Rachel was a planner. She had, at minimum, a day plan, a weekend plan, and a life plan at all times. She had once even attempted to get her boyfriend to coordinate his plans with hers by means of an adorable kitten calendar, and when that plan had failed miserably, she thought maybe she'd have to question everything she knew about her life. She didn't, of course, but she considered it. Briefly.
But that was then, and this was now, and now, she was sitting next to that boyfriend in the choir room, noting how freakishly large his fingers were. And his fingernails were kind of dirty. She cringed a little and looked four chairs over, where Quinn was sitting with Sam, looking positively bored. Sam was beaming at her as she picked her nails and nodded halfheartedly with a furrowed brow.
If Finn messed with Rachel's plans, then Quinn threw them out the window, turned the car around, and ran over them twice just for good measure. Usually she didn't complain, but sometimes it made her want to scream. (Admittedly, she probably had screamed a minimum of seven times, but that was not in frustration. Well, once it was.)
She glanced back at Finn's hand, which was currently residing on her knee; she rolled her eyes and gently removed it, returning her gaze to Quinn and Sam. At that moment, Quinn caught her glance and straightened in her seat. When she took her bottom lip between her teeth and raised her left eyebrow (it was always the left, she noted), Rachel crossed her legs and waited. She knew what was coming next. She looked away.
Like clockwork, a minute later, she heard the faint buzzing of the cell phone stashed away in her bag. It was Quinn, just like it usually was on Thursdays approximately two minutes before Mr. Schuester rushed into the choir room mumbling apologies and various (bullshit) excuses about his tardiness.
It's bridge night.
Rachel returned her gaze to the blonde cheerleader, who was still looking at her, now in mild amusement. Quinn smiled a wide, genuine smile and went back to (pretending she was) listening to Sam. The furrowed brow returned.
Rachel responded to the text before putting her phone away. She wouldn't need it again. All she had said was It is. There would be no reply. That's all they ever said.
Mr. Schuester entered the room, mumbling a bunch of things that Rachel loosely translated to mean "I was creeping on Miss Pillsbury." She rolled her eyes, heaved a sigh, and tuned out. Rachel Barbra Berry was tuning out in glee club. Perhaps a wrench was thrown into her plans before they were sucked out of a car window and run over (twice).
Glee club adjourned and she gave Finn the briefest possible kiss on the cheek and a pat on the shoulder before retreating to her car. Her fathers knew better than to expect her, and they hardly cared, because they were just over the moon that Rachel had a "friend."
By her estimations, this had been occurring for approximately twenty-two weeks.
Before the first week, there were three consecutive Thursdays of Rachel sitting on Quinn's bedroom floor under the guise of working on costumes and arrangements for glee club. The first of those, Rachel had been shocked to find that Quinn seemed to actually enjoy her company. The second of those, Quinn not only admitted as much, but revealed that she wouldn't mind making Thursday nights a "thing." The third Thursday, Quinn kissed her, then hyperventilated, then kissed her again.
After that, things were different. The amount of time Quinn spent not only acknowledging Rachel's existence but also actually talking to her in public had increased exponentially. She sought her out in hallways, stood at her locker with her (when Sam wasn't around), and had fetched her emergency slushie bag twice before ordering a cease-fire with threat of death. They never spoke directly of bridge nights (entitled as such due to the fact that Quinn's mother was gone to play bridge with her friends each Thursday).
In private, Quinn never said a word. That was easy to brush off in the beginning; by now, it was maddening.
The first time, Quinn had a fistful of Rachel's sweater in her hand and their lips smashed together before the front door had even closed. By the time she left, Rachel felt certain that she had every millimeter of Quinn's mouth, neck, and ear memorized. Rachel said bye when she left; Quinn just waved.
The second time, she discovered that Quinn's motto of "under the shirt, over the bra" had returned. She left with one hickey and the sounds of heavy breathing ringing in her ears. Quinn waved.
The third time, it was emphasized that she clearly still regarded "teasing, not pleasing" as rule number one.
The fourth time, "under the shirt, over the bra" was history. Right next to talking, evidently.
The fifth time, Rachel completely gave up on attempting to get Quinn to say a word to her (or, really, make a sound of any sort) in that house. She considered it a victory of epic proportions when Quinn breathed "wow" after she had her first orgasm. She left feeling quite proud of herself but kind of...frustrated, that not a single article of clothing had been removed.
The sixth time, Rachel had planned on withholding her lips (and all other body parts, for that matter) until Quinn had a talk with her. The plan was out the window by the time she walked through the front door and Quinn had her pressed against it with her thigh placed firmly between her legs.
The seventh time, the plan for Rachel to wait until the age of twenty-five to have sex went out the window. She didn't complain (and, of course, Quinn said nothing either).
She kind of lost track of the weeks after that, but every week her amazement that Quinn could have sheet-soaking orgasms without making a single sound grew exponentially. In fact, were it not for said sheet-soaking and the frequent scratches in her back (thank goodness it wasn't summer), she'd probably think she was doing something wrong.
