A/N: I was remembering camp, and this one moment came into mind – and I thought. Woah, that might make a good one-shot. So here it is. My actual story involves soft-core hetero Hotel porn, me being stuck in a hallway with no key – only to find my entire cabin of 23 girls in a room watching porn on television. I was taken off guard to say the least. No trysts in the hotel hallway, or trysts at all for that matter – plus the porn wasn't quite so raunchy. Nonetheless, it was hilarious - and here is what came of the memory.

Quinn watched Santana and Kurt leave the small hotel room. It smelled faintly of cigarettes even though they were supposedly all placed in the "NON SMOKING" section of the hallway. Her pen tapped idly against the notebook that she had laid meaninglessly against her right thigh. The beginning of a list OF song ideas for nationals scrawled swiftly in her shorthand cursive as she stared out of the yellowing glass of the window.

Ask Quinn Fabray what she was doing here at this moment and she would have probably told you to "Fuck off" because clearly she doesn't give "A Rat's ass" about nationals. In reality, Quinn is overjoyed at their Glee club's success, albeit wishing that Principal Figgins and Mr. Schuester had found a much more acceptable hotel for their stay – "The Midnight Apple" just simply wouldn't do. Regardless, she sighed as she dropped the purple notebook to the carpet and cradled her chin between dexterous fingers.

Staring now at the fallen sheets of paper, a hazel eye catches the last couple of lines of her script against the college-ruled paper. She silently reads the song ideas aloud. Proud of the fact that her, Santana, and Kurt had even managed to survive the mandatory brainstorming session in the first place. Her breath releases laboriously at the excruciating memory from only an hour or so ago as they began their less than silent congregation.

"Honestly, if Chia Pet Schuester thinks that I'm going to willingly sit here with Jamie Lynn Spears and Doogie Howser for an hour, he has another thing coming. Ay, me cago en su madre."

"First of all, what in the name of all that is Jimmy Choo did she just say? … Secondly, everyone in Glee club is divided in random little groups to brainstorm right now – please, don't feel special."

"Can it, DeGeneres."

By then end of the first twenty minutes Santana was pacing the floor by the window while Quinn held back a trembling Kurt. To say the least, she was surprised that they had even managed to speak with one another civilly – ultimately ending their session with four song suggestions. They weren't the best, oh goodness no. But Quinn took pride in the fact that she had come up with at least half of them by herself. Sitting now, in the empty room she couldn't refrain her thoughts from wandering to a smiling Rachel Berry – Glee Captain – beaming at Quinn for her groups diligence and highly regarded submission to the endless list of setlist fodder.

Her lips quirked up into a smile at the thought – she hadn't realized it of course, but as her smile grew so did her mental foray into the being that was Rachel Berry. She snorted at the memories of the brunette's ridiculous attire; she smiled remembering a particularly moving solo. She lowered her cradled head remembering all of the slushies. Things had changed for all of them in the four years that they had known one another. Quinn was still a bitch – perhaps she always would be – but at least she knew of compassion now. And she saw that Rachel had it in spades, no matter how insufferable she pretended to subconsciously think the brunette was.

Her musings lasted much longer than she had anticipated. The daydreamer is often victim to time's scandalous aversions it seems – and Quinn stares down from the yellow window at her small analog wristwatch. She's been sat here for well over thirty-five minutes, doing absolutely nothing, and it suddenly strikes her that she is completely, unwillingly alone. Santana and Kurt having left over half an hour ago.


She shrugs, ascending off of the corner of the bed – fetching her purple notebook and ballpoint pen from the floor as she stretches stiffened arms. She needs to find Rachel and relay the setlist-brainstorming list from their session, and she prefers to get it over with now before she forgets. And with a sharp sigh she leaves the stale smelling room, entering the small hallway to absolute…unwarranted silence.

She turns to her door and reads the bold rusting numbers of Room 342, before scanning the doors adjacent and across from her own. The entire back hallway was composed of Gleek rooms, and as she pressed her fingers and ear softly to the doors one by one, she was struck confused by the lack of noise, of roughhousing, of life for that matter. Dropping her notebook to her heels she thinks better of this mission, and decides reading her book in the silence of her room would be much more satisfactory – but after noticing the lack of a key card within her grasp after fumbling loosely through her pockets she groans against the papered wall. Because, wouldn't it just be her luck that she gets locked out…and forgotten apparently, as there is no one here to console her in her sudden predicament.

