Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or any of its characters

A/N: This story's based on the Careless Whisper video that's going around youtube :). So here's a faberry version of it for you all. :) Leave a review, tell me what you all think, because I was really sort of iffy on releasing it. Let me know if you like it or not, yeah?

I also just recently released today a new chapter of Just A Kiss, so if you're a fan of that story, go check it out on my profile. If you've never read it, why don't you take a look, pretty please? :)


The Sexy Sax Woman

TheSilentPen


"Noah, I don't think I can do this."

"A bet is a bet, baby. You can't wuss out on me now."

"I wasn't sober during this bet, therefore it should be considered nil and void."

"It's not my fault that you half-assed preparing for the shots. You know booze has no damn effect on Puckasaurus and these guns…"

"You had an unfair advantage."

"Look, you already came to school in the damn costume. If you go home now to change, not only will you be some goddamned coward and a shame to all hot Jews around the world, you'll ruin that… perfect-attendance thingy that you're always so anal retentive about."

"Maybe a perfect attendance record isn't all that worth it…"

"Barbra whatever-her-name-is… would be ashamed of you right now, baby."

"Noah Puckerman! You cannot be serious!"

"You know she would be. That… Fanny..."

"Brice. Fanny Brice."

"Whatever. She totally didn't opt out when she made deals. She did everything for her dude and she stood on her own. And I totally don't think that Jew singer opted out of everything either because people told her she wouldn't make it in the world of music, sex, and drugs."

"…You're right, Noah."

"So you're going to do it?"

"…I'll do it."


The students of McKinley High pressed themselves furiously against their lockers, eyes wide in terror, grasping their neighbor desperately and shutting their eyes as the terror passed.

The stench of fear was fresh in the air, permeating the chilly atmosphere pervading the dull, chipped gray walls. Jocks froze in tormenting their victims to stare hungrily at the passerby, greedily tracing each and every curve of the unnamed terror's slim figure. Cheerleaders froze in their gossip and stared jealously at the attention the boys showered on said person.

Everything was as it should be, Quinn Fabray noted with a satisfied smirk playing on full, ruby tinted lips. She strode down the hall with purpose, stopping at her locker and flipping the combination in smoothly.

The loser punishment system was certainly proving effective this fine day. This morning, Quinn had seen several losers get tossed into the nearby trashcan and over a dozen more get slushied on the walk to her locker alone. Which undoubtedly meant that the number of slushy casualties for today was at an all time high.

To make things better, she had the boys in the palm of her hand and the idiots scattering like flies when she saw them. The day would've been absolutely perfect if-.

"Hey Quinn."

Quinn sighed disgustedly, rolling her eyes before pasting an unnatural smile on her lips. Him again. She thought he'd be a little more… obedient after the verbal lashing she'd subjected him to the other day. "No bothering me in the mornings," Quinn stated, using her best HBIC glare. But it seemed as if he couldn't take a hint.

"Finn," a note of disgust crawled into her voice as she held her white binder between them, using it to keep the boy at a distance.

"Quinn," a gassy looking smile passed Finn's utterly chapped lips as he tried to look all kinds of suave, leaning against the side of her locker and trapping her with his gigantic frame. The way he swayed unsteadily as he tried to keep himself from falling into the wall (and her respectively) made Quinn want to call "TIMBER!" and run out of the way.

"Is there something I can do for you, Finn?" she smiled sweetly, at least, in his eyes. Inside she was dying to subject him to all kinds of torture. To yell at him so he'd get it through his thick head that she was never going to come back to him.

Last year, Finn's best friend, Puck, got the Cheerleader drunk one wine coolers and slept with her. The mohawked jerk assured her that he had protection; that he would use it and then they could go back to pretending that nothing had ever happened.

Several weeks and a positive pregnancy test later, Finn proved how much of a coward he could be. He ran from their relationship and acted like an inconsolable infant when Quinn and Puck confronted him with the truth. In fact, he'd even tried to use his power as Quarterback to push Quinn down to the bottom of the food chain.

