Length: 2500 roughly.
Spoilers: Spoilers up to 'Sexy'.
Warnings: Sexual themes.
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or it's characters.
Summary: "There's teeth and tongue and when her hands roughly squeeze your hips, you're sure you're about to take her right there and then on the sidewalk." Sort of PWP, if I leave it as a one-shot.
A/N: Probably riddled with mistakes, because I'm too lazy to proof read. Also, first time writing in this perspective and tense. Just testing out styles :).
You'd never thought you were actually able to hurt this much, but as you stalk down the hall; tears streaming down your face—you feel broken, shattered, completely irreparable. The pain is so agonizing, so concentrated on your destruction that you think you'll never be able to smile again. Happiness and joy seems like a distant dream and when you try and recall moments where you were filled with unbridled elation, it plays in your mind like a hollow fantasy. One you'll never have the pleasure of experiencing again.
But maybe you're just being melodramatic. Honestly, with the way your thoughts are going, you're beginning to sound much too similar to Berry than you would like. It's almost disconcerting, the way you used to sneer at her when you'd see the moments she looked about ready to breakdown—ignorantly thinking she was merely doing it for the attention. It's ironic, how the tables have turned.
Briefly, you ponder whether this is karma. Surely, this is what you deserve, after everything you've put others through with your cruelty. But you dismiss the thought, because superstitions are for idiots, and if you're anything, it's not an idiot. You may be acting like a dramatic theater-geek, but as you slide into your car and begin to pull yourself together, you realize that the pain is real, and then you feel worse, because there has been so many times that you've belittled someone because of his or her so-called 'heartbreak'.
You're definitely paying for it now, even if you don't believe in karma.
When you've finally calmed enough to drive, you're tires squeal as you accelerate out of your parking space, only to screech to a halt when you come within inches of mowing down Quinn Fabray. The blonde stares at you through the windshield, mouth wide open. Honestly, she's looking about ready to burst into either hysterical tears, or hysterical laughter. However, you're so absorbed in your heartache that you ignore the fact that you nearly killed her and settle for rolling down your window and shouting,
"What the fuck are you doing, Tubbers? Do you want me to go to jail or something? Get the hell out of the way before I rethink my decision to not run you over."
You think your words would have had more effect if you didn't still have tear tracks on your face. Quinn takes a deep breath as she composes herself and then she's standing straight, hands-on-hips and eyebrow raised, still directly in front of your car and subsequently holding up your getaway. The fear that had been riddling her features has all but disappeared as she glares down at you.
"What am I doing? What are you doing? Why don't you actually take notice of your surroundings before you pull out like that? You could have killed me!" She even stomps her foot and you can scarcely that this actually happening. Why does she have to throw a tantrum right now? All you want to is to get home and cry your eyes out in peace. Your attention swivels from your self-pity and back to the irate girl still in front of you when she growls impatiently, "I'm waiting for an apology, Santana."
"Well, you're not going to get one," you hiss, revving your car threateningly. You see Quinn flinch and you normally would have smirked. Instead you settle for scowling. "Now, bitch best move out of my way, before actually decide to run your ass down."
"No," Quinn glowers determinedly, crossing her arms. "I'm not moving until you apologize."
"Just get the fuck out of the way!" you retort furiously—desperately trying to hold back the emotional tears that are begging to be released. You can't handle Quinn's stubborn fucking antics at the moment, not when you're in such a fragile state. "I'm serious, Q. If you don't move…"
You want close your eyes and sigh with relief when she relents with a huff and moves out of the way. Your foot comes down on the accelerator and you're halfway out of the lot when you realize the sneaky bitch had managed to climb into your car at the last minute. You screech to halt for a second time, swerving over to the side of the road. Once the vehicle is completely motionless, you turn your head to stare at her lividly.
You're sure you look pretty incredulous, too.
"What the fuck are you doing you psychotic moron? Wasn't nearly getting killed once enough for you?"
God! You think angrily, I've already gotten my heart stomped on… why do I have to deal with this on top of that?
"I want an apology," Quinn stubbornly states, lips pursed. "And I'm not leaving this car until I get one."