She turns around, and just when she decides to slump against the wall and the floor, she hears a faint giggle, and she turns her head toward the far end of the hallway. Ah, she thinks. There is a door there that I forgot to check. She scrambles quickly to her feet, and makes her way down the corridor, stopping at Room 348 abruptly – she brings a balled fist up to the wood, and knocks, once, twice, three – and then.


"Fuck, shhh…sh—be quiet troll!"

The mumbling is coming from behind the door – the voices clearly belonging to her teammates. They are trying, and failing miserably to whisper as she stretches her ear towards the noise – feeling much more offended than she would care to admit at the lack of a clear invitation. Did people really not like her that much? And before she can let the seedlings of doubt bear fruit within her thoughts, the door is pulled open from within by small, olive toned hands. And an unmistakable face peers out of the crack anxiously, settling large brown eyes on one confused Quinn Fabray.

The anxious grin is immediately replaced by a wide, beaming smile as the brown eyes widen in familiarity and joy. Rachel turns her head and yells into the as of yet concealed room as Quinn waits at the threshold, attempting, but failing to get a peek.

"Guys, it's not Schuester! It's just Quinn, No need to worry!"

There were catcalls and cheers as a response, and there were definitely more that two or three people in this room. As she begins to ponder, the brunette thrusts the door open fully and grabs Quinn's arm quickly, pulling her into the carpeted room before slamming the door back shut. The room cheers and claps at her arrival, and she looks up from beneath her blonde lashes to find every single one of the Gleeks perched atop furniture, windowsills, chairs and carpet – their collective gaze leering directly at her.

"Nice of you to join us Quinn, take a seat. You're just in time…"

Rachel's eyebrows are wagging at her suggestively and she struggles not to stare at how delicious the brunette looks in her pair of comfortable NYADA sweats and tank top. There is an undertone of mystery in Rachel's voice that Quinn can't place, and before she can ask any questions Santana is pulling her down to the carpet to lean against the edge of one of the beds next to Tina as Rachel re-positions herself atop one of the beds next to Santana and Brittany. Puck is grinning stupidly as he sits astride a room chair, and Finn's expression looks pained as if he's trying really hard to concentrate on something, and yet failing miserably.

And it is at this precise moment that Quinn's eyes fall on the large TV at the center of the room that she had somehow failed to notice before. It is on, and the channel is on a commercial for JC Penny, but there is no sound. Her eyebrows furrow curiously, and just as she's about to ask what in the hell they were all watching, Rachel smirks smugly as Santana smiles at the screen wickedly, remote control dangling in hand. And before Quinn can ask any questions, there is the unmistakable click of a button, changing the channel – another press to the clicker, and the mute is removed. And suddenly Quinn's cheeks are burning red hot, as she squirms beside an open-mouthed Tina.

"Fuck Yea!"

Puck yells as he slaps hands with a cheesy-grinned Sam – Kurt and Blaine watching with no more than a grimace of curiosity as Brittany smiles – clapping excitedly beside a detached Santana. Mercedes shakes her head transfixed at the screen. Her quiet demand of,

"Turn up the sound…"

Not lost on distracted ears, as Rachel fetches the remote and obliges to the other girls' wishes. And suddenly, as the figures on screen begin to engage in extremely liberal fantasies with one another, Quinn finally snaps out of her gaze, her voice trembling as she finally gains it back.

'Is…Is this porn!"

There are laughs and jeers from around the room in a collective, and Quinn fumes. Her cheeks reddening as Santana leans down and slaps her roughly on the back. She doesn't know what to think about any of this. Why are they all here watching porn? She was abandoned in the corridor for goodness sake. Why hadn't she been invited? Not that she wants to watch Porn with her teammates per se, but there is an ounce of dignity that Quinn Fabray feels like she's somehow lost.

"And the genius award goes to Quinn Fabray, everybody!"

Santana trills, as Quinn frowns into the carpet. Her shoulder blade stinging rather uncomfortably from the contact; her hazel eyes flutter upwards again, and she almost instantly regrets it because she is facing the TV, and her eyes are now glued to the two women engaging in a naked battle of the tongues. Her mouth gapes open as she drops the pen she didn't even realize she had still been holding, and her hands clutch at air, as she stares as if transfixed.

