It's the last week of her summer art class, the one she's taking at the community college as a final good bye slash fuck you to Lima. Even though she's in New York and she's been away from her hometown for two years. She needs this to be something just for her, not for a degree, just for Quinn. It's another step in her process to find herself.

Getting into Columbia was one of them. But it wasn't the first. Applying was. Then getting in. And applying for scholarships and student loans.

Learning to live with a roommate who likes industrial music. Realizing she was never that into Finn. Or Puck. Or Sam. Not for the right reasons, anyway. Admitting she was more into Santana. Or Brittany. Or- Okay, she wasn't into Santana and Brittany, like, seriously. But she found herself thinking a lot about them and wondering what it meant that they were soulmates or whatever. And occasionally, maybe she thought about what it would be like to kiss Santana. Because she was hot.

It was around graduation of her senior year that she openly had that thought, but it wasn't until an end of the summer party that she actually kissed another girl. It was still another four months before she actually dated one. Since then, she's had a three girlfriends, but nothing ever longer than a couple of months.

It's like they just don't click the right way, but Quinn can't put her finger on it.

She's decided the summer is about her, not about trying to pair herself off with someone else. It's her Quality Quinn Time.

She's always liked drawing and in the rare cases where an art elective was possible, she took it. But most training during her high school career came from the web, between the time she spent looking up the competition for Cheerios (then Glee Club) and stretch mark remedies.

So, art class.

Every week, they've been assigned to draw whatever their instructor, Eugenie, puts in the center of the room. This week is supposed to be a live model, but the draped block is empty, for the moment.

Quinn takes the opportunity to organize her pencils and by the time she looks up, the model's arrived. She manages to catch a glimpse of her, just as the robe slips off her shoulders, revealing full view of the woman's breasts as she perches on the edge of the display block.

Unlike most of the class, though, Quinn isn't staring (or pretending not to stare) at the bare chest that's quickly become the awkward focal point of the room. She's looking at the woman's face.

She's looking at Rachel Berry.

And her pencils are now all over the floor.

If Rachel notices her, she's not letting on. Her eyes fix on a point across the room.

They're both adults, New York professionals, Quinn figures, as she picks up the pencils. This may not be for her degree, but it's for her and that's enough to want to stick it out and finish it, instead of dumping all her supplies in her bag and leaving as quickly as possible.

It's not the nudity. It's that it's Rachel's nudity.

As in, she's drawn this body probably thousands of times, but never actually seen it.

Whatever.

She taps her fingers over the pencil case that rests on her lap, selects one and taps it against her chin before she finally begins to draw. Once she starts, she finds it's not that difficult to just fall into the rhythm of the pencil on the page and it isn't until the third or fourth time she looks up and catches Rachel's eye, that she falters. It's just one random stroke too far to the right, but Quinn shoots a glare at the woman in the center of the room.

Rachel can't really respond, but it's possible a corner of her mouth turns up in amusement.

Okay, so it's a game, now.

Quinn's not playing. She resumes her sketch, but when she looks back up, Rachel's still looking at her. She hasn't seen Rachel since the summer after graduation. Neither of them bothered to look each other up, even though they both knew the other was New York bound.

She draws.

The basic form is easy, because she doesn't have to focus too hard on the details. It's not until she starts studying various parts of Rachel that she begins to have thoughts. Memories. Hair. Hands. Hands in her hair. That taught, tan stomach that she knows is smooth to the touch, that show knows if she did graze her fingers over it, Rachel would jump, just a little.

She's always surprised at how vivid the memory still is, given that it's two years old and she was a little drunk. So was Rachel, though. It's kind of the main reason why she didn't make any big deal out of it.

It was just a make-out session. Seven minutes in heaven. And then another twenty-three when they excused themselves to a dark corner of the backyard. They both left for New York the following week and that was the last time they'd spoken.

The way Rachel's looking at her suggests maybe she wants to reconnect. Maybe not so much with words. Which makes it even harder for Quinn to concentrate.

When the class ends, Rachel's out the door before Quinn has a chance to pack up any of her supplies.

Fine.

She doesn't know what she'd say or do, anyway.

Everyone else is gone by the time Quinn returns from the sink, hands scrubbed clean, even though she'll probably sketch on the subway. She crouches down to slip everything into her bag and when she stands, there's someone looking at her drawing.