As she pulled up in Quinn's driveway this time, something felt out of the ordinary. Maybe it was that Quinn had discreetly mentioned on Tuesday that her mother was traveling for work and not actually playing bridge this time, and she wouldn't have to rush out promptly at nine o'clock; maybe it was simply that she was excessively horny today (ever since these evenings had become expected, they tended to dominate her thoughts, particularly for the duration of the day on Thursdays). She guessed it didn't really matter and walked into the house.
She closed the front door and wasn't shoved into it. That was different. In fact, she made it all the way up to Quinn's bedroom without so much as catching sight of the blonde. Rachel rolled her eyes; could she really plan nothing? The bedroom door was slightly ajar and she nudged it open. She heard the shower running and worried her bottom lip between her teeth, considering her options.
"You coming?" Quinn's voice called from the bathroom.
Yup, today was definitely different. She couldn't remember the last time she'd heard Quinn's voice within these walls. She moved into the bathroom and undressed silently.
When she slid the shower curtain open and caught sight of Quinn standing there, her mouth went dry. She stepped into the shower, barely able to get the curtain shut before their bodies were pressed together. Quinn's lips attacked Rachel's in a manner that had only grown increasingly fervent as their (relationship? affair? who knew?)...Thursday ritual went on; the tentative hesitancy of their kisses was long gone and replaced by heated passion and urgency.
As Rachel grabbed a fistful of long hair, she was pulled under the hot water. Quinn's mouth left hers and traveled to her ear, her tongue sneaking out to dance around its rim.
Too quickly, Quinn had stepped back and turned away, reaching for something. Rachel took in her form appreciatively until she straightened, body wash in hand. She spread a bit into her hands and set the bottle down, placing her hands on the brunette's shoulders. Slowly, she began washing Rachel's entire body, making sure to take extra time on each breast and between her legs. After removing the shower head from its holder and rinsing away the soap, she wordlessly handed the bottle of soap over.
While Quinn took her time with the process, Rachel simply lacked the patience for such a task. Hurriedly, she completed the process, but not without taking a moment to allow her fingers to linger where she really wanted them to be. She stepped around to grab the shower head and rinse away the suds that she was currently viewing as a serious obstacle. After returning the showerhead to its holder, she guided Quinn back against the shower wall, covering the taller girl's body with her own.
Quinn lowered her head to connect their lips, but Rachel nudged it to the side and instead attached her lips to Quinn's neck, kissing and sucking a trail from just below her ear down to her collarbone before moving her attentions to her breasts. Her tongue drew lazy circles around one nipple while she kneaded the other breast with her hand. With a gentle nip of her teeth, she moved her attentions to the other side, repeating the same process before trailing kisses down Quinn's stomach and settling her mouth on her hip bone.
As she moved onto her knees on the shower floor, she trailed her fingers up the long legs in front of her until she reached her destination between those legs she happened to be appreciating far more than usual in her current position. She lightly dragged the tip of her left index finger around her dripping (in more ways than one) center as her mouth moved away from Quinn's hip and ever closer to joining her finger. Quinn moaned in anticipation, and Rachel raised her eyebrows in surprise.
Once her tongue took over teasing duty from her fingers, Rachel couldn't keep up her agonizingly slow pace. She dove in, eagerly lapping up the hot wetness that had been building, pressing hard on her clit with each stroke of her tongue. Quinn shook a little at the sudden contact and her head softly thudded against the wall; Rachel wondered if she was going to be able to remain standing as this went on.
She didn't wonder for long, however, as she was pulled to a standing position by her arm as the other girl turned off the water, which had just begun to run lukewarm. Quinn moved her grip to her wrist, leading her out of the shower and into the attached bedroom with haste, not bothering to retrieve towels. She threw the pillows and comforter aside haphazardly, falling onto the mattress and pulling Rachel with her.
Any other time, Rachel thought fleetingly, she'd probably be freezing; the brief moment between opening the shower curtain and getting wrapped in a towel was usually quite miserable, but right now? She couldn't recall feeling so hot all over. Quinn rolled on top of her, pressing their centers together with conviction and drawing a low growl of pleasure from each of them. Her movements were matched and they fell into a rhythm, urgently rocking together.
The ache building between Rachel's legs was so intense she felt she might explode, and though she was thoroughly enjoying their current position, she needed more. Swiftly, she rolled them over, moving to straddle Quinn's thigh in the process. She pressed two fingers inside of her, and Quinn let out a deep moan (which Rachel noted as approximately the third sound of the evening). She continued pumping in and out with vigor, her thumb moving up to graze her clit with each movement.
Abruptly, Rachel found herself forced into a sitting position, Quinn now seated opposite her. She thrust her fingers back inside the blonde, and felt two fingers enter her simultaneously. She cried out in pleasure, enjoying the feel of the fingers now sliding in and out of her wetness, matching the speed and intensity of her own thrusts.