She doesn't hear the noises surrounding her; the way that Puck smiles at the screen dreamily, or Finn winces as he clutches his crotch – keeping his impending early arrival at bay. The way Artie looks on from his chair, a bowl of popcorn clutched within his hands. She doesn't notice the way that Brittany and Santana have stopped watching – turning darkened glances on each other as they stroke arms. Or the way that Kurt and Blaine have excused themselves, their expressions disgusted as they part. Mercedes and Tina shrug their shoulders, joining them – a dejected Mike being dragged behind. And Quinn hasn't seen or heard any of it – because instead, she's enraptured by just how turned on this sex scene is making her.

She's practically salivating, as the two women stroke themselves, and kiss pert nipples. The moans are over exaggerated clearly, and the chemistry is somehow…off. But when the brunette on screen descends and brings out a tongue to stroke southern folds, Quinn shudders against her will. Her hand coming up to grip her stomach – the tingling overtaking her all over – and quite suddenly, the room has grown extremely too hot.

"I – I have to go, do things -"

Quinn starts. Not finishing her sentence as she scurries to her wobbling feet. Not remiss to the fact that she's embarrassingly aroused – she hopes that no one notices, even though she feels like there's a giant red beacon flashing above her, pointing out her arousal for the world to see. Her arousal at the two women on screen in fact – she feels overwhelmed and dizzy, and she clenches her legs together as she hurries out of the door – no one really notices her leave – except for a small, flushed brunette perched atop one of the double beds. Her pupils blown - and her gaze never wavering from the flushed tangle of blonde hair making a hasty retreat.

Her breathing is shallow and strained and her retinas are burning from the images of sex still imprinted there. Quinn bites her lip as she steadies her body sloppily against the wall in the hallway – suddenly remembering that she's still locked out. She swears under her breath, and clenches her eyes shut – attempting to keep the images at bay with very little success. And before she knows it the brunette from the television moves from between those porcelain legs and looks up at her – brown, unmistakable eyes glint before soft tan lips descend again. And she's moaning – her teeth catching on her bottom lip as she clutches at the wall –

"This is so wrong..."

She whispers out loud to an empty hallway, her hand stroking through her hair, trying to calm the flush.

"Quinn, what's wrong?"

Her head jerks to the left, and she sees Rachel Berry – she's much closer than Quinn would expect her to be. She can smell her shampoo from here, and it makes her even dizzier. Quinn closes her eyes again, and now every image is racked with Rachel's face, with her voice…with her tongue. And she licks her lips – shaking thoughts of Rachel Berry from her head, and failing miserably.

"Uh…I, um…"

Quinn has lost her ability to form coherent sentences as her breath hitches when her eyes land on the brunette standing in front of her now. Those dark eyes are dilated, and Quinn can see a blush creeping up the shorter girls neck. And before she can say anything, she can feel feather light fingers stroking her arm, trailing down the riling flesh before settling over one of the blonde's warm hands.

"Rachel, what are you -?"

Those small fingers begin stroking over the blonde's knuckles slowly, and Quinn can feel the tingles traveling in waves all the way down to her toes – an image flashes before her eyes of those fingers, doing…other things. And she snaps her attention back on to the brunette in front of her.

"I know we aren't established friends or anything,…yet. But that doesn't mean you can't talk to me Quinn – "

"I—just, I'm…porn? Lesbian porn? …really?"

And Rachel is smiling at her, her lips parted in a silent chuckle as her fingers continue their ministrations, you blanche when you feel her rest her forehead slightly against your shoulder as she chuckles – and you're outraged. Rachel Berry should not be this close to you right now. But every nerve ending in your body is screaming "YES!" and so you leave her to her ministrations. Your ovaries certainly agree with it.

"I think the hotel simply forgot to remove the settings from the last visitor. We were watching reruns of House before Puck changed the channel to that, he was ironically looking for Sports Center. Obviously, the boys didn't feel the need to correct their mistake."


Quinn is smiling at her now, down into long brown hair – Rachel still leaning steadily on her shoulder as they stand in the hallway. Her breath is light, and Quinn can feel it's warmth against her shoulder and neck – she feels dizzy again – her lips suddenly dry.

