Find Me, Want Me, Fix Me

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from Glee.

AN: So this is the third and final 'Find Me, Want Me...' story, which is really a thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed the other two parts.

The other parts may have been AU, but this one is even more AU :P Let me know what you think!

Ruby


If you never try, then you never know...

Sat in front of the angled mirrors, Quinn saw 3 expressionless clones staring right back at her, and yet not one of them was recognisable as herself.

She just didn't know who she was anymore.

She felt more comfortable, dressed up as she was now, in costume, a long flowing dress and her hair sculpted on her head, a character to hide behind, an air and an attitude she could carry without consequence.

"Why are you hiding?"

Her eyes lingered on his shadowy figure standing between the dark curtains, confident that he couldn't see the reflected longing in her expression and so letting it spill into hungry eyes.

He crossed his arms over his chest. "If I was hiding, you wouldn't be able to see me," he pointed out.

She didn't reply, eyes sweeping down his grey suit and back up to admire the jaunty angle of his hat, the shaded angles of his face looking almost sinister beneath its rim.

"Why are you still here?" He asked after a while, when she refused to cut back with a witty remark.

"So I can be someone else for just a bit longer," she replied, and if he was shocked at her honesty, he didn't show it, eyes still unreadable and distant.

"Who are you being?" He asked, at length, and she didn't watch him approach, just listened to it, and it made her jump when he placed warm hands gently on her shoulders.

"You tell me first," she suggested warily, as his long fingers caressed her soft skin, before beginning to knead at the knotted muscle, chasing out the tension in firm circles.

He grinned good naturedly.

"I guess I'm a business man," he said, meeting her gaze in the central mirror, the scratchy material of his suit jacket pressing against the soft skin of her exposed shoulders as he leant further forward. "With this suit… it's a little uncomfortable, though I suppose it's more about the appearance… I like the hat though."

Her nose crinkled.

He saw her, and she was suddenly cold as he removed his hands to pull his jacket off and drop it to the floor, walking a few paces back and forth behind her, her eyes following him closely.

"I'm the type of guy who works a 9 to 5 in the city, and calls at a bar in the back street which is smoky and loud, with people dancing all around and voluptuous brunettes bringing fancy cocktails on trays."

She snorted. "Sounds like fun."

He nodded, his face portraying only innocent thoughtfulness.

"It is," he said, off-handedly, "It's a 'leave your problems at the door' kind of place… not that there are any problems other than some numbers that didn't quite add up."

She took a deep breath.

"I can see you, sitting on the bar stool, but I don't like how the girl sitting next to you is fawning all round you."

He stilled her hand reaching to remove a bobby pin, and her eyes snapped to his in the mirror.

"I didn't know that you were there," he said quietly, "But now I know you are, it's hard to pretend that you're not."

She reached to place her hand over his, moving it slowly back to the side of her neck, and leaning into his touch.

He resumed his careful massage, and watched her as she pulled the pins from her hair one by one, laying them on the dressing table in front of her in a long line.

"You look gorgeous," he said heatedly, and if she hadn't been watching his reflection, she would have thought the brush of lips to the crook of her neck was just her imagination.

"Me or the woman in the bar?" She asked, frowning, because the way he was looking at her made her doubt he was still playing.

"You," he said, shortly, and she felt a twisting inside her, at the realisation that she would rather it be the woman in the bar, would rather burden someone else with the emotional agony for a change.

He trailed his forefinger across the line of her shoulders, moving round to stand in front of her, blocking out the right hand mirror and perching on the cabinet in front of it.

"May I have this dance?"

She sighed in disbelief, deciding immediately not to question the reality, instead taking his proffered hand and squeaking as he twirled her into his chest, grinning at her, his eyes sparkling.

His hands moved down to rest on her hips.

"Try the move we were practising last Booty Camp," he suggested, his breath warm and teasing on her neck.

She tried to redirect her annoyance from the banker to the smiling man playing havoc with her senses with his feather-light fingertips burning through the material of her dress over her hips, but it instead coiled as heat and slipped down between her legs.

"Will, what are you doing?" She asked, frustration morphing into breathlessness, a long dance workshop and emotions running high all bubbling up to the surface again.

"Just try," he prompted, "I'll help. I'll catch you."

She closed her eyes, as catching sight of their two bodies pressed together in her periphery was a little too much to handle.

She took a deep breath and knelt into the spin, feeling his guiding hand steadying her as she wobbled slightly into the jump pose.

"Good," he commented, his face very close to hers as she opened her eyes again. "Very good."

