"Hey, do you want to go get pancakes with me?" Quinn's voice bounces through the tiny apartment, but there's no reply. "Rach?" She knows her roommate is home because Rachel's shoes are by the door and her keys with the gaudy bedazzled gold star keyring are on the tiny table next to the couch.
Three steps into the space not only puts her in the middle of the whole space, but also positions her close enough to the bathroom to hear the water running. She must have come in during a break between verse and chorus, because she suddenly hears the strains of Rachel Berry's latest original work My Shower Cap and knows she'll never be heard if she knocks on the door.
Whatever, she can wait. Maybe. As long as this isn't one of Rachel's epic "rehearsal" showers where she's trying to perfect the dialogue for her latest scene study class.
Quinn bypasses the bathroom for her own bedroom, where she slips off her shoes and drops onto her bed. She has the new issue of Cosmo, somewhere. Even though it's full of tips about blow jobs and finding Mr. Right and Rachel incessantly points out that she doesn't need either of those at this point in her life, she still feels the need to read it.
Plus, all that knowledge in her head makes for an amazing party trick where she offers straight girls advice about guys, then ends up sleeping with them.
The magazine's not where she left it, though. Which isn't unusual. She and Rachel swap reading material all the time. And clothes. And shoes. And glances across the room at parties. Okay, that last one's fairly new. That was also the night Rachel got really drunk and begged to braid Quinn's hair during the cab ride home.
Quinn abandons the bed to investigate the living room, but the only reading material that isn't on the bookshelf in the corner is a New York Times crossword puzzle page and a flyer for their favorite pizza place on the corner. A traditional New York slice is enough to get Rachel to bend her veganism, though she insists it's all about having an authentic experience while living in the city.
The kitchen turns up nothing but takeout menus and the only place left is Rachel's bedroom. Quinn already sees it from the doorway and as nears the bed where it sits on the gray and yellow striped comforter, she notices it's open to a quiz, and her roommate has taken upon herself to fill in her answers.
Times like now? Rachel drives her a little nuts.
She snatches up the magazine and turns, just as a smaller body rounds the corner. Rachel's rubbing a towel over her hair, but there's nothing covering the rest of her.
"What are you-"
"I thought you were-"
In all of this the towel lands on the floor, Quinn's eyes land on everything between Rachel's neck and knees, and nothing about any of this changes for at least ten second.
Eventually, Rachel leans down to pick up the yellow bath towel and begins to wrap it around herself.
"Wait," Quinn said.
"You said wait."
"No, I didn't."
Rachel's suddenly a lot closer and looking up at her, concern reflecting her eyes. "You okay?"
"Fine." Sure, totally fine. She's been out since she was a senior, dealt with that, the divorce, and Beth through therapy (okay, still dealing with some of that), and now she's in college, spending her junior year rooming with someone she used to hate but now really likes and it's all well and good. Except that whole "liking" thing shifted in meaning at some point and if she doesn't get out of there now, she's going to do something stu-
Nope, wait. Already doing it.
Rachel tastes minty. And then she doesn't taste like anything, because they're not kissing, anymore.
Again with the mint.
The towel's on the floor and not coming back up, but Quinn's eyes are now closed and her back's against the dresser and Rachel's hands are tugging, no, yanking her t-shirt up over her head.
So, this is happening.
She pushes Rachel back toward the bed, taking the break in contact as an opportunity to shed her skirt before pushing her palms up tan legs that are way too long for someone so short. Her hands only make it to hips and then they're stuck, like super magnets. Quinn briefly contemplates the repercussions of going down on her roommate, but when she looks up at Rachel to try and explain what she wants, she's met with a lusty, dark eyed, lip biting version of her friend, so she just asks, "Can I...?"
There's a nod. There are actually several.
And then she's on her knees and face first between Rachel's legs, arms looped under her thighs, and her tongue drags through sticky heat and wetness that's not at all a result of the shower that just happen. She takes the calves that now rest against her back as a sign that this is going well and delves deeper, which draws a vocal reaction out of Rachel, though it isn't the words to My Shower Cap. In fact, the more she moves her tongue, there aren't any actual words at all, just sounds.
There are also hands in her hair. Normally, this is a very good thing, but she's currently trying to focus on tongue plus movement over Rachel's clit equation and the tugging on her hair makes her forget what she's doing.
The grip stays the same, but Quinn just soldiers on. She can handle it. She was Head Cheerio, after all.
It's not long before Rachel's breathing comes in heavy pants and her body hard enough against Quinn's mouth that she has to hold her hips down to finish the job.
And then there are definite words.
"Fuck, Quinn. Fuck. Fuck."'
Rachel could probably be an assassin with the amount of strength she has in her thighs. Quinn escapes from between them, swipes her hand over her mouth, and rocks back on her heels, unsure about what comes next. She's pretty gay, but Rachel's pretty straight if their make-out partners at parties and other alcohol laden gatherings are any indication.
But then, there's an expectant look behind those brown eyes and Quinn tilts her head.
"Get up here."
Quinn climbs up onto the bed and Rachel's arms immediately loop around her to pull her close- or to unhook her bra, with surprising ease. She raises an inquisitive eyebrow.
"Done this before?"
"I'm a musical theatre major."
She's not sure what that means, exactly, but she's starting to think Rachel's not as monosexual as she originally thought. Or, at least, not the way she thought. But thinking's for people who aren't having their panties removed by their very attractive and totally fit best friend.
There's a hickey in progress over her left breast, but before she can register that it stings a little, two nimble fingers press into her, probably very easily, given how much she loves giving oral in general, let alone the girl she's been crushing on since freshman year. Of high school.
This might be a recent realization.
She wants Rachel's mouth everywhere, but she mostly wants to kiss her. They've only done it twice and both of those times were less than twenty minutes ago.
These kisses are sloppier, more desperate, at least on Quinn's end of things. This is probably directly related to the consistently fluctuating angle of Rachel's right wrist.
"You can... harder..."
"Can I?" is the mildly amused reply.
But then the hand between her legs is moving faster and definitely harder, as requested. Quinn's foot pushes flat against the bed as her hips rock up to meet each stroke.
She comes with her hips halfway off the mattress, one hand digging five points into Rachel's arm, and her eyes shut tight.
When she finally opens them, she's faced with Rachel, her roommate, and her best friend. She's not sure what to say.
"You took my quiz."
Rachel laughs. She laughs hard.
Whatever this is, Quinn thinks maybe it'll turn out just fine.