"Why did you leave Quinn...?"

"It wasn't appropriate…I-I didn't…"

And there is a brush of lips against her collarbone. It is faint – and if she wants to she can quickly write it off as an accident, but moments later there is a wetness there where lips had just traversed. And Rachel just – she just open –mouthed kissed her skin. It tingles at the touch, and Quinn's knees almost go weak because it feels right.


And just then, at the mention of her name, the brunette releases her mouth and stares at Quinn for what seems like minutes. Their eyes boring into each other as equally rapid breaths hitch. Quinn's eyes fall dangerously to Rachel lips, and the brunette licks them subconsciously – beckoning the advance. And it seems to be all that the blonde needs. She leans down and collects her lips softly – warily. There is no tongue, lips against lips – and then Quinn sighs. Because this contact – this moment is perfect in so many ways. At the noise, Rachel's heart starts pounding, and her lips become hungry as their kiss quickens.

It doesn't take long for the gasps to fill the air between them – neither girl knowing whom they could possibly belong to. The pressure in her abdomen is hard and unrelenting and Quinn could just fall apart right here in this empty hallway. She takes her hands and firmly moves them to the smaller girls hips. Holding her captive as her teeth nibble and suck on succulent ones beneath her.

Rachel's palms inch up and splay themselves up against the wall besides Quinn's shoulders, as the blonde's hands move to cup her backside, pushing their bodies together against the wallpaper.

They are in an empty hallway – their teammates are feet away in a closed room watching Hotel porn – they could be caught at any moment. You would think that the two girls would practice some discretion - however, somehow the ante has been raised at their public tryst. If anything, discretion was thrown out of the window with Rachel's uncalled for arrival.

The brunette is still wearing her tank top and NYADA sweats – her feet are bare against the carpet. Quinn decides she'll try her luck – playing the images in her head on repeat for inspiration. You would think that she should be nervous – she's never done this before, but the anticipation fuels her desire, and without thinking she removes a hand from Rachel's bum and inches it beneath the hem of her shirt, rippling her fingers over the girls ribcage. Circling the fabric of her bra.

Rachel's kiss breaks as she arches into the touch, gasping when she feels fingers push through her bra – cupping her for the first time, and trailing warmly against her nipples. She latches on to the blonde's neck – licking her as her hands grind into the wall behind Quinn's head. The blonde smiles, as she continues her ministrations – she wants to taste that skin – they're in a hallway but oddly she doesn't care. She lifts up Rachel's tank top and lowers her head, nuzzling her self into the soft skin before trailing a wet tongue across a pert peak. She feels the skin beneath her lips shudder, and a low moan escape parted lips but she's concentrating right now – and Berry tastes too good to stop.

Quinn can feel Rachel's hips pushing against her, grinding her against the wall – she meets them, and she needs to switch their positions because this is no longer working. She pats Rachel's bum purposefully with her hand that is still resting there.

"Up, Rach."

The brunette doesn't miss a beat and kicks off of the ground. Wrapping her arms around Quinn's neck, and her long, sleek legs around a thin waist. Quinn moves to catch her bum and then turns them around to slam Rachel against the waiting wall – their, lips and hands never disconnected as now- ah yes…their hips meet, and it's just right.

"Oh my god…"

Quinn breathes as she can suddenly feel everything she's been missing. Rachel's hips are writhing into her from her position around Quinn's waist, and she can feel the heat through the girl's sweatpants, rolling deliciously against her pelvis. Rachel – tank top disheveled and half adorned, and bra hanging halfway off of breasts bites her lip as she studies the blonde before her – Quinn is wearing too many clothes – she can't get the girl naked just yet because they're in a hallway, but that doesn't mean that she can't have fun with Quinn's dress. Quinn pauses her ministrations against Rachel's collarbone when she feels her dress being pulled up quickly at her front. Rachel's hands work quickly, tangling the material in her fist as the dress bunches up against the blonde's waist between them – and Rachel can finally see Quinn's thighs – and she's Jewish, but Jesus.

Her unoccupied hand reaches beneath the fabric – finding thin panties, and she grips Quinn against the material, feeling her heat and wetness through the thin cotton – Rachel practically growls.