She shrugged. "I have a good teacher."

He made a face that was a mixture of a sneer and a smirk. "I'll have to thank him some time," he muttered.

"I'm surprised you came here, if you knew I was here," she said, trying to distract herself from how close he was standing to her. "You've been ignoring me."

He considered this for a prolonged moment.

"I had some things to sort out… Some numbers had to be added up properly, and some paper work had to be filed."

"It must be boring working in a bank," she mused, biting her lip.

"I don't work in a bank," he returned, and she didn't have a chance to retort when his lips descended roughly on hers, stealing her breath in a kiss reminiscent of a first kiss, wary and hopeful and far too brief.

She pulled him back to her with her hands grabbing the lapels of his vest, melting as their lips met half way, yielding to the languid pressure of his tongue searching for hers, and glad of his hand gripping her tightly to him as he knees weakened and her resolve wavered.

When he held her and kissed her like that, she forgot she was Quinn 'the golden girl' Fabray, she forgot she was Quinn 'the skank' Fabray, and she forgot she wasn't supposed to forget.

All she wanted was more of him, more skin underneath her fingertips, more lips and more tongue, more of everything.

The sequins scratched his hands as they roved up and down her back, kissing her with desperate desire like he was a tired banker and didn't want to go home, and she was a mysterious sophisticated stranger in the bar drinking pink cocktails to match her dress but not her hair.

It was easy to forget the empty school and remember the pseudo-romantic low lights of the backstage area, to remember the way he made her feel.

His breathing was hard and fast on her neck as he bent to kiss and lick there, responding with soft noises at her fingers pulling his shirt untucked from his pants.

"I thought we were dancing," she managed, almost groaning out loud when he stilled his attentions.

He smiled, his lips red and his eyes smouldering.

"Of course," he murmured, one hand curling around her waist and the other rounding her shoulder.

He tipped his head on the side, expectantly, as she struggled to locate her feet on the ground, the smell of his expensive cologne making her head spin, as was the understanding that he had found her there with the sole purpose of seducing her.

Her. Not some uncomplicated woman of the clock who sat at the bar twirling an olive on a stick between perfectly white teeth, one leg crossed daintily over the other in both comfort and irony.

Just her.

She smiled, suddenly, brightly, plucking the hat from his head and casting is aside, one hand abruptly disrupting the styled curls flattened beneath it.

With a nod, he nudged her thigh with his, stepping forward and urging her backwards, holding her and guiding her in a simple step.

It was a both a thrill and a memory, her challenge and him rising to it, dancing from curtain to curtain, a proximity not required of a waltz but desired all the same.

If she closed her eyes she could hear the brassy burlesque music, but she kept them open, because she didn't want to see the line of ladies in equally pink and slinky dresses, and the complimenting men in suave suits standing opposite.

She wanted to just see him and her, however temporary their wholeness could be.

She rested her head on his shoulder.

"Don't stop," she said, as his movements slowed to a standstill, and his hands stroked long sweeping patterns up and down her spine.

"Why don't you want me to stop?"

She was confused by his question, but more by him gathering her dress into his hands at the top of the back of her thighs.

"No-one's here," she offered, not really sure if that answered his question.

"I'm here," he pointed out, "With you."

She turned her head, breathing in the strong detergent of his crisply ironed shirt, and kissing there, wetly.

Now the curtain had been drawn, the least they deserved was an encore.

He cupped her face to kiss her mouth deeply, warmly, lovingly even, and she let herself believe that, just this once.

His scorching breath ghosted over tingling skin, searching back for her mouth to taste, his tongue meeting hers and it was all so familiar but at the same time completely different, like every time they danced they had to relearn the steps all over again.

"Will,"she whimpered softly, and he kissed her again to silence her, hindering her struggle with the large buttons of his vest by wrenching her dress over her head in one movement, falling upon her with kisses as she was revealed from behind the shiny drape.

His hands were warm and wandering, a little clumsy, from either over-enthusiasm or over thinking everything he was doing.

Clutching her hips he pulled them flush against his, groaning scratchily in his throat, and making Quinn believe that he really had been thinking about taking her dress off long before she had even put it on.

She abandoned the buttons of his vest in favour of his pants, letting them fall hastily to the floor as he trailed butterfly kisses across her collar bone, favouring the swell of each breast before suddenly kissing her mouth fiercely again as she entwined her arms around his neck and leaned into him.

He picked her up roughly, fingers sharp enough to bruise her thighs, and kicked off his pants, still kissing her fervently, with such desperation it was as though he was trying to tell her something.

