A/N: Originally posted at the Rachel-Quinn livejournal. I do not own Glee or The Blob.
Steve McQueen is a Twat Swatter
"That fucking fuck put a pickle on the plate! What a fucker." Quinn's eyes moved from the offending spear on her burger platter up to meet the eyes of her somewhat perplexed looking best friend, who raised her hands defensively and arched one dark eyebrow in concern.
"What? Did you not hear me specifically tell him not to put a stupid fucking pickle on the plate? Now the whole damn thing is going to taste like pickle. They infect everything they touch, you know. You can't just throw the pickle away and expect your food to taste just fine. It's all pickle tainted now."
"Not that I haven't seen you in all your bitchy glory before, but that was a long time ago. You haven't looked this pinched since before you and your munchkin wifey started bumping uglies in high school. The fuck is with you?"
Quinn sighed heavily, raising one hand to massage at her own temple, trying to soothe out some of the stress.
"Sorry, San. I'm just…tense. It's been a rough two weeks."
Santana's expression approximated what would be concern on any other person. "Are you and Rachel fighting?"
"No, we're not fighting. Not with each other, anyway. With our four-year-old, however…"
At that, Santana's expression morphed from vaguely concerned to outright incredulous. "Livvie? Mi ángel perfecto? Why are you fighting with my goddaughter?"
It was not a question so much as an accusation. When Rachel and Quinn chose Santana and Brittany to be the godparents to their firstborn child, they both sort of assumed that Brittany would be the one to spoil and smother the girl in affection while Santana would remain her cool and unaffected self. Four years later, Tía Santana was wrapped tightly around the delicate finger of one Miss Olivia Grace Berry, and the little girl worshipped her aunt in return.
Quinn glared again. "Because your 'perfect angel' has turned into a tiny terror thanks to stupid Puck."
Santana rolled her eyes. "So Puck's corrupting them younger and younger, is he?"
"Oh, he's just stupid, that's all. I mean, it's almost our fault anyway. Rachel had a benefit thingy scheduled when Puck came to visit two weeks ago, remember? And he promised us that of course he could take care of two sweet little kids for one evening. Jack isn't even walking yet, and Olivia's the most well-behaved kid in the world. How hard could it be?" Quinn sneered in approximation of Puck's blasé attitude toward babysitting.
"And, almost as though we were two women who had not dated Noah Puckerman, and were not aware that he is a moron with no sense of responsibility, we happily left him to care for our children. Our babies, Santana. We left them with Puck. Fuck us, really. We deserved this."
"What. Did. He. Do?"
"He let Olivia watch The Blob." Quinn's frustrated declaration was met with dead silence from the other side of the booth.
"That old Steve McQueen movie about the man-eating…"
"Blob! Yes! He let her watch it right before bed. And now she will not sleep. The child is having nightmares, she's waking up in the middle of the night, she's throwing tantrums when bedtime rolls around. And not, like, pouty little girl tantrums. Full-blown 'I Am The Biological Child Of Rachel Berry' tantrums."
"From watching The Blob?"
"She's four, Santana! It's a scary movie for a four-year-old."
"No, it's not. It's not a scary movie for anyone. It's stupid. Why did she even want to watch-"
Quinn cut her off, "the point is, my daughter is not sleeping through the night. She is becoming a monster during the day because of her lack of sleep, and…"
"And the only way she gets any sleep at all now is if she sleeps between us in our bed."
At that, Santana grinned and leaned back against the padded booth seat. "Ah, now the truth comes out. You're not mad at Puck, you're sexually frustrated."
"I am mad at Puck. For causing me to be sexually frustrated. And I'm mad that my daughter is in such turmoil from these stupid nightmares. And it breaks my heart when she looks so tearful and scared, even though I know there's nothing to be scared of. And, yes, Santana, I am horny as hell, and, denied the pleasure of regular Rachel-induced orgasms, I am cranky. And I am sorry that I yelled about the pickle. I'll still tip the guy." The last sentence was mumbled through a curtain of blonde hair as Quinn had allowed her head to thunk down on the table top in sheer defeat.
Santana finally gave in to the urge to lay a comforting hand on Quinn's tousled head. "Quinn, Livvie will be fine. All kids have nightmares. Eventually, she'll get over it and go back to being the absolute sweetheart that we all know and love."
Quinn lifted her head and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. "I know. Believe me, I'm being less dramatic about this than Rachel is. At least I'm not lecturing you about how our precious baby is now scarred for life. I know she'll get over it soon enough, but right now the stress is just killing me. And I know it seems like a small thing, but I just…I can't stand not being able to have sex with my wife. I really miss it. I miss touching her and tasting her and the feel of-"
"Stop. Now. God. Before I have to bleach my brain. Seriously, Quinn, that shit is not okay to say to me." Santana's grimace was almost more insulting to Quinn than her words.
"Well, who else am I going to talk to about it?" Quinn snapped.
"No one! Don't say that shit to anyone, ever. Keep that in your head, please. The world thanks you."
"Like I haven't had to hear the dirty details of your… romps with B," Quinn grumbled, pushing her fries around on her plate in dissatisfaction.
"Romps? How do you go from calling someone a 'fucking fuck' to using the word 'romps'? Will you just pick a vocabulary set and stick with it?"
Quinn actually broke into a smile at that. "That's one of the consequences of raising kids, San. Split personality disorder. Yesterday, I told Rach we needed some 'Mommy time'…so I could fuck her brains out. It's a disorder, I tell you."
"Hmmm…actually 'Mommy time' sounds kind of-"
"Anyway. I just don't know how much longer I can stand this before I go completely bonkers."
"Can't you just…sneak one in on your lunch break or something?"
"Tried it. Olivia's too clingy right now, she won't leave us alone even for a few minutes. Besides, after dealing with little Jack and Livvie the Grouch at home by herself all morning, Rachel's too frazzled and stressed for a quickie in the bathroom while the kids are momentarily occupied."
Reaching across the table to help herself to Quinn's fries (which she clearly wasn't going to eat, so whatever), Santana considered her friend's predicament. Back in high school, Quinn had most definitely had the HBIC edge, but Santana had always suspected that the true source of her bitchiness was the pressure cooker of frustration that was her repressed sexuality. While Santana herself was naturally given to acts of spontaneous cruelty (and hilarity, thank you), Quinn's underlying personality was far too sweet, and her moments of cruelty seemed to often be brought on by outside forces rather than an innate desire to simply cut a bitch for the pleasure of watching him bleed. Metaphorically.