And Quinn's eyes roll back as she hits her forehead against the wall at the side of Rachel's head. The soft thud reassuring her as her senses are blown. She can feel Rachel turning her head – breath panting, as she places kisses into her hair – in the meantime her fingers are shoving cotton panties aside and delving into the blonde's wetness and heat – the apex of her very welcome arousal. The back of her dress which still hangs normally tickles her legs as Rachel's fingers flex beneath the waistband – Quinn rocks her hips when she feels the circular pattern teasing her. She moans with every rock – eyes fluttering when she finds perfect lips again. Teeth and tongues clashing with intense speed – driving them further into madness.

"Can, I?"

It's whispered and Rachel disconnects their lips and stares into hazel darkened eyes before looking down to see a hand reaching forward to the waistband of her NYADA sweatpants. Her head lolls back and she bites her lip – nodding for the blonde to please, motherfucking continue. Quinn smile pants, Rachel's fingers still working against her before lowering a warm hand under the elastic – and Jesus fucking h. Christ she isn't even wearing underwear. Quinn gasps at the discovery and Rachel just purrs when she feels those fingers find her center. She's so wet, and she knows Quinn can tell because the blonde is rocking into Rachel's hand faster with each breath. And then Rachel's eyes open halfway when she feels Quinn's fingers pinch her nub – and she's gone.

It's hard for her to keep up pretenses – and she wishes she could concentrate on the tasks at hand, but it's nearly impossible with Quinn's fingers doing these things to her. Her pre-occupied hand stills its motions but the blonde doesn't stop her whine or her rocking hips as Rachel holds on for support as she fumbles. Rachel can feel the sharp coil tangling in her stomach, and she's so close. Her breath is coming out in a strangled whine, and she can't keep her eyes open as Quinn's fingers work faster – growing slicker with every swipe and flick and pinch. Quinn's head is still resting against the wall, their cheeks press together and slip as they rock up and down against the wallpaper. The blonde turns her head slightly to kiss Rachel's cheek before nibbling softly against her earlobe. Her breath is hot and strained, and Rachel just breaks at the blonde's words.

"Baby…R-Rach, come for me…please."

And Rachel does just that as her head rolls back and thuds against the wall. Her eyes flutter open and roll – and she moans and whines over and over again as she brings her eyes down to watch her hips rock wantonly against Quinn's fingers – riding out her orgasm on long unrelenting waves.


Quinn's eyes are closed and she's flushed and wanton in Rachel's arms. The brunette stares transfixed as she regains her breath. Her legs around Quinn's hips wobble and slack – she can't hold them up anymore and Quinn drops them smoothly to plant bare feet back on the carpet. Their foreheads touch as they kiss slowly now – languidly – their tongues meeting each other in a sated dance. Except Quinn hasn't come yet – and Rachel's hands are quickly pulling the blonde's dress up while she lowers herself to a crouch between her legs. Her mouth is inches away from Quinn's center, and the brunettes hands trace circles against her inner thighs as she kisses a flushed calf.

Quinn whines through her nose as realization sets in – and before she can respond a firm hand to her abdomen is pushing her forward to the other side of the hallway to rest against the wall with a soft thud. She feels small hands tugging her panties down her thighs to her knees, and just when she bites her cheek to stop her moan, she feels the swipe of a warm tongue against her most private place, and she stiffens at the touch – her mouth open in a silent "O." Ah yes, this is what she's been missing.

She looks down at the tangle of brunette hair and clasps her hand into Rachel's scalp, holding her in place as that tongue works wonders on her from below. She can hear Rachel working and it only spurs her arousal further as her hips start bucking of their own volition. Her tongue spewing half phrases and jumbled thoughts as she gets closer and closer.

"I…just – keep..don't…baby, yesss…"

Rachel hums her approval against the blonde's nub, eliciting a low moan, and she just wants to see Quinn fall apart. So she hums again, flicking the tip of her tongue against the soft nub as she pulls between her teeth lightly – and that seems to be just enough, because suddenly Quinn is tensing before her and clawing at strands of hair as her hips jerk wildly into Rachel's mouth. She licks and strokes pale legs as Quinn rides out her orgasm – she collects her breath and kisses the inside of pale thighs before sighing as she inches herself up off of the floor. The blonde's hands resting softly against her hips as they meet.