"Why do you have to pull this bullshit today?" the dam breaks on the last word, and suddenly you're sobbing. "Why Quinn?" voice shaking, you try to glare at her. "I'm can't fucking handle this right now, okay? Please just get out of my damn car." Tone soft and defeated now, you try to even out your breathing and wipe away your tears while avoiding her penetrating gaze.
There's complete silence save for your shallow pants, until the sound of the passenger side door opening and closing echoes in your ears. You bite your lip, for some reason feeling a pang of something in your heart when you realize Quinn had left, but it's gone when your door opens moments later. You don't resist when you're pulled into an awkward embrace, still half sitting in the car as Quinn crouches in front of you.
"Why can't you just leave me alone?" you whisper, sounding hoarse. You breathe in her scent, something stirring in your stomach at the soft scent of peaches and cream that lingers on her skin. Her arms tighten around you, and it seems like she doesn't realize her hands are resting on your ass. You try to ignore the way your pulse picks up at this fact.
Frowning into her neck, you hold back to urge to curse your raging libido out loud. You'd just gotten your heart broken, for fuck sakes. This was just ridiculous. And not only that, it's Quinn Fabray—ex-Christ Crusading, abstinence clubber, straight-girl extraordinaire: Quinn Fabray.
"You haven't apologized." The blonde shrugs, not breaking her hold. Your shoulders shudder as a mirthless laugh bubbles up from your chest and soon enough, you're both laughing hysterically, clutching at each other desperately as you both gasp for air. It's seconds later that you get pulled unceremoniously out of the car and onto Quinn's lap when the other girl loses her balance and falls back on her heels, not letting you go and taking you down with her.
For a second, you wonder if this is some fucked metaphor for the relationship you have with each other.
The compromising position doesn't really register in either of your minds until your laughter dies down. It's you who's the first to notice, eyes going wide as you stare down at her; golden hair fanned out against the grass, eyelids squeezed closed and a carefree smile curling at those ever so red and pouty lips.
A throb begins at the junction between your thighs, and you know you're in trouble. When cloudy hazel-irises become visible, you wonder if they can see the desire swirling in your eyes. Have your pupils dilated? Is there a flush on your cheeks? Is it noticeable?
She looks beautiful, and it's the first time anyone other than Brittany has taken your breath away.
Guilt settles firmly in your stomach, but it doesn't reduce the heart pounding arousal you're feeling. Lips parting, your eyelids are heavy and you're sure you're giving her one of the sultriest looks you've ever given anyone in your life. You don't know if this attraction is born out of your heartbreak, or acknowledge that it's most likely going to be a rebound if you actually do anything with her.
You just need something, anything, to at least temporarily distract you from the pain you're feeling. Realistically, you know that trying to seduce Quinn is probably the worst thing you could do. It's almost written in stone that it will end up hurting someone, but you can't help yourself. There's something bigger driving your actions as you lean forward, hands coming to rest either side of the blonde's gorgeous face.
As you lean in, shaking like a middle-school boy about to have his first kiss, you almost convince yourself you see anticipation shimmering in Quinn's eyes. And fuck, you're then kissing her, in public, on the fucking pedestrian path in the middle of Lima, right near the high school all your peers attend—and the most shocking thing is, she's letting you.
Her lips are as soft as you had imagined them to be, but the kiss isn't. It's messy and passionate and all the things you'd have never associated with the girl lying below you. There's teeth and tongue and when her hands roughly squeeze your hips, you're sure you're about to take her right there and then on the sidewalk. You don't though, thankfully, because she's pushing you back, and for a second you think she's come to her senses and is rejecting you.
The waterworks nearly start up again when you think this, but she's not rejecting you, instead, her eyes are burning with something that looks a lot like need and she's saying, "Lets go somewhere more… private."
You've never driven faster in your life, there's still a pain in your chest and your stomach is still filled with guilt—even more so now—but the aching between your thighs outweighs every other sensation and is obviously dispelling any sign of rational thought. Glancing to your left, you meet Quinn's smoldering eyes and your foot presses down harder on the gas pedal.