Quinn grabbed a thick fistful of soaking wet brown locks in her hand, forcefully pulling their mouths together and into a rough kiss. Rachel's gasps and moans disappeared into Quinn's mouth as she urgently moved her hips in rhythm with their thrusting. Her legs began to quiver and she knew it wouldn't be much longer. She curled her fingers, pressing firmly on that spot, and Quinn nearly squirmed off the edge of the bed; the diva was pleased to feel her moan loudly against her mouth.
As she felt a familiar pull begin in her abdomen and travel down her legs, she dug her nails into Quinn's back and threw her head back, forcing herself to remain focused on the movements of her own hand. Quinn began to tremor, and Rachel stopped her thrusting, curling her fingers inside once, twice, three times until she felt the walls around her finger tighten and Quinn make the most amazing sound she'd ever heard in her life, Broadway be damned. Quinn made one final push with her hand and Rachel felt that warm, tingling sensation shoot to every inch of her body as she came.
Panting, she fell backwards on the bed and closed her eyes, unable to do much else. She felt Quinn fall beside her and her arm fall across her stomach. When she began to regain coherency, she took a deep breath to collect her thoughts before speaking.
"Quinn." It was more of a statement than a question, and she wasn't sure if she expected a reply or not. She got one anyway.
Rachel's eyes widened as wondered if she had heard her correctly. "What?"
"Stay here," she said simply, tightening her grip on the smaller girl.
Rachel beamed and felt thankful that the other girl still had her eyes closed. "Okay."
They stayed that wait for a few minutes, quietly enjoying the comfort. Rachel broke the silence first, as usual. "Quinn?" She didn't get a reply, but she did feel her adjust her head to look at her. "Why today?"
"What do you mean?" she questioned.
"I can't even count how many times we've done this and you never make a sound. Ever."
Rachel looked incredulous. "What? That is hardly what I meant," she huffed. "What I meant was that you never moan, never mumble, never speak. Why are you always silent? Why did you stop today?"
She shrugged. "I had to be silent because I was afraid if I started saying things I wouldn't stop. Like word vomit."
"And today was different?"
"Today I stopped caring."
"What were you so afraid of saying?"
Quinn tensed and waited a long, heavy moment before responding. "That I've been falling in love with you since the first time you walked in my house with your bedazzled bedazzler."
"And your silence now is EXACTLY why." Her voice wavered as she moved away.
Rachel snapped out of her reverie and realized she had, for quite possibly the first time in her life, missed a very important social cue that required her to say something.
"No! I mean, I didn't intend to be silent."
"Your non-response isn't much better, Rachel!"
Rachel slid over on the bed, pressing her chest into Quinn's back and wrapping her arm around her hips. "I'm glad you finally said something."
"You are?" she whispered.
"Yes." She tightened her grip. "Did you finish?"
"Uh, coming? You couldn't tell?"
Rachel laughed heartily. "No."
"Did I finish what?"
"Are you asking if I'm in love with you?"
Rachel shoved Quinn's hip to guide her onto her back and rolled on top of her. Quinn looked anxious.
"You shouldn't have been afraid to say that."
"Clearly, the sentiment is returned."
"Clearly?" Quinn laughed. "Are you saying you're in love with me?"
They kissed, but not like they usually did; they kissed softly, slowly, and without intent. When they broke away, Quinn reached for the comforter on the floor and pulled it over them before curling against Rachel's back.
"Now we're going to lay here for a few minutes before we change these soaking wet sheets. Not drying off was a much better idea then than now."
Rachel laughed. "That's not what I meant, though I think they may have been soaked regardless."
Quinn chuckled. "Well, what do you want to happen?"
"Thursdays on many other days."
Quinn smiled against her shoulder. "Are you going to break up with Finn?"
Rachel rolled her eyes. "As soon as possible. Are you going to break up with Sam?"
"I already did," she said, pride in her voice.
The next day at school, quite unceremoniously, Rachel broke up with Finn right in the middle of the hallway before spinning on her heel to carry on with her day. She noted that it wasn't much different than the time he dumped her shortly after the kitten calendar incident, and wondered if she'd have more luck with Quinn if she used a puppy calendar.
In glee club, Finn and Sam sat together at the back of the room, glowering at their ex-girlfriends at every opportunity. Rachel and Quinn sat together in the front row, acting as though not a thing had changed.
Two minutes before she expected Mr. Schuester to shuffle in, Rachel's phone buzzed in her bag. She glanced sideways at Quinn, who was literally less than a foot away, but checked her phone.
It's not bridge night.
She smirked. It's not. She put her phone away, thinking that would be it. It buzzed again and heard Quinn chuckle beside her as she retrieved it.
It can be Thursday on Friday. I'll see you at 7.
Rachel crossed her legs and thought maybe she'd just call every night bridge night now. When Mr. Schuester came in, she tuned out and started thinking that maybe she'd be able to start making plans again, starting with what was going to be happening at approximately 7:01 P.M.