Quinn is still catching her breath, and her pupils are still dilated – but they stare at one another in the afterglow, neither saying a word as the blonde brings a hand up to stroke her thumb across the birthmarks on a tan cheek. Smiling as she watches the brunette lean into the touch.

They kiss against the wall – Quinn sighing at her taste against Rachel's mouth. And she drops her head to the crook of the brunette's shoulder – in between neck and collarbone.

"Wow…Rach. I don't have words…"

"Neither do I Quinn…but I can tell you truthfully that I would never take that back – I loved it, and you were and are breathtaking."

Quinn kissed her against the collarbone before sighing. Smiling to herself at Rachel's words. She wanted to be closer if that were even possible – she wanted Rachel for as long as she could have her – and her emotions were suddenly off of the map and catapulting into her like a steady train. She took a shuddering breath – afraid of what her next words might mean.

"What does this mean…for us? We don't have the best history Rach."

"Well – if you want to try, I'd love that. I don't think it's too late for us."

Quinn nods, her thoughts taking the backseat as her heart palpitates. She feels her fingers massaging Rachel's hipbone absently as she sighs. Her head lifting up to lock eyes with the brunette – she smiles again warmly, kissing soft lips that she could never get tired of.

"How about we start with a date first?"

And Rachel laughs – and it's amazing, and Quinn smiles at her again. – The brunette nods and separates their bodies, linking their hands together as they finally move away from the wall.

"I can't believe we just did it against a wall in a hotel hallway."

"I can't believe I walked in on the entire Glee Club watching Lesbian porn."

Rachel rolls her eyes as she retrieves her key card to enter them back into the room – she's laughing as the green light clicks and the door swings open. It's oddly quiet and just as she notices that the TV isn't on anymore she hears the significant voice of Noah Puckerman groaning in pain behind the door.

"Ow, what the FUCK!"

"Get off of me Puckerman, I don't give a fuck about your nose – you're squishing me with your fat."

Quinn's eyebrows furrow as she and Rachel make their way into the room – and it's to find Santana, and Puck and Sam leaning against the door with glasses in their hands writhing in pain. Finn looks guilty as he whispers "mailman" over and over again in a rushed whisper. Artie stares at them stunned into silence, and Brittany is clapping at them from the other side of the room.

"What's going on...?"

And at this Puck finally regains his voice, and he grins wickedly as he clutches at his still throbbing nose, his eyes glinting between them as he licks his lips. However it's Brittany who is the relay-er of information.

"You guys were SO much hotter than that sex movie. And you were totally loud, so we turned off the TV so we could hear you instead. You swear A LOT when you're coming Rachel. Huh, San?"

Santana has the decency to blush as she sits up from the floor, but Quinn doesn't mistake the all-telling smirk that quickly spreads across her lips.

"Let's just say…you two – So much better than porn."

"Hell Fucking Yea."

Puck agrees before branching off into a fit of laughs as the others in the room join in. Brittany claps as she watches Quinn and Rachel – staring red faced off into the distance – sure that they will never, ever live this down.

"Well at least some good came out of this…"

Quinn whispers embarrassingly into Rachel's ear. The brunette turns red-faced to glare at her.

"And exactly what is that Quinn…enlighten me."

Quinn smiles before wrapping her arms tightly against Rachel's hips, and leaning down to kiss her ear.

"I got a date with you, gorgeous."

And Rachel smiles, forgetting about the drama unfurling around them to stare into grounding hazel eyes. She nods, and kisses Quinn quickly before resting their foreheads together. Her brow furrows as she considers something, and she laughs as she pokes Quinn's ribs with her fingers playfully.

"At least it wasn't caught on videotape."

And suddenly Puck is looking at them with a dangerous glint in his eye, and his mouth is watering unnaturally.

"Oh…I'm not so sure about that ladies…"


And suddenly the room blurs red as both girls bolt for the mohawked boy on the floor, pinning him to the ground as he stares in shock and fear – their voices ringing as Brittany laughs in the corner.

"He didn't really film anything did he B?"

Santana whispers to her girlfriend as they watch Puck get devoured by the two girls.

"Nope…not at all."


Santana drawls –opening up her cell phone to document the madness.

"Pass the popcorn…"