Something that backfired horribly when Quinn's best friends, Santana and Brittney, got wind of them.

Finn ended up with the slushies in his face and the garbage can dumps whilst Santana cackled madly in the background and Quinn shook her head in amused disappointment at her ex.

Finn, out of spite, ended up telling Quinn's parents (her bible thumping, alcoholic, adulterous—in her father's case—hypocritical parents) that she had gotten pregnant. The end result had been a swift kick from the Fabray family home and Finn crouched on the lawn holding his family jewels while Puck argued furiously with his 'baby mama' about coming to his house.

Needless to say, Quinn outright refused that offer.

And so Puck took her to the house of one of his childhood friends, who'd recently moved back into Ohio from sunny California and would attend McKinley that following Monday.

It turned out Rachel Berry was a person that Quinn never would have expected Puck to ever befriend.

The girl was tiny, about a head shorter than Quinn (and Quinn's parents often thought she was of average height) with curling brown locks that cascaded easily down chiseled shoulders and framed a well-cut face with a rather eccentric (aka large… but it worked for her) looking nose. Every inch of the girl's tiny frame was toned to perfection, as Quinn could see from the generous view afforded to her by Rachel's short shorts and tank top.

Rachel Berry spoke in long, involved sentences that didn't allow a person to get a single word in edgewise until she was done speaking her mind. And though the little teenager seemed self-centered (she'd spoken of her theatre greatness only seconds after meeting Quinn), Quinn knew that Rachel Berry was as kind and decent a person as the world could offer.

Because she took Quinn in without question, gave her a room, and gave her a surprisingly good meal to eat.

And a person who could take in someone who cheated on their boyfriend with his best friend as well as socially screwed him over… well, that person just had to be some kind of good. Most people would run in the other direction.

But Rachel accepted it and took her in with open arms.

"I can't judge you," Rachel once said, looking over the top of her book with an eyebrow cocked at an inquisitive Quinn Fabray. "I've done terrible things in my life, and people have forgiven me for those things. I'd be hypocritical if I didn't do the same."

That had been the start of their tentative friendship.

"I was wondering," Finn leaned in closer, breaking Quinn from her bubble of thought. "If you'd… you know, like to go out to Breadstix anytime soon?"

Quinn scowled internally. If there was a single thing that she hated more than anything else in the world, it'd have to be the fact that Finn never could take a hint. She'd outright turned him down after he came crawling back after she had her baby.

Finn had taken a beating on the social ladder and Quinn was his best bet to raise his status again. Now that the baby was gone, he'd seen it as his chance to try to get back with her.

Quinn straightened, preparing to drive the boy off. As lips parted to make her sentiments known, the girl's mouth dropped in utter surprise as a bright spray of bright blue ice flew across the man child, drenching him from head to toe in slushy.

Finn yelled, eyes flashing dangerously as he wiped his face, wheeling around. "Who the hell did that?"

"Cool your jets, Finnocent. You look constipated," a snarky voice sounded from Quinn's right.

Quinn hid her smirk behind the palm of her hand. Just in time.

Santana Lopez stepped forward, slushy cup dripping blue raspberry slushy as a smug grin curled itself on the edges of full lips. The Latina dropped the cup, dusting her hands off.

"What the fuck," Finn attempted to glare bullets through the Cheerleader, only succeeding in looking far more childish than before. "What was that, Santana?"

"That was me thinkin'," Santana licked the remaining bits of ice off her fingers, "that you would look much better in electric blue. Turns out I was wrong, Finncompetent. You're the only dumbass alive that could make it look nasty."

Ignoring the lumbering jock, Santana turned toward her friend, customary eyebrow raise in place as her dark eyes flickered about the vicinity. She frowned. "Speaking of slushies… Where's Stubbles this morning, Q?"

" I thought we discussed this. Her name," Quinn hissed, slamming her locker shut, "is Rachel."