"Shit!" Quinn's arm swings back, ready to take a shot at whatever ghost person just appeared.

"You've improved."

Rachel. "What are you doing here?" Quinn's not looking at her. She's looked plenty. She's looked enough for forever.

"Earning a living. It's tough out there for performers. It was this or stripping." Rachel's fingers ghost over the lines of the image in front of her.

Quinn glances up. "I... I'm sorry it's so rough."

"It was a joke, Quinn."

Her eyes drop back down. It's not her fault that the rest of Rachel's body, from her face to her legs, is right in front of her. "Sure." At least she's wearing a top, even if it's a fitted tank top with a low cut that... highlights things. Things that remind her she hasn't has sex in at least six weeks.

"You look good."

"Yeah, so do you."

"I noticed you couldn't take your eyes off me the whole time."

"That was the assignment, Berry." Quinn pulls the strap of her bag up over her shoulder. She needs to go, because Rachel Berry is programmed to annoy her and she just wants to leave before she says something idiotic.

Rachel shifts tactics. "Would you perhaps want to catch up, sometime?"

"Like...?" Quinn's brain is currently caught up in the task of keeping her eyes off Rachel's cleavage.

"A lunch date? Or a casual dinner?"

What's Rachel asking? All Quinn can think about was how she wants to kiss Rachel. She's been thinking about it with every stroke of the pencil; each line, each curve. Okay, maybe the curves make her consider more than kissing.

She needs to leave.

But then she realizes, she doesn't want to leave. And this whole art thing is supposed to be an exercise in what she wants.

She wonders if Rachel wants it.

Only one way to find out.

The bag slips off her shoulder and hits the floor. Rachel's in mid-sentence about something related to well-rated lunch spots, but her mouth easily adapts from talking to the lip lock Quinn has on her.

At least until she says, "Finally."

Quinn pulls bad and looks down at her. "Finally what?"

"You've been ogling me every since I walked in here."

"I wasn-"

"It was rather adorable, actually."

Quinn releases the hold she didn't even realize she had on Rachel's hips. "Sorry."

"Quinn." Rachel's give her the same look she gave her all through the class period.

It reminds her of the drawing, particularly the time she spent on the toned midsection of the model. She wonders if that skin feels the same way she remembers.

The first kiss was deliberate, the second is confident. Her tongue dips, grazes Rachel's bottom lip, until their tongue's meet and Quinn's a little weak in the knees because this is better than a memory.

Plus, you know, it's been a while.

Her hand's under Rachel's shirt, skin against her palm and fingers. Except the tank top quickly moves up until it's off and discarded somewhere else.

"What are you-"

"We don't have to but, we could. No one uses this room for at least another hour."

"You barely know me, anymore. If you ever did."

"I know the way you were looking at me for almost ninety minutes. It's the same way you're looking at me, now."

Quinn can't argue with that. Her eyes do a once over of the woman in front of her, dressed in green bra and a jean skirt. "Get undressed."

Rachel smirks and unbuttons her skirt. "How do I know you're just not planning to steal my clothes and make a run for it?"

Fair enough.

"A good faith gesture." Quinn unhooks the fly to her jeans and shoves them downward before kicking them off. Now she's left in the over-sized plaid button-up, the kind she always wears to class.

The skirt drops, them Rachel reaches for Quinn's shirt and individually pops each snap open. By the time she reaches the bottom, Quinn's panties are soaked and she's no longer concerned with whether anyone might try to access the room between classes.

She grabs Rachel and spins her around so she's pressed against the shorter woman's back. They're both facing the drawing.

"You know how hard it was to draw that?" she asks, her head angled down so her mouth's on Rachel's ear.

Rachel shakes her head. "You seem like you know what you're doing."

"Still takes concentration." Quinn drags her mouth along the back of Rachel's neck, then between her shoulder blades. She stops at the clasp to the bra. "Don't move." Her head tilts sideways and she grabs the clasped section between her teeth, bites to create slack in the hooks, then releases.

"Did you just-" Quinn's already upright, again, as her hands push the bra straps down Rachel's arms. "Guess you did."

Once the bra's off, her hands are free to roam over bare breasts and stomach, the former which she's never done with Rachel, the latter which she's had filed away in her Spank Bank since she started college. "You think it's good?"