She couldn't bring herself to stop him and ask him what it was, not when his hair was soft and ruffled beneath her fingertips, and he was lowering her again to roll his hips against hers and rip buttons off his shirt and vest.

She pulled away first, breathless, her hands clutching his arms to still them.

"How...? How is this going to work?"

He smiled, slightly bashfully, pecking her lips and releasing his needy grasp on her in favour of a soft guiding hand on the small of her back, propelling her towards the chair she had been sitting on earlier.

He turned it deftly, pushing her shoulders to sit her there, another reassuring kiss, this time on her forehead, before backing away from her.

He surveyed her, with the manner of wanting to ravish her.

She blushed, squirming slightly under his gaze, feeling unworthy of it in just cotton panties and a mismatched baby blue bra, her hair mussed and make-up half removed and half smudged across her face.

"I wish I could conjure up some sort of four poster bed covered in rose petals," he said, huskily, and she assumed her expression would have been surprised had she been able to muster up anything other than hazy lust.

"Don't move…"

She didn't think she could, her legs felt like jelly, and watched him stumble about retrieving a collection of gauzy cushions and a clashing patterned throw.

"Why are you doing this?" She asked, and he looked up abruptly, an expression of hurt and rejection on his face instantly.

"Do you want me to go?" He asked, his voice strange and strained.

There was a pink haired skank on her left shoulder and a long blonde haired angel on her right. She was stuck in the middle and if he wasn't there with her she didn't even want to be there herself.

"Please don't go," she murmured.

He swallowed, and approached her slowly, kissing her as he came to stand between her legs, long, wet kisses and her fingers pulled at his unbuttoned shirt as his skirted like liquid lightning around the straps of her bra.

She stood up to mould against him, tangling her hands in fabric as their tongues entwined until she had rid him of his offending clothing, mapping the smattering of soft hair on his chest and the dips and curves of his muscles.

She caught his moan in her mouth, clutching at him as he stepped backwards a few steps, tripping a little as he spun her around, and somehow managed to lower her almost gracefully to lie on the throw.

"Quinn?"

He had stopped, and she arched up into him in protest, rewarded by him screwing his face up in the effort to secure control.

A coarse thumb brushed beneath her eye, wiping a few rogue tears away, and she winced, not aware that her cheeks were wet.

She wanted to scream at him that she missed him, to replace the worry on his face with reminiscence, or emotions he had shut away from her since back then.

She could see some of them now, as she chewed on her lip and wrote nonsense across his taught chest with her fingertips.

She arched again, pressing her aching core to his tented crotch, moaning his name.

She froze as he jumped up away from her, erratic breathing sticking in her throat, eyes widening wildly.

He was back in a second, kissing the frown off her face, and flicking her bra undone to move kisses to hardened nipples.

"Why did you go?"

His eyes were darkened and bottomless.

"I came back," he said, as though that explained everything when really it left her with a hundred more questions.

He wriggled out of his boxers, distracted as his fingers curled around her underwear and stroked there to find her so wet and ready for him.

She used his distraction to cup his face and kiss him hard, because he was there, and she needed him there, and when he touched her like that she ceased to remember he had ever not been there.

There kisses slowed to languid caresses, giving lips and dancing tongues.

At one point he must have either torn her underwear, or pulled it off her legs, since he had pushed two fingers inside her, and was coaxing her not quite close enough to the edge with them.

She writhed beneath him, growling as he sat back on his heels, regarding him with a heavy-lidded gaze.

He held up a foil packet.

"Can I use this?"

She struggled to find words.

"Is that mine?"

He smiled, sheepishly, which seemed out of place as his toes curled into her ankles and he sat naked, between her legs.

She made a face.

He inspected it, before ripping open the packet and draping back over her, seeking her ear with hot, heavy words.

"I would use mine but they aren't ribbed and I know how much you like it."

With that he pushed inside her, and the questions died on her lips, gasping as he did and wishing she was being introduced to the future and not just reminded of the past.


"Having Beth back won't make everything better," he whispered, and neither had spoken for a while, just laid in sated silence, making even his whisper seem loud.

She pulled her hand away from lazily stroking his face.

Her gaze hardened, and her voice grated with bitter sarcasm. "Like I can have you back to make everything better."

He just raised his eyebrows, and she turned away from the slight amusement dancing across his beautiful face, thinking it was as though he knew something that she didn't.

He pressed a kiss to the side of her neck and shuffled to spoon behind her and speak hotly in her ear.

"I'm going to try."


The end.

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