"And I thought I told you," Santana smirked, "that I wasn't gonnas calls her that. So I suggest we get past that and have you answer the damn question Tubbers: where's your other half?"

"I don't know," Quinn replied stubbornly. And she didn't, despite the fact that Rachel usually met her at her locker before they headed off to first period Spanish every morning. Though Quinn wouldn't admit a damn thing, those little walks between classes were the highlight of her day. Because Rachel, despite her long strings of dialogue, was as much of a listener as she was a talker. A large part of her currently souring mood centered around the absence of her loud-mouthed companion.

Hazel eyes narrowed at the slushy covered jock behind the Latina. She opened her mouth, ready to tell Finn Hudson to leave her alone, a string of music burst into the air.

The song was being played on a Saxophone. An Alto, if Quinn could remember correctly from her brief stint working at a music store over the summer. It floated through the air, sultry and sensual, unaccompanied by percussion.

Students in the hallway ran toward the sound, forming a mass around the person undoubtedly playing the music. Flashes of camera phones along with clapping and cheering filtered down the hallway.

Quinn's mouth shut quickly, eyes darting over to Santana questioningly. The Latina shook her head and shrugged her shoulders.

The three of them walked down the hall to observe the mess. The crowd parted hesitantly as Quinn walked amidst them, entertained by the performer in the middle of the cacophony.

What Quinn saw made her mouth go dry and her heart stop.

A girl stood in the center of the crowd, a black, Yamaha Alto with golden keys hanging about her neck, fingers moving fluidly up and down the body of the instrument and eliciting song from it. Yet it wasn't the song that rendered Quinn's senses numb. Because the petite brunette was pretty damn amazing at her instrument.

No, it was the skin-tight, rather revealing ensemble the girl wore playing the damn thing.

Tanned, muscular arms were left bare to the viewers, leading to a lithe torso covered in a tight-fitting blank tank and what appeared to be a leather vest, left unbuttoned. And of course, the tank didn't cover everything… ohhh no, a slight sliver of skin was visible where the black material rode up, revealing the smooth lines of an undoubtedly killer set of abs.

The small girl's toned, long legs were encased in tight black leather, a silver-chained belt looping about her waist, the pant legs tucked into stiletto boots.

Large, black Ray-Ban Wayfarers covered the teen's eyes. Tossled, wavy brown hair fell languidly down slight shoulders as plump, red lips blew into the Alto's gold mouthpiece.

Quinn Fabray had never felt as gay as she had that moment, watching the Saxophonist in leather play.

She'd come to a slight realization over the summer. Something she wasn't quite ready to face yet.

Quinn had been sitting at the granite countertop in the kitchen at the Berry's house, waiting for Rachel to serve up a plate of apple pie after a rather hearty dinner. The little brunette had been reaching for a plate high up in the cabinets, huffing angrily when Quinn attempted to help her, stating that she 'was an independent, functioning human being.'

Rachel's blouse rode up several inches, and the cheerleader's eyes honed in on the small exposure of skin, mouth watering as inch after inch of the tanned, smooth surface was exposed.

Granted, Quinn freaked out and thought that she was unwell. She thought little of it, calmed enough to eat her pie, only to be drawn to the realization that she'd been admiring Rachel's legs as the brunette bent over to keep a stack of dishes.

Several weeks later, Quinn knew she was screwed when Rachel gave her the usual, bright, Broadway smile and her heart damn near leapt out of her chest.

Because Quinn Fabray was undoubtedly gay for her not-really-a-friend friend, Rachel Berry.

Now this Saxophonist, in her skin tight garb, was inducing an unwanted reaction from the head Cheerio. Because being gay for Rachel Berry? Quinn could handle that easy.

Being gay for a random girl in skintight clothing? Not so much.

It seemed that beside her, Santana was having a similar dilemma, because the Latina's normally dark eyes were just about smoldering with lust, fingers twitching, looking like she wanted to maul the small brunette.