"Do I... the drawing?" Rachel sounds distracted. "It's quite good, Quinn. Especially for an amateur."

Quinn's fingers roughly toy with a nipple and Rachel whimpers. "Amateur? Do you have any idea how many times I've drawn you?"

Rachel shakes her head. Quinn's hand dips from stomach to thighs, particularly that space between them. "How... how many?"

"Can't even keep count." Fingers trail over Rachel's damp thong and Quinn has to pull her other arm tighter around Rachel just to keep her still.

"Why?"

"Too many."

"No, I mean why draw me?"

"Maybe I just wanted to see you naked." Fingertips dip beneath the underwear and glide easily.

"Could have asked me to actually pose for you."

"If I'd known it gets you this wet, I would have."

Rachel's at a loss for words, or maybe oxygen, because she doesn't ask any other questions. Her left hand reaches back to slip behind Quinn's head. Her hips rock against fingers that seem to sketch and trace just the right patterns over her clit. "Quinn..."

There's a point where Quinn second guesses her choice in positioning, because she can't easily kiss Rachel this way. The second her hand pulls away, Rachel groans in disappointment.

"Over here." Quinn leads her toward the center of the room, drops her shirt along the way, and pushes Rachel back onto the covered blocks. Now they're face to face. As she leans over to start another round of kissing, the thong's shoved aside, again.

This time two fingers make their way into Rachel and Quinn's sure she's going to have nail marks on her shoulders when this is over.

"Fuck, yes," is the only mumbled response Quinn can make out.

One of Rachel's legs is around Quinn's waist, the other's bent and awkwardly braced against the end of the block. From the sounds she's hearing, she assumes Rachel's probably close, but then they've never done this before and it's possible she's just loud and vocal at random. Except, she feels the grip on her shoulders tighten and hears a couple rounds of "oh god don't stop" before Rachel comes apart around her.

Quinn lets herself rest against the woman underneath her, in an attempt to catch her own breath. She's absolutely on the brink of a frustration explosion, but she also doesn't want to be caught naked in the art room.

"We should go," she says, sitting upright.

"What?" Rachel pushes herself onto an elbow. "But you..."

"I what?"

"You haven't... gone... yet."

"I just don't want to get in trouble."

"Quinn. No one uses this room for at least another half an hour."

She wants this. She wants Rachel. "Okay, but be quick."

Rachel laughs. "That's kind of up to you," she says, before she drops to her knees, fingers hooked in Quinn's panties.

"Oh." That's all Quinn can think to say, because she's suddenly worried that Rachel's going to think she's a quick trigger, when really this has been building for almost two hours.

The second Rachel's mouth is on her, her back arches and her hips raise upward. To Quinn's credit, she lasts at least four minutes before she ties Rachel's name to several curse words and clamps her thighs around the brunette head between her legs.

"Nice trick, but I kind of hope you last longer, next time," Rachel says as the back of her hand wipes over her mouth.

Quinn's still trying to ground herself from this time. "Next?"

"I'm scheduled to pose for you all three days this week."

"For me?"

"The class."

"I knew that. Can you hand me my..."

Rachel passes Quinn her underwear. "So, I'll see you on Wednesday. Unless..."

"Unless?"

"Do you just plan to repeat words I say?"

Quinn laughs at herself. "Sorry, I'm... distracted."

"We could still do lunch."

"Or a casual dinner."

"You're repeating, again."

"I was just letting you know I remembered."

The scattered clothes are now back in place and Rachel snaps the final button on Quinn's shirt. Even though the process is the opposite of earlier, it yields a similar result, which Quinn thinks is ridiculous because... well... they totally just had sex.

"If you wanted to show me more of your work, I'd be glad to give you a critique."

"How much do you know about Life Drawing?"

"I know what I look like naked."

"Yeah, so do I." Quinn slips her bag over her shoulder. "But I guess I can always use the practice."

"And stamina."

"Okay, we have not been hanging out long enough for you to make fun of me. And it's your fault for eye-fucking me all through class."

"It was a mutual... eye-fucking. Besides, you were the one drawing me naked."

"That was the assignment," Quinn huffs, but she's not very convincing. Rachel's always had some kind of a hold on her, even from a distance.

Now, Rachel has an actual physical hold on her. A handhold, actually. It's something Quinn's been wanting for a long time, she just hasn't let herself go after it.

Until now.