Once Quinn finally let the lid off that pressure cooker (in the arms of a tiny, chattery, fucking annoying, oddly endearing after you learned to tune her out, munchkin-esque diva), her run as HBIC was essentially over. Santana would have felt grief for the loss of the only other bitch in school who could give her a run for her money…if the bitch hadn't become so stupidly happy. Rivals or not, Santana's affection for Quinn ran deep (so deep as to be completely hidden at times, but still) and she couldn't help but approve of the more relaxed, happier, finally believable Quinn who finally came out to play. When it became apparent that getting her lady freak on with Quinn was having a pleasant sedative effect on the diva as well, Santana's blessing was officially given. Though she didn't say it out loud until the wedding six years later.
In short, Quinn knocking (sensible) boots with Rachel freaking Berry turned out to be a good thing for everybody involved (and everybody in the blonde cheerleader's path, or who had the misfortune of having class with Rachel Berry). Santana could only imagine the kind of internal chaos that was likely ensuing with the removal of the couple's favorite form of relaxation. It couldn't be good for anybody, really.
"Could you swallow my fries before opening your big gob to speak? Thanks."
Santana took a moment to spit a wad of chewed fry across the table at her repulsed friend ("Ugh! God, you're worse than my 8-month-old son!") before continuing. "If you're stressed out about the whole thing, you're not going to be able to calm Livvie. Kids can sense your emotions, you know."
"Really? Tell me more, Dr. Spock," Quinn interjected with an eye roll.
"You need to tone the attitude down for a second, Berry," snapped Santana (and GOD it was still so weird calling her that).
"You are lecturing me on raising my kids. And you just spit food at me! I'm totally taking you seriously right now, really."
"You need a night for just you and Rachel. Get things back on track, reconnect physically and emotionally. Have sex, cuddle, talk. You'll be more relaxed and then you can better deal with Livvie's issues than you can right now."
Quinn stared at her friend in equal parts confusion, admiration and offense. "The fuck? How do you go from spitting food at me to talking like a real-life thoughtful adult? I think you have the same disorder I have."
"B and I will take Olivia and Jack for the weekend."
Now Quinn stared in shock.
"Earth to Quinn!"
"Sorry! I just…are you serious? Are you really offering to do that for me or are you dangling a carrot that's going to make me fall into a gaping chasm of horror once you pull it away?"
Quinn smiled gently. For all their ups and downs, there was a reason why the woman across the table had been in her life for nearly 25 years.
"San? I truly love you."
"Ugh. Shut up. You're gross. Just bring the rugrats by on Friday night and enjoy yourself some weekend midget sex." She only glared a little bit when Quinn threw a fry at her face.
The second she walked through the front door of their house, Quinn could hear crying. Hopefully, she'd arrived home at the beginning of a tantrum and would be able to intercede before Rachel started going crazy. "Babe? Where are you?"
"Mommy!" Quinn's legs were suddenly attacked full force by a ball of sobbing girl. Quinn lifted her crying daughter up into her embrace, cooing softly into the child's soft brown curls as she reached a leg behind her to close the front door with her foot. A moment later, Rachel stalked into the foyer, a clearly used spit up rag over her shoulder and a look of exasperation on her face.
"Honey, you're home," she said dryly.
"Hey. What's…" she gestured with one hand to the sniffling child in her arms.
"I told her she couldn't have fruit snacks. Dinner will be ready in 17 minutes. I have to go clean up Jack, he spit up on…everything. Including me, as you can probably see," the petite brunette said, almost sheepishly. Their son had a bit of a habit of projectile spitting up and then grinning toothlessly about it.
Quinn smiled in understanding, still swaying Olivia gently from side to side. No fruit snacks. The horror.
"Why don't you go clean yourself up, and I'll take care of Jack?"
Rachel shook her head lightly, "It looks like you've got your hands full. I'll get the boy, you get the girl, we'll meet back here in 10?" She smiled easily over her shoulder as she walked back into the living room to collect the baby and take him upstairs, so Quinn was at least relieved that the situation wasn't Code Red. Her eyes fixated on her wife's behind as she walked away, and Quinn sighed in regret that she couldn't simply follow the woman up the stairs and…best not complete that thought, she figured.
She could feel Olivia start to become slack against her shoulder, and she carefully shifted the girl's weight so that she could set her bag down in the foyer. Walking slowly toward the living room, she considered whether or not it would be a good idea for her daughter to simply fall asleep now. She desperately needed the rest, obviously.
Then again, Quinn couldn't stomach the idea of her skipping dinner. And she would probably wake in a few hours anyway and then she definitely wouldn't sleep through the night. No, napping now was not an option.
"Livvie? Honey, are you calmed down now?" she murmured gently against her daughter's sweaty temple.
The exhausted girl made an incomprehensible sound against Quinn's neck and curled her little hand on her shoulder. Shit, she was either out already or would be in another few seconds. Quinn bounced her with a little bit of energy and leaned over to deposit her daughter on the couch, glad to note that two dark eyes were definitely still open and peering back up at her wetly. Quinn kneeled down beside the couch, tenderly brushing her thumb over Olivia's wet cheeks.
"Okay now, baby?"
"Yeah," the girl said softly, smiling tiredly up at her mother. "Can I have fruit snacks?"
Ten minutes later, feeling a little more relaxed and bouncing a giggling infant in her arms, Rachel came down the stairs and surveyed the living room that had been a wreck a few minutes ago. Though it wasn't entirely spotless, much of the clutter had been cleared and it didn't feel as though chaos was radiating off every flat surface. Rachel smiled down at Jack.
"Mommy did a good job, didn't she? And so quickly, too. She takes good care of us, huh?" Jack laughed and clapped his chubby hands together in apparent agreement. Rachel chuckled and pressed a soft kiss to his blonde head as she carried him into the kitchen where she was sure her girls were waiting.
Rachel bumped open the swinging kitchen door with her hip and greeted her wife and daughter with a genuine, if slightly tired, smile. "All ready for dinner, ladies?"
"I set the table!" Olivia volunteered in response. Quinn laughed from her position at the stove and shook her head.
"Well, you kind of helped. A little." Olivia was so genuinely sweet most of the time, it was usually easy to distract or occupy her by asking her to complete little tasks. She, like her Mama, took great pride in her accomplishments and completed any assigned task to the best of her ability.
Olivia nodded enthusiastically. "I laid down the spoons."
"Well, the spoons are the most important part. Thanks for helping your Mommy, baby," Rachel said, ruffling the girl's hair as she walked by her to embrace her wife. Quinn reached out to take Jack from Rachel's arms, kissing him quickly and shifting him to one arm before using the other to pull Rachel close and press a soft, lingering kiss to her lips. Rachel valiantly tamped down the jolt of arousal that rocked her as her mouth connected with Quinn's. God, it had been too, too long. Not in front of the kids, she reminded herself.
"There, now that's a proper hello," Rachel said with a smile as she pulled back. Quinn pulled her back as Rachel started to move away again.
