it. She brought their heads close together, foreheads almost touching, and her lips hovered just centimeters away from Rachel's, but she didn't push it any further.
The brunette's eyes went wide with fear, her gaze flicking from Quinn's to her lips and back again. Quinn could feel her hot breaths washing over her cheeks and the tension of the muscles in her neck—her skin felt so warm compared to the ice pack. The blonde only noticed her own breathing had gone ragged when she tried to speak.
"Relax," she said, and she had no idea when her voice had gotten so low, but it made Rachel's shoulders loosen and her eyelids droop. "I'm not going to touch you," Quinn assured her. "Thirty seconds." She swallowed another breath. "Thirty seconds, and you're turned on? Then I give you free leave to freak."
She couldn't help the smirk that quirked her lips, and Rachel returned it in a friendlier fashion, but it melted quickly when her gaze dropped to Quinn's lips again. Quinn had never noticed how colorful Rachel's eyes were before. From far away, they looked almost black, but up close like this, she could see the color variation, the way they lightened around her pupils before easing into dark again.
"Your hand is cold," Rachel breathed.
Quinn rubbed her fingers against the warmth of her skin to make up for it, trying to create enough friction to generate some heat. Rachel gasped at the feel, and Quinn once again discovered something new about the brunette. Her voice, when she wasn't on an endless lecture, was really, really…pleasant. The way that simple sentence rolled off her tongue—effortlessly, quietly…soothingly. Something tightened in Quinn's abdomen.
Rachel's skin was smooth, too. Not at all warty or bumpy the way Quinn had depicted it so many times. It was baby soft—and Quinn would know—and if you were close enough, which she definitely was, you could smell the faintest hint of strawberries. The blonde's eyelids grew heavy, directing her gaze further down while the tightening gradually turned to an ache.
Her lips…Quinn wondered if they were as soft as the skin on her neck. Her breaths breezed past the parted passageway, bringing the smell of mint to the mixture, and the blonde wondered idly if Rachel brushed her teeth after every meal—the thought brought another small smile to her face, but her mind wandered back to the full pink lips before her. A tongue darted out over the lower, wetting it, and Quinn felt a throb down below.
She almost leaned closer, her hormones screaming for her to take what she knew she needed, but then she felt the light tickling of Rachel's braid over her fingers. The blonde's gaze darted back up, this time to those bangs—which were really quite adorable, but not in the toddler-like way her old hairstyle was—and her fingers flexed on the edge of the chair, which she suddenly realized she had a death grip on. She wanted to run her fingers through those locks, slide the bangs out of her gorgeous eyes, bury her nose in her hair until she could smell nothing but strawberries.
"Thirty," Rachel suddenly sighed.
Quinn's stomach jumped into her throat. She'd forgotten…completely forgotten what they were doing. And why. She tried to make her hand move, to take it off the brunette's neck, tried to pull back, because she knew that's what she was supposed to be doing. But she couldn't seem to pry her fingers away from the circles they were tracing, or her nose away from the delectable scents it was smelling. And Rachel hadn't moved, either.
Seven more seconds ticked by while they shared breaths, but didn't dare to move any closer. Until Quinn felt the melting ice pack soaking into her brand new uniform. She jumped—damn, it was cold!—and lifted the sopping thing gingerly from her lap, and while she was trying to figure out what the hell to do with it, Rachel stood and started backing away, breathing heavily.
"I-I have to go," the brunette excused herself, putting her hand to her forehead briefly before she nodded, almost as if in confirmation. "Um…yeah. I…bye."
Quinn stared slack-jawed at the empty doorway when she realized two things. One, she was upset that Rachel had left. And two, the skirt of her uniform wasn't the only place she was wet.
Maybe she needed to do a little exploring herself….