To her left, Quinn could hear Finn reciting his 'mailman' chant at light speed, rocking on his heels and a hand over the front of his jeans.

"Isn't she hot?"

Quinn jumped as a lewd, deep voice sounded in her ear. She looked over, unsurprised to see Puck standing beside her, a grin plastered across his face as he held up his Android, recording the Saxophonist in the center.

"You know her?" Quinn asked, coughing and attempting to hide the low, husky edge her voice had taken on. Her eyes snapped over to the smirking, smug idiot.

"You really can't tell?" Puck chuckled. "It's-."

"Miss Berry!"

Quinn's mouth went dry once more, hazel eyes widening. Her gaze snapped back to the scene in the center, surprised to see Principal Figgins addressing the Saxophonist.

It couldn't be.

But it was. Because Figgins cleared his throat and tapped the Saxophonist on the shoulder, once again speaking rather sternly to her. "Miss Berry, you are disrupting the learning environment!"

Quinn's jaw dropped. That sexy girl… the girl wearing all that leather and looking extremely hot and at home with herself was Rachel Berry?

Modest dressing (with the exception of those accursed skirts), conservative, proper speaking Rachel Berry?

"Shit, Puckerman," Santana's voice was smokier than usual. "How did you get the Polly Pocket to agree to this?"

"She lost at a shots contest with the Puckinator," the mohawked boy responded, grinning victoriously. "Whoever lost had to dress up like that Sergio Flores dude for a day and pull a Sexy Sax Man."

The girl, Rachel pulled the Sax from her mouth, simply staring at the principal as he ranted about disturbing the learning environment and every which thing. Eyes, covered with sunglasses, looked over at Puck and nodded.

And Puck, with his damn smirk, strode over to the principal and began speaking. "Dude, Figgins, chill. My hot, Jewish Princess is just playin' a little George Michael… You do like George Michael, don't you?"

The principal sputtered. "W-well… n-not particularly."

Puck's eyes widened in mock horror. "What? You don't like George Michael? He doesn't like GEORGE MICHAEL, everyone!"

A chorus of boos rang out across the hallway, making poor Principal Figgins' eyes widen in terror. Quinn might've laughed if she hadn't been distracted by the fact that she could see every. damn. muscle shift in Rachel's legs as she waited for the crowd to quiet.

"Regardless of whether or not I like funky sax beats," Figgins said. "Miss Berry is disturbing the learn-."

"Hey, hey," Puck whispered loudly to the brunette. "Play that one George Michael song. You know the one that goes-."

And almost instantaneously, the girl put the Sax to her lips and started playing that same song again. This time, however, the girl fell to her knees, leaning back slightly and hip thrusting her way across the floor.

Oh. God.

And as if it couldn't get worse, the bell rang, and the girl got off the floor, still engrossed in her instrument, and began to walk toward Spanish class.

Her Spanish class.

In those damn leather clothes.

Santana's eyes followed the girl as she made her way down the hall, shaking her head. "It's no fucking fair that you get to sit in class all day with that fucking piece of ass near you. You are fucking. Lucky. Fabray."

"No, Santana," Quinn said numbly as her eyes traced Rachel's figure. "I actually think you're the lucky bitch today."


'Fuck,' Quinn thought angrily as she watched a bit of sweat drip down Rachel's tensely chorded neck as the girl sat beside her, writing down the Spanish assignment on the board.

The brunette was a fucking tease.

Quinn entered the class to find Rachel on top of their shared desk, playing that fucking song, lying down and playing as Puck looked on with a grin and Mr. Schue looked oddly amused.

It wasn't fair to her, because she had to stare at a muscular leg flexing against the wood of the desk in front of her as the brunette belted note after note out of her Saxophone. It wasn't fair because she had to watch a bead of sweat, which she normally found disgusting on everyone, drip down Rachel's exposed abs.

It wasn't fair that she had to sit next to the girl she had a big, gay crush on for the next five periods of the day, plus Glee Club in that exposing clothing.