"Not as proper as I was hoping," she playfully growled against her wife's neck. Rachel laughed, which made Jack laugh, which made Quinn laugh. Olivia shuffled over to hug Rachel's leg and quietly giggle to herself, just wanting to be a part of the amused huddle. Rachel took in a deep breath, inhaling the soft baby scent of her children, her wife's strawberry shampoo. They had their rough moments, particularly lately, but as she stood in her kitchen holding her family in her arms, Rachel thought how happy she was to have somehow lucked into this life.
Forty-five minutes later, Rachel wondered how much money she could get for selling her daughter on the black market.
"Livvie, let go. You know I have to go to work."
"NO!" The girl loosened her arms around Rachel's left leg just enough to slide down so that she could also sit on her foot.
"Livvie, let go Sweetie. Mommy will give you your bath and sing you a song, and you will have a wonderful time just like every other night," Rachel said soothingly. Curtain was in a little over an hour. If she was going to be on time, she'd have to take Monroe instead of Marx, which she really hated to do this time of evening. She hated Thursday night shows altogether with how rushed the evening had to be for her to make it to the theater on time, even on a good night.
"Let me go, Livvie. I will be here when you wake up, just like every morning." In fact, more likely than not, she would see Livvie before morning, as the girl had taken to slipping into her mothers' bed every night as soon as she heard them come upstairs.
"Quinn, could you come down please?" she yelled toward the stairs. "Olivia, let go now. Mommy is coming down and she will give you your bath. I will see you later."
Rachel's patience was fast running out. "Olivia Grace, you have until the count of five to let go of me."
"One…two…three…I am not joking, Olivia, you will be punished if I get to five." Olivia stubbornly dug her tiny fingers into Rachel's calf.
"What's going on?" Quinn asked, coming down the stairs carrying a freshly changed Jack. "Livvie, say goodnight to Mama. It's time for your bath now."
"FIVE! You are…I am done! You – let go right now! Right now! Quinn, come and get her! I've got a half hour drive ahead of me, I've got a screaming child clinging to me, I've got spaghetti sauce in my hair which Frederick is just going to love me for since I'm giving him no time to get me ready for curtain. I have to leave now."
During Rachel's frantic rant, Quinn had put Jack down in his playpen, peeled their screaming daughter off of Rachel's leg, and was now trying to wrestle her into submission without accidentally hurting her.
"Olivia, stop squirming! Say you're sorry to Mama and kiss her goodnight." Quinn's orders weren't even heard by the shrieking four-year-old writhing frantically in her arms. She made eye contact with Rachel who, despite now being freed, looked decidedly panicked and reluctant to leave.
"Go, Rach. Just go. She'll calm down once you leave. Break a leg. See you tonight. Love you," Quinn blew a kiss in Rachel's general direction as she hauled the now sobbing girl toward the stairs. As she paused to grab the baby monitor to listen for Jack while she bathed their tiny terror, she turned and threw a wan smile in Rachel's direction.
"We'll talk tonight, baby. Go to work."
As they disappeared from sight, Rachel fought back frustrated tears.
Quinn poured two glasses of red wine and glanced at the clock. 11:15. Rachel should be home in about fifteen minutes. Olivia had finally fallen asleep for the second time after having woken up an hour ago.
Quinn's chest had felt tight when she saw her daughter come creeping down the stairs, clutching Mr. Wooly in one arm as she used her free hand to hold onto the banister, just like her Mama taught her. With her tiny bare feet peeking out from under her Little Mermaid nightgown, she looked so vulnerable that Quinn had almost cried herself. Instead of scolding the girl for leaving her bed, Quinn had scooped her up and cradled her against her chest, whispering "it's just a dream, baby. Mama and I will never let anything hurt you in real life."
Unfortunately, her sympathy had started to slowly but surely ebb away each time Olivia flat out refused to return to bed. Desperate to provide her daughter a good night's sleep, Quinn had even offered to lie down in Olivia's twin sized bed with her until she was asleep, but the offer was met with a stubbornly shouted "NO!" followed by the girl running into the kitchen to hide underneath the sink.
Now that Olivia was again asleep (in her own bed for now, but Quinn knew that would probably change if she woke up and heard them ascending the stairs to their bedroom later), Quinn tried to relax and just let her mind drift. She set the glasses of wine down on the coffee table and reclined on the couch.
She was so tempted to call Puck the next time Livvie woke up and have him feel the pang of an innocent baby's emotional distress, but she knew he hadn't meant any harm. He was so into being the "cool" uncle, he sometimes forgot that he needed to protect Livvie, not just impress her. Typical. Olivia's imagination was so rich, though, it was hardly surprising that she had been so deeply impacted by the scary movie. Quinn supposed they would have run into this kind of problem at some point. It was impossible to shelter their children from everything that might scare or upset them. And they would have to learn at some point how to deal with things that were scary or unpleasant, she had just hoped it would be later rather than sooner. Preferably after Livvie was older and had learned better the difference between fantasy and reality.
Because fantasy and reality were different. Quinn grinned to herself at the thought.
Like how Quinn would occasionally fantasize about making love to Rachel onstage, all the lights on them, the theater dark to their eyes but knowing that it was full of people watching. Watching them fuck. Mmm. Making her moan Quinn's name in the place where she convinced thousands of people that she was in love with some starving artist named Kent or some such thing (Quinn had seen Rachel's current production several times, but the details escaped her at the moment). Spread out over her body in a way that obscured her interesting parts from the watching crowd, but exposed every nuance of her expression, the pleasure obvious on her face.
Quinn drew in a slow breath, eyes still closed, trying to calm herself. Yes. Well. See, fantasy not reality. In reality, that could not happen or Rachel would likely be fired. And then they would probably lose this lovely house they had bought largely with her generous paychecks. Of course, in this particular example it was reality that was less desirable than fantasy so…Quinn feared she had lost her train of thought. How had her brain arrived here? Probably it was due to the fact that her brain recently couldn't stop filling her mind's eye with images of a debauched Rachel. Or a provocative Rachel. Or a shyly seductive Rachel. Or, hey, maybe a naked Rachel with some whipped cream covering her nipples. Oh! Or a dirty nurse Rachel. Where does it hurt, again, Quinn? Hmm…or maybe Rachel spread out below her, taking a seven inch strap-on and whimpering Quinn's name. Yeah, fuck. Ooh, or wearing the strap-on, fucking Quinn from behind and reaching around to -
"What are you thinking about, gorgeous?" an amused voice broke Quinn out of her thoughts and made her jump.
"Rachel! Jesus, you startled me. I didn't even hear you come in," Quinn said, trying to make her voice come out as normally as possible, though she noted it was definitely rather huskier than usual.
Rachel quirked an eyebrow. "Obviously not. I must have interrupted some interesting musings. I can't even tell if you're blushing since you were all flushed to begin with," she said, grinning.
Quinn returned her wife's grin and reached out to pull her down on top of Quinn on the couch. "Just thinking about some…stuff."
"Was I there?"
"Baby, you were the star."