Next thing you know, your car is parked diagonally across your driveway and you're pressed against the back of your front door, legs wrapped tightly around Quinn's slim waist. Lips are dragging along your neck as you gasp and moan, throwing your head back to allow her more access. You almost feel like you're going to explode with want when your fingers tighten in the blonde's hair and she lets out the sexiest whimper you've ever heard.
When her teeth sink into your skin, you wonder why you're reacting so violently to her touch, because you've never felt this consumed with lust before. Somewhere, deep down, it's like there's a quiet rage bubbling under your skin, too, buried way beneath the all-consuming desire, making it's presence known subtly with the occasionally too hard grope or pleasurably painful bite. It makes sense. You've always been attracted to Quinn, and you've also always sort of resented her. It's understandable how all those pent up feeling would burst forth in a situation such as this.
You're beginning to sound like Berry again, so you dismiss your thoughts completely and continue to sigh and groan as her hands pull off your jacket and throw it to the floor. At this point, you're so turned you feel like you're going to die if you don't get some type of release. You both shed your clothes as you stumble your way towards your room, finally managing to remove your undergarments as you tumble into your bed; naked as the day you were born.
Time isn't wasted, and you're surprised, even though she's been aggressive thus far, when Quinn's moves her hand to caress your pebbled left nipple. You'd have never thought she would be this assertive in bed, even if she is very domineering outside of it, simply because—to the extent of your knowledge—this is her first time since Puckerman, and her first time with a girl.
The surprise is short lived, however, as all thought is forced out of your mind when those swollen pink lips close around your nipple, a talented tongue flicking and teasing you to the edge of insanity. A leg is swiftly wedged between your own and you're bucking and arching and shamelessly spreading your arousal all over her naked thigh.
"God, fuck Quinn," you can't even find it within yourself to be embarrassed at how desperate and needy you sound. "Please ju—" you cut yourself off with a high-pitched moan as she grinds forcefully against your sex. The contact is delicious, but you need more. "More, Quinn."
"More what?" she husks into your ear, having kissed her way up from your chest. The breathy, raspy tone of her voice almost sends you into frenzy. "Tell me what you want, S. Tell me where you want me."
"Fuck me," you practically beg. Your forehead is beading with sweat and you buck up into the palm that has moved to cup your center almost wildly. "With your fingers, please," a thumb rubs your clit and the groan you let out is nothing less than guttural. "God, please Q."
You could swear, when two of her long slender digits finally cease their teasing and enter where you need them the most, that you see stars. When you both establish a fast, powerful rhythm, you latch your mouth onto her shoulder and dig your short nails into the backs of her thighs as she rocks herself against the area of your thigh just above your knee. Occasionally you'll tense your leg and revel in the carnal moan it generates.
"It feels so good," Quinn hisses, panting and rubbing against you even harder. "Being inside of you. Christ, I'm so close."
"Me too," you gasp, thrusting into her fingers furiously. "Nearly there, oh god."
"Say my name," Quinn demands, pressing into you harder, "Say it."
"Quinn!" it's almost a scream, but not quite. Your eyes roll as she curls her fingers and your entire world goes white as you reach your climax, every muscle in your body feeling like it's tensing as much as they possibly can before releasing all at once, leaving you feeling utterly boneless. Distantly you hear Quinn growl your name as her own orgasm hits.
She collapses beside you, and both lay in silence for a few moments, as you both try to catch your breath and recover. A few minutes later, you turn your head to look at her. Meeting hazel eyes, you can't properly get a read on what she's feeling. She's always been very good at closing herself off, and much as you wish you could see through her facade, you can't. "Uh—"
"No," she cuts you off, "We're not talking about this now. I'm going to text my mom and tell her I'm staying the night and we're going to fall asleep. I don't care if you don't want me to stick around, I am. We can talk about this in the morning." Her eyes harden, "And we will talk about it."
You nod and don't bother saying anything. She's knows she's allowed to stay, and knows your father's never around to give a damn whether you have guests over. Sighing, you boldly curl into her side. She doesn't protest, and seemingly realizes you need the contact. Arms winding around you, you almost want to sigh again at the peaceful feeling being held elicits within you.
You don't, instead you almost instantly fall into a sated, guilty sleep—Quinn doing the same shortly after.
AN: Reviews? :D