Because, God, Rachel Berry looked good in leather. Hell, Quinn never even expected to see Rachel in leather because of the whole 'IT'S MURDER' thing, but fuck, leather suited Rachel Berry.

Quinn was itching to run a hand down Rachel's leg. Down one of those arms, just to feel the muscles coil beneath skin that was probably as smooth as silk.

Her fingers twitched against the pleated, polyester fabric of her Cheerios skirt and her mouth watered as Rachel took off those sunglasses and-

God… since when could Rachel Berry pull of a smoky eye?

'I'm so fucking screwed,' Quinn swallowed, tightening her grasp upon her leg. 'So… fucking… screwed.'


Correction, now she was eternally screwed.

Quinn made it through the day without jumping Rachel. Which was quite an accomplishment considering the fact that the brunette sat next to her in all six classes of the day. She breathed a sigh of relief when Glee Club came along, since she and Rachel were so far apart in the choreography. Even if she had to endure sitting next to Rachel again, at least she could practice her self-restraint.

She'd done it in six periods. She could do it for one measly, one hour rehearsal.

Then they'd started choreography, and she was instantly proven wrong.

Because those accursed muscles were flexing every few minutes to pull off the relatively easy dance moves, and even more sweat was gathered about Rachel's skin.

And to make things worse, fucking Finn Hudson was practically throwing himself at her. He relished each and every little touch of Rachel's waist or arm as though it were a godsend, a smug and awed look over his stupid features.

By the time practice was over, Quinn was sufficiently pissed and frustrated enough to throw a cinderblock at Finn's head.

And she was done restraining herself. Fuck Berry, she'd brought it on herself by agreeing to that little prank.

So she waited till everyone had left the room as usual, staying back with Rachel, watching as the girl stood up from her place at the Baldwin Grand Piano in the room with dark eyes.

Rachel looked over at her, smiling. "Oh, Quinn. Hello, did you have something you needed to discuss?"

And the cheerleader couldn't respond, because Rachel's lips were bright red and swollen from a day of playing that fucking Alto, and it made her look sexy as hell.

She heard none of the brunette's words as she stepped closer, ignoring the semi-alarmed look taking residence on her face.

But Quinn didn't observe that very long, because God, she was kissing the very thing that tormented her all day, and it felt fucking great.

She could feel Rachel stepping away from her, attempting to escape and pull her back, most likely to talk. But again, screw her. Because soon enough, she had the little brunette against the piano and her hands were running up and down that toned body.

And eventually, Rachel came around to see things her way, because the devious little thing began to kiss back. And damn, who knew Rachel Berry was such a great kisser?

Quinn pulled back, the lack of air making her breathless. Dark hazels looked down at the panting brunette, who looked up at her blonde counterpart with dark, smoldering eyes filled with a tad of confusion about the edges of chocolate irises.

The cheerleader lifted a shaking hand to caress the brunette's cheek, feeling her lean into it.

"Quinn," Rachel panted, pressing her own hand against the blonde's. "What… what is-."

"I like you," the cheerleader blurted out. A blush made its way across pale cheeks as brown eyes flashed with understanding. "I like you, and I'm sorry I jumped you, but you looked so-."

"Hot?" the singer provided.

"…Kinda," the blonde said meekly.

And Rachel looked at her friend for a moment, studying her features before a small smile crossed her lips. "I like you too… But I wish you could've told me before you mauled me against a piano."

"Your fault for wearing the leather," Quinn muttered.

"Leather?" Rachel's jaw dropped. "How dare you suggest that I might kill innocent cows for the use of this costume! I will have you know this is a synthetic substitute in which the murder of bovines was not needed to make!"

"…I don't think I heard any of that," Quinn said dazedly, leaning forward for another kiss.

Rachel shook her head, smirking mischievously before looping her arms around Quinn's neck. "Perhaps… I should lose shot competitions with Noah more often…"


A/N: So was it as much of a train wreck as I thought it was? ^.^;