Rachel smiled happily and cuddled into Quinn's body, nestling one leg in between Quinn's thighs and tucking her head under her chin. Quinn ran a hand from the nape of her wife's neck down to the small of her back, trailing her fingers lightly on top of the cotton shirt that separated her from her wife's skin. Rachel drew in a slow breath.
"Today was kind of rough, huh?"
Quinn hummed lightly in agreement. "Last two weeks have been rough."
"Yeah, she's really been giving it to us the last two weeks. But today was the first time I heaped more stress on top of the pile. God, Quinn, I'm really sorry about earlier. I can't believe I lost it like that, I-"
"Rachel, stop. It's fine. The kid was clinging to your leg like a barnacle and you were late for your show. It's totally understandable. It wasn't even that bad, you just raised your voice a little."
"I was shrieking like a banshee."
"Baby, I promise it was not nearly as bad as you are imagining. I'm not mad. Olivia probably didn't even register you over her own histrionics. Jack is like, basically above it all." Rachel giggled at that.
"No, seriously. He's just like, 'these crazy-ass women. Imma bust them in their mouths just as soon as they lean close enough. Knock some damn sense into 'em. Glad I'm a boy. Isn't it awfully nice to have a penis?" She sang the last part in the spirit of Monty Python, and delighted in the way Rachel's body shook against hers with laughter. "Trust me, he's completely unaffected by the insanity in this house."
Rachel lifted her head from Quinn's neck to look her in the eye. "I love you. So so much, Quinn."
"I love you, too. So so much." Quinn drew in a quick breath as Rachel shifted the thigh between Quinn's legs to press tightly against her center. "Mmm…you rock that thigh a little harder and I'll love you even more," Quinn added teasingly. Rachel grinned and rocked her hips forward, forcing a groan from Quinn's throat.
As much as part of her desperately wanted Rachel to continue (one very specific part of her, actually), she knew she needed to use this opportunity to talk to Rachel about leaving the kids with their godmothers for the weekend. So that they could do this. Forever. God.
"Rach, there's something I wanted to talk to you – huhng, god!" she cut herself off as Rachel simultaneously pressed her thigh into Quinn and moved a sneaky hand up to pinch her nipple. Rachel began pressing hot little kisses to the underside of Quinn's jaw, intermittently flicking her tongue out to taste her wife's skin.
"They're both asleep upstairs, right?" she whispered in Quinn's ear.
"Hummmm, yeah. Yeah," Quinn threaded her fingers through Rachel's hair and brought the brunette's lips back up to her own, kissing her deeply. Her arousal, already simmering from her earlier fantasizing, skyrocketed and she felt her entire body flush with desire. Fuck it. The way she was feeling right now, this wouldn't take more than a few minutes. They could talk after.
Rachel grabbed Quinn's wrist and pulled her hand down from where it was tangled in her hair to rest against Rachel's denim-clad rear end. Quinn groaned, squeezed, and promptly shoved her hand beneath Rachel's jeans and panties to grasp the warm flesh of her ass. She pulled Rachel even tighter against her, simultaneously pressing her own thigh against Rachel. Groaning into each other's mouths, the two began rocking, pressing…
Humping. We're humping on the couch like in high school, Quinn thought to herself. It felt so damn good, though, she couldn't bring herself to stop. She wanted Rachel's fingers, Rachel's tongue, wanted Rachel naked and sweaty with hard nipples, wanted to feel her wife's wetness coating her palm while her fingers were being squeezed…but at the moment, Rachel's thigh was doing the trick and they were both at the point where they just needed to-
Rachel leapt backward off of Quinn so suddenly it took Quinn's overheated body a moment to register that her hips were thrusting upward at nothing. Her eyes springing open, she almost laughed when she saw that Rachel had instinctively clutched the throw blanket off the back of the couch to her heaving chest, though she hadn't actually gotten around to removing any clothing. She would have laughed, if she hadn't felt so close to either coming or crying.
Fortunately, their living room furniture was situated in such a way that Olivia couldn't have seen anything from where she was standing at the foot of the stairs. Quinn covered her face with her hands (they smelled like Rachel) and exhaled shakily, praying that Rachel could handle their daughter for the next few minutes since Quinn felt like she would burst into tears if she tried to talk.
"Olivia, what are you doing out of bed?" Rachel demanded, and Quinn instantly heard the quiver in her voice. Damn it, she'd been close too. Just a few more minutes…
"I heard you come home. Are you mad at me?" the little girl asked with tears forming in her dark eyes. Rachel sighed and Quinn's heart squeezed at the frustrated puff of air that Rachel chuffed out.
"No, sweetheart, I'm not mad. But you need to go back upstairs and go to sleep. Come on, I'll tuck you in," she said. Rachel reached down and stroked Quinn's ankle as she walked around the couch toward the stairs. "I'll be right back down, baby. Don't move."
Quinn made a vague sound of agreement into her hands and listened as Rachel's footsteps faded up the stairs. As much as she wanted to believe that Rachel would be right back down and they could pick up where they had left off (and GOD did she want to believe that), Quinn knew it would be another fifteen minutes at least before Olivia let Rachel leave her alone. Then she'd likely come back down at least once more, so it's not like they'd be able to just jump right back into the heat of things.
Quinn cheered herself by remembering that she had to talk to her wife anyway. About the weekend. About leaving their precious children with Santana and Brittany this weekend. So that their doting godmothers could be twatswatted all weekend while Quinn and Rachel ravished each other on every flat-ish surface of their home. Quinn finally smiled again as she started mentally cataloguing the places in their house that hadn't seen any action in a while. She kind of wanted to start by just pinning Rachel against the front door…
"Okay, she's back in bed, though definitely not asleep yet. What say we just lock ourselves in the laundry room, like right now? I bet I can get you off twice before she thinks to look there," Rachel said, grinning as she re-entered the room.
Quinn chuckled. "Remember when you bet me that you could get me off twice before Coach Sylvester got back from her mid-afternoon ninja poop?"
Rachel playfully scowled. "I could have if you hadn't gotten spooked after your first orgasm."
"I heard a squeak!"
"That was you!"
Quinn was now full on laughing, "We are not having this argument again!"
Quinn turned on her side as her wife crouched down next to the couch. The look of tenderness in Rachel's dark eyes as she brushed Quinn's hair off her face made Quinn want to pull the smaller woman into her arms and never let go.
"So, I think I interrupted you earlier," Rachel said.
"I think our daughter interrupted me earlier. You too."
Rachel laughed, "no, I mean I think you were going to tell me something before I tried to jump your bones."
"Yes! Yes, I was going to tell you about the wonderful friends we have."
"Santana and Brittany. They are offering to take the kids tomorrow night, for the whole weekend, so we can spend some time together."
Quinn expected a squeal of delight, or perhaps a great dramatic sigh of relief. She would have even accepted a smile of gratitude and happiness. Instead, what she got was a small concerned frown that drew her wife's brows together. The hell?
"Rach, did you hear me? They're going to take Olivia and Jack and we are going to have the whole house to ourselves all weekend."
"I heard you. I just…that sounds wonderful, honey. I would love to have you all to myself for a whole weekend. Just the thought…mmm."
Quinn nodded quickly, waiting for the implied 'however' to drop.
"It's just that I don't know if now is a good time for Olivia to spend the night away from us. I know it's driving us crazy, but clearly she needs us right now. She's vulnerable and I think it's important that she knows that we're here for her."
Quinn sighed and sat up on the couch, motioning for Rachel to snuggle up with her.
"Honestly? I had the same thoughts earlier. She's really having a difficult time right now, and I know that our number one priority has to be our kids." Quinn smiled as Rachel nodded and snuggled closer into her side. She took a deep breath and continued.
"But we're not helping her right now, Rach. We're both so stressed out. You raised your voice to her to this evening – I know, I meant it when I said it wasn't a big deal-" Quinn interrupted herself as Rachel made a distressed sound "-but it's still a symptom of something wrong. And I got frustrated with her when she got up before while you were at the theater. And earlier, when she interrupted us…I mean, I couldn't even speak." Rachel snorted at that.
"We're good parents, Rach. Great parents. We love our kids, we spend time with them, we want what is best for them and we give up what we need to in order to take care of them."
Quinn laid a finger under Rachel's chin to turn her face up. Looking softly into her eyes, she continued.
"But we're not just parents. We're married. We're partners. We're lovers, and we can't let that part get lost in the rest of it. It's an important part of who we are. When we get caught up in just being moms, I think we lose our balance and we end up not doing anything as well as we usually do."
Rachel smiled softly. "You're right. You are. You're an amazing mom, Quinn. But you're not just the mother of my children, you're also my wife and my lover. And I need that part too. I don't just miss it, I need it."
Quinn nodded eagerly in agreement and added, "And it's not like we're abandoning them. Olivia usually loves staying with San and Britt, and Jack…well, again he's just basically a go-with-the-flow little dude. It'll be good for them to spend some time with their godmothers."
Rachel was slowly nodding, though Quinn didn't know if she was aware of it. She pulled Rachel close and pressed a tender kiss to her lips. "Say it's okay. We can take a break from being parents for one weekend. I want you so much, baby. I want to just be your lover for one weekend, and then we can get our bearings back and we'll be an even stronger family unit. Say it's okay."
Rachel smiled and sighed against Quinn's lips, running her fingers through her wife's long hair. "Okay."
Quinn wandered around the empty house, anxiously eyeing the clock every few minutes. Friday night meant a later show, so the evening had not been nearly as rushed as last night, but it also meant that Rachel wouldn't be returning home until later than usual. Of course, Quinn figured she had some very intense motivation to hurry home as quickly as possible after the curtain fell.
When they had parted earlier, Quinn had nearly devoured her wife in the front entry of their house, hoping to give just a little preview of what was waiting for her when she returned home. Rachel had dropped Olivia and Jack off at the Lopez-Pierce residence before Quinn got home from work, hoping to begin the weekend with a quiet dinner for just the two of them before Rachel had to leave for her show.
Quinn had really wanted to just pin Rachel against the door and get her mouth on her, just as she'd imagined last night, but she recognized that they had the whole weekend ahead of them (Rachel had asked her understudy to perform both the Saturday matinee and evening shows, and she was always off on Sundays) and she didn't want to rush. She also recognized the effort her wife had put into cooking a nice (grown up) meal for the two of them, complete with salad and actual linen napkins.
So instead of ravishing each other at the earliest possible moment, they had lingered as much as possible over dinner. Gazing across the table at her wife in the low candlelight (Rachel really had gone all out), Quinn couldn't help but feel like they were newlyweds again, consumed with nothing so much as drinking each other in with every sense.
After lingering over dinner until the last possible moment, she'd walked her wife to the door to kiss her goodbye and had ended up very nearly making her late for her call the second night in a row.
Now, as she paced through the house, she felt almost like a giddy, inexperienced schoolgirl. She and Rachel had been together for over a decade, and she was wandering around trying to decide how best to greet her wife upon her return as though she had to make a good impression. Wait for her patiently in the bedroom? In her underwear on the couch? Naked in the fucking front window?
As it turned out, she had to settle for fully clothed halfway down the stairs, as the front door opened and Rachel marched in, slamming it shut behind her. Rachel looked up and met Quinn's gaze, and Quinn was suddenly weak with arousal at the smoldering look that met her.
"I messed up my lines tonight, baby," Rachel growled, stalking toward the stairs where Quinn had sunk.
She felt her heart race and forced herself to respond, "Oh?"
"I couldn't focus because all I could think about all night was spreading your legs and licking you until you come on my tongue."
Within moments, Quinn found herself sprawled on the stairs, jeans and underwear kicked off, and her very eager wife kneeling on the stairs below her, pressing her knees apart. Quinn gasped desperately as she watched Rachel lick her lips hungrily. She was so wet she could feel herself on the insides of her thighs.
Rachel apparently appreciated the sight of her wife's glistening folds as she let out a low groan of her own before diving in. Quinn cried out as Rachel dragged her tongue up through her wetness, swirling it once around her clit, then plunging as deeply inside as she could.
"Homahgod, Rachel, ooohhhhh yes!" Fuck, she was so close already. God, it really had been too long. The stairs were digging into her back and shoulders as she frantically pressed herself harder against Rachel's mouth. Rachel's tongue was moving in all kinds of magical ways, flicking her throbbing clit, then dipping inside, then flattening to lap at her folds. She didn't set any kind of rhythm that Quinn could catch, so the pleasure just kept building and building as Quinn's body, independent of any thought on her part, tried frantically to thrust and twist itself against Rachel in some way that would send her over the edge she was frantically clinging to.
Her eyes were tightly closed, and she knew that the second she looked down…but she couldn't help herself. She opened her eyes and had a few seconds to take in the sight of dark hair, tangled around her fingers, before her wife's eyes also opened to meet hers. And she was gone.
"Fuck! Rach! Ahhhh, God! Oh God, oh God, oh God. Baby, I – oh, I can't, I'm – I'm gonna, I'm gonna, Rachel!"
It hit her like a tsunami. She screamed, her whole body tightening, throbbing, and then awash in seemingly endless waves of ecstasy. Rachel's tongue pulsed against her clit, drawing it out, easing her through. She shook and trembled and whined through the burning pleasure for a million years.
Quinn had no idea how long it was before she started to become aware of herself again. She felt Rachel's fingers gently prying her own from where they had dug into her wife's dark locks. Her shoulders burned for some reason. Oh, the carpeted stairs.
"Oh baby…" she whispered reverently. She opened her eyes and smiled down at Rachel, who returned her grin.
"I think that was a record. I didn't even have time to get inside you, Quickdraw," Rachel remarked. Quinn returned her confident smirk with one of her own. The words were lighthearted, but Quinn could hear the tension in her wife's voice, feel it in the restless, kneading hands covering her knees. Her wife's eyes were almost black with arousal.
"Well, we can remedy that later. Right now, I think you'd better move up a couple of steps and let me return the favor," Quinn said, reaching down to palm her wife's cheeks and urge her upwards.
"Quinn! How many times have we told Olivia that playing on the stairs is dangerous?"
"You just did it to me!"
"Yes, but you were laying on the stairs, and I was below you. Gravity was assisting here, not endangering. If you want, we can just switch places. I love the idea, but I really think it's too perilous for me to attempt to ride your face halfway up the stairs with nothing behind me to break my fall should I accidentally arch my back too far and shift my center of gravity so that –mmph!"
Though the intent had been to distract her wife with the kiss, Quinn found herself becoming rapidly "distracted" as well. Urging Rachel up slightly, she maneuvered them so that Rachel was straddling her waist, their pelvises pressed together and Rachel's legs bracing her a few steps below. She released Rachel's lips to nip at her neck, laving at the spot a moment later to soothe the sting, then proceeding downward until she could scrape her teeth across a delicate collarbone.
"Ohhh, Quinn," Rachel panted, threading her fingers through Quinn's blonde locks and pressing her urgently downward.
Yes, perfect. Unfortunately, in her quest to make her wife forget their precarious position, Quinn forgot their precarious position. She intended to smoothly scoot herself down until she could finally get her head under Rachel's skirt and get her mouth on her wife as she'd been fantasizing about for two fucking weeks. Instead, she found herself thud-thud-thudding down the stairs on her back, much like a painful luge run, slipping right past her goal, until she arrived on the landing with a thunk and a groan.
Rachel broke into peals of laughter above and behind her. "Are you okay, baby? Did you bruise anything but your pride?"
Quinn sighed, but chuckled. "No, I'm fine. I'm humiliated, but fine. I'm just going to go ahead and lie here in the foyer until I figure out a way to make that seem suave and sexy in hindsight. You weren't at all turned on by that, by any chance, were you?"
Rachel's smiling face appeared in her field of vision. "You should know by now that everything you do turns me on."
Moving to lay beside Quinn on the hardwood floor of their front entryway, Rachel smiled softly and brushed her tongue against her wife's pouting lips.
"Mmm. At least I'm on a flat surface now," Quinn said, eyes twinkling.
"Well let's take advantage, shall we?"
"Ten minutes, I promise! I just need a sandwich or something. I'm going to pass out if I don't get some food in me!" Quinn called over her shoulder as she skipped down the stairs.
"But baby, you've eaten twice this morning already!" came the laughter infused voice of her wife. Quinn chuckled softly to herself.
It was almost noon, but the kitchen blinds were still closed, giving the room a kind of warm glow as the sun tried desperately to peek inside. Quinn couldn't remember the last time the house had remained closed up this late in the day. Her journey down the stairs for sustenance was the first that either of them had set foot out of their bedroom since last night, and she figured they had no need for sunlight anyway. Not right now, maybe not for the whole day.
She threw the fridge open and scanned the contents, looking for anything that wouldn't give her bad breath or take too long to prepare. Saturday was generally grocery shopping day, but they were going to have to make do with what was left over from a week's worth of family eating. She had no plans to leave the house for something as trivial as…food for her family? Okay, they might have to go out before picking up the kids tomorrow night, but that was so very far in the future and she had a naked hot wife waiting for her in their bed upstairs and she couldn't be bothered to consider anything else right now.
Peanut butter and jelly? That'll work.
She was halfway through the fastest scarfing of a sandwich in history when the soft swish of the swinging door to the kitchen turned her around, mouth full and half sandwich in hand.
"You know what's super sexy? The way you can't stop your jaw from dropping when you see me wearing this thing, even when your mouth is full of…ooh, is that PB&J? I totally want one!" Rachel practically squealed, bounding across the room to pluck the remaining half sandwich from Quinn's hand…strap-on bouncing cheerily in front of her, seemingly also delighted at the prospect of a PB&J.
Quinn swallowed and leaned back against the counter as she watched Rachel wolf down the half sandwich she had snatched. Aside from the harness and purple dildo jutting out from her crotch, her wife stood unabashedly naked. In the warm low lighting of the shuttered kitchen, she appeared to glow, and Quinn basked in the sight for a few moments, letting her arousal slowly start to build as she ran her eyes appreciatively over Rachel's nude form.
Her hair was tousled, and her collarbone and breasts were spotted with dark blemishes where Quinn's mouth had been hungry and her teeth had shown little mercy to her wife's delicate flesh. The marks made Quinn flush with arousal, and she wasn't sure whether she should be proud of having so thoroughly claimed her wife's body, or embarrassed that she was a woman on the verge of thirty who still left hickeys on her lover's flesh.
"I like them," Rachel said as she swallowed the last mouthful of food. "In fact, I'm going to ask Frederick not to even cover them up for Tuesday's show. Give the character a little more…mystery."
"Not too much mystery involved in those, babe. And how the hell do you get in my brain like that?"
"It wasn't hard. You were staring at my breasts like they were covered in bacon. Or, you know…your hickeys."
Quinn reached out and yanked Rachel into her body, sliding her hands down to cup the bare cheeks of her wife's ass and press her…surprise addition…into Quinn's own pelvis. With their height difference, the tip of the dildo rested just about perfectly against her through the thin material of her robe.
"Did you come down just to steal my lunch and mock my teenage lovemaking…or does this thing have another goal in mind?"
"Believe me, sweetheart, other than your remarkably youthful stamina, your lovemaking bears no resemblance to that of a teenager."
"Mmm," Quinn nuzzled Rachel's neck before pausing and pulling up to playfully glare. "Hey! Are you saying I wasn't good in bed when we were in high school? Or…that I'm not as good now? Or, hey, did you just call me old?"
"NO! I was saying that, as wonderful as you were in high school, which was I'm sure much better than every other teenager in the world, your lovemaking has only gotten even better with time. Of which barely any has passed because you are still a young, hot hottie. Also, you are incredibly smart and talented. And a good cook. And possibly magical. Can I fuck you now?"
"You'd better," Quinn panted. Naturally, throughout her entire monologue, Rachel had been rocking her hips and grinding the strap-on against Quinn through her robe, which Rachel now untied and slid off her wife's shoulders and down to the tile floor.
"Turn around, baby," Rachel whispered in Quinn's left ear, nipping the lobe lightly.
"In a second," Quinn whispered back. Whenever Rachel wore one of their strap-ons, she tended to focus solely on fucking the life out of Quinn as hard and fast as possible without directing any of her focus on her own pleasure, relying on the lovely clit insert to take care of it for her. The feeling of power that came with wielding the instrument of her wife's ecstasy made her wild and dominant, and Quinn fucking loved it, begged for it, screamed with the intensity of it. Rachel made her feel so good, but today, in the middle of their kitchen on a Saturday afternoon, she wanted to slow Rachel down and draw out her pleasure as well.
She reached down and ran her palm along the underside of the dildo, tugging lightly and encouraging Rachel to rock her hips so that she was pressing into Quinn's hand.
"Hmm…you like what you got there?"
"Oh yeah, I like it. I love what it's attached to," Quinn replied, taking Rachel's lips in a deep kiss. She stroked her tongue along Rachel's bottom lip until the brunette opened for her, their tongues meeting and languidly stroking together. Rachel gasped into Quinn's mouth as Quinn thumbed both of Rachel's hard nipples, then pinched both between her fingers. Rachel was now actively thrusting her hips forward, pressing the strap-on tightly against Quinn and, simultaneously, herself.
"Why don't you sit down, gorgeous?" Quinn murmured against Rachel's mouth, gently pressing her backwards toward the kitchen table and chairs. Rachel plopped indelicately down into one of the chairs and, grinning up at Quinn, held the dildo tightly in her fist, offering it to her wife. Her eyes widened in surprise when, instead of straddling Rachel and sliding home, Quinn dropped to her knees before her wife and gazed up at her through hooded lids. Quinn knew she wasn't imagining the swift intake of breath or the darkening of her wife's eyes. She laid delicate fingers along the insides of Rachel's thighs, spreading them slightly as she stroked the soft skin tenderly.
"You're so hard for me, baby," she rasped. "You want my mouth on you?"
Rachel reached down with her free hand, the other still clasped tightly around the base of the strap-on (almost looking as though she really was trying to pinch off an impending orgasm) and threaded her fingers through Quinn's long hair. She looked for a moment as though she was unsure whether to just gently stroke her wife's locks or press her head forward. Quinn broke her gaze, licked her lips, opening her mouth slightly and shifting her gaze downward to focus on the fake cock.
Rachel groaned, tightening her fingers in Quinn's hair and urging her gently but insistently forward.
"Yeah, fuck. God, Quinn, suck me," she choked out. God knew Rachel could get into a role, but Quinn knew the pained arousal in her voice was very real. She could smell her wife's excitement and she bent to run her flattened tongue from the base of the dildo to the head. The scent of Rachel's desire was a heady aphrodisiac for Quinn, and she engulfed the head of the dildo in her mouth with a moan of her own to match the one Rachel let out.
Making sure to maximize the pressure and release against Rachel's clit, Quinn started bobbing up and down on the strap-on. It wasn't too long before Rachel was literally squirming in the kitchen chair, letting out intermittent pleas for more.
"Oh, baby, that's so good. You're so beautiful. Ah, God that mouth. Oh, Quinn, yeah, yes, honey, oh," she was babbling as Quinn slowly but surely built her up. Her hips were pulsing slightly forward with each of Quinn's strokes. The clit insert rubbed deliciously against her with the steadily increasing rhythm until she couldn't stand it any longer.
In a surprising show of strength, Rachel tugged Quinn to her feet and spun her around, bending her over the kitchen table and knocking her legs apart with her bare feet all in one smooth movement. Quinn gasped as two fingers thrust inside her from behind, groaning as Rachel crooked them and rubbed against the spot inside her that always made her see stars.
"Jesus, Quinn, you're so wet."
"For you," Quinn half-gasped, half-whispered, unable to force any stronger sound from her throat. She started panting as Rachel used the tip of the dildo to tease at her opening, pressing lightly against her slit without actually pushing inside.
"Rach, please – oh!" The unnecessary plea was cut off as Rachel thrust inside her with a deep groan. Quinn's ministrations had set her on edge, but she knew it wouldn't take much to catch Quinn up in this position. She pulled out almost completely, waiting until her wife exhaled before thrusting strongly back inside. After a dozen deep thrusts, Quinn was pushing back in earnest and whimpering her pleasure. The sounds of her wife's enjoyment were driving her closer and closer to orgasm, the pressure of the insert against her clit making her burn with need with every tight press into Quinn.
Rachel reached around, hand ghosting over Quinn's bare hip, down her flank, then running her fingers up the inside of her thigh. Quinn began frantically nodding and whimpering encouragement as her wife's fingers drew nearer and nearer to the place she needed her. As Rachel's fingers started quickly circling Quinn's clit, the blonde began crying out in rhythm to Rachel's powerful thrusts.
"Ungh, God, gonna come. Quinn, oh God, come - come with me, ohhhhh yeah!" Rachel lost all rhythm, slamming frantically into her wife as her orgasm ripped through her. Hearing and feeling Rachel lose control, Quinn catapulted into her own climax, crying out for God and Rachel and yeah fuck yes.
They shuddered together for long moments before essentially collapsing on the tabletop, breathless, exhausted, and blissful.
"I don't think we can let the kids eat here anymore. We should buy a new table." They were laying on the floor underneath said table, both wanting to cuddle but neither having the strength or motivation to move back upstairs after their athletic "romp."
"If we're replacing all the furniture we've had sex on, I definitely can't afford to take any more shows off."
"Not all of it. Just the table. We eat here-"
"I was actually planning on eating you here, but the strap-on called to me, so we didn't get to that. Yet." Quinn rolled her eyes at that and tried to suppress her chuckle. It wouldn't do to encourage Rachel.
"You really want our children ingesting food off the table you just bent me over to fuck me with a strap-on?"
"Last week Olivia ate a marshmallow she found under the couch."
"It's the principle of the thing! We just – wait, we have marshmallows? We should make s'mores over the stove!"
"So we're done with the replacing-the-table discussion?"
"Eh, I'll just wipe it down with bleach. You stole half my sandwich, you now owe me s'mores."
"S'mores are really better over an actual fire, not just a hot coil."
Grinning, Quinn took her wife's face between her hands and placed a tender kiss against her lips. "Sweetheart, if there's one thing you're good at…it's improvising."
"What time should we go get them?"
"Probably soon. Santana's probably pulling her hair out by now."
"Speaking of, I'm going to actually lift my head up in a second, so could you make sure my hair isn't tangled around your wedding ring?"
"It is, don't move yet."
"Okay," Rachel sighed contentedly. She snuggled deeper into Quinn's side, feeling utter contentment at the gentle rise and fall of her wife's chest against her cheek. The gentle bump of Quinn's heartbeat in her ear was lulling her back to sleep, but she couldn't find the motivation to rouse herself from the lazy stupor they had languished in for the last hour.
After their marathon lovemaking had eventually eased into sated, quiet conversation, they had found themselves drifting in and out of consciousness over the course of several hours. Rachel wasn't even sure what time it was, but the light filtering in through their closed curtains insisted upon it being at least Sunday morning.
"Don't be upset."
"I kind of miss the kids."
Rachel chuckled. "Oh, I'm furious at that. How dare you?" she deadpanned.
Quinn's fingers tightened slightly against Rachel's scalp and shoulder. "I'm serious. This weekend has been amazing. I can't even believe some of the stuff we did-"
"Good thing we took pictures."
"-but now it's like…why is there no tiny voice asking for fruit snacks directly into my ear? Am I crazy that I miss that? After two days?"
"Nope. Me too. It feels so weird to have the bedroom door hanging open, I keep expecting to have to jump up and explain that I'm not hurting Mommy…this is just the way adults show we love each other."
Quinn laughed at that and started to untangle her fingers from her wife's long hair. When she had succeeded, Rachel raised her head to look softly into her eyes.
"We're moms. We had these kids for a reason…we wanted them around. We haven't had them for two days, and it's not unreasonable that we're missing that part of us now. It's just as hard going without them for two days as it would be going without each other for two days. That's why we're a family."
Quinn nodded softly in agreement, "I really needed these two days with you though. Like really really needed."
Rachel laughed. "It's kind of funny. I think most parents can go two weeks without sex and not even notice that something's missing."
"Well, we're not most parents. I'm used to pretty much nightly lovin' baby. You take away my sexytimes and I get a little desperate."
"Yes, your first four orgasms confirmed that. The next four were just you showing off."
"I think my next four were you showing off. And anyway that's not all I meant. I mean, I did need that, but I also just needed some time with you. Like this morning. Just talking and cuddling. I can't believe how much I needed just this."
"Me too, baby," she pressed a soft kiss to Quinn's smiling lips. "But now we need the rest of our life back, so let's get up, go have wild crazy shower sex, and go get our babies."
Santana reclined against the mountain of pillows their bed had somehow amassed over the years, exhaling deeply and finally relaxing for the first time all weekend. She loved her godchildren, but fuck if taking care of kids wasn't a shit ton more work than she was ready to sign up for. How the fuck old do they have to be before they can make their own food, anyway?
It had been a fun but exhausting weekend. Apparently, children have questions? About everything? Why does the TV go fuzzy above channel 500, Tia Santana? What is sand made of, Tia Santana? Why is your duck named Goose, Tia Santana? What's that thing in your bottom drawer, Tia Santana? Oh, and they snoop in places they don't know they don't belong.
Still, it was flattering to be worshipped, and Olivia was adorable in the way she was impressed with every bit of knowledge that her Tia imparted to her. Thanks to her loving godmother, Olivia now knew the following things: ducks are better pets than cats; girls can do anything; Tia Santana is better than Uncle Puck at everything. Santana felt very satisfied at the knowledge that she had basically taught Livvie every major thing she needed to know for the next decade. Quinn and Rachel could handle the little stuff.
She would have felt bad for spending most of the last two days with an OliviaShadow and spending less time with the baby, but Brittany had barely set him down all weekend. More than once she (and OliviaShadow) had walked into the room to find Brittany and Jack babbling quiet gibberish to one another, both looking fully engrossed and entertained by their "conversation." The baby would break into random peals of laughter, which would then set Brittany off in similar fashion. "We're talking about penguins," "He's telling me his favorite smells," "I'm explaining how spoons work." And Santana could only smile.
On Sunday afternoon, as Livvie "helped" her clean up the kitchen from lunch (she picked up the food Jack had dropped onto the floor and placed it on Santana's chair…which, Santana supposed, was closer to the trash can than the floor was, so it was helping), Santana eyed the advancing clock with a mixture of anticipation and…sadness? Eh, it's not like they'd never have the opportunity/obligation to have the kids for the weekend again. She'd have Brittany suggest it next month some time. If she still felt these stupid feelings.
When Rachel and Quinn had arrived earlier to pick up their litter, Santana had been able to tell right away that things were much improved, and the kid-free weekend was exactly what the couple had needed. For one thing, Quinn greeted her with a super enthusiastic hug and a smile that belonged only to the sexually satisfied. For another, Rachel said, "Thanks for watching them, San. The kid-free weekend was exactly what we needed."
Even though she'd been exhausted by the constant demands of an infant and a toddler (she had no fucking clue how her friends did it day in and day out), she had felt a tiny pang of jealousy at the pure joy that lit Quinn and Rachel's faces when Olivia had rushed into the room and flown at them with a happy squeal. And she would have been blind not to notice the wistful sigh or slight slump of Brittany's shoulders when she handed a happily gurgling Jack back over to Rachel's eagerly waiting arms. Watching the young family reunite in her living room was surprisingly touching, though it would take trials of fire for Santana to admit such a thing out loud.
After they'd left, Brittany had fixed her with a look that made her spine tingle with equal amounts excitement…and dread. She knew what B was thinking, knew it had been a risk when she proposed this weekend babysitting adventure. Knew she had no clue how to deal with the need that had flared in Britt's eyes as their weekend charges had been carried out by their loving parents.
Maybe if she got Brittany a puppy she could buy herself a year. She could be ready in a year. Especially if she could convince herself that the sweet, mostly well-behaved Berry children were the norm she could expect…
She was brought out of her musings by the sound of her phone buzzing on the nightstand. It was after 11:00, but when she saw that it was Quinn calling she figured she'd might as well pick up.
"Are you made of magic?" was the greeting she got.
"Oh, I'm sure I will. Rachel's just getting us some water to rehydrate. In the meantime, how did you do it?"
"One, ew. Two, do what?"
"Livvie's been sound asleep since we put her to bed at 8:00. And she didn't even put up a fight when we said it was bedtime. What did you do?"
"Ah, that. It was nothing. I told you The Blob was stupid."
"And I told Livvie the same thing. And then we watched it together and I showed her how stupid it was. I pointed out the stupid effects and the cheesy music and the terrible acting-"
"I think Steve McQueen takes offense."
"And by the end of it, we were laughing our butts off. Hard to be scared of something so profoundly lame."
"Huh. That's shockingly clever of you, San."
"Again, I say nice gratitude. You're welcome for fixing your daughter, now I'm gonna hang up and go have a 'romp' with B."
"And I'm going to continue fucking Rachel's brains out."
"Love you too. Thanks. Really. Thank you," Quinn finished softly.
"You're welcome. Now just don't let Puck go screwing up my godchildren anymore."
"That was pretty dumb in the first place."
"Ummm. Yeah. Hmmm."
"I don't even have kids and I've got better parental instincts that that."
"…are you…fucking hell, Quinn! Hang up the damn phone before you let Rachel get her business up in your lady parts! Jesus!"
Santana rolled her eyes, but had to try pretty hard to suppress her smirk. "Brit? Get in here, baby. I am the Queen of Everything and I deserve a reward!"